Batgirl's head had turned when Robin drove away. She could only stare impassively after him until the motorcycle disappeared from view over the far side of an embankment. Whatever had just happened was between Robin and Batman… Dick and Bruce… none of her business, despite how unsettled it made her feel.
The Batman as ever and always had been unreadable, and she couldn't tell what he felt at the sight of his two junior partners materializing before him soaking wet here in Central Park… if indeed he felt anything at all.
As quickly as it came, Barbara dismissed that notion. Batman had to have felt something. All that tension could not have come just from Robin.
Robin.
Batgirl mentally shivered at the memory. If she thought he had been cold to her before, it was nothing like the vibe she got from him just now, right before he sped away. When she had first started working with the Dynamic Duo it had been Batman's rage that had frightened her the most, his ability to go from the emotionless, almost robotic detective to the creature so feared by Gotham City's underworld. It was a sickening feeling for her now how much more frightening she found Robin's frigidity than the Batman's anger. Whatever had happened this past year… Batgirl spent the night working alongside Robin, and while she'd been too preoccupied to think on it before, the realizations suddenly dawned: Robin hadn't made a single joke, tossed out a single pun, or even cracked a single goddamn smile. The attitude adjustment that she had interpreted before as just some type of typical teenaged angst apparently ran a lot deeper than that. It hit her now that Robin wasn't simply rebelling, and she swallowed thickly to realize that 'Short Pants' was gone.
Oh, Dick…
When the dust finally settled again she returned her focus to Batman. Her weary green eyes had lost none of their inquisitiveness despite all that's happened this evening. Thankfully the weight of her realizations about Robin managed to diffuse what was left of her considerable anger. She stared up at her sometimes-partner almost in resignation and waited patiently for him to finally acknowledge her presence, all the while forcing herself not to think beyond the lovely shower and comfortable bed that awaited her back at her motel.
Wherever Batman had gone in the aftermath of Robin's exit, suddenly he seemed to return to himself again. The tension seemed to siphon some, or maybe it increased? Batgirl couldn't tell for certain, aside from the fact that something now was different than it was the moment before, and not for the first time she wished that she could look into the eyes so carefully hidden behind the cowl.
Then a chilling realization hit her like a kick to the gut. She had seen Batman and Robin argue before, but never had it impeded their work. She had heard Batman order Robin back to the car, or to the cave, and always Robin—seething, had obeyed. She had seen them both ready to murder each other, and then the following morning when she'd gone up to the manor for Alfred's cookies and to swim in the pool and there had been nothing amiss with Dick or Bruce. Either they were both exceptional actors, or—
Whatever had happened went beyond Batman and Robin. The stain had spread—or maybe originated with Bruce and Dick. But no, she remembered one afternoon right around Dick's sixteenth birthday when he and Bruce had had one hell of a fight about his plans for a birthday party, and that same evening Batman and Robin were in top form. They were both too smart and too conscientious to let anything that happened during the day affect their commitments at night.
What, in the name of all things holy, had happened between them? What could have changed Robin so completely, and turn Batman into a bigger jerk than—
Oh. Oh… no.
Robin had been shot by the Joker.
That was it. That had to have been the start of everything. If Barbara's knees weren't locked they might have buckled in that moment. For the very first time, she had absolutely no idea what to do, as either Batgirl or Barbara Gordon. And her eyes stung with the realization that—no matter how much she wanted to help, her efforts would not be welcomed.
They were Batman and Robin. She was just the newbie, the fangirl, the interloper, still sitting firmly on the outside of the fence, even when there was no Dynamic Duo to speak of anymore.
The moment was interrupted by the sound of approaching sirens. Batgirl's head snapped around when she heard them, and then back when a soft CHINK resounded at her feet. She glanced down quickly and saw a pair of Bat-cuffs sitting by her boots. She looked up again and saw that Batman was gone.
Victor's apartment
A rush of supernatural wind and a black streak descended through the ceiling into Victor's living room. When the obsidian entity reached the center of the room it suddenly billowed out from its center. An imagined sigh and the supernatural void shattered into nothingness, vomiting up the three lifeless forms formerly contained therein. Garfield, Raven, and Victor tumbled down to the carpeting with a simultaneous THUD.
"Nnnnngh." Garfield winced all over, curled into the fetal position, and hugged himself. "And to think I used to get motion-sick from the tilt-o-whirl…"
"Unnnghh," Victor groaned. He had landed half upside-down, propped up against the front of his own sofa. He shifted slightly and allowed his titanium body to flop over, and then found some semblance of a sitting position. "Just don't go pukin' on my rug," he groused.
Then suddenly his eyes widened and he came instantly alert. "Whoa! This is my rug! And that's my couch! Shit, Gar, we're in my apartment!"
Garfield groaned again and opened his eyes. His nose was mere inches from one of Victor's GameStation controllers. He blinked hard and shot up to sitting.
"Dude! How the heck did we get here?"
"Hell if I know." Victor shook his head, blinked a few times, and mentally began a self-diagnostic to make sure that everything was working properly. "Well, at least whatever it was didn't do any damage."
Garfield rubbed at his head, his complexion greener than usual. "Dude… speak for yourself."
Victor laughed and climbed to his feet. Then he stuck out a hand and Garfield took it. The changeling was effortlessly lifted to standing. His legs were a bit wobbly but he easily held his balance… long enough to stumble towards the couch and plop down heavily.
"We need to talk, Gar," Victor said seriously from where he stood.
Gar looked up at his friend with wide, tired eyes. "Dude, can't it wait? It's, like, the middle of the night. I'm starving, and I feel like I could sleep for a week."
Victor deflated some. He sighed heavily and plopped down on the couch next to Garfield. "There's food in the fridge," he said. "I got enough to grill us some steaks but I don't think I can muster the energy to be bothered."
Gar laughed. "You? Not in the mood for dead, cooked, and edible? You must be tired!"
"Yeah, well, I don't see you heading towards the stove," Victor grumbled.
"Got anything that doesn't require lots of effort?"
Victor snorted. "Well that depends on what you consider 'effort.'"
"Ramen?"
"Man, don't you know the reason I got an apartment was so that I wouldn't have to settle for dorm food?"
Gar laughed. "The Easy-Mac still on the second shelf in the pantry?"
Victor sighed, defeated. "We finished it the other night. A box of the real thing should be in there somewhere, if you can spare the time to boil water."
Garfield flashed a winning grin. "That doesn't sound too hard."
Still smiling Gar stood from the couch and headed for the kitchen. He'd gone about three steps when something caught his eye:
"Raven!"
Victor's living room was an outgrowth of the kitchen, with the couch serving as the unofficial barrier between the rooms. The back of the couch faced the kitchen, and so expertly hid the crumpled form of the gothic sorceress until now. Gar dashed to her side in an instant and dropped down to his knees. Victor spun around where he sat, glanced down behind the couch, and was then vaulting over it to kneel at Raven's other side.
