As a reminder, the only characters in this Elseworldish universe who have died and resurrected are Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, and Kon-El, in their canon ways. This fact isn't incredibly important to the story, I'm just establishing it for contextual purposes. Also, if it is not explicitly stated, none of the characters have been married/had children/etc.
Dinah purloins one of Ollie's famous Clash phrases from Injustice, because it pleases me immensely.
Towards the end, Dinah designates a movement of a concerto that my piano teacher played for me before she died of cancer. It is a beautiful piece of music, but to me it shall always signify death. It may be fitting to give it a listen.
Chapter 3: Metropolis
June 25th, 20xx
Chicago, 5:47 AM
Day 5
...
...
When news of Metropolis's annihilation reached them, the Outlaws were in one of their safe houses at the southern edge of Chicago. They had just finished three assassinations back to back, and Koriand'r, who had kept from the killing in order to transport them both more quickly than car or bike could have taken them, was exhausted. Not as exhausted as Roy, who had landed the killing shot on all three targets, however, so it was he who crashed first, after giving her a soft kiss, and Jason a piece of brusque encouragement.
"They're gonna forgive you, man," he'd said to their reluctant leader before flopping face first onto the mattress. "Do what you gotta do. Also, stop making me kill everyone, as I am getting too old for this."
It was technically Kori's turn to rest, and usually she would have slipped into the bed beside Roy, but tonight she had a mission of her own. She donned a hat, a pair of Roy's loosest jeans, a hoodie, and make her way to the nearest 24 hour convenience store. In this getup she would appear mostly human, and as long as the exotic color of her skin was covered up she should be relatively safe. Since the Ikon attack she had taken to hiding her alien status as best she could when she wasn't actively fighting. It was safer that way. Not only would it make her less of a target, but no other aliens were left save Shayera, and people mistrusted her now more than ever.
If only they knew why she had survived, and so many others didn't! She had an idea, but it needed to be tested. Thankfully, she could do it by herself, so if she were wrong, no one would know her suspicions but her.
When she'd returned, purchase hidden in the hoodie's pouch, Jason was on the phone. Even from across the room she could hear Timothy Drake, sounding more frantic than she'd ever heard him.
"—completely destroyed, Jason! It's gone! He's gone!"
"You don't know that," Jason said, and it was in a voice as serious and as measured as Batman's. It was the tone of voice he clung to when he himself was close to falling back into the abyss. "Babs couldn't find him, he might not have been there."
"Where else could he be? If he was fine, he would have found a way to contact me!"
"Tim—"
"He's my last living teammate. My best friend! He can't be gone again. He can't!"
"Timothy!" Jason said, and the iron in it made Kori still. "Listen to me," he continued. "You cannot lose faith in him. You have to believe that he is ok. Repeat after me: I believe in Superboy."
"Jason—"
"Do I need to get Dick involved?" Jason threatened. "'Cuz he will hug the shit out of you."
There was a shaky inhalation of breath coming through the receiver. "No, I just— Ok, ok. I believe in Superboy," Tim said quietly.
"I believe he is alive."
"I . . . I believe he is alive."
"I will not let this defeat me."
"I will not let this defeat me."
"Again."
Tim repeated the mantra thrice more before Jason was satisfied. He nodded, forgetting that Tim couldn't see him. "Good. Now go find Dick and Demon Child. Stay with them, and every time you feel like rushing off to find your superbro, you remind yourself: I believe in Superboy. I believe he's alive. I won't let this defeat me."
There was a pause, and then, "Thank you, Jason," Tim said quietly. He sniffled a little, and Kori's heart pulsed in sympathy. Tim was such a kind boy in such a difficult position. It was hard for Kori to imagine such a sensitive young man becoming one of the Robins, especially when held up against Dick, Jason, and Damian.
"You were sweet with him," she noted after Jason hung up the phone. "Is it because he is family?"
He glanced over at her and his shoulders tensed. Kori hid a smile. Jason had never done well at expressing his softer emotions, and now was no exception.
"Good timing, Princess," he said, brusquely. "Got bad news. Maybe you should sit down."
Kori remained standing. "Does it have to do with Superboy?"
Jason made a see-saw motion with his hand. "Hope not, for Tim's sake."
He was stalling. Trying to find the words. "Jason, just tell me."
He looked down at the ground, and took a deep breath. His handsome face was dark as he admitted, "Metropolis was destroyed."
"What?" She breathed. "How can—how did . . .?"
"Unknown technology is the best they got. There were a couple bombs that went off underground, but no radiation, no chemicals . . . Hell, even the ozone layer is pretty much undisturbed. Everyone just up and died in the space of an hour."
Kori felt herself slipping into a dark, cool, place inside of her. To be anywhere else would be to fall prey to weakness, and empathizing so strongly with the victims that she would be crushed by their loss. "It only affected living organisms?" She asked.
Jason shook his head. "Something tore through a lot of buildings, especially those over 20 stories. There may have been some explosions down in the subways—no one's been able to get that close, yet. Beyond that it's inexplicable. The entire island is on lockdown. Bats and Oracle are trying to get to the bottom of it, and I'm sure we'll have more eventually. For now, I think we gotta' get you back to the Manor."
Kori's head whipped up, and she was suddenly very aware of her recent purchase. "What? Why?"
Jason frowned at her. "Because you're not from this planet, Kor. Unknown technology, remember? That's only one step away from alien technology. You and Hawkgirl have to be quadruply careful, now. Everyone's looking for someone to blame, and I'm not gonna let it be you."
There may be another reason she should sequester herself, but her own fears were irrelevant. The Iconoclasts had just murdered millions of individuals. "Will you tell Roy? I need a moment," she said, nodding toward the bathroom.
He nodded. "Sure. Leave in five?"
"Ten, please," she requested.
Jason quirked an eyebrow. "Your wish, Princess," he said, with a ghost of his humor. As soon as he was gone, Kori rushed into the bathroom. She moved on autopilot, doing all that was required to determine her suspicions. All the while she mourned Metropolis's loss. She did not have friends or family centered in that city, but so many did. So many lives had been cut short, so many endeavors. It had been the Superfamily's home, and a shining example of positive relations between a city and its supers. Non-human supers. Now it was gone, a smoking heap of rubble, and all those beautiful, vibrant lives had been snuffed out like a candle.
All this was hard enough to bear, but in her hands lay something more personal. Kori stared down at the pink plastic tube, watching a faint plus symbol form on the tiny screen. She blinked, and when the meaning of it hit her, she leaned forward until her head was pressed against the cracked mirror.
They were at war, and she was pregnant.
Her boys were waiting for her when she walked out of the bathroom. She had buried the pregnancy test beneath the detritus in the bathroom's waste bin, but she had forgotten to change into her regular attire.
"Damn, babe," Roy said. "That's a new look for you." There was a hard sheen to his eyes that told her he knew of Metropolis's destruction. He was just trying to act like everything was normal; his way of keeping stabilized when the world was going wildly off-kilter.
Now she was going to take away the last vestiges of his composure. "I have something to tell you both before we go."
Jason shifted uneasily. He didn't want to be away from the Manor, not when his first family needed him. He eyed her expectantly as Roy stepped close to her, taking her hand.
"What is it?" He asked, light eyes searching her face, shadowed by his baseball cap.
It was harder than she expected to force the words out of her. "I am—I am with child."
For a moment, everyone was silent. Jason's eyes were wide, and they were directed towards her flat abdomen. Roy handled the announcement with less tact.
"You are?" He exclaimed. "Is it mine?"
With a groan, Jason smacked the back of his head.
"Ow!"
"Yes, Roy," she assured him. "It is yours. But do not feel as if I am pressuring you to take responsibility. I am honored to bear and raise this child on my own, and—"
Roy interrupted her with a squeal of delight. He threw his arms around her, and his excitement became slightly more coherent. "Babe! This is . . . This is . . . ! A baby! Oh my God, you're having a baby. This is the best damn news! Ok, the worst damn time, but babe. A baby." He pulled back to kiss her, but even that did not curtail his excitement long.
"I love you so much," he rambled. "You've made me so freaking happy. Oh, goddamn. I'm going to be a father. With you! Babe. Babe. You are amazing. You're having a baby!"
His voice was getting worrisomely high-pitched. Kori looked over at Jason, a little flustered. She hadn't expected Roy to be so exuberant about this, particularly on the heels of such a tragedy. Perhaps this outpouring of joy was in direct response to it. Out of tragedy came a joyous moment; from death came life.
Jason's joy was quieter, but it transformed his face. All the hard edges softened, leaving him looking years younger, and, in her opinion, far more handsome. "That's wonderful, Kor," he praised her before leaning in to press a firm kiss to her cheek. "I'm so happy for you guys."
"Jason! Kori's having a baby!" Roy exclaimed, as if he could have possibly missed the first announcement.
He gave her a fond look over the top of Roy's head. "I heard. Congratulations, you two."
"Are we keeping it a secret?" Roy asked. "Or may I tell people? May I tell everyone we know?"
"Let's start with everyone at the Manor, huh?" Jason suggested as he steered them towards the exit. "I mean, I kinda want to see the look on Dick's face when we tell him. Don't you?"
