A/N: Just wanted to pop in here and give a little PA: potential trigger warning partway through this chapter.


Chapter: 3

Darren made himself comfortable on the sofa while scrolling through some senseless app on his phone wondering how long the tour would actually last. Darren never thought to ask and hadn't realized he would decide not to go when he'd left all his things in the hotel room. Time marched by slowly and Darren eventually felt his lack of sleep catching up to him. Darren's thoughts wandered, shifting from problem to problem. From the kid with the Talon dagger to what it implied. From what this tour meant regarding Mike to his own experiences at Gotham Academy thus far. From his upcoming physics test to whether or not he'll finally be able to return to patrol the following night. Thoughts were dangerous from time to time…but all the same, there was nothing else for Darren to do.

Darren's thinking muddled and petered out as his head started nodding forward and his lashes fluttered rapidly as he tried to blink away the heavy feeling of sleep. It was then that the crawling feeling of being watched raked its way up his spine and settled at the nape of his neck, forcing Darren fully awake. An uncanny feeling, unpleasant as well as concerning. What was so off about this place and why did Darren feel so strongly? Darren thought it was his fear of losing Mike or perhaps the sense that they were sending Mike away, but there seemed to be something else. Something Darren couldn't quite see…but something he could feel…something he could sense like a warning, a sense of foresight. Darren swallowed thickly, realizing perhaps the precognitive ability he'd inherited from Slade was not necessarily activated only when in immediate danger. Ideally, the ability was something Darren could control but the skill had eluded him since the first time he'd somehow utilized the precognition mid-fight with Ra's al Ghul's assassins.

Back then, the precognitive ability manifested as an image in Darren's mind's eye—as if he were imagining something while reading or drawing—of what would happen a brief moment before it did. There was no sense of foreboding like what Darren was experiencing. In fact, his theory could be wrong but then again how the Mirakuru—what caused the development of the precognitive ability—mixed with the Electrum used to create Talons was a mystery. Darren's feelings of dread and apprehension could be just that or something else entirely…but there was no way to tell which was the case, he'd had no training or experience in that regard. All Darren could do was sit and wait for something to happen.

Darren hated not being able to tell what was real and what was imagined or a lie…whether this suspected precognitive sense was real or just another emotion Darren couldn't process or cope with. A deep-rooted sense of strain, quiet elusive tension pulsed against Darren's ribs…his breathing grew less measured and controlled. With a sputtered breathless groan Darren shook his head as if he could dispel the sudden consternation that rattled through him like a disjointed train. Darren hunched forward, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to steady his breathing…tried to focus and center himself. Dinah had shown him different techniques to use, though in all fairness Darren was never very good at soothing this side of himself. But Darren promised Dick he'd stay in the lobby, that he'd be there when they all got back. It was moments like these when Darren felt as if he'd lost control or his sense of self that he ran off. Moments like these when he preferred to disappear. But a promise was a promise, and Darren was hard set on keeping those. Darren couldn't panic and go off the rails as he often did when he lost control. So Darren stayed on the couch, hunched over trying to even out his breathing,

"Excuse me, do you happen to be Darren Crowne?" A voice asked off to Darren's right. With a flinch, Darren jerked upright staring slightly boggled at the middle-aged man standing over him a cane in hand. Darren hadn't heard anyone approach and his senses were typically very sensitive, though perhaps not when they were frayed and haywire,

"I…uh…I, yes I am," Darren finally managed to get out as he cast a critical eye over the man who interrupted his panic attack. The man was dressed as a professor, a dark grey suit and pants, a white button-up shirt, and a red tie. Nothing unusual…in fact mostly underwhelming. The teacher wore a pair of wire-rimmed glasses and though he was in his mid-thirties maybe early forties, his hair was threaded with streaks of grey. The man held his cane tightly, a white-knuckled grip, as he glanced down at Darren warily,

"Good. I was hoping to have a moment to speak," the man gingerly took one of the comfy chairs off to the right of the larger plush sofa, stretching out his left leg gingerly as if his knee pained him—perhaps it did—and rested the cane against the side of the chair,

"Do I know you?" Darren questioned, sitting up straighter, considering the older man. He'd never seen him before, Darren would know…still the sensation of unease only grew stronger at this sudden and odd interaction,

"Oh, no…we've never met. But I know." That was it, that was all it took to set Darren completely on edge. The way the man said that phrase, the way he cut it off…ending it on such a specific note…it sent a chill down Darren's spine as dread coated the pit already wormed into his stomach. Whether a product of Darren's genetics or the very embodiment of the fact that trouble always came in threes, this was what Darren had prognosticated without even trying, "I know about the Crowne family, I know of their connection to the Court of Owls…I know about you, or I at least suspect, and I know about the drive."

