Timeslip

by Demon-Nix (ChaoticDemonic)

Summary:

Cal has spent four months, two weeks and two days in Gotham, in this universe so completely different to his original one. Four months, two weeks, and two days in a universe he's starting to finally call Home.
All it takes is one incident on patrol to change everything.

Notes:

Hello hello my lovelies! I'm back with another installment of the Broken Ties AU series and another multi-chapter fic :D Also, if this finds any new people, then hello! I'd recommend reading the first story of this series "Worldshift" before starting this one, only because things will make more sense.
Uh, fair warning for this one, it is mostly centered around Cal and we don't get to see a whole lot of the Batfam because. Time travel. I hope y'all still enjoy it, though ^^;
Tags will be updated as the fic progresses because I want to not spoil some things. Have fun reading :>>

TWs! Mild breakdown/ panic attack

Chapter 1: Enter the Timestream

“Batman, hold on!”

Cal races forward, forcing already-exhausted limbs to move. Nightwing is somewhere on his right, fighting things that look like if Man-Bat had decided to create children, and he can hear Red Hood and Scout battling their own hoards. He has no idea where Robin is. Oracle is loud in his comms, her voice urgent. Something about possible drones and mechanical interference. He’ll ask for clarification soon - he needs to get to Batman. He’s the closest - he can see through the flickering shattered blue of his radar vision. Closer, closer, closer.

He barrels into the figure, tackling him the short distance down to the street as half the roof he was on erupts. The noise is almost enough to deafen him, Cal instinctively tucking and rolling. A giant cape covers him as another explosion rocks the ground, and Batman growls under his breath. That was close.

The two of them move, Cal following Batman’s lead and leaping out of the way as something loud and buzzing hits the place where they were standing, dissipating as soon as it hits the ground. The noise is almost too much for Cal and he throws himself to the side as something else comes hurtling towards him, sounding like a swarm of angry bees. He ducks, rolling, switching off his radar vision. This isn’t going to help him right now.

His vision fills with colour, bright pink thick lines dazzling the whiteness in his vision as they rain down around them, and both Cal and Batman have to put all of their skills to use to avoid getting hit. The street spans out in front of him in shifting moving sketched lines, everything covered in thick white. Like a moving realism drawing on a page, things fading in and out. He really wishes his eyes would hurry up and get peripheral vision back.

“Mockingjay-!”

Cal whips around, diving out of the way of another laser beam - and it has to be a laser beam from the sound of it. Stabs of pain flash through his head and he winces, tucking himself close to Batman. The man moves, pulling him out of the way of another laser, and for a brief moment the two of them crouch in the tiny shelter provided by a slight overhang in an alleyway.

“What are these things, exactly?” Cal pants slightly, and Batman hunches over him, covering the two of them in his cape. Another loud buzzing strikes the ground like lightning nearby, sending debris raining over them. Batman grunts, still shielding Cal as he raises his head, scanning the sky.

“They look like omega beams. The drones must be cloaked.”

“This is just great,” Cal mumbles under his breath, pressing his hands briefly over his ears as another explosion is set off. “First the knockoff Man-Bat offspring, then this - I thought this patrol was going to be easy.”

"Easy" is always relative in Gotham, so Cal really should have expected that something would go wrong tonight. He knew he should have double-checked his utility belt before he left the Cave; he has a feeling nothing he has would help right now. He'll have to make a quick stop at the Cave and fix that once they're finished with this thing.

Batman almost makes an amused sound, motioning for Cal to follow as he darts out of the alleyway. Cal follows closely, dodging and weaving. These laser beams seem determined to try and pin them down, but he has no idea why.

A loud buzzing fills Cal’s ears. Something strikes him firmly in the centre of his back as he leaps to dodge another one. Agony suddenly races up and over him, and Cal screams out as his vision is flooded with complete burning whiteness. A sense of deja-vu hits him like a truck and he desperately reaches out.

Batman’s hand grasps his for a split second, and then he’s gone.

——————

Cal hits the cobblestones hard - how had he even been falling - bouncing and rolling to a stop. Pain echoes through the numbness quickly covering his body, and he groans. There’s hissing in his ear, and for a split irrational second he flinches back, Scarecrow flashing through his mind. The hissing continues, blank and crackling and having no words, and Cal struggles upright, dragging himself further into an alleyway.

Everything is quiet, rain pouring down, and Cal blinks hard. His vision is awash with flickering shadows, his right arm burning and spasming. He tastes smoke. Ash. He needs to get a hold of himself. His head is spinning, and he slumps back against the dingy wall. He can't hear the sounds of the previous fight any more.

Where is everyone - Batman, Nightwing - Oracle? The streets sound different. Gotham sounds different. Cal heaves out a breath, reaching up to switch his radar vision back on. There’s a sharp crackling noise, his vision flaring agonizingly with blue for a split-second, then washes out in white again. Cal’s heart drops. It’s broken. He hadn't even known his radar vision could break.

He presses his comm, wincing at the harsh crackling static. “H-Hello? Nightwing? Batman? Come in, Batman. Nightwing? O-Oracle, is anyone there?”

His voice is swallowed up by the rain, and Cal clenches his fist, taking deep breaths. Static is the only thing that responds. His comm is broken as well, and reluctantly he switches it off. A deep, sick sense of dread is starting to fill him.

Batman wouldn’t have left him passed out in the middle of the street - he should have woken back up in the Batcave, if he lost consciousness. Nightwing would have pulled him to safety, at the very least. Maybe - maybe he got knocked into the alleyway? Sure. He got knocked into the very obviously empty alleyway and they somehow couldn’t find him when the fight was over. He also would have had to stay unconscious for that long and - Cal didn’t hit his head.

Gotham sounds different, ever-so-slightly to the left almost, from how he’s used to. Cal slips a hand inside his cowl, pulling out his patrol earplug and switching it for one of his everyday ones - the ones that let him hear heartbeats close to him but tune out most background noise. He’s grateful Bruce made him several different types. He hesitates to pull out his comm as well, eventually deciding to keep it in, but just off. Okay, first things first - take stock. Comms are possibly down for everyone.

He breathes, moving so he’s tucked behind the bulk of a dumpster. No point in just sitting out in the open, if those drones are still around. His breathing is fine, slight pain radiating from where he landed on the cobblestones, and a numerous amount of forming bruises, aches, and pains, but nothing feels broken. That’s good. He’ll need to check his back sometime soon, he can practically feel the hideous bruise that’s forming from the thing that hit him.

He checks his surroundings next. Alleyway, same location as where they were before - Old Gotham. Near the Clocktower. Okay, perfect. First order of business; get into the Clocktower and talk to Oracle. She can contact the others for him, so there's no need for him to activate his emergency beacon.

A slight twist goes through him - Gotham sounds different - the nagging certain feeling he’s missing something major. What did Batman call those things? Omega beams? The name rings a bell slightly, some sense that he's missing something, and Cal drags himself to his feet. He can think while he moves.

His arm throbs painfully, and Cal rubs at it, keeping his fist clenched to stop smoke from spilling out. It still happens when he’s not paying attention, although it hasn’t even really been that long he’s had active control over his abilities. Four months, two weeks, and two days since he first came to Gotham. It’s the 22nd of August now. Or it should be, if it’s still the same night. But he always counts correctly. Maxie’s birthday is in one week and three days. He’ll be sixteen. Cal refuses to miss it, so he’s been keeping track of dates.

He forces himself to move, deciding to stick to the shadows at street level rather than travel over the rooftops. He’s not going to run the risk of being spotted. Also he must have misplaced his grappling gun at some point. He couldn't find it in it's usual place on his utility belt.

The streets sound different. Gotham sounds different. It’s almost quieter, unbelievably. More people are drifting around in the streets, like wayward fish moving through the rain. More than should be out when it’s raining - nobody wants to go out into Gotham rain without proper gear. Why is it always raining when something happens to him anyway?

Cal blinks, sliding back into the shadows and letting them cloak him as a young couple sweeps past, giggling to each other. Weird. He can’t remember the last time he saw people being at ease out in the streets. Something is wrong here - and how disturbing is it that he’s gotten so used to the almost casual brutality that he sees a happy couple and assumes something must be wrong?

He continues to the Clocktower. At least it’s an easy landmark, and Cal sticks to the shadows, occasionally letting them creep over the brightest parts of his suit when he hears someone coming too close. He’s quite proud of that trick now - that he’s slowly learning how to command the shadows. Sometimes it’s like they’re part of one giant living being and - Cal abruptly shakes his head. He shouldn’t personify the shadows, and the fact that he’s starting right now should probably be concerning. He might ask Oracle if she can check him for a concussion. Maybe he did hit his head after all. He was pretty disoriented a few minutes ago.

The Clocktower is easy to get into - Oracle had shown him the secret entrance once, and assured him she keeps it heavily secured at all times. The Clocktower is easy to get into. It’s so incredibly wrong. Oracle didn’t know he was coming. The entrance should have had every kind of security on it - and Cal had found none. His heart leaps into his throat, and he practically flies up the stairs. He can’t hear a heartbeat. He can’t hear a heartbeat.

The space above is empty.

The space is empty - aside from a small flock of bats that he almost disturbs as he bursts into the large space. The giant inner face of the clock is painted starkly in his shifting vision, the hands slowly ticking around. There’s none of the banks of computers, or cabinets, or knick-knacks, or even the small couch he’s sprawled across with Tim that time they visited. It’s a large empty space, some of the floorboards half rotting and broken. A slow ticking of a giant clock that overlooks Old Gotham, the glass broken in one section. The smell of mold and dust and residue of the small family of bats that clearly live here. It looks like it’s been abandoned for decades.

Cal’s knees hit the floor hard. It’s suddenly hard to breathe, and he grips at the front of his suit, gasping. Tears rapidly flood into his eyes as he struggles for breath. He reaches up, flicking on his comms and the harsh crackle of static fills his ears. He sounds like the little kid he used to be, lost and scared and alone in the darkness for the first time in his life, his voice shaking as he whispers. “Come in Nightwing, come - come in, Robin. Batman, come in. Red - Red Hood, come in. Someone, someone please - please come in. This is Mockingjay-”

He chokes slightly, swiping at the tears starting to slip down past the cowl, heaving in and out, just shy of a breakdown. “Someone please come in, please don’t - don’t leave me. Don’t leave me alone, don’t be gone, please - this is Mockingjay, S.O.S, Mockingjay, sending out an S.O.S, please, please - Oracle - Nightwing, come in. D-Dad. Dad, please, I don’t want to do this without you, I can’t do this without you. Dad, come in, please, come in Nightwing-”

The white noise of his broken comms is the only response he gets.

A choked, whimpering noise comes from his throat, Cal folding in on himself until his forehead is touching the floor. It sounds so mortifyingly loud in the large empty space that a sudden rush of awkward shame goes through him, and he presses his hand to his mouth to muffle the sobs. He allows himself to cry, choking back the sobs after a while. His entire being feels unsteady, and Cal presses a hand to the floorboards as he sits back up, desperately focusing on his breathing. In and out. In and out. In - hold for six - and out.

He pushes his cowl up slightly, scrubbing at his eyes, sucking in another deep breath. The hiss of static is too loud in his ear, and his hand shakes as he pulls out the comm, tucking it away in his utility belt. His electronics are broken. The Clocktower is empty. Gotham sounds different. Cal sucks in another deep breath, pressing his hands to his eyes, a small tremor going through him. Did he get sent to another universe? He can’t do that again, he can’t. He’d just started to think of the other one as home - and Zatanna had said any interdimensional travel might cause the universe to collapse! Although this is still Gotham, so… that might not apply.

He takes another breath, forcing himself to breathe calmly - just like Dick taught him - until he feels steady enough to stand. His feet make practically no sound across the floorboards as he crosses to the giant clock, blinking out over the city. It seems the same as ever. Quieter, maybe. There’s no rapid gunfire from Crime Alley. He can’t hear anything from the docks. A small frown flickers over his face, and he slowly sits. He stares out at the shifting sketch of Gotham City, watching for familiar coloured lines, however faint, until a slow creeping warmth starts to spread over him.

The sun is rising. The sun is rising, in Gotham, and he can feel it. What’s the probability of him being in another universe? In another Gotham? His hands tremble, and he squeezes his eyes shut tight. Think. What would Dick do, if he found himself in a different universe? First - first, he’d confirm it was a different universe. Cal blinks around the empty space, slowly rising and giving a small gasp as his legs protest. This definitely seems like a different universe, but - how can he confirm it? He needs at least three pieces of evidence - one is just speculation, and two could be coincidence. How would Dick confirm it? Dick would go to the Manor-

The Manor. Cal startles slightly, almost slapping himself in the forehead before he stops himself. That should have been his next step once he found the Clocktower empty - he should have immediately gone to the Manor instead of breaking down like a child. He’s not a child, he’s fifteen - almost very nearly sixteen, come February. He should go to the Manor, but - oh, he’s still in his suit. He can’t walk through the streets of Gotham like this in daylight. He doesn't want to draw attention to himself.

He turns, starting to pace slightly while he thinks. It's daytime now - still early judging by how the sun has just come up. The streets are technically safer in the daytime - more safe than they are at night, anyway. This Gotham is clearly safe enough that people can walk outside and even mingle at night - even if he could practically smell the amount of weapons on them, but that was just regular Gothamites. He’s fully prepared to be proven completely wrong on that front - one night of comparable quiet means nothing.

He takes a deep breath, stepping away from the giant clock face and instead making his way towards the stairs. Clocktowers still needed maintenance, right? There has to be a supply closet somewhere - with any luck it might have something he can use. He needs to remember to stay calm. Having another breakdown won’t get him anywhere, and maybe - maybe he’s wrong! He’d be really happy to be wrong about being in a different universe, right now.

He almost trips going back down the steps, a small discontented noise pulling from him as his foot almost goes through a soft floorboard. He’ll need to fix that when - if he comes back. First; civilian clothes. Second, the Manor. Maybe he could play the orphan card? Bruce would take him in - probably - in an instant, he knows that much. Oh, but - alternate universe timelines. He doesn’t want to mess those up either. He also has no idea when in the timeline he's been dropped.

He frowns, stopping at the base of the steps. There were an awful lot of variables here he needed to consider. He needs to be careful. Cal shakes his head, swiping away the last remnants of his previous crying, taking another few deep breaths as he starts to search through the base of the Clocktower.

He finds a small room fairly quickly, pausing in the entrance and blinking. From what he can make out, it seems to be a small supply room, tools and pieces scattered haphazardly around and a half-open locker with the door swinging off. It smells like nobody has been in here for years, layers of dust covering almost everything as he searches through the locker.

His hand brushes material - rough and worn, and a small shuddery gasp of relief leaves him when he pulls out a large swath of fabric. It takes a few more moments to identify it as some sort of old-fashioned overalls. There’s a tear along the front, the area around it coated in something suspiciously crusty and iron-smelling that flakes off under his fingers. Cal screws up his nose, hesitating for only a moment before tugging it on over his Mockingjay suit. No way was he going to take it off in a strange universe. He fixes the tear with a few safety pins he finds in a broken toolbox.

The overalls are too big for him, baggy and loose around the waist and he has to roll up the pant legs and sleeves a good few times before his hands and feet are free. This definitely belonged to someone way taller than him. Probably an adult, seeing as how it feels like some sort of work uniform. At least it zips up all the way up the front, and he secures the collar around his throat with more safety pins.

He rummages around in the supply closet for a few more moments, finding a half-broken belt that he secures around his waist, arranging the fabric so that hopefully his utility belt’s outline won't be too obvious. He finds a hat as well, tucking his hair up into it and pulling it down low over his eyes. Alright. Clothes of a sort, found. Now to get to the Manor.

He uses the secret entrance again on his way out, slipping silently through the streets. It’s mostly muscle memory that guides him, and he can’t stop the wave of relief when he realizes the streets are mostly the same. Maybe Gotham is just the same in every universe. Although, at least people seem to actually be obeying road laws in this one. Mostly. He has to focus to not get overwhelmed by all the noise and people, even as early as it is - and when he gets back to his own Gotham, he makes a mental note to actually try and get out more.

But he's getting ahead of himself. He needs to focus right now. He can't afford to get too distracted.

He ducks into an alleyway to catch his breath, running a hand over his eyes. Walking from Old Gotham all the way to the Manor is going to take forever - there was a reason Batman and the others swung most everywhere. At this rate, he’s not going to get there until maybe sundown at the earliest.

He can’t even really ask anyone for help - Gothamites usually stuck together if there was something in it for them, but Cal is viciously aware that he still sounds like he doesn’t belong. He really needs to work on his accent, especially if he’s going to be here for a while and - no. No, he can’t think about that right now. This is temporary. Until he can figure out what's going on, at least. There's a high possibility he's wrong about everything, and is just in some sort of coma!

Please let him be in a coma, and not in a different universe again. He's not strong enough to start all over again. Not by himself.

He takes a deep breath, and starts walking again, trying not to appear urgent or desperate. He’s going to get to the Manor and then - and then what? Nobody here knows him. Cal almost trips on his next step, half-righting himself. He can’t just saunter up to the Manor doors - even if Bruce or Alfred, or anyone else were willing to let him in, there’s no way he could explain who he is. Meeting Dick all over again would - he doesn’t think he’d be able to do it without breaking down again. New plan, and step two for gathering evidence.

Get into the Batcave.

Chapter 2: Reality Hits Harder the Second Time

Notes:

Hello lovelies, keeping it pretty simple for todays' note, probs just basic Trigger Warnings. I'm trying to make this story as coherent as possible, honestly, even if it gets a bit confusing as it goes one. Anyway! On to the chapter :D
TWs; breakdown, talk of death, slight de-reality, being homeless, food scarcity

The Batcave is utterly, entirely empty. Not even that - it’s not even the Batcave. Cal blinks hard, something soft and choking escaping him that echoes and echoes and echoes down the cavern in front of him. It’s just a giant cave system, no Batcomputer, no Batmobile, no - no ramps or platforms or softly-buzzing lights. No giant T-rex or penny. Just the rush of water and the sound of bats, and the soft velvety feel of the darkness surrounding him.

His legs tremble, and Cal sinks down to the rough stone floor, pressing his hands over his mouth. He has to squeeze his eyes shut to stop himself from making any noise. This is bad, this is - this is horrible. Batman doesn’t even exist here. He most definitely can’t turn up at the Manor doors now, especially in his vigilante suit. At the very least, he’d been holding out hope that -

“What are you doing down here?”

Cal jerks at the young, crisp voice, the words echoing around him, shooting to his feet. There’s a stark grey figure, about the height of Dick, standing on an overhang high up in the cave that he recognizes as leading to the hallway entrance. His heart leaps - both in fear and hope. He knows that voice, but it - it sounds off. Still prim and formal, a thicker accent than he’s used to - but it sounds young. It sounds about his age. He swallows again, trying to find his voice as the figure tilts their head in an oh-so-familiar way. “How did you get down here?”

“I -” Cal falters, swallowing hard. It sounds like Bruce - no it’s most definitely Bruce. He recognizes the heartbeat. “I’m -” Think Cal, think. He has to lie, or something, he can’t just blurt out to what sounds like a fifteen year old Bruce that he’s his adopted grandson from a different universe.

“I’m a ghost.”

“Ghosts don’t usually know they’re ghosts.” Bruce doesn’t sound suspicious, or wary, or anything that Cal would have expected. Instead he just sounds faintly amused, and also like this is the most normal thing in the world. Alright, so - maybe this universes’ version of Bruce isn’t quite all there in the head. “They also don’t usually know they’ve died.”

“Have you - have you met a ghost before?” Cal blinks hard, aware of the blatant confusion in his voice, but he doesn’t exactly know what else to ask. How did Bruce even get down here if the Batcave doesn’t exist? Also why does he sound so young? Why is he so young? If he's in a coma, and this is his imagination - still a possibility he hasn't ruled out - why would his mind make Bruce his age??

“No,” Bruce sounds thoughtful, his figure shifting slightly, small black lines rippling off him like water as he apparently sticks his hands in his pockets. “If you were a ghost though, I think it might explain the blood on your uniform, but it doesn’t explain why you’re in these caves. You wouldn’t have died down here, and that uniform is also too big for you-”

“Well, I did die down here.” What is Cal doing? He straightens up more, ignoring the small, almost amused hum from young Bruce as he crosses his arms. “I fell from - from that overhang you’re on right now and got impaled.” Great job, Cal, he’s going to see right through that lie. Or - maybe not, because Bruce is shifting back slightly from the edge, now keeping a careful distance from it.

“Well, why are you haunting my caves, then? Where's your skeletal remains? Don’t you have some… place to go? Why haven’t you moved on?”

Oh shit, Cal should have expected more questions. This is Bruce, after all. He hesitates, opening his mouth to try and come up with another lie, before another older voice rings out.

“Master Bruce, how many times have I told you to not come down here? What are you doing?”

Bruce half-turns, clearly looking back at someone, and Cal quickly squeezes his eyes shut, pulling the shadows over himself and darts behind a large stalagmite.

“Alfred. I was talking to - oh.” Bruce has clearly turned to look back at where Cal was, a slight puzzled tone in his voice. “Huh. I guess he must be a ghost after all. He was right there.”

“Master Bruce, are you feeling alright?” The voice is closer to where Bruce is now, and Cal pulls more shadows to cover himself, his vision starting to wash out in black and detail everything in neon. His arm is burning something fierce, straining like an overworked muscle. Please leave soon, he doesn’t know how long he can keep this up for. Even if it is nice to hear Alfred’s voice - even if Alfred also sounds younger.

He can hear the voices fading, suddenly and abruptly cut off, and Cal lets out a shuddering breath. The shadows flow off him like oil, and he partially collapses to the floor, sucking in another deep breath. Exhaustion tugs at him, and he presses his hands over his eyes, squeezing them shut and taking deep breaths to the comfort of the misty whiteness.

Bruce is a teenager. Alfred is younger. The Batcave doesn’t exist. Gotham sounds different. The Clocktower is abandoned. Batman had said something about omega beams. Everything feels too real.

Cal blinks hard, his hands dropping from his face, staring blankly out into the misty white. Maybe he’s not in a different universe at all, or in a coma. Gotham sounds different. The shadows feel the same. Bruce is a teenager. Gotham is quieter. The Batcave doesn’t exist, and Bruce is a teenager. Batman had said they were being shot at by omega beams, and what do omega beams do? Cal blinks, his breath hitching. What if he’s not in a different universe at all? Omega beams are time-related, aren’t they? Bruce is a teenager. Gotham sounds different. The Clocktower was empty.

What if he got sent to the past?

A startled, almost hysterical laugh escapes from him before he can stop it, and Cal shoves his hands into his hair, dislodging his hat. Of course, of course he’d get sent to the past. Just his luck, and right in line with whatever weirdness Gotham always has. This is - He can’t decide whether it’s better or worse. This is his Gotham, just younger, just different. Supposedly, at least. It’s - this makes everything more complicated, and he drags in a deep breath. He has to - he has to survive by himself until he can figure out a way back.

Or until he wakes up, if this is a coma. He's not completely ruling out that possibility, even in the face of the shaky evidence.

He needs to get back to the Clocktower. He should stay there for the time being. At least he knows it’s safe. He could stay here, in the caves, but it's too risky if Bruce decides to explore. Cal doesn't think he'd buy the ghost lie if he got closer.

Cal climbs to his feet, already desperately trying to remember everything he can about Gotham‘s History- and he never did figure out which version of Gotham he’d originally got to. Maybe this will make it easier, he’s clearly caught in some sort of - he clearly got sent into the timestream, and that means-

Cal stops short, halfway back to the secret passage that leads out under the bridge. He got sent into the timestream, which means that - it means that his body died, or maybe disappeared, and - and Batman must have got sent into the timestream as well. That’s who the drones were aiming for, after all. Batman is stuck somewhere far, far in the past.

And Cal got spat out here, most likely because he’s not originally supposed to be in this universe. What was it Zatanna had said? The longer he stays, the more the universe takes hold of him? What if Gotham recognized him and brought him out here? He picks up the pace, practically running back down into the small tunnel and scrambling as fast as he can to the hidden exit under the bridge.

Everyone back home must think he’s dead, though. He needs to get back as soon as possible. Everyone thinks Batman’s dead. He needs to get back to present Gotham as fast as he can. He can’t make Dick experience losing both his father, and his son. He can’t make Tekka experience losing him again. Even if - even if they’re already experiencing it, but he has to get back as quickly as possible to repair it. Cal is not dead. Not yet. He’s going to get back home.

The path back to the Clocktower goes by in a blur, Cal frantically thinking everything over. It’s well past midnight when he finally makes it back, his legs trembling from exhaustion as he drags himself up the many many stairs. No wonder Oracle put in an elevator - well, besides being in a wheelchair, of course. Cal is forming a newfound hatred for these stairs specifically.

He tumbles onto the floor, rolling swiftly to the side as one of the floorboards crumbles under his weight. It takes a while for it to hit the base of the Clocktower, and Cal winces. He needs to be careful. It makes sense why Batman and Oracle had replaced the entire flooring. He sucks in some deep breaths, sprawled flat on his back, his eyes already half-dragging shut. He can‘t - He shouldn’t sleep so out in the open like this, if anyone comes up the stairs, they’ll spot him instantly.

His stomach growls, and Cal takes a shaky breath, forcing himself to move to a more secluded section, behind one of the support pillars. At least this way nobody will immediately see him if they come inside. At least he’s dry - and he can hear the rain starting again outside. His stomach protests again, and Cal winces, hunching over himself. He’ll just have to bear it. He shouldn’t have skipped meals yesterday, but that case Tim and he were working on seemed more important… His eyes slide shut again, despite the grumblings of his stomach, and Cal falls asleep to the sound of the bats in the rafters above.

——————

The hunger pangs drag him out of a dreamless rest. Cal forces himself to his feet, half-listening to what he can hear outside. It’s still raining, but from the sounds of the city, it’s daylight again. It sounds more awake, anyhow. He takes a shaky breath, scrubbing his hands over his face. He needs to think, but it’s almost impossible around the pain in his stomach.

Food first, and Cal stops short. He doesn’t have any money, and he refuses to immediately start stealing. He knows that Tek would. Tek would argue that it’s the smart thing to do, and he can almost hear his little brothers’ voice in the back of his mind calling him an idiot for holding morals over survival. But Cal isn’t that desperate just yet. He’s also not a thief. And he doesn't want to make things harder for himself by attracting the attention of any police.

He should - he should figure out what resources he has right now. He still has his utility belt, after all. Cal sinks back down to the floor, half-stripping out of the overalls - he needs to figure out how to get more normal clothes as well - and starts cataloguing everything he still has in his utility belt.

Almost fifteen minutes later, he has everything spread out and organized in front of him. It’s admittedly not much; a couple of Nightwings’ own version of Batarangs, two protein bars, an emergency first aid and survival kit, some flash grenades, and oddly enough, what feels like a packet of stickers. Tek must have put those in there as a prank.

He chews his lip, anxiously staring at everything in his shifting, sketchy vision. He knew he should have restocked his belt before he left the Batcave, but also in his defense it was supposed to be a simple patrol tonight. Massive oversight - that’s never going to happen again, once he gets back. If - if he gets back.

He shakes that thought out of his head and forces himself to eat half of a protein bar while he opens the survival kit. It has all the usual things; a multi-tool, whistle, space blanket - that’s going to be useful if it gets colder, even if his suit is insulated. Besides, the Clocktower is already drafty. Water purification tablets, perfect. A godsend, actually, knowing Gothams’ water supply. Flashlight - he half smiles to himself, turning it over in his hands. It’s not like he needs it, but maybe he’ll find a use for it later. More small packets of high-nutrition food, another godsend.

Cal slightly winces, a twist going through him at the fact he’s already started calling basic food a godsend. It’s only been one day. Although, Dick had idly mentioned he'd probably be going through a growth spurt soon, when Cal had complained to him that he was feeling hungrier than usual. That's... not going to be fun, especially if his food is now limited.

He takes a deep breath, looking over the rest of the contents. Spare grappling rope - useless without his grappling gun - a firestarter kit, first aid supplies. He’s still amazed at how many things Batman can fit into a small kit, but he’s no less grateful for it.

He eats the rest of the protein bar as he thinks. The multi-tool is good - although the small electronics that are built into it are practically useless. That sort of technology doesn't exist at this time. His broken comlink and radar vision can attest to that.

The various knives will be helpful though, as well as the wire cutters and scissors, and he’s probably going to need the screwdriver at some point. Most definitely, if he wants to make the Clocktower more secure. He breathes out, tucking it into his pocket. He has more than he thought he did.

He packs up the survival kit again, putting everything back in his utility belt - again, no point in leaving things when he could need them at a moments’ notice. He hesitates slightly, eating the other protein bar. He needs the energy, and it staves off the worst of the hunger pangs. Alright, so he has shelter, equipment, an already rapidly-dwindling limited supply of food - what else?

He runs a hand through his hair, controlling his breathing and shoving away the dreaded overwhelmed feeling that’s threatening to overtake him. Obviously, his priority is getting back to his own time. Which means he needs to - he needs to figure out how he’s going to do that. His immediate thought is a time machine, but how on earth is he going to do that?? Time travel isn’t even possible in his own time, as far as he knows, how is he going to do it stuck here?! Where even his comlink doesn't work?!

He has to calm his breathing again, standing up and pulling back on the overalls. Small steps, Cal Grayson. He has to - just for now - operate under the assumption he’s going to be here for a little while. Which means that he needs to get more clothes than just this, and he - he needs resources. Bruce sounded like he was around fifteen, so he’s almost no help, unless Cal could somehow steal from him, or - no, no he can’t do that. He can’t just waltz up and ask for help either, not now that Bruce has seen him and thinks he’s a ghost. He really messed up that option, didn’t he? He can’t help thinking that Damian would call him a moron.

Scratch that, Damian would probably call him way worse than just a moron. And probably somehow manage to insult his entire heritage in the same breath.

Okay, he should go to some homeless shelters. Surely they have shelters, even if this is past Gotham? He knows that Bruce funded quite a few when he was a young adult, but surely they had to have already been there to fund? Cal nods to himself. That’s good, he can see if there’s any homeless shelters around. Although, he doesn't exactly know how they work. Do you need to provide a name? Money? Is it like a group home, just for grown-ups? He doesn't know.

He makes a quick stop to the supply closet again, grabbing the small loop of elastic he’d felt while rummaging around in the locker the first time, and pulls his hair back into something halfway decent. Once he gets some sort of normal clothing, then maybe he can try and see if anyone needs an extra pair of hands within their workplace. Although, not many people will hire a kid, let alone someone who can’t see properly… Cal falters slightly, before abruptly shaking that thought out of his head. He can’t think like that right now, he has to try and be positive.

Positivity in past Gotham, as it turns out, is an entirely useless concept. The first shelter he finds kicks him right back out, the second at least doesn’t bodily throw him out the door, but they still didn’t help in any way at all, and the third; the third Cal would rather not think about, choking back a soft shudder at the thought of what they wanted in exchange. In fact, he's pretty sure that last one might not have even been a homeless shelter. It's not like he can see otherwise.

