Live Long Enough

by Tinhatflash53

Summary:

Tim Drake shouldn't be alive. He wishes he wasn't.

But what's done is done. Now, he finds himself seven years later, struggling to put together the shattered remains of both his life and his mind. He's doing his best, but everything around him just seems so broken. In order to fix things, he supposed you would have to break them a little bit more. There's so much to be done and so little time, and things change too rapidly to make a concrete plan. Everything has gone far beyond his control.

But if he could keep his head above water long enough, if he could plan well enough, and if he could manipulate enough people, then he would be in control again. He just knew it.

Chapter 1: Birdwatching

And that was that. The end of Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne. The end of Red Robin

Tommy had stayed by his side, up until someone had pulled him away. “ Come on, kid, ” he’d remembered someone saying; he thought it might have been Mr. Gordon, “ You don’t need to see this. ”

He remembered every vivid detail. He remembered blue eyes staring at nothing, red blood spreading across the ground too fast, and a sad, sad smile frozen on a too-pale face. He remembered Grandpa running to his father’s body, starting chest compressions immediately, going on and on until Uncle Jason finally pulled him away, saying, “ He’s gone, Bruce. He’s gone. ”

Grandpa had sat back on his hands, looking more lost and broken than Tommy had ever thought him capable of looking. “ But we just got him back… ” he’d whispered.

Tommy couldn’t help but agree with him.

He’d just gotten his dad back. And then he died. What the hell? 

What the hell was he supposed to do with that?

He’d spent a long time thinking about that, when he was still a little kid. Sometimes, when he lies awake at night, staring at the ceiling, he still thinks about it.

His father’s peaceful face still haunts his dreams.

No one should look that happy about dying.

When he was six, (physically ten) he’d gone to Damian and Jon and Conner and said one thing: “ Train me. ”

And they had. Damian had taught him how to fight. Conner had taught him how to control his strength. Jon had taught him how to use his smaller size to his advantage. And he’d learned well.

Then, when he was seven, (physically eleven) he’d gone to Grandpa, and Auntie Barbara, and Mr. Gordon, and said “ Teach me. ” And they did. Tommy learned the ins and outs of detective work, crime scene investigation, analytical thinking, and forensic science. And he’d learned well.

But now he was nine years old. Physically thirteen, but really nine. He had cleared out all the old baby toys he’d had as a little kid, saving just one: a little figurine of Robin, the very first real toy he’d ever received. An Alaskan flag hung on his wall now, along with several charts of various bird species and a world map with pins stuck in it; Tommy’d taken up birdwatching, all around the world. Rare birds, common birds, big birds, little birds; he just loved studying them. He wrote down his observations in a little hardcover journal when he went out, now having racked up about 4 volumes or so of notes on various birds.

Maybe it stemmed from his childhood love of Robin, or maybe it was because they, too, could fly, just like him, but overall Tommy just found it calming. There were no strings attached with the birds; they were just birds. Just innocent little animals that sang and flew. That was all. No vigilantism, no gruesome or grisly murders, just songs and flights. They were beautiful.

As Tommy laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, he heard the birds calling outside. The sunlight filtered into his room, and he could feel the soft summer breeze floating through the window, beckoning him to join the great outdoors. But Tommy just laid in bed, staring at the ceiling and pretending he didn’t see lifeless blue eyes staring back.

It was seven years ago today that Tommy’s dad died.

---

Basil Karlow hung his head at his desk, massaging his temples as Ed and Jonathan argued over something again, something that went way, way over his head. 

After Red Robin died, for some reason, they’d all had the bright idea to run LexCorp Gotham in his stead. “A way to remember him” Victor had said. It was a great idea at the time, but now…

“ No, no, no!! ” Ed cried, pacing about the office, “For the last time, Jonathan, we cannot market these kinds of pharmaceuticals to adults! We must market to the children, who will beg the adults to buy it for them!”

“What difference does it make?” Jonathan protested, “They buy it all the same!”

“It’s the principle of the thing, Jonathan!” Ed cried.

“ Jonathan! Ed! ” Basil finally cried in exasperation, and both turned to him quizzically. “It’s cough syrup!” Basil said, breaking down into begging tones, “Please, for the Love of God, just call it fucking cough syrup! ”

Ed and Jonathan eyed each other, before finally grumbling and nodding affirmatively. “ Oy vey… ” Basil sighed, planting his head on the desk and despairing.

“Long day, Karlow?” Oswald asked, waddling into the room dressed in a finely pressed black suit, Victor and Harvey right behind him in similar attire. Nora Fries held her husband’s arm, dressed in a black dress and hat, a veil covering part of her face in a show of solemnity.

“It’s been torture!” Basil cried before Riddler or Scarecrow could speak, “They’ve been bickering all day! You’d think after seven years they’d just get the hint and fuck already!! ”

Ed and Jonathan both squawked indignantly in tandem, blushed a deep red, then turned away from each other.

Oswald, meanwhile, laughed heartily as he took his seat, puffing his cigar. “When are we all leaving for the ceremony?” he asked, and the mood shifted slightly as Basil stood up, straightening out his tie.

“Z, Dan, and Owens will be here soon,” he said, “Pru and Meg are arriving at noon. Bane will meet us there, around three.”

“In the meantime, ‘Tim Drake’ needs to make an appearance at the LexCorp Community Outreach Fundraiser in the Narrows,” Waylon told him from his place in the corner of the room, now head of security for LexCorp Gotham, and Basil sighed, nodding his head.

With the sound of shifting mud, Clayface changed his appearance to the slight frame of Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, darling of Gotham City, and fiddled with his tie again. “How do I look?” he asked nervously.

Harvey looked him up and down, then nodded. “Like the genuine article,” he confirmed.

“I hate it when I have to do this,” Basil muttered, looking at his friend’s face in the mirror, “It feels… wrong.”

“I know,” Oswald sighed in sympathy, “But it’s for the best. We can’t have the public drawing a connection between Red Robin and Tim Drake; that’d out Bruce Wayne as Batman, and all hell would break loose among the lower ranked criminals. Besides, we’re carrying on the positives of his legacy, aren’t we? Community outreach, public works, urban renewal and the like. We’re genuine heroes of the city, boys!”

“All in Tim’s name,” Basil sighed, then ran a hand through his (Tim’s) hair. “Alright, I’ll be back around two-thirty,” he sighed, making for the door, “If anyone calls, just have them forward it to Ed.”

“Must I do everything in this business?” Ed sighed melodramatically, and Jonathan scoffed and punched his arm playfully.

“As if you don’t enjoy every second of it!” he accused.

Ed hesitated for a moment, then nodded his head, admitting it. There was nothing more fun to the Riddler than running an entire company; it kept his brain occupied wonderfully, keeping track of all the moving parts. A company was kind of like a riddle, if you thought about it: the answer was just always “profit”.

The Rogues sat around for a few hours after that, all either drinking or smoking or playing Poker. They left one hand down on the table, in front of an empty chair.

---

The Manor had changed a lot in the last seven years. Kori had finally had her babies; twins, Alivand’r (Ollie Anders-Harper) and Jainand’r, (Jane Anders-Todd) and they were right little terrors, too. They both had the startling green eyes and orange skin as their mother, but their hair varied; Ollie had bright red hair, but Jane had a darker brown shade in hers. Both could use starbolts, but Jane to a far lesser degree than Ollie, and neither were as powerful as Starfire herself… but that could change with age. Tommy liked playing with them, but they were both four years younger than him, still in their little kid years when nothing had any consequence; he couldn’t wait for them to get older, though.

Speaking of, Starfire had rejoiced when she was finally allowed back on patrol. She, Uncle Jason, and Uncle Roy began patrolling Crime Alley like never before, and all the petty criminals of Gotham learned to fear the Outlaws once again.

Grandpa had taken up the Cape & Cowl again, letting Uncle Jason return to his previous role as Red Hood. Though Grandpa was getting on in years, nowadays; Tommy had heard him sitting down with Barbara and Mr. Fox to design a more supportive Batsuit, one that would make up for his frail bones and aching joints, but there was only so much technology could do for him. 

Uncle Damian would take up the mantle soon. Not yet, but soon. He’d grown into a strong, broad-shouldered young man, almost outgrowing the Robin mantle but unwilling to give it up. Some looked to Tommy to be the next Robin, but… he wasn’t sure if he was ready for that. Or if Robin should even have superpowers.

Grandma had finally allowed herself to be shackled, as she put it, but really that just means she and Grandpa finally put a ring on it. There was a ceremony in the Manor and everything; Clark Kent was the best man, and Diana Prince officiated. Turns out being the Princess of Themyscira makes you automatically ordained. Who knew? And as for the maids of honor… 

Pamela Isely and Harley Quinn had moved into the Manor. Their apartment was destroyed in the old bombings, and they hardly committed any crimes nowadays, so when they came to Selina, looking for a place to stay, they all eventually managed to convince Bruce to agree. Auntie Pam had done wonders for the garden, and Alfred liked her, so she stayed without a problem. And Aunt Harley… well, she breathed new life into a place that had still been mourning Tim, in a way, and brought joy back into their lives with her wild antics. Harmless, nowadays, and good for a few laughs from a family full of emotionally stunted idiots. The best addition ever made, really.

Grandpa wanted a formal portrait done of all of them, soon. Grandma and Grandpa, Dick and Barbara, Kori, Roy, Jason, Ollie, and Jane, Damian, Duke, Cass, Steph, Pam, Harley, Mr. Gordon, Alfred, and Tommy, along with Titus, who was admittedly starting to get up there in terms of dog years. Flecks of gray spotted his black muzzle, and he didn’t run around as much as he used to, but he was a good dog. Tommy liked him. 

Grandpa wanted the portrait to hang in the front hall, to replace the old one of his parents. “It’s a new era for the Waynes,” he’d said, “I want the Manor to reflect that.”

But there was still one face missing from that portrait.

Tommy stood on the high hill behind the Manor, where three headstones stood beneath a lone, gnarled tree. One held three names, the others only holding one each. 

Here lies in loving memory:

THOMAS WAYNE

(1931-1976)

MARTHA, his wife

(1929-1976)

And BRUCE, their dutiful son

(1966-  2012  )

 

Here lies

JASON P. TODD

(1993-  2006  )

Beloved son

 

Here lies

TIMOTHY J. DRAKE

(1994-2014)

He died so others could live.
He lived so others wouldn’t die.

Tommy stood in front of his father’s headstone, reading the epitaph over and over. It was what Tim had wanted, apparently; recorded in a Last Will & Testament he’d had drawn up after Tommy’s grandfather, Jack Drake, had been killed. 

“Hi, Dad,” he murmured to the stone, feeling the summer breeze on his skin and the warmth of the sun, “I know I don’t visit often enough. It’s not even that long of a walk, really. But I… I just felt like I needed to tell you that I… that…”

Tommy closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and steadying his racing heart. “Today’s the day,” he started again, looking up at the clear blue sky; an unusual occurrence in Gotham, “The day Grandpa lets me out on patrol as a superhero. Like you. Uncle Damian’s chaperoning me, but I know I’ll do okay. I… I decided on a name. I think you’d like it. I hope you’d like it. Doesn’t do great for that whole ‘secret identity’ thing, but the official cover story is that I’m Uncle Jason’s bastard child, so I don’t think anyone will know. I only use the surname ‘Todd’ in public. I… I’m sorry. I wish I could honor you a little more, but I hope… I hope this makes up for it.”

Tommy looked back down at the stone, then knelt and rested his hand on it, tracing the meticulously carved letters of his father’s name. “I don’t know why you were smiling when you died, Dad,” he sighed, “I don’t know why you did all the things you did. But I’m going to find out. And I’m going to clear your name. I promise.”

---

Finally, at three o’clock, all the Rogues made their way to a little secluded spot on the edge of the forest outside Gotham, where a rusty old fence guarded an overgrown grotto of age-old headstones. On a dirty, grimy, crumbling statue of what might have used to be an angel, a gold bandolier hung from its marble arms, and a simple memorial of “RR” was jaggedly carved into the torso.

Harvey poured out drinks for everyone, shots of Tim’s favorite whiskey, and raised his glass, watching as his fellow Rogues did the same.

“To Tim Drake,” he said, “The craziest son of a bitch to ever live.”

“ To Tim Drake! ” they all agreed, and they threw back their shots. One by one, they all stacked the glasses at the statue’s feet.

A little cemetery, all to their own. Like the picture Tim had shown them of the one in Central City.

Ed shook his head fondly as he hesitated by the rusty old gate, watching everyone leave. “A fairytale land of lies and disgustingly blind optimism,” he remembered, then gazed at the gold bandolier solemnly, “That’s what we’ll build for you, Tim. I promise.”

---

Tommy stretched out the fabric of his new suit. It was brown, like a sparrow’s feathers, with black accents. There was no cape; he didn’t like them, and they got in the way of flying. He had the standard utility belt, and soft, black leather boots that were good for sneaking around. On his forearms, he wore bracers; the one on his left was a portable computer, the one on his right was just a compartment for snacks. A black domino mask fitted easily over his eyes, and he looked himself up and down in the mirror.

“Name?” a familiar voice asked behind him, and Tommy turned to see Auntie Cass in the doorway, looking him up and down.

Tommy nodded, taking a confident step forward. “Call me…

“ The Drake . ”

---

The meager lights flickered in the dark hallway as the assassin panted hard, running through it at top speed. He was supposed to care about his honor, about dying gloriously in battle, but in the face of whatever the hell that thing was, fuck honor.

Laughter echoed off the barren walls, and the assassin stopped in fear, skidding to a stop as his foot slipped on something slick; blood, no doubt. He’d served the Great One for many years; he’d seen dozens of people come out of the Pit. But this…

This was different.

More laughter. Followed by screams of pain.

It ripped through them like tissue paper. It bit, it beat, it clawed, it struck, anything and everything to draw as much blood as possible. Somehow, it got its hands on a knife, and then it started carving the smiles…

Those wretched, horrible smiles, stretching far too far up his comrades’ cheeks, slashed open at the edges of the mouth. 

He heard something; he spun around, terrified, only to find nothing but darkness. 

Then something leapt out at him, and he screamed in terror. “ Aw… ” it cooed, and the assassin screamed as he saw the pale glint of the knife, “ Why so serious…?

“ Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!! HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!! ”

Chapter 2: Like a Bat Out of Hell

Bruce sat there in front of the Batcomputer’s screen, watching the same footage over and over. The Cave’s security footage of the night Tim-- of-- of that night. 

He’d watched this footage a dozen times, studied every inch of it for any clue. Any reason. Anything as to ascertain why. 

Why would anyone die with a smile on their face?

What had happened to his son that after only two years… he wanted death?

Bruce sat and sighed and waited and watched. But he found nothing. He didn’t know what he’d expected; he hadn’t found anything in the previous 58 times he’d watched this footage, why would he now?

Bruce rubbed his face, then turned the screens off, sitting back in his chair. He missed his boy.

---

He shouldn’t be alive. He didn’t know where he was. He shouldn’t be alive. His chest burned, his lungs burned, everything burned, it was like he was taking a bath in acid.

And he couldn’t breathe. And he shouldn’t be alive.

He surged upward, gasping for air, sending viscous green liquid splashing across the chamber as he screamed from whatever tub or spring he was in, thrashing wildly in a blind panic as his vision took on an acidic green haze.

“ WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME!?! ” he roared, leaping forward at the nearest living thing he could find and wrapping his hands around their throat, “ WHY AM I ALIVE!?! WHAT DID YOU DO!?! ”

The body beneath him didn’t answer, probably because he was holding the man’s larynx in his hands, now caked red with blood. 

Blood…

He stared at it, spreading across the floor at a steady pace, as more men all around him either screamed in fear or pointed weapons at him. He looked up, smearing the blood across his lips and up his cheeks like a wide, wide smile, and grinned.

Then he started to laugh.

---

Jason sighed as he put Ollie and Jane to bed, nearly collapsing from exhaustion. Roy and Kori got to go on patrol tonight, but not him; no, he was on kid duty. Not that he was complaining, he loved the adorable little tikes more than words could say, but still… he wished he could be out there with them, to know that they were okay.

Then he remembered that Kori had probably felt like that for 2 years while she carried Ollie and Jane to term, and decided he should probably keep his mouth shut.

But, as Jason sat down in a chair and began to doze off, he remembered back to those fateful days six years ago when he’d almost made a terrible mistake.

---

2015

Jason sat next to his favorite gargoyle overlooking the city, his helmet thrown away, gasping for breath as he sobbed.

Kori was in labor.

His kids were coming.

They were being born right now and Jason was… here. On this gargoyle. Away from the Manor and Roy and Kori and the kids because he… because he was…

“ Jason! ” Steph cried in relief, nearly scaring him off the side of the building as she grappled up beside him, “ There you are! Jason, come on, Kori’s in labor! Everyone’s been worried sick about you! You’ve gotta make it back to the Manor before the twins are born!”

“G-Go away, Steph!” Jason muttered, wiping a hand over his face and hiding his tears, “Don’ need you here!”

Steph stopped where she was, a few feet away, and took off her cowl as she asked quietly, “... Jason? Are you okay?”

Jason sniffed, wiping his eyes and keeping his face turned away. “Y-Yeah,” he murmured back, “Fine.”

Steph sighed, then sat down next to him on the side of the building, watching the cars go by below. “You can talk to me, y’know,” Steph told him gently, placing her hand on his shoulder, “I won’t judge you if you’re scared.”

“M’not scared, ” Jason denied, trying and failing to stop more tears from falling. After a moment of silence, he took a deep breath, sighed, and blurted out, “I’m fuckin’ terrified. ”

Steph stayed quiet, just keeping her hand on his shoulder, so Jason went on, unable to stop his words, as if a dam had broken somewhere. “I-- I just keep thinkin’ about those kids, over and over and over, and Roy and Kori and I just think…” Jason stammered, “I think they’re better off withou’ me. I-- I’ve got so much fuckin’ blood on my hands, Steph, kids don’ need murderer daddies, lovers don’ need murderer husbands. I can’t do this. I can’t be who they need me to be.”

Steph sighed, then pulled him into a tight hug, much to his surprise and consternation. “Don’t you fucking dare leave,” Steph warned him, and Jason stopped his initial struggling as he heard the tears in her voice, “Those kids need you. Roy and Kori need you. We need you. But you don’t have to try to be anyone else; we need you as you are.”

“A murderer?” Jason asked forlornly, and Steph shook her head.

“Jason Todd,” she said, “A kind, considerate, stubborn, strong, capable leader, brother, friend, and father, who’d give you the shirt off his back if he thought you needed it.”

Jason looked down at the street below. “But everything I’ve done… ” he murmured.

“Jason…” Steph sighed, pulling away from him and forcing him to look her in the eye, “Don’t you think Tommy would kill to have Tim back? Even after knowing all the fucked up shit he did as Red Robin?”

Jason winced; that was a low blow, and Steph knew it. After Tim’s death, Tommy had become… different. He hated it when anyone mentioned Tim, he hated looking at Tim’s uniform in the Cave, and he hated all the people who tried to tell him Tim “was a good man”. 

When Basil Karlow had shown up at their door, disguised as Tim Drake, Tommy had punched him so hard his head spun all the way around and faced backwards. Thankfully, he was still made of clay matter and effectively invulnerable, but it had been a bit of a scene. 

Basil and Bruce had come to an understanding, allowing Clayface to continue masquerading as Tim, on the condition that Clayface did everything in his power to honor Tim’s legacy. If Batman thought at any point that Clayface wasn’t holding up his end of the deal, well… hell hath no fury like a Bat scorned.

But Tommy still hated every second of it. He hated anything to do with Tim. Jason had been kinda honored when the kid took his surname rather than keep “Drake”, but still, it felt like it was coming out of the wrong place. Not admiration, but rebellion. Jason could only hope the kid would grow out of it.

And then he saw Steph’s point. How could he doom his kids to the same fate as Tommy? No dad to care for them, forever lost and angry, resentful against anything and everything related to the Red Hood? How could he live with himself if he did that?

Tim was lucky. He didn’t have to live and watch the son he loved so much grow to hate him.

But unless Jason took a dive off this skyscraper, he’d have to live and watch what Tim didn’t. And he sure as hell wasn’t putting Roy and Kori through that.

“But I’m just so terrified… ” he protested weakly, clinging onto Steph like she was a raft in a storm.

“It’s always gonna be scary,” Steph told him softly, “But you’ve just gotta do the best you can. You might not get it perfect, but it’ll be enough for them.”

Jason took a deep breath, counting up to 5 in his head and back down again as his pulse slowly calmed. He gulped down the last of his tears, took up his helmet, and set his jaw as he turned back toward the Manor. “Can’t let Harper name ‘em both, can I?” he said with a shaky grin, and Steph laughed as she stood up.

“That’s the spirit!” she said happily, patting him on the back, “Now come on. Doc Thompkins said they could arrive any minute now.”

And off they swung into the night, and Jason decided to stay.

---

It had been the last big running-away scare Jason had had, he reflected, watching Ollie’s chest rise and fall softly as the little redhead stirred in his sleep. “ Mmmr… Dad…?” he whispered softly, still mostly asleep, and Jason chuckled softly as he kissed his son’s forehead.

“Back to sleep, little guy,” he whispered, “Mama and Ataa’ will be here in the morning.”

Ollie made a small, sleepy noise of acknowledgement, then his green eyes fluttered closed as he drifted off back to sleep. Jane, in the other bed, never stirred, but rolled over, accidentally knocking her bird plush (a gift from Damian) onto the floor. Jason sighed, shaking his head and smiling as he picked the poor little hawk up, then replaced it in his daughter’s sleeping arms.

He lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching them both sleep peacefully, and was never happier that he’d stayed.

---

“ I shouldn’t be alive, I shouldn’t be alive, I shouldn’t be alive--- ” he kept giggling to himself over and over, interspersed with manic laughs and screams of his victims as he explored the dark halls, a little shard of nice, sharp bone in his right hand as he roamed, looking to help people smile. 

He couldn’t remember anything. He remembered black hair and green eyes, and holding someone small in his arms. He remembered black hair and blue eyes, and strong arms holding him. He remembered cold steel sliding through his chest and into his heart. He remembered the night sky growing darker and darker as the stars went out one by one.

And he remembered laughter. He laughed because it was the only thing he could do, the only thing that made it all seem a little less real, a little less excruciating, a little less horrific. He laughed and laughed and laughed, but soon he realized that no one else was laughing, no one else was finding this funny.

And it was funny, wasn’t it? He was alive. And then he was dead. And now he’s alive again! Hilarious!

No one else saw it that way. No, they just kept screaming. Begging. Crying. But he could help them. He could help them smile.

He raised the little shard of sharp bone as he found the next screamer. “Why so serious!? ” he asked, and he laughed as he carved a permanent smile onto their cheeks, feeling them writhe and scream beneath him as he pinned them down, “C’mon, laugh!! Laugh with me!! Let’s put a smile on that face!! ”

---

“Belt?” Aunt Cass asked him.

“Fully stocked,” Tommy assured her, patting it for emphasis.

“Fits?” she pressed again.

“Like a glove,” he responded, brushing off his suit.

Aunt Cass looked him up and down, holding him by the shoulders, a sad sort of nostalgia in her eyes. “Snacks?” she asked, now clearly grasping at straws.

Tommy laughed, patting his right bracer. “I’ve got plenty, Aunt Cass,” he sighed, “I’ll be okay. Uncle Damian will be with me the entire time, and Aunt Babs will be watching us the whole way. You can stop worrying!”

Aunt Cass sighed and whined at the same time, hugging Tommy tight to her chest as a proud smile fought its way onto her lips. “So grown up,” she whispered, “Proud of you.”

Tommy blushed sheepishly as he returned the hug, awkwardly murmuring, “Thanks.”

Aunt Cass pulled away, wiping a tear away from her eye. “Little Brother proud too,” she said confidently, “Know it.”

Tommy ducked his head, sneaking a glance at the glass cases at the back of the Cave. he fought down the last vestiges of juvenile bitterness, and let the compliment be what it was. “Thanks,” he whispered softly.

“ Drake! ” Uncle Damain called, and Tommy jumped, turning to face him on the other end of the Cave, “It’s time.”

“Coming!” he yelped nervously, and Aunt Cass pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Be safe!” she called despairingly as Tommy flew away eagerly, turning back to reply.

“I will!” he cried, then landed next to Damian, “Ready!”

Damian looked him up and down, locking one of his bracers into place. “I like the suit,” he said with a nod, “Good for camouflage.”

Tommy smiled and nodded. That hadn’t even crossed his mind when he’d designed it, but he’d take praise when he got it.

Damian nodded, then turned toward his bike and got on, pulling on a helmet and throwing one to Tommy, who caught it in one hand easily.

“A helmet?” he asked incredulously, hopping on the back, “I’m indestructible.”

“Unless we encounter kryptonite in the field,” Damian told him, revving the engine, “In which case, I expect you’ll be happy to have it.”

Tommy pouted as he put the helmet on and wrapped his arms around Damian’s waist, feeling the bike begin to move. “As if we’d find kryptonite on the first night, ” he muttered.

“What was that?” Damian asked harshly.

“Nothing!” Tommy yelped.

“That’s what I thought,” Damian said with a smirk, then pressed his comm, “Oracle, this is Robin. I have Drake and we’re ready for his first patrol; where are you sending us?”

“ Well, Robin, most of the city’s under control, ” Oracle said, and Tommy jumped at Aunt Babs’s voice so close in his ear, “ Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn have the Botanical Gardens under control, Starfire and Arsenal have Crime Alley, Batgirl and Nightwing have the Narrows, and Batman and Catwoman are patrolling Midtown. Why don’t you take Drake down to the Bowery? GCPD says it’s looking like a slow night over there. ”

“Sounds perfect,” Damian affirmed, but Tommy squawked in outrage.

“ Slow night!? ” he protested, “I’m bulletproof! And I can fly! Come on, we can at least take Downtown!”

“ Sorry, kiddo, but them’s the rules, ” Oracle said, and Tommy could hear the smirk in her voice, “ No first-timer gets to have anything but a slow night. ”

“No fair…” Tommy muttered, and he felt Damian chuckle as the bike roared off into the night.

---

He finally remembered something. A name. A title. Something he’d been afraid of but now he would embrace.

He bathed in the viscera, the blood and gore of what must have been fifty or so guards. The other people had already fled far beyond his reach, and that was no fun; he wanted to show them how to smile. How to smile like he smiled.

He giggled as he painted the words onto the wall, red splotches on grimy gray cave wall, lit by meager firelight and flickering lightbulbs. 

He remembered his name. He remembered his home.

And he was going home.

He skipped out of the caves, toward the harsh, unforgiving light of the sun, humming a happy tune and trailing his bloody fingers along the wall as he did so.

And behind him, written in blood and smeared intestines, were the words:

JOKER JUNIOR WAS HERE

---

There was a thug trying to steal a woman’s purse in a dark alley. He had a gun, and she was too tired to fight him off properly. Her heartbeat was fast, her breathing faster as she struggled desperately.

A small, lithe shadow crossed the moon.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you stealing is wrong?” a young, cocky voice said from the shadows, and the thug whirled around and snatched the purse fully out of the woman’s hands, pointing his gun in fear.

A short, skinny black haired kid in a brown suit and black mask stalked out of the darkness, crossing his arms confidently. “Now why don’t you give the nice lady back her purse and we all agree to go our separate ways?” he asked with a smirk, and the thug laughed.

“What, another new Bat Brat for the killin’ eh?” he snickered, growing a lot more confident as he held the gun steady, “Not really good at this bit, are ya, kid? The whole point’s to take me by surprise, see, so I don’t SHOOT YER LITTLE BRAINS OUT!!”

The thug fired. And the bullet hit, dead on. Square in the forehead.

And the kid blinked as it tink! -ed against the dirty asphalt, not a scratch on him. “Now that’s just rude,” he sighed, walking towards the thug, who was just about shitting his pants, “We were having a polite conversation! I was actually listening to your advice, y’know. It’s not nice to shoot someone when they’re talking to you.”

The thug yelped and fired again and again, hitting each time, but doing nothing as more bullets fell to the floor, dented and useless. “Now what did I just say!? ” the kid sighed in exasperation, and in the blink of an eye he was holding the gun… and crushed it in his bare hands.

“Wh-Wh-What the fuck are you!?! ” the thug screamed, stumbling backward in fear, and before he knew what was happening, he was tied to a lamppost and knocked unconscious.

“The name’s The Drake , ” Tommy said cockily, grinning and putting his hands on his hips proudly, “And don’t you forget it! … and you heard none of that, because you’re unconscious. Darn! ”

“Are you alright, miss?” a new voice asked, and the woman nearly leapt out of her skin as Robin stalked out of the shadows.

“O-Oh! R-Robin,” she said, immediately blushing, “You and your son saved me!”

“Hey, I’m not-!” Tommy protested, but Damian shot him a look, so he shut up.

“Drake is my pupil, not my son,” he explained, but the woman didn’t seem to be paying attention. Instead, her eyes were trailing up Damian’s form, lingering on his broad shoulders and built frame; a far cry from his teenage physique. 

“S-So you’re single, then?” she asked hopefully, and Damian sighed. Now that Nightwing was officially Gotham’s “DILF of the Year”, it seemed Robin had taken up the position of teenage heartthrob. Goody.

“Stay out of dark alleys when you’re alone, miss,” he said, ignoring her, and the woman nodded. 

“O-Oh! Of course, s-sorry, I didn’t mean to-” she stammered, afraid she’d offended him, but Damian held up a hand placatingly.

“It’s alright,” he assured her, “Forgive me, I’m… unaccustomed to this. You’re very beautiful, and I’m flattered, but I have a secret identity to keep. Perhaps instead I could… give you an autograph?”

“R- Really!? ” she gasped, “Ohmygodthatwouldbe awesome!! Uh--- here, here, take my pen!!”

Damian nodded and took the pen graciously, signing the notepad she’d produced quickly with a short, succinct Robin . He was writing something else too, on the back or something, but Tommy couldn't tell what.

“Hey!” Tommy said, flying over quickly, “Want my autograph, too, lady? I’ve been practicing my cursive!”

The woman smiled in that “Oh, isn’t he cute” sort of way. “Sure thing, kid,” she said with a slight laugh, “Here you go.”

Tommy took it eagerly, almost signing it Thomas M Todd before realizing his mistake and swiftly making it The Drake .

“Stay safe, miss,” Damian said, nodding to her and giving her a wink as he aimed his grapple upward, “Drake, follow me.”

As they left, Tommy heard her squeal under her breath and take out her phone, whispering, “ Ohh, Bernard’s never gonna believe this!!! ”

“Hey, I think she really liked you!” Tommy teased, and Damian hummed as the slightest bit of red rose in his cheeks, “Why don’t you go back and ask for her number??”

“You didn’t have to toy with the mugger that much,” Damian told him, totally ignoring the suggestion, though he seemed to be smirking smugly, “We lost valuable time we could have used to stop more criminals.”

Tommy huffed indignantly. “ You’re the one who wasted five minutes flirting with her,” he accused, and Damian scoffed.

“It’s important that the public maintain a good relationship with the Batfamily,” he said defensively, “I couldn’t just dismiss her advances out of hand. In most cultures, that’s seen as supremely rude.”

“Sure man, whatever helps you sleep at night,” Tommy said with a shrug, and Damian gave him a sidelong glance.

“Sarcasm is unbecoming of you, Drake,” he began to scoff, but then Tommy stopped dead in his tracks and perked his ears up.

“Wait!” he whispered urgently, “Listen!”

Robin stopped on the rooftop, waiting expectantly, and Drake hovered in the air uncertainly. “Remember your training,” Damian told him softly, “Home in on the sound. Concentrate.”

Tommy closed his eyes, blocking out the usual city noises. The beeping horns and the howling dogs and the pattering of feet. Then he heard it again; the screaming. Not too far, either. Still within the Bowery; his jurisdiction for the night.

“Scream, sounds male,” he reported, turning in midair, “About five blocks north.” he winced as he heard the distinctive sound of tearing flesh, “I think there’s a bladed weapon.”

“Come on,” Damian said immediately, running in the correct direction, and Tommy followed, still listening.

What was that noise? A voice? Was that… giggling?

“Damian, wait-!” he called, but Robin had already dropped into the alley below, so Drake had no choice but to follow.

What they came upon was a gruesome scene. Tommy gagged as he took in the metallic scent of blood, and the sheer amount of it at that. Five bodies, seemingly random people plucked from the streets; an older man with graying black hair, two younger men with black hair, and a fourth with black hair that had one lock dipped in white paint. Next to them, a young woman with red hair. All laid in the alley, all eviscerated and disemboweled.

Robin wrinkled his nose distastefully as he prodded one of them with his boot, eliciting no movement. “We’re too late,” he sighed heavily, and Tommy swallowed down the bile in his throat.

“Damian…” he whispered, forgetting about the codename rule, “Look at their faces… ”

Robin scowled as he did so. “Robin to Oracle,” he said, pressing a finger to his comm, “I need eyes on the Joker. Now.”

All five bodies had bloody, nasty grins carved onto their faces. 

“ The Joker is still in his cell at Arkham, ” Oracle reported, “ No breakout attempts since last week. ”

“I need an eyewitness to confirm,” Damian clarified, and there was a moment of silence.

“ Batwoma--- Warden Kane just confirmed it, ” Oracle reported once more, “ It’s really the Joker in that cell. Why? What did you find? ”

Damian frowned as he crouched down next to the bodies and the blood. “Then we have a problem,” he said, “Because there’s a Joker copycat on the loose…”

Damian looked at the final bloody details of the chosen corpses. They had labels.

NIGHTWING

ROBIN

ORACLE

RED HOOD

BATMAN

Each name written in blood on their foreheads. And above them all, written on the wall of the building, was the word: FAMILY.

“... And he’s gunning for us.”

Notes:

Damian totally gave that girl his number and they totally hooked up later. I should mention, Damian is a young adult now, 22 years old and able to legally drink, and he grew up into a hunk, just like Bruce. And he got fathered by DICK of all people. And he's super polite.

He's popular with the ladies.

And all of that went straight over Tommy's head!

Oh, and because I have nothing better for her to be doing for seven years, Batwoman is now the warden of Arkham Asylum! Breakout rates are at an all-time low.

other than that...

MUWHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!

Chapter 3: The Last Laugh, Part 1

Kate Kane watched the Joker through the glass intensely, and the Clown stared right back at her, grinning the whole while.

It had been a unique seven years for her. She hadn’t exactly been close to Tim by any means, but his turn had still… shaken her. She and Renee were still trying to make it work, it was all complicated and confusing between cops and vigilantes, and though Batwoman had stepped back from the limelight in recent years, she still put on her cape and cowl from time to time, mostly when Bruce needed extra hands. But, as more and more people moved into the Manor, extra hands were needed less and less; and Kate wasn’t complaining about that one bit. She got plenty of exercise as the new warden of Arkham Asylum.

The City of Gotham finally came to its senses after one too many breakouts and changed the way wardens would be hired; instead of a doctor, the warden would be someone with police or military experience, something Kate had in droves. She’d applied for the job after realizing that these crazies actually needed someone to protect them, rather than protect others from them, and figured she was as good as any to fill the role. She served a double function; make sure none of the dangerous inmates escaped to wreak havoc, and make sure none of the inmates escape and bring harm upon themselves. Despite its reputation, Arkham was actually a state-of-the-art mental health facility; the only problem was they kept getting stuck with the most insane, most violent crazies of them all. Now, the position of Head Therapist filled the recovery role for those poor, unfortunate souls, and the warden simply made sure that the patients stayed where they needed to be, rather than out on the streets.

Breakout rates had never been lower in all of Arkham’s history.

But none of her impressive record mattered now. No, all that mattered now was the news she had, and what it meant. “What have you done, Clown?” she growled, and Joker blinked at her innocently.

“Why, whatever do you mean, madam?” he asked in faux surprise, “I’ve not done a thing! I’ve just been sitting here, in my cell, with this straight jacket on, staring at the padded walls and trying not to go positively looney with boredom!”

Kate growled again, baring her teeth. “There was a string of murders last night, looked a lot like your handiwork,” she snarled, “Smiles cut into the cheeks, messages smeared in blood, torture for no other purpose but fun-- ringing any bells?”

Joker hummed and tilted his head back. “Well, I admit, it does sound like me,” he pondered, “What did they look like?”

Kate bit back another growl. “Four male, one female,” she started, “Males all had black hair; one was older, one had a white streak painted into his hair. The woman was young, a redhead. Get where I’m going now? ”

Joker’s eyes widened in surprise. Not fake surprise, not overblown shock to throw her off, but true, genuine surprise; Kate’s eyes widened as she grew increasingly worried.

“Oh my…” the Joker whispered, “Then that means… yes, I suppose it must mean… how peculiar…”

“What are you saying, Clown!?” Kate demanded, slamming her fist against the heavy door, “Who did it!? Who’s the copycat!?”

Joker’s initial look of shock slowly grew and grew into a sharp smile. “Oh, my dear warden…” he crooned, the beginnings of his trademark laughter leaking into his voice, “You don’t know just how funny this is!!”

Kate snarled again, pressing her hands on either side of the small glass window they were speaking through. “ Tell me, Clown,” she growled lowly, “Or I make sure you get in that unmarked grave of yours earlier than expected. ”

The Joker laughed in her face, high and whooping and triumphant. “Y’know, Katie, once upon a time I might’a taken you up on that!” he crowed, his shoulders shaking with mirth, “But I have a sneaking suspicion I’m getting out of here sooner than you’ll have the chance!”

As Kate took a moment to process what that meant, the lights went out.

---

“Heya, kid,” Harley said bouncily, kicking her feet over the side of the bannister as she sat on the handrail, watching Tommy come up the steps, exhausted from his first night of patrol, “Heard you had a rough first night.”

“Hey, Aunt Harley,” Tommy said, stifling a yawn, “Could’ve gone better, yeah.”

“A Joker copycat…” she said slowly, trailing off with no small amount of disgust in her voice as she stared out the window at the rising sun, “Why anyone would make the same mistakes I did with that Clown are beyond me.”

“It’s just another misguided soul, Aunt Harley,” Tommy sighed, leaning against the same handrail she was sitting on, “Grandpa’ll get them and bring them in before they do any real damage. He always does.”

“Your grandpa ain’t invincible, kid,” Harley said with a shake of her head, “Me and the B-Man went toe to toe a whole bunch’a times. I’ve seen him at his greatest and his worst; no matter when or where he was there was always someone who almost beat him. Bane actually managed it, once.”

“But he got back up,” Tommy pointed out, “He took the city back once he was recovered.”

“True,” Harley admitted, “But the damage Bane did… couldn’t all be undone.” Harley shook her head, replacing her thoughtful frown with a welcoming smile. “But enough about the B-Man,” she said, “Let’s talk about you. First night of patrol; you’ve been looking forward to that for a while.”

“Y-Yeah…” Tommy sighed, resting his chin on his arms and avoiding eye contact. Ever since Harley had moved in, she’d acted as his honorary therapist to help him get over his unresolved issues with his father. Not that he had any such issues anymore; it was a waste of time to hate dead people, after all. He should just remember the good man that Tim Drake was, rather than the faults that lead to his untimely death. He’d grown out of that jealous, juvenile hatred when he was ten years old.

But a small part of him couldn’t help but be bitter…

“So?” Harley asked him, and Tommy jumped.

“Wh-Wha? Sorry, I--” Tommy started, and Harley interrupted him.

“--Stopped paying attention so you wouldn’t have to answer a difficult question?” she asked, and Tommy ducked his head. Harley sighed, “Tommy, you know that’s not how this works.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he sighed, then straightened up, “How about we go to my room for this?”

“Sure thing,” Harley said with a nod, doing a backflip off the bannister with ease and following Tommy down the hall to his room. Harley sat at his desk, where a book on ornithology sat next to a small laptop and a few videogame consoles. Tommy sat on his bed, fidgeting in place a little.

“So,” Harley said, leaning back in her chair, “I know the patrol itself didn’t quite go as planned, but was it what you’d hoped for?”

Tommy sighed, rubbing his hands together. “I… I don’t really know,” he said with a sigh, “I mean, stopping that mugger felt really good, and I like being a hero, but…”

“But you’re not sure how to reconcile that with your feelings on Tim,” Harley finished for him, and Tommy pursed his lips.

“I don’t hate him,” he said defensively.

“Of course not,” Harley said placatingly, “He’s your dad; it’s really, really hard to hate him outright. But it’s okay to be angry at him, too.”

“I…” Tommy started, but he shook his head, “It was so much worse when I was little. He just… he was everything to me. My whole world; literally. I didn’t have any friends growing up, I didn’t go to school, it was just… him. And Uncle Z and Uncle Owens and Auntie Pru. And then they all just… left. And I was here. All alone.”

“And how did that make you feel?” Harley asked him quietly, and Tommy sighed, looking at the floor.

“I don’t really know,” he sighed, “Scared, I guess? Alone?”

“Abandoned?” she asked, and Tommy looked up. They’d never used that word in these sessions before.

“A-Abandoned??” Tommy stammered, “N-No, he died, that’s not the same as-”

“But before he died, he left you here, with no explanation,” Harley said sadly, “All he did was record you a video saying he loved you; that doesn’t equal actual, active parenting, Tommy. You’re okay to be mad at him for leaving you like that; you were only a kid. He shouldn’t have done that.”

“... He did the best he could,” Tommy murmured, and Harley nodded.

“That’s true,” she agreed, “But it’s okay if that wasn’t enough for you.”

Tommy rubbed his face tiredly as he considered her words. “But he’s my dad… ” he said quietly, “I can’t… I can’t hate him, can I?”

“You can,” Harley assured him, “But that doesn’t mean you have to, or that you should. For some reason, everyone thinks that hate and love are polar opposites, or mutually exclusive somehow; they’re wrong. More often than not, hate and love go hand in hand.”

Tommy looked down, staying quiet for a long, long time. “S-So I can be angry with him, and love him at the same time?” he asked timidly, and Harley placed a comforting hand on his knee.

“Of course you can, kiddo,” she said quietly, smiling supportively.

Tommy smiled back, if only a little bit. 

“Alright,” Harley said, patting his leg, “I think that’s enough for today. Get some rest, kid; you’ve had a long night.”

“Y-Yeah,” Tommy agreed, struggling to keep his eyes open, “You said it.”

Harley left his room, and Tommy fell back onto his bed, yawning and not bothering to get under the covers or move the blackout shades into position. He was tired enough to fall right asleep, even with the sunlight streaming in.

But as he drifted off, his dreams were still filled with red blood spreading too fast, and blue eyes staring up into nothing… 

… and a too-happy smile spread across frozen lips.

---

Kate spun around fast as she went for her gun. “You two!” she snapped, startling some already frightened guards, “Guard the Clown! I’m going for my equipment!”

“Y-Yes, ma’am!” one responded quickly, moving into position in front of the door with his partner, and Kate set off through the darkened hallways.

The emergency flood lights bathed the asylum’s halls in an eerie red glow as Kate went swiftly to her office, checking her corners profusely as she did so. In less than five minutes, she had her utility belt and a kevlar vest; not the Batsuit, but better than nothing.

She crept through the halls quietly, keeping her gun drawn as she tried to gain a bead on the intruder. As she rounded a hall, she found a body of one of her men slumped against the wall, too much blood pooled around him. She ran to his side, grimacing at the familiar face, and the Joker Smile cut into his lips. “Miller…” she murmured, closing the poor man’s eyes as a show of respect, then getting back to her feet.

The Joker Copycat was here. And he was coming for his idol.

---

Damian sighed contentedly as he laid in bed, Ms. Angelica Dowd curled into his side.

She was the woman he and Tommy had saved last night, and the one he’d subtly slipped his number to. He arrived as Robin, of course; it wouldn’t do to compromise his secret identity. Still, they did the same things anyone would do; they watched a movie, ate dinner, and Damian turned on the charm and asked politely; she eagerly agreed.

Apparently, she’d had a bet with her brother on which of them could bed a Bat the fastest; she’d been aiming for him, but her brother, Bernard, had been hoping for Nightwing. Damian was slightly surprised the object of his fancy wasn’t Batgirl or Starfire, but who was he to judge? Grayson was certainly conventionally attractive, even if Damian couldn’t quite see it.

No, he far preferred the fairer sex. Though, Jon Kent had grown up well… a strong frame, but deceptively soft features. He still hadn’t shaken that last stubborn remnant of baby fat, and thus had pudgier cheeks than his family, and lips that looked softer than clover…

Damian shook himself out of it, accidentally causing Angelica to stir in her sleep; he whispered soft nothings in her ear, kissing her on the forehead, and she hummed contentedly and drifted back to sleep. He had to stop thinking like that; Jonathan was his best friend, such behavior was unacceptable. Not to mention Damian was fairly certain he wasn’t gay. He glanced down at the beautiful blonde sleeping by his side, and amended that statement; definitely sure.

Though the thought of Angelica and her brother was enticing…

Damian shook his head again. Not the time for introspectives on his sexuality.

Some of his family, if they knew, might criticize him for his frequent dalliances with civilians, but Damian had been exceptionally careful; he carried a special burner phone for such calls, and only ever arrived at their houses in his Robin attire; his mask never came off. Each time, his partners were fully aware that there was no romantic entanglements to be had, and that all attraction was to be purely physical in nature. And, it helped the positive image of the Batfamily online; Grayson was despairing at the number of Gothamites who had foregone Nightwing in favor of Robin, but Damian appreciated the attention. It was attention he had never had in childhood, real respect and admiration rather than fear based on his bloodline. He enjoyed the public… and the private.

His phone (the real one, not his burner) buzzed, and Damian glanced at it; speak of the devil.

Grayson  : hey lil d!

Damian rolled his eyes, tapping out a swift reply.

I specifically told you not to call me that.

Grayson  : :D

What do you want, Grayson?

Grayson: Haley’s Circus is gonna be in town next week. I know you’re busy with this new copycat case but I was wondering if you might wanna come and see a show with me? They won’t be back to Gotham for years after this

Damian sighed, rolling his eyes at Grayson’s antics.

Of course

Would you like to bring Gordon as well?

Damian watched the three little dots blink and blink until finally Grayson replied:

Grayson  : Babs and me are still working things out. 

Grayson  : I figured this would be a great time for brotherly bonding!

Damian knew that was code for “she got mildly upset with me recently and I don’t want to admit I still have feelings for her”, but he decided to let Grayson off the hook.

Then why not invite Todd as well?

Grayson  : ooh that’s a great idea!

Grayson  : do you think he’ll actually come?

Damian chuckled slightly.

Anything’s possible.

Grayson  : sweet! thanks, lil d! see ya later!

Damian sighed and shook his head, placing his phone back in a secure pouch on his utility belt.

“ Mmm… Morning, Handsome…” Angelica purred to his left, and Damian grinned as he felt her fingers trace up his abdomen, circling each scar and ab as she did so.

“Likewise, Beautiful…” he whispered in response.

“Up for one more round before you go?” she asked quietly, needily in his ear, letting her hands drift lower and lower, “My bed’s gonna be so cold without you…”

Damian hesitated for a moment; it was getting close to noon, he should make his way back to the Manor soon… Angelica’s hands drifted lower.

Damian sighed in defeat; he was his father’s son, after all. Strong as ten men, but helpless in the hands of a beautiful woman. “Alright, one more,” he agreed, and he pulled her into a passionate kiss, forgetting the world for just a little while longer.

---

Kate hesitated by Miller’s body for a moment more, turning to face the long, dark hallway beyond. The red floodlights flickered, and Kate nearly jumped out of her skin as she spotted a silhouette; short, thin, dressed in some sort of formal wear-- color impossible to tell at this distance. Short hair, messy, and some sort of small blade in his left hand; his back was turned to her.

“ Stay where you are! ” she cried in a loud voice, and the silhouette tilted its head back, “Turn around slowly and put down your weapon!”

“ Kate Kane, as I live and breathe…” a voice cooed down the hall, and a shiver went down Kate’s spine.

“I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure,” Kate called, trying to stay calm.

The silhouette turned to her fully, and Kate kept her gun steady. “Oh, but we have had the pleasure, Warden Kane…” he said joyfully, “Or should I call you Batwoman? ”

Kate set her jaw; so the copycat knew their identities. That was bad.

“So you know my name,” Kate said, creeping toward him slowly, “How about you tell me yours?”

“Name?” he asked, tilting his head thoughtfully, “That’s a bit of a loaded question, Warden. What even are names, really? Just labels. Labels our no-good parents slap onto us to try and fit us into the role society assigns to us; no, I think it’s far more fun to choose a name, don’t you?”

“Sure,” Kate said, just trying to keep him talking as she approached cautiously, “So what name have you chosen?”

“Good question…” the copycat said, creeping toward her and further into the light, “I rather like the sound of… Joker Junior! ”

Kate stared in horror at his face; black hair with haphazard and halfhearted streaks of dark green, skin done up in white makeup and red lipstick, and a too-wide grin,  just like his idol, (father?) with eyes that glowed an iridescent green in the low light. Green that Kate recognized well from her encounters with Jason Todd.

Whoever Joker Junior was, he’d taken a dip in the Lazarus Pit.

“Okay, Junior,” she said shakily, “Why are you here?”

Junior tapped his switchblade to his chin thoughtfully. “Why am I here… ” he said thoughtfully, “Well, it’s a house for looneys, right?” Junior shrugged, “Figured I belonged.”

Kate approached slowly, reaching back toward her handcuffs. “So you’ve come to check yourself in?”

“Oh, no, Katie, you’ve got me all wrong!” Junior said with a laugh, “I’m not making a deposit!”

Junior moved faster than Kate thought he should have been able to, knocking her gun aside with practiced ease and kicking her down to the floor, where he straddled her and shoved his knife in her mouth, lining it up with the edge of her lips. Junior leaned in close, holding her down as Kate struggled uselessly; how was he that strong? He’d need to have Bat-level training to get the drop on her so quick. Above Bat-level, really.

Junior grinned, and Kate grunted as she felt the blade cut a little deeper into her lips. “I’m making a withdrawal! ” Junior cooed, and Kate screamed as Junior ripped open her cheek.

---

Conner hovered awkwardly above the hill outside Wayne Manor, looking down at the headstones with trepidation. He hadn’t visited this spot since… well, since it all happened.

He hadn’t wanted to. Hadn’t had the strength to. 

But it’s been seven years, he told himself. He at least owed Tim a visit. They hadn’t been on the best of terms when Tim… when it happened, but for the last seven years, Conner hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that it wasn’t over. Not yet. That somehow, someday, they’d be together again, but he knew that was all just grief talking. He’d never hold Tim in his arms again, and he needed to get over that. 

He needed closure.

Slowly, he gently floated downward to the last headstone, reading the little epitaph.

He died so others could live. He lived so others wouldn’t die.

It was fitting, Conner supposed. A good motto for a hero to follow. But something about it bugged him, and a lot at that; it seemed too coincidental, too perfect. Sure, Tim had a romantic side, when he thought about his own death more than was probably healthy, but this all seemed… like Tim was trying to tell them something. 

Conner shook his head; he shouldn’t think like that. That kind of obsessive thinking is exactly what led to this whole mess in the first place.

But if there was even a chance…

Conner closed his eyes; he didn’t like doing this. Activating his x-ray vision in graveyards felt… invasive, at the very least. But he had to know…

Conner opened his eyes, and they glowed a slightly lighter shade of blue as he did so. Screwing his courage, he looked down, and sure enough---

Wait a minute.

Conner blinked. Was he… seeing this right? Silently apologizing to the Waynes in his head, he looked over to his left, and sure enough, there were Thomas and Martha, still resting in their coffins. So then why…?

Conner’s eyes widened. Like a man possessed, he stabbed his hands down into the dirt, and began to dig.

---

Alfred enjoyed the summer sun as he rested his old bones, working in the back gardens with Doctor Isley. Mistress Pamela had been a great help to the grounds of Wayne Manor, all but eliminating the need for pruning and cutting back; instead, she simply told the plants where and how to grow for her. And the flowers had never looked so colorful. 

All Alfred needed to do was supply her with water and fertilizer; a perfectly mundane task for a man of 92 years… not that he’d ever let anyone else know his true age. No, they could go on believing that he was immortal, like the Queen, and leave him be.

Alfred turned from his watering, off to fetch more, when Doctor Isley gasped in pain beside him. “Mistress Pamela?” Alfred asked, concerned, and Ivy looked up toward the hill that held the family graves, squinting her eyes.

“Someone is disturbing the grass…” she murmured, and Alfred looked on in shock as he saw dirt flying into the air.

---

“ MISTER KENT!! ” a voice roared behind him as Conner dug frantically, “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing!?!”

“Alfred!” he cried, looking up at the enraged Englishman, who stood at the edge of the grave Conner’d just reopened, “This isn’t what it looks like!”

“ Really!? ” Alfred snapped, uncharacteristic fury lacing his voice, “Because it looks like you’re desecrating Young Master Timothy’s grave!! ”

“No, Alfred-!” Conner stammered, then sighed and just grabbed the coffin, “Just look!”

Before Alfred could object, Conner flew the coffin skyward and tossed it onto the ground, letting it clatter about. Alfred looked aghast, but then Conner kicked off the lid, and the hillside went silent.

“My… God… ” Alfred murmured, and Conner began to tremble as they learned the truth.

Tim’s grave was empty.

---

Kate grunted as she hauled herself to her feet, trying to stand and failing as the bloodloss got to her. Her cheeks burned, blood flowed down her jaw, and her breath rattled in her throat as she tried to chase after Junior, who was long gone by now. “Th-Thish ish Warden Kane…” she gasped into her radio, “Intruder… heading for Joker’s shcell…”

Kate slumped forward as she passed out on the cold ground, a gruesome grin carved into her face.

---

The Joker laughed and laughed as Junior opened the door to his cell, cutting off his straightjacket with a blood switchblade. “Hell of a job, kiddo, hell of a job! ” Joker crooned, “Couldn’t have done it better myself!”

“Well, I was in the area and I decided to drop by!” Junior told him eagerly, “You’re the inspiration for it all! You’re the beginning and the end!”

Joker raised his eyebrow at his acolyte and waggled his fingers. “So, Junior…” he said eagerly, “ What’cha got in mind? ”

Junior giggled, holding a hand to his mouth to hide his laughter. “Oh, trust me, old man…

“... this one’s gonna get the crowd roaring. ”

Chapter 4: The Last Laugh, Part 2

Ra’s al Ghul frowned as he sat upon his throne, deep in thought. As he did so, the golden phone being offered to him by a servant rang and rattled in its holder. Finally, after letting it ring for another thirty seconds, Ra’s picked up the receiver and held it to his ear.

“ Ra’s, ” a voice growled contemptuously, and Ra’s sighed at the familiar dulcet tones of their third partner.

“I’ll be honest, old friend, I was expecting this call to come from Lex,” Ra’s responded, and his partner laughed coldly.

“ Oh trust me, Lex is extremely unhappy. As am I, ” he growled, and Ra’s quirked and eyebrow.

“What about?” he asked innocently.

“ Don’t play games with me, Ra’s, ” came the answering growl, “ You and I have known each other long enough to do away with such trivial things, wouldn’t you say? ”

Ra’s sighed, letting his shoulders relax. “Of course…” he purred, “Please, old friend, continue…”

“ Project Savior is behind schedule, ” the other man growled lowly, “Seven years behind schedule. I know it’s no concern to you, but Lex isn’t getting any younger, and neither are the rest of our assets. Normally, I would be tolerant of your antics, mainly because I believe in the expediency of your work, but seven years is too wide a margin, Ra’s. Things must be put back on track-- immediately.”

Ra’s nodded, not ashamed at all, but did his best to sound apologetic over the phone. “Of course, old friend, I wouldn’t dream of holding up your plans any longer,” he said smoothly, “I merely needed time to rebuild the League of Assassins back to its former strength. Operation Mockingbird will go ahead soon, you have my word.”

“ It had better, Ra’s, ” his partner said warningly, “ I know you’re down to two Lazarus Pits, and I know that the Drake Asset is currently out of our control. Rein in Drake, proceed with Operation Mockingbird, and get to work. If the Court of Owls and their technology is not within our grasp by the end of the year, we will have words. Am I understood? ”

“Of course,” Ra’s murmured in reply, feeling just the barest shiver down his spine, “Always a pleasure, but, as you’ve said, I have matters to attend to.”

Ra’s hung up the phone before his partner could say anything more. The servant holding it scurried away, and Ra’s leaned to the side, resting a hand on his chin as he thought. He had hoped to simply wait Lex out; let the old fool die while Ra’s got to keep the Young Detective all to himself. At the same time, he would have built up the League and taken on their third partner and whatever forces he could muster without LexCorp at his back, and then the world would be his. The Justice League would crumble, their third partner forced into hiding, and then he would be able to rest, content that the Young Detective would take his place as the Demon’s Head.

But now they were forcing his hand. It was either cooperate and remain able to achieve his goals through subterfuge, or refuse and out his traitorous intentions. 

Ra’s sighed, then snapped his fingers. A servant appeared at his throne room's door, waiting for his order. “Notify Thawne,” Ra’s declared, “I wish to have his report on Operation Echo by the end of the day today. And be discreet; details of Operation Echo are not to see the Light of day.”

“Of course, Great One,” the servant said, bowing, “It shall be done.”

---

Bruce was moving down to the Batcave, intending to go back and look at the footage of Tim’s escape one last time. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d missed something, that something was obvious, staring him in the face, but he just couldn’t focus on it…

There’s nothing there, Bruce, a voice that sounded suspiciously like his father whispered in the corners of his mind, It’s just wishful thinking.

Bruce hesitated on the steps about halfway down, looking at the blank screen of the Batcomputer with something like longing. There must be something he had missed…

Why put yourself through something so painful again and again? the small voice asked, Why watch his final breaths over and over? Was having two dead sons not enough for you?

Bruce held his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes with exhaustion. It was the truth; watching Tim’s final moments was one of the most painful things Bruce had ever done. And he’d done it close to sixty times now. 

If there was anything there, you would have found it by now.

Bruce looked up at the Batcomputer one last time.

Time to let it go, Bruce… let him go…

Seven years spent slaving over fifteen minutes of footage, all for nothing. He had more important things to worry about, like this Joker Copycat case.

You need to stop chasing ghosts.

He needed to stop chasing ghosts.

Bruce turned on the stairs, going back up to the Manor. He hesitated for a moment, looking back, and whispered, “Forgive me, Tim.”

He could only pray that his son would grant an old man his weakness. 

As he walked back up the stairs, his phone buzzed, and he looked down at it, seeing a text from Clark.

Clark Kent: theyre unveiling Barry’s memorial today. are you coming? i know youre busy with that work thing

Bruce sighed, shaking his head at both Clark’s poor grammar and his lack of tact.

Dick, Barbara, and I will be there. Jason, Cass, and Damian can hold down the fort while we’re gone.

Bruce put his phone back in his pocket, thinking back to those fateful days when Barry Allen had made the ultimate sacrifice to save their world; back then, Bruce had been moody, just coming off the back of Jason’s murder and still healing things with Dick. He hadn’t been a full member of the Justice League and hadn’t wanted to be until Tim changed his mind; Barry had been the only Leaguer he’d remotely respected back then. 

It hurt to think that Barry Allen had been dead for fifteen years now. Just another lost loved one for Bruce Wayne.

Bruce closed the door to the Batcave, not noticing the soft flash of red and yellow sparks twirling behind him.

---

Jim sat back in his chair at the GCPD, rolling out a kink in his neck and trying to get comfortable. Seventy-six years old and feeling fine, Jim now held the record for oldest serving commissioner of the GCPD, and had no intentions of retiring anytime soon; not while there was still work to be done. 

There was talk in the precinct of him running for mayor, and truth be told… Jim was considering it. Montoya would probably take over as Commissioner, Bullock simply didn’t want the job, but something pulled Jim back to this office every morning, something whispered in his ear that he wasn’t quite done with the police yet.

They need you, Jim, it whispered, They need you.

So Jim stayed. He didn’t quite know why, but he knew that he had to. Then the phone rang, and Jim picked it up. “GCPD, Commissioner Jim Gordon speaking, what’s your emergency?” he asked lazily.

“ Jim? ” a slurred, pain-ridden voice asked, and Jim immediately sat up.

“Who is this?” he asked urgently.

“ Itsh Kate, ” she said carefully, doing her best to enunciate each word, “ Kate Kane. I have shome bad news for you. ”

Jim shivered; Warden Kane sounded wrecked. And bad news from Arkham Asylum…

“What’s happened?” he asked grimly.

“ Itsh him, Jim, ” Kate growled, “ Joker’s eshcaped. And that fucking copycat broke him out. ”

Jim’s shoulder slumped, and he took a deep breath. So that monster was back out on the streets; that’s why he was still needed. And now, of all times, when half the Batfamily was in Central City for the unveiling of that new monument… “I’ll put out a BOLO for the Joker,” Jim promised, “Stay put, Warden, GCPD is on the way.”

“ Jim, the signal… ” Kate added, and Jim nodded grimly.

“I’ll turn it on,” he said seriously, and he hung up the phone, nearly running up the stairs to the roof, where the Batsignal lay dormant. He missed the yellow sparks crackling in the air near his desk.

---

Dick patted Wally’s shoulder supportively as the redhead wrung out his hands, looking up at the large tarp-covered statue with trepidation. “You’ll do fine, Wal,” he promised, “Barry would be proud.”

Wally nodded, looking sad but hopeful at the same time, and smiled at his old friend. “Thanks, Dick,” he sighed gratefully, “I hear Haley’s is coming back to Gotham, right? You going to see them?”

“Of course! ” Dick said with a laugh, “Got Jason and Damian to agree to come with, too!”

“Cool!” Wally responded, then he frowned again as he looked back up at the covered statue, “I still can’t really believe this is happening, y’know? It’s been so long since he’s been gone, but… it still feels like it happened yesterday.”

Dick swallowed uncomfortably as the conversation turned back toward the serious, looking up at the statue of Barry but thinking of Tim as he slowly answered, “...Yeah.”

Wally shook himself, then turned back to Dick and smiled. “Wish me luck,” he sighed, “I’ll be back in a Flash!”

Dick’s hair kicked up as Wally sped away for his uniform, and he sighed as he turned to go rejoin Bruce, Barbara, and the others as they all waited for Central City to unveil the statue of their fallen hero. 

“Jay, it’s good to see you,” Diana was saying to the elder Flash, drawing him into a hug and smiling sympathetically, “How is Joan doing?”

Jay seemed to wilt at her mention of it, but fought to keep the smile on his face as he answered, “Ah, as well as can be expected. She’s comfortable now, resting, but… the doctors have told me to get her affairs in order.”

Diana sighed sadly and drew him into a tighter hug. “I’m sorry, old friend,” she said earnestly, “She’s had a good life. Thanks in no small part to you.”

Jay looked down at his feet, letting out a shuddering sigh. “I know, it just…” he started, “It just doesn’t feel real yet. I reckon it won’t until it actually happens.”

“I understand,” Diana responded, “I have watched many of my sisters die on the battlefield. But I have always taken heart that I will see them again, in Elysium.”

“Elysium…” Jay sighed sadly, “That’s a few miles down the road from Heaven, right?”

Dick frowned as he passed the somber conversation; it was no secret that Joan Garrick wasn’t doing well, but he hadn’t known that the doctors had already called it a day. He sighed to himself; he supposed bodies just weren’t supposed to go on that long. It was honestly a miracle Joan had lasted as long as she had, being a hundred and one years old now. It was still sad to see her go; Dick was tired of attending funerals.

And he was tired of memorials. He tried to listen to Wally’s heartfelt speech as the tarp was dragged off of the statue, revealing a bronze Flash, stuck in time, smiling as he ran through the streets of Central City one last time. Wally had provided Barry’s old costume as reference, so everything was spot on, down to the stupid little lightning bolt belt he’d had.

Barry had been part of the old guard of superheroes, rising to prominence in the early 80s with Bruce, Clark, Diana, Hal, and all the rest. And he’d been the first among them to fall, too. Back when he was still Robin, Barry had always been a favorite team-up of Dick’s; watching two of the greatest minds on earth work in tandem had been fascinating. And Barry always bought him chocolate bars whenever he was in town. 

But now he was gone. He hadn’t left behind any remains, so now a small memorial stood in a grotto aboard the Watchtower in lieu of a headstone. So many heroes' faces were preserved in that Grotto; Barry Allen. Wesley Dodds. Giovanni Zatara. Jean-Paul Valley. Carol Ferris. Don Hall. Ted Knight. Jonah Hex. And for a long time, it had also held names like Conner Kent, Bart Allen, and Jason Todd. Its newest addition was Tim Drake.

Dick didn’t like the Grotto. He didn’t like graveyards. And he didn’t like memorials.

Dick nearly jumped out of his skin as Bruce grabbed his arm, looking grim and serious as he held his phone in his hands. “We need to get back to Gotham,” he said in a low voice, “Emergency.”

“What is it?” Dick asked in a hushed whisper, and Barbara answered as Bruce stalked off toward the car.

“The Joker escaped,” she said quietly, “And someone took Tim’s body.”

---

Kate winced as Alfred finished the stitches on her cheeks, the numbing agent beginning to wear off. Bruce, Dick, and Babs had made it back to Gotham in record time, but it was still too late to do anything about what had occurred. She’d given her report, allowed Alfred to finally clean up her wounds, and then sat back as she watched the Batfamily (plus Conner Kent, for some reason) unravel. 

Bruce sat at the Batcomputer, hunched over and lost in deep thought. “ Tim’s body… ” he murmured, “ Why would they take Tim’s body…? ”

“And he calls himself ‘Joker Junior’?” Harley asked her, a hard edge in her voice, and Kate nodded solemnly, trying to avoid talking at the moment.

Harley clenched her fists, stalking away from the group and toward the punching bags, taking one out and hanging it up before she began wailing on it. In faded sharpie marker, a battered label made from gray duct tape simply read Joker. Others alongside it read Lex Luthor, Ra’s al Ghul, and finally, Vicki Vale. The labels were part of Harley’s new anger management regime for the Bats; so far, it’s been working wonders.

“Fuck whatever the hell he calls himself!” Jason growled, his eyes beginning to glow an acidic green, “ I heard Lazarus Pit! I say we march up to Nanda Parbat, blow down Ra’s al Ghul’s door, and start making holes in ‘im till he talks!”

“If I had a week, I couldn’t list all the reasons why that wouldn’t work,” Damian muttered in reply, to which Jason responded with a wordless snarl of anger.

“ Enough! ” Bruce snapped, and all the conversation died at once as Bruce turned in his chair. “First things first,” he said, “We need a DNA sample from this… Joker Junior so that we can identify him. To do that, we need to find him, and where we find him- ”

“We’ll find the original article,” Stephanie finished grimly, and Bruce nodded.

“But what about Tim’s body!?” Conner demanded hotly, “Why isn’t it in his grave! Who took it!? And why isn’t anybody more freaked out about this!?!?”

“Conner…” Roy said softly, taking the other man aside, “I get you’re angry, and you can’t quite see it, but… Lazarus Pit? Empty graves? This has all kinda…” Roy spared a glance at Jason, “... happened before.”

Conner blinked for a moment, then his jaw dropped in shock. He whirled around on the Batfamily, clenching his fists, and cried, “ No way! No fucking way!! You think somebody dumped Tim in a Lazarus Pit!? You think that even hopped up on Pit Rage, he’d turn into-- into--- this!?! ” Conner waved his hands at the computer screen urgently, which was currently showing the gory results of Junior’s rampage.

“ No, I don’t! ” Bruce roared, standing up in a rage, “But I need to make sure! Either way, Junior takes precedence; we need to find out who he is, and if he’s not Tim, and trust me Conner, I pray to God he’s not, then we can focus on finding Tim and figuring out what’s been done! So please, Conner, stop shouting at me for considering every possibility, when you know damn well I don’t want to believe it just as much as you do!!”

The Cave stood in shocked silence. No one had seen Bruce lose his temper like that in a long, long time. Conner bowed his head, his cheeks hot with shame and embarrassment. Bruce slumped back down into his chair, looking defeated. 

“We… We need to track the Joker,” Bruce sighed eventually, “That’s where we’ll find Junior. Kate, you’ve spent the most time with him recently; do you have any indication on where the Joker might be headed? What his next scheme is?”

Kate sighed as she massaged her jaw, his cheeks still stinging from Junior’s impromptu makeover. “That’s the thing, Bruce,” she sighed sadly, being careful not to disturb her stitches, “I was going to tell you after the fact, give it to you like a present. I didn’t want you to worry about it.”

Bruce eyed her warily, leaning forward and narrowing his eyes. “Worry about what, Kate?” he asked in a hard voice.

Kate sighed, looking her cousin in the eye. “The doctors gave me the diagnosis,” she said, “All those chemicals he’s been screwing with for forty someodd years? They’re playing hell with his body. He’s got a few tumors; doctors gave him a month, three weeks now, really.

“The Joker’s dying, Bruce.”

---

“... So that’s why it’s gotta be a good one, ya hear?” Joker said with a grin, only to break into a coughing fit.

Junior nodded his head, grinning as the beginnings of a plan formed in his head. “I can think of a few things,” he confirmed, “But I wanna do my routine first; get the crowd all warmed up for your finishing act!”

“The birdbrains and the paraplegic are all yours, kiddo,” Joker confirmed, thumping Junior on the back, “But the Bat… he’s mine. ”

“But of course!” Junior giggled, “Wouldn’t dream of anything different! But while I’ve got you here, care for a few notes before the big show?”

Joker gave him a sidelong glance. “Maybe…” he mused, “What’cha got in mind?”

Junior grinned, “Ever hear the one about the end of the world?”

Chapter 5: The Last Laugh, Part 3

Junior hummed to himself as he swung his hammer. Everything was all set for the Grand Finale, the Last Laugh. The Old Man had his new toys, and was working on the best way to use them. He’d given Junior two weeks of playtime… and that would be plenty.

“ Oh, the cat’s in the cradle with the silver spoon, Little Boy Blue and the Man on the Moon! ” he sang as he swung his hammer again, “ ‘When ya comin’ home, son?’ ‘I don’t know when, but you know we’ll have a good time then, Dad, oh you know we’ll have a good time then! ”

Junior wiped his brow as he stepped back to admire his handiwork, then grinned as started making his way down the hill toward the sprawling lights of the city, whistling a happy tune to himself as he slung his sledgehammer over his shoulder.

Behind him, the shattered headstone of Jack Drake lay in scattered pieces, and a smiley face was spray painted in the grass above where his body lay.

---

Tommy yawned and stretched as he sat up in his bed, frowning at the setting evening sun as he did so; his new vigilante sleep schedule was incredibly weird. But he didn’t have the time to reflect on anything like that; he had a case to solve! Tommy took a quick shower, pulled on a loose pair of sweatpants and a plain shirt, then headed down to the kitchen for breakfast, intending to eat something quick before running down to the Cave to grab his suit for patrol.

As he bounded down the steps, however, what he didn’t expect to see was Grandpa and Aunt Cass waiting for him, along with…

“Conner,” Tommy said awkwardly, and Superboy turned to face him, looking just as awkward.

“Tommy…” he said nervously, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, “How… How are you?”

“Doing okay,” Tommy said shortly, crossing his arms and turning to Grandpa instead, “Is something the matter?”

Grandpa frowned, sharing a meaningful look with Aunt Cass. That couldn’t be good.

“Tommy, there have been some… developments since you’ve been asleep,” Grandpa started awkwardly, and Tommy perked up.

“New details for the Joker Copycat Case?” he asked excitedly, eager to gain any new information, but Grandpa merely winced.

“Something like that,” he said with a nod, “It appears that the Copycat calls himself ‘Joker Junior’, and has broken the original Joker out of Arkham.”

Tommy swallowed hard. “That’s bad,” he surmised.

“Very,” Aunt Cass agreed, “Dangerous, too. Too dangerous for you.”

Tommy’s stomach dropped. He looked at Grandpa with a wounded expression. “You’re pulling me off the case!? ” he asked incredulously, looking incredibly hurt.

“It’s for your own protection, Tommy,” Grandpa said firmly, but he looked uncomfortable as he clenched his hands around his upper arms, “I’m having Cass and Conner take you, Ollie, and Jane to Smallville where you’ll be out of danger and under Superman’s protection. You’ll be staying with Mrs. Kent, Green Arrow, and Black Canary until such time as the Joker and his acolyte are apprehended and put behind bars; you’re in far too much danger otherwise.”

“I can take the Joker!” Tommy insisted petulantly, “He’s never fought part-Kryptonians before! What’s he gonna do? Squirt acid at me that won’t do anything? Try to gas me when I can hold my breath for an hour? Dent a crowbar or two on me while he tries to figure out just what ‘invulnerable’ means--!?”

“ Tommy! ” Grandpa snapped, and Tommy’s jaw clacked shut. Grandpa had never shouted at him before. 

Bruce looked weary, pinching his nose and trying to rein in his temper. “ Tommy, ” he said, less forcefully this time, “I know you’re still new at this, but the Joker is dangerous. More dangerous than anything you’ve ever faced. We’ve gotten lucky with relative silence from the other Rogues in recent years, but the Joker never stopped his rampage. And now, we have reason to believe he’ll be acting more desperately than usual; the Joker is the most dangerous foe I have ever faced in forty years, Tommy. However dangerous you think he is, he’s ten times worse. We already know that he’s targeting the family specifically, so I would feel much better knowing that its youngest members, those who are still not responsible for seeing all the horrors of the world put on display, are safe and sound on the other side of the country. Far, far out of the Joker’s reach. Please, Tommy.”

Tommy blinked for a moment and stared at his grandfather, then at his aunt, then at his… father, for lack of a better term. His pride was screaming at him, telling him to dig his heels into the sand and beg, kicking and screaming, to be allowed to stay and fight, but…

But that kind of selfishness is what made your daddy leave you, isn’t it?

Tommy swallowed down the lump in his throat and nodded, feeling his cheeks burn with shame as he did so. He turned on his heel, muttered something incoherent about packing a bag, and stomped up the steps back to his room. With each step, he could have sworn he felt his father’s disapproving glare on his back.

---

Bruce sighed as he ran a hand through his graying hair, watching Tommy go. “That… could have gone better,” he sighed forlornly.

“Eh… not really,” Conner sighed with him, “He’s a stubborn kid, and a teenager now, too. That’s about as good as it was ever going to get.”

Bruce only sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Just… promise me you’ll look after them?” he asked weakly, and Conner nodded firmly.

“I’ll never let them out of my sight,” he confirmed, “Ma has a JL panic button if something goes wrong, and Clark and Jon are spending the weekends. With Arrow and Canary there too, they’ll be safer than Fort Knox.”

Bruce nodded, then looked at Cass. His daughter merely nodded; she would pick up the slack where the Supers’ defences would inevitably fail.

Bruce nodded one final time, then breathed a sigh of relief. “Leave soon,” he said, “I want you all out of the city by nightfall. The rest of us… have a hunt to get to.”

“Bruce,” Conner said seriously, taking him by the shoulder, “If you find anything about Tim… you tell me. ”

Bruce looked the younger man in the eye for a long time. Conner had grown up a lot, being able to stand up to him like this. It was… refreshing. He nodded, then made his way down to the Batcave.

---

“Daaad!!! ” Jane wailed, “Ollie took my hairbrush!!”

“Ollie, give your sister back her hairbrush,” Jason said distractedly, paying more attention to the sandwiches he was making, and Ollie squawked indignantly.

“ I did not! ” he cried in offense, clutching the little black hairbrush defensively, “This one is mine! That one’s hers!”

“They’re the same hairbrush! ” Roy sighed, “We bought you matching sets!”

“ Nuh-uh! ” Ollie said petulantly, “ Jane’s has got one of the brushy-things missing! Mine’s got ‘em all!”

“ That’s not true! ” Jane snapped at her twin, “ Mine’s the full one, yours is the broken one!”

“It’s not broken, it’s just got one missing!” Ollie cried.

“ Enough, you two!” Kori said forcefully, and the twins quieted down, “You can both survive using each others’ hairbrush for a few days. Now, no more complaining, or you won’t get to sleep over at Mrs. Kent’s house, or see Grammie and Popop!”

Jane and Ollie wilted and nodded their heads, but as soon as Kori turned her head, they stuck their tongues out at one another. Jason shook his head fondly at his kids’ antics, then sighed as he stuffed their backpacks with all the supplies they’d need for the trip. “Alright, you two,” he said seriously, “You be good for Mrs. Kent, okay? If I hear about any complaining, I’m gonna write a long letter to Santa and tell him not to bring you any presents this year, capice?”

Ollie and Jane nodded, wide-eyed at the threat, then Jason finally smiled and pulled the two of them into a hug. “Be good,” he sighed, “ Don’t do anything stupid! ”

The twins giggled, and Roy ruffled their hair as Conner entered the room, knocking on the doorframe to announce his presence. “Everyone ready to go?” he asked, and Kori sighed.

“Yes, I think so,” she said with a nod, “Alivand’r, this is the longest flight you’ve made yet, are you sure you can do it?”

Ollie nodded eagerly, saying, “I can do it, Mama!”

“Good boy,” Kori said sweetly, hugging him close, “If you get tired, you ask Cousin Tommy to help you, okay?”

Ollie nodded, so Kori turned to her daughter, taking her by the shoulders and looking her up and down with a smile. “Jaynand’r, you hold on to Superboy, okay? I know you can’t fly yet, so he’ll carry you.”

Jane nodded, blushing a little at the reminder of her lack of powers compared to her brother, but appreciated Kori’s kiss on her forehead all the same. Roy saw her discomfort and crouched down to look her in the eye, saying, “Chin up, kiddo. I bet Popop would love to see how good you’ve gotten at archery-- maybe he’ll even teach you a few things!”

Jane’s eyes lit up and she bounced on her heels excitedly, “I can bring my bow!?”

Roy pursed his lips, pretending to think about it for a minute, then nodded, “As long as you promise not to drop it somewhere over Ohio.”

“I won’t, I promise!!” Jane swore, looking far more serious than Jason had ever seen his little girl. 

Roy gave a long-suffering sigh, rocking back on his heels, “Well… you’d have to be an awfully strong young woman to hang on for that long…”

“I am, I am!” Jane promised, and Roy finally broke out into a sly grin.

“Alright, go and get it!” he said with a laugh, and Jane shot off into the interior of the Manor.

“Be quick about it, Jane, you’re leaving soon!” Jason called after her, then shook her head as he was almost certain she didn’t hear him. 

Ollie, meanwhile, wrinkled his nose. “I don’t get why she likes archery so much,” he said, “Starbolts and flying are way cooler.”

“Ollie, you know your sister can’t fly,” Roy said, almost warningly, “And she gets headaches if she uses her starbolts too much.”

Ollie pursed his lips, muttering something, and Kori swept him up in her arms, kissing his forehead. “Be nice to your sister, Alivand’r!” she said admonishingly, “She’s two minutes older than you, so you respect her!”

“ Yes, Mom… ” Ollie sighed, and Jane came running back into the room, a hot pink compound bow slung over her shoulder, along with a quiver full of arrows, duct-taped shut.

When Jason raised an eyebrow at the duct-taped quiver, Jane beamed at him. “To make sure they don’t fall out over Ohio!” she explained brightly, and Jason laughed.

“Alright, now that everyone’s all packed, you two oughta get a move-on,” Jason said, herding them out the door and towards Conner and Tommy, who’d just arrived in his Drake gear, looking unhappy, “Jane, take care of your brother! Ollie, take care of your sister! Be good!”

“We will!” they chorused, and finally, Conner picked Jane up, and all four of them took to the skies, headed west. Moments after them, the Batjet, housing Cass decked out in her Black Bat gear, shot out from the Batcave’s landing bay, racing the fliers to Smallville. From there, they’d have Black Bat, Green Arrow, Black Canary, Superman, and both Superboys to protect them, not to mention constant surveillance from the Watchtower. His kids couldn’t be safer, Jason kept telling himself.

After a few moments, Roy let out a long, sad sigh. “I still think we should have told Tommy about the grave,” he said, and Jason slapped a hand over his mouth.

“ He might still be in earshot, dumbass! ” he whispered harshly, then gave a long, hard look at the rapidly dwindling profiles of the four fliers, “Tommy’s got a lot on his plate right now, learning about Tim would just make him mad. With Joker out there, acting desperate… the last thing we need is an angry kid on the streets looking for a fight.”

Roy nodded, but he still pursed his lips as the sun dipped lower over the horizon. “Come on,” he said, “Let’s go grab our gear.”

---

An hour later, the entire Batfamily was ready for patrol.

Their costumes had all changed in the past seven years, more padding and better technology. Some of them, being new additions to the Batfamily, took the time to update their insignia, keeping in touch with the rest of the family’s look.

Poison Ivy had undergone the most change, now wearing what amounted to actual clothes made of plant-based materials, rather than just a leotard of leaves. She wore comfortable boots, a green faux-leather jacket, and red leggings that matched her wife’s. She’d been given a utility belt full of different seeds, and on that buckle was a small green Batsymbol, officially tying her into the family.

Harley looked pretty much the same, though her corset was laced with kevlar now. She wore knee-high boots, wielded a baseball bat, and had a red leather jacket that went halfway down her back, bearing on it a Batsymbol overlaid on her usual red and black diamonds. She also sported a shiny new utility belt, but it just had a collection of snacks, caltrops, and the bottle of Bat Shark Repellent. 

Duke’s yellow Signal outfit was mostly unchanged, bearing a black Batsymbol on the chest. Thick riot armor protected him, and an underlayer of fluid armor, courtesy of Lucius Fox, allowed him to move more freely. He pulled on his helmet, and was ready to go.

Steph had upgraded her Batgirl suit, making the inside of her cape a more muted purple and adding a thigh-strap to her utility belt ensemble. Her utility belt and Batsymbol were also a bright, vibrant yellow, to mesh well with the daytime circuit she usually took, and like the others, the new fluid armor underlayer had been added to her suit.

Roy had elected to keep his shoulders exposed, but did allow the Arsenal suit to take on bicep-high gloves to keep him warm. An archer’s armguard was built into these gloves, and they were fingerless to allow him to feel the string of his bow better. He’d also added a utility belt, far more extensive than the one he’d previously had, and had a quiver full of interchangeable trick arrowheads. As for his Batsymbol, he accomplished that by simply wearing a red baseball cap with a black insignia that he’d found at Walmart. He refused to take it off, insisting it was part of his uniform.

Kori had made her Starfire outfit slightly more modest, covering up more of her skin and adding more armor to her arms, legs, and core. She’d switched shades to a more muted purple, but still retained most of her original design, including the bright green broach on her chest that acted as a symbol of her royal status. She’d still turn any heads, but at least now she was slightly more suited to the Bats’ brand of stealth; to prove her allegiance, Kori had allowed a small utility belt to grace her uniform, one with a green Batsymbol on the buckle, and let it hang haphazardly from her waist. It was stocked only with first aid supplies and snacks; she heavily disliked all of Bruce’s gadgets.

Oracle’s wheelchair had been given a new yellow Batsymbol on the back, one that mimicked the original Batgirl insignia, and could be covered or uncovered by a detachable leather flap. This was Dick’s idea, but Barbara would never admit that she secretly loved it. There was also a Batgirl sticker on the front of her laptop; she called it the “Battop”.

Damian had all but eliminated the color green from his uniform, allowing it to only grace his boots and opting for red, yellow, and black everywhere else he could. His cape still came up into a hood, mostly because he liked it’s added advantage to stealth, and he had gained a new katana; this one had been specially designed by Lucius Fox, with Damian’s input and review. Over six months, they had expertly constructed a blade that could dullen and sharpen itself at the push of a button; in the dull form, it could strike without killing or drawing blood, and when Damian pressed a small black button on the underside of the crossguard, the microscopic blade-guard would draw back and allow for cutting, such as through metal or wood to get into a collapsed building. He greatly enjoyed the feat of engineering, and kept it sheathed upon his back.

Jason had gone back to his Red Hood uniform, opting for a slightly brighter shade of tan in his leather jacket, and an updated helmet that had more armor and a more stylish mouth slit. (He was so glad Roy had talked him out of the sculpted lips; that had been a fashion nightmare to rival Discowing) A red Batsymbol sat front and center on his chest, and he kept two modified Desert Eagle pistols at his waist, both loaded with rubber bullets. Rounds of ammo lined his utility belt, along with the usual Bat fare of grappling hook, snacks, and various environmental gizmos made for tracking, hacking, and whatnot. He’d taken the approach of “Everything Old Is New Again” for his redesign, reaching a suit that paid homage to all his previous ones while still getting vital armor upgrades.

Dick had added more armor and padding to his uniform, getting the same fluid armor underlayer as everyone else. His escrima now sat easily in a holster on his back, and he, too, had added a thigh-strap to his utility belt, albeit a black one rather than Steph’s bright yellow. His gloves were more textured, allowing for better grip, as well as the bottoms of his new boots. The only real aesthetic change was the extension of the blue stripes down his arms to the tips of his middle and ring fingers, a look he felt reminded him of his Flying Grayson days.

Selina still wore a massive affair of leather, but she’d added more supportive padding and armor to her usual sheer ensemble. Seduction was less of a priority for her now, instead focusing on utility; she had a belt around her waist for all the standard Bat gear, and one that had a little indent of a Batsymbol on the buckle, though it couldn’t be seen from more than a foot away. Her goggles were now outfitted with infrared vision, and her cowl was more armored than it had been before. Her claws had been painted a muted black, and her whip had been equipped with a magnetic handle, easier for keeping her grip.

Bruce, finally, had done a lot to overhaul his suit. He had more armor, more support, and more everything. A black Batsymbol still remained on his chest, but his long black cape made stealth a higher priority. Everything about this new suit was meant to support his aging body, from the heavier armor around his arms and legs to the supportive straps around his joints. The new Batsuit was built to make Bruce a tank of a man, able to take a few bullets and stay standing, as well as fighting. 

The Bats had prepared for war, and it showed. They gathered on the rooftops of Gotham, watching as the Batsignal shone desperately against the cloudy night sky. 

“ This is Oracle, from the Cave, ” Barbara said over the line, “ Everyone, sound off to calibrate comm system. ”

“Poison Ivy, ready,” Ivy said clearly, absently curling her fingers around a vine.

“Harley Quinn, ready to rock and roll!” Harley said eagerly, grinning as she slung her bat over her shoulder.

“Signal, ready,” Duke said nervously, fidgeting with his nunchucks.

“Batgirl, ready!” Steph said with a determined frown, watching the skyline.

“Arsenal, ready,” Roy said steadily, testing the string of his bow.

“Starfire, ready!” Kori declared, charging up a starbolt.

“Robin, ready,” Damian confirmed, drawing his sword from its sheath.

“Red Hood, ready, ” Jason said lowly, cocking his gun and thinking about all the fun things he was going to do to the Joker’s corpse.

“Nightwing, ready,” Dick said absently, looking forlornly at the distant lights of Haley’s Circus. One night only, and he missed it.

“Catwoman, ready,” Selina said, subtly squeezing Bruce’s hand supportively.

“Batman, ready,” Bruce said firmly, scanning the skyline for any sign of a disturbance, “You all know your assignments. Canvas the city, travel in pairs, Outlaws are a trio. If anyone gets separated, alert the rest of the family immediately. Do not engage the Joker or Junior without backup. Do not deliberately put yourselves in danger of being captured, check in with Oracle every five minutes. If you encounter the Joker, Junior, or any other Rogue, call for backup. Stay alert. Stay alive. Stay focused.”

Bruce turned to his family, looking each one of them in the eye one last time. Soon, he hoped, he’d be able to give up the Cape & Cowl. Damian would make an excellent Batman. But not yet. Not while the Joker still threatened his city.

“Go.”

---

Dick and Damian were flying across the Bowery, stopping a few petty crimes along the way, but mostly hunting for a Clown or two. Dick enjoyed patrolling with Damian again; it had been too long since they’d last done this. Damian always liked to pretend he liked the job quiet, but truth be told he loved Dick and his banter, so Dick decided to push his little brother’s buttons a little bit, grinning slyly as they hopped from one rooftop to the next.

“So…” he started, and Damian looked over his shoulder at him, quirking an eyebrow.

“So?” he asked quizzically.

“So, you’ve been spending a lot of time out and about recently,” Dick said with a grin, “But, lo and behold, no one’s seen Wayne Enterprises heir Damian Wayne much of anywhere recently. I wonder where he’s been spending all his time…”

“I’m entitled to my privacy,” Damian said defensively.

“From the press, sure, but I’m your big brother!” Dick laughed, hopping over an air conditioning unit with ease, “Come on, Lil’ D, you can tell me! Where’ve you been going off to? Got a girlfriend you wanna tell me about?”

Damian rolled his eyes, muttering, “You are a dog, Grayson. Not everything has to be romance.”

“Then it shouldn’t be a problem to tell me about it!” Dick said in triumph, “Come on, Dames, it’s me! Like you’re so fond of saying, I have no room to judge my family’s romantic entanglements. You can tell me!”

Damian sighed, rolling his eyes once more. “Nothing is happening,” he said, “I just like to go out and clear my head a little.”

“Clearing your head, huh?” Dick said with mock interest, “Yeah, I can get behind that. I hear Kansas has wonderful weather for that… maybe Metropolis?”

“Metropolis?” Damian barked out a laugh, “ Why would I be spending my time in Metropolis? ”

“Oh, I don’t know…” Dick sighed, then grinned, “Maybe to see a certain farmboy we both know…?”

To Dick’s surprise, Damian merely turned away rather than continuing the banter, and a slight redness rose in his cheeks.

“ No. Way. ” Dick gasped, “You’re blushing! You’re totally blushing right now!! Holy fuck, I was right!!”

“ Jonathan and I are just friends, ” Damian said forcefully, sounding supremely uncomfortable.

“But you wish you were more…?” Dick prompted, and Damian finally stopped by a ledge as he scoffed.

“He is my best friend, ” Damian reiterated, “We have a fine relationship now, as it stands. He has made no advances on me, and has never shown… that kind of interest in anyone. To change that dynamic now, for my own selfish gain, would merely be to put him in an uncomfortable position. If he knows how I feel for him, and he does not feel the same, then… then how can we continue to be friends, after a revelation like that? To make advances now would only be… unseemly. ”

“Wha-- You’re afraid to ask because you think he’ll say no!? ” Dick gawked, “Dames, come on! Jon is, like, the gayest gay farmboy to ever gay!”

Damian balked, “I beg your pardon?? Jonathan isn’t gay.”

Dick rolled his eyes, “Dames, I once had to cover for the kid because Supes didn’t know he was kissing that reporter friend of his. He’s gay. ”

Damian blinked, turning back to the street, considering that statement for a moment. “Fine then,” Damian sighed, “Even if he is interested in men, he’s taken. That reporter you mentioned.”

“They broke it off years ago!” Dick insisted, “They were just helping each other come out and figure out all that stuff! You’ve got a chance with him!!”

Damian shook his head, aiming his grapple to fire at a nearby highrise, “I don’t need your romantic advice, Richard, I’m perfectly capable of finding love on my own. ”

“I’m just trying to help you catch the guy of your dreams!!” Dick cried with a laugh, pulling out his own grapple as Damian leapt away.

“ What was that!?” Damian called back, “ I can’t hear you over the wind! ”

“ Oh, you’re in for it now, ya little twerp!” Dick said with a grin, grappling after him. He watched Damian disappear over the edge of the rooftop, and a few seconds later, pulled himself over the same ledge, grunting with exertion as he stood up and dusted himself off. 

Then he looked down, and noticed Damian unconscious on the ground. “ Robin! ” Dick yelped, scanning the rooftop, when he was met face to face with a wide, crazed grin, glinting in the moonlight. 

“ Hush, little Robin, don’t say a word… ” the man in the shadows sang softly, coming into the light, and Dick saw the dull glint of a crowbar in his hands, “ Or Junior’s gonna bring you a world of hurt…! HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!”

He was short, and lanky, nearly drowning in the long purple trench coat he wore. Black hair, haphazardly dyed green in some places, acidic green eyes, and pale makeup with poorly applied lipstick. A perfect match for Kate’s description.

Dick gulped and drew his escrima sticks, standing over Damian’s unconscious body protectively. “Hello, Junior,” he said, trying to keep his voice even, “I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure yet.”

“Oh, we have, Nightwing, trust me… ” Junior cooed, stepping further toward him, and to Dick’s surprise, he started wiping off his makeup. After a few moments, Dick dropped his escrima in shock as the cold, intelligent eyes of Tim Drake smiled back at him.

“ We have. ”

“Oh, God, ” Dick whispered, backing up in shock, “T- Tim? ”

Tim stalked forward, slinging the crowbar over his shoulder as he hummed in consideration. “ Tim… ” he said musingly, “Mmm…. maybe. Doesn’t sound quite right. Then again, neither does Junior, right about now…” Tim thunked his free palm into the side of his head, muttering, “ Who’s who, who’s who…. Hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo! ”

Dick cautiously took a step forward, watching Tim hit himself as he giggled manically. “Tim?” he said softly, “You okay, sweetie?”

Tim’s eyes snapped up, cold and wrathful. Dick gulped and took a step back. “ You… ” Tim snarled, his smile twisting into an enraged frown, “Doesn’t matter who I am! I had a plan! And you ruined it!! You wouldn’t listen to me!! ”

Dick yelped as ducked a wild swing from Tim as the other man stumbled past him, the giggling and laughing growing louder and louder. Tim stopped for a moment, covering his face with one hand and using it to comb through his hair, throwing his head back and laughing at the stars. “Oh, man! ” he crowed, “It’s been a long time since he came out! Y’know, Batfake, you really had me goin’ for a while there! I mean, I hate you, but not as much as Tim hates you! Damn that guy’s got issues! ”

Dick swallowed, now thoroughly confused. “So… I’m not speaking to Tim anymore?” he asked quietly.

“Tim’s not in right now,” Junior said menacingly, turning to face him with a grin, “Can I take a message?”

Dick put his fists out in front of him. “ Tim, if you’re in there, I can help you, ” he said firmly, “This is the Pit, screwing with your head! We can get you back to the Cave, we can get you help. ”

“ I DON’T WANT YOUR HELP!! ” Junior roared, seized by a sudden anger, “Maybe I like this new me, huh? Maybe I enjoy the fucking freedom for once! Maybe I like getting to do things purely for my own enjoyment!”

“You enjoy hurting people?” Dick asked, trying to find a weak spot in Junior’s stance, but frustratingly, there wasn’t one.

“ Yes, I DO! ” Junior cried, and Dick grunted as the crowbar collided with his leg, catching his ankle and sending him sprawling to the ground as Junior straddled him, pressing the crowbar down onto his neck.

Thunder boomed overheard as it began to rain, and Dick struggled in Tim/Junior’s chokehold as Tim/Junior laughed, and Dick was reminded of his nightmares. “ I LOVE hurting people! ” Junior laughed as he thrusted the crowbar farther downward, “I enjoy watching the pain flare up in their eyes! I think it’s hilarious when I tear out their ribs and the blood goes everywhere! Ohh, Jason, Jason, Jason, Jason, that tricky bastard! He didn’t tell me about that part! The joy, the primal, carnal need to just spill blood, by any means necessary! IT’S GLORIOUS! ”

“T-Tim!” Dick choked, but Tim ignored him, instead winding down as he chuckled a little, keeping his grip tight.

“Buuut, as much as I love mindless rampages, I’ll be honest with ya, Batfake, they get boring after a while,” Junior sighed, “I mean, come on! I’m a smart guy! I can come up with better than Shooty McGee over there! I mean, it just... it used to be about the murder, the art of it all! How everything fit together like a perfect puzzle piece! Whatever happened to Poetic Justice, amirite?”

“So, that’s when I got to thinkin’--” Junior crowed, leaning down so that he was right in Dick’s face, which was currently turning blue, “What’s the worst possible way I could kill you? Why, make it personal, of course! Make your worst nightmare EVER come to life! And I, bein’ me, had a pretty good way to do all that! So then I thought, and I thought, and I thought, and I came up with a few plans! How to Excruciatingly Kill the Batfamily by Employing Their Worst Nightmares, 101! Hope you still like circuses, Dick. ”

Dick’s eyes widened for a moment as darkness encroached on his vision, and Tim smiled down at him. “ This next show’s a killer! ”

Dick blacked out.

Chapter 6: The Last Laugh, Part 4

Dick woke up to the harsh and familiar sound of a spotlight being switched on. He blinked his eyes open, squinting through the dizzying light, until they ever so slowly came into focus. He looked out confusedly at the red and white striped canvas sloping above him, then looked down, and gasped. 

Dick was tied to one of the supportive poles holding up the Big Top, standing on the acrobat’s platform. As he looked down, he recognized every inch of this place; the three rings, the ring of fire that the clowns would jump through, the massive weights that the strongman would lift, and the mammoth prints in the sand where the elephant, Zitka, had passed by, letting the kids in the audience ride on her back. 

“Oh my God…” Dick whispered, looking down to the audience’s bleachers below, and saw the few dozen or so men and women bound and gagged.

It was Haley’s Circus.

---

Barbara frowned worriedly as Dick and Damian blipped off of her map. “Nightwing, Robin, this is Oracle, check in,” she commanded, and waited for the response.

It never came. 

Barbara clenched her fist and tried again, commanding, “ Nightwing, Robin, RESPOND! ”

Again they said nothing.

Barbara’s fingers flew across her keyboard, scanning each and every traffic camera along Dick and Damian’s route, searching for any sign. Empty street after empty street. Nothing! 

She rewound the tapes, looking back at when she could see them, and traced their steps, projecting their route. Dick said something, Damian blushed and ran off, Dick laughed and chased after him. They left the camera’s field of vision and then--- nothing!

Just static. 

Barbara cursed, then switched her comms on. “Oracle to all units,” she said, broadcasting on both Bat and GCPD radio, “Nightwing and Robin have gone missing. Suspected kidnapping. Last known location, corner of Baypoint and Clinton.”

“ Acknowledged, Oracle, ” Bruce growled over the line, his voice laced with poorly-concealed worry, “ Responding. ”

Barbara nodded to herself, switching the comms back on to standby, then went back to searching the street cameras. There must be something.

---

Tommy sighed as they flew down toward the fields of Smallville, and the rolling corn stalks of the Kent Family Farm. He’d visited here plenty of times, of course, and he did like it here, usually. The flat landscape was quiet and still, a far cry from the hustle and bustle of Gotham, and people out here seemed genuinely… happy. The nature and the wide open spaces always reminded him of better times, simpler times. When all he was ever asked to do was stay below the treeline and go to bed on time. 

But now Tommy was older. And he knew that he belonged in Gotham right now, he should be helping with this case, but Grandpa had made his opinion clear. That didn’t mean Tommy had to like it.

On the trip, which only took a few hours moving at their speeds, he was grateful to have the twins along, mostly because it spared him from having to make small talk with Conner. He spared a glance at Superboy, only to accidentally meet his eyes for a moment, and turn away again rapidly. His other father and him had a… difficult relationship. Tommy knew Conner wanted to be closer than they were now, but… but Tommy wasn’t sure. 

Conner had left his dad alone. He still harbored a grudge on Tim’s behalf of being cast out to Alaska and forced to live in solitude and fear. Then Tommy would grow angry at Tim for abandoning him, dropping him off in the dead of night and continuing on as if he’d never existed.

Something bugged him about the last time he’d seen his father, what he’d done, how he’d wept with relief when he’d seen Tommy’s face, and as seared into his mind as Tim’s body was, memories from that time of his life were… hazy, nowadays. Attempting to think about it just… hurt, and Tommy didn’t like it at all.

And when he looked at Conner, that was all he could think about. Tim and Alaska and simpler times and worse times and blank blue eyes and bright red blood and frozen, smiling lips. So Tommy’s solution was just don’t be around Conner too often, and don’t think about Dad too often. 

Don’t think about it, and it can’t hurt you anymore. Don’t think about it, and you won’t be angry anymore.

Tommy didn’t think Harley would necessarily approve of that method of coping with loss, but there were some things Tommy just needed to stay his own. His secret rage and shame at being abandoned and left behind, that could stay locked deep within the recesses of his soul, never on display for his family, not anymore. No, they could keep smiling and talking about “how much you’ve grown, Tommy”, as if they hadn’t watched the way he’d fallen apart after Tim’s death.

But Tommy had put himself back together. All his life he’d needed his Dad, and now that he didn’t have him anymore, he learned how to live on his own. It was part of growing up, he told himself. 

No one would have asked you to grow up that fast, kid.

Tommy shook his head of such thoughts, plastering on a slightly forced smile as their ragtag little group touched down in Smallville. Ma knew him as a happy young man with a bounce in his step; it wouldn’t do to disappoint her.

Tommy heard the scream of the Batjet’s engines as Aunt Cass landed in the field beyond, and Conner smiled beside him as he finally let Jane down while Ollie took a breath, tired out from the long flight. As they caught their breath, the door to the farmhouse burst open, and an older man with graying blond hair ran out laughing, crying, “ There’s my favorite grandkids!! ”

“ Popop!! ” Jane and Ollie cried in tandem as they both ran forward, getting swept up in Oliver’s arms, and Tommy sighed with a smile on his face.

Oliver Queen had taken to grandfatherhood like a duck to water, spoiling the twins rotten whenever Jay, Roy, and Kori made the mistake of letting him and Canary watch them. 

Ollie the Younger laughed and giggled in Ollie the Elder’s hold, crying, “Popop, we’re your only grandkids!”

“Still my favorite!” Oliver sighed, then he squeezed them one last time and let them go, holding them by the shoulders and looking at them up and down. “Look at how big you two are!” he exclaimed, “Any longer and you’ll almost be as tall as me!”

“Popop, we barely come up to your ribs!” Jane laughed, and Oliver looked offended.

“That’s almost!” he said defensively.

“ Ollie! ” a familiar, exasperated voice called fondly from the porch, “Let those poor kids go! The last thing they want on their vacation is to get smothered by your ugly mug.”

Tommy smirked to himself as Dinah stepped down from the porch, smiling kindly as she helped Ma down the steps. Jane and Ollie ran for her, crying, “ Grammie!! ” in unison, and Oliver laughed as he stood up and stretched.

“Conner, Tommy, good to see you,” he said swiftly, but not unkindly, shaking each of their hands, “Ma Kent just put something in the oven; don’t know what but it smells good.”

“You say that as if anything she makes couldn’t,” Conner said with a laugh, and Oliver smirked along with him.

“True that!” he said, then swiftly swept around Tommy and put an arm around his shoulders, walking him up toward the farm, “So, kid, what’s new with you?”

“Not much,” Tommy said, fighting to keep the smile on his face without looking forced, “I started crimefighting, but Grandpa took me off the case. Said it was too dangerous.”

“Yeah, I know, it sucks getting cooped up with dusty old B-Listers like us,” Oliver sighed, and Dinah shouted from the porch, “ Speak for yourself! ”, and Oliver just smirked as he shook his head, sighing. “Ain’t she fantastic?” he asked, with such love and affection in his voice that Tommy wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic or not, but before he could decide Oliver kept going, saying, “ But I guarantee, whatever call Batman made, it’s for the best. He hasn’t gotten this far by being reckless, and that Joker character’s a real piece of work. I get that we’re all heroes here, but you don’t need to see that. Not yet, anyway.”

Tommy had about a dozen responses to that, but Oliver was a nice guy, his good mood was just infectious, and Tommy couldn’t bring himself to bring it down. “Yeah,” he said instead, “You’re probably right.”

“ Hey, kiddos!! ” Dinah was saying, pulling the twins into a tight hug as Oliver, Conner, and Tommy drew nearer to the house, “How’ve my favorite twins been?? Whuf, you’ve gotten so big!!”

Dinah smiled happily as the twins told her what they’d been up to, and Ma smiled kindly as she caught sight of Conner and Tommy. For being as old as dirt, Martha Kent had aged like fine wine; her back was bent from decades of labor, her hands were wrinkled and calloused, and she’d shrunk a good three inches, (not that she’d ever been that tall to begin with) but there were kind looking crow’s feet around her eyes, and she always wore the softest, kindest smile. 

“ Conner, dear, welcome home,” Ma said warmly, and Conner bent down so that she could pinch his cheeks and draw him into a hug.

“Hi, Ma,” Conner said with a smile, “Do you need any help around the house?”

“Oh, now that you say it, there’s a list on the counter,” Ma said surreptitiously, and Conner sighed as a rueful grin settled onto his lips. 

“I thought so,” he sighed, and Oliver laughed at him as Conner trudged up the steps to start his chores, and Ma turned to Tommy.

“ Tommy, dear, you’ve gotten so tall!” she said, and Tommy smiled as he bent slightly to hug her. His great grandmother, as loosely as that term could be applied, only came up to about his shoulders, and he could tell that she wasn’t as strong as she used to be, her ‘tight hug’ feeling as soft as a blanket to his invulnerable sensibilities. 

But she was still family, and unlike everyone else, she was family that wasn’t affiliated with Tim in any way, so Tommy loved her. “Hi, Ma,” he said happily, “It’s good to see you again.”

“Oh, you’ll never guess what I saw the other day!” she exclaimed, and Tommy leaned in, “A nest of kestrels is out there in the fields somewhere, I’ve seen two of them flying this way and that all week, I think if you’re quick enough with that camera of yours, you might just be able to catch the eggs hatchin’.”

“Th-That’s amazing!” Tommy said with glee, thumbing the pocket on his belt that held his camera, “I-- Can I-- I mean, may I-- ”

“Oh, just go!” Ma said with a smile, “Far be it from me to keep you away from your birds. Just be back in time for dinner!”

“Will do!” Tommy said eagerly, taking to the sky, “Thanks, Ma!”

And Tommy flew off, cares and troubles forgotten in favor of birdwatching. Ma always knew just what to say.

---

“Come on folks, let’s give it up for the man!!” a familiar voice cackled through a megaphone, and Dick’s stomach dropped further as he spotted Junior in the crowd, sitting on a makeshift throne that he’d probably pulled from the circus’s props stores, twirling the megaphone in his hands idly as he kicked his feet up on…

“ Damian!? ” Dick gasped before he could stop himself, staring at how Robin was bound and gagged into a tight ball, kneeling before Junior’s twisted throne as a living footrest. Damian was conscious, and he looked mad; writhing and hissing against his binds, but to no avail.

“Whup! You used names in the field, Batfake!” Junior laughed, “ Naughty, naughty! Just for that, I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson! ”

More spotlights came on, and the rope holding Dick to the pole released itself from some unseen mechanism. Dick extricated himself from it, stepping out onto the platform, unbothered by the dizzying height. “Tim!” he called desperately, “Whatever this is, it’s not too late to stop it!”

“Oh, on the contrary, Batfake!” Junior laughed, “I’d say we’re far past the point of no return! Why don’t you take a look around? Any familiar faces?”

Dick swallowed down his pride and looked around. There were no civilians in the stands, thank God, but they were still filled; mostly with the circus performers themselves. Jorge, the Strongman. Esmeralda, the Fortune Teller. Damon, the Fire Swallower. All the people he’d grown up with, his friends, his family. 

And of course, sitting at Junior’s right hand, bound and gagged, still in his costume, was Jack Haley. The Ringmaster. A man who basically amounted to Dick’s grandfather. Looking afraid and scared for his life.

“Tim,” Dick said imploringly, “This is between us. Whatever issue you’ve got with me, you don’t need to drag them into it; let them go.”

Junior laughed. High and whooping and cruel. Dick’s heart sunk into the floor.

“Oh, no, Batfake, I don’t think I’m going to be doing that!” Junior laughed, “See, there’s a teensy weensy little problem in your foolproof plan there!”

“And what might that be?” Dick asked fearfully.

Junior’s wide, crazed smile melted into something far more intelligent and sinister. “ I injected them all with a deadly nerve agent twenty minutes ago, ” he said darkly, and the whole circus began writhing in their bonds, panicking and fearful. Dick felt queasy.

“Oh, but not to worry, ladies and gents!” Junior laughed, “ Nightwing over there has to do something very simple to get the cure! See, I have it right here with me!”

Junior leaned forward, grabbing Damian roughly by the hair, and dragging his head up, showing off how he had duct-taped a high-tech looking canister to Damian’s mouth, which had a red light beeping serenely.

“See, the cure for the nerve agent’s right there in that canister!” he laughed, “And once it opens, it’ll expand through the air faster than the Flash finishes in bed! But, oh, dear me! I seem to have misplaced the sensor for the opening mechanism!”

Dick grimaced as Junior put on a show looking for it, wasting precious time, until the clown finally stood up and thunked himself in the head. “Oh, of course! That’s where it is!” he laughed, “It’s right up there! In the wires holding up that trapeze bar. ”

Dick swallowed hard as he turned, looking at the trapeze bar, and all his worst fears were confirmed as he saw it; frayed. Just like… just like that night.

Junior’s laughter echoed through the Big Top as Haley’s Circus squirmed in their bonds. “So, Batfake, here’s all that you’ve gotta do to save all these lovely circus folk,” Junior crowed, “Snap! That! WIRE!! ”

Dick began breathing rapidly as his heart hammered in his chest. Images of tangled limbs and falling people filled his mind.

Haley spat out his gag, looking at Junior with rage and horror. “ You, ” he spat, his voice wobbling, “ You’re insane! Don’t do it, Nightwing! You’ll die from that high up!!”

“Oh, but he hasn’t got a choice, Jack!!” Junior laughed, “Y’wanna know why!? ”

“Tim, don’t!! ” Dick begged, but Junior stood up and splayed his hands, all but shouting into his megaphone.

“ Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, dreamers of EVERY age!! ” Junior proclaimed, “Joker Junior proudly presents THE GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH!! Tonight! For one night only… fearlessly performing without a net!! The RETURN and farewell performance… 

“ Of the Last of the FLYING GRAYSONS!!!! ”

The circus folk all stared at Dick in disbelief. Dick swallowed sadly as he took off his domino, letting it flutter down to the ground, and faced his old family with grief and pain in his eyes.

“It--- It can’t be!” Haley whispered in anguish, “Dick!? Dick Grayson!?”

“I wanted to tell you…” Dick tried, but his voice died in his throat.

“So, after all that bravado, ALL that CHARM and SMARM, Gotham’s darling DILF is still just a little boy, standing at the edge of the trapeze while Mommy and Daddy fell to earth…” Junior laughed as he sat back on his throne, resting his chin on his hand. “It’d be funny if it weren’t so pathetic ,” he chuckled, then he thought for a moment, “Ah, what the hell-- I’ll laugh anyway!!

“AH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!! AH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!! AH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!!!! ”

Dick grabbed the trapeze bar, clenching his fist around it. His heart hammered in his chest. The lights were hot on his skin. But he wouldn’t let Haley’s Circus die. He wouldn’t let Damian die. If he could save them… he would. Even if it meant reliving his nightmares.

As all of the audience watched in horror, Nightwing, the Last of the Flying Graysons, stepped off the trapeze…

… and flew.

---

Bruce growled as he pushed the Batmobile to its absolute limits, heading straight for Channel Park, where Haley’s Circus had set up shop. When they’d investigated the rooftop Damian and Dick had disappeared on, all they’d found was a jack in the box, and a poster for Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey; the Greatest Show on Earth. The very show Haley’s liked to believe it was emulating when it took to the rails.

Why hadn’t he seen it sooner!? Haley’s is in town, and out of all of them, Dick is the one who goes missing!? It was so obvious!

Bruce only prayed he wasn’t too late.

---

Dick leapt and twirled through the air, spinning with grace and ease as he flew from bar to bar, never resting, not even for a moment. He felt the bars beginning to give way as he swung, and closed his eyes, acting purely on instinct.

He knew where the bars were. He knew where they would be when he swung and flew. His hands hit them easily, grabbed on tight, and spun him back into the air. 

It was like flying.

Is this what Clark feels like all the time?

It’s beautiful.

The crowd roared below. Dick kept his eyes shut.

“ You’re doing great, little robin! ” Mary Grayson whispered in his ear, “ Keep going! ”

Dick kept his eyes shut.

“ Just a little further, son! ” John Grayson added, “ That’s the way! ”

Dick kept his eyes shut.

“ ... hn. Good work, Robin. ”

Dick opened his eyes. He grabbed the trapeze bar. The wire finally snapped.

Dick didn’t register what was happening. He didn’t hear Bruce’s shout of alarm as he ran into the Big Top. He didn’t hear Damian’s muffled scream of rage and fear as he plummeted to the earth. He didn’t see Junior laugh with mad glee as he stole away into the night.

All he saw as he turned over in midair was the sloping, striped canvas of the Big Top.

And all he heard was a slow, lilting lullaby. In Romani. The one his mother used to sing.

The crowd roared. His heart hammered in his chest. The lights were hot on his skin.

 “ Did you see, papa, did you see!?!? ” he remembered telling his father after his first time on the trapeze, though now John Grayson looked suspiciously like Bruce, “ It was like I was flying! ”

Dick smiled softly.

And he hit the ground.

Chapter 7: The Last Laugh, Part 5

Bruce felt like he was moving through amber. He burst into the Big Top, running full tilt, but as he spotted Dick, falling through the air, he knew he wouldn’t be fast enough.

The stage lights cast the tent in a hazy orange glow. Dick hurtled toward the ground. The circus performers, tied up in the stands, screamed in terror through their gags. Bruce willing himself to go faster, faster, please, for the Love of God, FASTER!

But he was no Barry Allen. 

Bruce watched in absolute horror as his son hit the ground.

“ NO!!! ” he roared, pain and grief lacing his voice as Dick lay still, crumpled like a ragdoll, his arms and legs bent at awkward angles as a disturbingly large spray of blood oozed from where his head had impacted.

“ Robin! ” Selina screeched behind him, having followed him into the tent, but Bruce had lost all perception of the world around him. All he saw was Dick, his son, his everything, broken and bleeding on the ground. The Last of the Flying Graysons, meeting his family’s same gruesome fate.

Bruce heard laughter echoing in his ears as he fell to his knees. His hands were shaking. Pearls danced across the alleyway. Dick lay still, unmoving. The Red Hood fell into the vat of chemicals. Bruce’s eyes burned with tears beneath the cowl. Harvey Dent screamed as the acid splashed onto his face. Bruce clumsily felt Dick’s neck for a pulse. His heart stopped as he pulled Jason from the rubble.  

bum-bump.

Bruce gasped. 

bum-bump.

It couldn’t be. Could it?

bum… bump…

“S-Stretcher…” Bruce mumbled, turning back to find Selina cutting the circus folk loose, “ Stretcher!! ”

“What?” Selina asked in confusion, looking up from her task.

“ He’s still alive!!!! ” Bruce roared desperately, tears in his eyes, “ GO GET THE GODDAMN STRETCHER!!! ”

Selina jumped, paled, then nodded quickly as she ran back to the Batmobile. Bruce knelt back down, hovering over Dick as if he could shield him from his own injuries. “ Please… ” he whispered in anguish, “ Please, Dick… I can’t lose you too…! ”

The next moments were a blur. Selina returned with the stretcher. At some point, Duke and Stephanie arrived, taking over where Bruce’s shaking hands failed him. Barbara and Selina both whispered sweet nothings in his ear while Bruce watched Dick like a hawk, watching as Duke and Steph loaded him into the back of the Batmobile, then galvanized himself to action as he tore through the streets, bringing his son to Gotham General faster than any ambulance could.

Duke and Steph carried Dick between them as Selina ran into the hospital. “Clear a room!” she cried, “Please, we need a doctor!”

Bruce was dimly aware of a nurse running up to them as Duke and Steph brought Dick inside. “What’s happened?” the nurse asked.

“He… he fell,” Bruce murmured, not taking his eyes away from Dick for a moment.

“From how high up?” the nurse asked, quickly checking Dick over as doctors ran about, clearing an ICU bed for the fallen vigilante.

“Easily a story or two,” Selina said breathlessly, “He fell from the Haley’s Circus trapeze.”

“I see,” the nurse said, “We’ll do all we can for him, but I can’t make any promises. We’ll take it from here.”

They loaded Dick onto a bed, nurses and doctors flooding to him as they brought him behind the doors, which opened and then swung shut, closing off the sounds of doctors’ hushed and worried voices as it did.

Bruce knelt in the middle of the hospital, trying to breathe. They couldn’t take him. They wouldn’t take him.

“Hey…” Stephanie said after a moment, “Where’s Damian?”

---

Damian watched in abject horror as Grayson hit the ground. He screamed bloody murder through his gag, writhing in his bonds and trying to free himself so he could rend Drake limb from limb. To his surprise, however, the canister duct-taped to his mouth meant to release the antidote for the nerve agent opened, and Damian breathed in through his nose… before promptly falling asleep.

---

Barbara scoured the city’s street cameras for any signs of Junior or Damian. There had to be something. There had to be something!!

She couldn’t help Dick. He’d already fallen. What could she do from her chair? No. He was in the hands of the professionals now. He’d survive. He always did.

She had to do her best and make sure that Junior didn’t get away with his crimes. 

Junior had taken Damian after Dick’s fall. The circus folk were fine; there was never any nerve agent in their systems. It was all just a ruse. 

A sick joke.

The canister in Damian’s mouth was actually a sleeping gas, to make him easy to transport while Junior made his escape. The wiry young felon was stronger than he looked… almost as if he’d had some training…

Could their initial hypothesis be correct? Had someone resurrected Tim and turned him into this… this… thing? 

Barbara remembered the first night Tim had returned to Gotham. When he’d cornered her here, in her own Clocktower, angry and bleeding. And laughing.

Maybe Tim had been close to a mental break like this for a long time. With a childhood like his, as loveless and perverted as it was… it wasn’t unreasonable to think there might be some underlying trauma. Made worse by Bruce’s disappearance, Conner’s death, and the Justice League’s rejection… something could have snapped. It was plausible.

She didn’t want to believe it, but… it was plausible. Especially if the Lazarus Pit was in play, exacerbating problems that might not have been that bad at first.

Barbara shook her head, trying to focus on what needed to be done. She needed to find Junior and put a stop to this.

Before the Clown Prince hurt any more of her friends. 

She turned her attention back to her screens, scouring the streets, then gasped as they all went red at once. She rolled her chair back in surprise, watching in horror as each one soon bore a laughing black skull. The lights went out, bathing the Clocktower in nothing but moonlight.

“ Hello, Barbara… ” a smooth, low voice whispered in her ear, and Barbara shrieked as she spun her chair around, facing the threat, and then… froze.

A man in a hawaiian shirt stood in the shadows, the sheen of a camera lens hanging around his neck. His grin shone in the moonlight, as did the evil glint in his eye. The barrel of a gun was held out toward her, level with her forehead.

Phantom pains lanced up her spine as Barbara shivered, reliving every single excruciating moment of that terrible, terrible day.

“ ... Long time no see! ” Junior giggled with glee, and he pulled the trigger. Barbara let out a whimper of fear.

… and a flag reading BANG! unfurled from the barrel of the gun.

“ Relax, Babs, I’m not gonna shoot and rape you like the Old Man did,” Junior sighed, twirling the gun in his hands idly, “This isn’t even a real camera! It’s a prop I got from Spirit Halloween!”

Babs gulped down her nerves as sweat dripped from her brow. “Wh-What do you want?” she asked, her voice wobbling as unbidden memories of pain and smiles danced across her mind.

Junior grinned and stepped into the light, and the face of Tim Drake smiled at her as he reared back his fist. “ Payback! ” he cried, and Barbara grunted as his fist collided with her nose, and the force of the blow knocked her out.

---

“Is that so?” the Judge of Owls asked the worm over the phone, looking at her colleagues with intrigue, “Thank you for notifying me, Mr. Haley. Consider your great-grandfather’s debt repaid. Your circus will never again fall prey to our machinations. You may burn the Book of Names if you wish. And remember: speak a whispered word… Well, I believe you get the gist. Goodbye.”

She set the golden rotary phone down, then looked at her Court. 

“We must act quickly.”

---

“Excuse me? Batman? … sir?” a voice said tentatively, and Bruce looked up from the spot on the floor he had chosen. An older doctor with graying brown hair looked at him apologetically.

“Y-Yes?” he croaked.

“You may want to sit down,” the doctor said gravely.

“ No, ” Bruce moaned, holding his shuddering hands to his heart as he curled in on himself, “ No, please, God, no…”

“We did everything we could,” the doctor said sadly, taking blood-soaked gloves off his hands and throwing them into the trash, “His heart stopped ten minutes ago. We tried to save him, but… he’s gone, sir. I’m sorry.”

Pearls danced across the alleyway. He pulled Jason from the rubble. He found Barbara whimpering pitifully on the floor of her apartment, nude and bleeding and violated. He came upon Tim’s body in the road. And he watched over and over again as Dick fell from Heaven, hitting the ground with a sickening crunch.

“ No… ” he whispered shakily, his shoulders shuddering as Selina knelt down to comfort him, “ No… ”

Bruce couldn’t fathom this. He couldn’t deal with this.

“I-Is he gonna be alright…?” a poor, random civilian asked quietly. The ER was full of them. Random, normal citizens, watching as Batman, the goddamn Batman, collapsed and wept like a child.

Bruce looked up at the man who asked. A gruff, rough looking man, but with painfully compassionate features. “Alright…?” he whispered, “No. No, I’m not going to be alright.”

“My son is dead.”

---

“ We interrupt your regularly scheduled broadcast for breaking news, ” the anchor of the national news announced, and the Nightwing Insignia stood starkly on a black screen behind her, “ Live from Gotham, New Jersey. We have confirmation that-- that--- excuse me.”

The anchor wiped her eyes for a moment. “ We have confirmation from the Gotham City Police Department that after 24 years of heroic service to Gotham and the world, the superhero Nightwing has fallen in the line of duty. I-I’m sorry, please excuse me-- ”

The anchor stood up and left, tears welling in her eyes as the news went to commercial.

---

Tommy grinned as he found the kestrel nest, approaching carefully above the corn stalks, trying not to disturb the birds as he pointed his camera. Smiling from ear to ear, his heart melted at the sights of the little birds bringing back sticks and fronds of cornstalk to build their nest, then gasped as he caught an image of an egg cracking. Immediately switching to video, he lost himself in the miracle of it all as he watched a tiny baby bird come into the world, small and fragile and beautiful. So natural. So elegant. So tiny and fragile, singing a desperate, hungry song from the moment it was born.

So unlike Tommy’s birth in many ways. Which made it all the more beautiful. 

He was startled from his reverie as he heard a roar, jerking his head up to see the Batjet screaming away through the sky. The kestrels flew away in fear, leaving their eggs behind. Cowards.

Curiosity piqued, however, Tommy flew up, up, and back to the farmhouse, touching down and walking up to Oliver, who looked shaken. Conner and Aunt Cass were nowhere to be found. The twins must have been inside with Ma and Dinah. “Arrow?” he asked uncertainly, “What’s going on?”

Oliver’s shoulders shook. He said nothing. He bowed his head. “Dick’s dead,” he said shortly.

Tommy felt like he’d been hit in the chest. “Wh--What?” he gasped, tears welling in his eyes. Blue eyes, frozen lips, red blood---- Not Dick. Anyone but Uncle Dick. How many more people was the universe going to take from him!?!

Tommy and Oliver stood there in silence, neither comforting the other but each needing it oh so much.

“I’m sorry, am I intruding on something private?” a smooth, concerned voice, and both Tommy and Oliver whirled.

An older, bald man in a finely pressed suit stood with his hands splayed in a peaceful gesture. Beside him, a hard-looking blonde woman in a pencil skirt and sport coat stood with her arms crossed, apparently standing guard.

“ Luthor! ” Oliver growled, drawing his bow and nocking an arrow, rage and grief in his eyes.

“ Luthor!? ” Tommy gaped, looking between Oliver and the bald man rapidly, “ Lex Luthor!?”

“The very same,” Lex said smoothly, a grin gracing his lined features, “You must be Tommy Drake. I’ve been very eager to meet you, young man.”

Tommy took on a fighting stance. Luthor knew his real surname. That was bad.

“Get outta here, Luthor!” Green Arrow called, his voice rough and threatening as he stepped in front of Tommy, “We don’t want you here!”

“Oh, please, Mr. Queen,” Lex sighed dismissively, “As if you of all Leaguers could stop me.”

“Oh, don’t underestimate me, Lexy,” Oliver taunted, “I’m gonna put one of the pointy ones right between your eyes!”

“Adorable,” Lex said flatly, “Mercy?”

Oliver loosed his arrow, and Tommy watched as the blonde raised her arm. In a flash of blue light, the arrow was struck out of midair, and in another bright flash, Oliver was on the ground, clutching his shoulder in pain. In another instant, Mercy was across the clearing, kneeling on Oliver’s neck as the archer tried and failed to get up.

Lex approached Tommy confidently, a smooth swagger in his step, and Tommy backed up nervously. “Oh, relax, boy, I’m not here to fight you,” Lex said placatingly, taking a small round something from his coat pocket, “I’m merely here for a… check-up, let’s call it.”

“Wha-?” Tommy began to ask, but before he could, Lex stuck out his hand.

“Give me your arm,” he commanded.

“Wha-- No way!!” Tommy growled, backing up more and hugging his arms close to his chest. Lex merely rolled his eyes.

“Oh, for goodness sake,” he muttered, “How many times to I have to say ‘I’m not going to hurt you’? Just give me your damn arm! This will only take a moment!”

“Absolutely not!!” Tommy snapped back, jerking backward.

“Fine then-- how about a bargain?” Lex said, with a smile, “You give me your arm, and in exchange… I tell you everything you want to know about your father. ”

Tommy stopped dead in his tracks. 

“ Don’t listen to ‘im! ” Oliver grunted, “ He’s a liar! ”

“Mercy. Shut him up,” Lex commanded. Mercy clamped her hand over Oliver’s mouth with inhuman strength.

Tommy eyed the old bald man very carefully. Think, Tommy! he thought to himself,  What would Dad do?

All Tommy could conjure up was an image of Tim smiling cheerily as he waved goodbye, calling, “ Bye, Son~! ”

… I’m starting to think I have issues.

“Anything?” he asked eventually.

“Anything,” Lex confirmed.

Tommy struck out his arm.

Lex took it gratefully, rolling up the sleeve. “Yes, yes, very fine work if I do say so myself,” he murmured, almost to himself, appraising Tommy’s arm as if he were a piece of fine china, “Of course, most of it is mine, but still, Tim didn’t do half bad. This may sting a little.”

“What may sting a lit-- OW!!” Tommy yelped as Lex jabbed him with the small, round something he’d taken from his pocket. It was a small little pin of kryptonite, like those things that diabetics used to check their blood sugar. “Warn a guy next time, huh??” Tommy muttered, rubbing his arm.

“I did,” Lex said nonchalantly, then he smiled as he looked at Tommy very seriously, “Now… what would you like to know? ”

---

Damian grunted as he woke up with a start. A sword was duct-taped to his hand. He was alone in a dark, barren room.

Grayson…

Damian stood up. He refused to believe Grayson was dead. Now he just needed to find a way out of this death trap…

“ HELLO, DEMON BRAT!! ” a voice crowed cheerfully over a loudspeaker. Damian bristled, bringing the sword in front of him defensively.

“ Drake… ” he growled, “What have you done!? Where is Grayson!?”

“ Oh, he’s here. And there. And there. And there… HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!” Drake laughed, and Damian growled.

“ Now then!! To business, ” Drake crowed after he winded down, “ See, everyone likes to think that you’ve changed, Demon Brat. That you’ve grown up. That you’re ‘better now’ . Isn’t that right!? ”

Damian swallowed hard. “It has been a long, hard road,” he said carefully, “But your death made me realize that life was precious! I have begun to do things differently!”

“ See, that’s your problem, Demon Brat… ” Drake sighed, almost in disappointment, “ You’re a liar. See, whereas Bruce, and Babs, and Batfake, and all the rest of them think you’re just some misunderstood puppy dog who never got loved enough as a child--- I see you for what you really are… ”

Damian gasped as the back of his neck was pricked with something, and something flooded his system. He cursed, staggering for a moment as his vision distorted, hitting him with a wave of vertigo. He closed his eyes, opening them again to a strange orange tint, and his heart rate accelerated as he identified the compound.

Fear Toxin.

All around him, ninjas of the League crept out of the shadows. Damian sucked in a breath, unbidden fear winning out over common sense as he held his sword with trembling hands. Lights came on one by one, lighting up a long passageway, with yet more ninjas lining the shadows, and at the back of it all… Grandfather. Seated on his throne.

Damian leapt at the ninjas, determined to strike first. If you didn’t strike first in the League, you were dead. Acting purely on instinct, primal fear taking over, he forgot to make his swing shallower. The first ninja’s head rolled to the ground.

“ ... a killer! ”

---

The lights were hot and bright on Dick’s skin.

His skin was on fire. 

His arms and legs pulsed and throbbed with pain. He grunted as he tossed his head to the side in pain, then grunted again as he was met with his own humerus bone.

Everything hurt. It hurt so much.

Where was Bruce? He wanted Bruce. He wanted his dad.

“ --’s slipping, ” voices murmured above him.

“ --’ll take it from here, doctor. ”

“ Excuse me, who are--- agh!! ”

“ Doctor!! What have you done!! Who are you people!?! ”

“ The people who allow you to live, Nurse Darby. Now shut up or the next claw goes through your elderly mother’s neck down the hall! ”

“ H-How do you--? ”

“ We don’t have time for this; look at him, he’s dying! Quickly, while there’s still time! ”

Dick’s eyes fluttered open. “ Mmrh?? ” he muttered, trying to pick up his head, but rough hands held him down, and the back of his head burned. 

“RRAAAGH!!!” Dick screamed in pain, fire lancing through his brain.

“ Shut him up! You’ll alert the Bat! ” Someone cried.

Something dirty and cold was shoved in his mouth, muffling his voice. 

Something pried one of his eyes open. Dick was just lucid enough to see a harsh-looking blond woman, in a featureless white mask. It looked like the face of an owl.

“Do it,” the owl woman ordered.

Dick grunted as something was jammed into his neck. He turned to look at it, but his head was held in place by the owl woman’s harsh grip. As he craned to look at the very edges of his vision, however, he did see two bags; one full one, with something black and silvery inside. The other empty, but slowly filling… with red.

Dick’s eyes widened as his delirious brain put two and two together. They were siphoning his blood and replacing it with something else.

Just as he had the thought, the place on his neck that had been jabbed began to blaze with pain. He shook in place, groaning and crying, but more strong hands moved to hold down his shattered limbs. They burned and throbbed as these owl monsters grabbed at his wounds roughly, but they did not relent. He looked at them with wild, pain-filled eyes, and only found darkly-clad monsters at his bedside, holding him down, looking at him emotionlessly. Their eyes glowed gold at him, unblinking, perfectly circular. Dick screamed louder.

Someone grabbed his eye again, pulling it open as far as it would go. “St-Stahh--!!” he mumbled, but it was too late.

A doctor with graying brown hair, wearing that same featureless white owl mask as the stern woman, approached with a syringe, holding a glowing green liquid inside. Dick could do nothing but watch in abject horror as the needle approached his eye in what seemed like slow motion.

It passed over the top of his eyeball, sinking into the soft flesh beneath. Dick screamed as it sunk deeper and deeper into his skull, setting his nervous system on fire, and the owl-doctor-monster pressed the plunger down.

Dick’s head exploded in pain, and he finally, mercifully, blacked out.

Everything had gone white. Dick stood in an empty wide void that stretched on forever, into eternity. All around him, stone statues stood still. He recognized them.

His parents.

Robin.

Jason, in the Robin costume.

Tim.

Damian.

His first kiss with Kori.

His first kiss with Barbara. 

His first kiss with Wally.

Commissioner Gordon, smiling at him from behind a cup of coffee and a cigarette.

Mr. Haley.

Zitka, the elephant.

His Teen Titans, Garth and Wally and Donna and Roy and Kori and Vic and Raven and Garfield and Tara.

Alfred.

As Dick spun in place, looking at them all in confusion, they began to crumble away. Into dust.

His parents went first. Then Mr. Haley and Zitka. Dick tried to run to get to Jason’s statue in time, but he didn’t make it. He ran to Damian’s next, but it, too, crumbled away into dust before his eyes.

Tim. Alfred. Commissioner Gordon.

Dick wept as he fell to his knees, watching in horror as Kori, Barbara, and Wally went away. Then his team, his Titans. Robin faded away, taken by some unseen force.

He bent over, weeping with grief as the final stone statue stood over him, casting its protective shadow.

Batman, proud and stoic, stood guard over Dick to the very end. 

And he, too, went away.

Dick was afraid. The whiteness was all encompassing. He didn’t dare look up, didn’t dare face it, and yet… what else was there to do? 

He had lost everything else. 

Dick looked up, and there, towering over him, casting its unblinking, perfectly circular eyes upon him…

…was the Owl.

Chapter 8: The Last Laugh, Part 6

Stephanie grunted as she rolled down onto the rooftop, searching the skyline. Bruce was out of commission, and honestly, she couldn’t blame him. Clark had come to collect him and bring him back to the Manor, along with Dick’s body. Bruce looked almost catatonic; it was… it was bad.

Conner, Clark, Kate, and Cass had come to Gotham to fill in the ranks and help with the search, and now that Bruce was out of the fight and Dick was… anywho, Jason was acting as leader. The search was still on for Damian, and they’d lost contact with Oracle. So, she and Duke, a few rooftops behind her, were on their way to the Clocktower to see what had happened.

“Anything?” Signal asked, landing with a grunt of exertion behind her.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” she reported with a shaky sigh. This was the hardest part of the job, she decided. Having to carry on when all she wanted was to curl in on herself and be dead to the world like Bruce was. But Damian was still in danger. Barbara was probably in danger. They could still be saved. They could still be rescued. And she refused to lose anyone else tonight.

“Come on,” she said gruffly, “We need to keep moving.”

“Right,” Duke responded, and Batgirl and Signal resumed their path across the rooftops, beelining it straight for the Clocktower.

Then, as Stephanie swung around the side of a building, she heard a quick grunt from Duke, and then a thud. Panicking, she whirled on her heel towards the sound, widened her eyes as she saw Duke’s body lying limp on the rooftop, his helmet cracked from some unseen blow, she immediately turned to face the danger… and received a swift brick to the face for her trouble.

---

Steph groaned as she came to her senses slowly, her head throbbing dully from where the brick had hit her.

“ Wakey, wakey, Stephanie~! ” a singsong voice cooed, and Steph grunted as her eyes fluttered open, then widened with horror.

It was Tim. Tim, crouching before her bound and gagged form lying prone on the floor, dressed in purple slacks, a red button down, black suspenders and gloves, and a green tie. His hair was dyed messily with streaks of dark green, and though he wore no makeup, an unmistakable Joker Smile spread beneath his acidic, glowing green eyes.

“Oh, good!” he said with a laugh, taking the gag out of her mouth roughly, “You’re awake! How are you feeling today, dear? No headache, I hope?”

“ Fuck. You. ” Steph growled, spitting in his face. She couldn’t think of this as Tim; her Tim, her loveable, adorable Tim, who blushed at the slightest mention of hand-holding, or left the room to let her change in modesty, even when they were actively dating. That Tim, that Tim would never do the things Junior had done. He’d never go on a rampage across Gotham. He’d never kill his own brother---

“Ooh! Feisty!” Tim/Junior laughed, raking his hand through the air like cat claws, “ Me- ow! I like it! It’s so refreshing compared to the usual shock and horror. Most of you just can’t comprehend why an abandoned, lonely, unloved, spiteful, petty, hopeless, good little boy like Tim Drake would snap and try to give life a taste of its own fucking medicine for a change!”

“Tim’s dead,” Steph growled, “He died seven years ago. You’re just walking around in his body, like some kind of sick puppeteer! I won’t let you get in my head, Junior!”

Junior hesitated for a moment, and the green glow of his eyes seemed to grow a little less intense. The grin faded from his lips. “Is that what you really think, Stephanie?” he asked quietly.

Stephanie’s heart stopped. She knew that voice. That tone, quiet and hesitant, as if afraid the sound of it might offend someone.

“How can you be so sure?” he asked quietly, reaching out with a gloved hand and taking hold of her long hair, dragging her up into a sitting position, forcing her to look him in the eye, “How do you know I’m not still in here somewhere? Watching? Screaming, crying, begging to be set free?”

A single tear rolled down Tim’s cheek. Stephanie was left speechless as they continued to stare at each other, and suddenly, the impossible became reality. “Tim?” she asked quietly.

Another tear.

“Tim, sweetie?” Stephanie asked, more concern in her voice, “Please. Answer me.”

Tim closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, Stephanie,” he whispered in anguish, “I tried to stop him. But I… He’s… He’s stronger than me.”

“Tim, no!” Steph begged, “You can fight him! You’re stronger than anyone!! ”

Tim looked down, “I’m sorry… but I don’t want to. ”

“What?” Steph asked brokenly.

Tim looked up with tears in his eyes, green/blue eyes meeting hers. “ You don’t understand! ” he cried, letting go of her hair and standing up, running his hands through his hair as he broke down, “ None of you understand!! I thought you’d figure it out after I fucking died but NO~! All the world’s greatest fucking detectives under one roof and you still couldn’t figure out my stupid as fuck case!!”

Tim sounded angry now, but tears still streamed down his face as a smile fought its way onto his lips.

Stephanie stared at her ex-boyfriend with fear in her eyes, trying to wrestle out of her bonds and… do something. Hug him, strangle him, anything! “Tim, you’re not making any sense!” she pleaded, trying to keep him talking.

“ Oh, I’m NOT, AM I!?! ” Tim snapped, rounding on her as his eyes began to glow again, “Oh, well, thank you for the update, Madame Peanut Gallery!! You don’t get it!!! All my life, all my life, I’ve been someone’s slave!! ”

Steph stopped, caught up in what he had to say as Tim began pacing again, his voice rising in tempo and pitch.

“First Jack and his fucking belt-! ” Tim growled, “Then Janet and her ‘training’!! Then Bruce and his impossible fucking standards and then I was a slave to my own stupid mistakes and then finally, finally, after years of living in Hell on Earth--- I FINALLY FUCKING DIED!!”

Tim looked back at her, a crazed sort of desperation in his eyes, “Do you know how many times I dreamed of death!? Yearned for it!?! Wished, hoped, and even fucking prayed for it!?!?! It was all I ever wanted!! An end! And end to the madness!!! An end to it all!!! And I GOT IT!! I died! I saw the end! I saw the other side!!! I was fucking at peace and everything!!!”

“Tim…” Stephanie whispered. She had had no idea Tim was suicidal.

“But then! ” Tim snarled, something animalistic and primal in his voice, “ Oh ho ho, THEN!! THAT FUCKING BASTARD BROUGHT ME BACK TO LIFE!! EVEN DEATH ISN’T AN ESCAPE, STEPHANIE!! THERE’S NO ESCAPE FROM HIM!!”

“No escape from who!?!” Stephanie cried, but Tim didn’t answer, falling to his knees beside the one old computer in the barren room they were in.

“ No escape… ” Tim whispered, “No escape but him. Junior. He was my escape. He was the one who came out of the Pit, he was the one who fought his way out of those caverns, he was the one who came back!!”

Tim stood and turned, grinning ear to ear as his eyes glowed and tears streamed down his face, the lines between Tim and Junior blurring until they were unrecognizable. 

“Tim…” Stephanie whispered, “You killed your brother!”

“YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW THAT!?!” Tim roared, “What does it matter!? Death is meaningless! Everything is meaningless! Jesus was a liar and God is dead! I have been living in HELL, Stephanie, HELL!!! I’ve met the Devil, fuck-- I’ve had sex with him!! And soon, mark my words, he’s going to come to collect. But Junior… This is the first time in my life, the first time in years, that I am truly free. And it’s on a time limit.”

Tim wiped his face, running a calming hand through his hair, and took a deep, shaking breath. “I don’t care what Junior does,” he decided, “I don’t care who lives and who dies. Right now, for just this moment, for just these few weeks… I want to remember what freedom feels like.”

Stephanie watched with tears in her eyes as Tim finally retreated back behind that sickening smile, and Junior grinned up at her. “Damn…” he murmured, “Didn’t know he was still kicking around back there! Well, as long as he’s glad I’m here, might as well give him a good show, right?”

“ Tim! ” Stephanie growled, “ Tim, I know you can hear me! This isn’t you! It’s just the Pit Madness, messing with your mind! You’re not a slave-- you’re family!! ”

Junior grabbed her by the throat, hauling her up into the air and choking her. “ Shut. the fuck. up. ” he commanded, then he looked her up and down, “I can see why he liked you. Feisty. Spirited. Free. All the things he wasn’t. Well, news flash, Blondie; he doesn’t need you anymore-- ”

Junior threw her to the side, grinning as he made for the door, “He’s got me. Now, here’s the plan, Blondie: you’re gonna go find Barbara Gordon before she dies, and free her from the ingenious little death trap I’ve designed. Here’s your first clue.”

He tossed a piece of paper at her feet. “Get it? Clue? Like Cluemaster??” Junior said with a grin, “Ah, you get it. Well, you’ve got a few minutes yet before she dies. Good luck, Blondie; go ahead and try to spoil my plans!”

With cackling, mad laughter, Junior shut the door behind him, and Stephanie growled as she freed herself. Tim and his insanity would have to wait-- she needed to save Barbara.

---

Damian screamed with fury as he continued to carve a bloody swathe through the League assassins. “ You don’t control me!! ” he roared, “ I am not one of you anymore!! ”

His heart pounded in his chest. Fear jumped in his throat. The assassins did not let up in their attack, but Damian felt no pain. His thoughts were hazy and unfocused, but as long and as hard as he fought, he still only saw one thing: Grandfather, sitting perfectly straight on his throne, watching him with a cruel grin.

“Remember, Damian,” he said coolly, “You continue to exist at my sufferance. Never forget that.”

Damian roared with new fury, relieving another assassin of her head. He was not Damian al Ghul anymore. He was better. He was better! He was better!

Then why did he continue to kill!?

Because I will die if I don’t! This is the League! They will kill me if I hesitate! They are stronger than me!!

I-- I--- I--- I am afraid of them!

---

Barbara struggled and writhed in her chair, screaming behind her duct-tape gag as she watched death grow closer and closer. Each innocent woman between her and death fell with a scream of pain, confusion, betrayal and despair. 

Each death cry drew nearer than the last.

This was truly the cruelest thing she had ever laid eyes on.

---

Stephanie rejoiced as she found the final clue- an address. She flew across Gotham, praying she wasn’t too late.

She landed on the roof, peering down into the skylight, where she saw Barbara, duct-taped to her chair, which was duct-taped to the ground. Without hesitation, she shattered the glass and flew downward, driven by the need to save her mentor.

---

Damian heaved with exertion as the last of the assassins fell. Now there was no one between him and Grandfather. He could end this, once and for all. End this nightmare. Destroy what he feared the most. Destroy Ra’s al Ghul.

But he’s not what you fear most, is he?

From the ceiling, a dark figure swept toward the ground. Damian bristled as he took a step back in fear, the orange haze still tinting his vision.

Another Damian, adult and more mature, dressed in the garb of the League, stood in his way, smirking cockily.

This was his greatest fear. Not being a servant of Ra’s al Ghul… but becoming him.

Damian roared with fury, leaping at the Other Damian with rage and fear and desperation. 

The fight was short and brutal. They traded blows in quick succession, each fiercer than the last.

---

Barbara watched with wide eyes as Stephanie fought her hardest, but was still painfully clear in her attempt to hold back and not harm her opponent.

---

The Other Damian was cunning and strong, but Damian was faster. He could beat him, he could do this--!

He jumped up and used an opening to land a kick to Other Damian’s temple.

---

Stephanie’s vision went fuzzy as her head swam with pain, and she took a step back.

---

“Time to finish this!! ” Damian roared, lunging forward with his sword as the Other Damian’s eyes widened.

---

And a scream pierced the air as his katana cut through his opponent’s eye.

---

Stephanie screamed as she clutched at her face, stumbling to the ground as blood poured from the wound. She couldn’t believe it-- she couldn’t understand what had just happened! 

Why!? Why would he do this!?!

---

Damian stepped over the battered, broken, bleeding form of his alternate self. He growled as he drew closer to Grandfather, who still smirked at him confidently, remaining perfectly still.

(Or was he wriggling and writhing, trying to break free…?)

The orange haze began to lift, but Damian still saw his Grandfather. He still saw the object of all his nightmares, all his fear, all his doubt and insecurities.

And there was still a sword in his hand.

End it, a voice whispered to him, End it! Be the man you always knew you could be!

Damian held his Grandfather’s head, looking him dead in the emerald green eyes, filled with fear confidence. “ Thus always to tyrants, ” he whispered, and he plunged his sword into his grandfather’s guts.

---

Barbara whimpered from behind her gag as a tear leaked down her cheek, pain lancing throughout her body from areas she didn’t know she could still feel. She looked at those hazy, unfocused eyes with so much pity, so much care, and bitterly thought, I’m just sorry it was you.

---

The orange haze lifted, and Damian blinked.

Where Grandfather had sat, there was Gordon instead, with his sword in her belly. 

He looked back, and there was Brown, bleeding from the eye he had taken from his doppelganger.

And back behind them…

Damian’s heart hammered in his chest as sticky blonde hair, lifeless blue eyes, and cherry red lips made redder by blood looked back at him.

Angelica Dowd.

“ No… ” Damian whispered in horror as the Fear Toxin released its hold on his mind.

He recognized all the bodies in the hall beyond. Raquel. Elizabeth. Mary. Jeanne. Grace. Melody. Faith. Sarah. Allison. There were no assassins; there were never assassins. They were… they were all the women he had slept with.

Damian fell to his knees, pulling his blade from Gordon’s guts in horror. He’d killed all those women. He had cared for them, held them in his arms, and he’d killed them. 

And Brown and Gordon… his sisters…

Damian gasped for breath.

This couldn’t be.

It couldn’t.

Drake’s words rang in his ears:

I see you for what you really are…  a killer!

Chapter 9: The Last Laugh, Part 7

Stephanie grunted as she stumbled up onto her feet, panting hard and still clutching at what used to be her eye. She looked up, and grimaced as she saw Damian on his knees, covering his mouth in horror, and Barbara, still alive, but starting to lose consciousness from the bloodloss. Grunting with effort, she hauled herself up onto her feet, and staggered over to the two of them, looking up at the shattered skylight. 

Here’s to hoping Clark wasn’t too distracted.

“ SUPERMAN!! ” she cried, then she tumbled back down to the floor, half on purpose, so that she could start releasing Barbara’s chair from the duct-tape.

Damian used his free hand to help her, moving slowly and clumsily.

After a few seconds, they looked up as a shadow covered them, and there, coming out of the glare of the sun, was the big man himself. Superman.

“What’s happened?” he asked urgently, floating downward and using his x-ray vision to check over each of their injuries. He looked back at the hallways beyond them, and sucked in his breath. “ Jesus, ” he whispered.

“Clark,” Stephanie said commandingly, and the Kryptonian turned back to her, “Get Oracle out of here. She’s losing too much blood. I’ll help Robin.”

“But Batgirl, your eye--” Clark began, but Stephanie silenced him with a look.

“ I’ll manage, ” she growled, “Do we know where Signal is?”

“Yes, Conner found him knocked out on a rooftop a few hours ago,” Clark reported, beginning to awkwardly cradle Oracle’s wheelchair in his arms, “He’s okay, just a concussion.”

“Good,” Stephanie sighed, sitting back on her hands and trying to catch her breath.

“He wasn’t a target,” Damian whispered, still looking at the bloodied katana duct-taped to his hand.

“No…” Stephanie agreed sadly, “He wasn’t. Go on without us, Superman. We’ll catch up.”

“What if he comes back?” Clark asked.

“He’s already had his fun with us,” Steph sighed, moving to help Damian remove the duct tape, “We’re old news. He’ll move on to a new target next.”

She levelled Superman with the coldest, most intense one-eyed glare she could muster. “You tell Jason to watch his ass,” she commanded, and Clark nodded as he flew up, up, and away, taking Oracle with him.

“Gordon-” Damian started, but Stephanie cut him off, slowly unwrapping the duct tape from his hand.

“Will be alright,” she said, “I saw where you hit her. Nothing important.”

“It’s all important.”

“Mostly.”

“Your eye--”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Stephanie…”

Steph looked up. That was the first time Damian had called her by her first name. She held his gaze for a moment, taking in the sheer shame and remorse in it. The tears that welled up behind his domino mask as his shoulders shook subtly. “It’s okay, Damian,” she said softly, “It’s okay.”

Damian bowed his head. “Th-Those women, they were…”

“I know.”

His head snapped up. “You knew?? ” he gaped.

Stephanie rolled her eyes… eye. “Of course I knew,” she sighed, “I’m not an idiot. There was all sorts of online chatter of people bragging about getting laid with you. And I get the kink of doing it in the mask.”

“ Brown. ”

She smirked a little in spite of herself, then looked back at the poor women who’d fallen, and felt the weight of it all over again. “Did you love them?” she asked.

“No,” Damian answered truthfully, “But… but I never wished ill on them.”

“Good,” she said, then she took the katana out of Damian’s hand, letting it rest on the ground, then stood up and offered him her hand, “You know it’s not your fault, right?”

Damian said nothing as he got to his feet, keeping his eyes on the slew of corpses. “I swore to never kill again,” he said, “And Drake has forced me into killing people I cared about.”

“But that’s still not your fault,” Steph told him, slinging his arm over her shoulders as they walked together out of the abandoned warehouse.

“I know that,” he whispered, closing his eyes, “But it still feels like it is.”

They walked out in silence.

---

Jason paced about the Cave floor, thinking hard to himself. Bruce and Selina were up in the Manor, in their room. Bruce was… dealing. Not well, but Jason knew him. He would come back, eventually. Full of rage and grief and maybe hurting the criminals more than he should be, but he would come back. It was only a matter of time. He was Batman, after all. He had to.

Tommy, Jane, and Ollie were still safe and sound in Smallville, under the watchful eye of Green Arrow and Black Canary. As much as his first instincts were to run back to Kansas and hug his twins and never let go, he had a duty to his family and his city. He had to trust that Arrow and Canary would keep the kids safe.

Barbara was in surgery, but Doc Thompkins had assured Jason that everything was running smoothly. Damian had missed  most of the important stuff; she was expected to make a full recovery. As “full” as being in a wheelchair for the rest of her life meant.

Alfred was at the funeral home, making arrangements for Dick. Dick had never spoken much about how connected he was with his Romani roots, but Alfred was looking into the proper funeral practices all the same. He really was a saint, and was taking it like a champion. Better than most of them. Better than Bruce. Someone said that there was a candlelight vigil being held in Bludhaven. Jason would have liked to attend, but he still had a clown to find. Two clowns, really; no one had seen hide nor hair of the Joker, and that was beginning to worry him.

Stephanie was sent to a secure room in the hospital, a friend of Doc Thompkins, who could be trusted to be discreet. When Leslie first looked her over, she said they were going to have to amputate her eye. Stephanie had smiled, saying she was going to absolutely rock an eyepatch, but Jason knew that was all just for Damian’s benefit.

And Damian… Damian was up in his room. Jon Kent had been called to try to talk to him, but he was taking no visitors. Jason thought it best to let sleeping dogs lie. 

Jim was with the CSI’s, cleaning up the gruesome scene from Junior’s latest deathtrap. He said it had looked like the Devil’s meat locker, a visual Jason really didn’t need.

That left his active team as Clark, Conner, Cass, Kate, Duke, Roy, and Kori. Normally, he’d tell the Superfolk to pair up, have Cass go with Duke, and stay with his team, but now, after all of them getting trounced so thoroughly… it was time to rethink their strategy.

“Alright people, listen up,” Jason said, giving each of the heroes a hard look, “It hasn’t been a good day. We’ve lost Dick, and most of our team is down. But there’s still work to be done. Superboy, you’re pairing up with Cass. Superman, you go with Kate. One of you on the ground, one of you in the air, at all times. Send up a flare in case you find something. Duke, you’re still nursing a concussion; you stay in the Cave and run comms.”

“What about you?” Conner asked, and Jason grinned ruefully.

“I prefer Tamaraneans to Kryptonians anyday,” he said, putting an arm around both his lovers, “We Outlaws make a good team. And what we need right now is solid teamwork. Good luck. Stay vigilant.”

The two Supers and the two Bats nodded, and they broke off into their respective teams as the final night began to fall over Gotham. 

One last night, Tim, Jason thought grimly to himself as he, Roy, and Kori moved out, One last time.

---

Tommy and Lex regarded one another shrewdly. Tommy with wary curiosity, Lex with smug interest. “How do you know anything about my father?” Tommy asked him, and Lex chuckled.

“He worked for me for a time, remember?” he said snidely, “We were never close, but we had a professional relationship.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes. Green Arrow still grunted and struggled in Mercy’s hold. The farmhouse still stood silent and still as Dinah and Ma tended to Jane and Ollie. Oliver had probably told them to give the two of them space while they processed their grief. That backfired spectacularly.

“Why did my father work for you?” he asked first, and Lex smiled.

“Because he chose to,” he supplied.

“ Bullshit, ” Tommy snapped.

Lex raised an eyebrow. “Now where did a nice young man like you learn a bad word like that?” he asked coolly, and Tommy growled.

“Jason Todd is my uncle, moron,” he said, heat building behind his eyes, “Now give me straight answers or I’ll twist your bald head off like a bottle cap!”

“Ooh, like your father did to the Black Mask?” Lex asked blandly, inspecting his fingernails, and Tommy stopped for a moment.

“What are you talking about?” he asked quietly, while Green Arrow wrestled on the ground frantically.

“You didn’t know?” Lex asked, as if surprised, “I’m surprised the Bats would keep it from you. After all, if my father were a cold-blooded murderer, I’d certainly want to know.”

“ My father was a good man! ” Tommy growled, clenching his fists as his vision tinted red.

“No, you want to believe he was,” Lex told him, “Truth is, my boy, Tim Drake has a body count bigger than Deathstroke. There’s so much you still don’t know about his time as Red Robin, even less about now.”

Behind the two of them, Oliver’s eyes widened as he caught sight of a trail of red sparks in the air, and he began thrashing harder in Mercy’s grip, screaming something through her hand urgently.

Tommy ignored the restrained archer, instead focusing in on Luthor’s words. “ Now? ” he asked quietly, and Luthor smirked.

“Didn’t you know, Tommy?” he asked smoothly, “ Your father is alive. ”

Oliver finally bit the inside of Mercy’s hand, forcing the blonde to release him for just a moment, and took that moment to shout, “ TOMMY, LOOK OUT!!! ”

Tommy turned to ask what he meant, then cried out as something hit him; fast.

Tommy went flying, landing in a heap a few yards away as he looked up to see a storm of red lightning, there in the field of Kansas, surrounding Luthor, who seemed totally unbothered. “ LUTHOR! ” Tommy screamed, “What is this!?”

“Forgive me, my boy, but I’ve been using you!” Lex called over the roar of the storm, a smug, confident smile on his face as he faced the lightning without fear, “I needed to verify something. Seems like my hypothesis was correct, wasn’t it…”

In the blink of an eye, laughter echoed all around them as Lex was snatched up by the red lightning and shoved to the ground, held by his tie, and a man in a yellow suit stood over him with an evil grin, his hand held up like it was a weapon, but it was blurry and unfocused, and making a horrible droning sound.

Lex, for his part, merely smiled in the face of this new arrival. “ ... Eobard, ” he greeted cordially.

“ Gotta hand it to you, Lex, ” the Man in the Yellow Suit said with a grin, his voice distorted and buzzing, “ You’re a very smart man, for someone in such a primitive time. ”

“Thank you, Mr. Thawne, I try,” Luthor responded, “Now, if you’d so kindly let me up?”

“ What makes you think I won’t kill you? ” Eobard asked, leaning in far too close. His eyes glowed with red lightning.

“Please, we both know that the same restraints that apply to your master apply to me,” Lex said smugly, “I know you think you’re invincible, Eobard, but changes to the timeline are still damned annoying to you, aren’t they? How’s the Black Racer doing these days?”

Thawne regarded him for a moment, then scoffed and stood up, letting Lex go. Meanwhile, a familiar sonic scream split the air, and Mercy grunted as she was blown backward. Black Canary stepped off the porch, running to her husband. “ Back off, Atomic Blonde,” she growled, taking a fighting stance as Oliver got to his feet.

“Tommy, whatever you do, stay close!” Oliver called, nocking an arrow, “That’s one of the most dangerous people in existence!”

“ My, my, Mr. Queen, you flatter me! ” Thawne said with a laugh.

“Who are you!?” Tommy demanded, drawing himself up into his own defensive stance.

“ Eobard Thawne, the Reverse Flash, at your service! ” Thawne said with an exaggerated bow, “ I’ve heard a lot about you, Tommy Drake. Read about you in the history books… or a version of them, anyway. ”

Lex stood up, brushing off his finely pressed suit. Thawne turned to him, grinning slightly. “ So, what happens now? ” the evil speedster asked.

“Now?” Lex asked, checking his watch, “Nothing of import. But you can run back to your employer and tell him that Operation Echo is a lost cause. The Light has seen him for what he truly is, and there are going to be… consequences.”

“ Are you sure you want a messenger who travels at the speed of light, Lex? ” Thawne asked him, cocking his head, “ That could have some dire consequences for you and your partner. ”

“We know what we’re doing, Mr. Thawne, thank you,” Lex said, beckoning Mercy back to him and the limo that had carried them, “However, if the Light ever finds itself in need of your unique services again… we’ll call.”

Reverse Flash grinned at the prospect, crossing his arms and watching as Lex entered his limo. “So glad we had this chat, Tommy!” Lex called with a smug smile and a wave, “You’re the most gullible grandson a man could ask for!”

Tommy growled as Lex drove off, and he was left with far more questions than answers.

“Stay where you are, Thawne,” Oliver growled, pulling back an arrow as Dinah squared up with him, but the Reverse Flash only laughed in their faces.

“ Honestly, Queen, you are a riot! ” he laughed scornfully, “ Thinking you can stop the fastest man alive with a bow and arrow! ”

“Last I checked, Thawne, you’re the second fastest man alive,” Oliver taunted, and Tommy almost missed what happened next.

Oliver let go of his arrow, but as soon as it left its string, Thawne ran forward and knocked it out of the air. A millisecond later, and Thawne’s blurry hand was in the center of Oliver’s chest, going through him as if he weren’t there, and Dinah and Tommy started to cry out, but nothing happened. The two just stood there. Not reacting, not crying out in pain, just, staring each other down.

“ All I need to do, ” Thawne growled in a voice barely above a whisper, “ Is stop vibrating the molecules in my hand. The space is filled, and suddenly, there’s an arm shaped hole in your chest, Robin Hood.”

“Oh yeah?” Oliver asked, a nervous grin on his face as he discreetly pressed a button on the inside of his bow grip, “Well all I need to do is keep you distracted for a few more--”

The fields of Kansas filled with the sound of two sonic booms as Wally West and Bart Allen arrived on the scene, flanking Thawne with grim expressions.

“--seconds.” Oliver finished, “How ya doin’, Wally?” 

“Could be better, I admit,” Wally said, clenching his fists as lightning crackled in his eyes, “Just found out my best friend died. I’m a little pissed off at the moment.”

“Sounds like you could do to let off some steam, Wal,” Bart said without an ounce of humor in his voice, crossing his arms as he regarded Thawne with disgust, “How about we try Harley’s new punching bag therapy?”

“I think that’s a great idea, Bart,” Wally growled, and Thawne grinned as he slowly extricated his hand from Green Arrow’s chest.

“Wally West, as I live and breathe,” Eobard said with a grin, “So, you wanna try and do what Barry couldn’t? By all means, Wal. Catch me if you can!!”

The three speedsters disappeared in a storm of red and yellow lightning headed off into the distance, and Oliver let out a relieved sigh as he fell to his knees. “Are you okay, Ollie?” Dinah asked quietly as Tommy flew over.

“I’m fine, just rattled,” Oliver said, rubbing the spot where Thawne’s hand had entered his chest, “Haven’t gone toe to toe with Thawne since Barry. I forgot just how fucking terrifying he was.” He looked up at Tommy for a moment, then said, “Uh, of course, I meant ‘freaking’...”

“I know swear words, Oliver, I’m thirteen,” Tommy said, rolling his eyes.

“Right, right, internet,” Oliver muttered, then he got to his feet, “Well, that sucked.”

“Any idea what any of them were talking about?” Dinah asked.

“No clue,” Oliver sighed, slinging his bow over his back, “Best guess? There’s something going on behind the scenes at Supervillain HQ. Got something to do with Lex, Thawne, and ‘Operation Echo’.”

“I heard him mention something about Thawne’s ‘employer’,” Dinah said, mostly to herself, “Who’s that, I wonder?”

“ Who cares!? ” Tommy said angrily, “Didn’t you hear!? He said my dad was alive!! We have to find him!! He could be hurt, or in danger, or--!”

“ Tommy! ” Oliver snapped, and Tommy’s jaw clacked shut. Oliver took a breath, and Dinah took over. 

“Cat’s out of the bag, honey,” she said gently, patting his chest, then she turned to Tommy, using her best therapist voice, “Tommy, sweetheart… you might want to sit down.”

---

The Outlaws patrolled the rooftops carefully. Starfire kept to the sky, while Arsenal and the Red Hood kept to the shadows, keeping their eyes peeled for any sign of the Joker or his copycat.

But even the best of them fall victim if the enemy knows them.

Arsenal stepped around a shaded corner, then cried out as someone in the shadows stabbed him in the arm with something small and sharp. Hood ran toward him, but not before Roy felt something flood his system. “ ROY!! ” Hood snarled, running to step in front of him as Starfire rocketed downward from the sky.

Roy stumbled backward, and grunted as the world started spinning. He coughed, then started shaking as he broke out in a cold sweat. “ WHAT DID YOU GIVE HIM!? ” Hood demanded of the man in the shadows, and Starfire touched down behind them, the light of her starbolts casting him in an eerie green glow.

“ Oh… ” Junior said with a smile, “ Nothing he hasn’t had before… ”

“J-Jay--” Roy murmured, clutching at his husband’s arm, before vomiting violently on the rooftop, “It--It’s hero-- nnngh ” Roy collapsed before he could finish his sentence, going limp in Jason’s arms while still shaking.

“Wh-- heroin!? ” Jason growled, pointing his gun at Junior, “ You gave him heroin!? ”

“Wrong!” Junior said with a grin, “I gave him an overdose of heroin! He’ll probably die if you don’t get him to a hospital soon… Koriand’r. ”

Starfire growled as she floated up and around Junior, keeping her starbolts charged on him at all times. “I won’t leave you,” she said to Jason, but he just set his jaw grimly as he handed Roy off to her. 

“You have to,” he said grimly, taking out his second gun and training it on Junior, “Roy’ll die if you don’t. I’ll be okay.”

“ Jason- ” Kori said emphatically, but Jason cut her off with a glance.

“I’ll be okay,” he lied, “Get Roy out of here. Make sure he survives. I’ll see you both at home.”

“Run along, Kori,” Junior grinned as she cradled Roy in her arms, taking to the sky, “We’ve got guy stuff to talk about.”

Kori didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, she looked at Jason. “ I’ll come back for you, ” she said clearly, and Jason only nodded slightly, not taking his eyes off Junior. 

And then she flew away in a green streak across the night sky.

“Very noble of you, Jason,” Junior said, a wide, sardonic grin on his face, “Letting your lovers escape while you face my wrath head on.”

“I know it’s you under there, Tim,” Jason said, “I know what you’re going through. Trust me, I’ve been there.”

Junior laughed in his face. “Oh, trust me, Jason,” he said darkly, “ You have no idea what I am. ”

Jason moved to pull the trigger on his gun, but before he could, something hit him in the back of the head, and he blacked out.

---

Jason woke up with a start, looking around frantically. He was tied to a chair, his suit still on, in a big dark room lit by one small lightbulb. It was like…

“Oh, crap, ” Jason muttered as he heard the telltale thump of a crowbar hitting someone’s palm.

“ Ohh, Jason, Jason, Jason, Jason… ” Junior sighed as he stepped into view, a grin on his face as he held the instrument in his hand, “You would not believe the day I had! Took a stroll down by the river, did some fishing, went to this lovely little pawn shop down on 3rd Street where would you believe it! I found the crowbar. ”

Jason squirmed, testing his bonds, only to discover that they were too tight to break out of. Damn, Tim had thought of everything. “Tim…” he said quietly, “You don’t have to do this.”

“Y’know, Jay, I thought about this one long and hard…” Junior went on, totally ignoring him, “I thought about killing your kids, I thought about killing your family, hell, I thought about breaking into your house and just beating you to death like you did me, but then I decided, y’know what? Fuck that! I don’t need to do anything special for you, Jason. You, you’re a poet; you understand the beauty in the simplicity, don’t you? You get the symbolism behind it all. Watching each of my meticulously crafted deathtraps far outpace your own paltry plans must have really stung that shattered pride of yours, huh?”

“ Tim- ” Jason tried again, but Junior went on.

“But for you, I thought, this would be enough,” Junior said, twirling the crowbar in his hands, “Just beat you at your own game. Nothing flashy. Nothing extra. Just you, me, and a crowbar. So, Jason, settle an old bet, would you?”

Jason closed his eyes as he set his jaw, preparing for the first blow as Junior reared back his crowbar. “What hurts worse?” he asked, and Jason let out a breath as Junior’s voice sounded exactly like the Joker’s from all those years ago. “Forehand?” WHACK! “Or backhand?” WHACK! “A?” WHACK! “Or B?” WHACK!!

“ HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!! ”

Chapter 10: The Last Laugh, Part 8

Kori burst into the Batcave with little time to spare, screaming, “ PLEASE! HE NEEDS HELP!! ”

The Cave sprung to alert. Duke ran from the comms, Selina stood from where she had been sitting with Bruce at his table, and Doctor Thompkins jumped into action, taking Roy from her arms. “What happened?” Leslie asked urgently, carrying the seizing redhead to the medical bay.

“It was Junior, ” Kori said, her voice shaking, “He overdosed Roy with heroin. Please, you have to save him!! ”

Bruce stared at Roy's limp form, his eyes still seeing Dick plummeting to earth. 

“I’ll do what Ican,” Leslie promised, pulling on her gloves, “You did good to bring him as quickly as you did.”

“ But-! ”

“Kori,” Duke said placatingly, putting a hand on her shoulder as Leslie urgently took Roy behind the curtains of the medbay, “Let her do her job. I know it’s hard to see someone you love so helpless, but… it’s the best we can do.”

Pearls danced across the alleyway.

Kori nodded sadly, then turned to look at the younger man, panic still in her eyes. “Jason!” she cried suddenly, “Junior has Jason!! ”

Bruce’s eyes widened. Not again. Never again.

Then, a moment later, everyone heard the roar of the Batmobile, whirling to watch as the car rocketed out of the Cave. Selina gaped at where she had been handcuffed to the workbench in the blink of an eye, then stared at where the Batmobile had disappeared.

---

Jason grunted as Junior’s crowbar slammed into his helmet, snapping his head to the side. Junior laughed all the while, making stupid comments along the way. 

“Hey, Jason! ” he said with a grin, “I’m beginning to wonder-- how many hits does it take to get to the center of a Red Hood Pop?”

Jason grunted as his head snapped to the other side as Junior cracked him across the face again. So far, his helmet was taking it, but…

Another whack. Jason heard the kevlar crack. Felt the impact of the hit a little more clearly.

“ Ooooh… THERE’S the crack…” Junior said with a grin, running his fingers over the broken ridge in the helmet, “So… not so unbreakable after all, hm?”

“ Fuck… off… ” Jason panted, trying to breathe around his swollen lips. He looked up, meeting Junior’s eyes, and tried to fight off the green haze at the edges of his vision.

Junior frowned at him, crouching to be on his eye level as he regarded him ponderingly. “Y’know, Jace…” he murmured darkly, “I always looked up to you. Did you know that?”

Jason grunted and blinked the blurriness out of his eyes as he looked up at Tim. “Wh-What?” he asked groggily. 

He met Junior’s eyes, and was struck by the sadness in the blue/green that regarded him. “You were my hero,” Tim said clearly, “You weren’t effortlessly perfect like Dick, not as doggedly driven as Bruce, but you were still Robin. Still a hero. Just a kid who came from nothing, trying to be something. And then you died. And I did my best to keep Batman sane, keep Gotham alive… to make you proud. ”

“Tim…” Jason murmured sadly as the blue receded from his eyes and Junior stood up, twirling the crowbar in his hands as the grin returned to his face.

“ Then… you came back… ” he said softly, “And what was the first thing you did? Go hug Bruce? Go get revenge on the Joker? Find Dick? No. You found me. You broke into Titans Tower and beat a fourteen-year-old kid within an inch of his life. All because he dared to try to be you .”

WHACK! Jason grunted with the force of the impact as Tim/Junior laughed in his face. “ I SPENT A MONTH IN A WHEELCHAIR BECAUSE OF YOU!! ” Tim screamed, WHACK! , “ I HAD TO LIE TO MY FATHER AND FRIENDS AND SAY I GOT HIT BY A CAR!! ” WHACK! “ TWENTY FOUR BROKEN BONES, A PUNCTURED LUNG, AND THREE SURGERIES, ALL BECAUSE OF YOU!! ” WHACK!

The last blow of the crowbar finally shattered Jason’s helmet, sending a piece of the faceplate flying off and exposing the right ride of Jason’s face. He struggled to steady his breathing as green growled and churned at the edges of his mind, lashing out in fear and anger at the memories of clowns and crowbars. 

“ Tim… ” Jason spluttered, spitting blood out of his mouth, “ I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I wasn’t thinking clearly, I wasn’t myself; you left before I worked up the courage to say it, but that day in Titans Tower has haunted me every night since.”

Junior’s hand twitched at Jason’s words. Blue and green fought for dominance in Tim’s eyes as the crowbar hovered uncertainly. “ Well… ” Junior growled, “Isn’t that just… swell?? It’s really great that you’re moving on, Jason; healing and all. But I don’t CARE!! ” WHACK!

Jason grunted as the crowbar cracked him across the face again. “ Hah… heh… heh… I’m trying… to help you… ” Jason panted, craning his bruised neck to look Tim/Junior in the eye, “I remember everything I did when I first came out of the Pit. And I still wake up in a cold sweat, now, twelve years later. Tim… I didn’t even do half the stuff you did, and I can still barely handle it.”

Junior growled as a look of pure rage came over his features, and he flung the crowbar through the air as hard as he could, knocking out one of Jason’s teeth. “ SHUT UP!! ” he roared.

Jason spat out the bloody molar, then looked up defiantly. “I know this all feels good now , Tim” he said, and he grunted as Junior hit him again, “I know you think what you’re doing is justified!” WHACK!! “But sooner or later, either tomorrow or thirty years from now, you’re going to wake up!! ” WHACK!! “And you’ll never forgive yourself for what you did!!”

WHACK!! WHACK!! WHACK!!!

“ SHUT UP!!! ” Junior bellowed, hitting Jason over and over again as the green glow faltered more and more, “ SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!!!!! YOU DON’T KNOW ME!!! ”

“ Yes I do!!! ” Jason screamed back, “I KNOW YOU BECAUSE I WAS YOU!!”

Junior took a breath, running a hand calmingly through his hair, breathing harshly through his teeth. “ Ohhhh, I’m not hearing this---” he muttered to himself, and Jason grunted as he shifted in his bonds.

“ Think, Tim, THINK!! ” Jason cried, “That’s what helps you fight off the Pit!! Think of all the people you’re hurting, not physically, but emotionally-! ”

“ STOP! TALKING! AND! DIE!!! ” Junior screeched, accentuating each word with a blow from the crowbar. Jason blinked the dark spots from his eyes, then screwed his courage to the sticking place.

“I GET THAT YOU’RE ANGRY!!” Jason screamed at him, squeezing his eyes shut and bracing himself against the pain as Junior hit him again, over and over, “I GET THAT YOU FEEL LIKE NO ONE’S THERE FOR YOU!! YOU WOKE UP ALONE, AND SCARED, AND ABANDONED!! BUT YOU’RE WRONG, TIM!!”

WHACK! WHACK!! WHACK!!

Jason growled as he struggled to remain conscious, the green screaming at the edge of his brain.

“BUT THERE ARE STILL PEOPLE AROUND HERE THAT CARE ABOUT YOU!!” Jason cried, not trusting his voice to do anything less than scream, lest he break down crying from the pain and the stress, “THINK ABOUT CASS, AND STEPH!! THINK ABOUT BRUCE!!”

“ STOP!! TALKING!!! ” Junior screamed in reply, hitting him particularly hard.

“THINK ABOUT CONNER, THEN!! AND BART, AND CASSIE, AND ALL YOUR OTHER FRIENDS!!”

“I CAN’T HEAR YOU!!!” Junior screamed in his ears, “ LA LA LA LA LA--- I’M NOT LISTENING!!”

Junior began to laugh, but it was far from the sadistic mirth of before. Now, it sounded forced. Manufactured. Laughing because he wanted to prove a point, not because he found anything particularly funny.

Jason gasped for breath as he felt what was almost certainly a broken rib poking at his lung. He was reaching Tim, he was sure of it!! He just needed something that would push him over the edge! Who did Tim care about, more than anyone!?

Jason stopped short for a moment as he came to the clearest conclusion. He and Tim were similar in a lot of ways. Both Robins. Both victims of the Pit. 

Both fathers.

“ TOMMY, THEN!! ” he screamed, thinking about how he would do just about anything for Jane and Ollie, “ THINK ABOUT TOMMY!!! ”

“ RRAAAGGHHH!!! ” Junior hit him one last time, right in the temple, so hard that Jason’s chair tipped over, and he grunted as he slammed into the cold, hard ground. He craned his neck to look up at Tim, and his eyes widened.

Tim was laughing. Laughing hard, and hoarse, and desperate. The crowbar clattered to the ground. “ Ha ha ha ha ha, ha ha ha ha ha, ha ha ha ha ha!! ” Tim giggled, falling to his knees as the green slowly receded from his eyes, and Jason sighed as the blue came back, though it was weak and watery. Tears fell down his face as Tim raked his hands through his hair, and the grin slowly slipped into an anguished frown as his giggling laughter subsided into gut-wrenching sobs.

“ Ha ha ha ha ha! Ha ha ha ha ha! Ah ha ha ha ha!! Ah hah hah hah hah!! ”

Jason breathed relief as Tim broke down, letting his head rest against the cold stone.

A door slammed open. Light streamed into the room. Jason thought he must be hallucinating as Bruce ran through the doorway, crying, “ JASON! ”, only to stop in his tracks as he watched Tim collapse into laughter and sobs.

Bruce approached Tim slowly, who was still sobbing maniacally. “ Tim… ” he said sadly, kneeling and taking the shaking, shivering, weeping boy into his arms, “ It’s okay, son. It’s going to be okay… ”

“ Ah hah hah hah hah, Ah hah hah hah hah, Ah hah hah hah hah hah hah… ”

More and more people flooded into the room. Darkness encroached at the edge of Jason’s vision, the adrenaline finally beginning to leave him. Someone began cutting him loose, Jason wasn’t sure who. “ R-Roy… ” he murmured, needing to know, “ Is Roy…? ”

“Okay,” a voice said soothingly, clear and strong, “Everyone going to be okay.”

Jason nodded, then sighed as he let the sweet embrace of unconsciousness take him away.

---

Tommy rocketed across the sky, hightailing it back to Gotham. Fuck whatever Batman had said before. Fuck the Joker. He kept thinking over what Black Canary had told him, over and over. 

His dad was alive. 

His dad was alive and no one had told him. 

Everyone had known!! Everyone but HIM!!

And on top of that, his dad was…

“My father was a good man!!” “No. You want to believe he was.”

Tommy growled as his eyes glowed red with heat vision and anger. You know what?? Fuck Lex Luthor, too!!

Tommy was someplace over Pennsylvania now. New Jersey wasn’t far. Gotham wasn’t far. His dad wasn’t far. 

His dad the deranged psychopath.

Tommy screamed frustration as he pushed himself to go faster, sighting the doom and gloom of Gotham in the distance as the sun just barely started to peek over the Atlantic. 

There was a shape in his way, hovering in midair. 

Tommy meant to fly right past him, holding on to his anger, but the shape moved to intercept. In an instant, Tommy collided with a solid chest, and grunted as strong arms wrapped around him.

“ Lemme go!! ” he demanded, trying to wriggle free, but despite his super strength, he couldn’t break the grip, “ Lemme go !! ”

“That’s not gonna happen, bud,” Conner Kent said sadly, holding his son in place while he writhed in his grip, “I’m sorry.”

Unable to break free, Tommy closed his eyes as something caught in his throat. Suddenly, all the emotions he’d been bottling down inside for ages came right up to the surface, and Tommy broke down in Conner’s arms, hitting him weakly. 

“ You should have told me! ” he sobbed, “Why didn’t you tell me!? ”

Conner looked just as miserable as Tommy felt, just keeping the two of them in place in midair over Gotham. “I’m sorry,” he said. It was the only thing he could do.

And there they stayed for a small while, just… sobbing against one another. Over. it had to be over soon. They didn’t know how much more they could take.

Chapter 11: The Last Laugh, Part 9

Bruce hadn’t known what had come over him. One moment, he’d been watching Dick in his head, falling over and over again, then he’d heard Jason’s name and… moved.

That was all. It was as simple as that. The mere threat of one of his boys being in danger, it… it pulled him back up. 

Selina had been mad about the handcuffs, but Bruce suspected she was just deflecting after seeing the state that Jason was in. 

And Tim…

Tim laid on his cot in the holding cell, wrapped in a straightjacket so he didn’t hurt himself. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just laid and stared at the ceiling. Bruce assumed he was in shock. It was never a pretty thing, recovering from a psychotic episode. Especially one like Junior.

Bruce would have to speak to Dinah about the inner workings of Multiple Personality Disorder. He knew each of his kids struggled with identity, juggling civilian, vigilante, and public personas, and Tim himself had always made a disturbingly clear distinction between “Tim”, “Robin”, and “Timmy Wayne”. Perhaps it ran deeper than Bruce had thought. Perhaps there was more going on in Tim’s head than met the eye.

Bruce’s thoughts strayed to Harvey Dent, and how he had already lost a friend to the horrors of his own mind. Bruce refused to lose a son.

The Batfamily was in shambles. Barbara, Jason, Roy, and Stephanie were all in the hospital. Damian refused to exit his room. Tim was in a cell. All of them lost something to Junior.

Stephanie had lost her eye.

Dick had lost his life.

Tim had lost his mind.

Damian had lost his dignity.

Jason had nearly lost his husband.

And Bruce had lost his son. Nearly lost all four. 

There was so much, too much happening at once. He should be putting aside time to grieve for Dick, he should be figuring out the arrangements for the funeral, he should be contacting Dinah and the League on what to do with Tim, he should be sitting Tommy down and talking him through everything that had happened but instead, he was here. 

Looking up at the Batcomputer screen, at a picture of the Joker. The original. Who hadn’t been seen since Junior began his rampage.

It made him nervous. And while he was still nervous about the actions of the Joker… everything else would have to wait.

Thinking back on it, this was just like the Joker; sic some wild dog on him first, something that would distract him, then sweep in with his own grand plans and go for the kill. Classic misdirection. 

But the misdirection was over; Junior had been defeated. So what was Joker’s endgame?

It would be something big, Bruce knew. The Joker was dying, so he’d want to go out in grand style, taking Bruce with him if he could. As much as he preferred to be blind to it, he knew the full details of Joker’s unhealthy obsession with him; he believed that the two of them were intertwined by fate, cursed to battle eternally for a victory neither of them would ever achieve. 

So that would be his goal. Not a victory, but a cleaning of the slate. Something to bring them both down in a blaze of glory, leaving the world to pick up the pieces in their wake. Something so catastrophic, it would change the landscape of Gotham, Superheroics, and maybe even the world. Joker thought highly of himself, and even higher of Bruce. A layman’s death would be unacceptable to him. 

No. Joker wanted to make this a show. A romantic final stand. The Last Laugh.

So what would he do…?

There was a large scuffle at the front of the Cave, where Duke had been standing guard. Turning back to look, his heart sunk as he spotted Tommy and Conner, both red-eyed from tears and looking vengeful. 

“Where is he!?” Tommy demanded, shoving Duke aside as he marched down the steps into the Cave proper, “What have you done with him!?”

“Tommy-” Bruce said initially, trying and failing to think up the proper words, but he was saved by a small, weak, scratchy voice from the holding cells. 

“ Tommy? ”

---

Tim blinked as his eyes and his mind tried to focus. He’d heard his son’s voice. He’d recognize it anywhere.

Everything was still so fuzzy… laughter still lurked in the dark corners of his consciousness…

But Jason had told him to focus on Tommy. Tommy was all that mattered. Tim blinked again, harder this time, and finally, the world brought itself into focus.

It was a little like waking up from a nightmare, but the opposite. At first you feel relief… and then comes the dread. In the brief few seconds of delirium, his memories had still remained blissfully out of his reach, but now that consciousness was finally returning… and now that he was really at the reins again, not Junior or Red or Robin…

Tim’s blue eyes went wide as tears began falling down his cheeks. “Oh dear God…” he whispered, his voice broken in a million ways, “Wh-What did I do?”

“Tim?” Conner, Kon, Clone Boy asked kindly, floating toward the glass wall of his cell, “Is… Is that you, man?”

Tim blinked again, trying to dispel the tears as his shoulders shook. This was too much, this was way too much, what had he done, he couldn’t do this, he needed someone else to handle this, he couldn’t---

A giggle escaped his lips, and Kon backed up quickly.

Tim shook his head vehemently, biting his tongue and refusing to make any more noise, lest another laugh make itself known. Junior would never be allowed out again. Tim had already let him run wild, and now…

Dick…

Tim shook his head wildly, his breathing coming in ragged gasps. “It’s not funny,” he whimpered, mostly to himself, “I’m sorry, I know it’s not funny, I’m trying not to laugh, I- I didn’t mean to-- I mean, none of this was ever supposed to happen, I-- Oh, God! ”

“Dad!?” Tommy asked, and he sounded so hurt, so lost, so… oh God Tim wanted nothing more than to run to his son and wrap him in his arms, but his arms were already wrapped by this damn straightjacket and he wasn’t fully in control he could hurt Tommy and he would never but he still needed to get out because he knew what would happen once Ra’s realized he’d regained his sanity-- kinda. Sorta. Had he? Would he ever? Was he still in the League’s employ? Was “Tim Drake, Head of R&D at LexCorp” even still alive??

Was Operation Mockingbird still in motion? Was Deathstroke going to come back and try to finish the job!?

How much time had even passed?????

FOCUS, TIM!! FOCUS!!

Tim blinked the tears out of his eyes and tried to find Tommy again.

He searched the Cave, and at first was struck by just how old everyone looked. Bruce’s hair was more gray than it had been, Conner looked taller, everyone looked like they’d aged ten years. 

And Tommy.

Oh, Tommy.

His greatest fears manifested themselves right before Tim’s very eyes, and he stared in stubborn disbelief as he stared at his son, the teenager, all grown up in what seemed like an instant. His boy had grown up without him.

“Tommy…” Tim whispered sadly, “H-How long was I gone…?”

Tommy gritted his teeth sadly as he, too, hovered closer to the glass, reaching out to touch it with his hand. “... Seven years, Dad,” he whispered eventually.

Tim shut his eyes. “ No, ” he whispered, “ No, please, God, no! I-- I can’t have missed seven years of your life! I can’t have been gone all that time and came back like… like… this! ”

“D-Dad n-no, it wasn’t your fault,” Tommy tried, beginning to tear up too as the rest of the Cave stood by at the tearful reunion of father and son, “You were just scared, you couldn’t have known--”

“No, Tommy, I--” Tim started, but he bit his tongue as he fought down another damned giggle. “P-Please son, don’t blame yourself for any of this,” Tim began again, trying to look Tommy in the eye, “It’s… it’s my fault. It always has been. Everything terrible that happened to us, it’s all just because I was too stupid and short-sighted to protect you properly--”

“ Dad, you did fine! ” Tommy said in a watery but firm voice, wiping his eyes, “You weren’t perfect, but you did your best and I know that--”

Tim wept openly as he fell to his knees and rested his forehead against the glass, so close and yet so far from the touch of his son. “ God, Tommy, I--” he started, emotion catching in his throat, “I don’t deserve a son like you.”

“It doesn’t matter what you deserve,” Tommy said to him, kneeling down to be on Tim’s eye level, “You’ve got me. So please… stay?”

The whole Cave looked at Tim hopefully. Tim wished more than anything that he could say yes. He wanted to just stay here in the Manor where it was safe, and be with his son and his family and his everything and just pretend like the last two ( nine ) years of his life had never happened. He prayed he wasn’t a slave to Ra’s al Ghul, he prayed that he hadn’t killed Dick or Jean-Paul, and that he’d never started those fires, and that all the terrible things he had done could just be swept under the rug and forgotten. He wished everything could just go back to the way it was and he could be Robin again.

But despite all that had happened, despite everything that had transpired since he first took on the black cowl and bandoliers of the Red Robin suit, he couldn’t stop. Not now. Tim may be recovering from a psychotic episode, but he was still one of the smartest people on the planet; he could reasonably infer that even after the passing of seven years, Ra’s and Lex would still be alive. And considering Tommy was still alive, their damned nanobots were still active. That meant even though so much had changed…

… nothing had changed at all.

God, wasn’t that just hilarious!?

Tim started to giggle for a moment, before he realized what was happening and clenched his jaw shut, swallowing down the rest of those horrid sounds. No more.

Tim needed a plan. Step 1: Regain his sanity. Preferably on an accelerated timetable. Step 2: … Return to Ra’s. This was his least favorite step, but it needed to be done so that he could get the lay of the land in this strange new world, seven years in the future. Step 3: Accelerate Operation Mockingbird. Step 4: Infiltrate and take over the Court of Owls. Step 5: Kill himself.

That seemed like the only logical option. He had killed so many, and after the aftermath of Mockingbird and the Court, he will have killed many more. He already had a body count that would make Jason blush. How else could he atone for what he had done? The death penalty was considered the ultimate punishment for a reason, after all. And Tim wouldn’t wish trying to kill him on his worst enemy. No, he’d better do it himself. Someplace quiet. And he should leave a note, explaining everything.

He might need to leave a goddamn book. 

Of course, any and all of these steps would be scrapped as soon as he could confirm that Tommy was safe, and the nanobots were disabled. After that, Step 5 changed: Kill Ra’s al Ghul.

Good. plan done. Tim was good at plans. 

Now, what was he doing again?

Tim opened his eyes, looking up at the inhabitants of the Cave, who seemed to be more concerned than anything about how long he had remained silent. “I…” he blinked for a moment, screwing his courage to the sticking place, “I don’t think I’ll be going much of anywhere.”

This was Step 1, Tim supposed. Regain his sanity. There was quite literally no better place on Earth for him to be rather than by Tommy’s side to do that. A constant reminder of his responsibilities; that should pull him back up to normalcy. 

The Cave, meanwhile, rejoiced. Tim heard a couple whooping cheers, and Tommy sobbed with relief as he all but collapsed against the glass. Then Tim sighted Hurricane Bruce, come to rain on the parade.

Bruce stood, features stony and distant, and Tim knew immediately he was talking to Batman more than Bruce. But nonetheless, the old man crossed the Cave floor, then knelt down by the edge of Tim’s cell, looking his son in the eye. “I am absolutely overjoyed that you’ve decided to stay,” Bruce told him evenly, “And I’m sorry that I need to do this, but I need to know before anyone else gets hurt.”

Tim sagged his shoulders, nodding his head glumly, unable to meet his father’s/mentor’s eyes.

“Tim…” Bruce sighed, gathering his courage, “Where is the Joker?”

Tim blinked, looking up. “The Joker?” he asked, almost incredulously, “How would I kn--”

Tim stopped dead in his tracks as Junior’s memories lanced through his mind. On purpose. Almost like Junior wanted Tim to find him. Tim shook his head in horror, shaking away the green at the edge of his vision, and sat back in shock as he realized the enormity of what he had done. “ Oh God forgive me, ” he whispered.

“Where is he, Tim?” Bruce asked again, more urgently this time as a tear fell down his son’s face, “What’s he planning??”

“I-- He---” Tim stammered, then he looked at Bruce with nothing short of sorrow in his eyes, “He has a bomb.”

“That’s okay,” Bruce said gently, using the same voice he would to soothe frightened children in the aftermath of a battle, “We’ve dealt with bomb threats befo--”

“ No, Bruce!! ” Tim told him urgently, almost begging, “He has a bomb! THE bomb!! ”

Bruce blinked for a moment, “I don’t understand.”

Tim gasped out a shaky breath as he cast his eyes to the floor. “I gave him a bomb!!” he sobbed, “God forgive me, I gave the Joker a nuclear bomb!! ”

---

The Joker grinned maniacally as he hummed a pleasant tune, working with all sorts of fun wires and goodies, deep, deep beneath the city. A few Joker Gas canisters had been added to make it a dirty bomb, but above all, it was the centerpiece that took the cake.

Done up in his signature purple and green, there it lay in all its glory: Junior’s lovely gift. The Last Laugh. 

A nuclear warhead.

“Oh, Bruce…” he cooed, almost to himself, “It’s finally here, isn’t it? The day we’ve both dreamed about. Neither of us is getting any younger… I say it’s time we finally end this little epic of ours, wouldn’t you? One last fight. One last trick. One last battle…

“ONE LAST LAUGH!”

Chapter 12: The Last Laugh, Part 10

Bruce set his jaw in a grim, determined line. Tim had claimed he had no idea where the Joker was, only that he had a nuclear bomb, and was planning to use it. Bruce knew exactly what this meant; he’d dreamed of this moment for years. Ever since the Joker had first made his chilling debut. He’d always known, deep down, that he and his greatest foe would have a final showdown one day or another. 

He’d just never imagined it would be anything like this. Something that would take a son from him, something that would almost take his whole family.

Bruce wouldn’t allow any other lives to be put in danger; not his family, not his friends, not anyone. No one but him. 

So he went through the motions. He threw the Cave into high alert, called in the League, everything. Steph and Jason were put on duty as soon as they were out of recovery. It was pandemonium in Gotham as nearly every hero they had canvassed the city. Superman was leading a small team toward Wayne Tower, Wonder Woman was headed for Crime Alley, and Harley was leading anyone else they would spare toward Arkham Asylum. The three most likely options for Joker’s final stand.

All except for one other place.

The Batmobile roared as it screamed over the small bridge to the newly finished facilities of LexCorp Gotham… the former site of Ace Chemicals. Where the Red Hood fell into that acid.

Where it all began.

Where it would all end soon.

Beginnings and endings. The eternal cycle. That’s what Joker would emphasize. That’s where he wanted Bruce to be.

And so Bruce alone would be there.

He thinks Harley knows what he’s doing; she did little more than stare at him all throughout the hurried briefing. She had given him a small nod. Approval. And hope.

The Joker had ruined her life just like he’d ruined Bruce’s, and Tim’s, and Jason’s, and Barbara’s, and anyone else his pale, sickly claws had ever touched. 

But no more.

The Batmobile screeched to a halt outside the building, and Batman got out in one fluid motion, all his senses kicking into high gear. As he entered the building, he nonchalantly pulled the fire alarm, enticing anyone working late to leave early. Then, he made his way down into the basement, down into where the foundations of Ace Chemicals, and all the pipelines going into the city, still lay.

Bruce crept through dark, damp, shadowed brick tunnels, creeping toward a central nexus where all the city’s waste was deposited before being dealt with. As he approached the rusted, grime-covered wrought iron grate, he forewent any semblance of stealth as he raised his leg and kicked it down with ease.

He dropped to the floor of the sewer system like a wraith.

And the Joker stood with his back to him, gazing up at a massive vat that still held the Ace Chemicals logo. Bruce would even go so far as to assume it was the very same vat that Joker had fallen into, all those years ago. Inside, there were maybe a thousand canisters of Joker Toxin, along with the piece de resistance; the nuke he’d acquired from Junior.

“Hello… Bruce. ” Joker said to him, turning with a grin, and Batman faced him stoically.

“ Joker… ” he growled, his voice filled with as much rage and venom as the emotionless growl would allow.

“How many years has it been, Batsy?” Joker asked him, twirling a switchblade in his hand nonchalantly, “Thirty-five? Thirty-six?”

Bruce clenched his fists as he took a step forward, “Forty-two,” he corrected, “Every decision you’ve ever made ends with death and misery. People die. I stop you. You just break out and do it all again. And to think… All the people I’ve murdered… just by letting you live.”

Heat and rage built up in Bruce’s throat. He thought of all the pain, despair, and suffering this thing before him had caused. He thought of Jason, who never slept soundly for years after his run in with the Joker. He thought of Barbara, who had to go to dozens of sessions of therapy before she could even stand to look at herself anymore. He thought of Tim, who would never be the same again. He thought of Damian, who would never trust himself again. He thought of Tommy, who’d had his father taken too soon and had him replaced with this thing’s image, and of Duke, who lost his parents in the same grotesque fashion. He thought of Harley, who was so broken beyond repair that the bright young woman he’d known in medical school simply wasn’t there anymore. All his fault. All because of him.

Joker grinned thinly, “I never kept count.”

Bruce surged forward and slammed his fist into Joker’s nose, hearing the satisfying crunch!!  

“ I did. ” he growled.

Joker smiled at him, wide as could be. “I know!” he laughed, swinging the switchblade at his abdomen, “And I love you for it!”

And so it began. Back and forth, they fought harder than they had ever fought before. Each one of Bruce’s punches landed with the full force of the rubble that had crushed Jason, the bullet that had crippled Barbara, the weight that caused Tim’s mind to crack. The momentum of Dick hitting the ground.

The Joker cracked and crumbled beneath the onslaught of rage and vengeance, but each and every time, he got back up, ready to slash at Bruce, or electrocute him with that damn handbuzzer, or try to squirt acid in his face. If Dick were still alive, he’d have made some totally inappropriate comparison to Bozo the Clown. 

“ NO MORE!!! ” Bruce roared, slamming Joker back against the vat from whence he came, “ You hear me, you son of a bitch!? NO MORE!! I’M GOING TO BREAK YOU IN TWO FOR WHAT YOU’VE DONE!! ”

Joker grunted as Bruce held his head back, and he strained to look down at him from the corner of his eye. “Oh, Batsy,” he said with a grin, “If you had the balls for that kind of fun you’d have done it years ago! I , on the other hand--!”

Bruce’s head snapped up to look at Joker’s free hand, raised in the air, and found it… empty.

Something slid right between the plates of his kevlar, driving deep into his abdomen and all the important intestines therein, and Bruce grunted and cried out in pain as Joker stabbed him over and over again with the knife he’d had in the lower hand. A classic misdirection. And Bruce fell for it.

The edges of his vision went hazy as the bloodloss got to him, and the adrenaline wore off. Joker shoved him down, straddling him as he laughed in his face, crooning, “Oh, don’t tell me you’re going to fall asleep before we’ve finished!! You truly have gotten old, haven’t you?”

Bruce grunted with effort, straining his aged body to the limit just to keep the knife, which was now inching toward his face, at bay. His arms shook with effort, his teeth clenched so hard he was almost certain something would crack or break, and his breathing came in rapid, uncontrolled gasps. 

“This is it, Batsy!!” Joker laughed triumphantly, throwing back his head with glee, “This is the end!! And to think, I was so worried the cancer would get to me before you did!!” Joker coughed, harsh and short, and Bruce grimaced as some flecks of blood splattered onto his face.

“But now you’re here! ” he laughed, his voice much raspier than it had been before, “And we’re together again! Cough!! You and me! Kaff!! Cough!! Down here, where it all began, going out with a bang that will wipe you, me, and everyone in this miserable little shithole off the face of the planet!!! HA HA HA HA --hack!! Cough!!-- ha HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA H--hack!! Cough, cough, cough, cough, cough--!! ”

More blood came up with each cough. The weight of Joker’s strike became weaker and weaker as he devolved into a bloody coughing fit, and as Bruce looked at him, he saw the despairing panic in his eyes. “ No… ” he whispered in anguish, clutching at his chest as it constricted with pain, “ Not yet!! Not when I’m so close!! ”

Bruce summoned up the last of his strength, and shoved the Joker off of him. Joker fell backward with a cough and a wheeze of pain, landing in a sitting position against the side of the vat.

“ I had one last joke to tell! ” he begged the universe, or God, or the Devil, or whatever he believed in, “ It was a-- COUHUGGHHH!!! -- a good one!! ”

Bruce grunted as he pulled himself up out of the sewer water, wiping the Joker’s blood from his face haphazardly. Managing to get himself up, he reached into the Joker’s jacket pocket, found the timer for the nuke, and shut it off, with only a weak protest from his nemesis.

Joker looked at him with nothing short of pure anguish, shame, and regret in his eyes as the Batman stood over the sad, broken Clown.

“You wanna know something funny?” Bruce asked him quietly, tossing the timer off into the sewer, “Even after everything you’ve said, everything you’ve done… I still would have spared you.”

The Joker looked at him strangely for a long, long time. Then, slowly, interspersed with racking coughs, another wide smile spread across his lips. “Ya know…” he wheezed, “That actually is… pretty funny…! He ha ha ha ha ha. Ha. ha… ha… haehhhh…. ”

Joker’s head lolled to the side. His eyes stared away into nothing. 

Grunting, Bruce sat down next to him, a hand over his wounds, and sighed as he leaned back and finally let himself feel the pain. Shakingly, he fumbled through his utility belt and found the signal watch that Clark had given him decades ago, and gave the button a click.

His vision finally faded to black as his limbs went numb.

His job was finally done. 

The Joker was dead.

Chapter 13: Recovery

Clark’s head jerked up at the speed of sound, hearing the familiar pattern of clicks and beeps that he’d been sure to memorize, but had never actually heard outside of testing.

Each of his signal watches had different patterns; Jimmy Olsen had one pattern, Lois had another, and Diana, Jon, Conner, and Ma had all each been given a new one. But this one…

“Bruce,” he whispered, and the citizens of Gotham looked up just in time to see a red cape blur across the cloudy sky, from Wayne Tower to the sewers beneath LexCorp Gotham in a matter of nanoseconds.

Bruce Wayne was a stubborn man. Never, not once, not even during Darkseid’s invasion had he activated his signal watch. He’d agreed to keep it, just in case, it was the same reason Superman had an alert button for the Batcave and why he had given Bruce a small piece of kryptonite; he, Bruce, and Diana all trusted each other, either to save each other or to kill each other if the need arose. If Bruce had finally activated his watch…

Something must have gone terribly wrong.

So Clark was ready to burn down the world or fly a nuke into outer space in the blink of an eye when he struck downward into the deep sewer, the last ruins of Ace Chemicals, and found nothing but silence and stillness.

The nuke was there, and he could tell from his x-ray vision that the arming mechanism had been disabled; so that was one problem solved. But where-?

Clark floated around the side, and there, propped up against the side of the vat the nuke had been sitting in, was Batman and the Joker, side by side, both slumped and bleeding.

Clark rushed to Bruce’s side, checking his neck as he tried not to think about the amount of blood running down the front of the Batsuit and just how humanly fragile his oldest friend was, and breathed a sigh of relief as he found a weak pulse.

No more funerals for today. He turned to the Joker, who’s wide eyes stared away into nothing as rigor mortis kept his sick smile in place. He listened hard, but the only heartbeats he could hear were his own and Bruce’s. One funeral. Not that anyone would go to it.

“This is Superman,” he said into the League communicator tucked in his ear, “I have Batman; he’s unconscious, but alive. The nuclear device has been neutralized, I need a removal team onsite beneath LexCorp Gotham ASAP.”