Darren shifted into a more predatory stance on the couch—a subtle movement that not even the professor noticed. With effort, though nearly an instant change in demeanor—as if by the flip of a coin—Darren pushed away the panic, the dread, and bafflement, turning instead to the Talon he'd been trained to become. Darren forced himself to relax, morphing his features into a neutral emotionless mask of disinterest as he cast a glance about the lobby. Noting each aspect of the building in turn. Darren mentally ran through the layout of the building, where the tour would be at this point in time, the exits, the security cameras, the secretary tapping away silently at her desk behind the plexiglass window oblivious to the conversation taking place a room over. Everything compiled into an array of information at Darren's disposal, things he could use if this man posed a threat to himself, his family, or the precarious ceasefire the Bats had with both the Court of Owls and the League of Assassins,

"Who are you," Darren questioned through gritted teeth, his voice a low hair-raising growl. The man looked nervous by the intensity of Darren's glare, uncomfortable…like a fish out of water. Whatever the man's intentions, confrontation was not his strong suit. The teacher shifted in his seat, gulping nervously the motion visible by his bobbing Adam's apple,

"I-I—," The man stumbled over his words and coughed roughly into a curled hand, as if clearing his throat, nerves getting the better of him,

"I won't ask again," Darren monotoned, "Who. Are. You?" Impatience was creeping over Darren and he wanted an explanation. Darren didn't know what the man knew in detail, but he clearly understood enough to accost Darren out in the open. A public place with security measures and a witness a room over with an access point which made the lobby visible to the secretarial office area. The man knew Darren was a threat and sought to lessen that. Darren's hands were tied but he could leave, and lead the man to somewhere less protected,

"I know…I know of your family history. I know of your connection to the Court of Owls in part…because I am that history," Darren's glare darkened, his eyes narrowing as he considered what the man said,

"What are you implying?" Darren demanded,

"I go by Charles Chamberlain…I legally changed my name, practically erased myself from public knowledge before starting my professional career…biologically I am Charles Crowne." Darren let out a snort, rolling his eyes,

"Bullshit," Darren snapped, "If you really think a pop-up relative is going to—,"

"You know about the third Crowne brother?" Darren set his jaw, his teeth clenching together,

"It's not an unknown fact that there was another sibling," Darren replied evenly,

"Perhaps not. But he was my grandfather—,"

"He died at sea!" Darren interrupted, angered for some reason at how the conversation was turning,

"Oh yes, he did perish at sea. Sometime towards the end of the Second World War. He joined young, lied about his age and he died for it. But he left behind a very young wife and an unborn child. The two of them eloped right before he enlisted. None of the Crownes knew about the child, I doubt my grandfather even knew himself.

"My grandmother stayed away, moved back with her own parents to raise my father…but she knew of the Court. She knew of her husband's connection to that organization and what they could do…who they could hurt. My father in turn told me, the Court became a warning…not like the nursery rhyme but a reality that we were constantly wary of—,"

"Why are you telling me this? Why seek me out? What. Do. You. Want?" Darren couldn't help but interrupt the man again. Who Charles was meant nothing to Darren. It was clear the teacher didn't seek him out in an effort to reunite lost kin, in fact, that seemed the furthest thing from Charles's mind. In truth, the man seemed terrified of Darren, uncertainty and disdain entwined throughout his posture, his behavior,

"I know about the drive." Charles stated sharply, "I want it." His voice echoed off the walls though his tone was quiet, muted…a desperate plea. Ice snaked up Darren's spine as the world seemed to freeze around him.

The flash drive was a secret, the only reason the Court knew about it was because Darren used it as blackmail against them. The contents of the drive were unknown, and the Owls knew what would happen if they harmed anyone within the Bats network of associates who may know the information hidden on that drive,

"How are you here. You just show up…at the exact moment, I'd be here. How did you know?" Darren veered away from the drive…there was more pressing information he needed,

"As you may have deduced, I work here at the school. I knew you were coming to tour the school for a while now. This is all public information…easily searchable,"

"Why this school…out of any other school in the country, the whole world even…you're here. This cannot be a simple coincidence…this cannot be something you just decide to request out of the blue. Why? Why are you here? Why do you want anything from me?" Darren questioned,

"I have two daughters," Charles paused, his voice catching as if realizing his misstep in giving up such information to a Talon, but he plowed on ahead, "One of them is deaf. So, I work here teaching science to spend time with her and to keep an eye on her…we're not that far from Gotham but you and I both know the Owls will seize any opportunity to expand their network of wealth and influence." Darren grimaced at that truth…and at the fact that Charles taught science. The Owls would have a special need for a scientist of any kind with the destruction of not only the Electrum formula supply but the means—and person—to create it,

"I need to ensure that in the wake of everything that happened, everything you've done that there is no chance they know of us. I need to keep my family safe. I can't do much in the way of protecting my girls but if I could have what the Court doesn't know, perhaps I can prepare or use whatever information to my advantage," Darren sat back, regarding Charles with an unimpressed expression on his face,

"One more question Charles. How do you know what happened with the Court? How do you know about the drive at all?" For once, the man smiled. A slim knowing crooked twitch of his lips and Darren could see, if only for an instance, some resemblance to Amelia in his lightly freckled face and wide emerald eyes tucked under tufts of dark blonde hair threaded with glints of silver,

"I am privy to these secrets because I have an informant…someone who knows the inner workings of the Court,"

"Then why don't you ask them about your family's status?" Darren mused,

"Because they are not a part of the Court or the Owls. They know the standstill you've ground them into, and they know about the drive you used to do it…but that is all they have access to." Silence followed as Darren considered Charles, his claims, and demand. He weighed them heavily as he listened to the man's heart trying to determine lie from truth though deep-down Darren knew his answer from the moment Charles spouted his request,

"I can't give you the drive," Darren couldn't just go around giving the drive or copies of the drive to anyone. The information on that stick of tech was unknown, parts of it even unknown to the Bats as they shifted through everything the Crowne's siphoned away from the Court. There was no way to know if the drive even had information on families and their legacies ripe for Talon recruitment.