Raven was unconscious. Gar had a hand on her shoulder and was trying to shake her awake. "Raven!"
It didn't work, and he looked frantically to Victor, who was holding Raven's wrist and checking her pulse against the chronometer built into his forearm.
"Her pulse and breathing are steady, but damn slow," he informed, not sure what to make of it but concerned nonetheless.
"She won't wake up," Garfield told him, panic infusing his voice.
Victor put Raven's wrist down and reached up to tilt one of her eyelids back.
"She's responsive," he said, a contemplative frown on his face. "Does she look… paler, than usual?"
Gar took a good long look at Raven's face, but soon Victor was aware that he was thinking about much more than her complexion.
"Dude… it was her."
Victor blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Remember during the fight in the exhibit hall, when everything suddenly changed?"
Victor frowned. "You mean how the fight seemed to stop all of a sudden, and then the next moment it was over?"
Gar nodded emphatically. "It was her," he said. "It had to be."
"How do you figure?"
"When I was sitting in the tree, Raven was suddenly there. She, like, I dunno, materialized up out of the ground through some sorta energy field, or something. Then as soon as you got there… well, look where we ended up? Raven brought us here, dude. I'd bet my life on it. With that same black energy she used to get herself to my tree."
"So you're saying she teleported us?"
"Or transported us. Whatever. But Vic, back at the tree, right before you came, she was fine. Then all of a sudden she, like, got a migraine or something. And then all of a sudden we were here."
Victor sat back on his heels and ran a tired hand across his face. "And I thought it was weird just having one meta in my class at Hudson…."
Gar chuckled. "Yeah. Me too."
"It makes sense though. I mean, look at her hair—and her eyes for that matter. They're that color naturally, and that's gotta mean something."
"Wow," Gar breathed on a chuckle. "Of my three friends at school, this makes Dick the normal one! And he's the ward of a billionaire!"
Victor just shook his head. "But what was she doing at the museum? And how the heck did she find my apartment? She's never been here before."
"Well it's not like you have an unlisted number," Garfield pointed out. "And maybe she was there for the same reason you and me and Batgirl and Robin were. Maybe she was trying to stop Two-Face."
Victor sighed. He picked up one of Raven's too-pale hands, felt that her pulse hadn't changed any, and let the hand drop down to her side again. "The nearest I can figure is that she's asleep, or in some sorta trance or something. I guess we'll just have to wait until she wakes up. Then we can ask her."
Garfield nodded tiredly. Whatever additional adrenaline he felt in the wake of discovering Raven's body seemed to have dissipated. "So what do we do 'til then?"
"Well the couch pulls out into a bed. We could make that up for Raven. It would look less suspicious than a pterodactyl flying back to campus with an unconscious girl in his talons anyway. Let's just hope that she doesn't freak when she wakes up here. I don't want her goin' all voodoo in my living room."
Garfield's eyes suddenly narrowed, remembering the fate of Dick's wall mirror and light fixture on the night of their big argument with Raven. "Yeah…" he answered vaguely.
Victor was too tired and too preoccupied to notice. He was already heading towards the linen closet to grab sheets, pillows, and blankets.
"Give me a hand with this, will ya?"
And together the two teenagers prepared the foldaway mattress. When they were done Garfield turned himself into a gorilla and gently scooped Raven into his arms. He laid her atop the sofa-bed and then stepped back, transforming back into a human.
"You know, you could have just asked me to do it," Victor informed him with a smirk.
"Fur is more comfortable than titanium," Garfield pointed out. Then he frowned. "Now what?"
Victor shrugged. "I guess, cover her with a few blankets and head to bed ourselves."
"Shouldn't we, I dunno, at least take her shoes off? That can't be comfortable…"
"And what happens when she wakes up to you trying to undress her?"
Garfield winced. "Point taken."
With a communal sigh they covered Raven with a sheet and then an afghan. Victor walked over and set the thermostat to a more female-friendly temperature, double-checked that the front door was still locked, and then killed the lights. When he looked back he saw that Gar had removed his sneakers and was busy arranging the couch cushions into a makeshift mattress on the floor.
"You wouldn't happen to have something I could sleep in handy, would ya?"
Victor snorted. "Nothing that would fit you."
"Thought not," Gar said with a sigh. Then before Victor could say anything else, Gar dropped into housecat on top of a cushion. He kneaded the area a few times, turning in a circle before settling down to sleep.
"Are you paper trained?" Victor asked with a bemused grin.
The cat hissed at him.
Victor laughed. "Okay, little buddy. Good night."
With that, the cybernetic teen turned around and headed for his bedroom and his recharging station.
Hudson University
Forget the sound of screaming, ignore the sound of gunfire, and brush off the sound of the Joker's hideous laughter. Right now the most heinous and evil sound in the entire world… was the beeping of an alarm clock. Dick's alarm clock, which was just knocked to the floor in a bleary-eyed attempt to shut it off.
"Nnnnggggg," Dick groaned and rolled over, satisfied that the beeping had stopped.
Then suddenly he shot up straight. "My tests!"
In his efforts to scramble out of bed, Dick wound up getting entangled in the covers and promptly fell out of bed, landing on his head. A wince and curse and he untangled the rest of his legs and found himself seated awkwardly on the floor. He grabbed the alarm clock and his eyes bugged when he noticed the time: 7:41 a.m.
Dick didn't spare it another thought as he scrambled across the room to his dresser and grabbed a clean pair of boxers. Two seconds later and he was swiping his towel, shower sandals, and the necessary essentials from his closet. He dashed from his room towards the guy's bathroom and, only barely remembering to grab his key and lock the door behind him in the process.
Dick had been so tired when he got in last night that he barely had the strength to take his shoes off before falling into bed. After he left Batman it took quite a bit of fancy footwork to get the Redbird out of the museum without being noticed. Thankfully the police and emergency crews were quite well occupied. Then it was a long and boring ride back to campus, wherein he had to find a sheltered spot to pull over and change back into his civilian clothes. It was already after 4:30 when Dick arrived back at campus, and the mocking glow of false dawn chased him all the way to bed.
In his exhaustion he had forgotten that he'd already set his alarm for 7:30.
Dick managed to completely shower and brush his teeth in less than five minutes. He sprinted back to his room, fumbled slightly with the key in the lock, and nearly stumbled when the door swung open. He threw his towel and dirty clothes on the floor and his shower necessities onto the bed, not caring that they were wet. The snooze time had run out again and the alarm clock was beeping at him. Hastily he put it back on the nightstand and switched it off, noticing the time was 7:49. Dick switched the radio over to AM and turned it on almost as an afterthought. He wanted to hear whatever news he could concerning last night's… adventure… before heading down to his exams.
