The Young Justice: Animated Anonymous Fic Meme

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Prompt Post -Part One! [CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS]
yj_anon wrote in yj_anon_meme

Welcome to the Young Justice: Animated anonymous fic meme!

How does it work? Basically, you leave prompts, and people fill them with glorious fic. Pretty simple. Anonymity is allowed for those that feel nervous or awkward requesting or filling, but it isn't actually obligatory. Unlike a lot of memes (like kink memes) this doesn't have a particular focus beyond the fandom. Het, gen, slash, femslash, anything else you can think up? Welcome! Crack, drama, angst? Go nuts!

However, we do have some...

Rules and guidelines.

• Animated canon only, please. Crossovers are fine, so is integrating comics/etc. stuff into animated canon, but no outright Young Justice comic stuff, please.
• Be reasonable. Polite. Etc. You may be anonymous, but that is no excuse for being ridiculous.
• Likewise, be considerate in your prompting. Trigger warnings are appreciated (for content that may seriously upset people with past experience, such as rape/non-con, self harm, suicide, etc.- at the absolute least, please make it clear what the fic contains about before someone stumbles across it halfway through!), and please be careful with your wording. Memes like this often touch on some sensitive material. If you feel somebody has posted an actively offensive prompt, please either PM me or use the mod post here to bring it to my attention.
• One prompt per post, please!
• Repeat after me: Your Kink Is Not My Kink. Don't attack people's prompts because they aren't your cup of tea!
• Look, just don't wank up a storm in general. I'm sure we can all manage, right? :)
ETA: Please do not reprompt things until we reach a second part. In addition, I encourage anyone looking for things to fill to go back through previous pages. A lot of people have old prompts tracked, so your fills will still be seen!

This is the 'flat' view of the page; it shows comments in the order they're posted, rather than as threads. Makes it easier to see new fills on previous pages.

I'll look at getting a Delicious or Diigo or something-or-other archive up for filled prompts if it gets to the point we feel it'd be useful. In the meantime, have fun!

ETA: We now have a discussion post if you need one!

ETA: I need help with archiving! Also, we set up a fill post.

Can you please leave links to any fic you write there. See the post for more details. Thanks!

ETA: GUYS. I am officially making the 'PM me about offensive prompts' thing obligatory. Please, I have difficulty keeping up without your wonderful help!

Incidentally, being polite includes not telling people they're being 'too sensitive' for being bothered by things. Just sayin'. This place is a safe space, in so much as I can make it one, and I don't really like the rhetoric of 'oh, if you're offended you're oversensitive' that I'm seeing in a couple places? Remember: people may have had different experiences than you that influence their view. Don't assume. :)

In-progress Delicious account.

  • 1

Comics crossover with BatFam.

From the Wild Mass Guessing page at TVTropes ( for the curious)-

"There will be a crossover with the Damian Wayne/Robin of Earth One.

Through magic, dimensional portals, or good old fashioned mad science the son of Batman will come face to face with a young Dick Grayson; And it will be the most awkward team-up ever."

Re: Comics crossover with BatFam.


Brave New World [13/26] (Anonymous) Expand

Re: Comics crossover with BatFam.

Damian! Being awkward and getting unwanted hugs from our Rob as they ninja stuff together!

Re: Comics crossover with BatFam.


Re: Comics crossover with BatFam.

Dunno if there's still any interest in this...but I'm currently writing it! It's turning out into an epically long fic.

Brave New World [1/??]

Damian's such a strange little bugger to write. I think I'll post a little every day?

Tt. Villains always have to do something flashy; it’s one of the worst qualities that they can have. It never works out for them either way, so why can’t they ever skip it? It’s redundant and useless and an entirely huge waste of time. I can snap their necks, but Grayson won’t let me. He’d stop me and the only reason he can is because he’s bigger than me.

“Robin, move!” Grayson yells. He’s panicking. Not a rare sight. What an amateur.

“It’s a toy,” I snap because whatever the hell the wanna-be Toyman is aiming at me is bright green and doesn’t look a bit like a bazooka at all. What kind of bazooka doesn’t have a shell? Idiot.

“Another step and I’ll blow you to bits!” the idiot with the toy bazooka yells. He’s flustered and breathing hard and his fingers are doing a strange dance on the trigger. He’s three steps away from me.

I can pound his face into the concrete. All I have to do is get close and I can already feel the flesh against my gauntlets. He’s going down, armed with a bazooka or not. We’ll see who’s faster; me or his trigger finger. I’d wager Father’s fortune on me.

A batarang catches the idiot in the shoulder and he nearly drops the bazooka. “Shit—” he’s saying as he tries to hold on to the oversized weapon and stop the blood flow at the same time. “Shitshitshitshit!” His finger presses down on the trigger.

Maybe I realized a bit too late that what he’s carrying isn’t a bazooka. It’s some sort of energy beam, disguised as a bazooka. There’s an ugly, bright blue color that collects at the muzzle and it’s not aimed at me. The idiot’s stance is wide, easy to take down, but still three steps away. Even if I jumped with all my power, I can’t take him down in time for the blast to go off. Its aim is straight at Grayson’s chest and being the utter failure that he is, he’s standing right where he is, a deep scowl on his face.


There’s a deafening roar and Grayson’s still not moving. He’s a moron.

Even if the villain is three steps away, the blast is less than one. Against my better judgment, I take that one step forward. Grayson better thank me for this. I’m keeping Batman’s reputation from plummeting into the sewers, not that it isn’t headed that way already. But really.

Grayson, you owe me big time.

Brave New World [2/??]


“Hey, you okay?”

Someone’s poking me in the shoulder and I grab for the offending finger, ready to break them, but my hands wrap around thin air. Huh. Whoever it is has annoyingly good reflex to be able to dodge me when I’m feigning unconsciousness. A quick mental checklist tells me that I’m still in my Robin gear and the mask is still on my face.

I open my eyes and sit up.

It’s nighttime and from the looks of it, just a few minutes after I was shot by the energy beam. The location hasn’t even changed—Crime Alley—and Grayson’s nowhere to be seen. Instead, a bunch of kids are standing not too far away, looking at me.

Since the mantle of the Bat will eventually become mine, I had read and studied extensively the allies and enemies of my Father. I know every superhero he’s worked with by their picture and name. The ones standing before me aren’t the ones he’s worked with, but rather…

That red and black outfit is only worn by him. That thief, trying to take what is rightfully mine away from me. He is inferior as a warrior; he’s not spry like Grayson or heavy handed like Father. He’s not even aggressively violent like Todd. He’s a pacifist masquerading as a fighter. He has no right to the Batman legacy, much less be a Robin.