He ends up sitting on a half-overturned trash can in some random alleyway, choking back tears with the same fervor that he chokes down one of the dry meal squares in his survival kit. His options are getting increasingly limited, and for one horrible second, Cal has an almost-vision of himself dying somewhere in the bowels of Gotham.

“You been sittin’ there awhile kid. You lost or somethin’?”

The new voice, gruff and thick with an entirely Gotham accent, almost makes him jump. He picks up their heartbeat, not-quite dangerous, but there’s a tone to it somehow that he’s not sure if he should trust. Actually, scratch that, he shouldn’t trust anyone at all. He can already feel himself falling back on old habits, twisting around to catch the greyed-out figure.

There’s a rough laugh from the guy - and holy hell, if he thought Batman was built, he needed to re-evaluate because this guy would stand at least a head taller than Bruce. Cal freezes, his mind going blank, and scrambles for an excuse. “I - ah - is this your trash can?”

Why the fuck did he say that? Whoever this is seems to find it funny though, letting another deep chuckle loose, and Cal scrambles to his feet properly as he approaches. The man scoffs, holding up both his hands, which is utterly useless to Cal because he can smell the loaded gun on his hip. “Yeah, sure, this is my private alleyway. Relax kid, I ain’t in th’ mood to knock around a scruffy teen.”

Cal squints at him, still poised to run the second this guy makes a wrong move. Why is he even still standing here? The guy makes a considering noise, looking down at him. For a moment, neither of them say anything, and Cal blinks hard. Does he want him to say something? “Um - you are..?”

“None of your business.” It sounds like he’s grinning, despite the sharp retort, and Cal pauses even more, thoroughly confused. Is this some sort of game he just isn’t clued into? The guy takes another step forward, and Cal backs up a good few paces, a flicker of indignation going through him when the guy laughs again. “Skittish, ain’t you? What, you waitin’ to get jumped or somethin’? Got a scheduled beatdown?”

“I - no.” Cal straightens up, blinking hard. “I’m sorry, why are you - what do you want from me?”

“That depends on what you’re gonna give.” The guy definitely sounds like he’s grinning, and Cal tenses up again. This is strange, this is incredibly weird, and he doesn’t like it, and he should just run now and stop hanging around and - “You strong, kid?”

“What?” Cal pauses, staring at the guy and he snorts loudly.

“What, you deaf or somethin’? Can you lift shit?”

“I - uh, yeah?” Cal should definitely run, but - but something about this guy reminds him far too much of Red Hood. That’s a dangerous thing to think, he shouldn’t be drawing comparisons of absolute strangers to his dads’ brother - his uncle, technically, but maybe it’s the accent or -

“Great, follow me.” The stranger pauses, already heading further back down the alleyway and giving Cal a glance over his shoulder as he doesn’t move. “What, you wanna get arrested by those cops that've been stalkin’ you or somethin’? C’mon kid, move that skinny ass o’ yours. Jesus, it’s like you never been offered fuckin’ help before.”

Chapter 3: Keep Your Wits About You

Notes:

hello hello, sorry for the slightly-lateish chapter, I woke up like fifteen minutes ago cause I stayed up way too late last night reading ^^;
Anyway, between this one, my Talon series and two or so more things I'm dabbling in writing right now, update schedule is Oof. I'll try keep on track, though.

TW's for this chapter; fear of murder, light threat-joke, minor in a club setting, slight de-reality, alcohol mention

He’s not even entirely sure how this happened. One moment he’s despairing over what he’s going to do, and half-certain he’ll be dead by the end of the week, and now he’s standing in what sounds like a dingy warehouse on the docks. Actually, there’s a very good possibility he might die anyway, based on the argument he can hear.

“Boss said to find more hands, not drag in some fuckin kid off the street!”

“He’s got hands, ain’t he? Said he can lift shit too, I’m not seeing the problem.” Stranger - Cal is calling him Stranger, because he still hasn’t given him a name - shrugs callously, much to the frustration of whoever he’s arguing with. “‘Sides, it’s way easier to grab a few homeless kids than try an’ find other people. An’ he was already in trouble with th’ police, so it ain’t like he can go runnin’ to them.”

“Fuckin hell Todd, you and your goddamn - you know what, he’s your responsibility. You can answer to the fuckin’ Boss, I’m not dealing with this shit.”

Cal feels like he’s frozen, his breath caught in his throat. Todd?? He doesn’t have time to figure it out though, because Stranger (Todd???) is already walking back over and practically grabbing him by the scruff of his overalls. “Alright, c’mon kid. We’re goin’ to see th’ Boss. You know how to use manners, right? Actually, I might do the talkin’, you jus’ shut your trap and try not look completely pathetic. Or maybe do, you're skinny enough tha' he might take pity on ya'.”

“I-” Cal barely gets the word out before a large hand clamps over his mouth, and Stranger makes an odd annoyed, amused sound. After a moment, the hand is removed, and Cal nods. Stay quiet. Okay, he can do that - and if things go bad then he can always fight his way out. Although that might put a target on his back and -

His train of thought is cut off as a large door slams behind him, and Stranger finally lets go of his collar. He doesn’t even get the chance to say anything before there’s a voice, a figure flaring to life through the mist. “What is this?”

He feels like he should recognize that voice. It's almost eerily calm - that makes sense, seeing as whoever this is, is clearly in charge. Nasally kind of, as well. Something dangerous in its tone. Male. He should probably get out of here, but - but maybe he should just wait and see how this plays out, and try to ignore how much he feels like he’s going to be sick. He can almost hear Tek calling him an idiot.

Stranger grunts from next to him. “More hands, Boss. Got told t’ bring him to you, cause some of th’ guys have issue with him bein’ here. Got him off the street.”

There’s the tapping of shoes, and - a cane? Cal stiffens, keeping his head low, even as an almost breathy chuckle sounds. “When I said bring in hands, I didn’t mean just anyone off the street.” Something hard is suddenly shoved under his chin, pushing his head up, and Cal straightens. There’s a soft click - he can smell gunpowder - and the voice dips lower. “Hm. Name?”

A beat passes before Cal realizes it’s directed at him and he scrambles, trying to straighten up further. He needs to stay calm, and figure a way out of this. “Ca-” He almost stumbles over his words, swallowing hard against the object pressed to his throat. That was almost so stupid of him, he can’t give whoever this is his actual name. Especially if he's here for a while. Quick, think of a fake identity! “It - it’s Max. Sir.”

“Hm. Nope!” The hard object withdraws, thumping into his chest a moment later, and Cal staggers back a little, before the voice continues. “Try again. I don’t like liars.”

Strangers’ hand lands on the back of his neck, squeezing just the smallest amount. Encouraging, almost? Cal falters. “My name is - is Kane. Sir.”

“Hm. Cain. You found him off the street, you said?” It's clear he's no longer talking to Cal. There’s a long pause, where Stranger might have nodded, and Cal can hear the steady beat of the hearts around him. The shape shifts in his misty vision, and sudden terror catches in Cal’s throat as a sharply sketched cane detaches itself from the short grey figure, going to rest against the shape of a large desk.

Penguin continues like he hadn’t noticed anything wrong - like he hadn't noticed the way Cal suddenly locked up with sick terror - turning and walking over to what looks like a large shelf. “Right! You keep your head down and follow instructions and we won’t have any further problems.”

Something is pulled off the shelf, and Penguin hobbles back over, practically shoving it into Cal’s chest. There’s a light trace of humour in his voice, and Cal can’t help gripping the object tightly. It feels almost starched and stiff under his fingers. “You’ll work nights, of course. Pay is at the end of the week, cash in hand. Any tips you make are your own, I'm not particularly interested in robbing teenagers. If you see anything, then of course you didn’t. Yes?”

“I - I can’t see very well anyway, s-sir.” Cal can’t stop blinking, almost unable to believe what he’s hearing. This is - this is the weirdest thing ever. He’d thought Penguin was going to shoot him, or throw him into the water or something like that, not - is he giving him a job? “What-”

“Even better. Todd will show you where to put things. And, just between you and me-” Penguin steps closer, his voice dropping low again and Cal tenses up. “Take off the Halloween costume you’ve got on under those obviously stolen overalls. Subtlety is everything and, well. We wouldn't want anyone thinking we're criminals.” It almost sounds like a joke.

Cal is nodding before he’s even fully processed what Penguin is saying, and then Stranger (Todd?) is dragging him back out. He has to struggle to keep his feet under him, his head reeling. Half an hour ago - has it been half an hour? - he was sitting on a trashcan thinking he was going to die, and now he has a job, and - clothes? What. It feels like Penguin gave him a suit, just from the feel of the fabric, and how does he even have a suit in Cal’s size - is this something he does often?? Penguin?

Todd - Cal is still going to call him Stranger - finally lets him go, chuckling slightly under his breath. “See, what did I tell ya, kid? Better than bein’ lost on the streets, huh?”

“I - yeah, I - I think so.” Cal blinks down at his hands, curling his fingers into the material. “I - Did that actually just happen?”

“Yeah, so what? Mr. Cobblepot thinks you’ll be good for business, so bit of advice, kid? Don’t be a fuckin' idiot and start questionin’ shit. He wants you at the Lounge insteada’ th’ docks, so just take it at face value, and keep your head down. Keep the customers sweet, and you’ll be leaving with a bit more cash in your pocket.”

Cal blinks hard, looking up at Stranger as he leads him back out onto the streets, a slight frown crossing over his face as he hurries to keep up. “You sound like you’re talking from experience.”

Stranger doesn’t reply, the figure just giving a shrug, before ducking down a back road. Cal follows, deciding to ignore how this 100% feels like somewhere he’ll get ambushed. Or mugged. Back roads and alleyways are great for getting mugged in.

Stranger stops next to an alleyway between a few buildings, gesturing down it. “You use the back door, not the front. Club opens at 6pm, be here by 5 or you get shot and we drag your body down to th’ docks.” It’s unclear whether he’s joking or not. “You’re younger than the normal ones, so Bobbi will probably get you t’ finish at 12. You ever waited tables before?”

Cal swallows hard, shaking his head, and Stranger makes a non-committal noise. “Just don’t drop anything on people, unless they deserve it. You got a knife?” He doesn’t wait for a response, instead continuing as he pushes the door open, and Cal hurries after him. “Keep it on you, somewhere you can easily reach. You get into trouble, yell for Bobbi. Or stab em, unless they’re important, in which case apologize for whatever and get yourself away. Got all that?”

“Wouldn’t it - wouldn’t I get in trouble if I just go around stabbing customers?” Cal frowns, following the grey figure in his vision as he leads him down a corridor. “I don’t-”

“This is Gotham, kid, either you stab someone, or you’ll get picked off like carrion. ‘ere,” Stranger stops, half kicking open another door and gesturing inside. Cal pokes his head inside, blinking at the small shelves and sectioned cupboards that sketch themselves into his vision. There’s another door, half-open with what seems to be a small bathroom inside. Stranger snorts, sounding amused. “Meet me out on th’ floor when you’re done.”

Cal blinks again, stepping inside with his new clothes clutched to his chest, and the door swings shut behind him. This doesn’t feel real. He’s standing inside one of the back rooms of Penguins’ club - the Iceberg Lounge. And he’s - now working for Penguin. And he’s stuck in the past, with no current way to get back to Dick, or Tek, or anyone. Cal sucks in a deep breath, almost numbly moving to the small bathroom and shutting the door. He locks it for good measure, staring blankly at the roughly-sketched toilet, sink and shower in his misty vision. This absolutely doesn’t feel real. Maybe he really is just in a coma. Or a vivid simulation.

The water is freezing - somehow he’d half expected that - and he showers and dresses as fast as possible. He’s got shoes. Penguin had given him dress shoes, and socks. How often does he do this that he can guess Cal’s shoe size just from five minutes with him??

His hands are shaking as he carefully folds up his Mockingjay suit. He feels incredibly bare without it, almost vulnerable. He needs to try and get some sort of armour to wear under his clothes, maybe. Although that's going to be almost impossible, so maybe he should just settle for not getting stabbed.

Cal rakes his hands through his hair, hoping that “damp” is still acceptable. The multi-tool goes into a hidden pocket in the suit jacket. Nothing fits perfectly - the shirt and pants are just a touch too long, and the jacket sits awkwardly on his shoulders, but other than that, he hopes it looks alright. He tucks his Mockingjay suit under the overalls in one of the far cubbies.

It’s easy to find the main space of the club, and Cal suddenly understands why the suit jacket is so thick as he steps out of the back room. It feels like the temperature has just dropped several degrees. He swears he can feel his breath clouding as he walks over to where he can hear Stranger talking in a low voice to someone at the bar. Cal has to struggle to keep a straight face - the bartender looks like he could be Strangers’ twin in terms of build.

“Ah, kid, there you are. Was startin’ to think you’d frozen under that shower.” Stranger sounds like he’s grinning, and Cal is starting to wonder if he’d somehow just accidentally met the friendliest criminal ever. He feels slightly bad for thinking of Stranger as a criminal, even though he’s been somewhat nice to him, but the guy works for Penguin, so - oh. Oh, Cal also technically works for Penguin now. Okay, prejudice abandoned. This is going to make fighting Penguin in the future so much harder.

There’s a deep tutting noise, and Cal absolutely freezes as large hands descend into his hair, the bartender grumbling loudly. “God, you looking to get scalped on your firs’ day, kid? You really know how t’ pick em, Todd.”

Cal blinks hard, staying absolutely still as it feels like the bartender sweeps his hair up into a slightly messy bun, giving a deep hum of approval. These two have to be the strangest guys he’s ever met in Gotham. After a moment, the hands leave his hair, his fringe thankfully being left alone, and the hand pats him roughly on the shoulder. “Name’s Bobbi, kid.”

“Oh, uh - Cain. I’m Cain.”

“Cain, huh? Like Abel and Cain? You religious, kid?”

Cal can’t tell if it’s a genuine question, or if he’s being made fun of. He really should have picked a name that didn’t sound quite so - loud. Loud is a good descriptor, he should have just gone with something quiet, like Jim or something like that. Cain is too loud of a name, but it’s too late now. “No, not - not really. Just my name.” It is now, anyway. Great fake identity.

“Yeah, you really look like a Cain.” Stranger snorts loudly, before pushing up off the bar and stretching. Dark red lines flash away from him as he moves. Cal has to fight to keep a straight face - apparently the coloured lines in his vision are coming back now.

“Alright kid. Lemme give you th’ grand tour. How much vision have you got anyway; you said you can’t see well?”

“Look at his eyes, Todd, of fuckin’ course he can’t see well. No offense, kid. Just avoid the steps and use the ramps and you’ll do just fine. Use your ears, or somethin’.” Bobbi snorts, and Cal twitches slightly, rising and lowering one shoulder in a half-shrug.

“I can see shapes and figures. I’ll manage.”

“There’s that Gotham attitude I knew you had.” Stranger definitely sounds like he’s grinning, or like he’s just discovered a cat in a pile of garbage, it’s hard to tell. “Right, now, you’ll stay off th’ upper levels, jus’ until you get a grasp on things - or until you can carry a tray without spillin’ anything. We got a couplea’ hours before th’ Lounge opens, so try an’ memorize where shit is. And avoid the ice sculpture in the middle of the room.”

Cal nods, unable to stop a small smile flickering across his face. “Trust me, I’ve got a good memory.” This shouldn’t be too hard, right? If he ignores the fact that it’s Penguin’s business, and the fact that he’s apparently gotten himself knee-deep into criminal activity on his second day here, and also ignores the fact he’s stuck in the past with no way home - then it should be fine, right?

—————

Cal’s head has been pounding for what feels like hours. Not only is the music so loud he can barely think, but all the flickering colours spread out over his vision as people move and shift through the club is making it look like he’s at a rave. He makes a tiny mental note to wear his patrol earplugs next time, instead of his regular ones. Those are built so that he could be standing next to an explosion and his hearing would be mostly fine. He definitely needs them here.

Cal half-startles at the sudden arm slipping around him, freezing for half a second before he registers the voice speaking to him. He can’t exactly hear what she’s saying, but it sounds more like she’s cooing at an adorable pet, or something similar. What was it Stranger had said - keep them sweet and you’ll leave with more cash? He - he does need cash, so Cal shifts slightly - he can already tell whoever it is is drunk, even if he couldn't already smell the overpowering stench of alcohol - looking up and giving her what he hopes is a winning smile.

Judging from the amount of cooing noises that she makes, it succeeds. Although it also has the unfortunate effect of her dragging him back to her table. He still can’t really hear what she or her friends are saying, but fifteen minutes later he’s making his way back towards the bar, blinking hard at the bills that had been shoved into his hands.

He does hear Bobbi laugh, though, the giant figure leaning over the bar and messing up his fringe slightly. It’s a little quieter over here, so he can actually hear what he’s saying.

“Look at that, you’re an absolute natural, kid. Tuck those away now; we’ll get you something t’ keep them in later.”

Cal blinks hard, somewhat hurriedly shoving the bills into the same pocket where his multi-tool is. “I - I have no idea what just happened, I was just serving, and-”

“I saw,” Bobbi sounds like he’s going to be crowing over this for a while, half-leaning on the bar. Despite how loud the music is, and the amount of people, he doesn’t seem to be incredibly busy. Weird. “You’ve got one killer of a smile, kid. Use that more, an’ they’ll be fallin’ over you.”

“That-” Cal frowns slightly, fixing his fringe. It sounds an awful lot like - not scamming exactly, but incredibly close to stealing. He doesn’t know if he’s exactly comfortable with it. He can practically hear Tek hissing at him though, telling him to not be stupid and use what he can. Which is apparently… himself. Great. “Alright.”

Bobbi makes an amused sound. “It’s gettin’ pretty close to midnight, so go do a couple more rounds, an’ then you can head off home, alright? You got a place to get back to?”

Cal’s nodding before he properly thinks about it. “Oh - yeah. Yes, I - I have a solid roof over my head, don’t worry. And um - thanks. For-” He doesn’t know if it’s caring exactly, or if the guy is just checking that his newest waiter isn’t going to die on the street. “Just thanks.”

“Yeah yeah, get on back out there, kid. Go smile at those three over there, real subtle like. They’re regulars, and if they take a likin’ to you, you’ll get tips more often.” Bobbi half-spins him around by one shoulder, lightly pushing him in the direction of the nearest table. Cal swallows, before heading off. His head is still pounding, but he’s spent most of his life learning how to act like he’s not in pain. What’s twenty more minutes?

——————

The Clocktower is blissfully silent when he makes his way back. After the noise and chaos of the club, it’s practically a soothing balm. Cal half-stumbles up the stairs, groaning to himself. Fuck these stairs, honestly. He needs to make some sort of pulley system, because there’s no way he’s going to want to climb these every single night.

He practically claws himself up the last few stairs, half-crawling across the floor and slumping behind the pillar in an admittedly pathetic-feeling bundle. He’s so tired. At least he has the small stack of bills tucked into a spare pouch of his utility belt. He has money now. Which is useful, at the very least.

Cal curls up, his eyes shutting almost immediately. He has a job, his equipment and the Clocktower. He needs to get more clothes, and maybe a couple of blankets. He’s not planning on being here long, but there’s only so long he’ll be able to sleep on the floor without consequences. And pain meds. His head is killing him.

Notes:

I hope this chapter wasn't too hectic, and made some sort of sense to y'all. Cal is about as good as Tekka is when it comes to making snap-decisions about Important Things like names. Also! I hope that Gotham (TV) Penguin wasn't too OOC for all y'all. Still getting used to writing the guy tbh

Keep an eye on the tags as this story updates, although I'll still continue to put trigger warnings.
Come chat to me on Tumblr (demon-nix)

Chapter 4: Routine Fixes Everything, Right?

Notes:

Hello lovelies, another quick chapter note for y'all as per usual before the actual chapter. Namely just giving a heads up that a few of the future chapters are going to get quite dark, so I'll be making sure to review the tags and adjust accordingly ^-^
This chapter is mostly fine though, there's just a few implications in one conversation that allude to child trafficking and the like, so just an extra warning before the trigger warnings.

TWs; Allusions/ Implications of child trafficking, slight starvation, self-doubt

Two weeks later, and Cal thinks he’s found some sort of rhythm, even if it isn’t much. He found out the next day that the Iceberg Lounge was closed on Sundays - Bobbi had just said “private business, you get it kid,” and nothing more. Which was fine, that just meant Cal had more time to try and think. He’d sung a small, broken Happy Birthday for Maxie when he got back to the Clocktower on the 1st of September, before crying himself to sleep. Not his best night.

Two weeks after Cal had got to Past Gotham, he found himself once more lying on the floor of the Clocktower, looking up into the mist and waiting for a technically acceptable time he could leave for the Iceberg Lounge. The Clocktower is slightly better now - he’d used the grappling rope in his utility belt to rig a sort of weighted pulley type elevator, which had helped tremendously. Mostly because he rarely had to use the stairs now, and he had been able to actually get a few things up that couldn’t fit on the stairs. At the very least, he wasn’t sleeping on the floor anymore - he’d found a hammock of all things when going through some of the dumpsters. They didn’t seem to be as bad as they were in the future, which was a blessing in disguise.

Cal huffs to himself, rolling onto his side - avoiding the broken-through floorboards - and blinks at the giant face of the clock that slowly sketches into his vision. He’d been running through equations in his head, trying to figure out what sort of maths he’d need to make the correct calculations to get back to his own time, but he kept coming up blank. It would help if he could actually figure out anything instead of having to practically stay in the Clocktower all the time. He’d found out incredibly quickly that the police didn’t take kindly to random kids out on the streets during the weekday, because he was technically playing truant and not going to school. Rule number one is Don't Trust Police.

School… Cal frowns, chewing on his lip. That would be a good idea, actually. At the very least, it’d give him something to occupy himself with, between fixing up the Clocktower on the weekends, and trying to figure out a way home. Cal sits up, chewing slightly on his thumb. How on earth would he get in, though? He doubts there would be any scholarship programs set up, and he definitely couldn’t go to Gotham Prep and run the risk of running into Bruce. There had to be other district schools, right? Ones that wouldn’t notice him too much.

Cal is tugging on his shoes - an old ratty pair of trainers he’d managed to get from a second-hand store - and heading down the stairs before he gives himself enough time to think about it. It’s only 3pm, so he’s not due at work for another couple of hours, but - Bobbi should be there already. Maybe he can ask him. The weird giant of a man had somewhat taken Cal under his wing at work, even slipping him food on his breaks that he said he didn’t need, or that a table had sent back. Cal doubts that, but he wasn’t going to argue.

He knows the route off by heart by now, slipping in the back door of the Iceberg Lounge in no time at all and making his way out into the main section of the bar. It’s not as cold as it usually is, and Cal has the small funny thought of maybe they make it cold on purpose, before Bobbi spots him from the bar.

“Hey kid, you’re way too early for your shift.”

Cal nods, finding one of the stools at the bar and clambering onto it a little awkwardly. “I - uh. I need your help, Bobbi.” He realises half a second later how bad that sounds, especially as Bobbi partially freezes, his heartbeat jumping, and hurries on. “Not - not with anything bad or - I’m not in trouble or anything, I just - I need your help about a school. To - to go to school, I was... I was wondering if you knew any in the area.”

Bobbi resumes cleaning glasses, and Cal can hear the way his heartbeat calms down, before the man snorts. “What’d you want school for, kid? You got a job, dont’cha, unless you’re suddenly too good for here?”

Cal freezes, his eyes going wide, and suddenly wishes he’d never said anything at all. “N-No, no I just - I mean, it’s literally just to get the police off my back, y’know - they’re weirdly… they’re weirdly eager to arrest anyone who isn’t. In school, I mean, and I - I can’t stay at the - at home all day, it’s just for-”

“Relax, kid, I was fuckin' jokin' with you.” Bobbi snorts loudly, reaching over the bar and thoroughly messing up Cal’s hair. There’s a small silence where he goes back to setting up the bar, and Cal fixes his hair anxiously, chewing on his lip before the man speaks again. “I gotta say, you’re a weird one, Cain. Most kids wouldn’t wanna go rushin back to school, but...”

The man leans on the bar, and Cal thinks he’s looking at him seriously, his tone suddenly solemn. “You got smarts about you, kid. I can see it in your eyes, you got that spark in you, an’ Gotham hasn’t managed to squash that outta you yet.”

“Oh, well, I’m glad one of us can see my eyes,” Cal murmurs slightly, grinning as Bobbi breaks out into raucous laughter.

“You got a mouth on you too! Where’s that when you’re workin, huh? Don’t tell me you don’t know what I’m sayin, I’ve seen you with the regulars. Gotta say, you’ve got one of the most effective hustles I’ve seen, kid.” The large-set man quiets down a bit, his tone suddenly dropping back into seriousness. “You gotta be careful though, Cain. A kid like you, well. A lotta people ‘round these parts want that, so don’t you go gettin too friendly with customers. Doesn’t matter how much they offer you, you keep yourself away from them, y’ hear? I don’t wanna beat someone offa’ you.”

“Uh-” Cal blinks hard, a slight crawling feeling going down his back. What exactly is Bobbi suggesting? “Um. Thanks. I think. I - I don’t... Think that’s going to happen?”

Bobbi snorts, an odd almost-growl coming from him. “Yeah, you’re lucky that you can’t see how some of ‘em watch you. Just keep your knife on you, and don’t go gettin’ scared to use it. Be smart, kid. Use that brain you gotta have, and keep your wits about you. Gotham has a way of chewin up kids like you and spitting em back out with only th’ worst parts left intact. You gotta be the one to stop that from happenin’. Ain’t nobody goin to come and rescue you.”

Cal nods slightly, a deep twist going through him. He knows what Bobbi is saying, but he can’t help feeling the double meaning. His family can’t come get him. It’s up to him, and Cal swallows down the rapidly-rising panic that he’s never going to get back to his own time, breathing out slowly. “I - I’ll keep that in mind. It’s -” He has to cut himself off from saying more, ducking his head and almost absent-mindedly running a hand through his hair. He can’t afford to get comfortable; he has to remember where he is. “I’ll watch myself, Bobbi, don’t worry.”

“You make it hard not to, kid,” Bobbi snorts, lightly chucking a cloth at him, and Cal startles slightly. “If you ain’t got nothin’ better to do, go wipe down some of the railings.”

Cal nods, hurriedly picking up the cloth and making his way over to the far side of the floor. He can’t help keeping an ear out, especially as he hears the now-familiar heartbeat of Stranger. He waves slightly, hearing him grunt in return, before taking a seat at the bar.

“He’s here early, ain’t he?”

Cal has to do his best to make it look like he can’t hear them, concentrating on looking like he’s doing something. He shouldn’t be able to hear them anyway, not with how hushed their voices are.

Bobbi grumbles slightly under his breath. “Kid was askin’ about schools to get the police off his back cause of that damn truancy law they got goin’ on. It ain’t a bad idea, but hell, the fact he’s so… Say, Todd, you sure he ain’t got anyone?”

Stranger grumbles, and Cal rubs the cloth a bit harder over a railing. “Found ‘im in an alleyway lookin’ like he was abouta’ keel over from stress. An’ I’m sure, kid’s living in th’ old Clocktower. Ain’t got no one. Pretty sure he had folks at some point, but I ain’t found anyone. Seems they skipped town an’ left ‘im behind. He wouldn't be the first tha's happened to.”

Bobbi makes a dark sound under his breath, and Cal can hear how he sets a glass aside with a little more force than necessary. He has to force himself to not react, biting back a protest. He can’t go around defending Dick - for starters, he doesn’t think he’d be older than an infant right now, and secondly it - it works better if they think his family left him behind. Or not; he hasn’t quite figured that out yet.

He has to ignore the sick feeling that ripples through him at the realization that they know where he lives, though. He hasn’t said anything about it - which means that Stranger must have followed him at some point. That’s not good - he needs to keep a better eye around him from now on. Or ear.

“I ain’t like it,” Bobbi’s voice is quiet, almost dark. “He’s better here than out on th’ streets, where Mr. Cobblepot and us can keep an eye on ‘im, but the kid’s too damn smart for his own good. He ain’t deserve to be here with th’ riffraff. He’s too good at sweetenin’ em up, for starters. It’s goin’ to get him in trouble with some of em less savoury types.”

Stranger makes a low noise in the back of his throat, and Cal has to ignore the way he can practically feel his eyes flicker over to him. “You think one of em are gonna try somethin’ with him? I ain’t see it, personally, but then again, I ain’t the one in here all night.”

Bobbi grunts under his breath. “I already told him what’s what, but I don’ like the look on his face when I said it. Kid promised to keep his hands clean, but I already seen enough of ‘im to know he’ll do what it takes to get wherever he’s tryna’ go. Kid’s got a determination about ‘im that I ain’t seen in a while. That’s not such a good thing around here. He’s sharp, and y’know how some of em like them sharp. It’s gonna kill him if he’s not careful. Especially if he's as new to the' streets as we think 'e is.”

Cal doesn’t want to listen anymore, steeling his expression into something neutral, before raising his voice. “Hey Bobbi, how many railings do we have in here exactly, cause I don’t think I can get all of them.”

There’s a loud snort from the bar before Bobbi replies. “You’re fine kid. Hey, what about you actually take tonight off? You already look like you’re abouta’ drop and you ain’t even started yet.”

Cal frowns slightly, half turning back to the two at the bar. “I - I’m fine, I’m not tired at all.” He is. Most of the time if he’s not immediately knocked out from exhaustion when he gets home, he finds himself lying awake staring at nothing until he can hear the streets waking up. He didn’t know it showed that much, though. It’s wearing on him, trying to figure out how to get home. At least he has this to keep him busy, but-

“Nah, don’t pull that bullshit with me. You got tonight off an’ - here.” Bobbi gestures him over, holding something out, and Cal frowns as he takes it. It crinkles slightly in his hand, and he can already smell the ever-so-faint metallic scent that most of Gotham’s money seems to carry. “Go get yourself a hot meal or somethin’ kid. You look like you’re starvin yourself.”

“I - Bobbi, I can’t take this, I haven’t earned-”

“Don’t care, it ain’t comin outta your paycheck. You don’t owe me nothin’ either. Just clear out for tonight, got it? Make sure to come back in and grab your weeks’ pay at the end of the night, though.”

Cal blinks, looking down at the money in his hand, then back up at Bobbi. He had to have missed something while he was eavesdropping. This is coming out of nowhere, but he slowly nods. There’s no point in arguing, Bobbi seems to have made up his mind, and Cal doesn’t want to get him mad. “Okay. Uh, thanks Bobbi. I’ll... see you Monday night, then?”

“Yeah, sure kid. Go on, clear out.”

——————

Cal finds himself wandering around Old Gotham, keeping his hands in his pockets and his head down low. He’s not entirely sure what to do, in all honesty. He was relying on the Iceberg Lounge to keep him busy tonight, so he wouldn’t have to think about - everything.

