Chapter: 4

Livia's eyes snapped open a second before her alarm for school blared over on the desk which doubled as her nightstand. With a groan she blinked up at the dull white ceiling, the noise of the alarm still blaring rather loudly. Livia didn't feel rested at all, in fact, she felt more exhausted than when she first settled down to sleep. Livia's arms were up resting lightly on either side of her head, her dark brown hair in tangled tendrils across her pillows…the exact position she had tossed and turned herself into last night. With a sigh she reached for her phone, still rattling on her desk trilling for her to wake up, and silenced it with a stabbing finger. Silence echoed harshly in her room, the early morning light just making it through the curtains.

As Livia pushed back the comforter, she held her breath with anticipation practically willing herself not to be alarmed but she needn't have worried, glancing down revealed she was still in her pajamas. No sudden clothing change in the middle of the night…nothing out of the ordinary. A sigh of relief had Livia hurrying to her feet her gaze catching on the luminescent glow of the Witch's Cruid in place among various other shelved trinkets in her room. It pulsed steadily and what her father thought was a fun fake light-up plant was actually the only indication that their plan for Ra's al Ghul had worked. The magical artifact that Livia had tied to the original Witch's Cruid given to Talia al Ghul proved that the assassin had stayed true to her word. Ra's was no longer a threat and the League of Assassins no longer pursued the Electrum formula. Darren had his doubts, but Livia was certain there would be no attacks from the League of Assassins so long as the Cruid gave off its pulsing glow.

Just a mere thought of the standoff Livia had with Talia sent a brief small shock of nerves down her spine and Livia couldn't help but instinctively reach for the necklace that was usually around her neck only for her hand to close around nothing. With a grimace Livia let her hand fall back down to her side, remembering the raven necklace…her father's necklace…would never be worn by her again. As long as the protective spell against Klarion remained, Livia wouldn't be able to bear touching it, let alone wearing it. As long as Klarion's essence remained a part of Livia, she couldn't wear the heirloom without it burning her.

Flickers of the Merging Ritual, which took place only two months ago, flashed through Livia's mind. The stones, candles, ashes, and blood. The fear, pulsing strongly under her skin even as she stubbornly stood in the center of that summoning circle watching Zatanna and Constantine chanting before her. The other world with Léa Baudelaire trying to capture Livia to add to a collection of Baudelaire witches tricked into trying to break the Baudelaire curse—a curse created by Klarion himself as revenge for her family stealing his powers. Rage boiled at the thought of Léa, as well as worry…the witch was determined to take some kind of revenge against Klarion for killing her sons, and now that the ritual was completed by Livia, she essentially was Klarion. There was no chance that Léa could reach Livia in the real world, but Livia had her own doubts about the mad witch especially with her interest in Anchors.

The thought of Léa somehow stepping foot in reality slightly sickened Livia and she pushed it from her mind. Livia was the new Embodiment of Chaos, that was all she needed to consider. She may have Klarion's powers, she may have his essence within her, but she was not a demon…she was not Klarion himself. It was just a new role that Livia was undertaking. A role that Livia didn't really understand…what did it mean to be an Embodiment of Chaos? Though Klarion also had another title: Lord of Chaos. Lord of Chaos, Embodiment of Chaos…Livia felt the two were interchangeable. But did the ritual make Livia a Lady of Chaos? Or was she just a normal witch with slightly more advanced abilities. It was unclear and, in all honesty, Livia was afraid to ask. Constantine hoped that training Livia on the foundation and basics of magic would help her grow and develop as well as strengthen her abilities all around and therefore not succumb to the dark energies of Klarion's magic. Livia didn't feel any different since the ritual…though it had only been two months since everything happened. It hadn't been that long since Livia died.

There was no memory of her death, no matter how brief. To Livia, it merely felt as if she'd been teleported somewhere else entirely, not pulled into a sickening afterlife trap created by Léa for Baudelaires. Still, it was an unsettling concept to have been killed and brought back so effortlessly. Livia wondered if she should be more harrowed from the experience, as both Jason and Darren suffered so in the aftermaths of their own deaths. Jason was viciously tortured by the Joker and left to a fiery explosion of death, the rage and anguish from that dogged him at his most vulnerable hours. With Darren it wasn't so much his death that tormented him, rather the steps in place to bring him to that point, the involvement of the Court, William and his abusive nature, Slade's hand in his son's death, and the events that followed so closely afterward. That was what dragged Darren down in an empty black pit of despair and anguish. As it happened, Darren just experienced a one-year anniversary of his death and it had wiped any remnant of peace from his mind.