“Drake,” I say. “What is the meaning of this? Where’s Batman?”

Grayson wouldn’t just leave me here to these idiots. He knows how much Drake and I despise each other. So where is he?

Drake just looks to a dark skinned boy; tall, confident, with webbed fingers and fins on his calves. An Atlantean, probably. Father didn’t have him on file. The Atlantean gestures calmly and says in a surprisingly smooth voice for one so young: “I am Aqualad—”

“Tt. I don’t care,” I interrupt. So there’s a new Aqualad running around in the world. I tap the radio in my ear, deeply annoyed by Grayson’s disappearing act. “Batman, I don’t know where you ran off to, but if this is some sort of practical joke, it’s not going to end up fun for anyone.”

I pull out my line and I’m about to fire it off when Kid Flash zooms in front of my face. “Whoa! Hold on!” he practically yells and he grabs at my arm. He’s the one that was poking me when I woke up. I growl and glare at him, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “You!” he says, so intelligently. I restrain the urge to roll my eyes because it’s beneath me to do such a childish thing. Grayson does it enough for both of us.

“What, Allen? For someone who was once the Flash, you sure are slow at making your point.”

He pauses, green eyes wide. “That’s not my name,” he says. He narrows his eyes and he tightens his grip on my arm. “Who are you?”

Everyone knows who I am; I’m Robin. Everyone in Drake’s little circle of morons know who I am and knows what he’s become. I look again and Kid Flash’s hair is wrong; Bart Allen’s hair is brown, Barry Allen’s hair is blond. There’s only one speedster that’s been documented as having red hair and West has been declared dead. Superheroes—metahumans or normal—all have a way of coming back to life.

“West,” I sneer. “Let go.”

He does, but that’s only because he’s looking at someone behind me. I turn around to see a girl with green skin reach out her hand to my face and—

Brave New World [3/??]

I say the first thing that comes to mind when I wake up.


I hate psychics or any one that can get into my head. It’s the strange feeling of something different in your head, like a really cold wind between your ears, and no matter how hard I fight, it’s almost impossible to push them out. Almost. Moth—Talia had never taught me. Grayson said that he would, soon.


Aqualad’s talking. I flex my arm and realize that my gloves have been removed. Nearly all my gear is gone; gloves, utility belt, boots. All except for my mask and my left hand is handcuffed to the uncomfortable bed I’m laying on. I open my eyes and take in the room; the dull, white of an infirmary and the curtain around the bed is drawn back and out of the way. The group of children—they’re not adults, not yet—are crowded on the bed next to mine, all curious faces looking at me.

A blonde, long haired and slender, is reclining in the next bed. She’s not injured and is just lounging like I’ve seen cats do. Superboy is standing behind the bed, looming and quiet; it’s something I don’t think has ever been mentioned in Father’s files. He’s been described as ‘chatty and friendly.’ West and Drake are sitting up in the empty spaces where the lounging girl’s legs do not quite reach, exchanging frantic whispers.

Aqualad and Miss Martian are the only ones to stand in the space between the two beds. Even then, they’re all too far away for me to reach.

“What’s your name?” Aqualad asks again and I turn to look at him.

Nothing is making sense. Wally West should be the same age as Grayson, and yet here he is, younger than Drake…

I sit up, staring at Drake. Or who I had assumed was Drake because of the outfit, but now that I look, it’s not Drake’s uniform. It’s different. Whoever this Robin is, he isn’t Tim Drake. This Robin is young, almost the same age as me, and if he really is Drake, one of us would be bleeding.

I look at Aqualad. “I don’t know you,” I say slowly. It’s not an admission of defeat, I’m trying to puzzle out whatever is going on. The energy blast must have done something to me; did it send me through time? No, not likely, because this Aqualad doesn’t exist back in time and Superboy should be around the same age as Drake.

I look to Miss Martian. “M’gann M’orzz.” She only twitches in response, but I see it and I know it’s her name. I turn to the others. “Wally West.”

The whispering between West and the imposter Robin had died. I skip the imposter and look to the lounging girl. “I don’t know you,” I say. I look up at Superboy, who’s actually looking white. For a boy who can bend steel with his bare hands, he’s looking awfully terrified. “Kent,” I say because just hearing his first name makes me gnash my teeth. Drake’s always been too proud of his friends, especially Conner.

I glare at the imposter Robin. It can’t be. Their ages don’t match the dates in my head.

Somehow, that energy beam blasted me into some twisted version of reality.

OP! (Anonymous) Expand
Re: OP! (Anonymous) Expand

Brave New World [4/26]

In lieu of anything to throw, I grab the pillow I was resting on and throw it at Robin’s—the imposter Grayson’s—head. He catches the pillow effortlessly and throws it back at me, almost like it’s a game of ball. He’s smirking, like he always does.

“You’re a Robin too,” not-Grayson says and his voice is strange. Weird. Too young, too happy, even for him. “I never knew I had competition.”

He’s fishing for information, he has to be. I don’t know if whatever I say will affect this world, so different from the one I know. But what does it matter if I say something that will give the possible future away? This isn’t my reality.

“You don’t,” I find myself saying in honesty. Because Grayson…is Grayson. He is Father’s best soldier. The Robin that Father tried to replace with Todd, and then Drake. Now, I carry the name of Robin and I know that I’m better than Grayson ever was. Yet, it’s still not the same.

I jerk at the handcuff on my wrist. “Let me go,” I say. “Or I’ll get out of it myself.”

The group shares a look and Aqualad shakes his head. I stare at not-Grayson, finding it surprising that he isn’t leader of this ragtag group. What is the name of this group anyway? Teen Titans?

“I am sorry,” Aqualad says, though he doesn’t actually sound that apologetic. “But we don’t know who you are. Where are you from? How do you know us?”

“Tt. Your puny minds wouldn’t be able to comprehend the magnitude of it all,” I say as I test the handcuff. It’s a standard Police issue, meaning it’s not that great at all. With my free hand I reach for the lining of my pants by my calf, feeling for the thin wire that should be there. It’s there, of course, because whoever stripped me of my gear was an amateur. Free from the handcuff, I put the wire back in place and glance around the room. My gear is nowhere in sight. It’s no matter though.

I turn to leave, but I’m blocked by Superboy.

“You do not get to go,” he glowers, arms over his broad chest. He is not impressive and I’m never confined to one place. No one confines Damian Wayne.

“You do not get to go,” I mimic at a higher pitch with a sneer. “Get out of my way and give me back my gear, clone.”

I watch him go from a pasty white to an enraged red as he roars and aims a punch at me. He’s faster than I expected, but I dodge just in time to see his fist disappear through the floor. The files had said he used Tactile Telekinesis, but to me, it looked like he just punched through the floor with sheer power.