“ What about the Joker? ” Red Hood asked immediately.

Clark looked down at the Clown’s body, still as stone, and felt the weight of his next words as he said them, “The Joker is dead. I repeat; the Joker is dead.”

---

There were celebrations in the streets. The people of Gotham cheered and shot off fireworks, burning the Joker in effigy and celebration, and the Batsignal was ceremonially shut off that night with great fanfare. #ThankYouBatman and #JokerIsDead were trending on social media. The mayor was considering making it a municipal holiday. 

Nationwide, it was the most universally celebrated death since Osama bin Laden. Chanting of “ USA! USA! USA! ” filled the streets of New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Metropolis, Central City, San Francisco, and Los Angeles as President Calvin Ellis himself announced that the Joker had been killed in his latest attempt to destroy more innocent lives. Alongside the usual chant, however, came a new one: “ NA NA NA NA NA NA NA NA BATMAN!! NA NA NA NA NA NA NA NA BATMAN!! BATMAN!! BATMAN!! BATMAN!! ”

A press conference at the Hall of Justice assured the public that the only casualty of the Joker’s rampage had been Nightwing, for whom services would be held next week in Bludhaven. “This is a momentous occasion,” Wonder Woman, Chairwoman of the Justice League, said to the gathered crowds, “We have vanquished a great evil, but in return, we have lost a good friend. A true friend. A brother, a son, and a hero. The Batfamily, in its communication with us, recognizes that the world will see a cause for celebration before a cause for mourning, and I agree with them. In Amazon culture, it is proper to celebrate a victory as great as this before mourning the dead. Nightwing has already been given back to his civilian family for burial in an undisclosed and private location, though I am told that the city government of Bludhaven plans to erect a statue in his honor. Any who wish to express condolences may send them to the Hall of Justice; we will make sure that Nightwing’s family gets the messages. In the meantime, please enjoy the celebrations.”

---

Jon Kent knocked on Damian’s door timidly, and just like the last twenty times, the only response was “ Go away, Jonathan! ”

“Damian, please, let me in!” Jon begged him, “You haven’t come out of there for three days! You need food. And water. And sunlight.”

“ I have all the water I need, ” Damian said through the door, “ And the window is open. ”

“Damian, I’m serious! ” Jon said, a little more forcefully, and he heard something shift in the room beyond, like Damian was rolling over on his bed.

“ So am I. ”

Jon took a step back from the door, pursing his lips. He cared about Damian, he really did; it hurt losing Dick, and he’d been horrified just like everybody else when he’d heard the gruesome details of Tim’s-- Junior’s rampage and what it did to Damian. He just wished his friend would let him in and talk to him, instead of shutting himself away from the world. 

But he had to come out. It wasn’t healthy, what he was doing. For the very first time in their friendship, Jon was right and Damian was wrong. So, he did what his mother used to do; dig his heels in and get what he wanted, no matter what. “Damian,” he said seriously, “If you don’t open this door in the next five seconds, I’m gonna break it open and come in anyway.”

There was a moment of silence from the other side. “ You wouldn’t dare… ” Damian murmured uncertainly.

“Five!” Jon called in response.

“ You will do no such thing! ”

“Four!”

“ Jonathan, I mean it! ”

“ Three! ”

“ Jonathan! ”

“ Two! ”

“ Fine! ” Damian snapped, and the door swung open. He looked terrible; his eyes were swollen and red, there were deep, dark bags under them, and he hadn’t been shaving, so dark stubble crept along his jawline. Unbidden horny thoughts filled Jon’s mind at the sight of the slight stubble, and he stamped them down quickly before Damian could notice; he’d been thinking of ways to confess to Damian for years, but while he was recovering from the biggest loss of his life was not it.

As the silence dragged on, Damian raised an eyebrow questioningly. “Happy now?” he asked, and Jon grimaced.

“You look like shit, Dami,” he said plainly, and Damian snorted.

“That seems appropriate,” he muttered, “Because I feel like shit. Now leave.”

He attempted to close the door, but Jon put his hand up to stop it; a bit too fast, because in his haste he accidentally broke through the wood of the door. Damian glowered at the hole in his door unblinkingly. “This door is two hundred and fifty years old,” he said glumly.

“Sorry,” Jon said sheepishly, “But please, Dami… talk to me?”

“What about?” he asked, his tone sharp, “I’m fine.”

“Oh come on, really?” Jon asked, waving a hand at the room beyond, which was far from the prim and proper it usually was, instead cluttered with paint and blankets and clothes.

Damian looked back at the mess. “I admit I’ve been meaning to clean up,” he said carefully, “I just… haven’t had the energy. I think some of Junior’s drug is still in my system.”

“After three days?” Jon asked him gently.

“ Yes, ” Damian growled, “I will recover soon, and then I will clean up. Your presence is not required.”

Jon frowned at his best friend pityingly. “Damian, you’re not still drugged,” he said sadly, “You’re depressed. You’re depressed because your older brother died in front of you. It’s okay to mourn, but this-- shutting yourself off, not eating, not sleeping, it’s… you’ve got to see that’s not healthy, right?”

Damian turned away from Jon, his shoulders quivering. “Damian?” Jon asked quietly, stepping forward into the room to place a hand on his friend’s shoulder, and was shocked to discover Damian holding a hand over his eyes as tears leaked down his cheek. 

“ It’s so much more than that, Jon… ” he whispered, and Jonathan immediately pulled him into a tight hug. 

“ H-he was like a father to me, a-and I was so horrible to him in the beginning, and I never thanked him--!! ” Damian babbled, and Jon shushed him quietly, patting his back soothingly.

“He knows, Dami,” he whispered softly, “He knows.”

Damian took a shuddering gasp of a breath, “ Pl-Please, get off of me… you’ll get hurt, I’ll hurt you like I did all those women, I can’t-- I can’t go through that again, Jon, I- ”

“And you won’t, ” Jon assured him, and he held his friend out at arm’s length, forcing him to look him in the eye, “You can never hurt me. No matter what you do.”

Damian shook his head. “ I’m c-clever enough to use kryptonite, you could still get killed, Jon- ”

“No, no, no, that’s not what I mean,” he said, ducking back into Damian’s line of sight, “Okay? I mean you can’t hurt me in any way that matters. Emotionally.”

Damian let out a low, sad whine. “How can you be sure?” he asked quietly, casting his eyes downward.

Jon felt a rush of frustration that he wasn’t getting anywhere, and desperately blurted out, “Because I love you, you fucking idiot!”

Damian’s head bobbed back and forth as Jon shook him, then his emerald green eyes stared in astonishment. A mortified blush rose in Jon’s cheeks as he stared at his friend in open-mouthed horror. 

“OhgoshI’msorryIdidn’tmeantosaythatIjustwantedtocheeryouupandIwasn’tthinkingand--” he stammered at superspeed, and Damian cut him off by placing a hand underneath his chin.

“I’m just trying to help you catch the guy of your dreams!”

“Dami- ampfh!!? ” Jon yelped and Damian cut him off with a kiss. There was bewildered hesitance at first, but as soon as Jon understood what was going on he wrapped his arms around Damian and leaned into it with a passion, moaning softly with relief.

Doubts still wheedled at the edges of Damian’s mind, the shocked, dismayed face of Angelica Dowd still haunted him, but kissing Jon made all of that melt into the background rather than front and center. He knew he’d been hurting, he knew his mourning wasn’t healthy, but he just wanted to cling to his denial a little longer. But here Jon was, pulling him back into the world, kicking and screaming, and… and despite what he had been through, all his midnight dreams of strong, Kryptonian arms around him were coming true.

He didn’t trust himself, not by a longshot. But Jon? He trusted Jon.

Jon would keep him safe, and keep the world safe from him, until Damian was ready to face it all again.

And as Damian took charge a little more and swept Jonathan into a bewildered dip, holding him up easily, he whispered gently in his mind: Thank you, Richard.

---

“Ms. Gordon?”

Barbara blinked lazily, fighting to keep her eyes open.

“Ms. Gordon?”

Bright lights, harsh on her eyes, burned her retinas, and Barbara blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the blurriness.

“Ms. Gordon, are you awake?”

“Y-Yes, I’m sorry,” she murmured, “Wh-Where am I?”

“The hospital, Ms. Gordon,” the voice said again, “Do you recall what happened to bring you here?”

The hospital? That was odd. Usually, all their recoveries were done in Leslie Thompkins’s clinic. The only time they were given to hospitals was if Leslie was too preoccupied with a more pressing patient. Barbara wracked her brain, trying to discern what happened, and all at once, remembered the gleaming smile in the dark, the burning pain in her abdomen, Damian whispering in her ear.

Barbara suppressed a shudder and swallowed down the bile in her throat as she nodded. “I remember,” she said quietly.

“That’s good,” the doctor said, “Now, you’re aware that you’re paralyzed from the waist down? It seemed like an older injury, but it was a little messy in there and I want to hear it from your lips.”

“Y-Yes, I’m aware,” she said shakily, finally blinking the blurriness out of her eyes, “It’s been something like ten years now.”

“Sorry to hear that,” the doctor said, and Barbara finally got a good look at him. The hair on the top of his head was a light brown, maybe even a darker sandy blond, but it went gray around his temples and down the sides. He smiled at her kindly, crows feet crinkling at the corners of his eyes.

“Wh-Who are you?” she asked, unable to shake the feeling that she’d seen him somewhere before.

The doctor blinked. “Oh! Sorry, I must not have introduced myself!” he said with a laugh, “My name is Dr. Walter St. Cloud; my daughter, Silver, is about your age. Maybe you know her from school? Did you attend Gotham Academy?”

“I-I did, a long time ago,” she answered, “Class of ‘06. Your daughter?”

Dr. St. Cloud looked a little shocked, saying, “Oh! She was Class of 2010. You look a lot younger than you are.”

Barbara smiled a little deliriously, still feeling the effects of sleep and the painkillers they had her on, “Oh, my brother-in-law was Class of 2010; do you know a Tim Drake?”

Dr. St. Cloud looked at her. “Tim Drake?” he asked, “You mean the Tim Drake, at LexCorp? Of course I know him!”

Dr. St. Cloud laughed, but Barbara only felt slightly sick as coherence returned to her bit by bit. “I had no idea you had married into the Waynes!” the doctor continued, and Barbara flinched a little.

“I- I didn’t, really,” she said delicately, “But the eldest boy, Dick Grayson and I, were a couple for a long, long time. We… we never put a ring on it, but in-law is about the relationship Tim and I had.”

“Dick Grayson?” Dr. St. Cloud asked, a suddenly very serious expression on his face as he looked down at his chart, “Then that means… oh my.”

“What?” she asked, now worried, “What is it?”

Dr. St. Cloud looked slightly sick. “Oh, how to put this… Ms. Gordon, you’ve been unconscious for a little over two days. In that time, Nightwing, the superhero, he… he fell from a great height. I was in the ER that day, I was the one who operated. I… I had to take off his mask in the procedure. I saw his face.”

Barbara immediately perked up nervously, and Dr. St. Cloud smiled sadly at her. “Don’t worry,” he said, “Leslie Thompkins is an old friend, she’s the one who brought you to me. I can keep a secret.”

“I-in that case,” Barbara said shakily, “I-Is Dick okay?”

Dr. St. Cloud stayed silent for a long time.

“Dr. St. Cloud?” she asked, fearing the worst.

“I did everything I could,” he said thickly, as if about to cry himself, “But he succumbed to his injuries. I… I’m sorry. He was a hero.”

Barbara sobbed once, a hollow, broken sound, as she held a hand to her mouth. She felt like she’d been punched in the gut. Dick… dead?

It didn’t seem possible. It was only just last night that they’d made up from their fight before he tried to drag Damian to Haly’s, she didn’t want to be on bad terms while they hunted Junior. She knew it was preparing for the worst, but even when you prepare… you never expect the worst to happen.

“I know this is a shock, but… there’s more,” Dr. St. Cloud said gently, sitting at her bedside and taking her hand.

Barbara reined in her emotions for a moment, wiping her eyes. “What is it?” she asked hollowly.

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” he said gently, “But… you’re pregnant, Ms. Gordon.”

Barbara blinked at him for a moment. Then her hands flew to her stomach, still bandaged, “B-But I was--!!” she gasped, and Dr. St. Cloud shushed her reassuringly.

“The baby is only three centimeters wide at the moment,” he explained, “Whoever stabbed you… they missed.”

Barbara held her hands to her stomach, to her womb, shakily, trying to take a deep breath. She and Dick had had sex the night before, it was part of how they made up, but he had been wearing a condom, and she was on birth control. And then she had been stabbed in the stomach. It was a one in a million chance, but…

But there was still a baby growing in her. Dick, her Dick, was gone, but… but God, or the universe, or whatever had seen fit to leave her with some little piece of him. Some little thing she could cultivate, raise, help grow. 

She would be all alone, raising this kid without their father. But… but it was all she had left of him, a child to carry on his spirit. To help her, and the world, remember him by. And already, in only three days, it had already surmounted so much, and survived an attempt on its life. Didn’t she owe it to the damn thing to let it live by now?

“ I’m pregnant… ” she whispered, pressing her hands against her stomach, and letting tears of grief and hope and she didn’t know what else fell down her cheeks, “Dick’s dead, and I’m pregnant. ”

---

Jason crossed his arms unhappily, looking down the narrow corridor of stone, lined with shelves. Dick Grayson-Wayne would have a headstone on the hill outside Wayne Manor, of course, but new protocols had been put into place after what had happened to Jason and Tim, not to mention that whole Blackest Night fiasco with the Lanterns a few years back. Now, no matter what their wishes, superheroes in the League’s employ or their loved ones would be interred here, in a secret crypt being built beneath the Hall of Justice. 

There would be vigils held in Bludhaven, and a small ceremony at Wayne Manor for the headstone, but here. This was the true funeral. 

Everyone Dick knew was here. The original Titans, the Batfamily, the League, everyone. Everyone except Wally West, who was still missing after he and Kid Flash had a run-in with Eobard Thawne in Smallville. 

Jay Garrick wanted to look for them, but everyone else in the community told him to stay at his wife’s bedside, as Joan was in ailing health and could pass any day now. As much as it hurt to not know where Wally and Bart were, it would hurt Jay worse to not be at Joan’s side when it happened. So, Mister Terrific headed the search effort, pulling on everything they knew about the Speed Force, and Rip Hunter had agreed to scan the timestream.

So far, nothing. Wally would just have to come on his own.

Jason shook those thoughts off as he watched Garth, Kori, Vic, and Roy place the casket on its shelf, as Damian stood by, ready to slide the stone into place and seal the tomb.

“This isn’t right,” he muttered to Raven, who stood next to him, “He wanted to be buried next to his parents.”

“I know,” she said sadly, a frown tugging at her usually stoic lips, “But this is the safest option. Would you really want someone digging up Dick Grayson and turning him against us? Would you want him going through the same things as you, or Tim?”

Jason grimaced as he watched the Titans step away, letting Damian seal the tomb with poorly concealed tears in his eyes. “... No,” he muttered eventually.

Raven nodded solemnly, “Me neither.”

More and more names lined tombs throughout the crypt. No aliases, no dates. Just names.

Tara Markov. Sue Dibny. Wesley Dodds. Jean-Paul Valley. Solomon Grundy. Ted Knight. Dan Garret. Giovanni Zatara. Don Hall. Jonah Hex. Henry & Nora Allen. Jonathan Kent. Robert & Moira Queen. Thomas & Martha Wayne. 

Dick Grayson.

---

“Thank you for coming, Dinah,” Bruce said weakly, having had to revert back to his cane while his abdomen healed, “I’m not very well-versed in Multiple Personality Disorder.”

“Of course,” she said with a kind smile, “For starters, it’s not ‘Multiple Personality Disorder’ anymore; the diagnosis nowadays is ‘Dissociative Identity Disorder.’ And I’ll do my best, but know that there isn’t really a way to ‘cure’ him of this. The damage is already done; the best I can do is help Tim learn to live with, control, and cooperate with his alters. The goal is harmony and integration, not remission.”

Bruce stood still for a moment, then nodded his head in acceptance. “I understand,” he said softly, “Please, do whatever you can. I just… I just want my son back. And I want my grandson to have his father back.”

Dinah smiled sadly, patting his hand over his cane. “I’ll do my best,” she said, and she stepped into the small, interior room in the Manor.

Inside, Conner and Tommy were talking with Tim, who was still wrapped in a straightjacket, sat in a comfy armchair, staring straight ahead without acknowledging either of them. Tommy knelt at his side, waving his hands about with failing cheer as he tried to tell some grand story, while Conner stood behind him, frowning softly at Tim’s lack of response. Both of them looked up at her when she walked in.

“Can we have the room, please?” she asked them quietly, and they nodded glumly.

“I’ll be back after the therapy, okay Dad?” Tommy asked him, but Tim still didn’t respond, so Tommy blinked back tears and walked out, sharing a meaningful look with Dinah on the way. She thanked her lucky stars Harley was the one handling that one.

Steadying herself, she sat in the chair opposite Tim, and looked him in the eye. His eyes, now an icy blue mixed with a hint of green, were hazy and unfocused, staring not at her, but past her.

“Tim?” she asked softly, “Can you hear me?”

Tim didn’t respond for a moment.

“Tim?” she asked again.

“I can hear you, Dinah.”

Dinah swallowed. That voice… that voice wasn’t Tim. It was too cold, too clinical, too calculating. 

“Hello,” she said to the alter, “I don’t believe I’m speaking to Tim right now, am I?”

“No,” the alter said, fixing her with a cold, icy blue-green glare, “You’re not.”

“Then can I ask you your name?” she asked, and the alter hesitated.

“Red Robin,” he said eventually.

“The alias Tim assumed after fleeing from the League?” Dinah asked, just to be sure, and Red Robin nodded.

“That’s the one.”

“May I call you Red, for short?”

“No. No you may not.”

Dinah nodded. “Okay then, Red Robin,” she said, “You seem aware of Tim being separate from yourself; is that correct?”

“It is.”

“Were you aware that Tommy was speaking to you before?”

“I was.”

“Why didn’t you answer him?”

“I didn’t need to,” Red Robin said, his left eye twitching slightly, “It’s not my role to care for or nurture Tommy. It’s only my role to protect him.”

“Protect him?” Dinah asked, leaning forward, “Protect him from what?”

Red Robin glared at her. “I can’t say,” he said evenly, “But my presence makes things easier on Timothy. I do the dirty work he is unwilling to. I know my role; protect Tommy at all costs. And I have.”

“So it was you who set the tenement fires? And killed Azrael?” she asked him plainly.

“I wasn’t fully realized back then,” Red Robin responded, “But effectively, yes. Timothy was acting under my influence then.”

“And what do you mean by 'not fully realized’?” Dinah continued.

Red Robin scoffed. “ Please, ” he muttered, “Don’t you think Batman would have noticed if his son suffered from Dissociative Identity Disorder sooner than now if it weren’t a recent development?”

“DID forms in childhood,” Dinah said, “It’s unheard of in modern medicine for alters to make themselves known in adulthood-”

“Modern medicine doesn’t account for the Lazarus Pit,” Red Robin said coldly, cutting her off, “While it heals the body, it takes mental disorders and amplifies them by a factor of eleven. In Ra’s al Ghul, pride became hubris, arrogance, and a god complex. In Jason Todd, mild anger issues became unfeeling wrath. In Timothy Drake, Borderline Personality Disorder became Dissociative Identity Disorder. Do you understand now? ”

Dinah nodded slightly. “I suppose that does make sense,” she acquiesced, writing it in her notes for later, “Then can you tell me what happened when you first became aware of yourself, Red Robin?”

“I started talking to you,” he muttered ruefully, “Junior has been in control since we woke up.”

“I see,” she said, “And is Junior still in there, with you?”

“Most likely,” Red Robin said plainly, “Timothy is attempting to repress him, but I don’t believe that will be a successful course of action.”

“And why do you think that?” Dinah asked.

“Because,” Red Robin said plainly, looking her dead in the eye, “Out of all of us, Timothy wants to be Junior the most.”

---

“Hello,” Dinah said to the new alter, “I don’t believe we’ve met yet. My name is Dinah; what’s yours?”

Tim looked at her with wide, fearful baby blue eyes, looking over the tops of his knees, which he’d drawn up onto the chair with him, attempting to curl up into a ball. “R-Robin,” he whispered, his voice high and scared.

She’d been working with Red Robin, frustratingly unsuccessfully, for a week now, and this was the first new alter she’d met.

“Hello Robin,” she said with a soft, motherly smile, “It’s nice to meet you.”

Robin nodded his head up and down in acknowledgement, but didn’t say anything else. He still curled up on the chair, quivering like a leaf in the wind.

“It’s okay,” Dinah said placatingly, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Robin sniffed. “Everyone else does,” he responded.

“Who do you mean?” Dinah asked.

“Jack,” he said quietly, like speaking the name might summon the man, “Janet. Bruce. Jason. Dick. Ra’s. Everyone always hurts me.”

“How did they hurt you, Robin?” she asked timidly, afraid she might scare the obviously childlike alter, but Robin only sniffed again.

“Jack used to whip me with his belt,” he said sadly, “It would hurt so bad. He would whip me ‘till I bled. I had to wear red shirts all the time to cover it up.”

Dinah leaned forward, placing a comforting hand on Robin’s knee. “Do you know why he would do that?” she asked.

A tear leaked down Robin’s cheek. “C-Cause the teacher told him about me kissin’ Danny Monroe under the bleachers,” he whimpered, “And then about the time I held hands with Stevie Dumas at lunch. And he caught me once looking at pictures I took of Dick and Jason.”

“Oh, Robin…” Dinah said sadly, “I’m so sorry. He had no right to do that.”

Robin nodded. “I know,” he said, “Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. Just like how even though Janet was my momma, she still made me feel like I was worthless everyday. And even though Bruce was supposed to be better than them, he still broke my leg when we were training. And Jason still beat me half to death, even though I didn’t do anything. And Dick still cast me out, even though I was right. And Ra’s still-- And Ra’s still--!!! ”

Robin stopped, emotion getting caught in his throat. Dinah squeezed his knee supportively. “What did Ra’s do, sweetie?” she asked quietly.

Robin shook his head stubbornly, “Nuh-uh. You’re gonna get mad at me.”

“Why would I get mad at you, Robin?” she asked quietly, “It’s not your fault.”

“Yes it is!!” Robin whimpered, “If I had just kept my hands off’a Conner, he never would have gotten the idea to-- to--! ”

“It’s alright, honey,” Dinah said to him softly, “I won’t judge you. Just tell me what happened; let it out.”

Robin sniffed, whimpering again. It seemed like he was trying very hard not to cry. “H-He came to the office one night and kicked everybody out but me,” Robin whispered, “And then he made me… he made me.”

Dinah’s heart stopped. Oh, not that. Please, don’t let this poor innocent little alter have been in the driver’s seat for that.

“W-Were you… in control then, Robin?” she asked quietly.

“K-Kinda,” he murmured, “I wasn’t conscious yet, but Tim spaced out. He tried not to think about it. But… but I’m where he puts all his trauma, so… so I…”

“You still remember everything that happened,” Dinah finished for him, and Robin nodded sadly.

“Oh, Robin,” she said sadly, drawing him up into a hug, “I’m so sorry.”

---

“What did you hear?” Tim asked her, and Dinah was taken aback.

She’d been dealing with Red Robin and Robin in rotating shifts for the last two weeks, this was the first time she’d seen Tim, true Tim, Tim Prime, since they started therapy.

“Hello, Tim,” she said kindly, “It’s been a while since I saw you last.”

“Fuck the pleasantries Dinah, what did you hear!? ” Tim demanded, growing angry.

“Calm down,” she said placatingly, “I’m here to help.”

“Oh, I’m sure you are!” Tim laughed scornfully, “Now what did you hear!? ”

Dinah frowned. “I met Red Robin and Robin,” she said carefully, “They told me about themselves. And a little about you.”

Tim scowled, looking at her intensely. “Is that so?” he said carefully, “What did they tell you?”

Dinah pursed her lips. “What do you think they would have told me?”

Tim blinked, then scowled again. “I’m not playing this game,” he muttered, turning away.

Dinah sighed, rubbing her eyes. “Tim, I can’t help you if you don’t cooperate,” she said tersely.

Tim hesitated for a moment. Then, after a long moment of deliberation, he turned back to her. “… Fine,” he muttered, “How do I get rid of them?”

Now it was Dinah’s turn to blink. “Excuse me?” she asked.

“The others. Red Robin, Robin, Junior; how do I get rid of them?” Tim demanded, “Isn’t that what all of this touchy-feely shit is for? To get them all out of my head and put me back in control?”

Dinah frowned, remaining silent for a little while as she tried to think of how to put this. “Tim, I…” she started, then sighed, “You can’t ‘get rid of them’. There’s no such thing. You just have to learn to live with them.”

Tim blinked at her, rapidly, mismatched green and blue eyes staring at her intensely. “ No… ” he whispered, “ No… No! NO! NO! You can’t ask me to live like this! You can’t ask me to share my own head!! You can’t ask me to put up with fucking Junior for the rest of my life!!!”

Tim was on his feet and shouting now, still restrained by the straightjacket but not getting physical, so Dinah resisted the urge to call in the cavalry. “You’re right, I can’t,” she said to him, “But I have to. And so do you. I’m sorry, Tim, but there’s simply no good way out of this.”

“ NO!!! ” Tim screamed at her, “ NO!! You’re a LIAR!! You have to get rid of them, I can’t live like this, I can’t, I won’t, you can’t make me!! I won’t I won’t I won’tIwon’tIwontIwon’tI won’t!!!! ”

Tim fell to his knees, sobbing and screaming, and Dinah knelt with him, trying to calm him down. “I-It was never this bad, before…” he sobbed, and Dinah hugged his head to her chest, “I just-- I just want things to go back to the way they were! ”

“I’m sorry, Tim, I can’t do that,” she said sadly, “All I can do is help you manage the way things are now .”

---

Five weeks later, Dinah was finally surprised by pure, poisonous green eyes staring at her from across the carpeted floor.

“ Heya, Doc, ” Junior said with a grin.

“Junior,” Dinah greeted, concealing her nerves, “I don’t think we’ve yet had the pleasure.”

“I’ve been watchin’ the way you’re handling the others,” Junior told her, “The robot, the pussy, the brat. You’re not half bad, for a shrink.”

“Thank you, I try,” Dinah said in response, “So you’re fully aware of each of your alters?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Junior said boredly, “They’re no fun anyway, lousy bunch’a squares. But you and me, sugar, we could have a lot of fun together; why don’t you let me outta this straightjacket? You could be my Harley. How does ‘Canary Quinn’ sound to you?”

Dinah grimaced. “I assure you, Junior, I’m happily married,” she said, showing off her wedding ring, “And I won’t be putting on any clown makeup for you.”

Junior shrugged. “Eh. Had to try,” he sighed, “I’d prefer a boy anyway. But the Old Man had a girl as the Harley, so I figured I should give it a shot.”

“The Old Man?” Dinah asked, “You mean the Joker?”

“Yeah, him,” Junior said with a wide grin, “He’s great, ain’t he? Shame he had to go and die before he finished his last act. And after I warmed up the crowd so well for him… Ah, well. I guess most men his age get performance issues sooner or later.”

“By warming up the crowd, do you mean the deathtraps you set for Damian, Barbara, Stephanie, and Jason?” she asked, “And how you killed Dick?”

“Yeah!” Junior said with a laugh, “What a riot, right!? Best fun I’ve ever had!”

“You consider killing fun?” Dinah asked again.

“Of course!” Junior laughed, “And I betcha you would too, if you gave it a try! It’s… it’s like freedom , distilled into one action. Watching the light slip from a person’s eyes, feeling their heartbeat slow to a stop while you hold their intestines in your bare hands, it's… it’s an art. And I am an artist.”

Junior got a little teary-eyed, and Dinah grimaced distastefully as she watched him compose himself and come right back with a forceful grin. 

“Alright then Junior,” she said, “Let’s turn to the Golden Rule, then, shall we? How would you feel if someone made ‘art’ out of you?”

“I’d be totally fine with it!” Junior laughed easily, “Not like it hasn’t happened before!”

“Before?” Dinah asked.

“Yeah! Jason, Widower, Deathstroke-” Junior listed, and Dinah blinked.

“Deathstroke?” she asked, “What are you talking about?”

“Oh? Didn’t you know?” Junior asked with a sly grin, “Deathstroke was the one who killed us.”

---

Ra’s al Ghul clenched his fist as the doors of his throne room were thrown open. Into the room, dozens of men flooded in, doing battle with his sparse guard, killing them in minutes. “ Treachery!! ” Ra’s spat at the invaders, and Lex Luthor smiled.

Lex, and their third partner.

“ You were warned, Ra’s,” the third partner growled, “It brings me no pleasure to do this.”

“If you kill me,” Ra’s said warningly, gesturing to the heart monitor, “All our hard work will go to waste.”

“Actually, no, it won’t,” Lex said, raising up a small round thing. It looked like a device a diabetic might use to check their blood pressure, but with a little hint of green in the blade; kryptonite.

“I required a fresh sample of Tommy’s DNA, sure,” Lex said with a shrug, “But I managed to inoculate the nanobots to your specific signal. Killing you, or pressing that button in your sleeve, won’t do a damn thing.”

Ra’s eyes widened. “The monk-” she started, but the third partner cut him off.

“-Has been convinced.”

“By whom!? ” Ra’s roared angrily, refusing to let everything he had worked toward slip away.

“By me, ” a voice said from his side, and in the blink of an eye, there was a saber at his throat.

“Talia,” he growled, “What is the meaning of this?”

“You have always sought an heir in my place,” Talia sneered at him, “ My place! Your own daughter!”

“Women cannot lead the League--”

“ That is an antiquated sentiment and you know it! ” Talia snapped, “I will not be passed over anymore. After the abhorrent things you have done to that poor Drake boy, I saw fit to pass over you for a change, and meet with your partners directly.”

“It’s a hell of a deal, really,” Lex said snidely, “We get to keep the League of Assassins, Tim Drake, and put Project Savior back on track. All while getting rid of you, and your frankly alarming sexual proclivities.”

“I admit, Ra’s, I wanted to be tolerant at first,” the third partner said, as if this decision had brought him great pain, “You are a very old and dear friend, and we have both done worse for less. But delaying my plans? Attempting to resist my new world order? Torturing that boy for nothing but your own amusement? Giving birth to Joker Junior, who may possibly be the most dangerous man on the planet? That, I cannot abide. So I have agreed with Lex, and your daughter; you are to be removed from the Light, and Talia is to take your place.”

Ra’s shook with rage. All his plans, all his hopes, all his schemes to have Timothy as his heir, as his wife, ruined! He would have to wait until one of his loyal followers resurrected him again, but by the time that happened Project Savior might already be complete and he would be too late to turn Timothy to his side. Damn it! Damn it all!!

“If you kill me,” Ra’s said, wrath bubbling under every word, “I will merely come back and strike you down.”

“We both know even you can’t do that,” the third partner sighed, almost pityingly, “And don’t worry, Ra’s. I’m not going to kill you.

“I have something much more poetic in mind…”

Chapter 14: Requiem for a Scarlet Speedster!

Summary:

Anyone who understood the reference in the title has earned a cookie

Tim had been left to his own devices for the first time in a long time. The straightjacket still wasn’t allowed to come off; Red and Robin were civil, but the possibility of Junior coming out and wreaking havoc was too much to bear for Tim. He was almost glad for it. 

But, being cooped up in one room with nothing but a straightjacket and his own fractured mind to keep him company led to everyone’s worst enemy: boredom. 

So he spent his time thinking; never a good thing to let Tim Drake do. The novelty and panic of regaining some semblance of his senses had worn off by now, thankfully, so Tim set about putting his head in order. Or, at the very least, the quarter of his head that he still had control over.

Tim knew on some fundamental level that what Dinah was saying was correct; that alters could never and would never truly go away. That he was stuck operating at 25% capacity for the rest of his life. That he would forever have to live in fear of Junior taking over. 

But he didn’t want to believe it. He wanted to reject this reality and substitute his own. He wanted to find a way to just go back, to fix things-- he wasn’t so greedy as to want to go back to the way things were before Bruce disappeared, or to how they were before Ra’s found him, but dammit, even things before he died were better than this. Dammit all, he was an adult!! DID shouldn’t even be a problem he had to worry about! This was all because of that goddamn Pit--!!

Tim stopped for a moment, blinking. The Pit. That was the variable here. If he could somehow get the Lazarus Water out of his system…

Would that kill him all over again? Or would it just get rid of the adverse effects? If he did this right, he could, potentially, create some sort of cure for Pit Madness. After all, every disease was curable, it was just a matter of finding the right medicine!

Yes, yes of course!! It really was that simple! Tim could just get to work studying chemistry and the properties of Lazarus Water, then once he found the cure, as if inevitably would, he would take it and get his life back on track. 

Tim stood up, excited, and ran towards the door, only for the cuff around his ankle to snap his leg back and make him faceplant on the floor. 

Right. Being held prisoner by the greatest vigilantes in the world. Tim tested the ankle cuff again, only succeeding in making it rattle. Son of a bitch!! 

He could be out there again! He could be putting his life back together!!

Illogical, a cold voice told him from the corner of his subconscious, and Tim sighed and put his head in his knees.

“ No, no, no, not again, come on!! ” he groaned, “ Leave me alone! ”

You know I can’t do that.

“Yes, you can!” Tim muttered to Red through gritted teeth, “It mainly involves shutting the fuck up! ”

My thoughts are your thoughts, and vice versa. We can’t hide from one another, no matter how much we try.

“Junior seems to be managing it just fine…” Tim muttered, wincing as he felt the sharp stab of Junior’s laughter at the edge of his mind.

Junior’s ‘disappearance’ is fully your doing, and you know that. You are foolishly and uselessly trying to repress him.

“No shit!” Tim said with a laugh, “It’s almost like I want you all to go. away. ”

… we would if we could, Tim… a new, quieter, more hesitant voice said, and Tim groaned again.

“Oh good, the kid’s here too,” he muttered, “Now all we need is the clown and we’ll have the whole Potpourri of Pathetic.”

Oh come on, Timbo, I’ve been here the whole time!! Junior’s scathing laughter echoed in his head, and Tim screamed as he kicked the leg of the chair he was tethered to hard enough to break it.

“ I WAS FUCKING KIDDING!! ” he snapped, “ Jesus Christ!! Is it too much to ask for all of you to please just shut up!!??”

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!!! Sorry, Timbo, but you’re stuck with us!!

That’s not how this works…

Illogical.

Tim screamed wordlessly, kicking the chair again. “ MOTHERFUCKER!! ” he screeched, “How is this conversation even happening!? This isn’t how DID works!! ”

His alters seemed to hesitate. To be clear, we do not suffer from pure Dissociative Identity Disorder, Red said helpfully, We suffer from a condition made worse by Pit Madness, which approximates DID. Frankly speaking, our exact condition has not yet been named or encountered by human medicine.

“Oh good, I feel so unique,” Tim muttered, “Maybe they’ll name a chapter after me in a textbook.”

Tim, this is serious, Robin said in a pitifully small voice, and Tim stood up in a rage.

“ Oh, you don’t think I’m taking this situation seriously, do you!?” Tim growled, “I’m the only one in this fucking house thinking of real, tangible solutions to our little problem, aren’t I!?”

It is true that you are thinking of solutions, Red acquiesced, But they are not viable. 

“What’s that supposed to mean!?” Tim growled, kicking the chair once more for good measure.

I  say we should just burn this place to the ground and let everyone inside  burn-

“SHUT UP, JUNIOR!!” Tim screamed, kicking the wall with all his strength; the poor chair had had enough.

What I mean is, we would not have the time nor the faculties to pursue a chemical cure to Pit Madness, Red went on, as if nothing had ever interrupted him, We would be pioneering a field that no one had any previous experience in. It would take years. Decades, even. We have months, at most, to regain control on the trajectory of our life. We’ve already wasted seven years.

“We’ve been dead for seven years,” Tim muttered.

Being dead is a waste of time.

“God, if you weren’t just a disembodied voice in my head, you could be a fucking philosopher!” Tim snapped, but then he took what Red had said to heart.

It would take too long. Far too long. Unless he could think at the speed of light, he’d never find a cure in time to--

 

…

 

Wait a minute.

---

Eight Weeks Ago

“--seconds.” Oliver finished, “How ya doin’, Wally?” 

“Could be better, I admit,” Wally said, clenching his fists as lightning crackled in his eyes, “Just found out my best friend died. I’m a little pissed off at the moment.”

“Sounds like you could do to let off some steam, Wal,” Bart said without an ounce of humor in his voice, crossing his arms as he regarded Thawne with disgust, “How about we try Harley’s new punching bag therapy?”

“I think that’s a great idea, Bart,” Wally growled, and Thawne grinned as he slowly extricated his hand from Green Arrow’s chest.

“ Wally West, as I live and breathe, ” Eobard said with a grin, “ So, you wanna try and do what Barry couldn’t? By all means, Wal . Catch me if you can!! ”

All three of them took off across the fields of Kansas at speeds that would’ve made a fighter jet blush. For as much as Thawne liked to gloat, there was a certain amount of skill he possessed, so it was annoying to try and call him on his bluff only to find out he wasn’t bluffing.

Back during the old days, Wally would often find himself dropping out of the race far too soon when Eobard and Barry used to go at it. But now he was older, wiser, faster; Thawne wouldn’t outrun him this time.

Speedster duels always devolved into something between a race and a fight; no one knew why that was, but it always happened. Maybe it was because speedsters are used to moving to gain distance, and other speedsters are the only ones fast enough to follow them, or maybe it was because somewhere in the back of all their subconsciouses, they all just wanted to have a knockdown, dragout race against someone that wouldn’t get left behind in nanoseconds.

So, somewhere in the Rocky Mountains, Thawne, Wally, and Bart broke the sound barrier, their feet carrying them across the Pacific as Wally moved in for the first strike. Predictably, Thawne dodged out the way, but Bart was right beside him, ready to kick at his legs.

But Wally knew it wouldn’t be that easy. Thawne jumped up, avoiding Bart’s kick with an agility that it was honestly unfair for a speedster to have, and flawlessly resumed the race, grinning madly as he spun and landed a kick right to Bart’s nose. 

“ Kid!! ” Wally cried, sparing a backwards glance as he watched Bart splash to a stop in the middle of the largest ocean on earth. 

“ Keep your eyes on the prize, Wally!! ” Thawne taunted, throwing a punch that Wally was almost too slow to dodge, “ Lose focus, and you might just lose a limb, too!! ”

Wally growled as he and Thawne hit landfall in Asia; he’d have to trust Bart to get up and keep running on his own. They didn’t hear it, but there was another pair of sonic booms as they reached Mach 2, shattering the windows of Shanghai. Wally swiped at Thawne three times in quick succession, but each time Thawne blocked and broke away.

When they reached the Gobi Desert, Wally finally made a hard left directly into Thawne’s path, aiming a kick at his head, but to his frustration Thawne dropped to his knees and slid like a goddamn rockstar, ducking his chin under Wally’s leg like a limbo bar. The two of them circled each other for a few more minutes, swiping at one another as the passed, but finally they skidded to a stop, each panting for breath.

“ Alright fine, I’ll admit it, ” Thawne said with a tired grin, still modulating his voice, “ You’ve gotten faster, Wally. ”

“And you’ve gotten more annoying!” Wally snapped, rushing Thawne in his anger, but Thawne sidestepped his punch and spun out of the way like a matador.

“ Close, but no cigar! ” Thawne taunted, “ My speed was always a match for Barry’s, Wally, let alone yours. You can’t hope to beat me as you are. ”

A sonic boom ripped through the Gobi Desert, and Kid Flash hit Thawne across the face with all the power of a cruise missile, zipping around to stand by his mentor. “Good thing he’s got help, then,” Bart growled, all his usual levity and cheeriness gone in favor a cold, hate-filled tone.

It had been a hard week. It was the anniversary of Tim’s death for Bart, the unveiling of Barry’s statue and dug up a lot of memories for the whole family, Joan Garrick was dying, and then Dick got killed by the new villain, Joker Junior. Both Wally and Bart needed something to hit, so Eobard Thawne, their uncle’s/grandfather’s mortal enemy who seemed to have nothing better to do than to fuck with them, was a perfect candidate.

“You chose just about the worst time to come out of the woodwork, Thawne,” Wally said with a threatening growl, “Now tell me what Operation Echo is before Bart and I beat it out of you!”

Thawne’s grin only widened unsettlingly. “ God, this is just like old times! ” he said across the field, visibly vibrating with excitement, “ Like the old days, when Barry and I would race! Our footsteps shook the earth, our speed wakes created tsunamis, our fights threatened to destroy the very fabric of reality itself! We were gods!! And now here the two of you are, standing in for him… and to think, I almost felt sadness when I locked Barry in that vault. ”

Wally’s world shut down. His vision tunnelled in on Thawne, and the words he’d just said. “ What? ” he asked.

Thawne raised an eyebrow. “ Didn’t you know, Wally? ” he asked, his voice full of sadistic glee, “ Barry Allen is alive. ”

“ LIAR!! ” Bart screamed at him, vibrating with anger as the Speed Force crackled around him.

“ Trust me, Bart, I’m telling the truth! ” Thawne said with a laugh, “ You two said you wanted to know what Operation Echo is? LET ME GIVE YOU THE GRAND TOUR!!! ”

Faster than either Wally or Bart had ever seen Thawne move, there was a storm of red lighting all around them, and Thawne’s Negative Speed Force (equal and opposite to the real deal) raged and roared, tearing the Gobi Desert asunder.

Before either Flash or Kid Flash knew what was happening, the air around them seemed to boil and separate, and there, in the center of the storm, a terribly familiar black, starry tear in the sky yawned open. 

Wally’s eyes widened in shock and recognition, his breathing hitched, and he stared entranced at the same hole in the fabric of space-time that had taken his uncle from him fifteen years ago.

---

2006

It was a normal day at the Hall of Justice. The Justice League had officially extended its condolences to Gotham and Batman upon the death of Robin, Gorilla Grodd had been imprisoned after his latest attempt to revert humanity back to apes, and Kid Flash, Wonder Girl, Cyborg, and Aqualad had been offered places in the League, and accepted. Raven and Beast Boy chose to remain with the Teen Titans, guiding the next generation of superheroes in their own way. Faced with the unprecedented situation of nothing going wrong today, most all the League was taking a day in the Hall to rest and relax. 

Hal Jordan grinned as he stood on the pitcher’s mound of a glowing green baseball diamond he’d summoned in the Hall’s backyard, popping a bubble of bubblegum as he stared down at the batter, who tapped home plate with a grin and pointed his bat at the outfield, calling the shot.

Hal snickered, then wound up and threw with all his might. In the blink of an eye, Barry Allen sent the baseball careening through the air with a sonic boom, never to be seen again. Barry laughed and made a show of running around the bases, waving at the crowd, which only consisted of Martian Manhunter, who didn’t understand the game, and Hawkgirl, who didn’t want to play.

“ Great Hera!! It’s so unfair that they get both speedsters on their team!” Donna Troy groaned, throwing up her hands in exasperation as Barry hit home plate for his sixth consecutive home run.

“Hey now, what am I, chopped liver?” Clark said with a laugh, “I know I’m no speedster, but I can still move faster than most people can think.”

“I don’t know, if we’re going on how fast Hal thinks,” Barry said with a grin, zipping over to flick his friend between the eyes, “Then that’s not very hard at all!”

Hal squawked indignantly, dropping concentration and letting the field flicker a bit before he regained his senses and put it back into place. “ Ha ha, very funny,” he muttered, “I swear, Barry, someday I’m gonna snap and just fling you out into space. Even speedsters need to breathe.”

Barry smiled lopsidedly, zipping behind Hal and hugging him from behind. “ Nah! ” he said with a laugh, lifting Hal up in a bear hug, “You like me too much!”

“ Ack-- Hey!! Put me down!!” Hal yelped, kicking his legs out into thin air, and Aquaman and Wonder Woman laughed at him from the outfield while Hal’s face went red, “ Bar-ry!! ”

It was a good day. One of the best, Wally remembered.

Then things took a turn. 

A siren sounded from the Hall, rousing the League from their reverie. Something fast and red whipped past them, and Barry’s eyes widened as he perceived something the rest of them were simply too slow to.

Out from the Hall, Cyborg came running, shouting, “Something’s wrong! There’s something moving way too fast for anything manmade! I’ve got no clue what it is, but it’s causing tsunamis along every coast, and hurricanes and massive thunderstorms everywhere else!”

The League sprang into action, running for their equipment as fast as they could, but for Barry, they were moving at a snail’s pace.

He looked up at the sky, watching it darken at an unnatural rate, and again, the fast red something whipped past the hall. Barry narrowed his eyes. Golden lightning crackled in his irises.

Without waiting for anyone else, he took off at the speed of sound.

Sure enough, as Barry caught up, there he was. The Man in the Yellow Suit. The Reverse Flash. The man who killed his mother.

Eobard Thawne.

“ THAWNE!! ” Barry roared, “ What the hell do you think you’re doing!! If you go any faster you’ll cause irreparable damage to the planet! ”

Eobard barely spared him a glance. “ Hello, Barry!! ” he said with a laugh, “ Just a little experiment of mine!! Would you like to see the results? ”

Barry growled, pouring on more speed to catch up to Thawne. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Eobard!” he called, “But I’m bringing you in!”

Eobard scoffed, “ You can try!! ” With that, he disappeared in a storm of red lightning. Red lightning; that was new. Or rather, old. Terrifyingly old. The last time Barry had seen red lightning had been…

Had been…

“ Run, Barry!! RUN!!! ”

His mother’s last desperate scream echoed through his brain, and Barry growled as he chased Thawne with all the speed he could muster, leaving a trail of golden lightning in his wake. 

“ Hall to Flash, what the hell is going on out there!? ” Hal’s voice cried in his ear, and Barry grimaced. 

“It’s the Reverse Flash,” he said in response, “He’s planning something; I’ll bring him in!”

“ Do you want me to- ” Clark began, but Barry cut him off.

“Sorry, Superman, I don’t think you’d be able to keep up!” Barry said, grunting with exertion as he tried and failed to catch up to Thawne, “There’s something off here! He’s moving a lot faster than he used to be able to!”

Before the rest of the League could react, there was a whoosh of rushing air and a sonic boom as Kid Flash fed the Hall of Justice, joining the race with his mentor.

“ Fuck! ” Green Arrow cursed over the line, “ Kid Flash just disappeared! ”

“What!?” Barry asked incredulously, and then there was another sonic boom as Barry felt another presence running alongside him.

“ Go home, Kid!! ” Barry ordered, turning back to glare at Wally, who answered with a determined grin from beneath his goggles.

“ No way! ” he said, “I’m your partner, not your sidekick! You can’t order me around, so let me help!”

Barry cursed, turning his attention back to Thawne, who was still a few yards ahead. “ Fine! ” he snapped, determining that he just didn’t have the time to force Kid Flash to go back to the Hall, “But if things get hairy, you drop out of the race, understand!? Thawne’s too dangerous for you!”

“Whatever you say, Flash,” Wally answered, clearly not planning to do that, and the race resumed.

And so the race went on. Three streaks, two yellow, one red, tore across the planet, leaving chaos in their wake. It was faster than any of them had ever gone before; Mach 2, Mach 3, Mach 4, Mach 5, Mach 6-- their speed just kept climbing and climbing. Then, a fourth streak, blurring red and blue together, with a strange lack of lightning, joined their race.

Trailing far behind, Jay Garrick struggled not to get lapped, pushing himself faster than he had ever run before. They’d measured him once, during the Korean War; his top speed was somewhere below Mach 2. Jay was running at Mach 5 now, easy. 

Grunting with the effort, Jay pushed himself a little faster and finally caught up with Wally, watching as Eobard and Barry pulled further and further ahead.

“Jay!” Wally said in surprise, “What are you doing here, man!? You’re retired!”

Jay laughed it off, though he was just as tired as everyone else. “Ah, Joan’d kill me just for putting on the tin hat,” he said dismissively, “But I couldn’t help but notice the Wrath of God going on outside my window. Any idea what’s going on?”

“Thawne’s ‘experimenting’, whatever that means,” Wally replied, “How’s the planet doing?”

“Not great,” Jay admitted, looking up to spare the sky a glance, “I’m no meteorologist, but I don’t think stormclouds are supposed to be red.”

Wally looked up, and sure enough, there they were. Angry red clouds, huge and dark, spitting red lightning and booming thunder at them as they ran faster and faster. 

“We’ve got to get them to stop running!” Wally cried, “At this rate, they're going to start sinking cities!”

“Agreed!” Jay called, looking at the distant shapes of Barry and Thawne, “But we need to catch up to them first!”

Wally looked up at the distant back of his mentor. “Race ya, old man!” he said, pouring on the speed, and Jay made a face halfway between a grin and a grimace, struggling to keep up.

And the four of them ran. Ran faster than they’d ever run before. Faster and faster, past each Mach and then some. 

As they crossed the Pacific, Jay did the calculations in his head; they were getting close to Mach 1,000,000. The Speed of Light.

They were going too fast. Unfathomably fast. How Jay and Wally were even still in the race was anyone’s guess, but Jay suspected they might have just been riding Eobard and Barry’s speed wakes, like drafting in a racecar.

Then something happened, too far up ahead for either Jay or Wally to see. Something dark and starry and terrifyingly vast opened up in the air in front of them, too fast for any of them to react, and Thawne went right in, followed by Barry, followed by Jay and Wally.

The sensation of running on nothing is a terrifying feeling, and one none of them ever wanted to go through ever again. All that’s keeping you from falling apart is the continued motion, the will to put one foot in front of the other for however long it takes. They didn’t quite understand it, but they knew any attempt to slow down would mean death.

Then, up ahead, as Jay and Wally were beginning to catch up, Thawne disappeared.

It happened fast, too fast. For a moment, all they did was run in shock, looking at where the villain had dissolved into nothingness. Then Barry turned back, looking at his nephew and mentor behind him, about to meet the same fate.

He couldn’t slow down, couldn’t turn around. But he could save them. He threw his arm behind him, rotating it at super speed and creating a gust of wind to knock Jay and Wally off their feet, sending them both flying backward and back through the portal.

“ Barry!! ” Jay cried, getting thrown back, as Wally stared into his uncle’s eyes, screaming, “ NO!! ”

Barry smiled apologetically, and as Jay and Wally passed back through the rip in the sky, they saw Barry Allen, the Flash disappear.

As they both collapsed from exhaustion on the beaches of Hawaii, they stared at the spot where the rip had once been, waiting for something, anything to happen.

It never did.

---

2021

Before either Wally or Bart could react, Thawne shoved them into the same tear in spacetime Barry had disappeared into, all those years ago, and red and yellow lightning seemed to go to war around them as they both hurtled through the nothingness.

“Wally!!” Bart cried shrilly, continuing to fall, “Wh-What do we do!?!?”

Wally tried to steady his breathing, looking up at where Thawne was running with little to no issue, toward yet another tear in the spacetime continuum, this one on the opposite side of whatever in-between world they were in. 

Wally’d never seen the opposite side before. He didn’t know where that hole led. He didn’t know what would happen next.

But it was their best chance for survival.

“ RUN, BART!! ” Wally screamed, willing his own legs to carry him forward, “ RUN!! ”

The two of them ran faster than they’d ever run before, desperation driving them forward, until in the blink of an eye, they were thrown out into the outside world, with all his harsh sights and sounds.

As Wally lay on solid ground, simultaneously cursing it and kissing it, he stood up and tried to figure out where they were, then gasped as he saw what was in front of him.

The Flash Museum. But it was wrong. So wrong. It wasn’t Barry’s golden lightning bolt adorning the front of the building; it was Thawne’s reversed crimson.

And the main attraction…

Thawne grinned as he appeared in front of Wally and Bart, vibrating with excitement. “ Wally! Bart!” he said cordially, “Welcome to Central City in the year 2674! You wanted him, and here he is: the Crimson Comet! The Sultan of Swoosh! The Scarlet Speedster: ”

There, running helplessly for eternity on a massive hamster wheel, reduced to little more than a living battery, was the ragged, tired form of a very tired, very scared, very familiar man, who met Wally and Bart’s gazes with haunted blue eyes.

“ Barry Allen. ”

Notes:

The answer for the title reference was: a single episode of "Batman: The Brave and the Bold" that I was OBSESSED with when I was a kid

Chapter 15: Operation Echo

Slade Wilson frowned with concentration as he aimed down the sights at the man who’d been marked for death by his most recent, and honestly most interesting, employer.

What was more interesting was that Slade didn’t know the man named as his target. There was no paper trail. No identity to look up. No nothing. He was a ghost, pure, plain, and simple; Slade wasn’t the best detective, but he knew how to find people. Especially people trying to hide. The fact that he knew next to nothing about this “Rip Hunter” was… interesting.

But, his employer had given him enough information. Rip Hunter was a man who collaborated with the Justice League, and would soon be making an appearance in Washington, DC in order to get to the Hall of Justice, where he could then take the teleporters to the far more secure Watchtower. It would be Slade’s mission to kill Hunter in the short amount of time he’d be out in the open in the city.

So, he had to sneak into one of the most heavily surveilled and guarded cities on the planet, take up a sniping position for the earthbound headquarters of what was arguably the most powerful organization on the planet, and kill a man in broad daylight. For anyone else, this would be an impossible task.

But he was Deathstroke the goddamn Terminator.

So, just to add some drama to the day, he set up his sniper’s nest on the roof of the Lincoln Memorial, a stone’s throw away from the Hall, which sat on the former site of the northern half of West Potomac Park. He grinned just slightly beneath his mask as he zoomed in on the blond, scraggly looking man in the long trenchcoat, looking so obviously out of place amongst the gawking tourists; this was too easy.

Slade’s finger curled around the trigger as Rip Hunter pushed his way through the crowd and up the steps of the Hall.

A red crosshair aligned itself with the back of a blond head.

A well-worn leather boot touched marble step.

An assassin let out a breath as a time-traveller sucked one in.

And a bang split the air as a bullet sailed through it.

Then Slade cursed as a familiar crest filled his vision, and the bullet plunked harmlessly to the floor. Superman.

Deathstroke stood, beginning to run to a new vantage point, but as he did, he found himself face to face with one of the few men on the planet he respected.

“ Batman, ” Slade said cordially, “So sorry to hear about your boy. He was a good man.”

Batman said nothing, merely gliding toward Slade as the crowd screamed below at the attempted assassination.

“Not in a talkative mood today, eh?” Slade asked, making sure to subtly move toward his prepared escape route, “That’s fine. Why don’t you just get out of the way, let me kill the drifter, and this doesn’t have to get messy.”

“I’m not here about Rip Hunter, Slade,” Batman growled, and Slade shivered with anticipation at the carnal fury in the Bat’s voice; he hadn’t sounded that angry with Slade since the Renegade Incident.

Slade grinned beneath his mask, drawing his katana from his back. “Then who are you here about?” he asked, and the Bat charged.

The altercation was quick and brutal; Slade slashed at him, Batman blocked with his armored bracers, then aimed a kick at Slade’s side, which Slade jumped out of the way of. The Bat moved in, landing a few good hits to Slade’s chest and head, but Slade managed to retaliate by headbutting his opponent, forcing him to step back and letting Slade go on the offensive. However, to Slade’s surprise, that didn’t last very long; it was as if a switch had been thrown. All at once, the Bat went from tolerant of Slade’s attacks to full-blown war machine, sweeping all attempted strikes out of the way while pummeling Slade into the ground. 

Slade was a very tough man, but even he and his healing factor had their limits. He grunted in pain as the Bat punched his head against the roof of the Lincoln Memorial, over and over again, until finally letting up and holding Slade up by the neckline of his armor, leaning out over the side and threatening to fall down to the ground below.

“Oh, come on, Batman,” Slade grunted semi-deliriously, “We both know you’re not gonna drop me--”

“ Seven years ago you were hired to kill Tim Drake! ” Batman demanded, shaking Slade and keeping him off-balance, “ Who hired you!?! ”

Slade grunted, snarling, “You know I don’t give up my clients!”

“ TELL ME!! ” the Bat roared, punching Slade across the face hard enough to crack his mask, “ Or I’ll break so many bones in your body it’ll take that healing factor MONTHS to set you back right again!! ”

Slade spat blood out of his mouth, growling back a witty retort when static crackled in his ear.

“ Go ahead and tell him, Deathstroke, ” his new employer said calmly, “ We can come back at a later time for Rip Hunter. Worry not for your reputation; no one will know but me. ”

Slade still hesitated.

“ I’ll pay you double. ”

Slade grinned.

“You wanna know who wanted your little birdy killed, Bats?” Slade said tauntingly, sneering in the Bat’s face, “You want me to give you a name? ”

Batman growled, ripping off Slade’s helmet and throwing it off the side of the memorial. He held up his fist threateningly; it was adorable.

Slade grinned through bloody teeth, his one good eye alight with satisfaction and excitement at the prospect of a good hunt. “The one who hired me that day was…”

“ Ra’s al Ghul. ”

While Batman straightened, stunned, Slade broke his grip and fell backward. For a few seconds, he did nothing but fall; then, he hit the ground below with a sickening crunch!!

Soon enough, his bones started knitting themselves back together, and before the Bat could get down to him, Slade was already on his motorcycle and driving away when his earpiece crackled again.

“ Good work, Deathstroke. Now, concerning Rip Hunter… ”

---

Tim sat in his cell room. In his room. For the first time since he’d gotten his new wretched roommates, things were relatively quiet, giving Tim time to think; think of his plan to cure his condition, and get these annoying voices out of his head once and for all. It would take some cunning, and doing some things he wasn’t proud of, but what else did he do nowadays?

He needed to get out of this house as soon as possible. He needed to put his plans back on track. Otherwise…

Otherwise…

Robin whimpered in his brain. Junior laughed. Red Robin humed noncommittally.

Otherwise, at any point in time, Ra’s or Lex could decide he was taking too long, or that he wasn’t useful anymore, and push the button. They could end his son’s life, just like that.

Tim could not, would not, allow that to happen.

So. If he was to be looked upon as the villain, as the insane Robin who lost his way and joined the dark side, then so be it. If none were to know the true nature of his sacrifice, then whatever. If he had to kill his own brother, betray his own friends, manipulate and scheme his way to the top in order to ensure that the world was safe for his son, his beloved, his family… then he’d do it. 

He was not Robin anymore.

He was not Tim Drake anymore.

He was not Joker Junior anymore.

He was the Red Robin, the name that made children go to sleep afraid at night. He was the Red Robin, the boogeyman, the fallen angel and malignant devil all in one. 

Hero no more.

This resolution was why Tim must rid his mind of its… invaders as soon as possible. He had a goal he must be pursuing singlemindedly, with no distractions or detours. He’d waited long enough. 

Tim jumped as someone knocked on the door, and he spun in his chair.

“Dad?” Tommy’s hesitant voice floated through the door, “Are you awake?”

Tim blinked for a moment. He couldn’t seem to find his voice.

“Dad?” Tommy asked again, and Tim opened his mouth.

“Y-Yes, sweetheart, I’m awake,” he all but whispered, his lips dry with nerves as the door slowly, ever so slowly crept open.

Tommy stood in the door uncertainly, face to face with his father, alone, for the first time in eight years. “You… recognize me… today?” Tommy asked quietly, and Tim nodded quickly.

“Kiddo, I could never forget you, ” he assured his son, and Tommy took a hesitant step forward, looking at the opposite chair, which had been broken by Tim’s earlier tantrum.

“I-- Sorry,” he muttered, his face going red, “I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s alright, I can--” Tommy assured him, holding out his hands assuringly, “I can stand.”

Tim nodded, blinked, then swallowed, looking his son up and down. “You…” he murmured, almost to himself, “You look grown up.”

Tommy blushed, looking at his feet. “I-- Thanks, Dad,” he murmured, brushing the hair out of his eyes nervously.

Tim shook himself out of his reverie, then sat down, prompting Tommy to sit crosslegged while floating in midair. “You’re flying’s gotten better,” Tim praised, and Tommy nodded.

“Thanks, I’ve been practicing.”

They sat in awkward silence for a moment that stretched on just a little too long. “So…” Tim said, breaking the silence and wishing that his first conversation with his son wasn’t while he was in a straightjacket, “What, uh… what’s it been like? Living here?”

Tommy looked at the floor. “It’s alright, I guess,” he said, “Grandpa and I get along well. I mean, I get along fine with everyone, but it’s, he’s… it’s different.”

Tim smiled, “He’s Batman, after all.”

Tommy nodded. “And Aunt Cass and I are close, too,” he said with a small, hesitant smile, “And Uncle Damian. He chaperones me on patrol.”

“...Patrol?” Tim asked uncertainly, fatherly protection instincts kicking in, “You’re… you go on patrol?”

Tommy blinked, as if realizing he’d said something wrong. “I, uhm… yeah?” he said, as if it were a question.

Tim blinked rapidly for a moment. “I, I’m sorry,” he said quietly, “I don’t mean to sound disapproving. I think I knew deep down that this day would come, but I… you’re still six years old in my mind, Tommy, I… I didn’t want to have to worry about you being out there yet.”

Tommy drew in on himself, hugging his knees to his chest. “Yeah, I… I get it,” he murmured, “I had to really fight Grandpa for him to let me start patrolling at thirteen.”

Tim winced. “ Thirteen. Is-- Is that how old you are now?” he asked, like asking the question itself caused physical pain.

Tommy nodded sadly.

Tim let out a ragged breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, feeling as if something had just hit him in the chest. Thirteen. His son was a teenager. In Middle School. Just yesterday he’d have been in kindergarten…

“D-Do you wanna know what my superhero name is?” Tommy asked, almost sheepishly, and Tim looked up. His boy was smiling uncertainly, desperately searching for the fatherly approval he hadn’t received in years.

Tim couldn’t bring himself to disappoint.

“Let’s hear it,” he found himself saying with a tired smile.

“ The Drake! ” Tommy proclaimed, standing up and putting his hands on his hips proudly.

Tim gave a wry smile, “You know--”

“Yeah, yeah, the name thing, I know,” Tommy said with a sigh, “But it really works! To the public, I’m Uncle Jason’s illegitimate son, so my ‘surname’ is Todd. I figured that using ‘Drake’ as my superhero name would be a good way to, y’know… remember you.”

And what was at first dry amusement became heart-melting shock as Tommy curled in on himself once more, adorably kind and considerate. “Tommy, I--” Tim started, but his voice died in his throat. “I’m honored,” he managed to croak, proud tears welling up in his eyes, “And I promise you-- I’m going to fix this. I’m gonna get better soon, and I’m gonna fix this. ”

Tommy smiled, then hugged his father’s restrained form, mostly so that he couldn’t see how the smile got sad and pitying. “I know, Dad,” he lied.

“I know.”

---

Jay Garrick bowed his head as the heart monitor beeped steadily. Desperately, like a man drowning, he held his wife’s hand, silently begging his God to let her live, just a few moments longer. 

“They’ll be here any minute now, Joanie,” he whispered, “You’ll see. Any minute. You know them-- always in the nick of time. Just hold on for me till then, would you?”

Joan Garrick continued to sleep, her eyes closed, but her chest rising and falling steadily. Each breath seemed like an eternity to Jay. 

“Just hang on a little longer, Joanie,” he whispered again, trying to ignore the roughness in his voice, “Just a little longer. They’ll be here any moment. After all…”

 

“... they said they’d be back in a Flash.”

---

Wally gaped up at the perverted Flash Museum, staring in horror as he watched Barry Allen, his uncle, his mentor, run along on a giant hamster wheel, not stopping, not slowing down, reduced to little more than a living battery.

“ Do you like it? ” Thawne said tauntingly, grinning darkly as he watched Bart and Wally’s sickened faces, “ I built it myself! ”

Bart’s face twisted into an enraged frown as he rushed forward, foolishly charging the most dangerous man in the world before Wally could stop him.

“ WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM!?! ” Bart screeched, and Thawne only laughed as he ducked and dodged out of the way, then Wally blinked and Bart was gone.

“ BART!! ” Wally screamed, running forward, only to find Thawne directly in front of him, in the blink of an eye. Much, much faster than he should have been able to move. “Thawne--!? What--!?” he managed, and then Wally grunted in pain as something fast slammed into the backs of his legs, forcing him to kneel as Thawne restrained his wrists and roughly grabbed his head, forcing him to look up at the wheel…

… where Bart now ran alongside Barry, looking angry and hopelessly confused.

“Wha--?” Wally asked, and Thawne laughed scornfully.

“ Still don’t get it, Wal? ” he asked, his voice reverberating with power as his eyes glowed an electric red, “ Then let me spin you all a tale!

“The tale of how I, Eobard Thawne, surpassed you all, and became the one and only Fastest Man Alive!! ”

Wally tried to buck his head back, intending to hit Thawne in the nuts, but Thawne only grinned savagely, tightened his grip on Wally’s head, and slammed the younger man down into the ground, keeping a knee on his back to restrain his arms. “ You see, Wally, on that fateful day fifteen years ago, I really was conducting an experiment! ”

---

2006

“I’d discovered something strange and miraculous the last time Barry and I had come to blows! Barry wasn’t just  riding  the Speed Force when he ran-- he was  generating  it!!”

Barry grimaced as he followed Thawne through the rift, and screamed with pain as something hot and nauseating tore through his body, as if pulling his molecules apart and putting them back into place one by one over the span of a microsecond. 

As Barry rolled to a stop, he slowly became aware that he was lying on cool, rough asphalt. He staggered to his feet, looked around, and slowly gained his bearings as he realized he was in a very familiar place. A pleasant, quiet little street in the heart of suburbia, on a blissfully cool Missouri night. 

It was his childhood neighborhood. His house was only three blocks down. Why would Thawne take him here? Why through a rift in spacetime? Why not just bring him there the old-fashioned way if he wanted to torment Barry?

Unless…

Eyes glowing red in the lightning flashed in Barry’s memory.

It couldn’t be.

Before he really knew what he was doing, Barry ran off in the direction of his old house, praying he was wrong.

---

1970

“Well, I couldn’t let that stand, could I? If Barry was generating new Speed Force with each step, how could I ever hope to become faster than him!? I needed something to even the playing field; that’s when I looked to the history books and remembered Newton’s Law: every action has an equal and opposite reaction! If Barry was generating Speed Force, then it stood to reason that somewhere out there, there was an equal and opposite man who could generate an equal and opposite Speed Force! Who better a candidate than me?”

Barry ran faster than he ever knew he could. The golden lightning of the Speed Force crackled around him as he came upon his old house, and there, in the window, he saw the telltale red light. Barry’s eyes flashed, and he rushed into the house, into the living room, where he knew Thawne would be.

Just as Barry entered the room, he saw it about to happen; there was Thawne, running fast with a trail of red lightning behind him, while his mother, Nora Allen, widened her eyes in shock at a snail’s pace. “ THAWNE!!! ” Barry screamed, tackling the other speedster, and Thawne grinned at him savagely. 

As Nora Allen’s features slowly shifted from shock to horror, their final duel began.

“So I did what any good scientist does: I experimented until I found the answer! I decoupled myself from Barry’s Speed Force and determined that the only way to form one of my own was to be there. On that night, in that place. That was when Barry’s Speed Force was born; it only stood to reason that it would be the birthplace of mine. ”

They raced around one another, destroying the living room where Barry’s life had been changed forever. Crimson and gold went to war in the small space, charging the air with power and making the water rise up and hair stand on end. Nora Allen stood in the center of their duel, her eyes only perceiving the blur of motion, panic and fear prevalent in the wide, shocked irises.

“ Mom!! ” a young voice cried, and Barry looked up from his duel for a fraction of a fraction of a second, resting his gaze on a scrawny blond-haired kid in pajamas, looking at the display in the living room with fear and trepidation. 

Nora Allen’s eyes widened.

Thawne grinned, twisting in midair to make for the younger Barry.

Barry growled as lightning crackled in his eyes.

“ RUN, BARRY!! ” Nora screamed at her son, “ RUN!! ”

And Barry ran.

He scooped up his younger self, dropping him off safely on a street corner in what he knew he would only remember as a shower of golden lightning, then racing back to the fight.

For the few nanoseconds that he’d wasted saving his younger self, he knew that Thawne would have every available opportunity to do the inevitable. Time slowed down as Barry pounded up the porch steps, flinging open the door as he saw his father running down the stairs in a panic, moving as slow as molasses.

He turned into the living room, just in time to watch as Thawne drove a butcher’s knife into his mother’s heart.

Nora Allen twitched. Thunder rumbled in the sky.

“ NOOOOOOO!!!!!! ” Barry screamed, tears leaking from his eyes as he ran to tackle Thawne, but as he put one foot in front of the other, Thawne turned. And lightning red as blood crackled in his eyes.

“ So that’s what it feels like… ” Thawne murmured, and he grinned as he moved too fast for Barry to comprehend, and suddenly they were gone from his childhood home.

“ THAWNE!! ” Barry roared, “ I’LL KILL YOU!! YOU HEAR ME YOU SON OF A BITCH!?!? I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU FOR WHAT YOU DID!!! ”

Thawne laughed in his ears, the sound seemingly coming from all around as Barrys struggled to find his foe in a storm of red lightning. “ My, my, MY! ” Thawne taunted, “ Mild-mannered Midwestern Barry Allen using bad words? You must be really upset! Was it something I said? ”

“ THAWNE!!! ” Barry screamed again, swinging wildly at the lightning.

Something grabbed him roughly, and in the blink of an eye, Barry was on solid ground again; solid ground that was moving. 

As his senses slowly came to him, and the red lightning faded into a clearer picture, Barry gasped as he saw what he was running on.

“ Don’t worry, Barry, ” Thawne said with delight as he stood in front of his great wheel, “ We’ll have all the time in the world to work out those anger issues… ”

---

2674

“ And on that day, thanks to the blood of Nora Allen and the capture of the Flash, I, Eobard Thawne, birthed my own Speed Force; a Negative Speed Force!! Equal, opposite, and superior to your own. ” Thawne finished, grinding Wally’s head into the asphalt, “ You see that wheel, Wally? It’s siphoning your dear uncle’s energy, and converting it into Negative Speed Force! All this time, while you’ve thought I was dead or gone, I’ve been right here, torturing your uncle, forcing him to fuel my complete and total dominion over this time! It’s given me the power to explore new abilities, new heights of potential that have never been dreamed of before! ”

“ No…! ” Wally grunted, but Thawne picked up his head and slammed it down again.

“You really wanna know what Operation Echo is, Wally?” he asked, enjoying every second of the Flash Family’s torment. “It all started when I realized that even after trapping Barry here, after siphoning his speed, after ripping him away from his friends and his family and making the whole world believe he was dead, I still wasn’t done! No, Wally; I still had more work to do. I could still fuck with all Barry’s friends; make all their lives miserable too! After all-- what would hurt a man like Barry Allen more than seeing his friends so in pain, so lost in the depths of despair, and not being able to do a damn thing about it?? So, I thought about it: who were Barry’s closest friends in the Justice League? Why, Green Lantern and Batman, of course!!”

Wally’s eyes widened as he started to realize. “ No… ” he whispered, “No, it couldn’t have been--!!”

“ It was me, Wally, ” Thawne sneered, “ I convinced Hank Henshaw to attack Coast City! I told him to destroy his core! I’m the one who whispered in your ears and convinced you not to tell Hal Jordan until it was far, far, far too late!!! ”

Wally tried to buck Thawne off of him again, but his grip was inhumanly strong, even for a speedster. “ And when poor, poor Hal landed in Coast City, I’m the one who told him to take revenge on the Guardians for his misfortune, ” Thawne went on, “ And your beloved ‘Uncle Hal’ was all too happy to believe me!! ”

“You’re lying!!” Wally screamed, still trying to break the hold, but Thawne held on.

“ That’s the best part, Wally-- I’m not! ” he crooned, “ Ooh, the truth stings, doesn’t it? But that’s how it went. And Batman? The man who prides himself on being the World's Greatest Detective?

“ All too easy to convince him to stop looking for his dead son. ”

Wally’s eyes widened as he went still. “Tim…” he whispered, “B-But how!! How would you even have done any of that!?!”

Thawne grinned, leaning in far too close for Wally’s liking. “ The Negative Speed Force is a pathway to many abilities some consider to be… unnatural, ” Thawne told him, “ Thanks to Barry’s speed, I got so fast that I could move faster than most men can think! When I whisper in their ears, it’s the ultimate form of hypnotic suggestion; the idea is planted in their head before they even think it! I speak so fast that they have no choice but to believe it’s their own thoughts! Ra’s al Ghul approached me, and we worked out a way to make Batman the most miserable he could possibly be. 

‘Operation Echo’.

“I’ve spent the last fifteen years doing everything I can to convince the world into misery, and now, thanks to you and Bart… ”

Wally found himself suddenly on the interior of the wheel, running alongside his cousin and his uncle.

“ I can do it EVEN FASTER!! ” Thawne threw his head back and laughed, watching the three run on into eternity, fueling his own speed and augmenting it, “ Take the time to get reacquainted! I’ve got things to do; Ra’s might be out of the picture, but I still have plans to bring the rest of your friends to their knees. Maybe I’ll convince little Tommy Drake to kill himself… that’d be good for a laugh.

“ Well, see you later guys; I’ll be back in a Flash!!! ”

And in a storm of red lightning, the three Flashes were left alone. Forced to fuel the power of their greatest enemy for all time.

Wally met Barry’s eyes, then Bart’s, asking a silent question.

“I…” Barry started, his voice sounding hoarse and abused, “...am so, so sorry you two got dragged into this.”

Chapter 16: Back in a Flash

Tim thought and stared and stared and thought as he remained confined to his room. Tommy had come to talk to him a few times, and Tim had been grateful for the chance to talk to his boy again; to see the kind of person he was growing up to be after Tim had gone away.

And when he got too far down that rabbit hole of being away, that’s when Tommy stopped visiting, because Tim wasn’t Tim anymore. He was always Robin, weeping and sobbing at the terrible things that had happened to him. He was always Red Robin, silently seething at the company so that he could resume his cold, calculated master plan. He was always Junior, laughing and singing and dancing, promising to murder the next person he saw so that they knew what freedom felt like.

The therapy with Dinah had, begrudgingly, helped. Tim had had more and more moments of lucidity throughout the day, once again feeling like he was at least the one in charge, even if he still had… roommates. 

But even the small amount of good days was enough. Well, no; not enough, but good enough, rather. He could work with this inasmuch as his end goal was resuming work at normal capacity.

And oh… did he have a plan for that. All Red needed was a good distraction; something that would get most of the Batfamily out of the house; he needed enough time to get out of his cell, get down to the Cave, gather supplies, and get out, hopefully without being seen, which means he would also need time to hack the cameras in the Cave. Not that that would take him that long, but, he had missed out on seven years of scientific progress, so he needed to factor that into his time needed. 

Maybe half an hour?

No. Too small a window; he should aim for forty-five minutes. Always allow fifteen minutes for unexpected occurrences. Yes; Red could work with this. He just needed something that would get the Batfamily out of the Manor for forty-five minutes…

 

A knock came at his door. Tim jumped, blinking away the cold fog in his mind as he looked up at the door, then at the clock, realizing that it had been two hours since he looked at it last. That wasn’t right… it felt like all of five minutes…

Tim swore as he realized Red must have taken over while he was planning. That settled it; the sooner he got out of here, the better.

“ Hey, Tim? ” a new and yet all too terrifyingly familiar voice called, “ You awake? ”

Tim swallowed down the fear and trepidation in his throat, then tried to sound not-broken as he called back, “Yeah, Conner, I’m awake.”

The door cracked open, and Conner poked his head inside. He’d grown, Tim noticed; a little taller, he’d grown out his hair more. Filled in his frame more, more muscle mass, less teenage lankiness. His jawline was sharper too, more defined… more handsome. 

Conner met Tim’s eyes, and smiled pityingly warmly. “Hey, Rob,” he said softly as he stepped inside, and Tim couldn’t help but melt at the sound of his voice.

“Hey, Clone Boy,” he answered, and Conner smiled at the old nickname. 

Conner took a seat opposite Tim, and Tim set down the book he’d been pretending to read; luckily, after so many weeks of therapy, Dinah had agreed the straightjacket was no longer necessary. It was supposed to be a show of trust, Tim knew; trust, while still keeping him confined to his room. Trust, but not stupidity.

“So how’ve you been?” Conner asked after a second, and Tim realized with a start he’d been sitting still, not talking, for about three minutes.

“A-Alright, all things considered,” Tim responded, a half-hearted chuckle finding its way out of him, “I mean, it’s nice to have Alfred’s cooking again. When I was on the run, I basically just ate what I could buy, which, err… wasn’t much.”

Conner winced a little at the acknowledgement of Tim’s time… away, and Tim winced at his wince. It had been so long since they’d been in the same room, alone, like this. They hadn’t been, really; not since before. Before it all.

“ God, it feels like a thousand years ago…” Tim whispered, and Conner looked at him strangely.

“What does?” he asked.

“ This, ” he sighed, “ You. The Manor, the Titans, all of it; it feels… It feels like a dream. Like a distant memory, from when I was a little kid. Like… like a fairy tale.”

Conner gave him a rueful grin, “I don’t need to convince you that I’m real again, do I?”

And Tim actually snickered at that, giggling and snorting at the joke, and Conner blinked rapidly, a pleased blush rising in his cheeks as his boyfriend(?) laughed at his stupid joke. “N-No, Conner, I believe you this time,” Tim said finally, winding down but still grinning, and Conner smiled.

“Good, ‘cause I was running out of points to make,” he responded, and Tim snickered again. God, his voice sounded heavenly after all this time. After hearing the way that very same laugh could be twisted, perverted-- made into something wholly other and not-Tim.

“I… I’m sorry,” Tim whispered to him, pulling Conner out of his reverie, and Conner blinked as he noticed Tim looking down at the floor.

“What for?” Conner asked, leaning forward.

“For… for that night,” Tim sighed, “For forcing myself onto you, for being too drunk to see straight, for tormenting you with it afterwards--”

“Hey, hey…” Conner said soothingly, taking Tim’s hands in his own, and Tim looked up, meeting Conner’s sky blue eyes with his own, now with a blue with a slight greenish tint. “It’s alright, Tim,” he said softly, “I… I’ve had seven years to think about it, and… and I was the one in the wrong, not you. I should have been more responsible, I should have made you stop, and I definitely shouldn’t have gotten angry at you--”

Tim laughed sadly, wiping a tear away from his eye before it could fall, “Let’s stop playing the blame game and just call it even, eh?”

Conner smiled gratefully, feeling as if a thousand pounds of kryptonite had just been lifted off his shoulders. “I’d like that,” he sighed, “I’d really, really like that.”

There was silence for a moment, and Conner cocked an eyebrow as Tim looked at him with a mischievous glint in his eye. “From what I can remember…” he started, “You were fantastic. ”

Conner groaned, blushing and hiding his face in his hands, crying, “ Oh my God, Tim! Shut up!!”

Tim, meanwhile, cackled with delight, holding his ribs as he laughed at his boyfriend(?). It felt like he’d gone back in time, Tim decided; like everything hadn’t fallen apart. Like if he just stayed in this room, suddenly, the outside world didn’t exist. It was just him and Kon, like the old days, and none of what had happened to him mattered anymore.

But it did matter. And the outside world was still there. Ra’s was still out there, waiting for him. Prowling, like a tiger at the edge of the jungle, waiting for the unlucky explorer to set one foot inside his domain.

It soured his mood considerably, and Kon seemed to sense it, looking at him with concern. It hurt so, so much that Conner was hurt because Tim was hurt, and Tim swallowed down the lump in his throat. He wouldn’t give up; not yet. He’d get his mind back, then he’d think of a new plan. Something to get his tasks done as quickly as possible. Some way to deal with Ra’s, some method of kicking him out of the League, of getting that monitor out of his chest, of killing that fucking monk in whatever godforsaken corner of the world he was hiding in. As long as Ra’s was dead, Tim could live. Tim could see his family again, at least someday. 

At least someday.

Tim took Conner’s hands, blinking away the dark memories of very different hands in very different places. “I’m going to fix this,” he whispered to his Clone Boy, “You know that, right?”

Tim met Conner’s eyes fearfully.

Conner smiled, squeezing Tim’s hands lightly. “I know,” he said back, “You can do anything you set that big, beautiful mind of yours to. It’s why I fell in love with you.”

Tim’s eyes widened a little in surprise, and Conner chuckled. “Yeah, I gave it a lot of thought,” he admitted, “And I love you, Tim. Just as much as you love me. And though we’re gonna have a long, long talk about consent and the proper way to handle DNA--” Tim let out a strangled sort of laugh as Conner grinned, “--We’re gonna make this work. No matter what you do, no matter where you go, or… or what he does to you. We’re gonna figure it out. I promise. I’m gonna do my best to be a good dad to our son, and I’m gonna do my best to be good to you. I promise. ”

Tim sat in stunned silence for a little while, then leaned in and kissed Kon with all he had. It lasted a long time, and Tim thought he might have been crying, but if Kon minded he didn’t mention it. After a while, they broke off, if only because Tim needed to breathe, and just sat there, resting their foreheads against one another, panting for breath.

“So… I take it you liked that little speech?” Kon asked with a grin, and Tim laughed shakily.

“Dammit, Clone Boy, you can’t say adorable shit like that and expect me to not want to rock your Kryptonian world,” he answered, and Conner blushed a deep red. 

“W-Wait, you mean you wanna--??” Kon stammered, and Tim grinned at him confidently. Conner whined, looking around nervously, “Right here???”

“It’s my room, isn’t it?” Tim asked him, eyeing the small twin bed to their left.

“What if someone hears??” Conner asked, and Tim laughed in his face.

“Clone Boy, I love you, but you are a damned fool if you think I’m the first Robin to sneak someone into the Manor,” he said, and Conner shuddered.

“Killin’ the mood, man,” he muttered with a grin, and Tim smiled wolfishly.

“Let’s fix that, shall we?” he said confidently, “Pants. Off. Now.”

Conner blinked at him for a moment, then a slightly amazed, slightly confused, but all loving expression came over his face as he answered, “Yes, sir!”

---

Clark crossed his arms grimly as he and the rest of the senior members of the Justice League sat with Rip Hunter in the inner sanctum of the Watchtower, having teleported up from the Hall of Justice. After a few more tense minutes of waiting, Batman finally entered the room, looking annoyed as he took his seat.

“ Deathstroke got away, ” he growled through gritted teeth, and Clark internally winced; that meant Bruce would be brooding all day. Goodie.

“Captain Hunter,” Diana started, turning to the time traveller, “Do you know any reason why Deathstroke may have wanted to kill you?”

“Can’t say I do,” Rip sighed, scratching at his light beard of rough stubble, “But he’s a hired killer, isn’t he? It might not be him; it might be who hired him.”

“Alright then,” Shayera sighed frustratedly, “Do you know of anyone who’d have enough money, and enough of a grudge, to hire Deathstroke?”

“None that wouldn’t want to do it themselves,” Rip told her, “There is one man who’d go to any lengths to kill me, but we haven’t met yet; not in this time.”

“Golly, this time travel stuff’s confusing!” Billy sighed, scratching his head in confusion.

“Please, God, tell me you did not just unironically use the word ‘golly’,” Oliver sighed at the younger man, and Billy shrugged.

“ Focus! ” Batman growled admonishingly, and then he levelled his gaze at Rip Hunter, who held it easily. “Your findings,” he asked shortly, “What are they?”

“Wally West and Bart Allen, wherever they are, are nowhere that can be found,” Rip told him, and Bruce snarled, slamming his fists down on the table.

“ So you came all this way, put lives in danger, just to tell us you found NOTHING!? ” he snapped, and Clark discreetly put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder, calming him down. Rip swallowed slightly; the only indication he’d given that Batman did, in fact, scare him.

“That wasn’t my intention, I assure you,” he said placatingly, “And I didn’t find nothing-- I just didn’t find them. ”

Batman begrudgingly sat down, still glaring. “ Go on. ”

Rip sighed, rubbing his face for a moment. “Time travel, and all methods of it, are starting to get… difficult, ” he began, “The Waverider is having more and more trouble between each jump; this isn’t abnormal, per se, but it’s not a good sign either. It’s usually the first warning sign that something big is about to happen; the timeline knows it’s about to get a big shock, and it’s bracing itself. The last time I noticed something like this, well… Barry Allen and Eobard Thawne disappeared off the face of the planet.”

The Justice League sat in shocked silence. “But this shock… it hasn’t come yet? That’s what you're saying?” Diana asked him, and Rip nodded.

“Correct,” he said, “I came to tell you that I’ll need to suspend the search for a little while, at least until the shock has come and gone. Who knows? Maybe it’ll knock a few things loose, make your wayward speedsters a little easier to find.”

“Well… that’s… unfortunate, Captain Hunter,” Wonder Woman sighed, “But we understand the need to keep yourself and your ship safe; where, er… when will you go?”

“For times like these, I usually favor Aruba,” Rip sighed, standing up and dusting himself off, “In the year 2458. Just after the war, you know? Everyone could’ve done with a pleasant day at the beach. It’s easy to blend into the crowds.”

Most of the League blinked, not having any clue what war Rip was referring to, but nodded all the same. Rip looked out at them all, a repenting expression on his face. “I am sorry,” he sighed to them, “I’ll get back to it as soon as I’m able; and don’t worry about the timequake. Odds are you probably won’t even feel it, but then again, you lot have a way of finding trouble. I’ll be off, then.” 

And the time-traveller left the Justice League to consider what he’d told them.

---

In a few short hours, he was back on his ship, hanging up his trenchcoat and taking his captain’s chair. “Gideon, set course for Aruba, 2458,” he sighed tiredly, “We have a timequake to beat, so let’s make it snappy.”

And unlike every other time that he’d given that order, his AI companion didn’t respond. 

“Gideon?” he asked, turning to see where she usually projected herself, and found the display dormant and dark. “Gideon, are you there?” he asked nervously, palming his revolver.

“I’m afraid ‘Gideon’ can’t hear you anymore, Captain Hunter,” a horrifyingly familiar voice said, and a tall, hulking form of a man stalked out of the shadows, holding up the main AI motherboard of the ship; effectively Gideon’s brain.

He crushed it.

“She’s been relieved of duty,” the man said, a slight growl leaking into his voice.

Rip stared at where Gideon, his last friend, his only friend, fell in pieces to the floor, then looked at the man who’d taken everything, everything from him, and screamed, a primal, carnal rage taking over as he ran at the man, drawing his gun and firing, even though he knew it would do nothing.

The man grabbed him by the throat with one hand, slamming him down into the hologram table where Gideon used to project herself. Then, the man began to squeeze, choking the life out of Rip while he struggled helplessly in his grip.

“I’m curious, Captain Hunter,” the man said quietly, far too calmly for a man choking someone to death, “All this time, you’ve been hunting me; and I don’t even know what for.”

Rip snarled soundlessly, thrashing in his grip as his vision began to darken. “ You--- killed-- my--- family!!! ” he choked out, and the man hesitated for a moment, then laughed as he realized something.

“Ah! That’s right; time-travel, ” he sighed, “I don’t remember killing your family, Captain Hunter, but now?” the man leaned in close while Rip struggled to remain conscious, “ I will make sure I do. And I will remember to enjoy it. ”

The man raised his other fist, and Rip started to black out. Then, the fist came down, and Rip was just conscious enough to register the pain, before slipping off into oblivion.

---

The third partner grunted as he wiped Rip Hunter’s brain matter off his fist, looking down at the crushed skull. It really was amazing what the human body was capable of after one learned to ignore the subconscious restrictions they placed on their own strength. 

“Sir,” Deathstroke said behind him, “What do we do with the ship?”

“Clean it up,” the third partner said after a moment, “Give it to Lex as a present. The Waverider could yet turn out to be useful; Ms. al Ghul is aware of our next target?”

“She is, sir,” Deathstroke answered, “The League of Assassins is moving in on El Paso as we speak.”

“Perfect,” he sighed, cracking his neck, “Then Project Savior is, at long last, well underway. Speaking of; what is our progress on the Drake Asset?”

“Still at Wayne Manor, sir,” Deathstroke answered, “We suspect he may need a distraction to escape. Thawne is taking care of it.”

“Good,” the third partner said, walking off the timeship, “Now then. Tell me, Deathstroke; have you ever been to the Flash Museum?”

---

The lights were hot and bright on Talon Grayson’s skin. Even through the heavy uniform they had given him, and the dark goggles, the lights were bright, the lights were hot.

He much preferred the dark. The cold. This was bad, and wrong. He wanted to go back to where he was, the dark, the cold, the safety, the comfort--

“Talon,” Owl ordered, and Talon Grayson turned his attention to him, “Begin.”

Talon Grayson surged forward, leaping between the two great doors, that were then shut behind him. “You have been doing exceptionally well since you first arrived here, Talon,” the Owl said from above, his voice coming from everywhere and nowhere, “This is your final test, Dick.”

Talon Grayson stopped for a moment. Dick. That name… where had he heard that name before?

“Talon.” Owl ordered, and Talon Grayson snapped back to attention. “You must not fail this test, do you understand? Otherwise we will have to start your training over again. Do you want that?”

Talon Grayson remembered its training, the too-cold, the freezing, the too-hot, the burning, the cutting and the stabbing. No, it did not want to go back to the start of its training.

It shook its head.

“Good,” Owl said from above once more, “Then do not disappoint, Talon. Your orders are this--”

A light came on in the pitch black room, and Talon was slightly surprised to see a person he hadn’t noticed, having been too distracted by Owl. Stupid! 

But as Talon inspected the man, (old, dishevelled, fat, easy prey) something woke up at the back of his mind. 

Tony Zucco. 

Dick suddenly came back to awareness, all at once. His breathing came faster, and he looked down at his hands… his claws.

Oh Jesus. Oh God. Oh God!

Blood. Blood everywhere, blood on his claws on his hands on his soul on his head on his mind---

Dick fell to his knees, screaming and clutching his head, ripping off the stupid fucking necessary comforting and horrible and awful and safe and dangerous hood from his head, throwing it at the ground as he screamed and screamed and screamed.

Dick’s head hurt. Thinking hurt. It didn’t want to hurt anymore, just make it all stop, just stop stop stopstopstop stopstop stopstop!!!

Dick plunged its claws into his own neck, dragging them across his/its jugular, hoping to kill Talon, hoping to kill Dick, hoping to make it stop.

Inky black blood flowed down Talon-Dick-his-its chest, and it coughed, spluttering for air involuntarily even though it knew it didn’t need it.

“You’re not ready,” Owl said from above, almost disappointedly, and Talon/Dick whimpered as it/he realized that this meant going back into training.

Stupid Talon!! Stupid stupid stupid stupid!!

The blood stopped flowing. Dick/Talon could breathe easily again. But that wasn’t right-- that wasn’t--

Dick/Talon touched its/his throat, feeling no wound. 

What-?

Hands grabbed it/him roughly, and Dick/Talon screamed, trying to get away and trying to comply, knowing that resistance would make it worse, but he had to resist, because otherwise--

Otherwise--

Something hit it/him, hard, on the side of its/his head, making it/him dizzy. Then it/he was dragged, dragged by rough hands and strong people, other Talons, other its, and Talon/Dick/Talon/Dick screamed and writhed and submitted and resisted.

“Drown it,” a voice ordered from above, “Even Talons like to breathe.”

Dick/Talon screamed as its/his head was shoved underwater, and held there, even as he thrashed and screamed and cried. Water filled his/its lungs, air bubbled out in front of its face, and soon, the blackness took over once more.

---

Hal…

Hal…!

Hal!

Hal Jordan floated in the sky above the planet Qward, silently menacing the inhabitants with the green light of willpower. With the Corps gone and destroyed, Hal had taken up cosmic peacekeeping duties by himself, and so far, the only threat to the universe that had eluded his domain had been an old friend.

Sinestro.

A yellow streak hurtled upward from Qward, Stronghold of the Sinestro Corps, and Hal sneered as the man himself floated in the space before him.

“Hal Jordan of Earth,” Sinestro greeted, eyeing Hal warily, “You look older.”

“Thaal Sinestro of Korugar,” Hal greeted in return, “You look afraid.”

Sinestro sneered, “I am not. I inspire fear.”

Hal scoffed. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

Sinestro growled, his yellow ring of fear glowing on his finger. “This is a war you cannot win, Jordan!” he snarled, “The entire Sinestro Corps is down there, just waiting for me to give the order and destroy you! What makes you think you can just appear in the stars above Qward and leave with your life!?”

Hal looked at Sinestro for a very, very long time. “Tell me something Sinestro; have you ever heard of the planet Mogo?” Hal asked suddenly, and Sinestro blinked.

“What?” Sinestro asked, “No?”

“Funny,” Hal sighed, and his clenched fists glowed green, “I expect to hear the same thing from the next person, when I ask them about Qward. ”

Hal aimed downward, and before Sinestro could react, two great beams of willpower struck the planet, and in a great green explosion, more power coursing through Hal Jordan than Sinestro thought possible, Qward was destroyed.

Reduced to space dust.

Sinestro stared in astonishment, watching as his stronghold was completely and utterly destroyed, seemingly without a second thought, then turned back to Hal with hatred written all over his face, his fist glowing bright yellow.

“Really?” Hal asked boredly, “You’re going to try and fight me?”

Sinestro scowled, “ You destroyed my planet! Killed all my men! ”

“Yes, because your ‘men’ were threatening the galaxy by spreading fear, terror, and fascism,” Hal told him, “You tried to rule the universe. Or guard it. Whatever you want to call it. You wanted to pick and choose who got protection and who didn’t; the Guardians did the same thing, and I killed them all for it.” 

Hal raised his fist, glowing green, right into Sinestro’s face, “And I’m going to kill you, too.”

Sinestro flinched backward, looking at Hal with a wild sort of panic in his eyes. “You’re really not bluffing, are you?” he asked warily, “You’re changed. Different. You actually snapped.”

Hal narrowed his eyes as his fist glowed brighter. “Well, that was your last chance to say anything intelligent,” he sighed, “Goodbye Sinestro.”

“Hmph. Rayner has his work cut out for him,” Sinestro scoffed, and that made Hal pause.

“Who’s Rayner?” he asked, and Sinestro raised an eyebrow.

“Oh? Didn’t you know, Oh, Mighty One?” he asked snidely, “Earth has a new Green Lantern: Kyle Rayner. ”

Hal narrowed his eyes further. “ Does it… ” he snarled, his voice dripping with venom, and Sinestro smiled.

“Yes, it does,” he said, “And if you let me live, we can go back and kill him together--!”

Hal let the energy he’d been gathering in his fist explode, killing Sinestro in cold blood before the snivelling coward could get out one more manipulative word to save his own skin.

Silently, soundlessly, he turned away from the ruins of Qward and the Sinestro Corps, turning back towards Earth. Towards home.

Kyle Rayner took your place! A voice whispered in his ear, the same voice that had whispered to him when Coast City fell, The Justice League didn’t heed your warning! Go back and teach them all a lesson! Teach them what happens when you bow to the Guardians’ whim!

“Well,” he said finally, “I guess it’s high time I go back home.”

---

2674

“Barry?” Wally asked quietly, “Is.. is it really you?”

Barry ran silently alongside the both of them for a little while, his steps ragged and exhausted, but he, like Wally and Bart, was unable to stop, for fear of being thrown around the wheel like the world’s worst roulette wheel. 

“It’s me, Wally,” his mentor whispered, and Wally’s eyes widened at the sound of his voice.

“Grandpa?” Bart asked in astonishment, and Barry blinked. 

“Grand…pa…?” he mouthed, like it was a foreign word.

“Right! You two never met!” Wally gasped, then gestured between the two of them, “Barry, this is Bart; your grandson from the future. He was sent back in time because he had a rare disease that only I could cure, and then sorta got… stuck here.”

“I chose to stay,” Bart amended, “Because I liked it better in the past. I made friends.”

Barry blinked a little while longer. “Right,” he said after a moment, “Sorry, it’s good to meet you Bart, I’m just… processing.”

“Nah, I get it!” Bart said with a laugh, “Careful you don’t think too hard, Gramps! We just got you back, don’t want you going senile on us just yet!”

Barry fully balked at that, seemingly taking great offense at being called senile at the ripe old age of… oh shit, he was fifty-one. “Oh God…” Barry whispered in horror, “Did I miss my midlife crisis??”

“Hate to break it to ya, Uncle Barry, but I think getting captured and held prisoner for fifteen years counts as a midlife crisis,” Wally sighed, “A… A lot’s happened, since you’ve been gone.”

“I know,” Barry sighed, turning his gaze straight ahead, “Thawne’s been kind enough to keep me updated. He wants to make sure I’m suffering each time he does the simplest little thing; when he comes back, you’ll get the Progress Report along with me.”

“What, you mean we’re not gonna try to get out?” Bart asked in astonishment.

“There is no getting out, Bart,” Barry said, his voice hard and broken, “I’ve tried. ”

The three of them ran in silence for a moment, before Wally put his hand on Barry’s shoulder. “Yeah,” he said softly, “But now there’s three of us.”

Barry looked at his nephew strangely, then pursed his lips. “Okay fine,” he said shakily, “I have a theory.”

“Let’s hear it, Grandpa!” Bart said excitedly, and Barry was still getting caught off-guard by that.

“We can’t stop, we can’t slow down, but we can speed up,” Barry told them, “If we reach a certain velocity, the same velocity we reached when Thawne pulled us all in here, then we can create another tear in space and time, and hopefully get ourselves out of here. I couldn’t generate enough energy on my own, not while it’s being siphoned away by Thawne’s machine; but with you two here, we might just pull it off.”

“We will,” Wally said confidently, a smirk playing at his lips, “And that’s a Flash Fact.”

Barry’s eyes widened as tears of pride brimmed in them, while Bart looked at his mentor with horror and disgust.

Barry wiped his eyes, then set his jaw determinedly. “We’re going to have to run like hell,” he told them, “Are you ready?”

Wally and Bart nodded affirmatively, grim determination in their eyes.

“Then run, boys,” Barry told them, lightning crackling in his eyes, “ Run! ”

With everything they had, the three speedsters ran as fast as they could. Their forms blurred with motion, invisible to the naked eye, and each step lasted less than a planck-time. Faster and faster they ran, and around them, the air rippled and tore, screaming and booming as they broke barrier after barrier.

Then, finally, after doing nothing but focusing on accelerating, another tear, another rip in space-time opened up in front of them. “ There! ” Barry cried, “ Only time for one of us to slip through! ”

In the span of a microsecond, Bart and Wally shared a look, then smiled. In unison, they moved in, and took Barry by the shoulders. 

“W-Wait!” Barry cried, trying to protest as he realized what was happening, but before he could do anything Wally and Bart shoved him through the portal, “ I didn’t mean me! ”

Barry hurtled through the rift, passing through it for only a short time and stumbling out onto solid ground, coughing and wheezing as for the first time in fifteen years of running, his limbs finally stopped. 

Shaking with exhaustion, he stood up, looking around him, and immediately put together that he was still in 2674, and in Central City, at that. In fact, he was standing right in the middle of the--

“ Welcome, Barry!! ” Thawne’s voice rang out all around him as red lightning swirled around him, “ To the Reverse Flash Museum!! ”

In the blink of an eye, Thawne sat himself on a throne in the center of the Museum, right in front of Barry. “ I’ve redecorated, as you can see! ” Thawne said gleefully, “ Do you like it? ”

Barry stayed silent.

“ I’ve got to say, Barry, I’m impressed, ” Thawne said with a sigh, twirling something in his hands too quickly for Barry to see, “ That stunt you pulled with the rift? Pretty clever. But, shame for you; all you’ve done is made me faster and doomed poor Wally and Bart to premature exhaustion. Having to keep up those speeds for years… I can’t even imagine… ”

Lightning crackled in Barry’s eyes as he drew himself up to his full height. He was still exhausted, there was no way he could take on Thawne in this state, but… but what else could he do?

Thawne finally stopped twirling the thing in his hands, letting Barry get a good long look as he tossed it to the ground at Barry’s feet. Barry’s eyes widened in shock and horror.

Jay’s helmet. Stained with blood.

“What did you do? ” Barry asked in a horrified whisper.

“ Nothing! ” Thawne said gleefully, “ Yet. But, if you must know, that happens in the very near future; You see, Barry, when dear old Wally and Bart left 2021? They left Jay behind, because poor old Joan Garrick was dying. Could go any day, really; they told Jay he needed to be by her side, when it happened. And Wally promised they’d be back in time to say their goodbyes.

“ Then they didn’t come back. ”

Barry shook with rage as Thawne stood up, stretching nonchalantly as he recounted the tale that was yet to happen and yet already had. “ And Joan Garrick died, and Jay was left as the world’s first AND last Flash, ” Thawne said with a laugh, “ Imagine how that must feel, huh? To lose your wife and your legacy, all in one day! Well, apparently it was too much for the old geezer; he decided to hunt me down. Put me to bed, once and for all. ”

Lightning crackled in Barry’s eyes as Thawne stepped down from his throne, slowly, methodically, wasting time, “ It’s his greatest fear, you know, ” Thawne taunted, “ Being the last one left. Being the lone survivor. He’s afraid that Per Degaton actually did make him immortal, and he’s going to outlive all of you. Withering away, forever and ever, but never actually dying. Doomed to watch for all eternity as everyone around him, everyone who ever loved him, dies. ”

Thawne was right in Barry’s face now. “ He came to me seeking a warrior’s death, old soldier that he is, ” Thawne said tauntingly, and he struck out, grabbing Barry by the side of the head and sending a shock of red lightning through his brain, using the Negative Speed Force to show him exactly what he’d done.

Barry saw Jay arrive in Thawne’s throne room, angry and grieving, and the brief but fierce fight that the old Flash put up, trying to avenge his surrogate son and grandson and great-grandson, and then he saw how Thawne had dealt with the old hero.

Thawne grabbed Jay, then ran as fast as he could, using his Negative Speed Force to burn away Jay’s connection to the regular Speed Force, taking away his protection from the friction of the movement, and Barry’s eyes widened as he saw Jay, or at least another version of Jay, burn to death as Thawne laughed.

The image was gone, and Thawne grinned at Barry as Barry backed away, his breath coming in quick gasps. “ So I gave it to him, ” Thawne sneered, and Barry clenched his fists.

“ That. Won’t. Happen. ” he said firmly, and Thawne cocked an eyebrow.

“ Oh? ” he asked, “ So sure, are we? My very existence is a paradox, Barry. I’m immune to any change you make to the timeline, I’m invincible to whatever trick of the Speed Force you have up your sleeve! I can move faster than most men think! No matter what you do to me, no matter what prison you try to put me in, I will ALWAYS ESCAPE!! ”

Thawne punched Barry straight in the jaw, sending the other man sprawling, “ I will never stop hunting you, stop tormenting you, stop killing your friends and family! Do you know why, Barry!? ”

Barry stumbled to his feet. “Is it because you hate me?” he asked, wiping his mouth.

Thawne shrugged, an evil grin plastered over his face, “ If it ain’t broke… ”

Barry took a deep breath, then brought his fists up into a fighting stance. Thawne looked at him with shock. “ Are-- Are we actually doing this right now? ” he asked with an incredulous laugh, “ You’re actually going to try to fight me? Barry, half the time you can’t even see what I’m doing!”

“You might always keep coming back, Thawne,” Barry told him grimly, keeping his fists up, “But each time you come at us? No matter what you do, no matter who you kill, no matter how far or how fast you run…

 

“... There’ll always be a Flash there to stop you.”

 

Thawne blinked, looking at Barry for a long, long time. Then, his eyes narrowed. “ Oh… ” he growled, “ Oh, you think you’re being cute!? Well, newsflash , Barry! I’VE ALREADY WON!! YOU HEAR ME, BARRY!? I! AM FINALLY!! FASTER THAN YOU!!! ”

Barry smirked. “Sure you are,” he said snidely, and Thawne screamed, running at him.

And that began it. Thawne ran at Barry as fast as he could, and Barry took the hit, getting sent flying across the room and hitting the wall with a thud!

Then he got back up, putting up his fists. 

Thawne slammed into him from the side, then pummeled him into the ground.

Then he got back up, putting up his fists.

Barry heard Thawne scream all around him as a storm of red lightning engulfed the room, and Barry breathed, letting the gold lightning flow through him, one last time. 

Run, Barry!! Run!!

Barry opened his eyes, and punched. 

Thawne was sent straight down into the ground, cracking the floor with the force of his skull. Thawne stood up in astonishment, wiping his mouth. “ How…? ” 

Barry surged forward, punching Thawne again and again, keeping pace with him as his eyes glowed golden and the Speed Force, the true Speed Force, not Thawne’s perversion of it, flowed through him, giving him all of its strength to defeat his foe, one last time.

Barry and Thawne started moving at speeds unfathomable. In the space of a hundredth of a hundredth of a planck time, they traded six blows in quick succession, the laws of time and space bending to their whim as they fought with everything they had.

They raced around the planet in a nanosecond, causing havoc and destruction untold as they tore down skyscrapers with their wakes and caused tsunamis and earthquakes with each step. With the sheer awesome scale of their duel, the planet began to unravel, and Thawne stared at Barry in astonishment.

“ You… ” he growled as he and Barry traded a few more blows somewhere in the wastes of Siberia, “ What are you playing at!? You’d never do this! You’d never go all out like this! Not at the expense of the world!! ”

“Not just the world, Thawne!” Barry responded, grabbing Thawne by the front of his uniform, “The timeline!”

Thawne realized just a microsecond too late what Barry was doing as Barry dragged him all the way back to Central City, smashing Thawne through the glass of the giant hamster wheel at damn near the speed of light--

--freeing Bart and Wally.

“ COME ON!!! ” Barry screamed at them, running as fast as he could with Thawne in his hands, “ FOLLOW ME!! ”

Bart and Wally charged after him as Barry started circling the planet, Thawne in hand, screaming as he ran and ran and ran. The world started going white and fuzzy around him, crumbling away as Thawne screamed in front of him, his connection to the Negative Speed Force getting burned away, just like he would have done to Jay, and Barry closed his eyes, reaching out with his other hand for Wally, who grabbed it, and Bart grabbed Wally’s hand. 

Together, the Flash Family ran amongst the ruins of a universe crumbling from their power. Barry felt his molecules shaking and shuddering with power, struggling to remain bonded together as he travelled at speeds he couldn’t even register. He just kept thinking of home, and praying.

“ YOU!!! ” Thawne screamed at him from in front, “ WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING!?! ”

“ I’m burning it all away, Thawne! ” Barry told him, “ Everything you built! Everything you did or ever will do! This whole perverted timeline and its monument to your ego! I’m taking you down, and all of it along with you!!!”

All around them, the year 2674, the timeline of Thawne’s victory, and even Thawne himself, started to burn and crumble away as the Speed Force took its sweet revenge after fifteen long years. Planets died, suns snuffed out, and gods trembled in fear as the Flashes flung themselves headlong into a rift they couldn’t even see, their vision filled with a white void as they surpassed the Speed of Light.

“ NOOO!!! ” Thawne screeched, writhing in Barry’s grip, “ NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!! ”

And suddenly, Barry felt the hand that was holding Thawne close around nothing, and knew exactly what had happened.

Thawne had crumbled away, smeared across the timestream like messy roadkill. An existence spread across billions of moments, all throughout different times and universes. It must’ve been agony.

Barry didn’t much care.

And as they ran on nothing, headlong into the void, just holding onto one another and trusting their Speed Force would drop them off safely, Barry cried out as he felt all his speed suddenly drop, and he stumbled and tumbled onto cold, hard, grassy ground, hearing Wally and Bart’s grunts and groans beside him as they tumbled to a painful, wheezing stop.

“Wh-What just--?” Wally gasped, heaving for breath as Bart threw up.

Barry grunted as he pulled himself up into a sitting position, with great difficulty, and leaned against what he thought was a tree. “I burned it all away,” he told them, “Thawne. His timeline. All of it. I ran as fast as the Speed Force would let me and I burned it all away.”

“We can-- ha, ha,-- do that?” Wally asked, still panting.

“Not really,” Barry sighed, “But I get the sense that it was just as frustrated as I was. Getting used. Getting trapped. Being forced to fuel Thawne and his perverted power. I think it just… let us do it.”

“B-But…” Bart gasped, stumbling away from the mess he’d made, “What does that mean?”

Barry let his head rest against the wall. “It means we broke the timeline,” Barry told them, “Thawne’s future, and every awful thing that he did, no longer exists. Time has been reset, and now, the future will be different.”

Wally nodded, then collapsed into the grass, staring up at the starry sky. All three Flashes panted, gasping for air, feeling the weight of what they’d just done. "We can never go that fast again," Wally realized, "If we do... we might not come back."

Barry nodded, not arguing in the slightest. He still wasn't quite sure if his molecules were sitting right or not.

“So when are we?” Bart asked, “Are we back home?”

Barry grunted as he looked out at the park around them, looking up at the giant bronze statue in the center. A statue of… him.

“Yeah,” Barry said, looking around at what he now recognized as unmistakably Central City, in the year 2021, “Yeah, I think we are.”

---

Jay sat silently by his wife’s bedside, still waiting for the inevitable to come. He still prayed that Wally and Bart would find their way home, that they’d be here in time, but he wasn’t sure Joan would last that long.

Her breathing was too shallow, her skin was too pale. She was hanging on by a thread.

Jay put a hand over his eyes, stifling tears before they could come. Then, he heard the telltale swoosh of the wind, and didn’t dare hope.

He took his hand away, and stared in astonishment as Wally, Bart, and Barry Allen all stood in the hospital room, smiling at him tiredly, looking battered and exhausted, but none the worse for wear. “You’re here…” Jay whispered, “You… you made it back…”

“Hey,” Wally said sadly, taking a seat on Joan’s other side, “We said we’d be back in a Flash, didn’t we?”

Jay laughed in spite of himself, tears streaming down his face. “Yes,” he said, his old voice wobbling, “Yes you did…”

Bart sat on Jay’s left, looking down at his grandmother figure sadly, and Barry sat next to Wally, smiling at Jay with eyes that told of all the hell he’d been through.

“Tell me later, son,” Jay said to him, turning his eyes back to Joan, “Tell me later. For now… just be here.”

Barry nodded, reaching across to hold Jay’s shoulder. “Alright.”

“See, Joanie?” Jay whispered down to his wife, “I told you they’d make it. I told you they’d be back in a Flash. Just in the nick of time.”

Joan Garrick’s face twitched, ever so slightly, and her lips drew up into a smile.

And surrounded by her family, the elderly woman who had been such an unspoken constant in the Flash Family’s lives breathed her last.

The heart monitor flatlined. 

“J-Joanie?” Jay asked, his voice wobbling as he held her hand in his, “J-Joanie, please, don’t leave me… don’t leave me alone…”

Joan didn’t respond.

Jay bowed his head, hiding his face, and kissed his wife’s knuckles one last time, laying her hands on her chest peacefully.

“I was tortured by the Nazis,” Jay told them all, and the Flash Family started; they’d never known that, “I saw my friends die. I’ve been betrayed by the very same government I swore to protect. I saw them lock up my friends just for loving who they loved. But none of that… none of that… hurts worse than this.”

Jay’s jaw wobbled, and finally, after hanging on by a thread for so long, after worrying and hemming and hawing, unable to leave his wife’s bedside as he waited for the rest of his family and gaining his surrogate son back while losing the most faithful and steady companion in his life, Jay finally sobbed.

The Flash first made his debut in Keystone City in 1935, the world’s first costumed superhero. In 1936, he met a girl called Joan Shipp, and started dating her. In 1940, a year before the war, they got married. In 1942, he joined the newly founded Justice Society of America. In 1943, he was captured and experimented on by the Nazis. In 1950, he and the rest of the JSA were sent into Korea, and left with the whole world hating them. In 1952, he was forced to retire in disgrace, because Alan Scott had been outed as homosexual. In 1988, he gained his dignity back, bursting with pride as the JSA received a formal apology from the President.

And through all of that, the only constant in his life had been his Joanie. But now Joan left her husband’s side, crossing the finish line before he did. The Flash had lost his lightning rod.

And all around him, his family, four generations of Flashes, each mourning the loss in their own way, comforted him, and reminded him that he wasn’t alone; not yet. Not ever.

And that’s a Flash Fact.

Chapter 17: Daedalus

Clark sighed deeply, putting his head in his hands as he was finally left alone in the Watchtower. It was his favorite place to think; he could see the planet, but he didn’t have to hear it. The Watchtower was sound-shielded, just part of how the vacuum of space worked, and everything up here was blissfully, blissfully silent. A stark contrast from down there, where he could hear every word being spoken from Kansas City to Shanghai. He learned at a young age how to tune out everything except for the nearest fifty miles; if he hadn’t, he probably would have gone insane a long, long time ago.

But up here, everything was quiet. Well, besides the myriad sounds of the Watchtower itself; the low buzzing of the engines, the clinking and creaking of the moving parts, the ever-present and to any other person, inaudible minutiae of the space station. But not to him. There was always something; always some sound, some noise.

But it was quiet enough to think. Up here, no one was yelling, or screaming, or crying out for help. Up here, no one was begging him to save them. Up here, he could be alone. There was a reason he called it the Fortress of Solitude, back down there; after going through his entire life being able to hear everything and everyone, he always yearned for a place he could just be…

Alone.

Then, of course, his blissful meditation was interrupted. “Clark, I think you’re going to want to hear this-” Wally started, stepping out from the Zeta Tubes, and Clark sighed heavily, sagging his shoulders; then he plastered on the winning smile for which he was so well-known.

“Yeah, Wally,” he said, turning to face the new arrivals, “What do you-- need…”

Clark stared in open-mouthed shock as Barry, Barry Allen, smiled at his old friend with nervous, tired eyes, and Clark could’ve cried right there on the spot.

“Hi, Clark,” Barry said, his voice hoarse, “Long time no see.”

Clark stood up, blinked for a moment, then crossed the room and swept Barry up into a rib-crushing hug, (gentle by Clark’s standards) and thanked God Above his friend had returned.

“ Barry, ” he half-whispered, half-sobbed, “H-How??”

“Thawne,” Barry whispered, and that explained everything.

Clark begrudgingly put Barry down, then hugged both Wally and Bart before they could escape, earning grunts of exertion from each speedster in turn. “We were all so worried about you,” Clark sighed, finally stepping back, “Both of you. All of you. Did Rip finally find you?”

“Rip was looking for us?” Bart asked, and Clark sighed.

“Well, that answers that then,” Clark said, “But how did you all get back? What about the timequake?”

Wally, Barry, and Bart all shared a look. “Yeah…” Wally said awkwardly, “About that…”

“That… might have been our bad,” Barry muttered.

Clark raised an eyebrow.

“It’s a long, long, long story,” Barry sighed, his shoulders sagging, and for the first time, Clark realized just how bone-deep tired Barry looked. Pale skin, bags under his eyes, disheveled hair, and so thin his clothes were hanging off of him. He looked like he’d been through Hell.

“I’ve got time to listen,” Clark said, putting a supportive hand on Barry’s shoulder, “Let me call the senior members of the League. We’ve all got a lot of catching up to do.”

Barry seemed to brighten at the thought of seeing his old friends again. “I’d like that,” he said softly.

---

Tim sighed contentedly as he basked in the afterglow, a thin sheet pulled over his chest as Kon dozed next to him, squished between him and the wall. “I used to have this dumb plan,” he said quietly, and Kon grunted.

“Oh yeah?” he asked tiredly, “What was it?”

“Before all this,” Tim sighed, nestling into the arm Kon had put around him, “I… I knew it would be hard, being on my own, with Tommy, but… but I had a plan to make it better. I’d bounce around Alaska, get my doctorate, teach at a university.”

“A university teacher?” Kon asked, “I thought you wanted to be R&D?”

“I did,” Tim sighed, “I do. But plans change, y’know? And ‘those who can’t do’, and all.”

“Mm,” Kon acknowledged.

“And one day, when Tommy was older,” Tim went on, “I’d… put on the cape again.”

“Really?” Kon asked, turning to look at him curiously.

“Yeah,” Tim said, turning to look back, “Why? You didn’t think I would want to?”

“Well, I mean,” Kon started awkwardly, “Your first go-round as a solo hero wasn’t really a positive experience.”

Tim snorted. “Oh yeah,” he muttered, “I ruined my own life in the span of three months. How positive.”

Kon hummed halfheartedly alongside him. “What would you have called yourself?” he asked, changing the subject, “If you’d put on the cape again?”

Tim smirked. “Don’t laugh,” he said.

Kon looked over at him with a lazy, sardonic grin. “Oh come on,” he sighed, “Now I gotta know.”

Tim snickered, “Make me!”

Kon grinned, moving over so that he was straddling Tim. “Oh yeah?” he asked, leaning in low as Tim grinned, “How about… tell me, or I’ll…”

“Or you’ll what?” Tim asked, meeting Kon’s eyes with a challenge.

Kon grinned, then surprised Tim with a quick kiss, and a blush immediately rose in his cheeks. “Or I’ll kiss you,” Kon said, and Tim blushed deeper.

“That’s not fair,” Tim murmured quietly, his gaze flickering to the side, “This is bribery.”

Kon kissed him again, slightly longer this time. “Is it working?” he asked.

Tim chuckled as Kon kissed his jaw, then his neck, then kept going lower and lower. “Alright, alright! I give in!” he laughed, “You win! I was going to call myself Snowbird!”

Then it was Kon’s turn to laugh, and Tim pouted as the kissing stopped. “ Pfftt--- Snowbird!?” Kon cried, “You were going to call yourself Snowbird!? ”

“It was a work in progress, alright!?” Tim said defensively, giggling as he said it, “And you promised not to laugh!”

“I made no such promises,” Kon said diplomatically, flopping back down on the bed beside Tim, “I coaxed the answers out of you with the power of true love.”

Tim raised an eyebrow, “And bribery.”

“And bribery,” Kon agreed.

Tim sighed, letting his eyes flutter closed as he leaned into Kon’s chest. “This whole time you’ve been in here, I haven’t had to wrestle for control of my head,” he realized as he started slipping back down into sleep, “Thanks for that.”

Kon stayed quiet for a long time, eventually starting to run his hands through Tim’s hair soothingly. Tim murmured contentedly and leaned into the touch, kinda like a cat. “You’re welcome…” he whispered softly, “... Snowbird. ”

Tim groaned in exasperation. “Please, I’m begging you,” he murmured, “ Don’t make that my new pet name.”

Kon grinned. “Too late, Snowbird, it’s official,” he said, chuckling softly, “Now go back to sleep. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

Tim wanted to keep arguing, but the bed was warm, and he was tired, and Kon was a surprisingly soft pillow. Before he knew it, he was sliding back down into a peaceful sleep for the first time in what felt like a lifetime.

---

“So you were the cause for the timequake Rip warned us about,” Diana said musingly, putting a hand on her chin, “Then has the current timeline changed? Have we forgotten things we should remember?”

“Yes and no,” Barry said, heaving a sigh, “Yes, the timeline has changed, but no, you’re not forgetting anything; see, the point of change is in 2674, not 2021. We’re six hundred years removed from the problem; any effects we’d feel in this time are minimal at best. The real issues will happen in the centuries beyond 2600.”

“So it’s just the future that’s different?” Oliver asked, trying to follow along.

“Isn’t the future always different?” Billy budged in, and Shayera frowned.

“But if we can travel to the future, then for those people in the future what still seems like the future for us is already the past, and thus set in stone,” she said slowly, “But the future is fluid, and thus subject to change, but any point in time is simultaneously past, present and future… why does everything smell like copper?”

Bart sighed, rubbing his face. “Look, as the only resident expert on time travel here, can I just explain what happened so that we can stop talking in circles!?” he exclaimed, and the whole Justice League stared at him.

“By all means, Kid Flash,” Batman said to him, his eyes boring into Bart’s skull, “Enlighten us.”

Bart gulped, but stuck to his guns. “Rip was right about that timequake thing,” he started, “The timeline’s taken a big hit. I know, I’ve seen it happen before; I’ve been the catalyst of it once. Normally, the future is fluid, like Hawkwoman said, and it gets pretty loosey-goosey in a lot of places. If enough of those changes happen while the timeline’s loosey-goosey, that’s how you get a new timeline, and a new universe, which is why the multiverse exists. But, if it takes a hit, especially one as big as smearing Thawne across history like a bug on a windshield, it tries to correct itself. It tries to lock itself into what it feels is the ‘correct’ flow of time, and travel to any other timeline or universe becomes extremely difficult, if not downright impossible. So, instead of operating in an open flow of time, we’re on a closed loop system. Think like Harry Potter rather than Back to the Future. ”

“Really, Bart?” Wally asked with a glance, “Harry Potter?”

“I was bored one day and read the whole series in an hour, alright??” Bart said defensively, “Either way, it’s a useful comparison!”

“So, effectively, what you’re saying is that while the timeline heals itself, we’re locked into events as they are, and are destined to happen?” Dinah asked, and Bart nodded.

“Pretty much, yeah,” he said, “If by some miracle you do manage to travel through time, you’d just be going back through the same timeline, affecting history so that it happens the same way, not differently.”

“Well, all this time travel business aside,” J’onn said sagely, smiling at the returned speedsters, “We’re all just happy to have you home.”

“Happy to be home, J’onn,” Barry said tiredly, a sad grin coming over his face, “But there’s one more thing. Bruce, you… you might want to brace yourself.”

---

Ted Kord hummed to himself as he worked on his ship, the Bug, a screwdriver stuck in his mouth as he laid on his back and tinkered with the engine. He thought he had a way to eke out just a bit more mph with its airspeed, but he couldn’t be sure. Sooner or later he wanted to outfit the Bug with spacefaring capabilities, but that was a long, long way off. Only way to get there was to keep going, though, so Ted kept at it.

“Hey, Teddy!” his partner, Mike Carter, AKA Booster Gold, said from somewhere around his feet, “It’s almost time for Jaime’s game! You comin’ or what?”

Ted sighed, rolling out from under the Bug and wiping the grease from his hands as he stared up at his friend. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there, don’t worry,” he sighed, wiping his brow, “Just let me finish something first? I’ll be there at least by fourth inning.”

Booster sighed, shaking his head. “Far be it from me to tear you away from your ship,” he sighed with a grin, “But you will be there, Teddy; Jaime’s your protege, and he looks up to you a lot. This game is important to him.”

“I know, Mikey,” Ted sighed, standing up and stretching, “But I’m really close to something here-- let me finish it? Pretty please?”

Booster sighed, then kissed Ted quickly, on the lips, and Blue Beetle blushed. Booster and Beetle weren’t really a thing, not in public anyway. Ted wasn’t comfortable with everyone knowing he was… y’know. But here, in private…

“ I’ll be there, ” Ted promised, touching his forehead to Booster’s, “I promise.”

“Fourth inning,” Mike reminded him.

“Fourth inning,” Ted agreed.

“Skeets, stay here and make sure my genius heterosexual life partner doesn’t let the time get away from him,” Booster ordered his robotic companion, and Skeets buzzed.

“ Affirmative, sir! ” he responded, “ Mr. Kord will be to Mr. Reyes’s game on time! ”

“I can always count on you, little buddy,” Booster said with a laugh, then he kissed Ted again as a goodbye, “I’ll see you there. I promised Jaime ice cream afterward if we win, so come hungry!”

“What if he doesn’t win?” Ted asked, grinning a little.

“Have a little faith, Blue!” Booster laughed, putting his flight ring on, “He’s our kid. He’ll win.”

And as Booster Gold flew off, Ted Kord was left standing there in shock at the phrase ‘our kid’. 

“ Mr. Kord? ” Skeets said to him, “ Clock’s ticking, sir. ”

Ted shook himself, laying back down on his mechanic’s creeper, rolling back under the Bug and going back to work. He really was close; he could get this done, get cleaned up, and be at Jaime’s baseball game with time to spare-

“ Intruder alert. Intruder alert. ”

Ted shot out from under the Bug like a cannon, hopping up onto his feet as the El Paso lab was bathed in flashing red lights. Immediately, he ran for his suit, pulling on his equipment and his blaster, and went back towards the Bug’s hangar; the area that held his emergency call button for the Watchtower.

Skeets fluttered around Ted worriedly, saying helpful things like, “ Security breach! Security breach! ” and “ External communications blocked! Unable to contact Booster! ”

“Skeets!” Ted snapped, keeping his blaster in front of him as he ran back into the hangar, “Get it together! I need your head in the game right now!”

“ R-Right! ” Skeets said after a moment, “ Battle recalibration complete! What do you need, Mr. Kord? ”

“I need you to log in to the building’s motion sensors,” Ted told him urgently, “Just what are we up against?”

“ Complying, ” Skeets said, “ Error: Motion Sensors inactive. ”

“Flying blind, then,” Ted muttered, reaching his workbench and tearing open the middle drawer and producing the emergency call button, “No worries! We’ll just call the Justice League and--!”

As Ted was about to press the button, a kunai knife flew out of nowhere and stabbed through the button, destroying the device, and Ted stared at it in shock. Then, he turned back toward the source of the knife, and a female assassin clad in green and wearing a white Cheshire Cat mask eyed him coldly.

“Oh , I’m sorry ,” she cooed, “I just saw you risking your life for that and thought, ‘Wow, that must be important!’ Please tell me it was important.”

Ted gritted his teeth, pointing his blaster at the assassin. “ Why are you here!? ” he snapped, “ Who do you work for!? Maxwell Lord!?”

The assassin girl laughed in his face. “Oh, my, no, ” she laughed, stalking forward, “Not Maxwell Lord. I am of the League of Assassins, Mr. Kord, and I’m here for the robot.”

“Skeets?” Ted spared the little robot a glance, then glared at the girl, “ Over my dead body. ”

If not for the mask, he could have sworn Cheshire Girl was smirking. “If you insist,” she said, then she leapt forward with speed that Ted frankly wasn’t expecting. He fired his blaster at her, but she dodged the stunning bolts with easy, fluid movements, getting far closer than Ted would have liked, and it took all the hand-to-hand skill he had, which wasn’t much, just to avoid getting stabbed.

He swung wildly, but she dodged and managed to land a kick to his ribs, making him grunt with pain as he backed up toward the Bug. “Face it, Blue Beetle, ” Cheshire sighed, “This just isn’t a fight you’re built for.”

Ted gritted his teeth as he held out his blaster, keeping his arm steady and the blasty end pointed toward Cheshire’s chest. “Doesn’t matter,” he grunted, “I’m not letting you take Skeets.”

Cheshire Girl grinned. “ You’ll die trying, ” she said in a low, dangerous voice, and she leapt forward again, once again dodging Ted’s blaster bolts, but this time Blue Beetle had a plan; he always had a plan.

He leapt to the side, letting Cheshire lodge her knives into the hull of the Bug, and Ted pressed a button on his belt, watching with satisfaction as Cheshire was hit with an electric shock and screamed in pain.

“And this, Cheshire, is the type of fight you’re not built for,” Ted said with a smirk, “Everything in this hangar, in this building, I can control with the touch of a button. You’re not just fighting me; you’re fighting the arena, too.”

“Then it’s a good thing she brought friends,” a new voice said from behind him, and Ted turned to see a blond girl in a green leotard, hefting a compound bow with a very pointy-looking arrow nocked and drawn. She looked like she was dressed to be Green Arrow’s new sidekick, but as far as Ted knew, Thea Queen was still the current Speedy. This was someone new. Someone dangerous.

“ Artemis, ” Cheshire growled, her hair still smoking as she dislodged her sai from the Bug’s hull, “I told you I could handle this alone. ”

“Obviously not,” the girl apparently called Artemis scoffed, moving in slowly and never letting her bow waver an inch, “Let’s just kill this idiot and be done with it. I’m not about to be outclassed by some D-List superhero.”

“ D-List!? ” Ted balked indignantly, “I am at least a C!”

Artemis scoffed, “Whatever you say, dude.”

“Oh, it’s on now!” he growled, and he dropped to the ground as Artemis fired, at the same time killing the lights and activating his night vision goggles, clearly seeing the thermal outlines of his two opponents…

… and the twenty more ninjas in the rafters.

“ Oh, shit, ” Ted whispered, and his heart skipped a beat. He might be late to Jaime’s game after all.

“ Activate night vision! ” a new, commanding voice called out, and Ted gulped as his suit’s onboard computer cross-referenced the voice print with the JL database, coming up with a match to Lady Shiva , “He can’t have gone far!”

Ted bolted for the doors, trying to get out of the hanger, but only found them locked and barricaded. He’d have to make his stand; if he could get to the Bug and bring its weapons systems online, then he stood a fighting chance. But alone, in a room full of ninjas, with Cheshire, Artemis, and Lady Shiva?

Just what did the League of Assassins want with Skeets anyway!?

“ Stay quiet, Skeets, ” Ted whispered, grabbing the little robot and pulling him close, “ We’re gonna make a run for it. ”

“ I do not like this plan, sir, ” Skeets whispered back.

“ Do you have a better one!? ” Ted hissed. Skeets stayed silent.

Taking a deep breath, Ted turned off his night vision, closed his eyes, and flicked the lights back on. As soon as he heard the cries of pain and frustration as the ninjas who had night vision got solar flared, he opened his eyes and ran for his ship.

“ Sir, look out! ” Skeets cried shrilly, and Ted jumped forward just far enough to avoid one of Artemis’s arrows, then ducked to narrowly miss Cheshire’s sai.

He was fifty feet from the Bug.

Lady Shiva sighted him, blinking her eyes clear of blurriness, and ran at him. Ted thought fast, then pressed another button on his belt, and one of the panels on the floor exploded, sending Shiva tumbling off balance, and Ted kept running.

He was forty feet from the Bug.

Pain blossomed in his shoulder as one of Artemis’s arrows found its mark, and Ted cried out in pain as he tumbled downward into a rough somersault, broke the arrow’s shaft with the weight of his body, staggered back onto his feet and kept running.

He was thirty feet from the Bug.

Shiva was back on her feet, and running at him; she was gaining. Ted whimpered as his arm went numb, and he switched his blaster to his other hand; either Artemis had hit an artery, or her arrows were poisoned. Neither option was the good one. 

He was twenty feet from the Bug. 

“ It doesn’t matter which way you go! ” Cheshire called out, and Ted grunted as he spun around and fired with his good hand, managing to at least slow Shiva down. He turned around and kept running, pressing a button on his belt and watching in triumph as the Bug’s bay doors began to open.

He was ten feet from the Bug.

Ted cried out in pain as a kunai knife struck at his back, just below his shoulder blade, and he collapsed in pain onto the Bug’s ramp. Grunting with effort, he tried to pull himself up, but Shiva was already on top of him, slamming her boot down into his wound, eliciting a sharp cry of pain.

“One minute, thirty seconds,” Shiva said from above him, “An impressive time, Theodore Kord. I was guessing a minute ten.”

“ Fuck. You. ” Ted grunted out, and he screamed again as Shiva picked up her boot and slammed it down again.

“ Quiet, ” she snapped, “Now; the robot. ”

Ted panted, blinking the dizziness away as his head swam with pain. Skeets buzzed against his shoulder, where the little robot stayed out of sight. “You want Skeets?” Ted asked raggedly, grunting as he pushed himself over and onto his side, “Have him. NOW! ”

Shiva stumbled backward in surprise as Skeets flew out from behind Ted’s shoulders, blasting the Deadliest Woman on Earth with the little blaster hidden in his eye. It was nowhere near as powerful as Ted’s blaster, or even the blasters Booster wore on his wrists, but when shot point-blank into somebody’s eye? Skeets’s blaster stung like a sonuvabitch.

“ Gah!! Infernal, blasted little thing!! ” Shiva roared as she was blinded, and Ted pressed another button on his belt, activating the Bug’s ramp.

As the ramp closed, Shiva stumbled backward and out of the ship, arrows and kunai flew at him, and Ted tried to drag himself further inside. He wasn’t quite fast enough though, as the quickly ascending ramp sent him tumbling ass over tea kettle as he sprawled out onto the Bug’s cold, hard deck.

“ Sir! ” Skeets said urgently, “ Are you alright? ”

“Been better,” Ted admitted, hauling himself up to his feet as the ninjas furiously pounded at the door, “But I can manage. Come on; if we can get the Bug up and running, we might just stand a fighting chance.”

“ Yes, sir! ” Skeets acknowledged, flitting about the cabin nervously as Ted slowly, painfully slowly, clambered into the pilot’s chair. His head was still swimming; that arrow wound was looking more and more like poison every second.

Still, though, he was practiced enough after fifteen years of being Blue Beetle that his hands flew deftly over the Bug’s controls, bringing the marvel of engineering online in less than five seconds. From outside, a tirade of cursing and a hail of arrows and kunai knives pelted the side of his ship, and Ted grimaced.

These fuckers broke into his house, trashed his lab, and made him late for Jaime’s ball game. They were going to fucking. pay.

Ted jerked the controls up, hauling the Bug into the air, then jerked them to the side, sending the ship careening into the side of the hangar, and hopefully squishing a few ninjas. He heard screams and cries of pain, and knew he’d hit his target. Then, he pressed a few more buttons, and the Bug’s weapons activated all at once, sending flares and blaster bolts and harmful amounts of electricity flying into the surrounding area as more and more ninjas fell. “ Yeah!! ” Ted cried in triumph, grinning through the pain as he wreaked havoc on his enemies, “ Who’s a D-Lister now, bitch!? ”

Ted sent the Bug hurtling to port, smashing into the other side of the hangar and rejoicing as he squished more ninjas. He’d been nervous before, but maybe he could actually win this!

That’s when things started going wrong.

Ted felt the Bug rumble and shake as something struck the underside of the starboard hull. Ted growled with frustration as the Bug started listing to starboard, then pulled up his schematics to see the affected area, and… it was the same area he’d been working on earlier. In his haste, he’d left the hatch open. Open and vulnerable to incredibly accurate ninjas with precision weapons. 

Stupid, Beetle! Stupid, stupid Beetle!

Ted brought the Bug back down to the ground, hoping the lower altitude would erase that particular weak spot, when he came face to face with the Cheshire girl again.

Holding a fucking rocket launcher.

She waved.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking shitting me--” Ted groused, and then he was thrown backward by the explosion as the RPG impacted on the Bug’s nose. The glass of the windshield shattered inward, shredding Ted’s suit and cutting into his body as he landed in a heap at the back of the ship, his body a haze of pain and hurt. There was another big lurch, and Ted groggily realized that the Bug must’ve fallen out of the sky. A lot of things were on fire.

He didn’t even make it out of the hangar.

Oh, Booster was gonna be so pissed that he missed Jaime’s game.

Skeets flitted around him nervously, prodding his prone form as buzzing urgently. “ Please get up, sir! ” the little robot whined, “ Please! ”

Ted tried, he really did; but as he tried to prop himself up, he grunted with pain as he put far too much weight on a left arm that was obviously broken. Then, as he tried to turn over, he looked down and was hit with a wave of nausea as he realized the shrapnel from the windshield had cut out a good part of his leg; enough that he could see bone.

Oh.

Oh, no.

Blue Beetle could do little more than watch in fear and trepidation as Shiva clambered through the shattered windshield, with bloodshot eyes and looking murderous.

“Five minutes, thirty-nine seconds,” she whispered quietly.

Ted grinned through bloody teeth. “You lose,” he grunted.

“ Hardly, ” Shiva growled, stalking forward as Artemis and Cheshire clambered inward to join her. It seemed they were the only three who’d survived.

Good.

“ You will not harm Booster’s heterosexual life partner! ” Skeets buzzed, whizzing over to hover defiantly between Shiva and Beetle, “ He has to make it to Jaime Reyes’s baseball game by fourth inning! ”

If Ted wasn’t in so much pain, he might’ve laughed. Now, though, he could only watch in fear and heartbreak as poor, brave little Skeets threw his life away.

“A noble sentiment,” Shiva acquiesced, but before Skeets could charge up his lazer, she quickly rammed her sword through the center of the little robot’s eye. 

“ SKEETS!! ” Ted screamed, his heart shattering as he watched the light fade from Skeet’s eye and Shiva tossed him aside like he’d never been alive to begin with.

Ted couldn’t tear his eyes away as Skeets’s corpse clunked and rolled on the floor, dead, cold, and lifeless.

“And with that, all your avenues of time travel have been obstructed,” Shiva growled, a sense of finality in her voice as she sheathed her sword, “You fought well, Blue Beetle. Far better than I ever thought you would. We underestimated you.”

“Time travel?” Ted wondered aloud, his thoughts still a little hysterical from poison and bloodloss and watching Skeets die, “What do you care if we time travel?”

“You needn’t care nor worry,” a new, somehow colder voice said, and Shiva, Cheshire, and Artemis all bowed to the new figure entering the burned-out cabin of the Bug.

Talia al Ghul. Flanked by another, familiar face.

His own.

A perfect copy of Ted Kord, from his sandy brown hair to his blue eyes to his slight but muscular frame. A perfect copy of the Blue Beetle suit.

“What is this…?” Ted whispered, and Talia smiled, instead turning to his clone.

“Mr. Kord, what happened here?” she asked, and the clone responded, his glazed eyes not wavering from Ted, the real Ted, for a moment.

“Lady Shiva and a new costumed assassin calling herself Cheshire broke into the lab, a dozen ninja or so with them,” he said emotionlessly, “I tried to fight them off, but failed. They killed Skeets before I could stop them. I’m sorry, Booster.”

Ted stared at his clone with horror as he realized what was happening. “You…” he whispered hoarsely, “You won’t get away with this! Booster will know! He’ll find out!!”

Talia smirked. “Will he?” she asked playfully, “Codeword: Daedalus. Be advised: your relationship with Michael Carter, AKA Booster Gold, may have romantic undertones. Behave appropriately.”

“Understood,” the clone, Daedalus, said emotionlessly.

“Example,” Talia ordered, and suddenly, Daedalus had a lot more emotion in his expression. His blue eyes looked on the verge of tears as he whimpered with pain.

“I’m so sorry, Booster!” he cried, anguish in his voice, “I tried to stop them! B-But they-- Skeets--!!”

“That’s enough,” Talia ordered again, “Thank you, Daedalus.”

Daedalus returned to his neutral stance.

Ted’s eyes widened with horror. “Oh no,” he whimpered, tears finally falling through the shattered lenses of his goggles as he realized that this thing was going to take his place, his life, “Oh, please, no! I haven’t-- I didn’t even get to--!!”

Artemis looked like she was going to be sick.

Talia stalked forward, drawing a blade of her own as Blue Beetle sobbed. “ Please, I’m begging you!!” Ted sobbed desperately, “I haven’t even told him that I love him!!”

Artemis turned away.

Talia loomed above him, blade drawn. “Perhaps if you had been less of a coward, then, Blue Beetle ,” she sneered.

Ted squeezed his eyes shut, and whispered, “ I love you Booster, I love you Jaime, I love you Booster, I love you Jaime, I love you Booster, I love you--!!! ”

Talia brought her sword down.

---

Booster cheered as Jaime walked up to bat, and the announcer started his intro. “ Bottom of the ninth, bases loaded for the El Paso Blue Beetles, Jaime Reyes at bat, ” the announcer said through the makeshift sound system the minor league could provide, “ If Reyes scores a home run, it could end the game in favor of the Beetles! Lots of pressure on this young man today, let’s see if he can pull it off.”

Jaime breathed shakily as he walked up to home plate, sparing a glance at the crowd, looking for Ted and Booster. He smiled but wilted a little when he only spotted Booster; Ted had promised he’d be here today! It was the last game of the season! The championship!

What Booster lacked in companionship, however, he more than made up for with enthusiasm. “ YEAH, JAIME!!!! ” Booster cheered, loud enough to drown out the other spectators, “ GO BEETLES!! HIT THAT TOUCHDOWN!!! ”

Jaime huffed a laugh at Booster’s joke, a play on how he’d not known the difference between baseball and football when he’d first come to the 21st Century, and focused on the game, hauling his bat up above his shoulder, staring down the pitcher.

“ Steee---rike one!! ”

“ Steeee----rike two!! ”

Jaime cursed, then reset his stance.

He grinned as he felt the ball’s impact resonate through the bat and up his arms with a mighty crack!! and got to running. As he did, he watched in awe and glee as the ball sailed far, far into the distance.

“ Home run!! ” the announcer cried, “ HOME RUN!! Reyes’s done it! 7-6 for the Beetles! Beetles win! Beetles win!! ”

Jaime’s teammates laughed and cheered as they hauled Jaime up on their shoulders, parading him around the field, singing their customary ‘good sports’ winning song: “ We are the champions! The mighty champions! You are the losers! The lowly lo--sers!”

After they’d dunked a keg of gatorade over his head, Jaime was finally released to gather up his things and meet Booster at the edge of the park, grinning a tired, victorious smile that wilted soon after Booster hugged him and ruffled his hair.

“He didn’t show,” Jaime said sourly, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“Ah, who needs ‘im?” Booster said, laughing it off, though Jaime could see how he, too, was upset, “Come on, let’s get some ice cream, champ!”

“It’s, like, 50 degrees,” Jaime pointed out, and Booster waved his hand dismissively.

“Ice cream is ice cream,” he insisted, “And Texas League champions get ice cream!”

“I’m not fifteen anymore, Tio Booster,” Jaime sighed, rolling his eyes, but he still smiled as Booster steered him to the nearest ice cream stand, absolutely refusing to let Jaime pay for any of it, even though he was actually earning good money now as a minor league player, and Booster was self-employed.

As they snacked on the heavenly treat, pretending not to shiver from the cold, Jaime looked up, looking at Booster for a long, long time. “Are you and Tio Ted gay?” he asked bluntly, and Booster choked on his ice cream.

“Who told you that!?” Booster gaped, coughing mint chocolate chip out of his mouth, “Was it Skeets?? That traitor! ”

Jaime laughed, taking a lick of his chocolate-vanilla twist, “No, I figured it out. It’s pretty obvious, when you hang around you guys for a few years.”

“What??” Booster asked, aghast, “No it’s not!!”

Jaime raised an eyebrow. “Really?” he asked, “Two single, adult men, living in the same house, risking their lives together everyday, take in a kid together, and always go on ‘sabbaticals’ together in the desert, alone, to spend time together? You think I haven’t heard how you talk to each other when you think I’m not listening? I’m pretty sure you two are listed as spouses in the JL database. I know. Everyone knows.”

Booster wilted, putting his head down on the table. “ Please don’t tell anyone…! ” he murmured forlornly, “I’m fine with people knowing, but Teddy’s not, and he’s really sensitive about how people see him--!”

Jaime held up his hands in surrender, saying, “Alright, alright; I just wanted to know for sure. I’ve known you both long enough to deserve that much.”

Booster perked up, nodding vehemently. “Oh yeah, of course!” he said, “I was trying to talk Teddy into telling you for ages! He’s still nervous, though; still in the closet. I think he had bad experiences growing up.”

Jaime nodded, picking at his ice cream. “Yeah,” he said absently, thinking about a certain redheaded speedster he’d been working up the courage to tell his Tios about, then shook his head, “We should start heading back, si? See what held him up?”

Booster smirked ruefully. “Oh, yes,” he sighed, “I’m so interested in seeing what took up all of his attention…”

---

When Jaime and Booster arrived at the Kord Industries building, they did not expect to see the fire department. A cold stone of horror dropped in Booster’s gut as he saw the dark pillar of smoke rising up from the lab.

“ Teddy!! ” he cried shrilly, leaping into the fire as his bracelets deployed his suit around him. Behind him, Jaime suited up and took off right after him.

Booster Gold and Blue Beetle moved past civilian and firefighter alike, rushing deeper into the lab, into the hangar where Ted usually worked, and stopped in horror as they found the burned-out shell of the Bug, broken down and still smoking in some places. The lab looked like hell on earth, strewn with soot and hanging wires and… were those dead ninjas???

“ Beetle!! ” Booster cried urgently, shoving his way through the rubble, “ Teddy!!! ”

A weak cough sounded to their left, and a hoarse, familiar voice whispered, “ Present. ”

Urgently lifting up a slab of rubble, Booster rejoiced as he found Ted Kord, Blue Beetle, banged up and bruised and bleeding, but, Thank God, alive.

“ Booster! ” Ted cried happily, a little deliriously, and Booster yelped as Teddy kissed him full on the mouth, in broad daylight.

“W-Woah, Teddy, hold up!” Booster said shakily as he broke off, “Jaime’s right there-- ”

“I almost died today,” Ted said frankly, “I really don’t care.”

He pulled Booster down and kissed him again, harder this time.

“Oh,” Booster said in a small voice, a lazy/pleased smile spreading across his lips, “Okay.”

When they finally had him up on his feet, Ted looked up at the Bug, at his ship, and grimaced. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I… I tried to stop them.”

“It’s okay, Teddy,” Booster said softly, “It’s okay. You’ll fix it again in no time.”

“N-No, Booster, they…” Ted grimaced, as if holding back tears, “They got Skeets.”

Booster felt like he’d been hit in the chest. Ted looked scared, as if afraid Booster might get mad. Jaime looked as shocked as he was.

“Th-That’s okay,” Booster lied, “You tried your best. I’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

Skeets was how Booster had travelled through time. Without Skeets, he was stuck. Marooned. Skeets knew everything, Skeets helped him through every situation he’d ever been in. He was his oldest, closest, and for a long time his only friend. 

Skeets was dead. Booster blinked.

At least it wasn’t Teddy, he thought, trying to focus on the positive, like he always did, At least it wasn’t Teddy.

---

The Watchtower’s orbital alert system sounded off, getting Mister Terrific’s attention. “...Strange…” he murmured, “Too small to be an asteroid…”

A green dart of energy whipped past the Watchtower’s observation deck, and Terrific’s eyes widened. “Uh-oh,” he said, as he saw the green dart sail down toward what was very obviously Los Angeles.

Secret meeting be damned; he was telling the Trinity.

---

Kyle Rayner hummed to himself as he danced around his apartment in LA, singing a silly song to himself to pass the time while he made breakfast. 

“ Do-do-do-do-do!! Makin’ toast! ” he sang to himself, and the toaster dinged, “ Do-do-do-do-do-do! Butterin’ toast! ”

Then, just as Kyle was about to take a bite of his coveted toast, a brilliant emerald green light filled his apartment from the window. Looking up, Kyle saw a familiar, scowling face.

“Oh,” he whispered, “Shi--”

And Kyle Rayner’s whole block was swallowed in emerald twilight.

Chapter 18: Avant-Garde

“What is it, Barry?” Bruce said seriously, clenching his hands together on the desk in front of him until his knuckles turned white under his gloves.

Barry took a shaky breath, steadying his nerves as his old friends looked at him expectantly. Supportively, Wally put a hand on his uncle’s shoulder, and Barry looked his old friend in the eye.

“Thawne gained a new power,” he started, “With my speed fuelling his, he gained the ability to move faster than thought. When he whispered in someone’s ear at that speed, it had an effect like posthypnotic suggestion. He spoke so fast that while the human brain tries to process what he said, it fails to understand that it was outside influence. Effectively, Thawne’s words became your own thoughts. He was quite literally telling you what to think.”

Barry’s haunted gaze took on a harsh glint as he held Bruce’s eye. “He took a special interest in you,” Barry said, “And Hal.”

Most of the League sat back in shock. “ Golly, ” Billy whispered.

“Great Hera…” Diana agreed.

Bruce, however, remained stoic. “Why me?” he asked, “Why Hal?”

Barry finally broke his old friend’s gaze, casting his shattered blue eyes to the floor. “Because he knew I cared about you,” he said quietly, “You two were my closest friends.”

Bruce clenched his jaw, then steepled his hands and hummed. “ Hn, ” he sighed, “Do you know what Thawne might have tried to contradict? Or hide?”

Barry opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He felt a cold, empty sensation in his chest, a sort of hollow weight that prevented him from speaking. His vision became blurry, and it took Barry a second to realize he was crying.

“Barry, if you can’t do this right now, we can come back to it later-” Dinah tried to say, but Barry shook his head.

“N-No, you need to know,” he said hoarsely, “You all need to know, as soon as possible. Wh-What Thawne did, what he helped keep hidden, it’s… it changes everything. Everything we thought we knew as heroes, everything we thought we were fighting, it’s… it’s all wrong. We’ve been getting everything wrong for the past forty years.”

Barry broke down, just a little bit, trying to get a handle on his breathing as Wally held both his shoulders, grounding him to the moment. Barry tried very hard to remember that he wasn’t running on that godforsaken wheel anymore, tried to focus on the cold, hard, stationary table in front of him, but his vision was still blurry and unfocused. 

The Justice League all shared looks with one another.

“Coast City,” Barry whispered, “Henshaw. That was all Thawne; he whispered in Henshaw’s ear so that Hal would come back to find his home destroyed. When Hal finally came back, Thawne was the first one to find him, and he whispered in Hal’s ear too. Convinced him that the Guardians were to blame, that the Corps had to be destroyed. He drove Hal insane.”

Clark put a hand over his mouth, struggling to come to grips with what Barry had just said, while Bruce’s gaze darkened. 

“What about me?” he asked, “What did Thawne do to me?”

Barry looked up, meeting Batman’s gaze. “He hid things from you,” Barry said, “Clues. Key evidence. Anything that would help you figure it out.”

Bruce’s fists clenched on the table. “Figure what out?” he asked harshly, silently fearing the answer.

Barry forced himself not to look away. “The reason Tim Drake works for Lex Luthor,” he whispered, “The real reason. It’s blackmail, Bruce. They’re threatening his son’s life.”

As the League tried to look at Bruce supportively, Bruce clenched his jaw. “That’s impossible, ” he said harshly, “Tommy is under the best protection we can afford. He’s being guarded around the clock by the most capable fighters on the planet. What threat could Lex ever pose to Tommy’s life?”

Barry took a breath, then tried his best to meet Batman’s glowering gaze. “Like I said, Thawne has been hiding clues from you,” he said, “Anytime you got close to discovering something, he’d turn your eyes away, or tell you there was nothing there in the first place. Like when you examined Tommy’s DNA, for instance.”

“His DNA?” Bruce asked, “What about it? It’s an even mix. 70% human, 25% Kryptonian.”

“Bruce…” Dinah whispered, and Bruce glared at her, “That still leaves 5%...”

Bruce’s eyes widened as his stomach dropped. “What?” he asked, “N-No, that’s… but I… how could I have missed that?

“Thawne,” Barry answered, “Anytime you would begin to think about it, he’d draw your thoughts away from it. It’s a subtle but devastating weapon.”

“Not to mention violating, ” Shayera said with a shiver.

“What could the remaining 5% even be? ” Bruce demanded, bringing the League back on task.

“ Nanobots ,” Barry said in a hoarse whisper, “The remaining 5% of Tommy’s DNA is nanobots.”

Bruce then turned back to Barry, and if Barry didn’t know any better he’d say his old friend was panicking. “How do you know all this!?” he asked intensely, and Barry flinched.

“Th-Thawne,” he whispered again, stuttering around the name as he tried to avoid Bruce’s eyes, “He would come t-to talk to me. Tell me what he did. H-how he was t-torturing my friends. Ruining their lives. It was fun to him.”

“You expect me to believe that Eobard Thawne spliced nanobots into my grandson’s DNA?” Bruce asked harshly, “He’s a theoretical physicist, not a biomechanist.” 

“Not Thawne,” Barry said, “ Luthor. And Ra’s al Ghul. A-And someone else. I don’t know the third one’s name.”

“There’s a group?” Clark asked quickly, “A villain alliance?”

Barry nodded, still trying to breathe around the lump in his throat, “They… they call themselves…” Barry shook his head, trying to still his racing heart, but he couldn’t do it.

“Slow down, Barry,” Dinah said softly, soothingly, “Take a breath. Count to three.”

Barry nodded, trying to follow her advice and taking a few deep breaths. He looked up, facing the Justice League once more.

“They call themselves the Light.”

Clark stiffened. Quietly, too softly for anyone to hear, he mouthed the same phrase that Conner had repeated, way back when he was first created: ‘To replace him should he fall. To destroy him should he turn from the Light.’

Clark had always thought it was ‘light’, with a little ‘l’, in the metaphorical sense. Now, he knew that the phrase was very literal. The Light. Lex Luthor’s secret cabal of allies, running the world from the shadows. With shaking hands, Clark slowly realized that his son had been created to kill him.

“The Light?” Oliver asked, “What kind of a name is that?”

Barry shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said, “I don’t care. But they’ve been running this whole thing, Oliver. All of it. It’s all been a part of the plan for them. Every time we think we’ve won, every time we think we’ve made a difference or done the right thing, they’ve been laughing at us. They planned on us, they planned on everything! We’ve been dancing along for them, like puppets on a string, and we haven’t even known it!”

Barry stood up, seized by a sudden burst of energy, “ Everything we’ve done for the past forty years has done nothing more than inconvenience them!! ”

He slammed his fist down on the table, and despite the fact that it was reinforced for just such a reason, it still dented the material. His friends all looked at him, conflicted and frightened looks in their eyes. “Barry…” Bruce asked him quietly, and Barry slowly sat down as Bruce looked him in the eye, “What do the nanobots in Tommy’s DNA do?”

Barry took a deep breath. “They’re hooked up to heart monitors in Lex and Ra’s chests,” he said quietly, “If their heartbeats stop, for any reason, the nanobots will activate. And… and Tommy will…”

Bruce nodded in understanding, “So if we can cut off the signal-”

Barry shook his head. “No,” he said quietly, “You can’t make a signal jammer that perfect, Bruce. And if you go in there and try to tamper with the nanobots, they’ll activate. They thought of everything. If Tim disobeys them, or even speaks out of turn, they have remotes that they can push a button on, and Tommy dies. If by some miracle, you manage to get around all of that, there’s a third remote, in the hands of a League monk, somewhere in some forgotten corner of the world. If he misses his check-in with Ra’s, he lets go of the button, and Tommy dies. It’s a perfect system, Bruce; they have Tim so squarely under their thumb that he’s resigned himself to being their slave for the rest of his life.”

The Justice League sat in silence, trying to come to grips with what Barry had told them.

“And we tried to have him thrown in Arkham…” Diana whispered, half to herself.

Bruce flinched at the mention of the episode. And now that he had it all laid out for him, things were starting to come into perspective. Without Thawne whispering in his ear, he was able to think more clearly of inconsistencies, of comments and clues that were just slightly out of place with the false narrative Tim had been spinning up until now. Breaks in character, miniscule but noticeable. Like when Tim had broken down and wept when he realized his son was still alive. And how he begged Ra’s al Ghul not to do something for his failure.

Bruce’s jaw clenched so hard he was afraid it might break his teeth. He tightened his fists so much that if he hadn’t been wearing his gloves, he would have surely drew blood. All this time, all this time the evidence was right in front of him, and of all people Eobard Thawne had pulled the wool over his eyes.

“We need to fix this,” he growled, “We need to find a way to remove the nanobots from Tommy’s DNA without killing him. We need to free Tim from the Light’s control, as soon as possible.”

Clark nodded, “And with Tim’s knowledge of the Light’s inner workings, we might be able to turn the tide, and take down the Light, once and for all.” He spared Barry a sympathetic glance, then clapped a hand on his old friend’s shoulder, “Thanks to you, Barry. Now we know; now we can act. Barry Allen, you just saved the world.”

Barry let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, feeling as if a titanic weight had been finally lifted from his shoulders. He had to remember, this was the Justice League; they always found a way.

Just then, the door to their inner conference room swung open, revealing the newest member of the League, Michael Holt, AKA Mr. Terrific, looking panicked. 

“You guys need to come see this,” he said urgently, “It’s bad.”

---

Kyle cried out in alarm as he was thrown back by the force of a massive explosion, the likes of which he hadn’t ever felt before. Luckily, his ring was preprogrammed to protect him, the only thing that saved him from getting immediately swallowed by burning energy.

As Kyle grunted, shoving a piece of rubble off of himself, feeling the familiar warm crawl of his suit forming around him, he looked up at his attacker, and gulped.

“Kyle Rayner,” Hal Jordan declared, his body glowing green with power, “We need to talk.”

Kyle whimpered as he scrambled backward across the rubble, fear rising in his throat. Hal looked like a vengeful god, a cape billowing out behind him from shining green armor, made from the melted remains of Green Lantern rings. Kyle had heard the stories from Ganthet, before the last Guardian had left Earth for good, going into hiding. Hal Jordan used to be the greatest of the Lanterns, before the destruction of his home had driven him insane. He blamed the Guardians for not acting, for not allowing him to save his home, for not telling him about it, and went to war with Oa over it. 

And the scariest part was that he won.

“L-Look, Hal, I don’t want any trouble!” Kyle stammered out, taking to the sky so that Hal wasn’t looming over him so much, “I don’t even go out into space, I promise! I’m just an Earth hero, doing my Earth hero thing! A-And I haven’t heard from Ganthet in, like, ages! You totally don’t have to kill me or anything, c-cause I’m not even a real Green Lantern, y’see--?”

“Stop talking,” Hal ordered, and Kyle’s jaw snapped shut. Hal raised his fist, and it glowed green. “I don’t care who you are, Kyle,” he said emotionlessly, “I made a promise when I destroyed Oa. No more Lanterns. Earthen or otherwise.”

As Kyle flinched, he heard a massive BOOM!! , and he waited for the hit to land---!!

… and it never did. Kyle opened his eyes, and watched dumbfoundedly as Cyborg held open a Boomtube, grunting with effort as he threw it at Hal.

Hal’s eyes widened, but before he could react, the Boomtube swallowed him whole and closed with the same massive sound.

“V-Vic!?” Kyle asked in astonishment, relief flooding his limbs, “Holy shit! Thanks for the save, man! Where’d you send him?”

“The other side of the Known Universe,” Cyborg said, slightly out of breath, “And I didn’t save you. I bought you maybe 20 minutes.”

Kyle’s heart sank. “20 minutes…?” he asked forlornly.

“Yes,” a new, more familiar voice said, and Kyle turned to see Superman, and almost every senior member of the Justice League floating in the sky above him, “Which means we have 20 minutes to put as many superheroes as possible between you and Hal Jordan.”

---

Conner sighed contentedly as he rested, Tim curled into his side, when on the nightstand his phone started buzzing urgently. Sighing again, this time with exasperation, Conner fumbled around blindly on the nightstand for the device, then brought it up to his face, inspecting it through sleep-blurred eyes. The first words he read clearly were ‘All Hands on Deck’, and he groaned as he recognized the Justice League’s emergency broadcast number. Begrudgingly, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and started pulling on his pants, wishing he could remain in the warm bed, with his warm boyfriend, for just a little while longer.

“Conner?” Tim mumbled blearily, and Conner sighed as he felt Tim wrap his arms around his torso from behind, holding him in place, though there was no strength behind it. “Don’t go,” Tim sighed sadly, holding on to Kon a little tighter, and Conner sighed.

“Sorry, Snowbird,” he said quietly, gently prying Tim’s hands away and kissing his forehead as he stood up, “Duty calls. Gotta go be a superhero.”

Tim made a noise that sounded like something approximating the word “fine”. Though, as Conner thought about it, it could also have been “fuck”. 

Conner smiled as he pulled his shirt on, then his leather jacket, then stroked Tim’s hair. “I’ll be back soon,” he whispered, pressing another soft kiss to his boyfriend’s lips, “I promise.”

Tim, eyes still closed, mumbled and nodded, but before Conner could stand up, he also caught his sleeve and tugged on it lightly, prompting the half-Kryptonian to look back. “Don’t die,” Tim whispered.

Conner smiled, half-amused, half-touched. “I won’t, Snowbird,” he promised, “And neither will you.”

At that, Tim snorted as he curled around the pillow Conner had once been laying on, drifting back to sleep. “Been there, done that,” he mumbled, and Conner huffed a laugh of his own as Tim drifted back to sleep, and he finally headed out the door.

Behind him, alert, icy blue eyes opened to glare at the door, and a joyless smile slowly spread across thin lips.

---

The Cave was buzzing with activity as everyone went down to put on their uniforms. “ Ives! ” Harley cried as she ran out of the lockers with her jacket half on, “Where’s my hammer!?”

“Leaning against the punching bags where you left it, Harley,” Ivy said calmly as Harley raced past her with all the decorum of a hyperactive retriever puppy on crack.

“Thanks, Ives!” 

“Hey, anyone see an empty clip anywhere?” Jason called from where he was rummaging through his weapons locker, “I think I lost one.”

“Here ya go, Jaybird,” Roy said easily, tossing the aforementioned clip at the back of his head, which hit his helmet dead-on.

“Gee, thanks,” Jason said flatly as Kori giggled at the both of them.

“I know it’s been a long couple of days,” Bruce said with something akin to fond exasperation in his voice, “But you should all really be taking better care of your inventory. And after this mission is over, I expect everyone to gather back here in the Cave: there’s been big news from Barry concerning an ongoing case that you should all be updated on ASAP. But Kyle takes priority.”

“You got it,” Duke said hurriedly, rushing past Bruce to fish a spare helmet out of storage, having just noticed a crack in his current one.

“Good idea,” Barbara said distractedly from where she was uploading all her useful files onto a portable drive for transport up to the Watchtower, “I have some news as well.”

“We’re on a schedule here, right?” Tommy asked curtly from where he emerged from the lockers, fixing the straps on one of his gauntlets, “Let the slow ones catch up. We need to get up to the Watchtower ASAP.”

“Tommy-” Bruce began, and Tommy glared at his grandfather.

“You’re not going to bench me this time,” he said sourly, and Bruce blinked.

“I was going to say that’s a good idea, and to take Batgirl and Catwoman with you,” he responded slowly, and Tommy blinked in response, suitably embarrassed.

“O-Oh,” Tommy stuttered, “Yeah, I’ll go get them.”

As Tommy went to go find his aunt and grandmother, Conner, who had made his way down to the Cave, walked alongside his son. “Everything alright?” he asked quietly, and Tommy gritted his teeth.

“I’m fine, ” he growled, trying to walk faster to outpace Conner and leave him behind; Conner simply sped up to match him.

“Obviously not,” he pointed out, “Look, I know you’re upset about being benched, but the Joker was way out of your league--”

“No, he wasn’t, ” Tommy snapped in a harsh whisper, rounding on his other father as heat built behind his eyes, “He was a sick, dying old man! The real threat was Junior, my own fucking father, which no one in this Cave saw fit to tell me about until it was too late!! And Uncle Dick is dead because of it!!”

Conner stopped for a moment as Tommy curled in on himself, frustrated and angry, and pursed his lips. “Tommy, you have to remember, your dad was very sick with Pit Rage at the time,” he tried, and Tommy sighed, holding his head in his hands.

“I know that!” he said quietly, “I know that, Conner. But every time we go in to see him? To-- visit with him?” Tommy’s mouth dried, and he got much quieter as he admitted, “When I look at him, I try to remember the old days, to remember Alaska, but I just can’t. When I look at him, I don’t see my dad anymore-

“-Just the man who murdered my uncle.”

Conner stopped in his tracks, stunned into silence as Tommy wiped tears from his eyes before they could fall. “Forget it,” he muttered, as if he hadn’t said something so heart-shattering, “Let’s just get this done.”

And with that, Tommy left Conner alone, just… thinking. Thinking that his son had a lot more issues buried beneath the surface than any of them realized.

But duty called. As much as Conner hated it, his son would have to wait.

---

Back in the main forum of the Cave, Damian shifted uncomfortably as he stepped out in his new uniform. Slowly, each one of his family members realized, and slowly, one by one, they stopped what they were doing and stared.

“Damian…” Barbara whispered softly, tears in her eyes, “Are you sure?”

Damian nodded. “I’m sure, Barbara.”

Before she could stop herself, Barbara let out a sob, a sob filled with an emotion she couldn’t describe; not grief, not sadness, not relief. Finally, she put her thumb on it: overwhelming pride.

She wheeled herself over to Damian and held his hands in hers as she tried to steady her shaking shoulders, and smiled through her tears as she looked up at him. “He…” she whispered, remembering the easy smile that still haunted her memories, “Would be so proud of you, Damian. So proud. ”

Damian nodded gratefully, fighting back tears of his own, and Bruce stood stoically behind Barbara, looking Damian up and down. Damian looked up at his father, half-fearing his response. 

Bruce, however, merely nodded stiffly and turned away before his expression could crack. “It’s what he would have wanted,” he said gruffly, and he stalked away toward the Cave’s Zeta Tube.

With both Barbara’s and his father’s blessings, Damian finally stood tall in his new uniform.

The uniform of Nightwing.

---

And the Justice League swung into action. An AHD Bulletin, All Hands on Deck, was sent out to every superhero the League had on record. All the League’s members, along with the Titans and the Justice Society, now gathered up on the Watchtower to hear Martian Manhunter’s breakdown of the situation.

“We are facing a grave threat to one of our own,” J’onn began in a booming, commanding voice, “Hal Jordan has turned his attention back toward Earth, and he’s here to kill Kyle. We will not allow that to happen. That is why we are setting up a multilayered defense:

“The first line of defense will be the Watchtower itself. As we speak, Oracle and Batman are moving the fusion cannon into position in order to fire into deep space. With any luck, we’ll hit Hal hard enough to turn him back.

“If the fusion cannon doesn’t work, the second line of defense will be in Earth’s upper atmosphere, above the Atlantic Ocean. This layer will consist of everyone who can survive in the vacuum of space: Superman, Supergirl, Captain Atom, Green Lantern, both Superboys, Drake, the Spectre, Doctor Fate, Starfire, and myself. It will be our job to slow Hal down as much as possible.

“If the first line fails, the second line will consist of all our fliers, stationed in the upper troposphere: Wonder Woman, Hawkwoman, Shazam, Troia, Red Tornado, Booster Gold, both Blue Beetles, Raven, Wonder Girl, Hawkman, Hourman, and Starman. Your job is, once again, to slow or stop Hal, by whatever means necessary.

“On the surface of the Atlantic Ocean, we got lucky; a NATO naval rendezvous was conducting drills in the area, and they’ve been generous enough to authorize engagement. Eleven ships, USS Iwo Jima , USS New Mexico , USS Ross , USS Arleigh Burke , USS San Antonio , HMS Lancaster , HMS Albion , Normandie , HNoMS Skjold , and HNoMS Otto Sverdrup will be providing air and fire support. We will station most of our ground troops on the decks of the ships: the Flashes, Green Arrow, Black Canary, Black Lightning, Plastic Man, Cyborg, Red Hood, Batgirl, Signal, Arsenal, Speedy, Harley Quinn, Wildcat, Doctor Mid-Nite, Thunderbolt, Sandman, and Liberty Bell. If any of the ships sink, these same heroes will also be responsible for search and rescue.

“The final line of defense will be in the waters above Poseidonis, where Kyle will be held under Atlantean protection. There, the rest of our forces will back up the Atlantean Military: Aquaman, Aqualad, Tempest, Mera, and Nightwing, piloting a combat submersible. When it has exhausted its surface-to-air payload, USS New Mexico will submerge to join the underwater defenses. Oracle and Batman will be providing combat logistics from here on the Watchtower, though the additional drain on the power needed for both life support and communications will mean we only get one shot from the fusion cannon.”

Manhunter finally turned away from the holographic images that had been projected to visualize each step of the impending battle. Amongst the crowd, Kyle floated up above the others, looking frightened but embarrassed. “Please, guys, don’t go through all this for me!” he begged, “Just let me face Hal when he gets here! I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if he killed one of you while trying to get to me--!”

“We don’t trade lives, Kyle,” Superman said firmly, and Kyle closed his mouth, still looking uncomfortable, “It’s true, you’re a hero, like us, but you’re also in danger. Grave danger. Veteran members of the League still remember what Hal is capable of eight years ago, and we have reason to believe he’s only grown more powerful, and more unstable, since then. We aren’t going to throw you into his mercy; we’re going to protect you. Because you’re our teammate. Our friend. And dammit, it’s what we do.”

Kyle nodded slowly, looking down at his feet as tears came to his eyes, and he was overwhelmed with love and compassion. “ Thank you, ” he said thickly.

“You all know your positions, warriors,” Wonder Woman declared, drawing her sword and raising it high, “Now! To battle! ”

And a mighty cheer rose up from the superheroes as they all moved through the teleporters and airlocks. As the Trinity watched their friends, colleagues, and family all march into battle, they were struck by just how much power they had packed into one space station.

“Do you think we can win?” Clark asked his oldest friends quietly, and Bruce hummed vaguely.

“None of us have seen him fight in eight years,” he pointed out, “And many of them are still reeling from recent events. Kord should technically still be in the hospital.”

“He insisted he come and fight alongside Booster and Jaime,” Diana said, no small amount of pride in her voice, “Our intrepid little inventor has become tenfold more brave since his encounter with the League of Assassins. Did you see him holding Booster’s hand?”

“He’s definitely become more comfortable in public,” Clark agreed, “I’m happy for them.”

“Took them long enough,” was all Bruce had to say on the matter.

Then the mood became more dour. “Have you told the family yet, Bruce?” Clark asked, and Bruce shook his head.

“It’s bad enough that the veteran Leaguers are distracted by it,” Bruce responded, “If we’re going to win this, everyone’s heads need to be in the game. I’ll tell them afterward.”

“To that point,” Diana butted in, eyeing Barry with a strange, protective look in her eye, “I am unsure if Barry is ready to return to the battlefield.”

“With any luck, he won’t be,” Clark said fiercely, “We’ll stop him in the upper atmosphere. But I know it would hurt him more to sit this one out; if anyone in that group can talk Hal down, it’s Barry.”

“About that,” Bruce said, bringing up two more files on his gauntlet computer to show to his friends, “I wanted to talk to you about our final line of defense…”

---

Finally, after all the preparations had been made, there stood sixty-five superheroes, five navies, and a weaponized space station between Hal Jordan and Kyle Rayner, all assembled and mobilized within 20 minutes. Batman smirked slightly to himself as his Agamemno Contingency worked like a well-oiled machine.

“This is Oracle, to all units,” Barbara said clearly from her place on the Watchtower’s bridge, “All defenses, check in and mark ready.”

From the gun deck a hundred feet below her, Batman warmed up the fusion cannon, readying it to fire. “Watchtower ready,” he said clearly.

Millions of miles above the planet, Superman floated at the front of the defense, peering out into the vastness of space and watching for any green stars. “Front Line,” he said into the earpiece, glancing back at his family and friends, “Ready.”

Miles below them, Wonder Woman flew to the forefront of her fellow warriors, gazing skyward into the clear blue heavens. “Second Line,” she declared, excitement and trepidation both building in her chest, “Ready.”

Further down, on the surface of the ocean, dozens of heroes stood on the decks of navy ships, joined by sailors from across the world as jets and helicopters were prepped, ready to fly and defend at a moment’s notice. Green Arrow watched the distant little dots that he knew was Wonder Woman’s team, waiting for signs of battle. “Third Line,” he said, testing his bowstring nervously. “Ready.”

And further down still, twenty thousand leagues under the sea, King Orin of Atlantis, AKA Arthur Curry, Aquaman, sat astride his dolphin steed, holding the Trident of Poseidon in his hands as the Atlantean Fleet readied itself behind him, preparing to defend the capital at Poseidonis. “Rear Line,” he declared, watching the distant glimmer of sun, “Ready.”

On the deck of Iwo Jima, Jason grinned as he looked at all the powerhouses of superheroism they’d gathered, as well as good old fashioned firepower. “Oh yeah,” he said with a wolfish smile, “ Nothin’s getting through this.”

And out in the far reaches of space, what Superman thought was a star began growing larger. And glowing green.

---

Every notable superhero on the planet was currently distracted with Hal Jordan. The Manor was all but empty.

Red Robin smiled as he crept down through the deserted mansion, silently traversing the ancient home of the Batman. Tim, Junior, and Robin all laid dormant in the back of his mind, though Tim seemed to be stirring. No matter; this was all his plan in the first place. Red was just pouncing on the opportunity. While the Bats are away, Red Robin shall play.

No doubt the butler would be entertaining the Outlaws’ brats in the foyer, where the grandfather clock, the most convenient way down to the Cave, was located. It was standard procedure. 

But the clock wasn’t the only way down.

Red slipped through the door into Bruce’s study, his socked feet lighter than air on the finely treated wooden floors. Silent as a mouse, he went to the bust of William Shakespeare that sat on Bruce’s desk.

It was a relic from the 80s, when Robin hadn’t yet appeared at Batman’s side. Bruce had built the grandfather clock passage by the time Dick had entered the Manor, and therefore thought no one knew about the button hidden in Shakespeare’s throat; it was his secret, analogue way down to the Cave.

Red grinned as he lifted the Bard’s chin up, revealing the old red button. Secret no more.

He pressed it, and the bookshelf on the far wall clicked as the hidden door was unsecured. Red replaced the bust, then walked over and swung open the bookcase, which he knew would trigger the springs to close it again. An old brass firepole was the only way down, and Red smirked. Bruce, you old manchild you.

Red clung to the pole and rode it down into the rear of the Cave, a platform that rested slightly below where the Batcomputer currently sat. Red smirked as he realized this passage must have been how Bruce had ‘magically appeared’ in the Cave for all those years. Oh, how the turns had tabled.

Red crept up the Cave’s walkways, beginning to gather up some gear. A nondescript black bodysuit, a domino mask, gloves, light body armor, a new bo staff, and a spare utility belt. That should be everything he needs--

“Little Brother,” a voice called out, and Red froze. 

“You’re not supposed to be here…” he muttered.

Slowly, he turned to face the woman standing in the shadows, watching him. 

Black Bat.

---

Hal Jordan hurtled through the solar system, leaving a green wake of willpower behind him, and charged toward Earth, and Kyle. He didn’t care what the kid said; no more Lanterns. He’d do to Kyle like he did to John and Guy, like he’d done to Kilowog and all the rest of the Lantern Corps. They’d all been brainwashed by the Guardians. It was for their own good.

But as he approached Earth, he noticed a bright golden light building in front of him, at the base of the Watchtower. Realization dawned on Hal as he watched the light grow brighter and brighter.

“They wouldn’t dare… ” he growled, and the Watchtower fired.

---

Bruce watched the little green dot that was Hal Jordan intensely. Given his aversion to guns, anyone would be forgiven for wondering why he’d volunteered for the gundeck of the Watchtower. To which Bruce responded: he didn’t like guns. The Watchtower’s fusion cannon was just that: a cannon.

Bruce couldn’t handle firing a gun. He hated the feel of the grip in his palm. The only thing he could ever think of while holding one, either a pistol or a rifle, was how something oh-so-similar had killed his parents. But cannons didn’t fire bullets. Cannons didn’t have grips or stocks. Cannons didn’t have triggers.

Bruce smiled as he lined up the shot and put his thumb over the button. Truth be told, even after everything that had happened to him, after watching his parents die, after becoming Batman, after losing three of his sons, there was still some juvenile part of him that liked to watch things go boom.

Bruce pressed the button.

---

The Watchtower’s main superstructure began to glow a bright gold. Energy was diverted from all nonessential functions, focusing power into the massive cannon, a feat of engineering inspired by human, Martian, and Kryptonian designs, mounted at the lower end of the space station. A bright, golden light formed in the barrel of the cannon, aimed right at the approaching form of Hal Jordan.

The superheroes watched in fascination and wonder as all at once, the Watchtower fired, and a massive beam of golden light, the greatest weapon humanity had ever produced, burst forth into the vast emptiness of space, obliterating anything in its path. It was originally intended for destroying asteroids or other planet-sized threats.

Now it was focused on one man.

---

Superman waited and watched the area of space that was currently being obliterated by the Watchtower. As the space station finally ran out of juice and the giant lazer dissipated, Superman gasped at what he saw.

One bright, glowing green dot, standing unharmed by the blast. In another instant, Superman was face to face with his old friend, as Hal floated in front of him and his team.

And he wiped a small line of blood from his nose.

“ Six billion dollars for history’s most expensive nosebleed, ” Oracle cursed over the comms, and Superman couldn’t help but agree with her.

“Captain Atom to all units,” Atom said behind him, “Watchtower cannon failed, I repeat: Watchtower cannon failed to stop Jordan. Front Line engaging!”

“Hold it, Atom,” Clark said, holding out his hand to stop the hotheaded hero, “Hal, this doesn’t have to end like this. Kyle’s just a kid.”

Hal narrowed his eyes. “He’s been brainwashed,” he growled, “The Guardians were never the people they said they were, Clark. They were liars. They lied to me, to the Corps, to everyone! Their selfishness, their incompetence, their secretes-- they got millions killed!! I swore when Coast City fell: no more deciding who gets to live and who gets to die. No more Corps, no matter the color. No more letting evil people roam free because it’s convenient. If Kyle still has any contact with the Guardians, or was influenced by them in any way, I’m going to find him.

“ And I’m going to put him down. ”

Clark sighed sadly as he floated away from Hal. “I’m sorry you feel that way, old friend,” he said sadly, “Lantern, NOW!”

Behind Clark, Alan Scott flew through the stars, blasting Hal with all the mystical green power he could muster. Hal growled as he was blown back by the blast, then put up a shield. “ Really, Alan!?” he demanded of the elderly hero, “They pulled you out of retirement for this!?”

“My being called Green Lantern may just be coincidence,” Alan called out to him, still hitting him with all he had, “But I’d be a liar if I said you didn’t disappoint me, Hal.”

Behind Alan, the other heroes all blasted at Hal with various beams of heat vision, nuclear power, solar energy, or magic. Hal grunted as he strengthened his shield, willing it to bear the brunt of the dozens of different attacks, and the heroes all converged around one shadowed figure in a green cloak.

“ Spectre! ” Alan cried to his comrade, “ Now is the time! ”

As Hal watched, the man who had once been known as Jim Corrigan, now known only as the dark and malevolent force called The Spectre, grew in size, the shadow of his cloak swallowing all around him. Hal kept up his shield, but even his legendary nerves started to fray as he stared into the Spectre’s pupiless white eyes. 

“ Harold Jordan, ” spake the Spectre, “ Thou hast sinned against God and Man, and forsaken thy comrades. Let thoust be filled with the Fear of God, for I, the Spectre, God’s Judgement and Wrath, who was sent to slay the Firstborn of Pharaoh, have been so sent unto you! Kneel in penitence, Harold Jordan, for thou shalt feel divine retribution! ”

For all his power, all his might, Hal felt infinitesimally small as the Spectre loomed over him, his billowing cloak swallowing the light of the stars and bathing the former Lantern in darkness and shadow. Fear and doubt wheedled at the edges of his mind, hounding his conscience, and though his armor of molten rings was supposed to keep him warm, Hal felt the bone-deep chill of the empty void of space as The Spectre unleashed his power. 

In the face of the Spectre, all happiness and joy succumbed to darkness and shadow. All light faded to dark. Hal hadn’t kept up with his faith after becoming a pilot, especially not after becoming a Green Lantern and seeing the universe, but damn if this display didn’t make him believe in God… and fear Him.

“Fear…” Hal whispered, and the cold astral winds blew all around him as the Spectre inclined its head, as if in curiosity.

Hal felt the warmth of the green glow of willpower in his chest, and willed it forward. Despite his betrayal of the Guardians, their oath still rang in his mind as he called forth his willpower. “ In Brightest Day, ” he recited, “ In Blackest Night, no evil shall escape my sight! Let those who worship evil’s might, beware my power!

“GREEN LANTERN’S LIGHT!! ”

Emerald light exploded forth from Hal’s armor, and the icy tendrils of fear lost their grip on his mind. The starlights returned, and once more Hal was in the space above Earth, not trapped in Spectre’s dimension of darkness. The Spectre himself was reeling from the shock of Hal breaking free, and the other heroes, too, looked on in horror.

“SPECTRE!” Hal boomed, his form glowing green as he trapped the Spectre in an unbreakable sphere, “Your powers work on Fear. Fear’s not really my thing.”

Hal cast his hand to the side, and the Justice League watched as The Spectre, the Personification of God’s Wrath, was sent hurtling into outer space, helpless in the face of Hal Jordan.

“Would you look at that?” Hal asked snidely, grinning at Superman, who was still staring at where the Spectre once was in shock, “Does this mean I’m greater than God?”

“ Hit ‘im with everything you got!! ” Captain Atom cried, and he, Starfire, Doctor Fate, Martian Manhunter, and Alan Scott joined in the onslaught, blasting at Hal with nuclear power, magic, and starbolts. Hal cried out in surprise as the attacks threw him back, and just for a moment, he was distracted.

The blasters distracted him long enough for Clark to regroup with his family of Kryptonians, reading the expressions on their faces as he still reeled from the shock.

“Clark!” Conner cried, “We were prepared for this! Are we ready for the Hammer Blows?”

Snapping himself back into the moment, Clark took a deep breath of airless space as he watched where his friends were courageously fighting Hal off, despite knowing they had no chance. Time to prove the world’s faith in Superman correct. 

“J’onn!” Clark called, “We’re ready!”

“ PULL BACK! ” Manhunter called to the others, and the energy blasts stopped as the rest of the team got out of the way. Just as Hal dropped his shield in confusion, Superman slammed into him with all the force of a supernova. 

Hal grunted as he was thrown backward, but before he could grab his attacker, Superman peeled off and flew back toward Earth. Hal was about to follow, but that’s when Conner smashed into his side, knocking him off balance again. Hal tried to blast the half-Kryptonian, but then Conner peeled away to reveal Kara’s fist, which sent Hal sprawling through space once more.

And on it went. Kara, then Jon, then Tommy, then Clark again, then Conner, so on and so forth. A continuous onslaught of Kryptonian power. These were Clark’s winning strategy: the Hammer Blows.

Everytime Hal tried to get back on balance, one of the secondary fliers would blast him from an unexpected place, keeping him out of sorts. But there was one tiny imperfection with their little plan: an amateur. Hal growled as he was hit by Jon for the third time, then struck out with his fist at where he knew the new kid would be, as he’d approached from the same angle every go-round.

In an instant, his hand wrapped around the brown-clad sidekick’s throat, and Tommy writhed in Hal’s grasp as the other heroes halted in shock. Tommy writhed in Hal’s grasp, grunting with effort as he tried and failed to break the hold, Hal’s supreme will keeping his grip tight.

“ Game over, Kid, ” Hal growled, and he blasted Tommy back down toward Earth.

“ TOMMY! ” Conner screamed, speeding after his son, who was currently hurtling toward Greenland. 

Tommy sailed through the atmosphere, being swallowed by a red ball of fire, and Conner flew as fast as he could to keep up. His heart was in his throat as his son remained a hair’s breadth out of reach, so close Conner could see the fear in his eyes behind the whiteout lenses of the Drake suit. “ I’m coming, Tommy!! ” Conner cried desperately, pouring on as much speed as he could as some mach barrier broke around the two of them, “ Just hold on, kiddo!! ”

The Greenland Ice Sheet fast approaching, Conner despaired as he realized he wouldn’t make it. Tommy would hit the ground before him. Conner was struck by a horrifying image of the Greenland ice cracked and stained red with blood as a small brown form lay broken in a crater. His heart beat faster than he thought possible, and more afraid than he’d ever been in his entire life, Conner lunged downward at the last minute, grabbed a bewildered Tommy in his arms, and somersaulted in midair with just an inch and a half to spare, hitting the glacier below with an earth-shaking BOOM!!

“Y-You okay?” Conner asked, still dazed from the pain, and Tommy nodded, his eyes slightly glazed over from behind cracked whiteouts.

“I’m okay,” he said numbly, then quietly added, “Thanks, Dad.”

Conner’s heart skipped a beat as he lay there in the ice, still trying to breathe and comprehend what had just happened. 

That was the first time Tommy had called him ‘Dad’.

Back above them, Clark, Kara, and Jon all growled as they formed a protective line between Earth and Hal, and Hal merely sneered as he floated higher above the heroes. “Do you know what they call me now, Clark, instead of Green Lantern?” he asked, and Clark said nothing as he kept his face in a grim, determined line. Hal narrowed his eyes as he went on, “The Viridian Doom. The Emerald Twilight. The Jade Dawn. But my personal favorite? 

“The Lanternhunter. ”

“The Justice League stands against anyone who fancies themselves conquerors of Earth,” Clark declared, floating to the forefront of his contingent of heroes, “Even if they’re old friends.”

Hal scowled. “I’m not here to conquer Earth,” he protested, “I’m here for one man!”

“And that one man belongs to Earth,” Clark confirmed.

“So we’re still doing this, whether you like it or not, Lanternhunter, ” Kara cried from behind her cousin.

Hal sighed slightly as he flexed his fists, and bright green light emitted throughout space, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you…”

---

“Cass,” Red said in his best impression of the natural voice of Tim, making his voice warble and shake in the same places he would to tug on her heartstrings, “It doesn’t have to be this way. Just let me go.”

Cass narrowed her eyes behind her mask. Red was making a gamble here, and he knew it; Cass was the most observant person on the planet. She could pick apart his body language easily, it was her first language, after all. But he also knew she held a soft spot for Tim, her ‘Little Brother’. If this paid off, he could avoid a fight with one of the most capable martial artists on the planet.

Cass stepped toward him, and Red kept up his masquerade, trying to look like the poor, begging child that was his alter. He was expecting a punch, or a reach to her utility belt, or taking off her mask, but Cass only sighed.

“I have been patient,” she said, her voice sounding thick with tears, “ More than patient. Waited for you, the whole time. Rooted for you, whole time, even when everyone wanted to write you off. Was on your side. Always.”

Red blinked as he and Tim wrestled for control, his mind becoming foggy and uncertain. Dammit! “Was…?” he repeated, trying to batter Tim’s consciousness back down so he could focus.

Cass clenched her fist. “But you keep doing stupid things,” she told him, “Keep running. Keep hiding. We are trying to help you, Little Brother; wake up and see that! ”

Red sighed as he subtly drifted a hand toward his new bo. “You wouldn’t understand, Cass,” he said, “I have to do this. You don’t know what will happen if I don’t.”

“Tommy,” she said quickly, stepping forward, and Red stilled. “It has to do with Tommy, right?” she asked, “Little Nephew… the people that hurt you, put him in danger? Right?”

Red said nothing as Tim screamed and wrestled for control.

Cass stepped forward, taking off her mask and cupping Tim’s/Red’s cheeks, looking him in the eye. “ Please, Little Brother,” she said quietly, “Stop running.”

“I want to, Cass,” he said in a broken whisper, “But there’s a problem…”

Cass looked confused as she waited for him to say something.

Red smiled a thin, cold smile as he won the battle. 

“ You’re talking to the wrong Tim. ”

Cass’s eyes widened in realization as she leapt backward just a moment too late, grunting as she caught a hit from the bo staff and tumbled back, easily rolling up and onto her feet, catching herself with her left hand.

She narrowed her eyes as Red twirled the bo staff idly.

“ Red Robin, ” she said angrily.

“Speaking,” Red answered tauntingly, then he dropped into a lower stance, “I know better than to try to run from you, Black Bat. And I also know that by all metrics, you are stronger and faster than me when it comes to martial arts. If we had a knockdown, dragout fight, you would win. But, your skills with espionage and tracking also go unrivalled. Ironically, I stand far more of a chance if I face you head on and weaken you first, so; let’s dance. ”

Cass said nothing. She only charged.

---

Wonder Woman watched the clouds apprehensively as there came no news from Superman’s team. Then, stark against the blue sky, she and her team were forced to cover their eyes as a massive green light blinded them, then receded just as quickly. Concerned, Diana flew a little further up, watching intensely. 

Then, faster than she could perceive, a shape whizzed past her, plummeting through the clouds and into the sea below. Then, before she could go down to check, there came another shape hurtling downward, then another, and another, and another, all punching holes through the clouds and leaving giant splashes in their wake.

Far below them, Green Arrow grimaced as he watched an unconscious Superboy, Green Lantern, and Martian Manhunter float up to the surface.

Wonder Woman drew her sword, then raised it high to the sun. “The Front Line has failed!” she declared, “ Leaguers! The time is now! Cede not an inch of sky or sea! ”

“ YEAHH!!! ” came a battle cry from behind her, and her team of fliers rallied around her.

Then, the sounds of battle drew closer through the clear blue sky, and a green rocket approached quickly through the clouds.

“ Amazons! ” Diana called behind her, “ Ready your lassos! ”

Diana replaced her sword at her back and took the Lasso of Truth from her belt, beginning to twirl it open, watching as Cassie and Donna, her proteges, did the same with their lesser lassos. 

Another hole was punched through the sky, and Diana bristled as she watched a green streak settle to a stop just above her and her team. As the light receded, it revealed Hal Jordan in all his glory, holding up a broken and battered Superman by the throat.

“ Clark! ” Diana cried, rushing forward, but before she made it to them, Hal charged up a burst of energy and threw Superman at the sea, blasting him downward so that he’d stay down. As the League watched, Superman, their leader, a symbol and a figurehead to superheroes everywhere, floated up to the surface like a dead fish, battered, broken, and unequivocally beaten. 

Above the Earth, floating through the atmosphere, Supergirl, Starfire, Doctor Fate, Captain Atom, and the Spectre all laid unconscious, bleeding slightly from various wounds and concussions. Whether space or the sea, so far, anyone who’d come up against Hal had wound up beaten.

“Let that be a warning,” Hal called down to them, “To anyone still trying to get in my way. Just bring me Kyle Rayner, and all this stops.”

“Sounds to me like an ultimatum,” Donna said fiercely, flying up to be by Diana’s side, “How about we show this asshole how Amazons react to ultimatums?”

Cassie smirked as she twirled her lasso by Diana’s other side, saying, “Sounds like fun, Donna.”

Diana shook herself, twirling the Lasso of Truth in her hands as she stared down the man she had once called a comrade. “Indeed,” she agreed, “Let’s.”

Together, the three Amazons flew at Hal, who sighed and rolled his eyes as they all lassoed him, forming a trifecta of bondage. Pulling her lasso taught, Diana grunted as she looked back at her time. “ Like we planned! ” she cried, “ Do it now! ”

From her team, Raven broke ranks, surging forward as the shadows of her cloak turned an inky black, and demonic tendrils struck out at Hal, attempting to draw him into the darkness and swallow him whole.

“You’ve tried this trick before,” Hal told them, and clenching his fist, he threw out a burst of willpower that not only broke his bonds from the lassos, but sent Raven reeling as her magic was driven back. 

Raven cried out as the willpower burst struck her, and she hovered in midair, regaining her corporeal form, and in an instant, Hal was in front of her. “If the embodiment of God’s Wrath couldn’t do it, why did you think you could?” he asked her, and before Raven could respond, he blasted her again, sending the Titan hurtling back toward the sea.

“ JORDAN!! ” Hawkgirl cried, flying at him with her mace held high, and Hal sighed as he didn’t bother moving, merely putting up a barrier wherever Shayera struck.

“Please, Shayera, stop embarrassing yourself,” he muttered, and right as Hawkgirl hit him, another blast sent the veteran Leaguer flying backwards, one of her wings singed and rendering her unable to fly.

“Don’t you hurt her!!” Hawkman cried in response, rushing at Hal headlong, rearing back his own mace, and Hal rolled his eyes.

“Really, Carter?” he asked, and as Hawkman’s attacks had just as little effect as Hawkgirl’s, “What part of what just happened made you think that that was going to work?”

“ FUCK YOU! ” Carter cried in response, continuing to hit Hal’s barrier, and Hal just sighed. 

“Okay, enough of this,” he muttered, and he punched Carter right in his stupid bird-nosed face, sending the JSA founder hurtling downward to the sea. “Anybody else?” he asked boredly as he turned, and as he said it, Diana was there, sword drawn and looking vengeful.

Hal’s eyes widened as he moved backward through the air, ducking to avoid the swing, then immediately floated back up to hit Diana with two small blasts to her back. Diana grunted at the impact, then drew her shield as she turned to face Hal again.

Surrounding him in a circle, Donna and Cassie floated downard, their lassoes discarded in favor of their own swords. Hal sighed, “Oh no, weapons that were invented a thousand years ago; whatever shall I do?”

“Enough talk, old man,” Cassie growled, “You’re not reaching Kyle.”

Hal looked at Wonder Girl intensely, and as his glowing green eyes bored into her soul, Cassie shivered as her bravado shook for a moment. Hal smirked.

“Okay,” he said softly, “I’ll play.”

Cassie blinked as she felt a cold shiver down her spine, and Hal was suddenly gone from her sight. Before she knew what was happening, green girders were wrapping around her torso, pinning her arms to her sides as she kicked her legs out in frustration, shouting in alarm, and Donna flew toward her, eyes wide. 

Hal reared his hand back from his position behind Cassie, twirled Cassie in midair like a sling, and flung her at Donna, hitting his mark and sending both Wonder Girls falling through the sky.

Diana screamed with fury as she swung at Hal again and again, and Hal smiled as he deftly wove through the air, dodging each of her attacks. “Always good to see you, Diana,” he told her as he dodged, making Diana more and more furious as he refused to take the fight seriously, “You’re always in such a good mood.”

“ Stop yammering, coward! ” Diana cried, swinging her sword hard enough to crack mountains, and Hal smiled as he caught her blade in mid air, using the power from his armor to reinforce his fingertips. 

“Fine. You want me to get serious?” he asked with a grin, and to Diana’s shock, the blade splintered and shattered in his grip, “ Let’s get serious. ”

Before Diana could blink, she felt a blinding pain at the back of her skull, and it took her a moment to realize that Hal had moved behind her, slamming his conjoined fists into the back of her head.

As Diana reeled from the hit, Hal was in front of her again, punching her straight on in the face, and Diana did flips in the air from the force of the blow. 

Righting herself in midair, shaking her hair out of her eyes, Diana growled as she struck at Hal with her fists, only for him to dodge the hit and blast her, sending her tumbling through the air again.

“You…” Diana grunted, wiping blood from the corner of her mouth, “...were nowhere near this strong when you were with the League. Not even when you were on Oa.”

“You weren’t trying to hurt me on Oa,” Hal told her, “Like I’m not trying to hurt you now.”

Diana’s eyes widened.

Hal smirked. “That’s right, Diana,” he said, “That’s the difference in our power here. This is me holding back. ”

“How?” she asked simply, and Hal sighed.

“I’ve spent the last eight years travelling the cosmos, tracking down the last of the Guardians’ influence, and their sins,” he told her, “In that time, I’ve had to fight my fair share of bruisers. Ever heard of Mongul, and the Warworld? Or Starro the Conqueror?”

Diana straightened her posture slightly as she failed to recognize the names. “No?” she answered truthfully.

“And you never will,” Hal told her, “You’re welcome. Just took care of the Sinestro Corps, too. And all I asked in return was that here on Earth, there would be no more Green Lanterns. ”

Diana grunted as Hal moved again, but this time she was quick enough to put up her shield. “Alan doesn’t count, he was never a part of the Corps,” he growled, now much closer than he had been before, “But this new kid? He’s been corrupted by the Guardians. He needs to be relieved of his ring, immediately. ”

“Kyle is a member of the Justice League,” Diana said clearly, though she’d already taken some stellar hits, “And a good friend. As long as any of us still draw breath, you shall not pass. ”

Hal scowled, “Did you just quote Gandalf at me--?” Before he could finish his sentence, Diana swung her fist with all her might, and with a sonic boom, Hal was finally, finally, successfully decked across the face.

Hal grunted as he flew a few feet through the air, then stopped himself. “ Grr… ” he muttered, “I’ve tried to be nice about this, Diana, I really have. You’re an old friend, and you think you’re doing the right thing.”

As Diana flew in for another hit, she blinked as blinding emerald light emanated from Hal’s hands. 

“ But enough is enough. ”

Diana cried out as a massive blast of willpower swallowed her whole, sending her upwards into the atmosphere.

The remaining fliers, Red Tornado, Booster Gold, the Beetles, Starman, and Hourman, all watched in shock as some of their heaviest hitters, including motherfucking Wonder Woman, were handily dealt with by Hal Jordan. 

And all the Lanternhunter had to show for it was a mild bruise.

“ Starman, Tornado, with me! ” Hourman cried, flying forward fearlessly, “ Kord, go catch Wonder Woman! ”

Red Tornado, Starman, and Hourman surged forward, each punching Hal with all their might, while the Bug hurtled past them, chasing after where Diana had disappeared into the clouds; if she exited the atmosphere, she could suffocate before anyone could get to her.

Hal grunted as Starman and Hourman hit him, putting up a green shield and gritting his teeth. All around him, red winds swirled into a massive cyclone, trapping him, and though Hal had been gone a while, he could put two and two together and figure out that Red Tornado could make red tornadoes. “Getting real sick of this…” he muttered, buffeted by the wind, and with a frustrated growl, he clenched his fist and blew a whole through the wind, punching a hole through the hurricane… and Red Tornado’s torso.

The robot’s eyes blinked like a camera shutter as it stared down at his sparking, damaged chest. The cyclone he had been using to keep himself aloft faltered, and he lost altitude, turning back to the two JSA members, who watched him fall. “ Do not worry, I will make repairs, ” Tornado said in an unconcerned voice as the cyclone finally failed and he started falling, “ Stop Hal Jordan at all costs. ”

“Listen to the toaster, boys!” Hal said, and in an instant, he was behind the old heroes. Before Hourman or Starman could react, Hal had already trapped them in a green bubble, and swung that bubble very far in the opposite direction.

Then, while Hal had his back turned, he felt a sharp sting hit the back of his head, and growled as he turned to see Booster Gold, shaking, holding out a smoking fist. Alongside him, the armored Blue Beetle splayed his hands, turning them each into cannons and aiming them both at the Lightkiller.

Before either of them attacked, Hal moved forward through the air, halting in front of them. In fear, they instinctively backed up a few inches. Hal narrowed his eyes. “Why are you even here?” he muttered, and with very little trouble, he swept the both of them aside, knocking both of them down toward the sea.

Finally, all the heroes dealt with, Hal zoomed downward, where he broke the final cloud barrier and was met with… fighter jets and attack helicopters scrambling to intercept.

The jets and copters circled him, firing cannons and missiles that did nothing as Hal put up a shield.

“Alright, IF THE KRYPTONIANS AND THE AMAZONS AND THE OTHERWORLDLY BEINGS COULDN’T DO IT, WHY WOULD THE JETS!?” Hal screamed, finally at the end of his patience as he effortlessly destroyed each and every one of them with different beams of willpower headed straight for their wings and engines.

As the rubble of the air combat capabilities of NATO sailed downward around him, Hal scowled as AA fire opened up around him, and he spotted yet more heroes on the decks of the ships below. This was starting to get very annoying.

“ GIVE UP!! ” Hal shouted down at them as he flew downward toward the surface, “ YOU HAVE TO KNOW BY NOW THAT YOU CAN’T WIN!! ”

In response, along with AA fire, Hal was blown this way and that by various energy blasts, lightning strikes, bullets, rockets, and arrows.

Hal scowled as he caught sight of Green Arrow emptying his quiver on the deck of one of the ships, and grunted as he dodged one that came too close for comfort. That aim of his was annoying. Then, Hal blinked as Oliver took a certain arrow from his quiver, shouted, “ GET CLEAR!! ” and let it loose.

Hal didn’t understand the hullabaloo around one arrow; then it got closer, and Hal put up a shield. Then he was swallowed by a massive explosion, high in the sky, that rocked his shield and made his teeth rattle in his jaw. A mushroom cloud obscured his vision, and down on the deck of the ship, Ollie’s compatriots all stared at him with open jaws as he put his hands on his hips, proud of himself.

“Oliver?” Roy asked, nocking his next arrow, “What the hell was that!?”

Oliver grinned. “Miniature nuclear warhead arrow,” he said proudly, “Pretty ingenious, right? Always wanted to use it. Lucky he’s so high up still.”

“ You keep that in our house!? ” Dinah cried, shocked, and Oliver jumped at her expression.