For a moment Charles looked soul-crushed. Darren didn't feel too badly about it. Charles wanted to protect his family, so did Darren. Darren didn't know this man, or his family, or if they even existed…or if his claim of being a Crowne was true. Darren couldn't take that risk and Charles wasn't worth jeopardizing everything he'd worked so hard to accomplish. Then Charles's expression hardened, morphing into something angry and dark,

"I know you don't believe me. I know that drive is your only hope for peace, but it's also my only chance to ensure that my family is safe. I know a lot of your secrets Darren. I could spill them, one by one to the public—your connection to the Court, what you are, your connection to crime from both your mother and father…yes, I know about your father's identity. And I can use that against you as well. I could even sue for custody or claim the Crowne fortune and assets. I could make life very difficult for you." Charles bit out, his voice quietly scathing,

"I'm not concerned," Darren stated dully, disinterested…dismissive. Though a thrum of worry coursed underneath the protective apathy. Could Charles really do what he claimed to do…would that really impact Darren's life? And who was this informant that knew so much about Darren's background, his current whereabouts, and more importantly his father's identity? Charles might not be a Crowne, but he could still be a potential threat,

"I'll give you some time to think this over, but as of now I've said my piece," Charles stated, standing with the measured groan and leaning heavily on the cane, "I don't want to play the villain in this story. We are family after all." With that Charles turned, limping away down the hall towards the entrance.

Darren watched Charles go, his gaze as intense as a hawk's watching prey from miles away. He wanted Charles to feel the heat of his stare, the searing gaze that burned holes into the back of his suit coat. Darren wanted that discomfort to set in…for the man to turn around uncertain of his safety. But the glance back never came as if Charles was unaware or purposefully not giving in to his instincts. Either way, Charles was a confounding mystery. Nonetheless, it was also clear—as Charles walked away with his back fully facing Darren, completely at Darren's mercy, no regard for his wellbeing or life—this man had faced no threat before in his life, he lived one of relative ease with minimal interference by the Court's Talons or influence.

So why now, did Charles think there was any threat to himself or his family. Why would he need the flash drive, one created to be utilized against the Court…not for the Court to use, to tell him such a thing? What had changed? What did Charles really want?


Darren flailed in his sleep, surging upright with a cry piercing the hotel room as he tore away the sheets trying in vain to break free of his cotton restraints. Panic clung to Darren, the hammering of his heart painful, the knot in his chest mirroring the leaden pit in his stomach, tension, and anxiety swirling into nausea as Darren threw himself forward. The heat of whatever Darren had witnessed in his sleep heavy on his shoulders, on his mind which was clouded with the darkness of the room, sweat dripped down the sides of his face down the back of his neck as he let out another ragged cry trying to get air down his throat. The oppressive darkness pressed against Darren's mind, his memories, his past…presenting the illusion that he was alone. But soon after his outburst, a light flashed on, hurting Darren's sensitive eyes as he again tried to breathe. The rasping air was harsh against his throat as hysteria twisted its way through Darren's lungs, heart, and mind.

Dick was suddenly by Darren's side—again the darkness a lie, telling Darren he was alone when he was not—helping to push back the still tangled covers, pulling Darren towards the edge of the bed, and maneuvering him so his legs dangled over. Darren couldn't hear what his cousin was saying, only the rushing in his ears as everything morphed and faltered around him. Darren couldn't remember what he had dreamt but could imagine what brought on the nightmare. Shepard, the Court, Charles showing up out of the blue and the weight that knowledge brought had Darren hunched over, or perhaps that was the fact that he was hyperventilating. It hadn't been too long since he last had a nightmare or a night terror but usually, Darren was alone and the paralyzing aspect of such occurrences had lessened since the Court had been essentially taken down,

"Dare, hey Dare…look at me," Dick was saying, his voice sounded far away but Darren did what was asked and for a moment, a brief terrifying moment, his cousin's kind expression flickered appearing instead as William's vicious sneer. Darren flinched, his terror soaring and the knot in his stomach forcing him to double over gagging, "Darren, breathe. You're okay, you're safe." It was Dick's voice and when Darren peeked, glancing upward through his disheveled hair, saw Dick's steady dark blue eyes staring down at him,

"I-I I'm sorry," Darren sputtered—unsure as to whether he was apologizing for the nightmare or for the brief deception of William replacing his cousin—his voice hitching as he tried to bring air into his lungs. The air burned his throat as if it were toxic and Darren coughed, gagging once more, "I'm…I'm gonna—," before Darren could get out the word 'puke' Dick had the wastebasket formerly tucked under the joint nightstands situated between the hotel beds into Darren's shaking, clammy hands.

