WARNINGS: Self-harm, evil science-y experimentation on children (child, whatever) and I think that's it.

-JJ POV-

Waking up after a beating is, in general, an unpleasant experience. This time… well, it could've been worse. My body didn't hurt as much as it ought to. I was probably on medication and definitely in a bed. And there were people there. I could recognize their voices.

"Are you sure he's going to be okay?" Sylvester. That worrywart.

"For the last time, yes," Hoodie exclaimed, clearly exasperated and trying to keep the fondness out of his tone. He thinks I don't know how he feels about my stupid cousin. Heh. "Batman said JJ would be fine and he'll wake up when he wakes up. We've got nothing to worry about."

"Red Arrow's right," Dickiebird announced firmly. "If Batman says he'll be okay, then he's going to be okay."

"I would still feel a lot better if he'd wake up though," Racer muttered petulantly.

Geez, how many people are in my sick room? I wondered. It seemed like overkill, especially for little old me.

"You can stop faking, JJ," Superboy cut in. "I can hear your heartbeat. I know you're awake."

I felt a smile at the corner of my lips. "Nah 'm naht," I mumbled happily, surprised at how scratchy my voice sounded. "'M st'll sleepin'. Axk me 'gain later."

"JJ!" TomCat was hugging me, very gently. More like, he was holding his body about half an inch over mine and nuzzling the side of my head fondly. His ears tickled. "You're okay! I was so worried! Do you hurt anywhere? Can I get you anything? Are you okay?"

I gave Hoodie a significant look over the idiot's shoulder. It was a look that said 'get him off/I'm fine/like hell I'm dealing with this shit' simultaneously. "Let the kid breathe, TomCat," he scolded. "He only just woke up. That being said, how are you feeling, JJ? Because you look like you've been through a ringer."

I sighed. "I'm fine," I told them. "I've had worse actually."

Hoodie gave me a look. Yeah. He wasn't buying it. But he wasn't pushing the matter either. I guess he figured I wasn't talking about it in a room full of people. He was right.

"I'm so glad you're okay," Miss Martian smiled at me from the foot of the bed.

"I GOTIT!" I realized. "Marvin! Yer Marvin now. 'S Perfect!"

Marvin was confused. "Uh… what?"

Sylvester grinned at her. "Another Looney Tunes, huh? Well, welcome to the family," he greeted, throwing an arm around her. "Though I'm surprised it took him this long to come up with the name for you. I had mine within minutes."

Superboy frowned. "I don't understand." And he clearly didn't like that fact either.

Dickiebird just shrugged. "JJ doesn't call anybody by their real names unless… actually, pretty much ever. To him, I'm Dickiebird, Wally's Racer, Kaldur is Gills, Red Arrow is Hoodling-"

"Hoodie," I corrected quickly. "'E got upgraded. An' Little John is Fat Fryer now too."

"Serves the cockblocker right," Sylvester muttered. "I'm Sylvester. Fat Fryer is Green Arrow. Bossy B is Batman. Mr. Underewar is Superman (they don't get along). And the rest you can figure out as you go."

"Oh, okay." he agreed. "Why?"

"Uh…" Racer trailed off.

I'd never told anyone why. They just kind of rolled with it. Why question the crazy guy, right? I shoved that thought down. It wasn't that people dismissed me because I was crazy, they just didn't know how to deal with it sometimes and sorta ended up scooting around the subject whenever it reared its ugly head. It wasn't that they looked down on me or anything for something I can't control. They weren't like that, it just felt like it sometimes. None of them were.

"The names'r important. 'Ey make people mine. Show 'ow Ah think of 'em. Good names fer good people, sucktstic names fer assholes. Shows Ah care 'n shit. Names c'n make a thing, sometimes. 'M nah givin' yer own yet a'cause yeh don' 'ave a real one picked yet. 'M not namin' you for yeh." I didn't need to switch to a more serious personality to deal with this conversation. This was something I understood easily. I could do it without thinking, like inventing. I could explain it without forcing myself to take it seriously. It wasn't a problem.