“I put it on a high shelf!” he protested, but as he said it, green light burst from the smoke, and Hal Jordan growled as he dispelled the after effects of the explosion.

“ ALRIGHT! ” he snapped, “I’ll admit. That was impressive. Time to sink some battleships.”

Hal flew further downward, and with massive bursts of willpower, took out three ships, and the heroes onboard them, and was about to smash a fourth when he noticed something out of the corner of his eye.

Four red streaks jumped from the decks of the Norwegian ship, running along the water, and Hal growled as he recognized the unmistakable speed wakes of the Flashes running from ship to ship, hauling up heroes and sailors that had been thrown overboard and placing them back safely on the ships, as well as bringing more ammunition from ship to ship.

Then, one of the streaks broke ranks as Hal neared the surface of the water, and before Hal could react, an old friend had slammed into him, tackling him to the deck of the USS Iwo Jima. 

Just as Hal was about to blast the Flash off of him, he hesitated. Because this Flash in particular was supposed to be dead.

“ HAL! ” Barry Allen cried, ripping off his cowl, “ You need to listen to me!! ”

All around them, various weapons pointed at the two heroes as they lay still on the deck, either sailors with conventional weapons or superheroes with the upgrades. Hal still stared at his old friend’s blue eyes, the drive in his heart to find Kyle faltering for a moment as he found a friend he thought he’d lost.

“Barry?” he asked quietly.

“It’s me, Hal,” his old friend said assuringly, “It’s me. I’m alive. I promise.”

“H-How?” Hal asked shakily, subtly getting back to his feet as Barry got back to his.

“That day, when you all thought I died?” Barry asked, “I travelled through time. Thawne held me prisoner in the future, and it’s a long story, but you’re being tricked, Hal, we all are! ”

Hal’s chest heaved as the adrenaline wore off, and he eyed his friend warily, especially the slightly wild look in his eye. “What are you talking about, Barry?” he asked carefully.

“Thawne got faster,” Barry explained, “He was able to affect people’s thoughts because of how quickly he spoke. Thoughts like yours. While I was captured, he told me all about what he’d done, the people he’d partnered with; Hal there’s a conspiracy going on. A group calling themselves the Light have been pulling the strings behind the scenes for the past forty years. They blew up Coast City, they convinced you to attack Oa, they’re responsible for all of it! Please, just calm down, hear me out, and things can go back to the way they were!”

“It’s true, Hal,” Oliver called from the side as he approached slowly, bow still drawn, “All of it. There’s a lot going on here, and the curtain’s only just been drawn. If you come quietly, we can start over. No one else needs to get hurt.”

Hal stood still for a long time, staring at Barry like he had two heads. If even a fraction of what he was saying was true…

Hal clenched his fists. “Barry, I have no idea if any of what you’re saying is true,” he said, and Barry looked crestfallen as he said it, “But even if this so-called ‘Light’ exists, it doesn’t matter.”

Barry cocked his head. “What do you mean it doesn’t matter!? ” he asked urgently, “It changes everything! Thawne manipulated you, Hal! This isn’t really you, it’s him, twisting your mind!”

Hal sighed, holding up his fist and charging up a blast. Barry took a step back as the heroes and sailors surrounding them took a step forward. 

“ Back off, Hal…” Black Lightning said warningly, his fists charging up with electricity, and Hal scoffed.

“ Maybe Thawne did manipulate me,” he admitted, “ Maybe I was overreacting when I attacked Oa. Maybe I wasn’t in my right mind. Maybe you’re right about all that, Barry.”

Hal spared a glance at the other heroes, making sure they were all listening. “But that doesn’t change the facts I found after I confronted the Guardians,” he went on, “I found things that they did that would turn you white. The Guardians were not the heroes and caretakers they said they were. They lied to me. To the Corps. To all of us. 

“I found an entire secret history of the Guardians of the Universe. It included the fact that they’d cut emotions out of their brains, and when one of their number resisted? They killed him. Just for speaking his mind and wanting to keep a part of his brain. And the power of all the emotions they took out? They jettisoned it, here to Earth, in a vessel called the Starheart. The very same Starheart that gave Alan Scott his powers. So not only were a cabal of lobotomized psychopaths putting themselves in charge of the known universe, but they abandoned a potentially dangerous relic to fall into anyone’s hands; we’re just lucky it was Alan who found it before someone like Hitler.

“On top of that, the Green Lantern Corps wasn’t even their first attempt to control the galaxy! At first, they had a corps of mechanical killing machines called the Manhunters to ‘keep the peace’. The Manhunters’ true purpose was to kill anyone who disobeyed the Guardians.”

Hal growled as he remembered the worst part of it all. “And if that were the end of it, maybe I could have forgiven them,” he told Barry, told the world, finally, after all these years of making up for his mistakes as a Green Lantern, “The Manhunters were only retired after they gained consciences. They realized that killing populations wholesale was wrong, and took the fight to the Guardians, like I did! But the Guardians beat them, and deactivated them all. And created the Corps to replace them.”

“Hal, the Corps didn’t slaughter civilians,” Barry said placatingly, “Maybe the Guardians turned over a new leaf?”

“ No, ” Hal answered quietly, “They didn’t. They just got smarter about it. They created the Green Lantern Corps as a PR stunt, Barry. To improve their image on the universal stage, all while discreetly hiring warlords to enforce their order. Warlords like Mongul, and Starro, and Sinestro, even a pact with Darkseid, to attack Earth!”

The heroes all around him dropped their weapons in shock. “The… Guardians ordered the attack on Earth?” Cyborg asked quietly. He’d lost friends in that attack. 

Hal nodded. “They all agreed Earth was becoming too much of a wild card,” he said, “The records I found detailed a deal with Apokolips to attack and destroy the planet. It’s just fucking luck that we were there to stop Darkseid. And Earth wasn’t a one-time decision; there were other planets. Planets like Krypton.”

Barry’s jaw dropped open.

“While I was a Green Lantern, I was complicit, an accomplice, even, in the Guardians’ attempts to control the galaxy,” Hal cried, “The Corps was there to keep the universe obedient, and if a planet got too rowdy, the Guardians would destroy it, and the Corps would show up just ever so slightly too late, so that we could all say ‘Oh, what a tragedy! Hardest part of the job!’, when all along, we could have stopped it!

“ I’m not the villain, here! ” Hal snarled at them all, “I’m not insane! I just know the truth! And I’m putting a stop to it!”

Hal flew up, still keeping his weapons trained on the remnants of the Justice League. “That’s why I’m hunting Kyle!” he declared, “Because the Guardians, and anyone who serves them, are not good people! It took Coast City to happen for me to see the truth, but at least I saw it. Now stay out of my way, all of you!”

“I have a Lantern to hunt.”

---

Red Robin backflipped out of the way as Cass’s fist came too close to his head for comfort. “Do you want to know something funny?” he called out to her, goading her into attacking again, “This plan to break out while the family was distracted? It wasn’t even mine! Oh, I polished it, sure, but the main thinker behind this whole operation? That was your darling Little Brother himself.”

Cass screamed with rage as she threw a devastating roundhouse kick at his head, one that he was too slow to dodge. With a curse, the hit sent him reeling to the floor, and he spat blood out of his mouth as he rolled out of the way and up onto his feet before she could press the advantage. To keep her back, he swung at her with the bo staff, not succeeding in hitting her but at least keeping her on the defensive.

“He always planned to leave!” he taunted, “He’s more loyal to his masters than to his family! His plan was to remain here until he regained control of his mind, then leave you all behind again! Does that sound like the behavior of a loving, innocent little brother to you?”

“ Stop! ” Cass cried, landing a hit to his solar plexus, “ Talking! ”

Red grunted as she uppercutted him, sending him back down to the floor. “Oh, come on , Cass,” Red said with a wolfish grin on his face as he rolled out of the way of her next attack, “Surely you’ve sparred with Tim enough to know that taunting and talking is his prime strategy? I may be a smaller portion of him, but we are still all the same person.”

“Not this chatty before,” she answered, aiming high kicks at his head that he managed to deflect with his bo.

“You haven’t seen much of me yet!” he answered, backing up against the railing of the walkway, which meant he had to dodge to the left side, because he couldn’t be cornered and she was rearing up to hit him on the right, “You’ve only had the pleasure of meeting Junior! I am a whole other challenge, I assure you!”

Cass grunted as he grabbed her wrist and twisted it, and Red grinned. “Because, see, there’s one flaw in your knowledge of me,” he told her, kicking the back of her knee to bring her to the ground, “According to Black Canary’s notes, each of my alters is dominated by a prime emotion, some area of great stress and focus from the Lazarus Pit. Robin is fear, Tim Prime is guilt, Junior is yearning for freedom!”

Cass broke the hold, kicking at his abdomen and wrenching free of his grip. “And you,” she answered, “Logic.”

Red smiled at her. “Wrong,” he told her, and Cass blinked in surprise as his movements became faster than before, faster than she’d ever seen Tim move, using moves that she’d never seen him use before; it must have been things he’d learned from the League of Assassins.

Had he been intentionally using his old moves this whole time to throw her off?

“I admit, I’m more self-aware than the others,” Red told her as he kicked off into the air and swung with his staff as he flipped backward to gain more distance, “But I am not Tim Drake’s logic personified; Logic and The Lazarus Pit do not mix.”

Cass made a small noise of surprise as her legs were swept out from underneath her, despite Tim’s movements telegraphing that he would strike higher, and she grunted as he caught her throat and shoved her against the railing, holding her in a chokehold and threatening to send her careening over the side into the chasm below.

“I am Rage,” he told her, a smile on his face, “I am the cold, unfeeling wrath of a man scorned by family and friend. I am genius turned against justice. Each calculated, methodical step on my journey has been to the realization of vengeance, and the continuance of my mission.”

Cass grunted as she struggled to breath, and to regain her balance. “ M-Mission? ”

Red grinned as he used his bo to smack her hand, which had been moving to break the hold. “Domination,” he told her, “For the entirety of Tim Drake’s life, he has been at someone’s beck and call: the loyal soldier.”

Red slammed his knee into her gut, then tossed her to the ground to hold his staff to her throat, keeping her down with his boot.

“I am going to finally break that cycle of subservience,” he declared, “I am the true goal of Tim Drake’s life. I am ambition and vengeance. I am the desire to be respected, to be feared. I will climb through the ranks, I will gain authority and power, I will kill Lex Luthor, and Ra’s al Ghul. I will destroy the League of Assassins, and the Court. And at the end of it all, when there is no one left to give me orders? 

“ I will give the order to make the world burn . ”

Cass scowled as she grabbed his leg, twisting and bringing him down to the ground, but he rolled back up and onto his feet. Cass leapt to her feet, too, and ran forward, knocking his bo staff away as she started to pummel him across the Cave. “ LIAR! ” she screamed at him, “ LITTLE BROTHER NOT EVIL! LITTLE BROTHER GOOD! TRUSTED YOU! VOUCHED FOR YOU!! TRAITOR, TRAITOR, TRAITOR!! ”

Cass only grew angrier as she punched and kicked and hit, screaming out her frustration. Red, or Tim, or whichever, was bleeding from his side, and had a black eye, but she didn’t care. All this time, all this time, she had been the one vouching for him, defending him, saying over and over again that he was innocent. She raised his son in his stead, she told his son to love his father despite the pain, she did everything for him! Everything!

And this is how he repaid her? A plan to escape? A duel with an alter that was all his rage and hatred personified? A revelation that his ultimate, secret guilt of a goal was to make the world pay for what it had done to him? That on a fundamental level, he was a villain now, too?

Tim had been through so much. Cass knew that. Knew better than the others. She didn’t know everything, but she knew on some level that Tim was being forced to do what he was doing. But she couldn’t take it anymore. She couldn’t keep holding out olive branch after olive branch, for nine years, only to watch Tim burn each one in her grip.

In that moment, she wasn’t the cold, silent killing machine that David Cain had raised. She wasn’t the emotionally intelligent ballerina that Bruce Wayne had, either. She wasn’t the strange but funny older sister, she wasn’t the vindictive but fair vigilante, she wasn’t the aloof and wise Cass Cain.

She was just angry. So angry and frustrated that nothing she’d done worked. She’d never felt like this before; so lost in the depths of rage and despair, so utterly hopeless and yet totally unwilling to give up the fight. It was completely illogical, but in that moment she wanted nothing more than to just beat Tim back into the way he was before. 

She wanted her little brother back, and the world seemed determined to take him away.

With one final, screaming kick filled with rage, she sent Tim flying into the display cases that held certain notable and confiscated weapons from Bruce’s crusade against crime. Tim’s back had hit the centerpiece: Joe Chill’s gun.

As the display shattered against the ground, Tim slumped against the pedestal, breathing heavily as Cass stood over him, struggling to breathe, struggling to think as she clenched her fists hard enough to draw blood.

Weakly, Tim started to chuckle through what was likely broken ribs.

“Fun Fact about the Wayne Murder,” he whispered to her, and Cass hesitated, “When the police found the murder weapon discarded in a dumpster?”

Cass stumbled backward in shock as the sound of a gunshot filled the Cave, and white hot pain seared in her abdomen. Red Robin’s cold, intelligent eyes glared at her, the unstoppable, unfeeling, wintery wrath filling her with dread as she watched him hold the smoking gun in his hands.

“ There was one bullet left in the chamber. ”

Cass stumbled to the ground, clutching at her stomach as blood pooled around her. Tim staggered to his feet, holstering Joe Chill’s weapon; it could come in handy, in what he had to do next.

Slowly, he made his way to the vehicles, made a point of stealing Damian’s motorcycle, and sped out of the Cave, leaving it behind for a second time.

Chapter 19: Code Obsidian

Red brought the motorcycle to a halt as the tracking beacon grew close. Turning off the already fairly silent engine, he left it behind a dense thicket and waded into the overgrown section of the outskirts of Gotham, where the lines between swamp and city were blurred. 

As he walked along what could very well have been a deer trail, he smirked in triumph as he found it; an overgrown, abandoned cemetery, full of moss-covered, cracked, illegible headstones, dominated by one central one: a statue of what might used to have been an angle, holding in its wrecked arms the Red Robin bandolier. 

And inside it, his most valuable piece of equipment: the white noise generator that hid his heartbeat from wayward Kryptonians. But, just as he was about to reach out and grab the bandolier, he felt a push on his consciousness, like someone was trying to take over. Red snarled viciously, trying to keep the others down and out and let him work, dammit! but this time they were being very… forceful.

As Red clutched at his head, he looked down at a long-abandoned pane of blue stained glass, one that might have belonged to the small chapel that used to stand in this graveyard, and saw angry mismatched blue and green eyes staring back at him. 

“ What did you do!? ” Tim demanded from the glass.

“What I had to! ” Red snarled in reply, “What you were going to do anyway! Or have you forgotten that this whole plan was your idea? ”

Tim looked chastised for a moment, but it was replaced once again with anger as he shouted, “ YOU SHOT CASS!! You shot our sister!! ”

Red narrowed his eyes as he looked down at his alter, trying to fight off the pain in his head. “But I didn’t kill her. I didn’t even cripple her. She’ll be found in ten minutes, the butler will have her wounds dressed in fifteen,” he said coldly, “She’ll be fine.”

“You can’t know that,” Tim said, his voice shaking, “She could bleed out, where you shot her; she’s our sister, how COULD YOU!?! ”

“Which is why I had to be the one to execute this plan,” he said clearly, “Because you are too weak to do what needs to be done. If you had done it, Cass would have stopped you and we would be back to Square 1!”

“Why are you helping me!? ” Tim shouted back, “You know what my plan is. You know what it means for you, if it works!”

“It will work,” Red said confidently, staggering back up to his feet as he grabbed the bandolier out of the angel’s hands, “There was a problem with it, I admit, but your idea fixed it. All that is still lacking from this plan is the will to see it through; a will that you do not possess. I do.”

“But why are you finishing it?” Tim demanded again, “What’s your motive!? If this plan works, you will effectively be dead!”

“I don’t care,” Red said blandly, putting the bandolier back on and reactivating the white noise generator, “You forget, Timothy; I am a being ruled entirely by your rage. Your cold, relentless, self-destructive rage. My goal, my ultimate goal, is vengeance, as is yours; that vengeance will come quicker if we are of one mind. If Junior, or God forbid, Robin gains control of us again, we may never see the end of this awful charade you call your life. 

“So yes, Tim, I know that this plan will kill me. And I don’t care,” Red got on his motorcycle once more, glaring at Tim in the rearview mirror, “I am just angry enough to see this through. Even if it kills me.”

Tim stayed silent, and the pain in Red’s head subsided. When he looked down at the rearview again, it was only his own reflection staring back. 

Red kickstarted the bike, beginning to tear down the backstreets of Gotham and work his way north, toward the next phase of his plan, and the next piece of equipment needed for his Kryptonian Deterrent.

Albany, New York, here he comes.

---

Cass grunted as she blinked the blurriness out of her vision. Her abdomen was on fire, each and every movement hurt and burned. She couldn’t believe it; she couldn’t believe her Little Brother had shot her.

She couldn’t believe she had been stupid enough to give him the chance.

But she must carry on. If she laid here like a slug much longer, she could bleed out. Her first thought was to press the Emergency Beacon on her belt, but the entire family was in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, too far from a Zeta Tube to be of any help. Alfred and the kids were the only ones left in the Manor, and they wouldn’t get the alert; it would just go to the Batcomputer. And they wouldn’t hear it from up there, because the Cave was sound-shielded. Cass loved her father, she really did, but at times like these his paranoia was frankly annoying.

So, she did the only thing she could do. She crawled toward the stairs, slowly, painfully, dragging her steadily numbing limbs forward. When she was on the ground, bleeding out like this, the Cave suddenly seemed a whole lot bigger. She looked back at one point, to see how much progress she’d made, and despaired as she realized she’d only made it a few feet from the Batcomputer, leaving a heavy trail of smeared blood behind her.

But she couldn’t give up, not now, not ever. She just had to get up the stairs to the clock; Alfred would be in the parlor beyond. Her appearance would be a shock to Ollie and Jane, but she was literally going to die if she didn’t, so she supposed she would have to regretfully continue the Wayne Family Tradition of childhood trauma. 

Cass blacked out a few times, but after an indeterminate amount of time, her hand bumped into the first stair. The first of many.

Very many.

Cass gritted her teeth, and hauled herself up one step--

-- and screamed in agony as she did it, feeling the already-torn muscles in her abdomen protest at the renewed action. But, even as her head swam with pain and involuntary tears of pain sprang to her eyes, she growled and pulled herself up the next step, only screaming slightly less, then the next, and the next, and so on. 

She vehemently ignored the veritable river of blood she was leaving in her wake. 

As she hauled herself up the next step, she felt her mind getting foggier and foggier. That was bad; she had been trained to have a clear mind, even when she was losing blood. Tim must have hit an artery, or an organ…

… or both.

She hauled herself up the next step, her movements getting sluggish as darkness encroached on her vision. Just a little further, she repeated to herself, Just a little further…

Cass hauled herself up the last step, and rather than scream, she could only summon the energy to moan pitifully at the pain, and her limbs finally gave out on her. With the last of her strength, she stretched toward the foot pedal that would open the clock, watching through a tunnel as her finger collided with it, and she utterly failed to summon the strength to press down on it.

“ Alfred…” she whispered, and the tunnel finally darkened beyond all recognition.

She blacked out.

---

Alfred grimaced slightly as he stood up; at 92, his body was falling behind Alfred Pennyworth’s iron will, a fact the man himself was struggling to come to terms with. His mind was still as sharp as a tack, thank goodness, but now, even a simple task such as tending to the Young Master and Mistress while their parents were away was… taxing.

“You two remain here whilst I check on Master Tim,” he told the two children, and Ollie and Jane nodded at him innocently, “I’ll return in a moment.”

Trusting the children for more than ten minutes physically wounded Alfred’s soul, what with the terrors he’d raised in this house, but it was necessary; it was time for Master Tim’s afternoon meal.

A simple array of beef soup, along with a glass of water and a baked potato. It wouldn’t do well to upset the Master’s stomach while he was still in recovery; and Alfred found that a good, hearty beef soup helped one to recover their energy after a… shall we say, ‘eventful night’. And, because Alfred was a generous man, he also included a small espresso for Master Tim; black, of course, served in a fine porcelain cup. Not the cheap dishwater the Master preferred, and not the correct quantity either, but Master Tim was technically still not allowed to consume coffee. After how well he had been doing, however, Alfred thought the boy deserved a treat.

As Alfred carried the tray up the stairs, he grimaced again as pain flared in his knees, and his back, and his hands. The glass and spoon on the tray began to shake, and Alfred stopped to steady himself against the railing; shameful. Such a lack of composure was entirely unbecoming of a professional like him. Straightening his back, despite the pain, Alfred carried himself up the stairs with dignity, as he had been trained and educated to do. He would allow himself the brief respite of succumbing to his arthritic pain after he had served the Master his meal.

As he walked down the wooden halls, he found his mind wandering to how Master Dick had used to run down these halls as a boy, jumping and flipping from the chandeliers and nearly giving both Alfred and Master Bruce a heart attack. He remembered how out the window at the end of his hallway, on the small section of roof beyond, he had found Master Jason smoking for the first time. Rather than reprimand the boy, he merely left, then returned slightly later with his pipe, joining the boy and smoking together in silence. After both had smoked their fill, however, Alfred had confiscated the boy’s remaining cigarettes, treating him to a lecture on how it would stunt his growth and ruin his health. Oh, how horrible Alfred had felt when he discovered Master Jason’s true cause of death was ‘smoke inhalation’... And he also remembered how Master Tim had timidly asked permission to skateboard down the hall, a permission which Alfred had granted only after surveying Master Tim’s skill and deeming him not to be a risk to the many expensive treasures lining the hall.

Pulling himself from his daydream, Alfred flushed as he realized he had walked clear past Master Tim’s room. Chiding himself harshly under his breath, he turned and walked back to the correct door, knocking lightly and entering after a moment.

“Master Tim?” he said as he stepped inside, “I hope you’ve recovered since Master Conner’s departure, si--- Dear God! ”

The platter clattered to the ground as Alfred found the room totally empty. Which could only mean…

Alfred turned on his heel and sprinted down the stairs, not as fast as he would have liked, as he needed to take care not to fall down them and risk injury, but faster than he had moved in a long time. Alfred crossed the Manor back to the parlor where Young Master Oliver and Young Mistress Jane were playing, frantically tearing open the grandfather clock and tugging down on the pendulum.

“Alfred??” Jane asked bewilderedly, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing to worry about, children, remain calm!” Alfred cried, utterly failing to keep his composure at the thought of Master Tim, or worse, Joker Junior running amok unsupervised, and as the clock swung open, Alfred’s stomach plummeted as he saw the gruesome scene.

Mistress Cassandra, bleeding out, collapsed not an inch away from the door. “ Mistress Cassandra! ” Alfred cried in horror, bending down frantically to check her pulse, and, Thank God, it was still there. Weak, but there.

After the initial adrenaline started to wear off, Alfred’s eyes followed the trail of blood all the way back down to the rear of the Cave, and his lip quivered. Dear God… it must have been one hell of a fight. And he hadn’t heard a sound!

 No matter; Mistress Cassandra was in need of his aid. Alfred hauled her shoulders upward, and grunted with effort, but pain lanced through him, starting at the small of his back. An involuntary whimper of pain as waves of it crashed through his body, and given his extensive medical knowledge gained from years of both the Royal Army, the Secret Intelligence Service, and being in the presence of the Late Master Thomas, Alfred could put it together that he had thrown his back out.

Alfred tried to power through it, to haul Mistress Cassandra up once more, but once again, a wave of pain lanced through him. He let out a shout, and cursed as he dropped the Mistress; damn this infernal body of his!!

“ Alfred! ” came two concerned cries behind him, and Alfred tried to turn them away, tried to stop them from seeing, but he was effectively immobilized by his back.

Jane and Ollie both stopped in their tracks as they saw their Auntie Cass, broken and bleeding out on the stairs, and Alfred, hunched and whimpering like a wounded animal.

“ Ah-! A-Avert your eyes, children!” Alfred gasped out, “I shall have this handled in no time, do not wor--- EEARRGHH! ”

That last part was because Alfred had tried to stand up; needless to say, he would not be doing that again. In despair, he looked between Mistress Cassandra, steadily losing blood, and the Young Master and Mistress, both looking shellshocked.

Silently, Alfred apologized to their parents. 

“Young Master Oliver,” he began in a pained, breathy voice, “I need you to go to the telephone in the parlor and call Doctor Leslie Thompkins; the number will be under the ‘T’ section in the rolodex beside the phone. Do you understand?”

Ollie nodded, eyes still wide as they flickered between Cass and Alfred.

“Tell her that she is urgently needed at Wayne Manor, as quickly as she can,” Alfred told the boy, “You tell her that if she is not quick, it is a potential Code Obsidian scenario, you understand?”

Ollie nodded again.

“Good,” Alfred said, biting back another pained whimper, “After that, you shall call the Gotham City Police Department, ask for Commissioner James Gordon, and tell him the same. Finally, call Arkham Asylum and relay the message to Warden Katelyn Kane. Do you understand me, Young Master?”

Ollie nodded again, still staring, still rooted to the floor.

“Then go, boy, quickly!” he cried, and Ollie scampered off into the interior of the Manor.

Alfred collected himself, then faced the Young Mistress. “Mistress Jane,” he said sadly, “I am dreadfully sorry to say that I require your assistance.”

To his surprise, however, the little girl looked back at him with determination in her eyes. “What do you need me to do?” she asked confidently, though her knees were still shaking.

Alfred thanked his lucky stars that Master Jason had raised such a strong child.

“I need you to carry Mistress Cassandra down to the medical bay,” Alfred told her, then tried to take a step down the stairs, grimaced, and added, “Then return and assist me. ”

Jane nodded, ran forward, and draped Cass’s arms around her little shoulders, stubborn defiance in her eyes, even as her aunt’s blood travelled down her back. Dutifully, she brought Cass down the stairs, grunting with effort as she lifted the heavy, limp form up and onto the gurney, taking care to arrange her limbs and make her comfortable. During the motion, Cass made a soft whimpering noise; the only clue she was still alive.

Then, as Jane helped Alfred down the stairs, he couldn’t help but marvel at her. Her aunt’s blood had soaked her dress through, and made her hair sticky and wet, but she didn’t seem to care. All she was focused on was making sure Alfred and Cass were better. Despite himself, Alfred smiled as he glowed his pride for his great-granddaughter.

---

Leslie sighed as she finally sat down in her office, popping an advil and willing a headache away as she rested her aching feet. She wasn’t exactly a spring chicken anymore, pushing 70 or so now, but she was one of the few trustworthy doctors in Gotham; that meant many, many customers.

So forgive her lack of surprise when her phone rang. “Thompkins Clinic, if this is an emergency call, please hang up and call 911 instead,” she said blandly into the phone, “How can I help you?”

“ Dr. Thompkins? ” a small, young voice said, and Leslie perked up.

“Speaking,” she said, worry leaking into her voice, “Who is this?”

The last time a small child had called her, she’d found Tim Drake with a shuriken stuck in his arm at the ripe old age of ten. How that shuriken had gotten there, the boy refused to say, and patient confidentiality kept her from pursuing the matter further. Thought she had grilled Batman the next time she saw him.

“ It’s Ollie Anders-Harper, from Wayne Manor? ” the boy said shakily, “ Alfr-- Alfred Pennyworth told me to call you. ”

“Alfred?” Leslie asked, concerned. If Alfred was deputizing the call rather than making it himself, something must really be wrong, “Okay, Ollie, what is it?”

“ You need to get to Wayne Manor right right now!!! ” Ollie said urgently, and Leslie was already putting on her coat, “ Auntie Cass was on the stairs bleeding and Alfred hurt his back and---!!”

“Slow down, Ollie, you’re okay,” Leslie said calmingly, “I can be there in twenty minutes. What exactly is the problem?”

“ Alfred said to tell you that it was a ‘Code Obsittiem’! ” Ollie said quickly, and Leslie blinked.

“Do you mean Code Obsidian? ” she clarified, and Ollie quickly said, “ Yeah, yeah, that! ”

Leslie’s stomach dropped. “Okay,” she said, “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. I’m going to hang up the phone now so I can leave; are you alright if I hang up the phone, Ollie?”

“ Yeah, that’s okay, ” Ollie said in a shaky voice, “ I have more people to call anyway. Please hurry! ”

“I’ll be there soon, kid,” she told him, “Just stay calm and do what Alfred tells you to.”

She hung up, grabbed her keys and her medical bag, and ran for her car.

---

Jim Gordon sighed out a puff of smoke as he sat hunched over his desk, a fan beside him blowing the smoke out the window and away from the smoke detector, and tried to keep his mind on the most recent crime report. 

It really was fucking weird, Jim finally decided; every week, there was something. One of the Rogues, major or minor, would come out and rob a bank, or hold up a charity ball, or set fire to a building, and either the Bats or the GCPD would deal with it handily. It was like they weren’t even trying anymore. Whenever they caught the crooks in question, they would just grin lazily and show off the petty cash they’d robbed; they weren’t even doing it for the big bucks anymore.

He’d been talking with Bruce for ages about the weird happenings, and thankfully his friend’s paranoia was working to his advantage, as Bruce had opened a case file on “The Abnormal Patterns of Violent Crime in Gotham”, which could very well be the title of Jim’s fucking autobiography.

Frustrated, he sat back in his chair and took another puff from his cigarette, silently missing his pipe. He’d decided to get rid of it back in the late 80s when Barbara was growing up, since it was a lot dirtier than cigarettes, but every now and again he missed the more raw feeling of pipe smoke. And he missed the look of it, too.

It was very odd, he decided, being on both sides of the curtain. For decades, he’d been on the outside looking in when it came to the Bats, and now he was staying a few rooms down the hall from The Goddamn Batman himself. It was both enlightening and incredibly confusing. He did enjoy life in the Manor, though; a lot fancier than his tiny little house. Which was currently a pile of ash. He’d sold it back to the city, added it to his retirement fund; not that he thought he really needed it, after moving into the Manor. Jim was still sensitive about being a burden, or worse, a freeloader, but the Waynes had made it very clear that once you enter the Manor, you do not leave. Even if you want to, they pull you back in eventually. “Much easier,” as Duke put it to him one day, “To just ride the crazy.”

So Jim rode the crazy. And, slowly, he grew to care for each of the Waynes like his own family.

And then, as his mind wandered, he thought back to the subject that had been bugging him all day: the fight against Hal Jordan that his entire honorary family was currently engaged in. For all his life, Jim had been on the front lines, both as a detective and as a punk kid in the Army. It felt odd, and embarrassing, to be out of the fight so completely while they put their lives on the line. But really, what was a 78-year old, white-haired fogie with no powers like him going to do against a Green Lantern dialled up to eleven?

He started fiddling with his cufflinks, the silver ones with the owls on them, a present from his late father. His father had seemed very serious when he’d given Jim the cufflinks, he remembered. Died not long after, too. But that cold case was damn near sixty years old now, and Jim didn’t have the heart to reopen it only to find out it’d been nothing. Arthur Gordon had died in a car crash; he was overthinking it.

Still, it helped to fiddle with the cufflinks whenever he was trying to think through something; it occupied his hands, gave him something to do besides sit still. One of the details of all these shenanigans with the crooks was bugging him; one of Penguin’s men, when he was being put away in Blackgate, said something to his buddy while they were being hauled away in the paddywagon. Where they thought Jim couldn’t hear them.

“ I’m just glad we’re gettin’ steady paychecks now, ” he’d said, “ Feels like we’ve actually got real jobs. ”

Steady paychecks? For common crooks? No crime boss could manage it, the revenue was too sporadic, too inconsistent. Not even Falcone managed that, back in the day. There was something more going on here, and there had been something more going on for a while, Jim felt it in his bones. If only he could get to the bottom of all this…

His phone rang. Reacting automatically, Jim picked up the receiver, crushed out his cigarette, turned off his fan, and said, “GCPD, Commissioner Gordon speaking; how can I help you?”

“ Uncle Jim? ” a high, scared, and familiar voice asked, and Jim straightened as he recognized his honorary grand-nephew’s voice.

“Ollie?” he asked urgently, “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“ It’s Auntie Cass, ” Ollie said quickly, sounding shaken, “ Alfred found her bleeding on the stairs, and when he tried to pick her up he got hurt real bad; Janey’s helping him now. He said to tell you ‘Code Obsidian’. ”

Jim’s stomach dropped; a Color Code. That was bad news, from the Bats. It was their code for when one of their own was in critical condition. Jim knew that he’d been given the designation “Code Brown”. Black Bat, Cass, was “Code Obsidian”.

“Okay, I’ll be there soon,” he said quickly, grabbing his coat off the rack as he held the phone between his shoulder and chin, “You said Alfred’s hurt? Have you called Dr. Thompkins yet?”

“ Yeah, I called her, she’s on her way, ” Ollie said, and Jim let himself breathe a sigh of relief in that regard at least, “ And Alfred’s hurt bad; I’ve never heard him shout before! All he did was bend down to pick her up?? ”

“He’s just old, Ollie,” Jim said grimly, “Too old to be doing all this still,” So am I, probably, “Just wait for Dr. Thompkins and help your Aunt however you can. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“ Okay, ” Ollie said, still sounding scared, “ Come quick? ” he added uncertainly, almost pleadingly.

“As quick as can be,” Jim promised, then he hung up and ran for a squad car.

---

Kate Kane stopped herself from rubbing her face, from rubbing her scars. Junior had done a number on her. But he did more of a number on Dick. And Stephanie, for that matter.

Eight weeks of healing had done wonders for her face, but red, puckered scars still trailed up her cheeks in a sadistic smile. The inmates were having a field day with that one.

She was just finishing putting her signature on the latest budget request when her phone rang; odd, people usually call the Head Therapist, not her. “Arkham Asylum,” she said uncertainly, “Warden Kane. Who is this?”

“ K-Kate Kane? It’s Ollie Anders-Harper, from Wayne Manor, ” a high, young voice said, and Kate straightened up. This was one of Jason’s kids.

“Ollie?” she said, “You okay, kid? Everything alright?”

“ N-No, ” Ollie said eventually, “ Alfred told me to call and tell you ‘Code Obsidian’. He and Auntie Cass are hurt bad; Dr. Thompkins and Uncle Jim are already on their way, but he said to call you, too. ”

Kate’s grip tightened around the phone. She knew full well why Alfred told her to come; Code Obsidian meant Cass was down for the count, and if Alfred was hurt, so was he. Which meant Tim Drake, still recovering from his psychotic episode and still in a very fragile mental state, was currently unattended and unguarded. She was the only one within a 50 mile radius with even the slightest prayer of beating Tim Drake in a fight.

“I’ll be right there,” she said, and she hung up as she opened up a drawer in her desk, lifted up the false bottom, and retrieved her utility belt. No time for the Cape & Cowl, she decided; she’d have to show up in civilian clothes.

Code Obsidian. That unsettled her; she was technically off the Bat roster, having gone from part-time to fully retired in favor of her position as Warden, but Bruce had insisted she stay up to date on all the Color Codes. She was still in the system herself; Code Ruby. Code Obsidian was Cass, easily the most skilled hand-to-hand fighter in the Batfamily. Whatever took her out…

Kate grabbed an extra clip for her pistol, then ran out the door.

---

Albany, New York. A city that once upon a time, must have been important, Red decided, for it to have been named the capital of New York in the first place. Why the decision had been made, however, he couldn’t say. 

It was a small, dirty little city. A lot like Gotham, but none of the fun. It looked like its glory days had come in 1902 and it had been downhill ever since. But Red wasn’t here for the disparate sights of Albany; he was here for a small, old apartment building in the poorer district of the city, a building that had gone unrenovated for close to a hundred years now. Red let himself into the basement apartment; the private residence of one Dr. Rex Tyler.

AKA Hourman, Founding Member of the JSA.

Normally, the presence of Hourman himself would be a good deterrent for any wayward burglars. Luckily, Hourman was a million miles away in the middle of the Atlantic at the moment. Smirking, Red crept through the (frankly depressing) apartment for one, going into the back room and expertly disarming the sorry excuse for a security system Dr. Tyler employed. After he made it further inside, he found Dr. Tyler’s laboratory; a workbench filled with chemicals and bunsen burners. Everything was neatly put away, the sign of a good, dutiful scientist. Red smiled as he reached up to the chemical cabinet, currently sealed, and easily picked the lock. As it swung open, he grinned wider as he caught sight of a smaller, more secure safe at the back of the cabinet.

Bingo.

He dusted the keypad on the safe, then flashed a blacklight over it, grinning as he wrote down the numbers that had the most fingerprints on them. After thinking about it a little bit, he rearranged the numbers into the most obvious conclusion: 12-15-40.

December 15th, 1940. The founding date of the JSA.

Hourman was a sentimentalist, it seemed.

As the safe popped open, Red took out an old handheld radio, an extra hourglass necklace, an old photo of the JSA, and at last, found his prize. A small bottle, filled with vibrant green pills. Red smiled as he read the label.

Miraclo.

Notes:

I'm back!! And because I want to share all the fun names I came up with, the Color Codes are as follows:

Bruce - Code Black
Alfred - Code White
Dick - Code Blue
Barbara - Code Purple
Jim - Code Brown
Selina - Code Onyx
Jason - Code Red
Tim - Code Yellow
Kate - Code Ruby
Cass - Code Obsidian
Stephanie - Code Violet
Damian - Code Green
Kori - Code Scarlet
Roy - Code Maroon
Duke - Code Gold
Tommy - Code Tawny
Ivy - Code Emerald
Harley - Code Cherry
Conner - Code Goldenrod
Ollie - Code Jasper
Jane - Code Rose

Hope y'all have fun chewing on those lore hints! I'll try to finish up the Hal sequence next time! Peace!

Chapter 20: Blood in the Water

THE JUSTICE LEAGUE DEFEATED!

Billy could just see the headlines in the Planet tomorrow. All of their heavy hitters, out in one go, with almost no effort; it was an embarrassment. An indignity! An affront to superheroism! Batman’s strategy was failing, one line at a time. Billy clenched his fists as he watched Hal Jordan make quick work of most of the soldiers and superheroes sent to keep him at bay, including a still shellshocked Barry, and growled in the very back of his throat. He knew his role in this; a last line of defense and support if things really went south; a mild surprise for Hal to keep him off his game. Hal Jordan was an affront to everything Billy believed in; the fundamental struggle of Good vs Evil, the right guy and the wrong guy. Hal and crossed the line, betrayed the tenets of heroism that Billy held sacred; he was going to make sure he was a lot more than a mild surprise. He ran down from the bridge of USS Ross , out onto the deck.

“Hey, kid, wait!!” the captain cried, but Billy ignored him.

As he pounded down the ladders and pushed past sailors rushing around the ship, he finally broke out into the open air, catching sight of Hal floating in midair, the green light of willpower radiating off of him in waves of power that made the air as thick as soup. Billy jumped onto the bow of the ship, leapt into the air, and cried out at the top of his lungs:

“ SHAZAM!!! ”

Hal turned at the noise, then widened his eyes as he saw Shazam just soon enough to feel him crash into his side with the Might of Zeus. As his head spun for just a moment, he tried to sock Billy in the jaw and break his grip, but before he could do it, Shazam switched his grip, holding Hal’s fist and kicking him back up into the sky, sending him tumbling through the air for a short while before he managed to right himself.

“Sorry, friend,” Shazam said, his trademark squinting grin on his face as he placed his hands on his hips, “But I’m afraid you won’t be getting any further without going through me .”

“Billy,” Hal greeted cooly, regaining his composure slightly, “You look grown up.”

Shazam grinned wider and squinted deeper, if that was possible. “And you have more gray hairs, Lantern,” he responded.

Hal glared. “It’s Lantern hunter now,” he said in an ominous voice.

Shazam scoffed as he took a ready stance. “Sure it is,” he said, still grinning.

Cocky bastard! Hal thought as he flew forward at full speed, only for Shazam to blink out from in front of him. Before he could track him, Hal felt a devastating blow to the back of his head, and saw stars for a moment as he staggered through the air, then turned to see where Shazam had gotten behind him. How did he--?

“Speed of Mercury!” Shazam declared, then rushed forward almost too quickly for Hal to put up a shield. 

“Courage of Achilles!!” That battle cry was followed up by quick, devastatingly strong punches that would make Superman blush. Hal knew for a fact he didn’t get a taste of Clark’s full power when they’d fought; there was still a part of Big Blue that held back for old times’ sake.

Billy Batson seemed to have no such reservations.

Hal put up a shield just in time for Shazam to slam into him one more time, then tried to retaliate, only for Billy to draw back and hit him from his other side. Hal turned, but when he did, Shazam was somewhere else; he turned, and he was gone, turn, gone, turn, gone, turn, gone!

Shazam slammed into the Lanternhunter over and over again, becoming a soaring red blur of motion as he swerved in midair to remain in Hal’s blindspot. “Stamina of Atlas!” Billy cried, until finally, he knocked Hal upward toward the clouds, and while he was still dazed, grabbed him in a bear hug hold, pinning his arms to his chest, and grinned.

“Wisdom of Solomon!” he said into Hal’s ear, and Hal panted with exertion.

“How?” Hal muttered, “How are you this strong!? You were nowhere near this strong when I left Earth!”

“I grew up, Hal,” Billy growled to him, “You should have too. SHAZAM!! ”

Thunder shook the clouds as lightning split the sky, and with a mighty KRAK-AK-AK-KOOOOM----!! , Hal and Billy were swallowed by magical lightning, all the rage of the gods bearing down upon them.

Hal screamed as the lightning hit him square in the chest, singing his armor. He blinked the spots out of his eyes, trying to concentrate, when another shout came from his unwanted passenger:

“ SHAZAM!! ”

Another boom, another bolt, another teeth-rattling hit to the chest. Hal cried out in pain, and so did Billy, but yet again, “ SHAZAM!! ”

“ NO!! ”

“ SHAZAM!! ”

“ STOP IT!!”

“ SHAZAM!! ”

“ANGRY!!”

“ SHA --ZAM!! ”

“ SHIIIIT!!! ”

Watching from a little ways away, still on the decks of the ships, the remaining ground-level heroes watched in astonishment as bolt of lightning after bolt of lightning slammed into Hal again and again, the sky black and thunderous on what had once been a gorgeous day. 

“Man, he’s really going all out!” Roy muttered in disbelief, watching in equal amounts of fear and awe as what was easily the most childish hero in the League stood up to one of the biggest threats they’d ever faced.

“His body won’t last much longer,” Jason said to his right, and Roy turned to see where his husband had been helping to fish survivors out of the water, “Those bolts of his take too much energy.”

“What are you saying, Hood?” Canary asked, and Jason hunched his shoulders.

“I’m saying he can’t keep this up,” he muttered, “Not unless he’s trying to kill himself.”

Up in the sky, Billy felt himself reaching his limit. Even the Stamina of Atlas couldn’t go on forever. But he needed to take Hal down, if it was the last thing he did. He had to have one more in him! Just one more! 

Hal felt Billy’s chest heave with each breath, and tried to squirm out of his grasp to no avail. Damn those magic powers! But, so far, no new lightning bolts. So there was that, at least.

“Are ya done?” Hal asked in a breathless, panting voice, “Because I swear to God, if you do that again, I will be so fucking pissed off--”

“ Shazam. ” Billy said.

“ GOD DAMMIT!! ”

Shakily, Billy let go of his opponent, simply unable to hang on anymore after so many magical lightning bolts; it put a strain on his powers, and his body. Huh, he thought hazily, Not dead yet. That’s wei-- ohh, there we go.

Billy fell through the sky, only to be caught by a green forcefield holding him up limply by the torso. “Y’know, if you ask me…” Hal muttered, his chest still heaving with exertion, pain, and exhaustion, “‘Shazam!’ is a pretty sad choice of last words. But, to be fair,

“ It’s far from the worst mistake you’ve made today. ”

Billy spat the blood in his mouth in Hal’s general direction. He believed it was profound.

Hal narrowed his eyes, but before he could finish Billy off, a sonic boom ripped through the atmosphere, hurtling toward them from the north.

Hal turned, just in time to have Superboy crash into him at full speed, breaking his concentration and letting Shazam fall harmlessly into the sea below.

As Hal righted himself from the hit, he looked up, and saw the murderous rage in Conner’s heat vision-filled eyes. “ Lay a hand on my son one more time, ” Conner growled, “ I fucking dare you. ”

---

Several Minutes Earlier

Conner laid on the ice for a few moments more, just breathing and holding on to Tommy, both of them unbothered by the cold but still shivering. But now the adrenaline was beginning to wear off, and Conner could think a little clearer without the blind, paternal panic filling his mind.

His fists clenched around the folds in Tommy’s suit that he’d grabbed onto. 

Conner hadn’t known his son for very long. Things were still awkward and off between them, especially since Tim died, but when Tim came back, things had seemed to be changing. For the last eight weeks, Tommy and Conner had been spending more time together, getting to know one another, learning about each other. And Conner had seen his son for who he was; flawed and conflicted, but still at his core the brightest, fiercest light Conner had ever witnessed. There was a fire in Tommy, Conner knew; a fire that could burn and a fire that could shine. 

Tim was still healing. Tommy was just a child. The rest of the family was still reeling from Tim’s return and Dick’s death. It was up to Conner now; up to him to help Tommy shine. 

And Hal had almost taken that chance away from him.

Conner stood up, holding Tommy close to his chest for a moment before finally letting him go.

“Da-- Conner?” Tommy said uncertainly, still blinking the haze out of his eyes.

“Go home, Tommy,” Conner said, his tone leaving no room for debate, and before Tommy could argue, Conner was up, up, and away with a sonic boom that shook the sky.

As Conner hurtled across the planet, nearing the place on the Atlantic where he knew the rest of the League was gathered, he saw bolts of lightning coming down on one spot of the ocean; Shazam had entered the battle.

Just as the lightning stopped, Conner saw Hal, lording over Billy and about to deliver the finishing blow; Conner saw red.

Going about Mach 10, Conner slammed into Hal’s side and clenched his fists, eyes glowing with barely restrained heat vision.

“ Lay a hand on my son one more time, ” he growled murderously, “ I fucking dare you. ”

Hal grunted as he spat blood out of his mouth, looking Conner in the eye. “Your son?” he muttered, “You’re, like, twenty, kid. Let me guess; condom broke?”

Conner punched him. Hard.

Hal grunted, then grinned savagely. “Alright, kid,” he said, wiping blood from his chin, “Let’s do this.”

Conner saw double as Hal hit him just as hard, faster than Conner could register, and before he could go flying all that far, Hal grabbed him with a green construct and threw him down toward the water.

Conner hit the water with a massive splash, feeling like he had just gone through a brick wall, and instinctively tried to breathe, only to get a mouthful of saltwater. Conner opened his eyes, letting loose a massive beam of heat vision in what he hoped was Hal’s general direction before flying upward through the water, breaking the surface, and punching Hal back up into the sky with all he had. 

Hal did a flip in the air before righting himself, then blasted Conner with willpower, which Kon met with his own blast of heat vision. The beams struggled for a moment, but soon enough Conner felt the need to blink; he couldn’t do that yet. He struggled to keep his eyes open, but as he did, the beam weakened and faltered, allowing Hal to gain the upper hand a surge forward, socking Conner in the jaw. 

As Conner reeled from the hit, Hal tackled him and back into the water they went.

They hurtled downward into the depths, ever further towards the deep, and Conner did his best to punch and hit his opponent, break the grip, do anything, but it appeared Hal had gotten wise to that strategy; his whole body was covered in a protective forcefield of willpower.

Conner growled, heat building behind his eyes. No one did that to Tommy, no one called Tommy a mistake , and got off scot free. Conner knew that most of Hal’s power wasn’t a bluff; he knew that as a half-Kryptonian, he could give Hal a fight, but he couldn’t win.

But he could punch above his weight. 

The heat behind his eyes built and built and built, and Conner snarled as he grabbed Hal by both sides of his head, forcing him to look at him.

For all his life, Conner had felt like he lived in a world made of cardboard. Always taking special care not to break something, to break someone. Never allowing himself to lose control, even for a moment, or someone could die. But Hal could take it, couldn’t he? What Conner had here was a rare opportunity to cut loose, and show just how powerful he really was.

As Conner held Hal, as they went careening down into the darkness, red light illuminated the water. Conner saw something like fear in Hal’s eyes as the heat became almost too much for Conner to bear.

“ Fuck. you. ” Conner gurgled out around the water, and he let the heat vision loose.

Everything around them was swallowed in a red haze, and Conner felt like he was on fire. Rage and anger and heat left his body in one massive blast, a sensation he’d never felt before as he felt his energy drain from his limbs. The water rippled and bent around the two of them, the black and blue swallowed by fiery red. 

Up above them on the surface, ships rocked and rolled and sailors clung to railings for dear life as an explosion rocked the ocean from down below, sending massive waves out in all directions. It was as if Superboy had punched Nature itself.

Water rushed into Conner’s mouth as everything started to fade to black, and darkness encroached on the edges of his vision as he watched a tiny, distant speck of green glow brightly in a sea of red. He briefly had the hazy thought that he’d never felt this weak and exhausted before, and floated downward, his eyes fluttering closed, letting the darkness take him.

---

Jim’s patrol car skidded to a stop as he, Leslie Thompkins, and Kate Kane all arrived at Wayne Manor at the same time, out of desperation and sheer coincidence. “Kate, Leslie,” Jim greeted breathlessly as he stepped out of his car, drawing his gun at the same time.

“Good to see you, Jim,” Kate greeted, toting her own gun as Leslie gathered her medical bag; Jim didn’t miss that she was wearing her utility belt.

“Right,” Leslie said, her voice shaking slightly as she hung her stethoscope around her neck, “Let’s get in there.”

Jim and Kate led the way up the Manor’s grand front steps, posting up on opposite sides of the door. Silently, they nodded at each other, and Kate opened the door slowly. Instantly, both Jim and Kate were in the foyer, pointing their guns at every conceivable hiding spot.

“Clear,” Kate said firmly.

“Clear,” Jim agreed.

“I appreciate the caution, but every second we wait is a second someone could be dying,” Leslie said to them, shouldering past and power-walking her way toward the grandfather clock.

“I’ll go check on Tim,” Kate said to Jim, nodding her head up the steps, “You make sure Cass, Alfred, and the kids are okay.”

“Good luck,” Jim said to her, and he followed Leslie down into the Cave.

“Ollie? Jane?” Leslie called down the stairs, hustling down them with an agility she didn’t know she still had.

“Doctor Thompkins??” a high, fearful voice asked, and Ollie Anders-Harper ran into view from the Batcave’s medical bay, “You’re here! Please, you need to help Janey!”

Ollie grabbed the elderly doctor by the hand and towed her toward the hospital beds, where Jane stood on a box to tend to a beaten and bloodied Cass, while Alfred sat hunched in a chair, walking her through how to stop the bleeding and clean bandages.

“Oh my God…” Leslie whispered, and Jim stood open mouthed behind her.

“Oh, you’re here,” Jane said, slightly panicking, “Good. Do you know how to do stitches? Alfred says Auntie Cass needs them, but I’m too little.”

Leslie was already in motion, setting out the things she would need and preparing her tools. “Alfred, do you know her blood type?” she asked urgently, “With how much she’s lost she’s going to need a transfusion.”

“AB+,” Alfred answered instantly, then winced as the motion disturbed his carefully chosen position, “Apologies, Doctor Thompkins, I’m afraid I will be of little help.”

“Not to worry, Alfred,” Leslie said, immediately cleaning the bullet wound; Jane had already done a fairly good job, for a toddler, “I’ll get you some painkillers once Cass is stabilized.”

Finally, she spared a glance at Jane, still covered in blood from where she’d carried Cass across the Cave floor. “You are an incredible young lady, you know that?” she said kindly, and Jane smiled shyly, looking at the floor.

“I can get those painkillers, Leslie,” Jim said automatically, holstering his gun, “Where are they?”

“That cabinet over there, bottom shelf; best get him some of the heavy-duty ibuprofen, that should help with the swelling,” Leslie said automatically, then turned to look at her two little friends, both looking shellshocked and scared. She was no crisis counselor, but she knew the best thing to do would be to distract them until their parents could arrive. “Ollie, Jane,” she said firmly, and both pairs of little green eyes snapped to her, “I’m going to need your help. Ollie, I need you to go get an ice pack and wrap it in some paper towels for Alfred. Jane, I want you to find the pack of AB+ in the blood refrigerator and bring it here for your Aunt; can you two do that for me?”

Both of them nodded firmly, then scampered away to their assigned tasks. Leslie frowned as she looked down at Cass’s face, pale and sickly from bloodloss, her brows furrowed with discomfort. “Hold on, you stubborn girl,” Leslie muttered, beginning to stitch up the wound, “Hold on.”

---

Kate crept up the stairs, keeping her gun in front of her. She was more than aware what Tim was capable of, especially if he was having an episode, and so kept on full alert as she searched room after room. She worked her way down the corridor, checking each corner and hiding spot she could think of, until she finally arrived at Tim’s room; the door was still open, Alfred’s soup still cooling on the wooden floor. Kate’s eyes widened.

The room was empty. Tim was gone.

Alfred had found him gone.

Which means Tim could have been missing for as many as five hours, during which time he could have gotten anywhere. Kate cursed. Then she cursed again, holstered her gun, and took out her cell phone.

Tim could be anywhere. The entire Justice League was on the wrong side of the planet to help, not to mention had their hands full. She dialled a number she’d sworn to herself she’d never dial.

She picked up. “ Warden Kane, ” she said, her tone as blase as always, “ This is a surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure? ”

“Waller,” Kate spat, looking at the empty bed with trepidation, “I need a favor.”

---

Hal panted for breath as his forcefield began to dissipate and the red glow receded. Water rushed back into a space it had previously been forced to vacate, and Hal coughed as his body still ached from the impact of the blast.

Superboy had gone above and beyond, that much was certain. 

Hal cursed as he spotted the hero floating in the middle of the ocean, unconscious and likely not breathing. Hal immediately encased him in a construct and sent him back up to the surface; he didn’t come here to kill any Leaguers.

He flexed out a sore spot in his ribs, then turned back down toward the distant glittering lights of Poseidonis, the Atlantean capital, resting safely on the ocean floor. No doubt where Kyle was being held for his protection.

He didn’t like to admit it, but for all he toyed with them, the Justice League had done a number on him. He’d paid them back tenfold, but their heavier hitters had gotten some good licks in; there was a reason his old friends were Earth’s first line of defense. There was only one major Leaguer he’d yet to come across, and seeing as how this was his home turf and Hal was already reeling from his fights with both Shazam and Superboy, he couldn’t afford to take chances.

Hal rocketed down toward Poseidonis, but as he did, more lights suddenly came on between him and the city. Thousands of them, glittering stars in the sea, illuminating what the darkness had obscured;

The Atlantean Armada.

Before Hal could attack, a sharp, searing, stabbing pain flared through his back and torso, and as he looked down, he grunted with pain at the sight of three golden spear tips pointing through his chest.

He looked back over his shoulder, and a harsh looking blond man frowned as he held the Trident of Poseidon in place, his orange scalemail armor glittering in the disparate light. “Hello, old friend,” Aquaman said, grim determination in his voice, “Welcome to Atlantis.”

“Always a pleasure, Arthur,” Hal grunted, and the green light of willpower glowed around him as he wrenched himself off of the Trident and put some distance between himself and Aquaman, “But I really don’t have time for this.”

Arthur frowned as he flicked Hal’s blood off of the Trident, letting it cloud the water around them. “Make time,” the King of Atlantis told him, and he raised the Trident up, casting its holy light through the water.

All around them, the warriors of Atlantis descended upon Hal, firing their magical weapons through the water as Hal dodged and put up a shield. Atlantis’s other notable superheroes, Mera, Tempest, and Aqualad, joined in the fray as well, blasting Hal with all they had and shifting the currents of the water around him into a cyclone. Hal cursed as he was momentarily swept away by the current, the swirling of the water obscuring his vision.

Hal finally righted himself as he found the eye of the storm, grimaced as he had flashbacks to Red Tornado, and tried to find where the casters forming this cyclone actually were; before he could, however, a magical beam burst through the wall of the storm, and would have hit Hal had he not put up his shield in time. Another beam, then another shield. Hal cursed as he was too slow to dodge one, letting it hit his secondary forcefield, which wasn’t perfect at blocking hits. 

Just as he was about to encase himself in a bubble and wade out, something new broke through the current; a person. The new Aqualad, if Hal was being specific. Hal didn’t know his name, only that he was half human and half Atlantean; that was all his adapted ring armor could tell him.

Aqualad rushed at him with magical swords made of solidified water; not ice, as far as Hal could tell, just dense water. Hal growled as he blocked a few strikes, then blasted the kid with willpower, knocking him down toward the sea floor. Aqualad grunted, but put up a shield in time to block most of the blow. Hal narrowed his eyes.

“Impressive, kid,” he admitted, still feeling the twinges of pain in his chest from where he had been impaled three times and repeatedly struck by lightning, “But I don’t have time for your games.”

“Forgive me, Lanternhunter, I meant no disrespect,” the new Aqualad said, a tired grin on his face, “I was merely stalling you. Tempest! My Queen!! Now!! ”

Before Hal could react, the cyclone dissipated around them all at once, revealing that the Atlantean Armada had now been supplemented by a massive school of the deadliest fish on the planet. Hal’s eyes widened slightly as he saw a massive array of orca, great white sharks, lionfish, jellyfish, eels, and barracudas. He locked eyes with Arthur, who grinned as he held his hand to his temple.

“Excellent work, Kaldur, return to the ships,” Arthur called across the water, and Aqualad--Kaldur-- made a break for it.

Hal floated upward to be on Arthur’s level, scowling as he summoned a construct trident to match Aquaman’s. “Don’t try it, Arthur,” he growled, “I’m getting real sick and tired of all this. Just give me Kyle Rayner.”

“You know, talking to fish is the superpower that gets me made fun of the most,” Aquaman said with a sardonic grin, “But I don’t talk to fish. I control them.”

With that, Arthur levelled his Trident forward, and Hal readied himself as the entire animal arsenal of the Seven Seas descended upon him.

It was just one thing after another, wasn’t it?

---

Red’s bike swerved through the trees and up mountain roads as he made his way toward the Great Plains, where the next phase of his master plan was set to begin. He was careful; exceptionally careful, avoiding major population centers and doubling back as much as possible, but there was also something to be said for time being of the essence, so perhaps he wasn’t as careful as he should have been.

As a bullet struck the dirt road in front of him, Red cursed and amended his statement. Definitely not as careful as he should have been. He brought the bike to a stop, then scanned the treeline, thinking of all the possible culprits; a gunslinger, that much was certain, but who would be gunning for him in rural New York?

Red got his answer as a man in red body armor, a silver mask, and wrist-mounted guns stalked out of the trees behind him and onto the road.

“Deadshot,” Red greeted, narrowing his eyes, “I admit, it’s been a few years, but last I checked you were in Belle Reve. Which means-”

Red looked at the rest of the treeline, and sure enough, more villains and cutthroats came out of the forest, surrounding him. Killer Frost, Bronze Tiger, Sportsmaster, King Shark, and Captain Boomerang.

“The Suicide Squad,” Red greeted, stepping off of his bike and drawing his staff, “So Waller’s getting involved in this, huh? What does she want?”

“An’ how do you know she wants somethin’, birdie?” Boomerang asked, and Red resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“She always wants something,” he answered, and a few of the Squad huffed short laughs.

“Today’s your lucky day, Red,” Deadshot told him, keeping one gun trained while he fished a burner phone out of his pocket, “I got the Boss Lady here on the phone. She wants to talk to ya.”

“By all means,” Red said with a scowl, “Put her on.”

Deadshot tossed the phone, and Red caught it with ease. Keeping his eyes on as many of the Suicide Squad members as he could, he flipped it open and pressed the answer button.

“Waller,” Red greeted.

“ Drake, ” Amanda Waller said on the other end, “ Long time no see. Last I heard, you were dead. ”

“Reports of my death were greatly exaggerated,” Red told her, “Now cut to the chase; what do you want?”

“ Come now, Tim, we’ve been colleagues long enough for you to know what I want, ” Waller said, and Red could almost hear the smug smirk in her voice, “ I represent America’s interests concerning all things superheroic. You just so happen to be a hot commodity in that market. I want information on what the hell is going on on your end. ”

Red thought for a moment, remaining silent. He did need to know what was going on in the world after seven years. If he played his cards right, Waller could be a valuable resource. “Alright, Waller, how about a trade?” Red said at last, “Information for information. You tell me something, I tell you something. Deal?”

“ Deal, ” Waller agreed instantly; not desperately, but assertively. Confidently. “ You first, ” she said.

A good negotiation tactic; taking command of the conversation while forcing Red to set the caliber of info being traded. She was a master of her craft.

“You are not speaking to Tim Drake,” Red told her carefully, “I developed Dissociative Identity Disorder as a result of resurrection via Lazarus Pit. As such, my psyche is divided into four personalities; currently, the name’s Red Robin. Red for short.”

There was a small silence over the line, for just a moment. “ So, one of the most intelligent and dangerous people on the planet also belongs in the looney bin, ” Waller said at last, sounding more annoyed than anything, “ Fantastic. ”

“Oh, Amanda, please,” Red said with a joyless smile, “I belonged in the looney bin long before this. Now then; I do believe it’s your turn.”

“ There’s something going on in the League of Assassins, ” Waller told him, and Red straightened immediately, “ We think it’s some sort of leadership struggle. ”

“How do you know this?” Red asked instantly, Tim and Robin waking up at the edges of his brain, fearful and hopeful all at once.

“ We have our spies, ” Waller told him, “ Contrary to popular belief, the governments of the world are not completely oblivious to the goings-on of you and yours. So, Red Robin; your turn.”

Red scowled as he was cucked out of more information. “I am travelling to Iron Heights,” he said, “I need an inhibitor collar.”

“ And why, praytell, do you need one of the most valuable pieces of equipment in the US Penal System? ” Waller asked, and Red smirked.

“I have my reasons,” he told her, “Your turn.”

“ Warden Kane of Arkham Asylum called me to send Task Force X to apprehend you and return you to Gotham, ” Waller told him, “ Why were you on the run in the first place? ”

“It was my first opportunity to escape,” Red told her, “Such close proximity to Batman was hindering my plans.”

“ So there’s trouble in paradise? ” Waller mused, “ Interesting. Not the first time one of the Bat’s brats has gone rogue. First time they’ve killed one of their own, though; eh, Junior? ”

Red’s face darkened. “I suggest you change the subject, Waller,” he growled, “Before I hang up, and you don’t get anything more out of me.”

“ There is an organization out there that the government has been attempting to combat for years now, ” Waller told him, “ All we know is that it’s called the Light. CIA, FBI, and ARGUS have had no luck pinning it down. We do, however, know that they’re planning something big. And that they have an interest in you.”

Red narrowed his eyes in interest. He’d never heard of that organization. That… actually was valuable information. “I plan to decimate Gotham in the coming months,” he told her, “All previous takeovers of the city will look like child’s play by the time I’m done. I also intend to take down the Justice League while I’m doing it.”

“ Ambitious, ” Waller told him, “ I don’t need to remind you that Gothamites are Americans too; more than likely, Task Force X will be sent to stop you. ”

Red smirked, looking Deadshot dead in the eye as he answered, “They can try.”

“ Now then, I think we’ve told each other just about all we can, ” Waller said to him, and Red smirked.

“You mean we’ve both said all that we’re willing to say,” he answered.

“ Precisely, ” Waller said, “ Now then, I am going to call Warden Kane and explain to her that Task Force X was unfortunately unable to find you before you broke into Iron Heights Prison to steal an inhibitor collar. You are going to go on your merry way, and for the next three weeks, we are going to ignore each other, and pretend the other doesn’t exist. You advance your plans, I’ll advance mine, and we’ll stay out of each other’s way. Does all that sound good to you? ”

Red smirked, “It sounds perfect, Waller. Pleasure doing business with you.”

Red clicked the phone shut, then tossed it back to Deadshot. “I’m grateful for the show of force, guys,” he said with a sardonic grin, getting back on his bike, “But now that all that high treason and collusion’s out of the way, I need to get back to my life of crime. Ciao!”

And as he sped away, the Suicide Squad just let him go, grinning all the while; what did they care? They got their mission done and a few years knocked off their sentences. So what if they let the terrorist go? They weren’t heroes.

---

Hal growled as he finally cut through the last of the great white sharks Arthur had summoned. All around him, floating unconscious or dead in the water, was the entirety of Atlantis’s fleet, the ships destroyed and rendered useless, the fish gutted and left to bleed the ocean red. Directly in front of him, Aquaman himself floated through the water, unconscious, still gripping his Trident, but rendered a non-threat for now; he was joined by his wife, his two apprentices, and Nightwing, whom Hal was gracious enough to let keep his scuba gear.

Now, finally, Hal could focus on the task at hand. “Armor,” he commanded, looking down at the city of Poseidonis, now defenseless without its King, “Find Kyle Rayner.”

The armor he’d fashioned out of molten Green Lantern rings and batteries searched the city, until finally pinging a room in the heart of the Justice League Consulate; their official embassies to governments around the world. A stronghold of the League’s power without having to go to either the Hall or the Watchtower; also the only building in Poseidonis that had its own air bubble. Clever.

But not clever enough.

Hal flew downward, breaking through Poseidonis’s protective dome with little trouble, then smashed down through the roof of the JL Consulate, closing it back up with a construct, only to find…

“Bruce,” Hal said warningly, glaring at the lone man who stood in his way, “Get out of the way.”

“You know I can’t do that, Hal,” Bruce said, something like sadness in his voice.

Hal sighed as he touched down on the floor, “Please, just move. I’m tired of fighting friends today.”

“Are we still friends, Hal?” Bruce asked, taking a step forward and shifting his weight subtly, “Because last time the League saw you, you beat them all. Hard. Dick had to stop being Batman because of the injuries you gave him.”

“I admit, I wasn’t in the best headspace then,” Hal sighed, putting his hands on his hips, “And yeah, I guess in that case, we aren’t friends anymore. But I just hope you’ll stand aside this once. For old time’s sake?”

“Funny you should mention old times, Hal,” Bruce said carefully, his gaze flicking to the corners of the room, “I brought some old friends along, too. Maybe they can talk some sense into you.”

“Old friends?” Hal muttered, turning to look where Bruce was, “What are you talking… about…”

Two men walked out into the light, one a tall, muscular cop from Detroit, the other a squat, burly umpire from Boston. Both were missing their right ring fingers, Hal knew; he knew because he cut them off himself.

“Hi, Hal,” John Stewart said grimly, crossing his arms.

“S’up, Jordan?” Guy Gardner asked, putting his hands on his hips.

Hal’s eyes widened for a moment, then he scowled and turned back to Bruce. “You pulled them out of retirement for this!?” he growled, and Guy scoffed.

“Only reason we were in retirement was because a’ you takin away our rings, jackass, ” he groused, and Hal turned back to him.

“It was for your own protection!” Hal snarled, “You would have only gotten in my way!”

“And you couldn’t risk that we would take the Guardians’ side,” John said sagely, “We were loyal to the Corps, Hal. Loyal to the Guardians. Loyal to you. Not too long ago, those three things used to mean the same thing.”

“But you broke the Corps up,” Guy accused, pointing a finger at Hal, “You cut off our rings and sent us all packing back to Earth! From what I heard, we got off lucky! Fucking hell, Hal, you were killing other Lanterns!”

“Killing!?” Hal cried, outraged, “I--”

“We’re not about to let you do to Kyle what you did to the Corps,” John said assertively, cutting him off before he lost the courage to speak, “We might not have our rings anymore, but we can vouch for the kid. We heard all that stuff you told Barry up there; we know now what the Guardians did. And that’s fucked up, Hal; I won’t lie. I think you had the right idea to cut ties. But hunting Kyle isn’t the answer. He’s a good kid. A good Lantern.”

Hal clenched his fists, growling as he tried to keep a lid on his temper. “You know what I think?” he growled, and before any of them could react, he grabbed all three of them up in construct restraints, holding them all against the walls, “I think you all need to stay out of my way, because none of you have any idea what you’re talking about and I don’t have the time to explain it to you. I think I should be literally anywhere in the galaxy but here, because there are planets besides Earth that need protecting, real protecting. And you know what? I think if Kyle Rayner was half the Lantern you all seem to think he is, he’d be down here, fighting me himself, instead of cowering behind all of you!! ”

At that moment, the door on the far side of the chamber Hal, Bruce, John, and Guy were in burst open, and a green blast of willpower hit Hal full on in the chest. It was more powerful than he thought it would be, managing to blow Hal off his feet and into a pile of rubble at the other end of the chamber, where the roof had caved in earlier.

Standing in the doorway, his ring hand still extended with a grim, shaking jaw, Kyle Rayner clenched his fists as he stepped into the room. “Hey Hal!” he snapped, fear and rage and hope and indomitable will filling his voice, “Why don’t you pick on somebody your own size!?”

And off in the distant stars of the galaxy, six rings, blue, orange, red, yellow, pink, and indigo, all began to glow, and fly. Straight toward Earth.

Chapter 21: Creeping Shadows

Planet Odym, Homeworld of the Blue Lantern Corps

Ganthet was the last of his kind; the last of the Guardians of the Universe. The rest of his brethren had been killed by Hal Jordan in revenge, and he had fled into the protection of Earth’s Justice League. He had bestowed the last Green Lantern ring upon an unassuming Earthling, Kyle Rayner, and left the world for better shores, hoping to make amends for what he had done in his lifetime.

Because Hal Jordan was right. 

Ganthet and his brethren had made a mistake in the creation of the Manhunters, and the subsequent creation of the Green Lantern Corps. Though he had always privately opposed the deals made with various warlords across the universe, there was little he could do against the will of the council. It made him no less guilty of his crimes of negligence.

So, when Oa was destroyed and the Corps scattered, his brethren killed and their power broken, Ganthet did the only thing he could do: he retreated. He took comfort in the Blue Lanterns, the custodians of Hope, and shed his green willpower for a new color. It was peaceful, and safe. It helped him heal.

And it helped him focus. Ganthet was not about to sit on his hands and do nothing while the universe still cried out for help; at his core, he was still a Guardian. At the beginning, all they had ever wanted to do was help; they had just lost their way.

So Ganthet sat upon the summit of Odym’s highest mountain, before the Blue Central Power Battery, and meditated, spreading his senses as far as they would go. A little known fact throughout the universe is that the Guardians were as powerful and respected as they were because they had a modest sixth sense; a way to see across the universe, or mild precognition. It was a useful ability for governance, but Ganthet was now stretching its limits, reaching out to feel for something, anything, that could tell him what to do next.

Any sign, any hint. Anything.

And as he sat, and as he meditated, the edges of his senses began to grow blurry and fuzzy; a sensation difficult to describe to any being without the same senses. It was like seeing some inconsistency on the horizon, and being unable to tell whether it is near or far, a person or a building, moving or stationary. Ganthet did his best to latch on to the hazy blip, and all at once, felt himself be pulled into a vision, deeper and darker than he had ever experienced before. 

A great shadow spreading across the universe, an army marching to war, tearing down all that there was before and leaving ruin and destruction in its wake. Wanton destruction justified in the name of evolution. Subjugation justified in the name of superiority.

A commander, unkillable and everlasting, sending forth his armada to ravage the cosmos.

And a lieutenant, broken and withdrawn, carrying out his every command.

And from this great, spiralling cyclone of shadow, stretching its inky tendrils across the stars, snuffing them out one by one, there lay one planet at the center of it all:

Earth.

---

Iron Heights Federal Penitentiary. One of the infamous “Big Four” supermax prisons designed to house America’s supercriminals, alongside such splendid company as Belle Reve, Blackgate, and Arkham Asylum. Eight years ago, when Tim Drake was still Robin, he and Batman had intercepted files that a new penitentiary was being built in Marie Byrd Land down in Antarctica, but after so much time of being out of the loop, he was unsure if “Slabside” was still in development.

But none of that mattered now. Now, Red crouched in the warden’s office, grinning as he cracked open the safe and withdrew his prize: an inhibitor collar. Originally designed by ARGUS, the government’s metahuman agency, to keep up with the rising tide of metahuman crime, first successfully used against Icicle Sr. in 1990 after Green Arrow brought him in. It had three main functions: monitor, impair, and subdue. First, there was a tracker built in for monitoring the prisoner; Red popped off the control panel on the side of the collar and turned that tracker off in no time.

Second, there was the actual inhibitor part. It worked mainly off of electricity, cutting off impulses from the brain to meta-abilities and effectively “numbing” whatever part of the body produced the powers. A very fancy and scientific way of saying it turns your powers off.

And third, Red’s favorite, the controlled electric shock. If the prisoner got too rowdy, zap. If the prisoner tried to escape, zap. If the prisoner said something the warden didn’t like, zap.

Red grinned as he tucked the collar into his bag, letting it join his supply of Miraclo, and slung it back over his shoulder, standing up and beginning to sneak his way back out of Iron Heights; he had such big plans for this.

As he crawled back into the air vent, the six bodies he left in the office below, the warden, three guards, and two very unfortunate federal inspectors, remained silent.

---

Kyle Rayner had never felt less like a hero in his life. He had been locked up in a secure room in Poseidonis, watching as all his closest friends, his coworkers, and even complete strangers put their lives on the line to keep him safe. It wasn’t fair! They all had lives! They all had things that needed to be done, better things, things more important than dealing with Hal Jordan of all people! Hell, Bruce just got Tim back after reliving the Red Hood Fiasco, and Ted had just survived an attempt on his life! Kyle felt awful dragging the entire League into a fight that so far had put about half of them in the hospital while he sat around in the Atlantean capital and did nothing.

So Kyle did what he should have done from the start; he punched Hal across the face as hard as he could, and got to fighting.

He grabbed Hal and flew straight up as fast as he could, pulling the Lanternhunter up and out of the sea, up into the sky where he couldn’t hurt anyone else. Hal tried to break his grip by slamming his fists into Kyle’s back, but Kyle countered him with a construct of a turtle shell; “ Gah! Fuck!” Hal grunted as he bruised his hands pounding against it, and Kyle growled as they broke the surface of the water, an enormous waterspout trailing behind them.

“ Enough!! ” Kyle roared against Hal as he summoned up a construct of a six-story-tall quarterback to grab the wayward warlord in his grip like a football, and pantomiming with his construct, Kyle chucked that son of a bitch as hard as he could; put a spiral on it and everything. Old Man Rayner would’ve been proud. 

As Hal was flung far out into the stratosphere, Kyle was given a chance to look around at the devastation on the surface, and felt sick to his stomach at what he saw. Ships lay sundered in the water, either sinking or already sunk. Those lucky few that remained were laden with life rafts and overcrowded with survivors, both superhero and sailor alike. Even without scanning for signs of life with his ring, Kyle knew some of them were already dead; but one body floating in the water still caught his eye.

With the time he had bought, Kyle floated downward to pluck a bedraggled, waterlogged man in a soaked leather jacket out of the sea, holding up Conner Kent in his arms. This man had put everything on the line, everything, and had had to be pried from his boyfriend’s side to watch his son be put in danger, all just to keep Kyle safe.

It made him angry.

“Ring, scan his vitals; is he okay?” Kyle said urgently as he flew towards one of the ships that was still afloat, and seemed to be acting as a hub for the injured.

“ Scanning. Half-human half-Kryptonian hybrid, biology unstable. Overtaxed yellow sun abilities have left ‘Conner Kent’ exhausted and vulnerable. Recommend immediate removal from battlefield, ” his ring responded mechanically, and Kyle laid Conner down gingerly on the deck of the ship, locking eyes with Green Arrow, who took the unconscious hero from Kyle’s arms.

“Take care of him,” Kyle said simply.

“Always,” Oliver promised, “JL takes care of its own. Now go kick his ass.”

Kyle didn’t need to be told twice. He rocketed up toward where he had left Hal spinning into the sky, passing by each realm of destruction one at a time and breathing through his nose as he finally reached the clouds, where Hal had finally caught himself. Kyle didn’t stop.

Realizing that, Hal tried to put up a shield, but Kyle snarled as he held his arms out in front of him, his ring glowing as a construct of a drill formed itself around him, spinning against Hal’s shield and shattering it. As the Lanternhunter reeled from the hit, Kyle reared his hands behind his head, a giant construct mallet apparating behind him, and he brought it down on Hal’s head like a Tom & Jerry cartoon. 

As Hal hurtled back down toward the water, Kyle tried to get a handle on his breathing; he ground his teeth together, and his fists were clenched so hard he was afraid his palms were bleeding. It vaguely dawned on him that he’d never felt this angry before, this blinded by rage and hatred for anyone or anything, and aren’t Green Lanterns supposed to ignore emotion and all that--?

But Hal hurt his friends. Hal put everyone he had ever cared about in danger. And he blew up his house.

Something small, fast, and red lodged itself onto Kyle’s left hand without him realizing it had been coming for him. Searing, burning heat lanced from the tip of his fingers all throughout his body, like real, actual fire was flowing through his veins instead of blood, and Kyle screamed in rage, his voice shaking the sky as red and green light burst out from him in tandem.

Kyle Rayner of Earth, you hold great rage in your heart. Welcome to the Red Lantern Corps.

If he had been angry before, Kyle was livid now. Heat, searing, painful heat burned through his body, and Kyle was ready to kill something for just looking at him the wrong way. 

Hal was below him, staring up at him in shock, eyes wide and disbelieving. Good.

“ RAAARGH!!! ” Kyle screamed wordlessly, rocketing down at Hal with all his might, red light surging forward from his left hand and green from his right as rage and willpower acted together to punish Hal Jordan, to kill him, to let the Lanternhunter become the hunted!!

“ Kyle! ” Hal called out, countering a few of the shapeless, formless blasts of rage and willpower, “Kyle, how the hell are you--!?”

Kyle punched Hal across the face, forcing him up and into the sky. “ I just wanted to be left alone!! ” Kyle screamed at him, anger and rage filling his voice as it reverberated throughout the clouds, “ I didn’t ask for this! I didn’t ask for my ring!! It found me, just like it found you, and John, and Guy! Ganthet gave me the last ring in the universe for a reason, and I don’t know what it was!! I was trying to find out, but NOoo, you just had to come along, didn’t you?? Just had to take back what wasn’t yours to begin with!!”

Kyle grabbed Hal by the collar, red and green light reflecting in Hal’s eyes as Kyle snarled in his face. “ Because it’s NOT yours, Jordan!! It’s MINE! I’M THE GREEN LANTERN HERE, NOT YOU!! ”

“ Kyle-! ” Hal tried, but Kyle didn’t hear him.

Another ring rocketed out from the cosmos, lodging itself on Kyle’s right middle finger, this one orange; Kyle had never seen it before, but something in it called out to him. It was his, his, only his, it could never be anyone else’s, it was his, no one else is allowed to have it, it’s mine mine mine minemineminemineminemineminemine---!!!

Kyle Rayner of Earth. There is great greed in your heart. Welcome to the Orange Lantern Corps.

Kyle screamed as a new feeling surged through him, the urge to protect, the urge to horde and hide away, the urge to take and never let go; he took Hal and threw him upward toward the stratosphere, hoping to throw him back into space, away from him, away from his rings, because he’d never let go of his rings, he’d never stop being a hero, he’d never stop being the Green Lantern because that’s what gave his life purpose nowadays, it was all he had left!

Kyle followed Hal up, blasting him with orange light, then red, then green, keeping the tyrant off balance. “ You can’t take this from me!! ” Kyle cried, “ It’s mine! I got it fair and square!! ”

“Kyle, stop! ” Hal tried again, “Something’s wrong here, there are more rings here than just the green one! You need to slow down and fight off their influence--!”

“ And why should I listen to you!? ” Kyle screeched, punching Hal across the face as the two Lanterns twirled up into the air, further and further, until the blue sky started to become black space, dotted with distant starlight, “ Being a Lantern? Being a hero!? It’s all I have left! My parents are dead, I got my girlfriend killed, I lost my job, and I had just made enough money doing commissions to pay rent before you blew up my apartment!!! ”

Kyle punched Hal especially hard with that line, sending the Lanternhunter careening into the surface of the Moon, creating a new crater with the force of impact as orange, red, and green light all flared up with the hit. 

Kyle touched down on the Moon in front of Hal, clenching his fists as the other man slowly tried to pick himself up. 

As Kyle lorded over him, rage and greed and willpower swirling around him, Hal’s eyes widened in an emotion he hadn’t experienced for a long, long time. Kyle was wielding three power rings; it shouldn’t be possible. The power should be overwhelming him, disintegrating his body, but it wasn’t. That, and Kyle was kicking his ass.

Hal’s eyes widened in fear.

And a fourth ring lodged itself on Kyle’s finger.

Kyle Rayner of Earth. You have the ability to inspire great fear. Welcome to the Sinestro Corps.

Kyle cried out in alarm as the fear of the yellow ring lanced through him, deep and soul-crushing, drowning out every other emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. He didn’t want this ring, he didn’t, he wanted it off, away from him, far away, so far away he never had to see it again, it was awful, it was terrifying, it was--

“Kyle,” Hal said, trying to get his attention, “Kyle, listen to me; we need to get those rings off of you before they burn you up.”

Hal reached out for his hand, and Kyle reared back, reacting as if he’d been burned. “ NO! ” he cried, holding his hands close to his chest, “Please, d-don’t-- I want to keep my ring! Please!”

“Kyle, let me get those off of you!” Hal demanded, the green light of willpower glowing around him as he stood up. It was a threat, and Kyle knew it; Hal was going to kill him, he was going to cut off his fingers and take away the rings, then he couldn’t be an artist anymore, he couldn’t be a hero anymore, he’d just be worthless worthless worthless--

“ Come on, man!” Kyle finally begged, “What did I ever do to you!? ”

“This isn’t about you,” Hal told him, “It’s about that ring, and what it means to wear it. Wearing that ring, you take on a burden, a legacy of blood and betrayal that the Guardians forced onto you. You don’t deserve it, Kyle.”

“So what, then!?” Kyle demanded, “You mean you’re gonna do me a fucking favor by killing me!?”

That finally stopped Hal in his tracks. “Killing you?” he asked quietly, “Is… is that what you think I’m here for?”

“ What else could it be!? ” Kyle snapped, still shaking from fear, “You killed the Corps! The Guardians! Ganthet told me all about it, and then John and Guy backed it up! I’m wearing the last Green Lantern ring in existence, and I know it! You know how much pressure that’s been? Holding on to a legacy no one wants you to have, even though it’s the greatest thing to ever happen to you??”

Kyle wiped tears from his eyes before they could fall. “ I love being a Lantern! ” he declared, “ I wanna do it till the day I die! ”

And a fifth ring came down and lodged itself on Kyle’s finger.

Kyle Rayner of Earth. There is great love in your heart. Welcome to the Star Sapphires.

A great surge of warmth flooded through him, not fiery and painful as the red ring had been, but still fierce and protective; equal parts comforting and painful. He thought of all the friends he had made in the League, the camaraderie he had with all of them. He thought of how they had all put their lives on the line to keep him safe, and it hurt so, so much that he hadn’t returned the favor until now. It touched him deep inside that he knew people, dozens of people, who were willing to do that; drop everything at a moment’s notice and help him.

He had never met people like that before he’d gotten the ring. And he never wanted to give them up.

A sixth ring came down, just ever so slightly off in color from the fifth, and lodged itself onto his opposite hand.

Kyle Rayner of Earth. There is great caring for others in your heart. Welcome to the Indigo Lantern Corps.

And as with the others, more emotion blazed through Kyle, a desperate need to protect and care, a need to make things better, to make things right. He thought again of all the fallen heroes down below, the ones who’d given their time and safety, who’d dropped everything and come just because they’d been called. He clenched his fists and took a step forward, vowing to not let their sacrifice be in vain.

The twin lights of love and compassion blazed from his new ring, and Hal had to cover his eyes as the power of rage, fear, greed, will, compassion, and love reverberated across the surface of the Moon.

And Hal Jordan had finally had enough. His armor glowed, and warring against the multicolored light, monochromatic green flared up around him, his willpower more than a match for Kyle’s unfocused and scattered thoughts. “ Enough. ” Hal said, his voice reverberating around them, “ I’m not here to kill you, Kyle, but I’m not letting you keep those rings, either. The Lantern Corps are dead; they only ever brought more pain and suffering to the universe they were meant to save. I’m wiping it all away; no one will be allowed to play judge, jury, and executioner ever again. Not even me. Not even you. ”

Hal raised his hand, glowing bright with green light, as Kyle went into a defensive stance. They stared at each other for a long time, saying nothing. There was an inscrutable emotion on Hal’s face as he hesitated. “I really am sorry it has to be like this, Kyle,” Hal said after a moment, “I think… in another life… we could have been friends.”

Kyle swallowed as he stared down what was most likely his death at the hands of all the willpower in the universe. “Yeah,” he said, “Maybe.”

Just as Hal let loose, and green light threatened to swallow the Moon, a new voice finally cried out, “ STOP! ”

Blue light filled the space around them, and all at once, the flares of aura dissipated. As Kyle and Hal both covered their eyes from the glare, two figures stepped out from the light; one short, one tall, both floating with blue auras protecting them from the vacuum of space.

“Please, brothers,” the tall one said in a kind, gentle voice, his gray lips stretching back into a friendly smile, “Cease this squabbling. All will be well.”

“Saint Walker?” Hal said in recognition, and the gray-skinned alien nodded with a smile.

“It has been some time, old friend,” he said kindly, folding his hands together.

“Yes, it has,” said the shorter alien to his left, and now it was Kyle’s turn to gasp in recognition.

“Ganthet!” he cried happily, and the Last Guardian of the Universe gave Kyle a tired smile.

“Hello, Kyle,” he said, then he turned to Hal, and the smile grew sad, “Hello, Hal.”

Hal’s face fell into a scowl as he recognized the Guardian. “Ganthet,” he muttered, “I was wondering what hole you were hiding in.”

“What’s with the blue?” Kyle asked, gesturing to the two’s outfits, and Saint Walker chuckled.

“We are Blue Lanterns,” he said by way of explanation, “Champions of Hope. And peace. Something the two of you seem to have in short supply.”

“Not much to be hopeful for,” Hal grumbled, “Not after I learned the true purpose of the Corps. What the Guardians did--!”

“--Was unforgivable,” Ganthet agreed, and that shocked Hal into silence, for but a moment. Ganthet seemed to heave a great sigh, folding his hands to keep from fidgeting. “Hal, Kyle, I am… sorry, for what was done to you,” he said slowly, “Both of you. To all the Green Lanterns. I should have stopped it before it went too far, and I didn’t. I should have stopped it all after the Manhunter fiasco, but I didn’t. I thought somehow that the Green Lanterns would be different, but they weren’t; I have spent the last eight years trying to come to terms with that. Lantern Saint Walker has been helping me with such an endeavor.”

At that, Saint Walker smiled and nodded, saying, “He had made great progress.”

“Sure,” Hal said, obviously disbelieving, “Why are you here, Ganthet? You’ve never had the balls to come after me before.”

“You never threatened the one good thing I did in my life before,” Ganthet answered, and looked at Kyle, “Giving you the ring was, perhaps, the only noble act my species performed.”

Kyle blinked as he looked down at his green ring. “Me…?” he said intelligently.

Hal bristled, green light beginning to glow around him again. “That’s all fine and dandy,” he interjected, “But I know what I saw. The Manhunters, the Corps, they were all just tools of you and your buddies, tools to control the universe, not protect it. There’s nothing good about them; they’re weapons. The greatest weapons in the universe. They need to be kept safe, not handed out like candy on Halloween!!”

“That is why I have come,” Ganthet told him, “Because there are things going on here that neither of you understand. For the longest time, I did not understand them, either. But the Blue Light has given me clarity; a vision. A purpose. A path for both of you; for all of us.”

Hal looked skeptical, but he was no longer actively attacking, so that was something.

Kyle was just hopelessly confused.

Saint Walker continued to smile knowingly.

“Your attack has interrupted something,” Ganthet told Hal, “Something important. A great, spiralling event with Earth at its center. Something to right the wrongs of the Guardians at last.”

Ganthet floated between the two of them, gazing out at the planet below, marvelling at its beauty. “Magnificent, isn’t it?” he asked them, and Hal and Kyle looked at each other, “No more or less grand than any other place in the universe, but standing here I am always struck by Earth’s beauty. We Guardians liked to believe that Oa was the center of the universe. That the worlds revolved around us, and it was our duty as higher beings to go out into the cosmos and spread our influence, for the betterment of all the species under our charge.

“But it was never from Oa that change would come. Not an imperious, lofty throne. No; change comes from the grassroots. The backwaters. Places where no one expects things to change. Places like Earth.”

Ganthet turned back toward the three Lanterns, regarding them. “I gave Kyle the ring because he would have made a terrible Green Lantern,” he said, and both men balked at the statement, “Because Kyle Rayner was never meant to be a Green Lantern. Just as he was never meant to be a Red Lantern, or a Yellow Lantern, or an Orange Lantern, or a Star Sapphire, or an Indigo Lantern.

“There is a great change about to happen, the reverberations of which will be felt throughout the cosmos. Earth will be at its center. Hal, your issue with the Guardians is that we always ignored the warlords until it was too late, allowing conquering forces to ravage the galaxy and destroy homes and civilizations; this will change all that. In some ways, you are right; the Lantern Corps are gone. Obsolete. Because something is coming to take their place.”

Ganthet looked at Kyle, dead in the eye. “You,” he said.

“ Him? ” Hal asked incredulously.

“ Me? ” Kyle agreed.

“You,” Ganthet reiterated, “Because there is something special about you, Kyle; your soul is perfectly balanced. Equal parts rage, fear, hope, love, greed, compassion, and will. You are unlike any other being in the universe because you are alike to every other being in the universe. A statistical miracle. A great destiny awaits you, a power equal and opposite to the tyranny of the Black Lanterns not so long ago; but you know not how to use it; you will need training in all the realms of the Emotional Spectrum before you can wield it. Someone with extensive experience across the universe, someone who has come into contact with the Emotional Spectrum before, someone older and wiser who can guide you to the answers that you seek.” As he spoke, his gaze turned to Hal, who bristled.

“ Me!? ” he balked, “You can’t be serious. Why would I--??”

“ Him!? ” Kyle interrupted, just as outraged, “B-B-But--!! He killed the rest of the Corps!”

“And again!” Hal finally snapped, “I never killed anyone! I took their rings away, I sent them back to their home planets, but I never killed them! They were victims, just like me! Some of them tried to fight, so I had to cut their ring fingers off, and it was the most painful thing I’ve ever had to do! All that nonsense about me ‘killing’ Lanterns was just Guardian propaganda! I took down the evil Corps, Sinestro and his cronies, Atrocitus and his army; that’s who I killed! The Green Lanterns legitimately thought they were doing the right thing; I’d never kill anyone for making a mistake.”

Kyle blinked at the revelation. “You… never killed the other Lanterns?” he asked dumbfoundedly, and Hal sighed.

“No,” he said, “I didn’t.”

“So…” Kyle went on, “You were never going to kill me? ” 

“No!” Hal said emphatically, “I wasn’t! This whole thing was just a giant misunderstanding!!”

“Half the Justice League is in the hospital because of a misunderstanding!? ” Kyle demanded.

“No one died!” Hal growled, “If you’d been paying attention, I saved everyone I hurt. Hell, even all the sailors are fine. I protected them all with constructs while I got them out of my way. Sure, I killed some of the fish when Arthur tried to have a go at me, but come on, they’re fish! ”

Kyle clenched and unclenched his jaw, trying to come to terms with it all. “So… what?” he asked, turning back to Ganthet and Saint Walker, “What do we do now?”

“That brings me back to my vision,” Ganthet explained, “I saw the rise of a great warlord on Earth, one who would cast this planet into darkness. Your Justice League would be powerless to stop him, due to his allies. If unchecked, his influence would eventually spread across the galaxy, and cast the universe into a thousand years of darkness.”

Ganthet waved his hand, and two blue rings appeared from a flash of blue light, hovering above his palm. “So I am intervening, a path my brethren were so wont to ignore,” Ganthet said, “I am putting you two together, to train, to get stronger, so that when the time is right, you may return to Earth, and bring it out of the darkness. If you do not, it will spell doom for the universe.”

Kyle slowly took the blue ring from Ganthet, looking warily at Hal, who stood still, his arms crossed.

“That’s a great speech,” he said, “But I’m not convinced. Just because you gave me some stock apology doesn’t mean I’m going to drop everything and help you; you could be lying, for all I know.”

Ganthet smiled sadly. “I know, Hal,” he said sadly, “That is why this time, I am showing you. Please, the blue ring will show you both the same vision I had; put it on. See the truth, unadulterated and undoctored.”

Hal narrowed his eyes down at the little blue ring. Glancing at both Kyle and Saint Walker in turn, he finally grabbed it. “To be clear, this isn’t acceptance,” he said severely, beginning to place the ring on his finger, “This is withholding judgement.”

“That is all I ask,” Ganthet said gratefully, and Kyle and Hal were both swallowed by the blue light of Hope.

And together, they each saw the encroaching darkness. They each saw a man, a man who had lurked in the shadows, and would soon make his play for the Light. They saw the strength he would build, the vital lieutenant he had drafted to his service. They saw the Justice League, their closes friends, fail to stop the rising darkness. And in turn, they saw the darkness spread across the galaxy, snuffing out the stars one by one as Earth, and Humanity, entered the galactic stage in the worst way imaginable; not as neighbors, but as conquerors.

As the vision ended, both Kyle and Hal fell to their knees, gasping as the vision and its hold left their bodies. “Wh-What just--” Kyle panted, trying to catch his breath as he came to terms with what he had seen, “All those worlds…”

Hal covered his eyes as he shook his head clear of the dizziness. “Ganthet…” he murmured, sounding shaken, “What… what was that?”

“The future, if we do nothing,” Ganthet said sadly, “That is why we must act. No more divisions, no more rivalries, no more grudges or misunderstandings. We must act as one; as heroes are supposed to do.”

Hal staggered to his feet, stretching out his hand and getting a feel for the power of the blue ring. Beside him, Kyle was practically vibrating with the amount of power flowing through him, trying to get a handle on all the warring emotions at his fingertips.

Hal set his jaw, looking at Ganthet shrewdly. “I’m not forgiving you,” he said clearly, and the former Guardian nodded, “You and your kind have done nothing but lie to me ever since I first put on the ring. Why should I trust you? Why should I work with you? Give me a reason.”

Ganthet considered his words for a moment, then nodded as he seemed to come to a conclusion. “Perhaps instead I will give you a choice,” Ganthet splayed his arms wide, leaving himself open. “If there is no doubt in your heart, if the only thing you feel is contempt for me and my kind, then go ahead; end it. Kill me, and take away the rings of Kyle and Saint Walker. Go back to your custodianship of the cosmos and pretend this whole affair didn’t happen.”

“... Or?” Hal prompted, still not moving.

“Or, if there is even a small part of you that is still a hero, still the Hal Jordan that the ring chose, all those years ago, then I beg of you, believe me,” Ganthet, “Take pity on me. And have hope that things can change.”

Hal raised his hand, preparing a blast of willpower, and stood still for a long, long time. When he was with the Corps, one of the primary concerns was the safety of the Guardians. They were never to be put in danger, Oa was to be defended around the clock, and if any Lantern was even perceived as threatening them, they were expelled from the Corps. They were so self-absorbed, so concerned with themselves and their superiority, that they never put their own lives on the line while ordering their Lanterns to do so in their stead. All the reward, none of the risk. That cowardice was part of the reason why Hal had killed them.

But now here was Ganthet, leaving himself open to attack. Saint Walker wasn’t making a move to defend him, and Kyle might have, but he was too scatter-brained and distracted by his rings to tell. A Guardian, leaving themselves totally open… the action spoke louder than words ever could.

Hal lowered his hand, letting the power dissipate harmlessly. Saint Walker smiled, and Ganthet inclined his head in acknowledgement, and thanks.

“ If I go help Kyle,” Hal said slowly, “What would we be looking for? Where would we start?”

“A power equal and opposite to the Black Lanterns,” Ganthet reiterated, “Black Lanterns held domain over death; the absence of all the light of the Emotional Spectrum. Its opposite, therefore, would be--”

“White!” Kyle said urgently, “The combination of all that light!”

They all looked at him. “What?” he asked, “I’m an artist, sure, but I paid attention in science class.”

“...Kyle is correct,” Ganthet continued eventually, “White. I believe answers lie beyond the Source Wall.”

“The Source Wall?” Hal asked incredulously, “That’s insane! No one has ever come back from that.”

“Which is why you would need immense power to do so,” Ganthet argued, “Immense power and strength of mind. Which both of you possess.”

“Please, friends,” Saint Walker interjected, “I know this all seems unlikely, but Brother Ganthet’s visions have come true in the past. I beg of you both; have faith. Have hope.”

“This is for the good of your home,” Ganthet promised, “For Earth.”

“For the universe,” Kyle said with a dopey grin, “If I do this, I actually get to go to space and all that?”

“You’re already in space,” Hal pointed out, and he regarded the blue ring for a moment. “Alright,” he said finally, “It sounds about in line with what I’ve been doing anyway. If what you say is true, if what we saw is real, then a new warlord, from Earth of all places, will rise up and destroy all life, is that it?”

“Cast it into darkness,” Ganthet amended, “He cares not for death. Only savagery.”

“I don’t like warlords, galactic or otherwise,” Hal said, and he took the blue ring, “If you’re wrong, I’ll hunt you down again. I haven’t forgiven you for a goddamn thing.”

“I don’t expect you to,” Ganthet said gratefully, “But thank you, Hal, for believing me.”

Hal nodded, unable to find any more words to say. At his side, Kyle vibrated with energy like an overexcited retriever puppy. “Alright, come on!!” he said with a grin, “We’ve got space stuff to do!!”

Hal raised an eyebrow, “Don’t you think you should check in with the League, first? Y’know, let them know I didn’t kill you after all?”

“Oh yeah…” Kyle said sheepishly, “That might be important…”

---

Clark grimaced as he started to drift back into consciousness, opening his eyes to see a clear blue sky and puffy white clouds. It was peaceful.

Then he remembered why he had been knocked out in the first place, and shot up in a panic, only for Roy to hold up his hands placatingly. “Easy, big guy,” he said, jabbing his thumb at a gray-skinned alien in a blue tunic, who smiled in turn, “Saint Walker here’s just getting you all patched up.”

“Saint Walker…?” Clark asked, still groggy from unconsciousness, though the blue light emanating from the alien’s matching ring was starting to fill him up with strength.

“A Blue Lantern,” Saint Walker supplied with a smile, “We possess moderate healing abilities. I felt my efforts would be best served bere while Kyle Rayner and Hal Jordan communicate with your more able-bodied leaders.”

“Hal and Kyle??” Clark asked, now fully standing up and scanning the deck of the ship they were on, “What happened while I was out?”

“Fighting stopped,” Roy said by way of explanation, “Nobody’s dead, so that’s a plus. Lotta shit went sideways, but the jist of it is Hal basically just took down a corrupt government and was worried Kyle was falling down the rabbit hole too. They kissed and made up and now they’re going on a field trip together to stop the apocalypse or whatever.”

Clark blinked at the archer for a moment. “I’m more confused now than I was before,” he admitted, and his eyes finally found Bruce, who was shaking Hal’s hand. Hal, who had traded his armor for a blue ring like Saint Walker’s. The image of it gave Clark vertigo, both familiar and foreign at the same time.

“So, what did we learn?” Kyle was saying admonishingly as Clark approached the small group; he also noticed that Kyle wore nothing but a blue ring, with six others in a construct jar floating at his shoulder. Clark would have to get the details on that later.

Hal, meanwhile, sighed heavily. “Don’t just go,” he muttered in defeat, “I’m sorry for attacking you all, I didn’t mean to scare anyone. I just wanted to get in and get out; being here, on Earth, it… it brings up bad memories. Coast City opened my eyes to a lot of things, and I’m glad for that, but I still lost everything. It fucked me up. I… being on Earth just hurts. I wanted to be here as little as possible.”

“I understand,” Diana told him from where she leaned on a crutch, “In some ways, I’m grateful; you exposed a tremendous divide between our strength and the foes we may soon have to face. In any other circumstance, it would have spelled doom for the planet, but now you have given us time to prepare, and grow stronger.”

“I’ve had some thoughts about that,” Bruce said, turning to the princess, “How do you feel about constructing a training facility? Somewhere where metahumans in the League can hone their skills without fear of property damage.”

“It sounds like a great idea, Bruce,” Clark said with a grin as he finally joined the conversation, “I’ve also been pushing a recruitment drive lately; upping our manpower should solve at least some of our problems.”

“Anyone we accept would have to meet League standards, of course,” Bruce said almost warningly, and Clark nodded.

“Of course,” he agreed, “Diana?”

The princess smiled, “I’m always happy for more comrades in arms.”

Bruce sighed as he gave in, slumping his shoulders. “I suppose I could investigate a few candidates,” he muttered.

“I’m sure you’ll all do fine,” Hal told them, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, “I would stay longer, but… I… don’t want to. Like I said… Earth.”

“We get it, Hal,” Clark sighed, holding his old friend on the shoulder, glad that they seemed to be friends once more, “But next time you come to visit, maybe not rings blazing?”

Hal laughed sheepishly. “Yeah,” he agreed, “Maybe not. But that does remind me…”

Hal turned away, floating over to another corner of the ship, where an Atlantean submarine had surfaced to dock alongside the surface ship. On the deck of the Atlantean craft, two old, familiar faces mingled with old friends, and looked up at Hal with apprehension.

“Hey,” Hal said, floating down to the two of them.

“Hey,” John Stewart said curtly in reply.

“Fuck you,” Guy muttered. It was about as warm as the Bostonian got.

“Look, I know it doesn’t make up for what I did,” Hal started, “And I’m sorry the Corps ended the way it did. But… the Corps was broken, and none of us deserved to keep being used.”

“You should have let us make that choice on our own,” John said, narrowing his eyes.

“I know,” Hal said, “It was a mistake. So now, I’m correcting it.”

A blue construct snaked its way back toward the deck of the surface ship, into the construct bubble that held Hal’s armor, and plucked two green rings from the makeshift breastplate. As the two green rings returned to Hal, he held them for a moment, blinking slightly as he remembered what it had been like to wear them with pride. To feel like what he was doing mattered. That he was making a difference.

Hal sighed as he handed the two green rings over to John and Guy, who took them in astonished disbelief. “I know it doesn’t give you your fingers back,” Hal said, “But they Trinity just said the League needs a power boost; I figured two new Green Lanterns might do the job.”

John smirked as he placed the ring on the stump of his ring finger, and a glowing green construct prosthesis completed the limb as a long-disused Green Lantern uniform spread over his form. “It’s good to be back,” he said gratefully, relief filling his voice.

Guy took his ring back eagerly, almost jealously, and shoved it onto the other hand, grinning in triumph as his unique uniform blazed back into existence. “Oh, hell yeah!! ” he cried, “Guy Gardner is back in the game, bitches!! ”

Hal smiled in spite of himself, floating back up into the sky, preparing to leave for the stars. “Good luck, guys,” he said sadly, “Sorry for all the trouble I caused.”

John shook his head almost fondly. Guy flipped him off, but there was a smile on his face.

Kyle, meanwhile, hovered close to where Conner Kent still lay unconscious, being loaded onto a stretcher. “The blue ring has done all it can,” Ganthet said sadly, “The hybrid Kryptonian will have to heal on his own from here.”

“And no one knows what happened?” Damian Wayne, the new Nightwing, asked sharply, “No one has seen anyone do anything like what Superboy did before?”

“It’s news to me,” Kara said with a shrug, “It was like an underwater supernova. Maybe the exhaustion has something to do with being a clone?”

“... Maybe…” Tommy said uncomfortably, rubbing his wrists, “That’s… kinda scary to think about.”

“Don’t let it be,” Damian said sagely, holding his nephew by the shoulders supportively, grounding him to the moment, “Superboy made a great sacrifice, and he will recover. It could have been far worse, had the stakes actually been death; sooner than you realize, he will recover. He knew the risks, and yet he did it anyway. It’s what makes him a hero.”

Tommy nodded, pursing his lips. “A hero,” he repeated, looking down at his father’s unconscious form.

Pursing his lips, Kyle noticed Hal and Saint Walker waiting for him, and set his jaw in determination. He floated up to join them, and then hesitated, turning back. All across the decks of five or so ships, the Justice League, his friends, his family, looked up at him, waiting to see what he would do. 

Kyle couldn’t just leave without saying goodbye.

“Thank you all for your dedication and hard work!” he cried down to them, “It means more to me than you know! I swear, once Hal and I get what we’re looking for, I’ll come back and return the favor! Thank you all so much for being my friends!”

A few sappy grins broke out amongst the assembled heroes, and Jaime, his closest friend, called out, “ Alright, get outta here, ya big sap! ”

Good-natured laughter rippled through the ranks, and Kyle grinned, “Goodbye, everyone! We’ll be back soon!”

“Hey Barry!” Hal called, a sort of strangled grin on his face, and the bedraggled speedster looked up. Hal grinned wolfishly, “Back in a Flash!”

Barry let out a startled laugh, and in streaks of blue light, the Lanterns were on their way.

There was a moment of silence before Batman finally barked out, “Alright everyone, enough gawking; we’ve all got a lot of work to do, so let’s get it done!”

Diana smiled as superheroes took to the sky, carting sailors back to shore, food and water was distributed, and speedsters boomed off to distant places. She took a moment to herself, just to marvel at it, and sighed, “And the adventure continues…”

---

Red licked his fingers as he finished a fantastic burger from Spangles; it was no Batburger, but it had its charms. On his way out, he grabbed about a thousand ketchup packets, and grinned as he hopped back on his bike. 

New equipment, check.

Miraclo, check.

Inhibitor collar, check.

Copious amounts of ketchup, check.

Now, he had everything he needed. He grinned as he rode through the streets of Central City, dodging and weaving to avoid and confuse traffic cameras, and rolled to a stop outside STAR Labs.

Time to prepare his bait.

Chapter 22: The Stuff of Miracles

Bart Allen smiled gratefully as he was finally allowed to stop running, having finished carting sailors from ship to ship and back to the shore. He finally sat down heavily on a park bench somewhere in Iceland, ordered an ice cream for himself, (ha, get it? Ice cream in Iceland? You get it) and got to relaxing. Ice cream was his go-to for a post-mission cooldown, since no matter how fast you could go, you have to slow down to eat it, because it’s a little unwieldy, and you’ll get brainfreeze. For his Speed Force and ADHD-raddled mind, concentrating on the task of slowing down and licking the cone helped him focus.

And come on, who doesn’t like ice cream?

And of course, right then, in that moment of absolute bliss, is when his Titans communicator went off. “Oh, come on, guys, we just gone done saving the wor--!” Bart began to protest, but then a familiar voice cut him off.

“ Bart, I- cough!- I need your help, ” Tim whispered breathlessly on the other end, and Bart sat up.

“Tim??” he gawked, “OhmyGodisthatreallyyou!?!”

“ It’s me, Bart, ” Tim muttered, grunting in pain as something shifted on the other end, “ I got myself into some hot water, and you’re the only person I know who is not currently trying to kill me. I need an assist. ”

“Where are you!?” Bart asked immediately, tossing his ice cream cone and scanning the horizon to gain his bearings, “I can call the League, they ca--”

“ No! ” Tim growled, and Bart blinked. “ No League, ” Tim reiterated, “ Just you. Please, Bart. ”

Bart really wished he had stopped and considered the suspiciousness of that statement for a little while. He really wished he’d second guessed himself at least a little bit. But his best friend was in trouble, and he trusted Tim with his life. 

“Gotcha,” he said immediately, “Where are you?”

“ Central City, ” Tim grunted, “ STAR Labs. Hurry. ”

“Do I ever not? ” Bart asked with a smirk, and he disappeared from the Icelandic coast with a sonic boom.

Within ten minutes, Bart was inside STAR Labs, searching every room; the complex was strangely empty, not a worker in sight. It was weird. Maybe Tim had been tracking some killer ninja bodysnatchers or something.

Finally, he found Tim in the Speed Trap Room, the room that housed the device his grandfather had used to trap Eobard Thawne during one of their first encounters. Tim lay on the raised dais, dead in the center of the room, groaning in pain as red blood pooled around him.

“Tim!” Bart cried urgently, zipping forward to cradle his friend’s head, and Tim coughed; there was blood leaking from the corner of his mouth, and it covered his entire left side, but Bart couldn’t find the wound, “What happened? Who did this to you??”

“Bart…” Tim whispered, his voice hoarse and strained; his lips cracked into a smile, “I knew I could count on you…”

Bart was too distracted trying to find the wound on Tim’s side that he didn’t notice Tim was putting something on him until it was already clicked shut around his neck.

“... to be so fucking gullible, ” Tim finished, his voice much stronger and clearer now, and Bart backed up in fear as he clawed at the thing around his neck; it almost felt like--

Tim pressed a button on his utility belt, and Bart shrieked as the collar shocked him.

--Yep, definitely an inhibitor collar. Oh, this was so moded.

As Bart fell to the floor, Tim stood up easily, brushing the excess ketchup off his suit. Grinning, he leisurely walked over to the control panel of the Speed Trap and flicked it on, and forcefield walls sprung up around Bart just before he could escape the dais.

Bart pounded against the forcefield, shouting in frustration. His speed was gone, and now he was trapped! “Tim!!” he cried, “What the fuck, man!?!”

Red grinned from where he stood at the Speed Trap’s controls. “Oh, poor, sweet, simple-minded Bart,” he said with a nostalgic sigh, “I’ll admit, this plan was a little on the ropes for a bit, but I should have known you would come through for me. You’re nothing if not predictable.”

“Tim, come on, man, this isn’t funny!” Bart shouted, pounding against the forcefield a little harder, “Let me outta here!!”

“Hmm…” Red responded, tapping his chin thoughtfully for a moment, “Nah. I think I like you like this. Locked up. Helpless.”

Red stepped up to the dais, his face not more than a few inches away from the forcefield. “ Trapped ,” he finished with a grin.

Bart’s skin flushed. “Tim,” he whispered, “Please. What is this?”

“It’s a trap, Kid Flash,” Red said to him, turning his back as he stalked out the door, “And you’re the bait.” As he reached the doorframe, he hesitated, levelling an icy cold glare over his shoulder, “And the name’s Red Robin. ”

“Tim!” Bart cried as Red closed the door behind him, plunging Bart into darkness, “ Tim!! ”

---

Bruce frowned as he and Clark carried Conner on a stretcher between them, both Bats and Supers going to the Watchtower to regroup after the battle. “He’ll need sunlamps,” Clark said, as if Bruce didn’t already know.

“The Watchtower’s medical bay is equipped to handle wounded Kryptonians,” he answered, “We’ll do all we can.”

Tommy hovered at his father’s side nervously, almost reaching out to hold his hand before stopping himself. Bruce sighed and hunched his shoulders, trying to ward off the darker thoughts. His grandson was a remarkable young man, a bright light for the future of superheroism, he didn’t deserve to watch his parents almost die every weekend.

But Superboy would make a full recovery. That much they were certain of.

As they made for the Poseidonis Zeta Tube, Jon Kent grinned as he poked and prodded at Damian’s new suit. “And was this original Nightwing, or did you add that bit?” he asked, gesturing to the more armored insignia on his chest.

“I added it,” Damian said, “I will honor Grayson’s more aerialist style of fighting, but I am not him; I don’t have the same natural skill. I will need to make my own adjustments to the suit to remain effective in the field.”

Jon grinned as he bumped Damian’s shoulders with his own, half playfully, half supportively. “You’ll do him proud,” he said with a smile, and Damian nodded, his face betraying nothing. Was it Bruce’s imagination, or was his son blushing…?

“So old man,” Jason interjected, having broken off from his lovers to walk next to Bruce, “What was that big news you were gonna tell us about before Hal decided to go nuclear?”

Bruce straightened in response, almost having forgotten, and shared a look with Clark. Jason’s eyebrows went up. “Ah,” he said blithely, “That kind of news, huh?”

“Let’s just wait until we’ve gotten Oracle from the Watchtower and we’re all back in the Cave,” Bruce said after a moment, turning away to continue toward the Zeta Tube, “It’s not a conversation we should have out in the open.”

“ Watchtower Zeta Tube is prepped and ready for your arrival, ” Oracle said over comms, “ Mister Terrific and Martian Manhunter are setting up the sunlamps in the medbay for Superboy as well. ”

“Roger that, Oracle,” Superman said in response, “We’re on our way up.”

As they all stepped through the Zeta Tube in Poseidonis, they felt the strange tingling sensation of teleportation as they were all carried upwards, from the bottom of the ocean to the upper atmosphere, molecule by molecule at the speed of light, and stepped out into the main observation deck of the Watchtower.

Adam Strange and the Rannians had been very helpful in the development of that particular technological marvel.

J’onn was already waiting for them all, and as they stepped through, he took Conner’s stretcher from them with his telekinesis. “I will handle it from here,” he said, gliding Conner gently down the hallways.

“Thank you, J’onn,” Bruce said with a nod, then began setting up the Zeta Tube to take them all back down to Gotham while Clark, Jon, and Kara stayed with Conner.

Tommy looked torn, looking between his father’s retreating form and the rest of his family, when Bruce stopped and turned to him. “Drake,” he called, and Tommy straightened up, “You need to be in the room for this. Superboy is in good hands.”

“Yeah,” Tommy said absently, beginning to rejoin the Batfamily while still looking over his shoulder, watching until the Supers all disappeared from sight, “Yeah, okay.”

---

Rex Tyler sighed as he finally got home, stretching out his shoulder and wincing as he stretched it too far; his age was starting to catch up to him. Still, though, he made his way down the stairs to his basement apartment and put the key in the lock, coming in the door and closing it behind him.

His apartment was exactly how he remembered it.

He walked to the back, to his lab space, and took the hourglass necklace from around his neck, as well as the small supply of Miraclo from his belt, and opened his safe, ready to put his equipment with the rest of his precious Miraclo, when he finally noticed what was wrong. “No…” he whispered, moving everything in the safe to one side, then frantically tearing everything out of it, as if its missing contents might materialize, “No. No! ”

When he’d created that drug, he’d known for a fact that he could never let it fall into the hands of anyone else. The Japanese had gotten their hands on it, and though they couldn’t replicate it, they turned it into the fearsome Mirakuru, the compound that had been used to create Deathstroke. Then, Mirakuru was lost on Lian Yu, and the trace amounts of Miraclo and Mirakuru still on the market morphed into Venom, the drug that Bane used to wreak havoc in Gotham for so many years. 

After Deathstroke and Bane, Rex had made it his life’s mission to ensure that no more Miraclo ever found its way to the black market. He had been careless once, in 1942, and it had cost the world dearly. There was no way he could have failed again, it was inconceivable to him that someone could have stolen it out from under his nose…

But he had been away from his apartment. Someone had known that Hourman wouldn’t be there to protect his most precious resource. Someone had planned this.

Someone had stolen his Miraclo.

---

“Rex, slow down,” Jay sighed, rubbing his forehead as he sat down heavily at the JSA Round Table, listening to his old friend’s frantic voice on the phone, “Are you sure it’s gone?”

“ Yes, I’m sure! ” Rex cried indignantly, “ Someone stole it! Enough doses to last a few months, too! Goddammit Jay, we need to find it before someone gets hurt--! ”

As Rex was still speaking, Jay sat up as his phone rang again; he took it away from his ear and after a bit of finagling he figured out that Wally was calling him, too. “Rex, hold on, I’ve got Wally on the other line, it could be urgent,” Jay said to his old friend, “Call Fate, see if he can’t magic up the location.”

“ Right. Right, good idea, ” Rex muttered after a moment, “ Call me as soon as you’re done with Wally. ”

“Roger,” Jay answered, “Over and out.” Jay hung up, then answered Wally, who’d called twice more by then, “Sorry Wally, I was on with Hourman; what is it?”

“ Are you home? Is Bart there?? ” Wally asked urgently, and Jay furrowed his brow. 

“No, I’m at JSA Headquarters, keeping up our records and making sure the tour groups don’t go anywhere they shouldn’t,” he responded, “Why? What’s wrong with Bart?”

“ Gar called from San Fran, Bart never made it back to Titans Tower after the fight, ” Wally said quickly, “ He went to go get some ice cream in Reykjavik and no one’s seen him since. ”

Jay’s blood went cold. “Wally, I’m hoping it’s a coincidence, but I’ve got some bad news from Hourman,” he said carefully, and he could almost see Wally’s flabbergasted expression over the phone.

“ What is it? ” he asked.

“Someone stole the Miraclo,” Jay said, and there was a long silence over the line.

“ ... And I just got a text from Mr Terrific, ” Wally said in a hushed voice, “ He’s asking if I’d seen anything about a break-in at Iron Heights. Six fatalities, and a missing inhibitor collar. Something’s up here, Jay. ”

“I agree…” Jay murmured, “Who are we getting involved in this? JSA? Titans? League?”

“ We just got off an All Hands on Deck, we can’t call everyone in again, ” Wally sighed, “ Look, how about I just grab Barry and we all meet at my house? We can compare notes there and try to figure this out. ”

“Got it,” Jay said, standing up and collecting his helmet, “I’ll be there in a Flash.”

“Ughhhh….” Wally moaned over the line, “ Come on, Jay, we just got Barry back; we’re hitting our Flash pun quota now. ”

“Right, right, my mistake,” Jay said with a grin, “Be there soon,” and he hung up. He sent a quick text-message to Rex, saying simply, Complications, Bart’s missing. Comparing notes with Barry and Wally, call soon.

And with that, Jay was gone in a Flash.

---

Barry’s eyes widened as he absently checked his phone, seeing a message from Bart. It was a video. He quickly opened it and hit play, eager to find any indication of his grandson’s whereabouts, and as it loaded up, he immediately regretted his decision.

Bart was on his knees, an inhibitor collar around his neck, hands tied around his back as he knelt in the Speed Trap at STAR Labs. Barry had built it himself.

“ Smile for the camera, Bart! ” a familiar voice called from behind the camera, and Bart looked up, eyes wide and fearful.

“ Tim, please, don’t do this--! ” he begged, and Barry winced as Bart cut himself off with a shriek of pain, clutching his neck as the collar shocked him.

“ How many times do I need to tell you? The name’s Red, ” Tim snarled from the camera, and Barry clenched his fist, “ Now then; anything you want to say to your grandfather, Bart? ”

Bart gasped, trying to catch his breath after the burst of pain. “ Barry… ” he murmured, “ Barry, Wally, Jay, don’t come here! It’s a trap, he’s trying to--GAAAHH!!! ”

“ Ah ah ah! ” Tim said, finally walking into frame, his finger pressed down on a remote control, “ No spoilers! Hello, Flash. Flash. Flash; you get the gist. I find myself in need of a unique favor that only you three can provide, so this is me asking nicely. As soon as you get this, come to STAR Labs, alone , or… ” 

Barry blanched as Tim stalked behind Bart, pulling the other boy up into a chokehold as he drew a pistol from his side, levelling it at Bart’s temple. “ I find out the hard way whether or not Kid Flash here is faster than a speeding bullet, ” Tim finished, “ See you soon, Flash. ”

Tim shot the camera.

“Wally…” Barry murmured, still in shock, then he stood up urgently, knocking the chair over, “Wally! Wally!! ”

His nephew appeared in the living room, where Barry had been sitting, looking panicked and holding his phone. “Did you see--” he started breathlessly, and Barry nodded.

“He sent it to me, too,” Barry said, “What about--”

A bright flash of light and the sound of rushing air filled the space, and the eldest Flash appeared beside the two of them, looking sick. “You two won’t believe the message I just got--” he started, but Wally cut him off.

“We both got it too,” he said, clenching his jaw, “ Damn it. What should… what do we do?”

“Bruce needs to know Tim is on the loose again,” Barry said immediately.

“But he said not to call anyone,” Wally interjected, “By contacting Bruce, we may put Bart in danger.”

“But they were both in the Teen Titans,” Jay said, “Why would Tim do this?”

Barry and Wally shared a look. “You were kinda removed from it, Jay, but Tim’s been through a lot,” Barry started, “It included a Lazarus Pit. He’s… not all there anymore. He’s capable of anything.”

Jay’s face darkened. “Then it’s worse than we thought,” he sighed, “But luckily, it’s not all bad.”

“What do you mean?” Wally asked, turning to the elder hero, and Jay took off his helmet, running his fingers along its rim; a nervous habit.

“I told you I was on the phone with Rex Tyler right before you called,” Jay began, “Someone stole the Miraclo. I told him to go to Fate, have him magic up the location; when they find it, they’ll try to call me again, and of course, I won’t be available. Then, they’ll try to call you, and you won’t be there either. Then, they’ll call the League, and they’ll put it together that three Flashes going missing around the same time as an Iron Heights break-in and a Miraclo heist isn’t a coincidence. They’ll find us, and put a stop to it all.”

Barry nodded along with what his predecessor was saying, putting a hand on his chin. “So all we need to do is stall Tim until the League arrives in force…” he murmured, “It could work.”

“It has to,” Wally sighed, “Suit up. We’ve got a psychopath to deal with.”

Jay and Barry nodded, and naught but a moment later, three Flashes zoomed into the Speed Trap room of STAR Labs, all nervous and ready for a fight.

“Kid!” Wally cried desperately, leading the pack as Barry and Jay fell in behind him.

Still inside the trap, Bart perked up as he saw them all. “What are you guys doing here??” he demanded, “I told you, it’s a trap-!”

“They weighed the risks,” a new, commanding voice said from the shadows above them, and like a vengeful wraith, Red Robin dropped from the ceiling in a cloud of black kevlar, “And they decided your life was more important than theirs. Because they’re heroes. ”

Red grinned ruefully as he pulled off his domino mask, letting it flutter to the floor. “And it’s a good thing, too,” he said, meeting their eyes with his icy blue gaze, “Because I need saving.”

“ You? ” Wally growled angrily, taking a step forward, “You really think we’re going to help you after everything you’ve done!? After you killed Dick!? ”

Red rolled his eyes. “I’m not the one who killed Dick Grayson,” he muttered, “ Junior did that. And by helping me, you’re actually going to kill both Junior and myself.”

Wally, Barry, and Jay all shared confused looks.

Red smiled, the same way the Devil might smile when he’d swindled someone out of their soul. “Do I have your attention now? ” he asked.

“We’re listening,” Barry said, clearly still unhappy, but stepping in front of Wally to be the point-man all the same.

“Good. now, as Batman has no doubt informed you, I suffer from Dissociative Identity Disorder as a result of resurrection via Lazarus Pit,” Red began, pacing around the room and readying certain chemicals and compounds as he spoke, “Before resurrection, my psychological problems were much less pronounced; much more manageable. I could still function as a reliable asset with the way things were before.”

Red turned to face them, a vial of glowing green liquid in his hands. “But things aren’t the way they were before, and that is my main problem,” he continued, “And now that some time has passed and I’ve had some time to think, the Lazarus Water running through my veins is the only variable left as to being responsible for my psychosis. If I had a lifetime and six different degrees, I could therefore theoretically create a cure for the Pit Madness, and return my mind to its previous condition; that is, without the roommates. It would only be Tim Drake once again. But, alas, I do not have a lifetime, nor do I have six degrees in biochemistry.”

Red grinned as he pressed the green vial into Barry’s hands. “But you do,” he finished, “You three can think over the mysteries of the universe in the time it takes a hummingbird to flap its wings. You also just so happen to be some of the brightest chemists in the history of humanity; Jay’s work is still foundational to much of the medicines we use today. So then, Flashes, this is my ultimatum: find a cure for my Pit Madness, or Kid Flash dies.”

Barry, Wally, and Jay all grimaced as Red stepped away from them, standing between them and Bart with a proud smile on his face, as if he’d just found the cure for cancer.

“Tim…” Barry began, and Red’s gaze darkened.

“ Red, ” he corrected.

“ Red, ” Barry amended, “There… there isn’t a cure, not for DID, not for Pit Madness. What you’re asking, it’s… it’s impossible.”

“Is it?” Red asked, quirking an eyebrow, “You know, when Jay here was a young man, they thought the same thing about the cure for Polio. Or Penicillin. Or x-rays, and vaccines. It’s really not that much, boys; I’m only asking you to make history.”

“You know…” Jay tried, “Four heads are better than three. We could do it a lot faster if we had Bart with us-”

“Nice try, Jay,” Red said with that same thin, sickly-sweet smile, “But you forget, I know him better than any of you. Bart is a mechanical engineer, not a chemist. The help he could provide would be negligible. If at any point you need to build a car from nothing but a jukebox and an old arcade machine, I might just let him out then.

“Oh, and just in case you three were thinking of escaping and telling the League about all this--” Red smiled as he pressed a button on his utility belt, and the whole building began to shake and hum.

“ Tim! ” Wally cried over the noise, “ What did you do!? ”

“You didn’t really think I just put Bart in a cage and call it a day, did you?” Red asked, sounding insulted, “I’ve had Bart here for three hours, Wally. I’ve been busy. I took your design of the Speed Trap and just kinda… blew it up a little.”

Barry ran out of the room in a panic, and just as he tried to exit the building, he grunted as he ran into a forcefield wall… identical to the one he had designed for the Speed Trap.

“Oh my God…” Barry murmured as he sat there, still knocked on his ass from the impact.

“That’s correct!” Red said with glee, “I’ve turned the entirety of STAR Labs into one giant Speed Trap! So now, my ultimatum is two fold: make my cure, or Bart dies, and try to leave, and Bart dies. You should have everything you need in this building; it's miracle time, gentlemen!

"No pressure.”

---

Clark sighed as he, Jon, and Kara helped J’onn set up the sunlamps in the Watchtower’s medical bay, pursing his lips as he watched his elder son’s chest rise and fall with each shallow breath. It hurt, to see him laid so low. It was also disturbing to know that there might be something in his biology that affected his state; were human/Kryptonian hybrids more unstable than they realized?

Whatever Clark was about to conclude from that thought, however, was interrupted as the emergency contact screen lit up, and a familiar voice called, “ Superman .”

“Doctor Fate,” Clark greeted, floating further forward to face the screen as the mystic’s golden helmet came into view, “How can I help?”

“ I’m here with Hourman, he has some disturbing news, ” Fate said, and Rex Tyler turned the camera toward himself.

“ Someone stole my Miraclo! ” he cried, “ It’s gone! I told Jay, and now he’s off the radar, too! Same thing with Barry, Wally, and Bart! ”

“The whole Flash Family is missing? ” Jon asked from behind him, clearly disturbed.

“They can take care of themselves,” Kara supplied, “I’m more worried about the Miraclo. Isn’t that the stuff that gives you your powers, Rex?”

“ It is! ” Hourman cried, “ It’s a miracle of chemical engineering! It’s what helped us beat the Nazis! But it’s also incredibly dangerous in the wrong hands! ”

“ I’ve tracked the Miraclo with a spell, it’s location was especially interesting, considering the missing persons case, ” Fate continued, and Clark set his jaw.

“Where is it?” he asked, fearing the worst.

“ STAR Labs, ” Fate said, “Central City.”

And at that moment, the door to the medbay was flung open as Mister Terrific raced around the corner, crying, “Superman! Weird forcefield at STAR Labs!” 

Clark sighed. “If I were a betting man…” he muttered, then started making for the door, “Fate, I’ll be right there. Put some of the less-injured Leaguers on alert; I’m hoping I can take care of this myself, but depending on who this is, it could get ugly.”

“ Understood, ” Fate said, nodding as the video feed cut out.

“You got it, boss man,” Terrific agreed, stepping out of his way as Clark flew through the Zeta Tube to Central City.

---

Bruce couldn’t get through the Zeta Tube fast enough; he wanted to check on Tim. He wasn’t exceptionally worried, they’d left Cass there as his guard for a reason, but still; he worried.

As they all passed through the Zeta Tube, stepping out into the Cave, Bruce’s worst fears materialized.

The Cave was in utter disarray. The railings had been bent and broken in some places, workbenches trashed, batarangs scattered across the floor, but worst of all was the thick trail of blood leading from the trophy room to the stairs. There had been a fight.

“Oh my God,” Jason whispered, then he burst forward, Roy and Kori at his side, all of them shouting, “ Jane!? Ollie!? ”

“ Papa!! ” two voices shouted in unison from the medical bay, and Bruce breathed a sigh of relief as the twins burst out from behind the curtains, already being tackled into hugs by their parents, whispering assurances and thanks that they were safe and still alive and unharmed.

“Bruce?” a familiar voice called, and Bruce stepped forward to meet Jim Gordon, looking tired and haggard, but none the worse for wear.

“Jim,” Bruce greeted, “What happened? Where’s Cass? Where’s Tim, and Alfred?”

Jim spared a glance at Tommy, then scanned the crowd. “Where’s Conner?” he asked, but Bruce sighed in frustration as he grabbed his old friend by the shoulders, urging him to focus.

“He’s on the Watchtower, stable and receiving care,” Bruce said quickly, “Cass. Tim. Alfred. Where are they. ”

Jim sighed as he ran a hand through his hair, but before he could answer, the curtains of the medical bay were thrown open.

“Cass is stable, but it was touch and go for a while,” Kate Kane said clearly from where she had been helping Dr. Thompkins, still watching over the injured vigilante, “Alfred’s fine, but down for the count; threw his back out trying to help Cass. Tim’s gone.”

Bruce let go of Jim, rushing forward to check on his daughter, checking her pulse and vitals, even though he knew Leslie must have already done it, and far better than he could ever have. Cass looked absolutely wrecked, her side heavily bandaged and her skin pale, and her pulse was weak, but it was steady. She would be okay. Which meant Bruce could focus on the last part of Kate’s briefing.

“What do you mean he’s gone!? ” Bruce demanded, rounding on his cousin, “Where did he go!? How did he get out!?”

Kate sighed, crossing her arms, unphased by Batman’s anger. “Best guess is one of his more disagreeable sides took over,” she started, “No, I don’t know who. But somehow, he managed to get down to the Cave without going past Alfred, and he beat Cass in a fight.”

“Babybird did what!? ” Jason asked, shocked; none of them had ever beaten Cass in a sparring match before.

Meanwhile, Bruce’s hands stilled as he thought over the first part of that statement. Tim got to the Cave without going past Alfred. That meant Tim knew about the entrance in his study. He would have to keep it monitored, now.

“Father!” Damian called from the other side of the Cave, and Bruce’s attention snapped to him. He stood at the beginning of the blood trail, near where a few of the trophy displays had been knocked over in the fight. One display in particular was smashed open. “I think I know how Timothy won,” he said tersely, inspecting the empty display, “Joe Chill’s pistol is gone.”

“And Cass was shot in the side,” Leslie supplied, taking off her blood-stained latex gloves and disposing of them, “It’s not an unfair assumption.”

“Tim must have led the fight to the gun on purpose,” Jason muttered, half to himself, “ Jesus, that kid’s got a brain.”

“Master Bruce,” a new voice said, and Bruce finally turned his attention to the rear of the medical bay, where Alfred sat hunched in a chair, holding an icepack over his lower back.

“Alfred!” Bruce cried, immediately kneeling at his surrogate father’s side, “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“I came to no harm,” Alfred assured him breathlessly, taking his ward’s hand, “I’m afraid my body merely failed me. I am… so, so sorry, Master Bruce. Had it not been for my weakness-”

“Alfred, you have absolutely nothing to apologize for,” Bruce assured him, cutting him off immediately, “It was unfair of me to ask this of you in your condition. You should be enjoying your golden years in peace, not… not this.”

“My dear boy,” Alfred sighed, patting his hand, “I wouldn’t spend my time any other way.”

“Still, you should rest,” Bruce told him, standing up, “None of the blame is on you for this.”

He turned back to the group, his mind racing as his family looked to him for guidance, but as he spotted one in particular, he stopped.

Tommy stood absolutely still in the center of the Cave, staring at Cass’s pale, unmoving form unblinkingly. Then he thought of Conner, similarly motionless, and his jaw wobbled. His fists clenched and unclenched. 

“Tommy,” Bruce said cautiously, approaching him slowly, very wary of a possible Kryptonian tantrum, “Tommy, son, you need to calm down. It’s okay; they’re both gonna be okay. No one died, everyone’s okay.”

Tommy didn’t respond, merely watching the spot where almost everyone he cared about lay unconscious and on the verge of death. His father, the one whom he’d only just recently connected with, was unconscious, and no one knew why. His aunt, the one who’d taken care of him when no one else had, had almost died. Alfred, the kind and steady presence in all of their lives, had been hurt trying to help them. And to top it all off, his dad, the one who’d raised him, the one who he thought would protect him and love him forever, had run away, again, and was responsible for their injuries in the first place.

It was Joker Junior all over again, except this time Tommy knew full well what was going on and who was behind it.

Tommy’s fists clenched. His eyes began to glow red.

All those times. All those times he had sat awake at night, wishing for his father, praying for a return to the way that things were, and this was how he was repaid. Uncle Dick was dead, killed in the same sick fashion as his parents. Aunt Cass was gravely wounded, having almost bled out from where Tim had shot her. Conner had nearly killed himself, putting his life on the line in an emergency that Tim had used as an excuse to escape.

Everything that Tim had done, from the moment he and Tommy had been separated, had done nothing but hurt him. Before he really knew what was happening, he was out of the Cave, flying through the sky at breakneck speeds, listening for his father’s heartbeat, his voice, anything.

Because Tommy was tired of being the one getting hurt. He felt like turning the tables for a change.

---

“ Superman, where are you? ” Bruce demanded in his ear, and Clark sighed as he flew through the skies of Central City, pressing the little device in his ear to respond.

“Central City, responding to a disturbance at STAR Labs,” Clark muttered, “Let me guess, there’s a fire in Gotham, too.”

“ Tim escaped, we don’t know which part of him, ” Bruce said urgently, “ And I think Tommy’s gone after him. ”

Clark stopped in the sky where he was, surveying the massive forcefield bubble above STAR Labs, and the small, black-clad figure waiting patiently outside for him. “Roger,” Clark sighed, “I think I’ve found Tim. Put someone on Tommy-catching duty before he gets himself hurt. Jon or Kara should be available.”

“ What do you mean you’ve found Tim??” Bruce demanded, and Clark sighed as he just shut the earpiece off; he could only deal with so much Bat in one day.

He floated down to the ground, touching down in front of the man he could now positively confirm as Tim.

“Superman,” he said cordially, unbothered as the Man of Steel stood in front of him, “I was wondering who they would send. I’m a little short on kryptonite, but I still have something to even the playing field a little.” Clark blanched as Tim produced a familiar bright green pill.

“Tim, please, whatever you’re doing, just stop, and we can get you some help,” Clark said to the former Robin, hoping that some of that awe and hero worship wasn’t spoiled just yet, “That’s Miraclo, Tim; you don’t know what it’s going to do to you!”

“Oh? Oh I don’t?” Tim laughed scornfully, “I know damn well what it does, Clark. For one hour, it’ll make me as strong as you. It’s not kryptonite, but it’s a damn fine second.”

And before Clark could stop him, he popped the pill into his mouth and swallowed.

Chapter 23: Father and Son

Red gasped as the Miraclo coursed through his veins, all his muscles tensing at once. He gritted his teeth so hard he thought they might break, clenched his fists so hard he knew he should be drawing blood, but for some reason, the skin didn’t break. Green glowed at the edge of his vision, whether from the drugs or the Pit he didn’t know, but by the time the initial shock wore off and his muscles slowly relaxed, it was all Red could do to just breathe.

He was vaguely aware of Clark watching him warily as Red slowly calmed down, stretching out his fingers and toes and arms and legs. Something felt different; newer, better, faster, stronger. He’d never felt anything like this before; this power, this strength! He felt like he could run a marathon and feel fine afterward. It felt like the greatest Runner’s High in the world, and Red was just getting started.

“Tim…” Clark said, holding his hand out as if Red were some sort of wild animal.

It pissed Red right the fuck off.

His eyes snapped to meet Clark’s, blue as the sky he flew through, and Red stared at him unblinkingly. “Is this how you feel… all the time?” he asked quietly, and Clark swallowed.

“I don’t know what you mea-” he tried, but before he could finish, Red was closing the distance between them, fist reared back as he went to punch Superman in the face.

Clark’s eyes widened as he quickly stepped out of the way, ducking his head, but while he was paying attention to Red’s fist, he wasn’t watching his leg, which was currently striking outward to sweep the Man of Steel’s feet out from under him. 

Red grinned savagely as Clark hit the ground with a hard thud, grunting from the impact. “ That, ” he said, watching as the Kryptonian picked himself up, “That’s what I mean.”

Clark wiped some gravel from his cheek, then sighed as he held up his fists in a fighting stance. “It doesn’t have to be this way, Tim,” Clark said sadly, “You’re sick. You need help. Just tell me what you did with the Flash Family, we can get you back home, and we can forget this whole thing ever happened.”

Red scowled. “Why is this so hard for you people?” he muttered, and he ran forward, throwing a feint toward Clark’s temple that he followed up with a kick to his solar plexus, winding him and forcing him to stagger for a second while Red took the initiative, grabbing Clark by the collar, bringing him up and beginning to lay into him with punch after punch, hitting his eyes, his nose, his gut; all the soft, squishy places Red knew Clark wasn’t trained enough to block. The hits felt heavier than any Red had thrown in his life; like if they had been hitting anything besides Superman, they might have toppled buildings. It felt amazing.

“ My. name. is. Red. Robin!! ” he growled out with each hit, and at the end of his assault, he held a mildly battered Superman by the collar, grinning savagely as he saw the blood leaking from his nose, “ Wanna know how I got it? ”

Clark blinked the blurriness out of his vision, then grabbed Red’s arms, trying to break the grip, but before he could, Red broke off, kicked Clark one more time, and backflipped to gain some distance; as he landed a little harder than he intended, the pavement cracked beneath him. Every little movement caused the ground to tremble, just a little; Red felt that right about now, he could do anything. The Miraclo was aptly named; this strength, this feeling, it really was a miracle.

“Hot damn, ” he said with a laugh, “You’ve been holdin’ out on the rest of us, Supey! Power like this? It’s amazing. I’ve never felt more alive! Too bad you never trained a day in your life, you might actually be able to do something with it.”

Clark grunted as he got to his feet, wiping the blood from his nose as he levelled a glare at Red. “This is your last chance, Tim,” he said calmly, “Come quietly. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Now, Red actually threw his head back and laughed in Superman’s face. “OH!” he laughed, matching Clark’s subpar fighting stance with his own, “Oh, the Big Bad Superman doesn’t want to hurt me? I’m just shaking in my boots. ”

Red surged forward, taking out his new bo staff as he cracked Superman over the head, then kicked him in the stomach, then spun around and kicked him in the side of the head again. “ Faster than a speeding bullet! ” he cried mockingly, then, as Clark stumbled backward, getting his bearings, Red reared back, then poured all his strength into one savage haymaker right to the Kryptonian’s solar plexus; he felt it produce a shockwave that resonated up his bones, “ More powerful than a locomotive!”

Clark growled as he tried to punch Red back, swinging blindly, but Red gracefully leapt right over him, clearing the top of his head by five feet and landing light as a cat behind him. “ And able to leap tall buildings in a single bound! ” he continued, using his bo to swipe at Clark’s feet, knocking him down again.

“Face it, Clark!” Red continued, picking Superman up by the cape and spinning him around faster than he’d ever been able to move, and slamming Clark down into the pavement of the STAR Labs parking lot, grinning as he felt the Miraclo pulsing through his veins. “Anything you can do,” Red said, twirling his staff idly as Clark staggered to his feet, “I can do better. ”

Clark spat blood out of his mouth as he knelt, and unseen by Red, clenched his left fist. He breathed for a moment, then closed his eyes. “ I’m sorry, Bruce, ” he whispered, then he stood up and socked Red Robin across the face as hard as he could.

Red flew through the air, landing in a heap about thirty feet away. He coughed as he sat up, wiping blood from his chin, staring at where Clark began hovering in midair above him in astonishment. “What the fuck…?” he mumbled, but faster than he could blink, Superman was holding up by the collar, scowling as he held their faces close together and lifted them both up into the air.

“Let me be very clear with you: the only reason your jaw isn’t flesh jelly and bone powder right now is because of that Miraclo you took,” Clark informed him coldly, all kindness and caring gone from his voice as the Big Blue Boy Scout finally lost his temper, “That’s the only advantage it’s going to give you. I thought you were supposed to be the smart Robin, so why do you think that a few pills will make you as strong as me? ”

Red opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, Clark flung him down at the pavement, and Red grunted as he asphalt splintered around him, landing him flat on his back and wheezing in a crater.

Superman loomed over him in the bright glare of the sun, looking like a vengeful god. “You and I are not on the same playing field, Tim,” he called down, crossing his arms in disapproval, “We’re still leagues apart. I’ve been Superman for forty years, and in that time, I’ve fought intergalactic warlords, monsters from outer space, and dark gods. Hell, for most of that, you saw me do it. You watched me dispatch each and every threat to Earth since you were in diapers; did you really think one little pill would put you on my level?”

Red blinked as panic slowly began to set in. This… this wasn’t right. The Miraclo should have evened things out! Clark would still have the speed and strength advantage, but Red was a more capable fighter! He should be able to outmaneuver Clark and defeat him strategically like he did Cass! 

But Superman was far quicker and far stronger than he was led to believe. Far smarter, too. And if Superman didn’t have the weaknesses Red thought he did…

“Oh shit,” Red whispered, staggering to his feet, “Oh, shit! ”

In an instant, Clark was in front of him, crossing his arms with an unimpressed glare. “Is that all you have?” he asked scornfully, and Red scowled as he threw a punch that could’ve crumpled a car, only for Clark to catch it easily, raising an eyebrow at it, “‘ More powerful than a locomotive’ , huh?”

“ Don’t you fucking mock me--!! ” Red snapped, his vision tinting green as he struck out at Clark in pure rage, punching him again, only for Clark to grab his other fist and force his hands close, blowing on them to freeze them together, then grabbing Red by the arms and spinning him around, throwing him down to the ground, letting him roll and tumble to a stop.

Red coughed as he struggled into an upright position, growling as he flexed his hands and shattered the ice apart, getting to his feet quickly. “If you don’t want to be mocked, start winning, ” Clark said, moving so fast it looked to Red like he was teleporting.

This was bad. This was really, really bad. He’d totally underestimated Superman. He needed a plan, and fast.

Red leapt backward, throwing smoke pellets out to hopefully confuse the Man of Steel, then turned and ran for his life. Clark, to his credit, merely rolled his eyes and took a deep breath, blowing the smoke away, then flew to land right on top of Red, drop-kicking him into the pavement, feeling it crack under the pressure.

“ Who do you think you are? ” Clark asked him, “I’ve beaten gods and monsters like Zod, Doomsday, Darkseid! Did you really think you could stand up to me, Tim?”

Red twitched, trying to get to his feet, but Clark was done; he grabbed Red Robin by the hair, slamming his face down into the pavement. “You’re not Darkseid,” he said, and he slammed Red down again, “You’re not Doomsday,” and one last time, harder than the others, to let the lesson sink in, “You’re not even Zod. ”

Red coughed as he twitched slightly, his body on fire from the numerous hits. His nose gushed blood, running down his chin, and he grunted some out of his mouth, spitting it at the ground.

But beneath the thick layer of pain, his brain was working overtime; he needed a way to beat Clark. He was so close; so close! He couldn’t lose it all now because of some poor planning! He had to win this. He had to.

Miraclo wasn’t cutting it, so he needed some other way to get Superman down to his level. Kryptonite wasn’t available, so that was a bust. Red sun radiation could do the job, but that would take time he didn’t have. But, he was at STAR Labs, one of the most advanced scientific campuses on the planet; there might just be something in there to catch Superman unawares.

It was a long shot, but then again, it was his only shot.

Red got up and ran toward the building, passing through the Speed Trap barrier easily; Barry’s design was genius, it acted somewhat like a non-Newtonian liquid. It repulsed anything hitting it with too much force, such as a speedster or the field of Speed Force that surrounds them; anyone without a connection to the Speed Force just moving at a regular speed could pass through as if stepping through a layer of jello.

So, when Clark tried to follow Red at superspeed, Red grinned as he heard the telltale SMACK! as Clark slammed against the forcefield. Oobleck’s a bitch.

Still, the Speed Trap wasn’t going to help him forever; just as Red reached the main entrance of the building, Superman caught up with him, appearing in front of him with angry, glowing red eyes.

Red cursed, dodging to the side as Clark let his heat vision loose, burning a trench into the sidewalk. He grabbed at something on his utility belt, throwing the pellets at Superman and closing his eyes as he ran for the door.

Clark turned to face the threat, burning through them, but as he did, bright flashes of condensed magnesium flared up right in front of his eyes, and Superman roared in pain as the light stabbed his retinas, stunning him for a few precious seconds as Red tore through STAR Labs.

Good news was that STAR Labs also acted as a de facto home base for the Flash, aside from the Flash Museum. Various equipment was scattered throughout the two facilities, considered safer to keep them apart; it played to Red’s advantage in this situation, since he might be able to scrounge up some of the equipment from the Central City Rogues that Barry and Wally had confiscated over the years. 

That, and whatever fun toys the scientists had cooked up of their own accord. 

Red found a door labelled “EXPERIMENTAL & CONFISCATED METAHUMAN SUBDUAL EQUIPMENT”, and promptly smashed it inward, revelling in his newfound strength, even if it was less than he’d initially thought it was. Just as he stepped inside, he heard the whoosh of rushing air behind him, and he grabbed the nearest thing off the shelves, turned and fired it at Superman.

Sadly, it turned out to be Heatwave’s gun, so Clark merely stood in the flames, unimpressed. “Thanks,” he said, rushing forward and crushing the gun in Red’s hands, making the younger man flinch back in pain as the heat flared, “I was getting a little chilly.”

“Gah! Fuck you, man!” Red snapped, kicking down one of the massive shelving units, collapsing it down on top of Superman, which didn’t pin him, but it did bury him in a mountain of crap, which bought Red some time.

As Clark ripped through various trinkets and expensive devices, Red ran further into the storeroom, grabbing another thing off the shelves; it was big and looked sciency, so hopefully it would slow Clark down a little more than Heatwave’s gun.

As Clark ran forward, Red spun around, hefting up the giant gun, grinning as he fired it full on at Clark’s chest. A great big staple, glowing with a blue arc of electricity, burst forth from the gun, slamming into Clark’s chest and pinning him to the wall behind him. As Clark grunted from the force of the impact, Red pressed a button on the gun’s side, grinning as it made the clamp shock Superman at full force, eliciting a cry of pain; Red left the clamp/shock gun on full blast while he turned and fled further into the storeroom, an idea coming to mind.

The Flash was one of the few Leaguers with enough raw power to take on the world and win, yet still had trouble against street-level threats. That was because the Central City Rogues waged asymmetric warfare; they never tried to beat the Flashes at their own game like Thawne or Zoom, they tried to trick the Flash into falling for their carefully laid traps.

Red’s mistake was that he had thought the Miraclo would give him the advantage to beat Clark at his own game; a slight miscalculation that he had made in his haste to return to his senses. Time to restrategize.

Captain Cold or Heatwave’s weaponry wouldn’t do much against the Man of Steel, nor would that of most of Flash’s Rogues Gallery, but Red had one in mind that he could hopefully use to turn the tide.

If it was here, that was.

Red began searching the shelves desperately, the Miraclo hopefully still speeding him up a little, but nothing he could do would outpace Superman; with a mighty roar, Clark pulled the electric clamp off of him, unpinned himself from the wall, and within the span of a microsecond, was standing in front of Red, arms crossed and looking vengeful.

Red threw a batarang, which Clark easily caught. “I’m tired of playing with you, Tim,” he sighed, crushing the batarang in his bare hand, “You don’t need to fight anymore. We know what’s going on, we know about Ra’s al Ghul and Luthor-”

“ You don’t know a goddamn thing! ” Red growled, throwing a punch at Clark, which was dodged, then a kick, also dodged, before he did finally manage to land a hit by rushing around Clark’s left side and elbowing him in the ribs.

As he moved, however, his eyes glanced across the shelves, and then widened as he caught sight of his prize, recognizing it from the schematics on the Batcomputer; he had to capitalize on this, while Clark was still winded. 

“Sorry, Clark,” he muttered as he spun around, turning to face where Clark was still staggering slightly, “But I’ve always kinda wanted to do this.” And with that, Red reared back his foot and landed a kick as hard as he could right between Superman’s legs.

Red watched in satisfaction as Clark went bug-eyed, his knees drawing inward and his back hunching over as he fell to the ground in pain, tears springing to his eyes. Every man’s weakness, steel or otherwise.

Red then surged forward, grabbed the gun off the shelf, and ran for it, darting back into the hallway and searching for the next, more common piece of equipment he needed.

Sadly, though, Clark caught up to him right as he reached the Men’s Bathroom, looking winded and angry, still slightly holding his crotch. “That was a cheap shot,” Clark muttered, clenching his fists.

Red grinned. “Worked, didn’t it?” he asked sardonically as he backed away toward the sinks, testing his grip on the gun in his hand; this would have to be timed perfectly.

He and Clark stared each other down, neither moving from their spot, carefully eyeing each other. Each had proven to the other that they were more than met the eye as a combatant, so now they were both wary.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Clark asked him quietly, “What do you think your son would say, if he could see you now?”

“Tommy’s opinion of me is irrelevant,” Red said automatically, rolling his fingers across the grip of the blaster; from Clark’s demeanor, he didn’t seem to have recognized it yet.

“I want to know what Tim thinks of that,” Clark said, firmly but softer, “Can I speak to Tim?”

Red was about to snarl something back, but then something occurred to him; he could use this. “You know what?” he said, straightening his stance and relaxing slightly, “Sure you can. You want to know what he says?”

Clark took a step forward, silently prompting Red to go on.

Red flipped him off.

Clark sighed, then time seemed to slow down as he charged; Red dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes, twisting his body as he fell to aim the blaster, not at Clark, but at the mirror he’d had his back to.

Clark’s eyes widened a millisecond too late as he failed to change course, and Red grinned as he fired Mirror Master’s blaster.

With a bright flash of light, Superman was gone, sucked into the Mirror World, harmless and trapped.

The adrenaline, Miraclo, and Lazarus Water flowing through his veins all finally started to calm down, and Red sighed as he collapsed onto the cold tile, his limbs feeling as heavy as lead. “Oh wow, that sucked…” he murmured, sitting in the stillness as Superman’s reflection pounded uselessly from the other side of the mirror.

Not quite what he had expected, but luckily he had still won. Red grunted as he pulled himself up with the sink, wincing in pain as he staggered back onto his feet. He looked in the mirror, staring at where Superman stared back. Red grinned, flipped the Man of Steel off one more time, then left Mirror Master’s blaster on the counter in front of the mirror, letting it taunt Clark until someone came and got him out.

Then he held his very-broken ribs as he staggered out of the bathroom, towards victory.

---

Red staggered into the Speed Trap Room, where the Flash Family seemed to have set up a lab in record time. Three red blurs flitted about the space, too fast for even Red’s Miraclo-enhanced eye to comprehend, but at the center of it all, he did meet eyes with the one stationary speedster in the room.

Bart Allen held his hands up against the walls of the Speed Trap, expression pleading. “Tim, come on!!” he cried, “Stop this!”

“I will,” Red promised, limping forward into the room, “Just as soon as your family is done making my cure. Progress report, anyone?”

One of the blurs halted momentarily, and Red was now face-to-face with a very unhappy Wally West. “We’re going as fast as we can,” Wally all but growled, “What you’re asking us to do is ground-breaking. It’s going to take time, even for us.”

Red pursed his lips, but nodded. “Let it be known I am not an unreasonable man,” he sighed, then stretched out his side, hoping to alleviate some of the pain, “Get back to work, Flash. I want that cure, ASAP. If I decide you’re taking too long… well, you know.”

Wally narrowed his eyes, but then disappeared in a blur of red and yellow.

Red looked up at Bart one last time, into the pleading eyes of his teammate, and something twinged in his chest. He remembered more carefree days, days of pizza and Smash Bros tournaments in Titans Tower. He remembered him, Cassie, Kon, and Bart all heaped in a pile on the couch, a tangle of wires and controllers snaking its way from them to the TV, as Tim still somehow beat them all despite having no powers.

Now, here he stood, a roided-up zombie, holding not one, not two, but five superheroes hostage.

Times had changed.

Red turned away from Bart, cursing himself and punching the wall beside him. He had an announcement to make.

---

Conner grimaced as he started to finally come to, feeling the familiar warmth of the sunlamps on him as he tried to rise from his hospital bed.

“Woah, easy there, slugger,” a familiar voice said above him, and Conner pried his eyes open with great difficulty.

“K-Kara?” he asked, his voice hoarse and scratchy.

Supergirl smiled down at her cousin, relief obvious in her expression. “Good morning,” she greeted, “How do you feel, Kon-El?”

“Like I got hit by a truck,” Conner grunted, pulling himself up into a seated position, “What happened? Where’s Hal?”

“Deep space, along with Kyle Rayner,” another voice said, and Conner looked over in surprise to see none other than Lena Luthor standing beside her wife, smiling at Conner as she brought in three cups of coffee from the Watchtower’s commissary, “Turns out all that business was a giant misunderstanding; the Blue Lanterns showed up to smooth it all over and sent Hal and Kyle on a field trip for the fate of the universe, or something to that effect. In the meantime, everyone was about to go home, but now the entire Flash Family is missing and there’s a strange forcefield up around STAR Labs in Central City, so the Big Guy went to go deal with that. Apart from that, little Tommy got angry somehow, so Batman called Jon away to help catch him. Kara asked for me to come up from National City and help keep you company. Coffee?”

Lena handed over the cup as if she hadn’t just dropped eight different bombshells, and Conner took the cup from her numbly. “How long was I out?” he asked in astonishment.

“Not that long,” Kara said sheepishly, gratefully taking her own coffee, along with a kiss, from Lena.

“About that, now that you’re awake, we should ask what happened,” Lena continued, moving to study the charts and graphs and displays at Conner’s bedside, “From the surface, all we saw was a big boom underwater, then you floated up like a dead fish.”

“Don’t ever do that again, by the way,” Kara warned him, punching his arm lightly, and Conner grunted, rubbing his arm.

“ Gah! ” he yelped, “That… really, really hurt. More than usual, I mean.”

Kara’s face fell, while Lena only looked intrigued. Muttering something to herself that Conner felt like he should have been able to hear with his super hearing, she went into the drawers and pulled out elastic gloves, snapping them onto her hands and producing a sterilized needle, then turned to Conner.

“Give me your hand,” she ordered, and Conner held it out to her, still kinda confused; it wasn’t one of the special kryptonite needles, so he wasn’t sure what Lena was doing--

“ YAAGH!! ” Conner cried out as Lena jabbed his finger with the needle, pain shooting up his arm as a tiny bead of blood came up form the wound, “ What the fuck was that for!?! ”

“Fascinating,” Lena mused, totally ignoring him as she wiped the blood away, “What did you say happened down there, exactly?”

Conner grimaced, staring at the tiny wound. He’d had worse, of course, but usually it took a whole lot more than a needle to get the job done. “I had Hal in a hold,” he started uncertainly, trying to get his finger to stop bleeding, “And he made a crack about Tommy, so I blasted him with my heat vision as hard and as long as I could. I felt kinda… floaty, afterward, but I figured that was just the unconsciousness.”

“Mm, it was; partly,” Lena told him, taking a quick sample of his blood and putting it into one machine or another, “But based on this evidence and what we got done while you were still under, I can make my hypothesis as to what happened.”

“Which was??” Kara asked urgently, leaning forward across the bed, worry lacing her voice.

“Exhaustion,” Lena said simply, and Conner stared at her.

“Exhaustion?” he asked.

“Exhaustion,” Lena confirmed, “Think of it like if you really go all out during a workout without stretching first; the next day, your muscles all contract and you feel awful. The same sort of thing happened to you with your Kryptonian abilities; you overtaxed them, and now they’re retreating to heal themselves up a little more, like any other part of your body would. Your unique biology might have something to do with how pronounced the effects are, but as far as I can tell, they’re temporary; you should be back to normal in a few days or so, but for the time being, you’re as human as the rest of us, Superboy.”

“Oh,” Conner said in a small voice, looking down at where his finger had only just stopped bleeding. His whole body felt raw and burnt, as if he had been left in the toaster for too long and someone had just scraped the black parts away. He felt weak, and shaky, and vulnerable. Is this how Tim feels all the time?

Conner was never letting that boy out of his sight ever again, no matter what he said.

“Well, I’m just glad it’s temporary,” Kara sighed with relief, hugging her cousin as tight as she dared, “I was worried you were down and out, little cousin.”

Conner smiled slightly as he submitted to Kara’s vice grip, patting her arm. “You can’t get rid’a me that easy,” he sighed, then turned back to Lena, “What was that about Jon having to go ‘catch’ Tommy?”

Lena opened her mouth to answer when suddenly, all at once, all the monitors and screens in the Watchtower began to glow a deep, bloody red. In the center of the screens, a horrifyingly familiar gold insignia blazed against the red, and Conner’s stomach dropped as a familiar voice carried over the loudspeakers.

“ Attention Justice League, ” Red Robin said, his voice emotionless and cold, “ I have taken over the Central City STAR Labs, in order to utilize its facilities to cure me of my Pit Madness. The Flash Family is currently assisting me; as collateral, I am holding Kid Flash and Superman as hostages. I will release them all as soon as the cure is made and proven successful. Do not interfere, or I will kill them all. Let me be clear: all you need to do to win in this scenario, is nothing. 

“Red Robin out. ”

And just like that, as if nothing had happened, the screens all returned to normal. Kara, Lena, and Conner all shared a look for a moment.

“Fuck.”

---

Red tapped his finger impatiently as he waited, and finally, all the rushing stopped as the Speed Trap Room stood still.

Barry Allen, Wally West, and Jay Garrick stood before him, looking unhappy as Barry held out a vial of iridescent blue liquid.

Red stood up. No words passed between them for a long time. “Are you sure?” he asked, and Barry nodded.

“Quadruple checked,” Jay said, “We’re as sure as we can be without human trials.”

“I’ve got your human trial right here,” Red said, swiping the vial away from Barry, “Where’s the chemical formula?”

“Right here,” Wally said, handing over a piece of paper. Red studied it for a moment, committing it to memory, then stuffed it in his utility belt.

“Perfect,” he said, then allowed himself a small grin, “Congratulations are in order, gentlemen. You’ve found the chemical cure for insanity.”

Red held up the blue vial, smiling as he inspected the Lazarus Cure.

Don’t do this! Junior screamed in his mind, angry and writhing, Don’t you dare, you cold-hearted freak!!

This isn’t right! Robin mewled pitifully, It’s not natural!

Please… Tim begged, his thoughts heavy and sorrowful, End it.

Red took off his cowl. He popped the cork off the vial, then looked the Flashes in the eye. Today, he ended his own life. For the greater good. For the mission. For the sake of efficiency.

No! You’ll never be rid of us!! Junior snarled, You’ll never be rid of me! I’ll always be here, Tim! I’LL ALWAYS COME BACK!

Red smiled. “Bottoms up,” he said, and he downed the vial.

He staggered, stumbling into a table behind him. Bart pounded against the walls of his cage, screaming something he couldn’t hear. His senses became a distant ringing, fuzzy and indistinct. He was vaguely aware of one of the Flashes stepping forward, as if to catch him, but he didn’t fall; he caught himself on the desk.

Then, all at once, the fog lifted. His mind no longer felt like a jagged, fractured maze. It no longer felt like he was just one step away from madness. The green in his eyes receded, returning to their original, natural icy blue, no longer the biting cold of a winter storm, but the stark beauty of a sunlit glacier. The dull buzzing that he had felt for all those many days, the laughter at the edges of his subconscious, the calculating and the crying, the guilt and the anger and the sadness and the pain, they were all…

“They’re gone,” Tim whispered, dropping the vial in shock, letting it shatter on the ground, “They’re… They’re gone!”

Tim fell to his knees, laughing out of sheer relief, hugging himself as if inspecting a whole new body. The Pit no longer lapped at the edges of his mind like an angry sea. His roommates no longer chatted about in his brain. He was him again. He was whole again.

He was Tim Drake again.

“The quiet…” he whispered, letting tears fall down his face unashamed, “I’d almost forgotten what the quiet felt like…”

The Flashes all shared a look. Tim got up, grinning like a madman, and hugged Barry as hard as he could. “You did it!!” he cried, kissing Barry on the cheek and then running over to Wally, tackling him in the same tight hug, “You crazy sons of bitches, you did it!!”

“ I’m me again!! ” Tim cried joyfully, triumphantly, as he hugged Jay as tight as he dared, then threw back his head and whooped for joy, prancing around the lab like a whole new man.

“ Ha ha ha!!! Goodbye, Red! Goodbye, Robin!” Tim declared, spinning around a pole like Singing in the Rain, emphatically proclaiming, “ Goodbye, Junior! The one and only Tim Drake is back in black, baby! And he is here to stay!! ”

“Hey man, that’s… really great,” Bart said from inside the trap, “So do you think you could… y’know…?”

Tim grinned sheepishly as he jumped down from the pole. “Ah… about that…” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“ We had a deal! ” Wally snarled, running up and grabbing Tim by the collar.

“And I’ll respect it!” Tim said defensively, holding up his hands in surrender, “But I need assurances from the League that they’re going to let me walk out of here. I didn’t do all this just to get put back in a cell. I have things to do, Wally.”

“Sane or not, you’ve proven yourself less than trustworthy,” Jay added, stepping forward to flank Tim, “We can’t just let you walk out of here, Tim.”

“Especially not if you’re thinking about going back to Ra’s al Ghul,” Barry said, quietly but firmly, and Tim stopped in his tracks, staring at the speedster.

“... What did you say?” he asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I know, Tim,” Barry said solemnly, “I know everything.”

“H-How do you…?” Tim began, absolutely shellshocked, and Barry shuddered.

“ Thawne, ” he whispered, and Tim set his jaw. 

Thawne must have been working with Ra’s and Lex. That was a reasonable assumption. “How much do you know?”

“I know about what they did to Tommy,” Barry said, “I know how they’re making you do what they want you to.”

Tim narrowed his eyes. “And do you have a way to stop them?” he asked quietly, not daring to hope.

The look on Barry’s face said it all, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it. Tim’s mood soured immediately, his face falling into a scowl as he shook Wally’s hands off. “Then nothing’s changed,” he growled, and he pressed a button on his utility belt; all at once each Flash fell to the ground, standing absolutely rigid and paralyzed.

“ W-What?? ” Wally grunted through gritted teeth, and Tim sighed, rolling up his sleeves and grabbing Jay, hauling him up towards the Speed Trap.

“Paralytic agent I snuck into the water supply,” Tim sighed, “Remote activated. It doesn’t last long, won’t do any permanent damage.”

Tim tossed Jay unceremoniously into the Speed Trap, where Bart still stood flabbergasted by what was happening.

“Should last just long enough for me to get you all in here-- ” he grunted with exertion as he grabbed both Barry and Wally, “Geeze, Wal, put on a few extra pounds?”

“ Fuck. You. ” Wally grunted.

Tim smiled sadly. “Been there,” he sighed, tossing the Flashes inside the perimeter of the Speed Trap, “Done that.”

“Tim!” Bart begged, pounding uselessly against the trap, “Please! If there’s anything left of my friend in there, just let us out!!”

Jay, Wally, and Barry all began to stand up, the paralytic having worn off. Tim smiled sadly at the Flash Family. “I will,” he said placatingly, “I promise. Just as soon as I walk out of here. Relax; it’s all part of the plan!” He grinned at them, then snapped his fingers as he remembered, “Oh! By the way, someone needs to get Clark out of the bathroom mirror.”

“ What!? ” Wally demanded, and as he did, they all felt the building shake as a sonic boom rocked Central City. 

Tim growled as he put two and two together. “Those damned fools,” he muttered, running outside to meet whatever superhero had just made the worst mistake of their lives, “I told them to stay out of this!”

On the way, he popped another Miraclo in his mouth, grimacing as he felt its power flood his veins; he imagined it’s what Bane must feel like whenever he gets his Venom fix. With a bit more speed, Tim surged forward and knocked the front door off its hinges, ready to meet the new threat, and as he did, Tim stopped in his tracks, staring blankly at the newcomer who had smashed a new crater into the pavement of the STAR Labs parking lot.

Tommy Drake clenched his fists as hard as he could, eyes glowing a murderous red.

And Tim stared into his son’s eyes.

“Tommy…” he whispered, the name sounding horribly foreign as it left his mouth. It felt like he hadn’t seen his son in forever. “ What did you do? ” Tommy demanded, taking a step forward as angry, frustrated tears leaked from his blazing eyes, “ WHY!? ”

Tim was taken aback by the sheer vitriol in his son’s voice. The sheer hatred and anger. When Tommy had come to visit him, he had been cheerful, if a little nervous; where was all this coming from? He immediately dropped his fighting stance, adopting a more relaxed and open posture.

“I’m fixing it, Tommy,” Tim tried, stepping forward and holding out his hands placatingly, “I’m fixing everything. Like I said I would.”

Tim truly didn’t understand why he was so angry. He’d told Tommy he had a plan, he’d told him that he would handle it, that they could be a family again once Tim was done, that things would go back to normal; sure, he let Red get a little carried away in some places, but the plan was solid. So why was Tommy so angry?

As Tim stepped forward, Tommy’s face was a war of emotions. Shock, sadness, yearning, horror, and anger crossed his face, and he squeezed his eyes shut to try and keep the building blast of heat vision in; he felt like he was going to burst, like he’d been bottling up so much and he was filled all the way up. The dam was about to burst.

“ You… ” Tommy whispered, not meeting his father’s eyes, his voice low and angry and hurt, “You think you’re fixing it?”

“Yes,” Tim said soothingly, a timid smile crossing his face, “Like I told you, remember? When you came to see me? I told you I had a plan.”

“A plan…” Tommy repeated.

Tim smiled, drawing closer; he was getting through! “Yeah!” he said enthusiastically, “It’s all part of the plan! There’s nothing to worry about, kiddo, I promi--”

Tommy cut him off by socking him across the jaw as hard as he could, sending Tim flying. Tim grunted as he landed in a heap, grimacing as he rubbed a bruise that had already been forming from Clark, and staring at his son in shock.

“ YOUR PLAN HURT AUNT CASS!!! ” Tommy screamed, and in an instant, Tommy was on top of him, grabbing him by his suit, “ YOU SHOT HER!! SHE COULD HAVE DIED! LIKE UNCLE DICK! LIKE YOU!!”

Tommy slammed his fist into Tim’s nose, breaking it easily. Tim’s head snapped back with the hit, slamming down into the pavement as Tommy then picked him up and flung him into the side of STAR Labs with enough force to set the ground shaking.

“Th-That wasn’t supposed to happen…” Tim mumbled around the blood pouring from his nose, “She-- nn! -- she wasn’t supposed to be there!”

“But she was! ” Tommy said accusingly, grabbing his father and slamming him back into the wall, “And you shot her!! ”

Tim gasped as the air was driven from his lungs; two beatdowns from two Kryptonians in one day was not doing wonders for his health. Tim collapsed away from the wall, grunting as he fell onto his hands and knees before his son.

Tommy kicked him as hard as he could, throwing Tim back into the wall, and Tim gasped as he felt something in his back give way and snap; he really hoped it was just another rib.

“ Fight back!! ” Tommy screamed, grabbing Tim and hauling him up to bring their faces together, “ FIGHT BACK!! ”

Tim’s head lolled to the side as he lost the strength to keep it upright; he grimaced in pain and gasped for breath as Tommy held him up, and gasped breathlessly, “ No. I… I could never hurt you, Tommy… ”

Tommy’s outraged scowl only grew at that comment. “ Never hurt me!? ” he cried, hot, angry tears rolling down his face, “ ALL YOU’VE EVER DONE IS HURT ME!! ”

“That’s not true…” Tim gasped, half to Tommy, half to himself, but he wasn’t given any time to ruminate on it any further, as Tommy took the opportunity to throw him as hard as he could across the parking lot, cracking the asphalt.

“ NOT TRUE!?! NOT FUCKING TRUE?!? ” he screamed, straddling Tim and raising his fists. “YOU LEFT!” BAM! “YOU LIED!!” BAM! “YOU DIED IN FRONT OF ME!!” BAM! “AND THEN YOU CAME BACK, AND YOU WEREN’T EVEN YOU ANYMORE!!” BAM! “AND YOU KILLED UNCLE DICK!!” BAM! “AND YOU HURT UNCLE DAMIAN!!” BAM! “AND YOU SHOT AUNT CASS!!!! ” BAM! BAM! BAM!

Tim’s face was little more than blood and bruises by the time Tommy was done. He was missing teeth and spitting up blood, wheezing pathetically beneath his son. The Miraclo had minor regenerative effects, but it would take a long time to heal the damage done. Tommy screamed one last time, a scream so full of rage and anguish and heartbreak, and blasted a hole into the pavement, right beside Tim’s head, as hard as he could.

Finally, he collapsed against Tim’s chest, trying to hold in his sobs as tears streamed down his face. One last burst of rage bubbled up, and he looked down at his father, so pathetic, so broken, and screamed, “ I HATE YOU!! ”

Tim’s heart shattered. Tears rolled down his face from bloodshot, blackened eyes. His lips moved, but no sound came out. He desperately tried to find his voice, and another sonic boom rocked the city as a blue and red blur appeared in the sky.

Jon Kent landed softly behind the Drakes, both unmoving as emotion overwhelmed them, and frowned. Tommy sobbed openly now, gasping, desperate, wracking sobs that seized his whole body, an entire lifetime’s worth of grief and trauma and unresolved emotions finally working their way to the surface, letting themselves out once and for all. 

The ultimate catharsis.

Gently, Jon took Tommy by the shoulders, and instinctually, Tommy tried to shake him off, but after realizing it was just Jon, finally relented and stood up, stepping away from Tim’s broken, shattered form.

“ I’m sorry… ” Tim whispered, softer than any human could hear, “ I’m so sorry, Tommy… ”

Tommy stood there, unmoving, not looking away, just letting Jon hug him. Tears still fell from his eyes, but his sobs subsided. 

For a long time, there was no sound, nothing but Tim’s wheezing, gasping breaths.

Tommy looked down at his uniform. He looked at the stylized ‘D’ on his chest. “The Drake”. What a fucking joke. Snarling, he tore the D off, then tossed it down at Tim, watching the fabric float softly onto his father’s chest.

“I’m done,” he said, the anger finally gone from his tone, leaving behind an empty, hollow emotion no one had a name for, “I’m done chasing after you. I’m done waiting for you to come home. I’m done letting you pretend you’re still my Dad.”

Tim closed his eyes, feeling a new wave of tears swell up.

“But let me tell you one last thing,” Tommy said defiantly, “I’m gonna be the next Robin. And I’m not gonna do it because of you; I’m gonna do it because of Uncle Dick, and Uncle Jason, and Aunt Steph, and Uncle Damian. I’m gonna wear the R my own way, but not as Tommy Drake…

“ ... as Tommy Kent. ”

Tim painfully turned to look at him. Jon stood blinking behind them both. 

“What?” Jon asked bewilderedly. Tim wished he had the strength to.

“You’re not my Dad anymore,” Tommy declared, “So I’m not your son anymore. I’m not gonna use your stupid name. Conner’s my dad. I like him. He’s not great at it, but he’s trying. He stuck around; which is more than I can say for you. ”

Silent tears rolled down Tim’s face.

“So I’m not Thomas Martin Drake-Wayne anymore,” he decided, “I’m not The Drake, either. I’m Tommy Kent, the new Robin .”

Tommy clenched and unclenched his fist, hesitated for a moment, then finally turned his back on Tim, and went to go hug Jon.

Jon gathered his nephew up into a tight hug, kneeling to wrap his cape around his smaller frame, then gazed sadly at Tim. He reached up for his JL communicator. “This is Superboy,” he said sadly, “I have Dra-- I have Tommy. And Red Robin has been subdued. Request immediate backup at STAR Labs.”

Buzzing drifted over the other end of the line, which must have been another member of the League responding, and Tim closed his eyes, staving off a new wave of panic. 

Tommy hated him. Tommy hated him with all his heart and soul. His son hated him.

Just like he hated his parents. Just like Janet had torn his life apart, so too had he torn apart Tommy’s. The vicious cycle continued, no matter how hard Tim had tried to break it.

Wasn’t that just… hilarious?

Tim made a noise halfway between a sob and a laugh, lying there broken and bloodied on the pavement, the Miraclo slowly and painfully putting his jaw back in place. Green lapped at the edges of his brain. It wasn’t the same as before, Tim could tell that much, but the message was clear:

The Pit wasn’t done with him yet. Junior wasn’t done with him yet.

Tim continued to sob, tears streaming down his face as all his plans, all his hopes and dreams came crashing down around him.

He had only tried to set things right. He had only ever tried to make the best choices he could in a world that seemed determined to break him. He had fought, and fought, and fought, and it had won him nothing.

He’d only lost.

And the one good thing he had left, the one good thing he still fought for, his son…

… he’d lost that too.

Tim sobbed, and laughed, and sobbed some more. Grief and anguish flooded his thoughts, and not for the first time, Tim wished things were back the way they were; Alaska, in a small, peaceful cabin outside Fairbanks, with his son, still a toddler, playing on the floor with his toys.

He wished for days that never were, sitting on Conner’s lap, snuggling into a nice warm blanket with a blissfully hot cup of coffee, the two of them melting at the sight of their little boy, just marveling at life’s beauty. He wished for Bruce, and Cass, and Stephanie, and dammit, all the rest, even Dick, to come and visit. He wished for his team, Pru and Owens and Z and Dan and Meg. He wished for his friends, the Rogues.

He wished he could have it all, but knew he never could.

And right then, in that moment, Tim realized he could never be what he was before. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how hard he fought, he’d never get to be Robin again. He’d never get to be a hero again.

Tim let those dreams die. He let them burn on a pyre of shame, and washed the ashes down a stream of acceptance.

Tim Drake. Red Robin. Robin. Junior. None of them mattered anymore.

He didn’t matter anymore.

And just as Tim thought it, just as he was ready to let go of that cabin in the woods, he heard a mighty BOOM!! as the ground fell out from beneath him and he was swallowed up by the darkness.

---

Jon and Tommy stared in slack-jawed shock at where Tim had just disappeared in a bright yellow portal, closed just as soon as it had appeared.

“Wh-What the hell was that!?” Tommy demanded, rushing over to check the ground where Tim once was, “Where did he go!?!”

“A boomtube,” Jon said, his voice wavering, “That was a boomtube. He… he could be anywhere in the universe.”

---

Tim grunted as he landed in a heap on a hard wooden floor, the boomtube closing up noisily behind him. Tim coughed up blood, then dragged himself to his feet, looking around.

It was all familiar. Sickeningly familiar.

Wooden floors. Worn, homey furniture. An abandoned set of Batman & Robin toys.

Tim staggered to his feet, staring out at the back patio, where a stunning view of Mount McKinley rose above the snow-blanketed forests, hiding the early sunset.

Alaska. Home.

Tim didn’t understand. Who would bring him here? Why?

Why when he had just let it go?

At that point, Tim finally noticed what was off; the door to the back porch was open. Someone was sitting in one of the deck chairs, watching the sunset. A tall, broad-shouldered man, with long black hair. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” the man asked, and Tim staggered toward the porch.

“It is,” he agreed dumbly. What else was he supposed to say?

“I’ve always loved this mountain,” the man said with a nostalgic sigh, “So remote. So stark, and commanding. The way it towers over the others.”

Tim nodded, then finally stepped onto the porch. He laid a hand on his gun, wary of his new visitor. “Who are you?” he asked the tall man, and from what little of his face Tim could see, he saw a slight smirk.

The man stood up, turning to face Tim with a smile. He was impossibly tall and impossibly buff, his features muscular and square, like a Neanderthal’s. Scars crawled across his skin all over, from what must have been decades of fighting; long black hair was slicked back, falling just below his shoulders. “Hello, Tim,” he said kindly, “I’ve been watching you for a long time, waiting for the right time to meet you."

“My name is Vandal Savage.”

Notes:

HA!!! HA HA HA!!!
THE THIRD PARTNER REVEALED!!!!!!! (Congratulations to that guy who guessed it beforehand!)

AND WE'RE BACK!! Hello all you lovely people!! this chapter took me a while and a lot more caffeine than I'd like to admit, but it's FINALLY DONE!

Some confirmations: TOMMY WILL BE THE SIXTH ROBIN!! LENA LUTHOR MAKES HER FIRST APPEARANCE!! AND THE SPLIT PERSONALITIES ARE GONE!! (kind of. you'll see) AND LAST BUT CERTAINLY NOT LEAST:

VANDAL SAVAGE IS THE THIRD PARTNER!!!!!!

I've had nearly all of these scenes in the back of my head for forever and NOW THEY'RE HERE! FOR ALL THE WORLD TO SEE!! IT'S GLORIOUS!!! Excuse me while I ride this high for a while

Thank you all so much for reading, and I'll see you all next time for the next part of Tim and Tommy's journeys!! Peace!

Chapter 24: Into the Light

Tim kept a hand on his gun as he wavered on his feet. “Vandal Savage,” he said, “That’s an… eclectic name.”

Savage grinned ruefully. “Trust me, it sounded much better in Proto-Indo-European,” he explained, and Tim nodded, still a little out of it.

Wait, what?

Tim drew his gun and pointed it right at “Vandal Savage”. “Proto-Indo-European is an ancient theoretically reconstructed ancestor of Proto-Germanic, which is also theoretically reconstructed from modern Germanic languages,” he said, “What do you mean your name ‘sounded better’ in it?”

Savage smiled, as if he got that question all the time. “Proto-Indo-European was one of my earlier languages,” he explained, “My first language technically didn’t have a name. I invented it, after all.”

“You expect me to believe you invented a language?” Tim asked blandly, keeping his arm steady.

Savage smiled again. “Of course not,” he said dismissively, “I invented language. You see, I was born fifty thousand years ago, and after encountering a strange meteorite, found myself to be-”

Tim shot him in the face. Vandal Savage grunted at the impact, blood running down his face from the new hole in his forehead, and slumped against the railing of Tim’s porch. His blood ran down onto the wood. Great. 

You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to get blood out of real oak.

Just as Tim holstered his gun and was getting ready to flip Savage’s body over the side and down the mountain, Vandal gasped as he sat up.

Tim backed into the porch door, reaching for his gun as a whole lotta what the fuck ran through his head.

Savage grunted as he stood up, his skin healing in a matter of moments as he bent over, holding his hand out in front of his face. “Give me a moment,” he said, his voice slightly pained, “Head wounds are always--” he grunted as the bullet fell out of his head and into his hand, the skin healing behind it, “--disorienting. Now where was I?”

Savage stood up, then looked Tim in the eye. “Ah yes,” he said, “And I am immortal.”

Tim stayed very still for a very long time. Usually when he shot people they stayed dead. Or they needed a fancy Lazarus Pit to come back. They usually didn’t just spit the bullet out of their face and keep on talking like nothing happened.

“ O-kay, ” he said carefully, “Immortal caveman who invented language. Let’s say I, uh… believe that now. What are you doing here?”

“I told you, I’ve wanted to meet you,” Savage responded, “I’ve had my eye on you for a long time.”

“How long?” Tim pressed, half polite, half interrogating.

Savage smiled indulgently, clearly knowing what Tim was doing. “Truth be told?” he asked, “Ever since you became Robin. At first, it was just academic curiosity; after all I need to keep track of the Justice League and their allies if I am to eventually destroy them.”

“You want to destroy the Justice League?” Tim asked, narrowing his eyes, “Why? They’re the greatest heroes this world has ever known.”

“I know,” Savage said, nodding his head, “And they are remarkable, admirable people. But in their heroism they are also misguided; they’ve unwittingly upset the delicate balance I have struck for this planet for so many years.”

“The balance?” Tim asked, “What balance?”

Savage gestured to Tim’s own porch chairs. “Please, sit with me,” he said, “Let me explain to you.”

Tim quickly scanned the area for any potential threats; booby traps, the glint of a sniper scope in the trees, anything, but failing to, finally sat down, eyeing his host warily.

“As I said, my story begins fifty thousand years ago,” Savage began, “Don’t worry, I won’t bore you with the whole thing. But back then, I was just the same simple, stupid animal as the rest of our race; no more capable of reason than a mammoth or a tiger. Then, a star fell from the sky; or so it seemed to me in those primitive days. In truth, it was a meteorite, made of a green material that eventually broke down into the same compound found in what are now called Lazarus Pits. But all I knew at the time was that the fallen star was warm, and the night was cold; so I slept in its glow for several nights. As it began to break down, I began to leave it be, as sleeping in a Lazarus Pit is less than ideal; as I’m sure you know.”

Tim shifted uncomfortably at the reminder.

“But then, I came to blows with a sabre-tooth tiger, one that had killed some of my group before, and it got the best of me; it tore my throat out and ate me alive. And then I woke up,” Savage pulled down the high collar he wore, showing off a scar of what was obviously a tiger’s claws, “And I realized something had changed.”

“I grew, ever so slowly. I became smarter, stronger, faster than the average homo sapiens of the time. I saw what was becoming of us, how we were hunted down by the bigger, faster animals, sleeping in the dirt and caves, the only evidence of our mark on the world being disparate marks on cave walls. I began to realize I could change things; make things better. I began to think I could be a hero, much the same way your Justice League arose.

“I began teaching them things. How to make, build, speak. We built the world’s first kingdom. My people called me Gilgamesh.”

“ Gilgamesh? ” Tim scoffed, “The mythological Mesopotamian king? You expect me to believe that you were Gilga- ”

Tim stopped as he saw the look on Savage’s face. “Oh my God you were Gilgamesh,” he realized.

“And under my leadership, Sumer flourished,” he continued, “But then I began to notice a problem. I gave these people everything they desired; food, wealth, land, a safe place to raise their children. And all it resulted in was weakness. Men bribed, cheated, and stole. Comfort became complacency. Lethargy. All progress, all evolution, ground to a halt, because I had unwittingly eliminated the need for such things. But I was also sure that in creating civilization, in making my people safe, I had done the right thing; I had done everything right, I had taken the only correct course, and yet it had resulted in failure. I was lost, adrift for a long time. Much like you are.”

Tim looked at Savage. The beating he had taken from both Superman and Tommy was still sending him waves of pain from various broken bones, but the Miraclo was helping his immune system fix a few of the problems, so it was less than it once was. Maybe a few more hours and he might be back up to 75%. With his newfound clarity of mind, however, he could start to see the logic in what Savage was saying; Tim had only done what he thought was right. He had only tried to fix things. Bring Bruce back, bring Conner back; but it had ended…

… like this.

“I journeyed far and wide,” he continued, “I left Sumer. I searched my soul for all I could find in it. In my wake, civilization sprang up around fertile rivers. I had taught humanity progress, but I had also taught them weakness. Had I done wrong, or right? I needed to know; it consumed my soul as I searched for a way to fix what I had done, if I had truly done any wrong at all. It was all I thought about.”

Tim looked out toward Mount McKinley. All he thought about.

“Then, when I had journeyed far and learned much, I stood atop a mountain not too dissimilar from that one,” Savage said, pointing to the distant summit, “And beseeched the cosmos for answers. And answers I received.”

“Humanity is a cycle, Tim,” Savage went on, “It was born in struggle, and as all creatures do it searched for a way to survive. Civilization was its answer. But as civilization grows powerful, man grows weak and complacent, as the Sumerians did. The weakness of man rots the strength of civilization from the inside, and it collapses, and man is relegated once more to the dust, dreaming of what once was.”

“I came to my answer. I started the cycle. If I was to fix things, Tim, I had to complete it,” Savage turned to look Tim in the eye, his dark, black eyes boring into Tim’s soul, “I returned to the Cradle of Civilization, to the Egyptians and Hittites and Mycenaeans. All empires that had grown fat and slow and weak. I gathered an army from the west and I burned it all to the ground. My work became known as-”

“-The Bronze Age Collapse,” Tim realized, his eyes widening, “That-- You--- That set humanity back a thousand years!”

“No,” Savage shook his head, “It propelled it forward. You mistake civilization for progress, Tim; many do. But necessity is the mother of invention. Desperation inspires ingenuity. It is those hard times, when all falls away, that humanity learns to survive. I made humanity strong. And I built it back up with the strong men I had made.

“Have you ever heard of Cyrus the Great?” he asked, and Tim scoffed.

“Of course I have,” he muttered, “A Biblical king of Persia. The ruler of the Achaemenid Empire.”

Savage smiled. Tim’s eyes widened. “You mean you were--??” he stammered, “But-! You just said you tried to destroy civilization!”

“Not destroy,” Savage said, raising a finger, “ Revitalize. Throughout my life, I have been humanity’s guiding hand. None understand better than me the need for balance, the need for the cycle to continue. That is my mission, Tim. Not to destroy civilization, nor to safeguard it. I am humanity’s gardener. I cultivate what deserves cultivation. I prune what needs pruning. And with my efforts, I hope to keep the garden healthy. That is why I need your help.”

“ My help?” Tim asked incredulously, then scoffed as he turned away, “You don’t want my help.”

“What makes you say that?” Savage asked, and Tim begrudgingly looked back at him.

“No one wants me,” he explained, “I killed my brother. I shot my sister. Just a few minutes ago, my own son almost beat me to death.”

Savage smiled indulgently. “What of your partner?” he asked, “The clone? Conner, I believe his name is?”

Tim’s eyes widened slightly, then he curled in on himself. “Conner is… I love him,” he said quietly, “His heart’s in the right place. But…”

“But?” Savage prompted.

“But he can’t help me,” Tim sighed, “I’m trapped, and it’s the one thing he can’t save me from. I love him, but I also don’t want him to… 

“ I don’t want him to see me like this. ”

Tim held himself, his shoulders shaking subtly.

He jumped as he felt a weight on his left shoulder, and turned quickly to see Vandal Savage offering him a hand of comfort. His hand was big, and coarse, but it was also warm, and gentle.

“I have had many loves in my long life, Tim,” Savage said, almost wistfully, “I know the desire to keep them safe. To keep the true nature of your work secret from them, so that they do not see you differently. They are the glorious sun, and we are but caught in their orbit, basking in the beautiful glow. We are the shadows; we know the dangers that lurk there. It is our job to take that light, that beauty, and protect it.”

Savage withdrew his hand, and Tim felt cold. They both returned their attention to the mountain.

“This world, do you love it?” Savage asked.

“No,” Tim said truthfully.

“And Conner,” Savage asked, “Does he?”

Tim thought of Conner soaring through the sky on a clear, sunny day. He thought of his smile, the one that made Tim’s heart pound like a jackhammer. He thought of how Conner would stop in midair, stare at the clouds, and just smile.

“Yes,” Tim said, “With everything he has.”

“And what role does Conner want to play in this world he loves so dearly?” Savage went on, and Tim closed his eyes.

He remembered a late night in the game room of Titans Tower, Tim and Cassie and Bart and Conner all too tired to sleep and asking each other the deep questions that only came out at 2am. Conner had said…

“He wants to be Superman,” Tim said with a soft smile, “He wants people to look at him the same way they look at Clark.”

Savage smiled. “Then don’t you want to build a world where that can happen?” he asked, “Would you help me build a world where Conner can be Superman?”

Tim turned back to look at his host. “Of course I would,” he said instantly, “I’d do anything for Kon. But I feel like that’s not all you want.”

“I’ve already given you my motives,” Savage responded, “I merely wish to see humanity strong, as it once was. The advent of the Justice League has stymied progress to a standstill; weakness abounds throughout society. Think of the headlines you see everyday: manufactured famine, pointless war, curable disease. All avoidable. Society need only be reset, as it has been in the past.”

“You want another Bronze Age Collapse,” Tim realized, eyes widening, “And you want me to help you.”

Savage nodded. “And from the flames of the crisis, humanity will rise again,” he said, “As it always has. And you and I will help guide them to a better tomorrow.”

“Just because the JL screwed me over doesn’t mean I want to wipe them out,” Tim said defensively, “There are good people in the League. They inspire others.”

“I know,” Savage said, “And they will be indispensable in the new world. We always need heroes, especially those strong enough to continue the fight when all seems lost.”

“I won’t kill any Leaguers,” Tim said.

“You won’t have to,” Savage assured him, “We just need to beat them, keep them down for a generation or two. Then we will disappear, and the heroes will rise again, ready to fill the void. The people will look to new heroes; new Supermen.”

Tim blinked. It… it could work. Clark wouldn’t be killed, just captured. Conner could fill the void as Superman. The people would look to him, they’d look at him the same way Tim looked at him, at long last. 

They’d finally know Conner was just as much a Superman as Clark or Jon.

“It’s an intriguing offer,” Tim said eventually, “But unfortunately, my future has already been decided.”

“Oh?” Savage asked, “By whom?”

Tim scowled as the name burned on his tongue. “ Ra’s al Ghul, ” he spat.

Savage chuffed a laugh. “Ah yes, old Ra’s…” he said, “Forgive me, Tim, I’ve given you a bit of a runaround.”

Tim raised an eyebrow.

“You see, you haven’t been working for Ra’s al Ghul or Lex Luthor,” he said, and he smiled as he looked him in the eye, “You’ve been working for me.”

“ You? ” Tim asked incredulously.

“A very long time ago, I created an organization of like-minded individuals who shared my vision to help me achieve my goals,” Savage said, “I am but one man, afterall. Over time, that organization came to be called the Light. Its most recent incarnation was an alliance between Ra’s, Luthor, and myself; a pooling of our generous resources.”

Tim stayed quiet for a long time. “So Ra’s was acting on your orders?” he asked softly, his heart stilling in his chest.

“In a way,” Savage admitted, and he looked regretful as he turned back to Tim, “I… need to apologize. I knew full well Ra’s interest in you, but I didn’t think he would go so far. As soon as Lex and I discovered his treachery, we ejected him from the Light.”

Tim couldn’t breathe. He knew from the Suicide Squad that there had been a leadership struggle in the League of Assassins; he’d assumed that it was just Talia battling with her father over control of the League while his lapdog (Tim) was still in the wind. But if Luthor and Savage had a hand in it…

“What about the League of Assassins?” Tim asked quickly.

Savage nodded. “Talia al Ghul has replaced her father in the Light,” he explained, “And as the Demon’s Head.”

Tim nodded slowly, feeling numb. Ra’s was… he was…

“Is he dead?” he found himself asking, and Savage let the remark sit for a moment.

“No,” he said eventually.

“Then what happened to him?” he asked again, speaking faster, turning to face Savage and look him in the eye.

Savage met his gaze unflinchingly. “That is up to you,” he said, and he stood up, beckoning for Tim to follow. Tim stood up and followed Savage through the house, out the front door and off to the side of the rocky, hilly patch of grass that counted as the lawn. Nestled into the trees was a small toolshed, one filled with a snowblower, lawnmower, and a few other sharp objects Tim hadn’t been too keen on letting Tommy near as a small child, invulnerable or not.

He supposed everything in it had been left to rust for eight years now.

Savage reached the door of the rickety shed, opening the rusted latch and swinging it open, the creak of the neglected hinges sounding through the silent woods. Savage stepped aside, and Tim stopped in the shed’s threshold, his breath caught in his throat.

There, on the floor, spread-eagle and shackled to the cement, was Ra’s al Ghul, bound and gagged. Beaten and starved. Totally helpless.

Savage waited patiently by Tim’s side. “... What is this?” Tim asked finally, turning to the immortal.

Savage smiled thinly. “A peace offering,” he said, “I can’t let you go from our organization, Tim; I’m afraid you’re much too valuable. Your overall mission remains unchanged; in due time, I will send you back to Gotham to resume Operation Mockingbird. However, I can make your tenure with us more comfortable. Ra’s al Ghul has betrayed the Light, and therefore must be punished appropriately. As his victim, you have a say in his sentence.”

Tim stood very still, staring at where Ra’s was chained to the floor. If not for the gag in his mouth, he surely would have been pleading for his life; his acidic green gaze bored into Tim’s desperately, silently begging him for mercy.

Tim remembered how those very same eyes had looked at him on that awful night. And all the nights previously, when he simply hadn’t known what they meant.

Ra’s wanted mercy.

Thanks to Ra’s, Tim had none.

“Ra’s al Ghul is the head of an ancient and powerful organization with access to a Lazarus Pit, filled with his loyal followers,” he began, his voice cold and emotionless as a familiar green sea began to lap at the edges of his mind, “Despite the reorganization of the League eight years ago and Talia’s recent take over, there’s bound to be at least a small corps of loyalists who would stop at nothing to revive their true leader. The potential of them finding his body and placing it in a Lazarus Pit without our knowledge is small, but it is still there.”

Tim had just done everything in his power to fight off the green, to resist the pull of the Pit and its madness. But this didn’t feel like madness. Thanks to the cure, Tim felt completely and totally in control; this time, he didn’t do all he could to stop the flood of the Pit. This time, he threw his doors open and welcomed the wave like an old friend.

“The Lazarus Pit can’t heal what isn’t there,” he went on, thinking about his own still-missing spleen, “So if you’re asking me how to permanently kill Ra’s al Ghul…

“ I recommend dissection. ”

Savage smiled as he took a rusted saw of the shed’s wall and offered its handle to Tim.

Tim took it, and Savage stepped back, out of the shed, and closed the door, saying, “I’ll leave you to it.”

Tim met Ra’s eyes. Those horrible, horrible eyes. He smiled a thin, sadistic smile, the same smile Ra’s had smiled at him on that night.

Tim knew the first thing he was going to cut off.

“I know you’re in a precarious situation now, Beloved, ” he said, spitting the word out like it was poison, “But please, don’t let that discourage you from resisting slightly…

“ I far prefer prey that fights back. ”

---

The Cave was quiet as Tommy and Jon touched down inside, but not for lack of people. Bruce, Jason, Damian, Stephanie, and Barbara all stood with their arms crossed and gazes hard as Tommy sheepishly shuffled into the Cave’s center.

No one said anything, they just stood and waited, looking at him disappointedly. Even Jon, who wasn’t the object of their stares, started to wither under the gaze of not one, not two, but five Bat Glares™. 

“... I’m in a lot of trouble, aren’t I?” he asked quietly.

“Oh, that doesn’t even begin to describe it, young man,” Barbara started, wheeling forward, “Going after Tim alone like that, without backup, could’ve gotten both of you killed! ”

Tommy ducked his head at the reminder, thinking it best not to mention how close they’d come to that.

“Running off on your own to a potentially volatile hostage situation while emotionally compromised is the definition of irresponsible,” Grandpa told him severely, “As a superhero, it is your responsibility to act in the best interest of the public, and potentially putting all the citizens of Central City in danger will not be tolerated. It will not happen again, understood?”

Tommy nodded resignedly, murmuring, “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Bruce said, turning away as the others dropped their Bat Glares, “Then I have some good news for you; Conner is awake.”

Tommy perked up immediately. “I-Is he alright? Is he hurt!?” he asked frantically, and Damian held his hand up placatingly.

“Superboy will make a full recovery,” he said soothingly, or as soothingly as Damian got, “In due time. He is incredibly weakened from his fight with Hal, so he’s not cleared for the field yet, but with some sunshine and bedrest, he’ll be back to normal in a few days.”

“Oh thank God,” Tommy sighed in relief, then looked around again, “And… the others?”

“Cass is stable,” Stephanie said with a sigh, “She should wake up soon. And Alfred…”

“Alfred has been removed from the active duty roster, effective immediately,” Bruce said, his voice betraying nothing as he faced away from the group, working at the Batcomputer, “From this point on, he is to be considered fully retired.”

Tommy blinked. He supposed the retirement had been a long time coming, but still, like this…

“And… how does Alfred feel about that?” he asked timidly, and they all lowered their gazes to the floor uncomfortably.

“Alfred understands that his time in the limelight has passed,” a new, weathered old voice said, and Tommy turned to see the man himself step down from the heights of the Cave, now leaning on a cane to walk, “And will seek a successor to his position as soon as possible.”

“Alfred, I already told you, we don’t need another butler,” Bruce started again, turning to his surrogate father, “We’re more than capable of taking care of ourselves-”

“In the streets of Gotham, perhaps,” Alfred said, cutting him off, “But with all do respect, Master Bruce, when it comes to every realm of life besides vigilantism, all of you have the survival instincts of a wet paper bag.”

A few of the Bats winced and chuckled. “I have already sent a letter to my preferred candidate,” Alfred went on, “She knows her duty, and will be here within the month.”

Bruce hesitated for a moment, then nodded, “Whatever you think is best.”

Alfred nodded in return, considering the matter settled. Then, he turned to his great-grandson and opened his arms welcomingly, and Tommy grinned as he rushed over and gingerly gave the elderly man a hug. “ I’m so glad you’re okay, ” he said softly, and Alfred smiled as he nodded.

“Likewise, dear boy,” he said in reply, “Likewise.”

As Alfred and Tommy extricated themselves from one another, Jason turned to Bruce. “So, we’re all here, old man,” he said, “What is it you’ve got to say.”

“No,” Bruce sighed, heaving his shoulders, “Not yet. I… I’m sorry, Jason, but I can’t say this more than once. We’ll wait for Conner and Cass. Besides, now that Tim is gone, there’s nothing we can do but wait.”

Jason sighed, but nodded. This was turning out to be a hell of a day.

---

Something was going on in the Taliban. Whispers had come from on high that some new actor, or perhaps a very old one, was whispering in the ears of warlords around the globe. Some thought it was just talk, others thought it was a conspiracy theory. She’d heard everyone from the Iranians to the Chinese could be involved.

But one of their only good leads was that this man, this scum of the earth working for the Taliban, was a part of a bigger machine. And as everyone knew, it’s hard for a machine to run when you shoot one of the gears.

So she took her shot. And the terrorist died. And she went back home, mission accomplished.

She was the youngest operator in the Special Air Service, a prodigy in the world of espionage and counterterrorism, a title befitting her last name. As she returned to base, she nodded to a few of her friends as she packed away her gear, relishing the thought of getting to rest after a long mission, when her commanding officer found her.

“ Pennyworth! ” MacTavish barked, waving a letter in her face, “Mail.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said, taking it and quickly reading the from line.

To: Lt. Julia Pennyworth, Special Air Service, Operation Toral, Hereford Barracks

From: Mr. Alfred Pennyworth, Wayne Manor, Gotham, New Jersey 08527

Julia sighed, then she looked back at Captain MacTavish. “Sir,” she said with no fanfare, “Permission to tender my resignation?”

---

“Talon,” Owl said, and Talon’s head snapped up, “Are you ready?”

Talon knew it wasn’t ready. But if it wasn’t ready, then it would have to go back to its training, and more than anything it didn’t want to have to go back to its training. Back to the fountain, back to the maze, back to other Talons, like Talon Cobb and Talon March. He couldn’t face them again. He couldn’t couldn’t wouldn’t.

Talon’s treacherous head nodded. It tested its gauntlets, letting the claws extend and retract. It thought, not for the first time, about dragging the claws across its neck again, about trying again, but it knew by now it wouldn’t do anything. It never did anything. Pain used to lead to relief. Now pain only led to more pain.

Talon wished it could remember what it was like before. Before Owls. Before the Court.

There was a circus, he thought… 

But it couldn’t. 

The doors to the room in front of it opened.

“ Begin, ” Owl ordered.

Talon stepped into the room. It was dark, pitch dark, but that meant Talon could finally see. The man was there again. Fat, old, and sleazy.

