Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hats, bonnets, and wind tousled hair swept under Danny as he once again found himself flying to escape. Escape the ones who raised him, then turned his back on him when they found out he wasn’t really theirs.

A fae, they said.

A changeling, they cried.

A monster, they screamed.

And now they had chased him from township to castletown to city. Sometimes it took a while, and Danny could relax, could look and feel human for a bit, but they’ve been chasing him for months and he was getting tired. Tired emotionally and physically and magically, which wasn’t even something he was aware of being able to be tired about.

A crossbow bolt nearly clipped his wing. They were getting better at aiming when he was glamoured, fuck.

How were they even allowed past the gates with those? They were clearly modified to be more dangerous, and in a larger city like this one they could easily be mistaken for the lousiest black market dealers ever. Another bolt thudding into the rough brick in front of him had him thinking maybe it didn’t matter, he could think about it more when he had time to breathe.

The market he’d found himself in was evidently a bad place to run to. Too many vulnerable humans to cause chaos and confusion via enraged fae hunters. Danny needed to lead them away, so he flew for one of the larger streets leading north, outraged cries on his heels.

Danny was so busy trying to find a place to hide and dodging crossbow bolts he didn’t notice the poorer shops turning into higher end tailors and crafters workshops. He didn’t notice when the uneven cobblestone he was flying over turned into smooth pavers. He did notice the small group of fancily dressed people crowding in front of a building, and that one had long enough hair to possibly hide his currently tiny form.

He dodged right from another volley of crossbow bolts, fainting for an alley before he barrel rolled and dove for the man’s hair. It wasn’t a soft landing for him by any means, and the man underneath him was sure to have felt like something was just thrown at him, but that didn’t matter right now.

“Put your damn hat back on!” He hissed out to the raven hair below him. The man jolted at the sudden voice but no less complied, cloaking Danny in the darkness of the plush fabric of the hat.

The head turned as the thunderous sounds of the fae hunters grew louder. No doubt his parent’s were a sight; heavily armored in a major city and brandishing outlandish looking weapons that never should have made it past the gates.

“Where did that fantastical fiend fly off to‽” He could hear his father shout through the hat, and Danny flinched away at the sound. A frustrated growl followed the cry, and Danny tightened his grip on the hair below him, preparing to flee if necessary.

“What’s this all about?” A deep voice startlingly close to his hiding place called out to the commotion his parents were no doubt making while trying to look for him. Danny felt the form underneath him lurch forward, and he had to tighten his grip further to avoid falling off.

“Don’t you dare get closer to them!” He hissed to the man in a panic. The odd moving sensation stopped, though the sounds of footsteps treading forward did not.

“And why shouldn’t I?” The man asked in a low voice, “They have no reason to think I’m hiding you.”

“They have runes to detect fae magic! If you get close they'll know where I am!" The man didn't reply for a moment, and Danny almost thought something terrible had happened where he couldn't see. But the deeper voices were still talking, and his parents were answering their questions to the best of their ability.

"You're certain?" The man asked finally, to which Danny let out a scoff. "They've been using it to follow me for months now. I am intimately aware of their runic magics." 'Not to mention I helped create them.'

The man below him gave a soft hum. He did not move again, to Danny's relief. Danny still didn't relax, though. Not with his hunter parents so near and willing to shoot whatever gets in between them and him. His wings were sore, but already the little rest he was getting was doing wonders for them. He could probably outfly them to the next township now, that would get him a few days of recoup before their runes could detect him again.

"You don't understand my lord, this Unseelie changeling is dangerous! Already it has taken our child, likely ate him before stealing his form and tricking us into thinking it was family.” The vitriol his mother spewed at the lord in front of her cut sharper than any blade Danny could make, and the lord let her talk! Like her knowledge on fae and their active maliciousness was more important than the manners she had drilled into him from a young age.

"Is what she said true?" The man under him asked, and Danny felt his hackles raise. This man didn't even know his name, and yet he was believing the lies his parents were spewing about him.

It was bad enough when people thought he was human.

"Not the part where I ate their son, at least. I have no idea where their actual child is, but for his sake I hope he never tries to find his birth parents. He's better off wherever fae hide their taken children." His words peeter off into a mumble at the thought that he wasn't actually their son, that he wasn't actually human. Even after these months of running that particular wound was still raw.

Another screech from his mother, followed by a stern reply from that deeper voice called an end to the conversation. The body underneath Danny lurched again, spinning to face the other direction and starting forward. Danny didn't have the chance to ask where they were headed before he had to clench his jaw shut to prevent himself from biting off his own tongue. His chin bounced on the head beneath him as it bounced once, twice, and then after a moment it fell.

"Owww..." Danny hissed, rubbing his now aching jaw and pulling himself up from the spread-eagle position he’d initially landed in. The man (he should really learn ‘the Man's name) flinched at the sound, but stayed quiet as he swayed. A few grunts, the rusting of fabric, two swift knocks on hard wood and the body under him lurched forward again, causing Danny to clutch at the hair around his knees.

Remind him never to ride atop someone's head again in the future.

Light floods his vision as the hat covering him begins to rise. In a panic, Danny grabs hold of the fabric and lifts off with it. The dark locks pull away, leaving the opening of the hat to hover over open air, and for a fearful second, he thinks he might fall. Panicking, Danny kicks out, finding purchase in the plush fabric and immediately digging his toes in for stability.

The scenery below him shifts and Danny feels that newly familiar sinking feeling as he's lowered from over the man's head to an outstretched hand, palm facing up. They stayed in that position for a moment, the man probably expecting Danny to step/fall out of his hiding place, but Danny wasn't so quick to trust.

Danny had learned quite well the last few months not to trust someone so quickly, especially if he met them in his fae form. The presence of fae in this kingdom is heavily controlled by the king. Danny's parents clearly mentioned 'Lord' in their ravings, which meant the wood walls he could see in his periphery are the walls of a carriage, a noble's carriage.

He was fucked, wasn't he?

Danny didn't have much more time to think about his predicament before his whole world shakes. The chaotic bouncing and swinging causes Danny to hit the walls of his hiding spot and himself, and he quickly loses his grip due to dizziness.

Once his hands lose traction his feet are quick to follow, leaving him tumbling out of the hat and onto the palm below.

When Tim felt something collide with his head just as they were about to enter Jason's second favourite weaponsmith so they could commission him a dagger, he thought it might have had something to do with the heavily armored loons running up the street towards him and his family.

He was half right.