As closely as I can figure, I've only got three personalities. I say 'only' because my dad- because the Joker has tons more than me. There's regular me, serious me and the me that takes over when I have an episode. Then again, maybe he's an identity instead of a personality? Wouldn't that be interesting? A person with both Multiple Personality Disorder and Dissociative Identity Disorder? Fascinating. From the outside. Not so much fun being me, now is it?

Everyone was looking at me funny. "Huh?"

"I asked if you were okay and if you needed anything?" Dickiebird clarified, long since accustomed to my space-outs. Racer called them brain-hiccups. I liked his name for them better.

"'M good," I assured them. "Wha' 'appened ter my- What happened to the Joker and Harley?" I switched. I didn't trust myself not to.

"In Arkham. They're gone," Dickiebird promised soothingly. I allowed myself to feel a bit better about that, despite knowing that they wouldn't stay there forever. A few months maybe. I could hope. I did hope.

"Alright," I agreed. "Since you guys know I'm up and all, would you mind letting me have some breathing room? There's too many people in here and I could use some actual sleep instead of that mini-coma or whatever. I'm exhausted."

Marvin looked ready to object but Gills cut her off with a hand on her shoulder. "We'd be glad to let you rest, my friend. I'm glad you're doing better. Call us if you need anything."

I nodded, watching him steer the brunet out of the room. Racer and Dickiebird followed, joking with each other playfully and bumping shoulders. Hoodie peeled Sylvester off of me and out of the room, saying he wouldn't be back soon since he had a mission - something about Lex Luthor and some sort of rare alien metal that he had to take care of while Sylvester would be distracted visiting his mom. That left Superboy.

"Go on," I gestured to the door.

He blinked at me. Obviously he had something to say. So I waited for him to say it. It wasn't that Superboy was being shy or hesitant or anything. That would be weird. He just wasn't sure how to articulate things just yet, being rather young and all, so certain ideas took him a while. I was patient. When it comes to people I liked, I can be patient.

"You're waiting for me to name myself," he stated.

"Yeah."

"You wanted me to make my own choices from the very beginning, even back a Cadmus where it might have cost you your life."

"Yeah."

"You thanked me for helping you."

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Tabula Rasa," I stated simply before elaborating. "A blank slate. You're nobody yet, so you can choose to be anybody. I would slaughter cities for that chance. So I'm not letting anybody take it away from you. You're going to be your own person, dammit. Not Superman. Not Cadmus. Not Justice League. Not even Superboy unless you want to be. You don't even have a name yet. Everything's still on the table. You could be the worst supervillain or the greatest superhero the world has ever known, or you could be perfectly normal and act like everyone else. You look normal. There are few I wouldn't kill to be like you. You should do what you want, not what's asked of you or what you're told you have to be."

Superboy stopped to consider that. "You want to be normal." It wasn't a question.

I looked away. "I'm insane. My hair's green. I hurt people when left to my own devices. I can't be normal." And it ached to say that, no matter how true. Or maybe it hurt so much because it was true?

"I have superpowers too," he pointed out.

"You don't have to use them. You've got no responsibility to anyone. Once you've got control, if you wish, you can be on your merry way and leave us."

"I don't want to leave you, any of you," he argued, suddenly angry? Protective? I couldn't identify the emotion… "You're my team and I'm not letting you get hurt again."

I started at him. "If that's what you want."

"It is."

"Good. I like having you around." I smiled at him. One of my few, heartfelt smiles I get to use when I feel I've done something right. "Now scram. I need to rest."

-Superboy POV-

JJ didn't ask me to leave so he could sleep. He did it so he could cry. Nobody else seemed to realize this however. Or at least, nobody else seemed inclined to do anything about it. Robin and Wally kept glancing at the hallway that lead towards the infirmary with concern on their faces, like they knew something was wrong but didn't get up. I took my cue from them. They were JJ's friends first. They probably knew he was crying, or at least suspected. The only reason I knew was because I could hear him. The bedrooms and main rooms were largely soundproof, including the infirmary, but when I concentrated I could hear through them anyway.