“ Please… ” the fat old man begged, “Please, I don’t know what you want from me! ”

Talon stepped forward, silent as a mouse. The fat old man pressed up against the wall. “ Please! ” he begged again, “That Flying Graysons thing was decades ago!”

Talon hesitated. Grayson. Flying Graysons. He had heard that name, where had he heard that…

“ Talon… ” Owl said warningly.

Talon stepped forward, almost jumping back into the moment. It extended its claws.

“ Please… ” the fat old man begged again, tears leaking down his face as urine leaked down his leg, “ Please, I’m an old man now! I left that life! I just wanna live my final days in peace!”

Talon strode forward, bringing its claws up.

“ Please! ” he begged one last time, “I-- I got grandkids! ”

“ Anthony Zucco, ” Talon said, its voice rasping from disuse, “ The Court of Owls has sentenced you to die. ”

---

The Judge of Owls watched the Gray Son work intensely, nodding to herself. “He has come a long way since we first acquired him,” she mused to her companions, “I believe we made a good investment.”

“I still think he is too old to be a Talon,” one of her companions said with a scoff, “We should have taken him in his prime or waited another generation!”

“Easy, Archibald,” the third of them, the Doctor, the Gray Son’s handler, said, “We discussed this when we first acquired the Gray Son. He’s in spectacular physical condition for his age, still able to move freely and quickly. The muscle memory associated with his time as a vigilante is still strong, and thanks to the electrum in his veins we can use him for at least the next few decades.”

Archibald shook his head. “I only agreed to that because we thought the Gordon girl was barren,” he muttered, “Now we know she’s pregnant; we should have waited. We won’t get optimal performance out of this one.”

“You forget, Archibald,” the Judge said cooly, not even sparing him a glance over her shoulder as she focused on watching the Gray Son work, “ Mine was the deciding vote. Are you questioning my fitness to make decisions for this organization?”

Archibald paled several shades. “O-Of course not, Your Honor,” he stammered instantly, “I only meant-”

“You only meant to complain about that which you barely understand,” she scoffed, “We shall have the Gray Son and his heir. When the child is born, it shall surely be raised with the same physical prowess as its parents; such a life is unavoidable in that place. Then, when it reaches maturity, we shall take it as we did him; it is as simple as that. It continues to baffle me how the noble House of Monroe produced such a dullard as its patriarch. Then again, you did produce a faggot as an heir-”

“ Please, Your Honor,” Archibald interjected, his face a rather unhealthy shade of purple, “You have made your point. Please do not mention Daniel.”

The Judge merely nodded. “Do not question me again, Archibald Monroe,” she said cooly, “Do not forget, your family is a large one. You can always be replaced in favor of a Monroe more… intelligent. ”

“Of course, Your Honor,” Archibald said, keeping his head bowed.

The Judge turned back to where the Gray Son stood motionless over the equally motionless body of Tony Zucco. “Doctor,” she said, “The Gray Son is cleared for the field.”

“Yes, Your Honor,” he said, bowing his head.

The Judge of Owls smiled behind her mask. Today was a good day.

---

Bruce sighed as he sat down heavily in his chair before the Batcomputer. Slowly but surely, the entire Batfamily, as well as the Superfamily, were gathered into the main forum of the Batcave, all returned from their various missions and recuperations. 

Conner, Supergirl, and Lena Luthor had arrived via Zeta Tube, Kara and Lena helping Conner walk with a cane, as his legs “still felt like jelly”. Tommy had immediately sprung into action to help his father, finding a chair for him to sit and then sitting next to him, holding his arm as they exchanged hushed and hurried words of assurance and comfort. 

Cass had woken up shortly afterward, and was alert enough to have her gurney wheeled into the main forum, watched closely by both Tommy and Dr. Thompkins. Bruce was elated that his little girl was stable, but the heavy bandages wrapped around her midsection reminded him of how close they had come to another headstone on the hill.

Clark, Jon, and Damian stood in a small circle, conversing quietly about Damian’s new moniker as Nightwing. From what Bruce had overheard, Damian was asking about the original Kryptonian legend that had inspired Dick’s persona; he wanted to learn the history of the mantle he had taken on.

Stephanie, Duke, and Lois Lane, who had arrived with Clark, were standing and talking with Barbara, who took her place by Dick’s old workbench. Bruce could tell they were trying to be jovial, but there was a weight in their eyes they couldn’t shake. Barbara seemed to have good news that she was refusing to share until she had the attention of the rest of the family.

Harley and Ivy were smiling as they entertained Jane and Ollie, distracting them from the tense atmosphere for just a moment while their parents all spoke quietly and decided how best to tackle the fact that their kids had most likely just been brutally traumatized.

It seemed to be a theme in this house.

Alfred sat in a chair beside his, trying to look as dignified as he could muster. He carried on a polite conversation with Jim, who was commiserating about back pain. 

Selina, God bless her, stood at the side of his chair, placing a warm, steadying hand on his shoulder, which he moved his hand up to join. For a moment, they just stayed like that, and everything didn’t seem so awful. With her there, it felt like there weren’t two gaping holes in the Cave, even though it was more full than ever before.

Selina patted his shoulder, then leaned down and whispered, “ You can’t wait forever, Bat. ”

“ I know, Cat, ” he sighed back sadly.

Finally Bruce took a deep breath, and cleared his throat. All at once, the pretended pleasantries stopped, and all gazes snapped to him.

“I’m sure you’re all wondering why you’re here,” Bruce said, wringing his hands nervously, “I understand there’s some news from Barbara and Tommy, before we begin.”

There was an awkward silence, then Barbara and Tommy looked at each other, each silently asking the other to go first. Finally, Tommy stood up, sparing nervous glances Damian, then Conner, then Bruce, then finally settled on looking at the floor.

“So, uhh… you all heard how I, um… saw my Da-- saw Tim earlier,” he started awkwardly, and a lump formed in Bruce’s throat at the way Tommy couldn’t bring himself to call Tim his father anymore.

“And I know tensions were high, and Uncle Jon thinks I said something I shouldn’t have, but-” Tommy sighed as he stumbled over his words, “But I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, and I want to make it clear that this is what I want, Tim be damned.”

“ Language, ” Alfred admonished quietly.

“Want what, kiddo?” Conner asked as Tommy ducked his head, “What’s this about?”

Tommy pursed his lips, unsure of how to say it.

“Little Nephew,” Cass said quietly from her bed, and Tommy looked up to look her in the eye, “It’s okay. Don’t think; just say.”

Tommy smiled gratefully, then swallowed down the last of his trepidation. “I’m changing my name,” he said as firmly as he dared, “To Thomas Martin Kent-Wayne. I’m dropping Drake.”

For a long moment, there was silence. “Oh,” Clark said in a small voice.

“Oh,” Conner agreed, then sighed, “ Oh, Tommy…” Tears started to spring to his eyes.

Tommy quickly took Conner’s hand, looking his father in the eye. “Hey, listen ,” Tommy said quickly, “These last eight weeks, they’ve… well they’ve been pretty awful. But if there’s anything I gained from them, it’s a relationship with you. I ignored that for too long, I think, and all the while I struggled with the fact that I had his blood in my veins, I forgot that I had yours, too. I know you still love him, and I don’t want to get in the way of that, but I… I can’t be Tommy Drake anymore. Not after everything he’s done. I just… I just can’t put myself through that anymore. I know it’s a surprise and I know I didn’t ask you first, but… please, can I be your son, instead of his?”

Conner wiped his eyes, and sniffed slightly, then stood up shakily and hugged his son as tightly as he dared. “ You always have been, ” he whispered emotionally, “ And you always will be. No name is ever going to change that. But, if you really want to get rid of Drake, then… I support you.”

Tommy breathed a sigh of relief he didn’t know he’d been holding, and the hug between father and son redoubled in intensity. After a short but tender moment, Tommy finally broke away, helping Conner sit back down, then wiped his eyes and turned back to the family. “That’s not all,” he said, looking slightly less nervous, but still wary all the same as his gaze flitted to Damian, “I want to change my superhero name, too.”

Damian raised an eyebrow, “To what?”

Tommy took a deep breath. “ Robin, ” he said quietly, “I… I want to be Robin.”

Damian, Stephanie, and Jason all shared looks, having a silent conversation. Finally, Damian shrugged. “I have no objections,” he said coolly, though those fluent in Damianese could tell that the stoic man was bursting with pride.

Jason grinned, standing up and clapping Tommy on the back. “You’ll do the R proud, kid,” he said supportively.

Stephanie smirked as she leaned against a table. “Like the old saying goes,” she sighed, a bit of nostalgic sadness in her voice, “‘Batman needs a Robin’.”

Bruce looked at Barbara, asking a final silent question. Barbara considered Tommy for a moment, thinking of how close he and Dick had grown over the past few years, then looked back at Bruce and nodded.

“That settles it, then,” Bruce said, looking back at his grandson, “Congratulations, Tommy. I’ll have Lucius contact you about the suit.”

Tommy’s eyes lit up, and he grinned like a loon as he sat back down.

“I have more good news,” Barbara said, wheeling herself forward as all those she had been talking to earlier learned forward in anticipation. Subconsciously, she placed her hands over her stomach, then said, “I’m pregnant.”

There was a moment of tense silence in the Cave. Then, immediately, Harley, Ivy, Lois, Selina, Stephanie, and Duke all started showering her in congratulations and screams of celebration. After the noise died down, Stephanie asked the inevitable question: “Who’s the father?”

“Dick,” Barbara said softly, locking eyes with both Bruce and Jim, “Dick’s the father. We… before he…” She couldn’t finish her sentence.

Jim, initially starstruck by the announcement, immediately stood up and took his daughter’s hand, elated tears in his eyes. “I couldn’t be prouder,” he said quietly, “Of you, or of him. He’s… he’s left you one last gift, Barbara. Proof that he isn’t really as gone as it seems. Whatever comes of this, I know you’re going to be a fantastic mother, and this kid is gonna grow up knowing they had the best father in the world. ”

Barbara laughed quietly as her own tears began to come, and she leaned into her father’s embrace, “ They don’t have a half-bad grandfather, either! ”

Jim laughed along with her, and Bruce sat in his chair, swallowing down a lump in his throat as his mind drifted back to the bright, vibrant little ball of sunshine that had been his first little boy. He covered his mouth to keep himself from sobbing, and Selina smiled as she knelt and held his shoulders.

“Good news all around,” she said softly, and Bruce nodded, knowing that what he would have to say next would be anything but.

Silently, he met Barbara’s eyes, and nodded with a smile. She beamed back at him, wiping her eyes.

For a few moments, Bruce let the good news be what it was. He couldn’t bring himself to bring down the bad news just yet; let everyone celebrate this, the new chapters, the new lives, the proof that everything wasn’t as terrible as it seemed. But as the smiles lessened and the talking died down, Bruce knew it couldn’t last forever.

“I’m sorry to say it,” Bruce began, “But we need to address the elephant in the room.”

“So this has to do with Tim, then,” Jason sighed, sitting down at a table and kicking his feet up. A projection of indifference to hide his worry; Kori went and sat with him.

“Yes,” Bruce sighed, rubbing his temples and deciding how best to start, “Just before Hal’s attack, Barry Allen was briefing the Justice League on the things he experienced while held prisoner by Eobard Thawne.”

The Batfamily all shared a look. They weren’t exactly regular adversaries of Thawne’s, but they knew enough to know he was bad news.

“Barry was held in Thawne’s Reverse Flash Museum in the year 2076 for an indeterminate amount of time on his end, but fifteen years on ours,” Bruce carried on, “And in that time, Thawne found enjoyment in keeping Barry up to date on all the goings-on in our time, especially if it negatively affected people Barry cared about, such as Hal, or me.”

At that, most of the Batfamily sat up.

“As it turns out, Thawne wasn’t acting alone,” Bruce carried on, “He was working with a secret shadow triumvirate calling itself ‘The Light’, that has been acting under our noses for at least as long as the Justice League has existed; maybe more. We know that Lex Luthor and Ra’s al Ghul are two of these triumvirs; the third remains a mystery.”

“What does this have to do with Tim?” Barbara asked, her gaze sharp and calculating behind her glasses.

“Due to information gained from Thawne by Barry,” Bruce began, and he levelled his gaze at Tommy, “We now know for certain that Tim is being blackmailed into cooperating with the Light.”

“I thought we ruled out blackmail eight years ago?” Damian asked, crossing his arms, and Bruce nodded.

“That was before new evidence came to light,” Bruce continued, “According to Barry’s testimony, as Thawne siphoned speed off of Barry and into himself, he gained the ability to move and speak at speeds faster than the human mind could comprehend. He could whisper something in your ear, and by the time your brain registered what it had heard, it mistook it for an original thought. That way, Thawne drew our attention away from key evidence, letting the Light’s blackmail scheme fly under our radar for an extended period of time.”

“But now that Thawne’s dead, he can’t distract us anymore,” Stephanie murmured, her expression hard, “So what do we know now?”

“As far as we know, Ra’s is Tim’s handler,” Bruce said, “He’s the one with his finger on the button, but it’s possible Lex and the third partner are in similar positions of power over Tim. Tommy… you may want to sit down.”

“Why?” Tommy asked, too quickly, “What is it? What are they threatening him with?”

Tommy didn’t know how to feel. He had just cut all ties with Tim, and he didn’t regret it, but he also missed his father will all his heart. He wanted things to be back to the way they were before, like Alaska, and he didn’t know what could possibly justify everything Tim had done, but he knew he at least needed to hear it. He knew it would never be the same, that too much had happened and too much time had passed, but right then, in that moment, the last vestiges of a desperate, juvenile prayer sprang up in his heart, and he wished with all his might that he could have his Dad back.

Bruce hated to have to say the next words that came out of his mouth. “You, Tommy,” he said in a voice just above a whisper, “There are nanobots spliced into your DNA that have remote detonators; we didn’t detect them due to Thawne’s deception. The Light has threatened to activate them if Tim steps out of line.”

“Oh my God…” Stephanie whispered, putting a hand to her mouth in shock.

“That… that’s horrible ,” Duke agreed.

“That’s Grandfather ,” Damian growled murderously, clenching his fist around his sleeve, “He will do whatever he has to to get what he wants. And apparently, he wants Timothy.”

Most of the family winced at that phrasing.

Tommy, meanwhile, stood very, very still. “Nanobots?” he asked, shivering and running his hands up his arms, “Y-You mean, any moment, I could-?”

He couldn’t say it. No one could say it. But Bruce, feeling like he was holding a skyscraper up with his chin, nodded his head slowly.

Tommy covered his mouth, eyes wide in shock. His breathing came in rapid, uneven gasps. All this time, every time he’d cursed his father’s name, or his father had been off doing something stupid or evil, he had been doing it to save Tommy’s life. All this time, his entire life, he could have died at any minute. He could still die at any minute.

His life depended on the careful, perfect cooperation of his father, who was currently suffering from DID, with the most successful and untouchable supervillains on record.

Tommy didn’t realize he had been stumbling backward until his back hit the wall, and he slid down to the floor, shaking as tears spilled over his fingers.

He was only eight years old. He didn’t want to… he didn’t… 

“ Grandpa… ” he whispered, looking up at Bruce with fear, so much fear, in his eyes, “ I don’t wanna die…! ”

---

A Few Hours Ago

Savage sighed as he stepped inside the small shed, regarding the once-great man strapped to the floor.

Ra’s al Ghul glared at his oldest friend with his trademark acidic green gaze. “ You… ” he spat, “ You ruined EVERYTHING! ”

“You brought this upon yourself, Ra’s,” Savage sighed, “Like I said before, I wanted to be lenient. I wanted to show you mercy.”

“You wanted the world to yourself,” Ra’s spat, “Luthor. My daughter; they think that once all is said and done, you will share the world with them. That they will have their place in the sun beside you. They have not known you as long as I have; they do not know that all you do is lie. ”

Savage smiled. “I have been alive for fifty thousand years, Ra’s,” he said smoothly, “One doesn’t live that long without knowing when to omit the truth.”

Ra’s narrowed his eyes. “If you have just waited a few months, days, even,” he snarled, “Timothy would have been mine. And with his mind, nothing would have stopped me!”

“I admit, Tim Drake is a powerful weapon, when in the right hands,” Savage said, “But you made one fatal miscalculation, Ra’s. You are right about one thing; men at their lowest points make for the most loyal of soldiers. You thought that after he had been cast out by Dick Grayson, that Tim Drake was at his lowest point; and for that, you are a fool.”

Ra’s scoffed.

“Tim still had something to live for,” Savage went on, “His son. But by the time you realized this, you had become infatuated with him; you let desires of the flesh cloud your judgement. You moved too early, Ra’s. I, however, had the time to wait.”

Ra’s clenched his jaw, straining against his restraints as Savage regarded him from above.

“Timothy has just been rejected and beaten by his son,” he proclaimed, “He has just had his mind broken. He has just been forced to shoot his sister, and orchestrate the death of his brother. He tortured the rest of his family. There are no ties left to cut, save perhaps his relationship with the clone, but I can easily twist that to my advantage. Now is the time, Ra’s. Now is when Tim is at his lowest point.”

“ He will never go with you!” Ra’s snarled, “ Thanks to me, there is not a group of people he trusts less than your Light, Savage.”

“True,” Savage acquiesced, “But I know how to win his loyalty. I will give him what he wants…”

Savage smiled cruelly as Ra’s al Ghul struggled against his bondage in vain. “I shall give him revenge upon his tormentor,” Savage went on, “And then, once his catharsis has taken its due course, we shall begin our plans anew. Tim Drake will be a loyal soldier of the Light, as was always intended; your traitorous machinations have brought about nothing but your own demise, Ra’s.”

“ You… ” Ra’s snarled as Savage turned his back, “ YOU GET BACK HERE!! COME AND FACE ME!! SAVAGE!!

“ SAVAGE!!! ”

Vandal smirked as he left Ra’s to his devices, going out to sit on the porch and watch the mountains; a favorite pastime of his, one that always reminded him of his youth. Then, he produced from his jacket pocket a Fatherbox, Apokaliptian technology scavenged from the wreckage of Darkseid’s invasion, the same invasion that had costed Batman his life and sparked all of this scheming in the first place.

“Fatherbox,” he told the sentient machine, “Tim Drake, please.”

Fatherbox pinged, and Savage smiled as he heard the telltale roar of a boomtube. He discreetly tucked Fatherbox back into his jacket and prepared to meet his visitor.

---

Present

Vandal Savage looked up as the door to the shed opened, its rusted latch squeaking in protest.

Tim stepped out, covered head to toe in blood, a dead look in his eye. Totally emotionless, except for a deep, primal, spiteful satisfaction. He dropped the bloody, rusted saw he had been holding, letting it clatter noisily to the ground.

Talia al Ghul and Lex Luthor raised their eyebrows at Tim’s appearance, but Savage only smiled.

Tim threw Ra’s head to the ground at their feet, looking at the three of them with a challenge in his eyes. Ra’s head rolled to a stop, his dead eyes staring at nothing, their once poisonous, acidic green eyes now glassy and unseeing.

“It’s done,” Tim said softly, wiping blood and dirt from his chin, “What do I win?”

“Tim,” Savage said graciously, taking the boy into a hug, despite the blood, “ Welcome to the Light. ”

Chapter 25: Friends and Family

Tim sighed as he splashed his face, feeling Ra’s dried blood wash from his skin. The screams of the Demon’s Head as Tim took him apart piece by piece would stay with him forever.

But not in a “haunt his nightmares” kind of way.

In a “sing him to sleep” kind of way.

Tim loved that sound. Specifically from Ra’s, from a man, from a monster, who had taken so much from him. He loved that even after all he had been through, after all he had endured, after all he had sacrificed, he could still give the world back what it gave to him.

He wasn’t a scared little kid anymore. He wasn’t a walking punching bag anymore. He wasn’t Robin anymore. 

Tim set about scrubbing the blood from his hands; it always got into the tiniest of nooks and crannies in his fingernails, it really was annoying. 

He should’ve worn gloves.

Not for the first time, Tim missed his Red Robin suit. The borrowed kevlar from the Cave had felt wrong, hollow and empty, and though recovering his bandolier had helped, he still felt naked without his cape and cowl. As soon as he returned to Gotham, he would set about designing a new suit. He couldn’t rely on Lucius anymore for the manufacture, but maybe Lex would help.

Finally satisfied with the cleanliness of his hands, Tim splashed himself with water one more time, then looked up at the cracked, foggy mirror that still hung in his small bathroom.

It had been perfectly clean and intact when Tim left, but as it turns out, log cabins weren’t meant to sit totally unattended for eight years. The mirror had fallen and cracked, and Tim had just put it back up.

And for the first time in seven years, Tim looked himself in the mirror. 

He looked fine, all things considered. Especially since he was a rotting corpse not too long ago. A little pale, but physically healthy.

That was where the “fine” things stopped.

Tim’s eyes were haunted and hollow, a strange emptiness in them that he couldn’t quite place. Where once they had been a pure, icy blue, they now tinged green around the edges of the iris and pupil. A side effect of the Lazarus Pit, no doubt, despite his cure.

But the most drastic change of all was the white streak in his hair, trailing from his crown and following the part in his hair down to the left. He looked like Jason. Like Ra’s. Like all the poor, tortured souls who had ever known the cold embrace of the Pit.

Tim sighed as he finally tore his eyes away. He took the pill bottle still filled with Miraclo from the sink, putting it back in his pocket; though less effective than he’d hoped against Superman, it could still come in handy later. And, once in a lab, he could reverse engineer it and make more.

The next thing he did was take out some shoe polish he had gotten from Bruce for his birthday almost a decade ago; it was one of the few fatherly things Bruce had had a chance to do before…

Before.

Tim sighed, shaking his head of such thoughts and opening the tin of shoe polish, taking the black paste and smearing it across his hair, covering up the white streak; it wasn’t great from close up, but until he got his hands on real hair dye, it would do.

Finally, he picked up the two remaining doses of Lazarus Cure he had managed to salvage from STAR Labs. He held the bottle up to his eyeline for a moment, staring at the innocent-looking blue liquid contemplatively.

STAR Labs. What a fucking fiasco that had been. Tim closed his eyes as he remembered Tommy, what he’d done, what he’d said. 

Tim had felt each blow from his son’s fists like a hammer on an anvil. But no wound he could ever deal would hurt worse than the words.

Tommy had abandoned him. Abandoned his name, his lineage, their relationship. Tim knew he was nothing without his son; he didn’t have anything left. Tim had been ready, at that point. Ready to just die. There was nothing left to live for, after all. He was ready to let Tim Drake die and let Red Robin be Ra’s loyal puppet in his place. What else was he fighting for? If Tommy hated him, if Cass hated him, if all the rest hated him, then the world might as well burn. Why should he care otherwise?

But Savage had changed all that. Savage had shown him the light at the end of the tunnel, a vision, an idea, that, though crazy, and incredibly immoral on so many levels, was a purpose. A higher calling. Something that Tim had been sorely lacking. 

No matter how much Tommy hated him, Tim would never stop trying to make the world better for him. With the Light, Tim could build a world where Conner, his Conner, could live his dream and be Superman. Tim could build a world where his son would never need to wear a cape, unless he wanted to. Tim could build a world where ten-year-olds’ parents aren’t shot in alleyways, where gangsters don’t cut acrobats’ lines, where street kids don’t need to steal tires, and above all, he could build a world where parents love their children.

He could make the world such a better place. Isn’t that what being a superhero was all about? Making the world a better place? That’s what Tim was doing.

He just needed to tear it down first.

An involuntary giggle escaped from Tim’s lips as he turned away from the cracked mirror.

He’d tear the world down. He’d burn it all. Make it suffer for what it did to him, for what it did to his family. He’d make them pay. He’d make them all pay!

And when all was said and done, a newer, better world would take their place. A world where Tim could rest on his porch in Alaska, his family by his side, and stare out on a grateful universe. And he knew just where to start. 

He’d start where it always started, where everything started: 

Gotham.

---

Julia sighed as she stepped out of the taxi, paying the man his fare and retrieving her belongings from the boot. Gotham cabs were seedy and filthy as a rule, but she had managed to find one on the cleaner side of slovenly. Not that she had much cared what the damn thing looked like; after fifteen hours of travel, she was just ready to be fucking done.

However, she put her transatlantic jetlag aside and picked up her massive camouflage duffel bag, a parting gift from Her Majesty’s Army, then set off up the peach gravel road toward the imposing manor house at the top of the hill. She came to the gate, then pressed the intercom button, waiting impatiently. Without a word, the gate opened, and Julia’s eyebrows went up slightly; apparently, she had been expected.

Of course she’d been. 

Sighing, she trudged further up the road and came to the steps of the manor, climbing them with aching feet and, failing to find a doorbell, lifted the wrought iron knocker and gave it a few heavy slams.

After a moment, during which Julia heard the immediate barking of a large dog and someone shouting, “ Hush, Titus! ”, the door opened, and Julia straightened her back to meet the tall, broad-shouldered, black-haired young man who answered it.

His green eyes immediately narrowed at the sight of her, and he subtly put his free hand at his side, seemingly a relaxed position, but Julia knew for a fact he was actually getting into a good position to signal the massive Great Dane right behind him; clever little bastard.

“Who are you?” the young man said suspiciously, and Julia’s interest piqued as she caught the slight hint of an Arabic accent in his voice, “How did you get past the gate?”

“It opened when I pressed the button, wanker,” she said irritably, “I was invited here. Who the hell are you?”

“ Invited? ” the young man scoffed, “Likely story-!”

“Yes, she was, Master Damian,” an older, weathered voice called from further into the house, and ‘Master Damian’ stepped back from the door in surprise, letting it open a little further so Julia could spot a familiar elderly man making his way down the grand staircase, “I let her past the gate. Forgive me, sir, she beat me to the door.”

“Alfred,” Damian greeted, “No need to apologize. I wasn’t aware we were having guests today.”

“She is far from a guest, sir,” Alfred Pennyworth said as he finally reached the floor, striding forward with the help of a cane, “She is my replacement. And my great-niece.”

“Replacement?” Julia asked incredulously.

“Great-niece?” Damian said in an identical tone.

Alfred nodded sagely, approaching the door, “Master Damian, may I introduce Lieutenant Julia Frances Pennyworth, a highly decorated operative of Her Majesty’s Special Air Service, and my younger sister’s granddaughter.”

Then, he turned to Julia, waving his other hand, and said, “Julia, may I present Master Damian Ibn al-Xu’ffasch Wayne, Bruce Wayne’s youngest son and heir to the house.”

Very Arabic middle name, Julia noticed, filing the information away as she watched a vein in Damian’s head twitch, but he held his tongue. “A pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant Pennyworth,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Charmed,” Julia answered, pointedly not shaking it.

“Now that introductions are through, Master Damian, might you take Titus for a walk?” Alfred said quickly, before things could escalate, “Julia and I have much to catch up on. Family matters, you understand.”

“Of course, Alfred,” Damian said stiffly, retrieving a leash from a hook on the wall by the side of the door, hooking it to the Great Dane, Titus, and passing Julia out the door slowly, eyeing her suspiciously while Titus happily trotted along the grass.

“Please, Julia, come inside; I’ll lead you to a room so you can set your bag down,” Alfred said, holding the door open for her, and Julia stepped inside, feeling slightly guilty as she took in his appearance.

He was as dapper and put together as always, but the last time she had seen him was something like 15 years ago, when her mother, Alfred’s niece, had died. He had made the trip to Glasgow for the funeral, leaving behind his duties in Gotham for a few weeks to be by his sister’s side to mourn her lost child. Julia remembered him being old, but not like this; his hair had still been mostly black, his form had still looked muscular and strong. He had been in remarkably good shape for his age, something Julia had thought came from his time in the service.

Now, though, her Uncle Alfred looked as though all those years had finally caught up with him. Rather than straight-backed and proud, he was old and bent. He walked on a cane, and his suit, though still perfectly tailored, fit him loosely, as if he had lost some weight. His hair, once salt-and-pepper at best, was now completely white. The lines on his face were innumerable, but there was still a spark in his eyes that told Julia he was still the great-uncle she remembered, the one who had inspired her to join the SAS.

“Boots off, young lady,” Alfred said sharply, and Julia started at the tone of his voice, “I’ve just had the hardwood cleaned, I won’t have you mucking it up again.”

Julia grumbled unintelligibly as she bent and took her boots off, following Alfred with socked feet up the stairs and into one of the countless guest bedrooms, leading her through beautiful old wooden halls filled with priceless art and pomp and circumstance.

Julia could appreciate its importance, but she also hated it.

“Uncle Alfred,” she started, and Alfred raised an eyebrow at her, barely sparing her a glance over his shoulder as he led her deeper into the Manor, “You know I love getting to see you, but… why am I here? I know what we agreed back then, but contrary to popular belief, I do have a life-”

“You are here because I am dying, Julia,” Alfred said matter-of-factly, and Julia stopped in her tracks. Alfred was gracious enough to stop with her, turning to face her; there was a deep, nostalgic sadness in his eyes, one that Julia recognized well. It was the same look in the eye of every soldier who had a chance to grow old, remembering all those friends that didn’t. Realizing that you’ll be seeing them again soon.

But Uncle Alfred? Dying? It was unthinkable, unknowable, inconceivable! Even when her mother died, when her grandmother died, when Julia had given up on everything and everyone, Uncle Alfred had been there. Distant, across the Atlantic and tending to his duties, but still corresponding with her regularly, calling her, checking up on her. Telling her the stories of his life, of his career with MI6, the same stories that had inspired her to pick up the pieces of her life and find solace in the service of Crown and Country. 

If Uncle Alfred was dying, then…

“I… I don’t know what to say,” Julia said eventually, and Alfred nodded.

“Good,” he said, turning again, “Then perhaps you will listen. I need your help, Julia. I need you to take my place when I am gone.”

“Take your place?” Julia asked incredulously, “Here? As a butler? ”

“Yes,” Alfred agreed with a nod, coming to a stop at a nondescript door in one of the deepest corridors of the Manor, opening it slightly, “There are less noble professions than Service, I assure you.”

Alfred let her into the room, and Julia let her giant duffel and boots down; the bed was smaller than those in the guest rooms, and less ornate, but of no less quality. The furnishings were rather spartan, with one small side table, a bland dresser, and a small window letting a small measure of natural light into the room. A disused brass candleholder sat on the dresser. Julia pursed her lips.

“Why’s it feel as though you’ve stuck me with servant’s quarters?” she asked blithely, turning to her uncle, and Alfred allowed himself a small, self-amused smile.

“That’s because it is servant’s quarters, dear girl,” he said, “Mine are next door, and are quite the same; though, as Head Butler, I allow myself the privilege of a desk and an electric lamp.”

Julia blinked at him, waiting to see if this was some ill-timed joke. Alfred held her gaze, assuring her that it was, in fact, not. Julia sighed, running a hand through her hair, then eventually muttering, “I suppose it’s better than barracks.”

“Indeed,” Alfred agreed, “Far better accommodations than I ever received from the IRA.”

“The IRA?” Julia asked, aghast, “I never knew you got captured by the IRA!”

Alfred smirked slightly, turning to exit the small room. “I’ve told you much about my life, dear girl,” he said, beckoning her to follow, “But I have not told you everything. ”

Julia pursed her lips as she followed her uncle back out the door, through the ancient halls of the manor once more, pondering what he had said. “Uncle Alfred, I understand that the Waynes meant a lot to you,” she started awkwardly, trying to phrase this delicately, “But, when I said I wanted to follow in your footsteps, I meant I wanted to serve my country, protect the world, be a guiding hand in the shadows, like you did. Not… butlering. ”

“Julia, I assure you,” Alfred went on, continuing to lead her through the manor, “Follow me in this, and you will be in a position more important than the SAS ever could be.”

Julia held her tongue, but remained doubtful. How could babysitting a gaggle of rich kids with daddy issues be more important than stopping the Taliban?

“When I was about your age, I was stationed in Belfast during the height of the Troubles,” Alfred began, and subconsciously, Julia’s attention zeroed in on the old man’s story, “Operation Banner, they called it. Irish Republican forces were determined to bring Northern Ireland into the Republic, by any means necessary, and what followed was three decades of hard, brutal guerilla warfare on the Empire’s doorstep. I had enlisted around the time of the Suez Crisis, and so by the time the Troubles came around, I was a high-ranking operative in MI6. Many adventures, from East Berlin to the Kowloon Walled City, but those are stories for another time.

“While in Belfast, I was set up by a turncoat in the Ulster Constabulary, and captured by the IRA. They kept me for months on end, torturing me, trying to get me to break and reveal critical details of Operation Banner. If I had broken then, then hundreds of good British and Ulster lads would have died. It all rested on my ability to resist.”

Julia almost reached out to comfort the old man as his voice shook, remembering those terrible, isolated, painful days, and Alfred continued on.

“Then, the base they were keeping me at was raided, and I was rescued; I was in a bad way,” Alfred said, and he subconsciously slowed down, casting his gaze to the floor, “A very bad way. I would have died, if not for the intervention of one American who had offered his services as a medic through the newly formed Doctors Without Borders; Dr. Thomas Wayne.”

Alfred stopped as he and Julia stood before a grandfather clock in the foyer, and the old man turned to face his great-niece, looking her in the eye so that Julia could see the old, weathered determination there. “Master Thomas saved my life,” he said fiercely, “He stood by me throughout my recovery, entertaining me with stories of his newborn son back home in America. When I first heard his name, I thought the same thing as you; just a spoiled rich kid with too much time on his hands, a spoiled rich kid who happened to go to medical school. But I saw Thomas Wayne save the lives of countless men, whether Irish, Ulster, or British, operating on soldier and civilian alike, never stopping to rest, not even for a moment. I, and so many others, owe Thomas Wayne everything.

“And so you can imagine what I felt when I heard that he’d died. His son, Master Bruce, was only ten years old at the time, with no living relatives to go to. I could not let the son of the man who saved my life fall into New Jersey foster care,” Alfred turned to the clock, carefully opening the glass door that protected the clockwork, “So I resigned from MI6, and used my connections to forge employment and guardianship papers. Within hours, I was in Gotham, greeting Commissioner Gordon as the Butler of Wayne Manor, and Bruce Wayne’s legal guardian.”

Julia watched in fascination as Alfred tugged on the grandfather clock’s pendulum, and the whole thing separated from the wall on a hinge. 

“A secret entrance?” she asked in wonder, “Why in the hell does Bruce Wayne need a secret entrance?”

“Because that night, in Crime Alley, Bruce Wayne died,” Alfred told her, opening the clock-door further and stepping down into the darkened corridor beyond, “Something else took his place.”

Julia followed her great-uncle down into the shadows below, and as the corridor opened up, she gaped at what she saw.

A massive, expansive cavern opened up beneath the manor, filled with gadgets and equipment that made Julia water at the mouth. A gigantic animatronic dinosaur loomed over the space, along with an enormous penny and a giant playing card bearing the insidious insignia of the Joker. A massive computer dominated the central forum, multiple screens flashing with crime reports from across the city, the country, the globe. Suits lined the walls in glass cases, ones she recognized from the news; Red Hood, Batgirl, Spoiler, Nightwing, Robin. And leading out of the cave, a massive, sleek, black car sat idle, a massive jet engine to its rear, ready to leap out of the cavern and down into the city below at a moment’s notice. 

“My God… This is… this is…!” Julia realized, struggling to find her words, and Alfred reached the bottom of the stairs, turning to face her.

“Julia, I am not asking you to be butler to Wayne Manor,” he said sagely, “I am asking you to be butler to Batman.”

---

Tim smiled at the receptionist of the new LexCorp Gotham Building, now finally complete over the former site of Ace Chemicals; it was a little funny to Tim how he had started the construction of this building, only to die before its completion, then be resurrected seven years later and report for work like nothing was amiss.

“Good morning, Mr. Drake!” the receptionist said with a bright smile, and Tim smiled back, quickly reading her nametag.

“Good morning, Cheryl,” he said warmly, “I know this is unorthodox, but could you have Records bring me a highlight list of everything LexCorp Gotham has accomplished since the completion of the new building? I want to assess things for myself now that we’re five years on.”

“Oh! Of course, sir, I’ll send them a note!” Cheryl said quickly, caught slightly off-guard as she began typing out the memo to Records, “And when do you need that by?”

“Oh, it’s not terribly important,” Tim responded, waving his hand dismissively, “Just as soon as they can have it ready.”

“Right away, sir; Oh! And Dr. Fries came in earlier, said he wanted to talk to you about something going missing?” she told him, and Tim raised an eyebrow.

“Is that so?” he said, “Well, I’ll go and see him; where might I find him?”

Cheryl furrowed her brow inquisitively. “In Cryogenics, sir,” she said after a moment, “Where he’s worked for five years…?”

“Ah! Of course!” Tim said with a light laugh, “Silly me. Sorry, Cheryl, haven’t had my coffee yet; have a good one!”

“You too, Mr. Drake!” Cheryl said after a moment, then after deciding everything was probably fine, went back to her work.

Tim, meanwhile, wiped sweat from his brow at the slip-up. Luckily, he knew Basil had been covering for him as ‘Tim Drake, Head of R&D’, but he didn’t know where his other old friends had wound up after all these years. He’d need to watch what he said until he could get a full report from Clayface.

He stepped off the elevator and into his office, noticeably one he had never actually stepped foot in, and smiled as he saw Dan and Meg manning the assistants’ desks on the way in.

“Morning, you two,” he said with a light smile, grinning as he kept up his playful masquerade, “Good to see you again.”

“Morning, Basil,” Meg said quickly, “You’re early today. Any news? Victor said the bandolier had gone missing from the cemetery.”

“Yes, Cheryl said something about that,” Tim said with a shrug, “I was gonna put my bag down then go see what he needed.”

“Right,” Meg said with a nod, “Ed’s gonna be late, some plan with Oswald and Harvey about next week’s score.”

Tim hummed slightly in acknowledgement, then passed them as he walked into his office, a smirk still playing at his lips. He set his briefcase down on his desk, then sat down and spun in his swivel chair, kicking up his feet. He frowned as he opened his drawer and found his usual whiskey stash empty; Basil must have emptied it. Oh, well; he could wait.

Tim hummed to himself, grinning all the while, while he just sat back and waited. Truth be told, this was the best he’d felt in a while; his mind was his again, he felt like his life had purpose again, and though the separation from Tommy still stung, he could take solace in the fact that he was making the world a safer place.

And, to be perfectly honest, ever since the Pit, Tim had started to understand the Rogues more and more, especially the now-dead Joker. There was a certain primal satisfaction Tim got when he got to put on his villainous Red Robin persona, a knowledge that in those instances, he was the one in control, not anyone else. It was powerful, it was a rush, it was… well, it was fun. 

Tim sighed as he blew a strand of hair out of his face, frowning slightly at the realization. Maybe he was slipping further than he thought. But Tommy, and Conner, would be safe, so…

He couldn’t really bring himself to care.

Finally, at long last, the elevator dinged again, and someone stepped off. 

“Hey, Basi-- wait a second,” he heard Dan say with a gasp, and Tim smirked.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1…

Three people burst into Tim’s office, all looking panicked and stricken, and Dan and Meg were both toting guns.

Tim grinned. “S’up,” he said, nodding his chin, not even moving to take his feet off the desk.

“ Who are you!? ” Basil cried fiercely, still masquerading as Tim, and Tim smiled as he gave the other man a mock gasp.

“ Basil, I’m hurt!” he said, “Don’t you recognize me? You’ve been wearing my face all these years, I’d think you’d look in the mirror once or twice. It’s a pretty one, after all.”

Basil snarled as he dropped the act, stepping forward and expanding up to his monstrous Clayface form. “Tim Drake was a friend of mine,” he growled, morphing his fist into a massive hammer-like appendage Tim had been on the wrong end of once or twice as Robin, “You’ve got some nerve showing up here wearing his face!”

Tim smiled as he finally took his feet off the desk, keeping Basil’s gaze steadily. “I am Tim Drake,” he said evenly, “Red Robin. Leader of the Mockingbird Syndicate. Your friend. And I can prove it to you, because I know Meg O’Leary’s favorite color is orange, Dan Foster’s wants to be the first Australian on the Moon, and you, Basil Karlow, despite all your skills as an actor, can’t play Poker for shit. ”

Dan, Meg, and Basil all blinked slowly, and then Clayface’s monstrous frown flipped into a wide smile as he swept Tim up in a crushing clay hug. “ TIM! ” he cheered, “You’re alive!!”

“I’m alive!” Tim confirmed with a laugh, patting his friend’s goopy exterior soothingly, “Now please put me down?”

“Right, right!” Basil said, setting Tim down and morphing back into his normal ‘Basil Karlow’ form, still beaming, “I can’t believe it! That explains why your bandolier went missing, you just came and fucking took it! Where’ve you been all this time?? It’s been years! ”

“Sorry,” Tim said sheepishly, splaying his hands, “I was a little busy being dead.”

Dan and Meg exchanged a look while Basil cocked his head like a confused puppy. Dan was the first to get it.

 “The Pit,” he whispered, and Tim cringed slightly as he nodded his head, flipping up his hair to show the roots of the white streak.

“Oh, Tim, ” Meg sighed sadly, but Tim waved off her pity.

“I’m alright, I got myself a cure,” he said lightly, going into his bag and producing the blue vial, “I was gonna send it over to Crane and have him replicate the next few doses I need. The first few days back were… pretty rough, but I’m okay now. I promise.”

Dan and Meg still looked skeptical, and Basil just looked lost, but the trio nodded. “If you’re sure,” Dan said softly, and Tim nodded, going back to stand behind his desk and put his hands on it dramatically.

“I’m sure,” he said seriously, “Now then! Mr. Foster, if you’d be so kind as to put out the call to get the old gang back together; we have work to do. ”

Dan laughed, giving a mock salute and saying, “Yes sir!” while he went to go page the other Rogues.

Tim smiled as he sat back down at his (new) desk, his mind kicking back into gear as he dusted the cobwebs off the long-neglected details of Operation Mockingbird. “And someone get me a bottle of whiskey!” he called before his secretaries, ( friends, he though glowingly) left the room.

Somewhere at the back of his mind, he knew he shouldn’t be grinning as much as he was. His life was still so fucked on so many levels. But being here, behind the desk, surrounded by the few true friends he still had in this world; that still put a smile on his face.

---

Talia al Ghul stalked through the halls of the ancient League monastery, hidden high in the Alborz Mountains of Iran. It was the place where the League of Assassins had been born, hundreds of years ago, during the times of the Crusades. A time when her father still lived the same lifetime as a mortal man. In those times, she knew, it had been the monastery where the man who would come to be known as Ra’s al Ghul had been born.

But she was not here for sentimental reasons. She was here for very practical ones.

Now that she was an equal partner of the Light, a task of great importance had been entrusted to her: ensuring the continued loyalty of Timothy Drake. 

She had lied, slightly, while confronting her father. The monk he had in reserve, waiting to end the life of Tim Drake’s son had not been convinced. Talia knew that her father would never entrust anyone so weak-minded with such an important task; no, the monk was almost certainly one of her father’s diehard loyalists. But, the monk had been located, at this ancient monastery, and now, with the elite team of her finest ninja at her side, Talia would take care of the problem.

The monk was old, no longer fit to fight in the name of the League. That did not mean he did not try to struggle when Talia’s assassins seized him. She watched in approval as one of her men expertly trapped the monk’s hands in their own, holding his fingers down on the deadman switch; if Tommy Drake died now, all their hard work will have been for nothing. They still needed the boy as a bargaining ship, should Tim’s loyalty prove short-lived. 

“ Traitor! ” the old monk snarled, “Have you no loyalty to your own father!?”

Talia did not dignify that with a response.

They restrained the old monk easily, and then Talia beckoned forth her coup de grace. A vessel of molten lead, carried on a litter by two of her men. She nodded to the ninja restraining the monk’s hands, and the ninja nodded back. 

Without preamble, the ninja dragged the monk’s hands downward into the lead with his own, the only outward sign of pain being a tightening of facial muscles; neither of them dared to show weakness in the face of the enemy. There they sat, staring daggers at one another, until Talia was sure the lead had cooled enough that there was no fear of the deadman switch being triggered.

She drew her sword, relieving the ninja of his sacrificed hands swiftly and cleanly. The ninja grunted, and of course began bleeding profusely, but still bowed to the Demon’s Head in thanks before being attended to by his sisters and brothers.

Talia then turned to her father’s monk, still bent over the cooling lead. “Your loyalty should have been to the Demon’s Head,” she said cooly, “Not my father.”

In one clean, fluid motion, she relieved the monk of his head.

---

Tommy grimaced slightly as he snuck out. Look, it wasn’t his fault that everyone else was too busy to look for him, and frankly, Tommy needed some time to himself; time to think.

After his little… episode in the Cave, having discovered the true reason his father was working with those… those… monsters, Tommy had been whisked away by Harley and Ivy, who tried to calm him down.

And it had worked, somewhat. He stopped shaking and crying, for one thing, but if the criteria of success included him being okay with the new facts he’d just been presented with, well; Tommy loved his aunts, but they’d fuckin’ failed in that regard.

Aunt Cass was still in recovery, Conner-Dad was still undergoing medicinal sunbathing, Aunt Stephanie was training with Grandpa to make up for her lost eye, Uncle Jason, Aunt Kori, and Uncle Roy were trying to make sure the twins weren’t irreparably traumatized, Alfred was meeting with family from England, and the rest of the family was coming to terms with things in their own way. By which, of course, Tommy meant they were going out at night in costumes to beat the mentally ill. 

And so, Tommy snuck down into the Cave while he knew Aunt Cass would be sleeping and his Dad (the good one) would be knocked out on the back porch in a lawn chair with the swimsuit edition of Sports Illustrated, and took Uncle Damian’s old Robin suit, from the days when he was about the same size Tommy was now.

He considered wearing his Drake suit, then immediately dismissed that idea. He next considered putting on Uncle Dick’s old Robin costume, but decided he’d rather not have weird old men ogling the scaly green panties. He passed by Tim’s old Robin suit altogether, even though he knew it was the most aesthetically pleasing. In the end, he ended up removing the large, cumbersome cloak from Uncle Damian’s old suit and calling it a day.

So now, Tommy was on his way to anywhere that wasn’t Gotham. He couldn’t be here anymore; here was filled with too many reminders of his father, of the Sword of Damocles that hung over his head, threatening to swing downward at any moment. Tommy couldn’t process the amount of danger he was in, couldn’t process what this meant for his relationship with Tim, without just breaking down and screaming, so his solution was just… not doing that.

Tommy was going out. As Robin. For the first time. He was going to save someone’s life, outside of Gotham, far away from Aunt Barbara’s watchful eye, and he was going to have fun, and he was going to very much not think about his father, or the reason why he did the things that he did, or the fact that his life could end at any moment as soon as Tim did something his handlers didn’t like--

No. Not thinking about it. Don’t think about it, and it can’t hurt you. 

It was a foolproof plan.

Foolproof.

Tommy flew west, not so far west that he was getting too close to Smallville (and Superman), but far enough that Oracle’s usual scan of the tristate area would turn up empty when they realized he was gone.

He was gonna be in so much trouble when he got home.

But that was a problem for when he got home.

Tommy was going to have fun today, and that was that.

He wound up in some Rust Belt city near the Great Lakes. He wasn’t sure which one, but he thought it was Lake Huron? Tommy shrugged. He was somewhere in Michigan. Far enough away from Star City to not warrant Green Arrow’s attention, too far from Metropolis for Superman to care, and, most importantly, far away from Gotham.

He grinned eagerly as he swooped downward, listening hard for the telltale sounds of crime. The increasing blight of each city street and neighborhood he passed shouldn’t have made him excited, but it did; he’d been a vigilante long enough to know that bad neighborhoods meant more crime.

And more crime meant more fun.

Finally, after hovering for a few minutes, he grinned as he heard someone shouting. “ Hey! Stop! Hey, help, somebody help!! ”

Tommy-- no, Robin flew into action, soaring over the city streets with glee as he zeroed in on the sound, and he almost laughed as he saw what was going on: standard mugging, some big, tough-looking guy trying to take a woman’s purse. 

Textbook.

Robin soared past them, snatching away the purse easily and separating the two with one fluid movement, stopping and turning to face them with a smirk on his face as he tossed the purse up and down in his hand. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s not nice to take things that don’t belong to you?” he asked sardonically, and the thug and his victim stared at him.

“You ain’t Static!” the thug growled, “Since when do Bats come out to Dakota City!?”

So, he was in Dakota City. Weird that it wasn’t in one of the Dakotas. Whatever.

“I go where I’m needed,” Tommy told him, still grinning, “So why don’t you just surrender so I don’t have to kick your sorry butt into next week?”

“Why you little--!” the thug growled, but before he could do anything, Tommy had his gun in his hand, crushed and broken, and the woman’s purse had been returned, all in the blink of an eye.

The thug stared at Tommy in disbelief, and Tommy grinned. He loved toying with these guys; they were just so dumb. 

“ You… ” the thug spat, “You ain’t no Bat! You’re one’a them alien freaks! ” The thug started easily tearing off his own shirt, and Tommy blinked in confusion. He was sure he wore the Robin suit without the scaly panties, so why was this dude getting naked?

Tommy wasn’t gonna sit around and find out. He flew between the thug and the woman, shouting a quick, “ Get out of here! ” over his shoulder before he socked the guy across the jaw, not enough to break it, but enough to hurt.

He was very confused when the thing he hit didn’t feel like jaw.

The thug didn’t even stagger, just turned his head with the hit. He met Tommy’s eyes and grinned.

Uh-oh.

A wave of nausea suddenly overcame Tommy, so quick and intense, like nothing he’d ever felt before. A green glow filled the space between him and the thug, and Tommy grunted as he fell to his knees, too dizzy to stand, and stared up at the thug…

The thug who currently had his chest cavity open, exposing the iridescent green rock behind the doors built into his metal chest.

“ Wh-wha--?? ” Tommy mumbled out, collapsing downward even further, and the thug grinned above him.

“What, Big Blue didn’t tell you about me, Squirt?” he said with a laugh, “The name’s Metallo. A perfect human-machine hybrid, built to keep Earth clean of alien scum like you. You like the bling? It’s kryptonite. ”

Tommy grunted as he tried to pull himself to his feet, only to stumble and fall down again, sprawled out on the sidewalk. Kryptonite. Figures. The second he tries to do things himself, he runs into fucking kryptonite!

“I don’t know how you know Superman, kid,” Metallo said above him, grabbing Tommy by the hair and lifting him up painfully, “And I’ve got no fucking clue why you’re playing dress-up, but just know I’m gonna send you back to Big Blue in a box. Like all you little alien freaks deserve!”

Tommy was just lucid enough to be offended by that; he was born in Paris. 

Oh yeah, and he was about to get killed by Metallo, halfway across the country, and no one knew he was here. Today was going so well!

“ Yo, Chrome Dome! ” someone cried, and both Tommy and Metallo looked up to see a teen in a blue sweatshirt and hat riding a manhole cover hurtling toward them, “Hands off the new kid!”

Metallo didn’t have a chance to dodge before the teen had slammed the manhole cover into his face, sending the cyborg criminal staggering backward. Tommy coughed as he tried to get to his feet, only for a warm, steadying presence to appear on his left in a blur of bright light.

“Easy , compadre, ” a soft, accented voice said, “Let’s get you away from that rock, si? ”

Tommy felt tingly for a moment, then blinked as he found himself in a totally new spot on the road, being held by a smiling teen with dark, copper-colored skin and poofy black hair, a red leather jacket wrapping his slight frame. “Wh-Who’re you? ” Tommy mumbled, and the other teen smiled.

“Name’s Eduardo,” he said quickly, “Call me Ed. Don’t worry; Static’s pretty good at dealing with cyborgs.”

“Cyborg’s here?” Tommy asked, still a little delirious, and he swore he heard a girl laugh. Now that Tommy was removed from Metallo, and therefore the kryptonite, he took in his surroundings, and found himself in the midst of a gaggle of teenagers, not too much older or younger than himself, all watching the fight between the manhole-surfing teen and Metallo.

“ STATIC!! ” Metallo roared in anger, blindly grabbing at the teen as Static danced just out of range, “I was wondering when you’d show your ugly mug!”

“Metallo, my dude, we’ve got to stop meeting like this!” Static told him with a laugh, zapping him with bright blue lightning that sprang from his fingers, “I keep tryin’ to tell you, I got my own Rogue’s Gallery! I don’t need Superman’s sloppy seconds!”

Metallo growled at the shock, still trying to rush Static, crying, “ I ain’t goin’ back to Metropolis till I beat you black and blue, boy!! ”

Static merely shook his head, as if in disappointment, and gave the next shock a lot more juice. Tommy winced in sympathy as Metallo screamed, the electricity rocking his body, and then fell over in a smoking heap. Static nudged his chest doors closed with his foot, cutting off all residual kryptonite radiation, then turned to Tommy and waved. To Tommy’s shock, he hopped back on his manhole cover and hovered over, suspended by the static electricity between the manhole and the road.

“S’up, newbie?” Static asked kindly, putting out his hand to shake, “What’s Robin doing out in Dakota City? Bats with you?”

Tommy took his hand automatically, blinking as he felt the slight static shock. “Like I told Metallo, I go where I’m needed,” he responded, “And no, Batman isn’t with me.”

“Cool, cool,” Static said, his voice a strange mixture of relief and disappointment as he hopped off his manhole cover, touching down on solid ground, “So what are you doing here? Y’know, besides getting your butt kicked.”

Tommy made a face. “I could’ve taken him!” he said defensively. Static, Ed, and the other teens in the group all gave him disbelieving looks. “I could’ve! ” Tommy reiterated, trying not to sound like a whiny toddler.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, dude,” one of the teens said with a shrug, a taller, lankier kid with copper-colored skin and long, straight black hair that went down to his mid-back. 

“Tye, be nice,” another teen, a skinny blond in roller-skating gear, admonished, and the tall kid, Tye, waved him off.

“ Tengo que decir, Robin, estrategia audaz, ” one short, redheaded teen said in rapidfire Spanish, not waiting for Tommy to decipher before his twin finished the sentence, “ No sabía que golpearte la cara era la forma en que manejaban a los malos en Gotham. ”

Before Tommy could even try to figure out what that meant, a kind-looking black haired Asian girl smiled at him supportively, saying, “ Watashi wa anata ga umaku yatte iru to omotta! ”

Tommy blinked at her. 

“Yeah, sorry, Mas y Menos and Sami are still working on their English,” Eduardo said with a shrug, “Communication’s a bit of a challenge.”

Tommy still stared at them. “I… think I’m more confused than when you first showed up,” he admitted, “Who are you guys? And why was Metallo gunning for you?”

“Oh, us? Nothing special,” the blond kid said cockily, puffing out his chest, “Just a team of super-awesome superhero teens keeping the city safe, one mugger at a time!”

“And Metallo keeps coming around ‘cause I was in Metropolis on a school field trip this one time while Superman was fighting Bizarro, and I totally whooped his butt,” Static said with a laugh, “He still hasn’t gotten over the fact that he got beat by a Black kid from Dakota City.”

“You go to school?” Tommy asked incredulously; how did they find the time to be superheroes??

The other teens, meanwhile, only stared at him equally as incredulous. “Do… do you not? ” Eduardo asked suspiciously, and Tommy immediately felt his face heat up.

“I, uh… I’m homeschooled, mostly,” he said, suddenly sheepish, “My aunt teaches me things. And I, uh, read a lot.”

“Cool,” Static said with a shrug, “Seriously though, why are you here? Dakota City’s pretty far from Gotham for a kid to come on his own.”

“Oh, it’s not that far,” Tommy said, waving his hand, “I can fly pretty fast.”

“Woah woah woah, you can fly?? ” the blond asked in amazement, and Tommy grinned, lifting off the ground easily.

“Heck yeah, I can,” he said, and to his satisfaction, the redhead twins, Mas y Menos, started whirling around him at super speed.

“ Woah!! ” one gasped in amazement, Tommy thought he was Menos.

“ ¿¿Que tan rapido puedes ir?? ” the other, Mas, asked quickly, a bright smile on his face.

“ ¿Más rápido que nosotros? ” Menos continued, while Mas scoffed at whatever Menos had insinuated.

“ ¡Como si! ” he said.

“Wait, you two are speedsters??” Tommy asked them, and Mas y Menos grinned, high fiving and nodding as they ran circles around him.

“We all have powers,” the tall kid, Tye, said, “Mas y Menos are speedsters, Static is electrokinetic, Eduardo can teleport, Sami has a super jump, I can astral project, and Gear here has an overclocked brain.”

The blond, Gear, rolled his eyes as he shoved Tye aside. “What Tye means is that I have an advanced understanding of mechanical engineering due to my brain being enhanced by metahuman genes,” he said proudly, “ I’m a super-genius!”

Static laughed behind his hand, “Yeah, super-geek, more like.”

Gear gasped in mock-offense, and the whole group, Tommy included. “I’ve never met other superpowered kids my age,” he admitted as the laughter winded down, “The only ones even close are my cousins, and they’re both, like, way younger than me.”

The group shared a look, but before anyone could say anything, Static held out his hand invitingly. “You could hang with us for the day,” he said easily, a smile playing at his lips, “If you want.”

“R-Really?” Tommy asked, blinking in surprise, “You guys won’t mind?”

“Dude, you’re Robin, ” Eduardo said with a laugh, “You’re, like, kid superhero royalty. ”

“A-Actually, this is my first time out as Robin,” Tommy said sheepishly, shrinking in on himself, “I… kinda maybe stole my uncle’s suit…”

The group all blinked at him. Just as Tommy thought they were about to get mad, Tye broke into a sly grin. “Oh, I like this kid,” he said happily, and Tommy beamed under the praise.

“Stick with us, Robin,” Static said happily, throwing an arm around Tommy’s shoulders, “I feel like this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship!”

Chapter 26: New Recruits

Bruce sighed as let Stephanie up. “You’re getting better,” he told her as she blindly reached for her water bottle, panting for breath, “You just need a little more practice accounting for your-”

“-Left side, I know,” she gasped, gulping down her water; training with Bruce was always intense, no matter how old he was, “I don’t know if you noticed, but I’ve got a pretty big blind spot there.”

Bruce hummed at the sarcasm, retrieving his own water and throwing a cool towel over his shoulders. “Slade Wilson is one of the most competent fighters on the planet, and he lost his left eye, too,” he told her, “There’s nothing separating him from you besides effort.”

“And a totally bullshit healing factor,” Steph grumbled, still sprawled out on the mats.

Bruce actually huffed a small laugh. “And a bullshit healing factor,” he agreed, thinking of the far-too-many scars he’d received from Deathstroke.

“Hey, why are we doing this in the Hall of Justice and not the Cave, anyway?” Steph asked, finally putting in the effort to sit up, “I mean, not that I’m not grateful for the change in scenery, but I thought the Hall was mainly a tourist attraction nowadays?”

“It is,” Bruce sighed, wiping his face with a towel, “But I have an engagement here that I can’t miss, and you couldn’t afford to miss training.”

“I could’ve trained with Damian!” she said defensively, and Bruce just looked at her. “Okay yeah I’d rather fake my death again than train with Damian,” she admitted, “But there’s Jason! And… Duke…?”

“Jason is too bullheaded in his fighting style to give you any meaningful information,” Bruce said sagely, “Duke is simply too inexperienced to teach you anything you don’t already know. My first choice for your instructor would be Cassandra, but… she still needs time to recover.”

“Right…” Steph sighed, resting her elbows on her knees and her chin on her hands, “God, the past few weeks have been so fucked up…”

“It’s the job,” Bruce sighed sadly, not to chastise her, but more resignedly agreeing with her.

“Batman,” Diana called from the door to the Hall’s small gym, “It’s time. Suit up.”

Bruce sighed as his face fell. “And so is that,” he muttered, dreading what was to come, “Take a break, Batgirl.”

“Good luck!” Steph called over his shoulder as Bruce begrudgingly made his way towards the showers, and his suit.

---

A few minutes later, he was standing in the main foyer of the Hall of Justice with Clark and Diana, looking over the names and faces one last time. “And we’re sure this is our best course of action?” Bruce asked again, just to be sure, and he heard Clark sigh.

“Bruce, you agreed to this!” he insisted, “The League needs more hands if we’re ever going to hope to stand up to bigger threats! Remember how Hal creamed us? What if someone on his level came instead, someone a little more like Darkseid? ”

“Darkseid was defeated with the League at almost half the size it is now,” Bruce argued, “I’m not convinced that expanding our ranks further will do any good. The Justice League may become… bloated.”

“Darkseid was only defeated by calling upon almost every citizen of Earth,” Diana argued respectfully, “All of its heroes. In many ways, most of these people are already Leaguers. They deserve their place beside us.”

Bruce sighed, nodding his head in defeat. “ Alright ,” he sighed, “Alright. I’m not trying to say they’re not fit for the League. I just worry about the precedent this sets.”

Clark nodded his head in understanding. “I know,” he told his oldest friend, putting a hand on his shoulder, “You’re being cautious; it’s in your nature. Hell, I think it’s what’s helped us get this far. But I know I’m right about this, Bruce. The Justice League needs to be ready for whatever threats the Earth might face, and to do that, we need more of her heroes to defend her. We’re stronger together.”

Bruce nodded, and finally, the Trinity stepped out of the doors of the Hall, toward the gathered crowd of journalists and media gathered in the plaza, and the line of individuals on the steps. Bruce pursed his lips, uncomfortable with the limelight. He wasn’t Brucie Wayne, Prince of Gotham at the moment, he was Batman, the Dark Knight. Brucie Wayne was meant for the cameras; Batman wasn’t.

“Good morning,” Diana started, stepping up to the podium that had been set up, “Thank you all for coming. With the approval of the United Nations, the Justice League is happy to announce an expansion of our ranks.”

“These men and women have proven themselves able and capable heroes; the best of the best,” Clark went on, stepping beside her, “Not only in their ability, but in their dedication and unwavering courage in the face of adversity.”

“They have showed remarkable character, bravery, and heroism,” Bruce finished, “And thus deserve their place in the League.”

Diana nodded to him appreciatively as she carried on, “And that is why the Justice League is proud to welcome the following members to our ranks:”

Bruce took up the stack of Justice League ID cards, preparing to hand them out while Clark prepared to shake hands and congratulate.

“Icon.”

AKA Arnus, AKA Augustus Freeman IV. Powerful alien who crashlanded in Mississippi in 1855, taken in by an enslaved woman named Miriam. Had laid low ever since, only appearing in a true superheroic identity recently, after being inspired by Superman, and some cajoling from his sidekick. He took his card gratefully, shaking Superman’s hand as Clark congratulated him.

“Rocket.”

AKA Raquel Ervin, Icon’s sidekick from Dakota City. The one who convinced Icon to use his abilities for good. Used a belt made from material from Icon’s crashed ship to manipulate kinetic energy. She took her card with a grin, bouncing at the opportunity to shake Superman’s hand.

“Hawk and Dove.”

AKA Hank and Dawn Hall, both former Titans members. Skilled martial artists, inseparable team. Hank had retired from the hero game after it cost his brother, Donald Hall, the original Dove, his life; he and his wife had come out of retirement after hearing of what had happened to Dick. Bruce nodded to the pair as they accepted their cards.

“Harley Quinn.”

Bruce smiled as Harley held her card aloft, celebrating even before Clark shook her hand. He was proud of how far she’d come.

“Poison Ivy.”

Bruce nodded to Pamela as she took her card, a much more solemn expression on her face, as if acknowledging the grave responsibility she now bore. She shook Clark’s hand firmly, determination in her eyes.

“Huntress.”

AKA Helena Bertinelli, daughter of powerful Mafioso Guido Bertinelli. After witnessing her parents’ execution at the hands of the Mafia, she donned a cape to combat the injustice. Her morals were… interesting. Bruce would have to keep an eye on her. Clark shook her hand almost uncertainly.

“The Question.”

AKA Victor Sage, crackpot private investigator that had been kicked off the Cincinnati Police Force five years ago for mental instability. In the time since, he had taken to wearing a mask that made him appear faceless, and his skills as a brilliant detective had successfully brought down multiple corrupt and shady companies. Bruce hoped to weaponize him in the fight against Luthor. He thinks Question knows that. His face is, understandably, inscrutable as he shakes Superman’s hand.

“Superboy.”

Jon Kent had grown up into a good man, fighting the good fight, just like his father. He was still young, that much was true, but his ascension to the League was proof that his generation of heroes, like Damian and the rest, had grown up. Bruce had had his reservations when Jon was still a child, but now he could see the man his honorary nephew had become. He nodded to the boy, the man, and Jon smiled, beaming as he shook his father’s hand.

“Wonder Girl.”

Diana’s voice sounded almost thick with emotion as she read that. Cassie Sandsmark stood at attention, looking like the proud Amazon warrior she had become, her shield on her back and her sword and lasso at her side. She held her head high, taking her card with a stoic nod, but by the time she was shaking Superman’s hand, there was a grin plastered on her face.

“Kid Flash.”

Bart Allen, future grandson of Barry Allen and Iris West, possibly from another timeline, as Barry did not yet have children. Sent back in time so that his cousin, Wally West, could cure a rapid-aging disease that Bart had contracted while in utero, possibly a birth defect related to the Speed Force. Despite his childlike nature, Bart had eventually grown into a semi-mature and semi-responsible hero, putting his life on the line with his friends as Young Justice, and eventually the Teen Titans. He and Cassie were the only Young Justice alumni ascending to the League, as though Conner was offered a spot, he had declined, opting instead to remain an honorary Titan and Batfamily member. Bruce was unwilling to acknowledge the elephant in the room driving each of their decisions as he handed Bart his card, and Clark shook his hand.

“Rocket Red.”

AKA Dmitri Pushkin, one of Russia’s premier Red Rocket Brigade, a team of mechsuit pilots meant to act as Russia’s heroes and a sort of rival force to the Justice League. Effectively handed over to the JL as a peace offering from the Russian government, to show that they were willing to play ball on the international stage. Pushkin seemed to be truly heroic at heart, but Bruce would have to wait and see if he had any ulterior motives. He seemed conflicted as he shook Clark’s hand.

“Shining Knight.”

AKA Sir Justin of Camelot, a real, actual Arthurian Knight of the Round Table who had been given a magical sword, armor, and pegasus called Winged Victory by the wizard Merlin. He had been frozen in suspended animation until Zatanna and Doctor Fate had found him while battling Klarion the Witch Boy. Sir Justin had decided to take up his sword as a knight errant once more, adhering strictly to a code of chivalry. He looked determined and solemn as he shook Superman’s hand.

“Vigilante.”

AKA Greg Saunders, Bruce would almost call his story comical in its simplicity. Born in Indiana, Saunders had grown up watching Clint Eastwood movies, and became inspired to become a true Cowboy hero, like his idol. Through sheer dedication, practice, and perseverance, Saunders eventually became a force to be reckoned with, handy with twin revolvers and a lasso, and was able to play guitar. Bruce was concerned about his sincerity, but when he saw the determination in the cowboy’s eyes, he dismissed his doubts. Greg Saunders was a pure soul, like Clark and Diana. Bruce had nothing to fear from him. He was practically vibrating as he accepted Clark’s handshake.

“Blue Beetle.”

AKA Ted Kord, he had become a venerated hometown hero in El Paso. Protege of JSA member and original Blue Beetle Dan Garrett, Ted had taken it upon himself to safeguard the alien Scarab that had given his mentor his powers, especially after Garrett was killed for it in 2005, an event that had shaken the recently-pardoned JSA to its core. Kord had struck up a partnership with Booster Gold, which eventually blossomed into something more, and after an explosion at his lab, decided to take on Jaime Reyes as an apprentice, who had been taken over by the Scarab. Bruce was optimistic about him; he had a good head on his shoulders, and a good skillset. Given the right motivations and circumstances, Ted Kord could be the best of them. He watched as Ted shook Superman’s hand with steady determination.

“Booster Gold.”

AKA Michael Carter, a charlatan from the Twenty-Fifth Century who had travelled back in time in order to gain fame and glory as a superhero, having stolen his equipment from a museum he worked the nightshift at. When he had first arrived, Booster had been nothing more than that, a showboat and a fraud, setting up increasingly harebrained schemes to get famous that at best disrupted the public peace, and at worst placed lives in danger. However, his relationship with Blue Beetle, as well as his own journey in the Twenty-First Century, had led to quite a lot of personal growth on Carter’s part. Bruce now considered him a steadfast ally, willing to put his life on the line with the rest of them. His and Beetle’s decision to finally join the League was a welcome one.

“And Plastic Man.”

AKA Patrick “Eel” O’Brien, a former henchman of smalltime Gotham Rogue Kiteman. After a mishap with experimental chemicals being illegally processed in a rubber factory, O’Brien’s physiology had become unstable, and after spending a few years in a coma, woke up with the ability to mold his body into almost any shape. The exact limits of his powers were unknown, and that made Bruce nervous, especially given O’Brien’s past of grand larceny. He could tell there was a good heart there, somewhere, but he would need to keep an especially close eye on Plastic Man. Eel was ecstatic as he took his card and shook Clark’s hand.

“Please, welcome the new class of the Justice League!” Diana finished, gesturing to the line of new Leaguers, and the crowd cheered and applauded, “The new Leaguers will now follow us inside for their first official assignments at both the Hall and the Watchtower, as well as the various Justice League facilities and missions across the world. This concludes today’s ceremony, thank you all for coming.”

Bruce inwardly breathed a sigh of relief as the media began to disperse, and he could finally drop back into the comfort of Batman as the new recruits were filed into the Hall, and then past the open-to-the-public areas and into the Zeta Tube to the Watchtower. 

Once aboard, Bruce took point as Clark and Diana formed up on him, all three standing on the bridge and purposefully looming over the Zeta Tube Platform, where they were all assembled. “I will be very clear with you all,” Bruce started sternly, “This is not an honor. This is not a reward. This is a job. A higher calling, a solemn responsibility that we have found each of you worthy of. The Justice League has taken a risk in expanding its ranks, both with those of you who have worked alongside us for years, and those of you who are relatively new to superheroism. We will be watching, evaluating your performance and holding you to the same high standard that we do the rest of the League. The people of Earth have put their trust in you to protect and serve them from all manner of threats. Do not let them down.”

The new recruits shifted slightly, uncomfortable from the tonal whiplash between the pomp & circumstance and the tangible, gritty reality of the position they now found themselves in.

“And don’t forget to have fun!” Clark said with a cheesy grin, standing beside Bruce with double thumbs-up.

Bruce ignored him.

“Blue Beetle, you’re on monitor duty; Plastic Man, you will be relieving his shift in three hours,” Bruce continued on, “The Watchtower runs on Coordinated Universal Time, meaning we are five hours ahead of the Hall of Justice. Hawk, Dove, Shining Knight, Vigilante, you are being dispatched to Mandalay to assist with humanitarian efforts in Myanmar. Wonder Girl, you’re being sent to Themyscira with Troia and Wonder Woman to discuss possible Amazon entry to the United Nations. Question, Huntress, you’re going to Khandaq; Black Adam has been making moves on neighboring Bialya, despite his country’s long history of isolationism. We need to know why. Rocket Red, Booster Gold, Icon, Rocket, Kid Flash, Poison Ivy, Harley Quinn, the seven of you are going to the Congo Jungle to deal with Gorilla Grodd’s advancements on Congolese territory; Poison Ivy is team leader. Superboy, you and Superman are headed to Cape Canaveral to talk with NASA about Justice League supervision of the Artemis Program.”

Bruce gave them all one last look, searching for any sign of wavering in their eyes. He was met with nothing but determination, and no small amount of excitement. “Go,” he said, and he turned away, retreating further into the interior of the Watchtower.

He didn’t dare do it in front of the new blood, but as he turned away, he smiled. Perhaps this expansion would go well after all.

---

‘Ted Kord’ hummed to himself softly as he checked over the sensors of the Watchtower again, drumming his fingers as he tried to stave off the boredom. Things had been going well since the attack, all things considered; Booster had been elated at Ted’s change of heart concerning being out and proud in public, and they’d enjoyed a happy, active life together around town ever since. The papers couldn’t get enough of the fact that Ted Kord, rising star in the tech billionaire scene and the young, energetic founder/CEO of Kord Industries, was also gay. Some headlines were nicer than others, but mostly Ted just tried to ignore them, even the flattering ones; he wasn’t really comfortable with this level of attention.

It meant more eyes on him, it could jeopardize his mission-

But wherever he stumbled in facing the public and the paparazzi, Booster was there, and increasingly, so was Jaime. They were becoming a family of sorts, and Ted… liked it. Jaime was a bright kid, he’d go far as the Blue Beetle when Ted was finally ready to retire. Not that he was planning on that anytime soon.

After becoming a mentor to Jaime, helping him understand the Scarab and its abilities, and reliving some of the memories of his own mentor, Dan Garrett, the original Blue Beetle, Ted found himself wanting something more in his life. Not out of any greed or actual wanting for attention; he was perfectly content being the hometown hero of El Paso, serving his community however he could, but as Jaime came into his own, Ted realized he wanted more than that. Not for him, but for Jaime.

With the power of the Scarab, Jaime had the chance to be one of the greatest heroes of his generation, and Ted could tell from the gleam in his eyes that that’s what the kid wanted; to be big. To be a part of the Justice League. To not just help a city or a town, but the whole world.

If Ted was going to be his mentor, he’d need to do a little better than hometown hero if he was going to give Jaime the chances he needed. He and Booster had already agreed; when they were ready to retire from the business, they would use their last official act as Leaguers to recommend Jaime for a spot. The League, and the world, would always have a Blue Beetle.

And being a part of the Justice League was his main objective. It put him close to the ‘heroes’ in the heart of their stronghold. Here, he could strike from the inside out.

Something beeped at him from the console, pulling Ted out of his thoughts. He frowned deeply as he investigated it, pulling it up and enhancing the reading as much as he could. A ship was on its way to Earth, a big one, too. Preliminary scans showed the technological signature to be unique, but Ted decided to try running it against the database they had been gifted by the Rannians, thanks to their connections with Adam Strange.

After a few short minutes, bright red warning signs flashed on the monitor, almost scaring Ted out of his skin. The signature was easily recognizable; a mix of tech from the planets Colu and…

… Krypton.

Ted sucked in a breath. He quickly read through the Rannian database entries on both planets; Colu and Krypton, both dead worlds once home to technologically advanced civilizations. Both destroyed. Krypton by the explosion of its red sun. Colu by invasion from a rogue Kryptonian artificial intelligence program called ‘Brainiac’.

And now, this ‘Brainiac’ had set its sights on Earth.

Ted needed to put out the alert, he needed to tell Superman, Batman, everyone, he--!!!

He needed to report this in.

Daedalus straightened his back, the panic leaving him immediately. Discreetly, he put the cameras monitoring him on a short loop, then quickly sent his findings to the Light. The Light would decree what happened next.

Daedalus waited a few breathless moments, ever aware of how his shift was coming to an end, and that at any moment, Plastic Man might walk in and jeopardize his mission.

The Light was quick in its response. “You did well to alert us, Daedalus,” Lord Savage said smoothly in his ear, “Hide this from the Justice League. I shall deal with this myself.”

“Yes, Lord Savage,” Daedalus responded, and he quickly set to work obscuring the records of his interception from the Watchtower’s database. He expertly cloaked Brainiac’s ship from the sensors, deleted the records from the log, and fabricated replacement information to make up for the lost time. After erasing any trace of his activities, he heard the door to the monitor room open behind him; he quickly set everything back how it was supposed to be.

“Hey, Beetle!” Plastic Man said from behind him, and Ted jumped in surprise.

“ Gah! ” he yelped, turning to face his coworker, “Plas! Don’t scare me like that!”

Eel laughed easily, waving away the concern. “Sorry, sorry,” he said smoothly, “Anything on radar?”

“Nah,” Ted responded, getting up and stretching, “Slow night tonight.”

Eel laughed ruefully as he replaced Ted at the console, muttering, “Aren’t they all. See you around, Beetle. Say hi to Booster for me!”

“Of course!” Ted said with a smile, beginning to make his way down to the Zeta Tubes and back to El Paso. As he walked away, he frowned, trying to remember why he felt so nervous.

---

Tommy followed the gaggle of superpowered teens warily, but also knowing that it was the most interesting thing going on in a hundred miles. If he wanted to keep himself distracted, this was the best way to do it; and he was keeping himself distracted. Tommy was incredibly grateful that Richie (as he learned was the blond rollerblader’s real name) was a motormouth, because if he hadn’t had the constant stream of words to focus in on, he might have let his attention stray to the dark thoughts that lurked at the edges of his mind, like the fact he could die any minute and he might have been wrong about Dad Tim Dad Red Robin and what does this mean for him and can he even have a life and--???

Tommy quickly shook his head vehemently, trying to physically dispel the thoughts, and Eduardo gave him a strange look.

“You alright, ese? ” Ed asked him quietly, and Tommy nodded.

“Y-Yeah, fine, just… a little distracted, is all,” he stammered out, trying to sound more confident than he felt; his first outing as Robin was going so well, “What were we talking about?”

“The new gaming pc coming out tomorrow, duh! ” Richie said immediately, “Its specs are amazing! A sheer technological masterpiece! I mean, obviously, I could totally improve on the design if I got my hands on it, but for dudes designing without superpowered brains, it’s completely rad!! ”

Tommy held in a laugh at the outdated slang. “ Rad? ” he asked snidely, and Richie shot him a look.

“Don’t mind him,” Virgil (Static’s real name) said with a grin, putting a hand on his best friend’s shoulder, “His folks only let him watch outdated cartoons and tv shows, so his slang game is a little last-decade.”

Tommy scoffed. “Last century, you mean,” he said dryly, and Richie straightened in surprise and overblown offense. Tommy immediately felt terrible; was the slight jab too far? To be fair, this was the first interaction with kids his own age; all his knowledge of interpersonal relationships came from Uncle Damian and Grandpa. Which, come to think of it, might not have been the best starting point. 

“ Woah! ” Tye said with an easy laugh, defusing the situation as the other teens laughed with him, “Apply water to burn, there, Richie.”

Richie narrowed his eyes at Robin in a mock-glare, then made the ‘I’m watching you’ gesture with his hand. “I hope you know, Robin,” he said in a tone that feigned seriousness, but was betrayed by the grin on his face, “This means war.”

Tommy felt the tension flood away from his limbs as he laughed nervously along with them. “Consider me warned,” he said easily. Discreetly, he wiped the sweat from his brow; who knew making friends could be this intense?

“Hey, really,” Ed said seriously, catching Tommy’s arm and lowering his voice, “You doing okay? I get the vibe you don’t get out much, and I know these guys can be a little… overwhelming. ”

“No, I’m alright, really!” Tommy assured him, grateful for the older boy’s concern, “I’m not overwhelmed at all! Just kinda… whelmed.”

Ed raised an eyebrow. “Whelmed?” he asked, “I know English isn’t my first language, but that can’t be a word.”

“What? No, of course it is!” Tommy said incredulously, “It’s the neutral form of underwhelmed and overwhelmed. Whelmed.”

“I have never heard anyone ever in my life say that, dude,” Virgil said with a shrug.

“It’s a word!” he protested, trying to explain his logic, but he ended up floundering and just repeated, “Whelmed!!”

“Just saying ‘whelmed’ over and over again isn’t an argument, my man,” Tye teased, and Tommy gasped.

“Et tu, Tye?” he said in his best Shakespearean accent, “Alas, I mistakenly believed we were comrades! But nay, thou hast betrayeth me!”

Most of the group laughed at the joke, while Mas y Menos and Sami just looked confused. “ ¿Qué está sucediendo? ” Mas asked, and Ed jumped a little.

“Oh!” he said, “ Robin piensa que ‘ whelmed’ es una palabra en inglés; que no es. ”

Mas y Menos laughed in tandem as they got the joke, but Sami just tilted her head a little more, laughing politely just to feel included.

“Hold on, Sami, let me type it out for you,” Richie said quickly, reaching into his backpack and pulling out a small laptop.

“Oh, you’ve got a translator built in for Japanese?” Tommy asked in interest, looking over Richie’s shoulder at his gear.

“Hm? Oh, yeah! I don’t actually speak it myself, but I managed to find some code for a better translator that I put my own little spin on,” he said absently, typing out the joke so Sami could get it, “Like Ed said earlier, Mas y Menos and Sami are still working on their English, and no one here speaks Japanese, so until they’re fluent, this is the best we’ve got!”

“When Gear’s not around we have to fall back on Google Translate,” Ed said with a shrug, “Gets the job done, but not really great at translating in context.”

Before Tommy could answer, Sami finally laughed in earnest, even going so far as to point at him in ridicule after having read the joke. On one hand, Tommy admired the effort they were going through to keep their friends included; on the other, that was a long way to go for a stupid joke. 

“Ah, home sweet home!” Virgil said from the front of the pack, interrupting Tommy from his thoughts as they arrived at an abandoned gas station/auto repair shop, the pain peeling from the walls and the windows boarded up with plywood.

“ This is your secret base?” Tommy asked skeptically, eyeing the decrepit door with distrust

“Hey, not everybody can work in the Batcave, dude,” Virgil said defensively, zapping the ancient-looking garage door and making it rumble to life, lifting itself up a few feet, with great effort, before eventually getting stuck halfway up. The others ducked easily under the door without breaking stride, so Tommy figured that was about as high as it went.

Ducking under the going through, Tommy was more impressed with the inside. The garage had been cleared out of its auto repair supplies, most of it being shoved to a far corner with a work bench labelled ‘Gear’. The rest of the space was dominated by a long couch, a few bean bag chairs, and an old TV hooked up to a few gaming consoles. An old pizza box sat opened and empty on a small table close to a rickety-looking fridge; the old kind with the big latch for a handle. It was still definitely a fixer-upper, but from here, Tommy no longer felt like the building was about to fall down on their heads.

“Want a soda?” Virgil asked him as he walked toward the fridge, “We’ve got root beer, Coke, Sprite, and Dr. Thunder.”

“Dr. Thunder?” Tommy asked quizzically, following after him as the others dispersed around the couch and chairs.

“It’s like Dr. Pepper,” Tye supplied, “But storebrand. Virgil won’t let us buy the real stuff.”

“It’s expensive!” Virgil said defensively, absently tossing a Sprite to Sami, “I said you guys could buy two name brand sodas! Two! You’re lucky I agreed to let you have storebrand!”

“ 'De acuerdo', dice ,” Mas said with a laugh, and Menos laughed with him, saying, “ ¡Como si tuvieras una opción! ”

Virgil muttered something unintelligible under his breath, but Tommy distinctly heard something about ‘too nice for my own good’, before he gave Richie a Coke, then let Mas y Menos take their preferred Dr. Thunders.

“I’ll take root beer,” Tommy said quietly, “I… don’t think I’ve ever had it before.”

“You’ve never had root beer? ” Eduardo asked, raising an eyebrow, “What has Batman been feeding you?”

“Nothing,” Tommy said easily, taking his soda from Virgil, “Batman’s not allowed to cook anymore. He broke the stove too many times.”

“Woah woah woah, you mean Batman can’t cook?” Richie asked, dumbfounded, and Tommy shrugged. 

“I guess not?” he said uncertainly, “Usually, it’s our butler that cooks, or Uncle Da-- I, I mean… Nightwing.”

“Nightwing is your uncle?” Richie asked.

“You have a butler?? ” Tye added, with more emotion.

“Um… yeah?” Tommy responded, looking down at his soda in concentration as he tried not to break it, “Is that weird?”

“It’s certainly not normal, ” Eduardo said with a shrug, “But I wouldn’t call it weird. Don’t mind Tye; he grew up on the Apache Reservation, I don’t think he realizes that not every rich kid is a spoiled brat like Brucie Wayne.”

Tommy choked on his soda, coughing and spluttering for air as he tried to play it off. “Ah, uh, uh-huh, yeah,” he spluttered, “I’m, uh… definitely not like, um… Brucie, ” God, this was weird-- “I actually grew up kinda poor until I was seven or so. Then Batman took me in.”

“Really?” Tye asked, more interested now, “Where’d you live before?”

“How’d you meet Batman when you were seven?? ” Richie asked intensely, quickly setting up a simulcast for Sami and Mas y Menos.

“I lived a bunch a places,” Tommy said uncertainly, trying to find the balance between mostly-the-truth and not-compromising-his-secret-identity, “Mostly places out of the way. Utah, Upstate New York, Iowa. But where I lived most of the time, and where I consider home, is Alaska. A little cabin in the woods near Fairbanks.”

Tye nodded appreciatively, “I get that. Alaska’s a little too cold for my taste, but it’s free living up there. Wilderness, untouched land.”

“Yeah,” Tommy said sadly, nostalgia leaking into his voice as he sat down on a workbench he thought might take his weight, “It was beautiful. We had a great view of Mt. McKinley, but I left before I had the chance to climb it. That’s, um, actually how I met Batman.”

The teens perked up with interest, all of them leaning forward subconsciously as the legendary Dark Knight’s name was invoked. Tommy fidgeted uncomfortably. “The best way to explain this is by saying first is that my, uh… biological father isn’t exactly a good person. I think. But he kinda kidnapped me when I was born? And that’s why we moved around so much; we were on the run. I- God, I was so into it when I was little. It was just one big adventure. He’d tell me what our last name was, a different one every new place we went to. It was a game to me. I didn’t realize anything was wrong. He was my everything, my whole world; I didn’t know anybody or anything else.”

A few of the teens shared looks, while Eduardo put a hand on Tommy’s shoulder in sympathy. 

Tommy closed his eyes as he went on, “And then one day, he was just… gone. Middle of the night. I woke up in the Batcave, halfway across the planet, and before I knew it, Batman was telling me that he was my grandpa, and I had a whole new life, with a whole new family. I thought my dad had abandoned me, gave me up for adoption; looking back on it, I wish I was right.”

“What happened to him?” Richie asked, just before Tye stomped on his foot.

“That’s… a long story,” Tommy said, his throat growing tight, “I… I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Hey, no worries, ese, no one’s gonna make you,” Eduardo said, “We’re all here cause we’re running away from something. I actually live in Taos, New Mexico, my dad’s a big time scientist, studying metahuman biology, funny enough. He’s a good guy, but just… my whole life, I was in his shadow. My name’s Eduardo Dorado, Jr. for a reason; Sr. was the bigger man. Always was, always will be. When I got these powers, I knew I wouldn’t be able to take it anymore. So I just… ran.”

“I never knew my dad,” Tye shared sadly, “He died before I was born. My mom got married to a White Man afterwards, and he didn’t treat her right at all. They eventually broke up, but later on, he came back, felt like Mom owed him something or some shit like that. I discovered my powers when I stopped him; threw his car at him.”

Tommy sucked in a breath. “Is he…?” he didn’t dare finish the question.

Tye looked at him with a dark, primal glint in his eye. “He won’t hurt her ever again,” he said vaguely, “But I had to run. My grandfather was the one to see me go; he still lives on the Reservation. He gave me this pendant,” he took a small, wood-carved necklace out from beneath his shirt, hung around his neck on a strong black cord, “Said it had been in our family for generations. That it would help guide me on my journey. He, uh, he’s the Medicine Man of our tribe, lots of Spirits stuff going on with him. It’s… all I have left.”

“I… I’m sorry,” Tommy said softly.

“It’s okay,” Tye lied, looking down, “I’m getting used to it.”

“Nuestros nombres reales son Matteo y Sebastiano Rodriguez,” Mas said quietly, his brother putting a hand on his shoulder, “Nos expulsaron de nuestro hogar en Guatemala y nos obligaron a huir porque no entendían nuestros dones por lo que eran; vinimos a Estados Unidos en busca de una vida mejor. Lo encontramos aquí.”

Richie quickly gave his translator to Tommy, and Tommy read over what he saw. “ Our real names are Matteo and Sebastiano Rodriguez. We were driven from our home in Guatemala and forced to flee because they didn't understand our gifts for what they were; we came to the United States looking for a better life. We found it here. ”

Tommy nodded at them, and Mas y Menos, Matteo and Sebastiano, nodded back. 

Sami looked down at her lap, Virgil putting a hand on her shoulder. “I found Sami by the docks,” he said quietly, sadly, “Richie and I were breaking up what we thought was just a drug deal, but it turned out to be a human trafficking ring. Sami was… one of the victims.”

“ Watashi wa Tōkyō ni sunde imashita. Watashi wa minashigodesu, ” Sami said shakily, “ Watashi wa aruite wa ikenai to wakatte iru michi o aruite gakkō ni ikimashitaga, chikoku shi-sōdeshita. Mishiranu otoko-tachi ga watashi o tsukande, watashi no hana ni nuno o kabusemashita. Nuno wa kurorohorumu ni hitasa rete ita to omoimasu. Sore wa watashi o nokkuauto shimashita. Megasameta toki, watashi wa sudeni fune no ue ni imashita. Otoko no hitori ga watashi no ue ni ite,... ... Watashi wa kare o ketobashita. Kanari tsuyome ni kerimasu. Karera wa watashi ga metahyūmandearu koto ni kidzuita toki, watashi no ashi o kiriotosanai kagiri, watashi o sonotame ni tsukau koto wa dekinai koto ni kidzukimashita. Sutatikku-san ga watashi o tasukete kureru mae ni karera wa sō suru tsumoridatta. ”

Tommy looked down at Richie’s translator, horror slightly twisting in his gut as he read. “ I lived in Tokyo. I'm an orphan. I walked to school a way I know I shouldn't have, but I was going to be late. Strange men grabbed me and put a cloth over my nose, I think it was soaked in Chloroform; it knocked me out. When I woke up, I was already on the ship. One of the men was one top of me, trying to… ... I kicked him off. I kick pretty hard. When they realized I was a metahuman, they realized they couldn't use me for... that without cutting off my legs. They were going to before Static-san saved me.”

“That… that’s horrible, ” Tommy whispered, “I’m so sorry, Sami.”

Sami shrugged passively, not meeting his eyes. She leaned into Virgil’s steadying hand on her shoulder.

“I guess if we’re sharing,” Richie sighed after a moment, blowing his hair out of his face, “My parents… aren’t awful, but they’re not great. They love me and all that, keep me fed, put a roof over my head, but they, uh… don’t really like that I hang out with Virgil. Or a few… other things. ” He absently tugged on a small stud earring on his right ear that Tommy hadn’t noticed earlier. “When Virgil started fighting crime as Static, I wanted to help, and when I got my own powers, I got really, really good at it. We’re partners now, stopping the bad guys together, our way. It’s a good life. Good friends.”

“Heck yeah!” Virgil said, trying to lighten the mood as he patted his friend on the back, “My home life’s actually alright. My mom died a while back, she was an EMT, but my dad, he’s really great. He doesn’t really know I’m Static, but hey, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. And Richie’s right, we’ve got a good thing going here! Now we’re an honest-to-goodness crimefighting team, keeping the city safe and learning about our powers at the same time!”

“We’re basically the Teen Titans if you think about it,” Richie said with a rueful grin.

“I keep saying we’re nowhere near their level,” Eduardo sighed, “We’re just a bunch of friends with superpowers, not a superhero team.”

“How about Super Friends?” Tommy suggested, and the whole group stared at him. “Well, I mean, it’s a lot less pressure that way, right?” he went on, “You’re not really expected  to be superheroes. You’re just friends; popping in, helping out. Going where you’re needed.”

The teens looked at each other. “It’s a little corny,” Tye said, wrinkling his nose.

“I like it!” Richie said with a laugh, “Who said corny’s bad, anyway?”

“Super Friends it is,” Eduardo finished, smiling at Tommy, “Only been part of the group for ten minutes and you’re already shaking things up. Not bad, Rob!”

Tommy blinked at the nickname, then grinned a little. “You… actually want me to stick around?” he asked tentatively, and the newly-dubbed Super Friends all started talking at once.

“Of course, dude!!” Richie cried, “Why wouldn’t we want you??”

“You’re like us,” Tye supplied, “A runaway.”

“ Un solitario, ” Mas said, nodding his head.

“And I can tell you’re a good dude,” Virgil said, punching Tommy on the arm playfully, “So come on, Rob; let’s be friends!”

Tommy beamed at the praise. “ Friends… ” he said quietly, the word floating across his lips, “I’ve… never had friends before…”

“Wait, seriously?? ” Richie asked, aghast, “How have you managed this whole time??”

Tommy’s grin faltered as the question drew him back to the thoughts he had been trying to run away from. “My family’s pretty great,” he said quickly, trying to put his smile back in place, remembering that he had friends now, “When my dad… left, they were there for me. Even though they didn’t know about me.”

Virgil smiled as he sat down with his soda, booting up the game console from afar with a controlled burst of his powers. “Yeah, family’s pretty great when they’re there for you,” he said, a dopey grin on his face, “Nothing quite like it.”

“Friends are a pretty good substitute,” Tye added quietly, and Virgil grinned at him.

“The best,” he answered, and the other teen smiled and nodded, seeming reassured.

“So it’s official,” Eduardo said, slinging an arm around Tommy’s shoulders, “Welcome to the Super Friends, Robin!”

Tommy grinned as the other teens cheered, even Sami and Mas y Menos, who didn’t catch the entire conversation. For just a moment, all thoughts of his father and his imminent demise left him alone, and he was a thirteen year old kid, like he should have been from the start. 

Chapter 27: Man vs Machine

Sol-3, or “Earth”, as it was called in the predominant native language, was not especially remarkable in galactic data. Its native species, Humanity, had only barely reached their own moon, and established contact with their sister civilization on Sol-4, “Mars”. However, despite this surface-level unremarkability, it was also observed that certain individuals on Sol-3 had fascinating links to the rest of the galaxy.

Earth was an intersection of many galactic forces. Mysticism had a strong presence on the planet, as its inhabitants boasted the preferred candidate for Nabu, the Lord of Order, and the Spectre, one of two known heights of the mystic world, opposite the Phantom Stranger. The Green Lantern Corps, before its dissolution, had taken a special interest in Earth, producing four Human Lanterns, and before this recruitment, the Oan artifact called the Starheart had been jettisoned to Earth and allowed to fall into the hands of one of its heroes. The Speed Force had also made itself unusually prevalent, producing nearly a dozen speedsters, with more likely to be on the way, if his hypothesis about speedsters bloodlines and predisposition towards the birth of twins was correct. 

The planet had many distinct cultures and subspecies, such as the homo sapiens magi and homo sapiens mermanus, alongside the dominant homo sapiens sapiens. It played host to many galactic refugees, including Tamaraneans, Thanagarians, New Genesians, Apokaliptikans, Martians, and, most interestingly, 95.6% of the living Kryptonian population in the wild; disregarding his own collection.

The Kryptonians especially warranted his attention. From the slight evidence he had thus far gathered, it seemed Kryptonians were of that special class of species that gained new abilities upon exposure to differing star radiation. Being from the Rao Red Star System, the migration to the Sol Yellow Star System had granted these Kryptonians significant abilities; he would need to study them further. He had considered simply choosing candidates from his captive population and exposing them to yellow sunlight, but they would be novices, unable to provide accurate results. No, for proper records, he would need a fully-skilled yellow sun Kryptonian from the wild, such as those that resided on Earth. He would make their study a priority while he extracted all relevant knowledge from the planet.

He hid his ship from terrestrial view by setting it to geosynchronous orbit around the dark side of Earth’s only moon, then sent out his scouts to gather more data. Luckily, Earth was not so primitive that a digital information space hadn’t been invented, and so he tapped into this “Internet” and began compiling a list:

London

New York

Paris

Beijing

Tokyo

Seoul

Los Angeles

Metropolis

Cairo

Rome

Giza

Washington

Themyscira

Stonehenge

Baghdad

Athens

Istanbul

Moscow

Vienna

Berlin

Casablanca

Barcelona

Dar-es-Salaam

The Fortress of Solitude

Gotham

The Flash Museum at Central City

Sydney

Rio de Janeiro

Mexico City

The list continued to grow. He was surprised; this level of cultural dissonance was unusual, though not unexpected. Humanity was a young civilization, yet to be united like many others were. Still, this provided a good opportunity for study. Earth was a proverbial gold mine of information, to use a Human idiom. 

Such useless things as emotion were foreign entities to him, all that there was was his prime directive. However, the brain within the body of the long-dead Coluan he was inhabiting still held the capacity for such things, no matter how much his programming dulled it. Therefore, Brainiac felt a small measure of pleasure at this turn of events. 

Oh, yes. Now that the Lanternhunter no longer protected it, Earth, and all its knowledge, was his for the taking.

---

Julia held her breath as she marveled at the Cave sprawling out all around her. This… this didn’t make any sense, but with what little she knew, it all fit so perfectly. When she was younger, she had tried to do her own research into the Waynes, trying to understand why her Uncle Alfred, her hero, cared about them so much. She was less-than-impressed by their wealth and stature, but she could appreciate their generous philanthropy, and no matter how filthy stinking rich someone was, they never deserved to lose their parents in such a horrific fashion.

But this? This was unprecedented. How did you go from rich 10-year-old to the Goddamn Batman? 

“I know,” her uncle began, “That this is a lot to take in. But Please, Julia, allow me to explain; you think that I am little more than a butler. That could not be further from the truth.”

Julia looked at him, her silence prompting him to go on.

“Throughout his tenure as the Batman, Master Bruce has received precisely 50,942 injuries that required medical attention he could not have otherwise done himself. Not to mention all the injuries that Masters Richard, Barbara, Jason, Stephanie, Tim, Cassandra, and Damian have received. Every night, they go out into that awful city and try to make it a better place, and every night, they come home, battered, broken, and bruised.”

“That is where I come in,” Alfred said, not vain, but proud, “I make sure that all is well when they return. I wash their clothes, I make their beds, I clean their floors and I make their meals. I ensure that no matter what goes wrong that night, it will all be solved by that morning. You are a soldier, Julia; you understand how much having a clean, well-lit place is to the body and mind.”

Julia nodded as much; she had spent many a night in dirty, dark holes in the ground. It was always a plus when that wasn’t the case.

“It is the Batman’s job to care for Gotham,” Alfred told her solemnly, “It is our job to care for the Batman. If we do not, no one will. It was Master Tim who taught me that.”

“Master Tim?” Julia echoed, “Have I met him yet?”

“No,” Alfred said, his gaze growing distant, “Nor do I think that your first meeting will be a pleasant one. Master Tim is currently working for the tyrant Lex Luthor and his cabal at LexCorp. He and his compatriots are leveraging the life of Young Master Tommy, Master Tim’s son, against him, and blackmailing the poor lad into going along with their scheme. All the current happenings of the family will be revealed in due time. But truth be told, Julia, for all I have summoned you to my side, I cannot force you to do this. I must make it abundantly clear that no matter what challenges you faced as a soldier, this will be ten times harder. You will not be on the front lines, there will be no enemy soldier upon whom to take out your frustrations. You will have to sit here and watch, be ready for them when they need you, and be unwavering in both your commitment and support of their efforts to keep this city, and this world, safe. I cannot ask this of you, Julia, but I must.”

Julia thought for a long time on her uncle’s words. Sure, she had heard about the superheroes before, everyone had. The Justice League was a world-famous organization; Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman were known throughout the world as the Trinity. She was proud of her work with the SAS, and she suspected she always would be, but Uncle Alfred was right in at least one regard; this would be ten times harder than the SAS. Not in the physical demands, but the mental and emotional ones. She would need to be the rock for a family of superheroes that would be wondering why she wasn’t her great-uncle. 

But her great-uncle was about to die, and the only one who even had a prayer of taking his place was her.

For a moment, she said nothing, opting instead to peruse the small collection of memorabilia throughout the cave. Her eyes lingered on the mechanical tyrannosaur, and the giant penny, but they stopped on a glass case that held three ruined suits.

One was of Robin, from a long time ago, before the poor lad had finally been given pants. It was torn, and ripped, and burned with soot. Most chillingly, however, was the blood running from a few of the cuts, and the words “HA-HA” spray-painted onto the chest.

The second was of a suit Julia didn’t recognize, but one that looked eerily like the one beside it. A deep, blood-red suit, complete with a black cape and cowl. The cowl had been torn by the left eye, and the chest had been stabbed through. A stain of red far deeper than the rest of the suit ran from said cut.

Finally, one was the black and blue she associated with Nightwing, the Bat’s first apprentice (who had grown up quite nicely ) but one she knew had died recently, the mantle taken up by someone new. At first glance, the suit was pristine, but when she walked around the back f it, her stomach dropped as an obscene amount of blood stain ran down the suit’s neck. The remnants of a deadly wound to the back of the head.

All of these suits held killing blows. In an instant, Julia immediately understood that she was standing before a memorial to fallen vigilantes. Fallen family members.

She finally began to understand why Uncle Alfred had insisted upon this. In the SAS, there were, of course, the bonds of battle. She would live and die for any of her fellow servicemen. They were like family.

But here? This? They really were family. Julia didn’t have any siblings, but she could scarce imagine the thought of having to accompany her own little brother into battle. Of having to stomach the fact that some imagined sister may very well die in her arms. 

Soldiers who went to war always relished and feared coming home. On the one hand, coming home was proof that you had survived your ordeals in war. On the other, coming home meant you had to face all the trials that awaited you now that you had. Julia had come home, once. Home to an empty flat in London, with no one to care that she had been gone in the first place. She had decided to simply go to war again.

These people, the Waynes, these rich, stupid, shallow people, brought the war to their own home, every day, every night, every hour. They gave their all to their city, to their war. When thinking about it like that, Julia could definitely see why they might need a clean, well-lit place to come back to.

Damn it. There really wasn’t a choice, was there?

Julia sighed as she slumped her shoulders. “I’ll do it,” she muttered, “But you can’t make me pretend to like it.”

Uncle Alfred nodded, a smile on his lips as he dabbed tears from his eyes. “No, I cannot,” he agreed, “But I can teach you to love it.”

---

The night was cold. Colder than it had been before--.

It crept across the rooftops carefully, sure to avoid any patches of light, putting its pitch black suit to good use. Stealth was its ultimate weapon. It reached the edge of the roof, standing up to survey its target. 

Talon let out a breath as it regarded the glittering city below. The honking cars, the sirens, the lights and sound. He used to love views like this . Talon leapt off the rooftop easily, its dark form dropping beneath the artificial horizon like a stone as it twisted in midair, shifting its weight and catching the edge of a window with its claws. As it hung, suspended in midair without a net, it carved out a hole in the glass big enough for it to fit through, then carefully stepped into the building. By the morning, it knew, the Court would have the window replaced, and the evidence would all be gone.

It stalked through the shadowed halls of the office building, searching for its prize. It stopped before the correct door, slowly resting its hand on the doorknob, so as to not alert the target to its presence.

It took a breath, steadying itself. It would need to move quickly.

Swiftly and silently, it threw the door open, then rushed into the room with inhuman speed. The man behind the desk tried to stand, only to gasp with recognition as Talon leapt off the wall and tackled him out of his chair, raising its clawed gauntlet high.

“ You--!! ” the man gasped in fear, “No, I-- The Court will have its money, I swear--!!”

“ Simon Stagg, ” Talon rasped, “ The Court of Owls has sentenced you to die. ”

---

Conner sighed as he trudged up the stairs. His strength, and his powers, were returning, he could feel it, but they were far from where they used to be before his Supernova, as Kara had come to call it. Still, some time in the sun was just what the doctor (literally) ordered, so Conner took some well-needed rest gratefully. It gave him time to think about all that had happened, to process it all.

Because boy, did he need to process. 

But, on the other hand, if he sat still for another five minutes, he was going to explode, so he needed to do something right now. And the something he had decided on was finally going and talking to Tommy; something he, admittedly, probably should have done sooner, but he had to remember that this kid was half him and half Tim. He would need some time to himself to process, like Tim did; the trick was catching him before he did something rash. He sighed as he reached his son’s door, mentally prepping himself, then knocked lightly on the door. “Hey, Tommy?” he asked quietly, “I don’t have my super-hearing right now, so I can’t tell if you’re awake, but if you are, could you open the door, kiddo? I just wanna make sure you’re okay after… y’know.”

Conner waited a little while. There was no response. He knocked again.

“Tommy?” he asked, adding a little desperation to his tone, “C’mon, kid, don’t ignore me right now.”

He waited. Still nothing. Conner sighed.

“I’m coming in now, okay?” he called through the door, “I’ll go if you want me to, but I just need to see you right now--”

He opened the door, and to his horror, Tommy’s room was completely empty. An Alaskan flag still hung limply from the wall, like always, and ornithology books still lined the shelves, like always, but the bed, and the chair at the desk, were both empty. Worse still, the window was open, and the distinctive toothed cape of Damian’s old Robin costume lay discarded on the covers.

“Oh,” he realized, “Shit.”

---

Ed Nygma was an incredibly patient man. It was that patience that gave him the ability to create and solve all the riddles that he did, and it helped to stave off boredom. However, that was one area where his patience failed; as soon as he had something figured out, he grew bored. And he grew bored very easily.

And now that he had been running LexCorp Gotham for seven years, as well as the inner workings of the Mockingbird Syndicate, Ed had it all figured out. He was bored. Usually, when he was bored, things started blowing up.

But not today. He still remembered the promise he had made to Tim; a fairytale land of lies and disgustingly blind optimism. That was what the Riddler had promised, and what the Riddler promised, he delivered. 

And so, that was why he was poring over a street map of Gotham, cross referencing it with a database of historical sites and monuments; not that Gotham had too many. Gotham Cathedral, the Statue of Justice, the GCPD Building, maybe Wayne Tower, and that was about it. He was loath to admit it, but Arkham Asylum had its own twisted landmark status. The rest, however, could be cleared away for his grand design. 

Of course, he didn’t plan on completely destroying Gotham and rebuilding it from the ground-up. That would be too costly and time consuming, not to mention it would destroy the priceless Gothic architecture from which the city drew its name. But, in order to keep his promise to Tim, he would need to think bigger; much bigger. Expanding Gotham’s borders beyond the three islands, onto the mainland, would be a start. Then, they would need to start building more skyscrapers, both for business and living space. As the city moved upward, so must the infrastructure, and so Ed made plans to create elevated roadways; very elevated, supported by the very skyscrapers they linked. Parking garages that began almost a hundred stories up, cars brought to and from the upper and lower levels by freight elevators that would operate similar to ferry services. The running of these elevator ferries would also provide jobs for the needy, as both operators and coordinators. Under his vision, Gotham would finally shed its dark reputation, no longer a grungy, dirty city in the swamp, but a great, ascendant beacon of human progress, climbing upwards into the sky.

That brought him to his magnum opus. The centerpiece of his grand plans: The Gotham Megalith. A massive skyscraper, one on a scale that had only been dreamt of. It would be constructed in Colgate Heights on the Eastern edge of Midtown, where there was little more than corporate highrises in the first place. All these companies would be given office space in the Megalith to compensate for the loss, but that would only be one of its functions. The Megalith would be eighty square blocks, replacing almost half of Colgate Heights while leaving most residential areas untouched. It would have 314 floors, a little over a kilometer tall, compensated for by the wide base of the building, a number Ed had chosen because it was the first three digits of Pi, the most famous never-ending number, another sign of Gotham’s unstoppable progress. Ed vaguely wondered when he had become so cheesy, but he let it rest in favor of returning to his plans. The Megalith would function as a sort of miniature city in its own right, home to businesses, residential apartments, shopping malls, public pools and theaters, and all the accouterments needed by an insular community. Roads would run underneath and through it, and the whole thing would be based upon a mighty arch, like a Roman triumph, that would straddle both smaller buildings beneath it and, when viewing from the west, the silhouette of Lady Justice in Gotham Harbor. The Megalith would tower over Gotham, visible for miles from both the West and the East. It would be both the first megatall structure in the United States and the tallest building in the world, dwarfing the Burj Khalifa by over a hundred stories. It would serve as a reminder of humanity’s mission to reach for the stars, a point that would be driven home by all the glittering lights of the windows, and the LED starlights that would shine from beneath the arch at night, creating constellations and light shows, effectively creating the world’s largest planetarium. 

It was perfect in every conceivable way. His plan to make Gotham the greatest city in the world. His plan to make it a fairytale. His plan to make Gotham anew. He was currently constructing the scale model in his office, carefully and painstakingly creating the Megalith at 1:100 scale. And soon, it would be done. He stood back for a moment as he marveled at it, he greatest puzzle:

Neo-Gotham.

Then Clayface nearly broke down his door. “EDDIE!!!” Basil cried, sweeping the Riddler up in a hug before he could protest, “YOU’RE NOT GONNA BELIEVE IT!! TIM’S ALIVE!!”

“Wh- WHAT!? ” Ed gasped, “Basil, put me down! What did you just say!?”

“Tim’s alive!!” Basil reiterated happily, “Come on, come on! He’s in his office upstairs, everyone’s freaking out!!”

Ed grabbed his cane as he quickly followed Basil toward the elevator that led to Tim’s office, saying, “You’re sure it’s him? It could be a Martian, or a shapeshifter, or-”

“I know, I know, but he knew things only the real Tim would know!” Basil said excitedly, “It’s him, Ed! It’s really him!”

As the elevator doors dinged and pulled open, Ed stepped out, cane in hand and ready for… well, not a fight, but something, and stood dumbfounded in the doorway as he saw Tim Drake, the true Tim Drake, sitting behind his desk with a sheepish expression as Pru ranted and raved at him with decibels that would make a sperm whale jealous. 

“--ECKLESS, IMPULSIVE, STUPID PIECE OF SHIT, DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG WE ALL FUCKING MOURNED YOU, YOU WANKER!?” Pru carried on, “SEVEN YEARS!! WE THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD FOR SEVEN YEARS!! ”

Tim tried to interject, saying, “But I was dead for seven years-”

“ Don’t interrupt me when I’m berating you!! ” Pru snapped, slamming her hands on the desk, “AND ANOTHER THING--!!”

“Prudence,” Ed interjected, stepping forward as Tim shrank further and further into his seat, “I think he’s had enough.”

Pru looked at Ed, then back at Tim, then huffed as she stepped back, then went around the desk and punched Tim in the arm as hard as she could. “That’s for dying, asshole,” she muttered as she finally stepped away.

“I promise not to do it again for at least the next month and a half,” Tim promised with a slight laugh, rubbing his now-aching arm.

“So it’s really you, huh?” Waylon asked from his position in the corner of the room, and Tim nodded.

“As real as I can be,” he answered, “I would have come back to you all sooner, but I sort of… lost my head for a little bit there.”

Harvey shrugged noncommittally. “We know a thing or two about that,” he admitted. Most of the Rogues shifted in agreement and slight discomfort.

Tim smiled, “I figured you might. Regardless, I’m back now, and I have good news: Ra’s al Ghul is dead.”

The Rogues bristled. “Are you sure? ” Pru demanded, leaning forward.

“No way for him to come back?” Owens asked fervently.

“The old bastard finally kicked it??” Oswald asked incredulously.

“I’m as sure as I can be,” Tim said easily, reaching into the large carrying case he had brought to work with him, “Seeing as how I have this.”

The entire Mockingbird Syndicate stood slack-jawed in shock as Tim produced Ra’s al Ghul’s severed head from his bag. “Holy--!” Waylon started.

“--Shit!” Harvey finished. 

“Oswald, you know a good taxidermist, right?” Tim asked nonchalantly, “I’d like to have this mounted.”

Oswald chuckled almost incredulously. “Holy crap, kid! I don’t know what happened to you, but you’re really not messin’ around anymore, are you?” he asked, inspecting the head from a safe distance.

“No,” Tim agreed, “I’m not.”

Ed narrowed his eyes, deep in thought. He locked eyes with Bane across the room. There was more to Ra’s al Ghul’s death than it seemed; after all, Tim didn’t kill where he didn’t have to. That was why Carmine Falcone was enjoying retirement on a beach in Key West instead of rotting in a hole right next to Black Mask and Salvatore Maroni. Something was off here, something in the way Tim was speaking, the way he was moving, the look in his eye. It was a riddle; one Ed was determined to solve. 

“Yeah, I reckon my guy could get this treated,” Oswald eventually said with a nod, “I’ll give him a call, see what I can do.”

“Thank you, Oswald; it’s good to have friends you can count on again,” Tim said with a smile, “Which brings me to why I gathered you all.”

“You mean besides you coming back from the dead?” Fries asked, raising a sardonic eyebrow.

“Yes,” Tim admitted sheepishly, “Besides that. When I first gathered you all, I told you we were going to be doing something big together, and I didn’t lie. We are here to discuss the final details of Operation Mockingbird.”

“Operation what?” Basil asked dumbfoundedly.

“Final details?” Fries interjected, “You mean there’s more?”

“Of course there’s more,” Bane said from the corner where he stood, “We have only been fooling the Bat all this time; we have yet to break him.”

Tim smiled from behind his desk. “There are a few more things that need to be done before we begin,” he said, “The Justice League is a formidable force, and they aren’t the only ones that will be on our asses. Oswald, Harvey, Owens, I want you three to go recruiting among the Lesser Rogues; we’ll need the manpower. Get everyone but Mad Hatter; I can’t work with that level of crazy.”

Penguin, Two-Face, and Owens nodded, all grinning slightly at how they might ‘persuade’ the aforementioned Lesser Rogues.

“Jonathan, we’re going to need a lot of fear gas,” Tim went on, “Enough to blanket the city.”

Scarecrow grinned. “With LexCorp’s resources, manufacture won’t be a problem,” he said happily, “Any special requests?”

“I need something non-hallucinogenic,” Tim said, “Just one dose, though. The rest I will leave to the artist's choice.”

Jonathan grinned and nodded.

“And the rest of us?” Bane asked, tilting his head inquisitively.

Tim smiled, “The rest of you are going to help me plan.”

“Plan?” Basil asked incredulously, “But your plans are the greatest! How would we help?”

“I have some basic ideas, but I need some input to make them work,” Tim explained, “Truth be told, we don’t have a prayer of defeating the Justice League as it is now. That is why we need to cut the head off the snake before we strike.”

“The head?” Fries asked, “You can’t mean…?”

“Gentlemen,” Tim said, clasping his hands in front of him, “You’re going to help me take down the Trinity.”

---

Tommy jumped as the R on his chest began flashing angrily. His eyes widened in panic as his friends all stared at his chest, looking confused. He fumbled at the R, pressing down and feeling it press in and then detach, something he didn’t know it could even do. When he looked at the back, his heart sank as he discovered the unmistakable receiver of a communicator. Uncle Damian must have had it built into his suit in case his communicator was lost or damaged.

But if it was flashing, then…

“Oh no,” he said out loud.

“What’s that?” Richie asked inquisitively, trying to get a good look at the tech.

Tommy winced as he said, “My aunt.”

Hesitantly, he brought it up to his ear, and cringed as he heard the angry voice on the other side.

“ THOMAS MARTIN KENT!! ” Oracle screeched over the line, “ Do you have ANY idea how much trouble you’re in, young man!?!?! ”

“Auntie O, not so loud!!” Tommy whispered into the R, “And codenames! I’m sorta… with friends, right now??” He looked up at them for support, but most of them shrugged helplessly.

Aunt Barbara, on the other hand, merely breathed deeply into the receiver. “ Robin… ” she amended, trying to feign calm, “ Where are you? ”

Tommy cringed again; this was a conversation he really didn’t want to have right now. “Oracle, I’m safe, I promise! I met some friends, we’re just hanging out!” he tried, and he heard her sigh quietly, trying to get a hold of herself.

“ Tommy,” she said quietly, “ You’ve got the entire family worried sick. Conner went to go check on you and you weren’t there, and when Alfred said that the Robin suit was missing, we assumed the worst. You can’t just disappear like that, kiddo; we thought something had happened. ”

“Nothing happened, Oracle,” Tommy said, and to his surprise, he felt himself growing just the slightest bit angry, a tightness in his chest he didn’t really think he was upset enough for.  “I’m fine,” he said shortly, “I’m with my friends. ”

“ So you’ve said, ” Aunt Barbara sighed, “ Who do you mean? Jon? Dinah and Oliver? Please, kid, give me something to work with here. Where are you? I can’t track that old transponder, it’s analog, meant to be used in case of an EMP. Please, Tommy, just come home.”

Tommy’s face soured as the tight something in his chest grew white-hot and angry. He had been happy! Having fun! He’d escaped from it all and was finally enjoying himself! How come Aunt Barbara had to call and ruin it all?? “I mean my friends! ” Tommy almost shouted, “Kids my own age! With superpowers, like me!! Kids who don’t look at me like I’m about to explode! Kids who don’t look at me like I’m already dead!! ”

“ Tommy, I- ” Oracle tried again, but Tommy shook his head, barrelling onward.

“ NO! ” he shouted, “I don’t wanna go home, I don’t care if you’re worried about me, and I wanna stay here and hang out with my friends!! ”

Before he really knew what he was doing, he crushed the R in his grasp, shattering the transponder. He blinked as the rage started to dissipate, staring at the broken remains.

“Woah,” Tye said in wonder, “Remind me to never make you angry.”

“I-- I’m sorry,” Tommy said, his expression crumpling, “I- I didn’t mean to--!”

“Hey, it’s alright,” Eduardo said easily, “We’re not exactly ones to judge about tense exchanges with family. But, just, level with me here… are we in for a visit from Batman?”

Tommy thought about it. “Maybe?” he said uncertainly, “Dakota City is pretty removed from the usual radar, but then again… it’s the Batradar.”

“I-I’m sorry, the what? ” Tye asked, dumbfounded, but he stopped as soon as he saw Tommy’s face.

Tommy curled in on himself, drawing his knees up to his chest and burying his face in them. He just hung up on Aunt Barbara. She’d be angry, she’d send out a search party, she’d take him away from his new friends and make him go back home and--

“-- Easy, hermano, breathe with me,” someone was talking to him, but everything sounded like he was underwater, “Breathe in, 1-2-3, out, 1-2-3. And again, 1-2-3, out 1-2-3…”

Tomy tried to follow his instructions. Really, he was Robin, he shouldn’t need a civilian to talk him out of a panic attack, but… but the hand on his shoulder felt nice, and Tommy couldn’t bring himself to shrug it off. He tried to breathe slowly like Eduardo, and it was Eduardo, he realized, who was calming him down. 

“I--I’m okay,” he managed shakily, “I’m okay, it’s just…”

“Ey, hey, it’s alright,” Tye said, “Like Eduardo said, we’re no one to judge on bad family stuff. But…”

“But people usually don’t react to calls from their aunts like that,” Richie said seriously, “Rob, level with us: are you safe with Batman?”

Tommy jumped in shock and surprise. “What!?” he gaped, “Of course I am!! Grandpa’s the greatest, and so’s Aunt Ba--Oracle, and all the rest! It’s just, I mean… a lot’s happened recently. To do with my dad.”

The newly christened Super Friends all shared a skeptic look, and Tommy immediately knew he hadn’t convinced them. He tried and failed to find a delicate way to phrase his situation, and finally looked at his feet.

“I just found out that my dad is a mentally ill domestic terrorist collaborating with the world’s evillest villains to protect me from the killer nanobots in my DNA,” he said simply.

That threw his new friends for a loop. Finally, Virgil just sat back, looked him in the eye, and said, “That’s rough, buddy.”

Tommy nodded dumbly. What else was he supposed to do?

“So I’m guessing your family reacted weirdly to finding out you might keel over any minute?” Tye asked bluntly, and Tommy flinched slightly at his phrasing. 

“Yeah, you could say that,” he said quietly, giving a half-hearted shrug, “They love me, they care about me, but they… the only way they know how to show that they care is to protect me. But I-- I’m part Kryptonian, there aren’t a lot of things that can hurt me! I’m invulnerable most of the time, I can fly, I can shoot lasers from my eyes!! And it’s not like I’m useless in a fight without my powers, either! They’re treating me like I’m made out of glass, and I’m not!! My grandfathers are the Dark Knight and the Man of Steel! I can do this, I--!!!”

“Hey, easy, ese, ” Eduardo said easily, holding up his hands in a placating gesture, “We’re not saying you can’t, either. But you don’t have to, either.”

Tommy looked up and at the faces of his companions, and even though they knew now why Tommy was so desperate to hang out with kids his own age, people who didn’t know him, who didn’t know why he was scared vulnerable broken  upset, all he saw in the faces of his new friends was acceptance. 

They knew why he ran from the Manor, and they all knew why they ran from their own homes; they didn’t want him to run from them, too.

“Well! This convo just got super depressing!” Richie declared, lifting a game controller in the ar, “Who’s up for some Mariokart?”

There were a few cheers, as well as a few groans, sounding throughout the group, but before anyone could protest, Richie started setting up the game.

“No fair!” Tye whined, “You always win, dude!”

Richie shrugged, “Eh, either get better or keep losing. Not my fault you guys stink.” 

Tye rolled his eyes, saying, “Oh, you are so going down,” as he grabbed his own controller, and Tommy giggled, unrolling himself a little.

Don’t think about it, and it can’t hurt you. Don’t think about it, and it can’t hurt you. Don’t think about it, and it can’t hurt you--

He felt a lot better now, he thought. He was lying .

---

Savage rolled out a kink in his neck as he prepared himself. He had started forgoing any real armor long ago, opting instead for just a layer of thick, hardened leather sewn into his clothes that would dull some brute-force strikes. He sheathed a straight, simple sword at his side, one forged hundreds of years ago using the ancient techniques of Damascus swordsmiths, kept in pristine and razor sharp condition. A simple, versatile instrument. All he would need.

He took the fatherbox from his coat pocket. Daedalus’s call was an advantageous one; he, of course, thanks to his plants in the Justice League, had access to the same database that they did, and therefore knew all the same information that Daedalus had found in his search. He also, therefore, knew that Brainiac would take from Earth what the robotic menace deemed important, then destroy what remained; it was his modus operandi. 

Vandal Savage had poured too much time and effort into the human race for a glorified computer to snuff it out. That, and it had been too long since he had been out in the field; he wished to have some fun. 

“Fatherbox,” he told the sentient machine in his hand, “Brainiac’s ship, please.” 

The boomtube opened, and he stepped through into a maze of wiring and metal. As the portal closed behind him, Savage drew his sword, creeping forward into the ship. There was scarcely a sound beside his breathing, no light beside dull purple baubles and monitors. Savage frowned; something wasn’t right…

He leapt to the side and spun as he slashed his sword through where he used to be standing, watching in satisfaction as a metal tentacle was sliced clean in two after its attempt to grab him. In the span of five seconds, ten more tentacles struck at him and met similar fates and he danced and wove between them, dodging their attacks. 

His sword, sharp enough to cut through most anything, made short work of the attacks, but after the initial sortie, he turned to cut through the next tentacle, and frowned as his blade failed to cut all the way through. He narrowed his eyes, striking again, and in a split second, noted the slightly different coloration in the metal that had attacked him. A different kind, with a different durability. As he turned to face the next foe, still dodging and blocking others while he did, it took him three chops to fully immobilized the appendage. 

After each attempt, Brainiac’s offense was evolving. This was trial and error; Savage was being tested. Worse, studied.

Eventually, Savage endured to the point where the metal of his sword could not penetrate the metal of the tentacles, and so he went on the defensive, dodging and blocking with expert speed and agility until he felt the searing pain in his back. Roaring in anger more than pain, he spun and swung with all his might, more breaking through and ripping the metal than cutting it, and then proceeded to rip the claw-like appendage from his back, feeling the wounds heal behind it as the blood stopped flowing down his back. 

“ Fascinating… ” a mechanical voice rumbled from above him, and Savage now knew that he was being watched.

Very well. Let this be a show.

Savage danced from enemy to enemy, ripping and tearing and shredding whatever he could wherever he could. He no longer cared about minimizing damage done to himself; it made no difference. A broken leg would heal in seconds, and a broken arm in less. All that mattered was to teach Brainiac that Humanity would not be an easy target.

It took hours for Vandal Savage to finally succumb, the sheer volume of metal being what finally overtook him. As he was relieved of his sword and restrained, he felt himself being brought upward, and spotlights shone into the dark chamber.

Savage found himself face to face with a green-skinned man in a chair, sitting with perfect posture, most of his body obscured by robotic parts that had stepped in where flesh had faltered. What was unmistakable, however, was the robotic glint in his eyes, a purple glow where the pupil should have been; Savage immediately understood exactly what this Brainiac was at that point. A parasite.

“You have fascinated me, human,” Brainiac told him, as Savage’s wounds began to heal once more, “Your healing factor is unlike any I have seen before. Further study is required.”

Savage almost grinned as he heard the curiosity, and thereby naivete, in the robot’s voice. No matter how advanced, machines were still machines, and they would never understand the full nuances of human trickery; play this carefully enough, and Savage could twist this to his advantage.

“I am not unusual among my people, machine, ” Savage told it, “We are strong. Mighty. Any attempt at conquest will be met with undying resistance!”

“You mistake my motive, human,” Brainiac told him emotionlessly, a mechanical buzz overlaying the vocal chords of whatever long-dead alien he was using as his meat suit, “I am not here to conquer Earth. I am here to preserve it for further study. Make selections from its surface, add them to my collection, and safeguard them for research. Conquest is unnecessary to achieve this goal.”

Savage scoffed. He had not mistaken anything, but the foolish machine simply didn’t know a well-told lie when it heard one. “Our heroes will stop you!” he declared, “Our Justice League! Our Superman!”

“Superman,” Brainiac repeated, “AKA Clark Kent, AKA Kal-El, a survivor of the destruction of Krypton. One of two that reside on this planet. He will be the focus of my research.”

Savage grinned, feigning wolfish bravado. “Two?” he scoffed, “Your data is incomplete, machine! Earth has many Kryptonian heroes! All strong enough to destroy you a dozen times over!”

Brainiac tilted its head. “Two Kryptonians reside on Earth,” he supplied, a soft frown gracing its borrowed face, “Kal-El and Kara Zor-El. Five Kryptonians reside on Earth. Kal-El, Kara Zor-El, Kon-El, Jon-El, and Thomas Drake. Error. Two Kryptonians. Five Kryptonians. Error.”

Brainiac’s eyes narrowed as it brought Savage closer to itself. “ Explain, ” it almost growled.

Savage grinned. “If you’ve done as much research as you say, then you’d know that Earth’s genetic engineering is second to none,” he boasted, “The remaining three are Human-Kryptonian hybrids, each mightier than the last. Together, they will easily destroy you!”

Brainiac regarded Savage shrewdly. “Human-Kryptonian hybrids,” it mused, “They will require further study. Research must be done on how the two genomes were made to co-entangle. Drones will be sent to the surface to secure subjects Kon-El, Jon-El, and Thomas Drake prior to metropolitan and cultural knowledge extraction.”

Savage resisted the urge to grin; the machine was falling right into his trap! Though he may have been bested, the capture of Tommy Drake, Jon Kent, or Conner Kent, or any combination of the three, would immediately alert the Justice League to Brainiac’s presence. More importantly, if Brainiac was truly sending drones to apprehend all of them, then Tommy was the weakest link of the three; he would surely be captured, especially after he had run away from home, as Lex had reported to him. If Tommy were captured, then Tim would go on the warpath, and as soon as his apprentice rescued him, together they would defeat Brainiac, seize his ship, and win another victory for the Light, right out from under the Justice League’s noses.

All according to plan.

“In the meantime,” Brainiac continued, motioning with its hand to bring Savage further down into the depths of its ship, “Further observation will be made on the limits of your healing factor. This may sting a little.”

Savage roared in pain as electricity surged through his body, supplemented by a barrage of sharp objects stabbing every available space on his body. He was no stranger to pain, that much was true, but there were some things you never grow used to.

Brainiac would have his study; he would win the battle. But Savage would win the war.

Chapter 28: Fly the Nest

Tommy sighed as the others dozed off, curling up on the workbench he had decided to perch on. Mariokart sat abandoned on the small tv, the last race over and Richie still the undisputed champion. It was past midnight, and the others were exhausted, even the tireless Mas y Menos, but Tommy still couldn’t sleep.

He smiled at how peaceful they all looked. Even after everything they had been through, they still found the time to be… normal. To be happy. It was more than he could say for his own family. 

Tommy frowned at the thought. They were probably worried sick; shouting at Aunt Barbara probably hadn’t helped his case, either. And his friends were wrong; he wasn’t running away. Not for a long time, anyway; he still wanted to go back home. To see Aunt Cass and Grandpa and Uncle Damian and his Dad. (the good one)

Tommy frowned again. That might get confusing; he’d called Tim ‘Dad’ all his life. Conner was undeniably an upgrade, but calling them both ‘Dad’, even if it wasn’t at the same time, would always feel weird. Maybe he could use a different name for Conner? ‘Papa’? No, ‘Papa’ made him sound like a little kid. ‘Daddy’?-- Okay, no, definitely not. 

‘Mom’? Tommy tilted his head. If anything, Tim was the one who was a lot more motherly, at least compared to Conner. Conner was more about playing catch and making sure he did his homework. During his childhood, Tim had been more hands-on in his parenting, making his lunches, making sure he got enough sleep, never letting Tommy out of his sight-- mom stuff.

Oh my God, my Dad is my Mom, Tommy realized, and he almost laughed aloud at the realization. Next time he saw Tim, he was totally gonna call him ‘Mom’, just to tick him off.

Anyway, back to Conner. ‘Father’ sounded way too formal for someone like Conner. ‘Pa’ could work… it tied into his Kansas heritage well, but it still felt like something was missing…

Tommy finally grinned as he found the perfect fit. “Pops,” he said aloud, quietly so as to not wake his sleeping friends. ‘Pops’ would work. Different enough from ‘Dad’ to separate Conner from Tim in his head, and had a little bit of playful rebelliousness in it that he thought Conner, as a former 90s Punk, would appreciate. 

Tommy smiled as he leaned against the wall, starting to doze off at long last. He still had no idea what he was going to do about Tim; the revelation that he could die at any moment, that his father both was and wasn’t who he thought he was, still hung over his head like the Sword of Damocles. But Tommy thought he was finally in a place where he could start figuring that out.

He loved his family, he truly, truly did, but after Uncle Dick died, emotional availability had become something in quite short supply. They all tried, he could see it; Aunt Steph and Uncle Jason especially were trying to step up and take Uncle Dick’s role as the ‘big brother’, but this was something that had completely rocked Tommy’s world, not something dumb like puberty. He just couldn’t stay in the Manor to figure it out, not with all the people there trying to tell him what to think about Tim and what he’d done.

Tommy scowled. Tim was still a psychopath, no matter what anyone said. He’d ruined his own life, gone on the run with a toddler he’d created from the stolen DNA of his dead best friend, something he had done to process his own grief and repressed sexuality. 

But those days on the run with Tim were also some of the happiest in Tommy’s life. Alaska was still his home, no matter how much he loved the Manor. And Tim had only done all the things he had because Tommy would have died if he didn’t comply. Tommy was only eight years old, thirteen if you were using his physical age; he tried to imagine what it was like to have a kid. He didn’t know what parental love was like; how intense was it? Was it really a justification for all the things his father had done?

Where is the line between man and monster?

He couldn’t make sense of it. He didn’t want to make sense of it. He just wanted to live his life, away from Tim, away from the shadows that had surrounded his birth. No matter what he did, whether it be change his name, or take a new superhero identity, Tim was always there. Or, rather, he wasn’t. And that was the problem.

Aunt Harley had been trying to get through to him during therapy. Leaving a recording seven years ago telling Tommy he loved him didn’t equal eight years of actual, physical parenting. That Tommy could love him, and still hate him for leaving. Tommy had tried to find solace in that.

Tommy clenched his fists in the dark as he came to the realization that she was wrong. He hated his father. Not for leaving, but for coming back.

If Tim had just stayed dead, none of this would have happened. Tommy would have grown up trying to honor his father’s legacy, remembering him as the man he was, not the monster he would become. It was all his fault. 

But it wasn’t. But it was.

Tommy growled as the drowsiness he’d been relying on before left him, and he finally floated up and out of the abandoned gas station, going to sit on the roof and glare at the line where the stars met the glittering lights of Dakota City. 

Tim was… confusing. Tim was infuriating. Tommy hated that he had to deal with this; he didn’t want to have to deal with this!

Aunt Harley would tell him that it’s up to him whether or not to forgive Tim.

But how could he ever come to a satisfying decision on that?? Tim had abandoned him, become a supervillain, killed Uncle Dick, broken the hearts and trust of everyone who’d ever known him, and now he was… doing something. Probably something evil and convoluted. 

But the only reason he’d done all that was because Tommy would have died if he didn’t. If Tim hadn’t become a supervillain, Tommy would have died. If Tim decides enough is enough, Tommy will die.

Tommy wanted to scream. It was like his thoughts were on a fucking loop! Tim loves him, but Tim is an asshole, but Tim is only an asshole because he might die, so Tim loves him, but Tim is an asshole!!

Tommy was too young for this. He was too inexperienced for this. All he wanted was to be a superhero, to be Robin, learn about birds, and enjoy the new life he had. As long as Tim was a part of his life, he had no control over it. Tommy felt a cold pit grow in his stomach as he slowly realized he’d never had control over his life.

First he was just a toddler, doing whatever his dad told him to. Then, he was just a kid, living with his grandpa, wishing his father were home. Now, he’s Robin, he’s everything he ever wanted, but it doesn’t mean anything, because at a moment’s notice, it could all be taken away. Everything he ever did, all the essays he wrote about the nesting habits of the common wood thrush, all the memories he made with his family, it didn’t fucking mean anything!!

A tear rolled down his cheek, hot and angry. Tommy rubbed it away angrily; he was thirteen, he shouldn’t be crying. Big boys don’t cry.

He hated this. He hated this!! He should be sleeping right now, having dreams of beating Richie at Mariokart, not staring out at the indifferent silence of the cosmos while remembering the faces of his dead loved ones! 

Sometimes, despite being invulnerable, despite having the miraculous gift of flight, Tommy felt like a bird with broken wings. Like that really old song from the Beatles.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly…

Tommy wished he could just get his brain to turn off. He wished that, for one night, he could just not think.

Then Tommy blinked as he realized something. Something… bad.

He was in Dakota City. And he had superspeed. He could… he could be in and out of a liquor store before anyone knew he was there… the owner probably wouldn’t even realize anything was missing…

Tommy shook his head hard, trying to chase those thoughts away. He was Robin, he couldn’t do that. Breaking the law was bad. Drinking underage was bad. Robbery was worse!

But, technically… who could stop him?

Uncle Jason always said it’s not really a crime if you don’t get caught…

“Ahh!!! Stop it stop it stop it!!” he cried to himself, holding his head in his hands. He was not going to rob a liquor store just because he was sad!

You’re not sad. You’re depressed.

“Shut up!!” Tommy growled at the intrusive thoughts.

He wasn’t going to do it. 

You have no control over your life; why not control this?

He wasn’t.

No one can stop you.

Shut up!!

No one will know.

Shut up shut up shut up!!

It works for Dad, doesn’t it?

…

Tommy didn’t have a good response for that one.

He felt completely disgusted with himself as he sat back on the roof, a bottle of the cheapest whiskey the store had in his hands. It looked almost exactly like the bottle Tim had hid in the cupboard while they still lived in Alaska, the one Tommy had taken a sip from out of childish curiosity. He’d never found out where Tim had rehid it.

Tommy ripped the cap off the bottle and started chugging it, gagging at the horrendous taste. In a way, though, he was glad it tasted awful. It was why he’d grabbed whiskey rather than something sugary and pleasant to drink, like rum or a mixed drink, because Tommy wanted this to hurt. He wanted it to be a punishment. A punishment for stealing, for giving in to his intrusive thoughts, for doing any of this in the first place--!!

It burned as it slid down his throat. Tommy didn’t feel drunk yet; his thoughts were still going a mile a minute, the swirling faces of Tim and Conner and Uncle Dick and Uncle Damian and Grandpa and Lex Luthor and his new friends and everyone else running through his head, the Sword of Damocles still hanging over him.

Tommy kept chugging at the bottle until it did something, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes as he gagged on it once more. He shouldn’t be doing this, he was a disgusting hypocrite, just like his father, he should be ashamed of himself, he should--

Tommy blinked as he felt himself sucking on air. Did he just…?

Tommy stared in horror at the empty bottle.

“Uh-oh,” he said, and the bottle fell from his hands, rolling around on the roof of the old gas station. 

The world started to spin around him. Kinda like the bottle. Isn’t that funny?

Tommy giggled a little. He tried to take a step, but the world shifted beneath him and he toppled over, crashing to the ground harshly. “I thing i’ss workin…” he murmured, his lips tilting up into a slight smile as he realized his words were slurring.

He tried to push himself up off the ground, but only succeeded in flipping himself onto his back. The stars spun above him, and Tommy giggled as they danced for him. The whiteout lenses of his domino were blocking out some of the light, and Tommy didn’t like it; he wanted to see the stars in all their dazzling color. Numbly, he tore his domino off and let his hand flop back down to the roof at his side. He grinned as the stars greeted him again.

His thoughts drifted back to a conversation he’d had with Uncle Dick, about the Kryptonian legend that had been the inspiration for his Nightwing persona. Nightwing and Flamebird, two mates, not too dissimilar from Earth’s legend of the phoenix, soared through the sky together. One was the dazzling red light of the sun, bringing daylight to the Planet Krypton. The other was the cool blue moon, bringing with it the comforting wonder of the stars at night.

Flamebird liked to leap amongst the clouds, just like Nightwing liked to jump from star to star. Uncle Dick had told Tommy that’s why he chose Nightwing, because he wanted to leap from star to star, like a heavenly trapeze.

Tommy always thought that was beautiful. 

Tommy wished he was a bird. A bright-colored songbird, with a beautiful song. Then he could fly around the stars himself, a little birdy flying through space.

Do other planets have birds? They must. Tommy wondered if he’d ever get to go to space, besides the Watchtower. Would he get to go to alien planets? See alien birds? Maybe he could write an essay on alien ornithology! He could start a whole new field of study!!

Tommy Kent-Wayne, the World’s First Xenoornithologist.

That would be awesome…

Tommy grinned as the dancing stars started circling above him. Kind of like scavenger birds do when they spot prey; people all know about vultures, but lots of birds had that behavior; red-tailed hawks, California condors, even bald eagles.

Then Tommy frowned as the dancing stars grabbed him roughly. That wasn’t right… stars don’t grab people… come to think of it, stars don’t dance, either…

Tommy realized too late what was happening as kryptonite was shoved in his face, making him woozy beyond all belief. Kryptonite and cheap whiskey, in his experience, was a bad combination. The nausea overtook him, and as the whatever-it-was dragged Tommy skyward, he threw up onto the roof, which he belatedly realized was about three feet below him now.

Something was picking him up and taking him away.

Tommy tried to struggle out of its grip, but the kryptonite was really screwing with him. Being blackout drunk probably wasn’t helping, either.

Before he could think to call for help, Tommy felt his vision darkening at the edges. Just before he blacked out, he focused just enough to realize he was being carried by some sort of robot, one that had wrapped Tommy in metal tentacles he couldn’t break out of. On its forehead were three purple dots, arranged like a triangle facing down.

Tommy had the disparate thought that the bad guys needed a better marketing team; the logo work was getting really abstract.

Then he blacked out.

---

Tim couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong; he just didn’t know what. 

He was hard at work, as per usual, but now he was surrounded by the Rogues, his friends. Victor, Ed, and Bane were extremely helpful in his planning, something he didn’t quite expect. However, if there was ever a group of experts on fighting Batman, it was the Rogues, so Tim was grateful for their insight.

The Trinity would be a tough trio to break; each on their own was capable of colossal feats. Batman had a mind that rivalled Tim’s own, able to think his way out of any situation, provided he hadn’t already planned for it. If Tim was going to get him out of the way, he’d need to catch him off guard; no easy feat, but if the Red Hood Fiasco was anything to go by, one of his former Robins had a better chance of doing it than anyone else.

Superman had an easy answer, just not an easy solution. Kryptonite would be instrumental in taking him down, but Clark had been countering kryptonite for forty years; he’d need to think of a creative application if he wanted Clark to go down and stay down. He didn’t want to be caught unawares like his former brainmate had been at STAR Labs. Underestimating Superman was a death sentence; Tim would need to be prepared to face Superman at his best.

The one he was having the most trouble with was Wonder Woman. Diana wasn’t as cunning as Bruce, but she was still smart enough to know when Tim was leading her into a trap. She wasn’t as strong as Clark, but she could still shatter Tim’s ribs with her pinky finger. Bullets didn’t pierce her skin, she was immune to most known poisons, and to top it all off she was one of the most accomplished hand-to-hand fighters on the planet. Armed with a sword, shield, and the Lasso of Truth, Diana was damn near unstoppable. She had no weaknesses that Tim could exploit.

But Tim had a theory; societies don’t lock themselves away for no reason. The Atlanteans remained beneath the waves because they would lose any altercation on land. The Japanese remained cut off from the world for centuries because it was the only way to keep their society safe from the influx of European empires in Asia. The various uncontacted peoples around the globe remained in isolation because their immune systems wouldn’t handle the onslaught of global diseases. The Amazons of Themyscira were no exception to that rule. Sure, their founding myth was that their island was a gift from the gods, but why would they need an enchanted island no man could ever find? Why unless they needed someplace to hide? Why unless Man’s World held something they feared? Something that could bring down even the mighty Amazons?

All Tim needed to do was find that missing threat and utilize it. Not enough to kill Diana, of course, but to incapacitate her. He was almost certain he could find an answer in Greece if he tried, but he may need to infiltrate Themyscira itself to inspect their ancient records… but how the hell would he do that…

Tim sighed from his position hunched over his desk, his back to the door. The sun just peeked over the horizon from out his window, the only indication that he had been here all night, thinking of a way to incapacitate his mentors and idols. Tim sighed as he ran a hand through his hair and rubbed his face, frowning as he felt the rough black stubble there; he’d forgotten to shave again. 

He was startled out of his reverie by the ringing of his cellphone; he frowned as he saw the caller ID. “Lex,” he answered, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“ Hello, Tim, my boy! ” Lex said warmly, “ How are things at my new facility? ”

“It’s hardly new, Lex,” Tim responded, rolling his eyes, “Basil has been running the place just fine in my absence.”

“ So I’ve heard, ” Lex said, and Tim could almost see the ‘Camera Smile’ on his face, “ Mr. Karlow did a commendable job! But not as commendable as you’re able to pull off. ”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Luthor,” Tim said back, holding the phone between his ear and shoulder as he went back to work on the prototype he’d been developing, “Did you really just call for a status update? Mockingbird is on schedule, I promise.”

“ Actually, I thought you might want to know that someone’s kidnapped your boy, ” Luthor said nonchalantly, and Tim’s world dissolved into a distant ringing as his hands stopped moving and he scarcely dared to breathe.

“ What. ” he asked quietly.

“ Well, the trackers I have on him just left atmosphere, and according to our network, Robin isn’t on the Watchtower at the moment, ” Lex said in response, “ That leads me to only one conclusion… ”

“ Where. Is he. ” Tim demanded, already putting the civilian work away and moving to exit the office as soon as possible.

“ Last known location is an address on the outskirts of Dakota City, ” Lex told him easily, “ Though I was under the impression that the Bat was responsible for my grandson’s safety. ”

“He is, ” Tim growled over the line, feeling the very beginnings of green start to lap at the edges of his mind; he’d need to take his medicine again soon.

“ Then how and why was he in Dakota City, all alone and open to attack? ” Lex asked in a tone that Tim knew was a leading question, but at this point he didn’t care that Luthor was still pretending to have all the answers.

“Oh, trust me, Lex,” Tim said over the line as he gazed out across Gotham towards the mainland, where he knew Wayne Manor stood, “ I intend to find out. ”

Tim hung up. He’d heard all he needed to, and he knew Lex would send him all the relevant information with or without him listening to the man drone on and on. Rage roiled and bubbled up in the pit of his stomach, because how dare someone try to kidnap his boy, but he would fix it. By God, he’d fix it. 

A text buzzed on his phone. Luthor had sent Tommy’s last known coordinates, as well as a message: Heard you needed a new suit; I happen to know a good tailor. Enjoy! ;)

Tim shuddered at the use of the emoji, then almost began to wonder what Luthor was talking about as he heard a beep sound through his otherwise silent office. The south wall, once a stylish but nondescript wood-paneled wall, retracted and folded as a hitherto unnoticed compartment opened, likely thanks to some sort of remote held by Luthor.

For once, though, Tim had been pleasantly surprised by his employer/blackmailer.

Inside, a brand new Red Robin suit was laid out for him, with updated camouflage, body armor, and a holster for his new handgun. Tim grinned; it was just missing one little thing…

He pulled the suit on with practiced ease, revelling in the feel of the fresh kevlar on his skin, and then went into his briefcase to retrieve the final piece of his puzzle: Tim pulled his cowl over his head, then snapped his bandolier into place over his chest.

Red Robin rides again.

---

Barbara sighed as she struggled to get any work done. Conner was still recovering, and therefore didn’t have his super speed, flight, super hearing, or x-ray vision, and with most of his people-finding tricks exhausted, had resorted to hovering (figuratively, not literally) by Barbara’s chair down in the Cave, waiting for the exact moment she found Tommy’s trail.

Truth be told, she was worried. How could she not be? It was her nephew out there! And now that motherhood loomed on the horizon, she couldn’t really blame Conner for his desperate behavior. Still, though, all she could do was keep working; do what she could where she could. It was what she had resolved herself to do after realizing she could do more than just be the Commissioner’s daughter, when she went out as Batgirl with little to no training under her belt, when she had been crippled and forced to reposition herself in the fight against crime, when she had come into her own as Oracle.

When she needed to power through after losing Dick, so soon after they’d patched things up.

And so that’s what she would keep doing. Tommy was counting on her, after all, and she was the most gifted hacker on the face of the planet. So what if Tommy was wearing a suit that had had all the bugs removed so that they didn’t confuse the new system? So what if he’d crushed the only transponder she had a prayer of tracking? She was Oracle; she could do this.

And she would. Especially since Red Hood, Nightwing, and Batman were currently tearing Gotham apart, looking up and down for their wayward bird. Every thug and purse-thief in Gotham was about to have a really, really bad night.

Barbara had expected the quiet, steady wrath from Bruce, since punching the criminally insane was the only way he ever dealt with stress, and she had begun to understand it in Jason, as his new role with fatherhood had made him almost as overprotective as Dick, but what truly surprised her was how Damian had reacted to Tommy’s disappearance.

Damian had been heavily shaken since Junior’s attack, they all had been, but recently he had returned to form after taking up the mantle of Nightwing. She also knew that Damian and Tommy had been growing close; Barbara thought Tommy subconsciously used Damian as a replacement for his absent father, but that was Harley’s job to judge. As much as the boy cared about Damian, Damian cared about him more; though he’d never say it, the amount of times Barbara had had to firmly say, “ Nightwing, he’s unconscious, stop punching, ” tonight was proof enough.

As for the others, Batgirl, Arsenal, and Starfire were grounded for the night. Stephanie was still getting used to accounting for her left side, and Roy and Kori were on kid-sitting duty while Alfred was still breaking in the new hire. Barbara had only met Julia Pennyworth in passing so far, and she seemed… prickly.

Harley and Ivy were on a mission for the JL, Duke was getting much needed rest before his daytime circuit tomorrow, and Selina was doing what she could to reign in the Bats’ worst tempers. Watching Catwoman play nanny would have been entertaining, if Barbara didn’t know that Selina was secretly worried to bits over where her grandson was.

Barbara sighed as she rubbed her eyes beneath her glasses, the bright screens beginning to strain her eyes. Tommy… he had sounded upset. Which was the understatement of the year, she knew, but still; she hadn’t been expecting him to explode like that. Though she supposed that they had gotten a little… freaked out after they found out about his predicament. It was just that the whole thing was a giant mess; they couldn’t separate feeling bad for Tommy from feeling bad for Tim, and Barbara knew she at least still had to double-take when the kid was in her peripheral vision; he looked just like a younger Tim.

But that wasn’t being fair to the kid, either. He’d just poured his guts out about wanting to separate himself from Tim’s tainted legacy, and Babs couldn’t blame him. They’d already been walking on eggshells around him all his life, and now this? She could see where the breaking point was. 

She just hoped they got him back before he did something profoundly stupid.

“So have you found anything yet?” Conner asked fervently, and Barbara sighed with frustration.

“ Conner, ” she all but snapped, “ I’m still looking. That’s what I was doing the last fifty times you asked me, the most recent of which was five minutes ago. So, five minutes from now, when you ask me, ‘Have you found anything?’, my answer’s going to be that I’m still fucking looking! ”

Barbara finally snapped, slamming her hand on the desk next to her keyboard, and Conner jumped as at the same time, the lights in the Cave went out. Barbara’s breath caught in her throat.

“Did you hit a key…?” Conner asked quietly, standing up from the chair he had chosen to perch on as he flexed his fists.

Barbara grimaced as she reached for a batarang. “No,” she answered, and the emergency floodlights of the Cave flickered on, bathing the cavern in a dim red strobe light as the faulty breakers struggled to find their purchase.

Barbara spun herself around, facing the main atrium of the Cave, Conner taking a fighting stance beside her, and as the breakers finally did their job, the backup generator kicked in, and the Cave was normally illuminated once again; no one was there. Barbara let go of a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

Then, a cloud of bats went shrieking away overheard, startling her, and as she spun around, she saw a familiar red suit and earless black cowl perched on top of the Batcomputer’s monitor, a bo staff pointed down at her with the blade extended from the end.

“ Oracle , ” Red Robin demanded, “ Where. is. my. son. ”

Chapter 29: Things Left Unsaid

“ Tim?? ” Conner yelped, a strangled cry tearing from his lips. He felt Tim’s gaze flicker to him momentarily, linger for longer than it should have, then return to Barbara.

“ Where is he, Barbara,” Tim growled again, “ Tell me, or I swear to God, you’ll figure out the hard way that I’ve been going easy on you this whole time!”

Babs finally blinked and swallowed down her shock. “We’re looking,” she said evenly, though she couldn’t hide the slight fearful tinge of her voice, “Bruce, Jason, and Damian are scouring the city. We’re doing all we can.”

Tim’s eyes narrowed beneath his cowl. “Why is he missing in the first place!?” Tim demanded angrily, “Despite everything, everything you people have put me through, I at least expected you to protect him! It was your only job!! ”

“Everything we’ve put you through…?” Barbara asked quietly, the glare in her glasses hiding the dangerous glint in her eyes, “You really think you’re just the innocent victim in all this?”

“I’m not here to argue semantics, Barbara,” Tim tried to cut her off, but Barbara looked up at him, and for a moment, both Tim and Conner were shocked to see tears in her eyes. Hot, tight anger burned in her chest, and as she looked up into the face of a man she used to consider her little brother, she could only see the man who killed Dick. How dare he? How dare he! In that moment, some sort of emotional dam broke inside her, the one that had been compartmentalizing like hell ever since Tim had attacked her, ever since she had to watch Damian break and shatter like glass in front of her, ever since she learned Dick was dead, ever since she found out she was pregnant, and for an idle second, she wondered why she was ever afraid of this petty, arrogant child. She was going to let him have it, consequences be damned.

“ You LEFT! ” she shouted at him, “We tried to help you, and you left! Dick tried, Cass tried, even fucking Bruce tried, and you still ran! We’ve been here, the whole time, waiting for you to come home, Tim, we’ve stuck out the olive branch, over and over, and you always burn us with it! You think this has been easy for us!? It hasn’t! We’ve had to raise your kid, clean up your mess, and bury your bodies! All while clinging to some desperate, stupid hope that Tim, our Tim, was still in there somewhere! And now you barge in here, acting all emo and cool, and start spouting off about what we’ve put you through!?! You don’t get to play that game, Tim. Not after everything you’ve done to us! ”

Barbara’s hand clenched into a fist as she slammed it down into the armrest of her wheelchair, and the sound seemed to shake Tim out of his shock at the angry reprimand. Then, his face twisted into a snarl, and Conner’s eyes widened as he caught the glint of glowing green from beneath the whiteouts. “How dare you…!” Tim seethed, and Conner quickly stepped between the two angry Bats.

“ Okay, both of you, cool it! ” he said quickly, holding out his hands placatingly between the two, “This whole thing is fucked, and we all know it! But kicking the shit out of each other in the Cave isn’t going to solve anything, and it’s especially not going to get Tommy back!”

Both Tim and Barbara scowled, but Tim lowered his staff, and Barbara unclenched her fist. They didn’t stop glaring at each other, though. “You’re right,” Tim eventually gritted out, “I hate it when you’re right.”

Barbara scoffed. “ Finally, we agree on something… ” she muttered, but to Conner’s relief, neither of them made any threatening moves beyond that.

“How much do you know about what’s going on, Tim?” Conner asked quickly, trying to keep the conversation on track before they went back to trying to kill each other with words, “And… do you want to get off the computer?”

Tim hummed slightly as he looked down to where he was precariously perched atop the Batcomputer’s main monitor. Without a word, he dropped soundlessly and effortlessly to the floor, then sighed. “The trackers Lex has on him left atmosphere,” he said eventually, “His last known location is an address in Dakota City.”

“Lex has trackers on him??” Conner asked incredulously, and Tim seemed to deflate.

“Trust me, it’s the first I’m hearing of it, too,” he sighed, and he held his head, “ God dammit. Why’d he run off in the first place? Weren’t you watching him??”

“We don’t watch him every minute of every day, Tim,” Barbara muttered as she began pulling up Dakota City on her map, “Most people consider that bad parenting. He’s a teenager now, he’s at that age where he needs his privacy.”

Tim clenched his fists beneath his cape, and growled, “I think I’d rather you accidentally walk in on my son masturbating than let him run halfway across the country and get kidnapped into fucking outer space!! ”

“Oh, because you’ve been such an A+ parent yourself, Mr. Deadbeat,” Barbara muttered back, and Tim straightened a little in shock.

“I’m not a deadbeat, ” he growled, his eyes narrowing, “I was forced to leave him behind because his life was in danger. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. Don’t you dare lecture me about my fucking parenting; not ‘till you’ve had a kid of your own. Not ‘till you know how much love hurts. ”

Barbara laughed, cold and short, and Conner had to grab Tim’s arm to keep him from swinging at her. “ Calm down, please, ” Conner asked desperately, and Tim only slightly complied while Barbara wheeled around to face them.

“ I’m pregnant, you asshole,” she snarled, “I know exactly how you fucking feel. Because of you, actually.”

“ Babs , stop,” Conner said seriously, but Tim’s eyes narrowed.

“What are you talking about?” he snapped, “What do I have to do with this?” 

“ Because of you, Damian stabbed me in the stomach, almost killed the baby before it had a chance,” Barbara started, “It’s by sheer fucking luck he missed my uterus. You wanna know how small that margin was? I have the surgical notes if you want; two centimeters. He missed by two centimeters before it would have caused a miscarriage. But let’s give you the benefit of the doubt with that; you couldn’t have known the fear toxin would make Damian stab me thinking I was his grandfather, right? Right. So let’s move on to the other thing. ”

“Babs, seriously, ” Conner begged, but Barbara plowed on.  

“You took my baby’s father away, ” she accused, “ You fucking. hypocrite. ”

Tim blinked as realization hit him like a bucket of cold water. “Dick,” he said aloud, his voice small.

“ Dick. ” Barbara agreed, venom filling her voice, “Conner, why don’t you kiss your boyfriend’s booboos while I do some actual work? I’m gonna scour Dakota City’s media for any sightings of Robin.”

Tim turned on his heel and stalked further into the Cave, not staying to hear another word, and Conner threw Barbara a dirty look before chasing after him.

“Tim,” he called, but Tim didn’t stop, “ Hey, Tim!”

Tim stopped, but not for him. He was standing in front of the Robin Memorials. Dick’s memorial.

“You redecorated,” he said quietly, standing in front of the bloodied Nightwing suit, “I don’t like it.”

Conner sighed as he stood at Tim’s side, then physically turned him so that they faced each other. “Take that off,” he sighed, bringing his hand to Tim’s cowl, “I can’t see your face like this. It’s lead-lined.”

“I know,” Tim sighed, taking Conner’s hand and pulling it away, “It was designed that way.”

Conner frowned, then raised both his hands and tucked his thumbs underneath the edge of the cowl, and Tim laid his hands on Conner’s, stopping him. “ Conner, ” he sighed, emotion leaking into his voice, “ Please. You… you might not like what you see.”

Conner looked him in the eye best he could with the whiteout lenses. “I’ll only see you, ” he promised, and he slipped the cowl off Tim’s head.

Green tinged his once perfectly clear, icy blue eyes. Black stubble lined his jaw, like he had been too busy to shave. Light bruising rested beneath his eyes. And of course, a shock of white followed his hair down, framing his battered face in all its asymmetrical glory.

Conner smiled as he cupped Tim’s face in his hands. “You look like shit,” he said with a watery grin, and Tim let out a startled laugh.

“Gee, how romantic,” he chuckled, then the pain returned to his eyes, “Conner, I-”

“Shh.” Conner sighed, closing his eyes and drawing Tim into a hug, “I don’t want to hear it. I just need you right now.”

Tim began to tremble in his grip, and Conner felt him hug back, clinging and desperate, like Conner was the only thing holding him to where he was. Tim pressed his eyes into Conner’s shoulder, and Conner felt the spot on his shirt grow wet with tears.

“ Our son is missing, Conner! ” Tim gasped against him, “ He’s missing and I don’t know who took him!! ”

“We’ll get him back,” Conner said soothingly, rubbing Tim’s back, “We’ll get him back. I promise, Tim.”

“ I didn’t mean to-! ” Tim gasped again, “ I didn’t want to-! ”

“I know, Tim,” Conner sighed sadly.

“ I didn’t think he was really gone, ” Tim whispered brokenly, “ I hated him, I wanted him to hurt, but I didn’t want him dead.”

“I know, Tim,” Conner sighed again, and he hugged a little tighter, looking up at the empty suit that stared down at them, “I know.”

---

“Good Morning, Thomas Drake,” a robotic voice said above him, and Tommy jolted awake, his eyes snapping open as he tried to move, only to grunt as he realized he was restrained, “Has your intoxication worn off yet?”

Tommy blinked a few times, trying to get his eyes to focus. “Wha’ happ’nd?” he mumbled, groaning as the slight movement caused a headache more painful than one he’d ever had in his life, “Wh’re ‘m I?”

“ Worry not, Child; I am here with you. We’ll get through this together, ” a new, kinder voice said, deeper and more emotional than the last, and Tommy turned to where it came from, on his left, but saw no one, just empty space filled with gunmetal gray, chromeshined silver, and fluorescent purple lights. 

“Who said that?” Tommy asked, his head getting a tiny bit clearer, and something grabbed his chin, forcing him to look straight ahead, the sudden movement sending his head spinning.

“I said nothing,” the cold, robotic voice said again, and Tommy’s eyes widened in shock as he took in the man before him.

He was dressed head to toe in chrome, with tubes and wires connecting him to the wall behind him through ports in the back of his head and down his spine. Flaky, sunken green skin looked as if it were hanging on to whatever skeleton lay beneath, and a definitely-not-organic light shone in its eyes. Tommy whimpered as he realized it wasn’t a person; it was a meatsuit.

“I repeat: has your intoxication worn off, Thomas Drake?” it said again, and Tommy straightened at the use of his old surname, let alone his real name, since he was, y’know, in costume!

Tommy tried to school his features into his best impression of Uncle Jason, glaring at the thing from underneath his eyebrows. “Why don’t you let me go and I’ll show you just how sobered up I am?” he growled lowly, and the thing’s expression didn’t change at all. Tommy did, however, hear a rumbling chuckle from elsewhere in the wherever-he-was, the voice matching the one he had heard earlier.

“ Excellent, Child, ” the deep voice whispered to him, “ Keep up that spirit. ”

Tommy blinked as he realized he was using his super hearing; the mystery man must be somewhere else.

“I will not be releasing you from your bonds, Thomas Drake,” the thing in front of him said emotionlessly, “Not unless I deem it necessary for study.”

Tommy strained against the metal that was keeping his hands and feet in place, grunting with exertion. “ What are you!? ” he demanded, “ Where am I!? What did you do to my friends!? ”

“I am Brainiac, a Kryptonian Artificial Intelligence Program tasked with the preservation and categorization of all sentient life in the universe,” it said, its voice unsettlingly cold and inhuman, a slight mechanical buzz to it, “You are aboard my research vessel. If you are referring to the metahuman adolescents within the structure wherein you were acquired, they are unharmed, and not slated for study.”

“Kryptonian…?” Tommy realized in shock, “ You’re Kryptonian!? ”

“Technically speaking, yes,” Brainiac replied, “My code was written on Krypton. The City of Kryptonopolis, to be precise, by the scientist Jor-El and other leading figures of the Council of Krypton.”

Tommy’s eyes widened. “Jor-El?” he asked aloud, “You were programmed by my great-grandpa!?”

Brainiac tilted its head ponderingly. “So you consider yourself familially related to your Kryptonian DNA donor,” it observed, and Tommy saw something glitter in its eye, like a computer bringing up a few windows and then closing them in a few seconds, “Fascinating. It seems I have much to learn about Human-Kryptonian Hybrids such as yourself.”

Tommy snarled as he strained against his bonds, harder this time. “ Conner’s not just my DNA Donor! ” he snapped, “ He’s my DAD! And good luck, Mr. Roboto, ‘cause I’ve already had enough of people screwing with my DNA!”

Brainiac blinked. “I thank you for the sentiment, but I feel you misunderstand the circumstances,” it said slowly, and Tommy yelped as he felt a dozen needles prick into his skin, all over his body, sharp and painful, “I do not need luck. Your compliance is not a factor.”

“ Be strong, Child, ” the deep voice said again, “ It will be painful, but you must endure. Help is on the way. ”

Tommy grunted as the needles started doing whatever they were supposed to be doing, and then he felt what he thought was a slight tingle. It quickly grew into a full electric shock, powerful and sustained, and Tommy couldn’t take it any longer; he screamed.

---

Barry sighed as he and Wally arrived at the Flash Museum, wondering why he was so tired. Sleep was a little hard to come by these days, that much was for sure, but he wished it wasn’t. 

He had woken up in a world fifteen years after he’d intended to leave it. His best friend, Hal Jordan, had gone insane, fucked off into deep space, came back, beat everyone up, then calmed down and fucked off into deep space again. His other best friend, Bruce Wayne, had gotten old, struggling to keep his family together after having it once again be rocked by personal tragedy. Now he was trying to deal with the Tim Situation, and how endlessly complicated it was; he didn’t have any time for Barry. His mentor, Jay Garrick, had just lost his wife, and was grappling with the realities of outliving his loved ones. His protege, Wally West, had just lost his best friend, Dick Grayson, and was dealing with the emotions of losing one icon and regaining another. And then there was his grandson; Bart, the new Kid Flash. Barry didn’t even know what to think of him; this was technically the first time they’d met, and he didn’t even have kids yet to create said grandson later down the line. He seemed like a good kid, though, but he was also busy; new responsibilities in the League, and of course, the ever-present Tim Situation. 

And finally, his wife, Iris, his lightning rod, had taken the years to focus on her career as a reporter, winning the Pulitzer Prize for his obituary, strangely enough. But when he had come back, he’d gone to her straight away, and she’d said she needed time. Barry understood; he’d just come back from the dead, fifteen years after he’d gone away. Anyone would need time.

But, selfish as it was, Barry needed her. He needed all of them. He felt… lost. He didn’t know what he was running toward anymore. That feeling of listlessness didn’t help fend off the nightmares he had each night, the ones of Thawne, of the wheel, of the Speed Trap. Of being played, of feeling helpless. Of being the Fastest Man Alive, but that not meaning anything.

“Uncle Barry?” Wally asked, and Barry jumped, shaking himself out of his funk.

“Y-yeah, Wally,” he stammered quickly, “What is it?”

“They’re ready for us inside,” Wally said, a slight edge of concern in his voice as his eyes searched his uncle’s, “... Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Barry said too quickly, “Didn’t sleep well, is all. What did you bring me here for?”

Wally knew Barry was deflecting, and Barry knew he knew, but Wally let it slide. “The Cosmic Treadmill,” Wally said, leading him further inside the Museum, “It’s completely disassembled, a few parts broken beyond repair, too. There was a break-in not too long ago, about the same time Beetle got attacked, and Hal… uh… you know.”

“Right,” Barry responded, his voice tight, “So why hasn’t it been rebuilt yet?”

“Well that’s the thing,” Wally sighed, “ You built it. I’ve done as much research as I could on the Speed Force since you went away, but I barely understand how the damn thing works. All I remember is you used to run on it and it would take you places.”

“I was chasing Thawne,” Barry said, almost to himself, “He was trying to change the timeline. I stopped him.”

“... Yeah, that’s right, Uncle Barry,” Wally answered slowly, “But like I said, somebody broke in and trashed it. Now that you’ve settled in a little, I was hoping you could help me repair it.”

“O-Oh, I uh…” Barry stammered, and suddenly, they were standing in front of the wreckage of the Treadmill, “N-No, I don’t think I…”

Suddenly Barry’s head hurt tremendously. The Cosmic Treadmill. Time travel. That vortex, that wheel, running in place for fifteen years…

“ No… ” Barry mumbled, holding his head, stumbling backward as laughter echoed in his brain, the yellow suit and glowing red eyes that haunted his dreams running through his mind on repeat.

“Uncle Barry!?” Wally asked urgently, and Barry felt a weight on his shoulders, “Uncle Barry!”

Barry gasped as he looked up, seeing not Thawne’s evil eyes, but Wally, his nephew’s, worried face. Barry didn’t know what to do.

They wanted him to fix the Treadmill. That meant they wanted to travel through time again. Thawne could still be out there, like he always was. He always came back.

“I can’t fix it,” Barry told his nephew, something wild and fearful in his voice, “I’m sorry, but you can’t ask me to do that. I can’t fix it. I won’t. ”

Then he turned around and ran. He didn’t know what else to do.

Wally didn’t follow him.

---

“ Batman, ” Oracle said in his ear, and Bruce sighed as he hit the comm link, letting the mugger he had been holding up by the collar tumble to the ground, already unconscious, “ I have a lead. Get back to the Cave, ASAP. ”

Bruce let out a sigh of relief; a lead. Finally. “Roger that, Oracle,” he answered quickly, “Catwoman and I will rendezvous with Nightwing and Red Hood then meet you back at the Cave.”

“ Please hurry, ” Oracle said quietly, something off in her voice, “ We have a… delicate situation here.”

Bruce tapped the comm in acknowledgement, then began wondering at what the term ‘delicate situation’ could have meant. He wasn’t exceptionally worried; Barbara hadn’t used the secret code phrase that would alert him to intruders in the Cave, so at the very least everyone was safe. 

Well. As safe as they usually were.

“Nightwing, Red Hood, Catwoman, Oracle has a lead; rendezvous back at the Cave,” he said over the open channel, and he got the usual tapped-out responses from his wife and sons. 

“So you’ve finally decided that Gotham’s superstitious and cowardly have had enough for tonight?” Selina asked, landing in the alleyway behind him, and Bruce fought the rueful grin off his face.

“You’re getting slow in your old age, Cat,” he said with a slight smirk, “I noticed you following me ten minutes ago.”

Selina rolled her eyes. “I’ve been following you for twenty,” she responded playfully, “You’re no spring chicken yourself.”

Bruce let out an amused huff, the closest thing he had to a laugh these days, and sighed, “Don’t remind me.”

As they both moved toward the Batmobile, they moved side by side, perfectly in sync, like they’d been moving for decades. Their movements were both a little stiffer now, of course, but Batman and Catwoman had been running along Gotham’s rooftops for forty years; what they lacked in youthful grace, they more than made up for with practiced experience.

“... Speaking of,” Selina called, and Bruce turned slightly to look at her, acknowledging that he was listening, “We don’t really get a chance to talk, Bat, so I’m going to just say it. Have you given any thought to retirement?”

The question took him so off guard Bruce had to stop himself from tumbling off the rooftop, barely catching himself on a fire escape; he nodded in gratitude as Selina grabbed his arm and helped him up. He looked at her for a moment, their eyes meeting, and some silent emotion was conveyed there, as it always was. They kept running together, side by side.

“Of course I have,” Bruce admitted quietly, and this time it was Selina’s turn to stumble in shock.

“So you don’t just plan to do this until you’re dead?” she asked, only half-joking, “I’m actually shocked.”

“The existence of Oracle proves that I can continue to help Gotham without going into the field every night,” he explained, “And there’s plenty I can be doing from the civilian front as the owner of Wayne Enterprises. Who knows, I might try my hand at politics; run for president.”

Selina snorted out a laugh, and Bruce grinned with her. He stopped for just a moment, looking out across the city, and Selina stopped to join him. The lights glittering against the rain, the car horns and sirens floating up from the streets, the police airships floating gently through the sky, shining spotlights downward, all overseen by the shadowy, indistinct outline of Lady Justice in Gotham Harbor. There was a dark beauty to it. Gotham. Home.

“I used to think that I was the only one who could do it,” he explained quietly, “That I was the only one who could fix things. That if I didn’t do it, no one would. And I think, back then, I may have been right; at least in Gotham. But then Clark and Diana came, and Dick, and Barbara, and the League, and I realized I wasn’t alone in this fight. Batman is an important symbol, and a vital part of this new world order the Justice League created, and up until Darkseid’s Invasion I was so preoccupied with what would happen when I was gone. Without Batman, would Gotham, or the world, ever really be the same? Could they still protect the peace like we used to?”

Selina listened silently, tilting her head slightly in concern. She’d never heard her Bat be this open.

“But then I was gone,” he explained, “And I fought so hard, Cat. I fought so hard to come back. And when I did? When I woke up in the Cave? I didn’t feel accomplishment. I felt relief.

“Relief because life had moved on without me. Relief because the world was still turning, the Justice League was still there, Batman was still there. Even though things weren’t ideal in the slightest, the world wasn’t thrown into anarchy by my death like I’d feared. Everything was okay. Not great, but… okay. I realized… I didn’t need to be… the Batman anymore.”

Bruce turned to look at her, and he held out his hand for her to take, and she did so without hesitation. “Dick was an excellent Batman,” he said, a proud, fatherly smile on his face, “Better than I could have ever been. And Damian is ready, whether he realizes it or not. Tommy is ready to be the next Robin. Ollie and Jane are still young, but whatever they decide to do, they’ll excel. Jason was already a man in his own right when he gathered the Outlaws. Cass, Stephanie, and Barbara can either stay in the Cave or go join up with the Birds of Prey. Duke has a bright future ahead of him no matter where he goes, I can tell. Even Alfred is training the next generation in Julia. The League is gaining more heroes every day, bright young men and women ready to carry on the struggle when you and I are gone. The world is preparing to move on, Cat; we’re about to be left behind. And I couldn’t be happier.”

Without warning, he pulled her into a kiss, and Selina almost purred. Bat never initiated, he was always too timid, too emotionally unsure of himself. The fact that he was kissing her instead of the other way around spoke volumes to how he must be feeling.

“I’m going to retire very soon,” he told her, “I just need to make sure everything’s okay before I do. I need to bring Tim home, Cat. I need my family in one piece. Then, you and I will finally go on that honeymoon to Europe. London, Paris, Rome.”

“And Athens,” she said quietly, “You wanted to go to Athens.”

Bruce smirked, “And you wanted to go to Casablanca.”

“And Vienna.”

“And St Petersburg.”

“And Stockholm.”

“And Venice.”

Selina sighed as she leaned into him, and he leaned into her. They stayed like that, for just a moment. “Okay,” she said, “Let’s do it. We’ll bring him home.”

Bruce smiled, and together, they leapt off the building and down toward the Batmobile.

Chapter 30: Prospero's Gambit

As the Batmobile roared into the Cave, Bruce and Selina climbed out easily and took in the scene before them. Damian and Jason had just arrived as well, both putting their respective helmets and equipment down before approaching the main dais of the Cave. Barbara was, as always, working at the Batcomputer, but she seemed tenser than usual; Bruce was at a loss as to what until he noticed the two other figures in the room.

Near the memorials, Conner was hugging a shorter man to his chest, smaller shoulders shaking with silent sobs, and Bruce stopped in his tracks as he recognized a familiar black cape and scarlet tunic. Beside him, he noticed his family tense up; Selina’s hand went to her whip, Jason’s to his gun. Damian stood stock still. “Tim?” Bruce asked quietly, something fearful in his voice, afraid that breaking the silence might scare him away.

Tim still had his back to Bruce, but Conner met his eyes, something hard and pained in his gaze. Tim’s shoulders shook a little bit more, he raised a gauntleted hand to wipe his eyes, then he finally turned to Bruce.

“Hey, Bruce,” he said quietly, his eyes downcast, “Some mess we’ve found ourselves in, huh?”

Bruce let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding as he took in his son’s appearance. Tim looked terrible. Stubble lined his jaw, bags hung under his eyes, and the telltale white streak indicative of a dip in the Lazarus Pit marred his messy black hair. But what was worse was his suit. At first, when Bruce looked him up and down, he didn’t notice anything amiss with the Red Robin suit; maybe a bit more armor, a bit more militaristic in its design. Then he clocked the holster at Tim’s right hip. The holster that still held Joe Chill’s pistol.

Bruce felt sick as he remembered two gunshots in the dark, the scatter of pearls against the pavement. The dying, wheezing gasps of his father. That was the worst part, in Bruce’s opinion; Martha Wayne had died instantly, painlessly. Chill’s bullet had passed through her heart and spine. She didn’t have time to feel the pain. Thomas Wayne, however, had been hit in the lung; he didn’t die from bloodloss. His left lung collapsed. He asphyxiated.

Bruce had had to watch while his father, a doctor, who knew how to treat for that sort of wound, who knew what to do to help a man hit in the lungs, choked and gasped in a back alley, staring in horror at the body of his wife, at his shellshocked son, knowing the trauma and pain he would leave behind. Bruce had watched the light in his father’s eyes go out.

Tim shifted his cape, blocking the pistol from view. Bruce blinked, his gaze finally tearing away from Tim’s right hip. Tim was still looking at him. Everyone was. He hadn’t said anything yet. Bruce blinked as he realized some amount of time must have passed since Tim had spoken. Tim had the grace at least to look guilty.

“Drake,” Damian said in a hard tone, stepping forward slightly, “Why are you here?”

Tim squinted as Damian addressed him, looking the other man up and down. “You’re taller than me,” he realized aloud, and Damian blinked at the tone of his voice. In any other way, it would sound so juvenile; an older brother complaining that a younger had outgrown them. But from Tim, it just sounded sad; like a realization of all the time he had missed. And it was true; Damian had been fourteen when Tim had left the Cave. Now, he was twenty-two, and a full foot taller, not to mention more filled out and muscular. Tim, by contrast, while still in shape by any means, was still thin as a rail and shorter than most of the adult population. Damian was a full head and shoulders taller than him.

Bruce pursed his lips as he tried to find his voice. “Welcome home, son,” he finally said quietly, then, not daring to hope, asked, “Are you staying?”

Tim looked stricken. He looked down, black (and white) hair hiding his eyes. “No,” he whispered finally, “I’m just here to help get Tommy back. I’m still needed at LexCorp.”

Bruce’s shoulders sagged, and so, he noticed, did Conner’s. “I understand,” he sighed, “But Tim, it’s not like how it was before. You don’t need to… act anymore. We know. We know what Lex and Ra’s did to you.”

Tim shrugged, subtly leaning into Conner. “Clark said as much,” he muttered, a hint of bitterness in his voice, “That you know. You think you know. Because Luthor told Thawne, and Thawne told Barry, and Barry told you.”

There was silence for a moment, Tim letting his comment sit in the air. Then Bruce thought of something to say.

“The Light,” he answered, “Barry told us about the Light.”

Tim looked up at that, his head snapping to attention as his blue-green eyes searched Bruce’s fiercely. It scared Bruce slightly, on some level, that a single word could command Tim’s attention so thoroughly. “How much do you know?” Tim asked carefully.

Both Bruce and Tim knew that they were one of the greatest teams to ever grace superheroism. They knew each other inside and out, their tells, what would fool them, what wouldn’t. So Bruce knew Tim must be shaken if he was slipping up this bad, letting Bruce perceive the slight movement in his neck that denoted a higher pulse rate. 

“We know that Lex Luthor and Ra’s al Ghul are two of the three triumvirs making up the criminal organization known as the Light,” Bruce said evenly, and he saw Conner gasp momentarily in his peripheral vision, “Barry confirmed the existence of a third partner, but didn’t know their name. We also know that the way they’ve been keeping you in check is through nanobots spliced into Tommy’s DNA, ready to be detonated at a moment’s notice by either man, all covered up and kept from us by Thawne’s abilities. It’s blackmail on a Paul Bunyan scale.”

“The perfect trap,” Tim agreed sullenly, and he seemed to linger on that for a moment, considering the weight of the statement. Then, he crossed the room and picked up a notepad and pencil, writing something out. “But your information is flawed,” he said as he wrote, his voice taking on a new, colder tone as he spoke, “For one thing, the Light isn’t a triumvirate. It’s an organization that spans hundreds of people, and though Ra’s and Lex run the show, it’s a bigger enterprise than you realize.”

Tim turned to them all, having written out a message on the paper. 

CAN’T TALK. ALWAYS LISTENING. MIC IN SUIT.

The family stirred slightly in alarm and realization around him. Damian and Jason shared a look; Conner suddenly looked murderously angry, his fists clenching at his sides. “I see,” Bruce said in a neutral tone, “And the third partner? Who is he?”

Tim snorted, erasing his message and beginning to scratch out a new one. 

“That’s easy,” he said snidely, holding it up again, “I am.”

CAN’T SAY. ACT SURPRISED.

“Tim…” Bruce sighed, adding a bit of breathiness in his tone, while the others gave performances with varying degrees of believability. Bruce just hoped Tim’s handlers would buy it.

 “Don’t act so surprised, Bruce, ” Tim growled, ferocity in his tone, “What? Did you think I was just sitting on my ass? A loyal little lapdog ready to come when they called? You know me better than that. I was cast aside by those I thought my colleagues, my friends, my family. That hurt, Bruce. So yes; I joined the Light. Yes, because of the Tommy thing, but mostly because you so-called heroes need to be taught a fucking lesson! ”

ONLY HALF-LYING. PART OF LIGHT. JUNIOR PARTNER. TRUST ME.

Bruce didn’t know if that meant the Light trusted Tim, or if Tim was asking them to trust him now that it was revealed he was part of a criminal organization of his own volition. “And what lesson do you think that is?” Bruce asked carefully.

“That you’re wrong, ” Tim snarled, “And you think you’re right. And that makes you more dangerous than any scheme any supervillain could cook up.”

“You think heroes have too much power?” Bruce asked, and Tim finally laughed.

“Look at that, he can learn!” Tim crowed triumphantly, “Think about it, Bruce; you have a giant space station in the sky with a laser cannon pointed down. The Justice League is the single largest concentration of superhumans in world history, certainly compared to anywhere else on the planet. It’s the greatest threat the world has ever known. What happens if just one of you goes rogue, huh? What then?”

“Then the rest of the League would stop them,” Bruce growled in response, feeling himself get into the argument more than he should be, “It’s how it was designed.”

Tim laughed coldly in his face. “Like you all stopped Hal Jordan?” he asked, “Bang-up job, Bruce. The only reason Kyle Rayner isn’t a messy speck on the ocean floor is because of the power of fucking friendship. ”

“Hal was never going to kill Kyle,” Bruce responded, “It was a misunderstanding.”

“ What happens when it isn’t? ” Tim asked intensely, getting in Bruce’s face, “What happens when Superman goes nuts?” Tim poked Bruce in the chest, “ What happens when you do?”

Neither of them knew if Tim was acting anymore.

Bruce kept his mouth shut.

“That’s… what I thought,” Tim said finally, searching Bruce’s eyes for something that he apparently found, “That’s why I joined up. Sure, they’re threatening my son’s life, and I’d be doing what they asked even if I weren’t a true believer, but what you’re not getting through that thick, concussed, trauma-riddled old skull of yours is that the Light is a deterrent. A collection of people with the resources, the means, and the will to safeguard humanity from harm.”

“That’s what the League is,” Bruce argued, his voice rising, but Tim cut him off.

“That’s what the League used to be, ” Tim countered, “You did your part, Bruce. Stopped the Imperium. Stopped Zod. Stopped Darkseid. Thank you for your service. Then you were supposed to get out of the way. Step down. But you never did. You kept clinging onto power, kept massing it around yourselves, hoarding it like a fucking dragon hoardes gold! All in the name of safety. Security.”

“The League is not a threat to global security,” Bruce kept on, “We have a UN Charter.”

Tim snorted. “Like the UN actually runs the world,” he muttered, “Tell me Bruce, is there actually any oversight from the UN, or do they just sign your paychecks every year!?”

Bruce stayed quiet.

“I’m the good guy here, Bruce,” Tim growled, jabbing a thumb into his own chest, “I’m loyal to the Light. You know why? They actually care about me. About what I want.”

“What did they give you, Tim?” Bruce asked harshly, “What did they bribe you with!?”

“ Revenge, ” Tim snarled, “ A purpose. That’s the other thing; Ra’s al Ghul is no longer a member of the Light.”

“Why?” Bruce asked intensely.

Tim grinned, a predatory glint in his eye. “ I killed him, ” Tim answered softly, “I tore him apart into itty bitty little pieces, Bruce. Cut him up nice and neat in my shed, so that no Pit can ever fix what I did to him. And the Light let me. Because they knew what he did to me! And unlike some people I could mention, THEY actually CARE when I’m HURT!”

Tim had gone back to writing, holding up his pad: 

TALIA NEW LIGHT/DEMON’S HEAD.

Damian became very still while Bruce blinked at the paper, trying to comprehend what it said. Talia had been trying for years to depose her father, but she’d never accomplished it. Apparently, the League of Assassins had new management. Tim was right; their info was outdated. He had opened his mouth to answer when Barbara interrupted them with a shout from the Batcomputer.

“Hey!” she called harshly, “If you guys are done dick measuring, I have Tommy’s last known location, cross referenced with social media posts from Dakota City. I recommend moving out.”

Tim and Bruce looked at each other.

“Tim…” Bruce sighed sadly, reaching out, but Tim walked past him, clipping his shoulder and subtly pressing a note against his chest as he passed.

“Forget it,” he muttered, “I’m just here to make sure Tommy is safe. Then I’m leaving again, and you can go back to pretending I never existed.”

I HAVE A PLAN. PLAY ALONG WHEN WE GET THERE.

---

Virgil groaned as he sat up, rubbing his head and looking around. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes, silently looking around to check that all his friends were still in the same spots they had collapsed in the night before. They were, all of them; so why did he feel like he was missing something?

Richie, Tye, Sami, Mas y Menos, Ed, and-

“Robin!” Virgil realized suddenly, bolting upright and beginning to search frantically, disturbing the others from their sleep while he turned their hideout upside down looking for the youngest Super Friend.

“Virg, the hell, man?” Richie mumbled annoyedly, still half-asleep, while Ed said something unintelligible in Spanish beside him.

“I can’t find Robin!!” Virgil hissed in panic, and both Richie and Ed’s eyes rammed open.

“ ¿¿Que?? ” Ed asked quickly, “Where is he?”

“I don’t know!!” Virgil hissed back, “Hence why I can’t find him!! ”

“Guys, guys, relax!” Richie said placatingly, “Maybe he just went back to Gotham?”

“In the middle of the night!? ” the other two asked in unison, both equally exasperated.

“ Shik’isn? ” Tye muttered from his sleeping bag, grumbling as he sat up, “Whuz happening?”

“Robin’s missing!” Virgil said again.

“He’s not missing, he’s just gone!” Ed argued back.

“The fuck do you think ‘missing’ means, Ed?? ” Virgil shot back.

“ Technically, ‘missing’ doesn’t apply until after twenty-four hours-” 

“ Shut up, Richie! ” all three of them snapped at the same time. Richie pouted.

“We’ve got to find him!” Virgil said emphatically, pulling on his jacket, and Ed sighed as he started pulling on his shoes.

“How?” he asked, “We don’t even know where he went! Not to mention he’s part Kryptonian, he could be anywhere on the planet right now!”

“We still need to try!” Virgil argued back, and Richie put a hand on his chin while Mas y Menos and Sami finally started to stir.

“We… could… try and call Batman?” Richie suggested timidly, and the rest of the Super Friends looked at him intensely, considering what he’d said. 

“... It would be the best place to start…” Ed admitted, but Tye shook his head.

“He ran away from the Bat, remember?” he argued, “What if by getting him involved we get Rob into more trouble?”

“But if somebody took him, then Batman needs to know!” Richie said, and Ed sighed.

“But what if he just left and went back to Gotham?” he answered, “Tye’s right; we need to at least investigate first before we jump to conclusions. If Batman didn’t know he was here, telling him now might get Rob into some hot water at home. We just made friends with the kid, I don’t wanna risk ratting him out to his family.”

“There’s gotta be something we can do!” Virgil exclaimed, and just as Ed was about to answer, the lights in their garage, which had been off until now, suddenly came on. 

“Oh, but you can! ” a voice called out, and each teen looked up in fear as a shadow dropped from the ceiling. A black cape, crimson red tunic, and gold bandolier greeted them, cold, intelligent eyes studying them from behind the blank white lenses of the man’s cowl. “ You can tell me where Robin is,” the man growled murderously, and Virgil shivered as he recognized him.

“Red Robin,” he whispered, his voice shaking, “Y-You’re Red Robin! I saw you on the news!!”

Red Robin’s head tilted slightly, looking Virgil up and down. “Robin,” he said again, “Where is he?”

The Super Friends all bristled, getting ready for a fight. “Why should we tell you? ” Tye muttered, clenching his fist and dropping into a ready stance.

Red Robin sneered at him. “He’s my son,” he said coldly, “It’s time for him to come home.”

The teens shared a few looks with each other, remembering Robin’s words from the night before, how exactly he spoke about his father, and unanimously decided fuck that.

“Buzz off, dude,” Richie said, slinging his backpack onto his back, “Or we’ll make you.”

Red Robin narrowed his eyes beneath the cowl as they all formed up, shoulder to shoulder. “It’s adorable that you think you can,” he answered, and suddenly he was a blur of movement, rushing forward at blinding speed; but not too fast.

“ Mas y Menos,¡sí podemos! ” two young voices cried in unison, and the twin speedsters rushed forward, hitting Red Robin square in the chest, sending him tumbling backward. 

“ Speedsters… ” the villain grumbled under his breath as the twins ran circles around him, “ That could get annoying!”

Mas cried out in shock as Red Robin’s bo staff struck out and hit him in the chest, throwing him back with the force of his own speed; Menos stumbled out of the run in a panic, his connection to the Speed Force broken without his brother. Red Robin’s head perked up as he watched it happen.

“Not so fast when you’re separated are you?” he asked them, and the two brothers growled as they both ran at him, normal speed, trying to reunite. Red Robin grinned as he spun around, kicking Mas in the chest and hitting Menos with his staff, saying, “Well, I guess I’ll just have to keep you two apart for now!”

“ Mas! Menos! ” Virgil cried, rushing forward, his hands sparking with blue electricity, “ No! ”

Red Robin regarded him for a moment, dodging out of the way easily as Virgil struck at him clumsily. “African American male with electrokinesis,” he observed coolly, “You wouldn’t happen to be related to Black Lightning, would you?”

Virgil growled as he swung at Red Robin, shooting a few lightning bolts at him too, but he kept dodging and dancing just out of range. Virgil growled as he picked up a manhole cover with his powers and threw it at Red Robin, which did seem to surprise him at least a little; Virgil noticed there was a slightly longer timeframe between Red looking at the manhole cover and actually dodging it than his other attacks. 

“Interesting,” Red Robin wondered aloud, leaping off the wall to spring himself toward Virgil, “Your powers allow you to pick up metallic objects in an electromagnetic field; I don’t think Black Lightning can do that.”

“There’s a lotta things I can do!” Virgil growled, ducking out of the way just in time for Red to miss him, “Maybe you’ll see some of ‘em!”

Virgil struck out with both his hands and poured as much juice as he could into one attack; to his delight, it actually struck home, and Red Robin cried out in pain as Static fried him.

“Careful, Red Robin,” he said cockily, dropping into a ready stance as Red rolled up and away from Virgil, back onto his feet, “Come to Dakota City and you might just get a Static Shock! ”

Red Robin raised an eyebrow, decidedly unimpressed. “Really?” he asked, clicking a button on his belt, “ That was the best one you had?”

Virgil yelped in surprise as something on his jacket caught fire, and he rushed to pull it off, stomping out the flame before it could get too damaged; Red Robin must have put some kind of incendiary device on his clothes!

As he was distracted, Red Robin hit him with a devastating kick to the face, knocking Static down and across the room.

“ Yamero! ” a shrill voice cried, and Red Robin turned to see Sami bunching her legs up against the far wall. Her legs glowed a bright purple, and Red Robin’s eyes widened as she leapt at him in a burst of kinetic energy that made the wall behind her crack under the pressure. She twisted in midair, ready to deliver a devastating kick of her own, but Red Robin sidestepped her attack, grabbing her outstretched, spinning her around and slamming her into the ground, knocking the wind out of her.

“ Sagatte kudasai, ” he growled lowly, and Sami could only wheeze as she stared at him with wide, pain-filled eyes.

“ DON’T YOU TOUCH HER! ” Tye screamed, running at Red Robin, and the villain turned to see a massive golden fist flying at him. With no time to dodge, he grunted as he took the blow, going flying to the wall behind him, the massive magical fist cracking the whole structure as it followed him out the wall. 

Red grunted as he rolled back onto his feet, using his free hand to slow himself on the ground, his cape flaring out behind him as the fight went outside. Tye Longshadow stepped toward Red Robin, his form flowing and expanding with each step, all centered around the totem that hung from his neck. Soon, a ten foot tall golden avatar overlaid itself on Tye’s form, ethereal and flickering, but no less impressive as a thousand years of Apache ancestry flowed through Tye’s being. 

“Astral projection,” Red Robin observed, “Fascinating.”

The Long Shadow strode forward, punching wildly as Red Robin dodged deftly, dancing out of its admittedly long range. Red Robin inclined his head as he noticed the sweat pouring down Tye’s forehead, how his astral form flickered and lingered in strange places, and smiled coldly as he backflipped out of the way of another clumsy strike.

“You can’t keep this up for long, can you?” he asked snidely, and Tye screamed in frustration as he struggled to hit the supervillain. Red Robin jumped on top of a dilapidated car, grinning, “I don’t even need to beat you, I just need to avoid you!”

Tye swung again, and again, Red Robin dodged, leaping on top of what used to be the rain cover for the gas pumps. “See, if you don’t let that form drop soon, all that energy will destroy you,” Red Robin said accusingly as Tye growled, his glowing form growing in stature until his chest was on level with the rooftop, “I bet until now you’ve relied on a quick victory to win your fights; when confronted with an opponent who actually knows what he’s doing, you’re completely helpless!”

“ STOP TALKING AND FIGHT! ” Tye roared, and the astral form around him hummed with energy as he punched the roof clean off the gas pumps, but Red Robin was again too fast for the lumbering projection, having already leapt back down to the ground, running between Tye’s legs.

“ Bring it on, you absolute amateurs! ” Red Robin snapped, rushing behind Tye to get to where Mas y Menos had just tried to reunite, hitting Mas with a devastating blow with his bo staff, then switching his grip and knocking Menos to one side, “ Show me why you should be considered worthy of the powers you’ve been given!”

“ Virgil, Ed! ” Richie cried while Tye continued to keep Red Robin busy, waving his friends over frantically, and Eduardo grabbed Virgil and teleported to his side in a shower of golden light.

“What is it, Gear?” Static asked quickly, “Do you have a plan?”

“I think I can throw something together real quick,” Richie said, eyeing the ancient, rusted out car to his left, “But I need you to distract Red Robin while I assemble it.”

Eduardo and Virgil looked at each other, then back at Richie. “How long do you need?” Ed asked, and Richie seemed to deflate.

“Five minutes,” he sighed, “And considering he kicked all our butts in under one, it-- ah, never mind, I’m sure you can handle it.”

Richie gave them an obviously faked grin and thumbs-up, and Virgil sighed, slumping his shoulders. “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he muttered, “Come on, Ed; let’s do our jobs.”

Eduardo nodded, grabbed Static by the shoulders, then teleported him close to Red Robin, who was just dodging out of the way of Tye’s increasingly sluggish attacks.

The Long Shadow began to falter, and Tye groaned as it dissipated around him, letting him tumble to the ground with a hard thud! Red Robin regarded him coolly as he stood over him, twirling his bo staff idly. “Admirable effort, but futile nonetheless,” he sighed, almost pityingly, before Tye fainted from the strain.

“ Yo, Rudolph! ” Static cried, and Red Robin whirled around in surprise as the teen vigilante seemingly appeared from nowhere behind him, “ Eat this! ” 

Red Robin cried out in pain as the shock struck home, singeing his suit, then growled as he tried to swing at Static, only to see him disappear in a flash of golden light. For a split-second, he locked eyes with the scared Latino teen behind him, and came to a realization.

“A teleporter…” he murmured, “This just got interesting…”

Virgil and Eduardo kept up the barrage for a little while, hitting Red Robin with electrical attacks from random angles at random intervals; the best teamwork this ragtag gaggle of teenagers had managed so far, but Red Robin hadn’t come to play. 

He dropped a thick smoke bomb, then switched his cowl to infrared vision as he chose a direction and dove to the ground, making sure he wasn’t in the same spot when the two meta teens reappeared. 

“Wha-!? Where’d he go!?” Static cried, and Red Robin smirked; gotcha.

He followed the sound of the shout, sighted his two opponents, and struck out from the shadows, nerve-striking them both around the neck and watching in satisfaction as they both fell to the ground, motionless and groaning in pain.

“ ¿¿Qué mierda fue eso?? ” Eduardo groaned as he and Virgil both tried and failed to writhe in pain on the floor.

“ Un golpe de nervios, ” Red Robin answered easily in Spanish, “ No irás a ningún lado por un tiempo, chico. ”

“Aw come on, man, how many fucking languages do you know!? ” Virgil cried in exasperation as he tried to get up, and Red Robin levelled him with a cold glare.

“Достаточно,” he answered.

“Oh that’s not fucking fair,” Virgil grumbled.

“Now then…” Red Robin muttered, turning away, “Where’s the last one…?”

“ Hey, Asshole! ” Richie shouted, and the villain turned to see where Gear had rigged up his Hail Mary, “ Step away from the idiots! ”

Using the parts from the dilapidated Studebaker pickup that had hung in their living space since before they moved in, Richie had fashioned a ramshackle cannon from the engine and exhaust pipe, loaded with discarded soda cans that had been filled with gasoline and stuffed with firecrackers. It was fed by a magazine made from the car’s old bumper, and operated by turning the key, igniting the firecracker, and firing the improvised explosive at the target.

“What the fu-” Red Robin started, and Gear fired his Studebaker Cannon.

Red Robin dodged the shot, jumping to the side as quick as he could, but the explosion still rocked the room, and fire started to spread. Gear grunted in panic as he swung the cannon around, no easy feat, and fired again, but it was a temperamental and unwieldy weapon; the next shot missed too, forcing Sami to desperately jump for cover, accidentally slamming into Mas and sending both teens sprawling.

“ Dammit! ” Richie swore, swinging the cannon around as Red Robin rushed him, “Stand still!”

Red Robin knocked the next soda can aside with his staff, spinning around and kicking the cannon out of Richie’s hands as he got close, slammed his elbow into the teen’s skull, and sent the last of the Super Friends sprawling to the floor. 

Red Robin stood victorious over the battered teens, fire spreading throughout their home, each bruised and beaten, and sighed.

“And you call yourselves heroes?” he muttered, “You can’t protect each other, much less Dakota City.”

“We’re not heroes!” Eduardo cried desperately, “We’re just a group of friends!”

“ Then where is my son? ” Red Robin demanded, and the teen fell silent in shame, “My son is Robin. Moreover, he’s Kryptonian. People will come for him; people with superpowers, people with kryptonite. I am a man with a stick; if you can’t protect my son, or even each other, from me, then you don’t deserve to have your powers.”

The Super Friends all grunted in pain and shame, when down from the new hole in their roof came a familiar and looming shape.

“ RED ROBIN! ” an angry voice roared, and the Super Friends stared in disbelief as the Goddamn Batman descended on their hideout, flanked by Nightwing and the Red Hood.

“What do you think you’re doing!?” Batman demanded, and Red Robin scoffed.

“Teaching these kids a lesson,” he growled in reply.

“We don’t teach lessons by beating up a bunch of kids!” Batman argued, and Red Robin snapped.

“ THEY LOST MY SON! ” he roared, but Batman held the angry villain’s gaze easily.

“You’re benched,” he growled.

Red Robin blinked. “What?” he asked incredulously.

“You’re benched, ” Batman growled again, “We’re continuing the search for Robin without you.”

Red Robin growled as he got in Batman’s face, looking him in the eye. “ You need me… ” he snarled, but Batman only shook his head grimly.

“No,” he said simply, “We don’t. Superman called in from Cape Canaveral; apparently he and Superboy were attacked by robots attempting to take them into outer space; ie, Kryptonians exiting the atmosphere. Does that sound familiar to you?”

Red Robin’s eyes widened, and Batman went on. “While you were here, beating up teenagers, I have been taking meaningful action. Superman, Wonder Woman, and I will be heading to the Watchtower to scan for any anomalies in the immediate solar system,” he explained, Red Robin growing more and more furious as he did so, “You will be remaining here, under strict guard, until such time as Robin is secure. Red Hood, tend to the civilians; Nightwing, Superboy: arrest Red Robin.”

Red Robin looked up in shock as Conner Kent descended from the ceiling, his flight having recovered just enough to slow his fall, while the other two Bats nodded. Batman leaned into his comm, saying, “Cyborg, I’m done here; are the others ready?”

There was a beat of silence as Cyborg answered from the other side of the comm, Batman nodded, and with a mighty boom, the boomtube opened up for Batman to walk into. He turned on his heel, regarding the beaten Super Friends for a moment. “Well done,” he said after a moment, “We’ll be having a discussion later on about how best to cultivate your powers.”

Without another word, Batman left through the boomtube, the portal closing behind him with its telltale sound.

Red Robin wore a viscous scowl as Nightwing removed his utility belt, placed handcuffs on him, and shoved him to his knees while Superboy stood guard, his arms crossed unhappily, and Red Hood started administering first aid and putting out fires.

Then Conner winked at him, and Tim smiled.

All according to plan.

Chapter 31: Playing With the Big Boys Now

A Few Hours Ago…

Jon fidgeted slightly as Clark shook hands with the director inside the Kennedy Space Center, smiling for the cameras as they snapped pictures and recorded news footage.

“Ms. Petro, the Justice League would be delighted to oversee the Artemis Program and ensure the safety of your astronauts as they journey into the Final Frontier,” Superman said in his News Voice, “As an immigrant from the stars myself, the missions to return and go farther than we did the first time is especially important to me. Rest assured, I, and the entire Justice League, will do everything in our power to help Humanity return to the Moon, and in time, to walk upon the face of Mars.”

Ms. Petro, the director of the Kennedy Space Center, smiled and shook Superman’s hand, waving for the cameramen as well. “We here at NASA and the Kennedy Space Center thank you and the Justice League, Superman,” she started, also using a patented News Voice, “And I look forward to the continued partnership of superheroes and space exploration.”

Jon sighed as he watched his father step up to the front of the stage, ready to field questions from the crowd, and couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit bored. Yes, this part of the job was important, it was good for people to see the JL helping altruistic organizations like NASA, but Jon just wasn’t in the mood today. When he had found out he’d made the cut for the League, he’d been ecstatic, thinking he’d be going on at least one of the fun missions like fighting gorillas in the jungle, but no, here he was, sitting still and looking pretty for the cameras.

