Title: Past Lives
Fandom: Static Shock, Bat-family
Characters: Virgil/Richie, Robin, Alfred, Booster Gold, Nightwing, Oracle, Blue Beetle, Alfred (mentioned twice because I think he is just so awesome he deserves mentioning twice), Hotstreak, OC
Prompt: #01 (Beginning), #18 (Black), #48 (Diamond), #02 (Middles), #87 (Life), #72 (Fixed), #03 (Ends)
Word Count: 3500 (each section is 500 words)
Rating: M
Disclaimer: I do not own Static Shock or DC.
Author's Notes: m/m, drabble. So, this time, instead of making several posts for one story, I'm making this is a one-shot with several drabbles in it. My apologies for any OOC-ness for the Bat-family. It's been a while since I poked at them. This is a series of drabbles created for the Lj community known as fanfic100. Unedited and unbeta'd.

Past Lives

**Beginnings**

Dressed down in dirty jeans and a red tee-shirt, Tim wandered into the little hole-in-the-wall dive bar in the heart of Dakota. There was no way he would ever manage to look like he belonged there, but that didn't matter. Clear-eyed and completely sober, he scanned the patrons who were either passed out over their drinks or well on their way, though it was only three in the afternoon. Off by himself at the bar, a hunched blond man sat. Feeling his stomach fill with unease, Tim made his way to sit beside him.

"What are you doing here?" the blond man asked, his voice rough from misuse, though it was a fair reflection of the man himself.

"Hello to you to, Richie," Tim said lightly. "Nice beard. Going for that macho, lumberjack look?"

"Fuck off."

"Not on tonight's agenda, unfortunately," Tim chirped.

"Whatever lies you're selling for... whatever you're selling, I'm not interested in buying," Richie muttered as he tipped the small glass of bourbon back. Setting the now empty glass back on the bar with a wince, he continued. "I can only stomach so much bullshit in this life."

"And yet, it seems you can stomach all kinds of vitriolic lies you want to tell yourself about us," Tim replied. "But I'm not here to talk to you about yourself. Especially when you're drinking."

"Fuck off."

"Again, I already told you, that's not on tonight's agenda."

"Then pencil it in."

"I'll think about it," Tim replied, rolling his eyes. "But should I do that before or AFTER I convince you that we know how to bring Stat…erm… Virgil back?"

"I've heard that line before. And now, I'm telling you to go fuck yourself six ways to Sunday," Richie snorted. "And if you show your face in Dakota again, I'll make sure you don't make it out of this hell hole alive."

"What are you going to do?" Tim whispered, his voice turning to steal hidden in the quiet darkness. "Are you gonna try and get back in your uniform and hunt me down? You gonna sick BackPack on me?"

Richie turned to look at the smaller, more athletic male. Through bleary vision, he smirked. "Nah. I'd just tell the right person who the fuck you are."

"You couldn't make it out of this bar if it were on fire," Tim scoffed. He leaned back on his stool to regard the man who used to be a super genius. "But… there are people out there that think you could still make a difference."

"Whatever." Richie scoffed. "Go home, little robin, and tell those asses in charge that those days are long gone."

"Maybe. But why not try?" Time asked. "It couldn't hurt."

"Fuck off."

"One time. That's it. After that, I'll personally help you disappear." Tm pleaded.

Richie looked at him and sighed. He'd been down this road so many times before. 'But why not? I've got nothing else to lose.' "Fine. But this is the last time, Drake."

**Black**

If he could get the world to go black, to just forget him until either he died or the universe ended, he'd be content. Because that blank, abysmal purgatory would be heaven compared to the empty life, the living hell, he was used to experiencing. The liquor had helped, but now it was time to go without any kind of assistance. He had to face the world once again.

Sobering up was one of the cruelest forms of torture Richie had ever come across, and he'd endured a lot through the course of his life. There was the usual hangover that everyone experienced, where their body rebelled and purged itself of everything it thought it had eaten in the past month. Worse, though, was that it allowed his brain to clear.

Thoughts that had been fuzzy, remaining out of focus and out of reach slowly became firmer, sharper, more pressing. And they wanted to make up for all lost time, as they began to multiply exponentially, each one a solution to a problem that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

But the one problem he wanted to solve more than anything else…

He didn't know how to bring Static back.

