A/N: So sorry, I totally forgot when the last time I posted was. Here's the slightly belated chapter!


Chapter: 7

The Powers's penthouse was dark when Darren finally worked up the courage to grapple up the building, but Darren knew better than to trust a supposedly empty house. The Powers had a manor out near where Wayne manor resided but as of late stuck with the penthouse they also owned. It was unclear what prompted their sudden preference of the penthouse in the heart of Gotham City, perhaps it was a legal play to distance themselves from Darren and the accusation he posited of them or maybe they kept with the penthouse for longer to be closer to Eric when he'd been in a coma. Darren personally, secretly, hoped that it was out of fear…with him so close to Powers manor they risked an angered Talon going after them in the dead of night…Darren wanted them to have just a little taste of the fear he'd lived with for ten years of his life.

Uncertainty gnawed at Darren's backbone, writhing in his gut almost painfully as he silently entered the Powers's home finding Lydia with ease exactly where he knew she'd be after a long difficult day. Darren had to learn both Powers' habits, patterns of behavior…it was a survival tactic…a way to protect himself from his supposed guardians. Darren picked up on Shepard's drunken vices early on in his time with the Powers, learned when to make himself scarce, though it didn't often work. The glimmer of that memory forced a scowl over Darren's features…the darkened memories only adding to his growing apprehension, but he forced that all away. He couldn't be weak in front of Lydia, not when she was the Grandmaster and certainly not if Darren wanted his ultimatum to hold out.

With Lydia, her habits were subtle. She never wanted them known by others, but Darren picked them apart, piece by piece. He had to; he had no other means to protect himself from both husband and wife. Lydia sat at the island counter of the kitchen, across from the living room and the balcony that Darren had grappled up to, a decanter of wine in front of her a glass filled almost to the rim. Shepard may have been greedy with his vices—though he did not require as such to make Darren's life a living hell—Lydia preferred a drink to herself, alone in the dark to muse and wonder…perhaps even pick through he own demons,

"Lydia," Darren stated, his voice rough but it carried as he crossed over into the dining and kitchen area. Lydia stiffened but did not jump, instead her gaze slid over to Darren narrowing into a glare. Slowly and deliberately, she took a sip from her glass her back straight and eyes ever cold as they zeroed in on Darren.

All at once, Darren felt very small…as if he were staring up at Lydia, a five-year-old again, scared, and lonely and confused. A cold hand gripped Darren's heart as he shook himself mentally, forcing all memories away…he couldn't break down, he couldn't succumb to panic or fear or dread…he couldn't revert…not now, not in front of Lydia. Darren couldn't ruin this…he needed to be a Talon, he needed Darren—younger and older—to disappear at least just for a while. He needed that transformative energy, what he conjured when confronted by Charles in Metropolis, to drive away whatever humanity tugged at his psyche,

"We need to talk," was all Darren managed, as he curled his hand into a hard fist trying in vain to keep himself together. It had never been like this when Darren was young…he'd been afraid…but not petrified by the enormity of what he'd endured. Perhaps the difference was in confronting the abuse instead of avoiding it…pursuing everything emotionally associated with his upbringing by the Court of Owls as well as his ten years with the Powers was in itself triggering or maybe it was just the knowledge that it happened and could easily happen again and again despite Darren's strength, speed and ability to heal; despite his freedom from the Court and the Powers and despite the flash drive primed to destroy everything the Court worked for should they step out of line. Or maybe even worse, this reaction to the past was because the protections Darren created around himself and his mind to survive the Court, survive the Powers—that glass wall ten years in the making that kept everything at bay, those little boxes pushed back to the deepest darkest corners of Darren's mind—were failing…they were faltering and deteriorating bringing to mind yet again his fear of everything—his emotions, his control, his restraint, his sense of self—crumbling around him internally as it had with Shepard, with William, with all of them Owls and Talons alike…as it could again with no way out, no way to fix things and no way to rebuild.

