The spring sunlight was dripping onto Gotham slowly, bringing a promise of warmth. It bathed the rooftop gargoyles with gold and never made it to the streets below. Suren thought Gotham was one of the coldest cities he had ever lived in. Neither ancient Lebanon nor Dinosaur Island stayed chilly this long. Suren resented wearing a cloak and a coat when he took a walk outside, and he resented how Alfred Pennyworth had to explain 'hand warmers' to him, because the butler was definitely - definitely - laughing at him.

But since Damian had named a cat after Alfred, Suren guessed the Pennyworth servant was very important to him. Which meant Suren couldn't vaporize him.

"That's a pity," Suren grumbled to himself, hand propping up his cheek as he stared out the Wayne Manor window. Bruce Wayne, Damian's father, was talking out on the lawn with Damian's least favorite sibling. They seemed to be having a great time.

The least favorite sibling laughed. Suren couldn't remember his name. He just knew him as 'the skinny pale one.' The very pale one. The one so pale Suren had first believed he was on his deathbed when he met him, and asked him if he was dying, which had made Batman choke on his drink.

Suren remembered that dinner vividly. It had been during his second week in Gotham and his first week staying in the manor. It also had been a Tuesday. No one had trusted Suren, but it didn't mean they were going to starve him. Suren had been keeping his magic and sword-swinging in check, like a good guest. Den Darga hadn't raised an animal.

Maya had been off feeding Goliath; Damian had been off visiting his oldest sibling in Bludhaven. Which left one uncomfortable Suren Darga at the table with an unmasked Batman and Red Robin, who also looked uncomfortable. Especially when Suren asked him if he was terminally ill.

"No," Tim had said, an odd look on his face. "I'm not terminally ill."

Suren squinted at him. "Are you certain?"

"I'm positive."

"You may want to check again," Suren said, finishing off his drink. He was comfortable at Wayne Manor's empty big table. It reminded him of home. Even if nothing else did. "You look anemic. You and Damian's father. And the head servant. And half of everyone in Gotham. But mostly you. Find a local healer."

While Batman was coughing on his drink, head servant Pennyworth had reappeared.

"More rolls, Master Darga?" he said.

"Absolutely," Suren said. "Can I have more apple juice, but in the silver goblet from the display case?"

"For the third time, Master Darga," Pennyworth said, polite, "no. That is a family heirloom."

"They let me use fancy goblets in Arabia," Suren said, hoping a repetition would change the outcome. "My father beheaded those who stopped him from doing so."

"With all due respect, Master Darga, your father is not here. Killing is forbidden in the Wayne-al Ghul household."

Suren narrowed his eyes. "Fine. Then I would just like some more apple juice. Please."

"Absolutely."

Batman finished coughing. It would be a while longer before Suren thought of him as 'Damian al Ghul's father.' "Suren," Batman said, "I think we need to have a conversation."

Red Robin, the least favorite sibling, excused himself from the table with haste.

In the present, Suren sighed. As it turns out, he thought, sulkily doodling a red-breasted bird on a sliver of paper, some people are just white.

The bird looked bad. Especially in comparison with Damian's drawings Suren had seen. He lit the paper on fire with a flick of fingers. Suren watched it curdle to nothing. He swept the ashes into the nearest wastebasket. Outside, Damian's least favorite sibling finished talking to Damian's father and left. Suren knew he would be back.

Red Robin. That's who that person was. That's who was spying on Suren every day, besides Black Bat, to make sure he was behaving himself. Suren watched Bruce Wayne go inside before he laid his head on the desk.

All of this, Suren thought, is Damian al Ghul's fault.

A lot of things were Damian's fault. Some of them were Maya's, too, but Suren found it more satisfying to blame Damian. That was one modern trend he was on-board with. After Ra's al Ghul had broken Suren's leg on their last mission, one the League of Assassins was not supposed to appear in, Damian had become exceedingly paranoid. What if Ra's snatched Suren? What if Ra's snatched Suren and then snatched Damian? What if he used Suren's exploited powers to snatch Damian? The list of concerns multiplied.