Darren retched, and though not much came up it was still like opening a bottle of soda, there was a release of pressure…an easing of that panicked feeling. The nausea from the dream lessened, the panic was still there, and it was hard to breathe still but Darren felt more in control. Darren gagged again, coughing slightly as the mild familiar burn of bile bit into the back of his throat. He swallowed stiffly and pushed the bin away lightly, shaking his head and taking a brief glance around the room testing to see if it was all still spinning. The shadows of the room were lighter, there was more to see of the suite the four of them were sharing. Barbara was ruffling through one of her bags near her and Dick's hotel bed, clearly woken by Darren's cries which had Darren twisting to look over at Mike asleep on the roll-away bed brought up upon their arrival, alarm shattering through any peace Darren was starting to feel. It was decided that despite the bed being big enough for both Darren and Mike to share that it was probably not the best idea seeing as Darren was prone to nightmares and was a restless and terrible sleeper to begin with. Dick put up a hand, not quite touching the side of Darren's face but hovering just there, blocking Darren's view of the sleeping ten-year-old,

"No, don't worry about Mike. He can't hear you," Dick whispered from where he crouched on the carpeted floor, "Just focus on yourself. C'mon, follow my breathing. In and out…count to five," Darren did as Dick coached, trying to cease the pounding of his heart and the tension ringing throughout his body like alarm bells.

It felt like hours, though perhaps only a few minutes, but with effort, Darren started to slow his breathing. Dick whispered to him words of encouragement, comfort, and guidance in the semi-darkened room, a hand resting against Darren's head with a feather-light thumb stroking his forehead. An odd gesture to Darren but one that he found surprisingly soothing. Darren disliked being touched in most instances, though especially so when having such a panic attack. Dick on the other hand was a very physically affectionate person. Perhaps this was their compromise in a moment like this where Darren could not calm himself and Dick stepped in to help. Darren unconsciously leaned into the touch, his eyes feeling heavy as if with sleep as his breathing finally evened out,

"I-I'm fine," Darren stated, letting out a final shaky breath of air, "I'm…I'm sorry for waking you up,"

"It's okay Darren," Dick replied seriously, sitting back on his heels now that it was clear Darren had mostly shaken the initial panic of the nightmare, "Do you want to talk about it?" The question was automatic, and Dick knew no matter when or where the moment occurred Darren would reply the same way, the same answer with the same reaction,

"No," Darren muttered, surging unsteadily to his feet, "No, I don't," he shook his head briefly as if shaking away a thought before heading towards the hotel bathroom,

"Darren, wait," Dick started, rising as well,

"I'm fine! I'm fine," Darren insisted, stopping to wave away his concerned cousin, "I-I just…I just need a minute," and with that Darren ducked into the bathroom closing the door rather harshly behind him, throwing the lock into place.

The glare of the fluorescent lights nearly blinded Darren, a shocking change from the soft lamplight in the main living area, but he blinked away the sudden vibrancy as he stumbled over to the sink, staring heavily into the mirror bracing his hands against the countertop. Darren looked entirely too washed out in this lighting, the marks under his eyes nearly an almost purple-grey color that stood out much too easily. There was no trace of the nightmare in Darren's memory as if it were a blank piece of paper blown away by an invisible wind. What could it have been…another dream of William and his fierce retribution, a bloody remnant of the Court of Owls, Shepard with his harsh words and equally heavy fists, something else entirely? Something dredged up from somewhere so deep in his fractured mind…from his locked away memories? Whatever things he pushed down, somewhere deep down. in the far corners of his mind. Things he never wanted to remember that still trickled back to the surface of his mind anyway.

Darren let out a shuttered breath, forcing his gaze away from his reflection instead focusing on the counter with his hands flat against its stone-cold surface. Slowly he curled each of his fingers on both hands into a fist, pressing down against them until he heard the knuckles pop and saw them go white against the tanned stone countertop. Darren felt nothing. Another sleepless night and nothing to feel from it. Another dream and nothing to remember from it…not that Darren particularly wanted to know. More often than not he could remember the dreams in vivid detail…but it was the dreams Darren couldn't recall that got to him. What was he seeing that made him react of violently…throwing himself out of a dream and into a panicked wreck? What was Darren dreaming that made him sick to his stomach—though perhaps Darren could imagine what caused that, occasionally the dreams he did remember had him collapsing in front of the closest bin or toilet—why was Darren missing a whole piece of the story. How could a dream take so much from him…out of him…and leave nothing behind?

A sudden flash of anger had Darren snarling at himself in the mirror, all dark sneer and angered blue-grey eyes, darkened by the rage Darren felt, as he pulled his fist back ready to shatter the glass only to pull himself back at the last second. The sound of glass breaking would have both Dick and Barbara running. Darren let out an almost pained groan, curling in on himself as he ran his hands unsteadily through his already tangled hair. Everything had been fine…that evening had been great.

As soon as the tour ended the four of them went off to dinner. Darren forced himself not to think about Charles and what he'd said, what the man threatened. He'd gotten good at doing that, pushing things away…no matter how detrimental it was all he could do without tearing at the seams. It was survival and as long as it worked Darren would survive in the way he knew how. Darren knew where to find Charles and knew the ties he had that made him weak…the man wasn't a threat. Not yet.