JJ was definitely crying. After the way Robin and Wally had explained the situation with his father (including some very scathing interjections from TomCat and pointed scowles from Red Arrow) I wasn't surprised that JJ was having an emotional breakdown. He deserved it. His own mother had tried to kill him and very nearly succeeded. His father too. And he had just discovered that his parents didn't love him. I was willing to give him some space.

Until I smelt blood.

"I'm going to go check on him," I informed the others abruptly, already standing to leave.

"JJ asked for space," Robin said frowning, obviously unsure if he should stop or encourage me to go.

"I'll leave if he asks," I briskly lied over my shoulder, fighting against the instinct to run to JJ's side. Nobody followed me.

JJ had scratches on his forearm that weren't there when I left. They were in the shape of nail marks. And he was sobbing uncontrollably.

Let me make one thing perfectly clear: I do not know how to deal with crying people of any kind. I have been self-aware and out of my pod for about fourteen days now, including the two where nobody did anything but worry about whether or not JJ would wake up. (AN: In canon, the events of Santa Prisca happened the day after Happy Harbor. I give no craps about the canon timeline. I already told you, there will be flashbacks and junk. What would possibly make you think that I wouldn't just add extra days whenever I felt like it? Because I will. And you probably don't care either so why the hell am I being so defensive? Because I'm a perfectionist that's why! Back off!) This amounts to zero experience with crying people and Cadmus did not see fit to teach me what to do in this sort of situation. So I improvised.

I started with the scratching, because JJ was still doing it. Grabbing his wrists (gently, he was human and by that extent, relatively fragile) and holding them together with one hand, I checked the damage. Superficial. Surface wounds. No lasting damage. Apparently he'd inherited a sleight healing boost from one or both of his parents (I wasn't exactly sure what whichever chemicals did whatever to which of them) and that's why he was able to wake up so quickly. Any normal person would be in a coma for months, if they woke up at all. It wasn't like I could see the wounds closing or anything, I just took comfort in the fact that he'd probably be perfectly fine even if I didn't bandage him. Which was good, because not only did I not know how but I was also pretty sure JJ wouldn't be asking for help anytime soon.

Actually, JJ probably wouldn't be forming coherent sentences anytime soon. He was sobbing too hard. Deep, loud sobbs that sounded wet and gaspy, like he had been crying too hard for too long and while he wasn't running out of steam anytime soon, he was starting to run out of breath to keep going. Have I mentioned that I'm not good with emotions? Because I'm not. At all.

I patted JJ on the head uncertainty, ruffling his hair. "Hey there, JJ," I asked, "stop crying. You're starting to hyperventilate and that's not good for you. You'll get a headache. And you're already injured." I'd like to point out that I have since then gotten better at dealing with crying people. I just didn't know what I was doing and I'd never seen anyone crying or being comforted before. "You need to calm down." JJ was not calming down. "Uh, please?" If anything he was doing the opposite of calming down.

So I hugged him. Gently. He already had a collection of cracked, fractured and broken ribs thanks to his father, not to mention the bullet wound in his shoulder and I really didn't want to add to that. He struggled a bit before realizing who I was. I'm not sure he even realized I was there before that.

The sobbs choked themselves out pretty quickly. There was a very wet sounding snort as JJ tried to suck all his snot back up into his nose. Pulling back from the hug I could see that he mostly failed.

"Superboy?" he asked weakly. "Whad're you doin' 'ere?" He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and had significantly more success.

"You were scratching yourself," I told him. "I smelt the blood."

JJ looked down at his arm in surprise. "Oh." He blushed and looked away, obviously ashamed. "Thanks." Even quieter he mumbled, "'M sorry."

"I told you earlier that you're my team and I'm not letting you get hurt again. I'm not letting you hurt yourself either."