And then he’s beside me, picking me up faster than I can react and I twist, trying to get out of his hold, but his large hands pin my arms to my side.

Brave New World [5/26]

There’s no prickling sensation against my skin, no ghostly pressure of any sort. The file lied. This is no form of telekinesis, but rather the pure, brutal strength of a Kryptonian. This is not the Superboy known as Conner Kent from my reality. This is another Superboy without Tactile Telekinesis, but with powers from Superman. The fight just got exciting and more dangerous.

“You’re still new at this, aren’t you?” I ask without really needing an answer. I kick him in the chest with the balls of my feet and he falls back, grip going slack. He’s lucky I’m not wearing my boots; I might have broken a rib, or even better, broken a rib and puncture a lung at the same time.

“Stop it!” West is too fast for my eyes to follow, but I don’t need to see him to defend myself against him. Someone’s grabbing my arms and twisting them behind my back while forcing me to the floor. It’s a useless move unless they’ve got power or mass behind them to back it up. West had neither of the attributes and I relax enough to flip over him in a move that Grayson taught me. It brings West crashing to the floor instead, a sickening crack resounds through the room when he lands.

There’s an almost imperceptible wind and on instinct, I look up. Miss Martian is floating above me, looking unsure of what to do. She can knock me out easily with her little mind tricks, but if she needs to be touching me to get me down, she’ll have to catch me first.

Superboy jumps into the fray and this time, I can tell he’s not holding back. He’s throwing punches blindly, lunging forward and nearly smashing into me in the process. It’s almost difficult to dodge his attacks, but not impossible.

I run for the doorway and suddenly all the air is sucked away, replaced with water and the world is tilting to the side and everything is wet. I turn in the bubble of water and glare at Aqualad, who has two hilts of a sword in both his hands and coming from it were streams of water. I blurble a question, incomprehensible in the water to even me, but he seems to understand.

“My Water Bearers,” he says, his voice clear in the water, and I notice the sink in a corner is running. The water’s coming from there.

I can’t swim out of it; the bubble completely encompassing me as Aqualad carefully maneuvers out of the room with narrowed eyes. I hear distorted voices and clamoring, but it’s all a jumble of sound. My vision is blurred, but enough that I can make out that Aqualad is taking me somewhere, moving through the building to some unknown destination.

It isn’t the Tower or any place I’ve been before. The place reminds me of the Batcave, but brightly lit and without the bats. And possibly much larger.
The old Justice League headquarters, then.

I’m literally dropped into a holding cell—one without bars, but with glass walls—wet and cold.

“You are lucky the Justice League aren’t here right now,” Aqualad says. He turns and leaves.

Brave New World [6/26]

So, I'll be disappearing off the internet for a while...but rest assured I will return. In the meanwhile, I will post all that I have written before I go.


It’s chilly, almost ridiculously so, and the cell is impossible to escape without my tools. The walls are rigged so any touch lasting longer than two seconds will generate a shock at a low level voltage and continuously increase until the touch is gone. I can still feel the tingle in my toes.

The dimensions of the cell aren’t large, but more than enough space for me. At best, I can assess that the cell I’m in is built for metahumans with little power, or they would have dumped me into a more traditional looking cell with bars and all.


It is really cold in here and it’d be humiliating to yell for help. I try to wipe away the water from the back of my neck with the sleeve of the Robin tunic, but it just leaves a trail of cold clamminess there. It makes me shiver and I’m certain I’ve got goosebumps.

Just sitting around and waiting for the children to come interrogate me isn’t the best of plans. If I were grounded and back at the Batcave, I’d at least be able to work on the Batmobile. But I’m not there, and instead, I’m in a tiny cell in a twisted reality.

I close my eyes and start to do pushups.

Somewhere around the count of three hundred, I hear soft footfalls outside of my cage. I don’t even need to open my eyes to know that it’s Grayson. He’s always been light footed, even in the heavy Batman costume. Nothing about his way of walking has changed in this reality either.

“Does Batman know?”

Three hundred and eight. Three hundred and nine.

“Know what? You’re a little vague there.”

Three hundred and ten. Body is warming up and the cold doesn’t hurt anymore.

“The way you fight. You fight to inflict pain.”

Brave New World [7/26]

Of course, the imposter Grayson. That’s what fighting’s about; doing the maximum amount of damage that you can to your opponent before they can do it to you. But you and Father never believed in that.

“He knows,” I answer and get up to face him.

We’re nearly the same height, though he’s just barely a hair’s width taller. He’s slimmer than I had thought he’d be as a child and he’s all awkward angles with the slightest hint of baby fat left in his cheeks. In time, it’d be gone, along with the weightlessness on his shoulders. The Grayson I know slouches and sometimes when he isn’t thinking about anything, his back bows like he has the greatest weight upon his shoulders.

It’s strange to be comparing and contrasting Dick Grayson with this strange version of himself.

“Why are you Robin?” not-Grayson asks. He seems worried, though determined not to show it. His relaxed stance is forced and anything but relaxed.

“You want to know what happened to you,” I say. “To Robin.”

Not-Grayson is quiet for a moment, probably weighing his options. “Yes,” he says finally. Confidently. He’s not afraid of what he might learn.

“You leave,” I tell him, “because you felt that Batman wanted you less and your team needed you more. You become Nightwing and Batman takes in another Robin, Todd. He dies.” I lean forward just enough so that I can see him take a sharp inhale of breath. “There’s a third Robin, Drake. Then Brown, the first female Robin. And now me.” I lean closer, close enough that I’m almost touching the glass wall. My breath fogs it up, but I can still see not-Grayson standing as still as stone. “I’m better than they all were. With the exception of you. Because you were the first.”

Because Father is sentimental and can’t let go of memories. That’s why there is still a Robin.

Because Father trusts you more than me. He didn’t give me the mantle of Robin, wouldn’t let me out into the streets. You did.

“Batman is dead,” I say and not-Grayson narrows his eyes.

“He is not,” he says, like a petulant child denying that anything is wrong, but the words come out as a whisper. “You tried to get in contact him when we first saw you.”

Father is dead. You succeeded him as Batman.”

Not-Grayson flees.

Brave New World [8/26]

It’s not more than an hour later when thundering footsteps stop outside my cell. I look up to see West and Superboy.

“What did you do to Robin?!” West yells. He’s out of the atrocity known as the Kid Flash uniform and back in civilian clothes, though his right arm is in a sling. His face is pink with anger and Superboy looks like he’s itching for a fight.

“I did nothing,” I reply. “We conversed. Chatted. Had a talk. Anything else you'd like to know?”

“Well, you’re in trouble now,” West says. “The Justice League is coming back.”

