Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Every hero has an origin story that illustrates what type of paragon they’re destined to be. A boy kneels in a desolate alley with his parents’ blood on his hands as the lone survivor of a meaningless crime. An infant is sent into the unknown with the hopes of all its dying planet on its shoulders before reaching its first year of age. A princess who is thousands of years into her ageless eternity finally encounters the world of man on her kingdom’s borders.

Though these days, the art of the heroic origin story is long lost in favor of justifying the legacy that is yet to come. The embellishment of the fantastical is a greater point of contention in hindsight when everyone starts mundane. The concept of The Hero’s Journey is the same, but, being a hero in this modern age of supers is almost a lost art. An ordinary world is turned on its head by a call to action, yet where have the days gone when that was meant to be a simple choice rather than a fate-defying one? What has changed in the world where that choice stopped being a quiet promise to be a decision of life or death?

Is there even a place in the universe for the next great hero who will change the way the world works? There are so many before who stood like titans in the shape of mere mortals, whose tales can be retold by hundreds, yet their integrity never falters. The thought of trying to live up to the pinnacle of excellence made precedent inconceivable, however, not unattainable.

Maybe it’s time to go back to basics.

“DAMI!” A 10-year-old boy in a Superman-themed T-shirt screams as powerful beams of red light are expelled senselessly from his eyes. The deathly lasers slice through solid steel pillars and glass in arbitrary directions while men in black ski masks dive out of the way.

A shorter boy in a green mask and Robin shirt no older than twelve tackles the younger and forces the younger boy’s pale hands to cover his eyes to end the demolition. “WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT NAMES YOU LITTLE SH-!”

“No bad words!” The superpowered juvenile retaliates as he feels his friend getting off him. “Plus I’m taller than you!”

The older boy unhooks a coil of metal wire from his belt loop before pouncing to tie one of the men. He proceeds to do the same to the rest of the fleeing adversaries while his partner remains preoccupied controlling his eyes. After he finishes tying the goons' hands and feet together he pulls them all into a neat pile for easy organization. He counts the number of villains to discover he’s one short.

A faint grunt alerts the would-be hero to the imminent danger and the boy hits the ground as a desk is flung in his direction. The office furniture smashes through the already damaged window, shattering it. Robust howling winds billow through the opening created by the height of the skyscraper. The sudden shift in air pressure moving from high to low sucks the child out of the broken window as his friend finally blinks his eyes, the red light turning into celeste irises.

“DAMI!” The younger boy shouts as the scarlet cape made from a loosely tied red blanket hits the back of his head as it follows the draft.

“I hate you so much! What did I say about names?!” The other scolds him as he falls off the ledge.

The boy in the cape doesn’t hesitate to sprint with the wind to dive after his friend to the concern of everybody, even some of the goons yell in worry. The two kids reach for each other as they plummet to the ground, their eyes only focused on each other. One boy is facing the sky with unbridled determination, while the other is fixated on the earth beneath them with fear of the inescapable. They’re both headed towards the same destination, yet their hands fail to connect. Perhaps this isn’t the origin story of future legends. 

Oh well, some people are simply fated for mediocrity.

Their descent is halted by the appearance of a man above men, whose powers are as unmatched as his character. His cape spans across his back like the wings of an angel, a god on earth, as he catches them far before the children smash into the busy street below. His curly black locks reflect a midnight blue hue under the moonlight and flutter with the wind from so on high. Azure eyes stare down at the boys in his arms with the palpable disappointment only a parent could possess.

The man’s lips were taunted in a thin line as the faint sounds of fighting emanated from the room the kids left behind. He floats upward and the golden glow of the red S on the man’s blue uniform reflects on the glass skyscraper as they make it back to the top floor. There, the goon who threw the desk at the masked boy is beaten on the ground next to his compatriots. The tied-up men are gawking horrified at the dark corner of the room.

It was difficult to see through the thick shadows of the unlit room, but the older boy instantly clicked his tongue at the sight. “-TT- Father.”

A man, although more of a vaguely human shape, emerges in all black from the darkness. “We’re going home.” He tells them and through the whites of his mask, he glares a promise of sleepless nights to the captured gang.

“Holy shit that’s Batman’s kid?!”

“And Superman! How are we not dead?!”

“Look man, we’re just low-level! We’re not worth your time, just let us go!”

“Aren’t those kids a bit too young for this-”

“Shut up, you don’t question Batman!”

The panicked voices are only second to the internal screaming the youngest boy is hearing in his head. “Oh no, we’re in so much trouble!”

Indeed, this unfortunate pair of juveniles are in trouble. This fact is further solidified as four adults glower at the boys who are seated on a plush country green couch adorned with uncomfortable lace. The younger boy is slouched deep into the cushions with his face hidden behind his pale hands. The older boy is defiantly glaring back at the adults, his posture perfect and his head held high, ready for the verbal battle.

“I can’t believe you two! Not only did you two sneak out on a school night, but you did it to fight crime!” A brunette woman with lavender eyes takes the initiative to start the lecture, her arms crossed over her chest. “Damian I can understand-”

“Hey!” A young man in his mid-twenties with black hair and sapphire eyes hollers, deeply offended on Damian’s behalf.

“But you, Jonathan Samuel Kent?” She continues unperturbed. “We raised you better than this! You’re too young to be going off fighting crime unsupervised.”

“-TT- A normal parent would be concerned that their children were going out fighting crime at all,” Damian snidely remarks, rolling his emerald green eyes.

“Damian, don’t you start that with us.” A man in his early forties scolds, his glare as terrifying in person as it was behind the bat-themed cowl. “You are well aware that we aren’t a normal family. You are also aware we have strict rules in place to protect you.”

“You let Richard fight crime by himself when he was twelve!” The 12-year-old argues, pointing an accusatory finger at the younger man who was offended earlier.

“Dami, I was most certainly not allowed to fight crime alone when I was your age!” Richard hastily clarifies. “And Jon is ten-”

“I’ll be eleven in June!” Jon protests.

“Which is still too young!” A man in casual clothes and comically thick glasses, a far cry from his heroic blue and red regalia, informs his son.

“Even if I was allowed to do that, which I wasn’t, times have changed. There were no Superhero teams when I was your age to set boundaries. All of this was still new and rules haven’t been written.” Richard explains, shaking his head. “If you want to be a kid hero, then you can, but only if you join a team. You two are barely old enough to be part of Young Justice or the New Teen Titans. If you two wanted to join us then you have to join one of those teams so the Titans or Justice League can make sure you’ll be safe.”

“But I don’t want to join those foolish teams!” Damian huffs, turning up his nose at his older brother. “If I join Young Justice then I’ll be forced to work with Drake, and if I join the New Teen Titans then-...” He stops himself and looks to Jonathan for a quick escape.

Instantly catching on to his friend’s dilemma, Jon voices his protests to join the current child-centric teams. “The New Teen Titans is a stupid name. Why do they have to be new? What was wrong with just Teen Titans? Also, if I joined Young Justice then Conner will be there, and I love Conner, but I don’t think I can stand being on a team with him. It’s like that one time he helped me with my school project and we didn’t get any work done because he didn’t want to help me make a paper pig. He wanted to make a cow, but Kathy called dibs on the cow project, so I had to do the pig one so he went to her house to ask for a trade, but Kathy got that new Monk-E Monster’s video game that you won’t get me because it’s rated T for Teens and he played that while I just sat in my room like an idiot!”

“Jonathan, that doesn’t mean you can’t be on a team with your brother. Plus, we already punished him for that, so you can’t keep holding that over his head.” Jonathan’s mother sighs, holding her head.

“That was last week!” Jon fires back, visibly distraught about the incident.

“Your feelings don’t give you permission to act out on your own,” Damian’s father grumbles, massaging the stout bridge of his nose. “That goes for both of you. Just because you don’t want to join, doesn’t mean you can go solo. Neither of you boys has the training, teamwork skills, or resources to make it on your own. If you joined a team you can have all of those things and support from us to make sure you can properly balance heroing and your regular lives.”

“Father, you make this lifestyle sound like a silly after-school club.”

“It essentially is until you two become adults,” Jon’s father explains while kneeling at the pair’s eye level. “Just because you two can be heroes, doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to rush head-first into battle. We’re not raising soldiers; we’re raising children who happen to have different options available to them for their future.”

“Even the military has an afterschool club in this godforsaken country so you could raise soldiers if you wanted to.” Damian retorts, his sneer worsening.

If it wasn’t considered rude, the glasses-wearing man would facepalm. “The Reserve Officer Training Corps (ROTC) isn’t actually indoctrinating soldiers. It’s just extra education that children can take if they want to join the military.”

“And not what we’re talking about right now,” Richard rounds the conversation back to the main topic; that being they’re in trouble. “Damian, we want you to be safe. If you go behind our backs to go on missions we don’t authorize, you’re not only putting yourself in unnecessary danger but also Jonathan.”

Damian clicks his tongue and turns his head away again as Jonathan’s mother takes her chance to scold her son. “And Jonathan, we love you and want the best for you, but you’re still our little boy. That means we want you to come to us when you want something, not go behind our backs.”

Large sincere puppy dog eyes glance up through Jon’s eyelashes as he murmurs a dejected, “Yes, ma'am.”

“Good.” Completely unfazed by her son’s adorableness, she nods and stoically announces, “You’re grounded. No video games, no internet for anything other than school, no playing with your friends, and no using your powers for a whole month!”

The older boy releases a bark of laughter while his friend covers his face with a heartbreaking groan. Before Damian can playfully revel in Jonathan’s misfortune, his father chimes in with Damian’s very own punishment. “And Damian, you’re not allowed to train, and you can’t pet any of your animals for two weeks. You still have to take care of them, but no petting, cuddling, or sleeping in the same room.”

“What?! That is cruel and unusual punishment!” The 12-year-old screeches to the high heavens at the audacity of it all.

Feeling Damian’s distress, a tuxedo cat adorning innocent yellow eyes and the softest black coat with little white paws nuzzles up to the child. The pine green collar with a golden “A” embroidered on it chimes as the feline moves across the boy’s bare ankles. 

The kid instinctively reaches down to pet his cat when his eldest brother motions at him warningly. “Nuh-uh mister! Hands where I can see ‘em! If you put even a finger on that fluffy head you’ll get that punishment extended to two months!”

“Why must you punish my blameless companions for your foolish misgivings? You call yourselves heroes, but this is pure evil!” Damian wails forlornly as he puts his hands up like a meager criminal caught by the police.

Jonathan’s dad raises a brow at the creative punishment and turns to his fellow father. “Bruce, is that a practical punishment?”

Damian’s father, Bruce, releases another sigh as he releases his nose to acknowledge his friend. “Clark, I know how odd this seems to you, but Damian can’t be grounded like Jon. He doesn’t care for television, he doesn’t hang out with his friends after school unless he’s forced to, he doesn’t have social media or cares for the internet, and he thinks video games are an insult to the human experience. If you can think of a way to ground a child that likes to do homework, then by all means tell me.”

“Wait,” Jonathan’s mother says with a confused expression. “Damian likes to do homework? I’m always hearing about him complaining about it when he comes over.”

Richard shakes his head with a fond, yet tired exhale. “He complains because it’s not hard enough. He made his teacher cry because he submitted an 87-page paper about how Gothic literature influenced the Art-Deco aesthetic.” He shudders at the memory as he adds, “It was supposed to be a single-page book report for summer reading. The poor man hadn't even given out the assignment yet.”

“I wouldn’t complain as much if you’d let me skip this poor excuse for an education system! At least let me skip a few grades! Mother has already familiarized me with the equivalent of several doctorates! I would have the diplomas as proof if she didn’t kill my professors!” Damian whines as he reaches down to pet his cat again before being put in his place by his father’s intense glare. “Alfred is innocent! You’re depriving him of my affection!”

An elderly man in a pressed tuxedo and perfect posture enters the living room of the comfortable farmhouse to pick up the cat. “Alfred the cat will receive plenty of love and affection from the rest of the family to make up for the absences, Young Master Damian.” He turns to the brunette woman, gesturing to the purple rollers in her chocolate lock and wrinkled nightgown. “I’m sure we understand the punishment put in place. Mistress Kent has work tomorrow morning and this fiasco has held her up long enough. I suggest we take our leave.”

Lavender eyes roll at the British butler and she laughs at the name she’s referred to. “Mistress this, mistress that. Alfred, please, how many times do I have to tell you to just call me Lois?”

“Forgive me for desiring to maintain a semblance of professionalism in a world where it seems to be a lost cause.” He glances keenly at Damian’s father as he pets the cat with his name. “Master Bruce, speaking of a lack of professionalism-”

“I didn’t do anything!” The man defends, throwing his hands up.

“On the contrary. You are still on strict bed rest as ordered by Dr. Thompkins, yet you were already up working long before being informed about Young Master Damian. Once we leave the Kent residence I don’t want you leaving your room until you get a good night’s rest.”

“Alfred, I’m a grown man; I know my limits.”

“And yet you are adamant on pressing mine and setting a poor example to your children.” The butler inclines his head to Damian and Richard before turning back to the matriarch of the Kent residence. “It was lovely being welcomed in your home once more, even under these… Unfortunate circumstances.”

“Anytime, Alfie,” Lois agrees and leads the older men up the stairs. “I’ll walk you guys to the teleporter.”

Clark sits next to his son and his son’s friend on the couch, patting both boys on the back. “I’m sorry we have to be so hard on you ‘bout this, Jonno, but we don’t want to see you hurt.”

“I thought you said heroes have to act for themselves. How am I ever going to learn to be a hero if you’re going to be telling me what to do when I join a superhero team?” Jon asks, looking up at his father.

“-TT- And how are you going to let him grow up if you apologize for your pathetic excuse of a punishment?” Damian complains, his words dripping with arrogant judgment. He’s swiftly picked up like a rabid animal by his brother who gives the man a rushed apology as he walks up the rickety wooden stairs. Jonathan waves his friend goodbye while the other is still thrashing in the hold.

Once all their guests have left, Clark Kent takes off his lenses and wraps his right arm around his little boy to hold him close. He takes one of Jon’s smaller hands into his other palm tightly, securely. “Jonathan, your mother and I love you so much that the thought of anything happening to you is unbearable. We can’t begin to imagine our lives without you. When I saw you and Damian fall out of that window my world stopped.”

“But Dad, you taught me how to fly,” Jonathan rebuttals, his rosy cheeks huffing into a pout. “I have to learn how to fly without you watching me in case I fall.”

The man chuckles as he holds the 10-year-old closer. “That’s a beautiful metaphor, but not when taken literally. Jon, you can only use one of your powers at a time right now, and you’re still training them. Even if you caught Damian, you wouldn’t be strong enough to hold onto him and fly to safety. Plus, don’t think I ignored your out-of-control laser vision. You just got that and shouldn’t be trying to use it around people. It wouldn’t only hurt you, but you could’ve hurt Damian.”

A pale fist balls up the faded denim on Jon’s lap as the boy briskly looks down in shame, his wavy black hair hanging down to obscure his face. “I just want to be like you. You didn’t need a superhero team to be Superman.”

The child feels the broad chest of his father expand as he takes a deep breath. Jonathan can’t see his father’s face, but he doesn’t want to know the expression he's wearing. Then he speaks, his voice firm, yet soft and filled with love.

“Jon, I was able to be Superman because I can live my life as Clark Kent. Ma and Pa gave me a wonderful childhood that shaped the kind of hero I wanted to be. Just because I didn’t have a Superhero team fighting next to me, it doesn’t mean I didn’t have a team of heroes supporting me. They might not be what you think of when you think of Superheroes, but your grandparents were the team that guided me through my challenges. Your mother and I want you to be Jonathan Samuel Kent before you get to wear that scarlet S on your chest.” Clark releases his son’s hand and presses his index finger on the symbol on Jon’s shirt. “These symbols carry a weight to them, and there will be a time you can hold it up as your own. That time isn’t now, and it won’t be before we say you’re ready.”

“Conner didn’t need permission to be Superboy.” Jonathan grits through his teeth, refusing to look up from his lap. “And he just had to be a super and everyone accepted him. You were super and everyone accepted you. And there’s Kara who is super too! Why can’t I be super?”

“Honey,” Jonathan’s mother assures as she walks downstairs and moves to sit on Jonathan’s left. “You are super. You’re our Super Son, and nothing will ever change that. One day, you’ll get to show the world how wonderful you are if or when you become a hero, but that day isn’t today.”

“And that’s okay.” Jon’s father tacks on. “There’s no need to rush, we work hard to ensure you can grow up in a world where you can be anything you want. A superhero is only one of the options you can explore. Just give it some time, alright?”

Jonathan takes a shaky breath and relents albeit dejectedly. “Yeah, I get it. I just wish it would happen faster because y’all are so amazing.”

Lois gives her son a smile that radiates warmth as she guides her son off the couch with gentle hands. “You’re amazing too in your own special way. Now, let’s get you to bed; we’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”

“Yes, ma'am,” The child grumbles followed by an enormous yawn.

The 10-year-old diligently completes his nightly routine with his parents as the family of three wash up at the sink, brush their teeth with rigorous vigor at the mirror, and get changed into their pajamas. His mother tucks him into his Superman-themed bed sheets and his father kisses him on the forehead before turning off the lights. The pair takes one last glance at their son who is peeking at them from under his blanket with a single open eye before wishing him goodnight then closes his poster-plastered door.

Wide blue eyes reflective of the sky stare at the rustic bare ceiling planks with false interest as the shadow of the full moon illustrates odd shapes in the pattern. He takes a deep breath of the humid air and contemplates whether he should undo his comfortable position to open his window. 

He decides against it and is stuck reeling back into his mind as he tries to fall into slumber. Jonathan turns his head to the Superman poster sloppily taped to his wall at a permanent tilt. He wonders if he could ever be a hero like his father and it’s those thoughts that finally lull Jon to sleep.

The next morning in a city far away, a 12-year-old boy rises with the sun despite the minimal sleep he gets while his father decides to spend an extra hour lecturing him over his reckless behavior. He drags his heavy gold-embroidered curtains open to take in the sight of Gotham on the horizon. It’s not an overly beautiful sight despite what all the movies set there seem to advertise. It was filthy, crude, and dark, yet there was admittedly a stubborn charm that its rampant crime rate failed to smother.

In the front yard, Damian sees a turkey atop the back of a brown cow with a bat pattern over her eyes. He turns around to see black and white paws clawing from under his door as though they could fit through the gap. From the other side of his door a low boisterous bark, and an image of a majestic Great Dane with sleek dark fur invades his mind. He wants to pet them. He wants to pet all of them so badly that it physically hurts. He doesn’t want to extend his punishment for longer, however, it’s been less than twelve hours and Damian is beyond suffering.

It becomes worse as he goes through his morning routine of cleaning and feeding his animal companions. They brush against him and lick his face without Damian responding as he usually does, with head pats and hugs. They were all perfectly obedient and accommodating, yet Damian couldn’t so much as touch a hair on their soft heads with Pennyworth staring at him from the foyer. He tried resorting to giving them extra treats, but that was swiftly stopped when he sacrificed the family’s stock of avocados for his wonderful red dragon bat’s breakfast.

Damian is quickly sent to the bathroom to prepare for the Hell that is Gotham Academy. The adolescent doesn’t understand why his paternal family insists on sending him to such a low-quality establishment when he is above that drivel. Either way, he puts on his dull grey blazer that matches perfectly with his mood as he sits down for family breakfast.

The youngest Wayne sneers at his siblings joining him at the table because not only are they annoying, but they also remind him of his failure. This dinner table is filled with uniformed vigilantes gallivanting as paupers, yet Damian is forced to sit in their shadows. It was an injustice!

First, there was Richard “Dick” Grayson, the acrobatic symbol of hope for their family. He might look like a disheveled man in his mid to late twenties mooching off his rich father’s resources, but he’s actually Nightwing; the most flexible hero both in mind and body. He’s able to mentally, physically, and emotionally adapt to everything this dangerous life has thrown at him with a smile on his face. He was the first child hero to ever grace the world with the title of Robin and changed the lives of millions by simply existing.

“Hey, where did all the avocados go?” The man questions as he lifts his toast like the missing fruit could magically be under it.

Next, there was Cassandra Cain, Batgirl, a human weapon who can discern weakness with her keen eyes. She was trained to be a kinesthetic master as well as a vision to read others’ body language. This young woman was at the peak of physical fitness and power.

The almond-eyed woman is also baffled by the lack of avocado as she tugs politely on Alfred’s tailcoat and maneuvers her hands into a series of gestures to communicate with him. Damian has noticed Cassandra was too exhausted to verbally speak most days, and as a master of the non-verbal has taken to speaking with her hands. 

“Ah, Madam Cassandra. I have changed the menu for today. There was a sudden shortage and there won’t be any avocados until we get our next shipment on Sunday.” The elderly butler answers with a poignant glance in Damian’s direction.

Then there was Timothy Drake, investigator extraordinaire and current prodigy to Batman, the third Robin. The boy is a skilled deceptor who can blend into any social situation. He can solve mysteries to rival the world’s greatest detective, he’s a leader that valiantly holds up Young Justice, and a tactician whose skills can be used on the battlefield or the boardroom.

And a teenager that is unseemly asleep face first in a bowl of oatmeal. Cassandra kicks his chair leg under the table, causing the 16-year-old to yelp before falling backward on the floor. “ACK!”

Lastly, there was Duke Thomas, a meta of unspeakable potential and the only member willing to patrol in broad daylight. Damian has no idea how he got here, but his father was willing to revoke his no-metas in Gotham policy for him. That probably has more to do with Bruce Wayne’s adoption problem rather than anything poor Duke accomplished.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I always thought avocado was overrated. Do we still have peanut butter?” The African-American teen only a year younger than Tim asks as he uses his yellow hoodie as a napkin. Alfred exasperatedly points to the cloth napkins in front of him causing the boy to blush and anxiously use that instead. “Sorry, I’m not used to using those. They look so fancy that I didn’t want to ruin them.”

“I assure you, Master Duke, napkins were made for sullying.”

Suddenly the French doors to the dining room burst open as a blonde teenager with a purple headband kicks them in. She struts to the head of the table where Damian’s father is drinking his coffee and reading the news on his tablet. She shoves the chair over and pulls over an empty one so that she’s at the head of the table instead. The father doesn’t even bat an eye as the frizzy-haired girl’s antics have unfortunately become normal.

“You guys better have a plate for me, cause my dad drained my bank account and I’m not about to steal from Walmart again!” The teenage girl begins to eat Bruce Wayne’s untouched breakfast of pancakes and eggs Benedict. “At least not before they restock on the good stuff next Wednesday!”

Oh yeah. There was Stephanie Brown, the freeloader extraordinaire who occasionally breaks into their manor to steal their food. Damian has no idea how she managed her way into being a teen hero other than audacity. Her hero name wasn’t even remotely related to the Batman mythos. It was Spoiler! She didn’t even dress like them!

“According to his sentence, your father should still be in Blackgate,” Bruce says as he puts his Wayne industry tablet down for the first time this entire meal. Alfred hands him a to-go box for this occasion as he also hands Duke a jar of peanut butter.

“He should be, but that doesn’t mean he is,” Stephanie grumbles as she reaches over the table to take Tim’s coffee mug. “So guess what I’m doing tonight.”

“Stephanie, it’s a school night. I’ll take care of it.” The man declares as he stands from his seat with his breakfast in hand. “I have to leave for work right now, but I’m still going to check on all of you throughout the day. Tim, remember to do your driving hours with Jason before your test.”

“ Fiiiiiiiiine,” Tim groans, still on the floor.

“And Dick, Barbra called and is busy after work-”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take Cass to her ballet lessons.” The man finishes as he takes a bite of his toast.

“Alright, and Duke, if you go anywhere after soccer practice text me so I’ll know.”

“I got it, Mr. Wayne.” Duke nods as he spreads the butter on his bread.

“Also, Stephanie, Damian, I better not hear about either of you doing something you shouldn’t.”

“Oooooooooh! What did Damian do to get in trouble!?” The teenager jumps to her feet and leans forward with an energetic bounce to look across at Damian at the other end of the table. “Come on, spill!”

“The same thing you’re planning on doing,” Bruce tells her as he leaves the room. “Don’t test me, Stephanie. I’ll ground you too. Bye, have a good day at school.”

Most of his children give him an unenthusiastic goodbye except for Dick who yells back, “I don’t go to school! I have a job! I’m an adult!”

“You’re still my child.”

Once that billionaire left, most of the siblings descends upon their youngest with too many questions. They practically interrogate him with their relentlessness as he begin to feel suffocated by his lack of personal space. He did his best to appear unfazed, but Damian couldn’t single out a question to answer because their voices blurred as much as their faces.

“What did you do? Are you finally going to join Young Justice?”

“He better not, I don’t want to look after the Demon Brat.”

“Did you choose a hero name yet? You better not have passed me for Robin, Tim said I was next.”

“Why does Tim get to say who can be Robin next?”

“Who did you fight? Were you solo? Did you follow Batman?”

“Do you have a costume yet?”

“Back away! It’s too early for this, so give him some space.” Dick politely nudges his pestering siblings away and orders everyone back to their places.

The group protests but goes back to their seats without issue. Richard pats Damian on the head before sitting back down to eat breakfast. The group finish their breakfast with relative ease and minimal chaos. 

Soon the hoard of children are off to school or their day jobs; they're cursed to maintain their incognito status in society. Alfred drives the younger children to school in the family limo and the teens take this opportunity to hound Damian once more. At least they are more patient this time around.

“Seriously Damian, what did you do?” Duke pries, tucking his black uniform tie into his hoodie. “None of us are gonna judge you. I mean-- just look at us.”

Damian is looking at them. He’s been looking at them ever since he was indoctrinated into this family. He’s been forced to watch his older siblings lord their superiority over him and create identities for themselves. This family was supposed to be his, so why does he have to keep looking up to them when he wants to stand beside them? The current line of succession and supervision will make it so that Damian will always be following the heels of the one before him.

Damian sighs, crossing his arms and turning away from everyone. “I am under no obligation to explain something your puny minds couldn’t uncover on your own.”

Tim raises an eyebrow at his reply and asks, “Does this have to do with B telling me not to let you pet your animals?”

Without another word, Damian angrily unbuckles his seat belt, pulls the back seat down, and rolls into the trunk. He closes the backrest behind him then takes out his smartphone and calls his best friend. The phone only rings twice before Jon answers with his usual chipper greeting.

“Hiya Dami! What’s up?”

“Are you doing anything of importance right now?”

There’s a pause before Jonathan sighs and replies, “I’m not skipping school with you right after I got grounded.”

“I just want to talk, and it’s not my fault you’re grounded. Why does everyone assume this was my idea when you were the one who pressured me into it?”

“Because I’m not the trained assassin who shouts about how he’ll be a better vigilante than his family,” Jonathan explains with boredom. “Besides, you didn’t tell on me and I didn’t force you to do anything. You could’ve said no.” 

“And have you murdered by your inability to control yourself? No. You can only use one power at a time with questionable proficiency at best.”

“I knew you loved me!”

“I hate you with every fiber of my entire being, and if I had one wish it would be to have never met you. That is how much I hate you!” Damian hisses into his phone that he’s holding with a white knuckle grip.

“No, you don’t,” Jon says easily, and Damian can hear his irritating smile. “And that’s a waste of a good wish.”

“I hate you even more now.”

The younger boy scoffs, “Yeah, sure you do. Anyways, did you miss me or do you need something?”

Emerald eyes roll in the darkness of the limousine trunk. “-TT- Of course I need something from you. Unless this recent failure has shaken your resolve for your goal.”

“Our goal.” Jonathan corrects curtly causing the older boy to smirk.

“Ah, there he is; my confident confidant.” Damian sings as the other groans at the cocky tone.

“Urgh, now I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” He replies, copying Jonathan’s earlier cadence. “We need to revise our plan.”

“We had a plan?” Jon questions. “I thought our plan was taking Superboy and Robin from our older brothers and be cool heroes like our dads.”

“That was your plan because you are impatient and already halfway to Metropolis in a cheap Superman shirt before I could grab a proper weapon!” Damian takes a deep, calming, breath as he struggles to maintain a quiet volume. His siblings are still in the car and he doesn’t want to alert them to anything. Knowing them, they’d probably have their ears pressed to the leather seat trying to listen. Privacy is dead in their family. “We need to have a stronger goal so we have no repeats of our failures.”

“Wouldn’t the smart thing to do be wait until we’re not grounded?” Jonathan points out as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re the one telling me to be patient, and it hasn’t even been a full day since we got in trouble.”

“The element of surprise is a powerful weapon. We either hit the ground running or we’re dead in the water.”

“Geez Dami, you’re always so dramatic.”

“And you’re not dramatic enough.” Damian criticizes harshly. “I need you to turn those rusty gears in your head and think about how we can become heroes without our fathers treating us like delicate flowers. I’ll come over to your home later to tell you why you’re wrong. Understood?”

“You’re lucky I’ve known you long enough to understand Dami-speak, or else I’d be offended.” Jon exhales, exasperated by this conversation.

“I’ll take that as an affirmative. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Yeah, I’ll leave my window open. Bye.” Jonathan closes his bulky flip phone and turns to his friend Kathy, who was watching him quietly the entire time. “That was Damian.”

“I noticed.” A girl with a long blonde braid and red overalls says. She leans away from Jon making their significant height difference more prominent as she barely reaches his shoulder. “He’s a jerk. Why is he your best guy friend; you know so many nicer boys?”

Jonathan kicks his worn-out sneakers on the dirt path as he returns his eyes forward. “Our dads are best friends so we had to spend a lot of time together while they met up. It just kinda happened, ya know… You can’t- like-- not be friends after spending every break from school together for almost four years. I mean, would we be best friends if you weren’t my neighbor for five years?”

“I guess not, but Damian still sounds like a jerk. He could at least be a little nicer to you.” Kathy tells him with a concerned look. “He’s not bullying you to be his friend, is he? I heard Batman was scary so his kids have to be scary too.”

Jon balks at the accusation before laughing at the statement. “Pfft-! Hahaha, Kathy, don’t worry. He’s not scary, no matter what he says. Sure he’ll try to scratch your face off, hiss a lot, and sometimes bite people’s fingers, but he’s actually really sweet once you get to know him.”

Eyes the color of grass blink at the description as Kathy’s freckled face scrunches up in bewilderment. “Jon, he sounds either crazy or he’s a cat. How much do you even know about the guy?”

“I know enough to know he can be nice!” Jonathan valiantly defends with animated hand gestures, although Kathy visibly remains unconvinced. “He just thinks differently, but he’s like a Disney princess. He’s kind to animals, he’s charming, he’ll insult me but his actions show that he’s super caring-”

“Holy cow, Jon. If you want to marry the guy so badly, just say so.” Kathy teases, however, she’s only partially joking.

“Can’t a guy just appreciate his friend?” The taller boy pouts, readjusting his Superman backpack as they make it to their school.

“Yeah, but not like that.” The girl explains with a sly grin. “You never compliment me like that, and I’ve known you longer.”

“Do you want me to start complimenting you like that? I can if you want me to.” Jon offers, causing Kathy’s face to turn red.

“Don’t-”

“You’re sooooooooooooo thoughtful, Kathy. Plus you’re such a hard worker who will do anything for the people you love!” Jonathan compliments with an overly sugary tone that sounds fake as a decorative fruit bowl.

“Stop!” The girl screams, covering her ears with both of her hands.

“You stand up for what you believe in. Like, wow, your sense of justice is strong and I’m jealous of it. You’re always the first to defend others-”

“I’m going to punch you if you don’t stop.”

“And man, you can control your powers much better than I can. I bet you could make it as a hero if you tried. That’s not even mentioning how pretty you are! And no one can milk a cow like you can- Oof!” Jonathan falls to the dirt road, holding his gut as Kathy retracts her fist. She then kicks him with her rubber work boot while he’s down. “Ow! I take it back! You’re very mean and nasty! The worst girl I know! You hurt innocent little boys!”

“Little boy my butt. You’re the tallest kid I know.” She scoffs as she kicks him again. “And you have invincibility, you big baby.”

“I didn’t turn it on!”

“Not my problem.” She smiles and helps him to his feet. “I didn’t even put my all into it. How are you going to be like Superman if this has you crying on the ground?”

“I dunno! That’s what I’m trying to figure out!” Jon cries as he slumps his shoulders. “Yesterday was so bad, Kathy. I almost killed Dami!”

“Oh, the humanity.” Kathy drones out with a blank expression. “Maybe you and Dami can think of a better plan tonight.”

“Kathy, you’re the smartest girl I know who’s not my mom. Do you have any ideas?”

“Well, for starters, you should get more girl friends,” Kathy suggests. “Other than that, I dunno. This hero business is your obsession, not mine. I’m not interested in heroes outside of all the cool stuff I see on the internet, and what you tell me.” To prove her point, she pulls out her pink smartphone and pulls up her kid-safe social media app to reveal a post about the New Teen Titans. “See?”

“New Teen Titans and their predecessors, the Titans, collaborate on a recent villain takedown.” Jonathan reads with a scowl. “Urgh! That should be Dami and I! Not the stupid New Titans!”

“I don’t get why it can’t be you. If you joined a superhero team like your dad told you to then you’d be doing all these super cool missions too.”

“Be-because I just don’t want to join those teams. It’s… It’s dumb.”

Kathy stares at him intensely, examining his tense posture and tight expression. Stealthily, she turns on her powers and allows herself to sense his feelings. The empath couldn’t pinpoint an exact emotion aside from frustration in the emotional mess, so she let the topic go. “If that’s what you think, but if you want to talk about it later, we can. Let’s talk about something else before the other students start coming in and you blow your cover talking about this hero stuff in public.”

Jonathan cooperates and the two fifth-graders discuss more normal topics as they make their way into their public elementary school. This would be the last week they’d be able to step into this building which was both exciting and terrifying. They are growing up and will soon enter middle school, grades six through eight grades. They aren't little kids anymore, they are going to officially be preteens; the most mature age group.

Well… At least that’s what Jon tells himself, but the big kids always seem like jerks. Jon doesn’t want to be a jerk, so he’s going to convince himself he’ll be mature instead.

“Aw man, my dad forgot to pack a juice box!” Jonathan laments as he rifles through his brown paper lunch bag.

Truly, the epitome of maturity.

Chapter Text

Beneath the cover of the moonlit night, in a town where the stars litter the sky with beautiful glimmers trailing like rivers to the ocean, a boy runs through a golden wheat field that glows from the beams above. His looming shadow glides over the grain with swift abandon, yet his footsteps leave no prints behind. The clamorous song of the cicadas hides the sound of him climbing through an opening on the second story, however; it’s doubtful humans could hear him as he barely touched the splintering window pane.

He lands on the foot of the bed as elegantly as a falling feather. The boy pulls down his black cloth mask that covers his nose and mouth and his hood before looking to his right. His emerald eyes seem to glow in the darkroom, and their prominence is intensified by the murderous glare they instantly sharpen into. They glare at the sleeping form on the other side of the mattress, their limbs spread out like a starfish and bedding strewn about the floor.

The stealthy infiltrator clicks his tongue in annoyance before he violently wacks the other in his squishy torso with the flat of his hand. “Seriously Jonathan, it’s only been an hour after your bedtime! I know you’re able to stay awake longer than that!” He hisses in a hushed scolding.

The younger boy has the audacity to turn away from Damian, smothering his face into his pillow with an irritated grumble. “Mrrgggrrrr, I’m too tired for this. Why can’t you ever break into my room in the morning?”

“That’s because I’m busy taking care of all the pets I cannot cuddle since I got punished trying to bail you out,” The older boy guilt trips, punching Jon on the back one last time before he leans back on the bed.

It works. Jonathan groans as he sits up, his eyes still closed, but he's at least facing Damian this time. “How long are you going to hold that over my head?”

“When you start treating this situation with the gravity it deserves,” Damian answers, resting his head against the painted wooden paneled wall. “This isn’t a game, Jonathan. Superheroes are serious business.”

“I know, I know. Urgh, we went over this yesterday with our parents.”

“And if we let them have their way we’ll never be out from under their thumb.”

Jonathan rubs his sleepy eyes as he remarks, “Okay, but we’ll need new names.”

The tan-skinned child raises a questioning brow but doesn’t disagree. “I didn’t think we’d have to come up with new identities so soon, but I am prepared for this-”

“I mean we can’t be Superboy and Robin when we become heroes.” Jonathan interrupts his friend as he sees him pull out two fake IDs. “Dami… Why?”

Green eyes blink owlishly as the boy tucks the identification cards back into his pocket. “We can’t go on undercover missions as Jonathan Samuel Kent and Damian Wayne now, can we?”

“I don’t remember talking about going undercover.”

“You didn’t; I am here to make up for your lapses in foresight.”

Jon pauses, trying to make up a reply to that, but comes up with nothing. He decides it’s best to push on through with the reason they’re here. “Sure, whatever, anyways we can’t be Superboy or Robin if we ever want to be our own heroes. I’ve been thinking about it and- well if we take those names then that’s all we’ll ever be known as. We’ll just be the sons of two great superheroes. Everything we do will reflect on them. If we do good it’s because of them, and if we do bad, it’s because of them. I want to be super, but that doesn’t mean I have to be a Super.”

Damian stares at his companion with a complex expression; his forehead is wrinkled and his jaw tight, yet his eyes are softer than the rest of his face. “I see you have been thinking about this like I asked.”

“Duh! I might not be detailed like you are, but that doesn’t mean I’m sitting on my butt all day. We’re partners, so I can’t let you do all the thinking.” Jon says with a proud grin, his blue eyes glistening with pride.

The older boy glances out the window as he thinks about Jonathan’s comment with a wistful gaze. There’s a heavy pause between the two as Jonathan anxiously waits for his friend to give his opinion. Thankfully Damian looks back at Jon with a neutral expression and voice. “You know, without the Superboy and Robin monikers, we’ll have a hard time gaining favor and prestige. Names are important to a hero’s livelihood, and that name will follow us for the rest of our careers. We have to choose the right one because even after members of my father's clan relieved themselves of the Robin or Batgirl titles, they’ll always be those heroes in some capacity. Are you ready for that?”

Jonathan frowns as he takes in Damian’s words. “I… I love my family, and I know you love yours. I want to be like them because I grew up looking up to all the Supers; especially my dad. That’s why I can’t be a Super-anything. My dad worked hard to create Superman, and I want to make my own identity just like he did.”

“-TT- I don’t love my family. I tolerate half of them and that’s being generous,” Damian scoffs, rolling his eyes so hard that Jonathan could almost hear it. “I will want a name that connects me to my family’s heritage, even if it’s not Robin. I’m all for forging my path with the righteous fury of a thousand suns without being held back by a team of adolescent hormonal strangers, but I will not compromise on my family’s legacy.”

“I’m not asking you to forget where you came from,” Jon reassures with a fond jab to the shoulder. “I mostly don’t want the word ‘super’ in my name because it’s too obvious.”

“Since you’ve thought plenty about this topic, do you have any ideas for what your new title will be?” 

The ivory-skinned boy blinks, an embarrassing hot flush creeping up his neck until it covers his entire face. “... Uh, I didn’t get that far,” He embarrassingly admits.

An obnoxious snort escapes Damian’s nose as he mocks his friend. “Wow, so this is what it feels like to be on the same level with you. I hate it here.”

Jon shoves him off the bed in retaliation.

After a few days, Jonathan finds himself doodling in his composition notebook different superhero names and logos. Unfortunately, the 10-year-old’s efforts were unfruitful as every name he came up with ended up having a variation of the word ‘super’ in it despite his previous commitment. He reads over the few names he has so far under his breath with a bleak outlook. “Super Kid, Power Boy, Terrific Teen, Superb-Boy, Awesome Guy-”

“Remind me to never let you name anything,” Kathy tells him as she takes a bite of her sandwich. 

The two are eating outside on a wooden picnic table as they are allowed to on special days which include today, the last day of their fifth-grade year. Most of the other children in their class have foregone or rushed lunch to play on the blacktop. The sound of children having fun echoes around them as Kathy leans to look at the lined paper to discover incomprehensible sketches. “And to never let you draw anything.”

Jonathan throws his hands in the air shouting angrily, “I’m never gonna get good if you don’t let me practice, Kathy! I know I suck at this, you don’t have to rub it in!”

“Geez, sorry. I didn’t mean it like that,” The blonde apologizes, taken aback by the uncharacteristically strong reaction. “Are you okay?”

“No!” Jon wheezes, smacking his forehead on the tabletop. “I’m trying to figure out a cool hero name, but I can’t get past super!”

“How long have you been thinking about this?” Kathy asks as she pulls the notebook out from under Jonathan’s face.

“A few days.”

“That’s not long at all! I bet all the famous superheroes took forever to come up with their name.”

“You think so, Kathy?” The fifth-grader queries, facing his friend with his cheek still smooshed against the scolding hot table from being in the sun.

“I think so, but I don’t know,” She shrugs as she continues eating. “I ain’t the one with the Super-Dad. Why don’t you ask ‘em?”

Celeste-colored eyes rapidly blink at the casual suggestion as he smacks his face with a tired groan. “Urgh, why didn’t I think of that?”

Kathy reaches into Jonathan’s lunch to shove his peanut butter and strawberry uncrushable into his mouth. “It’s because you’re thinking on an empty stomach.”

When Jon gets home that day, he runs into his family's rustic white farmhouse where he’s greeted by his father and Krypto, their dog. The white borzoi pounces on the child causing him to fall in the doorway to fervently lick his face. “H-hi Krypto! Get off of me! S-stop! Krypto! Down boy, down! Krypto!”

Jonathan playfully flops his dog’s ears up and down as Clark Kent pulls the canine off his son. “Heya, Jonno. Did you enjoy your last day of elementary school? I remember my last day and let me tell ya, if I knew it was going to be my last recess I would’ve thrown a fit.” The man reminisces fondly with a nostalgic sigh.

The boy hops onto his feet and hugs his father’s torso. “Hi, Dad! School was fine. Can I ask you something? Wait, no-- then you’re going to say, ‘But you just asked me a question,’ and that’s dumb so I’m just going to ask it. How did you come up with your superhero name?”

Jon’s father hugs him back as the child rubs his face on the man’s button-up. “I’d be happy to answer you if you stop tryin’ ta clean Krypto slobber off your mug with my shirt.”

“No, fear me. The alien dog spit gave me superpowers!” Jonathan giggles as he rubs his face harder.

“Hahahahahaha! And here I stand like a dummy thinking I gave you those.” Clark jokes as he closes the door behind Jon. The two walk to the kitchen, or more accurately Clark drags his son to the kitchen and sits at the table to eat the prepared afternoon snack of sliced veggies and cottage cheese. The full-blooded Kryptonian slides a bear-shaped plate in front of his son and then takes a wet rag to wipe Jon’s dirty face.

Once the child is clean, he grimaces as he takes a celery stick, eating it plain while asking, “Arr yuuu goung to tell orgh noy?”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, it’s not polite and I can't understand you.”

Jonathan swallows the vegetable then asks, “Are you going to tell me now?”

“Sure,” He readily agrees, taking an apple slice for himself. “Honestly, it’s not an interesting story. Ma and I came up with the costume, but I didn’t think of a name at all. I just wanted to help people and I didn’t mind what people decided to call me. When I started showing up in the news, people saw the S on my chest, and using my powers they started calling me a super-man. Superman isn’t my idea, plus I find it too… flashy. Now that I think about it, if I had to pick a name, I wouldn’t choose something lofty.”

“Wait, you didn’t want to be Superman?” Jon gasps, unable to comprehend the very thought.

“I wanted to be Superman, I just didn’t want to be treated like I was a ‘super’-man.” Clark clarifies, taking another apple. “There will always be something about being a hero we can’t predict. This is why I want to watch over you if or when you take the steps into the world of being a superhero.”

Jon puffs his cheeks in irritation and shoves some peach slices into his mouth. “I need a name before I get to be a hero! I don’t want what happened to you to happen to me! What if they call me something I don’t like?! Like Superbaby!”

“I might not be able to help you with this as much as I want to.” The man humbly admits, adjusting his glasses and scratching his chin. “I never had to brainstorm a name, but I was able to help someone else think of theirs. Although, those were very different circumstances because they knew what kind of hero they wanted to be. Do you have an idea about the kind of hero you want to be?”

“Nope,” Jon replies. “Who did you help; Maybe I can ask them?”

“That’s a great idea!” Clark reaffirms, patting Jon on the head. “You know, this could be a learning opportunity not only for you but Damian too. I’m sure your mother won’t mind if we visit them real quick, but let me call ahead to make sure. Plus, I’d have to see if he’s available to talk.”

Jonathan quirks a thick brow as his father pulls out his cell phone to call his mom and the mystery superhero. He wonders who his dad would call that would get him so excited about a learning experience. Plus, he’s including Damian which is a bit perplexing seeing how both of them are still grounded for trying to do superhero stuff.

“Have I mentioned how much I hate you? Because I hate you.” Damian quips with a glare that could melt steel directed at the younger boy.

The boy in question sighs sadly, sagging his shoulders dishearteningly. “Only about a million times in the last five minutes.”

“I’ve only said it three times, this makes it the fourth. I hate you.” He repeats, causing Jonathan’s mood to plummet like a plane crash.

“Damian, stop telling Jon you hate him when we all know you don’t. It’s not nice.” Richard, or Nightwing since he is in full uniform, chastises. He flicks his little brother on the head as he pulls over an old chalkboard on wheels in front of them.

Currently, the two boys are sitting in an old room in the Wayne Manor that is dressed up like a classroom with only two desks. Everything is heavily covered in dust causing Jonathan to sneeze and cover his nose with his shirt collar. “Ah-choo! Dick, can you please open a window, I can’t breathe in here.”

Alfred opens a window in Dick’s place wearing a medical face mask and dusting everything thoroughly. “I do say, Master Dick, if you wanted to play teacher so desperately, you could’ve waited a day for me to clean this room.”

“What is this place?” Jon asks before coughing violently.

Damian smacks him on the back as he glares at his older brother. “Richard, this is ridiculous. Jonathan doesn’t need a lecture on naming conventions.”

“It’s not a lecture about naming conventions. It’s just a way for me to share something with you in a memorable way.” The spandex sporting man corrects, writing his superhero name on the board. “And this is my old classroom-room in the manor! Bruce turned one of the empty rooms into a classroom when I first got here because I wasn’t ready for normal schooling.”

“This was an option the whole time!?” Damian screams, jumping up from his seat with his hands stiffly posed as if he was going to strangle someone.

“Damian, no.” 

Jonathan scooches his seat farther from his best friend and raises a hand politely. “Why are there two desks?”

“One was for me, and the other was for Zitka!” Richard answers and Alfred hands him an old stuffed elephant that has been stitched and patched multiple times. “Zitka was a star student!”

Clark sits near the front of the room in a comically small chair for a man of his size with his elbows and his knees and his hands folded in front of him. He looks silly, like a giant at the kid's table. “This is a bit much. I simply wanted you to talk to them about your experiences. Also, I thought there was a no-costume rule in the manor.”

“There is,” The elderly man grimaces, hitting Nightwing in the face with a feather duster. “He knows the consequences, but felt it was worth the dramatic flair.”

The blue-masked vigilante is unfazed by the attack as his bright smile is still plastered on his face. “Don’t worry Uncle Clark, the costume gives me credibility!”

They'd take him seriously if he wasn't still holding that stuffed elephant.

“Stop calling it a costume, you’re making this sound childish!” Damian whines, crashing back in his seat and causing a cloud of dust to erupt.

Nightwing ignores his brother’s complaint and turns back to the green chalkboard to write Robin under the word Nightwing. “Alright class, today I’m going to tell you how to pick an original superhero name in one easy step!”

Damian and Jonathan glance at each other with twin expressions of doubt. Both boys thought that such an important task couldn’t be that easy. This is something that will follow them forever even if they change their names, so for it to only be one step is idiotic.

In large letters, Nightwing writes the phrase, “Make it meaningful to YOU.”

He dramatically turns around and slaps the board as he begins his lecture. “Having a memorable and cool name is what most heroes want, but the best names are those with a personal touch. You don’t have to make your name complicated or filled with trendy words as long as it’s important to who you are.”

“-TT- You make it sound stupidly easy,"  Damian huffs, crossing his arms. “These names are going to be our identity-”

“Exactly, it’s going to be your identity,” Dick emphasizes with a toothy grin. “The less you think about how other people will react to what is important to you , the easier it will be to find a name that matches who you are. When I first started, I knew the moment I put on the mask I was going to be Robin. Robin wasn’t the name of a cool hero and it didn’t fit with Batman’s dark persona. It was a name my parents called me,” His smile falters into something gentler, however, it never lost its joy.

“It was a stupid name before it became what it is now. I dressed in bright circus colors and was named after a weak bird. People laughed at me, but I didn’t care because it was more important I honored my family.”

“Didn’t you relieve yourself of the Robin mantle?” Damian points out.

“Because the name stopped working for me.” He sighs wistfully. “Robin stopped being about me and became about Batman. Robin became something more than who I was, so I decided to let Robin go. Sometimes… Sometimes I miss the days when that name was just mine for me to understand, but sharing Robin with the world has helped so many people. I’m honoring my family in a new way without me using the name.”

Jonathan felt a shift in the air that was more than the dust floating around. The thought of something so personal changing until it’s unsuitable doesn’t sit well. It’s one thing to be given an expectation he didn’t ask for, but another to have one that’s changed without him. Does it matter what Jonathan calls himself if the world will alter who he is without his permission?

“So--” Jon coughs harshly before Damian pulls out another facemask to place over his nose. He wonders why Damian didn’t use it for himself earlier but ignores that as he plows through with his question. “So how did you choose Nightwing? Is it because it’s kinda dark like Batman? Ya know; Night because the Night, and Wings because birds and bats have wings.”

The man coughs forcefully either because of the dust or to cover his laugh. After a few seconds, he calms down and vehemently shakes his head. “Nononononononononononono NO. Gods no. I wanted nothing to do with Batman when I became Nightwing. Oh my gosh, is that what people thought?”

“I dunno,” Jon shrugs. “I don’t think I was born when you were still Robin. I’ve always known you as Nightwing.”

“Well, now you know,” Richard tells him firmly. “It was Uncle Clark who helped me come up with Nightwing. I instill hope in people, not fear like Batman. Uncle Clark and I had more in common with how we treated being superheroes than I had with B.” 

He beams at Superman who waves at him in return. “I was lost. I didn’t know who I was without Robin because I’ve been Robin for so long. I went to talk to Uncle Clark because I wasn’t on the best terms with Bruce at the time. I still wanted to be a hero for justice, but I didn’t want to be as open as I was when I was Robin. I wanted to bring hope from the shadows. That’s when Uncle Clark told me about a Kryptonian legend named Nightwing. He was the spirit in the shadows that rained rightful justice on all those that harm the innocent.”

“Many Kryptonian heroes have used the name Nightwing over the millennia. Nightwing was once the name of a God, but soon Nightwing became a hero who was very upfront in public. He fought crime for everyone to see so that they knew they’re being protected no matter where they are.” Jon’s father continues with a proud voice. “I wanted to tell the story to Dick to show him how even though the use of a name changes, it can still be meant for good. It was to make him feel better about the meaning of Robin changing, but I guess I did more than I thought.”

“Inspiration is usually found in unexpected places,” Nightwing states confidently. “I’m not a Kryptonian, but the name Nightwing fits who I wanted to be. If the world could take Robin from me, then why couldn’t I take Nightwing for myself? I can’t tell you a cool name to use, but when you become your own hero you should pick a name you can be proud of; not something everyone else likes.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Clark announces, standing up from his seat. “You boys have all the time in the world to discover a name you can be proud of. You don’t have to stress about it because a name is only a part of the picture.”

“Okay, but you named yourself after a God. A bit presumptuous of you, Richard,” Damian teases with a sly smirk.

“Hey, Nightwing fits better! Imagine if I called myself Flamebird instead. I can’t pull off the color red, so Nightwing was the better option.”

“Who’s Flamebird?” Jon asks, confused by the new name.

“Oh, that’s Nightwing's partner,” Clark explains to him. “When the name Nightwing became a name for superheroes, so too did the name Flamebird for his partner. This is because the original Kryptonian lore behind the name was called Nightwing and Flamebird. They’re supposed to be a duo!”

“I don’t need a Flamebird,” Dick chuckles, taking off his domino mask. “I have a family. Besides, that Flamebird stuff is too intense for my style.”

“Yes, because the intensity was the issue,” Alfred snarkily remarks as he pats Damian’s back. “Now that this conversation is seemingly over, let’s get out of this room before any of you boys develop a lung condition.”

“Can I hang out with Dami since I’m already here?” Jon asks, dragging his heels to make it harder to move him against the ornate rug runner lining the hallway.

Clark sighs, shaking his head much to Jonathan's mortification. “Sorry sport, you’re still grounded. Plus, I already let you get away with Damian sneaking into your room after you got grounded.”

“You knew about that?” The boy mumbles with a guilty pout.

“Jon, I have super hearing and the walls in our house are thin; Of course I can hear you!” He laughs and Jon flushes red.

Damian is also red, but he’s not embarrassed like his younger friend. In fact, he’s completely consumed by rage towards the Kryptonian. “You’re hindering our progress and eavesdropping on our private conversations! This is a subterfuge against our efforts! I bet that’s the reason you had this conversation with us because you’re trying to influence our decision for your gain.”

“Dami, you can’t say he’s invading your privacy when you’re the one who broke into his house.” Nightwing sighs, taking off his mask to reveal his stunning sapphire blue eyes. “Which, we’re going to talk about.”

“I’m not trying to hold you back, Damian. I simply want to help Jon and you make a more informed decision with as many perspectives as possible.” Clark calmly explains, patting his embarrassed son on the shoulder. “The last thing I want is for either of you to dive into this without understanding the consequences. I wish you’d trust us more not to hurt you.”

“I trust no one,” The 12-year-old spits the words out like snake venom.

“Not even me?” Jon pouts with a betrayed expression, fluttering his sad watery eyes at his friend. The effect was noticeably dampened seeing as he was still wearing a face mask, so the boy looked like something was unflatteringly stuck in his eye.

He scoffs, playfully flicking the child between the eyes. “I know what I said.”

The boy recoils, rubbing the area that was hit. “You’re a jerkface!”

“And yet you keep coming back. That says more about you than it does about me.” 

After Jonathan and his father leave, Damian is instantly subjected to a lecture about respecting other people’s privacy. Like any preteen being lectured, he wasn’t listening and his mind wandered off to thinking of a hero name. Renegade, Talon, Stray, Red Robin, Red Wing, Red Bird, Red X-- needless to say, Damian got lost in the color red for a bit too long.

Damian always planned on being Robin as a foothold into becoming Batman. All of his brothers have taken up the Robin mantle, even Duke had it for a brief moment while Timothy was on a break earlier that year. He wasn’t even officially adopted! The injustice of it all was a catastrophe of the highest order! Robin is as much his birthright as Batman is, so the fact that Damian is almost thirteen and has yet to officially take up the title is a nightmare.

Richard eventually let him go because Damian clearly wasn’t paying attention. Also because when Damian let his mind wander out of boredom he looks like he stops breathing. That will never stop being unsettling.

The preteen enters his room with a long exhale and takes off his shoes to place them in the shoe rack next to his door. He sloughs to his bathroom to change out of his school uniform into something more comfortable. Richard practically yanked him out of the limo after Superman called him so he could try to impart some dumb lesson about loving one’s self.

Damian didn’t need to be told not to care about others' opinions because he already doesn’t care. If anything, everyone is always telling him to be more mindful of the people around him. This event has been a waste of his time because he didn’t learn anything new, and he still wants to be Robin.

But… He’s never going to be Robin, or at least he’s not going to be Robin in the way he desires. None of his siblings became Batman after being Robin, so there is no guarantee he would. Damian can see it in his Father’s eyes; he trusts Richard and Timothy more than Damian. He has toiled endlessly to show how he would be the best hero, but all his father wants to do is hold him back by putting him on the same level as children who didn’t earn their place.

Well, Damian will show them! He’ll show everyone! Jon had a point when he said they couldn’t be Robin and Superboy. They can’t live under those ideals if they want to succeed above them, above the shadow their larger-than-life families have cast over them.

What better way to step out of the shadow than to never be in it?

While the desire to create his own identity is powerful, the necessity to not isolate himself further from his siblings is just as fierce. He’s already odd and if he sets himself even further apart then he’ll end up like Jason. He doesn’t want to end up an outcast!

“What did you call me!?” Jason shouts as he passes by Damian’s open door while the boy is putting on a new shirt.

Damn it, Damian said that out loud. He’s so used to venting to his cat that he’s now taken to talking to himself without them. “-TT- Go away, Todd! The internal stratagems of my psyche cannot even begin to be appreciated by your lowly intellect!”

“Gods, it’s like you were born into your edgelord phase!” The man swears. He flips the white streak in the front of his black hair away from his eyes as he takes a step back to reveal he is holding a plate of Jammie Dodgers biscuits. “If you’re going to be a brat, then I guess I’ll share these with everyone else instead.”

“Wait, no, I want a cookie!” The boy whines, running up to his older brother and shoving several freshly baked jam pastries into his mouth.

Jason yanks the rest of the porcelain plate into the air to save them from the cookie gremlin he summoned. “Alright, that’s enough! Alfred’s gonna kill me if I spoil your appetite before dinner.”

Damian swallows his mouthful of British biscuits and narrows his eyes at the man in his early twenties. “I thought Drake was taking his driver’s test today and didn’t need your lessons anymore.”

“Not even a freaking thank you. What, did you forget your manners while I was gone?”

“Thank you. Now what are you doing in my house; you don’t live here?” Damian questions with the same rude attitude.

The man rolls his teal-colored eyes at the impolite little brother. “Dick doesn’t live here either, but I never hear you complain about him always mooching off the manor.”

“-TT- I like him more,” Damian heartlessly tells him. “So you’re here to mooch? Have your living circumstances spiraled so horribly to the point that you need to run back to Father for help?”

“Hey, he owes me for teaching Replacement to drive. That baaaaaast-” He draws out his last word as he catches the Wayne family butler sweeping in the distance. “--man can’t make time in his day to teach Tim himself. If you see B, tell him I wasn’t here.”

“I’ll do it for another cookie.”

“They’re biscuits,” Jason corrects as he hands Damian another treat. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, this ‘family outcast’ is gonna get outta here.”

Damian mutters curses under his breath towards him as the stocky man leaves. Now that he’s in more comfortable attire Damian sits at his drafting desk to think of a flattering hero design. Maybe he can come up with an interesting uniform that will inspire a name. Both his and Jonathan’s father designed their suits before their name, so it seems like a viable option.

Damian starts off drawing a simplistic base body type that resembles his own but without any fine detail. The boy has always disliked drawing himself as he could never do it accurately. Everyone else was easy to recreate in every medium whether it’d be watercolor, acrylic, oil, sculpting, ink, or charcoal. He is the only one Damian has trouble with as the body is too muscular, too weak, too tall, too short, too sharp, too round, and any other contradiction under the sun.

Before he knows it, Damian has thrown down another failed design to the floor to the point there isn’t a space beneath him he could step freely. Each iteration of his uniform ends up being a self-portrait of a different kind. Nothing fits, but that’s because Damian doesn’t have any inspiration. He can’t keep going like this if he wants to make progress.

As the child is sketching endless costume designs, his father walks past his room to turn on the light as the only source was a lamp above Damian’s desk. “Damian, you’re going to hurt your eyes drawing in the dark.”

Emerald eyes blink painfully at the sudden change in lighting. He didn’t even notice when the sun began to set. He briefly glances at his phone and notes that it wasn’t time for dinner yet. “No, I’m not.” Damian retaliates, not taking his eyes off his speedy work.

“Dick mentioned talking to you about a new hero name.” Bruce presses with a stilted, but polite voice. “I understand you not wanting to take Robin since Tim is using it-”

“He isn’t an obstacle.”

“And while I’m a bit sad you won’t get to continue the tradition with most of the others, I’m glad you’re taking steps into coming into your own.” He praises, genuinely happy that his son is growing more comfortable with himself.

Cursing himself for leaving his door open, Damian puts his pencil down and swivels his chair towards his father. It appears that the man is in a more paternal mood, so Damian might as well indulge him. “Father,” He starts, awkwardly coughing as he makes sure there isn’t a silence between them. “How did you come up with your name?”

Bruce Wayne takes one long look at his son with a completely unreadable expression, then he awkwardly points to himself. “Bat-Man equals Batman. That’s it.”

“Oh.” Now Damian feels stupid.

The two males stay in an uncomfortable silence where neither of them knows what to say next or if they should say anything at all. Taking the initiative, Damian’s father does his best to connect with his son. “It’s not the most creative name, but it doesn’t have to be. I like to focus more on the work I do, rather than the aesthetics of what I look like doing it.”

“Father… You work in a cave filled with bats with Bat-themed memorabilia surrounding you. There is a Bat-signal above the police station. You dress like a six-foot-tall bat.”

“Okay, but most of that came later. I didn’t start putting bats on everything I use until after Dick came into the home.” He elaborates in more detail. “What I’m trying to say is that overthinking your name might be stopping you from finding it. It should come naturally, not because you’re forcing yourself to come up with one.” He walks through the doorway and pats his son on the head to which the child is thoroughly unamused. “Come on, how about we head downstairs. I saw Alfred making cookies earlier.”

Maybe Damian does need a break from this endeavor. It’s not doing him any favors stressing over it, and extra cookies do sound better. “I understand, Father.” He hops off his stool and the pair walk down the stairs together. As they do, Damian suddenly remembers the instruction he was given. “I almost forgot, Todd told me to tell you he wasn’t here.”

The middle-aged man stumbles forward, almost falling down the steps, as his light blue eyes gawk at the nonchalant boy. “What? When did Jason stop by? Is he still here?”

“I don’t know; He wasn’t here,” Damian reiterates, walking ahead of his father with a small smirk.

Damian is still working on designs after dinner and into the night. Even though his stomach is full and head is cleared he still cannot come up with a good design or name. Damian doesn’t want to go to bed with the knowledge he has made no progress whatsoever. The situation is made worse as he watches his siblings head into the Batcave for late-night patrol leaving him alone with Pennyworth.

He was about to take another break when his phone starts ringing. On his screen is a picture of him and Jonathan sitting with Krypto between them. Damian crawls onto his bed with his stomach against his black silk sheets as he answers the call. “Isn’t it past your bedtime, Corncob?”

“First you tell me bedtimes are dumb, and now you complain when I’m not following it! Pick a side!” Jonathan cries through the receiver.

“I’m merely surprised you’re phoning me after discovering your father eavesdropped on you.”

There’s a significant pause over the line, and Damian can practically hear the gears turning in Jon’s head. “Well… Whatever! Dad is doing a JLA thing, so I don’t think he’s listening. Besides, it’s not like I’m doing anything wrong 'cause it’s not a school night.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“I have a good idea for a name!” Jonathan boasts, shaking from excitement. “You know that story dad told us about Nightwing? I’ve been thinking about it and I thought Flamebird is a perfect name!”

Damian audibly sighs then asks. “Do you even know the full details of the story the name originates from?”

“No, but I’m already set on the name! It has nothing to do with my family, but Flamebird is a Kryptonian hero and doesn’t have the word ‘super’ in it!”

“Your father also mentioned that the name is heavily associated with Nightwing, and I don’t believe Richard is hiring sidekicks anytime soon.” The older boy points out.

“Oh,” Jon says. “Then I’ll make it my own like Dick said he did for Nightwing. I’ll make it so Flamebird will be known along with… uh… Whatever you’re going to be.”

“Not very original, but it’s an idea.”

“Hey, you could at least be a bit happier for me. I worked hard to come up with that name.”

“You didn’t come up with Flamebird. Your father informed you of its existence and you decided to make it your name the same day. You didn’t even do any research about the origins of Flamebird.” Damian criticizes, with a disdainful grimace as if he felt his glower could impact Jonathan through the phone.

“I don’t need to! Flamebird might be an old name, but I can still make it mine!”

“Fine, fine. At least one of us has a name which is still technically progress.” The older friend relents with a pretentiously pestering tone. “I’m guessing you want me to design you an ensemble since you have your name?”

“Pretty much,” Jonathan chirps jovially. “I don’t really care about the colors because I know you’ll make them nice-”

“Of course.”

“But can you make it… bright? different? I don’t want to look like my family.” The child requests. “Also I don’t want a super long cape. I like capes, but when I was wearing that blanket as a cape it kept getting in my face and dragged me back.”

Damian groans and reaches over to his nightstand to grab his memo pad and pen. He jots down some notes and doodles a rough design as he informs Jon, “Alright, but no complaining if you don’t like it.”

“I can live with that. Thanks, Dami!” Jonathan appreciates then smugly asks, “So you’re still thinking about your superhero name?”

“I am. It’s utterly infuriating.” He confesses truthfully much to the other’s surprise.

“I’m surprised you admitted that,” Jon admits with a breathy tone. He wasn’t expecting Damian to be honest with his difficulty knowing how prideful the son of Batman is. “That had to be a struggle for you.”

The way Jonathan said that might’ve sounded cruel to someone as prideful as Damian. That’s because it was. Jon knows Damian is too proud to not take that bait.

“Who says I’m struggling!?” Damian shoots up from his bed and hits his pillow as he yells defensively into the smartphone. “I’m being cautious and considerate of my options, unlike some people! Some people who don’t care for wordplay or poetic motifs that will permanently be attached to our identities! There’s nothing poetic about Flamebird!”

“Then make it poetic.” Jonathan challenges after releasing an over-dramatic sigh. “Make Flamebird poetic for me, then maybe you’ll complain less about my name if you had something to do with it.”

“Fine, I will!” The older boy accepts, picking up his notes and sitting back down at his drafting desk. 

“Thanks, Dami! I’m so grateful you’re the artistic one out of the two of us.”

Emerald eyes rolls and he replies, “And the smart one, the confident one, the skilled one, the deadly one, the talented one-”

“Are you done?” Jon groans with a muffled voice like he was covering his face.

“I’m just reminding you which one of us carries this team,” Damian boasts with a self-satisfied smirk. 

“I know, you don’t have to keep reminding me. Good night!” Jonathan grunts in a vexed manner as he angrily hags up. Damian keeps the phone held up to his face until he hears Jonathan call back in a more remorseful fashion. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. Good night.”

“I keep telling you I don’t mind that you get short with me when I say the things I do.” The preteen consoles with a palliative voice, crossing his arms. “I know you dislike how I hold myself and I don’t blame you. Quite frankly, I wonder why you bother with me at all.”

“Dami, I didn’t mean it like that,” Jonathan expresses earnestly. “I know how you are. I just don’t like ending calls mad, you don’t have to read into everything I do.”

“Fine, but you’re not forgiven as you’ve done nothing that requires pardoning.”

“But-” Jon tries to argue only to have Damian cut him off.

“Don’t. If anyone needs to apologize it should be me.”

“... Are you going to?”

He will when hell freezes over.

Then Damian hangs up as he hears his friend protest with indignation. After a moment of contemplation, he dials a new number that wasn’t saved on his phone. The person doesn’t answer the first or even the second time he calls, but Damian is persistent. Eventually, the person picks up after five whole minutes of redialing. He doesn’t let them speak before Damian makes his demands. “Danvers, I need you to tell me about Nightwing and Flamebird.”

“Wh- How did you get this number? Who is this?” A young woman interrogates agitatedly. 

“This is Damian Wayne. I need you to-”

“Why are you calling me about this? You never call me! I didn’t even know you were old enough to have a phone! We’ve never talked outside of greetings at parties.” She pesters in shock by the sudden contact.

“Look, I need to ask a Kryptonian religious question. It could be a historical question, but I’m mostly interested in the mythology aspect of Nightwing and Flamebird as deities.” Damian enlightens with a monotone. “I don’t want to ask Jonathan’s father, so as the only practicing Rao-orthodox follower left on earth you’re my only choice. I suppose I could break into Superman’s fortress to interrogate denizens of that bottle city he holds captive, but that’s more effort than it’s worth.”

“Is this about your brother? Oooooo, is Nightwing getting a sidekick?” Kara coos teasingly, grating on Damian’s nerves.

“Can you just answer the question? … Please.” He forces himself to say as he uses all of his energy to quell the twitching vein on his forehead.

“Fine, but only because Jon never wants to listen to me talk about Raoism.” The Kryptonian concedes a bit too enthusiastically for Damian’s liking.

Kara Danvers, aka Kara Zor-El and one of the last practicing Raoists in the universe, proceeded to tell the full tale of Nightwing and Flamebird to the curious child. Rao is the God of the sun, the creator of Krypton, and the father of all thirteen other Kryptonian deities. His children included Aethyr of Phantom Zone, Cythonna the Mother of Monsters and Ice, Kara as the ancient Goddess of beauty-!

“A bit bold of your parents to name you after the beauty deity.” Damian mocks.

“Hey, it’s not weird! Humans name their children after religious figures all the time! I know people named Jesus, Adam, Lilith, and Michael! Dick named himself after Nightwing!” Kara defends.

“He named himself after the hero, but your point is taken.”

Anyways, Kara skips the non-relevant gods because she wasn’t being asked to deliver a sermon to a congregation of one. Rao believed that the greatest evils are those that hide in the shadows, so to hunt them he created a god who can only act in darkness; Nightwing. As the harbinger of justice, Nightwing was ruthless to those who opposed anything contradicting peace. While he was efficient, his merciless methods caused him to be feared by the other gods. He is often mistaken for an evil creature when all he wants to do is uphold good and live with the rest of his godly siblings.

The only member of the pantheon that didn’t fear Nightwing was Vohc, the Builder as well as the first heretic. Vohc considered himself a more fitting god of creation than Rao as he is made solely for creation. He built every blade of grass, the entire ocean, each mountain, and every technological advancement; Vohc practically created Krypton. He is said to be dispassionate to anything other than his creations, so he felt no fear toward Nightwing.

Vohc, as the creation God, has only one true enemy among the pantheon: Flamebird, the Goddess of Destruction. Flamebird is also known as Rao’s daughter even though all of the Gods were Rao’s children. This is because she is the only deity to wield Rao’s light for herself and is immune to Rao's weakness. As the Goddess of destruction, Flamebird’s only mission is to scorch everything to the ground in a fiery blaze so that something greater can rise from the ashes.

This was also a lonely existence because the pantheon hated Flamebird for destroying their work without caring for their efforts. Vohc saw how lonely Nightwing and Flamebird were, and although he disliked Flamebird's role he understood she was only compelled to do what Rao created her for. He introduced the two misunderstood gods and they instantly fell in love now that they finally met someone who understands them. Nightwing’s darkness and Flamebird’s light danced together in perfect harmony to the point people believed that Rao intentionally made them for each other.

Sadly, their happiness was not meant to last forever. Vohc’s latest creation was something that could bring everlasting peace to the universe and he cherished it as such. Unfortunately, all of Vohc’s creations meet the same end; engulfed in Flamebird’s light. Enraged by having something so inherently good destroyed, Vohc blamed Nightwing for letting such an injustice occur.

He created a magnificent spire of crystal that, once destroyed, will seal Nightwing away in the Phantom Zone which was essentially a death sentence. Vohc lured Nightwing to the spire and Flamebird came to destroy it like she does all creations. He made her watch in horror as her lover was locked away by her own hands before Vohc denounced Rao and the rest of the pantheon; officially making him the first heretic.

Flamebird was torn over the loss of her life partner as she was once again alone in the world, and inadvertently helped create Rao’s first enemy. She grew to despise Rao for making her the embodiment of destruction, however, not everything was lost. Flamebird was destruction, but she refused to be her hatred for she also loved Nightwing. Nightwing, who honored justice and protected those who feared him, wouldn't want her to be consumed with grief. So Flamebird put herself back together and vowed to continue Nightwing’s work. She wouldn’t let evil win and became Krypton's new goddess of justice until Nightwing’s return.

Where Nightwing fought evil in the shadows, Flamebird brought evil out into the light. For generations, every hero on Krypton used Nightwing and Flamebird’s image to embody their dedication to fighting evil. On Krypton it is sacrilege to separate the images of Nightwing and Flamebird since it was seen as condoning the sin of the First Heretic, Vohc.

After Kara finishes the story, she takes a long satisfying breath waiting for Damian’s reaction, but only hears the scratching of a pen on paper. When Damian verbally doesn’t respond after a significant amount of time, she speaks once more to the receiver to test the waters. 

“You know, it’s been a long time since anyone asked me about my religion. After moving to earth and having my whole life turned around, people saw my faith and culture as a novelty. Clark is my only blood relation left, but he’s not a practicing Raoist. He respects Krypton and Raoism, but he’s too separated from it to understand.”

Damian sharply exhales through his nostrils, the sentiment hitting him too close to home for comfort. He remembers being 10 years old staring at his father’s hanukkiah for the first time. He recalls being told of the eight-day miracle and staring blankly at the nine candles on the holder with an understanding it was important, but ultimately feeling nothing. The guilt of seeing Drake and his father celebrating the holiday with equal reverence ate away at his soul. The youth wanted to be part of this family and their traditions, but he felt like a fraud standing beside them.

How could Damian celebrate Judaism when he doesn’t believe in their God? How could Damian live in an American family when he doesn’t understand their culture? How could Damian ever be a part of a family of heroes when he’s from a legacy of villainy? He’s too separated from his father’s side to ever feel he truly fits in.

“Do you… condemn Richard for using Nightwing’s name without Flamebird?” Damian questions as he struggles to keep a steady voice. He isn’t asking for Jonathan anymore and stopped taking notes, his hand frozen over his booklet. He doesn’t know what this is about anymore.

There’s another heavy pause before the Kryptonian answers, “In the beginning, I felt like he was making fun of my culture. As I said, it’s sacrilege to separate the two. I was also mad at Clark for not emphasizing the importance of Flamebird to Dick. Earth is… strange in that regard. I’ve lived here for over a decade and I am still taken aback by its society. Nothing feels sacred here. 

“After some time I recognized that while your brother uses Nightwing’s image in a manner not appropriate for Krypton, there is not a testament in Raoism preventing him from doing so. The two never worked together; the Nightwing and Flamebird duo is a product of my people’s desire for a happy ending. In my heart, I feel Nightwing himself would have no issue with Dick not having a Flamebird by his side. While I felt disrespected at first, I now feel proud Krypton’s legacy inspires people even if it’s not the way I would have done.”

“I see,” Damian remarks, feeling as if he should say more, but the words he couldn’t come up with were caught in his throat. 

“Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?” Kara kindly inquires.

The boy shakes his head even though she couldn’t see him through the phone. “No, this is more than enough for now. Thank you for the information, it has been enlightening, to say the least.”

“No problem, I’m happy to talk about this thing any time!” She readily offers. “By the way, how did you get my number-”

Damian instantly hangs up on her before putting his phone on silent. He puts his phone on the counter face down and then picks up a drafting pencil. He moves on to a clean page in his sketchbook as a barrage of clashing ideas races around his mind.

There were a plethora of conflicts plaguing Damian every waking moment. Maybe twelve going on thirteen is too young to have internal dilemmas of identity. Nevertheless, it’s where Damian finds himself. He wants to honor his family’s legacy, yet he feels separated. He wants to be Robin, but he is unable to. He wants to be his own hero but has no idea what it means.

However, there is a way Damian could continue his family’s legacy in a new light. A way for Damian to make a name for himself without forgetting why he’s fighting and struggling. This wasn’t what Damian wanted and he knows not everyone will be happy with his decision. Regardless of how the world might mock him for his choice, it was his brother Nightwing who told him his hero identity is for nobody but himself.

A legacy isn’t predestined, it’s created.

Chapter Text

A costume can change, but a symbol will never die. That being said, Jonathan Samuel Kent might die with how tightly wound the measuring tape is wrapped around his neck. After Jon complains about the sensation for the billionth time, he feels the tape tighten quickly before falling away. Jonathan’s couture and best friend menacingly glares up at the taller boy with sewing pins between his teeth.

He hears the signature click of Damian’s tongue as the older male pulls the needles out and stabs them into Jonathan’s sleeve. Jon yelps at the sensation while Damian simply continues taking his measurements; coiling the tape under his shirt and around his waist. The young half-Kryptonian whimpers in distress at being puppeteered in ostensibly unwarranted maneuvers for the sake of fashion.

Jonathan doesn’t take issue with his friend being devoted to the arts. While sewing isn't Damian’s favored artistic tradition, he is passionate about all his creations as he feels them to be an extension of himself. Jon knows Damian cares more about himself than anything.

The younger boy doesn’t imply anything negative with that observation; if anything Damian’s pride is what makes Damian, well… Damian. His confidence, his unwavering convictions, his dedication to self-improvement, and his enthusiasm for his interests are all specifically intrapersonal focuses. His passion for life is contagious and Jon finds himself desiring to emulate his skilled friend more but he knows that Damian’s brand of devotion is a tad… drastic.

“Ow!” The 10-year-old yelps, literally jumping out of his shoes as Damian jabs his leg with a needle for squirming. Said shoes are now on fire on the balcony of Wayne Manor’s upper sitting room. “Dang it! That’s my third pair this month! My mom is going to kill me for accidentally using my powers! I'm still grounded!”

“I’ll see if I can do something about friction so that I won’t be constantly remaking your uniform,” Damian methodically expresses, taking the pencil tucked above his ear to jot down some notes. “Delicate skin, sensitive neck, a pattern of whining-”

“I am not delicate and shouting when you attack me isn’t whining!” Jonathan hollers as he picks up the fire extinguisher they kept next to them for this specific situation. He sprays the melted shoes with the hose with a dramatic sigh and wonders how he’s going to explain this to his mother.

“You can barely feel that,” The other plainly states, his eyes transfixed on his notes.

Jonathan juts out his lower lip and tosses the extinguisher to the side in aggravation. “I’m durable, not invincible! I need to think hard if I want to be invincible! I have to be the worst Kryptonian to have ever lived! Superpowers are just supposed to work! What kind of superpowers have to be manually turned on!?”

“The kind that requires concentration, something you’re severely lacking,” Damian replies, still not focused on Jon; clearly lost in his work. “Plus you’re only half-Kryptonian. Be grateful you have powers at all.” He continues writing for several excruciatingly long seconds before he pauses and asks, “What are you; a size five for shoes?”

“Six,” Jonathan corrects, the feeling of his socks on the hot concrete surface making him squirm. “Can we go back inside now?”

Damian releases a long-suffering sigh and tosses the bright yellow tape measure over his shoulder as he walks away. “That depends on whether or not you’re going to accidentally burn down over a hundred years of Wayne family history.”

“I’m trying not to, but super speed is hard!” Jonathan groans and enters the manor as Damian holds the glass French doors open for him.

The son of Superman melodramatically drapes over the forest green velvet chaise lounge as Damian’s Great Dane, Titus, lies on the floor next to him. The canine is a stoic creature by nature who takes after his owner; he doesn’t show emotions he doesn’t want others to see. The only sign Titus is displeased by Jonathan is the patient stare he displays. The lounge was originally for the large dog, but Jon has made it a habit of occupying it whenever he lazes in Damian’s room.

Damian himself doesn't see an issue with this because he doesn't see too much of a difference. Jonathan is eerily similar to a large dog in many ways. One of these ways was being easily pacified by head pats.

“There there Habibi, I’ll buy you a new pair of shoes. Your mother will never have to know.” The son of Batman quells, using one hand to pat Jonathan’s head while his other hand illustrates adjustments to their costume design.

Jonathan smears his face against the armrest of the sofa until his chin rests atop it with puffed cheeks and leans into the touch. “It’s not about the shoes, Dami!”

“You don’t want me to give you new shoes?” Damian teases, putting his pen away and taking out a metal tin full of well-loved solid watercolors.

“... I’ll pay you back,” Jon responds after some thought.

“You always say that, but I only ever see your tab increasing,” He comments nonchalantly as he removes his hand to pour water from his water bottle into a small dish.

As he begins to activate the paint, the younger boy grumbles indignantly. “Then stop offering to pay for things.”

“Then stop being poor.”

“Jerk!” Jon insults.

“Fool,” Damian ripostes.

“Butt-face!”

“Homely.”

“I’m nicer!”

“I’m wiser.”

“You’re shorter!”

“You’re younger.”

“Urgh, I hate you!” Jonathan cries, slamming his face back into the upholstery.

“No, you don’t,” Damian states confidently as he colors in the red of Jonathan’s uniform. “Aside from your involuntary super-speed causing your body to function like a matchstick, what is your problem?”

Jonathan rolls onto his back, facing away from Damian as he lays on the couch like he is in a cartoon psychiatrist’s room. He lays his hands on his tummy as he stares up at the gold-patterned wallpaper on the ceiling dolefully. “How can I be a hero if my powers are so… Not right?”

“You’re working fine; you’re simply inexperienced.” The older boy consoles absently, his focus split. “This is a blessing. Imagine if all your powers were permanently active like your father; the mental and physical stimulation would kill you.”

“But my Dad is fine!”

“He’s a full-blooded Kryptonian, you're only half.”

“Conner’s fine too,” Jonathan rebutes, placing his upper arm over his blue eyes. “He’s also half-human.”

“He’s also genetically engineered by a narcissistic billionaire weapon manufacturer to use those powers without issue. Meanwhile, you had to rely on the genetic lottery.” He explains, dipping his brush in water.

“That doesn’t make me feel better! It’s going to take forever to be a good hero if I can’t use my powers when I want to!”

“Technically you can only use your powers when you want to,” Damian points out crudely. “Have you tried multitasking?”

“Of course I have, but I can only kind of use one power okay so using two at the same time is terrible,” Jonathan answers, disappointed in himself. “Dad tells me I’m doing my best so that should be good enough. Like-- just because I can control it a bit doesn't mean I have to be perfect, but I’ll get better with experience on a real superhero team. I don’t want to join a real team; I want to be with you!”

“And you call me the rude one.”

Jon winces at the curt tone. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Damian sighs and puts his brush down to face Jon finally. “I know, plus you’re not wrong. We’re two people which makes us more of a duo, not a team. Besides, we’ll get enough experience once we’re properly on the field.”

“Are you ever going to let that go?”

“I don’t know, Jonathan. Am I allowed to pet Titus yet?” Damian puts his hand out towards the dog to try petting his head. 

Before he could touch the soft fur, Bruce pops his head through the open doorway and glares at his son. “Damian, you only have two days left; You can wait.”

Titus mewls as he lays back down causing Damian to grimace. “You’re an enemy to all innocent life, Father.”

“Hi Mr. Wayne,” Jonathan sighs, removing his arm to wave from behind.

“Hi Jon, sorry I couldn’t greet you when you got here,” The man apologizes, waving back to the child. “Do you know when your parents are going to be back from the Excalibur Awards?”

“I dunno, but Uncle Jimmy is picking me up today,” The child answers, kicking his heels on the couch. “Uncle Jimmy says that if Mom wins, he’ll take us out to that fancy restaurant on the top of that one tower.”

“What if she loses?” Damian inquires.

“Oh, then he’ll take us out to egg Vicki Vale’s house.”

Damian turns to his father with a sharp glare. “Father, how come you never let us do something like that?”

The man rolls his eyes with a lighthearted chuckle. “Because you’ll do it whether I let you or not.”

“Why don’t we ever do anything as a family?”

Bruce seems to be taken aback by the innocent question, but he doesn’t let his visible shock linger as he swiftly collects himself. “We can go do something together this week. Since summer vacation started, we all have more time to do more family-focused activities. We can go to the Zoo, maybe have a day out into the town, a trip to the amusement park-- Oh, I almost forgot. There’s a new cruise line willing to dock in Gotham. We could make a reservation and have ourselves a family vacation! We haven’t done one of those in a long time.”

“We never had one,” Damian coldly tells him, purposefully smothering the optimistic atmosphere with despondency. “At least none that involved me.”

“I…” His father blunders before he remembers Jonathan being in the room, watching them with concerned eyes. “How about we talk about this later? Okay, son?”

“Not like that will change anything,” Damian grumbles and waits for his father to awkwardly shuffle away. Once he does he looks back at Jonathan and circles the conversation back to its original point. “See, I can’t pet Titus yet so the answer is no.”

Sky blue eyes blink rapidly as he cranes his head back to get a better look at his friend. “What the heck was that about?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He denies it before going back to his painting, but Jon continues pestering him.

“I’m talking about how you suddenly got all snippy with your dad out of nowhere.”

“I did no such thing.”

“Dami,” Jonathan exhales as he sits up and turns his friend’s stool around to face him. “Dami, talk to me. Is everything okay? You don’t have to go into everything, but if something happened between you and your dad-”

“-TT- Nothing happened,” Damian grunts, averting his eyes. “Maybe that’s the problem. My Father is more interested in my siblings’ lives because he spends more time with them thanks to being superheroes together. I’m his blood son, shouldn’t he spend more time with me because of that? I’m the last hope for the Wayne Family bloodline!”

“I don’t think that’s a good reason when you can just clone people; like what Mister Luthor did with Conner.”

“It’s the principle of the matter!” Damian shouts, throwing his hands up and tossing the paintbrush he was holding at the wall, staining the beige green. “I never had this problem when I lived with Mother.”

“You don’t live with her, and there has to be a good reason for that,” Jonathan tries to rationalize. “I mean, isn’t your mom a supervillain?”

“My Grandfather is, not my mother.” Damian states. “I like to limit the amount of time I’m with that man, and my mother lives with him as his caregiver at his current age. She also has to look after my cousin since Grandfather was her primary guardian before he fell ill. My father strictly prohibits contact with Mother as long as she involves Grandfather in her life.”

“That sounds like a good thing.”

“I never said it was bad. Family relationships are far too complicated for your current scope of reality to comprehend, Jonathan.” He swivels his chair around and goes to finish his costume in silence.

For the rest of Jonathan’s time at Damian’s house, the older child creates several designs with varying levels of approval. Sometimes the suit didn’t fit Jonathan's personality, sometimes it looked great but was impractical to wear, and sometimes it was perfect but didn’t look good next to any of Damian’s costume designs.

Eventually, they came up with sections of the costumes they were satisfied with, however, before they could finish the final draft Jonathan was called to go. The boys head downstairs to see him off, and Damian promises to have everything done within a week. A man in his early thirties drives Jonathan away in an outdated white station wagon with wood paneling on the side. It made some rather unsettling sounds as it headed down the long winding driveway, but Jon simply kept waving out the window until Damian was out of sight with a huge grin.

“Jonno, I need you to plant your behind back in the seat and put on your seatbelt,” Jonathan’s Uncle Jimmy pleads as he turns to the main street lined with beautiful mansions. “You might have superpowers, but I don’t. If I get into an accident you could be thrown around the car and hurt someone.”

“Yes, Uncle Jimmy!” Jon follows the instructions and excitedly kicks his legs back and forth. “So are we going to egg Vicki Vale’s house?”

“Jonno, I was kidding! I hope you haven’t been telling people you were going to commit a crime.”

“... No.”

The man giggles at his hesitancy and taps his fingers on the steering wheel. “Well, even if we were going to do that, your mom won so you wouldn’t get your chance anyway.”

“Dang it!” Jonathan pouts.

“You better say congratulations instead of, ‘dang it’ when you see your mom or else you’ll hurt her feelings.”

“I will!” Jonathan ensures enthusiastically.

At the fancy restaurant, in which Jon is extremely underdressed, the four members of Jon’s family are seated at a round table meant for six people. The little boy recounts the number of seats before pointing to one of the smaller four-person tables. “Why don’t we sit over there?”

“We’re waiting for one more person, Sport,” Clark tells him, sitting Jonathan down. 

Four adult menus and a kid’s menu are placed in front of them as Jon wonders who else is coming. He’s given a pack of four crayons to complete the map on the back of his menu and takes out the blue one, putting the rest of the box away in his pocket. As he’s finishing the game, someone in a black suit and blue tie sits next to his father, across from Jon.

“Sup lil’ bro!” A familiar voice greets, ruffling Jonathan's fluffy hair. The boy looks up to see his older brother, Conner smiling at him as he peeks over his aviator-style sunglasses… That he’s wearing at night… indoors. “Sorry I’m late, you know how it is.”

“Hi Kon, I didn’t even know you were coming,” Jon replies, referring to him by his Kryptonian name.

“Well, Dad let me go since it was a special occasion,” Conner replies, a bitter edge to the end of the sentence before he smiles sweetly at the adults. “Hi Jimmy, Hey Pops, Hi Lois.” He welcomes in rapid succession. “Thanks for the invite! And by the way Lois, congrats on your journalism award! Which article was it for again?”

“Conner-” Clark begins to warn but his wife merely leans forward with her hands folded over the table and a sly smile gracing her face.

The teenager snaps his fingers as he feigns to suddenly recall the reason they’re celebrating and places his chin. “Oh, that’s riiiiiight~, LexCorp: Lex, Scam, & Nuclear Danger. How could I forget?”

“I’m surprised you remembered, although I should’ve known you would seeing as Daddy dearest had to cut your allowance to deal with the stock backlash he dealt from that,” Lois mentions in a tone one would use to describe the weather. “I’m sorry you couldn’t buy another pair of silly shades paid for in blood-”

“Okay, that’s enough!” The red-headed man yelps as he excitedly slaps his menu flat on the table. “Look at this you guys, wagyu sliders! They’re like regular sliders but with fancy meat! Oooo, and black truffle fries! What do you think, Jon?”

“Like chocolate?” Jonathan questions curiously. “I remember Kathy and me eating a whole box of chocolate truffles on Valentine's Day and we both got sick because there was waaaaay too much chocolate for one sitting!”

“No, these truffles are mushrooms, but fancier.” Jon glances at the menu again, but his menu is different from everyone else’s. While that was happening, Clark ushered Lois and Conner to the side to speak with them privately. Jon eyes them for a second before being playfully whacked on the head by Uncle Jimmy’s menu. “You better not be thinking about eavesdropping.”

“How did you know?” Jon gasps in amazement. 

“Hahaha! Clark gets that same look on his face when he’s about to do the same thing,” The man informs him with a cheeky grin. “You two need a better poker face.”

“But I don’t play poker.”

“For a good reason.”

Jon looks back at his menu before showing it to the man and pointing at what he wants. His family comes back to the table and they all order a fancy cocktail, except for Jonathan and Conner who both get a Shirley Temple. As everyone begins to eat the group starts to chat about everything from the award-winning journalist’s achievements to more mundane subjects. The weather, current events, work, and a bit of gossip in their personal lives until the topic becomes focused on Jonathan.

Jonathan is lost in his imagination the entire time as he eats his onion rings and sliders, plus half of Conner’s french fries when his father asks about his day. Stealthily as he could be with four pairs of eyes watching him, he puts the fry he was taking off his brother’s plate back on. “Uuuuuuhhhhhh… my day was good. Dami is making a superhero costume for me. He took my measurements and everything then I watched him draw all day which was super fun! He even let me color in a picture he drew, but it didn’t look as good and I put too much water on my paint and it ate through the paper so now there’s just a big hole in it so I recycled it.”

“Wait, have you been stealing my fries? Why didn’t you just order fries?” Conner asks as he frowns at his missing potatoes.

“I’ll order more,” Jimmy tells him, raising his hand to catch the attention of their waiter.

Clark nods his head along with his son’s words and smiles at him. “I’m glad you had fun Jonno. You know, we do have a lot of people on the… Uh… at our work that can help you with that.”

“No thank you,” Jonathan declines, stealing more of Conner’s fries now that he knows he’ll get more. “Dami and I want to do it ourselves.”

“I hope you’re not planning on doing everything yourselves,” Lois laughs with a serious undertone beneath. “So, costumes, huh? Did you come up with a name yet?”

“Yes,” Jonathan replies, eating more of his brother's food until the teen simply gives up and slides the rest of the fries onto his plate. “I’m not supposed to tell y’all until Dami tells me too. He says it’s something about first impressions and presentation, but Dami is just dramatic like that.”

“I think it’s just a Wayne-Thing,” Conner shrugs, leaning back in his chair so far the back two legs are the only ones touching the floor. “Tim says their entire family is more like a theater troupe.”

“Well, Bruce has always been… um… Intense.” Clark says, adjusting his black tie. “I can’t wait to see them, Jon. I think Conner’s team is for people a bit older, but the new team Dick started up a year ago has more kids around your and Damian’s age. I’m sure you two will fit right in.”

“Hey!” The teenager shouts in a puckishly wounded tone. “We’d be happy to have Jon!”

“And Dami,” Jonathan reprimanded.

The teen flounders for a bit, readjusting his sunglasses that were sitting fine on his face as he nervously replies. “I mean-- I’d be thrilled to have Damian on our team, believe me, but Tim and Cassie probably wouldn’t. Or Bart, who he stabbed… And then there was that time he tried to exorcise Greta-”

“I don’t want to join Conner’s team,” Jonathan sulks, angry that people are making assumptions about what he wants.

“Aw, come on Jon, you can’t still be mad about that stupid pig arts and crafts project! I said I was sorry and it was weeks ago!” Conner whines, throwing his head back and making his unstable seat fall backward. 

As the adults are picking him up off the floor, Jonathan stands his ground and crosses his arms firmly. “Dami and I don’t want to join any of those dumb teams.”

“Jonathan, it’s not nice to say that about something you haven’t given a chance,” Lois scolds, with her lavender eyes narrowed disappointedly. “What reason do you have to dislike them?”

“Conner’s team doesn’t like Dami and that new team… Uh…” Jonathan pauses, having no reason to dislike the New Teen Titans other than simply wanting to be his own team, but he knows that reason won’t satisfy his parents. “One second.” He pulls out his flip phone and speed-dials Damian. 

The phone only rings once before his friend responds. “It’s been under two hours, Jonathan. At least wait for three before you start bemoaning the hole I left in your empty life.”

“Hi Dami, you’re a mean buttface. I need you to answer why we don’t like the New Tee-”

“Wait, Jonathan, are you in public?” Damian interrupts, hearing the light ambiance of the busy restaurant and the smooth live jazz in the background.

Jonathan nods his head as his family stares at him while he’s on the phone. “I’m in the restaurant I told you about.”

“... How has anyone in your family managed to maintain confidentiality?” The boy groans to himself, but loud enough Jon can still hear him. “Did you at least create a diversion?”

“It’s not like anyone’s listening, and we’re not talking that loud. Besides, we didn’t say any in… imcrim-minim… im-criminal words.”

“Incriminating, the word you’re looking for is incriminating,” Damian groans and Jon can hear him facepalm through the receiver. “How many hours have I spent tutoring you in basic English!? It isn’t even my first, second, or third language!”

“Uh…” Jon starts counting on his fingers like it is going to help him remember even though his head is empty of thoughts.

“Eighty-eight hours, Jonathan! That’s two hours a week for forty-four weeks and you don’t even have the chutzpah to retain any of it!”

“I regret calling you for help. I’m going to hang up if all you’re going to do is yell at me.” Jon tells his friend, his thumb hovering over the red end call button.

“Do it, I’ll be there in a minute!”

“Okay, thanks,” Jonathan hangs up the phone as his family stares at him with wide eyes. “What?”

Jonathan’s mom glances at her husband before looking back at her son astonished by what she heard. “Sweetie, why do you need Damian to answer this question for you?”

“We take turns. I did the last one, so Dami has to take over this one because he has a better reason.” Jonathan explains as he casually goes back to eating his expensive meal. He keens in bliss as he takes a bite of the expensive slider, while the rest of the table tries to come back to some sort of normalcy. “These are really good, Uncle Jimmy! If I ever have the money to go to such a fancy place again, I’ll get these with the french fries instead!”

“Well, you’re going to have to save a lot of money when you get a job, Jonno. Places like this aren’t cheap and require months of reservation in advance.” The man informs his nephew in a jovial fashion.

“And we are so very grateful once again, Jimmy! I can’t believe you went through all that hassle just for us.” Lois thanks, playfully nudging the man in the arm with her elbow. “This place is so posh they reject anyone that makes under 200k, and no offense, but we reporters aren’t known for making a killing. How did you do it?”

“It’s no hassle, Lois! After all you and Cark have done for me I feel a fancy dinner is the least I could do. Plus, I did an article on this place a few years back that the owner liked. The guy offered to put my reservation ahead of the list.” Jimmy boasts with a proud gleam.

“I don’t know if I ever interviewed anyone as fancy as that recently,” Clark chuckles sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. “Ever since I went part-time, Perry has been putting me on smaller local stories. Not that those aren’t fulfilling, but sometimes it’s nice to see some of that high society life.”

The brunette woman rolls her eyes and smirks at her friends as she leans back in her seat. She prods her husband's plate with her fork and steals an asparagus sprig. “At least you two get to deal with normal stories! I’ve been Perry’s number-one investigative reporter since you decided to wear tights! I’d love to have an easy story that didn’t involve risking my life.”

“Or mine,” Her husband quips.

Jimmy laughs back and waves his fork at his companions. “Aren’t you friends with Bruce Wayne? I’m sure he wouldn't mind letting you two taste the high life.”

The large farmer chuckles, “Yeah, but I don’t want to toss Bruce’s name around to get special treatment. It's disrespectful to abuse his name like that.”

“DON’T YOU KNOW WHO I AM!? I AM THE BLOOD SON OF BRUCE WAYNE! MY FATHER OWNS THIS CITY!” The voice of Damian preaches like those words were a holy sermon from the hostess's stand. “I DEMAND TO SEE YOUR MANAGER!”

“I’ll take care of this,” Jonathan happily declares as he springs out of his chair.

“I WILL HAVE YOUR JOBS! YOU WILL RUE THE DAY AND PRAY YOU’LL BE ABLE TO REPENT FOR THIS INJUSTICE YOU WROUGHT UPON THE WAYNE NAME-!” Damian, who is dressed in a fine emerald velvet suit, is pulled back by the arm by Jonathan.

“Sorry, he’s with me!” The younger boy yells as he walks backward to his table. “He doesn’t mean it!”

“Yes I do; I know where she lives!”

The hostess recoils as the boy lunges at her, but Jon is able to hold him back as the woman defends herself. “Mr. Wayne, I simply asked if you wanted the kid's menu!”

“I’m so sorry, Dami is usually super sweet!” Jonathan apologizes, pulling on his best friend harder.

“These are lies! I am a menace to society!” Damian counters, fighting Jonathan's hold with a feral abandon. “I will not be treated like a child! I am twelve!”

“She’s just doing her job, stop being such a spoiled sport about it!” The half-Kryptonian pleads as he physically picks up the shorter boy with a fraction of his super strength and places him on the empty chair next to his. In a hushed, but harsh whisper Jonathan scolds his bestie with a disappointed frown. “This is why I can’t take you anywhere nice. The world isn’t against you Dami. Why do you always have to be so elitist about everything?”

“Elitist? I see someone learned something from my lessons!” Damian grits out through his teeth like a scolded child.

“You’re always talking about how I have bad manners, yet you always do your best to get us kicked out of every place we go with that bad attitude of yours.” Jonathan reprimands, smacking Damian upside the head. “You’re such a dissembler!”

“And dissembler! Where are these words when you’re not upset with me?”

“Dami,” He says with a warning tone.

“Fine, fine, fine! What do you want me to do?” Damian groans, slouching so far into his chair that he is practically lying down in it.

Jon’s frown deepens as he crosses his arms much like his mother does. “You know what you have to do.”

“Arrrrgggghhhh, you’re the worst!” The older preteen cries as he walks back to the hostess stand.

“You did this to yourself,” Jon mutters under his breath focusing back on his plate and family. “So, anyway, I should get the fries next time. The onion rings are good, but the chocolate mushrooms they put on these fries taste really good, Uncle Jimmy.”

“Wow, you have him on a tight leash,” Conner comments with a forced neutral tone. “I can’t wait to tell Tim about this.”

“A leash? But I outgrew leashes years ago because I am a big boy.”

“Only physically, but that’s not what I meant.” The teenager comments as he watches Damian force several wads of cash at the employee he harassed moments ago. He’s never seen a hostess so confused in his life. He tunes in his super-hearing to listen in on the one-sided conversation.

“Take it!” Damian hisses just below speaking volume, however, his intensity was unfazed.

“I uh- what?” The hostess blubbers as she catches the money thrust upon her.

“Take this money and act like that shameful outburst never happened!”

“Is this hush money or an apology?”

Damian rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue in annoyance. “-TT- This is Gotham, there is no difference.”

The woman thinks about his statement for a moment before nonchalantly shrugging and pocketing all the money.  “...Good point.”

“Of course, it’s a good point. I made it. If that other boy has even an inkling you have not forgiven me I will make good on all my threats!” He threatens again before placing more money on the crystal stand. “And this is to pay for his food and the tip. Tell no one.”

“What about the rest of the table?” She questions as Damian walks away.

“What about them?”

Conner raises his brow, taking off his shades as he refers to his brother who appears none the wiser. “Uuuuhhhh… What are you expecting Damian to do?”

“To apologize nicely, duh!” Jonathan chirps out with a chipper smile before he notices the older teen’s eyes partially focused behind him. “Is he threatening her?”

“No? Honestly, I think that’s just how Gotham's apologies are,” Conner replies with a perplexed expression. “This explains so much.”

Damian plops himself back into the empty chair next to Jon in a bitter mood before Jonathan takes the uneaten complimentary salad and a breadstick to place in front of his friend. “I don’t have a fork-”

“Here, I didn’t use it,” Jon interrupts, handing Damian his unused silverware wrapped in a cloth napkin. “Is anyone looking?”

“Yes, but I doubt they’ll be paying attention to anything I’d be saying and focusing on the tantrum-throwing Wayne child.”

“Good, that means it’s safe to talk.” Jon with a sigh then smiles at his parents. “Okay, we can use the real words for things instead of me having to guess?”

“You need to learn to speak better in context clues.”

“And you need plans that don’t make you look worse,” The younger boy laments, not facing Damian. “You know I’m tired of you playing the bad guy.”

“I will stop when you can be more believable in the role,” He replies softly, taking a bite of the salad. It was okay.

“I’m sorry, but did you both stage that entire thing just because you wanted to talk openly about superhero stuff?” Jimmy asks with a concerned, but awestruck expression.

Damian slaps a hundred-dollar bill on the table and slides it across the table to the man. “Yes. We’ve found the public outcry an extremely effective distraction. Either people will be too busy talking about us to listen to what we’re saying, or they’ll be trying desperately to ignore our entire existence. You’re welcome.”

“That was rather rude and unnecessary,” Clark states with a furrowed brow. “You can’t just crash someone’s celebration and cause a scene, Damian. That’s not how we do things in this family. I want you to apologize to Jimmy, who organized this dinner, and to my wife, who we’re celebrating.” He turns to his son who shrinks under his steady gaze. “You too, Jon. You knew Damian was going to do something like that and didn’t tell him to stop. This is not acceptable behavior, young man; your mother and I taught you better than that.”

The duo mumbled some quiet apologies before getting a stern glare from Lois which turned them into very strong insistent apologies. “Well, Jimmy, do you think that was good enough?”

“I think they had enough, plus this is the first time I gained money from an apology.” The redhead chuckles as he raises the money Damian handed him. “Although I don’t feel great taking money from you. Here, you can have it back.”

He tries handing the money back, but Jonathan takes it and places it in his pocket knowing his friend would never accept it back without a fight. “I’ll hold it for now, Uncle Jimmy.”

“Also, Father wishes for me to tell you congratulations on another success, Mrs. Kent.” Damian slides an unmarked envelope with the Wayne Industries logo on the back.

“It better not be money,” The woman laughs and her husband adjusts his glasses as he stares at the letter.

“Umm… Do you want me to spoil it?” Clark inquiries apprehensively.

She scoffs and slaps her husband’s chest with the back of her hand as she stuffs the letter into her purse. “Pfft- I’m surprised Bruce didn’t line it with lead to stop your peeping eyes from spoiling the surprise. I’ll wait until we’re in the car.”

“Can I know?” Jonathan asks politely.

“No, this is mommy’s mail and you’ll know when I feel like telling you,” She tells him, going back to her meal and the reason Damian showed up. “So, what do you and Jon have against the New Teen Titans?”

Damian nods and takes a bite of the salad before speaking. “Jonathan and I have more personal reasons for hating this new mockery of the Teen Titans that Richard’s team sponsors, but our most publicly acceptable gripe with them is the same thing we have against all modern superheroes-- the capitalistic barrier to entry for anyone to make a name for themselves you large established teams hold over the industry.”

“Hold up,” Conner pipes in, confused as he leans forward with his elbows on the table. “Are you comparing Superhero Teams to capitalism?”

The older child nods with an apathetic countenance. “It’s exactly like capitalism. You lot are the oligopoly that prevents heroes from making a name for themselves under the guise of better standards, but these better standards only work in the sense it benefits you. How many heroes out there have never had membership past or present, with the Justice League or their affiliates?”

Superman looks like he wants to answer, but the truth is he doesn’t know. Damian takes to this hesitance like a lion to an injured gazelle. “If you need to specify these affiliates: I mean the Justice Society, Justice League International, Justice League Europe, China, Africa, Incarnate, Alpha, Task Force, Young Justice, Justice League Dark-”

“Okay, I see your point but-” Clark tries to interrupt, but Damian doesn’t let him.

“And let’s not forget how many teams the Titans have their claws in the Teen Titans East, New Teen Titans, New Titans-”

“Alright, alright, but you can still be your own hero while being part of a team. The JLA sponsors independent heroes as well. Even pairs get to maintain their structure and identity like the Wonder Twins-”

Now Jonathan barks out with a laugh as he takes a long sip of water. It wasn’t for dramatic effect as it appeared, but because he was choking and trying to hide that fact. Taking this opportunity, and saving face, Damian echoes this with his own mordant chuckle. “Ha! Do you think we should feel grateful to a large corporation for allowing us to keep our dignity? Who do you think you are, Lex Luthor absorbing a small business and letting them keep their branding?”

Conner opens his mouth to speak up before closing it with a thoughtful pout. “You have a point.”

“Thank you, Conner,” Damian appreciates, nodding in approval at the half-Kryptonian clone. “If we were to join any of those teams, we wouldn’t get to discover the types of heroes we want to be. We would be a watered-down version of ourselves that fits into the mold you preordained. You all talk about letting us figure out who we are, but by joining you we would only be learning how to be what you want.”

“I understand how you come to that conclusion, but being a superhero isn’t like a business. It’s serious work and no regulations are protecting you two, especially as children, if you go out on your own.” Clark attempts to plead his case, running a hand through his hair.

“You’re right, there are no regulatory bodies around being a hero. Which also means you might be our parents, but legally you have no authority over who gets to be a hero nor how to go about it.” Damian concludes, finishing the breadstick he’s been slowly consuming throughout the conversation. “If you want me to beat this megacorporation versus small business analogy further into the ground, I can. The JLA, Young Justice, Teen Titans, and Titans are Amazon while Jonathan and I are a local craft shop. You’re offering us to be hosted on your platform to sell ourselves, but we’ll be forced to follow your rules. In doing so, we’ll have no identity outside of you. Can you even name a small business that sells on Amazon or do you just put it in your cart to purchase without a thought of where it came from?”

“Uh… Huh…” Conner says as everyone else is still thinking. “I guess not.”

“But this is about your safety,” Clark replies. “Not just about your identity.”

Jonathan pipes up and asks his dad, “Do we have to be on a team to be protected?” His father gives him an unsure eye causing the child to elaborate. “We don’t want to follow your rules as heroes, and we don’t want to be part of your team. That doesn’t mean you can’t be our parents. You and Mr. Wayne make it seem like Dami and I are going to run away together, but we still have to come home to y’all. It ain’t reasonable for y’all ta’ give us complete independence, but we don’t want to be an extension of you.”

“Is… Is that what you think this is, Jonno?” The boy’s father asks and Jon turns away for a moment before hardening his resolve to look his father in the eyes. He nods, which makes him lean back into his chair as though the Man of Steel was hit with kryptonite to the gut. “Damian, have you told your father how you felt?”

The billionaire’s son turns away with his entire body towards Jonathan, ignoring the man’s inquiry. He gets up off the chair and pushes it in with a stiff, yet polite bow as he genuinely apologizes to the family. “Please pardon my conduct and inconvenience I have wrought upon you. I had no intention of dampening the spirit of your festivity with a conversation that wasted everybody’s time. I’ll see myself out, thank you for allowing me to sit with you, albeit forced as I made it.” He directs himself to Jonathan’s mother with a polite reverence. “Congratulations on your award once again. Please have a pleasant evening.”

Jon looks at his lap, refusing to meet anybody’s eye as Damian walks away. With a guilty complexion, the youngest boy quickly finishes the rest of his food as Conner’s extra fries hit the table. Jon shakes off his disposition and compels himself to smile with visible strain; he was never great at faking his emotions. “Ooo, fries!”

He makes a move to grab one and Conner lively pulls the dish away, sticking his tongue out at him. “Oh no, you don’t you grubby little food snatcher!” He shouts, holding the food above his head as he helps Jon lighten the mood. “H-Hey you guys, what do you think about some dessert? Jon- uh, Jon still has that money Jimmy gave back! Dessert’s practically free!”

The adults slowly mend themselves into a semblance of normalcy, but there’s still an aura of concern centered around Jonathan as they give him worried glimpses. The rest of the dinner goes by smoothly with very little issue. Well, aside from the fact that someone else paid for Jonathan’s meal; that wasn’t too much of a problem, just really confusing.

Everything goes back to its normal state of domesticated fun. Even though Jonathan was still technically grounded, he and his family were able to do some fun family activities. They went to the pool, saw a movie, visited the Metropolis Mall, and on weekends when Conner lived with them they went out to the beach. It was almost like they were a normal family aside from the fact Jon’s brother and father could cannon-ball into the water so hard they caused giant waves.

Jonathan would join them, but he’s still grounded from using his powers. Jon is lying down on his stomach as his boogie board floats atop a wave as it peters onto the shore. The board slips out from under the boy and the wristband attached to it pulls the 10-year-old forward. The piece of foam gets caught in the wet sand making it stand straight and causing Jonathan to faceplant into it like hitting a wall.

The wave keeps him pressed against the surface and nearly drowns him on dry land. His mother picks him up in a panic. “How!? HOW?!” She shouts at no one in particular as she tries to wrap her head around how her son almost got waterboarded by nothing.

“I want to do it again!” Jon cheers, running directly into the water before he’s immediately submerged by a giant wave Conner created by diving off a nearby cliff.

“Oh my gosh, not again!” Truly a mother’s job is never done. Aside from the universe’s unyielding mission to wipe Jonathan off the face of existence, it felt as though they completely forgot about the conversation at dinner a week ago.

However, Damian hasn’t called or answered any of his calls. Jon acted concerned about the lack of communication, but he was more impatient. He would look at his flip phone with frustration before he forced himself to look happy and normal. Jon was living that normal life all boys his age should have, yet he wasn’t fulfilled.

They can see it in his eyes every time his father leaves to save the world. They can see it when Conner is on the news with Young Justice. They can see it when his mother comes home after another breaking news story. They can all see that yearning and a part of them, a small cruel little piece of their heart, hopes that yearning will lead Jonathan under their cape with them rather than apart.

Jonathan doesn’t give in. He doesn’t cave and asks to join them. In fact, he stops talking to them about it altogether which is worse than incessant begging to go off on his own. Their child stopped confiding in them about something he was passionate about. If they keep going along this route then how many other things will the boy keep inside? What spiral could Jon go down if he doesn’t trust his family?

“What if he gets into drugs, Lois!?” Clark wheezes as he shoots up from his bed in a panicked frenzy in the middle of the night. “We’d never know because we’re emotionally isolating our baby!”

The brunette groans as she sluggishly reaches for her nightstand lamp with her eyes closed. Once the lights turn on she feels around the table for her phone to check the time. “Uuuugh, Clark, it’s three in the morning. I’m sure a 10-year-old isn’t going to get into drugs when Superman is sleeping in the next room.”

“Am I isolating him? Am I putting too much pressure on him? I never wanted Superman to be a standard he feels forced to live by.” The man shoots as he puts on his glasses. He doesn’t need them to see, but they help ground him. “Maybe I put too much emphasis on this team thing. First, he won’t tell us about his desires and aspirations, next he won’t include us in his plans, and next thing you know he’ll put us on low contact to make a family without us! All because I want Jonathan to be on a team I oversee!”

“Clark, you’re not isolating him, you’re just concerned. Letting Jon and Damian do whatever they want is irresponsible.” Lois sighs and pats her husband’s shoulder, coaxing him to lay down. “You were a real goody-two-shoes as a kid, weren’t you?”

“There is nothing wrong with being a good kid.”

“I bet Ma and Pa Kent never had to worry about their son doing something dangerous.”

“The most trouble I got into as a kid was tearing someone’s lawn on prom night.”

“Yeah, good thing that’s the only trouble you’ve ever gotten into. It’s not like you fly out to the middle of the arctic to do strongman workouts.”

“Well-”

“Or fly into a populated area and run headfirst into danger wearing your underpants.”

“Those are not underpants!”

“And heavens forbid you tell a reporter you barely know your entire life story about being the last known member of an alien race- someone whose father is the leader of a government branch to take out people like you.”

“Your father and I have a solid cordial relationship now… I mean, he still threatens to murder me on Thanksgiving, but that’s because I’m your husband;  Not because I’m Kryptonian. When you think about it, it’s progress.” 

“Damn it, now I have to call my dad in the morning.” Lois exhales as she sits up. “My point still stands, Clark. I’m not saying you have to let Jonathan do it alone, but we didn’t give his option a shot.”

“Lois, he almost died sneaking out to do that option.” Her husband reminds her.

“I know, but Jon’s going to keep wanting to be his own superhero because he doesn’t understand the work that goes into being a hero.” She explains as she lies back down with her face pressed against the pillow. “It’s just like that time Lucy and I ran away from home.”

Blue eyes gawk at the woman incredulously. “You two did what?”

Lois scoffs as she recalls the fond memory. “Yeah, when I was a kid I took Lucy and tried to run away from home with only my toothbrush and a blanket to my name. I even told my dad and he just told me to close my door on the way out. I didn’t last a minute before I came back crying. I don’t even know why I did it.”

She turns on her stomach and lifts her upper body by her elbows with the pillow supporting her with a humorous grin. “I’ve been thinking about this too. Do you want to hear the idea I came up with to get the boys in line?”

“I always want to hear your ideas, Lois.” Clark smiles, finally laying down in the bed after a calming breath.

“I say we let them do their superhero duo,” She suggests with an exciting passion, laying her head on her husband’s chest. “Not without some rules of course, but you and Bruce can figure out most of those. Give them enough leeway to allow them to test their freedom, but also don’t do any of the hard work for them. You can’t give them money, tools, supplies, resources, a base, and any other cool hero stuff. All that hard stuff that doesn’t involve saving the day and fighting bad guys will be their responsibility. You’ll still protect them from the sidelines, but without all that fancy stuff the teams provide it’s unlikely they’ll last long. Either they come back crawling to you for help or…” She pauses and kisses the Kryptonian’s jawline. “We realize we raised Jon to be cleverer than we give him credit for.”

The farmer thinks about it for a moment, taking off his glasses in the process, before he kisses the top of his wife’s head. “That… Wow, why didn’t we think of that earlier?”

“I thought about it since Damian made that business comparison,” Lois tells him as she rolls over to turn off the lights. “It’s really not that different, so I just changed the way I’ve been thinking about it. Now go to sleep, I have to go to work and you have to till the soil or whatever.”

As Clark and Lois go back to sleep Jonathan is in the next room with his ear pressed against the wall. He grins as he texts his friend on his flip phone that their plan to guilt their parents was a success. It takes him a long time because he’s fatigued from trying to stay up all night and the telephone keypad is not text-friendly. Once he sends out the message his body succumbs to sleep deprivation and he face-plants on the farm wood flooring of his room.

Only to immediately wake up to Damian forcefully screaming into his ears. That boy is so lucky his super-hearing isn’t constantly active. Jon is too tired to open his eyes so he makes an uncommitted noise as he’s pulled out the window.

Wait, what?

“HE’S HAVING A STROKE! HE NEEDS A DOCTOR!” Damian screams as he tosses Jonathan’s body into the open air.

“Damian- Damian no!” He hears his mother scold as she pulls on his feet in the same tone she berates Krypto in. “He’s not having a stroke- How do you keep breaking into our house?!”

“I’m so sorry about this Lois, I made sure the electric fence was activated before he went to bed.” Damian’s dad apologizes from below the window. Jonathan wearily opens his eyes to see the man in the middle of inflating a rescue air cushion next to the house.

“Why do you- you know, what. This is not the time!”

“Huh? Mom? Dami? What’s going on?” Jonathan questions as he sheds off his slumber. Oh hey, the sun’s out!

“See, he’s fine!” His mother points out just as Jon’s father, still in his pajamas, kicks in his door with an oxygen tank and a hospital-grade EKG machine.

“Is he okay!? Did he flatline!?”

“Clark, Jonathan is not having a stroke! Where did you get those?!”

“Tell that to his brain damage!” Damian screams showing his smartphone screen to Jonathan and his family. 

Apparently, when Jonathan tries to text when he’s tired he writes complete gibberish. Damian swipes his screen to reveal that he called Jon 196 times over the last five hours. Everyone turns to Jonathan who wishes he didn’t wake up. At least he knows he’s loved and that he shouldn’t put his phone on silent before Damian murders him.

Chapter Text

Over a week later, it was decided that the boys were allowed a trial run of being an independent team while being dependents. They were informed that they would be discussing their family’s expectations and going on a test patrol. The arrangement was experimental at best, but it was more than they thought they were going to get. Jon was still grounded, but they made an exception for this first outing.

Damian is adding the finishing touches to Jonathan’s costume as Jon is doing his best to stay still. Maybe he’s trying too hard as the 10-year-old is holding his breath to the point of asphyxiation. Damian rolls his eyes at his friend’s paranoia and puts his pins away. “You can breathe again, Jon. I’m done.”

Jonathan instantly ventilates as he is free from the fear of being impaled. “Oh thank god, I thought I was about to die!”

“-TT- It’s just a fitting, Jonathan.”

“Last time you did a fitting I got jabbed in the leg.”

“That was a pattern drafting, not a fitting.” Damian corrects, undressing Jonathan from behind. “Get your facts right.”

Jonathan straightens out his undershirt with a pout. “Well excuse me, I’m sorry we can’t all know everything.”

“You’ve been excused.”

“Aaarrrrrgggghhh! You can be such a jerk sometimes!” Jon groans, throwing his head back.

“A jerk who is also your seamster,” The older boy replies as he tailors the last few details of the other’s uniform on Alfred’s sewing machine. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

Jonathan scoffs and hugs Damian, draping himself over his back and resting his head in the crook of his neck. “You’ve always been more like a cat to me.”

“You shouldn’t look them in the eyes either. It’ll show murderous intent.” He retorts condescendingly as he shifts his seating to adjust for the arms around his waist.

“I thought when cats stare at you they show they love you,” Jon wisecracks, watching Damian sew individual gold sequins into the logo of Jon’s costume. “I don’t want to be too flashy. Do you think that’s too much?”

“If I thought it was too much I wouldn’t put it on,” He informs bluntly, leaning his head into the side of Jon’s. “And do I look like I’m looking at you?”

“Meany.”

“Stupid.”

Damian finishes the final adjustments of the garment in time for Duke to come and check in on them. He enters the open door casually but stops when he sees the lack of personal space between the two boys. He raises a brow to pointedly look anywhere but to where his foster brother is. “Uhh… I thought you had a no-touching rule?”

Jon answers the teenager as Damian is still laser-focused on his work. “Hi, Duke! That’s only for people without permission.”

“I see… And who has permission?” He asks slowly like he is doing complicated math in his head.

“I think it’s just his family and me,” The 10-year-old brags jovially, pressing his cheek against the side of Damian’s temple.

“Father, Mother, Richard, Pennyworth, Stephanie- but she’s on thin ice, Jonathan, Maps, Maya, and Colin but the last two thankfully never use it.” Damian lists as he cuts off the last thread on his sewing needle with his teeth.

Jonathan’s sky-blue eyes rapidly blink and the smug grin on his face falls faster than he did out of a skyscraper a few weeks ago. “Who’s Maps?”

“Maps is just a bothersome girl I’m forced to hang around with at school. Father is a business acquaintance of her parents and we share the same classes at Gotham Academy. She’s the reason I woefully know what ‘glomp’ means.” He tells Jon as he checks the seams of the uniform one last time. “Maps’ real name is Mia Mizoguchi, but she forces all her friends to call her Maps.”

“She’s a new friend? That’s great!” Jonathan cheers a bit too enthusiastically. “How come you never told me about her before? When did she get touching permission?”

“She’s a civilian colleague at best, but she got permission after we were forced to hold hands when a spell glued them together. It seemed rather silly to reinstate the ban. It doesn’t help that she's an annoyingly physical person.”

“That wasn’t your permission you gave,” Jonathan sulks.

“Are we just going to ignore the magic spell thing?” Duke speaks out with worry.

Damian rolls his eyes once more and exhales tiredly. “All spells are magic, Thomas. Plus I don’t mind since all her fondling amounts to trying to make me carry her to class by jumping on my back. She weighs nothing.”

“You should still put the ban back on until you permit her yourself. Let her earn it like everyone else!” Jonathan insists forcefully, but it's not out of the ordinary. He’s always been insistent on Damian’s boundaries ever since he realized Damian’s affliction against physical contact. It was vexing how Jonathan treated touching Damian like it would shatter him until he gave his permission.

“I guess you have a point.” Damian shrugs and takes out his phone to call Maps.

After a few rings, the fellow future eighth-grader answers with a frantic but sweet tone. “HEY DAMIAN! THIS IS NOT A GREAT TIME BUT I’M HAPPY YOU CALLED! YOU NEVER CALL ME AND I’VE BEEN TRYING TO CALL YOU ALL SUMMER! I GOT A CAT-!”

“Greetings Maps. You will text me a picture of the cat later… Never mind, do that now,” He quickly amends before getting to the point. “I’m calling to rescind the permission you have to touch me.”

“What permission? Was I not supposed to do that? Oh my gosh, am I on a hit list for touching you? Do you have bodyguards that are going to tackle me when school starts back up? Does that mean you won’t carry me anymore? Did something happen to your arms?” The young girl questions with a mixture of excitement, worry, and curiosity.

“My arms are fine. You’re just going to have to earn it like everyone else.” Damian tells her.

“Ooooooo, so this is a challenge! That’s so cool!” There’s a horrific crashing noise in the background before the holler of Japanese swears emanates through Damian’s phone. “OH CRAP! My cat got into my brother’s room! I gotta go, I’ll text you later Damian! Bye!”

“Bye,” He hangs up and puts his phone away as he turns to Jonathan. “There.”

“She sounds fun! We should meet up sometimes.”

“Gods no, I can only handle one of you at a time,” He sighs and tosses the uniform over Jon’s face. “Now get changed.”

“Okie Dokie!” The boy says through the cloth and steps back.

“What did you come here for, Thomas?” Damian asks as he swivels the stool to face the teen.

Duke jolts in place as he pushes to recall why he went to see Damian. “Huh? Oh, uh- B says he’s ready for you two in his office. Do you two really want to do this?”

“Excuse me Mister We-Are-Robin? Do you have an issue with Jonathan and I taking heroism into our hands separate from a regulatory body?” Damian sneers, spinning in his chair to grab a comb for the nest Jonathan calls hair.

“Hey, I’m just makin’ sure you know what you’re getting into.” The young teenager shrugs as he steps to the side. “See ya.”

“Bye, Duke!” Jonathan calls out as he gets his uniform over his head. He waits for the teen to be out of earshot before he hops excitedly in place. “Oh my gosh, Dami this is it! This is going to be so cool and fun and awesome and exciting and amazing! We’re going to be real superheroes with costumes and names and maybe I can come up with a catchphrase!”

“Your mastery of wordplay leaves much to be desired.” Damian points out, moving to a different table in the dressing room with a vanity mirror in front of it. He grabs an eyeliner pen and takes off the plastic packaging before he carefully outlines the edges of his eyes with a sharp wing.

“Why are you wearing make-up? Isn’t that a girly thing?” Jon questions as he watches Damian carefully, entranced by the action. “You’re already pretty, so there’s no need to. Plus your mask covers your eyes! No one will see them!”

Damian shows Jonathan his mask, shifting it from side to side, “I wasn’t able to commandeer the advanced lenses my father uses. There are certain angles where my eyes are somewhat visible. It would look sloppy to have an exposed waterline, and presentation is what separates the greats from mediocrity.”

Jon stares at the pencil Damian puts down as he adjusts the mask over his face to test the coverage. In the reflection of the mirror, he sees Jonathan pick up the pen and attempt to line his exposed eyes with rather creative consequences. Damian sighs as he takes his domino mask off, and grabs a cotton wipe with baby oil dabbed on it. He seizes Jonathan by the jaw to force the taller child to look down as he viciously wipes Jon’s eyes.

“You have enough skin exposed that you don’t need to cover your eyes,” Damian tells him.

“I know,” Jon pouts as he stares at Damian’s face. “I just wanted to try it since you’re wearing it.”

The older boy uses the comb he grabbed earlier to brush out the rough midnight black locks into some semblance of dapper. “Jonathan, you look more than presentable, but if you genuinely desire to wear this then get your own. It’s unsanitary to use someone else’s.”

“Oops,” The child frowns, looking at the eyeliner pen he used. “Sorry, I won’t do it again. I don’t think this is for me.”

“It’s fine, I’ll sharpen it later.” He says as he finally goes to put on his uniform.

The two boys walk into Bruce Wayne’s office in uniform to be met with three adults looming over them from behind an elegantly carved mahogany desk. The blinds are shut and the warm glow of the desk lamp is the only source of light in the room. At least it was until Clark took a picture of them with his instant camera, blinding the children with a flash.

Both pre-teens grunt as they cover their eyes from shock while Richard gleefully walks over to his uncle. “Uncle Clark, take another! I want a copy too!”

“This camera has Bluetooth, so I can give you a copy later.” He informs the young man as he places the instant copy face down on the tabletop.

“Sweet, thanks!”

Damian walks up to his father, who was seated at the desk with a stringent expression of practiced confidence. “State your terms.”

“Getting right down to business,” Damian’s father’s gruff voice states in a tone that has everyone’s back straightened. Even Jon is still wobbling around like a newborn foal. “Here are our terms. These are non-negotiable. Any infraction will ensure the full capacity of the Justice League and we as your guardians shut your operation down by any means necessary.”

He slides a piece of cardstock over to them with a refined contract professionally printed on it. Damian inspects it while Jonathan looks at it over the older’s shoulder with slightly less concentration since there are still spots in his vision. They both need to know what they are getting into, so Damian decids to read the contract aloud.

“Effective immediately upon execution I, Damian Wayne and Jonathan Samuel Kent, will follow and agree to the following terms listed below as written and intended. This contract contains the entire agreement between the parties; the terms of this agreement are contractual and not merely a recital. The conditions are as follows:

1. Grades must be kept at a B-average or above at all times. If the grades of either party fall below the agreed-upon grade then both recipients of this contract must halt all superhero-related activities until the guilty party’s grades rise to acceptable levels. 
2. An escort approved by each family will shadow every mission, but not be directly involved unless prompted by circumstances. Any unsupervised mission without informing an adult authority will count as an infraction of the contract. Unsupervised missions may be available upon request and review, or under emergency circumstances that are approved by a guardian.
3. Family events and activities must still be attended in a timely manner.
4. A reveal of civilian alias to anyone who doesn’t already know the contracted parties is cause for immediate termination of hero identity. 
5. Combat or missions involving high-profile crimes or villains are forbidden. A list of these crimes and criminals will be provided upon request. This also includes Crisis-Events and multiversal catastrophes.
6. If either of the individuals who signs this contract sustains an injury above moderate levels for any reason related to hero work the team must disband immediately. 

There are no exceptions to any of the stated conditions. This contract may not be altered, amended, or modified, except by a written document signed by both parties. It is understood that neither Damian Wayne nor Jonathan Samuel Kent will be allowed free access to resources by any of the teams associated with the Justice League. Resources can be provided at the provider’s discretion, but not upon request. These resources include financial, material, physical, technological, and transportation. This contract and its terms have been carefully read and fully understood by the undersigned, who knowingly and voluntarily enter into this agreement.”

Jonathan, now recovered from the flash, plucks the contract from Damian’s fingers to read over one more time to make sure he didn’t miss anything. Damian requests the list of prohibited missions to go over and is promptly handed it. He studies the crimes listed with a scowl but doesn’t verbally complain. It was reasonable enough, although rather uninteresting as it lowered the amount of heroism they could achieve. He hands Jonathan the paper and the boy reads it over but doesn’t get far as he sees several familiar names on the list.

“Mr. Luthor?” Jon inquires, looking at his Dad. “Why not? It’s not like he’ll hurt me. I’m Conner’s brother.”

“He’s still on the list, Jonno.” Clark reaffirms sternly. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t think he’ll hurt you or not. If Lex Luthor is doing something he shouldn’t then you shouldn’t be involved.”

“And al-Ghul? Where have I heard that name before? And who’s Ra- Rash? Razz?” Jonathan questions as he rattles his brain for the name on the tip of his tongue. Then his eyes go wide as he turns to his best friend. “Wait, that’s your name! I mean your real name- I mean your old name? Is it still your name? My mom hyphens her last names so she has two. Do you do the same thing?”

“Legally, no. It’s only Damian Thomas Wayne on all the paperwork,” Damian announces to him. “But privately my name is Damian Hafid al-Ghul-Wayne.”

“Which name do you have to sign with?” Jonathan asks, pointing to the signature lines at the bottom of the contract.

Bruce reaches over his desk and sets the contract on the desk with two fountain pens next to it. “You both sign with your hero aliases. This contract isn’t legally binding by any means, but we will still hold you to it like it is. So, do we have a deal?”

Jonathan eyes Damian, waiting for him to sign first, but he feels him grab his hand. The older of the two gives their fingers a tight squeeze as his free hand grabs a pen, hovering over the line but not signing. Jonathan grabs his pen and reciprocates the action of intertwining their fingers together. At the same time, the two confidently sign their hero names on the contract to set their fate for the foreseeable future.

“Deal!” They declare together.

The duo slides the contract back for the three adults to see and they stare at the names with wide eyes. Bruce and Clark turn to Richard, whose sunkissed skin has desaturated a noticeable amount as his sapphire eyes are glued to the contract. There were two large signatures on the paper, mocking them as the ink dried on the parchment. To the left was Jonathan’s hero name, Flamebird, in his chicken scratch he calls handwriting. To the right was Damian’s name which was particularly familiar to everyone in the room; Nightwing.

Everyone looks back to Damian and he instantly tells them, “I’m not changing it. The world is big enough for both of us.”

It goes without saying that the next few minutes are filled with confused shouting and a plethora of logistical questions. Damian and Jon don’t see what the big deal is. Dick’s best friend, Wally West the Flash, has the same name as his mentor now that Kid Flash is taken by someone else. That doesn’t even touch on the number of heroes that go by Green Lantern.

Then there was the We-Are-Robin debacle where any kid in Gotham trying to fight crime will put on a freaking Robin-Themed shirt. If Damian recalls correctly, Maps still does that thing to disastrous effects. Besides, there are so many heroes with the word “bat” in their names that heroes sharing a name should be a nonissue.

The conversation doesn’t drag on for too long as Jonathan interrupts the ensuing debate by asking if they can go on their first mission. Clark sighs and nods as Bruce makes a grunting noise in the back of his throat. The grandfather clock in the study shifts to the side to reveal Cassandra in her Batgirl uniform standing there patiently.

“Wow, was she waiting there the whole time?” Jon questions as the teenager stares at him, her eerily designed bat costume with a horrifying stitched mouth sending shivers down his spine.

“Our families are going to take turns sending a chaperone that will oversee each mission. As an independent team, it will be your job to choose your missions and how to conduct them.” Bruce grimly informs the boys. “Before going out on an assignment, you’ll have to inform us so we can send a guard with you. They will not intervene or dictate what mission you’ll go on. They will stay out of your way unless your lives are in danger, you break the rules, or an unexpected situation presents itself that requires intervention. Other than that, you’re free to go.”

“We thought it would be best to send Batgirl with you for your first mission,” Jonathan’s father tells them as his eyes nervously shift to the woman. “Cassandra is capable enough to protect you two no matter what happens and responsible enough to make the right call when to interfere.”

Richard nods, his posture becoming more rigid as he examines Damian and Jon. “And she’s less likely to put unneeded pressure on you while hidden. I volunteered to do it first, but… Cass is the better choice to evaluate if you’re ready.”

“Evaluate us?” Damian hisses, glaring at his older sister.

“Yes, evaluate you,” Bruce confirms. “This is your first outing as heroes. Due to past events, we have to make sure you can handle yourselves. If Superman, Nightwing, or I were to shadow you our opinion would be biased against your success. Batgirl is rational enough to provide you a fair chance.”

“Understood,” Damian nods and turns to the 18-year-old. “We’re taking the hidden exit separate from the Batcave into Gotham-”

“Wait!” Clark interrupts nervously, his glasses nearly falling off his face with how quickly he turned. “Um… I know I said I wouldn’t intervene too much, but maybe Gotham isn’t the best place for their first mission. N-not to say Gotham isn’t a good city… Actually, that’s exactly what I’m saying. How about the boys do their first mission in Metropolis instead? I don’t want the boys to get hurt on their first mission.”

“Flamebird would never let me get hurt,” Damian says to deaf ears.

“How about we meet in the middle and have them in Blüdhaven?” Dick suggests, which his father and uncle decide firmly against.

“Gotham is an acceptable place for a first outing! I’d rather have my son in Gotham; where I know it like the back of my hand!”

“I am not sending my boy to Blüdhaven, and Gotham’s villains include a homicidal clown and the highest crime rate in the United States!”

Jonathan leans over to Damian and whispers, “Aren’t we supposed to pick this?”

“Correct.”

“I see,” He says as he watches the adults arguing get louder and more violent. “Want to go to Star City?”

Damian thinks about it for a moment then nods as he escorts Jonathan out of the way of a flying office chair Richard throws at Superman for talking negatively about his municipality of choice. “Yeah, we should go.”

They sneak out of the room with Batgirl in tow and head to one of the manor’s many hidden escape routes. Once out into the streets of Gotham the boys and their babysitter awkwardly walk to the train station due to not having any other available methods of transportation available to them. Suffice to say, it was not the most dazzling debut to their superhero career as the three of them rode the rail to Star City.

People recorded them on their smartphones, but none of them could get a clear picture due to Damian putting technology in his mask to distort his face on most modern devices. This did not include instant print cameras, unfortunately, so on the off chance someone had an instant print camera, like Jonathan’s father, Cassandra steps in. And her definition of stepping in involved intimidatingly standing over the wretched soul until they hand her the picture to destroy.

“This… Is not what I had in mind.” Jon confesses as he watches Batgirl shake down a middle schooler with a purple sticker-covered Instax Mini camera.

“What did you expect? We aren’t allowed basic resources other heroes are privy to, and you haven't mastered how to fly at an acceptable speed. Also, you’re weak, so you’d drop me even if you did learn how to do that.”

“I could always use my superstrength,” The taller boy huffs with his arms crossed.

“-TT- Can you fly at the same time?” Damian questions already knowing the answer as he watches the other silently shrink into himself. “I thought so.”

“I hate you,” Jon grumbles.

“I love you too,” Damian retorts.

“Hey,” One of the passengers, an older woman in office attire, bravely speaks up. “Are you guys, like, cosplayers?”

“What’s cosplay?” Jonathan asks, his wide innocent eyes looking up at the adult with an adorableness warm enough to melt ice. The passenger is on edge by his openly naive personality, but Damian begrudgingly knows his friend is completely genuine in his demeanor.

“It… Um… It’s like wearing costumes in public, but like… a bit more professionally.” She tries to describe.

“We are professionals!” Jonathan replies with a grin. “Thanks for noticing, miss!”

“Urgh, Flamebird, she’s implying we're masquerading ourselves to play pretend,” Damian clarifies, shaking his head and dragging his hands down his face.

“Oh,” The 10-year-old blurts out dumbly as his grip tightens on the metal pole he’s holding for stability. “Then no, we’re not cosplaying. We’re going to be real heroes!”

Unfortunately, Jon’s mildly irritated expression looks like a childish pout. It does nothing to help cement their legitimacy. It also doesn’t help that Jonathan accidentally remolded the metal with his hand to the shape of his grip with his super strength. The sixth-grader jumps back at the sound of bending metal with a sense of panic, hiding behind his shorter friend.

“Oh no, D-- N-Nightwing! I broke the train! That’s illegal! Now, what should I do!? I don’t want to go to jail!” The red-clad boy wails, shaking his partner hysterically by the shoulders.

Damian takes in a long pacifying exhale as he mutters under his breath. “Maybe we should’ve stayed in Gotham. At least then I’ll be more likely to be put out of my misery.”

“Nightwing!”

“Fine, fine, I’ll fix it if it makes you feel better!” The hero hollers, turning to the onlookers. “Do any of you have a pole?” When no one answers, Damian snarls and shouts, “I know half of you are from Gotham and I’m not a snitch! I don’t care where it comes from or why you have it!”

After a heavy pause, a young teenager holds up a steel pipe. “I got one!”

“Hand it over,” The preteen demands, and whether it is out of curiosity or obedience, the teen complies. The new Nightwing unsheathes his sword and swiftly cuts off the damaged piece of railing in two speedy swings. He then chops the pole he was given to the size before putting away his katana and pulling out a portable welding torch that came from seemingly nowhere. He solders the metal into one piece until it looks secure.

Then as an act of service, he took the broken section he removed and attached it to the remaining pipe. He hands the hot metal to Jonathan who is still upset but blows on the pipe, covering the entire thing in a thick layer of ice. He walks over to the teen who gave it to them with a frown. “I’m sorry I caused your nice pipe to be ruined!”

The stunned teen takes it with a sense of awe as he and most of the passengers in their train cart gawk at the ice-encrusted object. “Holy shi-!”

“Don’t even think about swearing in Flamebird’s presence, lest I cut off your tongue to save us both the lecture!” Damian shouts as Jon cools down the railing with his powers. He swiftly turns his heel towards his hero companion with a furious flush creeping out from under his mask. “Are you happy now? I can’t believe you made us waste resources on this! This is a Gotham train, these things get wrecked at least once a month!”

“Nightwing, we’re supposed to be heroes and do good things. We can’t leave the public property we damaged remain damaged! That will waste taxpayers' hard-earned money on something we could’ve prevented.” Jonathan explains with the utmost sincerity.

“You’re just afraid of getting into trouble.” Damian counters, unimpressed by the other’s rationalization.