And that knowledge… that was so painful Richie didn't know what to do with himself. Curled up on a cot under a thin sheet and an equally thin blanket, in some decrepit clock tower room in the heart of Gotham, Richie did his best not to cry at the unfairness of it all. Instead, he focused on the more understandable physical results of his detoxing. It had been a while since he'd been sober, so he wasn't sure how long it would take to get back to that state. He closed his eyes for what seemed only a second, wallowing in the blackness of that momentary oblivion. But it wasn't enough. "I need a drink."

"After," someone replied, even as they put a glass of water on a nightstand close to him, followed by two little pills. "First you need to help us. Then we'll help you."

Richie snorted at the empty promise. He'd heard it often enough in the time since Static's disappearance. And at first he believed them. But as weeks turned to months, and months turned to years, and he was still no closer to getting Virgil back… no closer to rescuing Static… the fate of the rest of the world meant less and less to him.

"I'll be back in a few hours to check on you."

"Great," Richie replied sourly. "You do that."

He wanted to sleep, to go through the period withdrawal in a state of unconsciousness. Unfortunately, his thoughts were tired from being pushed aside. Whimpering, Richie pulled the covers of his head, pushing the world away like a little child.

It wasn't enough. But then, he knew that it would never be enough.

"I need a drink," Richie muttered to himself. Softer, he added. "God, V… I wish you were here."

**Diamond**

Booster peeked into the recovery room. He had never had to stay in the clock tower, thankfully, but he'd been by often enough to see just about every member taking an extended convalescence in the room. The only exception to that, of course, was Batman himself. But, why stay in a drafty tower when there were other places the Bat could linger. Like a cave.

Shutting the door behind him, the time-traveling hero walked over to kneel beside the bed. Richie… was nothing like he expected. Nothing like he remembered. "You look like shit, Gear."

"Feel like it, too," the meta-human groaned.

"You able to think clearly yet?" Booster asked, concerned for the security and viability of their mission. There was a lot hinging on Richie's ability to learn and adapt.

"Unfortunately."

"Good," Booster nodded. 'He can barely function, and we expect him to do all that needs to be done? If it weren't for the irony of time travel, and that we're getting down to crunch time, I'd say we should wait a month, let's see how he looks then. Hell, how he smells then. Talk about rank!' "There's a shower across the hall. I'll ask and see if they have any spare clothes. Get cleaned up and meet us upstairs."

Leaving the former hero to do as he had instructed, Booster headed upstairs where the others were gathered. Robin and Nightwing were going over what appeared to be a map, but what was, in fact, various time schematics. Oracle was at the computer, running program after program, trying to determine which, if any, had the best chance of success. And the young Blue Beetle was off to the side, the symbiotic armor chatting with the wearer.

"Is he up?" Alfred asked, appearing out of the gloom beside him.

"He's alive, does that count?" Booster answered.

One perfectly shaped eyebrow arched.

"I told him to head to the shower. He needs a fresh set of clothes, though. His reek."

"I'll get him some," Tim said, practically running away from the schematics.

"Do you think this will work?" Nightwing asked.

"It's a chance in a million, but it's a chance," Booster said with a shrug.

"You may be surprised at young Master Richard's resiliency." Alfred said as he walked further into the room. No longer a butler, he dressed in slacks and an aged sweater. "He has had a hard life, not as disastrous as some, but brutal in its own way. And that hardship has only made him stronger."

"You saying he's a diamond in the rough?" Oracle asked with a smile.

"I can buy the rough part, but I'll believe the diamond when I see it," Nightwing said huskily. "I think he'd be more cubic zirconium."

"Yeah, well, time will tell," Booster said dryly. "And that's going to be the new reality of the situation, like it or not."

The others quieted down for a moment, leaving Booster with his silent prayer, 'Please don't fuck this up, kid.'

**Middles**

When Richie climbed the stairs to meet with the rest of them, Alfred was the first to catch sight of the young inventor. 'Young no more, life has taken not just his innocence, but also his youth and vigor.' "Good evening, Richard. I see that you have shaved."

"Hey Alfred, I figured it'd be appropriate," Richie said with a slight shrug. "So, what does Batman need me for this time?"

Most of the people in the small room looked away, either down or at caught someone else's eye. But Alfred had no time for coyness. "Master Bruce is not aware of our current affairs, and it would be best for all if he remained that way."