Kori shot Jason a look. She was beyond her former lover, although she would always care greatly for him. Roy, on the other hand, still suffered from moments of insecurity.
Unless she was very wrong, so did Jason.
Thankfully, Roy hadn't been listening. "We're going to have to tell the old man, aren't we?" Roy asked, deflating momentarily. "Ugh. Queen is such a dick sometimes."
"I thought you wanted to tell everyone we know, my love?" She asked him, slipping her hand into his.
He brightened immediately. "Do you think it will be a girl? I kinda like the idea of having a girl. Oh, but a boy would be good too. What would you rather, a boy or a girl?"
Warmed by his enthusiasm, Kori laughed. "I don't mind either way," she admitted. "As long as it's healthy, and happy, and whole."
June 25th, 20xx
Gotham, 8:17 AM
Day 5
...
...
There was barely enough time for Tim Drake to handle (i.e. repress by any means necessary) his fears for Kon's safety before the next New League meeting was called. Jason and the Outlaws hadn't even had enough time to make it back to the Manor before Bruce shuttled him, Dick, and Damian down to the Batcave. Shazam was the only guest at the Manor, and far too ill to leave his bed, so it was their turn to attend the New League meeting via the supercomputer in the Batcave. They all hunched around it, and while their protected chat system booted up, the monitor reflected their faces.
Bruce was wearing his cowl, and thus his expression impenetrable, but Tim was struck by the grim expression on Dick's face. He had been eerily calm when he heard the news about Metropolis, although he had thawed slightly when Tim let him know Hood and the Outlaws were safe, and on their way back.
Tim's own expression was no better. His eyes were too wide, and there was a thin tendril of panic that made it impossible to center himself. He took a deep breath and tried regardless, while his eyes slid to Damian's face in the reflection. The youngest Robin's expression was little different than the one he adopted for all his missions. He had been here long enough to understand the blow of losing Metropolis, but not long enough to develop enough empathy to be crippled by it.
Perhaps that's what we all need, Tim thought. Maybe Damian's handling this the best of all of us, for once.
One by one faces flickered onto the screen, until the monitor was split into equal columns and rows, displaying the Flash, Green Arrow, Black Canary, Plastic Man, Booster Gold, Blue Beetle, Huntress, Carol Ferris (who had stayed in the community even after her time as Star Sapphire was over) and Oracle. Even Shayera Hall had been able to check in, although no one knew how long she'd be able to stay. The only ones missing were Red Hood, Arsenal, and Starfire, who were on their way back and would be debriefed then; John Stewart, who was unable to break cover, and Shazam, who had been unconscious for the last six hours. His magic was eating away at him, and unless he wrested its control away from the magic used by the Iconoclasts, Bruce admitted there was a chance that it could destroy him.
It was Barbara who began the meeting. "There's no time, so I won't take long. Half an hour ago one of our contacts came through with an urgent message. We have the coordinates of an abandoned research facility they believe may be connected to the destruction of Metropolis. What we need are volunteers to determine if this is true."
"Trap," Green Arrow muttered.
"Amen to that," Huntress agreed.
"It is our only lead," Barbara stressed.
Bruce was silent. He didn't like it, and neither did anyone else in the Batcave. "This is ridiculous," Dick muttered. "They only managed to get the coordinates after the attack? Something about this doesn't feel right."
Tim agreed, as did half those watching. Everyone began talking over each other, offering up their own insights until a reedy voice cut through them all.
"Guys, guys," Plastic Man interrupted them. "Come on. I'm the obvious candidate. I'll go."
"Pat—" Dinah tried.
"No, no," he talked over her. "I literally cannot die. Worst they can do is set me back a couple months, and that's if they get a better toy gun than their last one."
"Not if they take you captive," Bruce pointed out.
Patrick laughed. "Bruce, have you met me? No prison can hold me for long. Again, literally."
"But will you be able to decipher the most pertinent information?" The Flash asked. "I'm not insulting your intelligence, but you're more of a lateral thinker than a logical one. I can go with you, help you determine the most critical data."
"That seems like a solid plan," Shayera agreed. "Better to have backup in case something goes wrong. No offense, Putty-Guy."
"None taken, Bird-Nose," Plastic Man quipped back.
"No," Bruce said. "If we send someone in, Plastic Man should go in alone. He specializes in stealth, and he is in fact, immortal. We can't risk Flash or anyone else on this."
"But the data!" Flash protested.
"We have other ways of getting that information," Oracle said cryptically, looking directly at the Batcave's section of the monitor.
"Shit, gotta go," Shayera mumbled, before she abruptly switched off her wrist-device. Her section of the screen went blank.
"Am I going in mic'd, boss?" Plastic Man asked. "Because you're cramping my style if you stick me with the solid stuff. Going liquid is kind of my shtick."
"What's the last part of your body that you liquify?" Bruce asked.
"Say whaaaaat?" Plastic Man asked, his thin eyebrows climbing up his forehead. "That sounds kind of naughty, Bruce."
Tim saw where he was going with this and broke in before Bruce could shake, strangle, and/or verbally emasculate the easy-going hero. "When you go liquid, what's the last part of you that you keep solid?"
Plastic Man scratched his head. "Uh . . . my eyes, I guess? Then I can still see what's going on in the regular way. And they're a bitch to reform, I'll give you that."
"Giving him the contacts, Batman?" Oracle asked.
He nodded, and addressed Plastic Man. "If you're determined to do this, you won't be going in blind."
Green Arrow perked up. "Did Bruce just make a joke? Shut the front door."
"Oliver, I swear to God . . ." Black Canary warned him.
"Plastic, how close are you to Gotham?" Dick asked, cutting them off.
"Couple hours."
"We'll outfit you in the Batcave," Bruce said. "Oracle will give you the coordinates then. Everyone else, stay in close contact. If anything else happens—anything—let us all know."
As soon as everyone else had signed off, Bruce turned to Dick. "I don't like this," he growled.
"Because it's a trap?" Damian pointed out, acerbically.
"Not just that," Bruce replied. "It's something more than that. I just can't . . ." He trailed off, searching for a way to describe the feeling.
Tim thought he understood a little. It feels like this trap may trigger others, he thought, but there was nothing concrete to back it up.
June 25th, 20xx
-, 9:12 AM
Day 5
The two figures in the shower moaned as they clung to each other. Water pounded down on them, sluicing away dirt, grime, and their inhibitions.
"Need you," one rasped as he leaned down to lick his partner's neck. "God, I needed you so much last night."
"I'm here," his lover replied. "Baby, I'm always here."
"I couldn't—I couldn't do it. Couldn't shoot—I thought I'd lose you," he ground out, choking back a groan when his lover reached for what hung thick and heavy between his legs. "Thought I'd fuck it all up. Again."
His lover slipped down, trailing kisses over his corded thighs. "Not now. Not over this. Not with me." The earnest promise was augmented by a soft kiss to the head of his penis. "I love you too much for that."
"Oh, shit, I—" He groaned as his lover sucked him down. For a long time after there were no discernable words. Just praises and endearments uttered by both upon reaching their climaxes—a feat more desperately beautiful when it was a brief spark of light and love in a dark, hopeless time.
June 25th, 20xx
Wayne Manor, 9:27 AM
Day 5
..
...
Billy awoke, and he was not himself. Over the last five days, the dark energy had engulfed him so completely that he steadily felt like a tiny spark of light in a dark place; or an island in the midst of a roiling ocean.
Now, there was not even that. He had been completely subsumed by the dark energy.
No, no, no! He struggled, flailing against the encroaching dark. I'm not even angry. I'm not feeling anything at all! He could not rage outwardly. His body was no longer under his control. He could not wiggle his fingers, call for help, nor even blink. He could breathe, but even that range of control was limited. His attempts to hyperventilate failed, as the dark energy calmed his body as faster than he could rile it.
There was one last recourse. Concentrating, he sent out an all-access telepathic cry, hoping to reach anyone who might help or hear him.
Help me! He managed to articulate, Please, it's got me!
From far off, an accented, loathsomely familiar voice replied. Billy?
Yes! Help—
A great curtain came down in his mind, cutting off all communication. The dark ocean was in his mind, rushing in from all corners, frothing and roiling and dragging Billy down into the undertow. He screamed once, and then he was gone.
The thing that was Shazam sat up. It mechanically swung one leg onto the floor, followed by the other. It stood, wobbling a little as it found his balance. It took a step towards the door, and then lifted his arm so that it pointed towards the door. With a creak, the door swung open all on its own. Sitting in the hallway just a few steps past the door sat three-year-old Michael Wilson.
He beamed up at him. "Hi!" He said brightly. All about him, colored pieces of plastic were strewn. "'M playing legos. Wanna playa me?"
Shazam hesitated. It reached down slowly, fingers grasping for the boy. At the last moment, it picked up a lego piece from the floor next to the boy's knee. It handed the lego to the boy, who, not knowing how close he had come to mortal danger, smiled up at him.
"Bye Mr. Shazam!" Michael called out after the thing wearing Shazam's flesh.
It did not turn to acknowledge the boy.
June 25th, 20xx
Outer reaches of Solar System, 12:07 PM
Day 5
...
...