“That too, but that doesn’t make me wrong on the other thing!” He wholeheartedly admits, without an ounce of shame to be found in his determined expression.

After an excruciatingly long bullet-train ride, the children make it to Star City, Washington: the technology and art epicenter of the United States! With a giddy sense of anticipation and bright eyes, mostly from Jonathan, the pair head out to fight crime for real. Cassandra takes it upon herself to go into hiding to give the boys a sense of privacy as they patrol the city for an adventure worth their first official patrol.

Unfortunately, after several agonizing hours, the only things needing their attention were people needing help taking in their groceries in a single trip and an obscene amount of potholes that needed to be filled. Perplexingly, they’ve received a considerable amount of praise for filling the potholes to the point the two were worried about the infrastructure of Star City.

“Thank you!” A passerby waves from their car as Damian finishes pilling the hole with some cold patch. Jonathan stomps the material flat with his super strength and then steps out of the way for traffic to continue past him. Many people on the sidewalk applaud as the two move on to the next street.

“Aw, they’re adorable!”

“They’re the heroes Star City deserves.”

“I hope they get to the road near my work. That place is a mess!”

“I know, right? Who do you think they are?”

“Maybe this is a stunt the city is putting on?”

“This is also not what I had in mind,” Jonathan sighs as they turn a corner to fix more roads.

Damian rolls his eyes from under his mask, patting his friend on the back, albeit condescendingly. “You’re the one who cares about public property and saving taxpayers money. Shouldn’t you be thrilled we’re doing this city a much-needed service?”

“When you put it that way I guess I am, but what is the city doing to not fix all these potholes?!” He exclaims, throwing his hands to the sky in frustration. “And why do you have asphalt on you?!”

“The same reason I have a blowtorch!” Damian hollers as he stops at the next pothole and kicks out the debris inside. “To be prepared for anything!”

“I’ve known you for almost three years and I still don’t know where you keep this stuff on you,” Jon remarks as the other fills the hole with the last of the cold patch in the bag. The half-Kryptonian flattens it like he has done too many times in the past two hours. “That better be the last of it because this is getting boring.”

“For now, but I could always get more.” Damian relishes in the exasperated whine Jonathan releases into the heavens. “Don’t worry, I won’t bore you anymore with this task. However, I am tempted to write a strongly worded letter to Mayor Tuckman about the condition of Star City’s roadways.”

“Coming from you, that sounds terrifying,” Jonathan confesses before he sighs, disheartened by the result of their first outing in their costumes. “It’s getting late, Nightwing. We should head back home before the last train leaves.”

“I’m as unfulfilled as you are, Flamebird.” The older boy admits as he throws the empty asphalt bag away in a nearby bin. “Before we leave, I want to visit the Grell Museum.”

“While we’re in costume?” Jonathan questions, gesturing to their outfits.

“We’re in uniform, not costumes.” Damian scowls, stomping his foot on the ground. “And we’re only in Star City because you suggested it! At least let me visit one of the country's greatest art museums while we’re here so I can feel better about our debut via pothole filling.”

Jonathan looks in the direction of the setting sun that was little more than a sliver on the horizon, and then back to Damian acceptingly. “Okay, we still have time. I should get a souvenir for my parents while I’m there!”

“Do you have money for one?”

“... I’ll add it to my tab.”

The pair walk into the museum without any hindrances or payment as children under 14 years old get in for free. They spend an hour admiring various types of art with Jon skimming the displays briefly, but positively. Meanwhile, Damian took his time to admire and read the informative blurb next to every single piece thoroughly.

An announcement emanates through the speakers announcing the Grell Museum's closing in thirty minutes. The middle schoolers head to the gift shop to grab their souvenirs before they head to the train station. Damian grabs an art book filled with reference pictures and information about the art in the museum, while Jon grabs a refrigerator magnet and mug themed after the location.

Just as they’re about to leave to pay for their items, the lights in the gift shop flicker ominously. It was not only the lights that malfunctioned but the cash register as well. “Sorry boys, I can’t take any cards with the register down.”

“We have cash. Can’t you just write it down or something?” Damian complains, impatiently tapping his foot. “This is the last thing I need to happen to me today.”

“I can get my manager to do that for you, let me get her.” The cashier says as they pick up their walkie-talkie. The worker turns it on and requests their manager’s assistance, but all they hear is static. “Argh, these things never work when I need them to. Wait here, she’s in the back.”

The manager comes out with the employee in tow to write their purchase down and ogle at their costumes. “Awwww, you two are so cute!” She coos, pinching Jonathan’s smiling dimples as she writes his receipt. “May I get a picture of you two? I just love your outfits!”

“Thanks, my friend here made them!” He boasts and signals to Damian who took a large step away to avoid being touched by the manager. “Want to let her take a picture, Nightwing?”

“I don’t mind, but you should know you won’t be able to see my face in your camera.” The older boy tells her as he steps closer to Jonathan.

The lady takes out her phone and with a jolly wave of the hand. “Oh don’t worry. You two are children! Of course, I won’t show your faces! I’ll blur them out or hide them behind a sticker.”

That wasn’t what Damian meant, but he wasn’t going to correct her.

The woman glares at her smartphone after a few seconds of fiddling with it. “Oh, darn it. I can’t seem to get my phone working.”

“Didn’t you get that Q-Phone today?” The cashier asks, pulling out their phone. “This is why I have a Lex Phone. You can use mine to take the picture.” They play around with their device to find they have the same problem. “I can’t open any of my apps.”

“You and your stupid Lex-Phone don’t seem so great now, huh?” She teases before turning back to the kids. “I’m sorry, boys. I guess I won’t be able to get that picture. I think you two did a great job on your outfits! I’ve held you long enough, and it’s past closing. You two better be on your way.”

“That’s okay, thanks for the compliment and for letting us buy things even though your register isn’t working.” Jon waves the store goodbye as he leaves the main area of the museum. Once they’re far enough, he pivots to Damian with a serious attitude. “What do you think that was? An EMP? Frequency jammer?”

“Whatever it was, it was either too far to do any real damage to this area or was intentionally weak to reduce luring suspicion,” Damian replies, his eyes darting around to the security cameras around them.

“Maybe it was a coincidence,” Jon offers jokingly and the two share a lighthearted laugh as they go to perform reconnaissance around the museum.

The two conceal themselves in the hidden nooks of the halls as the museum lights shut down. Damian climbs up to the cameras and investigates their internal workings to discover they are still working, but the image they created was of poor quality at best. “No speakers, and an IP-based security camera meaning it’s transmitting a signal to a digital storage system. Or it would if it was able to transmit the data.”

“Does it not save the footage?” Jonathan questions, hanging upside down by his knees on the metal rafters artistically placed to look like a bird. “Hey, I see Batgirl! Hi Batgirl!” He cheerily waves to the older teenager in the distance sitting on much thicker metal beams near the entrance. She signs something with her hands, but Jonathan doesn’t understand sign language.

“She’s telling you to quiet down,” Damian publicizes, screwing the control panel of the camera shut as he crouches on the ledge. “And it should save the footage if it was connected to a hard drive, but who knows what condition that is in by now.”

“Seems like kinda a waste to mess with the cameras when you could just shut the power down.” The 10-year-old criticizes, letting his arms dangle below him to smack his cape.

Green eyes roll at this display and he takes a pair of binoculars out from behind his cape to scan the area. Jon does the same with his super-seeing abilities, but the peering he does makes it obvious he is struggling. “Habibi, don’t squint. You’ll damage your eyes.”

“I’m trying not to but my eyes have three different powers, and I’m trying super hard not to use the wrong one.”

“Well, don’t go burning down anything priceless with those laser eyes.”

“I’m more worried about accidentally seeing the security guard in their underpants, but now I’m worried about that too.”

“Then concentrate.”

“Nightwing, you can’t just tell me to concentrate. That’s not how that works.”

“You’re simply not concentrating enough to make it so.”

Jonathan grumbles as he focuses his x-ray vision on looking for something beyond the inner boundaries of the museum that didn’t belong. It takes him a while to separate the infrastructure inside the vestibule of the walls, but he does eventually discover the silhouettes of a number of bodies huddled in the corner while another group stands over them. One of the members is armed with a bow and quiver of arrows, but that’s all that Jonathan can make out.

“Hostage situation, three o'clock, one floor down, two halls ahead. Three captured five hostiles. Assumed to be armed with…” Jonathan squints again much to the disapproval of his friend. “Four guns and one bow.”

“A bow?” Damian says scrutinizingly. “Leave it to Star City to have not one, but multiple archers wreaking havoc in their mists.”

“What do you have against Green Arrow?”

“Fashion sense.”

“Wait, they’re heading up here, and they’re carrying large rectangles.” Jon gasps as he scrambles to sit up, but his vision is still distorted and he nearly plummets to the ground. Thinking out of the box, he quickly shifts to his flight which cancels out the warping in his eyes and prevents him from hurting himself. His partner yanks Jon’s red cape to hide the boy behind himself as they anticipate the face of their first adversary that will debut their hero career.

And they don’t recognize who the heck it is.

It’s impractical for the boys to be expected to memorize every member of a city’s rogue's gallery, but the man sauntering in their direction was a special kind of unique. With a sharp goatee and flamboyant pompadour, everything was destined to go downhill from there. To accompany his odd choice of hairstyling his outfit was a purple satin accented with an incorrect sparkly rainbow wrapped around his waist. The reason the rainbow was incorrect was that it lacked the color green and upon closer inspection, the quiver was filled with a colorful array of colors that also lacked the color green.

With confidence only a man wearing bright spandex while committing a crime could possess, he points to several of the paintings on display with exaggerated movements. His henchmen, wearing a more sensible all-black attire and masks, run to the works and remove the pieces, replacing them with exact replicas.

“I’m totally confused right now,” Jonathan whispers into Damian’s ear. “Why is he placing decoys when it’s obvious he’s stealing the paintings? The guards moved like they were awake, and the cameras are technically working so it seems like a bad idea. Is this guy stupid?”

“No! What do you think you’re doing!?” The villain scolds, shooing one of his goons out of the way. For someone in such a flamboyant costume, neither boy was expecting the man to have the gruff voice more suited for a football coach. “It’s not right! When you display a work of art, you do it in a way to catch the most attention!”

“But boss, I just hung it on the wall,” The criminal in question defends anxiously.

“Are you blind!? The original was tilted five degrees to the left intentionally! This was because the original canvas used to make it wasn’t perfectly straight! Show some respect!”

“Yes sir, sorry sir.”

“I spent hours creating these and shall not have them sloppily put on the exhibit like cheap wallpaper!”

Damian adjusts the setting on his binoculars to center on the replicas the flashy villain was replacing as they listened in on their conversation. The recreation was impeccable, almost a perfect counterfeit. Damian takes out the art book he bought from the gift shop and turns to the page of the painting in question. “Flamebird, I need you to use your supervision to inspect that replica. Tell me, does the nose have a tiny sliver of green on the woman?”

Jon uses his powers before he nods. “Uuuuhh… Yeah, but I can barely even see it with my powers.”

“My gods,” Damian gasps in awe, confusing his hero partner to an enormous extent. “That man isn’t a criminal, he’s an artist.”

“Say what now?”

The older boy refuses to answer as he concentrates on each replica being placed in the museum while flipping through his book. Each and every painting is a perfect imitation of the original and improves on the original in some instances. Every meticulous stroke of the brush, the skill of the structure, the matching of each color, and even the frames were perfectly carved to match the original.

“This man is a genius.”

“I’m so lost right now,” Jonathan confesses in little more than a whisper before he screeches as Damian leaps down directly in front of the criminals.

“You! What are you doing!?” Damian yells as his boots hit the floor.

The colorful creature sneers at Damian’s appearance as the goons train their guns on him, waiting to pull the trigger before realizing Damian is a child. “Urgh, green! I hate the color green! Are you a part of that hunter-green idiot’s gang?”

The sword-wielding hero gasps with the utmost offense. “I did not just hear you slander my good name by comparing me to that artistically blind mongrel! I am wearing olive green! You call yourself an artist when you fail to see my superior craftsmanship!? Forshame!”

Brown eyes study the child’s attire with the little light the ceiling windows provide, turning his nose up at the preteen. “So you say. Well, I see we have two things in common: an eye for color and a disdain for Green Arrow. As for your other question, I’m not liable to answer a child playing hero.”

“Then don’t answer me as a law enforcer, but as a fellow artist!” Damian urges passionately, animatedly motioning to the pieces of art being placed in the gallery. “Why are you festering away committing petty crimes when your artistic talent is exemplary? Your work should be put on display in the museum alongside them, not in the shadows of them as substitutes!”

“Dear lord, there’s two of them.” One of the henchmen groans tiredly.

The new Nightwing struts over to the largest painting that was recently put on display and points at the immaculate art, caressing the sides, “Look at this! The lighting of the grass is spectacular! How did you manage to get such a rich dark color for the shading with gouache? And that blending is seamless!”

“Finally, someone around here has an eye for real talent!” The villain proclaims with relief about finding a confidant. The henchmen glance at each other with bewilderment before brushing them off to continue their work. It was clear this tiny hero wasn’t going to stop them, so they might as well. “Wax is the secret, kid! The original artist used a poor varnish that dulls the color to protect the image’s detail!”

“What brand do you use to maintain the matte finish?”

“Any high-quality one will do, but the true skill is in the application!”

The two males continue going through the rainbow villain's work as they delve into an in-depth discussion about art techniques. At one point, Damian opens the souvenir book in his possession to take notes about the process. The evil-doer even handed the newbie hero a pen to do so.

Jonathan is still hidden in the rafters of the museum as he struggles to decide what to do next. There are still hostages that need saving, but he can’t leave Damian alone with their first villain. He also couldn't let the bad guys continue to steal priceless works of art.

Lost about his next actions, Jonathan decides to go down to talk to them. They don’t seem inherently violent so it wouldn’t hurt. It might not be how his father would handle things, but a first mission feels like a good time for experimentation. The 10-year-old’s body falls to the hard tile floor with a cringe-worthy crunch, yet the boy remains uninjured due to activating his invincibility.

Everyone seems to ignore his entrance which is a tad hurtful to Flamebird’s developing ego, but he presses on and stands next to his friend and supervillain. “Uh… Hi? I’m Flamebird and this is Nightwing. What’s your name?”

The multicolored man wheezes in indignation as he grabs his bow, and Jon thinks he’s going to attack him until the man strikes a dramatic pose. “I’m the Rainbow Archer! I fought Green Arrow back in the days when he still had Speedy as his sidekick. Soon, everyone will know my name!”

“Okay, but what are you doing?” The younger hero presses. “This seems like a lot of work to copy some paintings. My friend says your art is great, so why don’t you just sell those instead of stealing the originals?”

“It’s not just about the money, kid.” The art-themed villain reveals, slapping the wall next to his art. “Sure, I could just steal the paintings, but I’m an artist at heart. The art world scorned me for the last time with their exclusionary practices! I take the originals and sell them for some cash, while the museum will be scrambling to figure out which ones have been stolen.”

“That’s why you didn’t cover your face to shut down the building; you want people to know it was you,” Damian concludes as he leans in closer to the landscape they are currently looking at. “And it’s why some of the counterfeits are easier to decipher than others. It could take years to discover which paintings were replaced and even then your works will still be shown to the public and admired as much as the originals. You get your glory and a nice paycheck from the black market.”

“Exactly,” The man says and struts off to the lobby as he points at the art displayed. “Look at some of these so-called artists! Modern art has been relegated to meaningless metaphors and tax write-offs! This establishment doesn’t care about technique and beauty as it claims!” He places his foot at the base of the large abstract statue in the lobby with a disgraceful leer. “This piece, for instance, was said to be donated by the old coordinator of the Grell Museum as a symbol of unity between the old and new. The truth of the matter is that it was an experimental piece made with no meaning. No reason. The artist who created it never received credit.”

“You mean you never received a credit for it,” Damian ascribes, understanding the obvious meaning.

“I was never one for subtlety,” The Rainbow Archer chuckles coldly. “I was a counterfeiter for the mafia. I made this to help destress and get back to my roots of enjoying art rather than making fake money. I thought I was finally going to get some recognition around here, but the art world had a different fate in mind. The mob donated it to pay off a favor and I was left nameless.”

“But that doesn’t mean you should steal from the other artists that are here,” Jonathan rebuttals. “They’re also doing their best to be here and replacing their art isn’t fair to them even if the museum did you wrong. You should stop and find a better way to do this without committing a crime!”

The clicking sound of multiple firearm safety mechanisms being turned off diverts the children’s attention to the henchmen. Their guns were trained on the children and out of the corner of Jonathan’s eyes, he sees the Rainbow Archer draw an amber-colored arrow from the top of the statue. “I’m not about to let a pair of children masquerading in costumes undo my work.”

As triggers are pulled, Damian manhandles Jonathan in front of him like a bullet sponge. Since invincibility was the last power he used it was still active in his system. The half-Kryptonian spreads his arms out to protect his vulnerable friend as the boy reaches into the confines of his uniform to reveal several throwing knives. He decommissions two of the pistols; the others are reloading when he unsheathes his katana, sprinting past Jonathan to swing his blade to cut the guns in half. 

He swung so close to their hands that he trimmed the hair on their knuckles which freaked the henchmen out immensely. “Holy shit, that kid is crazy!”

“I resent that!” Damian protests as he pivots to the other two who have forsaken their weapons and wisely choose to run for their lives like prey in pursuit. “My name isn’t ‘kid,’ it’s Nightwing!”

Meanwhile, the Rainbow Archer shoots at Flamebird from his better vantage point. He was firing at Jonathan with a wide range of colorful arrows that did different things once they collided with a target. Amber arrows became a sticky goo that captured anything caught in its field. It has already taken one of Jonathan’s shoes.

Purple arrows melted into acid once they hit the ground which has taken Jon’s other shoe as a casualty. He discovered vermilion arrows were combustible when an explosion caught the hem of his cape causing him to trail fire like a pair of wings. Due to the rapid succession of projectiles being hurled at him, Flamebird had difficulty concentrating on using his powers and choosing which ability would best help him in his constantly evolving situation.

It takes a considerable amount of mind power to use one of his powers, so trying to switch between any of them in a short amount of time feels impossible. He has to think fast, time is of the essence as well as speed. Speed…

Jonathan’s feet buzz with the sensation of power coursing through them and before he knows it the name Flamebird fits more than ever. His cape burns behind him as he runs faster than a normal human eye could follow. 

“The art! You’re going to destroy my priceless art!” The supervillain shouts, shooting his blue arrows at the flaming train Jonathan is threatening to leave in his wake.

The areas freeze with ice, but Jonathan continues burning bright as he runs toward him. The young hero pushes the man’s midsection and accidentally takes the expensive sculpture he was parched upon down with them. The impact knocks the man unconscious, completely unaware he was about to be crushed by his own sculpture Jonathan was caught on. Damian skids under the slowly falling statue to kick the man away making him the one who was going to be crushed to death. “Flamebird!”

Jon flings himself to the other side as he focuses on protecting Damian, and braces his hands at the base where he struggles to focus using his super strength. The stone installation threatens to flatten them to death as the shorter boy is forced to lay on the floor while the younger one is bending at a ninety-degree angle as he nearly doesn’t activate the correct superpower on time.

Nearly doesn’t mean he can't do it.

He screams as he lifts the object larger than his house, his strength pulses through his muscles and pushes the statue upright. The weight of the impact cracks the tiles, rippling out the ceramic-like it was water. Everything else was intact and as the embers of his cape burn off he turns behind him to see Batgirl holding Damian back in her arms as she stares at Flamebird from behind her mask.

With the smuggest smirk Nightwing has ever worn, he looks at his sister to tell her, “See, told you he wouldn’t let me get hurt,” Then he looks back at Jon. “The statue is a little crooked. If you could just move it to the left, that’d be great.”

Jonathan rolls his eyes as he kicks the statue in place, his bare foot leaving a dent in the stone. “So… About that property damage.”

The trio examines the vast amount of ice, acid, fire, and ambiguous sticky glue littering the interior of the main art gallery with a wince. Nightwing looks up at his partner and comments, “At least none of the artwork got damaged.” Since the pantheons above apparently hate him, they humble the arrogant preteen by having that moment be when the statue crumbles into little more than pebbles and dust.

Flamebird flinches at the very expensive destruction of public property then turns to Damian nervously. “Do you think the Rainbow Archer had a replica of his statue?”

Nightwing sighs and pats the fire down on Flamebird’s body. He’s not looking forward to having to explain this cataclysm. “... The cameras are still messed up. We could run.”

“Nightwing!” Jonathan scolds disapprovingly.

“Fine! You go free the guards downstairs, I’ll put the stolen items in their proper place and see what I can do about this mess.” Damian groans defeatedly.

Funnily enough, the artist did have a replica of the statue at the ready… Or was it an original since he was the one that created it? At least his name’s on it this time. After calling the police to pick up the criminals, Nightwing and Flamebird worked on cleaning the halls from debris and colorful arrows. The officers were perplexed by the preteens scrubbing up the walls and floors, but Jon wouldn’t let them leave until the museum was at least somewhat presentable. 

One of the cops recognized the duo from earlier when they were filling up potholes and decided to announce it. “Hey, it’s those kids I was telling you all about! The ones that fixed up the roads!”

“Really? I was wondering why our drive felt smoother than usual! Thanks a lot!” The crowd of police officers applauded them as Damian mopped the amber goo on the ground and Jon was sweeping up the old statue. 

“I can’t believe this. We saved several priceless paintings, yet the potholes are what gets us recognized,” Jonathan grumbles, punching a chunk of ice that was on the wall into smithereens.

“At least we’re acknowledged for something,” Damian laments. “Although after what we just experienced from the Rainbow Archer, recognition might not be everything.”

“Aw, it’s the community service kids! I saw a video of them fixing a train!” Someone comments in the distance.

“Never mind, this is awful.”

Overall, it was a rather successful endeavor albeit not what they were hoping for. The boys get home well into the morning and immediately crash on the living room couch. Alfred walks by to drape over them with a large blanket he prepared for them and a loving pat on the head for each of them.

“Master Richard, I do believe that aside from the codename young Master Damian chose for himself he has developed your pattern for ignoring my rule against uniforms in the manor,” The butler declares, causing the man to shoot up from the adjacent loveseat in the same clothes he was wearing yesterday.

“Huh, Wha- Damian is home!” The male bellows, springing up from his seat. “B, Uncle Clark! They’re home!”

The older men rise from their sleeping spaces, with Clark sleeping on the other couch and Bruce crawling out from under the sofa Richard was sleeping on. The Kryptonian rubs his eyes and puts on his glasses as he warm-heartedly watches his son and friend collapse on the couch across from him. He pulls out his camera and takes another picture.

“Those two have been out all night, what were they doing?” Bruce grunts, scratching his head as he cracks his back. “Cass? Cassandra?” The woman emerges from down the hall in her casual sleepwear as she gives her father a thumbs up and a smile. “That’s great sweetie, I’m glad that everything went smoothly, but what did they do?”

“And where are Jon’s shoes?” Jon’s father asks as he stares at his son’s bare feet.

She opens her mouth to explain exactly what happened, but she can’t seem to muster up the energy to verbally or nonverbally express it. Cassandra was up all night as well, meaning she was depleted of all her energy. The 18-year-old picks up the TV remote from the armrest to tune into the Star City morning news report. 

“Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?” Dick drones out as his jaw metaphorically hits the floor.

A man in front of a silver news desk is still chuckling from the last story about a chubby cat learning how to swim when he begins to speak again. “And in other wholesome news, Green Arrow took down a high-profile art theft in progress last night, but that’s not what we’re here to talk about! It appears we have some new little heroes around making a real change! Young Justice better watch out! Here are some eyewitnesses to sing these unknown little boys’ praises.”

A haggard businesswoman with a large coffee appears on screen in front of one of the streets that have recently been fixed. A Star City Star branded microphone is held near her face by someone off-screen as she practically screams into it. “They made the streets safer than ever! Do you know how many times my tires got wrecked by the potholes around here? Too many! What am I paying taxes for!?”

The scene changes to the front of the Grell Museum where an elderly policeman was nervously scratching the back of his head. “In all my years on the force, not once have I seen a hero clean up after themselves or another. Those boys are going places! We need heroes with that kind of work ethic!”

Green Arrow walks out of the museum with a bewildered expression. He leans off the side of the stairs as he searches for something to no avail. The reporter runs up to the archer with an enthusiastic demeanor to get his opinion. “Green Arrow, how do you feel about the boys who cleaned up after your fight?”

“Uhh… I have no idea what you’re talking about. I just got here 'cause I heard about those boys being here, and wanted to check in on them.” The Star City hero confesses, looking utterly confused by the predicament.

“Do you have anything to say to them if they were listening right now?”

“Um-- sure?” He gives the camera a perplexing thumbs up, doubtful whether or not it was the right thing to do. “Community service is the greatest service a hero does. Keep up the good work.”

Bruce starts spewing colorful expletives at the broadcast as if Green Arrow could hear him while Dick smashes the remote at the screen. Cassandra leaves the space to go to bed now that her job is done. They can deal with the rest of this fiasco.

Chapter Text

Damian Wayne has what many would call a complicated home life. Contrary to what some might consider, the 12-year-old is on great terms with his mother even though he hasn’t seen her face in many moons. It comes with the territory of being solely raised by her without the involvement of his father for the majority of his life. They even exchange gifts and letters on holidays. Although when Damian was younger his family would always read his mail to scan his presents for dangerous paraphernalia. Thankfully, they ceased that practice once it was proven the most dangerous part of his gifts, aside from the weaponry he requested, were the passive-aggressive notes to his father.

The youngest son of Batman isn’t the only one to have complicated relationships with their living biological family. Timothy Jackson Drake will occasionally receive a postcard and gifts from his stepmother while his biological parents are dead. The two have even gone out to dinner alone which confounds Damian to no end. Cassandra has both of her parents alive and well, but she has cut off contact with them. Duke… It’s best Damian not think about that catastrophe, but it’s obvious the teen still has a positive relationship with them; or at least the memory of who they were.

Needless to say, Damian’s concept of familial bonds is dissimilar to what most children around his age understand. The type of family most people are comfortable sharing is the easiest to understand. Families that don’t need several tangents to explain. Families that don’t have a shaky past or unknown future. Families that say, “I love you,” more than, “I’m so sorry.” Families who have titles everyone understands. Families like Jonathan Samuel Kent’s.

“Hey Dami, thanks for coming to my birthday party!” Jonathan cheers with a bright grin and a stupid polka dot cone hat sitting lopsided in his messy black hair.

Mr. and Mrs. Kent also greet him however Damian can’t hear them with all the noise around him. Children are screaming, arcade machines are constantly ringing nonsense, the repetitive clatter of bowling pins crashing on wood, and there’s the sickening stench of stale pizza permeating the air. The Kents stand in front of him with that warm picture-perfect image, taunting him.

Do not dare misunderstand Damian. Perish the thought his familial structure magically becomes like the Kents. That sounds like absolute torture. The concept of the nuclear family is alien to the trained assassin, and he doesn’t believe he’d enjoy it one bit. But once in a while, when his defenses are down and his mind free to wander, he’ll imagine a life where his life isn’t complicated. His father and mother would love each other. His grandfather wasn’t an evil cult leader. His siblings didn’t have an attachment to people Damian didn’t know or care about. A world where everything was simply… simple.

Damian takes a long-suffering breath as Jonathan straps him into one of those silly paper hats. It kind of hurt when the elastic band snapped against the bottom of his chin, but not as much as being here did. The grimace on his face doesn’t alleviate in the slightest as he steps into the cluster of children around Jonathan’s age who are playing arcade games or at the bowling alley. He does his best to avoid the glances thrown his way as he locates the present table. He places his comically large box next to the others and then mentally weighs the option of escaping back home.

“Dami, come and play this racing game with me!” Jonathan demands as he pulls the other along. The kids in their path part like the Red Sea as they pass through, still staring at him.

“-TT- Why are they all gawking at me?” Damian hisses under his breath.

“Because you came to the party via helicopter,” His friend answers unfazed as he skips to the game machine.

“Tell them to stop!” He demands, he doesn’t beg, he demands no matter how it sounds.

Jon immediately stops walking and places his hands on his hips as he glowers at everyone. “Come on guys, we’re here to have fun! Y’all are being weird starin’ at us!”

The crowd disperses and the birthday boy continues to pull his friend to the racing game. Damian is eternally grateful Jonathan was willing to understand his idiosyncrasies. The son of Superman confounded him to no end when they first met and still does to this day. The boy wasn't as domesticated when he first arrived. In the modern world, he was the equivalent of a feral animal, yet Jonathan never saw him as something that needed to be tamed. In his eyes, Damian was a person to be befriended.

It would be easier if Jonathan treated him like the monster Damian felt like he was.

Jonathan was just… good. He wasn’t a paragon of excellence and he was extremely flawed. Jonathan wasn’t even the nicest person he’s ever met. He’s prone to bouts of vanity and selfishness. He would get angry and fight back when he was emotional. He would say the dumbest things because he didn’t know better. He was stubborn to the point of self-harm. He acted completely shameless in everything he did. Jonathan Samuel Kent is a boy full of hypocrisy and contradictions.

Even after knowing all of that, Damian knew with all of his being that Jonathan was good. He was everything Damian wasn’t which meant if Damian believed he was bad, Jonathan had to be good. The young boy knew that the dangerous black-and-white mentality was what made his maternal family villains, yet his belief held steadfastly. Their dichotomy is not original, opposites attracting is the base all works of fiction seem to hold true, but it’s the one thing Damian cannot logic away.

He prides himself on his reasoning skills. Damian is only 12 years old and already he has earned several doctorates. He is a boy who sustains his mind with facts, yet there are too many logical fallacies surrounding the young half-Kryptonian.

Damian and Jon have fun playing a few games together in the arcade, but eventually, he leaves to attend to his other guests. Of course, Jonathan had to leave; other people in the world adored Jonathan as much as he did. People flock to Jonathan like he was made of sunlight, and how could they not?

Damian uncomfortably shifts on his feet in the back of the arcade as he avoids being noticed. He had his fun, he gave Jonathan his gift, and now he’s no longer obligated to stay here. It would be so easy to walk out the front door-

“Hey Damian, what're you doing back here by yourself?”

It was at this moment he remembered Father sent Damian to this celebration with a babysitter. Emerald eyes glare at the dark-skinned teenager in a ratty red hoodie as he comes closer. He bends down to Damian’s height, mocking him, and questions him in a soft tone. “You feelin’ alright? Do you want to go home early?”

“-TT- Don’t pity me, Thomas,” Damian snarls, turning away from him defiantly.

“Damian, I’m not-!” Duke Thomas pauses and sighs then places a hand on his shoulder. The second his hand touches Damian’s body the child grabs it and hurls the 15-year-old over his back onto the floor.

People around them stop to stare at the two but Damian shakes off their eyes as he glares at Duke. “I didn’t give you permission to touch me!”

“Okay, okay, geez!” The teenager relents as he gets off the neon-patterned floor of the arcade. “Work on the wording. You’re gonna give people weird ideas.” Duke brushes off the dust from his jacket and leads Damian even farther away from the party. 

Duke is careful not to touch him as he tries to talk to him again. “Damian, I’m not pitying you or whatever. It’s clear you’re not having fun here, and I get it. You’re only here for Jon, the rest of these kids are strangers, and I swear I saw Conner lick the cake when he thought no one was watching. Parties like this can be awkward if you’re not the kind of person who likes meeting new people. I’m sure Jon will understand if you want to head home early. If anything, I bet he’d be glad you even showed up. I’ll ask again, do you want to go home?”

Damian subconsciously covers his ears to drown out the deafening disorder around him. The stagnant air, disgusting smells, and sounds are too much. The experience makes his skin hot and his blood cold. He hates it here, but he doesn’t want to leave because it is Jonathan’s party. He doesn’t want Jonathan to think he doesn’t care or prioritize something ridiculous over something important. He’s going to be Jonathan’s hero partner. It’s pathetic if he can live peacefully in the chaos that is Gotham City every day when he can’t handle a simple birthday party. It would make zero sense.

A sensation similar to blood rushing to his head causes the sound of flooding water to enter his ears. Instead of drowning out the clamor of the arcade, it adds to the awful experience. “I’m fine! I don’t need to go home!”

Dark brown eyes stare down at Damian, holding him in place. He feels like he is being judged; like he's being pitied for not being normal. “Okay then, I’m not taking you home, but we are getting some fresh air until they get cake and open the presents. Then I’m taking you home.”

This time it wasn’t a question, nor was it a suggestion. This was an order, and now the choice was out of Damian’s control. Damian can follow those orders. “Fine.”

“Good,” The teenager nods. “If anyone asks, you can blame me.”

The younger boy nods in return, uncovering his ears, and with the faintest murmur he says, “Thank you.”

Duke walks over to Jonathan’s father to speak to him. Damian sees the man nod as he shoots a concerned look, but smiles at him with a polite wave. He walks out the door before his foster brother is finished talking, the shame overwhelming him to the point he can’t stay in there for another second.

The humid air of the summer afternoon hits him like a wall. His shoes hit puddles of water created by the sprinklers of the shopping outlet’s lawn. Damian knows it’s just water seeping through his shoes. He knows he’s safe. That doesn’t stop his mind from poisoning his thoughts, jabbering away about how he’s a monster. A fraud. A deceiver. A villain. Damian is not walking on water, but standing in blood.

He wants to be better, he has to be better, he has to be perfect, but he’s not; At least not yet. Not like Jon is to Damian.

Jonathan Samuel Kent is at a point in his life where he’ll go through many changes, both physically and mentally. The journey of discovering one’s self is never-ending. Jon isn’t sure when this pilgrimage started, but maybe it’s always been there, and now he’s finally old enough to understand he’ll be searching for a long time. Maybe even forever.

Jon knows that the state of being is always changing, shifting, and morphing into a new personality. It is futile to hold on to who someone once was. No one is who they say they are, and no one will stay the same. The only thing he can control is himself and to ask if he is okay with who stands in the mirror when he wakes up in the morning. On some days, that answer is yes because the person he is makes himself proud.

However, the answer can also be no on some days; This is one of those days.

“AND THIS IS WHY WE SHOULDN’T PATROL IN GOTHAM!” Jonathan screams as he’s running away from a blast of mustard. "Why is there a sauce-themed villain trying to kill the mayor with ketchup!?”

This is a sentence Jonathan never thought he would have to say, but all of his life choices have led to this moment. For this to be how he spends his day, something must be wrong with him.

Damian, who is currently hotwiring an armored truck inside the ketchup factory, is only partially focused on the plight of his heroic partner. “Uh-huh, you’re doing great Habibi. Just deal with Condiment King quickly.”

“You clowns! Do you think mere children can stop me, the Condiment King, and my evil plans!?” A grown man in a light blue jumpsuit and pickle around his head as he continues to aim at Flamebird with his mustard and relish-filled firearms. “As we speak, an autopilot truck filled with ketchup and explosives is speeding towards city hall at this very moment! It is set to explode in the middle of her press conference, taking out the mayor and the press! Mayor Reál won’t know what hit her during- oh wait, she will!!”

“If you hate the mayor so much just vote for someone else next time!” Jon criticizes, as he’s shot with a ray of relish. “Eeeewwww!”

“I actually voted for Bella Reál!”

“Then whhhhhhyyyyyyy !?” Jonathan cries, referring to the situation they’re currently in.

“BECAUSE I’M A VILLAIN!”

The 11-year-old blankly stares up at the man on the metal railing, dumbfounded by the sheer stupidity of the words he is hearing. Jon places a hand on the steel support column without any ceremony and crushes it like paper. Then he rips it out from under the villain causing the several-story tall platform to collapse.

Unsurprisingly, falling a great distance without any protection will cause moderate to severe injuries. Jonathan isn’t cruel, or at least he hopes not, so he catches the man before he can break his spine into a million pieces. He’s a blubbering mess, ranting about how he’ll win and how a bunch of stupid children will never save the mayor.

In retaliation, Jonathan looks over to his companion who finally got the vehicle started, and asks, “Nightwing, how hard do I have to hit someone to knock them out without killing them?”

“Flamebird, I’ll do it. I don’t trust you to get it right on the first try and doing it several times will give him more brain damage. Get in the truck and don’t touch anything; I’m driving.” Nightwing sighs exasperatingly, climbing out the door to do the job for him.

“Wait! Waitwaitwaitwaitwaitwaitwaitwaitwait-!” The Condiment King pleads fearfully as the 12-year-old with a sword marches towards him with what could only be defined as murderous intent. Nightwing swiftly jabs the handle of his blade into the villain’s head before dragging him to the armored automobile.

Jonathan drops the man and makes his way to the truck's passenger seat as he waits for Damian to toss the unconscious body into the back with an angry pout. Once his older friend clamors onto the driver's seat Jonathan makes a show of angrily buckling his seatbelt causing Damian to exaggerate an exhale. “Can we not do this right now?”

“Damian-”

“No names on the field,” The boy grumbles as he puts the truck in drive, barreling down the streets of Gotham at illegal speeds. 

Flamebird clutches the roof handle and braces himself into the backrest as his partner merges onto the freeway. Jon would yell at Nightwing for being reckless, but it wouldn’t do any good as every other car on the road is driving similarly. “Nightwing, have I ever told you how much I don’t like being in Gotham?”

“No, because you don’t,” Damian points out as he swerves between cars with expert skill even though he can just barely see over the tall steering wheel.

“Well, now I do because you’re all crazy!” Jon screams as the other hero turns into oncoming traffic as a shortcut. 

“Took you long enough to figure out,” He retorts as he exits the main road. “Is this about me making you fight Condiment King by yourself?”

“Yes, it is!”

“Oh come on, it wasn’t even difficult!”

“Yeah, but it’s weird!” The Kryptonian hybrid frustratingly whines. “You said we were going to fight a dangerous bad guy, and a man who wears a pickle on his head isn’t even close!”

“That man is a danger to society, and if he ever applied himself. Anaphylaxis kills millions of people worldwide each year, and you want to tell me that isn’t serious?”

“Are you messing with me?” Jon questions with a deadpan expression.

“Why would I do that?” Damian replies in the insincerest tone anyone could have while constantly avoiding a vehicular manslaughter charge.

“... Okay, we need to have a conversation about what counts as a serious threat.”

“The intent to kill is also severe. If you believe the life of the mayor isn’t important simply because she’s the victim of a man that wears a pickle on his head, then you can tell that to her when we get to city hall.”

“That is not what I meant,” Jonathan sulks, glaring at his friend.

“Au contraire mon ami,” Damian condescendingly replies in a perfect French accent whilst he has a smug grin plastered on his dumb face. “Is mon petit rayon de soleil caught up in the egocentricity of heroism rather than the pleasure of helping others? What would your father say?”

Jonathan makes a hand gesture that replicates strangling someone but he stops as they hit a speed bump near a school zone. That doesn’t stop him from yelling at him instead. “Urrrgh, I would hit you if we weren’t driving over a hundred miles an hour in a crowded city street!”

“And now you’re threatening assault on your partner; domestic abuse! How else are you going to disappoint your mother today?” Damian gasps with an insulting insincerity and an arrogant look of betrayal before he puts on his more serious default demeanor. He begins to push the limits to their hotwired truck faster with intense focus. “Oh, and I’d have your super strength at the ready because we’ll be coming up on the freight truck in ten seconds. I’ll overtake it, you stop it on my command.”

“Wha- ACK!” Jon yelps as Damian drives ahead of the speeding eighteen-wheeler. The older boy yanks on the emergency brake and pulls on the steering wheel to cause the side of their truck to be perpendicular to the front of the ketchup truck. Damian kicks the driver’s side door out as the vehicle skids uncomfortably close to being trampled by a diesel engine.

“JUMP!”

“Oh shoot!” Flamebird yells as he dives out of the vehicle to brace his hands on the grille of the truck and dig his feet into the pavement. His body is pushed by the weight of the truck and his back slams into the side of Damian’s stolen vehicle. The soles of his shoes burn away due to the friction of the asphalt scraping against them as the act of him being pushed tears up the street like paper.

Damian grabs a megaphone from his cape that Jonathan hasn’t suspected was there, but isn’t surprised by its existence. He leans out of the passenger side and hollers to the panicking pedestrians, “Get off the freaking road, morons!” 

He turns back to Jon with an impatient click of his tongue. “-TT- Stopping would be great right about now.”

Flamebird grits his teeth and his knuckles turn white with his strength he grasps the metal of the freight truck. “What does it look like I’m doing?!”

“Sliding, that’s what,” Damian snarkily retorts as though he wasn’t in a careening chaotic bundle of metal about to collide with a crowd of civilians. “There’s also still a bomb in there.”

“FINE! I’LL DEAL WITH BOTH!” Jonathan stiffens his fingers straight like a blade then jabs both of his hands into the front of the truck and pries it in half, splitting it in two. Ketchup floods the streets as the two halves of the trucks crash onto the sidewalk and skid for three-fourths of a mile more before completely stopping. He grabs the bomb with a cartoonish timer counting down from ten on it and tosses it into the atmosphere with as much strength as he can muster. Jon looks back to Damian victoriously to see the child still zooming uncontrollably forward.

“Newton’s first law still applies, Flamebird!” Nightwing yells as he’s a short distance away from crashing into central Gotham.

The world slows down in Jonathan’s eyes as he frantically scrambles forward to catch his best friend. Their chaperones, Robin and Superboy, jump in at the last second to save Damian. Conner lifts the truck into the air while Timothy catches his brother, who fell from the open driver's side door. Jonathan gawps up at the teenagers as they set the vehicle and younger Nightwing down.

As soon as they land, the press who was already there for the conference swarms the two older heroes, shoving Damian outside the hoard. Jonathan doesn’t feel the weight of his own body as he runs up to Nightwing with wobbling legs. Flamebird attempts to check his partner for injuries, but he shrugs off. Damian grumbles how he’s fine, as Jon mutters an apology. 

Meanwhile, Conner pulls Condiment King out of the back of the truck, a bit worse for wear, and the cameras flash wildly. The reporters hound the two teens with questions and praise as they take candid shots of their supposed victory.

“Superboy! What are you doing in Gotham?”

“Robin, why are you out during the daytime? Is this an indicator that Batman will also be operating while the sun is out? Was the introduction of Signal the start to see your family out in the public eye?”

“Superboy! Look over here!”

“Robin, I love you!”

“Robin, what is your relation to Superboy? Is the rest of Young Justice here as well?”

“Pose for the camera!”

“Look over here!”

“No, over here!”

“Over here!”

Then the mayor walks up to them with a proud smile, standing behind the two as she takes a picture opportunity with them as the teens awkwardly look at Jon and Damian. Conner sheepishly pulls himself away and tries to catch the attention of the audience with a charismatic smile. “Hey, it’s all in a day's work, but this wasn’t about what we did. Heck, I didn’t even do anything. The real heroes are my brooooooo-”

He pauses when he sees Jonathan cross his arms in an X-shape, shaking his head back and forth furiously. Damian is already walking away with one last glare at the two, causing him to wince at the fury. “-Oooooooooooooomance… With my friend Robin.”

“Superboy, what are you doing?” Tim whispers to the muscular teen before squawking when he’s tugged in by the shoulder for a partial hug.

“Yep, this is all about teamwork and my bromance with Robin. How about another picture op?” He hastily says, using his other hand to lift the unconscious villain by the collar.

The two preteens dejectedly shuffle into ketchup-covered streets with a shared sigh. Damian takes out his shovel while Jonathan tears a portion of the destroyed truck to use as a scoop. They share a look and another sigh while the sounds of their older brothers gathering all the credit and praise fill the background. 

Then they get to work cleaning up their mess. Every drop of ketchup had to be cleaned up and the roads had to be fixed. It wasn’t hard to get most of the mess off the streets thanks to Jonathan’s powers, but the real problem is cleaning the windows and shops along the road. At least most of the tomato residue is easily cleaned by Gotham’s concerningly large storm drains. As the boys were wiping down the windows of their last shop, two police finally walked up to them after getting everything with Condiment King settled.

“Hey, aren’t these the two kids that help clean up after superheroes and fix roads?” One cop asks the other.

“Yeah… Hey, yeah! I think they are!” They reply with a bright and cheerful grin, then turn to the boys. “You two are adorable! I wish more heroes were like you two. We always have to do most of the cleanup, so having two new heroes dedicated to cleaning up others’ messes is such a nice thing!”

Somehow, the children have become famous in their extremely short tenure as superheroes. Regretfully, their practice of cleaning up after themselves and the lack of any witnesses seeing them do anything cool has given them a false image. This image is that they are a community service-based duo that helps people clean up after other notable heroes.

This all started when a blurry video of them fixing the train and filling up potholes went viral. Then the reports of them cleaning up the Star City Art Museum popped up, however, there was no footage of them saving the art. Little did they know, Green Arrow came in right after they left after hearing the boys were in town to give them a pep talk which made everyone think he was the one who took down the Rainbow Archer.

Needless to say, the boys' public relations skills need a serious overhaul. It doesn’t help that the duo wants to be successful on their terms. Letting Conner rightfully hand them credit wouldn’t go the way most people assume it would. The act would be centered around Superboy and Robin, not them. Nightwing and Flamebird would be seen as riding the coattails of bigger heroes which defeats the purpose of being their own team.

After most of the mess in the streets they’re able to clean got taken care of, they head back to the factory using the underground sewer system to avoid unwanted attention. Superboy and Robin catch up to them confused and frustrated with their brothers. Conner puts his hand on Jon’s shoulder only to have it violently shrugged off; something which his sweet baby brother has never done before.

“Jon-!”

“Names.” Tim habitually corrects.

Conner sighs as he rephrases his words, “Flamebird, what was that about back there? I know taking down Condiment King isn’t the coolest thing ever, but you still should’ve taken credit for it.”

“We don’t want to be associated with you,” Damian answers for Jon as the taller boy continually stares down at his ruined shoes.

“Why not? Are you embarrassed by us?” The sunglasses-wearing teen questions, hurt by the statement. “We’re cool! Why wouldn’t you want people to know you’re one of us?”

“I’m embarrassed by him,” Damian points at Robin who rolls his eyes. “But not you, Superboy. You just don’t fit our image.”

“Which is…?” He asks, rolling his hands in a wheel pattern to encourage Damian to offer a less vague answer. 

“That,” Jonathan interjects, touching the House of El symbol on the boy’s spandex, the metal zipper of Conner’s spiked leather jacket pressing into the side of his hand. “I don’t want anybody to know I’m one of you.”

“And you shouldn’t have interfered,” Damian adds. “Flamebird wouldn’t have let me or anyone else get hurt.”

“I don’t doubt he would do everything he could, but that was too close of a call for us. Intervention is our only option because while you have your objectives, our’s is to protect you two.” Tim states matter-of-factly. “A more experienced team would’ve gotten a handle on the situation before getting to the point of close calls.”

“That is why we’re out here; to get more experience!” Jonathan groans with frustration.

“You could’ve done so on a team.”

“What? Like your team? No.” Damian responds, walking faster away from the teenagers to only pay attention to Jonathan. “What do you want to do after this?”

Jonathan jogs up to his friend to keep pace with him with a shrug, “Well we should probably take a shower after we fix the factory. I also have to do my laundry because my clothes are super dirty.”

“I’ll also have to remake your uniform.”

“Again?” Jon sighs, ignoring his older brother behind him as the half-Kryptonian tries to get his attention by repeatedly calling his name. “We need to figure out what kind of clothes the Flash has. His shoes don’t burn out all the time.”

“I think that also has to do with the Speedforce, but I’ll see if I can salvage something,” Damian tells him, pulling Jon by the hand to be farther away from their chaperones.

Meanwhile, Conner hasn’t stopped calling out to them with his hands cupped around his mouth to amplify the volume. “Flamebird! Flamebird! Jon! Jonno! Jonny boy! Flamebird!”

“You do realize you’re being ignored, right?” Tim says tiredly.

Conner raises his eyebrow and gives his friend a look at how preposterous the sentence was. “What? Dude, of course, he’s not. Jon’s a good kid, he would never purposely ignore me.”

From behind the whites of the Robin mask, royal blue eyes roll and smirk teasingly at the taller male’s naivety. “He might be a ‘good’ kid, but he’s also going to be an annoying middle schooler. Being kind of crappy for no reason is normal. All middle schoolers are awful in their special way. Don’t you remember what you were like in middle school… Oh.” Tim pauses as his grin falls into something somber.

“Nah, it’s…” Conner replies casually, waving the tense atmosphere off while scratching the back of his head. He’s smiling brightly, yet the corners of his mouth are strained. “It’s cool. I mean, it’s not like I can ignore it, ya know? Not everyone was born as a teenager and stuck watching their loved ones die while never aging. Hahahaha!”

Even though Superboy is laughing, it was devoid of any humor. Tim tries to apologize again, but Conner cuts him off before he can start. “No, don’t apologize. It’s seriously fine. I hate it when people walk on eggshells around me about it. I’ve never gone to middle school and I don’t know anyone who has other than your brother. Lena is entering fourth grade but she’s… unique. My metaphorical bar to measure how normal kids should act has always been Jon. So no, I don’t remember what it’s like.”

Tim flinches at the curt tone hidden under a fake joy, but he continues pushing forward with the conversation. “Middle schoolers are just kids going through a transitional period. They’re too old for normal kid things but too young for everything else. They’re all going through puberty, full of hormones, emotions, and bad ideas. Like, when I was in middle school, I tried to do the Robin thing by going after Two-Face solo.”

“Okay, but you were probably cool…Probably?” Conner counters with some hesitance. “I wouldn’t know because my dad still kept me locked up in a lab, but I think you’re cool.”

“I wasn’t, but thanks for the compliment,” The other chuckles. “He’s just going through a rebellious phase and trying to find himself. Middle schoolers and authority don’t mix well.”

“I don’t know what middle school has to do with it, but I don’t mix well with authority either.”

“The point is that you’re the authority now because you’re older. One day, Jon sees you as his super-cool older brother who does cool superhero stuff. The next day you’re the super boring adult who always tries to get in his way from doing anything fun.”

“Oh my gosh,” Conner suddenly gasps dramatically, his voice barely above a whisper.  “Am I… becoming my father?”

Tim blinks his eyes at his friend multiple times as he struggles to process the words he’s hearing. “No? I don’t know which of your dads you’re talking about but I don’t think you’re becoming either of them.”

“Robin, if I’m not the cool older brother, then what else am I?” The taller teen abruptly asks, holding the sides of his head.

“What?”

“All my life when I’m not Superboy or whatever I’ve been the chill and cool older brother. Without that, what am I?”

“I… I’m sorry, but are you having an identity crisis right now?” The sidekick blurts out, bewildered by the strange conversation he finds himself having.

The Kryptonian clone shakes his head frantically and grabs the lean teenager by the shoulder, shaking Tim back and forth with a wild expression. “I can’t be the responsible one! I’ve seen how that works out with Dick and I don’t think I can pull that off!”

“Oh my god, you are,” Tim exhales. “Kon, this-- wait, what about my brother?”

“And I don’t want to be a stick-in-the-mud sibling either. When you look at me, what word do you think of?”

“Hot. No, that’s not what I-!”

“Exactly! I’m hot as Hell! A body like this can’t go to waste being the mature one all the time! I’m supposed to be cool!” Conner exclaims, dropping Tim on the filthy ground. 

“You have some serious self-image issues,” Robin mutters as he glares at his friend. “I have no authority over how to be a big brother, but placing your identity around a concept is stupid.”

Conner stares at Tim for a long judgmental moment then asks, “And who are you without Robin?”

“Pfft, that’s not the same. I know who I am without B. Batman and I have worked alone plenty of times-”

“I didn’t ask who you were without Batman, I asked who you are without Robin.” Conner clarifies with a neutral expression and smiles as the older boy is left speechless. “How much of your life has revolved around Robin? Sure, you have a life outside it, but so much of your past and self is wrapped around it. It’s hard to separate yourself from it because it’s as important to me as that part is to you. So I don’t think it’s stupid, and I’m freaking out. I don’t need your cold logic, I need a plan to show Jon I’m still cool!!”

“What does ‘cool’ even mean to you?”

“I’ll think about that later!”

With a sense of renewed vigor, he runs off to do who knows what, leaving a stunned Tim alone to babysit the boys. Thankfully it doesn't take long to clean up the factory and send the boys home to clean up. After changing out of their tattered hero costumes, mostly on Jon’s part, Damian goes to take a shower while Jonathan sits on the bed in his sleepover pajamas. 

While Jonathan was alone, he meagerly kicked his heels against the side of the tall mattress as he fidgeted with his thumbs with a solemn expression. His moping is interrupted when Damian struts out of his bathroom in his pajamas and a towel over his head, ranting about the experience.

“If I end up smelling like ketchup forever, just kill me now to end my suffering!”

The 11-year-old snaps out of his stupor and beams brightly at his spirited companion. “Hahahaha! You know I’d never do that!” He lively laughs and his grin widens as he sees Damian's expression melt at his cachinnation. “Besides, I’m sure it’ll go away after a few days.”

“It better or else I’m going to commit a crime,” Damian threatens as he sits down at the edge of his bed. 

The patriarch of the house knocks on the door and opens it with a polite smile. “Damian, Jonathan, it’s bedtime. Is everything alright?”

“Yes, Mr. Wayne,” Jonathan answers.

The youngest Wayne son clicks his tongue in annoyance. “-TT- Father, I didn’t even say you could come in.”

“Oh, right…” The man closes the door and then knocks again. Damian calls for him to come in and he does. “There we go. Now, do you boys need anything before I go out? Water? More blankets?”

“No, our accommodations are satisfactory.”

“Okay, just remember Alfred will be in the next room if you need anything.” He tells them, taking his sweet time closing the door as he makes intense eye contact with the two.

Frustrated, Damian throws his hands up. “Father, just go on patrol! We’re not going to sneak out or ravage the manor while you’re gone!”

Even though his son’s tone is harsh, Bruce laughs it off. “Hahaha, well, if you say so. Good night.”

The boys return the sentiment as the man leaves then return to their conversation. “We need to work on our public image. It’s time to restrategize.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just… it sucks more than I thought it would.” Jon sighs, crossing and uncrossing his legs repeatedly as they dangle off the floor. “I know we agreed on making a name for ourselves, but it sucks that we don't have the same stuff our dads have. Heck, the only reason we were able to do this today was that my dad drove Conner and me here for a sleepover, and Conner left! If it wasn’t for that I wouldn’t be able to get here if I asked him to do it for superhero stuff.”

“I understand, but you know this was part of the agreement. We are essentially on our own when it comes to the heroics,” Damian agrees as he turns around to look at Jon on the other side of the mattress. “We just have to make it work. Besides, it’s more than we thought we’d be getting- Wait, your face.”

Without warning, Damian crawled over to Jonathan’s side of the bed to reach upwards to caress the sides of Jonathan’s face. Jon couldn't help but notice how they rested coldly against his increasingly flushed skin. Before the Kryptonian hybrid can combust on the spot, his thumb tucks itself under Jon’s eye. Blue eyes blink staggeringly as Damian smears the sauce stain onto a tissue. “You’re getting sloppy to have not noticed you had this on the entire time.”

“I- ah… oops,” Jonathan falters, still fixated on the hand Damian is still holding his face with. The palm wasn’t soft like Jon’s; it was rough and his slender fingers were littered with scars but delicate enough to hold a paintbrush.

“We need to work on your focus,” He pushes himself back and throws the tissue flippantly into the trash bin. “But it can wait to be addressed in the future.”

Jonathan shakes himself before burning the note and turning off the lights. Alfred the tuxedo cat hops on the bed to sit between Jon and his owner as he lays on the opposite side of the large bed. “You’re not upset we’ve been messing up?”

“Jon, we’re doing this to gain experience. An allowance for failure has already been calculated into my plans and this is still in the acceptable levels,” Damian tells him as he lays down to stare at the ceiling.

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” The boy pouts, stealing the king-size comforter for himself knowing the older one doesn't use it in the summer. 

“I didn’t know you were so upset by it.” The older remarks and adjusts his cat to sleep atop his chest. On the side couch of his room, Titus is already soundly asleep, his soft snores filling the brief pauses between them.

Jon exhales in relief once he is in perfect burrito mode, then rolls onto his side to face his friend. “I’m not… I mean I am, but I hoped it would be different.”

“We both had expectations for ourselves we didn't meet. All I can do is to keep trying until I reach it,” Damian declares confidently, smiling up to the sky as though he could challenge it and win. “We’ll make it. You and I, together we can do anything.”

And Jonathan almost believes him. With how the ray of moonlight hits his best friend’s sharp features just right to make those zealous emerald eyes glimmer, Jon has faith in Damian’s words. Arrogant is one way to describe Damian’s tenacity, but Jonathan has always viewed it as determination. His drive to do anything, to be anything, to not let anything stand in his way is what Jon loves most about Damian. Damian Wayne can do anything.

But Jonathan Samuel Kent cannot.

All of their accomplishments as heroes have all been because of Damian. Jonathan is well aware of the fact he contributes little to their partnership. Every step of this journey has been Damian leading the charge as Jonathan dutifully stumbles behind him. It’s always been Jonathan trying to catch up and in doing so he holds Damian back. Jonathan might have superpowers, but Damian is all-powerful in Jonathan’s eyes.

He’s smart, talented, and determined enough to have become a superhero on his own. All Jonathan has done is mess everything up. He was impatient and got them in trouble. He was dumb and made Damian do all of the busy work. Worst of all he was useless.

How long did Damian suffer to be who he is while Jonathan lived in bliss? Each tiny scar that litters those hands has a story. Meanwhile, Jon was unscathed by the realities of life. Jonathan didn’t have a blemish to solidify his efforts in life.

“Flamebird would never let me get hurt.”

Damian has so much unfounded faith in Jon. Earlier that day, when Robin and Superboy jumped in to save Nightwing, he defended Jon. He told them Jon had it handled, but the truth was the moment he saw Damian in danger because of him his mind turned to static and his powers disappeared. He knew if their brothers didn’t intervene Damian might’ve died. Damian was Jonathan’s symbol of perfection, and Jon knew he couldn’t live with himself if Damian got hurt. He wouldn’t live with himself if he was the reason there’d be no Damian in the world.

He’d do anything to prevent that.

“Yeah, we can do anything. I believe in you,” Jonathan murmurs into his pillow as his eyes trace the outline of Damian’s nose reflecting the moonlight.

“And what about you?” Damian asks with jest, tilting his head to look at the celeste-colored eyes peeking through the down-feathered cocoon. “Seems unfair to put all of that on me. What if I fail to meet those expectations?”

“You’ve never failed me before,” The 11-year-old admits, looking away from the emerald green irises to the swaying tail of Damian’s cat. “You’d never fail me.”

The boys rest in silence until the soft rumble of Jonathan’s snores fills the room. Damian is still awake, the weight of Alfred the cat keeping him still. He’s awake for another hour simply lost in his thoughts. Finally closes his eyes, defeated by his need for sleep, when he replies to Jon.

“I already have.”

Chapter Text

It’s a week later when the two see each other again. This time the circumstances are more complicated than an arbitrary play date. On that day, before the sun fully rose beyond the horizon, time froze in such a beautiful way that couldn’t be captured by art. To truly embrace the beauty of nature offered to those who wake before the sky turns blue one had to live in it. It had to be experienced in those fleeting moments and etched into the heart to look back on for it will only exist in that instant. It was a hopeless endeavor, however, Damian Wayne sat on the marble rear patio facing the ocean of their cliffside manor to do just that.

Cassandra was next to him on her yoga mat doing her morning stretches while Damian was doing his best to paint the scene with watercolors. Another time the middle schooler might have participated in a leisurely early workout, but he had the irresistible urge to paint. His pet cow grazed the forest below with Jerry the turkey and as they entered his field of vision he reached for the brown on his pallet to incorporate them into his art.

Then the young woman becomes unusually stiff in her compass pose. Damian would’ve thought his older sister pulled a muscle, but Cassandra is more aware of her physical limits than anyone else he’s known. Before the child could ask what was wrong, she casually readjusted her black sports bra and stood up to straighten the hem of her pants. To the normal eye, it would appear that the girl was simply fixing her attire, but Damian knows better.

She is stalling.

Narrow raven eyes dart to Damian’s equipment and then into their home. He looks at his animals enjoying the outdoors, but she merely does more stretches without acknowledging him again. The adolescent peacefully packs up his stuff and heads inside the manor until he reaches his father’s office. He softly knocks on the door three times, pauses for five seconds, then knocks another seven times.

Bruce swiftly, yet steadily, opens the door with a put-together facade that is usually worn at parties and smiles down at his son. “Good morning, Damian. What can I do for you?”

“Cassandra needs your help with something on the patio,” He announces to his father.

The man pats him on the head and chuckles. “Well, I better not keep her waiting. You should spend time with one of your other siblings before breakfast.”

“Understood Father,” Damian nods and trots away to the closest room.

He enters the abode without knocking and Duke immediately jumps from his desk at the abrupt entrance. “Is Alfred the only one who knows how to knock in this house?!”

“Yes,” Damian deadpans and sits on a folding chair the teen leaves by the door. It isn’t there for people to sit on, but more for holding Duke’s laundry even though the teen’s closest is larger than average. “You need to clean your room.”

“It’s not like I expect company!”

“Nonsense, your abode is a reflection of your mind; you should never let it erode in squalor.”

“Why are you here?” Duke groans, falling back into his gaming chair.

“Richard is currently living in Blüdhaven, Drake’s room is a biohazard, Cassandra is with Father, and my maternal family has arrived in Gotham. Father requires I seek sanctuary with one of you until we determine our next course of action,” Damian nonchalantly says as he looks at his foster brother’s monitor. “It’s seven in the morning, why are you playing video games?”

“We’re not here to talk about me,” The 15-year-old replies defensively as he stares at Damian curiously. “And your mom’s family is the one that’s part of a cult of murder ninjas, right?”

“I am told that is an accurate depiction of them as crass as it is, so yes.” The child replies visibly irked by the portrayal.

Duke fidgets in his seat as the boys are stuck in a haze of awkward silence as the older boy rhythmically slaps his palms onto his thighs. “Oh… Okay… Soooo do you want to play Fortnite with me?”

“No.”

They simply ignore each other as Damian sets up his easel where he sits while Duke continues to play his game. He takes the occasional glance at the middle schooler, but the boy maintains a calm and steady composure. Duke was becoming more worried about the kid, but every time he tried to talk about what might be happening, Damian shut him down.

After about an hour, Bruce Wayne comes into the room without knocking. Alfred is holding a suitcase behind him. The elderly butler sighs, shaking his head at the billionaire. “Master Bruce, Master Duke is a teenage boy and deserves to have his privacy respected. The least you can do is not scare the life out of him.”

“Whoops, sorry, Duke.” The man apologizes, however, there is a slight shake in his voice that unnerves everyone in the room. “Damian, you’re going to be spending a few days with your Uncle Clark.”

“Is Mother here to see me?” The child questions as he stares up at his father with wide, almost naive, eyes.

His father stares back at his youngest son intensely like a deer in headlights for an inelegantly long pause before slowly shaking his head. Damian deflates and returns his expression to his default scowl which Bruce tries to rectify. “The League of Shadows is here without your mother for business. I’m sure if your mother was with them she would have tried to see you the moment she set foot in Gotham. I’m not sending you away because of your mother, but I’m being cautious in case your grandfather is with them.”

“When will grandfather die?” Damian innocently asks in a way most children will ask about the time. “The Lazarus Pit stopped rejuvenating his body. You’d let Mother see me if that man was dead.”

“Bruh, I’m so confused right now. What is even your family?” Duke blurts out as he tries to process what he’s heard.

Bruce is visibly more concerned than his foster son at Damian’s desires and quickly leads his son out of the room by the arm. “Damian, your grandfather may not be a decent person, however, that doesn’t mean you should wish such harm onto him or anyone. The situation between your mother and I is complicated in a way that… Can’t be fully explained right now. When you’re older I’ll tell you everything you want to know, but for now, I need you to stay with Clark.”

“Did you at least pack my superhero equipment?”

“No, not right now, but I can later. We have to leave right now.”

“Can I at least grab my favorite sword, uniform, and planner? What about my art supplies? I also finished making Jonathan’s new uniform and have yet to give it to him.”

Bruce glances at Alfred and then back to his pleading son like a lost dog. Alfred releases another sigh and widens his strides to hand off the suitcase to Damian’s father. “I’ll go pack a small to-go bag of Master Damian’s other essentials.”

“Thank you, Alfred.”

Jonathan Samuel Kent was eating a nice bowl of sugary cereal with marshmallows in it on the living room couch while he watched the television. Kara sat in the recliner next to him doing much of the same, however, she was less invested than her much younger cousin. She might’ve been uninterested due to the fact she was watching a kid's movie or because it was early in the morning. Either way, it was looking to be a tranquil day in the Kent household.

“Soon it won't be just pretend

Soon a happy eeeeeending~

Love, can you hear me

If you’re neeeaaar meee~”

The heavy thuds pounding on the ceiling alert the relatives that Clark is rummaging around in his room above. The steps travel towards Jonathan's room which makes the boy curious enough to abandon his breakfast and investigate. He doesn't even pause the movie! Now he'll never find out how Thumbelina ends!

“Dad,” Jon calls out as he climbs the rickety oak stairs. “Did you need something from my room? I could've gotten it if ya just asked.”

“Mm? It never bothered ya when I went into your room before, sport.” The man states as he readjusts a bundle of pillows and blankets tall enough to go over his wavy black hair.

“Dad, I’m going to be in middle school soon! You don’t always have to act like I’m a kid,” Jonathan huffs in his doorway with his hands on his hips disapprovingly, much like his mother.

Jon’s father chuckles at his son’s stern demeanor and sets the bedding down atop Jon’s unkempt sheets. He walks up to his son after readjusting his glasses and lovingly ruffles his hair. “Sorry ‘bout that kiddo. You’re right, you’re growing up and I gotta respect that. I promise I’ll ask you next time I need to go in, but I hope that means you’ll also clean your room without me nagging you.”

“I was gonna tidy up, but I got busy.”

“Busy doing what; it’s summer vacation?”

“Stuff,” Jonathan vaguely answers, then unsubtly shifts the focus of the conversation to the items brought into his room. “What’s with the stuff? Are Sammy and Aunt Lucy coming over?”

Clark shakes his head and kneels at his son’s eye level. “No Jon, but Damian is going to be staying with us for a few days. During that time, I’m going to need you to share your room with him.”

“Wow, Dami never sleeps over! Or at least we’ve never planned one. Every time he sleeps over it’s because he ends up fallin’ asleep on the couch or something.” Jonathan describes as he crosses his arms and holds his chin to represent being in deep thought. “How come I’m just hearing about this now?”

His father’s gentle expression is weighed down by a serious undertone that has the boy on edge. The man puts a steady hand on Jon’s shoulder to ground him as he explains the circumstances behind Damian’s impromptu extended sleepover. “Jonathan, you’re old enough to hear this, but I expect you to act like the good man I hope you’re growing to be. What I’m about to tell you is serious, and shouldn’t be shared or pried into unless Damian chooses to tell you the rest himself. Do you understand?”

Jonathan nods, shaking with uneasy anticipation. “I do.”

“Do you recall why Damian’s mother isn’t in his life?” Clark asks, obviously uncomfortable saying the words.

Jon nods again. “Yeah, Dami told me it was because his grandpa is a supervillain, and his mom takes care of him.”

“It’s good Damian feels comfortable enough to tell you that,” His father praises proudly, patting him on the back, but more to do something with his hands than to reassure his child. “Well, the bad guys who work for Damian’s family are in Gotham right now, and Mr. Wayne doesn’t want to risk Damian getting hurt by them again. Remember what happened to you two about three years ago?”

“Are they there to hurt Damian like before?” He presses, his voice rising a few octaves with worry.

“We don’t know yet, sport,” Clark admits honestly. “To be on the safe side, Damian will be staying with us until they leave. Mr. Wayne is trusting us to keep Damian safe.”

“Because you’re Superman?” Jon inquires with pleading eyes.

The Kryptonian chuckles a bit, alleviating the air around them, and smiles proudly at his son, “It helps, but it’s also because Damian should be around his friends to support him during this sudden temporary change,” He tells Jon encouragingly. “While he’s staying with us, I’d prefer if you stay here in Hamilton. I trust you to not look for trouble, but trouble may currently be looking for you two.”

Jonathan nods with a serious expression. “This is a lot to handle first thing in the morning, but I understand. It kinda sucks because Dami and I were planning on doing cool stuff this week as superheroes.”

“I’m sorry about that, but hopefully you can do it next week,” He comforts, patting his son’s head. “I also need you to not talk to anyone you don’t recognize or be alone with anyone without Kara or I near you. Damian’s grandfather is a very dangerous man. If you find yourself alone with him for any reason, although I pray you don’t, I need you to take Damian and run away as fast as you can.”

“Yes, Dad,” He replies, letting the gravity of the situation settle inside his mind. 

His father stands from his place and picks up a thick quilted mattress the size of Jonathan's bed to roll out on the floor. The adult offers one side of a flat white bed sheet to the young boy with a sturdy smile. “Good. Do you want to help me set up the futon for Damian?”

Jonathan blinks as he absentmindedly takes the cotton between his fingers and fidgets airily. He looks at the futon on the floor and his bed then asks his father, “Why would we need that when we can just sleep in the same bed like we do at his house?”

Clark skittishly drops the bedding but catches it before it touches the floor as he stares at his son with wide eyes. “... I’m sorry, what?”

“Yeah, we’re both boys and Dami has a huge bed. My bed is a lot smaller, but I don’t think that’s a problem because Dami doesn’t take up any space… because he’s short and sleeps like a mummy.” He raises his hand and flattens it to where Damian’s head would reach, below his eyeline and above his nostrils. “When I sleep over at Kathy’s house, Farmer Cobb sets up the air mattress because boys and girls shouldn't sleep in the same bed unless they’re family. No one has ever said anything about two boys sleeping together.”

“... I… Uh… Jon, did you have health class yet?” The man blubbering asks and Jon swears that his father has lightened a few shades of white.

“No, I start taking that this year,” Jon says with a quirked brow. “Why is that important?”

“Well… uh… People need a proper amount of space to have a healthy night's sleep. Your mom and I sleep in the same bed because we have a much bigger bed. If you two cram yourselves on your small twin-size mattress y’all are gonna wake up with cricks in your necks.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” Jon decides with an understanding nod. 

“Thank God,” Clark exhales under his breath in relief before holding up the sheets. “I mean, that’s great, Jon! Let’s get to work and then set up space for Damian’s toothbrush next to the sink.”

“Okay!” Jonathan cheers as he helpfully prepares his room and hallway bathroom ready for his best friend.

He was still trying to rearrange the bathroom countertop when he heard the teleporter in his parent’s closet activate. Jon jumps up in excitement causing him to knock over his stuff. He quickly puts it back in his bathroom cup and runs to the room to greet his friend, but only at the doorway. His mom has instilled in him that he should never enter his parent’s room without permission unless it’s an emergency.

Jon excitedly watches his friend materialize with two suitcases in tow from the teleporter along with… uh… a cow with a turkey on its back. Even his father is confused by the extra passengers and looks at Jon curiously, but Jon knows less. The man shrugs and welcomingly escorts Damian into the rest of the home. “Glad to have ya around, Damian. We’re going to make the best of this mini-vacation and have a great time. I can put Bat-Cow and Jerry in the barn with the other while you get settled in. Jon, can you help-”

“I’ll do it!” Jonathan shouts and immediately yanks Damian into his room, causing the boy to drop his luggage. “Oops! Sorry!” He exclaims as he rushes out into the hall to drag the bags back to his room. “Hi Dami, it’s so nice to have you here! We’re going to have so much fun! What do you want to do? You never go outside of my house when you visit so maybe we can go into town, or visit the forest, or go to Kathy’s house to see the cows, or go to the pond to swim, or fish in the creek, or run around the cornfields, or whatever else you want to do. There are so many fun things once you put your stuff away! Do you want to sleep in the bed or on the futon; I don’t mind either way since you’re our guest?”

“I don’t care,” Damian stares at him with an empty expression for an extended moment then continues speaking, “I want to get settled in. I don’t feel like doing anything extraneous.”

“We can do that! Here, let me help you.” Jon offers as he tries to unzip the metal briefcase on the floor.

“Don’t touch that bag,” Damian orders in a curt tone that causes the younger boy to immediately step back. “It’s full of weapons. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“I didn’t know you kept those in a bag,” Jon gasps in awe, as though the fact objects could be stored in bags was an astonishing revelation. “You always seem to have them magically on your person.”

Emerald blinked at Jon slowly then he replies, “I am no practitioner of magic, Jonathan.”

“Dang. Welp, there goes that theory.” He says as he watches Damian unpack his belongings. “I’m going to finish making space for your stuff in the bathroom. Do you want me to take your bath stuff there?”

“No, I can do that.”

“Oh… Okay!” Jon chirps as he walks out of the room, leaving the door open.

Damian exhales and lowers himself to the ground. He unzips his suitcase to meticulously put out his art supplies and a change of clothes for later. Then a drop of water hits the textured paper of his sketchbook causing him to look up to check for a leak. He doesn’t believe Jonathan would live in shambles, however, their home wasn’t the most up-to-date on building standards.

It’s when he finds no signs of water damage on the wooden ceiling that he feels the liquid trail down his cheek. A pang of rage strikes him to his core and he furiously wipes his tears with his hands. Damian isn’t gentle and makes the skin on his face raw as he rubs his face.

He doesn’t sob, he doesn’t whimper, and he isn’t sad. That’s the most baffling part about this impromptu bodily reaction. Tears of frustration or deep pain are something Damian can understand; however, he doesn’t feel anything. He feels nothing like a void inside him sucking up all his emotions and leaving him with a soulless vacuum. The 12-year-old has had worse. He has been through so much worse. Staying at a friend’s house is not even a drop in the bucket to the plethora of terrible things in his life because it’s supposed to be a good one.

So why is he crying?

He desperately tries to pull himself together because nothing is wrong with him. He doesn’t want Jonathan to worry or ask any questions Damian won’t have answers to. He doesn’t want Jonathan to see him cry because he’s supposed to be the mature one. 

Unfortunately, Jonathan does know. He’s known since Damian shed the first droplet and is sitting next to the open door with his knees pressed against his chest, and hands over his ears. He pretends he doesn’t hear anything, that he’s ignorant, that he’s naive because knows better. Jon knows that following his instinct to run inside and hug his friend is the wrong thing to do because Damian will push him away and scream at him. 

He’ll deny anything is wrong and spit verbal poison to hurt Jon he doesn't mean just to make himself feel in control. Then he’ll punish himself once he realizes what he’s done. Jon won’t put Damian through that, so he lets Damian cry alone while he represses the urge to do the same.

To say the two have a strange relationship is an understatement.

Later, when Jon comes into the room he doesn’t mention how the rim of Damian’s eyes are red, or how he has barely unpacked. He smiles like nothing is wrong, but the despondent air between them couldn’t be more palpable. Jon asks if Damian wants to come downstairs to relax on the couch to watch TV although the words feel like sludge coming out of his mouth.

Damian agrees and the two spend the rest of the day being lazy together. They barely talked the entire day as they migrated between the living room and the kitchen. Sometimes they’d watch movies, other times they’d lay on the couch doing nothing, and once they tried to draw pictures. Admittedly, Damian’s artwork was significantly better than Jonathan’s as the boy couldn’t draw a circle to save his life. It doesn’t matter to either of them because Lois put their creations on the refrigerator and both boys beamed at one another at the supposed honor. They helped with setting the table for dinner and relaxed some more before it was time for bed.

The Kent Family’s nightly routine goes on without issue with the addition of their little guest. His parents didn’t raise a Neanderthal, so ever the growing gentleman, Jon volunteered to sleep on the floor. As Jonathan was beginning to fall asleep, he felt the space next to him on the padded cushion dip. 

The half-Kryptonian attempts to turn around to see why when he hears Damian squeak out, “Don’t.”

His voice was uncharacteristically small. It was like he didn’t mean to say it and was praying Jon was already asleep. He doesn’t continue to turn and settles in his spot facing the door. He doesn’t try to fool Damian into thinking he was asleep the entire time, but he doesn’t comment on it as he shuffles his pillow back so he can share it. It’s not much, but it was enough.

The next day, everything went back to normal and the clear air between them renewed their energy for adventure. Although they couldn’t go out and accomplish amazing superhero feats they were still determined to progress their careers. Damian was pacing around the room in deep thought while Jonathan was trying to put on his new costume.

“This feels different than my last one,” Jon notes as he stretches the rubbery material on his legs and arms. “And I think it’s somehow shinier too.”

“I used more friction and heat-resistant material so you’d stop setting yourself on fire,” Damian explains, snapping the fabric on Jon’s arm against his skin.

“That sounds expensive.” He replies with a guilty pout.

“It’s worth it if it will stop this recurring cost,” The older boy reassures. “It’ll be cheaper in the long run.”

“Where are you getting all the money for this anyway? I thought our parents weren’t supposed to help us with this.”

“I set aside some allowance for this beforehand, however, it is a finite amount. We can’t afford to squander it.” Damian says while Jonathan checks himself out in the mirror. 

“Wow, this is flashy. I am very shiny."

“That’s the point,” Damian tells him, walking up behind him to straighten out his cape. “They need to see you, be drawn to you, and recognize you.”

“They should do the same for you because you’re amazing!”

“Flamebird, I’m talking about bullets.”

“Oh.”

It is at that moment that Kara walked in with a tray of snacks and squealed at the sight of Jonathan and Damian's attire. “Eeeeeeeeeee! It looks so good! Better than I ever imagined! Oh, if only my temple could see this! Jon, would you and Damian be willing to come with me to Kandor? I have to show the congregation!” She runs downstairs and backs up before either boy could begin to blink holding a white mask that covers the whole face. “I mean, you can’t show your face in the temple, but I have this spare Raoist mask.”

“Uh…” Jon drones as he stares at the featureless covering.

Kara notices Jon’s apprehension and explains, “We wear these masks to cover our individuality and show ourselves as extensions of our Gods' will. I know it seems creepy to earthlings, but I promise it’s not some brainwashing uniformity stuff. It’s a practice to prove we judge each other on our strength of character rather than our appearance. Um… Did I come on too strong?”

“Yeah, a little bit,” The younger cousin frankly admits. “But I wouldn’t mind going to church-”

“Temple.”

“Temple. I’ll go to the temple with you later.” He corrects himself then shyly smoothes the creased seam of Damian’s hood. “Sorry, that was bothering me. Okay, so at least we know we look like heroes, but we can’t do anything.”

“Even if we’re technically an independent team, we are still dependent parties.” Damian sighs lethargically. “Complete freedom is a foolish endeavor, but keeping our individuality makes up for that tenfold. We can still think about our marketability. We have a solid design, but there is no narrative for people to follow. We need a hook.”

“I can’t think about that. Nothing is interesting about me that I think people would want to see.” Jonathan confesses, plopping his body down on the freshly made futon.

Kara stares at him with confusion written all over her face then tells him, “Jon, you’re a half-Kryptonian and the son of Superman-”

“Kon-El already has that hook in his public portrayal, and that will immediately out his association with your family.” Damian counters tiredly.

“Well, Jon still has superpowers. That’s pretty cool!” She tries to explain only to have her cousin make a disagreeing noise.

“So do most of the heroes in the universe,” Jon grumbles into his pillow.

“Don’t put yourself down like that, you’re a nice boy who wants to do great things with the power he has even though you’re young-”

“You just explained Shazam,” Damian states bluntly. “And every young superhero in existence.”

Kara huffs and then turns the conversation to the shorter boy. “What about Damian? Trained assassin from birth is pretty special.”

The middle schooler rolls his eyes as he shoots down the proclamation.“One of my closest female friends was also an assassin from birth as well as my sister and ten other heroes.”

The young woman slouches on the floor like Jonathan and reaches to the futon to use Jonathan’s turkey Squishmallow as a chest pillow. She releases a long sigh and appears dejected at the children she’s watching over. “Wow. Not to burst your bubble, but this is harder than I thought this would be. I didn’t have this problem when I was starting, so I don’t think I’m any help. Public opinion and optics were all done by the news, and we didn’t have to think of that stuff.”

“Don’t worry, our bubbles have popped a long time ago. We are now sad piles of soap.” Jonathan bemoans melodramatically. He sticks his arm out to reach under his bed and pulls out a real turkey, Jerry, who was sitting there the whole time, and places him where the stuffed animal once was.

Kara doesn’t even bat an eye at the bird’s sudden appearance and says, “Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay. I’m sure there’s something unique about you two that sets you apart from the rest as superheroes.”

“The only thing that’s special about us is that we’re a duo, and even then there’s already the Wonder Twins, Hawk & Dove, Mister Miracle & Big Barda, Booster Gold & Blue Beetle… well… before Dr. Kord passed away. And Batman and Robin.” Jon lists out gloomily.

“Why don’t you two just focus on being yourselves? This whole theme of planning can’t be good for your self-esteem and doesn’t matter at the end of the day. You’re doing good in the world, and that’s all that should matter.” Kara tells them with as much pride and reassurance as a person can offer; however, the two preteens are unimpressed by her words.

“Being a superhero isn’t just a moral play anymore, but a social one as well,” Damian clarifies straightforwardly. “Plus, I don’t want to hear image advice from someone who has automatically garnered fame and an established opinion from the public for wearing an S on their chest. A hero’s reputation is just as important as the work they do.”

The blonde woman glares and pulls herself up by her elbows, her face tinted with anger. “Hey! I worked just as hard as Superman and I have just as much right to my house’s symbol as Clark-”

“But you can never erase the fact that he wore it first. It is associated with Superman first before any of you who also bear the mark of El. It’s no longer just the mark of your lineage, but a symbol of hope associated with a figure no one can live up to.” The older boy snarls as he turns away from the enraged woman. He lifts Jon by the arm and stomps downstairs to the living room. Jon clutched the poultry to his chest as he was dragged away with a perplexed expression.

Damian and he stand in the center of the house for a few seconds before the older boy apprehensively states, “I was going for a dramatic exit, but your house is pathetically small.”

“Yeah, I was wondering where you were going with that,” Jonathan admits, setting Jerry on the ground where he starts pecking at the wood floor. “You were a bit mean to Kara back there. You should apologize for being rude to her.”

“But I’m right.”

“I’m not saying I don’t agree with some of the stuff you said, but how you said it was not nice.”

“Whatever, it’s not like I her told something she didn’t already know-”

All of a sudden, Kathy opens the front door and walks in like it is her own home “Hey Jon, where were you yesterday… Oh… Uh, am I interrupting something?”

Jonathan shakes his head and smiles brightly at his friend as he walks up to greet her. “Hi, Kathy! Sorry, I didn’t message you or anything. I was a bit busy with something, and it was super last minute.”

“Something… I see.” The ten-year-old girl stares patiently at Damian who was pulling his hands down his face.

“Do you leave your doors unlocked for anyone to waltz in and discover your family’s identity?”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to worry about it; Kathy already knows.” Jon justifies, giving his friend a brief sideways hug.

“And what about the rest of the town? You’d just let them come in while you have your uniform on? What was the point of me closing the blinds when the door was unlocked!?” Damian rebuttals as he slams the door shut and makes a display of turning the deadbolt.

“Why didn’t you lock it before if you were checking everything?” Kathy sasses, scowling at the older middle schooler.

“... This isn’t about me,” Damian pouts, looking anywhere except at where people are standing.

“ Riiiight ,” The girl draws out sarcastically then turns to her friend. “Anyways, do you and Damian want to hang out later since we couldn’t yesterday?”

“Sure,” Jonathan answers before Damian can reject the offer for both of them. “Why not right now?”

“Well, I have to move the herd from our east field to our west one first. I just stopped by since I had a bit of time before I had to do that.” She explains with a disappointed sigh. “I can only look at cows doing nothing for so long. It’s boring.”

“May we come?” Damian asks in a soft voice, surprising the young dairy farmer. “I can bring my cow.”

“Uh…” She looks at Jon who is looking at his friend like this was completely normal. “Sure?”

“Great!” Jonathan proclaims as he goes upstairs. “I’ll get changed, you two go on without me!”

“Wait, doesn’t Damian have to get changed too?” She calls out and turns back to glance at Damian only to discover he has already changed into his civilian attire.

He was halfway out the door she didn't hear open, saying, “I’ll meet you at your farm.”

As Mr. Kent helps take Bat-Cow out of the barn for Damian, Jon runs barefoot outside in a set of denim overalls and a plain white t-shirt. He barrels into his father’s leg as the farmer is handing the cow’s reins to Damian. “Hi Dad, Dami and I are goin’ to Kathy’s farm to move the herd!”

“I heard,” The Kryptonian jokes, messing with his son’s hair. “Where’re your workin’ boots, Sport? I don’t want cha’ coming home with hove-stomped toes now.”

“I left them in the barn! I’ll get them now!” He tells him as he runs off into the barn.

“Slow down there Jonno, they ain’t goin’ anywhere!” Clark calls out to his son with a teasing grin. “We don’t want another pair of shoes burnt to a crisp!”

“That was one time!”’

“I sure remember it being a heck o'lot more than once!” He laughs jovially and turns his attention to Damian. “Alright, I’ll be watching’ y’all from our cornfield. If y’all see anything afoot, just holler and I’ll be there.”

“Understood.” Damian nods and looks off to where the man says he’d be. He tilts his head at a certain sought, then asks, “Do you only grow corn here?”

Mr. Kent chuckles from his belly and pats Damian on the back. “Well, we’re more of an egg farm than anything but with less than 50 acres, and about sixty chickens we gotta sell some other crops to diversify. The fields closest to the house are corn or pastures for the chickens, but further back we got some wheat, and recently I started trying my hand at an acre of sorghum. And then I got those planters of soybean starters growing, but I can’t seem to manage to get them ready in time. That window is closing pretty soon and-- Oh, I’m sorry. I must be rambling. You don’t want to listen to me chitchat about plants.”

“If I didn’t want to hear it, I wouldn’t have inquired about it,” Damian states, looking up at the man with faint interest. “Is it only you working here? How do you maintain the cost of the farm with only one person?”

“I’d say everyone in the family does their part. Jon helps pick up the hay during crop rotation and feeds the chickens in the morning. I do most of the farming, and let me tell ya, having superpowers is a real cost and time saver. Then when it’s time to harvest, after I harvest the crops and pick up the eggs, Lois and I will go down and sell them to the local markets. Let me tell you, there ain’t no one more stubborn than my wife when it comes to getting our money’s worth selling our crop. I used to go by myself since Lois works full time at the Daily Planet, but she insisted on coming with me after I came home one too many times a few pennies short. Kara and Conner like ta help out once in a while, but neither is built for farming life. Just an hour on the field will have them howling in boredom, but don’t tell ‘em you heard that from me.” Clark chatters with a vibrantly humorous tone that reminds Damian a bit too much of his friend.

“Where is Conner? It’s my understanding that you have custody of him every weekend, yet he’s not here.” Damian questions in an effort to not be stuck in silence next to Jonathan’s father.

“He’s staying in Metropolis to celebrate his sister’s ballet recital,” The man answers comfortably, yet he’s not smiling anymore.

Before Damian could press the issue further, Jonathan comes racing back hopping on one foot as he puts on his other boot. Krypto, the white borzoi, runs behind the child with delighted barks as Jon clamors, “I’m back! Let’s go Dami!”

The two boys make their way to Kathy’s dairy farm and help the girl wrangle the cattle from one end of the ranch to the other. It takes a lot longer than Damian thought as Branden’s farm is three times larger than Kent’s farm. To Jonathan’s amusement, but not surprise, Damian seems to be having a great time surrounded by all these animals. He notices that Damian has two ways of expressing unfiltered joy: either he’s sneering in the face of God while proclaiming his greatness, or beaming internally while he does his best to keep a cool and controlled expression. This is the latter scenario.

He is just standing in a field of cows tranquilly grazing the pastures and he would probably stay there forever if he could. Jon likes cows as much as a country boy does, but Damian loves animals more than most humans. Scratch that, he likes them better than all humans.

“You know, after all these years of barely knowing Damian, he’s surprisingly outgoing,” Kathy mentions as she watches the older boy hug a random cow like it was a mascot at an amusement park. “At least when it comes to animals.”

“It took ya this long to figure out?” Jonathan questions as he stands next to the fellow farmer kid, leaning his back and elbow against the white wooden rail fence. “He’s been to all of my birthdays since we met and was always like this.”

“Jon, I never talk to him outside of your parties,” She frankly states, twirling one of her long straw-like braids around her finger. “Now that I think about it, I don’t remember seeing him unless you’re already next to him.”

“That’s odd. He was at my last birthday party and I know he stayed until after the cake and presents. Did no one talk to him?”

“We’d have to find him to do that,” She scoffs and then notices the intense stare Jonathan is pointing at her. Kathy exasperatingly groans, throwing her head back. “Urgggghhh, I’m so bored! What do you want to do after this?”

“We could always go to the swamp. Maybe we can find an adventure there!”

“I dunno ‘bout that. Don’t you have to stay safe because bad guys might be looking for your friend?”

“How did you…Oh yeah. Mindreader. Right,” Jon facepalms as he remembers the obvious fact about his extraterrestrial friend. “Wait, have you been reading Dami’s mind?”

“Of course not, I’ve been reading yours. Plus it ain’t like I could do it even if I wanted to.”

“What do you mean?”

“Damian protects his mind. He’s constantly mentally guarding his thoughts; if I tried to force it, he’d get hurt physically. I can read Damian’s emotions if you want me to.”

“Kathy!” Jonathan berates accusingly.

“Alright, alright, geez. I wasn’t serious.” She was, but Jon chooses not to comment on that. “I don’t know if he always guards his thoughts, or if he’s just doing it because he knows I can read minds, but it’s not healthy to do that for a long time. That’s a lot of… mind focus. Brain strain? Mental stress? I forgot what it’s called, but Grandpa says people who do that ain’t livin’ well.”

“This ain’t about livin’ well, he’s here for a reason, Kathy.” The taller boy defends with a frown. “Whatever, anyway, I don’t think the swamp will be that dangerous. My Pa will be protectin’ us if we get into trouble.”

“The swamp does sound fun,” She concedes then checks her rubber boots. “And I am dressed for it. Alright, let's go to the swamp!”

“Great!” Jonathan cheers and then stands around on his feet for a couple of seconds. “Sooooo, how long do we have to keep watching the cows?”

“Until eleven,” Kathy states.

“But the clock just only just turned ten!” Jonathan cries, showing his bestie his Superman wristwatch.

“I know, that’s why I said it’s going to be boring.”

At least Damian was having fun.

“Explain again how hiking through a perilous disease-infested muck of land is supposed to be fun?” Damian inquiries as the three of them trek through the underbrush. He takes the machete he procured from the Kent’s farm to the dense forestry with an unsettling amount of familiarity Jon wasn’t aware Damian had. “I know scarce about alien biology, but as a human, I can tell you my chances of catching a deadly disease are uncomfortably high here.”

“It’s just fun to run around in nature!” Jonathan reassures as he concentrates on his breathing before ungracefully swallowing a mosquito. He violently coughs it out of his body before he bashfully composes himself. He inhales once more and then puckers his lips as he blows onto the shallow waters that instantly become covered in a layer of ice. 

“Plus, it’s a great place to train my powers! No one ever comes here!” Kathy points out as she levitates herself with her mind to land on the ice. 

Jon steps onto the solid surface and extends a polite hand to help her balance. Damian continues to traverse several yards away from the algae-filled waters that made the body a sickening bright green. “Dami, come on! I can make a path!” Jon calls to him, holding out his hand to him.

Emerald eyes dart to the swamp before he slashes open more trails to walk through. “No. I’m doing fine on my own.”

“I can see that, but we’re over here!”

“Forget about it, Jon. The rich city boy over there is probably afraid of getting dirty!” Kathy playfully mocks, sticking her tongue out at him.

“I am not!” Damian shouts, gesturing to his mud-covered legs.

“What, then are you afraid of a little water?”

“Shut up! I’m the best swimmer out of the three of us! My grandfather once threw me into the ocean and forced me to swim 40 kilometers home! I fear nothing!”

“How far are 40 kilometers? What’s a kilometer? Is that like a mile?” Jonathan asks as he counts on his fingers, but Damian has no idea how that is going to help him.

“25 miles Jonathan. You and your inferior measurement systems are going to ruin your mind.”

Kathy gives him a concerned look as they walk parallel to each other. “That sounds awful. Why would your grandpa do that to you? When did this happen?”

“Endurance training. I must’ve been 7-year-old when it happened. After that, he abandoned me in the snowy mountains with no equipment to test my survival skills. The year after that I was sent to the desert to lead an army to decimate those who stood in my family’s way. Then I…” He pauses when he sees the horrified look the freckled face girl has. “There’s a reason I don’t live with him anymore.”

“How come this is the first time I’m hearing about this?” Jon questions with a betrayed sky-blue-eyed gaze. “I mean-- I knew your grandpa was bad and that had to be an… um… unusual life, but all of that?”

“It never came up organically in conversation, although I do try to avoid speaking about it for others’ peace of mind,” Damian confesses as he leaps onto a fallen tree and nimbly strides along its trunk.

“Other people’s peace of mind? Since when do you ever care about that?” The 11-year-old questions as he offers his friend a doubtful stare. “I once heard you say to a stranger, ‘If you were a spice you’d be flour because you’re basic and flammable.’ Then you tried to set them on fire.”

“That was a long time ago. I am a changed man.”

“That was last month, and you’re twelve.”

“It’s still in the past unless your definition of time has warped beyond repair.”

Jon was about to rebuttal with a snappy comeback, at least it would’ve been in his opinion, when he failed to realize his icy trail cracked. He plummets into the green bog that was suddenly a lot deeper than he remembered. His body is completely submerged in sickly-colored waters and his limbs instinctively thrash to swim to the top.

He thought he made the ice thick enough to walk on, yet it’s clear he wasn’t good enough.

“JONATHAN!” He vaguely hears someone shout before the sound of another body breaching the liquid surface.

He feels two sets of arms around his torso dragging him up before another smaller set hauls him up onto the icy platform. As Jonathan is hacking his lungs out, Damian and Kathy pat his back to help. Jonathan’s father swoops in and picks up his son, hitting his back like a newborn.

“I-I’m-!” Another fit of coughs wracked his body before he finished his sentence. “I-I’m fine! Just a little surprised. I didn’t mean to make a big deal about it! I was gonna be fine.”

“Oh I’m sure you were, Sport, but you gave yer friends quite the scare.” He turns to Damian and plucks a water lily leaf from his hair. “Damian, are you alright?”

“Where were you to stop this?! Now look at me, I’m disgusting!”

“I’m sorry, y’all. I didn’t think I had ta step in. Jonathan slips into the bog all the time and a little rough housin’ never hurt anybody.” He chuckles, but the child doesn’t find any humor in the situation. “Although it seems even if he needed savin’ you had it covered.”

“That’s not the only thing covered.”

Clark laughs again much to Damian’s annoyance then tells them, “I guess that’s enough trekking in the woods for the day. Come ‘ere. I’ll hose ya both down before you get inside for a shower.”

“Well, that was awful,” Damian voices, walking onto the front porch after a thorough shower.

Jonathan sighs, dripping wet from his father spaying him with the hose. “Sorry you guys, I didn’t mean to scare y’all.”

“You didn’t scare me, Damian did when he panicked,” Kathy says, poking her friend with a long stick to nudge him inside. “I thought it was pretty funny until Damian jumped in after you.”

“Why did you freak out? You never jumped in the water for me before.”

“Ever considered that the swamp is more dangerous than my family’s pool?” Damian questions in a way that sounds more like a statement. “Plus, didn’t you almost drown at the beach the first week of summer vacation?”

“Conner said I waterboarded myself! I don’t know what that means, but I think it’s like boogie-boarding!”

He side-eyes Kathy judgmentally. “And you wonder why I worry.”

The blonde gazes back at Damian intensely, knowing more than she let on. “I don’t have to wonder.” She jabs Jonathan harder with the stick until he’s fully inside the house. “Don’t forget to wash behind your ears!”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Jonathan mischievously taunts, sticking out his tongue at her.

They fall into a pattern of familiarity throughout the next three days as the boys wake up, help around the house, spend a few hours on the farm with the animals, and occasionally go into town for ice cream. There had been a few more incidents brought on by adolescents adventuring in the outdoors, yet they made for fond memories to be looked back on. The circumstances of Damian’s arrival had been… stressful at best, nevertheless, it was a good experience overall.

But everything must come to an end sooner or later. The house phone rang as they were getting ready for a peaceful Thursday lunch of garden sandwiches and plantain chips. Lois gets up from baking the plantains as Clark, Damian, Kara, Jon, and Krypto (Who is given plenty of scraps) continue to make the lunch. Her face brightens considerably as she converses with the other party before hanging up.

“Good news, Damian! That was Alfred and he says everything is safe now and that your father is going pick you up tomorrow morning.”

“Does this mean we can resume our superhero duties?” Damian instantly asks.

Lois looks to Clark who gives her a shrug then replies, “We don’t see why not. I can call Bruce and ask if that’s alright with him too. Where would you want to do it?”

“How about Metropolis? We haven’t done anything around there yet and there’s a cheap bus that can take us there! Can we do it after lunch!?” Jonathan energetically explains with his knees on his chair as he pushes himself upward in excitement.

“Clark or I would be happy to accompany you two. I don’t believe either of us had a chance to do so yet.” Kara suggests as she adds way too much turkey into her sandwich to be considered a garden sandwich.

“Only if you don’t jump in when we have a situation handled,” Damian scoffs, and Jon stills in his position at the words.

Clark chuckles at the antagonizing pre-teen and passes him the bowl of chopped spinach he finished preparing. “Don’t worry about that. Y’all are better at setting your limits than I gave you credit for. Besides, I feel a lot safer about this setup than when we started.”

“Yeah, I totally thought one of you was going to pull a crazy stunt like taking on the Legion of Doom or whatever to prove yourselves.” Kara laughs teasingly, poking her cousin in the squishy cheek.

Emerald eyes obnoxiously roll as he takes a handful of the greens into his meal along with some cabbage. “Most of those villains are on the restricted list, and we’re ambitious, not suicidal.”

“Well, y’all take your time to think about what you want to do and tell us before setting out,” Clark tells them and turns to his cousin. “Kara, is it okay if you check around Gotham while I watch the boys? I want to make sure everything is alright. Not that I don’t trust Bruce, but we can never be too careful.”

“I get it, I’ll drop by and rub it in his face that you get to go on a mission with his son before he does.” She grins as she takes a large bite of her meal.

“That is not what I asked,” The man frowns in mock disapproval before it transforms into a somewhat guilty expression. “...Although I wouldn’t mind if you mentioned it.”

“Pfft- don’t sweat it. I’ll make sure to shoehorn it into every conversation.” She laughs.

The family finishes their meal with an energetic atmosphere and the boys impatiently scarf down their food. Once they were both finished, they excused themselves from the table to get ready for their next adventure. Jonathan never had the chance to see Damian equip himself with all of his weapons before, but now that they were in close quarters it was unavoidable.

It was surprisingly boring and uninformative because the 12-year-old would just store it in his cape. When Jonathan looked more closely he didn’t even see a shape where a sword was supposed to be. Damian catches him staring and arrogantly smirks, “Hm? Beloved, I know I’m a feast for the eye, but you don’t have to be shy about it.”

Sky blue eyes glare at him and lift the corners of his cape.” I’m not looking at you, I’m looking at your cape.”

“Is that what people call gawking these days?”

“Oh my gosh, you’re the absolute worst!” Jonathan groans, covering his face in embarrassment.

“Thank you,” Damian smugly says as he takes his cape back. “Anyways, it’s unlikely we’ll come across something exciting on such short notice. What do you believe we should do?”

“Well helping people out at least gets our name out there, so more community service wouldn’t hurt.”

“It’s the only feasible option we have, especially with your father chaperoning.”

“Do you think I could fly us there his time?” Jonathan insists hopefully, his eyes sparkling with determination as he gets close to Damian’s personal space in excitement. “I’ve been training really hard and I think I can do it!”

“Deadlift me right now and see if you can sustain that for 2 minutes without your powers.” Damian commands and Jonathan confidently swoops him up bridal style victoriously.

“I SAID DEADLIFT, NOT WHATEVER THIS IS!”

“It still counts!” Jonathan agrees, however, he was beginning to feel some strain in his arms not even fifteen seconds later. “S-see! I can do it even though you’re heavy.”

“This is humiliating and while I’m flattered by your confidence, your ambition will be the end of me,” Damian grumbles, pointing at Jonathan’s shaking legs. “I doubt you can sustain this and your ability to fly simultaneously.”

“Alright boys, we just got off the phone with Bruce and he said we’re good to go-” Clark Kent in his Superman attire pauses at the foot of his son’s open door, staring at them, before awkwardly walking away.

“Huh, what’s his problem?” Jonathan questions before his arms give way causing Damian to fall to the floor. “Oh my gosh!”

“I refuse to let you carry me anywhere unless you’re using your super strength,” Damian monotones as he gets up. “Or at least start working out.”

Jon huffs and childishly stomps his foot on the ground, crossing his arms. “We can’t all be trained at birth to do crazy things.”

“You live on the farm that provides plenty of manual labor, how are you naturally this weak?”

“Whatever, let’s just get downstairs!” The younger boy commands and stomps downstairs with Damian at his heels.

Clark is nervously sitting on the couch and turns to look at the pair. “Ah, uh- there you are! So, how do you boys feel about me flyin’ y’all? I mean, don’t expect it to be a habit or anything because I know you want your independence, but I just want to take y’all on a mission. It’s not every day I get to see my son in action and-”

“Bragging rights!” Kara cheers from the recliner and gladly hops to her feet. “Come on, let us have this win! Batgirl got to take you on your first mission, so at least let Clark personally escort you!”

“Thank sounds fun! I mean, as long as you drop us off before anyone can see you.”

“Aw, you that embarrassed of your old man?” The man chuckles and he walks up to his son to ruffle his hair. “Didn’t you used to think Superman was cool?”

“Don’t worry, Dad! You’re still my second favorite hero in the whole wide world!”

“Second?!” Superman gasps in mock betrayal with his hand over his heart. “This poor heart can’t take the pain!”

“Who’s your number one? Is it me? It better not be Superboy or else I’ll never hear the end of it.” Kara needles.

“It’s Mom,” Jon says as the woman comes out of the kitchen to hand each of the boys a box of apple juice.

“Hey, that’s a blatant bribe!” The blonde complains, pointing at the reporter accusingly.

“You’re just mad you didn’t think of it first.” Lois remarks before leaning down to kiss her son on the cheek. “Stay safe, and come home in one peace.”

“I will!” Jonathan says as he puts the cartridge into Damian’s cape where it instantly falls onto the floor. “Dang, I thought that would work.”

“My cape doesn’t have pockets, that would cause unnecessary bulk.”

“Really? That’s never been a problem for me.” Superman demonstrates this by holding up his iconic red cape and reaching inside to pull out a small bag of pretzel sticks.

Damian balks at the man like he is an alien, more so than usual, but chooses not to comment on the odd fashion choice. “We’re losing daylight. Let’s get going.”

“Yeah!” Jon cheers as he hugs his mom and cousin. “Bye Mom, bye Kara! I’ll see you later!”

Damian looks to the woman and nods as he bluntly replies, “Same.”

“Wow, that’s the most normal I ever heard you say your farewells.” Kara teases and waves at Damian. “See ya tonight after I visit your dad! Want me to tell him anything?”

Damian shakes his head. “Nothing I won’t be able to tell him myself.”

“Goodbye Damian,” Lois tells him as she hands him the fallen juice. “Make us proud out there and watch out for one another!”

“Always,” He says and looks to Superman. “Carry us, thrall.”

“What’s the magic word?”

Jonathan shoves himself in front of Damian and clasps his hands in prayer before his father with wide pleading eyes that resemble their dog, Krypto. “Pretty pretty please with sprinkles and candy cherries and fudge and caramel and gummy bears and tiny marshmallows on top!”

“Well certainly can’t say no to all of that now can I?” He crouches to the floor with his back to the children and his hands behind him to act as a step. “Climb on.”

“How long has it been since you carried Jon like that?” Lois jibes, leaning against the banister of the stair’s railing.

“Let me enjoy it while I can. My boy is growing faster than our corn crops.” He smiles as both boys step on and wrap one arm around the man’s broad neck and another around each other. “I’ll see you later, Lois. Kara, if anything comes up call me.”

“I will! Now go kick some butt and have fun!”

Then they were off! Away from the quaint and peaceful country life of Hamilton County have some mid-day heroic fun in the Big Apricot. Metropolis, the city of tomorrow, and endless possibilities! But is that supposed to be a good thing?

Not all possible futures are desired ones.

Chapter Text

It is comedic how tiny Jonathan and Damian stand when placed against the physical representation of a "super"-man. Superman is tall like a tree, broad as a mountain, and chiseled like stone. Jonathan is tall for his age and taller than all of his schoolmates, but he is structured like the lanky child he is. Even with all the farm work chores, Jon can’t build bulk to save his life. His face is also insultingly youthful because while most of the boys in his class started to develop a masculine jaw shape or body hair, he still has baby fat. He’s not bitter, just mad… wait, those are the same thing.

Damian is on the complete opposite side of the puberty spectrum because he has the muscle structure of a grown man who never stops going to the gym stuck as a prepubescent child. Jon is pretty sure kids who do exercise as much as Damian if they’re crazy enough, wouldn’t even come close to looking like him. It doesn’t seem healthy, but Damian had a strange childhood. That might have something to do with it. Damian is also below average in height, but the older boy swears he’s going to hit a growth spurt. He’s been saying that ever since Jon surpassed him when the younger turned nine.

The two are still growing. Anyhow, it’s unlikely they’ll ever be anything compared to Superman. It is inhuman, inconceivable, and impossible. At least his more human qualities allow the boys to remember that he is just a man for all the physical intimidation a full-blooded Kryptonian can instill.

“--And that’s why you should never just plant a blueberry bush in the yard without checking the soil's acidity. Ma was not happy about taking care of that fiasco. Oh and speaking of Ma, there was that time she tried packin’ me lunches before patrol but I never had anywhere to put them. I think that’s when she came up with the cape pocket idea because what’s the point of a big chunk of fabric if I can’t use it for anything.” Superman rambles to the two children on his back.

“The intimidation factor.” Damian answers without missing a beat.

“I ain’t trying to scare anyone, Damian, and neither should you.”

“Names! You don’t have to scare anyone because everyone knows you can rip them in two. I need the advantage because I’m twelve.”

“Well… I can’t argue with that.” Clark settles on and shifts his attention to his son. “So Jonno, how are ya holding up there?”

“I think I ate a bug,” Jon states in an off-putting manner.

The man turns to look at the boy with concern. “I… I'm sorry about that.”

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault- ACK!” The 11-year-old tries to reply only to have another bug fly into his mouth mid-sentence. “I didn’t even know bugs flew up this high!

Damian sighs. “Habibi, I know it’s a strenuous chore for you, but how about you keep your mouth closed.”

“Why don’t you shut your face- Ack! Another bug!”

Despite their juvenile dispositions, the two boys were determined to become superheroes the traditional way: on their own. No sponsors or endorsements, just good old-fashioned hard work, and dedication. Both Damian and Jon have been to Metropolis a decent amount of times which meant they were familiar enough with the city to know how it operated. While Gotham was controlled by Damian’s family, Metropolis had a wider range of heroes. The Atom, Black Lightning, Booster Gold, Prysm, Risk, The Wonder Twins, Krypto the Superdog, Superboy, Supergirl, and Superman all worked within the city at the same time which meant that…

There was absolutely nothing to do.

It was almost ludicrous how little there was to accomplish in Metropolis. Not a crack in the street, or an old woman needing to be accompanied across the road. Heck, no one even littered! Forget about stopping crime; the boys couldn’t do any community service! 

So there they sat in the middle of Metropolis’ Centennial Park with two free rocket pops a nice old man gave them because Metropolis is the only place you can accept sweets from strangers. Metropolis used to be a normal city with a normal amount of crime, but Flamebird and Nightwing were born in an era long after Superheroes rose to prominence. Petty crimes were a thing of the past, and any huge problem like an alien invasion is dealt with in under a day.

Damian violently bites into his popsicle, like a monster in Jon’s opinion, as he slouches undignified onto the bench. “Metropolis is a mistake.”

Flamebird rolls his eyes as he licks his quickly melting frozen treat. “On the bright side, we know it’s possible to get rid of crime.”

“At least super-related crimes. I suspect that unfair policy and white-collar crimes are still rampant seeing as this is still Lex Luthor’s base of operations.”

“You always have to be such a downer.”

Nightwing scoffs, rolling his eyes at the optimism of his partner. “Oh please, we both know you’re more of the defeatist between us. No one expects that because I’m openly a nihilist, while you hide behind the shield of sanguinity.” 

Jon huffs and crosses his arm, the red syrup of his popsicle dripping onto his costume. “I don’t know these words and I know you’re only using them because it makes you sound smarter.”

“I am smarter.” He counters confidently as he finishes his treat. Damian then sighs as he sees the mess Jonathan has made of himself and takes out a small pack of wet wipes to forcefully clean the other. “Finish your popsicle before you ruin all of my hard work!”

“Ow-! H-Hey! Quit it! I can clean myself- Ow! It got in my eye!” The taller boy sputters as he tries to swat his friend’s hands away to no avail.

“I’m more impressed you got it in your eye,” Damian comments as he takes Jon’s treat and shoves it into the boy’s mouth before swiftly taking out only the stick.

The brain freeze is instantaneous. “Oooooooow! Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!”

The older child throws away the wooden stick in a nearby bin and scoffs. “Don’t dally eating on a hot summer day. It’s a waste.”

“You could’ve been nicer about it!” Jon whines as he massages his forehead.

Damian sighs once more then dejectedly slumps back onto the bench. “Fine. It wasn’t as though we are in any hurry with the amount of nothing happening,” He points out, waving his hand across the utopian image before them.

Families picnicking on traditional red-checkered blankets, couples having lovely homemade meals out of wicker baskets, kids flying kites on the shallow grassy hills, dogs playing fetch with their owners, and fathers playing catch with their sons. It was almost as though the two heroes had stumbled upon a delightfully hellish recreation of the American Dream. Even Flamebird, who was all for truth, justice, and the American way was thoroughly unnerved.

“I mean… Okay, it’s a bit weird how perfect everything feels,” Jon admits reluctantly over the sound of children laughing. “But that’s probably because we spend so much time in more dangerous places.”

“Flamebird, you live in an idyllic rural small town full of country charm. You’re so safe you don’t bother to lock your doors or windows.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It makes you soft.” He scoffs, causing Jon to glower.

“That’s something I don’t understand about you Da-- I mean, Nightwing.” The half-Kryptonian middle schooler quickly corrects himself as a couple on a tandem bicycle passes them. “Being a hero is all about making people feel safe. Then you complain when people aren’t as tough as you, but you’re only like that because something bad happened to you that a hero is supposed to stop. Having a hard life and coming out tougher isn’t something to be proud of. Like, yeah, sure, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger but isn’t it better you weren’t almost killed in the first place?”

Damian contemplates Jonathan’s words for a moment, and not a moment more before he counters with his response. “I can see how you can misconstrue my ideology to be prosaic. I will also acquiesce that I have biases due to my upbringing, but that is the only leeway I will allow you. My problem isn’t that people are weak because they haven’t suffered; it is that they have all the advantages of a good life and choose to stay weak. Since you started this about me, let me use you as my example.

“You have a whole loving family, you’ve never suffered a day in your life, you have a life filled with love, and what’s more you have powers beyond the physical limitations of several species across the universe. In my opinion, you have the world at your fingertips. Tell me why you don’t train harder knowing the field you’re working towards won’t be a kind one?”

Jonathan scowls, taking great offense to the statement. “I train plenty!”

“-TT- You train like it’s a fun hobby. I train as if my life depended on it.”

All the fight Damian was expecting out of his friend disappears and is replaced with something so much worse; pity “Does it?”

“Yes. More than you’ll ever know.” He answers curtly, turning away from Jon.

“Then let me know,” The younger boy pleads so quietly he doesn’t know if Damian heard him. “We’ve known each other for years. We’re supposed to be best friends, partners, but I… I sometimes feel like I don’t know you. You never--”  He stops himself before he can say anything else because there is nothing more to say. Not now. Not here.

Damian understands that and jumps to his feet to walk around in hopes of leaving the tension between them behind. “We’re not going to accomplish anything idling by like bums. Come on!”

“Wait up!” Jonathan yelps as he runs to catch up to him.

The two boys didn’t have much to do even though they patrolled most of the city on foot. They almost call it a day when a man in navy blue and gold spandex accidentally bumps into them on the streets. He drops a bag of fast food on the ground and a sleek golden robot picks it up… then immediately throws it in the trash.

“Skeets, what the Hell!” The man gripes, pointing accusingly at the floating droid with a cheese-covered napkin.

“According to my calculations, eating that amount of calories and emulsified oils in a single sitting will cause you to become incapacitated later.”

“Oh, what do you know about the human body!” The man whines, throwing his hands up.

“Everything there is to know up to the 31st century.” The robot, Skeets, informs him in a monotone that sounds a little too sarcastic for a simple robot.

“Whatever,” The man brushes off and turns to the children. “Hey, you kids alright- …Hey, have I seen you two before?”

“Oh my gosh, you’re Booster Gold!” Flamebird gasps, his bright eyes looking up at the superhero with burger grease on his uniform and lower face. 

Meanwhile, Nightwing smacks his forehead at the situation. Of all the people to potentially reveal their identities, Booster Gold has to be the most embarrassing one. The man is only vaguely aware of their existence thanks to participation at JLA family events, but if a family picnic is what gets them caught Damian will riot.

The hero cleans himself up with a dirty napkin and throws the rest of his trash away to save face. “I remember now! You’re those community service kids I heard about online!”

Somehow, Damian finds this outcome worse than having their identities exposed.

The taller but younger boy instantly slumps over in a sad, dejected, miserable mood. “Yep. That’s us.”

Booster Gold winces at the notable shift in tone. “Oof, I- uh, sorry Kid. I didn’t know that was a sore spot.”

“Well, it is,” Jonathan sighs. “We don’t want to be known as the community service kids, but that’s all people know us for.”

“Hey, don’t be so down! At least it’s easier for you to get some recognition around here! Everyone nowadays thinks they’re a reporter with their phones. You do one cool thing and everyone will know! Just keep up the good work… Um… I don’t know your hero names.”

“I’m Flamebird, and this is my partner Nightwing,” The hero unenthusiastically introduces while his shorter companion glares daggers at the man.

The blue eyes behind the yellow visor glance wearily at the droid floating next to him and then back to the children. “I dunno what to tell you, but we already got a Nightwing.”

“I believe they’re named after the Kryptonian lore of Nightwing and Flamebird, not the 21st-century hero Nightwing that is associated with the Titans.” Skeets purposefully informs him after he comments to embarrass him.

“Oh… I have no idea what that is, but more power to ya!” Booster Gold encourages with a bright thumbs up and wink. “Do you want an autograph?”

“Sure!” Jonathan chirps.

“I hate you.” Damian states.

“That’s one yes!” Letting the shorter preteen’s disdain roll off him, he takes out a novelty Booster Gold pen. Before Jon could grab anything for the man to sign, he scribbles his signature on the palm of Jon’s glove and then places the pen in it. The hero teleports away before the boy can say anything and Skeets hovers around the two boys for an extra moment, studying them closely, before following.

“I got a free pen!”

“-TT- And a soiled glove,” Damian grimaces. “We’re not even doing anything, yet you still find ways to get your uniform ruined!”

“It’s not ruined,” Flamebird replies, rolling his eyes when he accidentally spots his dad watching them from a nearby building. “I was thinking about visiting Conner while we're here, but now I'm not feeling so great. Should we just leave?”

“Let’s go somewhere fun like Central City.” Even from this far away, Nightwing can see Superman flinch at his words.

It was at that very instant that a perfect coincidence occurred. The boys were just about to leave the crowded part of Metropolis when a little girl with dull green eyes and dark brown locks tied into two small buns crashed into them. She looks rough around the edges with her hair oily and frayed while her clothes has small tears on the seams. Her tan digits, bruised black and blue, push against the two as they leave a red imprint on their clothes.

Blood.

She doesn’t make it far past the duo as Jon instantly grabs her wrist and pulls her closer. “Oh my gosh, are you okay?!”

“L-let go of me! I ha- my friends! They’re still back there! I need to get help!” The girl pants and starts to pound her free fist against Flamebird’s chest. 

Damian narrows his eyes and roughly grabs her hands to stop her assault which causes her to fight harder. Jon intervenes before the stranger hurts herself. He holds her by the shoulders as he lowers both of them to the ground, resting her head on his lap as he clutches her hand.

“Nightwing, make space, I think she’s in shock!”

Said hero hesitates, glaring at the stranger with palpable disdain that is unjust in Jonathan’s eyes. Even so, the sword-wielding teen takes his weapon out of his sheath and uses it as a stick to keep everyone a minimum of three feet away. As he does that, Jonathan comforts the girl, knowing that she can’t move right now. 

Her breathing was frantic and her eyes unfocused. This person wasn’t wholly tuned into reality as she was unaware of a crowd of pedestrians. Several adults surround them with concern and offer their assistance.

“What happened to her?”

“Quick, someone call 911!”

“Here, take my jacket!”

A man places his suit jacket over the girl’s shoulders to cover her bruised body. It was also then that Jonathan noticed the girl wasn’t wearing any shoes. Her feet were bleeding and Jon was horrified to find she had a wound on her left foot as though someone stabbed through it.

Jon spends almost ten minutes with the girl to calm her down by the time an ambulance and police cruiser arrives. She is reluctant to leave Jon’s side, but he can coax her out of his arms with his gentle tone and kind smile. “Don’t worry, they’ll help you and your friends. It’s going to be alright.”

“S-South… Southside! The-they were taken to Southside!” She whispers into Jon's ear before she is taken into the ambulance. “Please! They didn’t fix Southside!”

Then she is taken away.

Flamebird can't dwell on the knowledge for long as Nightwing takes him by the hand and whisks them out of the crowd before anyone can notice. The two boys run to the nearest train station with determination and confusion to get to the lower district of Metropolis. People give the boys confused glances as they enter Union Station due to the bloody prints visible on the white parts of Jonathan’s clothes, but a glare from Damian keeps their mouths shut.

“What do you think she meant?” Jonathan asks as they step onto the monorail. “I’ve heard of Southside, but I’ve never been there since it was too far from central Metropolis.”

Damian stares at the fingerprints on Flamebird’s chest then looks up into Jon’s azure eyes. “Southside used to be called something else by the locals a few years back; Suicide Slums. Metropolis isn’t free of corruption and high quality of living drove the impoverished and marginalized groups to the Southside district. Because of this, it was known for having an unusual amount of criminal activity.”

“B-but I thought Metropolis was supposed to be a utopia, the city of tomorrow!”

“It is, which is why the city attempted to reconstruct the area into something that fits its image more,” Damian explains in a detached manner that Jon knows means his attention is split elsewhere. “However, this new reformation was nothing more than gentrification. It displaced people who lived there for generations by raising property taxes and caused an income disparity between the people who stayed and those who moved in. Although, that doesn’t explain much about this current situation.”

“You’re thinking something isn’t adding up,” Jon states, vocalizing his thoughts on his mentally distant friend. “Let me in.”

Nightwing nods once as he looks out the window, ignoring the passengers staring or unsubtly sneaking a picture of them. “Central Metropolis is a great distance away from Southside. She was barefoot and injured, which begs the question of where she came from. It doesn’t add up.”

“She said, ‘They were taken to Southside.’ Maybe she never set foot there, but overheard that's where her friends were going to be.”

“Possible, but still suspicious. It appears she just escaped something horrific, yet she guides us to a secondary location rather than point us to the scene of the supposed crime.”

“She was in shock, you can’t expect her to be rational.”

The white eyes on Nightwing’s mask glower in what most would assume is anger, but Jon understands it’s something much worse for Damian; worry. “At best, this is a trap.”

“Why us?” Flamebird asks, but his partner doesn’t have an answer. “I guess we’re doing this.”

“We are,” Damian replies, and it’s only now that Jon realizes that neither of them has let go of each other's hands since they ran away from the scene. The younger boy didn’t comprehend that his hands were shaking until the older one squeezed his hand. The action silently asks if Jon wants to leave this to someone else to figure out, and Jon doesn’t let go. He's not leaving.

However, their communication was unique from other heroic teams as they were completely exposed to the public. A concerned adult couldn't help but overhear their conversation and express their concern. “Woah, hey, where are your parents? Do they know you’re walking into a trap?”

This stranger’s outburst breaks the invisible social barrier between them and the rest of the world. It's a surreal situation to be in as both boys are more ingrained into the public than any hero before them. While every hero they know keeps a safe distance between themselves and the masses, Nightwing and Flamebird’s circumstances incidentally force them to interact with the public. Even during community service efforts, it is a novelty to see a hero ordering from a restaurant or taking public transportation.

“Do the police know? Who is this girl?”

“Are you really going to Southside alone?”

“Hey, Southside isn’t that bad anymore, but this sounds dangerous.”

"What is that supposed to mean? Isn't that bad anymore? You have something against people from the Southside?"

“What are you all complaining about? When I was a kid I was going to all kinds of dangerous places by myself. Y’all are just sensitive!”

“It’s not being sensitive! It’s called progress and letting two kids go into something dangerous is crazy!”

“Heroes got to start somewhere! I don’t see you complaining when the Teen Titans save the day!”

“I would if they were right in front of me!”

“The difference is that teams like the Teen Titans and Young Justice have powers and bigger teams protecting them. These are just two random kids!”

“We’re right here,” Jonathan huffs, stomping his foot immaturely on the ground. “And we can handle ourselves just fine!”

"How old are these kids? Seven?"

"Dude, have you ever talked to a kid before? They're older than that."

"Ooo! I got a good picture of them!"

"Lemme see! Lemme see!"

"HEY! Delete that, those are minors!"

"Guys, is no one going to call the cops? Does anyone in Southside know?"

"Maybe we should block the doors, you know, to protect them."

"We don't need to be protected, we're supposed to be the heroes!" Jonathan groans but his words are suffocated by the noise of the subway.

“Habibi, control yourself,” Damian whispers up into his ear, pointing at the minute dent on the aluminum floor. “If anyone should have their name be associated with an outburst, it shouldn’t be you.”

“Nightwing, don’t-” Flamebird hisses, but it was already too late as the shorter preteen already turned away from him and flipped his middle finger to the crowd.

“How about you mind your fuc-!”

“Language!” Jon scolds.

“Freaking business and spit that bullshi-”

“Language!” Jon scolds again.

“Bullcrap to someone who can’t break your bones seven ways to Sunday!”

Flamebird scrambles to wrap his arms around his partner from behind to both hold him back and cover his mouth. “I’m so sorry about that! I swear he’s super sweet and nice once you get to know him.”

“I can assure you I am not!”

“He really is!” Jonathan defends, pressing his face against Damian’s as he adorably bats his eyes. They looked exactly like a little boy and his rabid dog complete with snarling. “See! He’s just the sweetest!”

“Yo, I swear that kid has fangs.”

“He doesn’t seem stable.”

“Scary.”

“Good thing that other kid can tame the brat.”

Each negative comment stabs at Jonathan’s heart, yet he’s too weak to speak up. He’s a coward. Damian is only acting this way to take attention off of him. Nightwing is only doing this to make Flamebird look better. Jon can correct them. He can confess that Damian is only acting out for him when he doesn’t have to.

But he doesn’t.

“They kinda have an opposites attract dynamic going on.”

“Aw, that’s adorable!”

“No, it’s weird.”

“Wait, does he have a sword?”

"Please like him, please like him, please like him, please like him, please like him, please like him, please like him, please like him, please like him, please like him, please like him, please like him, please like him, please like him, please like him, please love him as much as I do.” 

Jon beseeches internally as he holds Damian closer and pretends to play the boy like a fiddle. “Nightwing put it down. These nice people are just concerned for us!” 

Like the obedient puppet Jonathan knows he’s not, he stills and huffs, turning away from the crowd with his arms crossed. Flamebird steps in front of him to hide Nightwing in his shadow, yet the truth is Nightwing was giving Jonathan his spotlight. The smile the Kansas boy places on his face radiates a midwestern charm that promises compassion and hospitality. It isn't a practiced smile because it is the most natural face Jonathan wears since it’s the one he's always had.

Damian once called it his true superpower. Forget about laser eyes and flight; that smile was the real superpower. Jon didn’t have to have a rigorous training regime in charisma or be forced to control a room through sheer force of presence. Jonathan was born trustworthy and kind. People flocked to that because no one could look into his eyes and find a malicious motive because there was none to be had.

In an instant, he silences a throng with his smile and unconscious nervous touch on the side of his face. He’s in front of the loudest protesters as Damian emotionally supports him from behind and holds out his hand as a peace offering. “I’m sorry again for my friend’s behavior. I know how this must make us look worse, but we are fine! We have a strong family who loves and supports us making sure we're safe. Although we’re both very grateful there are still friendly people out there worried about strangers! My Ma says I should always be thankful for kindness because it’s a rarity nowadays, so thank you kindly!”

It was irrational, improbably, and irresponsible yet Jon managed to talk everyone into stopping their protests against them through charm alone. It’s unlikely he got rid of their doubts or concerns, but for the next few minutes, all was content on the subway.

The duo get off the tracks at their destination and make their way to the main street of Southside. “Why do we talk about these things in public?”

“I wouldn’t say anything at a noticeable volume if I didn’t want people to hear.” Damian answers in a volume only Jon can hear as he peers at a recent map of the district on the side of a bus stop. 

“You wanted people to know you were suspecting her?” Jonathan gasps. “And you did that thing on the train again. I don’t want anyone thinking you’re a bad guy just to make me look good. There are ways we can both look good.”

“Flamebird, it’s easier to give the public a story to work off of that can easily be understood in stereotypes, rather than the strenuous effort of accurate characterization. Neither of us can use an untraceable social media account, so we must take advantage of the public.” He explains as he traces his finger along a certain road. “And there’s obviously something wrong about that girl. Like her face--" At Jonathan's poignant glare, Damian rolls his eyes and speaks slightly more politely. "Even if she is innocent this will at least bring more attention to her case. Two young heroes are covered in the blood of the innocent. When we put people in that situation, they become protective and more invested because it’s now personal. I’m sure people will be wondering where she came from and look into who she is. It’s much faster than any informant system we could come up with on our own.”

There are points Jonathan wants to argue with, especially pertaining to Damian’s public image, but they have more pressing issues to discuss. “Where should we start looking?”

“Since our only descriptor is the entirety of the Suicide Slums, I suggest we start going down all roads from downtown that lead into this area. Assuming that the girl didn’t come from this area, her so-called friends are supposed to be taken here. This means they would have to travel down here somehow and I doubt they used the train.”

“Okay, let’s go!” Jon cheers, following Damian along the main road where he sees his Dad floating in the distance, watching them. “Wow… He’s not great at hiding.”

Damian rolls his eyes. “Of course not, he wants you to know he’s there.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t jump in when that girl bumped into us.”

“He’s letting us handle this on our own, however, he probably is getting someone to check on the situation for us.”

“Whaaaaa-”

Before Jonathan can finish his dramatically long gasps, his Dad shows up next to them in a dark alleyway. He's no Batman, but it still startled Jon to see his dad suddenly appear. “Da- I mean, Nightwing, please don’t make assumptions like that to my son about me.”

Damian is unamused by the action. “You impressed me for once. I was betting on you showing yourself when we were talking about leaving.”

“Dad!” Flamebird panics as he looks around frantically to make sure no one can see them. “What are you doing here?! You can’t let anyone see you with us!”

“I’m just checking in on you!” Superman defends, a little hurt by the insistence his son is trying to push him away. “And I wanted to tell you how proud I am about how you handled that situation with that girl.”

“Are we just going to call her ‘Girl’ the whole time? I should’ve gotten her name.” Jon mumbles as he recalls they don’t know her name.

“Well, that’s a lesson you can take with you if this ever happens again, although I hope it doesn’t.” The Kryptonian recontextualizes and pulls out some kid snacks from the pocket in his scarlet cape. “I’m going to continue watching you from a distance. Do you two want any fruit snacks? How about some water?”

“Your cape pocket haunts me.” Nightwing states.

“We’re good, thank you,” Jonathan says politely.

“Alright, I’ll be here if you need me!” He tells them before jolting as he remembers something. “Oh, and Daaaa- Nightwing! Do you-”

Damian forcefully sighs as he unenthusiastically replies, “I do not need to call my family in the middle of the day while I’m in uniform for any reason. I will call them tonight before bed like I have been doing for the past few days.”

Superman awkwardly shifts on the heels of his feet and scratches the back of his head. “Oh, okay. Bye!” Then he flies away, leaving a gust of wind and a blue and red trail in his wake. 

“I never thought I’d be missing Drake as our chaperone,” Damian admits as he walks away like one of the greatest superheroes of all time wasn’t talking to them and offering them candy in a dark alley.

“I kinda like having my Dad around. I want him to see how well we’re doing!” Jonathan defends cheerfully.

“Let’s see how this trial turns out before we celebrate.”

The boys check along the main roads to Metropolis for an hour to look for clues. Within that time, several police cars make it there as well as a small crowd. Due to them acting out in the open and publicizing this potential case, the police are more active in this case than their normal timeframe would permit. This is mostly because there was a trending hashtag about how two random kids are working faster than the police.

“Wow, we have a hashtag!” Jon exclaims and thanks one of the many passersby for showing them their phone.

“They spelled my name wrong,” Damian grumbles. “It’s Nightwing! N--I-G-H-T-wing, not K-N-I-G-H-T-wing. How did you even-!”

“But there’s already a Nightwing with an N, Knightwing.”

“I KNOW!” The hero shouts as he storms off in frustration.

Flamebird catches up to him with a comforting pat on the back. “It’s okay, we’ll win them over on that! Anyways, I don’t think we’ve found anything the police wouldn’t also have found… which is nothing.”

“I wouldn’t say nothing.” Damian corrects, pulling Jonathan onto a smaller street. “All of the main roads have been repaved due to the reconstruction efforts, but look at these narrow local roads. What do you see?”

The younger boy studies the street intently, then looks to the main road that is now littered with cops. Some bystanders notice him looking and pointing their phones at him which causes him to shyly turn away. He wanted some recognition for doing more serious stuff, but there’s an unsettling feeling about being watched like that.

“I guess… The new roads are a lot nicer looking.” He ends up saying, only to immediately feel stupid because the answer is too obvious.

“Yes, but I’m directing your attention to the storm drains,” Damian replies in a way that makes Jon feel even dumber. “Notice how they’re more well covered on the old road with a metal grate on the ground while the new road has a large gap built into the curb. Why would you have a more hazardous opening on a new road that’s supposed to show how safe this gentrified Southside is to potential investors?”

“Maybe it’s a new style. I see those types of things in Gotham all the time.” Jon points out as he remembers their ketchup escapade in Gotham.

“There’s a reason for that. It’s so when all the insane debauchery happens the debris is easier to wash away in a larger outlet system. Metropolis doesn’t have the same amount of garbage littering the streets nor a method to deal with it. This is why most of their storm drains have grates to stop any large litter from entering the system.”

“Why build something that won’t work with the city’s system?”

“To make it harder to look through. These drains are angled so you can’t look down, unlike the other ones. There’s something to hide down there,” Damian concludes as he pulls his partner somewhere with a purpose.

“I hate where this is going.” Jon groans as he allows himself to be dragged into the shadows in a way only Damian’s family has mastered.

“You’ve been through Gotham sewers before, so Metropolis should feel like a sterilized haven in comparison.”

The underground of Metropolis might not have a giant crocodile man roaming the tunnels, but the half-Kryptonian hero wasn’t thrilled. When they first got down after opening a manhole cover on one of the older streets, everything appeared to be normal. It was dark, smelled gross, and uncomfortably moist. At least not until they arrived under the newer streets, and found how suspiciously pristine everything was.

Yes, there was still a river of biologically hazardous material that all sewers have, however, there was a metal grate atop it to allow travel between walkways on either side. The walls were off-white, contrasting with the previous tunnel's grimy brick. The smell still wasn’t pleasant, but at least they weren’t stepping on any muck with the cleaned concrete floor.

“If you had any doubts before, they should be gone by now.”

“Huh,” Jonathan blurts out with a stunned expression. “It’s odd, but it also looks like a nice sewer.”

“Use your super hearing,” Nightwing demands as they traverse down the long corridor, examining every crevice for anything suspicious.

The 11-year-old stops walking so that he can focus all of his energy on using one power. Alas, there are issues with having the ability to tune into the entire world at once in an enclosed area. It's nothing like using it at home in the quiet small town of Hamilton County. In Metropolis, he can hear the crowd above them chattering away, the engines of the police cruisers murmuring, a room of panicking people, the birds chirping on the wires, his Dad’s hitched breath off in the distance as he hears Jonathan’s accelerated heartbeat, a radio talking about a high chance of storm tonight, the crunching of grass under someone’s feet, the loud smacking of lips as people eat in a nearby cafe, the roaring rapid of sewage passing beside him, the blood pumping beneath Damian’s fingers next to his ears-

“Flamebird, stop,” He hears his friend whisper softly as a song, but he might as well be screaming into his ears. “I shouldn’t have- I thought… Just shut it off. It’s fine. It’s okay.”

“No, I can do it,” Jonathan tells him, his voice feeling louder than thunder made worse by the echo of the underpass. He couldn’t let Damian blame himself for asking. “I can do it, that’s why I’m here.”

“We’re here for many reasons, and one of them is testing our limits,” Damian tells him, even quieter than before. “And that means knowing when to stop.”

“I don’t need to stop, I need to be--!” He pauses, and Jonathan can hear his partner’s heart skip a beat in worry. He also hears the sound of a vehicle driving towards them, but not like the ones on the streets above. “Someone’s coming. A car.”

Nightwing doesn’t ask any questions as he pulls Flamebird back down to the smaller sewer lines, his hands covering Jon’s ears. He opens his eyes, not remembering when they closed, and his loss of concentration gave him back his peace of mind. He sees headlights encroaching upon where they were before swiftly rushing past them, the light never touching them.

Damian swiftly takes a knife out of his thigh holster to use its reflective surface like a mirror. Jon cannot see a license plate number on the vehicle hidden behind a tinted plastic UV shield. There were no identifying markers on the SUV as to who was driving and the windows were almost black with how dark they were colored.

The vehicle is no more than a dot in the reflection, yet the smell of gasoline from its exhaust almost overwhelms Jon’s already overloaded senses. The tail lights flash a blinding red as it stops and makes a turn into an opening Jon doesn’t remember seeing when they were near the area. The boys wait a few moments before Damian tucks the knife back into its case.

“Can you hear anything else coming?” Damian asks and Jonathan’s eyes widen as he realizes how close they are to each other when he registers the other’s breath on the side of his neck. Flamebird doesn’t know why his mind decided to focus on that, but it did, and how he can’t focus on anything else.

Not for a lack of trying, but he can’t seem to reactivate his powers while Damain’s face is so close to his. “I- My powers- I-uh--” He sputters uselessly and a look of realization dawns upon Nightwing’s complexion.

“No, it’s alright. It was foolish of me to ask you to use your hearing after you were overstimulated by the sounds,” Damian tells him and Jon doesn’t have the heart to correct him because Jonathan doesn’t know why he’s like this either.

The 12-year-old retracts himself from his friend and saunters away to locate any signs of more intruders before heading to where the car disappeared. He looks at the wall where no entrance large enough to fit an automobile exists. “How good is your x-ray vision?”

Flamebird doesn’t answer, he doesn’t want his voice to betray his insecurity as his X-ray vision is worse than his hearing in terms of control. He doesn’t want to fail Damian again and make him believe he’s not fit to be here. He takes a deep breath, ignoring the rancid taste in the air as he puts all of his efforts into his eyes. He doesn’t even know what he’s doing as he strains his optical muscles and feels his eyes process several different types of sight he doesn’t remember having.

The texture of the brick becomes more prominent before the image zooms in like a camera and he sees microbes crawling along the surface. Soon the microscopic creatures are burning as the stone begins to melt, but Jon hurriedly tries to refocus that ability before Damian notices until he is finally able to see past the brick… and most muscle tissue. All he sees is the metal frame of the car and several walking skeletons ushering much smaller skeletons somewhere else.

The hero slaps his palms in front of his eyes to dampen the stimuli and then relays the details to Nightwing. With the new visual barrier, he looks through the bones of his hands to see a wireless lock mechanism much like the ones on garage doors. With this new bout of information, Damian commands Jonathan to look for cameras and tell him when the people leave his range of vision.

There was one camera facing the entrance and one facing where the people were going. He couldn’t see any farther without everything going black. Damian asks Jon to reaffirm the location of the camera as he places a contraption on the edge of the hidden entrance. Once Jon does, the device flashes twice and Jon can see the electrical current stop, but he’s pretty sure that’s not part of his x-ray vision.

Flamebird massages his eyes until they’re back to normal and sees Damian toss a knife through a crack in the now-open slot of the entrance. He quietly pulls the door up much like a garage door so that the boys can enter the facility. The area doesn’t hold a passing resemblance to a sewer anymore as they enter a sterile steel laboratory with blinding bright fluorescent lights. They couldn’t see much without leaving the entrance area, but they can certainly hear the commotion.

“WHO LET ONE OF THE BRATS ESCAPE!?”

“N-no one! None of them did! We don’t know where she came from!”

“We have to move house now!”

“There is an entire precinct on the street above us!”

“Then move faster! I can’t believe this; the roads are crowded because a couple of dumb kids decided to play hero around there. We have enough tights-wearing freaks around here already!”

“What if one of them catches wind of the operation? What if Superman-”

“He already gave us someone to deal with Superman, but what we need is time to get the cargo out of here!”

“W-what do we do with the kids we got? The backup facility isn’t ready-”

“We ship five of them off to the client and kill the rest, now move it!”

They have to act.

Nightwing unsheathes his katana and gives one glance to Flamebird before he runs ahead. Jonathan positions himself low on the ground, the tips of his fingers touching the floor as he takes another breath, ready to push himself into a mad dash. All of his energy is concentrated in his legs and he prays that he can maneuver everyone out of the way before anyone else makes a move.

In a fiery hue, Jonathan runs while he mentally lines up the children he can see in his head to determine the best path to gather them up in the least amount of time. The young hero is no more than a blur of red, gold, and white as he sprints past the children and comes around the other side using his momentum to guide several of them to the entrance hall. The six kids he managed to gather on the first run are disoriented, not understanding how they suddenly shifted positions when Jon goes back for the other four out of ten.