"Uhm," Richie said, pausing at the entrance to the room. "I may have been out of commission for a while, but the last time I checked, no one could really pull one over on Batman. He's… almost like a god with how much he knows about what's going on…"

"So, it's a good thing that the rest of the Bat-family is here," Booster said with faux cheerfulness. "They've learned from the best, and one of the best things they've learned is how to keep a secret."

"Riiiiiiiiiiiight." Richie drawled.

"Listen, even if Batman found out about what we're planning to do, it wouldn't matter. He wouldn't have the time to stop us, no pun intended."

"And what, exactly, are WE planning to do?"

"We're going to do a bit of bending of the rules," Booster said. "Going back in time in mind if not body."

"What?!"

"We're going to go back in time to a point before the world went to hell in a hand basket," Nightwing replied. "Well, you and Booster are."

Richie turned, wide eyed to regard the other blonde man.

"Traveling through time is a tricky business at the best of times, but this is going to be infinitely more complicated." Booster said softly. "But, if we're going to save this planet, we're going to have to go back in time to our then-bodies and change things."

"Just how far back are talking about?"

"Back before the Night Breed were given northern Alaska," Tim said. "Before Hotstreak hooked up with TwoFace and Shiv went partying with Harley."

"Back before all of this started," Oracle informed him. "We're planning for the day before Static went… missing."

"We've got the plans for every time travel device ever created," Nightwing interjected. "And a few mind control devices as well. We just need to figure a way to combine the two technologies."

"And that's where I come in," Richie said with a nod, his entire demeanor changing. Where once stood a haggard waste of a man, someone else was finally peeking through: Gear.

"Exactly," Alfred replied.

"Lets get to it," Gear said with an uncommon intensity, once more taking on the responsibilities of being a hero.

Alfred stepped back, allowing Richie to pick who he was going to speak with first. Hope was alive again.

**Life**

"If this works… it's going to be a whole new life for all of us," Oracle said quietly. It was just Richie and her left in the tower. Alfred was downstairs somewhere, taking a short nap. She hoped he slept for a few good hours, as he'd been up for longer than was completely necessary.

"If it works," Richie agreed as he continued drawing against the thin parchment. "But there's only a slight chance that it will."

"You say that, but you're still working on it," she replied. "We just mentioned it to you, and now you're driving all of us into the ground."

"It's what I've been waiting for," Richie said calmly, his eyes only on the diagrams in front of him. "I've begged and pleaded and cursed and thought myself straight to the bottle, all for this. All for an honest chance to get Virgil… get Static back."

Oracle shifted in her chair before she wheeled herself to the opposte side of the drawing board. She poured two cups of coffee, though she doubted that Richie would actually drink anything. Once they had mentioned what they wanted to do, the young blond had set to task harder and faster than she thought humanly possible. 'Granted, he's not quite human, but still. You'd think he'd want to eat after ten hours.' Setting the cup beside him, she asked, "You do realize that if this doesn't work you could die, right?"

"If this doesn't work," Richie said as he shifted to draw at a different angle. "I would want to die."

"Why?"

"Lady, I don't know if you noticed or not, but I've been enduring a kind of living-death for ages now. I should be so lucky as to die if this doesn't work out."

"There's still the chance that you won't be able to save Static," Oracle warned him. "Are you going to be able to go through that again? You could still change the rest of the future."

"Oh, I'm sure I could," the blond agreed. "And I probably will. But after I've made a few modifications to the world, I'd probably try again and again until I got it right. Until I saved him."

"Is he that important to you?"

Looking up from the schematics for the first time in hours, Richie shot a look at her that chilled her with its passion. "He's everything to me."

She was only mildly relieved when he returned to the drawing board, intent on fixing past mistakes. Taking a deep breath, she returned to her work. "I just hope you understand… even if you save him…"

"I know," Richie said. "Even if I save him, I'll never make him love me. But I'd rather have him next to me and married to someone else than to go on without him. That's Love's curse, you know. Well, one of them, anyway."

Looking at a picture of her family, all pointy-eared and caped, Oracle nodded. "Yeah, I get that. That's life."

"Exactly."

**Fixed**

"I dunno, saying 'It's time' is a bit… ridiculous considering that we're about to engage in time-travel," Richie said as he placed the augmented helmet on.

"I say we go with as many movie clichés as we can," Booster nodded, putting the other helmet on.

"Do you remember everything?" Dick asked.

"Yes, dad," the two said in unison, not even looking at each other.