Dick had sensed something was off, Darren could tell, his cousin was very good at picking up on Darren's moods for the most part and also knew when to help versus when to leave Darren alone. In fact, Dick hadn't seemed too worried to which Darren had watched his cousin suspiciously up until they arrived at the restaurant and saw his sister Rose waiting there to surprise him. Dinner had been a full-on event. Darren was overjoyed to finally see his sister. They talked through the entire dinner though there was no mention of the Court or of their father…only normal conversation, the evening wasn't something Darren expected but definitely what he needed. There was also no mention on whether or not Rose would return to Gotham anytime soon and Darren tried not to let that bother him. The two siblings skirted around that line of conversation as if it were the plague both afraid of bringing up the subject to the other.

Rose seemed slightly uncertain at being there, which was understandable. A lot had happened since Rose worked with the Teen Titans and since Dick trained her, but Darren was elated and didn't really care…only tried to keep her there for as long as possible unable to feel a small sense of disappointment when she left right as soon as the meal was over. Nonetheless, the dinner had almost been enough to erase the lasting impression of an overall terrible day…almost.

Darren's breathing hitched once more as he struggled to breathe, the overbearing feeling of unease settling over him once more. It was like a tempest at sea, a swirling rise and fall of discomfort and uncertainty…something Darren couldn't quite describe. A pressure in his chest and stomach, a pain that wouldn't go away or ease or slow…not until it pitched everything suspended internally over, tumbling down an invisible slope. Darren sucked in a breath, then another until he felt lightheaded and unsteady…another panic attack underway but Darren caught his own gaze in the mirror. The light purple and grey half-moons, an intense gaze turning his light eyes dark…the image of an almost crazed facade looking back at him had Darren straightening…the panic still there but muted, a raging silent storm. With baited unsteady breath Darren threw his right hand up to his mouth, sinking his teeth into the skin between his thumb and pointer finger. Biting harder and harder, not feeling any pain…nothing was there…until the taste of blood suddenly erupted in his mouth.

All at once, the roaring in his ears stopped the pressure that had been building in Darren's chest vanished and for a moment Darren felt his control return. With a grimace, Darren jerked the hand from his mouth eyeing the bloody bite-mark with slight disdain. Darren spat out the remnant blood, remembering bitterly why he never really bit himself in the first place…the taste of blood in his mouth was too painfully familiar for comfort…as he then rinsed away the mistake with a glass of water spitting out the bloody, watery mess. With a sigh, grimacing again at the lasting salty taste in his mouth, Darren rinsed the bloody ring of teeth marks away under the tap. The wound had already healed, the only blessing of a Talon, though the water was still tinged red from the blood. Darren silently watched the water swirl away down the drain a reassurance that no one would know. Swallowing thickly Darren stepped out of the bathroom only to nearly plow Barbara over in the process,

"Gah, sorry!" Darren cried, stumbling back a step while Barbara only looked mildly guilty a hand raised as if to knock on the door. She stepped back before holding out her other hand palm up a small red pill settled in her palm,

"Here," she said by way of explanation. Darren frowned, eyeing the pill uncertainly,

"Isn't it too late? It might not work,"

"Better safe than sorry," Barbara replied, "You need to get some sleep Dare. You look like the walking dead,"

"I am the walking dead," Darren monotoned, causing a slight chuckle from Babs though Darren could see genuine worry and sympathy in her gaze. Barbara wasn't a stranger to bad dreams borne from trauma, she knew to an extent what Darren was still going through as these sorts of things didn't disappear overnight rather came in waves or cycles or completely out of the blue.

Silently Darren plucked the pill from Barbara's hand and stuck it on his tongue while filling the glass he used previously to wash it down. Darren then slipped past Babs and settled straight into bed, not another word to either of his guardians.


Darren tossed and turned in the hotel bed, desperately trying to give in to sleep. His mind felt heavy, lugged down from the sleeping pill which was specially made for a Talon's metabolism and resistance to normal mundane medicine. But even with the effects of the medication, Darren was failing at falling asleep. With the too-tight sheets, too soft pillows, and musty smell the hotel bed was giving off it felt more like one of Darren's nightmares than anything comfortable to sleep on. Perhaps that was an overreaction, but the mattress felt saggy and uneven, the heater rattled loudly, and the room was just too square…too boxy. Darren turned onto his back and stared up at the plaster ceiling, blinking against the restlessness of his mind as he tried to clear his head. He didn't know how long it had been since Dick and Barbara had fallen back to sleep. They'd stayed up a little longer, whispering together…most likely about Darren. A part of Darren wanted to listen in and see what they were saying but the two settled down to sleep right when he decided to tune into his enhanced hearing.

Did it bother Darren that Dick and Barbara were talking about him as if he weren't two feet across from them…yes? Maybe? No? Darren wasn't sure. A part of him was worried, uncertain of what they could possibly be thinking regarding him…paranoia washing anything he knew about the two away. Another knew they were just worried about how much sleep he was getting. Everything had been knocked off-kilter from his death day onwards. It wasn't Darren's fault, but he wondered if he could have handled it all better. Darren squirmed yet again under the sheets, kicking them off after a moment's hesitation as he wondered how cold he'd get without them but ultimately decided they were too uncomfortable to care about freezing. Talons couldn't stand the cold, but Darren also couldn't stand the scratchy, tangled, musty-smelling hotel sheets. It was a nice hotel, much better than the dingy motel he and his brothers squatted in after escaping from Ra's al Ghul last January, but the concept of staying in a hotel sat uncomfortably on his shoulders. It wasn't something Darren was used to, at least not yet. Perhaps this whole trip was something Darren wasn't used to yet.