Lydia looked away, her glare now on her drink as if studying the dark red liquid within the clear delicate glass,

"Can you not grant us a moment of peace to grieve?" Lydia monotoned, with a bite her tone nothing but ice. Darren refused to be cowed, and he wouldn't let the memory of Shepard—the weapon Lydia tossed at Darren—stop his need for answers and perhaps even action,

"To 'grieve?'" Darren spat, a sudden anger writhing in his gut erasing any fear, "You and I both know what really happened, that was no suicide…or accident. And we both know who ordered that hit," Lydia's expression was thunderous, and the glass came down on the granite countertop rather harshly, liquid sloshing almost over the thin rim as Lydia turned to face Darren fully,

"You and I both know I had no choice. I had to tie up your loose ends to protect my family," The shadows of the room darkened Lydia's ice blue eyes and streaked her light blond hair with the façade of darker colors, as if she were merging into the shadows, "If you hadn't stepped out of line my husband would still be alive,"

"Your narcissism is showing," Darren stated dryly, and Lydia threw him a withering look,

"Says the boy who made everything about him, says the boy who destroyed my family, pulled us through the mud and grime out of petty revenge," her grin savage in the cruel light of the moon,

"I gave you every chance, every opportunity, to help me," Darren couldn't help but take her bait, anger and pain running through him, "But you just let him…hurt me…it's all led up to this, Lydia. This is your bed, that you made…and I'm here to make sure you lie in it," Darren took out the Talon dagger and held it up to the glimmering moonlight.

For a moment Lydia stared speechless, a glimmer of fear in her eyes even as her expression morphed from a scowl into a seething snarl, as if concluding that Darren was there to kill her once and for all. Darren allowed himself a moment of satisfaction before plunging the weapon into the granite countertop which cracked with ease under his enhanced strength,

"Does this look familiar?" Lydia eyed the blade with apprehension before her expression schooled into something less impassioned, an expression fit for the ice queen that she was,

"Why should it? That's not something I would use," Lydia shrugged, taking another light swing from her glass,

"But something your Talons would," Darren interjected, the cup stilled on its way back to Lydia's lips, her expression twisting into what resembled a scowling smirk,

"You are a Talon," Lydia pointed out, tilting her head and her cup toward Darren by way of acknowledgment and while perhaps something that would be deemed lighthearted banter in any other instance, it felt more like an accusation coming from Lydia, "That could easily be yours,"

"Except I found this in the possession of a boy, a street rat. A rather specific genre of young impressionable kids…a familiar method of recruitment for Talons by the Court of Owls," Darren hissed through clenched teeth.

Lydia's grin only widened, almost sense of sinister glee on her face,

"Your paranoia is showing," she almost cooed, "Perhaps you're losing your nerve, blackmail is a difficult thing to uphold, trust me I would know," It seemed to almost make her laugh, the control they both desired connecting them by one thin strand. Darren pushed that sickening thought away, he was nothing like Lydia, his ultimatum was to protect innocent people—himself, if not necessarily innocent, included—not control them. Instead, Darren leaned forward, bracing his hands on the cool countertop,

"Or perhaps you're forgetting what's at stake," his words had a bite to them, they were testy, primed for a fight. That got Lydia's attention and the grin fell away from her face,

"Your supposed dirt you have against us aside, I don't know how that child got possession of such a dangerous weapon. That blade almost killed my son, in fact—," Lydia paused, almost as if realizing something a sudden gleam in her eye, "—If it weren't for that witch, he would be dead. Dead…dead…dead,"

Darren stiffened, almost blanching, realizing Lydia was talking about Livia, there were no other witches in Gotham at least none that would invoke such a response from Darren. Livia healed Erik…that was how he survived. Darren had told Dick himself that Erik shouldn't have been able to survive such a wound, even a scratch, from a Serum infused weapon. It was impossible…yet…Livia made it so, she had saved Erik. But Livia never told Darren, she'd kept that from him. Though both Darren and Livia had their secrets and knew not when to push the other, that fact…not quite hurt Darren but filled him with uncertainty which was exactly Lydia's intention as she attentively watched for some reaction to scroll across Darren's face. Darren wouldn't give Lydia the satisfaction as he pushed whatever conflicted feelings he had deep deep down and instead forced himself to focus on his goal,

"And yet that is where I found it. You're recruiting Talons, going directly against my demands—,"

"—Please any Talon could have dropped a weapon anywhere you know how often they throw the damn things! —,"

"—Talons pick up after themselves, they backtrack. It's a common method used by Talons to lure children off the streets and into the Nest…by dropping a weapon something they could use…something to draw them in. You weren't trained by them, you wouldn't know!" Silence rang.