“Where were they before?” I ask because I’m genuinely curious. What could be so monumental that it’d need the entirety of the Justice League and to leave patrolling to the children?

“Space,” West answers. Then he narrows his eyes and tries to look menacing. “What did you say to Robin?”

“He asked questions, I just answered them,” I say with a shrug. Baiting West is almost entertaining if it isn’t so pathetic to watch.

“What did you say to him?” Superboy growls. “He came down here to talk to you and now he’s barricaded himself in the Tech Room.” He glares. “What did you say?”

“He told me what I wanted to know,” came not-Grayson’s voice, tinny and distant, from a speaker somewhere. “Stop letting him bait you. And get out of there, the bosses are back. We have debriefing in ten.” There’s a click and the speaker turns off.

Amazingly, Superboy and West back off.

“I can fight my own battles, Grayson,” I say. Expectedly, there’s no answer.

Brave New World [9/26]

Not too long after the two boys leave, the blonde comes to see me. I wonder what I’ve done to be so popular, but then again, I’m Damian Wayne. I’ve inherited Father’s charms and Mo—Talia’s good looks.

“Where are you from?” the blonde asks. “Robin thinks you’re from the future, but I don’t think so. If you know everyone else on this team, how can you not know me and Aqualad?”

Why am I not surprised that not-Grayson’s not quick on the uptake? If this girl can figure it out faster than him, the future of this reality is doomed.

“I am from the future, girl,” I say. “But not this future. Another future. It’s probably worse than yours if all you goody two shoes are still playing happy family with each other.”

Unlike the boys, she’s not easily goaded, though she does scrunch her nose at being called girl. “The name’s Artemis,” she says, head held high and arms across her measly chest. I bet her boobs are stuffed. “How did you get here? Magic?”

“Aqualad put me in here,” I sneer. “But if you mean how I got to this reality, I was zapped here by an incompetent fool. He disguised his energy beam as a bazooka.”

She stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “So if it wasn’t an energy beam, you would have been blown to bits,” she says. “Aren’t you a Robin? I thought you’re supposed to have more common sense than that.”

The way she says it, like I’ve made a mistake, makes me grind my teeth. What does she know? Why is she still talking? How is she sharper than this world’s Grayson? From the looks of it, she’s been trained by Queen, the ridiculous archer.

“You don’t know anything,” I tell her and she just scoffs at me.

“Says the guy that got hit by a bazooka.”

“Energy beam!” I pound my fist against the glass and a warning shot of electricity shoot through my hand. If possible, she looks less impressed than before.

“Look, kid,” she says, “you’re crazy. Starting fights here with everyone, you’re going to get flattened. Can’t you just mellow out? Try not to pick fights?” She heaves a sigh and moves her hands to her hips. “You want to get home in one piece, right? It won’t do you or us any good if Superboy rips off your arm or something.”


Of course I want to go home. But how do I get back? It’s not like there’s going to be a bazooka-energy-blaster just lying around and even if there is one lying around, how do I know it will take me back and not to some even stranger place? Getting home has never been this difficult and all I can do is sit and wait to be let out of the prison cell.

My thoughts must have shown on my face because Artemis’s face softens a fraction. “Kid,” she says and puts a hand on the glass. “Robin’s tracing energy particles at the site of origin. His big head isn’t just for show, you know.”

I bow my head slightly and look at my hands. Through the glass, Artemis’s hands are calloused, but slender and feminine. Small white scars mar her fingertips and some longer, deeper ones are covered by the arm guards she wears. I stare at my hands; they are stunted and small, even if I stretch them as far as I can, they’re not the size of hers. I’ll grow, I have no doubt of that. Father’s big and Talia isn’t tiny either. I want to see them again.

“Batman’s going to want to question you,” she says. “Just be prepared.”

I straighten and glare at her, feeling caught and exposed in my moment of weakness. “I know.”

She gives me a wry smile and leaves, running quickly for the debriefing that’s started a minute ago. I am left alone with glass walls that electrocute you if you get too close.

Brave New World [10/26]

It takes two hours for anyone to appear again and this time, from the many footsteps I hear, I know it’s the Justice League. I can hear heavy booted steps and the light footed ones all mingle together and for a moment, I picture Grayson standing in front of my cell with the cowl pulled back and his hair in disarray with that stupid smile on his face.

The image is gone in an instant when Batman, Red Tornado, Black Canary, Martian Manhunter, Green Arrow, Flash, and Aquaman all stand crowding outside my cell.

“He is…very young,” the Martian says quietly.

“I can hear you,” I inform him.

Flash smiles, but it is a sad one. “And cheeky.”

I glare at him for the lack of anything else to do. He’s like a faster and redder version of Grayson.

“We have been…briefed of your situation,” Batman says and that voice is Father’s voice. I knew him as Batman, but he never knew me as Robin and it’s one thing that I think I might regret. I’ve rarely regretted anything in my life. It’s childish to want to say to him Look, Father! I’m Robin. I’m good, I don’t kill anymore! “You’re too dangerous to have running around. You will remain in here until further notice.”

There are some unhappy faces, but the fact that no one objects means that they’ve all come to the same consensus. I stare at them, the Justice League, and feel the overwhelming need to punch something. Me, Damian Wayne, Robin to Batman—confined to this measly cage? Incomprehensible. Implausible. Impossible.

As Batman continues to talk about a schedule, meal time and toilet breaks, my teeth are grinding together so hard that I’m certain everyone can hear.

“What have I done to deserve this?” I demand.

“You fractured Kid Flash’s arm,” Batman says with a slight pause. “Your hostile attitude has been noted.”

“Hostile attitude?! He’s lucky I didn’t snap his neck. Let me out!” I slam both of my fists against the glass. I hold them there despite the horrible buzzing feeling that shakes through my entire body, the pain intensifying with each second passing. I want to tear away from it, but I hold myself steady against the hiss of electricity and the beginnings of burns on my hands.

“Kid, step away from the glass,” Green Arrow warns. He’s frowning, or some expression close to it. It’s difficult to tell with all that facial hair in the way. “Kid! Listen to me! This cell is built for metahumans, the shock can kill you!”

Flash is yelling too and so is Black Canary. Everyone seems to be in a state of panic except for Batman.

“Theatrics will get you nowhere,” Batman says, eyes narrowed to slits under the cowl. Even in the din of noise, I can hear his voice loud and clear. How identical this man is to Father. I remember how unmoved he was by my pleas to join him in patrol.

The pain becomes unbearable and I step away, the skin along the side of my hands raw and wet. There are stains on the glass where my hands used to be and I am trembling all over and not all of it is from the electricity. “Yes, Father,” I say without thinking and a whole other sort of pandemonium breaks out from the Justice League.