He breathes out shakily, running a hand through his hair as he continues walking. He needs to actually make a solid plan. It’s been two weeks, and he’s got almost nothing to show for it, in terms of making his way back home. This would be so much easier if - if he had Batman or someone else with him. He’d even take Red Hood, or Damian. At least they’d probably know what to do. Batman would have probably built several different prototypes for a time machine by now. Red Hood would at least be able to get information and research, and honestly even Damian could have threatened his way into someone giving assistance to get back home. Cal has none of that.

He wants his dad. Cal shakes his head, choking back tears, and runs a hand through his hair. He can’t start losing himself now - His family are relying on him to be able to make it back home, and he refuses to let them live out the rest of their lives thinking he died. He needs - well, first he needs to find something that will help him see clearly, like his radar vision. Having sight would help a whole lot with trying to build a time machine, especially with trying to figure out calculations.

He’s never been the best at Maths though, that was the thing Maxie was good at, even if he hated it. Cal swallows back more tears, hurrying forward. He misses Maxie. He misses his voice, his constant chattering, and his seemingly endless optimism. He misses having him around, even if they weren’t doing anything and just sprawled out on either end of the couch, their legs tangled together. He misses the sleepover they had, where they most definitely didn’t sleep and just stayed up talking until Cal could hear Nightwing coming back from patrol. He hadn’t even had the chance to meet Maxie’s mom yet.

Cal stumbles on his next step, his brain stuttering to a halt and his eyes going wide. Didn’t - didn’t Maxie say that his mom was a quantum scientist, in the present? Or - that she knew quantum mechanics. That sounds like something he’d have to use to get home, and that could easily be applied to time theory.

Cal's stopped dead in the middle of the street, staring at nothing. Nobody seems to notice, the people simply moving around him like he’s a lamppost. Cal blinks hard, taking a deep breath. If he could find Maxie’s mom, then he might have a halfway decent chance of getting home. She’d - she’d probably be about his age, or maybe older, right? She’d definitely be in high school, and he was under no impression that Maxie had been exaggerating when he said how smart she was, so it was likely she’d be in an advanced class, which means she’d be at - Gotham Prep.

Cal falters again, chewing on his lip. There’s no way he can go to Gotham Prep to try and find her - if she even is around - because of the chance of Bruce seeing him. No, think optimistically. If she was a student on a weekend… Where would a student of Gotham Prep hang out on a Saturday?

He ends up outside the library, staring up at the old building as it sketches itself into his vision. It seems the exact same as in his time, and he can’t help letting out a small laugh. Old Gotham really hasn’t changed much at all. He shakes out his hands, tucking them back into his pockets, and walks up the steps to go inside.

It’s busier than he thought it would be. He can hear numerous heartbeats, the rustling of paper and books, and quiet hushed voices. There’s some students having a study group somewhere, and Cal is about to turn in that direction to try and find them, before he notices the dark figure waving at him from the front desk. Vibrant dark pink lines fly off them in bursts, and Cal almost startles before walking over.

“Hi, hey, how are you? You look a bit lost, or are you looking for something in particular?” The girl - she doesn’t sound older than about thirteen, maybe fourteen - shifts wildly in the seat behind the desk. Cal thinks she’s grinning widely at him, and can’t help himself from smiling back.

“Uh, sort of?” He can’t just say he’s looking for someone, he has no idea what Maxie’s mom even looks like, and then it’d just be weird. He doesn’t even know her name. “I was… wondering if you have any books on science? Mostly - probably theoretical science?” That’s probably too specific, but it’s worth a shot.

It’s like he’s lit a firework under the chair, because the girl leaps up almost too fast for Cal to register. “Oh, of course! I know exactly where they are. Follow me, and - oh! My name is Stella by the way, I volunteer here in my free time. Lucky you came in today, huh? You got the best volunteer librarian on this side of Gotham to help you.”

“I’m - yeah, I guess it is a bit of luck. I’m - I’m Cain.” Cal follows the girl, blinking hard. It’s strange, the way the coloured lines fly off her are almost like a force, sketching her in more detail than others Cal has met before. She spins around, her hair flying, and probably grinning at him again.

“That is such a cool name. I wish my name was that cool, but then again I think if everyone had really cool names, they’d stop being so cool. You feel me?”

Cal blinks, unable to stop the smile from creeping across his face again. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Oh hey, Cain.” Stella stops in the middle of the shelves, spinning on one foot and almost hopping to grab a few books from the shelves. “You know, if you’re studying anything in particular, I can always help. Plus, you seem really nice and I think it’d be cool to be friends. You seem like a cool guy. You wanna be friends, Cain?”

Cal blinks, almost startled by how quickly she’s offered. He can’t really afford to trust anyone too much, but she reminds him too much of Tek, and - what harm could it do? He’s never really been good at being by himself like this. He’s always at least had Tek before, and now…

“Sure, Stella. I - I’d like to be friends.”

Notes:

Much love, hope y'all enjoyed
Next update will be on Wednesday as per usual

Chapter 5: Homesickness Festers

Notes:

Hello lovelies, we're back at it again. I also just wanted to say thanks to everyone who's been reading this; I fully expected not a whole lot of people to do so, seeing as how this story just kinda ghosts on the edges of the Gotham universe, but thank for continuing to read it ^-^

TWs; mild breakdown, dissociation, descriptions of a fight and injury, mild flashback (Cal forgetting where he is/who he's with), mentions/implication of past abuse

Three weeks, and two days. It’s been three weeks and two days, and Cal feels like he’s drowning, sucking in another lungful of air. It tastes damp and almost soft, and all the built-up mold in the Clocktower cannot be good for his lungs. He drags in another breath, a broken sob worming its way out of his chest. He feels like screaming. Three weeks and two days, and he’s getting nowhere.

The soft hissing of his broken comms is buzzing away softly in his ear, and Cal drags his hands through his hair, another sob bursting out of him. He thought - he didn’t know what he thought, that trying to talk out loud like he was making a report would help. Like if he pretended this was just some sort of - of weird trial, and he had to check in regularly, but the soft static of his comms just makes it feel worse. Dick wouldn’t do this to him. Dick would have stepped in, demanding Batman put a stop to the test the second or third time Cal broke down like this. Dick wouldn’t have let him feel so utterly useless, and alone, and abandoned.

It's felt way too real these past few weeks for Cal to keep up his morbid hope he's in a coma.

Cal sobs in another gasp of air, desperately trying to get his breathing under control. His right arm is burning, the kind of searing pain that makes him feel like he’s about to tip into that infinite darkness he dreads so much. Shadows are threatening to swamp the misty whiteness. He shouldn’t be acting like this, he should be calm and rational and - and right now he’s not behaving like the adult he almost is. He’s behaving like he’s six years old again, and if he cried hard enough then his parents would come and rescue him.

He heaves in another breath, choking slightly as he tries to hold for six, breathe out for eight. In for five, hold for six, out for eight. He fights his way through the way his chest is spasming, struggling through the breathing exercises until his sobs die away. He can taste smoke and ash thickly in the air, struggling through more fake calming breaths, clenching his fist tight. He hasn’t lost control like this in - well, in about three weeks.

Cal practically rips the comm out of his ear, choking back another sob and scrubbing his hand over his face. He can’t afford to do this, he can’t afford to sit on the highest level of the Clocktower and have a panic attack. He needs to pull himself together, and go to the Lounge and - and just forget himself in the work for a bit. At least he’ll be doing something worthwhile. At least he can be useful that way - even if it’s for nothing.

He feels almost like he’s in a haze, the chill rainy air doing nothing to dissuade him as Cal makes his way to the Iceberg Lounge. Showering in the freezing water does nothing to shake the almost dull creeping numbness spreading over his skin, and Cal makes sure to scrub any possible remainder of his panic attack from his face. The neutral, polite mask that falls over his face as he dresses and sweeps his hair up almost feels like second nature, and something in his chest eases just the slightest bit. This, at least, is familiar. He pulls on the sleek gloves he’d bought from his first paycheck - no sense in drawing attention to his blackened hand - and steps out onto the main floor.

If Bobbi or Stranger, or any of his other older coworkers notice something different, they don’t mention it. Cal falls into the routine as easily as breathing, smiling and nodding and serving drinks. He’s wearing his patrol earplugs this time. It feels almost like he’s just performing, another knot loosening in his chest. This type of hiding is intimately familiar. Cal can always be who people expect to see. He’s intimately learned how. The hiding is safe. He makes small jokes and quips with the regulars, is civil how the less-regular ones expect. He plays up the naive act, smiling and laughing and ensuring his movements are just on the believable side of older-than-he-looks. It’s almost easy to tip into who he used to be, before - before everything. Before Gotham.

It’s halfway through the night, as Cal is moving through the dark haze of the club, his mind miles away and trying to figure out how he could even possibly power a time machine, that he gets something that feels so much more familiar. It makes something in his chest tremble and vibrate, and before he knows it, a fist is cracking against his cheek. Cal doesn’t think. The pain blooms, snapping sharply across his face, and the fragile glass in his hand shatters. His chest burns. He tastes blood. There’s raised voices, the soft gray figures in his vision blurring and sharpening into something distinctive, etched bright lines flashing across his vision. Cal falls into the fight the same way someone would fall into their bed at the end of a long day. Achingly familiar, and sharply comforting.

More raised voices, deafeningly loud over the pounding music and the pounding of his heart. Fast, frantic heartbeat, more thrumming in excitement. Pain blooms across his side, there’s a hand in his hair, and Cal feels the wood grain of the table more than he feels the pain that bursts across the bridge of his nose. He twists, colour bursting in his vision, his fist flying. Hand on his jaw, half over his mouth, and Cal bites down hard, just like when he was a kid. His shoulder meets the floor, and he intimately knows the kick that’s coming, shooting back up again. His forehead crunches against someone’s face, his fist meeting the pillow-firmness of a stomach. There’s a weapon in his hand, and something slick and wet splatters over his face, soaking into his glove as he throws another punch.

There’s a hand on the back of his neck, and everything rushes back, bursting through the deep haze in an explosion of colour and sound and raucous chaos. Cal heaves in a breath and swallows back the choked noise of pain that bursts through him as he does. His fists are stinging, chest heaving, and there is so much noise. Someone is dragging him away, his feet stumbling and tripping over the floor. His vision blurs. He can taste blood, thick and sharp in his mouth, and pouring from his nose also. Someone is making him sit, things suddenly a touch quieter, softer, the chaos a background noise.

Cal blinks hard, sucking in another breath, and freezing as the hand on the back of his neck makes him tilt forward, something hard and cold being pressed to his face. Someone else is talking to him, low and soothing and how you’d speak to a terrified child. Cal isn’t a child. The hand leaves his neck.

“-kay, son? Hey, you’re alright now. Just keep that icepack right there okay?”

He knows the other voice better, blinking as something wet and salty streaks down his face. Stranger’s here, his voice rough and not-quite pissed off, but Cal flinches back as the figure in front of him raises a hand. He’s mumbling a breathless apology before he recognizes the words leaving his mouth, and Stranger stops talking. The air somehow gets stiff.

“It’s alright son, just breathe.” The new person speaks, the figure crouching down below his eye level, and oh - Cal is in the back room. He blinks hard, feeling the blood from his nose leak into his mouth, and roughly wipes it away, choking out another apology.

He knows he’s not supposed to get into fights, and he knows he promised not to after last time. He doesn’t know what came over him, he knows he should have better control, he knows he shouldn’t have fought back and just let them hit him, and he’s so sorry. Cal apologizes for everything he can think of, fighting his way past the sobs threatening to break out of his chest.

“Cain, shut th’ fuck up! You’re fine kid, the guy had it comin’, just fuckin’ breathe!”

Cal flinches back from the loud voice, choking in a deep breath and squeezing his eyes shut tight. In for five, hold for six, out for eight. Just like he was taught. Quieting himself, like he taught himself. In and out and be silent. Just like he knows will get things over quicker, if he surrenders to the adults. Take whatever ire they have for him, and then apologize, and stay silent. Just like he’s learnt to.

There’s a soft beat of silence around his stuttered half-breaths, then Stranger grunts. “You gave ‘im hell, kid. Gotta say, I’m impressed. Didn’t think you actually had it in ya. He ain’t goin’ to be comin’ back around here anytime soon.”

Cal swallows hard - his throat tastes like blood. Something is dripping down the side of his face, and the iron tang of blood that’s not his own filters into his senses as he sucks in another breath through his mouth. Alarm suddenly shoots through him, and he bolts properly upright, his eyes widening. “I - I didn’t kill him, did I?!”

Stranger actually laughs, and a hand ruffles his hair before he can flinch away. He thinks the two still notice it though, the other standing back, almost surveying him. Stranger is talking, still chuckling slightly. “Trust me, kid, he’s gonna wish he was dead after th’ regulars and Bobbi are done with him. Ain’t no one goin’ to be putting hands on you quite so quickly, ‘specially after that little fight scene you just gave everyone.”

Cal trembles slightly, focusing on his breathing. He made a scene. He did the exact opposite of what he was trying to do. His chest tightens again, and he presses the icepack back to his face, ducking his head. He can feel his hair half dragging out of its tied-up position, sticking near his eye. He can smell the blood on him. There’s another beat of almost-silence, before the other man - Cal had almost forgotten he was here - clears his throat slightly.

“Do you have parents -” Stranger makes some type of noise at that, and the other man quickly backtracks, coughing and changing his question. “How old are you, kid?”

“Eighteen.” The lie slips off Cal’s tongue as easily as if he’d been saying it all his life. “Wouldn’t be working here otherwise, would I?”

There’s a doubtful silence. “You look a lot younger than eighteen, Cain.”

For a split-second, Cal wonders how the hell this guy knows his fake name, before remembering Stranger had practically yelled it. He can also tell that whoever this is - he’s a cop. He’s got the same sort of almost clipped, direct tone that all cops do, even if he’s trying to hide it. What is a cop doing in the Iceberg Lounge? It’s not entirely unusual, but it does call for some additional caution. Cal can’t afford to be thrown into the Gotham foster system.

“Seventeen,” Cal relents, still lying. “For another few months.”

Cop makes another doubtful noise, and Stranger hisses slightly through his teeth. “Jim, your help an’ all is ‘preciated-” His tone makes it abundantly clear that it’s not. “-but we got it handled from here. ‘Sides, you might wanna clear out before Mr. Cobblepot comes back here t’ check on our young friend.”

The Cop - Jim - makes some type of noise, relenting. There’s a slight pause, then his footsteps fade away. Cal winces slightly, swiping at his mouth - he’s going to be tasting blood for a while if he bit his tongue somehow. Stranger grunts, crossing the room briefly, before his footsteps come back over and what feels like a damp cloth is pressed into his hand. “Clean yourself up, kid. You wanna head home?”

“No, I’m - I’m good.” Cal breathes out, roughly scrubbing over his face. His cheek throbs, his nose bursting with almost-blinding pain, and he can feel a small trickle of blood starting again. “I’m - It’s fine, I’ll be alright. How many hours left have I got?”

Stranger almost laughs, almost scoffs, and ends up making a noise with his throat that sounds like he’s been choked. “Only a couple of hours, kid. Ain’t nobody going to get on your case if you leave. It’s goin’ to be a rough house for th’ rest of the night now, anyway. Blood always stirs up th’ sharks, y’know? My advice, clear off home. Ain’t nobody goin’ to judge you.”

Cal pauses, dropping the icepack to his side, and blinks up at Stranger. Uncertainty twists through him, and he swipes the cloth over his face again, before relenting. He does really want to just sleep. Sleep off whatever this nightmare of a day was. “Okay. I’ll, um.. Pay for the glass I broke.”

Stranger scoffs. “Nah, we don’t give two shits about that. Got plenty of glasses. They break all th’ time. You need help stitchin’ up that cut, though?”

“Huh? Oh-” Cal presses the cloth to his face, where the guy had first hit him. He’d been wondering why it was stinging so badly. He must have been wearing a ring, or something. “No, I got supplies at home.”

“Alright. Don’t get beat up on your way there, kid.”

——————

“Cain! What happened to you?!”

Cal blinks, half-startled as Stella grips him by the shoulders, practically yanking him down to her level. She’s already fussing, poking at the medical strips he’d put over the cut on his cheek last night, and Cal blinks hard, hissing through his teeth. “I just got into - a disagreement with someone. It’s fine. Don’t worry.”

“What else am I supposed to do?” Stella releases his shoulders, instead placing both her hands on her hips and probably glaring up at him. She shakes her head hard, her hair flying out around her. “You’re the nicest guy I’ve ever met, who would even want to get into a fight with you? Did you get mugged?”

Cal shifts uncomfortably, sticking his hands in his pockets, and shrugs. He thinks Stella squints at him, before she huffs. “Okay, fine, keep your secrets Mister. Anyway, I was reading through the books you asked about the other week, and I was thinking - what if we studied together? You go to my school, right? I can be a great help, even if I’m a grade or two lower than you. I want to be a scientist someday, you know.”

Cal blinks, hard. He should really be focusing his time on trying to find a way to get back - and he still hadn’t been able to actually get into a school, but… but maybe he could help Stella with her work? It would be something to do, especially because Bobbi had advised him not to go to work for the next couple of days. Something about lurkers, whatever that means.

“Okay, I - I mean, I don’t- Stella, I don’t go to your school, though?”

“Of course you do!” It sounds like she’s grinning, already grabbing his arm and tugging him along. “Especially since I hacked into the school database to see what classes you had, and then put your name in the system. Come tomorrow, we can hang out all the time, instead of having to wait for weekends or after school is done.”

“Stella, you - you what? Wait what? You know hacking?”

“Duh, anyone who’s anyone knows how to hack a simple database system like that.” Stella snorts, almost sounding offended as she drags Cal further down the street. He thinks they’re heading towards Robinson Park. “I may be thirteen, Mister, but I’m not stupid. Hacking, theoretical science, physics, other studies - I know it all!”

Cal’s mind goes blank, and he stares at the smaller figure, almost tripping over his own feet again. “Uh Stella? What did you say your last name was, again?”

“Stella Morgan, why? Hey, you better not decide to report me cause I got you into school.” She drops his arm, putting her hands on her hips again and pivoting on one foot to face him, walking backwards. “I know fifteen different ways I can get out of detention, tops, so you better not even try-”

“No, no that’s not what I was going to-” Cal feels almost breathless, his heart suddenly hammering away inside his ribs. Maybe he’d been looking all wrong. He’d been trying to track down Maxie’s mom this whole time, he’d thought she would have at least been sixteen, but maybe- “Stella, did you say you know theoretical science?”

“Yeah! Well - I mean, I’m still learning all of that stuff, but I’m pretty good at it. Didn’t you hear me earlier when I said I want to be a scientist? I want to study quantum mechanics, and work at S.T.A.R Labs and -” Stella breaks off, stopping dead. “Cain? You look like you’re going to be sick. It’s not that difficult, all that stuff. I find it easy so-”

“Do you think you could help me build a time machine?” Cal blurts out, his heart pounding. He can’t believe it. He wasted so much time, and she was - Maxie’s mom was right here, she was his first friend here, and he was so stupid, he should have picked up on it right away. She had the exact same nature as Maxie.

Stella has paused, and Cal suddenly feels himself go pale. He shouldn’t have said that, he can’t risk - she grabs his arm, dragging him off the main road and down what seems like one of the alleyways. Her voice is excited, almost gleeful. “I knew it! I so knew it, I knew there was something a bit off about you, like you sound like you're from Gotham but also not, and also you walk weirdly -”

Cal has the briefest of moments to almost be offended at that, before Stella is grabbing his shoulders and practically shaking him with excitement, her voice lowered but still overflowing with excitement. “You’re from a different time, aren’t you Cain? No wonder you have such a strange name, I bet everyone is named like that where you’re from! Or - I guess that would be when, huh? Tell me everything, tell me what it’s like! I want to hear everything, and - oh of course you have to tell me if-”

“Stella wait, hang on-” Cal grips her wrists, unable to stop the hopefulness creeping into his voice. “You’re not going to call me crazy or anything? If I - If I really was from a different time?”

“Cain-” Stella huffs, releasing his shoulders. “This is Gotham. It’s built on a cursed swamp, and our Mayor is a well-known criminal that made crime licences. Someone coming from the future, or the past is like, the least weird thing that could have happened this week.”

Notes:

And now it really starts to kick off :>

Chapter 6: Enter from Stage Left

Notes:

Hello lovelies! First off, sorry about missing the Friday upload, I got a touch too busy and overwhelmed with life stuff. On the plus side, guess who's now on anxiety meds! Hopefully those start working soon, so I can stop constantly feeling like one of those scribbly cat pictures. Anyway! This chapter is a tad bit heavier than the previous ones, so just a heads up. Hope y'all enjoy :>

TWs; kidnapping, interrogation, choking, starvation implications, sleep deprivation, imprisonment

Cal shifts his position, his legs hanging off the high ledge. The wind swirls around him, tugging and plucking at his hair, drying the last of the tears still fresh on his cheeks. Cal rubs a palm over his face, breathing out shakily and leaning back against the roof of the Clocktower. If he fell now… He doesn’t have a grapple, so - well, he’d better just not fall. It’s always nice to be back in his suit, even if his patrols have just been perimeter checks around the Clocktower. 

He sweeps his hair back up, tugging on the cowl properly. He’s been sitting up here for hours now, just listening to the city. Gotham still sounds different, an underlying hum of restlessness and almost discontent. Cal takes a deep breath, feeling out for the shadows around him. He should get down, go to bed - he’d heard the Clocktower strike ten a few minutes ago now.

He stands, the ledge thin under his feet. The shadows clinging to the crevices of the roof ripple and peel towards him as he reaches out for them, coiling up around his legs and flowing over his suit until only his cowl is free. His vision flickers to life with stark neon outlines as the shadows creep up over his head, and a sickening rush goes through Cal as he feels himself dissolve.

It’s over in a few moments, his feet landing hard on the upper level of the Clocktower, and Cal practically throws the shadows off himself. He has to struggle to not be sick, ripping his cowl off and heaving in giant breaths. He’s only started trying to do that in the past few days. Small distances, practicing his shadow powers. He thinks Batman would be at least a little impressed how quickly he’s improving. His arm aches and trembles, and Cal rubs it, going over to curl up in his hammock.

He wears the suit to sleep most nights, grateful for the inbuilt insulator. It’s getting colder, and Cal already knows that winter is going to be a struggle. He needs to secure the Clocktower as much as possible before then. At least the roof doesn’t have any holes, but the way the wind sweeps through the broken glass of the clock face is already proving to be a problem. He’s going to have to find some way to fix that, and still have an access way for the small group of bats to get in and out. He falls asleep to their soft sounds most nights, and he knows there’s a couple of babies. He doesn’t interact with them, and they leave him alone for the most part. Their sounds are comforting, though. He can almost pretend he’s in the Batcave some nights.

He can’t sleep, the hammock swaying softly back and forth between the two posts. His mind keeps drifting back to his home. Dick would probably still be out on patrol. Would Tim or Damian be Robin, though? He knows that if Batman was also gone, Dick would have taken up the mantle. Which probably means that Damian is Robin now. Red Hood would still be out doing his usual things - Cal isn’t actually too sure what he and Tek do on patrol. Fight Black Mask, probably, and gangs. Tek would - he’d be scouring the earth for him, if he was convinced he disappeared. Does Tek know about the whole timestream thing? He’d stay close to Red Hood, even if he did. Tim would also be looking.

Cal hopes nobody is grieving too much. He’s coming back. He has so much to make up for, and he - he should start keeping a log or something of his time here. Past Gotham has some form of technology, maybe he could get a small camera. He could do recordings. Make his own reports. It’s something to do to keep him sane. Stella has also been a great help, happily rambling and throwing around ideas and theories for the time machine. They’re still trying to figure out a power source that would be strong enough. At the moment they're planning on connecting it to Gotham's power grid, somehow.

Cal rubs a hand over his face, his hand spasming slightly. The air tastes like smoke, and he focuses his efforts on breathing. He really should sleep, even if it’s getting harder each day to wake up. He knows that’s just due to a lack of food though. He’s hungry more often than not, now. He knows he’s already lighter than he’s been in recent years. Alfred is going to give him such a lecture when he gets home, and he’ll probably be banned from patrol until he’s a healthy weight again. Even Tek would probably be able to pick him up, with the weight he is right now. Although, isn’t Tek supposedly a little stronger than he should be?

Some part of him gets overly stressed though, whenever he has to spend the money he earns, even on food. It’s not as if he’s saving up for anything, so he should really quit that and just buy more non-perishable food. He doesn't want to give himself refeeding syndrome, and he’s sick of the taste of nutrition bars. They all have the same sawdust-y taste and texture. They give him all the nutrition he needs to keep moving, though. He also doesn’t have a way to keep food fresh, although when winter comes around he could probably make a snow fridge. Does it snow in Gotham? It has to, places have frozen over before Mr. Freeze was a thing, right?

It's New Jersey, of course it snows in the winter.

Cal groans quietly, half-tumbling out of the hammock. This is useless. His mind just keeps going around in circles, always drifting back to home. He feels almost restless, impatient for something to happen. He needs to go for a walk, as tired as he is. Maybe stop by the Iceberg Lounge, see if they need a hand, despite Bobbi advising him to stay away from it for a few days. It’s only been three days since he fought that customer, and Bobbi had said to keep a low profile. He needs something to do though, and he wants to check he's not actually fired.

Cal is pulling a thin hoodie and long pants on over his suit before he even properly realises. Maybe there’s a small store nearby where he could get something that’s not a nutrition bar. Places are always open late in Gotham, and if he heads to… Cal pauses, frowning slightly as he tugs on the only other jacket he owns. Realistically, the more well-off places would all be closed now, so his best chance would most likely be over near Crime Alley. He knows from experience that poorer sections are often less uptight about stupid things like curfews.

Maybe - maybe he could use his shadows? He’s been doing it to get up and down from the Clocktower roof, and he knows he’s able to get from Wayne Manor to Crime Alley, although he’d practically passed out when he did that one time. He can travel small distances, maybe a few hundred metres. And he really does want to have a proper meal.

Cal shakes his head hard, turning and starting to head down the stairs. He can’t be reckless about this, although - although if he argues with himself that it was purely for practising his powers, then… He shuts his eyes, feeling out for the shadows around him. He can feel them flow up around him, and then he dissolves.

He almost panics again, his eyes flying open. Bright neon colours dazzle him, and he blinks hard. It feels almost like he’s holding his breath, something fragile and trembling in his chest as he hesitantly starts to move. Colours and shapes flow around him like he’s in a stream, and Cal stumbles out of the shadows, gasping in a harsh breath as his hand hits brick. He blinks hard, shaking all over, sinking down into a crouch as the shadows stream off him like oil. Where is he?

It takes at least five minutes for him to stop shaking and feeling nauseous enough that he can lift his head. Shapes and objects slowly sketch themselves into his vision, and he blinks hard. It - It looks like he’s in Gotham Proper, the upper section of it, but that’s impossible. He’d been in the shadows for barely a minute, there’s no way he would have been able to travel over half the city. Although that would explain the dizzying sensation rushing through him, and the urge to throw up. His arm is pulsing and aching like an overworked muscle.

He really needs to figure out what exactly these powers of his can do. But, since he’s here already… Cal shakily stands, swallowing hard. He can smell hot food nearby, and so he follows that. Maybe there’s a night market.

God, he misses going to night markets.

——————

Cal yanks the shadows over himself, his eyes wide and trembling, holding his breath as a figure flits over the alleyway. He’s exhausted, and it’s taking more and more effort to cover himself. His arm hasn’t stopped hurting for hours now, each time he has to use his powers making agony ripple through him.

It’s been two days of this non-stop. He can’t even go back to the Clocktower to hide, the paranoia that these others will find him there if he lets his guard down for more than a second. There’s people after him. It started when he left the Clocktower that night, stumbling upon a midnight marketplace. It’s been two days since he’s eaten.

He doesn’t know who they are, or how he got their attention, but they keep jumping out when he least expects it. Sharp hands and completely covered in a strange sort of outfit. It’s gotten to the point - it’s only been two days of this - where Cal feels unsafe being completely solid. This is worse than any group home he’s ever been in.

He’s exhausted, he’s terrified, he can’t sleep, and he hasn’t trusted himself to go anywhere else but the darkest places of Gotham. Cal sinks down further into the shadows, breathing out slowly. His eyes are begging to close, but he can’t afford that. He breathes shallowly, ensuring his cowl is firmly tucked under his hoodie and jacket. He’s not willing to risk ditching his only few clothes, but with how exhausted he is, he can't be sure that nobody has spotted him. Better to be safe than sorry.

He closes his eyes for the briefest of moments, struggling as icy shards of agony race through him, and when he opens his eyes again, everything is painted in neon. The alleyway shifts and moves around him as Cal flows through the streets, choking down the nausea and terrifying sensation of not being solid.

He stumbles out of the shadows, reforming. His legs collapse under him, and Cal heaves, his entire body shaking. He’s barely any closer to the Clocktower, and for a moment he doesn’t think he’s even able to get up. He can feel his arm spasming, the limb completely refusing to hold his weight as he tries to push himself up, crashing back down against the cobblestones. The first sob breaks out of him unbidden. The next one he tries to choke back. On the third, he hears the familiar feather-light step on the ledges above that makes chilling fear shoot through him.

His hands tremble as he fumbles with the cowl, tugging it up and over his head as he hears someone drop into the alleyway behind him.

Cal surges up, adrenaline flooding his body, and spins. He almost falls, crashing against the wall, and swings out towards the faint grey shape in his vision. A sharp hand catches his fist. He tries to tug away, but they grip his hand tighter, and Cal can’t summon enough energy to let himself dissolve, slowly sinking to his knees. His chest spasms, and he trembles, the figure cocking their head in a way that achingly reminds him of Bruce.

“Peace.” The figure rasps, sounding like they’ve never properly talked before. Fear floods Cal’s body and he almost chokes, trying to force his legs to obey as his hand is gripped tighter in the claws. “Peace,” the figure repeats. “All will be balanced.”

There's the softest fall of a footstep behind him, and Cal’s body lights up with white, crackling pain. His vision almost flutters, the white mist pulsing as he feels his body seize, then the agony takes over and he’s gone.

——————

He wakes in fits and starts, his entire body singing with a pain that goes so much further than just bone-deep. His arms are twisted, secured behind him with his forearms pressing together in a way that pulls his shoulders back. His hoodie and jacket are gone, his cowl still firmly tugged down over his face. Cal heaves out a breath, forcing his body to move, to roll, pushing himself up with his shoulder. Misty white covers his vision, the harsh sketched outline of bars and walls appearing. He’s in a cell. He’s in agony.

He trembles, slumping back against the wall and trying to take breaths. He tries to reach out for his shadows, and an agony slams into him so fiercely that a weak choking noise slips from him. It sounds far too loud in this deathly silence. His vision flickers and shudders, and Cal closes his eyes to sink back into that peaceful whiteness. He can - he can pretend this is a training exercise. It’s just a training exercise. He’s not going to panic, or freak out, because it’s a training exercise. If he repeats that enough, then he won’t be scared anymore.