The news droned on as Dick got dressed and dragged a brush through his hair. Then finally, as he was tying his sneakers, that he heard the relevant broadcast:
In our current late-breaking story, the criminal Harvey Dent, better known to the citizens of Gotham City as Two-Face, was apprehended early this morning after a failed robbery attempt at Manhattan's Metropolitan Museum of Art. Details are still sketchy at this point but what do know is that the villain was apprehended in what appears to be a joint FBI-NYPD operation. Our sources are currently trying to verify rumors of vigilante involvement. Official statements from both the police and the Federal Bureau of Investigation are forthcoming. We will have more details on this story as they arrive.
Now moving on to National News, a near plane crash at the Metropolis International Airport was averted this morning by Superman—
-CLICK-
Satisfied for now, Dick turned off the radio, shoved a couple pens in his pockets, grabbed his keys, and headed for his exams.
It was 7:59 when he arrived back at Cabrini's office, and 8:03 when he found the conference room in the Science Building where his exams would take place. Dr. Beach was waiting for him, sipping coffee and reading the morning paper. The story about Two-Face was plastered all over the front page.
Dick tentatively cleared his throat.
"You're late," Beach answered without looking up.
"I'm sorry sir," Dick stammered quickly. "I was at the office at eight, and then saw the sticky note you left on the door—"
"Relax, kid," Beach said with a faint smile as he put the newspaper down. "You remember the adage, 'early is on time and on time is late'? Well you'd better mark it good if you're going to be taking classes with me."
Dick swallowed nervously. He knew what his advisor was saying—that he was fully expected to ace these exams. Dick was hopeful, but his study time had been seriously crimped by the 'night life,' and after the way last night had ended… failing these exams would have been the perfect capper to the entire week.
"I'll do my best, sir," he assured with as much confidence as he could muster.
"Of course you will," Beach informed him, rather dismissively if you asked Dick. "Now sit down and we'll get started."
Dick did as he was told while Beach fished out a rather thick packet of paper and an ominously large stack of BlueBook testing booklets.
"Cabrini's exams are fairly straight-forward. There's the usual—multiple choice, true/false, fill in the blank, and a few diagrams for you to label."
Dick nodded as he accepted the packet. Then to his surprise Beach pulled out another sheet of paper.
"And this," he said, "is the short answer and essay section. Word to the wise, kid, if you do the essays first you won't have time to finish the other packet, but if you do the packet first you'll have to BS your way through the essays. Cabrini likes to see which ones his students prefer, sort of a last-minute test for his own personal gratification. Take your pick, kid. Ace either section and you'll have enough points to ace the test—fly through both sections so that you have time to answer everything and I guarantee you won't do nearly as well."
Dick was so tired that he couldn't help the laugh.
"Something funny?"
"No, Dr. Beach," he answered truthfully. "Just not surprising either."
"Yeah, well, you'd better get started. I'm supposed to collect that from you at noon, even if you're mid-sentence. Got it?"
Dick nodded.
"Good. I'm going to finish my paper here, and then I'll be in and out. I'm supposed to remind you of the consequences of plagiarism and cheating and all the crap, but I doubt that's necessary. I'm also supposed to tell you can go to the bathroom as often as you need without asking me, but too many trips will look suspicious. Hmm, let's see, what else… Oh! If you have any questions about the test, well I haven't sat through a psych class in nigh on twenty years, but whatever I may remember is at your disposal."
Dick smirked at that. He got the hint. If he needed to ask questions then he had no business taking this exam.
"All right then. It's 8:10. I'll be lenient and give you until 12:10. Good luck, Mr. Grayson."
"Thank you, Dr. Beach."
Victor's apartment
It was exactly noon when Victor Stone came out of recharge. His father had set the cycle to last exactly eight hours whenever his son charged his batteries. Victor could shorten or lengthen that time as needed, but an eight-hour sleep cycle is the most reminiscent of normal human behavior, and Victor found that oddly comforting.
After waking, Victor turned on the radio and went to the corner of his bedroom where the sonic shower sat. His titanium is waterproof, but this is far more effective and takes nearly a fraction of the time. When he finally emerged from the bedroom he noticed that Raven had shifted during the night. She was now resting on her side, and her complexion looked much better. She seemed to be breathing better, too, so Victor let her be. He headed for the kitchen to rummage up some breakfast.
"Dude… put some clothes on…"
Victor turned around to see Gar seated on the couch cushions, stretching awkwardly.
"Hey man, I'm not naked," Victor defended. "You can't be mostly titanium and naked—just ask any android!"
"But dude, you're not an android," Gar informed him plainly. "Though I think for every time you mention Odo I get to bring up Data."
Victor was silent, seeming in that moment to be oddly thoughtful.
"How'd she do last night?" he eventually asked, jabbing his head towards the still-slumbering Raven by way of changing the subject.
"Slept like a baby nearest I can tell," said Gar. "I just woke up a few minutes ago, when I heard you using an electric razor or something."
Victor laughed. "That was my sonic shower."
Garfield's eyes went wide. "You actually have one of those—I mean, they actually exist? Whoa! Dude, those were, like, a prop, on Space Trek!"
"Face it, dawg. Science fiction usually finds ways of becoming science fact."
"Whoa…. Can I see it?"
Victor simpered. "Uh… maybe later."
Victor managed to find all the fixings to make pancakes, and the two friends feasted like they hadn't eaten for weeks. When they were done they made a few extra for Raven and left them in the microwave to be reheated when she awoke. Then Garfield as an octopus made short work of the dishes. Finally they were both sitting at the kitchen table, using the excuse of Raven still being asleep in the next room to keep them from getting up.
"So…" Garfield tried, but failed. He nodded once, simpering.
"So." Victor replied, echoing his friend.
"Last night was…" but then his voice trailed off.
"Yeah…" Victor agreed, though neither was exactly sure what he agreed on.
Finally Garfield sighed, steeling himself. He took a deep breath, and asked: "Vic, are you mad at me?"
Victor sighed just as deeply, running a hand over the human side of his face.
"I lost track of how many times we nearly died last night," he admitted truthfully. "And those guards we freed? They could have died too—at least one of them nearly did. And we led them straight to the fight like the bloody cavalry or something."
Garfield bit his lip and hung his head, guilty.
"You think we just made things worse?" Gar asked, though his tone spoke that he already suspected the answer. "You think that Batman and Robin and Batgirl didn't really need our help, and that all we did—" his breath hitched "—was get in the way?"
"I don't know, man," Victor replied, sounding defeated. "Sure that's the first thing that comes to mind when I think about it, but then… we didn't force the guards to fight, we just sorta got caught up in their enthusiasm. And I dunno, maybe the Bats could have taken the bad guys down without their help—or without the fire alarm and the sprinklers distracting everybody. I listened to the news this morning while I showered… Two-Face has been captured, along with all of his men and the turncoat guards. The display cases were wrecked, but there wasn't any damage to the exhibits, and the Egyptian government is grateful. The guards that got shot are gonna survive, and the only other casualties were the cops standing around outside when the sewers blew."
Garfield sat still, quietly absorbing this information. He looked troubled.
"What is it?"