He supposed it was pretty cool that his first League mission was one with his dad, but still, this was so. boring . He wished something, anything would happen; he didn’t really care what. 

Someone in the crowd screamed. Jon’s head snapped up, along with his dad’s, and Jon’s face broke into a grin. “Aw, sweet! ” he said happily, flying up in a blink and punching one of the invaders as hard as he could, “Killer robots! Just the kind of excitement I was looking for!”

“ Jon, ” his father said admonishingly, grabbing a robot and crushing its head with ease, “Killer robots are still dangerous. We need to-”

“Yeah, yeah, protect the civilians, I know!” Jon said with a sigh, zipping down to block some laser fire from hitting Ms. Petro, “But you’ve gotta admit, this is at least a little bit fun, right?”

Clark sighed and finally broke into a grin of his own as he put his foot through another robot, grabbed one and threw it hard into a third. “Alright,” he said ruefully, “It’s a little fun.”

“ Ha ha, see!?” Jon laughed, easily smashing yet another robot as it tried to move on the crowd, “I told you!”

“Keep your head in the game, Jonny,” Clark sighed, turning to face the gaggle of five or so robots that were left, “Do you recognize the markings on these things?”

Jon inspected the markings on the robots a little more carefully, sighting three purple dots arranged like a triangle; some kind of logo? Man, these were getting really abstract; the bad guys needed a better marketing team. “Nope,” he called to his father, “Never seen it before.”

“Me neither,” Clark sighed, turning slightly to acknowledge where Jon had flown up to his side, “It must be someone new…”

Jon grinned, flying forward before his dad could stop him. “New or not, they’re still just a--!” Jon was cut off as something green and glowing exited the robot’s chest cavity, and a wave of nausea hit him like a tank, “ --bwhurk! ” 

“ JONNY! ” Clark cried behind him, rushing forward.

Jon tumbled out of the sky, quickly caught not by the warm arms of his father, but by the cool steel of the robots. He grimaced as the kryptonite played hell on his body, and he fought the urge to vomit.

“ Subject 2 of 5 acquired, ” the drone said mechanically, beginning to fly up at maximum speed, “ Return to Collection. ”

Jon saw the world rushing by him at speeds he didn’t realize this robot could reach; they broke the cloud barrier in a matter of minutes, Jon staring helplessly in nauseous shock as his father struggled to fight off three robots at once, all armed with kryptonite.

“ Dad… ” he whispered, still bracing himself against full-body shivers. Stupid, stupid, stupid! He let his guard down, and someone tagged them with kryptonite! What was he thinking!? Both Damian and his parents would never let him hear the end of this…

Jon blinked as the sky started to turn from blue to black. Was he blacking out? He didn’t think so… 

Jon’s eyes widened as he realized how far from the ground they were; far enough that he could see the curvature of the Earth. The robot was taking him into space. “ Uh-oh… ” he murmured, “ That’s so not good… ”

Before Jon could blink again, a blur of blue and red rocketed up from the Earth’s surface, and the familiar red laser of heat vision sailed over Jon’s head as he felt the robot shudder and the grip around him slacken.

Jon tumbled out of the (now lasered) robot’s grip, into the ready arms of his father, trying to blink the nausea away. “The kryptonite!” he cried, searching for the little green rock, but both of them sighed as they saw it fall back towards the surface, along with the robot’s husk.

“Leave it, son,” Clark sighed, “Not like we can go catch it, anyway. We’ll send someone from the League to go find it. Are you okay?”

Jon grimaced as he shook off the kryptonite poisoning, “My pride, mostly. Who knew they had kryptonite?”

“Like I said, someone new,” Clark muttered, “Did you hear what it said about a collection?”

“Yeah,” Jon grunted, still trying to clear his head, “Something about 2 of 5?”

Clark frowned. “If you’re #2 of 5…” he murmured, fixing his son with a worried glance, “Who’s #1?”

---

Cassie held her breath as she stood in the throne room of Themyscira’s acropolis, joined by her sister-in-arms and predecessor, Donna Troy, and her mentor, Diana, as they knelt together as one, showing reverence to the woman seated before them.

Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons, sat upon her throne, regarding them with the cold, regal glare she often took on to conduct official business; especially business that displeased her. Behind her, looming over both the Queen and her subjects, was the centerpiece of Themyscira’s cultural heritage: the statue of Hera Gynailexdros, Queen of the Gods, and the patron of Themyscira. The statue was carved from marble and supplemented with gold and ivory, depicting Hera wearing a diadem of gold and a girdle of silver, holding out a royal sceptre in one hand and bearing a peacock on the other. A symbol of strength, and a symbol of gentleness; firmness and fairness, but both symbols of royal power. Cassie had actually done a lot of research into the statue, down in Themyscira’s archives; having a museum director and archaeologist as a mother had instilled in her at least a passive interest in ancient statuary, sue her. 

The epithet ‘Gynailexdros’ was unique to Themyscira, but not entirely dissimilar to another one of Hera’s epithets on the mainland; ‘Alexandros’, ‘Defender of Men’. ‘Gynailexdros’, conversely, roughly translated to ‘Defender of Women’, after accounting for the linguistic drift between Amazon and Greek. It was fascinating, if you actually cared. Pretty boring if you didn’t.

“Diana,” Hippolyta began, definitely using her Scary Queen Voice, which forced Cassie to use every ounce of willpower not to jump, “Troia. Cassandra. You have asked for this audience to plead your case; speak.”

“Mother,” Diana began, bowing her head deeper for a moment before standing to face the Queen, “We come before you to humbly request the sending of an embassy to Man’s World, to follow our sister kingdom Atlantis out of isolation and into the United Nations. To truly stand shoulder to shoulder with our sisters and our brothers in lands beyond our shores; together, as one, united people.”

Cassie held her breath next to Donna as Hippolyta regarded her daughter shrewdly. Diana had spoken earnestly, as she always did, but for as long as Diana had been speaking her mind, Hippolyta had been her mother, trained to resist such arguments and rein her in. Cassie knew there were few in this world who could resist Wonder Woman’s words; the Queen of the Amazons was without question a part of that exclusive club. This could go either way.

“Themyscira has not received an embassy in six thousand years,” the Queen began, “Nor sent an ambassador anywhere in all its history. Even the small interaction we have with Man’s World through champions like Wonder Woman and Wonder Girl are bordering on too much in my eyes.”

Cassie winced as Hippolyta turned her gaze to her still-bowed head, being not-so-subtly reminded of her not-quite-Amazon heritage. She was lucky to be allowed on Themyscira at all.

“But Themyscira needs to open up to the world!” Donna argued, rising to face her queen, “Think of all the advancements that could be made here!”

“ Silence, Troia! ” Hippolyta snapped, and Donna took a step back, looking cowed, “I am your queen. I will not be spoken to with such disrespect, nor will I accept any demands being made of me!”

“Mother, please; Troia is merely passionate about this subject, as is Cassandra and as am I,” Diana cut in, doing her best to spare her proteges the worst of the queen’s wrath, “I know that in the past we have acted without your consent-”

“If by ‘acting without my consent’ you mean abandoning your station, duty, and nation,” Hippolyta said again, cutting her daughter off, “I have had enough of this, Diana. Themyscira and Man’s World are to remain separate. Forever. I have already bent to rules in many ways to allow you to journey between here and there, let alone to adopt an outsider into our midst-”

“Mother!” Diana cried, indignant as Cassie discreetly clenched her fist, “Cassandra is not an outsider! ”

“She was born away from our shores!” Hippolyta argued, rising from her throne and towering over the three Amazon heroes, “She was given her powers not through blessings of our Mighty Hera, or Cunning Athena, or Unrelenting Artemis, or even Warlike Aphrodite, but through the dalliance of Lord Zeus with a mortal woman. I have allowed her among our kind by grace, Diana, grace that you seem to have forgotten. I allowed you and Troia to journey from our shores by grace. Grace which allowed me to turn a blind eye to your antics in Man’s World, bringing unwanted attention and danger to the shores of Themyscira. Our island is kept from their eyes for a reason, Diana. If Men were to come here, they would ruin this place, tear it asunder from its very foundations; six thousand years of Amazon history and culture destroyed. Because that is all Men know how to do.”

“Mother, please, you do not know the Men as I do-” Diana tried to argue, and Hippolyta slammed the butt of her spear into the floor beside her, the sound ringing throughout the throne room like the toll of a bell.

“ I know Men! ” Hippolyta roared, her voice quaking with emotion, “ You are not the only one to journey from our shores, Diana!”

Diana, Donna, and Cassie all shared a look, along with the guards in the back of the room.

Hippolyta, however, didn’t seem to notice. She held Diana’s gaze steadily, a challenge in her eyes, but even Cassie could tell the Queen was using that bravado to cover up her grief. 

“When your grandmother, Otrera, was queen, a Man washed upon our shores,” Hippolyta started, “Much like Steven Trevor did forty years ago, when you left us for the first time. He told me of a great war raging in Man’s World, one that threatened to tear their world apart, and how desperately the aid of Themyscira was needed; I was like you, Diana. I was quite taken with him. I wanted to help. So we left together in secret, and set sail for Man’s World.

“And I saw firsthand what Man’s World is capable of,” Hippolyta declared, and Cassie saw the haunted light in the Queen’s eye, “I saw Men slaughtered by the thousands in an instant. I saw children and innocents condemned to burn at the hands of Men. I saw skies fall and cities laid to waste by Men . I saw my comrades tortured and cut open and killed, not in the glory of battle, but for the sick satisfaction of Men. I saw the mushroom clouds rise and lives reduced to shadows on the wall, all at the hands of Men! ”

Hippolyta descended the steps from her throne while she spoke, so that she was now on level with Diana. “So do not speak to me, Diana, of the virtues of Men, ” she whispered harshly, “Not when they have yet to show you their true colors as they did me. Now begone.”

Cassie finally couldn’t take it anymore; she stood quickly, as if possessed, and cried, “Your Majesty, please! There is so much we could learn! Man’s World is centuries ahead of us in medical care and weaponry--!!”

“ I SAID BEGONE! ” Hippolyta roared, and each Amazon took a step back. Knowing they were beaten, Diana bowed her head in acquiescence, and signalled her proteges to follow as she exited the throne room.

As they retreated to a side hall, a chamber where court visitors were asked to wait before meeting the Queen, Donna stomped into the room and punched a potted palm tree so hard it snapped in two and hung limply from what little remained of its bark.

Diana stepped in and frowned after her pupil, saying, “That was a rare Cretan date palm, Troia. Its species is only present on Themyscira because of a rare diplomatic gift from the Queen of Heraklion, something like six thousand years ago. I would appreciate it if you didn’t destroy it because you are frustrated with my mother.”

Donna had the grace to look bashful as she inspected the shattered tree, “I’m sorry, Diana. It’s just-- so frustrating! How can she be so, so-- bullheaded! ”

“Hold your tongue,” Diana said warningly, glancing warily over her shoulder and into the hallway beyond, “I know you are upset, but she is still the Queen. You can’t just insult her like that.”

Donna grumbled, then sat down on one of the couches provided for those granted an audience. “Was all that stuff she said true?” she asked quietly, “About going to Man’s World before?”

Diana pursed her lips and crossed her arms. “I do not know,” she admitted, “Mother had never mentioned any foray into Man’s World to me before. But wielding the Lasso has given me a talent in discerning the truth from people; Mother was being sincere, as near as I can tell.”

“What she described…” Cassie murmured quietly, and both older women turned to her, “It sounded like World War II. If all she saw of Man’s World was the horrors of war, then… I think that can explain her hesitance to open Themyscira’s borders.”

Diana nodded, “It would certainly explain her behavior regarding Man’s World up until now. I wish I had known sooner… many arguments could have been avoided.”

“Well sometimes the people we care about don’t tell us things,” Cassie muttered, sitting down on the opposite side of the room from Donna and pointedly not meeting either of their eyes, instead picking a fresco to glare at, “Sometimes they’re hurting and they think they can handle it on their own. Then it sits, and festers, and they do something stupid, and suddenly everyone has to deal with the consequences while you’re left there wondering how it all went so wrong.”

There was silence for a moment as Donna frowned and Diana’s shoulders shifted. “You are not speaking of my mother anymore,” Diana said. It wasn’t a question; they all knew who she was talking about.

Cassie sighed as she closed her eyes, remembering more carefree days in Titans Tower, when even the worst things she had to worry about could be softened by the support of her friends. She remembered Bart’s constant motion, Conner’s boisterous laughter, and Tim’s quiet but steady presence. She missed her friends. She missed her childhood.

“My point is the past is in the past,” Cassie went on, “Queen Hippolyta is still stuck there. I guess I am too. But if we don’t open Themyscira to the world, if we can’t even bring ourselves to sit at the table, then yes, we’ll be safe, but we’ll also be alone. We’re going to be left behind.”

“Themyscira has been on its own for six thousand years,” Diana said solemnly, “I share your desire for change, Cassie, but it will be unpopular. The Amazons are not a monolith; there will be those that do not wish for any contact with Man’s World, and there always will be.”

“Like the Queen,” Donna grumbled.

“Like the Queen,” Diana agreed resignedly.

“But don’t we owe it to ourselves, to future generations of Amazons, to at least try?” Cassie argued, “Sure, the Queen wasn’t ready to talk about it today, but if we keep trying, if we go back in there and talk we can show her how Man’s World has changed over the years, and-!”

“We’ve done all that can be done for now,” Diana said placatingly, holding up a hand, “I know my mother. She will react first, then she will think. That trait is what has kept Themyscira secret and safe throughout her reign, but it is also one of her weaknesses as a ruler. We have breached the subject; we will return to argue again when the time is right. Man’s World isn’t going anywhere.”

Cassie nodded, but couldn’t help but feel like they were letting opportunity pass them by.

As they sat in semi-uncomfortable silence, Diana stirred as her League communicator went off. She brought the device to her ear, saying, “This is Wonder Woman. … What? How in the world did-? Very well. We’ll be right there.”

“What was that about?” Donna asked, and Diana sighed as she ran a hand through her hair. 

“Superman and Superboy were apparently attacked by robots wielding kryptonite in Cape Canaveral,” she sighed, “Robin has gone missing, and Batman has called the Trinity back to the Watchtower to discuss what to do next. Cassie, you’ll be accompanying me.”

“What? Why me?” Cassie asked incredulously, “Shouldn’t I stay here with Donna and try to convince the Queen to-”

“No, Cassie,” Diana sighed, “Leave this with Donna; she’s the only person I know that’s more stubborn than my mother. I want you in reserve in case something else happens.”

“What do you mean in case something else happens?” Cassie asked, “I’m needed here!”

“Robin has gone missing,” Diana reiterated, giving Cassie a hard look, “Do you think Conner will react to that well? Or Robin’s other parent?”

Cassie blinked as she realized what Diana was really asking. “You want me to be ready to take Tim down,” she realized, and Diana sighed as she lowered her head, unable to meet her protege’s eyes. Cassie’s fists clenched at her sides as she thought about her old friend-turned-psychopath. Last time they’d met, they’d been unlikely allies in the fight against Ra’s al Ghul. It felt like a thousand years ago; now, after learning of all he’d done, Cassie wasn’t sure if she was going to hug Tim or punch him. 

“Alright,” she said simply, walking past Diana and towards the exit of the palace, “Let’s go.”

There was one thing she was certain of. When she saw Tim again, it wouldn’t be pretty.

---

Bart sighed as he tromped through the jungle with the rest of the League’s Delta Squad, being led through the leaves by Poison Ivy, wishing he had the room to run. Ivy was a great choice to lead the mission, as her powers gave her near total control of the terrain, which also doubled as a great way to move the thickest plants out of their path, but Bart and the others were… significantly less adjusted.

Booster cried out in annoyance as he slapped his hand against his neck for the umpteenth time, and Bart sighed as he awaited the inevitable freakout. “I swear to God, if I get the Black Plague, I’m killing you all! ” Booster grumbled, and Ivy rolled her eyes from the front of the pack.

“Mosquitos don’t give you the Black Plague, moron,” she muttered, “That’s rats.”

“Mosquitos are more likely to give you yellow fever or malaria, especially in Sub-Saharan Africa,” Icon said sagely, “I brought quinine in case anyone is infected.”

“Not the point!” Booster grumbled, swatting at more mosquitos, “I could be home right now, in my big, cozy bed, with my cute, nerdy boyfriend, not getting bitten unless I ask- ”

“ Okay, that’s enough talking for right now,” Rocket interjected desperately, covering her ears, “I do not need to know about Booster Gold’s sex life.”

“Aw, come on! I kinda wanna know!” Harley said with a laugh, twirling her hammer in her grip while she held it over her shoulder, “It might give me some ideas for me and Red!”

A general chuckle passed through the group as Ivy blushed a deep purple, and Rocket Red sighed through his helmet. 

“ All you Americans do is talk all the time. How do you get anything done? ” he muttered, and Harley grinned at the armored hero.

“We don’t! It’s part of our charm!” she declared happily, “Quit bringin’ down the mood, Dmitri! Lighten up a little!”

“No names in the field,” Bart called from the back of the group, his demeanor much more dour than his usual chipperness, “We don’t know if any gorillas might be listening in.”

Harley rolled her eyes, saying, “Oh, please, they’re giant gorillas with guns! They’re not exactly nature’s stealthiest animal…”

At that moment, bullets whizzed through the jungle, and the whole team hit the dirt. “ Контакт! Контакт! ” Rocket Red cried, igniting his boot jets and gaining some air as Booster, Icon, and Rocket did the same around him.

“Which direction are they coming from?” Booster cried over the noise, grunting as bullets hit his suit’s shields.

“I’ll check!” Bart cried quickly, pulling his goggles over his eyes and rushing off into the jungle to scout for Grodd’s forces. Sure enough, as he ran to the southwest, he saw a whole bunch of angry-looking gorillas with guns, and frowned; Gorilla City had so much potential. But they still let Grodd twist them into a xenophobic, totalitarian regime. 

He almost pitied them as he struck the guns from their hands in the blink of an eye, disassembling them on the spot. “Whoops,” he said, forcing his usual grin as he stopped in front of the captain and dropped the pieces of gun in a heap in front of him, “Looks like I broke it.”

The gorilla captain looked down at him with a snarl, raised his fists, and brought them down in a devastating blow, roaring, “ DIE, HUMAN! ”

Bart stepped out of the way easily, yawning exaggeratedly; an angry opponent was a sloppy one. Time for a patented Flash Strat; taunting . “Man, you guys are dumb, ” he sighed, “You can’t hit a speedster head-on like that. And you definitely shouldn’t shout and give away your position like that during an ambush.”

The gorilla captain looked confused for a moment, just before Icon flew out of the trees at high speed and sent him sprawling through the jungle with more than a few broken bones.

“Good work, Kid!” Ivy called out, riding into battle on a massive vine and shooting a few at some unlucky gorillas, “Justice League! Take them out!” 

The rest of the team flew into the jungle with her, all taking on their own adversary; Rocket trapped one gorilla in a sphere, grinning as it pounded uselessly against the construct. Harley smacked one over the head with her hammer, and Rocket Red fired a missile from his gauntlet into the center of a cluster of gorillas, sending them all flying from the explosion. Booster blasted a few from up above, grinning as he provided air support, and Bart just ran circles around them all, keeping them all in one place and punching gorillas who looked like they needed punching.

They had it covered in about two minutes. As the two dozen or so gorillas laid unconscious and groaning on the jungle floor, Harley grinned as she swung her hammer up onto her shoulder, saying, “That wasn’t such a chore, now was it?”

All six of them groaned in unison, and Booster even grumbled, “ Harley! ”

“What?” she asked confusedly, and Rocket rolled her eyes.

“ Everyone knows as soon as you say that, things get worse! ” she cried, and as she said it, they heard a sonic boom coming up from behind them.

Bart’s heart stepped up its pace as he whirled around, only to see--

“Flash!” he cried happily, and Wally West grinned as he joined Delta Squad.

“S’up, Kid?” he said, then turned to Poison Ivy, “I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

“Not at all, we just finished with these idiots,” Ivy assured him, halfheartedly kicking a downed gorilla.

“Cool; Kid, you’re needed back on the Watchtower, Batman’s orders,” Wally went on, looking Bart straight in the eye, “I’ll be taking your place on Delta Squad.”

“What?? Why? ” Bart asked incredulously, feeling hurt at the perceived slight, and Wally sighed.

“Look, I can’t say too much, but it’s Batman’s orders, alright?” Wally told him seriously, then he glanced at the surrounding heroes, “Ah, to Hell with it.”

“ It’saboutRedRobin, ” Wally said at about twenty times normal talking speed, fast enough that it would be incomprehensible to anyone but a speedster, and Bart’s eyes widened as the rest of the team merely looked confused. “Head for the zeta tube in Lagos, it’s the closest one,” Wally told him, giving him a supportive smile, “I’ll take it from here.”

Bart blinked as he considered the superspeeded words. ‘It’s about Red Robin.’ It’s always about Red Robin. Everything in Bart’s entire life since Tim had left had been about Red Robin.  

Bart considered himself a good friend. He really, really did; it was one of the things he was proudest about, was being there for his friends. He didn’t have many friends growing up, thanks to his condition; he was quarantined for a long time, basically from the moment he was born, and his father, the yet-to-be-born Don Allen, had basically begged his grandmother, Iris West, to send him back in time so his cousin Wally could help him. He didn’t grow up playing in the yard, or going to school. He grew up in a laboratory, his grandmother running experiments on him in a desperate attempt to save his life. 

And he knew what it was like to hurt, too. In his time, the world was at war, and his father and Aunt Dawn were some of their greatest heroes, the Tornado Twins, defending their world from catastrophe. Bart didn’t know what had happened to them, since he’d left. He’d tried once, with his team, to go there, to help if he could, because he was older now, but there was so much about time travel and the multiverse that they didn’t know.

Despite it all, they made it. They made it to Central City in the year 2065, the year Bart left. And there was nothing there. No Tornado Twins, standing tall amidst the invaders. No Justice League to save the day. No civilization. No nothing. 

Just broken glass and desolation as far as the eye could see. Bart had run across the planet as fast as he could, searching everywhere, but it was all gone. Earth as he knew it, human civilization, had been completely destroyed. A complete Nuclear Winter.

So Bart stayed here, in this timeline, and did everything in his power to prevent his own. Only the original four of Young Justice knew the truth about that mission; the Justice League was still theorizing about Bart’s timeline-hopping and what it could mean. But Bart knew for sure. 

This wasn’t all to say Bart felt bad about what happened. Of course he does, all those people died, but he barely knew them; here, these people, this world, that’s his home. They’re his friends. His family.

So he didn’t understand why Tim couldn’t come to him about how much he was hurting. So he had a crush on Conner; who cares? So he made a clone baby; who cares? So he killed a few people; who fucking cares??

They’re still friends. Bart was still willing to be there for Tim, or at least he was as soon as he came back from Deathstroke’s attack. Which, Bart noted, as well before Tim got himself in too deep. A year on the run with a superpowered toddler, who wouldn’t want a speedster on call?

But Tim had stayed away. Everytime Bart had reached out, trying to help, Tim had turned the other way. And then Tim attacked him, in his own home. Tricked him into thinking that he needed Bart’s help, that he was fucking finally reaching out, and Bart was right there for him. In a Flash.

And Tim betrayed him. Used him as bait for Barry, Wally, and Jay. Then as a hostage.

Bart didn’t know if they were still friends anymore, after that. But if Wally said was true, if Tim was about to do something profoundly stupid again, Bart needed to be there. If not to help Tim, then to stop him and put this odd feeling in his chest to rest once and for all.

Bart nodded to his mentor after thinking that all over in the span of two seconds, then ran for the zeta tube in Lagos. He needed to be there. He needed to stop Red Robin.

---

Tommy whimpered as hot tears ran down his cheeks, his voice still hoarse from screaming. Brainiac regarded him coldly, a passive expression on its face as the shocks and the pain finally receded; Tommy’s whole body felt like it had been put in a microwave.

“According to my diagnostics, further study before rest would be unproductive,” Brainiac informed him, and Tommy let out a delirious, half-relieved huff of a laugh, “You will be placed in storage until you are rested enough to resume testing.”

Tommy closed his eyes in pain, whining at the thought of having to be put through that again, to feel like someone was tearing open his skin and sorting through him nerve by nerve. He wondered if that’s what it would feel like if the nanobots in him were activated. 

Tommy never wanted to do it again. 

The machinery holding him down shifted and moved around him, engulfing him in darkness as he was moved through whatever facility he was in; after a few moments, he was unceremoniously dropped into a room, but a more apt description was a box. The room was pitch black, with no furniture or much of anything that he could discern; just four walls and a floor. He’d been shoved back into a toybox, like an action figure, discarded until the next play session.

Tommy groaned as his body screamed at him for the movement, his limbs shaking as he pulled himself into a sitting position; “Come on, Robin,” he whispered to himself, “ Come on, Robin…! ”

He was Robin now, he couldn’t forget that. He was a superhero! These were the types of things superheroes had to go through in order to keep people safe. If he broke now, if he curled up into the fetal position and cried hysterically like he really wanted to right now, he’d be a failure of a Robin. 

Tommy winced as he remembered the crime he committed not a day before; alright , more of a failure than he already was.

What would Uncle Damian say, if Tommy broke now? What would Grandpa say? Aunt Cass? Conner? No, Tommy had to stay strong. He had to fight the voice in his head that begged him to cry for his dad, because it wasn’t Tommy Kent that was being held hostage by an evil AI right now; it was Robin.

“You did well, Child,” a familiar voice rumbled from across the room, and Tommy’s eyes shot open as he tried to search out into the darkness.

“Who’s there??” he asked in alarm, his voice still shot, as he struggled to get his x-ray vision up; he was still rattled from the torture.

“There’s no need to be alarmed,” the voice rumbled in reply, and Tommy blinked as he realized why he recognized it.

“It’s you!” he gasped, “You were the one talking to me! With my super-hearing!”

The man on the other side of the room chuckled, and Tommy heard shuffling of clothes as the man stood, and footsteps as he crossed the room. “I was,” he told the boy, “And your ability to resist the machine’s torture has impressed me, Child.”

Tommy scooted back and away, still operating on fight-or-flight… if he still had the energy to fly, that is. Despite his exhaustion, Tommy growled as he summoned up the energy for his heat vision, saying, “ Stay back! ”

The red light in his eyes bathed the room in an eerie glow, and Tommy finally saw his companion for the first time. A massive brick of a man, with impressive stature and even more impressive physique. Long black hair, a beard, and nearly all muscle; a simple sword hung at his side, and judging by how Tommy wasn’t currently feeling the urge to hurl, it probably wasn’t even kryptonite. He was just… human.

“I mean you no harm, Child,” the tall man said placatingly, holding up his hands in a gesture of peace, “I am a friend.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Tommy growled, not letting his heat vision dissipate, “ Who are you? ”

The man smiled warmly. “You may call me Victor,” he said after a moment, “Victor Savatier. I admire your determination, young Robin.”

Tommy bit his lip to keep himself awake, though he was starting to flag from the rigors of the day. Turns out torture takes a lot of energy. “Wh-What do you mean?” he mumbled, straining to keep his heat vision steady, “Why are you here?”

“All will be revealed in time, little one,” Victor said with a smile, “Rest now. You will need your strength for what comes next.”

Tommy blinked as much as he could, but finally, his heat vision dissipated, casting the room back into shadow. Granted, he was exhausted, coming off a hangover, kryptonite poisoning, and torture, but ‘Victor Savatier’ probably didn’t mean him any harm, especially if they were in the same predicament. “Don’t… tell me… what to… do… ” Tommy murmured as he finally fell over, fast asleep.

In the dark, Vandal Savage smiled as he caught the boy in his arms, laying him out in a more comfortable position. “Rest well, Young Drake,” he whispered to the sleeping boy, pressing a button on his Fatherbox, “I have great plans for you.”

---

Bruce sighed as he stepped out of the zeta tube aboard the Watchtower, glancing at the other portholes and seeing Clark and Diana do the same. Cassie and Bart had accompanied them like Bruce had asked, and they both looked at least a little trepidacious; to be expected, he supposed.

“Wonder Girl, Kid Flash, you two are going to Dakota City to meet with Superboy, Nightwing, and Red Hood,” he said immediately, “Red Robin is as of this moment secure, and there are a number of metahuman teens that I think could benefit from your guidance; Hood will explain when you’re on the ground.” 

Wonder Girl and Kid Flash nodded grimly, both turning around and heading straight back into the Zeta Tubes. 

“Superman, Wonder Woman, I think we have some things to discuss,” Bruce told them, waiving them forward, and his two oldest friends followed without complaint.

“What do we know?” Diana asked urgently, her hand gripping the pommel of her sword tightly; it was a nervous tick Bruce had noticed over the years.

“Far less than I’d like,” Bruce muttered, “Robin went missing seventy-two hours ago after he snuck out of the Manor to Dakota City and thwarted an attack by Metallo with a group of small-time metateen heroes led by hometown sensation Static Shock. Robin then remained with the group until twenty-four hours ago, when he apparently left atmosphere, tripping off sensors in his body installed by Lex Luthor. Luthor alerted Red Robin, and Red Robin alerted us.”

“Out of atmosphere?” Clark asked, “That sounds exactly like what happened to me and Jon.”

“Which is why I called you both here,” Bruce said with a nod, “And sent Wonder Girl and Kid Flash to keep an eye on Red Robin. If there’s anyone left on our payroll who can stop that boy from doing something he’ll regret, it’s those two.”

“Agreed,” Diana said severely, “What can we do now?”

Bruce sighed as they entered the monitor room of the Watchtower, currently being manned by Cyborg and the Flash. “Start looking,” he declared.

“Looking?” Barry asked incredulously, his head snapping up from where he had been dozing off on the monitor, “Looking for what?”

“Any sort of space station or transport hub in Earth’s atmosphere, or the Solar System at large,” Bruce sighed, “Robin has been abducted and I don’t intend to let him languish in enemy hands any longer.” He leveled Barry with a desperate glare. “ I’m not losing anyone else, ” he said firmly, his voice shaking more than he’d like.

Barry nodded in understanding, and Cyborg started tapping away at his monitor.

“How have you been settling in, Barry?” Diana asked kindly, “Have you moved back in at your old house?”

Barry seemed to wilt at her mention of it while Batman joined Cyborg at the monitors. “Actually, I found out Iris sold the house,” he said sadly, “She said it reminded her too much of me. There’s another family living there now, real nice folks; I… I can’t turn them out of house and home because I came back from the dead.”

“Wait, if you don’t have your old house back then where have you been sleeping?” Clark asked with concern, and Barry rubbed his neck sheepishly.

“…the Watchtower?” he admitted quietly, and Superman and Wonder Woman both burst into shocked and horrified gasps.

“Barry!” Diana cried, “That’s outrageous! It’s been weeks since you returned; have you not left the Watchtower that whole time?? ”

“Uh-”

“Barry, why didn’t you tell any of us??” Clark gaped, “I’m sure Wally or Jay would have taken you in if you’d only asked-! Hell, I can call Lois and see if-!”

“No! Clark, that’s okay!” Barry interjected quickly, “I’m okay, thank you. That’s very kind of you, both of you, and I’m grateful for the concern, but I’ve actually been looking at apartments in Central City for myself. I just… I want some sense of normalcy back, y’know? Iris and Wally have been working at getting me back from being legally dead; I even applied for my old job at the CCPD.”

“That’s wonderful news, old friend,” Diana said supportively, placing a hand on his arm, “It is good to know you have your feet under you. But please, if anything like this happens again, don’t hesitate to call on us for support.”

Barry nodded, a blush rising in his cheeks. “Y-Yeah,” he said quietly, “Will do.”

“What the fuck?” Vic said incredulously from the monitors, startling all three veteran heroes out of their reverie.

“Cyborg?” Superman asked, and Vic shook his head.

“Sorry, just got a… really weird ping on my radar,” he muttered, tapping the side of his head as if to fix his robotic eye.

“I don’t have anything,” Bruce muttered, looking down at his own screen.

“No, I mean my radar,” Cyborg reiterated, pointing to himself, “Like, the one in my chest. It’s like… it’s like I got an email.”

“You can get emails like that?” Barry asked, genuine curiosity in his voice. 

“Well, actually yes, but that’s not it, it’s on some other message network,” Vic muttered, bringing up a screen on his arm and tapping at a few buttons, “One I didn’t even know I was connected to.”

“What did it say?” Clark asked, leaning forward, and Cyborg turned to him.

“It’s a set of coordinates,” he realized, “For the dark side of the Moon.”

Bruce tapped a few keys on his own monitor, and then blinked in shock. “My God…” he breathed, “There’s an entire ship there!” 

“ What!? ” Clark asked incredulously, and sure enough, right there on the screen, was a massive ship, moored to the far side of Earth’s Moon, “How did we not see this before??”

Cyborg started tapping at the keys furiously, then stopped in shock. “What the hell?” he muttered, “The records got scrubbed. How the hell’d they scrub the records without me noticing?? I am the records!”

“Wait, scrubbed the records?” Barry asked, “You mean the sensors did ping it, but someone covered it up?”

Cyborg looked at the four founding Leaguers with something cold in what was left of his gut. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m saying,” he met their eyes one by one, “We have a mole.”

Chapter 32: Reason to Doubt

“A Mole in the Justice League?” Diana asked harshly, her grip tightening on the pommel of her sword, “How can you be sure?”

“I’m sure, ” Cyborg muttered, turning his attention to his interior systems, “Someone fucked with this data. The only way someone can do that is if they were sitting at this terminal, for an extended period of time, with a way to get admin access that only I, Mr. Terrific, and Martian Manhunter have. I can try and trace it back, but whoever it was is good at their job; messing with Watchtower systems is a hell of a thing to cover up, and the fact that I only noticed because I was given coordinates from an unknown, outside source is… well, it’s bad .”

“Okay,” Clark muttered, “Okay, a mole in the League. And we just welcomed in a whole new class of Leaguers that are all prime suspects. This is bad. This is really, really bad.”

“ Enough, ” Bruce said firmly, “This information does not leave this group. Is that understood?”

Each Leaguer nodded in turn, all still slightly (and rightfully) scared of the Goddamn Batman.

“I will investigate at the earliest opportunity,” Bruce sighed, rubbing his eyes, “But right now, the priority needs to be finding Robin. We have reason to believe he’s aboard that ship, but we have no idea what we’re walking into.”

“The League is still reeling from Hal’s attack and the STAR Labs fiasco,” Cyborg sighed, “Do we really have the bandwidth right now for an alien invasion?”

Clark sighed unhappily, holding a hand to his chin. “Truth be told, no,” he said eventually, “But we can’t just let this go. If Robin is really on that ship, we need to find him and get him home.”

“Perhaps a scouting party is in order,” Diana suggested, “A smaller team, one that can infiltrate rather than break. After all, if Robin is truly in danger, it wouldn’t do for an army of superheroes to enter the fray against this ship; what if its pilot decides to harm Robin in retaliation?”

“Excellent points,” Bruce said with a nod, “Which is why the three of us will be going in to recover Robin; Flash, Cyborg, you two will remain on the Watchtower.”

“What?” Barry asked incredulously, “Bruce, I can help! ”

Cyborg nodded in agreement, saying, “Don’t you think it would be better if we were there with you? I could hack into this ship’s systems, and Barry can move so fast we’d be in and out with Robin in no time.”

Bruce pursed his lips. “I don’t mean to sound abrasive,” he said carefully, “But Vic, if this ship could evade your sensors, I’m not confident about your firewalls’ ability to withstand whatever systems it may have onboard. And Barry… I’m still not entirely certain you should be in the field after your… ordeal .”

Cyborg frowned softly, more thoughtful than offended, but Barry’s expression crumpled, growing hurt and angry. “Hey, I fought like hell against Hal!” Barry cried defensively, growing more animated than any of his old friends had seen him as of late, “I’ve been fine since I came back, and sure, I’ll admit I’ve fallen on some hard times, and my head might not be in the best place, but this is something I know how to do, Bruce! You can’t ask me to just sit up here on the Watchtower and go even more insane when I could be out there, with you guys, making a difference again! Ever since I came back, it feels like I’ve been living in a world that wishes I’d stayed dead; Hal is gone, Wally keeps expecting me to be who I was before, Jay is too distracted with his own problems to care, Bart barely knows me, and Iris- !!” Barry stopped himself from saying anything more about Iris, “Look, the point is, being the Flash, it’s… it’s all I’ve got right now. Don’t ask me to sit this one out, I… I don’t know how.”

Bruce, Clark, and Diana all shared a look. None of them had known just how hard Barry had been taking these last few weeks; clearly, it went deeper than any of them had thought. Still, if it mattered that much to him…

“Okay,” Bruce sighed, “You can come. But Barry, if I see any evidence that you’re not ready for this, you’re out. Cyborg is boomtubing you back to the Watchtower, and we will all be having a serious discussion about your mental health when the mission is over.”

“I imagine we’ll be having that discussion anyway,” Diana said sagely, “Barry, you went through a highly traumatic ordeal; I believe you should seek counseling with Dinah before too much longer.”

“We’re here for you, Barry,” Clark said firmly, putting a steady hand on his friend’s shoulder.

Barry nodded determinedly. “I won’t let you down,” he agreed, and Cyborg raised his hand.

“That’s great and all, but there’s still the question of backup,” he said, “Who do you want me to put on alert? Because most everyone’s out on missions or busy in their own cities right now.”

“I’ve already taken care of that,” Bruce said dismissively, and every other Leaguer in the room raised an eyebrow at him.

“Might we be so privileged to know who our backup is, Batman?” Clark asked snidely, and Bruce inwardly rolled his eyes.

“Someone I trust,” he explained cryptically.

“ Bruce, ” Clark said warningly.

“ Clark, ” Bruce answered in the same tone.

Diana narrowed her eyes. “There is something more going on here,” she declared, “You have set something in motion without telling us. Again.”

“I have,” Bruce agreed, “Or more accurately, he has.”

“Who?” Barry asked, and finally, Bruce’s shoulders slumped, realizing he wasn’t going to be able to leave the answer unclear.

“What I am about to tell you does not leave this room, understand?” he asked severely, and each Leaguer nodded seriously.

Bruce took a deep breath. “Red Robin and the rest of Young Justice is our backup,” he said quickly, “The tip that Robin was missing came from him, which he got in turn from Lex Luthor. We’ve been putting on a show for the Light while he cooperates with us as best he can to return Robin to safety.”

“ What?? ” Barry cried, “That’s insane! How can he contact you without the Light noticing!?”

“He hasn’t,” Bruce explained, “The Light is aware he went to the Batcave to recruit my help. What they don’t know, however, is that we’ve been communicating by writing messages and speaking in code, which their listening devices can’t detect. They think Red Robin is their ace to use against us, when in reality, he’s our ace to use against them. Going forward, we can use his information to gain knowledge about the Light and how best to deactivate the nanobots in Tommy’s DNA and bring them down.”

“Woah,” Cyborg said with a blink, “Heavy.”

“It’s certainly an ambitious plan,” Clark said with a sigh, “And you’re sure we can trust him?”

“He’s my son, Clark,” Bruce responded.

“I know that, but that same son has been separated from his family and friends for eight years, put under immense pressure, became an alcoholic, and was murdered and brought back to life ,” Clark pressed, “We definitely have reason to doubt his sanity, if not his loyalty!”

“He’s my son,” Bruce said with finality, “I trust him.”

Clark sighed, resting his head in his hands. “Fine. Fine! If you’re that sure, we’ll try it your way,” he muttered, “But I fought Tim at STAR Labs; if I think even for a moment he’s going to double-cross us, then we’re taking him down.”

“He’ll help us for as long as it takes to see his son safe,” Diana interjected, “Of that much we can be certain; there is little else he cares for besides that boy.”

Clark nodded begrudgingly, folding his arms in front of his chest.

“So then we’re all in agreement?” Bruce asked, standing up and running a mental checklist of all the items he had and still needed for this mission, “We’re going in?”

“We’re onboard,” Clark confirmed, still looking perturbed at the notion of a mentally ill domestic terrorist being the one to back them up, “But we just have to pray that Young Justice will be, too.”

---

Ed Nygma drummed his fingers against his desk, regarding the screen in front of him with interest.

“Riddle me this…” Ed began, twirling a pen in his hand idly, “Why would Tim Drake, recently returned from the dead and promising to put big plans for Gotham into motion, suddenly pick up and leave in the middle of the night? He grabbed his suit, but that’s all.”

“A mission,” Bane supplied, sitting on a chair that was comically small for him. Both of them had been watching Tim ever since he had returned, noticing that something was off about him. Being dead for seven years doesn’t come without its fair share of life-changing events, afterall; something had happened to Tim while he was gone, something that radically altered his motives and composure. Disappearing in the middle of the night didn’t exactly inspire confidence, either.

“Perhaps,” Ed admitted, “But for what purpose? He told us his plans for Gotham, and we were starting to execute them. We know he’s not going after the Trinity; we have plans for them. So what’s he planning?”

Bane hummed noncommittally, holding a hand to his chin. Ed started tapping away on his computer, seemingly with a goal in mind. “Something has been off with Tim Drake ever since he first approached us, all those years ago,” Bane began, Ed humming to acknowledge he heard him, “I knew him as Robin, we all did. He was different then; brighter, lighter. One doesn’t shift from being Robin to being a supervillain overnight. None of us ever put together why Tim made his heel-face turn in the first place.”

“You and I’ve been taking a crack at it for the past few years,” Ed supplied, “And we know that the old Nightwing kicked him out of the house right after the Bat disappeared; it’s a stressful situation.”

“But it still doesn’t feel like the right answer,” Bane replied, “It feels like Tim told us a story we’d believe so that we’d stop asking questions.”

Ed’s mouth tilted up into a smirk as he worked, “Yes, it does. Which is what you and I discussed eight years ago.”

“And we have yet to discover his true motivations,” Bane continued, “How can we fully trust a man we do not fully know?”

“But that’s the thing,” Ed argued with a grin, “Tim Drake is a puzzle; a riddle, if you will. I have never been one to give up on riddles, no matter how long it takes me to figure them out. And this is one I think we’re about to get to the bottom of.” Ed smiled as he turned his monitor so that Bane could see it, displaying a map with a blinking red dot over Dakota City. “Have you ever been to Ohio, Bane?” he asked, and behind his mask, Bane grinned.

---

Bart and Cassie both sucked in a breath as they arrived in Dakota City, taking in the sight of the dilapidated auto repair shop and the gaggle of six or so teenagers hanging around outside, conversing nervously amongst themselves while Nightwing and the Red Hood stood menacingly off to the side, flanking an unhappy Superboy and a blank-faced Red Robin, in handcuffs and on his knees.

As they approached, Tim’s eyes widened behind his cowl, but he kept his mouth shut. Conner, on the other hand, raised an eyebrow at their approach. “Wonder Girl, Kid Flash…” Conner started, his voice wavering uncertainly, “This is a surprise.”

“Batman sent us,” Cassie answered, resting a hand on her sword.

“League business,” Bart finished, putting his hands on his hips.

“You two are in the League now?” Tim asked, the first time he had spoken since seeing them, something strange and sad in his voice.

“We are,” Cassie confirmed curtly, and she watched as Tim’s eyes flickered to Conner, a silent question being asked, to which Conner responded with a minute shake of the head. His shoulders slumped. Cassie and Bart shared a look, both pursing their lips; this wouldn’t last long.

“Superboy, can we speak to you in private?” Cassie asked, still making it clear that this was Official Business™, and Conner sighed, setting his jaw. Tim gave the slightest hint of a nod, which Cassie caught, and her eyes narrowed as Conner finally moved toward them, waving the two of them toward the inside of the ruined building.

“ Yo, dude, is that Wonder Girl?? ” she heard one of the teens whisper urgently, and another whispered back, “ And Kid Flash! Oh man this is so cool! ”

Bart gave Damian and Jason a wave, and the two of them nodded as they moved further in on Tim Red Robin, ensuring the villain wouldn’t escape while the three of them talked. As they moved inside, Bart and Cassie could feel Tim’s eyes on them, even though there was no movement in his head. 

“So what’s up?” Conner asked them once they were all standing in the remains of an auto repair shop, scattered soda cans and sundered bean bag chairs littering the ground, “Weren’t you guys out on League missions? Why’d Batman send you in? We’ve got the situation under control.”

“Do you, Conner?” Cassie asked, “Because from what we saw, it looks like you’re the one taking orders from the prisoner.”

“His name is Tim,” Conner replied, crossing his arms and shifting his stance, like he did when he was nervous and trying to hide it.

“Dude, come on,” Bart sighed, “You know why we’re here. Robin’s missing, the Trinity are working on it; we’re here to make sure you and Tim don’t do anything stupid.”

Conner sighed, rubbing his face with his hand. “Batman really didn’t tell you guys what’s going on?” he asked, “What the plan is?”

“The plan?” Cassie asked, “This is the plan.”

“No, it’s not,” Conner argued, “Tim-”

“Tim this, Tim that,” Bart sighed, “Kon, you can’t keep doing this, man.”

“Doing what?” Conner asked, confused and offended, and Cassie sighed.

“It’s obvious you’re still in love with him,” she started, “Conner, he’s got you wrapped around his finger.”

“ Our son is missing, Cassie, ” Conner said in a low voice, “Both of us just want him home safe.”

“Then why is he in handcuffs outside?” Bart asked, and Conner shifted.

“He might have roughed up those teenagers a little bit…” he admitted, averting his eyes, and Cassie pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration.

“ Jesus Chrsit, Kon!” Cassie cried, “He’s a psychopath!”

“He’s Tim! ” Conner argued back, throwing his hands in the air, “He’s always gotten us through worse! And now we know for sure that he’s only done all the stuff he has because he’s been coerced!”

“He’s been through a lot, Kon,” Bart said, “The sort of stuff that changes a person.”

“Not Tim,” Conner said stubbornly, “He has a plan; Batman and the League are going to go ahead, find Tommy, and then we’re going in to have their backs. The less the Light sees of Tim in the field, the better, so they don’t know he’s working with us. He’s our man on the inside!”

Cassie and Bart both sighed sadly; they were getting nowhere with their oldest friend. “Kon, I…” Cassie started, stopping short for a moment, “I don’t think we can trust Tim anymore.”

“ What!? ” Conner asked incredulously, “Cassie, this is Tim we’re talking about!”

“Yeah, Tim, ” Bart snapped, the normally laid-back speedster finally losing his cool, “ Tim, who’s been on the wrong side of the law for eight years. Tim, who stole your DNA and made a clone baby with it, Tim, who died and came back to life, and went totally, batshit insane because of it! Tim, who kidnapped my entire family to force them into making him a cure, fought Superman, and got his shit rocked by his own son! Conner, after all of that, do you really think Tim is just the same as you remember!? Do you really think you can trust him? Can you be absolutely sure he isn’t playing you? That he isn’t a triple agent?”

A dark look came over Kon’s face as Bart finished his tirade. “This is my son’s life we’re talking about, Bart,” he said quietly, “We have to trust him.”

“ No, we don’t! ” Cassie cried, “Conner, I appreciate you wanting to see the best in him, but you’ve always been spared seeing the worst of what he’s done! Joker Junior, the STAR Labs Incident, working with Luthor-! Kon, he’s not our Robin anymore.”

Conner clenched his jaw, clenching his fist around his sleeve so hard he had to stop himself from tearing the reinforced leather. “I don’t want to hear any more about this, alright?” he muttered, “We’re gonna go back out there, wait for Batman’s word, and do our jobs. I trust Tim with my life, and I get that you guys don’t see him like that anymore, but I still see the man I fell in love with. Is that alright?”

Cassie and Bart slumped their shoulders, the tension leaving their bodies but not necessarily the room. “We want to trust him, Kon,” Cassie sighed truthfully, regret lacing her tone, “But after everything he’s done… we just can’t. ”

Conner sighed, his own shoulders slumping as what remained of Young Justice stood in the dark, together but divided. “Okay,” he sighed, “Okay. Let’s just get this done and go our separate ways, then.”

“Kon, you know it’s not that simple,” Bart said softly, “Once this is over… we have to bring him in.”

Conner straightened his back, drawing breath to answer, when they heard a shout from outside. Teenagers shrieked in surprise and terror, and what sounded distinctly like Red Hood crying out in pain; the three Young Justice alumni spared each other tense glances, then sprang into action, flying out of the building both literally and metaphorically.

As they formed up, they saw something they never expected to see. Red Robin was still in his handcuffs, though he’d thrown himself closer to the building and was laying on his side, probably trying to get at some hidden lockpick or another. Nightwing (Damian, not Dick, Conner had to remind himself) stood with his back to the four of them, escrima drawn and looking murderous. The gaggle of superteens was crowded around the unconscious form of one of their own, and across the square, a giant hulk of a man stood steadily, easily holding aloft the fearsome Red Hood with one hand, holding him by his helmet; but what was worse was he wasn’t alone.

Two-Face grinned as he hefted an AK-47, flipping his double-headed coin idly, eyeing the teens with an almost hungry expression. The Penguin blew a puff of smoke as he stood at the head of a small army of goons, testing the grip on his umbrella.

Lightning crackled in Bart’s eyes as his speedster brain clocked all the different threats to the less-durable persons in the vicinity, calculating who he’d have to take care of first to keep everyone safe.

Mister Freeze, skin no longer blue, but still wearing a modified version of his armored suit, remained expressionless as he held his cold cannon aloft, this time joined by his wife, Missus Freeze, who held an ice blaster of her own. A tall, beefy man grinned a grin full of crocodile teeth, fitted brass knuckles onto his fists, the newly human form of Killer Croc. Up on the roof, three assassins smiled as they aimed their guns down at the woefully unprepared heroes. From the inside of the building, Bart and Cassie had to back up quickly as a gurgling, amorphous blob rose up from the cracks of the pavement and took shape, the monstrous form of Clayface towering over them, an impossibly wide smile on his face.

And at the head of the pack, a man in a bright green suit giggled as he twirled his cane. “I am flora, not fauna!” he declared happily, “I am foliage, not tree! What am I?”

Jason growled as he thrashed in Bane’s grip, grasping at the man’s impossibly stong fingers, and he grunted in pain as the armored Hood began to crack. 

Cassie drew her sword; none of these people had caused trouble in seven years; why now!? Why all together like this!?

“ Guys…! ” Tim said warningly, “Get me out of these cuffs, right now! ”

“Oh come on, you guys’ve got this!” Riddler laughed with delight before Damian could answer, “I am shrubbery, not grass! What am I?” Riddler sighed dramatically, then rolled his eyes as he led them into the answer; he waived his hand in the air, waiting for them to get it, “ I… ” 

Conner narrowed his eyes as they began to glow red.

“ ... am bush, ” Damian finished.

The Gotham Rogues were back.

Chapter 33: Stay the Course

Lex grinned as he spotted his sister entering the restaurant, standing up and splaying his arms wide for a hug. “Lena!” he cried, and she smiled politely as they hugged and kissed one another’s cheeks.

“Lex,” she greeted cordially, sitting down at the table along with him, “How have you been? How is Mercy?”

“Doing well, doing well,” Lex laughed easily, snapping his fingers for the waiter, “You still like red wine, yes?”

Lena sighed relief, crying, “ Ugh, yes! Kara only drinks white, I never get the chance to drink it anymore!”

“A travesty, truly,” Lex smiled, then to the waiter said, “Two glasses of pinot noir, top shelf,” and turning back to Lena, asked casually, “And how is Kara?”

Lena smiled politely, but they both knew that the pleasantries were over. “Wonderful, thank you for asking,” she said, “CatCo is declaring her Employee of the Month next week.”

“A prestigious honor,” Lex responded, keeping a smile on his face, “Though you’ll forgive me if I still prefer the Planet. ”

“Of course, dear brother,” Lena said with a sharp smile, “After all, you always have been stuck in the past.”

“Now, Lena, can’t we just enjoy our little family luncheon like usual?” Lex admonished, glancing down at the menu for appetizers, “I don’t see the reason for any animosity.”

“ Mhm, ” Lena responded, glancing at her own menu, “Of course, Lex, I didn’t mean to hurt any feelings. I just worry about the business.”

“LexCorp?” he asked, “What about it?” As if he didn’t already know what she was going to say.

“Well, the Gotham branch was a risky move, what with the crime rates there, and I’m still not sold on your choice in R&D chief.” she said off-handedly, but both Luthors were smart enough to know the comment was anything but.

“What, you mean Tim Drake?” Lex asked with fake surprise, “Lena, he’s a good worker! A brilliant young man if ever there was one, and a terribly sharp mind for business.”

“I’m not doubting his capability, Lex, but I do worry about his motivation,” his sister sighed, pouring fake concern into her voice, “I know you need such a specific type of person to work well with; I’m worried you two won’t gel like you hope.”

Lex smiled, beginning to dig into the calamari that had just been put on the table. “Trust me, Lena,” he sighed, “Tim has more than enough motivation to run the Gotham branch effectively. We have big plans for that city.”

“I know,” Lena said, a harder edge leaking into her voice, “You’ve yet to tell me them.”

“You don’t need to worry about them, Lena,” he responded easily, “You’re head of the National City office, Tim is head of the Gotham office; simple as that.”

“I’ve been in the company longer,” she argued.

“It’s none of your concern,” Lex reiterated.

“I’m your sister, ” Lena said again, growing angry now.

“And yet, we only see each other once a year for lunch,” Lex growled, looking her dead in the eye with a cold, contemptful glare, “All because you decided to throw everything away for that alien hussy you call a wife. ”

The look in Lena’s eyes could have sent any lesser man screaming for the hills, but Lex was used to her ire. “ I’m not the one who threw everything away chasing aliens, brother, ” she spat, and Lex’s eyes narrowed.

“Eat your calamari before it gets cold,” he muttered, and he returned to his food as the two settled into disdainful silence. His phone buzzed, and Lex spared it a glance; he suppressed a growl, but Lena caught it.

“Whatever is the matter, brother dear?” she asked, her voice sickly-sweet with faux-innocence.

“Nothing, Lena,” Lex said with a smile, pocketing his phone once more, “Just some insubordination to be taken care of.”

---

Cass groaned as the world came back into hazy focus, the ceiling of the Cave’s medical bay materializing around her. Her throat felt drier than the desert, and her abdomen ached.

“Well, look who’s awake,” a new, unfamiliar, accented voice muttered, and Cass struggled to sit up and find the source, but firm hands held her down.

“Oh no, none of that, now; Uncle Alfred’ll have my head if you tear your stitches,” the woman, and it was a woman, Cass was lucid enough now to tell, groused, and Cass blinked.

“ What happened? ” she croaked, “ Who are you? ”

The woman taking care of her was short, muscular, and had mousy brown hair cut military-length. She wore a formal white shirt, black vest and trousers, and she went about the medical equipment with practiced ease, though in a way that Cass knew indicated a familiarity with a slightly different set-up of similar-but-different equipment. So, likely a military veteran, familiar with medical training but not an expert.

“Name’s Julia Pennyworth, used to be SAS for Her Majesty’s Army,” she muttered, dabbing Cass’s forehead with a damp towel, “But then I get a call from my Uncle Alfred, says he needs my help and to drop everything, and here we are. And you got your shit rocked by a .38 Special, by the way.”

Cass grimaced at the memory, the pain in her gut, the slow, excruciating crawl to the stairs, blacking out at the last minute…

“Yeah, mighty amount of blood you lost,” Julia sighed, “Lucky you Bats’s got so much on hand, the doc was able to get you a transfusion easily enough. Was just a matter of when you woke up, after that; you’ve been in and out for a while, but it seems you’re sticking around now, eh?”

“Yeah…” Cass murmured, turning her head to look at the cases that lined the Cave’s wall, at the Red Robin suit. She thought of how her little brother had left her for dead, and closed her eyes. “Sticking around.”

---

Savage sighed as he let his head rest against the cold wall, having just gone through another round of the machine’s tests. The boy was doing well under the pressure, despite his inexperience; he was a credit to his lineage. Unfortunately, the boy was in for tests with the computer now, while Savage, or rather, his healing factor, was allowed to rest. It made his blood boil, to know that an innocent child was suffering at the hands of an alien machine, but he had to bide his time if he was to save the boy; there would be rescue soon.

Fatherbox chimed against his chest from where it still lay hidden in his coat. Savage grinned; speak of the Devil. “They’re here,” he murmured to himself, “Fatherbox; a boomtube, please.”

---

Bruce checked his gauntlet as the boomtube closed behind them, Superman, Wonder Woman, and the Flash at his side. They were surrounded by gunmetal gray, chromeshined silver, and dim purple lights illuminating winding hallways, stretching on into a massive maze. “Stay on your guards,” he said, “We don’t know what exactly we’re walking into, but we can expect more robots like Superman and Superboy encountered in Cape Canaveral, and we know they have access to kryptonite.”

“Understood,” Diana said, drawing her sword and securing her lasso as a small smile graced her lips, “It’s been a while since the four of us were in the field together. This is… exciting.”

“We’re here on a rescue mission, Diana,” Barry said admonishingly, though he grinned along with her, bouncing on his feet at being back in the field again,“Robin’s counting on us.”

“The four of us are the most accomplished heroes in a generation!” Clark said encouragingly, “If anyone’s got this, it’s us!”

“Don’t lose focus,” Bruce warned, eyeing the shadows warily, “Flash, run recon, let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

“Back in a Flash!” Barry said happily, and he was off in a red blur. He felt alive again, running through the metallic halls, his boots hitting the ground as the world slowed down around him and his perception kicked into high gear. He saw the pulsing in the fluorescent lights, he felt the lightning thrumming through his veins, and after being so alone for so long, Barry finally felt the truest form of runner’s high. Joy, confidence, relief; whatever it was, Barry loved it. Suddenly, it didn’t matter that Iris wouldn’t speak to him, or that Jay and Wally didn’t have time for him, or that Bart barely knew him; he was Barry Allen, the Flash, and speed was his game.

That’s when he started to hear the screaming. Barry stopped, trying to track the sound echoing down the halls, narrowing his eyes as he heard a young, high voice crying out in pain. Tommy! he thought urgently, and he ran through the halls as fast as he could, tracking the sound, not caring about whether or not he was tripping any sort of alarms in favor of finding a boy in captivity, much like he had once been.

In hindsight, maybe he should have been more careful.

Barry yelped as he tripped over a cable and faceplanted hard, then did his best to tumble back into a standing position, which was marginally successful. As he looked around, Barry’s heart dropped as he realized the room he was in had been sealed shut; he was trapped. “ Oh no, ” he whispered, closing his eyes tights as unbidden memories of running and torture entered his mind, “ No no no, not now! ”

“ Fascinating. You are generating a source of power I have never encountered before, ” said a voice from above him and all around him, robotic and detached, sourceless and omnipresent, “ Further study is required. But first; to deal with other intruders. ”

Barry’s eyes widened. My friends! he thought first.

It’s going to experiment on me! he thought second, panic rising in his throat, Oh, God, not again!

Barry got up and tried to run, but his legs felt like jelly. How could he run? His friends needed him! And if he ran, who’s to say it would change anything? Wouldn’t he just be running in place for eternity, one foot in front of the other, foreverandeverandeverthesceneryneverchangingthewheelalwaysspinningand--

“ Get down, you fool! ” a new, stronger voice cried, and Barry let out a strangled yelp as someone tackled him to the ground, out of the way of a robotic tentacle he hadn’t seen.

“Wha-?” Barry tried, but the man on top of him shoved him further down.

“ Stay down if you cannot fight! ” the man growled, and Barry finally got a good look at him. His first thought was that he sorta looked like Bruce, but he had wider, harsher features, and certainly wasn’t wearing a Batsuit. The man had long black hair that fell past his shoulders, and the beginnings of an unkempt beard were beginning to grow in around his face and up his cheeks, much more hair coverage than Barry was used to seeing in a beard. In a flash of memory and strange nostalgia, Barry made an (admittedly rather rude) comparison to Gorilla Grodd.

The Grodd-like man drew a small, short sword made of some kind of black metal, and it must have been incredibly sharp, since it sliced through the oncoming enemy tentacles like hot butter. The man frowned, then turned to Barry. “It’s testing us,” he said, “Testing you; if you want to live, you need to get us out of here, now! ”

Barry blinked, then shocked himself back into coherence as he jumped to his feet, grabbed the strange man, and shouted, “ Hold on! ”

Just like that, they were gone in a Flash, Barry vibrating their molecules at just the right frequency so that they passed through walls and stumbled to a stop in front of the Trinity. The man he was carrying regained his footing easily, drawing himself up into a more composed stance and brushing himself off, then sheathed his sword and smiled, placing a steadying hand on Barry’s shoulder. 

“Well done,” he said kindly, and Barry blinked as he drank in the almost hypnotic timbre of the low, rumbling voice. Everything about the strange black-haired man radiated safety and comfort, defense and care; it reminded Barry of his father. It reminded Barry of Bruce.

“ Flash! ” Batman cried harshly, dropping into a fighting stance at the arrival of the stranger, “Who is this?”

“Hello,” the man said suavely, extending a hand for Batman to shake, “I am Victor Savatier. You must be the famous Batman, and there’s Superman and Wonder Woman, so this must be the Flash.” ‘Victor’ smiled happily, placing his hand on Barry’s shoulder again, “It seems I’m in the presence of the Justice League! Have you come to rescue us?”

Bruce growled as Diana and Clark shared an uncertain look. “He really saved my butt in there, guys,” Barry said placatingly, gently shaking off Victor’s hand to take a step forward, “I think we can trust him.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes behind the cowl, but he trusted his old friend’s judgement enough to relax his stance, no longer openly hostile. “You said ‘us’,” he noticed, “Who else is here with you? And rescue you from who?”

Victor frowned. “There is an evil computer in charge of this ship,” he explained, “It calls itself Brainiac. It seeks the Earth’s knowledge, in order to study it and preserve it.”

“Well that doesn’t sound so bad,” Clark said with a frown, and Savatier looked him dead in the eye.

“And then it plans to destroy the source material,” he finished.

“Oh,” Clark responded in a small voice, looking sheepish, “That’s bad.”

“And answer the question!” Bruce growled, losing his patience, “ Who else is here!? ”

Savatier blinked, as if confused. “Why, the little boy,” he said softly, “He was dressed like Robin.”

As the veteran Leaguers sat with that new information, red lights began to flash and a warning siren sounded; they’d been spotted.

---

Tim frowned as he clocked every single person he ever called friend preparing to kill each other. Jason thrashed in Bane’s grip, hissing and spitting like an alley cat as he tried to break the hold. “ RED! ” he shouted across the small parking lot, his voice still strained with pain, “I swear to God, if I die because of your bullshit, I’m coming back from the dead again and haunting your ass! ”

Bane laughed from where he still held Jason by the head. “Such spirit, Hood!” he replied, “Be careful it does not give you a big head! ” Bane lifted Jason up, letting him struggle uselessly in midair, then slammed him down into the pavement, finally letting him go as Hood rolled around on the ground in pain.

“ Oh hoh fuck! Come on, man, do I even weigh anything to you!?” Jason protested, staggering to his feet, and Bane’s mask quirked, as though he was cracking a smile.

“No,” he replied, cracking his knuckles, “It’s like holding a couple of grapes.”

Jason growled behind his Hood. “I’m gonna enjoy shooting you much more than I should,” he said, and he drew his guns and fired.

Meanwhile, one of the teenagers, Tim thought his name was Virgil, gulped nervously as he saw the fight begin. “Oh, okay, we’re doing this,” he said quickly, and he turned and tried to zap Two-Face, only for Penguin to step in and catch his hand with the hook of his umbrella, forcing it off-target.

“Not so fast there, Black Lightning!” Oswald said with a laugh, twirling his umbrella up and into an attack position, a wisp-thin blade extending from the tip as he took a fencer’s stance.

“Man, why does everyone keep saying that!?” Virgil cried, “ I’m not Black Lightning! ”

“ Clayface! ” Two-Face called, “Come take care of the toddlers! We didn’t come here to kill kids.”

“On it,” Basil rumbled, and his monstrous form began to melt like snow in summer, but Kid Flash ran forward, trying to stop him from moving across the ground like a sentient slime.

“Hey!” Bart shouted, running out to catch empty air, “Get back her-- whoaaii--!! ”

He yelped at the end as his foot caught a patch of ice, sending him tumbling ass over tea kettle at frightening speed into the side of a building. “Slow down, Kid Flash!” Freeze called calmly, “If you don’t look where you’re going, you might slip .”

“And slipping in this weather, dear?” Nora chuckled from where she now stood over Bart, who was knocked upside-down with his back to the wall, aiming her cold blaster down at the tripped sidekick, “You might catch a death of cold! ”

“One of you doing the ice puns was annoying, two of you is insufferable!” Cassie growled, flying toward Mister Freeze while Bart spun up into a kick for the Missus. 

“What can ice say, Wonder Girl?” Victor said with a grin, looking to his wife as he dodged Cassie’s attack.

“We were made for each other!” Nora said with a laugh, blasting Bart’s feet to get him stuck for just a moment, “And if you have a problem with our marriage, Wonder Girl, I think you need to chill! ” Cassie’s eyes went wide as both Freezes turned their guns on her, and she brought up her bracers to defend herself. 

“Enough of this!” Damian snapped, leaping at Riddler, only for Killer Croc to intercept, grinning with his grill of prosthetic sharpened teeth. Damian bristled, hitting Croc a few times as they traded blows in quick succession before falling into another struggle. “What is your game, Nygma!?” he cried, and Riddler laughed from where he still stood, undisturbed.

“Game?” he asked, “No game, Nightwing! Just a reminder! You Bats seem to have forgotten about us little old Rogues, after all!”

“Superboy, take care of the assassins!” Cassie cried behind her back while she broke the newly-formed ice off her bracer, “And for the love of God, make sure Tim stays in his damn cuffs!”

“Love you too, Cassie!” Tim shouted from where he still lay on the pavement, rolling out of the way of a stray ice blast.

“Fine, whatever!” Conner sighed in exasperation, flying up to the roof to confront the three assassins waiting there, grimacing as they opened fire on him, the bullets stinging against his still-raw skin, “Guys, do we really need to do this right now!?”

“I apologize, Mr. Kent,” the lead one said as he dropped his gun and ran at Conner for an ineffective kick, “But we are professionals.”

“Yeah, mate, nothin’ personal!” the bald woman said with a laugh as she unloaded her uzis into him.

“I promise, normally we do not shoot our boss’s boyfriends!” the last one called, taking pot shots with a sniper rifle, “But these are extenuating circumstances!”

Conner’s face went red as he put that statement together. “Wait… you work for Tim!? ” he cried, and the trio nodded, not stopping their attack. Conner sighed, shook his head, then called down the building behind him, “Babe, tell your employees to stop shooting me!”

“ Sorry, Kon! ” Tim cried from his position on the ground, then, rolling himself into a slightly different position, shouted, “Guys, hold fire!”

“Conner, for the love of God, ” Cassie grunted as she caught a hit from Bane, “Do not, ” she slashed upward, cutting across the wrestler’s chest, “Call him babe!! ” and she pushed Bane back into Jason, who threw his whole weight into the back of the Rogue’s knees, sending the hulk of a man tumbling backwards.

“I had him!” Hood groused, drawing his weapon and firing, and Cassie rolled her eyes.

Bart, meanwhile, ran circles around Missus Freeze, dodging each of her ice blasts and calling, “Lady, come on! I’ve been fighting Captain Cold since I was in diapers! You really think I’m not used to the ice schtick by now??”

Nora grunted as Bart knocked her out, and Victor bristled in apprehension. “ Nora! ” he cried, rushing forward to attack Bart, but two blurs struck him from the side, sending the Rogue tumbling off to the side.

“¡Kid Flash!” Mas said happily and he and his brother joined Bart, “¡Tu eres rápido!”

“ ¿Pero eres tan rápido como nosotros? ” Menos finished with a laugh, and Bart grinned.

“Little dudes, I’ve got no idea what you’re saying, but I totally dig your vibe,” he said, then he eyed the Penguin goons currently running at them all with murderous intent, “How about we have ourselves a little race? Whoever takes out the most goons wins.”

Mas y Menos’s eyes lit up like Christmas trees at the word ‘race’. “ ¡¡Estás en!! ” they cried in unison, and all three speedsters disappeared in blurry streaks, carving swathes through Penguin’s men.

Clayface, meanwhile, sprung up around the rest of the Super Friends, laughing as he restrained them all in his clay. “ Come on, kids, let the grown ups do the talking! ” he said, his voice monstrous and inhuman, “ Kids still play with Silly Putty these days, right? Think of it like Silly Putty! … for keeps!”

“Oh man, this is so gross, I’m too cool for this! ” Richie muttered, his voice raising an octave by the end of the sentence, turning green at the sight and texture of Clayface. 

Beside him, Sami struggled to find a place to kick off from. “Kōiu manga wa takusan arukedo, dore mo kiniiranakatta! ! ” she cried shrilly, sounding and looking very distressed.

“ Hey, Ugly! ” Virgil shouted, running forward to help his friends, when Two-Face cut him off with a well-placed warning shot, sending the metateen stumbling backwards in surprise and no small amount of fear.

“Come now,” he sighed, his voice sounding ever-so-close to Harvey Dent, before he turned and showed a now-shivering Virgil the burned, scarred half of his face, growling out, “ Is the name-calling really necessary? ”

“Why here, Bane?” Jason called to the Rogue as he fired in vain, Bane either tanking or dodging most of his hits, “Why now, after all this time!?”

“Perhaps we grew bored of the shadows, little robin!” Bane retorted, hitting Jason with enough force to send him flying, venom flowing through his veins, “Perhaps we wish to enjoy the limelight again! Perhaps the new Robin deserves to know what the Gotham Rogues are all about!”

“If any of you dare to lay a hand on him, and I will tear you all limb from limb!! ” Damian roared in rage, kicking Killer Croc in the jaw hard enough to send some of his teeth flying, then somersaulting over the gangster’s head to attack Riddler, who quickly brought his cane up to deflect his escrima.

“Such an emotional reaction, Nightwing!” he taunted, “Do I sense an iota of paternal instinct? I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree after all!”

Penguin laughed as he stepped in front of Riddler, swinging at Nightwing with his blade. “ Hah! Who knows!” he said, “Maybe he’ll get old and gray someday, an army of black-haired, blue-eyed orphans at his side, just like dear old daddy!”

Damian hissed as Penguin pushed him back, narrowing his eyes with barely controlled anger. “I tire of your taunts, Cobblepot!” he growled, “Perhaps I’ll break your jaw to spare myself from listening any longer!”

“Woah, hostile!” Penguin said with a grin, barely dodging Damian’s escrima, “You know, kid, the old Nightwing took a lot more of this in stride! ”

Damian grunted with pain as Penguin found his mark, staggering back slightly. His eyes narrowed as he stared down all of the Rogues, each fighting their own battles or hurting civilians. “ I do not have time for this, ” he growled, and just as he was about to rush at Penguin and Riddler to finish them off, everyone fighting at the Super Friends’ hideout stopped as they heard a massive sonic boom rock the city.

The ground shook, windows shattered, and for just a moment, the sky flashed a blinding white. Each hero and villain grunted or grimaced, covering their eyes, they slowly came back to their senses. In the center of the desperate throng, where once there had just been empty pavement, was now a smoking crater, where a man in a familiar red suit crouched, curled up in a ball, holding his head, the soft sound of weeping filling the now silent space.

Bart blinked in confusion as he approached the edge of the crater, squinting in recognition.

“ Please no, no, not again, no, please, not again, never again, won’t go back, can’tgobackwon’tcan’tdon’twantto wontgoback-- ” the man whispered, his words growing too fast for the human ear, but Bart understood.

---

“Grandpa?” he asked softly, and Barry Allen’s eyes snapped up to meet his grandson’s, the baby blues looking absolutely shattered.

“Keep fighting! ” Diana cried, swinging her sword at the nearest drone, “There must be an end to these at some point!”

“There’s too many!” Savatier called, “We must fall back!”

“  No!  ” Bruce snapped, growling as he snapped a robot’s arm in half, “We have to find Robin!”

Barry’s heart hammered in his chest as the drones kept popping up, one after the other after the other. First, Savatier went down in a pile of limbs and robots, overwhelmed by sheer numbers. Then, Clark screamed in agony as kryptonite blades tore through his flesh, and Diana roared with rage as she flew to her friends side, trying to defend him. Barry whimpered as he watched the metal tentacles wrap around her ten, twelve, fifteen times, wrapping her so tight she couldn’t move, and she screamed fury as the mighty warrior princess was rendered helpless.

Bruce was the last one fighting, grunting as threw a batarang and used a taser to short-circuit one of the robots attacking him. As he tried to dodge, though, he grunted and took a hit, going down and locking eyes with Barry, sensing the impending panic attack. 

Barry couldn’t breathe; they were going to take him, they were going to trap himbeathimtorturehimexperimentwatchlaugh  thewheelThawnethoseeyeshisvoiceneverescapehecouldn’tdoitagainnotagainnotagainNOTAGAIN!!

“Barry-!” Bruce cried, reaching out a hand, “Don’t--! ”

Barry didn’t hear what his old friend said next. His feet carried him away, out of the rooms, out of the ship, leaping through space until he landed on the surface of the Moon, tearing across its craters in the blink of an eye, so fast he didn’t need to take a breath or worry about the vacuum crushing him. He leapt from the Moon and hurtled toward the Earth, crossing the distance in the span of time it takes a hummingbird to flap its wings, panic driving him to go faster, faster,  faster!

He barely knew what was happening when he splashed down in the Atlantic Ocean, swam his way to the top and started to  run.

---

“Gone,” Barry whispered, “All gone. Captured. Couldn’t-- he was going to trap me again, I couldn’t let him-- I left them, I didn’t mean to, I--”

“Is that the Flash?” Two-Face asked, sounding supremely confused, but Damian slid down the side of the crater and to the founding Leaguer’s side.

“Allen, can you hear me?” he asked in a low voice, being careful not to let the Rogues hear, “You need to breathe, Barry.”

“Gone,” Barry repeated, “All gone! All captured! My fault, all my fault!”

“Who has been captured?” Damian asked again, “Allen, you need to calm down before someone is hurt-”

“ Already hurt! ” Barry cried, “ Already captured! I fucked it up, it was all my fault, if I’d just stayed, if I hadn’t freaked out, I could’ve-- I should’ve--!! ”

“Allen, breathe, ” Damian said again, then he turned to Bart, who was looking shellshocked, and said calmly, “Kid Flash, make yourself useful and retrieve West immediately.”

“H-He’s on a mission in the Congo,” Bart said, his voice barely above a whisper, “They already tagged me out, if we pull him out then Delta Squad won’t have a speedster-”

“Then get Garrick, just do it quickly!” Damian cried, trying to refrain from shouting, “We need someone he trusts, as soon as possible.”

“ Thatroomthatwheelthoseeyesthatsoundscreamingthatpoorkid--” Barry returned to muttering, holding his hands over his head, while Kid Flash disappeared in a rush of wind and a scattering of debris.

“Hey, uh, are we still fighting?” Virgil asked from the top of the crater, eyeing the Gotham Rogues warily.

“That depends, punk,” Two-Face growled, hefting his tommy gun, “You feeling lucky?”

“D-Did. Did you just quote Clint Eastwood at me?” Virgil asked incredulously, and Harvey blushed.

“ I have hobbies! ” he snapped, “Never you mind! Just sit there, shut up, and don’t move a muscle; we’re doing what we came here to do, and then we’re leaving, capisce? ”

“And what, praytell, did you come here to do?” Cassie growled, stepping forward with a hand on her sword, and Riddler casually gave Tim a look from his spot on the ground, still in cuffs. Behind all his friends, with no one watching him, Tim shook his head.

Riddler smirked. “I think we’ve already done it,” he said, sounding satisfied, tipping his hat to the Super Friends, “Keep in mind, kiddos! This is the sort of stuff you’re up against if you decide to run with Robin. Just ask Red Hood over there; wayward birds are liable to getting snapped up by big, bad wolves . Be careful you’re not in the flock when it happens.”

“Come on, fellas, we’ve done our bit,” Penguin said to his men, and the Rogues and their men started to pack up.

“What, you think we’re just gonna let you all leave!? ” Cassie shouted, drawing her weapon, and Killer Croc laughed in her face.

“Nah, we know you are,” he said, grinning with a mouth full of prosthetic sharpened teeth, “Robin’s still missing, right? And you’ve got a big, bad supervillain locked up right behind you. Keep focusing on us, and he might escape. Or Captain PTSD down there goes beserk and wrecks the city. Or worse, you fight us, we all waste our time, and whoever got the new Boy Wonder’s eating robin eggs for dinner. So how’bout it, Wonder Bread; you gonna go all in and fight us, or you gonna cut your losses and keep the chips you got?”

Cassie growled, clenching her teeth in rage, but she eventually sheathed her sword. Croc grinned; “That’s what I thought,” he said, “Pack it up, boys; we’re done here.”

The heroes gathered at the site could do little more than watch as the Rogues packed up calmly, grinning all the while, hopping in their vans and gathering their things. The assassins on the roof dropped down into the alleyway and disappeared into the shadows, while Riddler turned back to face the heroes, smiling as he stood in the van’s open door, holding on to the roof. “ Until next time, boys! ” he called as the Rogues all began to speed away, “ Don’t forget to write! ”

Cassie growled as she let them go, her fist clenching hard around her sword. Tim, meanwhile, breathed a momentary sigh of relief, adrenaline still pumping through his veins as his plans had almost all come crashing down around him; that was too close a call.

Back to the matter at hand: the immensely powerful speedster currently having a nervous breakdown at the bottom of a crater. In a moment, two more speedsters skidded to a stop at the side of Barry Allen, who was still getting talked down by Damian, and an old man in a tin hat sighed as he took in the sight.

“Who’s the old guy?” Tye asked loudly from the top of the crater, and Virgil elbowed him in the side.

“That’s Jay Garrick, dude!” he whisper-shouted, “Part of the JSA! The original Flash! He fought the Nazis in World War II, the guy’s a total badass!”

“He looks and smells like my grandpa,” Tye responded flatly, crossing his arms, and Virgil rolled his eyes.

“Garrick,” Damian greeted softly, not taking his eyes off the nearly-catatonic Barry, “I am in need of your assistance.”

“Well, this looks like a doozy,” Jay muttered, bringing a hand to the brim of his helmet; a habit he still held from his war days.

“Please, do you know how to help him??” Bart asked him fervently, and Jay took a deep breath.

“I can try,” he responded, and he knelt down by his successor, “Barry? It’s Jay. Can you hear me?” Barry blinked, his eyes unseeing, nothing indicating he’d heard the elder speedster.

“ Barry… ” Jay continued, “Come on, kid, work with me…”

Jay reached out to touch Barry’s shoulder, and Barry’s eyes snapped to the elder Flash, his hand blurring up and gripping Jay’s painfully tight. “ Don’t touch me! ” Barry hissed, his eyes wild and panicked, and Jay nodded calmly, rescinding his hand.

“No touching, got it,” he agreed, “But I need you to calm down, Barry. If you lose control right now, a lot of innocent people could get hurt. You need to slow down and breathe; with me, in, two, three, four; out, two, three, four. Got it? Again; in, two, three, four; out, two, three, four…”

Barry tried to copy Jay’s breathing, making a shaky approximation of it as his heart rate finally started to fall downwards again. “He has them,” he whispered, tears springing to his eyes, “He has them and it’s all my fault, Jay…!”

“It’s not your fault, son,” Jay sighed sadly, but Barry shook his head.

“No, I begged to come on the mission!” he gasped, “I thought I could do it! I thought I could help, but-! I’m useless, Jay, I’m broken-- ”

Bart sucked in a breath at the sight of his grandfather in such dire straits; he’d always had thi image of Barry Allen in his head, the infallible, unbreakable hero. Rationally, he knew that everyone was human; he’d seen Barry at his lowest, when he’d been being held prisoner by Thawne, but this… seeing the Flash so unequivocally broken… it was different.

“You’re not useless and you’re not broken, Barry,” Jay said forcefully, his voice steady and firm, “You’re sick. Shellshock, PTSD, whatever you want to call it, you’ve got it. I saw shit in Europe, kid, you think I’ve never seen this? We can help you, Barry, help you get better.”

Barry gulped and nodded sadly, and Jay helped him to his feet. “Come on, Barry; let’s get you home,” Jay sighed, then he turned to the group of onlookers, his voice somber and sincere even while he smiled and tipped his helmet like a gentleman might tip his hat, “You kids get home to your parents, I’ve got this under control.”

“Hold on,” Damian said brusquely, stepping forward before the two speedsters could leave, “You can go, but we need information; Allen, who has been captured? And by whom?”

Barry looked at the ground, unable to look the new Nightwing in the eye. “Batman,” he whispered, “Superman. Wonder Woman. It’s this… AI, it ambushed us. There were so many robots, so many enemies… it was… fun, at first… simple… but then it just became more and more… too many, we couldn’t-- I couldn’t…”

Barry finally looked up, meeting Damian’s eyes. “ I ran, ” he whispered brokenly.

“An AI…” Damian repeated, placing a hand to his chin and remembering the brief and detail-scarce briefing he and Jason had received before ‘capturing’ Drake, “Very well; rest, Allen, you need it. Garrick, I leave him in your capable hands.”

Jay nodded, whisking Barry away in a blur of motion, and Damian turned to face Bart, then looked up the banks of the crater at the gaggle of metateens and the rest of the former Young Justice. He frowned as he held his head, rubbing his temples and activating his League communicator. 

“Cyborg,” he said, “This is Nightwing; I need transport to the Trinity’s last known location. Their mission to rescue Robin failed. According to the Flash, they’ve been captured.”

Vic took a minute to respond, seemingly shocked for a moment. “ Well, that explains the weird energy surge a few minutes ago, ” he muttered, sounding more tired than Damian had ever heard the former Titan, “ Alright, I’ll send a boomtube your way, but what do I do if you guys don’t come back? ”

Damian grimaced. “Notify senior members of the League,” he muttered, “And prepare to put the rest on high alert; depending on what else happens tonight, this could be an all hands on deck situation.”

“ We’ve been having a lot of those lately… ” Cyborg sighed, and Damian nodded silently.

“I’m aware,” he murmured, “We’ll do all we can to mitigate the risk. We await your boomtube, Cyborg. Nightwing out.”

Damian then turned around to face the rest of them, looking each one in the eye and finally resting on Tim as he thought through the next several hours. “Red Hood, stay with the civilians,” he ordered, “Debrief them and make sure they are not traumatized by the day’s ordeal. Wonder Girl… remove Red Robin’s restraints.”

“ What!? ” Cassie demanded, rounding on the younger hero, “ Are you crazy!? ”

“For what it’s worth, I’m kinda with the Amazon on this one, dude,” Virgil said behind him, “That guy was kicking our asses, like, ten minutes ago.”

“ I’m with them, are you insane!? ” Oracle snapped over the comms, and Damian sighed.

Tim only smiled from his place on the ground. “But we’re up against an AI,” he said smugly, “Cyborg is compromised because he might get hacked himself, and Oracle, the next logical choice, can’t be sent into the field, and you need someone onsite in case things go south. You’re out of options, aren’t you, Demon Brat?”

Damian gritted his teeth at the old nickname, unsure if Drake was still acting for his superiors or not. “ Release him, ” he ground out, the words causing him some considerable consternation.

Bart stood ready at Damian’s side, practically vibrating with grim anticipation as Cassie cursed Damian, cursed herself, then finally moved to take off Tim’s restraints. Conner floated down from the roof of the building, keeping a watchful eye on the whole situation as the cuffs disengaged with a mechanical click!

Tim sighed with pleasure as he rolled out his wrists and ankles, hearing satisfying pops and snaps, then cracked his neck to the same effect. “ That’s more like it…” he sighed, then held out his hand to Damian, “I believe I had a bandolier…?”

Damian cursed as he nodded to Jason, who rolled his eyes beneath his helmet and handed Tim his bandolier and bo staff, and Tim smirked with satisfaction as he snapped the harness into place. “See? Nothing nefarious,” he said as he collapsed his staff and fitted it onto his belt and smirked, “I’m a team player. ”

“Oh, shut your mouth,” Cassie muttered, placing a hand on her sword, “Let’s just get this over with.”

Bart kept silent, merely shooting Conner a sideways glance, and Conner sighed. Young Justice, back together again.

Damian turned his back to the four of them, drawing his escrima as the boomtube opened up. “We’re coming, Tommy,” he whispered.

Chapter 34: Young Justice, Bitches!

As Tim stepped through the boomtube and into the ship, he was first struck by how cold it was. But then again, what need did a malevolent, kidnapping artificial intelligence have to keep warm? 

“Stay sharp,” Damian said ahead of them, rolling his fingers along his escrima, “Whatever is here successfully took down the Trinity, so we can’t be caught off-guard.”

Tim rolled his eyes; as if they didn’t already know that. Who died and made Damian the leader? “Good luck with that, Demon Brat,” he muttered scornfully, stepping forward, and he didn’t miss the withering glare Cassie shot him for daring to speak, “If this AI is half as dangerous as Barry seemed to think it was, then it already knows we’re here.”

“ What!? ” Damian snapped, and Conner gulped nervously as Tim stared his brother down coldly.

“Any AI worth its salt would have sensors in every corner of the ship,” Tim explained, pulling up his gauntlet computer and identifying some of the programs he would need, “There can’t be much organic life on this ship, and Brainiac has already been attacked once, so it’ll be expecting another incursion. The only reason we’re not being swamped right now is because its response time is apparently dismal. That, or it’s waiting to see what we’ll do.”

“So stealth is already lost to us?” Damian concluded, dropping into a fighting stance as he scanned the shadows.

“Not necessarily,” Tim responded, still preparing his computer, “We are still dealing with a computer program here; no matter how alien it is, there are some basic functions that have to be the same.” Tim popped his head up and looked at his former teammates, his eyes lingering on Conner longer than the others, and continued, “If you guys can find me an access panel, I can try to find the records of our presence in Brainiac’s memory storage and delete them, then set up a few spoofs of an ‘all systems normal’ reading to give us back our stealth, but I’ll need some cover while I do it.”

“Like a digital invisibility cloak!” Bart realized, and Tim nodded, smiling a little in spite of himself.

“Are you sure you can do that?” Conner asked, and Tim shrugged noncommittally.

“Don’t know until I try,” he admitted.

“ Oh good, ” Cassie muttered scornfully, “I’m filled with confidence.”

“Anyone have a better idea?” Tim asked her, and as they all frowned and shrugged, Tim sighed and trudged forward, saying, “Then we’d all best start looking. And brace yourselves; we’re due to have company soon enough.”

Conner looked at the surrounding walls, thinking for a moment, then shrugged. With all he had, he punched one of the breaks in the metal, and grinned as he managed to peel back the outer layer with a loud screech of straining metal, revealing the mess of wires and pipes running underneath. “Is this a control panel?” he asked, turning to Tim, and Tim smiled.

“No, but depending on if these wires go anywhere useful, it might be the next best thing,” he said with a grin, stopping to reward Kon with a quick kiss on the cheek, “I’ll see if I can hotwire myself into the system.”

Conner blinked happily and grinned as he received the kiss, and behind his back Cassie locked eyes with Bart and made a ‘gag me’ motion with her finger. “Drake, I’ll remind you that you are on probation for this mission,” Damian muttered distastefully, “You would be wise to refrain from public displays of affection.”

Tim rolled his eyes at his younger brother’s warning. “Damian, this is the most amount of time I’ve gotten to spend with my boyfriend in weeks, ” he muttered, beginning to pull wires from the wall, “I’ll do what I damn well please. Now all of you stop judging and let me work. ”

As he said that, Conner’s head snapped up as he picked up the sounds of clanking from deeper within the ship. “Head’s up,” he said, putting up his fists, “I think we’ve got incoming!”

“ Finally, ” Cassie muttered, drawing her sword, “Something I can hit! ”

“ Agreed, ” Damian responded darkly, and Bart merely bounced on the balls of his feet as they four heroes waiting for the drones to come to them.

“Here we go,” Tim murmured softly, letting out a breath as he tapped into Brainiac’s system, “ Hold on, kiddo; we’re almost there…”

Tim ducked as he started to hear the first sounds of real battle; killer robots, much like the ones Jon and Clark had reported fighting in Cape Canaveral, started flooding into the little section of hallway Cyborg had dropped them in, coming in from both directions, and Tim kept an eye on both sides as Cassie and Bart took one side while Conner and Damian took the other.

Cassie roared a war cry as her sword cut through the drones like hot butter, then she grunted with effort as she pulled out her lasso, roped up a group of five, swung them through the air like a flail, taking out more drones in the process, then finally smashing the captured five into the ground with all the force an Amazon could muster. 

Bart’s face was a grim line as he raced through the ranks of Brainiac’s combat drones, dismantling vital joints at speeds too fast for them to react. With each drone he worked over, his engineer’s brain started to clock how they worked, what made them tick, how they moved and what powered them, and he grinned slightly as he began finding shortcuts in his breaking, completely disassembling one of the drones and using those pieces to stab through the armor of the others. He used the power source, some kind of lithium-ion battery, superheated it with friction, then lobbed it into a group of drones just in time for a kaboom.

Damian leapt through his assigned drones with all the grace of a battle-hardened vigilante, the tasers in his inherited escrima dialled up to their highest setting in an attempt to short-circuit some of the drones. It took some experimentation with various pressure points on the robots before he discovered where best to zap them, but once he had it figured out, disabling the rest became an easy, if tedious, task.

Conner was much more straightforward in how he fought; he kicked his foot through the chest of one, backhanded the head off of another, and melted away one’s legs with his heat vision before turning skyward, floating up, and then bringing himself back down with enough force to shake the floorboards of the ship, not only sending the drones sprawling but giving himself more of an opening to smash them. Tim smirked, making sure his cowl was recording every second; seeing Conner fight all-out was always a treat, but one he would have to enjoy later.

Tim himself focused on his cyberspace tasks, though he was sure to keep an eye on his surroundings. For one thing, he wondered why they weren’t being immediately swamped; if Brainiac had the firepower to take out the Trinity, almost take out Barry, successfully take out Tommy, and almost take out Jon Kent, then they were dealing with a serious threat. Why wasn’t Brainiac breaking out the kryptonite already?

As he worked, Tim successfully managed to slip through a few of the AI’s firewalls, enough to download a map of the ship, and gave the matter some thought as he searched for the other things he would need; this AI was designed to study and preserve knowledge, right? Tim and the others were unknowns; it wasn’t trying to take them out, it was studying them! Seeing what they could do!

It wanted to learn. It was almost impressive, Tim admitted, but he smirked as he found his way into Brainiac’s operating system; too bad he could still delete parts of its memory banks. Tim spoofed them a cover from the ship’s sensors, the digital invisibility cloak Bart had mentioned, then scrubbed every record of their presence he could find. “And voila, ” he said happily, standing up and facing the battle, “With a push of a button, I have proved Elon Musk wrong. Again. ”

As he did so, all the drones sent to stop them abruptly stopped their attack, and turned around to go back to… well, wherever they were stored, Tim didn’t really know. Cassie blinked incredulously from where her opponents had just been, then looked at Tim.

“Did you do that?” she asked in disbelief, “That quickly?”

“I did,” Tim said smugly, preening under the praise, “I am the second greatest hacker in the world. Top 5 at least.”

Cassie sheathed her sword, then squared her shoulders and muttered out a begrudging, “Goob job.”

Then it was Tim’s turn to blink in surprise, but he smiled and took the peace offering for what it was. Conner came up behind him, slinging an arm around his shoulders and whooping with the joy of accomplishment they all hadn’t felt in so, so long, and Tim laughed quietly. Unbeknownst to him, Cassie and Bart’s heads whipped around to stare at him upon hearing that laugh, an innocent, cackling chuckle that they hadn’t heard in years.

This… this was the reason they had formed Young Justice. This was the reason they were such an effective team; they were all friends, and deep down, despite everything that had happened between them, no matter how much some of them wanted to deny it, they still were.

Damian pursed his lips as he watched the four older heroes slowly start to rekindle their bond, and cleared his throat. “We should get moving,” he said quietly, “While stealth is still on our side.”

“Right, right; hold on,” Tim agreed, pulling up his arm computer, “Okay, so, I think I’ve got a map here; everything’s in Kryptonian, so I’m gonna be working with shoddy translation work at best.”

“Want me to take a look at it?” Conner asked, leaning in to look over Tim’s shoulder, “I’ve been practicing again.”

“Really?” Tim asked idly, still sifting through documents, “What for?”

Conner blushed slightly, looking away. “I’ve been meaning to teach Tommy…” he admitted, embarrassment in his tone, and Tim’s face lit up as he smiled.

“That’s a great idea!” he gasped, “I always meant to help him get in touch with his heritage, but resources on Krypton are next to nonexistent, and then…” Tim trailed off as his mood became much more sullen at the reminder why he hadn’t been able to teach Tommy.

“Let’s just… let’s just find him, okay?” he said quietly, and he walked away from Superboy and down one of the darkened hallways, “I think we’re supposed to be heading this way.”

“Is there anything that looks like holding cells on that map?” Bart asked, trying to distract from the downer conversation and get back to the task at hand, “I’d go scouting, but after what Grandpa Barry said, I think sticking together is a better idea.”

“Good call,” Tim agreed with a short nod, “I’m covering our tracks as we go along, but I won’t be able to keep up with you if you run ahead; hold on, I think I’ve got something. I think that says ‘Holding Room’?”

“Sounds promising,” Cassie said, “Which way?”

“It’s toward the center of the ship, a few decks up from where we are now,” Tim went on, a frowning slightly with concentration, “Impulse, can you take a look at this? The floorplan doesn’t really look like a prison to me.”

Bart blinked, and Tim looked at him in confusion after the delay. “What is it?” he asked, and Bart pursed his lips awkwardly. 

“It, uh… it’s Kid Flash, now, dude,” he said, and now it was Tim’s turn to flush with embarrassment.

“R-Right, I’m sorry, I just…” he stammered, looking down, “This all feels… familiar. ”

“Breaking into a top-secret, futuristic laboratory after the JL told you to stay put, chasing rumors of a Kryptonian clone being held against his will,” Conner described, a grin playing at his lips, “I think I’ve heard this story before.”

Tim, Bart, and Cassie all smiled softly at the memory; it was when they had broken into Cadmus and discovered Conner, or Project Kr, and to Conner’s point, that mission did bear a striking resemblance to this one. 

“ Biḥaqqi aljaḥīmi , we are still on a mission, here! ” Damian growled, losing his patience, “You four can go down memory lane together after we have rescued the others!”

Tim and Cassie awkwardly cleared their throats in unison as Conner and Bart each pursed their lips and nodded, everyone slightly embarrassed that they had forgotten Damian was in the room. 

“Right, so, uh, weird room is this way,” Tim said, leading the way down the corridor, and Conner floated up to take a look at the map.

“That’s weird…” he murmured, looking at the room Tim was headed for, and Cassie leaned in to look at it, too.

“What is?” she asked, and Conner frowned.

“Well, that word there, ' kazavnoz', it’s kinda weird,” he went on, pointing to the word on Tim’s map, “It looks like a noun in that label, not a verb.”

“Which means…?” Bart asked idly, and Conner huffed a sigh.

“'Kazavnoz ' can mean ‘to hold’ or ‘to keep’ or something like that, but it’s not the word you would use for a prison,” Conner went on, “In that context, it looks more like the word for… jar. ”

“‘Jar’?” Cassie asked, looking back at the map, “Why would a room that massive have nothing but jars in it?” 

“Well,” Tim said as he came to a stop, looking at the door blocking their path, “We’re about to find out. Let me see if I can get this door open.”

“Be on your guard,” Damian warned, “We don’t know what’s on the other side.”

“Yeah we do,” Bart said with a cheeky grin, “Jars!”

“ I swear, Allen… ” Damian growled, and Tim raised his hand.

“ Wait! Almost got it… there! ” he said, and he smiled with triumph as the doors retracted open.

“... Woah… ” Conner murmured, looking at the massive room, which seemed to stretch on forever, massive and cylindrical. Pillars covered floor to ceiling in half-domed jars filled the space, at least twenty pillars total with probably a hundred jars each. 

Bart ran forward and inspected one, furrowing his brow in confusion. “So, the super-evil alien AI that’s hellbent on collecting all knowledge in the universe… is really into miniatures?” he said uncertainly, inspecting the jar’s contents of what looked like a model city, alien though it was.

“I mean… everyone needs a hobby?” Cassie asked uncertainly, looking at another one of the little jars.

“Even computers? ” Conner doubted, eyeing one of the pillars reproachfully.

“This is certainly… strange, ” Damian agreed, feeling out of his element, “Timothy, what are we looking at?”

Tim straightened at the sound of his full name, said in that particular accent, and felt chills down his spine. “ D-Don’t-- ” Tim stammered, his skin flushing as he tried to push down memories he’d rather not remember, “ Don’t call me that, please. J-Just call me ‘Drake’ or ‘Pretender’ or something, just… just not that. ”

Damian blinked, looking confused. He had been told that referring to others by surname could be seen as rude; he had begun using first names to show care. Had he been incorrect? Or was Drake rejecting his affection? “I understand…” he said uncertainly, even though he, in fact, did not.

Tim took a shaky breath, then set about investigating the room they were in. He frowned as he did so, looking into the confusing wording in the documents.

“ Woah, guys, look! ” Bart exclaimed from elsewhere in the room, “They’ve got little moving cars and everything!”

“People, too,” Cassie realized, “What is all this?”

“... Hey, guys?” Conner asked, frowning as he looked into another one of the jars, “The little people in mine... look like they’re running from me…”

Tim’s heart sank into his shoes as he finally cracked the translation, then realized what was happening, what this room was really for. “ Oh my God… ” he whispered, his voice hoarse and shaking, “These. Aren’t. Miniatures.”

“What are you talking about?” Bart asked in confusion, “They’re teeny tiny!”

“No, you don’t understand!” Tim went on, desperately bringing up his findings to show them, “Each of these jars, they’re putting off the same sort of radiation as Ray Palmer’s suit!”

“... So…?” Bart went on, still not comprehending, and Cassie turned green as she realized.

“So they’re not just models… ” she whispered, almost staggering as she turned to look at the rows upon rows of jars, “They’re real cities. ”

“Ripped from the soil of their home planets and shrunken down to be added to the collection,” Tim managed through gritted teeth, “There must be trillions of people here…”

Each of the heroes stood in shock as the weight of that statement sunk in, how each little jar was a major metropolitan area… and the same would soon happen to the cities of Earth.

“We need to find Brainiac, find our families, and shut this place down,” Damian said severely, and most of the others nodded.

Tim, however, was still stuck staring at the jars. For one, he was impressed, in a cold, sickening sort of way. The level of technology it took to do this, and on such a massive scale, was mind-boggling; he’d know that Krypton was ahead of Earth in that regard, but this was beyond his wildest dreams. And then he felt sick at himself for being so impressed by this.

And there was a secondary realization that he decided it would be best to keep to himself for now, and not distract anyone. If these jars were full of cities from planets that Brainiac had attacked around the cosmos, then there was a nonzero chance, perhaps even a likely chance… that a Kryptonian city was among them. Its inhabitants most likely alive and well.

Tim swallowed hard. They could only help these people if they didn’t die in the next few hours. “Okay,” he said, turning back to his map, “Let’s move; I have another room here that’s a fairly likely candidate for a prison cell, but it’s a way’s off. That, and I’m not sure how long I can keep fooling Brainiac like this.”

“Right,” Conner said, finally tearing himself away from the jars, “Let’s go, then.”

---

Tommy whimpered as he curled into a ball in the dark, box-like room. Victor wasn’t here today; Tommy didn’t know if the man was somewhere else, having his turn with Brainiac, or if he had finally died and been disposed of. Tommy wasn’t sure how long he’d been here, either; it felt like a long time. But his training to become Robin had taught him how to deal with capture, and even torture, to an extent. Stupid, stupid idiot that he was though, he hadn’t really paid attention to the torture bits, because… y’know. Invulnerability.

Tommy scoffed at himself; invulnerability seemed like a sick joke to him now. He hadn’t known it was possible to hurt so much in his entire life. Brainiac wanted to know how much Tommy could withstand, what his pain threshold was, how much heat his heat vision generated, whether or not his body could conduct electricity .

Tommy twitched as phantom pains laced up and down his limbs, and he whimpered as the movement caused more pain. When last he’d been in the light, he’d seen the scars tracing his skin, little strands of lightning and electricity that spider-webbed out from his fingertips and toes. Lichtenberg figures, they were called; he’d read it on Wikipedia once when he was bored. They happen to people who’ve been struck by lightning. Mr. Allen and Mr. West didn’t have them, but that was because of the Speed Force. Tommy didn’t have that.

He just had scars. Scars from torture. 

And he was eight years old.

Tommy curled up tighter, pushing through the protesting of his aching limbs. “ I wanna go home… ” he whispered, and hot, angry tears leaked from beneath his domino, running down the side of his face and over the top of his nose onto the floor where he lay.

He wanted to fly free again over the skies of Gotham. He wanted to see his new friends again. He wanted to see his family again, and apologize for shouting at Aunt Barbara. He wanted to see Aunt Cass and make sure she was recovering. He wanted to see his Grandpa and his Dad, the nice one, and he wanted to curl up with a blanket and a book about birds and some hot cocoa and forget this whole thing ever happened. 

Tommy let out a slow breath through his nose and closed his eyes, the lids burning from dehydration. He was Robin, Goddammit. He wasn’t going to let some robot break him; Grandpa would come soon. He’d be rescued soon. He just needed to hold on until then.

It wouldn’t be long now.

It couldn’t be long now…

---

“Okay,” Tim said quietly, crouching down to make himself a smaller target as they reached their destination; a sealed, box-like room that must have been pitch-black on the inside. “I think this is it,” he said quietly, as if he might hear his son on the other side if only he were quiet enough.

“I hear a heartbeat in there; only one, though,” Conner confirmed, then he looked at Tim very seriously and gave a reassuring smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “It’s him, Tim, it’s Tommy.”

Tim took a steadying breath, leaning on his boyfriend for support, and Cassie, Bart, and Damian readied themselves for whatever came next. “There’s no door mechanism,” Tim explained, feeling sick to his stomach at the thought of his son being held in complete darkness for who knows how long, “We’ll need to break it open. And once we do that, I can’t hide us from Brainiac any longer; we’ll need to go loud.”

“Do we know where the Trinity are being held?” Damian asked, “Perhaps we can send Kid Flash to investigate?”

“I don’t like the idea of splitting up after what happened to Barry,” Cassie murmured, “But after what we saw in there, we’re here to beat Brainiac, right? We can rescue them once the fight’s over.”

“There is no ‘beating’ Brainiac,” Tim muttered, “He’s not on any server somewhere that you can just break and be done with it. His code, his ‘brain’, for lack of a better term, is cloud-based; if we break whatever main body he has we’d just be giving him an avenue of escape. The fight won’t be over; even if he retreats and we ‘win’, he’ll still go and attack more planets, steal more cities. We can’t let that happen.”

“Then what can we do?” Conner asked fervently, very aware of how tantalizingly close they were to saving Tommy, “Can we upload a virus or something?”

Tim almost laughed. “A virus? ” he asked, “This thing is an artificial superintelligence; no virus I can code would be able to beat it; if it’s smart, and I know it is, it’ll have firewalls and antivirus protocols all over the place. It’s too smart to fall for that.”

Young Justice all crouched down outside the prison box in frustration, thinking hard on what to do, and Damian furrowed his brow, feeling as though he knew the answer, but couldn’t place his finger on it…

Then, finally, a memory came to him, one he had almost forgotten about…

---

2012

Damian screeched with rage as he was thrown to the mats of the training area in the Cave, springing back up to his feet. “ Cheater! ” he snapped at Grayson, and Grayson had the gall to laugh at him!

“Easy there, Little D!” Grayson laughed easily, his shoulders shaking with mirth, “It’s just a bit of fighting dirty!”

Damian snarled and spat on the ground in disgust. “I am the Grandson of the Demon’s Head, Prince of the League of Assassins, Ibn al-Xu’ffasch!” he declared, “Such cheap tricks are beneath me, and beneath you, Grayson, if you are truly to be my father’s successor! You will strike me again, and properly this time!”

Instead of continuing with the spar, Grayson tilted his head at Damian’s words, the way he did when he disapproved of Damian’s actions. Damian pursed his lips; he didn’t like it when Grayson was upset. He did not grow angry like his League instructors did, he did not reprimand him properly with corporal punishment or extra repetitions of exercises. No, Grayson was much worse; Grayson would become disappointed.

“Now hold on, Dami, you’ve gotta be ready for a few underhanded tactics every now and then,” Grayson admonished, “It’s not going to be like a League sparring match out there in the streets; you’ll be fighting common thugs, not trained assassins.”

Damian scoffed. “What have I to fear from common thugs? ” he asked, “They’ll be dead before they know I’m even there!”

Grayson glared at him, and Damian rolled his eyes. “I mean they will be immobilized before they know I’m even there,” he amended unhappily, and Grayson smiled in approval.

“ That’s more like it!” he said, “And not every fight is going to go your way. If you want to be by my side as Robin, you’re going to need the proper training.”

“ If I am going to be by your side as Robin, Drake will have to be vacated from the position,” Damian muttered, “I am already trained enough; I need only defeat Drake in combat to earn his higher status.”

“Damian, no, ” Grayson said severely, “ I’ll talk to Tim. And, as we’ve found out here today, you’re not trained enough!”

“Only because you cheated! ” Damian snapped back, and Grayson sighed, then tilted his head as an idea seemed to come to him.

“Y’know, there was an old story that got passed around the circus when I was little…” he started, and Damian audibly groaned at yet another lengthy anecdote about the circus.

“Fabian, the swordmaster, always used to tell me after his big displays fencing with folks in the audience,” Grayson went on, “‘The world’s best swordsman doesn’t fear the second-best’, he would say, ‘he fears the worst!’”

Damian scoffed. “Why would such a distinguished fighter fear such an incompetent simpleton?” he asked, and Grayson grinned.

“‘Because he doesn’t know what the idiot is going to do!’” he said gleefully, “That’s the trick! You’d be surprised how many supposedly smart folks don’t think about what an idiot would do; heck, it’s saved my butt a few times when I was Robin!”

Damian snorted. “Somehow,” he muttered, “I feel as though you have ample experience.”

---

2021 (Present Day)

Damian winced at the memory; it was a fond one, but if he could go back in time and smack his younger self for treating Grayson as such, he would. Still, though, the circus swordmaster’s anecdote could end up being the key…

“Allen!” he said suddenly, his gaze snapping to the young speedster’s, “What is your solution?”

“ What? ” Cassie asked incredulously.

“You’re asking Bart? ” Tim agreed.

“Yeah, really? ” Bart himself concurred, looking supremely confused.

“This Brainiac, it thinks itself intelligent, yes?” Damian clarified, and Tim shrugged.

“I mean, I assume so,” he responded, “He seems pretty full of himself.”

Damian grinned wolfishly. “The world’s greatest swordsman doesn’t fear the second-best!” he cried, “He fears the worst! Because he doesn’t know what the idiot is going to do! So! Allen, what is your solution to our current dilemma?”

Slowly, one by one, the different heroes began to see his logic, and all grinned, turning to Bart expectantly. Bart, meanwhile, frowned. “ That, sir, is cutting, ” he said in mock offense, then finally broke out into a grin, “ But I got an idea! ”

“I dunno…” Conner said suspiciously, “Bart? An idea? I think he’s bluffing.”

“No, no, it’s a really good idea!” Bart protested, “What if we just, and stick with me on this one; delete Brainiac?”

“Bart, it doesn’t work like that, you can’t just delete an AI,” Tim explained, “It’s growing, expanding, writing its own code; no human could keep up with it enough to fully delete it.”

Bart thought hard for a moment, furrowing his brow and putting a hand on his chin, then looked up. “What if we get a different AI to do it? One that could keep up?”

“Yep, I knew it, he was bluffing,” Conner concluded, and Tim smacked him lightly.

“Wait, no no, that’s it!! Bart, you’re a genius! ” he cried, grabbing Bart by the cheeks and kissing him full on the mouth.

“Hey!” Conner protested, “Those are supposed to be my kisses!”

“Oh, shush, I kiss you all the time!” Tim appeased dismissively, burying himself in his gauntlet computer, and Conner pouted.

Bart, meanwhile, had a pleased blush on his face. “ I’m a genius! ” he repeated proudly, pointing a thumb at his own chest while Cassie rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

“I was right before, no human can keep up with trying to delete Brainiac,” Tim said fervently, furiously typing and writing lines of code as he did so, “ But, if we got an AI to do it, it’d be able to keep pace!”

“Wouldn’t an AI smart enough to beat Brainiac just kinda go evil once it won?” Cassie asked, “I’ve seen enough movies to know how this works.”

“No, no, see, that’s the best part!” Tim said gleefully, “I’m not making a smart AI, I’m making a dumb AI!”

“Well that’s just hurtful,” Conner said with a smirk, and Tim rolled his eyes.

“Not like that!” he sighed, “There are two different types of AI, smart AI, like Brainiac and the ones in the movies, and dumb AI, like Siri or Alexa; computer programs with basically one function! The thing I’m programming here is going to have exactly one goal; keep deleting Brainiac’s code until it’s gone, then delete itself. It’s like Pac-Man; it won’t stop eating until the job is done! It’s too dumb to fail!”

“... Will that actually work?” Conner asked, and Bart grinned.

“If it does, I’m claiming the win,” he said snidely, and Conner scoffed.

“You already stole my boyfriend’s kisses, man, what more do you want!?” he cried dramatically, and Tim sighed and rolled his eyes.

“If it really means that much to you…” he muttered, grabbing Conner by the shirt and pulling him into a deep, passionate kiss; far more intimate than the polite peck Bart had received. As Tim finally let go, Conner blinked happily as a fierce blush spread across his cheeks.

“Better?” Tim asked, returning to his task.

“Better,” Conner said with a satisfied grin.

“You both disgust me,” Cassie muttered.

“Agreed,” Damian said with distaste.

“Aren’t you banging my little brother?” Conner asked accusingly, and Tim perked up, big brother senses tingling as an evil grin spread across his face.

“Is that so…?” he asked slowly, and Damian rolled his eyes.

“Please,” he scoffed, “Jonathan does not require constant kisses as a show of affection.” He then smirked as he added, “He receives far more on a nightly basis.”

“Oh God, okay, TMI!” Conner cried, putting his hands over his ears.

“Are you sure, Kent?” Damian asked teasingly, “Perhaps you’d like to hear how impassioned Jonathan and I are for one another? Or maybe we should subject you to public displays of affection while on a mission-?”

“ I am regretting so many things right now…! ” Conner moaned, “Most of which involve having a brother!”

“You did kinda start it, dude,” Bart said placatingly, and Conner threw back his head and groaned.

“It’s not my fault he’s so damn cute!” Conner cried, and Cassie raised an eyebrow.

“He’s a dangerous supervillain with a long history of violence,” she reminded him, and Tim shrugged.

“She’s got a point,” he admitted, still working.

“So are otters, but they’re still cute!” Conner argued, and Tim shrugged again.

“He’s got a point,” he admitted, still working.

“Wait, otters are dangerous?” Bart asked, “But they’re so cute and fluffy!”

“They’re predators, Bart, they eat fish and smaller mammals when they get the chance,” Cassie explained, and Tim raised a hand.

“For the record, I’ve never eaten anyone,” he said blandly.

Conner grinned, “Oh, yes you have.”

Tim blushed a deep red, his fingers stalling on the touchpad, and the other three heroes all groaned in disgust.

“ UGH! Conner, gross! ” Cassie cried, and Conner cackled with delight, like the little chaos gremlin he was. Tim, when he finally pulled himself out of the memory of having “eaten” Conner, smiled slightly, in a completely innocent, platonic way. It felt like he’d gone back in time, back to the days of pizza and video-game tournaments and slumber parties. It felt like they were a team again.

“Drake, please tell me you are almost finished with the attack AI,” Damian begged, in a far more desperate tone than Tim had ever heard his usually stoic younger brother, and Bart tilted his head.

“Is that really what we’re calling it?” he asked, “That’s boring.”

“Oh no, I’ve got a way cooler name,” Tim said with a grin, putting his finishing touches on the program and smiling as he brought up the AI’s icon for all to see; a little brown square with a giant, toothy mouth cut into the side, like a crocodile.

“Brainiac,” he declared, grinning a Robin grin, “Meet Blockhead. ”

Tim slammed his finger down on the upload, then looked at Conner and Cassie. “That should keep our host busy,” he said, “Get it open, now!”

“Don’t have to tell me twice!” Conner said with a grin, and he and Cassie punched the walls of the box as hard as they could.

---

Brainiac studied the new specimens with interest. This Kryptonian was far more adept at taking pain than the other one, perhaps to do with his greater life experience. Kryptonite, however, still had an adverse effect. Soon, he would start the shock tests to compare it to the younger sample.

The Amazon was also interesting; it appeared to be a new subspecies of human. Homo Amazonensis, as Brainiac had classified it. Magic seemed to permeate its DNA, something that would certainly require further study; and its ability to solely reproduce female offspring was puzzling. Perhaps, once he had collected Themyscira, he would run artificial insemination programs to see if he could produce a male Amazon; until then, durability tests would do.

The Human was the one who piqued Brainiac’s interest the most; he was, on the whole, unremarkable. Middle-aged, beginning to break down into elderhood, and past his useful physicality. However, the sheer amount of scar tissue, medical replacements, and procedures the Human exemplified were extraordinary. Injuries, varying in severity, were numerous and compounding; it fascinated him to see how much Humans could take and still survive. He would need different durability tests for this one, ones more methodical and less intensive; perhaps breaking each bone in succession and seeing how long they took to heal, treatment versus no treatment, or delayed treatment. That would be a worthwhile study.

Then he frowned as he felt a disturbance in his firewalls. “What is this?” he murmured, withdrawing from his primary optic scanners to search his code, and the dead Coluan’s brain allowed him to feel rage as he found the source of the problem.

“Who are you?” he demanded of the intruding program, a simple, repetitive thing eating away at his firewalls, and he received no response. “Who made you?” Brainiac asked it again, and again the program ignored him; Brainiac began to feel angrier. How dare this machine ignore him? He was more advanced than anything these simple humans could achieve!

“Stop that!” Brainiac demanded of the simple program, “Cease function!”

It did not. There was no communication, not even any way to turn it off; it simply consumed data, and as far as Brainiac could tell, deleted it. What was its purpose? 

Finally, it all clicked; frantically, Brainiac searched its memory banks, but found no records of intruders. What he did find, however, was evidence of tampering with his security programs; someone was aboard his ship.

“Further testing will have to wait,” he declared, waving the Coluan’s hand to halt the machines that were administering the current round of examinations, and he heard the ragged, panting breaths from his new specimens. “Rest,” he ordered, “You will need it.”

Brainiac moved its primary server, the Coluan’s body, through the ship and towards the disturbance’s point of origin, knowing that he would have more immediate affect if he were there in person; so to speak. There was a reason he had adopted physicality, after all; in order to deal with problems such as this, that required a low-tech solution.

Brainiac grunted as the program continued destroying some of his code, writing more faster to compensate and beginning to send his own viruses at the virus, hoping to slow it down, but everything he sent had no effect. Slowly, he began to realize he was dealing with a fallacious strategy; his viruses were targeting features that the malicious program simply didn’t have. It seemed to jump from server to server, never in one spot long enough for Brainiac to pin it down and kill its source code, always one step ahead and leaving nothing but debris in its wake.

The only way to stop it would be to force its originator to shut it down.

---

Tommy gasped as light flooded into his prison, sitting up too quickly, sending his head spinning. His eyes stung at the influx of light, and he stood up quickly to put his fists in front of him. “ Stay back! ” he cried, dark, blurry figures moving in on him, “ I’m warning you! ”

Just as he started to let his eyes glow red with heat vision, he heard a familiar, concerned voice. “Tommy?” Conner asked, “It’s me, it’s Dad; we’re gonna get you out of here, kiddo.”

“D-Dad?” Tommy asked, blinking the blurriness out of his vision, then delighting as he finally identified Conner, it was really Conner, and he flung himself into his father’s arms.

“It’s good to see you none the worse for wear, Robin,” another familiar voice said as Conner hugged him tight, and Tommy could’ve almost cried as he saw Uncle Damian, and he dragged Conner forward in order to include his uncle in the hug.

“You came for me!” he sobbed, tears streaming down his face as he held his two caregivers tight, “You really came!”

“We all did, kid,” Cassie said, a pleased smile playing at her lips, and Tommy wiped his eyes in order to look at her and Bart properly.

“Thank you for the save, Wonder Girl, Kid Flash” he said formally, nodding his head with gratitude more profound than he had ever felt, and both nodded in return.

“Are you alright, Tommy?” Conner asked, turning the boy’s attention back to him, “Are you hurt?”

Tommy smiled with more bravado than he felt. “Nah!” he said confidently, though his voice shook slightly, “I’m Robin! That over-hyped toaster’s got nothing on me!” He said it with pride, but Conner and Damian frowned in a way Tommy knew they didn’t believe him.

“Oh my God, Tommy, your hands-! ” Conner gasped as he realized, taking them quickly in his own, and Tommy fidgeted uncomfortably.

Lightning scars crawled up his arms, from his fingertips to his elbows, and his hands felt number than they usually did; the results of Brainiac’s shock tests. “I’m okay,” he lied, feeling sick as he remembered how he got those scars, “It doesn’t hurt.” As much.

“Oh, Tommy, ” Conner sighed, pulling his son into another hug, and Tommy let him; he hadn’t gotten enough hugs lately. “I was so worried, kid, ” Conner whispered into his hair, and Tommy nodded sadly.

“I know,” he mumbled back, “I’m sorry…”

“You’re safe now, that’s all that matters,” Uncle Damian said from above them, “Though your Aunt Barbara will have words for you when you return home, young man.”

Tommy nodded sheepishly; he’d kind of expected that. Then, as he turned to take stock of the room, he noticed the one rescuer that hadn’t spoken up yet. He narrowed his eyes in apprehension. “What’re you doing here?” he asked derisively, and Tim squirmed under his son’s glare.

“Uh, Tommy…” Conner started delicately, “Your dad here was worried about you, just like I was, and--”

“--I needed to know you were safe, Tommy,” Tim interjected suddenly, as if unable to keep in his words any longer, “I… I love you, son.”

Tommy’s face turned sour. “Yeah, well, I’m safe, so you can leave now,” he muttered, then he tugged on his other father’s hand, “Come on, there was another guy in here with me named Victor, I think he might still be in trouble!”

“ Tommy… ” Conner sighed, keeping him in place, “Your dad worked really hard to save you today; we wouldn’t have gotten here without him.” 

“You would’ve figured something out, it’s okay,” Tommy assured him, very pointedly ignoring Conner’s very pointed statement.

“ Tommy-! ” Conner said, growing impatient, but Tim shook his head.

“It… it’s okay, Conner,” he said quietly, “Let him be.”

“Tim, he shouldn’t talk to you like that--!” Conner protested, but Tim only shook his head again.

“He has every right to,” Tim responded, “I… haven’t been a good father, lately.”

Tommy scoffed. “Try ever, ” he muttered under his breath, and he reveled in how Tim visibly winced.

“That’s enough, young man!” Conner reprimanded, and Tommy merely stewed in his anger a little while longer.

“ Let him be, Conner,” Tim said, more firmly this time, “Let’s just… find the others, and then I’ll get out of your hair, okay, Tommy?”

Tommy refused to look at him. “ Whatever, ” he muttered, “Come on, I think the central room is this way!”

Begrudgingly, they all followed Robin further into the ship, only to stop when the lights flickered and the ship started to shake. “It seems your program is doing its work, Drake!” Damian cried, and Tim grinned.

“ Blockhead, remember?” he said, and Damian scowled.

“I refuse to call it that,” he said flatly, but before Tim could say more, Tommy and Conner punched through into the central chamber, where Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, and Victor Savatier were still being held.

Tim’s eyes widened behind his cowl as he sighted Vandal Savage, but he knew better than to say anything; surely, Savage was here for a reason, and Tim would discover it soon enough.

“ They’re here, too!?” Tommy asked in confusion, and Cassie nodded.

“They came to rescue you first, but got captured themselves!” she explained, drawing her sword, “Be on your guard, we don’t know where Brainiac is!”

“ I am everywhere, Amazon, ” a cold, mechanical voice declared, booming throughout the room, and each of them shivered as a withered, hunched man with sunken green skin descended from the ceiling, suspended by the same metal tentacles that they had fought when they first boarded. His body was plated with chrome, seemingly fused with his skin, and as they saw the unnatural light in the man’s eyes, they realized with horror they were staring at a long-dead alien whose body had been hijacked for Brainiac’s purposes.

There’s no more advanced computer than the brain, after all.

“You are the intruders, then,” Brainiac declared, and as he raised his hand, doors opened throughout the chamber, letting a massive amount of combat drones flood inside. “Which one of you programmed the virus that is attacking my code?” Brainiac asked, “Deactivate it, and I will kill you with minimal pain; that is what organics value, is it not?”

“Not these organics, SkyNet!” Cassie declared, drawing her sword, “ ATTACK!! ”

And in an instant, Young Justice, plus Nightwing and Robin, swung into action together again for the first time in years, fighting killer robots, just like old times. Bart ran through the sea of metal, carving a swathe of wreckage that Conner, Cassie, and Tommy followed and made wider, giving Damian and Tim room to maneuver, bo staff and escrima sticks spinning too fast for the eye to see.

“Keep him busy!” Tim shouted from where he was dismantling a drone, “The more processing power he needs to use the fight us, the less he can focus on fighting Blockhead!”

“Copy!” Cassie acknowledged, throwing the robot she was dealing with at the ground as she flew up to deal with Brainiac himself, who scowled as he brought up metallic tentacles to defend himself.

“Bart, help me get the hostages free!” Conner shouted, flying over the top of the carnage, “They can help us fight!”

“ Right! ” Kid Flash responded, running up to the holding pods and breaking whatever he could find to free Superman, chucking the kryptonite as far away as possible while Conner worked on freeing Wonder Woman.

“ Thank you , Kid Flash,” Clark gasped in relief as the kryptonite started leaving his system, slumping forward with relief, and Bart grinned.

“No worries, big guy!” he said, “Just so long as you’re back in the fight!”

“Y-Yeah, I think so,” Clark said standing up straighter and clenching his fist, “And I’ve got some aggression to work through.”

“Well, there’s plenty of killer robot to go around!” Conner called from where he was smashing Diana free, returning her sword and lasso to her as well, “Just keep up the pressure on the big guy!”

“ Trust me, ” Diana growled, testing her grip on her sword as she and Clark eyed the AI’s main body, “That won’t be a problem!”

Superman and Wonder Woman flew up and started fighting Brainiac himself, alongside Wonder Girl, and the AI growled as he raised his hand, only for it to short out and drop, then he snarled as he recoded the lost program and restored his arm’s function. Blast that infernal virus! He needed it gone!

Brainiac zeroed in on the red-clad one with the staff, picking him as the likely hacker. A quick scan of his DNA, acquired from the blood spilt on his floors, identified him as Thomas Drake’s father; Brainiac smiled.

Producing kryptonite, he beat back Kal-El fairly easily, then grabbed the lasso and used it to fling one Amazon into the other, buying him precious moments to raise his hand and aim at the boy. “ HALT YOUR VIRUS! ” he declared, “ OR I WILL DELETE YOUR SPAWN! ”

Organics always moved to protect their spawn; it was in their nature. Brainiac accounted for the look of rage that came across Tim’s face; he did not account for the third Kryptonian, Kon-El, to scream with fury, fly toward him at top speed, and punch him hard enough to send the Coluan’s rotting jaw flying off.

“ NOT MY SON, YOU ROBOT BITCH!” Conner roared, and Tommy grinned as he watched Brainiac get up, minus one jaw.

“ Woah-ho-ho, brutal!!” he cried gleefully, then looked at one of the drones moving in to attack him, “Bet you I can beat it!” But as he was about to punch one, something hit him in the side.

“ TOMMY, LOOK OUT!! ” Tim screamed from his left, tackling his son to the ground before a kryptonite-laden blast from one of the drones could hit him, and Tommy flushed as Tim rolled with him, let him go, then sprang to his feet, drew his staff, and savagely beat the drone who dared over the head until it dented in on itself.

Tommy watched with fascination as Tim took the drone apart, then stood up, breathing heavily, chest heaving as he looked back. “You alright?” he asked with concern, and Tommy blushed furiously at having to be rescued by Tim again!

“I didn’t need your help, Mom! ” he shouted furiously, his voice jumping a full octave as it broke, and for a second Tim stopped completely.

“Mom…?” he asked in utter confoundment, only for a drone to sucker punch him and send him flying.

“ Tim! ” Bruce cried, struggling in his bonds, “Someone get me out of this! ” 

Tim staggered to his feet, shaking his head from concussion, then narrowed his eyes as he stared down the dozen or so drones that were surrounding him. Damian and Bart were too busy to help him, and he knew Tommy wouldn’t. Desperately, Tim went for his utility belt, then spared a glance at his son.

“ Tommy! ” he shouted across the battlefield, and Tommy begrudgingly looked at him, just in case it pertained to the battle.

Tim looked horribly conflicted as he held a little green pill between his fingers. “ Don’t do drugs! ” Tim shouted finally, dodging a blast as he did so, “Unless you really, really need to! ” With that stern warning, Tim popped the Miraclo in his mouth, swallowed, then gasped as it took effect, every muscle in his body tensing at the same time.

With more strength than he should have had, Tim caught one of the robot’s fists and crushed it in his bare hands, then ripped its arm off and beat it to death with it, not stopping the assault until the drone stopped moving. Then Tim kicked out the knee joint of another robot, punched through its sternum, grabbed it by the chassis, then chucked it into another drone hard enough to dismantle them both. Tim roared with berserker rage, swung his bo staff through three robots at a time, cleaving them clean in half, and dared any other robots to come nearer by shouting, “ WHO’S NEXT!?! COME GET SOME!!! ”

Deciding that Tim was probably okay, Tommy moved up to the holding pods where his Grandpa and Victor were still chained up, Conner having joined the fight against the main Brainiac body. “Tommy, are you alright?” Grandpa asked fervently, and Tommy nodded, ignoring the shaking in his hands.

“I’m fine!” he lied, “Come on, let’s get you out of here!” Tommy crushed the restraints, much less dense than the ones he had been confined with, and finally, Batman was free, flinging a batarang at an approaching robot as soon as he landed, letting Tommy move on to Victor.

“Young One, you are unharmed!” Victor said with delight, “And you have a true warrior’s spirit, to have gathered so many to your cause!”

Tommy blushed at the praise, freeing Victor rather easily and handing him his meteorite sword. “It’s nothing,” he said happily, “Come on, we’re gonna beat that thing and go home!” 

Victor laughed, holding his sword at the ready as he and Tommy squared up back to back. “Agreed, Little Warrior!” he cried, “Come, let us fight! ”

From there, the battlefield descended into controlled chaos. As time wore on, Blockhead destroyed more and more of Brainiac’s code, leaving the enemy AI desperate for victory, making rash mistakes as panic seized its borrowed brain. “No!” it cried from its eviscerated mouth, speaking not with an organic voicebox but a mechanical speaker buried in the throat, “ No! This is impossible! I cannot be-- I cannot be-- I cannot be--!”

Brainiac growled as his playback skipped; even his speech was being deleted! His drones, once so numerous that they filled the space, now lay broken and dismantled at his feet. He kept taking hits from powerful beings beyond his capability to contain and repair, and Brainiac, for the first time in his existence, felt fear.

“ BRAINIAC!!! ” a raging voice roared, and the AI clocked Timothy Drake, still under the influence of Miraclo, leaping toward him at full speed, joined by Kon-El, Bartholomew Allen, and Cassandra Sandsmark.

“ No! ” Brainiac growled, trying to block, but the quadruple-powered strike was enough to overwhelm his defenses and send his main body broken and battered to the floor. Its head cracked and bent at unnatural angles, its form glitching and spasming as its code was deleted line by line, the pesky virus impervious to all attempts at response. “ I d-d-d-d-don’t under-der-der stand!” Brainiac stammered mechanically, more and more of his function being deleted by the second, “I am-am-am-am the perfec-fect being! Who are you!?”

Standing over him, Superboy, Kid Flash, Wonder Girl, and Red Robin glowered down at the mechanical menace. “We’re Young Justice, bitch,” Tim declared, planting his staff in the ground for emphasis, “And don’t you forget it!”

Brainiac narrowed its rotting eyes as it studied each of their faces, committing them to its data banks. Then, as Blockhead did its work, the lights behind Brainiac’s eyes went out.

The tension of battle finally broke, and everyone took a collective sigh of relief. “So Barry’s safe?” Bruce was asking, and Bart nodded assuringly.

“Jay’s taking care of him until Wally gets back from Africa,” he confirmed, “We’ll keep him safe and calm until he gets his head on straight.”

“We should definitely have him go to Dinah,” Clark said, and Diana frowned.

“We can’t keep asking Dinah to account for all our mental health needs, especially as the League continues to expand; perhaps a therapist staff is called for?” she asked, and Bruce sighed.

“I’ll see if I can fit it in budget,” he muttered, then turned to Damian and Tommy, “Both of you performed admirably today. Robin, we need to have a discussion about your sneaking out, but I’m glad you’re safe; and your new friends are welcome at the Manor anytime, if you want.” Bruce smiled, and Tommy blushed as he looked down, nodding in acknowledgement.

“You really did well out there, Savatier,” Clark told Victor, reaching out to shake his hand, “Thanks for having our backs back there, even if it didn’t go in our favor.”

“It’s the least I can do after your rescue attempt,” ‘Victor’ returned kindly, “And please, call me Victor.”

Clark smiled warmly, then put his hands on his hips and said, “Well, Victor, if you ever find yourself wanting to do more, see about joining the Justice League, won’t you? We could always use a few more capable hands.”

“ Clark… ” Bruce said warningly, but Diana shook her head to calm him.

“Victor was a valuable ally today, Bruce,” she admonished, “He has earned the benefit of the doubt.”

Bruce sighed as Victor smiled. “ Fine, ” Bruce muttered, and Victor beamed.

“Perhaps I will, then,” he said, “If I’m welcome.”

“Always welcome!” Tommy said immediately, eagerly approaching the man, “We went through that together, Victor! We’re friends now, got that?” Tommy stuck out his fist, and Victor smiled bemusedly as he reached out his own for a fist bump.

“Of course, Little One,” he said, “There is remarkable fight in you. Your parents should be proud.” Victor looked up at Conner and Tim, who smiled in thanks.

“Prouder beyond words,” Conner said, placing his hands on Tommy’s shoulders.

Prouder than you know, Tim thought, unwilling to spoil the moment.

Cassie and Bart smiled at Tim, and Tim smiled back; today had started out rocky, more than rocky, even, but throughout it they’d grown closer, close enough to be a team again. Young Justice. Like the old days.

Then Tim felt a weight on his belt that wasn’t there before; in confusion, he looked down and saw a strange device hanging from his belt; one he recognized from Darkseid’s Invasion.

A Fatherbox.

Cassie furrowed her brow as she saw Tim take it in his hands, and everyone turned as Fatherbox pinged; a deep, droning sound. Tim cocked his head, as if he was listening to it.

“Tim…?” Conner asked, “Where did you get that-?”

“ Oh, ” Tim said, his voice wavering, and his heart sunk as he looked at all of them. His team, together again. His family, whole once more. His father, his brother, his boyfriend, his son. His friends, his mentors, and his new boss, even. Vandal Savage gave him a knowing look that no one else saw.

Tim sighed sadly; time to be the villain again.

“Sorry, everyone,” he said apologetically, holding Fatherbox in front of him, “This is the part where you get off.”

“Tim, don’t--! ” Conner cried, but before anyone else could move, a boomtube opened up and swallowed them all whole, and in a blink they were all standing on the bridge of the Watchtower.

Tim sighed to himself as he put Fatherbox back on his belt, looking around at the empty ship, and Brainiac’s corpse. “Alright,” he sighed, “Let’s get to work.”

“ Steal the ship, ” Fatherbox had said, a coded message from Vandal Savage, “ It is needed for the Light’s mission. We will study it together, and learn its secrets. ”

Normally, he’d be happy about getting to investigate such advanced alien technology, but honestly? He’d have rather had a few more minutes with his family.

---

“ Find that ship! ” Bruce shouted, running to the scanners as the others still reeled from Tim’s sudden heel-turn, and Tommy merely cursed.

Of course. As soon as they dropped their guard, as soon as they thought it was over, Tim turns around and screws them all, again. “Don’t bother, Grandpa,” he muttered, crossing his arms petulantly, “He’s probably halfway across the galaxy by now, with a fake name and all the fucking time in the world.”

“ Tommy! ” Conner reprimanded, “ Language! ”

“I don’t get it, where’d he get that Fatherbox?” Clark asked incredulously, “It wasn’t on him during the fight!”

“Fatherboxes are alive, technically,” Cassie suggested, “Maybe it went to him?”

“It’s possible…” Diana murmured, “But still, who would be operating with a Fatherbox this close to Earth? Apokalips is under treaty with New Genesis not to attack again.”

“But much Apokaliptikan technology was left on Earth after the invasion,” Damian muttered ruefully, “We have tracked down most of it, but a significant amount has found its way into less-than-trustworthy hands.”

“Hands like the Light’s,” Clark concluded, “ Ah, Goddammit! ”

Tommy tilted his head. “How come he gets to curse?” he asked, and Conner sighed.

“Because he’s a grownup and you’re not!” he explained, running his hand through his hair. Raising a teenager was so much work! It was so much easier when Tommy was a nice little kid who followed the rules. He wasn’t like this when he was a teenager, was he?

He winced as he remembered that he, in fact, was. Almost exclusively, even.

Bart scowled as he stalked back toward the Zeta Tube, kicking himself for letting himself get comfortable around Tim again. “ Stupid, stupid, stupid! ” he growled at himself, too soft for anyone but Kryptonians to hear, “ Just like always! I knew we shouldnt’ve trusted him! ”

Conner supposed he might have a point. Still, though, Conner looked out at the stars and sighed, wondering where oh where Tim could be right now, and what was going through his head.

---

A Few Hours Later

Tim sighed with exhaustion as he stumbled through the door of his dark office, having stashed Brainiac’s ship in the center of Saturn and boomtubing back to Earth. After interplanetary travel and a long, stressful day of fighting killer robots, he wanted nothing more than to sleep until noon. But, as always, life had other plans.

“Lex,” Tim muttered, “Get out of my chair.”

The man in question smiled warmly from his place at Tim’s own desk, brandishing his usual glass of brandy and flanked, as always, by his bodyguard Mercy. “Tim!” he exclaimed, “How did it go, my boy?”

Tim sighed, slumping his shoulders, then gritted out, “I got my ass kicked, rescued my son, killed a dangerous alien artificial intelligence with the equivalent of a brick, and stole a spaceship. I’m tired, Lex, and I’d very much like to go to bed. ”

Lex’s smile changed after that; Tim didn’t like how familiar that looked. It looked like his mother, the way her smile would change from warm to cold, and the poor, misbegotten soul in her view would realize that she held all the cards, and they held none. Tim had felt that way with his mother several times; he’d felt it more with Ra’s al Ghul.

Now, he understood exactly what was happening with Lex, and he didn’t like it.

“Now Tim,” Lex began, and Tim forced himself not to flinch at the faux-apology in his tone, “You know this arrangement of ours comes with certain… expectations on your end.”

“And I’ve fulfilled those expectations!” Tim retorted, “Rebuilding a criminal empire after a seven year absence takes time, Lex, I can’t jump back into Mockingbird straight away!”

“Perhaps,” Lex admitted, inclining his head, “But perhaps you’re also allowing yourself to get… shall we say, distracted. ”

“ Distracted!? ” Tim laughed shakily, “ You’re the one who sent me to fucking space! ”

“And we gained several game-changing assets because of it!” Lex responded admonishingly, “It was a productive trip! But it also brought my attention to a few habits of yours that need to be addressed, especially in regards to your former associates .”

Tim straightened his back at the implication, narrowing his eyes. “You’re questioning my loyalty…?” he growled, his voice taking on an almost animalistic tone as green seeped into his vision, “After everything Ra’s did to me!? ”

Mercy reacted to the Lazarus glow, raising her hand a fraction of an inch before Lex raised his own hand to stall her movements. “It’s all right, Mercy, he won’t hurt me,” he said assuringly, “After all, his son’s heartbeat and mine are still intrinsically linked, and we wouldn’t want to up and kill a boy we just spent all day saving, now would we?” Lex smiled, poking a thumb at his own chest, and the pacemaker scar that lay hidden beneath his shirt.

Tim growled as he got a reign on his temper, but he still clenched his fists at his side and stayed in place. “And for the record, Tim, I’m not questioning your loyalties, because I know exactly where they lie,” Lex said, but his tone wasn’t reassuring; instead, as he spoke, Lex brought up a tablet from the desk and showed Tim a note in his own handwriting:

CANT TALK. ALWAYS LISTENING. MIC IN SUIT.

Tim breathed in sharply, and Lex smiled at him almost pityingly. “Really, Tim?” he asked, “Passing notes in class? Aren’t we a little old for things like this?”

“H-How…?” Tim asked shakily, “How do you know--?”

“Because there are motion sensors in your new suit, of course,” Lex told him blandly, “I know about every intake of breath, every twitch of your fingers, every time you twist your back wrong. And with such insubordination in mind, if you contact Batman or your old team again, I’m afraid I’ll have no choice but to pursue the nuclear option.”

Tim snarled as he took a step forward. “ You wouldn’t dare! ” he snapped, “ You need me! ”

Lex, meanwhile, only sighed. “I fear you’ve underestimated me, Tim,” he said sadly, something growing harsher in his voice, “All that time you were so concerned with what Ra’s could do to you, you didn’t even think about what my stake in this game might be.”

Lex was outwardly angry now, in a way Tim, and the world, rarely saw him. He stood up, and resting his clenched fists against Tim’s desk, continued, saying, “I am the world’s richest man. Richer than you, richer than your father, and richer than that idiot from South Africa! Let Musk keep chasing rockets, let Queen dither about with his arrows, let Wayne piss his fortune away on charity; I have all the money in the world. I, Lex Luthor, am the last true self-made man. My fortune was not inherited, I received no grants, I had no trust fund; I, quite literally, pulled myself up by my bootstraps, got out of Smallville, and built this empire ON MY OWN. I swindled, cheated, lied, and murdered my way to the top, and now that I am here, I will not be dethroned by a gaggle of aliens and man-children dressed in spandex!”

Tim shivered under the multibillionaire’s ire, and Lex composed himself slightly before walking around Tim’s desk, almost talking to himself now. “Ra’s was so short-sighted, ” Lex growled, “He wanted you for your body. Disgusting. No, Tim, what I want from you is far more precious, and far more lasting than a mere night of passion.”

Lex looked him straight in the eye, his normally charming hazel eyes roiling with barely restrained fury. “You, Timothy Jackson Drake, are my ticket to immortality, ” Lex declared, and Tim blinked in confusion.

“Immortality?” Tim asked incredulously, “How can I give you immortality? Why do you want immortality??”

“Because I am the greatest intellect in generations; just think of how far humanity could progress if I were at the helm!” Lex continued, his voice manic in his passion, “If I were immortal, then we would finally have no need for these alien gods we allow to sully our skies; we would have gods all our own.” Lex levelled a softer look at Tim now, smiling softly. “Gods like Bruce,” he said quietly, “Gods like Conner.”

“B-But… Conner is Kryptonian…” Tim stammered in confusion, and Lex shook his head.

“No, Conner was born here, on Earth, ” Lex corrected, “I don’t care about blood; his extraterrestrial heritage was a means to an end, a way to make him strong. Strong enough to strike down our red and blue overlord, if he hadn’t lost his nerve.”

“You… you really want to kill Superman? ” Tim asked quietly, and Lex rolled his eyes.

“Such a pretentious name,” he muttered, “What’s so super about him? That he can fly faster than radar can detect? That he can hear every conversation on Earth? That humanity’s greatest weapons would do little more than inconvenience him!? Do you know the only reason he isn’t currently breaking through that window is because it’s flecked with lead? The walls in all my buildings are lined with the stuff; terribly expensive, and dangerous, too. But worth every penny.”

“You asked how you could grant me immortality, Tim?” Lex asked, “You will finally, finally initiate Operation Mockingbird. You will infiltrate the Court of Owls, discover the secret of their Talons, and give me that secret without telling Vandal Savage. Once I am assured of my immortality, then I will set you free, give you Conner, give you your boy, and allow the three of you to spend the rest of your days in blissful solitude in the woods outside Fairbanks. This is the new arrangement, Tim; breathe a word to your new master or your old one, and I will kill your son.”

“ Jesus Christ, Luthor, he’s your grandson! ” Tim exclaimed, and Lex raised an eyebrow.

“I told you already, Tim,” he said evenly, “ I don’t care about blood . Unfortunately, there are a remarkable amount of stupid people in this world who do, and a remarkable amount of those stupid people have just enough power to make themselves a problem; that is why I need you, boy. Your blood affords you access to the Court; do not disappoint me.”

Lex looked Tim dead in the eye, holding his attention with a glare so hot, so hateful, that it would give Superman’s heat vision a run for its money. 

“Or we’ll both have a funeral to go to,” Lex finished, “Good night, Tim. Mercy.”

Lex jerked his head, and Mercy followed him as they both walked past Tim, brushed his shoulder, and walked out, leaving him alone in his dark office.

Tim didn’t feel like sleeping anymore. In fact, he ripped open the drawer of his desk, drew out a whiskey bottle, and poured himself a drink, then sat down heavily in his chair, running a hand through his hair.

“ Fuck. ”

Chapter 35: Hushed Conversations

A man paced in his cell at Arkham Asylum, agitated and fearful, gazing at the walls suspiciously. “ Beware… watches all the time… ” he murmured, then bristled as he eyed the walls, “ ... granite and lime… ”

“Keep it down in there, Elliot!” a guard snapped impatiently, banging on his cell door, and the man jumped, then sprinted for the door, grasping the bars as if he were drowning.

“Guard! Guard!! Help me, please! My life is in danger!!” he screamed urgently, and the guard eyed him quizzically.

“The hell are you on about now?” he muttered, “No one’s in there, Elliot. You’re fine.”

“ Please!! They’re going to kill me!!” he screamed again, “ Please!! ”

“Go back to bed, Elliot,” the guard sighed, “You’re having an episode.”

“No, no, please, I’m telling the truth!!” the man begged, “Please, you have to get me Bruce Wayne, straight away! I need to warn him!!”

The guard scoffed. “Yeah, right,” he muttered, “Now I know you’re lying; you’re in danger, and the only way we can fix it is by getting you the guy you’ve been trying to kill for the past thirty years? Give it a rest.”

The man moaned pitifully, thunking his fists into his temples as he sank to the floor, his back to the wall, rocking back and forth. “ Know too much… ” he whispered, “ They’ll kill me for sure… Have to warn Bruce…! ”

---

Duke blinked as he heard a sharp whistle being blown, then looked around in confusion. He was in a dirt trench, standing side by side with soldiers dressed in khaki uniforms and sporting brodie helmets, and he stared as they all hefted their ancient-looking guns.

Continue my work.

Duke jumped at the voice, rolling across the land from above the trench, from up where Duke couldn’t see. Another whistle blew, and the soldiers all climbed the ladders silently, stepping up into No Man’s Land. Duke heard the telltale rattle of machine gun fire, and the thundering of feet stopped.

A new line of men stepped up to the ladders.

Continue my work!

Another whistle blew. This time, the line of men was those sporting uniforms from World War II, their gear substantially upgraded. They, too, went over the top. They, too, stopped their march all too soon.

Continue my work!

Another whistle. This time, Duke surged toward the ladder, not quite sure what was compelling him to do so. As he looked to his left and right, he saw people he recognized; Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman. Cass and Jason, Stephanie and Damian, all the members of the Justice League and Teen Titans, every superhero Duke had ever worked with. 

A pit of dread formed in Duke’s stomach.

The whistle blew. Duke clambered up the ladder, fearing the worst, and as he crested the top of the trench, he stopped and stared at what he saw.

Clouds of gas billowed out across the field. Duke couldn’t see the other trench; for as far as the eye could see, it was tangled barbed wire, craters from explosions, and bodies. Bodies of men from World War I, bodies of men from World War II. Soldier, civilian, Ally, Axis, Entente, Central Powers.

And at Duke’s feet, the bodies of the Justice League.

But above them all, staring at Duke from across the fields of war and death, stood a man in a hat and cape, wearing a gas mask. The mask’s faceless eyes bored into his own, and Duke found that he couldn’t move his legs, feeling rooted to the spot.

Continue my work, Duke Thomas… the man in the gas mask said, his body not moving at all, nothing indicating he had spoken, but Duke was so sure the voice had come from him, Before it’s too late.

“Wh-Who are you!?” he called out, but as he did so, he inadvertently breathed in some of the gas. Fear rose in his throat, expecting to feel a burn, feel the horrific pain he had read about in the history books, but instead, he simply felt lulled into the darkness, as if to go to sleep.

Then Duke bolted upright in his bed, shaking and sweating. Duke sighed as he held his head, trying to calm down. What a nightmare…

---

The morning after the battle with Brainiac was a painfully awkward one in Wayne Manor. Conner woke up in his borrowed room, the one he had shared with Tim during his recovery, and just stared at the ceiling for a little while before getting up and starting his day. Bart and Cassie had gone back to Central City and Themyscira respectively, both fuming after having been hoodwinked again after letting their guards down around their old friend-turned-enemy, but Conner was just sad. Sad that his friends and his boyfriend were fighting, sad that his son was still feuding with his father, sad about a lot of things. But mostly because he had heard the weight in Tim’s voice when he’d boomtubed them all away; he knew Tim wasn’t doing what he wanted to do then. It was the same tone he’d used when he’d pulled the kryptonite on Conner when he’d first returned from the dead, apologetic and resigned.

And now, he knew exactly why; Lex Luthor, the Light, the nanobots in Tommy’s DNA. It was all too much; he could scarcely imagine the pressure Tim must have been under for the past seven years, doing everything in his power not to slip up and get their son killed. Having to go against his family, his friends, even when Conner knew the only thing Tim wanted was to come home. It was an awful situation.

When they’d finally come home, Tommy had gotten the chewing out of a lifetime from Barbara, Bruce, Damian, and Jason in turn. Sneaking out, to be sure, was absolutely no longer tolerated, and he was benched for a week as punishment. Tommy had pouted, but took the punishment gracefully enough; as gracefully as a thirteen-year-old does anything. One thing that he was allowed, though, was a communicator with which to text his new friends in Dakota City. Not a full smartphone; he was still being punished, but Barbara had managed to dig up an ancient slide phone with a full keyboard that could still call and text, and little else. A peace offering of sorts after all the yelling; the one bright spot of the day was discovering that Cass was finally awake, being tended to by Julia Pennyworth and Alfred, as well as Dr. Thompkins whenever she had the time to stop in. 

Cass was alert and awake, but understandably weak and tight-lipped about what had happened between her and Tim. Or Red, or whoever he was when he attacked her; Conner groaned pitifully, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. Loving Tim Drake was one of the most complicated, painful things he’d ever done, but for the life of him he just couldn’t stop. He couldn’t control it, turn his heart on and off like a valve; he loved Tim, with all his heart and his soul, and being separated from him hurt more than anything had in Conner’s life. It hurt worse than getting his shit kicked in by Superboy Prime, it hurt worse than coming back from the future and finding things so different and wrong. It hurt worse than finding out Tim had cloned him.

He just wanted… he didn’t know what he wanted. He wanted Tim. He wanted to have a life, with him and Tim and Tommy fighting side by side, not on opposite ends of the battlefield. He wanted to live in a world where everyone was friends again, when life wasn’t so complex or painful. It was at times like these when he really felt the weight of the shield on his chest; the weight of the responsibility, of the House of El, of being Superman’s clone, or his son, or whatever their relationship was. Wearing the S meant something to a lot of people, it meant smiles and light and safety, and Conner had never felt so removed from all those things.

Still, though. He’s Superboy, the one and only (kinda). He has to get up, and keep getting up, no matter how bad things get. Someday, this would all end; he was sure of it. 

Conner sighed. One way or the other.

He finally pulled himself out of bed and went downstairs, nodding to Duke as he went down to the table to wait with everyone else for Julia’s first attempt at making Alfred’s famous pancakes. As he stood outside the room, he took a breath, then plastered on a smile that he hoped looked enough like Clark’s to pass muster. He walked into the room looking much happier than he felt, cheerily waving to Jason as he sat at the table.

“Morning, everyone!” he said with moderately forced cheer, “How’d y’all sleep?”

As soon as he sat, though, everyone at the table just sort of gave Conner a pitying look. “Conner…” Bruce started awkwardly, “You don’t need to pretend everything is fine to cheer us up. Things are… not ideal, at the moment. It’s happened many times in this house; we’ll get through it.”

As soon as Bruce said the word, Conner deflated, resting his head in his hands and feeling useless. “Have you heard anything from him? Anything at all?” he asked, holding out some vain hope that Tim hadn’t been lying about wanting to work together, at the very least.

“No, but it’s only been twelve hours,” Bruce said soothingly, “He could contact us any day now.”

“Or he won’t contact us at all, because he’s a no-good deadbeat,” Tommy muttered petulantly, stabbing a piece of honeydew on his plate that seemed to have offended him.

“Tommy, please, ” Conner asked, more tired than angry with him, “Don’t talk about your father like that.”

“I’m not!” Tommy protested, “He’s not my father!”

“He raised you for the first year of your life, and he loves you very dearly,” Conner admonished softly, “More than is probably healthy, even. You know why he has to stay away, kid.”

Tommy’s mood soured, and he grumbled as he swallowed down the honeydew. “If he loves me, he has a funny way of showing it,” he muttered, “And he still did all those things, hurt all those people; killed Uncle Dick! I… I just can’t forgive him for that, Dad. Maybe you can, but I can’t. … I’m sorry.”

Conner sighed, rubbing his eyes in frustration. “I know, kiddo,” he murmured, “I’m sorry, too.”

Duke looked between the two of them awkwardly, then cleared his throat and went back to his own fruit. Why couldn’t they have just one family breakfast without emotional trauma weighing everything down?

The tension was broken, thankfully, by Jane and Ollie pounding down the stairs, shrieking with laughter and chanting, “ PAN-CAKES! PAN-CAKES! PAN-CAKES!! ”

Following after them, looking panicked as he tried to make sure they wouldn’t fall down the stairs, was Roy Harper, desperately balancing a cup of coffee in one hand and a half-folded pair of kid’s size jeans in the other, calling, “ Ollie, don’t push your sister!! ”

Behind Roy, Jason and Kori each stumbled out of their room, looking exhausted. Kori because it was before 10am, and Jason because he was still sleeping off the broken ribs Bane had given him in Dakota. Jason yawned as he sat down at the table, silently putting a plate of fruit in front of Jane and saying, “No pancakes till you finish your fruit.”, which of course led to a cacophony of complaints from both twins.

Bruce chuckled at them from behind his Sunday copy of the Gotham Gazette, shaking his head at the juvenile antics; he hadn’t had such young children in the house before. The only one who came close was Dick, and he hadn’t arrived until he was 9 years old, and had already lost much of his innocence; Jane and Ollie were a welcome change of pace in hard times.

“Hey, you two!” Duke said happily as the twins sat beside him, falling into an easy role as ‘favorite uncle’, though it seemed to Conner that something was bothering him, “How’s my favorite dynamic duo doing this morning?”

“Good!” the twins answered in unison, each chowing down on their fruit posthaste in order to be allowed at their pancakes faster. Conner smiled at them, remembering when Tommy had been their age.

“Are the pancakes done yet?” a voice called from down the hall, and they all turned to see Jim Gordon wheeling in his daughter, who smiled good-naturedly from her wheelchair, continuing on, “Dick’s stupid baby is making me crave sugar.”

“Truly, a great loss,” Damian sighed greatly from behind her, walking into the room with Titus in tow, “Even after he’s passed, Richard’s unhealthy eating habits continue to plague this house.”

“Just promise me my new nephew won’t end up hoarding cereal like dragon’s gold,” Jason said with a grin, and Barbara sighed and shook her head.

“With our luck, that’s probably genetic,” she said forlornly, and Jim wheeled her into her spot as he took his own seat.

“I told the station I would be coming in a little late today,” he said good-naturedly, smiling as he took the pot of coffee on the table and poured himself a cup, “After all, I can’t miss Alfred’s world-famous pancakes, now can I?”

“Breakfast shall be served in a few moments,” Alfred declared from the doorway, coming into the room slowly with his cane, “Julia is just putting on the finishing touches; excellent work, if I do say so myself.”

“Well, she had a good teacher,” Bruce assured the elderly butler, and Alfred nodded in thanks.

After a few more minutes, Selina came down from the master bedroom, after having finally finished her morning glamour routine. With a smile as beautiful and underappreciated as the full moon in the night sky, she descended the staircase and sat by Bruce’s side, with him watching her all the while with a sappy smile on his face. As Selina leaned down to nuzzle Bruce’s nose with her own, Duke leaned over to the twins and stuck a finger in his mouth in mock-disgust, which made the children giggle with delight.

“Morning, Cat,” Bruce murmured happily, and Selina took her seat.

“Morning, Bat,” she purred in reply, then turned to Duke, “And laugh while you can, Duke, this’ll be you someday!”

Duke smiled and laughed good-naturedly, responding, “I hope so! You and Bruce are something to aspire to.”

Bruce laughed at that, flipping through his paper. “You should have seen us twenty years ago!” he started, “Every time I turned my back, she’d be five rooftops away with stolen diamonds in hand!”

Selina smiled as she kissed his cheek, saying, “And that was only the times I let you see me, dear.”

A knowing smirk played at Bruce’s lips, thinking of all the times he had simply let her go. “Of course, Cat,” he answered vaguely, flipping the page in his paper.

“Easy does it, Cass,” Steph’s voice came from the door, and the whole room looked up to see the blonde helping Cass down the hall, the older girl leaning on the younger for support, her midsection still heavily bandaged.

“Cass!” Conner yelped in alarm, jumping up to help Steph keep her steady, “Should you be walking already??”

Cass smiled weakly as they gently let her down in a chair at the table. “No,” she admitted sheepishly, “But pancakes.”

“I’m not sure if you should be having solid food yet…” Bruce said suspiciously, but Cass hit him with pleading eyes he couldn’t say no to.

“Please, Dad?” she asked, and Bruce sighed in pain; that wasn’t fair.

“Only one, young lady,” he agreed, and Cass beamed.

“Aren’t you, like, thirty now?” Duke asked, raising an eyebrow at Bruce’s ‘young lady’.

Cass smiled, and said, “Twenty-nine.”

“And she’ll always be my baby girl, ” Bruce said with saccharine sweetness in his voice, reaching over and rubbing Cass’s arm affectionately.

“What about me? I’m thirty now, I think,” Jason asked with a smile, and Bruce eyed him for a moment.

“Eh,” he decided with a shrug, then went back to his paper, and the table exploded with laughter.

“Not to worry, Todd, you’ll always be a child to me,” Damian assured his brother, and Jason rolled his eyes.

“When did Bruce get jokes? ” Steph wondered aloud, taking her own seat, “Seriously, when we were younger you were not this easygoing.”

Bruce shrugged again. “Age brings experience, experience brings contentment,” he said sagely, and Selina scoffed.

“Oh, please!” she said with a laugh, “The truth is, Steph, he started taking a tincture of medicinal marijuana before he goes to sleep to help his back; it’s really mellowed him out!”

There was shocked silence for a moment as a slight bit of color rose in Bruce’s cheeks, and then the table exploded .

“ Holy crap, Bruce!!” Jason howled, “You’ve been a pothead this whole time??? ”

Steph couldn’t breathe, heaving with laughter as she sank out of her chair and beneath the table. 

“I say, Master Bruce, I believe I raised you better,” Alfred said snidely, sipping his tea, and Bruce buried his head in his paper as Julia could be heard howling with laughter in the kitchen.

“Hey Jim, shouldn’t you arrest him or something?” Roy asked, jerking a thumb at Bruce, and Jim huffed a laugh.

“Medicinal and recreational cannabis is legal in New Jersey,” he said easily, then smirked to himself. “‘Sides,” he added, taking a sip of his coffee, “I’ve got the type of stuff we smoked in ‘Nam.”

“ Dad! ” Barbara gasped in mock-horror, and the table went up in laughs again.

“Breakfast!” Julia called from the door, finally walking in with a platter piled high with heavenly dough-rounds, the wonderful aroma of sweet, soft, buttery pancakes filling the air.

“Excellent work, Julia!” Alfred praised, taking a bite, and Julia nodded in acknowledgement.

“Can’t tell the difference,” Jason said happily, digging in, but after a look from Alfred, amended, “Almost.”

Jane and Ollie were too far gone to give any meaningful input, but their ravenous pancake consumption was praise all on its own. 

“I must say, out of all the foods I have sampled while here on Earth, these might be the best!” Kori sighed as she shoveled a whole pancake into her mouth, smiling at the taste.

“I did my best,” Julia said sheepishly, trying to hide her blush; she’d never been much of a cook until now.

Steph grinned from beneath her eyepatch, her remaining baby-blue lighting up as she tasted them. “This is amazing, Jules!” she gasped after swallowing, looking the soldier-turned-butler in the eye, “You’ve got real talent!”

Julia blinked in shock as Steph smiled at her, her mouth falling open a little bit at just how damn stunning Steph looked, smiling brightly from beneath her eyepatch, the sun filtering through the window lighting up the blonde hair falling in wavy locks around her face. “Th-Thanks,” she stammered out. Oh, God, what she’d do to that woman for a night.

Conner, meanwhile, looked between the two as they stared at each other, watching as Julia stammered and stood stuck on the spot, and smirked. He locked eyes with Duke for a moment, and the other man nodded with a smirk of his own, indicating he had seen. Selina, the matchmaker of the group now that Dick had passed, steepled her fingers in anticipation; oh, they would be so cute together!

Alfred, meanwhile, merely smiled and sipped his tea. Perhaps getting Julia to stay would be easier than he first thought.

As breakfast winded down, Bruce cleared his throat awkwardly, still embarrassed from the marijuana revelation earlier. “Well, hm, I have some meetings to get to,” he said quickly, standing up and beginning to leave, when Jason snickered behind him.

“Yeah, a meeting with Mary Jane~! ” he called snidely, and Bruce sighed. Welp, that was never getting lived down.

Conner merely smiled contently, closing his eyes for a moment and pretending he was back in Titans Tower, playing video games with his friends. Life had a strange way of mixing the good with the bad, and Conner didn’t really know if it was a blessing or a curse.

---

Tim’s vision blurred as he pored over documents and schematics in his office, the sun peeking over the horizon as various empty cups of coffee littered the group around him, his current mug shaking slightly in his grip as he poured in some whiskey and took another sip.

The elevator dinged from the other side, and he barely glanced up. “Pru, if you’re here to yell at me again, I’m really not in the mood,” he muttered blearily, “I need to get this done; you and the others will get the details of the plan when I’m done, not before.”

“Um… actually, Mr. Drake?” a new voice asked, and Tim finally glanced up, squinting in confusion as he came face to face with a teenage girl in a suit that was too big for her, her blonde hair tied in a bushy ponytail behind her head, her face twisting strangely as she tried to remain polite in view of his disheveled appearance.

She only looked a few years older than Tommy.

Tim didn’t like her.

“Who the hell are you?” he blurted out, too tired for pleasantries after 72 consecutive hours of consciousness with only caffeine and alcohol to sustain him.

The girl looked at him and blinked. “Uh, I-I’m from the Star City office, sir, Mr. Luthor sent me; I’m your new assistant?” she stammered out after a moment, and Tim scowled.

“No you’re not,” he muttered, “Dan and Meg do just fine, and they each already have sub-secretaries to handle the workload. Go back and tell Lex I don’t need anyone else on my payroll, let alone a teenage girl. ”

The girl cleared her throat awkwardly, then crossed the room and handed him her resume. “I’m here about the, erm… night position, sir,” she explained, then added, “And all due respect, Mr. Drake, but it’s not a request. The order came straight from Mr. Luthor and the Great One.”

Tim blanched at that particular title; “I killed the Great One,” he muttered, half a threat, half a remembrance, “And I don’t have time to play babysitter. ”

“You killed Ra’s al Ghul,” she corrected, and Tim narrowed his eyes as he heard the confidence in her voice that hadn’t been there before, “Not the Demon’s Head. The League of Assassins lives on.”

Tim sighed, rubbing his face. “So you’re not from Lex,” he muttered, “You’re from Talia. As if my staff isn’t half League assassins already… Fine! What are your qualifications, Miss…” Tim finally glanced at her resume, squinting as he read her name through blurry, bloodshot vision, “...Cock?”

The girl narrowed her eyes. “It’s Crock ,” she corrected tersely, “Artemis Crock. ”

Tim smirked. No it’s not. “Whatever you say, Miss Penis,” he answered, flipping through her resume, “Have you ever pretended to work at a multibillion dollar research and development facility before?”

“Um…” Artemis answered intelligently, and Tim sighed.

“I’ll take that as a no, ” he sighed, then stopped as he came across a form he hadn’t expected, “ Work papers, what the fuck!? How old are you!?”

Artemis set her jaw. “I’m sixteen, sir,” she answered, and Tim groaned as he buried his face in his hands.

“ Jesus fucking Christ… ” he muttered, “Talia thought it was a good idea to send a sixteen year old girl to keep tabs on me!?”

“I’m not just a little girl, sir, ” Artemis finally snapped, slamming her hands on his desk, “I’m an assassin!”

“Oh really? ” Tim snapped in reply, standing up to face her, “How many people have you killed then, Miss Schlong?”

Artemis blinked, looking slightly shocked, and Tim saw it in her eyes. The unpreparedness, the innocence; Artemis Crock hadn’t killed anyone. Tim blinked for a moment, then sighed as he sat back in his chair.

Tim blinked, and Artemis’s brown eyes were green, her long blonde hair was short and black, and it was Tommy staring back at him fearfully instead of her.

Tim cursed. Then cursed again.

She’d be better off with him than with Talia, at the very least.

“I want you reporting for work at 9am every morning, young lady,” he finally groused, “You are hereby appointed involuntary intern here at LexCorp Gotham, responsible for getting me coffee and filing papers only, is that understood?” 

Artemis blinked, stepping back slightly and looking cowed as she took her hands off his desk. “Yes, sir,” she murmured, and Tim sighed.

“Good,” he muttered, “Then make yourself useful and get me another cup.”

“Yes sir,” she said, a little bewildered, and then stopped for a moment, “And, the, uh… night job, sir?”

Tim sighed, rubbing his forehead. “We’ll discuss that later,” he said, unwilling to deal with it now, and she nodded, finally turning to exit the room. Then, because of course, Tim’s phone went off, and he glanced down at the message from an unknown number.

It’s me. We are meeting to discuss the new developments at TaG’s place; delete this message.

Tim frowned, then sighed as he deleted it, as instructed. “Miss Dong?” he called, and if he had been in a better mood, he might have grinned at how the girl’s hackles raised, “Go ahead and tell Meg to cancel my one o’clock while you’re at it; I have a feeling I won’t be in the office much today.”

---

Bart growled with frustration as he rubbed his face, then exited the Zeta Tube in Central City. From there, he ran the short distance (relatively) to Keystone, and went straight up to his room in the Garricks’ house. Though, now, he supposed sadly, it was just Jay’s house.

Speaking of, there was a soft knock at his door. “Bart?” the old man called, “Is that you, son?”

Bart sighed, changing out of his Kid Flash uniform and into real clothes, then opened the door for Jay. “Hey, Jay,” he said sadly, and the elderly speedster smiled sympathetically.

“Hey, Kid,” he said, “Rough day?”

“You could say that,” Bart agreed, rubbing his face again.

“Ice cream?” Jay asked, and Bart shrugged, following him down to the kitchen.

Bart found bowls and spoons, and Jay grabbed a gallon of chocolate from the freezer, and they both sat at the small wooden table in silence for a little while, watching the cars pass by in the sleepy little street beyond the window.

“I just don’t get it, Jay,” Bart sighed finally, “One second, it’s like he’s my friend again, and then the next, he’s someone I don’t recognize! Or maybe someone I recognize too much. I just… I wish I could get him out of my head, Jay. I wish I could move on.”

Jay nodded sagely, taking a thoughtful spoonful of his ice cream before answering. “You know, Bart, I am one hundred and four years old,” he started, and Bart looked at him, though Jay kept his gaze out the window, “I’ve lost a lot of things over the years; my parents, my job. My siblings, and too many friends. Wesley Dodds, Ted Knight. Joanie. And for a long, long time, I thought I had lost Barry and Bruce.” Now, Jay finally looked at him, a tear in his eye as he added, “And you, Bart.”

Bart nodded glumly, a strange sort of honored blush rising in his cheeks, and Jay sighed, slowly drumming his fingers on the table. “I think I know better than anyone what it’s like to have to watch while your friends do something foolish, or worse, something heroic. I know better than anyone what it’s like to feel helpless, Bart. Do you… do you know why Joanie and I had an extra bedroom for you, when you arrived in this time?”

Bart blinked, furrowing his brow. “It didn’t come with the house?” he asked, and Jay chuckled for a moment, shaking his head.

“No, no, it didn’t come with the house,” he sighed, “We actually had this place built, right after I came back from Korea, and the JSA got broken up. We… we were going to raise a family here, Bart. The war was over; we could be free to do what we always wanted then.”

Bart could only watch as a tear fell down Jay’s cheek, and he moved to wipe it away. “We always told you younger ones that Joanie and I just couldn’t have kids, but that’s not the full story,” he went on, “Joanie… she got pregnant, after I came home. We were both so happy, Bart, I just can’t describe the feeling to you, not unless you have one of your own. We were so excited, so… jubilated to be parents, to prove that we had survived the war, that Korea and losing the JSA didn’t break us, we didn’t even think what might…”

Bart reached out to put his hands on Jay’s, watching sadly as the old man’s shoulders shook. “Jay,” he said seriously, “If it’s too painful, you don’t have to tell me.”

Jay nodded, patting Bart’s hand. “I know, Kid,” he said, then he laughed as he wiped his eyes, “You are really a spectacular kid, you know that?”

Bart smiled shyly again, and Jay collected himself. “Something went wrong with the pregnancy,” Jay sighed sadly, “I ran Joanie to the hospital as fast as I could; I even ran Doctor Mid-Nite in from across the country to help, but it was already too late. The baby had died in the womb; our daughter was stillborn, Bart.”

“I… I’m sorry, Jay, I don’t know what to say,” Bart murmured sadly, and Jay nodded, continuing to hold the boy’s hand.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he answered, “I’m not telling you this story to wallow in my own sadness. I’m trying to teach you a lesson, here; there’s certain things you just can’t fix, Bart. I couldn’t stop what happened in Korea, I couldn’t stop the JSA from getting disbanded, I couldn’t stop Wesley from getting himself killed and I couldn’t stop Ted Knight from killing himself. I couldn’t stop Thawne, and I couldn’t save my daughter.”

Jay took a breath, and he looked up at Bart. “But you know what, Kid?” he said, “There’s a lot of stuff I did fix. I saved lives on D-Day, and all across Europe and the Pacific. I stopped Hitler, and we won the war. I saved Keystone when it needed saving, and I even got to marry the girl of my dreams for eighty-three years of my life. I got to live long enough to see heroes come back, and I got to be the Flash again. What I’m trying to tell you is, don’t focus on the things you can’t fix; focus on the things you can. ”

Bart listened to his surrogate grandfather’s words, and nodded thoughtfully, looking out the window and smiling a bit as he ate more of his ice cream. Fix what he can… yeah, he could do that. That could work.

“Thanks, Jay,” he murmured, and Jay smiled.

“Anytime, Kid,” he said, “Giving out advice is something I can still do to help, even at 104.”

Bart smirked, “To be fair, you’re doing very well for 104.”

Jay laughed in agreement, then took another bite of ice cream.

There was a beat of silence, and Bart finally worked up the courage to ask. “Did you name her?” he asked quietly, and Jay hummed.

“Who?” he asked, and Bart swallowed.

“Your daughter,” he said, and Jay sighed sadly.

“... Judy,” he said after a moment, looking out the window, watching a young couple smile and laugh as they pushed a stroller down the sidewalk, “We named her Judy.”

Bart and Jay sat like that for a little while longer, young speedster and old, from the past and from the future, and sighed for a moment, no longer running, but watching the world pass by.

---

There was a knock at his door. Bruce was in a room he barely used, his private office aboard the Watchtower, as there was simply no need for it. Bruce spent most of his time in Gotham, and whatever planning there was to be done could be done in the conference room or on the bridge. But for now, for this, privacy was of the utmost importance.

Bruce didn’t respond to the knock, but instead pressed a button at his desk to open the door. Victor Sage, AKA The Question, stepped inside, hands in the pockets of his trenchcoat. “I hope there’s a good reason for pulling Helena and I out of Khandaq so unceremoniously?” he asked irreverently, “I know I’m rather low on the totem pole of superheroics, but even I have my pride. I don’t appreciate being summoned like some butler.”

Bruce didn’t react to the hint at his wealthy upbringing. “Question,” he greeted instead, “I think you and I both know why you’re here.”

“Because Khandaq was never really where you wanted me,” Question answered, “You just wanted to see what I could do. If my talents went beyond rooting out police corruption in Cincinnati. Have I impressed?”

“Yes,” Bruce responded truthfully, producing the field reports of Question and Huntress’s latest assignment from his cape and placing it on the desk between them, “Your reports were insightful and thorough. You and Huntress make a good team.”

“Then why isn’t she here?” Question pressed, and as Bruce opened his mouth to respond, Question raised his hand to stop him, “Don’t answer that; I already know. It’s because you need to be able to cut me loose. I’m a well-known crackpot; the Justice League’s reputation will survive whatever I decide to do. I’m expendable; Huntress isn’t.”

“I wouldn’t have put it quite so bluntly,” Bruce acquiesced, “But you have the basic premise. One Leaguer operating outside the usual purview of the law is much more excusable and explainable than two working together.”

“So she’s expendable, too,” Question mused, raising a skeptic eyebrow, “Just not right now.”

“Since you seem to know so much, Question,” Bruce sighed, changing the subject and looking the man straight in the eye… he hoped, “Why are you here?”

“That’s easy,” Question said nonchalantly, “You’re sending me after Luthor.”

“Not quite,” Bruce answered, and Question tilted his head, now seemingly finally intrigued, “When Superman, Wonder Woman, Flash and I battled Brainiac, we did so in a massive ship hiding around the dark side of the Moon. At first, that explanation would seem plausible as to how it avoided the Watchtower’s orbital sensors, but when I went to Cyborg and Mister Terrific to talk about upgrading the system to negate the flaw, they told me it already did that, and we only found the ship via anonymous tip. Which leads me to believe-”

“That somebody deleted the alert,” Question answered thoughtfully, holding a hand to his chin, “Which also means-”

“There is a traitor in the Justice League,” Bruce responded, “Most likely at Luthor and the Light’s beck and call.”

“You need me to find out who it is?” Question asked, and Bruce nodded solemnly. Question huffed a breath, “Finding out a traitor. That’s a hell of a first impression to make; especially if it turns out to be a veteran Leaguer.”

“Of course, everyone is a suspect,” Bruce acquiesced, “But I want you to focus on the new freshman class. It’s not impossible that it’s a veteran Leaguer, but if they were going to betray us they would have done so by now. The details on how the investigation will be handled are up to you, but secrecy is paramount. We can’t have the League suspecting one another and driving a wedge between us. It’s most likely precisely what Luthor and his allies want.”

Question nodded, considering his words. “I’ll get to work,” he said simply, and he turned and left.

“What was that about, Q?” Bruce heard Huntress ask as she met him in the hall.

“Nothing, Helena,” Question answered easily, “Just a first day shakedown. High school stuff.”

Bruce sighed, resting his head in his hands. He hoped beyond hope he’d made the right call.

---

The dark sky thundered outside his window as rain pelted Arkham Asylum’s aged roof. The man shivered in his bed, which he had moved to the center of the room, as far away from the walls as possible. His eyes watched the corners fearfully, the space only being lit up by the occasional flash of lightning. “ Beware…! ” he whispered fearfully, “ Beware…! ”

Lightning flashed. Nothing was in the window.

Darkness consumed him.

Lightning flashed. Nothing was in the window.

Darkness.

Lightning flashed. Perfectly circular eyes that glowed gold shone at him from the window.

Darkness.

Lightning flashed. The man leapt from his bed as Talon entered the room with him. He tried to scream, but Talon grabbed his throat, cutting off airflow. 

“ Hush… ” it commanded, and the man nodded, tears of hysterical fear rolling down his face.

Talon let go of his throat. “P-Please, d-don’t do this!” he begged softly, “I’ll be good! I won’t say anything, I swear! Not a whispered word! Please, tell my father I’ll be good--!”

Talon took the sheets from the man’s bed, then began tying them into a noose. The man paled several shades, then set his jaw.

“You poor, pitiful creature,” he said harshly, his voice still shaking but vindictive, “You really have no idea what they took from you, do you? Do you!? ”

Talon fitted the noose around the man’s neck; he didn’t fight, but he did sob.

“Your mother’s name!?” the man cried desperately, “Your father’s!?”

Talon ordered the man to stand on the frame of his bed, which he did. Then he threw the other end of the sheet above the light fixture overhead, tying it tight.

“Please, you don’t have to do this!” the man begged one last time, “Don’t be what they made you! … please! ”

Talon kicked the bed out from under the man’s feet, and his words finally died as he flailed in midair, gagging and choking.

“ Thomas Elliot… ” Talon rasped, watching Hush’s face turn blue and his eyes bloodshot, “ The Court of Owls has sentenced you to die. ”

Chapter 36: On the Life-Cycles of Birds

Tim sighed as he stalked through the terribly familiar halls of Nanda Parbat, settling the suit upon his shoulders as he did so; there was literally nowhere else he wanted to be less than here.

As Tim approached a set of double doors, two League servants bowed to him as they drew the doors back, allowing him to enter into the Lazarus Pit Chamber, a room that Tim disliked greatly, not least of which the most recent bloodstains on the stones here were because of him. So close to the acid green glow of the Pit, Tim felt the laughter encroach at the edge of his mind more profoundly than he had before, and he closed his eyes and grimaced for a moment as he pinched the bridge of his nose, getting a handle on his head and silently thanking his lucky stars (few and far between though they might be) that he had remembered to take his medicine this morning.

On the inside of the room, Talia al Ghul waited with a small entourage of Lady Shiva and a shorter, black-haired girl that Tim didn’t recognize, all three standing by what was clearly a body bag. Lex Luthor was present, flanked by Mercy as always, and Tim grimaced once more as Lex grinned at him. Mercy was toting a thick carrying case, its contents unknown and inscrutable.

“Aha!” Lex cried, “The great Red Robin graces us with his presence at last! How have you been, Tim?”

“I’d be better if you people would let me work,” Tim muttered, “Mockingbird isn’t exactly a simple task; it takes time.”

“Why of course, of course…” Lex responded, acting as though he wasn’t really paying attention, but both men knew that he was, “But, we all know what happens when you have too much time on your hands, don’t we, Tim?”

Talia smiled thinly at the reminder, clasping her hands behind her back. “Oh yes,” she sighed, “How could we forget Red Robin’s spectacular destruction of the League those years ago? If I recall correctly, my father was furious.”

In this room, in this place, at this exact moment, Tim could not deal with any mention of Ra’s al Ghul. “ Please! ” Tim said immediately, his tone fierce and commanding, closing his eyes at the memory as his heart rate spiked, “...Do not mention your father, Talia.”

Talia regarded him for a moment, studying him slightly, and Tim didn’t miss a similar look from Shiva, either, but she let it go with a nod. Tim collected himself for a moment, then fixed her with a withering glare. “Besides, I’ve gathered you’re using your own methods of keeping me busy, Talia,” Tim retorted bitterly, “Hence why I’m now playing babysitter? ”

The black-haired girl perked up with interest as Talia tilted her head curiously, confusion sparking in her eyes. Tim started a bit as he realized that Talia didn’t know what he was talking about. As he was about to speak and press further, Tim looked over Talia’s shoulder and locked eyes with Lady Shiva, and though it was not for very long, Tim had been in the woman’s tutelage long enough to know when she wanted him to shut up; he held his tongue.

Before anything else could be said, Lex cleared his throat loudly, asking, “So! When will our fearless leader be joining us?”

Tim nodded, impatience still at the forefront of his mind, though his interest was admittedly growing, “Yes, where is Savage?”

Talia shrugged. “Joining us soon, I suppose,” she said, “He said he required no transport.”

As she said the words, the Light was deafened for a moment as a boomtube opened up in the Lazarus Pit Chamber, and they turned to see the man himself, Vandal Savage, emerge from the golden portal, joined by a pale, thin man with white hair in a black sweatshirt. “Apologies for the tardiness,” Savage said smoothly, “I had to get away from the office before I could pick up our companion here.”

“The office?” Talia questioned, and Savage smiled.

“Haven’t you heard, Talia?” he asked, “Victor Savatier is now a member of the Justice League.”

Tim sighed, rubbing his head for a moment at that revelation. Superman had thrown the idea around last he’d saw him, but he didn’t know Savage would actually take them up on the offer. “And your companion?” he asked instead of questioning it, and the white-haired man smiled.

“Call me Psimon,” the man said, and he cocked his head as his eyes flashed green, “Tim.”

Tim narrowed his eyes behind his cowl. “ Fucking telepaths, ” he muttered venomously, then turned back to the other members of the Light, “Let’s get on with it, shall we? I have work to do.”

“Patience, Tim, patience!” Savage said admonishingly, smiling calmly, “This will be over and done before you know it. Lex, how goes the inventory of Brainiac’s ship?”

“Well enough, but we’re sorting through zettabytes of data, it will take some time before we fully understand everything we’ve acquired. Especially after Tim disabled the ship’s main operating system,” Lex responded, shooting Tim an unimpressed look that the younger man scowled at in reply.

“The ‘ main operating system’ was a genocidal artificial intelligence that was attempting to murder my son,” Tim growled back, “Forgive me for not being concerned for its safety. ”

Lex shrugged, “Very well. Still, we’ve only scratched the surface, but a cursory glance at the cities and civilizations that Brainiac collected over the years was enlightening. One city is of particular interest; Mercy?”

Mercy silently held up the thick carrying case she had been toting thus far for them all to see, drawing back the lid to reveal the miniature on the inside, defined by soaring metallic towers of silver and green. Tim hummed in interest, struck by a strange memory of the Emerald City from The Wizard of Oz , a movie he hadn’t seen in years, and Lex smiled as he splayed his arm presentationally.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the City of Kandor! ” he declared, and Talia furrowed her brow.

“And why should this ‘City of Kandor’ be of particular interest?” she asked, suitably nonplussed, and Tim gasped slightly as he realized.

“ Kandor… ” he realized, a pit of dread growing in his stomach, “I recognize that phonology. That’s not just any city…”

Lex smirked. “It’s a Kryptonian city,” he clarified, “The last Kryptonian city, to be specific. You are gazing upon the final vestiges of Kryptonian civilization.”

The members of the Light all regarded the glass dome with interest, Savage himself stepping forward to inspect the tiny skyscrapers more closely. He watched as the miniscule Kandorians fled from his gargantuan form in fear, forming rivers of humanity in the streets. He smiled.

“And what are your thoughts on how to use Kandor to our advantage, Lex?” the immortal asked, looking up to meet the billionaire’s eyes, and Lex smiled his best deal-maker smile.

“Well, as you know, for the past few decades we’ve been trying to produce a warrior capable of defeating Superman via genetic engineering and the latest in cloning technology. Our previous attempts, from Bizarro, to Superboy, to Match, and even young Tommy have been… less than successful, mainly due to the miniscule amount of Kryptonian DNA that we have to work with.”

Tim narrowed his eyes as Lex shifted his gaze to the younger man, grinning a predatory grin, like a shark that smelled blood in the water, circling its prey. “Given that we now have an entire metropolitan city’s supply of DNA as a repository, we can do work that would have taken us years in a matter of a few months!” he exclaimed, “So long as we find ourselves a few willing volunteers, of course.”

Savage smiled at the optimistic phrasing. “Of course,” he agreed, “And how do you propose to produce this warrior?”

Lex grinned, “Well, with the help of young Tim, here, I’m confident the two of us together can solve that age-old issue that has plagued every Kryptonian we know of, even the mighty Superman.”

Tim fought the urge to gag at the thought of having to work with Lex on a project, but settled for rolling his eyes with condescension. “Which would be…?” he prompted, and Lex turned his saccharine smile onto him.

“My dear boy…” he began grandly, his tone dropping into a lower, more threatening register, seemingly missed by everyone but Tim, “You and I are going to solve the Kryptonite Problem.”

Tim furrowed his brow, whilst Talia and Savage’s eyebrows raised. “A warrior with the strength of Superman, but none of his famous weakness…” Talia murmured contemplatively, “A mighty warrior indeed… perhaps too mighty to properly control?”

Lex waived away her concern with a flick of his wrist, saying, “ Relax, Talia! The phenotypes for the Kryptonite weakness will still exist when we are done. Tim and I will merely reprogram them, so to speak, make them responsive to our own, homegrown kryptonite rather than what’s found in the wild. Our warrior will be unstoppable to everyone but us.”

“And, there is an added layer of defense in the form of young Psimon, here,” Savage added, waving his hand to the telepath, who nodded in acknowledgement, never wiping that creepy-ass smile off his face, “He is quite adept at implanting psychic commands and triggers; with his help, we can manufacture perfectly obedient sleeper agents out of every operative we activate.”

Psimon inclined his head. “Always happy to serve a paying customer,” he said with a self-satisfied smirk. Tim didn’t like him. He didn’t like the implications of his specialty even more.

“Next on the agenda, we also acquired the timeship of Captain Rip Hunter, the Waverider, some time ago,” Savage added, “An important addition after the unfortunate loss of dear Eobard.”

Talia rolled her eyes. “No great loss,” she muttered under her breath, and Savage smiled, nodding his head in acquiescence.

“Single-minded and overbearing though he was, he was a powerful and valuable ally,” Savage said admonishingly, “He will be missed.”

Lex smirked at that. “But not too missed,” he finished, and Savage nodded.

“No,” he agreed, “Not too missed. In any case, we’ve regained the ability to time travel, truncated though it may be due to the recent timequake.”

“Timequake?” Tim asked at the unfamiliar word, and Lex nodded.

“When our dear Flash Family finally put an end to Eobard Thawne, they caused a timequake,” he explained, “The timeline has retreated to heal itself, so to speak, and so time travel, which used to allow us to see into timelines parallel to our own, now operates on a closed-loop system for the foreseeable future. Which does present us with interesting opportunities…”

Savage smiled after Lex’s explanation. “Interesting, indeed,” he agreed, “Tim, I trust you brought an extra dose of your medicine today?”

Tim narrowed his eyes. “Yes…” he said suspiciously, thinking of the small blue vial hidden in one of the capsules on his bandolier, “... why? ”

“Talia,” Savage moved on instead of answering, “If you’d be so kind as to reveal our final guest.”

As Tim raised his brow behind his cowl, he watched in trepidation as Talia nodded to the black-haired girl, who in turn bent to open the body bag, revealing the pale, ashen face of--

“-- Ted Kord?!? ” Tim gasped, then he rounded on Talia, “You killed Ted Kord!? ”

And indeed, it was the Blue Beetle laying ominously still in the open body bag, his body bloodied and mangled in various places. He looked like he had put up a hell of a fight.

Talia looked unimpressed. “I did,” she agreed, “Something like eight weeks ago, at that. He put up an impressive resistance, I assure you.”

Tim seethed with anger at this turn of events; he didn’t know Ted particularly well, only as one of Bruce’s trusted and respected allies. Dependable in a pinch, but not one of their usual team-ups. A genius engineer, a well-mannered and likable ally, and in an obviously romantic relationship with Booster Gold, though Tim knew they hadn’t come out until recently.

But wait… the coming out had happened seven weeks ago… if Ted had been dead before then…

Tim’s eyes widened as he made the connections. Ted Kord, a man who had been dead for eight weeks, and yet still managed to join the Justice League three weeks ago. Psimon, a telepath who specialized in programming sleeper agents. The Lazarus Pit, which brought the dead back to life. The Waverider, a stolen timeship now operating on a closed-loop system due to the timequake. 

And Tim’s Lazarus Cure, which mitigated the effects of Pit Madness.

“ Oh my God… ” he whispered in sickened awe, staring down at Ted’s still body, then up at Savage and the rest of the Light, “ That’s how you’re going to do it.”

Savage inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Brilliant, is it not?” he asked, “And impossible in any other instance. Using the Lazarus Pit, we will resurrect the late Mr. Kord, after which it will then be the task of you, Talia, Lady Shiva, and young Cheshire here to subdue him and administer the Lazarus Cure. Once that is done, Psimon will imprint our required instructions, and then Talia will finally accompany Mr. Kord back to the time of his death aboard the Waverider and replace his corpse with him, with no one besides us few being the wiser.”

Tim felt sick to his stomach. He… he couldn’t go through with this, right? This was so, so wrong on so many levels. He knew exactly what it felt like to come back via the Pit, and it was a hell he wouldn’t wish upon his worst enemy. Almost literally. And to inflict that pain on such a kind, innocent person like Ted Kord…

Sensing his hesitation, Lex caught his eye. “I do hope you remember the stakes at play here, Tim?” he asked, subtly tapping the coat pocket that Tim knew held the dreaded remote.

Tim almost laughed. Just when he thought things were on the up and up, when he had his team and his friends back, when he had finally come to terms with his role in this insane world and a new mentor-ish figure to guide him, the rug is pulled out from under him again. His son’s death is hung over him again, like the Sword of Damocles. Because of course. Why would anything else happen? 

Hadn’t he learned by now that he wasn’t allowed to be happy?

Tim drew his staff, retreating behind the Red Robin cowl as much as he could, remembering all the times Bruce did the same with his own cowl when times got too hard to bear. “Of course,” he responded neutrally, his face carefully blank as he retrieved the Lazarus Cure from its spot, “Let’s get started, then.”

Savage nodded, seemingly having not caught the exchange between Tim and Lex, and gave a nod to Talia, who in turn nodded to Shiva, who finally looked at Cheshire, who rolled her eyes. 

“Would’ve been a lot faster to just say, ‘Hey Cheshire, toss him in!’, but whatever,” she muttered, grabbing hold of Ted’s body and beginning to haul him toward the edge of the Pit.

As Tim watched her work, he felt his fists clench and shake with anger around his staff, the green howling with laughter at the edge of his mind, mocking Tim for everything he failed to do. Failing as a father, failing as a friend, failing as a hero. How much more could he take, he wondered, before it was too much? Where was the line he would draw?

Ted Kord entered the Pit.

Tim watched as there was stillness for a moment; he didn’t know how long this was supposed to take. He’d only ever been the one going in, he’d never seen it from the outside. Nevertheless, he palmed his Cure, and waited, his mind still working overtime.

He had signed up for this, hadn’t he? To destroy the Justice League. To break the world and build it back up, better this time. No matter the cost.

The Pit’s acidic green waters thrashed as Ted Kord’s screams filled the chamber, his body surging out of the Pit, all his wounds from his last battle healed, but his mind far from his own.

It was a feeling Tim knew well.

But there was a cost to all this, wasn’t there? There was a line he wouldn’t cross. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt Tommy. Or Conner. He wouldn’t let it happen, he couldn’t; that was the unthinkable scenario. The rest was just… noise.

…Wasn’t it?

Tim surged forward as Ted Kord crawled out of the Pit, Shiva, Talia, and the black-haired girl, Cheshire, at his side. Ted may have been hopped up on Pit Rage, but Tim, Talia, and Shiva were some of the most highly-skilled combatants on the planet, and Cheshire proved herself to be no slouch either as they swiftly and successfully subdued the resurrected Blue Beetle.

Tim quickly jammed the syringe of Lazarus Cure into Ted’s neck, and with a quick gasp, Ted went limp in their hold. “Wh-Wha--?” he muttered, the first coherent words he had spoken since reawakening, “Booster…?”

“Psimon,” Savage ordered, and the telepath nodded, moving forward.

As Tim watched Psimon’s eyes glow green and Ted’s form go completely docile in his mental grip, he stood up and tried to pretend like he wasn’t having a minor mental breakdown. As Psimon worked, Tim thought. He thought and thought and thought, thinking through all the different ways this could go for him, and he never found an answer he truly liked. 

He had to initiate Operation Mockingbird and bring Gotham to its knees, all to infiltrate the Court. It would hurt all the people he cared about, but if he didn’t do it, then Savage’s plan wouldn’t work, the Court would continue to be a threat, and worst of all, Lex would most likely take it upon himself to punish Tim by killing Tommy. 

He had to help Lex find immortality while in the Court, so that he could double-cross Savage. Tim liked Savage; Savage had given Tim what he’d craved the most, revenge, and the promise of a changed, safe world where Tommy would be free and Conner could be the Superman Tim had always known he could be. But there would be so much death and destruction before the real peace came. And once it was over, Lex would try and kill Savage. And he’d probably make Tim help him, otherwise he would kill Tommy. And Tim couldn’t tell Savage, or Lex would kill Tommy. And Tim couldn’t kill Lex, otherwise it would kill Tommy, too.

It was awful.

He didn’t want to do this anymore.

He wanted to go home, he wanted to be with his family, with his boyfriend, and his son, and his father, and his brothers and sisters and his friends. He wanted to curl up into a ball and pretend this had all never happened, that the past seven years had all been a lie.

But he knew he couldn’t. He was in too deep now, and nothing, nothing he did could dig him back out now.

The only way to go was further down.

Tim’s eyes never left Ted as Psimon’s eyes stopped glowing, and the telepath smiled. “There now, that’s better,” he said, “It’s time to wake up…

“... Daedalus. ”

---

Tommy hummed disinterestedly as Pops, Grandpa, and Uncle Damian brought him up to the Wayne Enterprises building in Gotham, and he frowned as he tugged at the tie around his neck. “This is so uncomfortable…! ” he complained, “How do you guys wear these all the time?? ”

Grandpa merely smirked as he spared Tommy a look in a freshly-tailored suit to match what the other Waynes were wearing; Conner was making due with his leather jacket, but only barely. When they had insisted Tommy wear a suit in public, Tommy had argued, but finally went along with it after a look from Alfred. Once he finally came down from changing, Aunt Cass had actually squealed. He was pretty sure Aunt Steph had pictures; he was never living this down. 

“The Waynes are an important family, Tommy,” Grandpa explained, “We are expected to uphold a certain standard of fashion and professionalism when in the public eye.”

“But I’m a bastard!” Tommy groused, “Why do I have to wear a coat and tie to get a tour of some stupid building I could’ve just flown to anyway?”

Damian whacked him upside the head. “Do not use those words in front of your grandfather,” he ordered, and Tommy rolled his eyes as Bruce huffed a laugh to himself and Conner gave Damian a look for disciplining his son without his approval.

“But it’s true!” he grumbled, “As far as the public knows, I’m Uncle Jason’s illegitimate child, right? That’s the dictionary definition of bastard!”

“The dictionary does not always catch up to the modern vernacular,” Damian sighed, “It is a bad word and you are thirteen years old. ”

“ Technically, I’m eight!” Tommy corrected snidely, and Conner sighed from his other side.

“ That makes it worse! ” he argued, but Bruce snapped his fingers from the front of the group.

“Alright, enough, we’re about to go in,” he began, then looked down at Tommy, “Now Tommy, we didn’t just bring you here for a tour. Wayne Enterprises is an important part of our family’s history, but I get the sense you’re not a business-minded person; Damian can handle that when I retire. You are here to meet a very important ally of mine; a man whose work goes into every level of our… night  job. ”

Tommy cocked his head curiously. “Really? Someone at WE helps with that?” he asked, and Bruce nodded, then pushed open the glass doors to step inside the spacious lobby of the building. Waiting on the other side, amongst the hustle and bustle of a major Fortune 500 company, was a kindly-looking Black man in a tan suit, his short, curly hair fading from a darker gray into a stark white; once upon a time, it might have been black, but Tommy couldn’t tell.

“Well! The CEO, the heir apparent, and the next generation, all in one place,” the man said with a smile, shaking Grandpa’s hand jovially, “Should I be worried?”

Grandpa smirked. “ Always, Lucius,” he joked, then turned to Tommy and gestured to the other man, saying, “Tommy, this is Mr. Lucius Fox, our head of Research and Development at WE and my right hand man in all things business. Lucius, this is my grandson, Tommy.”

“A pleasure to meet you, young man,” Mr. Fox said with a smile, reaching down to shake Tommy’s hand, and Tommy took it gratefully, grateful that for once, an adult he’d met wasn’t concerned with his parentage more than him.

“Likewise, Mr. Fox!” he responded, grinning happily, and Mr. Fox smiled in that way that old people do, with a twinkle in his eye that reminded Tommy of Santa Claus. 

“Well! I suppose this bright young man is here for a tour of the facility?” Lucius asked the adults, and Grandpa nodded.

“A full tour will have to wait until he’s older and less impatient, I’m afraid, but perhaps a quick swing through the tailor’s shop?”

Lucius’s eyes twinkled again with amusement, and Tommy cocked his head in confusion. Why would a tech company have a tailor’s shop?

“In that case, follow me, gentlemen,” Mr. Fox said, waving for them to follow as he led them toward the elevators. Grandpa and Uncle Damian followed with a purpose, as if they had gone this way before, whilst Conner looked just as lost as Tommy, though he seemed to be playing it off better. Tommy, meanwhile, felt like a newborn duckling, clinging to Mr. Fox’s heels as the old man entered the elevator, giving way for the other three men to join him as he produced an old brass key from his coat pocket, calmly removing a previously-unnoticed panel from the elevator and placing the key in the revealed lock, turning it easily. As the key clicked, a different panel opened up, this one at eye level, and Lucius removed his glasses to allow for the elevator to scan his eye. Finally, a third panel opened, revealing an elevator button with the Batsymbol instead of a number. Lucius smiled as he pressed it, then replaced his glasses just in time to catch Tommy’s look of awe.

The elevator started to descend, the header at the top of the door ticking down from G, to LL, to B, and then finally, displaying the Batsymbol once more. Conner raised an eyebrow, then looked at Bruce.

“Really?” he asked, gesturing to the display, and Bruce shrugged.

“There’s no point in being one of the richest men in the world if you can’t have fun with it sometimes,” he explained, and Conner sighed in exasperation.

The elevator dinged as it reached its destination, and the doors drew back to reveal a massive subterranean garage, a few dozen workers in labcoats going this way and that with various important and expensive-looking accouterments of design and manufacture, and Tommy drew in an awed breath as he sighted a new Batplane under construction, an entire assembly line dedicated to batarang production, and even a tank of sharks being used to test Bat Shark Repellant.

“Welcome to the Workshop!” Lucius called over the noise, leading them through as Tommy gawked at every Bat-related production line, his eyes alight with childlike joy and wonder as he finally saw where the magic happened.

“Has there been any word on my requested modifications, Lucius?” Uncle Damian asked as they walked, and Lucius nodded.

“A pet harness for the various vehicles of the Batfleet is being developed as we speak, and should be done by the end of the month,” Mr. Fox explained, “We’re sizing it for a Great Dane, but the design should be applicable to most other quadrupeds.”

Damian smiled, and Conner shook his head. “ You and your menagerie… ” he muttered, and Tommy snickered. 

Lucius led them through the back of the shop, to a smaller, sectioned off room guarded by a simple office door. In the smaller, quieter space, a handful of workers stood with tape measures, sewing machines, and various materials of cloth and armor ready to mold into the most iconic of all the Batfamily’s equipment:

The suits.

“And this, ” Lucius proclaimed, “Is the Tailor Shop.”

Bruce nodded appreciatively as he sighted the next iteration of his own suit, more armored to support his aging body, and Damian nodded in approval of a new Nightwing suit that was being redesigned to fit his fighting style, and Conner tilted his head at a redesigned Batgirl suit, meant to compensate for Stephanie’s missing eye. What Tommy was most interested in, however, was the suit in the middle of the room, the only finished product there was in the Tailor Shop.

“Is that…?” he asked, not daring to hope, and Lucius smiled as Conner placed a hand on Tommy’s shoulder.

“Oh yeah, kid,” he said happily, “All yours.”

“Perhaps this will discourage you from stealing my suit for your next outing,” Uncle Damian added haughtily, and Grandpa smiled.

“Disobedient though you’ve been recently, I’ve had this in the works for a while,” he explained, “Even though I don’t approve of how you got into that situation, you more than proved yourself in the battle with Brainiac, and I’ve heard nothing but high praise from your friends in Dakota City. You’ve earned this, Tommy.”

Tommy almost cried as he stepped closer to the suit, and Mr. Fox grinned.

“May I present, the Robin Suit, Model 6,” he said with finality, and Tommy quickly wiped at his eyes before the tears could fall.

The mannequin it was staged upon was exactly Tommy’s size, and it had everything Tommy could have ever wanted. The top half of the tunic was a bright, Robin red, but muted enough to blend in with the shadows when necessary. At around the midsection, it drew down into a triangular point by Tommy’s belly button, turning to the iconic yellow until it reached his waist. The pants were mostly black, with green accents trailing on the outside from his hips to his knees, and the boots and gauntlets were a matching red kevlar with yellow accents. On the left breast, as always, a yellow R stood on a black circle, and a gold utility belt sat around his waist. In lieu of a cape, which Tommy often found too cumbersome for flying, his suit was equipped with red-tinted goggles that could be either left up above his forehead or drawn down over his domino mask to keep the wind out of his eyes.

It was perfect.

“When can I try it on?” he found himself asked, and as he turned around, he was met by the smiles of his family.

Today was gonna be a good day. Because today?

Robin rides again.

---

The Judge of Owls tapped her finger impatiently against the desk in front of her as her Court bickered and argued at each other.

“Luthor has overstepped!” one Owl roared, “Will we really continue to tolerate his influence in Gotham any longer?? Why not send a Talon and send him packing back to Metropolis!”

“Luthor has powerful friends, Horace,” another said calmingly, “We must act carefully; we have all the time in the world.”

“What powerful friends could possibly prevent us from kicking Luthor out of Gotham?” one of Horace’s allies groused, “This is our domain!”

“The League of Assassins, for one,” the second Owl pointed out, “It has regained its strength in recent years, and we know they are allied with LexCorp.”

“What of the Drake boy, then?” yet another Owl asked, “He is one of us, by blood! A descendant of the Founding Families! If we were to bring him into the fold, then we would have a man on the inside to deal with Luthor.”

At that, the Judge finally raised her hand, signalling for immediate silence, which was begun without delay. After waiting for a moment to watch them squirm, she finally lowered her hand and spoke.

“Blood alone does not guarantee loyalty,” she began, “That is the reason why Bruce Wayne was never asked to join us, is it not? If Timothy were to be brought into the fold, it would need to be done carefully, as well as forcefully. We must not forget, we are not dealing with the usual privileged manchild; he was Robin, and Red Robin after that. Raised by Bruce Wayne, of all people, after he abandoned his parents. He is strong-willed, and has convictions, no matter how mysterious they seem to us. That, and we have reason to believe that joining the Court is exactly why Luthor brought Timothy onto his payroll; they wish to infiltrate us, and break us from the inside. That will not happen.”