Brave New World [11/26]

The Flash is treating my burns, his large hands gentle, but strong. The notes from Father’s files are filled with details about Barry Allen; he is well-liked and well-respected, even by Father. West had large shoes to fill when he died.

“So, from an alternate future, huh?” he says, holding my hands into a bucket of ice water. “How’s it like there?”

I stare at him. Is he trying to make conversation? Or is he trying to fish for information?

“Dangerous,” I tell him. “Lots of people die.”

He takes it all in easily with a light smile on his face. “How old are you?”

I sit a little straighter at the question. “I am ten years old. You are Barry Allen. Father had great respect for you when you were alive.”

Even when being told of his death, he doesn’t stop smiling. In fact, he doesn’t seem disturbed at all by the news that he’s dead in my reality.

“Ten years old, huh?” he says with a low whistle. “Does Batman always start you guys off so early? There’s Robin, well, the other Robin, and now look at you.” If he disapproves, he doesn’t say. Instead, Flash just takes my hand out of the ice water and gives me a blinding grin. “Doesn’t look that bad. If you held on any longer, it might’ve gotten worse.”

He wraps a soft towel around my hands, patting them dry. It reminds me of the time when Grayson tried to wrap a cut on my arm and instead of being efficient about it, he was gentle and slow. I think I yelled at him for it.

“I am not delicate,” I say and glare at Flash. “I don’t need this bullshit. I’ve experienced worse things than getting a slight burn on my hands.”

“I’m not saying you haven’t,” Flash says and for a brief moment, his hands press against mine tightly, hard enough for the raw, throbbing part of my hands to feel pain. I force impassiveness into my expression and he drops my hands so fast, I think his arms ricochets in the air. “You’re only ten, you know,” he says.

There’s an emotion in his voice that I can’t identify. Maybe it's pity. Maybe it's doubt. I continue to stare at him. What is he trying to say? That I’m too young for this job? That I’m unsuited for the role of Robin? That I can’t become Batman?

“This is my legacy to inherit,” I tell him. “I will be Batman.”

To my surprise, Flash starts to laugh. It’s not a deep rumbling sound like Father’s or even the strange throaty laughs of Grayson’s—this is light and filled with humor. Proof that this world isn’t as dark as my own. That things just might be better here. Flash takes the towel and dumps it on a nearby table, exchanging it for a jar of honey and some bandages.

I look at the honey and back to him. I thought that he’s supposed to be a forensic scientist, not some delusional man that believes in old folk remedies.

Brave New World [12/26]

“No,” I say and try to get away, but this man in front of me is called the Flash for a reason. Even before I can move anywhere, he has one of his hands around my left arm and forcing it still. “Are you insane? That doesn’t work. All it does is makes things sticky and attracts insects. Do I even have to mention the bacterial infection?”

“I’m quite aware,” Flash says, but he’s still dipping a—a spoon, I realize with abject horror—into the jar and scooping an inconsiderate amount of it out. He slathers it onto the burn wound and all I can do is watch helplessly as he gleefully scoops more honey out of the jar. He grabs my other hand and slathers it on as I try to not let the honey drip everywhere on my left hand.

“Lick?” Flash offers the honey covered spoon to my face.

“What is wrong with you?” I ask because this person in front of me just can’t be Barry Allen. This is the man that’s the favorite of the Justice League? The man that Father admired and even looked up to?

“You’re just a kid, enjoy life a bit,” he says and shoves the spoon into my mouth when I open it to protest.

Barry Allen is a menace, I decide as I lick the spoon clean. He wraps my hands, still sticky with honey, in white bandages and gives them a hearty slap when he’s done. “Alright, kid,” he says, taking the spoon from my mouth before I can use it to gouge out one of his eyes. “We’re not done here yet.”

He reaches behind him for a small medical kit and pulls out a packet. He opens it to reveal a hypodermic needle.

“Father ordered a blood sample, didn’t he?” I ask. Flash gives me a look and I return it. “If I were in his shoes, I’d get one taken too,” I tell him and offer up my right arm.

With the mess of bandages in the way, there’s no way for me to roll up the sleeve of my shirt. Flash rolls up my sleeve and swipes an alcohol prep pad over the soft spot of my arm. The taking of the blood is a relatively quick and painless process, but neither of us says a word.

It’s a strange lull and I wonder what he’s thinking.

“So your, er, dad,” Flash says, seemingly unable to compute Batman and fatherhood in the same sentence. “What’s it like to grow up with him?” He sets the syringe aside and pulls my sleeve down.

“I didn’t,” I say, staring at my bandaged hands. He did a horrible job with them. What kind of person doesn’t know how to wrap bandages properly?


“Mother raised me.” I glare at him and put my hands out. “Redo these. They’re terrible.”

He actually smiles sheepishly and undoes them. “Sorry,” he says. “I normally work with dead people. They don’t really complain about, well, anything.”

The door to my little cell opens and in walks not-Grayson.

He stares at me and I stare back. Finally, I give. “What?” I ask and it sounds defensive even to my ears.

“We’re letting you out of the holding block,” he says. His expression is unreadable and the mask hides whatever his eyes betray. “But you have to be supervised at all times. When you’re done here, I’ll show you to your room.”

OP again (Anonymous) Expand
WHERE #13? (Anonymous) Expand
Re: WHERE #13? (Anonymous) Expand

Brave New World [14/26]

I run past what seems to be a lounge area, complete with a kitchen that looks oddly modern in the dim light of the cave. There’s a smell wafting from the oven that’s warm and homely. It smells like Pennyworth’s cookies.

But Pennyworth isn’t here. And even if he is, I don’t think he’d make me cookies. Or would he? I don’t know. He’d be looking after Father since everyone knows how difficult that task can be.

The kitchen area, though deserted, is dangerous. Somebody is baking, meaning someone’s nearby. I tread quietly and quickly, straining to hear any sounds of footsteps. I run down the hallway and just as I’m about to turn the corner, I come face to face with Miss Martian.

“Oh!” she gasps, brown eyes wide in shock.

“Tt!” I quickly retrace my steps. How stupid of me to forget that amongst the people here, there are those that fly. Miss Martian being one of them.

“Wait!” she yells and she flies over me to block my path.

“What?” I snarl and crouch into a defensive stance. One touch from her and she can go into my mind, render me unconscious. Superboy may be the strongest of them all, but this one, this martian, is the most dangerous. I leap at her before she can say anything else and she flies out of the way.

“Look, I just want to talk!” she says. She holds out her hands and suddenly, I’m immobilized.

Telekinetics. How annoying.

“Let me go,” I tell her, glaring as hard as I can through the Robin mask.

