I need to explain some things.
1: My friend Raving Swarm and I decided that I'll write chapters ahead, then wait about a week or less between actual updates.
2: Elroy is 17 and Irish-American. Dick is 24, Jason is 19, Tim is 17, Damian is...12, I guess? And Bruce is...well...how old is he, exactly? Whatever.
3: The full extent of Elroy's powers will be explained as time goes on. But he's no Mary Sue.
To the Guest that left several reviews: I appreciate you trying to inform me, but it's not necessary to post all of that. Thank you, though!
Enjoy everybody!
"Come on, Mama." Roy said quietly as he sat beside her on the couch. "Say something..." Aileen barely gave her son a glance. Her gorgeous green eyes flicked towards him, then went back to the apparently interesting coffee table. Roy sighed. "I'm headed out for a walk, okay?" He kissed her cheek. No response. "Is breĆ” liom duit, Mama." He stood and walked out the door. She never looked up, her long and just slightly curly black hair hiding her face.
Elroy briefly grimaced as the cool April air flew over him gently. Gotham, New Jersey was always cool. Not very different from Ireland, his grandma would've probably said. But she'd been gone for several years now. Roy was more of a warm weather person himself. He began the hike to the bridge for the first time in months. He had a fully planned coping mechanism there, after all. He heard a taxi approach from behind and hailed it.
"Need a ride, kid?" The driver asked. Roy resisted making a face. He was hoping he'd get somebody at least around the same build. It was easier that way. This man was at least one hundred pounds heavier, and had a bushy mustache. But he nodded and offered his most innocent smile. "Get in, then, and tell me where." Roy nodded and got into the back of the cab.
He counted to five.
He counted when going into the haze to prepare himself for the feeling. It was easy. There was no special trick. It was like voluntarily flaring your nose, or wiggling your ears: something you could always do, but can't explain how you make it happen. Like flexing a muscle, like breathing.
Possess. He thought. The smoke cloud flew forward, and then Roy felt his stomach expand, facial hair grow, his weight increase. Always a weird experience. But then he knew it all. The exact speed limit, about how long the drive would be in that time...and as he drove towards the bridge, he could drive as well as the cabbie. Because he was the cabbie. Well, except for one dead giveaway.
His irises were bloody red.
More often than not, it was a bother that just gave him away. Therefore practice was limited to isolated areas. It was like a fun little game of Pretend, and today he was a cabbie that was having another mediocre business day near the slums of Gotham City. He was worried about gang violence, but not too worried because he stayed out of stuff like that so they had no reason to target him. Plus he had a gun in his pocket, and it was loaded, but he kept the safety on because what kind of idiot had the safety off to a gun he kept in his freaking pocket?
All too soon, the ride was over. Halfway across the bridge. How nostalgic. He could walk the whole way back. He relaxed whatever mental muscle he was training, and he was now out of the cab, in his own body. Before the cabbie could start asking freaked out questions, Roy shoved two twenties in his face, which the man eagerly took before driving off. Probably eager to get away from the freaky teen with the red eyes.
He wouldn't be the only person to feel that way.
Roy walked to the railing again and stared down at the water. It was always deceptively peaceful for Gotham. Wasn't it just a few days ago that Killer Croc escaped? And he'd just been caught and arrested earlier today. Batman may have a moral code, but these guys certainly didn't. And yet, Roy couldn't help but sympathize for at least a few of them. Harley, for example.
Stop stalling and get this over with. He berated himself. Slowly (it was more windy today. If he got blown off and felt scared, he wouldn't be able to 'vaporize', as he called it), he stood up on the railing. He'd face forward this time, just to mix it up a bit. He took a slow, deep-
"What the Hell are you doing?!" Then a pair of arms encircled his waist and yanked him back. Roy cried out in surprise and tried to squirm out of the man's (based on voice and strength alone, he could guess this) grip without success.
"Let go of me!" He almost yelled. After a second, the stranger complied. Roy stumbled forward, then turned around. "What's your-" The word problem died before it could reach his lips.
Because he was facing Red frickin Robin.
How wonderful. Just what he needed. Wait, crap, were his eyes still red? Hopefully, if they were, the dark concealed it.
"My problem," the hero replied evenly, "is that I almost just witnessed a suicide."
"I was not going to kill myself!" Just jump off the bridge and come close to it. Red Robin's eyes were concealed by the cowl, but Roy didn't need to see those to know the vigilante was taking his word with a grain of salt. "Don't you have anything better to do than harass me?" He asked sharply.
"Even if you weren't planning to kill yourself, a fall like that definitely would. Unless you have some magical power I don't know about."
"That's-" Wait, was that a trick question?
Shit, does he know? Roy growled and pushed past Red Robin. "Go bother somebody else, I've got to go home." He felt the vigilante's hand on his shoulder.
"What would your parents-" Roy didn't let him get that far. He shook his hand off.
"They don't give a Goddamn what I do!" He yelled as he sped up to a jog.
Red Robin didn't follow him.
Tim had gotten more information out of the boy than he'd expected. His irises being red for a few seconds before fading and his hesitation at Tim's statement just screamed meta-human. His parents were also clearly a sore subject, and he was walking towards one of the...ahem...less fortunate neighborhoods.
Tim had placed a tracker on him. He was both possibly suicidal (maybe an abuse victim) and most likely a meta human, which warranted investigation.
(A/N: I probably butchered Tim's personality XD)
Roy hadn't meant to slam the door, but he was freaked out at being caught red handed. Some shouting, dragging, and a few blows later, and Roy was curled up in a corner of his room, taking deep breaths to keep himself from sobbing. All of him hurt. His chest, his arms, his right hand. And he felt like he was going to puke. His back was pretty bad too. It was all burning and throbbing pain.
He could hear Aiden, his Papa, yelling and ranting about how much of a fuck up his piece of shit son is to his Mama, who like always never agreed, disagreed, or commented.
If this keeps going, he'll kill you. Roy started. He'd had these thoughts before, but never in such stupefying clarity. He'll probably just hide your body, and your Mama would never say a word. Roy couldn't do this anymore. He wouldn't. Never again.
But despite the clarity of such a resolute thought, he would stay in his house for another week, planning and plotting and secretly packing.
All he needed was a lot of nerve he wasn't sure he had.
And all the while, the tiny tracker placed on his favorite jacket went unnoticed.