"I dinnah mean tah. Jus' 'appens s'mtimes when 'm nah thinkin' straight." JJ still wouldn't meet my eyes. "'S fine. 'M okay."

"How often does this happen?" I asked, concerned. How hard would I need to work to protect JJ from himself? And how long had Robin and Kidflash been doing it without anyone else's help? And how much had they succeeded?

"How often does me crazy act up ya mean?" he was joking slightly but not really. JJ obviously didn't want to answer but did it anyway. I was glad I didn't have to pressure him or go behind his back to find out. I was willing to if it meant protecting JJ but I didn't want to have to do that to him. "Depends. Don' hurt meself much. Voices come 'n go a couple days atta time. See things sumtimes when 's real bad. I ferget things ah do or 'ow Ah got places e'ry few weeks. If ahm stressed 'r scared 'r ah see ter much blood n' things Ah'll have 'n episode, buh those usually gotta be set off by summat. Dickiebird says s'mtimes Ah just sit still fer long times buh 'M not so sure. Think as it."

"And hurting yourself?"

"When 'M in an episode an ner's nobody else ter 'urt," he dismissed sullenly, "Ur when ner's too much 'appenin' inside 'n Aye gotta get it out. Not usually."

I was partially relieved that it was uncommon but still mostly pissed that it happened ever. I really wanted to punch JJ's parents. They should have been helping him with this. They were the same types of crazy and they didn't hurt themselves. They must have figured it out and then not told JJ how to deal with it. Those bastards.

But saying that wouldn't help JJ now. Neither would me being pissed on his behalf. JJ needed me to help him. He didn't need me getting mad and trashing whatever got in my way. I needed more control than that. I'd get to smash Joker's face in some other time. Repeatedly. But for now, I needed to control my temper.

"Are you going to be okay now?" I asked him finally.

JJ just shrugged. ""M crazy. 'Ll ne'er be okay with 'at. Buh yeah. 'M done hurtin' o'er meh biological donors. 'M okay."

I looked him in the eyes. He seemed sincere. "If you say so." I told him. "I'll trust you on this."

-Talon POV-

I don't remember a time before. I've always been here. In the lab. Always. I suppose it didn't really matter, but I thought it might. If I had memories of a time before - a time with sunlight or street signs or people who didn't wear labcoats - things might have been different. I'm not sure if they would have been better or worse actually. Just different.

All I've ever seen are white walls and tile floors, metal bracers and mirrors which I always know when they're watching me through. I was taught to read. To write. I'm not sure why they taught me these things other than to verify that I was smart enough to learn them. Because my purpose did not involve reading or writing. My purpose was uglier than that. By far.

I am a clone. I'm not sure which number, but I think we're talking pre-double digits here. Nobody tells me these things obviously. But I do know that they want the optimal warrior. Best of everything: fighting, healing, strength, speed, flexibility, endurance, everything. The ones who came before me? They failed. They weren't the end result. They were terminated and improved upon. I am that improvement. I know that I'm not the end result either. My purpose is to fight with everything I have and, eventually, when they can learn no more from me, to die. They wanted my everything, including my life.

And yeah, there was a time I seriously considered giving it to them: my loyalty, my life. But… and I'm not entirely sure what it was that lead me to make this decision… I didn't want to. I mean… sure, they were they were the ones who put a lot of time and money into creating me and even keeping me alive but… that didn't mean much to me. Not when I knew what they wanted from me. They wanted a weapon. A killer. A monster. And I didn't want to be. I might not know what I do want but I know what I don't. I don't want to give in.

"Project Talon?" one of the doctors asked. I didn't care which one.

"Yes sir?" I replied blandly.

"Stand up," he ordered. There was no question that I might revolt. I had nothing to gain from doing such a thing. "We're testing your range of movement."

"Yes sir," I replied.