Hal Jordan stared out the window of the spaceship, watching the edges of his home galaxy slowly grow larger. The Horizon, or so it would be called in English, was one of the fastest in the Oan fleet, yet he begrudged every hour it took to reach Earth. It would be another day before they reached Earth's atmosphere, and he was losing his sainted mind wondering what was happening down there. Had the Ikons moved openly? Were their machinations obvious? It was too late to save those who didn't possess human DNA, and he grieved for them, but how many of his human friends had been compromised, or killed?
Had Carol been targeted? No, now that they had finally defeated her Star Sapphire persona, she was barely in the super community as it was. Surely they'd leave her alone. Barry would have been hit, no doubt, but Hal couldn't imagine anything bad happening to him. Not Barry. Not when he could outrun anything.
Not after Hal had promised Iris . . .
Hal exhaled roughly. Ollie and Dinah would have been targeted as well, but as long as they stayed together, they would be fine. Not to mention Diana, Arthur, Bruce, Victor, Billy . . .
They are all fine, Harold Jordan, he scolded himself. Now stop worrying yourself to death. Focus on your mission.
But that was the hardest part, wasn't it? He had to go to Earth, alone, leaving Clark and J'onn with the Oans. He had to convince everyone that there were angles to this war that no one had uncovered yet. That there were traitors in their midst, and they could be anyone.
Hal leaned his forehead against the cool glass, and remembered.
"Appa," Hal interrupted. "Just tell us where they are, will you?"
"Oh," Appa murmured. "I thought you'd determined that already. Earth. They're on Earth."
Hal knew what was coming the moment before it did, but he was too slow to stop it. Clark roared, and shot straight up into the air. He would have torn through the roof of the cave had he not jerked to an abrupt stop. He was surrounded by a vivid green light, but it was not the color of a lantern's light. It was the crystal green cage of kryptonite, shining forth from Appa's ring. Clark sank back down to the floor, unable to break through. From the looks of it, he was stymied, but not in pain.
"Let him go," J'onn threatened Appa.
"Not until he cools his head," the elderly guardian replied. "Rushing off to Earth will not help anyone. You are not human, Kal-El. If you return before the magic pulse is obliterated, it will kill you."
"Kon. Kara," Clark choked out, gaze swinging over to J'onn. "And M'gann! They're all on Earth! How can you be so calm?"
J'onn J'onnz closed his eyes. "Haste will not save them. Nor avenge them." He slit his eyes open at Appa. "Is what you told us true? That any alien on earth would have died when the pulse activated?"
Appa nodded sadly. "Any being without human DNA would have been eradicated immediately. I'm sorry."
Clark's head snapped up. "Kon. What about half-bloods? Half-humans?"
Appa's head tilted to the side as he considered. "The pulse cannot harm anyone with native or Ikonian DNA. There have been tales in the past of pregnant women surviving the pulse, all because they carried a small amount of native DNA within them. If those tales are correct, even a very small amount of human DNA would be enough. I imagine a half-human would have survived easily."
Clark let out a ragged exhale. J'onn clenched his fists.
"Appa, if there's anything else you can tell us, now is the time," Hal said. His head was spinning, but this wasn't the time to be stunned. His losses weren't as personal as Clark's and J'onn's, so he needed to be calm, level-headed. He had not just lost a member of his family, and he needed to step up and be a goddamn Green Lantern.
"I've told you all I know," Appa said. "I apologize for the lack of specificity, but all I have to go on are their tactics from millennia ago. There will be five or six shapeshifters, and they will have targeted the most powerful beings on your planet. I cannot tell you who they are or how to determine them. Let your friends at home determine the imposters. You are needed to stop the second wave of invading Ikons, the ones who will descend en masse to prepare the planet for colonization."
Clark stood, an enormous effort when he was still subdued from the effects of Appa's kryptonite-enhanced ring. "You can't tell us all this and then demand we stay here! We have to warn them!"
"Do you have so little faith in them? Perhaps they already know," Appa challenged them. "Perhaps they have already countered the threat."
"We aren't playing dice with our friends' lives," Hal growled. A beam of energy shot out from his own ring, bisecting Appa's. Don't cross the beams! He could imagine Ollie yelling, but this time it was just what he needed. His energy overrode Appa's, his will stronger than the guardian's. Appa's ring went out, and Clark was free.
Appa raised his hand again but Hal stood between them. "Listen to me," he growled, primarily at Appa but he hoped Clark was listening in as well."This isn't going to go the way you want, so take what you can get. Clark and J'onn will stay and help the Oans fight off the Ikons. I will go back to Earth."
"Hal—" Clark protested, but Hal cut him off.
"No, Clark. Until we shut that magic beam bullshit down, you guys are barred from the planet. I will send word to the Watchtower about Kon, and when it's safe to return. You guys gotta' stay here and kick some Ikon ass, and then some Oan ass, because what the fuck do they think they're doing hiding this from us? This is our planet!" He finished, addressing Appa. "Why didn't they tell us?"
"They wanted to be wrong," Appa said sadly. "For the Ikons to have amassed enough strength for a hostile takeover, they would once again be a serious adversary. We barely defeated them before, and they are likely stronger than ever. We all prayed we were wrong."
"Yeah, well, you weren't," Clark said harshly. "And now we've lost people we love."
"You will lose more if the Ikons are not stopped," Appa pointed out.
"You stuck your head in the sand and asked us to trust you!"
Appa frowned. "I'm not sure what sand has to do with this, but I accept my part of the blame for my people's actions. I apologize, Kal-el. To all of you," he added, panning so he included both J'onn and Hal.
This argument was not going to be resolved any time soon. Appa had done what he thought best, but he had been too slow in doing it. Clark and J'onn were never going to appreciate being left behind when their friends, colleagues, and teammates were suffering. Hal was lucky enough that they were listening to him so far, and not fighting him harder on this.
"Appa, thank you for telling us all this, but we have to get going." He said. "I'm going to meet with our commanders and let them know we have been apprised of the situation."
Appa nodded. "Before you go, I have something for you." He reached pulled off his ring and extended it to Hal.
Hal looked down at it. "Thanks, but I've already got one."
"You misunderstand me," Appa said. "This is a far more powerful ring than your own. Unlike yours, it operates at a baseline 185% capacity, rather than 100%. It also does not need to be charged with each turn of your Earth. Or ever, really." He sighed. "It does carry faint but inherent weakness to the color yellow—I am not as brave as you, and I have influenced the ring in wearing it—but resistance to fear is a natural strength of yours. I believe you will be able to offset my failings."
"No charging?" Hal asked, stunned. "Not ever?"
"No. It is a sister ring to one a previous human Green Lantern bore, a man named Alan Scott. It is powered by the same mystical process. I cannot bequeath it unto you forever, but while the Ikons are still a threat, I present it to you on loan."
"Shit," Hal breathed, turning the ring over in his fingers. "I mean, thanks. 185%? That's . . . wow, thanks."
"It is a practical decision," Appa said wryly. "Their magic blocks most others. Your ring, powered by the Central Power Battery, would be useless. This one should be effective."
"We need to go," Clark said as he paced the cave restlessly. "I can't stand to look at you, right now."
Hal didn't ask whether he meant him or Appa. It was a toss up, and knowing wouldn't help much.
"Let us return to the Oan ship," J'onn counselled. "Then Hal can set off for Earth all the sooner."
The three heroes all turned to the cave opening. J'onn and Clark shot off, racing off towards the ship. Hal hung back, looking at Appa one last time.
"Be wary," the Mad Guardian warned him. "They are merciless and will stop at nothing. Be prepared to do whatever you must to protect your home."
"Sounds like Thursday," Hal had quipped then, and repeated now as he came back to himself. He opened his eyes to see the galaxy spreading out before him.
"Hold on, everybody," he murmured. "Cavalry's coming."
June 25th, 20xx
Batcave, 10:42 PM
Day 5
...
...
Tim stumbled into the Batcave after a three hour patrol that felt twice that long. In the past 24 hours Gotham had become a hive of theft, rape, murder, grand theft auto, and a few strikes that hinted at something more sinister. Nothing on the scale of terrorist attacks Metropolis had seen before its destruction, but enough to exhaust the bat team. Minor villains from every part of America were flying in to roost, looking to step into the power vacuum and take advantage of the Bat family's overworked state. They'd had their hands full, and Gotham's police force—overwhelmed at best, hapless at worst—was little help.
It was getting to all of them in different ways. Bruce was at his best, of course. He always was when the pressure hit. He was fast, efficient, and ruthless, a veritable crime-fighting machine. Such a pace couldn't be healthy, nor could it be sustained long. Tim worried for him, but knew there was nothing he could do to make the burden any easier.
Damian was clearly trying to be a carbon copy of his beloved father. It was easiest for him to slip into apathy, to be nothing more than a battle-hardened soldier. He was a growing boy, however, and his body was giving him trouble. He was hungry all the time, and had mentioned odd pains in his arms and legs.
"You literally have growing pains," Tim had informed him the last time they were on patrol together. "That's all it is. It'll stop when you stop growing."
"You are a pain," Damian had moodily replied. "Now are you going to feed me, or shall I assassinate a hot dog vendor and eat all his wares?"