The figure that flopped out of his too formal outing cap groaned as it (he?) propped itself up on its elbows; an odd sensation for the both of them, Tim was sure. Luminous green eyes blearily blinked up at him as one of the creature's hands came up to cradle its temple.

It was tiny.

The fae (if the half-mad ravings of those so-called 'fairy researchers' were to be believed) fit snugly in the palm of his hand, with its ankles extending just past his wrist as its head bumped against the tip of his middle finger. Its head was covered in a tuft of hair so white Tim could have almost swore it was made of fresh snow, and the wings- his memories of a clear night sky almost paled in comparison.

The fae’s sharp face turned as it stood cautiously, on guard now that it’s been torn from its hiding spot. No doubt Bruce and Jason were getting just as good a look at the tiny creature as it surveyed the exits, not caring to look at the other passengers more then a glance before moving on.

Jason was the one to break the silence. “So this tiny thing is the one that pulled you away from finally getting you some good protection, Tim?” He scoffed, and Tim rolled his eyes as his brother played up looking at the being standing in his hand. “Shoulda just stayed our course instead of getting caught up on those crazies.”

The fae tensed, though Tim couldn’t say why. It seemed to take a second to turn its head to Jason, then to Bruce, then finally bodily turning to face him with an almost ashen complexion. Tim thought he heard it mutter out a small “ah, I’m dead,” as it fell back to its knees with the hand that was cradling its temple now covering its eyes. The three human’s shared a concerned look over the panicking fae, assuring Tim the others had heard its utterance too.

“And why do you think you’re going to die?” Bruce asked, to which the fae’s head jerked and twisted to meet his gaze with a startled one of its own.

“Because you’re nobles?” the creature stated as though it wasn’t obvious. “You basically have to kill me. Or keep me as a pet or something. I’m no stranger to what nobles to with their pets, but fresh caught fae don’t have a choice what happens to them in this kingdom.”

Bruce’s lip curled in disgust at the mention of the more common noble practices, and Tim felt himself cringe; Jason mirroring him.

“Not to mention you are Lord Bruce Wayne?” The creature continued. “You’re the King’s tactician, one of the most prominent lords in the kingdom and the most affluent Duke of the four? You probably already have a lot of pets, and I’m just… just this little thing. It would be better for you to just kill me off then try to keep me.” it turns back around, the expression on its face one of resigned acceptance. “Shoulda just tossed me back to my parents, not dragged this out…” it grumbled quietly.

“We’re not gonna kill you,” Jason sneered, sounding more then a little offended for them all. The fae’s expression didn’t clear at the statement.

“So pet it is then…” The fae tucked its knees under its chin, wrapping his arms and then its wings around it for comfort.

“You aren’t going to be our pet, either,” Tim tried to assure it gently. The fae just looked up at him, hopelessly confused.

“If you aren’t doing either… what's going to happen to me?” It asks, sounding almost fragile. Tim's heart went out to it, not knowing what was going to happen, having no control in something involving its continued existence.

Tim shared a look with the other two members of his family. They all knew what was likely for them to happen; after the fae in Tim’s hands was rested enough it would be given the chance to travel wherever it needed or wanted to go. But now…

“For now,” Tim told the fae, “you’ll come back with us to our estate, rest until you feel better, and we can decide what you want to do from there.” Those luminous green orbs drifted up to look at him, and Tim gave it his best smile. It stared through him, analyzing his expression and his words as though picking apart his very soul. He wondered briefly if that was a power a fae could have; looking at someone’s soul to judge their worth. He supposed it must, if not with this fae, then with another, as fae’s rarely had the same abilities.

“Do you swear to that?” The being in his palm finally asked, and he could see Bruce and Jason tense. Swearing to a magical being is a heavy thing. If you were to break your oath, well Tim’s never bothered to look into the specifics, but binding magic can be pretty ruthless when it wants to be.

He needed to be careful here.

“I swear that those in the Wayne estate will not bring harm to you intentionally, nor will they try to put you in those situations. I also swear that when you feel recovered enough that you will be able to choose what you wish to do with yourself from that point forward.”

“You swear on your name?”

“I do. I swear on the name Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne.” WIth those words uttered Tim could feel the binding magic take effect, and the creature in his hands practically melted in relief. He knew his family was staring at him with no small amount of incredulity, but it was worth swearing on his name to see the small, almost hopeful smile the being gave him.

The fae unwrapped itself, standing slowly. It raised one hand towards Tim, palm to the side as if to shake. “My name is Danny.” His smile turned genuine.

“I’m Tim,” and Tim took the tiny hand in his own.

Chapter Text

A dark figure approaches the front gates to the Wayne manor. It's not quite yet dawn, but with the early hour no one in the manor will be up and about yet.

Now would be the perfect time.

The figure crept over to the small metal protrusion along the brick, being wary of any hidden cameras or motion activated lights. They pulled out a small white rectangle from the folds of their clothes, slowly sliding it into the slot for mail. As the letter hit the bottom of the box the figure smiled, and disappeared with nary a whisper to be heard.

Mornings in the Wayne manor were always something of a chaotic mess; you never know who’s stayed over from the previous night's patrol. Sometimes it could be just the manor’s residence at the breakfast table, and other times (more often the morning after some major crisis) the table could be fully seated with half asleep vigilantes.

Today was a little more crowded than usual, with Drake almost passed out over his mug of black coffee, Brown leaning almost all of her weight on Cain’s shoulder, and Thomas reviewing something on his tablet, likely for his upcoming classes.

Damian was just about as enthused as the rest of his family that Saturday morning. Patrol ran long the night before when a few of the Riddler's goons decided a robbery on top of their joyride was a good idea. Most of the table had just decided to turn into their rooms upstairs after getting back to the cave, not wanting to bother with the commute home.

The plate of eggs, fruit and yogurt were growing closer with every blink as Damian started to nod off, until Pennyworth strode in carrying a stack of papers. Almost everyone jolted at the entrance, despite Pennyworth being as silent as ever as he walked over to the head of the table to deposit the majority of the stack in front of Father. Father immediately sifted out the newspaper to start reading, taking sips of his coffee as he perused the headlines.

Unexpectedly, Pennyworth did not move to the door to work on other chores around the house, but turned to Damian instead, holding out a neat white envelope for him to take. Confused, he accepted the letter, holding it out as he watched Pennyworth nod once and walk off.

“What is it, Dami? Some of your hate mail get through?” Brown quipped jokingly from her place still draped over Cain’s shoulder, though Danian could see genuine curiosity in her gaze. Damian ignored the comment, though Thomas couldn’t.

“You know Alfred wouldn’t let hate mail get anywhere near this house,” he retorted with a snort as he took another bite of his toast. “Maybe it’s a love letter?”