So it was Damian al Ghul who had suggested that Suren come stay with his family to lay low and heal - after holding a knife to his throat and making him promise not to hurt anyone. (Suren had gone along with it. He'd even said والله). He had sworn everyone's identity to secrecy with magic more ancient than the Darga bloodline itself. And then, one week before Suren's cast had been removed, Damian, Maya, and Goliath had abandoned him.

At least, that's how it felt. Goliath had tussled with Bat-cow one time too many then gone to visit Themyscira to learn some self control. Or receive some Amazonian belly rubs. Then Maya and Damian had smelled something brewing and prepared to visit Talia and infiltrate the League of Assassins. Both them had informed Suren he was sitting this one out.

"I can accompany you," Suren insisted. "I have magic. I'm above you. I can help more than you can."

"One, that was an awful attempt at persuasion," Damian said, pulling his gloves on. "Two, your leg is broken. So no. You're not coming."

"Also," Maya added, "it's because you stick out like a sore thumb. Stealth isn't your strong point. You talk like you're at a Renaissance Festival sometimes."

Suren glared at her. He hoped Maya's puff of messy morning hair didn't keep her from seeing his displeasure.

"We are going to Saudi Arabia. English is not necessary. I do not sound archaic in Arabic," Suren argued.

"Not we. Us. Sorry, Suren." Maya squeezed his shoulder.

Suren did not like the way Damian was minding his own business. He crossed his arms and pushed up an tingling, unpleasant sheet of magic until Damian was forced to acknowledge him.

"Unfortunately," Damian said, "you sound archaic in every language."

"What's wrong with speaking Classic Arabic?"

Suren found that Lebanese Arabic was the most natural dialect for him to speak, especially in the modern world, but after Damian had laughed at him for sounding soft mid-threat about gluing a jar of rats to someone's face, Suren had a) punched Damian and b) elected to keep that to himself. So Classical Arabic whenever possible it was.

"Nothing, Suren. You'd be right at home in the League of Assassins," Damian said. "But even then, you do things like accuse billboards of witchcraft. It's not going to work."

"That was once, Damian al Ghul," Suren said. Maya's hand slipped off his shoulder. "Once."

Right as Maya said "Stop calling him that" Damian said "You're hurt. Ra's is looking for you. You're not coming."

So that was that. Suren Darga was alone. He had been moldering in the Wayne Manor for the past three weeks. Every day was a loop of meditation, training, magic practice, aimlessly browsing books, and a lot of nothing. Sometimes Damian's family came through, but they were all on missions, or here to see someone else, so he didn't speak to them. Suren felt like he was rotting. He restlessly turned his head and switched which cheek he had pressed against the desk surface.

Den Darga's gravelly, liquid gold voice rose in the back of Suren's head.

Idleness is a sign of worthlessness. Get up. Do something. Cease wasting my time and yours. You did it enough before you failed me.

The buzz of a text arriving sent Suren stumbling out of his seat. He caught his phone before it tumbled from his pocket hit the floor. I hate cellphones, Suren thought, his hands shaking as he fumbled to hit what Oracle had called 'the home button.' I hate all phones. For a moment, the phone's vibration had felt in tune with his father's voice.

When Suren finally managed to get the screen lit up, he saw it was a text from Maya.

"Starting to get into srs stuff," it said. "Won't be able to talk for a while. Hope ur good. Dami says hi."

For a long second, Suren stared at the text. Then he slid his fingers down the phone's side and shut it off. The incessant little light on the phone's face that meant he had a message would not stop flashing. Suren could never make it cease without clicking into his messages, but today, he did not want to do that. His reflection stared back at him in the phone's face, mocking him.

Suren turned it over on. The phone stayed on his desk as he got up, pacing. His sword, skull helm, and gear lay in a corner of his room, polished and unused. His bed was made without a wrinkle. It looked profoundly unfriendly. None of the books on Suren's desk drew his eye. There has to be something, Suren thought. There has to be something. What do other people do to busy themselves when they are not plotting to kill the world?