By the time he makes his second pass, Damian is plunging his blade into the thigh of his first victim, a man in a fine pin-striped suit and greying hair. When Jon regrouped the children, some of whom were as old as he was, he throws open the gate and screams, “DOWN HERE! THERE ARE KIDS TRAPPED IN HERE!”

A few of the kids jump in shock as they notice Flamebird for the first time now that he’s not using his super-speed. Others are faster on the uptake as they also begin screaming and running out into the main sewer tunnel. Once they are all out, Jon closes the entrance behind them to stop anyone from following them. He’s not worried about Damian. He can take care of himself for a few more minutes.

He struggles to use his X-ray vision to look up, but he sees the crowd and police officers moving to the sides of the road where the storm drains are. The sound of children screaming for help caught their attention, but Jon is not done. He shuts off his eyes and tells the children to cover their heads before he strains the muscles in his throat and cups his hands around his mouth. He blows, concentrating on the ceiling where nobody stands. The area is instantly encapsulated with ice, bleeding through the thick rock. Jon takes a moment to compose himself and switch his powers to super strength.

Flamebird jumps through the frozen structure made more delicate by his ice causing it to shatter into smaller, less harmful bits than if he just punched through it. People run up to the hole in the road to see the young hero surrounded by a group of scared children. “Get a ladder!”

The onlookers don’t hesitate as the police begin to call for ambulances and go for the emergency rope ladders in their vehicles. The normal pedestrians grab blankets and run to nearby stores to get supplies to care for the disheveled children. Some people were recording everything on phones, documenting Flamebird helping the children climb the shaky ladder.

Jon just finished helping the last kid to the surface when he hears a bang on the fake wall. It wasn’t a knock, but a sound as though a small body was tossed against it. Flamebird’s heart plummets as he runs back and rips the entrance from its hinges to find Nightwing winded from the impact. A purple humanoid monster with glowing circuits running through its body stands over them.

“Where is Superman?” The nearly inhuman monster asks, its voice the sound of a normal man.

Flamebird is vaguely aware of the terrified screams of the crowd above him, but his eyes are fixated on his partner. “N-Nightwing!”

“Protection! Now!” Damian demands through gritted teeth while he pulls out a remote trigger.

The half-Kryptonian instantly activates his invincibility and curls his body over Damian’s as he presses the button. An explosion erupts, instantly striking both of the boys against the adjacent wall. A cloud of smoke obscures Flamebird’s vision to the point he can’t see his own hands. Jonathan doesn’t have time to stand before Damian tosses him over his shoulder and carries both of them to the surface on the dangling rope ladder.

He doesn’t make it to the top before he feels something tug on his cape. Damian doesn’t look as he stomps the sole of his foot on whatever is causing the resistance. He clamors onto the ground, and Jonathan kicks the ladder down to prevent whatever that thing is from following them.

It doesn’t work as a veiny purple hand grabs Jon’s leg, but this time he can’t fight back. It’s like all of his energy is being drained away. He… What was he doing here again?

Enraged, Nightwing cuts off the hand at the wrist with his sword, but the monster’s sights are still set on Jonathan as the circuit on his body begins to glow. Its muscles reattach as quickly as they were severed. “T-this power. It’s just like his!” It says as it lunges for Jonathan once more with an insatiable hunger. “I need it!”

Damian pulls the weakened Jonathan out of the way in time for a blur of red and blue to fly past them, dispensing the smoke in an instant. The figure tackles the villain away from them with a furious roar. “PARASITE!”

The audience watches as Superman pummels the purple man with as many repetitive haymakers as possible in the air. His eyes were red with fury in a way very few unfortunate souls have seen. The villain now identified as Parasite grins, the interior of its mouth filled with jagged ivory fangs that barely fit its maw. “There you are!”

He grips the Man of Steel’s arms and begins absorbing Superman’s power causing them to fall from the sky. Superman doesn’t stop hitting Parasite even as they plummet. He touched his kids and now he'll pay.

Nightwing runs to one of the police cruisers that were running and tosses Jonathan in the passenger seat before speeding off to much protest. He looks out the window behind him, shouting, “There are still some mobsters you need to arrest down there,” while he points at the sewer’s new entrance.

“Urgh…” Jonathan groans, rubbing his eyes. “It feels like I woke up but I’m still sleepy… Are we in a police car?” The boy is promptly alert as he swivels his head. “Oh my gosh, you stole a police car!”

“And Superman is fighting Parasite!”

“Parasite!? Wasn’t he on our no-fight list!? Why are you driving towards that!?”

“Because I have something that can beat him now!” Damian says as he takes out a chunk of glowing green rock that instantly makes Flamebird feel sick. “I found it down in that lab; they were planning for Superman to come for them.”

“Kryptonite!?”

The older preteen puts the shard away to limit Jonathan’s exposure to it. “Parasite absorbs all the powers of whatever he touches, but he also gains their weaknesses!”

“We’re not allowed to fight him!”

“That’s why I’m not going to! I’m not an idiot Flamebird, I’m not going to compromise our goal, but I’m not going to do nothing!” Damian tells him as he weaves through traffic as though he is driving in Gotham. “Metropolis is full of heroes, this fight is going to get their attention, so get their attention.”

They continue to drive dangerously through the city when a falcon carrying a bucket of water flies above them. Jonathan is utterly confused by the sight before he recognizes the combination of powers. “HEY! Hey, over here! Wonder Twins! DOWN HERE!” Jonathan shouts, the volume of his voice louder than possible for most humans to achieve without Kryptonian muscles.

The falcon swoops down to fly beside Jon and the speeding car. “Who are you two?” A young female’s voice asks from the bird’s mouth.

“I’m Flamebird, and this is my partner Nightwing!” Jonathan happily answers. “It’s too dangerous for us to help, but we have something that could make things easier! Nightwing, can you hand me the-”

“I’m not handing you kryptonite. It’s bad enough I’m this close to you with it,” Damian cuts off and swerves the cruiser so that the bird is on his side of the car. “Parasite has been absorbing Kryptonian powers, so this will weaken him for now.”

“Why do you have kryptonite, and why should we trust you?” The transformed girl questions.

Just then, the bucket of water starts talking in the voice of a teenage boy. “I’m down, just put the Kryptonite in me!”

“Did the bucket talk or is it the water talking?” Jon asks childishly.

“I’m the water in the bucket! I mean I also transformed into a bucket, but that’s more like clothes. I can’t explain it, it’s just an Exxor thing.”

“Zan, you’re confusing the poor kids.” The falcon sighs, completely done with her brother. “And don’t let them put a radioactive rock in you! Where did they even get that thing?”

“A mafia base hidden in the sewer,” Damian answers, unperturbed. 

“Meh, I’ve had weirder things in me,” The bucket of water says nonchalantly. “Do it! Don’t be a buzzkill, Jayna!”

The younger hero tosses the shard of toxic green rock into the bucket much to Jayna’s displeasure and she flies off to the battle. Damian slows the car down to an acceptable speed and goes to return the vehicle to its rightful owners. The boy clicks his tongue in irritation, But the reason is lost on Jonathan. Now is not the time to get into that as he checks his partner for injuries.

“Where does it hurt?” Jonathan asks, leaning over the center console to check over his friend. “I heard how hard you hit the wall. Tell me where it hurts?”

“You’re assuming I am injured, but I’m not. I’ve suffered worse,” Nightwing replies brusquely, his scowl becoming more prominent. “How are you feeling?”

“Huh? I feel fine--” But Jon doesn’t get to finish that sentence when his partner snarls in rage.

“Flamebird, I let- That thing touch you,” He punches the dashboard in frustration, cracking the plastic. “It touched you! It fucking touched you! It could’ve- I-- You could have died!”

Jonathan doesn’t bother to hound Damian on his language and puts a steady hand on the other’s knee. “It was only a few seconds, and I really do feel fine. It wasn’t your fault, I shouldn’t have let you go it alone back there.”

“No, you were putting your trust in me and I let that monster-”

“You didn’t let anything happen! Not everything is your responsibility-- I’m not your responsibility! We’re partners, we look out for one another which means everything is on both of us. Not just you!”

“You are my responsibility, and I didn’t look after you enough!”

“I didn’t look after myself, and you still protected me! Why can’t you see that instead of how you failed me?”

“I failed you?” Nightwing balks, his eyes going wide behind his mask.

“Wha- No! I didn’t mean it like that!” Flamebird sputters fumbling with his words. “You’ve never failed me! That’s what I’m trying to say! Look, let’s just clean up the roads like we usually do, then we can talk about this tonight. Alright?”

Damian narrows his eyes, his grip on the steering wheel turning white. “We already said all that needs to be said.”

When they get back to the scene of the crime several more police officers are ready to scold them. They don’t endure it for very long, nor are they allowed to clean up the area as it’s under active investigation. The boys are questioned about what they know before they’re sent off on their way. Jon finds it odd that they were so lenient on them, but one cop explains that superheroes are treated a bit differently.

Superheroes.

Officials are singing the duo’s praises, people crowd the streets to simply get a glimpse of them, and cellphones are held like spotlights to capture their image. This is what Jonathan wanted. After yearning to be like his father the day he discovered he was Superman, Jon wanted to be a superhero. Maybe even before that moment, Jonathan knew he was destined for greatness.

However, those words now ring hollow with ignobility. It felt unearned- no, it was unearned. Jonathan stands on the street sweeping away at the debris like he has made a habit of doing after every confrontation feeling no more heroic than he did earlier in the day. People try to talk to him, try to ask how he feels, and take pictures of him like he's something worth looking at. He's not. All Jonathan can do is muster a smile.

That’s the only thing Jonathan is good at. He can smile. He smiles to show he’s happy. He smiles because it tells others not to worry. He smiles so everyone can feel safe. He smiles when others cannot.

He smiles because he doesn’t know what else to do.

Jon’s smile cannot hide the vacant chasm reflected in his eyes. The two have finally made their first debut into being something more than children playing pretend. Alas, Jonathan feels that statement is more true than ever. He doesn’t let those emotions show as he acts delighted at the recognition instead of the disdain he truly feels.

Even when Jonathan is sweeping shards of asphalt on the road he has a bit more forced pep in his step, unlike Damian who is lecturing a crowd of onlookers about how his name is not Knightwing. That’s going to take a while to get cleared up because Jonathan doesn’t think Damian will embrace the new name. He’s even swatting at them with the broom he was given to help clean- Oh wait, Flamebird is supposed to stop that and he doesn’t think Damian is acting this time.

“Nightwing! Nightwing put that down! It’s not a weapon!”

“Anything is a weapon in the right hands!”

When they've cleaned up all they’re allowed to, the duo decides it’s a good time to go home. They had enough excitement for today and all they wanted to do was go and take a nice long shower. Damian also has to pack his belongings for when he gets home tomorrow, so time is of the essence.

Jonathan’s father comes running up to them at the designated meet-up point they decided upon in the event they get separated with ragged breaths. They were in an abandoned parking garage that used to belong to a nearby hospital before it moved to a more populated area.

The man drops to his knees in relief and exhaustion as he checks Jonathan and Damian for injuries. “Oh thank God you two are okay! When I saw Parasite I didn’t know what-- a-and I- then he touched you and- I shouldn’t’ve have let you go down there! I’m so sorry boys. I let you get hurt when it’s my job to protect you.”

“It’s okay, Dad-” Jon tries to say, but his father stops him by holding up his hand.

“No, it’s not okay. The point of me coming here is so that you wouldn’t get hurt.”

“You’re wrong,” Damian insists. “Getting hurt is part of the job, but your job is to make sure we don’t die. We are alive.”

“I still feel terrible when you get hurt as an adult who is supposed to protect you. I’m not going to get over that no matter how you recontextualize it,” He tells the domino mask-wearing child before flashing him a proud smile. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not proud of you both. It’s scary seeing you in that situation as a father, but as a hero I’m impressed. Overall, you stuck to the rules we placed and looked out for each other. A job well done in my books.”

“I don’t feel like we’re done,” Jonathan suddenly says, causing the other two to look at him inquisitively. “I… You’re both smarter than me, so I can’t be the only one who noticed. There are too many questions left unanswered.” He looks at his hero partner with an unwavering stare. “You heard them too, right? They don’t know the girl who ran into us. Where did she come from and how did she know about what was happening?” Then he pivots to his father. “And they were targeting you. The bad guys said someone gave them Parasite to deal with you. They had kryptonite. And who were they giving those children to in the first place? There’s so much we don’t know!”

Superman scrunches his face and holds his chin in thought. “I noticed that too. Parasite doesn’t work for Intergang, so there’s clearly something much bigger going on. I’m planning to look into it myself later, but right now I need to get you two home.”

“I want to help! I have to know-”

“No,” Damian interrupted defiantly before Jon could finish his protest. “We don’t have to know. I know something else is going on sub-rosa, yet it is out of our hands. Whoever is pulling the strings is able to get Parasite and Intergang on their payroll, which means it’s above our pay grade. Once high-profile supervillains come into play, we get off the stage; that is our agreement.”

The brightly colored hero glowers but relents because he knows his partner is correct. “You’re right. I’m just curious since we’re the ones that found out first.”

“I know you’re dying to know, Sport, so once I deal with it you’ll be the first to hear about it. A Superman exclusive! How does that sound?” The hero attempts to negotiate, and Jonathan doesn’t see another outcome.

“Okay,” Jon accepts with a sigh. “Let’s go home.”

They travel back to the farm without issue. Jonathan and Damian don’t bring up any of the issues they brought up throughout the day. They don’t talk about what they did. They don’t brag about their success. They don’t try to figure out what is going on.

Jonathan doesn’t pry because he knows he won’t get any answers.

Damian doesn’t pry because he knows all the unsaid answers.

Worst of all, they both know this about each other and choose silence because the alternative could split them apart. They’ll both continue to live in ignorance for a few moments longer because childhood means being protected from the truth. Does it matter who is doing the protecting in the end if it means they can still be children for a little while longer? After all, aren’t heroes supposed to protect people including themselves?

But maybe… That’s simply a childish way to think.

Chapter Text

Conner Lionel Luthor, known as Kon-El to the other half of his family, stands on the highest peak known to mankind, wearing nothing more than a pair of black silk pajamas. His breath turns to ice as he sighs and he’s vaguely aware of the frost building upon the metal piercings on his left ear. He watches the sunset with mild interest, although, his attention is more focused on the sounds of a city far away.

“Conner! Breakfast is ready!” The baritone voice of a woman calls out over the faint clamor of an urban morning rush.

“Finally,” The teen grunts as he stands up, cracking his spine.

In the blink of an eye, the boy becomes nothing more than a blur as he flies across the world back to his home. He anchors on the landing pad of Lex Corp’s main building with one knee and fist on the ground, a very stereotypical “superhero” pose. A woman in a grey power suit applauded in a stale fashion, unimpressed by the spectacle.

“Aw, come on, Mercy! That was totally cool!”

The brunette’s stoic expression cracks into a fond smile as she shakes her head at the young man’s antics. “Keep telling yourself that, Conner.” She reaches for the side table nearby and then holds out the half-Kryptonian’s superhero uniform. “Your schedule today consists of a Young Justice meeting at 9 o’clock sharp, then you are to chaperone your little brother in Central City along with Spoiler. You are to be home before 6 o’clock for dinner. Afterward, you are to shadow your father on a business call then pack your bags for the weekend at Mr. Kent’s home.”

Conner exhales exasperatingly as he swipes his clothes from the older woman. “Urgh, a meeting? Is he serious? It's not like I'm going to take over this stupid company! And Central City? That place is so lame; I don’t care what Bart tries to tell me because it is! Why couldn’t they just come to Metropolis for once?”

“Actually-” Mercy begins to say but the teen has already stomped off inside the penthouse to get away from the mid-summer morning heat.

“I don’t know how you can stand this heat in long sleeves, Mercy! I had to go to Everest to cool down!” Mercy sighs tiredly as she follows her boss’s son inside, knowing he was too absorbed in himself to listen to anyone. Teenagers truly are the worst.

Conner freshens himself up in the restroom before changing his clothes. He places his copper-colored sunglasses on his head and then struts into the kitchen with the unearned confidence a teen superhero can have. His sister was already in her seat and hadn’t bothered to change out of her baby pink nightgown. Meanwhile, his father was using the loud blender that almost drowned out the sound of the nearly extremist-level conservative programming on the kitchen television. He plops himself on the barstool across from his father who turns off the appliance to look at him with a discernible cringe.

“Son, is that another piercing?” Lex Luthor inquires, the vein on the side of his bald head throbbing.

The teen smugly smirks and tilts his head so that his father can get a better look at the metal bar protruding through the upper shell of his ear. “Yep! My helix piercing was feeling lonely so I got an industrial one done.”

The man shakes his head and sighs. “I don’t care about the names, I care about where you got it because I know neither I nor Clark signed off on it.”

Next to Conner a little girl with a short blonde bob cut frowns at the older boy’s piercing. The 8-year-old points at the offending ear to gripe. “Daddy, how come Conner can get five earrings, but you won’t let me get any? I’m tired of clip-on earrings!”

“I didn’t let him get five piercings; he keeps getting more without asking me.” The man corrects, wiping his hands on the front of his apron that was over his finely pressed business suit.

“Does that mean I can get more if I don’t ask you?” The little girl asks.

“NO! No, absolutely not!” Lex firmly shoots down and glares at his son. “Conner this is what I’m talking about! I need you to stop going behind my back about these things. You’re setting a bad example for your sister.”

Conner snorts, waving off the man’s concerns. “Pfft-- Whatever, you’re just mad I’m expressing myself. You just don’t like me having individuality!”

“You know this isn’t about that. What I care about is that you’re proving yourself to be irresponsible and immature.”

“Pops doesn’t think I’m irresponsible. That’s why I can look after Jon on my own.”

“He lets you look over Jon with another teenager.” The man deadpans as he turns his back to his children to get their bowls ready. “I don't understand how they think that’s going to go well in the long run. Two teenagers are not better than one.”

“Their brain cells cancel each other out,” The child snikers, teasingly prodding her brother on the side of the head.

The half-Kryptonian teen pouts and pinches his sister’s cheek in retaliation. “I miss when you were cute, Lena.”

“I’m adorable.”

“You’re horrible.”

“Stop it you two,” Lex commands and sets their bowls in front of them on the breakfast bar.

“Smoothie bowls?” Conner blurts out, poking at his leafy slush with his spoon. “Why is mine green?”

“I added extra spinach in yours for a delicious nutritious meal.” 

“Never rhyme again.”

Lex scoffs and throws a cloth napkin at his son’s suspicious face. “You kept complaining about how hot it was outside. I thought something cold would be a nice way to start the day. I expect a little more appreciation.”

“Uh… Thanks?” Conner replies and takes a bite of what should’ve been a frozen delight. It was like his father put every vegetable he could find with no consideration for taste in the blender and then tried to cover the taste with orange juice. It was also chalky, meaning some sort of protein or vitamin powder wasn’t properly mixed in.

“Oooo! Mine’s pink and tastes like strawberries! I’m going to make a heart with the raspberries.” Lena brags after seeing her sibling’s grimace and her father hands her a plate of assorted fruits.

“You have fun with that.” Conner grabs a handful of random fruits and plops them in his bowl. If he’s forced to eat healthy then it doesn’t matter what’s in his meal, so he might as well lean into it.

He pulls out his phone to check on his friend’s social media to see if they posted anything new since last night, but his father scolds him. “No phones at the table.”

He puts the phone with the Superman case back into his leather jacket while rolling his eyes. “Argh, whatever! Can you at least change the channel on the TV? I don’t want to watch whatever right-wing trash you keep in the background.”

“Alright, but I will keep it on a news channel. There’s a world outside your little superhero bubble, Conner.” Lex complies and changes the channel to the Daily Planet’s station that’s broadcasting the morning news.

“Pot talking to the kettle much?” The teen sneers as he focuses on the television in lieu of whatever disgusting flavor that’s invading his mouth.

“--and that’s how a group of volunteers got almost an entire shelter of puppies adopted in one night.” Ron Troupe, an African American man in a navy blue suit and gold browline glasses, finishes reporting. If Conner remembers correctly he was also Jonathan Samuel Kent’s uncle on his mother’s side. That must be the poor sucker married to the infamous Lucy Lane… or was it Lucy Troupe now? He doesn’t remember since Conner wants nothing to do with that side of the family.

A woman with large blonde waves that reach to her shoulders smiles next to him with a forcefully fake-sounding laugh all television personalities have. “That was an adorable story, Ron. And speaking of adorable, have you heard about those community service kids making their way around the USA?”

Conner was already paying attention, but now he's deeply invested. Ron nervously sputters as he must also know that one of those kids is his nephew. It’s not like Jon was wearing a mask or anything so anyone that knows Jon well enough would know. Then again, their Pops has made it abundantly clear all you need to hold a secret identity is a pair of glasses. People don’t assume the guy next door to have fantastical powers.

“I- uh, well- who hasn’t, Cat! Not that I do know- I mean, heard about them. I just heard about them recently. It’s hard to avoid, especially after what happened. I thought we weren’t going to do this story.”

Unfazed by her co-anchor's skittish reaction, Cat Grant pushes on with an exaggerated smile that is highlighted by her vivacious red lipstick. “I know, but I couldn’t hold it in, and we finally get to talk about it. You don’t know how long I’ve been holding off on squealing about those adorable little boys, Ron. As ethical reporters, we had to wait until we had more facts before doing this story, unlike other stations. Especially with children involved.”

“It’s only been two days, Cat. Let’s not make it sound like we waited forever.” Ron comments with a hint of bitterness disguised as playful comradery. “If any of our viewers haven’t heard about it yet, a new hero duo has been making a name for themselves, but not for the reasons you might think.”

“Exactly, Ron.” She says with an artificially chipper attitude. “These little boys don’t usually clean up crime, but after other heroes. Whether it's fixing the roads or making life a little easier on clean-up crews, these two are dedicated, hard workers. They call themselves Knightwing and Flamebird and they are the cutest little things! Where did they come from? Why are they so dedicated to cleaning up our streets? Oh, I just have to know. Do you think they’re related to any hero we know? You can follow their activities documented by the public using the hashtags Knightwing and Flamebird now on your preferred social media site.”

“Let’s not go crazy now. Not too much is known about the two, but I think we should keep it that way since they are just kids!” Ron urges, and Conner can metaphorically hear the myriad of pleads running through the reporter’s head. “What is important is that they not only sweep the streets of dust but of crime as well. Why just this week, they were in the Big Apricot uncovering an underground child trafficking ring allegedly run by intergang.”

“WHAT!?” Conner hollers, comedically spitting out his breakfast all over his father.

Lena leans away from the marble counter, scrunching her face in disgust. “Ewww! Conner, what the heck?”

The clone ignores his sister’s question to ask his own to the empty air. “Jon was in Metropolis without visiting me!? And he was doing cool shit?! When was the last time cool shit even happened in Metropolis?! Where the fuck was I during all of this!?”

“Conner, stop swearing!” Lex scolds, dabbing his face with a kitchen towel.

“The injustice of it all!” The teen continues to cry in dismay. He stomps to the stairs, forging breakfast and his morning itinerary, to address his grievance. “I’m going to Hamilton to give him a piece of my mind!”

Mercy's stern deep voice stops him in his tracks with a single reminder. “He’s not going to be in Hamilton.”

Embarrassed that he had already forgotten the debriefing the assistant gave him earlier, he turns on his heel and shyly scratches the back of his head. “Oh yeah… Uh, Mercy, where’s Jon supposed to be again?”

Central City, Missouri; Home of The Flash!

There’s always a correlation between a hero and the city they protect. Central City is known as the transportation capital of the country. As one of the main stops on the transcontinental railroad back in the 19th century, Central City was designed around the concept of movement. Their roads are wide with lanes segregated to accommodate a variety of different vehicles without hindering traffic. Their public parking was built with safety in mind so that it wouldn’t block the streets. Central City’s transit system is the most advanced in the country as it is faster than any other train system.

It makes sense that a city without limitations is the home of the fastest man-- No, the fastest family in the universe. Metropolis was full of all kinds of superheroes, but Central City is home to one group of heroes much like Gotham. No matter where you go, the Flash Family is around to make everyone’s day a little bit easier. Why have the boys chosen this fair city as today’s base of operations?

It was cheap.

Yes, the home of The Flash is many things, and a cheap vacation spot is one of them. The boys aren’t swimming in cash, nor do they have the ability to travel anywhere they desire. So back on the train, they go.

In a world full of superheroes, intellectual marvels, and extradimensional expeditions it goes without saying that travel between cities is nothing compared to what it once was. Gotham, New Jersey, and Star City, Washington were on opposite sides of the nation. With improvements in public infrastructure, it was only a four-hour monorail ride away.

While this method of transportation is amazing, it is also expensive for most places aside from Central City. Central City tourism is the most affordable as they charge the minimum in tolls, plane tickets, and train passes. Once inside the city, the prices for the subway and buses are either free or a few dollars. Nothing exemplifies Central City’s dedication to movement more than its motto; The City That’s Always on the Run.

Jonathan has everything he needs for his first trip by himself in his travel backpack. The 11-year-old is proud of his developing preparation skills. He might even be more prepared than his best friend, Dami. Okay, that’s not true, but he’s more prepared than he usually is. He has a disguise, some money, snacks, a small first aid kit, a camera, and the train pass his grandparents got him for his birthday. He couldn’t help but notice he had gone on the train more times in the last month than he had in the entirety of his life. It was a good idea to ask for it as a present since he felt guilty that Damian had to pay for their subway tickets. Cutting down the cost of traveling between cities is the least Jon could do.

“Jon, you have to wait behind the yellow line.” Lois Lane-Kent tells him, pulling her son back by his shoulder.

Okay, so he isn't on his own. His mother just happens to come along with him because she coincidentally decided to visit her fellow reporter friend, Iris Allen. Plus he can’t use his train pass without an adult with him, but that doesn’t mean anything. They’re technically going to the same place on the same train at the same time which means they’re not actually together. Jonathan is a growing boy who is learning to handle himself.

A shining silver locomotive with a red stripe rolls up to the station causing Lois to hold her son’s hand for leverage as the wind threatens to blow them over. As the train slows down, the boy grimaces and yanks himself away from his mother, choosing to clutch the straps of his novelty Justice League mini backpack instead. Jonathan isn't a little kid anymore; he doesn’t need his mommy to hold his hand. It’s embarrassing.

Once the convoy stops in front of them Jonathan notices a yellow lightning bolt, the signature symbol for The Flash, plastered on the double doors of the train. Jonathan finds this odd because he’s never seen a hero so blatantly advertised on something public. The son of Superman is well aware of superheroes having their images used on merchandise and themed as restaurants, but those are usually private companies. 

Jon is aware enough to know that Superman doesn’t own the Superman Dinner or that Batman doesn’t run Bat-Burger. This train, however, is a public system using The Flash’s image so blatantly. Now that Jonathan thinks about it, what are the laws regarding superheroes and their symbols?

Jonathan and his mother step onto the train while his head is still contemplating questions he never thought about. This train is very different from the trains he’s been on before. This vehicle has prepared seating similar to an airplane rather than a row of plastic benches with bars to hold like the subway. The seats are grouped in a way that allows four people to sit together, facing one another. They are all bright red and decorated with The Flash’s logo, so saturated with color that it hurts Jon’s eyes. As other people board the train he feels his flip phone buzz in his pocket.

Immediately he answers his call with a cheery salutation. “Hiya Dami, I just got on the train! Where are you?”

“We’re in the first car. Which car are you in?” Damian candidly interrogates without so much as a hello.

Cerulean eyes search for any numerical indicator of his location, but he gives up quickly. “I’m not sure. It’s somewhere in the middle and really red!”

“That’s better than the yellow monstrosity I've found myself in.” The older middle schooler states enviously, and Jonathan can only imagine the gaudy place his best friend is in. “Let’s meet in the middle so we can hopefully sit somewhere that doesn’t burn our retinas.”

“Okay! See ya in a minute!” Jonathan says, then turns to his mother. “Mom, I’m going to walk towards the front until I run into Dami.”

“Alright, let’s go together.” The lavender-eyed woman replies and Jon grumbles a bit at her insistence. He was hoping to go by himself to meet up with Damian so he could have a bit of alone time with his friend before they're watched like hawks by their siblings. Then again, it would be inconvenient if the conductor passed by without an adult looking after him.

Life as a tween sucks so much butt! He feels too old to have his mom watch over his “playdates,” but he’s too young to be allowed to do anything himself! The pair travel through the train, passing by a lot of Flash-related imagery until he finally enters a cart with a less vibrant berry red and beige. As Jon enters the Impulse-themed cart, he sees Damian do the same followed by Dick Grayson and Stephanie Brown. They are both wearing sunglasses which wouldn’t be notable in the slightest if not for the blatantly fake mustaches.

The 11-year-old feels some comfort that he’s not the only one with a chaperone tagging along, but also some annoyance. His belief about the hardships of being a tween is officially validated as he sees Damian struggle to shake off his brother’s firm grip. He bares his teeth at the man as he makes his way to Jon.

“Richard, unhand me! I am not a toddler who requires being led like an inept pet!”

The eldest Wayne sibling sighs exasperatedly as he is unrelenting in his hold, but polite in his tone. “I’m not treating you like a pet, I’m just making sure we’re not blocking the aisle.”

“I am well aware of my spatial surroundings!”

Lois snorts and swiftly covers her mouth at the sight of Damian being wrangled like a stray cat. “I see you’re having the time of your life.”

“Yep, I sure am.” Dick grins as he pushes his little brother into one of the empty seats across from them. “How’s it going on your end?”

“As good as it can be, all things considered.” The woman replies as she moves back to let Jon sit in the seat next to his friend. She lets Stephanie sit across the boys while she sits on the other side of the aisle with Richard. “What brings you to Central City? You know, besides the obvious.”

“I plan to hang out with Wally and Linda today. We haven’t hung out together outside of work in so long that we thought this was the perfect opportunity. How about you?”

“Iris and I are going on a little day trip downtown for the same reason, though we won't be there for long. We'll probably spend most of the day at her house catching up.”

Damian clicks his tongue in irritation and crosses his arms, glaring at his brother who is enveloped in conversation. “-TT- This is belittling.”

“I know.” Jonathan agrees as he slouches frumpily in his seat. “Why do we need grown-ups with us? This train only goes to one place, so it’s not like we can sneak off.”

The blonde girl in the fake black handlebar mustache waves her hand at the disgruntled boys as she flashes them a reassuring smile. “Hey, don’t sweat it. Once you guys get to the city, we’ll have the best time ever!”

“You’re included in the grown-up category, Stephanie.” Damian concludes, turning his nose up at the teen.

“Yeah, you’re just another boring adult.” Jonathan agrees, copying the older boy’s body language.

Being stabbed in the heart would’ve hurt less than those words. Stephanie melodramatically clutches her heart and pushes herself into her seat with a devastating gasp. “You take that back!”

“It’s true! You’re seventeen. That’s practically an adult!” The young Kryptonian hybrid informs her.

“I take time out of my busy day to look after you two, and I get verbally attacked for my troubles.” She cries into her hands, although both middle schoolers know that she’s faking it.

As the high schooler theatrically sobs, Jonathan suddenly recalls a tidbit of information he was told earlier in the day. “Wait, I just remembered. Aren’t you supposed to be at a meeting with Conner and the rest of… um… your club right now?”

Stephanie immediately stops her tears and checks her phone to see she has 11 missed calls. “... So that’s why Tim’s been calling me. Oops.” She shoots off a quick text before she nonchalantly puts the device back into her pocket. “Oh well, it’s only one meeting. Besides, morning meetings during summer vacation are dumb. It’s not like anything important ever happens.”

She brushes off Jon’s concern and leans her head on the window as the train finally starts to move. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“What would you know? You’re not on a real team yet.”

“Hey! We are a real team!” Jonathan snarls, baring his teeth angrily.

“Habibi, discretion is advised.” Damian hisses, kicking the side of Jon’s foot with his own. 

“Of course you are,” Stephanie reassures in that condescending tone all teens are apparently pre-programmed to have. “I’ll call Tim once we get to Central City. He always shares his notes with me anyway, so it’s not like I’ll miss something.”

“How did you make it to senior year with your horrid work ethic?” Damian questions, aghast at how this person functions through life.

“Tim also takes great notes in class.”

“This country’s education system is broken.” The 12-year-old laments with a deadpan stare.

“Why don’t you think we’re a real team?” Jonathan presses, pouting at the older girl.

Steph rolls her crystal blue eyes and swirls her wrists in a circular motion as she gathers her thoughts into words. “Look, I’m all for being strong independent women--”

“Uh, we’re both boys.” Jon points out.

“But I am literally counting down the days when we can patrol together instead of you pretending not to know me.” Stephanie states, clasping her hands together as she releases a theatrical longing sigh.“Come on, who wouldn’t want to brag about me?”

“I believed you of all people would be gung-ho about breaking societal constraints.” Damian scoffs with an arrogant sneer. “And both of you need to keep it down in public.”

“Hey, I was asked for my opinion, and you’re going to get it even if it’s not something you’d like. I know you don’t like fake sympathy, Damian, and I’ll still support you.”

“Um… I’m the one who asked.” Jonathan says because he feels thoroughly ignored even though he was the one who started the conversation.

“I don’t want your half-assed support either.”

“Swear.” Jonathan scolds, but it was more out of habit than it was out of duty at this point. “Anyways, what’s the plan once we get to the city? I have never been to Central City before. There’s so much Flash-themed stuff on this train. Do you think the rest of the city looks like this? Do you think we’ll get to see the Flash?”

Emerald green eyes roll as he gestures to the train they are traveling in. “We’re going to be seeing a lot of the fastest man alive.”

A man with a bar cart and train staff uniform holds a novelty transparent red cup with The Flash’s symbol and bendy straw in front of the boys. “Cup?”

Jonathan immediately makes grabby hands at the employee as his eyes shine at the free thing. “Yes please.”

After the cup is in his hands, he reaches into his backpack for his money when the man shakes his head. “No sweetheart, it’s free for kids.” He takes out another cup to hand to Damian. “And one for you too, darlin’.”

Before Damian could vehemently reject the offer, he leaves to continue handing out Flash memorabilia. Jonathan pouts at the cup he wanted with disappointment and asks his friend, “Dami, do I look like a kid-”

Damian replies without letting Jon finish. “Yes. And before you ask me again, I am more than willing to repeat myself in twenty-seven languages.”

Cerulean blue eyes glare and he mockingly sticks his tongue out at the older boy, pointing to the other cup. “At least I’m not alone.”

“I hate you.” Damian hisses, smacking the younger in the head with the plastic mug.

“Happy to hear it.” Jonathan fires back, using the bottom of his cup like a hammer and slamming it into his best friend’s crotch.

The reaction is instant as the preteen slams his hands into his lap with an uncharacteristic cry of pain. “Aaaarrrrrgggghh! Jonathan, what the fuck!?”

“Hey, no cheap shots!” Stephanie calls out like a referee during a sports match.

“No fighting at all, give me those you two!” Richard berates, jumping from his seat and plucking the cups from both boys. “I’ll hold onto these since you’re just going to use these as weapons!”

“He shouldn’t start fights he can’t handle!” The half-Kryptonian child whines, pointing at Damian accusingly who shoots him a menacing glare.

“I’ll show you who can’t handle a fight!” He shouts and lunges at his friend with fingers braced like claws.

That is how Damian and Jon made it to Central City with multiple bruises. Just because they were best friends doesn’t mean they weren’t willing, able, and willing to beat the crap out of each other for no discernible reason. And yes, willingness needs to be stated twice.

“Remember, I’ll be at Iris’ house,” Lois tells them as they get off the train, holding her son’s hand. “Do you remember where Mrs. Allen lives?”

“Yes, Mom.” Jonathan sighs absentmindedly, rubbing his newly bruised rib.

“And I put her number in your phone so if I don’t answer my phone for any reason you can call her.”

“Why are you touching my phone?” The Kryptonian preteen groans.

“I just told you why,” Lois replies with a huff similar to her son. “I do not appreciate this new attitude you’re taking with me.”

“It’s not an attitude!”

Meanwhile, Richard is making sure his younger sibling and honorary younger sibling are prepared to go off by themselves. He was patting Damian down as Stephanie slyly tried to take more money out of the man’s wallet than he allowed. “Okay, you’re all good.”

“You already checked me before we left the manor.” Damian drones, rolling his eyes so hard they’re practically falling out of their sockets. “Richard, I’m almost thirteen. I’m more than capable of taking care of myself. You weren’t this… suffocating before when I went out.”

The sapphire-eyed man rapidly blinks as he attempts to explain himself. “I know, but-- It’s just that… After what happened in Metropolis and that close call-- And then I saw some of that footage online, and now that I’m thinking about it I haven’t given you the safe social media talk yet! Oh my gosh, how did I miss that? You know what? I have a few minutes, I’m sure I can squeeze that in.”

“So you’ve finally recognized you like lecturing me.” The boy deadpans, already prepared to completely tune the man out.

“D, no. That’s not what I meant,” Richard reassures and slaps his hand over his back pocket. “Steph, I already gave you a Benjamin. That should cover all the expenses for today. There is no reason for you to have more cash on your person.”

“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” The blonde shrugs, putting her hands in her purple hoodie.

“I can and I will,” He scolds, before sighing heavily. He takes a deep breath and turns his full attention to the young woman while keeping a hand on Damian. “Steph, B put you and Conner in charge of the boys today.”

“They are not in charge of us.” Damian hisses only to be ignored.

“That means you have to be responsible and mature. You’re almost an adult and you can’t treat this like some fun outing. This is serious.”

Stephanie scoffs, averting her crystal blue eyes to the train station clock instead of to the adult in front of her. “How come I’m getting this lecture? If anything, I’m more mature than Tim and Conner combined and I bet they didn’t get a lecture.”

“Steph, I’m not saying you’re not mature in some ways, but this is different.” He explains, rubbing the ridge of his nose. “And I did talk to Tim, but you’re different people who need to be taught different things.”

Throwing her hands up in indignation, the teenager shouts, “Oh my God, is this entire thing a learning experience!? You trust me enough to do our thing in Gotham, but you don’t trust me enough to make sure Damian doesn’t die!?”

“Steph-” Richard tries to console when the blonde stomps off, grabbing Damian and dragging him along with her.

“I’ll show you! This is so freaking stupid! I can’t believe you want me to prove myself!”

“Stephanie, that is not what I meant!”

“Go and have your fun or whatever! I know what I’m doing! I’m not some immature brat! I’ve lived on the streets! I grew up faster and stronger! I can care for some kids because I’m not some stupid, forgetful, childish teen!”

“You forgot Jon.” Damian bluntly states with a neutral tone.

Stephanie whips around to get Jonathan, flipping off the eldest Wayne sibling. “This doesn’t count.”

Lois is against Stephanie taking Jon into the city by herself so now they all have to awkwardly wait for Conner to show up. Thankfully the teen doesn’t take long as he busts through the front doors of Central City Rail Station. He was dressed in a plain black t-shirt with a red Superman logo and a pair of acid-washed jeans. The hybrid runs up to Lois and hands her a bright orange duffle bag without even a greeting.

“Alright, I’m here! Let’s go!” He declares, grabbing his brother by the hand.

He’s swiftly stopped by his stepmother, who sternly shoves the bag back at him. “Conner, what’s this?”

“Oh yeah, sup Lois.” The male greets her with an unenthusiastic wave. “That’s my weekend bag.”

“I know it’s your weekend bag, but why are you handing it to me? I thought you were coming over tomorrow.”

Conner pushes the bag back into her arms without a thought. “I was, but then my Dad wanted to make me sit in on a boring meeting later, and since I missed last week I thought I’d come in early. I’m sure Pops won’t mind.”

“Then why didn’t you drop this off at home first?” The woman questions.

“I mean, you’re already here.”

“Conner!” She sighs and is about to say a lot more when the teen takes Jon and runs.

“Anyways, gotta go, see ya later Lois!” He cheers rapidly, getting out of the building in two seconds flat.

Meanwhile, as Jon is being pulled around like a ragdoll he shouts, “Wait, you didn’t get Dami!”

Conner immediately skids to a halt on the outer steps of the station as he sheepishly looks off into the distance. “Right, I forgot about him.”

Stephanie runs after him, pushing past the hoard of people going in and out of the building until she catches up to him. “You assho-!”

“Language.” Damian interrupts before Jonathan can.

“Buttface, jerk, whatever! You forgot me and Damian!”

“Didn’t you just similarly forget Jonathan?” Damian reminds her, but he isn’t being listened to. 

“Sorry, I’m just- urgh, my Dad is getting on me about being mature and irresponsible, but like, I am just not in the boring adult way.” The half-Kryptonian teenager complains, fiddling with the new metal bar in his ear. “Like, it’s just a piercing, Dad! No need to attack my entire personality about it.”

“I think it looks sick as fu-- fudge.” She compliments while Jonathan stares up at her, ready to correct her on her language. 

“Thank you!” He thanks before his face lights up in recognition. “Oh, by the way, Tim told me to give you a note about something you missed at the meeting,” He frantically pats down his pants pockets before his excited expression falls considerably. “Crap, I think I left it in my bag. I don’t want to go back in there to ask Lois for it.”

“Do you remember what it was about?”

“Not really. I was paying attention for the first half, but Tim has a habit of going off on tangents about details we never use. I probably tuned it out.”

“Then it couldn’t have been that important.” Stephanie shrugs and the two make their way into the city with their respective siblings.

Damian looks up at his chaperone and asks, “Weren’t you supposed to call him back by now?”

“Yep,” She answers as she pops a pink bubble of gum in her mouth that Damian doesn’t remember her having earlier. “But right now we gotta get ready for your adventure! So what are we going to do today?”

“We? We’re not going to do anything. Jonathan and I will do our thing while you stay out of our way.”

Her eyes widen as she gawks at him in surprise. “So we don’t even get to help?”

“Riiiiiight, this is your first time watching them,” Conner says as they round the corner towards the downtown area. “So… we’re not supposed to be active on their mission. We kinda have to take a back seat until something dangerous happens, then we jump in.”

“What? So we’re not even working together?”

“Not really. Technically we are supposed to have no affiliation with them. If we even try to help them before we’re needed or publicly associate our names with them it’ll cause major problems. Mostly trust issues, but it might also cause other concerns with the media.”

Jonathan looks up at his brother, then to Damian, then to his brother again before asking his friend, “Why do they keep talking about us like we’re not here?”

“Because teenagers are stupid. Too old not to be taken seriously, but too young to judge what counts as serious.” His older friend enlightens him, grimacing at having to be pulled around like an unruly child. “And too self-absorbed to see anything outside what they deem serious.”

“Aren’t you going to be a teenager soon?”

“Yes, but I’m already smarter than them, making me better.”

“Oh, okay!” Jonathan accepts easily because his friend is very smart. “So what are we going to do today?”

“Not talking about it in public,” Damian responds and makes a motion to get Stephanie’s attention when he pauses to ogle at the sight before him. “Coming here was a mistake.”

“You say a lot of things are mistakes,” The younger boy comments as he follows the other’s line of sight. “Oh… OOoooooohhh, no, you’re right. This was a mistake. Maybe we should’ve just gone to Coast City instead.”

Central City Missouri used to be a completely normal city with an addiction to fast traveling. All cities certainly have their niches, however, it should be noted that before The Flash Family made themselves a name here, it was also a dying city. There was never a reason to go to Central City, nor was there a reason to stay here either. 

The economy was dying, the population was bleeding, and infrastructure was falling apart due to disrepair. What was the point of performing maintenance on roads that would never be used? This continued to make the metroplex spiral down into obscurity and with lowered conditions of living the crime rate skyrocketed. All of this came to a head when the supervillains came into the picture. It was looking as though Central City would be the next Gotham except instead of insanity they were simply sad.

That is when a flash of red tore through the grey streets, giving a hint of color to the monochromatic landscape that was once a bustling municipality. The crime rate dropped overnight and soon this hero brought attention back to Central City. Businesses saw an opportunity and capitalized on this as much as they could. Tourism boomed for a glimpse of this man who only became more famous as he started making more public appearances.

Then their local hero, The Flash, became a founding member of the Justice League. His fame was now a worldwide sensation and Central City was at the center of it all. Soon enough it was revealed that he wasn’t alone as members of his speedy family joined the fray bringing more color and life into the city with their positively contagious personalities. 

People moved back to the area, business continued to grow, and the government made a real effort to make the city one of the best places to live. With new life pumping into what used to be a moribund city, everyone was thankful for the family who made it all possible. How could they ever thank the heroes who saved their city not just from crime, but from death itself?

By plastering their names onto anything and everything.

Ignoring the perverted amount of Flash imagery plastered on every surface from clothes to street signs, and even painted into the roads, the group decided it was time to get serious. Damian Wayne wouldn’t be the son of Batman if he didn’t know how to elude a crowd in broad daylight. After the initial shock of seeing a ‘Flash-topia’ as Stephanie dubbed it, he swiftly collected himself to start doing what he came here to do. After getting dressed and blocking Jonathan from view as he got dressed, the two boys began to discuss their objective for the day.

“Now that we are in uniform, we can discuss our agenda for the day,” Nightwing explains as his partner tries to straighten the wrinkles in his uniform.

“Wait, you didn’t talk about this before coming here?” Stephanie questions in her full Spoiler uniform. “Seems like a big oversight.”

“Talking on the phone catches too much of Flamebird’s father’s attention and texting becomes complicated when Flamebird has to text T9-style due to owning a flip phone.” The older preteen laments as he is reminded of Jonathan’s atrocious texting conventions. 

“Pfft-! Still? You’d think Pops would’ve given ya a smartphone by now,” Conner snorts, ruffling his little brother’s hair.

“Mom and Dad tell me that I have to learn more self-control before I’m allowed to have a smartphone. The internet is forever and they don’t want me getting in trouble if a reporter looks me up in several years and uses what I say as a child against me.” Jonathan clarifies with an excruciatingly long sigh. “Plus they want me to learn how to properly fact-check things on the internet so I won’t be spreading misinformation since that’s the bane of modern journalism.”

“Wow, having journalists as parents kinda suck,” The blonde teenager comments, pulling her purple cloak over her head.

Green eyes roll behind white lenses and he crosses his arms at the two. “-TT- Why are you both still visible? It’s much easier to ignore you when you stop talking.”

“Come on, this is unfair! Are we seriously supposed to do nothing while waiting for something bad to happen?” Stephanie whines, slouching in the anticipated boredom. “This isn’t even our side’s style. No hiding in the shadows, no mystery, no striking the fear of God in villains--”

“Yes. This fact was made abundantly clear.” Damian states. “Flamebird and I don’t accomplish our goals the way our families would recommend. We do things our way, whatever that may entail.”

“Can’t we at least do something together? Since you guys are so insistent on not being connected publicly with us we’ll never have a chance to team up! Who knows when we’ll get another opportunity? I’m going to be super busy senior year and after that who knows if I’ll even be able to be a hero for a while.”

“Why wouldn’t you be able to be a hero?” Superboy questions as he adjusts his copper-tinted sunglasses.

“College? A job? I’m not some super genius with a billionaire daddy! Some of us have to work and do something else with our lives!” Stephanie complains, her entire posture crumpling under invisible stress. “Don’t tell me you haven’t been thinking about this too?”

“Not really. Sure, one of my dads’ rich, but when you’re immortal, material things don’t matter. People love forgetting that. I don’t need to sleep, eat, breathe, drink, and I don’t even have the pleasure of aging so what’s the point?”

“Ooh, yeah… I… forgot about that.” Stephanie inhales through her teeth with a pained cringe.

“It’s okay, everyone does. I’m more annoyed than hurt.” The taller teen shrugs, suddenly finding interest in fiddling with the chrome spikes on his leather jacket.

Jonathan, who feels like he’s been forgotten in this exchange, suddenly freezes as a disturbing thought comes to mind. “Wait… does that mean I’ll never die? Am I going to be a kid forever?!”

The older brother brushes off his concern as he flippantly answers, “You can age because you’re not science’s prime example of eugenics.”

“What’s that?”

Before Conner can explain the horrifyingly complicated history of selective breeding, Nightwing crosses his arms in an X-shape shouting, “STOP!” The middle-schooler then turns to Spoiler with a venomous glare. “You two have one job in the contract and that’s to be responsible chaperones and look after our safety. Anything past that can be up for discussion later, but for now, leave us alone!”

“Alright, alright, geez. Have it your way Mr. Pickly Pants,” The purple vigilante scoffs and tugs on her co-chaperones arm. The teen wraps his arm around the woman's waist and flies off as Stephanie waves cheekily. “See ya later!”

Jonathan watches the two teenagers disappear with an irked grimace, then turns to his friend. “Dami-”

“Names.”

“Nightwing,” The younger hero corrects. “Is it me, or have all our older siblings been acting weird around us lately?”

“-TT- Authority can’t handle that we’re becoming more independent.” The shorter boy huffs, intently turning his gaze away from Jonathan’s intensely blue eyes.

“Huh… Okay.” He accepts, yet there’s still an off feeling hanging between them. He doesn’t know if it was lingering from their interactions with their siblings, or if there was something else wrong. Jon forces the thought to the back of his head as he smiles brightly at his friend. “So what are we going to do today?”

“Emergency preparation,” Damian answers promptly, looking back at Jon. “After our last venture, it has become more apparent that we need to be more prepared for anything that comes our way. We need to stock up on supplies and have contingencies in place for several dangerous scenarios that we’ll come across.”

“We’re going shopping?” Flamebird asks, looking down at his hero costume and lamenting he won’t be doing any cool hero stuff in it.

“We’re gathering supplies,” Nightwing reiterates. “Central City, as a bastion of transportation, is also a good place for trade. There’s a popular flea market between New Brighton and City Center that opens every weekend that’s a good opportunity for us to resupply.”

“That’s so boring!” The half-Kryptonian complains. “What was the point of changing? We could have done this in normal clothes!”

“We’re doing this for emotional manipulation,” Damian bluntly explains. “After our last adventure, we need to make it a point that we’re fine. While we might not be anywhere near the fame of other heroes, we do have people’s attention. The more attention we gather, the more scrutiny we’ll face. To counter this, we have to start balancing our dangerous endeavors with moments of normalcy.”

Jon would like to say he understood, but most of what Damian is saying is going straighter over his head. “I don’t get it, but you’re usually right.”

“I know I am. You need to stop questioning my judgment.”

“I thought you liked being challenged.” Jon teases, childishly sticking his tongue out.

“I hate you.”

On a nearby rooftop, Spoiler watches the boys leisurely enter an outdoor marketplace with scrutiny. “Are they seriously shopping at a flea market? That’s their heroic mission? Damian is rich!”

“He can’t use that money, remember?” Superboy reminds her as he bounces a Flash-themed hackysack with his nose behind her. “Did you even read the contract they signed?”

“I skimmed it.” She says, focusing all her attention on the duo she’s in charge of. While she’s disappointed by how this mission is turning out, it wasn’t her place to interfere. She’s supposed to watch and protect them, and she’s determined to do that the best she can.

Or at least she was going to when a flash of light beige and red stops in front of her. A short auburn-haired teen stops in front of her binoculars causing her to yelp and stumble back in surprise. The newcomer begins shaking her by the shoulders at speeds that would make most people motion sick. “Oh my god, what are you guys doing!?”

“Hey Impulse,” Conner casually greets, grabbing his friend’s wrist to stop him from making Spoiler vomit. “We’re babysitting.”

“Why!? We’re supposed to be on a mission! I’ve been waiting for you two at the meeting point for half an hour!” The speedster yells, vibrating with panic.

“What!?”

“Since when!?”

“We talked about it during the meeting! Robin even gave you a note!” Impulse informs them, pointing at the hybrid clone who flinches under the accusing finger.

Stephanie immediately takes out her phone and starts reading the texts she’s been ignoring. “Ooooo, that explains a lot.” She pauses for a moment then asks, “Wait, that doesn’t make any sense. Why would he ask us to do something? He knows we’re not supposed to be on missions today.”

“Because you’re both in Central City with me and everyone else is busy doing the other mission we talked about!” The small teen screams, scratching his head with his scarlet gloves. “I barely paid attention to the meeting so how am I suddenly the responsible one? What timeline did I enter?”

“Wow, we really have to start paying more attention,” Conner comments as he shamefully scratches the back of his neck.

Spoiler hesitantly shifts her eyes from her friend’s face to the market the boys are shopping at. “How… How important is it, because we really can’t leave the boys alone? We’re kinda responsible for them right now.”

“It’s pretty important! Someone is trying to smuggle a bunch of dangerous tech out of the city and if we don’t intercept them, it’ll take months to track down every location they went to. Do you know how many different routes there are to get in and out of Central City? Too many!”

“Dude, your entire family is here and none of them can help?” Conner interrogates, putting both his hands around his friend’s shoulders to hold him still.

“This is a Young Justice thing! I can handle this! We can totally handle this!” He emphasizes, jabbing his hands at his chest.

The muscular male starts to shake his friend wildly, feet dangling off the ground, as he yells. “If my family finds out we weren’t watching the kids then our asses are grass!”

“Take turns, I dunno! They don’t look like they’re in danger!” Impulse pleads, clasping his hands together in prayer as he tilts his head to the marketplace below. “Come on you guys, this is important and what will it look like to Grandpa if we can’t do our jobs? They already see us as kids, and if I can’t do this simple thing I’ll look like an idiot!”

Stephanie sighs, shaking her head at the two loud teenage boys. “Look, we’re all responsible teenagers. We can look after the kids and save the city.” She tells them, wrapping her arms around her friend’s shoulders in a huddle. “What kind of heroes would we be if we can’t do both?”

Once the two calm down, they look at her for guidance, silently agreeing Spoiler will lead this mission. The purple vigilante then explains their first course of action to ensure everything will go smoothly. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do: Impulse, Superboy, you two are going to scan the city for the threat while I stay here and look after the boys. I’ll also call Robin to see if I can gather more information about what I missed. Once we locate the source of distribution, come back to me so we can formulate a proper plan of attack.”

“Sounds good!”

“Roger that!”

Chapter Text

Central City was a bustling place as it seemed like no one ever stopped for anything. Everything was fast-paced and that can especially be felt in the outdoor market. People here bought, bartered, and bickered at a breakneck pace. Nightwing and Flamebird have been bumped into and bulldozed over so many times in the first minutes of stepping past the gates.

“Excuse me!” A teenage boy exclaims as he almost knocks over Damian, carrying a bag of produce.

“Out of the way!” A young woman shouts as she shoots past the crowd with armfuls of crochet blankets

“Heads up!” A middle-aged man calls out as he chucks a wooden crate across the packed path to the opposite stall.

Flamebird watches as the mob of shoppers simultaneously dips without halting their movement to avoid the potential concussion. It was uncanny how robotic their actions were, like what just happened wasn’t a giant safety hazard. His shoulder is hit by another oncoming pedestrian causing Jon to shake out of his stupor.

“Nightwing, we should get moving.”

Nightwing stumbles as a wandering child steps on the edge of his cape, nodding with the suggestion. “And I thought Gothamites were rude.”

The two boys are swept along with the sea of people who shoot them cursory glances, but nothing extraordinary. Jonathan is a tad ashamed of himself for thinking that things would change after getting a bit of glory on their last mission. Sadly, it feels like they’re back at square one since a single grand feat means very little in the world of heroes. Normal people achieve great things every day, but heroes do great things all the time.

“Soooooo~,” Flamebird drags out with an unintentional whistle. “Supplies… What do we need?”

“First-aid supplies never hurt to have, however, we should prioritize sewing supplies,” Nightwing answers as he shuffles his head out from the crowd. It was so packed that his arms were stuck to his side.

The taller of the duo stumbles and clutches his friend’s cape to keep himself from being trampled by the shopping masses. “Sewing stuff? But you have that at home.”

“Those aren’t mine and we are supposed to be independent.”

“Do we really use that much?”

Damian shimmies one of his arms out of the hoard to accusingly point at his best friend. “ I don’t use that much, but someone else cannot keep their uniform usable for a week!”

“I only got blood on mine last time and it was someone else's,” The 11-year-old defends as several passersby turn to stare at him. “I’m surprised we’re not getting weapons.”

Damian rolls his eyes behind his mask as he stiffly turns his neck to look up at his friend. “I have all the weapons I need and you can’t use any weapons. Not even a bat. I’ve seen you play baseball and it was abysmal.”

“I play baseball just fine,” Jonathan huffs, crossing his arms.

“Anything less than hitting perfect home runs or getting consecutive strikes on your opponent is abysmal.”

“That’s because you have weird standards,” He states, puffing out his cheeks in irritation. “Besides, there are other weapons than just big sticks.”

“Do you have an idea of what you’d be proficient in?” The shorter boy questions, his voice dripping with judgment.

“My Granddad takes me to shoot discs at the range sometimes. He says I’m pretty good,” Flamebird mimics the action of firing off a shotgun, looking at his friend for approval.

Nightwing diminishes his contributions with a scoff, placing his hand atop the other to put them down. “I respect your confidence, but there’s a difference between leisurely shooting on the farm with your grandpa and professional training.”

“But-”

“Besides, we’re supposed to be public figures and firearms do not fit that image,” He informs his naive partner. “Imagine if heroes started to open carry. That would be horrifying, especially for someone our age.”

Jon utters some disgruntled mutters but agrees; his physical attitude brightening up. He reaches into his mini backpack and takes out a small steel container. “Oh! Nightwing, I forgot to tell you but my Granddad bought a first aid kid for me! We don’t have to worry about that anymore!”

“I’d take a look, but I currently cannot move my body any further in this crowd,” Damian answers, causing Flamebird to momentarily pause while his friend kept moving past him.

He quickly jogs up to him and bends down to see the grey soles of Nightwing’s platform boots floating above the ground. His partner has been so packed into the crowd that it's carrying him away. “Uh, How long have your feet not been touching the floor?”

The older boy growls like a rabid animal before he snarls, “Just get me out of here!”

Flamebird instantly yanks Damian away and then pulls them both to the slightly less congested part of the traffic where they can move at their own pace. “I like shopping as much as the next guy, but this is ridiculous. I know good markets are supposed to be busy, but this?”

“You’d think the entry fee would’ve turned people away,” Damian shrugs as he intensely examines the passing stalls.

“You have to PAY to shop here?!” Jonathan exclaims, accidentally garnering more attention for himself. “Wait… You paid for something for me again!?”

“Anyone under 13 gets in for free, so you may cease your fretting.”

“Oh… It’s still weird you have to pay money to spend money. And most of this stuff is handmade or used, so it doesn’t make sense.” He emphasizes his point by pointing at a booth of hand crochet dolls and what looks to be a yard sale.

“Are you saying that it’s not worth as much because it’s made by small businesses?”

“No! It’s just… I dunno.”

Nightwing rolls his eyes and “I’m pulling your leg. Plus vendors have to pay for a spot so it’s not completely unfair.”

“Wait, then who are we paying? Well, not us, but you know what I mean.” Jon asks.

Damian opens his mouth to answer before pausing. He opens his mouth again to answer once again only to find he never bothered to look it up. “I have no idea.”

Flamebird scrunches his face before exhaling with determination. “... This is going to keep me up at night. I’ll ask someone.”

“What?” The 12-year-old blurts out and is horrified to see Flamebird walk up to a stall selling leather boots.

“Excuse me, sir,” The young red-clad child bravely hollers, catching the attention of the man at the table along with his two kiosk neighbors. “How much does it cost to sell here?”

“Uh…” The cowboy hat wearing man utters, looking between his peers who return his expression of confusion. He clears his throat and adjusts his collar to glance behind the young hero to see his partner burying his face in his hands. Looking back to Flamebird, he shrugs to himself, deciding there’s no harm in answering. “For spaces out in the open, it’s about sixty dollars on a Saturday.”

The woman with pale skin and dyed pink hair selling craft beers next to him leans closer, adding her own two cents to the conversation. “If ya want to get one of those spots in the shade, then that’s ‘bout a hundred bucks.”

Jonathan nods, taking in all of this information. “Oh, that’s not too bad! I thought it’d be a lot more money. Why do you have to pay to set up shop here? Who are you paying?”

The other neighbor standing in front of several grills slides in, bringing along the pungent smokey scent of southern barbeque. “This is a public market, so it’s da’ city we’re payin’ dues to.”

“You thinkin’ bout opening yer own shop, kiddo?” The boot salesman questions, raising a brow at the two kids.

Jonathan shakes his head. “No, I was just curious since my friend told me people had to pay to shop here. Back where I’m from, anyone could shop at the farmer’s market.”

“I bet there’s still a fee to sell at the market where you're from if it’s around here,” The beer lady assumes before wagging a finger at his clothing. “Say, those are some cute costumes! Where’d ya get those?”

“My best friend made them!”

Jon pulls his friend closer with a tight side-hug causing Nightwing to groan and glare at him. “-TT- Flamebird, can we keep moving?”

“Those are a lot of layers for the Missouri summer. How are ya not dyin’?” The BBQ man points out, gesturing to Nightwing’s heavy uniform.

“-TT- I’m not weak.” The shorter hero sneers.

“Nah, Mexicans don’t sweat like normal people do.” The boot seller jokes, causing the others to chuckle.

Jonathan suddenly feels uncomfortable, but he’s not sure why. He glances at his friend, still in his hold, to find him looking no more annoyed than usual. If Damian isn’t uncomfortable, then why is he? “Huh? He’s not… Why would you-”

Seeing his discomfort, the beer seller elbows the man in the side. “Elijah, you can’t just assume things like that these days! What if he was Indian or something?”

“He doesn’t even look Mexican, look at his nose, he’s probably native,” The BBQ man states and briefly Jon can see Damian’s eyes dart to his nose.

“Those are the same thing and I ain’t wrong! About the Mexicans, not the boy’s race.”

“Why you even gotta bring that shit up, ‘Lijah? They are just kids for heaven’s sake! They don’t need all that political shit- Stuff-- fuck!” The woman panics and sends a hesitant stare their way. “Shoot, are y’all old enough to hear swear?”

“Yes.” Damian casually replies.

“No.” Flamebird sternly fires back.

The boot salesman shakes his head at himself and waves the boys off. “Look, sorry ‘bout that, Kid. Y’all should run along now before I stick another foot in my mouth.”

“Okay then… We’re just gonna go now. Thanks for answering my questions.” Jonathan politely responds and walks out of there as fast as is socially acceptable.

Once they turn the corner to another block of stalls, Jon releases the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “That was weird. Why did they bring up all that stuff for no reason?”

“You get used to it,” Damian says

“Wait, what do you mean by that?” Jonathan stops in his tracks, however, his mouth keeps firing questions. “Why do I have to get used to it? Why are you used to it? Why did they bring up your race? They didn't get it right. Why make a joke about it?”

Damian massages the temples of his head, seemingly more annoyed by the barrage of concerns from his friend than what the other people said. “When you don’t fit the norm, people try to make you make sense. In this instance, the norm would look like this… You.”

Sky blue eyes balk at the accusation and Damian instantly regrets saying anything. “What about me is normal? I have superpowers and I’m half-”

The shorter hero quickly slaps his hands over the taller’s mouth. “Whatever. Flamebird, I don’t want to get into this right now, and you shouldn’t go spewing off identifying information about yourself.”

Jonathan pushes the hands off his face with a huff. “But it was weird. I’m around you all the time and I never saw anything like that around you before.”

“You’re making it weird. They didn’t mean anything by it, I don’t mean anything by it, and neither should you.” Damian deflects, refusing to make eye contact with Jon. “Don’t get in a tizzy because you’re uncomfortable by something that happened to me.”

Jonathan opens his mouth to say more but relents after seeing how adamantly Damian is protesting. He smiles at his bestie and playfully nudges his shoulder with the back of his hand. “In a tizzy? Wow, I think you picked up some words from my Grandma.”

“Oh shut up.” Damian jovially pushes back and his entire demeanor unwinds. “What I’m trying to tell you is that you shouldn’t be offended by the fool who doesn’t know better, but be offended by the fool who refuses to do better.”

Flamebird's smile deepens at his wise words before he’s immediately distracted by something in the distance. “Oh my gosh, that dog plushie is bigger than my body!”

Nightwing turns around to see someone carrying a novelty carnival toy over their shoulder. “We’re not getting you that. It’s too large to inconspicuously carry home.”

“Aw come on, Nightwing! Isn’t your cape magical? It can hold everything!”

“I already told you, putting pockets in capes is inconvenient and produces unnecessary bulk. I will not be sewing cape pockets!”

“What if I ask my brother to take it home without anyone knowing?” He asks quietly, looking around to make sure no one is eavesdropping.

Damian ponders this for a moment then nods. “Fine. We can work with that solution.” 

His eyes follow where the person with the dog is walking from and lead Flamebird deeper into the market. They make it to an opening in the marketplace where a large patch of grass and a stage are set up. They wander the area to investigate the origins of the large dog plushie but don’t get far thanks to the gigantic speaker resonating feedback directly at them. 

The heroic duo cries in pain as they jump away from the speaker while covering their poor ears. Even though their eardrums are still ringing they’re able to hear the message being announced. “Good afternoon, Central City Market Plaza! Happy Saturday and get ready for today’s special event! A special announcement from our fair city’s darling speedy siblings premiers in two hours; right after today’s local musical performance! Please make your way to the center stage to catch a glimpse of this historic moment!”

“Aaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrgggggghhhhh! I think my ears are broken!” Flamebird screams, unable to hear himself.

“There was an event today?!” Nightwing questions at the same boisterous volume, his eyes unfocused as his hearing. “Why didn’t I know about this?!”

“That explains all the Flash stuff around!”

“I thought that was normal for this city!”

“I think it is, but maybe it’s more than usual!”

“EH, shut the fuck up!” A random teenager shouts at them as they walk by with their group of friends, laughing at them.

The two glare at the rude teen as the sheer audacity has cured them of their hearing impediment. Flamebird stops Nightwing from reaching for his sword as they get back on topic. “So you didn’t know about this event today?”

“Of course not. If we were to do anything today, it would’ve been overshadowed by whatever is happening now.” He states, nodding his head over to the wave of people pouring into the clearing. “This sucks. Not only is it crowded, but we’re going to be forced to listen to the ‘speedy siblings’ make an announcement.”

“Who?”

“... Flamebird, you’re kidding me.”

“... No.” The half-Kryptonian answers hesitantly.

“Wait, are you telling me you’ve never met them before?” Damian asks, sincerely baffled by this new knowledge. “How? I’ve met them plenty of times and you’re telling me you never crossed paths once? Now even by word of mouth?”

“Not everyone can know everyone, Nightwing. Just because you know who they are doesn’t mean I do.” Jonathan scowls and crosses his arms with a pout. “If you met them then how come you never told me before? Are you keeping new friends a secret from me?”

“What? No, that doesn’t even make sense. I’m just surprised-” He halted by a passerby accidentally knocking into him and Nightwing shudders at the thought of getting swept up by the mob again. “We should leave this area. The stalls should be less crowded with everyone headed this way.”

“Alright, but you’re telling me who these guys are.” Flamebird demands, following Nightwing’s lead. They find the large dog plush seller and purchase the stuffed animal at a suspiciously cheap rate before heading to the food court tent for a Bionic Apple and some toasted ravioli, much to Nightwing's horror.

“I can’t believe you’re eating that,” Damian gags in horror as he watches Flamebird inhale the plate of fried monstrosity. “That’s so unhealthy. It’s not even authentic.”

“Don’t nag me about my health when you’re literally eating sugar on a stick!” Flamebird retaliates, pointing accusingly at Damian’s caramel and pecan-covered apple. “So are you going to tell me about the speedy siblings or not?”

“Well first, they’re not called the speedy siblings,” Nightwing begins as he takes a bite of his treat. “They’re The Flash’s kids. Specifically, the one who is a member of the Titans, not the one from the JLA. They work in Central City in a restricted capacity under their father, but never officially made their debut as heroes.”

“Wait- He has kids!?” He chokes, hacking out a piece of ravioli in shock.

“How do you not know this? Weren’t you obsessed with the heroes?”

“I was obsessed with Superman and Superman was part of the Justice League. I knew about other heroes, but it’s not like I could keep track of all of them and their families. There are so many!”

Nightwing sighs and pulls a napkin from the dispenser on the picnic table. He slides a pen out from his left sleeve and then begins to draw several descending brackets. “Alright, The Flash Family. We’re only going to be focusing on this side branch-” He circles the series of lines separate from the center bundle. “And ignoring everything else today. The Flash, who used to be Kid Flash, is the nephew of The Flash, from the JLA not to be mistaken with the JLS Flash, who is not blood-related to The Flash. The old Kid Flash married someone I will not name in public because they are not in the hero business. They had twins who inherited the speed force and they are the ones making an announcement today. They’re younger than us, being 9 years old. Any questions?”

“Where’s Impulse on the tree?” Flamebird inquires since that’s the only Flash Family member he knows personally.

“He’s part of the main branch.” He traces his pen line down to the bottom of the middle bundle of branches. “He’s from the future and the grandson of the JLA Flash. Anything else?”

“Yeah, how do you know them?”

Nightwing sighs again and rests his cheek into his palm with annoyance, not at Jonathan, but at the question. “You know how our parents forced us to see each other because they were friends?”

“Yeah.”

“That.”

“Oh,” Jonathan says awkwardly. They sit in silence long enough for Damian to finish his apple and Jon to maneuver his giant plushie to mimic sitting at the table rather than lying on the floor. “Soooooooo, do you like them?” He decides to ask with the subtlety of a meteorite.

“No.”

“Oh.”

Nightwing was impatiently tapping his foot when a flash of light hit him in the eye in infrequent winks. He clicks his tongue and pulls out his compact mirror. He catches the light in the reflection and flips the lid in a sequence pattern. Once the light stops hitting him, he puts the mirror away with what feels like the hundredth sigh of the day. “We should get going and get what we came here for.”

“Was that… you know,” He exaggeratedly looks around before leaning over the table to whisper, “Spoiler?”

Nightwing shoves his hand in Flamebird’s face, pushing him back into the seat. “Yes. They’re checking in.”

Flamebird gets up from his seat, looking to where he believes Spoiler and his brother are. “After what happened this morning I didn’t think they’d leave us to ourselves as much, but I’m glad they’re giving us space.”

“Don’t jinx it, Flamebird,” Nightwing warns as he stands and squishes the arm of the dog plushie. “You should hand this off to them. Give them something to do.”

“Oh yeah! I don’t want to be carrying this all day!” The boy exclaims and runs off as fast as he can, the draft of his feet causing the canvas walls of the tent to oscillate in his wake.

He runs up the side of a building just outside the perimeter of the market to find the purple-wearing hero scrambling to put her communicator away. Sky blue eyes dart around, animatedly wobbling and hopping on the balls of his feet to search for his big brother, only to see Stephanie alone. “Where’s Superboy?”

The blonde stills then dramatically fans herself with her hand while pulling at her collar. “Oh! Uh-- Yeah, he’s getting us some drinks! It’s getting pretty hot out here and he could get them faster with his super speed.”

“It is getting kinda warm,” Jonathan agrees, now taking into account the weather. He’s promptly reminded of what happened earlier, turning to the teenager for guidance. “Speaking of warm, can I ask you something… Weird?”

“Sure, go ahead! There’s nothing I won’t answer,” She allows, then quickly amends her statement. “Unless I don’t know the answer or can’t because of Bat Family secrecy stuff.”

The child nods, hugging the large dog closer to his body comfortingly. “Do people with darker skin stand the heat better?”

She tilts her head at the random inquiry before nonchalantly answering, “I heard people with darker skin don’t get sunburned as much, but I can’t vouch for how well they can stand the heat. Why do you ask?”

“Someone mentioned something about it; It doesn’t mean anything.” He assures just as Conner stumbles on the rooftop empty-handed. 

“I’m here! I’m here!” The half-Kryptonian teen declares, regaining his balance.

“Where are the drinks?” Jonathan asks, pointing at the lack of refreshments.

“The drinks?” He yelps as he looks at Spoiler through his orange lenses. “The drinks! Theeeeeey… Didn’t have any diet cola, and I didn’t know what else you’d like.”

“I’m fine with water,” Spoiler suggests curtly. “You should go back for it.”

“Wait! Before you go, hold this!” Jonathan demands, shoving the giant stuffed animal into his brother’s arms.

“Jon- I mean, Flamebird, what’s this?”

“It’s a doggy.” The younger sibling explains, hugging it for emphasis.

“I know it’s a doggy, but why are you handing it to me? I thought I wasn’t supposed to do anything for you during these outings.” He says, trying to shove the dog back into his brother's arms.

“Yeah, I know, but this doesn’t have to do with any superhero stuff, and it’s not like you’re doing anything important anyways,” The younger child protests, defiantly forcing his brother to hold the toy. “Bye Superboy, bye Spoiler!”

“Hey wait a second-- Aaaand he’s gone,” Superboy groans, giant dog plush still in his hands. He flops its soft limbs around for a second before turning to his teammate. “Great, now we’re stuck with this thing even though we already have plaaaaaaaaaaaaaan… Oh… Oh wow, I think this is one of those mirror experiences. Do I need to apologize to my stepmom?”

“Reflect on that later, Superboy. Did either of you find anything?” Spoiler asks in a firm voice.

Superboy is instantly alert, however, with the plushie more than half his size in his arms, he makes the toy stand at attention. He moves the dog’s arms along with his words to make it appear it is talking instead of him. “There are several trains with carts full of Anndranna weaponry heading out of the city. They haven’t departed yet and we don’t know how many there are. From what we could conclude none of them are heading to the same place. If we were to act now then it could lead to some of those shipments being transported to where we can’t follow because-”

“All tracks lead back to Central City,” The girl finishes, contemplatively holding her chin between her fingers. “We can’t let any of those cars leave the city’s perimeter. Any trace of a base we can break into and find the exact number of shipments?”

“Nothing yet, but Impulse is still running around for clues.”

“Good. I talked to Robin and he briefed me on what I missed, but nothing new from what we know. He suspects Basilisk or White Rabbit, but the connections are thin at best and not our main priority,” She expresses, placing a pair of hi-tech compact binoculars to her eyes to keep track of the kids. “You said Impulse was searching around the city.”

“Yeah. I did,” Conner agrees from behind the dog, pressing the toy against Stephanie to mimic it joining her on watch.

“Stop moving the arms around, I can’t take anything seriously when you do that!” Stephanie hollers, shoving the squishy face of the canine away. “Anyways, why do I see him leisurely talking to his second cousins behind an outdoor stage.”

The half-Kryptonian clone scrambles to the ledge of the building, swiping her binoculars even though he has super-vision to gawk at the sight of Bart talking with his cousins. “What!?”

The teen is about to leap off the building to face him when Stephanie swiftly pushes him back down. “Oh no you don’t, it’s your turn to watch the kids and the dog! I’m going down there to yell at him and get this mission back on track!” She unclasps the grappling hook from her belt and swings down to confront her friend.

Meanwhile, Flamebird was critically watching Nightwing ponder paying for a sewing table bigger than them and made entirely of metal. “So I can’t carry a large dog plush around, but you can debate getting a sewing machine that weighs a million pounds.”

“It’s a vintage sewing table. It requires no electricity, is easy to repair, and is simple to use. Imagine if we were to suddenly run out of electricity or something breaks. These days, companies make everything so specialized that it’s impossible to cheaply repair anything on your own.” Nightwing elaborates as he nods his head to himself, deciding to get it.

The taller boy tilts his head as he ponders aloud, “When does your house ever run out of electricity? Doesn’t your family have a million backup generators?”

Although he can’t see his friend’s face at the moment, Jon could feel the other rolling his eyes. “You use that number too liberally, and we’re not always going to be stationed at our home. I plan to eventually get us our own base of operations, and its reliable utilities are not guaranteed.”

Flamebird perks up at this information, excitedly grinning at the thought of their own place. “Oooo, a secret base! Something cool like Superman’s Fortress of Solitude! The Fortress of Attitude!”

“We’re not calling it that,” Nightwing immediately shuts down, whipping his head to glare at his partner.

Flamebird pouts at him but lets the topic go for now. It’s not like they’re going to get a base right away. They’ll have time to argue about the name later. His eyes explore the venue with only a handful of shoppers wandering around. It's such a juxtaposition to earlier where the two could barely walk without getting swept away. Even most of the shops are temporarily closed until the special event is over. “It’s much nicer to walk around here now that most of the people are off listening to that announcement. I wonder what it is.”

“You can read the news about it later,” Nightwing replies as he pays for the table and some thread. Almost instantly the saleswoman at the shop begins the process of closing up shop to attend the event.

Flamebird waits for the woman to leave before he meekly beckons his partner’s attention, twiddling his thumbs together nervously. “Hey Nightwing,” He waits for him to show that he’s listening. He doesn’t know why he’s waiting because Jonathan knows that Damian is always listening. Eventually, he sees Damian slow down his breathing for the sole purpose of letting Jon know. “Am I a good partner?”

“Yes,” Nightwing answers without a beat for pause, keeping his back to him. “Get out of your head, Flamebird. You’re always going to find what you’re looking for in there.”

Flamebird continues to fidget to himself, his body language practically screaming all of his insecurities against his will. He can’t feel the summer sun on his skin anymore. “But… Wouldn’t it be better if you were on a team with someone more famous or skilled like-”

“Carry the table,” His partner interrupts, making Jonathan's body freeze in surprise at the sudden change. Damian turns around with the snarky smirk Jonathan is used to and pats the tabletop condescending. “You’re not expecting me to haul that thing around are you?”

Flamebird momentarily sets his mind back to the present and lifts the table with his super strength. While the furniture feels like nothing at this moment, it still takes up a lot of space, and if Jonathan loses concentration he’ll drop it. He always loses concentration. “Maybe we should buy something to carry this.”

Nightwing readily agrees and begins walking in a random direction. “That’s a great idea. Let’s go get a cart or wagon.”

Flamebird dutifully follows his heels, however, his mind is still stuck where it was. “So are we going to talk about-”

“How many times do I need to reassure you that I’ll only be on a team with you and no one else? What isn’t getting through that thick skull of yours?” Damian demands, stopping in the middle of the now desolate market. It was like a ghost town with the murmurings of the crowd far behind them now and the world condensed to the two of them.

Jonathan pauses, his wavy hair getting into his eyes, reminding him just how uncomfortable he feels, how uncomfortable he’s been and has been since Metropolis. “You got hurt because of me.”

“When?” Damian asks, genuinely curious, and makes a show of turning his body as though he’s modeling some clothes. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“Our last mission. I left you alone and you got hurt even though I’m supposed to protect you. You trusted me not to hurt you. And that time in Gotham when I stopped that truck and our brothers had to step in. I didn’t have it handled. I couldn’t think about using my powers and I just stood there while you could’ve died-”

“Stop,” Nightwing orders and Flamebird promptly seals his mouth shut, yet his mind is still replaying every instance his best friend could’ve died because of him. “Stop that too,” He continues, poking his hero partner between the eyes. “I don’t need to be a mind reader to know you’re fretting over something that didn’t happen.”

“I can’t just stop thinking about it, it’s your life!” Flamebird shouts, dropping the sewing table on the pathway. “How could you even tell me that it didn’t happen!? How are you okay with me being your partner when I can’t do anything right or as good as you?!”

The shorter boy takes one long deep breath while Jonathan is on the brink of hyperventilating. He glares at Jon, looking him directly in the eyes, and asks, “Do you blame me for letting you get hurt by Parasite?”

A pause. “What?” Flamebird blurts out stupidly. “No, you didn’t let me get hurt-”

“Do you blame me for dragging you into this partnership?”

“You didn’t drag me into anything. If anything I keep pulling you into trouble-”

“Do you blame me for not being as durable, as strong, or as emotionally stable as you are?”

“I’m none of those things,” He denies, shaking his head.

“Honestly, I’m somewhat offended you think so little of me, Flamebird,” Nightwing states with a hint of humor in his tone. “I don’t belong on the pedestal you built in your head. I’m right in front of you, and I’m fine. If you keep focusing on what you didn’t do, you’ll never get to what you can do.”

“But…” Flamebird begins to deny it, but he’s never been good with words.

“We’re going home,” Nightwing commands, turning to the exit gates.

“Huh? We haven’t been out for long,” The half-Kryptonian preteen comments, quickly picking up the table he dropped.

“The whole point of this outing is to prove that we’re okay, but it’s clear that we’re not,” Damian can feel Jon starting to spiral behind him so he continues talking. “It’s not just you. We are a team. I was forcing us to go out before we were ready as a public display instead of making sure we were actually fine.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-- We can keep going around. I won’t say anything else.” Jonathan tries to salvage, the guilt of their day going wrong and eating him alive.

“This isn’t about you! Stop blaming everything that doesn’t go right on you because that doesn’t make me feel better. Shouldering everything like it’s you who’s in control of everything only lets me know you don’t think I’m an equal partner in this relationship. Everything has to be your fault because I’m not capable of taking responsibility for myself or this team.”

“I don’t think that! Stop putting words in my mouth!” Flamebird yells.

“Then stop putting meaning to actions that weren’t there!” Nightwing retorts, angrily jabbing his finger at his friend’s chest. “We are going home or at least getting changed and waiting for our guardians to take us home so we can work this out somewhere that’s not in the middle of a flea market!” He looks up and shouts, “Hey! I said we’re leaving!”

He taps his platform boot impatiently while Flamebird does his best to keep calm. It’s a difficult endeavor as the superpowered child is feeling too many emotions ranging from shame to despair, to anger. He’s sad he’s not good enough, yet angry because he feels like Damian isn’t taking his concerns seriously. There’s also a part of Jon that knows Damian is right about some things but wants to yell about how he’s wrong about others.

“Superboy, Spoiler! There’s no one around right now! Someone take us away! That’s what you’re here for, right!?” Nightwing exclaims, whirling around in search of their chaperones. He gives them another minute to respond before turning to his friend. “They were watching us, right?”

“Yeah, I talked to both of them earlier on that rooftop,” Flamebird reassures, placing the table gently on the ground and activating his supervision to look at their last location. He sees the snout of the giant dog plushie peeking over the building’s ledge, however, their teenage babysitters are nowhere to be found. “Uuuuuhhhhhhhh… Nightwing?”

“Yes, Flamebird?”

“What does our contract say to do if we don’t have our chaperones?”

Immediately, Nightwing takes out a pair of bulky binoculars from behind his cape to glimpse where Flamebird is looking. “Son of a bitch!”

“Language.”

“Great, now we have to deal with this!” Nightwing grunts, slamming his canvas bag of thread to the ground. He picks it up and then turns his heel to the event area. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

“Where are we going?” Flamebird questions, lugging the sewing machine with him.

“My brother said he was with Wallace and if the twins are doing something then he’ll be with them since that’s their father,” He explains in the most exasperated attitude humanly possible.

“We can call my mom to pick us up since she’s at Mrs. Allen’s house,” Jon offers, pointing to his backpack where his phone is. “Or we can walk to her house.”

“There is no way we can carry the table around discreetly if we take that option, but if Richard isn’t at the announcement, then we’ll figure something out with your mom.”

The duo travels to the stage area and if they thought it was crowded in the market before, it’s claustrophobic now that the entire shopping center is condensed into one place. It was a wall of people they couldn’t squeeze past let alone make it to the stage. Flamebird jumps, trying to look over the audience to no avail. “Now can we call my mom?”

“Wait, I have an idea.” He halts, grabbing Flamebird’s red-gloved hand to pull him through the edge of the crowd, walking along the fence to slowly make his way to the back.

Jonathan crunches his face in irritation and jogs closer to Damian, asking, “Why don’t you want me to call my mom?” 

Damian huffs and roughly yanks on Jon’s hand to move them along faster. Most people try to move out of their way, not out of politeness, but to not get hit by the large sewing table. “I want to minimize the potential damage.”

He thinks about the response for a moment before quickly realizing what the other was trying to do. “You’re trying to protect Ste-”

“Names!” Damian hisses now that they’re surrounded by people.

“How is going to your br- I mean-- over there any better than calling?” Jon questions, omitting all important information.

“It’s just… Let me do the talking, alright?”

“Alright.”

“Good. Now I’m going to teach you to blend into the shadows for a few seconds; to disappear even while all eyes are watching.” He hisses into Flamebird’s ear. “Rule number one, always assume you have their attention, even when you don’t.”

Jonathan looks around, most people are distracted waiting for the event to start, but there are a few eyes on them due to his ability to carry a metal table on his shoulder like it was nothing. “Okay.”

“Rule number two, separate yourself from your surroundings. Be quiet, be still, be away. You are not part of what is happening right now. The energy around you should not be what you’re feeling. Retreat into your mind.”

“I don’t know how to do that.”

“Rule number three, close your eyes.”

He closes his eyes. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to be aware of my surroundings if I can’t see them.”

 He feels himself being moved as Nightwing reveals the final step to his plan. “Rule number four, never let anyone know your secrets.”

“What?” Sky blue eyes instantly open to find himself already backstage, staring at a red curtain. “What the heck? How did you do that? Was anything you told me true?”

“Please refer to rule number four for your answers,” Nightwing smirks, sauntering to a small trailer off to the side. “We don’t need any skills to deduce this is where everyone important is.”

The 12-year-old unceremoniously smashes his fist against the thin metal door where Wally West, the Flash, opens the door in full uniform. Flamebird releases a squeak of joy at seeing a famous hero in uniform while Nightwing scowls at the man. “Where is Nightwing?”

“Uh… Hey Daaaa---- I mean, Knightwing.” The man greets them, and somehow the two know he’s using the wrong form of Damian’s hero name by his tone. He runs his hand through his red hair as he leans back to look at someone out of view. “Nightwing, your… Protege and his friend are here. What am I supposed to call him in uniform?”

“Can you let them in?” They hear Richard's request.

“Sure!” He looks back at the boys and makes way for them to enter. “Come in, and please don’t mind the mess.” Damian enters wordlessly while Jonathan still gapes at the speedy hero outside. “You okay?”

“Hi,” Jonathan says absentmindedly. “We've never met before, but it’s nice to meet you.” He sticks his hand out for the hero to shake, which he does.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you too, Flamebird.”

“You know my name!” The younger hero cheers, hopping like a rabbit in excitement. “That’s so cool!”

“Yep, I sure do. Nightwing, my Nightwing, loves talking about the little Knightwing. Really proud of the work you’ve done so far.”

“Thanks!” He beams, his smile straining the confines of his face.

“FLAMEBIRD!” His Nightwing barks, startling Flamebird.

“I’m on my way!” He yelps, leaving the table outside as he runs into the trailer.

Inside, Flamebird witnesses the older Nightwing in full uniform and a Korean woman with long waist-length hair tied up in a green scrunchie helping a younger girl style her auburn pigtails. To the side sitting on a black outdoor armchair was a boy with black hair shorter than Damian in an orange skin-tight jumper playing with a cloth mask in his hands.

Stark chartreuse eyes widen as Flamebird enters the room and practically slaps the mask over his face. “DAD! Warn a guy before you let a stranger see me without a mask! I don’t even know who they are!”

“Oops, sorry!” Wally apologizes as he shuts the door, and it’s now that Jonathan notices that same shade of green the boy has on this man.

“Who is it?” The girl in the chair inquires, kneeling in her seat to reveal her in a uniform similar to Impulse’s. “Hey, Damian! Who’s your friend?”

“Names, and you don’t need to know,” Damian responds as he looks at his brother. “We want to leave.”

“Huh? Already?” The man asks, blinking rapidly from behind his blue domino mask. He’s about to ask more questions but pauses and turns to the woman. “Linda, I’m going to step out for a bit with my brother. Can you and Wally watch Flamebird?”

“No problem,” The woman, Linda, agrees and ushers Jon to stand closer to her. Jon watches the two Nightwings walk to the other side of the trailer behind a folding partition before awkwardly standing next to an entire family he’s never met before. “Hello Flamebird, my name is Linda. Do you feel comfortable telling me your real name?”

The boy thinks for a moment before shaking his head in the negative. Linda smiles at him reassuringly, telling him, “That’s alright. I know how picky you heroes are with your secret identities. How do you like Central City so far?”

“Eomma!” The girl interrupts, whining to her mother in what Jonathan understands as well as gibberish. “Meoli mukk-eul su iss-eoyo?”

The woman tuts her tongue and lightly smacks the girl’s shoulder, forcing her to sit down. “Jogeumman cham-euseyo!”

The boy in orange finishes putting his mask back on and speaks to Jon in the same tongue he doesn’t understand. “Hangugeo haseyo?” Jon stares at him wide-eyed, feeling completely stupid. “Eodieseo wasseoyo?”

“He can’t speak Korean,” Wally informs them.

“Damian can speak Korean, so why can’t he?” The redheaded girl pries, raising a brow at Jon through the vanity mirror as Linda straightens her hair.

“What does Damian knowing something have to do with Flamebird knowing something?” Linda asks.

“Black hair, blue eyes, likely able to stand being in a room with Damian for long periods of time-- He has to be adopted by Batman. right?” She queries and Wally accidentally snorts at the description before swiftly composing himself.

“Young lady, we don’t make assumptions like that!” He chastises her sternly.

“Why not?” The other twin questions, leaning forward in his chair. “It’s not like Batman still cares about that no-meta rule. Didn’t he adopt Duke, who’s a meta?”

“Fostering,” Jonathan corrects only because it’s the only thing he knows that he can latch onto in this conversation. “Batman is only fostering Signal until his mother gets better, so it’s not an adoption. It doesn’t change much since he still treats him like all his other kids.”

“He even knows a lot about his family!”

“I bet you can name every single one of Damian’s pets.” The girl challenges expectantly.

And Jonathan readily accepts this challenge. “Alfred, Bat-Cow, Goliath, Jerry, Titus, Emily, Joseph, Mikaela, Batterson, Eulogy-”

"I was kidding. What are all those other names? I only know the first five.” The boy asks.

“Damian named and claimed 30 of the bats in the Batcave.”

“That’s insane!”

“Are you sure you aren’t related?”

Jonathan is getting somewhat annoyed by their questioning, mostly because he gets the feeling they don’t get along with Damian that well. “So what are your hero names?”

The twins perk up at this and the boy proudly stands and points his thumb to his chest. “I’m Tortoise!”

“And I’m Hare!” The girl boasts before frowning exaggeratedly and plopping back into her seat. “Although I would be Impulse if SOMEONE didn’t already take it! Oh well, I guess the world isn’t ready for two Impulses.”

“Nightwing took Nightwing and the Flash took Flash, so I don’t see why you couldn’t,” Tortoise voices.

“I don’t want a name someone else already has. Besides, we match better if our names go together!”

“I thought Turtles were green,” Flamebird remarks, pointing at the hero’s orange costume.

“It’s Tortoise, and I like the orange ones!” The black-haired boy defends firmly.

“And why I’m wearing brown,” Hare reveals, standing up to show off her costume which is just a tortilla instead of the beige variant of the Impulse uniform. The main difference other than the color is the sides of her headgear that resemble rabbit ears instead of lightning bolts. “White bunnies are overrated.”

“You two are named after the fairytale, right?” He inquires.

“Yeah, because I’m faster!” Hare laughs, poking her brother in the ribs.

“And I’m better,” Tortoise retaliates, poking her back harder in the cheek.

“Hey, no fighting you two, especially not before your big announcement,” Linda scolds tiredly.

“Don’t get mad at me for telling the truth!”

“You’re only faster because I let you be!”

“Because you knew I was faster!”

“I could’ve been my own hero, like Surge, if you didn’t always act before you think!”

“I didn’t ask you for it!”

The twins' playful banter quickly becomes enraged screaming and Jon slowly backs away from this very personal fight. He looks up at The Flash who is wearily dragging his hand down his face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make them angry.”

“No, no, Flamebird. They would’ve started fighting about this at some point today,” Wally sighs. “I’m just grateful it wasn’t on stage.”

“What is this announcement about?” He asks, the arguing of the twins becoming background noise to him. “Nightwing didn’t mention anything about it when we were on the train.”

“It was kinda a last-minute thing, so it slipped my mind to tell him until he was already here,” Wally explains before jumping between the two 9-year-olds. “Hey! No kicking or punching! You’re family and we have guests!”

Linda walks over to stand next to Jon, massaging the wrinkles on her forehead as her husband tries to separate the young speedsters. “Tortoise and Hare are announcing their membership into the New Teen Titans,” She clarifies for the child.

"I see," Flamebird grimaces, poorly feigning joy at the declaration. "Congratulations!" It looked like he was being stabbed in the gut.

"Nightwing told us you and his brother weren't fans of the new team, but I didn't think it was this strong," Linda comments with amusement.

Flamebird nervously sputters out a defense,  not to offend the woman or her kids. "We have nothing against the people on the team. We're sure they're all super nice and cool and great at what they do! It's just that-!"

"We oppose them for everything they stand for and represent," Nightwing, Flamebird's Nightwing, completes as he steps out from behind the partition. "We do not care for this new Teen Titans."

"Little D, Don’t put words in Flamebird’s mouth. I'm sure he was going to say something nicer," The older Nightwing confidently chastises and expectantly waits for Flamebird to agree with him.

That was his first and last mistake because Jon doesn't. With a defiant grumble, Flamebird crosses his arms and tells him, "And those words are, 'The New Teen Titans suck major butt and we don't like them!'"

The room goes silent.

"The original Teen Titans were cool! They came together because a bunch of sidekicks wanted to separate their efforts from their predecessors and prove they could stand on their own even though they were kids. They didn't work under their parents, and they kicked butt! They even became their own team that worked with, but was not a part of, the Justice League. But this!? The new version of the Teen Titans is just a watered-down Young Justice! At least with Young Justice, you know that they're a glorified internship instead of a joke of their glory days!" Flamebird emphasizes his rant by kicking an empty trash bin into a wall which his partner catches before it touches the floor.

"AND ANOTHER THING! All the superhero teams and families are so intertwined these days! I don't even get the point of being a team since everyone is the same thing! Each large superhero family has its claws in every single one of them but we all act like it's important which one we join! Either way, we're being inputted into Batman’s supercomputer with the only thing different being the tiny little note of what we call ourselves! Heavens forbid you start your superhero career on a team, because once you leave that team for another or try going solo everyone will be saying, 'Oh they were so much better when they were in this team or named this.' Because FUCK trying to be your own person!"

"Ooooooookay, so we just used up Flamebird's annual swear word pass. Come on, let's get out of here before everyone gets concerned and/or upset." Nightwing announced apologetically, hooking his arms under his partner’s and forcibly dragging him out of the trailer. "Thanks for having us over, have fun with your announcement. Flamebird, say goodbye."

"Screw you in particular!" Jonathan roars, baring his teeth at Nightwing’s older brother. He didn't even know he was mad about this, but he is and he's going to let everyone know. "I know you don't believe in us and just want my Nightwing to join your polished little club too! YOU WANT US TO FAIL JUST SO YOU HAVE AN EXCUSE TO PLACE US IN YOUR PRISSY LITTLE SQUAD UNDER YOUR THUMB-!'

"AND WE ARE LEAVING!" Damian yells, slamming the door open as he hauls Jon out. "I greatly apologize for Flamebird's outburst; we were having an emotional truffle right before this and didn't cool down properly! Please don't take any of this to heart!"

"Y'ALL BETTER TAKE US SERIOUSLY! I REGRET NOTHING!"

The next several minutes pass by in a blur. Flamebird finds himself far away from the Flea Market, taking calming breaths while draping over the vintage sewing table. Nightwing comfortingly pats him on the back as the younger tween finally lets his brain catch up with his emotions. It’s only when he vaguely feels the giant floppy dog plushie being nuzzled under him that he realizes they’re on the rooftop where Stephanie and Conner were last seen.

"I regret everything," He moans into the soft toy.

"I know you do, Flamebird," Nightwing acknowledges, patting him on the back more. "This is why you should let me have the outbursts. You're too nice and feel bad about it while I have no cares to give."

"I think I'm going to be sick," He groans, holding his stomach, the stress pushing down on his abdomen. "Like, sick for real. Urgh, that was the worst first impression ever. I don't think the speedy siblings like me anymore."

"If it makes you feel better, your association with me didn't put you in high regard in the first place."

"That makes it worse," He states, pressing his face against the table that is slowly heated by the sun. "So what did you tell your brother?"

"Well," Nightwing coughs, trying to hide his nervousness. "I kept silent about the severity of our current situation. It appeared there was a lot already at hand and I didn't want to trouble him."

"You pleaded the Fifth because there was no way Nightwing wouldn't freak the heck out on Spoiler if you told the truth." Flamebird translates in a monotone.

"Yeeeaaah… We can officially count this situation as an emergency."

"Is it an emergency if we're the ones that create it?"

"I refuse to hold any blame in this," He proclaims then takes a long breath. "Plus… She's been insecure about feeling she belongs. If my brother finds out she left us alone on a mission to keep us safe then Richard will lose it on her and it'll just make her feel worse. She doesn’t need that right now."

"Have you tried calling her?" Jon asks, turning to look at his partner with half his face buried in fake fur.

"Duh," He replies, Pointing at his phone. "Goes straight to voicemail."

"Let me try calling my brother," He speed-dials Conner and waits for seven rings before he hears the call being received. "He picked up! Hey Superboy?"

"H-Hey Flamebird! Sport! Little buddy! How's it hanging? Everything okay shopping?" The teen answers in the least convincing way known to mankind.

"Uh… yeah. It's a lot nicer now that everyone is going to that special event. But shouldn't you know that since you're watching us?"

"W-what? Of course I know! I'm right where I was! No ulterior agendas here! Just me and Steph- Spoiler! Having a boring time watching you do nothing!"

Jonathan sighs, forgoing the charade to blatantly ask, "Superboy, where are you?"

A pause. "... You're standing on the rooftop, aren't you?"

"Yep."

A sound similar to a chicken being strangled emits from the receiver. "Pleeeeeaaaaaassssse don't tell Spoiler I left my post! I was keeping a close eye on you guys, but then I noticed one of the train cars go somewhere off-course, and she was busy! I had to follow it! You're not in trouble right now or need anything important, right?

"Not really, but-" He begins to say but his brother interrupts before immediately hanging up.

"Great, just stay right there and everything will be fine!"

Jon stares at his phone for a second then knowingly asks Nightwing, "We're not staying here, are we?"

Nightwing scoffs at the obvious inquiry. "I don't want to get them in trouble, but that doesn't mean I'm going to make it easy for them."

"Cool, let's go," Flamebird agrees, leaving their market haul on the rooftop and venturing into the rest of Central City’s domain to discover what could’ve caused their chaperones to abandon their positions. It’ll at least be more exciting than the flea market.

Chapter Text

Exploring the greater Central City was a strenuous effort as the city that’s always on the run lives up to its namesake. Everyone moves to the rhythm of their beat, yet simultaneously in tune with one another. The trolley system is one of the main ways tourists experience the city. It’s a historic landmark and calls back to a simpler time as it hits all the main sights in the city.

That is if you can catch it.

These little metal and wooden cars don’t stop for anyone and rarely slow down as potential passengers hurry to hop on board. Everything has to keep moving because if one thing stops it will delay everything else. While inconvenient for some, the people of Central City are more than willing to help those out of the loop get in.

“Nightwing, wait for me!” Flamebird shouts, his legs trying to run up to the back of the trolley.

“I’m not the one driving this thing, just run faster!” Nightwing retaliates but leans out of the car with one hand stretched out for his partner, while the other holds on to a wooden banister on the steps.

Flamebird’s red gloved fingers barely manage to scrape the tips of his friend’s when suddenly the shorter hero is picked up and pushed forward by someone from behind. He visibly bristles at the contact, his grip on Jon’s hand becoming tight as a vice grip. The half-Kryptonian winces but doesn’t say anything as he climbs onboard. Damian whips around to glare at whoever dared manhandle him, but instantly stops when he sees it is an elderly man with a toddler clinging to his pant leg.

“You alright there, son?” The man asks, playfully tapping Jonathan’s leg with the butt of his cane. “I remember chasing after trolleys with my friends when I was your age. One wrong step and you could’ve fallen off.”

Nightwing blinks rapidly from underneath his mask. “Ah… Right.” 

Flamebird smiles gratefully and shakes the man’s hand. “Thank you for your help, sir!”

“You’re welcome. And make sure when you hop off you stand on the bottom step first,” He advises before sitting down on one of the wooden benches with his grandchild.

Nightwing and Flamebird nod acceptingly even though the civilian isn’t paying attention anymore. There are a few places to sit, but the duo stays standing as there are no seats available next to one another. Flamebird excitedly leans out a window as his best friend holds the back of his short cape to prevent him from falling out.

“This is so fun, Nightwing!” The fiery hero exclaims, his midnight black hair billowing in the warm summer breeze. “I’ve never been on a trolley before!”

“-TT- And you’re about to not be on one if you move any further,” The hooded hero counters, yanking the boy back inside. “Do you want to cause mass panic to draw their attention? Because that’s what you’re about to do by nearly getting yourself run over!”

“Aww, come on Nightwing. Lighten up a bit! They could be anywhere, so we might as well have fun around the city.”

Damian nonverbally agrees, moving closer to Jon in a hushed voice. “Fortunately, their main objective is to make sure we’re safe. If we’re not where they think we are, then they’ll panic. That means they’ll slip up once they realize we’re not at the market.”

“We can do anything we want without adult supervision?” Flamebird whispers with excitement and a small amount of trepidation. He tries to imagine all of the amazing things he could do without an adult around. Then he realizes that he’s 11, Damian’s 12, and none of them can leave the city or do anything risky without their parents finding out. “Do you want to go to the Flash Museum?”

“The last time we went to a museum we ended up fighting an artist wearing an incomplete rainbow. I dread to think what will become of us at another one.”

“That was one time! Besides, I thought you liked that guy.”

“I appreciate his skills, but not the morals of the person possessing them. A complete waste of talent if you ask me.”

Bright blue eyes look to the horizon as they pass through the bustling city streets. The sight of a shimmering shoreline catches his attention just as an enormous white riverboat with the Flash’s logo embroidered on the bunting flags dangling off the handrails paddle by. “Okay, how about we go on that riverboat ride? We can see the city line from there!”

“It’s not like we have any other ideas,” Damian complies, leisurely taking a brochure from a stack near the entrance. “The docks are several stops away, and boards again around 3:30, so if you see anything else you want to do before, just say so.” He flips through some pages before stopping on the image of the Central City arch. “There’s a tram we can get on afterward to the top of the arch, and they also serve dinner on the cruise. We’ll probably be hungry by then we can save time by eating.”

“That… sounds nice,” Flamebird says hesitantly. “You’re really chill about everything. I mean, we don’t have anything to worry about, but usually, you’d be all, ‘We have to stay vigilant and make a plan to find our siblings, so we can yell at them for being irresponsible.’”

“Do you want me to?” His partner questions, slightly amused. “It would be interesting to get involved in whatever cockamamie scheme those two are up to, regardless it is not our business to interfere in another team’s mission. If we start purposefully involving ourselves in their missions, that will give other teams a reason to do the same to us if we ever do anything noteworthy. It is one thing to assist when we are caught up in the middle of danger, but to actively interfere, and without intel on what they’re doing, is plain stupid.”

“Aww, so we’re sidelining ourselves?”

“Yes, it’s simple politics,” Damian replies, stepping away from Jon to look out the window. “On the plus side, we’re still meeting our objective for the day while causing our older siblings a great deal of distress. I say we win either way.”

“I guess, but I wish we could know what they’re up to.” Jonathan sighs, slouching where he stands. “It just kinda sucks not doing anything superhero-like after last time.”

“I’m sure we’ll hear all about it after the fact,” He tells him, glancing at his hero partner’s forlorn expression. He looks out the window, taking note of all the southern Gothic architecture they pass by in the old town district until he spots one that might cheer the other up, “Do you want ice cream?”

Flamebird takes his time thinking about it before he sheepishly answers, “...yes.”

After getting off the trolley like a toddler confronted with an escalator for the first time, Jonathan followed him to a quaint little shop that advertises handmade ice cream. After getting a scoop of red velvet for himself, he sits down on one of the outdoor tables under the striped awning out front. He enjoys the summer in the safety of the shade as Damian walks out with a scoop of hazelnut on a chocolate waffle cone.

“How come you didn’t get a cone; Don’t you like those?” Nightwing asks, sitting across from him with his legs crossed. He always seems so effortlessly stylish like those people he sees in his mom’s magazines she keeps next to the toilet. It is unfair.

Flamebird takes a bite of his treat from the paper cup with a frown. “I do, but it’s too hot out. I won’t finish it before it melts through the cone and get a big red stain on my costume! I don’t want people to see me with a dirty costume.”

“It’s my job to worry about our public image, not yours,” Nightwing states, looking out to the streets to watch the world pass them by.

Jon’s frown deepens as he leans back in his plastic lawn chair with crossed arms. “It’s starting to feel like everything is your job. I thought we were supposed to be partners.”

“We are.”

“Then why does it feel like you’re doing everything? You make our costumes, come up with all our plans, pay for everything, and you do that thing.”

“That thing?” Damian repeats.

Flamebird shovels ice cream into his mouth in frustration, hoping the treat will cool off his nerves as it does his body. He leans across the tiny metal table and whispers, “You make yourself look worse to make me look better. I get angry about stuff too, but before I can do anything in public you stop me.”

“You’re not an angry person,” Nightwing states like a simple fact of the universe.

“Keep saying stuff like that and I’m about to be,” The younger hero huffs.

“Why do you want to be seen like that?”

“I don’t, but that doesn’t mean I want other people to think of you like that.”

“You know I don’t have a high expectation of people,” Damian explains. “I do not trust them to see people past the surface. Of course, there will be things that will frustrate us when we start this. In an era where everyone has their eyes in their pocket, the image we create now will follow us for the rest of our lives. I can live with it by being looked upon in a negative light. You can’t.”

“What even is the image we’re making for ourselves, Nightwing?” Flamebird questions, throwing his now empty cup into a nearby trashcan is surprising accuracy. He takes a second to pump his fist victoriously in the air before remembering he’s supposed to be serious.

“Yeah, what are you two trying to do?” The familiar voice of a girl asks, causing the duo to look up from their seats to be faced with the brown mask of Hare, Irey West.

Next to her is her brother Tortoise, Jai West, staring at them impatiently and tapping his foot. “Sitting around and eating ice cream doesn’t seem very heroic to us.”

Flamebird flushes with embarrassment as he notices people starting to circle them due to the speedster twin’s sudden public appearance, and his shameful behavior toward them before. Nightwing, on the other hand, meets their judgment with contempt. “Shouldn’t you be basking in the narcissistic glory this city shoves you two under?”

“Is the event already over? How long has it been?” The half-Kryptonian asks, looking around for a clock.

“You’re asking a lot of questions for someone who hasn’t answered ours.” The shorter black-haired twin replies.

“And you have some audacity asking anything of us.” Damian quips, glaring at the younger boy.

“Don’t worry about our event,” Irey reassures as she fidgets one of her long red pigtails with her fingers. “Everything ends quickly around here, so it’s already over.”

“Okay?” Jonathan says, suspicious of her nervous behavior. “So… why are you two here?” He inquires before adding, “With us. In public.”

Light green eyes dart to her brother who is in an intense staring contest with the new Nightwing, then back to Flamebird. “We’re kinda curious about you two. Tortoise and I always knew we were going to end up in the Teen Titans with our uncle-”

“The current Kid Flash,” Damian informs his partner before he has the chance to ask, not taking a break from his impromptu staring contest.

“Yeah, him. Anyways, we just wanted to see what you guys were doing and so far it’s…” She trails off with a forlorn expression. “Boring.”

Jonathan looks at her for a moment and is about to say something when a flash of light blinds him. “Argh! My eyes!”

“Shi- I mean, shoot! Sorry!” A teenage girl with large glasses stutters as she fumbles with her phone.

“Oh, my gosh, who even has their flash turned on anymore?” Her friend jibes, swatting her on the arm.

“Shut up, I was taking a picture of my cat in the dark earlier!”

Nightwing grabs onto his partner’s shoulder and pulls him closer. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Here, we can help,” The orange-clad speedster offers, hovering both his hands above Nightwing’s. “Do you mind; it’ll only take a second?”

The 12-year-old bares his teeth at the boy with an almost feral growl and recoils from him when he looks at Jon. Jon is rubbing his eye with one hand and waving at the camera with a reassuring smile accompanying vacant eyes and a million thoughts. Jonathan’s mind is getting closer to figuring out everything because his mind is always thinking; Always roaming to trains of thought better left forgotten.

Damian wishes he would quit it.

The cloaked hero clicks his tongue and captures Jai’s orange gloves in a painful vice grip. “-TT- Just do your thing.”

“Yeowch!” He winces and nods along. “At least I don’t have to tell you to hold on tight.”

Flamebird has super speed. He has experienced what it’s like to move faster than the brain can comprehend, yet the speed of a Kryptonian is nothing compared to the gait of the Speed Force. They don’t even know they were moved in the first place because by the time they registered their body was in motion he already stopped. He lowers his waving hand just as Irey begins waving hers in front of him.

“Hey? Hey Flamebird, are you okay? I didn’t give you whiplash, did I?” The redhead questions, furrowing her brows in concern.

“Huh?” Jon stutters, taking in his new surroundings. He’s in an empty alleyway close to the edge of the Mississippi River. He quickly peers out to see a crowd of people walking by, however, all of them are too busy to veer their eyes away from the designated path. Then Jon remembers he was asked a question.

“Oh! I’m fine! I wasn’t expecting that.” He shakes the jet lag out of his body and pats his cheeks into an energetic smile. “Wow, that was so cool! I didn’t even feel it! Sometimes when I’m in the car and it breaks too fast I’m still moving and my face hits the seat in front of me, but with you, I didn’t feel any of that! I didn’t feel myself moving which is awesome, but I’m kinda bummed that I missed out on experiencing how fast we were going. Can we do that again, but a little slower? Wait, is a little slower than super-fast still too fast to know I’m going super fast?”

The young girl shrugs with her entire body. “I dunno, I’m always going the same fast speed that I never tried going slow-fast. My dad says the speed force protects people from dying from sudden momentum changes so that’s probably why you didn’t feel it.”

“Wait, I could’ve died?”

“Now that we have some semblance of privacy, what do you two want from us?” Nightwing inquires, ignoring Jonathan questioning his mortality.

“Why do you always think people want something from you?” Jai scoffs.

“Because they do.”

“Even your friend, Flamebird?”

“Leave him out of this.” Nightwing snarls as the two boys almost physically butt their heads together.

“Wow, they really don’t like each other,” Jonathan observes along with Irey. “I don’t think you like him either, but this is different.”

Sheepishly, she fidgets with her pigtail again. “No offense, but he leaves really bad first impressions.”

“And second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh--” Jai lists off as he remains in the intense, yet childish, standoff.

With fake glee, the older boy grins in a cruel mockery of pride. “I didn’t think you were smart enough to count so high! Congratulation on your outstandingly mediocre achievement!” He applauded the younger hero, his claps carrying a condescending cadence.

Okay, so now is a good time for Flamebird to step in before this gets ugly. “Nightwing, we already left a bad impression on these guys. Let’s try not to make it worse.”

“Too late for that.” The orange-clad hero sneers and grabs his sister’s hand. “Let’s go, Hare. There’s nothing interesting to see here.”

“Okay!” She agrees, eager to escape the harsh atmosphere the siblings created. “See ya!”

Clicking his tongue in irritation once more, Damian mutters, “-TT- Nuisances, the lot of them.”

“You could’ve been nicer to them, ya know,” Jonathan suggests, discouraged by their worsening relationship with their fellow young heroes.

“Look who’s talking.” The older boy retorts at the hypocritical statement.

“Then we could both do better.” He fires back. 

“Whatever. We still have time to loiter around before the next ferry so we should--”

Whatever Nightwing is saying next becomes completely lost on Jonathan as a disrupting hum distracts him. The noise is quieter than the sounds of the city and his friend directly next to him, yet uncanny enough that it’s noticeable. “Hey, do you hear that?”

Nightwing frowns at being rudely interrupted, but answers anyway. “You need to be more specific.”

“It’s… I don’t know. It’s a low rumbling noise. Like when you put your phone on vibrate and place it on a table like, bbrrrrrrzzzzzzzzzzzbbbbrrrrzzz! But deeper sounding!” Flamebird accentuates his onomatopoeia by using his hands as visual aids which unfortunately look like jazz hands.

“You truly have a way with words,” His partner deadpans, successfully making Jon self-consciously stop his demonstration. “Alas, I cannot hear what you can.”

“Maybe it has something to do with my super-hearing.” He proposes and cups the back of his ears to help him hear better. He’s been training his hearing at home more often ever since Metropolis and he believes he’s gotten better in the last few days.

That thought is immediately thrown out the window as he crumples from overstimulation assaulting his hearing. Central City is considerably louder than his quiet home and busier than Metropolis with all the transportation systems zipping around all the time. What the city lacks in population, it makes up for in commotion.

Nightwing catches him before he can hit the ground.

“It’s coming from underground,” Flamebird states, green in the face. “I don’t want to go in the sewers again.”

“It’s a good thing Central City has an updated sewer system,” Nightwing explains to his visibly confused friend.  “Flamebird, only older cities have drainage systems large enough to fit people. In more modern cities it’s only a narrow pipe system.”

“Then what’s below us?” The taller hero asks as he pushes himself up onto his feet.

“The subway system.” He answers, already walking toward the nearest entrance.

The subway system in Central City is different than the monorails of Metropolis that are suspended above the air on narrow bridges, or the dingy trains of Gotham that are barely lit in the subterranean caverns. It is efficient both in its presentation and performance. People who are familiar with the system are in and out of their train that comes every five minutes ensuring everyone gets to where they need to be.

Sadly, the same can’t be said for the ticket booths. They have long gotten rid of the need for ticket clerks and replaced them with automated machines. That would not be a bad thing if it wasn’t the most convoluted machine the boys have ever used.

“I think I hear the noise more in this direction so we should take the teal path,” Jonathan says as he taps it on the touch screen and immediately gets an advertisement for something called Flash Fizz.

“You’re looking at the map wrong, if you want to go that way you should take either the light purple or maroon path,” Damian hisses, violently exiting out of the ad and pressing the purple path that immediately causes an unskippable 30-second ad for the River Cruise to play. “You got to be kidding me.”

“Maybe this machine is broken,” Flamebird suggests and steps over to the next machine that looks sleeker and narrower. He fiddles with the screen for a few seconds before a text box pops up. “Uhh… Nightwing, it’s asking me to download an app on my phone.”

“Son of a--!” Nightwing hollers, gathering attention to himself as he kicks this godforsaken insult to technology. “Who designed this piece of late-stage capitalism Hell!?”

“Nightwing, no! We can’t afford to break it!” Flamebird cries as he pulls his partner back.

“With all the sponsorships coded into this thing, I’m sure the city can afford it!” He shouts, kicking it again for good measure.

“Here, let’s pick a train before it gives us another ad.” He declares and quickly picks a path that’s somewhere in between the ones they were looking at, the orange path. Another Flash Fizz ad plays as their tickets print, but it is only fifteen seconds long and it is kinda catchy. The ticket was also free, so it wasn’t too bad.

It was still awful though.

“See, that wasn’t so bad!” Flamebird’s optimistic assertion was foiled by the forcefulness of that statement, and Nightwing knew it.

The pair hop onto their train without any hassle. It's a bit cramped, however, the speed of their commute makes up for its lack of space. According to their ticket, the path he picked was only going to be ten minutes long which is enough time for him to ask, “Do you think the Flash gets paid?”

“Flamebird, heroes don’t get paid for saving the day.”

“No, not for that, for having his logo everywhere.” He clarifies.

“No, because to do that he would have to copyright the imagery to profit off of it and that would entail revealing his identity on the paperwork. You can’t write ‘The Flash’ on a government document.” Nightwing explains like it is obvious, pulling his cape closer to his body as it gets caught on someone’s belt.

“Then who owns it?” Flamebird questions, pointing at his ticket that had the Flash logo on it. “The train we took here had it and that commercial had it, so someone is making money off of the Flash. If it isn’t him, then who is it?”

“According to the copyright offices, it’s the local government that filed it.”

“Did they ask him if they could do that?”

“I don’t know, but I doubt it.”

Jonathan pauses for a few seconds then inquires, “Who owns the Superman logo?”

“Lex Corp.” Nightwing answers instantly.

“WHAT?!” The boy screams at this newfound information. “But- how-- WHY!? Lex Luthor hates Superman!”

His partner nods calmly. “Exactly. If I had the finances to appropriate my arch enemy’s identity and twist it for my gain, I’d do it too.”

“What about Batman’s logo?!” He gasps, worried about his best friend’s family.

“Wayne Industries,” Damian answers easily and unbothered. “They also own Bat-Burger which is one of the reasons they did it.”

“I… Huh. Isn’t that…” Jonathan fumbles, trying and failing to find the words about how conflicted that makes him feel.

“Are you saying it’s odd that the richest man in Gotham is profiting off of a Gotham-specific hero? It’d be surprising if he didn’t.” He elaborates with a threatening look so he wouldn't question it more in public.

“When you put it like that I guess it doesn’t seem that weird,” He admits, knowing it’s a good cover separate from the real reason. “It feels wrong that the government and companies can take something like Superheroes away from Superheroes.”

“It is, but heroism is not about merchandise or copyrights. It doesn’t matter how others use the hero, but how the hero represents.” Nightwing says with finality, ending the conversation.

Flamebird glances at his friend before gazing at their reflections in the subway’s window. He focuses on the symbols on their chests, wondering how the heroes before them represented Nightwing and Flamebird. Did they do their Gods justice? Did they make it into something different? What kind of heroes were they? More importantly, what kind of heroes are they going to be now?

The golden sequins on his chest start to burn and he wonders about Damian. Damian always has a plan and must have one for himself. Jonathan wanted to be a new hero, but Damian… Which Nightwing does Damian plan to be like; The god, the hero, or the brother?

They get off their train and Flamebird listens around for the buzzing sound and it’s certainly stronger around here. Although it’s not as strong as it was as they were approaching the station. “I think the noise is coming from in the tunnel.”

“There’s no stop in the tunnel, so we’re going to have to get creative.” He states, walking towards the tunnel they emerged from.

With no desire to have a close encounter with the face of a subway car, Flamebird brings up his concerns. “We’re going in there? What if we get hit by a train?” 

Nightwing stops and stares at his friend with a blank expression before slowly pointing to the brightly painted door on the side. “The maintenance entrance, Flamebird. I’m ambitious, not suicidal.”

“Oh.” Nightwing always has a special way of making Flamebird feel stupid.

The green-clad hero swiftly picks the lock and the duo slips inside with the dense crowd concealing their movements. The hollow corridors of the subway maintenance area are a welcomed reprieve from the mob of people that could sweep them up at a moment's notice. 

The only sounds around them are the low hums and squeaks of the machinery controlling the transit system. As Jonathan tries to focus on the buzzing noise that's now not too dissimilar to the other noises around him he wonders if he was simply tuning in on nothing. “Hey Nightwing, what if this ends up being nothing?”

“I already thought this adventure was going to be fruitless. I’m simply bored and curious,” Nightwing says, pulling out a flashlight from his person as they enter a dark area. “We were already lazing about without a plan. This is just something to do.”

“You’re right, we weren’t doing much to begin with.” The younger hero agrees. “Hopefully we at least find something fun! Like a giant generator made up of hamster wheels!”

“A what?” Nightwing blurts out, stuttering in his footsteps.

Unfazed, Flamebird shamelessly explains his reasoning. “You know! On TV when there’s a lot of energy being used there’s a hamster on a wheel running that makes it! Or sometimes it’s a treadmill! I thought it was silly at first but there was a boy named John, not Jon like me but with an H-N. Anyway, John has a pet guinea pig, which isn’t a hamster, but that’s not the point. The point is that when his guinea pig ran on a special wheel he made for the science fair it lit up a light bulb! That means if there was a giant one or a bunch of small ones they could power the trains.”

“Remind me to never read your mind in the event I suddenly get the ability to read them.” The older hero says after a palpable pause. “Central City derives its energy from wind and solar, but before that, it was off of coal. Never hamster wheels.”

"That’s boring.”

“It’s sensible,” Nightwing argues. "What you've concocted is animal cruelty."

"It’s weird, but it'd be more interesting than my ears hearing a random machine underground!" He bemoans, his wail echoing along the concrete walls.

As the sound of his voice reverb back at him an emerging thought creeps to the forefront of his mind. This is a maintenance area of a subway on a busy weekend in the middle of the day. Shouldn't there be more people who wouldn't like random kids wandering around?

"HEY!" Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

Nightwing shines the light straight ahead, turning up the brightness setting to see the security guard walking towards them. "Hm, and I was beginning to think the civil servants of Central City were incompetent."

With a bashful flush, Flamebird steps forward to take responsibility for trespassing. "Sorry sir! We thought we heard something and wanted to check it out! We'll leave now!"

The guard continues to get closer to them until he can finally see the boys with his own flashlight. The moment he sees the two young heroes a deafening bang reverberates around them. For a second that feel like an eternity, Flamebird didn’t know where the sound was coming from. He turns to Damian who has a horrid expression plastered on his face and is slowly taking out his sword. Why is he so slow?

Jon looks at himself to see a hole in his uniform, right under his ribs. Huh? When did he get that? He doesn’t want to make Damian do more work fixing his uniform again. They already spent too much money today, or did they? Jonathan still isn’t sure how much money they have because Damian keeps track of everything.

Then red blossoms out on the white of his uniform. That’s when it finally clicks for the 11-year-old. Oh, he understands now. He’s been shot.

Without his invincibility activated.

The world is moving in slow motion as he sees Nightwing run at his attacker, but Jon can’t see more than that. Where did the flashlight go? He sees it on the floor where his best friend was standing and absentmindedly picks it up.

He points the light at his partner to see he already knocked out the guard, then points it to himself to see the wound bleed out. It would be cool if he could feel something, but he can’t. He can’t feel anything. He can’t hear anything.

And that scares him.

“Flamebird!” Nightwing shrieks, holding him up by the shoulders. It sounds like he’s underwater. “FLAMEBIRD!”

He’s saying something else, but Jon can’t focus on that right now. He can’t focus. That’s bad because to use any of his powers he’s supposed to be focusing, but he always had trouble concentrating. He can’t focus. Damian could focus. Damian wouldn’t get shot. He’s glad it was him who got shot and not Damian.

Pain erupts from his injury and he sees Damian’s hand inside his abdomen. He looks up at his partner and wonders when he was laid down. Why is Damian hurting him?

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Nightwing repeats, and Jon doesn’t understand why. Jon was the one not focusing. Jon was the one not paying attention. Jon was the one who got shot. “I have to get the bullet out! We can’t risk you healing around it!”

The sense of sound fully comes back to him and there’s screaming. Jon’s screaming. So that’s why Damian was apologizing to him.

“I got it!” Nightwing announces, holding up the blue object that was inside him. Are bullets supposed to be blue? “FUCK!”

He throws the bullet down the hall where he hears a rush of footsteps heading toward them. It explodes, taking out several electrical systems and a wall with it. Not destroying it, but eating it as all that was left was a hollow space out of the concrete shaped like a sphere. Nearby, Jon can hear the panic caused by the sudden stopping of several trains. Oops.

“Don’t move, just relax and focus on healing. Did you learn how to control that yet?” Nightwing asks, scooping Flamebird into his arms and running. Jon still can’t focus. Well, he can focus on one thing.

“WHAT WAS THAT!?” He yells, pointing in the direction of the explosive bullet.

“Anndranna weaponry,” Nightwing says and nods his head to his hip where an odd-looking gun was strapped to his hip. It reminds him of what people thought alien guns would look like in the sixties, round with bright color fins. “They’re an alien race of warmongers who specialize in spatial bombs.” At Jonathan’s blank expression, he clarifies. “Bombs with explosive power derived from folding the fabric of space.”

“That was inside me!?” Jonathan yelps and then becomes angry. “You got close while that was inside me!?”

“I wasn’t going to leave you like that, we’re partners!” Damian fights back. He hears more people coming and shoves his way through an adjacent door. "Don't you dare get cross with me for saving your life!"

"I'm not mad you saved my life, I'm mad you could've died!" 

"How do you think I feel then!? Huh!?" He falls to his knees in the empty room with Jonathan still in his arms. "Jesus Christ Jon, you got shot and- and you just stood there doing nothing! What the Hell was that!? You- you shut down an- a-- and-!" He stutters, the litany of negative feelings flowing out at once becoming backed up. The only thing tangible in his sputters is anger because anger is easy for him. "What is wrong with you? You weren't even fighting to save your life! I hate you!"

Jonathan winces, azure eyes darting down to the slowly closing hole in his body and then to one of Damian’s hands gripping him covered in Jon’s blood. Blood that felt like it was burning through his skin. "I'm sorry." He whimpers, but he doesn’t think he was heard.

“I hate you! I freaking hate you! Superman can dodge a bullet! Faster than a speeding bullet! That’s how the saying goes! You have to be the worst Kryptonian to have ever existed! Maybe the worst you to ever exist because at least maybe in every other universe you’d be smart enough not to get shot! Or use their powers! Anything other than standing there like a- a--!”

“I’m sorry,” He sobs again, and he doesn’t know if it’s because of the emotional or physical pain. He’s trying to force himself to heal faster, however, he doesn’t know if it’s working. It burns, his veins burn and he has to heal. If he heals, maybe Damian will stop.

He knows Damian doesn’t mean what he’s saying. He knows Damian was just scared for him. Damian hates feeling vulnerable because of his past, so he tries to appear strong. Anger is strong.

But it hurts.

“Arrrrgggghhhh!” Nightwing grunts, gently laying his friend on the floor before taking his frustration out on a nearby wall. The heel of his platform boot makes a fierce collision with the wall Jon would be surprised if his friend didn’t hurt himself. “This was supposed to be a normal day! For once we weren’t looking for trouble!” He pounds the wall a few more times before taking a deep breath. Then another. Then another.

“What the heck am I doing? You got shot, and here I am…” He squats next to Jon and pulls his mini Superman backpack out from behind Jon’s cape. 

Jon forgot he brought that as Damian opens the first aid kit his granddad gifted him. Damian carefully dabs disinfectant around and inside the wound, praying it wasn’t already infected. He pinches together Jon’s open flesh and pulls a strip of medical tape over it. Then he sticks a large bandage over it which would not be effective on a normal person, but Jon wasn’t normal. Damian pulls out another smaller kit from his pocket and pulls out a sewing needle and thread which he uses to sew up the gash in Jon’s uniform.

"We need to be more careful, more observant. Getting caught off guard like that again can’t be an option.” We, not you anymore. “We should’ve noticed something was off before being confronted.” He takes another deep breath. “Alright, this is too big for us to handle. We don’t have the resources to deal with this.”

Flamebird grasps the heavy hem of Nightwing’s cape with the tips of his fingers. He doesn’t have the energy to do more. “We can’t tell anyone. The contract!” He reminds him. “If they find out I got hurt, we can’t do this anymore!”

“Flamebird, you got SHOT! You had an explosive inside you!” Nightwing explodes (no pun intended), his calm demeanor disappearing as quickly as it came. “If this doesn’t count as a fatal injury then-”

"'If either of the individuals who signs this contract sustains an injury above moderate levels for any reason related to hero work the team must disband immediately.’ ” Jonathan reiterates the clause in their contract from memory. “Define what counts as above a moderate level injury.”

“Flamebird-”

“DEFINE IT.” Jon urges with an intimidating glare.

Nightwing returns with his own glare, but complies. “Moderate bodily injury means physical injury that involves prolonged loss of consciousness, or that causes temporary or moderate disfigurement or temporary loss of the function of a bodily member or organ, or injury that requires medical treatment when the treatment requires the use of regional or general anesthesia or injury that results in a fracture or dislocation. So anything above that.”

“Then they don’t need to know.” Jonathan hisses as he sits up. “This is temporary, I’m already better.”

“Flamebird, you can’t be serious!” Damian gasps, trying to lay his friend back down.

The taller boy lightly pushes his friend away as he stands up to reveal his mostly healed wound. “I am fine, and even if I wasn’t, that wouldn’t be on us. When something like this happens to me, who is supposed to stop it?”

“Me,” He answers with absolute conviction.

“No,” Jon corrects. “We have chaperones for a reason Damian. It’s one thing to be left alone, but being left alone and this? Imagine the consequences not just for us, but them.”

“I can’t-- Jonathan- Flamebird! She didn’t know! We didn’t plan for this! I can’t put this on her, don’t make me pin this on her.” His partner pleads. If he wasn’t already on his knees, Jon knew he would’ve dropped to them to beg. “Nightwing- he’s already stressed. I don’t know why, or what’s going on with him but he won’t let this go lightly! And Father! Please, Habibi!”

“It doesn’t matter what we say, because the contract says they’re responsible. Even if we try to take all the blame it will fall on them. Do you think I want my brother to get in trouble?” He doesn’t say it, but the answer is clear. “But if we keep our mouths shut, no one has to know. This injury never happened. The worst thing that can happen is they get in a little bit of trouble for leaving their post, and even then we can use that.”

“We can’t hide the evidence.” Even Damian knows that’s a lie, but he tries.

“We can,” Jonathan tells him, grabbing the hydrogen peroxide and his water bottle from his first aid kit. “Give me a few minutes.”

“I regret teaching you that,” The older hero sighs. “Fine, but we… we need to talk about this later.”

“It's just another secret we have to keep, just like three years ago,” The younger hero laments as he strips off his uniform. “So what are we going to do about the Andradamian… Annndromo… Anamana-”

“Anndranna,” Nightwing establishes, scanning the room more with the flashlight. “It’s still above our league, so the best thing we can do is inform the proper authorities… Omitting some gruesome details along the way.”

“Who would those be? The police?”

“No, they’re not equipped for something this level. As much as I loathe to admit it, an official superhero team would be well-equipped for this. The Justice League, the Titans, and…” He pauses as the flashlight comes across what looks like to be a security panel. The one used by security guards to monitor an area like the one that almost killed them.

Nightwing walks up to the panel and flips several switches that cause nothing to happen. He searches around the room to find a switch for a backup generator and brings the panel to life. “Young Justice.” Flamebird stumbles up to his partner as they watch their older siblings in the middle of their own adventure, stopping bad guys and pulling away carts of weapons similar to the one on Damian’s hip. “This explains why that guard was so quick with his trigger finger, they’re already under attack by a group of young heroes.”

“And why it’s so empty. Almost everyone else is dealing with them.” He watches someone shoot at his brother and his heart races. “Superboy, look out!”

“He can’t hear you,” Nightwing chuckles, attempting to return to a state of normalcy. He pushes a nearby rolling chair for Flamebird to rest in while he tampers with the controls. He rewinds one of the screens to the moment the duo entered the facility up to the second they entered this room. 

No wonder Nightwing was so mad at Jon. Seeing himself get shot and how he reacted afterward from a third-person point-of-view is disturbing. Nightwing deletes the footage and then uses the same screen to open every file he can find on the computer. “You see Flamebird, this is why adding a wi-fi connection to everything is problematic for the crime rate. It’s like they don’t even want us to work for it.”

“I remember your fridge having wi-fi.”

“And if I wanted to, I could hack the Pentagon from it. Nothing is secured anymore.” As he reads through the files, Flamebird works on cleaning the stain on his uniform. The blood is still fresh so it should be easy if past experiences are anything to go by. Although, Kryptonian blood is different from human blood so it might not be perfect.

“This reminds me of when we first met,” Flamebird reminisces as he pours water over the foaming liquid. “When you weren’t housetrained.”

“And I keep telling you not to call it that,” Nightwing scoffs, but there’s a hint of a smile there. “It’s also why I stopped wearing white; It stains too easily”

“What happened to that old uniform?” Jon inquires as he recalls the white body suit with black accents Damian used to wear when he first came to Gotham.

Eyes roll from behind white lenses. “I was nine, Flamebird. I outgrew it.”

“You don’t seem that much bigger than you used to be.” He teases and earns an elbow to his shoulder.

“Shut up, I grew like a normal kid. We can’t all grow like cornstalks you freaking corncob.”

“You’re still mad about that?”

“The worst thing you’ve ever done was grow taller than me.”

Jon couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. “I almost miss your old outfit. I’d miss it more if you didn’t keep getting it covered in blood. That was hard to clean. At least my mom was happy I learned how to do laundry.”

“Learn from my mistake; Black doesn't stain.” He says as he pauses to look at a specific file, holding up the black leather-gloved hand he used to pull the bullet out. “-TT- It looks like they were going to use the transit system to haul Anndranna weaponry out of the city to different locations.”

Flamebird turns to the other screens to see Impulse zip through a lot of goons, knocking them out, before leaving that area. He follows the beige and red blur through different monitors until it becomes obvious where he’s going. “He’s coming!”

Nightwing quickly exits out of all the files and asks how much time he has left. He doesn’t get to finish that statement when the teenage speedster phases through the wall by vibrating his body at an incredible speed, resulting in that low buzzing that drew Jonathan here in the first place.

“Alright, I am late but I am here! What is all the scream… Jon, why are you naked?” He asks, staring at Jon pouring water over his uniform. Thankfully the dark lighting made it difficult to see the mostly faded stain, but it hid little else.

“I was… Uh…” Jonathan hesitates for a second before deciding to go the pedantic route. “I’m not. I'm wearing boxers, socks, and my boots!”

“Names,” Nightwing lectures. “And if you heard all that screaming, why didn’t you come here earlier?”

“I didn’t hear anything, Superboy heard something and he called me and I was busy because Spoiler made me take fifteen shipments since I have super speed and could get it done faster! Now, why are you naked!?” He asks again.

The half-Kryptonian struggles to come up with an explanation that could make any semblance of sense. Nightwing spins the chair to hide more of Flamebird’s treated midsection as he replies, “He’s cleaning an ice cream stain before it sets. You can ask Tortoise and Hare, they’re the ones who interrupted us earlier while we were eating.”

Impulse wavers as he looks between the two boys. “Alright, but what was that screaming about?”

“Do you not see the unconscious guard outside and the large gap in the wall?” He holds up the gun he procured as evidence. “It’d be a miracle if Flamebird kept calm in a situation like that.”

It’s at that moment the speedster registers where he found the pair, completely forgetting about Flamebird’s lack of clothes. “Ooooohhh no! You two aren’t supposed to be here!”

“Why not? We’re supposed to be near our chaperones and our trail led us here.” Nightwing comments, leaving out the fact that this is not a result of their detective skills, but the world's worst coincidence.

“Well, your trail is wrong because I’m the only one that’s in this location!” Impulse huffs defiantly.

“For a speedster, you are really late for things. I stopped screaming a while ago.”

“Urgh. I don’t need to hear this from you! I already got enough of it today from my entire family!”

“Even the twins?” Jonathan inquires.

The short teen groans into his hands as he plops and falls back onto the door. “Don’t even remind me. It was supposed to be their initiation into the New Teen Titans today and I didn’t want to be late or miss it. It’s always, ‘Bart, you’re so irresponsible,’ or, ‘Bart, if you cared about your family you’d make us a priority,’ and, 'Bart, we all have the Speed Force, how are you late for everything?' I can never do anything right! I thought if I could make it to the event and do my mission I could show them I could be responsible and care about my family.”

“Your mission?” Damian reiterates and points his thumb behind him to the screen where Stephanie and Conner are taking down the arms dealers.

Impulse flinches at the accusatory tone. “I mean… You don’t need two chaperones for shopping, right?”

“Explain.” Nightwing demands in a voice that is calm and that promises death for Bart in this life and the next 100 reincarnations. 

“Alright, so Robin and Wondergirl were already leading a mission in space today, but we also had to deal with this spatial bomb thingy! It was originally going to be a solo mission, but suddenly my cousins were going to make a huge announcement about joining a team! I couldn’t miss that because have you seen how crazy this city goes or anything flash-related? So I asked Robin if I could have Superboy or Spoiler help me since they were going to be here anyways. Spoiler wasn’t picking up her phone, and Superboy wasn’t paying attention, so he told me if they were willing to help he’d let them in on the mission if I asked, but not to have my hopes up since they were going to watch you guys--”

“So the reason we were left unsupervised is that you couldn’t talk to your family about priorities!? I’ll kill you!” Nightwing lunges at the teenager, taking his collar with an iron grip as he holds the gun up. “You put our entire operation in jeopardy for lack of conversational skills!”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!” The teen pleads. “I shouldn’t have done that, and it didn’t even matter in the end since they canceled the event anyway!”

Jon raises a bushy brow at that confession. “That’s not what they told us.”

“I don’t know what they told you, but that’s what happened.” Impulse tells them, taking the time to readjust his goggles. "I don’t know why, but they suddenly didn’t want to join the Teen Titans anymore. Personally, I don't think their hearts were in it. They're way too young to join the Teen Titans, but that's my personal opinion.”

Ignoring the conversation, Nightwing ruthlessly holds the gun higher, his finger twitching to get on the trigger. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t shoot you with this right now. Come on, do it, I'm not afraid of jail.”

"How come every time we end up in the same room there's a fifty percent chance you threaten my life?" The auburn-haired boy questions as he reaches to take the weapon away.

Nightwing allows him to but continues attempting to murder him with his stare alone. "Because you keep doing things that deserve it."

"It's not a problem as long as no one finds out, right?" Impulse offers weakly before slouching in defeat. "You know, saying it out loud makes it more obvious how dumb this was."

"Do better." He orders and releases the older male. "And we'll keep this a secret on one condition."

"Anything!" The speedster readily obliges with a pathetic amount of desperation in his voice.

Two hours later, after the teenage trio finished the mission, they found themselves on the deck of a riverboat cruise in their civilian attire as Damian and Jon, also in their civilian attire, retrieved a voice recorder from the center of the dining table.

“Now that we have the confession of guilt out of the way,” The son of the billionaire begins and stops to take a drawn-out sip of his sparkling water in a champagne flute.

“Bart, I’m going to kill you.” Stephanie hisses, glaring at her friend.

“Get in line,” Bart quips in return.

“Come on Damian, don’t leave us in suspense!” Conner wails, dropping his head on the crisp tablecloth with a dull thud. “We already said we were sorry! It’s not like anything happened while we weren’t watching!”

“Sorry isn’t good enough,” Jonathan states as he munches on a bowl of macaroni and cheese.

“I’m your only brother, Jon! How could you blackmail me!”

“This wouldn’t be happening if you just stayed where you were supposed to!” The blonde criticizes.

“I saw an opportunity and I sought it! You’d do the same!”