She looks conflicted for a moment and then steels herself. “Only if you promise to listen,” she says. She floats me with her to the kitchen and does this girl not fear death? The kitchen is stocked with knives and I’m not above using them if I have to.

She sets me down on the ground and my limbs are mine again. Against all logic, I don’t run for it.

Miss Martian smiles and checks on her cookies. From where I’m standing, they look almost done. She closes the oven and leads me over to the lounge area next to the kitchen. There are open, half-eaten bags of chips and junk food everywhere. I’m staring at the utter mess and I can’t believe that anyone would put that disgusting junk inside their bodies. No matter how good it tastes.

She takes a seat on the green sofa and motions for me to sit with her.

I refuse. I cross my arms over my chest and stand my ground. We’re eye to eye now.
“I heard your thoughts,” she says shyly, apologetically. “I’m sorry. But you were thinking really loudly, you know?”

I hate telepaths. I don’t need anyone in my head listening in on my thoughts. “Get out of my head,” I growl. Then I ask her; “What did you hear?”

She gives a soft smile, tinged with some unknown emotion. It’s not pity. Sympathy, maybe. “You miss your parents,” she says, her voice quiet. It still carries and despite how sweet and easy it is to listen to her voice, I want nothing but to choke her of her words. “You’re sad that you can’t see them anymore. You’re scared that you’re getting attached to Batman. You want to go home.”

“I am not!” I yell. It’s too loud and echoes down the hall. No one comes rushing out to take me down.

Miss Martian continues to look at me with her big brown eyes, making me want to puke. “It’s okay,” she says. “I’m a…foreigner too. This isn’t my world.”

“Don’t console me,” I tell her. “You don’t know anything about me! Why are you doing this anyway? You and Artemis. Is this some sort of ploy to get me to lower my guard? I won’t fall for it!”

oops #13 got posted in the wrong spot. 8D;;

Brave New World [15/26]

Her eyes widen and she actually looks hurt. “I-I’m sorry?” she stutters. “I-I was only trying to help.”

“You can help me by giving me back my stuff! Or better yet, let me go home!” I rage. “Why am I even being held here? I don’t understand! This doesn’t make any sense! I’m not the bad guy, I haven’t done anything wrong!”

“That’s because no one knows quite what to do with you,” a robotic voice says from somewhere behind me. I can’t believe that I didn’t hear the Red Tornado coming up behind me. His steps aren’t exactly light. Every time he moves there’s sound; whether it’s the clinking of his armor or the crunch of the ground beneath his boots. “You are from the future and letting you loose in the past is…dangerous. We don’t know what damage might happen.”

‘We’ being the Justice League. Those cowards.

“I am from an alternate future! What part of that don’t you people understand? Whatever I do here there will be no repercussions! Our timelines don’t touch!” I glare at the robot. “Give me back my stuff!”

“Caution should still be taken,” he says calmly, as if I had said nothing. “Though part of the reason you’re remaining here is because you are young and reckless.”

“I am not!” I say again for the second time that day. I’m better than I was months ago. I have more self control, evident of me not tearing his ridiculous armor apart and rewiring his brain altogether.

Red Tornado stares at me for a moment, as if trying to make a point, and then turns to Miss Martian. “Your cookies are burning,” he says.

She gives a squeak and lifts off from the sofa, racing through the air to the kitchen where the once tantalizing smell of cookies is replaced with a charred, burnt scent. I wrinkle my nose at the smell.

“Since you have so much energy,” Red Tornado turns back to me, his voice wry for a robot, “I suppose we should do something to get rid of it.”

My hackles rise immediately. “Like what?” I ask suspiciously.

“Like working it off,” he says. “Come. Miss Martian, when you’re done with your ruined cookies, please join us in the Training Room.” He leads the way, not even glancing back to see if I’m following. He’s awfully confident that I’ll do what he says, though at this point, it’s the only thing I can do. The chance of escape is too low.

We walk down empty halls and grand hollowed out space that looks more manmade than natural. Decoration is sparse and most of it is electric lamps that hang overhead. He stops in front of two giant metal doors, outfitted with the best technology that’s provided. I know it’s the Training Room just by looking at it. The walls surrounding the room, besides being made of stone, is reinforced with steel.

The doors open automatically, the sensors announcing loudly who’s entering.

The lights flicker on and I’m left staring. The room is a goddamned cavern and it’s definitely seen it’s fair use. Broken bases of stalagmite and stalactite riddle the ground and roof, debris almost everywhere with scorch marks on some surfaces of rocks and the ground. One corner of the room is cleared of all such debris and there’s actually a sparring mat laid out. High above is an observation deck.

“Here.” Red Tornado drops the missing parts of my Robin uniform in front of me without any warning.

Brave New World [16/26]

The first thing I do is put my cape back on. It’s irrational, but without it, I feel like my back is exposed. “Why are you doing this?” I ask. “No one else seems to think giving me my stuff is a good idea.” I clip the utility belt around my waist and check the compartments; a few things have been removed, but they largely remained intact. The same could be said about my boots and gloves, though the concealed daggers are missing.

“Your arsenal of weapons is quite different than our Robin’s,” he says. “But at the heart of it, they’re the same. Weapons.”

He actually sounded sad. A robot sounding wistful and sad and I know that this doesn’t have anything to do with me. This heap of metal didn’t even know I existed until several hours ago. Whatever’s running through his circuitry must be remaining from the time that he was human and a memory.

“Don’t think that I’ll be easy to take down,” I tell him and charge.

His armor is unexpectedly harder to take apart than I thought as I pull back the batarangs I’m resorting to use as knives. I had aimed at the joints of the armor, but it doesn’t even dent.

“Good try,” he says and blasts a tornado my way. In this training room, he has the advantage. With all the debris that he’s picking up with the wind, he has a bigger attack range. It’s fine though; if I can’t beat a robot, I don’t deserve to be called Robin, much less become Batman.

The bright side to this is, he’s slower than I thought. It takes time for him to work up the tornado and it dissipates easily. His tornados are much more effective for long range combat rather than close quarter combat. I’ve been taught close quarter combat for nearly all my life. I will not lose.

I get as close to him as I can and go for where the jugular would be if he were human, pushing the batarang in as far as I can with my hands.

A hand grabs my cape and throws me back, the wind around me tearing the air from my lungs. Red Tornado pulls the batarang out of his neck, a faint sparking coming from the wound. He doesn’t say anything and throws it back at me. I dodge, but with the wind blowing all around, the batarang catches my cape and pins me to the ground.

“Tt!” I nearly rip the rest of my cape off as I get free just in time to avoid a boulder smashing into me. How he managed to lift a boulder with just wind power is beyond me.