Darren swallowed thickly, still staring up at the ceiling waiting as the shadows in the room grew thicker and thicker, becoming more and more oppressive as time wore on. C'mon, Darren thought bitterly trying to keep his breathing steady, any day now meds. The timing of the unnamed red pill was impactful to whether or not it worked. Preferably Darren took it after a particularly hard day to sleep through the night. Taking the pill in the aftermath of a nightmare was hit or miss. The sleeping medication wasn't something Darren could take daily either even with the electrum's ability to heal nearly any wound, addictions could still form. So, the others were stingy about when Darren took the sleeping pills and how often especially since he'd gone a little overboard a few months ago. It appeared that tonight would be a miss, the window of opportunity gone.

The moment the walls started to feel smaller and smaller, shrinking even as Darren knew and told himself they remained as they were, Darren lurched upwards. Sitting upright on the bed trying to reframe the dimensions of the room in his mind so he wouldn't fear he was back in Blackout once more. A glance at the nearby window, the sparkling lights of Metropolis filtering through the flimsy curtains pulled Darren to his feet, and with only slight hesitation and a glance back at Dick, Babs, and Mike asleep in the room did he open the window and pull himself through free climbing to the roof of the hotel with ease; shutting the window to a mere crack with his foot to not alert the others of what he'd done—he didn't want them to worry—and to keep them from getting too cold from the early November chill.

Once on the flat concrete rooftop, Darren let his feet dangle over the ledge, falling backward to stare up at the open star-filled sky. Metropolis was much quieter than Gotham which had helicopters, sirens, and yelling echoing throughout the cityscape. Of course, Wayne Manor was on the outskirts of the city and therefore less of what living in the heart of the city entailed but Darren lived more often with Dick and Babs now and that was what Darren was growing more accustomed to even if it meant wearing his noise-canceling headphones to sleep more often than not. More importantly, Darren felt like he could breathe out here, in the cold and the breeze Darren could close his eyes and breathe easily. Sometimes it wasn't the memories that petrified Darren, sometimes it was just the paralleled outline of what he'd endured mirrored from his head in reality. An illusion drafted up by his own subconscious. Darren just needed to escape for a moment or two just to feel in control of his own mind. Sometimes escaping didn't help, sometimes it made everything worse but now Darren felt peaceful. He just hoped the sleeping pill didn't make him zonk out on the rooftop,

"Darren?" A soft voice called out, followed by a light thump of boots on the concrete. Darren lolled his head to the side too out of it to start in response to a sudden unexpected noise,

"Rose?" Darren questioned, blinking owlishly at his sister as she crossed over to where he lay and plopped down next to him crossing her legs underneath her,

"Rough night?" she guessed,

"Perhaps," Darren murmured, feeling tired and heavy, awake and light all at once, "I'm a bit drugged up right now,"

"I can tell," Rose snickered, "How are things…you know really?" Darren frowned, narrowing his eyes skeptically at his older sister,

"Grant spoke to you, didn't he?"

"He said you were still visiting Slade," a frown sliced across her easygoing expression, and a mild look of disapproval,

"How does he even know that?" Darren muttered, "Are they keeping tabs on me or something,"

"No, they're keeping tabs on Slade. We don't want him getting out,"

"Neither do I," Darren hissed insistently,

"Don't bite my head off. I know what it's like to deal with Deathstroke. He gets inside your head, turns your world against you. I just want to make sure he hasn't done that to you," Darren gritted his teeth as he thought bitterly to their last few conversations before the Court's ceasefire.

One conversation about Graysons, Waynes, Crownes, and Wilsons and how Darren would only ever fit into two of those slots and a second about the flash drive. Slade had offered to kill the people on what the Bats are calling the 'alumni list' of Owl members, Darren refused knowing it would tip his hand and allow for a new version of the Court to rise in the old one's place. But now, for a brief moment, Darren wondered if Rose would have offered the same thing…she had no qualms about killing, and neither—for the most part—did their brothers. Would they offer the same loyalty Slade did in that moment? As soon as Darren let the thought flicker into existence, he beat it down…that wasn't loyalty, that wasn't the reason Slade had offered his assistance. Their conversations since had been sparse and one-sided, mostly Darren probing for more information about his mother and that wasn't something he felt comfortable discussing with Rose especially with such conflicting results,

"It's nothing." Darren insisted, Rose threw him a look. One that had Darren scowling at her, "If that's all you're here to talk about…,"

"No," Rose interrupted fervently, "That's not what I came here to discuss,"

"Then let's drop it,"

"Fine. Then let's talk about the precognitive ability you seemingly also have along with your Talon skills," Darren let out a groan, flinging his arms over his face,

"Why are you being so insufferable!"

"Because trust me when I say that ability can be dangerous if you don't understand it or learn to use it," Rose's voice rang with sibling authority, but also with worry,

"I wish I'd never told you about that," Darren sighed,

"Do the Bats know? Or Grant and Joseph?"