“Then he is a dead end?” Horace asked surreptitiously, “Is the noble House Drake to go so unceremoniously into the night alongside the Waynes?”

“He is not a dead end,” she said severely, glaring at Horace, who wilted under her fierce gaze, “Nor am I suggesting banning him from the Court as we did Bruce. I am merely stating that he will need to be kept on a tight leash if he is to be properly utilized. An asset, rather than a member.”

One member of her Court seemed to mull it over. “Let him think he’s one of us, that he’s playing us, when in reality it’s us playing him!” she realized, “It’s genius!”

“It is, thank you, Marie,” the Judge said in acknowledgement, inclining her head, “We know how to control Timothy, more effectively than anyone else, I would wager. With someone like him working for us, we have the potential to make the Court stronger than it has ever been, as well as vanquish both our ancient enemies in the League of Assassins and the upstart Luthor. It shall be a fell swoop.”

The Court seemed to approve of this, all nodding and murmuring assent while they waited for their customary food. One of Horace’s dumber allies, meanwhile, scoffed. “ Please, ” he muttered, “We all know that the House of Drake is about to die out. Their only viable heir is a filthy fag-- ”

“ Finish that sentence and I will have your tongue cut out and mounted above my fireplace, Julius Crowne, ” the Judge snapped coldly, and the room grew immediately tense as Julius swallowed hard, sweat trickling down his neck as the Judge glared at him with the fury of a thousand suns.

“O-Of course, Your Honor, I merely misspoke--” he tried, but the Judge cut him off once more.

“We all know what you said, Julius,” she continued, “Perhaps silence is the wisest policy in this instance, to finally spare us all from your yammering, hm?”

Julius nodded too quickly, keeping his mouth (wisely) shut.

The Judge of Owls regained her composure, smoothing out her hair and taking a deep breath. “Timothy Drake is not a homosexual,” she declared, “He will sire an heir to House Drake, just as we have been careful to ensure that House Wayne and House Gordon will not die out, either, though their most recent scions have been unaligned with our goals. Barbara Gordon is pregnant, with the Gray Son’s child of all things, and so the future of House Gordon is secure. We now have confirmation that Bruce Wayne and Selina Kyle share a bed; what with all the fertility supplements we have been adding to her medicine in secret, an heir will be forthcoming any day now, free of the al Ghul’s tainted blood. Timothy Drake will be handled no differently.”

“And how does Your Honor propose we… handle the situation, then?” one fearful Owl asked, and the Judge smirked behind her mask.

The Judge of Owls smiled once more. “Oh, I supposed we could kill three birds with one stone, in that case,” she answered easily, and at last the meal was brought out.

Fish.

The Judge removed her mask to eat, letting the golden fork tink lightly against the fine china, savoring the taste of the wild salmon. A message had been sent, to Luthor, to Timothy, and to those who thought Gotham belonged to them…

Beware the Court of Owls.

Chapter 37: Watching All the Time

Tim sighed as he finally, finally got back to his office, groaning softly as he sat behind his desk and popped the top off his newly bought whiskey bottle, pouring himself a generous glass.

“Long day?” an accented voice asked from the doorway, and Tim sighed.

“Hello, Pru,” he muttered, “Here to yell at me about my drinking?”

“No,” Pru answered, getting up from where she had leaned on the doorframe, holding a small manila folder, “This is a new thing.”

“ Perfect… ” Tim groused, taking his first sip, “What would be the order of the day this time, then, Miss Wood?”

“How about the blonde girl currently hovering awkwardly around the office?” Pru asked, “Says she got sent by Talia.”

“Who, Artemis?” Tim asked, “She’s extra baggage; give her some meaningless job and let her sink to the bottom of the glass. It’s the safest thing.”

“Safe!?” Pru asked incredulously, “You think having a bored assassin in the building is safe!? ”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “I already have three bored assassins in this building,” he pointed out, and Pru sighed.

“I mean a bored assassin who doesn’t particularly like you, you moron! ” she snapped, slamming her hands down on his desk, “You need to help her!”

“ Why!? ” Tim argued back, suddenly much angrier than he should have been, “So she can run out there and get herself killed!? So she can become an asset to the Demon’s Head and live the rest of her life on a leash!? So that she’ll end up like me!? ” As he spoke, his voice rose more and more, growing harsher and harsher, until it finally cracked with emotion on the last word; he hung his head, swallowing hard and trying to pretend he was still in control. He wasn’t.

Pru’s shoulders sagged as she held his shoulder, causing him to look back up at her. “So that when all this is over…” she began, and when Tim scoffed, she added, “And someday, it will be over, she’ll have the skills to get herself out. The deck’s already stacked against her, Tim.”

Tim narrowed his eyes at that last sentence, something in Pru’s tone implying that there was more than she was saying. “What do you mean?” he asked, and Pru sighed as she handed over the manila folder she’d been carrying.

“She’s got bad blood, Tim,” she said, “Z and I did some digging, and history’s not on her side.”

Tim pursed his lips as he opened the folder; a personnel report on Artemis Crock, written in League Arabic and English. It detailed her background, a child of a troubled home in Star City, younger of two sisters, daughter of a single, wheelchair-bound mother. There were also details on her family…

“... Sportsmaster had a kid?” Tim asked incredulously, “ Two kids? With Tigress? ”

“Seems like it,” Pru agreed, “Mum got paralyzed after a nasty run-in with the Suicide Squad. Dad was never really in the picture, too busy with the job, but basically sold the girls to the League to pay for Tigress’s medical bills.”

“And how does Tigress feel about that?” Tim asked, and Pru shrugged.

“Who’s to say?” she responded, “Even if she wanted to kick up a fuss, lady’s in a wheelchair with a criminal record hanging over her head. What can she do? Tim, the kid’s family tree has got bloodstained branches. Kids like that usually have one thing waiting for them, and it’s the League.”

“Right…” Tim murmured, “So what do you want me to do?”

“ Help her, you idiot!” Pru snapped, “I know you saw it too; there’s still a little girl in there somewhere, and I know for a fact Talia is hoping that this assignment will kill it, break her, so she’ll be a faithful, obedient servant of the League. Of the Demon’s Head. You and I both know what that life is like, Tim; you really want a teenage girl to go through it?”

Tim cursed, sitting back in his chair and rubbing his forehead, letting out a long, slow breath. Now he realized why Artemis had seemed so familiar to him before; the daughter of a D-List supervillain, caught up in things bigger than she realized, with nothing but a plucky attitude to get her through. After hearing her backstory, Artemis Crock bore a striking resemblance to a young Stephanie Brown.

“... fuck, ” he swore, “Fine. Fine!! I’ll help her. I’ll train her into a force to be reckoned with, and I’ll make sure she doesn’t kill. But Pru?”

Pru waited, cocking her head expectantly, and Tim levelled her with a glare.

“You’d better make sure I don’t regret this,” Tim told her, “Because if Talia finds out we’re turning her new recruit against her, it’s not just our heads on the chopping block. Understand?”

Pru nodded. “I’ll take the blame,” she promised, “The kid’ll be safe.”

Tim let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, sinking back into his chair and nursing his drink. “Good…” he murmured, then closed his eyes for a moment as he thought. “...Send her up, I guess,” he muttered finally, and Pru nodded, heading out the door.

Tim sighed as he took another drink, draining the glass, then put the bottle away; he’d need to be sober enough to deal with Artemis. It was going to be a long few weeks.

---

Duke sighed as he finally reached the Manor after a long day of patrol, his eyes already beginning to droop as he pulled off his suit, took a shower and went to go climb into bed, the sun beginning to dip below the horizon as the nocturnal Bats all began to start their days.

Being the Daytime Bat was no easy task, and whenever he got home, Duke was always grateful for the rest.

He hit the mattress, heavenly soft as always, and was out like a light.

He drifted off into dreamland, and Duke blinked his eyes open to look at a bedroom that was not his own. The decor was the right style; old money, Gilded Age stuff that the Waynes enjoyed. But it wasn’t Duke’s room; Duke’s room was a warm brown color, with wooden walls and floors, a green throw rug dominating the space alongside his bed and small writing desk, all inherited from the Waynes. This room, by contrast, was a little bit smaller than his, with forest green, filigreed walls, and heavy, dark red curtains shrouding the windows.

An old-fashioned lamp sat on a small bedside table, shut off, alongside an old rotary phone that looked as though it had jumped right out of the 60s. Even though the curtains were drawn, Duke could hear the thunder crashing outside, the heavy rain pounding the roof and pelting the windows, the wind howling through the trees outside. He felt the storm more than heard it, and blinked as he turned around to look at the space.

He didn’t know why, but he felt like he knew this room… he recognized it… but from where…?

Duke’s attention was drawn to the green poster bed in the middle of the room, the bed’s curtains beginning to move around, as though someone on the other side was kicking them in their sleep. The movement became quicker, the curtains’ motion becoming more frantic and distressed. A soft moan came from beyond the fabric, that almost sounded like the word ‘No…!’

Whoever was in there was having a nightmare, and a bad one, it seemed. Duke stepped toward the bed, reaching out his hand to pull back the curtain.

A pair of glasses sat on the bedside table, that Duke hadn’t noticed before. And a ring, he noticed; a class ring, it looked like. It had an eagle on it, who splayed its wings behind a triangular shield of stars and stripes.

Duke had just enough time to squint at it in confusion before a hand lashed out from the curtained bed, and Duke cried out as it held his arm in a vice-like grip.

He turned in alarm, and was met with an older White man, maybe in his mid-50s, with tawny brown hair that was beginning to turn a sandy white at his temples. He stared at Duke with wild, fear-filled eyes, but they focused on him quickly, boring deep into his soul as Duke felt that he wasn’t looking at him, but into him.

“It’s you…! ” the man whispered, and Duke yelped as he pulled himself out of the man’s grip, then turned and tried to run.

As he turned, Duke didn’t go far, since right behind him, a tall man in a gas mask stood looming above him, wearing a dark green suit and billowing black cloak, his hair hidden by a wide-brimmed fedora. The eyes of the gas mask seemed to glow, and Duke had just a moment to recognize him from his previous dream before the masked man lunged at Duke, his voice distorted by the mask as he screamed, “ YOU! ”

Duke surged upward with a gasp, panting as he sat in his bed, in his room, the very beginnings of a storm beginning to roll in outside as sweat poured from his frame, soaking his sheets. “Wh-What?” he gasped, holding a hand to his head in confusion, and then there was a knock at the door.

“You alright in there?” Julia Pennyworth’s voice came floating through the door, “Heard a shout.”

“Y-Yeah, Julia, I’m alright,” Duke replied shakily, trying to sound more confident than he felt, “J-Just a nightmare.”

“Right, whatever you say,” Julia answered, and Duke heard her footsteps retreat down the hall. 

Duke sighed as he laid back down in bed, turning over and trying to go back to sleep, when he noticed something on his bedside table.

A ring, with an eagle and a shield of stars and stripes.

Maybe it wasn’t just a nightmare after all.

---

Barry fidgeted uncomfortably as he sat in a chair across from Dinah, no longer aboard the Watchtower, but at her office in Star City. It was clean, professional; not too many personal effects. A small picture of her and Ollie on the wall, along with a small pennant for the Star City Shrikes, the local football team. He hadn’t known Dinah was a football fan.

“Shrikes are having a good year, aren’t they?” he asked conversationally, and Dinah smiled ruefully.

“We just lost a game to the Jets, and the Patriots, and the Browns, so, no, not really,” she sighed, “But the Comets are doing well, from what I’ve heard from Wally.”

Barry furrowed his brow. “What? No, the Comets have been awful for as long as I can remember,” he groused, “We haven’t even made it to the playoffs since the 90s.”

This time, it was Dinah’s turn to be confused. “Barry, the Comets won the Super Bowl just last year,” she responded, and Barry frowned.

“What? No, that’s not… we lost to Metropolis last year, 35 to 10, it was a blowout,” he protested, and understanding seemed to dawn in Dinah’s eyes.

“Barry… that was 2005,” she said softly, then seemed to hesitate before she added, “... a little over fifteen years ago.”

Barry blinked, then rubbed his face as he remembered he had been gone so long. “And let me guess,” he muttered forlornly, “That’s the last time the Shrikes were good, right?”

Dinah nodded sadly.

Barry sighed through his hands, feeling his eyes burn with tears he was too tired to shed. “What the hell am I doing, Dinah?” he asked sadly, “I died fifteen years ago. I… I missed so much… ”

“You did,” Dinah agreed, “But you have to remember Barry, you didn’t die. You were captured by your greatest nemesis and tortured for a decade and a half; Barry, for someone who works on your timeframe, it’s a wonder you’re still as put together as you are.”

“But I’m not, ” Barry insisted hoarsely, “When I’m out there, I… I freeze up, Dinah. I think I’m back there again, and people end up getting hurt because I don’t snap out of it fast enough to help them. Just look at what happened with Brainiac! I got Bruce, Clark, and Diana captured, almost killed-! ”

“- Barry, ” Dinah interjected, placing a calming hand on his knee, “You can’t think like that. Yes, you froze up, and frankly, you shouldn’t have been in the field in your condition, but that’s not your fault. We should have realized something was wrong before we let you go out there.”

“But I’m the one who pushed Bruce to let me on the mission!” Barry cried, “I begged him to let me go!”

“Because you feel like being the Flash is all you have left, right? After losing your job, your friends, your life, it’s understandable that you want to cling to the one thing that stayed constant, Barry,” Dinah told him, “But being the Flash doesn’t mean you have to run into outer space to go fight killer robots all the time. When you first got your powers, what was the first thing you did?”

Barry almost huffed a laugh at the memory. “I ate six pizzas by myself,” he muttered ruefully, “I didn’t know my metabolism had been accelerated yet; I didn’t understand why I was so hungry. ”

Dinah chuckled along with him, rolling her eyes fondly, “The second thing, then,” she prompted, and Barry sighed, thinking hard.

“I… I went for a run, I guess,” he murmured, “Kind of by accident. I meant to just go around the block, but I ended up going down to the river, and just in a few seconds, too. I was moving so fast, it looked like the world was standing still… it was kinda beautiful.”

Dinah smiled as Barry smiled softly, a sight that was increasingly rare these days, and she went on. “I bet you weren’t running off to go fight evil speedsters or mad scientists yet, right?” she asked, and Barry shook his head.

“I couldn’t run too fast without tripping over my own feet and biting the asphalt,” he remembered, and Dinah smirked.

“But you were still the Flash,” she said, “I seem to recall reading the paper one day to find that a new ‘scarlet streak’ had been seen in Central City, dropping in ‘like a guardian angel’ to save cats from trees and help old ladies across the street.”

Barry ducked his head bashfully, explaining, “I was just doing some good deeds.”

“And that’s all it takes to be a hero, Barry,” Dinah told him, then she reset herself in her seat a little bit, “Barry, it’s good to cling on to being the Flash, having that sort of liferaft is important after such a life-changing experience like what you went through. But you can’t deny that those fifteen years changed you, Barry, and they’ve changed the Flash, too. Maybe give the supervillains a rest for a while; stay in Central City for a bit, or a new city if you need to. Rescue a few more cats from a few more trees, help little old ladies across the street, heck, stop a bank robbery or two if you’re feeling up to it. Just take it easy for a while, Barry, just until you’ve got your head on straight again.”

Barry hummed noncommittally at Dinah’s words, a thoughtful frown on his face as he considered what she’d said. It was a big adjustment, going from one of the most famous heroes in the world to just the friendly neighborhood speedster, but if by going out for the big stuff he kept putting his friends in danger…

“I’ll give it a shot,” he said finally, looking at Dinah with a wan smile, “It’s only up from here, right?”

Dinah smiled back at him, sitting back in her chair. “If you think of it like that, then it really is,” she told him, and Barry nodded, closing his eyes for a brief moment and trying to pretend he didn’t see Thawne staring right back.

---

Oswald sighed as he sat at his desk in the Iceberg Lounge, rubbing his eyes. Things at the office had certainly left something to be desired in these past few days, what with Tim simultaneously working them like dogs and flitting in and out of the office whenever he felt like it, it seemed like. 

Ed and Bane thought something was up; Oswald had long since decided to let them be. His job was providing manpower and extra cash, and that he could do in spades; Umbrella Entertainment, LLC had been doing better than ever, what with their recent catering deal with LexCorp. It had always been an uphill battle for him and his ‘legitimate business’, not least of which because of the illegitimate business, but also because he knew for a fact that the people who ran this city didn’t particularly like him; but Oswald had never been one to care what people thought of him.

Until Tim Drake came along, that is. That stupid, stupid fool and his goddamn poker nights. How was he supposed to be the Penguin, fearsome crime lord, arms manufacturer, and drug dealer, when he was also Oz, drinking buddy and poker aficionado on the weekends? If someone had come to him eight years ago and told him he’d be great friends with Two Face, Killer Croc, and Scarecrow, he’d have laughed in their face before feeding them to the piranhas at the Gotham Aquarium. Now, he didn’t know what he’d do if he didn’t have his weekly game night alongside Harv, Waylon, and Jon. 

Not to mention the new cooperation had been undeniably good for business. Tim’s Mockingbird Syndicate worked like a charm, even without him at the helm; as far as any of them could tell, the Bat didn’t know anything was up, they were getting a steady flow of cash, and his men had never been happier or more loyal. Penguin was financing medical bills, quinceaneras, dance lessons; anything and everything his men needed he could pay for. He was pretty sure he was providing better benefits than most major companies; certainly better than any firm the common Crime Alley mook had a prayer of working for.

Mockingbird was the most attractive job on the market, and business had been booming. Oswald trusted his new compatriots enough to let them handle whatever was going on with Tim; they were still deranged psychopaths after all, they all had their issues. It was to be expected that Tim might go off the deep end at some point; so long as he could be reeled back in to focus on the task at hand, Oswald didn’t particularly care. No, Oswald’s job was to keep the Syndicate running, to make sure their criminal enterprise operated as smoothly as possible, and that was what he was doing. Best for him to just focus and get this paperwork done…

His office stood still around him, soft music playing from an antique gramophone; it was one of the few things he had been able to save from his house before it had been repossessed. Now that Cobblepot Manor had been placed back under his name, though, he had access to things he hadn’t before, like his mother’s collection of records. He enjoyed it, having that connection to his family again, but he also knew that certain people would disapprove. He could only hope they were too busy to pay attention to him, and that by the time they turned their focus back on the Cobblepots, either he would have enough money and influence to protect himself or they just wouldn’t care enough to go after him. After all, he’d been the Penguin for going on forty years now, and certain people hadn’t bothered him before; why start now?

As Oswald worked, he supposed that’s the reason why he’d thrown in his lot with the Rogues. After all, without the bird motif, he was just another run-of-the-mill gangster, a cog in Gotham’s criminal machine. By betting it all on being The Penguin, crazed supervillain, he not only removed himself from the system, catapulting himself to new heights, but he protected himself from certain people. 

After all, in all their long history, Oswald had noticed one thing: they didn’t mess with the freaks. Joker was allowed to run wild, Two-Face and Croc and Scarecrow and all the rest still moved through Gotham with impunity. Oswald wasn’t so naive as to think that they were scared of them, but it was certainly a brand of crazy they didn’t want to deal with. For a while, he’d even thought the Bat worked for them , but he’d dismissed that suspicion easily enough when the fool refused to kill.

No, he was safe so far, and there was no reason to think he wasn’t now. What did they care about an old house, anyway? It would be theirs again once Oswald was dead, and he had no delusions of outliving them. Best to get back to work and stop worrying.

---

“Talon, I trust I do not need to impress upon you the importance of this mission?” the Judge had asked it, and Talon shook its head. “Good,” she’d said with a nod, “You know the accused’s location; carry out my sentence.”

That is why Talon found itself in the shadowy upper floor of the Iceberg Lounge, the muted sound of rave music thumping dully beneath its feet as it carefully made its way toward the owner’s office. With the revellers causing such noise, its work would be easy.

He laughed as he swung from the chandelier up onto the second floor, his cackles bouncing off the walls thanks to his ventriloquist training and the building’s weird acoustics, making it so that the thugs knew he was there, but not where he was. This was gonna be a piece of cake!

Talon came across an armed guard; its claws reached forward before the thug could make a sound, the only noise being a soft gurgle of breath and blood that was easily masked by the party downstairs. Its quarry was near.

He grinned as he flipped over one of the guards on his way to the Lounge’s office, turning back to swipe the man’s legs out from under him. With Batman and Robin on his tail, Penguin didn’t stand a chance!

It approached the door of the owner’s office, effortlessly throwing sharp knives into the necks of the two guards, letting their bodies fall to the ground with a dull thump. It laid its clawed fingers on the doorknob slowly.

Batman was taking care of the rest of the goons; Dick grinned as he used his grapple to set up a swing from the ceiling, rearing back and kicking the door open, landing triumphantly in Penguin’s office after a midair flip.

Talon let the door swing open slowly, closing it behind him quietly.

The Penguin didn’t look up. “Look,” he muttered, “I don’t care how many people are complaining, but our next shipment of mezcal doesn’t come in until Thursday, and it’s too late to double the order! If they want more, tell them to drink something else or find a different bar!”

Talon cocked its head.

Penguin finally looked up, first in confusion at its silence, then his eyes widened as his jaw went slack.

“Sorry, Penguin, but your goose is cooked!” Robin declared with a wolfish grin, and the gangster growled as he stood in his chair.

“Not today, birdbrat!” he cried, and he hefted his weaponized umbrella, opening fire as Dick cartwheeled around the room, dodging easily.

Penguin blinked. Talon did not. Penguin swallowed nervously. “Wh-What do you want?” he asked, shaking slightly, “I haven’t spoken a whispered word! Why here? Why now?”

Talon blinked slowly. “ Message… ” it croaked, its voice hoarse from disuse.

Penguin stood from his desk slowly, still shaking as his hand went toward the handle of an umbrella. Talon shook its head, and Penguin’s hand stopped. “Message?” he asked instead, “What’s the message?”

Talon blinked again, trying to figure out why its heart was beating so fast, why there was a pit in its stomach. “ Message… not for you… ” it continued, and Penguin swallowed again.

“Then who is it for?” he asked.

“ You… know… ” it said. That wasn’t what it was supposed to say; it was just supposed to kill him now.

Nonetheless, Penguin’s eyes widened. “ Tim, ” he whispered, and Talon gasped as it realized that if this went on too long, it would be punished again.

Fear pounding in its chest, it surged forward, perching on the desk and raising a clawed hand high. Penguin scrambled backward in fear.

Robin grinned as he tightened Penguin’s bonds, placing a triumphant foot on the defeated supervillain’s back. “Oswald ‘The Penguin’ Cobblepot, you’re under arrest!” he said cheekily, laughing at how the man squirmed in fury.

“ Oswald Cobblepot… ” Talon rasped, “ The Court of Owls has sentenced you to die! ”

Without further delay, it plunged its claws into Cobblepot’s neck, letting the red blood flow down its fingers, down Penguin’s suit, down into the carpet below. Desperately, Penguin’s hands grabbed at it, at its face, at its mask, and pulled the hood off its head.

Penguin’s eyes widened as Talon remained motionless. “ I… know you… ” he whispered, and his body went slack as Talon felt his pulse stop.

It stood still for a few minutes more, trying to process why it felt so… angry. So disgusted. So afraid.

It replaced the hood upon its head, then left just as quietly as it had arrived; it didn’t matter. If it didn’t want to be punished, then Talon must return to the Court.

Chapter 38: Speak Not A Whispered Word

Harvey Dent grumbled incoherently as he adjusted his tie, making sure the image-inducer Tim had stolen from STAR Labs for him all those years ago was still running; Two-Face walking the halls of the Iceberg Lounge wasn’t exactly an uncommon sight, but if he wasn’t carrying a gun and shouting threats, then he couldn’t be here as Two-Face. They needed to make sure the Bat didn’t get wise to the Mockingbird Syndicate, and so far they’d kept up the charade for seven years running; he wasn’t about to slip up now.

When he got to the second floor, however, his stomach sunk into his feet as he saw the damage. The two guards outside the office lay dead at the entrance, the door still slightly askew; the Riddler was crouched by one of the bodies, inspecting it thoughtfully, while Bane stood over them, arms crossed and face inscrutable, even without the luchador mask. 

“Harvey,” Ed greeted without looking away from his task.

“Ed,” Harvey greeted in return, “So it’s true?”

“It’s true,” Bane confirmed darkly, “The maid found them like this, but knew better than to call the police. We were here as soon as we got the word.”

“I’m sure the others won’t be far behind,” Harvey sighed, putting his hands in his pockets and feeling around for his quarter.

“No,” Ed murmured, a frown still on his face as he inspected one of the bodies, prodding it almost absentmindedly.

“No?” Harvey asked quizzically, fixing Ed with a confused glare.

“No, they shouldn’t be here,” Ed reiterated, “All of us in one place for poker once a week is one thing; we can slip under the Bat’s radar easily enough. But once this gets out? It’ll spread like wildfire. Imagine how suspicious it’ll be if Batman finds out all of us descended on the crime scene before he even got wind of it.”

“Assuming he doesn’t already know…” Harvey muttered ruefully, kicking the ground angrily.

“The Bat’s not magic , Harvey,” Bane responded, “The news hasn’t spread yet. Not outside the Lounge or the Syndicate.”

“We might have to lose the Lounge,” Ed realized, still not looking up, “Once the funeral arrangements are over with; it’ll look suspicious if LexCorp buys it.”

“We aren’t losing the Lounge!” Harvey growled, viscerally angry at the suggestion, “Os poured his heart and soul into this place!”

“I can buy it,” Bane offered, and both Ed and Harvey looked at him incredulously. Bane raised an eyebrow, “I am technically the sole dictator of a Caribbean nation, remember? I can move money from Santa Prisca into a few different shadow accounts and work up the money to buy the Iceberg Lounge. That way we can maintain it as a base of operations.”

After the explanation, Ed nodded. “Do it, but be careful,” he warned, “If the Bat traces it back to you, we’ll be in big trouble.”

“Someone will need to take over his territory, too,” Harvey sighed, twirling his double-headed coin between his fingers; a nervous habit, “I can take some, but it won’t look right if I take it all.”

“Scarecrow?” Ed suggested, but Bane shook his head.

“Jonathan hasn’t been maintaining his gang; it’s too unrealistic for him to gain a large swathe of Penguin’s territory,” he pointed out, “Perhaps we let the Outlaws take some of the slack? Red Hood may not be a member of our group, but we know he will treat the men well, at least.”

“It’s a possibility,” Ed sighed, finally standing up and stretching a bit, “And once word gets out, Hood will try to move in anyway. Could you take some of it, Bane? Your gang’s been doing well recently.”

Bane thought for a moment, then nodded. “We could use the manpower boost,” he acknowledged.

“Then we’ll work out borders later,” Harvey sighed, pocketing his coin and looking at the still slightly-askew door, “Have either of you…?”

“No,” Ed admitted, “But I saw. There’s not too much of a mess.”

Harvey sighed as he stepped forward, pressing the door inward and frowning as he saw the pale, stiff form lying on the ground beside the desk, the carpet around him stained deep red, eyes open and unseeing. Other than that, the office looked untouched; peaceful, even.

“Damn it, Os,” Harvey murmured, rubbing his forehead, “I thought you’d put up more of a fight…”

“Perhaps he didn’t have the chance,” Bane suggested, and Ed frowned.

“Or he knew his attacker,” he added, and both Rogues whirled to look at him.

“What are you saying??” Bane asked intensely, “You think there is a traitor among us!?”

“No,” Ed responded, shaking his head, “But those guards outside don’t show any sign of distress; it’s like they were alive one second and dead the next. But look at Oswald.”

Harvey and Bane looked back, and Ed pointed from a respectful distance, “His hands have blood on them; he clutched at his throat after he was stabbed. The way he fell makes it look like he collapsed, rather then just fell over. And he’s not in his chair.”

“So?” Harvey asked, and Riddler sighed.

“There’s half-finished paperwork on the desk,” Ed told them, “Have you ever stood up to do paperwork? If Oswald never saw this guy coming, he’d still be sitting down, and he’d have died over his desk. But he’s not; he’s back against the wall. The fact that he didn’t go for his umbrella means either he didn’t feel threatened or he knew he was outmatched. There was a conversation there; he knew who he was dealing with.”

Bane and Harvey frowned. “All astute deductions,” Bane acquiesced, “But that still leaves the fundamental question:”

“Whodunnit?” Harvey finished.

Ed frowned as the three of them looked at Oswald’s fallen body. Once a rival, an annoyance, an enemy. Now a friend.

“I don’t know…” Ed admitted, and he clenched his fists harder than he thought he ever would, “But I’m going to find out.”

---

Artemis rubbed her hands against her thighs worriedly as she psyched herself up to finally go back into the office she’d been kicked out of not too long ago. Ever since the Demon’s Head had sent her here, she’d felt like she’d been doing a whole lot of nothing, and her first meeting with her new employer, if he could be called that, had been less than ideal. 

Tim Drake seemed to revel in pushing Artemis’s buttons, especially her last name; once he’d realized how close it was to a bad word, he’d taken it and run with it, so now Artemis was subject to all sorts of phallic nicknames whenever she’d been forced to be in Mr. Drake’s presence. He was an ill-tempered, immature, no-good rich snob who’d never had to work a day in his life, not the way she’d had to, and she’d rather have any other posting than this one if it meant being away from him.

But Lady Shiva had convinced Talia to give her this position for a reason; Drake was apparently one of her pupils. And he was a protege of Batman, too; that meant he should have at least had some fighting knowledge to pass on to her, right? It was just like her dad, just like her training in the League; instructors were just tools to gain more knowledge. You didn’t have to like them to learn from them. Artemis might have never wanted to be an assassin, but she’d been in the League long enough to know how it worked.

So, when Pru had told her Tim Drake wanted to see her, she’d resigned herself to whatever begrudging training Drake was about to give her, whatever grueling task she was meant to perform, because the sooner she learned what she needed to from him, the sooner she could get back to the League. To her sister. 

To trying to forget about what had happened to Ted Kord.

Artemis sighed, stood up, then knocked on the big oak doors that led to Tim’s office.

“ Come in, ” was the muffled reply, and Artemis took a breath before entering.

The office was just the same as she remembered it, with a giant glass window behind the desk, a crystal pitcher of whiskey with two glasses, one of which was always full and in Drake’s hand. The weird modern art sculpture on the left, the painting on the right, the plush carpet on the floor. A giant, open space that just felt… empty. Like no one lived or worked there. Less an office than a showroom.

“You asked to see me, sir?” she said, trying to remain respectful; she’d learned the hard way what attitude earned her when dealing with the League.

“Artemis,” Mr. Drake greeted, closing a manila folder he’d been looking at, looking uncomfortable as he met her eyes, “Please, have a seat.” He gestured to one of the chairs opposite his desk, and Artemis braced herself for one of the most awkward conversations of her life as she sat down.

As she sat, she took a glance at Drake’s desk, littered with paper as always, but one did catch her eye; the manila folder Drake had been looking at earlier. It was labelled ‘Crock, Artemis’. It was her file.

Her heart rate spiked as she gave Drake a hard look, but his face betrayed nothing. If anything, he just looked… tired. There was stubble lining his jaw, his black hair was messy and unkempt, and there were deep, almost purple bags under his eyes that denoted a severe lack of sleep. It was then that Artemis took in the stained coffee mug that sat on the desk, which read ‘ More Espresso, Less Depresso ’; Artemis quirked an eyebrow at it.

“It was a gift from a friend of mine, from a long, long time ago,” Mr. Drake said, pulling her out of her reverie, and Artemis was ashamed to say that she jumped at the address. Drake had a knowing smile on his face as she blushed in embarrassment.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare, it-it’s just,” she stammered, “It’s not really…”

“Professional?” Drake supplied, “I know; but it’s one of the few possessions from before all this that I still have.” At that, Artemis watched in fascination as Drake picked up the mug, now empty, and smiled at it for a moment before placing it in a desk drawer. “Don’t let Lex know I have it, I don’t think he’d approve,” Drake said, giving her a knowing smirk, “Our little secret, okay?”

Artemis was now more confused then ever. Not a day ago this man had basically told her to go fuck herself and banished her from his office, and now they were pals? She was wrong; this wasn’t like anything she’d encountered in the League. “... Sir?” she asked, hoping to get some modicum of clarification.

Drake sighed and rubbed his face, sitting back in his chair for a moment before turning around to face out the window, toward the skyline of Gotham and growing quiet. “I’m not a monster, you know,” he said suddenly, and Artemis blinked.

“Wh-What?” she asked incredulously.

“Monsters don’t feel bad about what they’ve done. All the people they’ve killed, or the lives they’ve ruined,” Drake went on, still not facing her, “Some days it’s all I can think about. Some days I wonder if it’s even worth caring about anymore.”

Artemis sat stock still in her seat, absolutely terrified. Fuck not being the same as what she’d gotten in the League, this wasn’t even in the same galaxy. What was this heart-to-heart shit? Why was Drake baring his soul to her?? What the fuck was happening???

Drake seemed to shake himself, enough so that Artemis wondered if he’d even been speaking to her before, rather than himself.

“I know about your parents, Artemis,” Drake continued, and Artemis felt a stone sink in her gut as the man finally turned back to face her, now looking her dead in the eye, “Tigress and Sportsmaster, huh? Not exactly a winning combination.”

Artemis shivered under his gaze, feeling the cold, calculating blue eyes boring into her, like they could see past her skin and into her soul. Like they already knew everything about her, maybe even more than she did.

“N-No, not really,” she agreed.

“But, growing up in Star City, you must have seen Green Arrow once or twice, right? Maybe from the window?” Drake asked nonchalantly, flipping through her file, “Says here your apartment was right across the street from one of his most noteworthy cases. And Paula Crock’s credit card purchased a lot of Green Arrow merch around the time you were seven years old; isn’t that a coincidence?”

Artemis swallowed. Yes, she’d watched Green Arrow from her window; what little girl wouldn’t, at that age? “It was a terrorist called the Clock King,” she explained, trying to make Drake understand the situation, “He had planted timebombs all around the city, no one knew where they were. But, our apartment was across the street from the old clocktower, and Green Arrow figured out that’s where Clock King had his base of operations; there was a fight in the clock, I guess. The glass shattered, and Clock King was holding Green Arrow over the street, twenty stories up, by his neck; the whole city knew there was only a few seconds left on the timebombs! Then, out of nowhere, Green Arrow smacked Clock King over the head with his boxing glove arrow, managed to climb back inside the clock in time to stop the timers on the bombs and saved the city!”

Artemis didn’t realize how excited she had gotten while she told the story until she got to the end, her hands waving in the air, unable to stop herself. Normally she wouldn’t let herself slip up so much, but Drake just smiled at her indulgently. “Uh, well, uh, as a little kid I thought it was pretty cool,” she finished awkwardly, drawing back in on herself and trying to put up a mask of professionalism again, “Mom bought me a bunch of toys afterward.”

Drake smiled. “She sounds like a good mother,” he said, then his expression turned sad, almost pitying, “Still, I can’t imagine it was a happy childhood, after Captain Boomerang crippled her for life.” 

Artemis shivered at the memory as Drake gave her an intense look, “I think that’s something you and I have in common.”

“Wh-What?” Artemis asked, finally throwing decorum to the wind, and Drake cracked a rueful smile.

“My parents, Jack and Janet Drake,” he started, “They were horrible people. My father was a drunk; he beat me with a belt if something wasn’t to his standard. And my mother… the less said about her the better. But that was only on the days when they were even around. Would you like to know how many days that was?”

Artemis furrowed her brow, and Drake smiled sadly at her again. “I did the math. Average was about three weeks a year. Every year for thirteen years, that’s a grand total of two hundred and seventy-three days, out of four thousand, seven hundred and forty-five. That’s less than a tenth of my life. For the rest, I was being cared for by a nanny, or from the day I turned three years old onward, alone. My mother died in a plane crash and my father was murdered by Captain Boomerang.”

Artemis felt sick; her childhood had not been happy, that much was true, but her mother at least tried. Paula Crock, even though she was wheelchair-bound, had at least done what she could to put Artemis and her sister through school, to give them any opportunity she could, before Sportsmaster had come knocking, a very different future for his daughters in mind. 

But Drake’s? This was a whole other level of tragedy. She would say she was horrified by how the Drakes could seemingly have no regard for another human being, let alone their own child, but then she remembered that her father had basically sold her into slavery to be an assassin.

“I… I don’t know what to say, sir,” she stuttered quietly, casting her gaze to the floor, and Drake sighed.

“So don’t say anything,” he admonished, “I’m not telling you my sob story so you’ll feel sorry for me; if you want to compete in the Tragedy Olympics, I’m a gold medalist eight years running. I am telling you this so that you understand that I understand you; I understand why Lady Shiva dropped you on my doorstep.”

Artemis straightened her back in surprise; as far as anyone was supposed to know, her orders had come from Talia al Ghul, not Lady Shiva. “But--!” she tried, but she kept her mouth shut at the expression on Drake’s face.

“I’m not an idiot, Miss Crock,” he sighed, “I noticed when Talia seemingly had no idea you had been assigned to me when I questioned her about it at our last meeting, as well as the fact that Lady Shiva seemed quite alarmed that I was asking about you in the first place.”

Artemis swallowed uncomfortably. “So, if you know, sir…” she started uncertainly, “... Then why am I here?”

Drake took a long, drawn-out sigh as he reached for his glass of whiskey, then apparently thought better of it. “Because I know Lady Shiva didn’t just send you here for assassin training,” he finished, and now Artemis was extremely confused. 

“Yes… she did…” she answered incredulously, speaking slowly both to make sure the words sounded right to her and to communicate to Drake that she thought he was an idiot.

Drake huffed a laugh. “No, she didn’t,” he responded, “You forget, Lady Shiva was my instructor, too, back when I was training to be Robin. What could I possibly teach you that she hasn’t already?”

“All the things Batman taught you?? ” Artemis pointed out, growing increasingly frustrated by Drake’s talking in circles.

Drake himself, meanwhile, just smiled, “I’ll let you in on a secret, Artemis; Batman and Lady Shiva? They were classmates in the League. When it comes to combat, there is nothing that one can do that the other can’t. Batman didn’t teach me anything about combat that Lady Shiva hadn’t taught me already, which is why he sent me to train with her in the first place; he felt that spending his time with me on that would be a waste.”

Besides the revelation that Batman had once been in the League of Assassins, Artemis was flabbergasted. “Then Batman didn’t teach you anything!?! ” she snapped, standing up in a rage, scandalized that one of the greatest heroes of all time would take a child into battle with such minimal preparation. 

And again, Drake just laughed at her. “I didn’t say that, ” he corrected her, motioning for her to sit back down, which she did with a bit of an embarrassed blush on her face, “I said he didn’t teach me anything about combat, besides a few tests to make sure Shiva had stuck to her promise of training me non-lethal moves. Batman taught me how to be a vigilante; detective work, how to patrol a city, cooperation with the local police, even when they’d prefer to put you behind bars. How to deal with Arkham Breakouts, how to track down a mystery, how to solve a case, how to work with other superheroes. Now enlighten me, Miss Crock, why would an assassin need to know any of that?”

Artemis opened her mouth, then closed it again, thinking hard. “I…” she started, never finishing her sentence. Drake’s expression seemed to grow softer, and he leaned across the desk to be closer to her, prompting her to look him in the eye.

“Unless you don’t want to be an assassin at all, do you?” he asked, and Artemis stared at the sorrow in his blue-green eyes, the sorrow that failed to hide a burning desire to help, and Artemis felt emotion well up in her chest, not daring to hope that Drake, and Lady Shiva, had seen in her what she had wanted all along, let alone that they were helping her achieve it. Drake, after waiting a moment for her to collect herself, finally finished, “You want to be a superhero.”

And the dam in her chest finally broke. She sobbed, hard and loud, and desperately raced to wipe the tears from her eyes before they could fall, absolutely mortified that just a few words had reduced her to a blubbering mess, and in front of her boss, no less!

“ I-I-I-I’m sorry! ” she gasped, “I-I d-don’t mean to cry, I-I just--!”

“You’ve been holding it in forever, haven’t you?” Drake asked her, and she nodded rapidly, just desperately trying to stop crying--!

Drake stood up, moving around the desk to stand next to her chair, and for a moment she thought he was going to hit her, the way her dad or her instructors did to stop her from crying, but to her surprise, she was met with a warm, gentle embrace.

Drake was hugging her!

Now she was more embarrassed than she thought she ever could be, being hugged by her boss because she was crying! Ugh, this day was the worst!

“Shh, shh,” Drake murmured to her, pulling her to his chest and resting his head on top of hers, “It’s going to be okay, kid. I promise, I’m gonna make sure you make it out okay.”

Drake rubbed her back soothingly, and Artemis sobbed again into his shirt, wrapping her arms around him and clinging to him like a lifeline. In some dull part of her brain, she recognized that Drake seemed far too practiced at this for someone his age, as if he’d had experience with people breaking down into tears for seemingly no reason.

“Wh-Wh-Why are you helping me??” Artemis asked through her tears, still clinging to him for fear he might let go, and she felt Drake sigh more than heard him.

“Do you want the truth, or what I think you need to hear?” he asked, and Artemis swallowed.

“B-Both?” she asked quietly, and Drake sighed again.

“I think you need to hear that I’m helping you because you deserve to be helped, and no matter how long I’ve been out of the game, there’s still some part of me that’s still a hero,” he started, then he hugged her tighter, “But the real reason, Artemis? You remind me of my family. You remind me of my son.”

“Y-Your son??” she asked, finally drawing herself out of the hug, although she did kind of miss it now that it wasn’t there, “You have a son?”

“He’s a few years younger than you,” Drake admitted, “But after the first year of his life, I… didn’t really get to be a father to him anymore. Maybe you’re my way of making up for that. I don’t know; it sounds more fucked up the more I think about it. But I do want to help you, Artemis, if only to prove that this all hasn’t been for nothing.”

Artemis swallowed down the last of her sobs and wiped her eyes, and Drake smiled at her kindly. The way dads did in the movies.

“So, Artemis, I’m gonna be honest with you,” Drake started, “This is gonna be hard. We’re going to have to figure out how to hide this from… well, from pretty much everybody. While you’re with me, you’re not going to be doing a lot of hero-ing, but I can teach you the fundamentals on the down-low, if you’re interested. Then, once this is all over with, you’ll have the skills you need to fend for yourself; how does that sound?”

Artemis nodded her head. When she was a little girl, she’d watched Green Arrow stop a murder, snatching victory from a seemingly impossible situation. She’d harbored those dreams of being a superhero, of running around with a bow and arrow and helping people, like her idol; when she’d been sold to the League, those dreams had been all but crushed. They’d certainly been crushed in her sister. Now, she was being given a chance to have her dream back; she wasn’t going to waste it.

“Where do we start?” she asked seriously, and Drake grinned.

“Well-,” he started, but the door to his office was nearly knocked off its hinges as the two both jumped and turned to see Clayface burst into the room, looking distraught.

“ TIM! ” he wailed, and Drake stood up, looking confused.

“Basil, what is it?” he asked, and Basil stood stricken in the center of the room, looking sadder than Artemis had ever thought an amorphous blob of clay could look.

“ It’s Os! ” Clayface wailed, “Tim, it- it’s bad! You’ve gotta come see this!”

Artemis glanced up, and Tim set his jaw. 

What a great start.

---

Bruce couldn’t help but feel strange as Julia brought the car across the bridge to Arkham Asylum. He’d only ever been here as Batman; to be here as Bruce Wayne was… strange.

“ Jesus, ” Julia muttered from the driver’s seat, “I’ve heard stories ‘bout this place. They say it’s worse than Bedlam was, back in its day.”

“Something like that,” Bruce murmured, “But they’ve turned themselves around. My cousin, Kate Kane, is the warden now; she’s done a fantastic job the past few years reforming the place.”

“And the retention rate has skyrocketed ever since the old Rogues were handed those mysterious clean bills of health,” Damian muttered from his place beside Bruce, hinting not-so-subtly that they should look into that. It was on the list, but there were more pressing cases that came first, and the Rogues hadn’t really caused any trouble until recently. Call him sentimental, but Bruce wanted to believe they’d finally turned over new leaves.

Recent events in Dakota City suggested otherwise, though.

Julia stopped the car outside the Asylum’s main entrance, what had once upon a time been the porte-cochere for the stately Arkham Manor, before it had been converted in World War I. Bruce sighed as he saw Kate waiting for them.

“You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to, Damian,” he said again, and Damian scoffed.

“I will remain at your side, Father,” he responded, “Even if Aunt Katelyn has reformed this place, it is still Arkham. ”

“Of course,” Bruce sighed, secretly grateful for the company. He waited for Julia to open the door, then blinked and realized she hadn’t gotten out of the car.

“Julia?” he asked, and she gave him a sidelong glance.

“Your arms not working?” she asked, “Do it yourself!”

Bruce blinked, then chuckled, shook his head, and opened the door, Damian growling something about ‘indignity’ behind him as he got out of the car.

“Bruce,” Kate greeted, the scars on her face having faded slightly since her run-in with Joker Junior.

“Kate,” Bruce greeted in return, opening his arms for a hug, which his cousin gladly gave.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Kate sighed, letting him go, “It feels like I only ever see you when someone dies.”

“I keep inviting you to Sunday Brunch,” Bruce retorted with a half-hearted grin.

Kate shook her head, “Renee would have my head if we started going to brunch with her boss.”

“ And Detective Montoya does not know of our night job ,” Damian butted in, “To invite her and then hide it from her would be impolite.”

“And let no one ever accuse a Wayne of being impolite,” Kate said with a smirk, letting it fall as she gave Bruce a sympathetic look, “Are you ready?”

“Of course,” he sighed, letting her lead them into the Asylum itself and past offices and common rooms and down into the subterranean levels where they went past rows upon rows of cells. Bruce had been through these halls many times before, as had Kate and as had Damian, but now, their purpose was much more somber than apprehending escaped criminals.

“This is it,” Kate said, stopping at the door to the morgue, “Coroner’s inside. Do you want me to come with you?”

Bruce stopped for a moment, looking at the deceptively nondescript door with trepidation. “Would you?” he asked, “I don’t… you knew him too, you know?”

Kate nodded, “Of course. Whenever you’re ready.”

Bruce took a fortifying breath, taking comfort in the presence of his cousin and his son, and pushed the door open. The coroner, a not-unkind looking man, stood waiting by a table with a body covered by a sheet.

“Mr. Wayne, Warden Kane,” the coroner greeted, and Bruce inclined his head.

“Doctor,” he responded, then turned his eyes to the sheet.

“Are you ready, sir?” the coroner asked, and Bruce sighed, closing his eyes for a moment.

“Yes,” he decided, and the coroner drew back the sheet, and Bruce opened his eyes to see a plastic-surgery facsimile of his own face, pale with death’s pallor, staring back at him. No matter how much understanding he had, or how logically he could know that wasn’t him, it would always be just the slightest bit disconcerting.

“I can confirm that this is the body of Thomas J Elliot, also known as Hush,” he stated clearly, being as precise as he could for the legal record, and the coroner replaced the sheet.

Bruce sighed as they put the man who used to be his best friend in a drawer in the wall and locked it. He’d lost too many friends over the years… first Tommy and Harvey, then Clark and Barry, before they’d returned. And of course, his parents, Jason, Dick, and Tim. And people wondered why he had a dour mood, why he was so paranoid and untrusting; everyone he loved either died or became a criminal mastermind. Sometimes both.

“I don’t understand,” Damian said after a moment, interrupting Bruce’s thoughts, “Elliot’s parents are still alive; why are they not here to identify the body?”

“They waived their rights after he was admitted,” Kate sighed, “Didn’t reflect well on the Elliot Family when their son and heir presumptive to the company went crazy and tried to kill Bruce Wayne. Funnily enough, the last warden, our dear mayor Quincy Sharpe, allowed Elliot to still list Bruce as an emergency contact.”

The sarcasm in Kate’s voice when she referred to Mayor Sharpe wasn’t lost on Bruce; it was no secret that the current mayor, the former Warden of Arkham Asylum, had only gotten his current position because of corruption and nepotism. Barbara had tried to convince Jim to run, but he had always felt he could do more good as Police Commissioner. 

And there was some small part of him that was hurt to know that as warped and strained as his old friend’s mind was, Hush had still saw fit to name him as emergency contact. Whether that was some vestige of their childhood friendship or the result of Tommy’s fractured mind he would never know.

“How did he die?” Bruce asked, and Kate sighed, her shoulders slumping.

“You don’t want to know that, Bruce,” she warned him, and Bruce narrowed his eyes as he turned to look at his cousin.

“Kate,” he said incredulously, and Kate gave him an exasperated look back.

“Bruce,” she answered, and Damian rolled his eyes.

“How did he die, Kate?” Bruce asked again, looking into her eyes and trying to convey as much emotion as he could, “He may have tried to kill me, but we were friends once. I just want to know.”

Kate sighed again, closing her eyes and rubbing them for a moment. “He hung himself, Bruce,” she said quietly, “Tied his bedsheets to the light fixture and stepped off the bedframe. Guard thought he was just having one of his episodes and left him be until it was too late.”

Bruce’s heart stuttered in his chest. Tommy Elliot… killed himself? He supposed it had always been a possibility, Hush had been far from the picture of mental stability, but still…

Bruce laid a hand over his eyes for a moment, letting the loss register and mourning what had been his best friend when he was younger. And then, because he always does, he began to think: Hush was a megalomaniac. He thought incredibly highly of himself. He’d always tried to break out of Arkham and frame Bruce again whenever given the chance. Killing himself didn’t fit with the psychological profile Batman had on him, especially not after the great strides Elliot had made in therapy after Kate had taken over the Asylum. Something wasn’t adding up here; he would have to investigate.

“ Father ,” Damian said, something off and urgent in his voice, and Bruce turned to him, giving his son his full attention.

“What is it, Damian?” he asked, and Damian fixed him with a hard look as he handed over his phone, displaying a news headline, sent from Jason:

Oswald Cobblepot, formerly The Penguin, Found Dead!

If Hush’s death had made him suspicious, this made him sure: something very wrong was happening in Gotham. “Back to the car,” he said commandingly, slipping into his ‘Batman’ voice as he pushed past Damian and Kate, away from the body of Tommy Elliot, and towards answers, “We’re getting to the bottom of this.”

---

Tim couldn’t fathom what he was looking at. Basil had brought him in to Oswald’s office, distraught and upset, but Tim had never expected this. A break-in, a fight, maybe, but not this.

Oh God, not this.

With shaking hands, Tim reached out to touch Oswald’s lifeless shoulder, his heart breaking at how cold and stiff it was. The pool of blood was beginning to dry up. 

Ed, Bane, and Harvey were all in the room with him and Basil. Ed had already given Tim his hypothesis on Oswald’s attacker.

On Oswald’s killer.

Tim had lost another friend to this war.

He’d lost another friend.

And he’d just taken on a new apprentice, all because he thought he could stop people from dying.

Lex was breathing down his neck, waiting for him to finish Mockingbird so that they could crush the Justice League, infiltrate the Court of Owls, the whole nine yards. So that Tim could go behind Savage’s back and make Lex immortal, somehow.

Tim had to do all that while people were killing his friends.

Tim had to do all that while training Artemis.

Tim had to do all that while continuing to keep Tommy safe.

Tim fell to his knees, not able to tear his eyes away from Oswald.

He couldn’t deal with this.

Tim raked his hands through his hair desperately, trying to get a handle on his breathing as he started to hyperventilate.

He couldn’t deal with this.

Green glowed at the edge of his vision, his Lazarus Cure only doing so much in the face of such heightened emotion.

He couldn’t DEAL WITH THIS

 

“ Everybody out, ” he whispered, and Ed furrowed his brow behind him.

“What was that, Tim?” he asked, and Tim let a giggle escape his lips.

“ Everybody. OUT. ” he repeated, laughter edging into his voice.

Ed backed up too quickly, recoiling as if he’d been burned.

They knew that laugh.

“ OUT!! ” Tim roared, unable to stop his laughs this time, “Everybody OUT!! GET OUT!!! ”

Harvey grabbed Ed and Basil by the backs of their shirts and all but dragged them from the room, Bane closing the door behind them. Tim stood up and laughed, laughed louder and harder, desperately trying to keep a lid on the thing he knew would come out if he really let loose but he was standing in a room with a dead friend and he was laughing and God, wasn’t this funny--

High, raucous, whooping laughter echoed throughout the Iceberg Lounge, and Tim tried to scream as he held his hands to either side of his head, laughing and laughing and laughing.

He had known since STAR Labs that the Lazarus Cure was imperfect. Now, he was discovering just how imperfect it was.

And it sounded like the beginning of a bad joke.

Chapter 39: To the Bottom of Things

Tim came back to consciousness slowly, painfully, and groaned as his head pounded with what felt like the world’s worst hangover. But when had he gone drinking…?

Then, he remembered. He sat bolt upright, ignoring the lancing pain behind his eyes in order to see where he was, what had happened; what Junior had done . As he got his bearings, his heart sunk as he realized he wasn’t in Oswald’s office anymore.

Instead, he was passed out in a derelict funhouse he recognized all too well; the ruins of Amusement Mile, Gotham’s ill-begotten pierside attraction, and the former stomping grounds of the Joker. 

That would have been clue enough as to who he had been while he’d been unconscious, but Junior had made his point abundantly clear by leaving Tim a message.

On the opposite wall from where Tim was passed out, written in the corpses of small birds, small robins , stapled to the wall, their blood running down the molding, crumbling wood, was the chilling phrase: 

I’M
STILL
HERE

Tim shivered. As if he’d needed the reminder. He ran a hand over his face, satisfied when it came back without blood or red makeup; Junior had apparently foregone the smile this time around. Tim felt sick; just how long had Junior been in control? And why was it that it seemed his only victims were birds? It wasn’t Junior’s MO…

Tim checked his pocket and was shocked to discover his phone was still there. He checked the time, and he felt his heart sink into his stomach as he saw that it was 9:30pm… the next day. He’d been out for approximately twenty-six hours. Twenty-six hours when Junior could have done anything. 

What did he do?

Tim hated this.

There were also missed calls from pretty much everyone he knew.

Well, everyone he was still on speaking terms with. Pru had called eight times. The last voicemail she left was just silence; Tim thought she might have been crying.

Tim hunched his shoulders as he dialled her number, grimacing as Pru picked up even before the first ring. “ TIM!?” she cried over the line, and Tim let out a sad, exhausted sigh.

“Hey, Pru,” he murmured, “Can you come pick me up?”

“ TIM! Where are you!? Where have you been!?” Pru demanded, “ You’ve been missing since you saw what happened to Oswald! Are you alright??”

Tim almost smiled at her frantic questions. “Aw, you do care,” he chuckled, and he heard Pru growl from the other side of the line. “I’m at Amusement Mile,” Tim told her before being subjected to another one of Pru’s infamous rants, “And I don’t know where I’ve been. That’s kinda the problem. Do you know what happened since yesterday?”

Pru let out a huff of air from the other side of the line. “ Hell if I know,” she muttered, “ Two-Face said you saw Oswald, then started laughing like crazy. Like the Joker, Tim; anything you want to tell me? ”

Tim was silent for a long time. Pru had been there with him since the beginning; an original part of this small, fucked up team of his. She, Owens, and Z were his friends. 

If he couldn’t tell them, who could he tell?

“When I died, Pru, when Ra’s put me in the Pit…” Tim began quietly, his voice quavering slightly, “... I went crazy. Dissociative Identity Disorder, or something like it. Now, if I don’t take my medicine, or I guess if I get too overwhelmed, I… I regress.”

“ Regress?” Pru asked, her tone lowering to match his, “ What do you mean by ‘regress’?”

“I mean I revert back into what I was when I first came out of the Pit,” Tim sighed, closing his eyes and feeling the weight of what he was about to say, “I was just like him, Pru. The Joker reincarnate. Joker Junior.”

Tim looked up at Junior’s message, and sat terrified of the thought of what Junior might have done with twenty-six hours.

“I took control away from him,” he continued on, “And now he wants it back.”

Pru was quiet for a long time, then Tim heard her sigh. “Alright; I’ll tell the others to call off the search party, then. I’ll come pick you up, ” she said heavily, sounding more tired than Tim had ever heard her. There was a pause, as if Pru was trying to think of what to say, and she settled on, “ It’s gonna be okay, Tim. ”

Tim looked back up at Junior’s message. He thought of Oswald, still lying dead in his office. He thought of Lex, and Savage, and the Court of Owls. He thought of Artemis, and Bruce, and Conner, and Tommy. He thought of Dick, and Cass. He thought of Bart and Cassie.

“No it’s not,” he responded, and he hung up before Pru could say more. Then, he dialled a different number, one he always hated dialling.

It rang once. Then twice. Then three times, before the other side finally picked up.

“ Tim, m’boy! To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure?”

“Lex,” Tim sighed in greeting, standing up from the pile of rubble he’d been laying in, “This Kryptonian supersoldier you wanted. Let’s get it done. I’ll be in Metropolis as soon as I can be.”

“ Oh? Why the sudden urgency?” Lex asked, and Tim would have strangled him if they were face to face.

“I want to get this over with,” Tim muttered, and he hung up.

He wasn’t lying.

---

The City of Kandor had survived the destruction of Krypton. It had survived the capture and bottling by Brainiac. It had survived Brainiac’s destruction. All the while, in the intervening fifty-eight years between Krypton’s destruction and now, Kandor had survived. Its people had survived.

Even through the endless night, the captivity, the fear and hopelessness, their city stood tall. After Krypton’s destruction, during the first years of their capture by Brainiac, there was lawlessness; panic had consumed them, as it would consume any people. But after this brief reign of terror and fear, strong-willed individuals rose to the front of the crowd and restored order, restored the rule of law and safety in the streets. Though Krypton was long dead, its traditions and institutions lived on within Kandor’s bottled borders.

And it was into this finite world of fragile peace that Kara En-Starr was born. According to Kandorian city records, her parents had been killed in the years of violence, leaving her as a war orphan, cared for by Kandor’s young, overburdened government. Even though things were beginning to return to normal after decades of unrest, children like Kara still slipped through the cracks of underfunded and poorly run orphanages.

That was why when Lex Luthor, Mercy, and Deathstroke descended into the city from Brainiac’s ship, using the alien AI’s technology to enter the miniature metropolis, the billionaire smiled as they silently entered the orphanage that held her. 

She was young, and would soon be in her physical prime; maybe thirteen. A perfect age for genetic experimentation. Laying on her bed, fast asleep, she was defenseless; it was odd to think that someone so weak came from the same race as a veritable god like Superman. Lex supposed that was the difference between a Red Sun and a Yellow; he would have to utilize red sun radiation more often, though kryptonite was still most effective in a pinch. 

“Mercy, Deathstroke,” Lex said quietly, “Take her.”

Mercy moved forward silently, placing a hand on the girl’s mouth to prevent her from crying out; as the weight fell there, Kara En-Starr’s eyes flew open with alarm, panic lacing her muffled voice as she cried out in fear. Deathstroke quickly moved in with a syringe, injecting her with a powerful sleeping agent, and Lex smiled as the girl’s eyes went wide, zeroed in on him, then fluttered closed, and she went limp in Mercy’s arms.

Tomorrow, Kara En-Starr would be found missing from her orphanage. And though there would be some wailings of yet another run-away, no one would notice or care. She was perfect.

The perfect subject. The perfect soldier.

The perfect weapon.

---

‘Victor Savatier’ smiled absently as Ray Palmer, AKA The Atom, concluded his tour of the Watchtower. “So yeah, that’s pretty much it,” Ray concluded, shrugging a little helplessly as he showed off the space station’s commissary, “Not too many people stay up here full time, I try to make it back to Ivy Town when I can. I’ve got a better lab there, but up here’s a good place to socialize.”

“Indeed,” Savage said with a nod, “A little odd that we’re considering space as a spot to socialize…”

Ray laughed, “Tell me about it! It’s like we’re living in a sci-fi novel. And sadly, no, we do not have the food replicator from Star Trek; I asked.”

Savage huffed a laugh in return; he had known Gene Roddenberry, back in the 60s, and had watched the first episode of Star Trek when it aired. It was a fascinating concept for a television show, if a little repetitive at times. He had enjoyed it.

“Ah well,” he told Ray with a shrug, “You win some and you lose some. Thank you for showing me around, Dr. Palmer.”

“Call me Ray, please!” Ray insisted, grinning bashfully, and Savage smiled.

“Of course, Ray,” he agreed, then he looked back out at the Watchtower’s food court, bustling with almost all the world’s superheroes. Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy shared a meal in one corner, some kind of steak, while Guy Gardner and Plastic Man laughed together over a beer. Question and Huntress spoke in hushed tones in a far corner, Question jotting things down in a notepad every so often. Rocket Red frowned with suspicion as Vigilante tried to impart on him the importance of the cinematic career of Clint Eastwood, all while Shining Knight watched bemusedly from the other side of the table. Hawkwoman chatted idly with Wonder Woman as the two took their plates of food and headed toward a table. And soon, Wally West waved to Ray, who grinned and waved back.

“Hey, I’m gonna go say hello to Wally over there, you have fun Victor!” Ray told him, “Mingle a bit, meet new people! You’re surrounded by some of the best guys on the planet, trust me!”

And so Ray left his side, going to share a conversation with his friend. Savage smiled in farewell, then started making his way to the various food counters throughout the space.

For years, he had thought of ways to bring down the Justice League, and now, they had invited him into their very seat of power. He grinned as he took his tray of food and made his way toward a table. This would be too easy…

---

Duke sighed as he took off his helmet and shook the sweat from his head, having just returned from patrol; he was back a little early, but he had asked the Birds of Prey to cover him for a few hours while he tried to meet Bruce to talk about his dream, and the strange ring that had been left on his nightstand. He wanted to make sense of it, and soon, to figure out whether it was just a dream or something more. Something worse.

As he walked into the main area of the Batcave, however, all he found was Barbara working hard at the computer, while Tommy bounced off the walls with excitement, dressed in his brand new Robin suit.

“Duke!” Tommy cried happily, zipping over to give Duke a rib-crushing hug that was probably gentle by a Kryptonian’s standards. 

“ Ack! ” Duke yelped, laughing a little as Tommy nearly tackled him to the ground, “Hey, kid! New uniform looks good! ”

“I know, right??” Tommy agreed eagerly, releasing Duke and doing a spin in the air to show off the new duds, “I’m gonna have to send Mr. Fox, like, a bajillion thank-you notes!”

“I’m sure he’d appreciate it, little dude,” Duke said with a grin, then tried to turn the conversation a little more toward business, “Anyone know where Bruce is? I need to ask him about something.”

“Julia drove him and Damian to Arkham,” Barbara said distractedly, not looking away from her work at the monitor, “Hush hung himself in his cell, they needed Bruce to identify the body.”

“ Jesus, ” Duke breathed, starting for a moment, “Poor guy. Didn’t really know him all that well, and he was a psychotic bastard, but still. Yeesh. ”

“Yeah,” Barbara agreed disinterestedly, “Hey do you guys want pizza? I’m feeling pizza. With anchovies.”

“Anchovies??” Tommy asked incredulously, sounding scandalized, “Why would you ever ruin pizza like that!?!”

Duke grinned, “I think someone’s getting her first pregnancy craving…”

Barbara sat up in her chair. “What?” she asked, turning to them rapidly, “No, that’s not--” Barbara then hummed in consideration, then sighed and nodded her head in defeat as Duke laughed.

“Relax, Babs, we can get you some pizza,” he told her easily, putting a hand on her shoulder, and as Barbara was about to say something in return, they heard the grandfather clock door open at the top of the Cave.

Turning around, the three of them looked up in surprise to see Bruce storming down the steps of the Cave, Damian almost jogging behind him to keep up. Duke shot a look at Tommy, then they both looked at Barbara, all of them collectively recognizing the look on Bruce’s face.

Batman had a new case.

“Hey Bruce, what’s up?” Duke tried to say, attempting to break the ice, but Bruce merely fixed him with a Batman Glare.

“The Penguin is dead,” he said simply, “And within the same week, Hush supposedly kills himself. And then, we recently saw the entirety of the Rogues working together in Dakota City to delay us and free Tim; something is going on here, and I am going to get to the bottom of it. Once and for all.”

Duke shivered as Bruce headed for the locker rooms, growling, “ I’m tired of being six steps behind. ”

Duke then looked at Damian as Bruce disappeared behind the locker room doors, and the other man sighed. “Father is upset,” he pointed out unhelpfully.

“Do we think Red Robin has something to do with this?” Tommy asked, a hard edge to his voice, and Duke pursed his lips, watching as Damian and Barbara did the same. 

“We don’t know,” Damian said diplomatically, “But it is one of Father’s suspicions.”

Tommy nodded, his mouth set in a grim, determined line. “This could be our chance to nail him, once and for all,” he said hotly, a sort of resolute anger in his voice, and Damian sighed.

“Tommy, we’ve been over this, Drake is being forced to-” he started, but Tommy shook his head.

“I don’t care!” he retorted angrily, his voice raising, “Evil is evil! Bad is bad! I’m tired of being caught in a waiting game, unable to touch him, just because he feels bad about what he’s doing! I’m going to catch him, I’m going to bring him in, and I’m going to bring him to justice! That’s the only way all of this will finally end.”

By the end, Tommy was visibly upset, but was still mostly keeping his cool. Duke sighed inwardly; he was far from Tim’s biggest fan, and neither was Barbara, for that matter, but a part of him still knew that the way Tommy currently saw his father wasn’t alright. They just didn’t know what going after Tim, capturing him and ‘bringing him to justice’ would actually mean. Especially in regards to the deadly nanobots in Tommy’s DNA.

No matter how shitty of a person Tim actually was, his current situation was the only thing keeping Tommy alive, and until they fixed that, the status quo would have to remain in place. 

Before one of the three of them could respond to Tommy’s ire, Bruce exited the locker rooms, fully decked out in his Batman gear. “Oracle, you’re on comms. Robin, with me; we’re heading to the Iceberg Lounge,” he commanded, and Tommy immediately perked up.

“Me? Really??” Tommy asked eagerly, grinning from ear to ear, and Bruce spared him a small smile.

“It wouldn’t be much of a Dynamic Duo without Robin, now would it?” he asked, and Tommy pumped his fists in the air with excitement.

“Uh, actually, do you mind if I ask you something before you go?” Duke asked awkwardly, and the entire Cave turned to look at him, “It’s just, I’ve been meaning to ask you about something and it looks like there’s never gonna be a right time, so I’m just gonna ask now.”

Bruce shrugged, then waved his hand invitingly, “Fair enough. Hit me.”

Duke stepped toward him and produced the ring he had found on his nightstand, and Bruce furrowed his brow beneath the cowl as he saw it. “What can you tell me about this ring?” he asked, “It’s related to a case of mine.” Duke was never a fantastic liar, especially not to Batman, but he was hoping this time he could get away with a half-truth.

“That’s an old JSA ring,” Bruce said instantly, taking it and inspecting it further, and Duke frowned.

“JSA? The Justice Society?” he asked, “Why would one of their rings be-?”

“This is a membership ring!” Bruce exclaimed, his eyes going wide as Duke heard a bit of childlike wonder he’d never thought the Batman capable of, “Look at the date inscribed on the inside, January 1942! That’s the founding date of the team, right after Pearl Harbor, when the US entered the war! Where did you say you found this?”

“Crime scene,” Duke lied again, “I’m still investigating. Might be a cold case I’ve stumbled into.”

Bruce hummed, rubbing his chin and handed the ring back. “In my experience, the members of the JSA guarded their rings jealously. If I were you, I’d go see Ted Grant in the South Side, see if he can’t tell you more, or get you in touch with more members of the JSA. You’re basically looking for whoever’s missing their ring,” Bruce told him, and Duke nodded, “I’m only sorry I can’t be of more help.”

“No worries!” Duke assured him, “It’ll be good to get some old-fashioned legwork under my belt. I haven’t done it in a while.”

Bruce nodded, then turned back to Tommy, who was practically vibrating in place at the prospect of his first mission as the Dynamic Duo. “Robin,” he ordered, shifting back into ‘Batman Mode’, “To the Batmobile.”

“ Oh, this is gonna be sweet!” Tommy laughed, rushing toward the supercar, and Duke rolled his eyes as he watched the kid slide over the hood dramatically and hop in the passenger seat.

Batman got into the driver’s seat, and as Barbara waved and Damian turned to go take care of some other task, the Batmobile roared to life, filling the Cave with noise. Tommy looked absolutely giddy at his first time in the Batmobile, looking in awe at all the glowing, multicolor buttons sitting invitingly on the dashboard, just waiting to be pressed. He actually half-reached for one, before Bruce raised a finger.

“Don’t touch anything unless I tell you to,” he ordered, and Duke laughed as he watched Tommy pout.

And as the canopy of the Batmobile closed, Duke watched as it rumbled out into the streets of Gotham, speeding out of the Cave, and felt the weight of the ring in his palm.

Ted Grant, huh? Okay. Time to get to the bottom of this.

---

Batman scowled as he and Robin silently entered the crime scene. “They’ve already cleaned the place up,” he sighed, “We’re too late. Look around and see if you can find anything, Robin.”

“You got it, Batman,” Tommy said happily, and Bruce almost smiled as he watched his grandson set about investigating the place, zoning in on every little nook and cranny.

For his own part, Bruce set about investigating as well, albeit without the benefit of Kryptonian superpowers. The first thing he noticed was that Penguin’s office was mostly unchanged from every other time he had been here, both as Bruce Wayne and Batman. Oswald liked to keep things tidy and consistent, so the first thing Bruce noticed was that nothing was out of place; even if someone had put the room back together after coming upon the scene, they would never have put things exactly back where they were supposed to go. However, a quick inspection of the dust lines on certain items of decor confirmed that nothing had been recently disturbed; that meant that no dramatic struggle had happened here in the office.

Whoever had killed the Penguin, they had either taken him completely by surprise, or had lured him into a false sense of security.

Then Bruce noticed another discrepancy; not anything missing, but an addition. A collection of records now sat next to the gramophone that usually sat empty; upon closer inspection, one of the record sleeves in the collection was labelled. ‘ G.C. ’

Bruce thought for a moment who he knew related to the Penguin that would have the initials G.C., then considered the age of the records and the ink that the initials were written in; it looked fairly aged, at least a few decades old, and Bruce hummed as he made the connection. Gertrude Cobblebot; Oswald’s late mother. These were her records. But if that were true, they should have been included in the Cobblepot Estate, which last he checked Oswald himself did not have access to.

Something was wrong here…

“Hey, Batman, there’s something weird in the carpet here,” Tommy said, and Bruce came over to look at where the boy was staring intensely at the bloodstained carpet.

“What do you mean by ‘weird’?” Bruce asked, and Tommy frowned.

“There’s something in the carpet that shouldn’t be there,” he said, crouching lower to get a better look, “With my microscopic vision, I can kinda see it; it looks like little bits of metal.”

“Traces of the murder weapon?” Bruce asked, taking out a sampling kit from his utility belt.

“Maybe…” Tommy agreed, watching as Bruce knelt down to collect the sample he had pointed out, “But it seems like a weird metal to make a weapon out of. It looked almost like gold to me.”

Bruce frowned; Tommy was right, gold was an odd material to make a weapon out of. But it wasn’t unheard of, especially among flashier villains. “We’ll take these samples back to the Cave,” he told his newest sidekick, “The Batcomputer will tell us more.”

“Sounds like a plan, Batman,” Tommy said with a grin, and Bruce smiled at him, then furrowed his brow for a moment. 

“Actually, I have a different lead I want to track down, but we should get these results ASAP,” he said carefully, holding out the little baggie of carpet sample, “Would you mind running these to the Cave now while I track down my lead? We can meet at the Clocktower and continue patrol afterward.”

Tommy lit up like a Christmas Tree at being given such a vital responsibility, and took the baggie eagerly. “Okay, will do, Batman!” he said quickly, “I’ll be back as soon as the test’s done!”

Bruce smiled as Tommy hopped into the air, then sped off into the night. Then, he set his mouth in a grim, determined frown, knowing who he would have to visit next.

---

Tim’s office was quiet and cold. Pru had picked him up like he’d asked, and he had just finished packing up everything he needed to spend a few days in the lab in Metropolis. Before he left, however, he was having a quiet, contemplative drink in his chair, staring blankly at the opposite wall while he sipped his whiskey.

That’s when he showed up. Tim sighed as he dropped from the vents, even going so far as to roll his eyes as he stepped from the shadows. He drained his glass.

“I wondered how long it would take for me to get a midnight visit from the Batman,” he sighed to Bruce as the other man loomed over him, looking like the Grim Reaper in cape and cowl, and Tim just poured himself another glass, “Can I get you anything? You like gin, right? I can have the lady at the front desk bring some up.”

“Penguin,” Batman said instead, “What do you know?”

Tim heaved a great sigh, taking another sip of his whiskey. “He’s dead,” Tim sighed, “That’s what I know.”

Bruce scowled. Tim took another sip from his drink, waiting for the next question. There was never just one question.

“Bane bought out the Iceberg Lounge,” Bruce told him, and Tim closed his eyes in lieu of a sigh, “All the Rogues were sighted working together in Dakota City. At the crime scene, I found records that Penguin shouldn’t have had access to, and after some more digging I find out that his family’s estate was returned to him seven years ago without my noticing; how did that happen, I wonder?”

“I’m better at hiding things than you,” Tim responded petulantly, and he almost considered it a victory when he heard Bruce sigh.

“What do you know, Tim?” he asked, kinder and softer this time, and Tim just shook his head.

“I’m not going to tell you, Bruce,” he said sadly, “Because then you’ll try and stop me. And right now, I can’t afford to let anyone stop me.”

“The family misses you,” Bruce told him, and Tim’s fingers tightened around the glass.

“The family hates me,” he corrected, taking a pointed draught, and Bruce pursed his lips.

“You know I’m going to figure this out, Tim,” he said sadly, “I’d like to know that what I found out about your involvement won’t be damning.”

“I can’t promise that,” Tim responded, just as sad, “You know I can’t promise that. Just get out of here, Bruce; we both know each other too well to think that we’ll give the other any information.”

Bruce didn’t sigh. He didn’t huff or shrug his shoulders. He shifted his jaw, then turned and left. After ten minutes, Tim knew he’d left the building. Tim finished his drink, then sighed as he pulled himself to his feet and gathered up his things.

Next stop, LexCorp Metropolis.

It was time to finish this. Once and for all.

Chapter 40: The Next Step

Duke hummed uncertainly as he came to the address he’d found in the southern edge of Gotham, a dilapidated gym that had a stylized black cat on the front that looked like it had jumped right out of the 50s. However, above the image were the words “Wildcat Gym & Boxing” in peeling blue paint, so he supposed he must be in the right place.

He entered the building, finding a lot of old but well-cared-for workout equipment, as well as an old boxing ring that dominated the relatively small space. In its heyday, Duke guessed that the gym could have been a pillar of the community, but now it mostly looked empty and sad.

“Hey, kid, if you want to work out here you need a membership,” a familiar, weathered voice sighed from a small office around the corner, “It’s cheap, I promise, but I’ve gotta make some kinda profit here--”

Duke smiled as Ted Grant, AKA Wildcat rounded the corner, and the old man in turn broke into a grin as he saw him. “ Duke Thomas! ” Ted said in astonishment, crossing the space to shake Duke’s hand eagerly, “The great vigilante graces an old boxer with his presence! How’ve you been, kid?”

“I’ve been good, Ted, living my best life,” Duke assured the elderly hero, “Still grateful to an old boxer for introducing me to that life. How have you been? Business looks a little slow…” Duke eyed the empty gym warily, fearing he may have tread on a sensitive subject, but Ted only laughed.

“Ah, I’ve got my regulars that still come in, but Tuesday’s always a slow day,” he said dismissively, “I use it to get paperwork done. ‘Sides, I’ve got a pretty good pension to keep me afloat.”

“Veteran’s benefits, right?” Duke asked, and Ted laughed again.

“It’s a win-win!” he agreed, “I got a European vacation when I was 20, and now that I’m 100 they’re givin’ me a paycheck!” Ted’s smile became a little withdrawn after that, as if he was remembering his ‘European vacation’, as he called it, but he kept his good spirits, shaking his head of such thoughts. “Ah, but you didn’t come here to hear me ramble on about old war stories,” he said dismissively, “What can I do you for, kid?”

“Actually,” Duke sighed, producing the ring and bringing himself to a more serious headspace, “I was hoping you could tell me some old war stories. I found this ring while investigating a case of mine; I was hoping you could tell me more about it.”

The old boxer’s eyes widened in surprise as he spotted the ring, taking it from Duke’s hands gingerly. “Holy cow… ” he murmured softly, “That must be… oh, man… ”

“... Ted?” Duke asked, prompting the other man as he fell silent, and Ted shook his head.

“Sorry kid, just… memories,” he sighed, “I have a pretty good idea whose ring this is. We’ve lost a few folks over the years, but both Dan Garret and Ted Knight got buried with their rings, and I know for a fact the others’ve still got theirs. There was only ever one ring we lost track of.”

Duke waited, and Wildcat sat down heavily on one of the workout benches, finally looking as old as he actually was, the lines on his face seemingly growing deeper as he frowned and sighed sadly. Duke sat down on an opposite bench, waiting for the old war hero to collect his thoughts.

“That ring… it belonged to a founding member of the JSA,” Ted told him, “Wesley Dodds, The Sandman. Great guy, bit of a stiff; old money, too. Decent enough, grew up in Cleveland. One of the first costumed superheroes to pop up, so early they didn’t even call him a superhero, just a ‘Mystery Man’, if you can believe it. Used a gas gun to put perps to sleep without hurting them; he was wicked smart. That’s why Roosevelt chose him for the JSA. 

“But he also had bad dreams,” Ted murmured, and Duke leaned in, instantly zeroing in on whatever would be said next, “Dreams about the future. What would happen if he did or didn’t do certain things. It was how he started fighting crime; he would have dreams the night before of some crazy bastard’s cockamamie scheme, then go out to stop them in the morning. But sometimes, it would be more than a petty crook; sometimes, he would get nightmares. Nightmares like you wouldn’t believe. The end of the world. Famine, plague, war, death, disease, you name it; real end-times type stuff. He had a few dreams like that during the war. A lot we hoped weren’t true.

“But they always were.”

Ted stared off into space for a moment, and Duke almost asked if he was okay before Ted shook himself and sighed again, looking at the ground. “That kinda stuff, kid, seeing the end of the world every night when you go to sleep, it weighs on you,” Ted sighed, “Especially since we were seeing nightmares when we were awake, too. The war screwed with all of us, but Wes… he was a bleeding heart. He took it hard. By the end, he went a little nuts; he was a pacifist, but in ‘66 he ran off to Cuba and got himself killed trying to assassinate Castro. It caused a big hullabaloo when it got out that a former member of the JSA had tried to assassinate a head of state, but eventually they put it down to insanity after they realized the rest of us had nothing to do with it.”

Ted sighed sadly as he finished the story, handing the ring back to Duke gingerly, his eyes lingering on the brass and his hand hesitating in midair before finally turning the ring over. 

Duke, meanwhile, was still processing. “Wait,” he said incredulously, “Are you telling me Sandman tried to kill Fidel Castro? And that’s how he died?” Duke had a cursory knowledge of the JSA; it had been part of his training to become the Signal. But everything he knew about Sandman, very little though it was, did not paint the portrait of a man who would travel to Cuba to kill Latin American dictators.

“I still don’t get why he did it,” Ted admitted, “Castro was a nut, sure, but if I were Wes, I would’a gone after Mao, or Pol Pot. Why small fry like Castro? It didn’t make any sense…” Ted sighed again, shaking his head. “Maybe he saw something I didn’t,” he murmured, “I’m sorry I can’t be of more help, kid. Fact of the matter is, Wesley Dodds is dead, and has been for a long while; I don’t know where or how you found his ring, but I think it might be a dead end.”

Duke looked down at the little ring, then thought about what he had heard the man in his dream, now presumably Wesley Dodds, the Sandman, tell him. To continue his work. What work did he mean? Killing Castro? Castro had been dead for six years, so mission accomplished, if that was the case.

What did it mean?

Duke slumped his shoulders, then looked up at Wildcat. “I need you to promise me you won’t think I’m crazy for what I’m about to tell you,” he said seriously, and Ted furrowed his eyebrows at the request.

“I mean… sure?” he answered uncertainly, and Duke took a deep breath.

“I got this ring by it showing up on my nightstand in the middle of the night,” he told the old hero, looking him dead in the eye the entire time even while he said what even he knew was crazy bullshit, “Right after I had a dream about Wesley Dodds.”

Ted’s eyes went wide, and his jaw fell open. “Oh, shit, ” he muttered, then he stood up fast, like a man possessed. “Kid,” he said, already turning to grab his car keys, “We’ve gotta get you to Doctor Fate.”

---

LexCorp Metropolis was Lex Luthor’s greatest achievement. The building towered over the rest in its neighborhood, and was in fact the tallest in the city, beating out the Daily Planet Building by about ten feet. When Tim had first found that out, he had thought for one panicked moment that Luthor might actually know Superman’s identity, but then he had realized that it was just a symptom of Luthor’s ego. 

It was a tall, domineering structure, with “LEXCORP” written in bright green letters at the top of the building on either side, so that everyone in Metropolis could look up and remember their better. It was largely rectangular, the eastern and western sides of the building being much longer than the northern and southern, and the shorter sides were rounded off, so that from the top down the building looked like an oval. Tim was sure that Lex had screwed over anyone on the north and south sides of the building with small, rounded offices that had far too much window and not enough shade. It was unabashedly modern in its design and construction, sleek and futuristic, a garish clash with the rest of Metropolis’s art deco architecture; Tim had hated it since day one.

He still hated it now, even while being driven to the front entrance in the fanciest limousine he’d ever been in. Which, for him, was saying a lot.

A sea of reporters awaited him as the limousine stopped and he stepped out into the street, shielding his eyes from the harsh light of the sun and plastering on a smile for the cameras; after all, it wouldn’t do if Lex Luthor’s premier protege punched a reporter in the face as soon as he arrived in Metropolis.

“Mr. Drake!! Mr. Drake, what brings you to Metropolis?” a reporter shouted at him, and Tim sighed as he pushed past them, just trying to get to the doors of the building, where he knew he’d at least be free of the press.

“Mr. Drake, why are you just now leaving Gotham??”

“Mr. Drake!!”

“Mr. Drake! Mr. Drake, do you have any comment on the speculations that Lex is trying for a presidential run!?”

“Mr. Drake, are you being fired!?”

“Mr. Drake!”

“Mr. Drake, what do you have to say about the rumors you’re a homosexual!?”

“Mr. Drake, you’ve never traveled to Metropolis before now; are you here to kiss the ring?”

“ Mr. Drake!! ”

“Mr. Drake, is Lex Luthor really having an affair with Superman!?”

“Mr. Drake, what do you have to say about--!?”

Tim sighed as he finally made it to the doors of the building, stepping inside where the reporters could no longer follow him. He wouldn’t be surprised if Lois Lane had spread the word to every reporter in the tri-state area that he’d be here; it sounded like the kind of petty thing she’d do.

“Tim!” Lex greeted jovially, grinning from ear to ear as he met Tim in the lobby, and Tim clenched his fists at his sides, trying to rein in his annoyance.

“Lex,” he said in return, only half through gritted teeth, “How have you been?”

“Doing well, Tim, doing well,” Lex assured him, smiling the smile that Tim knew meant Lex had enjoyed seeing him wade through the reporters, “Your trip wasn’t too unpleasant, I hope? You know I really do try to get those reporters to go away, but as long as they’re not on the property…”

Both Tim and Lex knew that Lex had in fact made no such effort to expel the reporters. Lex enjoyed tormenting Tim far too much to do that. “It was fine, Lex,” he lied, “I’m just here to get to work.”

Lex huffed a laugh, then threw an arm across Tim’s shoulders leading him further into the building. “I thought as much!” he laughed, “I can always count on you to get things done, can’t I, Tim?”

Tim would’ve like nothing more than to snap Luthor’s arm in two, but he had an image to maintain and a son to protect, so he let the billionaire lead him on to the elevators, which is where Lex finally released him and the public persona dropped like a stone, settling into the terrifyingly cold and intelligent person Tim knew Lex to be.

“I think you’ll be impressed with the specimen we’ve acquired, Tim,” he said as the elevator carried them downward, far below the streets of Metropolis and down into a lead-protected bunker where Superman couldn’t reach, “We’ve gotten quite a lot of Kryptonian DNA to work with, and all from a willing donor.”

Tim didn’t believe that for a second. “I assume it came from Kandor?” he asked, and Lex nodded.

“So that means that the cells have never been exposed to Yellow Sun radiation; we have them in a Red Sunlight room now, to make working with them easier,” Lex went on, “We also have a very large reserve of kryptonite to work with, so we can study exactly how kryptonite attacks their system and modify it. We certainly do have our work cut out for us, but I’ve also allotted time for you to work on Operation Mockingbird; we wouldn’t want to fall behind, now would we?”

“Of course not,” Tim agreed, still imagining all the delightful ways he could murder Lex Luthor before the elevator ride was over.

Then, finally, right about when Tim got to the part where he broke Lex’s neck, the elevator stopped, and the doors slid open.

Outside the doors were a state of the art cloning lab, not unlike the one Tim had used in Paris, except of course, this one had not been abandoned, and had been continuously upgraded. What really commanded his attention, however, was the large cloning tank in the center of the room, so eerily similar to the one he had used to clone Tommy, all those years ago.

And inside it was a little girl. Short blonde hair, maybe thirteen, a serene expression on her face as she floated in suspension. Tim’s breath caught in his throat; they were using a live subject.

“Tim,” Lex said invitingly, stepping out to lead him into the laboratory, “Welcome to Project Kr-II.”

---

Selina fidgeted uncomfortably as she waited in the doctor’s office, having never really gone to one this nice before, but she wanted to be sure about this and Bruce had enough money that he’d barely notice.

Besides, Selina taking some of Bruce’s money for her own purposes wasn’t exactly an uncommon occurrence.

And he’d be the first one to urge her to go see a doctor, if he knew there was a problem; she tried to hide it best she could, and luckily her Bat was preoccupied with the Brainiac and Red Robin cases that he’d barely had the time to notice. And usually, by the time they saw each other again, she was feeling fine; it was incredibly odd. 

“Selina?” a doctor called from the front of the waiting room, and Selina stood up quickly, smiling in recognition.

“That’s me,” she said, and the doctor, a kindly-looking older man with light brown hair that was beginning to turn gray at his temples, smiled at her.

“Dr. Walter St. Cloud,” he introduced himself, shaking her hand, “The nurse tells me you’re in about persistent nausea?”

Selina nodded. “Yes,” she said with a slight sigh, “At first I thought it was a stomach bug but then it just wouldn’t go away. It’s been about two weeks now.”

“Mm,” Dr. St. Cloud hummed in acknowledgement, leading her to one of the examination rooms, “Well, we’ll run some tests and try and see what the problem is. Hopefully it’s nothing to worry about.”

“Right,” Selina agreed, “Hopefully. Er, there’s another thing.”

Dr. St. Cloud looked at her expectantly, raising an eyebrow, and Selina felt extremely uncomfortable. “I, er… I’ve missed my period,” she explained quietly, “I’m wondering if this is, erm… something women of a certain age all go through?”

Dr. St. Cloud hummed contemplatively. “Nausea during menopause is certainly common, but the persistence of this case is interesting to me,” he agreed, “Like I said, we’ll run our tests. Don’t worry Ms. Kyle, we’ll get to the bottom of it.”

“Oh! Uh, it’s actually not Kyle anymore,” she pointed out, and Dr. St. Cloud furrowed his brow.

“Oh?” he asked, “That’s what it says in our records.”

Selina slumped her shoulders, “I haven’t been coming in as much as I should have; it’s Wayne now. Mrs. Selina Wayne.” She still felt a flush of exhilaration when she said that; Selina Wayne. 

“Wayne?” Dr. St. Cloud asked in astonishment, “Not Bruce Wayne??”

Selina smiled and nodded, “We got married about six years ago, now. 2016.”

Dr. St. Cloud laughed for a moment, then grinned from ear to ear. “Well! Congratulations, Mrs. Wayne! ” he said jovially, “It’s good to know we can all still find love at our age.”

Normally, Selina would have been up in arms at the insinuation she was getting old, but instead, she let it go and smiled. “Yes, it is,” she agreed.

So, Selina sat in the room while they ran their tests, as many as they could think of, making small talk with nurses and Dr. St. Cloud himself from time to time. She was working herself up over nothing, she finally settled on; she was, as much as she was loath to admit it, getting old. This was probably just a stubborn bout of menopause, nothing more.

Still, it never hurt to be sure.

Then, finally, after about an hour of testing and waiting, Dr. St. Cloud returned, a strange sort of smile on his face. “Well, Mrs. Wayne, I can definitively say you’re not going through menopause. Quite the opposite, in fact.” he told her, and Selina blinked in confusion.

“What?” she asked, “But I thought--”

“Well, so did I!” Dr. St. Cloud laughed, sitting down with her, “But all of our tests for menopause and cancer and the like came back negative. In fact, only one thing came back positive…” Dr. St. Cloud handed her the clipboard he had been holding, letting her read through it intently.

Her jaw dropped open.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Wayne,” Dr. St. Cloud told her, “As far as I know, you’ve just set a medical record for one of the oldest mothers to become pregnant by natural conception.”

---

Bruce had never been more exhausted in his life. He and Tommy were in the Batjet, headed for Dakota City, though Bruce hadn’t told Tommy that. They had left Gotham a few hours ago, and in their jet the flight would only take two and a half hours; he could do it shorter, but he was flying slower and gentler because of their third passenger.

Cass, still recovering from her wounds during the STAR Labs Fiasco, sat in the second row of seats behind Bruce and Tommy, listening serenely as Tommy happily described the details of their current case, boasting about his skills as a detective.

Truth be told, Tommy’s help had been instrumental in investigating the crime scene at the Iceberg Lounge. Without a Kryptonian’s enhanced vision, Bruce would never have noticed the metal filings in the carpet that had indeed turned out to be gold, as well as traces of titanium and bronze. It was an odd mixture, and an expensive one; whatever had been used as the murder weapon, the assassin or their backer must have had money to burn. That thankfully narrowed down the suspect list, but not by much. 

Still, the case had been weighing on him. The job had seemed nonstop, from Hal to Tim to Brainiac to Hush to this, but then again, he supposed it always felt like that. Like he said, he’d never been more exhausted. Except for maybe that time Dick had decided to try and practice his acrobat routine on the chandelier. Or the time Jason had crippled an entire gang because its leader had hosted a book burning, the victims of which included Jane Austen. Or the time Tim and Steph “accidentally” set the kitchen on fire trying to brew the world’s most caffeinated coffee. Or when Damian had brought home every rescued animal from a crooked shelter, which included sixteen dogs, twenty cats, six monkeys, three pigs, and, for some reason, a giraffe.

Okay. Maybe he’d been more tired before.

Bruce shook himself from his thoughts, almost sighing with relief as Dakota City came into sight below them. “We’re here,” he said gruffly, and Tommy looked out the window in confusion.

“This isn’t Washington,” he said, and Bruce smirked. He had told the boy they were going to the Hall of Justice.

“I lied,” he said, and Cass smiled along with him as he set the Batjet down a little ways away from the dilapidated auto repair shop that Tommy’s friends called home. It was… in significantly worse shape than Bruce remembered.

As Bruce, Tommy, and Cass approached the repair shop, Tommy started visibly vibrating with excitement, and Bruce suppressed a smile as the gaggle of metateens he had seen before all ran out from the inside of the shop, all various states of alarmed and nervous. Bruce had opened files on a few of them, mostly to keep track of their powers and abilities.

Virgil Hawkins, a powerful electrokinetic. Richard Foley, gifted engineer with enhanced intelligence, perhaps some subtle form of technopathy. Mateo and Sebastiano Rodriguez, both young speedsters. Tyson Longshadow, inheritor of a mystic lineage that allowed him to produce an astrally projected combat avatar of variable size. Asami Koizumi, able to channel kinetic energy into her legs, producing a powerful kick or ‘bounce’. Eduardo Dorado, Jr., a teleporter; Bruce knew his father, down in Taos. Maybe he should reach out.

All of them were looking at the three Bats warily, Longshadow actually looked ready to fight, and Tommy waved excitedly. “ Hey, guys!! ” he cried happily, “ Told you I’d be back! And I brought Batman and Black Bat!!”

Cass huffed a laugh at the address, especially at the insinuation that her presence was cooler than Bruce’s. Bruce tried not to let that wound his pride. The metateens, however, merely looked trepidatious. 

“I can see that, dude,” Hawkins called out, tilting his head slightly at Batman, a bit of wariness in his voice, “Why…?”

“Uh… actually I don’t know that. I didn’t know we were coming here until we landed,” Tommy looked up at him quizzically, “Why are we here?”

“I wanted to surprise you,” Bruce explained gruffly, then turned to the gaggle of teens assembled, “Two weeks ago, you all exhibited tremendous effort and talent in your fight against Red Robin. I’ve done my research, and I’ve noticed that you’ve taken it upon yourselves to patrol Dakota City. From what I’ve seen, you’re all sloppy, and that is describing things generously. If Robin is going to be in your group on a regular basis, then you need to get your act together.”

Bruce hesitated as he saw all the teens bristle at the accusation, Tommy included. This was always the most delicate part. “ Which is why… ” he added quickly, “I am offering my services.”

At that, all the metateens looked at him with profound looks of confusion. “ ¿Que? ” one of the speedster twins, Bruce thought it was Mateo, asked, and Bruce sighed.

“Robin, above all else, needs experience working in a team with heroes his own age; he’s already taken a liking to you, so you’re the first obvious candidates,” he explained, “If you so choose, I can convert your… base of operations into a training facility, housed underground, from which you can train, deploy for missions, and rest after patrol. I am offering you the time and resources to hone your skills and become more effective protectors of Dakota City, as well as giving you space to strengthen your bonds as a team. Black Bat, while she’s recovering, can be your combat instructor; there’s no better teacher in the world.”

Cass nodded sagely, remaining silent, and the Super Friends looked at each other while Tommy bounced on his heels, grinning like a madman. “Wait, let me just make sure I’m getting this right,” Foley interjected, “ Batman is offering to spruce up our place because we like hanging out with his kid?”

“Grandson,” Bruce amended, “But yes, that is the gist of it. I also make it a point to keep tabs on potentially dangerous metahumans before they become a problem.”

“What, you think we’re problems?” Longshadow asked intensely, obviously expecting an equally provocative answer, but Bruce just narrowed his eyes.

“No,” he said, “I’m making sure you won’t be. I find the best way to prevent problems is by making them solutions.”

Longshadow bristled, but at the very least looked like he hadn’t been expecting that answer.

“Guys, this is a good thing!!” Tommy advocated excitedly, “Trust me, Grandpa’s, like, loaded!! He’ll totally kit us out with the best stuff on the market!”

Bruce straightened. “I didn’t say that,” he argued, but then Tommy hit him with the puppy dog eyes. Now, it was a contest of wills, and Bruce was always good at those.

…

How Bruce hated those eyes.

“... I’ll see what I can do… ” he growled out, and Tommy whooped with joy.

“ Matte, nani ga okotte iru no? ” Koizumi asked, and Bruce sighed as he turned to her.

“ Watashi wa anata ni okane o ataete anata no ie o shūri shimasu, ” he explained, and she blinked for a moment, then smiled and nodded happily.

“ Hontōni arigatō, Battoman-sama! ” she said gratefully with a bow, and Bruce returned it easily. The years he had spent training in Japan had paid off, and though his Japanese was a little rusty, it always came in handy.  

“So!? What are you guys waiting for! Say yes!!” Tommy urged, and the teens all shared another look.

“I dunno…” Dorado murmured uncertainly.

“It could help us work on our powers…” Foley argued.

“And our crib kinda got blown up,” Hawkins pointed out.

“... Fine. ” Longshadow muttered, and Tommy cheered and pulled all his friends into a hug.

“ WooooHOO!! ” he cried, “Trust me guys, this is gonna be awesome!! Black Bat is the coolest! ”

Cass smirked at the praise, then sent a pointed look at Bruce, who merely raised an eyebrow in return. Whatever argument there was there, Cass seemed to have won, and she chuckled to herself as she strode forward to meet the group. 

“Training hard,” she warned them seriously, and they all zeroed in on her after Tommy released them, “But worth it. Ready?”

At that, the teens didn’t even hesitate. “ Born ready, lady,” Hawkins assured her, and Bruce concealed a soft smile as he turned to leave the group in Black Bat’s more-than-capable hands. Tommy had chosen his friends wisely.

That, and there was no better way to keep him away from this case while he made sure Tim had nothing to do with it.

Chapter 41: Conception

Tim, as much as he hated to admit it, actually found working with Lex to be an enjoyable experience. To be clear, Lex was still the most unbearable asshole Tim had ever met, Jason Todd included, but there were only a few people on the planet that Tim could talk to about more technical topics without having to dumb them down first. Batman and Mister Terrific were pretty much the only people on that list, and sometimes Tim even lost Batman, depending on the subject.

Lex, on the other hand, could match him blow for blow. Each of them was intimately familiar with how to successfully modify a Kryptonian genome, and whenever Tim was stuck on something, Lex could offer a solution, or vice versa. They were two of the smartest people on the planet, and when put together, even though they hated each other, there was still some begrudging respect between the two from the sheer amount of knowledge they both shared. In the end, there was simply no one else on the planet like them.

Lex was even generous enough to help Tim on his Mockingbird projects, presenting the full resources of LexCorp to be at Tim’s disposal. That included the world’s largest reserve of kryptonite, which Tim would find especially helpful in his thoughts on how to deal with Superman. As he had told the Rogues a few weeks ago, Tim needed to deal with the Trinity first if he had any prayer of holding Gotham for an extended period of time; the rest of the League could be dealt with. Not easily, but certainly much more manageably without their leaders.

Superman had an obvious weakness, and Tim had advice from the man who knew more than anyone else how to properly utilize it. Batman was also a rather simple solution; Tim had a longstanding idea for that. The idea made him sick to his stomach, but what didn’t, these days?

But then there was Wonder Woman. Tim had no idea what to do about her. He had tried tracking down everything that Man’s World had about the Amazons and their society, but that was slim to nothing. What he needed was access to the Themysciran Archives, but to do that, he not only needed to lose his Y chromosome, he needed divine Greek magic to even find the place. 

A possibility was interrogating Steve Trevor, to see how the pilot had made it to Themyscira in the first place back in the ‘80s. However, any attempt at getting to Trevor would almost certainly garner Diana’s attention, and if Tim didn’t have a plan in place with how to deal with her before she found him, then that fight would end very quickly, most likely with Diana’s fist planted firmly somewhere between his lungs and colon. No, he needed a secondary source of information, someone who knew enough, but wasn’t connected enough to ping Diana’s radar…

… but who?

That was the question that had been plaguing Tim’s mind as he and Lex worked on Project Kr-II. The naming scheme wasn’t lost on Tim; Conner had been Project Kr-I. This was the sequel, Conner’s sister. Or his daughter. Something like that.

Oh God, if Lex and Tim counted as Kr-II’s parents, then did that mean Tim was having a child with his father-in-law?? Kr-II would simultaneously be Conner’s sister and his daughter. She would be Tommy’s little sister and also his aunt.

Fuck, this family was weird.

Still, they did their work, and Kr-II was coming along nicely. Her brain patterns were normal, she was growing healthily, even at her accelerated rate, and her cells were reacting positively to the modifications Lex and Tim had made thus far. Nothing too serious; she wasn’t impervious to kryptonite yet, but they were starting to find the right principles and strategies that could be implemented to accomplish their goals. There were a few stumbling blocks yet to be overcome, but Tim had faith.

Today, though, today was special. Today, they were taking Kr-II out of her pod for the first time. She wasn’t done yet; Lex’s plan was to grow her into an adult, so that she would be in her physical prime facing down Superman, but they needed to check on her development periodically to make sure she was growing the way they thought she was. Forced growth, after all, wasn’t natural; the body wasn’t designed to withstand it. It was good to check on progress periodically, Tim had just gotten lucky that he hadn’t had to do the same with Tommy, since the boy’s growth had been slowed. It was still accelerated, he had grown three years in the span of a few months, but still, it was less stressful than growing a thirteen-year-old into a twenty-two-year-old. 

The last time one of Lex’s clones had not been properly attended or allowed to stretch its legs throughout the growing process, it had resulted in Bizarro, and no one wanted a repeat of that. 

So Tim watched Kr-II carefully as technicians moved around the space, beginning to drain her pod. Lex stood at his side, watching in interest and making sure their lackeys were doing everything right. “I have a rule for you,” Lex said to him while they waited, and Tim hummed. 

“Which is…?” he asked, and he heard Lex sigh.

“You can’t name her,” he told him, and Tim turned to him incredulously.

“ What? ” he asked intensely, and Lex fixed him with a glare.

“ You. can’t. name. her. ” he reiterated, and Tim felt his hackles raise at the look in Lex’s eye, “You can’t get attached to her like you did to Tommy; she isn’t a part of your ‘family’. She’s a weapon.”

“A weapon that’s a person! ” Tim argued, “All living things deserve to have a name!”

“And so she will,” Lex assured him, turning back to observe the pod, “But it will be a name I choose. And for now, I choose Kr-II.”

Tim stewed in his anger after that, but he did let it go. He had known from the get-go that this project would be difficult, especially when he had discovered that they were using a live subject. Tim didn’t even want to know how Lex had gotten the DNA he’d needed from Kandor to make Kr-II in the first place, but he was sure it involved something that would make him sick. Lex had made his position clear; he didn’t view Kr-II as a person, only as a weapon. He wouldn’t even give her a name. 

It was how he had treated Conner, at first.

That meant that Tim was the only one in the room that was rooting for the little girl in the pod. The only one who cared about her beyond her physical condition. The only one who wanted her to be more than her genes.

Tim clenched his hands into fists at his side. Tommy may have disowned him, but Tim would never stop fighting for the boy, nor for any other children. They were innocent, and deserved to grow up innocent. He wasn’t sure how much he could help the girls that had fallen under his care, both Artemis and Kr-II, but goddammit, he would try. He had to.

If not because he was a hero, then because he was a father.

The pod finally opened, and Kr-II held her head as she blinked her eyes open wearily. “ Poú deímayim? ” she mumbled, still feeling the effect of the pod’s sedatives, and Tim’s eyes shot open.

“Was that Kryptonian?” he asked, recognizing the syntax of the language, and Lex quickly stepped in front of him before he could say more.

“Kr-II,” he said firmly, his voice carrying across the room to the girl, “Do you understand me?”

“ Naívet, ” she replied, then she shook her head, seemingly trying to wake up further. “ Yes, ” she finally said in English, and Tim pursed his lips.

“If she’s lab-grown, how does she know Kryptonian?” he pressed Lex, and Lex sighed.

“Muscle memory passed on from the donor’s genes, nothing to worry about,” he assured Tim, then turned back to Kr-II, “You need to focus on what language you’re speaking, Kr-II. We need to be able to communicate.”

Kr-II nodded. “ Eben… I understand,” she said clearly, still shaking some of the cobwebs, “Who… are you?”

“I am Lex Luthor,” Lex said simply, “This is Tim Drake. We are your creators. You are our creation.”

“Creators…?” Kr-II asked, blinking her eyes rapidly. The poor girl looked so confused… “I don’t understand…” she murmured again, and Tim finally took pity.

“That’s okay,” he told her quickly, stepping forward to be level with Lex, “We’re going to make sure you’re okay. Confusion is only natural, given what you’ve been through.”

“What Tim means, ” Lex said quickly, cutting him off, “Is that we will help you clear your head, Kr-II. Help you complete your mission.”

“My… mission?” Kr-II asked, and Tim felt his heart break at how young she sounded.

Lex, however, only smiled. “Yes, your mission,” he explained to her, striding forward to take the girl by the shoulders and lead her toward more scientists, ready with all manner of tests, “To destroy the Justice League.”

---

Duke had never been to Massachusetts before. It was an odd thing to think about, but it was true. He hadn’t even gone to Boston on a school trip or anything like that. Salem, Massachusetts, the place with all the witches and shit, was a five and a half hour drive from Gotham; that was like, the worst distance! Too long that it’s not a comfortable drive, and too short to justify getting a plane ticket!

And, he had to do it on a fucking motorcycle from the 40s, since apparently that was the only automobile Wildcat owned!

By the time they reached the outskirts of Boston, Duke had decided to say as much to his driver. “ Your bike sucks!” he called over the wind, and Wildcat scoffed.

“ Kid, this is an Indian 841!” Ted replied in the same annoyed tone, “They stopped making these in 1943, y’know! This is one of the last ones in the country still running!”

“ Oh yeah? ” Duke asked, “ Well that makes sense, since my ass feels like it’s been sore since 1943! ”

“ Ah, quit yer whinin’, ya big baby, we’re almost there! ” Ted grumbled, and Duke grumbled in return.

“ Doesn’t Doctor Fate live right next to a Zeta Tube?? ” he asked, and he felt Ted straighten in apprehension, then promptly say nothing. Duke’s eyes widened. “ Did you fucking forget!?” he snapped, and Ted remained silent.

“ We’re almost there! ” he argued, and Duke sighed, settling back into his seat to watch the Massachusetts countryside go by. Waste of a fucking Sunday…

Still, Duke rejoiced as they took the exit for Salem, then eagerly sprang himself from the bike as soon as Ted pulled to a stop outside a public park. “Alright, lemme go feed the meter, then we’ll go find the place,” Ted told him, stretching out his aged limbs as he did so, “The damn thing’s invisible, so it might be a bit of a challenge. I know it’s in this park, though.”

“Doctor Fate’s house is invisible?” Duke asked, also relishing his long-awaited stretch, “Cool.”

Wildcat actually huffed a bit of a laugh at the question. “It’s not just a house, kid,” he told the younger man as he pulled out his wallet for the parking meter, “It’s… ah, you’ll see. Don’t want to spoil the surprise.”

As Duke finally completed his stretch, grateful for the feeling returning to his legs, he looked around at the park in question, then frowned. “Uh, hey Ted?” he called, and the old man hummed from where he was squinting at the parking meter’s faded screen, fumbling disused reading glasses. “This isn’t a park,” Duke pointed out, sighting the weathered headstones protruding from the grass, “This is a cemetery.”

“Yeah, Broad Street Cemetery, right?” Ted asked, like that was no big deal, and Duke checked the street sign to be sure.

“Uh, yeah, I guess,” he said with a shrug, as the street sign did indeed say ‘Broad Street’, “You don’t think it’s a little weird Doctor Fate lives in an invisible house in a graveyard?”

“Well, back in ‘41 when I first met the guy, yeah, it was a little weird,” Ted admitted, finally getting the meter to accept his change, “By now, though, it’s just kinda… meh. ”

“ Meh? ” Duke asked incredulously, eyeing the ancient graves with trepidation, “Not the word I’d use, dude.”

“What’s the matter, kid, got a problem with graveyards?” Ted asked with a wolfish grin, and Duke pursed his lips.

“Weird shit happens in graveyards, man, especially in Gotham,” he muttered, “It’s a reasonable fear.”

Ted shrugged, conceding the point. “Well, I hate to tell ya this, but we’ve gotta go in there to get to Fate,” he said, and Duke groaned.

“Fine,” he muttered, moving toward the gate of the cemetery, “Let’s just get this over with.”

They ended up searching for about ten minutes, Ted knocking on random graves, which scared Duke half to death as he tread carefully over people’s resting places. Graveyards always had and always would give him the heebie-jeebies. Finally, when Duke was about ready to throw Ted’s bike at him, Ted looked back toward the gate of the cemetery and perked up. “Kent?” he called, and Duke turned to see an old man entering the graveyard.

“Ted?” the stranger said in confusion, “Is that you?”

“Kent!” Ted cried happily, swiftly crossing the grass to pull the man into a tight hug, “How’ve you been, Nelson?”

Kent, Duke assumed that was his name, grunted at Ted’s hug, and Duke hummed as he took in the man’s slight frame. As old as Wildcat was, his aging had been slowed by weird timey-wimey bullshit like the rest of the JSA, so he only looked about 80, and had the physicality of a 60-year-old, enough so that he had kept active with his boxing. 

Kent, on the other hand, looked exactly like a 100-year-old man was supposed to look, albeit a remarkably healthy one. His hair was a stark white, his skin was wrinkled, and though he still had most of his hair, he was obviously going bald. The suit he was wearing, a three-piece, pinstripe affair complete with pocket watch, which Duke had to admit was fancy as hell, if a little worn, looked like it had fit him better when he was a younger man, and there was a slight hunch to his back. He walked with a cane, and Duke caught the brief grimace of pain that crossed his face when Ted had hugged him.

“I’ve been alright, Ted,” Kent sighed, patting the other man’s arm, “What brings you to Salem? And who’s this young man here?”

“Oh, well, this here’s Duke Thomas, he’s one of Bruce’s kids!” Ted said jovially, putting a hand on Duke’s shoulder as Duke held out his hand for a shake.

“Another one of Bruce’s?” Kent asked in astonishment, “ Jesus, he’s working faster than a Catholic Jackrabbit. Kent Nelson, kid, good to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Duke agreed, not sure if he should shudder or laugh at the jackrabbit comparison. 

“Well, you know he adopts, Kent,” Ted pointed out, and Kent rolled his eyes.

“I know, but usually when you go to adopt, you don’t take home the whole orphanage!” Kent retorted, and then Duke finally laughed.

“It’s more of a gradual thing,” he explained, and Kent nodded.

“Right, right,” he sighed, hobbling past Duke, leaning heavily on his cane, “So, like I asked before, what brings you two to Salem? And good God, Ted, is that your damn bike over there? Did you drive here? Why didn’t you just take the Zeta?”

“What a great question, Kent…” Duke added pointedly, and Ted had the grace to at least look embarrassed.

Kent shook his head, “I’m just surprised that jalopy still runs. Kind of like you. ”

“We’re here for some advice from Fate, Kent,” Ted said, pulling them back on track, “Duke here’s been having dreams.”

At the mention of the good doctor, Kent sighed a long-suffering sigh as he seemed to grow a decade older. “Of course it’s about Fate,” he muttered, turning to go further into the cemetery, “It’s always about Fate. Come on, let’s see what we can do.”

Kent walked through the graves, coming to one headstone in particular. “You really couldn’t remember which one lets you in?” he asked Ted incredulously, “Come on, man.”

Ted shrugged helplessly, and Kent shook his head as he tapped his cane against the headstone he had stopped at. Duke glanced down to read the writing on it, frowning as he did so.

Inza Nelson
1912-2003
My Beloved Spitfire

Before he had a chance to ask who Inza was, however, Duke looked up in surprise to see a massive tower looming over Salem that simply hadn’t been there when he’d looked down. It was massive, at least forty stories tall, and made out of dark gray stone, like an old castle. From the massive, heavy oak door, Kent held the entrance open, looking at him expectantly.

“Well?” he asked, “You coming?”

“R-Right! Sorry,” Duke said quickly, stepping inside, and immediately, he looked around at the stairways leading off in all directions and at all angles, most of them looking impossible to walk on; the space seemed to stretch out infinitely, far beyond the tower’s walls. Some pathways led to countless doors, others stretched off into oblivion. 

“What is this place…?” Duke wondered aloud, and Kent grinned as he led Duke and Ted toward one of the many passages.

“Welcome to the Tower of Fate,” Kent said grandly, gesturing to the space with his cane, “Sanctum of the Lord of Order himself, and host to all manner of mystic artifacts. It is also where I live.”

“Woah,” Duke said appreciatively, blinking as he stared out into the void that rested inside the Tower, “Do you ever…?”

“Get used to the void?” Kent asked with a shrug, “No, not really.” Then, they came to another door, which Kent opened easily and led them to a much cozier space, with a few high-backed chairs, a couch, walls lined with bookshelves, and a cozy fireplace.

“That’s why I conjured up this little sanctum of my own,” he said, a hint of pride in his voice, “It’s better for talking to visitors. So! Have a seat, I’ll get us all something to drink.”

“Oh, no you really don’t have to--” Duke tried to argue, but Ted cut him off.

“Jack Daniels Manhattan on the rocks!” he requested, and Kent sighed good naturedly.

“You’ve been ordering the same drink since 1941, you know that?” Kent asked, but he waved his cane, which glowed gold for a moment, and a tray with the requested whiskey, vermouth, and bitters appeared from thin air, animating themselves to pour Wildcat’s requested drink, which the boxer took happily.

“That’s because you always magic up the good stuff!” he explained, and Kent turned to Duke expectantly.

“Well? Anything?” he asked, and Duke blinked.

“Oh, uh… a beer, I guess?” he said uncertainly, and Kent rolled his eyes.

“Kids today,” he muttered, then he waved his cane, another flash of gold, and a tray with a Budweiser on it presented itself to Duke, which he took gratefully.

As the three of them took their seats, Duke and Ted on one side of the fire and Kent on the other, Kent waved his hand, and the mysterious floating tray fixed him a drink with bitters, brandy, and rye. Duke wasn’t exactly versed on his cocktail menu, but from what he’d learned after going to galas with Bruce for a while, he thought that was called a Vieux Carre.

“So, you mentioned having dreams?” Kent asked, taking a first sip from his drink, “Not exactly an uncommon occurrence.”

“No, yeah, I get that,” Duke replied, retrieving the ring from his pocket, “But the dream itself was pretty weird. It was about Wesley Dodds, and when I woke up, this was sitting on my nightstand.”

At that, Kent finally looked interested, furrowing his brow and taking the ring to inspect it closer. “Wesley, huh?” he asked, “That is interesting. I’m assuming Ted’s told you about Wesley’s career as the Sandman?”

“He had dreams, right?” Duke asked, “He saw the future in them, then went out to stop the bad guys.”

“That’s about the gist of it,” Kent agreed, then looked at Ted, “And you told him how Wesley died?”

“I did,” Ted agreed, and Kent hummed.

“What was in these dreams, exactly?” Kent asked, and Duke sighed.

“Uh, well the first one I didn’t really know what was going on,” he explained, “I was in a trench, like from World War I, and then the whistle blew, and me and everyone else I knew, every superhero, went over the top into No Man’s Land. When I got up there, everyone was already dead, and Sandman was just standing there, staring at me. The second time, I dreamt I was in what I think was his bedroom, and I didn’t really have time to do much before he grabbed me and then I woke up.”

Kent pursed his lips, “Did Wesley say anything to you during these dreams? Anything you can remember?”

“Uh, yeah, actually,” Duke said with a nod, “At least, the first time around, he said ‘Continue my work!’ in a scary voice.”

“Continue his work?” Kent asked, and Duke nodded.

“I didn’t really get it either, so that’s why I started talking to you guys,” he explained, and Kent held a hand to his mouth ponderingly.

“But why you …?” he wondered aloud, then he fixed Duke with an intense look. “What’s your lineage?” he asked, and Duke blinked from where he had taken a sip of his beer.

“My what?” he asked, and Kent sighed.

“Your lineage,” he said again, “Your mother’s maiden name, where your grandparents were from, your heritage! Out with it!”

“Uhhh…” Duke said intelligently, “My parents were both born in Gotham, but I think my mom’s parents were from Cleveland?”

Kent and Ted shared a look. “What?” Duke asked, and Ted hummed.

“Wes was from Cleveland,” he supplied, and Duke shrugged.

“So? Lots of people are from Cleveland,” he pointed out.

“Maybe, but this seems to me to be more than coincidence,” Kent said, “You see, Wesley wasn’t just blessed by the gods to have prophetic dreams. He was the descendent of an ancient line of Celtic shamans, and happened to be born on a site sacred to the Endless Entity known as Dream. His mystical heritage, however distant, made him more susceptible to Dream’s influence, which explains the dreams.”

“What?” Duke asked, totally lost, but Kent plowed on.

“Wesley tried to pass on his gift for prophecy to his protege, Sandy Hawkins, but it didn’t work; Sandy didn’t have the same mystical heritage Wesley did, so the abilities couldn’t find purchase,” Kent explained, “Sandy’s a fine hero now, but he’s no prophet. The fact that you are having dreams about Wesley though, that tells me there’s something special about your bloodline. Especially if your grandparents happened to come from the same city as Wesley himself, and from about the same time period.”

“Wait wait wait, but Wes didn’t have any kids!” Ted exclaimed, and Duke stared at him.

“Wait, are we trying to say that Wesley Dodds is my great-grandfather or something???” he asked incredulously, and Kent shook his head.

“No, no, no,” he said quickly, “We’re saying he’s a distant relative, a great-uncle or a cousin or something. Still, there’s only one way to know for sure…”

Kent stood up and started inspecting the bookshelves, peering at the faded titles carefully, then laughed with triumph as he found whatever book he was looking for. “Here we go!” he exclaimed, pulling a massive, leather-bound tome from the shelf, “The Pedigree of Pedagogus! This should sort some things out.”

“‘Pedigree of Pedagogus’?” Duke asked, “You’re making that up.”

“Just roll with it, kid,” Ted advised him, and Kent sat down with the book, poorly concealing a smirk as he did so.

“This is an ancient artifact that’s been in Fate’s Library for a few centuries,” he explained, opening the massive book to the index, “It lists the pedigree of every living being in the universe. Very helpful for figuring out family trees.”

Duke looked at the massive book, swimming with words in tiny font, and hummed appreciatively. “So it’s like a magic 23andMe,” he said, “Cool.”

Kent gave another long-suffering sigh, then continued looking through the index. “Let’s see, Thomas, Thomas, Thomas… here we are! Thomas, Duke Leonard, of Gotham, New Jersey!” he crowed triumphantly, tapping Duke’s name and hauling the book open to the appropriate page.

“Your middle name is Leonard?” Ted asked, and Duke nodded.

“Yeah, it was my grandpa’s name,” he explained.

“Would that happen to be your father’s father, Leonard James Thomas, born in Gotham on October 23rd, 1929?” Kent asked, and Duke stared at him. 

“Uhh… yeah?” he said, “How’d you know that?”

Kent smiled as he showed off the page he had flipped to. “Because the Pedigree holds all the answers, kid,” he explained, gesturing the sprawling family tree the book had in its pages, all the branches spiralling outward eventually culminating in Duke himself.

“ Woah… ” he whispered, “That’s my great-aunt Dottie! And Uncle Bob!”

“Yes, very impressive, isn’t it?” Kent agreed, “But we’re here for something specific…” Kent tapped the book with his finger, moving it along the page and scrolling it as if it were a smartphone, revealing yet more of Duke’s family tree, crawling all the way back to the Dark Ages.

“Hm, well, that’s something,” Kent murmured, and Duke looked at the page intensely as Kent moved it around.

“What? What is?” he asked, and Kent hummed again.

“You’re descended from the Tantu People of western Africa, charged by the spider god Anansi to guard the Tantu Totem, the artifact that gives Vixen her powers,” he explained, “That’s on your father’s side; your family was brought over as slaves after the Songhai Empire invaded the lands of the Tantu and massacred the people, selling the rest to the Royal Africa Company. Yours and Vixen’s are some of the few remaining Tantu bloodlines.”

“Oh. Well then,” Duke replied. What was he supposed to say to that?

“That means you’ve got some mystic blood on your father’s side,” Kent went on, then he moved to Duke’s matrilineal line, “Ah! A-ha! As I suspected!”

“What!?” Duke asked, getting really tired of asking that question.

“You are related to Wesley Dodds on your mother’s side!” Kent proclaimed, placing his finger down on the relation in question, “It looks like one of Wesley’s first cousins, Harold, married a Black woman, Mona White, which got the poor guy kicked out of the Dodds Family. Harry and Mona had a son while they still lived in Cleveland, who turned out to be your mother’s father!”

Duke blinked. “So what does that make me and Wesley?” he asked, and Kent waved his hand dismissively.

“First cousins thrice removed, but that’s not important,” he said rapidly, “What is important is that not only are you and Wesley related, thanks to your great-grandfather Harold Dodds, you have the same connection to the Celtic shamans that Wesley did! Add to that your father’s Tantu blood, and you’re one of the most mystical members of your family in generations! ”

“Wait, wait, wait, hold on,” Duke said finally, “You’re saying I’m magic? ”

“Well… yes and no,” Kent sighed, “Your bloodline gives you a proclivity toward magic, but we are still talking hundreds of years of dilution here. Think of it like, on a scale of 1 to 10, the majority of humanity is at about a 1/10 on the mystical blood scale; hence why people hold superstitions about ghosts and such like that. 1/10 is just a general awareness of the supernatural.”

“Okay, I’m following you,” Duke confirmed, and Kent pressed on.

“Being the host of a Lord of Order, I’m at about a 7/10,” he explained, “With the Helmet, I’m a full 10, Sorcerer Supreme. Wesley, on the other hand, was at about a 5. You yourself I’d say are at about a 3.”

“Okay…” Duke nodded, still mostly following the explanation.

“Wesley’s prophetic abilities are obviously passed by blood in some way, hence why he couldn’t pass them on to Sandy Hawkins,” Kent went on, “But you, even with the small amount of magic you have, thanks to the intersection of two minor mystical bloodlines, have just enough of a connection to the Mystic Arts to be considered viable in the ability’s eyes. That could explain why your dreams are only coming in fits and bursts, and why your abilities are manifesting so late; your connection to them just isn’t as strong as Wesley’s was!”

Duke took a breath as he considered the old magician’s words. “So basically, I’m next in line for whatever gave Sandman his powers?” he asked, and Kent nodded enthusiastically.

“And it seems to me, Wesley is trying to tell you something,” he concluded, and Ted sat back with a sigh.

“Well damn,” he muttered, taking a long sip from his Manhattan, “I knew this would be some wizard shit, but damn. ”

“Indeed,” Kent agreed, then he turned back to Duke, “Duke, in all honesty, I can’t really help you from here. If I were a betting man, I’d say Wesley’s trying to tell you something about the circumstances surrounding his death, or his ‘unfinished work’. Any cases he had left over from being Sandman Sandy Hawkins will have already taken care of; his death is the only loose end left.”

“So do I have to go to Cuba and dig up Castro or something?” Duke asked, and Ted grunted.

“Wouldn’t recommend it,” he said, “You’re Bruce Wayne’s adopted son, kid; people’ll ask the wrong sorts of questions if you suddenly take a vacation in Cuba.”

“Good point, and I’d never recommend tomb raiding,” Kent added with a distant look in his eye, “It never goes well. I urge you to simply meditate each night before you go to sleep, try to connect more with your abilities, and Wesley’s spirit. The way these powers work, the only way to get more information is to have more dreams.”

“Right…” Duke said with a sigh, thinking hard about how or if he would explain this to Bruce, “Well, that’s helpful. Really, thank you both; I was flying blind here but now I’ve got some info to go off of.”

“Glad I could help,” Kent said, standing up to shake Duke’s hand, “Now would you like to know where the Zeta Tube is so you don’t have to ride with Ted again?”

“Dear God yes,” Duke agreed readily, and the three of them all laughed heartily. Duke though, he stopped laughing quicker than the others.

Just what on earth could a man who’d been dead for fifty years have to tell him?

---

Question hummed to himself as he looked through the staff logs of the Watchtower, especially monitor duty, from the day of Brainiac’s attack. Anyone who had served monitor duty within a week of the attack was added to his suspect list, which, unfortunately for him, included most of the League. Of particular note were Dmitri Pushkin, AKA Rocket Red, and Eel O’Brien, AKA Plastic Man. One was an agent of a foreign government with more than enough reason to want to take down the Justice League; the League’s presence was the only reason why Russia’s glorious leader hadn’t yet invaded its neighbor.

No one wanted to find out what Superman would do in case of war in Europe. If Russia wanted a mole in the League, Pushkin was a perfect candidate. 

Then there was O’Brien. A former felon, if a reformed one. Question wasn’t sure if Plastic Man’s turn to the light was genuine, but to be fair, the former thief had proved himself from time to time. Still, someone may have gotten him back into his old habits, or worse, were using his past as blackmail. If the latter were the case, then Eel O’Brien was a better actor than Question had originally given him credit for.

He was also forced to consider the possibility that Huntress, too, was a suspect. As the daughter of a famous crime boss, she was also on the road to redemption. It wasn’t unheard of for someone in her shoes to stumble back onto a more familiar path; but what need would the mafia have for taking down the Justice League…?

Still, there was a need to investigate all suspects. Question would start with the least likely and work his way to most; Ockham’s Razor and all.

“Hey Question, what are you doin’ in there?” a familiar voice said behind him, and Question turned.

“Kord,” he greeted, and Blue Beetle smiled in recognition, “Nothing. Just looking at logs.”

“Logs?” Kord asked, tilting his head with interest, “What for? Is there an error?”

“None that I’ve found,” Question admitted; whoever had tampered with the logs had been thorough, “But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. We are members of one of the most powerful organizations in history, Kord, plenty of people want to take a swing at us. It’s good to remain vigilant.”

“So you’re just inspecting the logs by hand because you think there’s a vague possibility someone tampered with them?” Kord asked quizzically, and Question nodded.

“Exactly,” he said, “You can never be too careful. Especially with the Dutch.”

“ Right… ” Kord said disbelievingly, “Well, you do you, man. Good luck with your Dutch hackers, I guess.”

“Thanks, even though I know you don’t believe me,” Question responded, and Kord left the room. Just another wacky conspiracy theory from the Question, Question thought, a self-satisfied smirk playing at his lips beneath his mask. Now, Kord would be off his back, and even if there was a danger of Kord getting involved, he’d given him the wrong trail with his comment about the Dutch.

And honestly, everyone knew it was really the Icelanders you had to worry about.

---

Bart grumbled as he sat on the ground with the wreckage of the Cosmic Treadmill, deep in the archives of the Flash Museum, trying to put the damn thing back together. The effects of the timequake from a few months ago should have waned by now, so it might become useful again if Bart could crack the code of how Grandpa Barry had built the damn thing.

No one had the manual, just some notes left over from Barry’s lab, so Bart was absolutely flying blind. Thankfully, he was a pretty good engineer, so he was good at problem solving, and he kinda knew how the Speed Force worked, so that was something as well.

Still, he’d been there for two hours, which was ages in Bart time, but hey, he was focused. And, Jay had told him the best way to keep himself sane was to fix what he could fix, and the Cosmic Treadmill was, thankfully, in no way, shape, or form connected to the Tim Situation, so Bart felt comfortable in fixing it.

He still didn’t know who’d broken it in the first place, some kind of break-in months ago they never traced to anyone, but whoever it was had done a pretty thorough job. The thing was in more pieces than the twelve unfinished lego sets in Bart’s room in Titans Tower.

Still, after his long hours of work, he had the thing mostly put back together. Or, at least, it looked like a treadmill again. Not so sure on the cosmic bit. He was close, but the trouble he was having was the wiring and all the complex sciency stuff on the inside … if only he had a manual…

Bart connected one wire to the other. A green light came on on the inside of the treadmill. Bart stared at it in confusion.

“Did I just… fix it?” he asked aloud, and he popped up to his feet to check the small screen of the thing on the outside, and sure enough, it was blinking 0s at him expectantly. Bart let out an incredulous laugh. “ No way! ” he laughed, still shocked, “I fixed it! I fixed it!! ”

But before Bart could really celebrate, he heard a sonic boom rock the city above him. Not exactly an uncommon occurrence in Central City, but as far as Bart knew, he was the only Flash in town tonight. Had he missed a call or something?

Bart got his answer as golden lightning filled the archives, and he stared in shock and horror at the scowling, blurry outline of a man in a yellow suit.

“ Thawne!? ” Bart exclaimed, backing up and away from the Reverse Flash, “You’re supposed to be dead!”

Eobard Thawne, the Reverse Flash, said nothing. He simply scowled at Bart and glared, the blur of his motion hiding the details of his face. Normally, Bart would be able to parse something like that, but Thawne was simply moving too fast; much faster than Bart remembered him being able to move. And hadn’t Thawne’s lightning been red, not gold?

He settled into a ready stance. “I don’t know what your game is, Thawne, but it ends here,” he warned, “We’re about the same speed, you and I. I can stop you here and now, no Wally or Barry needed.”

Thawne surged forward at blinding speed, not giving Bart time to react, pinning him to the wall, still not saying anything. “What’s the matter, Thawne?” Bart asked tauntingly, struggling to break free, “Not in a talking mood tonight?”

Thawne answered by punching Bart hard in the gut, enough that it made Bart’s eyes bug and his chest heave, driving the breath from his lungs and sending the younger speedster to his knees. Then, while he was on the ground, Thawne kicked him in the ribs, sending him flying into the opposite wall, knocking over some Rogue’s weapon as he did so. 

As Bart struggled to get up, to face Thawne, he watched in horror as Thawne turned his back to Bart, instead turning to the Cosmic Treadmill. “No! Stop! ” Bart cried, trying to run forward, but Thawne had already started dismantling the machine.

Bart ran to him, but Thawne turned and cracked Bart across the face, sending him sprawling to the floor once more as his head swam from what was probably a concussion. Thawne was on top of him in a half of an instant, punching him, kicking him, a thousand times in the span of a few seconds, all too quick for Bart to react to, splitting his lip open and giving him all sorts of bruises all over his body. It hurt like hell, but Bart had had worse; way worse. 

“ Stay down, ” Thawne ordered, his voice vibrating and reverberating with the Speed Force, but even in his hazy mental state, Bart noticed he sounded vaguely different. 

Then, Thawne had the gall to turn his back again and continue dismantling the Cosmic Treadmill. Not just dismantling it, Bart noticed, but breaking it! Beyond repair!

“Hey, asshole!” Bart growled, staggering to his feet as he spat blood out of his mouth, “I just spent two hours on that thing, which is really a lot for me! Get your hands off it or I’ll make sure you never put your grimy hands on anything again! ”

Bart ran forward, his limbs aching with every step, but Thawne saw him coming. He turned, jabbed Bart in the throat, then kneed him in the nuts and sent him to the floor again. “ Stay. Down. ” Thawne ordered again, looming over Bart like the Grim Reaper in Yellow and Red, but Bart snarled in his face.

“ Never. ” he growled, bucking his hips and kicking Thawne in the jaw, trying to catch him by surprise, but Thawne moved his head out of the way just in time, then grabbed Bart by the ankles.

“ I warned you, ” he told the young speedster, and Bart cried out as Thawne spun him around in the air and flung him against the wall for a second time, this time not even bothering with the Treadmill.

No, now, Thawne ran to retrieve a chair, then grabbed Bart’s leg and propped his foot up onto it. Bart tried to kick him, but Thawne’s grip was like iron, and when he tried to move out of the way, Thawne kicked him in the head, sending his head swimming from another concussion.

Then, while Bart was still trying to get his bearings, he saw Thawne’s hand come down like a guillotine. He heard more than felt the sickening SNAP! as Thawne’s fist collided with his shinbone. And he screamed as the pain finally hit his brain, writhing in pain as the shattered bone portruded from his leg. 

Then, Thawne grabbed his other leg, and Bart’s eyes widened. “No, no, no, no, stop, stop!!” he begged, hot tears of pain streamed down his face, but Thawne’s fist came down at the same speed, and Bart screamed again, felt the bone shatter again, and both his legs were in complete and utter agony. Waves of pain rolled up his limbs as Thawne loomed over him, and Bart could barely see through the tears, nor think through the pain, as Thawne grabbed his arm.

“ Puh-Please!! ” Bart cried, but Thawne still shattered his arm. Bart screamed for a third time, trying to move, to get away, but each errant twitch was torture. He only struggled weakly as Thawne grabbed his remaining arm, and he whimpered as he tried to pull out of Thawne’s grip.

“ Don’t try to fix it again, ” Thawne told him, and Bart screamed with agony as his final limb was shattered like the rest. Pain rolled in from all across his body; the remnants of his bones stuck out from his skin, blood pooling around him.

“ I’ll know. ” Thawne warned him, and Bart only had the energy to cry out in pain as Thawne finally left him, finished destroying the Cosmic Treadmill, then left in a flash of golden lightning.

Bart lay there in a pool of his own blood, struggling to move or do anything without pain. His legs, his arms, everything was just hurt. He couldn’t do anything. His speedster healing would help, he knew, but only if his bones were in the right spot!

“ He-Help! ” he called in a broken hiccup, hoping beyond hope that some poor night guard was within earshot, “Help me! Somebody! P-Please! ”

Wally was out of town tonight. So was Barry. Jay was in Keystone.

No one could hear him.

Except…

“ K-Kon! ” Bart screamed, moaning at the sheer amount of pain, “ Kon, help me! Please!! ”

Another sonic boom. Familiar curly black hair and a shocked friend’s face.

“ Bart!? ” Conner asked in horror, and Bart finally, mercifully, passed out from the pain.

Chapter 42: Gestation, Part 1

“ Good morning. This is Iris West, reporting for CBS Central City. For those of you just joining us, recently appointed Justice League member and longtime protector of Central City Kid Flash was found heavily wounded last night in the archives of the Flash Museum.”

Conner watched in apprehension as they took Bart to the surgical theatre immediately, having to act fast or else risk his superspeed healing his bones incorrectly, leading to even worse complications.

“Details are sparse, but reports say that Kid Flash sustained serious injuries to his arms and legs. Superboy was on the scene almost immediately, as Central City’s usual protector was out of town, and successfully flew Kid Flash to medical facilities at STAR Labs, where doctors are more prepared to handle his metahuman physiology. According to doctors, Kid Flash is in serious but stable condition.”

Conner could scarcely pry his eyes away from what lay beyond the door, watching as the doctors desperately tried to operate on skin that was healing before their eyes. Doctor Mid-Nite and Mister Terrific had even been flown in to help the STAR technicians operate. In order to do it right, they had to re-break his bones to realign them.

Conner didn’t think he’d ever get the sound of Bart’s scream out of his head.

“Justice League spokeswoman Catherine Cobert released a statement saying that the Flash was on League assignment in Bialya, and that his predecessor is still undergoing therapeutic treatment in Star City, which would explain both men’s absence from Central City on the night of Kid Flash’s attack. In the same statement, Cobert and the League expressed regret and concern, wishing Kid Flash a swift recovery. If I may take the liberty, we here at CBS Central City do the same.”

Conner hung his head in grief, unable to listen or watch any longer. Then, of course, there was the sonic boom that shook the city as Wally West ran into the room, looking distraught. “ Conner! ” he cried, “Is he alright? Is he going to be okay??”

“Yeah, he’s gonna be alright,” Conner told the older speedster, but unable to meet his eyes, “They’re operating on him now. He’s gonna pull through, but it’ll be a long recovery. Wally, if you’d seen his legs… ”

Conner closed his eyes, holding a hand over them in a vain attempt to keep himself from seeing them. Wally sat down heavily next to Conner, looking about the same level of exhausted. “First Barry, then Dick, now Bart…” he sighed, rubbing his eyes, “I don’t know how much more of this I can take, Conner.”

“Neither do I,” Conner admitted, his thoughts straying back to his estranged lover, still so close and yet so far out of his reach. 

“Do we know what hit him?” Wally asked, “Who did this to him?”

Conner shook his head. “He was out cold by the time I got to him,” he explained, “Then they took him in for surgery. I still don’t like the fact that somebody’s fast enough or strong enough to do that to him, though.”

Wally hummed, looking down, and the two of them waited. Eventually, Jay and Barry joined them, both men looking intensely distraught, and Cassie a little while after that, but nothing of note was said as they just waited for any news about Bart.

Then, finally, a doctor came into the waiting room. All the assembled superheroes looked up hopefully, and the doctor smiled at them. “The surgery was a success; everything is back where it’s supposed to be. He’s awake, and I think visitors would be mighty appreciated.”

The doctor barely had room to step out of the way as three speedsters, a Kryptonian, and an Amazon rushed past him into the room beyond, where Bart Allen, beaten, bruised, and with all four limbs in casts grinned weakly from his hospital bed.

“Hey guys,” he grinned, and Barry sighed with relief.

“Hey, Kid,” he said, sitting down by him, “You’ve gotta stop scaring us like this.”

“Didn’t exactly plan on it, Gramps,” Bart chuckled, then winced as the laughter disturbed his wounds.

“Do you need some water, son?” Jay asked, “I can go get the doctor-”

“Bart,” Wally said seriously, cutting the old man off, and the room turned its attention to the current Flash, “Who did this to you?”

Conner and Cassie shared a concerned look as Bart’s expression hardened, settling into simmering anger and burning shame. “ Thawne, ” he whispered softly, and Barry reacted as though he’d been burned, springing from the seat.

“But Thawne is dead!” Barry argued, “I saw it myself! Same as you, same as Wally! What I did to him… you don’t just bounce back from something like that.”

“Thawne’s done the impossible before,” Jay pointed out, but Wally shook his head.

“You weren’t there,” he reiterated, “I’ve seen Thawne get his ass kicked a thousand times. When Barry beats him fair and square, and we think he’s gone for good, he always makes some comment, or cracks a smirk, or something to let us know he’s still in control. But this time? There was fear in his eyes, Jay. He was at the end of his rope; there wasn’t a backup plan. He just died.”

“I don’t know, Wally,” Bart said, and everyone turned back to him, “Something about Thawne was… different this time. He was faster, way faster, his lightning was a different color, and he didn’t even talk all that much. It was like he was a completely different person.”

“A different person…” Barry murmured, then his jaw dropped open in shock, “Oh my God. Thawne is dead. This… it can’t be him, then that means it has to be--!”

“Somebody else,” Jay agreed, then he looked at all of them, “But every speedster left on the planet is in this room.”

“The ones we know about,” Conner pointed out.

“But if it wasn’t Thawne, then who was it?” Cassie asked, and Wally sighed as he sat down, resting his chin in his hands and gnawing on a finger, either in contemplation or out of nerves.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

---

Selina felt nervous as she approached the doors of the Manor, almost subconsciously holding her stomach. It felt so strange, so long after coming to terms with the fact that she’d likely never have children, even living that dream vicariously through Bruce and his infinite army of adoptees. Still, she had to tell him at some point, and the longer she waited, the harder it was going to get.

She entered the Manor, putting on a smile as Damian barely paid her any mind. “Selina,” he greeted, more concerned with preparing Titus for a walk, and Selina nodded.

“Damian, could you fetch your father for me?” she asked, “I have something to tell him. Actually, it’s probably best if you stick around a little while, too.”

Damian raised an eyebrow, whether it was general interest or mild concern Selina couldn’t tell, but he nodded and went down to the Cave to get Bruce. Selina hemmed and hawed a little, wondering about what she was going to say, hoping against hope that Bat was in costume so that she would have a little more time while he changed.

She had come up with nothing useful by the time Damian, several minutes later, returned with Bruce in tow, her Bat looking as though he had hurriedly changed into civilian clothes in an effort not to keep her waiting. Selina wished he hadn’t hurried.

“Cat,” he said quickly, his voice rumbling and deep and soothing, “Damian said you had something to tell me? I would have been up sooner, but I was looking into the Penguin’s murder, and--”

Selina chuckled lightly, cutting him off, then swallowed nervously. “Well, Bat, I just came back from the doctors…” she started, and Bruce’s eyes shot wide open.

“Are you alright?” he asked instantly, crossing the space to be closer to her, “Are you sick? Selina, if something’s wrong, we’ll get you the best doctors money can buy, I promise--”

“I’m not sick, ” Selina sighed, laughing a little bit as she patted Bat’s shoulder, “You know, you’re much more of a worrier than you seem.”

Bruce sighed, his shoulders sagging as he just hugged her. “I know,” he murmured, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Selina told him, drawing back in the hug and putting a caring hand on his cheek, “It’s part of why I fell in love with you.” They looked into each other’s eyes for a moment, and Damian cleared his throat pointedly.

“I have yet to see a reason why I need to be here,” he pointed out, and Selina laughed once more, rolling her eyes.

“Well, the doctor gave me some unexpected news, and I figured you two ought to be the first to know,” she said, and Bruce finally released the hug to look at her expectantly, Damian doing the same.

Working up her courage, Selina finally managed to say, in a relatively even voice, “I’m pregnant.”

There was silence for a moment. Then, Bat’s face lit up like a Christmas Tree, absolutely elated as he laughed and hugged her tight, crying, “Cat, that’s amazing! That’s-- That’s--!!!”

“It’s wonderful news, Stepmother,” Damian told her kindly, keeping his tone calm even though he was clearly grinning, “Would you like me to tell the others that we’ll have a new sibling?”

“If you’d be so kind, Damian,” Selina agreed, laughing as Bruce hugged her tighter, then even went so far as to kiss her on the cheek. “Bat, Bat, it’s already in the oven, we don’t need to make more!” she laughed, prompting Damian to turn red and leave the room faster than she’d ever seen him move, and Bruce only rumbled a laugh, kissing her straight on the lips.

“Selina Irene Kyle Wayne, you are the greatest, most wonderful thing to ever happen to me,” Bruce told her as the kiss ended, “And this is the best news I’ve received in a very, very long time.”

Selina smiled as she hugged him again, sighing, “Bruce Thomas Wayne, you are the greatest, most wonderful thing to ever happen to me, and I know for a fact that you’ll be a wonderful father for the fifteenth time in a row.”

Bruce laughed again, and they kissed again, and Selina didn’t think she’d ever been so happy in her entire life.

Sure, life was harsh, and dark, and scary, but the best part was that you kept on living, and there would be shining, bright, wonderful moments to balance it all out.

Oh, if only bliss would last forever.

---

Three Months Later

Barbara screamed as pain racked her body, cursing every single course of events that had led her to this moment. She cursed Bruce, she cursed her father, hell, she even cursed Dick.

She especially cursed Dick; this was his fault, after all.

Another wave of pain. Barbara screamed again, her chest heaving as she desperately panted for breath, sweat pouring down her face from where she lay, without her chair, flat on her back.

“ nnnAAAAA AAHHGHAAA!!! ” she screeched, and Stephanie, at her shoulder, tried to comfort her.

“It’s okay, Babs, you’re almost through it,” she insisted, her tone calm and soothing as she gave Barbara her hand for her to hold, “Almost done, Babs, just one more push.”

“ You said that three pushes ago!!! ” Barbara roared, rounding on her so-called companion, but Steph only grinned snidely at her anger.

“This time I mean it!” she said defensively, and Barbara groaned as she clenched her entire upper body, pushing with all her might.

And the cries of an infant split the air as relief finally flooded Barbara’s body. 

Dr. St. Cloud grinned from between her legs. “Congratulations!” he said happily, “It’s a healthy baby girl!”

Barbara sagged with relief, just taking a moment to breathe as Stephanie gave way to Dr. St. Cloud, who handed the recently-wrapped bundle over to her, the tiny pink face squinting up at her from its blankets. Barbara had a vague thought that the poor thing was probably terribly cold, considering how warm it had been for her previously.

With shaking, exhausted limbs, Barbara took her daughter into her arms, unable to do little more than smile as the infant fussed in her hold, still occasionally wailing at having been so unceremoniously summoned to the world.

Her daughter.

Barbara held the little girl as tight as she dared, all at once hyper-aware of how fragile life was at this stage, and took in as much of the little girl as she could. Her eyes weren’t open yet, of course, and she was still pink from the ordeal she and her mother had just shared, but to Barbara’s delight, the beginnings of a mop of black hair still graced her head.

Black hair, not red. Just like her father.

“Would you like us to let your father in, Ms Gordon?” Dr. St. Cloud asked quietly, not wanting to disturb the tender moment, “He seems about ready to break down the door.”

Barbara allowed herself a small chuckle, making the infant on her chest bounce. “Yes,” she agreed, “You’d better do that.”

A few moments later, Jim Gordon ran into the hospital room looking more panicked than Barbara had ever seen him, even on the most stressful nights at the precinct, and he all but fell to his knees at her side.

“My God, Barbara, she’s beautiful,” Jim whispered, holding his daughter while she held her own. 

“If she gets Dick’s looks, we’ll have to beat the boys off with a stick,” Barbara joked, and Jim laughed along with her, both more lost in the moment. The miracle of creation.

“So did you pick out a name?” Stephanie asked quietly, and Barbara sighed with contentment.

“After his mother,” she explained, “Mary. Mary Grayson.”

Mary wailed at the sound of her name, the only thing she could do, and Barbara finally relinquished her to the care of Dr. St. Cloud and the maternity ward of Gotham General. 

She’s perfect, Dick, she thought, She’s perfect.

---

Tim needed an answer to the Amazon Question, and he needed it now. He was getting desperate, but the fact of the matter was that answers just didn’t exist. 

Well, they did, they were just being kept in a highly secure archive that he was magically barred from. Only other Amazons could find Themyscira’s shores, and, occasionally, for some reason, random Air Force pilots, but, as he stated previously he couldn’t interrogate Steve Trevor without garnering too much attention from Wonder Woman. He needed to do this quietly, but how!?

Tim was startled from his thoughts as Artemis groaned from where she sat on the counter, tossing the manila file Tim had given her away as she ground her palms into her eyes. “This is so boring!! ” she grumbled, “I’ve read the same sentence six times and I still have no fucking clue what it said!”

“In the field, you may not have the luxury of throwing out a case you don’t like,” Tim told her, “Most people consider that immoral.”

“I know, I know, but these cold cases you gave me are impossible!” she sighed, and Tim almost chuckled.

“They’re not impossible, and they’re not cold, either,” he told her, “I solved them when I was half your age. I figure your brain should be trained enough by now to come to the correct conclusions; think of it like a standardized test for vigilantism.”

“I hate standardized tests,” Artemis complained, and Tim shrugged.

“Then you can enjoy life as a mindless assassin under Talia al Ghul, can’t you?” he said snidely, and Artemis scowled at him before picking up the file and inspecting it once more. “That’s what I thought,” Tim said with a grin, turning back to his board.

“Just get someone to do it for you,” Artemis said after a moment, and Tim turned to her.

“What?” he asked, and Artemis sighed as she put down the file again, hopping off the counter to gesture to his planning board.

“You’re trying to get to Themyscira, right? But men can’t go there. Send a woman,” she said, and Tim sighed.

“It’s not that simple; it can’t just be any woman, you need to be an Amazon to reach Themyscira,” he explained, “You need to have at least some connection to the Greek gods. Which actually makes me wonder how Steve Trevor got in, but that’s a theory for a different time.”

Artemis frowned at the new information, then tilted her head at the various depictions of the Amazons Tim had gathered, which included the modern superheroes. “Then send an Amazon,” she pointed out, and Tim almost laughed.

“I’m a known criminal and psychopath, Artemis, no Amazon in their right mind would choose to work with me,” he muttered, “Especially not since Cassie’s been spreading the word about me, no doubt. Any morally ambiguous Amazons willing to help me are likely living safely behind the walls of Themyscira.”

Artemis threw up her hands, muttering, “I tried to help!” And then she returned to her studies.

Then Tim frowned. No Amazon in their right mind would choose to work with him…

… what if they didn’t have a choice?

What if Tim forced them to do it?

Tim dismissed the idea almost as soon as it came to him; the Amazons more than likely had means of detecting hypnosis or other forms of mind control. 

…

… but as he well knew, there were other ways to get someone to do something they otherwise would never consider. After all, it had been done to him.

He could take a hostage.

A pit formed in his stomach. It was ruthless, unleashing the same hell on someone else that had been unleashed on him. But what other way was there? It was just so that no one else would die. Surely that was a worthy goal, right?

Surely he was justified, just this once, in crossing this line? What other choice did he have? Let Wonder Woman descend upon Gotham in a fury while he tried to worm his way into the Court of Owls, ruining his plans and dooming Tommy? Not only Tommy, but likely putting him behind bars forever, where he’d be unable to either stop Lex or protect Kr-II from his machinations.

Diana would think she was doing the right thing. She wouldn’t stop, no matter how much Tim pleaded with her. How can Wonder Woman be seen turning a blind eye to the suffering of others? It was against every fiber of her being. It was why she left Themyscira in the first place.

Tim was already willing to break Clark. He was already willing to break Bruce.

He must be ready to break Diana. And to get to her, he had to be willing to break whoever else he had to along the way.

He must be willing to be ruthless.

And sickeningly, he already had an idea in mind. The one Amazon he knew best; the one who’s weakness he knew how to exploit, because he’d written up a file on her weaknesses for Batman when they were on the same team, living in the same Tower.

Cassie Sandsmark. Wonder Girl.

“Mr. Drake?” a voice called from beyond Tim’s door, and Tim motioned for Artemis to hide while he answered, which she did expertly. 

What greeted him was a lab assistant of Lex’s, a young man with blond hair, who nodded to him. “Mr. Luthor is looking for you, sir; they’re ready to begin the next phase of the project,” the assistant said cordially, and Tim nodded.

“I’m on my way,” he assured the other man, “Just need to make a quick call.”

“Of course,” the assistant agreed, and he turned to leave down the hall as Tim pulled out his cellphone.

“Artemis, I think you should go back to your hotel room for a little bit,” he told the girl as he dialled the number, “Keep working on that case, and text me when you have the answer; I’ll tell you if you got it right and what you got wrong.”

“Right,” Artemis agreed, emerging from her hiding place beyond the end of the counter she had been previously sitting on, “What about you?”

“I’ll be alright,” he assured her, and then he perked up as the other side of the line was picked up. “Pru, Owens, Z,” he greeted his old assassin team, “I need you to kidnap someone for me.”

---

“Dr. Sandsmark!” Jerry called, “I’m leaving for the night! Are you alright locking up?”

Dr. Helena Sandsmark hummed from where she stood hunched over a sample of ancient Minoan pottery, what possibly used to be a jar, and nodded. “Yes, Jerry, I’ll be alright. I have my key,” she called, and she heard Jerry’s footsteps retreat down the hall.

The Gateway City Museum of Antiquities was the premier archeological museum of St Louis, and Dr. Sandsmark, as its head archeologist, enjoyed pride of place here. It also allowed her to do what she loved, uncovering humanity’s history one shovelful of overturned dirt at a time.

At times, it was monotonous, thankless, unforgiving work, but her successes in her career had provided her a comfortable life for her and her daughter, who was, of course, raking in cash as a newly-minted member of the Justice League.

Dr. Sandsmark had been skeptical of Cassie’s activities as Wonder Girl at first, but after hearing the fierce testimonies of her friends, Bart, Conner, and Tim, she had allowed the girl to stay on as Wonder Woman’s apprentice. Besides, it afforded her access to a culture that was locked off from the rest of the world, a living fossil of Ancient Greek civilization!

… at Queen Hippolyta’s sufferance, of course. Dr. Sandsmark dare not tread over that line, lest she cause an international incident that her daughter, as an international figure, could not afford. No, she was determined to support her daughter’s career, like any caring mother should.

No matter the fact that she still lived in the house at twenty-seven, but that was a conversation for a different time.

Finally, after successfully restoring the shard of pottery’s original paint job by carefully dusting away the dirt and sediment, she packed up her work station and prepared to call it quits for the day. As she turned off the lights and exited through the employee entrance, she frowned as she spotted Jerry’s car still in its spot.

“Jerry, I thought you left an hour ago, is everything alright?” she called, walking up to the car, only to gasp as she found the poor man passed out cold, slumped over the steering wheel.

“ Jerry! ” she cried, pulling out her phone to call 911, but as she palmed it she gasped as it flew from her hand in pieces, a gunshot ringing through the air.

“Now now, Doc, let’s not do anything we’ll regret,” a cool voice greeted, and Helena turned in shock to see a shorter man with tawny brown hair stalk out of the shadows, a sniper rifle hefted in his hands.

“W-Who are you?” Helena asked shakily, taking a step backward, and she yelped as she bumped into someone behind her. Whirling around, she paled as she saw a tall, imposing Black man standing silently behind her.

“Do not be afraid, Dr. Sandsmark,” he assured her, and Helena recognized a continental African accent, “We will not harm you, as long as you cooperate.”

Helena tried to reach into her purse for the gun she kept there, but before she could get to it, a third figure snatched her purse right out of her hands.

“ Relax, Doc,” a British-accented voice said, and a bald woman toting a submachine gun grinned at her from where she stood, holding her purse, “Our boss just wants a quick chat with you.”

Helena swallowed down the bile in her throat. This couldn’t end well.

Chapter 43: Gestation, Part 2

Helena Sandsmark woke up slowly, her body stiff and sore. Eventually, she became aware of the fact that she was tied to a chair; not just tied, but bolted at the wrists, unbreakable metal clasps keeping her hands pinned to the armrests. The same was true for her legs. To make her luck even worse, the chair was metal, too; no weak spots.

“Good morning, Dr. Sandsmark,” a cool, dangerous voice said, and Helena looked around wildly. The room was dark, so much so that she couldn’t see the edges of it; only a small, bare lightbulb provided her meager light, illuminating a tiny space around her and her chair.

“Where am I?” she asked urgently, trying not to let her voice rise in panic, “What’s going on??”

“No need to panic, Helena, I’m not going to hurt you,” the voice said again, and Helena swore it sounded familiar. 

“Who are you!?” she cried into the darkness, not able to source where the voice was coming from, and she heard a long-suffering sigh as a figure stalked out of the darkness, clad in scarlet and black, a cowl covering his face, a gold bandolier crossing his chest, and a black cape shrouding his form. 

“You may call me Red Robin,” he said to her, his voice chilling and cold and dangerous, “And like I said, I am not going to hurt you. That is, unless your daughter does not do exactly as I say.”

“My daughter? ” Helena gasped, then she felt the protective rage build up in her throat, “If you lay a finger on her, I swear to God I’ll--!!”

Red Robin laughed in her face, which shut down her threat fairly quickly. “Please, Dr. Sandsmark, I know better than to threaten Wonder Girl,” he told her, “Which is why I’m not threatening her…”

Red Robin crossed the space between them, retrieving from his cape a pistol and a cellphone; her cellphone. Cassie’s contact had already been brought up. Red Robin held the pistol to her head as he dialled Cassie’s number. “... I’m threatening you, ” he finished, and Helena swallowed as she stared at the barrel.

Red Robin set the phone up for a video call. It rang, and rang, and rang again. Finally, Cassie picked up, and from what Helena could see, she obviously wasn’t paying attention. “ Hey, Mom, what’s up? ” she asked from the screen, looking at something else as she let her phone rest on a counter somewhere.

Red Robin kept the phone facing him. “Hello, Cassie; what are you making for lunch?” he asked casually, and Helena saw Cassie blanche, do a double-take, then stare at her phone screen in horror.

“ Tim!? ” she cried, and Helena heard the emotion in her voice, the terror, the conflict, “ Where’s my mother!? ”

Red Robin, or Tim, only smiled a thin, cold smile. “Oh, she’s alright,” Tim said casually, turning the phone to face her, and the gun to her head, “Aren’t you, Helena?”

“Cassie, whatever he tries to get you to do, don’t do it , alright sweetie?” Helena pleaded immediately, desperately, “Everything’s going to be okay sweetheart, I promise! Just don’t--!!”

“ Shut up! ” Red Robin snapped, slamming the butt of the pistol into the side of her head, eliciting a sharp cry of pain. 

“ Mom!!” Cassie cried, shocked and enraged by the move, “ Tim, let her go!”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Cassie,” Tim sighed, almost sounding pained as he turned the camera back to face him, “See, Helena and I are going to be spending some time together until you do what I want.”

“ WHAT!? ” Cassie snapped, and Tim’s lips quirked up into a smile.

“I need information, Cassie,” he continued on, “Information that only you can get me. You see, this information I need lies in the Archives of Themyscira, which means only an Amazon can access them. So I thought, which Amazons do I know who’d be willing to help me?”

As Cassie seethed on the other end of the line, Tim smiled again. “Now, because the answer to that question is a big fat ‘no one’,” he added, “I then thought, who could I force into helping me? And that’s what brought me to you, old friend. ”

“ Tim, I swear, if you hurt her, I’ll--!! ” Cassie tried, but Tim rolled his eyes.

“Okay, we can skip the threats and the knuckle cracks, can’t we?” he muttered exasperatedly, “I think we’ve at least known each other long enough for that. ”

Helena waited for some smartass remark from her daughter, but to her mild surprise and intense relief, it didn’t come. Red Robin smiled again. “Good,” he said with a nod, “Now, I’m assuming you already know, but I’m going to tell you how this works for clarity’s sake. You are going to do exactly what I tell you to do; you are going to go to Themyscira, act completely natural, and search the archives for the information I require. Then, you are going to smuggle those tomes or the information they contain back to me. In exchange, I will release your mother back to you, safe and unharmed.”

Cassie scowled from the other side of the screen. “ And if I refuse to cooperate? ” she asked, and Tim rolled his eyes again. 

“ Again, with the cliches,” he sighed, “ If you don’t cooperate, which I strongly suggest you do, I’m going to fucking shoot her, you complete moron! ”

“ You’re bluffing! ” Cassie snapped, and Tim raised an eyebrow beneath his cowl.

“Am I?” he asked, and Helena heard something different in his tone, something low and cold and dangerous as he set the phone into a rig in his bandolier, almost like a bodycam. “You’re an archaeologist, aren’t you Dr. Sandsmark?” he asked her, and Helena swallowed before she answered with a curt nod. Tim smiled, only a fraction, a strange sort of nostalgic smile.

“My mother was an archaeologist, too…” he told her, and Helena breathed a sigh of relief as he finally removed the gun from her forehead. “... such skilled hands. ”

Two gunshots rang out in quick succession. Helena screamed in pain as fire lit up her hands, and she stared down in horror at the two new bullet holes, blood pouring from the wounds, and then she screamed. 

She thought Cassie might have been screaming too, but she couldn’t quite register what was being said over the mind-numbing pain that her hands were in; the natural spasming from the pain wasn’t helping either. 

Red Robin, meanwhile, merely holstered his pistol calmly, removing the camera from his bandolier. “Next time you question my resolve, Cassie, it’ll be her kneecaps,” he told her fiercely, “Then her feet, then her shoulders, then her brain. Do I make myself clear?”

Cassie was visibly shaking with rage and fear on the screen, Helena doing much the same on her end, but Wonder Girl managed to growl out, “ Crystal… ”

“Good,” Tim said simply, “Now then, Themysciran Archives. Chop chop.”

“ What’s the information you’re looking for? ” Cassie asked, and Helena watched as Red Robin pursed his lips.

“How to capture or otherwise subdue an Amazon,” he said simply, “Good luck, Wonder Girl.” And he hung up.

Then, he looked down at Helena almost pityingly, tossing her her phone to rest on her lap. “I’ll get some bandages for your hands; no use in letting you bleed out,” he told her easily, “Tell me if she calls back.”

Helena stared at his back as he stalked back into the darkness. “Wait!” she cried, and he stopped, turning just a fraction back to her, and Helena swallowed. “I recognize you now,” he told him, “Cassie called you Tim. Your mother was an archaeologist; Janet Drake. You’re Tim Drake. You’re my daughter’s friend. Why are you doing this?”

“I was your daughter’s friend,” Tim told her, turning back to her as he drew the cowl from his face, revealing a young face already far too old and haunted. Helena prided herself on her observational skills, and so, even in this moment, with pain flaring in each of her hands, she did what she did best; she appraised the piece in front of her.

Sickly pale skin, black stubble lining his jaw, deep bruises beneath sunken blue-green eyes. Black hair, messy and unkempt, a white streak carving its way from his crown to the tips of his hair. And a cold, wintry glint in his eyes, sharp and icy, but still obviously hiding a much deeper undercurrent of profound sadness.

“Then, she stood by while the Justice League tried to throw me into a mental institution for the crime of believing that my mentor was still alive,” Tim went on, “Ever since, we’ve found ourselves on different sides of the fight. It’s how these things go, Dr. Sandsmark.”

Helena swallowed again, refusing to feel afraid as she stared Drake down. “But that’s not why you’re doing this,” she observed, and Tim narrowed his eyes.

“No,” he agreed, “It’s not.”

He drew the cowl back over his face, Tim Drake retreating behind the familiar mask of Red Robin. Before she could ask more questions, he turned his back to her and went back to the darkness. “I’ll come back with your bandages and a few guards to keep you company,” he told her, “There’s no reason to mistreat you…”

He turned halfway to her, fixing her with a cold glare over his shoulder, “... yet. ”

Helena shivered as Red Robin, as Tim, finally left her alone, hissing sharply as she disturbed her wounded hands. She was never really a religious woman, but right now, she prayed her daughter was safe.

---

Cassie felt sick as she stepped out of the Zeta Tube in Cyprus; it was the closest one to Themyscira. Her whole body shook as she took to the sky, flying southwest, and she grimaced as she heard the Cypriots below her cheer. Some cried “ Wonder Woman! Wonder Woman! ”, and Cassie almost cried.

She didn’t think she could handle being confused for Diana right now. Not when she was doing this.

She flew out across the Mediterranean Sea, soaring high above the waves as she felt the familiar shiver of ancient magic wash over her. Mist clouded her vision, but soon, she passed through the mystical barrier and into a bright, sunny seascape, the familiar isle rising from the waves before her. The Acropolis of Themyscira rose high above the sea, the golden gleam of the statue of Hera Gynailexdros barely visible in the open air temple. 

Instead for the top of the mountain, though, she headed for the bottom; the inner sanctum of Themyscira, where the archives were. Cassie touched down on the simple stone pathway. Was her mother okay? Had Tim treated her hands? She’d like to believe he did, but she couldn’t be sure. 

God, this was horrifying. 

“Hail, Cassandra!” the guard of the Archives called happily, a tall, red-haired woman called Artemis, and Cassie tried to put on a happy smile. Artemis was an old friend, one of the best warriors in Themyscira, and a full head-and-shoulders taller than Cassie.

“Hey, Artie,” she responded, and the elder Amazon rolled her eyes at the nickname. 

“I’ve told you how I feel about that Man’s World name…” she said, trying to sound threatening, but they’d both known each other for long enough that Cassie knew she wouldn’t actually follow up on that threat. 

“I know, Artie,” she replied, trying for her usual sardonic smirk, but she wasn’t sure if she quite made it.

Artemis frowned, and Cassie knew she hadn’t. “Are you alright, Cassie?” she asked, her voice uncharacteristically soft, and Cassie smiled again, brighter this time.

“Yeah! Just tired, is all; Zeta Tube has the worst jetlag after a while,” she explained, and Artemis shrugged. One of the benefits to being a closed-off society, they had no clue how serious jetlag actually was, or the fact that the Zeta Tube generally didn’t cause it.

“As you say,” Artemis accepted, and she went to remove the wrought iron gate from the stones, “What brings you to the Archives? You’re not usually the reading type.”

“Call me curious,” she said with a shrug, “Is Acantha in today?”

Acantha was the chief historian of Themyscira, and generally the best librarian in the Archives. If anyone could help her find what she was looking for, it would be her. 

Artemis nodded as she opened the gate and stepped aside. “At her desk, if she’s not lost somewhere amongst the scrolls,” she informed her, with a strange tone of voice that denoted more familiarity than Cassie would have thought, “That girl loves her books. Happy Hunting, Wonder Girl. And get some rest!”

Cassie almost laughed. “I will, Artemis,” she agreed, and she sighed and slumped her shoulders as she walked inside, down the dimly lit stone corridor. The drawback to this feminine paradise was that literally everyone on the island was a mother hen. If the gods let them try, Cassie was sure the Amazons could fill the Aegean with chicken soup.

Still, Cassie pressed onwards. The Archives of Themyscira were built on the inside of the mountain that dominated the island, carved from the sheer stone with little fanfare. As important as the Archives were, they were generally not advertised as a landmark. For someone of Cassie’s station, connected to the Princess as she was, it was relatively easy to gain access, but this place was generally only open to the public upon special request. 

In fact, her being here at all was going to raise some questions anyhow. But Tim had her mother. As much as she wanted to believe that Tim wouldn’t hurt her, she knew the boy she knew all those years ago was long, long gone. Conner couldn’t see it, and Cassie wasn’t sure how to make him see it, but she and Bart knew. Tim had gone insane. And now, anyone who had been close to him back then was paying the price.

Just ask Dick Grayson.

And Tim had shot his mother through the hands; that wasn’t the behavior of a stable human being. Cassie had to do this. She had to.

How to capture an Amazon. That couldn’t be too bad, right? He had said capture, specifically. Not kill. No one would die. No one could die. Everyone would be fine. Diana and Donna would be fine. Please, by the gods, let them be fine.

She stepped further into the Archives, looking around the darkened stone chambers. Rows of hexagonal honeycomb shelves filled with scrolls and books alike lined the space, forming a maze throughout the mountain, various staircases and paths going up and down and left and right in no discernible pattern. The Archives had been built haphazardly, piece by piece over the centuries, until they had just about hollowed out the entire mountain and just started building downward into the bedrock and the seabed below. Cassie wasn’t even sure how far down the Archives went.

Still, right by the entrance, one thing had remained constant. The Archivist’s Station, really just a very fancy desk, still stood in plain view of visitors entering the library, both to make sure no one got lost, and to make sure that someone would always know who was and wasn’t inside.

Acantha, Themyscira’s High Archivist, sat at her table, engrossed in some book or another, seeming not to notice as Cassie walked further in. Cassie stood by the desk awkwardly for several minutes while Acantha continued to read, an eager grin on her face. Cassie cleared her throat. 

Acantha yelped, then jumped as she saw the woman standing in front of her. “Wonder Girl!” she cried in surprise, desperately slamming the book shut and trying to discreetly tuck it away, “What a pleasant surprise! What brings you to the Archives?”

Cassie’s written Amazon wasn’t fantastic, but as she glanced down she was pretty sure the title of the book said something like Battlefields and Bedrooms. Cassie raised an eyebrow and saw how Acantha’s face was heating up in embarrassment. “I’m doing some research to help me in Man’s World,” Cassie explained quickly, deciding to take pity on the lonely librarian and hoping the lie was at least believable, “To help get me better prepared for the battlefield.”

Acantha smiled excitedly, nodding her head with relief. “Of course, of course!” she said, quickly stepping out from behind her table and hiding the book under a stack of unfurled scrolls, “So many of the people up there think that the only thing you need to be a warrior is to know your way around an arena, but it’s not true! To be a true warrior, you must have wisdom, like Pallas Athena! What sort of information are you looking for? Battle maneuvers? Wargames strategies?” Acantha waggled her eyebrows, “ Love…? ”

Cassie had the momentary thought of some ancient Amazon version of the Kama Sutra stuffed into one of the shelves down here. “No, Acantha,” Cassie said quickly, “I think you’re reading too many romance novels down here.”

Acantha laughed and waved her hand dismissively, but Cassie caught the embarrassment in her expression. “Well, maybe,” she agreed sheepishly, “Then what can I help you with, Cassandra?”

Cassie took a deep breath, steadied herself, then took her best shot. “Man’s World is getting more competent,” she began, “More and more foes are coming out of the woodwork, and I want to make sure that Amazons still have the edge. I want to know if there’s any sort of… weakness we all might share that could leave us vulnerable.”

Acantha suddenly looked very serious. “Cassandra,” she said gravely, “Do you suspect an attack from Man’s World?”

Cassie’s eyes went wide. “No! No, nothing like that!” she said quickly, waving her hands desperately, “I mean, like, on a more individual level. Like, something one of our enemies could use against Donn-- I, I mean, Troia, the Princess, and I in the field.”

Acantha hummed thoughtfully. “I’m not sure I know what you mean,” she admitted, “There is always the possibility that an enemy could best you in combat, but you say you’re looking for specific weaknesses that all Amazons might share? Why do you suspect such a thing might exist?”

Cassie gulped. She didn’t know! “W-Well, our powers, our abilities, they’re all magic, right? Gifts from the gods?” she started, hoping an idea would come to her if she just started talking.

“From Mighty Hera, yes,” Acantha supplied unhelpfully.

“Well, in all the old myths, don’t great abilities usually come with caveats?” Cassie continued, “L-Like, Midas could turn all he touches to gold, but he couldn’t control it. Orpheus was allowed to take Eurydice from the Underworld, but he wasn’t allowed to turn and see her. Heracles had fantastic strength, but he couldn’t control his rage. Atalanta was the greatest athlete in Greece, but she was easily distracted. Those abilities, and those drawbacks, were all given to those heroes by the same gods that give us our abilities. Is it crazy to think that we might have something similar?”

Acantha blinked, her brow furrowed in intense thought. “I’d never thought of something like this before…” she admitted, holding a hand to her chin, “But, as you say, the myths passed down to us of the Old Heroes do include these weaknesses… Still, all your given examples include Men… ”

Cassie pursed her lips. Amazons had a nasty habit of blaming all the tragedies in the old Greek myths as being the downfall of Men; after all, all of Greece’s ancient heroes were Men, and Atalanta, the only Ancient Greek Heroine, had been brought low by her infatuation with Hippomenes, a Man. From one angle, Cassie could appreciate that their longstanding separation from Man’s World would lead to some institutionalized misandry. On the other, she had a job to do. “We’re fighting Men, Acantha,” Cassie reminded the Archivist gently, and Acantha jumped in surprise, as though she had forgotten. 

“Oh! Yes, of course,” she said, her face heating up in embarrassment, “How silly of me. Still, I suppose we could start looking into sources from that same timeframe. If an Amazon’s weakness exists, we should begin looking at documents from the Creation of Themyscira.”

“We have those?” Cassie asked, and Acantha’s eyes lit up.

“Well, technically no,” she said conspiratorially, grinning from ear to ear, “But as the Archivist of Themyscira, I am privy to information that the rest of the island is not. Such as the fact that some sources do stretch back all the way to the Enshrouding, and some even a little further beyond, almost six thousand years of Amazon history!”

Cassie whistled appreciatively. ‘The Enshrouding’ was the Amazon term for the day that the gods hid Themyscira from Man’s World with magical mists, right around the time of the Bronze Age Collapse. If there were sources from before that time, when the Amazons and the Greeks interacted regularly… maybe there might be something she could use.

“And you’re allowed to show me these?” she asked as Acantha excitedly gathered and lit a torch from the wall, gathering up her map of the Archives.

“As the Archivist, I am at liberty to deem what is important enough to break silence or secrecy on certain documents,” she said haughtily, a hint of mischief in her voice, “You are searching for a vital piece of information that may or may not identify a critical weakness of our warriors.” Acantha threw a mischievous smile over her shoulder at Cassie as she started leading her down into the labyrinthine shelves, “I think this qualifies.”

Cassie smiled and heaved a sigh of relief as she followed Acantha downward. “Thank you, Acantha,” she responded, “I appreciate it.”

“Please, I never get the chance to show anyone these books! You’re doing me a favor just by being here,” Acantha said happily, leading them both further downward, consulting her map from time to time, “I’ve spent my life dedicated to the history of Themyscira, like my mother before me and her mother before her. From the Enshrouding to the Civil War to the Departure of Wonder Woman, this Archive has survived to see records of all of it. I’ve read almost everything I can in here, it’s my life’s work to know of the great figures of our past, to hear their wisdom.”

“Did you find anything particularly helpful?” Cassie asked politely, hoping Acantha would take the hint and move back toward her stated goal of Amazon weaknesses, but Acantha only smiled.

“O-Oh, well, one author has been very helpful in helping me understand romance,” Acantha stuttered, “It gets rather lonely here sometimes, but I know Artemis is standing guard just outside. I see her every day when I come in to begin my work, and every evening when I leave for home. She’s walked me home before, it was quite nice. I… would like to get to know her better, but I’m afraid my social skills have suffered some for being stuck in here so long. But this author’s books are helping me understand how to talk to someone in, er, that way.”

On any other day, Cassie would have thought that this was adorable. Today, though, it was frustrating. “Acantha,” she said seriously, “Warriors’ weaknesses. Please.”

“Right, right, I’m sorry,” she sighed, holding her face with embarrassment, “I don’t know what I was thinking. Forgive me, Cassandra.”

“It-It’s alright,” Cassie said uncomfortably. The last thing she needed was a horny librarian on her hands while she was trying to save her mother from Tim. Still, though, she should take pity; maybe she could make a comment to Artemis on her way out. The librarian and the warrior could make a good couple, they just needed to realize they needed to talk to each other to make that happen.

“So, something like you're looking for would be among our oldest records,” Acantha said again, getting herself back on track, “I moved them to a more secure part of the Archive for safekeeping. After all, if we were to have them right by the door, my constant presence in that room could damage the pages.”

“Of course,” Cassie agreed, not really caring, but she followed dutifully as Acantha led her deeper and deeper down, before they came to a smaller, dead-end chamber that had some of the dustiest, oldest-looking books and scrolls Cassie had ever seen. Clay tablets lay stacked on some corners, along with aged, cracked papyrus scrolls and thin-stretched leather hides. The oldest records of one of the oldest societies on Earth.

“Here we are!” Acantha said happily, “It’s a small collection; some things have just gone missing or become too desiccated to handle properly. Many records were lost to the Great Civil War eight hundred years ago. Still, we have what we have.”

Cassie nodded appreciatively as she looked out over the cold, dark stone room, packed with more history than she could fathom. Her mother would just about lose her mind in this room. “Okay,” she said, putting her hands on her hips in anticipation, “Where do we start?”

---

Tim sighed as he took off his cowl, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. Not for the first time, Tim wondered if he was more like Atlas or Pandora; trying to hold up the world, or accidentally unleashing its destruction. Deep down, he knew he was Icarus, who simply flew too close to the sun. Too close to happiness. 

“Heard some shots in there; everything alright?” Pru asked him nonchalantly as Tim snapped out of his reverie, looking up at Pru, Z, and Owens, watching him expectantly.

“I had to shoot her hands to make a point,” he explained, “Z, could you go in there and dress her wounds? I don’t want her to bleed out or get an infection or anything like that.”

“Of course,” Z said with a nod, already heading toward their aid kit.

“Where are you going?” Owens asked, not unkindly, “Seems like ages since we last saw you.”

Tim huffed a half-hearted laugh and smiled a weak, tired smile. “I’ve just been busy, Owens,” he sighed, “More busy than I’ve ever been. Trust me, we’ll see a lot of each other soon. Mockingbird is about to begin.”

“Mockingbird this, Mockingbird that,” Pru muttered, “I only ever hear about Mockingbird. When are we actually doing it?”

“When it’s ready, Pru, and not a moment before,” Tim explained evenly, “We’re dealing with some of the most powerful people on the planet. For his to work, it needs to go off without a hitch. We can’t risk any screwups.”

Owens nodded. “Anything we can do to help?” he asked, and Tim hummed thoughtfully. 

“ Actually… ” he murmured, “Maybe there is. I’ve been looking for a few people to fill this role, and I’ve never found the right fit. You three might be just the team for the job.”

Tim reached into his belt and pulled out his unfinished but fairly detailed notes on the plan, handing it over to Owens. As he scanned through it, Owens’ eyebrows slowly inched up his head and he whistled lowly in astonishment. “That’s a pretty tall order, Boss,” he responded, and Pru looked over his shoulder.

“What? Can’t be that hard,” she muttered, then her eyes went wide too as she read it, “Holy shit. ”

“Do you think you can pull it off?” Tim asked, “I think I can pull some strings and get Deathstroke to help you, but it would be a little conspicuous.”

“Oh no, we’ve got this,” Pru said with a wolfish grin, “It’ll just be a fun challenge, is all.”

“Yeah,” Owens said with a matching grin, “We’re always up for a challenge. Don’t worry about Z, he’s totally gonna be in.”

Tim smiled. “Knew I could count on you,” he said appreciatively, “Now then, I need to go back to being a mad scientist for a few hours; tell me if anything changes with Dr. Sandsmark.”

“Will do, Boss,” Pru said with a lazy salute, and Tim rolled his eyes good-naturedly as he strode out of the small, isolated back room where they were keeping Cassie’s mother and out into the rest of LexCorp’s secret underground laboratory. 

Kr-II was out of her pod today, and they’d given her a solar suit to apply limited doses of yellow sun radiation and ease her into her powers. They had kryptonite on hand just in case, as they hadn’t quite figured out yet how to make her immune, and Lex wanted to have a failsafe prepared.

Tim walked in just as Kr-II was grunting with effort, pushing with all her strength against a hydraulic arm. The meter reading out the equivalent weight the hydraulic arm was pushing read a solid 1,000 tons. Tim grinned; he knew she could easily do better, but baby steps to start.

“You’re doing well, Kr-II,” he said as he approached, and Kr-II looked up, her face lighting up in excitement.

“Mr. Drake!” she exclaimed happily, immediately letting the hydraulic arm go and letting it crash into the floor, “I didn’t know you were coming in today!”

Tim smiled indulgently at the young girl, sadness welling up in chest as he tried his best to give this girl a normal human experience. “I had some business in the area and I decided to surprise you,” he explained, “1,000 tons, huh? That’s pretty good.”

Kr-II nodded excitedly. “Yeah, tomorrow Mr. Luthor says he wants me to try and lift 2,000! ” she exclaimed, “That’s twice as much!”

Tim grinned. “It sure is, K,” he agreed, ruffling her hair, and to his delight, she actually giggled. It threw him back to a time when things weren’t quite so awful, when it was just him and Tommy in a small house in Alaska, Tommy wolfing down sugary cereal while he munched on a bagel and read the paper. 

“Tim, don’t spoil the girl,” a new, harsher voice said, and Tim drew up his shoulders in apprehension as he recognized it. 

“Lex,” he greeted cooly, and Kr-II composed herself.

“Mr. Luthor,” she greeted calmly, “What are we doing today, sir?”

Luthor himself smiled a soulless smile as he strode through the various workbenches down in the lab, making a beeline straight for them and reaching into his pocket. “Today, Kr-II, we are gathering information,” he said simply, “Tim, could you help the assistants apply some nodes to her? We need to get good readings, and the suit won’t cover everything.”

Tim nodded silently, sparing an apologetic glance at Kr-II as he helped the lab assistants retrieve various nodes and measurement instruments to stick to her skin. Kr-II knew by now to stand still and let it happen, but she still looked mildly uncomfortable as they applied all their devices. 

After a few moments of application, Tim stepped back with the lab assistants. “She’s all hooked up,” he reported, then looked suspiciously at Luthor. “What are we measuring?” he asked, and Luthor smiled thinly as he reached into his coat pocket, retrieving a small, lead box.

Tim’s eyes widened as Kr-II cocked her head in confusion. Lex popped the top of the box open, and an iridescent green glow emanated from the small rock within.

“Which cells respond to kryptonite,” Luthor said simply, and Kr-II moaned as she almost immediately fell to her knees, her skin and veins beginning to turn sickly green. 

“ S-Stop… ” she begged weakly, her breath starting to come in short, ragged gasps, “ P-Please stop…!”

“ Lex! ” Tim snapped angrily, unable to tear his gaze away as tears formed in the girl’s eyes. Lex merely waved his hand dismissively.

“There’s no progress without pain, Tim,” he said simply, “Don’t worry, Kr-II. This is the last time you’ll ever feel this pain. Where are we with the measurements?”

“We have about 50% of what we need, Mr. Luthor, just a little bit longer,” one of the lab techs said, looking mildly uncomfortable as Kr-II fell to her knees.

Her body shook as she curled into a ball, her breath still coming in gasps, her face green with nausea. Tim couldn’t watch this anymore. “ Lex, you’re hurting her! ” he snapped again, angrily taking a step forward, and Lex raised an eyebrow.

“I suggest you do not take another step, Tim, or else I will kill you son,” he responded,  tapping his coat pocket conspicuously, and Tim stopped in his tracks, a growl building at the back of his throat. That damned remote…!

“80%,” the tech confirmed, “90… data complete. That’s enough, sir.”

Lex lingered for a moment, his eyes reflecting the green light of the kryptonite, and Kr-II let out a pitiful, wailing moan. 

“... sir?” the tech prompted again, and Lex blinked, then closed the box.

“Send that data to my workstation upstairs,” he said blandly, “Tim, I’d like you to join me in ten minutes. In the meantime, put Kr-II back in her pod until we’re ready for the next test.”

“Yes, sir,” was the chorus around the room, and Luthor stalked his way toward the elevator. It wasn’t until he was completely gone that Tim knelt to hold the small, shaking girl to his chest, soothing her.

“Shh, shh, it’s alright, it’s over,” he murmured into her hair, holding her in a gentle hug while she sniffled, hot, angry tears burning her eyes.

“ Why was he hurting me?? ” she asked, and Tim closed his eyes in grief.

He spared a glance at the lab techs in the room, all of which looked various levels of unsettled and uncomfortable. “Because he’s a monster,” he murmured, “Like me.”

“You’re not like Mr. Luthor,” Kr-II whispered, wrapping her little arms around his torso, “You’re a good monster.”

Tim blinked. A good monster. It sounded like the title of a children’s book. It was such a simple, childlike compliment, but still, he didn’t think he’d ever gotten a better or more meaningful one in his life.

Tim took the girl in his arms and stood, carrying her best she could. She was getting bigger now, but he was still fairly strong and he was pretty certain she was still too woozy to walk. He went to carry her to her pod, dreading every step that brought her closer to suspended animation, where she’d be stuck, growing, missing portions of her life. 

“Mr. Drake?” she asked quietly, and Tim hummed. “Who’s your son?” she asked, “The one Mr. Luthor mentioned?”

Tim sighed sadly as he laid Kr-II in her pod, a vision flashing in his mind of tucking Tommy into bed. “His name is Tommy,” he said quietly, whispering so the cameras and the microphones couldn’t hear, but Kr-II could, “He’s your brother.”

Chapter 44: The Secret Confessions of Hippolyta of Themyscira, Part 1

As she and Acantha scoured the most ancient tomes in Themyscira’s archives, Cassie sighed as she closed and book and rubbed her eyes; yet another long, boring tome that proved less than fruitful. As it turns out, the documents that had survived from the founding of Themyscira included things like long, boring trade logs, produce and grain yield reports, liturgical sermons, and long lists of the names of early queens. 

Then, Acantha made an odd sort of startled noise from her place on the other side of the small, disused chamber. “Acantha?” Cassie asked, and she heard Acantha take a scroll from the shelves. 

“This scroll shouldn’t be here,” the Archivist said with a frown, bringing it out from behind a row of shelves to show to Cassie, “It’s too new. These tomes are meant to be six thousand years old, but this one looks barely a hundred.”

Cassie frowned at the scroll and discovered that indeed, though it looked weathered, it didn’t look quite as desiccated as some of the other works in the Archive. “Was it put here by mistake?” she asked, and Acantha shook her head.

“Any new books I would have placed here personally, and I always take care to log them carefully. I know for a fact my predecessor wouldn’t have made such a mistake,” she explained, “She was a very exacting mentor. But what really interests me is this.”

Acantha turned the scroll in her hand, offering it to Cassie as she held up her torch to inspect it. To her surprise, she saw a blotch of purple wax sealing the parchment closed, which already peaked her interest. On Themyscira, purple dye was reserved for the Monarchy, especially on documents such as these. Upon closer inspection, Cassie’s eyes widened as her suspicion was confirmed; pressed into the wax was the unmistakable image of a peacock, the symbol of Hera. It was the seal of the Queen of Themyscira. 

“The Queen…?” Cassie asked, and Acantha nodded.

“Cassandra,” she said gravely, “I believe that this scroll was hidden here in secret by the Queen of Themyscira.”

“Hippolyta?” Cassie asked instantly, and Acantha shrugged.

“Perhaps,” she mused, “Though given its age, it could be from the end of her mother, Queen Otrera’s reign. Perhaps it is even from Antiope.”

“Antiope?” Cassie asked in confusion, “Not General Antiope? Why would she have access to the Royal Seal?”

Antiope was the General of Themyscira’s Army, second only to the Queen herself; Cassie knew her pretty much by reputation only. She and Diana didn’t seem to get along. Though the Army’s duties were more akin to a police force since the Enshrouding, it was still a position of extremely high standing in Themyscira’s warrior culture. Antiope enjoyed a position of respect unheard of outside the Royal Family.

Acantha, meanwhile, sighed in exasperation at Cassie’s apparent ignorance. “Did the Princess teach you nothing of Themyscira’s history?” she asked sharply, “How Queen Hippolyta ascended to the throne?”

“Uhh…” Cassie responded intelligently. Acantha sighed, running a hand over her face.

“This is why we need to reinstate Sappho’s Academy!” she cried, then she sat beside Cassie, “Listen; Queen Hippolyta took the throne seventy-three years ago, after her mother, Queen Otrera, died. However, Hippolyta was unfit to rule, as she was a very sickly princess, and was not even well enough to attend her mother’s funeral; she had not been seen in public for seven years prior to Otrera’s death. Her illness was seen as a sign from the gods that she should be passed over for succession, and so Oracle Rhea sought guidance from the gods. After signs from Hera, Aphrodite, and Athena, the Oracle declared that the gods had indicated Hippolyta’s younger sister, Antiope, should ascend in her sister’s place.”

Cassie stared at the Archivist in shock. “Antiope is the Queen’s sister!?” she cried after a moment, and Acantha pounced on her.

“Shhh!!!” she cried, covering Cassie’s mouth with her hand, “Do you want the whole island to hear you?? Yes, General Antiope is Hippolyta’s sister, but she has been since been stripped of her royal titles and all claims to the throne.”

Cassie furrowed her brow and mumbled something into Acantha’s hand. Acantha rolled her eyes and released Cassie’s mouth. “Why would Hippolyta strip Antiope of her titles?” she repeated, and Acantha sighed.

“Shortly after Antiope took the throne, Captain Philippus, Hippolyta’s longtime friend and caretaker, went to see the princess at her bedside,” she went on, “After that visit, the Gods descended upon Themyscira in a rage, appearing in person for the first time in six thousand years.”

Cassie blinked in confusion, then leaned in further. “What?” she asked, utter confoundment in her voice, and Acantha looked uncomfortable as she took a deep breath.

“Lord Hermes, Lord Apollo, Lord Ares, Lord Hypnos, and Lord Zeus all appeared upon the Acropolis. Lord Apollo blinded the people with light, and Lord Hypnos put the Army to sleep as Lord Hermes enveloped the Palace with his speed. Lord Ares and Lord Zeus appeared before the people, with a healthy, battle ready Hippolyta at their side. They decreed Rhea’s vision to be false, a deception from Lord Hephaestus and Lord Poseidon to get back at their counterparts, Lady Aphrodite and Lady Athena. Lord Zeus sponsored Hippolyta as the rightful ruler, Antiope submitted and conceded the throne, and Hippolyta stripped her of her titles so that she could never again challenge the rightful heir. In a show of grace, she still allowed her to remain in a prominent position as General of the Army. Oracle Rhea was put to death for her failure both to recognize the deception, and to admit fault. Her apprentice, Menalippe, was made Oracle, and has been ever since.”

Cassie sat in stunned silence, considering everything she had just heard. Hippolyta came to the throne thanks to a godly coup? And since when had the gods appeared in person? That sort of thing hadn’t happened since the Trojan War! Why come down to earth just to settle some leadership dispute in Themyscira?

And come to think of it, why those gods in particular? What did Hypnos, the God of Sleep, care about who ruled Themyscira? Or Hermes, for that matter? Or Apollo? Zeus and Ares she could see as having a vested interest, Ares being the God of War and Zeus being the King of the Gods would take notice of a leadership struggle on an island of warrior women. But why would the God of the Sun come to an island dedicated to his sister? Why would the God of Messengers come to an island that had been cut off from the world for millennia? And why would the God of Sleep want anything to do with it??

To that point, Cassie looked up at Acantha. “Why Hypnos?” she asked, and Acantha stared at her as though she were stupid.

“What?” she asked incredulously.

“Why did Hypnos care?” she asked again, “All the other gods you named were at least Olympians, I can kind of see it, but Hypnos? Why would he care about who was Queen of the Amazons?”

Acantha stared at her, then screwed up her face, threw up her hands, and cried, “They’re the gods, Cassie! Why they do anything is not for mortals to know!”

Cassie gave Acantha a blase look. “You mean you have no idea, right?” she asked, and Acantha sighed.

“No, I don’t, but I know better than to disrespect the gods while living on an island under their protection!” she admitted, and Cassie grinned mischeviously as she fully snatched the scroll from Acantha’s hands. “Hey!” the Archivist protested, but then her eyes went wide as she saw Cassie hold her fingers under the parchment, just by the seal.

“Cassie…” Acantha said warningly, “Do not break the Royal Seal.”

“Why?” Cassie asked, “I just got a mystery I want to solve. And what if this holds the answers we’re looking for? Besides, you can’t tell me that a historian such as yourself isn’t the least bit curious to know what forbidden knowledge might be residing in this library, right under your nose…”

Cassie grinned as she watched Acantha stare at the scroll in distress, biting her lip. “This is cruel and unfair,” she protested, then closed her eyes and muttered a curse under her breath. “Go ahead and open it,” she said finally, casting her eyes to the ground, “Before I come to my senses.”

Cassie whooped with triumph, then popped the seal. Unfurling the scroll, she held it out in front of her as Acantha sat at her side, looking over the parchment together by the light of the torch. Both of them stared in shock at the title.

The Secret Confession of Princess Hippolyta of the Amazons, Wonder Woman, Member of the Justice Society of America

---

Sing, O Muses, sing quietly, of a foolish girl who wanted everything. Sing quietly, so that none may hear you but I. Condemn, O Kleo, a deceitful princess. Sigh, O Melpomene, of shameful deeds. And whisper, O Mneme, and soothe me, so that I may consign this account to oblivion.

I, Hippolyta of Themyscira, forty-first of my name, compose this account of my misdeeds. I show it as evidence to the Court of Hades, to consign my soul not to Elysium, where Amazons are bound, nor to the Fields of Punishment as my deeds suggest. As per my agreement, I compose this account, and seek Asphodel.

My tale starts seven years ago, during the one hundred and seventy-fourth year of my mother, Queen Otrera’s, reign, in the one thousand, one hundred and thirty-fifth Heraeiad. It is known to Man’s World as the year 1942. This is important, for my story involves greatly the arrival of Men.

In that year, our Oracle, Rhea, sensed a great disturbance on the north side of the island. The Queen ordered me to lead a team to investigate, and there, we found a small group of Men, far, far from home…

---

Hippolyta sighed as she trudged through the forested wilderness that dominated her island’s northern coast. It was useful for big game hunting, not so much for quick traversal. Still, she and her small scouting party made it through easily enough, hacking through vines too thick for their liking. Eventually, however, she crouched as she heard voices by the riverbed, signalling for her team to do the same. She narrowed her eyes in confusion; their voices sounded unusually deep.

She couldn’t tell what was being said; she didn’t recognize the language, but she recognized about four distinct voices, and the tones were those of exasperation and dismay. It sounded as though they were lost, and berating their navigator for making them so.

Hippolyta drew a sharp breath as she sighted them. They were unlike any people she had ever seen before; their chests were flat, their jaws square, and they wore strange clothes. One wore a strange, winged helmet and a sort of red tunic with a golden lightning bolt running across their chest. Another wore traditional armor, but had massive wings protruding from their back, their helmet fashioned to look like a falcon’s head. One wore a simple black tunic, some strange hood hanging limply off the back of their neck. A fourth wore an even stranger green tunic, topped with a brown cloak and some sort of felt, useless little helmet; but what disturbed Hippolyta was the thing’s face, blank and inhuman, some strange metal jar protruding as though it were a nose. A fifth was dressed rather simply, in a strange tunic, and a sixth wore something similar, but with an added cape. The final one sat heavily on the ground by the river, wearing golden armor and leaning their weight on a golden helmet. Hippolyta narrowed her eyes. 

Flat chests… square jaws… deep voices… 

She sucked in a breath as her team bristled around her. “They’re Men!” her partner Philippus, whispered in alarm beside her, and Hippolyta nodded.

“Surround them, sisters; quietly!” she whispered back to her party, and with quick, grim nods, they departed through the underbrush, fanning out to encircle the small gaggle of Men in their forest.

Hippolyta didn’t much appreciate surprises. She especially didn’t know why Men were on the shores of Themyscira, nor how they had arrived here. If Men had found their way to Themyscira, then their sanctuary could be in danger.

Throughout the few minutes she waited for her women to fan out, she inspected each of the Men closely. They all seemed mildly agitated, but not alarmed. As far as she knew, they didn’t know they were currently being surrounded. The one in golden armor looked weak, seemingly exhausted by whatever activity had brought them here. Still, they could be dangerous; most held no weapon, but the one with wings toted a deadly-looking mace, and they all at least appeared to be dressed for battle. Though from what she could see, they wouldn’t do very well in that battle.

Perhaps they were some kind of vanguard? A scouting force meant to scope out the territory before a larger army of Men arrived? It would explain their light armaments. Still, their colorful attire did not seem well-suited for stealth. Perhaps Men had magicks that Amazons did not. She would have to be wary.

She wished she had her mother’s Lasso; if she could bind one of these Men, she could understand their language and interrogate them. It would have to wait until they were subdued.

It had been enough time for her warriors to be in position. She palmed her spear, preparing to grab it up into her hands in a moment’s notice, then waited, watching for just the right moment…

The conversation among the Men stalled as the one in falcon armor looked around warily. Hippolyta slowed her breath as much as she could, and the falcon helmet turned to exactly where she was within the brush. Hippolyta narrowed her eyes.

No more waiting.

She sprang from the brush in a flash, her battle sisters doing the same in a circle all around them. The Men cried out in surprise, some putting up their fists in a ready stance, others holding out their arms in a peace-making gesture. Shouts abounded throughout the clearing, in their strange, guttural language that sounded abrasive and ugly to the ear, especially in their brutish, ape-like voices.

Hippolyta sneered at them. Men were pitiful creatures.

“Surrender, agents of Man’s World!” she ordered them, motioning her spear downward so as to pantomime the orders to them, “Drop your weapons!”

The Men glanced at each other uncertainly, and the one in the golden armor slowly got to his feet, it seemingly taking much effort. The one without a face let his hand drift toward his hip, and Hippolyta knew better than to let that happen. “Stop!” she snapped, jabbing her spear at the blank-faced one, who stopped reaching for whatever weapon was there and held up his hands in surrender.

The one in golden armor started saying something; his voice was slow, nervous but calm. Deliberate. She narrowed her eyes at him. “I don’t understand your ape-speak,” she muttered at him, and the Man nodded. One of the other Men looked at him as if he were crazy; Hippolyta was inlined to agree.

The Man in the golden armor slowly, deliberately reached toward the ground, where his golden helmet had been left discarded. Hippolyta knew magic when she saw it; she stepped forward, jabbing her spear forward again. “Don’t try it!” she snapped, and the Man looked at her imploringly. He showed her his empty hands, as if to say he didn’t have a weapon. Perhaps that was what he was saying, in his language.

He meant her no harm.

Hippolyta narrowed her eyes, casting a wary glance at his compatriots, all of whom still looked ready for a fight. The golden Man noticed her gaze, then called to his allies, urging them to do something. Hippolyta watched as they all reluctantly dropped their weapons and held up their hands in surrender.

Hippolyta watched in confusion along with the rest of her Amazons as the Men did so, then turned back to the golden one on the ground. He smiled at her hopefully, gesturing toward his helmet once more, then pantomiming putting it on his head. 

Hippolyta didn’t have any reason to trust them, but then again, she had no reason to distrust them, either. 

“Princess?” Phillipus asked, “What do we do?”

Hippolyta hesitated, watching the golden armored Man intensely. He seemed sincere… but then again, many things seemed sincere.

“They can’t understand us, and we can’t understand them, so everyone keep your voices calm so they don’t believe they’re in danger,” she said, keeping her own voice as level as she could, “I am going to allow this one to put on his helmet, since he seems so keen to do so. If any of the others try anything, knock them out but don’t kill them. We need them alive for the Queen to question them.”

Her warriors nodded, but looked unhappy. Philippus especially gave her a look that Hippolyta knew meant she thought she was acting unwise. Hippolyta didn’t acknowledge it; something was amiss here, she could feel it. These were no ordinary Men.

She withdrew her spear a fraction of an inch, waving it as an indication that the Man would be allowed to put on his helmet. He smiled at her said something, presumably a thank you, and reached for his helmet, keeping his movements slow and deliberate, but nevertheless urgent.

Hippolyta watched as he placed the helmet on his head, covering his face, and the eyes of the helm flashed with golden light. Hippolyta immediately pushed in her spear, but in a new, deeper, reverberating voice, the Man simply said “Etalsnart!”

A bright flash of golden light flashed through the clearing, blinding them all briefly, and Hippolyta cursed. “Fool! What spell did you cast! What have you done!?” she cried, jamming the tip of her spear to within a hair’s breadth of the Man’s throat, but he merely removed his helmet, the golden glow receded, and he smiled at her reassuringly as her warriors all bristled around them.

“There,” he said in perfect Amazon, “Now we can all understand each other.”

Hippolyta stared at him in confusion as her warriors did the same. “You speak Amazon?” she asked incredulously, and the Man grinned.

“No, I speak English, and some Arabic, French, and Greek,” he said, “But my helmet made it so that we can all speak without the language barrier. To you, it sounds like we’re speaking Amazon, but to us, it sounds like you’re speaking English!”

The wrong-faced Man sighed and shook his head. “I will never be used to your magic, Kent,” he muttered, his voice heavily distorted, and Philippus stepped forward instantly, jabbing her spear in his face.

“It can talk!” she cried, and the Man bristled, “Silence, beast!”

“Wesley, take off your mask, you’re frightening them!” the golden one, ‘Kent’, cried, and the wrong-faced one, ‘Wesley’, huffed.

“Well, we wouldn’t want to frighten them…” he muttered, and the Amazons watched intently as the Man removed his felt cap, then pulled the strange mask from his face, revealing sandy blond hair and piercing green eyes. A seemingly normal face, for a Man. He then withdrew two glass circles from a pouch on his tunic, framed by thin wires, and let them rest upon his eyes and nose. Hippolyta squinted at them.

“What are those!?” she demanded, gesturing to the strange contraption on his face, and the black-robed one spoke up.

“Those are his glasses, ma’am, he needs those to see,” he supplied, and one of her warriors, Euboea, screwed up her face in confusion.

“You would send the blind into battle?” she asked incredulously.

“I’m not blind!” Wesley protested hotly, turning to her, “And I’m not deaf, either!”

“Wesley, Ted, please,” the golden-armored one protested, then he turned back to Hippolyta and smiled that peace-making smile again, “These women are our hosts. We don’t want to offend them.”

“Hosts?” another Man asked incredulously, “They’ve got fucking spears pointed at us!”

“I agree with your comrade,” Hippolyta sneered, “We are hardly your hosts. You have been found trespassing on sacred land, and we have been sent to apprehend you and bring you before the Queen for questioning.”

“The Queen?” one Man asked, “The Queen of what?”

“Themyscira,” the golden-armored one responded, looking Hippolyta in the eye, seemingly looking for confirmation that he was right, “These women are Amazons.”

Hippolyta bristled as the other Men around him all did the same. “Amazons??” one asked, “The Amazons are a myth!”

“And I bet you until thirty seconds ago we were the same to them,” the golden one responded, still keeping his voice calm, “Now Jay, shut the fuck up before you get us all killed.”

The one called ‘Jay’, the one with the winged helmet, huffed a great sigh and wisely kept his mouth shut. Hippolyta looked at her sisters again, then back at the one in golden armor “Bind them,” she ordered, “Seize their weapons. We will take them to the Queen. The Lasso will determine their fate.”

“Sorry, what? The Lasso?” one of the yet-unnamed Men asked, “Like… a rope?”

“Maybe it’s just their word for parliament?” another suggested, and the one in golden armor shook his head.

“No, she’s referring to the Lasso of Truth,” he said sagely, “An artifact passed down amongst the Queen of the Amazons for generations, given to them by the Goddess Hestia herself. Anyone caught in its snare is compelled to answer truthfully, no matter how desperately they may want to lie.”

“It’s a truth serum?” one asked, “Ah, that’s bullshit.”