Darren glared darkly at Lydia knowing he'd let his frustration get the better of him, while Lydia merely frowned at Darren her expression flippant. She could claim all the deniability she wants; Darren would never believe her…and she knew he would never jeopardize his freedom not truly, not if it meant losing his only leverage. It was a catch-22, a paradox,

"Talons are so rarely leashed by the demands of a child," Lydia finally stated, her voice cold and commanding, "Eventually they will get riled into a frenzy…the likes of which not even the Night of Owls could compare."

Darren let out a sigh, pushing back from the countertop. He'd had enough of this conversation, he'd never get the real information he wanted…but he could enforce his demands once more by playing on Lydia's vulnerabilities namely her precarious position in the Court especially after the near miss they had with Shepard and the standstill standoff they had with Darren which was hurting their operations more than Shepard's imprisonment ever could,

"If you can't keep control of the Talons then I'll have no choice but to use what I have against you. Or perhaps the others will realize they chose the wrong Grandmaster," Darren said with a shrug, "After all, I think it reflects rather poorly on the person in charge if their zealots won't even protect the leaders…the Owls…they're supposed to obey," Lydia's expression wavered, still dark and full of malice but laced with a touch of fear. Darren suppressed a sly grin as he turned, facing the exit to the balcony as he started back across the apartment,

"Perhaps I can find use of more agreeable Grandmasters…the Zellerbachs could take control or maybe the Duprees?" Darren glanced back, knowing he wouldn't get a reaction from Lydia, but he could hear her heart stutter from recognition and nerves.

It was a risk to use names from the list Tim compiled off the flash drive, but they needed to know the extent of its accuracy as well as to assert the seriousness of the threat that Darren and the Bats posed. All of it was still risky but Darren needed an edge, he needed to maintain his control over himself and his enemies…at least until a more permanent solution made itself known,

"Now, perhaps you could act upon this little morsel of what I have on the Court, but that would only confirm the truth and significance of it all and well…you and I both know a few names could easily turn into a list…and a list that can become hits for a very pretty penny," Darren paused, throwing one more dark look at Lydia who sat very still, her hand still wrapped tightly around the glass. She looked very alone right then and there, in the dark…but Darren did not feel bad, he felt no remorse for threatening her…not in the slightest. Lydia had ten whole years to make a worthwhile effort, her failure was Darren's reward, and he would take it if it meant surviving another year,

"Control your lackeys or I will control you," Darren spat, turning to face the way out once more a large expanse of windows showing the familiar and comforting Gotham skyline, an almost feline predatory grace emanating through him as he stalked towards the exit, "I do, after all, know two boys who you'd despair to lose." Darren hated to say it, hated to say the words…not that he particularly cared for Lydia's sons. But he needed to make a mark, he needed to play dirty and when opportunity knocked Darren would use it. Lydia knew what it meant if she pushed back or threatened anyone involved with the Bats…she was stuck, and Darren would make sure she stayed there.

Darren fled the Powers's penthouse with the crescendo of Lydia's resounding screech, and the sound of crunching glass as she threw the wine after him, rattling his eardrums.