His window, which faced the west, brightened with Robin-red light. Sunset bloodied Gotham's streets. Suren hadn't realized how fast time had passed. It was too late to visit the Lebanese bakery five blocks away. They closed early. Suren had no idea where else he would go to feel at home. There were no missions for him to run, no people to command. No one to speak to. He wanted to scream.

Maybe a walk around the manor would help. Yes. This western mansion was full of shadow-ghosts and gloom, but that was better than nothing. Suren paced out of his room, leaving his sword behind. I'll just take my dagger with me, he decided. That makes Black Bat look at me less strangely. But then I can still train if I want to.

Suren's room was on the third floor. When he emerged, he had slip down two sets of foreboding stairs to get to the main floor, and another few to reach the Batcave. He could not levitate down anymore after he had startled Pennyworth one night. Suren only resented it a little.

When Suren reached the second floor, he heard voices crossing the atrium. Immediately, he stilled. Since no one wanted to tell Suren Darga anything, he had to learn it himself. The footsteps had a clack under them; the voice sounded higher. Did that mean heels? Suren wasn't sure. The future had a lot more shoe choices to offer. He scrunched his face, listening.

"I'm not sure I like it," the voice said, crossing the room. "Damian was bad enough, at first."

Suren knew who it was now. It was Batgirl. The girl with the long blonde hair. The one Damian liked wrestling with. When Suren had first seen her hair, looking like a tangled seaweed bunch of flax hanging from her head, he had asked to touch it. He he been denied. Then he had demanded to touch it. He had been denied. Then he had touched it. He had been hit. Batgirl was not one of Suren's favorites. Not that he had a favorite. He talked to none of Damian's family outside of training.

"I know he's come around," Stephanie said. "I love him. This isn't about Damian. I don't know how I feel about the manor becoming Bruce Wayne's Center for Murderous Misfits, not more than it already is. None of us know what to do with him, Tim. Damian didn't ask anyone before he invited him. And now he knows everything."

Suren's chest was tight. Fire flared around his hands. He imagined Batgirl's flax hair going up in flames, then her face, until it melted into the facsimile of a drippy skull. Like a match head. Batgirl no-name had no right to talk about him like this.

"Of course I'm not mean to him." Stephanie headed into another room, her voice fading. "The kid deserves a better life. But I didn't sign up for this. I can sense he wants to hurt us sometimes, even if he doesn't do shit. Cass can too. That's all. It's not the friendliest atmosphere. Whatever, Tim…"

His hands were hot. Suren squeezed them into fists, forcing the flame out of them. He didn't know if the shame or the embarrassed anger was brighter. Weak, Den Darga's voice said in his head. Weak, weak, weak.

"I don't do that anymore," Suren muttered to himself.

Because you're a disgrace.

Suren decided he was going to search for his purpose in life in the opposite direction Batgirl had gone. He jogged up the stairs, definitely not fleeing, since Suren Darga didn't flee, until he had no stairs left. His legs burned. Suren dwindled to a stop in the middle of the top floor's hallway.

Couches and the widened floor suggested this was a reading nook. Two ancient shelves covered in novels flanked the walls. Suren thought of his home with a pang of nostalgia. The more he considered what he missed, the faster it faded. Windows larger than the shelves peered out onto the gloomy, rolling lawn of the manor. The sun was down. Unfamiliar stars speckled Gotham's night. Suren saw nothing but folds of dark grass that consumed themselves and the few decrepit keeper's sheds on them. There was no moon. Suren could not even use the sky to guess where Dinosaur Island was.

This place is unwelcoming, Suren thought. Even the grass looks cursed. He pressed a brown hand to the cold pane. I should have gone somewhere else after Damian and Maya left.

There was no moon, but the sky was brightening. Burning blue light traced Suren's face. He looked up. His eyes widened.

A comet plummeted across the horizon, then out of the sky. It burned an infuriated teal and red. Its tail ripped through the stars around it. Suren's heart thrummed. He bolted to the other side of the manor to follow its trail, levitating the last few steps to make to the window. Suren smacked his fist on the window frame when it vanished. He heard a faint commotion downstairs.

Well, Suren thought, only one thing to do.

