There was nothing natural about the city. From the air to the people; the constant, lingering darkness clung to everything and everyone. It was as if every form of light was being consumed by the overwhelming power of the darkness.

The water was filthy. Dark and disgusting, filled with all kinds of pollution. The air was thick and muggy; the dark, cloud heavy skies forever unchanging. It was in the passers-by eyes. A permanent darkness clinging to their souls; scowls fixed to their faces and eyes constantly narrowed. The darkness was almost tangible, thicker near alley's and backstreets; consistent in the cities centre. Fear so strong it clung to everything.

Gotham City was the kind of dark that made the blood in his veins freeze and the breath hitch in his throat. The kind of darkness that left people feeling scared within their own homes. Even during the day, light refused to filter through the cloud cover. He had to wonder if the citizens of Gotham even knew what the sun was.

Leaning forward, a breath of air slid past his lips. He wanted to go home, but he was stuck there. Uncle Barry kept telling him that their stay in Gotham was temporary, but it didn't make him feel any better. He didn't belong there. The darkness was suffocating; he was a fan of the light. Hot sunny days and hope. Two things that were impossibly foreign to Gotham.

The city was the crime capital of the world. Not just in the Human World, but the Shadow World too. There were more rogue Downworlders in Gotham than there were in most of the world combined. There were more turf wars; more Shadowhunter murders; more turnings; more broken rules, and more power struggles than in any other part of the world. And that was before anyone even bothered to pay attention to how many Demon attacks occurred per year.

Not only was Gotham the crime capital; it was the Demon capital. A hub for Demonic activity that didn't dwindle; ever.

Tilting his head back, he glared up at the sky. He had been there almost three days. Almost three days of dealing with some of the weirdest Shadowhunters he had ever met. Almost three days of almost constant Demonic attacks. Three days of nothing but dark, heavy, clouds and artificial light.

The clouds didn't budge. Not once. No sunlight. No moonlight. No stars.

Was it ever light in Gotham?

A snort pulled him from his thoughts, and he realised that maybe, just maybe, he had started to think out loud.

"You ever want to introduce the sun to the good people of Gotham, you know where we are."

Before he could turn to see the man who had interrupted his attempt at alone time, there was someone sitting next to him; legs dangling over the edge of the apartment block. Looking at him, he realised that there was something familiar about him. Paying attention he thought that the young man couldn't be too much younger than himself. Looking at him a little longer, and Wally realised there was a chance he could be a hell of a lot older than him.

Prominent dark circles were under the brightest blue eyes he had ever seen. And the young man's face, while tan, was the kind of pale that reminded him of the dead.

Vampire.

"Sorry, the sun blocked my number; something about not wanting to associate with the night."

Sometimes he wondered if he had a subconscious death wish. He had been warned off associating with Vampires outside meetings. They were volatile, and according to his uncle Barry they had no sense of humour. Not forgetting that almost every encounter he had with a Vampire often resulted in him nearly having his head ripped off for accidentally offending someone.

The rules were supposed to be simple; Shadowhunters and Downworlders don't associate outside of business. But he was an overly friendly guy; and Gotham wasn't exactly known for maintaining rules.

And if the Vampire was just as gorgeous as any of the Fae Folk he had met, he would just tell himself that had nothing to do with making the stupid comment.

A grin slowly spread across the Vampires face and Wally slowly turned to look out across the city. He was expecting to be called in at any moment; and wouldn't that be just his luck.

"You're new."

Squashing his initial sarcastic quip, he wondered how important the Vampire was. Not just any Vampire would know that he wasn't from around.

"A transfer from Idris?"

"No." He let out a humourless laugh. Shaking his head, he though fuck it. Why couldn't he have a normal conversation with a Vampire. They were all people, after all. "Central City institute. Apparently there isn't nearly enough Shadowhunters to deal with the sudden influx of Demon activity. That and the Clave wants my Aunt Iris to help crack down on Downworlder activity, but this is Gotham. I'm pretty convinced Shadowhunters are next to obsolete here."

"Obsolete? That's a pretty big word, you use a lot of those?"

His lips twitched upwards. "Sometimes. Can't throw them around all willy-nilly though, people start developing expectations." He over-dramatically breathed the last word out, widening his eyes as he looked towards the Vampire.

Despite what people wanted to think about him, he wasn't an idiot. He was a near-certified genius. Not that he would openly brag about it; it was ten times more hilarious to surprise people who thought he was stupid with his intelligence.

"Oh, you don't want that." There was a smile on the Vampires face, and his bright eyes were burning into Wally. "Don't worry, Shadowhunter, I'll keep your smarts a secret." Slowly blue eyes dragged off of him to gaze out across the darkness that encompassed the city. "I wouldn't say that the Nephilim here are obsolete. Just mostly unwanted."