Peace had been there for Darren…Livia had seen it, experienced it with him. The two of them were freed from their prisons, fears, nightmares, and problems. The Court of Owls cowed with the threat of the Crowne flash drive, Klarion sucked away into oblivion only his essence a reminder of his demonic trickster ways. Livia had seen Darren's smile, wider and brighter…his eyes cleared of shadows and pain. Darren, for a time, had been happy. And then it all crumbled away rather fast…deteriorating catastrophically, like a crashing wave. It was unfortunate and unpleasant for Darren to go through the trauma of his death once more, the reemergence of nightmares, memories from his time in the Nest among other demons—metaphorical not literal—manifesting, sinking claws into Darren and holding tight. Livia as well as their friends Tim and Stephanie had tried to pull him up from that mess of darkness, but it seemed in vain as the criminal trial for Shepard was held not even a week later. And though it had gone in Darren's favor, the shadows had returned to Darren's eyes, his mentality, his very being, and Livia knew it would take time to pull Darren from the wretched mood he'd been forced into. Peace had been limited, but it was also still attainable. Of course, it would take time, but Livia was willing and patient, she'd be that strong pillar of support for Darren when he needed that strength. Their freedom was hard-earned, and Livia would be damned if she'd let the past destroy something they'd fought so hard for.

Breaking the staring contest Livia was having with the Witch's Cruid as her thoughts ebbed and flowed, swirling restlessly through her head, she turned aiming to start getting ready for school only to stop short at the sight of messily folded muddy clothing on the floor near her full-length mirror. A pulse of alarm ricocheted up Livia's spine as she froze in her movement, a curse rasping through her lips,

"No, no no no." Livia muttered, hurrying over to the pile and sorting through them as if hoping to find some mysterious answer to their sudden appearance. Another memory springing to mind of herself trapped somewhere dark and empty…a void of nothingness…during the meeting with Talia al Ghul. There had been a terrible moment of panic, a disjointed sense of disconnection between her body and mind, and only puzzlement once she had been freed from that dark space of absence. Since then, there had been no moments of blackness during the day but a heavy, empty, dreamless sleep at night followed by odd occurrences upon waking. It was enough to keep Livia on edge, but not enough for Livia to tell anyone else.

What would she tell them…why would she tell them that something possibly went wrong with the ritual? Livia was no longer cursed. That was their goal…that was what they wanted and that was what they achieved. Livia was no longer at risk of dying from her magic…but the lapses in memory, even in sleep, was worrisome. It happened rarely and there were no manifestations of Klarion, not since that one night months ago in the mirror. His words echoed harshly in Livia's mind, a warning or a threat or even both which Livia had for the most part ignored in favor of enjoying herself.

'Have you ever considered I am exactly where I want to be?' Livia had an eerie feeling creeping up the back of her neck as if she were being watched as she held up a sneaker, covered in a thick layer of mud. The ritual had been created by Klarion as a means to get his powers back, the spell was corrupted by Léa, altered and hidden away by Livia's father Markus, and finally rediscovered by Livia. And now there was no going back.

Numbly, Livia reached up to rub at her cheek as if she could feel the invisible runes burned into her skin there. A mixture of Darren's blood—the blood of an Anchor, a means to channel magic or anchor the caster to reality—and the ashes of the first Baudelaire witch to be corrupted by Klarion's magic, stained there. No one can see them though sometimes, if Livia stared hard and long enough into the mirror, she could see an afterimage of them against her cheeks when she blinked. Perhaps a trick of the light or something of her imagination but they marked her as something entirely different within the magical community. A Baudelaire had always been a pariah to other witches and magic-users, believed cursed and dangerous or useful and powerful. But now, Livia was something much more than just estranged. Livia was hosting the power of a demon; some might even consider that she was hosting the demon himself and would fear or hate her for it. Once something was altered, changed, amassed there was no going back…there was no returning something to its original form once a ritual was complete. Livia was stuck as this…even if something were wrong.

And it did seem, Livia realized as she often did every few days upon discovering something amiss that she couldn't account for—dropping the clothing upon not finding any clue as to where she might have gone…or if she'd even gone anywhere at all Klarion was a trickster after all—that something was most certainly wrong. Glancing up to the desk from her crouch Livia wondered if there was a paper trail of some sort. Some kind of information left behind whether accidentally or purposefully by…herself?...Klarion?…Klivia…? Livia grimaced, shaking her head mildly disgusted by that thought as she rose brushing a curling lock of hair behind her ear only to freeze at the sudden shock of pain that erupted near the top of her ear.