Livia stifled a yawn, throwing a tired scowl at the antique clock ticking lightly in the corner of the grand study within House of Mystery. It was well past midnight, and frankly, past Livia's preferred bedtime when not spending the night with Darren. Constantine had pulled out a chair and sat across it backwards, resting his arms on its back with an eyebrow raised,

"Well…have at it love, bottoms up or you'll be drooling in maths tomorrow." Livia's scowl fell to the glass vial the magician had handed her the moment she stepped through the portal he'd sent for her. Traveling by portal to the House of Mystery was safer than teleporting and roaming the various planes of reality to get there, if only Livia had known that the first time she sought out the grumpy old Brit. The potion was one that reserved the person's energy, allowing them to remain awake without much consequence. Supposedly once the drinker of said potion decided to sleep, it was deep enough that they could last through the day fully rested. The potion sounded almost too good to be true, but it was also something Livia needed if she was going to survive high school, ballet and magical training.

With Livia's busy schedule during the day—consisting of school, ballet practice for five hours after school was out ending at around seven at night every day, eight at night on Fridays and with her forced therapy sessions with Dinah during the extra hour Livia had off before ballet began that day and finally only one day off on Sundays—there was no room for the promised magical training Constantine offered. Livia refused to give up dancing, it was part of her life just as magic was, and the therapy sessions were appeasing her father while also giving some substance to the money being put into those sessions. Not that Livia disliked the talks she has with Dinah, it was only really the method Alaric took getting her there that rubbed Livia the wrong way. So, the only other option was at night when everyone else was asleep.

Since ballet took place during the day on Saturday, their lessons could continue in the early evening giving Livia a night off to relax and make up for lost hours of sleep. That first evening Constantine taught her how to create magical wards, around herself and her bedroom, home…anywhere that may need protection. Livia had instinctually known the basics, but Constantine taught her how to make them stronger, and long-distance which made these lessons possible. If anyone drew within the wards' perimeter, Livia would get a magical alert and arrive back to her bedroom in the blink of an eye. Wards could also deflect some magical attacks as well as hide a magical aura something Livia may need now that she is in essence Chaos personified,

"Any day now," Constantine drawled, pulling a box of cigarettes from his pants pocket. His usual long trench coat was hung up neatly on a coatrack by the entrance to the study, across from the large round table that stood to Livia's left with the roaring fire off to her right, the ornate fireplace mantel bathed in the soft glow of the flames. Bookshelves ranged across what was left of the walls, scattered portraits and paintings lined the walling above. From what Livia saw of the desk, picture frames were placed there. One was of a young girl with bright brown eyes, the other of a man with a kind smiling face. Livia didn't know the significance of the pictures, and when asked Constantine merely said they were a 'reminder'. A reminder of what, Livia couldn't parse out. The large Aemula reflected the room from its place in the center of the table giving a near 360-degree view of the study, including the light green glow emitting from the glass in Livia's hand,

"Does it have to be green?" Livia questioned, making a face. Constantine didn't look up, his attention on the silver lighter in hand, shrugging in response,

"I don't control the potion colors,"

"Couldn't they just be neutral…or clear? Like water?" Constantine rolled his eyes,

"You do this every time, just drink the damn thing,"

"Do you drink it?" Livia asked, genuinely curious. Constantine stopped in the motion of putting away the lighter, the end of the cigarette glowing lightly,

"Does it matter?"

"You could be slowly poisoning me as a lesson demonstrating not to take magical potions from strangers for all I know!" Constantine let out a snort, a grin forming around the cig,

"Hm, what a brilliant idea, I'll have to try that out sometime,"

"I was joking! Do not slowly poison me…I've had enough of that from the curse," Livia stated hurriedly, throwing back the potion as quickly as possible trying not to gag on the taste. Immediately Livia felt less tired, not exactly energized but more so Zen…like she could run for hours without truly feeling tired, as such that's exactly what Livia was going to do with her magic, though it felt slightly better knowing it wasn't going to kill her. The strain of the curse was gone, but the stress of other different…but similar…problems remained amplifying an underlying sense of unease, something Livia hoped Constantine was too much of a prick to pick up on,

"Alright, let's get going then. Show me some magic, love. Show me something elemental,"

"Don't call me love…and are you serious? I can already control all elements. Water. Earth. Fire. Air," Livia, as she spoke, pulled water from the glass on the table holding it there before letting it splash back into the cup. Next, she made the ground around them rumble—cracks formed in the marble fireplace mantel—before pulling flames from the crackling fire juggling them around and sending them back for whence they came. Finally, Livia formed a mini tornado on the palm of her left hand by using the pointer finger of her right, pushing it away to extinguish Constantine's cigarette with a smirk, "I'm basically the Avatar," Livia stated, crossing her arms feeling pleased with herself.