Garfield sighed tiredly and dragged his fingers through his unkempt green hair. When he finally met Victor's eyes he looked slightly lost, yet no less determined.
"I saw Batman," he said at last. "He shot out Two-Face's tires from the Batplane—that's why the hummer flipped. I was so surprised when it happened—everything happened so fast, that I turned back into a human. And Batman saw me, Vic. He stared at me for, like, forever. Two-Face was unconscious and Batman just stood there on top of the hummer, staring at me, sizing me up, trying to decide if I was a threat or not."
Victor blinked in surprise. When he'd arrived, Garfield and Raven were already by the tree and Two-Face was already lying unconscious on the grass with Batman, Batgirl and Robin surrounding him. "And then what?" he prompted eagerly.
Gar snorted a half-hearted, bitter laugh. "Then what? He ignored me, dude. He went back to the business of dragging Dent from the wreckage. When he came to, Batman knocked his lights out—but good! You could have heard that punch for blocks I bet. But by then I'd already turned into a hawk and gone to hide in the tree."
Garfield fell quiet then, contemplative.
"And?" Victor prompted again, not wanting the story to end.
Garfield sighed heavily, closing his eyes and sitting back in his chair. He was silent for many moments before speaking again.
"When I was a kid in Gotham… we'd all heard about the Batman, heard the stories… how he isn't really a man, drinks human blood, flies on leather wings, and a whole bunch of other stuff you wouldn't believe."
"I dunno man," Victor interjected. "Gotham's created villains like the Joker and that 'Scarface' creep you told me about. If that city can produce shit like that, there's no tellin' what else."
Garfield laughed slightly. "Do you know what Gotham's villains all have in common?" he redirected. "One of my foster-father told me once, when he was upset that I had nightmares about Batman."
Victor blinked, not understanding, so Garfield explained:
"They're all humans—well, at least they all used to be. Back in Metropolis you've got freakin' Brainic and Mxyzptlk and stuff, but Gotham? If you cut away all the terror and all the hype, the Joker's just a fucked up sociopathic comedian with bleached skin, dude. And even the metas we've got… something happened to make them the way they are, warped their minds and made them evil.
"But they're all human minds, Vic. Ordinary human minds. My foster-father told me that, and since he was an expert on the seriously creepy I believed him. And he said that the same thing was true of Batman—that he was just an ordinary human with a warped and twisted mind trying to achieve the extraordinary. The only difference was… Batman didn't become a villain.
"And then I saw him last night Vic. And… my foster father was right. He's just a man, a man in a cape and a pointy-eared cowl. And he looked at me, Vic. I mean, I'm almost tempted to believe the stories about him being able to, like, read a person's soul and stuff. He looked at me Vic… and I passed."
Victor couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.
"Don't you see? Heck, you know my past… that I've been associated with people the Batman has had to bring to justice. As a meta living in Gotham with who I had for wannabe dads… I used to be afraid that, one night, the Batman would come knocking. Ever since I was old enough to hear the stories and to be—to be frightened by them."
Garfield fell silent again, hanging his head. Victor could tell that he was fighting a personal battle, with his conscience and with what he desired to say. Then finally Gar spoke again:
"Do you have any idea how easy it would have been for me to make a buck in Gotham?"
Victor shook his head, and Gar sadly smirked.
"Do you have any idea how many people would have paid for a fly on the wall, so to speak? Or for—for someone to—snakes, Vic," Gar stuttered, embarrassed. Vulnerable. "I can do snakes. And other things. I could have made a fortune doing things like that. And I would have been sent to Arkham if they caught me, which meant I would have been back on the streets in no time. Have you ever been offered millions of dollars, Vic? Just because you're a freak?"
Victor couldn't answer him.
"The Deytons, they were fantastic about stuff like that. Rita really did a good job reassuring me that—that I didn't have to do that, that I shouldn't do that. That I was better than that. But really though, they didn't have to worry. I would have never used my… talents… to do anything bad. I was too afraid that the big bad Batman would get me."
This time when Gar finished Victor could tell that he had no intentions of saying more. It was long, and difficult, but his friend had finally spoken his peace.
Now Victor just had to figure out his own.
"Is that why you wanted to go after Two-Face so badly?" he asked at length. "Not just because of all the shit he's put you through, but because you needed to be a hero?" His words sounded harsh and Victor winced when he heard himself say them, so he added: "Because in Gotham, metas like us are either villains or heroes, and there is no in between." Then quieter, as an afterthought: "No chance for a normal life."
Gar laughed again, another brief, bitter laugh. "Normal?" he scoffed. "Look at me, Vic—look at you? Whoever told you that we were normal was on crack, dude. We aren't 'normal,' and we never will be."
"So what are you saying?" Victor pressed. "That, like everyone else whose had shit happen to them, we should—as you say, try for something extraordinary with our lives? Are you gonna start quoting Spiderman now, about great power meaning great responsibility and all that jazz?"
"Well it makes sense, dude!" Gar defended. "I can do things with my life—great things or—or t—terrible things." His stammering only served to further lay bare his soul. Exposed, Gar looked down. "And in Gotham…" he added quietly, "there's so many terrible things."
As much as he regretted Garfield's discomfort, Victor's first reaction was to scoff. "Oh yeah? Well we got our share of nut-jobs in Metropolis too, dawg. That doesn't mean I want to go buddy up to Superman and ask him if he needs my help."
"What were you going to do then?" Gar asked suddenly, honestly. "With your life. When you finished school?"
Victor frowned. "What's this 'were' crap?" he asked incredulously. "What I am going to do, is go into engineering or robotics or something, further the research into cybernetics a bit so that more people whose parents don't have gazillions in settlement money can walk again. And when I'm not in a lab I'm gonna spend time volunteering at children's hospitals and rehab centers, working with amputees and kids with birth defects, trying to show them that they might be different but no less capable—no less normal than anybody else.
"Are you going to tell me that that's not good enough for someone like me, Gar? Are you trying to say that using my accident to help disabled children is not an extraordinary thing to do?"
Under Victor's piercing gaze Garfield looked stricken. He dropped his head again, recoiling into himself.
"Uh—of course not, Vic," he said quickly, staring at the floor. "I would never…"
Victor sighed in frustration. He didn't want to be having this discussion.
Heavy, tense silence descended.
"Immunobiology," Gar eventually muttered.
"Huh?"
"Zoology was just to see if I could hack it at school—if I could get the biology and chemistry and stuff. If I couldn't, then zoology would have been fine—I could focus on animal behaviors instead of animal biology. But what I really want—is to go into immunobiology. I want to research how the body fights off disease. I was going to focus on the really nasty stuff—ebola, anthrax, stuff like that. With my… condition… If an animal can't die from it, then neither can I, and all the times we've cured cancer in rats but not in humans? Those treatments would work on me. I want to eventually go back to Africa… maybe—maybe help cure AIDS."