Brown ‘ooh’ed mockingly as Damian inspected the letter further. It was plain, with nothing on it other than the address printed in a neat script that tingled a memory in the back of his head. No return address was listed, nor the name of the sender… or a postage stamp. Damian frowned. The letter has the delivery address, but no stamp. Pennyworth would not have missed this inaccuracy, meaning he’s already checked the letter over for anything dangerous.

The tingle in the recesses of Damians memory grew into an itch as he tore the envelope open, tossing aside the paper and returning the knife he used back into its hidden sheath, ignoring the disappointed glare.

Doodles of constellations covered the back of the printer paper, done in faint blue ink but no less recognized by the young assassin.

Damian’s breath hitched as he unfolded the letter to see an achingly familiar cypher. Even after this long he could still translate the unique code easily.

Dear Nova, it started.

I'm happy to know this letter finds you well. I was worried after I left the League that you would get swept away by their overzealous teachings, but seeing you with your father and his family has more than put my mind at ease.

Damian couldn't help but tense, the one sending these letters was watching him? They knew he'd left the League and had acclimated to his fraternal family? He forced himself to relax and read on.

I'm sorry I didn't write to you sooner, but from where I'm based currently it was a little hard to make sure you didn't have any lasting ties or peeping eyes. The last thing I need is for them to find me after all this time.

That made sense, deserters -if Damian was rightly assuming his… old friend was- are hunted down without mercy if they actually managed to get away from the League. That the sender had hidden for over six years already was a major feat.

While I am unsurprised that you've joined in your families nightly activities -they knew of the bats true identities? Concerning, but for another time- I do hope you're staying safe out there. I know intimately the dangers of what your life might face -another worrying comment to save for later- and can only hope not to find you among the origins of the pits.

Here Damian frowned. Not even Grandfather knew of how the Lazarus pits came to be, or where they might have originated from. The sender knew. And they hoped he wouldn't find him where it originated, meaning the pits were more tied with the cycle of death than any of them might have realized. Damian kept reading.

I'll be sure to watch out for you where I can, in my own way. In the meantime, expect more letters now that I know they won't be easily deciphered.

May you shine ever brighter.

Your Binary.

Damian sighed at the last line. 'His Binary' was something the letters Damian had stored away always ended with, and even after finding out what that means he was still confused by what it meant here. Binary meant 'of two' but Damian never had a twin. Mara would sooner slit his throat than write something so full of care for him, and other than his Mother, Grandfather, Todd and his teachers there was no one close enough to him in the League to have this sort of intimacy toward him.

Binary was truly a mystery to him even now.

Damian looked up, only now noticing that the breakfast table had gone quiet. He found his family blatantly staring at him.

"What?" Damian snapped.

"You… you looked so soft as you read that," Drake uttered out, brows drawing together in a look of utter confusion that made Damian scoff.

"Father, it seems Drake needs to get his eyes checked, his deplorable addiction must be interfering with his vision." The almost betrayed look Drake gave him as he cradled the half-full mug to his chest had Damian smirking in satisfaction.

Unfortunately, the distraction of a distressed Drake allowed Brown to sneak up on him, reaching out from behind him and snatching the letter out of his grasp. Immediately Damian was up, a blade in each hand as he struck out at the other, who dodged and danced out of his reach in turn.

"Give that back!" He snarled. Brown had the audacity to giggle as she stepped back further, eyes dancing across the lines of the cypher in unbridled curiosity. Her face twisted into an expression that Richard would label as 'bummed', handing it back to him after a few seconds more. He snatched it back readily.

"What'd it say?" Drake asked with more alertness as Brown went back to her seat and Damian, reluctantly, copied her.

"Dunno," she muttered with a pout. "The letter is coded in something like League cypher."

"But we can all read League cypher?"

"I said like League cypher," she huffed, crossing her arms. "It said something, but baby brat wouldn't look like that over another letter from his mother."

At this Father finally took interest. "Your mother sent you a letter Damian?"

Damian didn’t glance at the letter in his hands, though it was a near thing. Of course Brown would see the regular League cypher overlaid on top of the cypher only his Binary used and thought it would be from his mother, they always did. It was how he learned there was a cypher in the first place. His mother was never the sender, didn’t know a thing about them and he intended to keep it that way. Still, Father was looking at him in that way that said he needed to know.

“Yes, she did. It’s nothing of importance, it just talks of recent events of the League, most likely an attempt to get me to reminisce and become homesick so that I may wish to return. The tactic was ineffective.” Father didn’t look completely convinced at his answer, but it seemed to be enough for him as he turned his head back to the paper in his hands.

The table returned to its previous state of half asleep vigilantes, though with the arrival of the letter Damian was wide awake.

It said there would be more.

The thought almost makes Damian want to smile. His Binary was the one thing that kept Damian somewhat sane when he was in the League. They would always show up on his bed after a bad training session or rough mission, when he felt at his lowest. The words confused him at first, when he didn't realise it was his mother writing and instead someone else. Someone that knew of life beyond Nanda Parabat's walls.

He was unashamed to say that he missed the comfort he got after his binary deserted the League. Though he would never say it out loud.

Damian finished his breakfast quickly, thoughts never straying from the letter at his side and the ones in his room. One of the few things he smuggled out when he left. He excused himself from the table, uncaring from the still curious stares he was receiving as he fled to his room.

Up the stairs he went, almost unthinking in his path. He disabled his traps to his door on reflex, uncaring to re-engage them as he strode to the corner of his bed; to a small cutout in the leg just below the headboard. If you didn’t know where to look one would never be able to spot the seam, but as it was Damian crouched next to it, finding the little latch with practice ease. Inside were the letters; a stack of twenty or so tightly tied in plain twine, alongside a few other small trinkets he couldn’t seem to let go of.

A fair few of the envelopes holding the collection were starting to rip at the folds, moved and rubbed against too many times. The letters they held were much the same, and as Damian opened the one most worn he couldn't help but remember the loss he felt when he first read it.

Dear Nova

I know this is sudden, and you probably weren't expecting another letter for a while now that your training is going better, but I feel like I would be betraying you if I didn't tell you.

I'm leaving the League.

And before you start tearing up, no, it's not your fault, nor anything you think you might have done to me. I have never truly believed in the heads teachings, and watching you grow up as you have has only solidified that thought.

You deserve so much more little supernova. More than the League could ever have you believe. As I am, in my position, I could never be the one to help you see that. To help you see just how wrong Grandfather is.