He’s still terrified, forcing his breathing to stay slow and calm. Whoever put him here is probably watching. In for five, hold for six, out for eight. Repeat. He can hear his heart pounding away inside his ribcage, each beat sending a small shockwave of pain through him. Breathe. Relax. Stay calm, stay alert, treat it like a training exercise. He opens his eyes again, breathing out, a small hitch going through him at the grey figure that’s suddenly appeared on the other side of the bars.

They tilt their head, reaching out, and Cal freezes as a section of the bars flicker in his vision, swinging outwards. They approach, and Cal forces himself to his feet, choking back another sound of pain and moving away from the wall. He’s had practice hiding pain. Their touch burns as the figure reaches out, gripping his upper arm and moving behind him. He assumes he’s supposed to walk, breathing out slowly as he starts to move, the figure gripping his arm with sharp hands. They don’t speak.

The slight echoing of his footsteps grows louder, opening up into what sounds like a chamber, after many minutes of small-feeling corridors. The figure presses down lightly, and Cal swallows hard, going to his knees. There’s movement, rustling, the hand leaving his arm, and Cal suddenly becomes aware of several heartbeats. He has to stop the terrified shudder going through him at the realisation the one who brought him here has his heartbeat so quiet he can barely hear it.

The silence weighs heavy, and Cal stares stubbornly ahead at the several grey figures now above him. The room sketches itself out, a high-ceiling in a chamber, with members seated in a semi-circle facing him. Looking down at him. Like some sort of council. Cal swallows down his terror. He’s not going to be the first to speak. He can practically feel their gazes boring into him, waiting for him to crack. He breathes softly. Just a training exercise.

“Speak your name.”

Cal doesn’t flinch, breathing out slowly at the sharp voice that almost seems to cut through the air. He can hear the figure behind him shift as he doesn’t speak, the merest sound of metal sliding together reaching his ears. He breathes, in for five, hold for six, out for eight. “Mockingjay.”

His voice is quiet, although steady, and a small wave of relief washes through him. He's had years of pretending to be calm when all he wants to do is run. He can do this.

Silence greets him. He has to consciously stop his body from trembling, bright sparks of pain still racing through him. His arm pulses and throbs, aching with a burning coldness he’s never felt before. He feels like he’s about to completely collapse, exhaustion trying to tug him down again. He focuses on the feel of the hard stone under his knees. He needs to wait, to gather information as much as he can. He’s so tired. He wants to go home. He's so hungry.

“What is your place of origin?”

He’s being interrogated, he realises. He should have figured that out sooner, what with the clear ‘prisoner vibe’ and the way he’s currently on his knees. He’s going to blame that on the sleep deprivation and hunger. He stays silent. There’s the sharp sound of metal again, and the figure behind him moves closer. Cal presses away the trembling in his limbs. Something at his throat, curving from behind in the form of a sharp clawed hand, and he chokes in terror before forcing himself silent again. It tightens, and this time he chokes for real.

His air escapes him.

Cal jerks, trying to press away, but the figure is at his back. The other hand digs into his shoulder, keeping him on his knees. His entire body ripples in agony, and the hand squeezes tighter. He desperately tries to reach for his shadows, the burning agony ripping through him and bringing a hoarse choked cry from his throat. Tighter, and he can feel the sharpness at the ends of the fingers digging into his skin. He struggles to get a breath, unable to move. His vision shutters and goes almost blank, and the hand loosens.

Cal sucks in a breath, the hand still at his throat. It starts squeezing again. Panic flares through him and he chokes again, trying to jerk back. His small noises sound so incredibly loud, his heart hammering in his ears, and he gasps for air. “G-Gotham-”

It loosens again, and he can’t help from coughing, shakes running through him. He can’t help it, the mist in his vision swimming and making everything blurry. His shadows won’t come, his arm going numb from pain. Cal shudders, unable to move as the figure at his back holds him still. One hand on his shoulder and the other wrapped lightly over his throat.

There’s more silence, and he squeezes his eyes shut behind the cowl. These people want something from him, but he doesn’t quite know what. He doesn’t know why they chased him down, or why they took the rest of his clothes, leaving him just in his suit. They’ve taken his utility belt too, he realises too late.

“Talon,” The voice betrays no emotion, and Cal fights to not flinch as the hand at his throat tightens just the slightest bit, almost in reflex. There’s more silence, the merest of shifts in the air, and one of the figures holds up its hand. “The Court of Owls holds the Mockingjay in contempt. Garner its utmost cooperation before next Council.”

Cal barely has time to process the words, before the figure is hauling him back to his feet by both his throat and shoulder. He almost chokes again, his feet stumbling slightly as Talon turns him around and starts pushing him away. Cal has half a mind to start fighting them, before another figure appears out of seemingly nowhere, taking hold of his other shoulder as the hand at his throat drops away. He recognises the heartbeat from the alley, and echoes of pain run up and through his spine as he stiffens. The hand squeezes lightly, their voice still low and raspy, almost a whisper as they enter the tunnels again. “Peace. The Court has not yet sentenced you to die."

Cal shudders out another breath, almost stumbling again as a tremor goes through him. He feels like he’s going to be sick, his heart thudding wildly in his ears. Their footsteps are barely there, and Cal finds himself focusing on the steady beat of the heart behind him. He doesn’t know why the other one doesn’t have a heartbeat anymore. He’s shaking, and he can’t quite suppress it this time.

He collapses to the floor of his cell when they push him in. There’s a small beat of silence, then he hears the door swing back into place and he’s left alone. Cal heaves in a breath, pressing his forehead to the floor. They want something from him, and he's certain they’re going to hurt him until he gives it. What could they want?

His powers, maybe?

Cal grits his teeth, painfully shoving himself up again and stumbling to the corner of his cell. He slides down the wall, pressing his forehead to his knees, and tries to breathe. He needs to get out, then he needs to find out what this Court of Owls is clearly planning, and then - then he needs to go home. He wants to go home.

He hopes that nobody is mourning him too much.

Notes:

Cal is not having a very good time atm

Chapter 7: You Wear a Phoenix for a Reason

Notes:

Hello everyone, I have returned with the proper chapter 7. Thanks again to Gecko for letting me know I accidently posted Chapter 6 twice, oops. Anyway, kinda heavy chapter again, but I promise that next one things will start evening out and looking up a bit for Cal, in a way. Let me know if there's any tags I might have missed for warnings, cause I'm still working on that ^-^
Enjoy!

TWs; torture, description of injury, interrogation, morbid thoughts, breakdowns, flashbacks, mentions of past abuse, mentions of toxic masculinity, slight starvation.

It’s almost five days before the creature named Talon brings him before the Court again. Five days, at least by Cal’s own unreliable count. He noticed a routine after what felt like the second day. The no heartbeat Talon would come and stand outside the bars, facing him. Cal was fine with that. It was when they opened the bars and stepped inside that was the problem. Fighting back didn’t help. They only ever stopped once Cal was limp on the floor, trying to stay conscious. Then they’d leave, and the Talon with the heartbeat would come in, give him water and fix the worst wounds. Then the no-heartbeat Talon would come back. It happens four times every 24 hours. Almost like clockwork.

Cal knew what they were doing. He called it ‘bad cop-good cop’. Nightwing had told him once it was an effective interrogation tactic. One person was awful and inflicted pain, and the other played being nice, offering remedies and promising freedom. Cal understood why it was effective now. The Talon with a heartbeat had given him food, twice, almost as an afterthought. He hadn’t touched it, the thoughts of poison or some other drug lingering at the forefront of his mind, despite the way his stomach begged him to eat. He’d stopped actively noticing the hunger, which was definitely bad. He was so, so tired.

The fourth day had been the worst. Cal had managed to finally pull his shadows over himself to hide. He’d fallen asleep, finally. He’d woken to agony, claws deep in his skin and tearing furrows across his stomach. The Talon with the heartbeat had done something to make them heal. Something so screamingly painful that Cal didn’t remember anything other than the pain, awaking again with three long scars stretching from his hip, running up the base of his ribs. The Talon with no heartbeat hadn’t come back.

——————

His knees hit the stone floor again, and Cal can feel the eyes of the Court looking down at him. He keeps his head low, breathing shallowly, feeling the cold air brush against the rips and tears in his suit. His cowl was practically untouched. He can feel where his suit sticks against his skin in some places. Some of the wounds had just started scabbing over. The Talon with the heartbeat had only ever sewn up the deepest ones, their movement swift and precise. He feels like he's only conscious because of the pain demanding his attention.

“Does the Court have the Mockingjay’s compliance?”

It takes a beat before he realises the question is directed at him, and not at the still and silent figure almost hovering close behind him. He swallows hard, squeezing his eyes shut, and hopes that Dick will forgive him. He can't go home if he dies here.

He nods, once.

There’s a rustle throughout the room, and for a moment Cal thinks it sounds like the softest of waves against sand. Something tugs behind him, and the ropes around his arms fall away. He blinks, hard, repressing a shudder as he slowly brings his hands around to the front. His shoulders protest, the muscles in his arms quivering slightly at the new position after so long. He sags slightly, pressing his hands into his lap.

"The Court wishes to know where the Mockingjay has come from. Do not lie."

It's not a question, but the shifting from behind him prompts an answer in his throat. He shudders through another breath, his head swimming with pain. "I told you, I'm - I'm from Gotham."

There's a long silence, so long that Cal thinks maybe he's said the wrong thing. The words have left a bitter taste in his mouth and he shuts his eyes, the faint thought of resistance flitting over his mind. Does it really matter, though? He can't go through more pain. He could lie. How would they know?

“Remove your cowl, Mockingjay.”

Cal freezes, his eyes opening wide behind the protection of his mask. There’s the slightest of shifts behind him, and he trembles. There’s no way he’s removing his cowl, and he scrambles for an excuse, choking out his words. “It helps me see-”

“The Mockingjay does not need to see anymore.”

Cal hears the Talon shift behind him. His eyes blur in desperation. He moves, reaching out for his shadows. He can't let them kill him. He has to get home!

Agony tears through him. He screams as his vision fills with darkness and he feels himself dissolve.

He hits concrete hard, rolling and almost plummeting over the top of a roof. For a moment his mind flashes into a confusing jumble of foul air and terror and a small thing wrapped in his arms. His eyes shoot open and he stops himself just before he goes over the edge. Cal struggles for breath, grappling with a lungful of air that’s desperate to scream. He breathes out slowly, pressing his hands over his mouth.

He can’t afford to be found. Cal trembles, tears beading in his eyes. He can’t do that again. His arm burns, and he slowly pushes himself up. By some miracle, it’s nighttime, he can feel it. Can hear it in the way Gotham seems to have slowed down just the merest bit. He should get back to the Clocktower while he can. He needs to use his shadows to get there.

What the hell is the Court of Owls?

It’s with short painful bursts that he drags himself back, tears blurring what little sketchy vision he has, ice-cold pain spiking through him every time he turns to shadows. It’s like being torn apart and dunked in a freezing bath each time, and Cal has the deep sinking feeling he might have pushed too hard with his powers.

The musty rotten smell of wood is practically a welcome as he gives one last effort, his shadows swarming over him and depositing him on the Clocktower floor. Cal gasps for breath, half-curling into a ball. He shouldn't cry, he’s out of that place now, he’s back in the Clocktower, where he’s safe. A sob breaks out of his chest. His hands shake and tremble as he finds every rip, every tear and gash in his suit, the skin beneath raw and painful. His hand grazes over the large tatters in the material at his front, a shuddering broken noise escaping him as his fingers brush the scarred skin beneath. Phantom pain flares through him so strong that it steals his breath away, another sob breaking out of him.

He can feel his tears soaking into the wood beneath his cheek. He should move, he should eat a nutrition bar, he should use the first aid kit on himself, he should fix his suit. Cal curls up as tight as his aching body will allow, and cries. He wants his dad. Dick always knows how to make everything better, and Cal has never felt so alone before. He cries until his eyes slip shut and unconsciousness comes up to wash over him like the waves of an ocean, gently pulling him down into its depths.

—————

Cal stands in the middle of the Batcave, listening to the sounds of the bats high above, focusing on his heartbeat and his breathing and most definitely not listening to the lecture that Dick is trying to give him. He keeps his eyes low, as taught, not quite looking up at Dicks’ face but not looking at the floor either. Hands loosely by his sides, feet spaced slightly apart. His parents hated it when he looked like he wasn’t paying attention, so he makes sure to nod and murmur a soft apology or acquisition in all the right places. He thinks he’s doing pretty well. His heart is trying to escape out of his throat. He knows what comes after the lecture.

His side is burning, but he can hide that. He wasn’t supposed to be hurt, anyway, so this must have been his own fault. It’s not as if it matters though, because he knows what comes next. His knuckles hurt. Cal keeps his face impassive as the lecture goes on, blinking occasionally. Why does he feel like crying? Why is guilt twisting up in his chest and threatening to choke him? His parents are mad at him. He hasn’t felt like crying when they’ve yelled at him in over a year. He got into a fight, didn’t he? The way his breath hitches and his hands clench, knuckles throbbing slightly with small pulses of pain, is telling enough. That must be why his side hurts as well.

Cal nods again, blinking slightly, a wash of mortification going through him as he feels tears slip down his face. Fear follows quickly after. His dad hates it when he cries when they’re yelling at him. He says it makes him weak, that real men don’t cry. And Cal is a young man, so he shouldn’t cry. He doesn’t dare move to try and wipe them away, the salty liquid making a soft sound as it hits the metallic floor. Maybe they won’t notice?

The figure in front of him takes a step forward, their hand raising suddenly. Cal shuts his eyes, his breath stalling in his throat, and braces for the inevitable hit. They saw him crying.

“-at me? Cal, kiddo, hey. Hey, just take some deep breaths for me, alright? Cal?”

The voice almost cuts into him, and Cal chokes out a breath, forcing himself to try and breathe evenly. It’s not working, and his parents will be so angry at him and - his parents aren’t here, though, are they? He’s not there. He’s - he’s in Gotham.

“Can you copy my breathing, buddy? In for five, hold it for six, breathe out for eight. That’s it, just like that.”

Dick is crouching in front of him when he opens his eyes, the dark grey figure breathing slowly and loudly. It should be grating, the sound should be making him want to crawl out of his skin and run until he collapses. Dick’s heartbeat is strong, steady and firm. Reassuring. Cal shuts his eyes again, daring to move and wipe away the tears, his breath shuddering in his throat. He wants a hug. He can’t ask for one, not while Dick is still mad at him.

Dick seems to read his mind though, because in the next moment there are strong and steady arms wrapping around him and Cal practically collapses against his dad. He wants to stop crying. He can’t seem to. Dick holds him, one hand rubbing his back, and the other carding through the hair at the back of his head. Cal listens to his heartbeat, steady and strong.

“Cal, do you know why the Nightwing symbol is a phoenix?”

The question is unexpected, and makes Cal’s breath shudder through him. He tucks himself closer to Dick’s heart, closing his eyes as he shakes his head slightly. He’d never put much thought into it before. Dick’s arms tighten, not painfully, safe and securing. It's not making him feel trapped.

“It’s a promise, Cal.” Dick’s voice sounds slightly unsteady, the confidence in it wavering. “When I was a little bit older than you are now, when I first became Nightwing, Bruce and I were fighting a lot. I ended up leaving, and becoming Nightwing, and I chose a phoenix as a - a promise to myself. It’s a promise that no matter what, even if it feels like the world is burning down around me, I will get back up again. It’s a little childish looking back-”

“I don’t think so,” Cal’s voice cracks as he speaks, shifting slightly to scrub away some of the tears still tracking down his face. “Phoenix's are - are born again from their own ashes. You were - it - it makes sense to me.”

Dick laughs slightly, tucking his face into Cal’s hair as the last of the tension leaves him. “See, I knew you were a smart kid. That’s - also why I think Bruce suggested you have the Nightwing symbol too. You’re such a strong, smart kid, Cal, and - and I know you’ve definitely been feeling like your own world has burnt down. But we have this symbol to remind us-”

He shifts, pulling back slightly and tapping the centre of Cal’s chest where he knows his own symbol is spread with its wings wide. “-that we’ll get back up again. Can you promise me that? That no matter what, you’ll get back up again, no matter what happens. Even if not for anyone else, but for yourself.”

Cal nods, rubbing hard at his eyes. “I - I will. I promise, Dick. I’ll get back up again, no matter what. Just like a phoenix.”

————

Cal’s body is aching as he wakes back up, an errant sob trailing out of him. For a moment he doesn’t know where he is, his head trying to sort through everything. Why is he on the floor, and why does it smell old and musty and why is he in pain? He shudders in a breath, shivering slightly as he roughly pushes himself into a half-sitting position. His entire body burns.

Right, that’s right. He’s - he’s in the past, in Past Gotham. He’d escaped from… the Court of Owls. He’s in the Clocktower, and he can hear from the sounds outside that it's daytime. He’d barely made it back before collapsing. His entire body is stiff and sore, his arm burning and throbbing and his mouth is so, so dry. He can still feel Dick’s arms around him.

Cal shifts, swallowing hard as he rubs the last few tears from his face - he’d kept crying in his sleep, apparently, his breath hitching as he struggles to keep his dream from slipping through waking fingers. His fingers ghost over the slippery material of the phoenix on his chest, and he takes a deep, steadying breath. “I promised you, Dad. I - I can get back up. I’m going to get back up, and I’m going to come home. I promise. No matter what, no matter how long it takes. I’m going to come back home. I have to. For you, and Tek, and Maxie and - and everyone.”

The only response to his murmured words is the rough sound of the wind blowing through the broken parts of the clock face, but Cal does feel a little better from saying them. He drags in a breath, rubbing a hand over his face, and looks towards the giant clock. It takes a moment or two for it to sketch into his vision, and Cal tilts his head as he half-reads, half-guesses at the time. Just after midday. No idea what day it is, but that doesn’t matter right now.

Alright. He needs food and water, and to patch himself up. He knows he still has a few nutrition bars still, but his original thought still stands from several days ago; he needs proper food. For a split second he wonders if there would be any abandoned apartments, or any places he could rent for cheap, but - nobody is going to be making deals with a fifteen year old. Not even in Gotham. The Clocktower is the safest place for him anyway. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to make it a bit more homey, though. Or at least like a proper base of operations.

Cal eats the last couple of nutrient bars while he pulls out the first aid and survival kit from where he’d hidden it in a half-rotting pillar. For a brief moment, he congratulates himself on his genius for this being the one thing he didn’t carry with him at all times, and then abruptly mourns the loss of everything else he had in his utility belt. Not that there was much - nothing the Court of Owls could probably use - but it still stings. He’s going to try and get that back.

He thinks he does an alright job of patching himself back up, cleaning the shallow wounds sparingly with the antibacterial wipes and disinfectant that’s stored in the kit. He makes sure to run his fingers over the stitches the Talon had given him, wincing slightly at the biggest one on his upper arm. They feel fine, sore, but nothing ripped. At the very least, the non-heartbeat Talons’ cuts had been clean and easy to stitch. He has to take off his suit to properly patch himself up, swallowing back the swell of grief that goes through him when he feels just how damaged it is. He’s going to try and repair that. Somehow.

He honestly feels like more gauze pad, bandages and surgical tape when he’s done, swallowing down two of the painkiller pills stored in the first aid kit. Said first aid kit is now severely lacking in supplies, and Cal frowns, tugging on a pair of ripped jeans and a loose-fitting shirt. He needs to restock, he needs more clothes, and he needs… Actually, he should probably put more effort into securing the Clocktower. He should try and get things to do that, maybe rig a basic alarm system. He can do that, Tim was teaching him how. God, he misses Tim. He misses everyone.

He's going to find some way back to them.

——————

Cal really should have checked what day it was before he went wandering around Gotham in broad daylight. He skids around another corner, dodging people, the backpack of things heavy on his back. He can hear the two policemen not far behind, still intent on pursuing him. Well at least he knows it's a weekday now.

Cal ducks into an alleyway, biting back a choked groan as he drags what little shadows there are around him, feeling his body slip away. He shudders back into existence on a rooftop, immediately flattening himself. He slips the backpack off, clutching it tightly as he presses himself flat. He’s so far above the streets he doesn’t think the police could see him, but he doesn’t want to risk it. He can feel an almost hysterical laugh threatening to come out of him, and instead he drags in a breath, pushing his hand through his hair.

He thinks he’s safe, for now. And an even better bonus; he’d managed to stumble upon a junk store that had been selling all manner of things for dirt cheap. Good thing he'd hidden the money he'd earned from the Iceburg Lounge in the same place as the first aid kit back in the Clocktower.

He thinks the storeowner was a bit suspicious as to why a teenager was buying a whole lot of scrap and mechanical parts, but with it being Gotham, they hadn’t questioned it too much. Thinking of it though, they might have been the one to call the police on him, because Cal was certain there had been none in the area before he went in. Damn. He shouldn’t go back there again - at least not during the day. Who rats on a fifteen year old, though, that’s just - ‘that’s just an asshole move,’ he can practically hear Tek yell.

He breathes out shakily, finally allowing himself to sit up. It definitely isn’t a good sign that he’s starting to hear things. The last thing he needs is to develop some sort of hallucinatory coping mechanism. Step one to Not Doing That - more sleep, and food. He should probably try and do some more socialising as well, to prevent himself from - shit. Cal feels himself go cold, his eyes widening. Stella had hacked into her school system and registered his name last week. He’s missing classes.

Cal stumbles to his feet, gripping the bag tightly and taking a deep breath. His arm hurts, and he shakes his head briefly. There’s no shadows on the rooftops, not enough that he can get back down to street level. He has to do this the old-fashioned way. Cal slings the bag onto his back, and starts to make his way down. At the very least, the buildings around here are lower than what he’s used to, so that means he’s probably not in Old Gotham.

His entire body hurts, pain demanding his attention as he climbs. He has to ignore it, though, as much as he wants to just find a quiet dark corner and sleep for years. Or until he stops hurting.

He makes it down to street level easily enough, keeping an ear out as he starts to make his way back to the imposing figure of the Clocktower. He still needs to get clothes and food, some part of his mind now worrying about classes - and Stella hadn’t even told him what school she goes to! That’s also a problem, because if it was Gotham Prep - he’d never found out that she doesn’t go there, after all - then he couldn’t go anyway.

Cal shakes his head, running a hand through his hair and shoving it off his face. It’s better if he focuses on one thing at a time. Obviously, his overall goal is to stay alive, and get back home. He can work around other small details later, although with the state he’s in right now, even if he could get home within the next few weeks, he doesn’t know if his body would be able to handle it. It’s taking all he has right now to keep himself moving.

He needs to recover properly, but the twisting feeling in his gut tells him that he can’t afford to slow down enough to do that. And he now needs to remember to keep his guard up for the Court of Owls. No doubt they’ve already sent the Talons back out to look for him, which means he needs to keep a low profile. He’s going to have to use everything that Nightwing and Batman have taught him about staying hidden. Cal bites back a small groan.

This is going to be a long next month, at the very least.

Notes:

I hope everyone is oke after that chapter, I know this one had a lot of potentially triggering things in it, and I want y'all to be safe while reading. That's mostly the reason why I put these trigger warnings, especially at the start of the chapter.

Anyway, I'll continue to update tags if needed, and I'll see y'all on Friday with another upload ^-^

Chapter 8: What the Camera Witnessed

Notes:

Hello hello lovelies, so sorry for the slightly-late update by an hour or so, I stayed up way too late last night (this morning??) reading and subsequently slept in so. Whoops, my bad. Anyway, back with another chapter, and this one I've actually been really excited to upload because it's possibly one of my favourite chapters ^-^
Anyway, trigger warnings, and I'll be updating the tags at some point for the next couple of chapters, so keep an eye on those in the next couple of days ^-^

TWs; mentions of injury, slight allusions to bullying, fear gas, slight auditory hallucinations, mild medical stuff (mentions of stitches/ taking them out)

“Alright, so this is - Recording Log Four.” Cal rubs his eyes, suppressing a yawn. Records were good to keep, and he’s lucky he’d found a small cam-recorder in that junk shop. It’s easier for him than pen and paper, obviously. “I’ve been here - in Past Gotham, that is - for - for one month, and three weeks. Things have been… Um, well, they’ve been. I’m still here, which is - it’s both good and bad news. Good cause I’m - I’m obviously still here and alive, and bad because… well, because I’m still here. I don't… want to be.”

Cal takes a deep breath, rubbing a hand over his eyes again. He’s been getting slightly more sleep since Bobbi had decided to make his shifts end at 10pm now instead of 12. He remembers the almost-crushing hug the guy had given him when he’d gone back to the Iceberg Lounge. He'd only just barely managed to stop from screaming, the pressure on all his wounds almost unbearable.

Apparently they’d thought someone had made off with him. He’d had to reassure them he was fine, but he knows it’ll be a while until they take their eyes off him properly again, which makes things hard. It also doesn’t do much for his ever-growing paranoia. He needs to do something about that. He doesn't know what, though. He's got a million reasons to be paranoid right now.

“I’m meeting up with Stella again after school so we can go over some of the fail safes for this time device thing. She’s… She’s been a great help, I probably wouldn’t have made it as far without her. I - I wish someone else was here with me, though.” Cal swallows hard, shifting where he’s sitting on the floor. He thinks the small whirring camera is capturing most of the Clocktower behind him. He knows it doesn’t look pretty. “I’m going to make it home. I have to, everyone probably thinks I’m dead and I - I need to get back. Um. I’ve been mostly staying out of sight and - and not going on patrols since…”

He swallows nervously, half-holding up his Mockingjay suit. He’s still working on repairs for it, and he knows it looks in a bit of a sorry state. “Since this. I’m still trying to repair it and I - I think it’ll be finished by the time I go back home. It’s a bit hard since I don’t have many resources or anything, but I’m making do. I… I miss everyone.”

He takes a deep breath, shifting to put the Mockingjay suit back down and reaching out to turn off the camera. He pauses, his finger lightly hovering over the button he’d figured out was the ‘end recording’ one. The small device whirrs softly, almost like a cat’s purr in his hand. “I will get home. I promised. I - I promised myself I will keep getting back up, just like the Nightwing symbol means. For - for everyone back home, and - and for myself. Ending of Recording Log Four.”

—————

“This is Recording Log Seven,” Cal takes a breath, easing it out slowly against the aching of his ribs. He knows he doesn’t quite hide the wince. “It’s - it’s the twentieth of October. I’ve been in - in Past Gotham for two months, and three days.” He falters slightly, closing his eyes as he presses a hand to his ribs, taking a deep breath in. Some of the kids at school had taken a liking to him - and not really in a good way. He needs to remember to keep his head down in science. He needs to remember that he’s just Cain here, a faceless nobody, and he can’t draw attention to himself by appearing too smart.

“The progress on the time device is coming along well, I think. I mean, I can’t see what kinds of plans and schematics that Stella has drawn up, but she’s been explaining everything to me that she’s figured out so far. I’m still trying to figure out how far into the future we need to program it for. We’re thinking it’d be easier if we were able to pick a specific date, but with the limited tech we have right now, it’s going to just have to be the year, and I-” Cal steadies his breathing, reminding himself that his ribs aren’t broken, just bruised. He can’t breathe too deeply though. “I’m still figuring out just how far into the past I’ve gone. Bruce is fifteen here, so - so I think it’s about twenty years. At least. I need to do some more maths on that. It - It might be longer.”

Cal shifts, relenting and leaning back against the small boxes piled behind him. Reports like this were harder than just patrol reports, because those at least had a purpose. Cal doesn’t even know if he’ll be able to take this camera with him. Most likely not. “I - I’ve been trying to keep up with everything. Time device-wise it’s going alright, I-” Cal swallows hard, his voice breaking slightly. “I don’t know if we’ll even be able to accomplish it. I miss everyone so much, and I - I mean at least I’m not out on the street.”

He takes another breath, softly repeating his breathing exercises to himself. “I covered this in Log One, but I’ve been living in the Clocktower. I managed to rig up a pulley system to get heavier things up because fuck those stairs, honestly. I’ve also managed to make a rough security system, where a - well, it’s not a sonic alarm, but if anyone enters the Clocktower that’s not me, it’ll go off. They won’t be able to hear it either, unless they’ve got heightened senses like I do. I do have to disable and reset it every time I come and go though, which is a bit annoying. Thank - Thanks Tim, for teaching me how to - to make an alarm system. I can sleep a bit easier when I do now.”

He swallows again, pressing a hand to his eyes. “It’s… coming up to Halloween. I’ve managed to repair the Mockingjay suit, and I - I don’t know if I should go on patrol again or not. I’m still recovering from - from the whole…” He has to repress a shudder, his arms somewhat consciously wrapping over his front. He can practically feel the scars stretching across his torso through the thin shirt. He changes the subject, just for himself. “Anyway it’s getting colder, and I definitely need to try and insulate the Clocktower, because it’ll be winter soon.”

This log has gone on for too long, Cal realizes. He tries to keep these short, because he doesn’t know how much memory or storage this camera has. Probably not a whole lot. “I’ll - I’ve been trying to do these twice a week, but we’ll see. Ending of Recording Log Seven.” He has to steady himself a bit before he hits the ‘end recording button’. He remembers to save it this time as well. He’d forgotten to do that on Log Six, and had to record the entire thing again when he’d realised.

———————

“This is Recording Log Ten - wait no Eleven. I - Stella ow!” Cal yelps as the young girl practically crashes into his side, laughing. She giggles, leaning over and waving brightly at the camera.

“This is Stella Morgan, helping Cain do the recording of Log Eleven! We’ve made progress on the time device and Cain managed to find scraps and bits to start building it! I-”

“Stella, we have to record the date and everything-” Cal struggles back upright, half laughing as Stella makes an annoyed motion with her hand, huffing loudly. “A good scientist always records dates with their logs, you know. You can think of it like practice for when - it's practice, right?”

“Fine! It’s currently the seventh of November, around like, four thirty pm. School’s done for the day, and Cain and I are starting to work on building the time device - I said that already, didn’t I?”

“You did.” Cal can’t stop the small easy smile from spreading over his face as Stella plops onto the floor next to him. “I - Um. I mean, this is also usually where I state how long I’ve been in Gotham for, but-”

“You can do that,” Stella snorts slightly, leaning back on her hands and kicking her legs out in front of her. She narrowly avoids knocking the camera over where Cal has placed it on a stack of boxes. “I already know you’re from a different time, that’s why I’m helping you build this thing!”