I throw several smoke pellets at him, though he just gusts them away with a wave of his hand. It’s more than enough of a distraction as I climb onto his back and lock my legs around his chest, jabbing another batarang up into the back of his neck. This time, the armor gives away and I know I’ve hit the jackpot. It falls away with a clatter and the sparking of wires flare in my eyes.

I’m pushed away by a wall of wind, colder and faster than before. The air is so turbulent that I can’t take a breath or stand without overcompensating for my lack of balance. My vision is blurred at the speed of the wind.

“You fight well,” Red Tornado says and for some reason, I can hear his voice clearly through the wind beating at my ears. “But you don’t fight like Batman. Who trained you?”

Brave New World [17/26]

The wind dissipates and I gasp for air.

I look at Red Tornado and realize that he hasn’t taken to air as is his signature move and neither has he taken a single step from where he stands. He’s been taking it easy on me, I realize, and that burns even more than the electric walls of the holding cell.

“Fight me!” I yell, even though my knees are on the ground and I’m outmatched in every possible way. It’s not fair. “What is the point of this? Saying you’re better than me? That I’m a bad Robin? Is that it?” My voice gets higher and shriller, though I try to bring it down again. It’s difficult and I forget the notion entirely when Miss Martian comes into the Training Room.

“Since neither of you are resting—something the two of you should be doing—you can spar with each other,” he says blithely. “Of course, I will keep watch. You do play a little too viciously.” The last part is directed at me.

I stare at Miss Martian. She’s timid and absentminded, and probably a little slow if those cookies were any indication, and her powers are completely at odds with her.

“Fine,” I say. I will not go easy on her. I will prove…

What am I proving? To whom am I proving it to? Certainly not to the robot and certainly not to the alien. So…who?

She tugs at her hair and fidgets in place a little. “Okay,” she squeaks and floats further away from me.

It doesn’t matter that she’s getting more distance because she’s not Red Tornado; she may have telekinetic powers, but she can’t strip the air from my lungs just by the speed of wind only. She can pin me down, but only if she can catch me. Like before, I’m aiming for a closer range in combat rather than long ranged. I’m at a disadvantage to these metahumans and their powers.

I don’t need powers. I’m better trained.

She shapeshifts into a giant sphinx-like creature, the top of her head nearly grazing the tallest part of the cavern. She stomps everywhere with strong, unrestrained power. There are grooves left in the rocks when she lifts her paws.

I dodge and throw two batarangs at her. I have seven batarangs left, along with several flash bombs and one smoke bomb. Everything else useful had been taken away.

She swats the batarangs out of the air like they’re nothing and she’s going to be much more difficult to take down than I thought. In this shapeshifted form of hers, she covers a massive area…

Of course. How silly of me.

She’s so big that she can’t move as freely in this cavern without collapsing the whole cave in on us. That’s the weakness of this form. I charge on ahead, hoping that she wouldn’t squish me, but instead, she falls still. I take the opening and dive for her underbelly, taking out my batarangs and—

She shapeshifts again, this time into something small and with wings, escaping higher up into the cavern.

The moment she had paused, she read my mind.

Damn it, this is why I hate mind readers. The first thing I do when I get back is make Grayson teach me how to defend against these things.

Brave New World [18/26]

Damn it, this is why I hate mind readers. The first thing I do when I get back is make Grayson teach me how to defend against these things.

“Come back down and face me!” I yell up. I squint and I think I see a single bat fluttering around at the top and then it’s dropping down at nearly a ninety degree angle with the ground. It’s moving fast, getting closer…

And changing again!

“Tt!” I dive out of the way just as an elephant crashes down, almost flattening me. “What is with you and flattening objects?” I taunt. “Cookies not flat enough for you?”

A girlish giggle echo in my head. The elephant changes back into the form of a girl and she’s smiling. “I like chocolate chip cookies the best,” she says and flings the boulder that Red Tornado threw earlier at me. “Uncle J’onn likes Oreos.”

“Cookie freak,” I mutter under my breath and take the chance to move in close. I throw two of my batarangs, but she knocks them out of the way with a swipe of her arm. That’s all I need and I’m there, arm twisting around her neck, the sharp end of the batarang at her throat. “I win,” I say.

But then I can’t move. Frozen in place against my will.

She grabs my arm and throws me over her shoulder. I land on my back, my head connecting with the ground, the wind knocked out of me.

I’ve been beaten. Defeated. Me. The stars in my vision don’t disappear when I blink and I try to rub them away, but the mask is in the way. Not only Red Tornado, but also to Miss Martian. I’m only numb, but I can already start to feel the pain gradually working its way through my back. I lost. I’m the loser.

“Are you okay?” Miss Martian appears in my vision, looking worried. She’s offering me her hand, but I swat it away and stumble to my feet.

“Fine,” I grit through my teeth. There’s a ringing in my ears and my steps unbalanced. I persevere.

“Good job,” Red Tornado says, his robotic voice too close. I look up to see him right in front of me. He hands me a keycard. “Go take a rest. You look like you need it. You remember the way back.” He stated the last part plainly, knows that I remember it, and I nod. I snatch the keycard from his hand and leave the Training Room. I can at the very least tell when I’m being dismissed.

I end up back at my room-cell. The lights are off, but I leave them off. My eyes are used to seeing in the dark and I sit down at the corner of the bed. The mattress is firm, new. Slowly, I undress, taking off my boots and my gloves and utility belt. Lastly, I take off the hooded cape and drop it all to the floor.

No one’s going to yell at me for being messy.

I don’t curl up under the sheets. Instead, I lean against the wall next to the bed and close my eyes.

I haven’t ever pretended or imagined in childhood. Mother—Talia, damn it, I will never get used to calling her that—always made sure that I knew. There was nothing that I needed to pretend. There was no imaginary places or things; they either existed or they don’t. I’ve been raised on logic, on things that are tangible.

But now, I pretend and imagine as hard as I can that I’m back at the Batcave and listening to Grayson’s cheerfully bad jokes.

OP here (Anonymous) Expand

Brave New World [19/26]


I wake when I hear the door slide open, but I don’t move despite the horrible position I’m in. It’s not-Grayson, dressed in civilian clothing. He’s wearing sunglasses in a completely dark room, and from what I can see, a darkened hallway.

“Hey,” he says, voice pitched low and sleepy. He must have just woken up. “I’m headed out for school, but uh, I just wanted to let you know that you have access to the Tech Room. If you need help with anything in there, you can ask Miss Martian. Her room’s the one next to yours.”

When I say nothing, he steps further into the room and sits down on the bed next to me.

“I’ve been monitoring the energy residue, and there’s been some fluctuations during the night.”