Livia's breath caught in her throat as she gently fingered the helix of her right ear. She felt something hard as another flash of pain erupted. Swallowing, Livia abandoned the searching of her desk and turned to face the mirror instead carefully brushing away the rest of her thick long hair. Her hair nearly reached her waist by this point and was in dire need of a trim, but Livia had not found the time to set up an appointment. Gazing in the mirror, revealed to Livia's surprise, a small studded earring glittering through her cartilage,

"You have got to be kidding me," Livia breathed, taking a step back grabbing her school uniform—suddenly wary of the time she'd spent worrying about Klarion and the Merging Ritual—before hurrying into her bathroom as she originally planned.

Livia's mind whirled as she hurriedly got dressed, pulling her hair back into a French braid to keep the long locks from catching on the new stud earring. Upon facing the sink to wash her face and brush her teeth Livia saw a can of some kind of spray and a container full of Q-tips along with a folded, crumpled piece of paper. Curiosity winning out over her fear and annoyance—it was more like a scavenger hunt than a delve into what had happened while Livia slept—she unfolded the page staring wonderingly at the familiar scrawl of her own handwriting, only more jagged and uneven as if she weren't used to her own way of writing, detailing out how to care for her newly pierced ear. There was a card attached stating the name of the store Livia had apparently gone to get the piercing done…bait for sure…along with a disjointedly drawn smiley face with devil horns.

Silently Livia stared at her sudden haul of information, contemplating tossing everything out the earring included. Instead, Livia leaned forward, bracing a hand on the countertop as she studied the piercing. It seemed well done, there was a little irritation, though that might be from her messing with it and she had the means to take care of the new hole. Livia had considered getting a cartilage piercing before, she'd always admired the older ballerinas and students who had many piercings along and in their ears, noses, all over but had been too insecure and nervous to get one herself. Livia couldn't help it, she liked it. Livia wanted to keep it…and so long as her father didn't blow a gasket, Livia would keep it. She wouldn't be cowed by this game she was playing on herself…if that is what this was. Livia would survive, she'd survived Klarion this long how would this round be any different.

Swiftly pocketing the card and carefully reading over the instructions she hurried to get out the front door in time to snag breakfast from her favorite cafe. Livia waited until the doorman could no longer see her to teleport to the cafe she loved, the one that had the best breakfast sandwiches and coffee in the whole city. Though Tim liked Peet's more than life and Livia just couldn't agree with that, so she'd waste every cent at the bougie cafe she loved.

Livia ordered two coffees and a hot chocolate as well as a pain au chocolat along with her bacon, egg, cheese, and avocado on an everything bagel. Before hurrying to the back alleyway near the cafe. Carefully Livia levitated her second coffee so it rested on the edge of the open trash cans near a little lean-to occupied by a homeless man. Livia didn't know his name, but she saw him rescue a cat from a bunch of angry dogs and had a soft spot for him since. The man watched wide-eyed and speechless, taking the coffee as it landed in place as he always did. Livia, as always gave him a wry smile and a two-fingered salute before teleporting to the edge of Gotham Academy's campus…nearly landing directly on Stephanie Brown who stood as if waiting for Livia to show up with her arms crossed impatiently,

"Gah! Steph, you can't stand that close! I could have teleported directly onto you or directly into you if you were two millimeters closer. We marked an X on the sidewalk for a reason," Livia huffed, tapping the chalk X clearly placed below with her toe. Stephanie ignored her in favor of swiping the remaining hot chocolate from the tray Livia held, avoiding Livia's attempt to grab the drink back,

"Hey! That's for Darren. It's his first day back since the trial—," Livia cut off her angry tirade as Stephanie took a big gulp, her irritation climbing higher only to vanish at the tired and pained look Stephanie threw her,

"You haven't heard?" Stephanie sighed,

"Heard what?" Livia questioned, fear draining any remaining irritation at the drink theft,

"Shepard Powers was found dead in his cell yesterday," Stephanie stated, "Darren isn't coming into school today," her tone had a bitter bite to it as she mentioned Powers, a sentiment Livia could relate to, but the harshness of her tone softened at the mention of their friend…the worry reaching Steph's eyes as she swirled the hot chocolate she held rather mournfully. The actuality of what Stephanie said hit Livia a second later,

"What—?" Livia questioned stunned, trying to process everything in an instance…surprise and questions rattling around her head, "He's dead? How…do you know what happened?" Stephanie shrugged before almost reluctantly answering Livia's inquiry,

"The papers and news reporters all said suicide,"

"You seem to have your doubts," Livia retorted dryly, clutching her drink and breakfast closer to her chest as if she needed the added warmth. She wouldn't say she was sorry for the man. Livia despised him, she was mainly worried about Darren and how he was dealing with the news. Perhaps Livia also couldn't help wondering about Derek and Erik, losing a parent wasn't easy no matter how awful they were. She also knew Derek was dealing with the pressure of the Court, after this that would most likely double,