“As I was saying,” Damian interrupts. “We want a favor in the future. No questions asked, and no traces left behind. You won’t know what this favor will be, so you’ll have to live in constant fear and anticipation until it happens.”

“A favor? That’s it?” The half-Kryptonian teen questions before being elbowed by Stephanie.

“Don’t question it. Trust me, a favor for Damian isn’t something to take lightly. Last time I owed him a favor, I had to smuggle a herd of sheep out of his school in the middle of the day during my midterms.”

The muscular teen balks at the boy who merely stares back with an almost bored expression. “I’m sure you’ll be able to complete the task we decide for you.”

“Yeah, and if you don’t I’m sure Mr. Luthor would love to hear how responsible you were watching us today,” Jon adds. “Oh, and Mom too!”

“You’re growing up to be a real menace,” Conner laments, pouting at his brother.

Jon smiles knowingly, the statement truer than their siblings realize.

Chapter Text

Nightwing and Flamebird have been housed in a bubble of solitude. 

The older boy has been physically isolated from the world for most of his life by his maternal family, then socially isolated by his paternal family. From the moment of his conception, Damian Wayne was simply on another level than the rest of the world. His upbringing has given him an intellect to rival the most renowned academic minds. His training allowed him to reach the pinnacle of human performance to the point he appears inhuman. His lineage separates him from the average person because he has already been cemented in history by existing. His name is drenched in history whether it’d be the mystical origins of the al-Ghuls or the old money capitalist aristocracy of the Waynes.

While incredibly talented, Damian is the child of two powerful people who are completely separated from the average human experience. He never understood the mundane conversations children have over nothing, the notion of dramatic play forgotten to a strict regime, and the idealism of escapist fantasy that permeates all media. It’s pathetic, corrupted, and doesn’t serve an intelligent purpose.

The younger boy was culturally isolated by his parents and spiritually isolated by his ancestry. From the day he was born, Jonathan Samuel Kent was placed in the center of a crowd he wasn’t fully allowed to embrace. He is the son of a titan walking amongst men, yet to realize the legacy he’s been beholden to is purposefully kept out of his reach. All his life he’s heard that Superman protects the world, yet his motto has always been, “Truth, Justice, and the American Way.” Although Superman will say he wants a better world, his notion of a better world is an idealized version of the American utopia.

Jonathan’s mother is a world-renowned journalist known for uncovering the truth and exposing corruption so that justice may be served. The asterisk to this is that even the warrior of free speech was raised by a militaristic American patriot who believes that his people are worth more than the rest. No child is a perfect clone of their parents, and the Lane-Kent couple is acutely aware of this. They wanted their son to be raised peacefully without the pressure of heroism or the corruption of the modern world, but that means Jonathan is separated from his heritage. He knows little of what it means to be a Kryptonian, and his American experience is vetted by his parents to mirror an idealized interpretation of a future their past selves desired.

This mockery of introspection leads to a singular fact: Jonathan Samuel Kent and Damian Wayne are the worst candidates to use the internet.

“Hey Dami, what’s a beta male cuck--!”

“I don’t know, but for the love of the Gods, please stop asking me these things!” Damian wails as he throws his partner’s damaged uniform at Jon’s face. “You have the internet at your disposal!”

“I tried using Google, but all I keep getting are pictures of Conner’s dad,” Jonathan explains as he pushes the cloth out of his face to reveal the images on the blue tablet Dick allowed him to borrow.

“Then ask someone else! I’m busy!” The tween shouts as he viciously embroiders the gold sequins on the Flamebird symbol. 

Never before has Jonathan ever seen someone stitch with anger, but here he is, watching it. “We were supposed to talk about what happened in Central City and hang out, but all you’ve done is be pissy!”

Instantly, Damian hurls a pincushion at his companion’s head which he quickly dodges. People tend to move out of the way faster when needles come flying toward them. “We have our first mission under Richard’s watch in two days, I have to fix your uniform again, you’re up another half a shoe size so I have to adjust for that, and the only contribution you provided me today is asking me what a ‘cuck’ is!! Excuse me for being ‘pissy’!”

Jonathan huffs out his chubby cheeks as he peeks over the edge of the mattress he tumbled off of a second ago, glaring at his attacker. “I asked if you needed help, but you told me to mind my own business! This is what I do when I mind my own business!” He stands up and marches to the door as the older boy goes back to sewing. “If we’re not going to hang out today then I’m leaving! I’ll see you Wednesday.”

“Fine, leave! Goodbye!” He shoos off uncaringly.

“Bye!”

“BYE!”

“BYYYYYYEEE!” Jonathan screams, slamming the door closed. After a moment he softly clacks it ajar and meekly asks, “Do you still want me to call you later?”

“Yes!” Damian angrily shouts. “Bye!”

“Okay. BYE!” He hollers, slamming the door once more.

He begrudgingly trots down the long corridor of Wayne Manor, upset he didn't get to hang out with his best friend today. It feels like all they do is focus on being heroes these days to the point they don't have a relationship outside it. Jon knows that's not true, it's been less than two months, and when school starts again they won't have as much time to be heroes. Damian is probably trying to finish as much as he can now before it's too late.

Jonathan wishes he could be of more use to Damian in this partnership. Almost everything they have is because Damian provides it. This reminds Jon that he has to return the tablet to Dami's brother. 

He quickly spins on his heels to the area where he last saw the man. He wanders to the wing of the hall that held Mr. Wayne’s study and knocks. Surprisingly, no one answered. Mr. Wayne and Mr. Pennyworth were visiting the United Kingdom on business and to visit family, but even with them gone there was always someone answering the office door. Whether it was a pre-recorded message or someone from the family, the office was too important to be left alone since it was the main entrance to the Bat Cave.

Jonathan’s conscience tells him he should leave the tablet back with Damian or one of his other siblings, but the allure is too tempting. He's 11 years old and going into a forbidden room is too much for him to resist.

Jon slowly turns the ornate porcelain door knob in case it was boobytrapped and creaks open the strategically squeaky door. He wiggles one foot through the door and tip-toes into the office with wide lethargic steps. No one was in the room. The tall black velvet curtains were dangling tightly over the towering windows, enveloping the room in complete darkness in the middle of the day. The only light sources were the sliver from the open door and the dim warmth of the Tiffany lamp on the desk.

Since Richard wasn't here it made sense he should cut his losses and leave. However… He guesses that as long as he doesn't enter the Bat Cave he could walk around the room for a bit.

Like a moth to a flame, Jonathan moves to the fancy mahogany desk with carvings of gargoyles and vines. Nothing is interesting there besides the fancy fountain pens. He remembers when Mr. Wayne lent them those to sign the hero contract fondly.

He looks at the big puffy office chair next to it and can't help but think about how comfy it must be to sit in it. He sits in his mom's chair when he wants to use the desktop computer, but it is hard and hurts his back after a while. No one would know if he sat in Mr. Wayne’s chair for a bit.

So he does!

Jonathan has no regrets as it's the best chair he's ever sat in. It's even more comfortable than his bed! He merrily swings his legs on the seat and enjoys viewing the room from a new position. With how dark the room is and the warm light illuminating the underside of his face he can't help but feel important. Like he's waiting for a big meeting with famous people to start.

He reaches over the desk to pull a fountain pen out of its holder when a shine of gold glints into his eye. It was an envelope with a wax seal that Jonathan only saw in old movies. He wishes letters were still a thing because it must be fun to write and receive them.

The boy inspects the expensive stationery with great interest. He knows he's not supposed to open mail, and although he trespassed Jon knows not to commit crimes against the mail service. That would be going too far. However… The symbol pressed into the seal was uniquely intricate for such a small space. He holds the envelope under the lamp to get a better look at it to find it was a detailed image of an owl.

Unintentionally, holding the letter to the light revealed the name of whom it was addressed to inside. "The Gray Son."

Before he could make out more, the grandfather clock at the side of the room slides open faster than Jon can scramble out of the chair. The chair was a trap! It's so soft it wouldn't let him go!

"Jonathan Samuel Kent!!"

Oh no! Not his full name!

He's forcefully yanked from the chair to confront a disheveled and enraged Richard with his blue Nightwing mask on. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Well… the door was unlocked."

"Oh my gosh-- That doesn't matter because you're old enough to know better!" He scolds, pulling Jonathan by the sleeve out of the room. "Honestly, I can’t believe you. I have enough to worry about as it is without wondering if you're going to stick your nose into trouble."

"I'm sorry," Jon apologizes. "I wasn't trying to do anything bad."

The man pinches the bridge of his nose the same way Mr. Wayne and Damian do when tired. "Intent doesn't always excuse actions."

Wide blue eyes gaze at the man and the boy replies, "Aren't you a vigilante?"

Richard sighs, running his free hand down his face, taking his mask off with him. "Those are not equal comparisons and- is that a letter? Where did you get that?"

Jon looks at the letter still in his hand. "Yes, it was on the desk and I liked the shiny seal."

"Jonathan, I worry about you," He tells him, taking the letter back.

"What? Why?" He asks, wondering what he did to make Richard worry for him.

"B clears out his desk when he's away. Did he forget it? No, he's not that irresponsible." He purposefully ignores Jon's inquiry and mumbles to himself as he examines the envelope. "No sender."

"The inside said it was for the Gray Son," Jon tells him and shrinks at the accusatory glance the man shoots at him. "I didn't open it! I saw it when I was looking at the gold owl!"

Richard’s face drops and his already gaunt complexion pale further. "An owl?"

"Yeah," He confirms with a nod, trying to figure out what was wrong with his best friend’s brother. Before he could think about it more, he remembers why he came to the office in the first place and handed the man back his device. "Here's your tablet! You might want to clear the search history because I accidentally looked up a lot of pictures of Mr. Luthor."

The young man doesn’t grab it, letting it drop to the floor much to Jonathan’s cringe. The two black-haired blue-eyed males stand in the middle of the hallway with the now cracked tablet between them on the wooden floor in awkward silence. Neither of them moves first as Jon is scared about being in trouble for breaking an expensive gadget while Dick… Jon’s not sure but it’s probably not good.

"I have to go," Dick says, ignoring the tablet and rushing back inside the office.

"What about my punishment?" Jon asks then mentally smacks himself upside the head for it. Now he feels like the kid who asks about homework before the end of class.

"Whatever, don't do it again! Bye!" The door slams and Jon hears several clicks from the other side, letting him know it’s locked.

“Okay… Bye!” The boy calls out, knowing Dick isn’t going to be listening, but he didn’t want to be rude.

He walks back to the main living area where his cousin, Kara, was sitting along with some of Damian’s other siblings. The blonde woman lounges on the couch with the television remote lazily in hand and lifts her head when Jon enters the room. Duke turns from his spot across from her to where she’s looking and waves to Jon since he wasn’t around when he arrived.

Jon waves back. “Hi Duke!”

“Hey Jon, aren’t you supposed to be hanging out with Damian right now?” The 15-year-old questions looking at the time.

“Dami is focusing on his work and I’m distracting him.” He replies.

Kara looks somewhat bothered by what Jon said but doesn’t press further since Jon himself doesn’t appear troubled. “Do you want me to fly you home?”

“Yes please.”

“Alright, let me grab my bag from Cass’ room and we’ll head out.” She gets up from the couch with a groan and cracks her back with a few sickening pops. “Cass, a little help here?” Cassandra gets up from where she was sitting on the rug to pull Kara further back causing several more pops. “Thanks!”

With that, she heads upstairs to grab her bag, leaving Jonathan alone with the other. Cass waves at him and he waves back silently. She grabs the remote and lowers the volume for her younger brother, Tim. 

Tim is asleep on the couch and doesn’t look like he’s going to wake up any time soon. Jon fiddles with his feet where he stands, keeping his eyes on the ground in front of him while he waits. He doesn’t want to sit down on the couch because then he’d have to get up right away, but also feels out of place just standing there.

“You two spend a lot of time together,” Duke remarks, trying to fill the silence while Jon waits.

The boy brightens at this and smiles. “Yeah! We’re best friends!”

“I get that, but not even best friends spend that much time together- Ow! Cass, what the heck?” He yelps, rubbing where his foster sister stabbed him with her elbow.

Cass doesn’t show remorse for her actions as she tells Jon, “It’s fine. Don’t listen to him.” She usually doesn’t speak when she can help, but Jonathan never learned sign language. It makes him feel bad he forces her to talk because it’s hard for her to speak, her voice coming out stiff from underuse.

“Jeez, are your elbows made of steel?”

“No.”

Jonathan pouts, not understanding why Duke found the amount of time he spends with Damian something worth commenting on. He sees Kara come back and quickly leaves the area. “Well… I’m just going to go. Bye!”

That evening after dinner, the short interaction still sticks with him. He pushes the menial scraps of food remaining on his plate as his mother cleans up the table around him. “Hey Mom, do I spend too much time with Damian?”

She pauses, sets the stack of dishes down, and leans an arm on the table to contemplate her son’s question. “Hmm, I think you spend a lot of time with him, but not too much time. It’s only too much time if it gets in the way of your other responsibilities, or if Damian says you are. Did Damian say you spend too much time together?”

The amount of concern she shows with that question makes him ill; he didn’t want his mom to worry about him. “No, I’m just wondering.”

“Is everything alright, Jon?” Jon’s father asks from behind him where he’s washing the dishes. “If something is bothering you we’ll always listen.”

“When you want. No need to make you feel like you have to deal with everything before you’re ready,” Lois emphasizes, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Jon doesn’t know why but there’s a feeling the two are expecting him to say something. Like they know what he’s going to say before he does. He’s grateful they’re not pressing him, but he’s now worried they’ll assume something is wrong. “Maybe later. I’m still thinking about stuff.”

“Okay, Sport,” His father pats him on the back and takes his plate. “If that’s all then can you help your mother put away the plates?”

At night he calls Damian as they planned. He never waits long as he answers before the end of the first ring.

“Alright, I’m done with all the alterations and preparations for our next mission. We can talk now.”

Not even a freaking, “Hello,” to greet him.

“Dami, we’re supposed to be partners,” Jonathan sighs as he lays in his bed with the giant plush dog he got from the flea market taking up half his bed. It’s his pillow now! “I’m starting to feel you don’t think of me like that.”

He gets a sigh in return. “Jon, I do see you as my partner.”

“Are you sure? Because I’m starting to feel like one of your pets.”

“You say that like it’s an insult.”

“Damian Wayne,” The 11-year-old warns in a firm tone. “I’m a person! A person who can take care of myself! A person who should be able to take half the responsibility, but you aren’t giving me any. What am I good for?”

“Habibi, we are different people with different strengths,” Damian begins, and Jonathan can almost see him rubbing his temples in his imagination. “What we offer to this team is going to be different. I feel confident managing our finances and producing strategies during stressful situations. You are better at more social tasks and have a wide variety of abilities available to you due to your unique physiology. I simply do what I am capable of doing when it is required.”

“This is different. I know being good at everything is just kinda your thing, but just because you can do something, doesn’t mean you have to. I just…” He takes a deep breath. “I just wish you wouldn’t put all that responsibility on to yourself. We are doing this to learn to be better heroes. I can’t be a better hero if you don’t give me the chance to be better. I don’t want to be useless!”

There’s a palpable pause before Damian asks, “Is this about what I said back there? You know, when… I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of it I was just- Jon I was just- You know I say things I don’t mean when I’m emotional. You’re supposed to…”

You’re supposed to stay away from me.

That’s what Jon does when Damian is going to be upset like that because Damian is the kind of person who lashes out. Jon knows that.

“It wasn’t like I could move,” Jonathan says calmly.

“I know, I’m sorry I… I’m sorry. I’m working on it, I am,” He apologies like the life was sucked out of him. “Gods, Jon I… I didn’t mean any of it.”

“I know you didn’t,” Jon lies because Damian was right. He’s useless and he needs to pull his weight. Jon felt that way long before Damian had to say it out loud. “I haven’t proven I can handle my own in this, and I want to. I want you to trust me.”

“Jon, I trust you with my life.”

“That doesn't mean as much to you as it does to me, and it’s not about that,” It’s not only about that. “I want to prove it to myself. You of all people should understand that.”

Damian sighs into the receiver again. “Yeah, I do. We can properly discuss the division of work after Wednesday to see what works best for us. Is there anything else?”

“Not right now. I’ll see ya later Dami. Good night.”

“Good night,” Damian hangs up the phone first with an exhaustive exhale. 

He leans back into his office chair with enough force to send it rolling back a foot before it hits the foot of his bed. Emerald eyes close and he feels his cat, Alfred, jump onto the mattress behind him. The silence of his room doesn’t calm him as it allows the myriad of jumbled-up thoughts to echo between his ears.

Without warning, Damian chucks his phone at the wall with an aggressive cry startling his poor feline. The dent in the wall doesn’t satisfy him and he takes a binder from his desk and does the same, causing patterns to scatter everywhere. He still doesn’t feel satisfied, so he hurls an ornate crystal paperweight of Gotham at his bulletproof window, shattering the object.

“Little D, what was that?” Richard asks as he enters Damian's room without knocking.

“Richard, what is the point of a door if no one knocks!? You’re just as bad as Father!”

The man at the door doesn’t look amused as he takes in the sight in front of him. “Oh Damian…”

“Don’t give me that tone! I am not here to be pitied!” He lashes then catches himself. “I’m fine.”

He’s not.

Dick doesn’t comment as he walks past his brother and begins to pick up the shattered glass. Damian looks at the floor in shame then goes grab the hand vacuum from the hallway closet to handover. He holds it out to the older man who takes it and finishes cleaning without saying anything about it.

After putting it away, he returns to the room to find Damian sitting on the edge of his bed, eyes fixated on his lap. Rickard runs a hand through his hair and sits next to him, the dip in the bed forcing Damian to lean closer. He wraps a comforting arm around the boy and asks, “What happened?”

Damian picks at his nails. “I messed up, and now Jon doesn’t think he can rely on me.”

Richard lets out a little hum. “Do you want to talk about it now, or do you need some time?”

“Time.” He replies, tucking his knees up.

“Would you like me to stay?” The preteen grumbles a bit then nods his head. “Alright, I’ll stay. When you need to talk, just tell me who you want to tell. I’m here, Bruce is here, all of our siblings, your therapist, anyone.”

“Okay,” Damian acknowledges. “May we spar in the gym?”

“Of course we can.”

Days later the boys are off on their next adventure to Coast City California, home of the Ferris Aircraft and titled The City Without Fear! Any pilot worth their weight in jet fuel has been trained here! Not only that, Coast City is also home to the largest branch of the University of California and only a few minutes drive away from Edwards Air Force Base. Advertising a beautiful shoreline and busy boardwalk, there's always something to do when your city’s on the coast!

It was also famously the home of Green Lantern. Which Green Lantern? The first one! The one became a supervillain, Parallax, and nearly massacred the entirety of the Green Lantern Corps after the city got nuked to kingdom come. Then he died, but don’t worry he got better! So did the city after intense combined reconstruction efforts by the citizens, Lantern Corps, and U.S. Navy who are all still impacted by the event several decades after.

This has caused some… Interesting political unrest in the town as what is essential space police are constantly visiting during a time when the local police have fallen out of favor. What is the problem people have with local police?

This is America, Google it and cry.

It doesn't help that Coast City is now predominantly populated by military personnel and outspoken blossoming young adults wanting to make a stance. Whether you're a normal citizen, a soldier, or something else one thing is the same about everyone from this place: You have an opinion and you feel very strongly about it.

Thankfully, those are not the reasons Flamebird and Nightwing chose to visit Coast City today! Every year, the University of California at Coast City (UCCC) holds an event they dub the Day of Change. Volunteers and students from all ages and walks of life come together to spark change in the world.

Some people want to change the world by organizing charity drives or constructing large community projects. Other people desire to inspire change within themselves through workshops or seminars. This event gets a lot of coverage as it attracts crowds of people for an altruistic reason which is prime feel-good news fodder until the bigger stories hit in the evening.

“Alright,” Richard starts as he hangs upside down from inside the storage compartment in the roomette they procured on the train to Coast City. “Do you know what events you want to go to?”

Damian reads over the PDF of the event on his phone one more time. “Hm… There’s a seminar on willpower being held by Aristotle Rodor, a philosopher I’ve been following for quite some time now.”

“Philosophy? Isn’t that just advanced thinking?” Jonathan questions as he reads his printed leaflet of the same thing on the phone.

The older boy stares at Jon blankly. “If you need to put it in layman’s terms, then yes. However, in an era where critical thinking skills are becoming a scarce resource I find following what little is left of modern-day philosophy essential.”

“That sounds like you,” The younger one comments and rubs the inside of his cheek for the hundredth time in the last three hours. “Urgh, I hate braces.”

“Then grow your teeth out straight,” Damian quips, handing Jon another water bottle with a straw. “You know, braces are a uniquely American necessity. That’s not to say other parts of the world don’t require them, but the abundance of it is a shared adolescent experience that is partly influenced by beauty standards and preferences propagated by commercialism. Teeth whitening is also a product of this obsession Western cultures have with producing ‘winning smiles’ as it is called.”

“Thanks for the history lesson,” Jon says sarcastically. “It still sucks. How come you have perfectly white and straight teeth? It’s not fair since you don’t care about this stuff!”

“Genetic engineering,” Damian replies unbothered.

The 11-year-old grumbles for a bit and takes the water to sip from. “Thanks.” He resumes scanning the flier. “There’s a recycled planter crafting class! My Dad has been teaching me how to propagate some of the crops on our farm!”

“There’s a three-hour gap between the planting class and the seminar. What do you want to do in the meantime?”

“Um…” He stares at the paper some more. “What else do you want to do?”

“I just asked what you wanted to do.” Damian states, not looking up from his phone.

“Oh yeah,” Jon quickly reads off the paper for something that would interest them. “Uh, there’s a police protest happening.”

That causes Damian to look up. “Jonathan, do you understand what you just said? Taking a stance on something like that in uniform is a strong statement. I’m not outright against it, but you have to understand what you’re getting into. Do you even know why they’re protesting?”

The boy shuffles in his seat before admitting, “No. It was just on the schedule, so I didn’t think it’d be bad if it was approved here.”

“Protesting isn’t bad, Jonathan,” Dick chimes in and lands on the floor between them. “Standing up for what you believe is right is the trait of any good hero. It’s your right to speak out against something you don’t agree with no matter what it is. Organized protests are freedom of speech which is why it’s allowed at an event like this.”

Jon stares at Damian’s brother for a moment before remembering an important piece of information. “Wait, aren’t you a police officer? Shouldn’t you be upset if people are protesting you?”

“Jon, you admitted to not understanding why the protest is happening,” Damian sighs, leaning back in his seat.

“I’m not upset, and if I was it wouldn’t be because of people protesting.” The man voices, laying his weight against the window. “The job of the police is to protect the rights of the people and if the police aren’t doing that then the people have every right to protest them.”

“Oh… So what did they do?” Jon asks.

“I don’t think we have the time to describe the history of police misconduct in the United States,” Damian explains as he flips his phone screen to Jon. “Several protests are happening about a plethora of topics that we cannot make an informed decision on today. For now, it would be best to avoid those events.”

Jonathan leans forward to get a better look at the screen to see all of the protests Damian zoomed in to see many familiar words. “Wow, there are a lot of protests against the Lantern Corp. And guns… And Ferris… Where have I heard that name before?”

“Ferris Aircraft is the largest military aircraft manufacturer in the country,” Richard tells him, but that doesn’t sit quite right with Jon.

“No, that’s not where I heard it,” Jon mumbles as he tries his best to remember. “Maybe a Ferris wheel? No, that’s dumb.”

Just then a robotic announcement emanates through the speakers. “Attention passengers, we are now approaching the Coast City Metro Station! Please wait until the train comes to a complete stop before removing your luggage. Do not stand near the exit-”

“That’s us!” Dick cheers and sits next to Damian. “I’m sure you two can figure out what to do before the willpower seminar! Remember to stick together. I’ll be in the shadows watching over you if you need anything!”

“Understood, Richard.”

“Okay, Dick!”

The duo leave the train and change into their uniform before hitting the city, the pungent aroma of salt water wafting through the air as they did so. The low thundering of airplanes whooshing through the skies overshadows everything else causing windows to rumble in their frames. For someone with naturally sensitive hearing, it was a lot to feel the sound barrier being broken.

“I know this place is known for airplanes, but do they have to keep doing that?” Flamebird questions, covering his ears with his hands.

“It’s just the way this place is,” Nightwing explains as they step onto the boardwalk. “Let’s focus on getting to the UCCC campus.”

Jon nods and looks out to the beautiful white sandy coastline next to them. “Woah, it’s so pretty and blue!”

“Didn’t you go to the beach near Metropolis recently?” Nightwing asks as he watches his partner veer off the wooden path onto the crystalline shore. Meanwhile, Nightwing purposefully kept himself under the shade provided by the palm trees that were planted along the tree lawn.

“Yeah, but the sand was rockier and had tall cliffs. This-” He bends down and picks up some sand in his hand, letting it drop back down through his fingertips. “It’s like what I think fairy dust would look like. And the water!” The boy races to where the waves meet the beachfront, letting the clear water wash over his feet as he runs parallel to his friend watching from the boardwalk. “Nightwing, the water is so clear! It looks like I can drink it!”

“Don’t! You’ll get sick!” He calls out.

“Come over here, Nightwing! We’re wearing boots so it’ll be fine!”

“Platforms and sand don’t cooperate, I’m fine where I am. Besides, we have to leave now if we want to make it to the planter class.”

“Okay, I’m coming!” Flamebird shouts with glee as he spreads his arms out like the wings of a plane and sprints back against the wind to his friend in a wavy pattern. “Weee~! It feels like I’m flying”

Nightwing covers his mouth as he snorts into his palm. “You know you can fly, right?”

Flamebird hops up the steps like a bunny. “Yeah, but I’m not good at it yet. It takes a while to focus and then I get excited about being in the sky when I finally do it which makes me lose focus.”

“Didn’t you once offer to fly me to Metropolis? How were you going to accomplish that magnificent feat?” He asks with a teasing smirk.

“I was going to wing it,” The other replies with ease.

“You did not just make a pun at me!”

“What are you going to do about it- Ow!”

After being smacked upside the head, Flamebird followed Nightwing for several blocks until they reached the campus. Jonathan had never been to a university before so he didn’t know what to expect. All he imagined was his school but bigger.

He was wrong.

It was like a city inside another city with giant buildings with signs stating what they held inside. They had laboratories, hospitals, museums, theaters, apartments, stadiums, libraries, restaurants, and an agricultural center. The agricultural center was where they were headed for their crafting event which was on the opposite side from where they entered. 

“Universities are bigger than I thought they’d be,” Flamebird states as he lets his eyes wander. 

There are tons of people around here for the Day of Change event. Thanks to the wide pathways everyone has enough space to get where they need to be without feeling claustrophobic. He sees a crowd of people nearby wearing blue and red shirts and holding up large handmade signs.

“Gun laws save lives! How much longer will we have to watch kids die just because some bureaucrat thinks he needs an AK-47 to protect his house!? From what!? Aliens?! Like that would do anything! Most of those guys are bulletproof!” 

“The only thing those weapons are good for is killing people! We’re civilians, not murderers!”

“Protect kids, not guns!”

A brunette man in a pressed navy suit stands in front of the protesters with a microphone in hand and a manufactured smile. “As you can see folks, the University of California’s annual Day of Change has kicked off to a roaring start as I stand here in front of the first scheduled protest today. This is clearly a response to Senator Jack Jordan, the previous district attorney of Coast City, and his recent vote against the gun reform bill that failed to pass last spring.

“We will be reporting live on this protest as it makes its way through downtown and other protests later today. Follow the Day of Change event throughout the day using the hashtag #DayOfChange or #UC3DoC! This is K6CCL-TV. And now a message from one of our sponsors, Bloch Cargo!”

Flamebird didn’t realize he stopped moving to watch until Nightwing forcefully pulled him along. “Come on, we have to keep moving.”

“Sorry,” He expresses, jogging up to the older boy. “I’ve never seen a protest up close before.”

“Really? Your parents have covered plenty of them,” Nightwing comments with a hint of skepticism. “I’d think they’d at least take you to one.”

“No, not really. They said protests can get dangerous sometimes, but I’ve seen them on the news.” Flamebird explains, stretching his hands behind his back as he stares at the ground. “I never really thought about it. I mean, I know what protests are for, but… I don’t know. I don’t think I know enough about the world to want to stand for a cause so strongly I was willing to put up a fight for it.”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing now?” Nightwing asks, leaning forward to block Jon’s gaze with his face. “We might not be holding picket signs or megaphones, but by breaking from the established norm of modern-day heroes we are doing exactly that.”

“I never thought about it like that,” Jon admits. “What we’re doing is for us. It’s selfish.”

“People often fight for the cause that benefits themselves,” Damian rebuttals, straightening his back. “What you make of that information is up to you.”

The boys travel to their destination without incident and follow the small signs spread throughout the agricultural center to their first activity for the day. The entire area differed from the rest of the campus as half of it looked to be a large indoor greenhouse while the other half appeared similar to Jonathan’s family farm.

Children younger than the two and their parents sit outdoors at wooden picnic tables as university students and volunteers pass out crafting supplies. Jonathan is starting to feel insecure as he checks the flier to see the age range is written to be 6-12. They’re technically allowed to be there, but it’s embarrassing to be the oldest kids here.

“Nightwing, maybe we should do something else,” Flamebird whispers, tugging on the tail of his friend’s cape.

“Why? You wanted to do this.” Nightwing remarks, unbothered.

“I- uh…”

“Are you here to make planters too?” A young man with curly blonde hair asks loudly, causing everyone to turn to them. “We have an empty table over here! The more the merrier!”

“Yes,” Nightwing answers, grabbing Flamebird’s glove as he marches over to where the man is pointing.

Jon didn't say anything as paintbrushes, markers, scissors, and large water bottles were being placed in front of them. He takes a deep breath as he reminds himself that he's supposed to be having fun. No one would care if he and Damian were the oldest kids there. He has to remember it's all in his head.

The duo still receive stares every once in a while, but that is more likely due to their outfits rather than their ages. They follow along with the instructor about how to make their planters without any issues and decorate their creations. Flamebird made a giraffe while Nightwing painted a cat.

When they’re done, they’re allowed to pick a plant sprout to place inside. Nightwing picked catnip while Jonathan picked out a radish. He doesn’t like radishes, but it was the only big vegetable they had. Overall the entire event was less than an hour of their time and they have plants to carry around all day.

“That was nice,” Jon says as he walks through the garden with his creation. “Now I have a radish! Or it will be. It’s not there yet.”

“And we have three more hours until the event I want to go to begins,” Damian states, leading the way to the exit. “There’s a tree planting event if you still feel in tune with nature.”

“Nah, I want to try something different,” He looks over the flier and spots something of interest. “There’s a therapy puppy room in the Student Union all day so we can stop by there- Nightwing? Nightwing!” Flamebird calls out as his friend is suddenly not at his side anymore.

“Hurry up!” The boy hears from ahead of him. 

Blue eyes search the crowd and see his partner already halfway up the sidewalk. “And I thought I had super speed.”

The two boys spend the next 30 minutes being covered in adorable puppies. It was cute, relaxing, and fun until Nightwing tried to smuggle a chihuahua. Then Flamebird had to force them to leave before he could trigger Damian’s adoption problem further.

“You don’t need another dog!” Flamebird shouts as he tugs on his partner’s cape while a very unfortunate woman tries to pry the dog out of his hands.

“You can’t tell me what I need and don’t need!” Nightwing fights bare, baring his teeth at the volunteer. “You don’t need all of them! You won’t even notice Canela's missing!”

“Oh my gosh, you already named him!”

“ She is a beautiful girl, Flamebird! Unlike some people, I know how to appreciate her!”

“Kid, please, these dogs are not for adoption! They have a very important job they’re trained to do and if you take any of them they can’t help anyone else!” The frazzled worker desperately pleads. “Can I get some help over here?! We have a code pink!”

Two other college-age volunteers grab Damian’s arms and pull with little to no result. “Holy shit this kid is buff! How the heck does a 10-year-old get a body like this, yet I get winded walking up the stairs?”

“Just pull!”

At the first sign of freedom, Flamebird attacks Nightwing causing him to release the dog. Once the dog is safe in the arms of the employees he picks Damian up and runs out of the building with his super strength. “Okay, new rule: No more animal activities for the rest of the day!”

“This is unjust! How dare you separate that puppy from a loving home! My home!”

“We’re supposed to be heroes, Nightwing! Kidnapping isn’t heroic!”

After that fiasco, they decide to clean up Coast City. It's kind of funny how community service is what they were first recognized for, and now it’s something they’re actively doing. They walk amongst people holding trash pickers and large garbage bags making their way through the city streets. Entire roads were closed off as crowds packed the roads to pick off the litter on the pavement or around the beach.

Nightwing and Flamebird were helping out in their special way as the duo scrounged the water for trash. Flamebird bursts from the ocean with several bags nearly bursting at the seams. One of the adult volunteers takes the bags from him and empties them on a nearby tarp to sort into recyclables.

Nightwing checks on the makeshift wetsuit made of torn trash bags tied around Jon and tightens the section near his neck. “Get something interesting this time. A long-lost pirate ship or a submarine perhaps?”

Flamebird winces at the sudden increase in pressure around his throat but doesn’t complain. “Sure. Can you readjust the goggles; Sea water keeps getting in them?”

“I’ll see what I can do, but any tighter, and I’ll have to start worrying about killing your brain cells. You need all you can get.” He warns teasingly, pulling the silicone strap around his partner’s head.

“Haha, very funny,” Jon rolls his eyes and heads back into the water again with more bags while Nightwing sorts out the recyclables.

Most of what Flamebird found in the ocean are plastic or glass bottles with the occasional chip bag. There are also mismatched flip-flops strewn about from unlucky beachgoers who likely had to buy a new pair of slippers after their trip. He tightens his hood over his face to block the midday sun when he hears someone approach him on the sand. He turns to them, believing them to be another volunteer with a bag, but he was wrong. 

“Here you can see UCCC Day of Change work its magic taking back the beach from litter caused by careless visitors!” A woman in a pastel pink dress and a short blonde bob cut reports nearby.

“It’s actually from mega-corporations producing unnecessary waste,” Nightwing mutters under his breath. He doesn’t want to get a rant started so he keeps to himself.

“And what’s this? It looks like some kids dressed up for the occasion! Excuse me!”

Oh dear lord, no. Damian wishes he was the one diving into the ocean as the reporter and a camerawoman walk closer to him. Maybe it’s not too late. The water is only a few paces away and he could make it,

“Hello sir,” The woman greets with a gentle tone meant for children much younger than him. “I’m Susan Williams from Behind the Scenes! What’s your name?”

“Susan, there’s something wrong. My camera won’t focus on his face.” The camera woman tells them as she messes with the device.

“Tyra, do you need to get a new one from the van?”

“-TT- Don’t waste your time,” Damian informs the two as he releases a weary sigh. “My mask is embedded with technology that is meant to help conceal my identity.” The woman's attention shifts back to him as he stands up, brushing the sand off his knee pads. “And to answer your question, my name is Nightwing.”

“Wait a minute, I recognize you now! You’re one of the community service kids! The ones who fix potholes!” Of course, that’s all people care about; the freaking potholes!

The reporter, Susan, smiles and turns to face the camera. “And visiting our wonderful city during the Day of Change no less! Would you mind telling me what drew you to our event?”

Yes, he would mind, but he can’t say that. 

Damian Wayne would have no issue going off on every opinion he had on live television. He’s done it before and he’ll do it again. The Wayne Industries PR team hates him, but that’s not surprising as they hate their entire family. The problem is that he’s not supposed to be Damian Wayne, he’s supposed to be Nightwing. Nightwing doesn’t mind looking bad for the camera if it makes Flamebird better because Flamebird has a naturally more appealing personality. A smile made to work over a crowd.

Nightwing does not possess a face that can smile at will even if he is happy. It comes off as a disingenuous smirk at best. He knows that for a fact because he has shamefully practiced it in the mirror for hours on end with no improvement. It’s easier to have people hate him because he wouldn’t have to care. If he operated like his father and the rest of the family he wouldn’t worry about such worthless things as a public image. But he’s partnered with Jonathan. Jonathan doesn’t deserve to be hidden in the shadows.

He takes a deep breath of salty air and puts on the most convincing smile he can. He has to pretend. If he treats it like a job he can get through this. “My partner Flamebird and I saw this as an opportunity to partake in different ways to help people and experience this wonderful city.”

A robotic voiceover program could emote more positivity. 

Susan winces before catching herself. “I see! That’s wonderful! And where is your partner now?”

Nightwing is about to answer when a spherical metal object the size of a car is hurled onto the sand followed by Flamebird who clamors onto the shore out of breath. “I- is! Is this cool enough for you, Nightwing!?” He ventilates more as he gets on his hands and knees. “Oh my gosh, that was heavy! Do you know how hard that is while holding my breath?”

“Is that a…” The reporter drones as Nightwing registers what he’s looking at.

“FLAMEBIRD! IT’S A SPHERICAL BOMB!” Man, Flamebird has been having the worst luck with explosives recently.

“WHAT!?” Flamebird exclaims as he immediately grabs it and prepares to chuck it into the sky; The sky that is full of airplanes.

The volunteers around them scatter in a mass panic with one of them tackling the 11-year-old and sprinting away with them like a football. As they approach Nightwing, the boy immediately recognizes the man as his brother in a cyan UCCC shirt and swim trunks.

“Isn’t that Richard Grayson?” The camerawoman notices aloud.

“Wait, you mean billionaire Bruce Wayne's son, Richard Grayson? That Richard Grayson?” Susan gasps.

“I’m impressed you recognize him. Children of billionaires on the opposite coast is a novel genre of celebrity to commit to memory.” Nightwing comments as the man makes his way to them.

“My family’s from Gotham,” Tyra says as though that explains everything, and it does. She’s not running for the hills when there’s a giant explosive less than a hundred meters away.

Susan Williams shakes nervously for a second then controls herself in front of the camera as she remembers they’re filming. “Uh- well this just in! In a sudden turn of events, a remnant of Coast City’s tragic past resurfaces! One Mongul's spherical bomb used to decimate Coast City nearly twenty years ago has been found lying dormant in the ocean where hundreds of citizens swim every day! A bone-chilling revelation! How many more submerged death machines remain undiscovered simply waiting to strike?”

“Doing a great job reporting with all that fear-mongering,” Nightwing tried his best but there was only so much human interaction he could handle before his snarky attitude came out.

“We have to go!” Dick shouts as he runs past them with Flamebird. “Someone call the bomb squad!”

Nightwing doesn’t hesitate to grab Flamebird’s hand, yanking him out of his brother’s hold. “You should leave first, Mr. Grayson since you’re a civilian.” In one swift motion, he rips the trashbags off of Flamebird to reveal his pristine glimmering hero uniform. “My partner and I will be fine. Unlike you, a normal person who shouldn’t be here right now.”

“Excuse me?!” The man bristles right before Susan taps his shoulder to grab his attention.

“Mr. Grayson, Susan Williams from Behind the Scenes! Do you have any comments about the danger uncovered before us? How do you think this will affect the rest of UCCC’s Day of Change event? Will this impact Wayne Industries' future sponsorship for events in Coast City?”

“Oh, um, no I’m not here as a representative of Wayne Industries. I just like helping people!” Dick quickly blurts out.

“Wait, what happened to Coast City?” Flamebird interrupts, not recognizing he’s being recorded. “The city got destroyed? But it’s right here!” He points to the cityscape next to him.

Nightwing groans, smacking his forehead. “Flamebird, didn’t you pass U.S. history?”

“Yeah!” The taller hero nods proudly. “My teacher gave me a 2 and a gold star! You don’t get gold stars on your report card if you did badly!”

“Please tell me you didn’t score a 2 out of 100.” Nightwing prays, mostly to himself.

“No, it was out of 4.”

Nightwing covers his face in secondhand embarrassment. “This country’s education system is broken! How did they let you graduate elementary school!” Damian takes in a calming breath and then elaborates on what happened to Coast City. “Here’s a brief recap:

“A long time ago Cyborg Superman got a space warlord from a planet called War World (which is both redundant and self-explanatory) who used a plethora of those spherical bombs,” He points to the large object on the beach. “To destroy the city and kill 7 million people in the process. Because we live in a world with superheroes and technology from the Green Lantern Corp it was swiftly rebuilt. The current residents were either people who weren’t at home when the city went under, moved here during the reconstruction efforts, or are college students. Understood?”

“... Wow, that’s a lot to take in,” Flamebird says after a brief pause. “People still live here after that?”

“As the city’s slogan goes, it’s the ‘City Without Fear.’” Nightwing states and jumps as the reporter he’s ignored chimes in.

“I could not have said it any better myself,” She cheers with a large smile plastered toward the camera. “The terrifying revelation of remaining explosives aside, the citizens of Coast City won’t let this stop us from bringing out our message of reform and positivity! Anything else to add, Knightwing? How about you, Flamebird?”

“Collective trauma does wonders for patriotism’s ego,” Nightwing says, looking at the woman with a deadpan expression.

Flamebird stares into the camera and a scarlet flush that matches his cape creeps over his face. “Wait, have I been on camera this entire time? Does everyone know I got a 2 in history?! Wait, I think I have seaweed in my braces!” He yells. “I can’t believe this! This is so embarrassing! Why didn’t you warn me!”

The child runs away in a random direction, any direction, covering his mouth in mortification with Nightwing close on his heels. “Flamebird, you’re fine! I bet no one noticed the seaweed in your crooked teeth! There’s a literal bomb that is a hundred times more interesting!”

“YOU THINK MY TEETH ARE CROOKED AND THAT I’M BORING!?”

“NO! THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT! HABIBI, WAIT, I CAN EXPLAIN!”

The camera slowly pans away from the fleeing children back to the eldest Wayne child who has taken to dragging his hands down his face in chagrin. “Do you know them?” The camerawoman asks.

“Nope, I don’t know them,” He lies, dreading the conversations he’s going to have with Damian tonight.

Chapter Text

After the disaster that was the beach clean-up, the heroic duo stops by to eat at one of the Asian fusion bistros by the university campus. Flamebird made it a point to ignore Nightwing during the entire process of ordering their meals. It reaches a breaking point as they receive their drinks with Jon refusing to look Damian in the eye.

"Flamebird, how many more times do I have to say it? I'm sorry!" Nightwing apologizes as he buries his head in his hands. “I have never apologized more times in my life than I have today over something so stupid!”

Flamebird juts his lower lip out in a fierce pout, slapping the menu he was using to block the view of his friend unceremoniously on the counter to angrily cross his arms. "You let me embarrass myself to the whole world! Everyone thinks I’m an idiot!"

"It's just an insignificant niche media company. At most, I embarrassed you in front of a few hundred people!" Nightwing attempts to comfort to disastrous effects. "No one watches TV anymore! All everyone does is stream the internet!"

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?!" Jon exclaims then lowers his voice as he sees some of the other patrons in the restaurant stare at him. He hunches over in his stool trying to make himself look as small as possible.

"Yes- I mean, no! I mean-- Argh! I don't know!” Damian emits a frustrated groan. “Why did you run away like that? You're better at people skills than me. Getting worked up like this isn't like you!"

"I just… I don't know what's wrong with me!" The younger hero returns with the same energy. "I don't know why, but I randomly get embarrassed over nothing. I feel like everyone is paying attention to stuff that doesn't make sense to care about, but now I can't stop thinking about it!" 

Flamebird shrieks as he slams his head onto the counter with enough force to knock over the sriracha and hoisin sauce bottles next to him. "Like my stupid braces for example! You used to say my smile was one of the best things about me. And now I'm wearing these dumb things, and my teeth are crooked, and my mouth hurts, and- and… And now I hate my smile because it's ugly! It doesn't help I picked stupidly bright colors to match my hero costume-"

"Uniform." Nightwing corrects out of habit. 

"Whatever! I look dumb!"

"You don't look dumb!"

"So I'm just dumb on the inside?"

Nightwing grunts again, scratching at his hair over his hood. "How did you even- NO. No, you're not lacking in appearance or intellectual aptitude; you’re amazing. You don’t have to work to get people to like you because you’re the embodiment of everything good about people. That’s saying a lot because I hate people."

The scarlet flush returns to Flamebird’s complexion for very different reasons than anger or embarrassment. "Nothing is amazing about me."

"I understand it's hard to read me sometimes, but I'd never lie…" He takes a beat to modify his word choice. "I would not bother placing this much effort to make amends if I did not believe you to be worth my time."

"It’s not easy to feel that way when I'm next to you ," Jonathan confesses so quietly, Damian is forced to train his ears to hear it.

“What?” Damian falters because how else is he supposed to respond to that?

"You're perfect. You’re perfect and I can’t compare to that. You’re two grades older than me and you’re a kung-fu ninja super genius who has perfect teeth and is great at everything,” Jon divulges, turning his head on the counter to look at his friend, cheek squished against the wooden surface. “I get that you’re like this because your life used to suck major butt, but I can’t help it. You could do this superhero thing on your own, and I'm holding you back. You were right; I’m useless."

The words Flamebird had spoken had struck a chord with Nightwing as they marinate in the solemn silence that washed over them like molasses. The waiter comes by with their food and neither boy makes any move to dig in. Nightwing knows he has to say something, but Jonathan is a person who responds best to vulnerability with more vulnerability. There was only one way to bounce back from this and it was to be emotionally open.

A stab wound would hurt less, he would know.

After an entire minute of mental preparation, Damian grabs a pair of chopsticks and holds it over his vegetarian phở, and takes a deep breath. "Look, Flamebird, I know I've been unfairly bearing the majority of the work so far, but that wasn't because I find you incompetent or untrustworthy or whatever other terrible logic you've concocted." Here goes nothing. "I don’t want you to be me."

"Yeah, because you’re perfect," Jon replies casually, still feeling dejected with his face planted on the table. Sincerity came so easily to Jon that it was shameless. 

This is going to hurt. "No, I mean I’m afraid that if I put too much on your shoulders, you’ll become like me. I am cynical and pessimistic." Damian specifies as he fights with himself to force the sentence out, digging his nails into his palm to lighten the emotional impact. “Worried that I’m never doing enough; that I can’t do enough.”

"What?"

"Fuck, I never wanted to have this conversation."

"Language."

"Fuck off," He breathes again, regretting his decision already but it was better to do this now; to rip the metaphorical band-aid off. "I have spent most of my early developmental period under an absurd amount of pressure and expectation to perform feats most adults couldn’t achieve. I didn’t want to place any stress on you because I know you’re already stressed about not being able to control your powers the way you want."

Blue eyes blink rapidly as Flamebird slowly straightens his spine to gawk at his best friend. "Things aren’t like that with me. A little responsibility isn’t going to turn me into you. By covering for everything, you’re making me feel what you didn’t want me to. The only thing I expect from this partnership is that you’ll be my friend."

“This is me being your friend,” Nightwing states. “And I’ve gone about this the wrong way, but that’s on me. None of this was a critique of your character because that’s the greatest thing about you. You just haven't seen it yet.”

Jonathan pouts for a bit and kicks his boots against the side of the counter a few times. “Thank you, but would it kill you to throw a little work my way? You’re the kind of guy who probably prepared a binder full of stuff we do to be successful, and I haven’t seen it. Maybe I can look at it and see what I can help with.”

Damian takes a sharp inhale as he recomposes himself and then begins to eat. “I’ll… we can look over that in our free time… and you’re welcome. Now let’s eat our meal before the seminar.”

Jonathan nods as he cleans up the bottles he knocked over earlier before taking a bite of his pork belly bun. “So the seminar lecture thingy we’re going to next… Are you looking forward to it?”

Nightwing nods. "Yes. Philosophy is a subject I've always gravitated to. Back when I still lived with my maternal side I was required to be well-versed in every academic subject. Philosophy was the only subject that allowed me to understand different frameworks of thought outside the league. It tried to explain everything without an answer. It made me think about how people could be so dumb but think they're right. I wondered if I was one of them."

"You always liked to be challenged, so that makes sense." Flamebird hums agreeably.

"You'd benefit from a philosophy class or two. Your education system is constantly going on about how important critical thinking skills are, yet it shuns the very subject focused solely on it."

"I dunno 'bout that, Nightwing. That sounds like a class that can only be taught through reading or a long lecture. I learn better through experience." The 11-year-old says apprehensively.

"Philosophy and critical thinking can be taught through multiple methods, although I don’t hold your school in high regard," Damian responds nonchalantly.

After they finish and pay for their meals, the duo heads over to the lecture hall where the seminar is being held. The building is much different than Flamebird was expecting. He thought the seminar would be in a building filled with classrooms. In reality, it was a lecture hall attached to a giant airplane workshop.

The Carl Ferris Center was a facility originally funded by the man it’s named after, the founder of Ferris Aircrafts. Its purpose was to help train new generations of aeronautical engineers to go beyond what was deemed possible in the skies. It was reconstructed by Carl’s daughter and current CEO of Ferris Aircraft, Carol Ferris to continue her father’s legacy. It was also why the philosophy lecture was being held here as Ferris Aircraft is sponsoring several seminars on a wide variety of topics to encourage students to become more well-rounded.

As the pair stepped inside the lecture hall they were met with about twenty to thirty other people already inside. The expansive size of the room made the number of people participating minuscule by comparison. There were more people at the planter crafting class than this and at least those people were interested in what they were doing. Everyone here were bored university students on their phones. Only five people had a laptop or notebook to take notes and one of those people was Damian! 

The heroes arrived close to the allotted time frame so it didn’t seem like anyone else was coming. Jonathan kicks his legs in his front-row seat and pats his hands rhythmically on the table in front of him while he waits for the event to start. Absent-mindedly he runs his tongue over his braces and suddenly remembers something important.

"I almost forgot! My orthodontist says I have to brush my teeth and floss after every meal to keep my braces clean." He explains and crans his neck behind him towards the exit. "Should I wait? The event is supposed to start soon."

Nightwing reaches behind him and hands Flamebird the dental hygiene kit he handed him on the train. "Dr. Rodor isn't here yet. Go take care of it now; It's not like you were invested either way."

The boy nods, springing from his seat. "Okay, I'll be back soon!”

Flamebird runs out of the auditorium to the bathroom he saw in the lobby of the building. It was downstairs practically on the other side of the building, but Jon didn’t want to try and look for a closer one. He knows he isn’t the best with directions and if he misses the seminar looking for a new restroom he’ll never hear the end of it from Dami.

After thoroughly brushing his teeth so clean they hurt, Jon exits the bathroom and begins to make his way back to the lecture hall. On his way there he notices how empty this part of campus was. Even though it’s summer there are still classes being held and an event today. He sees the occasional student or person in an engineering jumpsuit, but compared to the large crowds outside it is barren.

“I’m going to be late for my seminar at this rate,” Someone says as they open a door in front of Jon.

“Sorry to keep you here, Professor. I should probably get some lunch. I’ll grab something for you to eat afterward!”

“That sounds wonderful. I heard there are some great places for takeout around here.” An elderly man with a crew cut and cardigan commences heading in the same direction as Jonathan.

He possesses a wooden cane but doesn’t appear to need it as he lets it dangle from his elbow. As the two simultaneously make it to the staircase the man traverses several steps before the cane catches on the handrail and falls to the bottom. Flamebird rushes down the flight of steps and picks it up. He quickly hands it to the man with a bright smile.

The gentleman smiles back as he takes it. “Thank you, young man. This thing keeps causing me more trouble than it’s worth.”

“You’re welcome, sir!” Jon replies and proceeds to walk next to the man. “Why do you have a cane if you don’t need it?”

He chuckles at the child’s innocent inquiry and twirls the stick between his fingers for show, but he isn’t good at it. “When you get to a certain age everyone thinks you suddenly need help with everything. My friends wouldn’t let me leave Hub City without it. They said, ‘Tot, you hard-headed fool, the last thing we need to hear is that you broke your hip walking along the beach.’”

“Hub City? That’s all the way in Illinois,” The 11-year-old comments. “And my Granddad is the same way. My Ma keeps trying to tell him he needs to move somewhere built for people his age, but he tells her that, ‘The only other home you’re getting me into besides my own is a funeral home.’”

“Hahaha, well it sounds like your Granddad and I might get along.” He laughs, pushing up a pair of thick round glasses dropping from the bridge of his nose. “Call me Tot, kid. What’s your name?”

“I’m Flamebird!” The boy readily offers.

“A strong name,” Tot praises. “So Flamebird, where are you headed?”

“I’m going to a philosophy lecture thingy for my friend. I don’t get it, but he’s interested in the guy who’s speaking.”

“Really now?” He questions with a hint of amusement.

“Yep! He says philosophy is the only thing left to keep critical thinkers alive… Well, that’s not exactly what he said, but that’s what he means.”

“Does this friend happen to be a man the same age as me? I find it hard to believe a kid your age would be curious about philosophy.”

Jon shakes his head causing his fluffy hair to sway messily. “He’s going to turn thirteen next month, but he always talks like he thinks he’s a billion years older or something.”

“Impressive,” The elderly man sings to himself as they turn the corner. “I just so happen to be heading to the same seminar. It’d be nice to meet someone so young and interested in philosophy.”

“Maybe we can sit in the front together! Nightwing-- my friend, that’s his name- Nightwing likes talking about smart stuff with big words. Sometimes, I think he just likes using those words to show off.” Flamebird rambles and then gasps with foreboding dread. “Wait, when you meet him, don’t tell him I told you that! He might get mad and he can hold a grudge for a long time!”

Tot chuckles at the animated child, very much enjoying his naturally exaggerated facial expressions and vocalizations. He playfully nudges the side of Flamebird’s leg with his cane as he replies, “Hahahahaha! Don’t worry about it, my lips are sealed. Old men like me are masters of taking secrets to the grave.” He pretends to zip his lips shut, lock them, and throw away the key. “Although, I have to decline your offer to sit together.”

“Oh, that’s a shame. Not many people like to sit in the front of the classroom I guess.” The child theorizes with a ghost of a frown.

“Hey now, I didn’t say that. The front of the class is the best seat in the house.” Jonathan struggles not to snicker at the remark as it’s something that Damian would say.

The two finally make it to the narrow glass sky bridge connecting the lecture hall to the main building when the sharp tapping of heels on the linoleum floor crescendo towards them. Jon sees a middle-aged woman with her silvering black hair wound in short tight pin curls turn the corner, her magenta heels matching her business suit the culprit of the noise. She looks up from the violet tablet atop a hefty bundle of manila folders in her arms with a smile, the crow’s feet wrinkles framing her sage green eyes scrunching in delight.

“Good afternoon, Professor!” The lady cheerfully greets the man, pausing in her hurried steps. “I’d stop and chat more, but it looks like we’re both going to be late.”

“And what are you going to be late for, Mrs. Ferris?” Tot jovially questions.

“Just a lunch date with my husband, but if I miss another one for work then it’s all I’ll be hearing about over dinner.” She jokes as she picks up the pace again.

The three fail to travel farther along their paths as the sky bridge instantly collapses under them.

Flamebird can’t concentrate fast enough. He can’t fly. He can’t focus. He can’t be useless again. He remembers bleeding on the ground in Central City. He remembers being useless as he nearly sent Nightwing to his death on a runaway truck in Gotham. He remembers Damian working tirelessly on his costumes while all Jonathan could do was sit there and distract him. The costume Damian made and always had to fix because Jonathan wasn’t capable.

The costume with a symbol Jonathan doesn’t understand.

But Jon is a hero, Flamebird is a hero, so he forces himself to push those thoughts away. Heroes are supposed to save people, so that’s what he does. The young hero has barely fallen through the air before he hooks his knees around a piece of exposed rebar and grabs both Tot’s and Mrs. Ferris’ hands. The 11-year-old is operating on reflexes alone as he uses all his unpowered strength to hold onto the two adults and the remains of the walkway while blood rushes to his head.

Papers and glass shower upon the sidewalks with the mass of volunteers, students, and employees commuting below. Nightwing dashes through the double doors of the lecture halls and nearly falls off the ledge of the entrance when he sees Flamebird holding onto two people with every ounce of strength he has.

“Flamebird!” He shouts, pulling a rope and a hook from his person. “Hold on, I’m coming!”

The green-clad hero flings the hook around the remains of a handrail near Jon and ties the other end to the handrail next to him. He doesn’t hesitate to run on the thin line with the grace of a professional gymnast toward his friend. He’s halfway across when the cord he’s standing on bounces like a guitar string, making him fumble his steps.

“An acrobat never performs alone!” The deep voice of a much older man proclaims between him and Jonathan.

Nightwing clicks his tongue in irritation as his eyes are met with an older gentleman in a red full-body leotard and yellow accessories, and a black cloth mask covering the upper half of his face. He unsheathed his katana as he rebalanced himself. “-TT- I don’t have time for this!”

He swings his weapon at the intruder who appears to have no problem skillfully dodging such a swift attack on a narrow line. Damian’s emerald eyes widen from behind his mask as he continues his assault. There was no way he was missing, his attacks were perfectly aimed, yet his sword refused to even touch the man. It was like the blade was being repelled by an external force.

“Hahaha! What showmanship! What talent!” The obstacle in Nightwing’s way laughs. “You would’ve done amazing in the circus!”

“The circus? Who are you?!” The 12-year-old yells, charging forward in an attempt to force the other back.

The athletic man purposefully drops down and flips his body around the rope. As he swings back up, he breaks the laws of physics by propelling himself into the air without the necessary momentum gathered to do so, knocking Nightwing down with a kick to the jaw. The hooded hero grabs onto the tether to prevent himself from falling as the man stands back up, perched on Nightwing’s fingers.

“Argh!”

“Who am I? Has so much time passed that no one remembers the exploits of Coast City’s greatest villain, the Aerialist !”

Meanwhile, Jonathan was trying desperately to pull the two adults up before his legs gave out. “Come on, come on, come, on, come on!” The child hisses as he tries to focus his energy on using his powers, any power. His legs began to float off the bar, but he wasn’t prepared for the sudden weight shift.

He panics, kicking his legs for leverage as he begins to float upward in an unstable sway much higher than he anticipated. The woman, Mrs. Ferris, grits her teeth as she uses her free hand to grab the cane drooping off of Tot’s arms. She jabs the stick between a crack in the ceiling, anchoring the group to the building so they wouldn’t soar into the sky.

“It’s okay, kid! You got this!” She encourages, kicking off her heels so that she can wrap her feet around the rod. She lets go of the cane and leverages her hand on Flamebird’s forearm. “Don’t focus on what your body is doing, focus on where it’s going!”

“This was fun, young one, but I came here for a reason!” Aerialist grins and flings himself higher than humanly possible with a stationary jump. “I can’t let down my audience, not after so many years!”

“Flamebird!” Nightwing shouts, pulling himself up and sprinting to his partner.

The floating child looks towards the call of his name to see the mysterious villain slam into Mrs. Ferris, stealing her into the air. Through this action, he also takes Flamebird and Tot along with him. They’re nothing more than specs in the sky by the time Nightwing catches up to where they once were.

“FLAMEBIRD!!!” Nightwing calls out into the void knowing, he won’t get an answer.

He clenches his fists until his knuckles turn white before the boy gets to work. He retrieves the makeshift grappling hook and uses it to lower himself to the ground to start finding answers when a cry for help catches his attention.

“Hey! How are we supposed to get down from here? Is someone coming to help?”

Nightwing cranes his head to the doors of the lecture hall to see a pair of students looking down at him. “Is there not an emergency exit near the front?”

“Yeah, but not all of us can get down those stairs!” One of the students shouts as she moves aside to reveal a male in a wheelchair.

“You’ve got to be kidding me! Did no one check the building for ADA compliance!?” The young hero exclaims as he begrudgingly pulls himself back up. He examines the young lady’s physique and deems her unfit to carry the other down the stairs herself. “Drag the chair down the stairs,” He orders, and before she could raise any concerns, Nightwing lifts the man onto his back.

He runs back into the lecture hall and down the stairs as the student barely manages to keep up, the wheelchair clanging on the steps with each movement. Once they get to the ground floor, Nightwing bursts through the emergency exit and sets the man back into his chair. “You need to write a strongly worded letter to the university! What if this was a fire? You’d be dead!”

“Uh…” The university student drones as he raises a brow at Nightwing. “Okay, thanks.”

“You know what, forget it. I’ll do it myself later! You two get out of here in case there’s structural damage around the building and it falls on you.” He grunts as he sprints away, lamenting the waste of time that endeavor cost him.

As he’s dashing, he notices fasteners the size of his body laid on the ground, completely undamaged and meticulously on the grass next to the grassy lawn. Nightwing glances back at the destroyed suspended walkway connecting the lecture hall and the Ferris Engineering building. He doesn’t focus on the sight any longer and someone running away in the crowd hits his elbow. Damian simply runs, he doesn’t have time to dwell on small details while Jonathan is missing.

Nightwing pushes his way through the crowd of terrified and curious volunteers when he gets a call on his phone that vibrates in his pocket. He picks it up, wondering who it could be or how it’s still on when he turns it off for the lecture. “What-”

“Little D, I’m tailing them as we speak! Stand down!” His brother demands.

“I can handle this! You’re not supposed to interfere!” The boy growls into the receiver. “This is our mission, and Flamebird is my partner!”

“No, I’m not allowed to interfere unless prompted by circumstances and circumstances have certainly been prompted!”

“It’s just a kidnapping! We can handle this!” Damian yells. “You have to trust us! We can do this, whatever this is!”

“I’m trying to keep you safe!” Richard rebuttals. “There’s two of you and only one of me! You are now unsupervised as Flamebird’s situation takes priority! You are not authorized to work without a guardian-”

“ ‘Unsupervised missions may be available upon request and review, or under emergency circumstances that are approved by a guardian.’ If this is not an emergency, then I don’t know what is! Give me approval! I can do this!”

“No, absolutely not! I can’t put you in danger-”

“What is so wrong about me that I’m the only one you don’t trust!?” Damian explodes as he gets away from the crowd. “Father can be strict and have his reservations, but you’re not my father, you’re my brother! Why can you be encouraging to everyone else, but you fucking coddle me?!”

“Little D, I do trust you! I just-- you don’t understand! There is so much more going on than you realize and if anything happened to you… Damian, I can’t go through that again.”

The 12-year-old slows down until he completely ceases moving on the empty pavement. “I’ve held myself back for years from trying to be a hero because of you; because of what happened three years ago. I’m done holding back! I’m done trying to live a normal life! Time has not reassured you I can handle myself without you watching over me, but has made you complacent. You were getting better, you were trusting me, I thought you had faith in me. What changed? What are you afraid of?”

The line is silent except for the hollow rushing of coastal wind brushing against their receivers. “I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you everything you need to know later, but not now. Not over the phone. I… I give you permission.” Nightwing, the older one, finally says with every word a struggle. “Whatever you’re going to do, just be careful about it.”

“I will. When you get to Flamebird, I want you to watch him. Watch him and you’ll see why I trust him. He will show you what he’s made of.”

“I will.” He mirrors and hangs up, leaving Damian to his own devices.

Nightwing stands there with the phone in his hand, tempted to throw it into the nearby ocean yet can’t as it’s his only lifeline to his partner. He swiftly pockets the device and takes in a deep breath. Flamebird can handle himself; he has to. Damian trusts his brother to look after his best friend. Nightwing could follow the older Nightwing to save Flamebird himself, however, there’s a bigger issue at hand than a kidnapping by a third-rate villain.

Right now, he is not a brooding vigilante or a stealthy assassin. Unlike his father, siblings, and mother he doesn’t hide in the darkness he was born in. He’s not the Kryptonian god who fights crime in the shadows. He’s not Nightwing, the hero. It would be easier if he was. He knows he has the skill to save Jonathan, but there is something more important to consider.

Their main appeal as a duo is that they are in public on the same level as the rest of this rotten world. With that in mind, the boy heads in the direction of his destination, guided by the wooden signs around the university until he sees his destination.

The library.

Nightwing and Flamebird are not privy to the high-tech databases provided to more experienced teams with advanced technology. If they want to get information, they’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way. He runs up the stone steps of the building only to find the door closed and locked. He attempts to break the glass with the crowbar he keeps on him but it is reinforced. The entire building was built in a way that was just slightly… off.

At a glance, every structure in the university appeared to be normal. Upon closer inspection, the area connecting the window and frame reveals the glass to be almost half a foot thick. That was nothing compared to the heavy metal locks that are more reminiscent of a bank vault than a school door. What was designed to appear as stone columns holding the roof up were actually iron pillars to reinforce the building's integrity.

It was like this building was meant to survive an explosion.

He peers through the glass door to find all of the lights off and the interior empty. It wasn’t supposed to be closed around this time because there were workshops scheduled here today. He could even see the shimmering of reflectively colorful UCCC balloons. Before Nightwing can search for an alternative entrance, a librarian runs into his line of view and unlocks the door to yank him in.

The employee locks the door once he’s inside and he realizes that the library is not barren, but that everyone has taken to hiding under desks or barricaded themselves in the study rooms. “What is going on here?”

He’s pushed further inside by the librarian, her sharp purple glasses and bright red lipstick making her scowl almost cartoonishly exaggerated. “Shh! We’re under lockdown. Go hide with everyone else.”

This explains why the once-crowded sidewalk spontaneously became barren in a matter of seconds. “I need access to the city’s archives,” He states as he resists the pushy person. “And you don’t need to cower under the tables. The villain attacking the university headed in the opposite direction.”

“We don’t know if there are others, so we stay right where we are until we get the ‘All-Clear’ announcement.” She argues in a harsh whisper, crossing her arms. “That means no computers, no phones, and no noise.”

“Then I’ll hide in the physical archives quietly. Take me there!” He groans in exasperation.

“Fine,” The librarian huffs, tapping her scarlet heel. “But I’m coming with you. Some of those documents are from before Coast City’s destruction and are irreplaceable.” The woman gestures to one of her staff members and tells them they’re in charge while she’s gone.

The two go to the back of the library to a windowless room that is filled with plastic milk crates almost pouring over with binders of papers on shelves that touch the cramped ceiling. Considering the effort put into maintaining the outside of the building, the same cannot be said for the inside. “-Tt- This is how you treat irreplaceable documents?”

“Don’t look at me like that, we have no other choice. No one wants to fund the preservation of physical documents when everything can be scanned online.” The librarian leads the way inside and Damian uses a flashlight from his belt to light the way. “What were you looking for that you’d tried to get into a library during a villain attack?”

“Arrest records, news articles, or anything that might give me information on the villain out there,” Nightwing explains. “He calls himself Aerialist. Said he had past exploits in this city, but it’s been a while. Fancies himself a showman, may have been part of a circus in the past.”

“And your first idea was to look in here for information?” She chuckles to herself, thoroughly looking at every label on the boxes for something useful.

“I’m working under some very specific guidelines and restrictions.” Nightwing justifies.

“Well, you’re not going to find a lot even if you had internet access,” The librarian explains, traversing deeper into the room. “Supervillain attacks aren’t really a problem around here. We haven’t had a villain attack since the bombings and that was over twenty years ago.”

“Then show me those records.”

She grimaces at Nightwing’s callous and curt attitude but skims the dusty shelves with her manicured nails. She stops on a box in the middle of the top row. Heaving the plastic crate to the floor, the librarian begins taking out documents until she reaches a thin green folder near the bottom. It was to the brim with papers, yet the folder wasn’t impressive as it was slim. 

Nevertheless, she hands it to Damian. “Here you go.”

The boy balks at the little information, flipping through the pages. “Is this everything?”

“One folder on supervillain attacks before the bombings,” She states factually. “A villain is only categorized as ‘super’ once they fight a superhero. I know each city likes advertising its heroes, but Coast City doesn’t have one. The Green Lantern is always in space, so we have the military roaming about instead.”

“Not a fan?” Nightwing quips as he leans against one of the shelves with the flashlight held between his chin and shoulder to illuminate the folder in his hands.

“Heroes are the reason we got bombed in the first place,” The librarian snarkily remarks, watching the child hero flip through old and partially burnt newspaper clippings. “All people ever want to talk about is how great this city is for surviving the catastrophe, and how the citizens stayed afterward because they were fearless.”

“Were you one of the people who lived here before the destruction?” He questions, only partially invested as his attention is divided.

“Why yes.”

“Then why did you come back? I don’t want to hear what the media or history books would say, but you.”

She purses her lipstick-lined mouth and pushes up her glasses in the dim light Damian provides silently. He pauses his reading and raises his head to give her his full attention, the light shining on her like a spotlight. What else is one to do when given a platform in Coast City than to speak?

“During the reconstitution, so many charities and companies donated to help the people who survived. We got free housing, free food, free education, and free anything for the first few years we stayed because the country was rooting for us to make it. It was like if we didn’t play along, then we somehow failed the people who died. I didn’t have a family anymore, or a home, so I was stuck. We were all stuck with everyone treating the worst day of our life like a monument to be heralded.”

“My condolences,” Nightwing offers, as he resumes studying the records. “With such strong feelings on the matter, why did you stay?”

“I guess I’ve been here so long, I can’t imagine life outside of this. I mean, why else would I stay where gas can get to $8.00 a gallon.” She brushes it off with a sneer. “Any progress on this self-proclaimed Aerialist?”

“Otto Fisher, also known as Aerialist,” Damian announces, holding up a dully colored page from a ratty newspaper page of the Coast City Legend. “He’s a footnote on the page also advertising Mi Pueblo deals. Hardly significant compared to the 4 for $1 marranitos it seems.”

“Does the blurb give a hint about why he’s attacking the university?” The librarian inquires, taking the page from Nightwing as he closes the folder.

The boy shoves the folder at her as he walks out of the room. “He didn’t come here for the university; he came here for--”

“You, Caroline Ferris!” The Aerialist boisterously proclaims with his arms spread wide on a tall platform in the middle of a red and white striped circus tent. “You and your wretched company ruined my life and after years of rotting away in prison I have come to enact my revenge!”

Tied on an opposite-facing pole of a similar platform, the woman in the magenta business suit identified as Caroline rolls her eyes. “Oh my gosh, Otto, I told you years ago it was an accident!”

“Lies! You’re responsible for the murder of the love of my life!” The villain bellows, pointing a pistol at her accusingly.

“Do you want to drop me or shoot me? You can’t do both!” She criticizes, appearing more annoyed than threatened.

“Criticizing the villain is not a good idea, Mrs. Ferris.” Tot offers from the other side of the pole behind the woman. “Especially when he’s confused.”

“I don’t have a lot of experience with villains, but aren’t they supposed to have a plan?” Flamebird questions as he’s tied between the two adults.

“A plan?” Aerialist murmurs as he paces on the raised scaffolding of the trapeze. “Oh, yes! A plan! And it is a wonderful plan!” He claps his hands together, causing dazzling spotlights to flash into their sights, blinding them. “Welcome to my greatest show!”

Once Flamebird’s eyes adjust to the brightness, he’s able to see the rest of the tent below him. What was once ominous darkness is now a sprawling stadium filled with nothing but cameras. Cameras from old 1990s camcorders to modern DSLRs, and even professional news station cameras take the place of a live audience.

“I’ve hijacked every local television signal in the metropolitan area to show off my most daring performance!”

“Is that a lot of people?” Flamebird questions aloud.

“Mm?” He pauses to look at the child who is stretching his neck to look back from where he was tied. “Of course it is! Everyone is always glued to their television set! They must be trembling on the edge of their seats in fear and anticipation for what I’m about to do to the last remaining Ferris on earth-!”

“I watch a lot of TV, but I know most other kids aren’t like that,” Jonathan ascribes in a juvenile manner, tilting his head from side to side. “My family still has cable, but we don’t use it a lot since we have the internet. My friend said that streaming is more normal.”

“The internet? Ah, you mean the World Wide Web! Sorry, I was recently released from prison so I’ve not familiarized myself with most worldly affairs,” The villain clamors with a contemplative expression. “Huh, so that internet thing really took off. What’s streaming? Is that slang for something?”

“Slang? Uhh… No? It means you watch videos from the internet instead of television.” He clarifies.

“What’s the difference?”

“Mmm… I dunno.” Jon shrugs. “It just is. Oh, wait, there are no commercials! Well, kind of. There are still commercials but they only last a few seconds and you can skip them. Wait, no, you can’t skip them sometimes and those commercials are either 15 seconds or 30 seconds long. Ooo! I remember! The difference between streaming and television is that you can choose what you can watch, but on TV you have to pick a channel and hope you’ll like whatever is on.”

“Could I pick anything I want to watch?”

“Yep!” The child chirps then stops as he reconsiders his answer. “Weelllllllllll, it depends on the streaming service. Some of them only have certain shows and movies. So it’s kinda like TV but with fewer channels and more options.”

Aerialist nods several times while rubbing his chin. “Huh, I’ll have to check that out once I kill, Miss Ferris.”

“You should! Wait, no! Not the killing part, but-!”

“Anyways” The villain interrupts with a flashy twirl of his cape. “Changes in society aside, the show must go on!”

He walks on the tightrope with a confident swagger, the spotlights following him as he does so. Jonathan carefully watches his feet to discover that he is missing the rope half the time, yet doesn’t fall off. Aerialist begins to monologue to the camera about his plans with bombastic and campy gestures, his voice booming throughout the worn-down circus tent. 

Now, Jonathan watched enough superhero movies to know that he should be paying attention; however, that is not what the young hero does. As sneakily as he could, Jon shimmies himself lower until the tip of his toe reaches a rotted wood chip and kicks it off the ledge where it immediately falls. There was an invisible platform that could only be used by the Aerialist.

Jonathan cranes his neck up to Caroline and whispers, “You knew this man, Mrs. Caroline? Why did he say you killed the ‘love of his life?’”

“Just call me Carol,” She quietly tells him. “And I didn’t. I didn’t kill his lover. They weren’t even together.” Carol speaks in short and sharp sentences as she watches Aerialist’s monologue. Once she’s sure he’s not paying attention her tone becomes softer. “Elke Hesen was a famous trapeze artist almost thirty years ago. She was the circus’ main attraction, and my father hired them to perform for a company event before I became CEO. 

“I talked to Elke for a bit before she performed and she never mentioned a partner. She said she was too invested in her work to even think about that. Lightning on a clear day struck her while performing.” She grimaces at the memory, as does Jon at the image in his mind. “Elke died instantly. Otto Fisher, a clown at the time, screamed about how it was Ferris Aircraft’s fault and vowed to destroy us. A few years later Otto came back with some fancy electromagnetic technology and tried to destroy the company. Green Lantern put him in prison and I thought that was the end of it.”

Tot leans over with an affronted expression. “I don’t mean to speak ill of the mentally unwell, but this guy sounds like a wacko. Where did he even get that kind of technology that long ago?”

“I think he made it himself,” Carol recalls with some difficulty. “Poor guy, I wish things turned out differently, but it was like he just snapped.”

“You’re telling us that this man created a scientific marvel several decades ago while working as a clown for a girl who didn’t even like him?”

“ Looook, I’m just stating facts.”

“Wait a second…” Flamebird calls out. “This guy has been in prison since before Coast City got blown up, right? That’s why he doesn’t know about the streaming or that you go by Mrs and not Miss. You’re a CEO, not a teacher or student. How did he know that you were going to be at the university? Were you doing an event?”

Carol ponders the question for a moment before answering, “No, I just had to pick up some last-minute signed documents from the Ferris Center because our fax machine broke. I could’ve just had them mailed, but I was already going to be in the area for lunch.”

“I don’t know what a fax machine is, but it sounds like an electronic you need and can easily be broken.” He concludes.

The elderly man hums in contemplation. “So you think he may have used his electromagnetic tech to tamper with the fax machines and force Mrs. Ferris out of her office building?”

“Yes,” Flamebird nods, he didn’t get that far in his deduction but he's not about to reveal that.

“But why? He could have kidnapped me anywhere. Why do it in the middle of an event being covered by several news stations?”

“Well… Look at him,” The child emphasizes, nudging his head at the raving villain who is still talking to himself. “He wants attention. I don’t… I don’t think he’s okay. Why is he still like this after being released from prison? Don’t people who do bad things go to jail so that they can learn to be better?” 

Both adults simultaneously wince at the painfully innocent assumption. Silence was always the loudest answer. “Oh.” That is all he can say.

Back to what Nightwing is doing, he makes his way across the city to the Broome Halfway House near Coast River. Ignoring the lazy naming conventions, Damian begins to bang on the door with abandon, social etiquette be damned. An exhausted elderly lady swings open the door to confront the boy.

“Keep it down! You’re upsetting my residents!” She scolds, tugging the child’s cheek between her thumb and index finger. “Young man, if you want to visit someone here, you need to schedule it beforehand! I can’t just have random people dropping in! It doesn’t matter if your daddy, or uncle, or whoever is here! Go home!”

She tries to slam the door in his face, but Nightwing is having none of it as he shoves his steeled-toe boot in the way and forces the door open. “I just want to ask you some questions! Can’t you see I’m a hero!?”

“I don’t care, and you’re just a kid with a stupid mask!” The woman grunts as she fights back, matching Damian’s tenacity. “I have enough problems as it is, and I’m not about to lose government funding just because a little shit in a cape wants to play superhero!”

“Otto Fisher! Was Otto Fisher a resident here!?” The middle schooler pries, risking plowing his body through the narrow opening.

“You don’t need to know!” The woman hollers and continues to close the door with a strength he wouldn’t assume a woman of her aging dainty stature to possess.

“I do need to know you crotchety old bitch!” Nightwing zealously quarrels. “He kidnapped my best friend.”

The door swings open causing the young hero to stumble forward and nearly falls on his face if it wasn’t for his swift reflexes. The woman has one arm on the door and one on the frame, blocking him from entering further. “...What does your friend look like?”

“What?”

“Answer me, brat, or I’m calling the police.” She threatens impatiently.

Instantly a description of his friend pours out of his mouth in a frantic flood. “Black hair that looks like it’s never been combed. Blue eyes- Azure blue to be specific. They're inhumanly large like a puppy so you can’t miss them. He has a round face and ivory skin that flushes easily. He wears a short red asymmetrical cape and a white costume with gold accents that he can’t keep clean for one mission. His smile is wonderful-”

“Stop, get in,” She interjects, moving to the side to let the boy in before he makes a scene in front of her dormitory. “And don’t talk to anyone.”

Nightwing cautiously steps into the building, surveying his bleak surroundings with a judgmental gaze. He walks past open doors filled with decrepit bunk beds sagging in the center. The aluminum wardrobes lining each room are bent in awkward places while the tiled floor beneath is worn down to the point that feet have etched indents into the ground.

Periodically he’ll see fist-sized holes in the walls leaving no question about where they came from. He trails his gloved finger along the hallway handrails and inspects the thick layer of dust that came back. He reaches the main living area filled with large round tables with affixed seating as several men are gathered around one corner where a big flatscreen television is hung on the wall: the only modern appliance he’s seen in the entire building.

Above him are oversized mirrors strewn around the ceiling to allow the employees to see what everyone is doing. Around the kitchenette, Nightwing spots several haggard signs with generic hopeful quotes, patriotic pride posters, or emergency hotline numbers. “These posters certainly convey the nurturing optimistic ambiance establishments such as this attempt to imbue.” He sarcastically notes.

The elderly woman rolls her eyes at him, crossing her arms over the front of her yellow floral dress. “Shut your mouth kid, didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”

“Didn’t yours?” He fires back.

“You wanna know ‘bout Otto, or not?”

“Fine, but first, how do you know what Flamebird looks like?” Nightwing inquires. The lady jabs her thumb in the direction of the television where his partner was tied up on the support of a trapeze with the other hostages. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Internet access is restricted to the computer room, so the TV is always on for entertainment. Took over every channel.” She explains uncompromisingly forthright in her attitude. “What do you want to know about Otto Fisher? I can’t promise I’ll tell you everything, but I can tell ya enough.”

“Can you tell me where he got the electromagnetic components for his suit?”

“No idea. Every package that comes through here is checked for paraphernalia or prohibited items like smartphones, burner phones, drugs, weapons, sharp objects, tools, and whatever else people can use to cause trouble.” The facility caretaker shrugs, nonchalant about how one of her charges is spiraling on live television. “And we checked everyone when they came in to make sure they’re not hiding anything. No privacy here.”

“Do you check the rooms?”

“Of course we do!” The elderly woman mocks, gritting her teeth as though she was trying to bite something. “Otto was a raving lunatic, but he wasn’t dangerous. The meds made sure of that.”

Damian raises a slim brow at that information. “Medicine? What condition did he have?”

“That’s something I can’t tell you.” She hastily says.

“Everyone who lives here is on a restricted schedule. Where was Fisher supposed to be today?”

“At work. Everyone who stays here has to get a job.”

“Where did he work?”

One of the ex-convicts turns in his seat to look at the two, having overheard their conversation. “He worked at an airplane place. I can’t recall his position or the name, but it wasn’t Ferris, that’s for sure. The guy made it a point to not be near that place.”

“I remember!” Another man pipes up. “Bloch Cargo Company! The one related to the old congress guy, the one with the scandal a long time ago.”

“Every politician got a scandal, you need to be clearer!”

“Oh, I remember. Jason Bloch! He hired some guys to fuck up the old Ferris factory.” Someone else says. “His brother Ben runs the company.”

Damian ponders his next course of action with this newfound knowledge. He could have easily scoured this information if he were to hack into a government database, but there are some things he can’t see by reading about them. Insight was one of them, empathy is another, but vengeance is so much more satisfying. Old habits die hard. “Tell me the location of Bloch Cargo Company.”

In the meantime, Flamebird laments the fact that his reality is being shattered before him. He never thought about what happens to the villains after the heroes save the day. He knew sometimes they break out and commit more crimes, but he was told the ones that stayed served their time and got a second chance. What he sees currently is not a man living a second chance.

“Look…” Tot begins, squirming his body in the ropes to try and face Jon better. “Flamebird, you’re a young kid. The stuff your teachers or parents tell you is what other people want you to see the world as. Everyone sees the world differently and wants everyone else to see the world as they do. The truth is… Less than ideal. Supervillains are wickedness that’s easy to see and easy to fight, but that’s not what corruption looks like.”

“Squeezing in a lesson there, Professor Rodor?” Carol jokes.

“Routines are a formidable foe,” The man chuckles. “I’m not telling you this to worry you or preach. I’m telling you this because it looks like you’re going to get yourself in a lot of trouble in the future. If you keep trying to do this hero gig, you’re going to come across a situation you can’t confront. Bad guys are a symptom, heroes are medicine, but a cure is complicated.”

Jonathan wonders why. Why can’t saving the day be simple? Then Jon realizes if it was easy the world wouldn’t need heroes. “When did being a superhero get so complicated?”

“Who said it was ever easy?” Carol giggles to herself, almost like she’s laughing at an inside joke. “Villains and heroes are relative, just like problems. That’s what makes it complicated. If everyone was on the same page, we wouldn’t be people.”

“Is there a way to at least make everything better? What else is wrong with the world that I don’t know about?”

“I don’t believe I’m the right person to ask,” Tot confesses with an earnest yet melancholy expression. “Learning what’s right and wrong from only a few people won’t get you anywhere. That’s something you’re going to have to figure out with time and experience. Tomorrow is a new day with new people and new problems. What you have to determine is what you believe is a problem and if you want to do something about it.”

“Every hero has a reason or motto about what they stand for. Heck, forget about heroes; every person does.” Carol adds with a soft sigh, leaning the back of her head against the beam. She chuckles and Jon can feel her fingers brush against the side of his right arm. “Tell me, Flamebird, was it? Is there a reason you’re staying tied up with us?”

“Huh?” Flamebird blurts out, looking up at the woman to see her give him a knowing smile. He never had the chance to take in her face when so much was happening around them. They were tied in a way they had difficulty seeing one another. Jonathan almost didn’t realize he knew who this woman was. “Wait… Mrs. Jordan?! I knew I heard ‘Ferris’ from somewhere! I didn’t know you ran a company! I thought you retired!”

“You two know each other? What a small world.” The elderly man smiles at the enthusiastic exclamation of the child. 

“Took me a minute, but I’d recognize those eyes anywhere. Just like his father’s.” She fondly describes and shushes Jon. “And I did retire, but not from my day job. Let’s get reacquainted somewhere more private. Not somewhere with a bunch of cameras.” 

“Sorry,” He winces apologetically, hoping none of the cameras caught that. He doubts it as even his shouts are quieter than Aerialist’s ravings that have gone on long enough. Jon doesn’t even think the man was cognizant of their existence anymore as his tangent has gone on for a long time with no apparent direction.

Flamebird’s blue eyes glow red as lasers cut their bindings and step forward to the edge of the wooden platform. “I wanted to know why he was doing this. I see now that you’re not the ones who needed saving. It’s time to end this.”

Unbeknownst to Flamebird, the cameras weren’t going to publicize what happened next.

Nightwing directs the green head of a banker's lamp at the man he has tied up in a chair. The older man with greying brown facial hair and a navy blue suit glares at him as Damian uses his other hand to point at a terrified camera operator, wagging his finger at them like a scolded child. “Keep the lens on me.”

“L-loo-look kid, I was just doing my job!” The person trembles as their eyes dart between the captured man and the juvenile hero. “Why am I even here?!”

“Shut up!” The burly older businessman barks from his seat.

“Your job was as a consultant due to your experience as a broadcast engineer. How else would someone in prison for a quarter of their life know how to hijack television signals? Your new job is to keep the lens on me,” Nightwing tells the cameraman, tossing an orange prescription bottle repeatedly in the palm of his free hand. “Risperidone, huh?” 

Damian makes an impressive display of tossing the bottle into the air and letting it roll down the back of his arms to his opposite hand. He fakes squinting as he puts the bottle to eye level, “And would you look at that! It’s nearly full even though it was prescribed over a month ago! Mr. Bloch, can you guess where I found this?”

“Don’t you know who I am!?” Benjamin Bloch questions instead of answering. “I know people in high places! It doesn’t matter if you’re a kid, you’re going away for a long time for this-”

Nightwing releases an exaggerated yawn, stretching his arms out and cracking his spine to heckle the trapped CEO. “Oh, I know. What I’m doing is highly illegal, but I’d take illegal over amoral any day.” He hops off the office desk he was sitting on and walks over to the chair, making sure the camera was still on him. “Second chance to be the first to have your side of the story out there. I don’t want to be accused of robbing you of second chances as you’ve done.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, you delusional brat!”

“I’m delusional? Ha!” He crows a phony laugh at the audacity. “You would know all about delusions, right Mr. Bloch? Speaking of delusions, were you aware that risperidone is a medication used to treat those?”

Nightwing rests an arm on the back of the leather office chair, rotating it to face him directly as he leans in close. “Mr. Bloch, I’m giving you one last chance to redeem yourself.”

Bloch spits in his face, sealing his fate. “Fuck you, I didn’t do anything.”

The 12-year-old sighs, disappointed. “I guess you don’t need a brain to run a business these days.”

He wipes the saliva off his face, flicking it to the carpet, as he moves back to the desk. Nightwing picks up a tiny remote the size of a pack of gum and presses a button. A projector screen rolls down to reveal a slide show presentation titled, “The Crimes of Benjamin Bloch.”

“The Hell? When did you make this? How is this on my computer?” The businessman rapidly questions with the utmost confusion.

“I’m efficient,” Nightwing simply answers. “I’m going to paint you a story and you tell me if it’s true.” He holds the remote out and begins transitioning through the presentation. “You hate Ferris Aircrafts due to a family vendetta that, one by one, cost your entire family their lives. Instead of, oh I don’t know, getting over it and realizing your father was a narcissistic drunk who blamed everyone but himself for his misfortune you decide to continue his work.” Images of articles and old broadcasts of the many terrorist-level crimes against the Ferris family and obituaries of Conrad and Jason Bloch flash through the screen. “Let’s stop talking about the past and move on to your latest achievement! Exploiting the mentally ill for your benefit!”

Damian changes the slide to a record from the municipality of Coast City with the most identifying information censored. “This document is a Bloch Cargo Company request for participation in a local program that accompanies Coast City’s Re-Entry agenda. It’s a noble effort, but it does need a few readjustments in my opinion. That's not what I’m here to talk about, abysmal minimum pay rate aside.”

The boy clicks to the last slide, a collage of emails and incriminating security camera footage screenshots of company orders of electromagnet suit components. There was a particular image of Bloch holding the pill bottle in front of Otto Fisher. Otto Fisher, who without the spectacle of a supervillain costume, was a man in a custodial jumper. He was just a guy trying to get back on his feet after decades of incarceration in a city he doesn’t recognize anymore.

“Where did you get those!?” Bloch roars, pulling against the restraints. “This is all lies and slander! You doctored all of those! It’s all fake! You can’t use those in a court of law!”

“I can’t,” Nightwing agrees, causing the man to gape at him in confusion. “There is plausible deniability that I tampered and created false evidence if I were to push this into an official court. A court you can easily manipulate with monetary compensation. Most of these emails are recovered from damaged servers, but nothing is secure in this day and age so it was relatively simple to recover. I can’t put you away for your crimes, Mr. Bloch. Even if I took my time and worked through the proper channels, I cannot bring you to justice.”

“Then what’s the point of this if not to try and punish me!?” The man questions. “ANSWER ME!”

“Benjamin~, Oh Benjamin! Let me answer all your questions!” He claps in front of him, keeping his hands together and sitting back on the edge of the desk. “Truth be told, I would have never investigated your sad pathetic life or crimes if you didn’t give me a reason to. Your little scheme to have someone else kill Carol Ferris was never going to work, but you got me involved the second your ruse separated me from Flamebird. Unluckily for you, they’re 90% of my impulse control and this is what I do when I don’t have them around.” He looks at the camera with an absolutely feral grin. “Would you oh-so kindly keep the camera still? I can feel you shaking from here.”

“Y-yes, sorry!” The cameraman squeaks trying to still themselves in front of this chilling child.

Nightwing nods and beams his sharp teeth at Mr. Bloch in a perversion of an innocent childish smile as he continues his performance. “You are a man in a position of power over someone who was completely vulnerable. A man with a delicate mental state who's been in the prison system for over two decades. You used their condition to keep your tainted image from being soiled further. I am here to make sure that awful image you are carefully trying to rid yourself of completely rots!

"I won’t get you convicted in a court of law alone, but the court of public opinion is merciless! Let the camera be on you, on us, instead of letting a man you pushed into a psychotic episode! I am the hero who is showing the world what you want to hide! That is why I am doing this, Mr. Bloch !”

Mr. Bloch grits his teeth and nervously bounces his knee. “No one is going to believe you with a stunt like this!”

“I’ve already leaked these documents on your company’s website. I’m not going to lie and say I believe that everyone will make educated decisions based on the evidence presented to them.” Nightwing shrugs, unbothered. “But there’s a spotlight on you now, Mr. Bloch. How long will it be until people speak out against you? How long until all the people you’ve wronged come forward now that your name is out there?”

With one last ounce of defiance, the man stares directly at the hooded hero whose shadow looms over him. “Who are you?”

“I am Nightwing,” He declares pridefully and walks up to the camera lifting its view to his face, knowing it won’t clearly capture his face thanks to his mask. It’s not his face people need to see, but his voice that needs to be heard.

Jonathan uses his laser vision to destroy the mechanical audience below him, setting the circus tent flaming in a blaze of glory. Nightwing, Damian’s older brother, swings on a trapeze with his knees around the bar. Unlike Flamebird, he is much more in his element as he scoops the two captives into his arms.

“You’re ruining my plans! Caroline Ferris was going to meet her maker like her family caused my beloved Elke!” Aerialist claims, running on air to attack Jonathan.

“I’m stopping the world from seeing you like this.”

“To those with secrets.”

Flamebird doesn’t move toward him, knowing he isn’t agile enough to stand on the thin line. He points his eyes at the villain, scraping the sides of his shins with a scalding hot beam. The boy catches the man’s hand before he can fall into the fiery pit he created as the grandeur of his scheme burns to ash.

“It’s over, Mr. Fisher!” Flamebird shouts over the roaring fire consuming them as he lays flat on the burning platform. “Whatever this is, it’s over!”

“No! I will have my revenge! She locked me away! She ruined my life!” He raves, swiping at the hand clasping onto him as he peers into those scarlet eyes. “Why doesn’t anyone see it?!”

“To those with an evil they want to hide.”

“You still have a life!” Jonathan hollers as the red in his eyes fades, but the red around them increases, giving the once-dark and cold tent a warm glow. “Mr. Fisher-”

“I am the Aerialist!”

“MR. FISHER,” The young hero emphasizes, refusing to play into the man’s delusions, but still offering compassion. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry that you didn’t get the help you needed in prison for the last twenty years! I’m sorry that you’re hurting! I’m sorry that you’ve been stuck replaying the worst days of your life!”

“To those with the power to slither in the shadows of your sins.”

“Tell me, Mr. Fisher! All these years you say you loved her. All that time you spent thinking about her! What was her favorite color?” Flamebird interrogates, looking deep into the man’s eyes through the cutouts of his cloth mask. 

The man breathes, faltering in his aggression. “What?”

As super strength begins to flow through his muscles Jon continues to question Otto about his supposed lover. “What was her favorite food? How did she look when she was tired? What did she do for fun? What was her dream?”

“I… I don’t know, but she would have shared that with me if she were here! If I could just show her…” Otto sputters as he tries to find words that don’t exist.

“Let this be a warning for you.”

Jon pulls the man up as the world goes up in flames, completely encapsulating them like a cleansing light. It burns away the remnants of the past that have trapped them in its hold over one man. One man who was stuck reliving what he thought was the worst day of his life. One man who experienced a breakdown he never recovered from.

“Mr. Fisher-- Otto, Otto Fisher,” Jonathan repeated his name so the man wouldn’t lose himself again. The man’s knees hit the surface suspending them above the conflagration, the illumination highlighting his hollowed cheekbones. “What happened that day wasn’t your fault. I can see you’re upset and it must have been horrible for you. You need help, real help. Please, come with me and we can find someone who can help you.”

Otto crumples where he sits, pulling off his mask to reveal the man behind the mask. He wasn’t some campy conniving villain. It was just a man who lost so many years. He covers his face with his hands mournfully.

"You can’t help me, kid.” He laments, shaking his head as his mind becomes more aware of his situation. “They’re going to send me back. They’re gonna lock me up and forget about me just like they did before. Gonna drug me up to deal with me.”

“Flamebird will save you.”

“Otto, I can’t promise that nothing bad will happen to you, but I’ll promise you’ll be able to have a fair chance. I’ll make sure you get the help you need, not whatever happened before.” The 11-year-old pleads, grasping his hands over the man as embers from the structure above fall onto him, flickering like fireflies on the back of his scarlet cape.

“I-I just kidnapped you! Why do you still want to help me?” He asks and doesn’t fight against Flamebird as the boy shifts him around his shoulders.

“Because you needed saving,” Flamebird answers with ease of breathing, which is ironically getting harder to do while surrounded by wild flames in a cloth tent. “And I’m a hero.”

“I will expose you.”

Flamebird braces himself on the pole that’s beginning to char away and with his super strength still activated, he jumps as high as he can, a trail of fire following him. He escapes the inferno he created, but in return, he gains back the life of someone once gone. If one were to ask Jonathan what he learned from this experience he couldn’t answer. There was too much to take in for him to condense it down into phrases. Damian was always better with those than he was.

He looks down from his place in the air as he feels time stick in stasis due to the adrenaline flowing through him. Flamebird glances down at his uniform and is thankful it’s not destroyed due to the new fire-resistant fabric, but there are plenty of scorch marks on it. Jon takes in his surroundings from above and spots Dick in his uniform talking to police officers. He contemplates if that means he’ll get the credit for this rescue but notices that he doesn’t mind. Nightwing won’t be happy about that. He also probably won’t be happy about having to clean up a burning tent and a couple hundred cameras worth of scrap metal and plastic.

Flamebird pushes that thought out of the way as he descends to the earth. There will always be a better time to reflect on everything later. Right now, he is still a hero and he promised the man next to him a chance at a better future.

“And together, we will work towards a better tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

Damian Wayne is nothing if not prepared. Some people who shall not be named (Jon) may even claim he’s paranoid. The young ex-assassin recognizes the advantage of being cautious about any scenario that will befall them as the path of a superhero is tumultuous. Damian believes he would have always turned out this way even if his mother didn’t instill it in him. When he was first informed of his father’s identity the trait he admired the most was his expert-level planning skills. It wouldn’t matter who he was raised by as both of his parents were naturally like this.

He fills out a multitude of non-profit charity application forms for Otto Fisher. Jonathan had attempted to fill them out for the man himself, but strenuous and complicated paperwork was never his strong suit; Especially when Jonathan spelled California with a ‘ph’. Damian could go on and on about how idiotic it is that private charities and donations provide services that should have already been provided by the government, but that’s beside the point. There’s a knock at his door and he instantly recognizes the rhythm of the beats.

The door cracks open and Richard peeks his head in. “Hey, Damian. Are you busy?”

The 12-year-old sets his pen down and turns his chair to face his older brother. “I’m not excessively occupied with work at the moment, but why don’t you tell me if I look busy, credit stealer?” He callously asks him with razor-sharp eyes.

“Oh my gosh, I didn’t do it on purpose!” Richard vehemently defends with a groan as he fully steps into the room.

“You made Flamebird appear more incompetent!” Damian accuses, pushing his chair back towards his wardrobe, and pulling out Jonathan’s burn-stained uniform. “All people know is that he got kidnapped and burned down a structure! While you stood there to save the day!”

“In my defense, I did get the hostages out of the tent, but I’m sorry if I stole any credit that belonged to Flamebird!” The man repents, closing the door behind him and taking Jon’s uniform. “Look, if you won’t let me make a public statement, will you at least let me make it up to you by cleaning this?”

“So you can clean clothes, but not help us clean 281,423 melted cameras?”

“You’re more bitter about this than Jon! I was busy trying to figure out a way to get us out of Coast City without getting arrested after you terrorized a public figure on live television!”

“Oh please,” Damian scoffs, rolling up to his desk as he crosses his arms, unimpressed. “I might be on the ‘good’ side, but I know I haven’t lost my touch. If I wanted to instill true terror into that pathetic man, I would’ve mortified him to the brink of cardiac arrest.”

“Why do you make that sound like a brag?” Richard sighs exasperatedly, pinching the bridge of his nose. If Damian focuses enough he can see the beginnings of the same weary wrinkles their father has. “Anyways, that’s not what I’m here to talk about. I told you I would talk about us. Is now a good time for that?”

There’s always a pang of anxiety coursing through him when a respected adult figure wants to talk to him. He wasn’t going to be scolded or in trouble, but there was a faint feeling of fear with the experience. Damian has to remind himself that he wasn’t a failure and that there would be no punishment. “Yes, have a seat, Richard.”

The eldest Wayne son lazily folds the dirty uniform over his arm as his sapphire eyes scan the room for a place to rest. There were many surfaces a person could sit on in Damian’s room, but unfortunately, they were all occupied by the many animals in Damian’s possession. 

Richard opts to sit on the chaise next to Titus, who does not make an inch of extra space for him while he’s being stared down by Jerry who takes up the entire king-sized bed. Everyone always underestimates the size of a turkey until they meet one in person.

“Damian,” He starts with a deep breath, running his hand through his uncombed hair. “I care about you… A lot. I love all of you guys and would do anything for Tim, Jason, Cass, Steph, and Duke, but you’re… Different.”

“We all know I’m your favorite,” Damian says without an ounce of shame.

“I wish you would all stop saying that,” Richard sighs, his severe facade cracking.

“Why? Everyone knows it’s true.”

“It’s not,” He adamantly denies. “I don’t love any of you less, but my love for each of you is different. When you first came here you didn’t have Bruce; you had me. What you said before was right; I’m not your father. I’m your brother, but the responsibility and care I feel for you is more than that.”

It was hard to disagree with that statement because Damian doesn’t feel like he’s Richard’s kid, but the influence and age gap between them makes it more complicated than how his other siblings treat him. Rather than verbally acknowledging this point, the preteen instead tells Richard to, “Get to the point.”

The man sighs again, instantly making him appear older and Damian guilty. “I thought I’d be okay with this thing you and Jon have going on, but I’m not. Everything still feels too sudden and you took the name, my name! I know you didn’t take that name after me, but to match Jon-”

That’s not true.

“-But I thought you wanted to be one of us?”

He does.

“You wanted to be Robin.”

He still wants to.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?”

Yes.

“What’s going on?”

Jon got shot.

“You never mentioned creating a new team before this summer. What changed?”

Damian clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he scowls at his brother. “-TT- That’s not the only motivation for your recent behavior. This isn’t about me, so what happened to you?”

Dick exasperatedly exhales, deciding right now wasn’t the time to press for more information and pivoting to the main topic. “I have a lot of things to worry about, and this situation is one of them. I haven’t pried into what you’ve done so far out of respect, but you are still my little brother. I know I can’t tell you what to do or how to do things as a mentor, but as your family, I’d like to know your plans. There are dangerous people after me-- after all of us. If I know what you’re doing more in-depth than a vague idea it would help reassure me that you’re going to be okay because what we have now, nothing, isn’t enough.”

“Who’s after you this time?” Damian calmly inquires.

“I’m working on finding out, and once everything is over I’ll tell you about it.” His brother explains, patting the younger’s shoulder. “From now on, if something happens whether it’s good or bad, I want to hear it from you first.”

“I can be amenable to informing you about future endeavors so long as you don’t pester me.”

That was as good as he was going to get for the time being. “Thank you.” Richard pats Damian’s shoulder again and walks to the door. Before he leaves, he looks back at the preteen with an apologetic smile. “I'm sorry if it feels like I don’t trust you. I do.”

“I get it already,” Damian groans with annoyance, burying his head back into his work. “Close the door on your way out.”

He hears the door shut as he hovers his pen over the form but doesn’t let the ink touch the paper. Damian’s dagger-like eyes stabbed what he thought was fine work now looks like complete garbage. He violently balls it up and throws it across the room before taking out a clean sheet. It wasn’t good enough.

He wasn’t good enough.

He wasn’t good.

He has to be perfect.

The next day, Damian travels to Jonathan’s abode with a thin folder filled with their budget, equipment inventory, and potential travel destinations they should hit before the start of the school year. He also has Jonathan’s cleaned costume in an opaque plastic bag tucked under his arm. Damian goes to knock on the wooden door with chipped white paint when he notices someone else walking up the driveway behind him.

“Hi, Damian!” Kathy greets him, holding Jonathan’s flip phone in her muddy palm. The farm girl is covered in mud more often than not that Damian is concerned about the state of her shower.

“Branden,” Damian declares her last name in lieu of a proper salutation. “What are you doing with Jonathan’s phone?”

The young farmer jovially springs up the porch steps like a rabbit before landing next to Damian too casually for comfort. “Jon forgot his phone at my place after our sleepover yesterday, so I came to return it! Also, you called him, like, 20 times in a row.”

“-TT- I’m here because he didn’t pick up. Which is something you could’ve done since you have it.”

Kathy shrugs with her hands in front of her. “Meh, I would’ve but I’m a busy person.” She casually walks past him and enters the home leaving Damian disappointed that Jonathan’s family still leaves their door unlocked. “What are you, a vampire? You can come in, ya know.”

Damian reluctantly follows her inside the empty Kent household. It is odd seeing a usually lively place devoid of life while also being well-lived. He can still smell the lingering scent of a meal that has since passed wafting around the living room and kitchen area. They haven’t been out for longer than an hour or two.

Kathy stands at a side table next to the stairs and writes a note for Jonathan on a post-it note. “Looks like they’re not home yet.”

“I noticed,” Damian curtly states, planting himself on the plastic-lined floral-patterned recliner in the living room.

The blonde sticks the note on the phone and leaves it on the table before going to sit next to the older boy. She flops onto the plush couch and accidentally sits on one of her long braids causing her to bend her neck back. “OWCH!”

“You should tie your hair up,” Damian suggests unhelpfully.

Kathy grimaces at him as she pulls her pigtail out from under her. “Gee, thanks. It’s not like I’ve never thought about it before.”

“Then why haven’t you?”

“It’s already tied up.”

“Then tie it up better.”

She scowls at Damian, her freckled cheeks emphasizing her expression. “I’d like to see you try working with this much hair quickly.”

“I'll take you up on that.” Damian insists, moving to stand behind her as she adjusts her position on the couch. “May I?”

Kathy was not expecting him to take her up on the challenge. “Huh? Uh… sure?”

He combs the long straw-colored hair with his fingers and for a moment they appear as a rich hickory brown. The strands in his hands were the wrong texture as it was rough and slightly wavy instead of straight and silky. Kathy turns to look at him and the wrong shade of green looks back at Damian, snapping him out of his stupor.

Damian has always been agile with his fingers and in under a minute takes Kathy’s loose pigtail braids into a large rose-shaped bun that sits tightly against her head. “There.” He smugly asserts with a self-satisfied smirk.

The younger child reaches into the front pocket of her overalls to use her front phone camera as a mirror. “Holy- Oh my gosh this is amazing! I look so pretty!”

“And it lowers the risk of you snapping your neck when you sit. You’re welcome.” Damian brags as he sits back on the recliner. “I’m not in the habit of performing favors for nothing. This was a one-time thing.”

“That’s a lie because I know you do things for Jon all the time,” Kathy huffs, bouncing her hair with the front of her hand.

“And you’re not Jonathan,” The boy states, crossing his legs and resting his cheek on his fist. “He has some class.”

“You’re an asshole,” Kathy insults as she slumps on the couch.

“And you are crass,” Damian rebuttals. “Why are you still here; you’ve returned Jonathan’s phone? Don’t you have to make cheese or something?”

“Don’t you have to take that ten-foot stick out of your ass?”

“I don’t remember your language being so foul, or have you been saving that for me?”

“Not really, I just don’t swear in front of Jon. He gets really whiny about it.”

“That’s something we can agree on,” Damian huffs, leaning back onto the vinyl cushions and causing them to make a weird squeaking noise.

Kathy childishly mocks him by laughing uproariously and pointing at him. “Hahahahaha! You farted!”

“It was the stupid chair!” The older boy hisses defensively at the other’s childish outburst. “What is this, the 1950s!? Why do they even have plastic on this thing?!”

“You’re no fun. It’s not like I was serious,” The blonde insults as she sticks out her tongue. “This is why I don’t like you; I can’t read you.”

“Keep your filthy telepathy out of my mind.”

“My Grandpa says that people who try to hide their emotions that much have something bad to hide.”

“And my Grandfather says that people who can’t mind their own business get their eyes ripped from their sockets!” Damian regretfully freezes at the tone of his hostility and the mention of his grandfather. “Can you leave?”

“Fine, but only because I can feel Jon coming home,” Kathy concedes, standing up and opening the front door. This allows the sound of Jonathan chatting with his mother as they walk up the driveway to enter the room.

Damian glares at her. “Did you believe I was going to do something to this home without supervision?”

“Were you?”

The charity application papers he stole and was secretly going to return burned a hole in his blazer pocket. “... Touché.”

Jonathan bounces up the short porch steps as he beams brightly at his friend at the doorway. “Hey Kathy, your hair is really pretty today! Also, have you seen my phone? I was looking for it all morning but I couldn’t go to your house to ask since Farmer Cobb said you were busy in the field then he tried talking me into helping him make some butter which would be fun, but I broke one of my braces trying to eat a bag of walnuts. The dentist told me not to do that, but James, you know that kid in our class last year who had braces since third grade, said that he eats popcorn and nuts with his braces so why couldn’t I? I learned my lesson that James is either a big fat liar or I’m just unlucky. The dentist put this stuff on my teeth to make them feel like chalk and it’s really uncomfortable. That will go away soon, but Damian told me braces aren’t normal outside of the US. Do they have braces in space? Space brace! Hey, that rhymes! Space brace, space brace, space brace, space brace, space brace--”

“Your phone’s on the table and Damian’s here,” Kathy interrupts before walking past him back to her home.

“Why did you let me keep talking!?” Jonathan shouts as he bolts into his home as his mother chortles at his mortification. “Hi Damian! What are you doing here? Did you need something? Sorry I wasn’t here earlier! Did you call? What am I saying? Of course, you did!”

“You need to keep better track of your possessions,” Damian scolds, standing to meet Jonathan halfway.

Jon’s enthusiastic demeanor immediately deflates into a kicked puppy. “I know, I know.”

Lois shoos the boys off to her son’s room while she watches TV in the living room, telling them to keep the door open. Jonathan merrily pulls Damian upstairs as he rambles about who knows what at a rapid pace, excited about his best friend’s surprise visit. His enthusiasm almost makes Damian feel bad about being here for professional purposes… almost.

“And did you ever notice that peanuts kinda look like peas? They’re both in pods and the insides are hard that get soft after you boil them. Apparently, boiled peanuts aren’t a thing in a lot of places which is weird because that means people only eat soft peanuts when it’s in butter, but there is also crunchy peanut butter so it’s not that different-- Oof!”

Damian shuts his friend up by shoving the folder he brought into Jon’s chest with a bit too much force. “Here, read it.”

“Huh? What’s this?” Jon asks, not waiting for an answer before flipping through it. “Oh.”

“-TT- You asked for it,” Damian states, sitting on Jonathan’s bed and placing Flamebird’s uniform on the pillow.

“I… I did,” The younger boy echoes, as he sits next to him close enough for their sides to be pressed against each other. While he’s not looking, Damian quickly slips the papers he stole back where he found them. 

Jon skims the leaflet more before pausing. “Dami?”

“Yes?”

“Are we broke?”

“... Define ‘Broke.’” The older preteen asks, noticeably avoiding eye contact.

“Damian Wayne,” Oh no, not the full name. “We both know that you’re not dumb and I also know the meaning of the number zero hasn’t changed.”

Begrudgingly, Damian’s pride refused to allow him to keep up the naive charade for more than a sentence. “We’re broke.”

“And most of that money was spent on me-”

“It’s not a big deal,” He finishes before Jonathan starts spiraling into a guilt-ridden tangent. “It’s an investment-”

“Why have you been hiding this from me!!” Jonathan cries, slamming the folder on his lap. “Wait, no, you already answered that! Because you don’t think I can handle it! Well, news flash for you: I can handle it! Just like how I’m going to earn money and fix our money problem and let us be superheroes!”

Emerald green eyes stare deadpan at the proud boy; expression completely unreadable. “You. You’re going to earn enough money to fund our operation?”

Jonathan huffs, his pouting cheeks resembling an angry chipmunk. “Don’t look at me like that! I can totally make money! You don’t have to worry about spending anymore!”

“You don’t have to do that. I already have a plan in place once our initial funds were spent, so don’t worry your pretty little head over it.” Damian pats Jon on the head to comfort him, but it is just condescending.

“That sounds like a bunch of crap, and you’re a shady person,” Jonathan snarls, slapping the hand off his wavy hair. “I have half a mind to throw you out this window, but you’d just land perfectly.”

“If it makes you feel better, I can throw myself out the window because the tension in this room is suffocating.”

“It doesn’t,” He tells him. “You just said I’m suffocating you.”

The older half of the duo opens his mouth to say something then immediately closes it, caressing the hand that’s been slapped as he rethinks his phrasing. “Habibi, I can explain.”

Needless to say, Damian was quick to depart from the Kent household before Jon made good on his threat to defenestrate him. He’s not worried about getting hurt, but about him saying something that will hurt Jonathan… again. Damian has no idea what’s wrong with him lately. His extensive linguistic skills get thrown out the window when he talks to his best friend. That or Jonathan interprets his words wrong and becomes angry with him. Either way, it’s left the adolescent in a bind where he seemingly can’t do anything right by Jon.

But he will! Mark Damian’s words, he will fix their financial deficit on his own and show Jonathan he can trust him to take care of him and this team!

“Sooooooooo,” A tall boy with flat shaggy ginger hair and pale freckles drawls out as he walks with Damian around Old Gotham. “Why are we going to Wayne Tower?”

“Colin, were you listening to anything I’ve been saying?” Damian interrogates as he forcefully drags his friend along.

“Not really,” Colin answers honestly and turns to the girl next to him. “Were you listening, Maps?”

A short girl with a bright yellow flower ornament in her hair nods enthusiastically that the two boys fear she could give herself a concussion. “Damian says he’s going to work for his Daddy’s company to make money to do his superhero-- Mpphh!”

“The point of having a secret identity is to keep it a secret!” Damian hisses as he harshly smashes his hand over her mouth.

She claws at the appendage with her colorful scrunchie-covered arms (that Damian doesn’t see the purpose of as her black bob is too short to be tied) until he relents. “Geez, if you really want it to be a secret, you should’ve picked a different superhero name than the one your broth- Mmmmmmmpppphh! Mrrrpphh!”

This time, Colin covered her mouth and carried her along in a semi-chokehold. “Why do you keep telling her things?”

“She’s enthusiastic, but not completely incompetent.”

“She almost revealed two of your family’s secrets publicly- Eww! What the Hell, Maps!?” The tall redhead cringes as he takes his hand off her and wipes his palm on her cat-patterned shirt. “You’re so gross!”

“Don’t get into a fight if you’re afraid to get dirty.” She brags, spitting on the sidewalk to get the taste of her friend’s hand out of her mouth. “He tells me things for the same reason he tells you things: we’re friends. And we’re here for moral support!”

“What job can Damian even do at his dad’s company? I don’t think Mr. Wayne is hiring 12-year-olds.”

“Shut up, both of you. We’re here.” Damian orders, fixing the green tie of his suit as he pushes through the front door of the tallest building in Gotham.

Everyone around him is dressed in similar professional business wear as Damian, making the two kids behind him stand out against the corporate setting. Colin looks down at his ripped jeans, stained Red Hood t-shirt, and worn-out sneakers with hesitation. His pale blue eyes then turn to look at the colorful catastrophe Maps is wearing. “Are we underdressed?”

Maps thoroughly look down at her rainbow-striped socks. “I’m wearing my best clothes!”

“How are those your best clothes? You’re rich!”

“Because I like them the most!”

Ignoring whatever conversation his friends are having, Damian walks up to the receptionist’s desk with a stern look across his face. “I’m here for an important meeting.”

The woman at the desk stares at him curiously, glancing behind him for an authority figure but only finds more children. “Um… Does your mom or dad work here?”

Colin snorts at the inquiry, but Damian remains stoic as he places his school ID on the counter. “My father does work here, and my… brother,” He struggles to get that word out of his mouth. “Will be your boss one day. So I suggest you have someone escort me to my meeting right now or I will call your supervisor.”

“Okay, Karen,” Maps giggles, hiding her face when Damian turns to glare at her.

The receptionist doesn’t take a full second to look at the identification card before her eyes nearly fall out of her head. “M-Mr. Wayne! I’m so sorry for not recognizing you! I knew there was a meeting with Mr. Wayne’s son, but I thought it was-”

“Drake, I know. But it’s not and I have yet to be escorted.” Damian states, making a show of pretending to pick at his nails in boredom.

“Of course, of course!” She gestures for one of the other receptionists to cover her station as she ushers the children to follow her to the elevators.

As they walk inside the elevator, Colin leans over to whisper his concerns to his friend. “Why did she think your meeting was Tim’s?”

“Because,” Damian forces through gritted teeth. “Drake is the official heir of Wayne Enterprises.”

“I thought you were the heir?”

“The position is amendable.”

Maps holds her chin as she squints her almond-brown eyes in introspection. “You know, I always found it weird that companies have heirs. I mean, isn’t the point of capitalism that anyone can work their way up the socioeconomic ladder no matter their background? Having heirs descended from a single family is no different than royalty, which is something we’re trying to escape from.”

Colin gawks at her while Damian smirks up at him. “Those critical thinking skills are the reason I tell her things.” Then he turns to Maps. “And you are right, but right now I am going to abuse the hell out of this privilege!”

It doesn’t take long to get to their destination, and their guide instantly scurries away once they’re inside the meeting room. Damian’s father appeared to be vehemently arguing with a woman in the corner of the room away from the conference table. There were several adults in professional attire at the far end of the table with papers strewn across the surface and Wayne-branded laptops in front of them.

The three kids sat silently on the opposite end of the table near the door. Everyone in the room could feel the tension building as the only sound left was the enraged debating between the CEO and the suspiciously calm woman in the grey suit. The dispute was indecipherable from their volume, but it was clear Mr. Wayne was upset about whatever it was. Soon enough, Bruce turns away and walks towards his son as he takes some calming breaths. Maps swiftly moves over so that he can sit to the right of Damian before the man can ask. 

“Hello, Damian!” The billionaire greets him with a kind smile and then does the same to his friends. “Hello Mia, hello Colin! How have you two been?”

“I’ve been fine, Mr. Wayne,” Colin replies nervously, watching the lady Damian’s father was talking to sit directly opposite of Damian. “My uncle became a detective recently.”

“That’s great to hear! Tell him I said congrats,” The man compliments. “What about you, Mia? Anything new or interesting going on with Mister and Missus Mizoguchi?”

Maps’ bubbly personality momentarily deflates at the mention of her parents before she forces herself to smile brightly. “Not really, but my brother, Kyle, is at a tennis tournament in Fawcett City! That’s where my parents are right now. He has lots of tournaments this summer so I haven’t seen them a lot lately.” She notices the concerned face of Mr. Wayne and backpedals. “I video chat with them every day and my grandma watches me! They also got me a cat so it’s not like I’m lonely at home!”

That doesn’t make him feel better, but Bruce makes sure not to look into that later. “That’s wonderful. I’m sure your cat is getting lots of love.”

“Yep!”

He returns his attention to his son with a serious expression. “Damian, you don’t have to do this. If you need money for your extracurricular activities we can find something else.”

“This method is faster,” Damian bluntly says. “Besides, you were the one who said I could make this decision.”

“I know you’re looking for independence, but maybe we can start smaller.”

“No,” Damian responds loud enough for everyone to hear. “Start the meeting.”

The adults simultaneously turn to Mr. Wayne for guidance to which the man tiredly nods. The woman who was talking to Mr. Wayne previously smiles joyously as she brushes off the heavy atmosphere. “Everyone is so serious, haha!” She brushes some loose lint off her pencil skirt and slides a few water bottles toward the children and is pleasantly surprised she didn’t accidentally push them off the long table. “I never played shuffleboard before, but my retirement is looking pretty fun with these skills. Come on, what’s with the grim faces? Do you know how long we’ve been trying to get one of Mr. Wayne’s many children to do anything for our PR team? Let’s not scare the boy off!”

The people around her visibly relax, however, the four people on Damian’s side of the table remain stiff. The older woman notices this and somehow turns her charm up a few notches. “My name is Regina Zellerbach. I am the head of Wayne Enterprises' public relations department. It’s very nice to meet you today, Damian. Your father has told us so much about you!”

“Only good things I hope.” Damian replies, his expression unchanging.

“The best! I’ve seen you at a few social events before and every time I’m taken aback by how much you resemble your father. You’re both very handsome!”

“Thank you,” He says then leans forward. “Let’s get right to business.”

“You’re very forward and well-spoken for your age; I like that!” Regina compliments, brushing some of her brown hair with grey roots out of her face. “Now, I hear that you want to allow us to use your likeness to help shape the perspective people have of Wayne Enterprises! We are thrilled to have you on board, but before we discuss anything further, we need to make sure you know what you’re getting into. No one here wants to make you do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“I already looked over it with my people. Maps, the papers.” Domain commands, holding his hand out toward the Japanese-American girl. She rummages through her purse which is shaped like a goose and hands Damian a rolled stack of papers held together by a paperclip shaped like a cat. He unravels it and slides it forward for everyone to see. “I have several amendments I’d like to make before I can agree to this arrangement.”

Regina smiles, the wrinkles at the corner of her mouth tensing. “Mr. Wayne told us you were a passionate learner, but it’s another thing to see it before our eyes. Fire away!”

“For one thing, the ‘sweet little boy’ angle isn’t going to hold. I can act my heart out, but too many people know I’m a menace to society.”

“Done. We weren’t married to the concept anyways, and that contract was based on the one we would have used for Richard Grayson when he first arrived.”

“Which I did not allow,” Bruce voices, glaring at the papers. “You shouldn’t even have this drafted for him let alone kept it for reference material.”

“Never hurts to be prepared, Mr. Wayne,” She sings.

Damian ignores his father’s concerns as he presses on with his own. “Secondly, I refuse to work with any subsidiaries of LexCorp and if you try to get me to collaborate with Lena Luthor the Second I will riot.”

“I will make sure we vet any requests affiliated with LexCorp. However, if you’re not willing to work with Lena would you theoretically be willing to work with Superboy? LexCorp is the legal owner of the Superman image after all. Superman’s image is proven to be a positive influence on most brands.”

Damian pretends to not notice his father clenching his fist so hard he’s leaving marks. “No, I don’t want to make a statement by collaborating with him on a professional level. This includes future collaborations with any superhero.”

“You’re tying the PR team’s hands here.”

“I’m willing to show support for Gotham heroes as I’m aware Wayne Enterprises has shown open support for them. In-person collaboration is off the table.”

“Then you have yourself a deal. Anything else?”

Colin awkwardly raises his hands and without looking at him, Damian gestures for the boy to speak. “Yeah, how much is Damian getting paid? According to this contract, Damian is going to be working like a freaking dog for you and I can’t find a single number in this thing.”

Regina Zellerbach doesn’t hesitate to turn her laptop around to face the group. On the screen, there’s a chart and several statistics that only Damian and his father can understand. “We don’t have any solid figures worked out yet, but on average each post fluctuates on whether or not there’s an outside sponsor. On average you can earn $100 per 1,000 followers. Some companies will give you a lump sum ranging from $1000 to $15,000. 5% of it will go to Mr. Wayne and the PR team will take 15% of the cut-”

“Wait, hold up!” Colin exclaims incredulously. “Damian can make that much money for just a few posts?!”

“Well, that’s if he does well.” The Public Relations head clarifies. “A random child with no connections or sponsors would never reach these numbers under normal circumstances. Thanks to Mr. Wayne’s insistence on keeping his children out of the spotlight many people are interested in the inner workings of the Wayne family.”

Maps raises her hand and doesn’t wait to be called on. “You said that Mr. Wayne would get the rest of the money after you take your share. What about Damian’s share?”

Regina isn’t smiling anymore as she has now focused on only speaking business. “Legally, children who make money on the internet through these means are not entitled to this money and cannot directly be paid. It’s the parents’ responsibility to distribute the funds.”

“That’s not fair! Mr. Wayne could just choose not to give him the money!” She argues. “No offense, Mr. Wayne.”

“That doesn’t change the fact we can’t directly hand Damian the money. We would absolutely give Damian the money he deserves for working with us, but legally we can’t.”

“That has to be a lie,” Colin scoffs. “Aren’t there laws that allow children to be paid?”

“Yes, there are but they cover work hours, parental permission, and the type of work they’re allowed to do. In New Jersey, there’s also the stipulation of schooling and if Damian was in public school we wouldn’t be allowed to make this agreement with him. It says nothing about compensation other than the minimum wage which doesn’t apply here.” Regina states matter-a-factually. “As for the law you’re referring to, that’s based in California and only covers television and movies. It does not protect social media, so how much money Damian will have access to is dependent on his father.”

Everyone in the room turns to look at Bruce Wayne who looks offended by the idea that he would treat his son unfairly. “I can promise any money Damian makes from this will be his own. However, that is all I am saying on this as I would like to talk to my son about this topic privately at home. Right now, we are just talking about his obligations and expectations.”

“Of course, Mr. Wayne.” Regina agrees with her pleasant smile. “Is there anything else you’re worried about?”

“Nothing else for now. I’ll let you know when something comes up,” Damian concedes. “Do I have to sign anything today?”

“No, we’ll send your father an email with a revised contract and plan as well as a few jobs to choose from. After that, we can get started!” 

“Alright. I’m glad we could come to an agreement.” Damian states as he stands from his chair and prepares to leave. 

The woman gets up from her seat to meet Damian at the door, sticking her hand out for him to shake. “I’m glad to be doing business with you. It’s nice to see someone so young involved in the family’s business!”

He shakes her like, replying with a curt, “Likewise,” and leaves the room with his friends.

Bruce quickly gets up from his chair to follow his son but stops in front of his PR manager with a cold lour first. “Caroline will schedule a meeting to discuss this further later today.”

“I’ve already cleared my schedule, Mr. Wayne.” She cheerfully fires back.

Bruce didn’t have to travel far to catch up to his son and his friends as they were stuck waiting by the elevator. “Damian! Damian, I want a quick word with you privately.”

“Could this not wait until we get home, Father?”

“I just want to make sure you’re okay,” The man pressed.

“I want to hang out with my friends like a normal child, can we save this for later?”

“... Alright. I’ll see you at home.” He agrees. “Do you want me to call Alfred to drive you home?”

“No, we’ll make do on our own.” Damian insists, stepping into the elevator. “Goodbye, Father.”

“Bye Mr. Wayne,” Damian’s friend simultaneously sends off as the door closes.

“Bye kids,” The billionaire gets out as the elevator shuts.

As they descend Wayne Tower, Colin asks, “Why did we have to be here? It seems like you got this handled all on your own. Like everything you do.”

“So they can see the props in person,” Damian explains, leaning against the mitted elevator wall. “The best things come in threes, or at least it helps people accept a concept better. Having two peers on my side shows that I can be sociable and gives me someone to bounce my personality off. If I only had one of you come with me, the dynamic would change to an equal partnership which this is not. The same would apply if I was at the meeting with only my father, but because of his perceived power over me as my parental figure, I couldn’t be taken seriously. With two of you there at my beck and call and looking after my interest, instead of splitting the power, you give me influence by showing I have power over you.”

Colin only comprehended half of what Damian said and simply replied, “Did you just call me a prop?”

“And I’d do it again.”

“So that’s why you had me hold your papers! So it looks like you’re in charge of me!” Maps gasp. “Oh man, gang mentality!”

“Exactly.”

The ginger boy frowns in confusion, crossing his arms. “That doesn’t explain why you’re asking us to do this. You’re only doing this for your…” He twirls a pale hand in a circle as he mentally looks for the word. “Partnership with Jon. Why didn’t you include Jon in this?”

“Who’s Jon?” Maps excitedly questions, practically vibrating with anticipation. “Oh! Isn’t he Flame-Mmmmrrrrphhhh! Mmmmrrrppphh!”

Damian slapped his hand over her mouth so hard the sound ricocheted off the elevator walls. “Yes. Keep his name out of your mouth.”

“What, you're afraid your boyfriend won’t approve?” Colin teases, jokingly punching Damian in the shoulder. His jaw drops when Damian hesitates to answer. “Shit, seriously?”

“MRRRPPPHHHH!?!” Maps screams, no one sure what she’s saying.

“Fuck you, Colin, stop calling him that! He’s not my boyfriend!” Damian growls, jabbing his finger at Colin’s chest. “None of you are allowed to mention him! I don’t want you in the habit of saying his name to compromise his identity. You don’t mention him, you don’t think about him, and if you ever see him you don’t look at him.”

“Wiiph?”  Maps voices and Damian lets go of her mouth so she can speak coherently. “Why? How come I’ve never heard you talk about Jon before? I thought we were friends! Come on, you gotta introduce me to your boyfriend-”

“Not my boyfriend.”

“You like him enough to do your hero-- I mean partner-thingy! Is this why you won’t join my detective club? Maybe Jon will join if I ask-”

“He doesn’t live in Gotham. Stop talking about him.”

“Where does he go? Maybe we can be friends too! Come on, Damian! Introduce us!” The energetic girl pleads, grabbing her friend by the lapels of his suit to jostle him back and forth.

“I don’t think it’s going to happen, Maps,” Colin informs her as the elevator doors open. “Don’t get me wrong, I think you two would get along great. Damian is just weird about him.”

“You met him before? What is he like?”

The tall boy thinks thoroughly about the best way to describe Jon as the group leaves Wayne Tower. “He’s kind. He’s kind in a way that doesn’t feel real. Jon’s genuinely sweet that it feels like he’s fake, but he’s not which is somehow weirder.”

“So… Kind. That’s nice, but that’s not a personality.”

“He smiles a lot and probably has a lot of patience since he’s Damian’s friend.” He struggles to think of more things to say about Jon. “Oh! Um, he likes root beer!”

“You’re bad at describing people.” Maps points out plainly.

“Look, I don’t hang out with him that much. Every time I do it’s because I’m with Damian.”

Damian turns on his heels to face his friends with a fierce glare. “I am sure I told you two to stop talking about Jon!”

“I avoided the ‘J’ word,” Colin snarkily remarks, sticking his tongue out at the shorter boy.

“Joker?” Maps guesses.

“Don’t put that energy out into Gotham; you’re going to summon him!”

“He’s not an apparition!” Damian smacks him in the arm. “And I know you were talking about Jonathan even if you don’t say his name! Anyways, you two need to prepare yourself. We’re about to become internet famous!”

“Heck yeah!” The girl next to him cheers, sporadically pumping her fists into the air as she strides. “Let’s freaking gooooooooo!”

The pale redhead next to him is less enthusiastic. “Damian, I’m fine with mooching fame off of you, but are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Are you doubting my ability to garner fame?” Damian scoffs, dodging Maps’ fists as her punches become increasingly enthusiastic. “Aside from having an unfair advantage, I’m also incredibly talented. I’m sure any of my skills can enrapture an audience or at least a couple of sponsors.”

Colin isn’t fazed by the insult because he’s used to the peculiar way Damian talks. “That’s not what I meant. I’m sure the billion dollars your dad has and an entire team of people whose job it is to make sure you’re successful will make this work. I’m just saying that this isn’t something you would do willingly. You once told me that, ‘the short attention span and lack of sense in the online entertainment culture is a poison that infects the entirety of society that will lead to our downfall.’ Also, wasn’t the point of this whole… Whatever is it you’re doing with Jon, to prove you can do stuff on your own? Isn’t relying on your dad’s fame the complete opposite.”

“I see your point. However, that claim only extends to our private endeavors. What I do as Damian Wayne is different. If my father has an issue with it, then he is a treacherous hypocrite as he is only able to do what he does thanks to old money garnered by his ancestors!”

“Okay, makes sense, but it also sounds like this goes against everything you stand for.” Maps voices, finally halting her impromptu shadow-boxing session. “Not that I’m complaining; I’ve been trying to make us mutuals on every platform! But it sounds like you don’t want this ‘Jon’ to be involved, but you’re doing this for both of you. Does that mean you’re going to keep this a secret from him? Keeping a secret while being famous doesn’t sound like it’s gonna end well.”

“Jonathan’s comprehension of the social media landscape is abysmal at best. He still uses an old flip phone and his parents have strict supervision over his internet usage.” Damian elaborates haughtily. “Also, it’s not like I’m going to hide it forever. I’ll confess what I’ve been doing once I get my first few paychecks and prove he can trust me to take care of him-- US! I mean us!”

“Wait what?” Maps blurts out in a way that makes the others feel the question marks emitting from her mind. “I thought you said he wasn’t your boyfriend.”

Colin deeply inhales through his nostrils with his hands clapped in front of his face like a prayer. He lets the tangible silence sit for a few moments before exhaling with the exasperation of a million tired retail workers. “I’m glad you’re rich because that means you can afford that giant closet you’re hiding in.”

Emerald eyes stared back at his friend with the utmost contempt before commenting, “And I’m glad you’re poor so you don’t have anything to lose when I push you onto the third rail of the subway.”

Threats of violence aside, Damian is confident he would succeed. Sure, he hates everything about the current culture of billions of mindless plebeians screaming into the void and having their capricious thoughts solidified as a personality. That doesn’t mean he can’t take advantage of that.

“Damian, it’s not too late to back out of this,” Bruce reiterates as soon as Damian steps into his father’s bedroom later that night before bed. A brief “hello” would be a more appropriate greeting, but the preteen understands that his father has always been somewhat socially inept. “I know I said I wouldn’t directly fund the arrangement you have, but maybe this once I can--”

“Father, groveling is beneath you,” Damian sighs, closing the mahogany door behind him.

It doesn’t matter how many years pass by. Damian will never get used to seeing his father in a casual light. The man’s natural habitat of a gala, boardroom, or a literal fucking cave suited him more than the doting father pacing around in pale blue pajamas worried for his son’s… safety? Honor?

Honestly, Damian has no idea what he’s concerned about. “Father, you are the one who told us that this arrangement was an option when it was first brought up.”

“I didn’t think any of you would take me up on it, and I made that suggestion years ago,” He confesses.

“Yet you still held up your end of the bargain. I appreciate you being a man of your word.”

“You’d never let me live it down if I didn’t,” Bruce exhales, kneeling to his son’s eye level which does nothing to endear the boy to his father’s plight. He’s not that short, why do people keep crouching down to look him in the eye? “Doing this will put you in the spotlight 24/7. Not only will you sacrifice privacy in your civilian life, but also in your superhero life. You’re still young. You shouldn’t have to compromise your life for your secret identity.”

“I doubt my privacy is compromised as a D-list hero,” Damian notes begrudgingly. “And that is my most generous estimate. Also, I’m pretty sure my secret identity is supposed to be my civilian persona.”

“Damian, you’re not listening to me,” Bruce states, holding back his frustration. “You are supposed to enjoy the time you have now as a kid while you still can. I don’t want you to start living how I do balancing the stress of a civilian life, a career, my family, and a superhero identity. Being a hero is enough stress on you already.”

“Who says I’m stressed?” Damian spits out, his face contouring into an ugly grimace. “Do I look stressed? No. I can handle it and the only stressful thing is your lack of faith in me.”

Bruce tiredly shakes his head, attempting to rest a hand on his shoulder that is immediately shaken off. Damian internally winces with guilt at the flash of pain on his father’s expression, but his facial features remain unchanged. “No, Damian, please listen to me. The more stress you add to one area of your life is bound to spill into others. You need to figure out how to balance being yourself and being a hero before you attempt to also balance a job. Especially if that job involves compromising who you are.”

“Why does no one have faith in me? I’m not stressed, I’m not pressured, and I’m not compromising anything!” Damian explodes, shoving his father away. “You keep talking about what I’m supposed to be or what you want for me! What about what I want!”

“Do you even want this?” Bruce questions gently, contrasting his son’s rage, trying to calm him down. “Or do you believe you have to do this? If it’s the latter, I suggest we look for something else together. If you go down this road, I’ll do my best to protect you either way, but I can’t protect you from everything. You need to think more about how this decision will affect other parts of your life more thoroughly-”

“As you did?” The youngest boy rebukes. “I don’t remember you taking every aspect of your life into account before adopting a hoard of children and donning a cape! Maybe I’d take your words more seriously if I saw you for more than five-minute intervals where you admonish me for whatever is wrong with me!”

He went too far.

The utterly heartbroken expression his father is wearing proves so. He didn’t mean it. He knows his father cares. He knows his father tries to connect with him. He knows his father loves him.

Damian’s simply broken. He was made to be a weapon and his words are part of his artillery.

“Damian, that’s not true!” Bruce exclaims, trying to reach out to his son, but Damian is already recoiling back to the door like those fingers would hurt him. They never have, so why is he scared? The man’s hands recoil like he touched a hot stove. “I’m sorry, I forgot-- I’d never hurt you. I’m not like them.”

Damian doesn’t know what hurts more: the idea that touching him is painful or being treated like he’s fragile.

“Isn’t it?! You were never going to let me be Robin, so now you’re trying to hinder what I’m trying to build for myself!”

“Is that where this all came from? Robin isn’t mine to take away from Tim, but I would’ve loved for you to be Robin-”

“Because that’s the only time you ever spend any quality time with your children!” Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. He doesn’t mean it. Why can’t he stop himself? 

“Damian, that is not true and you know it. We are getting off track. I’m just looking out for you because I care about how this could affect you in the future.” Bruce redirects, trying to transition to the original topic. “There’s a reason none of your siblings took up this offer.”

“What would you know about what we want?! About what I want!? You were dead for the first year I was here! Why did you even have me when you have your hands full with people you actually chose rather than a mistake you suddenly found yourself tied to?!”

He doesn’t mean it.

He doesn’t mean it.

He doesn’t mean it.

He doesn’t-

“I’m going to my room!” He runs. He doesn’t try to play it off as him storming off in anger. He’s just running away from this confrontation because he doesn’t mean to say what he did. He was cornered. He was forced to say something to get out. That’s all it was. It’s his fault.

Damian runs up to Richard’s room to rapidly knock on the door like a sinner begging the cathedral for sanctuary. It occurs to him after a lack of response that his brother isn’t home. He doesn’t live in Wayne Manor or Gotham. Damian is relegated to only seeing him on his frequent visits home which makes the moments he’s not here sting harder. 

“Damian! Damian, let’s talk about this!”

He turns his heels to his room as he begins to hear the distinct sound of his father’s footsteps down the hall. Damian slams his door closed and locks it, apologizing to Titus for startling him. He dives under his comforter and grabs his phone from his nightstand, dialing the first number he memorized by heart.

It takes two rings before a groggy, “Hello?” answers him.

“I’m fine,” Damian frantically replies. He didn’t mean to say that either, but for different reasons.

“Dami, what?” Jonathan asks, the sound of sheets rustling eating the silence between them. He can imagine Jonathan tiredly sitting up on his Superman bed sheets with his hair skewed and eyes closed as he holds the phone to his ear. “Damian, what happened?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing. Nothing happened.” He replies, petting a confused Alfred the cat. “I just… I’m fine. Don’t worry. I just… I’m fine.”

“Damian, everything you just said sounds like you mean the opposite. Do you need me to come over or talk about it?”

“NO!” Damian feigns coughs to lower his volume. “No. But… Can you stay on the line?”

There’s a long pause. Long enough for him to question if Jonathan hung up, but when Damian looked at his screen he was still there. Almost as if reading his mind from hundreds of miles away Jonathan responds, “I’m still here. Don’t complain if I fall asleep and snore.”

The older boy laughs; Genuinely laughing. He rests his head on his pillow and removes the cover to see the shadow of feet standing outside the illuminated bottom crevice of his doorway. His laughter dies at the reminder of what he’s done.

“Damian, are you okay?” Jonathan softly asks with so much worry carried through those four words that Damian has no choice but to be honest.

“No,” He confesses. “But I can handle it for now. Just stay on the line.”

“I’m here.” Jonathan soothes. “I’ll be here.”

He stays on the line with Damian until he falls asleep and the rhythmic snoring flowing through the receiver is the only noise left connecting them. He can do this. He can take care of this, of them. Damian is perfect. He can be depended on. He won’t be thrown away again.

Hafid al-Ghul remembers when it happened the first time. Damian has always been his name, but no one aside from his mother ever called him that. Every servant and subordinate on Infinity Island avoided the name Damian because of its association with his father. He didn’t know much about his father growing up, but the sparkle in his mother’s eye when he was brought up told Hafid all he needed to know.