“Right.” Cal nods, swallowing a little nervously. “Well, I’ve - I’ve been in Past Gotham for two months and three weeks. Like Stella said, we’ve got materials now to start building the time device, but we’re still trying to figure out… I mean we’ll have to build it first, and that’s going to be hard enough with how we don’t have, uh. Any actual building equipment right now, but we’re optimistic-”

“It’s always good to be optimistic!” Stella agrees, leaping up. “Like, Cain’s managed to really rig this old place up! And I brought fairy lights as you can see-” She darts for the camera, swiftly picking it up and spinning to show off the interior of the Clocktower. Cal can’t help laughing slightly, even if this log is going to end up being practically useless for research later. Maybe he can listen back on it occasionally though, to remind himself that he’s not too alone.

“-and he’s even started reinforcing the floor, cause I swear that if you breathe on some of these floorboards too hard they’ll collapse.” Stella has moved away, over near his hammock and is doing a large panning shot of the floor. Cal half laughs, standing up and stretching. His stitches twinge slightly, and he winces. He really does need to take them out but it’s a little hard by himself and he doesn’t want to - hang on, Stella is right here.

“Stella? Can I ask something a little, um. Weird?”

“You want me to take your stitches out for you since you can’t see them?” Stella turns, having already probably finished the log for the day, seeing as how she’d just put it down on another couple of boxes. “Sure, but I don’t have much experience with that.”

“I - how did you -” Cal abruptly realises he hadn’t managed to get a hoodie yet, and seeing as how the only clothes he could find were short-sleeved shirts, she’d definitely seen the one on his upper arm at some point. “Oh. Right. I keep forgetting people can see.”

“That’s a weird thing to forget. Okay, take your shirt off.” Stella is already grabbing the first aid survival kit from the pillar and approaching, and Cal snorts slightly, before doing as she says. Luckily she doesn’t falter, instead sitting down next to him and starting to deftly cut them out with the tiny scissors in the kit.

Later, Cal would hear the soft whirring of the small camera that signals it was still on, and turn it off without a second thought, saving the recording. He’ll hope it won’t have taken up too much storage.

———————

Cal can barely keep his eyes open, coughing and struggling through another breath, his hands shaking as he switches the camera on. His lungs are burning, and he keeps seeing bright colours and half-formed sketches through his vision. There’s the soft whirr of the camera, and he sucks in a breath, desperately trying to stop himself from shaking. “T - this is Recording Log F-Fourteen, I-” He has to focus on his breathing, shuddering and fighting through another wave of almost paralyzing fear. The voices are starting to build in his ears. He needs water soon, but he had to make this. He can last a little longer.

“Scarecrow - h-hit Old Gotham with a-a round of f-fear gas. I managed to h-help some civilians get to safety I - I think.” He struggles through the words, his eyes streaming and his lungs burning. He’s not going to get the taste out of his mouth for days, but he’ll get water soon. Already things are blurring around him. “It - it’s the s-seventeenth of No-No-November. I’ve been here for - for three months, and - and three d-days.”

He scrambles, forcing himself to move as the voices scream in his ears, cutting across the swaying shifting moving room to his hammock. Water. Bottle of water. He almost drops it through one of the holes in the floor, his hands are shaking so badly. Some of the fear clears slightly as he tips over half the bottle over himself, desperately drinking the rest. That taste is still in his mouth, but at least the voices aren’t screaming anymore. One of them taunts him to sleep, sleep, sleep. It sounds like Tek. Tek would never sound that mocking.

Cal stumbles back over to the camera, choking on his sobs as he fumbles for the ‘end recording’ button. He shakes his head, swiping a hand over his face, shaking with both cold and fear, mumbling. “Shouldn’t have done this, I should - waited until this passed. Bad, bad, bad.”

He’s able to save the recording, just as the voices start hissing things.

————————

“This is Recording Log Fifteen. I mean, technically it should be Fourteen, but I, um. I apparently recorded one while high off fear gas, although I don’t really know how useful that’s going to be for future reference. I still don't… remember why I did that.” Cal stretches slightly, idly pulling some shadows to himself and making them swoop and coil around his arm. It’s soothing, a nice self-taught trick he’d discovered by accident. “It’s the twenty first of November, and I’ve been in Past Gotham for… three months and six days.”

He breaths out slowly, dispelling the shadows with a flick of his hand. “There’s been an - an interesting update with the Court of Owls - I can’t remember if I’ve mentioned them before? I think I did, way back in Logs two and eight? I’ve definitely mentioned them before. I’ve managed to stay out of their way since…” His arm drifts to wrap around his midsection and Cal swallows hard, shaking his head. He still doesn’t like to think about it. He still gets stabbing phantom pains sometimes. At least right now, he’s mostly uninjured apart from a few scrapes and bruises, but that’s normal in Gotham.

“Since the first time. Anyway, the Court is back to - to whatever they were doing before, I guess? I followed a Talon back down to a section of the sewers, but I didn’t go any further than that. I don’t want to push my luck, I… barely got out the first time. They seem to be planning something, but I haven’t found out what yet. I’ll have to do some more stalking on that, honestly.”

Cal gives a small laugh, running his hand through his hair. He’s still keeping it long, but he thinks right now it might be getting a bit too long. He should ask Bobbi if he can trim it for him on his shift tonight, if he goes early. It’s only about 3pm now. “I think I might be giving Tim a run for his money in the stalking department. It's a bit hard when I can't actually see what they're doing, but it seems to be important. Something big they're preparing for.”

“Uh - update on the time device, we’ve managed to get some more equipment to help build it, but once we start, I don’t think we’ll be able to move it. Stella said the best design would have to be solidly rooted, and big enough to fit me inside. Like a chamber or something, so I might actually gut the storage closet downstairs and we’ll build it in there, unless.” Cal chews his lip, frowning slightly. “Actually, there’s bound to be accidents with it while we’re trying to test it, so we might need to find a different place. I don’t want to accidentally blow up the Clocktower. Maybe one of my contacts knows a place...”

He grins a moment later, half shaking his head. “God ‘my contacts’, I sound like Red Hood. They’re not really contacts as such, but just - just some people I’ve met who’ve given me a hand. It’s… going to be much harder coming back to the future. I know these people, I’ve sort of - sort of made some friends, and I know they don’t exactly adhere to the side of good. I don’t know if I’ll find them again in the future, although I - I mean it’s probably best that I don’t. I don’t know, I didn’t - I didn’t expect for people to actually help. I kind of owe it to Stranger. He’s the whole reason I haven’t been starving, although food is still... Well, I mean I know I’ve lost too much weight.”

Cal shakes his head again, trying to pull on a brave face. “Anyway, we’re finding a place to build the time device, and with the stuff we have, it’s an - well we haven't made any estimates yet for how long it’s going to take because - because I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

Cal presses his hands to his eyes, swallowing back the sudden rush of grief and longing that threatens to overtake him, shakily reaching out to end the recording. “I better get ready for work now… Next log will be better, hopefully.”

————————

“This is Stella Morgan, taking over the recording of Log - hey Cain, what number did you say you were up to? Cain! Oi, Cain! Cain, what number are we at?!”

“Recording Log Nineteen,” Cal pushes aside another box, pressing a hand to his eyes. They’ve been burning ever since the latest fear gas attack - lucky he’d managed to avoid breathing this one in, but whatever Scarecrow used was terribly potent. He really should invest in a gas mask that goes over his eyes. He could probably find one in the Narrows. “It’s the fifth of December.”

“Right, yeah! Fifth of December. Hey Cain, it’s only twenty or so days until Christmas! How cool is that, it’s goin’ to be a new year soon! God, I am actually so ready for this year to be over, Scarecrow and Penguin and everyone have really started to ramp things up. Hey, do you think they’re all maybe planning for a big end of year event? Can you imagine? That’d be an absolute nightmare.” Stella shudders, sticking the camera on top of a half-finished welded together piece of scrap.

“Yeah, it’d… It wouldn’t be good.” Cal swallows hard, rubbing at his eyes as Stella starts rambling to the camera like she’s on a talk show. It’s kind of comforting in a way, as Cal searches through another few boxes. He knew he put his multitool in one of these. Honestly the Clocktower floor had become so crowded with boxes and pieces of scrap metal it was a struggle to not trip over them and injure himself. “Hey Stella, have we found any places where we can build this yet?”

“Oh, yeah! Yeah, since we don’t want to risk blowing up the Clocktower, I thought what better place than to build it where there’s explosions all the time! I’ve found an old building on the outskirts of Park Row - although people are calling it Crime Alley, cause. Y’know all the crime that goes on there.”

Cal pauses, wincing slightly. It wasn’t the best place, but - but since nothing was levelled in Crime Alley in the present, it should be alright? He doesn't actually know how much of an impact on the future he's making by doing all this in the past. He’ll ask Red Hood to forgive him later. “Okay… As long as it won’t cause too much damage. I think you’ve covered everything we’ve done since my last update on Monday.”

————————

“Recording Log Twenty Four. Stella insisted I make this, but-”

“It’s almost Christmas, Cain! Merry Christmas to you, Merry Christmas to you, Merry-”

“Stella, that’s to the tune of Happy Birthday. Also it’s not actually Christmas yet-”

“What happened to your Christmas Cheer? Is it because the time device blew up? We’ll fix it, okay? We’ve built it once already, I think we just forgot to insulate it this time around. I can rework the design-”

“No, it’s. It’s alright. I knew it might happen. It’s - it’s progress, if nothing else. Recording Log Twenty Four, date is the twenty second. Four month mark of being in Past Gotham. End recording. Merry Christmas, Stella-”

 

Notes:

I do really love this chapter even if it's broken up into bits and pieces, mostly because it progresses us along the timeline without hopefully feeling like it's too rushed, or not making sense. Anyway, lovelies, hope you enjoyed and I will see you in the next chapter upload!
(FYI, for those of y'all that are following my Talon fic series, I'm hoping to get two chapters uploaded this weekend to make up for missing the last weekend upload ^-^)

Chapter 9: Explosions & Breakages

Notes:

Hello lovelies, I have returned once more. Not too much of a note at the beginning today, but I'm currently juggling a few things so yeye stuff and things, hope you enjoy the chapter :>

TWs; slight mention of injury/unconsciousness, self-worth issues

“This is Recording Log Twenty Eight.” Cal carefully places the camera down, hearing Stella behind him still fidgeting around with some of the locking mechanisms on the time device. “The date is the fifth of January, and I’ve been in Past Gotham for four months and two weeks-”

His voice breaks, and he has to shut his eyes, taking a deep breath. Four months and two weeks. By Friday, when he makes Log 29, he’ll have been in Past Gotham for two days longer than he was in present Gotham. The thought makes something small and fragile tremble in the centre of his chest, and he takes his deep breaths to calm himself. In for five, hold for six, out for eight.

“Cain?” Stella’s voice breaks into his thoughts, and then the thirteen-year-old is there, patting him reassuringly on the shoulder. He knows she has to stretch slightly up onto her tiptoes - and another small wash of grief goes through Cal. He’s taller. Despite how he’s only just now been getting himself proper meals instead of the nutrient bars, his body seems determined to have a growth spurt. It explains the near-constant exhaustion and pains. The ones that don't belong to him going on patrol, at least.

“This is Stella Morgan for Log Twenty Eight.” She’s taken over the narration as Cal focuses on simply not letting himself shatter into a hundred pieces, clenching his fist tightly and swallowing back the random overwhelming urge to run and hide. There’s no rational reasoning for that. He hears her slip past him, and turns, watching as she circles the somewhat large time device, pointing out details.

“And Cain will stand or sit in here-” She’s pushed the heavy metal door open with her shoulder, gesturing inside the small space. Cal has to be thankful he’s not claustrophobic. “We’re still deciding on that, honestly. It might take more energy to transport a chair as well, and it’s already probably going to cause a city-wide blackout. I think we’ve managed to fix the little exploding problem - it was something to do with the insulation, I think. We’re not entirely sure, but we’re testing it again today, and hopefully nothing explodes or breaks this time! Right, Cain?”

Cal smiles weakly, nodding as she turns the camera back towards him. “Right. We’re doing a test run on the apple, right? Because it needs to be able to transport organic matter.”

“Yep!” Stella pops the ‘p’ loudly, bouncing back over and setting the camera down again. She pauses for a moment, making sure that the time machine is in frame, then looks up at Cal. “We just gotta hope that it doesn’t explode as badly as last time and take out another support beam in the roof. I’m not actually sure how many more explosions this building can take without collapsing. It’s already pretty unstable. What if something hits the camera?”

“We’ll put the uh - you know how the window broke last time?” Cal looks around, and practically hears Stella perk up, her footsteps already darting across the space.

“Oh yeah! I mean, it might not protect it if anything goes flying, but - it should lessen the damage.” There’s a loud crack, and Stella hurries back over with half a windowsill in her hand, settling it in front of the camera. She wipes at the probably-grimy glass with her sleeve, fixing the angle of the camera again, then nods. “Alright! I’ll start it up! Hopefully it’s not going to drain the power grid. And if it does, I'm pretty sure people will just think it's one of the rogues.”

Cal nods, picking the apple up out of his bag and setting it on the metal and rubber floor of the time machine, shutting the door and starting the process of sliding the locks and bolts into place. They’d discovered they needed to heavily bolt the door shut because the first time they’d tried to boot it up, the door had clean flown off and taken out a support beam. Cal had voiced they might need to possibly make it less of a triangle shape and more like a tube, but Stella had insisted that design provided the most structural integrity. “Triangles are the strongest shape, Cain!” She’d protested, and Cal had given up pressing the matter. It had just meant they needed more metal. At least there's plenty of old broken-down cars around here.

“Okay, let’s go!” Stella grabs his hand, dragging him out of the building as the loud humming starts, the two of them half-crouching behind the far wall on the outside of the building. This section of Crime Alley was fairly quiet, seeing as it was on the outskirts, and it was also the least likely to get the police called to them. Especially as it was currently almost midnight.

Cal can hear the humming and rattling get louder and louder, and next to him Stella makes a concerned noise. He has his patrol earplugs in, so he can’t quite hear the small muttered curse she makes under her breath. The next instant, a harsh stinging, almost buzzing feeling crashes through him, and there’s a loud almost screeching sound. Cal gasps, swearing, feeling like all his ribs are vibrating, before a loud explosion echoes through the night.

It’s suddenly, intensely silent. Cal can smell burning metal and rubber, and a despairing groan leaves him, burying his face in his hands. Stella huffs out a breath, muttering ‘fuck’, before standing up. “Okay. Okay, well that was - that was better than last time, though! The discharge was kinda weird, and that’s new, so maybe some part of it worked?”

“Discharge?” Cal feels like his bones are buzzing, swallowing down the soft prickly feeling in his throat and having to use the wall to help him stand up. He feels like he just got all of his insides mixed up. “Was that what that was? Do your insides also feel like-”

“Like all my atoms are vibrating? Yeah.” Stella grabs his hand, and Cal can feel how both of them are trembling. “Next time we should fully clear the area instead of being on the opposite wall. It looks like the discharge has a radius of about six metres. That was fucking unpleasant. Oddly not painful, though, just disturbing. Same for you?”

“Y-Yeah. I think so.” Cal has to move slower, rubbing a hand over his face as Stella’s coloured pink lines burn his eyes. “Mm. Okay, let’s go see what we need to fix this time.”

His footsteps are more hesitant and shaky than Stella’s are, and the odd tingling through him hasn’t gone away. He actually thinks he might be sick, leaning against the doorway and taking deep breaths. The air tastes foul, and he has to squash down a retch. Stella makes a sudden whooping noise, darting back over to him and yanking him into a hug.

“Cain! The apple’s gone! Absolutely no trace of it at all! There’s no residue on the inside either, so it didn’t explode!”

“I-” Cal sways slightly in disbelief, almost automatically wrapping his arms back around Stella. For a moment he just stares at her, a grin starting to creep over his face, a swell of excitement bubbling up inside him. “Holy shit-!”

“Yeah!” Stella practically squeals, letting go of him and spinning around, before grabbing his arms. She’s laughing, breathless and wild, and Cal can’t help letting out a laugh of his own. “This is fantastic! We did it Cain, we invented time travel! Oh my god, imagine - imagine the things we could do with this! Like, like obviously get you back home, but we could - we could fix the programming so that it wouldn’t just be a one-way trip! There’s so much we could do, we could-”

Stella breaks off, visibly gathering herself and taking a deep breath. She’s jittery, shaking out her hands and bouncing on the spot. “I can’t believe we just did that!”

Cal laughs, a rush of sudden euphoria going through him that leaves him practically breathless. He’s going to be able to go home. He can go home, he could - he could go as soon as they fix it- The thought stops him in his tracks, and he stares. Stella is already darting back over to the camera, and sudden anxiety washes through Cal. “Stella-”

“You can - you can go home, Cain.” She’s almost as breathless as he is, sweeping her hair back and looking over at him. Cal suddenly wishes, not for the first time, that he was able to see peoples’ faces. “You can-”

There’s a sharp hiss and crackling pop from the machine, and then everything turns blindingly white and burning. That same sharp buzzing sensation rushes through him, feeling like needles ripping through his skin this time, and Cal chokes. His ears ring, something that feels all too sharp darting and echoing and repeating through him, and Cal screams.

Everything goes blank.

———————

His lungs are burning, the taste of smoke and ash thick in his mouth. Cal doesn’t know if he can move, his breath hitching and tearing through him. His arm burns, and he’s suddenly aware that he’s soaked through with sweat, shuddering. It’s freezing cold, and Cal tries to shift away from the frigid air. It doesn’t work, it seems to follow him, and he gasps in a rough breath. He doesn’t feel there. His skin is buzzing and stinging.

Almost forcefully, he shoves himself up onto his hands. His arms shake, and he hisses out a breath through his teeth, peeling his eyes open. The misty whiteness covers everything, flickering through with shadows, and sketched shapes. He blinks hard, coughing out a breath. Everything seems silent, and he scrabbles at his ear, yanking out one of his earplugs.

An unsteady heartbeat comes to his ears, and he whips his head around, his body protesting at the movement. Noise slams into him a brief second later, sirens approaching, and Cal swears roughly under his breath. He scrambles to his feet, stumbling and almost collapsing again as he staggers over to the dim form he can see off to his right. She’s breathing, thankfully, but she doesn’t respond when Cal shakes her by the shoulder. He curses, grabbing her and half-yanking Stella into his arms. She’s gripping the camera tightly. It’s not making any sound anymore.

Cal swallows hard, the sirens almost deafening. He’s never taken another person with him before - he squeezes his eyes shut tight and prays that this will work, then pulls as many shadows as he can towards the two of them. The sirens are getting almost too much to bear, and Cal’s legs shake. He pulls more shadows, wrapping and weaving them over him and Stella until his vision goes dark and lights up with neon. He shifts, his arm disappearing, hanging on tightly to her and tries to envision the inside of the Clocktower. He hangs on tight, even when they drop into freefall.

———————

“We have to find a stronger power source than Gothams’ public power system.” Stella’s voice sounds hoarse, she’s been rambling for hours now, and Cal passes her the last bottle of water. She barely looks up from the sheets of paper scattered around the floor, weighed down by odd bits and pieces to stop them from blowing away in the frigid wind that creeps into the Clocktower. “It was fine, I thought, until-”

“Stella, water.”

She pauses, looking up at him and somewhat hesitantly taking the bottle. For a moment she seems to look him over, her head tilting and small pink lines flickering off her. “You look bad. Have you been sleeping?”

“Yeah. A bit.” He definitely hasn’t. Not since the time device completely blew up after the last massive discharge. Not since he’s been trying to get more materials since the police seized whatever was left of the time device. Not since he had to repair the camera; some small part of him is still unable to believe it still worked, and Stella had confirmed for him that all their logs were still on it. He’s been pouring all of his spare time into building the new time device these past two weeks.

He’s still surprised at how fast Stella had recovered - and how he’d actually been able to get the two of them back to the Clocktower with his shadows. His entire being hadn’t stopped hurting for a week afterwards, but he considers it worth it. She had said he got the worst of the initial discharge, and even though the explosion had ruined the machine, it hadn’t been big. The building was still standing. They’d have to be careful next time though, it was probably now even more unstable.

“Cain, I think you should go and rest.” Stella’s voice is firm, and she’s definitely squinting at him. She straightens up from her cross-legged position on the floor, pulling the space blanket off her shoulders and holding it out to him. He’s already shaking his head, pressing it back towards her. He’s wearing his Mockingjay suit under his clothes, and he’s only shivering a little bit.

“Stella, no, you should have it. I’m not that cold, and-”

“Cain, you can’t keep punishing yourself.” Stella’s voice cuts through him like a knife, the thirteen year old grabbing his hands. She’s warm, her hands under thick gloves that scratch at the fingers on his sleeveless arm. “I don’t know why you think you need to. It’s not your fault that you got sent through time and it’s not your fault this time device isn’t working the way we want. None of this was your decision and - and it’s a miracle that you kept going. You’ve done a lot, Cain. You don’t need to punish yourself just for being comfortable. You can think about yourself instead of - of pushing yourself further than you need to just to get back to your time.”

Cal stares at her, swallowing hard, his hands starting to tremble. He can feel his throat getting thick, before he looks away, down at the sheets of paper scattered around. “I’m… not tired. Besides, we have to work on this, and I… don't think taking time for myself is going to help.”

Stella makes an irritated noise, dropping his hands. There’s an almost sullen silence between the two of them, before Stella huffs loudly, throwing part of the space blanket over his shoulders and shifting closer. “Fine then. But this thing will be more effective if we both share it. You might not be cold, but I still am, and body heat is supposed to help, right?”

Cal half smiles, shifting closer so he can pull it tighter around the two of them. He knows what she’s doing, but all his energy seems to have drained out of him. He can feel Stella’s shoulder half-pressing under his arm. “Yeah. Yeah, it helps.”

It’s kind of comforting, and reminds him of when he and Tek used to huddle under the same blanket in winters, when they were in group homes with a lot of kids. Back when it was just the two of them, and it wasn’t great, but at least they had each other. Cal has to swallow hard again, shoving those thoughts away and shaking his head slightly. He still has them, they’re just - in the future. And he’ll get back to them. He’ll get back to all of them, and even if the first person he meets again is Damian or Red Hood, then he’s pretty sure he’d hug them for as long as they’d let him. Which would mean about five seconds, for either of them. He's not going to let Tek go for a good ten minutes, though.

Stella is muttering equations and theories out loud, pulling another paper towards her and jabbing a finger into the centre of it. “If we shift the power source more to the centre, up here, then I think it might be more stable, since it seems to expel force in all directions. I can’t believe I didn’t consider that before, but I thought if it was a solid circuit, then it wouldn’t matter where the power source goes, it’s just-”

“What if we used kryptonite?” The words slip out of Cal, his eyes going wide as he sits up straighter. “Isn’t that supposed to also be a power source?”

“Kryptonite?” Stella sounds utterly confused, and Cal has to mentally slap himself - of course she wouldn’t know what that was, Superman isn’t even a hero yet, right? - before she brightens up. “Oh! Oh, is it a common power source from your time? Where can we get it, how hard would it be, would we have to-”

“Uh-” Cal deflates again, shaking his head. “No... No, to - to all of those. It’s... I mean, it can probably be used as a power source, but it’s unstable and any hard hits to it might make it explode when it’s being used as one. It’s like a - a green space rock. I don’t know how to get it, it was a stupid idea, sorry-”

“Hm. Well, I don’t know how we would get a green space rock, but..” Stella starts chewing on the pencil she’s holding, muttering under her breath, before looking back up slightly at Cal. “Our school does have that field trip to S.T.A.R Labs next week! Maybe we can gather more ideas there! I mean, your year group would probably be going and not the younger years, but I’ve snuck onto field trips before, and nobody will really notice if I’m there or not.”

“Just like how nobody noticed I wasn’t at school even when my name was on the registers?” Cal smiles slightly, and Stella shoves at him playfully.

“Hey, I said it was a school, not a good school! It’s not Gotham Prep that’s for sure, but - I mean it covers most of the basics enough for us to get jobs when we leave...” She trails off slightly, slumping down and scribbling something on the sheet of paper in front of her. “I wish you could stay. You’re a good friend, Cain, and it’s… I mean it’s just nice having someone pay attention to what I say for once.”

Something in Cal twinges, and he slings an arm around her. “Stella, I - I might not be able to stay, but I promise, I promise I’ll come and visit you again when I do go back. As soon as I get back to my own time, I’ll find where you are, and I’ll come say hi.”

Stella hums. “We should come up with a code so I know it’s you. Something to do with - with clocks! Like what if it’s... Like a phrase? Like-” She breaks off slightly as the giant clock makes its usual noise, signaling that it’s 8pm. Stella huffs a little with laughter. “Something like - like when the clock chimes for eight, then..”

Cal tilts his head back, listening slightly as the bats in the rafters squeak, rustling and flapping their wings, a small smile pulling at his face. “How about just… eighth times the charm?"

"Eighth times the chime, I think you mean." Stella sounds like she's grinning, failing at hiding a giggle behind her hand. "I like it. You better not forget it."

Cal smiles, blinking away the sudden prickling of tears as he abruptly thinks of Maxie, and how he'd probably like the pun just as much.

"I don't think there's any chance I will."

Chapter 10: A Bat and A Mockingjay

Notes:

Hello hello lovelies, I hope we're all doing well ^-^ Back again. Few things I want to say before this chapter; it has been A While since I've seen the Gotham episode with Bruce and The Court of Owls, and Gotham got taken off all the streaming services in my country, so I apologize if any of the references that crop up in this chapter are a little shaky, or outright wrong due to my misremembering. Also! Please forgive my confusion that's apparent in this chapter around seasons - I had to do conversion and I still don't quite understand the majority of y'all that have winter in December/January. Cause that's summer for me. Anyway, with that out of the way, let's get on to the chapter :DD

TWs; Moderate mentioned breakdown, sleep deprivation and over-caffeination, implied slight delirium

He knows he’s being followed. It’d usually be hard to figure out, but the way they disturb the shadows is tugging at the back of his mind as he flips across another rooftop. They follow like a hawk, never allowing him more than a glimpse, but they definitely follow. Cal breathes out, twisting his shadows around him and scattering them as he makes another leap.

He still has to be a bit more careful than usual - no grappling hook after all, just the hook and rope he’d made - but it does the job as he flings it across a gap. His personal shadow follows, flashing below him. They’re following from street level. Strange. Not a civilian - they’re too skilled in sneaking. Although maybe he’s not giving the people of Gotham enough credit - Tim managed to avoid being spotted by Dick and Bruce for his entire time as stalker.

Cal flips through the air, landing on the ledge of another building and allowing himself a breather. The exercise drags at him slightly, but it helps keep out the freezing cold chill that Gotham had become as it had moved into the end of the year. Opposite seasons to what he grew up with - normally January was summer for him. A small, almost heartbroken, smile flickers over his face. His first January Winter, and he was stuck in the past. Five months, and four days.

He swallows back the way that makes his smile drag down a little more. He’s officially been in Past Gotham for longer than he was with Dick, and Tim and Bruce. He shifts his position, walking along the ledge. The shadows below him stir, and it’s like someone plucking strings at the back of his mind. They’re aiming to meet him on the rooftop this ledge leads to. He’ll be ready. He continues to walk, drawing the shadows over the brightest parts of his repaired suit, looping the rope and hook around his arm and reaching over his shoulder to pull free the makeshift bo staff he’d secured. It's really just a branch from one of the trees that had broken under the strain of snow that he'd stripped free of bark and twigs and cut to size. But it does the job, when needed.

The figure is waiting for him on the rooftop, and Cal almost freezes. He recognises the heartbeat. The figure stands tall, coat swaying slightly in the chill wind that blows over the rooftops. The figure - he’s slightly taller than Cal - reaches up, pulling something off his face. Not that it matters. He already knows who it is. Cal stays still, lightly balanced on his feet, wooden bo staff held in one hand. He’s glad his cowl covers most of his face, hiding his shock. Maybe this is why Bruce didn’t see any trouble with having the Robins; he was doing the exact same as a teenager.

“You move similar to a Talon, but - less experienced.” Bruce’s voice breaks the silence, not the interrogative tone that Cal was expecting, but instead more curious. Cal doesn’t move, instead tilting his head slightly as Bruce clearly looks him over, stepping forward on the rooftop. “Are you a - they call them something, the ones they’re training. A Hatchling. Are you one of them? You look my age.”

Bruce circles him once, Cal following his movements as Bruce stops in front of him again. He doesn’t want to talk, and give anything away, so he just stays silent. Bruce laughs softly, almost mockingly, still examining him. “You’re definitely a Hatchling. I didn’t know you had different outfits, I thought it was all the same one.”

Cal bites his tongue, instead tucking his bo staff away and almost hesitantly gesturing at Bruce. He could swear Bruce’s heartbeat picks up, and the other boy glances down at himself. “Oh I’m not a Hatchling. No, I’m... Wayne. I know the Court of Owls. Sensei said that someone would be coming to retrieve me. Is that you? Did he send you?”

Cal hesitates. He should shake his head, he should talk and steer Bruce back to the Manor, but his gut tugs at him. Bruce knowing the Court of Owls screams ‘bad’ to him. He can play along. He nods, once. Bruce hums, deep in his throat, and Cal has to suppress a smile. It’s so close to the Batman acknowledgement sound.
Cal pivots on his heel, motioning with a hand. His mind is racing. Bruce thinks he’s with the Court of Owls. Someone is coming to get Bruce. That’s fundamentally bad. He assumes that the Talon would go to the Manor, because where else would Bruce be. He can’t jeopardise the Clocktower by taking Bruce there, and they can’t dodge around Gotham all night. He can think on his feet, though, ensuring that Bruce is following him.

Bruce is trying to copy him, he notices, as he uses the shadows to move silently. He flicks a hand, and Bruce inhales sharply as the shadows sweep over him like a tidal wave. Cal can keep both of them hidden, as long as Bruce doesn’t freak out. He looks in the direction of the other figure, hoping that the message of ‘stay silent’ will be conveyed well enough.

Bruce does, and Cal starts leading him through Gotham. His mind is racing, trying to figure out a place he can hide Bruce, just for the night. He can keep him for at least a few hours until Bruce gets suspicious. He’s not sure he’ll be able to - he’s trying to out-think the Worlds’ Greatest Detective. But, then again, the Worlds’ Greatest Detective is currently fifteen. And he believes Cal to be part of an organisation he clearly listens to. Part of Cal wonders if he should keep an eye on Bruce when he gets back to the present, just in case he’s still involved with the Court. Surely Dick and the others would have noticed, though? So maybe something happened between now and when he meets Bruce in the present. It doesn't matter right now - he needs to find somewhere to keep Bruce safe for tonight. He'll fight the Talons if he needs to.

His feet lead him to the Iceberg Lounge, and Bruce makes an interested noise, crouching next to him on the low rooftop. “The Iceberg Lounge? I didn’t know that Cobblepot was still on good terms with the Court, I thought they’d held him prisoner for a while. Why-”

Cal swivels his head, glaring at Bruce from behind his cowl, and the other teenager promptly falls silent. He looks back down at the Iceberg Lounge, taking a deep breath and gesturing at it. If he can get Bruce to go inside and stay there for - for however long until Cal is certain whatever is happening has stopped, then he should be alright. He really should have tried to get to know Bruce in the present day better, although he knows the man practically keeps everyone at arm's length. It also probably wouldn’t have helped him here.