"Does that really seem likely knowing Shepard as the worm he is?" Stephanie questioned, raising an eyebrow meaningfully,

"Not in the slightest," Livia replied bitterly, "How is Darren doing with all of this?" She felt as if there were a fist in her chest, squeezing her heart to dust…Darren had been through so much the past few weeks and now his abuser was dead having spent not even twenty-four hours in the prison he was sentenced to? That had to be soul-crushing especially with the added baggage of revealing that dark part of his life to the public in order to get that sentence,

"He was a wreck yesterday. None of them knew until they got back from Metropolis," the mournful expression was back on Stephanie's face as she took another sip of the hot chocolate, "It was like the week after his deathiversary only louder, angrier, more explosive, and then he didn't want to see or talk to anyone, not even Dick could get through to him," Livia nodded silently, remembering how melancholic Darren had been in the wake of his death day, quiet, unresponsive and overall apathetic…uncaring. The mood stretched through to his birthday though he was a bit more present by then, but it was clear he was still haunted by the past. This time it seemed Darren zeroed in on his rage, disbelief, and hatred rather than closing himself off…or at least it started that way. Now it appeared he was right back where he'd been two and a half weeks ago,

"I should have been there for him," Livia muttered. That's what girlfriends were supposed to do, they were supposed to be there for their boyfriends when they needed them the most. But Livia hadn't been there. She didn't even know anything was wrong until Stephanie told her. While Darren was suffering and everyone else was trying to pick up the pieces, Livia had been off getting her ear pierced. The silver stud in her ear pulsed achingly as if in response to her guilt, it felt as if it weighed a hundred pounds now…as much as her guilt,

"He wouldn't have let you," Stephanie replied simply, "Don't feel guilty over something not even we could accomplish. He was going to blow at some point, this was just the catalyst. Besides, Dick's got him talking with Dinah, he'll be himself before you know it. That's why he's not in school,"

"You don't think the Court will use this as a means to start another war with us? They won't blame Darren, will they?" Livia wondered, they wouldn't last another dance with the Court and they couldn't afford to lose Darren a third time,

"How could they?" Stephanie scoffed, "How could Darren have done this? He was in Metropolis with Dick, Barbara, and Mikey since Saturday. We all know who really benefited from Powers's death. He was a liability." Livia merely nodded in agreement. The tentative ceasefire between the Bats and the Court of Owls hung in the balance by one simple little piece of tech. Tim was still searching through the contents of the Crowne flash drive, converting the information into an arsenal of defense against Gotham's greatest threat,

"Hey, where's Tim?" Livia wondered out loud at the thought of the drive, "And are Derek and Erik coming into school today?" Stephanie gulped down the last of the hot chocolate before answering,

"Tim had to go meet with a teacher or something," Steph replied, "Tim was really worried about Darren, I stopped by for a bit on Sunday to give some support I guess and Tim…well he hovered a bit, wouldn't let Darren be alone much to his annoyance I'm sure," Stephanie shrugged. With good reason Livia thought as she nodded along in silent agreement…which was really the best reaction she could provide at the moment.

Livia and Tim knew more than most the kind of maladaptive coping mechanisms Darren could fall prey to when pushed to these kinds of states. Not that he's fallen to using such methods, but it was still a risk that had Livia worried for Darren's wellbeing. As well as the fact that had Livia wondering whether anyone else besides Tim, herself and Canary had thought about Darren and the potential consequences of the moods he was sometimes thrown into, did they ever question how Darren coped—past or present—at all. Were they too worried about Darren's reaction and fragile trust to voice their true concerns or were they missing a huge piece of Darren's mentality,

"As for the Powers' spawn—," Stephanie continued, disdain in her tone "—I have no idea, why do you care?"

"I care because things have been testy since Darren started at this school with Derek and Erik also both attending…now things will most likely escalate," Livia huffed, "I mean…does anyone else know?"

"Livy, it was in the papers, on the news…everyone knows and everyone here is buzzing with it," Stephanie stated dryly,

"Ugh, just what Darren needs right now," Livia groaned, "Hopefully both Derek and Erik take time off. Whether or not they're actually mourning this 'loss' they at least need to put up the front of grieving. And hopefully, that will at least give Darren a respite in that regard,"

"Here's hoping," Stephanie sighed just as the warning bell rang for first period. Stephanie glanced at the packaged pain au chocolat,

"Want me to give that to Tim for Darren?" She asked, nodding at the treat as they started for the front entrance of the school a sea of students swarming through for the start of the day,

"Not a chance," Livia replied with a grin despite the dire circumstances, "You love these things as much as Darren does, you'd just end up eating it!"