“My son, you are Damian. You have always been Damian because that is what he named you. Don’t answer to any other name from now on.” A 9-year-old Damian hears his mother coo sweetly into his ear as she wipes the blood on his cheek with her fingers. It isn’t cleaned to her liking so she licks her thumb and presses it into the child’s squishy cheeks that have yet to shed their baby fat. “No matter what happens next you must find your father in Gotham. He will take care of you and will love you just as much as I do because you are his heir.”

“Mother!” The boy pleads, his voice cracking with emotion unbecoming of the heir. He doesn’t know if his mother can hear him over the sound of crashing waves against the cliffside they were chased to. “Come with me!”

The sliver of hope Damian has left in him becomes a shard that stabs him in the heart as his mother shakes her head. “I cannot. I have obligations here that I must attend to, but once those are dealt with I shall come for you.”

“I don’t understand. Father is the love of your life, your beloved. If Father is the man you say he is then he would give us both sanctuary.” The child lowers his head to his blood-soaked feet, but long slender fingers raise it to look into emerald green eyes that reflect his own.

“Hold your head up high, Damian.” Talia reminds him, pressing her forehead against his so she can gaze deeply into her son’s eyes. “Your father is important to me and the love of my life for giving me you.” The hand holding his chin traces the edges of his face, trying to commit every contour to memory. “However, he’s not my beloved. That title is reserved for someone who I’d do anything and everything for without them asking it of me. Someone who I’d love no matter what they do and protect with my life. Your father cannot be my beloved because you are.”

“If you love me so much then why are you making me leave? I am grandfather’s heir, everything on this island is my life, so why do you want to take that away from me?”

“Habibi, you must know I want the best for you.”

“I don’t want this. I don’t care if you think it’s unsafe for me here! I can survive, I will thrive! You said I am perfect and that I can do anything! Why can’t you trust me to do this?”

“You don’t understand now, but you will one day when you have a beloved of your own. I love you, Damian.” Talia kisses him on both cheeks and steps back to take in the sight of him one last time…

Then pushes him off the cliff.

Chapter Text

Damian received his first assignment from the Wayne Enterprises PR Team two days later via email. Well… more like Bruce Wayne sent him a heavily edited version of what they wanted from Damian. His father also sent him several bags of expensive fruits for Goliath’s pleasure and a cryptic note on the door telling Damian he loved him. 

Damian laments making his father apologize for nothing except the fact his son was a fundamentally broken person, but he won't ask for forgiveness. Damian’s emotionally stunted self reciprocated the gesture by painting a miniature watercolor portrait of the two of them that mirrors the one of Bruce and his parents that menacingly looms above the fireplace.

Like father, like son.

Soul-crushing guilt from both parties aside, Damian’s first task is to make his first post on social media. Truthfully, Damian finds the entire concept of social media rather asinine. What started as a revolutionary method of communication ended up becoming an echo chamber of the worst humanity has to offer reinforcing itself. He doesn’t see the purpose of sharing personal information with others without compensation as information and privacy are the most important assets a human can have in the modern world. Damian is thankful that he’s at least getting paid to embarrass himself online unlike the majority of the world.

Damian is no stranger to social media as it’s the easiest way to learn about a person for blackmail purposes. He’s seen his friends post on it and is occasionally forced to wait for someone while they spend five minutes getting a picture of their food before they can eat. Now he’s forced to make his first post.

He was given a separate phone for work purposes with all of his new verified accounts, but he’s unsure of what to do. It’s funny to him in a sense because some people are forced to have a social media presence since birth, yet somehow Damian’s been able to keep himself off this accursed invention.

That night he lays in bed with his cat, Alfred, with an empty textbox taunting him. He’s not trying to become the next big star, so he is unsure why he’s hesitating. Fed up with himself, Damian takes a quick selfie with his cat and posts it without context. Without looking at his phone, he tosses it into the nightstand drawer and goes to sleep.

The next morning, Damian picks up the phone to go out and do another task dictated by his father’s company when he sees a few comments. His first post made it to the front page, but that’s not because it was interesting. Wayne Enterprises probably paid for that so it could reach more people. He skims the first few comments with a scowl which deepens upon reading the contents.

@AnnieBannie_7564 8hr ago
Awwww! What a cute cat! I love her! I have a tuxedo cat too and they are so sweet! But why does he look so unhappy? I could never be unhappy with my cat.
🗯1  ↻ 12 ♡28

@BatmanTHICK6969 8hr ago
↳DON’T ASSUME THE CAT’S GENDER IT COULD BE A BOY!!
🗯0  ↻ 15 ♡34

@No_More_Heroes 8hr ago

Is his face broken? Why isn’t he smiling? He’s rich, he should be happier
🗯0  ↻ 2 ♡45

@Eat_The_Rich12 7hr ago
I see cat, I like. Simple 🐈😻
🗯0  ↻ 0 ♡5

@Eat_The_Rich12 7hr ago
Urgh. NOt another kid of a billionaire using their daddy’s money to try getting even richer. Why do people even follow these accounts? just fucking get rid of the entire genre. No one likes you 🙄
🗯2  ↻ 98 ♡654

@RobinMyLuv 6hr ago
↳Bro WTF that a child
🗯1  ↻ 147 ♡87

@Wonder_Woman’s_Bitch233 7hr ago
Did he lighten his skin? I heard he was supposed to be middle eastern. He not dark enough so it’s probably white-washed him to look more like his dad. I bet he’s actually adopted
🗯23  ↻ 84 ♡289

That solidifies Damian’s opinion of social media. He logs out of that particular app and sets forth to collect his thralls (friends) to his side to serve him in his next task. When he walks out of the manor to where their town car is usually parked, instead of Pennyworth at the helm it is the worst sight he’s ever set his eyes upon.

“Hurry up, Brat,” Timothy Drake-Wayne groans, slumped in the front seat of a silver Rolls-Royce drophead Damian recognizes as the highlight of Tim’s birthday party. He looked as enthusiastic as Damian felt.

“ Nooooooooooo,” The boy immediately rejects, turning around to confront his father about this offense. He regrets sending him a peace offering. “No. This is not happening! Drake, leave if you know what’s good for you.”

“Get over it, Gremlin. B told me I had to do this,” The 17-year-old elaborates before impatiently honking the horn. “Now get in the car or we’re both not getting anything out of this!”

“Arrrrrgggghhhhh! I fucking hate you!” Damian roars into the air causing the birds in the forested area of their property to fly away. He makes a mental note to leave out more seeds for them when he returns, then he slams the door to the convertible causing Tim to swat at him like a fly. Damian retaliates like a cornered cat.

After several minutes wasted on attempted fratricide through the art of slap-fighting, the brothers bitterly start their way down the tallest hill in Gotham. With crossed arms and a defeated posture, Damian glares at his least-favorable sibling and asks, “What accursed bargain has Father offered that compelled you to chauffeur my entourage like a proletarian helot?”

“You don’t think I wanted to make sure you were safe in your new business venture? After all, if you work for Wayne Enterprises, you’ll work for me one day. I just want to make sure my employees are taken care of.” Tim says in the most condescending way possible, making Damian want to punch him in his smarmy face. The only reason he doesn’t is that he doesn’t want his commute to Gotham to be on foot.

“I’d rather believe you’ve been replaced by an alien hive mind before entertaining the thought you’d drive me anywhere without something tangible in return.”

“Is the embarrassment radiating off of you not tangible enough?” The teenager chuckles as he looks at Damian’s deadpan expression. “Alright, fine. Bruce promised not to get mad at me for something Young Justice related, but that’s all I’m going to say.”

How dare his brother make such a deal with their father; Damian should have thought of it first and is ashamed it wasn’t his idea. “If I knew we could preemptively bargain for pardons on future actions I would’ve done so a long time ago! Why am I only hearing about this now!?”

“Don’t even think about it, Brat. There’s nothing your pint-size self could offer him that the rest of us couldn’t.”

“Why not? I’m the better driver out of the two of us seeing as your turns are too wide.” Damian scoffs and revels at the sound of Timothy’s grip tightening on the steering wheel's leather.

“That’s a lot of backseat driving for someone who doesn’t reach the height limit for sitting in the front seat.”

It was obvious that this drive would be a tumultuous one. They picked up Maps first as she lived closest to Wayne Manor in the richest area in Gotham, Gotham Heights. Damian has yet to text the friend of his arrival when he sees her barreling down her driveway with a litany of mismatched colorful clips falling out of her hair and a terrified expression. A very angry elderly woman on her heels with a broom in one hand and a cat in the other. All three of them were soaking wet.

“Drive, drive, drive!” She commands as she dives into the backseat of the convertible without even opening the door. “Drive like your life depends on it!”

“ここに戻って!” The woman exclaims as she swats the broom at the car.

“おばあちゃん、私は夕食前に家に帰ります!” Maps shout back as Tim steps on the gas. Once they’re out of sight of her house, the young girl buckles her seatbelt and sprawls in her seat. “Ahhh, freedom at last!”

“That was your grandmother,” Damian states, handing her a handkerchief to wipe her… everything. “What did you do?”

“You better not ruin my car, I just got this!” Tim complains.

“Oh my gosh, hi Tim!” Maps greets, ignoring Damian’s indignant squawk. “Soooooo, how have you been? Have you done anything cool as Robin lately? Why are you driving us? Are you going on a mission later? Can I come? Is Robin allowed to date-”

“Damian,” The teenager says in a threatening manner.

Damian snaps his fingers sharply like he would to get his dog’s attention. “Maps, if you’re trying to date my brother I am kicking you out and stealing your cat.”

“I’m not! I’m just curious! I mean, your brother is Robin! I still can’t get over that! He’s literally everything I want to be!”

“-TT- Don’t praise this replacement for something he didn’t earn in my presence,” The young boy hisses. “And you never answered my question.”

“Oh yeah! I left the bathtub running and it leaked downstairs so I was trying to cover it up before Obāsan found out but she saw me right before I fixed it and got as soaked as I did. At least I fixed it before I left so we don’t have to hire a plumber.”

“How do you always find a way to get in trouble?”

“Look who's talkin’!”

Then they were off to pick up Colin Wilkes on the opposite side of Gotham, the Bowery. It’s a street each of the Wayne children is hauntingly familiar with for one reason or another. Some have lived here once upon a time while others end up here on nightly patrols due to the high crime rates. In Damian’s case, he’s familiar with it because of the legacy it holds for his bloodline.

“Hey Damian, that’s where your grandparents died!”

“Maps, seriously!?”

“What? There’s even a sign!”

Indeed, a plaque indicated the exact spot where Thomas and Martha Wayne were shot to death by a nameless mugger. It was even a shining gold color, although not actually gold because then it would just get stolen. There’s a reason this specific street in the Bowery was named Crime Alley.

Even though this area has the highest crime rate in Gotham, which is saying a lot, there tended to be a lot of people loitering around here to visit this historical site. This includes taking pictures with it and using this area as a backdrop for an emotional social media post.

Yep, that’s right. The spot where Damian’s grandparents died is a tourist destination. His father has strong feelings about the perversion of his parents' memory, but he kept those between him and the president of the Gotham Tourism Bureau he punched in the face. Disturbing romanticism of his paternal grandparents’ murders aside, Damian does his best to ignore that certain area mostly due to its association with his family’s history.

Anyway, he was here to pick up his friend and then get the hell out.

The second Tim parked in front of Collin’s apartment complex, the Rolls-Royce convertible was swarmed by a crowd wondering who would be driving such an expensive car in the worst part of town. Many of the people started to take photos of them with their phones and Tim flipped a switch on the dashboard to unravel the roof over their heads. As the group is covered, they see a mop of red hair waft through the gathering. 

“Hey! Get away from there!” Colin yells, squeezing through two teenagers near the front. “Fuck off! All of ya!”

“Colin riding with the rich kids now?” One of the teens teases, punching him in the shoulder a little too hard.

“Ooooo~ Colin thinks he’s too good for us!” Another one taunts. “Hey Colin, when are ya gonna share some of that with the rest of us?”

“In your fucking dreams,” The 12-year-old replies as he opens the door.

“Is your pig uncle making sure of that?” An older teen with bright blue hair taunts as a younger bruised teenage boy with black hair hides behind her.

Colin rolls his pale blue eyes at her and flips the duo off. “I don’t know, is your deadbeat dad gonna help you? Oh wait, he can’t!”

“Fuck you, Colin!” The girl clamors and throws an unopened can of cola at him.

“Fuck you, Harper!” Colin calls as he catches the drink before it can shatter the glass. He gets in and flips her off again out the window. “None of us can afford to damage this car, and I’m keeping this soda!”

“Good, now fuck off!” Harper shouts and sticks both her middle fingers at the retreating car with a smile.

Colin brushes it off and waves to Maps who is clutching her goose-shaped purse to her chest as she leans away from the windows. “Hey Maps."

“Hey Colin,” She replies, fixing her damp hair. “Didn’t know you lived here.”

“We usually meet up at Damian’s house so it never came up.” He shrugs as he leans forward to rest his chin on the back of Damian’s seat in front of him. “Damian, if you wanted to come here without drawing attention you failed. You failed so hard.”

“Shut up. I didn’t choose to be chauffeured around in this by Drake.” 

Colin looks to the driver to notice it’s not Alfred driving them like he usually would. “Uh… Hi Tim.”

“Hi Colin, put your seatbelt on,” The 17-year-old greets as he makes sure the boy puts on his safety belt. “Who was that girl? Is she giving you trouble?”

“Nah, that’s just Harper; She’s cool, but her Dad is an asshole.”

“Who’s the boy behind her staring at Tim?” Maps asks.

“That’s her brother, Cullen. He’s… quiet. I think he’s cool too, but he doesn’t talk much.”  He answers and puts his soda away so he can unravel a folded paper from his jeans pockets. “Anyways, I got my uncle to sign the permission slip. He’s going to call your dad about it later.”

“Oh yeah! Mine too!” The girl is reminded and shoves her hand violently into the goose to hand Damian the papers. “Not my uncle, but my mom. Honestly, I don’t even think she read it. She just saw you were a part of it and signed it without looking into it more. I don’t know. Something about making connections for the future since I don’t have much going for me, unlike Kyle.”

“Maps, are you alright at home?” Tim asks, eyeing her with concern through the mirror.

“What? Of course I am! Why do you ask?”

“We don’t have time to unpack that,” Damian states as he takes the papers. “I have to take pictures. Afterward, I have to review mock-up posts for each of my new accounts.”

“What? You’re not even the one writing them?”

“No. First of all,” Damian extends his arm out with a new company cell phone in hand and takes a selfie with his two friends behind him. “That’s one picture out of the way.”

“Hey, I wasn’t ready!” Maps cries as she takes out her phone to use as a mirror to rearrange the clips in her hair. “Give me a second before you start taking pics of me!”

“I don’t care. Not like anything I do will change how I look.” Colin shrugs.

“Now?” Damian sighs after waiting for Maps to put her phone away.

“Yes!” She grins. “I’m ready!”

He takes another picture of the three of them and then turns around to show them his screen. “Better?”

His two friends stare at the image with unreadable expressions which concerns Damian more than he’s willing to admit. He prides himself in his masterful reading of all languages; body language being one of them. 

“Dude,” Colin states, taking the phone from him.

“Damian, what the Hell?” Maps ungracefully blurts out as she ogles intensely at the photo.

What is it with people questioning him lately? “What’s wrong this time?” He replies tiredly.

“Nothing! You look… you look- um…” Maps stutters trying to find the least offensive way to say what she wants.

“You look normal,” Colin fills in for her to which she vigorously nods along.

“Yeah, that.”

“Hold up, let me see!” Tim urges as they reach a stop light. He turns to look at the phone before his face drops to that same unreadable expression the other two had. “What the fuck?”

“And what is wrong with looking normal? I thought people liked it when I acted my age.” Damian grumbles, angrily huffing in his seat.

His brother sighs as he faces the front again. “Acting your age and acting like a stranger are two different things.”

“Then tell me, Drake; Do I have a likable personality? Have I ever given off the impression I’m approachable?”

The palpable pause is enough of an answer, but the teenager tries to come up with some response. “Damian, you give everyone a look like you want them dead.”

“My resting murder face is immaculate, yet it hasn’t done me any favors in the realm of likeability. People are rarely drawn to those who want them dead.” Damian informs him as he slouches further into his seat. “I’m not trying to thrive, just survive. The social world is filled with mediocrity; another drop in the bucket would go unnoticed while still relevant enough to stay profitable. It also reduces the likelihood of being connected to my secret identity.”

“Aren’t you, like, hyper-competitive?” Colin points out.

“Yeah, you knocked a kid out for getting you out in dodgeball. Then you tried doing the same to our gym teacher.” Maps helpfully supplied as she recalls the brutal memory of her friend caving in a boy’s face with a red rubber ball. She never knew something so soft could cause so much damage.

“It was a fluke! He got lucky and it shouldn’t have counted because it was a headshot!” The billionaire's son explodes at the vexing memory.

"How haven't you been expelled yet?" Tim questions no one in particular.

"Cause his dad is super rich," Colin answers with the tact of a drive-by shooting.

Speaking of tactless people, Jonathan Samuel Kent was secretly training his powers. That would be the case if the definition of "secretly" is burning an entire field of corn down with a wall of fire that could be seen from space, and screaming so loud the heavens could hear him.

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! WE'RE GOING TO DIE!" Kathy screams as she runs in a spiral pattern with several buckets of water hectically hovering around her.

"KATHY MY MOM WILL KILL US!" Jon wails as he thrashes on the ground with flames eating away at his overalls. Truly, he is the master of stealth and espionage. Our hero.

Our hero, and a fortune teller as Lois Lane-Kent kicks down the patio screen door to the back of the farmhouse with Krypto shooting off behind her. There was murder behind those lavender eyes and they were directed at her very stupid son. "Jonathan Samuel Kent, what did I tell you about using your powers at home when your Dad or Kara aren't around!?"

"MOM, I’M ON FIRE!"

"I KNOW! I CAN SEE THAT!" She hollers as she begins to beat him down with a heavy fire blanket saved for this very occasion. Well, not exactly this one, but recently her beautiful baby boy has made a habit of becoming a fire hazard.

Krypto blows the fire out with his ice breath, accidentally hitting Kathy in the process as her buckets of water fall frozen to the ground. Her peachy skin turns green as she loses concentration on her powers in return for not freezing to death.

After cooling off one child and defrosting the other, Lois had both children sitting on the porch swing in front of her a little worse for wear. She covers her eyes with her left hand while simultaneously looking at the sky. The universal sign for a parent being angry but too tired to yell at their kid.

Farmer Cobb approaches the group and raises a bushy brow at their crops because Krypto is happily rolling around in a patch of ashes. “Heya Lois, I thought we were burning our pastures at the end of August.”

“Hi Cobb, thanks for coming on short notice.” Lois acknowledges, taking her hand away from her face to wave at him.

“Ain’t nothing short notice when it comes to good neighbors,” The portly man replies, taking off his bucket hat under the shaded porch. “Now, what’s this about?”

She signs and gestures to the children in different states of disarray. “Jonathan decided to test his powers without supervision and Kathy helped.”

“Kathy…” The farmer shook his head in disappointment which hurt more than if he were to yell.

“I was just trying to help, Grandpa.” The girl whimpers, looking up at her family with large pleading eyes.

“I know, I know. Don’t give me the sad eyes, Kathy.” Farmer Cobb frowns and turns to the woman next to him. “I’ll give her a stern talkin’ to at home. Sorry for the trouble.”

“Thank you.”

The man holds his hand out to patiently wait for his granddaughter to move with him. “Come on Kathy, let’s get going, and don’t forget to hide your green. I know a good many of the folks in this town are like us, but that doesn’t mean we can drop our guard.”

“I know…” She sighs as her green is overshadowed by a more conventional peachy flesh hue. “See ya later Jon.”

“Bye Kathy,” Jonathan hesitantly says, knowing he’s going to be thoroughly scolded once she leaves.

Lois plops herself down next to him on the porch swings and allows the two of them to sway for a few moments; the calm before the storm. “Jon, you know how dangerous it is to practice your powers. If Krypto wasn’t home, we would’ve lost more than half the field.” She states firmly without raising her voice.

“I didn’t mean to.” The boy weakly defends with the understanding that it will accomplish nothing.

“Of course you didn’t, but intentions and consequences are different.” Lois counters with a stern glare. “What if you or Kathy got hurt? Could you look Mr. Cobb in the eye and tell him his granddaughter was hurt after all he’s already been through?”

If Jonathan wasn’t feeling guilty before he is now. There is a reason Kathy lives with her grandfather. “No.”

“You just finished your last grounding not too long ago and now you’re looking for another. What were you thinking?”

“I was trying to use my heat vision and fly at the same time,” Jon answers meekly as he realizes with the power of hindsight how stupid that sounds.

“Of all the powers to try and use together-” She stops herself before she can say something she regrets. “Jon, you’re smarter than this. When your father and I agreed to allow you to do your superhero-thing with Damian we thought it would help you learn more about your limits. It’s why you’re not allowed to use your powers without supervision, and that doesn’t change at home.”

“Yes Mom…” 

“Your father and cousin would have been more than happy to help train you if you’d ask. All you would have to do is wait a bit until they were free. Heck, even Conner would have been a better choice than this.”

“What do you mean, ‘Even Conner?’” Said teenager scoffs offended by the unsaid accusation. The pair look to the front of the house to see Conner floating down to their lawn with his duffle bag over his shoulder and a suitcase under his arm. “I’m a great choice and I have time.”

“Hi Conner,” Jonathan’s mother greets, a bit stiff and confused given the fact that her teen stepson wasn’t supposed to be home until the weekend. “What are you doing here?”

“What? Am I not allowed to be here? This is my home too.”

“That’s not- urgh, you know what I mean.”

The bulky teen shrugs and ruffles Jon’s hair as he stands in front of him. “I wanted to stay over a bit longer. It’s summer so I don’t see the problem.”

They are halfway through summer vacation already, but Lois doesn't bring that up. “Alright, but I’d like to be told ahead of time.”

“What do you mean? I told my dad to call you right before I left,” Conner states as he wipes the sweat off his brow and wipes it on his black gym shorts.

Before Lois can respond her cell phone rings and she checks it to see the name she hates the most on there. She doesn’t immediately answer it and stares at Conner disapprovingly. “That doesn’t mean much when you have super speed.”

“But it means something! Come on Jon, come help me put my stuff away!” He walks inside the house and holds the door for his little brother to follow.

Jon jumps at the opportunity to leave this conversation with his mom, but she grabs his wrist before he can take a single step. “Jonathan, we aren’t done talking.”

“Aww.” The boy pouts.

“Come on, Lois. Can’t you nag at him later?” Conner grumbles.

“Conner, I might not be your mother, but this is still my home and Jonathan is still my son. You can’t keep ignoring my authority when it comes to these things.”

“But this is a superpower thing, which means it’s a Kryptonian thing, and I’m a Kryptonian. Look, I can handle this for you and help Jonathan train his powers.”

“Whatever,” She waves off dismissively because she doesn’t want to argue with the teen. “But you’ll both be hearing from your Dad-”

“Pa.”

“You know what I mean.” The woman sighs. “And Jonathan you’re not allowed to hang out with your friends for one week; that includes calls from Damian.”

“WHAT!?” Jonathan screeches indignantly. “Mom, you can’t do this!”

“I can and I will since banning you from TV or video games isn’t working.”

“But mom! What if Damian needs me!?”

Lavender eyes roll at the inquiry. “I know you’re not going on any outings with him for a while, and I’m sure Damian can manage without you for a week. If it’s that important he can leave a message on the landline your father refuses to unplug. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to call… Ugh, Luthor.”

The 11-year-old makes a series of unintelligible noises to express his displeasure but doesn’t try to argue with his mother about it. Conner messes with his hair again and playfully places his oversized aviator sunglasses on Jon’s head. “What happened? I mean, I can guess but-”

“I tried to use two powers at once and burned down an entire field.” Jonathan curtly tells him as he stomps up the stairs.

“That explains the smoke,” Conner chuckles as he fiddles with his duffle bag to find the key to his room. His room at the end of the hall was the only bedroom in the house that had a lock, and he liked to make sure no one could enter it when he was not home. “Well, I don’t know why she thinks I should be in trouble, but at least yours makes sense. Let’s put my stuff in my room and then I’ll show you how to use your powers in a cool way just like me.”

Jonathan was about to agree before he passed his room and saw his messy desk, reminding him of his other obligations. “Actually, can you help me with something else?”

“Sure, I can help you with anything!” The older male confidently declares as he tries to find his key. “Where the heck is it? I know it’s in one of these pockets.”

“There’s a program in Coast City that I wanted to volunteer Mr. Fisher for, but the paperwork is kinda confusing. Also, I lost it.”

“Who? You know what, it's not important. I can do that, but isn’t it kinda weird to volunteer someone else for something?” Conner points out as he continues to struggle. “Oh shit, I have x-ray vision. I’m such a dumbass.”

“Swear.” Jonathan scolds his brother before elaborating on his predicament. “They’re mostly applications to charity organizations because Mr. Fisher isn’t legally able to file it himself. I don’t have all the information I need to fill them out myself, but Dad said he’d do the rest if I can put down most of it myself.”

“Can’t you just ask Pa to do it all for you?”

“He offered, but I wanted to do it myself since this is related to my superhero thing.”

Conner glances into Jonathan’s room after he finds his key and then at the boy himself. “I don’t know why you need to since it’s all filled out.”

“What?” Jonathan blurts out with confusion. 

“In your desk drawer,” Conner instructs as he opens his door and messily tosses his stuff inside. He walks back to Jonathan who is now hurriedly rummaging through his desk to find the documents he believed were once lost with a manic look in his eyes. “Uh… Jon? Buddy? You okay? You’re lookin’ kinda… crazy.”

When Jon finally gets his hands on the papers he stares at them intensely, his fingers crinkling the edges and his arms shaking with the intensity of his grip. Conner tries to put a hand on his brother’s shoulder but is halted by the sudden appearance of the fiery veins creepily crawling down his body. They faded methodically in and out of existence like a heartbeat.

“Holy shit, what the fuck-”

“THAT SON OF A BITCH!” Jonathan erupts metaphorically, but from Conner’s point of view, it almost feels literal because when Jon whips his head to look at him he doesn’t see blue eyes anymore. He doesn’t even see the red rage of laser vision. No, they were gold. “THAT SLIMY, NO GOOD, LYING, BASTARD! I KNEW IT! I FUCKING KNEW IT!”

“Jon, what’s happening?!” Conner shouts as the glowing veins reach Jon’s fingers causing the documents to start burning. “Lois! LOIS!”

At the threat of his mom coming, the glow vanishes just as the duo hears frantic footsteps run up the wooden steps. “What is it, what’s wrong!?”

“It’s Jon, he just- his hands and body-”

“I’m fine, I got angry,” Jonathan innocently explains as he holds up the paper with scorch marks shaped like his hands. “It probably wasn’t a good idea to practice while I’m angry.”

“If you’re going to practice your powers, please don’t do it inside the wooden and flammable house,” The woman says exhaustedly, putting the fire extinguisher she brought with her at the foot of the entryway. “And what are you angry about?”

“Conner found the papers I thought I lost, but Damian already filled them out.”

“That explains the swearing,” Lois sighs and sees her son already handing three dollars for the swear jar. “Thank you. Please be careful about your powers. I know it’s exciting, but it’s also dangerous.”

“Yes, Mom,” Jonathan promises and looks at his brother. “Sorry for worrying you!”

“Remember to practice outside. I’m leaving the extinguisher here if you need it.” She tells them as she walks back downstairs.

Once she’s out of hearing range, Jonathan lowers his voice and glares at his brother. “You saw exactly what I said.”

Flabbergasted, Conner sputters out his confusion. “But I- I, bro what the fuck-!”

“Don’t." Jonathan threatens as he examines his damaged papers.

"Okay, but what was that?!" He said in a hushed panic. "Do Pa and Lois know? How come I'm just finding out about this now? Who else knows? How long was this a thing?"

"I don't exactly know what it is," He guiltily confesses, looking to the floor. "I discovered three years ago. The only other person who knows is Dami, and I wanted to keep it that way.”

There was a struggle happening inside of Conner that he didn’t want to have today. He could either tell his parents about the insane thing he just saw and lose Jonathan’s trust in him forever, or he could keep the secret as well as the currently fragile brotherly image Jon has of him. Like many teenage brothers before him, Conner makes the safest choice…

For his ego.

“Yeah, okay, I got your back,” He confidently asserts with a strained grin, rubbing his brother’s fluffy midnight-black hair. “What are brothers for?”

“Thanks, Conner! You’re the best brother ever!” Jonathan cheers, hugging his brother’s torso.

Conner nods absentmindedly, not looking at anything in particular as his mind is already reeling from the potential consequences of this action. “I know I am… j-just tell me if something happens with… that.”

“I will!” The child agrees, pushing himself away with a blindingly bright smile.

He glances back at the precisely filled-out documents with a melancholy expression. The scorch marks on the edges of the paper mar it with the outline of his fingers. He’s so angry at Damian and has more than half a mind to storm into Wayne Manor this instant and smack some sense into him. 

There are two reasons he doesn’t: He’s grounded from seeing Damian for a week, and Jonathan knows that Damian didn’t do it maliciously. It doesn’t excuse the act, but Jon understands it. Damian likes doing things for people because that’s how he expresses he cares, but it makes it difficult to do the same in return. Also, it makes Jon feel like a useless piece of shi-

“So do you want to go outside and train your powers before Pa gets home?” Conner asks, snapping Jon out of his stupor.

“Sure!” He strides to his brother with a pep in his step and only briefly catches the teenager taking the fire extinguisher with him on his way out. He has all the time in the world to be angry later. Or a week. Exactly a week before he can go to the manor and tell him exactly how angry he is with him. Damian doesn’t know it, but he better savor those seven days.

A chill runs down Damian’s spine and he searches for the reason as it was a hot day in July. He doesn’t know why, but his  intuition gives him the impression his lifespan got significantly cut. “Drake, are you thinking threatening thoughts toward me?”

“Always,” The teen responds as he releases the child safety lock. “Now everybody get out of my car. I’m going to find parking.”

“God bless you, you brave man.” Colin sarcastically remarks with a salute as he leaves.

“Thanks, Tim!” Maps beams as she rolls out of her wet seat. “Sorry for the mess!”

Timothy sighs as he glares at his little brother. “You better hope that doesn’t damage my car.”

“If it does, it wasn’t worth the money.” Damian scoffs as he steps out. “If you ditch us, I’ll make sure Father rescinds the contract he made to you.”

“Whatever, brat,” Tim replies in the same tone and drives off to try to find parking in the worst city.

The three middle schoolers watch the convertible drive away before heading inside their first destination: a photo booth. It was a building with multiple themed sets in which people paid to take pictures in. Damian never understood the purpose of this business as they don’t even take the pictures themselves, but influencers gravitate toward a useless business such as this. Only a mindless idiot would be excited to go to a place like this.

“Oh my gosh, I always wanted to go here with my friends!” Maps cheers, pulling Damian and Colin inside with a strength that could pull their arms out of their sockets.

“Ow! MAPS!” Colin yelps.

“Sorry!” She apologizes, letting them go to examine the ring lights they have on display for use. “It’s just that I never get to go to places like these! Mom only lets me go if Kyle watches over me and Kyle never wants to go with me. It sucks because I know he went with Olivia by himself but when I ask he doesn’t have time. Pomeline said she’d go with me but she’s with her grandma over the summer, and Colton is still grounded after he set off fireworks under the bleachers during the last pep rally.”

“Do either of you learn anything at this school?” Colin questions as he’s heard more weird stories about Gotham Academy than is acceptable. That’s impressive considering they live in Gotham.

“No.” Damian states firmly.

“Not really,” Maps echoes, picking the light she liked the most. “Okay, let’s pay for it and take some pictures!”

“We don’t need to pay,” Damian tells them as he walks up to a self-service kiosk. “Father’s PR Team gave me a code to get in for free. We have two hours to take normal pictures of ourselves having, ‘normal wholesome fun.’”

“Is that exactly what they told you?”

“Yes,” He begrudgingly bemoans. “Wayne Enterprises is affiliated with the Gotham Tourism Industry Association and wants to show people having fun in this God-forsaken city.”

The trio moves into the main hall with each themed set piece sectioned off with thin dividers that barely conceal them. There were plenty of other people here ranging from individuals with only their phones on a stick, groups posing themselves for fun, and a few with professional cameras and photographers.

Damian allows himself to be dragged by Maps to their first location because for all the skills Damian had acquired throughout his life being normal was not one of them. Out of all of his friends, Mia Mizoguchi is the one he considers the most normal. That’s not to say she’s average by any means, but she was legitimately a nobody in the kindest of ways. She doesn’t have a tragic backstory, she’s not related to a superhero or villain, and she doesn’t grapple with extraordinary powers. Maps is just a normal person living in an insane world.

They take a series of staged photos at each location in different costumes. Maps has unofficially appointed herself as the director for the photo shoot as Damian and Colin are haplessly maneuvered and posed in various positions by her. The rooms were themed nonsensically in Damian’s opinion as there was no cohesion to them. While some of them were themed after places in Gotham, others were more abstract in their execution such as a fairytale garden or a laundromat that was colored like a neon rainbow from the 1980s.

There were a few Batman-themed rooms that Damian thoroughly avoided after having to yank Maps away from broodily crouching on a plaster gargoyle while dressed as Robin. Even Colin was seemingly enjoying himself as he took to the monochromatic noir-style detective's office. They’re halfway through with all of the sets which makes Damian grumble a bit. They have more than enough pictures for today, but his friends are seemingly intent on going through every room.

“Oh my God, this place looks exactly like that one K-pop video! You know the one I’m talking about! The one with TWICE!” Maps gasps in awe as she twirls around the section that looks like a mock ballroom staircase except for the fact only a fraction of the size and most of the steps were a photo attached to the wall.

“I don’t,” Colin admits, walking up five stairs before reaching the image. “If you wanted to see a ballroom, you could’ve just gone to Damian’s house.”

“Most people can’t go to Dami’s house whenever they want so this is all we got!” The short girl adjusts the ring light a few meters away from the stairs and fixes her hair again before lying on her side on the steps. “Take a picture of me like one of your French girls.”

Damian takes a picture of her with the company phone. “This is stupid.”

“Come on guys, it’s not fun if you don’t get into it too! Live a little!” She holds a prop rose from the set between her teeth and pulls Colin into a dip, struggling to hold the taller preteen up. “Take a picture before my arms fall off!”

Colin dramatically drapes his arm over his forehead as though he’s been thoroughly swooned by this romantic tango dancer in front of him. “Oh my! Be still, my beating heart! What a gentlewoman!”

Unimpressed, Damian takes another picture. “Hilarious.”

Colin stands properly to the relief of Maps’ minimal strength and nudges Damian with his elbow. “She’s right, you know. You’re going to be a teen next month. Just have a bit of fun!”

“You say that like I’m significantly older than you, but it’s only by a few weeks,” Emerald eyes roll with condescension and he looks back to Maps to tell her to move on to the next stage when he catches her dancing atrociously. “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to do the dance from the video!” She explains as she messes up most of the moves. She takes out her phone and looks up the song online. “Here, I’m better if I play the song.” After a 15-second ad plays (Maps refuses to pay for the premium ad-free service) she starts dancing again to the music, however, she purposefully fails her choreography while making intense eye contact with Damian. “See, I’m so much better at this.”

“Now you’re just trying to piss me off.”

“Is it working?”

Damian hands Colin the phone as his need to prove he’s better than everybody takes over. “Maps, you made me watch that thing countless times. It’s like this.”

What Is Love? By TWICE starts playing and instantly an industry-level smile is plastered on his face as he moves his body with the precision of a trained dancer. The cutesy music reverberates through the low-quality phone speaker as the two dance. While Maps is indeed much better with the music helping her, it’s obvious Damian is more talented.

Damian was naturally more attuned with his body thanks to his years of martial arts training. That and he might have practiced this dance in the privacy of his room, but that secret was between him and his pets.

Maps ecstatically smiles along, her expression coming off more naturally than the fake one her friend has. She was ecstatic to see her friend joining along and dancing with her for once. “Having fun?”

Damian doesn’t answer as he’s focused on his movements, but his fake smile slowly looks more genuine as they continue. It’s not his normally cocky smirk as half of the dancing is about the facial expression which he doesn’t want to mess up. Thankfully his friends can tell the difference.

Once the song is finished, Maps is heavily panting while Damian goes back to take the phone. His confident, “I told you so,” expression which quickly drops as he notices something troubling. Already knowing what was wrong, Colin held his hands up defensively. “Hey, those were some of the best pictures we took today. Don’t get mad at me for seizing an opportunity.”

“I’d be mad if you didn’t take a photo, but what’s this?” The billionaire’s son shows him the screen and minimizes the current app for one that is working in the background. Damian knows he didn’t open it before so his accusatory glare is more than warranted.

“You didn’t have any good filters so I switched apps to see what else I could do,” Colin admits with a confused voice. “What’s wrong with that?”

“COLIN WE’RE LIVE STREAMING!” Damian shouts with a mortified expression before realizing, “WE STILL ARE!”

He hurriedly ends the stream and turns off the phone in a panic. “What if we get sued for copyright?!”

“Uh… You won’t; that’s not how that law works.” Maps say as she gathers their stuff. “And I don’t see what the big deal is. It’s not like we were doing anything bad.”

“I don’t have authorization for this! These technically aren’t my accounts, they’re the company's. If I'm doing something they don’t approve of then I could get in trouble!”

“Oh… Oooooooh!” She breathes as she grasps the situation. “Did you delete it?”

“... Fuck.” He turns his phone back on to delete the video when a familiar name pops up on the screen. “Everyone shut up.”

“None of us were talking,” Colin states and is immediately shushed.

“Hello Mrs. Zellerbach,” Damian greets with a cool, even tone, putting Regina Zellerbach on speaker. “How are you today?”

“Hello Damian,” The PR Manager replies politely. “I’m doing well, thank you for asking. I’m sorry for calling out of the blue, but I got an alert on our company phone that’s connected to yours that you started a live stream.”

“That was an accident, I’m already making moves to remove it-”

“Don’t.” She orders with a firmness that all older women seem to possess. “It’s short and cute. I’m also looking through the photos and I see someone’s enthusiastic.”

Maps flinch at that. “It was really fun…”

“I’m sure you kids were. I’m not trying to scold you. Mr. Wayne wouldn’t keep me around if I go threatening children.” She laughs to herself. “I don’t want you making a habit of doing things without permission but don’t worry about this one. This was just a quick reminder, so I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important. Have a wonderful day, Damian.”

With that, she hangs up. Damian looks at Colin, who has taken several precautionary steps back, with a glower that can freeze fire. "New rule, Colin isn't allowed to hold the phone."

Later that day, Damian checks his unplanned post’s comments out of curiosity. He refuses to entertain the idea it could be for any other reason.

@MomoStan909023 3hr ago
OMG this is so amazing! He dances so well! Does he take lessons? Do a tutorial!
🗯0 ↻ 12 ♡23

@1_Of_3Idiots 3hr ago
fake
🗯0  ↻ 16 ♡43

@FlashWife8 3hr ago
He looks adorable when he smiles! 😊Idk why’s getting so much hate. WTF is wrong with you people? I bet if this was Dick Grayson you wouldn’t be talking shit about him like this.
🗯3  ↻ 198 ♡480

@HubCityBorn2 3hr ago
↳ You can’t compare him to Dick. 1: Dick has a great ass and this is a child. 2: Dick was a poor kid whose parents died. 3: This is a privileged kid who probably lived like a king his entire life just making crappy posts. 4: He’s probably just a bastard from Bruce Wayne’s mail-order whore he had overseas. I don’t fucking care, I’ll hate on him all I want. Kid should just kill himself.
🗯1  ↻ 9 ♡6

@Signal4Mayor 3hr ago
↳ You have issues
🗯4  ↻ 678 ♡1.6k

@H+I69 3hr ago
Don’t listen to the haters sweetie! You’re doing great! 🎁
🗯0  ↻ 78 ♡236

@Magnolias2Tulips 3hr ago

YAS! POP OFF KING! 💅
🗯0  ↻ 2 ♡4

@DanceTillDeath234 3hr ago

How the fuck is a 10yr old a better dancer than most adults?! I’m so jealous
🗯0  ↻ 112 ♡456

@Memer23590 3hr ago

These people are so boring. How do these people get followers when there are so many better people who deserve them
🗯0  ↻ 0 ♡4

@3003135 3hr ago

When did Damian Wayne post shit? I thought his dad locked him up and only brought him out for charity events as his token brown kid. Does he even have a real life or do they take him out when Wayne needs to look good?
🗯10  ↻ 568 ♡2.3k

This is stupid.

Damian attempts to call Jonathan but is informed by the boy's mother that he's been grounded for a week. For a kid who's afraid of breaking the rules, he sure does get in trouble a lot. It's not the first time something like this happened, but it's far from common that he couldn't see Jon because of it.

Unfortunately, Damian can't check on Jonathan remotely since the last secret remote surveillance system was found by Jonathan’s father escalating the man’s paranoia regarding his son's safety. He already somewhat had it, but Damian’s existence didn't help. It was so long ago… four months. That reminds Damian that he should probably be working on a way to maintain communication with Jon without the use of phones. For now, he just has to wait a week to call Jonathan. That’s no big deal. He’s fine.

He’s fine.

“Maps is on camera duty,” Damian says the instant Colin enters the car later in the week.

“I mess up one time and you never let it go,” Colin sighs as he puts his seatbelt on. “Thanks for not parking in front of my apartment again, Tim.”

“You’re welcome, and sorry if I caused you any trouble the other day,” The teen apologizes.

“It’s fine. Most of them were just giving me a hard time; they don’t mean anything by it.”

“Hi Colin, guess where we’re going today?” Maps excitedly asks, vibrating in her seat with anticipation.

“I don’t know, I just go into any car that picks me up without any context. It’s probably really easy to kidnap me.”

“Don’t joke like that in Gotham, it might come true,” Damian warns.

“We’re going to Future Land!” Maps answers with eagerness.

“That sounds like a theme park, and I know for a fact Gotham stopped having those a long time ago.”

“Maybe it’s already a front for a new evil supervillain!”

Tim cocks a brow at the overly enthusiastic tone the girl announced and looks to his brother for a reaction. “Why are all your friends weird?”

“Don’t be a hypocrite,” Damian criticizes without so much as a twitch of the lips. “Anyways, Mrs. Zellerbach told me we have to take a picture of us in front of the amusement park. Someone also needs to take a picture of me with the phone so they can use it in an ad.”

“And by someone, you mean Maps because I’m not allowed to hold the camera,” Colin states, pointing at the girl who’s already making grabbing motions toward the phone.

The group arrives at the theme park to find that it is a rather small bundle of attractions on a pier that just barely fits the definition of an amusement park. Damian sneers at his brother who is trying to mask his concern with a maturity he doesn’t possess. “What is your company trying to do to me?”

“Oh, so it’s my company when things don’t live up to your standards,” Tim says, shoving his brother’s arm.

“It is when my standard is being alive,” Damian replies, shoving back. 

They walk past the gates and enter the park with colorful admission wristbands adorning their wrist. They are immediately surrounded by vaguely futuristic decorations, or at least what the 1950s thought the future would look like. Smooth and cartoonish UFOs and rocketships on slick steel tracks transport riders through rather impractical courses while the carnival games were all space-themed. The smell of stale popcorn, seawater, sewage, and nickel saturates the air in an unpleasant manner that would make a lesser person gag.

“Ack! Urgh, whose sick idea was it to put a theme park on Gotham’s harbor? It smells like ass!” Colin gags, dry heaving over the ledge of the pier. “Hey, was the water always this grey?”

“Yes, it’s Gotham.” Maps replies, patting him on the back. “There, there. Let it all out.”

“Don’t fall,” Damian orders as he walks past his friends to examine a map of the park. “We can skip the thrill rides for now. How about we start with the carnival games?”

“Aren’t all of those unwinnable scams?” Maps questions.

Wordlessly, Tim and Damian share a look of understanding before looking back at the girl. She and Colin look at them with confusion before a dreadful expression overtakes him. “Oh fuck no, we are not-”

Not five minutes later, the Wayne siblings were viciously competing in every game they came across. Whether it was the rope ladder, shooting games, ring toss, milk bottle throw, the test of strength, rubber duck fishing, or dip bowling the pair dominated them all. The hapless employees were stupefied by the impossible feats achieved by the two. They were used to two or three people winning small prizes at each booth, however, the brothers dominated every single high-level prize. 

Maps was having the time of her life taking pictures of all their victories and even attempting to play a few games. She didn’t win any of them, Damian and Tim gave her most of the prizes since they didn’t need them. Maps then handed them to Colin since he was the only one not doing anything.

Eventually, Colin was overwhelmed by the cheap stuffed animals and begged the trio to do anything else before he suffocated under the weight. Reluctantly, the brothers relented even though they were currently in a tie. There was an audible sigh of relief from all of the workers as they left the area. Tim went to put their winnings in his car while the group waited in front of the rides.

“That was so cool! I’ve never seen anyone win those before!” Maps cheers as she reviews all of the pictures they took.

Damian arrogantly holds his head high replying, “The problem with those games is that it’s an entirely different game disguised as something straightforward. It’s simple once you understand the mechanics.”

“Is there a reason you’re keeping the chicken with you?” Colin asks, pointing to the round beady-eyed chicken stuffed animal under Damian’s arm.

“I don’t want something happening to it. It’s safer with me.”

“So are chickens your favorite?”

“All animals are precious.”

“Then why hold onto only the chicken?”

“Stop asking questions.”

After Tim comes back the group rides exactly one ride before realizing that it was one of the most terrifying experiences of their life. That’s saying a lot since two of them were the sons of Batman, one of them created a club to explore the most terrifying places in Gotham, and the last one was used as a mad science experiment. The rollercoaster was wobbly and Damian swears he’s experienced plane crashes smoother than this ride.

Colin immediately hurls into the nearest trashcan as soon as he gets off the ride while Tim slumps down on a bench. Damian wants to leave immediately as it’s getting crowded, humid, and hotter as the afternoon rolls by. Unfortunately, he still needs to take one more picture before he leaves, so he and Maps head to the Ferris wheel to take a shot of him using his phone with the Gotham skyline as his backdrop.

“Is it going to stop now,” Maps asks for the fifth time as they pass the top of the wheel.

“No, everyone will have a turn eventually; be patient.” Damian huffs, crossing his arms and leaning against the hard metal seat.

The two middle schoolers sit in silence as they slowly make their rotations on the ride with Maps occasionally getting a few pictures with her phone. After the third round, she takes a picture of Colin and Tim waiting by the entrance of the ride. “How come you don’t make Tim take your pictures? I think he said something about being into photography.”

“Because I hate him.” Damian states.

“No, you don’t,” Maps confidently counters. “You wouldn’t have been playing carnival games with Tim if you hated him.”

“And when did you become the expert of me?”

“I think everyone who has to speak to you has to become fluent in Damian. You’re kinda weird but in a cool way. If I didn’t try learning I’d think you were a mean jerk. Well… You are, but you’re also not. Does that make sense?”

“No.”

“Makes sense. I’ve only known you for half a school year. I bet Colin or Jon know you better since they’ve known you longer.”

Emerald eyes glare at the girl who cheekily sticks her tongue out at him. “I thought I told you to keep his name out of your mouth.”

“I think the only person who gets to say that is Jon, and you won’t let me meet him. Hell, I didn’t even know he existed until Colin accidentally mentioned him. I was getting worried that Colin was your only friend- not that Colin isn’t fun! He’s cool too!”

“I have other friends besides Colin and Jon.”

“Oh yeah. There was that girl you once introduced me to. What was her name? May?”

“Maya.”

“Yeah her. Anyways, back to Jon--mrph!”

Damian interrupts her by shoving the plush chicken plushie in her face. “Look, we’re finally slowing down.” He grabs his phone and holds it near his mouth like he’s taking a call. “Take a picture.”

Maps quickly takes a photograph with her phone and sends it to Damian, and then enjoys the landscape from above. “Wow… It’s almost like Gotham isn’t a hellscape.”

“It looks better at night.”

“Of course you’d say that-- Woah!” Maps is once again interrupted, but it wasn’t Damian’s fault.

The seat lurches forward, swaying dangerously deep, as they stop at the very top of the wheel. Damian is about to blame the poor construction of the park when he looks below to see gaseous green smoke wash over the ground below. “Well Mizoguchi, it seems like your wish has come true.”

“Please don’t call me by my last name again; it took me months to get on nickname level!” She whines before getting her priorities in place. Maps uses her sticker-covered phone to record everything that’s happening. “Who do you think it is?”

“Please tell me that’s not live.”

“It’s not.”

“Then it’s either Scarecrow, Poison Ivy, or the Joker.”

And because one of Damian’s talents happens to be impeccable timing, ominous circus music followed by a laugh everyone in Gotham knows by heart rings through the park’s speakers. “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Welcome, welcome one and all to the land of the future!” The evil clown announces jovially. “However, it looks like most of you won’t have a future.”

As soon as he says that all of the rides in the park begin to go haywire either moving at rapid speeds or having sections of it collapse. The pair hold onto the thin metal bar keeping them from flying off for dear life as they begin to hit insane speeds. Damian analyzes the situation and immediately takes out the standard black gas mask every experienced Gothamite has on them for occasions just like this.

While Maps is doing the same thing, with hers being bright yellow with groovy flowers on it, Damian takes out the knife he keeps strapped to his shin and tries to pry the bar protecting them out of its hinges. “Hold onto something else!”

The 12-year-old instantly clings to Damian’s side.

“Not me!”

She holds onto the seat instead, shutting her eyes in case she falls to her death. When she peeks at Damian with one eye she sees him crawling with his stomach flat on the arm of the metal rail attaching them to the center of the wheel. He sticks the pole between gaps in the frame as leverage so no matter what angle he’s spinning he won’t get tossed off.

“Damian! That bar’s too small to stop this thing!” Maps shouts as she desperately tries to find a more suitable surface to keep her from falling.

“I know that!” The boy shouts back as he approaches the center. What does she think he’s going to do with it; stick it in a gear and stop the 100-meter structure?  Once he reaches the center, he shimmies to the edge as he counts the rhythm of the bars passing by and then leaps through the outer wheel where he slides down grounding supports safely. Thankfully it was slightly easier to navigate as the momentum of the ride acted like a fan keeping the gas away from the riders.

There was no one manning the controls and upon further inspection, he found the hapless underpaid teenager unconscious with a painfully unnatural smile adorning their complexion. Damian is about to hit the brakes on the machine when the ground starts shaking to the beat of heavy footsteps. 

Through the fog, an inhumanly large figure runs towards him with rugged breaths and bloody knuckles. Ugly scars and building veins litter the muscles as they shambles as though its body cannot be controlled. Pale blue eyes hidden by messy orange hair stare at him from behind the cover of a brown gas mask hiding a frighteningly marred complexion.

"You'd think people would learn by now to always bring your mask in public." A deep masculine voice casually comments. "Do you think that's fucked up this is normal in Gotham?"

"Hi Colin, welcome to the urban dystopia. Also, you'll want to go up there and grab Maps before I abruptly shut the ride down; I took the safety bar."

"WHY?!" The giant mutated 12-year-old groans, already sprinting to his friend.

“You took too long,” Damian pauses for exactly one second before hitting the brakes on the machine.

Thankfully Colin jumps onto the ride seat before Maps can be thrown from the ride. Damian is about to go check on everyone when he’s suddenly grabbed from behind. He chastises himself for not sensing them even through the thick fog, but when he looks up at his captor he freezes. He doesn’t know whether to feel thankful or regretful that he doesn’t have his uniform on him. If he did, their operation would’ve immediately ceased to be as his eyes meet the scarlet grin of the Joker.

“Lookie what we have here! It’s little Brucie’s boy! What are you, charity case number 7? Oh, I simply can’t keep up these days!” He converses lightly, ruffling his hair. “No matter, you’re coming with me.”

“The fuck I am!” Damian barks as he gains some leverage to flip the man over his shoulder. The second the man’s back is on the ground he starts to beat him in the face with the first object he can reach, his phone. “Don’t touch me!”

“Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Why are you so violent?!” The evildoer shouts as he slaps the phone out of his hand.

“Because you’re a maniac who needs to die!” The child replies, grabbing the stuffed chicken he still had on him to try suffocating the man.

“Now now, hold still there, tiger,” Joker instructs jovially and forcefully as the pink flower in his coat pocket squirts a chemical over his eyes and melts the chicken. Thankfully the mask protects him from the acid, but as Damian reflexively recoils the villain drags him away from the Ferris wheel. “I’m not looking to kill anyone today. Just a casual crime of public endangerment. You know, to keep Gotham on its toes.”

The boy would call the clown crazy, but he’d probably take it as a compliment.

“You know, I don’t think we’ve ever had a chance to chat!” The villain remarks as they stroll through thick poison gas, passed-out bodies, and the sound of screams from trapped riders. “You know I can’t let Gotham have nice things, so I set up this little shindig just to mess with them! So, how’s the family?”

It’s an open secret in their family that the Joker knows who they are, however, the villain is oddly professional about it. He hated mixing business with pleasure so he seldom used this information for any of his schemes no matter how chaotic. The Joker never shared this information which could ruin them. Even if he did aim for the Wayne family, it would be because they were rich, not because they were associated with Batman. It’s almost like he treated them like a separate entity.

So seeing him be so cavalier about the divide was off-putting, to say the least. “What the fuck?”

“You swear more than the others. Shame really. No catchy quips I presume?”

“What do you want with me, Joker?” Damian demands, reaching for the other knife he keeps on his person to the man’s throat.

“What do I want? It’s obvious,” He replies uncharacteristically patient yet still condescending. “I’m just having a nice day being a menace and talking with the youngest little birdy. I think you’re the youngest, but I could be wrong. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“You’re delusional!” Damian shouts.

“I’m hilarious,” The Joker counters flippantly. “Come on, buddy. Tell Uncle J what’s on your mind! What brings you here? I thought you were supposed to be the serious one.”

The clown plops on a bench with his legs sprawled out straight in front of him. He taps his purple suit pantleg as though wanting Damian to sit on his lap which the preteen definitely doesn’t want to do. Instead, he tries to plunge the knife into the Joker’s heart.

“Uh uh uh, Daddy has a no-killing rule,” The villain scolds, wagging a finger at him as the knife bounces off a metal chest plate under his shirt.

“He’ll forgive me.” Damian hisses. “And ew, don’t call him that.”

“You’re right, I’m not here to talk about that, I’m here to talk about you!” The man restates enthusiastically. “Places like this aren’t your forte. I didn’t know you’d be here today, but luck and I have a special relationship”

It’s creepy how much this mass murderer knows about him. Damian doesn’t want to entertain the madman so he tries to stab him in the head. The Joker dodges, making the knife stick to the wooden bench, and while the man is distracted he goes to punch him in the face. The entire time, the rouge doesn’t falter in his conversation.

“You see, birdie. I normally don’t care about what you do since you’re not a real hero,” That earns the clown a kick to the rib. A gloved hand grips his ankle, and as Damian attempts to break his wrist an electric current travels through his body.

“AAAAAARRRRRRGGGGHHHHHH!” He screams as his pain courses through his body.

Joker picks him up and sits him on the bench next to him in a sick imitation of people who are close to each other. “There we go!” He pats Damian on his head. “Now let’s try this again. How ya doin’ kiddo? What’s all this influencer Hullabaloo about? Not literally. I got a pretty little number at home who’s good at that social engineering thing kids are into these days. I never would’ve picked you for that. Now, can see the spoilsport over there--” He gestures to the roller coaster with a broken rail about to fling the entire cart into the ocean. If Damian was able to look closely he would see Robin trying to stop it. “Doing that sort of thing, but you? Oh come on, that’s a real joke. I would know.”

Damian slurs something that could be an insult or a question, but it comes out as nonsense. “What was that? You want to know why I care? It’s simple! Batsy and I have known each other longer than you’ve existed! We’re practically family! I’m like your crazy uncle who’s not invited to the reunion for killing your brother and crippling the girl! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” He laughs, slapping his knee. “And as your good ol’ Uncle J, I’ve taken it upon myself to check in with my kids! Sure, that usually involves breaking a few of their bones, but that’s because I care.”

He tilts Damian’s mask up so he’s facing him but the boy’s eyes are unfocused. “Hey, look at grown-ups when they’re talking to you. Kids these days have no manners! What was I saying? Oh yeah, this… thing. So what was it that made you half-heartedly attempt something like this? Trying to fit in with the crowd? Maybe you’re pulling a social experiment! I’m not judging. We’ve all been there but, I notice by the dead look in your eyes in most of your pictures that you’re not enjoying it. Or maybe you’re always like that! Not like you were ever the fun one.” He bellows out another laugh.

“Yur frugern crazy…” Damian manages to get out.

“I am! Thank you!” The man thanks him and checks his comically large watch with his face on it.  “I’ve gotta split before the bomb I plant under the pier blows, but I always love our chats! I’ll be waiting for you if you ever make it to the big leagues, kid. For now, you’re not even worth ten minutes. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

The Joker gets up and strides away, his back disappearing into the gas as his maniacal laugh reverberates through the harbor. Damian’s body is left limp on the seat helpless, and seething in self-loathing. How hard was it to fight one clown? Then again, there has to be a reason no one has been able to kill him yet.

God, he hates that man.

The bomb under the pier is disabled and the day is saved by Robin and Signal who happen to be on patrol when the incident occurred. The incident triggered the end of their outing since everyone was forced to go home after being checked for injuries and poisoning by the paramedics. It didn’t mean Damian felt better. Partially due to being electrocuted and the embarrassment that comes from interacting with his father’s arch-nemesis.

To add insult to injury, the chicken plushie Damian won for Jonathan was destroyed in the process. He thought this couldn’t get any worse especially now that it was ending, but he was wrong. He was so very wrong.

When Damian gets out of the shower the next night, he gets a cryptic message from Maps that is essentially a string of apologies and a link. The second he taps on it the color drains from his face. A video from an unknown account posted a video with a very unflattering title.

[WILD CHILD DAMIAN WAYNE BEATS JOKER IN THE FACE WITH A PHONE]

@GothamiteFoodie5 2hr ago
holy shit
🗯0  ↻ 0 ♡480

@FloofySkrungles 2hr ago
Man, Wayne thinks of everything. My Lex phone cracks when I drop it on carpet but this phone doesn’t dent when you use it as a weapon.🤣
🗯22  ↻678 ♡3k

@3BatGirlBae3 2hr ago
↳ Fuck the drop test! I want phones to be tested by the damage it can do to people’s faces.
🗯0  ↻345 ♡2k

@Justice4Arkham 2hr ago
↳ EXACTLY!
🗯0  ↻ 122 ♡376

@Bats&Birds 2hr ago
↳ Fellas. Do we NOT deserve a multipurpose phone when we live in Gotham? I can’t tell you the number of times I dropped my phone when running from a supervillain and insurance won’t cover it.
🗯0  ↻2 ♡234

@PlsAdoptM3 2hr ago
i dont usually follow people on this hellsite but if Damian Wayne has an account i need link 
🗯6  ↻234 ♡987

@CoastalHoe99 2hr ago
↳ I got chu boo! [link]
🗯0  ↻4 ♡4

@XKimimixiItchiX 2hr ago
↳ We Support Violence Against Clowns 🤡🔫
🗯0 ↻0 ♡1

@LexLeigonKing66 2hr ago
Why are you celebrating a POC being unstable? They’re giving people of color a bad name after all they do to try to fix their reputation. He just set your movement back by a decade.
🗯18  ↻25 ♡480

@ImAHero 2hr ago
↳WTF why you gotta make everything about race? Can’t we be happy about a child beating up a literal murderer?
🗯2  ↻67 ♡80

@CH33 2hr ago
↳This boy has done more in 10 seconds than you will ever do in your life get tf off the internet and touch some grass. Your complaining about stupid shit
🗯3  ↻9 ♡49

@SpoilerIsR3AL 2hr ago
↳ The fuck do you mean by “your movement?”
🗯  ↻ 18 ♡43

@8KawaiiKupid8 2hr ago
Everyone in the Wayne family is a solid 10 in personality. Gods I’m weak to a cute kid filled with rage
🗯0  ↻5 ♡58

“SON OF A BITCH!” He screams as he immediately calls Maps who answers instantly.

“I DIDN’T MEAN TO DO IT!” She hollers.

“THE FUCK DOES THAT EVEN MEAN! WHAT DID YOU DO!?”

“The lady you work for asked for any pictures and videos we took today, and I accidentally sent the one I recorded for myself!”

“WHAT!? DOES NO ONE KNOW HOW TO USE A FUCKING PHONE!?”

“I didn’t post it! If it makes you feel better there wasn’t anything incriminating on there that could reveal your family! I was spinning too fast to get any good angles! I didn’t even know I caught you attacking the Joker with your phone!” Maps attempt to console and take any blame off of her.

And in a way, it does because Damian didn’t post the video. Maps didn’t post it. That means… “Maps, I have to go.” He hangs up without hearing her response as he calls Regina Zellerbach. He doesn’t let the woman speak before demanding answers, “Why did you post the video!?”

He hears the woman yawn and the ruffle of sheets as she presumably sits up in bed. “Hello, Damian.”

“Don’t ‘Hello Damian’ me! What is this!?”

“What is it? It’s the greatest advertisement for our new phone that we could’ve asked for.”

“I look like a lunatic!”

“Really? That’s not what the comments say.”

“It doesn’t matter what the comments say! I didn’t approve of this!”

“That became irrelevant the moment you signed the contract.” The PR head reminds him. “We have the right to create posts on your account or with your likeness even if it’s not directly associated with your main accounts. Sometimes we need an outside source to boost yours.”

“But it’s still you!” Damian furiously points out.

“The people don’t know that.”

“What are you trying to do to me?”

“What am I trying to do to you?” Mrs. Zellerbach echoes in an amused tone. “I’m doing exactly what you wanted. I’m making you an influencer. You’re influencing.”

Damian doesn’t hear whatever else she has to say as he abruptly ends the call and meticulously scrolls through his feed on all of his accounts. As clear as day, there were dozens of posts Damian never created. Many of them showed Damian in places he’s never been to or advertising products he doesn’t own. There were even doctored images that were supposed to have his friends in them that now only hold him.

Every post was written by a voice that wasn’t his. Damian knew this was going to happen, he was even okay with throwing away his individuality and faking a persona for this. He at least thought he would have a say in what that would look like. Damian should’ve been paying more attention. He should’ve done this alone. He can’t control this. He can’t control anything. This is why he hates social media.

This was a mistake.

He’s about to toss the device at the wall in a fit of rage when something catches his eye. It was the short clip of him competing with Drake in a game of whack-a-mole. It only garnered a few views and even fewer likes, but the thumbnail enraptured his attention. He plays it out of curiosity if nothing else.

The brothers were relentlessly whacking the animals that popped up with the utmost concentration. The camera pans to Colin who was slowly creeping behind Tim with an unused foam mallet from one of the adjacent machines. He’s about to swing it when the teenager bops the redhead in the face with his own.

“Ah FUCK! My nose!”

“You need to work a lot harder if you want to get the jump on me.” Timothy chuckles when suddenly the sound of a ringing bell alerts the group that a winner has been decided. “Hey! No fair, you had your friend distract me!”

Childishly, Damian sticks his tongue out at his brother and turns his nose up at him with a smug smirk. “I didn’t have him do anything. You just have poor concentration.”

Royal blue eyes of the older Wayne sibling blankly stare at the younger before he lifts his mallet and whacks his brother atop his head. “Oops. Sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you over the head, but you’re so short.” He apologies without an ounce of remorse.

“I’m going to kill you!” Damian hisses and begins wailing on Tim with his mallet. “Colin, get him!”

“This is unfair!” Tim stutters as both boys relentlessly attack him with their squishy weapons. “It’s two against one! How is this fair!?”

The camera shakes as Maps grabs another mallet from the carnival game and rushes in to join her friends, giving the viewer a POV shot of the Wayne heir being bombarded by middle schoolers. “It’s not supposed to be fair! This is war!”

“That doesn’t even make sense!”

“H-hey! I thought you were cool with me!”

“Bros before hoes!”

“What did you just call me?!” Tim chortles as he starts hitting Maps with his mallet in retaliation.

“You’re the enemy, Drake!” Damian reminds his brother as he knocks him on the back of the knees.

The teenager falls over laughing allowing the trio to gain the higher ground over their taller opponent. “Hahaha! Ow! Ow! OW! Alright! Alright! I give! Uncle! Uncle! Hahahaha!”

Right before the clip ends the camera faces Damian one last time to reveal a genuine smile. Not the picture-perfect smile manicured for others, but the one that’s special to Damian. The somewhat feral smirk that is confident, arrogant, and a tad conceited. The grin was not appealing and somewhat terrifying, but it was real. It was as real as the normal smiles everyone else in the video had on their faces.

Damian hates social media. Nevertheless, he starts to understand why people like it. Seeing his friends and himself like this was… it was nice. He wants to share it with the people he cares about who weren’t there so they can feel as happy as he does when looking back on the memory he didn’t care about at the moment. Damian just wishes the rest of the world didn’t have to see it.

Jonathan struggled under the blazing summer sun as he pushed the mower across the dense lawn of his elderly neighbor, Ms. Ruth. The elderly lady wasn’t very mobile at her age to keep up with such a large rural property. Seizing the opportunity, Jonathan offered to take care of it for some cash. He expected to only do the front yard, but somehow he ended up caring for the entire 3-acre property.

All of this work for only $7.25 an hour. She wouldn’t pay more since that was their minimum wage and he was just a child. That doesn’t feel right. Aren’t people supposed to live off of the minimum wage? Jon might be bad at math, but that doesn’t sound livable for adults. He’s been doing this for several days and he barely has enough to cover a quarter of their expenses on the receipt Damian gave him.

Jon wishes he could confidently use his powers to make the chore go by faster. Then again, unlike his father’s crops, he wouldn’t feel as guilty if Ms. Ruth’s lawn went up in flames.

“You’re doing great, Jonno!” Conner rouses from their porch across the dirt road, sipping on a refreshing cup of lemonade. “You’re halfway there!”

“Conner, you’re not helping!” Jonathan shouts as the mower gets caught on a tall section of grass.

“What do you mean? I’m moral support!” The teenager signifies holding his glass to cheer his brother on. “Besides, you won’t take my money, so this is all I can do.”

“One: it’s not your money, it’s your dad’s!” Jon grunts between pushing the mower. “And two: I can’t take your money! If I take your money then I’m indebted to you and I don’t need to owe more people!”

“When did you get so stubborn?”

“When did you get so annoying?”

“Annoying? Hey, I’m cool, not annoying!”

“You can be both!”

“Boys!” Clark calls as he slides out from under a red pickup truck in the driveway. “If you want to chat, don’t do it from across the street! The whole neighborhood can hear you two from here. Both of ya can walk to the other if you have to say something.”

“Sorry, Pa.”

“Yes, Dad.”

The man stands up and wipes his greasy hands on denim overalls as he walks to the border of his property. “Jon, that’s enough for the day! You can finish the rest tomorrow!”

“Okay, Dad!” The child sighs in relief as he turns off the mower so he can return it to Ms. Ruth’s shed. 

His father inspects his work while Jon is gone and gives the boy a thumbs up as he returns home. “Great job, buddy! Nice even lines and no missed spot; just like I taught ya. Although, I think the blades on Ms. Ruth’s lawnmower need replacing. I’ll see if I can do something about that before you go back to work.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Jon says as he heads inside followed by his brother. “Don’t you have anything better to do than watch me cut grass all day?”

“Whaaaaaa? No, of course, I don’t. Spending time with you is the best way I can spend my time-”

“Your friends were busy, weren’t they?” Jonathan guesses.

“Yep.” Conner instantly folds with a sigh. “Man, it’s summer! There’s no school, so why does everyone have to be busy?”

“I dunno. What are they doing?” Jon asks as the pair wash up for dinner. The older Kent sibling shrugs then stretches his arms behind his back and twists his spine, causing a disturbing amount of pops and cracks. Jonathan cringes at the sound. “Why do you and Kara do that all the time?”

“Being a superhero is a lot of stress on the body. Cracking your back does wonders to release tension and feels great. Want to try it?” Conner offers as he gets behind Jon and puts one hand on his shoulder and the other on his elbow.

“Uhh… Sure.” Jonathan hesitantly agrees, shaking his wet hands off in the sink. “Is this going to hurt?”

“Of course not,” The teenager soothes. “Now how do I do this on someone else?”

“Wait, what--”

“Here we go!” Conner twists his brother’s body with a sickening crack that did not sound as relieving as it does when Conner did it to himself.

“Aaaarrrrrrrggggggggghhhhhhhh!” Jonathan cries as he drops to the tile floor in pain.

“Oh shit, oh shit!” The older boy drops to his knees as he examines the younger boy with his X-ray vision to see if he broke anything.

Hurried footsteps rush up the steps as Clark checks on his children with a fire extinguisher in hand. “What’s wrong, who’s on fire!?”

“No one’s on fire, I broke Jon’s back!” Conner panics. “I’m the worst brother ever! He already stopped thinking I was cool and now he’ll think I’m a fuck up!”

“Argh! Can you stop making my pain about you and help me!?” The boy on the floor urges while holding his sides. 

“Right! You’re still broken!”

“Settle down, nothing’s broken,” Their father comforts, handing Conner the fire extinguisher. He examines his youngest child with his x-ray vision then shakes his head, making his eldest son hysterical.

“Holy shit, he’s not going to make it!”

“What!? Am I going to die!? I can’t die!”

“HE’S GOING TO DIE!”

“I’M GOING TO DIE!”

It takes a while for Clark to calm his sons down and inform them that no one is dying or severely injured. A bit bruised is the more accurate term for it, but it should only last a day at most. He scolds the two for trying something dangerous before he cooks dinner before his wife gets home from work.

Jonathan is lying on his stomach while Conner creates a small slab of ice to place on a towel atop Jon’s back. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to almost give you a lifelong back injury.”

“It’s okay, I forgive you.” The half-Kryptonian speaks through the pillow. “As long as you never do it again.”

“Yep, got it.” Conner plops next to Jon’s feet and gets on his phone to waste some time before dinner. 

He scrolls through his feed for a couple of minutes, occasionally showing Jon some funny videos or posts about superheroes, when his eye catches something interesting. Suddenly an unusual stiffness from the teenager forewarns something wrong. As Jon cranes his neck to look at his brother he sees Conner acting like he wasn’t just acting strange. It was like he was hiding something.

“What is it?” When Jon’s brother hums comically, Jonathan clarifies. “You paused. What were you looking at just now?”

There is a reluctant glint in the teen’s eyes before he answers with the utmost fake confidence. “Porn. I am looking at hardcore porn.”

“We both know I don’t know what that is and that you’re lying.” The 11-year-old points out. “So either you tell me the truth, or you have to stick to your guns and explain what porn is.”

Whatever porn is, it’s apparently far worse than what Conner was actually looking at. “Alright, but you have to promise not to be mad.”

“I can’t promise to control how I feel. That doesn’t make sense.” 

“Alright, then promise not to do that glowing thing you did the last time you got mad, or at least try.”

That was something manageable. “I promise to try my best to not do the glowing thing.”

Cautiously, Conner flips the phone over for Jon to see. There’s no reaction. That’s a lie, the reaction is Jonathan’s lack of reaction. It is as if he went into a state of complete and utter zen the second the screen was revealed. Without permission, Jonathan takes the phone and clicks on the account. Conner watches helplessly as half of him wants to take back the phone while the other half wants to see what he does next. 

Slowly, Jonathan gets up from the bed, leaving Conner’s phone behind, and walks over to the calendar next to his desk. He looks at the clock on his nightstand and waits for a minute to pass before crossing out today’s date. Then he circles the last seven days in green before putting the pen down.

“Jonno?” Conner hesitantly calls, trying to figure out his brother’s behavior.

“Dad, I’m going to Damian’s for a bit!”

“Has it been a week like your mom said?” The man inquires from the kitchen over the sound of banging pots and pans.

“Yes!”

“Only for a little bit; you can’t go skipping dinner with the family!”

“I won’t!” Jon reassures as he heads for his parent’s room where they keep the teleporter.

“Jon, Jon, what are you going to do?” Conner presses as he follows.

“I’m going to talk with Damian,” Jonathan informs his brother calmly. He inputs the coordinates he memorized by heart into the tele-pad in the closet before looking his brother in the eye as his rage finally cracks through the facade. “If I come back late, I killed him.”

“Woah, wait, what-”

“Bye!”

Damian was currently in his room with Maps and Colin as they worked on their first planned livestream. Damian needed to do something that he had some semblance of control over, so when this particular suggestion was brought up he jumped on it. A Question and Answer event should be easy as the youngest Wayne is particularly good at thinking on his feet and there was no way something could go wrong.

He and his servants (friends) went over all the topics they could answer, how to answer them, information to omit, and the types of questions they were willing to read live. Everyone in the house knows not to bother him so there won’t be any interruptions. His room has been censored of any information that could be detrimental, and Titus is in the background to distract the audience if something goes wrong. Everything should be perfect. He’s going to be fine.

Maps give him a thumbs-up from behind the camera while Colin works the tablet connected to the phone to read the chat. The turnout isn't anything crazy, but right under ten thousand is still significant. These people are more interested in the persona the company made for him, but views are views.

“We are live in 3, 2, 1!” Maps count down and nod once they are officially live.

Damian stares awkwardly at the camera for a few seconds before going into his opening. “Um, hi! Sorry, this is a bit weird, but I hope you don’t mind. I’m not a talkative person, so sorry if I uh… Ya know- pause a lot.” He says, doing his best to act like a normal person for once in his life. He practiced this. Every stutter, every smile, every shy glance away from the camera all scream amateur and average.

His friends privately share a questionable glance, but neither of them says anything. “I didn’t think this many people would care about the stupid stuff I post. A lot of you want to know me better, so I thought this was a good idea. I’m not sure if it was a good idea though. Oh! My friends Maps and Colin are helping me today since I’m pretty new to this thing. Say hi guys!”

Maps point the camera to Colin who waves at it then to herself who grins and holds up the peace sign with her fingers. The camera goes back to Damian who shuffles side to side absentmindedly in his office chair. “Alright, now that that is out of the way, let’s ask some questions!”

@JokersBitch 1s
Does Bruce Wayne have a pool of gold coins?

@H+I69 1s
Awww look at him he's so shy 🥺

@Bats&Birds 1s
How did it feel to punch the Joker? You living the dream!

Questions and comments scroll by in quick succession. Even though there are a reasonable amount of comments, it was too many for Colin to comprehend so he pauses the chat and picks the least intimidating comment. “Uh, does your dad have a pool of gold coins?”

Unfazed, Damian feigns a chuckle and replies, “No, that wouldn’t be practical. We do have a pool, but it’s just water. I think a magazine took pictures of it in a magazine a few years ago.”

@Magnolias2Tulips  
He’s so adorable omg! I just want to squish his cheeks! 🐹

@heroeswatchanime
Do you like anime?

@phoOFF224
How does it feel being the only one NOT adopted?

“Um, uuuuh… Do you like anime?” Colin reads as the chat hastens much to his dismay.

“Yes. I’m a fairly casual viewer so I only know what’s popular, but I like what I’ve watched so far.” Damian answers causing Maps to poorly hide a snort. “What?”

“Fairly casual? I know for a fact you watch it religiously.” She reveals without shame.

“Okay, fine. I really like anime.”

“Shoujo anime.”

“You’re trying to reveal everything about me?”

“No, just the funny parts!”

“Next question.”

@2facedidnothingwrong
Is Wayne really your dad? You don’t look like him. Your brothers look more like him than you do.

@408408q03
OMG 💘 look at the doggo! LOOK AT IT!

@JLAOrgy
Forget the kid! WHO IS THAT GOOD BOI BEHIND YOU!?!

@Monk-E=mc^2  
Show us the Dog! 🔫

Colin frowns at some of the questions coming up, but he pauses the chat on a part where it focuses on something more wholesome. “They want to see more of Titus.”

“Because he’s wonderful.” Damian boasts with a bit of his genuine pride shining through. “This is Titus, my Great Dane. I adopted him when I first moved to Gotham. I trained him myself, and he’s very well-behaved. Sit.” He sits. “Shake.” He shakes his paw in Damian’s hand. “Go to bed.” Titus leaps onto the bed and lies on his back like a person would. 

“Perfect! Good job, now go relax.” Damian hands the smart dog a treat from a jar on his bookshelf. Afterward, the massive canine relaxes on the lounge chaise in his room to gnaw on the bone treat. “What’s next?”

@GothamUSux
How does it feel being the richest kid in America?

@MetropolisBorn1997
Are your brothers single? Fuck, is your sister single? I’m okay with both.

@villiansneedhugs
What are your hobbies?

Colin is about to ask Damian about his hobbies, believing it to be the best question since Damian has a plethora of activities he can impress people with when the room entrance slams open. The walls shook from the door banging into the wall, its handle leaving a dent in the thick wood.

“DAMIAAAAN WAAAAAAAYNE!” The newcomer viscerally roars with pure wrath dripping out Damian’s name like a curse. “You have some explaining to do!”

@Bats&Birds  
WTF is that?

@مرحبًا ابن عمة 💖

🗡️🗡️🗡️

@TTGoAway  
I know that tone anywhere and let me tell you that boy is in so much trouble, IDK what he did but you better start apologizing.

@LuvLiveLove  
⚠️ RUN DAMIAN RUN ⚠️

@42069666123  
Abort! Abort! Jump out the window!

Before Maps could reflexively turn her body (and therefore the camera) to the stranger, the youngest Wayne child throws a notebook at her to knock the device out of her hand. “Don’t you dare look at him!”

“What- huh?! Who is this?!? The girl questions as Colin dives for the phone to turn it off. "What do you think you’re doing!?”

“Who am I? Who are you?! What the heck do you think you’re doing?! Why didn’t anyone here try to stop him!?” The tall boy with wavy midnight locks and blue eyes marred by his rage scolds. “What kind of friends are you!?”

“Damian is allowed to do whatever he wants! You have no say in it!”

“He doesn’t want this!” The other shouts march up to Maps who doesn’t back down from the intimidating presence. “And I do have a say in it since I’m the one he’s forcing himself to do this for! Now move out of the way so I can kill him for it!”

Colin finally shuts down the stream and turns off the phone leaving the audience completely in the dark. Thankfully they didn’t see the confrontation, but they heard the last bit before it ended. They have come to their own conclusions about what they heard.

@Magnolias2Tulips
Yo, I think Damian just fucking died

Meanwhile, Maps is quickly putting the pieces of the puzzle together as she cranes her neck far up to look the other in the eye, “You’re Jonathan… Wow, you’re a lot taller than I thought you’d be. Are you sure he’s younger than us?”

“You’ve been talking about me behind my back too!” Jonathan accuses, rudely pushing past the older girl to get to Damian.

“Habibi, I can explain!”

“You better have a good explanation because if you don’t I’m throwing you out the window!”

“I’m doing this for us!”

“THAT’S IT! TO THE WINDOW WITH YOU!”

Maps recoils from the attack, rubbing her shoulder where she was shoved, and looks at Colin judgingly. “I thought you said he was nice.”

“He is… or was.” The redhead flinches as the two start a physical altercation with Jon trying to pick Damian up while Damian fluidly escapes his grasp like an unruly cat. “We should probably leave.”

“Wait, I kinda want to see where this goes.” Maps protests.

“I don’t.” Colin reaffirms, dragging them out of the room and locking the door behind him.

Jonathan lunges for Damian, who bounds over his bed to put distance between them as he tries to look for the words to get him out of the situation. “Jonathan, it’s not as bad as you think it is. There’s nothing wrong with trying to earn money for us--”

“Is that what you think I’m mad about?!” The taller child bristles, scrambling onto the bed and shaking his partner by the collar of his shirt. “Cause I am, but not as mad as I am at you sub… subgergating? suspecting?”

“Subjecting.” The preteen corrects.

“Yes, thank you.” Jonathan appreciates politely before going back to being angry. “Not as mad as I am about you subjecting yourself to something you hate for me! Not only that but have you seen some of the comments on your stuff? ”

“-Tt- Bold of you to assume I’m doing this only for you,” Damian argues, yanking himself out of Jon’s grip. “Maybe I’m doing this for myself as well. And what do you know about what I’m doing? You don’t know anything about social media.”

Blue eyes stare at the older boy like he grew two heads. “Okay, first off, my brother’s sister is Lena Luthor the Second. You know, the girl who’s had a social media team since she was in kindergarten. Of course I know what an influencer is; she’s annoying about it.” He bluntly points out. “Secondly, I know you’d never do this for yourself because you believe, ‘social media was a mistake that ignorant plebeians exploit to feel validated for opinions they have no right having.’”

“... Why do you have to be a good listener?” Damian groans.

“I don’t know. Why do you try doing everything for me even though I told you it makes me feel useless.” Jonathan ripostes. “I know you have control issues, but this has to be something else. You treat me like I can’t do anything myself. You don’t even let me do paperwork! You don’t want to stress me out, but seeing you unhappy stresses me out more than doing some hard work. And we both know what happens when I’m stressed out. I already slipped up in front of Conner”

“I know, I know but-- Hold up, you what?”

“Let’s finish this first before talking about what I did.”

“Right, okay, fine.” Damian massages the bridge of his nose as he makes sure to mentally put a pin in that. “You’re not useless.”

“You have such a way with words. You know exactly what to say to piss me off.”

“I’m serious. I’ve told you before and I’ll keep telling you that because it’s true. I wasn’t lying when I said I don’t want you to be stressed about having to live up to the standard I have for myself. As you can see, it does wonders for me.” He says that last part with sarcasm. “And it’s not about you.”

“Really? Because you only ever seem to go this far when it’s about me.” Jonathan points out.

“Okay, it’s about you but not in the way you think.”

“Then what is it? Because from my side, it looks like you don’t think I can do anything and to make up for that you ignored everything you stand for.” Jon asks, lying on the bed as Damian sits across him on the seat with Titus.

“No, I just wanted to- urgh, do we have to do this?”

“Damian.”

“Fine. I like you being dependent on me.” Damian finally confesses. “I care about you and find the fact I am able to do things for you appealing. I know I’m skilled in things you might never get to even try, nor should you have to. I like it when you need me to do things because it gives me a sense of superiority and control over your well-being and happiness. I like to be needed, and I especially like to be needed by you since you’re the person closest to me out of your own volition rather than being forced to see me as family. If you started doing things on your own then you’ll see you won’t need me in your life. There. Happy?”

Jon stares at Damian for an entire minute before speaking. “You know that’s messed up, right?”

“I am aware I’m messed up.”

“No, not that. Ignoring the fact you need to see your therapist again, I don’t need you; I want you.” Jonathan tells him without shame or hesitation. “You don’t need to be useful. I already told you you need to be my friend, and you haven’t been doing that.”

“I’m sorry.” Damian apologizes looking at the ground.

“If you don’t care that I’m useless--”

“I never said that.”

“Then you shouldn’t care about being useful.” The child finishes.

“I’ll try, but it’s going to be hard.” Damian promises. “And stop thinking you’re useless.”

“I’ll try.” Jonathan mirrors. “Unless you want to keep going against everything you stand for, you should probably stop whatever this,” He points at Damian’s work phone. “Is.”

“You’re right.” Damian concedes with a sigh. He chuckles to himself and pets his dog. “It’s funny, my father tried to convince me to stop as well.”

“He should’ve just told me and I would’ve beaten some sense into you.”

“Don’t put ideas into his head. I don’t want him tattling to you every time I do something.”

Jonathan barks out a laugh and sits up with a pained grimace. “Ow!”

“What’s wrong?”

“It's nothing. Conner hurt my back trying to crack it.”

Emerald eyes roll at the information. “I leave you alone for one week.”

“Hey, I was grounded. You’re lucky that I didn’t find out sooner or I would’ve actually tossed you out the window.”

“I would’ve been fine. It’s not like you’ll ever get strong enough to hurt me that way without your powers.”

There’s another pause in the conversation before Jonathan finally makes good on his promise and flings Damian out of his third-story window.

Chapter Text

Titan’s Tower: a wonder of post-modern architecture that is a beacon of inspiration for the citizens of Jump City, California! Over a decade, the T-shaped building off the coast housed the Teen Titans! As the first official superhero team composed of young heroes, mostly sidekicks of established heroes, they paved the way for children to prove they have what it takes to kick butt, take names, and save the day. 

As the teenagers grew into adults and the team’s reach expanded, Titan’s Tower gradually became barren of young heroes. When Young Justice was formed, the Teen Titans officially became just the Titans. While Young Justice filled in the role of gathering and training young heroes, something was missing in the heroing world. Young Justice was directly affiliated with the Justice League and operated advanced technology, career advancement, constant oversight, and a strict team dynamic.

The Teen Titans’ casual dynamic was a breath of fresh air when compared to the stagnant professionalism of Young Justice. The general public was not allowed a glimpse into how superheroes operated with each other. All anyone saw were small moments amid battle or a hero’s public statement. Having the only wide-scale juvenile superhero team being supervised by the Justice League was unappealing to everyone. There was a monopoly on heroism; if a hero was not a part of it, they didn’t exist.

Enter the New Teen Titans, a group of five teenage heroes from varying backgrounds unassociated with the JLA! They were a team that quickly took Jump City by storm with fun quips and a dynamic that was not only interesting to watch but easy to record. They even had an official social media page that gave the public a curated peek into life inside the tower.

First, there is Djinn: A genie free from her lamp seeking redemption for all the selfish wishes she was forced to grant over the last 4,000 years. Second is Roundhouse: the social media manager of the New Teen Titans and human wrecking ball. Afterward, there’s Red Arrow: a quiet badass who makes up for her lack of history with dangerous precision. Next comes Crush: the intergalactic underground fighting ring champion and rumored daughter of Lobo. Lastly, they have Kid Flash: a young speedster who is as kind as they are fast.

All of this information can be found in their official social media bios!

The New Teen Titan debut was a resounding success with people tuning in when they streamed their battles live. While there was controversy surrounding the decision to give these teenagers a presence online, it was their decision. The group argued with their predecessors to allow the change to bring them into the modern era. Crime fighting was becoming a battle of public opinion just as much as it was on the battlefield.

The New Teen Titans were careful in how they acted in public just as much as the other teams. Getting too personal online or in person could lead to disastrous results. Thankfully they had resources and support from the Titans to ensure they maintained their distance, their privacy, and their dignity. Some heroes had their reservations, but none of them outright hated them. That was until the planned debut of their newest team members.

“What!?” Wally West, the original Kid Flash and current Flash, yelps in response to his kid’s confession. The twins came back after disappearing for a few minutes only to drop the bombshell that they didn't want to be in the New Teen Titans. The timing couldn't be worse as an audience is currently waiting for them to make their debut.

Linda elbows her husband in the gut before kneeling to her children’s height. “What he means to say is that it’s never too late to back out, but can we know why?”

Irey frowns and nervously pulls on her auburn pigtails while Jai hides behind her. “Well… we didn’t want to disappoint you, Dad.”

“Yeah,” Her brother chimes in. “You got excited about us joining the Teen Titans. You always talked about how much fun you had with your friends and wanted us to be the same.”

“We want to be just like you, but we don’t want to have your life,” Irey continues, now yanking on the rabbit ears of her beige costume. “Look at us! We’re not even named like our family. Flash, Impulse, Boom, and Quick-- all of those at least sound similar! Jai and I are named after animals!”

“But you picked your names,” Wally points out, scratching his curly hair.

“Yeah, but I couldn’t think of a better one since Impulse was already taken!” The little girl shouts with frustration. “If I knew I could just be Impulse anyways I would’ve done so! I mean, you’re the Flash and Great Uncle Barry is also the Flash! Why didn’t I think of that!?”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t have picked Tortoise if she didn’t pick Hare,” Jai comments, shuffling beside his twin. “I would’ve been Surge or something. Everything is moving too fast. It’s scary and now people are waiting for us to do something we didn’t want to do.”

Wally stares at his children with a sad expression, not directed at them but at himself for not noticing. They’re young, not even in the double digits. Of course, this was a mistake and he should’ve realized it earlier. He scoops his twins in a big bear hug and holds them for a minute. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pressure you guys. I wanted you to be happy and watch you grow as a team. I should’ve done what was best for you, and not what was best for me.”

“But we are in a team,” His son states, wrapping his arms around his dad’s neck.

“Yeah, we’re the Flash family! We’re already a team; the best team!” Iris finishes, nearly crushing Wally’s neck with her embrace.

“Oof! When did you get so strong?” The father jokes.

Linda watches her family with a smile before remembering the crowd outside. “I’m going to tell Nightwing about our change in plans. Let’s just turn this into… a meet and greet with the Teen Titans.”

“A meet and greet?” A young voice questions from the entrance of the trailer. The West family turns to meet the newcomer to see a young chubby teen with bright yellow hair in a bowl cut and blue skin walk in. “You know, you should really tell us these things before we get here. I’ll need some table, a lot of paper, and-- oh man I forgot to practice my autograph! Do the twins even have a signature yet? You know what, we'll call it a collector's item!"

"Roundhouse, I love the enthusiasm and the quick thinking, but… well…" Wally tries to tell the boy the truth.

"We don't want to join the Teen Titans," Irey states, ripping the band-aid off.

"Oh, okay," Roundhouse says nonchalantly.

"You're not mad?" Jai asks.

"Me? Not really. I don’t think anyone on the team will be. Here, watch." He leans back and makes several hand gestures to call his team over. "Hey guys, they don't want to join; are you mad?"

"Huh? Really?" An African American teen with a box cut and dressed in the iconic yellow flash uniform asks. "That true?"

A girl with long curly hair in a loose purple cotton dress floats into the trailer with a relaxed and patient smile. "Of course we're not mad,” She comforts, putting a hand on each of their shoulders. “We'd love to have you with us, however, our teammates should want to be on the team. You should do what is best for you!"

"Djinn’s right,” Kid Flash agrees, shielding his disappointment to soothe his cousins. “I'm kinda bummed I won't work with you two, but it's not the end of the world."

The loud crunch of metal directs everyone’s attention to the door frame where a muscular teenager is banging her head. Normally that would hurt someone, but the trailer took more damage in this case. "I'm mad! Did no one ask them if they wanted this before we flew here!? I had to cancel Katie for this!" An older teen with a red hood covering her short black bob nudges her harshly. "What? I didn't say I was mad at them !"

"Start with that next time," The hooded girl, Red Arrow, bluntly states.

"Sorry guys!" Jai apologizes and gives them a thumbs up. "Maybe we'll change our minds about a team one day."

"So, why now? Did something happen?" Red Arrow questions, closing the door behind her.

"Every hero we know is on a big team, so we felt like we had to do it-" Irey begins to say.

"Then Flamebird came in talking about how you guys suck." Jai finishes.

"Who?" Djinn asks.

"What?" Kid Flash follows, startled by the accusation.

"Yeah, and he has a point," Irey agrees, unaware of the change in atmosphere as she playfully wobbles side to side. "Being ourselves sounds way cooler than being in the Teen Titans!"

"We don’t think you suck,” Jai assures. “But having our names attached to a team sounds like it sucks."

"Do you want to be like Knightwing and Flamebird?" Wally cautiously asks, worried that his children would try to go off on their own.

"No, they're still weirdos," Irey says unapologetically.

"And Knightwing is a jerk who should stub his pinky toe on tables forever." Jai practically hisses with hatred.

The Teen Titans were disappointed by the news the twins wouldn’t join them, however, they were more curious about people who convinced them not to. It’s odd how someone the kids seemingly dislike could give them a new perspective in a short amount of time. After dealing with the aftermath of the event, the group was still thinking about the conversation earlier. They all had one question in mind: Who are Knightwing and Flamebird?

"Alright, I did a quick scan of the internet--" Kid Flash states, trying to make what he was doing sound complicated only to be immediately shut down by Roundhouse.

"Pfft! So you used Google?" He snorts, leaning over his seat in their jet to look at the phone.

"I used Bing."

"Who the fuck uses Bing?" Crush bashes without remorse, looking at her teammate like a stranger.

"Psychopaths," Red Arrow voices.

"It’s just the one my phone has, give me a break!” The speedster groans. “Anyways, I looked them up and they're a small team. Like, a really small team."

“Duh, it’s just two kids."

"I'm not talking about their numbers; I'm talking about their scale." Kid Flash explains, pulling up a clip of them sweeping the streets of Metropolis. "They deal exclusively in community service without a proper base of operations. They just do it wherever they are."

"That's it?"

"Officially. They only have two mentions on local news and less than a handful of short articles." He switches tabs to one of the first social media sites he saw. "Look at what people are saying about them."

@InTheStars 1 month ago
Just saw two kids do what an entire municipal government has failed to do for 10yrs: FIX THE FUCKING ROADS HOLY FUCK HOW HARD IS IT PEOPLE!?
🗯5  ↻10 ♡31

@3itches3E 3 weeks ago
↳Why do we have Green Arrow again? Get rid of the bow and grab a broom f you want to help people
🗯0  ↻ 1 ♡4

@SupermanLeftPec   1 week ago
Did anyone else notice their monthly cleaning fee got slightly cheaper this month? We need more heroes to do this shit i got other bills to pay! 💸💸💸
🗯3  ↻ 17 ♡80

@21490329 1 week ago
↳Wait wait wait! You have to pay for that in your country?! UK here, just asking because WTF
🗯2  ↻ 8 ♡69

@JazzyLaddy<3 1 week ago
🙏quick no one ruin anything so they can safely visit Millennium City! We need help cleaning up! What are their names?
🗯1  ↻ 0 ♡5

@Sinna_himechan 6 days ago
↳B you live in TEXAS that’s already ruined
🗯0  ↻ 0 ♡3

@Not_Official 3 days ago
oMg like so cute❤️❤️! does anyone know if Knightwing and Flamebird will come to Fawcett City anytime soon?
🗯0  ↻ 0 ♡8

@Pizza5lutZ 4 hrs ago
Knightwing and Flamebird in Central City! They’re on the orange line! 🍊🚆
🗯3  ↻ 9 ♡25

@69ToastDaMost69 4 hrs ago
↳Are you following them? That’s weird.
🗯0  ↻ 0 ♡9

@PizzaSlutZ 3 hrs ago
↳NO I’m not a creep
🗯1  ↻ 0 ♡ 0

@HenchBench 3 hrs ago
↳Holy shit, I see them too! They got off at New Brighton! Wonder what they’re going to do this time?
🗯0  ↻ 0 ♡3

"I don't see the big deal, they're helping people. It doesn’t matter if they don’t like us,” Djinn comments, crowding around the group who have all converged to Kid Flash’s seat. “Who’s flying the plane?"

After that, the Teen Titans didn’t think about the small-time heroes since they had more pressing issues to keep them occupied. This includes the Brotherhood of Evil trying to set off the nuclear reactor in their city and H.I.V.E trying to take over the world again. Their most recent mission had them stop Cinderblock from smashing the Gateway Bridge.

As they posed for pictures by the adoring public citizens and the news media Red Arrow noticed something odd in the distance. She hadn’t watched cable television for a long time. Most people use the internet to keep up with everything so it’s unusual that she watches TV of her own volition. However, in the distance, there was a sports bar with a large window in the front broadcasting something more sinister than the Jump City Tigers' latest game.

A little boy was tied up on what looked like to be a vintage circus trapeze while a man in red spandex monologues. It’s a rather retro image since that’s not how supervillains operate these days. She nudges the Roundhouse in the forearm hard enough to make him stumble and nearly knock off his goggles.

“Ow! What the heck Arrow?” The younger teen grumbles, gathering his footing.

“Something is happening on TV.”

“What TV?” He asks and leans over to where she was looking before. “You can see that? It’s so far away that I can’t tell what’s going on.”

“I’ll check it out!” Kid Flash declares after having heard the dilemma. He’s gone for about ten seconds, not because he’s slow but because he needed time to watch what was going on, before coming back with a worried expression. “Oooookay, so… I didn’t get everything but from what I saw it wasn’t good. Flamebird and some other adults have been kidnapped by some crazy guy talking to himself. And I don’t mean talking like an evil villain monologue, but he’s saying sentences without words.”

“Do we need to help?” Djinn questions with worry as Roundhouse takes out his phone to find out more.

“Yeah, where are they? We can beat up the guy and save them!” Crush states, punching her fist into her palm threateningly.

“Let’s get back to the tower to see if we can do anything,” Red Arrow states, pressing the button on her teleporter belt.

The rest of the team follows suit and Roundhouse immediately takes his place at the Titan’s supercomputer. He tosses his phone to Kid Flash as he begins to pull up any information he can find using digital archives, facial recognition, and video-enhancing software. He pulls up one window for their research, another to display the broadcast, and a third to scan the internet for the public reaction on social media.

“They’re in Coast City, so we’re in the same state. The guy is named Otto Fisher (a.k.a Aerialist) and he was released from the local penitentiary where he was serving a 30-year sentence for attempted murder. It says here he currently lives in the Broome Halfway House.”

“You got all of that from one search?” Djinn asks, thoroughly impressed by the computer. They’d only ever looked up well-known people so she didn’t think it would get them anything on someone they’d never heard about.

“Duh, we have an advanced database. We have all kinds of information on this thing.” The blue-skinned teen boasts proudly. “God I love being on the Teen Titans!”

“Wait, what’s that?” Crush points at the broadcast where their computer is set to automatically scan the faces of whoever is on screen for their name (Or aliases for privacy). “I don’t think we ever got a reading like that before.”

Flamebird, who has his face openly on display, had a completely new reading on display. Usually, if someone is not in the database, the reading would simply say that they’re unknown. Right now the captions above his head read, “RESTRICTED: LEVEL 10 CLEARANCE REQUIRED.”

“What does it mean by level 10? How do we not have top clearance on our supercomputer?” Kid Flash shouts, holding the sides of his head. “I didn’t even know we had clearance levels! If we’re not level 10, then who is?!”

Before they thought to look into it more, the broadcast became static. Worried he’s lost the signal, Roundhouse attempts to override the satellite to give them a clearer display. Thankfully it comes back on its own, but the scene with the Aerialist is gone. All that can be seen now is a young boy partially obscured in shade sitting on an expensive desk in a bland beige office.

The hooded boy kept his face hidden by technology and the shadows. The only parts of his digitally scrambled face that were clear were the stark white eyes of his mask and a menacing grin. He looked like a relentless phantom as he threatened the cameraman, probably being held against his will, to keep him in the frame.

In the next five minutes, Knightwing dramatically reveals all of Benjamin Bloch’s crimes pertaining to the current predicament in true vintage supervillain fashion. Unlike the maddening rambles of the Aerialist, he was subdued, concise, condescending, and taking pleasure in seeing his victims suffer as he exposed their wrongdoings.

“Then what’s the point of this if not to try and punish me!?” The tied-up CEO questions, his desperation, and his fear are unable to be masked by his anger. “ANSWER ME!”

Knightwing’s feral grin widens as he speaks to the older man in a sickly sweet voice, a mockery of an innocent child. “Benjamin~, Oh Benjamin!” He coos with manic delight. “Let me answer all your questions!”

“It’s giving serial killer,” Kid Flash shivers, uncomfortable by the display as he watches the events unfold. “Who are we supposed to be saving?”

Crush watches the explanation as she crosses her arms, her grey skin tensing as her posture becomes stiff. “No one. Bloch fucked around and found out.”

“Crush!” Djinn chastises with a gasp.

“What? If someone kidnapped my girlfriend I’d dox the shit out of them. Everyone will know where they live, what elementary school they went to, and all their social media handles. Hell, I’ll even post their Spotify playlist!”

“That’s unethical,” Djinn rebuttals. “Just because he committed this crime doesn’t mean heroes should expose everything they’ve ever done.”

“Crush, we’re heroes.” Red Arrow states. “ All of this is technically hearsay. We’re not supposed to be exposing people like that. Even if the man did something awful he’ll never get put to justice through this.”

“I think Knightwing knows that,” Roundhouse says, turning their attention back to the screen.

"I won’t get you convicted in a court of law alone, but the court of public opinion is merciless!” Knightwing proclaims victoriously with his arms spread wide as if to display something grand. "Let the camera be on you, on us, instead of letting a man you pushed into a psychotic episode!”

“It’s not about justice,” Djinn concludes, floating closer to the monitors. “It’s about shifting blame. He’s poisoning the potential jury pool for Otto Fisher. No one would rightfully convict the man who kidnapped Flamebird if they can point the blame to someone else.”

“And you don’t need the law for an online lynch mob,” Roundhouse informs them as he goes to where the preteen hero leaked the information he said he would. “All of Bloch’s Cargo Company’s documents are where he said they’d be. I’m downloading all of it now.”

Kid Flash quickly reads everything on the screen. “Tax evasion, illegal transactions, document forgeries, suspicious checks, and… Internet search history. That’s unnecessary.”

“And hilarious! Let me see! Is he a furry?” Crush laughs excitedly, pushing the Speedster out of the way. “Damn it, he just has a foot fetish. That’s the most boring one!”

“Still something I didn’t want to know. How many times can one guy look up Wonder Woman feet pics before it’s too weird?” Roundhouse cringes, minimizing the window to see what else is going on. “People are already posting their opinions about it.”

@JLA1o1 1 min ago
Uhhhhh are we sure Knightwing is a good guy?
🗯1  ↻ 0 ♡2

@69ToastDaMost69 1 min ago
↳FUCK YEAH HE IS! DO LUTHOR NEXT! 💰🗡️
🗯0  ↻ 0 ♡10

@Magnolia2Tulips 1 min ago
Ladies, find yourself a man that loves you enough to dox a billionaire on live TV 😩
🗯0  ↻ 89 ♡567

@LexPhone69 3 min ago
How the fuck did Flamebird get kidnapped? What’s even happening?
🗯8  ↻ 1k ♡965

@Xx_CutieBeauty_xX 3 min ago
↳Same. I have no context for anything that’s going on. All I know is that someone told me to watch TV which, lol, who tf has cable?
🗯5  ↻ 1.2k ♡1k

@Gurl4Squirls 3 min ago
↳Okay, so I was there from the beginning. Knightwing and Flamebird were at the volunteer event and this fucker comes out of nowhere and kidnaps Flamebird and two other people. IDK who they are, but Knightwing left the area after to do whatever this is. Also he told my brother to write a letter to our uni cause there are no ramps. Seriously, WTF UCCC
🗯0  ↻ 311 ♡572

@Book3itches 3 min ago
↳Hold up, Knightwing visited the library first to look in the archives! I was inside when the librarian let him in! He was researching something.
🗯0  ↻ 0 ♡0

@777LuckMa5ter 2 min ago
↳I also saw them earlier in the therapy dog room! Knightwing tried to steal a dog and needed 10 people to pry him away
🗯1  ↻ 9  ♡35

@I8CheeseXD 2 min ago
↳At that point just give him the dog 🐕
🗯0  ↻ 0 ♡17

@LiveRoundsofFun 2 min ago
↳❤️I saw them at the beach clean-up! They’re so cute!❤️
🗯0  ↻ 0 ♡9

@JemmEms 1 min ago
↳Am I the only one who didn’t see them today? 😭💔
🗯0  ↻ 0 ♡0

@LexPhone69 1 min ago
↳Okay, none of this answers my question. How the fuck does someone with powers gets kidnapped? How useless do you have to be to break concrete but not stop an old man?
🗯0  ↻ 0 ♡0

@CentralCLife 3 min ago
Wow Read the knightwing leak Hint: Ctrl F Wonder Woman + Feet
🗯0  ↻ 0 ♡9

@SupermanLeftPec 1 min ago
↳Thanks I hate it
🗯0  ↻ 0 ♡9

@Green_Mean_Bean 3 min ago
I didn’t even know Bloch Cargo was still in business after that politician tried to kill Ferris 🤔🩸🔪
🗯0  ↻ 0 ♡9

@Plane<3 3 min ago
#BoycottBloch
🗯0  ↻ 0 ♡9

@BlueBelongs2PD 3 min ago
Guys think. All of this information could have been faked. He just wants to blame Bloch for something
🗯0  ↻ 0 ♡9

@Eat_The_Rich12 1 min ago
↳or (hear me out) The police would never do anything to the rich and no one else is doing anything
🗯0  ↻ 0 ♡9

@CoastalTatterTot 3 min ago
Y’ALL! Flamebird just burnt down the building he was being held hostage in! BURN BABY BURN! 🔥🎪🔥🎆
🗯0  ↻ 0 ♡9

@DXMajorOofsXD now
↳WAIT WHAT!?
🗯0  ↻ 0 ♡9

“Wait, what?” Kid Flash echoes the comment he just read as Roundhouse looks up anything to confirm what he just read. 

He finds a YouTube Live feed of a college student partially leaning over their apartment window as his roommate is next to him freaking out. He’s pointing at some smoke in the distance but it was too far to see anything over the coastal cliffside. “Bro! Bro what the fuck! What the fuck is that!?”

“I don’t know! Wait-!” The camera pans up to see a little boy in a red cape falling from the sky with a trail of flames touching his cape. “Dude, are you seeing this?”

“Fuck you, Antwone I can’t see shit from here!”

“Wait, he’s holding someone,” The camera begins to zoom in on the figure before something black and blue jumps past the window and uses a grappling hook to swing to the roof.

“Holy fuck, is that Nightwing?!”

“Bro, his ass!”

“I know, but what is he doing here?!”

There was a lot more that was happening with Knightwing and Flamebird than they first believed. Their mentor and leader of the Titans was in Coast City with them, and they doubt it was a coincidence. Knightwing’s interruption of the hijacked broadcast made it impossible to know what happened to Flamebird. 

While the group occasionally thought about what happened in Coast City, their lives became exponentially busier when Doctor Light stole energy from Jump City and when Control Freak dragged Roundhouse into the internet to debate who has better anime knowledge. That wasn’t why their teammate was captured, they’re pretty sure it’s because Control Freak needed a hostage, but that’s what ended up happening.

Being full-time superheroes is hard work, especially when they’re a group of teenagers. Some of them still had to go home to their families and have civilian lives. Others live full-time in the tower where they’re essentially home-schooled by the Titans. Speaking of the Titans, they haven’t seen Nightwing since the short glimpse of him on the news saving Flamebird in Coast City. At least that’s what the news says happened while the reporter interviews Nightwing with Knightwing and Flamebird in the background cleaning up burnt cameras. It’s a shame since they wanted to ask him what happened that day. Speaking of what happened that day-

“Troia ,” Djinn calls out, raising her hand and waiting for the hero to call on her, kicking her bunny slippers at the table with Crush.

“Yes, Djinn?” The Amazonian woman in black spandex with stars sewn throughout replies as he halts her explanation of literature. “Do you have a question about Fahrenheit 451?”

“No, it’s about our computer,” She clarifies. “What is ‘Level 10’ clearance?”

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that,” Crush muses, leaning back in her seat so far only the back two legs were on the floor. “What the fuck is up with that?”

“Xiomara, language.” The woman lightly scolds, setting her smartboard pen down. “What were you doing for that to come up?”

“Hey, don’t blame us! Why aren’t we Level 10?! We’re Titans too!” The Czarnian growls, kicking her boots on the tabletop hard enough for it to crack. “And my name is Crush!”

“Crush, calm down,” Djinn tries to soothe but turns to their mentor with similar conviction. “Troia… We should know what it means because it came up. We don’t know what it means to seek out Level 10 access since we didn’t know it existed. It shouldn’t matter what we were doing.”

The hero sighs and walks closer to them. “Level 10 is the highest level of information access in the JLA and Titans. It contains dangerous world-ending information about sacred rituals, multiversal calamities, and potential threats to high-profile heroes. Even if you had Level 10 clearance, that doesn’t mean you can know everything in that bracket.”

“What clearance are we?”

“Level 7,” She tells them. “Means you have access to most databases about villains and security footage. And before you ask, Level 8 is galactic information about other civilizations, and Level 9 is universal information and secret identities. Now, let’s get back to the lesson.”

“Did you say multiversal calamity and world-ending information!?” Kid Flash shouts, shaking Djinn’s shoulders in a panic later that day. “Why is a child whose main thing is doing community service a Level 10!?”

“I don’t know, that’s just what Troia told us.” Djinn defends as she’s shaking so hard her feet aren’t touching the ground. They’re usually not touching the floor, but that’s because she prefers flying everywhere.

“Does that mean the other Knightwing is also Level 10?” Red Arrow questions, looking at Roundhouse who was eating a cup of noodles.

“Hm?” The tired teen murmurs before noticing he was being spoken to. “Oh, sorry. I stayed up all night for the new sneaker drop. I’m on it” 

He slurps up the rest of his meal and sits at the computer. The young teen types at the keyboard until several screens pop up, most of which fail to scan Knightwing’s face thanks to his unique mask that distorts his face through technology. He’s about to give up when an old post catches his attention. A cellphone picture of a Polaroid by someone from two months ago. It’s grainy even with all of the enhancements their artificial intelligence uses. It was Knightwing and Flamebird on a dingy poorly lit subway posted by a middle schooler from Gotham.

@BatgalLMAO 2 months ago
WTF Batgirl wrecked my Instax and all I have to show for it is this. I didn’t even get a pic of her! Worst day ever! 😢📸
🗯0  ↻ 0 ♡2

Level 9 Clearance Required. Right there in bold letters bracketed above the hero’s head were the words they were dreading to see. 

“LEVEL 9!?” Crush cries out shaking Djinn who is very confused as to why she is being shaken again when she wasn’t even the one to tell them this. “HOW THE FUCK ARE THEY LEVEL 9!”

“It means the adults know who they are,” Red Arrow points out. “They have to know who they are for them to even be that high on the clearance levels.”

Kid Flash suspiciously squints at the unclear picture of Knightwing, “Now that I can kind of see his face, he looks kinda familiar. I can’t remember though.”

“Do you want me to use my powers on your mind to see if we can find out?” Djinn suggests, her hands already surrounding his head before the teen could answer.

“NO! I mean no,” Kid Flash yelps, jumping back. “I think I’ll be fine.”

“Hey guys, something's happening,” Roundhouse worryingly states as the heading on Knightwing’s image begins to change from Level 9 to his alias. The blonde pulls up an image of Flamebird where his Level 10 clearance also changes to his hero name. “How can someone be demoted from Levels 9 and 10 to Level 7?”

“The Titans saw we were looking into it and tried to change it before we got suspicious about them.” Red arrow hypothesizes calmly.

“A little too late for that,” Crush spits, dropping her smaller purple-clad teammate. “I don’t know about you guys, but something is up with those two. They’re threats and for some reason, the Titans don’t want us interfering with them. Well, I say fuck that!”

Djinn brushes down her lavender nightgown and stares at the computer with doubt. “I don’t think they’re threats, but they are at least important. We should ask Nightwing since he was with them in Coast City.”

The team is finally able to get a hold of the Blüdhaven hero when he comes to them with a potential mission. They were at their tower the next day, Nightwing was already waiting for them at the round meeting table with a cheerful smile. “Hey guys! Long time no see!” He says with the enthusiasm of a Youth Group counselor. “I’ve been so busy lately that I haven’t been dropping in as much. How are you all doing?”

“Cut the shit, Nightwing!” Crush orders, slamming her fist on the metal table. “Why are two kids 9 and 10 clearance levels?! We know you know them; one of them shares your fuckin’ name just spelled differently!”

“Yeah, did you think you could gaslight us by changing it last minute!” Kid Flash yells and then immediately hides behind Crush for protection. “We’re just saying we should know about this.”

The man’s smile doesn’t falter; however, they can all feel the sudden increase in intensity in his unseen eyes behind the sapphire domino mask. Nothing changed about the Nightwing’s appearance, yet they all suddenly became much more intimidated by him. “Is there a mission you decided to take on that requires this information?” Before they can answer, he summons a holographic screen and looks through the Teen Titan’s mission logs. “I don’t see anything here that needs this information.”

“This team, although under the Titan’s supervision, is still independent. We are allowed to operate how we wish with your assistance and guidance, not permission.” Red Arrow reminds him stoically. “If we wanted permission for everything and strict supervision we would have joined Young Justice.”

Nightwing bores his eyes into the group just long enough for them to feel uncomfortable then beam at them brightly. “Nightwing and Flamebird are two new heroes who are not under the authority of any team or hero.” He explains as he gestures for them to sit down, which they hesitantly do. “And the naming scheme is a coincidence. If you research the Krypton exhibit in Metropolis you can see that they’re named after Kryptonian heroes. Although from what I know they’re both from Earth, not Krypton. I initially offered for them to join your team; however, they were less than accepting of the idea.”

“Yeah, my cousins told us about that.” Kid Flash says and Nightwing winces. “They hate us.”

“Oooooo… They’re not big on established teams. They were very adamant about being independent.”

“Is that why you were with them at Coast City? To recruit them?” Djinn asks.

“They are unaccepting of the idea of being protected or told what to do.” Nightwing reiterates.

“I’m right there with them,” Crush mutters, kicking her feet onto the table and reapplying her eye makeup. “What about the clearance levels?”

“I can’t tell you about it because I didn’t put them there,” He tells them resting his chin on folded hands. “Another hero has an interest in keeping them a secret, but due to their actions, they’ve been placed in a more appropriate clearance level. That is all I can say without putting anyone in danger. Now, about the mission I have up for grabs if you’re interested.”

That mission was to stop Mad Mod from implanting explosives in an up-and-coming fashion designer’s new runway line. He says that she was copying him since her line was inspired by the 1960s mod movement. That was dumb because the man doesn’t own an entire era of fashion. It was relatively easy to take care of and they returned to Titan’s Tower for a late dinner.

“Ow, ow, ow-” Kid Flash winces as Djinn places an ice pack on his cheek. “You’re supposed to put a towel between my skin and then ice.”

“Sorry,” The magical girl apologizes, reaching for a clean towel near the sink. “Emiko, you should be careful where you draw your bow.”

Red Arrow takes off her mask and lays down on the circular couch to decompress. “Wallace knows the risks of getting between me and a good shot. Plus, he has super speed; just dodge.”

“Why are you our leader again? Can we have a redo of the vote?” He half-heartedly suggests as he takes the ice from his teammate. “Thanks.”

“WHO THE FUCK ATE MY CUPCAKES!?” Crush shouts from the kitchen.

“NO ONE! YOU ATE IT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT!” Roundhouse yells back from the computer.

“Oh yeah. Fuck!” She hisses, slamming the refrigerator shut. “I’m going out to buy more!”

“It’s already late,” Red Arrow says, peeking out from the couch cushion. “What do you need cupcakes for?”

“I’m meeting Katie's parents tonight and she told me to bring something,” She huffs as she stomps to the elevator as a giant metal chain follows her like a loyal pet snake. It rattles and clangs against the floor as it beats her to the elevator and holds the door for her. “I’ll be back around 10. If I’m not, don’t look for me and assume I’m dead.”

The group watches her leave and Kid Flash releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “It’s times like this I’m glad I’m single.”

“Guys, I got a hit on something interesting!” Roundhouse calls to the remaining team. “Homeless people are disappearing all over Jump City without a trace. The police haven’t looked too much into the case so far, but if this continues, 5% of Jump City’s population might disappear before anyone notices.”

“So… How many people is that?”

“The homeless population is approximately 40,000 people. So far, only under 2,000 people have been reported missing. Proportionately, that’s not a lot, but they’re probably under-reported since it’s the homeless.”

 Djinn flies to pull her friend away from his seat. “We’ll look into this more tomorrow. While this is important we just came back from another mission and need to rest for our physical and mental health. We can’t save people if we’re tired.”

“You’re right Djinn,” The boy sighs and closes almost all of the tabs. “I’ll type this in our mission log for tomorrow.”

She nods before noticing one of the tabs Roundhouse has yet to close. “Who’s Damian Wayne?”

“Oh yeah! Wallace, look at this! It’s hilarious!” He calls over with a laugh.

The speedster runs over with interest plastered over his face. “What! What is it?”

“Check this shit out!” The younger teen says as he presses play on a short clip from a live stream.

“DAMIAAAAN WAAAAAAAYNE!” An angry voice roars through the speakers with the cadence of a thousand angry spouses. “You have some explaining to do!”

“Don’t you dare look at him!” Damian shouts, his voice unintentionally cracking due to his pre-pubescence.

The two boys immediately start laughing at the panicked expression of the boy on screen, who was supposedly Damian, as he violently smacks the phone out of his camera woman's hand. Djinn looks on with confusion, not understanding what was so funny about someone being angry at another person but she always had a problem with modern comedy. She couldn’t hear much over her friend’s laughter but was able to make out what was said right before a red-headed boy with freckles lunges to shut off the video.

“And I do have a say in it since I’m the one he’s forcing himself to do this for! Now move out of the way so I can kill him for it!” The enraged boy threatened.

“I don’t get it, why are we supposed to be laughing?” The genie questions, but the two are too preoccupied with holding their guts in hilarity.

“Just ignore them, Djinn; they’re being dumb,” Red Arrow groans as she stands. “Hey idiots, turn that off! It’s time for dinner and the supercomputer isn’t supposed to be used to mess around!”

“Fiiiiiiine,” Roundhouse whines, closing the remaining windows and shutting off the computer to join the group for dinner!

The New Teen Titans didn’t notice one of the remaining screens was an article of Knightwing and Flamebird by the Metropolis Eagle. Roundhouse was still curious about the duo, but his curiosity wasn’t as prominent as it was before. He has all the answers from Nightwing and there was no reason to keep lingering on this festering curiosity. It will die on its own since it’s unlikely the two teams will ever cross paths.

Little did they know, on the other side of the country two tweens on a farm in Hamilton County were researching Jump City as their next destination. As Jonathan and Damian read an article about the new Teen Titans, Lois walks into the office and turns off the lights. “Alright boys, time for bed. You have to be up bright and early for your mission tomorrow.”

“Okay Mom,” Jon sighs. “Man, I can’t believe I still have bedtime on summer vacation.”

“Because you’re young and need all the rest you can get.” Damian teases, flicking the younger boy between the eyes.

“You’re only, like, two years older than me!”  Jonathan rebuttals, flicking him back. “That reminds me; you’re turning 13 in about a week. Do you want to do anything?”

“You know I hate parties,” The older boy reminds him, leaning over his friend to turn off the Kent family desktop. “Didn’t I buy you a computer for your birthday?”

“I haven't opened it yet.”

“Why?”

“Dami, that thing is bigger than my desk. Where am I supposed to use it?” Jonathan explains, spreading his arms in an approximation of how big the device is.

Damian considers this for a moment before declaring, “... I’m getting you a new desk.”

Jonathan groans in frustration as he slams his forehead on his parent’s desk. “Have you learned nothing from all the times I yelled at you to stop doing things for me? Do I need to throw you out the window again?”

“You only did that because I let you.” The ex-assassin huffs, crossing his arms confidently. “And I did learn from my misgivings. I’m going to make sure you’re included when I commit market manipulation fraud. The stock market is an exponentially more entertaining game and I’m not keeping it a secret from you.”

Jon was about to throttle the smugness out of his best friend when his mother called for them again from the living room. “Boys! Damian needs to go home and Jon needs to go to bed! You’ll see each other tomorrow when Jason picks you up!”

“Yes, Mom!” Jonathan calls back and takes a deep breath. Baby steps, Jon. Baby steps. He bids Damian goodnight before getting ready for bed. They have a busy day tomorrow volunteering at the local homeless shelter. After their last adventure where things went sideways, it would be nice to just help people. That and the fact Jonathan doesn’t want people to think his hero partner is an unhinged sociopath.

Please let this be a good trip.

Chapter Text

Jump City, California; Population of approximately 820,000 people! Home of scenic rocky coastlines, renowned Edwardian architecture, and Titan’s Tower! Every year Jump City attracts millions of people to the famously beautiful area. It’s one of the most attractive places in the United States of America and is best known for the Gateway Bridge. The Gateway Bridge is an impressive structure connecting the isolated peninsula of Jump City to Gateway City on the mainland. 

It is also the only way to get to the municipality if flying isn’t an option. While Jump City is a famous tourist destination, it is also notorious for having some of the worst traffic on the West Coast. This leads our protagonist to their current predicament: a Gothamite forced into a morning traffic jam.

“HOW HARD IS IT TO FUCKING MOVE!? THERE’S ONLY ONE ENTRANCE! DRIVE STRAIGHT, JACKASSES!” The boy’s chaperone for the day hollers as he lays into the car’s horn. “DO NONE OF YOU BITCHES KNOW HOW TO STEP ON A PEDAL!?”

“Language,” Jonathan grumbles sleepily, resting his head atop Damian’s.

“Jon, that’s getting old,” Jason groans, hitting his head on the steering wheel of his black 1999 Impala. “Urgh, the bastard owes me for this.”

Being a hero in a family of heroes has some unforeseen consequences. Unless they wanted to try going the full rebellious vigilante route (which is impossible when their dads are the two greatest heroes in the world), they have to be watched by whichever relative is free to chaperone them. Sometimes, that relative is Damian’s terrifying older brother that Jon barely knows.

Jonathan’s dad told him that Jason used to babysit him when Jon was a baby, but how in the world is he supposed to remember that? He was a literal baby. Plus, a few years before Jonathan’s powers came in he was suddenly sheltered from other heroes, making that time difficult to remember at times. That weirdness aside, Jason scares him because he is a large buff man who yells at traffic and doesn’t let him drink slushies in the car.

“Does everyone get favors for driving me around?” Damian questions with minimal interest as he plays competitive Tetris on his phone to pass the time.

“Who are you playing against?” Jon asks, ignoring the plethora of swears directed at a family of four in a minivan.

“Maps,” Damian answers. “She’s bored at home because she’s grounded for flooding her house.”

“Oh yeah, I remember her,” The taller boy winces at his poor behavior during their first meeting. “Do you think she hates me?”

He rolls his eyes in response. “No. If anything, she wants to know you more, but I would kill myself if that ever happened. I can only handle so much.”

“Damian, you know I don’t like jokes like that,” Jon pouts, grabbing Damian’s head with his arms to nuzzle his face further into his friend’s silky hair. “They’re not funny.”

“Don’t delude yourself, Habibi. You’re not above a little dark humor.” The older boy readjusted Jon’s arm so it wouldn’t cover his ear and instead rest on the crook of his neck.

Jason turns himself around in his seat to glare at the boys. “It’s bad enough we’re stuck here, but if I have to watch you two cuddle I’m killing you myself!”

“We’re not cuddling,” Damian denies, still disinterestedly looking at his phone. “Jon is simply a touchy person and I am his current victim.”

“Do you want me to stop?” Jonathan offers, already removing himself.

His friend swiftly presses his hand to Jon’s face to keep his head in place. “Don’t change yourself just because Todd doesn’t understand friendship.”

“Ow,” Jon says after the affectionate slap.

“Damian, I don’t think you understand friendship if that’s what you think friends do.” Jason points out.

“We’re best friends.” Damian clarifies like it would make a difference.

“You’re the best of friends. Some historians will even say you were roommates,” The man sarcastically teases, facing his body to the front of the unmoving traffic. Jason takes a long swing of his coffee to help him endure what should only be a few minutes drive that looks like it’s going to take an hour.

“But we’ve only had sleepovers where we share a bed. We don’t live together.”

Only to immediately spit it out all over his windshield at Jonathan’s innocent declaration. “WHAT THE FUCK!?”

“Language.”

After an insanely awkward car ride where Damian’s brother grilled him about a lot of stuff he doesn’t understand or pay attention to, they finally make it to the city. Jonathan doesn’t know why Jason started acting weird, but his dad was the same way sometimes. Maybe old men are just like that.

The duo enters their uniforms to venture into the greater Jump City metroplex. They don’t know where Red Hood is watching them from, but when Jon asked he told them, “Don’t find me, I’ll find you.” It was nice to be left to their own devices but also greatly concerning due to what happens when they’re left alone.

“Wow! This place is so colorful!” Flamebird gapes as he looks at the colorful cityscape below them. The entire city was on a downward slope making it easy to see everything from the top. “I didn’t know you were allowed to paint houses these colors!” He points to a magenta stick home and another that’s baby blue. “How come none of the homes we live in are like this?”

“Because HOAs ruin everything,” Nightwing indifferently states. “I can’t believe we’re in this godforsaken state again.”

“What’s wrong with California?”

“That’s a loaded question,” He responds as he begins walking to their destination with his partner leaning down slightly beside him. “Popular media has rewarded this state for a lack of foresight and empathy while also holding themselves as an example. It’s a land of blatant hypocrisy attempting to enforce socialist ideals in a flawed capitalistic society which results in accomplishing nothing. At least in Gotham, no one is fooling themselves into believing they’re above everyone else.”

Flamebird juts his lower lip as he thinks about his partner’s words and then admits, “I have no idea what any of that means.” He looks around in awe before seeing a winding road on a steep hill that is as dangerous as it is impractical. “Ooh! I think I saw that in a movie once! Nightwing, take a picture of me!”

The short boy scowls, but silently complies as he uses his phone to capture the moment. He’s not supposed to be using his phone on the job, but it’s not like they’re doing anything relevant. “There.”

“Nightwing,” Flamebird calls out with a pout. “Take a selfie with me! You need to be in the picture too.”

Nightwing would rather not since he has taken more pictures of himself in the last week than in the last 12 years combined. With a blank expression, he lifts the smartphone and takes a single picture of them together. “There. Done.”

“Thanks Da- I mean, Nightwing!” Jonathan fumbles as he gazes at the image. Unconsciously he tries to cover his mouth seeing his colorful braces stand out in the picture but stops himself to compliment his friend. “You always take the best pictures!”

“You don’t think my resting murder face is unsuitable for the camera?” He sarcastically remarks as he puts the device away. When the younger hero doesn’t answer, he looks up to see Jon staring at him with unnerving intensity. “What?”

“Did someone tell you that?” Jonathan questions with concern which makes Damian’s blood boil.

It was the same type of look people gave him when he offhandedly mentioned something about his past. He doesn’t need to feel like he did something wrong for just being himself. “No, it was just a joke.”

“Okay…” Jon says hesitantly. “Um, but I don’t think that. I think your face is really pretty.”

“Whatever,” Damian huffs as he turns with a flourish of his cape, denying the heat creeping up on his tawny skin that could easily be mistaken for anger. “Let’s go.”

Nightwing and Flamebird make it to the outer edge of downtown to a small nondescript two-story building. The older hero pushes the heavy metal doors to reveal a space barely fit to be called a cafeteria. Jonathan shivers at the unwelcoming space that was no bigger than an average McDonald's.

The floor was covered in a layer of grime and everything was a sickly beige that bordered on being yellow. The walls were covered in posters advertising different services or vague motivational quotes. The tables and chairs were no different from what Jon remembers of his elementary school except at least the chairs matched in design. The long wooden tables were lined with seating taken from cafes, student desks, waiting room chairs, and plastic lawn chairs. The shelter was in disparaging contrast to the bright and colorful city outside.

Suddenly, the thick cream-colored door next to a large serving window clatters like a villain from a horror movie is on the other side. An older teenage girl with medium blonde hair that’s dyed pink past her shoulders bursts through with a heavily stained apron partially over her pastel pink cardigan. She makes eye contact with the duo with a surprised expression plastered onto her face and makes a show of looking around the otherwise empty dining area.

“Um… are you the volunteers for today?” She hesitantly asks with palpable worry.

Nightwing stares at her, not hiding his judgment in the slightest. “You’re a tad young to be in charge. What are you, 16?”

She pulls some papers from her apron pocket and reads them. “Huh… So it says here you’re Nightwing and Flamebird. Sorry, I didn’t have the time to look over this. I wasn’t expecting… Well, I don’t know what I would’ve expected if I read the names earlier.”

The girl holds the door open for them to enter and struggles to lock the heavy lock on the door once they do. “That’s a fire hazard,” Nightwing casually mentions.

“Why do you have a big lock on the door?” Flamebird questions, tilting his head at the sight.

The teenager grunts once they are locked in and takes a moment to catch her breath. “I--Hah, Woooo, that does not get easier!” She complains then smiles kindly at the two boys. “It’s just a safety measure. Sometimes people will try to get to the kitchen or just like to wander around. Protection from homeless people, ya know?”

“Not really,” The taller child admits, gazing at his partner who pointedly doesn’t look him in the eye. “Why do you need to protect yourself from homeless people? They just want help, that’s why they’re here.”

She stares at him with pity and Jonathan momentarily understands why Damian hates the expression so much. “I… You’re right, they do want help, but it’s dangerous sometimes. This is why children under 14 who volunteer here need to be accompanied by an adult. How old are you two?”

“Old enough,” Nightwing confidently lies.

“I’m 11 years old!” Flamebird honestly confesses. “How old are you?”

“I’m 16 like your friend guessed,” She sighs tiredly. “And my name’s Katie. Is there an adult I can talk to?”

“Is there an adult we can talk to,” Nightwing fires back while crossing his arms. “Like a manager?”

“He’s busy, but I can’t let you volunteer if there isn’t a responsible adult watching you,” Katie informs them growing more nervous by the second as she looks at a nearby clock on the wall. “I- uh-- They don’t have to be volunteering too but I’d feel better if someone was watching you. Please, if you have someone you can call that would be fine. How did you even sign up for this?”

“-TT- Fine.” Damian curtly relents and takes a homemade blocky device with circuit boards and wires sticking out of it, then places it against the wall near a light switch. 

Jonathan stares at the now flickering kitchen lights when a large muscular man engulfs his field of vision, spawning like a phantom from the other side. The pre-teen shrieks in shock, scrambling behind his shorter friend for protection. He thought he’d be used to people randomly showing up after being friends with Damian for so long, but he was proven wrong. How does a man over 6 feet and built like a brick wall stay sneaky?

The man in a solid red helmet with cloudy white eyes set in a permanent glare buttons the lapels of his tan leather jacket to hide the Bat symbol on his chest. “Arrrrgggghhh, seriously? What happened to not being associated with anyone? You’re not even in danger!”

“We need a responsible adult watching over us and you’re the closest thing we have to one,” Damian condescendingly explains, somehow looking down on a man almost 3 feet taller than him. “This was faster.”

Red Hood turns his attention to the poor teenage girl who has her eyes transfixed on the pistols at his hips. “Do you want an ID, because I don’t have one of those?”

“N-N-N-No-Nope! That’s fine! You have an adult! I believe you!” She wails, pressing herself into a corner. “I believe you! For the love of all that is good and holy, I believe you!”

He nods and turns to his little brother. “Can I leave now?”

“That should do,” The younger vigilante allows, staring smugly at the frightened girl.

“Wait,” Jonathan calls out with innocent pleading eyes. “Can you please not tell anyone he was here? We don’t want people thinking we’re getting unfair help--”

“I promise I won’t! I swear to God!” Katie vows, drawing a cross over her chest with her fingers.

Nightwing turns off the device and at the last flicker of light, Red Hood disappears, leaving no trace he was ever there. “Now that we have that out of the way, what do you want us to do first?”

Even though Katie just took the time to catch her breath she was gasping harder than she did before. It takes a second before she speaks again. “Um, we need to prepare a lot of food before we can cook anything. We’re only serving one meal today and the doors open at noon so we have to work fast if we want to get it done.”

She leads them to the industrial fridge and pulls out several overflowing boxes of nearly rotten vegetables and instructs them how to trim them so only the edible parts remain. Damian grimaces at the sight while Jon instantly gets to work, quickly making his way through the produce with expertise his partner hasn’t seen before. Katie compliments Jon on his hard work ethic and asks if he does this often.

“I live in a farming town and not all of the produce gets sold before it goes bad, so we have to work fast if we don’t want it to go to waste.” Flamebird comments, not pausing in his actions to chat. “Sometimes, we even take time out of class if the crops that season are especially bad to help our families.”

“I never heard of that around here. What else do schools in farming towns do that are different from here?” Katie asks with genuine interest. “I’ve always lived in the city, so I never thought about it.”

Jonathan thinks about it while shaving ten carrots in five seconds. “Well, I’m not sure. Oh! The high school does Ride Your Tractor To School Day! It’s always fun to see all the big kids driving their tractors on the road at the same time. It’s almost like a parade!”

“Tractors? Is that like Bring Anything But a Backpack Day?”

“Maybe but they still wear their backpacks.”

“Whoever is in charge of your food procurement shouldn’t be getting vegetables that could go bad any second,” Nightwing interjects as he chops the mold off of bell peppers. “Someone could get sick if they’re not careful.”

Katie shamefully blushes. “It’s not always like this. Sometimes we get better donations or other charities give us premade meals to hand out.”

“And the rest of the time it’s a health and safety hazard.” The older child scoffs and moves over to the cookware. He inspects them to find them in rusted, dirty, or completely unusable conditions. “Although, even with a better product I don’t see how it would be fine with this. This is embarrassing.”

“Nightwing, it’s not her fault, she just works here.” Flamebird chastises and smiles at their mentor. “So, what are we making today?”

“Just casserole and boxcakes for dessert,” Katie tells him and glances at the clock. “I should get started on preparing the other stuff for it.”

She rushes to the refrigerator and pulls out packs of cheap hotdogs, shredded cheese, and a bag of tater tots which causes Jon to brighten up. “I love hotdog casseroles! My grandma makes them for potlucks sometimes and they’re the best!”

“Middle America is Hell on Earth for fine dining,” Nightwing gags as he vigorously scrubs the industrial-sized metal pans with an inch of their life under the sink.

Katie agrees, sighing in solidarity with the statement. “Yeah, it’s not the best but it’s the only thing we can make using everything we can.”

Jon pouts at the distaste for food he enjoys and mumbles, “I think it’s good.”

The three of them work nonstop to get all the food in the oven on time, but with only three underaged people on the job, it’s a crunch to accomplish. While Nightwing and Flamebird are mixing and pouring cake mix into pans a haggard man in a sweat-stained polo with the words “manager” embroidered on his chest enters the kitchen, too fatigued to acknowledge the costumed children. He puts on an apron and hairnet to cut some of the vegetables before noticing they are already gone and in the casseroles.

“Huh?” The man searches the kitchen and stops when he spots Katie setting up the water dispenser in the dining area. “You’re done already?”

“Mr. Perez!” The teenager calls, climbing through the window to avoid dealing with the door again. “Our volunteers today were so helpful! We’re almost done cooking all the food! All that’s left is the dining room set up and serving it!”

“Volunteers?” Mr. Perez repeats as he reexamines the kitchen to see the two preteens staring back at him. “Hi? Where is your guardian?”

“Please don’t ask!” Katie desperately begs, startling the man. “Just trust me, they’re around!”

“Uuuuuhhh… Alright.” He hesitantly says, wanting to ask follow-up questions but holds off on it. “Hello! Sorry, I wasn’t here to help earlier. I was busy in the shelter and pantry area with the rest of the volunteers.”

“Why are the majority of the workers not in the kitchen if we’re an hour out from mealtime?” Jonathan questions

"The other two areas need more supervision than the kitchen. I thought there'd be more older volunteers here today."

As Nightwing puts the cakes in the oven, Flamebird asks the manager, "Why don't you just hire more people?"

Mr. Perez and Katie share an off-putting look before he answers, "It's not that easy,” Then immediately changes the subject. "I didn't know our volunteers were kids. I'll ask Andy and May to help with serving. Next time, you need to tell me these things when they happen."

"Next time you should double-check your sheet for information." Nightwing quips under his breath, but loud enough for the manager to hear. 

"I gotta stop reading these applications at night," The man mutters, skimming the volunteer information sheets to see the minimal amount of information. "Alright boys, you can help finish up here and help the older volunteers to serve food for a bit. Afterward, I'll take you to the pantry to organize donations."

Two other adults arrive to help finish setting up and the manager props the main doors open to allow people to come in. He climbs through the serving window making Jon believe the locked kitchen door was unnecessary if people were allowed to do that. Neither of them was allowed to serve the meals for the guests so Flamebird washed the quickly emptying pans of food while Nightwing refilled the water in the dining hall.

It’s funny how Flamebird resented being known for community service, but it’s now a job he actively seeks to do. Maybe Nightwing is suggesting these outings so Flamebird won't have to be faced with villainy too early. After all, it was easier to fight people if he didn’t have to think about their problems like Aerialist.

There was nothing wrong with fighting bad guys and saving the day, but after what happened in Coast City he wonders if all villains are like that. Not mentally ill, but more so if there was another reason for their actions. It’s not a ground-breaking revelation that not all bad guys are evil, but maybe things are more complicated.

The Rainbow Archer stole art for money, but he was also paid unfairly by the art industry. If he was paid fairly, would he have turned to crime to make ends meet? What about the Condiment King? Why condiments? Was he also mentally ill or was he just a weirdo? How about the many people who join organizations like Intergang or those weapon smugglers in Central City who do awful things; what put them into that position? Does Parasite like sucking the energy out of living things or is it for his survival?

How much villainy is preventable and how much is inevitable?

“Hey, let go of her!” Jonathan hears Mr. Perez holler behind him.

“But she’s so pretty…” A drowsy voice slurs in a way that sends shivers down Jonathan's spine.

The young hero turns to see a middle-aged homeless man with glassy eyes who had reached over the counter and grasped Katie by the wrist. The shelter’s manager is in the middle of prying the teenager away when Nightwing knocks the assailant down with a swift kick to the side. Flamebird flinches, knowing that his partner’s platforms are steel-toed and hoping no one got too hurt.

“Katie, are you okay?” Flamebird asks, standing protectively between her and the serving window.

“Y-Yeah, I’m okay.” She reassures.

As Nightwing drags the person who grabbed Katie out the door, Mr. Perez pulls a metal security gate over the window, leaving it open enough for Nightwing to reenter. Once he does, the man closes it entirely and turns to the group. “May, can you take the kids to the pantry to rest and teach the kids how to organize everything?”

“Do you want me to call someone else over to help?” The employee asks.

“Yeah, send Ali in?”

May complies and gestures for the boys to follow her while holding Katie by the shoulders and leading them further inside the building. The rest of the building was as unpleasant as its cafeteria with undiscernible stains smeared sporadically across the walls. The fluorescent lights buzzed above them, giving everything an oppressive shadow. There wasn’t even a vaguely encouraging poster to give the illusion this was a safe space.

May pushes a random door open with her shoulder, only allowing her head to squeeze through. Flamebird is a tall child, but he has trouble seeing into the room past their escort’s afro which blocks his vision far past her height. “Hey, Ali! They need you in the cafeteria!”

“Okay, but I need you to help cover the shelter. We had an incident .”

“Another one?” The woman sighs, her bags under her eyes. “I keep telling Perez to vet these people! We have enough problems already!”

“Find the money for it because we don’t have it,” Ali replies, opening the door wide as the man wearing a kaffiyeh nudges May into the hall. He doesn’t take any mind to the heroic duo as the man who appears to be in his forties looks much older with the heavy bags under his eyes.