Jason had been quietly added back onto the patrol rota when it was clear that they were all run ragged, with the silent agreement that he and Bruce would never be paired together. The assassination missions were over. Oracle had created and set up an impassable firewall just in time, and between that and the nine assassinations, the hacking attempts had slowed to a trickle. He left Kori and Roy to take on their own patrols, in the parts of Gotham they were more accustomed to. When he had patrolled with Tim, Jason approached everything with a grim seriousness that made Tim think he was only one step away from shooting everyone who crossed him in the head, just to keep it all moving faster.
On the other hand, Dick had looked over at him about halfway through the patrol they'd just come back from and joked, "Tim, after this, I'm putting in for retirement."
Tim had laughed hysterically. It was that or cry, and he was not ready to be weak, yet.
He was ready for sleep, however. He'd only gotten an hour or two of sleep since Metropolis fell; since another nail hammered itself into the coffin of his best friend. All he had to do was report in, strip off his Red Robin costume, and then fall into bed. With the way he was feeling, he might be asleep before he finished step 2.
He was passing by the lockers when he heard something from the main room. " . . . your manor, and he escaped! Where do you think the blame will fall?"
Tim frowned. The voice was familiar, but in his exhausted state he couldn't quite place it. He poked his head out from behind the locker room's door.
"Squarely on his shoulders, Jim. I'm not saying Shazam is inculpable. But there is more at play here than simple guilt or innocence."
Bruce was hunched over the computer, partially blocking the monitor. There were dozens of windows scattered around the screen, and the largest of these was dedicated to an audio-visual line with James Gordon, Commissioner of Gotham.
Tim crept closer, and listened in to the rest of the conversation.
"I don't know what to say, Bruce. It's all over the goddamn media. Since 10 o'clock this morning he's been cutting a swathe through the United States. Whole towns were destroyed in his wake. Lightning everywhere. Last I heard, the death toll was more than 30,000. There's no coming back from that."
"Shazam is not choosing to do this, Gordon. He is being manipulated. Our enemy has somehow gained control of him."
Commissioner Gordon shook his head. "Doesn't matter now. The whole country is baying for his blood. It's not gonna take long to move from one superhero to all superheroes. You gotta protect yourself and the boys, Bruce. You gotta do what's right."
"We will stop him," Bruce promised. "But we cannot hand him over to be killed without understanding how and why they did this. If we could break the hold they have on him, we are a step closer to overthrowing them."
Gordon sighed. He ran a hand through his greying hair, and adjusted his glasses. "I'm on your side, Bruce. I always have been, always will be. And I'll help you if I can, but I don't see how. Ask me to tighten up patrols on Gotham, I can do that. I will do that. But Shazam? What can I do against him?"
"Nothing," Bruce said abruptly. "I'm not asking you to. He is our problem, now."
"What can I do for you, then?" Gordon asked.
Bruce hesitated. "Do you have any news on Arkham?"
"Arkham?" Gordon sounded surprised. "Just that it's on lockdown. Standard procedure, especially since Metropolis . . . Metropolis." He finished with a huff, and shook his head. "Catwoman, right? I wouldn't worry about her, Bruce. She's probably safer than we are, right now."
"Not with the Joker incarcerated," Bruce muttered darkly.
"Maybe someone will do us a favor and do him in," Gordon agreed. "Hell, maybe it'll be your girlfriend. I'd pardon her for that."
"You can't actually do that, Jim."
"If the Joker died, I doubt anybody would stop me."
Bruce sighed. "I have to go. Thank you for meeting with me."
"Keep in touch, Bruce. Let me know if you need anything."
Bruce signed off, and then looked down at the console. "He must have already talked to Barbara," he muttered to himself.
"Why do you say that?" Tim asked. He took a muted pleasure in seeing Bruce whip around. It was rare to sneak up on Bruce. It was probably not a good sign that he had just done it.
"He didn't threaten me about her personal safety, for one thing," Bruce said.
Tim nodded. As if Barbara would let her father's worries dictate her fate. She'd thrown herself into danger for the last 15+ years without her father's approval.
"Is Shazam being manipulated?" Tim asked. "Are we certain?"
Bruce sighed. "My gut says yes. Billy would never, ever choose this, and the security cameras attest that something changed. Until we stop him we won't know for certain."
"How are we going to stop Shazam?" Tim asked. He regretted having to do so. He liked Billy, even though it was a little awkward talking to him. Sometimes he seemed every inch the hero; confident, experienced, brave. Other times, he seemed so young, almost like he was closer to Tim's age than Bruce's. It was an odd affectation for a man in his prime, a good fifteen years older than Tim.
"We might not be able to," Bruce replied. "Without Arthur and Diana, Billy is inarguably the most powerful being on Earth."
Tim blinked. "If we can't take him down, what are we going to do?"
Bruce gave him that steely, thousand-yard stare that still had the power to make Tim feel like he was 12-year-old boy. Young, untested, and definitely not ready or worthy to measure up to Batman's standards. Then he turned back to his computer, pulling up another window.
The Watchtower communication link dominated the screen. Tim's eyes widened when he saw the familiar figure sitting on the other end of the monitor.
"Kon," he breathed.
"We send him in," Bruce said. He laid a hand on Tim's shoulder. "I have to go patrol. Take this time to talk."
Bruce escaped before Tim could summon up the wherewithal to be anything other than stunned. Grateful, but stunned. All at once it hit him. Bruce had known Kon was alive the entire time. Bruce had not told him this. Bruce had allowed him to think that Kon was dead.
Kon's approach was straightforward as usual. "Heya, Tim. Buddy. Timbuddy. You've got that murder look on your face. Please tell me it's not directed at me."
Tim's first attempt at answer was an enraged growl. His second was a nonsense stream of syllables. His third was more coherent: "He didn't fucking tell me! I thought you were dead!"
Kon threw up his arms. "I don't like it any better than you do! I wanted to tell you right away, but he's right. He needed you not to know. "
Tim was so furious he couldn't see straight. "How can you say that? Do you know what I went through? I thought you were dead!"
"And I watched my city be annihilated!" Kon yelled back. "Do you think I enjoy this? Watching my friends and loved ones die when I'm stuck in outer fucking space?" He took a deep breath and his expression turned pleading. "I wanted to tell you, Tim. I begged Batman to tell you, but he needed your reaction to be genuine. If he and Oracle were going to hide my survival from everyone, you needed to be blindsided."
Tim blamed his inability to piece this together on the combination of his crippling rage with Bruce, and his relief that Kon was alive. Alive and well and arguing with him, just as it should be. "Why is it so damned important that you're hidden? You—I just . . ." He shook his head. "How did you make it up there, anyway? The Watchtower's totally closed off. And how did you survive the pulse?"
Kon smiled weakly. "I didn't. I was poisoned the night before the pulse went off. I barely got to the Watchtower in time, and detoxed in one of the med tanks. And yeah, it was on lockdown, but it let me in because it registered Clark's DNA. Guess he and Bats have a backdoor installed. Jesus, I have never been glad to be a clone before."
"Poisoned?" Tim said, and then it hit him. "Kon. They must have thought you wouldn't be susceptible to the pulse. Otherwise they wouldn't have resorted to that."
Kon nodded. "That's what Batman and Oracle think, too. Maybe half-human is human enough for the Icono-whatevers. They still want me in reserve, though. Not just to guard the Watchtower, but also so I can stay hidden from the spies."
"Spies," Tim said flatly. "Does Bruce know who they are?"
Kon shrugged. "You think he's gonna tell me that? I've been sitting up here monitoring every piece of communication I can get my hands on—and helping with that god awful firewall, shit, Tim, I am so bad at coding—but I can't figure out who it is. I mean, I know who it can't be, but there's still a few too many possibles for who it can."
"How many would you project?" Tim asked. It was easier to slip into Red Robin mode and to deal with the logistics. He knew that he was repressed as hell, but he couldn't deal with his emotions right now. Even though a lot of them were jumping up and down shouting Kon's alive! My best friend's alive! I'm not the last Titan left!
"Two? Maybe three? I mean they obviously have al Ghul's League of Shadows and Luthor's assets. And in the poison they used on me, there were traces of not only kryptonite, but Venom."
"That's why Bruce was so sure Bane was involved," Tim realized. "He's the only one mad enough to dabble with Venom who's not locked up in Arkham."
Kon winced. "Yeah, Arkham. Did you know they've been off the grid ever since the Iconoclasts attacked? I can't tell you exactly when, 'cuz I was dying and all, but Batman is losing his mind over it. We can't even access his hidden base on the island. You can imagine how that is going over."
Tim stared at Kon. His resolve to stay in Red Robin mode was flickering, and all he wanted to do now was punch Kon, punch Bruce, and then hug them both. Maybe punch Damian too, for good measure, but there wouldn't be a hug at the end of that.
Kon gave a weak grin. "Keep looking at me like that and you're gonna make me blush, bud."
"You're alive," Tim said simply. "I thought—Kon, you have to know. About Artemis, Garfield, Cassie . . ."
Kon's face fell. It flattened into something almost unrecognizable. "I know. Kara, too. I can't talk about it. Not yet. Not when I'm stuck up here."