"Why don't you tell them since you're so buddy buddy with them that you talk behind my back," Darren drawled, removing his hands to scowl at his sister,

"Do they know,"

"No!" Darren hissed, "Not…not explicitly, I mentioned it in passing. I went to you because I was curious, not because I wanted a lecture for the rest of my life,"

"How many times has it happened?" Rose questioned, ignoring Darren's digs. Darren didn't answer her, "Did you have any control over it at all?" A pause as Darren again avoided answering her question,

"If it's so dangerous why don't you teach me? Or why don't you tell them all about it and have them do it?" Darren demanded, his frustration nearing its peak,

"I—well…it's not really something you can really teach…it's…it's complicated,"

"Then let it drop…I'll figure it out myself," Rose stared over at Darren for a long while, her lips drawn into a thin line before she let out a sigh,

"Fine. We'll drop it for now…just be careful Darren. You don't know what you're messing with by avoiding that ability…and I don't think I have to tell you again who you're dealing with when, or if, you speak with Slade,"

"I get it, please just let it go, Rose," Darren sighed, silence creeping between them until finally, Rose glanced over at Darren opening her mouth to say something, an almost pained look crossing her face. One Darren had seen before, more specifically right when she told him she was first going to Metropolis. Darren felt his stomach drop,

"You're not coming back to Gotham, are you? That's why you won't teach me to control this ability…that's really why you came to dinner and sought me out tonight," She hadn't come because she wanted to. Rose came to say goodbye…Darren wouldn't lie, the sting of betrayal was enough to wake him up fully, much more so than the chill of night,

"Dare—," Rose started, her voice pained and expression sympathetic, anticipating Darren's reaction,

"Didn't you like dinner tonight? Didn't you enjoy doing that…we could see each other more often! You were the ones—you, Grant, and Joseph—were the ones who wanted Slade to stop getting between us. You can't stay!" Darren exclaimed, sitting up, blinking away whatever tiredness was still straining to settle in his bones,

"Yes, I enjoyed tonight, yes I loved talking with you and seeing you and being there with you…but I am not one of you. They're not my family Darren,"

"They could be," Darren murmured quietly, feeling cowed by that statement, "It doesn't have to be like that. There doesn't need to be an us and a them—I did it, I am still an assassin no matter how far I've come since the Court…why can't you?" He noticed her discomfort and the glances Dick and Barbara kept sharing throughout the meal, but he ignored them in favor of drinking up the attention he was getting from his sister after so long apart,

"They don't trust us," Rose stated, "And I won't go where I'm not wanted. You've found your way with them, you've found a home and a family, a place on the right side of this messed up world. I'm not there…not yet…and I don't know if I want to be. I've got a good thing going here, Darren. I'm only a few hours away, same as our brothers." Darren was quiet for a moment, staring out into the city…listening for sirens that would never sound…before flopping back onto the concrete,

"Looks like you've already made up your mind," he muttered, bitterness tinting his tone. Darren felt angry but wanted too badly to be numb to really feel it,

"Yeah. I have," Rose stated simply, refusing to take his bait. Instead, she bent over and planted a soft kiss on his forehead which Darren vehemently rubbed away with a scowl on his face, still hurt by her decision to stay in Metropolis, "Now go get some sleep. I'll call before school on Monday."

Darren didn't reply and Rose took that as her cue to leave. Darren lay on the rooftop, still and quiet despite the frustration and anger and hurt brewing within him, until the cold crept far too close to Cold Storage for Darren's comfort. Sleep still dodging him Darren lowered himself down to the cracked open window and slipped back into the hotel room, glancing carefully around the space to make certain no one was up or noticed his absence before rifling through his stuff to pull out his sketchbook. With nothing better to do, Darren turned on the lamp of the nearby hotel desk and settled onto the wheeled chair content with spending the last remaining hours before daylight drawing away his harrowed internalizations.


The drive back to Wayne Manor was desolate and quiet, the depravity of Darren's foul mood—spurred from lack of sleep, the past day and weeks since the end of October—swept through the ranks of their small patchwork family. Perhaps Darren should feel worse about his behavior, but he couldn't find it within himself to care. Darren spent most of the ride back with his sketchbook on his lap the pencil he'd pulled out clutched in his hand…a death grip, so tight he felt the wood splintering underneath his too strong grip…as he stared at the still blank page before him. There was no inspiration, nothing to let out…but at the same time, there was everything. Darren just stared and stared at the page, urging his hand to move, wishing he could force himself to create some release from whatever mess of a mood he was in. The pencil shattered in Darren's grip, and he made no move to retrieve another one from his charcoal art kit—a gift from Dick for his birthday—he just let his hand fall limply against the smooth thick paper running his fingers against its edge not feeling the tiny slices of paper cuts the steady motion wrought until he glanced down and saw blood staining the edges of the next few pages. Darren quickly slammed his sketchbook closed, tossing it below with his duffel bag.

Dick and Barbara knew to leave Darren alone, for the most part, when he sank this low into whatever mood he was in whether it be anxiety, tension, paranoia, panic, anger, or silent melancholy. Mike was curious by such a change, perhaps a little disgruntled too as Darren actually played games and spent time with him on the car ride to Metropolis. The kid was uncertain by this one-eighty change in his surrogate brother. Mike tried a few times to nab Darren's attention or to lighten up Darren's mood to no avail. Eventually, with a pout, Mike gave up settling for watching some video or playing games on the iPad Bruce had gotten him as a 'welcome to the family' gift. Though Darren suspected it was to spite Dick and Barbara who now had to go to great lengths just to detach the kid from the device.