And I obeyed as they asked me to lift my arms and stand on one foot and bend over and move joints in circles. After all, I needed to check my range of movement too. I needed took now how far my body could go. I wasn't sure why, but I knew I wanted to be strong. Maybe that was just the brainwashing though. I couldn't be sure what was me and what was programed into me.

I had long since resolved myself to escape if the opportunity ever came. There was nothing to gain from staying here and worst case scenario, they'd kill me. They were planning to kill me anyway. The opportunity never came. I knew better than to try and break out without a plan. I wasn't stupid. I just wasn't smart enough to actually come up with said plan. So I stayed. And waited for an opportunity. I had to keep my sanity somehow. I followed their routines and let them tell me what to do. There was no way to keep track of time properly, but I assumed that a lot had passed since I was cloned though I wasn't sure. I had built up muscle mass surprisingly quickly… or maybe it wasn't fast and my estimation of time was off… I couldn't tell. It didn't really matter anyways.

The tests I always submitted to. And the exercises. And the training. I wanted to be healthy and strong. I wanted to be able to fight. I wanted all of that. But the rest of it? Now that I did not submit to willingly. Not the experiments. And not the examinations. Those I did not like.

Experiments weren't as bad as the examinations. Just from the name you'd think it would be the other way around, right? You'd be wrong. Experiments… yeah. There were a bunch of them. How much electrical voltage can he take? How hot? How cold? How much weight can he hold over his head before it collapses on top of him? How long? Is he resistant to magic? What kinds? How long can he hold his breath? Just how quickly and how much damage can he heal? I don't know how many times my heart physically stopped because of these experiments, but I know that if I were human, I would have died. Hell, if I were human I don't think they would have bothered keeping me in the first place. They didn't want a human. They wanted a weapon.

Which was also the reason for the examinations. Since they knew I wasn't even partially human, they wanted to know more about my physiology. X-rays and MRIs were pointless at best what with how much of me was made of metal. So… because I could heal from it and because they were curious… I got cut open from time to time. I can now confirm that my innards are extremely similar to a human's. My spine is the same too. My wings aren't directly attached to it. They contain thirteen major blood vessels. Each of which was been mapped out. Thoroughly. With a scalpel. And then checked again to see if the location changed when I healed. Twice. My feathers couldn't be cut through though since they were much too hard, so I had to be plucked to see where they were.

And then in the process of that they somehow realized that most of my abilities, like my strength, my healing and (shocker there) my flight came from my feathers. And they started experimenting with my feathers. Which meant they needed to pull more out.

Let's just say I started to wish I didn't have wings.

-Red Arrow/Roy POV-

Someone was supplying Lex Luthor with nth metal. (AN: Nth metal, or ninth metal, is a real thing and the properties described are real.) Granted, that's not as bad as someone supplying Lex Luthor with kryptonite… but it's still not ideal. I mean, who would like the idea of Luthor armed with metal that lets you defy gravity, heal and get super strong? It's bad enough the guy's already smart.

I'd tracked the supplier to a lab outside DC. Shockingly close to where Cadmus used to be but I shrugged it off. Maybe there was just something about this district that screamed 'evil science buildings go here' or something. I wouldn't know. I'm not an evil scientist. Maybe I'd ask JJ when I got the chance since he was awake again.

Sneaking in was surprisingly easy, probably because it was a research facility and not a military compound. That's not to say there wasn't security. But… the more I looked the more confused I got. Security didn't seem centered around keeping people out so much as… keeping something in. Don't tell me there's some sort of evil monster locked up in here. If there's a small army of Blockbusters in here I might have a problem. Still, I wasn't calling for backup from the Team if I hadn't found anything yet, and I certainly wasn't backing down.

What I found wasn't what I was expecting. Not at all.

"You look kind of familiar… have we met somehow?" he asked.

"No. I would definitely remember if we had. Definitely." Mostly because you've got freakin wings made of freakin metal sticking out of your freaking back. They looked heavy, not like they were too big for him but like they weighed more than they were supposed to. They hung almost listlessly as he hung suspended from his wrists. Brown hair, cropped short like they'd buzzed it off recently. Blue eyes with more intensity than I'd bargain on from a kid who looked no more than, what? Nine years old? He was tiny an so very young.