Before Ali shuts the door, Flamebird sees a space as big as a small gymnasium filled with black bunk beds and cots and almost no room to walk. At the far end of the wall, he sees tiny square lockers without locks overflowing with people’s stuff. He doesn't see any people since the man locks the door before he can decipher more.

They move on to the pantry which is a room that’s furnished like a convenience store and opens out into the public like the cafeteria. A woman at the makeshift register that was just a plastic picnic table and a receipt book waves at them. Meanwhile, another teenage volunteer helps a mother fill a shopping cart from a supermarket chain with canned goods and clothes.

“Jerome, only two rice boxes per person!” May reminds the teen who complies with the order. She leads the three into a backroom filled with unmarked boxes and large plastic storage containers with categories shaped onto the front. “Alright, Katie, you take a breather here, and if you want to go home feel free to. Just tell one of us beforehand so we can sign your hour sheet for your school and walk you to your car.”

“Does that happen a lot?” Flamebird asks, looking at the shaken girl and feeling bad the duo accidentally scared her by calling Red Hood.

“Yeah, it does. Just keep your distance and don’t talk to anyone you don’t have to.” She tells them before explaining how to organize the donations by types of food, seasonal clothing, and random knickknacks. May orders the person at the counter to watch over the kids while she goes to the shelter area.

Nightwing and Flamebird sort through the stuff that’s mostly canned goods and cereal. None of it was particularly healthy if Nightwing’s commentary was anything to go by, but it was all they had. “Another high-sodium soup,” The older hero exhales, placing it in its respective bin. “And people wonder why the impoverished are more likely to develop heart conditions.”

“I found bread!” Flamebird cheers, holding up a can with Japanese lettering big enough to need two hands to hold. “I didn't know bread comes in cans!”

Katie chuckles at Jon’s positivity and takes a sip of her water. “Hahaha! My girlfriend and I tried some of it out of curiosity once. It’s not too bad.”

“Really? Now I want to try some.” Jon comments but knows better than to take something meant for people in need; Maybe he can ask his dad to buy it for him. He places the can where it’s supposed to go and grabs… a paper. He reads it aloud before his mind can catch up with the words coming out of his mouth. “Get a job you lazy fuc--”

“Ignore that trash.” Nightwing takes the paper out of his hands and rips it into several pieces. He neatly tosses it into the recycle bin along with several pamphlets he’s collected through this endeavor. 

Jon catches some of the words on the brochures and sees they’re job listings or religious advertisements. “Why are you throwing those away?”

His partner grabs two of the papers from the bin and holds them up to Jon’s eye level. “This one is a multilevel marketing scheme that promises independence, and this one is a mega church that promises good fortune for high donations. They’re both scams meant to prey on the vulnerable and the unfortunate.”

“Why would someone donate that?”

“I told you why.”

“No, I mean, why do people do that?” Jonathan clarifies but is just repeating himself. “Like, why would people try to scam those who already have nothing? No one should be scamming anyone, but if you were going to target someone why not those who have money?”

“Those with money don’t need to rely on scams like these and if they get tricked out of their money they can afford legal services to retaliate. Homeless people and those that rely on public services to live a sustainable life don’t have the means to fight for their rights.” Nightwing explains, tossing the examples away.

“That’s awful,” Flamebird states because what else could he say; it was awful.

“But not illegal, so it’s best to save them from seeing this garbage.” The hooded hero stares at the recycle bin for a second then pulls out a lighter. “You know what, we should probably burn it so no one looks through it.”

“I think ripping it up would work,” Katie says, grabbing the bin and tearing the papers.

The group continued to make decent progress in sorting what they could, but there was so much stuff they wouldn’t get it done even if they had all day. The employee running the pantry area checks in on them occasionally and takes filled bins to the outer room where people can take them. While Jonathan chats with Katie he remembers something the man from before, Ali, mentioned.

“Hey Katie, what’s the incident earlier?” He inquires and he instantly feels the light mood of the room drop like a lead weight.

Katie stares at the red-clad hero with wide eyes, unsure of how to answer. “I don’t think I should tell you about that.”

“Is it super bad?”

“Yeah, it’s super bad.” She repeats. “Um… You’ll learn when you’re older.”

“Like old as you or just a bit older?”

“Flamebird,” Nightwing interjects in a soft yet warning voice. “Let’s not push topics like this. I’ll tell you later if you’re curious about it. Talk about something else.”

“Okay,” Flamebird compromises, trusting there was a good reason. “What is your girlfriend like?”

The blonde teen brightens up at this topic and gushes about her girlfriend. “She’s so cool! She’s huge, like really tall and buff! She tries getting me to work out with her but,” Katie playfully pinches the bundle of fat around her pudgy waist. “I’m not really the ‘fit’ type. I’m what you call thick in all the wrong ways. She’s really funny! Yesterday, she brought cupcakes from a pet store that are safe for my cats and was late because she ate the first batch. I was like, ‘Oh my gosh, how did you eat those, they’re made for cats!?’ and she was like, ‘I’m like a cat, I also like pu-’ You know what, I should stop talking. I am going to stop talking now.”

Jon doesn’t get it but at least she’s happier. “That’s cool! My dad says I’m too young to have a girlfriend, but it sounds nice!”

“Yeah, a relationship is a lot of work but it’s a lot of fun!”

“-TT- I don’t see how something like that could be considered entertainment.” Damian hisses in disgust. “That sounds like unnecessary responsibility for something that wouldn’t guarantee tangible results.”

“And here I thought you like having responsibility over people,” Flamebird wisecracks, rolling his eyes at the ironic remark.

“Don’t give me that, you know you're different.” He scoffs.

“Gee, thanks.” Jon snorts as he finishes up the box he’s currently working on. “Does she volunteer here too?” He asks, referring to Katie’s girlfriend.

The teen shakes her head. “No, she has a different way of helping people.”

“How long have you been volunteering?”

“I’ve been here for about a few months.” She answers, sorting through clothing. “I’m here to get a charity cord for graduation, but I would’ve been volunteering here anyway. Homeless shelters are understaffed.”

“Do you like it here?” Flamebird presses.

“Its… It’s alright. All homeless shelters are similar so I don’t think I’d like another place better.” Katie replies but pauses as a thought comes to mind. “Now that I think about it, it’s been a lot less busy.”

“Really? But I saw so many people!” The boy gasps in disbelief, remembering how many people were crowding the dining room. 

“Jump City has a lot of people who need a hot meal. There’s usually a line outside, but lately only the cafeteria’s crowded. We’ve even had a lot more empty beds at night.” She elaborates. It looks like she wants to say more, but the employee watching over the pantry comes back in and slaps the wall to get their attention.

“Hey, the kids have been here since this morning, right?” Katie nods, confirming the woman’s query. “Right, well they need to leave in five minutes.”

“We can work more,” Flamebird insists but the employee holds her hand up to stop him.

“Thank you, you two have been a big help, but it’s company policy.” She sighs. “Because you’re under 14 and not affiliated with an organization, we can only let you work a couple of hours. It would be dangerous to let you work longer.”

The duo relents and allows themselves to be ushered out along with a free t-shirt advertising the shelter. The adults were insistent on waiting for their guardian to pick them up, but before they could come up with an excuse or an escape plan someone approaches. Jason Todd walks up to the staff waiting with the boys outside the food pantry. His hair was still messy from being in a helmet for several hours, and the white streak in his black hair is slicked back, held by the sweat of a hot summer day. He was wearing a white tank top with a low v-neck that displays his muscles and scars and a pair of black and red gym shorts.

Flamebird stares at him intensely, for several reasons he doesn’t want to get into, and wonders why the man is not wearing a disguise. Then his teal eyes shifted to Katie who was still apprehensive about the man, and it all clicks for Jon. Jason adjusts the back of his expensive sneakers once he stops in front of them with a bored expression. “I’m here to pick the brats in spandex.”

Mr. Perez darts his eyes between the duo and the stranger before apprehensive asking. “Uh… Who are you?”

Jason grabs the information sheet from the manager’s hands and points to the space where a parent/guardian is supposed to sign. “First name Nunya, last name Bussiness.”

“Unfortunately he’s telling the truth,” Nightwing sighs looking both irritated and intrigued. “I do know this man.”

“Is he your father or--” Mr. Perez tries to ask and is quickly interrupted.

“Oh fuck no, how old do I look to ya?” Jason swears, flipping him off and grabbing Nightwing by the arm.

The shelter’s manager looks like he’s about to question him further, but Jonathan tries to settle the situation with a bald-faced lie. “He’s my brother!”

Nightwing stifles a laugh but is swiftly silenced by Mr. Perez’s next words. “You know, I see the resemblance. Alright, have a nice day.”

After traveling several blocks in a secluded area, Damian finally picks his metaphorical jaw off the floor. “How did that work? You’re terrible at lying; You weren’t even trying to hide it!”

“I know! I just yelled! We’re not even related!” Jonathan wholeheartedly agrees, astonished at how easily someone believed him.

“Probably the black hair, blue eyes.” The adult vigilante guesses. “Besides, none of us are blood-related so the excuse has the same chance of working.”

“-TT- If I tried that I’d get called a liar, and I’d be telling the truth.” Damian scowls, yanking his arm out of his brother’s grasp.

“Wow, you finally admit I’m your brother to my face and it’s to prove a point.” Jason wipes a fake tear from the corner of his eye with a smile. “I’m so proud of you.”

This causes the younger sibling to exhale and massage the sides of his head. “Why aren’t you in uniform?”

“And what? Expose my secret identity of being legally dead?” The man scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I’ve been off the radar for years and look nothing like I did when I died. If anything, Jason Todd is the alias and Red Hood is my identity.”

“So… You’re okay with your face being associated with us?” Jonathan questions before turning to Damian and following up with, “Are we okay with that?”

With a deadpan stare, Nightwing states, “He’s your brother now.” Then he playfully tugs Jason’s arm to his partner with a sardonic smirk. “He needs three walks a day, his diet is composed predominantly of fast food, and he gets violent when left alone for too long.”

“I already have a brother,” Flamebird reminds him.

“You can have more. If you think like my father, you can get them wholesale.”

Anyways, Jason was quick to make himself scarce, but not before making a snide remark about being pawned off by his own flesh and blood. Jonathan tries to point out the obvious, but Damian just ignores him. It’s not ideal and Jon would usually say something to him about it, but his best friend has been acting weird(er) ever since he quit his short-lived job. It’s never a good idea to push something with Damian if it isn’t immediately relevant and during patrol was not the time to bring it up.

“I don’t want to go home since we've only been here a few hours, but I also don’t want to tour Jump City since I want to do hero stuff.” Flamebird declares as they walk through Chinatown. 

It was loud thanks to the crowds of tourists taking pictures of themselves as the famous cable car passed them. Jonathan also couldn’t help but notice that a majority of the main streets in Jump City’s Chinatown were all boba tea cafes with flashy-themed desserts. The 11-year-old liked taro boba tea as much as the next person, but this was just excessive.

“Hey Nightwing, is Jump City famous for tea or something?” The young hero asks while he absentmindedly kicks a pebble in their path with his rubber boot.

Without facing his companion, the older hero sighs in a way that makes others feel stupid. “No, no it is not. This is called gentrification.”

“I remember you explaining it to me in Metropolis!” Flamebird brightly boasts. “That’s when a poor area is changed so rich people can move in and drive out the people who already lived there!”

“Correct,” Nightwing confirms.

“But what does that have to do with tea shops?” The child questions, holding his chin as he tilts his head thoughtfully. “Do rich people love boba tea?”

The shorter hero holds his hand out flat and swishes to indicate partial accuracy. “Jump City is already a difficult place to live due to its unrealistically high cost of living, right above Coast City California, and under Star City Washington. It’s already doing a fine job of running the impoverished out of affordable housing, but because of that, the diversity in business is also affected.”

“If only rich people opened businesses, wouldn’t that mean they have more money to do interesting things?”

“That would be ideal, yet that’s seldom what happens. In reality, the goal is to maintain their wealth and experimentation has a high risk of losing money. This means the remaining businesses end up being those that are low in cost and high in profits. These are trendy establishments like coffee shops or, in this case, boba tea cafes.”

“Oh.” Flamebird blurts out dejectedly. It's a shame that a drink he really likes is being used for evil. “I guess I can’t drink tea anymore.”

Nightwing scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Don’t blame the product, it’s just a victim of gentrification as much as people are. First it was coffee, now it’s boba tea, and next it could be smoothies or sushi.”

“But I like smoothies and sushi!”

“Which is why businesses would use it against us,” The hooded hero avers. “And while I’d love to lecture you on the predatory tactics and overt racism of gentrification, we should look for more productive uses of our time.”

“Yeah, we should,” Jonathan agrees before he shouts, “Wait, it’s also racist?”

Jonathan is ignored as the transition into another area of Jump City. The architecture of the area was still oriental in design; however, everything was written in something more akin to French. It was in stark contrast to the colorfully decorated and congested streets of Chinatown.

The atmosphere was not unlike walking into another city or a parallel world as the crowds of tourists were gradually replaced by throngs of homeless people. Even though it was the middle of summer, a disturbing amount of people were wearing several layers of clothing or pushing stolen shopping carts overflowing with stuff of little value. Flamebird even recognized a few of them from the homeless shelter earlier in the day. 

“Why are there so many homeless people here?”

“Homeless people have to live somewhere and this is the poorest part of Jump City .”

“Why not go to a homeless shelter? I know it was…” Flamebird trails off as he remembers the less-than-welcoming atmosphere. “Not the best, but it has to be better than out here.”

“Rarely do people stay in those shelters unless they are desperate,” Nightwing tells him.

Jonathan scrunches his face in puzzlement. “Why? Isn’t having a place to sleep better than staying outside?”

“Homelessness is much more complicated than simply not having a place to call home,” Damian explains as he spontaneously pivots his heels to a tiny grocery store.

The scent of incense and fish hit the two like a wall. Jonathan is used to the small local store and the farmer’s market, so it’s rare he sets foot in a normal grocery store. Even so, the boy is sure places that sell food are supposed to be cleaner than the stacks of boxes that reach the ceiling and layer of dust pouring off overstocked tan shelving. He runs a finger along one of the frames and sees a layer of white under the grime, making him shudder.

“What is this place?” Flamebird questions, picking up a tin can of grass jelly. “Ooh! This looks interesting!” He picks up another random can and instantly recognizes it. “Hey, it’s the canned bread! So this is where it came from!”

“We’re in a Vietnamese market, but it has a variety of goods from other places in Asia.” He tells him, picking up a can of Ashta and a jar of chili oil. “I’m getting these.”

“Are we here so you can do some grocery shopping?”

“It’s difficult to get some of these brands in Gotham. Not impossible, but why waste extra effort when it’s right in front of me?” Nightwing grabs pomegranate and plum sauce before instructing his partner to decide on what they do next.

Flamebird doesn’t know why they had to go to a questionably maintained grocery store to do reconnaissance, but Damian usually knows what he's doing when it comes to this stuff. That or he just wants to do some shopping in peace without Jonathan judging what he’s buying. Jon doesn’t think he’s a judgmental person, but he does think some of the stuff Damian is buying smells smelly to the point he can’t hide the faces he’s making.

The taller hero is still holding the canned bread in his hand as he traverses through the tall aisles, acutely aware that he’s one accidental bump away from destroying half the store. Aside from the tall stacks of boxes, none of the shelves were bolted to the floor. When he gets to the back of the store he discovers stacks of fish tanks piled on top of one another with fish packed to the brim.

“Huh, so this is where the fishy smell is coming from,” Flamebird thinks aloud as he watches two lobsters fight to the death in one of the tanks. He quickly looks away before he can be scarred for life, but then is actually scarred for life when a butcher next to him mercilessly chops off the head of a duck. The 11-year-old immediately gets over it when he sees the duck is already cooked, and he didn’t see it be killed.

The butcher looks up and for a moment, Jonathan believes it’s him he’s glaring at. The large Vietnamese man in a blood-stained apron and plastic gloves holds up a large knife and with a thick accent shouts, “Get out! Get out of my store!”

The child is threatened by the demand and is about to leave when he hears someone else knocking over a few boxes on their way out. He whirls around to see a teenage girl with matted brown hair run out of the store with an armful of fresh produce. Other employees and some customers also yell after them calling them a slew of negative names. "You better run! You hope I don’t see your kind in here again! You drive away paying customers!”

Now that the person is gone, the butcher notices Flamebird staring at him with wide blue eyes. “Why you stare? You don’t stop thief? You dress up for fun?”

“I- what? I don’t--” The young hero struggles, trying to comprehend what just happened. “Why was she stealing food when shelters are giving it away?”

“Because they bums! That why they on streets! If they work they can have good food, not steal from places that make good food.” The man lectures, animatedly gesturing with the knife in his hands. “You have money? You want food? Don’t buy that bread, take this bread; two for one dollar!”

“Huh?” The boy babbles, looking at the canned bread in his hand and then at the plastic bin overflowing with small baguettes. “Oh! Uh, I can have both! I like bread!”

The butcher, or maybe baker since he’s also working at the bakery, takes off his gloves and puts on a new pair as he tosses a bag of bread at him. “You like fish? If you only eat bread you get fat.” He laughs and suddenly Jonathan is feeling self-conscious about himself. 

“Um… Sure. I haven’t eaten today, so… He looks up at a menu he can’t read then down at the display cases. Finally, he sees something he recognizes and within his price range. “I’ll have the fried Tilapia that’s on sale!”

Jonathan instantly regrets his choice because the employee grabs a live fish from one of the tanks, cuts into them with a knife, and then throws it in a pan right in front of him. Flamebird stands there stunned for several minutes until a paper package is tossed at him. He scrambles to catch it while balancing all the other stuff he didn’t plan to buy today. When he goes to thank the scary man he’s already busy helping another customer.

In a daze, he walks to the front and pays for his stuff to see Nightwing already waiting for him with nothing in his hands. “Hey, where’s your stuff?”

“I already put it away.” He replies. “I see you’ve been busy. Did you think about our next course of action since you said you wanted to do something productive?”

Jonathan hesitates for a moment and then admits he got distracted, feeling both awful and useless at not accomplishing the one job he’s been given. How can he make this a fair partnership when he can’t do anything right? “I think I have problems focusing.”

“You’re telling me.” Damian snorts, taking Jonathan’s bag from him to inspect the ingredients. “Most of this stuff is pretty good, although, you probably shouldn’t be eating an entire fried fish by yourself.”

“The guy at the counter said I’d get fat if I only eat bread! I didn’t know bread made people fat!”

“Flamebird, you should be gaining weight. You’re 11 and still growing.” He assures, putting the bag behind his cape where it magically disappears like everything else he stores on his person. Seriously, Jon’s best friend has several perishables, a shovel, concrete, their change of clothes, first aid kits, a katana, several knives, and a bunch of other stuff Jon doesn’t know about.

“Oh yeah.”

“How about we look into where all the homeless people are going? Katie said there has been a decrease lately, and I doubt there was a voluntary mass exodus of vagrants from Jump City.”

“I don’t think…” Jonathan begins to say and swallows the lump that suddenly developed in his throat. “I don’t think there is a lot I can do about that around here.”

Damian narrows his eyes at his partner’s reluctant attitude. “What is with you?”

“Nothing! It’s just that people around here aren’t nice to homeless people.”

“No shit-”

“Swear.”

“No crap, but that’s not what I asked.” Nightwing clarifies, pulling Flamebird out of the store and under the shade of an empty bus stop shelter across the street. “Are you alright? And I mean mentally, not physically. You’re acting standoffish, shy, and apprehensive of your actions. This is not the Flamebird I founded a team with. Where is the boy who ran off to Metropolis without a second thought for his well-being, and told me to either catch up or watch from the sidelines?”

“Didn’t you say that was stupid then we both got grounded?” Jon points out.

“That is beside the point. Where did your confidence go? Did something happen? Did I do something to you-”

“No!” Flamebird loudly interrupts, startling himself with the intensity of his volume. “No, please don’t blame this on you. I don’t know what’s wrong with me! There’s so much wrong with me and it just came out of nowhere.” He groans, burying his face in his gloved hands. “I was so happy and confident. It’s like the moment I turned 11 the little things that bothered me in the back of my mind are all that I can think about! I would just brush off when someone was mean or when things got bad! I didn’t care that I couldn’t do something because I was happy with myself, but now I’m not!”

He hooks his finger in the side of his mouth to expose his braces. “And I didn’t care about how I looked either and now I wake up and want to smash my mirror! My limbs are too long and skinny, my head is too big, my eyes are too far apart, and my voice is high! Do you know how weird it is being the tallest kid in class but sounding like a baby at the same time!? How am I supposed to be a confident and happy hero when I’m just a useless freak--!”

“Flamebird, Flamebird, take a deep breath!” Nightwing orders, grasping the taller boy by his shoulders and shaking him back and forth. It’s not helpful, but he’ll do anything to stop Jon from going down that line of thought. “None of that matters.”

“I know I’m being stupid and my feelings don’t matter-”

“Stop putting words into my mouth!”

“Because the world is apparently awful, people suck, and superheroes can’t save people from institutions meant to help them!”

“No-Well, it’s true people are awful, and our society is corrupt, but that’s not the issue here!” Damian amends. “Your feelings do matter even if I don’t see it that way. I don’t know where these thoughts are coming from but you’ve clearly been worrying about this for a long time.” He states, watching Jonathan’s panicked breath relax. “And you’ve been worrying about this stuff repeatedly, but we never addressed it properly. Look, Flamebird, one conversation won’t suddenly make you confident in yourself or your abilities. I will always tell you that you’re amazing, and you can do anything. I can’t help you when you don’t believe in yourself because that means you don’t believe in us. For a moment, forget about all the awful things happening everywhere and remember why we’re doing this.”

“That’s the problem,” Jonathan confesses, averting his gaze. “I don’t remember because there are so many reasons that I can’t focus on one.”

Damian refocuses Jon’s eyes by grabbing his face and forcing the taller boy to lower his gaze. “Then focus on me and not millions of people who don't know you. I’m right in front of you. We did this together for a reason, and I don’t want to do good without you by my side.” 

Jonathan opens his mouth to reply when Damian recognizes the sound of an electronic chime, indicating that someone is either taking a picture or recording. Nightwing snaps at a group of slightly older teens recording them through the glass of the shed and promptly flips them off while shouting, “ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW!?”

“Woah, it’s really them! It’s the other Knightwing and his friend!” One of them says, taking another picture of them.

“HIS NAME IS FLAMEBIRD!” Nightwing hollers as he attempts to stomp toward them.

“Come on, let’s just go,” Flamebird whispers as he holds his partner back, not wanting Damian to look bad because of him. He tries to walk away only to have his cape embarrassingly snag on one of the many railings on the metal bench. “Hey! Why is this bench weird?”

“That is an example of hostile architecture,”

“Hostile? It’s different, but it’s neat to have individual seating. Sometimes I don’t like how close people get when I sit down in public.”

“I hate physical interaction, but that’s not why this bench is designed that way,” The older hero elaborates, pointing up at the metal hood. “It’s to stop homeless people from having a safe shelter to sleep. It gives protection from the elements and some privacy since public transportation doesn’t operate at late hours. Unnecessary armrests on the benches ensure they can’t lay down making the area hostile to the homeless, hence the name.”

Jonathan grimaces at learning another awful fact about the world. He eyes the camera recording him and closes his slightly opened mouth to hide his teeth. Then he takes a deep breath and smiles at Nightwing. “You do stuff to make yourself look worse so I look better--”

“When did this conversation become about me?” Damian questions defensively.

“And I’ve been worried about being good enough to be seen with you,” Jonathan adds, his irises turning red. “I still feel all that bad stuff, but it shouldn’t get in the way of doing good.” A bright laser shoots from his eyes and hits the welded anchors in between the bench and the armrest, melting it off. “Our thing is community service, so let’s serve the community!”

“I thought you were afraid of property damage?” Nightwing snorts.

“Yeah, because I was raised to clean up messes, and this is a mess.” Flamebird retorts, taking out another railing, and then looking at the onlookers. “Is this good enough?”

“Habibi,” Nightwing affectionately coos, pulling out a sledgehammer from his person with a feral grin. He walks towards a brick flower bed in front of the shopping center and next to the teenagers filming them. They jump out of the way, fearful that the hammer he's dragging along the path will be turned on them. “That’s a wonderful start, but if you’re going to make a statement make sure you’re heard loud and clear.”

He slams the weapon down on molded concrete spikes along the rim that prevent people from lying down on it, flattening them with glee. “You know what? Why ensure the homeless remain relegated to the poorest section of Jump City? I’m sure we can open up the rest of this city to its citizens.”

On the richest shore of Jump City, the Teen Titans were investigating the disappearance of homeless people. Their investigation had led them to one of the most picturesque coastlines the city has to offer as while the poorest part of the city was losing its homeless population, the wealthiest area was seeing an increase.

“Are you sure they disappeared?” Kid Flash questions, looking at a group of homeless people loitering in front of a 5-star restaurant. “Because it looks like there’s more than usual.”

“I think because they’re not where they normally are it looks like they disappeared,” Roundhouse hypothesizes, fiddling with the holographic screen on his arm. “But this isn’t all of them. It just looks like a lot because we don’t usually see them here. We still need to find out where the rest of them went.”

“Can’t you do something about these people!? They’re ruining our dining experience!” A man screams, pointing at a homeless woman pushing a shopping cart away from them.

“We don’t dine here to get attacked or robbed!” The lady across from him in their patio seating huffs. “This is not what I paid for! I thought this was a reputable establishment.”

Crush bares her teeth and growls, “Maybe they deserve to be ‘inconvenienced.’ ”

Nearby, a group of young adults on vacation pours their smoothies on a person sitting under the shade of a palm tree. “That’s terrible!” Djinn gasps, floating towards them and shooing them away. “What is wrong with you? You should all be ashamed of yourselves!” 

The girl uses her magic to clean up the homeless man and ensure he’s dry. She hands him his yellow beanie that fell off in the altercation and asks, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine right here. I’m just napping.” He reassures, sending the girl on her way. “I’ll leave if it gets too noisy.”

Djinn leaves the man alone and regroups with the team. "What are we going to do once we find everyone? We can't put them back out onto the streets. It's dangerous out here for them!"

Crush narrows her scarlet eyes as she throws out a solution. "We hand them over to a shelter, duh! That way they get a place to sleep, eat, and access to services to help them get a home."

"Wow Crush, when did you learn so much about shelters?" The smaller girl asks.

"My girlfriend has been working at one and likes to talk about it sometimes."

“The influx of homeless people here and the overall disappearance of them have to be related.” Red Arrow states. “Kid Flash, I need you to run around the streets here again. I’m sure there’s something we missed the first time.”

“I ran all over these streets in this area ten times before you guys got here,” The speedster reassures. “I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.”

The universe likes to prove people wrong, so immediately after those words are uttered a loud crash sounds behind them. The Teen Titans turn to see a boy in a long black asymmetrical hooded cowl take a spiked mace to wooden street dividers that lined the sidewalks. Further away, a boy in a much shorter red cape rips raised stone grates off the ground before only putting the metal fencing back in level with the floor. Then the taller boy moves on to tearing off seat dividers from benches in the same way one plucks weeds from lawns.

“Hey, aren’t those two…” Roundhouse trails off as he watches the shorter hero slam his weapon into an art installation that was also used as seating. “It’s them!”

“It’s Knightwing and Flamebird!” Crush shouts in recognition. “What the hell are they doing in Jump City?!”

“Vandalism.” Red Arrow curtly answers 

“Should we ask about it ?” Kid Flash suggests, referring to their previous clearance levels.

“No, just act normal, keep the interaction short, and don’t let them know we know.” Their leader commands as she is already walking up to the pair. “Hey!”

“Oh great. Check this out, Flamebird it’s the new Teen Titans,” Nightwing mocks, leaning his elbow on the end of his mace as an armrest. “Don’t you have more pressing issues?”

“Hey, he kinda has an accent like yours, Djinn.” A chubby blond boy excitedly (desperately) noticed, looking at his teammate in the purple dress. “Maybe he’s Egyptian too!”

Flamebird stops what he’s doing and stares at the team. Damian does have an accent but it’s so light that Jonathan doesn’t even register it anymore. “That’s a weird thing to point out.”

Noticing his social blunder, Roundhouse recoils and quickly tries to backtrack. “Wait, that’s not what I mean! I’m not trying to be racist; I’m Chinese!”

“So am I.” Nightwing remarks with a condescending smirk.

“Shit, I just made it worse, I’m going to shut up now before I get canceled,” The young teen groans covering his face before whipping his head up. “Wait, no I’m not! Why are you destroying stuff?”

Instead of answering the question, Flamebird walks up to the group and holds out his hand. “How about a greeting first? Hi, I’m Flamebird and this is my partner Nightwing!”

“Hi, I’m Roundhouse!”

“Nice to meet you, my name is Djinn!”

“Sup, I’m Kid Flash.”

“Call me Crush.”

“I’m Red Arrow,” The team’s leader replies, shaking Jon’s hand but her eyes never leave Damian. “Have we met before?”

Damian glares at the older teenager as he pretends to struggle to recall if they met, “Hmm… I don’t believe I had the displeasure of interacting with you or your hack of a mentor.”

The hero sneers at him and releases Flamebird’s hand. “Bold words coming from someone who stole their hero name.”

“Woah, hey now!” Kid Flash mediates, getting in between the two groups. “Let’s not throw out accusations like that.” He turns around to the younger duo and asks, “Now that we know each other, do you mind telling us what you’re doing?”

“We’re cleaning up the city and making it safer to live!” Flamebird proudly states, heroically posing his hands on his hips.

“By destroying it?” The buff grey-skinned teen questions.

“By fixing it!” The cheerful boy corrects and proceeds to pull out the safety barriers between the sidewalk that diced the sidewalk in half. Suddenly, his feet float off the floor as sparkly purple magic surrounds him. “Woah!”

“How is this fixing it?”

“If you’re talking about the rubble left behind, don’t worry! We’ll clean it up to make it look nicer, but we’re in that stage of cleaning where everything looks worse at first. You know, like when you clean your room after a long time of not cleaning it and when you take all the stuff out of your closet and under your bed it looks messier, but it's just the mess that already exists now easier to see--” Flamebird takes a deep breath before continuing his running sentence. “So now that you see the mess it makes you feel bad because you feel like you’ve been living in garbage, but it’s not more garbage than you already were and now that it’s all out there you can clean it up easier! And because you can clean it up easier the room will look a billion times better now that the extra clutter no one can see can finally be thrown away! Now you don’t need your Dad coming into your room telling you to clean your room because you’re already cleaning it, and your mom uses your closet sometimes to store old stuff you don’t know why we don’t throw away, but since you’re cleaning your room and your brother has another family you can put all that junk in his room making you have less junk in your room! Everything in your room is better now which is what we’re doing to this place!”

The Teen Titans stare at the 11-year-old after his long-winded and extremely specific explanation, unsure how to respond, when Nightwing summarizes the information. “We’re getting rid of all of the hostile architecture to make the city safer to sleep on. Now put my partner down!”

“Okay, that makes more sense.” Kid Flash says.

Djinn lowers Jonathan to the floor apologetically. “Sorry about that!”

“We have important business to take care of. If they’re not doing anything harmful, let’s leave them alone.” Red Arrow commands, walking away from the duo. “We have a mission to complete. You can exchange pleasantries later.”

The rest of the team follow their leader and wish the pair farewell as they travel further into the city, more than satisfied with going their separate ways. Some of them even threw encouragement their way, however, Nightwing notices their curious glances. It was like they were expecting the duo to do something dangerous, which makes little sense. Then again, Damian does see himself as a menace to society so they’re not off in that assumption.

“That was weird.” Flamebird comments as he picks up the broken concrete he created. “They just showed up and left without doing much. I wonder why they were even here?”

“Don’t pay them any mind, Flamebird. I bet they simply believe us to not be worth their time.” Nightwing scoffs, picking up his medieval mace and destroying more sidewalk dividers.

The affluent citizens and tourists evacuate the area as they rained destruction onto their fair city for a significant amount of time. Once they finished with this city block, the duo begin to tidy the area by sweeping the dust and piling up all the stuff they destroyed into one big pile of steel, rebar, wood, and rock. It took a while to do this one street so going through all of Jump City was unlikely to happen in one day. It was especially difficult since they were adamant about cleaning up after themselves. 

As they debate on whether or not they can recycle the metal an authoritative voice directs their attention behind them. “Freeze! Step away from the pile and put your hands up!”

Flamebird turns around but doesn’t put his hands up to see three police officers ordering them around. “Why? We’re not doing anything wrong.”

“Son,” One of the officers says, looking down at the child. “You are terrorizing the people of this city and destroying public property.”

“But we fixed it,” Jonathan points out, gesturing to streets to see it mostly in tacts aside from the spots of fresh concrete where something else used to sit. “And that stuff was hurting homeless people.”

“That stuff was there for a reason. Their kind is dangerous to business and other people.”

Nightwing rolls his eyes in annoyance as he finally acknowledges the police presence. “-TT- Funny how you listed business interests over people.”

“Boy, you better comply! Put your hands up!” One of the officers repeated to Damian. “Or we’ll have to use force!”

“But we’re not hurting anyone,” Jonathan repeats and holds up his hands. “You don’t have to use force. We’ll go with you, right Nightwing?”

 Nightwing sighs, but uncrosses his arms and goes to raise his hands when a gun is suddenly drawn at him. “I said put your hands up!”

“What the Hell? I’m doing what you said.” Nightwing blandly states, raising his hands higher as Flamebird rushes to him.

“Serg, they’re just kids!” An officer shouts.

“Yeah man, all they did was destroy stuff!”

Flamebird protectively shields his best friend behind him and does his best to focus on feeling indestructible as he tries to de-escalate the situation. “We said we’d go with you! We don’t want to hurt anyone, and you don’t want to hurt us!”

“I’ve seen the videos! That one has weapons on him!” The gun-wielding cop states. “We need to arrest that one for it too.”

“Right, but you’re not helping by drawing a weapon on a child!”

“Doesn’t the other one have superpowers? Why are you only threatened by the short kid?”

“We have names,” Nightwing unhelpfully reminds them over Flamebird’s shoulder.

“Nightwing, not now!” Flamebird chastises, his eyes fixated on the weapon still pointed at them.

“You worked hard on that name and people should appreciate it.”

“I spent three minutes thinking about it after hearing a story. You even pointed that out when I told you it!” He murmurs through clenched teeth. “Also, there’s a gun pointed at you! Why aren’t you freaking out?”

“I’ve had much worse happen to me. I’d be a poorly trained assassin if I couldn’t avoid getting shot by a paranoid idiot,” Nightwing quietly explains into Flamebird’s ear. “Besides, Red Hood is on that rooftop with a sniper rifle trained on him if he tries anything. Speaking of which-” He taps Flamebird on the side to urge him to move out of the way. “I’m concerned about you getting shot.”

“Oh, you are NOT bringing that up right now.” Jonathan hisses as his eyes dart to where Damian said his brother was. “And we can’t just shoot them.”

“I see no problems with it."

"There are so many problems with everything going on."

"They're not taking us seriously!" The aggressive officer shouts. "These kids need to learn to respect authority!"

“Serg, what the Hell are you talking about, this isn’t what we signed up for!” One of the other officers yells, trying to reach for the gun.

“We just had to bring them in and call their parents or something, not inflate your fucking ego!”

“I am respecting your pathetic amount of self-imposed authority by not kicking the ever-loving shit out of you. It would take me less than a second to dislocate every bone in your body.” Nightwing voices with a bored gaze. “Honestly, you should be stopping actual crimes instead of bothering children who want to make sure people without homes have a place to exist.”

“Nightwing, please don’t threaten the police.” Flamebird groans.

The situation is escalating as Nightwing steps forward to defend himself and the officer releases the safety on his pistol. The two officers lower-ranked officers and Flamebird attempt to intervene before something worse happens. Faintly, Flamebird hears an annoyed grumble that’s not from his partner and sees a middle-aged homeless man in an oversized trenchcoat too heavy for the California summer stand from under a tree.

“It’s getting too noisy.” The newcomer says and takes out a cartoonish ray gun that came straight out of a 1980s cartoon, bright yellow colors and all. He shoots it at all three cops causing them to freeze in place. “Take a hike.”

With glazed-over eyes, all of the officers trudge in the opposite direction. All of the people that lingered around, many of them with their phones out who did absolutely nothing in the situation, ran away at the sight of a homeless man shooting a weapon. Oddly, the homeless people in the area have not left and are even walking toward Nightwing and Flamebird.

Their supposed savior chuckles when he sees the taller child push his friend further behind him as he approaches. “Don’t give me a reason, kid.”

“What did you do to them?” Flamebird questions as they become surrounded.

“Do you really care about the guys who pointed a gun at you and your little buddy?”

“I’m not little, I’m still growing.” Nightwing protests.

“Yes,” Flamebird sincerely replies. “I don’t like what happened, but it was just one guy who was bad. Maybe it was a misunderstanding.”

“You know what they say, one bad apple spoils the barrel. The entire department is probably rotten if that guy is a part of it.” The man guesses. “And they're fine. They’re just going on a little hike, just like I told them to.”

“Mind control,” Nightwing realizes, then examines the people around him. “You’ve mind-controlled all of them!”

“You make it sound like I’m doing something wrong,” The stranger says, extending his empty hand out to the pair. “That was stupid of you to do back there, just so you know.”

Damian glares at the man while Jonathan takes his hand. “Why did you help us, mister? I mean, thank you for doing so, but I don’t think you did it just to help us. You would’ve stepped in earlier if that was the case.”

“I was watching you two to make sure you were worth saving,” He tells them, fiddling with the mind control device.

“Saving isn’t something that should be earned,” Jonathan admirably expresses. “You save people because it’s the right thing to do. You also don’t mess with people’s minds, so I’d appreciate it if you stop whatever you did to those officers and these people.”

“I’ve heard enough superhero spiels to last me a lifetime,” He sighs as he flips a few switches. “But I want to play nice, so I’ll free the pigs, but you two are coming with me.” And with that, he turns the weapon on them. “I don’t care if it’s willingly or by force.”

“Not much of a plea than a kidnapping.” Nightwing scoffs, watching as the people surround them. “Flamebird, we can easily get out of this. It’s child’s play--”

“Do you need saving?” Flamebird interrupts, easing his defensive posture and standing tall as he tries to look the stranger in the eye under the man’s yellow beanie. Before Nightwing can protest, Flamebird grabs his partner’s hand to stop him. “We’re heroes. If someone needs saving, we have to.”

“I’m not the one that needs saving,” He answers and from his weary tone, Jonathan feels like he’s honest. “It’s everyone else here that needs help. You’re the only heroes I can ask.”

Flamebird and Nightwing meet eyes and nod with the latter answering for them. “I appreciate the direct approach. Even though I think this is incredibly shady and idiotic to follow a man who is mind-controlling a hoard of displaced people--”

“Nightwing.”

“We will follow you willingly as long as you tell us your name.” Nightwing finishes.

"Then let's go home," The man smiles, and the crowd he’s controlling matches that same smile as they grab the duo by the arms. “My real name is useless now, but I like to go by Puppeteer.”

They drag them to the balustrade of the coastal observation deck and Jonathan struggles against the hold as he attempts to switch his powers from invisibility to anything else. He looks to Damian who is scowling at Puppeteer but isn't struggling, just watching. The older tween is not pleased about the situation, but he's always been a curious individual. 

“Hey! We said we’d go with you willingly!” Flamebird screams, fighting against the grip but careful not to hurt anyone.

“I know, and you are. It’s just difficult to get you where I need you by normal means. Hold your breath.”

The duo is tossed off the rocky cliff overlooking Jump City Bay and as they fall, Nightwing grabs onto his partner to shove a breathing device into his mouth. Flamebird covers Nightwing’s head and body to protect him from the impact of the roaring waves below. The eerie grins of the mind-controlled throng, and Puppeteer reflected at them, entrenching that image into their minds forever. The last thing the pair see before the water swallows them is Jason (in civilian attire) leaping over the ledge after them.

Chapter Text

Damian Wayne has been thrown off so many cliffs in his short lifetime that it was almost soothing. He knew what to do the second his feet left solid ground: Make sure the water’s deep, align his head with his feet, keep all appendages tight against his body, breathe out his nose, and brace. It’s all reflex at this point in his life, but the impact still shocks his system. His domino mask also doubles as swimming goggles, so he immediately inspects his surroundings once his body is submerged in the ocean.

The sea floor was obscured in tall algae and jagged rocks while a multitude of fish scurried out of their way as they sank. There had to be a reason Puppeteer threw them into the water; it would be an extremely inefficient method of killing them. Nightwing looks up at the rays of sunlight rippling through the water and follows the path with his eyes. Camouflage between a crack in the cliff wall at the bottom of the bay was a small cave illuminated by the sunbeam. 

He checks to make sure Flamebird is keeping the prototype breathing device in his mouth and didn't bite off his tongue during the landing. The younger boy has his eyes shut tightly to prevent saltwater from seeping in, mouthpiece intact, and Nightwing pries himself out of the vice grip while squeezing one of his hands. Flamebird squeezes back to signal he’s alright.

Nightwing guides his partner to the opening and discovers a long dark cavern with a light at the end. He skillfully glides through the cavern and feels his lungs start to burn halfway due to the lack of oxygen. He gave away the only device to Jonathan, knowing he couldn’t hold his breath or swim as well as Damian. The edges of his vision begin to blur and his body feels heavy because of the items he carries on his person.

The preteen hero makes it to the other side and traverses upward until he breaches the surface. He takes an enormous breath that somehow hurts more than not having oxygen at all. Damian hears Jon take out the breathing device and take several breaths before his vision returns to normal.

“Nigh- Nightwing…” Flamebird gasps. Even though he could breathe it didn't mean it was comfortable. “Nightwing where are we- Did you give me our only breathing thingy!? Why didn’t you make two!?”

“It--!” He violently hacks his lungs out as seawater he didn’t remember swallowing shoots out of his mouth. “It was a prototype. I didn’t have enough materials to make another let alone two that functioned a-adequately.”

While Flamebird proceeds to metaphorically rip him a new one, Nightwing tunes him out to examine where they landed. The cavern was lit by a few poorly made fires and battery-operated lights, but it was enough to see what was in front of him. It was a spacious cavern with makeshift houses rigged together by sheets of metal and driftwood lining it. There was a gathering of people in varying states of disarray at the edge of the shore staring at them.

The hooded hero pinches his nose and exhales with his mouth closed to pop his ears which has the negative side effect of hearing Flamebird nagging at him better. “--What were you going to do if you passed out!? We would both be stranded underwater, that’s what! You’re a better swimmer than me, meaning you should be able to breathe better! Are you even listening to me--!?”

“Flamebird shut up,” Nightwing tells him, which only succeeds in further incensing his partner.

“What did you just say to me!? I swear, you’re so infuriating sometimes--”

“Can this wait until the car ride home? We have more pressing issues to deal with right now.”

“Fine,” Flamebird grumbles, handing him back the breathing device. “So where-”

Before he could repeat his question, Jason pops out of the water next to him to loudly gasp for air, scaring him. “GHAH! Ugh, what the fuck!? Is this what you do on your outings?! At least struggle when you’re about to get thrown off a cliff!”

“Aaaaaaahhhhhhh!!!” Flamebird shrieks, bouncing out of the water and onto his friend’s shoulders.

“Why are you screaming? You know I’m supposed to be watching you!”

“Aaaaaaaahhhhhhh! I don’t know! Aaaaaaaaahhhhhh!”

“Someone shut him up!” The man shouts, covering his ears as the child's shrieks echo off the cave walls to amplify the sound.

Damian stops swimming which causes both of them to fall into the water. He resurfaces with Jon no longer screaming or clinging to his head. “You done?”

“Yes.” Jonathan pouts.

“Good, let’s figure out where we are,” He instructs as he paddles to the edge of the pond towards the crowd. He helps his partner out of the water and then pulls himself up whilst his brother does the same. The people closest to them back away cautiously and stare at their uniforms, afraid of what they're going to do to them.

Flamebird also notices their apprehensive gazes and his expression drops for a second before it becomes a bright and inviting smile. He runs up to one of the adults and sticks his hand up for a shake. “Hiya! I’m Flamebird and this is my best friend, Nightwing! Puppeteer said you needed help, so that’s what we’re here to do! What do you need help with?”

The person Jon is looking at darts their eyes at the people around them before asking, “W-what do you mean?”

“Well…” Flamebird drones as he examines the buildings closest to them. “Do you need any repairs to your homes? Or maybe we can help you clean up the pathways! It’s dark here so it’d be a shame if someone got hurt tripping over stuff--”

“You’re not going to take us back?” Someone from the crowd questions.

“No, it doesn’t look like any of you want that,” The young hero answers and childishly exaggerates, stretching his hand out further. He finally relents when he gets a handshake in return.

“You’re right, we don’t,” Puppeteer’s voice states and the duo turns to see the man getting out from the pool behind them along with the mind-controlled people. Most of them swim out in a trance and once they hit to get on the platform awareness creeps back into their eyes. 

“Throwing us was unnecessary,” Nightwing scoffs, noting his dry condition.

“And where’s the fun in that?” He questions, folding down the high collar of his trenchcoat to reveal more of his scratchy unshaven face. His brown eyes were tired, he had dark eyebags that accentuated his sunken complexion.

“Why did you bring us here?” Flamebird inquires.

“I need you to drive away the Teen Titans,” He bluntly answers and the duo’s eyes nearly bulge out of their heads due to the sheer absurdity of the request.

“Excuse me?!” Nightwing exclaims as the crowd around them begins to clamor at the news. As the word spread, soon what were hushed murmurs became rackety cries. “You want us to fight the Teen Titans!”

“They’re onto us, and I know they’ll find us soon,” Puppeteer declares. “We have too many people and we can’t go anywhere else. If the Teen Titans find us, we’ll be forced back onto the streets above or into shelters.”

“Why don’t you just explain why you’re here? I’m sure all of you have a good reason.” Flamebird proposes. He’s not a fan of the team’s operation, but he has nothing against them. He thinks that they’re good heroes and wouldn’t intentionally try to hurt anyone.

The man shakes his head in denial. “How many people will be sent away before we get a chance to explain ourselves? We don’t want them trying to convince us they know what’s best for us.”

“And you think the two of us can do anything? You don’t know what we’re capable of.” Nightwing points out.

Puppeteer shakes his head again. “I’ve seen what you two do, you didn’t try to move us out of the way or go somewhere else. You tried making it easier for us to be safe out here rather than drive us back where we don’t want to be.”

 He notices that they’re apprehensive about the idea of fighting other heroes and pivots the conversation. “How about you see what we do here, then make your choice.” The people regarded him as their de facto leader as they waited with bated breath for his following words. “Let them help with what they can,” He orders, however, none of the people appeared mind controlled as they listened. “I’ll come back to talk to them when I can.”

He walks away to the darker parts of the cave and the denizens of the shanty town instantly act welcoming, even excited, about their presence. The pair were instantly yanked to multiple projects that needed their help. People crowded them asking if they had powers, could solder metal, knew how to woodwork, fix lights, and whatever else they needed help with.

Nightwing, being the authoritarian he is, takes this opportunity to lecture people on how everything is done wrong and do everything himself. “Give me that! It is a basic principle of engineering! If you want more support with less material you need the base beams to intersect!” He leans two large wooden pillars against each other and two other poles that are holding up the roof of a shed. “That allows the majority of the weight on top to be evenly distributed while reinforcing its stability.”

While Nightwing works on the homes, Flamebird is using his ice breath to help make freezer boxes for the food. It was just a metal crate with a smaller metal box on the inside that was partially embedded into the ground. It was a good way to practice switching between powers quicker since he has to use his laser vision to cut a hole in the ground, super strength to pull out the block (that will be used for homes), and ice breath to cool the boxes.

He didn’t question why there was a community of people living underground, but there had to be a good reason. Brown waves catch his attention out of the corner of his eye and he recognizes it as belonging to the teenage girl he saw stealing produce from the supermarket. That reminds him of the food he bought earlier.

“Hey Nightwing, can I have my food?” He calls out to his friend.

A slightly damp plastic bag is tossed his way and he struggles to untie it. “Dang it, why does he have to tie everything like it’s going to run away.” He forsakes the knot and opts to tear it open. Thankfully everything was dry inside and he gave it to the girl to put away. “Here, put this in too!”

She studies the bread and fish then tensely at Jon. “You didn’t eat today, right?”

The hero raises a brow at her. “How did you know?”

“People don’t plan on giving away fresh food,” She says, throwing the canned bread in the pile of other canned goods. 

She wets her hands on the condensation of the ice box and wipes it off on the inside of her jacket. Then she does the same with a switchblade from her pocket before cutting into the bread and fish to construct a sandwich. She rips it in half and hands Flamebird the other half as she uses some of the vegetables she stole to make her sandwich fuller.

Flamebird simply eats it as it is, not wanting to take away the limited amount of fresh food from these people. “Thanks!”

She tosses the remaining food in the appropriate ice boxes before closing them, “It’s nothing.”

Jonathan has always been a chatty person so he tries to make pleasant conversation with her, “I’m Flamebird, what’s your name?”

The girl takes a long time to answer as she spends several moments enjoying her meal. “...Alinta.”

“That’s a pretty name!” Jonathan compliments. “I saw you earlier at the store. You’re really fast!”

“... Thanks,” She responds hesitantly, and unconsciously touches her legs causing Jonathan to look down to see… To see she doesn’t have legs. Alinta notices him staring and picks up the worn-out prosthetics next to her. “Don’t worry, you didn’t imagine anything. I can run with these babies, just not good.”

“I thought you were pretty good,” He reassures as he does his best not to stare at where her legs should be. “Why did you take them off?”

“They’re running blades, they should only be put on while running. That and I don’t have prosthetic sleeves anymore and the lining is worn out. It hurts and falls off when I move too much,” Alinta answers and playfully shoves Flamebird’s shoulder at his horrified expression. “Don’t worry, Puppeteer said he would work something out. In the meantime, he got me a wheelchair when I’m not running around.” 

She points to a chair behind them that Jon didn’t notice earlier. “That was nice of him. Do you need help getting in and out?”

“Nah, I can do it,” She tells him. “But if you don’t mind handing me the stuff in the bag tied to the handle, that’d be great.”

The young hero stands up and hands the older teen several more canned goods, a box of salad mix, large bottles of water, and a canister of brunette hair color. He looks at Anita and then at the can. “It’s not natural?”

The girl smirks and pretends to lavishly flip her locks, “What, am I that good of a stylist?” She jokes to herself at the boy’s baffled expression. “You can put that back, I just needed the food.”

“Okay,” Jonathan puts it back and opens his mouth to ask why she’s dying her hair but Alinta already anticipated the question.

“Some of us don’t want to be recognized, that’s all you’re getting out of me.”

Flamebird doesn’t say anything else for the rest of that time.

A while later, Nightwing was rewiring the cheap string lighting along what could be considered the main road and Flamebird was carrying heavy construction material like plywood and aluminum plate (that was likely stolen but he’s doing his best to ignore that) to areas that needed it. Flamebird walked slowly so he wouldn’t accidentally knock someone over since he could barely see, and did well for the most part until he accidentally rammed the end of a wooden plank into someone reinforcing the walls.

“OW, FUCK! Watch where you’re going!”

“Sorry!” The preteen apologizes before he realizes who it is that yelled at him. “Wait, Jaaaaaaa-----” He draws out the A sound, unsure of how to refer to Damian’s brother when out of uniform but still in public. “Aaaaaaace?”

“Jace, wow, real creative.” He taunts, rolling his teal eyes and the child does his best not to linger on the faint glow around them.

“JJ?” Jon suggests.

“Oh fuck no, just go back to Jace.”

“Okay, Jace,” Jonathan says to test the name on his tongue. “I thought you disappeared. I didn’t know you were helping.”

“I know I’m not supposed to get involved too much with you and the brat’s shit, but I’m not going to sit around doing nothing when I could be helping these people too,” Jason tells him, and boy does he look threatening with a hammer in his hand.

His tone makes it sound personal and that’s when he remembers something about the man, “Jace, where did you live before… You know.”

“None of your business,” He vaguely answers, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, fuck, that’s not-- Urrrgh, What-- I was squatting in an apartment.”

“What’s squatting?”

“It’s living in a home that’s been abandoned or owned by someone else,” He explains. “There are a bunch of rich fucks with multiple homes or own entire buildings lying empty. It’s easy to make a home there since they’re not using it. If someone has enough money to buy space like that, but not enough consideration to use it then they don’t deserve it.”

“Oh,” Jonathan thinks about it for a second and then asks, “Why didn’t you go to a homeless shelter?”

“That’s rude,” Jason states with a glare that Jon flinches under.

“Sorry,” He apologizes again. “It’s just that… I don’t feel comfortable asking everybody else here. Nightwing said homelessness is complicated, and that there’s a reason people don’t want to sleep there. Isn’t homelessness just not having a home? I don’t know why it has to be so complicated, and you’re an adult who I kinda know so I thought it’d be okay to ask, but I guess it wasn’t which is fine but--”

He claps his thumb and fingers together to mimic a closing mouth which makes Jon shut up. “Drop the stuff and follow me,” He orders and begins to walk away to a secluded corner of the cave. 

Jonathan couldn’t see anything away from the light of the path so he desperately concentrated on the faint glow of Jason’s eyes to lead him. At some point, he was concentrating so hard that his supervision was activated making the cavern so bright everything was a blinding white with tiny shadows being his only indicator that he wasn’t in some void. The faint green glow became the only thing he could focus on as it became a beacon of guiding light.

Jason pauses when he notices the 11-year-old walking oddly, with his hands out in front of him in long slow steps. It was dark, but not so dark he had to act like he was blind… Unless he suddenly is. “Jesus Christ,” He swears and unintentionally blinks rapidly and grabs his flashlight. 

It makes the green light flash in Jon’s view which confuses him. “Jasss-ce? Jace, what’s wrong?” He’s even more blinded by a new light being shone in his eyes. “ACK! MY EYES!”

“Say you can’t see next time,” He scolds, waiting for the half-Kryptonian to turn off his supervision. Jason sits Jon down on a large rock and squats to his eye level, using his knees as elbow rests. He hands the flashlight to the boy once he stops rubbing his eyes to use as he pleases.

“Thank you,” Jon shines it on the floor between them to give them enough light to properly see each other. “Why did you walk to talk away from everyone?”

“Because this shit is private,” He snarkily replies. “You want to know why people don’t like shelters? Because they suck. I’m not talkin’ bout how clean or nice it looks. A lot of people who work at homeless shelters shouldn’t be workin’ there. They oughta be better off in jail or something. There’s already enough to worry about in the streets as it is: cops, assholes, idiots, and other homeless people. At least out there we got a say in how shit’s gonna go down, but in a shelter, you play by their sick rules.”

“But the people at the place we volunteered at seemed nice.”

“I’m sure some of them are, but then you got people like…” Jason takes a moment to reword his next sentence. “When B first found me, he didn’t take me off the streets and adopt me. He sent me to a shelter because his rich ass thought I’d be safer there.” Jonathan’s blue eyes widened at the thought that Mr. Wayne had given up one of his kids, but at that time Jason wasn’t his child. He was just another homeless kid in Gotham. “When someone gets a job where you have power over others, ya gotta think about why. Most of the time they like to have a feeling of control whether it’s over a situation or people. Employees in the shelters would assault us, steal what little we had, and treat us as though we were bothering them. The ones that cared couldn’t do anything because they would either be too overworked or driven away by the dangerous crazy fuck homeless people.”

“What if we gave everyone a home?” Flamebird naively offers. “I can’t do that since I don’t have money, but wouldn’t that fix things?”

“Flamebird, if everyone had a home, there would still be homeless people.” The man sighs, running his hands through the white front of his black hair. “Homes cost money to keep and maintain. Not everybody can get a job to afford that. Now the question is why can’t everybody get a job? They could be physically or mentally incapable of getting a job. They could have a criminal record that stops them from getting a job. They could be here on a visa that expired because they couldn’t find work fast enough. The economy could just be shit and this is Jump City, so it is. Hell, there are people with jobs but no place to live because they aren’t paid enough. Then there are the people who don’t want stable housing because they’re either mentally ill or want to stay off the grid. There are also people with homes that are worse than being out on the streets.”

Flamebird stares at the ring of light at his feet and ponders on ways to solve all the issues Jason brought up, but it involves fixing much more than Jon will be capable of. “What would happen to all these people if the Teen Titans… ‘saved’ these people?”

Jason stands up with his arms crossed as he seriously contemplates the answer. “I doubt they could take their time to find a place for everyone. Not that they wouldn’t try, but there has to be at least a few hundred people here, or even a few thousand. Not everybody can stay here. I bet a lot of them don’t want to be here, but being here is better than fending for themselves. Maybe more. Everything would be forced to go back to normal.”

The child thinks about what he heard for a bit then tells Jason, “I don’t like normal.”

Nightwing finished rewiring the lights and has moved on to sewing old shirts into pillows or blankets. He didn’t know his skills as a semester would transfer to real-world application, but this reinforces how all talents have their place. He’s grateful he’s not contributing to the obscene amount of clothing waste fast fashion causes at the very least. He's even more grateful they allowed him to do this in a private shed since he doesn’t like interacting in groups.

“Have you thought about it,” A voice standing in front of him questions.

Damian looks up and sees Puppeteer staring down at him through his hollow eyes. “I’ve made up my mind the moment you tossed us off that cliff.” He says with palpable disdain.

“I see. I’m sorry to hear that.” He replies in an even tone that is used to disappointment.

“Do not misconstrue my rationale. I have nothing against these people or the commune. You, however, are the only thing I cannot logically get behind,” The hooded hero informs him, not faltering his stitching. “You use your device to control these people’s minds-”

“I have their consent.” Puppeteer justifies. “Some of these people are mentally disabled. They wouldn’t be able to find their way back if I couldn’t guide them back. You know how difficult it was to get here, and it would be impossible for a lot of people if I didn’t do this.”

“You have power over them,” Damian counters. “How far does consent reach when there is no alternative?”

“It’s more than some of these people ever had.”

“And who are you to give it to them?” Nightwing inquires. “It would be foolhardy to trust someone capable of altering my mind and whose sole identification is an ominous moniker.”

The man sits down next to the pile of free commemorative shirts and opens his trenchcoat to reveal a bright yellow space-age jumpsuit with thin red accents lining the seams. “My name is Jordan Weir, but I stopped using it. It doesn’t mean anything anymore.”

“On the contrary, Dr. Weir. I believe it does,” The 13-year-old says with amusement dripping through his voice.

The weary man chuckles to himself at the designation. “Heh, no one has called me that in a long time.”

“I don’t see why not. Anyone who goes through the infuriating process of defending their dissertation and peer review deserves to be referred to by their given title. Your research into anima-psytronic technology is the groundwork for all mind control technology. Putting my feelings on mind control aside, it’s still remarkable.”

“I didn't know my name was famous enough that children would know it.”

“Probably because they’re familiar with the achievements of the supervillain, Puppeteer.” Nightwing states while he stuffs the repurposed shirt with other shirts to make a pillow. “I’m not versed in your track record to name everything you’ve done, but blackmail, kidnapping, manipulation, mayhem, mischief, murder, and theft are all part of your repertoire. Honestly, you find the key to accessible mind-control technology and you don’t sell it to the highest bidder or create a cult to follow your every whim? Although…” He poignantly darts his gaze to the people working outside to ensure their small community still functions. “Homeless people are susceptible to manipulation thanks to their status in society. This is almost the population density of a small village, so not bad for your first attempt. Next time you should use college students since they’ll be questioning their placement in the world and desire a purpose.”

“You are a bizarre child,” The adult tells him to which Damian reacts with an arrogant smirk. “That wasn’t a compliment; it’s messed up.”

“Words only hold as much power as you give them, and I will take it as one. Normalcy bores me,” He brags, sticking his sewing needle into the cushion to give the man his full attention. “And you are a supervillain which is why I am having difficulty understanding your motives behind all of this. You said you would bring us here whether we agreed or not. You allowed us to work here to give us a sense of empathy for these people. This means you are not above using that device on Flamebird and I if we do not accede to your will. You are not rehabilitated. So what do you want from us, Dr. Weir?”

“Will my answer change your mind?” Puppeteer presses.

“No,” Damian answers honestly.

He debates on confessing his motivations to the young boy for several moments before responding, “I need to make sure these people don’t get thrown back onto the open streets. I escaped prison a couple of months ago and have been on the lamb ever since. There were already a few people here when I found the place, but I was able to get more people off the streets and in here, at least the good ones.”

“I see that you have biases.” Nightwing scoffs.

“Hey, a lot of those people are dangerous, addicts, violent offenders, or just plain sick. I’m not going to pretend they’re not going to hurt anyone.” He firmly iterates. “Anyways, it’s my fault we’re being targeted. I got too ambitious. We gathered too many people and now the Teen Titans noticed us. I have plenty of experience fighting them to know how the game works. I know I don’t stand a chance against the new Teen Titans using my outdated hypno-gun and joint pains.”

“You’re only in your forties.”

“Tell that to my knees.” Puppeteer sighs, stitching his leg out to the tune of several cracks. “If I stay we get attacked. They’ll still try to put these people back up if I leave. I need a way for them to lose interest in doing anything about this place.”

“Wanting superheroes to give up on something is a heavy request for two adolescents.” Nightwing criticizes with the utmost judgment. “This commune of yours won’t last in the long run.”

“I know,” Puppeteer agrees, taking out his mind-control gun and pointing it at Nightwing’s head. “But every moment we have in here is better than another day up there. People without homes are always moving, and a lot of us are tired of it.”

“I bet if you were to plead your case to the Teen Titans, they’ll understand,” Damian calmly notes. “That’s what heroes are supposed to do.”

“Heh, and how often do heroes listen first?”

“More than you think, less than I like,” Nightwing admits.

“Maybe if I had more time,” The man casually states. “But they’re looking for us now. Even if we get time there is still a record somewhere that these people are missing. And what’s stopping anyone else from trying to look for them? How many people will be put back out there before I even get the chance to explain?”

“A lot of this sounds like poor planning.”

“Well, maybe it wouldn’t if those rotten kids didn’t stop ruining my plans! I hate superheroes, and I especially hate the Titans! Too many failed plans against them and all I ever amounted to was a C-list hero at best. If it wasn’t for them I could’ve amounted to something! What I wouldn’t give to get the upper hand over them at least once.”

Nightwing sighs, almost bored yet somewhat amused. “I am pleased the art of monologuing hasn’t been lost to time, but I can’t in good conscience let you remain here now that you’ve confessed to illegal activity and a clear vendetta against the Teen Titans.”

It looks like the yellow-clad man is about to pull the trigger when Puppeteer feels cold steel lightly trace the underside of his chin. He darts his eyes to see a katana casually in Nightwing’s hand while he resumes stuffing pillows with the other. “Where were you-!”

“I wonder what’s faster: your trigger finger, my blade,” The middle schooler playfully muses. “Or Flamebird’s laser vision?” 

He confidently nods his head to the doorway of the shabby shed and the man follows the line of action to discover Flamebird staring at them with glowing scarlet eyes pointed directly at Puppeteer. “We'll do it, but you have one second to get that gun away from my partner.”

Puppeteer does so and stares back at Nightwing to see a feral grin plastered on his face. “I told you I made up my mind, and I’ve been eager for an excuse to test my skills against the new Teen Titans. I would’ve liked to have a bit more time for preparation, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

The vagrant villain looks between them repeatedly then relaxes his entire body with a chuckle that sounds more like an exhale. “You’re an odd pair of heroes.”

Nightwing and Flamebird strut out of the entrance where they’ll likely regroup with the Teen Titans. From what Nightwing knows about the Titan’s supercomputer program, they’ll have access to security cameras and facial recognition which will lead them to the affluent cliffside they were thrown off. They have to get back there before they get to the underwater entrance.

“If this fight is too easy, remind me to tell my brother,” Nightwing jokes as he pulls on the hem of his gloves. “Not all of his mentees can be as wonderful as I was.”

“Can we at least try to talk to them first and convince them to play along with us instead of fighting Teen Titans?” Flamebird implores his best friend, only slightly put off by his zeal to fight outnumbered and under-resourced. “And I doubt other Nightwing would remember the experience as… Wonderful.”

“Of course, but remember what I told you if the negotiations don’t pull through.”

“I take out the speedster first, then the Czarnian, and Roundhouse last,” The half-Kryptonian recounts, nervously fiddling with the collar of his cape.

“I’ll handle Djinn and Red Arrow,” Nightwing affirms. “And don’t forget our objective.”

“Is Djinn her name or her species?”

“It’s both,” He clarifies.

Jonathan holds his palm over his eyes to block the sun as he waits for a sign the Teen Titans are coming. The block was empty and even covered in police tape which made him feel a bit guilty. He hopes it wasn’t because of them… Who is Jon kidding, of course it was because of them.

“Hey! There they are!” Roundhouse excitedly yells running towards them with his holographic screen up. “They’re okay!”

“Wait,” The Teen Titan’s leader, Red Arrow, calls out, stopping her teammate from engaging. “How do we know they’re not mind-controlled?”

It makes sense that they already figured out the Puppeteer was a part of this. “We’re not mind controlled!” Flamebird shouts back as reassuringly as possible, which isn’t much considering they think he’s mind-controlled. “Um… I know this is a lot to ask, but can you just… leave? The kidnapped homeless people aren’t kidnapped and are fine.”

“Were they released from wherever they are?” Crush asks as she rounds the corner.

“Well… No, but--”

“You want us to leave nearly two thousand people missing?”

“Wow, that’s a lot of people. It didn’t look like it but then again it was dark there.” Jonathan comments as he recalls the size of the camp. There was a lot of space so it made sense there were more people he didn’t get to meet.

Djinn tilts her head in confusion as she floats closer. “So you were also kidnapped, found where the people are being held, and want them to stay underground away from society?”

“Yes,” Flamebird reinforces. “They want to stay where they are.”

“And you came to this conclusion after a supervillain famous for mind-controlling people broke out of prison and got his hands on you.”

“Yes, because we have a plan for them! I mean with them! I mean to help them in the short term because apparently being homeless is super complicated and involves a lot of systems that are all broken. If you all play along we can have more time to figure out a better way to help these people than making them live like mole men. Wait, is that offensive to mole people? Are mole men real or was that just a myth?” The child rambles and then realizes how bad everything sounded out loud. “Wait, let me reword that. Puppeteer mind controlled a bunch of people to throw us into the ocean--”

“Habibi, stop. That doesn’t sound any better,” Nightwing sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he fights the headache being caused by this conversation. “Also, Kid Flash ran past us.”

“Oh shoot! That’s not fair, I wasn’t done talking!” Flamebird whines as he activates his superspeed to try and catch up to the older male.

However, there is something to note about the difference between Kryptonian super-speed and Speed Force super-speed. The Speed Force is a completely separate plane of energy that allows those with access to it to run faster than lightning without affecting the real world too much. Kryptonian super speed is just going fast while obeying the laws of physics. To put this in simpler terms, speedsters can run and interact with the world without worry while Kryptonians…

Are pure destruction.

A shockwave explodes from where Flamebird’s feet push off the ground with enough force to shatter every window in a 5-block radius. “There goes our chances of talking this out!” Nightwing screams over the ringing in his ears as he pulls out his katana.

Flamebird didn’t mean to run that fast, he usually doesn’t. When he uses superspeed he tries to avoid a sonic boom, but it takes a lot of power to catch up to a hero whose primary ability is running faster than light. The 11-year-old catches up to the teenage speedster while he is halfway underwater and forcibly drags him up, switching to flight and using the momentum he created using superspeed to propel flying them faster than he normally could. He clings to Kid Flash like a kola until he's halfway through the troposphere.

“I just want to talk!” The child shouts, wrapping his arms around Kid Flash’s neck for leverage. “Those people don’t want to be saved by you!”

“What the Hell is going on?!” The teen shouts, confused by the series of events taking place.

“Those homeless people want to stay where they are! They don’t want to go back to the streets or a homeless shelter!” Flamebird explains as they enter the stratosphere. “And they weren’t kidnapped! What you’re about to break into is a homeless encampment, not a hostage situation!”

“Run by a guy who could turn them into a mind-controlled army any time he wants?”

“No! It’s different now!” Flamebird responds like he’s making perfect sense.

Kid Flash is about to say something else; he sees a gray and black figure quickly approaching them. Without warning he vibrates his body to phase through Jonathan and fall. The action causes the child to feel extremely nauseated, have a terrible migraine, and feel like his entire body has been ripped to shreds only to be put back together by super glue. This is not going how Flamebird planned. Before he can vomit his guts out, Crush smashes into him, propelling them slightly higher, before they start to hurl back to the ground.

Meanwhile Nightwing slices through two arrows as he sprints to Red Arrow. The ground underneath him begins to distort as his straight path becomes a spiral tunnel that refuses to obey the laws of gravity. He pushes through the altered reality and aims his blade at Red Arrow’s arm to hinder her ability to shoot.

He immediately slams into the ground as the floor rotates, lining him up for a perfect shot by the archer. Nightwing curses the existence of magic and switches to psychological warfare. “Good to see you’ve moved on from protecting the capitalist interests of supervillains! How many lives did it cost you to break that contract?”

The arrow lodges itself next to his neck, pinning his cape down to the bricked floor. “Who are you!? TALK.”

“The Ninth Circle really should have traded in information rather than money if their hired assassins are this poorly educated!” He mocks, using the moment Red Arrow takes to reload her weapon to throw a knife at her, slashing her cheek and stunning her long enough for him to stand and kick away her bow. “Or should I blame the Outsiders for that misfortune?”

He goes for another kick only to have the older teen expertly catch it. She speaks with her fists as they two engage in hand-to-hand combat of almost equal martial prowess on the rotating pavement. Red Arrow was good, but she specialized in archery while Damian studied all martial arts. Nightwing almost gets the upper hand when a ball of ice the size of a human knocks him to his side and sits atop him.

“I got him! I got him!” Roundhouse cheers as he transforms from a ball of ice into a ball of iron. “Djinn! Get him!”

Small delicate hands in a purple aura hover at the sides of his head as the short teenaged girl kneels above him with glowing purple eyes. “Now let me see your greatest desire,” Djinn utters in a baleful yet hypnotic voice.

“This is just a misunderstanding!” Jonathan gasps, breaking through his nausea and most likely a broken rib. “We just want what’s best for the people in there!”

“So do we!” Crush fires back as a giant chain in her hand constricts Flamebird’s body with a mind of its own. “And there's no misunderstanding! I heard ya the first time! Those people will never get that if you allow them to stay there!”

“They weren’t getting any help up here either!” The boy shouts and does his best to focus using his super strength. He feels the power coursing through his body but the chain does not budge. “What is this thing!?”

“That’s a chain strong enough to hold Lobo,” Crush boasts as they near their descent. “I hope you can survive the landing, kid!”

Jonathan glances down to see Damian pinned down by a metal ball and surrounded, then back up at Crush. He turns off all his powers and scowls at the girl above him. “I can’t. I’ll die and it will be your fault!”

"WHAT!?!"

There was no more resistance from his superstrength, so the chain overcompensated and crushes his organs. “I hope you’re okay with being a child-murdering hero!” He gargles through crimson ichor spilling from his mouth.

Red eyes surrounded by black makeup widen with panic as she pulls on the chain. “No no no no no! Fuck! Obelus let him go!”

Crush wraps her indestructible body around the child to cushion him from the fall. The concrete below them caves as cars swerve around them. One vehicle accidentally hits them, but Crush’s body is dense to the point the car bends around them.

After checking if the people in the vehicle were okay, Flamebird pushes himself out of the slack grip. With all of the adrenaline and concentration he can muster, the caped hero rams into Roundhouse with his super strength. He might have used too much force as he hits the boy like a pinball far over the ocean. Also, was that T-shaped building in the distance in the way--!

Flamebird winces as he sees the human-wrecking ball crash into the base of Titan’s Tower. Jonathan is vaguely aware of the yellow blur running after their teammate but focuses on helping his partner. He lunges for Djinn when Crush tackles him into the ground. She presses his face into the pavement and briefly sees the yellow blur coming back. He has to deal with the speedster first.

Damian suddenly finds himself trapped in his mind standing in his room, but not the one in Wayne Manor. He looks down to see himself wearing the black and white training uniform of the League of Assassins. “DAMNED DJINN! GET OUT OF MY HEAD!” He roars, tearing the clothing off his skin like it was poison.

His voice was higher than he remembered it being and he looked into the mirror next to his bed to see he was a 9-year-old boy. Mysterious lavender fog pours into the room from the ornate golden windows, and his room door opens. “YOU COME OUT HERE AND FACE--!”

“Habibi, what is all that ruckus?” A woman’s voice Damian would never forget says in Arabic, taking his breath away. Talia walks through the door in a loose black abaya with green trimming and flowing brown hair that shines like it's made of silk. She was as beautiful as Damian remembers.

“Mother?” The child whispers with bated breath and flinches when her nimble hand strokes his cheek.

“Damian,” The woman’s lyrical voice utters as smoothly as a song. “Your father and I have been waiting for you downstairs and your siblings are threatening to eat without you. I don't think Mr. Pennyworth appreciated his hard work going to waste.”

The boy gazes into his mother’s emerald eyes with confusion. It’s not like he’s never thought about a life where he lived with the family he loved under one roof. He knows better than to indulge in useless fantasies because that’s all they are. Damian is not a little kid anymore; he doesn’t need a stupid wish.

“So that is what you look like! You’re very beautiful without the mask.” The voice of the genie echoes through the room, speaking his native tongue. It snaps Damian out of his stupor as he desperately searches for the girl. “I think I recognize that face. Weren’t you on the internet? Damian Wayne, was it?”

“Going to reveal my identity? Two can play that game. Release my name and face and I shall do the same to your entire team.”

“I shall do no such thing,” Djinn promises with absolute sincerity. “That is not what heroes do.”

“They shouldn’t jump to conclusions either, but here we are. I’m not mind-controlled, by the way, if it wasn’t already obvious.”

“I see that,” She notes. “Is this your greatest desire? To have your family whole?”

“That implies it was ever broken.”

“I can make that happen in a sense.”

“I didn’t know you were still in the business of granting wishes,” The boy growls as the smoke in the room swirls together into the shape of the girl he’s supposed to be fighting.

“It is not a wish, it is an offer. I cannot use my magic to grant wishes of those I do not care for anymore,” She insists, her voice floating in the air from all directions. “We both want to help people, but I cannot simply leave those in need without it. Nightwing, the other one, taught me that getting into other people’s business is what makes a great hero.”

“He stole that from Superman.”

“I can let you live a lifetime of love with your family in minutes if you let us put the people back into the city.”

“You’re pretty sheltered for someone that’s over 4000 years old.” Damian hisses and swings his sword at her which phases right through her body. “You don’t understand people.”

“I’ve granted countless wishes of wishes in thousands of lifetimes, I know what people want and the depths they’ll go through to get it.” Djinn conveys as her legs dissolve into a tail of purple mist and circles around him. “Treasure, power, life, death, revenge, peace, sex, and love. The world changes, but greed is the same.”

“Then I shall want for nothing!” Damian bellows, dramatically spreading his arms out wide. “You remember that humanity is wicked and selfish, but not enough so that we’re also arrogant! If I want something I will take it myself, and without cheap tricks!”

The visage of his mother crumbles and the room turns to ash until all that is left is purple smoke. Djinn stares at Damian with a shocked expression as she yells, “The heart is fickle, but that's too much! You can’t just change what you desire most in an instant!”

“Oh, but I can!” The ex-assassin boasts with an evil grin. “Right now I want for nothing and that is what your magic shows me, NOTHING!”

“You’re still trapped in here until the fight outside is over even if you don’t have a wish,” Djinn informs him.

“And you’re stuck in here with me,” Damian counters victoriously. “Which means you’ll be subjected to witness whatever I want! You’ve seen the desires of the worst of humanity, then I shall wish for the most inhuman evils outside your imagination!”

Back in the real world, Djinn breaks her spells and scrambles away from Nightwing’s body. “GET HIM AWAY FROM ME!”

Red Arrow catches the shaken girl and retrieves her bow to block three daggers being hurled at them. She was only in there for less than a minute but she knows time works differently when she’s in someone’s head. Djinn quickly uses her magic to wrap the stone around Nightwing and seal him in an impenetrable sphere of concrete.

“Don’t touch him!” Flamebird shouts, shoving Crush off of him and throwing her body at where he thinks Kid Flash will be in the next second with super strength. He overestimates the shot and also hurls her into the base of Titan’s Tower. If Jonathan didn’t know better, he’d say that the muscular woman’s body made a bigger impact than the iron-wrecking ball.

He dashes to the sphere and cracks it in half only to have his partner pull him inside to protect him from the arrows being shot at them. The back of Jonathan’s knees is cut by the sharp steel and his legs collapse. Nightwing catches him and gently lowers him to the ground. “Flamebird, just focus on healing! You already stalled three of them enough.”

Jonathan clears his throat of blood to ask, “How much longer do we have to do this; We can’t win?”

“Just a bit longer, I promise,” He comforts and ducks as an arrow sticks itself through the cracks in the structure where his body used to be.

Nightwing runs out to continue fighting as Flamebird wheezes, his lungs sounding closer to a whistle than normal breathing. He tells himself he has to keep going. He can’t lie still while Damian does everything. He can’t be useless.

“Djinn, what happened in there?” Red Arrow interrogates as the genie panicky darts her eyes every which way to look for the boy behind the wall. “Did you break the mind control?”

“He’s not mind-controlled, but he is depraved! Find him!” She pleads, clutching the other’s scarlet hood. “His mind- it’s Hell! He can just change his beliefs, his morals, and his wishes in an instant. How does someone live like that!?”

“Quite easily, I’ve come to find,” Nightwing admits with a satisfied smile as he plunges his sword into Red Arrow’s shoulder from behind them.

A boom echoes through the air from Titan’s Tower just like Flamebird, but much stronger, as Crush uses her natural muscle to leap onto the cliff. Jonathan peeks out from behind the curved wall to see Damian fighting Red Arrow while Djinn is… On the floor hyperventilating. Flamebird does not have the time to work out whatever happened there as Crush lassos Nightwing with her massive chain.

She swings him against the side of a restaurant before whipping him against the floor so hard Jon hears his bones crack. There’s a small blood stain where Nightwing’s head made contact with the ground and Damian doesn’t get up. He doesn’t get up… Why isn’t he getting up? They’re fighting so of course he’d get hurt, but they’re also fighting heroes. They wouldn’t kill him.

The young boy ignores his injured legs as he staggers to his best friend on the ground. The rest of the world disappears as Damian is the only thing he can see. He vaguely feels something trying to hold him back, but it quickly releases him as though he hurts to touch. Jon is vaguely aware of something screaming in agony around him but as he drops to hold his partner’s head he can’t find it in himself to care.

What a terrible trait for a hero.

Jonathan briefly glimpses Damian’s unconscious face and guilt instantly burns through him. He went out to fight alone because Jon was injured. He fought because Jon couldn’t convince the Teen Titans. It was all his fault. Everything is his fault.

Flamebird feels someone tugging his shoulders, yelling at him, and the world is set aflame as he remembers it exists. Jon doesn’t remember the next three seconds, but he finds himself standing on Crush’s shoulder while his hands clutch her head with thumbs right under her eye sockets. He’s also screaming; No words, just a pure visceral roar of unfiltered emotions coming out of his mouth.

Speaking of things coming out of his mouth, a waterfall of fire spills forth from his lips as his veins burn bright. It was like lava being poured directly on her melting face and into her mouth as Crush cries in pain. The resilient teen headbutts the child and he falls back for a second of reprieve. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! GET HIM OFF ME!” 

The Czarnian woman claws at the child with all her strength, tearing through his skin with her black nails but his blood fights back, searing through her hands to the bone. “ARROW!”

Flamebird feels the light pressure of something almost hitting him and sees Red Arrow (with a sword sticking out of her) shooting at him with abandon but her projectiles melt in the aura of his heat. Behind the team’s leader, a fire blanket was draped over a small body with hints of purple fabric sticking out from under it. So that’s who tried to stop him earlier. 

“Flash, Roundhouse, abort the current objective! Crush is severely injured, I’ve suffered mild injuries, and Djinn is down! I repeat Djinn is down!” Red Arrow commands into her communicator, her voice stoic as ever yet her face is terrified. “Knightwing is also down; Focus all manpower on Flamebird! He has fire powers! Proceed with caution!”

One of the arrows explodes into a cold foam, but even that is incinerated by the flames enveloping him. Crush’s sentient chain abandons Nightwing’s battered body to protect its master, but the metal starts to melt as it touches Jonathan’s body. Even Flamebird’s expensive costume made to stand heat is set alight, his cape going out first in hellfire in a silhouette of fiery wings.

Flamebird turns his attention onto Red Arrow, hopping off Crush and grabbing her by the forearms. The communicator on it melts around Jonathan’s hand, cutting her off from her team. He then grabs the blade sticking out of her shoulder and pulls on it, driving it further into her before the metal of the blade becomes molten liquid.

A human ball of ice is rolled at him at Mach 10, slamming him off Red Arrow and sending them both further into the city followed by a streak of flames. “Cool it, kid!”

Everything Flamebird’s battered body touches is instantly set ablaze as the people in that part of the city (if they weren’t already trying to run away) are now running for their lives. His blood leaks out a glowing gold that melts the tar of the streets. Roundhouse tries to cool him down with his body, though it does little to help. Jon presses his hand on the ice and sees his reflection stare back with glowing eyes and veins.

Oh… not good.

That’s not good at all.

He’s going to be in so much trouble.

Roundhouse starts to melt from the intensity and Jonathan digs his fingers into him and seethes his breath to use his superstrength, struggling to breathe under the heavy weight atop him. The younger boy pushes him directly back where they came from, dragging the boy against the trail of fire to put it out. He prays to whichever god would listen that this would end. It’s gone too far.

His eyes search for the one that threw the shapeshifting Teen Titan member and lock eyes with Kid Flash. Nobody can say the speedster doesn’t have a survival instinct because when an angry child is on fire and glares bloody murder him with glowing eyes he knows what to do. He runs away as his life depends on it.

He won’t get far as Flamebird spins on his heels to collect momentum before releasing Roundhouse after the speedster. A satisfying boom echoes through the skies as the teen’s body breaks through the sound barrier. Roundhouse shifts form to a ball of fire to prevent himself from melting as the nearly indestructible material on his uniform begins to crack, causing his form to become unstable. The 11-year-old doesn’t check to see if he hit his mark as he turns his attention to his next target.

Only to find Nightwing standing in front of him. He was a little worse for wear and his pupils shook, unfocused. But he was here, and he was alright. “Jonathan, you’re stressed. You’re going to explode at this rate,” He beseeches, using his real name. “Please, come back to me.”

Damian strokes his hand up to the side of Jon’s face, the material of his gloves burning away the instant it makes contact. The skin of Nightwing’s hand smolders, yet he insists on keeping it there. Jonathan gasps as he instantly wills the glowing in his veins to dull. Everything that has touched Jonathan so far has been set afire. Jonathan doesn’t want Damian to be one of them. Not again.

“I’m fine,” Damian assures as he watches the fire in his partner’s veins quell. “We’re done here.”

Glowing subsides and immediately, the Teen Titans are upon them. Red Arrow barks out orders in rapid succession while her team follows it to a T. Kid Flash grabs Nightwing and takes him away from the fight. Crush forces the boy down his stomach first while her damaged chain constricts him once more. 

Crush’s scorched skin and splotches of exposed muscle heal as she tightly holds Flamebird down. She grabs his arms behind his back so tightly she breaks his wrists, fearful he’ll try something again. Meanwhile, Djinn makes the pavement beneath Flamebird viscous as quicksand before transmuting it into ice, partially burying him in the frozen ground. Then she magics water from the ocean over the burning city to put out the fire and the embers on her ragged dress.

Kid Flash has returned to phase the katana out of Red Arrow’s shoulder and bandages her wound in a second flat and she examines the weapon still covered in her blood. “I know I’ve seen him before; it’s an al-Ghul sword. We were dealing with a trained assassin.”

“That explains the clearance levels,” Roundhouse voices as he wobbles towards his team. Kid Flash brought him back when he went after Knightwing so he was still experiencing the aftereffects of being tossed to the next city over. “Did we win?”

“Do al-Ghul assassins have superpowers?” Kid Flash asks and Red Arrow shakes her head no. “Then I think so. I put Knightwing on Gateway Bridge so he won’t be coming back to fight anytime soon. I’m more worried about this one. What the fuck was that?!”

While the group debates on what to do with him, Flamebird focuses on healing himself. “Are you going to listen now?”

“Excuse me?!” Kid Flash accuses.

“You ran away to do your own thing before you even heard me out!”

“To be fair, what you were saying wasn’t convincing.” The blue-skinned blond-haired teenager emphasizes. “Especially now that you tried to murder us!”

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” That was a lie. Flamebird wanted them to hurt for what he thought they did to Damian, but they didn’t. “I didn’t want to fight. I’m sorry I hurt you.” That statement was true.

“And that’s not why he had level 9 clearance. Villains like assassins are open access information. Heroes wouldn’t be able to do their job if villain information like that was restricted.” Jonathan clarifies, turning his head so his cheek is smooshed on the jagged rubble to look at the team. “And we were saving those people from you .”

“Why do you think we’re the bad guys here?” Red Arrow demands to know with a threateningly low tone. “You’re the ones working with a supervillain and this part of the city is on fire!”

“I don’t think you’re bad, I think you’re stupid because you don’t understand.” Flamebird insults them without remorse. “You protect people, but who are you saving? Would you have even cared if Puppeteer wasn’t involved? If all of those people found that place and built that community on their own, would you have even cared to bring them back if they were just some homeless people under a bridge?”

“Look, we’re here to do something now and that’s what matters. I’m sure you and your friend have good intentions… fiery death and trauma aside,” Kid Flash says, crouching next to his head and ignoring his question. “You want to do what’s best for these people. So do we. Jump City is our home too.”

“Then treat it better,” Jonathan persists as he takes deep breaths. “Don’t force those people back into a system that will abuse them just because you don’t have to experience it. If you don’t want those people to stay underground, then make living up here better. Did you ever do anything for them, or did you just care when it looked like it would be an interesting mission? You fight the bad guys, save the day, and go to your tower overlooking a city that people can’t afford to live in.”

The Teen Titans quietly look at each other as different reactions have fallen on their faces. Jonathan wraps Kid Flash’s ankle in a weak grip to get his attention. “You’re all worried about Puppeteer using those people for evil. You don’t have to worry about him.”

“He’s not suddenly going to turn over a new leaf,” Red Arrow explains, regarding Flamebird cautiously as her body tenses at his piercing blue gaze. She’s prepared to draw her bow at him but waits for him to make the first move. “We’d be idiots to let an escaped convict with a vendetta against the Titans roam free.”

“So would we,” Flamebird agrees wholeheartedly. “Which is why we didn’t. Look up.”

“HA HA HA HA HA!” A bombastic voice bellows from the rooftops, gathering the attention of everyone on the roads below.

Puppeteer with his bright yellow costume and visored helmet on full display dramatically points his space-age weapon in the air. At the foot of the building, a dense crowd of homeless people stood and slowly circled them, putting the team on the defensive. “You foiled my plans once again, Teen Titans! You may have defeated my minions and broken them free of their mind control, but I still have my army and my Hypno-Ray!”

“You said this wasn’t going to happen,” Djinn points out to Flamebird.

“Just wait.”

“Now that you’re all on one easy spot, you’ll all be under my control!” Puppeteer declares, making a performance of pointing his ray gun at the Teen Titans.

A scarlet arrow is shot from the rooftops of one of the buildings, not belonging to the young archer people would expect. It hits Puppeteer in the thigh, causing him to drop his weapon and fall off the building. Djinn effortlessly catches him with her magic and gravitates the man toward the team. 

Puppeteer gives a thumbs up to Flamebird with a victorious smirk on his face. “It’s done.”

“What’s done; what did you do?”

“We called in a favor,” Flamebird starts as he feels his ribs fuse back together. “We couldn’t leave those people alone, and we couldn’t leave them with Puppeteer. What would happen if he got arrested again or died? They would be stuck in a cave with no escape. We couldn’t leave them there, but it would do no good to bring them up here either without something changing.”

The honk of a car horn draws the attention of the group to the road where Nightwing gets out of a yellow cab where they hear the tail end of an argument with the driver. “--Me estás cargando, ¿no? Mira, no hable’ tanta’ pendejá!” Flamebird doesn’t understand a word Nightwing said, but it didn’t sound nice.

The boy slams the door and stomps back to the group as the driver honks the horn again and flips him off before driving away. “Someone owes me $275 and it better not come from Flamebird!”

“Dude, it’s only been five minutes, how did you get here so fast?” Roundhouse asks.

“Rush fee,” Nightwing replies. “More importantly, news vans and emergency services are on their way. They’ve been delayed by molten tar.”

“And a taxi made it here from Gateway Bridge?”

“With the proper threats and no will to live working in customer services, yes.”

“Guys, focus.” Red Arrow reprimands, shaking her head. “What are we missing here?”

“A plan in motion,” Nightwing crudely offers to Red Arrow’s unamused scowl. “And speaking of us doing something better than you-”

“No one said that.”

“Allow me to explain what you couldn’t understand earlier--”

“Because your friend is terrible at explaining things.”

“It’s all about politics!” Nightwing continues, ignoring the multiple interruptions and standing next to his partner who is still buried in the ground. “One of the main issues is that there is a blatant housing crisis in Jump City that’s been exacerbated by policies meant to benefit the people who can afford to live here five times over. There is also a great lack of funding for resources and an overabundance of understaffed charities to bandage a hemorrhaging wound. Charities only exist because the government is unwilling to remedy a systemic problem. They care little about the plights of those not lining their pockets because late-stage capitalism is fascism--”

“Nightwing,” Flamebird warns, worrying the 12-year-old is going to work himself into a tangent.

“It is!” He asserts with unwavering conviction. “Fine. As I was saying, we can’t be afraid of executing a solution just because there’s a better solution that we can’t use immediately. I took inspiration from the collapse of Coast City and decided to use the political interests of billionaires against them for the greater good. It’s a temporary remedy until we can find a more permanent solution not founded on private interest.”

“Using my favor,” Flamebird adds.

“Using Flamebird’s favor!” Nightwing repeats before glancing down at the other. “Why are you still in the ground?”

“Everything hurts and the ice feels nice,” The boy casually says, closing his blue eyes. “I’m sleepy.”

“I’ll do something about that in a minute, just don’t fall asleep; you have a concussion.”

“None of what you said explains anything.” Red Arrow interrupts, getting tired of the long-winded build-up to an actual explanation.

“Puppeteer’s existence around these people is a threat to their safety, so we gave them options, unlike you.” Nightwing states, finally getting to the point. “Those that could make the journey in and out of the camp were given the option to stay. To those who can’t make the journey, we offered them to take their chances in the camp or go back to the streets. So while we were fighting, Flamebird and I’s minion--”

“That’s not what he is,” Flamebird corrects in Jason’s defense.

“Was in charge of calling in our favors and expunging the missing person reports so those that remain free wouldn’t be bothered. And then there was the third option… It’s controversial, to say the least.” Damian gestures to the swarm of people around them, shielding them from the view of the oncoming new vans and civilians. 

“We got a selfish Republican billionaire to make transitional housing to use as leverage in a political campaign,” Jonathan states in a monotone.

“Heroes aren’t allowed to get into politics.” Roundhouse criticizes. It was one of the Teen Titan’s most important rules as a team that has a strong presence on social media. Even the Justice League and most superhero teams avoid getting involved in politics.

“Fuck you, everything we do is a political statement whether we like it or not. Everything is political so might as well use it.” Nightwing aggressively insults, flipping them off. “And this selfish billionaire is extremely disliked by heroes, so his presence here will lead others into action to take him out of the city by overflowing the market with altruistic resources to lessen his potential influence.”

“Also, don’t try to reveal the truth about what happened here,” Flamebird warns them, pushing himself from the ice with what little strength he could muster left to stand next to his shorter friend. “I destroyed your communicators so no one can record this conversation. If you tried telling the truth, all of these people here will lie for us so you look like a liar.” He points to most of their burnt communicators.

“We are essentially going to gaslight the shit out of you.” Nightwing clears up.

“Is that what gaslighting is?”

“Yes.”

The team skeptically looks at each other before their leader inquires, “Who did you get?

Two hours later, Lex Luthor in his finest grey suit stands at a podium in front of the wreckage while Nightwing and Flamebird sweep it up in the background. The media was very interested in why one of the richest men in the world decided to rush to Jump City with his entire family. Especially to a destroyed section of the city that was still being cleaned.

Superboy stood to the left of his father while leisurely texting his friends in his uniform. Lena politely stood to the right of her father in her nicest pink dress while Mercy held a frilly umbrella over their heads to block the sun.

The billionaire clears his throat and taps on the side of the microphone to test its quality before speaking. “Countless times the cities in our rich nation have suffered under threats of supernatural attacks, cosmic horrors, and unexplainable calamities. These so-called heroes save us from the threats we can’t control, but what about the ones we can right in our own backyard?” 

“Are you talking about Superman again?” Some brave random person in the press asks.

“No!” The bald man practically shouts before composing himself. “Lex-corp has righteously stood for working towards a future of true equal opportunity for mankind and that includes those society has shunned away, including those struggling against homelessness. We cannot continue to turn a blind eye away from systemic issues that lead to a crisis only superheroes can solve. This is why I, Lex Luthor, am announcing my intention to turn the Lexor hotel into affordable transitional housing.”

The crowd starts applauding as the businessman begins taking questions. The Teen Titans glared at the man with disapproval and occasionally turned those glares at them for getting Luthor involved. Nightwing flipped them off every time they did while Flamebird held out a trash bag, feigning innocence at their intentions. Clearly, they were trying to get his attention to help pick up trash since they’d never had to clean up after their fights before.

Djinn, Kid Flash, and Roundhouse were working on repairing their tower while Red Arrow and Crush picked up the debris. Originally they were all going to work on the tower, but the younger duo almost made a scene saying things like, “I guess Jump City can foot the bill for this mess again,” or “It must be nice only having to care about your own home while others do all the hard work.”

Conner walks up to his brother when the family is allowed to leave the stage. He sighs as he tries not to draw attention to himself or Jon. “Jon-”

“Names.” The boy corrects under his breath, looking around to see if anyone is paying attention to them.

“Flamebird,” He retries. “This is not what I had in mind when Jaso-”

“Jace.” Flamebird corrects again.

“Jace? Okay, when Jace said you wanted to use your favor.” The teenaged half-Kryptonian finishes. “I was expecting you to make me buy you a videogame or keep a secret-- well a different secret since the other one is out of the bag. By the way, Pa is on his way and he’s going to want to know what the heck that fire thing is. Also, Mr. Wayne is totally going to do experiments on you--.” He freezes when he sees people walking by too close and talks at a louder volume. “I’m glad you’re not hurt by that villain! You’re doing a great job Flamebird, who I don’t know and have no relationship of any sort with!”

“I know.” The younger sibling curtly replies as he stares at a piece of melted glass solidified in a pothole. He wonders if it’s dangerous if he cleans that one since it’s filling a hole in the ground.

“You okay?” Conner asks in a hushed tone, much quieter than when he was whispering. “I mean, like with Puppeteer taking the blame for some stuff he didn’t do.”

“No,” Jonathan answers honestly with a somber expression. “I wish he didn’t. I’m okay with taking the blame for all of this but he and Nightwing said the plan wouldn’t work if he didn’t. It’s not fair.” He looks up at his big brother with despondent yet expectant eyes. “Is the world a bad place?”

The teenager gawks at the younger boy in complete silence as he suddenly becomes very aware of how dry his throat is. He should probably answer this question with an optimistic outlook to keep his brother innocent and happy. “Of course it's not!” He says, ruffling the boy’s hair. “You’re in it so it must be good.”

Jonathan doesn’t appear satisfied with that answer and opens his mouth to say something else when Lex Luthor makes another announcement. “And I would like to take this opportunity to informally announce my presidential campaign!”

Conner groans and slaps his hand over his face. “God, the house is going to be so annoying to stay at for the next few months. You think Pa would let me stay at his house indefinitely?”

“Dad would, but I don’t know if my mom is going to be happy with it.”

“Fuck her,” He grumbles before Flamebird whacks him in the side with the broom he’s holding. “OW! Geeze, okay, I’m sorry! I'll take it back!”

“Flamebird! Stop conversing with the politician's science experiment in public! You already have enough to get in trouble for!” Jason calls, marching to the child and picking him up like a football, causing him to drop his broom. “I can’t believe this. The one time I watch you all hell breaks loose and you both end up with broken bones and concussions! I missed you when you were a baby. The only trouble you got into was occasionally wandering off without a leash!”

“I don’t remember that,” Flamebird says, going limp so it would be harder to carry him. “Also all my bones are fine and Nightwing said he didn’t break anything.”

Jason carelessly readjusts the child, flopping his body around like a fish on dry land as he shouts, “We both know he’s a freaking liar!”

“Flamebird!” Someone shouts and both males pause with the older man holding Jonathan upside down by the feet while the young boy holds onto Jason’s bare knee.

“Oh, hi Katie!” Flamebird chirps, self-consciously brushing ash off his patchy burnt, and blood-stained costume. Then he looks at Jason after staring at his legs. “Your legs are hairy.”

“Shut the fuck up,” He huffs, shaking the boy like he’s trying to get his nonexistent money.

The blonde/pink-haired girl chuckles at the sight as she pulls Crush along by her muscular bicep. “It’s nice seeing you again! I wanted to introduce you to my girlfriend, but it looks like you two already met. I hope Crush didn’t hurt ya too badly.”

“Yeah, she broke my ribs.”

“You tried to melt my face!” Crush hollers back, then notices Superboy there. “Why the fuck are you here? This ain’t Metropolis or a Young Justice thing?”

“Luthor’s my… creator.” Superboy reminds her. “I kinda have to show up to these PR things. That doesn’t mean I agree with it.”

“Standing up for what’s right when Daddy over there controls everything you do.” Crush sarcastically comments, rolling her eyes.

“Fuck off, I least I know my Dads!”

“Fuck you!”

“Fuck you!”

“Stop, please,” Katie begs, not wanting to get her girlfriend into a fight. “Anyways, I just wanted to say hi. You and your brother look busy, so I’ll leave you alone. Bye Flamebird, bye Flamebird’s brother.”

Jonathan’s brother waves back for a bit before an epiphany. “Wait… She wasn’t talking to me.” Conner whispers watching her walk away before eyeing Jon and Jason who remained in that odd position staring back at him. “OH COME ON! Am I so uncool that you had to replace me in your freaking lore!”

“No! I mean kinda, but not really,” Flamebird tries to explain. “There was this thing about a permission slip and they wouldn’t let us leave--”

“Oh my god, is that Bruce Wayne!?” A reporter shouts, pointing at a limo that just skidded down the road in front of the press conference. In the back seat, Jonathan could perceive his father following behind him and instantly locking eyes with Jon, then to Damian who was casually telling Lena to go choke on the stick she kept up her- Nope, Jon’s not going to repeat that. Dick Grayson was also in the car and practically broke the door open as he made a beeline for his youngest brother.

“Jace,” Jonathan says in a desperate tone. “I know I haven’t made this day easy for you and you probably never want to watch over us ever again, but can you do something for me?”

“More than I already have? Was breaking into a police database, calling Superboy, organizing a press conference, and shooting an arrow at a guy not enough?”

“You can ask him to do stuff for you but not me?!” Conner indignantly laments. “What happened to doing this on your own!?”

Ignoring his brother’s protests, Jonathan taps on Jason’s leg. “I need a distraction for Nightwing. He’ll need a 5-minute head start before Dick blows his cover.”

“Just Nightwing?”

“Yes.”

“Alright,” Jason agrees, lifting Jonathan over his head. He starts running to the crowd while Flamebird signals for his partner to book it, which he does. “HEY EVERYBODY, THIS IS MY BROTHER FLAMEBIRD! MY ONLY FAMILY! LOOK AT HIM! LOOK. AT. HIM." Then he chucks the child at Dick, knocking him down while Damian escapes.

They are not going to have a fun time when they get home, but at least they can delay the inevitable.

Chapter Text

Jonathan Samuel Kent lies on a hospital cot surrounded by several machines attached to his body in various ways. Some of them were sensors stuck to him by stickers, others were suctioned to his skin, some were wrapped around his limbs by wires, and worst of all some had needles stabbed into him. The adolescent wasn’t afraid of needles, but after a certain amount, it became uncomfortable.

“Mom, can we leave yet?”

“Not yet. Just be strong for me for a few more minutes.” His mother encourages him, patting his stomach since it was one of the few parts free of connections.

Jonathan groans but doesn’t complain as he nudges his eyes to the widow, careful not to move the metal headband scanning his brain activity. The half-Kryptonian always loved the night sky. In the countryside, stars showered the heavens, and the colors of space painted the world in a beauty not seen by day.

He wonders why he can’t see those colors in space like he does on Earth.

The thick metal door to the room shoots up into the ceiling as his dad and a young African American man in a black and white tracksuit with a purple T painted on his face entered. Lois releases a sigh of relief and stands up from her seat. “Are you here to get this stuff off our son?”

“Yes,” Jonathan’s father confirms and pats the child on the top of his fluffy midnight-black hair. “You did great, Jonno.”

He nods at the man and then turns to the other man who was removing all of the devices. “Tell it to me straight, doc. I can take it; how much time do I have left?”

The “doc” chortles at the serious yet silly delivery of Jon’s inquiry as opposed to his father's horrified expression. “Hahaha! You didn’t tell me your kid was a comedian, Supes!”

“Jonathan, it’s inappropriate to make jokes like that.” Clark chastises. “Sorry about that, Mister Terrific.”

“Hey, easy now. No harm done. It’s good to keep a sense of humor in situations like this.”  Mister Terrific says, stopping to show some diagrams on a clipboard Jonathan doesn’t understand. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Jonathan. Physically, you’re the same as you were when you first discovered your powers, however, we discovered something new. We’ve tried to replicate the ability in your cousin and brother, but neither of them could. It’s difficult to know what specifically triggers the reaction, especially since we can’t ethically force you into that state for comparison.”

“So you didn’t find anything?”

“I didn’t say that,” The hero defends. “One of the experiments we tried was blasting some of Jonathan’s cell samples with concentrated yellow sun energy. Compared to your father, you can store much more energy even though you cannot process it as efficiently. Even in environments where it would be difficult to absorb yellow sun energy (like under a red sun), your cells are still able to collect some or at least convert energy around it to a form you can process. We don’t know what that means yet. We’re still running some more tests that will take time before we get the results. For now, I suggest you take a break from your heroing activities until we get the results.”

“What?! But I just had a break already!” The boy whines, smashing his face into his pillow in despair. “I’ll be fine! Nothing changed! I’m not any more dangerous now than I was before.”

“That’s the point,” Lois states in frustration. “And we’re disappointed you hid something like this from us. What if you got hurt? What if you killed someone!? You’re lucky it’s just super-heroing you have to stop!”

“Oh don’t act like this isn’t the greatest thing that’s ever happened to you!” Jonathan argues, matching his mother’s tone perfectly.

“And what’s that supposed to mean, young man?”

“It’s not like you wanted me to do this anyways!” He hollers and the sensor he’s still attached to begins to go off wildly. “You knew I wasn’t good enough to do this on my own! My powers are broken and I’m stupid-!”

“Jonathan, no one here has said or thought that,” His father consoles with palpable worry in every word.

“You do! You want me to be on a team like the Teen Titans so he can make sure I’m not messing up because there’s something wrong with me!” Jonathan insists, arms wild gesturing as he speaks. “There has to be something wrong with me! Do you know how weird it is being the only kid in school who doesn’t have a smartphone or any social media!? 

“I can’t relate to anybody in school when all the conversations stopped being about what we’re going to play during recess, and started being, ‘Hey, Jon! Did you see that milkshake trend on TikTok?’ Or ‘Have you been following that drama about that celebrity you’ve never heard about? Then I have to answer, ‘No, sorry! I haven’t heard about it because my parents only allow me 2 hours of computer time on parental lock! They don’t trust me any more than that because their son is a dummy dumbhead who has a 2 out of 4 in every subject!’

“Did you know that means 50%? I just learned that from Damian! I shouldn’t have even passed fifth grade! Who allowed this!? I can’t focus on school, my powers, or my life! So there has to be something wrong with me!” He pants as he didn’t take a breath during that entire rant before he notices he doesn’t feel the sensors attached to him anymore. He looks down at his body to see they melted off and his pastel blue hospital gown has scorch marks all over it. 

“Great! JUST GREAT! AND NOW THIS SHIT AGAIN! I DESTROY EVERYTHING I TOUCH!” Jon stops caring about decorum and storms out of the room barefoot. “I’m going to see Damian!”

“Jonno, you’re still burning!” Clark calls out, quickly following his child.

“Wait, I’m coming with you,” Lois announces, thanking Mister Terrific for his help and telling him to send them the bill for the destroyed equipment.

After a long conversation with his parents where they were understanding and supportive (which somehow made Jon feel worse), he was allowed to see his best friend. Damian was using the sewing machine they got in Central City to make Jonathan’s new uniform. His old one was beyond repair, so while Jonathan was pacing around the room complaining Damian calmly listened while at the vintage sewing table. “I can’t believe this, Dami! I can’t believe I yelled at my parents and I destroyed those machines! We don’t have the money to pay them back! Everything on the JLA watchtower has to cost bajillions of dollars!”

“Millions. Bajillion is not a real number, Beloved.” The older boy rectifies this, testing the strength of his seams by stretching the fabric.

“That’s not the point! I’m ruining everything we worked for! We only have a month of summer vacation left, and we won’t be able to do anything! Why are you so calm; it’s stressing me out! Am I too emotional?!”

Damian exhales and puts down his work, sliding his chair away from his machine. “Jon, you’re acting hysterical.”

“Hysterical!? You think I’m crazy!?” Jonathan screams, halting his steps and looking his irritatingly calm partner in the face.

“I don’t think you’re crazy. I think you have a habit of working yourself up in your head until you get upset at something that hasn’t happened.” He responds in as neutral a tone as humanly possible. “You need to learn to take a step back from how you feel. You’re trying to find logic to justify your emotions when you should use logic to figure out why you’re feeling those emotions.”

“I can’t help but feel! Everything feels too much!” Jon refutes angrily, falling face-first into Damian’s mattress, his legs dangling off the sides. He snatches Damian’s pillow and shrieks into it. After he finishes he turns his head, pressing his cheek into the silk comforter to continue ranting. “I thought I had control over this! I haven’t had anything close to an outburst for years! It was the only power I could control, and now I can’t control anything about my body!”

Damian watches his friend cry in frustration and tries to calm himself down for a few minutes. He laments having Pennyworth wash his bedding and now Jonathan is getting his tears and snot all over it. He rolls over to his bookshelf and tosses Jon a tissue box to clean himself up with. “Do you need an answer or do you want to let it all out?”

Jon harshly rubs the tissue against his face then replies, “Answer.”

“It’s probably puberty. I read that your developing hormonal imbalance coupled with the transitional mental state could cause drastic changes to your emotional state.”

“Nevermind, I don’t like this answer.” He shoves his face back into the messy sheets much to Damian’s revulsion. 

The short boy shrugs and gets back to his work. After about an hour of silence and the occasional rustling of his sheets, he hears Jon trudge up behind him and feels arms wrapping around Damian’s shoulders. “Are you done or do you have more you want to say?”

“I’m done; I think it’s out of my system,” Jon confirms, childishly resting his chin atop Damian’s head. “Whatcha doing with my costume; that’s a lot more red than I remember?”

“Kid Flash didn’t stockpile enough white fabric,” Damian explains.

“Did you steal that?”

“Stealing is free. Besides, after you destroyed the base of Titan’s Tower, a lot of items in their storage were destroyed. They won’t miss a roll of spare fabric or two.” He justifies. “I hope you like red and yellow because that’s all we have.”

“As long as you make it look good.”

“I redesigned the costume to compensate for the change in colors.” Damian scoffs, rolling his eyes. 

“How are you sewing through that stuff? I thought it was supposed to be indestructible.” Jonathan questions, pointing at the large needle on the sewing machine that’s a different metal from the rest of the iron machine.

“I might’ve stolen more.”

“Dami, this doesn’t feel very heroic.” Jonathan scolds. “Are we the bad guys?”

“You’re not. I’ve never been an overtly heroic person; I’m more of a light shade of morally gray.”

The door slams open without warning as an older blonde woman steps into the bedroom uninvited. “Jon, I hear you’re taking some time off!”

“We have to do something about the lack of knocking in this mansion.” Damian sighs and removes himself from Jon’s hold.

“Not by choice,” Jonathan grumbles, crossing his arms as he stares up at his cousin. “What are you doing here, Kara?”

“Weeeeeeeelllllll,” Kara stretches out playfully, so excited she couldn’t stay still, and sways side to side. “Since you’re not going on any missions, I thought it would be a great time to finally take you to Kandor!”

Ugh, this conversation again. Jonathan has nothing against Kandor, but… well he avoids it. Partially for his reasons and partially because Kara has always been weirdly insistent on forcing his Kryptonian heritage on him. His dad will mention it or teach him a thing or two, but he doesn’t press the issue unless Jon asks first. Kara on the other hand…

“And now you’re Nightwing and Flamebird! I could take you to the temple! I know a priest there who would be happy to share some of the lore behind them! I usually visit the Rao temple, but this opportunity is too good! You can even wear your outfits there! Oh, it’s going to be so great! Everything is lining up perfectly!” She just about swoons at the thought. “I already talked about it with your parents and they already permitted me if you wanted to go, which you do, so I’ll pick you and Damian up on Saturday! Remember to wear your outfits!”

Jon is about to say something, but Kara is quick to continue her enthusiastic banter when she notices Jonathan’s nearly finished new uniform. “Oh my gosh, this is better than the first one! Not that the first one was bad, but white is not a traditional Flamebird color! Did you redo the Nightwing costume too?”

“It’s a uniform and there’s nothing wrong with it,” Damian huffs in annoyance. “And Jonathan’s new color scheme is just a coincidence. We only have red and yellow fabric that can compensate for Jonathan’s powers--”

“Ooooooo! Wait here! I can get you some orange fabric for the cape! Then you’d have the complete set!” She squeals, flying out of the room so fast several sound barriers are broken and so are Jonathan’s and Damian’s hearing.

“OW! WHAT THE FUCK!?” Steph shouts from Tim’s room.

“Aaaaaaaahhhhhh! My ears!” Duke cries, running out into the hallway with pillows over his ears. “You guys have to warn me when you test the Bat-Jet!”

Emerald eyes side-eye Jonathan who looks apprehensive. “Jonathan, if you don’t want to go but also don’t want to hurt Kara’s feelings then I’ll do it for you.”

Jonathan sighs. “No, I want to go but… maybe not like this. I wished she asked, but I don’t know if I’d say yes. I was never excited about being around more Kryptonians.”

Several days later, Jonathan watches his brother talk to their father and Kara in Kryptonese with envy. Conner was the closest to him in circumstances, half-human, but he's a better Kryptonian than him. It’s not that Jonathan has never tried to learn, but it’s hard. 

There’s a wall in his mind when he tries to focus on anything. He’s so frustrated when the words on the page stop looking real, and the next thing Jon knows he’s been looking at his language notes for five hours without learning a thing. The same thing happens sometimes with his superpowers as he’ll be concentrating as hard as he can and then it goes away.

His lack of concentration not only makes him a bad Kryptonian, but a bad human as well. He’s not expecting to be Damian-levels of skilled, but he’ll settle for average at the very least! He’s so sick of being useless!

“Wow Conner, your Kryptonese is sounding much better than last time.” Kara praises, patting the boy on the shoulder. “Though your accent could use some work.”

“No offense Kara, but the Argo dialect is needlessly complicated,” Conner rags, gently as a baseball bat to the head.

“Hey! What’s wrong with my pronunciation?”

“Well…” Clark begins with a teasing tone. “The Argo accent is very crisp and enunciates words in places that don’t roll off the tongue.”

The blonde huffed, crossing her arms to mimic anger. “Psssh, you two only say that because you guys mostly talk to people with the modern Kandor accent! Back in my day, Argo was the most beautiful accent!”

“Aren’t those both on Lurvan?” Conner points out.

“If I take someone from Gotham and put them in Keystone are they going to sound the same?”

“Nevermind, point taken,” The teen concedes before noticing Jon staring at them from the kitchen table. “Hey Jon! Wanna join us?” He asks, patting the couch cushion next to him.

Jon ponders about it for a second then shakes his head. “No, I’m fine.”

“Yeah, it’d be nice to get some Kryptonese practice in before we leave!” Kara offers eagerly.

Jonathan doesn’t say anything but shakes his head. The group continues their conversation, periodically switching from Kryptonese to English, while Jon looks back at his empty plate. He sat there for almost half an hour after he finished eating to eavesdrop on the conversation as though listening to them was the breakthrough he needed to learn what should’ve been his.

The boy violently pushes himself out of his seat, the wooden legs of the chair squeaking against the worn tiles of their kitchen. He doesn’t acknowledge them as he puts his plate away and storms upstairs. His family looks on with confusion as the outburst seemingly comes out of nowhere, but it’s been brewing in Jon for a long time.

He knows it’s going to get worse when Kara chaperones them to Kandor.

Flamebird shivered in his boots as he was forced to trudge through the tundra where it was difficult to see his own hands through the blizzard. Nightwing shuffled behind, the multiple layers of coats his family forcefully bundled him in hindering his ability to move. The shorter boy resembled an overstuffed plushie than a person.

The older child trips and rolls down the snowy hill for several meters until coming to a stop. Flamebird couldn’t help laughing at the ridiculous sight. “Bwahahahahahaha!”

He helps Nightwing stand back up and is thanked by a snowball to the face. “I hate you and I hate the cold!”

“Come on guys, think positively!” The amused light voice of Kara encourages them from above. “I’m almost done unlocking the door!”

“What door?” Flamebird questions and walks face-first into an icy wall. “Ow!”

“I got you!” Damian declares as he sticks his arms out to feel where his partner is. “Ugh, remind me to invest in thermal tights.”

The ground shakes aggressively as an enormous key the size of a city block is dropped onto the floor close to them, throwing both boys on their backs. “Sorry!” Kara apologizes, her voice barely heard over the howling winds.

“Or Kryptonite.” The hooded hero tacks on as he glares at the woman. 

“I dunno, are you going to get a terrible job behind my back to get the money to invest?” Jonathan taunts, pushing his face out of the snow.

“You are never letting that go.”

“Nope.”

“Let’s go!” The adult hero instructs, lifting the two in her arms and flying them inside the frozen fortress. “Welcome to the Fortress of Solitude!”

The building was wonderfully crafted with intricately carved ice to resemble old Kryptonian architecture. It was a wondrous place filled to the brim with the history and lore of Superman. Most people would give everything just to see this place. Jonathan yawns because he’s seen it all before.

“-TT- Great, now let’s go home,” Damian says, allowing his arms and legs to dangle lifelessly in the air.

“Kara, I’m cold,” Jonathan complains.

Immediately Damian takes his scarf and wraps it around Flamebird. It’s a nice gesture, but Jon has a feeling the older boy is overcompensating his kindness by doing things for him. After that outburst in Jump City and Damian's awareness of Jonathan’s insecurity, he’s been trying to do more for him. Ironically it’s the exact opposite of what he should be doing, but he’s trying at least.

“It’s not every day you get to visit this place! You should feel excited!” The woman tries to encourage them to no avail while she rummages through a fortified storage box and pulls out a bulky metal necklace with a glowing yellow pendant. 

“We are delighted, ecstatic even, to bear witness to the city Superman keeps hostage in his lair.” The older boy grumbles with the enthusiasm of a dying rat.

“What’s with the attitude today? You’re being very rude to me after I took time out of my day to do this for you two.” Kara demands after putting on the device.

Both boys eye each other with matching disgruntled stares as they land in front of the podium Kandor was placed upon. Flamebird nods his head for Nightwing to speak first. “We have no obligation to feel grateful for favors we didn’t ask for.”

“Yeah. It’s like a school field trip we couldn’t get out of.” Jon readily agrees, pushing himself out of his cousin’s hold and crossing his arms in annoyance. “You just want to show us off and we can’t say no; which is sucky of you.”

“I would’ve said, ‘stealing our autonomy,’ or ‘fucking bullshit’ but the sentiment remains the same.”

“Yeah, and we’re not going here as Nightwing and Flamebird,” The younger boy explains. “We’re just dressed in our uniforms.”

“And the fact that Flamebird will be powerless in Kandor since it’s under a red sunlamp to mimic the red sun of Krypton is less than ideal.”

“It sucks.”

“We have other words in the lexicon, Flamebird.”

“It’s been a sucky morning and I’ll keep calling it that until it’s not.” The boy tiredly answers, slouching his shoulders. “This sucks, and you suck for expecting us to be happy for something only you wanted.”

Kara flinches, the words her younger second cousin spoke physically hurting her as she realizes she overstepped his boundaries for selfish reasons. “I’m sorry, I was just excited to have you experience more of your culture that I let it get the better of me.”

“Why did it take me being angry at you for you to get that?” Jonathan criticizes unrelentingly while avoiding the comment about his culture. “You’re an adult. You should know better.”

“Jon-”

“We’re already here, and I don’t want to go back out to the Arctic. Besides, the people of Kandor can’t tell anybody we’re related to Supergirl while trapped in a bottle.” Damian suggests with palpable exhaustion as he strips off the extra layers of clothing. With a tired stride, he marches to a podium with a giant weapon pointed downward. “Just shoot me before I freeze to death.”

“Nightwing, that’s not the shrink ray.”

“I KNOW WHAT I SAID!”

Despite the pair’s reluctance to set off on this expedition, they still have some curiosity about the last society of Krypton. Flamebird may have visited the Fortress of Solitude a few times, but he’s never stepped foot into Kandor. The city was always placed on a pedestal both in real life and in Jonathan’s mind for the importance it represents.

Kandor was the capital of Krypton and the reason all Kryptonians speak Kryptonese. Unlike Earth, planets that reach a level of integration into the wider universe only speak one or two languages. To achieve trade and political alignments with foreign civilizations it was important for the world as a whole to be united in their culture as well. For many planets, this meant standardizing their language to make communication easier. While this had the unfortunate effect of washing out many unique subcultures, it allowed for wealth and trade to spread without hindrance.

Kandor was the largest trading hub on the entire planet thanks to its centralized location between the continents and connection to its ocean. From there, it developed a culture that was an even mixture of other Kryptonian cultures that quickly developed into its own. Many alien merchants and tourists who visited Krypton before its destruction likely ended up in Kandor.

This is probably why Brainiac chose to steal this city.

Due to Brainiac's interference, Kandor was saved from Krypton’s implosion but that didn’t mean everything was safe for the people trapped inside. In the beginning, no one knew what happened to their planet. They presumed Krypton’s government must be working without rest to save them. There was still hope that those away from home or who had loved ones out of the city would be reunited. Then the truth dawned on them. All of Krypton’s legacy was on their shoulders and no one was there to learn about it. For generations, families feared for their safety as it was in the hands of a heartless machine while forced to watch the universe forget about them.

When Superman saved them they had lost faith in the universe. Why should they be freed from the walls that have kept them safe for generations? Superman may only be a few decades old, but Kandor has learned to live the way they have for centuries. What would they do out there? Now that the wider world knows what their people are capable of under a yellow sun, what will protect them from being hunted down by those with ill intentions?

Superman promised them that he’d look for a new planet they could expand their home on, but they called it a bigger bottle they’d be trapped on. The Kandorians will forever live in fear of what’s outside the glass walls whether it is the one Brainiac put them in or the ones they built up in their minds. And so, Kandor remains in a glass bottle in another man’s fortress just like they were before.

Nightwing and Flamebird enter the bottled city through its spout where Kara’s flying instantly weakened. The group fell less than a story when a flying machine the size of a small car swoops them up. A man in a skintight black jumpsuit and cap waves at them from the driver’s seat. “Gdfshj Zor-El! Elcomoe becakk tolorn Kandor! Rorn atroe tolhesoe tolwo?”

There’s the part of this trip Jonathan has been dreading; the language barrier. He wouldn’t mind so much if it wasn’t something he should’ve already known. “Um… Hello!” Flamebird greets, trying to sound positive.

The man's face drops as he lours suspiciously at the woman. “Oth! Ei tolhoughtat tolhiss beowy llooakk karyptoniaan.”

Before Kara could respond defensively to whatever the man said, Nightwing beats her to it. “Tolhiss ipss Kal-El saoan. Hene'ss bfj llineg otan efartph saorn henoe henasn'tat llarnead Kryptonese yaietat.”

“Wrhatat noa sahoe. Ayboe hene'lol toleacph yai saon!” The man replies, satisfied with the response.

Azure eyes nearly pop out of Jonathan’s head as he gapes at his best friend. “You know Kryptonese!?!”

“Only conversationally. I would never allow Superman to feel safe around me when using his native tongue.”

“His native tongue is English,” Kara points out.

“You know what I mean. I make it my life’s mission to be a threat to others.”

Flamebird is feeling like Nightwing is a threat but for different reasons. It’s humiliating to have him upstaging Jon in something Jon should be better at. All those hours trying to understand one phrase feels like it’s gone to waste when Damian can speak the entire language fluently. What the heck is Jon even good for!?!

Kara leans forward and gives their chauffeur instructions, however, Flamebird only knows this through context clues and her tone. He still needs to find out where this car is taking them. Was this even a car? Jonathan looks down and notices something he didn’t think about when he was looking at the city from the outside.

It was tall. Like really tall.

Even though he was facing down he couldn’t see the ground. All of the buildings were slender with bochka roofs and building landings littered vertically along their golden and bronze walls. He was so used to seeing cities take on the silver shine of steel that gold was, for lack of a better term, alien to him.

Kandor had no need for short buildings or winding roads when all of their vehicles flew. Due to their inability to build outward thanks to being in a bottle for so long, the Kandorians have built upwards. With all of the unique architecture and the scarlet sky from the red sun lamp, Jon felt like he was in a brand new world even though he knew he was still in the Fortress of Solitude.

The conveyance drives to the bottom of the bottle with such speed that Flamebird and Nightwing are inside with their bodies slamming against the back of their seats. Even with their speedy descent, it takes almost ten minutes to get to the bottom. Jonathan wobbles to a stand, holding onto his shorter friend for leverage, when he sees what he couldn’t before. 

Patterned tiled walking trails are weaved amongst grass that is a muted red hue. Jonathan gets out of the car and notices a familiar golden symbol on the walkway he’s stepping on. “This is… This is the symbol on my chest.”

“The mark of our Goddess of Justice,” A new voice states in English which startles the boy. A man in a long black and navy robe with pointy curled shoulder pads strides towards them from a set of ornate steps behind him. Jonathan couldn’t see what he looked like as he wore a faceless mask with blue glowing eyes. “Welcome! Kara has been eagerly waiting for your arrival, and so have I!”

Jonathan is a bit put off by the newcomer, but his father didn’t raise him to be rude. “Hello! I’m Flamebird, and this is my partner Nightwing!”

“I can tell by the symbols on your attire! It is always welcome to see a new generation yearning to carry on the legacy!” The man says as Kara walks up to the man with open arms. “And I see you got a new costume! Kara has shown me many pictures of your old uniform, but I like this one better. It’s more traditional.”

“Father Irn-Zisk!” Kara enthusiastically greets him with a strong hug. “It’s so nice to see you! Your English sounds wonderful!”

“Thank you, Kara!” The priest takes off his mask to reveal an elderly man with heavy wrinkles near his eyes and thick smile lines around his lips. “I’ve been practicing secretly with Kal-El. I wouldn’t want to make Jon-El feel like a stranger if he’d ever visit.”

“I’m Jon-El, right?” Flamebird asks, feeling like an idiot for doing so. “How do you know me?”

“I was the one who gave you your… What is the word I’m looking for? I don’t think there’s a correct term in your language but the closest thing I can compare it to is a baptism.”

“I was baptized?”

The priest nods calmly, moving closer to Jon. “It’s a rite of passage all Kryptonians go through after they experience their first cycle around Rao’s sun. We pray to our chosen deity to guide you through your journey of life no matter where it leads. In your case, the main House of El has always been blessed by Rao.”

“I never knew…” Jonathan comments as he struggles to recall when this would’ve happened.

“We have a picture of it around on the mantel. You know, the one with you in the shiny red crib.” Kara informs him.

“That’s what that was?”

“Do not fret too much about it. While it is a tradition on Krypton, it’s not a common practice. Only families who have a history with their deity do it. Although, the practice has fallen out of favor many generations ago,” He says melancholily as he turns to walk into the spire behind him.

The structure was as pompous and robust as everything else around it, yet a smokey spiral of scarlet and black glass wrapped around it to make it stand out from the rest. “There will be a time in the future to make memories. For instance, when you reach 14 years of age you can participate in our coming-of-age ceremony.”

“Why 14?” Flamebird asks as the trio follows the man.

“To represent our 14 gods,” Irn-Zisk answers.

“Even Vohc?” Nightwing inquires as he takes in the sights around him.

“Yes, even the heretic.” The man responds, his kind demeanor faltering with disgust at the name. “The vile heathen who separated Flamebird and Nightwing for his selfish pride.”

“Heeeey, let’s tone it down a bit,” Kara suggests, tugging on the hem of her cape nervously. “They’re just kids.”

“Sorry, it’s a bit of a sensitive subject here.”

“Do you mean in Kandor or this particular spot?” Damian inquires as they step through the tall gates.

“It’s not proper to speak candidly about the topic, however, in the Temple of Nightwing and Flamebird it is especially sensitive to speak about outside of sermons.” The priest informs them and it is only when they’re fully inside do they see how much the temple embodies the two gods.

While it was obvious from the exterior architecture, the inside is more apparent. Each piece of decor has something to do with fiery flames or shadowy darkness of the pair and the spiral path inside is laid with a tiled representation of the tragic tale of the lovers. Irn-Zisk takes it upon himself to present the story to Jonathan as they walk through each event to wherever the man is leading them.

Damian raises a curious brow as he reexperiences the story when he notices an odd discrepancy. “The structure that was their downfall was a spire, was it not?”

“Yes, the crystal spire.” The priest agrees.

“Then why is the majority of architecture in Kandor a spire? It seems rather counterproductive to have a defining feature of your capital be based on the work of a heretic.”

“While we condemn Vohc for his misdeeds, he is still our god of creation. To forsake all of his work is to forsake the grass, the air, and the rivers.”

“So Nightwing’s just… Gone forever?” Jonathan asks as he stares at the tale on the tiles.

“In the Book of Rao, he is forever lost in the Phantom Zone.”

“But if he’s in the Phantom Zone, then there should be a way for him to get out. My dad has fought people who escaped from there, like General Zod.”

“The goddess Aethyr is a fickle one as her realm is not fully under her control. Shutter the thought of the terrors inside,” He describes and stops in front of a tall cathedral door with shelves of similar featureless masks in front of it. “Will you be joining us for today’s sermon?”

Kara whips her head excitedly at the two boys, but mostly at Jon, with large puppy-dog eyes that everyone from his family happens to possess. Jonathan shifts awkwardly on the balls of his feet as he attempts to look everywhere but at his cousin. “Um… well… I--uh…”

Irn-Zisk smiles understandably at the boy and chuckles at his floundering. “It’s alright, Jon-El. I was a child once.” He jokes, gesturing for someone behind the doors to come out. “I remember being bored out of my mind while forced to listen to an old guy ramble on and on.”

“No, that’s not--”

“Don’t be sorry! This is your first proper visit to Kandor. There are surely other things you wish to do while here. My feelings won’t be hurt just because you want to make the most of your time.” He reassures, opening the towering doorway wider for a woman in scarlet and yellow robes similar to the priest’s.

“I’ll try to go to one next time, Mister Irn-Zisk,” Jonathan promises and steps back to make room for the intimidatingly tall figure to pass.

But she doesn’t move past the group. Instead, she looms over Jon, her golden mask with glowing red eyes staring into his soul. Flamebird doesn’t back away further and stays frozen in his spot. The priest coughs and says something in Kryptonese to get the woman’s attention and she hesitantly takes off her mask.

Unnatural cyan eyes highlight a chiseled nose and cheekbones that follow a strong boxy jawline. Her sandy skin is marred by its slightly rough texture and her unruly wavy strawberry-blonde hair messily falls past her shoulders in a tight ponytail. She sheepishly steps back and bumps into the wall, shutting the door on the priest’s hand. 

“S-sowy!” She apologizes shyly in broken English, leaping forward and overcorrecting by accidentally knocking Kara back. “Sowy!”

Massaging his injured hand, Irn-Zisk comforts the woman in Kryptonese before asking her to introduce herself. “W-wite! I em Thara Ak-Var. I weull be ur escort tuwday.”

Irn-Zisk pats her assuringly on the back, “Thara is one of our regular volunteers. I know Kara is more than capable, but I’d feel better if Thara could at least accompany you for protection.”

“Protection?” Nightwing repeats suspiciously.

“Thara and her family are part of the elite militia given access to yellow sun energy in Kandor which gives them access to powers,” Irn-Zisk justifies as he puts back on his mask.

“Oh, Ak-Var!” Kara grins, shaking the woman’s hand. “I think I heard your name once or twice, but I never had the chance to meet you!”

“I’d like to give you a tour of the place myself, but it wouldn’t be appropriate to miss service. Once it’s over, I’ll check in. Afterward, if you need anything or feel like it’s time to leave I’ll call the car for you.”

Kara and the priest converse in some small talk while the boys and Thara are locked in the universe's most uncomfortable staring contest. Thara clumsily takes off her robe similar to that of a newborn fawn trying to walk for the first time. Underneath she is wearing a scarlet chiton with a golden Flamebird broach on the single shoulder strap. Beneath the dress, she has an orange skin-tight jumpsuit with tangerine accents that covers all the flesh beneath her jaw.

It was less than reassuring to know that this elite soldier was as graceful as a headless chicken. It’s almost as though she was uncomfortable in her skin. “Wrr do you wan ta’ visit firs?”

“I don’t even know what you have in Kandor,” Jonathan admits. “I don’t know much about anything.”

From behind white lenses, Damian scowls at him. “Yet.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” He guarantees. “You don’t know anything yet. Don’t limit yourself by believing you’ll never learn because you will. Now say it.”

Flamebird hesitates but shakes his suspicion away. This was no time to wallow in self-pity. Nightwing was right, he’ll learn and get better eventually. “I don’t know anything yet, but I’m willing to learn!”

“Exactly.” Damian nods and then turns to the nervous woman. “Now take us somewhere interesting.”

“Da- I mean Nightwing,” Kara sighs as she quickly corrects herself. “Nightwing, you can’t just tell people what to do.”

“It’s been working for me so far.”

“Nightwing, no.”

“Nightwing, yes.”

“Ah… If Kara doos not min’, we can go eat in da’ Argo district,” Thara suggests, to which Supergirl fervently nods in excitement.

“I always wanted Jon to try some traditional food from my home!” She proclaims, frightening Thara with her enthusiasm.

Thara stays several feet behind the group as they walk the decorated sidewalks that also tell them where they are. Above them, Jonathan sees some people flying but he can’t quite see the sky over the looming spires. There was so much effort put into the architecture of this city. Every inch of Kandor was made with a care that could only come from a tragic event. Jonathan is beginning to notice people care more when things go wrong rather than when everything is fine.

That becomes especially true when he enters Kandor’s main plaza. A circular clearing full of flowers and color combinations never seen together on Earth. The colors were glowing neon and shifted depending on how the red sun hit them. The grass around this area was black making the saturated colors stand out more and in the center was a beautiful fountain in the shape of a spire.

On the statue, countless names were written to the point it overflowed like the violet water pouring from the fountain. They spill past the barrier and spiral around the plaza until they touch the tip of Flamebird’s feet. Each name was colored so when watching from afar the image of Krypton comes together. The Kryptonians around him casually walk over the names that came before them, desensitized to their meaning that still holds weight over their heads.

Jon recalls the tragedy of Coast City. He remembers how the aftermath of its destruction still resonates with its people after twenty years. For Kandor, it’s been several hundred years, yet the shockwaves are still there. There is no use comparing.

“Is this everyone?”

“No. There aren’t enough surviving records,” Kara answers. “This is all they had.”

Jonathan gazes at the memorial in respectful silence as he tries to take in everything, but fails to understand everything. The child tugs the blue sleeve of Supergirl’s uniform and meekly asks, “Is your name here?”

“It’s right here,” She tells him without a hint of offense in her tone. Voluminous blonde hair slips off her shoulders when she leans forward against the edge of the fountain. Nightwing and Flamebird tilt their head to see Kara trace the tip of her index finger over a name on the bottom lip of the trimming. “Right after my parents and before Kal-El. They put it in such an awkward spot! I wonder if anyone ever took the time to read it.”

Guilt stabs Jonathan in the chest. He wishes he had gone to that sermon. He wishes he was more excited about coming to Kandor. He wishes he asked her about Krypton more. He wishes he learned Kryptonese. He wishes he was a better Kryptonian.

He wishes he didn’t feel like an alien surrounded by people who were supposed to be his kin.

“When we get to the restaurant, what’s the best thing to get?” Flamebird asks, trying to change the atmosphere of the conversation; afraid he ruined their trip.

“Oh! You have to try an oregus soda! Oooo and we can’t go to an Argonian restaurant without getting a couple of babootch skewers and anmorkas bread!”

“Is that stuff safe for humans?” Damian asks.

“And half-humans,” Jon adds.

Kara makes a show of thinking intently about the topic. “Lois didn’t have much of an issue with it. Well except for… You know what, you’ll be fine!”

They go out to eat at a place no different than a normal cafe on Earth. It had a place to sit both indoors and outdoors; the group sat outdoors. The food was delicious, although it had an odd appearance to human eyes. If Jonathan had to compare it to something, he’d say it tastes like if honeyed ham was a vegetable with the texture of a rare steak. The soda was also incredibly sweet and strange. They squeezed the fruit at the table, yet it naturally came out like a fizzy soda.

Thara stood beside the table, staring at the group as they ate. Kara and Jon tried to invite her to sit with them, but she just tilted her head at them uncomprehendingly. The trio still had a relatively normal outing, and some passersby along the walkways even complimented Flamebird and Nightwing’s attire.

It was not an odd sight to see children dressed up as heroes who took inspiration from the two gods. It made them blend in perfectly with Kryptonian society rather than stand out like normal superheroes are supposed to. While that would usually be an issue, in this case, they’re not acting much like heroes.

This fact is further cemented when they’re witness to a crime in progress; front row seats and all. A hovercraft barrels towards them and Kara tackles them out of the way. However, thanks to the red Sun, she was no stronger than a regular human who couldn’t survive a vehicle hitting them at 100 miles per hour.

But Thara can.

No one saw her move. One second she stood next to the table, and the next she was holding the bumper of the hovercraft between her thumb and forefinger. She flings the car making it soar through the sky at dangerous speeds. So fast it catches on fire like a meteorite entering the atmosphere. 

A squadron of pitch-black hovercrafts follows as well as several flying people in black and red bodysuits similar to the one under Thara’s dress spring into action. Several Kryptonians fly up and catch the hurling vehicle mid-air and use their ice breaths to stop the flames. They apprehend the people in the car. They bark out words in Kryptonese leaving Jonathan lost as to what’s going on. Seeing this, Damian translates it for him.

“This is the Black Zero Unit 681, we apprehended the contrabandist!” A man with blonde hair holding up a silver Flamebird badge shouts over a loudspeaker. “Get the carriage. We need to make sure they have everything here!”

A man with a silver Nightwing badge hauls the cart over his shoulder to fly it away to wherever they need it. A person in white and blue steps out of one of the black vehicles and checks over the people in the cafe for injuries. Meanwhile, a woman in the same black and red uniform from earlier walks up to the group.

“Niyregvthselia roe?” She asks in Kryptonese.

“Uh… Um-” Flamebird stutters, scrambling to stand.

“E nwif Eer,” Damian replies, then looks to his partner. “We’re fine. She’s asking if we’re injured.”

“Oh,” Jon blurts out as Kara stands in front of the boys.

“I’ll talk to them. You and Nightwing stay next to Thara.” She insists, shooing the boys next to their protector.

They shuffle their way to the woman and thank her for her protection to which she replies in a clumsy pronunciation of reciprocation. The blond man from earlier walks up to Thara with a casual stride and a raised hand that almost looks like a wave, except his hand didn’t move. Apparently, this was the casual Kryptonian greeting.

Before he speaks, Jonathan stares at his best friend with pleading eyes. Damian rolls his eyes in return and obliges the silent request to continue translating for him.

“Hello Ms. Ak-Var, that was some throw back there! I've never seen you do that before, but we shouldn’t make setting people on fire a habit!” He greets her with a friendly tone that was clear through the language barrier. “I didn’t know you’d be here; You’d usually be attending temple today!”

Thara stares intensely at the man until he gets uncomfortable. He looks like he’s about to ask if she is alright, but the reddish-haired woman nearly shouts out a response in a stiff tone. “Sern-Ki! It’s nice to see you! I am… Watching over visitors!” She steps to the side to present the young superhero duo. “This is Kal-El’s son and friend! They take the mantel of Nightwing and Flamebird in their world!”

It’s nice to know she’s awkward in both languages.

The man, Sern-Ki, backs up as Thara shouts her response in his face, but he keeps a polite smile. “Ah… I see. Uh… Nice hair! It matches your daughter!”

“It does! Because that makes sense!”

He takes a fidgety step back. “Um… You’re acting… stressed. You should take a break.” 

“I will keep that in mind.”

“Great! Say hi to Ak-Var and T-!”

“I will! Thank you!” She quickly interrupts.

Stern-Ki pauses at the strangeness but shakes it off. He kneels to the pair and sticks his hand out for a shake. “I think this is the Earthing greeting. Hello kids! I am Sern-Ki, I am a member of Kandor’s Military Guild, Black Zero Unit. We are given the trust to use powers given to us by the yellow sun-- Hey, why are you talking over me? Wait, are you translating what I say?”

“-Tt-” Nightwing clicks his tongue and stops translating to say something to him in Kryptonese while Flamebird shakes his hand. 

“Hi! Nice to meet you!” Jon greets him in English.