"Rude!" Stephanie snorted, sticking out her tongue in a teasing farewell as they went their separate ways.


With a tired sigh, Tim poked his head into the Special Education classroom, knowing that perhaps Darren wouldn't want him interfering on his behalf but was doing so anyway on the grounds that getting behind on schoolwork was the least helpful thing for Darren during a time like this. The room was filled with more tables than desks, a smartboard at the front of the room while a row of whiteboards took up the back end along with a series of desks and computers against the wall leading to the entrance of the room. There was a wall of windows opposite the computers showing the street-level of the city. Not the prettiest of views but the windows let a lot of light into the room though was also perhaps a distraction as many cars flew by blaring their horns on occasion. Overall the room was bright and cheery as every high school classroom tried to be, diagrams and pictures decorated the walls and a few students sat working with a teacher their heads bent low over the table. Definitely, a kind of room Darren would despise, as he was not one to enjoy bright and cheery things.

Tim was not a special education student; in fact, he could probably teach half of the subjects the Academy offered. But Darren, due to his dyslexia, had been placed in the special education class to help not only his transition from home-schooling to mainstream schooling but also with managing the subjects his learning disability made more difficult. The class met at the start and end—first and last periods respectively—of the school day two times a week, and Darren hadn't been too pleased with the placement. Perhaps Darren thought it a childish notion or that it meant he wasn't as smart or adept as the other students attending GA which was bullshit and not the purpose of the program. It was also just not true. Darren was a very intelligent person, but his learning disability more often than not got in the way of Darren reaching his full potential. In Tim's perspective, learning to manage his dyslexia in a way that benefitted Darren, in the long run, was worth a little extra time with tutoring. But unfortunately, Darren didn't share Tim's perspective, nor did what Tim thought mattered…Darren preferred to make things difficult at the least opportune times. Not that such a thing was entirely Darren's fault…especially considering Darren's childhood…how he was raised, the environment that he was raised in…education took a back seat in the shadow of training. It was hard on Darren to even try or to accept help academically, even so, Tim didn't really understand Darren's consternation with the extra classes.

Darren wouldn't be attending special-ed that morning, he was in a therapy session with Dinah. Something that was definitely needed. Tim suppressed a grimace at the mere reminder of the state Darren had been in on Sunday. Darren wasn't in the wrong for reacting the way he did, hell Tim would have fallen apart if someone who had abused him for years on end got away with an untimely death instead of rotting in prison. It was infuriating and it was harrowing because it didn't just hurt Darren, it destroyed him. Tim hadn't expected such an explosive reaction from Darren, they were used to his silences…seclusions into his very self where there was barely a reaction at all. Though Tim knew even that hid a storm of emotions Darren couldn't quite understand or control. The Bats knew that the repression which protected Darren while with the Court of Owls had cracks…that it was as delicate as it was inviolable, another seeming paradox in itself…but only Tim knew how dire those cracks could become. The fear that Darren would break down and return to damaging coping mechanisms developed in secret while in the Nest rested heavier and heavier on Tim's shoulders as he waited for the proverbial axe to fall.

But it didn't…Darren's reaction remained external…reactive…explosive and dangerous in a very different way. Tim still couldn't leave his friend alone, not when Darren could flip like the toss of a dime and become a melancholic wreck unable to endure the swill of emotions he'd never learned to manage or understand as a child—only forced to repress those feelings until they were invisible, raging behind a fragile protective shell. The fear never left Tim. He wondered if it ever would after learning about Darren's most closely kept secret, his self-harm. Perhaps Tim's concerns were a bit different as the only way Darren could truly be harmed was by poisoning himself with the Serum. A poison that would kill Darren even at a lower concentration, over time the exposure would be the end of him—and that was something Darren could never come back from—a fact that haunted Tim even now.

Internally Tim knew the Serum dagger was gone, emptied of the Serum when Darren used the weapon to fight William…but the caution, the paranoia was still there. If Darren couldn't cope with something there was always the risk that he would find some other way to achieve the same release from whatever mental trap he was in. What made that truth worse was the fact that Darren didn't even seem to care that the Serum could kill him if left exposed and without the Cure, just as long as it served its purpose.

Tim constantly wavered between wanting to share the secret Darren forced him to hide with the others—people with more authority than Tim himself—and wanting to keep Darren's trust. Tim didn't want to lose Darren or Darren's confidence. Two extremes that were very important to Tim, Darren's life and Darren's trust. Tim knew Darren, he knew how hard it was for Darren to trust others. He couldn't cross too many invisible lines or Darren would lose all faith in him. And Tim couldn't bear that even if whatever he did was for Darren's wellbeing. It was a hard place to be and Tim couldn't help but feel bitter on occasion because of that fact…irritated at the corner Darren had forced him into,

"Timothy Drake, right?" A voice pulled Tim back to the present and he blinked as a man in his early thirties with deep blue eyes and dark brown, almost black, hair loped over to where Tim stood by the door to the room, "I was told you'd be stopping by, what can I do for you?"