Talia has given me a new mission, and I can see my way out. It's going to be hard, and you may never see another letter from me, but even if I'm dead I'll find you.

Stay strong

Your Binary

Even now the coded words tore at him, as the only good part of his life in Nanda Parbat left him. Now, after leaving his Grandfather's grasp himself, he saw what Binary did, and did not fault them for leaving. But as a child of only seven, not knowing truly if the reason the only comforting thing in his life was stopping was because of him was crushing.

But they were back. His Binary and their grounding letters were being sent again!

Reverently Damian placed the going away letter, taking out and placing his newest letter next to it. He needed to make sure. There would always be the paranoia instilled by family past and present that something good happening was usually too good to be true. That the letter he got at breakfast could be fake raked through him like a hot iron, but even upon closer inspection the letters scrawl matched. Sure, they weren’t a %100 match, but he wasn’t expecting a %100, it had been five years after all.

But the curve of the ‘n’s and ‘h’s were the same as back then, and while the ‘s’s have gotten more slanted, you could tell it was due to enough time writing to put things down rather than to look nice. The spacing of the words were odd too, like the writer was more used to fitting as much information on the page and was unused to pacing themselves. The tittle on the eye went from a point to a line, the cross in the ‘t’s were slanted, the apostrophes and commas were nothing more than curved lines, but it all only showed the evolution of the sender of the letters.

And now, maybe he could finally meet his Binary. If he could figure out how they were sending the letters he could trace them back to the source! Father would no doubt try to stop him once he found out the truth behind the sender, but Damian didn’t care. He’d been waiting long enough to find out the true identity of his Binary, ever since his first letter when he was five.

Sitting back on his heels, Damian collected himself. It was too soon to get excited like this, when he had only just found out that his Binary was still alive. There Was much planning to be done, things to prepare for and preventatives to strategize on.

Yes. Damian was going to have an interesting next few days.

Chapter Text

It was a beautiful night outside the banquet hall Bruce rented for tonight's seasonal charity gala, and oh, how Dick wanted to be outside to enjoy it. He could picture it, running across the rooftops on patrol with his family, wearing a suit he felt much more comfortable in and hearing laughs that sounded more like actual laughs than someone trying to keep themselves from choking in the entrees.

The group circling him laughed again at a comment one of them made while he wasn't listening, and Dick sighed into his champagne flute for the seventh time that hour as he nodded along with their gossip.

Surely Bruce must realize that this a special type of torture for his kids. Most of them probably had undiagnosed ADHD, Dick was sure. Putting them in a stuffy suit and telling them not to move and socialize all night would only torture them.

Though, thinking about it, isn't this what Bruce had to put up with as a child too? Dick his hid grimace behind a smile at the thought, chuckling as Mrs. Needly recounted how her son's unworthy girlfriend made a fool of herself at family dinner.

Maybe that's why Bruce was such a hardass, he was told to sit still one too many times.

“Oh my,” Mrs. Hatterson gasped from his right as she locked onto two approaching figures through the crowd. “Well if it isn't Vlad Masters and his new heir.”

“Poor boy,” Mrs. McNelly tutted from his other side, “did you hear about this last family? Didn't want the poor boy so they abandoned him to his godfather.”

“Really?” Mrs. Hatterson asked, “I heard they all died and that Masters was the boy's uncle.”

“I heard he was the one that left this family for Masters, the boy was being abused and couldn't take it anymore.” Mr. Chance chimed in through sips of his own champagne flute.

Whatever it was, the teen certainly looked on the thinner side. His suit was tailored well enough to make his skinniness into something more elegantly slender, but that didn't make his hands and wrists any less bony, his skin any less pale. he didn't look particularly happy to be here either, especially not with the hand Masters seemed to keep on him, almost like a leash on a dog, but other than the slight curl of disgust in his lips that he aimed at his godfather/uncle he seemed to converse well with the other members of Gotham's elite collected tonight.

“Why hello there Agnes, lovely to see you here this evening!” Mr. Masters said as he approached the group, kissing Mrs. Needly's hand as he seamlessly joined their little group. “And Harold, it's been so long, we really should catch up.”

Mr. Masters joining their circle gave the socialites someone else to focus on, thankfully giving Dick the break he needed to relax his facial muscles from the smile he'd glued on at the beginning of the night. He slumped forward slightly, only stiffening up again when he realized a hand was reaching out to him. Dick's eyes naturally followed the bony hand up the expensive suit sleeve to find electric blue eyes staring back at him from behind a dark fringe.

“Hi, Danny Cain.” Damn, Bruce should never see this kid, he'd fight Masters on the spot for adoption rights.

“Dick Grayson,” he smiled instead, gripping the teens hand and finding a surprising amount of strength in the other's shake. He could act surprised for once, Dickie Grayson the socialite wore his heart on his sleeve after all (not that he didn't do that the rest of the time anyway.)

With raised eyebrows he commented “woah. That's a strong grip you have there,” and shaking out his hand for added effect.

Danny, to his credit, played into the act with experience, grin stretching into something with just enough mischievousness to be acceptable in a social setting. “Yeah, I get that a lot. I may look like a string bean but I can pack a punch if I need to.”

The warning “Daniel,” from the teens guardian behind him did nothing to lessen Danny's smirk.

Dick noted the disapproval, filing it away while he asked with one eyebrow raised. “Daniel?”

At that Danny's smile flattened some, washing that mischievousness away into something more formal, more porcelain like. “I prefer Danny, the f-” he coughs into his hand at the miswording, “-my guardian prefers using full names, even despite my repeatedly telling him not to.“ From where Dick stood he could see Masters narrowing his eyes, no doubt listening in on their conversation. Danny must've figured he would and poked at something intentionally. Interesting.

”At least he sticks to formal first names,“ Dick commented with a chuckle. ”My little brother likes referring to people by their last names and he'd probably have a fit trying to call two people 'Cain'.“

”you know another Cain?“ Danny asked, like it wasn't well known that one of Dick's little sisters shared the surname. A spark of something Dick couldn't name before it passed flickered in the teens eye and maybe it wasn't just an innocent question.

Unconsciously Dick narrowed his eyes at the teen, unsure suddenly at what Danny's game was in starting a conversation with him. At first Dick assumed it would be out of politeness, seeing as they weren't engrossed in what the older socialites were talking about, but now...

”My sister, Cass, has the same last name,“ he revealed reluctantly, and he swore something changed in Danny's posture. Something controlled, behind the polite smile and the ”oh, that's nice“ the teen gave out, something someone trained would notice.

Something someone trained would do.

Maybe they should step up their investigation into Vlad Masters.