Gar looked up at Victor so hesitantly that the cybernetic teen couldn't help but smile.
"That's wonderful Gar," he reassured. "You'd be using your gift to help people, in a real world way that doesn't involve code names and and spandex."
Gar nodded. "Rita said that—that it was a way of making sense outta what happened to me. That if I can turn my condition into something good, then it's like my getting sick had some sorta meaning. Like it served a higher purpose. And I wanna believe that, Vic. I wanna believe that I'm a green-skinned animporhing freak for a reason. A good reason."
Victor was silent a long while after that, contemplating both Garfield's situation, and his own. Then finally he asked:
"What are you trying to atone for?"
Garfield turned his head up and looked Victor in the eye. He swallowed thickly and blinked once, and Victor knew that the question would go unanswered.
Then suddenly he didn't have to.
"Does it matter?"
Both Victor and Garfield whirled around in their seats to see Raven standing by the couch. She had pulled her robe about her, to cover her sleep-tussled hair, and she regarded her friends with ritualistic impassivity. Victor's jaw dropped and Garfield looked like he was going to be sick.
"How long have you been standing there?" Victor asked when he regained his voice.
"Long enough," Raven droned emotionlessly. She stood there, on the threshold of the kitchen, partially hidden in the folds of her robe. She stared at them, seemingly blankly, but something was alit behind her passionless amethyst eyes. Some inner fire was burning in hidden thoughts, and to the boys it seemed as though she was conflicted in an analytical way, as though she was silently weighing her options.
Then finally she sighed inaudibly, and the ice melted from her countenance. She pulled her hood back, revealing slightly messy violet hair, and in the noonday sun she looked… human. More human than either had ever seen her before. She stood for but a moment, and then walked over to the kitchen table, and claimed the empty between the two friends, instantly sitting at the head of a round table. Two sets of eyes rested on her, and perhaps they only imagined it, but she seemed briefly to smile at them.
"You brought us here," Gar half stated, half accused.
Raven nodded.
"How?" Victor asked. "How did you know where I live?"
Raven sighed, blinking slowly. When she opened her eyes, they flashed to molten pewter and a supernatural wind rushed through the kitchen. One by one the windows flew opened, all throughout the kitchen and living room. The moment they were done the wind died down and Raven's eyes returned to normal.
"What…" Gar stammered. "What are you?"
"I'm like you," she explained, her voice expressionless. "Different. Only I was born this way."
Gar wanted to ask another question, but he bit his tongue instead, afraid.
"Half," Raven said, answering what went unasked. It seemed then that a certain warmth descended into Raven's person. "My mother is human."
"And your dad?" Victor asked before he could stop himself.
The gust of wind returned and Raven's eyes flew shut. Suddenly Victor's toaster exploded on the counter, and everybody winced. Raven's stoic chill returned, and when she opened her eyes the amethyst had turned to ice.
"My father—" she began harshly, then cut herself off and took a calming breath. "Exists on a different dimensional plane than this reality."
"And that's where your powers come from?" Garfield asked tentatively.
"My father… is powerful," Raven explained, her emotions once again firmly under wraps. "I have inherited only a fraction of what he possesses."
"What can you do?" Gar asked eagerly, forgetting himself in the moment.
Raven simply glared at him.
"Eh," he simpered. "That's okay. You don't have to answer that."
"But I still wanna know how you found my apartment," Victor pressed. "I don't ever remember telling you."
"I saw its image in Garfield's mind," Raven explained, acquiescing to Victor's need to know that information.
Gar nearly prat-falled. "DUDE! You can read my mind?" He sounded half amazed, half indignant.
Raven retreated farther into herself, trying to escape the torrent of his surface thoughts and emotions.
"Not as such," she explained, half wincing. "I am more empathic than telepathic. I can sense emotions, but I can only hear blatant surface thoughts."
"What the heck does that mean?" Victor demanded a bit more forcefully than he intended.
Raven shut her eyes, wincing again. "Nothing," she hissed. "Not for you. You think in ones and zeroes. I can't decipher it. But you're troubled by the realization, and are manifesting it by way of anger."
Victor blinked, taken aback. "Wow… You mean I actually think in binary? That even my thoughts are cybernetic?"
Raven sensed the distress this revelation caused him. That hadn't been her intent.
She ignored it.
"What about me?" Gar asked, almost fearfully. "You can, like, see pictures from my head?"
"Your thoughts are frantic," said Raven with only the barest hints of contempt. "You can change into animals, and that explains it. Your thoughts and emotions are…" Primal? Instinctive? "Intense," she settled on at last.
Gar blinked. "…Huh?"
"Nnnng," Raven groaned a sigh. "Your mind is loud and hard to decipher and I get headaches for trying."
Gar simpered. "Oh… Heh heh… Sorry?"
"Wow," Victor said suddenly. "What are the odds of the three metas at Hudson U all being friends?"
Raven blinked and Gar arched and eyebrow. Victor shrugged dismissively.
"Like seeks like," Raven pointed out. Then she muttered: "even involuntarily."
"So you can read people and stuff," said Gar, getting them back on track. "Kinda freaky—but still cool n'all. But it doesn't explain how you made Vic's toaster blow up, or open the windows—"
"Or teleport us magically to my living room," Victor finished.
Raven blinked again, silent.
"We aren't trying to give you the third degree here," Garfield explained gently. "It's just that, well Vic's a cyborg and I'm a green shape-shifter. Pretty straight forward. We just wanna understand what makes you different, Raven. Different like us. Please…"
His voice was almost pleading, and Raven inaudibly sighed. It seemed that more of the ice left her countenance again, imperceptibly making her more human in their eyes.
"My powers are complex," she said at length, though not unkindly. "Unless you have a background in meditative studies or eastern religion you won't understand their nature."
"Just tell us what you do then," Victor directed. "We don't need to know how you do it."
Raven blinked, confused, as though she wasn't aware that there was a difference.
"I use my mind to manipulate things on the spiritual plane—the astral plane you call it. I can use it to sense your emotions and to read your surface thoughts—thoughts that you aren't trying to keep hidden. I cannot delve below what's immediately on your mind. I can use this connection to the astral plane to move things telekinetically—though my strength in the field is… unexplored." Raven paused, taking a deep breath, before continuing: "and I can travel through it—transporting, not teleporting. It's not instantaneous. Just… faster. And… I can bring people with me."
"So that's how we got here?" Gar asked. "You found an image of Vic's apartment in my surface thoughts and then you pulled us all through the astral plane to get here?"
Raven nodded, slightly modest.
All three were silent then, until:
"DUDE! We, like, have our very own Jean Gray!"
Victor's intent expression suddenly turned comical. "Pffft, what Jean? She's like, Phoenix man, all the way."
"Nnnngggggh," Raven winced at the tangent.
"Ahem…" Gar shoved the thoughts (and humor) aside. "That's… really great, Raven."
Raven's sarcastic retort was diffused by the unbridled sincerity she sensed from the shape-shifter. Instead she merely shook her head.