As Darren watched the bland scenery pass by, searching within himself for some way to ease this apathetic, melancholic episode he couldn't help but wonder if he'd ever stop being such a burden on everyone else. The Bats were always worrying, always trying to appease him in some way and he's done nothing in return, he'd always mess up. The Bats all handled this darker side of their nightly personas so well, while Darren could never get over the Court or William or Shepard or even Sophie. Rose said Darren had found a place among them, though he wondered if she realized how precarious that position truly was.

The pit in Darren's stomach turned heavier with every passing mile marker, despite the unwavering desire to return home—somewhere familiar—Darren couldn't help but expect the worst, the world around him felt off. As if everyone and everything was holding their breath waiting for the other shoe to fall. The feeling was eerily reminiscent of the timeframe right before Charles showed up, but Darren tore that thought away the moment it flickered to light. He needed his mind empty or he'd fall apart right there in the car. Eventually even being in the vehicle at all was almost too much for Darren, a part of him screaming to be let out from the constraints of a small steel tomb.

The sight of the long winding drive leading to Wayne Manor had Darren scrambling upright from his slumped position, unable to keep himself from pressing up against the window eager to get out. The need for freedom so great that Darren launched himself out of the car before it made a complete stop. Dick didn't even try to scold him for jumping out of a moving vehicle,

"Hey! We're back!" Darren called into the manor after thanking Alfred for getting the front door. The dogs rushed him and Darren felt a momentary rush of affection as he squatted down to pet them, getting showered with licks and nippy love-bites from Ace, "Hah It's good to see you too," Darren chuckled as he rose, wondering where the others were it was around lunchtime.

Ace let out a small growling whine as he tugged at Darren's sleeve, clearly wanting more of a welcome from his wrestling partner,

"Not right now," Darren stated, "I'm starved, later. Promise," with that he tugged away from the dog and toward the dining hall.

The vision that greeted Darren as he stepped through the elegant archway dividing the dining room and the hallway leading to the first-floor living room stopped Darren's greeting before it fully formed. Everyone looked somber, guilty even, and Darren's feeling of foreboding intensified. Bruce sat at the head of the table, a frown marring his face more than usual his mug of coffee untouched. Damian was off to the side, arms crossed and glaring downward hunched over as if trying to hide while Tim couldn't quite meet Darren's eyes. Immediately Darren's mind flashed to Stephanie, Livia…Lucius Fox, Lucius's son, any one of the Bats' allies injured or killed…they lost the drive…Charles had gone through with his threat to personally inconvenience Darren's life. It was just clear that something was wrong,

"Uh…we're back," Darren monotoned, his voice sounded strained and his throat felt dry,

"What is it?" Dick, now standing over Darren's shoulder, questioned. Barbara by his side with Mike holding her hand,

"What's wrong?" Barbara asked carefully. Tim let out a rough disgruntled cough,

"Uh—," Tim cut himself off with a harsh sigh, pushing a newspaper, that Darren hadn't noticed before, down to the edge of the table, "—I'm sorry, Dare." Was all he said.

Darren looked at the black and white paper. It was neatly pressed and clearly unopened as if whoever picked it up took one look at it and refused to go any further. The headline title was in blocky, large print and stabbed Darren so fiercely in the chest he almost physically stumbled back a step. Shepard Powers, CEO and Billionaire, Found Dead in Prison Cell. The world around Darren turned to static, white noise, buzzing…nothing and everything made sense. People might have been talking, someone exclaiming something…maybe talking to him but Darren couldn't hear them as the world faded away to white nothingness…only the paper remaining before his vision on that dark wooden dining table. Darren couldn't breathe, it was like a boulder had fallen on his chest, but there was no pain of broken ribs only the soul-crushing pull of dread, anger, and hatred, mingled together into a meaningless, soulless puddle of emotion dragging Darren down, down, down. A day, Shepard had barely been in Blackgate a day.

A scream—a primal, feral scream—was building, burning within Darren's chest sizzling under his skin like the essence of electricity, followed by the undeniable itch running up and down his arms a wash of tension and panic and overall trepidation pulling Darren down, down, down to where…he didn't know. Darren surged forward, snatching up the paper—someone gasped, probably surprised by the sudden movement—as if expecting the title to change once viewed up close. But it remained the same, and Darren's pulse quickened, roaring in his ear as everything raging within him reached a tipping point. The paper tore in Darren's white-knuckled and shaking grip, it then crumpled in curled fists as he spun on his heels flying through to the living room—ignoring the cry of his name and the scraping of chairs from the dining room—as Darren tossed the remains of the Sunday paper into the lit fireplace.

Darren watched silently as the fire ate up the paper before stumbling back and practically running down into the Batcave. Desperate for a release from the internal raging, paralyzing, and silent scream writhing within.


A/N: Hey guys! Hoped you liked this chapter, a bit more exciting things are happening. If you can I'd really appreciate some reviews! I know it's early on and I'm not posting every week but I'm always eager to hear from people and to see how the story is coming along from a reader's perspective. So in short REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!