Dick grimaced. He hated not being one of the ones to go, but if something went wrong… he wasn't going to be able to fix them. Richie and Booster, on the other hand, had a better than average chance. 'But then, if Cyborg had been willing, he'd also have a better than average chance. Too bad I'm not about to ask someone who has more than nothing to lose.' "There's no guarantee that this experiment can be repeated-."

"No promises that I'll find the blue beetle armor in whatever reality consumes this one," Blue Beetle interjected with a nod.

"And we need to make sure things get set to rights." Nightwing continued. As discreetly as he could, he handed Richie a note, and then moved over to Oracle. There was one request he had as well, and if Gear was going to go back to make sure nothing ever happened to Static, well, there were other super heroes that could use some looking after as well. Leaning over Oracle's work station, partly to look at the readouts and partly to make sure that she didn't have a clear view of what he'd just done, the crime-fighting acrobat asked, "You ready to flip the switch?"

"God, why not make it sound like an execution while you're at it?" She muttered.

"Because it very well could be," he replied softly. "So might as well have some dark humor rather than no humor at all."

"I wonder if we'll know if this worked. There's always the chance that we're just making another timeline. They'll fry in those chairs and we'll be stuck here, worse than before."

"It will work," Dick said confidently. "It has to."

"You ready to fix things?" Richie asked.

Glancing over his shoulder at the two, Dick noticed Booster give a weak grin.

"As ready as I'll ever be," the long-time time traveling hero answered.

"Then let's cut the anticipation," Richie said, and there was an authority to his voice that Dick couldn't ever recall being there before. "If you would, Oracle. I'd rather get this over with as soon as possible."

"Ditto," she replied.

Dick turned back to watch her fingers fly over her keyboard. He closed his eyes as a single flash warned him of what was about to happen. Blue Beetle's suit began to power the time machine. Electricity and raw power caused his hair to stand on end. But through all the noise of the machines and typing and Beetle Armor, Dick was sure he heard Oracle click the final button.

The sudden silence was deafening.

But that was quickly swallowed up…

**Ends**

"Is that the best you two can do?" Static asked as he danced through the air, dodging the lethal arsenal being thrown at him. Between Hotstreak's fireballs and the new guy's power bolts, he knew he had to keep on his toes.

"How many times are we going to have to go through this, Hotstreak?" Virgil asked. "You do something stupid, like robbing a store. I get called in. We fight. I win. You go to jail. Ebon breaks you out. Lather, rinse, and repeat."

"Does he ever shut up?" the new guy asked.

"Why, does my talking bother you?" Static asked, finally throwing a large bolt of energy outward. He aimed for the new guy, but ended up hitting a street lamp when the two other meta-humans dodged to the sides. The light bulb blew in a shower of sparks. "And who are you anyway to get suckered into fighting alongside Hotstreak?"

"He's not your concern!" Hotstreak shouted, using both hands to create a flame-thrower type of attack.

"I'm thinking of calling myself Tarot," the other meta said with a wicked smile. "Let's see what's in your future!"

Virgil had just enough time to see a large portal open up beside him and one of Hotstreak's fire bolts heading at him from the opposite direction, escorting him towards the portal before something large and heavy crashed into him from behind, forcing him through the fire and then to the ground.

The familiar metallic sounds of two zaptraps being sprung echoed in Virgil's ears as he rolled up to his feet. He didn't like attacks from behind, especially when he was already fighting two other Bang babies. His fists blazing with a quick charge attack, Virgil was surprised to find that he didn't have anyone to fight.

At all.

Instead, Gear was kicking ass and taking names like there was no tomorrow. He was especially taking an unhealthy amount of frustration out on the new guy, Tarot. Francis was busy trying to get his legs free of one of the sprung traps while simultaneously fighting BackPack.

Static hung back for a moment, caught off guard by the fury that Gear leveled at Tarot, his fist making repeated contact with the other meta's face. Again and again and again and again. To the point that even Hotstreak took notice, which in turn allowed BackPack to gain the upper hand.

"Uh, Gear?"

Gear paused in his brutality.

"He's down for the count." Static said calmly. He didn't try to pull his friend off, though. Not yet. He needed to find out what was going on.

"We need to make sure he's locked up tight." Gear rasped, standing.

Static watched as his partner stumbled away before the green-clad hero collapsed under the broken lamppost. And then, Gear began to cry.

"Are you okay?" Static asked as he squatted in front of his partner.

"I am now, V." Gear said thickly as he looked up, an unusual look in his eyes. "I am now."