Before he had the chance to sneak away and radio in on their more discreet comms Dick felt a warm presence pressing up against his arm, as well as a gruff “'Sup, Dickface,“ sound from behind him.

Dick should've relaxed at the sound (and not sound) of his family joining him and backing him up subtly, but all he could focus on was the way Danny Cain zeroed in on Cass. To her credit, Cass didn't tense up like he did, instead lightly squeezing his bicep in comfort as she gave the other Cain a smile.

”Who's this?“ Jason grunted, looking to all the world like he might start a fist fight by the drinks table for fun. Dick could see the thought process going on in his head. He was waiting for it.

How did Bruce bribe him here again?

"This is Danny Cain,” Dick introduced lightly, seeing instantly when Jason picked up the reason for his tension.

“Any relation?” He joked, eyes trained on Danny for red flags.

Danny was too busy, though, to notice the joke. He was still watching Cass from her spot at his side. Dick glanced over to find Cass watching Danny in the same way. Nothing indicated they were doing anything other than staring, but there were these twitches, every once in a while, from both of them. Microexpressions of a conversation Dick could only guess was going on between them. Dick looked over to Jason, wondering if he was seeing what Dick was.

Jason had his eyes glued to Danny, brows furrowed in contemplation. So he saw something that Dick didn't then. This kid was getting curiouser and curiouser.

Another “Daniel,” from further away broke whatever spell the two Cain's were under, and with a smile Danny refocused to the group as a whole. “Well it was nice meeting you, Dick, your siblings too. Maybe we could meet up some time outside the monkey suits to hangout?”

Dick opened his mouth to reply, but surprisingly Cass was the one to cut him off. “We'd be happy to.”

Danny's eyes crinkled at the promise, and with one last look to Dick's sister he turned to leave. Dick watched him go, passing through the gathered crowds like water through sand.

“The hell was his deal?” Jason asked no one, but turned to Cass for answers. Curious, Dick turned his head to look at her too, noticing that same brief glint in her eye that he caught from Danny's earlier.

Recognition.

Danny was overjoyed at hearing about someone he recognized, and now Cass was sharing that look after gazing at someone that shared the Wayne's features. There were puzzle pieces strewn around Dick right now and his baby sister held the last piece to put them all together.

He was not prepared for what he got.

With a smile Cass gave them one single word, something both of them had heard her say before but never about anyone outside their family before.

“Brother.“

Chapter Text

Black.

That's the first thing Tim notices when he's finally able to process information. Everything around him is pitch black void. He can't feel anything around him, even when he swings his arms out. There wasn't even anything to stand on, he was just floating; the only speck of colour in a universe yet to explode.

How the hell did he get here? Tim doesn't remember, not even what he was doing before he most likely blacked out. Nothing, just as black as his surroundings.

He feels like that should worry him more than where he is currently, but he feels like the place is soaking him in an irrational dread. Like the black doesn't like him here, wants him gone.

Tim doesn't know how long he floats in the void for, the clock in his mask is busted and so is the one on his wrist. There was a startled jolt as he realized he was wearing both his domino and his day clothes, because why was he wearing both? What situation was he in before this? The dread grew stronger.

Then, all at once, Tim wasn't floating in a void anymore.

He was in a classroom, a whiteboard hung over a desk with a balding, bearded, middle aged white man sat in front of him. The desk he found himself sitting in creaked as he looked around the room, the fake wood of the attached table chilled under his forearms.

There were other kids here. None of them seemed older than nineteen, and none of them looked confused to see him there.

None of them looked entirely real, either.

Their bodies were all some degree of transparent, only a few including the teacher being completely solid, and most looking like straight up ghosts with how washed out their clothes and skin were. As Tim looked closer, he noticed that only the solid ones breathed.

Swallowing, Tim switched his attention to the outside, looking for anything that could tell him about where or when he was.

Blue sky shone through the windows into the classroom, barely a cloud in sight as the school's front yard displayed the staple of every school in america; a Star Spangled flag.

So he was still in the US, that was a start.

“Mister Drake-Wayne!” The sudden voice echoed through the room, startling Tim into looking to the front. The man who had been sitting at the front of the deathly quiet room was looking at him now, a stern expression gracing his face as he irritatedly tapped a pen to the paper in front of him. “This isn't a time nor place for you to be daydreaming, eyes on your test young man!”

Tim's eyes snapped down to the sheet of paper he only now noticed sitting under his arms, his name the only thing written down.

If this was a dream, he wanted to wake up now, please.

But the wood under him felt too real, the pencil that had found itself in his hand solid as he began to answer the questions on the page. Maybe it was some sort of illusion he was trapped in? Something he was conscious of but unable to leave without finding something to break the spell? He tried getting out of his seat experimentally.

He couldn't get his legs to move.

Okay, so he couldn't move, he was in an American classroom doing a standardized test, and the rest of the class looked like they belonged in a Scooby-Doo movie. Tim had no idea how he got here, why he needed his mask on in his civvies, or where this school might be. It wasn't laid out like any of his previous school rooms, so that ruled out dreams, so this must be something that was done to him.

But why?

The school bell rang before he could get his answers, and suddenly Tim could move his legs again. Sound returned to the class as the other students either picked up their supplies to head out or stayed to talk to the other students there. Tim chose to stand, feeling the freedom of having his legs under him for the first time since he woke up. There were things against his desk, so to avoid any further suspicion he packed his pencil kit and books away and slung it over his shoulder.

“Hey.” Tim flinched, whipping around to see one of the more solid teens standing right behind him. He was a bit shorter than Tim, with ink black hair in a tangled, slightly overgrown messy style reminiscent of those that didn't do hair care, piercing icy blue eyes, and a crooked smile that dropped a little awkwardly on his left side. “You're Tim, right?”

Tim blinked, his brain trying to process what to do in this unknown situation. The boy waited, even as the ones Tim remembered talking with him a few seconds before filtered out of the room. “Uh, yeah. That's me,” he replied eventually, anything better to say currently escaping his mind.

The boy nodded like he knew but wanted to confirm, before slinging his own bag on and turning. “Follow me, school here will go on forever if you let it and I mean that literally. You probably have better things to do and I know the way out.”

Tim frowned. “And what if you're just going to- I don't know, eat me or something instead? For all I know you could be the one controlling this reality and trapped me here just so you can play with your food.” And boy wouldn't that just be the greatest, pissing off the thing that wants to keep him here. Sure this guy looks to be Tim's age, but he also looks too much like Tim. Blue eyes with black hair, thin yet muscled frame and skin that looks like it hadn't seen the sun in years?