"You know how to make a guy feel special, dude."

The laugh that filled the air made Wally's lips curve into a smile.

"B's better at keeping the unrest at ease than Kent." Something about the way he spoke that made Wally pause. "Kent's too nice and diplomatic for Gotham. Drive's B insane. Rogue Downworlder's around here don't respond to second chances and diplomacy well. Manipulative bastards."

"Kill don't question then?" Wally asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No." And the Vampire's lips seemed fixed into a frown. "B doesn't like to kill. We get the rogues to the Clave. Kent throws a hissy fit. Rinse and repeat."

Snorting, his lips pulled upwards. "I can understand why the Clave hates Gotham. Arresting Downworlders is supposed to be our job."

"Supposed to be. Though I'm sure B would reluctantly hand that task back over to you Nephilim when you're all able to handle the Downworlders around here correctly."

"Hmm." His legs started bouncing off the side of the building, because sitting still for too long was something he had never mastered. Wally West and stealth missions were a truly rare sighting. "I assume the word reluctantly means that he enjoys sending the 'bad guys' to hell."

"Who doesn't?"

An incessant buzzing came from the Vampire's pocket, and a frustrated sigh slid off his lips. Pulling his phone out, he hid ignore before looking at the screen.

"Bloody hell, honestly. I leave for five minutes." Pulling himself into a crouch, he turned to face Wally. "Well, as fun as this has been, I have to go stop one brother from staking the other. Honestly, he's just jealous that the damn cat likes Tim's company." Shaking his head, a smile flitted on to his face. "I'll see you around -" He paused, head tilting to the side slightly.

"Wallace. Wally West."

"Grayson. Dick Grayson."

He was gone, and all Wally could think was oh.

Oh.

And the reason the Vampire looked familiar slipped into his mind. Richard 'Dick' Grayson was the eldest, adoptive son of Bruce Wayne. Incredibly rich, incredibly famous, playboy-billionaire, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, Bruce Wayne.

It took him a moment. Wondering if Grayson being a Vampire meant that Bruce was, but then he thought back over the conversation and;

Oh holy shit.

While he wanted to slam his head repeatedly off a desk screaming 'why do these things happen to me' he decided to settle for a disgruntled groan. Because he would put every penny he owned on being the last person in the entire Shadow World to know that Bruce fucking Wayne was a Vampire. He was more than tempted to put every penny he owned on the man being the head of the Gotham Clan.

Oh God. He just wanted to go home.

"Oh look, baywatch is back."

"Oh look, blondie has yet to hit a target."

Artemis' glare would probably do more damage if he hadn't spent three years having the same glare shot his way in Idris. The girl had one hell of a temper, and really, he wasn't in the mood. Not to deal with her mood swings, or Roy's constant 'you'll settle in fine eventually'. Eventually he was going home, to hell with whether Roy liked having him around or not.

The only upside to the Gotham Institute was the fact Hal was there. Hal who wasn't his uncle but as good as. The man had been transferred to Gotham two years prior, and Wally had missed him like hell.

"I think you'll find I hit a bullseye every time, West."

Wally snorted and turned to look at her; because honestly, he had zero impulse control – at least that was still more than Bart. "No proof, no believe. Everyone knows you're all talk, Crock."

"Everyone knows your nothing but a bitter asshole, West."

Well, he couldn't really argue that. "Better than being a bitter bitch."

"Wow. It's almost like West wasn't gone for the past five hours. You two really know how to live out the definition of 'picking up where we left off' in the worst way possible." Roy may have been his best friend, but sometimes he just wanted to punch the bastard.

Annoying the hell out of Artemis was one of the few good things he would get out of being in Gotham. His lack of impulse control meant arguments were a given, and with the bitter frustration he felt it was probably somewhat healthy to let off that steam. Uncle Barry was always trying to convince him that letting off a little steam was good for the soul. Decking Artemis sounded like it could be fun. Being decked by Artemis didn't sound fun; so risking an actual fight was never going to happen. Insults and arguments were really all he had.

"Conner wants to see us. Rumours of Slade being out and about have started circulating; which means the rumours about Vandal might be more than just rumours. I don't believe that this can be a coincidence."

Artemis snorted. "When it comes to Vandal, nothings a coincidence."

Biting his tongue, Wally resisted the urge to question Artemis. It was the mere tone of her voice that had him remaining silent. That didn't mean his mind wasn't working faster than his feet.

Because no one had seen Vandal in fifteen years. There was no way Artemis Crock could know what was or wasn't a coincidence. And if she did, then what sort of a shit-storm were they really headed for?