"Maybe not for long. If we can't stop Shazam . . ." Tim trailed off.
"Then I come back and face him." Kon didn't sound enthusiastic about the prospect.
"Are we sure that the pulse won't kill you? What if it weakens you?"
"No idea," Kon admitted. "So while I want to come back and fight with you guys, I think you gotta try to take him down yourselves." He scrubbed his hands over his face. "Shit. Out of everyone here, I never thought Shazam would go dark side."
"He didn't," Tim said. "He's being manipulated. You know how that is."
Kon looked down. Luthor, the donor of his human DNA, had installed control mechanisms into his own body. Kon had been controlled before, and it had been a terrible struggle to break free. "Yeah," he admitted roughly. "But I didn't kill all those people. Shazam did."
"Kon—"
"Do you think he's gonna be ok, after this? I felt bad enough when I hurt those close to me. He's got the blood of how many thousands of innocents on his hands?"
"We need him to fight the Iconoclasts."
"What if we can't free him from their control in the first place? Then his power is only going to be used against us."
"I don't know, Kon!" Tim exploded. "I just need to figure out a way to do this that doesn't end in me losing anyone else, ok?"
Kon settled back in his chair. "I'm not going anywhere," he said quietly. "It's not gonna be like last time. I promise."
Tim swallowed around the thick lump in his throat. He was reaching the end of his tether, and unless he wanted to burst into tears in front of Kon—and wouldn't that be the clincher to his day—he needed to sleep. "Kon, I'm glad to see you, but I gotta crash."
Kon nodded. "Go on, bud. You look awful. Come talk to me again when you've had your beauty sleep, ok?"
Tim scowled at him, but it was half-hearted. "As soon as I can," he promised before signing off.
Tim's plans to fall immediately into bed were foiled by Damian, Dick, and Jason arguing in the Manor's main hall. For a fleeting moment he was surprised to see Damian still here, as he was patrolling with Bruce tonight, but then he noticed that the door leading to the kitchen was open, and the light was on. Bruce was either checking in with Alfred, or was being force-fed before a long patrol. Maybe both, but it still left Tim's three bat brothers to contend with, and Damian's hands were clenched into fists. Clearly Tim needed to resolve this, as they were all that stood between he and his bed. How best to defuse the situation quickly without resorting to bloodshed?
Tim had an idea, and he was just loopy enough to put it into motion.
"The two of you are never going to get any better if you won't patrol together," Dick scolded, and it was not immediately apparent who he was addressing. It looked as if he was talking about Damian and Jason, but they had patrolled together just yesterday.
"He is not patrolling with Father!" Damian argued, clearing up Tim's confusion. "He doesn't need to be patrolling with us at all!"
"I am right here," Jason said, aggrieved. He was slightly quieter than Dick and Damian, but not by much. "And Bruce doesn't want to patrol with me either. Nobody's feelings are hurt, Dick, just let it go."
"I can't let it go. Not when we're dropping like flies!"
Tim squeezed in between them, and, ignoring everything, gave Jason the biggest hug he'd ever given anyone in his life.
The foyer fell silent so quickly one could have heard a pin drop. Jason's body felt like a marble statue. Jesus, Tim thought. What do I have to do to get abs like that? And then, I am so tired I may just fall asleep riiiiiiiight here, on his abs of adamantium. Christ.
"Uhhhhh," Jason said, in a moment of rare eloquence.
Damian recovered first. "What on earth are you doing? Drake, have you lost your mind?"
Out of the corner of his eye, Tim saw Dick frozen in place, his eyebrows up near his hairline. Sneaking up on Bruce and then stunning Dick into immobility? He was 2 for 2, and that felt great.
"You were right," Tim mumbled. "I can't give up believing in Kon."
"Uhhh," Jason tried again. "Yes. That."
Dick stepped closer, looking concerned. "Tim, has there been word on Kon?"
Tim shook his head without lifting it off of Jason's chest. "I won't give up," he said instead. "I will believe in him."
"This is disgusting," Damian tsked. "Take your love affair with the bumbling Superboy somewhere else, Drake."
"Ours is the bromance to end all bromances." Tim yawned as he quoted Stephanie. There wasn't an ounce of romantic or sexual attraction between them, but he couldn't deny they were abnormally co-dependent. It was part of why the younger group of the Teen Titans had been so damn efficient, and also their best-friendship.
"Ooooooook," Jason said. He carefully patted Tim on the shoulder. "I think baby bird needs to get to bed. He's sleep talking."
"Carry me," Tim demanded sleepily.
Dick's wide-eyed stare somehow grew even more astonished. Between that and Kon, this may be one of the better days of Tim's life.
Damian threw up his arms and flounced off. "Disgusting!" He hissed. "What the hell is wrong with this family?"
"Family, huh?" Jason said, his chest rumbling against Tim's cheek. "Welp. Duty calls," he said to Dick. Then, he hoisted Tim straight up, folding him over his shoulder like he was a sack of potatoes.
It was jarring enough to wake Tim from his daze. "This is not very romantic," he informed Jason's shoulder holsters.
"Buck up, buttercup," was Jason's cheerful reply. "At least you get to sleep, now."
June 26th, 20xx
Wayne Manor, 5:42 AM
Day 6
...
...
Alfred Pennyworth had seen more than his share of difficult mornings in his time serving the Wayne family. More so when that family branched out into the fondly dubbed 'Bat' family. He was well-used to the rigours needed to keep a household of crime fighters at their best, but he was getting old. Waking this early was beginning to be a trial, particularly when there was a rambunctious toddler climbing up the mattress with no attempt at stealth.
Alfred peeked open one of his eyes as Michael Wilson pulled himself up the mattress, straining up on his toes on the box spread. His little tongue poked out of the side of his mouth as he concentrated. Alfred opened his eyes fully, but took care not to move suddenly. If he were to startle the boy, he might topple over backwards, and then the morning would be begun with tears and wailing.
Michael looked up at him and smiled. It was peculiar that two grim-faced individuals, at least, in Alfred's experience of them, could produce a child that smiled like a veritable ray of sunshine.
"G'mornin' Mister Afred!" The boy chirped. "Unca Dick say time'ah breakfast. He say we can alllll eat in ya bed!"
Alfred paled. Oh, saints preserve us, he thought. Richard was a terror in the kitchen, and still, after all these years, was unreliable with anything more difficult than toast. Damian was exactly the same, and Tim was little better. Had it been Jason in the kitchen Alfred would have been wary, but accepting. Out of all of the boys he alone had interest and ability in the culinary arts, although it likely had more to do with a childhood spent on the streets, where fear of starvation was an ever-present and unwelcome shadow.
"Not if 'Uncle Dick' is cooking," he said, unwilling to lie to the child. "Hup hup, little one. As soon as I am dressed we shall save the kitchen."
"Save the kitchen!" Michael agreed, clearly tickled with the idea. He held his arms up, signalling his defeat to scale Mount Alfred's Bed. Alfred picked him up and pulled him onto the bed, before easing his creaky bones out of it. As he dressed, Michael played with his two new favorite toys —a plastic stegosaurus, and a barbie doll that was dressed like a gymnast. Alfred had no earthly idea how either of the toys had ended up in the Manor. He suspected Richard, but the barbie doll was throwing him. Had he gone out and purchased the boy a barbie? Or had that somehow just been laying around?
When they reached the kitchen, Alfred was relieved to see that Richard had not yet begun to cook. Perhaps the threat had been an empty one, and was simply to rouse Alfred fifteen minutes earlier than usual?
"Morning, Alfred. Time for breakfast?" Richard asked hopefully, and it was with the exact same amount of cheek as he'd utilized as a boy of twelve.
"Monin' tea?" Michael asked, who had, after five days of living in Manor and acting as 'Alfred's helper,' had the morning routine down pat.
"Quite right, Master Michael," Alfred said. "Can you tell Mas—I mean, Uncle Dick what his options are?"
Richard was grinning widely. He'd led a minor crusade to get the boy to call him that, and now that he'd won, Alfred worried over the natural progression of this. Richard knew that 'Uncle Bruce' would be a step too far, didn't he?
Michael spun on the bar stool. He looked up at his favorite new uncle and very seriously recited, "Ooh long, Chinese peekout, English breakfast, or sai."
"Chai," Alfred corrected him gently. He'd leave Chinese Pekoe for another day.
"What about coffee?" Richard asked. "Can you ask the chef if that's ok?"
Michael wrinkled his nose. "Coffee is yucky. Don't drink that."
Richard laughed and pulled the tot into his lap. "We'll eat whatever Uncle Alfred brings us, right kiddo?"
Michael, eminently pleased to be made much of, did not resist. Alfred set to preparing a big batch of scrambled eggs with chopped vegetables and breakfast sausage. When next he turned around, Michael was still in Richard's lap, but they were both holding a knife and fork in each hand, fists down on the table.
It was such a precious image that it made Alfred's venerable heart flutter. Here was his happiest Robin, wearing a matching smile with the tot on his lap. Michael's eyes and skin were darker than Richard's, but they could have been father and son. Alfred had to turn back to the eggs to keep his composure. He loved all his Robins, and the extended members of the Bat family, but he longed for Bruce and his boys to find happiness in a more traditional way. To see Richard like this gave life to that long-buried hope.