"Uh…just Tim and you're Mr. Davis, right?" Tim managed, too tired from a stress-filled night to hide the fact that the man had startled him,

"Just Al…and yeah that's me,"

"I'm collecting Darren Crowne's work for the day…he's not going to be at school today. Is there any work or anything you two were working on together that he should think about or focus on while doing the assignments for today?"

"Hmmm, well I would have something for you if Darren actually showed up for these classes…so no I don't," Al shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged an almost tired expression on his face, though real concern also showed through the teacher's posture,

"…What?" Tim monotoned, flabbergasted, almost too stunned to fully process the sentence though the implication pinged around the inside of his head vividly,

"Haven't seen hide nor tail of Darren since he started here. Came to one class and then bailed," Al replied, pausing as if considering something, "I thought that after a few weeks to adjust, he'd come back. But nada…he hasn't been here in weeks,"

"I see," Tim murmured mutedly, unsure of Al's angle on the matter,

"I can't help Darren if he doesn't come to these classes. It's not required for him to receive these services, but while he is enrolled, he needs to be here,"

"I understand that," Tim muttered dryly,

"I know you do…but that's beside the point. As of now, Darren is enrolled in the Special Ed program so I will need to tell the headmaster he's skipping this period…eventually,"

"Eventually?" Tim echoed, raising an eyebrow, wondering why Al was showing such leniency for skipping class,

"I'm not a rat…and Darren's a good kid. I know he's been through a lot; I don't know all the details…but I know it's a lot and I want to give him the benefit of the doubt. If he's struggling, I can at least help academically without getting him in trouble with the school. But that's only if he commits," Tim nodded silently, reigning in the urge to mutter how much of an understatement that was in regard to what Darren has been through but merely affirmed what Al wanted Tim to do,

"No promises, but I'll try and talk to him about this. And…thanks for not saying anything, that wouldn't have done you any favors. Trust me on that." With that, the bell rang, signaling the final warning to get to class and Tim turned on his heel hurrying out into the sea of students for his first period.

Deep down Tim was a little miffed by Darren skipping class. Perhaps not a vital class where a grade was earned but one that would really help him with the workload at Gotham Academy. If Darren had been hiding that, what else was he doing when he should be in school. Holes like this could be exploited and used to paint Darren in a bad way, especially with him being plastered all over the news and social media coverages as of late. If Darren didn't care for his growth and understanding of academics, then he should at least be concerned about the damage such a thing could potentially do in the long run.


"I don't understand why I'm here," Darren muttered as he shifted on the couch, settling into a familiar perch at its corner his arms tucked around his middle as if he were trying to keep warm. Perhaps Darren was feeling cold, maybe Darren was just trying to provide some defense against the thudding pulse of anxiety, tension, and pressure that was neatly and forcefully thrumming against his ribcage…or perhaps it was a futile attempt to hide his shaking hands as Dinah Lance-Queen regarded him from her seat on the other side of the coffee table.

Everything about the room was welcoming. Bright, quiet, trinkets scattered on shelving, a wall of floor to ceiling windows showing a bright but cloudy Gotham day. A steaming cup of hot chocolate sat on the dark wood coffee table, next to a plate of cookies. Darren eyed them mournfully, both wanting them all and restraining a part of himself that wanted to throw the plate against the plain white walls. Everything was calm and open and light…unfortunately that was the last thing that Darren wanted. Rage and anger and anguish had raged on within Darren like a typhoon all throughout Sunday tapering out until eventually…all Darren felt was emptiness, nothing…a blankness edged with a sagging weighted tiredness,

"Would you like me to recount?" Dinah questioned dryly, raising a light eyebrow. Darren pulled his gaze from the clock hanging by the door, lulling his head over to the side as he brought his attention to his therapist,

"Not particularly," he murmured shaking his head. Silently Darren clenched his hands, curled under him, into fists…almost desperate to feel his nails biting into his skin a little escape from the blooming nothingness,

"Darren," Canary stated, her tone firm…almost as if she were quietly scolding him…like she could see what he was really doing. Darren shifted uncomfortably letting his hands relax as he brought them out front to rest against his knees staring stone-faced at the clock on the wall once again, "You've faced a ton of triggers this weekend…these last few weeks let's be honest here…it's okay to not be okay. It's okay to fall apart…and… and lash out," Darren let out a bitter bark of laughter,