It didn't matter if this kid was just another person trapped here, they looked too much alike to be a coincidence.

The boy frowned, looking at him like he'd called the sky green. “You're probably the most paranoid kid to come through here in a while, y’know that?” In a second the frown was replaced by something pensive. “Then again, you're also one of the ones with the most form and presence of mind to come through in a while too.”

“This has happened to others?” Tim blurted out, stepping forward as the kid steps back in his intensity. He noticed his mistake when the kid gave him a weird look, realizing he was making him uncomfortable and stepping back.

“Plenty,” the kid affirmed once Tim relaxed a little more. “And all have made it out without issue either because of me or one of the others with enough sense of self. Now c’mon, the next bell is gonna ring soon and we need to be out of here before it goes off.” And with a turn, the kid marched through the door, leaving Tim scrambling to catch up.

It wasn't until they'd made it out the door and down the front steps that Tim had to talk again, needing some answers. “Where are you taking me?”

The kid spared a glance back as they turned the front pavers of the school walkway merging into the street sidewalk. “To the main road out of town, it's the only place we've found that can reliably get y'all out of here.”

“And where is here?”

Tim was behind the kid, so he couldn't see his face properly, but for a second he swore he saw a heartbreakingly sad smile sink onto his face. “A ghost town, nowhere you need to remember when you leave.” Well now he was going to do his best to, just so he could prove the kid wrong.

Speaking of. “What do I call you? I've been calling you ‘kid’ in my head since you came up to me.” At that he did crack a smile, a lopsided and sarcastic smile, but it was real all the same.

“My name is Danny, Tim. And I'm not a kid anymore than you are.” Tim felt a chill go along his back despite the mild weather. He hadn't been a kid in a long time, mostly due to his parents causing him to grow up too fast, but even then he'd still just been a kid. He only stopped being a kid when…

“Why am I here, Danny?” He asked more firmly, speeding up his gait so that he could walk beside the surprisingly fast teen. If this wasn't the first time someone's been taken to this place, and this isn't the first time they've been escorted out, there must be a reason.

They passed an aging looking diner, the tall sign proudly displaying ‘Nasty Burger’ and its windows showing an entirely empty set of tables before Danny spoke up next. “We don't know exactly why people keep getting brought here. The best guess some of us could think of is that the town itself is calling for help.”

“Help?” Tim looked back to Danny, who was now looking down at his shoes while they walked, not looking where he was going but still taking the next turn at an intersection.

“...Something bad happened here, Tim. Something that's keeping everyone here from leaving. A friend of mine thinks that, over the years, the town’s gained a sentience and started stealing people in hopes that one of them would be able to help.” Danny leads them across another empty road, letting Tim stew.

It wasn't the first time Tim had heard of a place being trapped- by time or space. It was the first time Tim thinks he'd ever heard of a city gaining sentience though. As far as his limited magical knowledge ran, he didn't even know that it was a possibility. But then, there was no better way to explain how he'd ended up here, and as the one who was only experiencing this for the first time, maybe it was better to believe the more experienced one with this.

Not that Tim fully believed anything Danny told him, he could still be leading him to his doom after all.

“So what does the city think I can do for you all?” Tim decides to ask now, watching Danny as he shrugs and takes a right. In the distance Tim can make out what might be a UFO? Wouldn't be too out of place for some magic or dream or whatever he was trapped in.

“Based on the mask?” Danny comments with a smirk, and Tim only now remembers that he was wearing it. “Looks like you might be one of the better candidates to help, if you remember anything when you leave. Maybe you're even connected enough to get a hold of that superhero league I've heard about a few times before.” If Danny only knew.

“You mean the Justice League?” Danny nods, motioning so that they turned down another street with no sidewalk. The houses were getting bigger now, more spaced out with actual yards instead of townhomes. Was it just Tim, or did the walk seem shorter than it should be for a city this size? Based on the taller buildings he had seen out the school window, the city was maybe a little smaller than Blüdhaven.

“Yeah, those guys. They came around just after we were all trapped in here so it took some time to figure out who they are. There have been people who were heroes that had come through before, but none of them had any connection to them.” That was concerning, as the Justice League was a few decades old by now. If the JL had formed a few years after the people of this city were trapped here, how old was Danny really?

How long had he been doing this?

The last house had passed by a few minutes ago by now, leaving the two boys walking down a road surrounded by open fields. In the mid-distance was a road sign, likely with the name of the town on it. If Tim could just see the front of the sign, he could figure out where he was and find a way back to Gotham from there.

A few yards away, Danny stopped, Tim turning to look at him when he'd noticed. “Danny?”

Danny looked at Tim, then back to the road leading away from town. “This is as far as I can go, Tim. The way out is just beyond the sign, make sure not to look back when you get past it.” But Tim had to look back if he wanted to see the sign, not that he could tell Danny that.

So he said nothing, simply nodding in thanks as he turned back to keep walking along the road. The sign came closer, and closer, and then he passed the sign and could feel the difference. He felt lighter, an oppressive weight nearly flying off his shoulders, that sense of foreboding he didn't realize was still there disappearing like it was never there to begin with.

Tim turned back, both to ask if the sensation was normal and to take a look at the sign, but the words died on his tongue when he took in the sight of the city.

Where once were tall office buildings and homes fit for suburban dreams was now a city in ruins. Rubble and skeletons clawed their hands to the sky that seemed to mock it all from above, its clarity a stark setting to its former glory. Danny was still standing there, boots grounded on the cracked asphalt with a sad smile, his long white hair blowing in the nonexistent breeze.

Green eyes filled with all the sadness that one would have when they watched their town die looked back at Tim, not angry that he didn't listen to him. The words 'ghost town’ rang through Tim's head like church bells as he looked at the town sign, his head getting foggy and his vision going dark around the edges.

Amity Park. A nice place to live.

The ghost town and the boy with a lonely smile were the last things he saw as his vision turned black and he found himself floating once again.

Tim woke up with a jolt, sweat pouring down his feverishly chilled skin as he blearily tried to get his bearings in the darkness of what he eventually deduced to be his room in the Manor. There was something blaring off to his right, and once he got his breathing under control he realized it was his alarm.

It was morning. Everything was a dream.

Except it wasn't, Tim knew the difference between a dream and whatever-that-was. The city he walked through was too real, details coming to him with a clarity even as sleep tried to wash those memories away.

Tim threw the remaining bits of blanket off his legs, swinging his legs over the edge and hobbling his way to the ensuite. He was too sweaty to do any work right then, but as soon as he was out of the shower he was at his desk with his laptop open to a new document, writing everything he could still remember about the dream down for later research. There were things he needed to cross-check, faces he could still remember from the classroom he had to put names to, and a town he needed to find.