Sern-Ki only nods at Jon instead of talking to him, now aware he doesn’t understand his language. Jon understands he’s trying to be considerate, but it just makes him feel worse. He hands the preteens candy in the shape of Flamebird, then calls out back to his team. “Zys-Jal! Afosombe óerhmiã rdi oaitü iwda ne skeðva þniem insihnh!”

Thanks to their enhanced abilities, clean-up takes no time at all and the cafe is back to its original state. Life goes on as though they weren’t the conclusion to a high-speed chase. Kara quickly asks to take their food to-go and they rush out of the cafe. While it’s unlikely anything else will happen there, it’s not a good idea to continue staying in the same area.

“Why were those people wearing Flamebird and Nightwing symbols too?” Flamebird questions, after a few blocks.

“Those who wish to uphold justice on Krypton use the symbols of Nightwing and Flamebird. It’s like the scale of balance representing judgment on Earth or the snake being used in hospitals.” Supergirl answers.

“And because it’s sacrilege to have a Nightwing without a Flamebird, they work in pairs.” Nightwing comments, pointing at the Flamebird broch on Thara’s shoulder.

“You noticed that?”

“It’s easy to spot once you know the lore.”

“That means Miss Thara has a Nightwing! Who are they?” Jonathan inquires, subconsciously moving closer to Damian's side.

Thara, who was already purposefully lagging, slows her pace as she skittishly responds. “Oh… Um… My uncle, Van-Zee, wears de’ Nightwing symbool.”

“You work with your uncle? That’s cool! It must be nice to work with your family.” Flamebird says encouragingly, trying to make their bodyguard less nervous around them. It doesn’t work so he looks to Kara as he tries to lighten the mood once again. “Hey Kara, how come boys only have two names, but girls have three?”

Keen to impart more Kryptonian knowledge to the younger male, Kara exuberantly answers. “That’s a remnant from ancient Kryptonian history! It’s similar to Earth in that the girl takes on a new name when they get married to another family. The person expected to carry on the family name (traditionally men) only needs two names. For our family, your Grandfather was Jor-El, my dad is Zor-El, your dad is Kal-El, your brother is Kon-El, and you are Jon-El.

“If I got married and took on my husband’s name I’d have to get a take on his name which would be confusing so the name I go by is Kara Zor-El.”

“Like how my mom has two last names?”

“Exactly!” Kara tells him. “If you had a third name, you’d be called Jon Kal-El or something.”

Jon, excited to be learning, cranes his head to Thara. “So that means your dad is named Ak-Var!” Thara nods silently with a polite smile in response.

The party of four travelers decides to sightsee for the remaining time they’re in Kandor. Kara points out all of her favorite places like the Krypton Museum, a luscious garden filled with greenery from all over the planet, a television tower where they film a majority of their entertainment and a block of towers dedicated to agriculture covered in ripe vines of fruits. It was delightful to feel like they were visiting a far-off planet without having to leave Earth.

Near the tail end of Kara’s exposition of one of the fruits she picked, she hands it to Jonathan to try, who automatically splits it in half to share with Damian. She has another in her hand to give to Jon when she sees Damian eating the previous one with abject horror.

“Nooo! Nightwing, spit that out!” She shouts, and instantly the boy self-induces vomiting before she can finish her pleas which… which is very concerning for multiple reasons. “Wha… Why do you know how to do that?”

“In case I ingest poisons,” He calmly informs the Kryptonian as he wipes his mouth with the edges of his partner's orange cape. “Now why did I have to expel it from my system when you gave it to Flamebird?”

“It’s not poison,” Kara states first and foremost. “And you’d be fine eating it as long as you don’t take a large bite. Or a small bite. An itty bitty tiny piece would be alright. A lot of Kryptonian foods are equal to human food in caloric intake, but Kryptonians need a lot more energy to live day to day. On Earth, that’s not a problem since the yellow sun gives our body more than enough energy to survive without eating if we want to. On Krypton, that’s different.”

“Would I die?”

“No, but eating 3,000 calories a bite would feel awful.” She says, but quickly tacks on, “But don’t worry! The food I ordered earlier is safe!”

“You spent a minute telling us about the flavor and texture of the fruit, but left out it would’ve made me sick?” Nightwing groans, taking a bottle of water on his person and washing out his mouth.

“Are you alright?” Flamebird asks, feeling guilty he could’ve made his friend sick.

Damian spits out the water and nods his head. “I believe I expelled all of it, but how about you? You’re only half-Kryptonian.”

“Conner was fine after eating it so I think Jon should be okay,” Kara assures; however, Jonathan doesn’t test that theory and hands the fruit he has yet to eat back to his cousin.

Next to them, Thara consumed several blue and red fruits like a starved beast while Jon looked on in both horror and astonishment. Neon blue eyes notice Jon staring at her and present him some of what she’s eating. Thara speaks with her mouth and fingers dripping with red juice. “Ro wopag openocie lu Jon-El?” She asks in Kryptonese.

Jon rebuffs the offer while pondering how much food on Earth she would have to eat to get the same caloric intake. He’s not good at science or math, but he assumes it’d have to be a lot.

They decide to go back to the Temple of Nightwing and Flamebird to prepare to go home and for the duo to learn more about the Gods their superhero names derived from. As they pass the gates, a crowd of people in robes or bodysuits in variations of red and black pass by them. Some of the adults complimented the boy’s attire or stopped to chat with Kara and Thara.

Jonathan stood clumsily to the side with Damian fiddling with his gloves while he waited for the adults to finish talking. He hates having to wait for adults to do the small talk because he can’t leave or do something else. It’s like when his mom is shopping for clothes and he has to wait forever for her to finish. He ends up hiding in the clothes racks until she’s done, but he had to stop doing that once he grew tall enough to see over them. It wasn't as fun anymore.

“What are they talking about?” Flamebird asks his partner.

The shorter boy stops sharpening his knife, which… okay he somehow had a sharpening stone in his pocket. Flamebird doesn’t know why he’s surprised by these types of things still. Anyways, he stops that and hones his attention to their chaperones. “They’re just chatting about their day and such. Topics like, ‘Oh Kara, it’s so nice to see you today! We never see you at this temple?’ Or, ‘Ms. Ak-Var, we didn’t even notice you leave! Your family is still inside probably waiting for you.’”

“That’s boring,” Jon states, though he doesn’t know what he expected.

“Although we’re visiting a foreign civilization, they’re still people. Things like this rarely change across cultures.”

“Huh… You know, that’s kinda comforting when you think about it.” The boy thoughtfully hums. “Like, we all have our differences, but we’re still the same.”

“Not much of a mind-blowing revelation.” Damian scoffs.

“I know that. I mean… I was taught that but never saw it since I never visited outside the country. I’m starting to think I don’t go out much.”

“Really? The son of Superman and a renowned investigative reporter is sheltered? Gee golly, I would have never guessed.”

“Buzz off, and ‘gee golly?’ Who are you? Billy Batson?” Jonathan mocks and sighs in relief when he sees the adults finishing their conversations. “I think they’re done.”

“Thank the gods, I was about to commit multiple war crimes.”

“Nightwing, I really wish you’d stop joking like that.” Kara exasperatedly tells him, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Who said I was joking? The Geneva Convention is easy to break and manipulate.” Damian states, pulling out a booklet covered in highlighter. “For example, if I were to use the symbol of the Red Cross on anything, even if I am not participating in the war, that is a violation. This includes references to it in popular media. Also, there is nothing keeping something as unpredictable as war accountable because rules do not hold up to nuclear warheads. The opponent can’t file a lawsuit when they're dead.”

She stares at Damian, unsure of how to properly respond to him appropriately, and decides to simply not acknowledge what he said. “Alright! I’ll go inside and talk to Father Irn-Zisk about taking us on a more in-depth tour of the temple now that sermons are over for the day.”

“Why does it last so long? What could they be talking about?” Jon asks, following Kara inside.

“They’re usually talking about excerpts and stories from the book of Rao. Since this is a Nightwing and Flamebird temple, they focus on justice and what it means.” She clarifies. “For why it takes so long, it’s not all preaching. Sometimes there are activities and other times it’s more of a conversation. And they serve lunch, so there’s no way anyone is going to miss out on the free food!”

“Irn-Zisk performed Flamebird’s baptism equivalent, yet he is a priest of this establishment. How can he do that when he is not a priest of Rao?” Damian questions.

“He used to be mainly devoted to Rao but switched to this temple last year. I’m not sure why, but that’s not my business.”

“All priests are one of Rao because he is the father of all,” Thara chimes in with unusual clarity in her voice.

Nightwing whips his head to the strawberry blonde with a suspicious glare. “Sounds like you practiced that line.”

“Irn-Zisk tawt me yur languwge throo Rao,” She elaborates with her heavy accent returning and emphasizes her point by reciting another quote in English. “Those who worship Rao, the red sun, worship the scarlet of the sky. All his rays touch are basked in red and his most beloved child, Flamebird, scorches Krypton in flames until it bleeds red.”

“That’s… a verse I haven’t heard before.” Kara cringes playfully, although her uncomfortableness still shines through. “Is that new?”

“Du not worree, Kara Zor-El. It a odd transluatun, but it harmluss.” She reassures. “Rwmeburing werds easior than makan own sentences.”

Jonathan stares at her blankly, not understanding a word she’s saying but doesn’t want to feel rude to ask her to repeat. “Okay!”

They meet up with Irn-Zisk in front of the room where they last saw him, and he welcomes the group with a joyful smile. “Hello! I hope your day trip was fun! So you two, how was your first proper visit to Kandor?”

“It was good! I almost got hit by a car!” Jonathan cheerfully informs him.

“Ah… alright then, I’m glad to see you unharmed.” He replies with confusion but remains positive. “So, Kara, are you all planning on leaving right away or do you need something?”

“I was wondering if you could give us a more detailed tour of the temple. We’ve only seen the first two floors so far.” Kara explains.

“I’d be honored! Follow me!” He instructs, leading the group up the curved stairs along the stained glass walls.

The man speaks about each location they pass and the history of why it’s there rather than anything overtly religious. He talks about the dormitory, classroom, mess hall, bathroom, library, and ceremonial rooms. Many of the spires are multifunctional since they cannot build more buildings in Kandor, so several of the top floors are a courthouse. If they were going to hold judicial proceedings anywhere, the church of the God of Justice makes perfect sense.

“Do they have to walk all these stairs just for court?” Jonathan grunts as his legs start to hurt. “Traffic tickets must be a nightmare!”

“Oh, of course not! We have an elevator.” The priest presents his point by pointing at a large set of double doors in the center of the building that timely open for a crowd of people to exist.

“There was an elevator this whole time!?”

“Do you need a break, Jon-El?”

“Yes please,” The 11-year-old begs, draping himself over his shorter’s back, his legs giving out. “Nightwing, carry me.”

“We’ll take a break on the next floor! There is more seating on that floor.”

Jon releases a lengthy whine as his partner drags him on his back. Kara goes to grab her younger cousin, but Damian walks faster to escape her. The next floor looked to be the last and another chapel with a wonderful view of the city. All around them was a dome of swirled glass that converged at its peak like the eye of a hurricane.

A stained glass illustration of the winged gods intertwined in a pillar of shadow and flame envelopes most of the walls and is perfectly reflected on the mirrored floor. The pews leading up to a crystal altar were also glass, giving the room an uneasy fragility. The room took up almost the entire floor except for the area where the elevators land.

“My brain hurts staring at the ground,” Jon says.

“Then stop looking at it.” Damian retorts, laying him on the nearest bench.

“Okie,” He agrees with relief. “I hate stairs.”

“Hahaha! You get used to it around here, but I dislike stairs too,” The priest chuckles. “This is our larger chapel for events like festivals or parties. Many people also like to use it for weddings because of the view! That’s everything I can show you around here.”

“Thank you for the tour!” Kara graciously appreciates. “We should also leave. It’s getting kinda late.”

“Really?” Flamebird questions, noticing the sky getting dim but not quite dark. “I didn’t think of it, but how do you have a night if you’re under a lamp?”

“The lamp is on a timer, but it doesn’t fully turn off.” She explains with a longing sigh. “The night sky on Krypton was amazing, but it’d be difficult to recreate here.”

“Maybe not outside, but we have a projector replicating a planetarium using holograms. This floor would be perfect for it,” Irn-Zisk indicates, stepping towards the elevator. “How about you go get it and bring it up here while I call on your ride?”

“What do you think?” Kara asks Jon, clearly wanting him to say yes.

“Sure, that sounds cool,” He responds, not wanting to disappoint his family, he indulges the idea believing it could be fun to experience. “Can you also get snacks? All that walking made me hungry.”

“I’ll get them,” Damian declares. “I don’t want anyone feeding you something that could make you sick. You stay here with Flamebird.”

“I am 99% sure he’s not going to get sick.” Kara exhales as she stands up to go assist them, but stops to look at Jon. “Oh, I shouldn’t leave you alone,” Then she turns to Damian. “And I can’t leave you alone either.”

“I make shor Jon-El safe,” Thara chimes in encouragingly.

“I’m grateful for the offer, but I have to watch them. I mean, it’s not that I don’t trust you! It’d just make me feel better if I can watch both of the boys,” She elaborates. “Can you get the snacks and projector while I stay here with the boys?”

“I don’t trust them to pick the right food,” Damian firmly states. “But I also don’t trust Thara alone with Flamebird. She’s the only one here with usable powers, and could easily take us all out right now if she so chooses to.”

Jonathan is sick and tired of people thinking he can't do anything and now they’re bickering about leaving him alone like he can’t fend for himself. He sits up on his elbows and scowls at his partner and his cousin. “Just go! I’ll be fine alone with a woman who can throw a car! And even if she did want to hurt me, which I don’t think she does, we’re in the temple of freaking justice! I’ll be safe; No kid has ever gotten hurt in a church!”

Damian opens his mouth to correct him but closes it as he feels it’s not the time to give Jonathan a religious misconduct lesson when he’s still mad. “Alright… We also have a third option: I could just carry you downstairs so you wouldn’t have to walk--”

“OUT!” Jon shouts pointing at the door.

Nightwing promptly backs away with his hands up defensively. “I’m leaving, I’ll be back shortly.”

“I can still stay here--” Kara offers

“Oh, so you trust him alone and not me ?” The tall boy angrily accuses.

She sighs in the way those who grow up always do when they’re tired of something, and right now, that something is Jonathan. “I’ll be back, but when we get home we need to talk about your attitude.”

“I don’t have an attitude; it’s called a personality!” Jonathan counters, flopping his back onto the bench and accidentally hitting his head. He does his best not to react to the pain as they get into the elevator which gives him less reliability.

In the elevator, Kara sighs for what feels like the millionth time as she laments the changing dynamic between her and Jon. “I hope he’s alright. He’s never gotten angry like that before; at least with me.”

“Do not fret, Kara Zor-El, growing pains are not only physical but spiritual as well. Everyone finds themself in different ways and that includes expressing new emotions.” The holy man attempts to console.

Meanwhile, Damian instantly regrets volunteering for this task as the awkwardness of being in an elevator with two adults is extremely boring. Although it did seem like Jonathan needed some space after feeling physically exhausted. Heck, the younger half of the duo could also be socially exhausted which is impressive since Damian didn’t know Jon’s social battery had a limit.

He side-eyes Irn-Zisk who notices his gaze and politely waves in return. Nightwing doesn’t trust him. Nightwing doesn’t trust anyone with very few exceptions, but he has had a bad feeling about the man ever since they met. If Damian’s family ever taught him anything then it was to always trust his gut.

It’s a tired cliche that a man of the cloth, no matter the religion, turned out to be diabolical which potentially clouds his judgment. Religion is not inherently evil however it was an eerily easy platform for those with ill intent to control others. Irn-Zisk acts nice and has a history with the House of El making him a trustworthy figure in the Rao Orthodox Religion.

That said, there was a tidbit of information that didn’t add up. If Irn-Zisk was associated with Jonathan’s family through being a Rao-priest then why transfer to the temple of Nightwing and Flamebird? Damian is faintly aware of the inner workings of Kryptonian religion, but wouldn’t a follower of Rao, the king of their pantheon, be a more prestigious role?

The buzzer of the elevator rings, snapping Damian out of his thoughts. He gets off the elevator and is directed to a small refreshments table where he asks several questions about the caloric intake of the food. There’s some disparity of what a calorie is since that’s not a measurement on Krypton, but eventually, the person at the stand can find something that wouldn’t immediately put a human into a food coma.

Kara keeps a vigilant eye on him, fiddling with her yellow necklace every once in a while as she gathers the projector. They waited for Irn-Zisk to return from preparing their leave when a glimpse of strawberry blonde hair enraptured his attention. His eyes darted to the owner of the locks to see a young woman no older than 15 years old in a familiar orange bodysuit and scarlet robes walk past him.

Damian remembers overhearing that Thara’s family is still in the area so this must be them. Her hair was shorter and tied in a low loose braid as opposed to the high and tight ponytail their escort Thara had. On her head was a crown of Kryptonian headwear that also covers her ears like headphones. Her frame was ill-fitted as a teenage girl often is as her body has yet to adapt to muscle growth. Even so, her eyes were the same shade of neon blue he saw on someone else. The girl has a stoic demeanor, her expression unreadable even to someone trained in microexpressions like Nightwing, as she stares out the glass wall. 

A woman who is nearly an identical match for Thara except for a duller shade of eyes and a mundane shade of dirty blonde hair calls to the teen from further down the hall. “Thara, we’re ready to leave now! Your father and I have work tomorrow.”

“Just one more moment,” Thara insists in a plea no louder than a wisp of wind. She stands from the windowsill, her golden heels clicking on the stone lining the edge of the floor with a regal air only those with power hold. Even so, the heavy weight of her movements holds her down.

Nightwing’s blood runs cold and he investigates the girl further to see that Thara doesn’t have a reflection against the glass even though everyone else does. For a second the world slows down as the sky darkens before the spire is surrounded by a ring of fire as tall as the temple. Thara notices Damian staring at her, her face tranquil yet solemn while panic encircles her. For a moment, the visage of a familiar woman grins victoriously at him on the ornate wall then disappears.

He snaps his attention to Kara, who clutches her fist on the necklace so tight the gem cracks. Yellow energy leaks from the shards and surrounds Kara, as she regains her powers under the fake red sun. As they watch the same scene the two ask the same questions in their heads. If this is Thara, then who has been with them all day? Who is with Jonathan right now?

Something was very wrong around here and Nightwing needs to uncover the truth.

Jonathan covers his eyes with his arm to hide his embarrassment, not wanting to see if the others noticed him accidentally hurting himself. Great, he can’t even lie down correctly. What else is he going to mess up?

Thick dry fingers covered in calluses tentatively brush through Jonathan’s wavy locks. He flinches at the touch before remembering Thara was sitting next to him. The boy allows the digits to comb through his hair since he’s not one to be bothered by touch. 

“Are yuw OK?” The light auburn-haired woman asks, the scarlet rays from the ceiling hitting her head like a halo.

“I’m okay,” He replies, smiling and moving his arm to see her. “You’re very pretty!”

She takes a moment to translate his response but grins once she does. “Thank yuw!”

Jon frowns and exhales through his nose, trying to look anywhere else than Thara. She's been a nice person, if a bit odd, in their brief interactions. Through no fault of her own, she reminds him how much he doesn’t belong here. Jonathan isn’t sure why he’s feeling bothered by everything lately which makes him feel even more bothered.

He used to be confident and happy. When did that change? When did he stop looking at his best friend with admiration and start looking at him with envy? Jon used to believe being part alien was cool, and now it’s just another thing he worries about not doing right.

Jonathan turns to his side to look at the mirror floor to see pools of blue staring back. Blue… A lot of humans have blue eyes in his world. It’s a dominant gene so blue is abundant. It’s a very human color, but there’s something… There’s something off about his face. Maybe it’s the tint of cobalt in his hair, or perhaps it’s the large size of his eyes that gives him an uncanny appearance.

He flips onto his back and experimentally flashes a toothy grin before instantly covering his mouth with his hand. Right. Braces. Urgh. The only thing Kryptonians don’t have to deal with and it’s ugly braces in stupidly bright colors he thought would be cool. And he forgot to brush his teeth after eating again.

What was he thinking about? Oh, his eyes. If he had to pick a more human feature to change about himself it would be his eyes. He wants them to be lavender like his mom’s because they’re rare and pretty. Sadly he just looks like his Dad, and Conner already looks like his dad so it’s not even special.

Except Conner doesn’t look like their dad. Conner has his dad’s body type, a similar face shape, and hair. Looking at his older brother it’s easy to tell Conner is a clone, which is the point. However, he also looks like his other dad. That Kryptonian blue (as Jon just trademarked in his head) is fake. Those are contacts; Conner’s real eye color is silver.

Why does everyone else make sense?

“Jon-El?” Thara calls out, snapping the boy out of his rambling self-destructive thoughts.

Flamebird rolls back onto his back to look up at her. “Yeah- I mean, yes? What’s up?”

“Wha’re yuw thinging aboot?” She asks as Jon struggles to interpret her words due to her thick accent. 

He feels awful that she has to struggle to communicate with him when he should know his people’s language. “I… just stuff. Sorry, it must be boring to watch me do nothing.”

Strawberry-blonde hair lit like scarlet waves into the air as she shakes her head. “No, it not bore. I been waiting to meet yuw for long time!”

“Why?” Jon queries skeptically. “I don’t think anything is interesting about me. My dad is amazing, and Kara is strong, and at least people know about my brother. There’s nothing special about me.”

“Wai not?”

“Well… Just cause. I’m not good at anything. I don’t even think I’m okay at most things!” He laments, voicing his frustrations with himself. “I’m letting Nightwing down by wrecking everything and he thinks I’m worth being around to the point of doing stupid shi- stuff. I said stuff!” Nice save. “Sorry, you probably don’t want to hear me complain about this. It’s dumb.”

Thara vehemently denies it, shaking her head so fiercely that Jon’s afraid she will injure herself. “No! Not dum! I un-der-stan!” She says that last word slowly to make sure she doesn’t mess it up. “In stories… Flamebird felt the same. She ruins things; Nightwing saves things.”

“I… see?” The child doesn’t know anything about Raosim to understand exactly what she’s talking about, but it’s probably true. He doesn’t want her input to go to waste, so he tries to steer the conversation to it. “I didn’t want to be a Super-Person because… I’m not super, I’m not a good hero, and I’m an even worse Kryptonian.”

Jon doesn’t remember closing his eyes, but he’s emotionally drained from confessing his insecurities to a stranger. He knows he could tell them to his loved ones, and they would do their best to reassure him it wasn’t true. Jonathan doesn’t want that because he’ll feel guilty when their efforts go to waste when he doesn’t believe them. “I chose the name Flamebird because my Dad told me other Kryptonian heroes use it. It’s just my luck I named myself after a destruction god because I can’t even use my powers without destroying everything!”

“What’s wrong with that?” He hears Thara say so close her voice surrounds him.

“A lot,” He responds with minor annoyance. “You just told me Flamebird ruins things. She ruins things, I ruin things; a perfect match.” He flops his wrists from side to side to articulate his point. “I wish I could do something right without being afraid I’m going to mess it up.”

He opens his eyes to meet Thara’s gaze. However, he can’t see her eyes anymore. All that is left is a warm yet familiar light he would recognize on his face. Jonathan falls off the bench in shock, staring at his face on the mirrored floor as he rapidly pats his face. When he doesn’t see burning veins or the warm golden glow of the sun in his eyes. He looks up in fear to see Thara staring down at him, her tall muscular stature almost gargantuan from where he lies on his knees.

Gone were the cyan blue irises and strawberry blonde hair he’d come to know throughout the day. It’s been replaced by an unholy light encompassing her entire eye and stands of scarlet that melt into a blaze of flames. She takes a step forward and on reflex, Flamebird uses his ice breath to extinguish the fiery woman.

He doesn’t look back to ensure that Thara is gone when runs to the stairs, not trusting the elevator to show up on time. His sore feet are screaming for respite, but Jonathan ignores it as he drowns it out with his own. “KARA! NIGHTWING! ANYBODY!”

“You seek aid, but I am right here.” It registers to Jon that she is speaking Kryptonian, yet he can understand her words as though she’s speaking them in his head. He glances back for a second and sees her mouth isn’t moving, but Thara continues to speak. “Why do you fear the one who rose you from your ashes into something greater?”

Jonathan couldn’t run fast enough. He couldn’t use his super-speed because his body was still producing ice that couldn’t save him. The 11-year-old tries to focus using a power, any power, to get him out of this situation when he feels the flames engulf his back. 

He tenses as he anticipates an agonizing burning sensation, yet nothing of the sort occurs. Jonathan stops, confused by the lack of pain, and looks at the fiery woman who becomes less human by the second. Jon glances down at the mirror below to see nothing at the center of the flames, no reflection, just light.

Fire flattens then rise like wings spreading and the humanoid body vanishes, being replaced by the blaze. The outside of the tower ascends a cyclone of conflagration like a beacon in the middle of Kandor, trapping everyone inside her temple. A screeching crow-like cackle echoes through the cathedral as the room becomes blindingly bright, the light of the fire reflecting across the floor. “Why do you always leave?”

Her laugh sounds like a cry for help.

Flamebird laments how he can’t have a normal day, but isn’t this what he wanted when he decided to become a superhero? Azure blue eyes stare into the heart of the raging inferno knowing what he must do. Jonathan Samuel Kent prayed for answers and the worst happened: a goddess listened.

Chapter Text

Four fluorescent turquoise hands relentlessly toil to build the world around them. They moved precipitously and ever nimble as the three digits on each hand stroke every blade of black grass. It’s almost perfect as they shine a rainbow when a ray of red sunlight hits it at the ideal angle. The entity those long limbs are attached to focus on their work as the three eyes on their tall featureless face scrutinize the creation. The most prominent eye sitting on the bridge of his nose is a bright blue, as opposed to dull yellow ones around it, furrows in disappointment.

Suddenly, the endless field dissolves into a wave of opal shimmers before going up in a blaze of fire and ash. The grass in his hold singes his fingertips, but its creator could not bring himself to care.

A fiery glow emits behind them with a voice as violent as a roaring flame speaks. “Vohc, why do you labor over imperfection?”

“Flamebird,” The God of creation greets, looking at his fellow god bathed in the fire of Rao. He rises from where he is sitting to reveal he is as tall as the tallest tree, but nothing compared to the goddess’ divinity. “It is in my nature to create and make. I cannot stop if there is a flaw in my design. That is why I have you-- so I can start over.”

“I should set you alight to be remade.” Flamebird threatens without malice because the maker is her only companion.

“You are fortunate that I need you to clean my slate, lest I build you a cage to hold you back.” Vohc retaliates in a fond yet sarcastic tone. “I do not believe a new version of me would be as forgiving.”

The burning goddess cackles at his words. “Hahahahahahaha! Why are you the only one of our pantheon who understands me?”

“You exaggerate,” Vohc insists as his four hands remake the field Flamebird destroyed. “You are Rao’s favorite.”

“Yet he does not understand why I am so hated. What is wrong with my destruction?”

The turquoise builder creates a new blade of black grass better than the last and answers, “Nothing. If people do not want their work destroyed then they should satiate your need for perfection. You only destroy what is flawed and they fear you’ll deem their efforts as such.”

“They should fear what you build from my ashes.” Flamebird scoffs and spreads her wings wide as she prepares to take flight.

“They should fear what you do when the deity of destruction tries her hand at creation,” Vohc states as he watches his partner goddess take off to destroy another flawed design on Krypton. As a trail of flame follows her, the god could not help but acknowledge that the edifice of fire was a stunning design. “A tower. That is what I shall make next.”

And like all of Vohc’s creations, it shall go up in flames. The Kryptonians of Kandor watch in terror and trepidation as one of the last few holy sites is enveloped in fire. It lights up the city in the early hours of the night, catching everyone’s attention. How could anyone do this to the Temple of Justice? What monster would forsake a place dedicated to the love of two gods?

They do not remember that Flamebird was a goddess of destruction long before she ever stood for justice. If she ever did.

Flamebird sits in the center of her synagogue and cries into the night sky that no longer exists. The illusion of her fake body has long since melted away to misshapen flames. “Has the world truly forgotten to pay piety to their goddess, Flamebird!?” She shouts with no words but it’s a language everyone who hears it can comprehend. 

Jonathan gapes at the flaming bird with childlike awe as he tries to comprehend the sight. His hair flails wildly in the wake of her unruly flames and the reflection of the light on the mirrored floor gives her a heavenly glow. The boy smiles and proudly broadcasts, “You’re still pretty!”

That… That gives the goddess a moment of pause because that was not the reaction her words normally have. That wasn’t even a logical answer to any of her questions. Her long neck swoops down until the tip of her beak is leveled with the top of Jonathan’s body, “You feared me not moments ago.”

“I did,” The black-haired boy answers honestly, reaching his hands up to touch the face made of fire. His hands do not burn as in the massive inferno that swallows them whole. He speaks with kindness and his expression of wonder softens to fondness. “But you don’t want me to fear you, so I won’t.”

“You have grown into a peculiar child,” Flamebird says and spreads her wings past the boundaries of the crystal dome, melting the glass. “It’s nice to meet you again, Jon-El.”

The congregation at the foot of the spire screams in fits of fear and hysteria as they flee the burning temple. The Black Sun militia is already on the scene as they try to fight the flames to no avail. Kara Zor-El lies on the ground as she stares at the vast wingspan protruding from the tower, her entire body covered in burns and bloody blisters. It was impressive because Kryptonians are empowered by the light of the sun, not burned by it.

The woman tried to get to her cousin. She’s still trying. She was Supergirl, and she won’t give up. The blonde Kryptonian picks herself up, staggering on her red boots as her skirt and cape smolder from her last attempt. One of the Nightwing Guards attempts to stop her but she’s already shot herself off to the top where her cousin was.

Damian watches her fruitless efforts go in vain as her body hurls back into the ground with a trail of smoke in her wake. Gazes at her determination as the skin of her body has turned black with char from her multiple attempts, but she doesn’t stop. This family has never known when to quit.

That fire wasn’t normal and wouldn’t go out by normal means. Damian knows this fact well. “Kara, you need to stop. Jonathan is fine; the flames won’t hurt him.”

“Jon…” Kara whimpers as she stands to reveal she resembles a corpse more than a person. “Was this him?”

The preteen inhales through his nose as he does his best to come up with a satisfactory answer. “I don’t know if this was him, but I do know this wouldn’t hurt him.”

“Explain,” She orders, any ounce of kindness in her voice vanishes as her lidless eyes bulge out of her skull. “How do you know all of these things about Jonathan?” She trudges towards him as strands of blonde regrow from her bald burnt head and dreadfully cast her face. 

Her grimace and clenched teeth are exaggerated by her lack of lips as they were scorched off on her first attempt at saving Jonathan. She picks Damian up by the collar of his cowl causing his feet to dangle off the ground and forcing him to look into her eyes; The eyes that were the same as the boy still trapped in the temple. “Tell me how you know these things about Jonathan when I’m his family!? Do you think it’s fun to watch everything spiral while we suffer!?”

When Damian Wayne looks to his left, he expects to see Jonathan Samuel Kent when he used to foresee nothing. When Jonathan Samuel Kent looks to his right, he anticipates seeing Damian Wayne when he used to envision his family. The time when Damian and Jon were not associated with one another felt unimaginable, but it was only a few years ago. Back when the two were simply strangers unaware of what their meeting meant for their future.

He remembers when he first met Jon and believed their meeting to be the worst thing to have ever happened to him. His mother sent him to Gotham for sanctuary, only to discover his father had been declared dead. Death for heroes is rarely tangible, but his absence is still real. 

“Jonno, you remember Jason Wayne,” Clark Kent eases into the conversation, and Jonathan (who just turned eight) waves at Damian, no doubt informed of Grayson’s attempts to integrate him into society. “This is his brother Richard Grayson. Do you remember him?”

The farmer points at the lean fit man with greasy unkempt hair and lightly tanned skin who looks like he hasn’t slept in years. Jon waves at him before confessing, “Nope, I don’t remember him being around when Jason was alive.”

Richard looks absolutely gutted by the admission.

“But I don’t remember anything about that time. I was four,” Jon continues, unaware of the emotional carnage he just committed as he sticks his hand out to him. “Hiya! I’m Jonathan Samuel Kent, but you can call me Jon!”

“Hi, I’m Richard but you can call me Dick,” Dick shakes it politely, albeit wearily, and introduces the other boy next to him. “And this is Damian Wayne. He’s ten, so you two are almost the same age!”

Jonathan holds out his hand to Damian and it’s immediately slapped away with enough force to bruise. “Get that out of my face.”

The only joy he received since leaving his home was sadistic elation from Jonathan’s cries. He always found pleasure in putting idiots with oversimplified views in their place. Unfortunately, Jonathan’s simple view of the situation at hand quickly became complicated upon execution. Damian is forced to sit in Superman’s kitchen while Dick and Jonathan’s mom watched, pretending to be enraptured in their conversation while focusing on them. Clark was listening in the background cleaning up the kitchen and pretending not to be eavesdropping.

“I like your Batman shirt!” The younger compliments, taking a bite of his chicken nuggets.

“-TT- Are you an infant? Close your mouth when you eat.” Damian insults, staring at the processed food on his plate and shoving it away. “And you shouldn’t. It’s a capitalistic perversion of my father’s legacy.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that merchandise of superheroes is an insult to everything altruism stands for because it is used to benefit these flawed economic systems that operate on deception and abuse against the most vulnerable; usually minorities, but that's an entire lesson in it of itself.”

Jonathan stares at him with wide and thoughtless eyes then says, “I still don’t get it. What do those words mean?”

Damian grunts in frustration and turns to his brother. “Richard, this is pointless. Introduce me to someone at least a fraction of my level. You’re Nightwing, I'm sure you know people my age that can hold an intelligent conversation.”

“Are you saying I’m stupid?” Jonathan gasps, offended that Damian didn’t even try to talk to him for a full minute before dismissing him.

“Yes,” He answers without hesitation. “Talking to a wall would yield more mental stimulation.”

Lois frowns at his words and crosses her arms while sliding herself closer to her son. “Alright, listen here you little shi- Listen here Damian,” She corrects herself. “Just because you’re unable to learn how to talk to people, doesn’t mean you get to insult them.”

“Excuse me?!” Damian shrieks and Dick has to hold him back from lunging over the wooden table. “It’s not my fault you didn’t raise a son who can understand what I’m saying!”

The reporter smirks and leans forward, resting her chin on the back of her hand. “Only five minutes and you couldn't resist trying to attack someone. To me, that sounds like you’re frustrated you can’t understand my son because you can’t. It’s too much effort and skill you don’t have.”

“Lois, I think that’s a bit much. He’s still a kid.” Dick tries to mediate.

“A kid who wants to be treated like an adult, so I’ll talk to him like one,” Lois counters casually. “Damian, have you wondered why Jon is the only kid you met so far that wants to talk to you after attacking him?”

“Because he’s stupid and likely has a savior complex.” Damian offers.

“Because he’s nice and is giving you another chance,” She corrects. “You probably like statistics, so what’s the likelihood that everyone else is the problem while you’re in the right?”

The 10-year-old grumbles in his seat, refusing to give her a clear answer.

“So, let’s try this again,” Lois corrects and turns to her son. “And Jon, if he talks to you that way again, you don’t have to take it. His background is not an excuse for that kind of behavior.”

“My background?” Damian questions and looks directly at Jon for an answer.

It was at this moment, for the first time in Jon’s short life, that he wished his mother would've stayed out of something. “Welp… Uh… You um…” He blubbers around for a moment before deciding he did not have the mental capacity to say anything nicely so he said nothing at all. It spoke louder than any sentence he could've said.

“Is this some pity playdate?” Damian growls and stands from his seat, ready to leave. “Richard, this is a mistake. I told you there was nothing to gain from this experience.”

The man was about to say something, but Jon beat him to it, “What’s wrong with pity?” He questions calmly, standing from his chair to meet Damian at his eye level even though the boy is slightly taller than him. “What is wrong with feeling sorry for the way you grew up?”

“It means you don’t respect me and actively look down on me,” He tells him, turning his nose up at the child. “There’s nothing about my upbringing that is wrong or pitiful.”

“Are you sure? Because you’re here and not over there where it’s normal to be a mean unlikeable person." Jonathan argues, his voice still gentle but his expression aggressive. “I feel pity because I care. You’re angry that I care and that’s not normal. You act like you’re better than me, but I’m not the one lashing out because I didn’t get my way.”

Emerald eyes examine him intently, the other’s expression unreadable before he does something no one in the room expected him to do; he sits back down. “I was beginning to wonder if you had a semblance of thought in that empty head of yours. They’re misguided thoughts, but I can work with that.”

“Wow, so you do know words I can understand. I’d almost call that nice if you weren’t such a jerk.” Jonathan fires back, retaking his seat as Lois and Dick watch in anticipation. “What do you mean by misguided?”

“Misguided is defined as--”

“I know what it means, I’m asking why you think my thoughts are misguided.” Jonathan clarifies.

Damian leans back in his seat, settling in for the long haul. “You pity my life before this point because you see that my morals and priorities are abnormal or wrong. That is short-sighted on your part because it means you have taken the position that you are right based on your limited experience. I am not free of bias, however, I have experienced far more of the world than you have to know what lifestyles work and what don’t. This,” He circles his finger on the table, “Does not work.”

“Why not?” Jonathan asks, not quite understanding what Damian is saying, but peiced together what he meant through what he did know.

“Before I speak further, tell me, what are your goals in life?”

“I dunno. To go play with my friends this weekend? One of the ponds nearby dried up so we might catch some tadpoles in the mud!”

“... I’m going to ignore the blatant animal abuse for a second (I will come back to that), and tell you how shortsighted you are.” He proclaims with an arrogant smirk. “You have no critical thinking or ambitions. You don’t even comprehend that your lack of preparation and foresight will turn you into an unproductive member of society. So many people coast through life on mediocrity that it allows those in power to ruin this world. This world is doomed without guidance and motivation, both of which your upbringing lacks, but mine did not. I know exactly what I want and I have the skills to take my life into my hands. Your mother still fights your battles for you. You’re useless.”

“Then you tell me something,” Jonathan pouts. “What’s the point of figuring all that stuff out now? What does that life you’re so sure about look like?”

Damian sighs as though he was requested to do something laborious. “I will become an example of peak human capability, rid the world of selfish incompetent people, establish support systems for those that remain to thrive alongside the planet, and put in place order as its ruler.”

Jonathan gawks at Damian like he’s a crazy person because what he just told him was whack. “You want to take over the world?”

“If you want to stupify it to your level, then yes.” Damian enforces while Dick appears to have died inside and dissociated to the point of no return next to him.

“That’s a sad life,” Jonathan simply says. “What’s the point of living a life where you do everything if you can’t share it?”

“There will be a lot of people in my life.”

“But you won’t be anyone important to them,” The younger boy explains, pausing to figure out how to say what he wants in a way Damian can understand. “You talk about how you are above everyone, but that means you'll be lonely on a level that doesn’t exist. If I’m useless, then you’re unlovable.”

“Jonathan!” Lois scolds.

Damian stares at him and Jonathan notices how inhuman the shade of green of his eyes is. “I’d rather be unloved than waste my life.”

Jonathan stares back and Damian notices how human the eyes of an alien can be. “I’d rather waste my life than have no one in it.”

“Why do you have to be so simple-minded?”

“Why do you have to be so complicated?” Jon fires back, and a sense of loneliness washes over him. Jon wouldn't understand, and people who don’t understand don’t deserve to live. He’ll relish in Jonathan’s suffering when it all comes crashing down.

“Maybe I do,” Nightwing agrees, snapping out from his memory as he looks at the Kryptonian woman with pity. “That is what’s wrong with all of you in your naive family. You want to believe that people can change for the better no matter the cost, but forget you also have to pay that price. You all saw a deluded child in need of guidance when you should’ve seen a threat.”

“I don’t need your stupid preaching, I need answers!” She yells, shrugging off the Kryptonian officers trying to separate her from Damian. They don’t know the pair; all they see is a violent woman threatening a child in a language they don’t understand.

“Ma'am, release the child!”

“This is an order! Let go of the kid!”

“I don’t have all the answers!” He chokes out trying to push the fist off his neckline, but it was unyielding even though she was injured. “Is that what you want to hear, because that is what I have to offer! I know that these flames won’t kill him.”

A peachy hue crawls over her blackened skin like a spiderweb as it heals itself to a less threatening appearance. Her rose lips molded over her mouth in a scowl that was worse when it was just teeth. “What did you do to him?”

She drops the boy and immediately, a dirty blonde Flamebird Soldier cuffs Supergirl’s hands behind her back. “You are under arrest for assault of a minor, interfering with an investigation, and illegal procurement of yellow sun energy!” He barks in Kryptonese and leans into his Flamebird medallion which operates as a yellow sun generator and communicator. “This is Officer Ak-Var! I have a suspect under surveillance, requesting permission to take her in.”

“Permission granted,” A voice relays from the badge.

“Ak-Var?” Kara questions, glaring at the man as he forces her on her knees to remove the glowing neck accessory from her. The woman grunts as her knees touch the hot pavement and Damian attempts to get between them.

“Stop!” Damian shouts in Kryptonese, his accents thick but has so far been manageable. Most people so far have assumed it was from Kryptonopolis, and he hasn’t felt the need to correct them. “Let her go! I’m not- shit, what’s the word?” He snaps his fingers in rapid succession as he frantically tries to recall the correct word for this situation. “Eafni? PFejdfme? AFu-soera? FUCK!”

Kara chimes in with the word he’s looking for and he uses it for its purpose. “Yes, that word! I’m not pressing charges! I’m fine! And Kara was trying to save her family that is still inside! She also has permission to use yellow sun energy; she’s from Earth!”

“I can’t take your word for it, son. I’ll have to investigate back at the precinct,” He turns to put Kara away. She darts her eyes back at Damian with both hatred and desperation.

“RUN” She shouts in English as she’s shoved into a floating patrol vehicle. “I’ll get out and find you two!”

Damian was already gone before the cops could notice. He can’t risk them grabbing him to hold him back. Damian is in a foreign land with no allies or a way to escape. He only has one lead and that’s the woman named Thara.

His eyes searched the crowd trying to look for the teenage girl he saw in the temple, but she wasn’t there. Her face was lost from the crowd as if she had never existed. That doesn’t mean she was lost as the older woman who was hauntingly familiar is working amongst the militia creating a barrier. 

He puts on his best lost child act, even going so far as to cut the high soles of his platform boots closer to his natural height. Damian slinks up to the woman who looks like Thara with muted blonde hair and grey-blue eyes. He shyly tugs on her sleeve and she kneels to introduce herself. “Hello, my name is Tes Ak-Var. What is your name?”

There’s a pause before he answers, “Nightwing” in Kryptonese.

“What a lovely name,” The majority of the people in the crowd are devout worshipers of Nightwing and Flamebird so it wasn’t odd to have a child named after their deities. It was a common practice to do so for families of extremely devout Raoits (e.g. Kara or Mordo). “Nightwing, do you need help looking for your family?”

Without hesitation the preteen points at the top of the tower of fire. Tes holds back a wince as she leads the boy to a safe distance away. “We are going to do our best to help them. See that?” She points to several Black Sun Officers with glowing badges using their powers to mitigate the spread of the fire. “We have the best people on the case and won’t stop until we stop this fire. Now, I am going to take you somewhere safe where you can meet up with your family. Can you tell me the name of your guardian?”

Damian nods, his face filled with false concern. “Thara Ak-Var,” He says and carefully examines the woman’s expression.

“Thara Ak-Var?” She inquires, her tone curious and frank. “Are you sure you don’t mean another Thara? Do you mean Thara Ro-Inn, Thara Qeh-Vu, Thara-Ox, Thara Fin-Turr, or Thara Bazys-Klida?”

“Thara Ak-Var,” Damian repeats, his voice faltering at just the right octave and his eyes watering slightly to just barely escape the edges of his mask. “That’s what Officer Sern-Ki called her when we saw him today.”

“That’s impossible,” Tes mumbles to herself as she speaks into her Flamebird badge. “Sern-Ki, come in, Sern Ki. I have an inquiry.”

There’s a break before the officer Damian met earlier in the day answers, his voice coming out with astounding clarity someone could almost be fooled the man was standing amongst them. “Tes Ak-Var! What’s up?”

She doesn’t give him a moment of breath before she asks, “Have you seen Thara today with a boy in green wearing a Nightwing symbol?”

“Um… No, just you. Was Thara also there with you, Ak-Var?”

“We never left the Temple,” Tes says and all the color in her face vanishes.

“I’m going to assume you didn’t dye your hair to match your daughter’s. I mean, I know you were talking about it in passing, but I thought you actually went through with it--”

“I need a description,” She interrupts and intensely listens to the report before hanging up. “Nightwing, where did you last see your Thara?”

Once again, he directs her to the top of the tower.

Tes speaks into her badge and contacts everyone in the area. Damian doesn’t see any buttons on it so he’s curious about how it works. “This is Black Sun Unit 809234, Tes Ak-Var! We have a description of the suspect presumed in the temple arson. A woman in her late twenties or mid-thirties, tall muscular build, pinkish-red hair, warm beige skin, blue eyes, a red robe, and a golden Flamebird badge. Proceed with caution, the suspect has access to yellow sun energy!”

“Nightwing, is there anyone else who can watch over you?” She questions, pulling the child along with her to search for her daughter.

“My family told me to go to Irn-Zisk for guidance if something happened,” The boy supplies, testing the strength of the soldier’s grip on him to see if it was possible to escape. It was not.

Much of the congregation sought sanctuary further away in the other temples in the religious district of Kandor. In the Temple of Rao, the largest spire in all of Kandor sat the young Thara Ak-Var who kneels at the window facing the pyre of her creation. The teenager’s hands are clasped in prayer and her eyes are forcefully shut.

“Please. Please let it work,” She prays under her breath, her voice refusing to give way to emotion. She can’t risk everything by feeling. She has to hold herself back. “Why isn’t she done yet? You said it would work.”

“Patience,” The preacher reassures, placing a hand atop her strawberry blonde hair. “You must believe in yourself.”

“I won’t believe in monsters,” Thara says, yet she’s not sure to whom she’s speaking.

“You are not a monster,” Father Irn-Zisk repeats with a pleasant smile as he basks in the light flowing through the windows. “You are a God.”

“Stop it,” She hisses, her stoic demeanor cracking along with the glowing fire in her veins. The young woman clutches her orange sleeve to make sure her skin was still covered before calming down. “I don’t know how much longer I can live like this.”

“You must live long enough to see a goddess at work. Look at this, Thara Ak-Var.” He gestures to the beacon of light illuminating Kandor like the red sun of Rao did once long ago. “This new monument is proof the Gods have not abandoned us.”

“That’s what I want,” She yearns, reaching up to place her palm on the reflectionless glass to eclipse the ball of fire.

Thara doesn’t care about the grand plans of the Raoists, or the future of Kandor. She doesn’t heed the potential despair of her people by burning down their place of worship. Call her selfish, call her apathetic, call her evil, but Thara Ak-Var can't bring herself to feel regret because that requires her to feel at all; that’s a risk she never allowed herself in the past.

If this works, then she’ll finally remember what it is like to have emotions rather than just desires.

“Have we met before?” Jonathan asks Flamebird, rubbing his gloves over the beak of fire, trying to find something solid to grasp on the beak. There were only the flickers of flames caressing his gloves. “And why can I understand you now?”

“A god has no use for languages,” Flamebird explains. “How else would we spread the gospel if our followers cannot understand?”

“It would’ve been nice to use earlier,” The child grumbles with a pout.

“My powers were limited in that form; they’re still limited,” She corrects herself. “But they were enough to give you your blessing. The one you got when you first came to Kandor.”

“But I've never been here before,” Jonathan states then remembers what he was told earlier that day. “Oh, you mean the baptism.”

“Your blessing ceremony, but yes,” The fiery goddess confirms. “The El’s are so enamored with having Rao’s favor that they forget who the true favorite is.”

“I think having favorite family members is really bad,” The youngest member of the House of El expresses in casual earnestness as if he wasn’t talking to a hundred-foot-tall giant flaming bird at the top of a burning building. “I mean, Rao is your dad… I think. I’m not sure how being a god works, but doesn’t he have other gods he created? It sounds mean to have one you like more than the other. That’s like if my dad liked my brother better than me. I would feel sad and making your kids sad like that makes you a bad father. Then again, Damian says it’s problematic to compare different family structures to a traditional family because relationships are weird and our definitions of family are narrowed by a history of governmental control.”

Jonathan fidgets in awkward silence as he feels Flamebird’s giant glowing gold eyes judging him. He instantly feels self-conscious and wants to do nothing more than to have the ground swallow him whole. But that doesn’t happen, so he opts for his second tactic: rambling whatever comes to mind.

“I don’t get it but Dami is always talking about stuff like that. He thinks that the world is out to get him and everyone in it, but that’s not only a Dami-thing. Mr. Wayne is also like that. I think Damian once told me that he has contingencies to take down every member of the Justice League, but that I shouldn’t tell anyone because then it compromises the plans. That doesn’t make sense because it’s not like I know what those plans are, and even if I did there are a lot of heroes on the JLA that can read minds so what’s even the point? That’s just some weird stuff about how paranoid Dami and his family are about stuff. Speaking of Dami, he’s probably getting worried since I’m in here with you and he’s out there without me. By the way, you’re a God? How does that work? Ms. Dianna says she’s made by Gods, but there are a lot of different Gods and religions. It kinda makes me think that there are no gods because how can there be so many stories of the universe being made and all of them being true? Also, what kind of bird are you? Are you a chicken? I have a lot of chickens on my farm. You don’t look like a chicken. That was a dumb question… But are you a chicken?”

Flamebird, the literal embodiment of destruction, stares at Jonathan who stares back expectantly at her with large blue eyes. They stand in silence for what feels like forever before she answers, “Jon-El, I don’t know what a chicken is.”

“Oh…” Jon blurts, feeling his face heat up in embarrassment. The flames feel cooler by comparison. “So… are you the reason bad things happen to me when I get stressed out?”

“Bad? Has my blessing done you a disservice that you denounce everything it has done for you? You wouldn’t be standing before me with oblivious contempt if it wasn’t for my blessing.”

Jonathan struggles to recall what she’s talking about. He wasn’t even aware Flamebird existed until recently, so why would he owe her anything? All she’s ever done for him was give him a “blessing” that made his life complicated when it was more than enough already.

But it wasn’t always like that.

Jonathan was not naive to the reality of having a superhero for a parent. There were times he would see his father on TV and worry if he’d make it home okay. Other times he wouldn’t see his father for weeks because he was out being Superman in a faraway galaxy or another dimension. The perils of Superman never escaped Jonathan because he was always aware of them, even idolized them, since he could remember.

Everything was simple because it had to be simple. He doesn’t remember much about that time in his life, but he’s told he used to be more involved in his father’s superhero life. His babysitter was Robin, his godmother was Wonder Woman, and the JLA would come over for Thanksgiving. His parents never kept the fact his dad was Superman and always made sure Jonathan knew the importance of keeping that a secret. For all the grandeur of being the son of the world’s greatest hero, Jonathan had a full and happy life.

Then, when Jonathan was four years old, he disappeared without a trace. He recollects flashes of a world filled with lava, ash, and red skies. The only comfort of home he had were his Superman pajamas and his fuzzy slippers shaped like chickens. All he recalled before waking up here was a portal opening up in their home in the middle of the night. For a while, he thought he was having a nightmare as he aimlessly wandered a battlefield with bodies falling to the ground around him. He doesn’t look, he knows better, but the sound of a body splattering on the pavement still haunts him.

He thought he finally woke up from the nightmare when a flash of bright pink light enveloped him, but he awoke deeper into the madness. Pink crystal melts around him as an older boy, a teenager in a tight black leather bodysuit with pink outlines looks down at him. He’s tugged out of the crystal coffin by the stranger wearing cat ears who glances down at him through thick pink goggles.

“3758,” He boredly recounts the number from memory while Jon peeked up at him with fear and confusion. “You’re not on the list.”

“List?” The little boy repeats as he looks around to see hundreds, maybe thousands of people lining the tall walls of a tower in pink rock. There were words written on some of them, but Jonathan couldn’t read them yet. All of them were frozen in poses as if they were caught unawares when trapped.

“You haven’t done anything in your past reboots to deserve this,” The teenager says with mild interest as he taps on a pink holographic screen. “You’re completely innocent. An uncomplicated existence from beginning to end.” The teenager was in front of Jonathan, but his voice felt far away. “You could’ve been so much more if you looked a little deeper. I wonder if this will change anything.”

“Are you going to hurt me?” Jon asks, cowering back a few inches.

“I have that habit, don’t I,” He questions but states it like a fact. Jonathan never met a supervillain before, but he wonders if all of them were this… vague. “No, I’ve hurt you enough. Maybe I could convince Chickadee to wipe your mind. Make you believe all of this is some horrible dream. It would be nice to forget all the trauma you’ve been forced into, wouldn’t it?”

Jonathan vigorously shakes his head no, not wanting this person to do anything with his mind. He doesn’t understand what he’s saying but doesn’t like how cryptic he is. The teenager laughs at him in a way that drains any humor from his tone. “Hahahahaha! I thought so. I’ll keep you safe here. Don’t worry, you’re very much loved so you’ll be out in no time. This is nothing more than a horrible moment in time that will pass.”

When he got back home his family told him they thought he was kidnapped. Going to other universes, getting into danger, fighting bad guys, and saving the day is normal for Superman, but it shouldn’t be for Jonathan. Who knows how an event like that will impact his development? Countless therapy sessions later, Jonathan showed no signs of being impacted by the incident. He didn’t even recall most of it. After that day, things changed around the Kent household. He wasn’t allowed to go to any JLA events, fewer people visited their homes, and he wasn’t allowed to go on the internet without oversight.

It wasn’t too bad, and Jason still watched a few times after that but… Then he stopped coming. The last time Jonathan saw his babysitter was in a casket. Jon stopped seeing his dad dressed as Superman around the house after the funeral. Kara followed shortly after.

For the next four years, they lived as though Clark Kent wasn’t Superman. They were a normal human family with normal human values. His Kryptonian heritage was only brought up by Kara every once in a while, however, nothing ever came from it. 

Jonathan barely remembers life after the incident, but what he does remember he kept to himself. “An uncomplicated existence from beginning to end,” The person in Jonathan’s memories says. Even at the age of eight, Jonathan can see his life in front of him with the utmost clarity. He’s a powerless normal human who will grow up to be normal while surrounded by extraordinary people who will never acknowledge Jon could ever be anything more.

Would his parents treat him like he’s fragile if he was born with powers? Jonathan’s safe world is filled with soft colors and warm light, but when everything is shaded in beautiful pastels, the rest of the world is dark by comparison. How can true kindness be cultivated when you have only ever received kindness?

Jonathan finds out the hard way when he attempts to make friends with Damian Wayne. It wasn’t going well, especially after their first few attempts at friendship. These attempts included playing sports, going to the playground, swimming, building Legos, and much more. Unfortunately, all of them ended in an argument or a physical altercation. The latest activity of painting concluded with Damian trying to smash Jonathan’s face with a tube-wringer.

Jonathan wasn’t allowed to see Damian after that. It doesn’t mean he didn’t try to do so anyway. Jon was stubborn like that.

“Damian, what is wrong with you!?” Richard Grayson yells over the sound of crying children as he rips a jambiya out of Damian’s hands.

A bundle of scarlet hair tied together by a sparkly scrunchie drops to the floor. In the corner of the living room, a little girl with a long ponytail on one side of her head and chopped off bob cut on the other sobs on the floor. A smaller boy the same age as her comforts her while occasionally glaring at Damian. “It’s okay Irey! It’ll grow back!”

“B-But It’ll take forever! People will make fun of me and- and- and-- Waaaaaahhhhhh!” The red-headed girl wails and her father picks her up, patting her on the back.

“Come on lightning bug, we can go home and have your mom take you to the salon,” Wally says as he takes his son’s hand and walks out of the front door.

“Wally, I’m so sorry! I’ll pay for it!” The eldest Wayne reaches into his pocket for his wallet, but his friend stops him.

“Don’t,” He almost hisses but checks himself at the last minute. “You said you had him under control this time!”

“Wally, I did! I don’t know where he was keeping the knife! He was doing better and--!” Richard flinches as his best friend slams the door. The sound echoes in the halls of the vast and empty manor. It reminds the man how empty the home is when it was just one man and a troubled kid. History rhymes in the worst ways as he grips the dagger in his palm and wonders how Bruce did it the first time.

“Go to your room,” He orders without looking at the boy.

“Does this mean you’re going to cease these asinine ‘playdates’ and let me do something worth my time?” Damian, only ten years old, questions. 

His amused tone only further irritates his temporary guardian. “Don’t test me, Damian. I can’t look at you right now, so go back to your room until I call you.”

“-TT- Fine,” Damian snaps, going back to his room so his “brother” can clean up the aftermath. The child doesn’t understand why the older man is upset. He wasn’t even trying to kill Irey West because if he was she’d be six feet under.

The 10-year-old enters the barren abode meant for him to decorate, but he doesn’t see the need for it. His mother was going to come to get him any day now since his father had been declared dead. Death means nothing in their world since heroes are constantly leaving and entering this mortal plane.

Still, if he’s not getting sufficient training or protection from his father then there is no good reason to be here. It’d be easier to leave than to waste his time--

Knock Knock Knock!

That didn’t come from his door. Damian huffs, already knowing who it is, and grabs the other spare weapon he secretly kept on his person. He opens his window and leans forward to block the idiot from entering his room. “You have five seconds to let go before I make you.”

“Hey Dami,” The 8-year-old dangling off the windowsill greets in a chipper tone, ignoring the fact his tiny fingers are losing feeling. “How are you? Who were those people leaving? Did you make any new friends while I was away? Can you let me in--”

Damian stabs the knife between his fingers, close enough for the boy to feel the cold steel on his skin. “Kent, get out.”

“Are you sure? You seem upset. Do you want to talk about it?”

That’s it! He pushes the younger boy off the ledge and closes the window without caring if the body splattered on the concrete below. He sits on his mattress without blankets since those got confiscated when he used his sheets as a makeshift rope to escape. He crosses his legs and closes his eyes to meditate. He is almost successful until…

Knock Knock Knock!

If Damian wasn’t annoyed he’d be impressed by the tenacity. He continues to ignore the knocking but that grating voice just had to start talking. “Damian! Damian! Damian let me in! I know you’re in there! I can see you doing nothing! Why would you rather do nothing than talk to me? I just wanna be your friend!”

“Your articulation and vernacular leave much to be desired,” The older boy exhales.

He opens his eyes to see a felt Robin doll pressed against the glass. “We both know I don’t know what that means! Come on, open the door for us!” He raises his voice two octaves and rubs the doll on the glass to mimic talking. “Yeah! Come on Dami! Let me and Jon inside! It’s hot outside and those rose bushes hurt!”

Emerald eyes roll at the ridiculous display. “Your Drake impression is immaculate.”

“Who’s Drake? It’s me! Better Dami!” Jonathan puppets the doll to wave at him and almost falls off the ridge doing so.

Damian swears that every time he talks to this kid he loses brain cells. “Kent, why did you name that monstrosity after me?”

“I didn’t, the person that gave me it did!”

“And who is this person that needs to be added to my hit list?”

“It was… Mmm, I don’t remember, but it looks like you! See the hairstyle and the angry face?” He smooshes the face against the glass as though it would enhance Damian’s vision.

“It looks nothing like me.” He rejects and contemplates shoving him off again.

“Yes, it does! He looks mean and you’re being mean,” Jonathan pouts and waits for Damian to come up with a witty response. After a few minutes, nothing happens and the boy begins to worry that Damian left the room. That’s not good because Jonathan is still cut up from falling three stories into a bunch of rose bushes. He didn’t know roses had thorns so that was an unpleasant surprise. He resigns himself to falling again when the window suddenly opens and strong tanned arms pull him inside. “Thanks!”

Jonathan immediately regrets thanking Damian when he yanks the plushie out of his hand and chucks it out the window before slamming it shut. “Nooooooo! Better Dami!”

“Stop calling it that!” Damian shouts, dragging his hand over his face. “You know you’re an idiot, right? Please tell me you know that because if you don’t then there is no help for you.”

“No, I’m not.” Jonathan confidently denies it. “You’re an idiot. It’s really easy not to hurt people, but you can’t stop doing it. That makes you an idiot.”

Thanks to their multiple fights, Jonathan anticipates the blade about to be jabbed into his neck and holds Damian’s hands back with all his strength, his adrenaline pumping through his veins. “Woah, woah, woah, woah, woah, woah, woah, woah, woah, woah, woah, woah, woah, woah, woah! This is what I’m talking about! Is fighting the only way you know how to talk to people?!”

“Is talking nonsense the only thing you know how to do?” Damian integrates, retracting the butterfly knife.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re a powerless freak whose only claim to fame is that you’re the son of Superman,” The boy cruelly tells him, sitting at the edge of his bed. “You are not smart, or strong, or particularly skilled at anything other than being a pest. Even that corporate clone of your father running around Metropolis has more merit than you ever will, and he’s fake.”

“Take that back!” Jonathan demands for his brother. “Don’t talk about my brother like that!”

“See, you’re mad on someone else’s behalf because you know I’m right about you,” Damian remarks, looking away from Jon as he sits next to him. “Why are you here? You’re not allowed near me.”

“Because I am going to be your friend whether you like it or not!”

“This sounds like a threat.”

“Only if you take it as one!” He laughs and looks around the empty room for something fun. “Now, let’s do something before my parents ground me for sneaking out!”

“How did you sneak out?”

“I waited until Dad was on a Justice League mission and Mom was busy talking to Conner’s Dad about something! I think it had to do with his custody or school… That’s not important!”

“There’s no way that worked,” Damian contests.

“Lena helped me with the teleporter so they wouldn’t notice I left and made sure to land me right outside your room so Dick wouldn’t immediately notice! I’m probably on the camera though… Oh well!”

“You’re not friends with Lena Luthor the Second,” The older boy openly doubts.

“Nope! She hates my guts and said she hoped you finished the job!” Jonathan recalls, tilting his head in confusion at the memory. “I don’t know what job she’s talking about unless it’s her internet job, but I didn’t know you did that too!”

“That sounds right,” Damian sighs once more. “And it’s murder, Kent. She’s talking about murder.”

“Why would you murder anyone?” Jonathan innocently asks.

“... I’m leaving.” He announces and pulls out a bag to escape from the manor as Jonathan quickly follows his heels.

“Wait, let me come with you!”

Jonathan’s thoughts must’ve been written on his face and he lets his hands fall to his side as the realization sets into his soul. He remembers what happened next, yet forces himself to stop thinking of it. “No… You didn’t. You weren’t there three years ago. It was me; I would’ve been fine!” Jon’s lying to himself, but he does not want to admit the truth.

“If it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t have powers,” Flamebird crushes Jonathan’s reality without remorse. “You should be thankful that I’ve given you what you wanted. A second life pulled from the ashes of your failures is yours. How are you enjoying it?”

Jon shakes his head, his bangs obscuring his eyes as he scrutinizes his reflection on the floor. “Why did your blessing only appear when…” He couldn’t get the rest of his sentence out, but the goddess knew.

“I can only work with that which has been destroyed. I am destruction, I am reformation, but I am not creation,” She illustrates this as her flames expand to flicker Jon’s skin making his veins glow like magma to match their owner, their true owner.

“Why me?” He pleads, unsure of what to expect but knowing what he doesn’t want to hear.

The goddess is silent as she stares into his soul with apathetic eyes. “Because you had nothing to offer.”

And just like that, Jonathan falls to his knees in despair. The budding insecurity in him blooms as every terrible thought he’s ever had about himself falls to his feet, weighing him down. Damian can’t know. He can’t let Damian know. Damian would be ruined if he found out.

Nightwing is plopped unceremoniously in front of the pastor as Tes fusses over her daughter, taking her away to somewhere safe. He glares at Irn-Zisk as the man calmly smiles down at him, the light of the burning temple ominously shading his face. “Hello Nightwing, are you alright?” The man asks, sounding genuinely concerned.

Damian couldn’t hide his disgust. “Who was that woman?”

“Thara Ak-Var, of course,” He states with supreme tranquility.

“Unless there is another Thara Ak-Var out there, the real Thara Ak-Var is a 15-year-old girl who we’ve never met before!” The boy seethes through his clenched teeth.

“There is only one Thara Ak-Var. There is no need to feel that you were fooled since you got to experience the real Thara,” Irn-Zisk elaborates cryptically.

“Then who was that!?” Damian presses, pointing in the direction Thara and her mother ventured off to.

“Thara Ak-Var.”

“I promised a lot of people I wouldn’t kill anyone, and I am a hair away from throwing that out the window,” Damian threatens, pulling the man down by his black robe so he could meet him eye to eye. “What’s going on and what does it have to do with Jon?”

“I am merely a man of the gods. While we have many followers in Kandor, there are few true worshipers left. I am restoring faith.”

“You are destroying it.”

“Those who worship Rao, the red sun, worship the scarlet of the sky. All his rays touch are basked in red and his most beloved child, Flamebird, scorches Krypton in flames until it bleeds red.” He quotes the same words Thara did earlier that day. “Krypton has been gone for a long time, but her life still lives and it shall be bled.”

At that moment, the ball of fire shoots a cyclone of fire up past the point of its captivity, directly hitting the invincible bottle and burning the glass red. The entire city is bathed in crimson as signs of all other colors vanish. This wasn’t just a red sky; the city was dyed scarlet.

“JONATHAN!” Nightwing screams, his voice drowned out by the disjointed hysteria of millions of Kryptonians. In the ensuing chaos, Damian takes out his knife and presses it against the man’s throat who appears elated at the developing events. “IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED!?”

“No,” The holy man grins with manic delight. 

Jonathan couldn’t breathe. He stood at the top of the tower but he felt as though he was being buried alive. He doesn’t know whether to be thankful or devastated. “What do you want from me? You’re a god! You could do anything!”

“If gods could do everything there would be no need for the faithful,” Flamebird declares. “I am still bound by Krypton as one of its gods. To walk amongst you, I must be reborn as one of you.”

“Then why haven’t you?”

“I have,” She answers. “And Thara is truly me with all our ideologies and flaws. She is me and I am her, but we are not each other.”

“Ow, my brain,” Jonathan groans. He knew he should’ve done more riddles because this was confusing. Why does everything always have to be so complicated?

“Thara is my avatar. We cannot escape each other, but I hate myself enough to try.”

“Would that even work?”

“I don’t know,” Flamebird confesses sorrowfully. “A god has never had to transfer vessels, especially their avatar.”

Ah, now it’s making sense to Jonathan. “Does your blessing make it easier to be me instead?” Her intense gaze tells him all he needs to know. Jon is hurting, but he knows that Flamebird is too. The half-Kryptonian inhales deeply and laments his nature as he asks, “Do you want to be saved?”

“Do not act like you’re doing me a favor,” She asserts, the flames rising higher, breaking the confines of the cathedral. “I am taking what’s mine.”

“You’re trapped here, unwanted,” Jonathan points out and extends his arms out to the goddess like he’s expecting a hug. “You don’t have to take anything. All you had to do was ask.”

“You’re a lot like Nightwing,” Flamebird reminisces, her apathetically intimidating demeanor melting to something akin to loving. “a kind fool.”

Her enormous body glides into him, sending Jonathan into the sky with searing pain. He screams in agony as he clutches his head due to the building pressure inside of him. Jonathan feels like he's going to explode. He will explode.

The Fortress of Solitude detonates, its shockwaves shattering the bottle that has trapped Kandor for countless generations. Shards of molten glass rain upon the last city of Krypton, destroying everything in its wake. Sirens blared throughout the city and everyone sought sanctuary from the ruin. The Black Sun Militia abandoned their efforts around the temple to protect the people.

As the citizens of Kandor run away, many of them begin to develop signs of superpowers. Some people float while others create holes in the walls due to their uncontrolled strength. The molten glass doesn’t hurt their invicible skin and few stop to take advantage of their newfound powers. Damian can see the sky, the real sky on Earth in all its blue glory. The North Pole experiences 24/7 days during the summer, allowing yellow sunlight to enter Kandor.

Damian’s eyes widen in horror as he realizes what’s happening. The explosion was not only powerful enough to obliterate the bottle of Kandor, but the Fortress of Solitude to the extent it even cleared the clouds from the sky. With the removal of the clouds came the yellow sunlight. 

Irn-Zisk laughs with joy, proclaiming for all to hear, “This! This is what I wanted! A true blessing!”

The sound of a sonic boom shakes the city further as a projectile speeds from a spire several blocks away. Kara Zor-El crashes into the man with enough force to turn a normal human into a stain on the wall. If it wasn’t for the powers the yellow light bestows, he’d be exactly that.

“WE TRUSTED YOU!” She roars, punching the man in the face with enough muscle to crack the wall behind him. “You are a man of Rao! A priest of Nightwing and Flamebird! What justice is this!?”

Irn-Zisk bellows in an uncontrolled fit of joy, a man gone mad from achieving what he wanted. “Krypton will live again! Look around and see a Kandor that will never be the same- Ooof!”

Kara punches him again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again--!

A touch that felt comparable to an ant touching her arm, but she’d lived on earth long enough to know it was the full strength of a human trying to hold her back. Damian latches onto her arm with his entire body. “Don’t kill him! We need him alive!”

Another dome of indestructible, though now Damian should probably call it nearly indestructible, glass is placed over Kandor by the comparatively enormous hands of Superman. Of course, this event would catch his attention; how could it not?

The red sun lamp was turned on and slowly superpowers were lost from Kandor. Thara looked up at the fake sky now that the flames of the temple withered into nothingness. For the first time in her life, she sees her reflection in the mirror, and it’s just her. She puts her hands on the glass and leans into her reflection and tests out what a smile looks like on her lips. She smiles until the corners of her lips ache and warmth, not heat, fills her heart.

“Am I free?” The teenager asks herself and walks out of the spire and out to the streets with ecstasy gradually rising.

Thara sprints through the streets with her eyes spread wide open as if she’s living for the first time, the molten rain cooled to litter the city in mirrors reflecting her joyous, almost insane expression. She tears the sleeve off her arms, grinning at the sight of her skin with quelled veins, and allowed to feel everything she ever wanted to without apprehension. There’s not even a glimmer of light!

“I’M FREE! SHE’S GONE! I’M FREE!” She celebrates as her steps become light as a feather and begins dancing along the path with the grace of a swan taking flight. “IT WORKED! HAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Her frenzied fits travel through the crowds without a thought or care about the boy who now carries her curse. In her condition, she is oblivious to the rumblings of discontent spreading through Kandor. Her fellow Kryptonians are shell-shocked by what just happened. It only lasted a few horrible moments, but it forever changed those that were affected.

“Is this what it feels like to have powers?”

“We could’ve had that this entire time?”

“It felt so… Natural! My body felt light!”

“Why do we only let the militia have that?”

“What was that fire? It came from the Temple of Nightwing and Flamebird!”

“Why did Kal-El replace the barrier!? To protect us? From what?!”

“The world is afraid of us.”

“This was horrible! I never want to experience this again!”

“What are you talking about? The government of Kandor has been holding us back!”

“Who are they to decide who gets powers and who doesn’t?”

“Things need to change around Kandor.”

For the second time in a week, the boys find themselves at the Justice League Watchtower but instead of a hospital room, they’re in an interrogation room. A faceless man wearing a navy blue trench coat and trilby shines a light at the pair's eyes as their parents watch through one-way glass. The duo knew this day would come, but they thought it would be on their terms.

“Let’s get introductions out of the way, you’re Nightwing, you’re Flamebird, I’m Question, and that’s Martian Manhunter.” The man in the trenchcoat familiarizes everyone hurriedly, establishing the names they are going to be using. His voice was smooth, yet expressive to convey the seriousness of the situation. “And you’re going to tell us everything you know.”

“Nightwing…” Jonathan whimpers and Damian instantly grips his hand on the metal table.

“Habibi, it’s going to be alright. You didn’t do anything wrong,” He reassures.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” The hero states, sitting in front of them with his hands folded. “Get comfortable, because we’re not leaving until we get answers.”

“We told you everything that happened in Kandor already!” The older boy argues, slamming his hands on the table.

“Yeah! There’s a giant bird lady inside me now!” The younger boy boldly states.

Damian slaps his forehead in disappointment. “Jonathan, let me do that talking. You are terrible at explanations.”

“You’re smart kids. You know what I’m talking about,” The man claims, then points his gloved thumb to the green Martian man behind him. “Or you’re going to have to talk to bad cop over there.”

“You’re the good cop?” Jonathan untactfully asks with obvious confusion on his face. “You look a lot scarier than him. At least I can see his face. Then again, I met a really bad cop in Jump City who drew a gun at me and Nightwing so now you don’t seem too bad. You just look like a green person.”

“Technically this is a more visually appealing form I take for the comfort of humans.” Martian Manhunter politely corrects in his deep monotone voice.

“It’s not about how we’re acting, but what we’re going to do to ya if you don’t cooperate.” Question insinuates and turns on a holographic screen to show the boys some images that they were more than familiar with. A crashed catamaran boat, a crater in the middle of the ocean, and…

Nightwing covers Flamebird’s eyes. “Is this necessary?”

“You don’t like your pal seeing your injuries, Nightwing?” Questions, well, questions. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, but if you want to see other things, I got more evidence.”

“There’s already an explanation for it all.”

“And that explanation doesn’t hold up anymore,” Their interrogator dismisses the hologram. “You’ve had years to come clean and there’s a chance you boys’ silence cost Kandor everything. You’ll do the right thing and fess up if you’re the hero you say you want to be. Any questions?”

“-TT-” Damian clicks his tongue in irritation and sets his feet up on top of the table, leaning back in his seat the menace to society he is. He glances at his partner who has turned a few shades paler and one degree brighter. “Flamebird, calm down. Remember what you said. This doesn’t define us.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Jonathan begins to weep, and Martian Manhunter hands the 11-year-old a tissue while gently rubbing circles in his back.

“Stop crying, we’re going to be fine,” Damian consoles, running his fingers through the half-Kryptonian’s wavy locks. “It’s fine, we’re fine.”

It takes a couple of minutes for Jonathan to relax enough to speak coherent sentences, and once he does he asks, “What time is it?”

Question looks at his leather wristwatch and replies, “A quarter past midnight Central Time Zone.”

Jonathan grabs another tissue and cleans his glistening eyes again. He looks at his partner with the best smile he can muster despite the circumstances and says, “Happy Birthday, Dami!”

The now 13-year-old quirks his lips and sighs, struggling to return the gesture but doing his darndest. “No names, remember?”

This is going to be a long night.

Chapter Text

Drip. Drip. Drip

Goes the rain leaking from the ceiling.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Goes the tears running down their faces.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Goes the blood trickling out of his veins.

Three years ago, Batman was declared dead. Three years ago, Jonathan Samuel Kent and Damian Wayne met. Three years ago, something terrible happened to them.

Everyone thought they knew what happened that day after a thorough examination. The story was straightforward: Damian ran away from home, and Jon followed him. The League of Shadows attempted to corner them on an island. Their family found them, but not before the assassins tried to hide their tracks by blowing up the island (as all supervillains are known to do).

On paper, the event sounds like the average adventure anyone affiliated with superheroes is bound to undergo. A problem arises, an action scene ensues, and a resolution where they learn a lesson ends the day. It is all very standard.  In light of recent events, some of the conclusions from that initial investigation are now left open.

So, what truly happened that day?

“Let’s start when Nightwing ran away from home,” The Question proposes, and for a man without a face he maintains quite an intense gaze.

Although he referred to the older of the duo, it is Flamebird who answers first as he recalls the event leading up to Damian running away. It was a coincidence that Jon was in the area, having his own rebellious misadventure in breaking the rules. The 8-year-old was persistent in his endeavors of friendship with someone who honestly didn’t deserve it.

Jon was innocent and naive to the inner turmoil of someone like Damian. He knew that he was raised by bad people, but he didn’t understand how that affected someone so young. When Damian left the manor, Jon assumed that he would return home after some time just like Jon.

Damian allowed Jonathan to tag along for reasons beyond him, but at times he didn’t think twice about it. Why would he? He’s been trying to get along with Damian for months and now the mean 10-year-old was welcoming Jonathan’s company without nagging from Richard. Damian even helped Jon evade the needlessly complicated security system protecting the manor (or keeping a certain someone inside it).

The pair went to the Gotham Marina, filled with yachts and houseboats of the super-wealthy. Jonathan knew Damian’s family was rich, but the more he was around them the more cartoonishly wealthy they felt. Concerningly, the glamorous sea vessels of Gotham’s aristocracy were juxtaposed against the highly polluted water of Gotham Bay.

“Is the water supposed to be grey? I thought the water was supposed to be blue.” Jonathan leans over the wooden pier and swishes his hand in the discolored water, finding it much thicker than normal water thanks to the pollution.

“Water is supposed to be clear, you nitwit,” Damian informs him as he lugs several gasoline canisters into the small old trawler boat, and Jon quickly retracts his hand.

The half-Kryptonian in the red Superman shirt hops to his feet, whipping the concerningly sticky hand on his equally red gym shorts, and boards the boat. “I've never been on a boat before! Actually, I have, but it was a tiny row boat! My Granddad says fishing is a man’s sport and that he’s glad he has grandsons to fish with. He takes me and my cousin Sammy to the lake to fish when we visit in Autumn! Sammy is a baby so he doesn’t like being on the boat, but I do. Sometimes Granddad says some weird things about how aliens are ruining our planet. I’m half-alien, but when I tell him that he says it’s different because I’m one of the good ones. Mom says to tell her when he says things like that, but I don’t want Granddad to get in trouble. I don’t think he means any of it.”

Ignoring the prejudice of Jonathan’s maternal grandparent, Damian tested the elements of the boat, flipping switches and levers that Jon is clueless about. When the boat properly starts, Jonathan erupts with playful excitement, running up to the locked steering wheel and pretending to pilot it like a pirate. “Argh matey! Treasure ahoy! Get me booty and swab the poop deck!”

“It’s unlikely pirates spoke like that. Historically speaking- Hey!” Damian begins but quickly ducks to avoid Jonathan recklessly swinging a nearby broom like a sword. He angrily confiscates the cleaning tool and berates the other kid. “Stop that! You’re going to break something!”

Jonathan pouts, reminding Damian of a dog with his tail between his legs. “I’m sorry, Dami.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why? You look like Better Dami.”

“The doll is likely named after me, not the other way around.”

“Better Dami was here first,” Jonathan says with a self-satisfied huff. “And since you got rid of Better Dami, you’re now Dami. That’s the rules of the playground!”

“That’s barbaric,” The older boy vents. “And we got banned from the playground.”

“You got us banned from the playground,” He reminds him.

Damian sets the broom in its place and sighs like a man much older than he would. “It’s useless talking with you. Stay out of my way until I finish preparing the boat.”

“Okay!” Jonathan agrees, walking to the living quarters of the boat. This boat was interesting as it resembled a studio apartment, although the decor was far from anything modern or grandiloquent as Jon expected. While Wayne Manor was a far cry from modern design, there was an aesthetic that came from its vintage charm and well-kept Gothic appearance. The same can be said of most of the family’s belongings from their cars, planes, and multiple homes. Jonathan hasn’t seen all of them, but from the few he has seen it all looked fancy. Underneath all of that old-world charm there were hints of high-tech integration expected of Batman.

This small boat, however, was mostly wooden with a more 1970s aesthetic with groovy muted rainbow wallpaper and a shaggy bright purple rug. Jonathan fiddled with some of the owl-themed knickknacks and bottled ships on the mantel to see if he could activate a secret function of the boat like he could in the mansion. Disappointingly, nothing happened. Now that Jonathan thinks of it, this boat is big in his eyes, yet too small for someone like Mr. Wayne, who has an entire family to think about.

“Hey, Dami?” Jonathan calls out innocently. 

Another exacerbated sigh rings through the cabin. “It’s Damian, and what?”

“Your dad owns a lot of cool boats, right?” He inquires, pretending to fiddle with a vintage rosewood desk clock with golden pens sticking out of it. “With a lot of cool Batman stuff?”

“Of course,” Damian answers with a hint of pride. “My father is a genius with preparation and foresight to overcome any obstacle no matter the occasion.”

“Is?” Jonathan not so subtly presses, rubbing his thumb over the plaque on the clock.

“He’s taking his time pushing up daisies, but he will be back soon to take his rightful place as Batman.” The youngest Wayne child adamantly states, still focused on examining the boat.

“What’s this boat used for?” Jon asks, putting the clock back in place, and walks up to Damian with bouncy steps.

“One of his solitary leisure vessels he used before he had wards to care about. It was likely inherited from his father.” Damian replies, although his tone is curt as he finally turns around to look at Jon. The boy was much too close for comfort, staring into Damian's soul with those unnaturally blue eyes that don’t hold any reflection, reminding him that Jon’s not human. “What?”

“It’s cool your family has all of this stuff,” Jonathan responds, obviously expecting something from Damian that he is not meeting. “I didn’t know this was your grandpa’s boat! Are there fishing rods on this boat? What are we supposed to do for fun? Are we going anywhere or just driving around? When will we be home? Do you know how to drive this thing?”

Emerald eyes roll in annoyance, and Damian shoves Jon’s face away from his. “Urgh, you ask too many stupid questions. Can’t you think for yourself?”

“I’m always thinking!” Jonathan merrily says, spinning on his heel. “Sometimes I think so much I can’t think at all. My teacher says I have issues focusing, but I’m smart!”

“They’re lying; you’re not smart.”

“Only when I’m standing next to you~.” Jonathan sings, childishly sticking his tongue out at Damian. “You always think you’re the smartest guy in the room.”

“I am,” Damian asserts with a sharp glare. “You’re getting on my nerves. If you’re so antsy, why don’t you wait on the pier until I get everything situated here?”

“Okay!” Jonathan eagerly agrees, jogging onto the wooden platform to gaze off into the horizon. It was always cloudy in Gotham, but today was especially dark. When the two left Damian’s home there were some spots of sun breaking through the thick palls, but now it is completely overcast.

Jon squints at the skyline to witness tiny flashes of light approaching them. If a storm are to hit while they were sailing, it would make it difficult for anyone to find them. Jon’s no sailor, but he knows that rescue crews would be forced to wait for the storm to be over to look for any lost ships. He also knows that Damian is smart enough to realize that too.

So when the boat starts to move forward without him, Jonathan’s body moves before his mind catches up. He jumps on the boat, clutching to the railing of its patio with all his might, as it speeds off towards the storm. The first trickles of rain touch his fair skin as they leave the bay, the chaotic sounds of Harbor Patrol and speedboats following them becoming more distant by the second.

When he turns around, he sees Damian scowling at him as a lightning bolt illuminates the world and a deafening explosion of thunder rings in their ears. Jonathan returns the expression in kind with a bright smile of his own, tilting his head to the name on the clock. “I didn’t know your grandpa was named Samantha Vanaver.”

Back in the dull interrogation room, Nightwing repeatedly bangs his head on the metal table at the memory. At the same time, Martian Manhunter and Question stare at Jonathan in both awe and stupidity. “Flamebird,” The faceless investigator starts but takes a moment to rub his face and sip some water. “Why didn’t you call your parents if you knew Nightwing was going to run away in a deadly storm?”

“Because he’s a selfish idiot with a savior complex,” Nightwing laments after a particularly painful hit to the table.

“I was eight!” The red-clad hero defends, impatiently kicking his feet on the floor. “I already got punished for it! Give me a break! Besides, it turned out well in the end! Dami-”

“Names.”

“Nightwing is my best friend now!”

“Beloved, if you ever try that again with someone else, I’m going to kill them, and then I’ll kill you.” The 13-year-old promises.

“Flamebird’s questionable action aside,” The green Martian calmly shifts topic while looking at the shorter half of the duo. “Why did Nightwing allow him to tag along? Surely the escape plan would have been more efficient if Flamebird wasn’t involved.”

Nightwing lifts his head, discolored from his self-inflicted hits, holding back a maddening groan. “A bout of insanity.”

Although that’s all Damian was willing to admit, the real reason was simple; He was a friendless 10-year-old. There was no complex master plan, no villainous hostage negotiation, nor was there a deep philosophical meaning other than avoiding pure isolation. It’s easy to criticize the blatant flaw in his escape in hindsight, however, Damian was terrified of his own thoughts when left alone for too long.

He is not artless. Damian was well-educated in most academic fields which include philosophy. To "Know thyself" was the first of three Delphic maxims inscribed in the forecourt of the Temple of Apollo at Delphi. It is a foundation of philosophy as to understand the world, one must first know themselves and reflect on who they are.

Damian al-Ghul is perfect; He was born to be the peak of human potential and is destined to be above everyone. All of this is true, but Jonathan was right about something. He was so focused on the great path laid ahead of him that he never looked back to see how empty it was.

It’s lonely being on a level no one else cares to reach. Damian is a child of contradictions. He hates people but wants companionship. He’s talented yet inexperienced. He thinks the worst of everyone but wants the best for the world.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?” Damian shouts, shaking the child back and forth. “Do you have brain damage!?”

Jonathan takes a second to recover from the rattling before he answers, “If I do, it’s because you keep hitting me!”

“I threw you out a window, I will not hesitate to throw you off this boat!” He threatens, clutching Jon by the collar as he leans his back over the platform’s edge.

The son of Superman grips Damian’s wrist to prevent him from going through with his threat as his feet find difficulty perching on the floor. Droplets of water batter his face as the drizzle quickly turns into an outright downpour. He squints through the blinding rain and has trouble hearing Damian over the sound of the storm and the motor of the boat, but pushes through.

“TURN THIS BOAT AROUND!” Jonathan screams as loud as he can. “YOU’RE MAKING A MISTAKE!”

“THE ONLY MISTAKE HERE IS YOU!” Damian shouts, slamming the shorter child against the rail on the back of the boat, leaning Jon far enough to touch the ends of his hair against the water rushing under their boat. “The last thing I want to hear is chastising from an ignorant child who never had to struggle through anything!”

Azure eyes water in pain, but not the physical pain of being attacked. Jonathan was crying for him as if he had a right to feel Damian’s pain for himself. Damian growls like a feral animal as rage fills every fiber of his being. He backhands Jonathan across his face and tosses him inside, causing his body to collapse onto the floor. It doesn’t make him feel better.

He kicks the body until he feels something break and then storms to the steering wheel to isolate himself. It takes a while, but he eventually hears Jonathan get up and trudge to the bathroom to treat his injuries. Damian feels a sense of guilt akin to beating a puppy, but he’d feel more inclined to sympathize with an animal than a fool.

A vulnerable, powerless, and incapable fool who couldn’t even properly bandage himself (because Damian damaged him). A feeble whine emanates through the boat as Jonathan drops the disinfectant that stung his wound. It was going to take forever to minister his injuries alone, especially on a violently swaying ship. Then, another contradiction of Damian arises: He craves purpose and was given none…

Until now.

There is a sense of power one feels when taking care of another. Damian finds himself treating Jonathan’s bruises, kneeling on the floor of the dingy bathroom on an equally dingy stolen vessel. Jon allows it to happen because he is helpless in his current state, and that fact elates Damian to no end.

In the assassin’s twisted mind, he believes he brought Jonathan along as a pet, a project, an object to pass the time. Why would he care about someone so far beneath him that they are subhuman? And it’s not like Damian is a heartless person because he loves animals. He loves them far more than this thing in front of him, and would never harm an innocent creature without cause (purposefully forgetting the fact that he has done exactly that countless times).

At night, Damian wordlessly sets a plate of food in front of Jon who thanks him for the meal. The half-Kryptonian is unable to get down a single bite due to his injuries. Damian takes away his food and hands him juice instead. He watches Jonathan try to hold down the liquid without complaining, then wipes his mouth for him. Afterward, he carries Jonathan to bed, gently tucking him in while ignoring the fear in the boy’s eyes as Damian does so.

There’s a voice in the recesses of Damian’s mind that reminds him of his father’s eldest ward telling him how wrong this was. Conveying to him that none of this was care or compassion. It attempts to convince Damian to turn this boat around and get Jonathan real help.

It makes Damian glad he left Gotham before that voice could corrupt his mind.

A while later, he believes Jonathan has fallen asleep and changes into his black and white training uniform. It gave him a sense of familiarity that was comforting compared to the casual garments provided to “normal” children he was forced to wear. He reaches into his pocket to pull out a crystal vial covered in gold and priceless gems filled with radiant viridian liquid. He holds it over Jonathan’s sleeping face, turning his visage green.

Damian proceeds to conceal it when Jonathan suddenly grasps his wrist. He attempts to yank it away when he notices half-lidded eyes staring into his soul. Jonathan acts so human that Damian forgets he’s not of this world.

“Let’s go back,” Jon implores, stroking his thumb over the back of Damian’s hand.

It was easier to pretend to care for the boy when he couldn’t talk. “You’re pathetic. Stop this, you’re never going to succeed.”

“I only fail if I stop trying,” Jonathan replies, sluggishly turning his head out the starboard window. “I’ve never been on the ocean before. No one ever told me it’d be so pretty.”

“There is a violent and deafening storm raging outside in the middle of the night,” Damian pragmatically counters. “You can’t see anything.”

“Storms are beautiful,” Jonathan points out with a small smile then looks back at Damian. “And so are your eyes; You never told me they glow.” Reflexively, Damian tries to touch his fingertips under his eye, but Jon squeezes his hand tighter. “Have you ever felt love?”

Damian grimaces and finally retracts his hand. “-TT- Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for me, you masochist.”

Jon snorts like a pig to suppress a chuckle. “Pfft! No! Not that love, silly! Just… Love. Any kind of love.”

“Contrary to what some people say, I’m not devoid of feelings,” He defensively expresses, sitting at the edge of the bed, his hand continuing to be anchored to Jonathan’s. “And I have felt love before.”

“What is love like?” Jon asks, ignoring the specter of his words when they first met.

“You’re the one with the normal family that touts those values. Why ask someone who you believe was ‘raised wrong?’”

“To me, love feels nice and comfy. When I feel loved I get a warm feeling in my heart like it’s covered in a blanket made of feathers. Like when you wake up from a good night’s sleep and all you want to do is snuggle in the bed, that's just the right amount of comfy!” Jonathan describes with a giggle, miming the action with the sheets on the bed. “And when you love someone you want them to feel that way too! You want to make sure they’re happy and safe all the time. You are very loved.”

Damian scoffs, crossing his arms and leaning his head against the wooden wall. “That’s not love, that’s complacency.”

He pouts in response. “Then what’s love to you?”

Damian acts like he was asked if the sky was blue. “Love is not a fanciful feeling, it is an obligation to take care of those that have earned your love. It’s a reason to do anything and give up everything.”

Jonathan stares at him with that pitiful gaze Damian loathes. “Would you want the person you love to do the same?”

“If they loved me they would do it without hesitation.”

“If you loved them, you wouldn’t want them too.” Jon gazes at the stolen vessel’s rickety ceiling with droplets of rain leaking from it. Jonathan’s body painfully tenses as the boat traverses over an especially hazardous wave. He inhales deeply, straining his bruised ribs.

Luminescent eyes observe the boy on the bed for what feels like forever, then click his tongue in irritation. “-TT- This is rubbish.” He utters quietly, leaving the bedroom to tend to the ship.

It’s eerie to look back on the volatile relationship the boys once held compared to the one they have now. Nightwing doesn’t enjoy reflecting on that part of history for clear reasons, so all he will confess is that he was insane. It’s easier to oversimplify his inner turmoil than to confess everything.

However, what Nightwing willingly admits is irrelevant when there’s a telepath looking at him like he needs therapy (which he does and is in, but that’s not important). “Ah… Um… Alright then. Uuuhhh… Can you tell us how the League of Shadows got involved?”

“Wait,” Flamebird says, distracting the man from the mental scarring after visiting Nightwing’s mind. “I’m hungry.”

“You gotta be kiddin’ me, Kid,” Question complains in his Hub City accent. “We ain’t even close ta done.”

“But I can’t keep going on like this without food! Exploding took up a lot of energy!” The 11-year-old protests, slouching in his seat.

The man takes off his wide-brim hat to tousle his hair. “Fine! Whaddya want? A burger n’ fries?”

“A veggie burger and fries?” Martian Manhunter suggests, knowing Nightwing is a vegetarian. “It was Burger Day, so any burger would be easiest to get.”

“Sure!” Flamebird agrees.

“Oh Hell no, you’re not putting that filth in my body,” Nightwing instantly shuts down.

“Dami, it’s just a burger.” Flamebird whines (pouts), because he is the type to never complain at a restaurant.

However, Nightwing is the type to raise all nine circles of Hell with the manager at a moment's notice when something didn't go his way. “-TT- Names! And I’m allowed to be a picky eater on my birthday, especially when what you’re trying to give me is poison.”

Martian Manhunter's face was stoic but Flamebird could sense he was disappointed in himself. “Sorry, I thought you liked vegetarian burgers.”

“He does, but he has a strict diet and thinks if he eats fast food more than once a week he’ll get sick.” The taller boy attempts to console him.

“I didn’t say I’d get sick, I said I’d be weak! A lack of self-control will do irreparable harm to my body.” Nightwing explains with an arrogant demeanor. “I can’t function properly if I overindulge in unhealthy foods.”

“But you still eat all the cookies every time we have any together!”

“I’m not eating all the cookies; I’m stopping you from overeating.”

“By eating them all.”

“You make it sound like I don’t leave you any!”

“Less than half!”

“You eat garbage the rest of the time! Let me have this!”

“Urgh, you’re such a buttface!"

“BOYS!” Questions loudly interrupt their bickering. “This isn’t a McDonald's, this is an interrogation.” He reminds them, but it falls flat when the green Martian phases through the wall behind him to retrieve the order from the Watchtower’s cafeteria.

The investigator sighs and takes a sip of his black coffee much to Jonathan’s confusion. “How are you drinking without a mouth?”

“Not important. Stay on topic, Kid.” He says and takes another sip out of spite. "You’re getting your food, now tell us what we want to know."

The kidnappers.

Soooooooo , funny story, but it wasn’t exactly a kidnapping. As heir to the League of Shadows, Damian was privy to an expected amount of individual power separate from Ra’s. This included a secret island staffed with people loyal to Damian to fulfill his every desire. In layman’s terms, Damian had an evil lair like the proper supervillain he was. He even had a sizable trust used to pay for everything with the supervillain bank Ninth Circle (Because of course there’s a supervillain bank, this is capitalism.)

The storm still rages well into the next day as the pair struggle to stay afloat on the tiny ship. They sailed over waves the size of mountains in hazardous conditions and barely avoided capsizing multiple times. There was a moment when the rocking of the ship was so violent it threw Jonathan off the bed, and he hit his head against the floor with sufficient force to knock him out.

When Jon woke up, the ship was beached on the edge of a tropical island and Damian was nowhere to be found. Jonathan grumbles to himself as he limps out of the nearly dilapidated seafaring vessel into the rain as the ocean threatens to take the boat back into its depth. Believing their ship crashed, the child limps out into the jungle alone to find Damian.

Meanwhile, Damian enjoyed a luxurious reception to the life he’s accustomed to: waited on hand and feet by people who didn’t question him. His people quietly whispered, obviously taken aback by his sudden arrival. They were expecting (hoping) him to be gone longer; however, the master of this domain had other plans. Damian dried himself with a lavishly plush towel into the ornate Islamic architecture, the walls lined with precious stones and accented in gold. His family was never religious in any sense, but his Grandfather was set in his ways. Damian is under the impression the last time the man updated his sense of style was in the 1600s.

There was still the issue of Superman’s son to deal with. He was planning to ship him to a location where he’d easily be found by his family, and out of Damian’s way. He sent out a team to handle the 8-year-old and pushed the thought out of his mind. 

His servants bowed as he passed, and it felt like Damian could finally release a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He couldn’t remain relaxed for long, because he had work to do. Damian regrets not heading here first before seeking sanctuary from his Father. Maybe the child will return once the man returns, but not before.

First, Damian had to visit his dearest Goliath. At the first sign of danger, he transferred his companion to the facility for his safety. He even had his most loyal servant watch over the dragon-bat.

“Ravi,” Damian announces, making sure his footsteps are louder than usual to not startle the caretaker.

“Master Damian,” Ravi smiles, facing the direction of his voice. “Welcome back.”

The feeble elderly man holds his hand out, waiting for a sign the heir to the al-Ghul name is directly in front of him. Ravi’s cloudy eyes were covered in scar tissue, his loose leathery tanned skin was covered in liver spots, and his body hung heavily on his bones.

Damian reaches to grasp his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Indeed. How was Goliath in my absence?”

“Excellent as always,” The servant pleasantly informs him.

The boy smiles with satisfaction before his grin turns feral. “And how many traitors did he dispose of?”

“Ten,” Ravi answers in the same pleasant tone as before.

“That’s wonderful,” Damian walks up to the enclosure and braces himself to be tackled by the large creature. No matter how prepared he was, the animal was stronger than him. The metal chain around Goliath’s neck was like paper and he shoved Damian to the floor with a growl.

Ravi patiently waits for the heartfelt reunion between a boy and his monstrously violent pet to run its course. Then he retrieves a new towel for his master to wipe Goliath’s slobber off his face before reporting the bad news. “I believe there are more traitors in our midst. Ever since the mental deterioration of the Demon’s Head took a turn for the worse, he’s become increasingly desperate to find a body that is compatible with Lazarus Pit. I’ve caught wind of the conspiracies against you, and have done my best to weed out the weak. Regrettably, I was unable to find how far it goes.”

“I will take care of it myself,” Damian decides, wondering if he’s the only capable person in the League. “If you need me, I’ll be in my chambers to catch up on all the work I missed.”

“Of course,” Ravi bows, moving out of the way of the assassin.

After several hours, Damian sorted out his finances to discover some obscene purchases had been made. He was gone for almost half a year, so unexpected expenditures were guaranteed, but someone was transferring his money to an unrecognized account. He spent a long time trying to find the perpetrator and after thorough research of offshore companies and mule accounts, he believes it to be another one of Mara’s spiteful retaliations against him. It’s not much of a setback, but it is a nuiance. At least she didn’t touch his weapon collection… He should go check on his weapons just in case. He leaves his chambers and after a few paces, he’s stopped by one of his company.

“Master Damian,” A lesser assassin, Chione, calls out. Damian was already in a foul mood, and by the assassin’s frantic manner, he was not going to receive any good news to make up for it. “The boy, he’s gone!”

His feet instantly stop and he doesn’t face the servant as he speaks in a low voice. “And why are you telling me instead of finding him?”

“Ah… well, you see, the jungle is dense, and with the storm--”

The assassin didn’t finish that sentence as Damian beheaded him with a sword decorating the wall. He finally turns to see half of the group he sent out to retrieve Jonathan. “Do I have to do everything myself, or has the League of Shadows fallen to disarray?” If he knew they would be trouble, he would’ve just carried Jon inside the hideout himself. It was his fault for having faith in others.

“Master Damian, have mercy,” Another assassin, Ezar, pleads, dropping to their knees. “We have sent out a search party, but there’s another pressing matter to be dealt with.”

“What could be so important?” Damian questions, stepping over the crimson pooling on the floor.

There’s hesitation in their answer as they stare at the bloody sword in his hand. “M… Master Dusan has made landfall on our shores.”

Oh… Well, that changes things. A filthy rat told his uncle he returned. “Clean this up and send my guards to see him at the gates! Someone inform Ravi to prepare accordingly!”

The servants scramble to follow his orders as Damian all but sprints to the entrance his family uses to enter each of their realms, a place only the al-Ghuls and their most trusted set foot. Opening the jade elaborate double doors covered in their family history, Damian witnesses Dusan al-Ghul casually sitting on Damian’s finest divan and sipping from the most expensive tea set he imported himself.

Damian makes a mental note to kill whichever of his housekeepers is responsible for soiling his finest china as he glares at the older man with a gaunt complexion, his cheeks hollow on fair and fragile skin. Dusan’s wavy snowy locks sit past his shoulders, almost blending in with the stark white silk of his thobe. The only thing separating the monotony was a creamy gold rim on the high collar.

The pale tones of the man make it easy to draw attention to the sharp red eyes obscured behind a pair of rectangular shades the color of the al-Ghul eyes. “Hello Hafid,” Dusan al-Ghul speaks in Arabic, his voice soft but his tone trying to carry authority it doesn’t have. “How was your vacation?”

“خال,” Damian snarls. “My name is Damian.”

“You will use the name your grandfather gave you and respect it as heir to the Demon’s Head,” Damian’s uncle tells him, his words unfazed by the rebellious attitude. “Have you become so Americanized that you insist on using that silly name to fit in with your inferiors?”

“-TT- It’s better than Mara, at least,” The 10-year-old insults, trying to get a reaction out of the man to no avail. “And my mother gave it to me.”

“Ah yes, Talia is far too sentimental for her own good,” Dusan reminisces, almost fondly, yet his expression sours at the thought. “It is a shame her son is unfilial.”

“You dare accuse me of not paying piety to my mother when I am coming back for her?” Damian snarls, the fight coming back into his demeanor at the accusation. “If you want to accuse anyone of faulty filially, look inward at your shameful daughter!”

“Mara is none of your concern.” He orders and waits for the child to calm down. Once he does he calmly speaks again. “I am not here to judge you, Hafid. I am here on behalf of what is best for the family.” The man stands up, his figure towering over Damian. “I am taking you home.”

“I will not sacrifice myself for Grandfather while he’s in this state of mind!” Damian maintains, raising his bloodstained blade.

“Hafid, you misunderstand me.” Dusan clarifies, causing the words to stop inside Damian’s mouth. “I am taking you back to America.”

Huh? “What?”

Dusan places a finger on the sword, pointing it away from him while he watches Damian’s dumbstruck expression with careful regard. “I respect my older sister and hold you as part of my family. That is why I am giving you a chance to go before you force my hand.”

Damian tries to ask why but no words leave his mouth. He doesn’t understand. He couldn’t understand. His mother sent him away to protect him from his family so why are they letting him go? “Huh?”

“Leave this family, Hafid.” His uncle reiterates this more simply. “You are not needed here anymore.”

“What are you talking about? I am the heir! You have no authority over me! You can’t just send me away when this is my empire to inherit! I was chosen! This is my destiny!”

“It was yours, but you are not what is best for this family.” Dusan states and easily dodges the sword swung at him with a disappointed sigh. “Do not test the bounds of my love for you, Nephew.”

“Love? HA!” Damian barks. “You don’t love me! You just want me out of the way!” Just then, the guards the boy called for earlier entered the room, blade drawn. He smiles victoriously and holds his weapon with more bravado. “You have no power here uncle! You’re outnumbered.”

Dusan doesn’t flinch at the sword pointed at his neck and looks down at his relative with an emotion more akin to pity. It makes Damian’s blood boil. “Poor child. You don’t understand that ruling through fear only leads your followers desperate for a way out of your control. Look at how easily they turn on you after a few months of reprieve from your tyranny.”

The 10-year-old feels metal pressed against his back and a sharpness pointing through his skin. He doesn’t need to turn around to realize his people have turned against him. “How many traitors have you planted in my realm?”

“Traitors? Hafid, all I see are loyal members of our organization.” The man corrects, pushing up his green glasses. “This is what I’m talking about. You do not have what it takes to cultivate respect in your people. All that work we put into you was for naught. I will take you home, but if you struggle then I shall deliver you in a body bag.”

Damian doesn’t hesitate. “I’d rather die with honor than be subservient to your desires.”

He drops to the floor and flips his blade backward, stabbing the person directly behind him, and uses the opening to flip through the rest of the assassins, escaping immediate confrontation to come up with an escape plan.

“RAVI!” Damian shouts, praying his most trusted servant is not among the betrayers. He kicks open Goliath’s enclosure with vigor. “Ravi!”

“Master Damian,” The elderly man smiles, slowly turning to him in languished movements. His feet gracefully glide over the blood pooling on the floor, staining the ends of the man’s heavy robes. “Apologies for the mess. I was about to clean the mess Goliath made playing with his new toys.”

In the scarlet Dragon-Bat’s mouth was the body of one of his assassins, the one he told to inform Ravi of the situation, along with several others on the floor. “It is my mistake for not taking out the trash before your arrival.”

“You’d be doing so for a long time, Ravi,” Damian says in a way that rerouted relief. “This entire facility is a dump. It’s best to level the entire Island and start anew.”

“Of course,” Ravi agrees and heads out of the room. “I shall grab your favorite collection of weaponry, and be on my way. Shall I leave Goliath’s care to you, or would you rather I take him off your hands for now?”

“Use Goliath as your way off the island, I’ll contact you once I’ve slaughtered everyone on this godforsaken lump of rock.” He instructs, allowing the blind man through, but the relief he feels is quickly dissipated by unease. “Ravi…”

“Yes?” The blind man replies, stopping to listen to his master.

Damian pauses as he thinks better of expressing what's on his mind, but pushes past the reluctance to look at the eyes that cannot look back. “Why are you so loyal to me after all I’ve done to you?”

If the question shocks the man, he does not let it show. “You’ve done nothing to me to warrant disloyalty.”

“You taught me to make art and I took away your eyes.”

“You are young. Your grandfather made you.”

“And when I’m older and those decisions become mine?”

“Then I pray you grow into a man who can keep my loyalty by making better decisions.”

They go their separate ways as Damian proceeds to slaughter everyone in his way. People who once swore fidelity to him attack him to be unburdened by this tyrannical child. He doesn’t let it hurt him; he can’t let it hurt him. Those who do not follow his logic are supposed to die. Even so, he recites each of their names in his head as he takes their life. While Damian held their life in small regard there was a part of him that wanted their admiration, their affection, and their respect. He wouldn’t have cared to memorize all of their names if he didn’t.

Even his most loyal servant stays with him in hopes he will be the lesser of two evils. Why would he stay with the man who ordered acid to be poured in his eyes rather than the child who could be better? Except… Damian doesn’t believe he can.

“From what we’ve gathered and what you’ve told us just now,” The trenchcoat-wearing PI begins as he dismisses the image of the crashed boat. “Is that you lied.”

“Of course I lied,” Nightwing casually admits, leaning back in his chair, lifting the front two legs off the ground.

“You said the League of Shadows kidnapped you to fulfill Ra’s al-Ghul’s secret plan.”

“And as we just established, I lied.” The green-clad vigilante establishes between obnoxiously long sips of water. “If you care so much about it, we can say I kidnapped myself. I was part of the League of Shadows.”

“Don’t sass me.” He says and takes another sip of coffee. Question sighs while turning to Jon. “Did you know your-- Are you feeding him?”

Nightwing pauses, french fries halfway in Jonathan’s mouth, and makes direct eye contact with Question (Or wherever the man’s eyes are) as he slowly continues to feed his partner the food. “What of it?”

The man covers his face with his hand and rests his elbow on the table, murmuring under his breath. “This is probably why Batman didn’t want to do this. Professional ethics my ass.”

“Swear,” Flamebird scolds while chewing on his fries.

The Question ignores the childish reprimand. “Did you know your partner lied about this?”

“Kinda,” Flamebird confesses after taking a generous gulp of cola from his cup. “He told me he lied, but not about what.”

“And you didn’t press further?”

“I was happy he even told me,” The younger hero says. “I don’t think you understand just how hard it was to get to this point. It took me YEARS to have him willing to tell me the full truth about stuff I ask about, and even then it’s like pulling teeth. You’re lucky he isn’t still lying to you and forcing you to use a telepath to read his mind. Even then you might not get the truth.”

“I’m not paid enough for this.” Question groans.

“YOU GET PAID!?” Jonathan shrieks then violently shakes the shoulder of his best friend, causing him to spit water all over their interrogator. “You told me we’re not supposed to get paid! What was the point of your stupid social media plan if we could’ve gotten money this way!”

“Ha-” Shake. “Bi-” Shake. “Bi-” Shake. “Stop-” Shake. “Shake-” Shake. “Ing-” Shake. “Me!”

Damian violently coughs the water that went down the wrong tube on the table while Jonathan apologetically pats his back. “Sorry!”

After a few more coughs and a courtesy wipe of the table (although Question remains soaked in backwash), the older half of the duo explains, “The JLA receives a stipend from the world government, technically making it a global organization along with donations from its wealthy members to compensate living expenses for full-time heroes. It’s also why the JLA rarely interferes with diplomatic conflicts or wars. Money is a contract that restricts freedom while also holding too much power. It’s also why we decided to work independently from our family.”

“So if we work for the government, we could get paid?”

“Don’t even think about it, especially with Lex Luthor throwing his hat in the presidential race this term,” Damian warns.

“I wasn’t!” He was. “Anyways, are we done yet?”

Question dries his featureless face with a paper napkin and then pulls up the next holographic image: a crater in the middle of the ocean. He poked his gloved hand into the display, turning it into a full three-dimensional diorama of the island it used to be. “No. What happened here?”

“Well…” Flamebird begins then stops as the last thing Damian said finally settles into his mind. “Wait, did you kill those people?”

Nightwing pauses for a moment before turning his body to him and grabbing one of Jonathan’s hands in both of his. “You know that I do not kill people anymore because I promised people I wouldn’t resort to that anymore.”

“So is that a no?”

“And you promised to not hold my past against me now that I am trying to change for the better.”

“I did,” Flamebird confirms.

Nightwing turns to their interrogator and then to the one-way window beside them where their parents are supposedly watching them. He then looks at Martian Manhunter to ask, “We’re all aware of my past transgressions and that I am acquitted of them due to my age and circumstance at the time, correct?”

“Uuuhhh…” The green telepathic shapeshifter drones as he’s assumedly asking Damian’s father about it through the JLA’s psychic connection. “Yes.”

Nightwing turns back to Jonathan and bluntly admits, “I slaughtered them, Beloved. Absolutely eviscerated them without mercy."

Flamebird openly gapes at the boy holding his hand as several negative thoughts run through his head, but only one makes it out of his mouth. “Does this make me an accessory to murder since I was technically there?”

“That’s not how that works. I’m willing to testify to your innocence in a court of law if you have doubts.”

“That’s not okay, but… Considering what happens afterward; it doesn’t matter.” Jonathan concludes in an odd attempt to smooth the situation over. “It’s more important you don’t lie by not telling me these things.”

“I’m sorry, you know I would never lie to you… without good reason,” The 13-year-old promised with a swift amendment at the end. “Half-truths are still on the table and then there are times where you’re simply better off not knowing--”

“You have learned nothing and I will throw you into space.”

Anyways, back to the matter at hand.

Somewhere else on the island, Jonathan fiercely shivered under the ramp of a fighter jet next to a hill. Sure, he could go inside to seek shelter from the storm, but something told him that was a bad decision he should pile onto his rapidly growing list. He discovered the reason this storm was powerful and lasted for almost two days: It was a hurricane.

Honestly, he was kind of excited at the discovery. Jonathan’s never been in a hurricane before because the worst thing to ever happen in Hamilton was a tornado. Not the strong tornados that are seen in the movies, but small ones that only ruin crops. Also, fog was a problem, but Jon wasn’t sure it counted as a natural disaster.

Reflections about the weather aside, Jon was not having a good day. He was in the middle of nowhere with no escape and no Damian. What’s worse is that he’s hungry and isn’t smart enough to know what’s safe to eat in the wild. He should’ve listened to his Granddad during their camping trip!

"Daeuna nughadir qabl 'an tanfajir aljazira," A soft voice speaking words Jonathan only understands as nonsense says authoritatively. "La takhayib lay. alqabd ealaa alsabi, wa'iila."

Jonathan peeks out from the ramp to meet the red eyes of a man in white, his complexion so pale Jon could make out the blue in his veins. The child gasps and crawls backward, thrusting himself back into the rain. Something in him, the same feeling that didn’t allow Jon to get on the plane, screams at him to run. The man followed him, his lengthy hair billowing in the robust gale. The storm muted every sound around them, yet Jonathan couldn’t help but notice the man walking toward him was uncannily silent like a ghost.

As water soaked his simple yet elegant white attire the stranger’s pristine remained unaffected. Soon, Jon’s back was against a steep hill and before he could attempt to climb it the man crouched. He crosses his arms over his knees as he meets Jonathan at eye level, expressionless. Behind his green glasses, those eyes watch him like he is watching an animal, a creature.

"Hasal altifl ealaa hayawan 'alif akhar muthir liliahtimami," He expresses in the foreign language. Jonathan cannot hide his confusion and the man reaches for his head, switching to English. “It is fitting to see something like you here.”

Petrified, Jonathan tenses as the pale hand touches his forehead, the rough fingers pushing his soggy bangs to unobscure his eyes. “Don’t hurt me!”

The man doesn’t acknowledge Jonathan’s plea like his words are insignificant noises. “Fascinating. Your pupils are clouded, yet there are no signs of visual impairment.” 

He holds his hand out and a person covered in black cloth and emerald green accents comes out of nowhere to hand the man a tiny flashlight while holding an umbrella over the two. The light hits his eyes, blinding Jon, but he can’t close his eyes as the fingers on his head move to hold Jon’s lids open.

“I knew he had a compulsion towards unique specimens, but this is the most rare find yet.” He says to himself, but loud enough for Jonathan to hear, watching for a reaction. He stands when there is none and walks into the plane. “If this thing is a real Kryptonian, then it shall survive. No need to deprive the world of such a rarity.”

Jonathan doesn’t wait for the aircraft to take off and chooses to run up the hill to get further away. He doesn’t have to understand to know the stranger was evil as he talked at him without acknowledgment. The heavy downpour made the land difficult to see and traverse so much so that he didn’t realize there was a hole in the ground until it was too late.

Jon falls a long distance until he crashes to the floor, the injuries he received from Damian are exasperated along with new ones. Good news is he landed on his head so he can still run. Bad news: he landed on his head. But more good news, the floor was soft!

“KENT, GET OFF ME!” Oh, the floor was Damian.

“Dami, I think we’ve been kidnapped by a scary white guy with cool glasses- Oof!” He’s shoved off of Damian as the older boy throws a knife down the hall. It directly hits a person wearing the same clothes the one serving the albino stranger had. “I was right! We’ve been kidnapped by a supervillain and these are his evil henchmen! Wait, is that guy alright?”

“Yeah, sure,” He lies, but Jonathan is naive enough to believe him.

“That makes sense!” Jon stands up and looks around the fancy hallways being drenched by the rainfall from the open window. “We should hide! The storm is getting really bad, and our boat is ruined, and the guy with the plane left! Maybe there are other ways off this island, and we can go home! All supervillains--”

“Will you shut up!” Damian shouts, tossing another knife so far down the hall, that Jonathan wouldn’t have known it hit anything if it wasn’t for the cry of agony. “This facility is about to explode! Leave!”

Jonathan didn’t ask how he could do that as Damian took a grappling hook (Where was he keeping that?) and fired it upward. He’s propelled to the window and Jonathan races to hang onto him to not get left behind. Jonathan barely has his bearings in place when he sees Damian running away and struggles to follow him.

“W-wait up!” Jonathan pants, his lungs feel dry yet the rest of him is weighted down by the water.

“Are you good for anything!?” Damian hollers in frustration and changes plans. He tackles Jonathan into a stony burrow at the foot of the hill. He makes it a point to cover Jon’s ears as the ground begins to shake. “Cover your ears!” Since Damian was already covering his ears, Jonathan opted to cover Damian’s.

Explosions were much different in real life than they were on TV. Even in a strong environment facing away from the direction of the explosion Jonathan could still feel the rumble of ground. It shakes him to his core and he wonders if the entire world could feel it. His body was freezing from its constant abuse in the rain and was instantly heated up to the point it burned. Covering his ears did nothing as the volume overwhelmed everything.

Jonathan is blown off his feet out of Damian’s grasp and shot headfirst into the back of the cavern. The sensation of pressure being released and building simultaneously exists for Jon, causing him to plummet to the floor. He can’t move. Why can’t he move?

The aftershocks of the explosion linger while Damian frantically lifts the upper half of Jon’s body and sets it on his lap. “Nononononononononono! Come on, stay with me! Kent! Kent, say something!”

Why is he panicking? “Dami? What’s wrong?”

“You’re fine, stupid people don’t die! You’re like roaches.” Damian consoles in his special way, but Jon doesn’t think it’s for him.

“Dami, my head hurts.” Jonathan feebly complains with a wince. “Argh, it feels like my head exploded.”

Luminescent green eyes merely stare at the youth. “It’s just a flesh wound. You’ll be fine as long as you stay awake. You always have something to say, don’t stop now.”

But Jonathan is so tired. “I want my mom.”

Silence fills the den before Damian replies, “Yeah… Me too.”

“Why do you think that supervillain kidnapped us?” Jon questions, trying to work through the thoughts quickly fading away. “Why were those people attacking us? Do you think he blew up the island to hurt us?”

“They’re…” Damian pauses. Jonathan knows he is the type of person to think before he speaks, but never one to hesitate. “The League of Shadows; my family. It is led by my grandfather, The Demon’s Head.”

“They’re evil, right?”

“You have a narrow black-and-white view of the world.”

“But he calls himself a demon. How is that not evil?” Jonathan queries with disbelief.

“As I was saying,” Damian bluntly ignores. “The League of Assassins, or Shadows if you don’t want to be too obvious--”

“Still evil.”

“Is an organization destined to cleanse the world of corruption and achieve perfect environmental balance by spreading our influence and power through any means necessary, but oftentimes through assassinations. I am- I was the heir to this empire, the Demon’s Son.”

“Of evil.”

“Will you stop that!” Damian hisses, annoyed at the constant repetition.

“No, because I need you to know how crazy and evil all of this sounds. Have you seriously never noticed how evil everything you just said is?” Jon wonders aloud. “You’re so smart and kind, Dami. You had to have known.”

“Kind? I’ve been nothing but awful to you.”

“Oh, so it was a choice to be a jerk.” Jonathan chuckles, looking for Damian's face in the darkness, but he can’t find it. It shouldn’t be hard to find the face of a boy whose eyes glow.

“-TT- Shut up,” Damian ordered out of habit before quickly changing his tone. “No, urgh, keep talking.”

Not one to deny the request to talk to someone usually so willing to get away from him, Jonathan decides to ask Damian something he wouldn’t have answered. “Why did you run away from home?”

“This is stupid,” The older boy rebuttals instantly.

“Fine, I’ll stop talking-”

“Don’t,” Damian relents. “Gotham isn’t my home. I wasn’t running away from home, I was going back to it.”

“But they’re evil,” Jonathan states.

Damian wanted to argue the allegation but now was not the time. He’s not the one who should be talking much. “At least I know what to do. I can plan around the worst this place has to offer, unlike the Hell you call home.”

“Then why were you with your family in Gotham?”

“They’re not my family.” Damian denies.

“They love you, Damian.” Jonathan counters.

“They don’t.” He insists. “My mother loves me.”

“And where is she?”

“She's home on Infinity Island,” Damian tells the 8-year-old. “She’s the one who sent me to Gotham to see my father.”

“Your mother sent you to people who would love and protect you,” Jonathan concludes with a satisfied smile. “Even if your Dad isn’t here, those people wanted to protect and love you.”

It makes Damian want to punch him in the face. “Is this some fantastical display of heroism made to satisfy your savior complex? You don’t care about me or if I feel safe and loved. You, who will never amount to anything, wanted to feel some sense of fulfillment from your empty life because you’re the one who can’t do what you truly wanted to do, Super-Son. That’s all you’ll amount to.”

“I-it’s no-no-not about that!” Jonathan stutters, heartbroken. “It’s not!”

“IT IS!” Damian professes, taking glee in the other’s misery. “Why else are you still here when someone else could do what you do better?” He grabs the back of the younger boy’s midnight hair and yanks his head up to look at him, not knowing Jonathan couldn’t see anymore. “Come on, give me a real reason! Where’s that stubborn bravado that got you in this situation? GIVE ME A REASON!”

There was a crazed, yet desperate overtone in Damian’s smile as he practically begged Jon to answer him. “TELL ME!”

In his manic demands, he does not see, or outright forget, that Jonathan is a child. He’s immature, doesn’t think things through, doesn’t know better, and is naturally selfish. “You’re right…” Jon coughs, his throat arid and strained. “I- I wanted to be the one to help you. M-maaaybe I wanna  prove I could help someone the way my family does without cool powers or amazing skills.”

Damian was right. No one would stay for Damian if they weren’t family, true family. Not Ravi, not Richard, and not Jonathan--

“But yo-you’re wron ‘bout somethin…” Jonathan continues as he begins to slur his words. “I do care, I care lut-- Lots. Yer really mean to me, bu’ dats cause you…”

“Jonathan, keep talking.” Damian urges, loosening his grip on his hair to run his fingers through it. “Come on; Because why?”

“I hate you,” Jonathan forces himself to say. “I hate you ‘cause of what y-you do ta me, bu… I don… I don’t hate you for who you are. You’re worth being loved. Known ya fer a while… You’re nice… You care ‘bout people. You juss dunno how ta show ut…”

“Oh really now?” Damian muses, feigning amusement. “How do you know that?”

“You… are… Here wit me. You tried… Protecting me… You still try to keep me… safe. You… are good. You’re hel- helping me… whe- a bad person… would not… F-for no reason.” Jon struggles to string together. He weakly lifts his hand, tracing the lines of Damian’s monochrome uniform wet with water (blood) to Damian’s face. “You’re changing. We’re…just tryin’ ta do our best… to be good. We jus start in different… Pl-places.”

Damian sharply inhales as the silence sits between them. Jonathan thinks that was all they were going to say for a long time, but he hears Damian softly ask, “And what if your best isn’t enough?”

The 8-year-old thinks for a moment then responds, “It already isn’t.”

The hand drops.

Damian al-Ghul is a terrible person. There was no supervillain, there was only him. In reality, Damian completely forgot about Jonathan and it was only a coincidence that he was in the place to be assisted. If Jon was somewhere else, even a few meters away from the facility, he would have been caught unawares in the explosion. An explosion Damian created to kill everyone who never cared about him.

And Jon. He jostles the body in his lap as he clings to the fact he’s still taking shallow breaths. “Jonathan, keep talking to me. Don’t fall asleep, you can’t. Keep your eyes open!”

How could Jon possibly stay awake when half his head is caved in?

Damian knows better than that, but irrationally he still tries. “Jonathan! Talk to me! You can’t die! I’ll get you help!” Why does Damian care? “I’ll call for Superman and we can go home!” That place wasn’t home. “I’ll even act like your stupid friend, so just keep talking!” They weren’t friends. He did this to him.

If one were to ask Damian what he thought of Jonathan at this very moment, he would tell them Jon was an annoyingly idiotic child who knew nothing of the world. Damian hates ignorant people and Jonathan is the most ignorant of all… Because he makes Damian feel ignorant.

Richard makes him feel lesser because the man tries to correct Damian’s behavior and teach him how to be better. Jonathan makes him feel lesser by being the manifestation of what others want him to be. Damian doesn’t know when it happened, or if the feeling was always weeping in the recesses of his damaged childhood, but he also wanted to be like Jon; Just a tiny bit.

He wanted to be loved.

He wanted to be adored for more than his expectations.

He wants to be good.

Everyone’s trying their best to be good, so Damian will start right now. He pulls out the vial of Lazarus water, his only supply from this moment onward, and pours it all over Jonathan’s head. Jon was still alive, so it should work. It works on human injuries fine and even with his half-Kryptonian lineage Jonathan was only a powerless human. There shouldn’t be any side effects other than what Damian is familiar with.

He’d rather Jon be insane than dead.

The glowing liquid poured over the torn skin and malformed bone crushing Jon’s brain, mixing with his blood. It bubbled like acid and Jonathan screamed from the unbearable pain. It was pure torture, but Damian was glad he was making some noise. The minor elation was quickly smothered as Jonathan went silent and limp; not even a breath.

“Jonathan?” Damian speaks, tossing the bottle to the side. “This is supposed to work; It always works.”

Jonathan’s veins begin to glow a pale yellow, starting from his chest and flaring outward to the rest of his body. It isn't the normal reaction to Lazarus water, but glowing veins aren’t uncommon except they’re usually green. Perhaps it was related to Jon’s Kryptonian biology.

The radiant veins slowly heal the injuries on Jon’s body and shine brighter as the phenomenon continues. Damian refuses to flinch when the veins reach where Jon’s head is sitting on his lap, burning him through his uniform. He grits his teeth at the searing sensation and waits to see if Jonathan will wake up.

The child jolts to life with a gasp; Eyes wide and glowing gold.

“Jonatha--!”

“RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!!!” The child starts to thrash around on the floor, clawing at his chest with abandon and banging his head on the floor.

“Jonathan, stop! STOP!” Damian cries as he attempts to constrain the half-Kryptonian, burning himself further.

“GET IT OUT! GET IT OUT OF ME!” Jonathan screams as he changes from attacking the floor to throwing his body against the wall.

“Get what out! I can’t help you if I don’t know!”

“There’s too much inside me!” Jonathan explains unhelpfully. “There’s too much inside me and I want it all out! I’m feeling too much, too many things! IT BURNS! I WANT IT OUT!”

He pushes Damian away and runs out of the cave into the storm as each droplet of water evaporates the moment it touches his burning skin. Damian scrambles to follow the boy but he doesn’t make it out of the cave before another explosion wracks the isle. This time it takes out the whole island, clearing the sky of the hurricane and leaving nothing but destruction in its wake.

When Damian wakes up he’s being dug out of several feet of rubble by Richard Grayson whose tears cannot be contained behind his blue domino mask. “Oh thank god! Damian! Damian, you’re alive!” The man blubbers and repeats his name like he is going to forget it.

“R-Rich…ard?”

“Shhhh,” Nightwing silences softly. Damian tried to move his body but he couldn’t. “Shhh, shh, shh! It’s going to be alright Damian, your big brother’s got you. We’re going to get you out of there and patch you up! You’re going to be good as new! I’ll make sure you’re safe this time! I’m not going to lose another brother.”

For the next two months, Damian fades in and out of consciousness. Countless surgeries were done to reconstruct his body as he was found barely alive. In the middle of his recovery, his father finally resurrected from wherever he was to the news he had a son. When Damian finally starts physical therapy he’s allowed visitors outside his father and his hoard of wayward children, but no one wants to see Damian. They all wanted to make sure Batman’s son was okay after such a horrible event.

Jonathan was found first after the explosion caught the attention of the JLA. He was unharmed by the event to everyone’s shock and they discovered he unlocked his powers. It was likely how he survived as the only conscious person from the incident.

Of course, they knew not to base their entire investigation on the word of a child. That being said, his warped perspective and what little evidence remained after the explosion were all they had. No satellite had an image of the incident due to the storm, and the al-Ghuls had covered their tracks to remove Damian’s name from the files but not their involvement. They had ten years of experience hiding Damian from the world, so this was no different.

Another witness came forward, Ravi, and told a story similar to Jonathan’s about how his master was running away and the League destroyed the island to cover their tracks. No one asked Damian about what happened and were waiting until he was recovered enough to string together what happened.

However, his story became poisoned when Jonathan visited him; The only person outside his family who wanted to see Damian and not the Son of Batman. He heard what Jonathan told them and knew he couldn’t tell the truth. He wasn’t going to tell the truth either way, but his motives changed from protecting himself to protecting Jon.

Jon didn’t tell them how Damian hurt him.

Jon didn’t tell them about the Lazarus water.

Jon didn’t tell them there was a second impact; that he blew up.

Did the Lazarus Pit unlock Jonathan’s powers? Did Damian cause him to explode? What would happen to Jon if people discovered how destructive he was?

“I wanted superpowers so badly, and they don’t work right! It’s like they don’t belong in my body.” Jonathan tells him after explaining everything. “And… This…” He takes a deep breath and his eyes glow like they did before he blew up, his veins flickering like a lively flame. They disappear as quickly as they are summoned. “I accidentally set things on fire when I use my powers. My family doesn’t do this. What’s wrong with me? What should I do? Damian, I need you. You’re the only person who knows.”

Damian stares at Jon and scans the room. After making sure no one else saw it he takes Jon’s hand in his and looks at him confidently. “Tell no one. We’ll figure it out, but this stays between us.”

“What if I hurt someone? I don’t want you getting in trouble.”

“I’ll take care of you. Just trust me.” Damian reassures, glaring at Jon, challenging him to argue back.

Jon cries, covering his face as he sighs in relief while also handling an inhuman amount of dread and self-loathing. “I hate you…”

At least Jonathan was alive to hate him. “Happy to hear it.”

It’s fitting Jonathan’s first real encounter with a supervillain results in them becoming best friends. That’s the type of person Jonathan is because he’s never the type to give up on people even when he should. That’s why he has Damian.

“Are you happy now?” Nightwing, Damian Wayne, asks their interrogators.

It’s been years since the event jump-started their friendship. While it didn’t immediately make them best friends, it allowed them to be confined to each other, and over the years their bond has been reinforced by countless interactions. They’ve both changed from the kids they were back then, but they were still young, still figuring themselves out. They wanted to do it together, not because of the incident, but because of everything they’ve been through after it.

“Is the Lazarus water what unlocked Flamebird’s dangerous… ability?” The Question inquires.

“Assumably, however as we just discovered this power has always been dormant inside him. The water likely escalated it.” Nightwing hypothesizes, then pretends to be occupied looking at his nails (even though he’s wearing gloves). “Are we done here? This is turning out to be the fourth worst birthday of my life.”

“No,” Martian Manhunter, who has been relatively passive during this entire fiasco, sternly states as he walks up to the table. It was odd seeing him up close as he stood in the back of the room most of the time except when he was handing them their food. “You’re still hiding something.”

“I know I’m shady, but this is all the relevant information I can give you.” The shorter cowled hero insists. “What? Do you need to know how I sailed the ocean? My methods of accounting? What happened to my Ninth Circle account? I don’t have that money anymore since I’m not part of the League of Assassins.”

“No, not you,” The green man states and everybody turns to Jonathan. “Him.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s fine,” Flamebird mumbles and staggers to the locked door absentmindedly. He tries to open it then runs his hands along the frame for a switch or lock he knows doesn’t exist. “Let’s get out of here. Wow, this door is really strong!”

“Flamebird,” Martian Manhunter calls out, pulling the young hero away from the door with all his strength. “Flamebird, remember why we restarted this investigation. This wasn’t about you and Nightwing, it’s about Kandor.”

“We told you all you needed to know. You have the truth, right? RIGHT?!” Flamebird persistently bangs the door with his fists, denting the titanium door with his super strength. “The magic water stuff unlocked my powers and stuff and the exploding bird lady gave me a power where I blow up when I’m stressed and I’M FEELING REALLY STRESSED!”

Instantly his veins light up as red-orange and gold swirl through his veins. Martian Manhunter recoils as the fire brands his skin. Question calmly walks forward, unafraid to confront the living bomb. “Flamebird, what are you hiding from us?”

“I’m not hiding anything from you!” Flamebird lies. “I- I just feel tired from remembering all that bad stuff. I want to go home! Nightwing, tell them!”

“Flamebird isn’t hiding anything from you.” Nightwing testifies without hesitance, but that feeling of support vanishes immediately. “He’s hiding it from me. You learned something new in Kandor that I don’t know about.”

“It’s not like that!” Flamebird insists, pressing his back against the wall that melts upon contact. “And even if it was, why is it okay for you to hide things to protect me but I can’t do the same?”

“Because I’m a shady asshole who was raised by a cult of eco-terrorist murderers!” Nightwing argues, standing up from his seat with enough force to knock it over. “And you tell me it’s not okay if I do that! If I’m working to be better, then you should set a fucking example!”

“I can’t!” The 11-year-old admits. “Because I know you and I don’t want you spiraling!”

“Jonathan, this has to do with you!” Damian shouts, forgoing their aliases. He wasn’t talking to Flamebird, he was talking to his best friend. “You’re the one with a literal Goddess of destruction inside you, that you let inside you, and you’re worried about me!?”

“I’ll always be worried about you!”

“Damn it, Jon! Don’t do this to me! I’m strong enough not to be broken by what you’re protecting me from! Remember who I am! What did you learn in Kandor?” Damian demands, taking Jon by the shoulder, and ignores the singeing of his hands. 

“Itwasn’tthewaterthatunlockedmypowers!” He clamors faster than most people could comprehend as he shoves Damian away before he can hurt himself. Jon could never keep a secret from Damian for long, that’s why he wanted to leave. He takes several deep breaths until the light in his veins subsides, but not entirely disappear. “It wasn’t the water… Not really. There was nothing to ‘unlock.’ I never had superpowers. Flamebird’s blessing is my power but she told me her blessing would only work… She’s a god of destruction, Damian. She can’t create something out of nothing. Only after something is destroyed can her blessing work.”

“The Lazarus water,” It dawns on Damian, and suddenly he’s suffocating. His first conscious act of good towards Jonathan and... “It didn’t save you-- I didn’t save you. I killed you.”

“No! No, you didn’t!” Jonathan insists, but his friend is already going down a mental path he was trying to avoid.

“If it wasn’t the water then it would’ve been the initial explosion I caused!” He yells with increasing panic. “Oh my god, I killed you!”

“Don’t think like that, Dami!” Jon tries to console him. Jon is begging, pleading, and promising whatever he can to talk Damian off a ledge he worked so hard to distance himself from. “It was a long time ago! Remember what we agreed on, ‘This doesn’t define us!’ It wasn’t you! Not anymore! What matters is that you tried to save me! Don’t let this undo all you’ve done since then!”

“Get me out of this room!” Damian demands, pushing himself out of the room through the hole in the wall Jonathan made. “I’m sorry, I can’t be here right now!”

Jon follows on his heels and voices clamor around him, people trying to talk both of them down, but all Jonathan sees is Damian leaving. “Dami! Damian, please! I’m okay now! We’re supposed to be in this together!”

“I can’t be near you right now!” The older boy unleashes aggressively. Then someone’s holding him tightly. He can’t see, but he’s not blinded. Too much is happening and he needs to leave. He needs to leave, he needs to leave, he needs to leave- “I can’t- I can’t breathe! I can’t breathe!”

“Damian!” The person holding him shouts, preventing him from collapsing. It was Richard. Richard will protect him and will protect people from him.

“I want to go home! I want to go home! Get him away from me!” Damian beseeches. Damian knows it’s hypocritical of him to demand to leave after he denied Jonathan the same. Why does he keep hurting him? “Please, I want to go home!”

As of today, Damian Wayne is 13 years old, nevertheless, he depends on his big brother to get him out of the situation. The walls he didn’t know existed were closing in. The arms around him tighten and pull him away from the noise and the guilt.

“Everyone back up; He needs some time! We’re going home!” Richard announces as he pulls Damian to the teleporter.

“Nightwing!” Batman calls out close on their heels.

“Fuck you, B! I’m not going to stand here and let you subject my brother to more of this!”

“That’s not what I’m trying to do! I’m coming with you.”

As his family leaves, Damian tries to ignore the distraught wails of his name tempting him to turn around. He’s dedicated himself to Jonathan for so long that it’s agonizing to purposefully ignore his cries of distress. Jon will understand, he always understands, that Damian has to do what’s best for them. Right now, that’s to remove himself from the situation before he says something he doesn’t mean again. Damian mentally retracts his previous statement: This is officially the worst birthday ever.

Chapter Text

A vast abode lay dormant as its inhabitants walked its halls with stilted breaths. The vibrant pallet of life was drained from the home and replaced with a dull monochrome. Amid the summer sun, the manor was cold as no one knew how to light the spark of life back into it. 

Children have a way of reminding people of the possibilities they forget. The naive optimism that many bypasses in the chaos of surviving is the reason most live. It is why it is tragic when that light in their eyes smothered too early. Damian Wayne is no exception. No child in the Wayne family is without their tragedies in youth, yet the boy is still too young.

They were all too young to have gone through what they did.

Too young to take a life.

Too young to care for their mother on life support.

Too young to visit their father in jail.

Too young to become a weapon.

Too young to realize no one was there for them.

Too young to live on the streets.

Too young to seek vengeance.

Too young to witness their parents die.

And maybe, just maybe, too young to be a parent… Alright, who was Bruce kidding? Who in the world let this man have a child, let alone several, and then make one he didn’t know about? He wasn’t emotionally intelligent enough to make a sandwich let alone procreate! He doesn’t know what he’s doing, just ask any of his kids!

That won’t stop him from trying. It will never stop him from trying because the moment he gives up is when he fails as a parent. Just look at Tim’s parents! He will never say that to his son’s face, but it won’t stop him from judging them in his mind. They say to never speak ill of the dead but he’s not speaking now, is he?

Putting thoughts of Timothy’s biological parents aside, he needs to focus on his other son. All of Bruce’s children have picked up on some of his habits for better or worse, yet none of them were as blatant as Damian's. He doesn’t know if it is because Damian is the youngest or if his eccentricities are genetic but he finds talking to him the most difficult because they’re so similar.

Bruce Wayne is in his forties and has raised several functioning adult children. He should do better than loitering in front of his son’s room with a plate of cookies as a bribe. It worked for him as a kid with Alfred. It worked for Dick. It worked for Jason. He doesn’t know if it would work for Tim, but he did steal a cookie as he was walking by so that had to count for something.

He knocks lightly on the door for the umpteenth time this week, praying he won’t be turned away again as he recites the steps he practiced. “Damian, it’s me again. I…” He takes a deep breath. Don’t push the issue. “We don’t have to talk.” Reassure him. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.” Offer kindness. “I brought some cookies Alfred made; They’re still warm.” Give him options. “Do you want me to set them down or bring them inside?” And lastly-

The door creaks open and through the sliver of darkness, emerald green eyes hold his gaze for a moment before holding his arms out. “I’ll take them inside, Father.”

Respect his choice.

“Alright, here you go. If you need anything else, I’ll be here for you.” Bruce replies as the 13-year-old practically yanks the small dish out of his hands before slamming the door.

Bruce takes another breath, masking his disappointment. The door opens again, but he doesn’t have time to get his hopes up as his eldest son walks out of the room with a guilty cookie crumb on the corner of his lips. “Hey, B. Um… Sorry about that. He’s still…”

“You don’t need to explain, Dick. I understand.” The man attempts to ease. “I’m glad you’re there for him.”

And he truly feels that way. He’s proud Dick grew up to be a caring soul that is easy to open up to. He’s delighted that his family is supporting one another. And it makes him want to step up more because the responsibility of raising his kids shouldn’t be on his older children.

“Dick, can I talk to you in my office?”

“Uh-oh, what did I do?” The younger man jokes, but there’s a hint of seriousness to it.

Maybe the office isn't the best place to talk about this. “I mean the living room.”

“Which one?”

God- Why does he have so many rooms? He tries to think of a living space that hasn’t been the backdrop for a threatening discussion. “The one next to the kitchen.”