"You're a natural with the boy," he remarked as he plated their eggs. "One would think you were born to fatherhood."
Alfred stole a glance at Richard's face as he set the plates down in front of them. It was just in time to see an odd expression flit across his face. Not quite disappointment, but not quite resignation, either.
"Thanks, Alfred," Richard said. He nudged Michael. "What do we say?"
Michael looked up at him. "Thank you Mista Afred!" He set to with a messy will, and soon, remnants of his breakfast scattered the counter, his plate, and Richard's lap.
Richard ate more sedately, taking care not to jostle the little one in his lap. When he used his napkin to swab Michael's face, Alfred's heart became too full to hold his tongue. "Do you plan on having children of your own, Master Richard?"
Richard's face went still. Alfred could not tell what he was thinking, and that in itself was unnerving. "I do not," he said quietly.
That was a surprise. "May I ask why?"
Richard fixed a false grin on his face. "It doesn't exactly fit the life I've chosen, does it? Besides, other people need me more."
Alfred frowned. "If you feel beholden to Bruce to continue fighting crime—"
"No, no," Richard interrupted. "Not at all. Are you kidding me? Bruce would be so freaking happy if I had a kid. I mean, in his own repressed way, of course." He shook his head. "Don't worry about it, Alfred. It's my own choice, and believe me, I've thought about it at length."
It was clear to Alfred that Richard was not speaking from his heart, however. He venerated his natural and adoptive families, and would do anything to protect them. How could that not translate into having a family of his own? "Does the reluctance lie with Miss Gordon, then? Perhaps when all this is done, it might be possible to change her mind. I don't mean to meddle, but I don't want you to miss out on this particular happiness."
"There's no future for Babs and I," Richard said, more firmly than Alfred expected. "She's not the person for me."
"I apologize," Alfred said, even though he meant no such thing. "It was simply to something to consider. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll go and see if Master Bruce will be eating breakfast today. Could you watch the little one for a moment?"
"Sure," Richard agreed, relieved the conversation was over. He turned back to the sprout. "Hey, Mikey, where are you putting those eggs? Those are for eating, not wearing!"
Alfred smiled to himself as he wound his way down to the Batcave. Richard may protest now, but his true desires would out. Alfred had been wrong to push; this was not the time for family planning. Wait until the threat had been removed, and then he could apply pressure with more subtlety.
Alfred ducked into the Batcave through the main entrance. Bruce was sitting at the Batcomputer, but he was leaning backwards in his chair, his arms hung down by his sides . . . asleep at his computer. Alfred snorted. This wasn't the first time that had happened. Alfred would have to do a better job at insisting that Bruce take a longer sleep shift. He was running himself ragged, particularly as there was no respite from being Batman. Now that the world knew who he was, he no longer pretended to live a double life as Bruce Wayne.
Now that his secret was out, he had become Batman in all ways.
"Master Bruce," Alfred called out when he was a few feet away. "Master Bruce, it's time for breakfast."
Bruce woke with a jolt. "Alfred? What happened?"
Alfred suppressed a smile. "Nothing, Master Bruce. The eggs are ready if you are."
"I—yes. Eggs are fine. I'll be right—"
He was interrupted by an alert that flashed red across the computer screen. TRANSMISSION it read, and when he saw it, Bruce sighed. "There is it. Patrick's finally reported in. Must have taken him longer than he thought."
Alfred said nothing. He shifted back, but did not leave the Batcave. He was curious, and fond of Mister O'Brian. He had a levity that Alfred, firmly ensconced in the Batfamily, did not get to enjoy very often.
Bruce opened the transmission. The visual was from Patrick's contacts, and the audio from tiny, specialty earpieces that had been clipped through Patrick's ears like earrings. Both contacts and ear pieces were small enough that they could slip through tiny cracks, and Patrick had demonstrated he could hold his ears and eyes in their solid form while the rest of him liquified. He'd only lose them if he had to enter a fully liquid state again.
The transmission began at 3:17 AM when Patrick entered the research facility. It was abandoned, and there were no guards outside. All Patrick had to do was shift his putty hand into the exact same calibration as Lex Luthor's—which was on file in the Batcave—lay down his hand on the scanner, and he was in.
"Too easy," Bruce muttered. "And it couldn't have taken him three hours for this . . . Was this delayed?"
Patrick silently slipped his way through the empty halls, ducking into rooms and rifling through filing cabinets. The power was cut. Lights were off, and none of the computers were online. Patrick hesitated over certain papers which seemed important, and quickly glanced over others. From the way Bruce was shaking his head, nothing was what they were looking for.
"No," he murmured. "This isn't right. Patrick, get out of there."
Patrick went through the double doors at the end of the hall. "Bingo," he whispered under his breath, although it was loud enough to be picked up by the ear pieces. Unlike the other rooms, this one was in total disarray. There had been no time to put everything back neatly, and papers, notebooks, tablets, and coffee cups were everywhere. Something had happened here, and the evidence of it was left behind.
Patrick flit from table to table, stretching his arms and neck to grab and glance over a truly staggering amount of information. All this could be slowed down and replayed later, but for now, Bruce let the transmission play at speed. Finally, Patrick found something that made him double take. It was a simple, dated list, written by some low-level peon, and read almost like a travel itinerary.
June 20th—Flight to Keystone. Meet with contact. Procure substance. Pass to Frank.
June 21st—Drive home. Take back roads, do not stop for anyone. Especially Morgan, the little bitch. Talk Boss out of giving me to the magic division? She can find her own way home.
June 22nd—Half-shift. Boss said to watch the news. 50 bucks says Batman's real identity is in the police force. How else could he know where all the crime in Gotham is? Graham bet Batman was a woman. What an idiot.
June 23rd—On loan to Atlantis team. Do not agree to test gear this time. Remember what happened to Kevin. His insides were everywhere. Took hours to clean out the tank.
June 24th—Call Aunt Susan, tell her to get out of Metropolis. Do not call Sandra, the two-timing slut.
June 25th—List of next wave strike locations posted. Hoping for Europe, or Latin America. Fuck the States. I want to destroy some culture.
June 26th—Planned evacuation. All personnel to research lab. Boss said there might be a party. Better be, because Des Plaines is ass-end of nowhere. Hate Illinois. Hate the entire Midwest.
June 27th—Day off. Call Jeremiah. Make excuse for why he has to leave Chicago. Not as gullible—
The list ended abruptly, torn at the bottom. "Shit," Bruce breathed. "Shit, shit—Patrick, get out of there!"
Patrick couldn't hear him; this was an old transmission. Alfred narrowed his eyes at the list. Judging by the state of the room, something had gone wrong. There had been no party here; they had not even made it to Day 6 of the itinerary. Something had happened that forced this dimwitted lackey to leave this list behind, and—
There was a sudden jerk, and the paper rose up to meet them. Only when Patrick's body fell to the ground did it become obvious what had happened. Someone had come up from behind and clubbed him.
"Get the gun!" Someone cried.
"Aw, hell no!" Patrick groaned. He shot out both his fists, forearms stretching over five feet in order to punch the nearest soldiers in the bracket. Both toppled over, but three more took their places. Patrick leapt into a motion, twisting and stretching and snapping back without stopping, a blur of arms and feet and a few well-placed headbutts. He was incredibly dangerous, particularly in close quarters, but every time he took a soldier down, more moved in, like heads of an unconquerable hydra.
Eventually he cleared a path towards the air vent, and Patrick took the opportunity. The camera shot forward as he elongated, stretching and thinning to evade capture. He had taken down at least eighteen men, but more more were coming—from off camera there were the sounds of men moving together, calling out orders.
Patrick was almost to the air vent. When he passed through the ear pieces, at least, would be lost. His fingers stretched out ahead of him, straining. His fingers were actually through the cracks when the camera shuddered violently, as if he had been electrocuted. When the jolting stopped, the camera angle sunk down to the floor. It reminded Alfred of a boat sinking very, very quickly.
"They liquified him," Bruce breathed. "Shit. They're gonna douse him with acetone again."
The earpieces sunk to the bottom of Patrick; muffled, but still working. One of the contacts slid away, staring up towards the ceiling. The other slid inwards, and by miraculous chance was in perfect position to see the men standing over Patrick's liquified body. One held what looked to be a small, modified handgun. It flared at the nozzle, and the aperture was latticed with tiny, silver metallic rods.
"Shall I hit him again?" The soldier who was holding the gun asked.
"No need," said a deep, Latin-accented voice. Alfred's eyes cut to Bruce. They both knew that voice. It was unmistakably Bane.
His soldiers parted as he made his way towards Patrick. Apart from his signature mask Bane was dressed atypically—not in his loose pants and tight muscle shirt, but in a fitted suit. All that was missing was a tie, and he'd look like he was attending a board meeting as a representative of the Mexican lucha libre division.
"So," he said in his rich accent. "This is what they sent? A puddle on the floor?"
"We've killed him once, sir," one of his soldiers reported. "He doesn't stay dead."
"Lo entiendo," Bane murmured. "Clever, spy, but not clever enough." He reached into the pocket of his trousers, and brought out a small, cylindrical vial. In it shone something blue and pulsing.