"No," she said. "They aren't. My powers aren't anything… until I do something with them."
Victor sighed in defeat, sensing where this was going. "You mean, your powers are great if you do good things, and terrible if you do bad things?" It was a rhetorical question.
Raven sighed inaudibly. She had heard enough of her friends' earlier conversation to guess their thoughts even without her empathy. She knew what they both were thinking, and more than that she knew how she herself felt. The only uncertainty… was whether or not she could live with it.
"I… don't make friends easily," she confessed with difficulty. "Of the three that I have made, two of them are sitting here now."
Both Victor and Garfield sat up straighter at that.
"And then there's Dick," Raven continued after a bit of a pause. "Dick had been missing for days. We were all… concerned… especially his friend from Gotham."
"Barbara?" Gar offered.
Raven nodded vacantly. "Yes… Barbara." Then she blinked, returning her focus to present company, and to Garfield in particular. "When Victor told me that he couldn't find you, I… felt his worry. Better than he had articulated it to me in our passing conversation." Raven paused again, collecting her thoughts, formulating her words.
"Dick… is a very private person. His thoughts are well shielded. I tried to find him with my powers—locate him through his thoughts and emotions, but…" Raven let her statement wander off. "Garfield's mind however… Victor's concern was real, no matter how founded or unfounded. And I had already misplaced one friend. I did not want to lose another. So… I searched for you, Garfield. It took my powers a while to reach you all the way in Manhattan… but once there, I found you quite easily."
"At the museum…" Gar breathed, interrupting.
Raven nodded.
"And you went looking," Victor supplied, connecting the dots. Then he laughed suddenly. "And found a royal mess."
"I found myself in the exhibit hall," Raven explained. "The chaos there—of thought and emotion… was intense. It took me a while to find you—to find both of you."
"And you came there to save us," Victor concluded.
Raven cocked her head to the side, thoughtful. "I sensed Garfield's anger," she said. "His sense of injustice… the desire to make things right. From you, Victor… all I found was worry, in varying degrees. You asked Gar what he was trying to atone for. That question is irrelevant. He should be asking you… what are you afraid of?"
Stunned silence at the table. Victor looked like he'd just been slapped. Gar gulped, his throat suddenly dry. Raven seemed to be waiting patiently for an answer.
"I didn't want us to get killed!" Victor suddenly exclaimed, as though the explanation were obvious. "I mean, we were being shot at and nearly blown to bits—what did you think I was worried about?"
"I don't know," Raven deadpanned. "That's for you to tell us."
Victor opened his mouth like he was going to shout an angry retort.
"Or don't," Raven interrupted, raising a hand and cutting him off. "If it's going to make you upset. But know this, Victor Stone: for mortals, anger is not a solitary emotion. It always acts as the cover for something else—fear, guilt, pain, sadness, shame. These are what we really feel, but they hurt us, so we dress them up in anger as a way to protect ourselves. What are you protecting yourself from, Victor? You would do well… to figure that out."
Silence descended again, this time contemplative.
"I need to go," Raven announced after a time. "Meditate…" She seemed more introspective, speaking to no one. The she stood up and closed her eyes.
"Raven!" Gar grabbed her attention. When she glared at him he simpered. "Thank you," he demurred, quietly honest.
Once again Raven's anger was diffused by the purity of his sincerity. She managed to smile thinly at him. Then she closed her eyes and extended her soul self. A raven's cry resounded through the astral plane and the gothic sorceress disappeared in a bird-shaped vortex of obsidian.
Both boys stared blankly at the spot she just vacated, stricken with the sheer power of her powers.
"Phoenix…" Victor muttered, reaffirming.
Gar nodded "Yeah…" He swallowed thickly. "Dark Phoenix."
The two friends were silent for some time. Then, when they finally returned to the present and turned to face each other, it seemed as though there was nothing left to say.
"So… what do we do now?" Gar asked, speaking more for the sake of breaking the silence than to actually voice the question.
Victor shrugged, realizing that there was no answer.
"I think…" Gar hesitated. "I think I'm gonna go for a flight. Or maybe—maybe a swim, or something. Something to clear my head."
Victor nodded, understanding the need and contemplating something similar for his own gratification.
"And I wanna see if I can catch Dick on the way out of his exams—find out how they went."
Victor laughed the laugh of the uncomfortable. "Feeling the need to find something normal?"
Garfield simply stared at him.
Victor sighed, deflating from the failed attempt at humor. "Are you gonna tell him about last night?"
Gar pensively bit his lip. He looked away.
"Heh… Not that he'd believe us anyway…" Victor mumbled, admitting defeat.
"Well, he is from Gotham…" Gar offered, finally managing a smile.
Victor laughed, and it seemed the mood had lightened somewhat. Then Garfield turned to go.
"Wait!" Victor called out, and Gar turned back around, but when the shape-shifter's glittering green eyes settled on his cybernetic form again he suddenly lost his nerve. "Say hi to Dick for me," he substituted with a shrug, nervously breaking eye contact.
Gar seemed thoughtful but then he nodded. "Okay," he replied, then he made his way towards one of the open windows. "I'll see ya around." Two seconds later and a green pigeon flew out of the apartment.
Victor stood staring for a long moment; then he walked forward and shut the window, and then every other window after that. Secure within his apartment, Victor returned to his bedroom—which doubles as his makeshift electronics lab. When he shut the door behind him, he caught sight of his reflection in the full-length mirror. Victor paused, gazing into his own eyes, momentarily lost in thought. Then in a sudden fit of disgust he wrenched the door opened again and watched as it swung violently around, taking the mirror out of view. He stomped heavily over to his desk and sat down, head falling hastily into hands a moment as he sighed tiredly, trying to collect himself.
Hudson University
"So how do you think you did on Beach's exam?"
Dick had just handed Cabrini his criminology final, and the professor accepted it with a smirk and a question.
Dick shrugged. "My wrist hurts," was all he managed to say.
"I'm not surprised," Cabrini responded truthfully. "Franklin's memories of drowning in a seas of paperwork have come back to torment his students." He idly flipped through Dick's exam, and whistled. "Eighteen pages… Could be worse," he appraised with a thoughtful nod. "Though your penmanship deteriorates towards the end."
Dick smiled ruefully. "At least it's done."
"Don't sound so enthusiastic," Cabrini admonished sarcastically. "Well anyway, I hope you were alert enough to string a few coherent thoughts together. I'd hate to find out that you just spent my afternoon writing eighteen pages of all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy."
That quote simultaneously reminded Dick of Two-Face's double-speak, the Joker's disjointed ramblings, the Riddler's riddles, and the Hatter's stolen poetry. He visibly shivered.
"I think my greatest offenses are the run-on sentences," he confessed truthfully, shrugging off the intruding thoughts.
Cabrini chuckled. "Oh Frank'll just love that. You're lucky he doesn't take off for grammar."