Constantine was quiet, his eyes hopping from one elemental display to the next before finally taking the blown-out cigarette from his mouth and tossing it in the bin. With a sigh he tapped out another and stuck it between his lips,

"Yeah…not many witches or magicians can claim control over each of the elements, especially without speaking. And certainly not many can do so with so much glee at causing destruction with their lack of control,"

"What?" Livia's hands dropped as she suddenly felt a bit of nerves at the criticism. Constantine, raising an exasperated eyebrow, gesturing first to the spilled water drenching the table a long loose tendril of water snaking around the Aemula, next to the cracked fireplace mantel and soot covered floor before finally gesturing to his smoldering cigarette in the trash, "I didn't mean for any of that to happen—okay, I did mean to blow out your death stick, but other than that it was unintentional—and it wasn't glee!"

"Does this happen often? When you use your powers?" Constantine questioned. Livia considered the past, remembering all the flickering or blown out lights, the broken mirrors, and cracked windows…the lockers from way back when as well as the destruction she wrought over the graffiti covering her own locker,

"Uh…I mean…most of the time that doesn't happen," Livia answered with an attempt at an at-ease smile. Constantine's piercing light eyed stare was intimidating, nerves were eating at her and this wasn't the first time that's happened during a lesson.

Perhaps it was the fact that Constantine only agreed to help her learn magic to keep any eye on her. A budding new Embodiment of Chaos with little to no proper magical training was the universe's worst nightmare. Livia knew what it would mean if Klarion peeked out a little too much for comfort in the wake of the Merging Ritual: an exorcism. An unclear method to excise the demon from her…something Livia was less likely to survive now that her magical essence was tethered with Klarion's magical essence. There was no telling whether it worked but Constantine made it clear that if the universe was at stake because Livia forced his hand in merging a demon to a human host, he would do whatever it took to keep the universe safe. Even if it meant destroying her in the process. Not an ideal learning environment with the threat of that dangling over her head, but Livia's dealt with worse.

Though in reality…beyond the true intention of Constantine's lessons… Livia's nerves were most likely caused by the blackouts, or what she assumed were blackouts, that she was having. No one knew…and the stud in her ear ached as if to remind Livia of the fact that not even she knew how she got the piece of jewelry…Livia intended to keep it that way,

"Magic can be reactive…it can be emotionally reactive, especially for young magicians, witches, magic-users, etc. But the key to powerful spellcasting, is control. If you're not in control the magic leeches out of the spell and into the surrounding area, causing destruction. That is not effective, it uses energy and risks burnout,"

"Speak for yourself," Livia couldn't help but mutter. As a Baudelaire, her power reserves were deeper than other witches even when cursed…as the Embodiment of Chaos…not even Livia had thought to test their limit which brought a slight smirk to Livia's face, she couldn't help it. Constantine on the other hand was not amused,

"Control, means none of this," he gestured at the destruction,

"I can fix it!" Livia insisted, raising a hand to do just that,

"No," Constantine's voice was stern, Livia dropped her hand cowed by his tone, "No…you cannot just go back and undo things. That won't work every time. Control is refined over years of practice…because of your ancestry and the fact that you're now the embodiment of Chaos that paints a new target on your back right alongside the one there from birth...you don't have that time. You're behind, not just by years, but by decades at least in the context of the amount of power you have consolidated. Others won't be so inclined to wait for you to 'fix things' and there are many who would love to down you in a fight. You can't afford to make shoddy magic…you must learn to do this right, or you will regret it," Livia swallowed thickly, knowing without context that Constantine was speaking from experience.