The soldiers nearest to him took a step back. "What is that?" One of them quietly asked his fellow.
Bane's eyes crinkled. Had his mouth been visible behind his luchador-styled mask, it would have undoubtedly been grinning. "A little help from our new friends," he chuckled, and he uncapped the vial. He tilted it over Patrick, and the last thing Alfred saw before the transmission cut out was the blue energy, pulsing and dangerous, coming ever closer.
June 26th, 20xx
Gotham, Clocktower, 6:29 AM
Day 6
...
...
Dinah Lance had no sooner fallen into bed after a long night of conferring with Carol about transportation, Helena about the safe house system, Barbara about security, and then Ollie about . . . other things (she loved him, she really did, but sometimes that man just could not shut up. Just the other day he had been fighting with Barry over Hal, and it was times like those that made her wonder why on earth she was even dating him) when she was woken by a new and very specific ringtone. Unlike her other ring and text tones, used for both her personal life and her duties as Black Canary, this one denoted only one purpose: someone else had died.
Barbara had assigned what Dinah considered the 'death number' after the blitzkrieg. Everyone member of the New League would get an alert when someone else had passed, or was considered MIA. This was the first time it had been used. Dinah had set the death number ringtone as the first few lines of the second movement of Beethoven's last piano concerto, No. 5, 'The Emperor.'
Oliver had opted for Queen's Another One Bites the Dust, which was just another reason why she refused to marry him so far.
She rolled over in bed to stop the alarm and read the message.
Deceased—PLASTIC MAN
Channel 42 in 20 minutes.
Dinah dressed quickly. She had known the news was going to be bad, but not incomprehensible. The mutagenic change that had given him his power had made Patrick immortal. As in, he couldn't be killed. Not long term. Why, then, were they sending out an all-out alarm?
Dinah met up with Helena in the kitchen. Her dark-haired counterpart had snagged an uncooked bagel, and was chewing on it as they made their way to Oracle's computer room.
"You get the message?" Dinah asked, unsure why Helena was so business as usual.
"Yep," she said around a big bite of cranberry bagel.
"You're not worried?"
Helena swallowed and then said, "A little, but it's Plastic. He can't actually be dead. He'll be unrecognizable for a bit, then come back all sunshine and daisies."
That was what Dinah thought, but something made her nervous. "I don't know. A meeting so soon after? What if something happened?"
Helena spoke around the bagel in her mouth. "He probably managed to send back important info." She swallowed and continued, "You know, I wasn't sure Bruce was making the right move sending him in alone. I guess it worked out after all."
"Yes, but . . ." Dinah trailed off, not sure how to articulate her anxiety. Something just felt wrong. She shook her head. If there was something wrong, they'd know soon enough.
Helena punched in her code that allowed them access to Oracle's lair, as Dinah liked to consider it. Barbara was already within, of course. Dinah wasn't sure she ever slept, especially during times like these. She glanced over her shoulder at them, and waved them over. Her expression was grim.
"Uh oh," Helena muttered. "Looks like bad news."
Dinah and Helena flanked Barbara, who sat ramrod straight in her wheelchair. Her posture was a sure sign shit was going down.
"What's wrong?" Dinah asked, but Babs just shook her head.
"In the meeting," she said, and then fired up the communications control. At once, every member of the New League's face flashed onto their screen.
Oliver looked exhausted, and Dinah was comforted that he looked no better than she felt. Teach him to try and sext her awake at 3 AM. That he was successful meant nothing at all. They both needed more sleep, no matter how badly she had needed some release, as well. He smirked when he saw her looking at him, and gave her a look that managed to be lecherous, even through a computer screen.
"Does he ever turn off?" Helena leaned over and asking in a mutter.
"Every other Tuesday," she murmured back.
For the first time since the Iconoclasts had hit, every member of the New League—save Wonder Woman and Aquaman, down in Atlantis—were present. The Birds of Prey were all assembled, and the Batfamily as well, all of them hovering around the supercomputer down in the Batcave. Red Hood and the Outlaws shared a monitor, and the peeling paint behind them hinted they were not at the Manor. Ollie and Barry and Carol all had their own screens, as did Michael Carter and Ted Kord.
Even John Stewart and Shayera Hall were able to get away from their covers. John was stony faced, and Dinah didn't doubt it was wearing on him to pander to Luthor's ego, all the while openly denouncing his true allies. Shayera was even worse. She looked like she hadn't slept in a week, her hair was a matted mess, and her eyes were dull. She had been selected as a double agent primarily because of her history with the JLA, and how she had come to Earth in the first place. Dinah hoped it wouldn't be too much for her.
Bruce opened up the meeting. "Thank you all for attending. I know it took some doing for us all to be here in time, but this is important. As Oracle sent in the alert, Patrick has died. Whether or not this is a more serious setback than their first attempt remains to be seen. We have his final transmission—what he saw and heard right before his death. I'll replay the pertinent parts, and then open the floor to discussion."
He leaned forward and pressed several unmarked buttons on his console. The transmission began playing immediately, fast forwarded through the non-essential parts. He paused it for a minute when Patrick had looked down at the technician's list, but then let the rest of the video play in real time.
"Shit!" Shayera blurted out, as soon as the video ended. " I know what that was! That's a blue star energy pulse converter—the Gordanians use a simplified version of it to power their ships. Shit," she said again, her voice wobbling. "It eats through anything organic and converts it into harnessable energy. Do you know what the half-life on blue star is? 5,000 years!"
Dinah's eyes went wide with shock. 5,000 years? And that was just the half-life? After a time-travelling misadventure in Atlantis, Patrick had rebuilt himself on a molecular level for 3,000 years, and it had nearly shattered him, mentally and psychologically. And that was in the past, wherein he'd finally reformed himself in their current time, with all his friends and family to keep him sane. What would he be like in 5,000 years? In closer to 10,000 years?
"That is why we are treating this as a semi-permanent death," Bruce said heavily. "Not only because we cannot retrieve his . . . remains until we have cleared the facility for traps, bombs and the like, but we also cannot begin to aid in his resurrection until we have eliminated the threat of this happening again. As difficult as this is, Patrick's death was not the primary reason we called you all together, however." He tapped on his console, and pulled up a copy of the agent's itinerary.
"This is the single most straightforward idea of their plans we are ever going to get," Bruce continued. "If it is accurate. There is always the possibility that this was planted. Either way, we have a problem."
"Oh hell no," Ted exclaimed. "They aren't setting a single foot in Chi-town!"
"Excuse me," Koriand'r muttered, looking distinctly green around the gills. She ran off screen, and both her boys watched her go.
"Chicago may be their next target," Barbara agreed. "And as we have no idea how they destroyed Metropolis in an hour, nor how wide the devastation may spread, we are left with only a few days to act. I propose that we begin an immediate evacuation of Chicago and the surrounding areas; as many as we can convince to leave their homes."
"Even with their traffic grid the streets are gonna be jammed," Carol murmured. "You're gonna need alternate forms of transportation. Ferris Aircraft can help with that."
"As will Queen Industries," Ollie added, unflinchingly serious. "We have and will provide for those who need temporary shelter, food, and a way outta there. Say the word and I'll get it for you, Bruce."
Dinah bit back a little smile. Ollie could grate on her nerves at times—could grate on everyone's—but in times like these, she didn't know which aspect of him she loved more; the man, or the superhero.
"Hey hey don't leave me out, guys!" Ted said. "K.O.R.D. Inc is based in Chicago, and I've got plenty of contacts in the city that will convince people to get the hell out."
"And I'll help him," Michael said, flashing his 100 kilowatt smile.
"Keystone," Barry whispered, his eyes glazed. He hadn't heard a word of conversation, he was still caught up in the itinerary's first day. "He went to Keystone to procure a 'substance.' This fucker helped murder Wally!"
"Barry, deep breaths," Dinah counselled him gently, but firmly. "We need to keep our heads."
"Fuck that!" He yelled, losing his cool completely. "Wally's dead because of him! I'm done keeping my goddamned cool!"
There was a blur of red and yellow, and the next moment he was gone. Helena sighed and closed her eyes, and Jason and the Outlaws all exchanged glances.
"So, uh, anybody know how to catch an angry speedster?" Roy asked.
"We'll fill him in when he's done throwing his tantrum," Bruce said. He was in a piss-poor mood, and Dinah bet it was only partially because things were beginning to spiral out of control. She assumed it had more to do with Patrick's 'death'. For all their differences in personality, Patrick and Bruce had been friends. Losing him for the rest of his lifetime, and at his direction, would haunt him.
"Will the government help if we tell them?" Tim Drake asked, bringing the conversation back to the matter at hand.
John Stewart let out a pained laugh. "Pah! Don't hold your breath. Luthor's convinced half of Washington that Shazam was acting under our orders when he went on his killing spree. Even if we handed them Billy's head on a platter, it's too late to get their support."
"Even if we could prove the next target?" Tim argued, young and idealistic enough to think he could change stubborn minds.
John shook his head. "They won't believe anything we show them. Not until the Iconoclasts strike again."
"Is there any information you can pass along?" Bruce asked, his voice strained.