“Enough!” Hippolyta snapped, unsettled that this one Man knew so much of their customs and most sacred artifacts, “You will march, silently, with us until we reach the Queen’s side. She will use the Lasso and question you, and will then determine your fate. Is that understood?”

“Crystal, ma’am,” the one in the black tunic assured her, seemingly saying it with enough force to shut the other Men’s protests up. She was grateful; at least there was one reasonable person amongst them.

Behind their group, Philippus jabbed at the winged one’s back. “Then march,” she commanded, and their long trek back to the Acropolis began.

---

We brought the Men back to the Acropolis in secret, taking them through forest tracks so that none would see them. Faithful Philippus remained with the warriors guarding the Men whilst I fetched the Queen. Mother brought the Lasso with her, and the Men were escorted to the deepest caverns of the Archives so that none may see them in the city.

There, in the dark, overseen by Archivist Dessa, we interrogated the Men…

---

Hippolyta watched intently as her mother regarded the Men. Otrera was old, her hair gray and her skin wrinkled, but she still stood proud in the presence of outsiders. The Men, for their part, did seem intimidated by the setting; surrounded by warriors bearing weapons, deep in an underground cave, illuminated by torchlight and the soft glow of the Lasso hanging from her mother’s side.

“So these are the Men who found themselves in our forests?” Otrera asked, and Hippolyta nodded.

“Yes, Mother,” she said, “We found them bickering by the northern river. Their magician cast a spell that allows us to understand one another’s language.”

“A magician?” Otrera said musingly, regarding the man in the golden armor, “Interesting…”

Otrera laid the coils of the Lasso around the Man’s shoulders, and to his credit, he did not resist. “Who are you?” Otrera asked, and the Man answered.

“My name is Kent Nelson, Your Majesty,” he said evenly.

Otrera regarded him coolly. “What is your purpose in Themyscira, Kent Nelson?” she asked, and Kent seemed to deliberate for a moment before answering.

“I don’t know,” he finally said, “We found ourselves here by accident.”

“Lies!” one of Hippolyta’s warriors, a hothead called Alkyone, spat immediately.

“Quiet, fool!” Otrera snapped, and Alkyone looked suitably chastened by the address, “He wears the Lasso. He cannot lie.”

Kent Nelson nodded along with the Queen’s remark, which earned him a painful slap across the face. “Do not speak unless spoken to, Man,” Otrera commanded, spitting the word out like it was poison on her tongue.

“Yes, ma’am,” Kent Nelson agreed, keeping his eyes cast to the floor in deference.

Hippolyta saw Kent Nelson’s comrades bristle at his mistreatment. She could not blame them; she only hoped that her mother would stay her hand going forward.

“What caused this accident?” Otrera continued, and Kent Nelson grimaced as the Lasso compelled him to answer.

“…My helmet,” he said eventually, “It is a powerful artifact, like your Lasso. Given to me by the Lords of Order.”

Amongst the gathered observers, Archivist Dessa gasped in recognition. “The Helm of Fate!” she squeaked in panic and awe, immediately dropping to her knees and bowing lowly, crying out, “Forgive us for our insolence, Lord Fate, we meant no disrespect!”

“Dessa!” Otrera cried angrily at her Archivist, “What is the meaning of this!?”

Dessa gulped as she dared to look up, meeting the Queen’s eye. “My Queen…” she whispered fearfully, “He is a god.”

All the Amazons in the room blanched. Immediately, Philippus, Alkyone, and all of Hippolyta’s warriors joined Dessa in her repentant bow. Hippolyta dropped to one knee, bowing her head and felt her face flush. She had threatened a god! She would soon be vaporized for her impudence, she knew it!

The Men, meanwhile, looked confused and alarmed. “Kent, buddy, did you forget to tell us that you were a god?” one asked, and Kent Nelson did not answer.

Queen Otrera, meanwhile, regarded Kent Nelson coolly, though to Hippolyta’s practiced eye she could see that the Queen was on edge. “Is what Dessa says true?” she asked quietly, “Are you a god?”

Kent Nelson grimaced as the Lasso glowed. “I am not a god,” he finally said carefully, “But the spirit within the helmet, Nabu, may be called one. By certain definitions.”

“Rise, then, all of you,” Otrera commanded, and the Amazons did so, “You heard him. He is not a god; merely the vassal of one.” Relief flooded Hippolyta’s body as she resumed her standing position, as did most of her warriors. Dessa looked suitably embarrassed as she returned to her feet and kept her head bowed.

Meanwhile, one of the Men, the one in a red tunic and black cowl, glared at Kent Nelson. “Thou shalt have no other god but God…” he muttered, his tone reprimanding, and Kent sighed.

“I’m trying to keep us all alive, Chuck, the Ten Commandments will have to take a back seat for now,” he muttered, and Hippolyta narrowed her eyes. What was the Man babbling about?

“Silence!” Otrera commanded again, and the Men obeyed. “Do you know why your god sent you here, Kent Nelson?” she continued on, and Kent Nelson shook his head.

“I don’t,” he answered. 

Otrera regarded him. “How did you find yourself here?” she asked, and Kent sighed.

“We were trying to make contact with resistance fighters in Crete,” he explained, “But in a cave system, we found an altar to a long-disused temple, and one of the artifacts in the cave reacted when it came into proximity with my helmet. There was a flash of light, and the next thing we knew, we were by your river, trying to figure out where we were.”

Hippolyta looked at Philippus. Resistance fighters in Crete? Was there war in Hellas?

“Dessa,” Otrera called, and the Archivist nodded, her face still red from her earlier faux pas, “Did our foremothers have a temple in Crete?”

“Yes, my Queen,” she answered instantly, “The Old Books tell of a Sanctuary of Great Hera in the Idaean Cave by Knossos.”

Otrera nodded sagely. “And you were by Knossos, were you not?” she asked Kent Nelson, and he grimaced again.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, “If Knossos is in the center of Crete, inland from the northern shore, then yes.”

Otrera looked to Dessa, who nodded, and she seemed satisfied. “Why were you seeking resistance fighters?” she then asked, “Who are they resisting?”

“We sought them to coordinate our efforts to destroy an airfield by Heraklion and damage the Nazi supply lines to Crete,” he answered, “They are resisting the Nazis.”

Hippolyta glanced at her fellow Amazons warily. Judging from their faces, none of them had heard that term, either.

Otrera, stoic as ever, betrayed nothing. “Who are the Nazis?” she asked, and as Kent Nelson opened his mouth to answer, the one in the black tunic spoke up.

“Please, Your Highness, could I answer instead?” he asked, and Otrera looked at him strangely.

“Why?” she asked, and the one in black bowed his head.

“Because it’s my people that the Nazis are slaughtering,” he answered, and Otrera looked at Kent Nelson, who gave a shrug.

“He does have a vested interest, Your Majesty,” he agreed, and Otrera paused while she considered.

“Very well,” she decided, removing the Lasso from Kent Nelson’s shoulders and draping it around those of the outspoken Man, “What is your name?”

“Ted Grant, ma’am,” he answered, “But in the ring they call me Wildcat.”

“‘The ring’?” Otrera questioned, and Ted Grant nodded his head.

“I’m a boxer, ma’am,” he explained, “A prize fighter. Over time, they give good fighters nicknames. Some stick, some don’t.”

Otrera nodded, “We have a similar practice on Themyscira. Tell me, then, Wildcat Ted Grant; who are the Nazis?”

Wildcat took a deep breath, set his shoulders, and looked the Queen in the eye. “The Nazis are pure evil,” he began, and Hippolyta could feel the hatred radiating off of him, “They treat anyone who isn’t them as less than human. They deprive people of their freedoms, forcing them to submit to their rule. They slaughter women and children wholesale just for the fun of it. They call on others to do the same, because they view my people, the Jews, as evil and unworthy of human dignity. A few years ago, I fought one of their lapdogs, a guy called Max Schmeling, and they were lauding him as God’s Own Son, the perfect Aryan man, and a poor Jewish kid from Jersey beat the crap out of him. They weren’t laughing then. Dozens of powerful countries have already fallen under their march, but just a few months ago they made the mistake of letting one of their buddies piss off the United States of America, letting the Japs destroy an entire harbor without warning, sending our ships and sailors to the bottom of the ocean before they had a chance to fight back. Me and my team, the Justice Society of America, have been doing everything in our power ever since to bring them down, working with our Allies to free subjugated people around the world and topple their regime.”

“You hate these Nazis?” Otrera asked him, and Wildcat nodded.

“More than I thought I could hate anything,” he answered, his voice teetering on the dark tones of murderous rage, “After hearing the stories I’ve heard, if I had Adolf Hitler himself in front of me right now, they wouldn’t be able to identify the body after what I’d do. I want them dead, ma’am. They don’t know how to treat their fellow man, they only know how to kill, murder, hate, and destroy. We’re fighting to keep our planet, our society, free, to free all the peoples that have been caught under their jackboots. I want to fight them, ma’am, we all want to fight them, because we believe everyone deserves to be free.”

Hippolyta heard his words, and felt them resonate. Freedom… it was a worthy aspiration. And this Wildcat spoke with such conviction, such righteous anger; he had a warrior’s heart. It was something she had not expected to see in a Man.”

“I see,” Otrera said, and she retracted her Lasso from the Man’s shoulders, “So you came here by freak accident, while hunting a different enemy.”

All the Men nodded eagerly, and Hippolyta breathed a sigh of relief; they did not face invasion.

“You shall be executed at nightfall,” Otrera continued, and the Men stood in shock. 

“What!?” one cried in horror, and Hippolyta stepped forward.

“Mother!” she protested, “They are warriors of Man’s World! Fighting a great foe! Surely, we can just release them back to their world and be done with them?”

“And let them lead more Men back to our shores?” Otrera scoffed, “I think not. This island has not stood unconquered for six thousand years by letting outsiders roam free. Wittingly or not, they will talk, and their kings and generals and greed-filled Nazis will hear them. Men will seek this island, and this great sanctuary of ours will be destroyed. We cannot take that chance; Man’s World will have to get on without them. Euboea, Alkyone, prepare a pyre. I shall summon Rhea and tell her that we are preparing a sacrifice for Mighty Hera, Warlike Aphrodite, Pallas Athena, and Beast-Killing Artemis tonight. We shall offer the intruders to the Protector Goddesses, and this whole incident shall be forgotten.”

“Hey, wait, I don’t wanna get burned at the stake!!” one of the Men cried, “Fate, do something!”

Kent Nelson lunged for his helmet, but Otrera acted quickly, unfurling the Lasso and throwing it around them all, gathered in a bunch as they were. In one fell swoop, she pulled the Lasso taut, and the Men cried out as they were bound together. “Hippolyta, Philippus, watch them,” Otrera commanded, “Ensure that they do not escape. The rest of you are dismissed.”

“Yes, Queen Otrera,” the Amazons said in unison, and all left except for Dessa, Philippus, and Hippolyta, following the Queen back to the city to make the preparations for the sacrifice.

The Men struggled as hard as they could, straining against the Lasso, but it had been blessed by the gods; its hold was unbreakable. They clamored and shouted and cried out, but Hippolyta didn’t absorb their words. She only felt sick. 

“This is wrong…” Dessa whispered, pulling Hippolyta out of her reverie, “He is a Man, but he is the vassal of a god! If we kill him, Lord Fate will be angry with us!”

“But the Queen has given us a direct order!” Philippus argued back, also in a harsh whisper, “What are we to do? Even if we did disobey, where are we to bring them??”

“Please, you’ve gotta let us outta here!” one of the Men wailed, “The war’s counting on us! If we go missing halfway through the fight, then a lot of good people are gonna die!”

Hippolyta closed her eyes.

“Y’know, you guys are storybooks to us!” Wildcat growled, living up to his namesake with the dangerous snarl in his voice, “We were told the Amazons were fierce, proud warriors! Is this what you stand for? Only protecting yourself, no matter the cost? You really gonna kill us, doom a thousand more people, just because you wanna keep hiding!?”

“Quiet!” Hippolyta snapped, levelling her spear, but her heart was not in the command.

Wildcat kept her gaze steadily, his eyes betraying a world-weariness that Hippolyta had not seen before. “Not the first time someone like me’ll get killed just for being what they are,” he muttered, “I guess I just didn’t take the legendary Amazons for cowards.”

Hippolyta cursed, then cursed again and withdrew her spear. They were noble warriors, standing up to a great evil; did they truly deserve to die because of the whim of a god?

Hippolyta regarded her companions. Faithful Philippus. Young, wise Dessa.

Hippolyta sighed; she hoped this worked.

“You, Kent Nelson,” she ordered, and the Man in question looked at her. “The ritual your god performed to bring your troupe here,” she said, “Can you coax him to do it again?”

“Yes,” Kent said evenly, “I just need to put on my helmet, then Fate can get us out of here in no time.”

“Hippolyta!” Philippus gasped, “Don’t tell me you’re about to do what I think you’ll do!”

“They are heroes, Philippus, warriors!” Hippolyta sighed, “Man’s World needs them if they are to combat these… Nazis. At the very least, they do not deserve to die just because they came here.”

“But you heard the Queen!” Philippus protested, “They will spread tale of Themyscira far and wide! They may be heroes, but what about the next Men? Will they be so golden-hearted?”

Hippolyta hesitated. She looked at the restrained Men with pain in her eyes. She wanted to help them… but she wanted to protect her people.

“They still wear the Lasso…” Dessa pointed out.

“So?” Philippus asked, and Dessa cleared her throat.

“So ask them to swear,” Dessa continued, “An oath on the River Styx. Given under the influence the Lasso, we will know it is not a falsehood, and it will be binding.”

Hippolyta looked at the Men, who now looked hopeful upon hearing Dessa’s words. “And what of after they leave, hm? What then?” Philippus asked, “Otrera will use the Lasso on us, and we will be sacrificed in their stead!”

“Then they will take the Lasso with them,” Hippolyta answered, and both Philippus and Dessa looked at her as though she were crazy. 

“Princess,” Philippus started slowly, “Please tell me you did not just suggest giving one of the sacred treasures of Themyscira, given to us by the gods, over to the care of Men!”

“Of course I’m not,” Hippolyta responded, holding her spear at her side, “I will go with them, and carry it myself.”

Now, protests erupted from all sides. “LEAVING Themyscira!?” Philippus shrieked, followed by one of the Men, “What!? That’s insane!”

“We’re fighting a war that’s gone a bit beyond swords and spears here, Your Highness,” Wildcat told her, “I appreciate the effort, but you’d be a bit out of your league.”

“Nonsense,” Hippolyta answered, drawing herself up to her full height, “An Amazon is never out of her league.”

“There’s no talking you out of this, is there?” Philippus asked, and Hippolyta regarded her beloved friend sadly.

“No, Philippus, I don’t think there is,” she said with a sigh, “We cannot kill these Men. they are heroes, champions; the gods will be angry with us. But I cannot let you two take the fall for my choice, either; I will go, and take the Lasso with me.”

“They will hunt you, Princess,” Dessa told her, “The Lasso has never been taken from our shores before.”

“Yes, but it will take time,” Hippolyta said, “And that will give Mother time to come to her senses. Or time for me to think of a better plan.”

“Princess, please,” Philippus asked, taking her hand, “Don’t do this.”

Hippolyta met her eyes, resignation and determination settling in her heart. “Faithful Philippus,” she sighed, casting her eyes down, “I must. Will you keep my secret?”

“We will, Princess,” Dessa assured her, but Hippolyta waited for Philippus.

Philippus heaved a great sigh, then nodded. “By all counts, the Men tricked us into setting them free,” she said finally, the weight in her voice overpowering, “They knocked Dessa and I unconscious, and escaped with you as a hostage.”

“I can help with that,” one of the Men said quietly, the one Hippolyta thought was called Wesley, “My gas can knock you out. It will feel like you’re going to sleep.”

“Very well,” Hippolyta said, “It’s settled then.” She took up the Lasso, and it glowed in response to her command. “Justice Society of America,” she commanded, trying to use as regal a voice as she could, “Do you swear upon the River Styx never to speak of Themyscira to anyone that does not already know of it?”

The answer was instantaneous. A chorus of “Yes!” echoed from the Men, and Hippolyta, Philippus, and Dessa all shared a look. Perhaps there was more than met the eye to these Men.

Hippolyta untied them. Kent Nelson replaced his helmet, his eyes glowing gold. Philippus and Dessa stood before Wesley, readying themselves. “I’m sorry, there’s nothing we can do about the fall,” he told them, placing his horrible mask over his head as he held some kind of metal tube to their faces, “But I can promise you, the Sandman’s Dream is a pleasant one.”

Wesley pulled his trigger, and a thick, tan cloud, the color of sand, flew into Philippus’ and Dessa’s faces. After a few moments, their eyes rolled back and they crumpled to the ground. In a panic, Hippolyta checked to ensure they were still breathing, and sure enough, it was as Wesley said. They were sleeping. 

She folded Philippus’ arms over her chest, and arranged Dessa into a more comfortable position. “Goodbye, my faithful friends,” she whispered, and she discreetly planted a kiss on Philippus’ forehead. When she stood, she didn’t think any of the Men had seen, too preoccupied preparing themselves for travel.

Hippolyta took a deep, steadying breath, then coiled the Lasso and hung it at her side. She took up her spear, then looked out at the Men. “Are we ready to go?” she asked, and Fate nodded.

“Many thanks, Hippolyta of Themyscira,” Fate told her, “Your kindness shall not go unrewarded.”

There was a flash of light, and suddenly, Hippolyta of Themyscira was in a different world entirely.

---

The Justice Society helped me understand Man’s World. They taught me of the war, of the evil of the Nazis. I helped them fight, the Lasso by my side, and, as necessitates prolonged contact, I found myself… making friends.

---

It had been two years since she’d left Themyscira. None of her mother’s warriors had yet found her. Her teammates had not spoken a whispered word to anyone about her origins, only to say that she was a Greek. She was happy. She missed her home, she missed Philippus, but for now… she was happy.

Kent Nelson was wise, and caring. Ted Knight (not to be confused with Ted Grant, she had learned) was a fiercely intelligent man, and his assistant, Al Pratt, was a happy, bubbly personality, if a bit dim by comparison. Will Everett was a calm, steady presence, as was Chuck McNider and Rex Tyler. Chuck and Rex frequently got into fights, but they never evolved beyond good-natured ribbing. Carter Hall she respected, for he knew the old warrior’s arts, of mace and sword and spear. Wesley Dodds was prissy and uptight, and his oath of pacifism confused Hippolyta to no end, but she grew to respect his efforts to stem bloodshed. Jim Corrigan was hard to relate to, as he always seemed so distant. Jay Garrick reminded her of her little sister, Antiope; fiercely hopeful, fiercely loyal. Johnny Thunder, Hippolyta had learned, was one of the most grating personalities anyone had ever conceived, but once you had earned his allegiance, he would fight to the death to keep you safe. Wildcat, Ted Grant, was the one Hippolyta found herself gravitating toward the most, for he was a warrior, just like her. She found herself… wishing to spend more time with him. For training, of course; his ‘boxing’ was a useful art.

And this session of boxing lessons was what she was just coming out of, wiping the sweat from her brow with a towel as she strolled down the halls of the JSA’s temporary lodgings in London. As she strolled, she passed the room of the final one of her new friends; Alan Scott, the so-called ‘Green Lantern’. These silly names in Man’s World was something she was still getting used to. Alan was withdrawn, not willing to share everything, which, she supposed, was not unusual in a time of war. 

As she passed his room, however, she noticed the door was ajar, and Hippolyta tilted her head in suspicion. Alan was a very private Man; he would not leave his door open on purpose. London was supposedly safe, she had been told, but Nazi agents could be anywhere… if they had infiltrated Alan’s room…

Hippolyta tensed, discarding her towel and preparing herself for a fight if need be, and crouched by the door, listening in intently for signs of a struggle. She tensed further as she heard a sharp gasp, and a soft cry; someone was hurting Alan!

Hippolyta burst into the room, almost knocking the doors off its hinges, bellowing, “UNHAND HIM, FIEND!” only to blink in surprise when she found Alan Scott and another Man doing something that was very much the opposite of painful.

“O-Oh…” Hippolyta stammered, suitably embarrassed, and Alan turned about as red as a beet while the black-haired man on top of him only looked back and waved, “I, erm; my apologies. I’ll give you your privacy.”

Hippolyta shut the door as fast as she could, walking further down the hall with equal urgency. As she hurried, she heard even more hurried footsteps rushing up behind her. “Hippolyta!” Wildcat cried, running up to her in a panic, still sweaty from their boxing practice earlier, “I heard you shout! Is everything alright??”

Hippolyta stared at him; of all the people in the world she could want talk to right now, Ted Grant was about at the bottom of the list. “O-Oh, er, everything’s fine!” she said awkwardly, “False alarm!”

“False alarm??” Ted asked incredulously, “I heard you damn near bust Alan’s door down! What was happening in there?”

Hippolyta turned red. “Alan was, er… indisposed,” she explained discreetly, trying to maintain her friend’s trust, “I misheard his cries as those of pain, but they were, em… those of… pleasure.”

Ted stared at her. Then he understood. Then she understood that he understood. They both stared at one another, both the same shade of red.

“Oh,” Ted said in a small voice.

“Yes,” Hippolyta added. 

“Well, uh, good for him,” Ted said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, “Never really thought of him as a ladies’ man, but I guess he’s got a sort of quiet charm to him…”

“Ladies’ man…?” Hippolyta asked in confusion, about to say more, but at that moment, the man in question burst out of his room, crying “HIPPOLYTA!!”

Both Ted and Hippolyta turned to see Alan Scott rushing up to them, looking hurriedly dressed, his skin still flushed and his hair still a mess. Ted had to stifle a grin as Alan looked supremely embarrassed. 

“Ted,” Alan said, evenly but still slightly out of breath, eyeing his comrade warily, “Could you leave Hippolyta and I for a moment so we might discuss something in private?”

Ted grinned. “Sure thing, tiger,” he said, punching Alan on the arm playfully, “So long as you tell me her name.”

Hippolyta opened her mouth again, but closed it when Alan shot her a murderous look. “Jo-Joanna,” he stammered out eventually, and Ted laughed as he went back down the hall.

As he walked past Alan’s closed door, he called, “He’s a good fella, Joanna, you picked well!”

Hippolyta watched as Alan just about had a heart attack, but thankfully, Ted didn’t pursue it any further, instead opting to return to his room. Alan grabbed Hippolyta by the arm and steered her toward her room, the nearest empty one they could access. “Alan, I’m sorry that I intruded upon something private,” she started, “But I thought you were in pain, I feared you were under attack--!”

“No, no, it’s not that!” Alan told her, quickly closing and locking the door behind her, “Hippolyta, what you just saw, I--!! You can’t. tell. anyone!” 

“I wasn’t planning on shouting it to the rooftops!” Hippolyta scoffed, mildly offended that her friend thought so low of her, “You know, on Themyscira we believe in privacy as well!”

“No! It’s not-- that!” Alan cried again, holding a hand to his face in panic and misery, “Hippolyta, it’s not that the moment was private, it’s that the moment was secret.”

Hippolyta nodded. “His father disapproves, then,” she said sagely, “I am sorry, my friend, they say love is the hardest battlefield of all.”

Alan sighed, holding his head in his hands as Hippolyta held his shoulder supportively. “It’s not just his father, Hippolyta,” he sighed, “It’s his mother, and my father, and my mother, and the whole damn planet!”

Hippolyta tilted her head. Now he was just being melodramatic. “I know it can seem at times that the whole world is against you, Alan,” she told him, “But if you prove that your love for one another is true, then I assure you, your parents will come around.”

“No, Hippolyta, they won’t,” Alan sighed again, and he held his own shoulders, seeming small and fragile. Hippolyta frowned; that is not how a warrior such as the Green Lantern should look. “Johnny and I…” he whispered, “We aren’t natural, Hippolyta.”

Hippolyta blinked uncomprehendingly. It seemed completely natural to her. “I don’t understand,” she told him, and Alan let out a shaky laugh, as though he were on the verge of tears.

“Of course you don’t! How could you!?” he cried, almost talking to himself, “You were raised on an island populated by only one gender! These types of things must happen all the time on Themyscira.”

“Love?” Hippolyta asked incredulously, “Or do you mean…? Alan, I assure you we have sex on Themyscira. I was led to believe it was something we shared in common with Man’s World.”

“That’s not what I mean!” Alan cried again, throwing up his hands, “I mean, the-- the act of-- of-- s-- making love, that happens all the time here, too! But, it’s… it’s only ever between a man and a woman. This sort of thing, the sort of thing Johnny and I do, it’s… it’s unnatural, Hippolyta. If anyone knew, they would kill us.”

“Kill you!?” Hippolyta asked in astonishment, “Alan, surely you exaggerate!”

Alan sat down heavily, looking to all the world like Atlas with the weight of the sky on his shoulders. “I wish I was,” he sighed, “I’d probably be fine. They’d just discharge me and toss me into some looney bin before sending me home. But Johnny? Johnny’s from Mississippi, do you know what they do to fag-- to, to men like us there? They hang them. No trial, no jury. Just justice.”

“That is not justice,” Hippolyta said severely, promising herself that she would visit this ‘Mississippi’ as soon as she could, to set their definitions straight. 

“Maybe,” Alan sighed, “But it can’t be changed, not in time for it to matter to Johnny and I. Just promise me, Hippolyta, you won’t tell anyone I was laying with a man tonight.”

“Alan…” Hippolyta said pityingly, “I’m sure there’s something to be done to--!”

“There’s nothing to be done!” Alan snapped shrilly, “Promise me, Hippolyta!”

“Alan-!” she protested again, but Alan stood up in a rage.

“Promise me on the River Styx!” he cried, and Hippolyta stopped. If he was requesting such a dire oath, then to refuse would be to break his friendship.

And that, she would not do.

“I promise, Alan,” she said finally, looking down, “I swear on the River Styx.”

Alan let out a breath. “Thank you,” he said, his voice sounding drained, “I… I need to go back to him. I need to get him out of here before someone finds him.”

As he turned to leave, Hippolyta called after him, “Good luck.”

Alan hesitated. “Thank you,” he said quickly, and the door shut.

Hippolyta sat on her bed unhappily, thinking over what Alan had told her. What kind of world was this that an alliance fighting a war for freedom did not even allow freedom to love?

---

My misgivings were not enough to drive me from the Justice Society’s side, however. I kept Alan’s secret, and consign it here with the rest of my sins to oblivion. But there I learned; in Man’s World, love was not allowed. I soon learned why our foremothers closed us off from them, why the Protector Goddesses shrouded their world from ours.

No matter how much we despise Men, no matter how much we combat them, they can weaken us. And that came in the form of a man known to me only as the Savage.

---

Hippolyta let out a breath of exertion as she returned to their camp alongside Wildcat. They were a fantastic team; she could handle the small fry while he stepped up to the one soldier who actually knew how to fight. It was a great way to clear out a pillbox or two. And, if she took some time to admire the rarely seen male form, well, what Wildcat didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

She was still upset over Alan’s secret, but she had learned to live with it over these past few weeks. As she and Ted returned to base, they discovered that they were the last of the two-person teams sent out to return. Their jovial mood at a job well done and a mission accomplished evaporated as they entered the tent to see Doctor Mid-Nite laid out across his own stretcher, losing blood.

“Chuck!” Ted cried in alarm, springing to his friend’s side, and Hippolyta looked to Alan, who was at the doctor’s bedside.

“He and Jay got ambushed in the woods,” Alan explained softly, “A sniper got Chuck in the gut before Jay could cover him. They threatened to shoot him again if Jay didn’t cooperate.”

“What?” Ted asked incredulously, looking up from where Mid-Nite rested fitfully on the stretcher, “Where’s Jay??”

Alan remained silent, casting his eyes to the floor.

“Alan,” Hippolyta said seriously, holding her secret-keeper by the shoulders, “Where is Jay?”

Alan sighed. “They got him,” he whispered, “The Nazis captured him.”

Chapter 45: The Secret Confessions of Hippolyta of Themyscira, Part 2

Jay Garrick was missing for three weeks. The entire Justice Society was going mad with worry, myself included. Doctor Mid-Nite was slowly recovering, and he had told us all he could, but he and Jay had been ambushed in one forest out of a dozen more, and wherever the Nazis had taken Jay afterward was anyone’s guess. Every night, I prayed and sacrificed some portion of my food to the Protector Goddesses, hoping that, just this once, they would make an exception and protect a Man for me. In a foreign land as I was, I was not sure if they could hear me.

Everyone was consulting what faith they had, what sources they had, but none had proved fruitful. Then, in a country that I was told had been known as the Netherlands before the war began, we raided a Nazi intelligence center. They tried to burn their information before we arrived, and had we had the Flash at our side, perhaps we could have saved more, but we saved enough to help the war effort in some small way. Within those documents, however, we did find a clue; an abandoned castle, deep in the hills of Bavaria, that had recently been taken over by a Nazi cell referred to in writing as ‘Die Lichtgruppe’. From the German tongue, I was told that that phrase meant ‘The Light Group’, though we wouldn’t understand its true meaning until later. 

The correspondence we’d found detailed how this Lichtgruppe was responsible for high-value prisoners, what the Nazis referred to as ‘metamenschen’, or ‘transcendent men’. With abilities like those Jay had, we knew for certain he would be valued by this Lichtgruppe, and so their stronghold was now our most vital target…

---

The castle was called Wildeheim. It had a tremendous defensive position, poised at the peak of a mountaintop, lording its high towers and impenetrable walls over the small town in the valley below. It was only accessible via winding mountain path and drawbridge, meaning that any invading force must thin itself out to attack, and even then it must contend with a hefty gap between the road and the castle. Ledges hung out over the sides of the cliff face, so that any daring souls who tried to scale the mountain and attack the castle that way could be easily combatted with falling munitions. It reminded Hippolyta of the Themysciran Acropolis; perhaps Men had similar practices in warfare.

During the Great Themysciran Civil War, the Acropolis had become a vital stronghold of the Amazon Monarchy, its high position allowing warriors to rain arrows and large stones from above. Hippolyta had studied warfare, and wargames were the Themysciran national pastime. (She had learned from Wildcat that for the Men, such a pastime was a sport called ‘baseball’; she wished to see it performed before she returned to Themyscira… if she returned to Themyscira) She knew from her studies that castles and fortresses like the Acropolis and Wildeheim were mighty fortifications, only able to be taken by clever tricks or long sieges. Whatever Man-Lord had built Wildeheim had probably thought it impregnable to any invading army his enemies could muster.

The Man-Lord did not know of the JSA.

Two guards stood idly by the entrance to the castle, looking bored and disinterested as they stared blandly out at the darkness across the drawbridge, into the pitch black forest road beyond. 

One turned to the other. “ Hey, ” he said idly.

“ Ja? ” the other asked, not quite paying attention.

“ Haben Sie sich jemals gefragt, warum wir hier sind? ” the first one asked, but before his comrade could answer, they were both blinded by a golden light blazing from the dark forest beyond.

A glowing, golden image of the Ankh of Fate appeared at the drawbridge of the castle, and the Nazi guards barely had time to react as out stepped the Green Lantern. One shouted in alarm, lifting his gun and firing at the blond hero.

Alan snarled as he put up a shield between his comrades and the bullets, and all around him the Justice Society of America stepped from Doctor Fate’s glowing symbol. “ Justice Society! ” Hawkman cried, taking flight high above the soldier’s heads as they stared at him in dumbfounded horror, “ Take them down!! ”

Hawkman raised his mace, and roaring a mighty battlecry, he brought it swinging around into the helmets of the soldiers manning the castle’s walls, dashing their skulls against the stones. Red blood flowed down the castle’s ramparts, and Hippolyta set her jaw. In the newsreels they showed to the civilians waiting behind the frontlines, eager for news of the war, they were not supposed to engage in gratuitous violence. They were heroes, after all; many saw no reason to engage in any lethal force, so long as criminals were apprehended. But war had changed them. The horrors they had faced had hardened their hearts, and settled their stomachs in the face of gore. Now, in this moment, they were not heroes; they were soldiers. And soldiers must kill, or be killed.

As Hawkman did his work, the rest of the team surged forward. Hippolyta raised her shield as bullets pinged off of it, and she hefted her spear in her other hand, readying herself as Wildcat and Doctor Mid-Nite ran forward across the bridge, both being defended by moving barriers provided by Green Lantern. The Nazi soldiers shouted in alarm for the gates to be closed, and though Hawkman was making short work of the soldiers stationed on the walls, the drawbridge mechanism must have been located elsewhere, as the bridge they were standing on began to raise and the doors began to close. The JSA swayed on their feet as the terrain suddenly became unsteady, and Sandman cursed.

“ Brace yourselves! ” he cried, and most took what good positions they could as they began sliding down the path of the raising bridge. Across the span, now standing on solid ground, Wildcat snarled as he landed a haymaker in a guard’s face, sending him toppling over the side and down into the chasm below. Mid-Nite dodged around his opponent’s clumsy knife strike, slammed the butt of one of his pistols into the back of the man’s head, then shot him in the back of the neck. As the soldier lay dying, paralyzed and choking on his own blood, Mid-Nite calmly flipped him over with his boot and tossed his gun to Wildcat, who caught it graciously.

Then, they all had to turn their attention to the rapidly worsening situation of the raising drawbridge, and the iron portcullis they were about to be crushed against.

“ Fate, I need a boost! ” Hourman cried, and Doctor Fate complied, taking to the sky easily and giving Hourman a glowing golden platform to stand on. In one fluid, practiced motion, Hourman readied himself, Fate tilted the platform to just the right angle, and with all the might the Miraclo could give him, Hourman leapt from his friend’s construct and arced through the sky, grinning as he sighted the Nazi bridge technician shitting himself from inside the castle’s gatehouse. With a strength that would go unrivalled until a boy from the stars would crashland in Kansas, Hourman smashed the castle’s gate to pieces, reducing the structure to dust and rubble in a matter of moments. 

Massive, sundered pieces of stone flew through the air, threatening to batter the interior courtyard, but to the utter confoundment of the Nazi soldiers fearing for their lives within, the stones stopped in midair, suspended by some unseen force.

Then, as if shot from a rocket, the stones changed course and smashed into the walls, bringing the ramparts down and causing even more destruction and chaos. With a look of murderous rage on his face, the JSA’s newest member, Ted Knight, AKA Starman, held his Star Rod aloft as he led the charge over top of the rubble, gravity itself bowing to his whim with his tremendous technology. Knight, an award-winning scientist asked to help with the Manhattan Project, had finally perfected his Star Rod technology just in time for this mission, and donning the alias ‘Starman’, he joined the JSA in order to test its effectiveness in the field, to shorten the war, and to rescue his friend and colleague, Jay Garrick. 

“Man oh man, that rod of yours is something, Starman!” Johnny Thunder said with a grin, strolling leisurely up on the rubble as Ted let out a breath.

“I’m still not used to that name,” he admitted, “But all that work can’t be for nothing. Now that we know we can bend gravity to help the war effort, we’re one step closer to breaking the atom. God willing, this war will be over soon.”

“Whatever you say, Doc,” Johnny said with a shrug, then he sighed as he looked over at the bullets whizzing past the two men as Johnny’s genie protector redirected the bullets to harmless trajectories. “Golly, that’s annoying,” he said with a frown, “Thunderbolt, how’s about you teach ‘em some manners?”

Appearing as a crackling, glowing avatar of pure purple energy, Yz the Living Thunderbolt grinned at the man he was tied to. As a Fifth Dimensional Being, he had almost limitless power, but due to the nature of his terms being allowed an excursion to this dimension, he was bound to the service of Johnny Thunder, the seventh son of a seventh son, born at seven o’clock on the seventh day of the seventh month in the seventh year of the current century. It was a rocky start at first, but slowly he and Johnny had built a symbiotic relationship, and now, so long as Johnny gave the word, Yz could do anything he pleased.

“ Gladly! ” Yz cried with a laugh, and he let his power loose. With a crack of lightning and a flash of purple light, several Nazis cried out in pain as they were electrocuted and burned alive in an instant by the terrible power of the Living Thunderbolt.

Over top of the two men, darkness passed through the sky, shrouded in a spectral green cloak. “ Ah, but Teddy… ” spake The Spectre, splaying out his hands as power radiated off his form, “ Why call upon the Will of God to shorten a war, when all that’s needed is His Wrath? ”

The Spectre thrust out his hand, and before him burst a wave of power rippling through the air, headed straight for the doors of the castle’s inner keep. As the doors burst open, Hippolyta stared in apprehension as the SS regiment waiting inside gazed upon the Spectre with a profound, primal fear.

The Spectre narrowed his eyes, the Fires of Hell burning within, and Hippolyta knew he was seeing all these men’s sins. With another wave of his hand, Jim Corrigan, the Spectre, one of the highest heights of supernatural power in the universe, the manifestation of God’s Wrath given form, judged the Nazis before him. For a brief moment, they understood the mysteries of the universe. For a brief moment, they understood God.

And then, the weight of their sins crashed down upon them, and hellfire blazed forth from the Spectre’s hand. Before their very eyes, the Nazis’ skin melted from their bones like wax, their eyes boiling and falling back into their heads, their bodies steaming and smoking and disappearing, leaving only a pile of charred bones in their wake. Their souls sundered and sent onward for judgement. Though, if you asked Jim himself, he didn’t think they had a great chance at the Pearly Gates.

“ Spectre! ” Fate cried, flying in from elsewhere in the battle, “Stop focusing on the small fry! Bathe this castle in darkness, make sure they can’t call for reinforcements!”

The Spectre smiled. “ One Biblical Darkness, coming right up… ” he said with a sardonic salute, and his form melted into shadow. A moment later, Hippolyta looked up at a swirling pillar of power and darkness, and a massive manifestation of the green cloak of The Spectre cast itself over the castle, blocking out the sun. What once had been open daylight now cast Wildeheim in total darkness, and the JSA knew that The Spectre had ensured no one would ever know what exactly happened at this castle in the hills of Bavaria.

If Allied newsreels showed their treasured heroes slaughtering the Germans wholesale, that could reflect badly on their image back home, but if all the homefront heard was that the JSA had raided a Nazi intelligence center, inflicted heavy casualties, and destroyed an enemy stronghold, well… that was a triumph.

No one would know. No one but them. Today, the Justice Society cast its name aside; this was not justice. This was war.

Despite The Spectre’s darkness, Hippolyta found she could see clearly, as could the rest of her comrades. With a practiced expertise, battle instincts honed by decades of living on Themyscira, she stabbed her spear through a Nazi’s chest, used the butt of her spear to knock another down, slammed her shield into another’s throat, then used the body of the one she had skewered to knock aside three more, in the same motion flicking the stabbed Man from the tip of her spear. The Nazis had taken one of their own, and they were here to get him back.

Green light shone through the darkness as Alan Scott roared with fury, his ring casting a beacon of willpower through the innards of the castle, illuminating the halls therein, as well as flattening any Nazi soldiers his ring happened to find. “ Hippolyta, Wildcat, Mid-Nite, Sandman, with me! ” Alan cried, flying towards the castle’s keep, “ The rest of you, handle things out here! ”

“You got it, Lantern!” Hourman called over his shoulder, in the middle of hurling a soldier thirty feet into a collapsed wall, “Send up a flare if you need help!”

Following Lantern’s lead, Hippolyta, Wildcat, Doctor Mid-Nite, and Sandman all rushed into the castle, leaving their comrades to deal with the Nazi soldiers desperately trying to stop their advance. Despite the battle raging outside, the inside of the castle was eerily quiet, and though the entrance was still eerily dark thanks to The Spectre’s power, electric lights soon illuminated their path. As they came to a fork in the hallways, they encountered one hapless soldier wandering the halls, blissfully unawares of the chaos occurring just outside.

As the soldier sighted the five heroes, he blanched, raising his gun in a panic, but Wildcat acted first. He sprang forward, wrestling the soldier’s gun away, and Hippolyta watched Sandman rush forward as Wildcat broke the man’s arm. In one fluid motion, Sandman put his gas gun in the soldier’s face, pulled the trigger, and the man’s eyes rolled back into his head as he fell over, fast asleep.

“ There’ll be more throughout the castle, ” Sandman said, eyeing the soldier’s broken arm with distaste, “ I’ll handle them. Lantern, can you put the rest of you in an airtight bubble? ”

“I can,” Alan said easily, his ring glowing as he complied with the request, “Why? What are you thinking, Wes?”

“ I’m going to flood this castle with sleep gas, ” Sandman told them seriously, slipping a backpack off his shoulders to reveal dozens of canisters full of his creation, “ Put anyone else still in here to sleep. That way, no one else has to get hurt. ”

Wildcat pursed his lips at the dig, but they all let it slide. Wesley Dodds was a self-proclaimed pacifist; the fact that he was even on this mission at all spoke volumes to how much he was willing to compromise to get their teammate back. 

“It’s a good plan, Sandman,” Hippolyta told him, before anyone else could speak, perhaps less tactfully than she would, “Do it, and stay safe.”

Sandman nodded gravely, then turned and swept into the dark hallways beyond, dropping gas canisters in his wake. Soon, the entire castle was filled with sleep gas, and Wildeheim itself was pulled into the Sandman’s dark dream. Hippolyta, Green Lantern, Wildcat, and Doctor Mid-Nite hurried through the gas-laden halls, searching rooms for any sign of where they might keep high-value prisoners.

Then, as they were moving into some of the deepest parts of the castle, Mid-Nite stopped and frowned by one particularly heavy-looking door. “Chuck?” Wildcat asked, and Mid-Nite frowned deeper as he ran his finger along the seam where the doorframe met the stones of the castle.

“This door isn’t supposed to be here, it doesn’t match the rest of the architecture,” he explained, then he drew his hand away and looked back at them, “And it’s airtight. ”

“Meaning anyone on the inside is unaffected by Sandman’s gas,” Lantern muttered.

“And whoever built this was expecting a gas attack,” Wildcat growled, clenching his fists, “Which means they were expecting Wesley.”

“Which means they were expecting us,” Hippolyta finished grimly, eyeing the door warily, “Friends, I believe we have located our quarry.”

The JSA let that comment sit for just a moment; in all likelihood, their lost comrade was behind this door. That, or he was dead.

“Lantern,” Mid-Nite said, stepped back and drawing his pistols, “Can you try and get this door open quietly? We don’t want to spook anyone on the inside if they’re still unaware of what’s going on outside.”

“On it,” Alan answered immediately, setting his ring to work as it slowly moved into the door’s locking mechanism, and Alan narrowed his eyes in concentration as he delicately removed the screws and bolts from the door’s hinges. The entire door glowed green, suspended by Alan’s emerald construct, and gently, soundlessly, it swung open. “Open sesame,” Alan said with a smile, waving his comrades into the corridor within.

The door opened up to a spiralling stone staircase, leading further down into the castle below. The only indication that this stairwell had been traversed in the last three centuries was the thick black power cable that ran along the inside of the spiral. When Mid-Nite saw it, he frowned. “Whatever’s down here needs a lot of power…” he murmured.

Alan silently closed the door behind them, and, as they were outside of the gas’s purview, let the protective bubble he’d been maintaining before drop. Good thing, too, as its green glow may have alerted their adversaries.

Hippolyta crept forward down the spiralling staircase, frowning at the cramped quarters; if a fight were to break out, they would be at extreme disadvantage.

Then, they heard the unmistakable sound of arcing electricity, and the sound of a man’s scream. The lights flickered all the while, and the four heroes shared a grave look; something was seriously wrong. They hurried down the stairs, hoping the sounds of running electricity and screaming would cover the sound of their footsteps, and soon, they reached the end of the staircase, where Wildcat, who was in the lead, held up a hand to indicate silence.

Peeking around the corner, Hippolyta paled at what she saw. Strapped to a long, sturdy table, heaving for breath after what had obviously been a terrible shock, was Jay Garrick, looking thin and haggard and pale, his uniform tattered and burned in certain places. “ Please… ” Jay whimpered, in a voice far more pitiful than Hippolyta had ever thought possible for the normally jovial speedster, “ Please stop… I… I can’t… ”

“Ah, my dear Mister Garrick…” a heavily German-accented voice said from beside Jay, and Hippolyta sighted a tall, burly man with red hair, hefting a simple-looking spear and dressed in a jet black uniform, a red ‘D’ inscribed on his chest, “I know you are in pain now, but this procedure will further the cause of Humanity! Once we have isolated your metagene, we can begin to make an army of men like you, an army of ubermenschen, with which we can conquer the world, and ensure that the Reich lasts for another thousand years!!”

“ You… you’re insane! ” Jay panted, and Hippolyta sighted another Man, this one also tall and burly, but with black hair instead of red, and sporting a beard, laugh a deep, rumbling laugh.

“No, Mr. Garrick, we aren’t insane,” he told the trapped speedster, “We are merely the shepherds of Humanity, guiding it toward a better and brighter future. I don’t expect you to understand… just as I don’t expect your friends to. ”

“ What?? ” Mid-Nite whispered urgently beside her, “ What is he talking about?? ”

“Hello,” a smooth, deep voice said behind them, and Hippolyta whirled around to see a tall, imposing man in green silks, “What have we here?”

“ Out of the stairway, now!! ” she cried, shoving Wildcat into the open as she leapt onto firmer ground and held out her spear in front of her. 

Jay looked on helplessly from where he was strapped to the table, held prostrate before his captors, as the burly, black-haired man who seemed to be in charge smiled wanly at the new arrivals. The JSA, for their part, prepared themselves as best they could; Lantern’s ring glowed, Mid-Nite cocked his pistols, and Wildcat put up his dukes.

The man from the stairs smiled as he stepped out of the stairway, saying, “My, my, Savage, it seems we have some intruders.”

“I noticed, Ra’s,” the burly man, ‘Savage’, responded, cocking his head as he regarded the heroes, “So this is the storied Justice Society… I expected more of you. Degaton, did you give us bad information?”

“ Nein, Herr Savage,” the red-haired Man, apparently called Degaton, replied, smiling as he hefted a simple-looking spear, “If I am correct about the date, then the rest are nearby.”

“The rest are upstairs, bringing your little operation to a swift and justified end!” Lantern snapped, his ring glowing brighter, “I’m only going to give you two one chance; surrender now, or we’ll be forced to kill you!”

The Savage smiled, as did the man in silks, the one called Ra’s. “Many men before you have tried and failed, Alan Scott,” the Savage said easily, his gaze flicking to Ra’s as he drew a curved, wicked-looking sword from behind his hip.

“But we do so look forward to your attempt, don’t we, Vladimir?” Ra’s asked, and Alan’s eyes widened in surprise as a blast of red light hit him straight in the chest, blasting him backward against the wall.

As Alan groaned in pain, shaking himself out of a daze, his mouth dropped open in shock as he saw who hit him, and his teammates stared along with him. A tall, imposing man with black hair and a deep red cape, wearing a dark reflection of Alan’s costume, the colors inverted. He smiled as his eyes glowed the same shade of red as the ring on his finger.

“Hello, Green Lantern,” he said, a heavy Russian accent tinting his English, “What fun to meet like this!”

Alan shivered for just a moment, not exactly fear, but more like anticipation. “I don’t know who you are, or where you got that red ring, or how this is possible,” Alan told him, his own ring glowing green with power as his cape flared out behind him, “But I am not going to let you hurt my friends!”

The Russian shrugged. “What do I care about your friends?” he asked, “Shut up and fight!”

A blast of red energy hurtled toward Alan once more, but this time, Alan put up a more firm shield, standing his ground. As the onslaught dissipated, Alan snarled as he responded with his own blast of willpower, which was just as easily repelled. 

“Gentlemen, given the nature of your abilities, I recommend you take this outside!” the Savage told them, smiling thinly as he held a small blade to Jay’s helpless throat, “After all, you never know what could happen in such cramped quarters…”

Alan cursed, then looked at his teammates.

“Go! Take him down!” Wildcat ordered him, taking a ready stance, “We’ll get Jay!”

“Yes, listen to your friend, Alan!” the Russian told him mockingly, a grin still sitting blithely on his face, “Let you and I go somewhere more private .”

Alan cursed as he flew at the Russian, who in turn grabbed his tackle and sent them both hurtling through a wall, passing through it as though it weren’t there, disappearing behind the stone in a haze of red and green light. Hippolyta stared at where the two had disappeared. “Did you know he could go through walls?” Wildcat asked beside her, and Hippolyta shook her head.

“Think about it later!” Mid-Nite snapped, still keeping his pistols aimed squarely at the three men still remaining in the room. 

“Degaton, if the JSA is here, then so is The Spectre,” the Savage said quickly to the red-haired man, “You know what to do.”

Degaton grinned, hefting his spear. “ Ha! ” he laughed, “I have been waiting for this!” Hippolyta’s eyes widened as she saw the spear glow with a light she recognized as a great and powerful magic; she lunged forward, but before she could reach the red-haired man, he was gone in a flash of white light. 

As they all shielded their eyes, Hippolyta heard Wildcat recover first. “What just happened!?” Wildcat demanded, stepping forward and keeping his fists in front of him, “Where’d he go!?”

The Savage smiled at him. “Degaton is playing his part,” he said sagely, “As are all of you. Now, we can do this the easy way, or--”

Mid-Nite, with expert marksmanship, shot the blade from the Savage’s hands, sending it spinning harmlessly into the distance, not even so much as nicking Jay’s neck. The Savage sighed, “ -- the hard way. ”

Wildcat ran at the Savage, now unarmed, as Mid-Nite lunged for Jay and Hippolyta whirled to face the man in silks, who merely regarded her calmly, holding his blade with the poise and grace of an expert swordsman.

“Stand aside if you know what is good for you, girl,” he told her, taking on a calm ready stance, “There are few who survive crossing their blades with Ra’s al Ghul.”

Hippolyta narrowed her eyes at the insult. She hefted her spear, and lowered herself in a ready stance. “There are even fewer who would dare insult the Princess of Themyscira!” she snapped, “ Die!! ”

The two were then a twirling dance of blades; Hippolyta’s spear gave her the extra reach needed to counter most of his attacks, but Ra’s was a skilled enough combatant that he could crack through her defenses and get in a few good hits. He also seemed to be an accomplished martial artist, able to surprise her with kicks she had never really trained to defend against; still, Hippolyta had a soldier’s prowess, and was able to compensate for her rudimentary martial skill with brutal efficiency. In both of their techniques, no movement was wasted, but for Ra’s, he expended energy in fluid, artful motions designed to outskill any opponent; for Hippolyta, she undertook quick, rigorous motions in order to survive. Two separate schools of martial thought met in a deadly display of battle expertise, and throughout their ballet of blood, Hippolyta could see Ra’s growing more and more weary, and more and more impressed.

“You are no ordinary warrior!” he realized, locking her spear to the ground with the guard of his scimitar, “Your power, your stamina, your speed! You’re superhuman, aren’t you? Like Garrick!”

“It is no genetic accident that makes me this way, fool! ” Hippolyta growled, stepping into his guard and swiping at his legs with her own, borrowing one his fluid moves to free her spear and slap him across the back with the pole, sending him staggering, “My abilities are a blessing from the gods! I am an Amazon! ”

Faster than even Ra’s al Ghul could react, Hippolyta switched her grip on her spear, then thrust it straight into the Demon’s heart. Ra’s eyes widened for a moment as he realized the death blow had been struck, then smiled as his eyes glowed an acidic green. “An Amazon… ” he whispered, “ Wondrous…! ”

And he slumped off her spear, still smiling. Hippolyta sneered in disgust; what kind of Man would take so much pleasure in dying?

“Hippolyta! I could use some help over here!” she heard Mid-Nite cry, and she immediately turned to see where their team’s medic was struggling with Jay’s restraints. 

“Get out of here, leave me!” Jay pleaded with them, “I’m not worth it! You’ve got to stop Degaton!”

“We are not leaving you, friend,” Hippolyta said calmly, easily ripping up the metal clamps holding Jay down while Mid-Nite carefully removed the more medical aspects of his binds, “And you must have faith in our comrades up above to handle Degaton.”

Jay grimaced as Mid-Nite hauled the wounded speedster up onto his shoulders, holding the other man up, and shook his head. “No,” he said again, “You don’t understand! I was in the room while they were talking, his spear, it’s--!”

Jay was cut off as the stock of a stolen Nazi gun slammed into the back of his skull, and Hippolyta turned to see the Savage behind them, his arm outstretched from when he had just thrown the empty gun he’d stolen from Wildcat. To her shock and horror, the Savage himself was standing mostly unharmed as Wildcat was held helplessly in his grasp, the life being choked out of him.

“ Wildcat!! ” Hippolyta cried, “ Unhand him, FIEND!! ” She screamed with rage, rushing forward, her spear in front of her, aiming directly for the Savage’s heart--!!

And as with Ra’s al Ghul, she struck her mark. Her spear burst through the Savage’s chest, and he groaned in pain as he tumbled to one knee, finally letting Wildcat go as the boxer heaved for breath. “I recommend you make peace with Hades,” she told the Savage coldly, “You’ll be facing him soon.”

Mid-Nite took the moment to haul Jay’s unconscious body up the stairs, kneeling down to grab Jay’s iconic helmet from the floor before he did so, disappearing up the stairs after Alan and the mysterious Red Lantern.

The Savage, for his part, merely laughed up a small amount of blood. “An Amazon… ” he murmured, “Now that is interesting… did your people so quickly forget about me?” With strength a dying man should not have, Savage gripped the handle of her spear, and after a small grimace of pain, snapped it in two in front of his chest as Hippolyta watched on in fascinated horror. He then pulled the half of the spear, now broken off but still protruding from his back, out of him, and Hippolyta watched as the wound closed up and healed before her very eyes.

“Wh-What… what are you??” she asked, taking a step back; suddenly she felt for the first time since she arrived in Man’s World to be, as Wildcat had put it when they had first met, ‘out of her league’.

The Savage regarded her cooly as he drew himself up to his full height. “What is your name, child?” he asked, and Hippolyta swallowed down her apprehension as she took the Lasso from her belt and set her shield in front of her. 

“I am Hippolyta, forty-first of my name, Princess of the Amazons!” she declared, and the Savage smiled.

“Hippolyta…?” he repeated, the look in his eyes becoming something like… wistfulness, “Now, that is a coincidence. How strange that you would have the same name as her…”

“Who do you speak of?” Hippolyta pressed in confusion, “My mother named me after our first Blessed Queen, Hippolyta the Great!”

“Yes, the very same Hippolyta of myth and legend, who traded blows with Heracles and Theseus, whose sacred girdle was lost to Man’s World and was replaced by that lasso you cling to like a child’s blanket,” the Savage went on, drawing a simple, straight sword made from some jet black material that Hippolyta couldn’t identify, and she shivered as the expression on his face became dark and murderous, “The same Hippolyta who was engaged to my daughter, the Princess of Knossos, before she broke her heart.”

Hippolyta stared at the Savage after his accusation. “Wh-What?” she asked incredulously; to her knowledge, her namesake had had no lovers.

With blinding speed, the Savage rushed forward, giving Hippolyta only barely enough time to raise her shield, his sword ricocheting off the steel, only to swing around and clang against it again and again. It was all Hippolyta could do to keep up under the onslaught; his strength, his speed, they were unlike anything Hippolyta had yet encountered in Man’s World. This Savage was no ordinary Man!

“Is history so easily forgotten on Themyscira?” Savage demanded, keeping up his assault with no signs of stopping, or even slowing down, “Did your namesake not want to record her crimes? Do you all really want to live in a fantasy world where you are the strongest that badly!? ”

Hippolyta cried out as the force of one of the Savage’s blows sent her tumbling to the ground, but she quickly rolled up into a ready stance, then glanced at her side; the broken half of her spear was laying on the ground beside her. Quickly, she snatched it up, and though it was now at half its normal length, the spearpoint would still serve as a weapon. In a fight like this, some weapon was better than none at all.

“You speak as if you know the Amazons, but no Man has known an Amazon in six thousand years!” she responded, circling around the room in a fruitless effort to find an opening, “Who are you to speak of my foremothers?”

For a brief moment, the Savage stopped and stared. Then, he threw back his head and laughed. 

“Because I did know them, girl! ” the Savage told her, levelling his sword at her from across the battlefield, “Six thousand years ago, when I went by the name of Minos, my kingdom waged war against the Amazons, Hippolyta, and we won. Your people were helpless as my armies marched across the plains of your country, slaughtering your mothers and daughters, burning your fields, and sending your whole pitiful country fleeing into the sea until all that was left was that damnable island. I had your people dead to rights, I was about to exterminate the Amazon race, to wipe the slate clean after your betrayal of my daughter, but in that crucial moment, as I was about to raze Themyscira itself, my daughter made a foolish decision. 

“Out of love, she prayed to your gods, to Hera, Athena, Aphrodite, and Artemis, and asked them to save her beloved. Moved by this act of misplaced care, the beings you call the Protector Goddesses hid the island from my armies, so that none could subjugate you. And what did Hippolyta ‘ the Great’ do to repay my daughter for her great kindness? The very act that allows your miserable civilization to exist? She struck her from your histories, buried any trace of her existence, and left her to wallow in sadness and pity, eternally searching for an island that evaded her at every turn, desperate to reunite with her betrothed.”

“And do you know something? I could forgive all that,” he went on, as Hippolyta shivered under the weight of this new knowledge, not knowing whether it was truth or fiction, “I could forgive all of it, if you Amazons were not so stuck in your ways. If you agreed to move on with the rest of Humanity. If you, by your nature, were not so damn opposed to progress! ” He snarled at her, kicking her to the ground and sending her tumbling again, “ Look at you!! Using a shield and spear in the year 1942, still waging war as though it were the Bronze Age! The only reason you’re still alive and not a rotting corpse on the fields of France is because of your so-called blessings. Well, girl, I was there when your goddesses gave you that blessing! And I know how to strip it bare. ”

Hippolyta leapt to her feet once more, trying to keep the Savage in front of her, but in her haste, she hadn’t noticed the third combatant still in the room. Seeing an opening that may not have even been there, Hippolyta watched in abject terror as Wildcat leapt on top of the Savage, still unarmed, and still so, so human.

Hippolyta ran forward, but before she had even taken a step, she watched as the Savage switched his grip on his sword, swung it around, and stabbed Wildcat lengthwise through the ribs, eliciting a strangled cry of pain as Ted’s blood ran down the Savage’s fingers.

Hippolyta roared with rage, leaping forward, but the Savage held up his hand to stop her. “Take one more step, and your friend will die,” he said calmly, and Hippolyta stopped in her tracks. Wildcat groaned in pain as even the slightest movement disturbed his wound.

“Do you know where my sword is at this very moment?” he asked them, and Hippolyta remained silent as Wildcat merely focused on breathing, “It is precisely half a centimeter below the bottoms of your lungs, Wildcat, cutting into your stomach and liver. Now, as I’m sure a boxer like you is aware, Mr. Grant, both stomach and liver wounds are very serious, but they are survivable under the right circumstances. Perhaps if you had a good doctor somewhere nearby?”

Both Hippolyta and Wildcat glanced to the stairway, where Doctor Mid-Nite had already disappeared. The Savage grinned. “Oh, that’s right, he’s gone up above, hasn’t he?” he taunted, “Well, it may be a little hard to get his attention. But, as long as my sword remains exactly where it is, you will have longer to live, so long as you don’t move too much. But, if I’m forced to withdraw my sword from your ribs less carefully than I’d like, then I’d more than likely nick your lungs, and then you have a whole different problem on your hands, and the princess here would have to watch you choke to death on your own blood.”

Hippolyta gritted her teeth and growled at the image of Wildcat gasping for air, she herself helpless to alleviate his pain. Wildcat, for his part, merely gritted his teeth as the Savage went on talking.

“Hippolyta, do you want this man to die?” he asked, and Hippolyta shivered at the way he asked such a momentous question. He asked it as casually as one might ask what you wanted for dinner, or what your opinion was on a recent sports event. He treated the concept of murder so casually, so without circumstance or consequence, that something gnawed at Hippolyta’s soul when she heard his words.

In that moment, she understood just how much blood that black blade had tasted.

“No,” she gritted out eventually, and the Savage smiled.

“Then kneel,” he ordered her, and Hippolyta balked. An Amazon never kneeled to an enemy, no matter the situation.

She hesitated. “Throw down your weapons and kneel!” Savage ordered again, “Or else this man will die, and it will be your fault for clinging so stubbornly to your pride!”

Hippolyta looked at Wildcat. Ted Grant, the boxer, the warrior she knew, kept his teeth gritted against the pain. He would go to death willingly, she knew, if it meant keeping her safe. And based on everything she knew, everything she had been taught by her mother and her people, Men were like pigs. They were cowards, brutes, animals; incapable of the barest form of compassion or self-reflection.

Yet, during her time in Man’s World, she had seen great and epic struggles waged over good and evil. She had witnessed mighty warriors give everything they had to defeat their enemies. She had seen demigods and geniuses alike turn their abilities toward the efforts of war, doing all they could to safeguard their homes. Homes which, she had realized, could be just as peaceful and beautiful as her own.

And through it all, she had seen this man. This boxer. A warrior in his own right, and yet nothing special, go above and beyond the call of duty. He was a champion, a prize fighter; what right had he to stand amongst geniuses and demigods and magicians? He was here, fighting their fight, by strength of will and grit alone. If there was any universal constant to be understood between warriors that came from cultures as wildly different as Themyscira and New Jersey, it was that determination.

If her mother could see her now, she would think Hippolyta insane. If Philippus could see her now, she would think her insane. This action may very well cost her the throne, if anyone knew. By all counts, he was worthless. He deserved nothing in exchange for his life.

But she would not let this Man die.

She threw down her weapons.

“ Polly… ” Wildcat breathed painfully, his voice barely a whisper, and Hippolyta swallowed hard as she lowered herself to her knees.

“I’ve done as you’ve asked,” she told the Savage, “Now let him go so we can seek medical attention.”

“Not quite yet,” the Savage told her with a sadistic smile, “You see, Amazon, there’s one more part of this ritual before it can be complete. Mr. Grant, I recommend you hold very, very still.”

The Savage removed his hand from his sword, still stuck through Wildcat’s body, and Wildcat grimaced as even that slight motion sent waves of pain rolling through his body. Hippolyta clenched her fists at her side, shaking with rage, but the Savage merely crouched to the floor, looking through a small bag, humming as he rummaged through it for something. Wildcat and Hippolyta shared a tense look as the Savage worked calmly.

“What are you doing?” Hippolyta asked, losing her patience, but the Savage only smiled at her as he retrieved his prize.

“Doing right by my daughter,” he explained, “Now hold out your hands.”

Hippolyta raised her eyebrow in apprehension as the Savage held out a simple pair of handcuffs. Handcuffs, while still exotic, were not new to her; she knew their function. They were effectively more compact manacles with which to bind someone. An ordinary Man would have trouble getting out of their hold, but for her, they might as well have bound her with paper.

“Surely you know that such flimsy restraints won’t hold me?” she asked, and the Savage smiled once more as he held out the handcuffs expectantly.

“It’s not about holding you,” he said sagely, “It’s about sending a message. Your hands, please.”

Hippolyta once again hesitated. Relinquishing her weapons was one thing, her friend was in danger, but allowing herself to sink so low as to be bound by an enemy? That was sacrilege. An Amazon never let herself be bound. It was a warrior’s greatest shame.

Wildcat and the Savage picked up on her continued hesitation. “Polly?” Wildcat asked, his voice still breathy and pained, and the Savage merely regarded her cooly, raising an eyebrow.

“What will it be, Hippolyta?” he asked one final time, “Your pride, or your teammate?”

Hippolyta apologized to her mother, to Philippus, and to every Amazon on her island. She held out her wrists. The Savage smiled, and with a soft, ratcheting click-click-click!, the handcuffs were secured around her wrists.

And Hippolyta gasped as she felt something wash over her like a wave of freezing cold water. She briefly registered some flash of golden light, like an invisible glass shell around her being shattered. Then she felt as though, for the first time in her life, she was truly naked, despite wearing all sorts of heavy armor for this raid. That something had stripped her of some second skin, leaving her raw and vulnerable underneath. It was like being left in the harsh wind after emerging from warm water; Hippolyta couldn’t help but tremble at the sudden cold.

“Wh-What… what was that?” she asked quietly, fighting the urge to let her teeth chatter, and she looked and saw Wildcat, looking at her with fear and sadness in his eyes, whereas the Savage only smiled in triumph.

“That, my dear Hippolyta,” he said smoothly, some primal satisfaction glinting in his eyes as he regarded her, “Was your blessing being washed away. You are not an Amazon anymore.”

Hippolyta blinked. “What?” she asked dumbfoundedly, and the Savage smiled again.

“Here, let me show you,” he said calmly, and Hippolyta gasped as a knife slid between the chinks in her armor, quick as a viper, and Wildcat called out in alarm before crying out in pain. Hippolyta gasped and stumbled backward, looking down at the knife in her ribs, and she merely stared at it in confusion; as far as she knew, only weapons blessed by the gods could pierce her flesh; how did…?

“Try to break your cuffs,” the Savage told her, and she looked up, still in quite a lot of pain. He smiled. “Try to break your cuffs,” he repeated, and Hippolyta grew angry at his nonchalance.

How dare he!? How dare he stab Wildcat, stab her, and still wear that smug grin on his face!? She snarled, standing up in a rage and flexing her arms to break her cuffs, intending to rip the Savage’s head from his shoulders, and--!!

And the cuffs didn’t break. She yelped in surprise as she overbalanced and tumbled to the ground, grunting as the knife in her ribs was disturbed, while the Savage merely stepped out of her way. “I… I don’t understand…!” she groaned, trying to get to her feet and pry her hands apart, but no matter how she tried, the cuffs would not break. She looked back up at the Savage, wild fear in her eyes as the unknown and the impossible finally became known and possible to her, and demanded, “ What did you do to me!? ”

“Funny thing about the gods, they’re such fickle creatures,” the Savage said with a smile, “No matter what power they give, there’s always a caveat. Would you like to know the exact stipulations of the warrior’s blessing given to your ancestors by the so-called Protector Goddesses?”

Hippolyta grunted as she staggered to her feet, not willing to dignify that with a response.

“ All those born on Themyscira will be women, and their island shall be forever hidden from Man’s World, ” the Savage quoted, and Hippolyta recognized the same poetry of the Amazoniad, the founding myth of Themyscira, “ No weapon will harm their bodies, the lengths of their lives shall be doubled, and their strength will be a hundredfold that of a man. With our blessings, they will be the mightiest warriors this world will ever know. But, if ever they surrender, if ever they allow themselves to be bound by the enemy and take on a warrior’s shame, then our blessing will be broken, and they shall be women like any other. ”

A cold stone settled in Hippolyta’s stomach as her eyes widened in comprehension. “You mean…?” she whispered, not daring to speak it aloud, lest she might accidentally make it real, and the Savage smiled.

“You are not an Amazon anymore, Hippolyta,” he said happily, “You’re just human… ”

Before Hippolyta could react, the Savage kicked her in the face, sending her sprawling to the floor at Wildcat’s feet. “... Like the rest of us, ” the Savage continued, and Wildcat kept his fists clenched at his side in rage as the Savage approached the two casually. Hippolyta stared in shock as blood dribbled from her nose, and pain flared throughout her body.

“Now that you are not an Amazon, Themyscira will be closed to you,” he went on, “I don’t know how or why you found yourself in Man’s World, Hippolyta, and honestly? I don’t much care, since it’s allowed me this little catharsis for a six thousand-year-old wound. I wonder how your country will fare without its princess? Is your mother well? Perhaps you have a sister to take the throne in your stead? Oh well. I’ll find out for myself soon enough.”

“F-Find out for yourself?” Wildcat asked, his voice still shaky as he stood paralyzed by pain and the threat of death, “How? Themyscira is closed to all Men. Unless there’s something you wanna tell us, pretty sure you count!”

The Savage smiled. “It’s been a little pet project of mine to find and destroy Themyscira whenever I have the chance,” he explained, “Now, I suppose I could torture the princess here until she gives up her secrets, but I wager I know more about the ins and outs of Themyscira than she does; pity how unreliable historical records can be after six thousand years or so. Still, I’m willing to wait for my revenge. I’m immortal, after all.” Hippolyta stared up at him in horror as he smiled and laid a deceptively gentle hand on the sword still protruding from Wildcat’s abdomen. “ I have all the time in the world, ” he finished.

In one quick, fluid motion, the Savage withdrew his sword from Wildcat’s gut, and the boxer gasped as he fell to his knees, holding his wounded sides. “But, I am a man of my word,” the Savage went on, calmly cleaning his blade, “You may keep your lives, however short they may be. That, and I think I’ve given Degaton more than enough time by now. Farewell, Mr. Grant. Your Highness. ”

The Savage turned, collected the body of Ra’s al Ghul, then calmly walked up the steps and out of sight. Wildcat groaned beside her, falling to his knees as blood poured from his wounds, and he pressed a hand to the site in vain, trying to stem the bleeding.

“Polly, I’m sorry,” he murmured, looping his arms under hers as he pulled her to her feet, “I’m so sorry, but we need to move, we need to get out of here!”

“My blessings…” Hippolyta whispered, looking at her hands, feeling as though she were burnt and raw, “He took… Ted, he took a part of me away! ”

“I know, but we can’t stay here, Polly!” Wildcat argued, grunting with effort as he hauled her to her feet and started guiding her toward the stairs, “We have to get back to the others and get out of here! We both need medical attention; I’m no doctor, but I’m fairly certain you’re not supposed to have a knife in your gut.”

In that moment, in all that had just happened to her, all Hippolyta could think to say was, “You just had a sword in yours!”

“I noticed, thanks,” he grumbled, and she began supporting him as she got her wits back about her and they started trudging up the stairs together.

“I’m sorry, my friend, lean on me,” she told him, and despite the knife still between her ribs, she began bringing Wildcat up the stairs as his strength started to falter. Still, she felt weak herself, her knees shaking with each step. “Is this how you feel all the time?” she asked him in horror, “This is awful!”

“Yeah, if I could have magical skin, I’d probably hate going back to normal too,” Wildcat muttered, trying to get his legs back under him, “Come on, we’ll dwell on it later. We’ve got a job to do; I’ll bet you twenty bucks that the others are just up there having a smoke while we’ve been getting our asses handed to us.”

Hippolyta let out a startled, shaky laugh at the bet. “I would not think so low of them,” she argued, and they made it to the top of the stairs, just in time to see Starman get thrown past them, tumbling to a stop as the bricks around them began to levitate from their foundations.

“What the fuck…?” Wildcat began, but he never got the chance to finish as Alan Scott appeared beside them instantly, rocketing downward from the sky like an emerald meteor.

“ You two, get down! ” he cried, throwing up a barrier around them as a flash of bright white light blasted the hasty dome construct Alan had produced. Hippolyta and Wildcat instinctively crouched, and Hippolyta’s eyes widened as she saw a crack beginning to form in Alan’s shield, just before a red beam knocked the white one aside, and she blinked in confusion as she saw the mysterious Red Lantern appear in the sky above them. Hippolyta saw Alan tense up when he saw him, but the Russian only gave a thin smirk, a sardonic salute, and flew back toward whatever struggle was going on.

“Weren’t you guys fighting before?” Wildcat asked, and Alan clenched his jaw.

“Situation’s changed,” he said tersely, “That nut we met downstairs, Degaton was it? He’s packing serious heat, and he doesn’t quite care who he burns it with. Jo-- Red Lantern has agreed to assist.”

Hippolyta narrowed her eyes as she noticed the near slip-up; did Alan know Red Lantern by another name? Before she could dwell more on the matter, however, all three were forced to look on as bright white light shone from the courtyard beyond.

The castle around them began to deconstruct, the bricks floating upward into the air and spiralling toward a central point, as if being caught in the vortex of a black hole. As they turned to see what was going on, they saw Degaton, the third member of the little triumvirate downstairs, the one that appeared to be an actual Nazi officer, holding aloft the magical spear that thrummed with power as everything fell away around it, bathing the remains of the castle in white light. As Degaton rose into the sky, a bright, shining light against the darkness the Spectre was still casting over Wildeheim, Hippolyta felt her stomach drop as she saw the Justice Society, her comrades and friends, all fallen at Degaton’s feet.

Hourman let out a battle cry, attempting to leap upward and knock the spear out of Degaton’s hands, but with a triumphant laugh, Degaton levelled the spear, a beam of white light hit Hourman in the chest, and he was sent hurtling backward, careening into the ground and kicking up dust around him. Then, Doctor Fate rose from the rubble, the light of the Ankh of Fate appearing before his hands as he tried to attack Degaton, but once again, the white light knocked him back, even knocking the Helmet off his head as Kent was sent tumbling to the ground. Hippolyta stared in astonishment as even the mighty Lord of Order was laid low by whatever power that spear had.

“ BEHOLD, JUSTICE SOCIETY! ” Degaton laughed in triumph, knocking aside a strike from Yz, the Living Thunderbolt, dissipating the genie in a single blow, “ BEHOLD THE POWER OF THE SPEAR OF DESTINY! THE HOLY LANCE! THE BLADE THAT PIERCED THE SIDE OF CHRIST HIMSELF!! ”

Degaton continued to laugh, rising further into the air, his spear glowing intensely. Three of their heaviest hitters knocked aside in single blows; this did not bode well for how they would defeat him. Then, all the darkness shrouding the sky suddenly grew unfathomably darker, and eyes like hellfire opened in the sky above Degaton.

“ Per Degaton… ” spake the Spectre, “ That does not belong to you… ”

Hippolyta, along with the rest of the Justice Society, could only watch as Degaton looked up, all of them feeling the sheer power thrumming in the air all around them. The Spear of Destiny had a powerful aura, but it was paltry in comparison to this; unfathomable waves of power, to say it was magic would be to do it a disservice. It was a power beyond magic, a power beyond power; something wholly other, wholly omnipotent, and wholly vengeful. Appearing before them, projected across the sky like a Titan of old, shrouded in darkness and his iconic green cloak, bearing a flaming sword and an expression of murderous rage, was the physical embodiment of the Wrath of God.

The Spectre.

If he was nervous, Degaton didn’t show it. “Herr Spectre!” he greeted cordially, “I was wondering when you would show yourself! Come, mein freund, if you think I should not have this Spear, go ahead and have it!! ”

“ No! ” Hippolyta heard Fate cry, and though there was a weak flash of golden light trying to stop the attack, the Justice Society watched as Degaton switched his grip on the Spear of Destiny, holding it like a javelin, and hurled it into the sky.

To their amazement, and the Spectre’s surprise, it struck home. All at once, Spectre’s body shrank to his usual size, he tumbled to the ground before them as the Spear stuck from his chest, gazing at it in astonishment as white light poured forth from inside his form. “I… I don’t understand!” Jim Corrigan mumbled, appearing for one moment not as the wrathful angel, but simply as the man in the cloak, “How did you…?”

“You are the Wrath of God, Herr Spectre,” Degaton told him, a shit-eating grin on his face as he splayed out his hands before them all, bathing in his triumph, “All-powerful and all-knowing! But this Spear is also bathed in that same Divine power! It’s just physics, Herr Corrigan; every action has an equal and opposite reaction. In this case, though no mortal weapon can hurt you, a weapon of the Divine… ”

Degaton took the spear, and thrust it further into Spectre’s chest, coming face to face with the Wrath of God, “ ...That, as we have seen today, certainly can! Today, Spectre, we have no need of God. For today, we have proved that Man has overcome God! From this day forth, I SHALL BE GOD!! ” Degaton laughed with insane triumph, holding Spectre aloft at the tip of the Spear, white light shining all around him as the Justice Society watched on helplessly.

Hippolyta watched as Doctor Mid-Nite shakily performed the Sign of the Cross, some whispered, inaudible prayer on his lips. Hippolyta did not know the God of Man’s World; He had no temples on Themyscira. But she knew Chuck believed and revered Him, and she knew that the power of that God was on full display before her. In that moment, bare and stripped of her own gods as she was, now bathed in this display of unimaginable power, she had never felt so infinitesimally small. She herself, standing here upon the ruins of a mountain stronghold, disused for hundreds of years, so very very far from everything she had ever known, bearing witness to powers and forces none had witnessed since before the Enshrouding of Themyscira, she felt as though she was but a speck of sand upon the shore, watching as the ocean waged war with the sky.

As they watched, The Spectre growled as he, too, gripped the shaft of the Spear of Destiny. Green smoke billowed out from around him, like the Airs of the Underworld. Hellfire once again blazed in his eyes as he clenched his teeth. Degaton’s eyes widened in surprise.

“ You dare… ” the Presence growl’d, gripping the Spear with ferocious strength as Degaton tried to pull his hands free, but found his gloves stuck to the Spear, “ You DARE challenge the Power of God? You dare try to wound GOD? You dare use the weapon that killed My Son against Me!? ”

Hippolyta shivered, as did everyone around her, as they realized that the Being speaking from Jim Corrigan’s lips was no longer Jim Corrigan, nor was it the Spectre. There was another Presence here. The look on Degaton’s face shifted from mild surprise to abject terror as he, too, realized and understood.

Degaton screamed as his hands began to burn, and the Presence pulled the Spear from Spectre’s chest, then took it from Degaton… taking Degaton’s hands with it.

Degaton screamed again, staring in horror at where his hands used to be, but the Presence only regarded him shrewdly as his hands fell limply to the ground. “ Per Degaton… ” He said again, growing in size and raising into the air, lording over the petty warmonger, “ You have murdered my creations. You have wounded this vessel of My Will. You lord yourself as a false god. This will not stand. ”

The Presence held the Spear of Destiny aloft in midair before them all, floating there, suspended by some unseen force, and continued. “ I left this trinket upon the Earth as a reminder, ” He said, seeming to ponder the object before him, “ To remind us all of what was sacrificed for you. But if you cannot handle this power… ”

The Presence clenched his fist, and the Spear of Destiny shattered into a thousand pieces. “ THEN YOU SHALL NOT HAVE IT!! ”

Hippolyta cried out as white light spiralled all around them, and she heard Degaton scream. The world faded into white light, and they all cried out as they felt those beams of white light hit them, but strangely, she did not feel pain. In fact, she felt better than she had ever felt before, like she could run a marathon and not be tired at the end. Even the wound she had received from the Savage faded away, the pain being washed from her skin like dirt. She almost startled herself with the simple, childish comparison she made in her head: it was like being given a warm bath.

She blinked, and as soon as it had started, it was done. The power that had once engulfed the castle was gone, as was the castle itself. The entire rock it had once sat upon had been replaced by a lush, verdant forest, trees all around them bearing bountiful fruit, berry bushes and vines overgrowing where castle walls and machine gun nests had once been. Where Degaton had been standing, there was nothing. Just a patch of bare dirt in the grass.

Hippolyta looked down, and to her astonishment, the knife that had been lodged in her ribs was gone, and by the looks of it, so was the wound. Wildcat, still standing beside her, was stretching and flexing out his chest experimentally, and from what she saw, he, too, was now unharmed. It wasn’t just healed; it was as if they had never received wounds to begin with. Not daring to hope, she flexed her fingers, trying to feel any semblance of her blessings restored, but she cut back a sob as she felt nothing but that bare, empty feeling from before. Whatever Providence had healed her, It had not saw fit to restore her.

Across the clearing, Wesley stood up in confusion as he took off his mask, looking around at the jungle. Hawkman tested out what had once been a broken wing, while Kent looked down at his now-repaired Helmet. Even Jay, who had spent most of his time knocked out, stood up and looked around in confusion.

“What happened?” Jay asked, sounding more rested than a torture victim should have been, and looking supremely confused.

“ Degaton is no more, ” a weak, pained voice said, and they all turned in alarm to see Jim Corrigan, the host of the Spectre, leaning against a tree, holding a hand to his chest, “ And the Spear has been destroyed. ”

Hippolyta’s eyes widened as she saw blood start to seep through Jim’s shirt, bleeding through his fingers and staining his hand red. “ Jim! ” Mid-Nite cried in alarm, rushing forward, but Corrigan waved him off.

“ I’m alright, Doc, ” he murmured, and with some effort, the form of the Spectre appeared around him once more. Though, Hippolyta noticed, he looked far more diminished then he had before. In getting to know the JSA, she had had to grow used to the Spectre, the slight hum of power that he always carried in the air with him. But now, the air stood silent. There was still power there, to be sure, but some of the volume was missing. There was no thrumming in the air. Just a quiet stillness; like the earth was in mourning.

“ I’m sorry to frighten you all like that, ” Spectre went on, standing straighter now, though his voice still sounded raspy and pained, “ Degaton dealt me a grave wound. The Big Guy apparently didn’t like that. ”

“The Big Guy…?” Wildcat asked aloud in confusion, then his eyes widened in shock, “Wait, are you saying that was--!?”

Spectre silenced him with a look. “ Don’t make me answer that, ” he said, “ If I told you, you’d die. Your brains literally can’t handle the information. Just look at Degaton. ”

Spectre gestured to the speck of bald dirt, and Wildcat gulped.

“ Just know that something just happened that hasn’t happened in a very long time, and probably won’t happen again for another very long time, ” Spectre finished.

“Does anyone else feel… funky?” Starman asked, walking over from where he had been thrown minutes before, holding his chest as well, “My chest feels all tingly.”

“ It’ll wear off, ” Spectre told him, “ It’s residual energy from the Spear. Pure life energy; it’s the opposite of harmful. You’ll be fine. ”

“We got blasted with pure life energy?” Kent asked, looking concerned, “Has that ever happened before? What are the effects on a mortal?”

Spectre tilted his head in consideration. “ Chuck, you’re a man who knows his Bible, ” he said suddenly, “ How long did Adam live? ”

“Adam?” Mid-Nite asked, “As in, the first man, Adam?”

Spectre nodded. Mid-Nite huffed a breath. “Nine hundred and thirty, I think?” he answered, confused at the question, and Spectre sighed.

“ Thanks, ” he said, then turned back to the group, “ Quite a long-lived fellow, wasn’t he? It’s because he was born with the pure essence of life inside of him, and it just got diluted over the centuries. You all just got blasted with the original strain, the same stuff Adam and Eve were born with. You tell me what the side effects are. ”

Slowly, the JSA blinked as they all came to the realization. Hippolyta was unfamiliar with the mythology being referenced, but she figured she could get the gist.

“Jim, are…” Jay started uncertainly, “Are you saying we’re immortal?”

“ No, I’m saying you’ll live for a long time, ” he corrected, “ No one’s immortal. ”

“That guy we fought was,” Wildcat pointed out, “The Savage. Said he was six thousand years old.”

Spectre shrugged. “ Then he’s also very long-lived, ” he explained, “ But no-one’s immortal. Trust me. I know. ”

Hippolyta shivered, remembering the Savage and his threats. She wasn’t so sure…

“So what happens now?” Wesley asked, “We just live with it? Pretend this never happened?”

Spectre shrugged again, “ That’s up to you. ”

“I say first order of business is going home,” Alan said, walking from the edge of the thicket of trees and bushes, “I don’t want to stay here any longer than we have to.”

“Alan, you’re alright!” Hourman cried happily, rushing over to hug his friend, “What happened to the Red Lantern? Did he get vaporized too?”

Hippolyta watched in confusion as Alan went stiff as a board at Rex’s hug; it wasn’t just surprise, either. There was something wild and fearful in his eyes, and he scarcely dared to breathe. “No,” he answered finally, his voice shaking ever so slightly, “I saw him fly off. I think he got hit with the same blast we did.”

“So that means he’s gonna be a pain in our asses for the next hundred years?” Hawkman asked in exasperation, “ Great. ”

“What are you all laughing about??” Jay asked urgently, looking to his comrades, “You’re saying we’re gonna live for nine hundred years!? That’s insane! ”

“What’s so horrible about it?” Starman asked, “Doesn’t everyone want to live a long life?”

Jay, however, shook his head. “Not that long,” he argued, and he got a sad, wistful look on his face, “I… I don’t want to outlive Joanie. Not by a thousand years.”

“You two aren’t even married yet!” Wesley cried, “Don’t you think you’re jumping the gun with talk of outliving her?”

Jay shook his head. “But I promised I would marry her,” he argued, “Just before I left for war. We’re engaged, she and I. After the war, we’re gonna buy a house, start a family. You’ll see. I… I don’t want to live till I’m a thousand years old, when Joanie’s been gone and I’m all alone. Who would ever want to live that long?”

“ Jay, ” Carter said seriously, putting his hands on the speedster’s shoulders, “There’s plenty worth living for in nine hundred years. If not Joan herself, then you’ll still see your kids, and your grandkids, and their grandkids, and so on. You’ll get to see your entire lineage grow and prosper. Fear of losing Joan can’t hold you back; you must pursue life, with all the passion, strength, and speed your body will allow, for all the time it will allow.”

Jay didn’t look entirely convinced, but he did nod, and Hawkman seemed satisfied.

“Jay has a point, though,” Kent pointed out sadly, still holding the Helm of Fate under his arm, not yet willing to put it back on, “We’re all going to outlive our loved ones. We may not live forever, but for all intents and purposes, we’re going to see much more than we should. It’s worth asking whether or not that’s a blessing or a curse.”

“ It’s a curse! ” Hippolyta spat without hesitation, and they all turned to her in shock. Against her will, tears began falling from her eyes, and she resisted the urge to punch Wildcat as he went to console her. “First they take my blessings away, strip me of my strength and my warrior’s pride, away from my country, away from my people, and then they tell me I must live like this for another eight hundred years?? ” she sobbed, clenching her fists in grief-stricken rage, “ It’s not FAIR! ”

She pushed Wildcat away as she shouted at the sky, at the God who had left, and she merely turned her back on the JSA. “I wish the Savage had just killed me,” she muttered bitterly, “At least then I would still know who I am.”

“ Polly…! ” Wildcat protested, getting in front of her and taking her hand, “No! Don’t fall into that trap. You can’t let this stop you. Sure, you don’t have your powers anymore, but you’re still Hippolyta, Princess of the Amazons! ”

“But I am not an Amazon!” she cried angrily, tears flowing freely now down her face as Ted Grant stared back at her with sorrow and pity in his eyes. How disgraceful; an Amazon being shown pity by a Man. But then again, she was not an Amazon anymore, was she? 

She was just a weak, stupid woman. One who let herself be tricked for the love of Men. She felt a cold shell begin to harden around her heart, and in that moment, she wanted nothing more than to hate Men with all her heart, to hate them for being the reason she was cut off from all she knew and loved, for being the cause of her estrangement from her identity. But then Ted Grant drew her into a tight, crushing hug, and the cold shell was halted by a warmth.

“Then you’re Hippolyta, a Member of the Justice Society of America,” Ted told her, holding her close, “Our friend.”

She tried for several brave moments to resist the tears she felt welling up in her throat. How embarrassing would it be to cry now, in front of Men she had fought, bled, and struggled with? But still, even she could not resist, and she felt herself come apart in the boxer’s embrace, weeping and wailing like she hadn’t since she was a girl, fleeing to the safety of her mother’s arms.

And there, in a garden crafted by the folly of man, being held by a simple boxer from New Jersey, Hippolyta, Princess of the Amazons, Forty-First of Her Name, wept.

---

Though warmth and love triumphed that day, I still felt that cold stone in my heart. Wildcat’s kindness had halted it, but it had not washed it away. Though I am ashamed to admit it, some small part of me still resented him for being the cause of my lowly condition. If I had not cared for him, if he had not won me over so easily with his simple and baffling charms, I would not have sacrificed my pride for him, and I would be an Amazon still.

But I am not an Amazon. I am but a fool. And following days, the closing days of the war, would harden my heart to a cold, guarded thing. 

It all began with Theodore Knight…

---

Hippolyta stood beside Ted Knight, Starman, as they entered the ruins of the city. The war was over, they were saying. Japan, their final opponent, had surrendered, but only after two atomic bombs, made possible by the research of scientists like J Robert Oppenheimer and Theodore Knight, were dropped on the cities of Nagasaki and Hiroshima.

When the JSA was sent to Japan to help facilitate the occupation and the demilitarization, Starman had insisted that they see Hiroshima. Everyone else had been busy, and lacking her powers, Hippolyta agreed to accompany him, thinking that, if nothing else, it would let her do something moderately useful.

But when they came in sight of what should have been Hiroshima, they both could only stare in shock. Rivers choked with black water, women and children dying slow, painful, agonizing deaths. The shadows of what used to be happy people burned into the sidewalk. An entire city, once a great metropolis, reduced beyond ruin, beyond rubble. Becoming simple nothingness.

Ted Knight fell to his knees. “Dear God…” he whispered, staring out at the devastation, tears in his voice, “What have I done?”

Hippolyta did not answer, looking instead at the shadows of two children who had been playing in the street. She imagined Starman didn’t want to hear what she had to say.

The cold stone in her heart grew colder.

---

Then, the horrors that came out later during the Nuremberg Trials…

---

Hippolyta could not look at the images any longer, feeling sick to her stomach. Men, women, and children burned. Not casualties of war, as Hiroshima and Nagasaki had been, but for no other purpose but sick pleasure. Beside her, Wildcat was shaking with rage, staring at the Men, the Nazis at the defendant’s stand. Yet more images passed; the prosecutor carried on about atrocities and crimes against humanity.

One Nazi, Hippolyta thought it was the one called Göring, had the gall to look Wildcat in the eye while the horrible show went on. He smiled.

Something inside the boxer snapped. Ted Grant flung himself from the audience like a man possessed, screaming, “ MONSTERS!! MURDERERS!!! ” and before anyone could stop him, he managed to punch Göring as hard as he could, giving the Nazi war leader a black eye before twelve bailiffs pulled Wildcat away, and Hippolyta watched as the boxer began to weep in their arms, clutching a small necklace of a six-pointed star in his hands desperately, staring at the images before them in horror and sorrow.

In all the time that Hippolyta had known him, she had never seen Wildcat weep. The stone grew colder evermore.

---

And finally, there came the time after it all. When all should have been well, but all was not. When I had another fateful conversation with that pitiable Man known as Alan Scott...

---

Hippolyta walked the halls of the JSA’s Brownstone in New York despondently, trying to pretend she still had something to do with her life. As she made her fifth lap of that particular hall, she heard a noise from Alan Scott’s room; cautious of her previous misadventure in Alan’s room, she approached cautiously, taking the risk of looking through the keyhole.

To her relief, only Alan was in the room. He appeared to have been pacing, but had just now sat down at his desk, looking out the window. He twisted the ring on his finger absently, as if lost in thought; Hippolyta could only see the back of his head, so she could not gauge his expression.

Then the ring on Alan’s finger glowed, and a green construct of a revolver now found itself in his grip.

Hippolyta’s eyes widened as Alan raised it to his temple.

She flung open the door without another moment’s hesitation, screaming, “ ALAN!! ” as she tackled him to the floor, the gun going off as the bullet whizzed harmlessly out the window and shattered the glass.

As she wrestled with him, Alan growled as he tried to kick her off. “ Let--me--GRRHHH!! ” he tried, continuously straining to raise the gun to his head again, “ Hippolyta, please!!”

“ NO!! ” she cried in horror, finally managing to wrest the ring from his finger, and she threw it to the other side of the room, but still Alan struggled. “Alan! Alan!! ” she tried again and again, but the man was still hysterical, “ Alan! ”

Finally, Alan stopped struggling, looking her in the eye. His expression crumpled, and he simply began to cry. Horrible, wracking, heart-wrenching sobs as he held a hand over his eyes, Hippolyta finally shaking with relief as she let go of him.

“ I-I-I’m sorry--!!! ” Alan croaked, “ I-- I just can’t--!! ”

“Alan,” she said imploringly, sitting him up against the wall and taking his hands, “Alan, what possessed you to do such a thing?”

Alan didn’t meet her eyes at first. “Alan?” she tried again, and he still cast his eyes to the floor.

“ D-Do you… ” he started, “Do you remember Johnny?”

“I oftentimes try in vain to forget,” she said wryly, trying to make him laugh, but he didn’t.

“And do you remember the Red Lantern?” he asked again, and Hippolyta cocked her head.

“Of course,” she answered, “Alan, what does this have to do with-?”

“ They’re one in the same. ” he whispered, still casting his eyes to the floor, and Hippolyta let the weight of the sentence sit.

“Oh.” she answered.

“Johnny was a Soviet spy,” Alan continued, “He got close to me, pretended to l- love me, all so he could help the Soviets make a bastardized version of my ring. To give Stalin a superhero of his own.”

“Alan, I’m so sorry--” Hippolyta tried, but Alan shook his head.

“ But that’s not even the worst of it! ” he wailed, clinging to her like a small, scared child, “Hippolyta, he still… he still--!!”

Alan stopped, closing his eyes, unable to say it. “He still expects me to give him information, in exchange for his silence on my… condition, ” he said finally, “He’s turned me into a spy, Hippolyta. He’s forcing me to betray my country. He says if I don’t cooperate, he’ll tell everyone what I am. It would destroy the JSA, and they’d… they’d throw me in Arkham, Hippolyta!”

“Alan…” Hippolyta sighed, hugging him closer, “We will defeat this lying traitor! He has no proof, we can call him a liar!”

“But he does have proof, Hippolyta!” Alan wailed again, “He still--!!!”

“He still what, Alan?” Hippolyta asked, trying to coax the answer out of him gently, and Alan closed his eyes.

“What I am about to tell you, you cannot tell anyone, do you understand?” he asked, and Hippolyta nodded sorrowfully. Such sordid secrecy was not unusual to her anymore.

A tear fell down Alan’s cheek as he withdrew from her embrace. “Hippolyta, he…” he tried, but he shook his head, starting again, “When I found him out, he st-started… he still sees me, Hippolyta.”

Hippolyta sighed at the euphemism. “I’m sorry, my friend, I do not understand what’s behind your words,” she said, “I know it hurts, but if I am to help, I must ask you to speak plainly.”

Alan took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, though he didn’t have anything to apologize for, “He… when he needs something from me, he has me come to certain places. Hotel rooms, underground clubs and the like. Places no self-respecting man should be seen. And he… he has his way with me, Hippolyta.” Alan began to shake, holding himself subtly, “He t-takes pictures, so that he has evidence to show to the press if I step out of line. He has me, Hippolyta. There’s no way out.”

Alan sniffed as Hippolyta held him again, whimpering, “ Th-There’s no way out! There’s no way out! ”

He kept whimpering, repeating that terrible realization all night, all while Hippolyta simply held him; it was all she knew how to do. 

And then, she finally understood. She truly knew now of the cruelty of Men. Men who would twist something so sacred as love into a tool for evil. Men who would drive another to try and take their own life. Men who would let others starve to death because they were born different. Men who would burn children, vaporize cities, destroy continents and peoples and civilizations. 

In that moment, the incomplete shell shielding her heart finally laid its final layer. In that moment, she longer cared what happened to the World of Men. She hated it here. She hated it with all her heart and soul.

And as she held the weeping Alan Scott in her arms, she opened her eyes with a dark and terrible resolve. 

Her blessings may have been stripped away, but not her spirit.

She would return to Themyscira. She would be Queen. She would rule her people and ensure that they never again interacted with Man’s World.

She just had to be as ruthless as a Man to do it.

Chapter 46: The Secret Confessions of Hippolyta of Themyscira, Part 3

I did not belong in Man’s World. I could stand it no longer; I had to return to Themyscira. Not least of which because I still held the Lasso of Truth; sooner or later, someone would come for it, and I would be executed; both for my treason, and for my blasphemy. But if I were killed, then no one else would know of the Savage; there would be no preparation  for his eventual arrival.

And he will arrive. I have been far too unlucky for that threat to have been empty; I can only pray that it comes after I am gone, when I have already done all I can to prepare my country for invasion. 

If I was to prepare my country for the Savage, then I needed power. If I was to have power, then I needed to keep my head. If I was to keep my head, then I needed a plan.

And it was a terrible plan…

---

It had been two years since the end of the war. The United States had risen above all other nations on Earth and become the first nuclear power, and it was thought that their chief rival, the Soviet Union, would not be caught up for decades. The terrible evils that had been allowed to fester and grow in Germany, Italy, and Japan had been vanquished. Italy and Japan were being rebuilt, and Germany the same, though it was now divided. The world was slowly stitching itself back together after nearly a decade of bitter and destructive conflict, and across the planet, the words on everyone’s lips were the same: “Thank God, the war is over!”

There was jubilation in the streets. The Justice Society had been part of massive parades in New York, London, Paris, Chicago, Washington, and San Francisco. All across the globe, people were happy.

And after it was over, everyone had… gone home. Jay returned to Nebraska, to his home in Keystone City. Right after he got home, he asked Joan to marry him; they had all been invited to the wedding. It was a beautiful ceremony.

Alan had started a newspaper in Metropolis, calling it the Daily Planet. It was a modest thing for now, but she suspected it would soon grow to overtake its rivals in the city. 

Kent had returned to his duties as a Lord of Order, mainly holding up around his tower in Salem, but he made frequent trips to other places of mystical importance; the Himalayas, the Middle East, the forests of Europe, and especially New Orleans. Though, Hippolyta suspected he travelled to New Orleans for reasons other than work.

Chuck went back to his practice in Detroit. Carter took a job as a curator of Egyptian artifacts at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Ted Knight still worked for the government in Los Alamos, taking his assistant Al Pratt with him. Rex had started a pharmaceutical company in Albany. Wesley returned to Cleveland, and took up philanthropy to help rebuild Europe after the war. The Spectre, still wounded from their battle with Degaton, retreated from the material plane and watched over the cosmos from afar. Ted Grant had returned home and opened a gym in Gotham. Johnny Thunder… went back to whatever it was that Johnny Thunder did.

Everyone was moving on. Everyone, it seemed, was happy.

But not Hippolyta. An Amazon without her powers. A princess without her kingdom. A stranger in a strange land. She wanted to go home; she must go home. To protect her people, to return the Lasso, to save herself from having to live in isolation. Any explanation she could tell herself to justify what she was about to do.

It wasn’t truly that she hated Man’s World; she had seen the good in it. She had made… friends. But she had also seen the horror, the contempt, the violence and rage and chaos. For the first time, she understood her foremothers and their choice to withdraw Themyscira from the world; Men, though physically inferior to Amazons, were a terrifying threat. Especially when united.

If they put their minds to it, they could easily destroy Themyscira. Especially now that she knew of their shared weakness.

She lay awake at night, feeling cold, and so, so alone. She felt bare, and vulnerable. Once, she had tried to seek comfort in the arms of the one whom she had shared the most with already, and though Wildcat was willing, he could tell that as desperately as she wanted companionship, she was uncomfortable through the whole affair.

He had stopped, and had asked her if she really wanted to do this.

She could not give an answer.

And that was that.

She felt badly about how it had ended; Wildcat was a wonderful friend, and a mighty, honorable warrior. He deserved better than what she had to offer him, and did not deserve to have his heart toyed with. But ever since losing her abilities, ever since Wildeheim, she had felt incomplete. She supposed she had tried to distract herself with Wildcat, and they had both paid the price.

She cared for him, but she did not love him. So now, rather than remain in Gotham with him, she took up residence in the JSA’s disused brownstone building in New York. Carter paid her occasional visits, but he was busy at the museum. She spent most of her time in her bed, listening to cars and people on the street, staring at the ceiling and missing her home.

The Lasso of Truth sat hanging on her wall, mocking her. An ever-present reminder of her failure to do something so basic as return it home safely. How could she return to Themyscira as she was? How could she convince her mother to prepare for an invasion that may not materialize for centuries? How could she even begin to explain any of the things that had happened to her while in Man’s World?

She had strong convictions at the time, but some days she started to view coming to Man’s World as a mistake. Why did she risk her life, put one of the heirlooms of her country in danger, all just to save a handful of unlucky Men?

She hated those days. They always made her feel the most guilty afterwards.

So now, she lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling. She had wrapped herself in a cocoon of blankets, perhaps in a vain attempt at emulating the tight feeling of a hug, but more likely simply giving herself an excuse to say that getting out of bed would be too difficult. A fan listed lazily in the corner of the room, sunlight filtered in from outside. When the entire JSA had been in the brownstone, on the rare occasions that it had happened, there was usually music floating through the halls from the record player in the foyer. Now, everything stood still and lifeless. It was less like a home and more like a tomb. Hippolyta grimaced as she felt her stomach rumble; she couldn’t remember when she’d last eaten. 

Then again, she couldn’t bring herself to get up and cook. 

The kitchens of Man’s World didn’t like her, anyway.

She couldn’t have been sure how long she had been lying in her bed with the Lasso mocking her, perhaps a few days, when the doorbell at the front of the JSA brownstone rang. Hippolyta continued to stay in her cocoon of blankets.

The doorbell rang again. She groaned and turned over in her bed, shouting at the top of her lungs, “ NO SOLICITORS!! ”

“ Princess, please come to the door! ” a familiar voice cried back, floating through the window, and Hippolyta opened her eyes in shock. She knew that voice…

In an instant, possessed by a newfound sense of urgency, she kicked herself out of her bed cocoon and ran to the window, hauling it up and leaning out to gaze down at the street below, where down on the sidewalk, standing at the door was a tall, broad-shouldered woman with dark skin tanned by the sun, her black hair pulled into braids on her head, wearing an Amazon tunic.

Hippolyta stared in astonishment at her friend. “ Philippus!? ” she cried incredulously, and her lifelong companion looked up to see her. 

“ Princess! ” she cried happily, waving up at her, “ I bring news! ”

Hippolyta blinked. What was Philippus doing in New York? How did she find her? How did she even leave Themyscira??

“ Wait there, I’ll come to you! ” Hippolyta cried down to her, then immediately fled from her room and bounded down the stairs, crossing the foyer in record time and flinging open the front door as fast as she could. Two years ago, such recklessness could’ve actually ripped the door off its hinges, but with her strength gone she didn’t have to worry about such things any longer. Small blessings.

On the other side of the door, looking extremely out of place on the bustling streets of New York City, was her faithful Philippus, and the Amazon smiled. “Princess,” she greeted, going to one knee in salute, but Hippolyta couldn’t bear it.

Trying to hold back tears, she hauled Philippus to her feet and drew her into a tight hug, pulling her close. It was partly just to hug her old friend again, but mainly to hide the fact that as she did so, the tears began to flow freely. To her relief, after a brief moment of surprise, Philippus returned the embrace. “It is good to see you too, Your Highness,” she said softly, slight amusement in her tone, but mostly relief. 

After a little while longer, as Hippolyta tried to compose herself, she finally withdrew, keeping her hands on Philippus’s shoulders as she regarded the other woman. “Philippus!” she said, her heart melting at getting to speak her name once more, “My dearest friend! How are you here? How did you find me?”

“I traveled far and wide, Highness,” she explained, retrieving a newspaper clipping from her satchel bag, “But it seems that tales of the Justice Society and their ‘Wonder Woman’ have spread throughout Man’s World. You were not hard to locate, the only difficulty was in reaching you.”

Upon inspection, the newspaper appeared to be in Greek, but it featured a wartime photograph of the JSA, a portrait taken in front of their brownstone for the anniversary of their foundation. It had been January then, there was snow on the ground in the picture, and she remembered that they had all hated having to be taken off the front lines and shipped back to the States for it, but the boys in the propaganda bureau had said it would boost morale on the homefront. Hippolyta smiled down at it; perhaps the hassle had been worth it, if it had brought Philippus to her.

“I first came ashore in Crete, I was intending to head for Knossos,” Philippus explained, holding Hippolyta’s shoulders in return and smiling warmly, “But I suppose things change in six thousand years. There was no Knossos, but the local people pointed me toward another city, Heraklion, where I could book passage on a ship to their city of Athens. While I was there, I saw someone holding this portrait of you! I interrogated him, and though there was a language barrier and an altercation with the guards, I managed to figure out you were in a place called New York! So I returned to the ferrymen and booked passage to here!”

Philippus smiled as she looked into Hippolyta’s eyes. “It was a long journey,” she admitted, “But it appears to have been worth it.”

“And I am glad you’ve returned to me,” Hippolyta said happily, taking her old friend by the shoulders to get a better look at her, “But Philippus my friend, why did you make it? What possessed you to leave Themyscira?”

As she asked the question, the look on Philippus’s face grew immediately more somber, the triumph of having found her destination overshadowed by whatever grave tidings she bore. “Hippolyta,” Philippus said sadly, “I am sorry to be the one to tell you, but if it must be anyone, then I am glad it is me. Queen Otrera is dead.”

Hippolyta felt something hollow stir in her chest. Her mother… dead? She knew it would have to happen at some point, but… now? While she was so far from home? 

She wouldn’t even get to say goodbye?

“Hippolyta, I can’t imagine what this must be like for you, but you must remember you are the Princess,” Philippus continued, pulling her back to the present, “Upon the death of the Queen, you are the heir to the throne.”

“But the journey from Athens to New York takes weeks,” Hippolyta countered, “How long has Themyscira been without a queen?”

Philippus pursed her lips. Hippolyta frowned. “Philippus?” she asked again.

“Themyscira is not without a queen, Highness,” she explained slowly, “While you have been gone, Otrera told the people that you had fallen ill, and that the Lasso was being used to heal you. Now that she is dead, and you have not been seen in public in four years, the Oracle authorized moving down the line of succession. I left mere days before they were to coronate your sister, Antiope.”

Hippolyta grew very still as the news sunk in. Antiope, her little sister, was now the queen. Her mother was dead. And the story was that she herself was deathly ill, and had been for the past four years. At least she would not have to explain what had happened to the Lasso. But it was only a matter of time until Antiope, now Queen of the Amazons, would ask why she could not see her sister, or why the Lasso had been kept from the public eye for so long. 

Then another thought occurred. “Philippus…” she said carefully, “Does Antiope know I am in Man’s World?”

Philippus grew even more uncomfortable, if that was possible. “As far as I can tell, Your Highness… no. She believes you are being sequestered in the mountain to facilitate your healing.”

Hippolyta’s eyes darkened as a terrible plan began to take shape. Otrera was dead; Antiope was queen. Hippolyta held the Lasso. Hippolyta knew of the impending invasion. Antiope didn’t know she was in Man’s World. The Amazons simply thought she was ill, and had ben passed over for succession. The JSA owed her a favor.

She could do this.

She had seen the ruins of Nagasaki and Hiroshima; she had seen what the weapons of Men could do. She had seen the horrors of what they were now coming to call the Holocaust, and knew of their callousness and capacity for evil. She had seen Alan Scott try to take his own life, and knew of their confounding habit for self-destruction. She had seen far, far too much of Man’s World. All she had wanted to do was the right thing; to spare innocent people from unjust execution.

But that had been a younger Hippolyta, a more naive princess playing warrior on her island. Now, she had actually been to war. She knew what it meant. Now, she understood that oftentimes ruthlessness was mercy upon ourselves. 

So as she stood there, reunited at last with her culture, with her people and her family, she came to a decision. She would remain in Man’s World no longer. She would return home. And now, she had a plan as to how to do it.

“Philippus,” she said seriously, looking her old friend in the eye, “What are your thoughts on treason?”

---

There was the sound of rushing wind as papers scattered around them, and Hippolyta looked up from the section of granite she had decided to stare at.

“Aw, hell ,” Jay muttered as he tipped his helmet up to clear his vision, “I knew I’d be the last one here!”

Hippolyta did not smile, but she did nod as the speedster arrived, completing their group. The others had arrived already, sitting around their round table. She had put out a call to reassemble them; it was the first part of her plan. The next part was convincing them.

“Took you long enough!” Carter scoffed, sitting cross-legged with his helmet on the table in front of him, “What reason does a man who can run at the speed of sound have for being late?”

“I was busy, alright? What do you want from me?” Jay protested, taking his seat, and from the back of the room, two green eyes glowed with the light of hellfire. 

“ Oh, come on, Jay, ” The Spectre muttered blithely, “ Even I beat you here, and I’ve been busy watching over the vast eternity of the universe. What’s your excuse? ”

Jay huffed as he sat down, setting his helmet in front of him. “I’ve been busy with my wife, Jim,” he muttered, though there was a pleased blush on his face when he said it. Jay and Joan had been married for two years, but apparently there was still some pleasant novelty in being husband and wife. Hippolyta was happy for them.

“Now that you are all here, I suppose we ought to get started,” she began, and the Justice Society all turned to her, standing by her seat at the table, all assembled in their brownstone headquarters in New York for the first time since the war. They had taken a picture with their brand new marble round table, given to them by Winston Churchill. The photographer had told them it would go in a textbook someday. She looked each of them in the eye, one at a time, trying to commit their faces to memory. After all, if her plan worked, she wouldn’t see them again for the rest of her life.

“I am planning my return to Themyscira,” she told them seriously, “And I need your help.”

“A return to Themyscira?” Wildcat asked instantly, then just as quickly grew uncomfortable, “But Polly, what about… y’know… your condition?”

Hippolyta grimaced at the mention of her condition. A rather polite way of putting losing a part of herself. “I have a plan,” she said simply, “It will make my condition a non-issue.”

“I was under the impression that the Amazons were a warrior culture,” Wesley interrupted, pushing up his glasses from where they had shifted down his nose, “What plan could possibly null the loss of your abilities? Don’t they place physical strength above all else?”

Hippolyta grimaced again. Sandman wasn’t incorrect, and that was part of why his words hurt. She knew he was only trying to understand, but she had thought this over enough to know it would work. That it must work.

“Physical ability is an important part of Amazon culture, yes,” Hippolyta acquiesced, “But it is not everything. Once you have proven yourself worthy of respect, then you have your place for the foreseeable future. All I need is a position of authority, and the people will follow me.”

“So, what?” Jay went on, furrowing his brow in confusion, “You want us to vouch for you or something? I mean, we’re more than willing, Polly, but I’m not sure how far a Man’s word is going to go in Themyscira.”

“That is why you won’t be speaking as Men,” Hippolyta countered, and she took a steadying breath before she went on, “You will be speaking as gods.”

The JSA looked at her for a very long time. “Polly…” Wildcat said seriously, leaning forward in his chair, “Just what exactly are you asking us to do?”

Hippolyta pursed her lips, then looked back over her shoulder to the closed door beyond. “Philippus, could you come in, please?” she called, and as the JSA stirred in confusion, they erupted in shock as her attendant came into the room.

“ Woah! How long has she been there!?” Jay cried, standing up out of his chair.

“How did she get off Themyscira!?” Kent asked as well, putting a nervous hand on his helmet.

“Fuck that, how did she get to New York!? ” Chuck countered.

“Yeah, uh, who is this, exactly?” Johnny Thunder asked blandly, as he hadn’t been a part of the team that had initially gone to Themyscira in the first place.

“Johnny, this is Philippus, Hippolyta’s handmaiden while she was on Themyscira,” Kent explained to the newer member, “She helped us cover for Hippolyta’s disappearance after we escaped the island. We were all under the impression that we wouldn’t see her again, and certainly not in New York!”

“ Enough! ” Hippolyta cried, holding up a hand for silence, “Philippus can speak for herself.”

Philippus nodded, then drew herself up to a military parade-rest stance as she addressed the table. “Justice Society, it is a pleasure to see you again,” she began, “I come with grave tidings from Themyscira. Queen Otrera is dead, and Hippolyta’s sister, Antiope, is the new queen. However, she cannot be properly coronated without the Lasso of Truth.”

“... Which we still have because we took it to make sure you weren’t interrogated!” Wildcat realized, “ Fuck! How do we fix it? How do we get Antiope the Lasso?”

“We’re not giving Antiope the Lasso,” Hippolyta explained, and the table looked at her as though she had grown a second head. 

“I’m sorry, maybe I’m lost, but I thought this was all leading into us helping you get back to Themyscira, where you present your sister the Lasso in exchange for a full pardon,” Jay said uncertainly, “Is that not what’s happening here?”

“ No, it’s not, ” The Spectre responded, speaking up for the first time since Jay had arrived, and the spirit fixed Hippolyta with an intense glare from his hellish green eyes, “ Antiope’s the younger sister, isn’t she? You don’t just want to go back to Themyscira. You want to be Queen. ”

Hippolyta shifted for a moment as the realization sunk in around the table. Now was the delicate moment that could make or break the JSA’s support. “It is my right,” she began, and Mid-Nite raised an eyebrow.

“A lot of people have claimed rule to be their ‘right’,” he muttered, “There’ve been a scarce few who’ve actually been correct.”

Hippolyta nodded in acknowledgement. “I understand your trepidation--” she tried again, but Alan scoffed from where he sat.

“ Trepidation!? ” he asked, “Hippolyta, you’re talking about overthrowing the ruler of a sovereign nation! And your sister, to boot! I think we’re all past the point of trepidation. ”

“ Antiope cannot be Queen! ” Hippolyta snapped, standing up in a rage, and the JSA fell silent, either intimidated or just allowing her to say her piece; she couldn’t be sure which it was. “Not without the Lasso,” she went on, looking each of them in the eye, and as she fell on Jay, she said, “And you are mistaken in the belief that I won’t be executed just because I come bearing the Lasso. The Amazons will never accept me if they know I have been to Man’s World, especially not if they know that I have lost my blessings from the Protector Goddesses. Antiope will mourn, but she will also not think twice. I will be executed if I return to Themyscira as I am.”

That got their attention. The JSA all shared uncomfortable looks at the new information, and slowly, the hackles began to lower. “... So then what is the plan?” Alan asked finally, and Hippolyta took a deep breath.

“We must convince the Amazons of two things,” she explained, “Firstly, that I am the rightful ruler of Themyscira. And secondly, that I still retain the blessings of the gods.”

“Uh-huh,” Johnny murmured, “And how, exactly, do we do that?”

“The story on Themyscira has been that Princess Hippolyta is simply very ill, and that the Lasso is being used to facilitate her recovery,” Philippus explained, “If there were to be a show put on of the Princess’s miraculous recovery, and the gods sponsoring her claim to the throne, then no Amazon in their right mind would be able to refuse.”

“Polly, maybe I’m not hearing you right, but…” Wildcat started uncertainly, “Are you asking us to pretend to be the gods? ”

“Yes, Ted,” Hippolyta said firmly, “That is exactly what I’m asking you to do.”

And this was another delicate moment. If the JSA wavered before, this would be their true breaking point. Helping her return to Themyscira was one thing, overthrowing her sister was another, but pretending to be gods? That could very well be a bridge too far for many of them.

“We’re not gods,” Kent said firmly.

“I know,” Hippolyta responded, matching his tone.

“I’m not comfortable with any of this,” Wesley spoke up, “Overthrowing your sister, pretending to be gods, lying to an entire country… it reeks of hypocrisy. Isn’t this the type of thing we spent four years fighting against?”

“Okay now, this is different from that, Wes,” Jay said instantly, trying to defend it, but Wesley fixed him with a glare. 

“Is it?” he asked intensely, the light shining off his glasses.

“It is,” Hippolyta assured him, “We are not intending to occupy Themyscira. We are not intending to subjugate the Amazons. We are intending to do the opposite.”

“How is overthrowing the rightful queen helping them?” Wesley asked again, “I’m sorry, Hippolyta, but I fail to see how any of this is beneficial to the people of Themyscira--!!”

“This is about what the Savage said, isn’t it?” Wildcat asked quietly, and everyone at the table stopped talking as the boxer spoke up. Ted looked her in the eye, “He said he was going to destroy Themyscira one day. You’re the only Amazon that knows that. They’re not going to listen to you if they know you lost your blessings, and you won’t be able to command their respect if you’re not the queen. They’ll be completely unprepared for whenever the Savage attacks them.”

Hippolyta nodded silently.

“The Savage? You mean the Nazi from Wildeheim?” Mid-Nite asked, “The one that was working with Degaton?”

“I don’t think he was a German, but yes,” Wildcat said with a nod, “That’s the one. He claimed to be an immortal, that he’d been alive since the cavemen. And he said he wanted to destroy Themyscira because of some marriage alliance that fell through six thousand years ago.”

Philippus drew in a breath in astonishment. “Six thousand-? That is the Enshrouding!” she realized, “Princess, you don’t think-?”

“Yes, Philippus,” Hippolyta said heavily, “I believe the threat from the Savage is why our foremothers secluded Themyscira in the first place. He is a threat to our very civilization, as he has been from the beginning.”

“Then why not find this guy now? Take him out?” Jay argued, “We fought a world war, finding one man can’t be that hard.”

“I don’t think he’s the kind of guy that you can just take out, Jay,” Alan sighed heavily, “And if he truly has been alive for thousands of years, do you really think we’re the first people to get it in our heads that we can kill him? He will have contingency plans.”

“ He is who he says he is, ” the Spectre mused, “ He has been alive for many thousands of years, but he is not immortal. No one is immortal. ”

“ Exactly! ” Jay cried, “We’ve got the Wrath of God on our side! We can just find the guy and-!”

“ No, ” spake the Spectre, and the group turned to him.

“No?” Wildcat asked.

“ No, I can’t damn that soul, ” Spectre explained, “ Not yet. Not as I am. ”

“Don’t tell me he’s part of the Divine Plan?” Chuck asked dubiously, and Spectre fixed him with a glare.

“ You know I can’t answer that, ” he growled, “ I don’t mean I won’t. I mean I can’t!”

The Spectre shifted his cape, and Hippolyta grimaced as it revealed the wound given to him by the Spear of Destiny, still festering and bleeding. Never closed, even years later.

“How are you still alive?” Alan asked in astonishment, and The Spectre, or perhaps it was Jim Corrigan underneath, scoffed.

“ Call it Divine Providence, ” he muttered sarcastically, “ The point is I’m not able to take on a soul that powerful. If he’s been cheating Death for as long as he has, then he has a very tight grip on his soul. It’ll take a lot of power to get him to relinquish it. Power that is currently bleeding out of my chest. ”

“But I thought you were the Wrath of God personified?” Jay asked, “How is it that your power has limits? What happened to omnipotence?”

“ The omnipotence is His, not mine, ” Spectre explained, “ I’m just a piece of infinity. And even then, there are further… complications. My strength relies on the strength of my host, Jim Corrigan, who has currently been stabbed in the chest by an extremely powerful mystic artifact. ”

“Wait, so you mean Jim is--?” Ted asked quickly, and The Spectre shook his head.

“ He’s still alive, ” he muttered, “ He’s just bleeding out. My power is the only thing keeping him stable. I’m the Spirit of Vengeance, not healing; my resources are getting stretched a little thin over here. Technically, there’s nothing stopping me from moving to a new host, but…”

“But?” Jay prompted, and Spectre rolled his eyes at the interruption.

“ BUT, it’s not your everyday Joe Schmoe that can take on the Power of the Spectre, ” he explained, “ A host like Jim Corrigan only comes along once in a generation. I’m basically doing what I can to limp my way to the finish line. ”

“And what happens to Jim after that?” Alan asked, and the Spectre looked at him.

“ The same thing that happens to everyone, Alan Scott, ” spake The Spectre, “ He dies. ”

“So at the end of the day, we’re no closer to killing the Savage than we were five minutes ago,” Wildcat muttered, “Fantastic.”

“ The Savage is going to have to wait until either I get a new host or someone takes him down a peg or both, ” The Spectre muttered, “ For now, my hands are tied. ”

“Then is this really our only option?” Wesley asked, “To combat the Savage, we must overthrow the government of Themyscira?”

“All we know about him is that one of his targets is Themyscira,” Wildcat argued, “And we know that a few of us are going to live much longer than we expected.”

A few members of the JSA fidgeted uncomfortably at the reminder of what had happened at Wildeheim, mostly Jay.

“We’re in a unique position to see what the Savage does next and try to stop him,” Wildcat went on, “We know one of his targets, and we have someone in our ranks who’s in a unique position to defend it. We had to do a lot of questionable things during the war to make sure the right side won; I don’t think this is any different.”

“That was war!” Wesley argued standing up in a fit of passion, and Hippolyta stood up in a rage of her own.

“ So is this! ” she snapped, and Sandman turned to her, “Make no mistake, Wesley, we are at war with the Savage. The JSA must do everything in its power to prevent him from getting away with his machinations. He is threatening to destroy my home! What I want is to be in a position to defend it. Is that so awful?”

Wesley looked at the group seated around the table, and he sighed as they all refused to meet his eyes. “Fine,” he muttered, sitting back down and crossing his arms, “You’ve convinced me. Just promise me that we’re going to cause as little death as possible this time.”

The JSA all gave solemn nods, and Hippolyta looked the pacifist in the eye seriously. She did not take his agreement lightly. “Wesley,” she said seriously, “You have my word that no one will die so long as they will keep our secrets.”

Wesley nodded. “I suppose that’s as good as I’m going to get,” he sighed.

“ There’s one little wrinkle in your plan here, Polly, ” The Spectre spoke again, and Hippolyta turned to the spirit.

“Yes?” she asked.

“ In my experience, Gods don’t take kindly to being impersonated, ” he said, “ And those Greeks are an especially fickle bunch. If we’re gonna go run around as fake Greek gods, how do you plan on dealing with the real ones? ”

“The real ones? What happened to ‘Thou shall have no other God but God’?” Chuck asked, and the Spectre gave him a baleful look.

“ Big difference between the big ‘G’ and the little ‘g’ in that sentence, Chuck, ” he explained, and Hippolyta took a shaky breath.

“Leave that to me,” she said to them all, “The gods will not interfere.”

“You sound sure of that,” Alan observed reproachfully.

“I am,” she said, looking him in the eye, “Because I have an offer they cannot refuse.”

Alan seemed satisfied, and held his peace. The round table stood in a tense silence for a long while, each of them considering the weight of what they had just agreed to. “Alright,” Jay sighed, putting on his helmet, “I guess we’re playing God tomorrow.”

Hippolyta took a fortifying breath. “Thank you all,” she said, “Truly. But I will need a few more days to prepare.”

“Why?” Alan asked, “What else is there to be done?”

Hippolyta sighed. “I must make that offer that the gods cannot refuse,” she said, “And see if they refuse it.”

---

I needed those few days to travel to where I knew he would be. And I was right; I had something he could never refuse. After all, he had never refused it before…

---

Hippolyta stood on the mountaintop, looking out across the lands as the clouds roiled above her. She thinks that he knows why she’s there.

An Amazon, or at the very least, a former Amazon, had not visited the peak of Mount Olympus in six thousand years. She doesn’t know what she expected to be up here; perhaps a marker of some kind, a temple. But there was nothing; only gray rock and gray sky.

Still, if ever there was a place in Man’s World where she could set her plan in motion, it would be here.

She needed power. And there was only one avenue left available to her to get it. 

She must go through with this.

It was the only way. The only way to return to Themyscira. The only way to return the Lasso to its rightful place. The only way to reclaim her life and throne. The only way to protect her people.

“Thunder Bringer, God King, rarely do I ask for favors,” she declared, watching as the sky began to darken around her, “But now I am here, praying to you in my hour of need! I, Hippolyta, Princess of the Amazons, beseech you!”

The sky grew black as night as clouds shrouded the sun. Lightning crackled in the storm above, and Hippolyta shivered for a moment as it seemed to her that the sky itself was turning its eyes to look at her. Lightning flashed, and thunder boomed.

Well. She had his attention, at least.

“I have much to offer!” she cried into the storm, “In return, all I ask is a simple favor!”

Thunder boomed overhead once more. Lightning flashed, then flashed again, brighter than before. Thunder rippled through the clouds, rolling across the mountains and down into the valleys, echoing off the cliffs. Lightning flashed once more, so bright that it blinded her, and a crack of thunder louder than anything Hippolyta had ever heard ripped the sky apart, the sound reverberating in her chest. As she desperately blinked the spots out of her eyes, trying to clear her blurry vision, she felt her mouth dry at what she saw.

The taste of copper lay on her tongue as the smell of ozone filled the air. Before her, impossibly tall, towering over  the landscape, was the figure of a Man, dressed in a Greek chiton, his skin made from roiling clouds and crackling lightning. A crown of electricity graced his brow, approximating the form of a laurel wreath; the symbol of victory. When she dared to look into his eyes, she saw only a storm.

Zeus.

“ You wish to speak, Amazon? ” the King of Olympus asked, a smile playing at his lips bemusement colored his voice; and his voice, Hippolyta had never heard anything like it. It still sounded like rumbling thunder, as if the storm itself was speaking, but through some divine magic, she could understand what was being said beneath the sound of the squall.

“Lord Zeus,” she said in reverence, immediately going to one knee, and above her, Zeus raised an eyebrow. 

“ An Amazon bowing to me? Now that has not happened in a very long time… ” he mused, and Hippolyta felt her ears pop as the pressure dropped, and though she dare not lift her gaze from the ground, she could sense he had moved closer, as if to get a better look, “ Curious… I don’t see my wife’s touch upon you… ”

“My blessings were stolen from me, Lord Zeus,” she explained tersely, still keeping her gaze to the floor, and rumbling laughter erupted above her as Zeus threw his head back and laughed.

“ HA! An Amazon without her blessings! Now this is rich! ” he laughed, “ Hera will never hear the end of this, I swear! ”

“Lord Zeus, this loss is why I am beseeching you,” she went on, and Zeus hummed.

“ You know full well that I cannot give you my wife’s blessing, ” he answered, “ And if you truly were foolish enough to lose it, she will not give it to you again. ”

“I know, My Lord,” she replied, and finally she dared to look up, beholding the god in all his glory, “That is why I propose a deception.”

That got the thunder god’s attention. He raised his clouded brow, and repeated slowly, “ A deception…? ”

“Yes, My Lord, if it is to your liking,” she explained quickly, getting to her feet, “Would you like to hear what I propose?”

“ Normally, a mortal would be stricken down for the insolence of proposing anything to a god… ” Zeus rumbled, stroking his beard as sparks of lightning flew between the cloudy hairs, “ But color me intrigued, Amazon. I will hear what you have to say. ”

“Thank you, Lord Zeus,” she responded, immediately throwing herself back down to one knee, “Forgive me for overstepping my bounds. I beseech you in prayer in the hopes that you might lend me your aid in claiming the throne of Themyscira as my own; our plan involves the impersonation of the gods, and all I ask is that the gods take no offense, and do not interfere.”

“ Impersonation of the gods!? ” Zeus thundered, his voice rumbling with fury, “ Such insolence! I should fry you where you stand, Amazon! ”

Hippolyta stiffened as once again, the air pressure around her dropped, and for a moment, she thought that this was the end, but then she heard Zeus chuckle again; his mood as fickle as the changing winds. “ But Themyscira has always been an annoyance to me… ” he continued, his voice now far calmer, taking on a wistful, perhaps even sultry tone as he drew closer to Hippolyta, “ An island full of women, all hidden from my sight… it is an insult I haven’t forgotten… ”

Hippolyta shivered as static electricity trailed up her spine. 

“ But still, allowing such blasphemy to go unpunished is a tall order, and as you well know, any prayer requires a due sacrifice, ” Zeus went on, and Hippolyta shivered as a wisp of cloud caught her beneath her chin, guiding her face upward gently until she was face to face with the god, looking directly into the eyes of the Thunder Bringer. “ Enlighten me, Princess of Themyscira… ” Zeus asked her, “ What do you have to offer me? ”

Once again, Hippolyta stood, but now she did so purposefully. In one fluid motion, before she could lose her nerve, she threw off the loose cloak that had been defending her modesty.

Zeus looked on in appreciation.

“I offer this,” she said, her voice only shaking slightly, and Zeus raised an eyebrow.

“ You must know I am no stranger to this, ” he said blandly, and Hippolyta nodded, keeping her gaze level.

“Yes, the tales of your conquests reach far and wide, even to the shores of Themyscira, My Lord,” she said, leaving out the fact that they were used as cautionary tales to ward teenage Amazons off of praying to the male Olympians, “But you have never had an Amazon before, have you?”

Zeus said nothing, his face growing contemplative as Hippolyta crossed the point of no return. Either her gambit would work, or she would be dead in a few moments.

She honestly wasn’t sure which was worse.

“Think of it; if I am on Themyscira’s throne, then my children would be next in line to inherit the queenship,” she explained, willing her voice to be as sultry and seductive as she could make it, even though on the inside she felt sick to her stomach at what she was about to let happen, “Which means that if we were to lay together tonight, my daughter, your daughter, would be the next queen of the island you hate so much. What better retort to Hera’s insult than to have a Daughter of Zeus as Queen of the Amazons?”

Zeus remained silent for a long time, long enough that Hippolyta began to worry that she had misjudged her gambit, but just as she was about to resign herself to a quick and gruesome demise, the Olympian smirked. “ The funny thing is, I know you’re playing me… ” he murmured, and in a flash of blinding lightning and booming thunder, the impossibly tall cloud figure from before was replaced by a flesh-and-blood Man of the same features and natural height, standing with her upon the summit of Olympus, “ But you’re right.

“I accept your bargain, Amazon…” Zeus told her, tucking his hand beneath her chin as he regarded her, appraising her as if she were some kind of prized livestock, and he smirked again, “So let us not waste any more time.”

Hippolyta refused to close her eyes as thunder boomed, and lightning flashed, and the sky god’s lips met her own.

If this was the price of protecting her people, then so be it. She had already sacrificed her honor, she might as well sacrifice her virtue.

Hippolyta would not win, but for as long as she lived, neither would the Savage.

---

She felt dirty as she descended the mountain, dressed in clothes far more durable than the loose cloak she had worn before. Philippus waited for her at the trailhead, her features etched with concern. 

“Your Highness!” she cried as Hippolyta drew nearer, “Is it done?”

Hippolyta’s steps stuttered as she looked her friend in the eye. She had lost something on that mountain, something she would never regain, another piece of her broken off and stolen, but it was the price she was willing to pay. “Yes, Philippus,” she answered evenly, her voice devoid of emotion, “It’s done.”

Philippus fell in step easily beside her as they continued on toward Olympia, where the JSA awaited their return before they moved on to Crete, and then Themyscira. “If I may ask, Your Highness…” Philippus started awkwardly, and Hippolyta braced herself for the inevitable question, “What did you offer him?”

Hippolyta never broke stride, never let her eyes stray from the path. “Never mind that, Philippus,” she answered, keeping her eyes ahead, “The deal is made. We have our opening, and now we must use it.”

Philippus nodded, seeing the dismissal for what it was. “Of course,” she answered, and the conversation stopped.

They were both kind enough to ignore how Hippolyta began to cry as they walked.

---

My offering did the trick. The Thunder Bringer would ensure the other Olympians would not interfere, perhaps not even that they would know. I know not if the Protector Goddesses know of my deception, or if the God King has been complete in his distraction. Perhaps it is a matter of time. 

Still, this is not the end of my confession. It is not leaving our shores, nor losing my blessings, nor tricking the gods that I consider my greatest crime, but this; raising my sword against my sisters in arms, and in so doing, betraying my brothers…

---

They were silent as they arrived at the cave. It was the very same cave that the Justice Society had ventured into during the war, the ancient Amazon temple that had drawn the Helm of Fate across the magical barrier that defended their island. Located at the very center of the island of Crete, near the ruins of the once-great city of Knossos, the capital of the Kingdom of Minos. Of the Savage.

“This is the place,” Jay confirmed, as if they didn’t already know. 

“Very well,” Hippolyta sighed, looking to her comrades, “Is everyone ready?”

They all shifted uncomfortably, giving each other sidelong glances, and Hourman sighed. “No,” Rex muttered truthfully, “But let’s do it anyway.”

This seemed to break whatever spell the rest were under, and they all followed the pharmacist into the cave. As they trekked over the loose stones and gravel, Wildcat passed Hippolyta, and they shared a hard look. Something profound was communicated, but she couldn’t be sure what it was.

It wasn’t an incredibly long walk, but it was dark. Luckily, Alan had his ring, and Doctor Fate was kind enough to hold out a small glowing image of an ankh to light the path. Soon enough, they came to the crumbled ruins of the sanctuary temple built by the Ancient Amazons, left untouched by the remote wilderness and the passage of time. Upon the walls, cracked, faded remnants of once-lively murals adorned the walls, the few discernible images displaying those of warrior women engaged in exercise, or battle. The image was too damaged to be sure which was which.

They arrived to an open chamber, the remains of stonework that probably once belonged to a grand temple now crumbling and decrepit. In the center was a crumbled pile of rocks approximating what could have once been an altar, but what was behind it caught Hippolyta’s attention.

This mural was in better condition than the other ones. It clearly showed the Ancient Amazons in battle, led by a queen with fair hair, like her own, and wearing a golden girdle, but this was not art she was accustomed to seeing. For one thing, the Amazons were quite clearly fleeing from the field; this scene was unheard of in Amazon history. On the other side of the mural was a line of marching men, their faces inscrutable and hidden by their war helmets, resembling the face of a bull. Fire followed in their wake, oranges and reds decorating the edges of the mural as one soldier was depicted slaughtering a helpless old woman; perhaps an elderly Amazon. Their leader, however, was what drew her attention. Black hair, a stocky frame, a scar across his face, and wielding a sword colored as black as the night; the Savage.

So it was true.

Behind them all, Carter hummed with interest. Hippolyta, shaken from her reverie, turned to him and asked, “Is something the matter, Hawkman?”

“Not necessarily,” he answered, “It’s just that that mural is unusual. If this temple was built by Ancient Amazons, why would they depict themselves fleeing from the battlefield? People don’t usually go through such trouble to record battles they lost.”

“Archivist Dessa confirmed that our foremothers had a temple on this island, close to Knossos. This can be no other place!” Philippus protested, and The Spectre hummed as he held his hand to the stones.

“ There was death in this place… ” he murmured, and he waved his hand. All around them, green smoke billowed from beneath his cloak and began to fill the room, taking on cloudy, indistinct forms of people.

For a moment, a few shapes moved about the space, behaving normally, but as things began to come more into definition, more figures ran into the space from the tunnel the JSA had just come from, looking as panicked as faceless forms of smoke could look, and the energy suddenly became far more desperate. The smoke figures ran about the space, preparing for something; one lingered by the altar, making a motion to pick up an object that was no longer there, pantomiming the action as it fled further into the cavern, toward the far wall. It seemed to open a compartment in the wall and place the something she had picked up from the altar inside.

Some of the smoky figures stood by the entrance to the sanctum, hefting smoky approximations of weapons. Then, figures made of different colored smoke rushed in from the tunnel, and the first figures began to fall, crying silent screams of agony as smoke swords burst through their smoke chests. The invaders slaughtered the defenders to a man, making no distinction between the warriors and those who seemed to be simply taking shelter.

Finally, one of the invaders approached the last remaining defender, the one who had taken the object from the altar and hidden it, and seemed to be threatening, asking questions.

Hippolyta could almost hear the six thousand year old demand whispered in the still air of the cavern; “Where is it? ”

The invader did not seem to get the answer he wanted, and slit the final defender’s throat. The figure, who could only have been one of the Ancient Amazons, fell to the ground, clutching her throat, and she reached out a hand, perhaps for assistance, perhaps for mercy.

Where she was standing in the cave, the figure seemed to be reaching out to Hippolyta directly.

With the death of the last Ancient Amazon, the smoke dissipated, and The Spectre withdrew his magic from the space. “ It was a slaughter… ” he muttered, as if they all didn’t already know. The air stood still between them all, as they realized the enormity of the memory they had just witnessed.

“ There’s an inscription! ” Carter cried from where he was inspecting the wall, and Hippolyta went to his side, “But it’s in a script I’ve never seen before…”

Hippolyta looked to where he was indicating, and narrowed her eyes. It seemed to be some faded inscription on the walls of the temple. “I have,” she said quietly, “The first half is in Amazon. The second is Greek; only the Royal Line studied it. It is the only outside language known on Themyscira.”

“It’s not any Greek I know,” Carter mused, “Not modern, not even ancient. It must be a script so old we haven’t rediscovered it yet. Can you read it?”

“Some,” Hippolyta affirmed, and she held her hand to the stone, tracing the ancient words with her fingers, “ We, the Daughters of the Thermodon, too late to be given sanctuary, guard this temple and the relic given to us by Mighty Hera, Defender of Women. So long as we breathe, no Man shall behold The Queen’s Girdle. ”

Hippolyta took a breath as she looked to the phrase below it, written in Archaic Greek, “And the second line is shorter. It reads, I, Minos, King of Crete, have slain the Last of the Amazons in Hellas. By their blood, Themyscira will follow. ”

The ancient threat hung heavy in the air as Hippolyta finished reading. “I think this place was built by Amazon refugees…” Jay murmured, hsi voice breaking the silence, “A few must have been left behind when they hid your island from the world.”

“What little we still know about the time before the Enshrouding is clear; the Ancient Amazons waged war all across the Aegean,” Philippus explained, “It is certainly possible that a contingent was unable to make it to Themyscira before the goddesses did their work.”

“Leaving them to the mercy of Minos,” Hippolyta finished darkly, clenching her fist at the long-dried blood of her sisters, “Of the Savage.”

“How much do you want to bet that Savage is the one that put up that mural?” Alan muttered, “Threat to any surviving Amazons who might come back trying to find the Girdle. Reminder that their queen fled in fear and abandoned them.”

“Hippolyta the Great abandoned no one! ” Philippus snapped sharply, defending Themyscira’s mythical founder, and Alan held up his hands in surrender.

“I’m just saying, that’s how he could have spun it,” he said defensively, and Philippus scoffed.

“You Men and your twisted words,” she muttered lowly, “I cannot wait to be rid of this place.”

“Love you too, Phil,” Johnny Thunder answered sarcastically.

“We are wasting time,” Hippolyta snapped, drawing their attention back to the task at hand, and not to ancient history, “Where is this artifact that allowed you to travel to Themyscira?”

“It was somewhere in the back,” Wildcat recalled, clambering over a few fallen rocks, “It glowed.”

“Looked like a weird belt,” Jay offered unhelpfully as they all began looking around.

“It is here,” Fate said calmly, pointing directly to where it had been dropped by their previous endeavor, though it had been partially obscured by some fallen dirt.

Sure enough, it was slightly glowing, and looked to be a fine leather belt, thick and sturdy, inlaid with gold leaf into an intricate pattern; Hippolyta took in a sharp breath, and Philippus knelt in reverence.

There was no mistaking it; this was the Queen’s Girdle.

“So, I take it that this is pretty important, since you’re bowing to it,” Jay noticed, and Philippus sighed.

“That is the Girdle of Hippolyta the Great,” she explained, “The first gift to the Amazons by the gods. It was given to Hippolyta the Great by Ares, the God of War, to carry her spear, and it was said that while she wore it she never lost a battle. It was lost to the thief Heracles in ancient times, and after the Enshrouding, the Protector Goddesses gave us the Lasso of Truth in its stead.”

“... So, pretty important,” Jay acknowledged, stepping back and allowing the others to approach.

“Yes,” Fate agreed, approaching the Girdle, “Important.”

“Your Highness, if you wore the Girdle, it could be as though you never lost your blessings,” Philippus said urgently, looking to Hippolyta, “It is said that your namesake had tenfold strength while she wore it, and invulnerability in battle!”

Hippolyta couldn’t pretend she wasn’t tempted; a chance to have her strength back, even if only a facsimile, was an enticing offer. But…

“ You can’t, ” The Spectre said sagely, and Philippus turned to him.

“ What?” she demanded, “Why!?”

“Because the story on Themyscira is that I never left the island in the first place,” Hippolyta sighed, following The Spectre’s logic, “If I were to suddenly appear with a sacred artifact that has been lost for centuries, then everyone would know I have been to Man’s World. It will have killed our plan in its cradle.”

Philippus looked about as unhappy as Hippolyta felt, but it had to be done. “The Girdle must remain here,” she declared, but as she looked around, she thought of the Ancient Amazons who had given their lives to defend the relic, to keep it out of the Savage’s hands, and she sighed, “But we ought to give it a bit more safety. Hourman, Lantern, do you think you can cause a controlled cave-in? Block off the entrance to this place?”

Rex and Alan nodded, and their turned back toward the entrance to the cavern. In a flash of green light and the sound of crumbling stone, the entrance to the cave vanished, locking them inside if not for Doctor Fate’s teleportation abilities. Now, at least, this place would be protected from prying eyes.

“No going back now,” Wildcat said softly as the tunnel collapsed, and Wesley hummed a sullen agreement.

“ About that, ” The Spectre spoke up, and all eyes turned to him, “ I’m not going. ”

“ What!? ” Hippolyta demanded, “I thought we were all in agreement-!”

“ It’s not that I’m unwilling, ” The Spectre interrupted, holding up a hand, “ Not even that I’m unable. It’s that it’s against the rules. My powers are a little territorial; I can’t act on behalf of a God that isn’t my own, even just impersonating one. If I helped, bad things would happen.

“ That, and quite honestly, I don’t have another adventure in me, ” he sighed, once more showing them his wound, “ This is really screwing with me. I can’t keep expending energy on gallivanting off with mortals like this anymore; I’ve got to save what I have left for the important stuff, judging souls and the like. This is as far as I go. ”

He fixed Hippolyta with a hellish green gaze, and he smiled. “ I only came this far because I wanted to see if you had what it took to go through with it, and I have my answer, ” he said, and his eyes glowed brighter as Hippolyta felt as though he was staring at her soul instead of her, “ But don’t worry. We’ll see each other again. Everybody sees me eventually… ”

As The Spectre’s final words echoed around them, his form faded and disappeared in a cloud of green smoke, dissipating as though taken by some unseen breeze, and the JSA was left without one of their founding members.

Hippolyta couldn’t be sure if his cryptic parting words had been encouragement or threat.

“Good of him to warn us…” Chuck muttered ruefully, staring at where their friend had just disappeared.

“I suppose he does have better things to do…” Starman said uncertainly.

“Are we ready to go, then?” Doctor Fate asked, trying to return them to the task at hand, and Hippolyta nodded.

“If everyone else is,” she answered. All around her, there were a series of grim nods.

Fate approached the Girdle, then, as his Helmet began to glow in reaction to its magic, Kent Nelson took a deep breath within the Helm and grabbed hold of the Girdle. There was a flash of bright golden light, a hollow feeling in their guts, and suddenly, they were somewhere else.

---

The wind was warm on her face, heated by the sun and carrying the salty scent of the sea. Above her, trees swayed in the tranquil breeze, bathing the forest floor in dappled sunlight, and a babbling brook flowed over rocks somewhere nearby. She sat up and looked around, not daring to hope yet knowing in her heart it was true.

Themyscira. Home.

Around her, her companions all groaned as they sat up, some holding their heads, all in various states of disorientation. “ God, I forgot how much that sucked the first time!” Rex grumbled, holding his head as the others grumbled unintelligible agreements.

“Apparently, the Helm of Fate and the Queen’s Girdle do not like each other,” Kent muttered, reaching for the aforementioned Helm from where it had separated from him mid-transit, “I get the sense Nabu doesn’t like doing that.”

“Well, he only needs to do it one more time, and that won’t even involve the Girdle,” Ted sighed, “Let’s just get this done. Is everyone clear on the plan? What’s Step One?”

“I will journey to the Archives to ensure Archivist Dessa is aware of our plot,” Philippus said evenly, “She has kept our secrets so far, she is a trustworthy ally. She will help ensure that all the important members of court, including Antiope, gather on the Acropolis to witness our display.”

Philippus nodded to the guard, then stepped inside the Archives. Dessa was at her desk, poring over some scroll or another. “Dessa!” Philippus called, and Dessa looked up.

“ Philippus! ” she cried in astonishment, standing up quickly and running to embrace her friend, “You’ve returned! Does this mean--?”

“Yes, Dessa,” Philippus said with a subdued but pleased nod, “The Princess has returned. And we have a plan to restore her to her former glory, but we need your help.”

Dessa’s bright mood became increasingly more serious as she heard what Philippus had to say, and she pursed her lips as she considered her role. There was silence for a long time, and for a moment, Philippus worried that Dessa wouldn’t help, but then the Archivist turned to her with a grim and determined flare in her eyes. “I’ll do whatever I can,” she pledged fiercely, and Philippus nodded gratefully. Step One complete.

“Step Two, while Philippus and Dessa are gathering the Court, we sneak up to the Acropolis with Hippolyta guiding us away from the guards,” Starman supplied, hefting his gravity rod, “I use the Star Rod to let us all ascend the cliff face silently.”

It was a silent ascension as Starman lifted them skyward; it was a bit of a disorienting feeling, being lifted into the air rather than flying under your own power. Still, it was the safest way up, and they all landed silently behind the statue of Hera Gynailexdros. They sat in a ragged circle, waiting to hear voices; Hippolyta let out a slow, steady breath as she held the Lasso in her hands. Now, they wait.

Soon, Hippolyta’s eyes widened as she heard a voice she had not heard in a very long time.

“--do not understand what was so urgent, Dessa,” came the voice of her sister, Antiope, floating from the central chamber of the Throne Room on the Acropolis, “Could this not wait?”

“I’m afraid not, my queen,” came Dessa’s convincing reply, “There is something you and the others must see.”

“Step Three, Fate will concoct an illusion,” Kent went on, holding the Helmet in his hands, “Both to darken the sky, and to disguise us as the gods of old.”

Kent placed the Helmet on his head, and the golden eyes of Doctor Fate glowed. The Lord of Order waved his hand, and in a shimmer of golden light, their disguises were prepared. Hippolyta, the only one who could go without, set her jaw as she saw the visages of Ares, Apollo, and Zeus surrounding her. The disguises were convincing ones.

Showtime.

“Step Four, I bring the thunder, make it seem like Zeus is making an appearance,” Johnny said with a grin, the purple lightning of Yz the Living Thunderbolt crackling between his fingertips.

“ Cei-u! ” Johnny whispered into his palm, and he grinned as he looked up, and the sky began to darken. Hippolyta heard gasps of astonishment as the Royal Court looked up at the rapidly blackening sky. Thunder pealed through the clouds, and lightning cracked; lucky for them, it was so fast and so high up that Antiope would never be sure whether the lightning she was seeing was natural white or the mystic purple of Yz.

“Then, when all of Themyscira is simultaneously shitting its pants, that’s when Step Five kicks in,” Wesley supplied, adjusting his glasses, “While you all go to the Acropolis, Jay, Carter, and I will be placing my sleep gas canisters around the island; Jay moves so fast he’ll be mistaken for a strong wind, which will be explained by Johnny’s thunder, and Carter will help me cover more ground. When the time is right, they will all trigger at the same moment, and acting as Hypnos, the God of Sleep, I will ensure no especially perceptive Amazons discover our plot. It should also reduce bloodshed should violence break out.”

Wesley sighed as he and Carter touched down in a shadowy thicket, where no townsfolk would see them. He placed his mask over his head, considering the remote trigger in his hands. Then, as the sky turned black and the faux storm began, Wesley sighed and handed his spare mask over to Carter, letting Hawkman remove his helmet and apply it before he went through with the inevitable. 

A little ways away from the bushes they were hiding in, Wesley saw a mother and daughter looking up at the Acropolis. “Mommy, what’s going on?” the child asked, and Wesley’s heart twisted.

Before he could lose his nerve, he squeezed the trigger, and all across the island of Themyscira, sleep gas exploded all throughout the cities, towns, and villages. He heard a few Amazons coughing, then the telltale thumps as they began to hit the ground. “ Sleep, Amazons, ” he commanded, knowing Fate would amplify his voice to be heard all across the island as that of Hypnos, the Dream God, “ Sleep, and tomorrow you shall have a new queen. ”

“Step Five, I corrall all the members of the Royal Court on the Acropolis disguised as Hermes, the God of Messengers,” Jay said, then he smiled wryly as he tipped up his hat, “The helmet should help.”

Jay rushed up the Acropolis as Wesley’s gas expanded all around him. It was like watching the world move through molasses, watching the gas billow out around him in slow motion. Luckily, he could quite literally outrun it, not breathing any in as he managed to make it up the mountain and began running full tilt around the palace complex. His footsteps scoured the ground, carving a path where he ran, and idly, Jay wondered if future generations of Amazons would try to attach significance to the trench he was inadvertently making, believing it to be the act of a god. 

Then, he dismissed such thoughts. He had a job to do, and so long as he put one foot in front of the other, no one was making it on or off the Acropolis until Hippolyta had gone through with it.

“Then, Step Six,” Alan said heavily, “The gods arrive. With Fate’s illusion, I will appear as Apollo, God of Prophecy, and explain that the Oracle, Rhea, received a false vision concocted by Hephaestus and Poseidon, longtime enemies of Themyscira.”

“ AMAZONS! ” Alan cried in a booming voice, floating up into the sky so that he could descend down from it, carrying the disguised Wildcat and Johnny with him, “HEAR ME!”

The one in front wearing regal finery, Alan guessed it must have been Antiope, stood in open-mouthed shock as he descended, and he supposed Fate’s disguises must have done the trick. Another one, Alan supposed her to be the Oracle mentioned before, Rhea, dropped into a low bow.

“ Lord Apollo! ” she greeted, speaking loudly into the ground, “ Lord Zeus, Lord Ares! Your presence honors us! ”

Alan remained hovering in the sky, so that any imperfections in the disguises were masked by distance. Antiope, meanwhile, dropped to one knee in imitation of Rhea.

“Amazons, you have been deceived!” he cried heartily, pouring it on as thick as he could, “A false prophecy has been sent to you to make you weak! The work of Poseidon and Hephaestus, trying to dishonor the sanctity of Themyscira!”

Antiope and Rhea blanched, as did the rest of the royal party. Dessa and Philippus, for their parts, played the role of shocked and scared perfectly.

“ Oh, Far-Sighted Apollo! ” Rhea cried up to him, “ What lie has the Earthshaker and the Forge Master sent to us? ”

“And I’ll be Ares, the God of War,” Wildcat went on, crossing his arms, “Telling them that Antiope was the wrong choice for leader, and that they have to go with the firstborn, Hippolyta, instead.”

Ted spoke up, trying to match Alan’s regal tone. “ They have tried to make Antiope queen, when the line of succession is not hers! ” he shouted in a rough voice, hoping he was approximating what a War God sounded like, “ Hippolyta should be queen! ”

“Hippolyta?” Antiope asked in astonishment, “But Lord Ares, my sister is sick! Deathly ill! We have been using the magic of the Lasso of Truth to heal her, but-!”

“ SILENCE! ” Johnny roared, his voice amplified both by the illusion of being Zeus and by the power of the Living Thunderbolt. It was also augmented by the fact that the Acropolis began to shake beneath them.

“Meanwhile,” Rex said, grinning as he pulled up his hood, “I’ll be below the Acropolis, making the ground shake a little to sell the cinematography of the whole thing.”

Antiope dropped into a deep, apologetic bow, keeping her eyes to the ground as she tried to avoid the perceived God King’s ire. “The gods could not allow such deception to go unanswered,” Johnny went on, playing the part of Zeus extraordinarily well, “Themyscira is sacred land, and so we have taken action. Behold! Hippolyta, restored!”

“And then I will make my miraculous recovery, armed with the Lasso of Truth,” Hippolyta finished, “And once Antiope submits to my authority, Fate will transport you all away before we can be found out.”

Hippolyta stepped out from behind the statue of Hera, but thanks to Fate’s magic it seemed as though she emerged from inside of it. The Lasso glowed in her hand, and for the first time in four years, she saw her sister. 

“Hello, sister,” she said softly, and Antiope stared at her. 

“ Sister! ” she cried, still open-mouthed, “I-! You’re recovered!”

“My illness was never real to begin with,” Hippolyta said, the Lasso compelling her to tell the truth, but she had enough willpower to do so carefully, “It was all a trick.”

Oracle Rhea, meanwhile, looked distraught. “A false prophecy?” she murmured, “I did not think Lord Poseidon or Lord Hephaestus capable of such a thing…!”

“Antiope,” Hippolyta called, hopefully before Rhea could unravel the thread any more, “I believe you have something that belongs to me.”

Antiope still stared, but seemed to become aware of the crown on her head. Antiope once more looked to the gods, and ‘Zeus’, ‘Apollo’, and ‘Ares’ all looked down at her impassively.

“ Hippolyta shall rule, ” they all said in unison, the collaboration no doubt brought about by the careful coordination of Doctor Fate, and Antiope bowed her head.

Getting to her feet, she walked forward, keeping her eyes downcast, and knelt before her sister. Hippolyta pitied her as she removed the crown from her head and offered it.

“Hail, Queen Hippolyta,” she said clearly, and placing the Lasso of Truth at her hip, Hippolyta took the crown from her sister and breathed a sigh of relief as she placed it on her own head. 

“Hail, Queen Hippolyta!” Philippus cried, quickly joined by Dessa, and soon Rhea had no choice but to join in. Below, as Sandman’s gas dissipated and the Amazons began to wake up, they heard the cries from the mountain, and soon the cry was taken up by the whole country: 

“Hail, Queen Hippolyta! Hail, Queen Hippolyta! Hail, Queen Hippolyta!”

Hippolyta basked in the cheers of her people. She gave a subtle nod to the Men standing behind her, and in a flash of light and a final crack of thunder, the ‘gods’ were gone. The clouds dissipated, and sunlight began to shine down on Themyscira once again. That beam of sunlight was the last she would see of her old friends; she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sadness at their parting. Her thoughts wandered back to their final goodbye, not an hour before…

---

“There won’t be a chance to say goodbye?” Jay asked, looking crestfallen, and Hippolyta sighed sadly.

“No, not besides now,” she acknowledged. Jay seemed unsatisfied by that answer. In the blink of an eye, she felt herself wrapped in a tight embrace, and the speedster sighed into her shoulder.

“Be careful, Polly,” he murmured, “I’m gonna miss you.”

Hippolyta couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll miss you, too, Jay,” she agreed, patting his back, and finally, the speedster relented, stepping back and wiping the tears from his eyes. Then, Alan approached her, smiling a wounded, sad sort of smile as he hugged her as well, though more softly than Jay had.

“You did a lot for me, Hippolyta,” he said kindly, “It won’t be forgotten.” Hippolyta nodded wordlessly, unable to say anything appropriately profound to answer the compliment, and Alan stepped back. 

Kent was the next to step up, nodding to her and taking her hand in his firmly. “With this, a debt owed is repaid,” he said clearly, his grip growing tight around the Helm, “Good luck, Hippolyta of Themyscira. We’re all counting on you.”

Hippolyta nodded, and soon, all the rest were saying their goodbyes, though Hippolyta was never as close to them as she was to those three. And, of course, there was Wildcat.

Ted Grant hung back from the goodbyes for a little while, arms crossed and looking unhappy, until Hippolyta finally approached him. “Wildcat… Ted…” she started awkwardly, “I’m sorry for how things ended up between us.”

“It’s not your fault,” he sighed, his shoulders deflating as the tension left them, seemingly having been psyching up for this conversation, “It’s how things go. There’ll be someone else. For both of us.”

Hippolyta smiled sadly. “I know,” she sighed, “But for what it’s worth…” Quickly, before she could lose her nerve, she kissed him politely on the cheek; not lustful, but loving. “... I do wish it could have been you,” she finished, and Ted nodded, pursing his lips and obviously trying not to cry.

Hippolyta stepped back from the failed romance, then turned back toward the forest. To Themyscira; her past, and her future. Her pride and her shame. Her home and her strange land. “Okay,” she said, “Let’s get started.”

---

Hippolyta stood on the edge of the Acropolis, revelling in the weight of the crown upon her head. Behind her, the royal party sat in dumbfounded silence, all except for Dessa and Philippus, who knew the inner workings of the plan. To everyone else, it seemed as though their sickly princess had just made a miraculous recovery under the auspices of the gods; an unusual path to the throne if ever there was one.

Certain unpleasant things would need to be done, soon enough. For instance, no pretender to the throne can keep their royal titles, no matter how good-intentioned they were; Antiope would need to be given a new, non-royal position. General of the Armies was about the best Hippolyta could do; still a demotion, but not so terrible an insult as kicking her to the streets. She would still enjoy much respect throughout the island. 

Rhea may become a problem; her talent for clairvoyance may be able to see through Hippolyta’s lies, and if she made contact with the real Olympians, then they would be discovered. Rhea would need to be taken care of.

But still, for now, their plan had worked. She was Queen.

And now, she could prepare her country for war.

---

And thus is the sum total of my sins. Philippus recommended I write this down to try and ease my conscience, to be a better, more clear-headed ruler, less wracked with guilt, but I don’t know how effective it’s truly been.   I can only hope the JSA is doing its part in Man's World. It has been decades since I last spoke to them, on that fateful day.   My daughter, Diana, has been born, and though I love her with all my heart, I cannot help but see the Thunder in her lightning blue eyes. She is eager to learn, but she has much yet to do before she is ready to rule.

I am hiding this account in the deepest corner of our Archives; Dessa has agreed to help me, though her eyes grow dim with age. Is this the legacy I am leaving to my daughter? Lies and secrecy and deceit? Can I truly rule like this? I, who cast aside my friends in order to chase a crown that no longer belonged to me. I, who betrayed both my sisters- and my brothers-in-arms, all for power and control.  But if not me, then who? Who else knows to prepare for the coming of this Savage? 

By now, it doesn’t matter. If my soul is consigned to the Fields of Punishment in Hades, then so be it. I have done what was necessary, nothing less and nothing more. My people will be protected because of what I have done. The Savage is on the backfoot now; when he comes, Themyscira will be prepared.

When I go to face the Judges of the Damned, be they the Court of Hades or my old friend The Spectre, they will not find a fight. They will only find an old woman; an old woman tired, but satisfied she did her duty. An old woman weary from a mind more filled with guilt than it is with hope.

So perhaps I am a fool. Perhaps I am a traitor. Perhaps I am a fraud. But I did what needed to be done. There was no way out, there was no solution. I did the only thing I could do. The only thing that mattered. 

So damn you, Muses! Damn you, gods! Damn you, Men, and damn you, Savage!

I will not falter. I am Hippolyta of Themyscira, Forty-First of My Name. 

And I know the truth.

---

Sat in the flickering firelight of the Archives of Themyscira, seventy-three years after the fact, Cassie Sandsmark and Archivist Acantha stared down at the little tome in abject horror. 

“Amazons lose the blessings of the gods if they allow themselves to be taken in bondage,” Cassie whispered, looking at Acantha with fear in her eyes.

“The Queen went to Man’s World…” Acantha answered, looking just as horrified as Cassie felt alarmed, “She allowed herself to be bound, and she staged her ascension to the throne by letting Men masquerade as the gods! ”

“Which means not only did Hippolyta lose her powers…” Cassie went along, her alarm growing more and more as she realized what the little journal meant.

Acantha stared back at Cassie, whispering the truth in horrified realization, “She is a false queen! ”

The whispered truth sat between them like a loaded gun, and Cassie could scarcely dare to believe it. In an audience years ago, the Queen had let slip to her, Diana, and Donna that she had gone to Man’s World at some point, around World War II even, but she’d never made the connection to the JSA. 

And the implications of Hippolyta and Zeus leading to Diana…

Cassie felt sick. What she and Acantha had just stumbled on was incredibly dangerous information. And she had to hand it all over to Tim Drake if she wanted her mother to live.

The universe didn’t give her enough time to process that realization before a fresh new hell was visited upon them.

“ WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!? ” came a new voice roaring from the entryway of the chamber, and Cassie and Acantha leapt to their feet as their stomachs sank into their feet. There, in all her glory, standing in the dim light of the torches, flanked by her trusty companion Philippus, was Hippolyta. Queen of the Amazons.

And she looked pissed.

Chapter 47: Greek Tragedy

Cassie shivered as Hippolyta stood in the passageway, dramatically blocking their exit from the Archives. Worse, her trusty guard Philippus was right by her side, hefting her spear threateningly; if Cassie and Acantha even thought about making a break for it, it would end poorly. Cassie figured she could probably take Philippus in a fight, but while also against Hippolyta and trying to defend Acantha? It was a tall order, even for her. There was no two ways about it; they were screwed.

“M-My Queen, we were just doing some research, and--!!” Acantha stammered, trying to cover them, say something, but Hippolyta slammed the butt of her spear into the stone, the sound ringing outward like a bell.

“ ENOUGH! ” she cried harshly, “You think I don’t know when someone reads my journal, Acantha? Did you truly not think I wouldn’t know when someone broke my seal?”

Cassie still stared at the enraged queen in terror as Acantha opened and closed her mouth, still trying to find some kind of response. Hippolyta seemed to regain her composure, but the wrath in her eyes was no less diminished as she regarded the two of them. Reaching into a pouch on her belt, she pulled out a small charm, a peacock, blinking purple; it matched the design of the Royal Seal.

“I knew from the moment the wax was broken that you were reading my journal,” she said vindictively, “Unfortunately, I was delayed by a chance encounter with General Antiope and the guardswoman, Artemis, outside. So… how much did you read?”

Cassie’s mouth dried as Acantha went pale as a ghost. Hippolyta raised an eyebrow as she looked down at the discarded scroll, and Philippus hefted her spear beside her.

“The Queen asked you a question,” she said threateningly, and Acantha finally seemed to find her voice.

“A-A-All of it, My Queen,” she managed, and Hippolyta sighed sadly.

“Then this is unfortunate…” she sighed, and Cassie’s eyes widened as the queen gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod to Philippus.

In the blink of an eye, Philippus’s spear, already levelled in a threatening gesture, struck forward through the air, quick as a viper, and Cassie watched in horror as it pierced through bone and flesh.

Acantha let out a quick, wet gasp, and in shock, turned her gaze down to her sternum, where Philippus’s spear still protruded from her ribcage, bright red blood beginning to well up around the wound. “ ACANTHA!! ” Cassie screamed, lunging at Philippus and drawing her sword just as fast, managing to cut the spear at its shaft. There was a brief, desperate struggle as Cassie tried to bring her sword down on Philippus, but in her fear and panic, she was careless; Philippus managed to switch her grip on the spear, using it as a polearm, and disarmed Cassie in a few expert moves that the younger Amazon had never seen before. In a few moments, Philippus had Wonder Girl in a chokehold, using the shaft of her spear to keep Cassie’s hands pinned to her collarbone as she raged against the hold to no avail.

 From her new position, however, Cassie got a clear view of Acantha. The librarian had stumbled, her own blood staining her hands as she tried to put pressure on her wound. She tumbled to the ground, and Cassie cried out in anguish, hating the fear and betrayal she saw in the Archivist’s eyes.

“ M-My Queen, w-why…? ” Acantha whispered, and for her part, Hippolyta at least had the grace to look ashamed.

“I wish it hadn’t come to this, Acantha…” she sighed, and Cassie screamed and strained against Philippus’s hold as the queen knelt to pick up Cassie’s own discarded sword, knocked aside by her bodyguard. 

Hippolyta inspected the blade for a moment, then turned to Acantha and slashed her throat. Cassie stared on in shock as the librarian’s lifeblood poured from the wound, running down her neck and staining the pure white cotton of her chiton a deep, horrific red, like the color of winegrapes. Acantha choked and gasped, then fell to her elbows, still looking up at the Queen with shock and betrayal and hurt and fear in her eyes, and it took far too long for her to stop gasping. She locked eyes with Cassie, pleading for something, anything, but there was nothing Cassie could do.

Wonder Girl didn’t know how to fix this. 

Acantha fell facedown in a puddle of her own blood.

And Cassie screamed. 

With an anguished wail of grief and rage, she stomped her foot downward, right onto Philippus’s toes, and it had the desired effect. With a sharp cry of pain, Philippus’s grip loosened just enough for Cassie to shift her wait and try and throw Philippus over her shoulder in a judo flip she heard learned from Tim during their Young Justice days.

What happened next can hardly be considered Wonder Girl’s fault. Hippolyta, still holding the sword, noticed Philippus’s pain and turned from Acantha’s body to try and assist. Cassie’s sword was still held upright in her hand when she did so. Philippus tumbled over Cassie’s shoulder just as the Queen took a step forward, the sword outstretched in some aborted motion to try and stop what was happening, but it was too late.

Faster than either of the two could react, Philippus came flying down onto the point of Cassie’s sword, still held in Hippolyta’s hand, and it pierced right through her liver, a glancing blow that would have done minimal damage otherwise, but with the momentum of Cassie’s judo throw, it managed to slash open Philippus’s side in a long, messy gash of blood.

Hippolyta dropped the sword in horror, screaming in grief at what she had just done, while Philippus lay groaning on the ground in pain, still dazed and probably going into shock. Cassie staggered backward and slipped on the stone floor, now slick with blood, catching herself with her hands and accidentally staining her palms red.

Then, she realized she had only a few precious seconds while the Queen was stunned. Breaking out into a sprint, Cassie lunged for the copy of Hippolyta’s war journal, grabbing it up and trying to get as little blood on the pages as possible, then she bounced off the wall, turned, grabbed her sword from the cobbles and ran for dear life.

“ NO! CASSANDRA!!! ” she heard the bellowing cry behind her, but Cassie didn’t stop. She dodged her way through stacks of honeycomb scroll shelves and long-abandoned candelabras, trying to remember the way out as she moved generally in the direction of fresh air. 

She reached the long tunnel that led out, and she pushed herself to run faster as she quite literally saw the light at the end of it. In a split second, she burst out of the Archives, blowing right past Artemis, and the stunned guardswoman had just enough time to notice that Cassie’s hands and sword were covered in blood as she bolted into the sky.

“ Hey! ” Artemis cried in surprise, her body not yet caught up to her brain, but by then it was too late.

There was one big difference between natural born Amazons and those that had gone out into the world to be Wonder Women and Wonder Girls. The Amazons of Themyscira had fantastic abilities; near invulnerability, longevity, tenfold strength and so on, but as many blessings as they had, they lacked one. When Diana had gone into Man’s World, the god Hermes had been impressed with her courage and devotion to the truth, and blessed her with flight, a gift he had in turn agreed to bestow on her proteges.

In short, Cassie could fly, and Artemis could not.

So, as Cassie soared through the sky and away from Themyscira, with blood on her hands and her blade, no one stopped her. And, more crucially, she realized that no one knew what had happened.

It was Cassie’s word vs the Queen’s.

---

Dr. Helena Sandsmark tried not to move her hands; any minor twitch sent pain flaring up her arms again. She flinched as the door opened at the darkened borders of the room, and the African man from before, one of the three who had kidnapped her, entered, equipped with a nondescript toolbox. “What do you want?” she asked him, initially fearful as he approached, but the African man merely knelt by her chair and reached into his toolbox, producing not some implement of torture, but instead simple bandages.

He was silent as he dressed her wounds, taking care to move her hands as little as possible, a gesture for which she would be more grateful if she hadn’t been kidnapped and shot in the first place. 

“Do you have a name?” she asked eventually, and the man inclined his head.

“Yes,” he said easily. He did not elaborate.

Helena sighed. “Would you care to share it?” she prompted again, and he huffed a small laugh to himself.

“You may call me Z, Dr. Sandsmark,” he said, and Helena nodded.

“Alright, Z, then,” she went on, “Why do you work for a crazed lunatic like Tim Drake, Z?”

If Z was offended by Helena insulting his boss, he didn’t show it on his face, nor did his hands stall in their work. “Mr. Drake did his best to get me out of a bad situation, and now he is in one himself,” Z explained, “I owe him my life. It is only fair that I remain by his side. That, and he is… a friend.”

“My daughter was his friend, too,” Helena pointed out after a moment, “And now she’s in the same boat I am. What assurances do you have that he won’t do the same to you?”

“Besides the fact that I have no family left for him to exploit?” Z said with a serene smirk, “He only turned on your daughter after she had abandoned him in a time of need. I intend to do no such thing. And, even if I were to find myself in a situation where I was willing to do so, my life is not so valuable to me that I would refuse a traitor’s death. Your paltry attempts at mind games are amusing, Dr. Sandsmark, but you have the wrong target. Mr. Drake has my complete and unquestioning loyalty.”

Helena sighed, laying her head against the back of the chair she was still shackled to. “Can’t blame a girl for trying,” she muttered, trying to remain good-natured, and Z huffed another soft laugh. “I can’t place your accent, and I usually pride myself on things like that,” she went on, “Where are you from?”

“A small village in the south of the Congo,” he explained evenly, not missing a beat, “I wouldn’t expect a Westerner to place my accent, as I am the last person alive who speaks with it. My village was destroyed in the fighting of the Second Congo War, and its people slaughtered. I was eight.”

Helena swallowed down the emotion in her throat. “I’m sorry,” she said lamely.

“Everyone is, but no one cares,” he answered, the barest hint of anger edging his voice, “Do not give me your pity, Dr. Sandsmark. I don’t need it.”

Helena fell silent at that. Though the tone of his voice never wavered, she could tell he was angry. Who wouldn’t be, when discussing how their childhood home had been wiped off the map? “Your village…” she said quietly, “What was its name?”

Z hesitated for a moment, the first time he had in the entire conversation. “Watuwema,” he said eventually, “It was called Watuwema.”

“Watuwema,” Helena said experimentally, the syllables feeling foreign and wistful on her tongue, “It sounds like a nice place to live.”

Z hesitated once more. “It wasn’t,” he answered shortly, and Helena saw him reach for his toolbox, “But it was still home.”

In easy, practiced motions, Z took a socket wrench to the bolts keeping her wrist clamps tight, beginning to loosen them. “What are you doing?” she asked in confusion, and Z met her eyes for the first time.

“Moving you,” he explained, “We can’t have your daughter finding out where we are and going back to tell the Justice League; this was always a temporary arrangement. Mr. Drake has a spot planned for your reunion.”

“And where, praytell, might that be?” Helena asked as Z moved on to he clamps at her ankles.

“You’ll find out,” Z said cryptically.

“...What’s to stop me from trying to escape?” she asked as he finally freed her from the chair.

Z raised an eyebrow at her. “Dr. Sandsmark, I am a highly-trained assassin instructed from the age of fifteen in every method of killing yet known to man. I have fought countless sparring matches against the greatest martial artists on the planet, and the blood of ten thousand seven hundred and ninety-four people is on my hands. I have travelled the globe, fought highly skilled combatants, and come out alive,” he stood up, towering over her while she remained seated, and she couldn’t help but notice the rippling muscles beneath his shirt, “And you are an archaeologist.”

Helena blinked. “I see your point,” she conceded.

Z nodded, then helped her to her feet and cuffed her hands behind her back. “What happened to all that confidence that I wouldn’t try to escape?” she asked snidely, and Z huffed.

“A precaution against nuisances, nothing more,” he said easily, and then he removed her glasses, tucking them into the interior pocket of her blazer before placing a thick blindfold over her eyes. “Now march,” he commanded, a firm grip on her shoulder, “I hope you don’t have a fear of flying.”

---

Cassie couldn’t breathe. As soon as she had crossed Themyscira’s magical barrier and reemerged into Man’s World, she had dove down towards the nearest island and plunged her hands into the sea, trying to wash off the blood. She scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed, but no matter how long she spent, digging her hands into the wet sand, she could never get the blood off. 

She had heard of things like this, in books and movies and things like that, that after getting blood on your hands, you feel like you can never get it off, even though the physical blood goes away with a few minutes in the water. It was less a stain on your hands and more a stain on your soul. She hadn’t really understood it until now. 

This was far from the first time she had blood on her hands. She had been Wonder Girl for years at this point, had a long, painful career with Young Justice, Teen Titans, and now the Justice League. She knew what it felt like to stab something, to feel its blood run down her blade and onto her fingers, the sticky, coppery feeling it left behind.

But this was different. This wasn’t some mindless beast she had to kill to stay alive, this wasn’t some abhorrent monster who deserved it, this was an innocent woman. A librarian, and archivist, who dedicated her life to the pursuit of knowledge, and had been betrayed by the Queen she had sworn to serve. It wasn’t that Cassie had killed Acantha; she hadn’t. It was that she had gotten Acantha killed by asking her about the forbidden books, by putting her in danger. 

Now, a woman was dead. Maybe two; she hadn’t seen how bad Philippus’s wounds were. And all because one of her oldest friends was holding her mother hostage. Idly, Cassie looked down at the partially stained tome that had caused her so much trouble; luckily most of it was still legible. She didn’t know what she’d do if this had all been for nothing.

A woman was dead.

A woman was dead. 

Because of Tim. Because of Cassie. Because of everything that had happened, and kept happening to her. This wasn’t fair! Why did it have to be Cassie that got caught up in all this? With secret immortal conspiracies and fake coups and kidnapping and murder! Why did she have to be Wonder Girl? Why did she have to be Tim’s friend!?

Hot, angry tears welled up in her eyes. There was no way out; Acantha was dead, and her mother would be too if Cassie didn’t deliver the journal. Hippolyta would be out for blood because of what had been done to Philippus, which meant that she would contact Diana, which meant that Diana would hear some warped version of the story. Cassie clenched her hands into fists, gripping tightly to fistfuls of sand like her life depended on it.

It wasn’t. fucking. FAIR!!

With a short, strangled scream, she threw her arms down into the dirt as hard as she could, the anger desperately wanting to be released but Cassie just as desperately trying to keep it together. The tears that had welled up finally began to fall, and Cassie tried to breathe around a hard lump in her throat. She was a superhero, an Amazon, a warrior! She shouldn’t be crying. Big girls don’t cry.

But for just that moment, it was all too much. None of it made sense, and Cassie couldn’t take it. For just that moment, Wonder Girl broke down.

The moment didn’t last long enough. She didn’t know how long she spent on that beach, crying her eyes out, but it wasn’t long enough. Still, she dried her eyes as best she could and dug her phone out of her bag, praying that wherever she was, she had signal.

As luck would have it, she did; taking a quick breath, she dialled her mother’s number.

---

Tim started for a moment as Dr. Sandsmark’s phone began to buzz on the table in front of him. The caller ID said ‘Cassie’. Tim sighed, then answered the phone.

“Cassie,” he said coldly.

“ Tim, ” Cassie returned in equal measure. She sounded like she’d been crying.

“You have my information?” he asked, keeping his voice level.

“ You have my mother? ” Cassie asked him, and Tim sighed; she was trying to sound confident, and she was failing horribly.

“She’s safe and comfortable, and you’ll see her soon so long as you give me my information,” Tim answered, and Cassie remained quiet for a short moment.

“ I have what you need, ” she said finally, “ An old war journal straight from the Queen herself. But things didn’t really go according to plan… ”

“You were seen?” Tim guessed, and Cassie sighed over the line.

“ Not just seen; caught,” she said, “ Red-handed. Literally. Queen Hippolyta wasn’t happy about Acantha and I snooping around in her journal.”

“And who, praytell, is Acantha?” Tim asked idly, wary of involving anyone else in his already complex plan.

“ Was, ” Cassie corrected, sounding bitter and tired, “ She was the Archivist. She’s dead, because of me. Because of you.”

Tim winced. “I’m sorry,” he said truthfully.

“ Liar! ” Cassie snarled back at him, “ You’re not capable of feeling sorry. You’re a monster walking around in the shape of my friend. It took me too long to see that, but I do now. So does Bart, so does Barbara, even your own son sees it. Are you happy now, Tim? Now that you’ve finally got what you want?”

“... I didn’t want this,” Tim told her after a long, tense silence, “And I don’t have what I want yet. What I want is information; so where can I find this journal you speak of?”

“ Where can I find my mother? ” Cassie asked back.

“This isn’t a negotiation,” Tim argued, “Where is it?”

“ I have it, ” Cassie answered finally, “ I have it here with me. I’m on a beach somewhere in the Mediterranean. ”

“Good, you’re alone, then,” Tim sighed thankfully, running a hand through his hair, “I’ll send you an address for the handoff. I don’t think I need to remind you about absolute secrecy, or the consequences of breaking it.”

“ I hate you, ” was Cassie’s answer, and then she hung up.

Tim sighed and hung his head, looking down blearily at his plans for Operation Mockingbird, the most destructive thing he’d yet had to do in the neverending shitstorm that was his life. “I hate me, too,” he answered.

---

Cassie grimaced as she touched down outside the abandoned building Tim had chosen; it was a very particular choice. It was the old Arkham Asylum building.

About five years ago, when Kate Kane had become the warden, all the inmates from Arkham had been moved to a more secure facility on the outskirts of the city, purpose-built for the task rather than being a repurposed mansion. The Wayne Foundation had funded the new facility, hoping that with most of the old Rogues gone, the asylum could use the new building as a way to distance itself from its past reputation. 

Old Arkham, meanwhile, hung empty and open on its island in the bay, rotting and festering like an open wound. Cassie knew immediately why Tim had chosen it; eight years ago, when he had first gone on the run, the Justice League, Cassie included, had tried to haul him to Arkham. When that happened, Old Arkham was still an operational facility. Tim was using this place as a power play.

Cassie touched down by the old front door of the manor, emaciated by its years left in disrepair. “Am I supposed to knock?” she called out in a loud voice, and rather than receiving an answer, the door in front of her creaked open, an old automatic motor struggling to revive itself as its rusted pistons pulled the door out of her way.

Cassie sighed as she stepped inside, wrinkling her nose at the decay. It was dark, and damp; rain had gotten in at some point, and Cassie had noticed on her way in that part of the roof had collapsed. Cassie didn’t really believe in ghosts, but in a place like this, it was hard not to think Old Arkham wasn’t haunted. She thought she could still hear the faint screams of the patients, somewhere down the halls.

Still, despite the rot, there were signs of life, signs that Tim and his team of evildoers had been there. Most noticeably, there was a series of yellow painted arrows on the floor, and Cassie cursed as she began to follow the path deeper and deeper into the ruined asylum. She passed nameplates on doors that looked familiar; P. Isely, O. Cobblepot, H. Dent, J. Crane, H. Quinzel. One was only marked with a “John Doe” nameplate and an etching of a smiley face. Cassie had a feeling she knew whose cell it used to be.

The path of yellow arrows ended as she approached one of the deepest parts of the asylum, into the basement. The door was closed, but slightly ajar to show it wasn’t locked. Cassie sighed as she put her hand on the doorknob, took a breath, then opened it.

As soon as she stepped inside, a spotlight lit up on her, and she blinked the glare out of her vision. “Wonder Girl,” a familiar voice called out from further inside the room, and one by one, lights on the ceiling began to switch on, the ancient breakers humming with exertion as electricity coursed through them once again.

On the other side of the room, three intense-looking assassins stood with weapons at the ready, and one, a tall, well-muscled Black man, stood holding their prisoner.

Her mother looked frazzled, and tired, and scared, but none the worse for wear, if you disregarded the massive bandages around her hands. 

And a little ways apart from them, facing Cassie as he lounged in a fancy-looking, high-backed chair that must have come from Arkham’s days as an actual manor instead of an asylum, was Red Robin.

“So good of you to join us,” he said with a cold smirk, leaning his head on his hand nonchalantly, “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show.”

“Didn’t really have a choice, did I?” Cassie muttered murderously, clenching the war journal in her fist, “I have what you want, you have what I want. Let’s do this trade and be done with it.”

“Not so fast, Cassie,” Tim said, getting up from his makeshift throne, “We never actually discussed what’s in that journal. How do I know it’s not just the crushes Hippolyta had when she was younger?”

“A woman died for this!” Cassie hissed, but Tim seemed unfazed from behind his cowl.

“I’m aware,” he answered coolly, “Now, if you’d be so kind as to give me the sparknotes? What. takes down. an Amazon? ”

Cassie clenched her jaw. She knew full well what this information could be used for; it could be used against her, or Donna, or gods-forbid, Diana. It could be used to invade Themyscira. For all she knew, Tim was working with the Savage Hippolyta fought in Germany. 

“Why do you need to know?” she asked finally, clutching the journal to her chest protectively, “What Amazons are you planning on taking down?”

“You have my word that no one will die,” Tim answered cryptically.

“Forgive me for not thinking your word is worth much these days,” Cassie snapped back.

Tim inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Touche,” he allowed, and he pulled out his gun and aimed at her mother’s head, eliciting cries of fear from both mother and daughter.

“New idea,” Tim said harshly, cocking back the hammer of the revolver, “Tell me, or I blow her brains out!”

“Stop!” Cassie begged, and her mother looked at her.

“Cassie, don’t tell him anything, okay sweetheart?” she told her, trying to keep her voice steady even as her heart hammered in her chest, “I’m not worth it! Just tear up that journal and keep all those people safe, okay?”

“ Mom--!! ” Cassie cried, stepping forward, but Tim held out a hand to stop her.

“Dr. Sandsmark, any more encouraging words to your daughter and I will personally put a bullet through your tongue,” he said quietly, his voice simmering with barely contained rage, “Now Cassie: tell. me. now. ”

Cassie looked at Tim, then to her mother, then to the trio of assassins, who looked bored if anything, then back to Tim. “Tim…” she whimpered, trying to keep a handle on her emotions.

“It’s a simple choice, Cassie,” Tim told her harshly, “Which is more important to you? An island full of women who hate you, or your mother’s life? It’s not rocket science!”

“It’s an impossible choice!” Cassie cried out, and Tim snapped.

“ Is it!? ” he asked intensely, his voice echoing through the empty asylum, and Cassie closed her eyes. 

“It’s bondage,” she whispered finally, her voice quavering, “Amazons lose their powers when they allow themselves to be bound by an enemy.”

“ Cassie… ” her mother whispered, overcome by emotion, and Cassie couldn’t deal with the dilemma of whether her mother sounded proud or disappointed.

“Bondage…” Tim murmured thoughtfully, “Capture; a warrior’s shame. I suppose it makes sense…”

Tim finally retracted the gun from her mother’s temple, replacing it back in its holster at his hip. “Thank you, Cassie,” he said clearly, turning his attention back to her, “I appreciate it. Now then; I’m afraid I can’t let either of you leave.”

“What!?” Dr. Sandsmark asked, just as Cassie snapped, “ We had a deal! ”

“I’m altering the deal,” Tim said sternly, a sly grin playing at his lips, “Pray I do not alter it further.”

“Don’t you fucking dare quote Star Wars at me, motherfucker-!” Cassie snapped, rushing forward with sword in hand, but Tim was quicker. In an instant, his gun left its holster and a gunshot rang out, and Helena Sandsmark’s gut-wrenching scream filled the air. Cassie watched in horror as her mother crumbled to the ground, her left leg bloodied and mangled as the bullet had passed through her kneecap. Seeing her mother, sobbing on the ground in a steadily-growing pool of her own blood, shocked Cassie into stillness for a moment, if only because Cassie couldn’t be sure if she was seeing her mother or Acantha in that moment.

Tim, meanwhile, only sighed as Cassie shook with rage. “Now, I was hoping I wouldn’t have to do that…” he said sadly, holstering his pistol again, “See what happens when you don’t think before you act? I expected better of you, Cassie.”

Cassie clenched her jaw and tried not to mutter a curse in Amazon.

Tim smiled thinly, “Last time I’ll make that mistake. Owens, the pod, please.”

One of the assassins, Owens, Cassie presumed, went walking off into one of the still-dark edges of the room, and yet more lights kicked on. Off to the left was a large, dusty pod, looking like it had just recently been reactivated.

“What’s going on…?” Cassie asked, turning back to Tim, and Tim smiled.

“Do you recognize it?” he asked, “I know you weren’t in Gotham so much when we were younger, but I’m wondering. It’s a cryostasis pod, developed by Arkham’s very own Victor Fries. It’s one of a kind, too; this pod used to hold someone very important, until I woke her up a few years ago.”

“Nora Fries,” Cassie realized, “Mister Freeze’s wife. What do you mean you woke her up!? ”

“I found the cure to her disease,” Tim explained, “It seemed cruel to let her lie there. Especially when I could use her to gain her husband’s loyalty. She’s a lovely person; makes a mean banana bread.”

“So why do you have it down here?” Cassie asked, “Why not toss it out? Get rid of the bad memories.”

“Well, for one thing, it’s a very expensive and valuable machine,” Tim pointed out, “Do you know how long it took humanity to crack suspended animation? It wasn’t easy, I’ll tell you that. Dr. Fries and his work were instrumental in that regard; his design is a little expensive, not practical for widespread use, but it’s still perfectly safe and functional. Which is why you and your mother will be getting inside.”

“You can’t be serious,” Cassie growled, and Tim raised an eyebrow.

“If I were to let you leave, what’s the first thing you would do?” Tim asked, and before she could answer, he held up his hand, “And before you give me another petty excuse for a lie, don’t bother; I already know. You’ll go tell Diana what happened, and then in about twelve hours the entire Justice League will be bearing down on my head. I can’t have that. I am in the middle of a delicate operation here, Cassie, and I need things to go off without a hitch. Getting you and Dr. Sandsmark involved was an unfortunate necessity, and now that I’ve gotten you involved, I am on a stricter timetable than before.”

“Diana isn’t stupid,” Cassie countered, “She’ll realize I’m missing. She’ll come looking.”

“Yes, she will,” Tim agreed, “She may not be stupid, but she’s also no detective. She’ll never come looking for you here, and even if she asks for Batman’s help, he won’t know the first place to start looking. It will take them time to track you down, Cassie, and that’s all the time I need.”

Tim smiled, not a cold, calculated thing to goad her, but an actual, genuine smile of accomplishment. “You see, this was the last piece of the puzzle I needed,” he explained, “From here on out, everything else is a matter of time. Soon, Gotham itself will be grovelling at my feet, and I’ll have Wonder Girl to thank for all her efforts.”

“ You’re delusional! ” Cassie snapped, “Whatever you’re planning, the Justice League will stop you!”

“Oh, I’m delusional, am I?” Tim scoffed, “Why do you think I set up shop here? ”

Tim drew his pistol, aiming it at her mother once more. “Now, enough dawdling,” he said, “Get in the pod.”

“My mom’s going to bleed out,” Cassie pointed out desperately, and Tim merely shook his head as Helena Sandsmark groaned. 

“No, she won’t,” he said, “Suspended animation, remember? She’ll need medical attention as soon as I wake you up, but for now, she’ll be okay. Now get. in. the pod. ”

Cassie cursed, then cursed again as she approached Owens, who waited patiently. “I’ll be taking your weapons, there, Miss,” he said, an almost apologetic smile on his face, and Cassie sneered at him.

“Go fuck yourself,” she snapped, handing over her sword and shield.

“That’s always Plan B,” Owens admitted.

Another one of the assassins, a bald woman, barked a sharp laugh. “Oh, please!” she said snidely, “As if you could ever get laid!”

“ Enough, ” the Black assassin growled, and the other two listened; he seemed to be in charge. 

Trying to preserve what was left of her dignity, Cassie climbed into the pod. The metal was ice cold, but she supposed that was to be expected. She watched like a hawk as the Black assassin picked her mother up, almost gingerly, taking care no to disturb her injured leg. In any other situation, Cassie would almost say he cared.

Cassie helped him lay her mother down, making sure to move her leg as little as possible; Helena still made horrible sounds of pain that Cassie didn’t think she’d ever be able to get out of her head.

The same assassin closed the pod, and Tim stood at the controls. 

Their eyes met. This boy used to be her friend; they used to play Smash Bros and Mariokart and eat pizza.

Now, she was pretty sure she would kill him at the first available opportunity.

And as Tim looked into her eyes, he saw her hatred. The whiteout lenses of his cowl hid the profound sadness in his own. He took a breath, then pulled the lever that would activate the pod. “ Sorry, Cassie, ” he whispered, and Cassie and her mother took shivery breaths as ice cold gel began to flood the pod.

It raised up above their mouths, and one last breath escaped their lips as the suspended animation set in.

---

“That was pretty intense, Boss,” Pru said to him, putting a hand on his shoulder, “You alright?”

“I’m fine, Pru,” he lied, “It had to be done. Besides, she betrayed me first; we haven’t been friends for a long time.”

The Assassin Trio gave each other a few skeptical looks. Tim pulled his cowl down, running a hand through his hair. “How far along are you with the assignment I gave you earlier?” he asked, and Z hummed thoughtfully.

“Perhaps twenty-five percent done,” he supplied, “It is a large job.”

“And we got called away to play babysitter for a while,” Owens griped, “You’re lucky Pru and I were already in the city for this little shindig.”

“Any trouble from the Bats?” Tim asked, ignoring his complaints.

“Haven’t seen hide nor hair of ‘em,” Pru answered, “Looks like they’re laying low for something.”

“Bruce is probably waiting to see what happens in the fallout of the Penguin’s murder,” Tim mused, “We should give him something to chew on. Have one of the Rogues cause a distraction, some kind of turf war.”

“Er… about that…” Owens murmured uncertainly, and Tim turned to him.

“What?” he asked, feeling impatient; he needed to get back to Metropolis so he could tend to Artemis and Kr-II.

“You’ve kinda been distant for a while, Boss,” Pru said, “A bunch of the Rogues are starting to wonder why we’re still going through with this whole Mockingbird thing.”

“Because it’s the greatest score in the history of crime!” Tim snapped, “What other motivation do they need!?”

“Whoa, hey, don’t shoot the messenger,” Pru said defensively, holding up her hands, “I’m just tellin’ ya what I’ve heard. Gossip and all that.”

“And no offense, Boss, but they’re kinda right to wonder,” Owens pointed out, “I mean, you’re hardly in the office anymore. You’ve been back for ages now, but it feels like we’ve hardly seen you.”

“I’ve been busy, Owens!” Tim growled, “First, my son got kidnapped, and then I got summoned to be Lex Luthor’s errand boy! Now, I have to make all these preparations for Mockingbird before this whole plan goes tits up!”

“What I think Pru and Owens are trying to say, sir, is that the Rogues could use some reassurances,” Z cut in, his voice low and calm, “Their friend was just murdered, and so far, it seems like you’ve done nothing to chase the killer. These aren’t the same petty crooks you left seven years ago; they’ve grown, and changed. You had a strong effect on them. Now, they will need stronger motivations than money.”

Tim sighed, running a hand over his face. He was a little insulted at the insinuation that he hadn’t cared about Oswald’s death; he had, dammit, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it! The only thing he could do was keep plowing forward, and do his best to juggle the priorities of Lex Luthor and the Light with his own plans. 

It seemed that even after he switched sides, everyone still expected miracles of him. 

“Fine,” he muttered, drawing his cowl back up, “I have some business left in Gotham anyway before I go back. Call a meeting at LexCorp.”

Tim turned to stalk out of the building, his cape swishing behind him. “The Rogues want to talk?” he asked no one in particular, “Let’s talk.”

Chapter 48: The Truth Will Out

Tim’s office was as quiet as ever as he stepped inside. He’d had to change back into a civilian suit to appear functional for the regular LexCorp staffers; after all, it just wouldn’t do if people found out that Tim Drake, Head of R&D at LexCorp was also the notorious domestic terrorist Red Robin.

Tim murmured slightly as he felt a headache coming on; his phone buzzed. It was a subtle alarm; it had been 24 hours since Tim had last taken his medicine; Tim had been awake that whole time, so he needed to keep track. Without any fanfare, Tim opened one of the drawers in his desk, took out the various bottles, and began downing the respective shots. One was an antibiotic for his missing spleen. One was the Lazarus Cure. One was a multivitamin. One was espresso. One was whiskey.

He pointedly ignored the glare Pru was giving him. “I’m ready,” he said.

Pru laughed disbelievingly. “Oh really? When’s the last time you slept? Or bathed, for that matter?” she asked pointedly.

“Don’t worry about it,” Tim answered her, waiting for the espresso shot to kick in, “Just back me up in there, alright?”

Pru snorted. “Whatever you say…” she muttered, but she opened the door for him as he made his way toward the board meeting room. It was after hours; the lights were dark. No one was here except the ones he allowed to be here.

Still, it was uncanny walking through the empty halls that were normally bustling with workers. Tim felt like he was seeing a part of the world he wasn’t meant to see; like the developers had never intended for him to go here at this time of day. It was a childish feeling, but it was there.

Tim reached the room. He heard the dull hum of conversation on the inside; voices he recognized, both from his days as Robin and in more recent years. He figured he could recognize their voices anywhere, now. Tim took a fortifying breath, wished he had one more shot of whiskey, then pushed the doors open.

They were all gathered around the table. Some sitting, some standing. The conversation stopped as soon as he entered the room. Everyone was looking at him.

“Gentlemen,” he said to the Rogues clearly, taking his seat at the head of the table, “I understand you want to talk.”

---

Diana frowned as the dialtone droned in her ear. “Come on, Cassie…” she murmured, hoping against hope that the fifth time would be the charm.

“Hey, it’s Cassie! Leave a message!”

Diana cursed and hung up the phone, having half a mind to cast her phone out the window in front of her. Cassie had been missing for almost an entire day, along with her mother. Dr. Sandsmark had obviously been kidnapped, so Diana could only assume that the same thing had happened to Cassie.

That was why she and her first protégé, Donna Troy, had come to Cassie’s apartment. They were trying to investigate, to pick up a lead, but everything here seemed to be untouched.

“Still nothing?” Donna asked, her expression just as pained as Diana felt, and Diana nodded.

“Dammit,” Donna sighed, “Who do we think could’ve done this? Who has it out for Cassie? Or you?”

“Plenty of people,” Diana sighed, putting a hand to her temple to stave off a headache, “Ares. Cheetah. Circe.”

“Maybe it could be someone from Cassie’s Titans days?” Donna suggested, “I could ask Wally to look into a possible HIVE comeback.”

“If it was HIVE, then why take Helena?” Diana asked, “That’s the part of this that continues to confuse me. Why take Cassie’s mother as well?”

“Leverage,” Donna said instantly, “Cassie’s the only Amazon with a family in Man’s World. Someone could be threatening Dr. Sandsmark to get to Cassie.”

“Perhaps…” Diana conceded, frowning as she knelt to move a discarded magazine, “But who would have the resources?”

“Cheetah’s a solo act, so it’s probably not her,” Donna pointed out.

“Agreed, and this kind of subterfuge is far from Ares’ realm,” Diana continued, “Circe has been silent for a decade. That, and sorceress has no special animosity for Cassie.”

“… We’re no good at this, are we?” Donna sighed forlornly, and Diana huffed a humorless laugh.

“We are certainly no detectives,” she agreed. Diana stood up, looking out the window at the view Cassie had for herself. It was a good apartment, paid for by her new Justice League salary. Downtown property in Saint Louis, with a stunning view of the Arch and the winding banks of the Mississippi River.

Her protégé was missing, and Diana didn’t know where to find her.

Her Justice League communicator crackled in her ear. “Diana? It’s Ted, Ted Kord,” a familiar voice said in her ear, and Diana breathed a sigh of relief.

“Beetle!” she said happily, “What do you have for me?”

“Well, I happened to be on monitor duty today, and I was bored so I went through yesterday’s logs,” he started, “And I noticed something. Wonder Girl’s ID was used to take the Zeta from Saint Louis to Cyprus, pretty early in the morning.”

“Cyprus?” Donna wondered aloud, “But that’s-!”

“The Zeta we use to get to Themyscira,” Diana concluded, setting her jaw, “Thank you, Beetle. Who was on monitor duty yesterday morning?”

“Seems here it was, uh… Plastic Man,” Ted answered, “What, is he in trouble?”

“No, everyone makes mistakes,” Diana lied, “Thank you, Ted, that will be all.”

“Gotcha. Watchtower out.”

Diana breathed out a heavy sigh as Ted hung up. She was still very aware of the potential mole in the Justice League, and though she didn’t want to jump to conclusions, this was certainly a point against Plastic Man. She would send a message to the Question with her suspicions at the next available opportunity.

“So, why do we think Cassie went to Themyscira?” Donna asked, “She usually doesn’t go without one of us. Everyone there kinda doesn’t like her.”

“Acantha likes her!” Diana said defensively, securing her gear.

“Acantha is a shut-in!” Donna protested, “She’s happy for socialization! I’m telling you, she and Artemis just need to get it over with and fu-”

“Donna.” Diana interjected, but her protégé merely grinned.

“What? I can’t wish happiness for my fellow Amazons?” she asked.

“Gather your gear, and make sure your armor is clean,” Diana ordered, not deigning to dignify that with a response. She pursed her lips as she pushed past Donna and back out Cassie’s door, moving toward the Saint Louis Zeta Tube, “…We’re going to have to see my mother.”

---

“Well, look who finally decided to grace us with his presence!” Two-Face groused as Tim sat down, “How’s Metropolis this time of year?”

“Cold,” Tim said shortly, “But I hardly think you called me here to talk about the weather.”

“That would be correct,” Bane agreed, still leaning against the far wall in an effort to look intimidating, “You’ve been keeping secrets from us, Tim.”

“Isn’t everyone entitled to privacy?” Tim asked, growing impatient; the longer he was away from Metropolis, the worse things could happen to Artemis and Kr-II!

“Privacy is privacy, but we’re friends, Tim!” Basil argued, clenching his fist on the table, “Come on, man, I’ve been pretending to be you for the last seven years! I can tell something’s up!”

“So what is this, then?” Tim muttered, “An intervention?”

“You’re goddamn right!” Waylon snapped, pointedly moving to block the door so Tim would be forced to hear the Rogues out.

“Sir…” a new voice said, and Tim noticed for the first time that Dan and Meghan, his Assassin assistants, were also in the room. “…You’re not yourself,” Meghan said timidly.

“You’ve been distant,” Scarecrow pointed out.

“Abrasive,” Dan supplied.

“You keep telling us you’ve got this master plan to take over Gotham, but you haven’t told us what it is or why we’re doing it!” Basil went on.

“And you weren’t there when we buried Oswald,” Two-Face growled, fixing Tim with a cold glare.

Tim grimaced. “I was… indisposed,” he said, and even as he said it he knew it was a lame excuse.

“Indisposed with what?” Riddler asked, and Tim looked at him. Ed hadn’t spoken until that moment, and he usually led discussions. The Riddler was sitting exactly opposite Tim, at the other end of the table, his fingers intertwined in front of him, an intense, pondering expression on his face. “Indisposed with your little joyride as Joker Junior?”

Tim’s breath caught in his throat. “How did you…?”

“Please, we’re not idiots,” Riddler muttered, “The night Oswald died, you went in to see the body, started laughing and told us all to get out. We can put two and two together.”

“And we all recognize that laugh…” Fries grimaced, “The resemblance is uncanny…”

A general shiver went around the room. Even dead, the Clown cast a long shadow. Tim pursed his lips and clenched his jaw, trying to work out a suitable answer as his temper wore thin.

“I’m not the Joker,” Tim insisted, fixing Ed with a glare and trying to convey as much sincerity in the expression as he could.

“No,” Ed agreed, “But you’re just as crazy.”

Tim scoffed. “Since when is sanity a requirement to be in this club?” he asked scornfully, and to his surprise, it was actually Nora Fries that spoke up.

“Since you woke me up, sweetheart,” she said coolly, and Tim looked at her in confusion as Mrs. Freeze forsook her name with the hottest glare Tim had ever seen. “Tim, you found a cure to my disease, and Victor’s condition! You gave Harvey, Basil, and Waylon their faces back! You gave Ed and Jon a purpose! Dan, Meg, Owens, Pru, and Z all got their freedom because of you! You even got Oswald back his mother’s house. You fixed us, Tim.”

“And now, you’re the one who’s broken, little bird,” Bane said from the back, finally removing himself from the wall, “Let us help you.”

“Help me?” Tim asked, clenching his fists as he desperately tried to keep a rein on his temper, “The only way you people can help me is if you do as I FUCKING SAY!”

Tim didn’t realize he was shouting until he was done. Nor could he remember when he was stood up, but now all the people in the room were pointing their weapons at him. Tim swallowed.

“We followed you because you were our friend,” Freeze told him, his ice gun idling as Tim tried not to look directly down its barrel, “You helped us. No one had ever done that before. But now…”

“Now, you’re not interested in helping anybody but yourself,” Harvey concluded, and Tim snapped.

“That’s not true--!!” he began, but Bane cut him off.

“Enough, little bird!” the Santa Priscan snapped, crossing the room and grabbing Tim by the shirt, hauling him up and off his feet, “Enough! When we began this syndicate, you told us you were in it to get back at Nightwing. To rule Gotham and show your former family that you have survived being cast out, that you were forged into something new! Something dangerous!”

Bane shook Tim in the air as Tim merely hung there, limp in Bane’s iron grip, “LOOK AROUND! Nightwing is dead! You paid your debt to the Batfamily ten times over as Joker Junior! You got revenge on Ra’s al Ghul! You have everything you said you wanted! So why do you go on!?”