“This better not be about my love life again.”

Oh no, is that what he used that room for? How often has his son’s love life gone to shambles that he had to talk to him about it? Whatever, he can’t think of a new room now. “It’s not, but is there a reason I should? Are you and Barbra alright?”

“We’re fine!” Dick hurriedly replies, closing the door behind him. “Lead the way!”

In a few minutes, the pair are sitting across each other as Alfred pours a cup of tea between them. Dick stares at the drink for a second before asking, “Are you sure this isn’t about my love life? You only serve matcha tea when it’s about my love life? You’re freaking me out, B. Did Babs tell you something?”

Bruce calmly glances at Alfred but he might as well have his jaw on the floor for the amount of absurdity that is happening. Always the professional, Alfred only raises a brow. “My sincerest apologies, Master Dick. I assumed that was the reason you were in this room.”

This is getting ridiculous. “We’re not talking about your love life. Honestly, I’m starting to think we should if we’re in here that much for it.” Bruce needs to get back on topic before he ends up in another conversation he’s not ready for. “How are you?”

“B, seriously?” Dick retorts. “I spent almost a week comforting Damian who just learned he killed his best friend, and you’re asking how I’m doing?”

“Yes,” Bruce firmly states with little regret. While he does wish he could focus on Damian first due to the circumstances, it doesn’t make what Dick was going through any less important. “Dick, I’m grateful for the relationship you have with Damian. I know I haven’t been there in the way I should for him in the past. The fact that you are is wonderful, especially after all you two have been through. I will help Damian with everything I can, but I understand there are some things he doesn’t feel comfortable telling anyone except you. That said, I’m worried you’re neglecting yourself.”

“Excuse me?” Dick balks indignantly. “You’re telling me I’m neglecting myself? You? That’s real funny.”

“Dick,” He says in what he hopes is a sincere yet firm tone. “I’m not the role model of mental health, but that doesn’t mean I’m the bar for it either. I’m serious about this. When was the last time you took care of your apartment? What happened to your job? Have you seen your friends outside of work? Have you taken the time to practice gymnastics? I don’t include what you do as a vigilante as practice.”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m going to ban that phrase from this home,” Bruce swears. “That’s not an answer.”

“Don’t you keep suspiciously detailed tabs on us?”

“And you told me to stop doing that.”

Dick fumbles with his teacup and Bruce has known him long enough to know he was contemplating disappearing into the shadows to get away from this conversation. Thankfully, he doesn’t and instead takes a deep breath. “I’m going through a lot right now. I…” Another breath. “I quit my job.”

Bruce hums in acknowledgment, choosing not to reveal he already knew that despite the fact he told his ward he wouldn’t check in on him like that. It’s not like he actively looked into it, but it wasn’t difficult to put the pieces together when his vehemently independent adult son started to visit home more than usual. Dick visited often, but these days it feels like he moved back in.

“I see,” Is what Bruce settles on expressing. “I am sure you have your reasons. Do you have any plans or do you need time?”

“I have an idea of what I want to do. I’m considering working in community services, but I don’t have the details yet.”

“That’s okay.” He takes a sip of tea to put a pause in the conversation. “If you need help, I have some connections in that sector.”

“No, but I want to do this on my own.”

“Alright,” Well he tried. “And what about my other inquiries? What is your living situation right now? You know that you’ll always have a room in the manor.”

“I know,” Dick assures, taking a drink like Bruce did. “I might move back for a few months, but I’ll still spend a lot of time in Blüdhaven.”

“That’s fine.”

“And you don’t have to worry about anything else. I have it handled.” Bruce shoots him a doubtful expression. “I do! I don’t have to tell you everything!”

“I know, I’m just making sure. I’m glad we talked about this.” The man expresses and sets his cup down. Dick motions to stand, but Bruce holds his hand out to stop him. “Hold on now, chum. We still have something else to discuss.”

Hesitantly, the younger male sits back down. “If it’s about Damian, he’s doing better. Not good, but better.”

“It’s about Damian, and I think I know what I am going to ask,” He assumes, leaning forward on the couch with his hands folded and elbows resting on his thighs. “Damian isn’t comfortable talking to me. While I am to blame for that, I think he sees you as more of a paternal figure than a sibling. I wouldn’t go as far as to say he thinks of you as his dad, but he doesn’t rely on me because he has you.”

“You think I’m getting in your way.” Dick accuses defensively.

“No, that is not what I meant to imply.” Bruce kicks himself mentally but his expression remains calm. “I want to ask how I should approach his current situation as you are the person who is closest to him.”

“Oh,” Despite what Bruce said, Dick was not expecting that to be what he wanted to talk about. “I mean, I’m just doing what you used to do for me. You were just there and it was easier to talk to you back then because you didn't have an entire bat-ton of trauma to keep an entire bloodline of therapists in business yet.”

“I’m not doubting you, but I don’t think that’s going to work for Damian and I.”

“You’re probably right, but it’s something.” Dick relents, setting down his empty tea cup. “I can put in a good word for you, and then you can talk to him about seeing his therapist again without dragging him there kicking, screaming, and clawing the floor.”

“Are those what those marks in the hallways were? I thought it was the cat.”

“You’re so lucky you were dead the first few months Damian was here. It wasn’t fun.”

Later that night, Bruce was catching up on some work in his office relating to his company’s distribution of fear gas antidote. Halloween was in two months and they had to stay ahead of the chaos that inevitably ensues. He’s still working on getting Damian out of that social media contract. Even though he isn’t physically working anymore, they’re still allowed to use his image and post as him on his accounts for six more months. This is why he didn’t want any of his children working in the entertainment industry. At least they’re still paying him, but Damian hasn’t talked to him about procuring the funds for any of his ventures; if he’s even still doing it.

Nightwing and Flamebird would be put on hold in accordance with their contract because this definitely falls under contact with a high-profile villain. Bruce can’t get them on the bodily harm clause but everything that’s happened has to be against the rules somehow. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

He opens his desk drawer to take out a copy of the picture Clark took the day the boys went off on their first mission. They looked so innocent. How could they have hidden this for so long?

Wait… No, how did they hide this for so long? Given the circumstances, there was no physical evidence, but one of them would’ve slipped in the last few years. Jon would’ve slipped in the last few years.

Bruce dials the number he’s been avoiding for the last few days and waits a few rings before someone answers. “‘Ello? Kent’s residents or whatever? Who’s the dumb bitch who still uses a landline?”

“Conner, that is not how you answer the phone!” Lois shouts from the background.

“What!? I’m right!”

“Conner, it’s me,” Bruce sighs. “May I speak to either of your parents?”

“Hey, Mr. Wayne! I only have one parent in this house, but if you also want to talk to the lady who thinks she has authority over me, then I can-”

“Conner, give me that!” There’s some incomprehensible arguing over the line and the dial of numbers as the pair on the other side fight over the receiver. “AH HA! SUCK IT, KID!”

“She hit me in the face!”

“Lois!” Bruce hears Clark call out from deeper in the home.

“I didn’t! I let go for a second, and he hit himself!” The woman justifies before speaking into the phone. “Hi, Bruce. I was wondering when we’d talk. How’s Damian?”

“He’s not doing well, but he’s calmed down. How’s Jonathan?” He questions.

“He’s-” She begins to answer when a loud pop reverberates through the house. The sound of a sprinkler going off plays in the background as Lois sighs in the foreground. “Not doing well. Of all the powers to have, why does my son get the kind that’s set off by his emotions? He’s a kid going through puberty for heaven’s sake!”

“ARRRRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHH! MY LIFE IS OVER!” Ah, there he is.

“Jon, your life is not over!” Lois shouts, covering the receiver of the phone to muffle the conversation.

“YOU WOULDN’T UNDERSTAND, MA! YOU NEVER HAD A RELATIONSHIP LIKE ME AND DAMI HAVE! OR HAD !”

“It’s Mom, not Ma!” Lois sighs again then returns to the conversation. “Did you hear any of that?”

“I think they can hear him in Indonesia.” Bruce retorts with a hint of humor.

“I don’t even want to think about what it’s going to be like when he starts dating.”

“Which will be a long time from now.” Clark chimes in as he passes by.

“Whatever makes you feel better, Smallville, but you raised a heartbreaker.”

“More like the heartbroken,” Conner muttered loud enough for everyone to hear.

“I CAN HEAR YOU, YA KNOW!” Footsteps prattled halfway down the grating stairs before Jon leaned over the banister, the old wood groaning under his weight. “Who’s on the phone?”

“Jonathan, wash the fire-foam off!” Lois orders, in a threatening tone. “I don’t want to keep cleaning the floors!”

“Aw, okay.”

“Sorry, are you still there?”

“Yes,” Bruce confirms. “Your home is thankfully still lively as ever, and your kid is talking to you.”

“I wouldn’t define this as talking.” Lois corrects. “So are we going to talk about all of this? Because if we are, we should do it in person.”

“That’s what I was going to suggest. Before we do that, I may need to ask Jonathan something.”

“It’s not anything serious, is it? I don’t want Jon to go through this again so soon.”

“It might be depending on the answer,” Bruce warns in an even voice. “Though, you and Clark likely already went prying for that answer. Jonathan, and I mean no offense, is a horrible liar.”

“That’s a compliment, Bruce. Most parents don’t want their kids to become master manipulators.”

“True, but how was he able to keep a secret like that for so long? I understand he didn’t have all the facts to come to any conclusion, but how was it possible he kept having the ability to explode for so long? Lois, that power is dangerous. Jon knows it’s dangerous. He hid it for three years without incident. He was strong enough to decimate an entire island and blow the roof off the Fortress of Solitude at microscopic size-”

“Get to the point.”

“The explosions are getting stronger.” He rushes for the sake of brevity. “I did the calculations. If he was his normal size when he went off, he would’ve taken out the North Pole. You know your son better than me, but we both know Jonathan knows better than to keep something like that a secret.”

“You think I don’t get that?” Lois scorns with a grimace. “Trust me, I’ve been on his ass about that-”

“Swear!” Conner cheers victoriously. “Dollar in the swear jar for Lois!”

“Urgh,” The sound of loose change being inserted into the glass container echoes through the living room. “Freaking swear jar.”

“Swear-”

“I said freaking and you still owe the jar a dollar for earlier!” She exhales harshly then continues speaking. “We talked to Jon about it already. He claims he, ‘didn’t think of it.’”

There’s a pause in the conversation before Bruce replies, “We both know that’s-”

“A bunch of baloney? Yes.”

“Baloney?”

“Swear jar, remember?”

“Right.”

“Anyways, we can ask him about it as long as it’s not an interrogation. Why don’t you come over for dinner tomorrow? Clark’s cooking!”

“It’s not-”

“It’s a casserole.”

“Of course it is,” Bruce bemoans. “I’ll stop by. Also, tell Jon I’m coming alone. I don’t want to get his hopes up.”

“I would’ve asked you to do so anyway.”

The next morning, Bruce is putting on his watch when someone knocks on his door. He immediately knows who it is as the person intentionally hits the door higher than their usual height to give the appearance an adult is at the door. It’s an odd trait, but it’s something Damian has always done to keep the person on the other side guessing. Bruce opens the door and leaves enough room for Damian to enter. He mentally prepares himself so he doesn’t rush into a conversation like the last time Damian was in his bedroom.

“Hello Damian,” He greets in an awkward professional tone that shouldn’t normally be used for family. “How are you?”

“I am fine, Father,” Damian responds in the same tone. “It’s come to my attention that you’re going to visit Kent's hovel.”

Bruce knows better than to ask how he knows and attempts to reply warmly to make up for his greeting. “Yes.” Ten out of ten. This is why Jason hates him. He resists his mindset, doing his best to do better because this is the first time Damian left his room. He won’t point out how unkempt Damian looks. “You look tired.”

God damn it.

“-TT- I am not tired. I am over-rested if I am anything.” Damian comments, lowering his head slightly to obscure the dark circles under his eyes.

“Would you like me to give him a message for you?”

“No.” The 13-year-old denies it, straightening his already flawless posture. “Your manner of speaking is ill-suited to be with someone like Jonathan alone.”

Ouch. Next time he’ll hand his son a Batarang to stab him with, it would hurt less. “Thank you for telling me.”

“It’s not entirely a bad thing,” Damian is quick to amend. “I find your strict, yet indulgent disposition a boon rather than a bane. If everyone in this abode was like Richard or the Kents I would’ve likely tried to run away again.”

That’s not supposed to be positive. “Hm. I see. I’m happy you didn’t.”

“However,” Damian continues. “That doesn’t mean everyone feels the same. While I am aware you can put on a persona of sorts when interacting with the public, Jonathan’s keen on our family’s behavior already. You have to be somewhat genuine when speaking to him and use short phrases. He gets distracted easily so it helps keep his attention unless you have to clarify something, which you will. Also, when he rambles, only pay attention to the first or last thing he says. Anything in the middle of that is a demented logical pathway of dead ideas.”

Bruce doesn’t know how to properly react to his son lecturing him on how to talk to his friend. He was hoping Damian would come to him for something personal instead of treating him like a potential threat to Jon. “I’ll keep that in mind. Is there anything else I should know?”

“Don’t use accusatory phrases. He thinks as much as he talks. He’ll take anything you say, and twist it into a criticism of himself.”

“Sounds familiar.” Wow, Bruce needs to shut up.

“No,” Damian answers in stride. “I respond to actions that show proof of inadequacies I have, but Jonathan will take trivial comments and suddenly accuse you of thinking he’s useless.”

“Damian, a lot of the time negative self-talk sounds a lot like logic in our heads,” Bruce elaborates, kneeling to his son’s height. “When we think negatively about ourselves, we don’t think, ‘I’m bad because I feel like I am.’ In reality, it’s more like, ‘I’m bad, and here are all the reasons why,’ and proceed to think back on moments that put us in a negative light that didn’t happen.”

“What, like a delusion?”

“Not a delusion. We find what we look for, and if you’re already looking for something you’ll find it in places it doesn’t exist.”

“You believe Jonathan’s misconception is not overly emotional nonsense.”

Not just Jonathan, but Bruce isn’t going to push that into the conversation again. “I hope that’s not what you said to him, but no, it’s not that. I think he’s starting to explore his concept of self, and it has led to a negative perception of himself. What sounds like nonsense to us sounds like logic to him.”

“Then countering his false logic with legitimate logic would solve it.”

“It would help,” Bruce agrees. “However, you can’t solve issues like this in a conversation. Constant reinforcement is important because people can’t instantly change their minds.”

“I’ve noticed.” Damian huffs, shuffling his feet impatiently. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

“No.” He’s about to turn around when Bruce stops him.

“Damian, wait a moment.” The man calls out. He holds his arms out and tells his son, “I love you.”

“I see,” Damian stoically responds. He stands in front of Bruce for an entire minute before awkwardly walking into the hug without reaching out himself. “Me too.”

“What happened back then… it was difficult, and I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.” Bruce apologies, resisting the urge to crush his son in the embrace.

“As you have already stated.”

“I’m also sorry I contributed to the fact you didn’t feel as though you could tell anyone before.”

“You didn’t,” Damian refutes and waits until his father releases him to ask, “May I return to my room now?”

“You may, however, would you at least consider coming out for breakfast? We all miss you at the table.” He supplies, hoping his sincerity pulls through.

“I’ll think about it,” The 13-year-old vaguely answers; it is better than an outright refusal.

“Thank you.”

Damian did come to the breakfast table much to the joy of his family, although he only stayed long enough to see Stephanie interrupt like she often does to steal Bruce’s breakfast. He doesn’t know why she does that when Alfred always has an extra plate for her, but it’s become a family tradition at this point. Everyone was still pleased to see Damian outside his room for the brief period they did.

Later, Bruce shows up at the Kent family’s home with a tray of cookies Alfred insisted he bring with him. He doesn’t get to knock on the door when Conner swings it open with enough force to nearly knock Bruce over.  “I smell cookies!”

“Hello, Conner,” Bruce greets, keeping the pastries away from the grabby teen.

“Conner!” Lois shouts, ushering her stepson out of the way. “Give him time to get inside the house before you mug him!”

“Aw, come on Lois, they’re the best cookies ever!”

“Haha! Don’t let Ma hear ya say that, you’d break her heart.” Clark chuckles and Bruce hands him the glass dishware. “Heya, how ya doin’ Bruce?”

“It’s been good. Damian joined the family for a meal so we’re all grateful for that.”

“I’m glad for ya. Now I still gotta finish up some side work and let the casserole cool, but make yourself at home,” Clark suggests before craning his head around. “Jon, come greet our guest!”

Jonathan sat at the top of the staircase with his elbows on his thighs and knuckles pressed against his chubby cheeks that refused to lose that last bit of baby fat. The boy pouts and grumbles an unenthusiastic, “Hi Mr. Wayne.”

“Jonno, that’s not the tone we take with visitors in this home.”

“It’s alright, Clark. I probably don’t remind him of anything good right now.” Bruce justifies, dusting imaginary dirt off his black polo. “Would it be better to talk before or after dinner?”

“Probably after. Serious talk before a meal always ruins the taste.” Clark says as he heads for the kitchen. “You came a bit early, so hang around for a bit. I’ll call when everything’s ready. Conner, can you help me set the table and plate the sides?”

“Sure,” Conner agrees, obviously more interested in the cookies his dad was carrying rather than helping out. “See ya in a bit, Mister Wayne!”

Lois releases a sigh and rolls her eyes with a humorous grin at the sight before returning her attention to the guest. “Hi Bruce, it’s been a while since I’ve seen ya alone without Alfie or one of the kids around.”

“Hello Lois,” Bruce returns with a small smirk. “It’s hard to keep my loner persona with a big family. Not bad for a guy who was an only child.”

“Urgh, you and Clark are so lucky. My little sister still finds ways to get on my nerves. Trust me when I say no one knows how to piss you off more than your siblings.”

“I’ve seen it in Tim and Damian. You can’t tell they were raised apart with how well they make each other angry.”

“I’ve noticed,” Lois laughs, slapping the back of her hand to his shoulder. “Conner mentioned a thing or ten about their… everything. Remember last year’s family picnic?”

Bruce fails to resist the urge to groan at the memory. “Don’t remind me. I’m running out of plausible excuses to the school to explain their bruises. I’m fostering Duke right now, and I can’t risk CPS thinking I’m abusing my children when it’s just a prank war that’s gone too far.”

“True, but you’re the one who allows them to have grappling guns.”

“I regret that decision every day.”

“I bet.” Lois sits on the couch, turns on the TV, and calls Jonathan to come join them instead of moping about on the steps.

The child trudges with purposefully heavy footsteps and an obnoxiously loud groan. “Uuuuugggghhhhhhh! Fine!”

“Jonathan, I know you’re going through something, but that doesn’t mean you can continue to take that tone with me.”

“Sorry, Mom.” Jonathan sighs as he sits on his dad’s vinyl-lined recliner, his body causing the plastic to irritably squeak as he slowly slouches.

The two adults continue to make small talk in the living room over the sound of evening television while Jonathan watches with a distant expression. Sometimes Clark or Conner would pop in over the passthrough hatch between the rooms with their two cents in the conversation, but it was relatively peaceful for the most part.

Dinner was also a lovely event filled with pleasant conversations and good food. Jonathan sat at the table and spoke once in a while, but it was far from the talkative child Bruce had come to know. Then again, he’s never spent time alone with Jonathan to know him like that. Both of them don’t know each other like that. He attempts to casually chat with Jonathan so he would feel at ease talking to him more later. “So, Jonathan, I hear you’re starting middle school soon. How do you feel about it?”

“I won’t get to have recess anymore,” The 11-year-old pouts, stabbing his hot dish. “And I have braces. My teeth hurt. It’s going to suck. Everything sucks.”

“Ah… I see.” Well, that was a failure. “I’m sure it won’t be that bad.”

“Really? All of the movies and shows about school are always about high school drama, how fun being a kid is, or wild parties in college, but never about middle school. No one wants to be in middle school.”

“Those are fiction, Jonathan, not reality. Life’s what you make of it, so if you think positively I’m sure it won’t be that bad.”

“Weren’t you homeschooled?”

“That’s beside the point.”

The mood lulled a bit after that, but it was a fine dinner overall. At least it was better than the conversation they were going to have. Once the plates were cleaned and put away on the drying rack, everyone was at the table, with the tray of cookies in the middle in an attempt to alleviate the intensity building amongst the group.

Clark twirls his thumbs over his clasped hands as he waits for Conner to go upstairs with a separate plate of treats since this conversation doesn't involve him. Jonathan didn’t hide his jealousy for being able to leave unlike him, who was forced to sit at the table. Clark clears his throat and simply decides to rip the metaphorical bandage off. “Are you hiding anything else for Damian?”

“There’s a lot of things Damian doesn’t like people knowing,” Jonathan answers. “And those things are private. Like things he feels bad about or stuff he thinks.”

“I think what we meant to ask was if you were still hiding anything from us about your health or well-being.” Bruce clarifies. “This also includes Damian’s well-being.”

Jon shimmies in his chair a bit, then shakes his head. “Not really.”

He’s lying.

“Jonathan,” The boy’s mother warns. “We can’t help you if you don’t tell us.”

“But I don’t need help,” Jonathan insists, nibbling at a buttery cookie. “It’s not life-threatening like the last one. Besides, I need to keep it a secret.”

“And why do you need to keep it a secret?” Lois presses.

“Cause we’re holding it over Stephanie's head so she can do us a favor later when we do superhero stuff.”

Bruce darts his eyes up at Clark who is already covering his face in shame. “Jon, that’s blackmail. You can’t do that to people.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s bad.”

Bruce interrupts and questions, “What does Stephanie have to do with this?”

“She wasn’t watching us when she was supposed to and Damian didn’t want me to tell you because she’ll get in trouble for leaving us alone,” Jonathan explains then freezes as he realizes he just gave up his cards. “Dang it, can you forget I said that?”

“She what?” Lois blurts out then turns to her husband. “Wait, I remember that day. Conner was also supposed to be watching you. Why didn’t he say anything?”

Jonathan stares intensely at the table like his gingham placemat was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. “Oops.”

“SNITCH!” Conner shouts from his room.

“Sorry! I’m really bad at this!” Jonathan sincerely apologizes, then looks back at the table. “Would it be less bad if I said it was only for a few hours?”

“Hours?” The woman repeats.

“I guess not.”

“At least we found something out.” Clark positively provides. “Is that everything you have to tell us?”

“Yeah,” Jonathan mumbles, indicating it was not.

“Jonathan-”

“I don’t want to share.” The child retaliates. “I’m just going to get in trouble if I share. If I get in trouble, then Dami and I can’t do our superhero thing and then we did all of this for nothing because you’re just going to stop us or put us on some other hero team. We don’t want to be on a team with our siblings, or the Teen Titans. I doubt the new Teen Titans would even want us after I burned half their faces off. They got better, but it probably hurt. I wouldn’t know since my burning doesn’t hurt me but it hurts everything else. Also, I’m not hiding another superpower that I know of. The psychologist guy at the Watchtower already asked me a bunch of questions about my powers and if I could talk to the bird lady inside me. I can’t, by the way. I mean I tried but I didn’t get anything. I mean, what’s the point of getting inside me? She said she was rejected by herself which is confusing, but how could that be when she didn’t do anything? Maybe she will do something later, but if that happens I promise I’ll tell you. And I know you guys are still upset Dami and I hid my powers, but I didn’t hide the fact I died. I didn’t even know I died. I did try to hide it, but that barely lasted a whole interrogation. I’m bad at hiding things, so Dami doesn’t tell me things that might come up because I’ll accidentally say them. 

“Why do I even have to tell you everything? I’m eleven! I feel like I should be allowed to keep some things to myself. When can I just keep secrets? Everyone hides things from me all the time. Like what’s porn and why can’t I watch it? No one will tell me that and when I tried to look it up the child block you put on my laptop wouldn’t show me anything. I know the way around it. Conner and Damian showed me but it’s complicated and I’m lazy. Not physically lazy like when I’m sleepy and all I want to do is sleep, but when something requires a lot of steps and none of them are fun I just don’t do it. It’s also why I skip showers sometimes. I like showers and feeling clean, but going to the shower, grabbing clean clothes, getting naked, and then going into the shower is awful because the water is still cold for the first few minutes. After I feel clean, I have to put on my clothes, and just because I’m clean doesn’t mean I’m dry so I’m now wearing damp clothes. It’s easier to just not shower at that point. By the way, what’s porn?”

Bruce doesn’t know where to begin in all of that mess. Thankfully his son gave him advice to pay attention to the first or last thing Jon said, and Bruce is certainly not going to entertain the last question. “Jonathan, I don’t want to burst your bubble, but it’s unlikely we’re going to reinstate your hero contract.”

“Why not?”

“Firstly, I don’t think both of you are in the mental space to engage in those activities. Secondly, you were part of not one, but two disastrous events that destroyed a city.”

“I would’ve helped clean up Kandor, but you took me away.”

“And that’s very considerate of you, but none of us would feel comfortable if you continued destroying everything intentionally or not.” Bruce elaborates, pausing to gauge Jonathan’s reaction.

“So, if I can get Damian out of his sadness and prove I can control my powers, can we keep doing our superhero thing?”

“Jonathan, it’s not that simple,” Clark explains with a sigh. “You still hid something important and life-threatening from us. Maybe you didn’t die- well, you did but you didn’t stay dead-”

“Clark.” Lois stops before he starts rambling.

“Right. Your powers don’t hurt you, but they hurt the people around you if you aren’t careful. We set up the chaperone system to make sure you didn’t get hurt, but also so other people wouldn’t get hurt if something went wrong. With your new… With the powers we’re now aware of, we can’t ensure either of those things anymore.”

“I can control this one!” Jonathan insists, standing as he slaps the table. “Just give me a chance! I’ve controlled it for years without anyone else finding out! It’s the only power I can control!”

“You and Damian-”

“No, just me. Damian will have to prove himself, but test only me.” Jonathan demands with what appears to be unfounded confidence based on what everyone has seen from him. His robust conviction is moving, but not enough to convince anyone to take him up on his offer.

“Jon, you offer deals to us when it’s the safety of yourself and others on the line.”

“It’ll be fine. Besides, Mr. Wayne is paranoid. He probably came up with a million ways to take me out if something were to happen.”

Everyone turns a scrutinizing gaze to Bruce and simply stares back, unbothered but internally sighing. He could outwardly sigh, but that would give him away and his silence has done enough for them.

“Bruce!” Clark gasps.

“Bruce, what the fuck!?” Lois yells. “It hasn’t even been a full week!”

“Swear,” Jonathan states, taking another cookie.

In his defense, knowing a child has the powers of a destruction goddess inside him, and said power is attached to his emotions, is stressful. It’s especially so when said child is in the budding stages of puberty when emotions and hormones are rampant. To top it all off, it’s Jonathan, who has the emotional subtlety of a husky that doesn’t get walked enough.

“Don’t worry, I only have two viable plans so far.” He attempts to ease.

“Are you only saying it’s two because the rest count on us believing it’s only two?” Jonathan asks, swallowing another cookie. “That’s what Damian usually says because he told me if you give enough information to someone they won’t think you’re hiding the rest.”

“You spend too much time with Damian.”

“I haven’t seen him for weeks at a time because I keep getting in trouble, and now he’s being all sad and stupid,” Jonathan comments, shoving another cookie into his mouth.

What?

“Excuse me?” Bruce says defensively.

“Can I get ice cream from the parlor?” Jonathan outright ignores, yet looks him dead in the eyes. “My mom and dad took Damian to get ice cream when he slept over, but every time I sleep over we stay inside your home. I want you to get me ice cream too.”

“Jonathan, we can all go get ice cream another time.” His mother reminds him.

“No, just him. I only want Mr. Wayne to come with me.” Jon clarifies, still staring at Damian’s father with an urgent intensity. “Please.”

Clark watches his son carefully before relaxing his body with a loose smile. “It’s a bit of a walk. You up for it Bruce?”

“You know I’ve walked worse,” A trek down the road is nothing compared to a march on Apokolips. “And I have my wallet on me. I don’t see why not.”

Jonathan takes another cookie, knowing there won’t be any left when he gets back, and scurries to the door to put his Velcro sneakers on. Jon’s parents walk the two to the front with caution. “Alright, you two be safe. It’s getting dark out soon so take a light with you.” Lois says, patting her son on the back as he finishes getting ready.

“I will!” He grabs a plastic frog-shaped lantern hanging on the coat rack to comply.

“I’ll pay you back later, Bruce.” Clark comments, staring at his friend to convey what he wanted; to report to him what Jon wanted to tell him.

“You don’t have to. You did the same for my son, so we don’t have to keep track of favors.” He replies. “If we did, I would be winning.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, but whatever makes you feel better.”

Bruce escorts Jonathan down the long dirt road with the setting sun giving way to the night sky with vibrant purple and orange hues. There was not a single soul or streetlight on the long path as the two made their way to the town. Once the sun disappeared over the horizon, the only glow to guide them was the occasional farmhouses lighting up their homes for the evening.

The stars were magnificent in the clear rural sky, and it almost looked like they were in space themselves when they looked up. The sounds of the country fields grounded them to earth. Those who live in populated areas believe they live in deafening places, but it was no difference when the chirping of crickets, the screaming of cicadas, the tussling of tall grass, and the howls of feral beasts in the distance left no one with room to hear what’s directly next to them.

It wasn’t like that would matter right now as Jonathan hadn’t spoken a word since his parents waving at him on their porch went out of view in the distance. The child moves several paces in front of him as he frivolously twirls the lantern in his hand around him with playful abandon. Jonathan doesn’t walk in a simple line as he animatedly skips, spins, and sprints at random intervals, yet his expression isn’t one of fun.

Jonathan appears listless, in conflict with his jovial actions. The 11-year-old wanted to speak with Bruce about something between them, and everyone thought he would open up if he was in a more private setting. Their only audience is the fireflies in the air and the occasional truck passing by.

If Jonathan wasn’t going to start the conversation, Bruce might as well. “If you wanted to speak privately, there’s no reason to leave the house. You know if your father wanted, he could listen in from anywhere.”

“I know,” Jonathan replied, walking backward to face the man as they conversed. “I didn’t do it because of him. I’m doing it for Damian.”

“Has he been keeping listening devices in your room again?” Bruce asks. “He knows he’s not supposed to keep doing that.”

“That never stopped him, which is why I’m upset.”

“I’ll talk to him about it.”

“I’m not upset he does it,” Jonathan corrects, stumbling over a rock, but not letting it hinder his journey. “I’m upset he’s doing it wrong. If he wanted to know how I was doing, he could just ask. I don’t know why he’s so upset to the point he won’t even look at my face.”

“Do you really not understand?” Bruce inquires with a hint of disbelief. “Damian is upset he hurt you.”

“So?” Jon says, confusing the billionaire further.

Jonathan has always been emotionally attuned to others as far as he was aware so this uncharacteristic ignorance towards his best friend is bewildering. “Jonathan, him doing what he did proved his thoughts about himself-”

“It proved nothing like that,” Jonathan insists, holding the silly frog lantern out straight between them, the dull glow under his chin revealing his hollow blue eyes. “It proved he was better than them, even if it didn’t turn out the way he wanted it to. He tried to save me. If I died on that island that day, the only thing Damian would feel would be disappointment. He only feels terrible now because he cares about me now, not back then.”

That’s certainly an… interesting stance to take. “And why do you believe that?”

“Mr. Wayne, Dami and I didn’t suddenly become best friends after I blew him up,” Jonathan informs him with a sigh. “And I blew him up. I think everyone is forgetting that he took an explosion I caused to the face and barely survived. Half of those scars on his body are from me. Everyone’s worried that Damian killed me and that they forget I killed him back.”

“Jonathan, you didn’t do that to him. Damian is alive and well.”

“Then he didn’t do it to me either,” The boy rebuttals. “See how easy that was to say.”

“You’re not to blame.”

“He’s not to blame.”

“You didn’t know you could do that.”

“He didn’t know it would hurt me.”

Bruce stops as Jonathan echoes over everything he says like he is putting his words through a translation to switch the perspective. Jon’s saying what it was like it was rehearsed. Or more accurately, like something someone told him before. “Damian already said this to you, didn’t he?”

“He did, which is why I think he’s being stupid.” Jonathan sighs again. It feels like that’s all everyone knows what to do anymore. “For months, I thought I killed Damian. Everyone told me he would be okay, but he wasn’t. I saw when Dick pulled him out of the ground; it was like he was already dead. No one comes out okay after that. Everyone thought I was upset about Damian, and I was, but I was scared I killed him. I finally got superpowers and the first thing I thought I did was kill someone.” He takes a deep breath as he lowers the lantern and stops in his tracks. “I didn’t want to tell anyone because I didn't want to be a murderer. He lied to protect me after I found out everything wasn’t as I thought it was. He told me I was stupid for worrying about things that didn’t happen.”

Bruce stays silent as he takes in everything that was said to him so he can come up with an appropriate reply. Meanwhile, Jonathan turned his back to him as he instinctively knew downtown was in sight. “Dami doesn’t think I know what’s best for me sometimes because I’m younger and not as smart as him. He treats me like he’s responsible for me. I think he needs to feel responsible for me because if he’s not then he can’t control how I think of him.”

“It’s likely easier to gather Damian’s feelings on the situation because you had a long time to think about it. Unfortunately, he only found this out recently and is working through it like it happened recently.” Bruce finally tells Jon once they enter the town area, transitioning from dirt roads to proper pavement. “You just need to give him some time to come to the conclusions he gave you about yourself and apply it to himself.”

“And what am I supposed to do until then if he won’t even see me?”

“Continue living your life and be there for your friend once he’s ready to accept your help.” He advises.

“That’s what I’m trying to do.” Jonathan insists. “Mr. Wayne, if that’s the advice you’re going to tell me, then I want you and my parents to test me yourselves. Write up a new contract for all I care about, but I’m going to be a hero with or without it. The only difference is if you give me the chance to follow your rules.”

“Jonathan, you can’t bargain on this.”

“How else will I ever become a hero if you won’t let me learn.”

“We will let you learn in a place where we can ensure you’re safe.”

“I don’t think I’ll feel safe in a place I hate,” Jonathan grumbles, crossing his arms with a pout. “This isn’t fair. The things you’re all worried about didn’t even happen while we were on a mission.”

“It’s not about being fair, it's about being safe."

"I don't see a reason for anything to change since you were already keeping us safe," Jon replies. "Please, Mr. Wayne. Just one more chance, that's all I'm asking."

"I’ll think about talking to your parents about it, but I won’t make you any promises.” Bruce declares and Jon whips his head around with hopeful anticipation. “If I do, you need to do two things.”

“Anything!” Jonathan pleads, staring up at him with large watery eyes that he seemingly had control over.

“First off, you have to accept the outcome no matter what it is.” He states, holding up his fingers to number his points. “And secondly, please stop knowingly crying into the bugs Damian planted into your room to guilt him into seeing you. It won’t make him feel better, and it's a manipulative thing to do.”

“Deal!” Jonathan beams before an embarrassed flush spreads over his face. “Oh, you noticed that?”

“You’re not as subtle as you think you are.” Bruce smiles as they finally get to the town square.

“I don’t think I’m subtle at all.”

“You know that makes it worse, right?” He jokes as they see the ice cream shop at the end of the block.

Jonathan thinks about that statement momentarily before answering with a question of his own. “Does that mean you also know why I wanted to speak alone?”

“I’m not either of your parents who have an understandable bias against your current desires but still a trusted authority figure who can speak on your behalf on an equal level to them,” Bruce explains and sees Jonathan nod with both understanding as well as a glazed over expression of boredom. Jonathan is single-minded and has a short attention span. “And to worry Damian knowing he could be potentially listening and now is left in the dark with the knowledge his father is alone with his best friend.”

“Will you still get me ice cream?” Jon asks, stopping directly in front of the shop.

Bruce takes out his wallet and opens the door for him. “I already said I would. In fact, why don’t you get extra to take home? Better yet, get enough for your whole family.”

“A bit of ice cream is one thing Mr. Wayne, but I feel like this is too much,” Jonathan mentions with apprehension.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s my pleasure.”

“If you say so.”

When they got back to the Kent’s residence, Bruce had to explain why it looked like they bought out the entire store. In his defense, they didn’t. There was only one cooler full of different ice cream. Also, they bought a rolling cooler.

What? They had to run back home before it melted.

“So, how did it go? What did Jon talk to you about?” Jon’s father pressed as his wife and son tried to find a place to put all the ice cream before it melted. Or before Conner ate it. Whichever came first.

“Don’t act like you didn’t listen in.” Bruce rolls his eyes.

Clark looks at him confused. “I didn’t.”

Oh, right. He keeps forgetting Clark isn't that type of person. “We should talk about it outside. Your son tells me mine still has listening devices in the house.”

“I thought I found all of them when I set up the fire suppression system in Jon’s room.” Clark questions as he guides Bruce to the end of the driveway. “This good?”

Bruce examines the area while the other man uses his X-ray vision to look around. “It should be. Sorry about this.”

“Bruce, I wouldn’t continue being friends with you if I thought your paranoia was a deal breaker. It’s also apparently genetic."

“Some of my kids were already like that before I came into their lives.”

“That’s not better,” Clark comments. “So what did Jon talk to you about?”

“He told me he understands how Damian feels because he went through the same thing during the initial… Before we knew it was Jon.” Bruce rewords, not wanting to outright say it. “And that he thinks Damian is acting irrationally because he’s not following his own advice.”

“I had a feeling that was the case, but Jon doesn’t want to talk to me anymore about these things,” Clark confesses with a sigh, looking inside his home where his family jovially fought over the ice cream. “What did I do wrong, Bruce?”

“You had nothing to do with Jonathan’s powers, oddly enough.” Bruce attempts to assure.

“Not that, though Kara and I are still trying to work through that.” He clears up. “I meant with Jon. I wanted Jon to feel like he didn’t have to be a hero. I’m not unaware of what it must feel like to be the son of Superman. Everything I’ve built with my family here was to make sure Jonathan could grow up and explore himself like a normal kid.”

“Maybe keeping him out of this part of your life for so long is what’s pushing him towards it.” Bruce counters. “After Jason,” He clears the lump that forms in his throat. Even after his son came back he still has trouble saying it. “You pushed Jonathan away from everyone remotely related to our lives as heroes. I’m not blaming you, I understand where you’re coming from. I acted like that too for a while. It reminded us that they’re children and that what we do is dangerous.

“Jonathan is free to explore what he wants, but maybe demystifying heroism instead of holding it to this unattainable goal would’ve been more effective. That said, these are what-if, and no one has the time to search for that universe where we make all the right decisions. I don’t think it exists.”

Clark braces his hands on the white wooden fence, leaning his body weight on it. “I just don’t get it, Bruce. I know there will be a point I can’t stop him from pursuing to be a hero, but if he wants to follow the path of being a hero so badly, why won’t he consider a team.”

“I think about that too with Damian,” Bruce opens up, joining his friend at the fence. “Ever since I met him, he talked about how when he becomes Robin, he will be the best one. Better than Tim. Better than Stephanie. Better than Jason. Better than Dick. I would never stop him, but I thought we’d do it together. And then…”

“And then he runs off to be partners with Jonathan instead. So much for the dynamic duo of Batman and Robin.”

“Damian wanted to be a hero with the family, but he gave that up for your son.” Bruce laments. “Do you think it was guilt?”

“I don’t know,” Clark answers. “Maybe they just wanted to find themselves away from us.”

“It was bound to happen eventually,” He adds. “Speaking of which, there was something else Jonathan wanted me to bring up.”

Days later, Damian Wayne sat in the living room with his brother Richard. He wasn’t doing anything different than he was in his room, but the fact he was not in his chambers pleased people. Stephanie got grounded a few days ago which is odd because his father does not have that power over her. Even so, she still abided by the punishment set which is a testament to the respect she holds for Damian’s father. Jonathan’s never been good under pressure so it’s not surprising he confessed to holding that over her head. What is surprising is he still hasn’t confessed to what else happened that day.

Richard mindlessly scrolled through the selection of movies and shows on the streaming service Damian might enjoy. “What do you feel about this time? High fantasy? Horror? There’s a documentary about cats you might enjoy.”

On his lap, Alfred the tuxedo cat, laid unimpressed. “I don’t think Alfred is fond of the idea. I don’t mind what we watch. It’s not like it matters.”

“Work with me, Little D,” Richard whines. “I picked the last three things. I want you to pick something.”

Emerald eyes roll with contempt. “Let me look up something good instead of aimlessly scouring everything on the platform.”

He’s about to pick up his phone when Stephanie and Tim barrel into the living room, making a dive for Damian’s device. Reflexively, he leaps on the back of the couch to hold both his cat and his phone away from these maniacs. “What is wrong with you two!?”

“Don’t open your phone!” Tim commands as he tries to stand from where he fell.

“It’s- Uh-- It’s poisoned!” Stephanie excuses from atop Tim.

“The internet has always been poisoned, although that is no excuse to act like lunatics.” Damian retaliates.

From behind, Duke takes his phone and chucks it out the window. “We’re doing this for your own good!”

“Thomas, I’ll kill you!”

Richard stands up and shouts at everyone. “STOP! Everyone stop! What is going on- Cass!?”

On the floor, Cassandra crawled up to the man and plucked his phone from his sweatpants. All she does is give him a thumbs up and then put it in her pocket.

“Alright, this is getting ridiculous,” He groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Why don’t you want us using our phones? Mind control? Zombie virus? Cringe?”

“Your emotional and mental well-being?” Duke answers, looking to everyone else for a vote of confidence.

“Yeah, that.” Tim agrees. “We need you to not go online for the next… Um…”

“The rest of your life,” Stephanie suggests.

“That’s impractical.” Damian counters.

Richard pulls Duke and Cassandra aside while the other three debate on the practicality of forsaking the Internet. “There are better ways of bringing this up than attacking us. If this is as dire as you act like it is, can you tell me?”

“Uh…” Duke drones out at a loss for words.

Fortunately, the older woman was not at a loss and used her hands to convey why they were adamant about keeping internet access out of Damian’s reach. As she continued to sign, Richard’s sapphire eyes widened with morbid understanding. He briefly looks at Damian who has now been pinned to the ground by Stephanie while Timothy is being repeatedly kicked in the face.

“He didn’t,” The man denies, knowing full well what he heard was true. “What the fuck, B?”

“Yeah, we were going to tell you in a more… secretive way, but we kinda panicked when we saw Damian reaching for his phone.” Duke details as he watches the fight happening behind Dick, mentally making predictions about who will win.

“Guys, I get why we need to keep him offline, but it’s impractical. We have the internet on everything in this house. The washing machine, the refrigerator, the coffee maker, the stove, the dishwasher, and that’s not even counting the things that make sense like the TV-!” Dick pauses as he already sees Duke and Cassandra sprinting to the television as Damian has already thought of the idea. “DAMIAN NO!”

It was too late. The young teen already managed to connect to the first social media app on the remote when Duke knocks him back on the ground in an attempt to cover his eyes. Cass hits the off button but not before he sees the number one trending hashtag under the hero category.

#flamebird

“Jonathan!” Damian cries, grasping for the device. “Give me the remote! Or your phones! Give it to me!”

“Damian, I need you to breathe.” Dick tries to soothe, holding his brother’s shoulders to ground him. “It’s probably not as bad as you think. You know how these things are always blown out of proportion online.”

“I cannot judge these things if I do not know!” The boy retaliates, pushing his brother away.

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” The eldest sibling says in a soft tone that simultaneously commands the entire room. “We are going to let Damian look.”

“You can’t be serious.” Tim retorts.

“I am.” Dick solidifies, walking to the seating and holding out his hands so everyone can hand them their phones. He even made Duke go outside and give him the phone he threw out the window.

Once he has everyone’s devices, although it took a minute for Tim to give him all the ones hidden on his person, Dick places them face down inside the coffee table drawer.  “We are all going to be here with him, and we’re going to piece together what happened. I will control what will be shown on screen, and if I see it’s too much for Damian, I will end it. Understand?”

“This is ridiculous!” Damian protests, disgruntledly crossing his arms.

Dick crosses his arms as well, firmly staring down the younger boy. “Damian, you are not in the right state to be dealing with this alone. I am going to protect you until you can handle this. That time is not right now. I will ask again: do you understand?”

Emerald eyes narrow and the youngest and oldest siblings duel in a battle of glares. While Damian was more stubborn and intense, Richard had far more experience dealing with teenagers trying to make a point. He never stood a chance. “-TT- Fine.”

“Good,” Dick sits down between Damian and Cassandra as he takes control of the remote. At the same time, Timothy connects his Bluetooth keyboard to the television to make searching easier. Stephanie offered to get popcorn but was quickly shut down as it was not appropriate for the occasion. “We are all trained to be detectives. We can find a safe and calming way to discover what’s happening with Jon. Remember, Bruce wouldn’t let Jonathan get hurt.”

Even though Damian’s nails had already ripped through a couch cushion from stress, the statement was rational. Neither his father nor Superman would allow harm to come to Jonathan. Everything was going to be fine.

At least he thought so until the first clip they see is Flamebird getting run over by a hearse with a comically large coffin atop it.

“TIM!” Dick shouts, knowing full well he didn’t play it.

“I pressed it by accident!” The older teen scrambles to exit the video after seeing Damian pale several shades. “Don’t worry, he’s fine!”

Damian would almost believe him if the car didn’t reverse to run over Jon’s prone body a second time.

Chapter Text

Fawcett City, Minnesota, is the most family-friendly city in the United States of America! The municipality has received endless praise for its many attractions that families can enjoy, such as its unique performing arts centers, outlandishly fun architecture, countless creative attractions, and beautifully preserved parks. While Fawcett City is a modest place, there is a layer of secrecy underneath it. Rumors of ancient magic pour through its cracks, attracting dark forces. Murmurs of corruption linger around the largest corporation, Sivana Industries, which could secretly fund the influx of supervillains to this once-unassuming location. It is also home to the Shazam Family, a family of superheroes who made a tremendous impact on the community in only a few years! 

It was a kid-friendly location that was safe for a hero to operate while providing enough opportunities for Flamebird to prove something. What is he proving? A lot of stuff. He’s going to prove he can control his powers. He’s going to prove nothing has to change. Most of all, he’ll prove that he can contribute something without Nightwing by his side.

Flamebird is aware of his insecurities around his usefulness on his partnership with Nightwing. He’s sure he’s contributed something, but if someone were to ask him what that is, Jon couldn’t answer. That’s because he believes Damian is sharper and more talented. He knows Damian doesn’t need him to be a hero, but Jon doesn’t know if he can say the same for himself.

Could Jonathan make it as a hero if he wasn’t with Damian?

Could he be a hero if he wasn’t the son of Superman?

This outing is more than a test of control; it is also a test of worth. Jonathan has to know if he is worthy of being partners with Damian. If he fails, Flamebird’s worst fears and insecurities are confirmed; Damian’s love for Jon is holding him back from his full potential. The child is still haunted by what Damian said that day, urging the world to keep Jon away from him. All those years of improvement and self-confidence reverted to nothing because Damian believes he’ll hurt Jon like he’s still the monster he used to be.

He has hurt Jon, just not in the way he thinks.

“You can do this, Flamebird. It’s all or nothing,” The hero murmurs to himself to build confidence.

A static buzz in his ear shocks the red-clad hero, and he hurriedly lowers the volume of his earpiece. “Flamebird, it is not ‘all or nothing.’ It is an observation, not a test. Relax.”

“Mr. Wa-”

“Names.”

“Mr… um… B?” Jon indecisively corrects himself. “Mr. B, do I have to wear this earpiece? And if I do, does it always have to be on?”

A sigh reverberates through the speaker. “Yes. It’s non-negotiable, just like the heart and temperature monitors.”

“But they’re itchy!” The 11-year-old wails, scratching the devices under his costume. “Especially the tracking device!”

“Flamebird,” Batman warns in a parenting tone.

“I understand, Mr. B,” The boy pouts and officially begins his solo adventure in Fawcett City.

Flamebird can’t help but think how much Nightwing would’ve enjoyed the architecture and sculptures around the city since he loves art so much. He can’t afford to be distracted by his feelings right now. He has to find trouble brewing or help people if he wants to succeed. To do that, he has to remain focused!

“Hey, is that Flamebird?”

What?

The hero in question looks to the voice that said his name to see two older teenagers, a boy and a girl, as well as an adult woman in front of the crossing signal. The teenage boy was failing to discreetly hold his phone up at waist level to get a clear image of the young hero while the girl was whispering in his ear. Curiously, Flamebird waves at them and walks towards them with a polite smile.

“Oh shit, he’s walking this way!” The boy panics, almost dropping his phone.

“You sure that’s him? His costume is different and the other kid isn’t with him.” The girl questions as she skeptically examines him.

“Mornin’!” The young hero greets, pretending he didn’t hear any of that. “I saw y’all staring from over here and couldn’t help but wonder if you needed something.”

“Oh, hey there,” The older woman greets as she not so subtly pinches both of the teenager’s shoulders. “My kids ‘ere were wondering if you were one of em’ new young heroes they saw online.”

“Mom, we’re not kids!” The teenage girl complains, rubbing where her mother pinched her.

The parent rolls her eyes. “Oh, come now. Don’t be like that.”

Jonathan nervously scratches his cheek and answers, “I dunno who you follow, but my name is Flamebird! I guess it’s hard to recognize me since my partner made me a new costume after my old one got ruined, but I’m still me.”

“Ope, ya heard that?” She apologizes.

A bashful flush sticks to Flamebird’s cheeks. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. I think this is the first time I got openly recognized in public so I couldn’t help noticing. It’s only me today.”

“Is it because you went crazy and destroyed part of Jump City?” The teenage boy asks to which his mother pinches him again. “Ow! Mom!”

“Is that why Knightwing isn’t with you- OW!” The teenage girl hisses as she meets the same fate as her brother.

“Dontcha know, we’re going to be late for our breakfast!” The mother quickly excuses herself and yanks her children away by the ears. “It’s nice meeting you Flamebird! Have a nice day!”

Well… that could have gone better.

“Flamebird, are you alright?” Batman inquires in his ear.

“I’m fine.” Flamebird shakily replies.

“I thought I banned that phrase.”

“What?”

“Sorry, it’s a house rule I recently implemented.”

“That’s alright Mr. B. Sometimes I forget house rules aren’t rules everywhere too.” Jonathan sympathizes. “Did you know that you can eat take-out on days that aren’t weekends or vacation days? I didn’t know that until this year.”

“Flamebird, don’t talk to the communication device in public,” Batman tells him. “You’re starting to get strange looks.”

Jon peeks around and sees some of the pedestrians he passes glance at him concerningly. He pouts and grumbles louder out of spite. “I wouldn’t if you didn’t talk to me first.”

“... Am I hovering?”

“Kinda.”

“Alright, I’ll only communicate when needed.”

“Thank you,” Jonathan says, breathing a sigh of relief before he sees people stop to gawk at him, some of them with their phones out. Did people always pay attention to him like that, or was this new? Is he only noticing now that Nightwing isn't with him? “What? Can’t a boy talk to himself on the streets? I thought this was America!”

Just as quickly as people pay attention, they pretend they didn’t witness anything at all to go back to whatever they were doing. Flamebird tries to do the same and walks around the neighborhood to probe for a problem to solve. He keeps a vigilant eye around every corner he crosses and looks everywhere he can think of where crime might be happening.

Nothing interesting was happening in the subway system like in Central City, nor did Fawcett City have expansive sewer systems like on the East Coast. There were no dark treacherous alleyways early in the morning nor was there a big event people could be planning something around. Gosh, Flamebird felt like this was worse than patrolling Metropolis.

After his two hours of patrol ended with unfruitful results, Flamebird decided now would be a good time to take a brunch break. Food will cheer him up, or at least give him time to think of other avenues of heroism to explore. He can’t prove himself if he’s not tested. What kind of results would that show? He’s only good when there’s no trouble around? Wow, what a completely useless conclusion!

The half-Kryptonian preteen walks into the nearest restaurant that looks like it fits in his budget. It’s an aluminum lunch car diner and at first, Jonathan thought it was a fancy retro-themed restaurant before he realized it was just old and dirty. He glances at the sign on the door for the name of the place, but all it says is, “DINER.”

Even though the teal leather stools were torn and the booths were browning from age (Jon was pretty sure they were supposed to be white) the restaurant wasn’t empty. The business seemed to be doing well, and Jon would always try something once. He sits at the nearest empty seat at the counter as a waiter immediately drops him a menu and water as he passes by with two full trays of steaming hot coffee mugs.

Jonathan glances at the small selection and has trouble deciding what to eat. Everything looks so good, but it’s probably not a place Damian would like. None of the entrees were vegetarian-friendly, so he’ll keep that in mind when he visits Fawcett with him.

While he focuses on the menu, debating between a cheeseburger with egg or a bacon egg and cheese with hashbrowns, someone whispers in his ear so close he can feel their breath. “I’d take the breakfast burger. It’s the best of both of ‘em and you get fries.”

Jonathan slaps his hand over his left ear and accidentally hits his offender in the face in the process. “Yeowch!” The other person yelps and the child promptly recognize their voice at its regular volume.

“Oh, heeeeeey…” He lengthens the greeting, wondering if he should say the person’s name while in their civilian attire. “You.”

“Argh, ow, that’s smarts,” An older 14-year-old boy groans, covering his cheek with his hand. “It’s Billy, not you. Gee willikers, am I that easy to forget?”

“I’m sorry,” Jonathan apologizes and presses his ice water against his injury. “I didn’t know if it was a good idea to say your name while I’m in costume. Should we even be talking?”

“I don’t see why not. Nothin’ weird ‘bout two guys knowing each other. Not like I’m anyone special.” The teen says with a playful wink and nudges the younger male in the arm with his elbow. “Sorry, didn’t mean to rattle you.”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind if it’s just you,” Flamebird reassures and sets down his menu. 

Billy Batson, a.k.a. Shazam, is the most prominent self-made young hero although not many people outside of the JLA are aware of that. The two have only met a few times a year, but Billy has always treated Jon kindly. He was older and protective of the other kid-heroes like a brother, but close enough in age he was treated like a friend. 

Billy was a hard person to hate… Unless you were Damian, but even he had an unyielding respect for Shazam. It was one of the highest praises anyone could get from him, and that says a lot about how good of a person Billy Batson is.

“Did someone tell you I was here?” The 11-year-old asks.

Billy shakes his head and slides Jon’s menu back, already knowing what he wants. “Nah, I always come here when I feel nostalgic. I used to come here a lot before I was adopted, so it’s kinda comforting.” After he says that, a soda is placed in front of him without having to order. “See! I come here so much they even know what pop I like.”

“Cool!” Jon comments as he looks over the menu option Billy suggested.

“You should get something healthy to go with it,” Batman suggests in his ear, and the 11-year-old rolls his eyes. “That’s too much greasy food in the morning.”

“I’ll have what you recommended. I should add extra lettuce while I’m at it.”

Jonathan ignored the hum of approval sounding in his right ear, however, the older boy noticed and turned the other’s stool toward him to see the device. “Is that Knightwing?”

“No, Nightwing is… um… Busy.” He excuses, but even a toddler could tell he wasn’t being honest.

The teen doesn’t press the issue for which Flamebird is eternally grateful. “Oh. Then who is it?”

“His dad. I’m calling him Mr. B.”

“Alrighty,” Billy takes a sip of the water he was holding against his face to Jonathan’s protest and leans closer to greet the earpiece. “Hiya Mr. B, how ya doing?”

“Hello, Billy.” Batman returns politely. “Please ignore the headset in Flamebird’s ear.”

He leans closer, gripping Jon’s shoulder for leverage. “What’d ya say, Mr. B? I can’t hear ya over all the kibitzing you’re doing. I know there’s a mute function on these; You should use it.”

Jonathan has no idea what kibitzing is, but it gets Batman to back off slightly. “Thanks, Billy.”

“It’s no biggie,” Billy says, moving back to his space. "It’s nice sometimes, but ya gotta occasionally pull him out of that parenting mindset.”

“Yeah,” Flamebird sighs and looks at his water. “Why’d ya drink my water? You have a soda.”

“Ope, sorry about that,” He apologizes and rubs the lip of the glass with the sleeve of his white Superman t-shirt. Jon doesn’t think that does anything to help. “I usually share drinks with my foster siblings, so I don’t think about it. You can get new water, but I’m not dirty.”

“No, it’s fine. I sometimes share drinks with my friends too.” And by friends, he means Damian. He drinks the water and raises his hand to order his food.

The boys catch up over some food and Billy poignantly doesn’t bring up what happened in Jump City or Kandor. He doesn’t even know if Shazam was part of the management team for that situation, but Jon wouldn’t be surprised if he was. He also wouldn’t be surprised if the teen had no idea there was a goddess of destruction residing in his body since Billy is the youngest Justice League member.

Jonathan’s almost halfway through his burger when Billy pats the underside of his face and part of his chest with a napkin. “Golly gee, Flamebird! I know it’s a runny egg, but it’s not going to run away from you.”

“Oops,” The child takes the napkin from his friend and cleans himself up. “It’s so hard to keep a costume clean. Nightwing is always complaining about that.”

“Sounds like something he’d do,” Billy acknowledges, ruffling Jonathan’s head in a brotherly manner. “Hey, next time you come to Fawcett City, you should drag Knightwing with you. I’ll give you two a proper tour of the city.”

“Sure,” Jonathan unenthusiastically replies then remembering why he’s in Fawcett City to begin with. “Hey, do you know any places where people might need help or have villains to fight?”

The teen scratches the top of his black hair as he genuinely thinks about it. “Not really. It’s a quiet day today. Speaking of which, I should skedaddle. Mister and Missus Vasquez are taking us to a kid museum for Darla, and then an escape room, but I don’t think we’re going be good at it.”

“The wisdom Solomon can’t help you?” The hero jokes as he sees Billy inhale the rest of his meal before slapping money on the counter.

“Nope,” He answers and stands from his seat. “See ya later Flamebird, don’t be a stranger!”

“Bye Billy,” Flamebird waves as he leisurely finishes his meal in solitude. It was nice seeing the older boy again since they don’t talk much outside of Jon’s father’s work or events. When Jon goes to pay for his food, he notices the amount of money on the counter is over double what it needs to be for Billy’s meal.

Oh no, Billy tried to pay for Jon’s food. Billy is a good person, but Jon’s tired of people always paying for him without getting to pay them back. Well, not this time! Jon is a self-sufficient man who can pay for himself.

Jonathan runs out of the restaurant and frantically spins in all directions to determine where Billy could have gone, hoping it wasn’t too far. Would this be a good excuse to use his supervision? Of course, it was! He scans the area and looks for a boy with black hair, blue jeans, and a white shirt. He wishes Billy wore something more distinctive as he was having trouble finding him in a populated area. Eventually, he thinks he sees the older boy several blocks away and prepares to use his superspeed to catch up to him.

“Flamebird, I know I’m not supposed to get involved unless prompted, but this is not a situation that warrants the use of your powers,” Batman tells him as he watches Flamebird do something reckless from wherever he is watching.

“Would you let my Dad get away with paying for you while you weren’t watching?” Flamebird counters, already getting into a running position.

There was a telling pause before Batman replied, “... How about you use something that has less dangerous consequences than creating a sonic boom.”

Jon pauses as he realizes how stupid his plan is because destroying things is the opposite of what he wants to do. “Good idea.”

“Mn.” The man approves before the speaker is muted.

Jonathan straightens his body and hops in place a few times as he prepares his body for flight. It takes a moment longer than he’d prefer since he already hyped himself up to run really fast, but he eventually gets off the ground. A kid floating off the ground isn’t a regular occurrence, and it's coupled with the fact his bright flame-colored costume is designed to catch attention. Flamebird might as well be a flying siren with the attention he’s getting.

Attention. Jonathan is not sure how to feel about that because he doesn’t know why those eyes are staring at him. What are those people going to do with his image burned into their minds or their phones? He’s not doing anything amazing. Jon’s flying poorly compared to other heroes at choppy erratic speeds and in a wobbly line.

Oh no, are they watching him to see him fail? Is he doing a bad job? If he looks bad, then Damian will look bad, and then he’ll never want to come back to being a hero with Flamebird.

Flamebird slows down so he can soar at a consistent pace. It wasn’t efficient, but it would look nice. As he glides through the air he notices that most of the buildings in the city are connected by enclosed pedestrian footbridges. While they must be nice to avoid traffic below they were a pain to dodge. This is actually good practice now that Jonathan has gotten into the rhythm of things. 

Weaving over and under several bridges, Flamebird can see many families out for a stroll and young kids waving at him. Jonathan waves back and gives them his nicest smile. One boy, no older than five, excitedly jumps with a huge grin as Flamebird passes by and makes a circular motion with his arm.

It’s probably not a good idea to try any trick when he isn’t skilled at flying, but Jonathan doesn’t want to upset anyone. He speeds up a bit before bending his back and doing a small loop before hovering closer to the boy with a thumbs up. The child giggles and pulls on his mother’s sleeve who has her phone out to record. They thank him through the glass before going about their day.

Flamebird feels more confident in his ability and flies through the bridges faster. Other children saw what the other boy did, and started trying to get him to do things as well. The young hero does the maneuvers he thinks are easier, but people start wanting him to do more complicated things.

The hero can only placate the public with simple spins and flips for so long before they get bored. He remembers a trick Conner likes to do where he flies upward superfast before free-falling and catching himself last minute. It’s a bit scary to watch, however, it was equally as exciting.

He flies up as fast as he can, watching the kids’ reactions as they appear impressed before he sees them gasp in fear. Jon knows he’s going a bit high but he’s not even above any of the buildings. He wasn’t at the scary height yet-

BAM!

Flamebird is quickly humbled as his head smacks into the bottom of another bridge that is higher than the rest of them, sending shockwaves through his spine. Everyone who witnesses the impact cringes and Flamebird immediately plummets to the ground. Jon assumes this is the universe’s way of keeping him from being too confident in himself.

Mr. Wayne is yelling something in his ear, but he doesn’t want to be saved by his friend's dad. Even though he’s embarrassed, he’d be more so if Batman suddenly showed up to get him out of trouble.

“Don’t do anything! I got it! I got it!” Flamebird asserts as he focuses every ounce of his concentration on invincibility.

“Flamebird!”

“I have invincibility!" Flamebird reassures.

"You have durability!" Batman corrects.

"Whatever- OOF!”

Thankfully, he doesn’t hit the ground. Even better, he was able to activate his invincibility fast since it’s his more practiced power. Unfortunately, he was hit by a passing car a nanosecond before he touched the pavement. Before he could get up to see who hit him, the vehicle backed up to run over him again.

While his body wasn’t injured, it was still uncomfortable to have a heavy object drive over him. “Ack!”

“Holy shit, that child was hit by a car!" A random pedestrian yells.

“I’m okay!” Jonathan shouts, bouncing to his feet with two thumbs up. “See! I’m fine!”

Now that he’s standing, the preteen can get a better look at the automobile that hit him twice. It is a long black car that is the size of a regular four-door, but its trunk is as long as a truck’s. The silver accents form the shape of skulls and roses, and almost every window is tinted black or covered with black lace curtains. The body of the vehicle is low to the ground, weighed down by an ebony coffin that extends past the length of the car.

No wonder he was hit. How could anybody see out of that thing? Also, weren't coffins supposed to be inside the car?

The driver’s door of the hearse opens and a dark fog pours out of the vehicle. The dark smog floats above the traffic that stopped around them when Jonathan fell and it was difficult to see anything. Everybody who got caught in the cloud instantly started to sob with palpable despair, and Jonathan was no exception.

Jon was no stranger to sorrow and has become more acquainted with it in the last couple of days. Even so, it was like everything that had ever hurt his feelings, even things he didn’t know hurt him, were now the only things he could think about. He couldn’t see with his flowing tears blinding him and his lungs strained to breathe as each time he did a visceral cry projected from his body. He was suffocating on his suffering.

Flamebird feels his veins starting to burn from the influx of emotions. He braces himself on the ground, but the tar his hands touch bubbles. He focuses on controlling it because he’s in the middle of a city, but the thought of failing makes him feel worse. He's stuck in a vicious cycle of negative emotions.

Don’t explode. Don’t explode. Don’t explode. Don’t explode. Don’t explode. Don’t explode. Don’t explode. Don’t explode. Don’t explode. Don’t explode. Don’t explode. Don’t explode. Don’t explode. Don’t explode. Don’t explode. Don’t explode. Don’t explode. Don’t explode! Don’t explode! Don’t explode! Don’t explode! Don’t explode! Don’t explode! Don’t explode! Don’t explode! Don’t explode! Don’t explode! Don’t explode! Don’t explode! DON’T EXPLODE!

DON’T!

EXPLODE!

“Ooooh deeeaaarrr,” A voice that groans like an old wooden door sorrowfully sighs. “I’ve done it again, haven’t I? Here you go, Child.”

A silk handkerchief is pressed against his nose and mouth and it is like the depressing fog was lifted from him. Metaphorically, of course, because the literal fog was still very much around him. Flamebird doesn’t remember dropping to the floor, but he picks himself up to see the street filled with crying mourners who are in similar states of incapacitation.

He looks up at his savior (and the guy who ran over him) to find himself needing to continue looking up. The man was taller than his dad, but he was also hunched over an elegant wooden cane with an ornate glass handle. He wore a long dark Edwardian trench coat with a lofty tophat and a blue opera cape over his sharp shoulders.

 His skin was grey with age and hung on his bones like cloth. His wispy white hair was the only thing bright about him as even the man’s expression was fixed in a permanent gloomy frown. Yes, he was old, but a more accurate term would be ancient.

“Are you alright, Child?” The sad old man asks.

“Uh… yeah, I am,” Flamebird replies slowly, still in shock from the internal whiplash he went through. “Sorry I suddenly appeared in front of your car, but you also ran me over after you already hit me. I guess I’m not too sorry, but I’m still sorry.”

“I’m sorry for hitting you,” The man apologizes. “My eyesight isn’t the best at my age. I didn’t mean to back up far enough to hit you again.”

“Your car looks hard to see though, and your eyes are bad?” Jonathan gasps, holding the handkerchief over his lower face with one hand. “That's dangerous, Mister. Why are you even driving?”

“Well, it’s funny really,” He sighs in a manner that doesn’t bode well for the potential humor of the sentence. “I know full well I shouldn’t be driving, but as you can see here,” He swishes his cane back and forth through the “sadness-fog” as Jonathan now deemed it. “I can’t take public transportation or walk around normally. I would love to stay at home, but I need to buy groceries and other necessities.”

“Wow, that sounds like a problem,” Flamebird agrees and looks around at all the people still crying in the streets. “I don’t think I should let you drive like this, but you can’t stay here either. I know! How about I go in your car with you and be your eyes! My eyes can see super good so it will be safer!”

“That sounds like a good compromise.” The elderly man agrees and Jonathan follows him into the hearse with innocent positivity. “I have some hard candies in my car you can have as a reward.”

“Yay, candy!” The child cheers.

In his ear, Batman’s voice rings with both incredulity and panic. “Flamebird, don’t get into a stranger’s car, especially when they offer you candy.”

“Don’t worry Mr. B! I’m helping someone!”

“Flamebird, no.”

“Flamebird, yes!” The boy exclaims as the tall old man starts his car. “This is my mission and I know what I’m doing!”

“I am talking to your father about your lack of stranger danger."

“Strangers are just friends you don’t know yet.”

“Flamebird, get out of that car!”

“You have a tracking device on me, I’ll be fine!”

“Who are you talking to?” The driver questions as he puts on his seatbelt. “Is that your mother?”

Jonathan adjusts himself in the black leather seat and attempts to correct him. “Oh, no, this isn’t my mom-”

“Hello ma'am, you’ve raised a courteous child,” The man compliments as he begins to drive. “So very helpful. I’ll be sure to have your son back before dinner. Speaking of dinner, that’s what I left the house for. If you could direct me to the nearest market, that would be lovely.”

“On it!” The young hero focuses his powers on his supervision to see through the dark glass and the fog accumulating on the inside of the car. It’s a good thing Jonathan was here to help this man, or else he’d hit someone who didn’t have the powers to survive it. “You should take a right in the next two lights.”

“And when are those?” The man asks, squinting. He turns on his windshield wipers for some reason and that just makes things harder to see.

“No, um, I’ll tell you when to turn,” Jonathan says before he remembers his manners. “I’m Flamebird, by the way! What’s your name?”

“That’s a peculiar name for a child,” He notes. “My name is Mortimer Gloom. You may call me either Mortimer or Mr. Gloom.”

“Neat! I’ll call you Mr. Gloom!” Flamebird smiles and sees them come up to their stop, albeit a bit too fast. “You should slow down. We’re about to come up on our turn.”

He regrets saying that because the man hits the brakes so hard that the car jerks. Jonathan is flung forward and bangs his head on the dashboard. The cars around them honk at them as Mr. Gloom begins to drive again, albeit at a snail’s pace. “Apologies. Anyways, I turn now?”

“You should be in the turn lane, but yes.” He cries while saying it because he accidentally dropped the cloth protecting his face. He tries to use his cape to block the sadness-fog, but it doesn’t work.

“That will do nothing, Child,” Mortimer informs him and hands him another handkerchief that prevents the fumes from affecting him. “My handkerchiefs are specially designed to prevent my powers.”

“Really? That’s really interesting. Also, you should be in the far left lane. There’s a turn- wait!”

Jonathan yanks the wheel, something Damian has told him to never do, to prevent Mortimer from swerving lanes and hitting more cars. “I need to check if it’s clear, and you need to turn on your turn signal!” He looks around the velvety and wooden interior of the car for a rearview mirror and sees none. “Where are your mirrors?”

“Oh, those? I don’t have those. I don’t know what happened to them.”

How in the world did this man function on the road? Jonathan turns around and checks behind them to see there isn’t even a back window to look out of. It’s a good thing he has X-ray vision too. It takes a second, and they miss their initial turn, but they can change lanes to make the next one.

Eventually, they make it to the grocery store and Jonathan has to get out of the car, much to Batman's audible relief, to help Mortimer park. “You’re good, you’re good, you’re good- stop. Turn a little to the left. Okay, now keep going. Stop! You’re good! You can put the car in Park now!”

As the man gets out of the car, Flamebird recognizes another problem. The sadness-fog wafted through the parking lot and a few shoppers putting their carts away began to cry uncontrollably. Oops.

“Hold on, Mr. Gloom, we need to get back inside the car for a moment!” Jonathan proclaims and ignores the groan Batman unleashes into his earpiece. The 11-year-old slams himself back into the car to prevent more smog from spilling outside. “Mr. Gloom, how did you get your groceries in the past?”

“Well,” The elderly man starts, lethargically contemplating the question. “My wife liked to do the shopping by herself.”

“Why isn’t she shopping then?”

“She’s dead.” Mr. Gloom answers, patting the corners of his eyes that were wet from the memories.

Wow, now Jonathan feels like a jerk. “I’m sorry.”

“Do not fret. It was a while ago,” He assures. “After her passing, I used a delivery service to bring me what I needed. Unfortunately, the service I used was defunded by the city, and I don’t have the means to use those expensive phone applications to get me my groceries.”

“Services? Wait, like, the city had a food delivery service? And what did you do before you met your wife?” Jonathan questions as he takes the information in.

“Yes, it was quite helpful. A lot of people my age cannot go out and get their necessities, so Fawcett had a good little service I called that delivered my food. Unfortunately, I was cut off from it two weeks ago because of budget reasons.” He recalls but he speaks slowly, having trouble forming the words in his mouth. “They still have the service, but people who had a criminal record were the first to be cut from the program. Now that I think about it, I didn’t have to worry about groceries in prison. I also had much better control over my powers that I have lost in my old age, so I think I used to go to the store, but that was a long time ago.”

Mr. Gloom was arrested? “May I ask why you were in prison, if it’s not too rude?”

“Murder,” The man answers with a casualness reserved for small talk. Jonathan, however, froze in shock. “I used to enjoy the sorrow that befalls those at a funeral and would cry with them. I felt so sorry for their pain, but happy people were as sad as I was. Thankfully I was stopped by a pair of superheroes.”

“Heroes?” Flamebird repeats because he’s stalling until he can conjure a more appropriate response.

“Yes, a couple if I recall. What were their names again?” He visibly struggles to remember, but the names do come to him. “Bulletman and Bulletgirl. That was it. They were heroes of Fawcett City before that other fellow. Shamazz, I think.”

Alright, so, Jonathan hopped into a car with an ex-supervillain. Honestly, the giant coffin and superpowers should have been a clue. Oh well, it’s not like Flamebird was doing anything else today. “I can go inside and get your groceries, but then you’ll run out and have to go shopping again. I don’t think I can visit every time you need food.”

“I’m sure I can think up a better solution with some more time,” Mr. Gloom expresses as he ponders what to do.

Flamebird also does so and remembers the cloth pressed on his face. “Mr. Gloom, how do your powers work?”

“Mmm,” He hums methodically. “I believe I simply expel it from my pores. I used to be able to hold it in, but a lot of bodily functions like that stop working when you get to my age. That’s why I have these.” He holds up another handkerchief.

Jon does not want to hear more about this old man’s bodily functions and thankfully doesn’t have to. “Mr. Gloom, I have an idea! How many of those do you have?”

Flamebird walks into the grocery store, and immediately everyone’s attention turns to him. It wasn’t because Flamebird was particularly interesting, but the lanky tall man next to him frightened everyone. Sure Mortimer Gloom doesn’t dress like a normal person as his fashion is more suited to a late 19th century period drama than a store in middle America, but that’s not the reason why.

The opening of his sleeves and pant legs were sealed shut with an assortment of handkerchiefs tied together. His face was also covered in cloths like a mummy and a pair of cheap plastic sunglasses were the only part of his face visible. Visible might be a generous word to use because the dark lenses were covered in condensation making him appear eyeless.

“Mr. Gloom, I think it’s working!” Flamebird cheers victoriously as he sees no one crying. Jonathan does sniffle a bit because the solution wasn’t completely foolproof, but he had his own handkerchief for that reason.

“Wonderful,” Mr. Gloom replies, although he doesn’t sound too happy. Then again, the man never sounds happy in the short time Jon’s known him. “Although, I may have trouble getting my groceries. I can’t see much.”

“Don’t worry about that, Mr. Gloom! We’re going to work through this one step at a time!” The child assures as he pushes a shopping cart for him. “For now, just tell me what to get and I’ll lead you there. Everything will be fine if you follow me!”

Flamebird walks as slowly as he can as he guides the elderly man through the grocery store to pick up what he needs for the next two weeks. Mr. Gloom hobbles along with his walking stick and Jonathan notices he has trouble keeping up even with his help. There was a point when Jonathan went ahead to pick up a can of beans, leaving Mortimer to push the cart by himself. He didn’t even make it an entire aisle before he had to take a break.

As they were checking out at the register, Jonathan saw the amount of groceries they got and knew that if Mr. Gloom were by himself he wouldn’t be able to carry these into his car, let alone back home. This was a bigger problem than Flamebird could handle in a day. As the young hero was loading the items into the large trunk of the hearse, he heard Mr. Gloom sigh from the driver’s seat.

Flamebird quickly finishes up and goes to sit in the passenger seat, making sure to hold his handkerchief to his face. “I think that went well this time, Mr. Gloom, but I don’t think it will work again. Maybe we can make clothes out of the handkerchiefs you use, or we can get a folding cart so you can carry stuff on your own.”

“You’re a sweet child, Fire Bird.”

“Actually, it’s Flamebird.”

“However, maybe I should sell my car to afford a different service,” He contemplates as he starts his vehicle.

“That would be safer,” Flamebird agrees. “But then you won’t be able to travel anywhere.”

“I already have trouble getting around, so I don’t think it will be too different,” He comments as he takes off all the handkerchiefs tied to his body.

Flamebird suffers another dangerous car ride as both of them attempt to navigate to Mr. Gloom’s home. Going to the grocery store Jonathan could see with his supervision was one thing, but trying to find a specific address was another. Also, neither of them knew how to drive. Somehow, although Jonathan wouldn’t be able to explain if someone asked, they made it to their destination in one piece.

Jonathan helped take the groceries into the black brick townhouse that stood out from the manufactured Italianate-style homes. Everything in the house was dark and dreary from a Gothic chandelier at the entryway to the couch that was a repurposed open coffin with the front lip missing. Even the kitchen had a rather antique flair with a cast iron wood stove and another coffin with a flat glass lid as the table. There was even a fake skeleton in it!

Wait. Is it fake?

“The skeleton is fake,” Mr. Gloom tells him after easily reading Jon’s concerned expression. “I know I look horrible and miserable, but the table was my wife’s idea. She got it at a Halloween sale a few years ago and simply loved the idea. She even liked to dress it up for holidays.”

Now that Flamebird is taking a closer look, the skeleton didn’t look realistic at all. Especially with the plastic hooks holding the joints and the, “Made in China” sticker on the foot. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to assume.”

“No, don’t be sorry. I missed it when guests got that little fright thinking it might’ve been real. Mrs. Gloom would’ve loved it.” Mr. Gloom reminisces and he takes off his coat releasing more fog and that old man smells all elderly people seem to have. “Would you like to stay for an afternoon tea, Fire Bird?”

Flamebird doesn’t have the heart to correct him again. “Sure! I also never got that candy you mentioned earlier.”

“Oh, right. There should be more in the cookie jar shaped like a bat.” The man informs him as he puts a kettle on the stove. “I procured it on a trip to Gotham. It’s supposed to be a superhero, but I don’t see it.”

Jonathan finds the humor in this situation as he takes a hard candy out of the Batman jar. “Do you hear that, Mr. B? Mr. Gloom doesn’t see it.”

Batman disgruntledly exhales. “Flamebird, I don’t feel comfortable with you in a stranger’s house or a stranger’s car.”

“Mr. B, if there was any real danger, I think I would know. Plus, if you really believed I was in trouble then you would’ve done something. The fact that I’m still here and you haven’t done anything means you know I’m alright.”

“I had a heart attack every second you were riding in that deathtrap.”

“Are you talking to your mother again? Tell her you were a very helpful boy today.” Mr. Gloom compliments and heads deeper into the home before Flamebird can rectify his words. “Make yourself at home, I shall grab the tea set from my cupboard.”

“Do you need any help, Mr. Gloom?” Jonathan calls out.

“No, I should be fine-” A loud screech against hardwood echoes through the home, and the child runs to the man just in time to catch him from falling. “I guess I wasn’t fine.”

“Oh my goodness, Mr. Gloom, are you alright?!” The boy exclaims, leaning the elderly man against the wall and crying as he drops his handkerchief in panic.

“I’ll be fine. I should’ve been more careful with my stepping stool.” He assures, handing the protective cloth back to Jon, and heads to the kitchen for a glass of water to calm his nerves.

Jonathan looks down to see a wooden stool with one of the legs broken from rot. “Being careful ain’t gonna do much when it’s broken.”

“It’s broken?” He inquires and looks at the step ladder. “It is. That’s a shame. At least I got the tea set so I won’t be needing it anytime soon.”

Jon is about to suggest he get one for the man when he hears a muffled electronic beep in one of the kitchen drawers. The preteen looks to Mr. Gloom for a reaction, but the man goes back to making tea and mini sandwiches without notice. He locates the noise and opens the drawer to reveal a tiny alarm clock. “Mr. Gloom, is this important?”

“Mn? Oh! It’s time for my medicine.” He says and stops what he’s doing to sluggishly make his way upstairs with Jon close behind in case of another misfortune.

There were only three rooms upstairs, the bedroom, the bathroom, and another door Jonathan didn’t pay attention to. Right now, Mr. Gloom walks into his bedroom and Jon is slightly disappointed his bed is normal, still fitting the Gothic style of the home, but not a coffin. He rummages through the nightstand where Jonathan sees over ten bright orange prescription bottles strewn inside.

Mr. Gloom struggles to open the caps and Jonathan intervenes, reading the labels and handing him which pills he should be taking. He had to hold in his sobs as he needed both hands to open the containers. It became difficult to read through his tears, but he got through it and even separated which pills he should take in the morning, evening, and night. Being old feels needlessly complicated. Maybe Jon should’ve ordered more lettuce with his burger earlier to keep him healthy. He’s getting kind of worried about it now.

“I’ll get back to the kitchen and finish up there. Sorry for making you do all of this, Fire Bird.”

“You’re not forcing me to do anything, Mr. Gloom,” Jonathan put the notion to rest as he cautiously watched the man walk downstairs, ready to intervene in case something happened.

Thankfully nothing did, and he decided to wander the house a bit. It was so interestingly decorated that it would be a shame not to explore it. Plus, with Mr. Gloom's powers, everything had a spooky layer of fog that settled on the ground. This place would be awesome during Halloween!

The bathroom wasn’t too flashy, but it was very dark as everything was black. He worries about how Mr. Gloom uses it with his declining vision.

Then Jon aims for the closed door across the hall and opens it to find a sewing room. On an antique wooden table was a very out-of-place modern sewing machine that looked almost to be brand new. There were several dress forms with elegant and intricate articles similar to what Mr. Gloom wore. The small wardrobe was overpowered with large poofy dresses and costumes and the back wall was covered with shelves of fabric. The same fabric that the handkerchiefs were made from.

Flamebird thinks Damian would like this room. Sure Damian enjoyed transitional canvas art more, but these clothes were beautiful. He wishes Damian was here.

He runs his hand along the black rose wallpaper before he accidentally hits a picture frame. He examines it to see an old newspaper clipping about a community theater performance. He reads some of it before his eyes focus on a particular name. Right under the credits for costume designer was the name Lenore Gloom. This wall was covered in frames depicting plays and musicals Mrs. Gloom worked on for the community. 

It all clicks in Jonathan’s head. No wonder the home was decorated so eccentrically. Sure, Mr. Gloom was a bit odd, but his wife must’ve been more so to be married to him. No offense to the man, but it sure would be difficult to be married to someone who makes people cry and dresses like a ghost unless they were the same in a sense.

While scanning the articles, he eventually came across one that was slightly different. It wasn’t a newspaper clipping or a printout of an article in some of the more recent editions. It was a formal government document and as Jonathan read through it he discovered it was a death certificate.

“Lenore always did have a morbid sense of humor,” Mr. Gloom suddenly says from behind Jon.

“Ack!” The boy yelps as he slaps the handkerchief over his face before he can start crying.

“It was in her will that I hang her death certificate on the wall as one of her greatest accomplishments.” The man reminisces, walking to the desk and showing Jonathan a picture of an elderly woman in a coffin in a beautiful black tea gown.

It’s strange for Jonathan to be gazing at a dead body, but he understands why Lenore would see death as an accomplishment; She got to wear her prettiest dress. “She looks very pretty.”

“She does, doesn’t she?” Mr. Gloom mourns and puts the frame down. 

He turns to tell Jonathan something but a thundering blare stuns the two. Jon looks out the window. There were a few clouds in the sky, but nothing close to resembling a rain cloud. He opens the window to search down the street and finds a familiar boy running on the sidewalk.

“Billy!” Flamebird calls out, catching the young teenager’s attention.

Billy’s trainers skid on the pavement, nearly burning the rubber of his soles off. “Good golly, Flamebird! You’re going to give me a heart attack!”

Billy pivots and runs toward the Gloom residence. Jonathan and Mr. Gloom meet him at the door where they see the teenager vigorously panting like he just ran a marathon. While they wait for him to catch his breath, Flamebird worries and wonders if there is any trouble nearby. Then again, if there was any cool hero stuff to do nearby, why would Shazam stop to greet him?

“I- Hah, heeeeee-” Billy wheezes, hunched over with his hands on his knees. He’s about to say something else when he spontaneously bursts into tears and blabbers nonsense. “I- I wah, I walb- Ns--shhhhh, I wa- so sce!”

Flamebird has no idea what he was trying to say. He hands Billy his handkerchief before he begins to sob as well. Mr. Gloom hands Jon another before he can crumple to the floor in sadness again. It takes another moment for both boys to collect themselves again before Billy can finally explain himself.

“Flamebird, how the heck does Knightwing not have constant panic attacks when he’s with you?” Billy rhetorically questions.

“He does. That’s why he’s not here right now.” Flamebird curtly answers and has half a mind to slam the door in Billy’s face. He doesn’t because he knows Billy didn’t mean it and appears ashamed for asking. “What are you doing here? Did Mr. B tell you to check up on me?”

“I didn’t,” Batman denies through the earpiece.

“He didn’t,” Billy reinforces, not having heard what was said. “I was halfway through the second chamber of the escape room when Eugene showed me his phone (which he shouldn't have had because that’s cheating), and I saw a video of you getting hit by a car. TWICE. I had to speedrun the rest of the room to go find you. Oh my goodness gracious, can I please have some water?”

The elderly gentleman heads to the kitchen to pour him a glass. “Of course, and while you’re here would you like to join us for an afternoon tea? I was just about to tell Fire Bird-”

“My name is Flamebird.” Jonathan interrupts.

“-That I finished setting up the table.” Mr. Gloom finishes asking.

Billy looks between Flamebird and Mr. Gloom several times then nods his head. Next thing he knows, he’s sitting at a coffin table with a porcelain cup of Darjeeling tea and a cucumber sandwich. “Cucumbers, huh?” He asks because what the heck is even happening? “Is that a normal sandwich filling?”

“Mrs. Gloom always preferred something light for tea. It was normal for her when she grew up in the UK, but I don’t know if it is still considered as such.” Mr. Gloom tells them, pouring Jon a cup of tea.

“So she’s British?”

“She was Welsh.”

“Oh…”

“My sandwich has cheese and a bunch of tiny fish in it,” Jonathan states as he takes another bite. “It tastes weird, but in a good way!”

“This is nice. It’s been a while since I had company.” Mr. Gloom sadly comments. He doesn’t smile, but Jon does think he looks less depressed than usual.

Jonathan thinks about how he went from barely seeing Billy to sharing two meals with him when he remembers what he was doing before meeting Mr. Gloom. He takes out ten dollars from his pocket and hands it to Billy. “I forgot! I was rushing to give this to you but got distracted.”

“Huh? Oh,” He takes the money but is baffled as he does so. “Thanks, but you didn’t have to pay me back.”

“I did,” Jonathan firmly enforces his position. “People are always getting me stuff, but I never get to pay them back.”

“I wouldn’t have minded, Flamebird,” Billy says as he sips on the tea.

“I would.” The younger boy pouts. “Anyways, sorry for making you worry but the car didn’t hurt me. Honestly, I’m kinda glad I was run over because it gave me something to do.”

“Flamebird, everything you just said was very worrying.”

Flamebird kind of understands how that could be seen as alarming, but that’s only because he’s bad with words. “Okay, maybe I didn’t say that in a positive way. I mean, if Mr. Gloom didn’t hit me with his car he would’ve never gotten his groceries.”

“Do you have that much trouble with them, Mr. Gloom?” Billy asks the man silently drinking his tea.

“Mn… Ah, it seems so. I used to have a program to help, but not anymore.” He replies after a beat, almost as if he forgot Flamebird and Billy were sitting in front of him.

Jonathan nods in agreement and leans closer to Billy to whisper his concerns. “Mr. Gloom has trouble with a lot of stuff now that I think about it. Driving, hearing, walking, remembering stuff, balancing, reading his medicine labels, and his powers don’t make it easy either. I’m sincerely worried about what will happen to him when I leave.”

“Maybe he should hire a nurse to help him,” Billy suggests, shaking the handkerchief held against his face with a makeshift rubber band strap. “It’s not like the smoke would do anything as long as they have one of these.”

“Wouldn’t that be more expensive? He can’t afford a delivery service unless he sells his car, so adding another expense isn’t plausible.”

“I dunno, let me look it up.” Billy takes out his phone to look it up while Jonathan brings up the idea to Mr. Gloom.

“Mr. Gloom, have you thought about hiring someone to help you? And I don’t just mean the food delivery, but, like, everything.” Flamebird inquires, taking a cucumber sandwich from the tray in the middle of the table.

The elderly man contemplates the idea with a sorrowful disposition, yet he seems open to the idea. “I suppose it would be better than going into a retirement home. I couldn’t bear to leave the family home. My wife took such care decorating it, and we raised our son here.”

“You have a son?”

“Yes, but he lives far away and is all grown up living his own life,” He says despondently. “He did stay a couple of weeks after Lenore’s funeral, but I would feel dreadful if he spent all his time taking care of this old man.”

“I found it,” Billy interrupts as he waits for the page to load. “A caregiver that comes to your home would cost- eeeeeeeee… Um… wowzers,” He looks at Mr. Gloom with a strained expression. “You wouldn't happen to have $7,000 on you, would you?”

“That’s a lot of money, but that doesn’t sound too bad.” Jonathan voices positively. “I mean, for doing all that stuff for you so you can live in your own home, that’s really good! I don’t know much about money, but if a house costs hundreds of thousands of dollars, then seven thousand is nothing!”

“Flamebird, I don’t mean to burst your bubble, but it’s $7,000 a month.” Billy corrects as gently as he can. “And that’s just the average.”

“What’s so average about that? That’s a lot of money!” The child exclaims as his notions are shattered in a single sentence.

“No, I mean the mean- the number that is between the highest and lowest number but not the median-- middle- Urgh, I’m so bad at this. I’m not meant to be a tutor.” The teenager sighs.

“It’s alright, Billy. I wouldn’t have understood you.”

“Flamebird, that’s not a good thing.”

“Oh,” Well now Flamebird feels stupid. 

Mr. Gloom thinks about the question and tells the teenager, “Hm… I do have some savings and my wife’s pension but that yields only around $4,000 a month. I use that to pay my bills and other necessities so there’s not much room for much else. Have children always had an interest in finances? How nice. You know, you should start early on that.”

“We’re checking something out,” Flamebird tells him before facing Billy again. “How much is a retirement home? I know Mr. Gloom would prefer to live in his home, but would it be cheaper?”

“It’s worse,” Billy doesn’t even entertain the idea and simply scrolls down on the government website. “It’s over $10,000 a month, and that's not accounting for the extra cost of caring for someone with superpowers.”

“Why is getting old so expensive?!” Jonathan exclaims, pulling at his hair. “Can all the world’s problems only be solved with money?”

“It sounds like this isn’t the first time you came to that conclusion.”

“I have had a stressful hero career so far.” Jonathan bemoans, hitting his head against the glass table.

The child begins to cry, his shoulders shaking from his staggered breaths, and Billy comfortingly pats him on the back. “Hey, it’s okay, Flamebird. You’re doing great!”

“I’m not crying because of that,” The child sobs. “I dropped my hanky.”

“Oh,” Billy flushes and picks it off the ground to press against Jonathan’s face.

“I wish I was rich, then I could help more people,” The 11-year-old laments, turning the side of his face on the cool glass. The cold surface feels much better after crying. “Wait…” He pauses as he remembers something and holds his finger on his headset. There’s not a button on it or anything, but it’s fun to pretend there was. “Mr. B.”

“Do you want me to pay for Mr. Gloom’s caretaker?” The man inquires. “Because I will. I will do anything to stop that man from driving”

“Are you talking to your mother again, Fire Bird? You should invite her for a cup of tea as well.” Mr. Gloom offers, causing Billy to burst out laughing much to the elderly’s man confusion.

"Uh- No, I'm talking to a man."

"Your mother is a man?"

"What? No, he's not my--"

"Hello Mr. Fire Bird's Mom, apologies for my rudeness."

Jonathan overlooks all that as he focuses back on his conversation with Batman. “Before you do, I know Nightwing still has money coming in from his old job because of his contract. Is there a way I can use that?”

“It is a significant amount of money, but nowhere near enough to help consistently fund a man’s retirement,” Batman enlightens him much to the preteen’s dismay. “Also, you shouldn’t decide that without consulting Nightwing, even if the money was intended for your superhero activities.”

“Dang it,” The hero grumbles before sucking in his pride. “Mr. B, could you please help Mr. Gloom.”

“I would be happy to,” Batman replies. “Do you need help with anything else?”

“No, thank you very much.” Jonathan sighs and returns to the conversation. “Mr. B said he’d help.”

Even though that was good news, the child didn’t look happy about the news. If anything, he looks as depressed as Mr. Gloom does, and he has a resting sad face. Billy notices Jon’s upset but chooses not to pry into why in front of Mr. Gloom. “That’s great, Flamebird!”

“Congratulations!” Mr. Gloom cheers before asking, “What are we celebrating?

“Don’t worry about it, Mr. Gloom,” Flamebird reassures as he forces a bright smile. “All you need to know is that you won’t have to worry about driving anymore!”

“Did you find a delivery service? Do I need to sell my car?”

“Well, I don’t know about selling it, but you probably shouldn’t be a driver either way.” Jonathan elaborates.

“That’s a relief and a shame,” He tells him, piquing Jonathan’s interest. “I am too old to drive, but I will miss driving to the park. I haven’t done so even long before my wife passed, but I’ll still miss it.”

Flamebird thinks about his words for several moments before his forced smile becomes genuine. “Mr. Gloom, how about we take one last drive to the park today? I’ll help you get there just like I did before!” The child purposefully ignores the protests shooting through his ear as he suggests the dangerous excursion.

“That does sound like a wonderful reason to get behind the wheel again.”

“Flamebird,” Billy says with palpable concern. “Do you even know how to drive to be directing people?”

“Nope, but I’m still alive, so I have to be doing something right!” The boy cheers and stands to use the restroom to brush his braces before they leave. “Let me freshen up, and then we can leave.”

“Then I shall go clean the dishes and fetch my coat,” The elderly man agrees, not questioning anything that’s happening. 

Billy was starting to believe Mortimer Gloom had a few screws loose, and he didn’t know if it was from his old age or if he always had a laissez-faire attitude. “Flamebird, I can’t let you guide a man who can barely drive in that death trap. You don’t even know the city’s layout. This is like the blind leading the blind!”

Jonathan pouts while he hears Batman exhale in relief. Curse Billy’s protective heroic nature!

“I’m studying to get my learner’s permit next year! I’ll do it while you ride in the back.”

Bye-bye relief, and hello panic! Hip-hip hurray for Billy’s protective heroic nature!

The boy vibrates in excitement about how he’s not navigating the scary car ride. “If I’m not going to be in the passenger seat, does this mean I can ride in the coffin up top?”

“Flamebird, no!” Batman scolds.

“I think there’s plenty of room in there,” Mr. Gloom informs him from the kitchen.

“FLAMEBIRD, YES!” Flamebird hollers.

One harrowing car ride later, Billy braces himself on the side of the car after they parked, certain he shaved several years off his life. Meanwhile, Mr. Gloom unclasped the hinges of the coffin to release Flamebird. The boy dramatically sits up with his arms out and shouts to the world, “I LIIIIIIIIVE!” 

He looks to Billy and Mr. Gloom for a reaction and the elderly man politely claps while the teen… uh. He’s a bit preoccupied throwing up all the food he just ate. “Blaaaarrrgh! Hurk- Holy smokes! I- I feel like I’m dying!” 

It probably didn’t help that he had to take his mask off to vomit, so he’s also crying. Thankfully, the park was a much more open space than anywhere they’ve been in so far. Coupled with the nice summer breeze, the fog is easily dispersed away from them making what would be illegible babbles to coherent hiccups.

Jonathan climbs out of the coffin to pat Billy on the back. “There ya go, Billy! Would you like some water?”

“Blergh- Ah- Ah God, just put me out of my misery!”

“You shouldn’t say things like that, even as a joke,” Jonathan frowns.

"Who said I was joking?"

After washing his mouth out at a water fountain, the trio takes a leisurely walk through the park which also acts as an art exhibit as it is littered with unique statues. There were a few families around taking pictures of the sculptures and Flamebird and Billy made sure to keep away from them. While the smog is diluted in the wide open air, it still has a slight effect if someone’s close enough.

“This is nice,” Mr. Gloom almost smiles. “It’s been so long since I’ve been feeling up for a summer stroll.”

“It’s a good day for it too,” Billy comments, using his body weight to keep the man from stumbling. “There’s a nice breeze. It almost feels a little cold out.”

“Yeah, it’s not nearly as hot as other cities I visited so far in the summer,” Jonathan mentions as he admires the trees in the park. “Although I usually visit cities near the coast. Except for Central City, which was super hot and in the middle of the country. My old costume had a lot of white on it which is supposed to be a color that keeps me cool, but I was super sweaty.”

“It doesn’t get too hot up here,” Billy tells him. “Or at least it didn’t used to but then global climate change happened and-- you know what? It’s not the time for that. It’s a good day today.”

Jonathan looks up at the afternoon blue sky that matches his eyes with a wistful expression. His smile is large but the joy behind it is muted as he agrees with Billy. “Yeah, it is a good day.”

After about an hour, Mr. Gloom was finding it difficult to continue on the trail, so Jonathan sat with him on a bench. The hero made sure to sit on the opposite side of where Mortimer’s smoke was wafted in the wind. He couldn’t help but notice how it was nice there wasn’t a railing in the middle of it like in Jump City. He’s learning so much, and school hasn’t even started yet.

Billy left to get Jon and himself ice cream (which the younger boy forced money on him to use), and Mr. Gloom some juice. Jonathan kicked his feet, the bottoms of his boots skidding on the pavement, and gazed out at the little lake in front of them. He saw groups of people on small boats with joyful grins and thought of Damian.

Everything reminds him of Damian. He looks to his right where he expects him to be, but no one is there. It’s like his arm’s been cut off. No, it’s more like he’s the arm that’s been cut off. He’s a useless limb that’s been severed. It hurts now, but eventually, he’ll rot while Damian moves on with his life with the pain Jon caused.

Jon tears up at the thought as he’s been trying to keep himself preoccupied to avoid thinking about him. He’s sad that Damian’s not with him, but he’s also angry. He is so very angry, furious, that Damian’s not with him right now because he’s afraid he’ll hurt Jon. Jonathan knows that it’s more than that, that Damian has always struggled with the idea he was wrong, broken, or unable to be a good person. Jonathan wasn’t the catalyst for his feelings, however, he hates how he was what drove Damian off the deep end.

That doesn’t stop Jon from feeling like it was his fault. It doesn’t make any sense, but feeling like it was his fault is a twisted comfort that he was the sole reason Damian is depressed. At least if he was then nothing else was about to take Damian away from him except himself. If something else caused this, then Jonathan would feel more worthless than he already does.

The realization makes him feel horrible.

He’s sick of sobbing, he hates being angry, tired of feeling guilty, and most of all he’s scared. Jon’s been pushing himself to feel fine, and to act normal, but when he thinks everything is alright something will remind him of Damian. He’ll remember Damian and know he’s not there and he’s back to being nothing.

It was his dream to be a hero. When he and Damian became friends, his dream became to be heroes with Damian. Before Jonathan had the idea to be a heroic duo, he at least wanted to be heroes at the same time. Jon wanted to know his best friend was out there being the hero he knew he could always be.

Jonathan should be happy if, after Damian feels better, he continues being a hero, but why would he do it with Jonathan? What’s the point in being Nightwing and Flamebird when Damian could be Robin? He wants Damian to want him, and that brings him back to feeling bad. He doesn’t know what to do, what to feel, or why he is the way he is. All Jonathan knows is that he’s awful and feels awful.

“Only good people believe they can be awful,” Mortimer Gloom says as he hands Jonathan another handkerchief because he soaked the one he was already using. “No truly awful person would be upset finding out they could be.”

Jon thanks him and blows his nose in the old one before taking the new one. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

“I do not know your despair, yet I of all people recognize what sadness does to people,” The elderly man sighs and readjusts his tophat as the wind picks up. “I’ve been sad all my life, and even more so since my wife passed. Do not be ashamed to express what is natural.”

The half-Kryptonian shakes his head, but he’s not denying anything. “I don’t even know if I’m sad, Mr. Gloom,” He wipes his eyes to stop the tears, but they keep flowing. “I’m feeling a lot.”

“That is why you are crying, Child,” He enlightens the kid, resting his chin on his cane. “Your tears are what your heart’s trying to say. Even with a reason, sadness is unreasonable. It doesn’t stop when there’s no reason to be sad. It doesn’t stay when you want it to. Most of all, being sad reminds us how good it feels when we are happy.”

“I just want to be happy again,” Flamebird expresses in a watery voice.

“Then you must let yourself be sad,” Mr. Gloom says with a sigh. “Don’t rush healing. People cry to heal, not to feel broken, even if it feels so. Sadness is not one emotion but a collection of them. It is challenging to sort them out, so when you weep it is your soul telling you it needs time, not answers.”

Those words make Jonathan cry harder. He thought he was ready to try being a hero again, but he only felt worse. “I look stupid,” He sniffles. “It looks like I’m crying in the park for no reason, but I do have reasons.”

“Would you like a reason?” The elderly man offers and Jon nods. 

The man moves to the other side of the 11-year-old and his smoke envelopes him, making him cry harder. His insecurities scold him for a self-loathing he didn’t know he was capable of but recognized was always there in the back of his mind. Flamebird feels horrid, his eyes and veins burn as every negative thought he’s ever had screams at him.

In return, Flamebird screams back. He doesn’t notice when the wood of the bench burns from the intensity of his glow as the sound of his sobs smothers the scorching sound. Mr. Gloom doesn’t stop him, doesn’t say anything, and maybe he doesn’t even notice. He doesn’t know he’s in danger with a boy whose explosive feelings have tangible consequences.

This heartache was intense but different than his dramatic cries the week before. Before when he cried, he wanted others to know he was sad. He wanted someone to fix it even if that person was himself. He wanted his sorrow to work for him, to get him comfort, and to be released. Now he cries because he has no other choice. Jonathan’s body won’t let him.

He’s always been afraid to express his negative thoughts ever since he exploded. When he did express them he made sure to do it in short bursts to keep everyone and himself safe. Many believe that Jonathan can’t hide his feelings because he’s so emotional and expressive. That’s only because he feels everything so intensely that even when suppressed it’s vibrant. Yet, while his emotions are erupting and his body is on edge he does not explode. Jonathan is without a doubt putting himself under a lot of stress, but there is a catharsis to unabashedly vent what he couldn’t communicate.

Jonathan’s Samuel Kent’s test, the chance he’s been given to prove he could still be a hero, ended with only a burnt park bench to show for it. Flamebird didn’t accomplish anything in Fawcett City and he couldn’t control his powers. Jonathan waved goodbye to Mr. Gloom and Billy as they drove home in what is certain to be another treacherous car ride.

Once the hearse is out of sight, Jonathan frowns and eats the ice cream cone Billy got for him while walking back through the park. He should probably fix that bench. It wasn’t broken, but there is a Flamebird-shaped sear mark in it. There’s no way that could be safe.

When he gets back to it, he sees some kids taking pictures of it, laughing at it, at Jon. He can’t bring himself to care anymore and shoves past them. Flamebird rips the wooden boards from the iron frame while ignoring the cameras on him. He hears the questions being asked and the remarks being made, but he doesn’t entertain them.

“Hey, did you do this?”

“I totally saw you crying earlier!”

“Do you have fire powers? What’s your name?”

“Aren’t you that kid from Jump City?”

“No, he’s that kid who set Jump City on fire!”

“Where’s the other guy?”

“Can I have that plank as a souvenir?”

“Look over here! Set something else on fire!”

Flamebird sighs with enough exaggeration for everyone to see it, then turns around with a smile. “Do you need something?”

One of the kids, a bit younger than Jon, shoves their phone in his face. “Can you do something cool?”

His smile doesn’t falter, but his puffy eyes are empty. “Sorry, I’m all out of tricks. I’m a bit busy fixing this bench I burnt. If you don’t need any help, could you please leave me alone?”

It takes another minute of the group standing around before they disperse. One of them calls Flamebird lame for not giving them anything to work with, but Jon gets back to ripping wood from metal. The park becomes quiet as people leave to eat dinner or experience other areas of the city. There were still some citizens around but without a crowd, no one took note of each other.

Several fresh boards of wood are dropped against the bench’s frame and Flamebird looks up to see Batman staring back from the foliage of the trees above. “I believe you’ll need those.”

Jonathan huffs and uses his laser vision to cut the wood to the appropriate size. “I’m sorry I destroyed your stuff.” The child tosses the fried communicator from his ear to the man. “I’ll give you the other melted stuff when I change out of my costume.”

“I’m impressed. I designed those to withstand your fire.”

“I don’t make fire, I set things on fire,” Jonathan corrects as he takes the old screws and forces them through the wood with his super strength. Or at least he tries to, but his powers are still focused on his eyes, so he just hurts his thumb. “Ow! Dang it,” He looks at Batman as he wiggles his hand. “Are you going to tell me I failed? I want you to tell me now instead of on the way home.”

“You’re more pessimistic than people give you credit for,” The adult stoically tells him, his eyes narrowing behind his cowl.

“That’s because Nightwing acts more like it. Compared to him, I’m all sunshine and rainbows,” He sarcastically replies as he shakes both his hands in mocking jazz hands. “I’m like… What’s the saying? Expect the worst and hope for the best. And Nightwing is more like, ‘Prepare for anything because everything is a threat.’ He gets it from you.”

“I know,” He responds with a hint of fondness he usually doesn’t allow himself to show while in uniform. “I apologize that I wasn’t the easiest chaperone you’ve had so far.”

“It’s okay, Mr. B. I understand that you’re worried about me and everyone around me,” Flamebird tells him as he properly uses his powers to put the bench together. “I’m surprised you didn’t jump in at some point. I would have been annoyed, but I wouldn’t blame you. I messed up a lot today, and I didn’t do anything heroic.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Batman counters. “You helped out Mr. Gloom today.”

“But I didn’t,” Jon denies. “I had to ask you to do it because you have money and for some reason, all of the world’s problems can be solved with it.”

“Why don’t you think you were heroic today?” Batman inquires, dropping to the ground, yet still staying within the coverage of the greenery.

Jonathan snorts at the sight. Batman looks silly hiding in broad daylight, or at least early sunset. “I mean, I guess I helped Mr. Gloom but all I did was help him around his house and get him groceries. Anyone would do that.”

Batman shakes his head. “Not anyone, Flamebird. You went out of your way to do so and got him the help he needed. You didn’t judge him for his past as a villain, and while I don’t support how you did so, you respected his autonomy by trying to find ways he could sustain himself.”

The child tilts his head in bewilderment. “What are you talking about? All of that is normal.”

“The fact that it’s your normal makes you extraordinary,” Batman explains, although Jonathan doesn’t seem to get it. “Flamebird, being a hero doesn’t mean you fight daring battles or solve all the world’s problems. It means to be a noble person and stand by your principles for the sake of others. Sometimes, being a hero means to just help one person in any way you can.”

“But…” Flamebird begins after he finishes with his repairs. “I do that everyday. Calling that heroism feels insulting to real heroes.”

“You’re too humble for your own good,” Batman sighs, then pulls out a tablet from his cape.

Jonathan doesn’t know where he was keeping that, but he doesn’t question it. His new theory is that Batman discovered a pocket dimension during his adventures. Then he made a machine that allows his family to store and summon things from it at will. Jon knows that’s unlikely, but none of the Waynes ever gave him an explanation.

Anyways, Batman faces the screen towards him to show him a bunch of charts Jon can’t comprehend. “Mr. B, I can’t read.” His best friend’s father shoots him a concerned glance and Jonathan quickly amends his statement. “I can’t read these charts. I can read normal stuff, just not this.”

“They’re the readings from the sensors under your suit,” Batman describes and zooms in on a certain section. “This is the result from your examination with Mr. Terrific from the Watchtower.” He changes windows to a different graph. “This is from earlier today when you were first exposed to Mortimer Gloom’s ability. And this,” He swipes further down the chart. “Is the last reading the heart monitor took before the device overheated.”

Nope, Jon still doesn’t get it. “Okay?”

The vigilante hands the young hero his tablet to examine while he illustrates his point. “Flamebird, there was never a chance to properly study your powers due to them being a secret. The single test ran before we discovered the truth showed you to be unstable. It was looking to be that way after your initial encounter with Mr. Gloom, yet I was proven wrong. All this time we were under the impression intense emotional or physical stress would set you off. From what I’ve observed today, even an induced state of pressure and anguish was unable to push you into an Empathic Solar Flare.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?” Jon inquires.

“Would you rather I call it, ‘Exploding?’”

“Nah, that other thing sounds cooler.” Jonathan agrees before handing back the tablet and asking, “What does all of that mean?”

Flamebird waits for Batman to formulate a way to convey his message in a manner for him to understand. It takes a bit longer than Jon believes it should take for one of the world’s greatest minds. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for; Than we gave you credit for. Your abilities are still profoundly dangerous, but you can overcome them. You never let your troubles impede your moral character.”

“Does this mean I can continue being a hero?” Flamebird breathes, trying to suppress his hope and utterly failing as he’s already grinning like an idiot.

Batman smiles back. “You never stopped being one.”

The preteen runs up to the hero and wildly shakes him back and forth by the front of his costume. “Oh my gosh, just say yes or no! I’m bad at reading and that includes reading between the lines!”

The adult pats Flamebird’s messy and fluffy hair, the heavy material of his glove scratching his head, and chuckles at Jon’s enthusiasm. “You still need much guidance and experience, but yes. This wasn’t a test, but if it was, then you pass; I do not believe you need a team to be a hero. Your father and I will have to re-discuss how you’re going to move forward, but you will be moving forward.”

“YES!” The child whoops and hugs the man tightly. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

“Yes, yes, you're welcome,” Batman nods and swaddles Jonathan in his cape. “Let’s get you home. Also, never get inside a stranger’s car like that ever again. I will be talking to your parents about that.”

“But it worked out this time.”

“Flamebird, no.”

“Flamebird, yes!”

Batman chauffeurs Jonathan home in the Bat-Plane and the child’s excitement doesn’t falter for the entire ride. Even as the cloaked aircraft lands in his family’s cornfield, the fiery-themed hero’s excitement is palpable. He doesn’t know if it’s the good news or the reliving cry he had, but everything just feels better. The sky is bluer, the grass is greener, and he isn’t thinking about Damian. He’s focusing on his accomplishments and thinks that he might be capable of being a hero on his own.

As Jonathan opens the back entrance to his kitchen, he sees the silhouette of the person he wanted to see the most before, but it currently confuses him. “Dami? What are you doing in my house?”

“WELCOME HOME, CHEATER!” The 13-year-old shouts as he flings his phone at Jon. “DID YOU HAVE FUN FLAUNTING YOURSELF WITHOUT ME BREATHING DOWN YOUR NECK!?”

Batman catches it while Jonathan merely wiggles his arms like they could shield him. “Damian, I don’t know what this is about, but this is not the appropriate response.”

Damian seethes, turning exciting new shades of red “Father, how dare you lecture me when you’re enabling Jonathan’s recklessness! What is he even doing out on the streets without me? Is that why you had Batson partnered with him; As your spy?”

“What Billy does in his free time is out of my control,” Batman states as he hands Jon Damian’s phone.

He scrolls through it to see fail compilations of Flamebird accidentally getting hurt, which… Okay, that’s not the most motivating thing to see, but it doesn't justify this reaction. Then he sees images people took of him and Billy in the diner and walking through the park. They’re friends, but he doesn’t see the issue. “Billy’s not my partner; He was just looking out for me.”

“You could have fooled me! I go dark for almost two weeks and you run into the arms of the next capable hero!”

Duke, whom Jonathan is only now aware of at the kitchen table, leans closer to Conner in a not-so-hushed whisper. “I thought you all said they weren’t in a relationship.”

Conner leans in and replies, “Dude, I don’t think anyone knows. We’re just waiting for them to figure it out before assuming anything.”

“Guys, seriously?” Stephanie chastises, but her eyes are glued to the scene like she’s watching a movie.

Jon whips his head to the rest of the kitchen and living room to see Damian’s entire family in his house. His father was serving a freshly baked cherry pie to the guests. Meanwhile, his mother stared at the sight with wide eyes from the front door with her laptop bag and suit on because she just got home from work. Cassandra waves at him from behind Damian and he absentmindedly waves back before he gets angry.

He has moved past being sad and heartbroken, and now all that remains is fury. All he wanted to do was to comfort and be there for his best friend, and Damian has the AUDACITY to come out like this? “Wait a second, I’ve been trying to get you to talk to me all this time, and when you finally do it’s to get mad at me?!” Jonathan indignantly screeches. “Oh my gosh, that’s so like you!”

“Well excuse me for wanting to take time to process my emotions like you always tell me to do!” Damian argues and attempts to approach, but Dick holds him back. “You always find new ways to get me to act! Do you have no shame?!”

Enraged, Jonathan shoves his hand into his cape pocket and smashes a five-dollar bill on the table with enough force for it to splinter. “And you find new ways to fucking piss me off! I can’t believe you! I was in a good mood before your stupid self had to ruin it! Were you scared about other people playing with your toys?”

“That’s not an appropriate metaphor,” Dick cringes.

Jonathan doesn’t hear him as he continues to rant. “Shove your concerns up your ass, but they’re shallow for how tightly wound it is! You’re the one always telling me to be confident in myself, but the second I do it without you, you act like I’m crazy!”

Infuriated, Damian drops a dollar to the floor and shouts, “You might well be! What the fuck were you thinking!? You could’ve gotten hurt! I thought we were in this together!”

Jonathan storms up to Damian to the point their noses would’ve touched if it wasn’t for their significant height difference. Everyone thinks he’s going to continue his tirade, but is shocked when he straight-up punches Damian in the face, sending him flying into the nearest wall. Jon marches to him, his strength allowing him to ignore the people attempting to intervene.

“I thought so too, but am I supposed to mope around while you get your shit together?!” Jon doesn’t let Damian stand as he stomps his foot on his chest, pushing him back to the ground. “News flash, Bitch: I’m still standing! You can’t hurt me! You’re not some monster who’ll break me because of your past! I never cared about that before, no one did! The only person holding you back is yourself! So much for telling me our past doesn’t define us, when you’re still there, and I’m moving on.”

The preteen leans down and glares at Damian with enough intensity to give the Bat Family a run for their money. “So I’m telling you again, just like I did before when I went to Metropolis the first time. Either catch up with me or stay on the sideline. I want to be with you, not wait for you.”

He trudges upstairs leaving both of their families stunned when Conner stupidly calls out, “That was only four swears! You have an extra dollar!”

“FUCK OFF, I’M GOING TO TAKE A SHOWER!”

The half-Kryptonian teen gives him a thumbs up and picks up the dollar Damian dropped to put the money in the swear Jar. He notices his stepmother at the doorway with her jaw agape. “Sup Lois. Welcome back.”

Jonathan’s mother takes a dollar from her pencil skirt pocket and places it in the jar before asking, “What the fuck happened today?”

Bruce remains silent for an awkward pause before answering, “Jonathan passed the test.”

“I thought we agreed it wasn’t a test,” Clark says as he still mentally reels from what transpired.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Clark. Your son is complicated and confusing.” He then moves to his youngest son’s side, jostling his shoulder to receive a reaction from his paralyzed son. Bruce wasn’t expecting Jon, the emotionally intelligent boy who wanted to help everybody, to choose violence the second he saw Damian. 

Frankly, he should have prepared for it. Jonathan’s path of logic is accurately comparable to a Magic 8 Ball. Bruce is worried that Jonathan accidentally undid years of therapy in his emotional tirade. “Damian, are you alright? Do you need me to get you something?”

Damian puts his hand over his heart, where Jonathan kicked him, breathless from the air zealously squeezed out of his lungs and something else he couldn’t place. Whatever it was, it left his knees weak, unable to stand even though he wasn’t being held down anymore. “Holy shit…”

No one speaks a word, but that doesn’t prevent Timothy from hysterically laughing so aggressively he slips out of his seat at the kitchen table.

Chapter Text

The history of the al-Ghuls is one drenched in water. Water is the nectar of life. All living beings need water to survive. The land of their people is an island protected by the ocean. At the heart of this family’s legacy is the Lazarus Pit, a pool of mystical water that can cure the body and prolong life. The al-Ghuls have created a cult preaching a world that is unified with nature, free from suffering created by modern society, and prosperous beyond belief. 

Unfortunately, the veins of their lifeblood glow green with poison that will infect the al-Ghul bloodline for as long as it exists. On their path to a better world, countless bodies lay at their feet and will continue to until the end. Water is supposed to be clear, soothing, and refreshing. The springs of the Lazarus Pit cannot be called such as those who have bathed in it all drowned in its madness.

Green is the color of life.

Green is the color of poison.

Green is the color of the al-Ghuls.

As Damian stares into the mirror, his face wet with freezing water, he sees his green eyes staring back. His body is covered in scars, yet his eyes are a scar that will never heal; a reminder of his tainted blood. An unnatural shade of emerald that shouldn’t exist on a human, but that is why the al-Ghuls call themselves demons.

The teenager turns off the faucet and sighs, bracing his hands on the marble counter as he embraces the silence of the crack of dawn. The open window blows cool air into the bathroom, yet Gotham air has never been refreshing. At least it was familiar.

A black Great Dane barks next to him as if ushering the world to continue moving. Damian smiles, petting the dog on the head before heading to the stable in the garden his father built for him to house his more outdoor-inclined companions. He does his daily tasks of feeding and caring for them before promising to spend more time with them later.

They’ve become accustomed to him being at home all day for the past week or so, but Damian cannot continue dallying. Damian has been waiting years to prove himself, yet at the first hurdle he comes across he nearly shuts down. Damian will not be left behind. He refuses to watch while someone he loves goes off on their own because he wasn’t enough. Not again.

Goliath nudges his arm as he walks away, his large yellow eyes glistening with concern. As his longest-running companion, the scarlet dragon-bat is the most attuned to Damian’s emotions. He comfortingly brushes down the creature’s pointed ear with a serene expression and continues back to the manor. He has a long day ahead of him.

The chaos of breakfast has returned to normal, and Damian feels a hint of guilt for being the reason it had to temporarily stop. Damian has never been fond of large intimate gatherings, but it does not extend to mindless crowds or his family. He doesn’t speak and envelopes himself in the comforting noise.

“Hey Duke, did things ever go anywhere with that girl, Ana?” Richard pries as he cuts into his French toast.

The teen in question nervously rubs the back of his head and fiddles with his fork. “Oh… Yeah, her. We decided to stay friends.” 

Cassandra signs with one hand as she digs into some bacon with the other. Duke watches her hand intently before admitting, “Sorry Cass, I don’t think I know those signs yet.”

The young woman takes a bite of her meal before she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and then wipes her hand on the front of her sports bra. “I thought you went on lots of dates. What happened?”

“We only went on three dates. It wasn’t that many,” The 15-year-old insists. “Look, things just didn’t work out. She wanted to only be friends, and I agreed. This was weeks ago. We don’t have to make a big deal out of it.”

“Weeks?” Tim asks, taking a sip of his coffee that Damian is pretty sure he’s not supposed to have early in the morning. Their father was adamant about Timothy cutting back to prevent stunting his growth. “Why are we only now hearing about this?”

“Cause it's none of your business!” Duke groans, dropping his utensils on his plate and stubbornly crossing his arms. “It’s normal! Can’t a guy go on dates without it being serious or having you all pressuring me to tell you everything?”

“The fact that you’re going on dates and have an ounce of privacy is astounding in this family,” Richard chuckles and poignantly side-eyes their father who has remained invested in reading the news on his tablet. “You didn’t let me date until I was sixteen and kept tabs on me all the time. Heck, you still do.”

“I would have made it eighteen if I didn’t keep catching you sneaking off with girls in the middle of the night,” Bruce stoically states to the amused giggles of most of the table. “And I gave you plenty of privacy as a teenager.”

"That's a lie and you know it!"

“Yeah, the overprotective stalking didn’t start until I lived here,” Tim announces with a playfully bitter huff. “Being the post-Jason kid in the house sucked.”

“Post-Jason?” The eldest sibling snorts.

“Am I wrong?”

The table splits off into different paths of chatter after that. Duke grins and nudges Damian into the conversation. “Hey, I guess that means we’re the lucky ones.”

Damian pauses, his omelet halfway to his mouth before he slowly puts the fork down. “What are you talking about?”

The older teen smiles knowingly much to the younger’s confusion. “You know what I mean.”

“I doubt Father would be so inclined to allow relationships like that and I am far too young to entertain the idea. You’re given leniency because you are a foster child awaiting reunification and pushing those rules onto you would be nonsensical.” Damian includes, displeased he was dragged into this asinine dialogue. “And the concept of a romantic relationship is bothersome, flawed, disgusting, and impractical. It seems like far too much investment for minimal payout.”

Everyone halts their individual conversations partway through Damian’s explanation and stares at him. He resists the urge to sigh, knowing he said something that failed to conform to his family’s ideal. Not on a fundamental level, but in a way that was disjointed rather than incorrect.

“Sooooo…” Timothy begins, drawing out his word to give him time to produce something coherent. “Is it that you never had a crush, or you have but didn’t want to consider a relationship? Maybe you haven’t found anyone you thought was cute enough yet. Or maybe not enough people punched you in the face yet-”

“Crushes are childish and stupid,” Damian shortly says. “And romantic love isn’t real.”

“Hey, let’s not prod him,” Richard insists, appearing monumentally uncomfortable with the direction of this discussion. “Little D is still young, and he’s still figuring things out. Let’s not confuse him.”

“I’m not confused,” Damian insists.

The adult visibly panics as he corrects himself. “I didn’t mean you were! I was just saying that I didn’t want you to get confused by us forcing you to think about this when you didn’t want to.”

“-TT-” The young teen clicks his tongue. “Your irrational pesterings are not going to mess with my mind when I have evidence-based reasoning on my side.”

Bruce puts his tablet down and watches his youngest son from the head of the table with a pressuring gaze that is both intimidating and reassuring. “I’m interested in hearing your evidence. Would you care to share, or talk about it privately later? If not, we can end the conversation here.”

“As long as it’s not in the living room next to the kitchen,” Richard mumbles under his breath.

Damian hasn’t an inkling of what that could be about, but he has no reason to be ashamed of his stance. If anything, he’s proud to pronounce his ideal of romance and relationships. “Certainly, Father. Romantic love isn’t real. It’s a social construct touted as the zenith of the human experience, but in actuality is a form of control. I am not against the idea of love, but romantic love is a misconception perpetuated by popular media to be something above other forms of love. Romantic love is an excuse to place unrealistic expectations on another for being the perfect partner and elevating a pathetic lonely life. There is nothing that romantic love can provide that can’t be satiated somewhere else, but people have fooled themselves into romance just for the sake of it. There is nothing special about romance other than our idea of it which makes it meaningless.”

Damian hates the pitiful stares of his family, but at least they’re trying to hide it. Honestly, how have any of these people gone undercover for longer than a minute with their abysmal poker faces? “Father, you asked for evidence. I have no better example than everyone in this family and the failed relationships left in their wake.”

Bruce, to his credit, remains stoic in the face of Damian’s explanation. “Damian, it is unfair to base your conclusion on a diminutive sample size.”

“Do you wish for me to bring up the divorce rate of the world?”

“Damian, no. Also, that’s biased if you only look at statistics where relationships do not work,” Richard points out. “And this family has had plenty of good relationships. Even if relationships don’t work how we want, it doesn’t mean they’re a waste. Plus, Barbra and I are working out so it’s unfair to say all the relationships in this family don’t.”

“And how many times have you two broken up during the span of your romantic interest in each other?” Damian inquires, to which his brother fumbles. “And how many people do you date in between that you believe will work?”

“I- well- it wasn’t always the right time and sometimes things happen--”

“Something is always happening,” Damian states before turning his ire to his father. “And I’m proof of Father’s inability to hold a relationship. Even discounting my mother, Father has a track record rivaling literal track records. The crazy cat lady he is 'in love' with is a free spirit who will never be compatible with the life he lives. This makes him emotionally unavailable to anyone he could theoretically have a happy life with, all for the idea of his romantic interest. If he let go of the notion of romance, he would be a more fulfilled single man.

"Drake is a disaster who believes he can juggle relationships with an increased workload that he doesn’t realize he’s been abandoned until it’s too late. He's not interested in fostering a relationship, so why does he bother if not the idea he has to have one?

"Do not get me started on whatever Todd is doing. He’s addicted to emotionally unavailable women because he doesn’t have to worry about the inevitable failure. It’s inevitable, predictable, expected. I haven’t brought up the fact that half the people he desires have dated Richard, but I do not have all day to unpack that.

"You all work to make romance work because you believe you have to when it’s better to quit and live a fulfilling life. Romance is meaningless and the relationships that do work out fizzle out into what ends up being a working relationship. There is a benefit to that, but it doesn't sound like the love people believe is real.”

It was quiet enough to hear a pin drop… in Africa. Cassandra continues to look at him with blatant pity, while Duke has taken to staring at his plate with such intensity he might as well be developing laser vision. Damian wouldn’t put it past him since lasers are a form of light manipulation.

“So, um--” Duke violently coughs into his fist exactly once to break the tension. “How does Jon feel about that?”

Damian doesn’t see a direct correlation between his views on romantic relationships and Jonathan, but there is a connection. As his best friend, it would make sense that some would expect his sentiments to have been developed alongside Jonathan’s. While Damian could explain it himself, he’s quite frankly, tired of speaking about it.

Damian nonchalantly returns to his meal as he holds out his phone that was already in the middle of calling the younger boy. Jonathan picks up after three rings and the banter of the Kent household bursts through the dining room.

“Conner, give it back!” Jonathan whines at the sounds of running footsteps on wood and the kitchen clatter echo.

“Nuh-Uh! You gotta catch me!” The teenage half-Kryptonian teases. “We’re in the middle of flying lessons! If you don’t want to hit your head on another bridge, you gotta focus!”

“Urgh! You’re such a butthead!”

“Hey! No powers or fighting in the house!” Lois scolds in the background. “My dad is visiting and I better not find anything broken!”

“Mom, make Conner give me back my phone!”

“Hellooooooooooo~? ” The teen coos through the receiver. “Who is it? Wait, I know who! Hiya Damian! How are you?”

“Conner, I’m going to kill you!” The sound of someone hitting a wall made everyone in the Wayne household wince.

“I’m doing great, thanks for asking!” Conner conveys even though Damian has yet to say a word to him. “What was that? You want to express your undying love- Oof! Argh!” A loud thump, hurried footsteps, and the slamming of a door follow the pained squall. “LOIS, JON PUNCHED ME IN THE NUTS!”

“JONATHAN SAMUEL KENT!”

“HE DESERVES IT!” Labored breath fills the pause before Jonathan finally answers him. “H-hey Dami! Ignore everything you just heard; Conner is being stupid.”

“Noted. You’re on speaker,” Damian warns as he finishes his plate and takes a sip of water to wash it down. “Moving on, what are your feelings about my stance on romance?”

“Huh? Oh,” Jonathan muses casually. “You mean how you think it’s not real? I think it’s kinda sad you never had anyone in your family show you what a good relationship looks like, but I get it. It’s different, and I don’t agree with it because true love is real and you’ll find it one day. That doesn’t mean it’s going to be exactly what you think everyone else thinks it’s going to look like. Plus it's unfair you apply that to everyone. Also, who am I on speaker for? Is it Maps? Who’s with you right now? Did I use the word ‘think’ too much?”

“Yes, but it will suffice. See you at noon, Beloved.”

“Okay! Bye-bye Dami!” Jonathan sends off but not before Clark can be heard shouting from downstairs.

“Jonathan, did you hit your brother in the--!”

Damian puts his phone away and places his empty cup on his plate for Pennyworth to easily pick up. “There you have it. I shall now excuse myself and prepare for my patrol under the watch of Superman today.”

He leaves before anyone can protest, ignorant of the worry his family breaks into in his absence. The 13-year-old is resolute in his ideals as it was difficult enough to grasp unconditional familial and platonic love. Romantic relationships by comparison seem like an overcompensation for something that should already be enough.

Meanwhile, after a lecture to both of the Kent children about boundaries and the seriousness of violence, Clark sits the family down for another important discussion over breakfast. “I have to say, I’m very disappointed with the amount of foul language this family has been using, which as of late has escalated. It hasn’t been a full year since we last emptied it.”

“In my defense, I’m usually here only on weekends. It looks like I swear more because I’m here more often now,” Conner justifies, attempting to put his feet on the table before they are lightly swatted down.

“Conner, that means little when you’re taking up most of the jar,” Clark exhales, rubbing his eyes under his glasses as he places the full swear jar on the table next to him.

“Oops.”

“And Jonno, don’t think we haven’t noticed you’ve taken to this language more. We don’t want this becoming a habit.”

“I only do it when I’m angry.” Jonathan pouts, puffing his cheeks.

“We don’t want you doing it at all,” Lois speaks.

“You’re part of this too, Honey,” Clark counters.

“What!?” The reporter shouts indignantly, only for her husband to take out a memorandum recording the amount of money each member of the family had to put in. Clark's name prominently had zero amount of money in the jar.

“As agreed upon, the person who swears the least in this house gets all the money in the jar once it’s full.” The man announces, pushing the paper forward for everyone to see. “And while that would usually be me, I’ve gotten it every year since we started this rule. I’m starting to feel disheartened by it.”

“It’s still not fair you got it! I wasn’t even part of the swear jar until a year ago when I yelled fuck after I fell down the stairs!” Jonathan protests before he recognizes his error and looks in his pockets for dollars in the jar. “Dang it!”

“This year, I will relinquish my claim to the swear jar so you can all see the consequences for bad behavior and be rewarded for good behavior.” He slides the money towards Jonathan who looks at the container with bewilderment, hand still in his pocket. “Jonathan, here you go.”

“Really!? But I’ve sworn so much recently.”

“I want you to stop that.” Clark firmly states, but gently pats his son on the head. “And even so, you only have fifteen dollars in the jar. I hope to have some real competition next time because I’m only letting you win once.”

Conner stands up to argue the decision. “That’s so unfair! You never let me win!”

“Conner, I couldn’t let you win even if I tried. You put three hundred dollars in here in advance and still had to pay extra.” The father reveals with fondness and disappointment. “Also, we are not allowed to pay in advance anymore.”

Jonathan stares at the money suddenly in his possession and wonders if this means he doesn’t have to continue mowing his neighbor’s lawn. Then he remembers he promised to do it, and that idea is quickly thrown out the window. “Wow! What should I do with it?”

Lois cuts into her pancakes and thinks about it for a moment. “That is a lot of money, Jon. I don’t think I feel comfortable with you keeping that in your room. Although, this is a good chance to finally have you open a savings account with our credit union.”

“I think that’s a great idea, Lois!” Clark agrees, grabbing the maple syrup bottle from Conner to prevent him from drenching his meal in it. “Jonno, it would be a much safer place to keep your birthday money than your piggy bank.”

“Does this mean I can have a debit card?” Jonathan asks.

“Mm… I don’t know about that yet, but you will have a bank card to take out the money if you need it. I think a debit card is still a future decision. We can talk more about it later, but for now, how about you hide it in your room? We can visit the credit union before school starts the week after next. We can even take you to the store to purchase new school supplies we don’t already have.”

“Yeah, that sounds great…” Jonathan pauses mid-sentence as he registers what his dad said. “Wait… The week after next?”

“Yay! It’s so hype!” Conner enthusiastically exclaims with a huge grin. “I finally get to go to a real high school! Thanks for convincing Dad to let me go, Pops!”

“You’re welcome, Conner,” Clark smiles. “Since you’re going to be primarily living here for a while, I thought it’d be a good experience for you. And remember-”

“Yeah, I know. Don’t let anyone know I’m Superboy,” The teenager fills in and turns to his younger brother. “At least something good came out of Dad going into politics, right Jon? Jon? Yo, Jon!”

“W-what!?” Jonathan shouts, jumping from his seat and hugging the jar of money to his chest like a teddy bear.

His brother stares at him with a puzzled expression. “Woah, calm down. You know I’m scheduled this year. You went with me to register earlier this month.”

“Not that!” Jonathan clarifies in a panic. “I only have two weeks before summer is over! I barely did anything cool as a superhero!”

“You’ve done plenty good as Flamebird,” Lois reassures him, trying to guide him down in his chair. “You’ve gained quite a little following online, you helped a lot of people, and you even got into your first superhero scuffle with the Teen Titans.”

“And you got a God put inside you,” Conner adds. “That’s pretty rad!”

“Let’s not put those last items on the list of accomplishments,” Clark urges.

“But- But Dami and I didn’t do any of the cool stuff! We don’t have a secret base or an arch nemesis, and we don’t even have the credit for defeating any of the villains we fought!”

“While being acknowledged feels rewarding, the real reward is helping other people.”

“Dad, there’s no time for that! I have to call Dami and make a plan! Or have him make a plan! Or do something!” The 11-year-old dramatically wails as he puts his plate away and sprints upstairs.

“Jonathan, you can do that later! Your granddad is coming over any minute!” Lois reminds him.

“I’ll only take a little bit!” Jon replies as he barricades himself in his room.

Half an hour later, at ten o’clock sharp, a strong and stiff knock on the door alerts them to the arrival of Lois’ father. Conner opens the door to greet the man, but the words die in his mouth as a fearsome glare is directed at him. Piercing indigo eyes render the half-Kryptonian clone speechless, which is monumental coming from a teenage superhero.

“I- Uh um erm…” Conner bumbles when his mouth works but his mind is still catching up.

The man was shorter than Clark, yet towered over Conner. His pepper hair was neatly cut high and tight, he wore a casual raisin-colored polo pressed with enough refinement to feel like a three-piece suit, and in his hands was a bouquet of dahlias the shade of wine. Oddly enough, the flowers didn’t appear real as they shone like plastic.

Lois squeezes herself between the two, shielding Conner behind her, and takes the flowers with a stiff, “Hi Dad, it’s nice to see you again! It’s been so long.”

“I saw you at Jonathan’s birthday.” The man grunts and steps inside, forcing the two back as they make room for the intimidating figure.

“Well, it feels like forever,” Lois excuses, guiding Conner further behind her. “You remember Conner, right?”

“Yes,” General Lane curtly answers, holding out his hand for the teen to shake. “It is nice to meet you outside of group events.”

“Uh… Likewise, Sir,” Conner returns the gesture only to have his hand immediately crushed. “OW, what the fuuuu- Fudge! I mean fudge!”

The elderly man talks over Conner’s cries, as though he doesn’t register them. “I’ve been having some interesting exchanges with your father on his latest projects. Let’s hope they pan out better than his past ones.”

Before anyone can speak to him about his blatant disregard for Conner’s existence, Jonathan barrels down the stairs, leaping over the last three steps to jump into his granddad’s arms. “Granddad! I’m so happy to see you!”

“There he is!” In an instant, his grimace becomes a loving beam as he holds Jon under his armpits and spins him around. “That’s my boy! How ya doing, Jonno?”

“Hahahahahaha! Granddad, put me down! I’m not a little kid anymore!”

“Not on your life! Who knows how much longer I’ll be able to lift you like this,” He emphasizes his point by tossing the preteen up in his hands several times. “Let’s see what gives in first: You getting bigger, or me getting older.”

Clark walks to the living room and holds his hand out to be crushed by the veteran. “Hello Samuel, it’s nice to see you again.”

“Clark,” The man voices with undisguised distaste, but he is polite and welcomes the gesture. He welcomes it so much Jonathan can see the muscles in his arms strain as the two men lock hands.

It doesn’t matter as Jonathan’s father's kind smile remains unaffected. “Thanks for dropping by at the last minute. You always have a way of keeping my family on our toes. Haha!” He laughs but there is no comedy in the situation, not unless the archaic definition is counted. “We love having you here, Samuel, but Jon and I won’t be around for long. Not until dinner at least.”

“That’s the first I’ve heard of this,” The man distastefully states, readjusting the one-arm hold he has on his grandson.

“Well, there wasn’t enough time to tell you when you hung up before we could say anything.”

“Tell me what these plans are then,” Samuel insists.

Jonathan eagerly spills everything. “Granddad, Dami, and I are going to do superhero stuff in Monument Point!”

“Monument Point, huh?” He muses and Clark begins to visibly distress. “I live nearby at the capitol. I remember when it went by the name Civic City.”

There’s a mounting aura of dread around Clark as he quickly intervenes. “Yep! I’m going to watch Jonathan and his friend do their superhero work. I’d love to invite you, but we know how you feel about the whole superhero topic.”

“Exactly,” Lois agrees, placing the plastic flowers on the coffee table. “Dad, how about you spend time with Jon for now, and when he leaves we can talk about whatever brought you over today. I promise he’ll be back for dinner.”

“Hold on now, Lois,” The general states, placing Jonathan on the ground and looking at his daughter seriously. “It’s true that I wanted to talk to you about something, but we can talk about that over dinner. I’ve been thinking about taking Jonathan there for a while. There are many historic landmarks where Jonathan can learn about real heroes like our brave veterans and the Justice Society.”

“We can arrange that at a later date. The boys are trying to keep their relationship with the Superman and Batman under wraps-”

“As they should. I’d be disappointed if my grandson was using his father to get out of the tough work of establishing himself as the hard worker he is.” He pats Jon proudly on the back with enough force to knock the air out of his lungs. “Anyone named after me can stand on his own two feet.”

“Um, I’m right here,” Conner calls out, being someone who used both of his fathers’ influences to get where he is. “And I still work hard to save the world.”

“He’s also named after my dad,” Clark points out. “Plus, you can’t look after Jon. You’d have to stay hidden to protect our identities and there are some guidelines you have to follow.”

Indigo eyes roll at the absurdity. “I was in the Special Forces. I can stay hidden better than most of the people you got protecting Jon.”

“That’s great but there have been new developments with Jonathan’s powers and--”

Jonathan raises his hand to interject his explanation into the mix. “Granddad, I set things on fire, and if something really super extra bad happens to me I explode.”

“How big of an explosion are we talking about? Fat Man? Minuteman III?”

“Samuel, I don’t think-” Clark tries to block the line of conversation, but his youngest animatedly answers his grandfather, his feet hopping side to side as he’s unable to physically contain his excitement.

“More like a Licorne but that was years ago. It could get to the size of a Castle Bravo or even bigger now.”

“Jonathan, why do you know what those are?”

Samuel nods at his grandson with pride. “Impressive but nothing I can’t deal with. You’re dismissed, Clark. I’ll take over from here.”

“Dad, why do you always have to do this!” Lois yells, forcing herself between her husband and father.

The statement causes all the adults to erupt in a fit of arguing. Conner sneakily whisks his brother upstairs and into his room, locking the door. The teen slouches into his blue gaming chair as he exhales with relief. Jon sits on the couch under Conner’s loft bed behind him as he watches his brother take off his azure contact to reveal his naturally silver eyes.

“Did I say something wrong?” Jonathan asks as he hears the not-quite-yelling going on downstairs.

“Nah, grown-ups are just like that,” Conner informs him, working on his second contact. “Makes me almost grateful I’ll never become one.”