Dick's reply was cut off by a fierce yawn.
"Jeez, kid, you come in here exhausted—bags under your eyes and everything, limping slightly, and with aching wrists. I don't think I want to know what you did last night…" Cabrini was only half-joking.
Dick's face-splitting yawn had left him dizzy, with spots dancing before his eyes. He grabbed the desk to steady himself and missed Cabrini's eyes narrowing in scrutinizing concern. When Dick's vision returned he blinked at Cabrini in confusion, having missed what the professor just said to him.
"On second thought, kid, what were you doing last night? Not running marathons again, are you?"
Dick fidgeted nervously for a second before coming to his senses and forcing himself to stop. "I… had a rough week," he offered truthfully.
"Yeah you look it," Cabrini agreed sardonically. "Partying until dawn? Or has studying just become a contact sport."
Dick's facial reaction conveyed a bizarre mix of nervousness and indignation, covered completely by exhaustion. "I—"
But Cabrini cut him off with the wave of a hand. "Relax, Grayson. I just finished grading your Psych exam—you got a 92. Maybe you're one of those kids who can party 'til dawn and still pull straight A's. If so then you're lucky and I make it policy to mind my own business, but Richard," and here Dr. Cabrini's face grew deadly serious. "If you can do this well with minimal effort, just think what you could achieve if you just tried a little bit harder."
Cabrini had sounded so earnest that Dick didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
"So I have a 92 for a final grade?" he asked instead.
"That was the deal, kid. As far as I'm concerned you're done with Intro Psych."
Dick smiled genuinely in relief for a moment. Then: "so what now?"
"Stop by during office hours tomorrow and we'll find something else for you to take instead. Oh and a grade report will be mailed as soon as the paper-pushers get around to it."
"Thank you, Dr. Cabrini. I— … I really appreciate this."
"Hey, it's better than having you upstage me in class every Monday. Now beat it Grayson; go take a nap or something. You've eaten up enough of my Sunday as it is."
Dick grinned and nodded. He needn't to be told twice.
Dr. Xavier Cabrini watched from the teacher's desk as Dick Grayson turned and walked out of the room. He noted again how the boy seemed to be favoring his right leg and couldn't help but be curious. Dr. Franklin Beach entered the room a minute later, rousing Cabrini from his thoughts.
"How'd he do?"
"He did well enough on mine," Cabrini answered, handing over Dick's criminology exam. "Not sure about yours."
Beach accepted the stack of four BlueBooks and thumbed lazily through them.
"We get an earthquake I don't know about?"
Cabrini snorted. "More like Grayson didn't get enough sleep last night."
Beach nodded. "Was he still changing hands?"
"I was too busy grading to notice," Cabrini confessed, but there was interest in it.
"He would write with his right hand until it began to bother him. Then he'd shake it out and switch over to his left for a few minutes, and switch back after a few questions."
"Hum. No, I didn't notice." Pause. "Did you notice the limp?"
Beach nodded. "What about his knuckles?"
Cabrini blinked. "Knuckles?"
"They were red—especially his right ones."
"Well, I did ask him if studying had become a contact sport…"
Beach arched an eyebrow.
"Seriously though," Cabrini redirected, "we know the kid likes to run. Maybe he's into other sports as well? I could easily believe Grayson still keeps up his gymnastics."
"The last 'Flying Grayson' still flies, eh?"
"It wouldn't surprise me."
Beach nodded absently, thoughtful.
Garfield had spent his day in the sky, soaring above the clouds as a bight green eagle. For the most part he was gliding, content to ride the wind currents as he circumnavigated Long Island by staying above its beaches. The people looked so miniscule milling about beneath him that for a few fleeting moments he was able to pretend that his problems were small and insignificant, too.
Towards the end of the day Gar returned to the university, transforming back into human form in the restroom of the café, which he accessed as a green dragonfly through an opened window. He only looked slightly windblown when as he walked back across campus to the dorms. When he entered his room it did not occur to him that anyone had gained entry recently. He stuffed a duffle bag full of necessities, grabbed his towel, changed into flip-flops, and headed for the showers.
He stayed in the water a long time, but couldn't make himself feel clean.
Dick Grayson was beyond tired. As he stumbled back across campus towards his dorm room, it was all he could manage to continually place one foot in front of the other.
Two-Face and all of his cronies were in custody. The Egyptian exhibit was safe. There were no fatalities—though a few officers were still in intensive care recovering from burns. These facts are what allowed Dick Grayson to sleep well for a few scarce hours last night.
Of course there were other thoughts and emotions swirling around in his head, and now, bereft finally of blessed distraction, his tired mind couldn't keep them from swarming. Thoughts about Garfield Logan, Victor Stone, and Raven Roth… about Barbara Gordon, Harvey Dent… and Batman.
Garfield Logan had set himself up to stop the robbery, recklessly trying to be a hero. Not that Dick had ever truly doubted Gar's intentions, but the shape-shifter had shown his true colors last night, and they were for the side of justice. Either that or revenge, but Dick was rather quick to doubt that. Besides, from what he's seen of Garfield Logan, he was absolutely convinced that the green animorph's motives in life are… purer… than that.
Victor Stone had also stood up to be counted, and his obvious loyalty to Garfield was both commendable and heartening. Dick was happy for their friendship, instinctively realizing how difficult it must have been for both of them to make friends with the so-called 'normal' population. He was glad that they had apparently found someone to relate to, and Dick knew that their similarities would only bring them closer together. He knew that because it's how he and Roy Harper should have been, as the only non-meta members of the original Teen Titans.
In the back of his mind though, Dick was glad for Victor Stone's existence for an entirely different, selfish reason. With Victor to turn to, Garfield would stop trying to rely so heavily on the other person he could relate to: the also tragically orphaned Gothamite Dick Grayson. While Dick truly did value Gar's friendship, such close personal ties are dangerous for someone with a secret identity. Victor made it possible for Dick to keep Garfield at arm's length without worrying about hurt feelings, and that was good for Robin.
Then there was Raven.
Dick had to wonder what stake she had in all of this. Did she go with Garfield to the museum? Her ambiguous approach to friendship made him doubt a lot of things that would have been natural to assume. Nevertheless, she was there last night, and she provided for Vic's and Gar's escape, proving what Dick has suspected all along: she too is metahuman. The depth of her powers though, he could only guess.
Robin thought to contact Zatanna, or perhaps J'onn J'onzz, someone who could give him some insights into Raven's mind and/or abilities, but Dick Grayson deferred on that plan. Regardless of all else… Raven had saved Batgirl.
Batgirl…
Barbara.
By rights she should be dead—shot through the heart by Harvey Dent. Yet she was alive and breathing today because of Raven.
The image of her staring down the barrel of Two-Face's gun—the gun that Robin had thrown to him no less, and the deafening echo of the shot would forever haunt Dick Grayson's nightmares. After all, he already knew what her costume would look like with the front stained with blood. He had sent such a reminder to Batman…
Batman…
Bruce.