I tilt my head, just a little bit at the news. Fluctuations? What does he mean? Increasing values? Decreasing?

Not-Grayson smiles and he looks like he wants to ruffle my hair, but he doesn’t. “It’s just some particle increase,” he says. “It might be a fluke, but I think someone’s trying to reach you.”

“Of course,” I say and I’m immensely glad that my voice doesn’t sound rough with sleep like his. “I’m Robin. There’s no Batman without Robin.”

Not-Grayson just smiles wanely and rises from the bed. “If you’re hungry, just head over to the kitchen. Miss Martian overstocks it sometimes.” He pauses at the door, looking over his shoulder and his expression is unreadable with his sunglasses obscuring his eyes. Finally, he gives a little nod and leaves, the door sliding shut with a quiet hiss.

I return to my previously uncomfortable position of leaning against the wall on my side. It’s warm from where my body had been pressed against it as I had dozed, but everywhere else is cold to the touch. I don’t fall back into the bed, which is so inviting with its soft sheets and even softer pillow. It’s beckoning to me like a siren and I want nothing to do with it. I don’t want it. I don’t want these silly comforts.

I can’t have been resting for very long; two hours at the most. I wander into the hall, bereft of all my things except for the yellow cape. It’s cold in the cave.
I find the bathroom and take the time to splash water in my face. There’s a mirror and I chance a look into it.

There’s nothing spectacular about the reflection. It’s my face, same as always. My hair, cut short for efficiency—nothing like the girly hair Drake and Grayson has. My eyes, still blue, but never as pale as Father’s or as deep as Grayson’s. Nothing like those in Father’s strange, adopted family. Mine are different, so different. They’re more a greyed-out color than their vibrant hues of blue. Even more grey and colorless than Todd’s.

I return to my room-cell to find Miss Martian standing outside my door, a bundle of clothes in her arms.

“Do you not sleep?” I ask and I can’t help the scowl.

Brave New World [20/??]

She smiles in return and I can feel a tic developing under my right eye. I’m too young for these sort of muscle spasms. Damn it, I blame Grayson.

“I can ask you the same thing,” she says, but her voice sounds pinched and strange. Maybe she has trouble sleeping. The topic sounds touchy for her. “Anyway, I brought you some clothes. So you don’t have to keep wearing your uniform.”

“Why? I’m not staying,” I tell her.

“Yes, but you know,” she gives a nervous little shift from side to side. “You can still wear these. Everyone wears normal clothes when we’re not on duty.”

“Are you trying to tell me to fit in?” I ask her incredulously. Was she not listening when I just told her that I wasn’t staying? I’m not interested in stupid mingling and getting to know each other, much less fit in with them! Tt, this girl is worse than Father with the selective hearing.

“No! Not at all,” she says hastily. “This is just so you can have a change of clothes. It must be difficult having to be in uniform the whole time, no?” She thrusts the clothes into my hands and waved an arm down the hall. “I know you found the bathroom, but the showers are over there. Except Superboy’s hogging it right now so I wouldn’t recommend going in. Maybe in ten minutes—”

“Okay!” I say, exasperated. “You talk too much when you’re nervous! I do not need to know his showering habits!”

She gives a squeak and turns red. It’s strange to see a martian blush.


I do end up changing into the simple white shirt and drawstring pants that Miss Martian gives me only because getting back into the Robin uniform after a shower is a pain. It sticks in the worst places possible. I take the utility belt and fasten it around my waist. I start to go for the cape, but I decide against it. I don’t need it. Not now.

I go to the Tech Room, with Miss Martian as my guide. She doesn’t stop staring at my face the whole time, since I’ve decided to leave the mask behind.

“What?” I growl defensively.

“Nothing!” she says and flies down a bit further down the corridor.

The entire time, I’ve only had glimpses of Superboy. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s avoiding me. Or Miss Martian. Or both of us.

“What do you know of cross-dimension travel?” I ask her. She should know, being a martian and coming from a world with advanced technology. However, she shakes her head sadly.

“Not much,” she says. “I think the JLA has some classified information on it, though. I think some of them have traveled dimensions before. Uncle J’onn mentioned it once.”

Great. I get to hack the JLA’s computer system for information. I’m only decent with hacking, just enough exposure from Grayson and what Oracle’s taught me. Computers are Drake’s area of expertise, much as I loathe admitting it.

I end up browsing through some files that not-Grayson’s printed out and checking the monitor that he has set up with the particle tracer. There’s an energy mass, almost like a black hole, in the back of one of the streets of Crime Alley. It’s strange, monitoring it, since I don’t even know what to look for. However, if there’s the technology to monitor cross-dimension travel, then that means there’s a way to travel with it. The technology is there.

So why hasn’t the Justice League sent me home yet?

---, this fic is officially no longer 26 parts, but getting closer to 30+.

Brave New World [Interlude]

“Babs, please,” Dick pleads through the phone. He’s gripping it so tight that he thinks he hears a crack. He needs Barbara’s—no, Oracle’s—help. His own connections had failed; Superman refuses to even look at him and others that had worked alongside Bruce are still in shock that he’s dead. His Titan and Outsider comrades have no idea how to fix the broken…whatever it is. Dimensional travel thing.

The only reason he knows that it’s shot Damian somewhere else and not zap him into oblivion is because somehow, for two hours afterwards, the Robin suit’s life readings was still active. In fact, it’s still active, though only intermittently and Dick’s thinking it’s because whatever hole the dimension travel bazooka opened is slowly repairing itself.

“Dick,” Barbara sighs. He can imagine her running her hand through her hair, frustrated and tired. They all are. “You know that anything relating to dimension travel is locked away, right? That if anything, it’s Superman that has all the information in his Fortress.”

“Yeah,” Dick says. She knows what he’s asking her to do. “The guy who made it, he died last night in jail. He won’t be able help to us even if he wanted to. Please, Babs.”

There’s a pause. “Oh, Dick. No one really liked him,” Barbara says, but her tone is gentle and filled with affection. “He was rude and bratty and spoiled. He’s not his dad, even if they are related.”

“I know,” Dick says. He can’t imagine Bruce at the age of ten, haughty and spoiled and ready to take on the world. “He and Tim hated each other on sight. It was a mini-bloodbath every time those two were left in the same room together. Stephanie wanted to strangle him every time he talked.”

Barbara chuckles. “I want to throttle him myself sometimes,” she says and he can hear the smile in her voice. “Alright. Okay, I’ll see what I can do. Hang in there, Dick. Take care of yourself and don’t do anything stupid.”

“Thank you,” Dick says and finds himself smiling for the first time in a week. If there’s anyone in the world that can be depended on, it’s Barbara Gordon.

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