Bruce pauses slightly, clearly looking at him, something in his tone that Cal can’t quite detect. “You’re a weird Hatchling, you know. You must be advanced if they let you out on your own, unless…” Cal’s heart skyrockets, and Bruce nods to himself. “Obviously a Talon is watching us to make sure you don’t go off track. Will I see you again after this?”

Cal fails the battle to keep a straight face, instead a small smile cracking across it. He nods. Bruce will definitely see him again, just in the future. He has to avoid him after this, for however long he’ll continue to be in Gotham. He can’t risk messing up the past any more than he already has. He desperately hopes this won’t have major consequences on the future. Bruce nods back quietly, making his way down the roof and slipping in through the back door. Cal has to cross his fingers and hope that nobody will be surprised to see him there.

And now… he has to stay on guard outside. His gut sinks, and Cal lets out a heavy sigh, feeling his breath cloud in front of his face. He should have thought of that, he should have realise earlier that he wouldn’t be able to leave until daytime. If any of the Court of Owls realise Bruce is in there, then Cal doesn’t fancy his chances of fighting them off. He’ll try, though. He doesn’t know what happens after this. This is unknown to him. When he gets back home, he really needs to do more research about Gothams’ History. Or ask Bruce.

The night drags on, and Cal has to keep moving laps around the Iceberg Lounge so he doesn’t simply drop off to sleep, or freeze. His right hand is already numb, and he pulls his shadows over himself every time he has to move his position. He manages to find a vantage point that’ll prevent anyone from sneaking up behind him.

He pauses for a while, ignoring the small shivers running through him. He can practically smell the ice in the clouds slowly gathering above Gotham, and heaves a small sigh to himself. It looks like it’s going to snow again. Or rain. Knowing Gotham, he wouldn’t be surprised if it was both. Some part of him wonders how the winters are different in present Gotham. Mr.Freeze doesn’t exist in the time period he’s in now - he knows that the man doesn’t become Mr.Freeze until his wife gets ill, so the winters in the past are probably easier.

His mind drifts a bit as he waits and surveys. At least once it starts snowing again he can keep more perishable food around. If he fixes a box to one of the ledges of the Clocktower, he can fill it with snow and the temperature will keep things frozen. But that also means he’ll need a source of heat to thaw things… The best bet for that is to try and make a fireplace inside the Clocktower. He’ll need to be extra careful with that, he doesn’t want to burn it down by accident.

Cal sighs, running a hand over his cowl. He can hear Gotham starting to wake up properly, the Clocktower giving a semi-broken series of chimes. 5am. He’s freezing and wants nothing more than to sleep, but he can’t. Not right now. He has work to do, he needs to finish gathering materials for the new time device, he needs to make another log - Cal interrupts his own thoughts, snorting slightly to himself. “God, I sound like Tim.”

Tim. Cal blinks hard, standing up on the rooftop. He wonders how his younger brother is doing, if he and Damian have stopped fighting, if Tim is getting along with Tek yet - a small smile crosses Cal’s face as he readies his grappling hook. If there was ever any possibility of his younger brothers getting along, he doesn’t doubt they’d be anything but unstoppable. He knows Tek would have started searching for him the moment he went missing, and even though he doubts he’d go to Tim for help, Tim would have joined him regardless.

“I still owe you for the first time,” Cal murmurs softly to himself, leaping off the rooftop and starting to make his way back to the Clocktower. He thinks it’s safe enough to leave Bruce now. Penguin is paranoid and sceptical of anything seeming even remotely safe. Cal’s become well aware of the certain soft spots the man has for specific people. Jim Gordon is one of them, and Cal wonders briefly about that to himself. He’s heard Jim in the Iceberg Lounge more often than not nowadays. Maybe he should keep an eye on that too.

————————

“Recording Log…” Cal blinks hard, running a hand through his hair as he desperately tries to gather his thoughts together. He’s running on less sleep than safe, especially for rebuilding this device, but he can’t afford to stop. “Recording Log Thirty - Thirty Three.” A small breath shudders out of him and he pauses, pressing his hands over his face. He’s been awake for too long. He just wants to sleep, but the want to go home is stronger. Just a little longer awake.

“Thirtieth of January,” he breathes out shakily, dragging his hands away from his face. “Five months, one week, and one day since I came to past Gotham.” The wind seems to echo his words, and Cal shakes his head hard, reaching for the shitty-tasting coffee on the ground next to him. He knocks over a couple more styrofoam cups as he does, and a small frown crosses his face. “Huh… I don’t remember those.”

He shakes his head again, wrapping cold hands around the cup - at least it’s still warm - and sits back on his heels. “I know, I know, I should get more sleep, but I just - I just can’t. I have my shifts at the Iceberg Lounge and I’ve started doing small patrols again, and on top of that with school and this time device,” Cal feels like he drains half the cup in one go, setting it down again. He’s glad he can’t see what he looks like. “There’s no time for sleep. I’ve started having small micro naps, and those help. And the coffee. No energy drinks yet though, I can’t seem to find any that work-”

He leans back slightly, gesturing behind him where he knows the time device sits. It’s more of a cone than the last one, although he’s only managed to build a secure base and half a wall. He can practically feel the disappointed glare of his Dad, at the admission of not much sleep, and shakes off the thought. He needs to focus. “It’s - slow going. It took us so long to build the first one and the fact that we just have to start over and over again, making repairs and rebuilding and-”

His voice breaks slightly, and Cal grabs his coffee again, pressing the cup to his lips and draining the rest in an effort to not cry. When he feels more steady, he takes a deep breath, continuing his self-report. “I don’t know why it’s not working. I mean, this one isn’t even finished yet, but - but neither Stella nor I know why the other one kept blowing up. This is - Iteration 2.0.” He laughs a little to himself, before abruptly stopping as soon as his own laugh reaches his ears. He sounds insane.

“We’ve just been calling it the Time Device, or - I want to come up with an actual name for it, even if it does keep ending up exploding.” Cal stares slightly into the distance, reaching for his coffee again and trying to take a drink. The cup is empty, and he frowns. He was sure that he had a bit left. He’ll just need to get more. “Right now, the most important thing is to just keep building it. And power sources…”

He’s almost ashamed of the sudden, rough sob that bursts out of him, and Cal squeezes his eyes shut tight. He shouldn’t be crying. Everything is going - not exactly as planned, but they’re still making progress. Why is he crying? Cal sobs, hunching up and dragging his hands through his hair, sobs wracking his frame. “I - I just. I just want to go home, I just need to get home, I can’t - I wish someone else was h-here, I can’t… S-Stella is great and she’s smart and - and keeps me going but I - I wish Tim was here, or D-Dad, or Bruce.”

He struggles to get air, heaving in gasps through his sobs as he keeps trying to talk, choking on his words slightly. “A-Anyone, really. Anyone e-else, who knows this stuff - w-who knows how to - to build something like this, I-” Cal gulps in rough gasps of air, dragging in another breath and burying his face in his hands. He’s crying like a little kid again, shaking both from the cold and the grief that he’s spent the better part of five months refusing to feel. “I - I don’t know what I - I’m d-doing.”

He’s unsure how long he’s crying for, only that when the sobs finally run out, he’s a shaking exhausted mess. Cal trembles, the freezing air brushing over him, and feeling like it cuts right down to his bones, gulping in air and he finally pulls himself together. The camera is still running, and Cal shudders. This log was useless. Definitely not one he’s going to listen to again. Not like the others. He reaches out, mumbling the ending of the log, and switches it off.

He needs more coffee.

————————

Cal wakes up freezing cold, and partially collapsed against the half-built time device. He blinks hard, letting out a small sound of pain as his body protests the movement. His foot knocks against something, and Cal squints, rubbing the sleep and iciness from his eyes, waiting for his vision to settle and sketch out his surroundings.

Multiple coffee cups surround him, definitely more than he remembers. Cal drags in a shaky breath, forcing himself to move. He feels like an ice block, struggling upwards and leaning against the time device for support. That was the longest sleep he’s had in a while - and he doesn’t even remember falling asleep, which is a different problem. He doesn’t even know what time it is. Or day.

The time device feels sturdier, and he half-turns, staring at the shape that forms in his misty vision. That’s not right. Stella hasn’t been here yet - which must mean it’s still the same day. The time device is almost fully built. Definitely not correct. Cal looks down at his hands - freezing, raw, feeling out small cuts and half-formed blisters covering them that he doesn’t remember having earlier today - and looks back at the time device. He should not be able to build this in his sleep. Or whatever state he was in before he apparently collapsed.

He looks at the numerous coffee cups surrounding him on the ground - and several energy drink cans - and frowns. Maybe not while asleep then, but he doesn’t have any memory of it. He crosses the room, somewhat shakily, and switches on the camcorder, clearing his throat. “Update to - to Recording Log Thirty-Three, I guess.” He sounds awful, sinking into a half-sitting position. “I, uh. I don’t know what the day is, or the time. But-”

He twists, looking back at the device. He’s so cold, struggling to keep his teeth from chattering together, then decides to stand back up. Movement is best for warming up. “The time device is - is almost finished.” He pauses, running a hand through his hair and wincing at the way he feels something sticky catch in his hair. He can’t get the smell of oil and engine grease out of his nose suddenly. He feels even more exhausted than before, muttering under his breath. “I need more sleep. End of Recording Log update.”

He makes sure to tuck the camera into his hoodie pocket after switching it off, dragging the tarpaulin over the device. Nobody ever comes into this building, he thinks, but he still doesn’t want to risk it. He makes sure to gather up all the coffee cups and cans that he’s able, dumping them in a trash can on his way through Crime Alley. It probably isn’t a good sign that they fill over half of it.

He practically drags himself through half the city before deciding to stop in at the junk store. The owner grunts at him as he enters, and Cal lifts a hand wearily. After the first time with the police, he doesn’t make any more conversation with the guy, but at least he doesn’t get kicked out of the store just for being in it.

He wanders to the back, selecting a few more bits and pieces and snagging up a thick-feeling puffer jacket. It’ll at least keep him warm. He’s halfway through fishing out some bills from his back pocket - thank god he always keeps a small amount of money on him - when the store owner grunts.

“Soup kitchen down th’ street is open.”

Cal blinks, startled, and the man acts like he hasn’t said anything at all, only taking the bills from Cal and shoving his items towards him. “Oh - uh. Thanks.”

The man makes a non-committal sound and simply turns back to his work. Cal slips on the thick jacket as he leaves the store - he’s already slightly warmer - stuffing the rest of his scrap items in both his hoodie pocket and the pockets of the jacket. At least he’s back to having two jackets now. He’s still slightly mad at the Court for stealing his other ones… and his utility belt. He’s probably never going to get that back.

Cal pulls up the hood of the puffer jacket as he walks, keeping his head low. He should find that soup kitchen; he’s still exhausted and hungry and there’s a certain shake in his steps that he doesn’t like. It’s probably alright enough for him to sleep for a bit once he’s back at the Clocktower. He’s made enough progress for today.

He finds the soup kitchen easily enough - he just follows his nose. Even though the portions are small and not much more than just thick broth and meat; it’s the best food he’s had in what feels like forever.

Chapter 11: Stirring Trouble

Notes:

Hello lovelies! So excited that we only have four more chapters left of this, although mostly I am super excited to get back to the "main" storyline of this AU with all the Batfam. Yes I am already writing another extension :D

WARNING for this chapter; the ending of it is open to interpretation of what actually happens, and everything is implied in that aspect but it's never stated outright. That being said, I wrote it with the intention/ point of view in mind that Cal is someone who is moderately touch-averse, and therefor usually hates contact unless it's from someone close to him. I did realize though that it could come across as SA/ attempted SA. So I just wanted to say, that even though it's open to interpretation at the ending, and Cal does have some trauma afterwards, it's not intended to imply SA, otherwise I would have tagged it. If any of you feel that I need to tag it anyway, just let me know in comments ^-^

TRIGGER WARNINGS; Basically what's mentioned above, implied threats, sort-of kidnapping

“Alright, test number.. five.” Stella wobbles a little atop Cal’s shoulders, and he grips her ankles tighter. He has to shift a little, wishing for a brief second that his shadows were solid so he could use them as balance supports. He’s so afraid of Stella falling off and hurting herself as she stretches up to put the battery pack into the top of the machine.

She gives a little squeak, bracing herself on the side of the machine. “Okay Cain, you can help me down now, it’s all in.”

Cal nods, crouching down and Stella walks her hands down the outside of the machine, finally hopping off Cal’s shoulders. He swears he can still feel the imprint of her shoes pressing into his shoulders as he straightens back up. “You think this one will work?”

“It better.” Stella steps back from the machine, her hands on her hips as she glares at the large metal cone-shaped object. “This is like, Plan E for power sources.”

“Yeah, somehow I thought that Plan A of ‘shove a bunch of triple A batteries in tinfoil’ wouldn’t work.” Cal gives her a small grin, and she huffs, her tone having no bite in it.

“It was worth a shot. Clearly Gothams’ power grid can’t handle the amount we need, and this-” Stella breaks off, glancing at him as she goes around to the back of the machine where the power lever is. Her voice is slightly more subdued. “If this doesn’t work then… then I’m out of ideas.”

“It should work.” Cal shifts anxiously, going to stand over by the camera, the device softly whirring away. “Okay, hit the lever.”

There’s a sharp clunk from behind the machine and then Stella’s figure appears, darting towards him, and the two of them rapidly take cover behind the small barricade they’d built. There’s dead silence, Stella muttering quiet half-calculations to herself. Cal’s heart sinks as the seconds tick on. After what feels like five minutes, Stella sags against him.

“I - I’m so sorry, Cain… I thought this would work-”

There’s a deep rumble that goes through the ground, and Cal’s heart feels like it leaps into his throat. Stella perks up, then quickly ducks back down as the sound of electricity crackling through the air goes over their heads. “Okay, okay it works! Give it a few minutes!”

“A few minutes?” Cal has to yell over the noise, the air feeling like it’s full of static. He can feel his hair rising. More electricity snaps through the air, and Cal presses Stella back down behind the barricade as she tries to get a look. “We should turn it off before it overloads!”

“We gotta wait until it’s balanced, I-”

There’s a loud crack, then sudden silence. The air feels wired, then a soft, deep growling hum starts up. It echoes through the room, feeling like it enters into Cal’s very bones. Cautiously, the two of them peek over the barricade. Stella gives an excited squeal, grabbing onto Cal’s arm tightly. “Cain! Cain, it’s fully powered! It’s on, it’s working, it-”

“It’s stabilised,” Cal breathes, unable to stop the grin from spreading over his face. “Test five of battery charges was a success.”

Stella is already darting over to check the energy fluctuations on the side of the machine, and Cal takes a brief moment to check that the camera wasn’t affected by any stray electrical charges. It’s making a worrying crackling noise, but it still seems to be running fine.

“Okay, so the power is definitely working, but it’s not even anywhere near the levels we need it to be.” Stella’s voice sounds disappointed, wrought through with frustration. “We can maybe send something the size of my shoe, but nothing bigger than that. Which means that test five of battery charges was… I mean, technically not a failure, we just need to find a way to supercharge it.”

“We got it to turn on independently from the power grid.” Cal pushes back the wave of agonising frustration, running a hand through his hair. “That’s progress. What was the makeup of this battery pack, again?”

“Uhh, some mercuric oxide I stole from the labs at Gotham Prep, combined with a solution of zinc electrodes and suspended in an alkaline electrolyte - I decided to use potassium hydroxide because of the amount of power we'd need. Basic stuff, really. You know, I think this could work better if we somehow utilized Gothams’ water supply, cause there’s all sorts of chemicals in there and surely some of them could be useful as well…” Stella’s trailed off, muttering to herself again as she shuts off the machine.

Cal has to hold back a groan of frustration, sitting on the ground next to the camera. His puffer jacket is doing a decent job of keeping out the freezing chill going through the building. He can smell the smoke coming from the machine. Stella pops back into view, tilting her head in a silent question, and Cal gestures towards the machine. “Do you think maybe we could just stick a car engine in it and it’d have more power?”

Stella hums, crossing her arms as she turns to look at the machine. “I mean, we could probably build it into a compartment at the top, yeah. I can find some way to hook that up to the battery pack we made and that should give us enough juice. I just don’t know how we’d get it to time travel like the first time, since we had to re-do the design.”

“Any way we can utilize the speed force?” Cal’s aware he sounds as tired as he feels, and Stella spins on one heel as he continues. “Maybe we can just make it vibrate so fast it-”

“Speed force? What’s a speed force?” Stella sounds thoroughly confused before suddenly brightening up again. “Oh! Is this another thing from your time?”

Cal pauses slightly, before slowly nodding. “Yeah. It’s how The Flash can run so fast, there’s apparently some sort of - of cosmic force that helps him. Or something, I don’t actually know a whole lot about it, just that it exists-”

“Do you think we could ask The Flash?” Stella’s brightened up again, bouncing on the tips of her toes. “He’d know about it, right? I mean, it’s kind of his thing, so he has to know a bit more than we do, I-”

“I don’t know how we could… tell him. Is he actually going to believe a couple of kids that somehow find him and tell him one of them needs help going to the future?” Cal is trying to figure that out, and Stella rapidly deflates, groaning.

“Right, right, I forgot, we have to keep this a secret otherwise it could mess up timeline stuff… Isn’t that also Flash’s whole thing though? Time stuff? You’d think he’d be the expert, but-”

“I’m not saying we shouldn’t, just that…” Cal frowns harder, getting to his feet. Sitting down is just making him aware of how cold he is. “I’m pretty sure he’d understand, I just don’t know if he’d believe us. And I’m pretty sure he’d also - not encourage us to be messing with time like this.”

“Can I fight the timeline and the speed force?” Stella groans, shaking her head rapidly. “Every time we find a possible solution, there’s like twenty five roadblocks stopping us! Ones that we can't just bust through. I wanna break the laws of physics already!”

“I don’t know if this is a physics thing,” Cal half-smiles, and Stella sighs again.

“No, no it’s more of a quantum physics thing. It should be possible in theory but-” She’s most definitely glaring at the machine again, huffing. “The practice is a lot harder. It’s been like - it’s been forever!” She pauses heavily, muttering softly under her breath, before looking back up at Cal. “It’s easier to send things back in time… Do you think we could just send you so far back in time that you appear in the future? Like start up a time loop!”

“Yeah, but then there's the problem of how to break out of the time loop.” Cal frowns, crossing his arms. “I don’t really want to be stuck in a perpetual time loop where I keep getting back to my own time only to be sent back here again. I don’t think… I don’t think I could cope with that.”

Stella is silent for a bit, before sighing. “No, no you’re right. Alright, so any other ideas?”

Cal pauses slightly, shaking his head. “We’ll have to... Workshop it. Anyway, that was, uh-” He turns back, walking back over to the camera. “Ending of Recording Log Thirty Seven… You know, I really thought all the storage for this thing would have been used up by now.”

He turns back to Stella, hitting the ‘end recording’ button, only to find her with her hands on her hips, like she’s encountered a particularly difficult puzzle. Cal pauses, a slight frown crossing over his face. “Everything okay, Stells?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Yeah, just thinking.” She’s silent for a bit longer, before straightening up ever so slightly. “So, Cain. How much do you think you can tell me about the future?”

“Uh-” Cal pauses slightly, following her as she starts to casually stroll out of the abandoned building, taking a few moments to tug a tarpaulin over the machine. “I mean, Gotham isn’t actually that much different to how it is now.” More dangerous. More rogues. Batman actually exists, for one, and… he can’t tell Stella anything about how she is in the future. “It’s still Gotham. It’s still a… well. I mean, it’s louder. A bit more chaotic than it is now.”

Stella hums slightly, shivering as a gust of freezing air blows through the rapidly-approaching night. Cal can feel the way the shadows tug and pull at his fingertips, stretching outward. He can smell the threat of more snow on the horizon. More late snows, perfect. The two of them make their way down the surprisingly-snow free paths. Someone must have swept them? Stella looks like she’s hunching her shoulders against the cold. “So it still has all the same villains running around? Just having free reign?”

She sounds… upset, and Cal quickly hurries to fix it. “No! Well, I mean, yeah Gotham still has all its rogues, but - but there’s people to stop them. Gotham has its own superhero. Just like with The Flash, and-” He has no idea what other superheroes might exist here. “In fact, Gotham has a small mini band of superheroes.”

“So it’s safer?” Stella perks up again, sounding like she’s smiling. “We have our own heroes? Wait no, let me guess, you can’t tell me anything about them or it’ll mess up the timeline.”

Cal smiles slightly. “Something like that, yeah. Actually, most of Gotham still believes their heroes don’t actually exist. They’re like ninjas.”

“Gotham has its own band of ninjas protecting the city,” Stella breathes excitedly, bouncing on the tips of her toes. “Of course! And I bet they like working on their own, right? If they’re from Gotham - and lord knows you have to be to love this city that much - then they won’t want anyone interfering! Honestly, it’s actually probably more of a safety point in that case because Gotham-” She shoots him a glance, he’s pretty sure, her tone turning rueful. “Well, we both know what Gotham is like.”

Cal can’t help laughing slightly. “Oh yeah. Gotham is… just like its citizens.”

“Hey,” Stella punches him playfully on the shoulder, giggling as they turn down an alleyway. He knows it's a shortcut back across to Robbinsville where she lives. “If you were anyone else, that’d be an insult, you know! But, seeing as how you’re a Gothamite yourself, I just know that statement is full of absolute love and adoration.”

Cal snorts loudly, feeling his breath cloud in front of his face. He has to walk lightly, the snow crunching under his almost-falling apart trainers. He really needs to reinforce his shoes because now he just has wet and cold feet. Which isn't great, and he already can't feel his toes. “Thanks, I think?” The other part of her sentence hits him suddenly and he pauses, blinking down at her. “You think I’m just like a Gothamite?”

“Well duh, Mister.” She sounds like she’s grinning as she spins a circle in the snow slightly ahead of him. “I mean you talked slightly weirdly before I got to know you better, but you sound like one of us proper now! Plus, I don’t think any other people would know the streets of Gotham that well. You can learn, sure, but experiencing them?” She spins again, taking a deep breath of freezing air and laughing it back out. “That takes the Gotham Spirit!”

Cal smiles. “Experiencing them is definitely one way to put it. I don’t think you can do anything else.”

Stella laughs again, still moving slightly ahead of him, and Cal closes his eyes briefly as he walks. He keeps an ear out for where Stella is, simply listening to the sounds of Gotham filtering around him. Unsurprisingly, the streets are quieter. Footsteps muffled by snow, and not as many cars out. He’s already learned that Gotham winters are brutal, and it seems only the boldest are daring to be out as it gets later. There’s three people nearby, near the exit of the alleyway. Cal can smell the weapons on them, his shadows almost telling him they’re pressed against a wall. Maybe a couple…? No, then why is there a third person?

Closer, breathing lightly, and Stella is still rambling about something. Closer, and there’s the soft dark smell of fresh gunpowder and - Cal’s eyes snap open, lunging forward at Stella’s figure and yanking her back. A hand barely misses her and Cal yanks her behind him as three figures block their way out. He can smell the weapons on them, and Stella has gone deathly silent. Cal raises his hands slightly, keeping his voice steady.

“We don’t want any trouble. We’re just going home-”

“It’s a couple’a kids.” The tallest of the figures sounds bitterly disappointed, but the hand holding his gun doesn’t drop or waver. “Doubt there’d be much on em. Lookit that one, skinny as a fuckin twig.”

Cal does his best to not bristle, nudging Stella backwards slightly. She’s gripping the back of his puffer jacket, half-hiding behind him. He straightens up further. He needs to get her out of here as soon as possible. One of the others steps forward, and a small jolt goes through Cal as she coos at them. Her voice practically drips poison. “They’re real cute though. Ain’t you two cold? We got a real nice place you can tuck up for the night.”

Cal shakes his head, fixing a polite smile on his face - the one he uses for the really drunk customers at the Iceberg Lounge. “That’s - that’s very kind of you, but we’re actually just headed home now.” He’s desperately trying to keep Stella shielded without making it obvious he’s protecting her. “I have to-”

“Is this your girlfriend?” The bigger man steps forward, and Cal can’t help the way he stiffens. He doesn’t like his tone, it practically screams danger. Cal backs Stella up more, doing his best to not reach behind him and grip her arm. He doesn’t know what to say, his mind racing. If he says no then that would most definitely spell disaster - but if he says yes -

Cal blinks, and there’s a soft hand at his jaw, tugging him forward. His breath catches in his throat and he stumbles, Stella’s hands sliding off the back of his puffer jacket. She makes a small sound, and Cal can hear the way she scrambles back. He twists, trying to get the woman's hand off his face, but she coos at him, something sharp jabbing under his jaw. He freezes, breath clouding in front of his face, and Stella makes a desperate noise as the other man passes them, towards her. “C-Cain-”

“It’s okay.” It’s not, it’s definitely not okay, and Cal desperately tries to think. “Just - just relax, Stells, it’s alright. We - just give - give them your… give them anything valuable on you that you have. It’s okay, you’re alright. Don’t-”

“Cute and smart.” The woman's grip tightens, and Cal can’t stop the small tremble going through him. Stella makes a small sound, her figure disappearing behind the bulk of the other man, and a flare of panic goes through Cal. He hears the small squeak she makes as the guy grabs her, desperation hammering inside his ribcage, and he croaks. This is more dangerous for her, he suddenly realises. It'll take a while for anyone to notice something has happened to them, but - but Stella has a family, she has a family to get back to, and Cal can use his shadows once she's far enough away, so -

“W-Wait! Wait, no, no wait, I - don’t hurt her please I can- We don’t have much on us, but - but I can..” He desperately tries to think, his voice cracking as the woman simply grips him tighter, the other man passing them. “I can -” Cal’s brain freezes, and he squeezes his eyes shut tightly. “Please, please, I can… I can do whatever you want! I'm good at - at stealing, I can get you money, or I can - Let her go, please, I promise I won’t - You don't want her, she's not good for anything, she's just - People will notice she's gone, nobody will notice I am. I've got nobody, nobody will even notice if - if I disappear.”

It's a risk, a massive one, but if he can just keep their attention on him, make himself the obvious choice for whatever these people want, then maybe they'll let her go. He suddenly, desperately, doesn't want them anywhere near her.

Stella makes a weak, confused sound, and Cal shuts his ears against the way the other twos’ heartbeats pick up in interest. He swallows hard against the sharp blade at his throat, a small weak sound escaping him. He can’t believe he’s doing this. “Please, I - I won’t scream, I won't fight, I can - I’ll be good for you, for whatever you want. Just let her go. She's not worth anything to you, but I am. Nobody will even look for me.”

“Cain?” Stella’s voice is shaky, but he hears the way the man holding her drops her arm, giving her a shove. Cal trembles harder, trying to focus on his breathing. She doesn’t know what he’s doing, hasn't put the pieces together yet. “Cain, what are you doing-”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Stells, just run. Just go, please, run all the way home and don’t - don’t look back. As fast as you can.” He fervently hopes she doesn't pick up on the way his voice tremors. Breathe. It’s - it’s a dream. This isn't real. It’s just a dream. Just a horrible dream. “Please, Stella.”

The awful feeling grows in the pit of his stomach as the lady still holding his face makes a dismissive noise, tilting his face this way and that. "Let her run, she's not worth the trouble anyway."

He almost feels likes he's been punched, relief washing through him, even as her grip switches from his jaw to his hair. Stella makes a half-bitten off, almost enraged sound, her footsteps shifting in the snow. Cal drags in a breath, choking down his own fear as she hesitates. "Stella, go."

"I - shit!" A small sob breaks out of her, then Cal is listening to the way the snow crunches beneath her feet as she races away. He focuses on his breathing, listening to her run for as long as he can. Something small and hard and painful twists beneath his ribs at the way frantic, sobbed curses spill from her, rapidly fading.

"Whatever we want, huh?" One of the men muses, coming up behind him and Cal drags in another breath, biting back a sharp wince as his wrist is grabbed. His skin crawls at the touch. "Guess it's your lucky day, kid. We're feeling generous. Come on."

Cal stumbles after them as his wrist is tugged sharply, his mind racing through possibilities. As soon as they get somewhere dark enough, he can use his shadows to slip away. As soon as they let go of him.

He has no idea what he just offered them.

Notes:

I did so much research on batteries just for this, y'all have no idea. Mercury batteries are a thing!
Also don't worry, Cal will be... mostly fine. Ish. Like I said, he'll have some trauma, but it'll make sense way later why I wrote it.

Chapter 12: Nightmares and Sweetness

Notes:

Hello lovelies, we're almost done with this story! Should be fully uploaded by the end of the week, if I decide to do a weekend upload which. Might, honestly. I'm updating the tags for this chapter as well, because uh yeah. Content warnings for underage drinking and all that. Also small reminder from the last chapter, because it comes up at the beginning of this chapter, I'm not intending the previous incident to read as SA. Be safe y'all ^-^

TWs; mentions of past trauma, implied nightmare, underage drinking, attempted repression of memories

He wakes up gasping and swinging out wildly, covered in sweat despite the freezing air. His shadows swirl around him, rippling and cloaking him as the hammock tilts wildly, sending him to the floor with a thump. Cal chokes back the scream trying to escape his throat, hunching up small on the floor and shaking all over. A nightmare. Just a nightmare. A terrible nightmare - Cal presses his hands to his mouth. He feels sick all the way through. He tastes smoke and ash.

He’s not in the alley anymore, or in the dingy old house they dragged him to. He’s fine, he’s alright, he’s in the Clocktower, he - he’s alright. The pain has long since faded. He’s alright. Cal chokes out a sob, trying to get his breathing under control as he squeezes his eyes tightly shut, trying to take comfort in the whiteness. He’s fine. It’s fine. He can still feel their hands. It’s fine. Breathe. He’s in the Clocktower. It’s been two weeks. He’s in the Clocktower.

He wants to scream. He drags in a deep breath of freezing air instead, the chill piercing right through him. It was... It was necessary. It was unavoidable, at the time. He doesn’t think they’d have let Stella go otherwise, and she’s fine. She’s fine and he’s okay, and it’s all alright. He’s been no help with any further progress on the time device.

He makes a small choked-off whimpering sound, curling onto his side and breathing raggedly. His eyes are still shut, and he focuses on his breath. In for five, hold for six, out for eight. He focuses until the nightmare is an almost-faint thing clawing at the back of his mind. He opens his eyes, pushing himself up into a sitting position and pulling his legs to his chest. He’s fine. It’s fine. His shadows wrap around him, and Cal breathes slightly easier in the darkness. His Clocktower is sketched all in neon, and he takes a few moments to sit. He’s fine. Nobody will ever know. He can’t ever tell anybody. He’s alright, he’s - he’s fine.

