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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 (http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/WMG/YoungJustice 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] (Anonymous) Expand
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OP again (Anonymous) Expand
WHERE #13? (Anonymous) Expand
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