Shayera winced. "Bane's got nothing in Chicago, and I haven't seen any assassins in my neck of the woods since the blitz. Unless John's got something on Luthor, our best bet may be hitting their site in Des Plaines."
"Luthor has not focused on the Midwest," John admitted. "That may mean he's trying to keep out of blast radius, or he's already popular enough in that region to spend more time in others. I don't know, Bruce. He's been trying to shift my responsibilities, lately. I believe he's taken an interest in me in a new way."
There was a moment of stunned silence. Then, "If he touches you, I will end him," Shayera promised, her voice dark and dangerous.
John realized what he'd insinuated. "No, not that! Lord, your minds are filthy. He's trying to keep me firmly out of the mud. He has me playing in the politician's sphere rather than assisting with the seedier aspect of his 'empire.'"
"So, nothing useful?" Jason Todd drawled.
John glared at him. "Bit like yourself."
"Ok," Dinah cut in. "Great. So we're all agreed—we have to focus on evacuating Chicago. There's something else we need to focus on: that site in Des Plaines. Any leads?"
Oracle glanced back at her and nodded. "We've got a market research facility that was bought out last year by one of Luthor's puppet companies. It was a fairly high-tech building, with a testing lab and kitchens built in, along with the more basic mic'd rooms and two-way mirrors. God knows what he wanted it for, but we think that's where the agent was referring to in his note."
"So who's going in?" Dick asked.
"I am," Dinah said at exactly the same time as Helena. They glanced at each other before she amended it to, "We are."
"Birds of Prey call this one, guys," Helena added. "We'll show you gents how the ladies get it done."
"Woah, woah, woah," Ollie said. "Babe. Are you thinking this through? Patrick just died. Patrick. Need I remind you that you are not immortal?"
"Helena and I are of less use in the evacuation effort," she pointed out. "Not in the BSU club, remember? We are, however, dangerous as fuck."
"I am not arguing that," Ollie said in a tone of voice that suggested he was, in fact, arguing just that. "But Patrick is dead. You are not, and I'd like to keep it that way."
Dinah narrowed her eyes at the monitor, and debated whether it was worth it to use her canary cry to incapacitate all the listeners just to piss off her overprotective boyfriend.
"Thanks to Patrick's sacrifice, we have a way better idea of what we're up against," Helena said before Dinah could go through with it. "We work well as a team, and if things go badly, we can bail."
"Like Patrick could bail?" Dick asked, sarcastically. He clearly didn't like the two of them going in alone either, yet while Batman was brooding in front of him, he couldn't offer to help. For now, he had slid back under Bruce's wing, and was part of the Batman bloc, rather than acting independently as Nightwing.
"We could go with," Jason offered. "Roy and I. We're not much help with evac either."
"Ok, we could do that," Roy said, sounding put out. "Thanks for offering me up, Fearless Leader."
"No," Bruce said. He was wearing his cowl, but there was still something deeply unhappy about his features. "I will go with them."
Dick and Tim whipped their heads around in perfect sync, and in identical expression of shock.
"Say whaaat?" Ollie prompted.
Bruce glowered at him. "I sent Patrick to his death. I will not let it happen again. Dinah, Helena, and I will go to Des Plaines."
"Bruce," Dick said quietly. "Are you sure about this?"
"Yes," he said. "While I'm gone, you will be Batman. Keep the patrol rotas until I get back. Red Hood, if you and the Outlaws would continue helping patrol Gotham, that would be . . . appreciated."
Dinah's eyebrows went up. Wow, could Bruce sound any more like he was pulling his own teeth out of his mouth? From the look on Jason's face, he agreed.
"Not doing it for you, old man," he said, his eyes sliding to the right so that it looked like he was staring at Tim or Richard.
"But you'll do it," Bruce said, and it was not a question.
Jason's gaze stayed just off center. "Yeah."
"Waita waita wait," Roy said, waving his hands in front of his face. "We're doing some A+ planning here, but what about Shazam? Isn't he tearing through the US? He'd destroyed eight cities, last I checked."
Barbara shook her head. "He fell off the grid about three hours ago. No sign of him, but the death toll has stopped entirely." She adjusted her glasses. "He may be unconscious, or found a way to break free of the compulsion . . . He may also be dead. I simply don't have a trace of him."
"Did he get off-world?" John asked.
"I don't see how," Bruce replied. "Not with the magical pulse barring or even controlling his powers."
"Jason and I can find him," Tim offered. He stood up a little straighter when all the eyes turned to him. Many were incredulous, including Jason's. "We've worked together in the past, and between us, we've got contacts on all ends of the spectrum. One way or another, we'll get a lead on him." He hesitated. "But I don't think he and I should fight him."
"No," Bruce agreed. "That I think should be up to Arrow and Flash. Working together, they have a chance."
"Oh, thanks," Ollie snarked. "A chance. What, are you crazy? Shazam is one of the biggest bruisers in the League. In the universe! We're boned!"
"What about Koriand'r?" Helena asked. "She's incredibly powerful."
"No," Jason and Roy said at exactly the same time, with exactly the same forbidding tone of voice.
"Wow, sexist much?" Dinah remarked.
Jason frowned at everyone, looking angry. "What is wrong with you?" He asked. "If you were pregnant, would you be throwing yourself into battle with Shazam?"
I really should be counting these moments of stunned silence, Dinah thought in the stunned silence that followed. This makes three.
"Kori's pregnant?" Dick asked, with an odd tone coloring his voice.
Jason whipped around to glare at Roy. "I thought you were going to tell everyone!"
Roy winced. "I just . . . the right time never came up!"
Ollie had other concerns. "Jesus. Is it Roy's?" He asked, amazed.
Dick's eyes narrowed, and Dinah foresaw an awkward day at Wayne Manor. If Dick wasn't over his feelings for his ex-fiancee, things were about to get hella awkward, hella fast.
"Yes, Kori's pregnant, and yes, it is Roy's," Jason explained through gritted teeth. "The point is that she has elected to stay out of pitched battle. Strictly transport duty, guys."
"Congratulations," the smallest and angriest Wayne said, in a tone that was distinctly un-congratulatory.
"Well, fuck!" Ollie exclaimed. "Do you honestly think Barry and I can take Shazam down on our own? Because I don't!"
"There is a backup plan for if we are truly outmatched," Bruce said heavily. "Oracle has all the necessary information. If Shazam lies low long enough, we may be able to regroup before engaging him. I'd feel a lot better if all of us were going after him."
"Is it normal to be vomiting this much during human pregnancy?" Koriand'r asked, walking back onto camera as she did. She sounded worried but her color was a little better, and Dinah realized she had just raced off to the bathroom to yark.
"Yep. It's called morning sickness," Helena offered. "Can stick around for the whole trimester."
Dinah said nothing. Why should she? She couldn't have children, no matter how badly she and Ollie wanted one. That Roy was able to have one so easily stung a little, and for once, she understood why Ollie was being a bit petulant. Well, that and facing Shazam, she thought. That might make me a bit moody too.
Starfire frowned. "Human pregnancies seem far more uncomfortable than Tamaranean pregnancies."
"And more dangerous," Roy muttered. "Did you know Tamaraneans don't miscarry? Ever? Kori thought we were shitting her when we explained it to her. Now do you see why we're worried about you fighting?" He said to her. "The kid's half-human. The pregnancy's gonna be different than what you're expecting."
"Not too different, I hope," she murmured, but took her place next to him, allowing the conversation to move forward.
Barbara took control of the conversation once more. "It's decided, then. Batman, Canary, and Huntress will infiltrate the Des Plaines site, and Carol, Beetle, Booster, and Arrow will focus on evac, until Shazam is found, and then Arrow and Flash will focus on containing him. Red Robin and and Red Hood, your first priority is finding Shazam. Starfire and Arsenal, do what you can do, help out with Nightwing and Robin in Gotham. John and Hawkgirl, keep your covers. I'll continue overseeing everyone, but my efforts will be towards the evacuation. If we don't learn anything from the Des Plaines site, or find a way to stop the attack on Chicago, I will hack everything and make the announcement public. The government will not stand in our way of saving countless civilian lives. Any questions?"
Ollie raised his hand. "May I register a complaint?" His eyes cut to her section of the monitor, and she knew he was going to argue her role in this.
"Not if you want to have sex ever again," Dinah shut him down.
His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, then he slowly lowered his hand.
"Whoever sees him next, fill Flash in, please." Barbara concluded. "This is going to be a difficult couple of days. Stay alert, and if anything happens—anything at all—do not try to handle it on your own. Our strength is in our unity. Alone, we will fall."
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DUN DUN DUNNNNNN.
I have seen Tamaraneans spelled about 4 different ways, and it has been so long since I've read it in an actual comic I have no idea, now. I apologize for any/all spelling mistakes, both specific to the comics and in the general English language.
Also, I have no real idea how Roy and Kori would take to being parents (together). I kind of like the idea of Roy being v. excited about this, and extremely silly as well. (And if not . . . oh well, Elseworld.)
I worked a really, really terrible job in Des Plaines, IL. I may hate the city by association but am quite fond of Illinois on the whole. My apologies to anyone who is from (or has ever been to) Des Plaines, disregarding the amount of time you spend in the O'Hare airport.