He lets the shadows flow off him like liquid, the knot in his chest not going away, but settling. It feels heavy enough, hollow enough to break his ribs. He breathes again, drawing his hands through his hair. The hands flicker, twisting and grasping, and he chokes, frantically snatching them away. It’s fine, it’s okay, those are his hands. Not anyone else's’. His hands. His breathing eases slightly again. He’s still rattled. He - he needs to get to work, actually. He’d practically stumbled back from school and collapsed into his hammock for a nap. That was a terrible idea. Work will help.

It has helped these past two weeks. Sort of. Nobody’s noticed anything. Cal knows how to hide in plain sight, behind his careful mask, and behind the laughs and smiles everyone expects. He forces himself to breathe easier, closing his eyes and tucking the messy strands of hair behind his ears. Work. Right. Easy enough. He’s using his shadows to get there. He’s avoided alleyways as much as possible since. Irrational, but it helps. A bit.

————————

“Fridays, I fuckin’ swear-” Bobbi does swear, loudly, irritably sweeping up more glass. There had been more breakages than usual tonight. Cal thinks it was an event or something like that - he hadn’t fully been paying attention when Bobbi told him he’d need him until the lounge closed tonight. Which was fine, Bobbi was giving him tomorrow off as extra thanks.

Cal shifts, pausing and half-swivelling around in the bar chair, tilting his head. “Bobbi, if you want me to do that, I can-”

“Nah, don’t want you goin’ and fuckin’ cuttin’ yerself.” Bobbi waves him off, standing up and walking over to the trash, dumping the full dustpan of glass. “Drunk patrons are hell to deal with, ey kid?”

Cal makes himself laugh, lightly sweeping his fringe out of his eyes. “I mean yeah sort of, but hey! I got some great tips tonight, I think. They’re going to wake up tomorrow morning and not know where their cash has gone.”

Bobbi snorts loudly, crossing over behind the bar and pulling out a bottle of something as Cal hears Stranger walk in the door. “Y’sure you’re not just pickpocketin’ from em, kid?”

Cal straightens up indignantly, but Stranger laughs before he can defend himself. “What, you serious Bobbi? This kid? He’s got light hands, sure, but his fuckin’ moral code won’t let him. Dontcha’ remember last week when he tried to give back a tip cause it was somethin’ like 80 bucks?”

“It was 80 dollars, I thought they’d made a mistake!” Cal protests, covering his flinch as Stranger ruffles his hair. “Also, I wouldn’t have realised if you guys hadn’t commented on it, it’s not like I can see how much the money says it is.”

“Yeah, that’s what most of the regulars have figured out,” Stranger laughs again, taking a seat next to him and waving down another one of the workers - Cal thinks their name is something like Pebble, or Pablo. “Those three Bobbi steered you towards your first week? They’ve made it a bit o’ a game to see who can give you th’ most before you notice. Pretty sure the glittery one tucked a couplea’ fifties in your jacket las’ week without you realisin’.”

“Where do they even get that amount of money?” Pablo-Pebbles mutters under his breath, taking a seat a couple down from Cal. “God, if I had that amount of money-”

“Then you’d still be workin’ ‘ere.” Bobbi laughs loudly, pouring something that smells spicy and strong into a glass and sliding it down the bar towards him. “Mr. Cobblepot likes ya too much to let you go that easy, kid.”

“Bobbi, I’m not a kid anymore,” Pablo-Pebbles sounds like he’s rolling his eyes, taking a loud sip of his drink and letting out a contented sigh. “I ain’t been a kid for like, six years now. Cain here is the youngest we’ve got. Hey, Cain, how old are you anyway? Like fourteen?”

“Nah, kid hit a growth spurt recently and shot up,” Stranger chuckles under his breath, also having acquired his own drink. “No way he’s still fourteen.”

“No, I’m fifteen - oh, wait. No.” Cal frowns slightly, remembering the date. It’s the 27th today. “Sixteen. I’m sixteen now.” He’s sixteen now. A small twist goes through him and he ducks his head. He’d barely even registered it until now, blowing out a soft breath of air before he realises the others have gone silent. He blinks hard, suddenly feeling their eyes on him. “Um. You guys -”

“When didja turn sixteen, kid?” Bobbi sounds incredulous, pulling out more bottles from under the counter and reaching for the ice. “Hell, you should have told us! That’s a right celebration number around here.”

“Wh - Like, Tuesday?” Cal blinks hard, hearing Stranger scoff loudly. “I don’t - I don’t get it, it’s just a number, right? You guys are-”

“Nah, you a proper young man now, Cain.” Stranger ruffles his hair again, laughing as Cal frantically pushes his hands away. “Dontcha’ know it’s near impossible to get that old when you work around here?”

“You make this job sound so appealing-”

“Shuddup.” Bobbi places a glass in front of him, sounding like he’s grinning. “You’re a young man! You can - aw hell, Stranger, what can he do now?”

“He can stop gettin everyone t’ call me Stranger, for one.” Stranger grumbles good-naturedly, nudging the glass closer to Cal. “Go on kid. Celebratory drink.”

“Stranger, this is alcohol, I don’t think it’s legal for me to-” Cal stutters slightly as Bobbi practically shoves the drink into his hands, gripping the glass tightly.

“Nah, drinkin’ age is sixteen around here, ain’t it?” Stranger looks towards Bobbi, who just shrugs. “It’s one drink, kid. You ain’t going to get wasted after one drink unless yous a lightweigh’ sorta type.”

“It’s spiced rum, same sorta type stuff Bobbi gives me.” Pablo-Pebbles has shifted a couple chairs down, so he’s on Cal’s other side now instead of a good distance away. “Go on, just try it. We ain’t gonna force ya, but you look like you could use it.”

“Oh, baby penguin is an adult now?!” There’s a sudden excited shriek from behind Cal and he jerks, almost falling off the barstool as lithe arms wrap around him from behind. Panic flares through him for a hot second, then both Stranger and Pablo-Pebbles are laughing, the older tugging the girl off him.

“Get yer paws offa him, he ain’t want you vixen.”

The girl coos loudly, shoving at Pablo-Pebbles until he shifts over, slipping into the stool next to Cal. “Gross, no! Nah, baby penguins’ like our cute widdle brother-” She scruffs up his hair, and Cal blinks rapidly. He doesn’t think he’s spoken more than a few words to the girls that work here. “Say, baby penguin, what’s your deal with the whole dark an’ mysterious vibe? We ain’t know that much about you.”

“Didja’ stay behind late just so you could badger him, Vixen?” Bobbi grumbles, shoving a bottle at the girl. She hums loudly, picking it up and taking a long drink. It smells like beer. “I thought you knew better ‘an that.”

“Nah, the other girls asked me to. Curly wanted t’ know if he’s single.” Vixen - Cal thinks that’s her name anyway, leans closer to him, fake-whispering. “Don’t buy it, little penguin, she’s like soooo old.”

“She’s only four years older than ‘im.” Bobbi scoffs loudly, before pointing a finger at Cal. “She’s right though, you stay away from the girls that work ‘ere. They’ll love ya and leave ya.”

Cal sputters, waving his hands slightly as he panics. He’s pretty sure his entire face has gone red, flushing deeply, and the people around him break out into laughter. Vixen almost falls off her stool, she doubles over so hard. Stranger wheezes, scrubbing a hand over his face and clearly trying to choke back his laugh long enough to speak. Bobbi doesn’t even try. Cal can hear Pablo-Pebbles choking back his laughter too, draining the rest of his drink.

Cal struggles, quickly snatching up his own glass and chugging it in one go, just to do something. It burns fiercely, and Vixen lets out another loud whoop of laughter as he starts coughing, his eyes watering. Stranger snorts loudly, patting his back. “Take it easy kid! It ain’t goin’ t’ run away from you.”

Cal wheezes slightly, hearing Bobbi snort. “Well, clearly rum ain’t to his taste. You wanna try somethin’ else, kid? You gotta have at least two, thems the rules for bein’ sixteen.”

“Oh, oh, Bobbi make him one of them fruity little things!” Vixen straightens back up, still giggling. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you baby penguin?”

Cal coughs, swallowing hard, his eyes still watering, croaking slightly. “I - I like fruits, y-yeah.”

There’s a loud snort from Pablo-Pebbles, and Vixen peels off into another round of laughter. Cal blinks hard, pressing away the tears still watering around his eyes. He looks between Bobbi and Stranger, who seem like they’re struggling not to start laughing again. “What? What did I say?”

“Nothin’ kid. Good for you knowin’ your tastes.” Stranger chuckles slightly, patting him on the back again, and Cal has the distinct feeling that whatever he just said has a meaning he doesn’t know about. He should probably be worried about that, but he’s still struggling around the burn in his throat. Bobbi snorts loudly, pushing a tall glass towards him.

“Try not to throw this all back in one. I ain’t want you hurlin’ on my floor.”

“Aww, he’ll be fine Bobbo,” Vixen slings an arm around Cal in a friendly one-sided hug and scruffing up his hair again. Cal protests mildly, freezing in place as a bolt of ice-cold fear shoots down his spine, but Vixen just giggles at him. “You’re fine ain’tcha little penguin?”

Cal manages a nod, his hands clenching tightly around the glass. His heart has started to thud wildly. Whatever perfume Vixen is wearing is almost clawing at his nose. He swallows hard, shakily taking a sip of the new drink and focusing intently on the sharp, sweet flavour. Sweet, sharp and orangy. There’s a light buzz starting to spread through him, and he tips his head slightly at Bobbi, a small smile on his face. “It’s good. Thanks.”

Stranger huffs loudly next to him, plucking Vixen’s arm from off around Cal’s shoulders. “How come you’re so good with your words and pretty flowery phrases when it comes to customers, but not with us, huh?”

Cal snorts slightly, his shoulders relaxing the tiniest bit as Vixen tips towards Pablo-Pebble. “I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t appreciate any of the pretty flowery things I have to simper at customers, Stranger.”

Pablo-Pebble whistles from the other side of Vixen, the young girl easily laughing along with him. “Yeah, you flirt with just about everyone dontcha’ Cain. God, I wish I had your-”

“Hey!” Bobbi flicks a hand towel sharply at Pablo-Pebble, snorting loudly as the young man protests. “He ain’t doing no kinda flirting, he’s just polite. Lotta folks appreciate the bit o’ freshness of that.”

“I think they appreciate a bit more than just that from him,” Vixen giggles, nudging Cal. He manages a weak smile, half hiding behind his glass and taking another sip. He feels sick suddenly, his nightmares whispering at the back of his mind, and he shoves them away. He’s not going to think about it. Push it out of his mind.

“Vixen, stop making th’ kid nervous,” Stranger on his other side flaps his hands at her, and she makes the slightest of disgruntled noises before giggling again.

“Lookit you two, you really took him under your guys’ wings. Baby penguin, under th’ wing of Penguins’ two best men, yeah?”

“Please stop calling me that,” Cal hides his face in his hands, a dark flush washing over him that mixes with the slight buzzy feeling. “I think the only similar thing is that we both have dark hair, that’s it.”

“You also just randomly beat th’ shit outta people, I’ve heard.” Pablo-Pebbles laughs on the other side of Vixen, tapping his glass idly, and Bobbi huffs as he refills it. “You got th’ whole bar impressed with that one. Never seen a kid throw hands quite so savagely before.”

Cal frowns slightly, brushing his fringe out of his eyes. “What do you mean, everyone around here fights like that. Don’t they?”

“Not with that much effort!” Vixen giggles, tipping against him again and poking a finger at his face. Cal doesn’t think she’s drunk. Maybe she just acts like this usually. “You were fightin’ like you thought th’ guy was gonna put you in th’ ground if you stopped for even a second. Where’d you grow up that made you like that, huh?”

Cal blinks hard. “...Gotham. I’m growing up in Gotham.”

Stranger grunts from the other side of him, seemingly finally draining his drink and nudging Cal’s one further towards him, almost like a reminder. “Howabout you stop harassin’ ‘im about his fighting style an’ jus’ celebrate.”

“Celebrate? What are we celebrating, hm?”

Cal almost jumps at the new voice, utterly freezing in place as he registers the tapping of Penguins’ cane on the hardwood floors. Stranger seems utterly unconcerned, leaning back and tipping his head respectfully in the direction of the voice. “Evenin’ Boss. We’re jus’ celebratin’ Cain. Kid’s made it to sixteen, can you believe.”

“Ah, sixteen. A milestone, truly.” Penguin hums, his cane tapping on the floor a few times. Cal shifts in his seat, half-turning around to face the man, even though he’s closer to Stranger. Penguin seems to regard him, a touch of something odd in his voice. “Sixteen already. How time flies.”

Cal isn’t quite sure what to say, instead dipping his head, resisting the urge to just run. “Uh - yes. Yes, sir. It… It’s definitely gone.”

Vixen lets out a snort on his other side, lightly patting him on the shoulder. “Aw baby penguin, you don’t need t’ get all nervous now! Mr. Cobblepot is just tryna’ make conversation. It’s alright, Mr. Oswald, we got ‘im. He’s gonna celebrate good and proper, we’ll make sure of it!”

Penguin makes a little huffing noise, shaking his head. “I’m certain you will.” There’s a slight hesitance, then he straightens up, already hobbling away towards the back rooms. “Well! I have things to get to. Bobbi, ensure you lock up everything. We won’t have any more visitors tonight.”

“O’ course.” Bobbi grunts slightly, and in the next moment Penguin has disappeared. The large bartender snorts, reaching over the bar and roughly patting Cal on the shoulder. “Great job not stuffin’ up your first proper conversation with th’ boss, kid. C’mon, enjoy your drink.”

Chapter 13: Time Bubble

Notes:

Hello lovelies, apologies for the slightly-delayed upload by an hour or so, I had a few things to deal with and lost track of time like usual ^^; We're getting close to wrapping up this story, and I'm honestly a little bit keen to do so, so I think y'all can expect a double upload from me Friday/Saturday. Enjoy! This one is a bit of a doozy :>

TW; slight injury, mild panic attack/ breakdown, references to past trauma

“This’ll work, I’m sure of it.” Stella flits around him with all the energy of a manic seagull, fiddling with the almost ridiculous amount of dials and switches scattered over the sides of the machine. It’s almost like something out of a sci-fi film. She bounces back around him, splaying her hands wide in a ta-dah motion. “You ready?”

Cal nods, shutting the door of the time device, firmly sliding the bolts into place. There’s a loud almost thunking sound as Stella pulls down on the start-up lever. Both she and Cal instantly run to the small barricade, ducking down behind it as the machine kicks into life with a loud almost crackling hum. For a second the sound flickers in Cal’s ears, hissing darkly like a laugh, and Stella grabs onto both of his hands. He breathes, quickly reminding himself that he’s nowhere near Scarecrow. No fear gas here.

There’s a loud snapping, almost breaking noise, then the hum fills the room. It seeps into Cal’s bones, feeling like a cat has settled inside his ribcage, purring loudly. Stella laughs softly, her voice sounding like she’s speaking into a fan. “Do you hear that Cain? That’s what the future sounds like! That’s the sound of your home.”

Cal’s own voice comes out warbled, his laugh sounding like it’s stuttering. “That’s such a cheesy thing to say, Stells.” He feels giddy the longer the hum goes on for, and Stella starts counting down.

“Eight, seven, six, five, four-” The machine is purring louder, the smell of the engine oil and grease already so deep in Cal’s nose that he thinks he’s going to permanently smell it.

“Three, two-” Stella is almost giddily gripping onto his hands, shaking them up and down as the machine hums louder and louder, the noise filling Cal’s head. Stella is right. It does sound like home, like Gotham in the busiest of nights, if there wasn’t any gunfire.

“One!”

There’s a noise like someone has turned on a vacuum in space, an odd sucking almost twisting sort of noise that distorts so loudly through the hum that it almost sounds like a scream. It screams Cal’s name so loudly he slams his hands over his ears. Then the humming fills his bones again and he’s fighting for his own breath, Stella’s hands on his shoulders as she tries to coach him.

“I’m okay,” Cal gasps, waving his hands slightly and speaking over the noise of the machine. “I’m fine, it was just loud. Wasn’t expecting it.” It sounded like his name had been ripped from some cosmic being. He’s trembling, and Stella nods slowly.

“Did you hear something?”

Cal stops dead, his breath frozen for a short moment, and stares at her. “You didn’t hear that? The - the scream.”

“I mean-” Stella hesitates slightly, rocking back on her heels as the noise of the machine settles down to a soft deep purr. Her voice isn’t warped anymore. “It sounded like nails on a chalkboard for me. You heard a scream?”

Cal nods, risking a look over the barrier at the machine. He can hear it rattling softly, and Stella slowly steps around the barrier, giving him a quick thumbs up. “Let’s just forget about it. Um. You think it worked?”

“I think so.” Stella goes to switch the machine off, making a soft noise as she tries to pull the lever back up again. She sticks her head back around the machine. “It’s stuck.”

“Maybe we have to let it run for a little bit longer?” Cal heaves a sigh, sitting down in a resigned slump against the front of the barricade. “Maybe it won’t turn off until the charge has run out?”

“I guess? Maybe? Neither of us built it like that though.” Stella walks back over to him, huffing loudly. “Well, we can’t open it and see if it worked until the charge dies, and seeing as how it was much stronger than the last one, it could be a while.”

Cal frowns, running his hands through his hair and adjusting his puffer jacket slightly. It’s still cold. He’s oddly drained for some reason, although that could just be the demand of surviving Gotham’s winter. “Okay, so we wait for a bit? And then maybe try the lever again. At least nothing’s exploded yet.”

“Hey, don’t jinx it!” Stella slaps lightly at his arm as she plops down on the ground next to him, and Cal manages a smile. “I really think it works, though. Hopefully when we open it back up, the - what did you put in there again?”

“Uh. Like an entire sack of apples.” He’s figured out the weight and mass and it was closer to what he weighs now, even if he mourns the fantastic loss of that much food. He’s going to have to apologise in advance to Dick and Tim when he gets back home - and he really truly is getting back home, it’s a real possibility - because neither of them are going to be able to reach anywhere near him when he’s got proper food again.

He’d found that out with Stella, when they were hanging out and having an actual proper meal from one of the pop-up markets. She’d reached up to brush some snow off his shoulder and he’d almost flipped out on her, convinced for a brief moment that she was going to snatch his food. He’d been doing so well with un-learning that back at home.

“How did you find an entire sack of apples in Gotham? In winter thaw?” Stella sounds impressed, and he gives himself a brief moment to admit that it was impressive, before huffing out a soft laugh.

“Helped some guy shift some produce, I think, between a couple of warehouses and he gave me that in return. Although, I have no idea where he got them from himself. Guy wasn’t much of a talker, and I’m pretty sure he threatened to shoot me when I hesitated to take them, so.” Cal gestures at the machine, pushing his hair back from his face. “I don’t think I’d be able to eat them all before they went bad, so organic test matter.”

“Still. Gotham apples in winter thaw.” Stella sounds a little disappointed. “Did you save any?”

He’s aware they’re just trying to pass the time until either the charge runs out, or one of them tries to shut off the machine again. Maybe it was something to do with the vibrations the machine is making that made the lever jam. He’ll check the mechanisms when it’s off again.

“Yeah, I saved like three or four and froze them back at the icebox in the Clocktower. I still need to test them, though, I don’t actually know if there’s any… weird stuff on them. Or if they’re safe to eat.”

Stella snorts out a laugh, lightly shoving him. “You’re so paranoid. What, are you going to like, draw out their apple juice and test it for abnormalities with that setup you built the other week?”

Cal rolls his eyes. “No, of course not.” He pauses, an easy grin breaking out over his face. “I was actually going to do a surface swab and test for foreign chemicals or any traces of fear gas, or that new joker venom that’s been developed recently or-”

“Oh my god, shut up!” Stella laughs, shoving him again. “I swear, there’s a PHD somewhere out there with your name on it, Cain.” She laughs again, before shaking her head and settling down a little. “I can’t believe you built that test lab out of a couple of dumb toy science kits.”

“I’m not entirely sure they were toy kits,” Cal snorts, remembering the amount of frankly dangerous chemicals in two of the test kits he’d bought. Definitely not regulated. “You’d think that Gotham would be more strict on those kinds of things, but no. I found mercury in one of them. Mercury! What are they doing selling that in toy science kits??”

“There’s no regulations in Gotham, c’mon Cain.” Stella sounds like she’s grinning, before stretching out her legs and starting to do an odd little side-to-side wiggle with her feet. “Do you think we could give turning it off another go? I wanna see the state of those apples, if they’re still there. Maybe eat one. Time apple. Do you think it’d taste better or worse after being sent through time?”

Cal snorts, climbing to his feet. “Considering we’re trying to send them to the future, I don’t think they'd be in the machine anymore. But feel free to try and eat an air apple.”

Stella mocks him quietly behind his back, and he can’t help rolling his eyes as he tries to push up the lever. It’s still stuck, and he frowns, trying to hear over the humming if there was something wrong with the joint. “Yeah, it’s still stuck. I think-”

There’s a sharp hissing sound that almost warbles through the air, and in the next instant he’s thrown backwards as some sort of rushing, crackling wall slams into him, exploding out from the machine. Cal hits the opposite wall, and everything goes dark.

———————

Everything hurts. It hurts, and someone is touching him. Someone is running hands through his hair, and he hurts and he thought he’d escaped from the house -

Cal practically flies to his feet, swinging out wildly with a ragged gasp, and the someone shrieks and jerks back. “Cain! Cain, it’s just me!”

Cal is back on the ground again before he even really knows why, a dull throbbing echo of pain running through his head and down his spine. He hisses out a breath, struggling back up onto his elbows. Stella is there, helping him sit up, holding him by the shoulders as he sways. His throat feels dry, and he thinks that he moves that fast again, he’s going to be sick. “What-”

“The… The machine had too much overload and expelled some discharge. You were right next to it.” Stella is still holding him by the shoulders, but she doesn’t try to check him over again. Cal can practically feel the concerned look she gives him. “You hit your head pretty hard.”

“It’s fine,” Cal mutters automatically, touching the back of his head and wincing. There’s a large lump there that throbs and aches, but nothing wet. He brushes her hands off his shoulders. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Just a contusion.”

“Okay well, if you’re spouting words like contusion, then I’m going to assume you don’t have a concussion.” Stella pauses slightly. “What day is it?”

She’s still checking him for a concussion anyway, and Cal snorts a little. It makes his ribs hurt. He might not have a concussion, but he feels like his ribs are definitely bruised. That’s going to be difficult when he wants to go on patrol. “Friday, 6th of March.”

“Okay. The machine is still going -” As if Cal could ignore the low drilling hum that’s seemed to make itself home right inside his aching ribs and head. “-and I checked the lever, it’s still stuck. And…” Stella pauses heavily, shifting a little closer. “Um. We can’t leave the building. The discharge that the machine gave off has formed some sort of - of weird energy field.”

Cal freezes, his eyes going wide. “What.”

“I tried going out for help when you wouldn’t wake up - and I just.. Couldn’t leave.” Stella points over at the far wall, where they’ve been using it as their entry and exit point. Cal squints, letting out a soft groan as he sees the shimmery golden colour flickering over the entrance. It seems far too bright through the misty whiteness his vision is.

“Yeah. Okay.” He puts his head in his hands, trying to take deep breaths. Nothing could ever be simple, could it? “Okay, so - so we have to break the machine, then. Fuck.”

“Huh? Why?” Stella sounds thoroughly confused, and Cal straightens back up, blinking at her.

“I mean, it’s there because of the discharge, right? It’s formed into some sort of weird force field, you said it yourself. So if we break the machine, then the field probably goes away as well.” He’s trying to ignore the sick disappointed, almost grieving twist going through his chest. It really is just one thing after another.

“Okay, I hear what you’re saying, but I don’t think we should break the machine. I mean, actually listen to yourself Cain. We’ve spent months on this thing - and we’ve finally made progress with it - and now you just want to break it?” Stella grips him by the shoulders again, her voice turning sharp, and shakes him. “Get your head on straight! We’ll figure out another way.”

“Stella, stop shaking me!” Cal grabs her wrists, peeling her off him. His head is throbbing fiercer now, and he sighs, closing his eyes briefly so he can shut out all the coloured lines flashing over his vision. “Alright. We won’t break it, I - I didn’t really want to, anyway. Can we open it?”

“I don’t think that’s smart. You might not have a concussion, but maybe that blast knocked the sense out of you.” Stella hops onto her feet, darting over to their backpacks - which are thankfully still there, just knocked across the room - and retrieving them. She hands him a bottle of water from hers, starting to think out loud while Cal takes slow sips.

“Alright, so. We’re trapped in a force field made by a time machine, so that means we’re probably… going through time right now.”

Cal stops dead, his entire body jerking to attention, and stares at her. “How long did you program the machine for?”

“A month.” Stella groans, burying her head in her hands. “We still can’t set dates, so I just programmed it for a month from now, and then when that time arrived, we could check it.”

“Why did you do a month? Stella, why not a week?? Why a whole month?!” Cal can hear the way his voice is rising, frustration running through him. “If we’d been able to confirm it works sooner, I could go home faster, I don’t-”

“Because I don’t want you to leave just yet, Cain!” Stella snaps back at him, her voice hot. The dark pink lines fly off her as she gestures wildly. “I thought - I thought maybe we could just spend some more time together and I know you want to get home, and I know you - you don’t like being here, but you’re my best friend! And if we’ve got it right this time, then you’d try and leave once we did preparation, and I just - I just wanted more time! I wanted more time with you!”

“Stella-” Cal can’t believe what he’s hearing, staring at her. She crosses her arms, looking away from him, and he has to clench his hands tight. He should have expected this, he should have kept his distance and just figured this out for himself. He knew it was risky to make friends. “Stella, you knew I’d have to leave, I-”

“It was also to test whether they experienced time while in the pod.” Stella interrupts him, her voice harsh. “There’s no point in trying to send things to the future if they die once getting there.”

Cal flinches, gripping the cuffs of his jeans. She didn’t know how much that statement hurt; she doesn’t know that Cal is Mockingjay and every time he goes on patrol there’s a risk. Especially in the future. His mouth feels dry and as abruptly as it comes, his anger drains away. He sighs, burying his head in his hands. “Okay. Okay, let’s just - let’s just figure out a way to try to break the field.”

————————

“Okay, let’s hope this works. Recording Log Forty Three.” Cal is exhausted, weariness dragging at his limbs, and the pounding in his head has only grown worse as the hours dragged on. He can hear Stella behind him, deathly silent except for her breathing. She’d fallen asleep sprawled out on the floor five hours ago. By Cal’s count, it’s been roughly eleven hours. He’s so tired.

“We tried dismantling the machine around the lever so we could just switch it off, but it’s properly locked up. Stella fell asleep while I was working out a safe way to take out the battery charge, because I figured if we could do that then the whole thing wouldn’t be powered anymore.” He runs a hand through his hair, wincing at the pain in the back of his skull. “She hasn’t disappeared which is good, but I can’t wake her up either.”

He’s not going to say how frantic he was when he realised, how much time he’d spent shaking her and screaming out her name. His voice is still raw, and he’s certain that he looks awful. “It should work.”

Cal turns, dragging Stella behind the barricade, before crossing the space and clambering atop the makeshift ladder he’d thrown together in order to reach the power source. He breathes out, shaking out his hands. No point in stalling. The hum of the machine digs into his bones this close, and Cal closes his eyes. The misty white calms him, and he takes a deep breath before thrusting his hand forward and ripping the power pack out.

There’s a loud dragging sucking noise, the hum turning into a loud vicious roar, and the machine explodes.

Chapter 14: Loose Ends

Notes:

We are so close to being done, my lovelies! I've decided I will, in fact, be uploading the last chapter this weekend, so that'll probably happen on Sunday! I hope y'all have enjoyed reading this funny little thing so far. I'll obviously have more to say in my final note, but for now, I hope you enjoy this second-to-last chapter :D

TWs; mild breakdowns, primitive joker gas and effects, references to past trauma/ injury, needles, injections, drug usage implications, unsafe medical methods, self-experimentation, vomiting
(Trigger warnings make this chapter look bad, but I promise it's not as bad as it seems)

Two weeks pass by in a blur for Cal. He spends most of that time repairing the machine, despite Stella’s insistence that he needed to rest and let his body fix itself. There’s an ugly twisting feeling rippling through his chest every day he spends stuck in the past now, his hands trembling as he tries to figure out what made the machine overload in the first place.

Seven months, three weeks, and five days. That’s how long it had been since Cal first tumbled onto the cobblestones in Past Gotham. Seven months, three weeks, and five days since Dick had woken him from another nightmare about Scarecrow, wrapping him in a warm hug and an even warmer promise that everything is alright. Seven months, three weeks, and five days since Tek had all but kicked down the door of the Manor, dragging a tired and irritable Red Hood inside at seven in the morning, and demanding that if he had to stay here, then so did the crime lord. Seven months, three weeks, and five days since Tim had tried to ambush him in the hallway with new plans to upgrade his radar vision that they could work on together after patrol.

Seven months, three weeks, and five days since his last argument with Damian, right before patrol, where the ten year old had imperiously declared him an idiot and that he’d simply allowed the older boy to best him in the practice spar. Seven months, three weeks and five days since Bruce had tried to grab his hand to help him, to prevent him from being hurt; to prevent him from being sent back. Did he know?

He must have known.

Cal buries his head in his hands for what feels like the millionth time tonight, dragging in a slow breath and fighting back the strong sobs threatening to overwhelm him. He couldn’t even get any of his thoughts out to the camcorder. The latest explosion had damaged it beyond repair. Stella had also admitted to dropping it in her haste to get to his prone body after she’d woken up. He can’t even summon the energy to still be mad at her.

“Cain?”

“I’m fine.” The response is automatic, Cal not raising his head from his hands, and he feels Stella sit down next to him. The machine is dead silent behind him, and Stella hesitantly puts an arm around his shoulders. He can’t help leaning into it slightly, still covering his face with his hands as he desperately struggles not to cry.

“It’s okay, Cain. We’ll figure it out.” Stella’s voice is barely above a whisper, the now-fourteen year old hugging him tighter. “We’ll figure it out.”

“It feels like we’ve got nowhere. 2.0 exploded-”

“-after you took the charge out. It was holding stable, and now we have proof that it can go through time, right?” Stella’s voice is still soft, her arms tightening further around his shoulders. “We’ll figure out how-”

“The apples rotted, Stella.” Cal drags his hands down his face, listlessly staring ahead, across the inside of the much-worse-off abandoned building. He’d have to apologise to Red Hood for probably being the reason this building was like this in the future. “The time bubble lasted eleven and a half hours for us, but the apples still rotted. I don’t know how.”

“I don’t know how either,” Stella’s arms finally slip from her shoulders, and she shifts, offering him a scrap of cloth a few moments later for the tears now trailing down his face. “We need the discharge to implode next time, maybe that’s it. Maybe we can’t stop it from throwing out discharge, we just change the direction.”

Cal scrubs the cloth over his face, ignoring the strong smell of engine oil coming from it. “How the fuck do we do that, Stells? We’d need like - what like, a time magnet.”