"Lash out?" Darren snorted, "I didn't…I didn't just lash out…I—I," Darren broke off, glancing over at Dinah sitting passively waiting for him to continue…open, nonjudgmental…welcoming. As she always was, as she had always been wherever Darren was concerned. Darren wavered there for a moment, floundering as if suddenly all words had escaped him, before—with effort—Darren shifted so his feet were on the floor, not the couch cushions and he was facing Dinah his hands clutching at his knees with a bowed head,

"I…I lost it, no not even that…I-I went a little insane," Darren stated cautiously, his voice wavering dangerously, "I…I was so overwhelmed and caught off guard by everything…by just the magnitude of anger and hate…and—and pain, fear…just the momentousness of-of…him. The cave felt like the safest place to go…to be…where I could just, just completely lose control," Silence held steady between therapist and patient…like the cloud that shrouded Darren numbing all he felt.

Darren remembered snippets of moments after burning the newspaper announcing Shepard's death. He remembered the blur of the manor as he raced for the nearest exit…the stone underneath his hand as he sprinted down the stairs and the sound of whirring gears as the robots of the simulation room activated locking Darren in a perpetual fighting match. Darren didn't remember most of what followed, everything a dark black blot on his memory. When that blackout faded there was only the awareness of scattered pieces of tin and steel, the hard concrete beneath his knees, bloody hands already healed but stained, the buzzing of electricity which made him flinch as a memory flourished in his mind of a similar sound and the smell of burning flesh—his skin—all at once his breathing hitched in his throat, catching as if he might be sick or scream or yell or cry…Darren didn't know which. It was then that the door to the simulation room opened and Dick hurried in, Darren didn't know if anyone else was there watching from the doorway or through the large window…they didn't register, nothing registered not even when Dick took hold of him and pulled him close refusing to let go even as Darren yelled and screamed—at the injustice, at himself, at Dick…at the world—until he was hoarse and the yelling just turned to ragged sobs as he slumped over against his cousin's shoulder and the anger, pain, and fear faded to numbness as Darren scrabbled, struggled, to pull the figurative fractured glass wall back up into place,

"And how do you feel now?" Dinah finally asked, jerking Darren from a silent reverie…pulling him back to the present and away from the past—well the very near past. Darren swallowed, considering how to respond,

"I—I don't," he replied hollowly, raising a hand to scrub tiredly at his face…Darren was just so exhausted…so unbelievable tired, all he wanted was to go home and go to sleep,

"You don't," Dinah echoed, "Are you consciously not feeling anything, or is this just another moment of apathy?"

"I don't know…either? Both?" Darren muttered, "Is there something I should be feeling?" Canary's lips quirked upwards into a semblance of a smirk as if humored by his response,

"Why don't you tell me?" she asked, shifting in her chair resting an elbow on the dark wooden arm her other hand resting lightly on her stomach. Darren was quiet for a moment at that request, cowed by it more likely,

"Um…guilt…shame…maybe regret,"

"Why's that?" Canary sat forward, resting her chin on her open palm clearly quite invested in Darren parsing out what should be felt in the wake of his meltdown,

"I…uh…broke a lot of stuff," Dinah raised an eyebrow now entirely amused,

"You 'broke a lot of stuff?'"

"I can fix it!" Darren stated, defensively, "I can fix it…I'll fix it,"

"All of it?"

"All of it," Darren echoed,

"Even the tech?"

"I…I, I'll fix the tech," Darren answered, feeling a rush of helplessness…he'd never been a great hacker even with Tim's teaching and Darren was an exceptionally worse programmer,

"You'll fix all 1.3 million dollars worth of damaged tech, on your own?" Darren's expression crumpled; he couldn't help it. The amount of monumentally expensive damage he wrought just because he couldn't manage his emotions at all was an overbearing weight on his shoulders,

"Bruce hates me…he's never liked me before but now he hates me. I'll never be Renegade again…he hates me, he hates what I've done," Breathing suddenly became more difficult even as Darren curled in on himself, the rush of panic and anxiety rung through his ears drowning out Canary's voice,

"—Darren…Darren, look at me," Finally, after what seemed like an eternity Darren looked up to see the smile long gone from Dinah's face,

"Bruce does not hate you…you think this is the first time one of his toys has been smashed to smithereens? No…it's not, it's happened dozens of times before, and Bruce will not hate you for finding the best outlet you could at that moment. That's not your fault,"

"I still did it!" Darren exclaimed,

"Yes…you did. My point though is that your emotions are valid…you have every right to feel everything you felt. You were hurt, you were angry and you felt betrayed by what happened…and that was too much for you," Darren nodded silently, the panic easing and the numbness fading though it still clung on strongly as if trying to tempt Darren to let it stay,