"The comet landed here," Oracle said, rising out of her wheelchair to point at a place on the Batcave screen. A map was pulled up. Highways and markers glowed on the screen's edge like the spread entrails of a computer. It made Suren's head hurt with a desire to learn everything. The comet's marker sat in the blissful darkness. "The Justice League noted an unfamiliar object entering the atmosphere an hour ago. They're not sure what it is. Maybe the debris of a ship. Authorities haven't investigated yet. We don't think it damaged any buildings or disturbed traffic when it hit."

"Do we know what it is?" Batgirl leaned on the computer desk, her eyes focused on the map. Suren tried not to look at her for too long. Black Bat sat perched behind Oracle, enraptured by the distant mess of roads on screen. Oracle settled back into her seat.

"No," Oracle said. "We have no idea. But we'll find out soon."

"I'll investigate," Suren said.

Oracle and Batgirl turned to look at him. Suren made sure to make eye contact with Batgirl. I'm not mean, you flax-headed peon, he thought. I'll prove it to you. In preparation, he had already put on his boots and a coat. The hat he was wearing squashed down his hair over his forehead. Since Batman had declared his horned helm "too threatening," it was banished to his room until a later time. Suren's phone sat heavy in his pocket.

"Warm outside," Black Bat said.

Suren ignored her. "I can head there and back quickly. I can't teleport all the way there, but I can teleport close. Then all I have to do is walk there, examine the comet, subdue whatever creature might be in it, and leave. Simple."

"There aren't usually creatures in comets, Suren," Batgirl said. She leaned back from the computer screen. Suren painfully felt how much taller she was than him.

"Shows what you know," Suren said.

Batgirl's mouth twitched. "Babs, are we sure we want to do this?"

Oracle glanced at Suren. He felt the assessment in her gaze. Thick rectangles of light glinted up and down her glasses. It reminded Suren of being looked over by his mother, in a way, and he was not sure if he hated it or welcomed it. Suren fought off the eels in his stomach.

"Suren has a good track record the past few weeks," Oracle said. "He hasn't stabbed anyone or set them on fire in a while. If anything, he's far better about that than plenty of the rest of us have been. Steph, you said he was stir-crazy. Now's a good time for him to get out. Suren, if you investigate, you have to promise me you'll keep us updated. Call for assistance and fall back if something is wrong. Black Bat or Batgirl can assist you."

Suren bit back the "don't give me orders" sitting on his tongue. He was Suren Darga's son, and this was where he was right now? Remaining silent and taking commands from a cripple? He didn't need anyone's help. It only sounded appealing when Damian or Maya offered. But Oracle sat there with an air of dominance laced with concern, and the gazes of Batgirl and Black Bat were on him. Especially Black Bat.

"I can take care of it," Suren said.

"Good to hear it," Oracle said. She extended her hand. "Let me see your phone."

Suren handed the demonic device over. He had finally reread Maya's message and closed the digital mailbox. Oracle's hands typed something swiftly and surely on the glowing screen. When she handed it back to Suren, the same map on the Batcave screen looked back at him. The only difference were the comforting Arabic directions on his phone.

"Take samples if it's interesting," Oracle said, passing Suren a small pack.

"Right." Suren started when he felt Black Bat drop down behind him. "Gah!"

"And cloak," Black Bat said. She draped a black clock with a bat insignia on the clasp over his shoulders. "Take cloak too."

Suren jerked away from her. "Why do you always sneak up on people? How do you do that? Are you a demon?"

"Questions for another time," Batgirl said. "Leave him alone, Cass."

Suren had no idea if the mockery in her face was fond or not. He had little reference for both of those emotions. He pulled away, grumbling to himself. The cloak Black Bat had draped on him was long enough to reach the floor and then some. Suren inhaled.

"I will be back," he said, feeling blue magic pull at all the tiniest flecks of his being as he did.

Right before he disappeared and reappeared by cold roadside, Suren swore he saw Black Bat wave.

AN: Let's do this.

1) I haven't read as much Son of Batman if I want to, so please correct me on Suren's powers if I write some incorrectly.

2) Suren told Damian 'wallah' at the end of his promise. Ask your Arab friends.

3) Roast me for any linguistic or cultural errors.