Bane held Tim close to him, and in a loud, booming voice, demanded, “What else do you need to be complete!?”

Tim stayed very quiet, as did everyone else in the room. He was still suspended in midair, and he refused to meet Bane’s eyes, nor anyone else’s. He had spent most of his youth fighting these people with all he had, they were his sworn enemies from the time he was fifteen! He had only allied himself with them to further his plans for Operation Mockingbird; befriending them was a matter of efficiency, nothing more. It didn’t mean anything.

So then why did he care now? Why, when he had cast all other attachments aside, when he had one of his best friends in a freezer in his basement, when he was betraying his soulmate’s trust by making another clone baby, when his own son wanted nothing to do with him, was it this particular bunch of assholes that his stupid heart decided to care about??

“… I can’t tell you,” Tim tried, but Two-Face only scowled.

“Not good enough,” he said, thumbing his coin.

Tim closed his eyes. Meanwhile, Scarecrow observed him closely. “…You’re afraid,” he said after a moment, and Tim looked at the crazed psychiatrist.

“Am I?” he asked quietly.

“Oh, yes,” Crane said confidently, “You’re not just afraid, Tim. You’re terrified.”

“Terrified?” Riddler asked disbelievingly, “Praytell, what does the mighty Red Robin have to fear?”

“Someone very close to him dying,” Scarecrow said confidently, and everyone looked at him. “When we first started this thing, I asked him what his greatest fear was,” Crane explained, “I don’t forget things like that.”

“Now what does taking over Gotham for a day have to do with someone very close to you dying?” Riddler asked, “It can’t be about the money, you’re one of the richest men in the world. It can’t be some physical object you can’t get to otherwise, the only one better than you at breaking and entering is Catwoman. So it has to be about sending a message. Which begs the question…”

Riddler stalked around the table, twirling his cane idly in his hand as he approached Tim, still being held up by Bane, “Who’s the message for?”

Tim clenched his teeth. They were close, too close. If they knew…

“Please, Tim!” Meghan begged, “Just tell us what’s going on!”

Tim’s hands shook. His jaw quivered. “…He has my son,” he said finally.

The room was silent. Bane put him down. “Eight years ago, my soulmate died. Or, I thought he did,” Tim said quietly, his voice quavering, his gaze fixed to the floor, “I did anything to get him back. I turned to science; cloning. In the process, I accidentally made… him. Our boy. My boy. And when I tried to lean on my family for support, they cast me out. Called me crazy. So I went on the run, with my son. And for a year, one, blissful year, it was perfect.

“Then Lex and Ra’s found me. Without my knowledge, they had spliced killer nanobots into my son’s DNA. They said if I didn’t do exactly as they said, they’d kill my boy. Then Conner came back, and Bruce came back, and I met all of you, and I was tied to the service of Lex Luthor and Ra’s al Ghul. They set this up, in order to get me to infiltrate the Court of Owls.”

“The Court of Owls?” Harvey asked, “I thought they were a myth.”

“They’re not,” Tim said, still not meeting his gaze, “Who do you think killed Oswald?”

That revelation hung heavy in the silence. “You’ve known who killed Oswald this entire time?” Basil asked, sounding hurt, and Tim let out something between a breath and a sob.

“I couldn’t do anything about it!” Tim protested, “This has to go by the book. If it doesn’t, Luthor will kill Tommy.”

Another silence. “Hold it…” Harvey murmured, “What about Ra’s? What happened that let you show up with his severed head in a bag?”

“Ra’s… overstepped his bounds,” Tim explained, shivering at the memory, “His partners weren’t happy. There’s a third one, calls himself Vandal Savage. He’s the one running the show. He let me kill Ra’s for what he did to me.”

“What did he do to you?” Waylon asked, “Besides that whole thing with your kid, I mean.”

Tim clenched his fists at his side. Sometimes, in his darkest moments, he could still feel Ra’s against him. “He raped me,” he whispered.

Waylon let out a breath. “Jesus…” he muttered.

“Savage wants me in the Court so he can wipe them off the field; they’re standing in the way of progress,” Tim went on, trying to distance the event from his mind, “Luthor wants me to figure out how their Talon supersoldiers work, so I can give him the same thing and make him immortal. I… I like Savage. He helped me back from the brink after I came back from the dead. He convinced me that he’s really working for a better world. But Luthor… I can’t imagine what a person like that would do with immortality.”

“But you still have to cooperate,” Riddler went on, “Because otherwise, your son dies.”

Tim nodded; he didn’t think he could talk anymore.

Riddler sat down heavily in one of the chairs. “The last piece of the puzzle,” he realized, smiling in spite of himself, “It all makes sense now.”

There was another stretch of quiet as the Rogues all came to grips with what Tim had just revealed. “…Okay,” Basil said after a moment, “We’ll help.”

“…What?” Tim asked, looking up for the first time.

“We asked what was up with you,” Basil said, “You told us. I get it now, so I’m willing to help.”

“Just like that?” Tim asked incredulously.

“Just like that,” Fries said with a nod.

“Yes,” Bane said, taking off his mask, “I think we can all more than trust each other now.”

Bane had never taken off his mask before. Tim looked up at the tall, burly man. He had deceptively ordinary features; a wide jaw, short hair. A bit of a thin nose.

Tim blinked as tears suddenly entered his vision. “Th-Th-Thank you!” he blubbered, the dam finally breaking, and Clayface wrapped him up in a warm, enveloping hug, Bane placing a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“Anytime, Tim,” Harvey said softly, “After all, you’re one of us, now. A Gotham Rogue, through and through.”

“And Gotham Rogues stick together,” Riddler confirmed.

“Didn’t use to be that way,” Tim pointed out, wiping his eyes on Basil’s shirt.

“Maybe not,” Riddler acquiesced, “But because of you? It’s how it is now.”

Tim nodded, soaking up Basil’s hug for a little while longer, then sighed as he wiped his eyes for a final time and gently removed himself from the hug. “Okay,” he said, and he looked out at his teammates. His friends.

He smiled. They smiled. Maybe… maybe some good things happened to him.

“Let’s get to work,” he said.

              

Notes:

Hello again! This chapter is a tiny bit shorter than I'd like, but it felt like the most natural place to leave things! So now, the Rogues are in on the secret! (I think it would be easier to count the amount of people who aren't in on it, as this point)

Either way, thank you all for continuing to read! It means so much to me! I swear I don't intend to only put out one chapter a month, that's just how my schedule has worked out. Against my will.

Please leave comments and kudos, and I'll see y'all soon! Peace!

Chapter 49: Sisters

Tim was still smiling as he stepped out of the building. His friends were helping him; he was still kinda riding that high. Still, he was in an extremely shitty situation; now they just knew why he was in a bad mood all the time.

But right now, he had to be back in work mode. This next part was… especially unpleasant. But it needed to be done. His plan for Wonder Woman was set. His plan for Superman was set.

His plan for Batman? That required a whole other level of commitment.

But he couldn’t let his resolve fail now.

He was prepared. He had to be.

He made his way toward Wayne Manor.

---

Mary was fussing again. Barbara sighed as she held her daughter in her lap, bouncing her up and down a little bit to try and soothe her before whatever tantrum this was started. Newborns, she had discovered, were especially temperamental creatures.

“Shh, sweetheart, it’s alright, nothing’s wrong,” Barbara cooed softly, and Mary’s fussing petered out into a mewling sound, “It’s okay, Mommy’s right here…”

She was in the Cave, watching the monitors as the rest of the family worked out in the city. Tonight especially they were scattered; everyone in different corners of the street grid. Their numbers were also thin tonight; Cass was out in Dakota City training Tommy and his friends, and Tommy’s birthday was coming up so Conner had gone out to join them. There was some Teen Titans reunion going on in San Francisco, so Roy and Kori had gone and brought the kids with them. When they’d asked Jason if he wanted to come, Jason had said he’d rather crawl through a pipe of human shit and end up in a warehouse in Ethiopia. So he stayed in Gotham.

So that left Jason, Damian, Steph, and Bruce out in the city tonight. Duke was sleeping for the day shift, and ever since Selina had delivered the news that she was pregnant, Bruce had immediately clamped down on her going out. Kori’s early pregnancy was one thing, she was young and an alien with an alien physiology, but Selina was a 55-year-old human woman; she was staying put, if only to prevent Bruce from having a heart attack.

Alfred, of course, was on bedrest, with Julia tending to him. Barbara hadn’t really ever done the math before, but the poor man was 93 years old; he deserved his rest after putting up with them for so long.

An alert sounded on her monitor; “Batman, there’s a robbery going on at the bank on the corner of Marque and Haymill. You’re the closest, but it’ll take you off your usual route. Seems like it’s Penguin’s old crew.”

“On it,” Bruce responded easily, and Barbara watched his tracker switched directions, beginning to move north toward the bank.

“It may be possible that higher-ranking thugs in Penguin’s former organization are trying to replace Cobblepot at the top,” Damian pointed out over the line.

“It’s possible…” Barbara conceded, “Hood, are you and the Outlaws able to look into that?”

“Roger,” Hood acknowledged, “We’ve been trying to move in on Penguin’s old territory, but Bane and Two-Face snapped it up pretty quick. I don’t things are as in flux as they seem.”

“Bane and Two-Face might’ve struck a deal to take over Penguin’s old territory,” Steph said, “Remember how all the Rogues showed up together in Dakota City? I bet Red Robin has them all working together.”

“Red Robin is almost certainly directing the Rogues from LexCorp Gotham,” Damian confirmed, “He’s planning something.”

“Why don’t we go after him, then?” Jason asked, “Shake some answers out of him. Hell, I betcha Robin would join us.”

“That might not be the best course of action, Hood…” Barbara sighed; as much of a grudge as she still held against Tim, and as much as she understood Tommy’s anger toward his father, pitting them against each other was a recipe for disaster.

“Don’t worry about Tim,” Bruce grunted, some interference coming over the line; Barbara thought she could distinctly hear the sound of machine gun fire, “I’m handling it.”

“Whatever you say, old man,” Steph sighed. She didn’t sound convinced.

“I mean it.” Bruce argued, and Barbara heard him grunt as some poor goon received a broken nose for their trouble.

Something else flared on her radar. “Hood, drug deal in Robinson Park, at the playground by the William Gordon Statue,” she said, “Be sure to take your time with clean up, if any needles are left on the ground-”

“Some kid might step on it in the morning, yeah I got it,” Jason growled, “Time to teach these guys why you don’t deal in playgrounds…”

“Oracle, I’m gonna make my way toward LexCorp, see if I can do some snooping around Tim’s trail. I don’t give a damn what B says, we’ve gotta be ready in case something happens,” Stephanie said over a private line, and Barbara sighed as her monitor beeped again.

“Negative, Batgirl, I need you to head toward Craig Plaza; looks like Killer Moth is on the loose, I need you to handle it before it gets out of hand,” Barbara ordered, and she heard Steph curse over the line.

“Fine,” she muttered, and Barbara saw her tracker change direction as well.

“I’ve got M with me, Batgirl, the last thing I need is her first word being the f-bomb,” Barbara said admonishingly.

“Oh come on, O! My first word was the f-bomb, and look at me now! Swinging across rooftops, getting shot at! It’s a good life!” Steph responded with false cheer, “Honestly I think my first word gave me the spunky attitude I needed for future success.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Barbara responded snidely, switching back over the main comms channel, “Nightwing, I’ve got one you’ll like. Reports just came in of an illegal dog fighting ring in the Narrows that needs breaking up; how soon can you be there?”

“Soon,” Damian said curtly over the line as his tracker immediately changed direction, “And far too late for them to see me coming.”

“Damn, Baby Bat, that was almost a quip!” Jason laughed over the line, “Apparently just wearing the Nightwing suit means you get a penchant for one-liners!”

“It’s true,” Bruce confirmed over the line, sounding as though he had wrapped up his round of fighting, “I had to fill in for D once in Bludhaven, but I couldn’t appear as Batman. The challenge of having to mimic his taunts was… unique.”

“Wait,” Steph said suddenly, “B wore the Nightwing suit? B quipped? Oracle, please tell me we have footage of that!!”

“Oh, it’s in the archive, don’t worry,” Babs said with a sly grin, and she heard whoops of victory over a few different lines as Bruce himself grunted in disappointment.

Barbara smiled as Mary fussed a little bit in her lap, and she shushed her quietly, keeping her eye on her monitors. The Bats were all pretty scattered, but they were getting things done. It seemed like tonight was going to be a good night.

---

While they laughed, scattered throughout the city, they didn’t know that this was the plan. The Bats all scattered to the wind, all distracted from their own stronghold. A few shadowy figures stood on the hill overlooking Wayne Manor, and one looked between the empty house and then to the massive headstone they stood beside.

Here lies in loving memory
THOMAS WAYNE
MARTHA, his wife
and BRUCE, their dutiful son

One took up a shovel, handing it to their companion. “Start digging,” he ordered, his voice wavering only slightly, “We haven’t got all night.”

---

Artemis Crock sighed as she let herself back into her hotel room in Metropolis, not too far from LexCorp. Mr. Drake had set her up with a pretty nice hotel room, nicer than any she had ever stayed in, and even nicer than her mother’s apartment. It was sunny and clean, had a large bathroom with a hot shower, and a big, soft mattress facing the window. At night, she could watch the lights of the city glitter while she nodded off to sleep; that is, when she had the privilege of sleeping at night. There were also blackout curtains for the far more likely scenario that she was getting whatever awkward hours of sleep she could at whatever unholy hour she could.

Most of her energy from the day crashed as soon as she stepped inside, and she was determined to just hit the mattress and blackout, but as she rounded the corner to fall face-first into her bed, she jumped at the sight of another body already laying on it.

“Hey, sis,” Cheshire said nonchalantly, dressed in her uniform and wearing her mask, twirling a sai in her hand, “Long time no see.”

“Jade!” Artemis hissed, dropping her bag and trying to calm down from the adrenaline spike, “You almost gave me a heart attack!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Cheshire said with a shrug, “Just came to see how you were doing. What’s it like working for a shut-in like Drake?”

“Boring,” Artemis grumbled, “Incredibly, incredibly boring. He doesn’t do anything but plan and drink all day. He’s like a less-violent Dad.”

“Charming,” Jade murmured, finally taking off her mask and letting her sister see her face, “Nice room, by the way.”

“Drake set me up with it,” Artemis said dismissively, turning away and discreetly trying to her bag somewhere, hoping Jade wouldn’t notice it was stuffed with the old cold cases Drake had given her, “It was the closest one to LexCorp that wouldn’t around suspicion.”

“Sure,” Jade said, sounding unconvinced, “If you ask me, I think he just likes pampering his employees. He cares too much.”

“It was just useful, that’s all,” Artemis responded, surprised at how much she bristled at the comment, “He doesn’t pamper me. I’m doing this assignment the way I was told.”

“By Lady Shiva and the Demon’s Head, of course,” Jade reminded her, a pointed tone in her voice, and Artemis tried to hide her wince, “Or have you forgotten?”

“Of course I haven’t forgotten!” Artemis growled, rounding on her sister, “It’s just been difficult, alright? He’s not exactly the warm-and-fuzzy type! Getting close to him is a bit of a chore!”

Jade shrugged as she finally got up and off of Artemis’s bed, “Whatever you say.”

“What are you doing here, anyway?” Artemis demanded, “I thought I was supposed to be doing this on my own!”

“I’m just here to check up on my baby sister!” Jade replied, her voice laden with false scandalization, “Honest!”

Artemis scowled, unconvinced. She had grown up with Jade; just like with the Cheshire Cat she based her assassin persona off of, things were never how they first seemed. “Yeah, right,” she muttered, “What do you want?”

Jade rolled her eyes. “Alright, fine,” she sighed, “You win. I’m gathering information on Drake and Luthor’s new project.”

“Is Talia worried about it?” Artemis asked, crossing her arms.

“The Demon’s Head is worried about everything to do with the Light,” Jade sighed, “She’s the junior partner, remember? The newest member, and theoretically, the weakest link. The League of Assassins is a shadow of its former self. Our little triumvirate’s fearless leader is currently off playing hero with the Justice League, and the other two members are cooped up working together on a secret project. Luthor can’t be trusted and Drake is an absolute wild card. We’re the odd man out, and we’re in an exceptionally vulnerable position; if things fall apart now, we could be caught in the crossfire.”

Which is exactly why I’m trying to find a way out! Artemis thought, but she knew better than to say it out loud. “She’s trying to get the upper hand on Luthor,” Artemis concluded, and Jade inclined her head in agreement, “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint, but she probably knows more than I do about Kr-II. Drake has been exceptionally tight-lipped about what it is.”

“We know what it is,” Jade said, “We also know where it came from. That’s not what we’re trying to find out; we’re trying to find out what’s being done with it.”

“Wait, you know what Kr-II is!?” Artemis demanded, “And you haven’t told me!?”

Jade shrugged. “I guess you ought to be a better spy,” she said snidely.

“Ugh! You are insufferable!” Artemis cried, throwing up her hands in exasperation as she turned to face the window, looking out into the city.

“Do you think Drake suspects?” Jade asked her after a moment.

“No,” Artemis responded instantly, “He’s none the wiser. He thinks I’m a charity case; he thinks he’s my mentor.”

Jade scoffed at the statement. “Maybe he’s not as smart as everyone says he is,” Jade murmured, then she grew serious for a moment, putting her hand on Artemis’s shoulder, “Keep an eye on him, Artie. He might turn out to be trouble.”

Artemis remained silent, pouting slightly. Jade’s shoulders slumped. “You know what the price of failure is, Artemis,” she said softly.

Artemis shivered; she knew very well what the price of failure was. Every assassin in the League knew what the price was. She sighed, then took her sister’s hand on her shoulder. “Yeah,” she confirmed, “I’ve got it, Jade. Don’t worry.”

Jade smiled softly, meeting her sister’s eyes, “Never.”

She turned to leave, palming her mask, but before she did, she turned to look over her shoulder. “Best intel we’ve got says Drake is back in Gotham for business tonight, but he’ll be back soon,” she said simply, “If you want to find out what Kr-II is, and whatever else Drake or Luthor might be up to, now’s the time.”

Artemis pursed her lips as Jade left her hotel room. She looked at her bed longingly, then sighed in frustration. She probably wasn’t going to get to sleep tonight.

---

“Do you think Drake suspects?”
“No. He’s none the wiser. He thinks I’m a charity case; he thinks he’s my mentor.”

Tim sighed deeply as he listened to the conversation through the bug he had planted in Artemis’s hotel room. He would have to return to Metropolis sooner than he thought; he had really hoped it wouldn’t come to this.

---

“Do you think she suspects?”

Jade smirked as she sauntered away from the hotel. “No,” she answered coolly, “My sister is many things, but a detective is not one of them. She doesn’t know a thing.”

“Good,” her mistress said over the line, and Jade heard the clinking of glass, like something was being poured, “With Artemis as our guinea pig, we’ll learn more about Drake’s motives than we ever could have before. Drake was listening, no doubt; he would have bugged the apartment. You did good to frame the League as being vulnerable.”

“Thank you, Great One,” Jade answered reverently.

“Of course; I know to recognize talent when I see it,” her mistress purred, “Drake will react soon, and depending on how he does, we will know how to plan for him. If he rejects Artemis, then not much was lost. If he holds her closer, however, we’ll have an avenue to even more intelligence.”

Jade hesitated. “And… if he reacts poorly, Great One?” she asked, “We have a plan to extract Artemis, right?”

“Worry not, Cheshire,” Talia al Ghul answered coolly, “The League of Assassins takes care of its own.”

Jade let out a sigh of relief as Talia hung up, and she lingered for a moment, looking up to the glass exterior of the fancy hotel. She closed her eyes, screwing her courage to the sticking place and fighting down her conflicted emotions; the League was the only proper family she had ever known. The Crock-Nguyen Family was toast, and had been from the start. The League would do right by her. Do right by her sister. Artemis was never cut out to be an assassin anyway.

“This is for your own good, Artemis,” she whispered, and she slunk off into the night.

---

Diana and Donna expected to be greeted upon their return to Themyscira. They did not expect to see their countrywomen gathering weapons, forming ranks, and defending the shorelines. They did not expect the streets to be draped in mourning black. They did not expect to be immediately summoned to the Queen’s side, escorted to the palace, and told the Queen wanted to meet with them about something of dire importance.

But the unexpected often happened to Wonder Woman and Troia, so they took in stride as best they could. As the pair ascended the Acropolis, flanked by Royal Guards, they couldn’t help but notice how many odd, pitying, even cold looks they were getting from their fellow Amazons as they did so. Donna shared a look with Diana; what had happened in their absence?

When they entered the throne room, the Queen was seated facing them, looking far more tired than they expected her to be. Throughout the room, various advisors rushed about, carrying papers and maps and scrolls that all seemed to be of great importance. Diana was intimately familiar with the members of the Court, she had grown up alongside them after all. She recognized her aunt, General Antiope, her shaven head sticking out like a sore thumb as she directed soldiers and retainers around some kind of grand map. Artemis the Red, one of the island’s greatest warriors and guardswomen, stood beside her, her arms crossed in obvious displeasure, a fierce, fiery look in her eye as Antiope imparted some order or another. Menalippe, the Oracle of Themyscira, was also present, in hushed conversation with her apprentice, Penelope. Lysandra, the Apprentice Archivist, was also here, rather than her superior, Acantha, which struck Diana as extremely odd. She looked as though she had been crying.

Notably, Philippus, long her mother’s faithful companion, was nowhere to be seen when Diana regarded Hippolyta’s retainers.

It was a Royal Guard, Alkyone, that noticed their arrival. “My Queen!” Alkyone announced, kneeling quickly, “Princess Diana and Lady Troia have returned!”

There was a quick succession of kneeling around the room as Diana and Donna entered, and Donna pursed her lips; she had never been comfortable with becoming nobility. Still, the Queen waved her hand to dismiss their bows.

“Diana, Troia,” Hippolyta greeted them curtly, “Welcome back. Much has happened.”

“We gathered, Mother,” Diana spoke first, and Donna let her; diplomacy was not her wheelhouse, especially with the Queen, “What has happened? Why does the nation look as though it prepares for war?”

At the word ‘war’, Antiope straightened, about to open her mouth, but Hippolyta held up a hand to stop her, then rubbed her forehead, seeming exhausted. “My daughter, I am sorry to be the one to tell you this…” Hippolyta sighed, looking to all the world like she was truly feeling her advanced age, “But we must discuss your apprentice.”

“Which one?” Diana asked, gesturing to Donna, “Because one is here, and we are here seeking the other. She has disappeared from her home, along with her mother.”

“Then allow me to offer some modicum of explanation,” Antiope intoned, finally stepping forward, “Your second apprentice, Cassandra Sandsmark, is fleeing from justice.”

“Fleeing from justice?” Donna asked incredulously, “What the hell are you talking about?”

Donna’s crass comment caused an uproar in the court, and Hippolyta sighed once again, drawing herself up to her full height as she regarded her daughter. As the Queen stood, the room fell silent. “Diana, Troia,” she said calmly, “Cassandra has fled from these shores, as she is guilty of the murder of our Royal Archivist, Acantha.”

“That’s a lie!” Donna cried immediately, stepping forward, but Diana caught her quickly.

“Troia!” she snapped, “Do not make such rash accusations against the Queen! Mother, I apologize for Troia’s behavior, but you must understand—”

“—I know, this comes as a great shock,” Hippolyta agreed with a nod, “But it is true. I witnessed the murder myself; Cassandra entered the Archives, sought out forbidden knowledge from this island’s earliest days, and after procuring what she wanted, murdered innocent Acantha in cold blood. Philippus and I confronted her, but in the struggle, Cassandra managed to overpower Philippus while I tended to Acantha. Acantha was too injured to save, and Philippus remains bedridden from the struggle. Artemis, the guardswoman, can vouch for the story.”

At the mention of her mentor’s death, Lysandra let out a muffled wail of grief, and Penelope, the Apprentice Oracle, quickly held the younger girl in her arms. Diana and Donna sat in disbelief, but grimaced at the girl’s pain. How could Acantha be dead? And how could Cassie possibly be the killer?

Hippolyta waived her hand, and none other than Artemis the Red, the flame-haired guardswoman that had stood watch by the Archives for so long, that so many of the Amazons thought would end up marrying Acantha someday, stepped to the fore of the crowd, nodding gravely with the Queen’s story. “It is true, Princess,” she said evenly, though even as she spoke, her eyes blazed with fury, and Donna caught the tear stains on her cheeks. It seemed as though Artemis the Red was in mourning.

“I… I don’t believe it,” Diana said eventually, searching her heart for whatever she could find there, “I’m sorry, Mother, but I can’t believe it. Cassie would never do such a thing.”

“But she did,” Artemis growled, her anger and grief leaking through her tone as she tried to restrain herself in the presence of the Royal Family, “I saw the traitor’s hands stained red with blood as she fled. Her sword was bathed in innocent blood!”

“And the wound in Acantha’s chest was undeniably that of Cassandra’s sword,” Hippolyta continued, “There is no doubt of who committed the murder.”

“If, if this is true, then what tome did she take from the Archives?” Donna asked intensely, “What was so important that Acantha was killed for it?”

“An ancient tome detailing the weaknesses of the Amazons,” Hippolyta explained, “It bore the Royal Seal. No doubt Cassandra intends to sell it to the worst of Man’s World, and profit from her betrayal; I have already directed General Antiope to begin Themyscira’s preparations for war.”

Antiope nodded gravely, and Donna’s eyes widened as she realized the general had procured a map of not only Themyscira, but the entire Mediterranean; Antiope was using the artifacts Diana had originally brought from Man’s World to plan an attack against it!

“War!?” Diana balked, “Mother, surely you exaggerate! We cannot possibly be considering war against Man’s World because of one tragedy!”

“We are, Diana,” Hippolyta said gravely, sounding more angry and hurt than any woman had ever heard her, “Because we must. Under my rule, and the rule of my mother and grandmothers, this island has stood safe and secure for six thousand years! An unbroken chain of rule and protection, keeping this island from the horrors of the world beyond! I see now that champions such as Wonder Woman were indeed too much contact with Man’s World; we have extended the olive branch, and they have burned us with it. No longer; I refuse to be the weak link!”

Hippolyta slammed the butt of her spear into the ground, the sound ringing outward like a bell, and the Court stood silent at the Queen’s fury. All but one, that is.

“Mother, this is madness!” Diana snapped, finally taking a step forward in anger, and as she did, all the guards in the room reacted in an instant, levelling their spears. Diana stopped in shock, then took on a wounded expression. “Mother, please…” she begged, “Do not do this! Man’s World is not our enemy!”

“Worry not, Diana, you will have your chance to say goodbye to any friends you might have made,” Hippolyta said dismissively, turning back to her throne, “After all, the traitor Cassandra must be brought to justice. You, Troia, and Artemis will journey into Man’s World to retrieve her, and return her here to face justice.”

“Justice!? You mean execution!” Donna cried in indignation, “You’ve already decided that she’s guilty! Will there be no trial!?”

Hippolyta levelled the younger woman with a glare that had withered kings. “The evidence is clear. Witnesses include a Royal Guard and the Queen of the Realm. In this case,” she said coolly, “Execution is justice.”

“Mother, please!” Diana cried again, stepping further forward, “If we can find concrete proof of Cassie’s innocence, will you spare her!?”

Hippolyta raised an eyebrow. “No such proof exists,” she responded, “But if you manage to find it, then yes. I will spare her.”

At those words, Donna saw Artemis bristle, but relief flooded through her all the same. There was a chance, however slim, that they could clear Cassie’s name, and Wonder Woman had overcome worse odds before.

“But we must take precautions,” Hippolyta continued, and Donna grimaced.

“What sort of precautions?” Diana asked, and Hippolyta held out her hand.

“The Lasso of Truth must remain on Themyscira,” Hippolyta demanded, and Diana balked.

“Mother, how else do you expect us to prove Cassie’s innocence!?” she asked, and Hippolyta glowered at her.

“You will have to do it the old-fashioned way,” she said, “The Lasso was a gift from the goddess Hestia, and it is too dangerous to allow it to be vulnerable in Man’s World for any longer. The Goddess of the Home gave it to us, and home is where it shall remain.”

Diana tried to think of a better argument, she really, truly did, but at the end of the day, Hippolyta was Queen, and surrounded by the Royal Court, there was little Diana could do to directly refute her. Reluctantly, she unclipped the Lasso from her belt, and handed it to her mother.

“Diana-!” Donna started, but Diana held up her hand.

“Not now, Donna,” she sighed, “We’ll figure it out.”

Hippolyta nodded with satisfaction as she replaced the Lasso of Truth at her own side, then regarded the two of them. “Your mission will begin as soon as you are ready to leave again,” she said as she resumed her throne, “Artemis has been prepared to leave for a while now.”

“You have my word, Princess,” Artemis said seriously, placing a hand on her sword, “The killer will be brought to justice.”

Donna and Diana shared another look. Bringing the vengeful and grieving friend of the murdered victim to try and clear the accused killer’s name, especially without the Lasso of Truth, was a recipe for disaster. It seemed to them that Hippolyta wanted them to fail.

This was going to be an especially difficult mission.

“And where do you suggest we begin the search?” Diana asked, trying to find some way to delay her mother’s witch hunt, “Troia and I have scoured Man’s World as much as we could searching for Cassie and her mother. We have found nothing; coming to Themyscira was our only lead. How will Artemis coming along help us at all?”

“Artemis is accompanying you merely as additional muscle,” Hippolyta explained, “It is likely that the killer will resist arrest, and as she is your apprentice, your judgement will be clouded. However, your knowledge of Man’s World will be invaluable in the search. As to where to begin; Oracle Menalippe, are you prepared?”

Menalippe stepped forward meekly, bowing to the Queen in reverence. “Yes, My Queen,” she said, and she drew down her hood, revealing her hair, braids, and diadem. As the Oracle stepped into the center of the room, all the Amazons, the Queen included, bowed to her.

For Menalippe was not stepping forward as herself anymore; now, she was stepping forward as the representative of Phoebe, Ancient Goddess of Intellect and Prophecy, grandmother of the twin gods Apollo and Artemis, and of the magic goddess, Hecate.

“O Far-Seeing Phoebe, grant me sight and wisdom to guide these warriors three on their treacherous journey…” Menalippe intoned, and as Diana, Donna, and Artemis knelt, they felt the sudden urge to look up. As they did, they saw Menalippe’s eyes glow white, and the light of the room seemed to darken by contrast as the aura of the Oracle superseded any earthly authority.

Menalippe’s head jerked downward, the motion almost inhumanly fast, and her glowing white eyes, as pale as moonlight, bored into Diana’s soul as she found herself unable to look away.

The Oracle of Themyscira opened her mouth, and Phoebe began to speak:

The Daughter of Zeus shall seek the lost,
With mother’s crown, lie’s bitter cost.
On sacred land, the shadows creep.
A falsehood masquerades as peace.

Three sisters, a family, to battle shall go,
The horrid truth they’ll all soon know.
The cowled shade, with silent hand,
Shall twist their fates to his command.

The sisters’ clash, the widow’s rage,
But none prevail in wicked cage.
The gates shall close, the path denied,
No home remains for those who tried.

With four lights lost, the sisters stand,
With furied grip and bloodied hand.
Go then, warrior! Meet your fate!
In madmen’s walls still steeped in hate!

A trade is made where bonds have died,
A sister’s life for sisters’ pride.
There lies the key to shattered trust,
Beneath the stone, beneath the dust.

As the Oracle ceased to speak, the glow receded, and Menalippe collapsed from the exertion. Her apprentice, Penelope, quickly caught her before she could hit the ground, and carted the woman off to a more private spot to recover. The Amazons all began to stand, all giving each other disturbed looks, but Diana remained kneeling, still in shock. A prophecy like that… a prophecy like that had not been given in a long time, and it certainly didn’t seem to have an auspicious tone. As Diana processed what she had heard, she locked eyes with her mother, who, as she regained her throne, looked more alarmed than Diana could ever remember seeing her. Still, she regained her composure easily.

“There you have it, then,” Hippolyta said brusquely, waving her hand to dismiss Diana, Donna, and Artemis, “The Oracle has spoken. Gather yourselves and leave when you feel prepared.”

Diana stood gingerly, Donna helping her up. Artemis the Red locked eyes with her from across the throne room. Diana set her jaw; it seemed that in this quest to find Cassie, they were going to get far more than they bargained for.

---

Artemis Crock frowned as she crept back into Drake’s temporary lab at LexCorp. The conversation with her sister had disturbed her, and she came here to investigate. Truth be told, she didn’t know how to feel about Tim Drake; they weren’t especially close, but from Artemis’s perspective, Drake was the only shot she had at really getting out of the League of Assassins, maybe even of becoming a superhero someday. Like Green Arrow. She might be spying on him for the League, but she wasn’t lying about that story; there was a reason she wore green, a reason she had chosen to train with a bow when she joined the League. She wanted to be just like Star City’s Emerald Archer, and like it or not, Tim Drake was her one last hope on getting there.

From the looks of things in the lab, it seemed as though Drake hadn’t been in for at least a few days. A thin layer of dust covered most things, and it seemed as though nothing had been disturbed since Drake had last dismissed her back to the hotel room she was staying in to avoid detection. She had been sneaking in and out every time he asked to speak with her; breaking into LexCorp was starting to become a distressingly easy task.

Artemis looked over his notes with some curiosity; it seemed like she had taken his advice when it came to getting that information from Themyscira; apparently he had contacted an old friend of his, Wonder Girl. Artemis hadn’t heard of Wonder Girl much in the news recently, not since she had been granted Justice League membership; she wondered if Drake had anything to do with that.

There was something else; a series of three files, all labelled at the top. Operation Orestes, Operation Hercules, and Operation Andromache. Artemis’s mythological knowledge was admittedly limited, but she at least knew Hercules. The other two were a little out of her reach. Curious, Artemis hooked her finger under the file that read “Operation Hercules” and sucked in a breath as she saw a picture of Superman smiling at her from the folder, clipped on top of a diagram that was obviously a bomb. Artemis quickly flipped through the file and her heart sank into her stomach as found more details; a map, with two x’s, one over Metropolis, the other over a seemingly random spot in Kansas. Artemis didn’t understand what the second x was for, and Drake’s notes were unhelpful. It seemed like he hadn’t actually written down just what Operation Hercules was, but had instead needed a place to store specific information.

Artemis slowly opened the other two folders. Operation Orestes had a picture of Batman, and a map of Gotham City, with some kind of route drawn on it in red marker, bouncing from rooftop to rooftop. There were a few measurements for specific distances, records of Batman’s reaction times, especially when being shot at. Some notes were nearly incomprehensible, thanks to Drake’s handwriting being more of a manic scrawl, but Artemis could clearly read the letters ‘PTSD’ underlined and circled.

Operation Andromache had a picture of Wonder Woman, as well as her proteges and some random museum lady from St Louis. It seemed as though Drake had gone through multiple different iterations of this plan, and found all of them to be lacking in some way or the other. It had the most edits and redactions out of the three files. The only discernible words left on the page were ‘MAKE THEM FIGHT.’

Artemis didn’t know what these plans were, but they seemed to be ways to take down the main three members of the Justice League. Artemis let out a shaky breath, and realized she had just stumbled on to something big.

There was a noise from the door. Artemis quickly ducked behind a workbench, trying to steady her breathing and stay quiet. The door opened, then closed; Artemis held her breath.

“I know you’re there, Artemis,” Mr. Drake said tiredly, and Artemis let out a sigh of relief as she stood up.

“Sorry, boss, I didn’t want to take chances,” she said easily, brushing herself off nonchalantly, but she froze when she saw the expression on his face. He looked tired, like he always did, but today he looked especially hurt. Resigned, even. “… Boss?” she said uncertainly.

“I know you’re spying on me for Talia,” Drake said simply, and Artemis’s stomach dropped straight into her shoes. He knew?? He knew!??

“H-How…?” she stammered, and Drake sighed as he moved to his personal bar, pouring himself a glass of whiskey.

“I bugged your hotel room,” he explained, “There’s a miniature microphone hidden in the feathers of your down pillow. I knew you wouldn’t cut it open to check because the hotel staff would have gotten suspicious, and you don’t know how to sew.”

Artemis felt her back hit the wall, her heart pounding in her ears. How could he remain so calm about this!? Was he about to kill her?!?

“I—I—” she stammered, trying to form words, but none came.

“Would you like anything?” he asked her nonchalantly, barely looking over his shoulder as he fixed himself a drink, “I don’t know what’s popular with the kids these days.”

“I… I don’t drink,” she answered eventually.

Drake shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said, then took a sip from his own glass, “You don’t want water or anything?”

“Do you have water?” Artemis asked automatically, knowing his drinking habits well.

Drake had the grace to look sheepish. “No,” he admitted, “I don’t.”

He sighed as he leaned back against the bar, the space between them feeling at the same time infinite and infinitesimal. Drake took another sip. Artemis couldn’t breathe.

“I have to admit, you caught me by surprise,” he began, not taking his eyes off her, “And trust me, that’s a hard thing to do. I pride myself on knowing when people are lying to me.”

“I—I didn’t lie to you!” Artemis cried desperately, and Drake raised an eyebrow.

“Oh? You didn’t?” he asked, “Then I suppose you just forgot to mention you were reporting my activities to the new Demon’s Head.”

“You knew I was with Talia from the beginning!” Artemis cried desperately, “And I’ve barely found out anything!”

“I know, that’s because you’re a terrible spy,” Drake said matter-of-factly, and for a moment, Artemis did feel hurt, but Drake continued, “But that’s because I think your heart’s not in it.”

That caught her by surprise. “Wh-What?” she asked.

“I told you, I pride myself on knowing when people are lying to me,” Drake said again, removing himself from the wall and crossing the room to face her, bringing their faces close together as he looked her in the eye, “And you weren’t lying to me when you told me you wanted to be a hero. Yes, Talia is using you to probe me for weaknesses, I knew that, but now I know she’s trying to gain leverage in the Light. She’s using you as a test.”

“A… A test?” Artemis stammered.

“One for you, and one for me,” Drake explained, “If you pulled this off, then that meant you could be trusted at higher echelons of the League, closer to Talia’s inner circle. If not, it means they can cut you loose. Spoiler alert: you did not pass.”

Artemis shuddered. If she didn’t pass… then wouldn’t that mean the League would come and tie up loose ends?

“As for me,” Drake continued, “She’s feeling me out. Seeing how far I’ve really fallen, how far I’m willing to go to protect myself. If I really wanted to throw her off, I’d slit your throat right now and dump your body in her throne room.”

Artemis’s heart stopped.

Drake held her gaze for a moment, unblinking as their eyes were locked, and then he sighed as he stepped backward and took a sip from his glass. “But, I’m not going to do that,” he said eventually, and Artemis heaved a sigh of relief.

“Ohmygod…” she breathed, the tension leaving her shoulders, and Drake fixed her with another of his stares.

“Here’s the deal, Miss Crock,” he said, for the first time using her proper surname rather than a foul-mouthed homonym, “I am a public figure. Celebrity, while annoying, has its perks. I am legally twenty-five; you are legally sixteen. I am going to publicly adopt you as my ward.”

“Wh-What!?” Artemis asked, completely shocked, and Drake held up a finger.

“Hold all questions for the end,” he told her, “As my ward, you will have the protection of publicity. You will be protected from any reciprocal action by the League, and if Talia tries to move on you, I can get the rest of the Light involved to stop her. It can also provide a reason for my coming to Metropolis beyond business I could have handled elsewhere. Your parents are still alive, right?”

“Y-Yes,” she said, “My mom lives in Star City and my dad…”

“Is currently in Belle Reve,” Drake told her, “I know, I checked. I’ll get them to sign some papers, and this will be settled by midnight. As my ward, I can protect and train you more effectively, while sending a clear message to Talia on where my morals lie, while still making it clear that I can play her game and win. What do you say?”

“Y-You want to… adopt me?” Artemis asked, “After I spied on you?”

“You told me you want to be a hero,” Drake said again, “Truth be told, Artemis, I’m a supervillain; I can’t do much to help you. I’m in a pretty shitty situation myself. But, I come from a family of heroes, which you’ll be living right next door to. I also have a place in Alaska I can send you to if things get hairy. This play is especially risky, which is why I’d hoped not to have to make it, but it’s the best I’ve got.”

Artemis didn’t know what to think. She didn’t know how to feel. Her sister was still in the League, even higher up than she was; would something happen to Jade if she defected? … No, no, Jade was too valuable to Talia. A loyal soldier when Talia was in especially short supply. Jade would be fine.

Living as a Drake… as a preppy, rich girl… she didn’t know what to do. Especially if it meant abandoning her mom…

“Artemis, please,” Drake said, taking her by the shoulders and kneeling to be on her eye level, “This is the best I can do.”

Artemis bit her lip. He was offering to protect her. Even after everything she’d done. Her dad hadn’t protected her; he’d actively put her in danger. Her mom hadn’t protected her; she couldn’t. The only one who tried was Jade, but Jade had been in danger too.

Artemis burst into tears as she hugged Tim Drake as hard as she could. Tim let out a sigh, rubing her back like he used to do with Tommy. “Shh, shh, it’s alright,” he murmured, and he heard her try to fight her sobs, “I guess I’ll take that as a yes.”

Artemis laughed wetly against him, and she squeezed him tighter. Tim sighed; looks like he had just gained another daughter. He thought of his son, probably hanging out with his new friends in Dakota City. He thought of his first daughter, still resting and growing in her pod about three doors down. He held his newest daughter, sobbing in his arms.

Three kids… that sounded nice. Perfect, even.

He’d have to tell Conner, somehow.

Tim grimaced as his thoughts turned back to his family; Operation Mockingbird was in full swing, now. It was going to make things… difficult, to say the least. Maybe he should cart Artemis up to Alaska sooner rather than later. Then again, it might be safer to keep her with him.

Tim sighed and hugged her tighter. “I’m going to keep you safe,” he whispered to them, “All of you. I promise.”

His heart felt tight in his chest; all this weight on his shoulders… it wasn’t fair!

If nothing else, Mockingbird would be cathartic.

Artemis’s sobs slowly subsided, and Tim held her out in front of him. “Artemis,” he said softly, “Would you like to meet your sister?”

Notes:

I HAVE RETURNED!

Tim is collecting children as fast as Bruce. And hey! He didn't even have to make this one in a test tube!

Wonder Woman is hot on his trail, though; all of this will be coming to a head soon! And look at me, writing and honest-to-goodness prophecy!!

Thank you all so much for continuing to read! I know this story is massive, but I swear, I will do my best to make it all make sense!

See you all next time! Peace!

Chapter 50: What's In A Name?

Artemis tried to get a hold of herself as Drake—no, as Tim led her into the main lab. The place was abandoned at this time of night, the lights turned off and the work stations empty, but in the center of the room a few lights still glowed, illuminating the main attraction.

Artemis sucked in a breath as she beheld the girl in the pod, floating calmly, her blonde hair floating around her and her eyes serenely closed. She wore some kind of white jumpsuit; Artemis could only guess what it was for. The glass of the pod was labelled clearly: Kr-II.

“This is Kr-II?” Artemis asked in wonder, stepping forward to get a better look at the girl; she looked like she was slightly older than Artemis herself, and her hair was a few shades lighter.

“Indeed she is,” Tim said nonchalantly, approaching behind her, “Though I’ve been trying to think of a different name than that. We can’t keep calling her by a number, no matter what Lex says. He actually forbade me from giving her one.”

“Lex stopped you from naming her?” Artemis asked with a shiver, “That’s awful. Everyone needs a name.”

“Tell me about it,” Tim sighed, and he cocked his head as he regarded the girl in the pod, “She reminds me of my sister, Cassandra. Her parents raised her without love, without language, even; she was trained only to fight and kill. It took the family quite a bit of work to help her understand, but luckily for everyone she has a kind heart.”

“Cassandra, huh?” Artemis asked, “That’s a Greek name. The seer who tried to warn everyone about the Trojan Horse.”

Tim raised an eyebrow at her. Artemis shuffled her feet. “My mom used to read me stories before bed,” she explained, keeping her eyes on the floor, “Before things got bad. She would read me the old myths. Or, like, the Disney versions, I guess. But my name was Artemis, after the Goddess of the Hunt, so I was interested. She told me she named me after her because she wanted me to never stop chasing what I wanted.”

Tim’s lips quirked up into a smile, and he nodded appreciatively. “It’s good to have a reason behind a name,” he said, “My parents named me just ‘cause they thought ‘Timothy’ was sufficiently respectable for a Drake. They didn’t bother to look into the meaning behind it.”

“That’s Greek too,” Artemis supplied.

Tim turned to her in confusion. “What?” he asked incredulously.

“Your name,” she explained again, “‘Timothy’. It’s Greek. Er, Anglicized Greek, anyway. Timo is to fear and theos is God, so Timotheos is One Who Fears God.”

“One Who Fears God…” Tim muttered bitterly, thinking of his own complicated relationship with the Great Beyond, as well as the motivations of his parents. “So my parents named me after fear,” he said blithely, “That fucking figures.”

There was silence between them for a moment, and Artemis fidgeted uncomfortably. “Well, I guess it’s just a name,” she said with a shrug, “Not everyone puts as much thought into them as I do.” She cast her gaze to the ground, her face heating up slightly.

Tim winced as he realized his mistake. “No, Artemis, it’s alright,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder, “I don’t mean to put this on you. My parents were… unpleasant. Almost as unpleasant as yours. I’m still a little bitter, is all. I think it’s really impressive that you know that much about names.”

“Really?” Artemis asked, her head cocking slightly, “It’s kind of a useless thing to know.”

Tim smirked at that, though he did feel a bit of pity at that answer. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I like useless information.”

Artemis smiled shyly. “Oh, well, uh…” she stammered, trying to get her thoughts together; why was he being so nice to her?? “Thanks,” she said eventually.

Tim smiled, trying not to pity her for her unfamiliarity with care. Then, he looked up at Kr-II, then back to Artemis, and got a brilliant idea; if he and Bruce were still on speaking terms, Bruce would have given him top marks in parenting.

“I have an idea,” he said, a grin playing at his lips as he turned to her, “Why don’t you name her?”

Artemis looked even startled. “Wh-What!?” she asked incredulously.

Tim grinned at her. “You’ve got all this knowledge about names,” he said, “Kr-II needs a name. Lex forbade me from naming her, but you aren’t me. So you name her.”

Artemis’s eyes went wide. “You… want me name your daughter?” she stammered, “But I—I’m no one! Why would you trust me with that?”

“Well, first off, you’re not no one,” Tim responded, holding out a nagging finger to her, “I haven’t put through the paperwork yet, but you’re my daughter too, now, remember? If I had your brother here, I’d ask him his opinion, but… we’re not speaking at the moment.” Well that was devastating to say. “So, Artemis, you’re right here. You know names. I’m not asking you to name my daughter for me, I’m asking you to name your sister.”

“My sister…” Artemis murmured, thinking of Jade as she looked up at Kr-II, still floating serenely in her pod, unaware of the conversation that was determining her future happening right in front of her. This was really happening, wasn’t it? A few hours ago, she was a nobody, desperately searching for a way out of the League of Assassins while spying on one of the most dangerous men in the world. Now, she was that dangerous man’s adopted daughter, and he was asking her to name one of her two(?) new siblings. He was going to try to help her. She was going to become a superhero!

“… Okay,” she found herself whispering, “How about Galatea?”

“Galatea?” Tim asked quizzically.

“Yeah,” Artemis supplied, “She was a statue that was brought to life by Aphrodite. Pygmalion, the sculptor, loved his work with everything he had, so Aphrodite rewarded him by bringing his statue of the perfect woman to life. You obviously love her, and you kinda built her from scratch, so… Galatea.”

“Galatea…” Tim mused, testing the name on his tongue as he held a hand against his daughter’s pod, and a slight smile came to his lips, “I like the sound of that.”

“Teya for short,” Artemis went on, carefully letting a smile grace her lips, “And her middle name can be Cassandra. For your sister. The one she reminds you of.”

“Galatea Cassandra Drake,” Tim mouthed, and he smiled again; despite his circumstances, he’d been doing that a lot lately, “Not half bad. And how about your name? Do you want to keep Crock?”

Artemis scowled distastefully. “Not really,” she muttered, “Jade could go with our mom’s name, Nguyen, but I got stuck with dad’s name. I’m kinda glad I didn’t go to regular public school; you can imagine all the jokes that would’ve come out of that.”

“Indeed I can, Miss Penis,” Tim said with a smirk, and Artemis scowled deeper. Tim’s expression softened as he looked at her, “When I get this paperwork done, I can change your name to Nguyen.”

“You can?” she asked, her eyes going wide, “B-But, shouldn’t it be Drake? If you’re adopting me?”

“It doesn’t have to be,” he said with a shrug, “I took Wayne for a while when Bruce adopted me, but I dropped it after a while, too. My brothers did similar things. It’s whatever you want it to be, kiddo.”

Kiddo. It came out of him so naturally, like he hadn’t even thought about it. Much more naturally than Sportsmaster’s taunting “Baby Girl”. Even more naturally than her mother’s strict “Artemis!” Artemis let out a breath, looking down.

“How about Artemis Nguyen-Drake?” she suggested timidly, and Tim grinned, pulling her into a hug as he placed his other hand on the pod holding Teya.

“Artemis,” he sighed, squeezing her in the hug a little, then turned to his other daughter, “Teya,” and he closed his eyes as he thought of his son, “Tommy.”

Tim smiled, then he took a breath. “Alright,” he sighed, shaking himself out of his reverie, and Artemis along with him, “We’ve got work to do.”

---

Tommy yawned as he woke up, staring at the ceiling of his room. It wasn’t his room in the Manor; he’d been staying with his friends in Dakota City for a few days now, and he’d gotten his own room in their clubhouse because of it. Aunt Cass was training them on how to work as a team, and Uncle Bart had even moved in during his recovery! He was giving them pointers while his legs were healing from the Reverse Flash’s attack. Tommy was starting to get really sick of people hurting his loved ones…

Still, today he could put most of that from his mind. He sat up in his bed, grinning excitedly at the calendar. The month of September’s picture showed a gaggle of Emperor Geese, native to the coasts of the Bering Sea, and on the calendar the 23^rd was circled in bright red marker. Sami had circled it, insisting that it was important, and right now Tommy couldn’t thank her enough.

Today was his birthday!

Tommy was ten today; physically fourteen, but really ten. He made it to double digits! It wasn’t really something he’d expected to do, after he’d learned about all that stuff with his DNA…

But enough of that! People were expecting him to be happy today! Remember, Tommy: Don’t think about it, and it can’t hurt you!

This is healthy!

Tommy hopped out of bed, yawning as he pulled his clothes from his dresser and threw them on, only taking a second or so to do it; super speed had its uses. Then, he raced down the stairs, grinning as he sped past Mas y Menos, who, despite their speed, were notoriously terrible morning people.

When he got downstairs, he grinned as he ran into the common room, just one rung below their living quarters. The whole clubhouse, as Tommy had taken to calling it, was situated belowground in Dakota City, beneath the old auto shop Virgil and the others had originally called home. Now, that auto shop had been demolished and was someday soon going to be the site of the Jean Hawkins Memorial Youth Center, which was owned by Wayne Enterprises, after a serious series of shell companies. When Aunt Cass had sent them the plans, signed by Grandpa and Lucius Fox, Virgil had nearly cried at the idea that his mother’s name would be on the front of the building. With a youth center as a front, a group of eight teenagers coming and going wouldn’t be suspicious, and there were going a bunch of security measures in place to make sure civilians weren’t wandering where they shouldn’t. But it should really, legitimately help out kids in Dakota City, giving them places to hang out and study away from homes that might not be safe for them. Tye insisted on their being a job board as well, helping teens find part time work to help support themselves or their families, and Richie and Ed were in talks with Mr. Fox about te types of activities they would have around the building to help keep the teens of Dakota City coming back.

For now, the Super Friends were getting to their little underground clubhouse via a toolshed just off the construction site, but once everything was complete they could go in the front door and make their way to the locker rooms, where one specific locker was gonna have a false back, leading to a super secret stairway! It was gonna be like the movies! And the Manor, now that Tommy thought about it!

The underground though, that was where the magic was happening. The construction had been rapid and professional, with the best construction crews put on the project; all vetted and sworn to secrecy, of course. They had bedrooms on the top level, with secret skylights letting in natural light to the rooms from street level. They were disguised as storm drains! Then, there was the common room, one rung down, the central nexus of the clubhouse. It was where their secret passageways were going to lead to, and where they all spent a majority of their time. It had a full kitchen, a big TV, a big couch, and all sorts of video games and books for them to read! Grandpa had even been careful to get books and stuff in Spanish and Japanese for Mas y Menos and Sami!

Then, there were the bits that Tommy was really excited about. Below the Common Room was what Tommy affectionately referred to as Mission Control, where Aunt Cass had a setup monitoring crime across the city, and below that was what Tommy called The Wreck Room. It was a massive, open expanse under the top layers, extending down about as far as they could make it, to accommodate Tye’s astral projection powers. Once the Wreck Room was done, it was where they would train to fight as a team, and really sock it to the bad guys! And the best part was, they wouldn’t have to worry about mentioning it to the civilian kids upstairs once everything was done! They would all think they were talking about the Rec Room, not the Wreck Room! It was foolproof!

Tommy’s happy grin took on a bit more of a predatory glint as he thought; The Wreck Room was more than just a clever play on words. It was also where he could train his team to take down Red Robin.

But that wasn’t in the cards for a while yet; construction on the lower layers wouldn’t be done until the end of the year, and the upper layers wouldn’t be done until the summer. Luckily, Dakota City’s sewer system coalesced at the center of the city and they were more on the outskirts, or else they might have a lot of trouble explaining the construction. For now, the only things that were done were their bedrooms, the Common Room, and parts of Mission Control.

And in the Common Room, as Tommy walked in, he grinned as he saw Aunt Cass by the oven, humming to herself as she tried to figure out baking a cake. “Morning, Aunt Cass!” Tommy called happily, and Cass stood up, smiling at him.

“Morning, Little Nephew!” she responded with a laugh, “Happy Birthday!”

“Thanks!!” he laughed back, crushing her slightly in a hug, “How’s the baking going?”

Aunt Cass groaned at his question, looking back at the oven with disdain. “Alfred made cake look easy…” she sighed forlornly, “I’ll do my best.”

Tommy grinned and hugged her again, softer this time. “No worries,” he assured her, “I’m sure it’ll taste great!”

It was a little odd to be spending his birthday away from the Manor, but honestly, Tommy was kind of enjoying it. The Clubhouse was still crowded, but it was a different sort of crowded; in the Manor, everyone knew what they were supposed to be doing. At the Clubhouse, everything was more… loosey-goosey. Everyone was still figuring things out. It wasn’t just crowded, it was chaotic, and Tommy kind of liked that dull chaos.

Speaking of, Mas y Menos sped into the room, having finished their washing up, and they immediately ran to Tommy, crying “¡Feliz cumpleaños, Tommy!” in unison as they hugged him on either side.

“Gracias, a los dos!” Tommy returned in the best Spanish he could muster, and Matteo and Sebastiano grinned at his attempt. Tommy had a feeling it hadn’t been very good, but hey, he was trying. He’d basically had Google Translate downloaded into his head when he was being grown, anyway.

“Speedsters, set table!” Aunt Cass commanded, and the twins groaned in unison as they begrudgingly set about their task.

“Oh, man, Cass!” a familiar voice sighed from the other room, and Tommy beamed as his Uncle Bart entered, still in a wheelchair from his attack at the Flash Museum; he was staying in one of their guest rooms, “Really? The speedsters always set the table!”

“¡Sí, sí! ¡Es un estereotipo dañino!” Matteo protested, waving at Bart in agreement.

“¡Nos están explotando por nuestro trabajo!” Sebastiano agreed, nodding his head.

“No one’s exploiting anyone,” Ed sighed tiredly as he stumbled into the room, looking like he’d very much rather be asleep, “Everyone takes a turn, and it’s Sunday. Your turn.”

Matteo and Sebastiano harrumphed, but still went about setting the table anyway.

“Hola, Tommy. G’mornin,” Ed sighed tiredly, plopping himself down at the table in expectation, “Happy Birthday.”

Tommy huffed a laugh at Ed’s antics. “Thanks, Ed,” he responded, sitting with him, “Sleep well?”

Ed yawned in response, dismissing the need for further questions. Meanwhile, Bart wheeled himself toward the table, sighing as he had to tax his arms, which were also still healing. Still, he managed a bright enough smile as he looked to Tommy, “Happy Birthday, kid! How old are you now?”

“Ten and fourteen!” Tommy answered, just as brightly, and Bart nodded sagely.

“Ten and fourteen is a good age to be,” he said, and Tommy laughed as Aunt Cass started passing around the facsimile of breakfast.

The rest of the team filtered in slowly, each one still in their pajamas for the most part as they stumbled toward the table for breakfast. Uncle Bart and Richie were comparing the specs for the Clubhouse with those available at Titans Tower. Titans Tower was more expansive, but it was also older and little out of date by the standards Richie was holding the Clubhouse to. “--That, and your precious Titans Tower holds no practical purpose for the community!” Richie argued, and Uncle Bart gasped.

“Titans Tower is a symbol!” he argued, aghast at the smirch on the Tower’s honor, “When the people of Jump City, San Francisco look out their windows in the morning, they see the symbol of the Teen Titans and young superheroes everywhere standing proudly in the Bay! We inspire people, make them feel safe!”

“Yeah, and you also put a massive target on your back, dude,” Virgil responded over the top of his waffles, “How many times has the Tower been attacked now? Six? Seven?”

Bart shrunk into his seat as he answered meekly, “Twelve.”

“Face it, Titans Tower is a giant glass bullseye in the shape of a skyscraper,” Richie continued, waving a piece of waffle on his fork to accentuate his argument, “The Clubhouse, meanwhile, will be covert. And, muchacho, our cover won’t just be a giant glass dildo, we’ll actually be giving back to the people in this town!”

Ed let out a startled laugh at the reference to Titans Tower being a ‘giant glass dildo’, then quickly dissolved into a giggling fit as the rest of the table followed him.

“Well, I kinda wish I hadn’t heard that,” a new voice said from the entrance to the room, and Tommy pulled himself up from his laughing just in time to see his dad, Conner, standing in the doorway with a grin on his face, “But I also kinda wish I could disagree more.”

“Hey, Pops!” Tommy laughed, barreling into him as his father wrapped him up in a hug.

“Hey, kiddo!” Conner said with a grin, lifting him up and putting him back down, then he looked up at the rest of the table, “Kids, Cass.”

“Hey, why don’t I get a hello?” Bart asked indignantly, and Conner looked at him.

“I said, ‘kids’,” he pointed out, and Bart raised a finger to answer, then, thinking of no good counterargument, merely returned to his waffles.

“Alright, I brought you something, kid,” Conner went on, holding out a wrapped gift to Tommy, “Go ahead and open it.”

Tommy grinned eagerly as he snatched the present out his father’s grip, then sped back to the table, tearing through wrapping paper with reckless abandon. To his delight, on the other side was an encyclopedia titled Birds of the Great Lakes, and Tommy cheered as he held the book aloft. “Whoo!! Lake Huron birdwatching, here I come!!” he cheered.

“I keep telling you, dude, Dakota’s on Lake Superior, not Huron,” Virgil sighed, “And you are the only guy I know that gets that excited about a bird encyclopedia.”

“That’s a great argument, Virgil, unfortunately, lnehh!!” Tommy stuck his tongue out at Virgil in reply, not bothering to think of a proper argument.

Tye wrinkled his nose at the gesture. “I think I liked you better when you were socially awkward,” he said sarcastically, shaking his head.

Tommy rolled his eyes, then started flipping through his new book as conversation restarted around him. Ooh! Whitefish Point had a bird observatory!

The rest of the day went pretty much like that. They all played Mariokart and Smash Bros, then a massive and complicated card game that Ed had learned during his brief stint in the Boy Scouts. The game was called Mau, and Ed joked that an older scout in his troop said it was “Named for the Chinese dictator, because it’s ended just as many friendships!”

Ed said the game only had four rules, which is how he initially got the rest of them to play. Those rules turned out to be:

1. The game played like Uno, insofar as you place 2’s on 2’s and diamonds on diamonds, etc., and whoever got rid of all their cards won.
2. You couldn’t talk during the game unless the game demanded it
3. The winner of the round gets to make a new rule for next round, as long as it didn’t screw with the base rules of the game
4. He couldn’t tell them the rest of the rules.

The game had to be learned through trial and error, and because there were so many of them, they had to use about five decks of cards to make it work. At one point, Tommy was certain Tye was holding about thirty-eight cards, and he looked extremely unhappy about it. The language barrier with Sami and Mas y Menos didn’t help at first, but playing the game actually turned out to be a great way to teach them English.

By the end of the day, they’d played all they could out of Mariokart, Smash Bros, and Mau, and wound up watching a movie or two. Sami argued for some anime movie the rest of them had never heard of, Tye wanted an indie film the rest of them had never heard of, and Mas y Menos wanted a Spanish telenovela the rest of them had never heard of, so they settled on Virgil’s pick of Mel Brooks’ Spaceballs, a spoof of Star Wars.

After about two hours of guffawing laughter, they finally all settled down, and Aunt Cass served her attempt at cake. It ended up being ugly, one layer falling off of the other and the frosting not coming out right at all, but it was also delicious. It was gone in about twenty minutes.

Finally, as everyone started to pack it in for the night, Conner pulled his son aside, the two of them going up to Tommy’s room. “So, I’ve got one last gift for you, kid, but I don’t want to ruin the mood if you don’t want it,” Conner started, holding another gift-wrapped box in his hands.

Tommy raised an eyebrow suspiciously, but took the gift anyway. “What is it?” he asked, already taking off the box’s lid.

Inside was an old but expensive-looking camera, and a carrying case that held a collapsable tripod and a few different lenses. “A camera?” Tommy asked, looking up, “Why would you be nervous about giving me this?”

Conner looked uncomfortable as he placed the box on Tommy’s bed. “Because it’s not new,” Conner sighed, closing his eyes, “It, uh… it belonged to… y’know.”

Tommy realized what he was getting at. He swallowed as he looked at the camera again. Tim’s camera.

“I just--, you’re starting to get really excited about photography with your birds, and Tim was always great with his camera, and I just thought--! I don’t know what I thought,” Conner tried, but he shook his head, “It’s up to you. I won’t feel insulted if you don’t want it. I just thought I should give you the option of having it, if you want.”

Tommy didn’t know what to say as he looked down at the camera with trepidation. On one hand, it was a really good camera, and he’d probably get some awesome flight shots with it. On the other, it was his. And it probably had some of his pictures on it.

Then again, it probably had some of his pictures on it… Tommy could use this. If he could print out a few of these photos and leave them for Tim to find, it would really fuck with him; throw him off his game. Make him easier to take down.

Tommy scumbled a small smile. Psychological warfare.

“No, you know what?” he said softly, turning back to look his father in the eye as he lied, “I’ll take it. It might be good to know.”

Conner smiled the widest, most genuine smile Tommy had ever seen him smile, and he almost felt bad for playing him like this, but if it took down Red Robin in the end, then it will have bee worth it. Conner would understand in the end.

“That’s great!” Conner cried, pulling Tommy into a rib-crushing hug, “I’m glad you like it!”

Tommy’s smile dropped when Conner couldn’t see him anymore, and he hugged his father back. He tried to think of something to say, but he thought it might be better if he didn’t say a word; let Conner believe whatever he wanted to believe.

---

Later that night, Tommy was laying in bed, alone in his room, flicking through the pictures on Tim’s camera. He tried to go to the earliest stuff first, and he was surprised at what he saw.

One was a picture of Robin, and judging from the date, January of 2003, Tommy supposed it must have been Uncle Dick. But Tim would only have been six years old in 2003, like really, physically six years old; did he really go out taking pictures of vigilantes as a little kid? How the hell did he survive?

Tommy flicked through a few more pictures, picking out ones to use. One was of Uncle Jason as Robin in 2005. There were a few of Grandpa in the Batsuit, a few of Aunt Babs as Batgirl. The were very few pictures from 2006; they restarted again in 2007. Now, there were interior shots of the Batcave, as well as a few pictures of people Tommy only recognized from case files. Lady Shiva, who seemed to be posing begrudgingly. King Snake, who was sitting and meditating, seemingly unaware of his observer. Batman and Catwoman, equally unaware judging from their body language. There were actually quite a few pictures in 2008 of Aunt Steph, posing for pictures both in and out of mask as the Spoiler. Exceptionally rare were pictures of Aunt Cass as Batgirl, only one of her as Black Bat. Everyone looked so young.

Then, in 2009, the pictures of Young Justice started. Uncle Bart, Aunt Cassie. Conner. There was a lot of Conner. Some of them actually made Tommy kinda uncomfortable; surely Tim wasn’t using these pictures for what Tommy thought he was, right? Right. Just bar that thought from your brain, Tommy. Whatever you do, do not think about what your parents did as teenagers. Don’t.

Tommy thankfully made it past the pictures of Conner without anything too explicit. The pictures ended right around early 2012, the same year he was born. To his shock, there were a few pictures that were markedly different from the rest.

In 2010, there was a stark picture of rubble and blood. Tommy thought it was the basement of Titans Tower, but thoroughly destroyed by a fight. On the back wall, written in what could only have been blood, was the words ‘JASON TODD WAS HERE’. Tommy shuddered.

The next jarring picture was just as gruesome. Aunt Stephanie, in the Robin costume, looking like she had lost a fight with a sledgehammer. She was bandaged, battered, bruised, and cut up. She was… she was dead. Tommy could tell. The heart monitor next to her hospital bed was flatlining. Why had Tim taken a picture of this?

The next picture was of Impulse. Uncle Bart was collapsed in a heap, facedown on the ground, his back signed and scorched by some attack or another. His eyes were open, seeing nothing. It was clear that someone had killed him and left him there. Why was this picture here??

There was another picture that made Tommy sick to his stomach. Conner, beaten so badly he was nearly unrecognizable, save for the black Superman t-shirt he wore. Collapsed in a heap of rubble. The frame was blurred, like Tim had been shaking when he took the picture. It was an eerie feeling, looking at dead people he knew made it out.

Then he got to the final picture on Tim’s camera roll. It was in mid-2012, right before he quit being Robin. Tommy didn’t recognize the man in the picture, but he could guess. Jack Drake lay on his back, limbs spread wide, collapsed on the floor of the kitchen of Drake Manor. Blood pooled around him, and a boomerang was plunged into his chest. Light from the doorway cast Tim’s shadow over his father as he took the picture.

Tommy rubbed his eyes as he put the camera away, trying to spurn the images from his mind before he went to sleep. He decided to flip through his new book, but finding he couldn’t really get into it, gave up and opened his phone, deciding to take a glance at the news back in Gotham.

One headline from the Gazette immediately got his attention:

LexCorp Darling Tim Drake: Father?

Tommy’s eyes widened in panic. Had someone leaked his heritage to the press??? He quickly started to read:

GOTHAM GAZETTE
September 23^rd, 2022
Tim Drake, Former Wayne Heir, Adopts Metropolis Orphan
By Vicki Vale, Senior Correspondent

METROPOLIS—In a surprising and unorthodox move, Tim Drake, Head of Research & Development at LexCorp and former heir to the Wayne fortune, has officially adopted a young girl from Metropolis, Artemis Nguyen, who has henceforth legally changed her name to Artemis Nguyen-Drake. The adoption, finalized earlier this week, has raised eyebrows across Gotham’s high society, with many noting Drake’s youth—only twenty-five years old—and his seemingly sudden decision to take on a parental role.

Drake, who has long distanced himself from his past as Bruce Wayne’s protégé, released a brief statement regarding his decision:

“At the end of the day, this isn’t about me. It’s about Artemis and what’s best for her. I had the means to give her a stable home, and I chose to do so with her consent and full approval. That’s all there is to it.”

According to the official press release, Artemis Nguyen was originally from Star City but somehow ended up in a Metropolis orphanage before being adopted by Drake. No further details have been provided regarding how or why Ms. Nguyen-Drake wound up in Metropolis, nor has Drake elaborated on their prior relationship—if any—before the adoption. Ms. Nguyen-Drake, sixteen, declined to give a statement to the press.

Many in Gotham’s social circles are already drawing comparisons between Tim Drake’s decision and the numerous adoptions of his former guardian, Bruce Wayne. Wayne famously took in multiple wards over the years, including Drake himself. While Wayne’s philanthropy and unconventional parenting style have long been a source of public fascination, Drake’s adoption of Artemis has sparked speculation about whether the young tech mogul is following in his mentor’s footsteps—or forging a very different path.

Public reaction has been mixed. Some praise Drake’s decision as an act of genuine compassion, while others question the circumstances surrounding the adoption. Lex Luthor, Drake’s boss and mentor, has yet to comment, as has Bruce Wayne, Drake’s former guardian. Rumors swirl regarding Artemis’ past and what led her to Metropolis, though no evidence suggests anything amiss.

Regardless of speculation, one thing remains clear: Tim Drake, one of Gotham’s favorite sons, has taken an unexpected step into fatherhood. Whether this marks a new chapter in his life or simply another mystery in the ever-intriguing saga of Gotham’s elite, only time will tell.

At first, Tommy was relieved. They didn’t know about him, and they didn’t know about Conner.

Then, he grew angry. Who the fuck was Artemis Nguyen!? What the fuck was she doing with his father!?! It took a lot of self control for Tommy not to crush his phone in anger. Did Tim fucking replace him…!?!

Tommy stood up quickly, pacing his room in a rage. He wouldn’t stand for this; no way, no how! Tim couldn’t get away with fucking up another kid’s life, Tommy would make sure of it. He would fly over to Metropolis and kick Tim’s shit in just like he’d done at STAR Labs! But… but he couldn’t do anything as Robin. It would draw too much attention, people would start asking questions that Tommy didn’t have the answers to.

Tommy looked back at his new book; growling in frustration, he threw the gift against the wall, letting it clatter the ground, and it opened to a random page. Cursing himself for losing his temper, even if he managed not to break anything, Tommy went to go pick it up, only to stop and look at the page it was open to:

The Shrike.

And he got an idea.

Notes:

I'm BACK!!

And I've got two, count 'em, TWO chapters for you today!! Happy 86th Anniversary of Batman's Debut, everyone!! (Detective Comics #27, March 30th, 1939)

As always, thank you all so much for reading! I'll see you all next time! Peace!

Chapter 51: The Mark of Zorro

Bruce sighed as he woke up. Today was Tommy’s birthday. But today was also something else. Something worse. It was his birthday. The family was in agreement to celebrate his birthday on March 30^th instead, a date chosen at near random, mainly because it was as far away from September 23^rd as he could get. Because September 23^rd was a day he couldn’t forget for altogether different reasons than his birthday…

---

1976

Bruce woke up and nearly sprinted out of bed, hurriedly getting dressed as he bolted down the stairs. “Mom! Dad! Wake up, wake up, wake up!!” he cried happily, careening down into the kitchen, “Do you know what day it is!?”

Martha and Thomas Wayne looked exhausted but amused as they sat with their morning coffee, Martha rolling her eyes at her son’s antics. Thomas sipped his coffee, reading the newspaper as he smoked his pipe. “I’m not sure, dear, what day is it?” he asked, feigning nonchalance, and Martha hummed ponderingly, making a show of putting her hand to her chin, lost in thought.

“Oh, my, well… I suppose it’s Sunday?” she suggested, and Thomas shrugged.

“Not that!” Bruce groaned.

“September 23^rd?” Thomas suggested, and Bruce groaned again.

“Oh! Of course, Bruce means it’s the eight hundred fifty-fourth anniversary of the Concordat of Worms!” Martha cried triumphantly, and Bruce lost it.

“Mommmm!!!” he groaned for the final time, getting tired of the antics.

“Oh! That’s right!” Thomas said with a laugh, “It’s Bruce’s birthday.”

“Oh, of course!” Martha laughed in reply, grinning at her son as she held out a plate of pancakes, both parents dropping the ruse as Bruce happily sat down, knife and fork in hand. “Happy Birthday, Bruce,” Martha said lovingly, planting a kiss on her son’s forehead.

“Happy Birthday, son,” Thomas agreed, clapping a hand on the boy’s shoulder, “Got any big plans for today?”

“Harbbee ‘n Tahm ‘re c’min’ ov’r!” Bruce mumbled around his pancakes, which his mother smacked him for. Bruce chewed and swallowed, then said, “Harvey and Tom are coming over!”

“Ah, Bruce Wayne, Harvey Dent, and Tommy Elliot,” Thomas said knowingly, ruffling Bruce’s hair, “The Three Amigos; how could I forget?”

“Do we have any plans for today, dear?” Martha asked, and Thomas looked at his watch.

“D’oh, look at the time! Bruce, you might miss your favorite show!” Thomas cried, and Bruce sat bolt upright.

“Gray Ghost!!!” Bruce cried, distraught, scrambling away from the table and toward the television set, desperately getting it tuned to the right channel. To his relief, the theme music started up just as he found it:

“Crime haunts the night! A silent crusader carries the torch of justice! Those with evil hearts, beware! For out of the darkness comes: The Gray Ghost!”

Bruce whooped with joy as the Gray Ghost pummeled the crooks onscreen, rushing off into the dark mist of Empire City to save some damsel in distress. Bruce sat flat on his stomach, feet in the air, awe in his eyes as they reflected the glow of the television. Onscreen, the Gray Ghost investigated this week’s dastardly crime, (a toymaker using remote control cars as bombs!) and Bruce was enthralled.

Thomas and Martha came into the room, grinning at one another as they took their seats. “You know who’s even cooler than the Gray Ghost, Bruce?” Thomas asked, and Bruce rolled his eyes.

“No one?” he asked facetiously, and Thomas laughed.

“Zorro! The Masked Swordsman!” Thomas said dramatically, imitating the announcer on The Gray Ghost, and Bruce rolled his eyes again.

“Yeah right,” he muttered, “Like that Zorro guy could ever beat the Gray Ghost!”

“No, it’s true! And I’ll prove it to you!” Thomas argued, “In fact, I just so happened to have bought the whole family tickets to see a special screening of The Mark of Zorro tonight in Park Row!”

“Park Row?” Martha hissed, “Thomas, what are you thinking!?”

“It’ll be fine, Martha!” Thomas said admonishingly, “I have an old friend coming from England to accompany us! He’ll make sure nothing happens.”

“We’re gonna go see a movie tonight?” Bruce asked, and Thomas nodded happily as Martha sighed out her stress and mild disapproval. Bruce grinned, “Cool! Too bad it’s about that Zorro guy…” and he turned back to the TV. Thomas looked at Martha and shrugged.

“Can’t win ‘em all, I suppose,” he sighed.

“No, I suppose not,” Martha sighed with him, “Who is this old friend coming to visit?”

“Oh, a fellow I got to know in my Doctors Without Borders days!” Thomas supplied, “I fixed him up after a run-in with the IRA. Pennyworth’s his name, Alfred Pennyworth. You’ll like him!”

“And what makes Mr. Pennyworth so qualified to make sure nothing happens in Park Row of all places?” Martha whispered harshly, thinking Bruce couldn’t hear, but he could, “Thomas, you know the sorts of groups that hang around there!”

“It will be fine, Martha,” Thomas insisted, “Alfred knows what to do. He’s MI6!”

“MI6? Like James Bond?” Bruce asked, still not looking away from the TV, and Thomas laughed.

“Ha! James Bond wishes he was Alfred Pennyworth!” he said with a grin, and Martha gave another long-suffering sigh.

“Very well; far be it from me to take a dog away from his bone,” she sighed, sitting down on the couch next to Thomas, “Bruce, dear, what’s going on in this episode?”

“Some bad guy’s making bombs out of remote-control racecars! Gray Ghost is gonna stop ‘im, though,” Bruce supplied easily.

“Bombs out of remote-control racecars!” Martha said with a slight, affectionate scoff, “What will they think of next?”

“So sure of how it’s gonna end, huh, Bruce?” Thomas asked, and Bruce nodded.

“Yuh-huh,” he said, still watching, “Always does.”

Thomas and Martha gave each other knowing looks, smiles twinkling in their eyes, “Well, I think it will still be pretty surprising for you this time around,” Thomas said, turning back to his pipe, his coffee, and his paper, “Just keep watching.”

“Already on it,” Bruce answered, giving an exaggerated salute.

Twenty minutes later, the episode drew to a close, the bad guy went to jail, and Gray Ghost shook hands with Commissioner James like always. But then, instead of the credits rolling, Gray Ghost turned to the camera. “Now, boys and girls, I’d like to take a brief moment today to send out a special message to one of our viewers,” Gray Ghost started, the actor, Simon Trent, still keeping up his grave tones, but letting them get a little warmer, “A loyal viewer of our show, who can quote nearly every line from nearly every episode, who never misses a broadcast, and the founder and chapter president of his local Gray Ghost Neighborhood Watch! To little Bruce Wayne, the Gray Ghost wishes you a very happy tenth birthday.

“And remember, Those with evil in their hearts, beware! For out from the darkness comes: The Gray Ghost!” And the theme music played.

Bruce stared, slack-jawed at the TV, still in shock. Simon Trent just wished him a happy birthday! The Gray Ghost just wished him a happy birthday!!

Bruce turned to his parents, both grinning knowingly. “Did that really just happen!?” he asked breathlessly, and Thomas looked at Martha.

“I don’t know, Martha, did it?” he asked, and Martha grinned.

“Seemed to, Thomas,” she replied.

Bruce couldn’t believe it! The Gray Ghost knew it was his birthday!! He stood up quickly, throwing his hands in the air and whooping with joy.

“BEST! BIRTHDAY! EVER!!”

And the day sort of kept going like that. Harvey and Tom came over, and they played Clue, Bruce’s favorite. They also ran around in the backyard with sticks and water guns, laughing as they sprayed one another; luckily it was a pretty warm day for September. Bruce pretended to be the Gray Ghost while he sprayed Harvey in the face, and Harvey cried out dramatically, crying out, “I’m melting, I’m melting! What a world, what a world!” and Tom and Bruce could hardly stop laughing while Harvey picked himself up.

Then, when they came back inside, soaked and shivering, Thomas was gracious enough to have started a fire while Martha supplied them all with hot chocolate, and they warmed themselves up by the fire, reminiscing in the day’s glories. “Bruce,” Tom said with a grin, sipping his hot chocolate by the roaring fireplace, “Have I ever told you how much I want to be you for a day?”

Bruce shrugged, a smug grin on his face. “I don’t know, Tom,” he said, “But it’s not really a surprise; lots of people want to be me.”

“Yes, but fortunately there’s only one of you,” Thomas Wayne laughed as he approached the three boys, “Alright, Harvey, Tom, it’s time for you two to go home. Bruce here’s got a movie to catch!”

“Alright, Mr. Wayne,” Harvey said with a sigh, hauling himself to his feet.

“Thanks for the cocoa, Mrs. Wayne!” Tom called happily, “Happy Birthday, Bruce!”

“Thanks, Tom!” Bruce replied, waving at them as they left, “Bye! Bye, Harvey!”

“Bye, Bruce, Happy Birthday,” Harvey acknowledged, already looking like he was going to fall asleep as Tom led him back out toward their waiting rides.

As they left, Thomas looked concerned as he checked his watch. “He should have been here by now…” he muttered, “Not like him to be late…”

“Thomas?” Martha called from the hallway, putting in an earring as she walked out to them, “Is your friend here yet?”

“He’s late, but I think we ought to go ahead anyway; it’s a one night only showing!” Thomas said.

“I mean, yeah, I want to go!” Bruce said, “Dad said he was cooler than Gray Ghost, and I want to be able to prove him wrong!”

Martha pursed her lips. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea…” she murmured, but Thomas held out his hands to her.

“Martha… what are the chances?” he asked imploringly, “We’ll park around the corner! No one will even realize we’re there! And it’s only an hour and a half-long movie!”

“Well… alright,” Martha sighed, giving in, “But we’re not staying through the credits! It’s in-and-out, you understand?”

“Perfectly! Now come on, everyone in the car!” Thomas cried, and he and Bruce raced to it while Martha gave another long-suffering sigh and brought up the rear.

The car ride felt long, but Bruce figured it couldn’t have been more than forty minutes or so. It could have been shorter, but Dad always insisted on taking the Wayne Bridge into the city, rather than the Cobblepot or Crowne Bridges. “How could we take any other bridge?” he protested, “This one’s got our name on it!”

And when they got to the theater, it was hardly crowded; it kinda seemed like Thomas Wayne was the only one who cared that The Mark of Zorro was playing for one night only at the Monarch Theater. Except for one girl, who was arguing with the ticket agent. “Look, man, why do I gotta have my parents to see this movie? It’s from 1940!” she was saying, and the man behind the counter looked exasperated.

“Look, kid, I’m sorry, but we can’t let you in without parental supervision,” he sighed, “Company policy. Now beat it!”

The girl let out a frustrated growl, then turned on her heel and started stalking away. Bruce couldn’t help but stare; she was really pretty. Black hair that fell right around her shoulders, black jeans, and a cool leather jacket that looked nice and warm. She noticed him staring, then sneered. “What’re you looking at, Richie Rich?” she muttered, and she stalked past them. If Bruce didn’t know any better, he’d say her hair was standing up just like a cat’s!

“Well, that was a pleasant young lady,” Martha muttered to Thomas.

Still, they bought their tickets and went inside, and the film started to roll.

And Bruce couldn’t believe how much he was glued to he screen. The horseback riding scene was beautifully put together, and the guy playing Zorro, Tyrone Power? He was awesome! So suave, so charming! He had people eating out of his hand! And even when Diego Vega (his secret identity!) got called back to California, when he realized something was up in Los Angeles, he immediately played the part of the fool, trying to trick people he had gone soft in Spain when he’d actually trained as a swordsman! He had them all duped!

Bruce cheered the first time Zorro came onto the screen, in all his black-robed glory, slicing his ‘Z’ mark into every conceivable surface. Zorro got the girl, he drove out the evil alcalde, and he even got in that awesome sword fight with Captain Esteban!

Bruce couldn’t stop raving about it as they exited the theater. “That was awesome, Dad!” Bruce laughed, waving his program around like Zorro’s sword, “He had them all duped!”

“Oh, yes!” Martha said with a laugh, “Who would have ever guessed a prissy aristocrat like Don Diego Vega could be the handsome and deadly Zorro?”

Thomas laughed, and Bruce did too, even while he still practiced his fencing moves. “Say, how about when Alfred does finally get here, he teaches you some fencing, Bruce?” Thomas asked, “That sound fun?”

Bruce turned and stared at his father with wide eyes. “Really!?” he asked, bouncing on the heels of his feet, “That would be awesome!! Do you think they’d let me ride around Gotham on a horse?? Just like Zorro!?”

Thomas laughed as he took Bruce by the shoulders, steering the boy along the sidewalk. “Sorry, kiddo,” he laughed, “I think they’d just throw someone like Zorro in Arkham. Come on, car’s this way.”

---

2022

Bruce sighed as he trudged up the hill toward his parents’ graves. And his own, now that he thought about it. Jason’s too, and Tim’s. Maybe they should stop burying people on this hill; they never seemed to stay there.

Maybe his parents didn’t want neighbors.

He thought about what he would tell them. Your great-grandson is turning ten today. My wife is pregnant. Barbara had her baby, a healthy baby girl named Mary. I’m Batman.

However, when he got to the top of the hill, all thoughts of a visit went from his mind. He dropped the flowers he’d brought for his mother. He clenched his jaw, then his fists, and he started to shake with rage.

Two rectangular holes marred the dirt where his parents once lay. Their headstone mocking him as Bruce stared at where their caskets should have been.

Now, he only had one question on his mind.

Who did this?

Notes:

Did I watch the actual 1940 version of Mark of Zorro for this? Maybe.
(Y'all it was actually really good I totally recommend it, you can find it online for free, and it's only an hour ad a half long)

Thanks again! Peace!

Chapter 52: Rude Awakening

Conner heaved a great sigh as he sat at the Common Room table with Cass and Bart, all the kids having gone to bed, leaving the adults to catch up in their own way. “Man, what a day!” Bart sighed as they all sat down, Cass handing out beers to herself and Conner, “I hate to say it, but these kids are running circles around us.”

“Almost as hyper as we were,” Conner agreed, gratefully accepting his beer, and Cass smirked from behind her own.

“Always had somewhere to be,” she told them, smiling at the memories, “Always something to do.”

“Hm, yeah,” Conner sighed as he popped the top off his beer with his thumb, “Good times.”

The silence between them was comfortable, but noticeable. Conner sighed as he contemplated the clock, showing somewhere between 11 and midnight. “Any word about Cassie?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Nothing,” Cass said sadly with a shake of her head, “Wonder Woman and Troia on the case. No word.”

“How long has she been missing, now?” Bart asked, munching on some baby carrots from an abandoned veggie tray.

“A few days,” Conner sighed, taking a swig, “I’ve been listening for her as best I can, but it’s like she just dropped off the face of the planet.”

Bart sighed, looking down at his legs, still in casts. “I hate not being able to do anything,” he muttered, “I even need help to pee, now!”

“It’s not forever,” Conner assured him, “Thawne and the surgeons just did a number on your legs, is all. Your arms got lucky, but your legs were more of a mess.”

Bart slumped over in his chair, looking forlorn. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” he muttered, “It’s been weeks! Speedsters are supposed to heal faster than this!”

“This too shall pass,” Cass quoted sagely, and the two former Titans rolled their eyes at her, but Bart appreciated the sentiment.

Conversation turned to lighter topics after that, and it ebbed and flowed and lulled as all conversations did. Then Conner made the mistake of checking his phone, and his eyes widened at the news alert from the Daily Planet app Lois had downloaded onto his phone without his consent:

Tim Drake Adopts Metropolis Orphan! Says “It’s About What’s Best for Her”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Tim, what now?” Conner sighed, simply not finding it in himself to be surprised or angry, and Bart and Cass looked at him. He handed over the phone, simply rubbing his eyes with his fingers.

“Ah,” Cass said simply, showing no outward emotion other than that.

Bart groaned, throwing up his hands. “You’ve gotta be freaking kidding me!” he cried.

Conner sighed, rubbing his face. He was sure Tim had a good reason for this; he rarely did anything for no reason, but the exact details of this eluded him. There must be something going on that Conner didn’t know about; that’s how it always was with Tim.

“What reason could he possibly have for adopting another kid!?” Bart cried angrily, “It’s like he’s trying to hurt as many people as possible!”

“That’s not true,” Conner sighed admonishingly, “There’s gotta be a reason. There always is.”

Cass tilted her head. “It is change,” she added, “Big change.”

“When are things with Tim ever not changing?” Bart asked ruefully.

Conner couldn’t find it in himself to disagree with that. He looked down at the phone again, thinking hard. “I guess I oughta go talk to him about it, huh?” he asked them, and Cass pursed her lips sympathetically as she nodded her head. Bart remained impassive, but looked generally disapproving.

“I still don’t think you should be palling around with him, Kon,” Bart told him, “He’s not like he was.”

“Yes he is,” Conner replied, “He’s just under a lot of pressure.”

“Pressure changes people,” Bart argued back.

Conner held his tongue. He and Bart had been down this road many times before, it’d be no use to go down it again now. Conner stood from the table, knocking back the rest of his beer and tossing it in the recycling bin. “I guess I’m on my way to Metropolis,” he sighed, stretching himself out as he prepared to take off, “Call me if you need anything; I’ll try and find out what I can.”

“Yeah,” Bart sighed, accepting that Conner wasn’t engaging in the argument, “Will do. Stay safe.”

Bart said the last bit with much more sincerity than Conner was used to hearing from his friend; Conner smiled, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Always,” he assured him.

Cass was looking down at her phone, frowning. “Can you drop me off in Gotham?” she asked, looking up, “Bruce just texted. Something’s wrong.”

“Sure thing,” Conner agreed, “Do you need your gear?”

Cass shook her head. “Spares in the Cave,” she explained, standing up, “I’ll be fine.”

Conner nodded, then wrapped an arm around her, looking at Bart, “Think you can hold down the fort?”

Bart nodded, grinning at them. “I may be down for the count,” he said, “But I think I can handle a bunch of kids.”

Conner smirked; from what little he’d seen of these kids, he didn’t know if Bart could handle this bunch in particular. Still, though; he’d be fine. They were good kids.

“Alright, we’re off, then,” he sighed, and soon he and Cass were up, up, and away.

---

Tommy couldn’t sleep. Not anymore. Now, he was in a creative frenzy. His super speed went into overdrive as he started tinkering in his room; he had to steal some of Richie’s stuff to do it, but he’d make it up to him. Once he was done, he would share the schematics; Richie would love that.

Tommy needed to focus; he wasn’t proud of it, but he pulled out the small bottle of rum he’d hidden in the false back of his dresser drawer, lined with lead so his dad wouldn’t find it; if he was going to do this, he needed a drink. He gulped down a mouthful as he considered his plan.

First, he had to think of ways to hide his identity, even from other Kryptonians. So his new suit had to be lined with lead, everything except for the lenses; he still needed to be able to use his x-ray and heat vision, after all.

Then, there was the matter of his heartbeat. Grandpa Clark and Conner had both memorized it; he would need to mask it somehow. Luckily, he had been living with Tim for a year before anyone found him, and thanks to Lex Luthor, his brain was already wired to handle remembering things from when he was a toddler. It would take some doing, but Tommy was pretty sure he could replicate Tim’s white noise generator, especially after some quick reading on the Internet.

He started working at about midnight. About half of his rum was gone; Tommy felt a nice, comfortable buzz. It was the most his Kryptonian physiology would allow, at these amounts. The white noise generator was done in half an hour. He clicked it into place on his chest, and sure enough, he couldn’t hear his own heartbeat anymore. It kind of screwed with his own superhearing, but Tommy could tune it out if he concentrated.

Then, there was the matter of the suit. He needed lead lining, so he flew around the city until he found an old warehouse, and sure enough, its walls were painted with lead-based paint. He stripped it off pretty quick, careful not to breathe anything in, and set about applying it to his old Drake uniform, surreptitiously stolen from his room in the Manor before anyone realized he had been there. His old uniform was quickly coated in black lead, and he managed to get a pretty workable mask out of a spare helmet he stole from one of Uncle Jason’s safehouses that he didn’t know Tommy knew about; he was always more observant than people realized.

Did Tommy feel bad about stealing from Uncle Jason? A little bit, but he was being rebellious, and Tommy figured Uncle Jason would respect that.

Tommy also refilled his rum, but he left money on the counter, so it wasn’t even really stealing!

It was about four thirty in the morning by the time he was finished. He had coated the suit in black lead paint, the helmet the same. The lenses weren’t leaded, so he could still see through them fine. In fact, it took some doing, but Tommy managed to take the helmet apart carefully and replace Jason’s lenses with the ones from his old Drake suit, the ones that allowed his heat vision to pass through unmolested.

His rum was halfway gone again.

He put it all back together, but as he stepped back to look at it, it was missing something. It was just all black; it needed something that would show Tommy meant business.

He was trying to think, but he was just so angry. And just a little bit drunk. How could Tim do that to him?? Replace him!? Replace him!? His own father replaced him!!!

Tommy clenched his jaw, trying to get a handle on his anger. He’d bring Tim in soon enough, and he would answer for all his crimes; replacing Tommy included. He just needed to focus.

Then it hit him; he ran to the supply store across town and grabbed a small bucket of red paint, then quickly slashed a big red X across the suit’s chest. While he was at it, he grabbed some white paint for the helmet, carefully painting a skull design into it, so that it looked less obviously like a Red Hood helmet painted black.

Tommy grinned savagely as he stepped back to admire his handiwork. This was it.

This was the Shrike.

---

Gotham was just as dark and foreboding as always as Conner and Cass approached the Manor. Conner brought them down on the hill with the Wayne family headstones, since that’s where he noticed everyone was gathering. It couldn’t possibly be a good sign.

He gasped when he actually saw why they were standing there, and he felt Cass gasp against him as they touched down, right behind where Damian and Jason were standing behind Bruce, who was still staring down at the empty graves, clenching and unclenching his fists. Selina stood by her husband, a comforting hand on his shoulder. Barbara sat beside them in her wheelchair, holding her hands in her lap tensely; Steph nodded at Cass and Conner as they arrived.

“Welcome back,” she said bitterly as Conner let Cass go, “Fucked up shit is happening again.”

“I noticed,” Cass replied seriously, “Who did this?”

“We don’t know,” Damian growled, eyes flitting back to where his grandparents should be resting in peace, “But the list of suspects can’t be that long.”

“It has to be someone who knows my identity,” Bruce muttered, almost to himself, “Random graverobbers would never make it past our defenses.”

“So it has to be someone who knows to bypass our security, too,” Jason supplied grimly.

“They would need to be professionals,” Selina sighed sadly, “Experts, even. Our security is challenging, even for me.”

“So we’re looking for someone with both extreme skill at stealth and intimate knowledge of our defenses,” Damian muttered, “I can think of a few people who fit that criteria.”

“Who?” Jason asked, turning to his younger brother.

“My mother, for one,” Damian supplied bitterly, “Drake, for another.”

“No,” Conner said immediately, “Tim wouldn’t do this. This is too far, even for him.”

“Are you sure?” Damian asked him intensely, staring Conner down. Conner met his gaze unflinchingly.

“I’m sure,” he answered, trying not to get angry; he was getting pretty tired of people badmouthing Tim.

“Someone needs to let the League know to check the crypt beneath the Hall,” Barbara said, “We need to make sure there’ve been no other…” she stared down at the ominous holes in the dirt, “…incidents.”

“You think they’re after Dick’s body, too,” Bruce said. Not a question, merely stating her thoughts aloud. Bruce still hadn’t faced any of them, his gaze still fixed on his parents’ desecrated graves. His voice was early totally emotionless, the voice of Batman, not Bruce Wayne. He was in Dark Knight Mode, and it was probably going to be a long while until he was out of it again.

“If this is Talia, or Tim, or somebody who knows about you, Bruce,” Barbara said, “Then they know about the family. Stealing your parents’ bodies is a good way to get to you; stealing Dick’s body would double the blow.”

Bruce nodded, agreeing with her assessment.

Conner bit his lip awkwardly. “Look, I need to take care of something in Metropolis,” he explained carefully, “I’m not sure if you’ve checked the news lately, but Tim did something stupid again, I’m gonna go check on him. Can you guys handle this?”

“I can’t think about Tim right now,” Bruce said quietly, “Go, Conner. Deal with it.”

“What about your case on Red Robin?” Steph asked intensely, stepping forward, “Are we 100% sure this is unrelated?”

“I said I can’t think about him right now,” Bruce reiterated, barely turning his head, “Conner. Deal with it.”

Steph pursed her lips, clearly unsatisfied with that answer, but she held her tongue.

“… Right,” Conner murmured awkwardly, “Whatever you say, Batman.” Conner lifted off softly, hesitating a moment before continuing on to Metropolis, leaving the Batfamily to deal with its own.

Bruce stood stock still, barely aware of his family surrounding him. Barbara was right. Someone clearly thought a lot about how best to mess with Bruce’s head. Someone wanted him distracted.

And truthfully?

He didn’t give a damn.

He was going to find who did this. And he was going to make them pay.

---

Tommy had a plan as he approached Metropolis, racing the rising sun across the sky. Uncle Damian had always said he was too impulsive, but that didn’t mean Tommy wasn’t good at planning. He had the blood of Tim Drake and Lex Luthor running through his veins; he wasn’t dumb. He knew how to plan.

Tim had managed to kinda-sorta even the playing field at STAR Labs with the Miraclo drug. It hadn’t really worked, not after Superman showed up, and especially not after Tommy showed up, but it had kept him in the fight longer than he otherwise should have been.

But imagine what would happen if a Kryptonian took Miraclo. What could the mighty Tim Drake do then?

Tommy loomed in the sky over the LexCorp building like a vengeful god, regarding the conniving snake he knew was lurking within. His heart was beating like a jackrabbit beneath the sound of his heart monitor; he needed some liquid courage. He lifted his mask slightly, then finished off his rum, throwing the bottle into Lake Michigan.

Tommy let his body get used to the drink, then opened his eyes behind his new mask, looking down at the building once more, feeling the warmth of the rising sun on his skin; today, he was bringing in Red Robin, consequences be damned.

Today, he was putting an end to Tim Drake.

---

Tim was working in his lab, humming lightly to himself as he extracted some material from the latest specimens; he could send this up to the boys upstairs and have clones grown by the end of the week, he was pretty sure. His timetable had been moved up thanks to Cassie’s interference, and no doubt Wonder Woman was on his trail by now.

But, barring any more distractions, Mockingbird was proceeding just as scheduled.

Artemis tilted her head as she looked over his shoulder. “Can I ask why you’re putting dirt in a petri dish?” she asked, and Tim sighed.

“It’s not dirt, and I need it for a project,” he explained, “Luckily, with the advances Lex has made in cloning tech since my last foray into the field, it shouldn’t take too long at all. Maybe a few weeks.”

Artemis raised her eyebrows. “A few weeks?” she asked, “If you can grow clones in a few weeks, what the hell is taking Teya so long?”

Tim had to stop himself from laughing. “Teya is a special case, Lex and I are basically rewriting her DNA from scratch to resist kryptonite poisoning, not to mention we’re working with alien DNA,” he started, “That, and technically, Teya is already done. We’re just immunizing her at this point. This is nothing like that. These are two entirely different things we’re talking about here.”

“It sounds suspiciously like the same thing,” Artemis countered, eyeing the dirt with suspicion.

“It’s not,” Tim insisted.

Artemis put her hands on her hips. “You just adopted me,” she reminded him, “Maybe stop keeping secrets from your brand new daughter, Dad?”

Tim grinned at her, and tried to pretend his heart didn’t flutter when she used the word dad. “Ah, but what does a parent do if not keep secrets from their children?” he asked with a sly smile, and he patted her on the head, “Don’t you worry; you’ll be nowhere near this when it starts going down. I’m sending you to my cabin in Alaska, where it’s safe. You’ll lay low there until things in Gotham die down.”

“Things in Gotham?” Artemis asked again, “What’s going to happen in Gotham?”

“And if I told you that, my soon-to-be superhero daughter, I wouldn’t be a very good supervillain, would I?” Tim asked, returning to his work, “Like I said, relax. You’ll be nowhere near it.”

Then the emergency floodlights bathed the room in red as an alarm blared throughout the building. Tim and Artemis both stared up in shock.

“What was that about not being near it?” Artemis asked, and Tim cursed, wishing he hadn’t stashed his suit so far away on the top floor.

“Artemis, get to your sister and get her out of here, now,” Tim said seriously, remaining deadly calm as he reached for the sidearm he kept strapped to his ankle, “The code to open her pod is 09232012. Do not wait for her to gain her bearings, just grab her and leave, got it? As soon as you get out of the building, call for Superman.”

“What about you??” Artemis asked in a panic, already nocking an arrow on her bowstring.

Tim let the tiniest bit of green flash in his eyes as a sadistic grin played at his lips. “Don’t worry about me,” he said, “Someone’s about to get a rude awakening. Just go!”

Artemis ran for the door as Tim heard the telltale sound of someone strong and fast smashing through the floors above; the building shook slightly with the impacts. Whoever was here, they were strong and they were pissed.

Had Wonder Woman found him earlier than expected? Shit, he wasn’t prepared to fight Diana right now! He needed to get to his suit, and more importantly, his Miraclo!

Tim dashed up the stairs as Artemis dashed down, him moving toward his office on the top floor while she made for the lab where Teya was still in stasis. He only prayed he wouldn’t be too late.

---

Kr-II blinked in confusion as she began to wake up. At first, nothing she was seeing made sense; everything had a strange green tint, and she felt slightly sick. Her limbs felt heavy, and when she tried to move, she felt like she was moving through honey; something thick and liquidy. She realized after a moment that she was in her yellow sun tank, but they usually never woke her up without draining the fluid first; what was going on?

On the other side of the glass, Kr-II frowned as she noticed Mr. Luthor talking to someone she didn’t recognize; a pale man with a large head, whose brain was visible through some translucent membrane that seemed to have replaced the skin of his scalp; it grossed her out. Lights seemed to be flashing around them, and Kr-II felt the building rumble, as though something big had impacted it.

“Pay no mind to the floodlights, Psimon,” Mr. Luthor advised his guest, apparently called Psimon, “The building’s defenses will take care of it soon enough. Let the Big Blue Boy Scout earn his keep for a little while.”

Big Blue Boy Scout? Who was that?

Psimon shrugged, “I have an instant ticket out of here, Luthor, I’m not all that worried.” Psimon held up a strange looking device, glowing and beeping. It let out a strange droning sound, and it made Kr-II’s head hurt.

“Just so long as you do what I asked before you go,” Mr. Luthor said, “Do you need to make skin contact? Because I wouldn’t advise that in this particular case.”

“No, proximity like this should be fine,” Psimon said dismissively, regarding Kr-II in her tank. Kr-II suddenly felt nervous; he was looking at her strangely, like she was a specimen to be studied, not a person in the room. She didn’t like it.

“Remind me, what did you want done, again?” Psimon asked, still looking up at her, and Mr. Luthor hummed.

“I’d like you to make her more aggressive,” he answered, “Tim’s influence has been too coddling for the girl. We need a weapon, not a daughter.”

“More prone to violence, more willing to follow orders,” Psimon supplied, “Got it. Now then, girl… Psimon says: be angry.”

Kr-II grunted as she felt something wrong and foreign enter her mind, and she let out a muffled cry of pain as whatever he was doing began to take effect. Pain lanced through her head, and it suddenly got very hard to think; she groaned as she closed her eyes in pain, then opened them again with fury. Rage like nothing she’d ever felt before welled up in her chest, and she growled down at the man doing this to her. His hand was outstretched, the other at his temple, his eyes glowing; he was doing something to her, she knew it!

“Psimon says: be fierce!”

Kr-II growled as his command; who was he to tell her what to do!? She should bust out of this tank and rip him to shreds--!!

As she moved, Psimon grinned. “Psimon says: listen to Mr. Luthor.”

Listen… listen to Mr. Luthor? She blinked. She always listened to Mr. Luthor. But… he had hurt her, before; Mr. Drake was kind to her, though. She’d rather listen to Mr. Drake. She was angry at this idiot for even suggesting she should value Mr. Luthor over Mr. Drake! She felt so angry! But… then again… maybe listening to Mr. Luthor wasn’t such a bad idea…

She grimaced as pain lanced through her head again, feeling like a knife stabbing at her brain.

Before she could make up her mind, and before her headache would go away, Psimon cried out in pain as something struck him in the back. Kr-II’s eyes widened as she saw someone new, a blonde girl, with a bow and arrow, standing in the doorway, looking just as angry as she felt.

“Get away from my sister!!” the girl snapped, nocking another arrow as one protruded from Psimon’s back, beginning to bleed.

Wait… Kr-II thought groggily, … sister?

“Ahh! We’re under attack!!” Psimon cried in fear, “Fatherbox! Get me out of here!!”

“No--!!” Luthor cried, trying to grab onto the man, but before he could, a massive portal opened up beneath him with a deep BOOM, and Psimon was gone in a flash of light. The arrow girl turned her bow on Luthor, keeping her aim steady.

“Coward!” Luthor spat, then he turned to face the girl, hands in the air, “Artemis Crock, at last we meet. Though I believe it’s Nguyen-Drake now, isn’t it?”

“Shut it, Luthor,” she spat, keeping her aim steady as her arrowhead glinted in the oscillating light, “I’m not falling for your tricks. Step away from the pod.”

“Why should I?” Luthor asked, “What are you going to do? Kill me? Did your new father not tell you what happens to your brother when my heart stops?”

Brother? Kr-II thought, My brother! Mr. Drake’s son!! Does that mean this girl was really her sister??

“I don’t need to kill you, dipshit,” Artemis growled, “I just need to make you hurt. Arrow to the knee will generally do that just fine, no heart-stopping needed.”

“Hm, tempting as that offer is,” Luthor answered snidely, “Let’s say I’m not convinced. I can endure a little pain.”

“Really?” Artemis asked, “Okay. Let’s test that theory.”

She loosed her arrow, and Luthor screamed in pain as he crumpled to the ground, clutching his knee in agony. Kr-II’s mouth hung open in shock as Artemis lowered her bow, Luthor writhing in pain greater than any he had ever felt in his life.

“AHHGGHAHA—My leg!! YOU LITTLE BITCH!” he screamed, staring at her with rage in his eyes, and Artemis rolled her eyes.

“Cry me a river, baldy,” she muttered, stalking forward, “You might have Tim under your thumb, but not me.”

“Oh, oh, we’ll see about that!” Luthor seethed, trying to breath through the pain, and he reached into his coat pocket, producing some kind of remote, but Artemis reacted like lightning.

The tip of her bow crossed the space between them in seconds, knocking the remote from Luthor’s hand and sending it skittering across the floor. (Neither Artemis nor Kr-II knew the significance, but the remote skittered to a stop exactly nine feet and eleven inches from Luthor’s heart. Perhaps the hand of Fate stepped in) Luthor cried out as his hand was struck, and Artemis growled as she drew another arrow, slamming it into his shoulder by hand.

Luthor screamed again, and Kr-II thought she could get used to seeing him in pain. Some primal satisfaction registered deep in her chest at seeing him brought so low, by a little girl, no less. But then again, she figured she ought to listen to Mr. Luthor…

Her head started to hurt again, but before she could dwell on it, Artemis ran to the controls of the pod, leaving Luthor to writhe in pain where he lay crumpled on the ground. The fluid in her pod began to drain.

Kr-II blinked in confusion as Artemis looked at her. “I’ve got you, Teya,” she said to her, smiling at her reassuringly, “It’s going to be okay.”

Teya? Who’s Teya?

The pod finished draining. Artemis started punching numbers in rapidly, looking panicked.

“Ungh! Kr-II!” Luthor ordered, turning to her, and Kr-II stood ramrod straight, turning her full attention to him. Her head was killing her, but she knew she had to listen to Mr. Luthor, “Once you are free of that pod, kill h—agh!!”

Luthor was cut off as an arrow struck him in the face, lodging into his lodging into his jaw and preventing him from speaking. Kr-II stared at him wide-eyed as Luthor did the same, shock keeping the pain from him for a moment as he regarded the sheer horror of the injury.

Artemis looked cold as she regarded him. “Yeah, hell no,” she growled, “Drake sisters ride or die, bitch.”

“Agh—aghhaugh!!” Luthor gurgled, blood beginning to fill his mouth as panic set in, his hands reaching up and hovering around the injury. His jaw was a mess of blood and bone; Kr-II was pretty certain he was gargling some of his teeth.

Her pod opened, and she stepped out on shaky legs as Artemis grabbed her by the arm; her eyes were fixed on Mr. Luthor, staring in shock at what had just happened.

“You just… Mr. Luthor…” she stammered, pointing between the two of them in bewilderment.

“Yeah, I know, now come on!” Artemis cried urgently, “Someone’s attacking the building, we need to get you out of here, now!”

“Someone’s attacking?” Kr-II asked, and the building rumbled again as she realized they were the impacts of fists against stone. She grinned wolfishly as a primal urge took hold in her chest. “I can help with that,” she murmured excitedly, turning to the sound of the action, and Artemis smacked her.

“No!” she snapped, “Teya, Tim said to get you out of here and that’s exactly what I’m doing! I just got this family and I’ll be damned before I let it get torn apart by some bald idiot with a god complex, or my brand new idiot sister being just as stupid as my old one!”

Kr-II blinked. “You just called me Teya,” she said incredulously, “Is that… my name?”

“Yes!” Artemis cried exasperatedly, “Now come on! We’ve gotta get out of here!”

Kr-II… no, Teya grinned at her rescuer. At her sister. “Yeah, okay,” she said, forgetting her anger for a moment, “Let’s get out of here.”

---

Tim never wished he’d had his grapple line more than now. Running up all the flights of stairs was just going to tire him out, but he needed his suit, his gear, and most importantly, his superpower drugs. Dammit! This had to happen now, of all times!? He was in the middle of his Mockingbird prep! It’s like the universe was conspiring against him every finishing that mission!

Diana had impeccable timing, he’d give her that. She must have asked someone for help tracking him down; she wouldn’t be able to connect the dots he left behind on her own.

He stopped to catch his breath around the thirtieth floor; if the building weren’t actively shaking, he’d chance using the elevator, but for now, it was no dice. He could only hope that Artemis had gotten to Teya and gotten out. He wondered where Lex was in all this… surely he had contingency plans for this? He must have been planning for Superman to attack LexCorp at some point. Maybe that’s the sounds of punching he was hearing. Though he didn’t think kryptonite weaponry would do much against an Amazon.

He’d have to lure Diana to Gotham somehow…

Tim started up the stairs again. If Diana killed him with a flick to his ribcage, he couldn’t do much else to bring her down. He’d have to keep climbing.

The sound of rushing air filled the stairwell, and Tim briefly panicked as he felt arms wrap him up in a hold, lifting his feet off the ground, but as he went to bite the offending person’s hand, he stopped in his tracks, his heart stammering in his chest.

“Hey there, Snowbird,” Conner Kent said with a roguish smile, “You busy with something?”

“Conner, oh thank God!” Tim laughed, kissing his lover full on the lips, which Conner happily reciprocated. When they broke off, Tim said, “Get me to the top floor, sweetheart, I think Wonder Woman’s trying to kill me.”

Conner dutifully obliged, rising through the stairwell at record speed, but still looked at him strangely as they rocketed upwards. “Why is Diana trying to kill you?” Conner asked suspiciously.

Tim grimaced. There was no way he could tell Conner that he kidnapped their childhood friend and her mother to get to Diana. Not right now, anyway. “Let’s just say I pissed her off, alright?” he tried desperately, “You probably don’t want any more details that that, hero boy.”

“Y’know, I came here about the big announcement,” Conner told him as they arrived in Tim’s office, and Tim sprung from his arms, running to his suit, “You didn’t think you should’ve run a second kid by me first?”

“What, Artemis?” Tim asked, distracted, then he hung his head, “Oh, I’m sorry, Conner, I haven’t had time. I meant to get in touch with you, I swear! But I needed to set up the press conference as soon as possible, she’s protected by my publicity now. She was in danger, Kon, real danger, I had to help her.”

“It’s fine, I figured there was a reason,” Conner sighed, kissing him lovingly on the cheek as Tim quickly tore off his shirt, rapidly putting on the layers of his suit, “When do I get to meet her?”

“Soon, Clone Boy,” Tim promised, and he grinned, “She’s a great kid, you’ll love her! How’s the other one been?”

“Pretty good,” Conner informed him, “Just celebrated his birthday. I gave him your camera.”

“You did?” Tim asked in surprise, pulling on his cape, “And he took it?”

“Yeah! I was really surprised!” Conner said with a happy laugh, “I think he’s coming around on this whole thing, Tim. Really, I do. I think we’re gonna get to be a real family soon.”

Tim grimaced at that; as much as he wanted it, he knew Mockingbird was going to put nothing but more strain on the family. “I’ll do my best,” he promised, finding to his mild surprise that he meant it, and he pulled his bandolier onto his chest, clicking it into place. He took a moment to hold Conner’s face tenderly, smiling at him. God, his eyes were so beautiful…

“I know, superheroes and supervillains don’t mix,” Conner sighed, holding Tim’s hand against his face, “But Tim, I promise, we’re gonna get you out of this. Bruce is working on it round the clock. We’re gonna cure Tommy and get you out from under their thumbs.”

Conner kissed him, quick and fleeting, and Tim’s chest felt tight. He wanted to believe him, God he wanted to believe him. Tim went back for another kiss, deeper this time as the shaking around them grew more violent. He might not be able to keep his promise, but damn did Clone Boy know how to make Tim feel loved.

They broke off the kiss, and Tim pulled up his cowl, grabbing his utility belt and weapons. “Wait,” he realized aloud, turning back to Conner, “You gave him my camera? You wiped the SD card first, right?”

“Uhhh…” Conner replied dumbly, looking conspicuously like a deer in headlights, “No…? Why, is there something on there he shouldn’t see?”

Tim panicked slightly as he remembered the… spicier pictures of Conner he’d taken over the years. There wasn’t anything too explicit on that card, right? Yeah, yeah no, those were on Tim’s personal computer. They weren’t on his camera. He hoped. Oh fuck, he needed to make sure of that.

“You know what?” he said, still slightly panicking, “It’s probably fine! Just, uh… look through those? Y’know, when he’s sleeping? I think they’re all on a separate hard drive, but uh, there might be some… some things on there that Tommy definitely doesn’t want to know about his parents.”

“Oh?” Conner asked, then realization hit him like a truck, “Oh. Tim, did you seriously--!?”

Tim’s embarrassed blush was all the confirmation he needed. “Oh, come on!” Conner cried in exasperation, hitting his palm to his forehead.

“I was a young, confused teenager!” Tim cried defensively, ignoring the impending doom because Conner was here, “And you were an especially tempting person to photograph! Do you remember your phase of wearing midriff shirts? Because I certainly do!”

Conner grumbled something unintelligible as Tim set about looking for his Miraclo. “Were they at least good pictures?” he asked, a mildly confusing blush rising to his cheeks as he thought about how he and Tim might use those old photos for… recreational purposes…

“Oh, trust me,” Tim sighed, biting his lip slightly in remembered pleasure, “They were great. Now where’s my damn drugs?”

“Drugs?” Conner asked, floating above him as Tim ripped apart his desk drawer; they should be here!

“Miraclo, whatever,” he muttered, “They’ll even the playing field a little with an Amazon, alright? Leave me alone, I don’t want to get my bones exploded.”

Tim swore as he failed to find the bottle. “Where the fuck is it!?” he growled in frustration, kicking the desk with all his might, and as he did, the imported Italian maple of his office doors blew inward off their hinges.

Both Red Robin and Superboy fell into ready stances as the couples’ banter stopped, their heartrates steadying out as they faced the threat. They’d done this a hundred times before; the two of them against the world.

“Looking for something?” a modulated voice asked, deep and mechanical. Tim furrowed his brow; that wasn’t Diana.

Out of the smoke and debris, holding up the wreckage of a damaged security drone, a short figure in jet black armor floated into the room, looking to all the world like a vengeful god. A red X branded his chest, contrasting against the black, and a black helmet covered his face, marked by a stark depiction of a bone white skull.

Conner squinted for a moment, then cursed. “I can’t see his face,” he muttered, “His suit’s lead-lined. I can’t hear his heartbeat, either.”

“Who are you?” Tim snapped, stepping forward.

 The floating figure regarded them shrewdly, his expressionless mask tilting slightly. “You can call me Shrike,” he said through the modulator, the device making his voice sound robotic and cold, “And I’m here to make you answer for your crimes, Red Robin.”

Fuck, why was it always a bird theme? Must be some metahuman hitman from the League of Assassins! Maybe a Ra’s devotee!

“I can’t let you do that,” Conner sighed, floating between Tim and Shrike, “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

Shrike regarded him for a moment, like he was thinking intensely on what to say. “Leave, Superboy,” he intoned commandingly, settling on pointing at the Kryptonian, “This is between me and Red Robin.”

“I can’t do that,” Conner said severely, putting up his fists, “So I think you ought to reconsider before we introduce you personally to the ground.”

“And trust me,” Tim said with a smirk, twirling his staff with a confidence he didn’t really feel, “Your relationship will be intimate.”

Shrike stood silently for a moment, like he was making up his mind. Tim heard the attacker sigh through the voice modulator. “So be it,” he sighed, and he held up an orange pill bottle in his left hand, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Tim’s eyes widened. The Miraclo! “Shit!” Tim cried, stepping forward, “Listen, whatever you do, do not take the pills in that bottle! They’re not what you think they are!” It was a desperate lie, but he had to keep this guy from taking the pills! He obviously already had powers, who knew what he could do hopped up on Miraclo!?

Shrike cocked his head, like he was grinning. “Please, don’t embarrass yourself, Tim,” he said, crushing the pill bottle easily, “I already took them.”

Tim stared in horror as the remnants of the Miraclo fell to the floor with a soft thunk!, little more than crushed orange plastic and vibrant green powder.

This was a metahuman hopped up on Miraclo.

They might have a big problem here.

With a roar, Shrike charged the two heroes, and Conner roared in return as he surged forward and Tim dodged to the side, reaching into his utility belt.

Unbeknownst to them, on the ground floor, a young girl was seeing the sun for the first time as her sister led her into the light of day.

And unbeknownst to all, a son raged against his father.

Notes:

DECEPTICONS!

 

... I have returned.

Welcome back, everyone! I wasn't quite expecting this showdown to happen, but hey, the story does what it wants, and I've been listening to too much rock music!

And hey, look at Lex, getting some comeuppance for once! I'm sure that will be a continuing trend! :D

And for the very first time the entire Drake-Kent family is in one place!! They're trying to kill each other, but still!!

As always, thank you all so much for reading, and I'll see you all next time! Peace!

Chapter 53: The Drake-Kent Family, Part 1

Tommy felt good as he smashed through floor after floor of LexCorp Headquarters. There were a few human security guards on the scene, and Tommy was careful not to hurt them as he toppled walls and ceilings; luckily, someone had seemed to pull the fire alarm, so a lot of the people were evacuating the building. People looked up at him and screamed in terror as they fled; he supposed that was the effect the new suit would have. It didn’t really make him feel great, but they’d live; it was Tim who he was trying to scare.

Just as Tommy broke through another floor, grimacing as his impromptu armor took some hits from particularly daring security guards, his eyes widened as he saw Luthor’s defenses really kick into gear. Panels in the walls opened up, panels Tommy previously hadn’t noticed because every inch of this place was lined with lead, and out from the openings marched a veritable army of automatons, ones branded with the LexCorp “L” but also ones that looked suspiciously familiar.

Tommy squinted at them, trying to place where he’d seen them before, when they all let loose with kryptonite-laden blasts, and he quickly dodged as many of them as he could, flying up and down in the wide space, hoping to not have to test his armor too much; it was a clever construction, but it was also fast work. The lead might come off if he took too much of a hit.

One got a lucky hit on his shoulder, and while Tommy did feel the impact, he didn’t feel the nausea that usually accompanied a kryptonite attack; grinning, he realized his lead armor was working.

Tommy growled as he surged forward through the air, bowling over a few dozen drones, and as he punched the head off of one, he finally realized why they looked familiar; they were Brainiac’s drones!

“Fucking Luthor!” Tommy swore as he roundhouse-kicked one drone into another, reducing both into piles of scrap before turning to face a few more on his way to find Tim’s office. It all made sense! Tim had seized Brainiac’s ship after Young Justice had rescued Tommy, Victor, and the Trinity; he must have handed it over to Luthor and let him have his fun!

Which meant Luthor had access to extremely advanced technology, capable of taking down Superman, or at the very least stalling him for a while! Tommy figured Luthor didn’t have all of it figured out yet, otherwise there’d be a lot more coming at him right now, but he also figured drones were easy enough to reprogram.

Didn’t matter; he was just here for Tim. Once he hauled in Red Robin, he could give his report to the League and they could bust Luthor, too.

Tommy grinned as he cleared out the floor’s drones, then sighted a set of expensive-looking wooden doors. Oh, he was totally smashing those into splinters later, but for now, he needed stealth.

With the alarms still blaring around him, Tommy touched down in front of the office doors, simply crushing the handle and letting himself inside. Tommy scoffed at Tim’s décor; sure, it wasn’t his home office in Gotham, but still, this was tacky, even for a place you didn’t spend a lot of time in.

He quickly flew across the room and scanned Tim’s desk with his x-ray vision; no dice, lead again. Ah well; old-fashioned way it was, then. He rifled through the desk’s drawers, pulling out useless papers about lease agreements and patents and pay contracts in and out, careful not to disturb too much, so Tim wouldn’t suspect he’d already been in here. In the bottom left drawer, Tommy stopped in surprise as he found a glass carafe of whiskey hidden there, with a glass. Deciding to indulge himself a little, Tommy flicked the top off the carafe with his thumb and took a swig, grimacing at the taste a bit; Tim had no taste.

Sighing in disappointment, Tommy put it back, then continued his search, letting the drink burn and settle in his gut. Grinning beneath his mask, replaced after his little self-indulgence, he found it; middle drawer on the right, beneath a false bottom of the drawer. Very clever, Tim; very clever. But still, there it was: orange pill bottle, little green pills inside.

Miraclo.

Tommy considered it as he took the top off the bottle, inspecting the drug inside. He knew his Kryptonian physiology would dampen the effects; it was the same thing with alcohol and other medicines. They always had to up the dosage by about four times when he caught a cold as a kid.

Still, Miraclo wasn’t exactly cough syrup.

Tommy decided that quadrupling the dose might be a bit much, so he carefully selected three of the little green pills to start, and if it didn’t do anything, he’d take a fourth. He tipped his mask up on his head, then looked at the little green dots in his palm.

Was he really doing this?

Could he really do this?

Tommy scowled as he looked down at the Miraclo. He thought of his friends, back in Dakota City; the same friends who’d gotten their asses handed to them by Tim in an effort to protect him. He thought of his family, back in Gotham. He thought of Conner, who pined alone at night for someone he could never have. He thought of Grandpa, who spent every day trying to save someone who could never be saved. He thought of Aunt Cass, who had given her everything to try to help Tim, only to have it blow up in her face. He thought of Uncle Dick, who paid the ultimate price, murdered in cold blood by someone he considered a brother.

All those people paid a price because they were trying to defend Tommy. They were letting Tim hurt more and more people because they thought Tommy was more important than justice. And Tommy just had to sit there and swallow it, let them keep giving everything for a hope that had died a long time ago.

Tommy was tired of being a bystander to his own destiny. Today, he was finally going to act. Today, he was going to take the reins of his own life. Today, he was finally going to bring in Red Robin.

He was finally going to put an end to all this.

He stopped thinking about it and acted. He tipped his head back, slapped his hand to his mouth, and swallowed.

---

Artemis didn’t know what to do. She was running on autopilot, trying not to hyperventilate as she dragged Teya through the halls, rushing past fleeing scientists and civilians, everyone trying to get out of the building as the whatever-it-was tore through the upper floors. She had to make it out of here, she had to make it to the outside, she had to call Superman, and she had to save Tim.

Superman would fix everything; he always did! He was Superman!

Teya stumbled behind her, not necessarily because she couldn’t keep up but more because she wasn’t used to being dragged and didn’t know how to react. “Where are we going?” she asked at one point, and Artemis spared a glance back at her.

“Outside, to help Dad!” Artemis said quickly in reply, not really meaning to come off as short-tempered as she was but her nerves were a little frayed from the whole ‘under attack’ thing.

“Dad?” Teya asked, “You mean Mr. Drake? Are you his daughter?”

Artemis had a feeling she’d be getting that question a lot in the next couple weeks. If she lived to see the next couple weeks.

“He mentioned a son, but not a daughter,” Teya went on, and Artemis hesitated; she didn’t know a lot of details about Tim’s son, just that their relationship apparently wasn’t the best. Tim seemed a little young to have a son already in a rebellious phase, but who was she to judge? Shit happened.

“Yeah, I’m new,” she responded, darting down a certain hallway and taking Teya with her, “Adopted.”

“Oh!” Teya said brightly, “I didn’t realize! When did Mr. Drake adopt you? Are you my new sister?”

“He adopted me yesterday, and yes, I am,” Artemis explained, and she blanched as she heard voices up ahead that sounded a lot like security guards; Luthor would definitely have plans in place to make sure Teya was secure in the event of a break-in.

“I’ve never had a sister before,” Teya said, seemingly unaware of the danger, “What’s it like?”

“Oh, it’s great,” Artemis said distractedly, her mind wandering to her frayed relationship with her blood sister as she darted to the side, dragging Teya into a supply closet and slamming the door closed before the guards could round the corner, “We’ll go shopping together, braid each other’s hair, talk about cute boys, and try not to get killed! Now stay quiet!”

Teya nodded seriously as Artemis heard footsteps pound down the hallway. Someone shouted, “Secure Mr. Luthor! He was down in Project Kr-II!”

Teya wrinkled her nose at the sound of her old name; she liked ‘Teya’ much more.

The alarms still blared. Footsteps receded down the hall, from where Artemis and Teya came from; where Luthor was still crumpled and bleeding in the fetal position, Artemis would wager. The predominant sound in the little closet, barely large enough for the two of them, was the sound of Artemis’s breathing as she came off the adrenaline high.

Teya looked like she’d barely broken a sweat.

“They’re gone,” Teya reported, cocking her head as she listened to them come upon the lab, “They found Mr. Luthor, so that’ll probably distract them for a while.”

Artemis cursed; her attack on Luthor was reckless, but she didn’t exactly regret it. “But Luthor might do something stupid, now that he’s injured and his building’s under attack,” she sighed, “We need to get out of here and contact Superman.”

“Superman?” Teya asked, “Why? Is it time to kill him already?”

Artemis stared at her sister, her mouth agape at the words she’d just heard being said so casually. Fuck, is that what Teya was being made for!?

No wonder Luthor didn’t want her to have a name. In his eyes, Teya was just a weapon to kill Kryptonians. Why was Drake going along with this?

Her mind flashed back to what Luthor said about Drake’s son and Luthor’s heart; she couldn’t really make sense of it, even now. Just what was going on here…?

“No, Teya, we’re not going to kill Superman!” Artemis hissed, taking her sister by the shoulders, “Superman is the greatest superhero in the world, and we’re right in his hometown! Something big and bad is attacking upstairs, and Dad’s in the middle of it! We are going to call Superman, get him to come here and save us, okay? Don’t kill him.”

Teya nodded seriously. “I understand,” she responded, and her fingers twitched, “Shouldn’t we go help Mr. Drake ourselves, though?”

Artemis sighed, tugging at her hair stressfully. “I’m not sure we can, Teya,” she murmured, and she opened the door to the closet, grabbing her hand again and pulling her into a run down the hallway.

Then she thought for another moment, and turned to her sister as they moved. “And killing is wrong!” she told her, trying to impart some sisterly wisdom; if they were going to be a family, they should start acting like it. Then, she thought of her blood father, and amended her statement, “Most of the time, killing is wrong!”

Teya nodded again, giving Artemis her full attention. She kinda acted like a lost puppy when she didn’t have a specific goal in mind; Artemis tried not to find it adorable.

Still, they ran past more scientists and civilians, and Artemis nearly cried when they made it to the lobby. While there were security guards manning the doors, Artemis was confident that if they aimed for the center of the crowd, they wouldn’t be recognized or stopped. As they jostled their way through dozens of scared and fleeing people, she kept a tight grip on Teya’s hand, suddenly struck with an image of guiding her baby sister through a crowd at a theme park.

She idly wondered if they’d ever take a family trip to Disney World. She’d always wanted to go to Disney World.

Then she snapped back to reality as sunlight hit her face, and suddenly she and Teya were outside. Teya stared up at the sun, and Artemis felt her grip on her hand tighten and warm, like Teya was having a physical reaction to sunlight.

“So this is what it feels like…” Teya murmured, awestruck by the light of the sun, and Artemis growled as she was forced to cut whatever moment her sister was having short and pull her through the crowd.

She almost called out for Superman right then and there, but everyone would be calling out for him; she needed to get his attention on her, specifically. Artemis sighted a building neighboring LexCorp that looked pretty nondescript and was close enough for her to fire a grapple line at the roof.

Quickly, she fumbled through her quiver for the right feeling on the fletching, but cursed as she struggled to find it; her arrows must have gotten jostled around in the struggle. She’d need to find a better way to keep them organized.

“Fuck!” she cursed again, going so far as to sling her quiver off her shoulder to search manually.

“What’s wrong?” Teya asked innocently.

“I’m trying to get us up to that roof to call Superman, but I can’t find my fucking grapple arrow!” she snapped, rifling through her quiver for the second time; had someone fucking taken it!? Probably Jade, that conniving bitch!

Artemis was lost in her anger and so didn’t register for a moment what was happening as she felt Teya hug her from behind and then the ground become suddenly farther away. Lucky she was holding onto her quiver and bow, because suddenly, Teya was holding her and they were flying up, up, and away to the top of the building.

Artemis hadn’t ever flown before; if you ignored all the screaming, it was almost peaceful.

Teya let her down on the rooftop, and Artemis stared at her for a moment. “Th-Thanks,” she said eventually. Teya shrugged.

“You’re welcome.”

She had a flying sister. Her sister flew. That was her life now.

Artemis shook herself then went back into her quiver and rooted around, this time for an arrow she was actually successful in finding. “Alright, Supes,” she sighed, nocking it and drawing back the string, aiming high into the sky, “Hope you’re listening.”

Artemis loosed her arrow, and as it arced through the sky, it exploded in a massive firework of sound and noise, and Artemis screamed at the top of her lungs:

“SUPERMAN!!”

---

Lex had certainly had better days. The assassin girl had shot him in three places, all of which were extremely painful as he tried to move. He managed to crawl over to the remote that controlled Tommy Drake; he didn’t quite know who was attacking, but perhaps he had been a bit rash in trying to kill the boy then and there; without the remote, he had no leverage over Drake, and they were far from a point where Luthor deemed it acceptable to lose the Drake Asset.

His security team found him, loading him onto a stretcher and performing first aid. They broke off the arrow shafts that were still sticking out of him, and started carrying him to safety. As they did, though, he’d be damned if he was going down without a fight; the building’s defenses seemed to be putting up a decent fight, but Lex was now well and truly pissed off.

It was time to pull out the big guns.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, he fumbled through passwords and apps for a moment, wrestling through the pain to keep his mind clear and his fingers working as he was carried to safety, and inwardly snarled as he jammed his thumb into a button.

His phone chimed and brought up a notification, asking if he was sure.

He never hit ‘yes’ with so much vitriol in his life.

Thank you for confirming. ‘Project: MATCH’ activated.

---

Conner connected with Shrike’s attack, the impact sending shockwaves through the space around them as Conner grunted under the force of the blow, grimacing as he and Shrike rebounded from the attack. Tim managed to distract the assassin with a quick flurry of pellets released from his hand, producing a cloud of thick smoke.

“What do you think?” Tim asked idly, rummaging through his utility belt as he kept his eye on Shrike.

“Not good,” Conner responded, “That hit reminded me way too much of Superboy Prime.”

Tim winced; that was not good.

“Alright, diversion and distraction it is, then, if we can’t overpower him,” Tim decided, “You go at him, I’ll play support; hopefully we can distract him long enough for Superman to get here.”

“Are you planning on how to take me down?” Shrike asked, his voice modulator cutting through the smoke as Conner and Tim tensed, and Shrike emerged from the smoke, unphased, “I planned how to take you down, Red Robin. I cracked the code; you think you’re so clever, but every time you’ve been in a fight, there’ve always been two things you can’t account for:”

In an instant, faster than Tim could register, faster than Conner could react, Shrike was across the room, in Tim’s face. “… Overwhelming force and the element of the surprise!” Shrike snapped, and Tim saw his whole miserable life flash before his eyes as Shrike slammed him back into the wall, hard enough that Tim cried out in pain as the bones in his back strained in protest. A second afterward, Conner was across the room himself, landing a punch on Shrike, who took it on the chin.

Shrike growled lowly at Superboy, clenching his fists at his side as Tim struggled to catch his breath and stand up. “Why are you DEFENDING HIM!?” Shrike demanded, charging Superboy, landing two devastating hits as Conner tried to defend, only partially successfully; whoever this kid was, he was seriously powerful.

“Why are you attacking him?” Conner retorted, spinning around to try and land a kick on Shrike, which was dodged as Shrike sprung backward.

“Really?” Shrike asked incredulously, “All the people he’s murdered, the lives he’s destroyed, and you’re asking me why I’m attacking him!?”

Tim coughed as he struggled back to his feet; no blood, so that was good, at least. “To be fair,” Tim coughed, “He raises a fair point.”

“Yeah, but assassins usually don’t care about the mark’s morality!” Conner growled as he and Shrike continued trading blows.

“I’m not an assassin!” Shrike snapped, aiming a kick at Conner’s abdomen, “I’m one of the good guys.”

“Newsflash, dude, the good guys usually don’t walk around wearing skull masks!” Conner growled, grabbing Shrike by the leg and slam him down to the ground. Shrike growled as he stood, punching Conner away with the force of a freight train, sending the Kryptonian hurtling across the room.

Conner tumbled to a stop as he hit the wall, and Tim rushed forward, desperately tossing a few batarangs as a distraction as he darted to the side, but Shrike was too fast. Barely noticing the batarangs, Shrike moved the same direction Tim was, and before Tim could do anything, the smaller man’s hand was around his throat, hefting him into the air effortlessly and beginning to choke him.

“Looks can be deceiving,” Shrike retorted, “I needed a suit that would get the job done. You morons didn’t seem to be doing much of anything, so I decided to take things into my own hands. Tim Drake, AKA Red Robin, you are guilty of terrorism, destruction of property, mass murder, and I’d be shocked if tax fraud and kicking puppies weren’t in there somewhere.”

Tim snarled in Shrike’s grip, still having the brainpower to feel offended; he’d never once kicked a puppy, and his taxes were all in fine order!

“I’m going to bring you in and make you pay for what you’ve done,” Shrike went on, “I’ll probably have to break a few of your bones to make you easier to transport, but don’t worry, I won’t kill you. After all, I’m not you.”

Tim glared at his attacker, trying to break the grip any way he could, but there wasn’t a lot he could do; this guy had super strength, super speed, flight, and nothing they did kryptonite-wise seemed to faze him!

“GET YOUR HANDS OFF HIM!” Conner snarled, barreling into Shrike and tackling him down to the side. Shrike let out a strangled yelp as he was tackled, like he hadn’t been expecting it, and Conner began to press the advantage as Tim crumpled to the floor, coughing and hacking as he struggled to get air back into his lungs.

As Shrike and Superboy continued their duel, Tim groaned as he stood up, still feeling the pain in his back from where he’d been thrown before, now feeling a nasty bruise forming on his throat. Funny, he hadn’t had a bruise on his throat this bad since his father went into a coma.

Tim staggered to his feet, gripping his bo staff tightly as he watched Conner and Shrike duke it out, gritting his teeth in frustration. What was he even doing!? Without his Miraclo, he couldn’t even dream of keeping up with the two of them in this fight!

He was Shrike’s target, and their best option was stalling for Superman; Tim should try and lead this outside.

But if Superboy was seen defending notorious supervillain Red Robin from harm, it could cause a lot of uncomfortable questions for Conner, something Tim didn’t want to have to do to him.

There would also be questions about why Red Robin was at LexCorp; he could lie and say he was trying to blow it up. That was plausible. He could probably use that as a way to evacuate civilians, too. Get Superman’s attention.

There were certain pluses. If he did this right, he could even ward off suspicion of Conner, too.

Tim’s mind was made up; he darted for the office door. “Where do you think YOU’RE going!?” Shrike cried, trying to rush forward and stop him, but Conner flew in at the last second and knocked the black-clad metahuman off course.

“Tim, whatever harebrained scheme you’ve got cooked up, do it now!” Conner told him, a strain in his voice as he panted hard, “Not sure how much longer I can fight this guy!”

“Got it!” Tim said, leaping from the stairs as he shot his grapple line toward the ceiling, “Follow my lead!”

Tim zipped upward as he heard Shrike and Conner roar with fury below him, and the building rumbled again as Tim rapidly brought up his arm-bracer computer and began furiously hacking.

Below him, Conner roared as he clobbered Shrike with a two-handed strike, which sent the attacker for a loop, but not for long. Shrike growled as he managed to catch himself on the ground and land a kick to Conner’s gut, causing the Kryptonian to double over in pain as he went to his knees.

Shrike pressed the advantage again. He punched and kicked and hit, perhaps not as hard as he could have but still hard; Superboy was in his way.

It wasn’t ideal, but he couldn’t let him stand in the way of him and his goal, either. “Last chance,” he growled to Superboy, placing his boot on the man’s neck, “Stay down!”

Conner grimaced as he struggled to catch his breath, holding Shrike’s boot with his hands. “Not gonna happen!” he growled, trying to flip the smaller man onto the ground, but Shrike had seen that trick before.

Faster than Conner could react, he pivoted his foot and swung the other one in a devastating kick to Conner’s temple, eliciting a cry of pain as the Kryptonian clone saw stars. As Conner tried to regain his senses, he tried to pull himself back up to his feet, but quickly stumbled back down again as the world spun around him.

Shrike sneered down at him from behind his mask, feeling no small measure of pity. “Stay there until I’m done,” he ordered, “It’ll be less painful for you.”

Conner murmured some vain protest, so Shrike took advantage of his weakened state and bashed him over the head not-quite as hard as he could, satisfied when Conner slumped to the ground, motionless but still breathing. Unconscious, but not dead; Shrike would not kill. But he would incapacitate.

Tommy idly wondered beneath the mask if he should feel something more at having beaten his own father into unconsciousness like that, but truth be told the power thrumming through his veins dulled that urge. He could do this; if he incapacitated Superboy with the help of the Miraclo, then Red Robin would be a breeze.

He would bring Tim in, turn him in, and everything would turn out fine. Everyone could stop agonizing over Tim’s mistakes, and Tommy’s existence. He could finally take his life into his own hands.

Tommy—no, Shrike lifted off from the unconscious Superboy, leaving him collapsed in Tim’s office while he flew out into the main stairwell to find where Tim Drake had gone…

… and then he got punched in the face.

Chapter 54: The Drake-Kent Family, Part 2

A Few Minutes Earlier…

Question wasn’t doing anything special as he walked past the bridge of the Watchtower. The League always had some news agencies playing on the monitors, just in case the news caught wind of something before they did, and Question did stop and look as he noticed something going on in Metropolis. Some new metahuman was attacking LexCorp; Question walked onto the bridge, where Blue Beetle and Plastic Man were sharing monitor duty.

“That looks bad,” he said idly, and Kord looked up from his monitor.

“Oh? Yeah, haven’t got a name on the guy yet, but he’s doing a number on LexCorp,” Kord acknowledged, shrugging and putting his hands behind his head as he watched the destruction, “Shame we can’t let him do a little more. Can’t say I’m really all that broken up about Luthor’s property getting damaged.”

“Ha! You got that right!” O’Brien laughed his neck shooting up as he laughed, then snaking its way over to Question, “Don’t worry, Q, Big Blue’s on it! It’s his hometown, and the civilian evacuation’s running smooth; he’ll be on the scene in no time. No need to stress!”

“Hm,” Question hummed noncommittally, and he walked out of the room, trying to remain as casual as possible as he walked toward the direction of the Zeta Tubes. Once he was far enough away, he broke out into a dead sprint, darting toward the Zeta without a second to lose.

“Helena, it’s Q,” he said quickly, catching himself on the control-dais and punching in the coordinates for Metropolis, “I need you to meet me in Metropolis outside LexCorp as fast as you possibly can; it’s urgent.” With that, he deactivated his comm and sprinted through the active Zeta Tube, coming out on the other side in a long-disused phone booth in Metropolis, beginning to sprint down the street in the direction of fleeing people.

Before long, a familiar purple cape fluttered beside him, and he started clambering up a fire escape to the rooftops as he was joined by none other than Helena Bertinelli, AKA The Huntress. His partner.

“Okay, I’m here,” she said flatly, trying not to let Question’s apparent panic rattle her, “What was so important that I needed to drop everything and come here while some new metahuman’s tearing LexCorp open like a can of sardines?”

“Because,” Question said as he reached the top of the fire escape and surveyed the ongoing evacuation, the building he had climbed being just across the street, “You and I are going to use this to break into LexCorp and steal all of Luthor’s private files.”

Huntress cracked a smile. He knew she’d like that. “Oh, Q, you shouldn’t have,” she said snidely, hefting her crossbow and aiming a grapple line across the street, shooting it straight through a window, shattering the glass as the grapple found purchase.

The two of them rode the zipline across, rolling onto the floor in the ear-abandoned office building. “My guess is Luthor keeps all the important things in the basement, where tourists and civilians aren’t likely to find them,” Question said as he and Huntress began moving down the building.

“It’s also conveniently the opposite direction from all the scary alien fighting going on, right?” Huntress asked with a grin, and Question chose not to answer.

Sure, he was a superhero. Sure, he could hold his own in a fight. But he was not getting in the middle of whatever was going on upstairs. The building rumbled at that exact moment, as if to prove his point.

Soon, he and Huntress were below ground, taking out the disparate guards they encountered along the way. “You know, I almost admire their commitment to their jobs,” Huntress said as she kicked one down, “Almost.”

“They sold their souls to Luthor’s money,” Question responded dismissively, managing to punch one out, “I have no respect for them.”

Huntress merely rolled her eyes at him as Question led the duo further down, running down corridors marked with codes and labels Question didn’t have the context to understand; but he would gain it. Oh, would he gain it.

They passed a room that said ‘Kr-II’; Question skidded to a stop, grinning beneath his mask as he stepped inside, seeing a laboratory inside with an empty cloning pod. “This looks promising,” he said, stepping inside and waiving Helena through.

“What? What’s so special about this lab in particular?” Huntress asked as they entered, and Question started rifling through the files on the computer, bypassing security as best he was able; he wasn’t exactly a world-class hacker, but he was no slouch, either.

“Kr is the atomic symbol for krypton on the Periodic Table,” Question explained, not looking away from the screen as he hacked, “When Superman landed on Earth, the AI of his Fortress of Solitude attempted to explain where he was from by translating the native name for the planet; turns out, Kryptonians named themselves after the air they breathed, which happened to be mostly composed of the element krypton. Superman started saying he was from the planet Krypton, and not enough people memorized enough of the Periodic Table to know the difference; then, in the 80s, right after he debuted, Lex Luthor pointed out the coincidence, trying to say Superman was a liar. Superman later cleared up the discrepancy with that delightfully succinct explanation for the press, via a Daily Planet reporter called Clark Kent, originally from Smallville, Kansas, where reports first surfaced of a ‘flying boy’; Kent and Superman were probably childhood friends.”

“Oh yeah, I remember something about that now,” Helena realized after a moment, holding a hand to her chin, “But I was just a kid, and so were you, I think; how do you know that?”

“I make it my business to know whether or not the most powerful being on the planet is a liar,” Question responded, finally cracking into the files he needed, “I’m still undecided on whether or not I believe him.”

“Oh, come on, Q, he’s Superman!” Huntress scoffed, “I’m not sure if the guy could lie with a gun to his head!”

Question merely looked at her. Huntress sighed, putting a hand on her hip, “Yeah, okay, maybe a gun to the head wasn’t the best metaphor, but you get my point!”

“What better cover than the benevolent savior?” Question asked, plugging in his flashdrive and getting whatever he could off this computer, “The down-to-earth hero. The Immigrant From the Stars; doesn’t it all sound just a bit too Americana to you? Far more likely, he’s a government experiment, or the result of some rogue scientist. Sure, cloning technology has been public since the 2000s, but the government had GPS since 1973, but didn’t give it to the people until 1983, and even then, it wasn’t accurate within a distance of one meter until 2000. Who’s to say they didn’t have something as big as cloning or genetic experimentation much earlier? Who’s to say that Superman wasn’t created as the new nuclear deterrent?”

“Q, if you really believed that, then why join the League?” Huntress asked him as he stood up, and Question tilted his head at her, fixing her with a look.

“All I said was I don’t entirely believe him,” he responded, “I don’t entirely disbelieve him, either. And believing him isn’t the same as believing in him.”

Huntress stared at him as he walked past her, back into the hallway and turning left. “Well thank you for that enlightening answer,” she muttered ruefully, then followed him, “Hey, Confucius, out’s this way!”

“Answers are this way,” he objected, leading her further into the facility.

“I thought you got whatever you needed from that computer!” Helena protested, following him deeper in, and Question scoffed.

“Please, Luthor’s not dumb enough to keep everything on a single database,” he muttered, “I’d be shocked if I even got a tenth of what he’s planning from that monitor. No, that was just a stepping stone to the bigger prize…”

Question arrived at the door, punching in the code he’d found on the lab computer: 09232012. “His son’s birthday,” Question murmured, “How quaint.”

The door opened; inside was a small room, combined lab and living space. There was a drinks cabinet in one corner, but the room was dominated by a messy desk with a laptop sitting on top of it, as well as some physical files. A stained cot was up against the wall, with an abused pillow and ratty blanket. Instruments of some science or another littered the floor, only some actually on the lab counter where they belonged.

Huntress wrinkled her nose at the scene. “Ugh, whose room is this? Luthor’s?” she asked, stepping over a sock that she didn’t want to know the details about.

“Better,” Question said, sitting at the desk and plugging his flashdrive into the laptop, beginning to copy all the files to it, “It’s Drake’s.”

“Tim Drake?” Huntress asked, “That rich twink from Gotham? What’s he got to do with this?”

“Everything, Helena,” Question muttered, watching the download bar anxiously, “He’s the key to everything. Or at least, Luthor seems to think so.”

“Why do you say that?” Huntress asked, leaning over his shoulder; her chest rested on his arm. Victor felt himself get a little hot under the collar, and Helena smirked.

“Ever since Drake returned to public life in 2014, Luthor’s handed him the key to the castle,” Question explained, “We can only assume Drake has similar unfettered access in Luthor’s criminal life, too. He is Red Robin, after all.”

“Wait, what!?” Helena gasped, and the download finished.

“If I’m right, Drake is the linchpin to the Light’s whole operation,” Question went on, holding up the flashdrive, “And with this, we just might be able to figure out who the mole in the League is.”

“There’s a mole in the League!?!” Helena cried, and Question patted her on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry, your reaction to my revelations just acquitted you,” he said happily, very glad it wasn’t her, “Now, how much do you want to bet Luthor’s office is unlocked?”

---

Match blinked groggily as he slowly came back to consciousness. It was cold; he didn’t know where he was. He pressed his hand up against the glass of his pod; the last thing he remembered… he was fighting Superboy. Him and Robin had gotten the drop on him, along with the rest of the Young Justice dweebs. But Match must have beaten them, right? He was still alive, he must have… Mr. Luthor said he’d die if he didn’t…

Match groaned as a voice lanced through his head. Match; good morning. If you’re hearing this, that means I’ve activated you because LexCorp is under attack. Defend the building from whatever is attacking it; more specific instructions are to follow.

Match grunted as the recording in the device in his ear stopped, and he stumbled out of his pod as it opened; he was still wearing the leather jacket he’d stolen from Superboy. With it on, they looked identical, so long as Match was wearing his contacts. Unfortunately, people tended to figure it out when the whites of his eyes turned out to be black.

Match was an unstable clone. If he wasn’t on ice, he was actively deteriorating. Mr. Luthor had stabilized him enough to try and infiltrate the Teen Titans and impersonate Superboy, but that damn Robin found him out when Match went in for a kiss! How was he supposed to know they weren’t boyfriends!? They certainly acted like it!

Match gritted his teeth as he flew through the halls, feeling the building shake as his whole body ached; he was in near-constant pain. The perks of being a defective clone, he supposed.

Sure enough, as he was flying, his ear buzzed again, and Match grunted in pain as it hurt his super-hearing; Match: an unknown metahuman is attacking the building. He wears black and calls himself Shrike; defend Red Robin and the building at all costs, but do not kill him. He is needed.

Something about Luthor’s voice was off, like it was a robot rather than the man. “You feeling under the weather, Luthor?” Match asked sarcastically, “Your voice sounds a little buzzy.”

Unfortunately, my jaw was damaged, rendering me unable to speak, Luthor explained, I am communicating with you via state-of-the-art text-to-speech software. The voice you heard when you woke up was a recording from several years ago.

“Several years?” Match asked, finding his way out of the maze of frozen pods, “What year is it!? How long was I out!?”

It is 2022. You have been in stasis for fifteen years.

“Fifteen!?” Match gasped, “You’re lying to me! It’s 2007!”

It is not. Now defend the building, Match; that is an order. If you don’t, I will refuse to put you on ice again, and you will die.

Match growled; he didn’t have a choice. “Fine,” he muttered, “This Shrike guy can’t be that tough.”

Match broke through into the basement levels, scaring the shit out of a faceless dude in a blue trenchcoat and a sexy lady in a purple bondage outfit that she must have thought counted as a super-suit. Match regarded them shrewdly, especially the faceless dude. “Who the hell are you?” he asked, and the faceless dude stared at him… he thinks.

“Good Question,” the dude responded, “But the fight you want is up there.” The faceless dude pointed upward, to where the sound of battle was coming from. Match looked back down at them, considering, then shrugged.

“Fine,” he said, floating upward, “But hey lady, tell me your name, won’t you? Not often I see someone as beautiful as you around here…” He winked at her, hoping it came off as charming.

The lady looked a little perturbed, hefting a crossbow that they both knew would barely tickle him. “It’s Huntress,” she said, and Match grinned.

“Huntress,” he repeated, “Got it. Alright, faceless dude, you’re free to go!” Match rocketed up, up, and away, trying to convince himself he’d get a kiss from Huntress if he lived through this.

Below, he caught the tail-end of their conversation. “Jesus, his eyes…” Huntress muttered, and the faceless dude hummed.

“I saw,” he responded, “Come on, Helena, we’ve got work to do!”

Helena… Match liked ‘Huntress’ a whole lot better. It fit more.

---

Tim almost cried with relief as he made it to the roof, tapping into the building’s PA system. “Attention citizens of Metropolis,” he said int the loudspeaker, grinning as it was amplified over the city, “My name is Red Robin; you may remember my work in Gotham a few years ago. Well, I’ve decided to grace your fair city with my presence, and once and for all bring down the hubristic tower of one Alexander A Luthor. I suggest you run; in one minute, the foundations of this building will explode, and it will fall. Good luck.”

Tim turned off the loudspeaker; that should get civilians away for the foreseeable future. A firework went off on one of the rooftops below. Tim drew his staff, then turned back to where he knew Shrike and Conner would chase after him. As the building shook, Shrike burst out of the concrete, and Tim dodged one of the chunks, keeping his eye on the threat. He waited for Conner to follow, any moment now… any moment… any… oh shit.

“Where’s Superboy?” Tim asked, and Shrike regarded him coldly.

“He won’t be joining us,” Shrike said cooly, cracking his knuckles, “You’re gonna have to find a new sucker to hide behind.”

Tim set his jaw, determined not to give in; he just needed to wait for Superman. Superman would fix everything. But… Conner was okay, right? He had to be.

Unbidden memories of the aftermath of Conner’s battle with Superboy Prime entered his mind.

He had to be okay.

Just as Tim was about to turn and run off the side of the building, hoping to lead Shrike down to the street level, another form burst out of the roof, sucker-punching Shrike just as he started to move, and for a moment Tim’s heart soared as he recognized Conner…!

…Then he noticed that Conner looked far too young; about fifteen years too young. He was a gangly teenager, the same gangly teenager Tim had fallen in love with. But his eyes… his eyes were black.

“Match,” Tim whispered; he’d thought Match was dead. Killed fifteen years ago by Luthor’s shoddy cloning. Project Match was nearly identical to Conner in every way, save for the genetic stability; Luthor had once used him to infiltrate the Teen Titans and take Conner’s place. Tim had figured it out after Match had tried to kiss him. In hindsight, Match might’ve been onto something Tim and Conner were too afraid to acknowledge. There was a fight, and the real Conner came back and kicked Match’s ass; Tim had thought Match had organ failure there in Titans Tower. Had Luthor stitched him back together, then had him on ice all this time, just in case?

“Hey, Ugly!” Match hollered, taking a ready stance, “There’s a hot chick in leather waiting for me on the ground floor, so let’s make this asskicking quick, ya hear!?”

Shrike glowered wordlessly as Match squared off with him, then Match turned and looked at Tim for the first time. He grinned, “Hey, you’re not so bad on the eyes yourself! Whaddya say you, me, and the lady have some fun after thi--!!”

Tim tried not to feel satisfaction as Shrike sent Match flying, pursuing the faulty clone with frightening speed, and Tim realized this was an opening to escape!

… But what he really did was leap back down into the building to check on Conner. He couldn’t help it; he’d lost Conner before, and it had ruined his life. He wasn’t about to let it get ruined any further.

---

Tommy was very confused as to who this carbon copy of young Conner was, and why he was so determined to make everything a sex joke.

“Oh, right on the mouth, huh? Not even gonna take me out to dinner first?” Match grunted playfully as Shrike battered him, over and over, and Tommy growled beneath his mask.

“For the love of GOD, shut up!” he demanded, punching Match so hard the kid plummeted downward, hitting a rooftop at speeds enough to make the building shake.

“Come on, man, don’t you know how this works?” Match asked with a shaky laugh, wiping blood from his chin as he staggered back to his feet, “Come on, there’s some witty banter involved in this! Say you’re going to buy me dinner in hell or something, come on!”

Tommy sneered at the facsimile of his father, the one that was getting on his nerves and in his way. “I’m just here to bring in Red Robin,” he said for what felt like the umpteenth time, “You’re not involved in this.”

Match grinned as he put up his dukes. “I’m feeling pretty involved,” he retorted, “Come on, dude, they kept me on ice for fifteen years. At least give me some fun before I die!”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. Fun? He thought this was fun?

Tommy wasn’t doing this for fun. He wasn’t doing this for attention. He was doing this to take his life back!

“Don’t mock me!” Shrike roared, surging forward and grabbing Match by the throat, throwing him down to street level.

Match groaned at the impact, but then rolled back up onto his hands and knees, clambering back to his feet as Shrike floated down above him. “What’s the point of other people if not to mock them?” Match asked snidely, grinning as he got a stupid idea, “And tell me, really, what’s the point of that STUPID MASK!?” Match lunged forward, catching Shrike off-guard with a roundhouse kick that caught the chin of his mask and sent it spiraling into the air, landing some forty feet away with a loud CRACK!

Tommy snarled in fury as his heat vision flared, staring down Match as he literally saw red.

Match, meanwhile, looked perplexed. “You’re just a kid,” he said, and Tommy’s eye twitched, “And you look just like…” Match’s eyes widened.

“WHAT!?” Tommy demanded angrily, too high on Miraclo to care what Match was thinking, “I look just like what!?”

Match shook his head, as if dispelling some bad thoughts. “Just a boy I used to like,” he sighed, “Whatever, man, put up your dukes, let’s do this.”

Tommy growled, then snarled as he lunged forward, intending to remove Match’s annoying head from his shoulders.

---

Luthor sighed as he watched the street camera footage of Tommy and Match’s brawl; it was a damn shame Tommy had to go and act out like this, but part of Lex could appreciate the ingenuity. Lead armor to protect against the kryptonite, while simultaneously hiding his identity? That was an inspired move. Lex would have to compensate for it in the future.

If he had to guess, the boy had some misguided notion that bringing in Red Robin would solve all his issues, both familial and psychological. Lex circled his thumb over the button, considering the easy option to end their current predicament, but he decided against it; if Tommy died, Tim would go rogue. With what Tim knew of their operations, his turning against them at this critical juncture could be catastrophic. Better to let them tear themselves apart, it would serve to break Tim down even more, make him more obedient, more willing to go through with Mockingbird.

Damn that boy! Half of Tim’s genius and all of Conner’s recklessness.

“Mr. Luthor, we’re administering the anesthetic now, sir,” the doctors said above him, “We’ll do our best to fix your jaw, sir.”

Luthor glared at the doctor, then nodded, then felt himself beginning to slip under the influence of the anesthetic. His building had damn well better still be there when he woke up…

---

“…-ner! Conner! Connner!”

Kon-El woke with a start as he saw Tim’s face smiling down at him, tears in his eyes as Conner groaned, his head pounding.

“What happened?” he asked, “Did I win?”

Tim laughed, wiping his tears with his glove. “Sorry, Clone Boy, not this time,” he responded, helping Conner to his feet, “Shrike really handed you your ass.”

“Not true,” Conner protested groggily, “He handed me my butt, at best.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“You don’t make sense!”

“I don’t, do I?” Tim asked wistfully, and Conner couldn’t help it; he kissed him. It was the only way he knew how to shake Tim out of it when he got all self-deprecating, and right now, his brain was not caught-up enough to register danger. This kiss seemed to catch his boyfriend by surprise, but Tim leaned into it. Conner held onto his boyfriend like a life-preserver, taking every single inch of him in in that infinite moment, trying to memorize how Tim felt, how he tasted, how he smelled, how warm he was. It occurred to him that after everything, after burning the world for each other, after clinging to each other in a raging storm, after having children together, they were still just boyfriends. That didn’t seem right.

Conner finally pulled away, leaving Tim flushed beneath his cowl. “Where’d that come from, Clone Boy?” he asked a little breathlessly, a bewildered grin on his face.

“Marry me,” Conner answered.

Tim blinked. “Wha-?”

Conner went down on one knee, right there in the splintered remains of Tim’s office doors, in the shattered remnants of his office. He held Tim’s hand in his, looking into his eyes. “Marry me, Tim,” he begged, “Please.”

Tim stared at him. He took his cowl off, letting Conner see his face, see his eyes. They were a pure, icy sky blue. He was crying. “Are you really…?” Tim asked shakily, his voice struggling through the tears, and Conner grinned as he nodded.

“I promise I’m only a little concussed,” Conner assured him, “And I think we’ve dedicated too much of ourselves to each other to just be boyfriends. We’re not kids anymore, Tim.”

“B-But Shrike, the attack, is now really the time to-?” Tim asked incredulously, still shaking and trying to hold in his tears, and Conner gripped his hand tighter.

“With our lives, there’s never going to be a good time!” Conner protested, “Please, Tim, I can’t keep pretending we can do it some other day! I can’t even tell you why, but I’d give up everything for you! There’s a part of my chest that aches whenever you’re not with me! I lie awake at night just aching, for hours and hours, because you’re not there! I know this won’t change anything really, I know that the Light still have you under their thumb, but Tim, this matters to me. I want all this pain to mean something more than just teen angst. I want to be going through all this for my family. For my husband.”

Conner stood up, cupping Tim’s cheek with his hand, crying tears of his own as he held Tim in his arms. “I want you and I to be able to say we’re going through all this for love, not some stupid crush,” he said, “Because I love you, Tim Drake. I love you so much it hurts. And I want nothing more than to be your husband, and stand by your side for the rest of our lives.”

Tim was actively bawling now. “K-Kon, I… I don’t know what to say… I…” Tim couldn’t think; of all the things he was expecting today, this was at the absolute bottom of the list. Tim desperately wiped his eyes, fighting back tears with all his strength. How many times had he dreamed of this? Of Conner getting down on one knee, asking for his hand in marriage?

It should’ve been at some fancy restaurant. It should’ve been on the roof of Titans Tower, under the stars, or during the Fourth of July fireworks. It should’ve been at the Kent Farm, or the Manor. It should’ve been anywhere but here. Tim didn’t care; this was perfect.

“You don’t have a ring,” he pointed out, and Conner straightened.

“Uh… fuck. Gimme a sec,” he responded, flitting about the room and ripping the place apart for suitable materials. He returned a few seconds later with the glass top of the whiskey carafe, which he crushed into a smooth, round gem, then using his heat vision to cut into a shape indistinguishable from a diamond. Then, he took the brass from the drawer handle, heated it, and molded it into a ring, setting the gem inside and using his freeze breath to cool it down again.

“Ta-da,” he said with a smile, offering it to Tim.

It was beautiful.

Tim held his face, thinking he must be beet red. He didn’t think this could ever happen, deep down; he didn’t think anyone would ever want to marry him, let alone the person he wanted to marry. He couldn’t believe this was happening. It was too good to be true.

He didn’t care.

“D-Do it right!” Tim demanded, stepping back and pointing at the floor, “Get on one knee again, come on!”

Conner laughed, then looked at him with the most beautiful, most sincere, most loving eyes Tim had ever seen. “Timothy Jackson Drake,” he said, lowering himself down to one knee, “Love of my life, father of my children…” Conner held out the ring, “Will you marry me?”

Tim’s heart stuttered in his chest. “Wait, wait, wait!!” He realized, closing Conner’s hand, “Before we do this, you need to know there’s a third one!”

Conner blinked. “A third what?” he asked.

“A third kid! We have three kids, Conner, not two!” Tim told him desperately, “There’s Tommy, and Artemis, and then Galatea. Teya for short.”

Conner blinked again. “Where did Teya come from!?” he asked incredulously, and Tim grimaced.

“Lex,” he answered ruefully, “But she’s the sweetest thing, Conner, you’ll love her the moment you see her, I guarantee it!”

Conner closed his eyes, massaged his head, then broke out into startled laugh. Tim laughed with him, and they both just lost it there, giggling for ages until they winded down. “Three kids,” Conner repeated, “Why not.”

He looked up again, held out the ring again. “Timothy Jackson Drake, love of my life, father of my three children, bringer of everlasting surprises…” Tim laughed at the addition, “I’ll ask you again: will you marry me?”

Tim couldn’t take it anymore. Conner was so beautiful, the ring was so beautiful; this was all happening so fast and Tim just didn’t fucking care. “Yes!” he squealed, “Holy fuck, Conner, yes!!” Tim flung himself into Conner’s arms, and they kissed again, long, passionate, and hard.

Conner smiled after they broke off, holding each other, “Last time you said those words in that order we were doing something much different.”

Tim laughed against him, “Not that different.”

Conner brought up their hands, then put the ring on his finger; it sparkled in the flickering light of the sparking power line hanging from the ceiling.

“We’re fiancées now,” Tim said happily, leaning into him.

“Fiancées,” Conner agreed, “Ready for the shortest engagement ever?”

“Don’t we need a priest or something?” Tim asked, “A judge?”

“Fuck the church and fuck the law,” Conner responded, “All we need is you, me, and the Big Guy.”

Tim laughed again. “The Big Guy and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms right now…” he responded, not entirely sure if they were talking about Superman or God.

Conner smiled. “Then He’ll just have to get used to it, won’t He?” he asked, and they leaned against one another, their foreheads pressed together, their hearts beating in unison, their pulses thrumming against one another’s in their clasped hands.

“Okay,” Tim said finally, “Let’s do it.”

“Timothy Jackson Drake,” Conner started, his breath feeling like the kiss of an angel on Tim’s face, “Do you take me to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do us part?”

“I do,” Tim whispered against him, softly, as if worried that if he spoke too loud, the universe would hear and take this away from him.

“Conner Kent, Kon-El,” he began, “Do you take me to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do us part?”

“Wife?” Conner questioned, and Tim blushed.

“I know what I said,” he replied, “Now answer the question!”

Conner laughed, then said, in a voice as deep as timber, his chest rumbling against Tim’s as he said it, soft and smooth as velvet, strong and hearty as a storm, whispering sweetly: “I do.”

Tim looked up at him, into his sky blue eyes, and thought of their three beautiful children, and how he got so damned lucky that this incredible man was willing to put up with him. That despite everything that had happened to him, despite his life falling apart, that Conner could still make Tim feel like the luckiest man in the world.

“You may now kiss the bride,” he breathed, and they kissed, so hard, so deep, so passionate, that it put all their previous kisses to shame by far. Tim could scarcely keep himself from clinging to Conner like a life raft, all while Conner held him close enough that it almost seemed to them for a moment that they were one perfect being, a single soul united, rather than the sum of two sets of broken pieces trying to find peace in one another.

It was the best kiss of all time.

Finally, they came up for air, breathlessly panting against one another and cursing their damnable clothes and the urgent deadly environment they were in. “I now pronounce us man and wife,” Conner said happily, and Tim laughed, kissing his cheek.

“Mr. Kent-Drake, our honeymoon sex is going to be wild,” Tim promised him.

“Mr. Drake-Kent, I will hold you to that,” Conner said with a grin, “And you can just call me Kon.”

It was such a stupid joke, but damn him, Tim laughed his ass of at it, and Conner laughed with him.

They were married.

They were married.

Tim had a ring and everything. He would buy real ones and mail it to Conner at some point, or give it to him on the honeymoon.

Maybe he should get an extra set of rings for the honeymoon… different rings…

The building rumbled around them again, and they remembered the fact that they were in the middle of a battle. Conner grinned, “I believe that’s our first dance as a married couple calling our name, wifey dear.”

Tim grinned, “Well, we shouldn’t keep them waiting, should we, hubby?”

They were ecstatic. They were on Cloud 9! It was the happiest day of their lives! Just wait until they told the kids!

Conner idly wondered how the hell he was going to explain this to Tommy, but put that thought from his mind for now; it wasn’t like Tommy was outside or anything. He had time to think about it.

---

Artemis watched the carnage unfolding on the roof with trepidation, fear rising in her throat as she saw the two specks fighting in the sky, pounding one another again and again and again. Teya fidgeted beside her, clearly wanting to go and help, but Artemis really wasn’t sure who was up there, or if fighting them would do any good.

Then, she heard the sound of rushing wind behind her, and she whipped around, bow in hand and arrow nocked, while Teya fell into a fighting stance beside her. She immediately slackened her bowstring when she saw who it was, though.

Hovering there in midair, red cape fluttering in the wind, the S on his chest, and a smile on his face.

Artemis broke out into a relieved grin.

“It’s going to be okay, Miss,” Superman said, “I’m here now.”

Notes:

I HAVE RETURNED!!!!
So, SO sorry this took so long, I really didn't mean for it to, but unfortunately that's what happens when you graduate college and have to move back and start your real life job. Time to write grew distressingly short, and I knew I had to get this out now before the summer business hits.

I swear to God this is the last thing before Mockingbird, because if it isn't I am legitimately going to find Tim myself and kill him.

Thank you all so much for continuing to read, and let's have some congratulations for our newlyweds in the comments!

Until next time (hopefully not too far from now!) Peace!

Chapter 55: Tommy

“Superman!” Artemis cried in relief, “You came!”

Superman smiled at her indulgently, looking between the two girls in confusion. “I always come when there are people in danger,” he looked up at the fight happening above LexCorp, pursing his lips as he did, then turning back to the two girls, “I’m assuming that’s what you called me about?”

Artemis nodded dumbly, the adrenaline starting to wear off as she realized she was actually talking to the Man of Steel. Sure, Green Arrow was her favorite, but this was Superman! “Yes, sir,” she said eventually, finding her voice, “Something started attacking the building, I grabbed my sister and got out, but our dad is still in there somewhere!”

“Not to worry, Miss, I’ll find your father,” Superman answered easily, looking between the two and making a mental note of their strange outfits; they looked prepped for a fight, not like they were the daughters of some random LexCorp worker that had escaped the building. He would have to interrogate them later, but the crisis was at hand here. “Get to safety,” he told them, lifting himself up through the air and toward the action, “I’ll handle this.”

Superman flew off in a blur toward the top of the tower, and Artemis sighed relief as Teya unclenched her fists. “He was strong,” Teya noted, “Really strong.”

Artemis nodded. “He’s Superman,” she explained.

Teya watched the Man of Steel’s retreating form with interest, and a small, excited grin broke out across her face. She was going to fight him one day. She clenched and unclenched her fists again, tensed and untensed her shoulders, trying to contain the excess energy.

She was going to fight him one day, and that fight was going to be so much fun.

---

Question and Huntress grinned as they finally reached Luthor’s office, much higher up in the building than Question would have liked to be, but he was confident they could escape notice of the brawling Kryptonians upstairs for some amount of time. At least long enough to get what they needed from Luthor’s computer and go.

“This is it,” he said to her, waiting by the door, “We don’t know what kind of security he has on the other side; are you ready?”

Huntress hefted her crossbow, smiling at him. “Born ready,” she answered, and they both shoulder-charged the door with all their might, almost stumbling with how easily it gave way.

Huntress had just long enough to have the conscious thought of ‘Someone already broke in’ before she and Q saw yet more evidence of that fact.

Luthor’s office was pandemonium. The desk was turned over, the art on the walls was scratched and ruined, papers were scattered about, and Luthor’s computer, Question’s prize, had been smashed; and in the center of the room, Mercy Graves, Luthor’s bodyguard, was being held up by the throat by a masked assassin.

Helena sucked in a breath as she saw him. Dressed in all black, with highlights of gold metal. Two batons were holstered on his back, while golden gauntlets held claws on each finger. When the assassin turned to them, the perfectly circular goggles he wore, along with the golden metal highlights on his hood, made it look like the piercing gaze of a predatory owl. And she realized, as she watched, that something was off about him; his shoulders weren’t moving. He wasn’t breathing.

Helena shivered.

“What the hell is that!?” she asked, a slight shiver in her voice, and Question grimaced beside her.

“A Talon of the Court of Owls,” he explained, “A living corpse reanimated to become the Court’s assassin. It doesn’t feel pain, it doesn’t get tired…” he swallowed thickly as the Talon stared them down, “And it doesn’t show mercy.”

“What the fuck is the Court of Owls!?” Helena demanded, keeping her crossbow aimed at it, but the Talon barely registered the threat. Mercy, still choking in its grip, was beginning to struggle harder, her face turning blue.

“A secret cabal of old, wealthy families in Gotham,” Question explained, “They’ve been around since the British conquered New Jersey from the Dutch, but went underground when the Catholic James II became king. Ever since, they’ve been the real power behind the throne in Gotham, and across the country in some cases. You’ve never heard their nursery rhyme?”

“No, I haven’t heard their fucking nursery rhyme!!” Huntress snapped, then she cursed as Mercy began to go limp in the Talon’s grasp, “Fuck!” She fired her crossbow, aiming for the Talon’s wrist, hoping to get it to drop Mercy.

The crossbow bolt struck home, sinking into the Talon’s flesh and coming out the other side. The Talon didn’t react. It’s golden eyes seemed to glow as its gaze bored into Helena’s soul, and it stared her down as it deliberately dropped Mercy; Huntress heard the bodyguard gasp for breath as she crumpled like a ragdoll. To their horror, Question and Huntress watched as the Talon reached up, pulled the bolt from its wrist, and tossed it aside. Black blood spattered the ground for a moment, but soon, the wound ceased bleeding, and closed on its own.

The Talon extended the claws on its gauntlets threateningly, staring at them, but making no other overtly threatening moves. “Q, it just spit an arrow out of its wrist,” Huntress murmured to her partner, “Do we have a chance against this thing?”

Question swallowed thickly. “If even half the stories about Talons are true...” he murmured back, “Not a prayer.”

“Helena Bertinelli… Victor Sage…” the Talon rasped, its voice soft and scratchy from disuse, and Helena took a step back in shock.

“It can talk!” Question gasped in surprise.

“It knows our names!” Huntress pointed out urgently.

The Talon continued to regard them unmovingly, the hood covering its face making its expression inscrutable. “… The Court of Owls has not sentenced you to die,” it continued, then it tilted its head, seeming to squint at them, “Stop.”

Question and Huntress exchanged confused glances. “What do you mean stop?” Question asked, and the Talon pointed at Helena’s crossbow, still aimed at him.

“Weapon,” it rasped again, “Down. No… fight. Stop.”

“It… doesn’t want to fight?” Helena asked in confusion, “Q, I thought you said these things were assassins?”

“They are,” Question answered, just as confused as she was, “I’ve never heard of a peaceful Talon before.”

“Still… if we can’t beat this thing…” Helena slowly lowered her crossbow, then raised her hands in surrender. Question copied her movement.

The Talon nodded its head. “Did it just… thank us?” Helena asked, and Question shrugged.

“This is uncharted territory,” he told her.

The Talon turned back to Mercy’s prone form on the ground. It extended its claws again. “Mercy Graves…” it rasped, raising its clawed gauntlet, “The Court of Owls has sentenced you to die!”

“No-!” Helena cried, stepping forward, but it was too late. Mercy Graves died silently, the Talon’s clawed fingers digging deep into her neck, her blood gushing from the wound in waves as her heart slowly stopped pumping. As Helena stepped forward to try and help, but the talon fixed her with another golden glare, and she stopped in her tracks.

“What the hell did you do that for!?” she demanded, “You’d already beaten her! Mercy wasn’t a threat!”

The Talon stood up gracefully, his movements practiced and fluid. “Sentenced to die,” it answered, looking at its bloodied gauntlet, “Message. For Luthor.”

“What message? What has Luthor done to run afoul of the Court of Owls?” Question asked, and Talon looked at him.

Rather than answering, it punched a hole into the massive art piece behind Luthor’s desk, stepping over Mercy’s body to do so. The wall behind it wasn’t too far back, but there was enough space for the Talon to start ripping the canvas to shreds, exposing a handprint pad. The Talon grabbed Mercy’s limp form by the wrist, then dragged her still-dying body to the pad, pressing her hand to it. Sure enough, the saferoom beyond the false wall opened, and the Talon turned to them, rasped “Stay,” and stepped inside.

Question and Huntress looked at each other, both keeping their hands in the air. They weren’t usually in the business of pissing off undead assassins that could kill them without a thought. A few moments later, the Talon returned, holding in its palm a glowing green rock the size of a softball.

Kryptonite.

Helena sucked in a breath, as did Question. The Talon walked toward them, holding the kryptonite in its hand as it moved silently, but with each step, Helena felt her heartbeat get quicker.

To her surprise, however, the Talon merely walked past them, seemingly having gotten what it came for. It stopped for a moment, then turned to Question. “If you want to live…” it rasped, staring at him intently, “Stay away.”

The Talon turned again and continued walking out the door, seemingly in a trance as it took the stairs back down the building. Both Huntress and Question sagged with relief, looking at where the Talon had left.

“Did his voice sound familiar to you?” Question asked, and Huntress stared at him.

“You’ve been making friends with corpses recently?” she asked, turning to rush toward Luthor’s computer.

Question stared at where the Talon had been, lost deep in thought. That corpse was someone he knew, he was sure of it. He just couldn’t put his finger on who…

“Q, come on, let’s get what we came here for!” Huntress urged him, grabbing his hand and tugging him along, “Worry about the zombie assassin later!”

Question shook himself out of his reverie, then set to work hacking into Luthor’s computer. Huntress was right, they would have to worry about the Court of Owls later; the task was at hand.

---

Tommy growled as he and Match fought back and forth, raging in the sky over LexCorp. If he hadn’t been so hopped up on Miraclo, Match could’ve given him a run for his money. But now?

Tommy growled as he kicked Match down into the roof, letting the faulty clone struggle to stand as he floated downward, looming over him. “You can’t win,” Tommy told him, wishing he still had his Shrike mask. But this bastard broke it!

Match grunted as he staggered to his feet, wiping blood from his jaw. “Maybe not,” he agreed, seemingly smarting from the last punch, “But getting back up seems to piss you off, so I think I’ll keep doing it.”

Tommy glowered at him. “I don’t want to fight you,” he said again, “You’re just in my way. I’m only here for Red Robin.”

“Yeah? Last I checked, Red Robin was a burger joint, and not even one of my favorites,” Match responded, putting up his fists, “But I still won’t stand for you attacking their hard-earned business.”

Tommy growled, then surged forward with a devastating punch to his jaw, sending the other teen sprawling. “Why won’t you take this seriously!?” Tommy demanded, and Match actually laughed at him as Tommy held him by the collar, his head lolling to one side as he looked up at Tommy through the bleeding cut above his eye.

“Because that’s what you want,” Match sneered, “And I’m not going to give it to you.”

Tommy saw red. He lifted Match up, then pounded him into the ground, again and again, until his growling became a scream of primal rage. “SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT! UP!” Tommy slammed Match into the ground a final time, and the clone lay still.

For a moment, Tommy felt a twinge of fear in his chest, but Match spluttered out a breath as he tried to stand again. “Just stay down!” Tommy hissed, “This doesn’t involve you! Take the hint and play dead!”

Match grinned through bloody teeth. “Who’s playing?” he asked, and Tommy was caught by surprise as the other clone managed to catch him with a knee to the balls. Tommy doubled over in pain, grunting as Match grabbed his hair and punched him across the roof. “This is life and death, kid,” he said, wiping more blood from his mouth and out of his eyes, “Not playacting. If I don’t beat you, I die. And me? I don’t want to do that. I’ve barely got enough experience to know what life is like; I’ve never gotten a kiss from a girl, or gone to a movie, or played video-games with friends!”

Match blasted him with heat vision, but Tommy dodged easily, even the lighting-fast attack seeming slow as a tortoise to his Miraclo-enhanced senses. Match tried to rush him, but once again, Tommy was too fast. Tommy grabbed Match’s arm, twisting it around his back, and shoved him to the ground. “Yeah, it sounds like your life sucks!” Tommy growled, “But do you know what my life’s been like!?”

Match scoffed, kicking Tommy off of him, “Oh yeah, I’m sure you’ve got such a tragic backstory, kid, but like I told you, if I don’t do this, I die.”

Tommy snarled at the dismissal, kicking Match in the back and flying forward, grabbing him by the throat and slamming him into the ground. “Don’t talk to me about death, Match,” he growled, “At any moment, I could die. There’s a secret organization of supervillains out there right now that could decide at any moment to kill me. There’s no way to stop it, there’s no way to kill them without killing me, and there’s no way I can ever live my life while they’re still out there!”

“Do you have any idea what that’s like!?” Tommy demanded, beginning to pummel Match as he talked, “To live every day of your life with the Sword of Damocles hanging over your head!? To try and live your life, make friends, have fun, when at any moment, you could die!?”

Tommy slammed his fist into Match, sending the other clone flying across the roof, letting him land in a heap as Tommy hovered upward. “That’s why I’m bringing in Red Robin,” he said as he hovered forward, not bothering to walk, “Because if I can bring him in, I can make this end. Pull at one thread, and the rest will follow. If he’s behind bars, I can live my life again.”

Tommy’s eyes glowed red as he looked down at Match’s bleeding, broken form. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” he said sourly, and he let his heat vision loose.

To his surprise, however, someone got in the way. Tommy blinked the haze out of his eyes, having been temporarily blinded by the flash, and as he cleared his vision, he nearly panicked as he saw a familiar shield blocking his way.

“That’s enough, son,” Superman said, standing grimly between Tommy and his opponent, looking sadder than Tommy had ever seen him, “That’s enough.”

Tommy stared at his grandfather, growling as he clenched his fists. “No, not you,” he muttered, slicing his hand through the air, “Anyone but you! This isn’t about you!”

“Tommy, you’re doing this in Metropolis, getting people hurt,” Clark sighed, “It might not be about me, but it does concern me. You’re better than this, son.”

Shame swirled in Tommy’s gut, and while he did feel some juvenile sense of being scolded, he resented feeling that way. More than anything, he hated that word. “Don’t call me that,” he muttered lowly, “I’m not your son. I’m barely your grandson, with how much you’re around.”

Clark grimaced, and Tommy noticed Match standing up behind him, once again staggering to his feet. Why wouldn’t the faulty clone just stay down!? “Now, Tommy, you know it’s not like that,” Clark sighed, “Bruce takes good care of you, so does Conner, and Cass, and Damian, and everyone else in the Manor. You have a better life there than Lois and I could ever give you; you’re with your father, and your father’s family. If you wanted me to be a bigger part of your life, then I’m sorry I didn’t realize that, but I’m here now.”

Tommy hated how understanding Clark was being. He hated how off-track this conversation, this fight, and this whole mission was getting. He hated that no one seemed as upset about this as he was. Tommy threw up his hands and screamed, turning away from Superman as he did, then held his head in his hands. “Why can’t you people just let me do this!?” he asked angrily, scratching his head furiously to work off some energy as he did so, wheeling back around on Superman, “He needs to pay! You don’t understand what he’s done! He ruined my life!!”

Superman still looked sad, still standing between Shrike and Match. “You’re talking about Tim,” he sighed.

“Of course I’m talking about Tim!” Tommy screamed at his grandfather, “It’s only ever been about Tim! He always gets away with it, again and again and again, and you people keep letting him!!”

Superman sighed greatly, stepping forward with a placating hand, “Tommy, the situation with Tim is complicated…”

“No it’s NOT!” Tommy cried back, waving his hands in the air emphatically, “Why can’t anyone else see it?? It’s good vs evil! That’s what we do as superheroes, right?? We fight evil! Timothy fucking Drake is fucking evil, and he needs to be behind bars!”

“But Tommy, if Tim goes away, if the Light isn’t satisfied with his performance, you could die,” Superman pointed out softly.

“YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW THAT!?!” Tommy screamed at him, angry tears leaking from his eyes, “Is that any reason to let him keep hurting innocent people!? I can’t handle that, Grampa Clark! I can’t be responsible for that!”

“Tommy…” Clark sighed, stepping forward to put and hand on the boy’s shoulder, but Tommy slapped it away, angrily wiping his tears.

“He needs to pay,” he repeated, “He did this to me, it’s all his fault! He left me! He made me, and he left me, and then he tortured my family and he killed my uncle and shot my aunt and he hurt my friends and I can’t do it anymore!

“I need to bring him in, Grampa Clark!” Tommy begged, looking up at him, crying in earnest now, “I need to beat him! I need my life back!”

“Tommy, it’s not that simple…” Clark implored him, and at that moment, two figures flew up from the rubble of the roof, looking elated and ready for a fight.

“Round Two, Shri—Tommy?” Conner asked incredulously, and Tim stared open-mouthed beside him, the shock and pain evident on both their faces.

Tommy growled as he saw the red tunic and black cowl he’d come here for, and pushed Superman back with a shove, but Superman wrapped him up in a tight hold, almost like a hug, and for all that Tommy was hopped up on Miraclo, he couldn’t break the grip. He strained and struggled, but he couldn’t get there, and he started to scream again. “LET ME GO!!” he cried, “LET ME DO THIS!! PLEASE!!”

“Tommy, no,” Clark said forcefully, holding the teen back, and Conner and Tim stared at their son.

“Tommy… what’s going on?” Conner asked, “Where’s Shrike?”

Tommy growled, still straining against Superman’s hold, “I am Shrike! I made the suit, I took the Miraclo, I got everything I needed to beat him! I could’ve done it, I can still do it if you just get out of my way!!”

“You made the suit?” Tim asked quietly, “That’s… how?”

Tommy stopped struggling, but Superman didn’t let go of him. He looked away, cursing, then answered. “It wasn’t that hard,” he muttered, “Lead shields kryptonite radiation, and I knew you’d be in LexCorp, so I knew I’d be dealing with kryptonite. So I grabbed some lead and made it into armor on top of an extra suit from the Cave. Then I took one of Uncle Jason’s helmets and repainted it so you wouldn’t recognize it. I knew if I showed up as Robin people would ask questions, or the Light would notice, so I figured a new identity, one no one knew about, was the best option.”

“And you knew destroying the Miraclo was the best way to beat me,” Tim realized in amazement, pulling his cowl off in astonishment, “Tommy, that’s… if Conner hadn’t been here, that would’ve worked. That’s really clever.”

Tommy didn’t look at him. He couldn’t.

“But Tommy… why’d you do all this in the first place?” Conner asked, kneeling in front of him, trying to meet his son’s eyes, and Tim swallowed behind him.

“Is it because I adopted Artemis?” he asked quietly, and Tommy let out a bitter laugh.

“Yeah, my new sister,” he said sourly, “Because that was the last straw. I was fine biding my time for a bit, letting you do something stupid while I trained up my team to stop you, but then you went and adopted her. You dragged someone else into this mess, and I couldn’t handle it anymore.”

Tommy looked at his father, looked him in the eye for the first time in years, and hated him. But he was sad, too. So, so sad. “I wanted it all to just stop,” he explained, “You don’t know what it’s been like! Everything you’ve done, everything you’ve said, it just hurts people, Dad. And the only reason you’re doing it is because they’ll kill me if you don’t. You think you’re the only one suffering, here? How do you think it feels to be a bargaining chip in all this? To have no agency in your life, at all? You think I was just going to stand by and let you do that to someone else?”

“I used to love you, Dad, I really did, because you were all I ever knew,” Tommy said, and Tim felt his heart being stabbed, over and over again, like a thousand blazing knives, “But I can’t live my life while you’re still in it.”

“Tommy…” Tim said in an anguished whisper, “… that’s why I gave you away. Why I gave you to Bruce. So you could be happy, and safe. So you wouldn’t have to think about me.”

Tommy scoffed at that. “I can’t do anything!” he cried, “I can’t hang out with my friends, I can’t be Robin, I can’t be a superhero or a son or a grandson or a nephew or a friend or a person while you’re still here! How do you expect me to be normal, to be happy, just because you put me in a house you keep attacking!? You killed my uncle, Tim! How do you expect me to take that?”

Tim couldn’t answer. A moment ago, he’d been on top of the world. Now, he felt like crawling into the deepest hole he could find and never coming out.

“Tommy…” Conner tried, but Tommy shook his head.

“No, no, don’t try to make this better!” he said, “It can’t get better! It’s never going to get better! You love him, Pops, I get that, and I can’t stop that, but I can’t understand that. He’s a monster, he kills everything he touches, and I’m tired of letting more and more people get hurt just because I’m in the line of fire!”

“I’m a superhero!” Tommy snapped, “I’m always in the line of fire! Would it really be so bad if I sacrificed myself for the greater good!?”

The rooftop was silent. The weight of the boy’s words hung heavy in the air, and fathers and grandfather looked so terribly sadly at one another. “Tommy…” Clark asked quietly behind him, “What are you saying?”

Tommy looked at the ground. “I’m saying wouldn’t it be better for everyone if I was dead?” he asked, “Wouldn’t it be better for everyone if I’d never been born?”

“Don’t say that!” Tim cried, falling to his knees beside his son, “Please, Tommy, don’t say that. I can’t handle hearing you say that.”

“Well it’s what I’m saying,” Tommy muttered, “And aren’t I right? If I hadn’t been born, you’d still be a superhero. If I were to die right now, the Light wouldn’t have any leverage over you, and you’d go behind bars and everything would be okay again.” Tommy looked up at his father, at the anguish and the pain in his face, and asked, “Or is that not the truth anymore?”

Tim stared at his son, trying to think, trying to answer. Was Tommy right? If it hadn’t been for Tim’s failed attempt to resurrect Conner succeeding in creating a son, would they even be in this situation? And, if Tommy were to die right now, would Tim even bother going along with the Light’s plans?

He thought about it, and he realized he knew the answer.

“Tommy…” Conner tried, but Tim held up his hand.

“Conner, let me,” he said softly, and he held Tommy’s face in his hands, looked into his son’s eyes, and said, “You’re wrong. I’m a terrible person.”

Tommy squinted at him silently, seeming slightly confused, and Tim looked into his son’s eyes. “Tommy, if it weren’t for you, I would’ve killed them all,” he said quietly, and the group around them reacted like they’d been struck.

“I would’ve killed every single one of them, burned the world down for what it did to me,” he said, “For what it took away from me.” He looked back at Conner, at his husband, and thought of his two new daughters. He looked back at Tommy, at his son. “Because of you, I still care. I still care, just the slightest bit. Eight years ago, I was ready to give up on humanity, on heroism, on everything. Bruce was gone, Conner was gone, Bart was gone, Cassie and Dick wanted nothing to do with me, and everyone thought I’d gone crazy. And I think I did.” Tim laughed slightly, and against his instincts, Tommy laughed too, surprised he’d done so.

“But through all that darkness, you know what I had?” Tim asked, “I had you. You kept my head above water, Tommy. You stopped me from slipping down that road, from going to the lengths I was willing to go to. Because I thought you needed me to be better than that; because you do need me to be better than that. I gave you the best home, and the best life I could before my sins came for us, and I got pulled down that road anyway. Tommy, the truth is, if you weren’t here, I would’ve done so much worse. I would’ve burned the world down to get to something that I couldn’t reach, I would’ve lost myself, and I wouldn’t be someone you could all recognize when you got back.” Tim looked back at Conner, and smiled sadly, then turned back to his son.

“Tommy, you’re not the reason I’m a monster,” he said sincerely, “You’re the reason I still care about being human.”

Tommy stared at his father, not knowing what to say. Tim leaned forward and kissed his forehead tenderly, and Tommy sat there and let him, feeling a childish blush rise in his cheeks as Superman let go of him.

Tommy’s vision got blurry. He was crying. He wiped his eyes of tears he didn’t realize were beginning to fall. “B-but, what am I supposed to do now?” he asked quietly, “You can’t live life knowing you could die at any moment!”

“That’s bullshit,” a voice said from behind them, and the group turned to see Match holding his bruised ribs. “Hi, still here,” he said weakly, grinning through bloody teeth, “Though, I don’t think that’ll be for much longer…” Match let his hand fall from his ribs, and the whole Kent-Drake Family flinched back from the discolored blood that gushed from the wound.

“Holy-!” Conner cried, and Tommy’s eyes went wide.

“I did that!?” he gasped, aghast, and Match chuckled as he shook his head.

“Not your fault, kid, that was a great fight,” he sighed, wiping the blood that was leaking from his nose, “It’s just DNA failure. My body’s unraveling because the cells are eating themselves to survive. My organs will probably fail in the next few minutes. Hurts like hell, let me tell you.”

“I-Is there anything we can do??” Superman asked desperately, “Get you to a hospital, or STAR Labs, or—”

“No, there’s nothing,” Tim said sadly, standing up and looking at the damage to Match solemnly, “If the failure’s progressed this far, then there’s no way to reverse it. Even putting him on ice wouldn’t stop it. It’s too late. I’m… I’m sorry, Match.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Match said dismissively, though the pain did leak into his voice, “I kinda knew this was my last round outside. And kid, that whole speech, about not being able to live your life because you might die? That’s bullshit.”

Tommy stared at his dying opponent, trying to comprehend what he just said. “But- but you can’t ever be free…” he murmured, and Match shook his head.

“When you’re about to die is when you’re at your freest,” Match told him, “Because nothing can stop you. You think the fact that you’re always about to die means you should just give up on life? That’s bullshit.

“If you’re about to die, then you have a responsibility to live life to its fullest,” the dying clone said, “Because you don’t deserve anything less than everything.”

Tommy stared at him, the profundity of his words sinking in, when Match took a few struggling steps forward, then grabbed Tim by the back of the head and kissed him. Tim let out a startled sound, and Match broke off immediately.

“Sorry,” he said with a smile, and Tim was struck at how identical he looked to Conner in that moment, “I wasn’t gonna die without knowing what that felt like!”

And Match fell backward, staring at the sun and the bright blue sky. He smiled, feeling the gentle warmth on his skin.

Blood began seeping from his eyes, like tears.

He’d had his first kiss. He’d seen the sun. And he thinks he made a friend.

“Awesome,” he whispered.

And he died.

---

Tommy stood up, then picked up Match, holding him in his arms. He lifted off, then looked back at his parents, at his grandfather. At heroes and villains, then looked down at the dead clone in his arms. “I’ve got a lot I need to work through,” he said, “But I’m gonna take care of him first. I… I feel like I have to.”

“Okay, Tommy,” Conner said sadly, holding his shoulder, “But when you’re done, you come back to me, alright? I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m not okay,” Tommy told him truthfully, then looked down at Match, “But I think I’m done being miserable.”

And Tommy lifted up, up, and away. He flew toward the setting sun, then moved up, to a place he knew well. Match was limp in his arms, and Tommy didn’t know how he felt. The air flew past his face, and the Lakes gave way to taiga, then forest as he flew northwest. In a few minutes, he was in cold mountains he knew well, and touched down beside a cabin he knew well.

Mount McKinley rose high in the distance, and the cabin where Tommy grew up sat on the hill above him. The tall tree he flew to the top of when he was little was off to the left. He wondered if some of his toys were still inside.

He picked out a clear spot on the hillside, where the sun would shine more often than not. The hole was easy enough to dig, and Tommy laid Match down inside, then covered the hole. He found a piece of stone, carved it into the shape he needed, and set it at Match’s head. He faced the writing toward where he knew the sun would rise in a few hours, even as it set behind him. Match would like seeing it rise more than seeing it set, he thought.

He finished writing the short epitaph, then sat beside the grave and watched the sunset. In the trees above him, he heard a raven call, and it took to the sky as it flew east.

The Inuit believed that the Raven was a symbol of transition, of passing from one life to the next. The Tlingit believed that the Raven had stolen the sun for them, giving light to the world. Ravens were associated with a lot of Native American mythology. That was because they were impressed with the bird’s intelligence, Tommy supposed. They always seemed to know what you were thinking.

Tommy let out a sigh as the sun finished setting. It wouldn’t come up again for nineteen hours; not quite polar night, but still an impressive period of darkness. But in the summer, they would have a full nineteen hours of sunlight, to balance it out.

Tommy wondered if he should consider that a metaphor for something. That darkness and light eventually balance out. That life, no matter how terrible it might get, would also be good at some point. He thought about what Match said; that he had a responsibility to live.

Like living was an accomplishment. It was the goal, not the means.

He didn’t know how to feel. About Tim, about himself, about death. Any of it. But he was pretty tired of being miserable. He was tired, and the sun had set.

He figured Match might want some company for the first night, so he laid down and took a nap beside the grave. Match faced east, Tommy faced west. The stars twinkled above him, glittering like scattered diamonds in the night sky. He wondered which one of them used to be home to Krypton. He wondered if he should feel any connection to Krypton or not. As he drifted off, he read the short epitaph he’d written for the unfortunate clone:

He Lived.

---

The next few days were a blur for Tim. Artemis and Teya had gone to ground, and Conner had managed to convinced Clark not to question them. They’d all done enough heroing for the day, Tim thought.

So now, they stood in Tim’s office in LexCorp Gotham, away from the wreckage of Metropolis, and Tim sighed, thinking of where Tommy could be. He hadn’t returned yet, but he knew going after him would only make things worse.

“So… you’re Mr. Drake’s husband?” Teya asked Conner, and Tim looked up. He’d nearly forgotten why they were all here.

Conner was meeting his daughters for the first time.

Conner smiled at the girl, “I am.”

Teya cocked her head, looking at him, up and down. “You look very much like Superman,” she said matter-of-factly.

Conner laughed. “I’m his clone,” he explained, “So there’s a bit of resemblance, yeah.”

Artemis gaped at him. “How many Kryptonian clones are there!?” she asked incredulously, and Tim and Conner looked at each other, then laughed.

“You know, I don’t know at this point,” Tim admitted, “But I think there’s only three.”

“I’m not one of a kind anymore,” Conner admitted, “Feels weird.”

Tim laughed as he put his arms over Conner’s shoulders, smiling sweetly as he said, “There are many others like it, but this one is mine.”

Conner laughed as he put his arms around Tim’s waist, “Full Metal Jacket? Really?”

Tim grinned, and they nuzzled noses before they kissed. Artemis pretended to gag, while Teya merely watched in fascination. “Are you two going to have sex?” she asked suddenly, and Conner and Tim were so surprised they broke off and sprang away from one another.

“Wha—Where did you--???” Conner asked incredulously, and Tim gaped at his daughter.

“Teya, where on Earth did you get that thought!?” he asked, and Teya shrugged.

“Don’t people normally kiss when they’re about to have sex?” she asked, “I thought that’s how it was done.”

“I’m going to have to look more closely at the information Lex is feeding you…” Tim muttered, then shook his head, “Kissing is to show love, Teya. Conner and I love each other.”

Teya nodded, holding a hand to her chin. “Ohh! I get it,” she realized, “So kissing doesn’t always mean sex, but sex does always start with kissing.”

Tim and Conner looked at each other, cringing. “Sure, that’s good enough for now,” Conner sighed, “We’re gonna have to have a longer talk about that later.”

“I’ll work on it,” Tim promised, dreading that particular conversation. Thank God he’d never had to give Tommy The Talk™. His relationship with his son was already so awkward, he didn’t think he could handle that being between them, too.

Artemis looked just about ready to melt into a puddle of embarrassment. “Can we please talk about literally anything else?” she asked desperately, and Conner laughed nervously.

“Yes!” he said too quickly, “Yes we can!”

“Changing subject,” Teya said complyingly, then turned to Conner, “Are we supposed to call you Daddy as well?”

Tim smacked his head with his hand.

“Let’s just stick with ‘Dad’ for now,” Conner sighed, sounding exhausted, and Tim nodded gratefully.

Artemis stepped forward hesitantly, looking Conner up and down, then rushed forward and gave him a quick hug. Conner, surprised, stepped back a little bit, then smiled and held Artemis in his arms. “Sorry,” Artemis mumbled into his shirt, “I wanted to know what your hug felt like. Tim’s felt really good, so I wanted to know if you could match it.”

Conner laughed against her, holding her a little tighter. “How do I measure up?” he asked her, and Artemis sighed as she sank further into his hold.

“Not bad,” she sighed, savoring positive fatherly attention for only the second time in her life. She smiled, and closed her eyes.

Teya grinned and joined the hug eagerly, her eyes lighting up as she squeezed both of them, and Artemis gasped at her hold. “You are right, Artemis, hugs feel wonderful!” she said with a laugh, picking up the two of them, and they laughed as she set them down.

Conner locked eyes with Tim, then opened his arm. “Room for one more,” he said, and Tim rolled his eyes as he stepped into the family group hug.

It felt nice. They were still missing one, but the absence didn’t feel as bad as it could have. Tim knew Tommy was at least safe somewhere; figuring himself out, but safe. He could make peace with that.

He wished this moment could last forever, and leaned into the hug.

Tomorrow, he’d have to start Operation Mockingbird.

But that was tomorrow. For now? This was about as good a honeymoon as he could ask for.

---

Question sat down at his computer in Cincinnati, cracking his fingers as he opened Luthor’s files. “Alright, let’s see what you’re hiding, Luthor…” he murmured, and he began to search.

Soon, Luthor’s secrets would be his.

---

Talon knelt before the Judge of Owls as it presented its prize. The Judge took the glowing green rock from him, appraising it appreciatively.

“Well done, my Gray Son,” she all but purred, patting its head, and Talon tried to suppress a shiver of pleasure. Talon had done well!

The Judge of Owls held the kryptonite up to inspect it in the light. “With this, no one will be able to stop us,” she murmured, “Not even the mighty Superman…”

Oh yes, soon and very soon, they would have the mind of Timothy Drake at their beck and call, and the Court would defeat its opponents, once and for all, and take its rightful place as the masters of mankind.

And she would lead them there.

---

“Well, Mr. Luthor, we managed to reconstruct your jaw, but you’ll have to keep it wired shut for a few weeks while you recover,” the doctor told him as Lex lay in the hospital bed, watching the news coverage of his own attempted assassination by the supervillain Red Robin, as the media was spinning it.

“… though many were injured in the struggle between Superman, Red Robin, and a subordinate of Red Robin eyewitnesses called ‘Shrike’, the only reported fatality so far has been Mercy Graves, Lex Luthor’s personal bodyguard, who was found murdered in his office by authorities…”

Luthor’s hand gripped tight around the remote. Mercy… dead?

“Mr. Luthor?” the doctor asked, and Lex looked at him. He hadn’t been listening.

“I asked you feel, Mr. Luthor,” the doctor asked again, and Lex glared at the television, grinding out words through his wired jaw:

“Like I could run for president…”

Notes:

I'M BACK!!!!

Hello everyone!! So, SO sorry about the lateness of this chapter, but truth be told, it was kicking my ass. Writer's block was not my friend these past few weeks, and neither was apartment hunting, but you know what? This is also when some of that story magic happened, and I just let the characters take me to where they wanted to go. I've been struggling for a while about how Tommy feels about all this, and I feel like the character of Match was a perfect vehicle for him to express his feelings, come to terms with them, and try to move on.

The original version of this chapter actually called for Tommy to accidentally kill Tim in the fight, so that Tim (once again thrown in the Pit) would be cold and detached enough for Mockingbird, but that just didn't sit right with me, and I think I set things up pretty well here. So this is one of the few times where I actually DIDN'T make things as bad as they could have possibly been! You're welcome, everyone! I also got to explore Teya and Artemis a tiny bit more, and set up some things with Luthor, Question, and the Court for the next installment in this series!

We're so close to the end of "Live Long Enough", folks! Soon it will be time for "Become the Villain"! (I swear, this story will end eventually, or at the very least I will die trying)

As always, thank you all so, SO much for reading, please leave comments and kudos, and I will see you all next time! Peace!

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 3 of Whatever Happened to Tim Drake?