"But there are other ways to deal with your emotions when they boil over the way they did…right?" Darren nodded sullenly, "Tell me what they are,"

"I—I could draw," Darren whispered, "I could talk to you, or Dick or anyone if I wanted, I could wait and listen…and see what happens,"

"And why is that?" Dinah prompted, nodding lightly as if pleased,

"Because my emotions can change if I wait and let them," Darren had never really believed Dinah when she told him this…he was unwilling to try out of fear of what waiting would do to him. Afraid waiting for the tide to change would just open him up to other emotions he'd packed down and away, to what Darren had repressed from feeling. It was even harder to trust himself to wait instead of leaping at the easier means of release,

"Right…but you didn't,"

"I didn't," Darren agreed blandly,

"Because you didn't trust your family to be there for you in your moment of need and more importantly because you didn't trust yourself, Darren,"

"Trust is hard," Darren muttered, slowly and decidedly reaching for a cookie finding that perhaps he was hungry…after all Darren could never resist sweets,

"I know," Dinah stated softly, a touch of a smile on her face as she reached for a cookie of her own, "But we all need to start somewhere,"

"How can trust play into this?" Darren demanded, feeling another irritating flash of anger, the cookie crumbling in his suddenly too tight hold, "What does trust do? It just leaves the opportunity for disappointment...for lies and—and betrayal. It does nothing—they did nothing," 'They' a very clear descriptor despite no specification,

"—Your family gave you the information they had…the logical consequence to his crimes was imprisonment, they weren't lying—," Dinah's words were drowned out as Darren shot ahead, his speech becoming warbled with emotion,

"—He, he was supposed to be locked up…they said he'd be locked up for good…for the rest of his life!" Darren knew…he knew that Shepard wouldn't last…that his family's hopeful words were just that words…but still Darren believed them because Darren knew exactly what he'd do if he listened to himself and ignored their beliefs, their assurances that Shepard would suffer for what he did. Darren wanted that kill…he had wanted it for years, but he couldn't be the one to kill Shepard himself because that would jeopardize everything he had worked for since finding a place among the Bats. And now his chance was gone, robbed by the very people who forced Darren into Shepard's drunken hands in the first place, "It was too easy! He got off too easily," Silence echoed and Dinah's usually carefully neutral face wavered as she swallowed opening her mouth before pausing as if considering her response,

"I know," Dinah said finally, "And Darren I am so sorry," Her words fell on hollow ears…and yet, a slight weight was lifted from his chest and it felt less like an elephant was sitting on Darren, it was as if he could finally breathe again,

"What is there now…what can I do now?" Darren questioned…how can he make himself whole after what just happened,

"We heal…we work to mend the broken pieces because that's all we can do," Dinah answered, raising up her own mug of hot chocolate, "Together," Darren stared Dinah down, wondering how that could be enough…how he could ever smooth the broken edges of himself before robotically grasping the mug in front of him on the coffee table, mimicking Dinah's gesture,

"Together," Darren echoed and found that he almost meant it. Almost believed such a thing was possible. That would have to be enough, for now, that was all Darren would allow himself to taste by way of healing.


A/N: Hey guys! I hope you liked this chapter! It was certainly heavy but hopefully good to read and things flowed well.

First a quick update on the writing of this series. I'm still on chapter 16, I'm almost done with the first section of it. Usually, my chapters have three or four sections to them. So not a lot of progress which is frustrating to me. BUT I will have a week-long break for the holidays from work so I am aiming to get some mega writing done then!

Concerning this week's chapter:

Al, Darren's special ed tutor/teacher, is a nod to my chemistry tutor from high school. He was honestly the best, a really good and patient teacher and he'd just gotten married when he started so he'd always gush about his partner and he would always call me a "smarticle particle" and it honestly made me so happy. So I thought, why not. I sometimes do that with characters. :)

With Darren's therapy session, I at first felt it was too forced and also too laid back for such a heavy and harsh, and impactful thing that had happened. But I also think it makes sense that this would be more of a subdued session with attempts, mostly on Dinah's part, to guide things back to the way their sessions were. But, as in real life, no path to healing is linear so it's also completely understandable for things to backtrack. You guys also get a little insight as to what happened after Darren saw the news.

But what do you guys think of this chapter? I will say I'm a little disheartened by the lack of views and reviews, but it is the holiday season and I did start this back up after a long time away so it is understandable; I also know that FFN has been having some issues and some people aren't using the site like before which is fair. Regardless, some reviews would really help me see how I'm doing and how this story is being received. In short REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!