And he was going to find it, for his sanity, and for Danny, the boy he'd met who was stuck in a town he couldn't save.

He would.

Chapter Text

When the unsettling blackness creeped in again this time, Tim recognized it for what it was. He was aware he’d probably fallen asleep at his Nest’s computer, his eyes passing over the words he knew by heart in a file he still typed up anyway. The oppressiveness was still there, the dark and the dread pushing at his suit pants and undershirt like a tide against the shore, taking him deeper under even as it tries to force him away.

There was a split second when Tim was blinded by brightness, the blue sky searing the back of his retinas as he seemed to float. But gravity quickly remembered it had a hold over his body.

And then Tim was falling.

Air rushed past Tim as gravity took hold of him and rocketed him out of that languid sense of wrong and panic from the dark place. He could feel the moment his heart picked up as he actually registered the cloudless sky and lack of anything underneath to catch him. Distantly, he wondered what would happen if he died in this not-dream—would he wake up? Or would he join Danny in whatever hell-like limbo he seemed to be stuck in. He hoped it was the first option, he had a promise to keep and being another casualty of whatever happened to the town of Amity Park would definitely throw a wrench in his plans.

Tim rolled himself, spreading himself wide to better slow his fall and so he could watch as the earth rose up to meet him. Vaguely familiar office buildings and apartments scattered about below him, their perfect illusion overlaid the memory of their crumbling ruins in Tim’s memory, and directly below him was the highschool he’d likely woke up in before this—or more specifically, the highschool’s sports field. He could see small groups of people on the bleachers, too few and far between for the time of day to be lunch, but Tim couldn’t really think of much else before his brain started panicking at how close the ground was getting.

Tim might have screamed, though that could also have been someone else.

He did groan when he finally felt the impact against his side—his body having instinctively turned and curled in on itself as his head looked away, forcing his eyes closed so he wouldn’t have to look at anything seconds before his brain became soup. It was far softer than he was expecting, not the hard grittiness of earth digging into his sides and making his bones groan before snapping, instead a soft bounce, like he’d been shoved on Dick’s ridiculously fluffy bed or a trampoline made of pillows. It still hurt. It hurt like it had when he’d fallen into Gotham Bay those few times. The impact still pushed all the air from his lungs, and he struggled to pull a breath back in, but he was alive.

A small part of Tim’s brain registered the fact that he was feeling pain at all. He was asleep, and so anything regarding his physical pain should have woken him up by now. But he wasn’t gasping awake from the breathlessness, and he could distantly hear voices approaching as he curled up tighter on the slightly overgrown grass. Air rattled in his chest as he marveled at how real everything felt, even if it was just a dream.

“Hello?” A voice above Tim called out, and he turned his eyes up to try and make out who it was. His head ached with something close to a concussion and his eyes refused to stay in focus, but through the blinding blue he could make out raven black hair and cold eyes. The eyes narrowed as they looked at him, their mouth opening but the words sounded like they were underwater when they came out. Tim could just barely hear concern coming through when his brain tried to connect one and one together to make two.

“Danny?” Tim heard his own voice slur, watched the second as those cold eyes revealed themselves to be purple instead of blue before they disappeared, replaced with dark hair as the head turned. He heard the person shout, but couldn’t really do anything else as the dizziness got stronger with the pain and he surrendered to the darkness again.

When Tim woke up it was not to the sensation of keyboard keys pressing into his cheek while his body tried to fight the chill of a subterranean hideout like he’d expected. And, after another second of thinking, he was glad for the slight smell of lavender and vanilla on the pillow below his head and the otherwise fresh smelling air around him.

It meant he wasn't dead, after all.

Opening his eyes revealed a bedroom draped in various shades of black, purple and just a bit of green. Blood red curtains blocked out all but a sliver of light, casting dark shadows on band posters and a vintage record player, its catalogue of music scattered around the corner of the desk the device sat on. Tim's fingers skittered over the bedspread, velvety soft and almost an exact match to the curtains.

He'd never been in this bedroom before.

The decor and furniture weren't like anything his friends had talked about, and he wasn't shown enough goth-themed rooms to try and make something like this. It proves this isn't a normal dream. It proves he's right to look.

The door Tim had ignored before opened a crack, and Tim got a quick look at one violet eye before the door quickly closed and footsteps retreated down the hall. Tim blinked, swearing to himself that he'd seen that colour before, though not while awake, but before he could figure out where someone was slipping into the bedroom with him.

Someone Tim's height, build, and with black hair and blue eyes.

“You're awake,” the other teen observed, taking a seat at the desk on a chair Tim doesn't remember being there previously.

“I am,” he intoned, taking a longer look at the teen he'd been searching for—trying to organize and store every little detail about him for when he woke up. “You're Danny, right?”

The teen tipped his head back, eyebrows raised in surprise. “You remember?”

Tim shuffles himself up into a sitting position, getting more comfortable on the dark purple pillows. “Remember? I've been obsessing over you for months. No offence, but your case is driving me a little insane.”

“Huh,” Danny looked… not shocked at the revelation, necessarily, but close. “Pretty much no one remembers when they come to this place, even after a couple times. We think it has something to do with the amount of ecto in the air here, but obviously we can't really test it.”

“Ecto?” Tim latched on to the vaguely familiar word with both hands, wanting—no, needing to know why some sci-fi term was being used in this setting. “Ecto as in ectoplasm? The thing that ghosts produce?”

Danny shrugged noncommittally. “Produce, feed on, and consist of, yeah. Even if our ambient supply is dwindling our levels should still probably be more than the norm.”

“Is that why you all are still…” he trails off, not quite knowing how to end that sentence gracefully. Danny seems to get his meaning and nods along anyway.

“Holding on? Yeah, most of us are trapped here and are only surviving because of the ectoplasm the stronger ghosts are producing.” He shifts, looking away with a grimace. “Honestly, if the city didn't have a pretty powerful ghost on top of its defender there would be a lot less of the town's people still existing right now.”

Tim takes a moment to process that, because what Danny's insinuating here is that the people of Amity Park are dying. Not just for the first time, either, and he knows that of all the ways to die, starvation is one of the worst ways to go.

Okay, Tim, time to think. What do you know about the situation so far? What can you ask Danny that'll help you when you wake up?