She huffs softly, but at least it sounds like she’s smiling. “Centre focal point. Something like that. Maybe -” She hesitates, leaning back against the machine. Cal can hear the way her heart thuds slightly harder. “Maybe it’s… only going to work when you get in it. The discharge always seems to hit you the hardest. Maybe you’re the last piece we need for the machine.”

Cal has to laugh, burying his face back in his hands. It sounds ridiculous, and also makes too much sense to his sleep-deprived brain. This is different to random people trying to go through time, isn’t it? He’s trying to get back to his own time. Of course it would have to be something like that. “That - that’s just perfect. So we have no way of knowing if it’ll properly work until I use it.”

“How… badly do you want to return home, Cal?” Stella’s voice is hesitant, inching closer to him. She sounds scared, and worried, and - and also a little hopeful. Like Cal will finally give up and continue to stay, even if the machine worked perfectly.

Cal closes his eyes, shaking his head. “I - I can’t stay, Stells. I - I miss my brothers, and my dad, and - I - I have to get home. I have to go back, you don’t understand. I - I’m able to help Gotham, in the future.”

“Why can’t you help Gotham now?” Stella sounds like she’s biting back words, like there’s so much more she wants to say. “Gotham is always your home, the time period doesn’t change that. You don’t have to keep living in the Clocktower, you can -”

“Stella, my family.” Cal’s voice breaks, and he has to hold back from snapping at her, from taking out the months and months of built-up grief and anger and frustration. She’s only fourteen. “I have to get back. You - you couldn’t leave your family. They think I’ve died, Stella. I - I already failed them once, I already have hurt them so much more than I ever wanted to. I have to get back to them.”

Stella is silent for a long while, before shifting and silently pressing something that feels thick and hot and heavy into his lap. He startles slightly, bringing his hands away from his face as the scent of warm food hits him. Stella makes a disgruntled noise in the back of her throat. “We’ll figure it out, Cain. You’ll get back. We can find a different way.”

She shifts, fully turning to look at him now, and injecting false happiness into her voice. “Now come on, eat up. I brought us chips. Then we can get back to work.”

———————

Eight months and six days. Work on the time device has slowed to an almost-crawl. Cal drags himself back inside the Clocktower, trembling and shaking all over, barely able to pull himself up the rigged-up makeshift elevator. His lungs burn, and he wheezes out a laugh, panic rising through him. He struggles across the floorboards, knocking several of the test tubes of the science kits over as he desperately grabs one. His senses are full of a burning substance that he can’t get out of his nose.

Cal chokes out another laugh, every muscle in his body shaking, and downs the contents. It sears and burns going down, and Cal sprawls flat on his back. He’s in agony. He can’t stop laughing, tears streaming from his eyes. When he closes them, the white mist shifts through with green and laughter. Cal laughs, his insides on fire, until he passes out.

—————————

“Cain, I think I have it! I - what are you doing?”

If Cal hadn’t heard Stella racing up the stairs, he would have jumped. Which would have been disastrous, seeing as how he currently had the syringe of a needle sticking out of his arm and was in the process of trying to grab the second mixture he’d thrown together. “One moment.”

“You - You’re not doing drugs, are you?” Stella sounds horrified, to put it mildly, hesitantly crossing the space and Cal can’t stop the almost scoff that escapes him. It burns, turning into a soft laugh, and he grits his teeth.

“No. Grab that vial for me, could you? I can’t reach far enough.”

“What is it?”

Cal hisses out a breath. His hand is starting to shake. “It’s the second part to the stabiliser, now could you fucking hand it to me?!” He regrets the words almost as soon as he says it, a rough laugh rushing out of him. Stella takes half a step back, then grabs the vial and slaps Cal’s hand away as he tries to grab it. He almost lurches to his feet, before his legs promptly remind him why he wasn’t able to get up and grab it in the first place.

Stella settles down next to him, grumbling under her breath and Cal bites back a small shudder as she grabs his arm. “I don’t like this. What did you get hit with, and what are you stabilising?”

Cal hisses out a breath, a sick rush going through him as she fills up the syringe and pushes it back into his arm. He hasn’t stopped shaking, tipping forward slightly to press his forehead against her shoulder. His chest burns, and a small laugh wheezes out of him. “Immunity.”

“That’s not an answer, Cain.” She sounds resigned, tilting forward so that they’re holding each other up, her voice a soft whisper. “Did you get Joker gassed? Are you insane now?”

“No,” Cal whispers back, coughing out another abrupt laugh. “That’s what the - the mixture is for. It was a lot worse a couple of weeks ago. I don’t know what I got hit with, I just-” His chest shudders and he wheezes, closing his eyes and pulling his shadows towards him. They coil around his arms comfortingly, and he hears Stella make a small squeak of surprise. Right, he’d never done that in front of her before. Oops. “If it was Joker gas, then I’d - definitely not still be like this.” He wouldn’t be laughing like this if it wasn’t, they both know that.

“Cain?” She sounds scared, the two of them still leaning against each other. “You can manipulate shadows?”

Cal bites out a soft groan, his eyes still closed. He can breathe slightly easier suddenly, and he knows the stabiliser is binding together in his bloodstream. “I’m a metahuman.”

“Oh.” She’s silent for a long while, the two of them listening to small coughs and wheezes Cal makes that sounds too much like laughter. His chest burns. He focuses on Stella’s heartbeat, keeping his eyes closed as the two of them sit in silence. She still sounds scared from the way her heart pounds, her head shifting to watch the way his shadows move, but she’s calming down. A small giggle comes from her as he coaches a coil of shadow around her. “It doesn’t feel like anything. I thought it’d feel at least… misty or something.”

“No.” Cal whispers back, his throat suddenly feeling raw. “I can feel them, though.”

He feels her nod against his shoulder, breathing out slowly. His chest aches and his lungs burn, and he opens his eyes for a brief moment, almost listlessly watching it flicker through with darkness. A smile twitches across his face, almost like a spasm, and he feels Stella flinch against him.

"I'll be fine. I made… an antidote, of sorts."

"How?" Stella's voice is soft, faint with hope only she could have, and Cal chokes through another small helpless giggle, his lips twisting wryly.

"Synthesised my blood with… Gotham's water supply. Someone told me once that she… she protects her own. It was a gamble, but I think it worked."

Stella makes a sound that could be a sob or a laugh, pressing her forehead back to his shoulder. She quivers slightly, something unreadable in her voice that Cal is too tired to try and figure out. "You're crazy. You're actually crazy, y'know that Cain? Only you would try that, you know that right?"

"It worked," Cal breathes out his words, his chest tightening through another weak laugh. "Gotham protects her own."

Stella makes another weak noise, shuddering through a controlled breath, her arms coming up to wrap around him. "I really hope she does, Cain."

————————

“Okay, so it’s… glowing. That’s good, right? I’m going to call it good.”

Cal mumbles slightly in response, half asleep and slumped over his backpack. Stella had been rambling for the past hour, narrating out loud what the mix of chemicals had been doing. Cal had already told her that it would take a while to fully form, so he was catching up on some sleep. Or trying to.

“Cain, how is this supposed to help the time machine?”

Cal groans, rolling off his backpack and sprawling across the floor of the Clocktower, throwing his arm over his face. His voice comes out muffled, but he knows she’s listening. “S’posed to help stabilise it. Put it in th’ battery pack, hook up th’ car engine, boom.” He flicks his fingers a little, feeling smoke dart from his hand as an emphasis. “Stops our overloadin’ problem.”

“That… doesn’t explain anything. What’s it made out of? Like I know what I helped mix, but-”

“M’ blood. Some chemicals.” Cal mumbles out, already halfway asleep again. “Needs a focus for th’ future also. I’ve definitely bled around Gotham.”

“You… made a liquid DNA tracker, somehow, and you’re going to put it in the time device.” Stella sounds like she thinks he’s insane, like whatever gas he got hit with four weeks ago really did make him crazy. “Is that going to work? Does this even work?”

Cal shrugs. “Might not.”

There’s a long period of silence that follows, in which Cal almost successfully goes to sleep. Stella interrupts him again by announcing it’s now neon green and has bubbles in it. There’s a whole minute of silence again, then, “Your blood is really weird, Cain, if it can do this. Are you sure you didn't use, I don't know, magic or something?”

Cal huffs out a laugh. It sounds almost choked, even to his ears, and he has to remind himself to breathe properly. “Does hoping to Gotham it works count? Also I’m pretty sure my blood is a good 30-40% different chemicals now, Stells. I’ve…” He pauses slightly, drawing his arm back off his face and staring up blankly at the rafters high above. They shift and sketch themselves into his vision. “I’ve got… a lot of Scarecrows’ fear gas in my DNA as well. Happens in the future. He likes experimenting on people.”

Stella is quiet for a long while then, “Is that how your eyes got damaged?”

Cal shakes his head, a small twinge going through his chest. It’s the first time she’s ever even mentioned his eyes, his obvious almost-blindness. Although, Cal doesn’t really know if it counts as blindness still. A bigger twinge goes through his chest as he realises that his vision has actually improved since he got hit with the different type of fear gas a few months ago. He really hopes that he doesn’t have the Scarecrow to thank for his vision slowly getting better. That’d be too much. “No. I got caught in an explosion. Doctors said it burnt my retinas and might get better over time.”

Stella huffs out a small sound that could be a laugh. “Explosions really like you.” She’s silent for a bit, before speaking again, her voice softer. “Happy nine months in the past, Cain. You could have a baby in that time, you know.”

He can't help the snort that escapes him, waving a hand and yawning. "Yeah, I'm Gotham's very own time baby."

"That's definitely one way to put it."

————————

Cal feels like he’s finally able to fly again, leaping off a rooftop and twisting through the air. A laugh - clean and free and not choked, not forced - comes from his throat. Tonight was a good night. He twists in the air, throwing out his makeshift grapple to loop around a gargoyle. He swings around the Clocktower in a big loop, before jerking the rope off the gargoyle at the height of his swing.

He can’t wait to show his dad all the new tricks he’s learned with his shadows.

Cal spreads out his arms, opening his eyes as neon colours rush into his vision, feeling himself dissolve in midair as his shadows rush and sweep around him. He keeps falling through the darkness, spinning and twisting and laughing. For the first time in his life, alone and falling through this strange shadow dimension of Gotham City, he’s not scared of it.

He feels the shadows of the city all around him, moving and twisting through them as he pleases, something almost wild building in him. He feels unstoppable. His arm is burning, throbbing slightly the faster he goes, and Cal flips out of the shadows.

He lands on the roof of some building, panting with the exertion, feeling the way all the shadows stream off him like he’s just taken a dive through a waterfall. His heart is thundering in his ears, and he has to almost stumble into a sit, his legs dangling off the edge of the building. Alright, maybe he should go a bit easier. He’s still technically getting back on his feet.

Cal breathes in deeply, smelling rain swiftly approaching. The noise of Gotham city wraps around him, and Cal leans back on his hands. He looks out over the city, watching through the white mist of his vision as buildings and cars and the dark grey shadowed shapes of people sketch themselves into his vision. He suddenly feels like crying. He should have been making this kind of progress with Dick.

Cal pulls his legs up to his chest, wrapping a few shadows around himself and swallowing back the latent nausea. He wonders what Tim is doing, whether he’s gone on his hunt to find Batman yet. Faintly, he wonders if Red Hood and Tek have stumbled upon the single apple he and Stella sent into the future, way before the first device destroyed itself. A small, watery, smile crosses his face at that. It would have been funny to see.

He pushes back his cowl, undoing his hair and then quickly scraping it back up into its usual tied position. He’d felt it falling out while he was doing his tricks. He stands back up, doing a few tricks and flips across the rooftop, before landing into a handstand right on the edge. He shifts, changing to hold himself up with one hand, closing his eyes again. Dick would be proud. He can practically hear the older vigilante in the back of his mind, applauding his improvement.

Cal breathes out, letting his balance shift and tip him off the roof, free falling for a few moments, before pulling his shadows around him.

He tumbles out onto the floor of the Clocktower, barely able to slow his momentum and hitting some of the rotten floorboards with a dangerous cracking noise. Cal yelps, pulling his shadows around him again and falling out once more, right into his hammock. It swings dangerously, his arm alight with a burning exhaustion, and Cal leans over the side and vomits all over the floor below him.

He definitely pushed too hard. So much for celebrating the first of June.

Notes:

I'm gonna have to ask y'all to suspend some of your disbelief with Cal's solution to reversing the joker gas effects. In my mind, he basically made a vaccination, and not a full cure. Also, I want to say that it probably wouldn't have worked if he wasn't Mockingjay.
(ref to my small mini subplotline that Gotham is sentient in her own way. That's a different fic I've already written, if you're curious and want a tiny bit more explanation it's called "Lady Gotham" and is included in the Broken Ties series :)))
I'll see you all on Sunday, and hope you're looking forward as much as I am to wrapping up this addition to the series ^-^

Chapter 15: Is This Home?

Notes:

Hello my lovelies, rare Sundayish upload for y'all! I'm so so excited to have finished this story, honestly, even though it's technically a sort of excerpt from the main timeline. Not to worry though, I'm currently working on an alternate POV of this, I just have a few more scenes to write. It's always kind of weird to me whenever I finish a story, honestly, because I'm so used to uploading. I am going to be taking a little bit of a weeks break or so to finish up the alternate POV, but I think you can expect it some time next week ^-^ For now, let's finish this last chapter. It's a bit longer than the rest of them :>>

TWs; breakdowns, murder attempt, near-death experience, panic, swearing (a lot of swearing), blood and injury (stabbing)

“Are you sure, Cain? The last touches should be done tonight, are you sure you want to wait until tomorrow?” Stella hovers slightly behind him, watching as he almost-lovingly tucks the broken camcorder into the rotting pillar. He’d long since put the survival kit in his backpack - he never went anywhere without it now, so it should be safe.

“I’m sure. I - I want to say proper goodbyes to everyone at the Iceberg Lounge, and… it was too busy tonight. One of the regulars randomly decided to fight Zsaz in the middle of the floor.” Cal winces, remembering how the whole place had erupted into chaos, and Bobbi had practically thrown him out the back door. “Bobbi told me to go home early.”

“Right, so the bruises on your face are just for fun...?” Stella sounds doubtful, and Cal turns, rubbing his jaw. Some random person had decided to join the brawl by tackling him into one of the bar tables. He didn’t have high hopes for the guy making it out of the bar without anything broken.

“It’s fine, Stella, I -”

“You should sleep then, Cain.” Stella steps forward, wrapping him in a hug and also practically pushing him into his hammock. Her voice turns teasing, and she messes up his hair. “You look tired, go to sleep! I can fine-tune it on my own and get everything set up and ready for tomorrow night.”

Cal huffs, exhaustion already dragging at him, even as she starts leaving. “Fine, but I - Stella? Stella, I just...” He doesn’t know how to phrase it, how to express his immense gratitude for everything she’s done for him. He hears her heart leap, a small laugh coming from her over by the stairs.

“I know, I’m awesome and amazing and the bestest best friend ever. Don’t say your goodbye to me now, Cain! We can do a big tearful goodbye when I see you off tomorrow!”

Cal smiles slightly, watching her shadowy figure practically flee down the stairs. "Okay.” He knows she doesn’t hear him, and he pauses. He wants to do one last patrol. One last time around the Clocktower, and the city. He’s leaving tomorrow, and he wants to make sure the city is safe. Something twinges in his chest, and Cal shakes his head hard, already rolling himself out of the hammock and starting to get changed into his Mockingjay suit.

One last patrol through Gotham. As a celebration. He survived ten months in the past, after all.

—————————

Cal dodges around a punch, flipping through the air and ducking under another blow. Just his luck. One more patrol, nothing could go wrong, just an easy route through Gotham - just! His! Luck! He should have stayed away from the Narrows, what was he thinking?!

Pain tears across his shoulder, and Cal chokes back a cry, dodging under the following punch. He can already feel how the blades have ripped his suit, a sudden strange dizziness overtaking him. His opponent is fighting blindly though, Cal pulled all the shadows possible into this alley when he heard the first soft footfall of a Talon. They can barely see him, his vision clouded with darkness. It’s an unfair fight on their side and this has already gone on long enough. If he could just get a grasp on where they are - they have no heartbeat, and so he knows -

Cal chokes, his entire chest lighting up with a deep, pulsing agony. He stumbles, dropping to his knees, the thick taste of iron suddenly filling his mouth. What’s happening? He can’t breathe right. Something seizes the back of his neck from behind, a painfully familiar clawed hand, and Cal barely hears the soft, hoarse words over his own scream as the blade pushes deeper into his chest.

"The Court of Owls has sentenced you to die."

His shadows swarm over him, instinctual in the sudden bolt of terror that goes through him at the words. They drag and pull him down into their depths, and Cal feels the hand disappear. It’s suddenly terrifying, agonisingly painful to feel himself dissolve. He doesn’t know where he’s going, he wants to go home, he wants Stella, he wants his dad, he-

The scream rips through the air as he tumbles out of the shadows, slamming into something hard, and then there’s hands on him, frantically pressing down on his chest around the knife as blood bubbles out around the blade. All the sounds are blurring in his ears. There’s frantic talking, then his cowl is being yanked off and a stuttering gasp fills his ears.

Cal chokes, coughing hard and feeling something wet splatter down his chin. He can suddenly barely peel his eyes open, but he hears Stella, clear as day. Oh. She’s here. She’s babbling, half-screaming at him and suddenly he’s being dragged.

Cal tries to move, the pain erupting through him and he groans, grasping weakly at her hands as she suddenly, abruptly shoves him backwards. He hits something hard and she’s crying, and he doesn’t know what’s happening, trying to draw enough breath to talk to her. She’s crying, and then her figure is gone, a loud echoing clang ringing through his head. It sounds familiar.

He’s in the machine. Cal jerks upright, suddenly lunging forward, the pain in his chest only growing as he desperately wheezes, slamming a hand on the inside of the door. Not like this, not like this, it can’t go like this, he has to say goodbye to her, he has to say goodbye to everyone - He’s babbling, trying to force out the words.

The hum roars into his bones, his entire vision lighting up with bright gold and midnight blue. Cal chokes, coughing hard and slumping against the door, his entire world spinning around him as he’s almost deafened by the sound. He thinks he hears crying from outside, then there’s a click and a snap.

Cal swears he feels himself fray apart at the atoms, his scream ringing around the space as light and colour and flashes fill his vision, the roaring growing louder and louder and louder until it feels like the sound is all he is. His breath runs out. His vision blanks. There’s a split second of beautiful, perfect silence.

Then everything explodes into fire.

——————————

The smell of smoke and ash fills his senses. His entire being hurts, and Cal whimpers, sounds far too loud in his ears. For a single terrible moment, fear swamps him, that he’s right back where he started. His hand flails, his vision filled with white. He can smell gunpowder and flames, freezing rain pelting down on his face. His arm burns. He can hear yelling nearby. His chest burns, and Cal tries to move.

Agony tears through him, his half-scream cut off as a cough overtakes him, ripping more pain through him. His hand presses weakly to his chest, fingers finding the tear and the ever-so slight gap in his body armour. The knife is gone, somewhere, maybe lost to the force that dumped him here. Blood rushes out around his hand, and Cal has startling clarity for a moments thought of oh no. He’s still crying.

Footsteps, loud and frantic and everything is only getting louder in his ears. He wheezes for a breath, scrabbling desperately on the ground with one hand, shutting his eyes again. He wants this to be over. Just let this be over. His mouth tastes like nothing but ash and blood and everything is too loud and his vision is too white, and - he’s getting hit with deja-vu again. Cal chokes out a weak noise, desperately dragging in a breath.

Someone is swearing, loud and frantic, and all of a sudden hands are pressing down on his chest, and Cal screams as agony erupts through him. He thrashes, scrabbling and clawing at the strong arms, his fingers slipping right off leather, and someone is yelling at him. The hands press down harder.

Cal tries to reach, tries to grab for his shadows. His arm burns and he jerks, choking and coughing, and the person pressing down on his chest swears louder. Something is being wrapped around him, and a weak, gasping half-moan leaves him as he’s suddenly picked up.

“I got you kid, hold on, fuck Cal-” The voice is hard and mechanical, arms gripping him far too tight, pressing his own hands over his chest. His cowl is roughly yanked down over his face, and Cal trembles. Everything is fading, sounds slipping and becoming blurred in his ears. His eyes shut behind the cowl, and he chokes through another breath.

“Mockingjay, don’t you fucking dare, stay awake, fuck, dammit-” The voice is rough, scared, and he’s being jolted around, thrown on something. He lets out a choking gasp as the pain flares, and the mechanical voice swears. “Batcave, direct route!”

Everything is soft, suddenly, blurring at the edges. Cal doesn’t have enough breath left to even scream as the hands press back down on his chest, harder. He scrabbles weakly, his fingers going numb, choking through another breath and trying to tug his cowl off. He doesn’t want it on.

“Cal, Cal, don’t you fuckin - listen to me dammit, you -” The mechanical voice is still yelling at him, swimming and blurring slightly and Cal wheezes softly. He wants whoever it is to stop yelling. “Cal, you have to stay awake, listen to me - listen kid, can you hear me? You better not have gone deaf as well, you-”

The mechanical voice has changed, abruptly becoming more human, fear running through it as the hands push down harder. Cal jerks, wheezing out a breathless scream, snatching at the hands on his chest. His eyes fly open, misty white filling his vision. He can’t see them, and fear almost chokes him. Steady, strong heartbeat fills his ears. Dull. Muted. He can’t feel his hands, or his lips, or his legs.

“Keep your eyes open, kid, Cal, look at me.” The voice is desperate now, the hands pressing down. Cal can taste blood, but the pain is fading. That’s good, right? He likes not being in pain. “Cal don’t you fuckin dare close your eyes again, look at me!”

He’s almost slammed to the side suddenly, the voice - and Cal is still struggling to figure out where he is and why it sounds so so scared - swearing loudly and cussing someone out. Cal wheezes out a soft breath of relief as the hands leave his chest briefly, a slow cold feeling filling him. He doesn’t like being cold, though. He’s scooped up. There’s more yelling, someone that sounds polite and firm reprimanding someone’s language, and then the most awful, guttural sound fills the echoing space around Cal.

It feels like it’s torn something right down the centre of his chest, and he jerks. He twists, a rough sound leaving him, wheezing out for his dad. He wants his dad. He’s scared. This is scary. He wants his dad. There’s more sounds, more yelling, shouting, ringing through his head, then a soft gentle prick in the inside of his elbow. Cal gasps out a breath, the soft coldness sweeping away the last of the pain, and closes his eyes. His thoughts drift, sounds and sensations blurring as the cold mistiness takes over everything.

Cal slips away into the welcoming darkness.

——————————

It’s the quiet singing that drags him back up, and Cal fights against it. He doesn’t want to wake up. He wants to stay in the quiet darkness, where nothing can hurt him. He can already feel sensations blurring back in, sharpness spiking through him. A shuttered breath hitches through his chest, and the singing cuts off with a soft choked sound.

Something tightens around his hand. There’s a heartbeat nearby. Soft, strong, not steady in the slightest. Thudding hard. Three more heartbeats, actually, shifting and moving. One’s slightly erratic, jumpy with no-sleep and too much caffeine. The other one is faster, smaller, almost solemn and determined. One slow, deep, tinged with anger.

“Baby Wing?”

The voice cracks, soft and desperate and almost pleading. Familiar. He knows that voice. Knows that heartbeat like he knows how to breathe.

Cal forces his eyes open, his own voice cracked and broken and hoarse. “Dad?”

There’s a noise like someone’s crushed all the air out of a plastic bag, then arms are folding around him. Neon blue flares in his vision. There’s the heartbeat under his cheek. Cal bites back the pain that spikes through him and grabs on, a rough sob breaking out of him. He’s going to hate it if this is fake-

“It’s real, Cal, it’s real, you’re here. I’m here.” Dick is pressing the words into his hair, holding him so tightly it’s painful. He’s making odd sounds, a strangled noise leaving him, and Cal clutches on harder. He doesn’t want to let go, he needs to let him know what happened. He’s gasping out the words, forcing them out between sobs.

“I didn’t die, I - I didn’t die, I - I got sent to - to the past, and I - I was s-stuck there, I t-tried to come home, I-I tried, I s-swear, I d-didn’t die, I-”

“You got home Cal, it’s okay, it’s alright. You’re home, you got back.” Dick is talking at the same time, holding on tight and half-rocking the two of them back and forth. He sounds like he’s crying, soft wet patches leaking through Cal’s hair as he presses closer. “You’re home, you’re home, you’re home, I’m right here. I’m here, Baby Wing, I’m right here.”

Cal can already feel his energy flagging, trying to grip on tighter even as the brief burst of energy is leaking out of him with every rough sob that makes his chest feel like it’s splitting open. “I-I didn’t die, I’m not- I’m not-I’m-”

“It’s okay.” Dick is whispering softly, the same thing over and over again, his frame shaking slightly. “It’s okay Cal, it’s okay. I’m right here. You can rest, I’m right here. Nothing is going to hurt you.”

—————————

The next time Cal wakes up, it’s to a weight half-sprawled across his legs, three heartbeats, and a dry feeling in his throat that lets him know he desperately needs water. He blinks open his eyes, registering the clearly-sleeping forms of Dick and Tim - Tim is the one sprawled over his legs. Both breathing softly. Both here. He’s back home. This isn’t a dream. Jason and Tek aren’t here, though.

His eyes flit around the small room, shapes and objects sketching into his vision, before fixing on the small, almost sullen figure sitting on the chair at the end of his bed. Almost like they’re keeping guard. They’re faced directly towards him, arms clearly folded. Heartbeat almost forcibly slow.

“Damian.”

“Tt.” They make the smallest noise, their posture straightening up slightly, red and green flashing off them. Careful to keep their voice low. “You look horrendous, Grayson.”

Cal winces, slightly pushing himself up into a proper sitting position, careful to not disturb Tim or Dick. He’s not entirely sure what he’d expected. “Remind me to tell you that when you come back from the dead.”

“You didn’t die,” the small figure snaps back, still being cautious to keep their voice low. “Your heart only stopped for a minute. That is hardly dying.”

Cal freezes, his eyes going wide. “What.”

Damian pauses slightly, giving a small imperious sniff. “However, I am… inclined to recognise that is a feat that would make anyone - apart from myself, of course - unsettled, so.” The small boy shifts, uncrossing his arms and most likely levelling a glare at Cal. “You are allowed to hug me for ten seconds. For your own comfort, of course. Richard insisted.”

Cal has no idea what is happening, trying to wrap his head around all of this. The last time he saw Damian had been before patrol ten months ago; he’d been screeching at him about his skills being far superior, and that Cal had been cheating during their spar. He’d narrowly avoided being stabbed. And now Damian was offering a hug? Cal blinks hard, suddenly aware of the way Damian’s heart had picked up with nerves.

He hesitantly opens his arms, and Damian moves with more eagerness than he would have thought from someone who hated physical contact. He blinks, noticing how the boy avoids deliberately kicking Tim as he climbs over him, leaning somewhat cautiously against his chest. Cal blinks again, just as hesitantly resting his chin on top of Damian’s head as he wraps his arms around him. His hair is spiky with gel.

“Do not get used to this.” Damian’s voice is muffled, the young boy pressing the words into the bandages that Cal only now just realises are wrapped around his chest. “This is merely for your own benefit, as no doubt you would have tried to do this later once you regained your senses properly. You are overly emotional that way.”

Cal has to snort softly, relaxing slightly. He can tell from Damian’s heartbeat that the young boy is bluffing. “You know you can say that you missed me. I won’t judge.” Even if it is weirding him out a whole lot. Even if he has the feeling that something must have really gone wrong, to make Damian behave like this.

Damian stiffens, making an irritated noise, but no move to pull away. “That is a ridiculous notion. Your disappearance was only noticed by me because of Richards’ constant grieving. It impacted his ability to perform his duties to the usual standard. I did not miss you at all, nor did I make any effort to learn more about you, in the event you were gone for good. I was entirely unaffected.”

A spike of pain goes through Cal’s chest as he snorts again. “Sure, Damian.”

“Shut up, Grayson.”

He notices Damian doesn't make much of an effort to pull away, even after more than ten seconds have passed. He can hear the way the small boys' heartbeat has slowed down, feeling the sharp ache as Damian's head rests against his chest, right over Cal's heart. It's unusually affectionate, especially for Damian, and it's starting to truly freak him out. Not to mention the fact he'd thought Tekka would be right there with everyone else, and he's… not.

"Damian, do you… do you know where Tekka and Jason are?"

He can feel the way Damian stiffens again, pulling away and sitting back on his heels. There's a long pause, wherein Cal has just opened his mouth to ask again, before Damian abruptly slips off the side of his bed.

"I have no idea, nor is it any of my concern." His voice is sharper than it was before, his posture stiff and straight-backed, before he turns and almost marches towards the sketchy outline of a doorway. "I shall inform Pennyworth you are finally awake."

Cal blinks as Damian all but flees the room, in his own way, sinking back against the starched pillows of the cot with an uncomfortable churning feeling in his gut. He blinks, hearing more than feeling Dick stir to wakefulness at his side. He hears the way his heart jumps, Dick straightening up slightly. Neon blue dashes across his vision.

"Cal, hey buddy. You're awake." There's a relieved smile in Dick's voice, barely-hidden anguish underneath, before his tone sharpens with concern at the obvious disheartened look Cal is sure is on his face. "Cal? Kiddo, what's wrong, what's going on?"

Cal's breath trembles slightly in his throat, and he shakes his head, shoving all doom-crying thoughts out of his head. Tek and Jason are probably fine, they're probably just on patrol. They'll come back soon, he's sure.

"Cal?" Dick's voice is gentle, and his hand almost carefully covers Cal's own. "What is it?"

Cal blinks hard, turning to look at the dark shadowy figure, a million thoughts running through his mind, before his mouth opens and one falls out of its own accord. It's not the one he meant to say, but it's still important, and the room seems to ring with the quiet solemn reverberation of his words.

"We need a cover story."

"Oh, Cal. We - let me handle that, you should just -" Dick leans forward, his posture shifting slightly, and after a moment Cal recognises the quiet, subtle offering of a hug. He can't stop the tears from welling up in his eyes, burrowing against Dick's chest as his dad wraps strong, secure arms around him. Real, finally real. This isn't any kind of dream he's having. The thud of Dick's heart under his head proves that.

"Just rest up, okay Cal?" Dick's voice is quiet in the semi-silence, warm over the sound of the sobs Cal presses into his shirt to muffle. Dick only hugs him tighter, mindful of his injury and presses a soft kiss to the top of his head, sounding tearful himself.

"You're home now. You're home."

Notes:

I debated a lot on this finishing scene, but I'm pretty happy with the way it turned out. Expect more from me in the future, I'm not done with this Series by a long shot :>>
Until next time!

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 12 of Broken Ties AU