Robin had let Two-Face slip through his fingers right into the Batman's waiting gauntlets. Mentally he connected the dots… how Barbara had found him here because of the tabloid photos he'd allowed to happen after his disastrous visit to Bruce's hotel room. Bruce had likely tracked her here by her credit cards, just as he had. He, Dick Grayson, had brought both of them here with his carelessness. With his stupidity. His ineffectiveness… His failure that had cost him Two-Face, that had nearly killed Barbara—who wouldn't have even been there that night if it weren't for—
Dick winced, squinting his eyes shut. Try as he might he could not block out these thoughts, and now that he's done with his exams—with the last shred of obligation on his plate, there was nothing left to distract him. The sting of his failure—the shame, the guilt; it brought up emotions that he would rather not deal with—emotions that now bled to the surface of his tired mind. The exhausted mantra of the black and white success of last night that had fueled him had just run dry. Thankfully his dorm room—and the prospect of a comfortable bed and better solitude, was waiting at the end of the hall…
Finally Garfield made his way out of the showers. He was headed back to his room, not really feeling much better for his efforts, when he suddenly caught sight of something that gave him cause to smile.
"Dick!"
And smile Garfield did, and broadly, as he bounded down the hall with renewed energy towards his long-lost friend, shower equipment forgotten yet still firmly in hand. He saw Grayson turn in confusion at the sound of his name being called, and so Gar called out again: "Yo! Dick!"
When Dick's eyes finally settled on the petit green teenager obviously fresh from the showers it took all of his mental reserves not to flinch. He managed a slightly vacant smile though, if only for that fact that Gar seemed to be comfortable enough in his green skin now to head to the showers covered only in boxers and a bathrobe.
"Gar," Dick managed to nod his head in acknowledgement.
The animorph skidded to a stop in front of Dick and his pleasure at this unexpected meeting enabled the smiley, bubbly part of his personality to momentarily shine through, completely shielding his inner turmoil so that any other person would have had no clues of its existence.
Dick, of course, wasn't just any other person, and a lesson in dramatic irony ensued.
"Dude, how'd those tests go?"
"Well enough I think," Dick answered truthfully, tiredly.
"Man, I hope you find out soon. We haven't seen you in, like, a week! We so gotta take you out to celebrate."
Dick couldn't help the laugh. "I look forward to it," he heard himself saying. "After life returns to normal around here."
That simple statement, spoken without thought, struck an invisible chord somewhere. It seemed then that the silence grew heavy as Dick fought to keep himself impassive and Garfield seemed torn.
"Normal…" Gar breathed on the tail of a sigh. Then suddenly he smiled again, as though whatever he was angsting over had been resolved. "You know, I just mentioned to Vic that you're the only normal dude I know around here, as if being able to buy out the state of New York with your allowance money is normal—no offense."
Dick laughed uneasily. While there was so much he could say to that… there was really nothing he could say to that.
Gar seemed oblivious though. Indeed, his thoughts had suddenly strayed far, far away. For everything that had just happened—for his past and right now in the present, Dick Grayson was normal. Sure he grew up in a circus and saw his parents murdered only to have himself taken in by the richest man on the planet, but there he stood, with his only care in that moment whether or not he passed his exams. Gar found something… idealistic… in that—something wonderful to be coveted and striven for but never truly achieved; not by orphaned green metahumans with shady backgrounds and questionable futures.
To Garfield Logan, Dick Grayson was the other side of the fence, and there was something inherently innocent, even precious, about that. It's the Dick Graysons of the world that suffered for the deeds of evil men—like the ones that killed his aerialist parents. And it was the Dick Graysons of the world that needed to be protected from that evil, by the Garfield Logans who were granted power enough to oppose that evil. Dick Grayson had come out of his tragedies perfectly, wonderfully normal, and as Garfield stared at him—laughed with him and planned parties with him, he suddenly understood why people like Batman, Robin, and Batgirl don masks and capes every night and play at heroism. They do it for the Dick Graysons of their city—for the people who have suffered under the boot of evil men and strive despite tragedy to continue on with their honest, decent, beautifully normal lives. In that moment, Garfield finally understood. Heroism isn't about punishing villains and stopping evils. It's about the people who make such efforts worthwhile… people like Dick Grayson.
"Well it was great seeing you, Dude," Gar said, still smiling and somehow lighter than he was a moment before. "I'll bet you wanna go relax and stuff."
Dick nodded gratefully. "A nap," he replied. "A nice, long nap..."
Garfield lightly laughed. "Well I won't keep you then. Catch you later, dude."
They waved at each other then, and passed in the hallway, continuing on to their respective destinations. They each keyed into their respective rooms at the same time and symmetrically disappeared from view.
Once in his room, Gar tossed his towel and shower equipment aside. He stripped of the bathrobe and pulled the first matching set of clean clothes from his closet that he could find. Then he slipped his green feet back into his flip-flops and ran his fingers through his shaggy green hair one last time before grabbing his keys and dashing from his room again.
Garfield jogged back down the hallway towards the other end and skidded to a stop when Dick's door was on his right and Raven's was on his left. Then he paused for a moment, taking a few deep breaths and working up his courage. He stood staring at the pristine whiteness of Dick's message board for an elongated breath, and for the very first time in his brief, rather tragic life, he felt absolutely certain of something. Using his metahuman talents against Two-Face, that had been personal, the motivations selfish. Now those thoughts were far from his mind as he stood in that hallway, on the precipice of greatness, feeling purposeful and, perhaps for the very first time, hopeful.
Garfield swallowed, steeled his resolve, and knocked on Raven's door.
Dick turned as he shut the door, allowing its frame to support his weight. He leaned into it, his head resting just below the smiling faces of his parents on the promotional poster. He sighed heavily, tiredly, and tried to force his mind into submission. He didn't want to think right now. He just wanted sleep.
"How'd your tests go?"
Dick gasped and spun around, instantly falling into a defensive stance before his eyes nearly bugged out of his head at the sight of who had illegally entered his dorm room. The shock was too much for his tired brain to process and Dick stumbled back into the door, barely managing to catch himself with an iron grip on the doorknob. Then breathlessly he rasped:
"B—Barbara!"
Barbara Gordon sat in his desk chair, which was spun around and facing the door. She smiled congenially up at him as he struggled to force his legs to support his weight again. When at last he stood up straight Barbara reached down to her feet and grabbed an unopened can of soda, which she tossed his way. Dick saw her grin turn feral as he juggled to catch it.
"We need to talk," she announced in the same tone she'd used to order a much younger Dick Grayson to bed on those long-ago evening when Bruce would invite her over as a playmate/babysitter when both he and Alfred would be busy with the same socialite events in the manor that her father was forced to attend.
"Barbara—"
Whatever he had intended to say, the redhead would have none of it. She stood from the chair, frowning at him with her hands poised angrily on her hips.
"Now, Short Pants!"