As Danny just told him, the citizens of Amity Park are probably all dead, and from what he said the last time he was here, they've probably been dead for longer than the Justice League has been a thing. He knows that something's keeping them in the decrepit town against their will, to the point of killing them a second time, and that the only reason more aren't already more gone than they already are is because of strong ghosts like “the defender” and “the city”. He doesn't know if there are other ghosts that fit this category—there probably are because two really strong ghosts keeping the rest from kicking it seems like a really hard thing to do. Tim doesn't need to guess who “the city” is, he's kinda already met them if the feelings he felt while in the not-void told him anything, and he had a solid guess on who “the defender” was based on previous experiences. There was so much evidence for what the current state of Amity Park looked like, but what Tim needed was information on its past.

“Has Amity always had a ghost problem?” Tim asked before wincing. ‘Problem’ might sound a little harsh.

It got a laugh out of Danny though, the sound sharp and bright to contrast the room. “Not as long as I've been around, you could say,” Danny replied with a smile that drooped slightly to one side. “Amity’s always had a haunted history, but the phantom menace only started when I was about fourteen. A coupla’ kook scientists decided to open a wormhole between this plane and one of the stranger realms of the dead, and the town adapted to it.”

Tim nodded, huffing a sigh at the ghost puns as they came. He's not sure who would love Danny more, Jason or Dick, but that's besides the point. “And these ghosts all had the regular set of ghost-like powers? Flight, intangibility, super strength and durability, magic and possession?”

Danny raised an eyebrow in judgment. “Big fan of Ghostbusters?”

“Had a friend that was a ghost for a while, she got better eventually.” He really should check in with Greta when he wakes up. It's been a while and she might give him a good perspective on the whole… dying as a ghost thing.

Danny turns head with a scoff, mumbling “‘she got better’ he says, sure. Not the weirdest thing I've heard I guess.” His voice dips into a whisper Tim can't make out even in the quiet of the bedroom. Tim decides to let him keep this one thing to himself for now so he can move on.

“Before your isolation, were there any major cities or landmarks you were close to? Even smaller things could help.”

A suspicious look flashes across Danny's face as turns his head back to Tim, a look that grows stronger the longer they stare each other down. “Why do you want to know?” He asks slowly.

Tim, of course, thinks the reason is pretty fucking obvious. “Uh, because I want to find you guys? Maybe help you pass on or whatever? I've already been looking into some leads for lost familial connections around the estimated time of Amity Park’s disappearance, but nothing I can verify without things like names and locations. Since someone thought to put so much work in wanting you to stay gone, the quickest way to find you all would be to ask you directly.”

The enveloping silence that follows his explanation is… stiff. Danny, while still mostly relaxed on his desk chair, looks halfway between hope and heartbreak. Like he wants to let Tim know about everything but is afraid of what would happen if he gave himself that chance. It's not entirely unexpected, with what Danny’s mentioned about others coming and forgetting their stay even after multiple trips, but Tim desperately hopes he'll get that trust.

He wants to help Danny, and the rest of the people trapped here who can't spend their afterlives in peace.

Danny takes a big breath of air in through his nose, his grip on the hand rests of the chair turning his knuckles white momentarily. There's a brief second where his eyes flit to the closed door before landing back on Tim, and he braces for whatever's about to be said. “If you really think you won't forget this, then seek out a hero named Valerie Gray. She was an Amity Park resident that managed to have been just past the barrier when it deployed. If you manage to get to talk to her, tell her that Danny Fenton still doesn't blame her for High School and that the ghost boy is still just a harmless spook protecting his haunt.” Tim watches with rapt attention as Danny fidgets in his seat, just as anxious as him about what this could mean for them. “If you remember when you wake up, tell her—tell her I'm sorry.”

They talk more. Of course they talk more. Tim still has so many questions and Danny is just sitting there letting him ask.

He learns that the girl that he saw when he landed and when the door opened was Sam, and that the room he woke up in is hers. She was one of the two people Tim saw with Danny when he came here the first time, the other being a boy named Tucker. He learned that Danny’s sister Jazz was one of the few others that weren't in the barrier when it went up, and that if Valerie won't help him then she just might. He figures out through the stories the other teen tells him that Danny is probably the “defender” ghost he'd mentioned before, though he’s unsure how he was a ghost that went to school before the barrier went up.

What he doesn't find out is who trapped them there, and by what. Danny wouldn't answer him when asked, instead his face fell, his eyes getting a faraway look before snapping back and changing the topic.

When Tim feels ready enough Danny takes him back to the edge of town, with his friends tagging along to make comments about the local landmarks. Tim can tell they don't really expect him to remember, because they make the weirdest probably-true comments just to try and get a reaction out of him. Through them he learns that Amity has a sister city called Elmerton, one that they’re pretty sure still exists because of the low altitude passenger planes coming in and the fact that Elmerton was the city that had the airport between the two.

People come out to greet their entourage through town, though not many. Tim can't tell if that was because of lack of interest or just a lack of people to notice.

This time, when they make it to the edge of town, Danny doesn't tell him not to look back. He smiles, a sad little thing that still drools at the corner. Tim hadn't asked about that, even though he wanted to. Likely, it had something to do with his death, or how he became the “defender”, or even how they were all trapped here, he didn't know. Tucker patted his back with a snarky salute, and Sam rolled her eyes but gave him a wave anyway.

When he steps across the boundary line and turns, the same broken city skyline greets him like a smashed sandcastle. Danny is the only one of the trio that looks solid, with Sam and Tucker turning a transparent green and smokey at the edges. They're all waving, and Tim wishes he had his camera, if only to keep solid evidence of what he's working towards.

Tim wakes up with no less adrenaline than his first trip to Amity, and bolts up so fast he nearly falls out of his chair.

He's back in his Nest, with the open case file for Danny Fenton and Amity Park on the main monitor in front of him. Nothing out of place other than a faint throbbing in his head and back, though that might be accounted for by his patrol.

Except, he still remembers.

It's less than a conscious thought when his fingers start flying over his keyboard, making sure every little detail about what he remembers gets notarized. All the information he'd obtained this time around—even if it was less that he’d have liked—made it into a brand new document in the case folder, with the ending highlighting the name ‘Valerie Gray' and underlining it.

To his vast knowledge, there is no one on the Justice League’s roster—American or International—that went by the name Valerie Gray, but given his working time frame Tim would bet money she wasn't active full-time anyway. He's going to have to do so much digging into their member files, especially if this Valerie turns out to have used a pseudonym or changed her name after Amity disappeared. It would take time for sure, but Tim’s invested, and there are people’s (after)lives on the line.

All in all, Tim’s done a lot more with a lot less. He remembers, and that’s already half the fight won.