"Are you… a clone of Hawkman or something?" I asked uncertainty. It seemed likely. I mean, that's what Superboy was to Superman. And he looked like a younger Hawkman only… his wings were made of metal. Is that… nth metal?! He's the supplier?! This changes everything!

"Despite appearances, no. I am not his clone. Not exactly," he replied frankly. "I take it then that you're not here to train me… how did you find me?"

"There was a rumor going around about someone supplying Lex Luthor with nth metal," I explained, "I came to check that out."

"Well, that would be me," the boy (and he was a boy, too young for this, too much like TomCat) shrugged. The effort lifted his whole body slightly from where he hung suspended by his wrists. "Are you going to assassinate me or rescue me?" he asked, sounding not the least bit afraid of dying. "Either way is fine really, though I would prefer to live a little longer just on principle. Whichever it is, could you stop staring? It's making me edgy."

"I, uh, yeah, right," I agreed dumbly. What's with this kid? "What's your name?" I asked, scanning the control panel for a 'release' button or something like that.

"They call me Project Talon," he informed me casually. "I haven't picked a real name yet. Those seem important and I wanted to have a good one. I need outside input for that so I'm still waiting on it."

I nodded. "Yeah, that makes sense. My name's Red Arrow." I found the button and he didn't fall to the floor but glided gently. Right, wings, got it. "Can you fight?" I asked.

Talon nodded. "They taught me. Do you have an escape plan?"

"Yeah: escape."

"That's it?" he stammered. I nodded. "That's all it takes? Why didn't I think of that…?"

"You coming or not?" I asked, already at the door, arrow nocked and ready to go.

"Lead the way."

-Talon POV-

Now I know why I was waiting for a better plan that just 'escape'. Because Red Arrow made shitty plans. Especially when people like Deathstroke just happen to be touring the facilities; or maybe he was there to train me, I'll never know. Maybe Red Arrow just has shitty luck, not shitty planning skills because Deathstroke's really the only reason things were going to hell. Or maybe it was my luck? Probably mine. Red Arrow had no problem on the way in after all.

Speaking of Red Arrow, the poor guy was unconscious, and I doubt he could shoot with a throwing knife through his hand even if he were awake. They were going to catch us. I was absolutely certain. Deathstroke was going to catch us. Which would be bad. While I could carry Red Arrow easily enough, I couldn't do it while being stealthy enough to get away. I'd get us both caught and him killed. That's not how I repay the man who got me out of hell.

I took a deep breath. "Right then," I decided. "I hate my plan." I yanked out a feather, barely flinching. Some pains you just became accustomed to over time. Carefully, I yanked out the throwing knife from Red Arrow's injured hand before gently wrapping it around the feather. It should help him heal and hopefully send him the right message. "Good luck my friend," I whispered. "We're both going to need it."

I flew away, headed in the opposite direction, away from the city. Away from Red Arrow. Away from my best chance of getting away.

"Oi, morons!" I shouted, putting as much false bravado in my voice as I could muster, "I hate each and every one of you! And if you ever dissect anyone again I'm coming back here with a knife, lots of itching powder, and a sewing kit!" They didn't like that suggestion and started shooting at me with machine guns. "Well that worked," I observed, shielding myself with a wing. "What was step two again?" I heard an RPG fire. "Right! Flying away now! Really fast!"

Something I can attest to: Sometimes, even shitty plans work. At least until Deathstroke catches up to you. Then you're fucking screwed. Fucking Deathstroke man. Fucking Deathstroke.

Oh hey, by the way, is anyone having issues reading what JJ says sometimes? I think it's pretty straightforward but I'm the one writing it so… yeah. I just want to make sure you don't feel like you're decoding pig latin every time he opens his mouth, you know?