It was nothing new to know that Livia was at risk by merely existing. Her family had been feared, hated, and sought after by other magicians for centuries. It wasn't only the threat of Klarion that forced her family and its various branches into hiding…it was the magical community itself. The Baudelaires made a name for themselves throughout history, some were notorious…others were revered, and others just hid, blending in with the mundane world to survive. All that history had bled down to Livia, she was the last of the direct family line and centuries old magic—power—was entirely hers. Livia knew there were dangers, she's even faced some of them…demons, Talons, assassins…but nothing of the magical variety. Witch hunters still existed, and they were nothing like the Salem Witch Trial leaders, witches, and magic-users themselves were a threat to Livia. Wanting to use her and her power or steal it or to kill her for even existing at all. But Livia had only met three members of the magical community all of whom were in league with the world's finest heroes—aside from Constantine whose allegiance lay elsewhere—they were no real threat to Livia, at least not entirely,

"It doesn't happen every time…when Darren was shot at the gala a few months ago, he couldn't heal in front of the EMTs…I used magic to get us to the hospital faster. I healed Erik Powers from a deadly condition. I pulled my father's necklace out of the frozen ground…I can teleport," Livia stated, desperately as if trying to prove that she was more adept than she seemed,

"That was instinctive magic…a bit different than actual spellwork," Constantine mused, "Though it appears you can work under pressure, the spell with the ambulance was impressive, though could also be a one off," Livia, beamed with the praise though turned to a scowl at his backhanded compliment,

"For someone with no formal training…I'd say that was good," Livia muttered, irritated. The lights around them danced, flickering as if uneased. Livia grimaced as Constantine threw her a look,

"Yes. For someone with no formal training, that is impressive. But instinctive magic comes from within, it is easier to maintain and control. Spelled magic, as in spoken magic, is external…it's pulled from the words we say and the magical essence—mana—around us. That's why words are used, it's like a funnel…a way to channel the energies we're pulling from the environment. Your family was powerful, but even they need to speak on occasion to perform complex magics,"

"Yes, I know this. I've used spoken magic before," Livia sighed, trying in vain not to roll her eyes,

"My point," Constantine started, sounded exasperated. Clearly picking up on Livia's annoyance, "is that your elemental magic should be spoken magic but because of your family's innate abilities, power reserves and later their melded demonic magical lineage it isn't anymore. That ability went from being something external to something internal. You need to refine it, channel it…find the right combination in order to make it work with no wobbles,"

"And how do I do that?" Livia retorted, "How do I make something internal external?"

"Practice," Constantine stated with a smirk, gesturing to the still half full cup of water, "This time, freeze the water." Livia nodded determined and readied herself, moving to use her ability over air to freeze the water only to be stopped by Constantine's head shaking as if he could tell what he had in mind—perhaps he did, Livia needed to strengthen her mental protections now more than ever,

"No…not with air. Use your control over water,"

"What?" Livia questioned, irked, "How do I use water to freeze water?"

"Ice is just another form of water, isn't it?" Livia scoffed,

"Well yeah, so is water vapor,"

"Then I believe you've answered your question," Constantine stated, putting out his cigarette and tossing it in the trash alongside the first one, moving to cross his arms expectantly. Livia grimaced, but attempted what was asked, irritation writhing within.

When Livia agreed to take on Constantine as a magical teacher, she expected more progression…more complex magic…but he had her going through what she understood as the basics. Livia could already control the elements…yes, her control needed work, but that magic was there. There were hundreds of things she still didn't know. She could teleport but not make a portal, she could only do, let alone complete or read, a mere few of the spells in her Book of Shadows and there were things like pocket dimensions, Astral projection, wall phasing and so much more that she still couldn't even dream of learning on her own. But here was Livia, turning water into ice.

In her attempt to create ice, Livia's irritation bubbling like a steaming kettle threw itself in the manifestation of fire. As Livia concentrated, a hand outstretched with her fingers slowly curling into a fist—a gesture that felt right in her attempt to control the elements—the water boiled instead of freezing forming a condensed cloud which became dark and heavy. Lightning flashed within the stormy cloud, rain following not long after. Livia gaped at her creation, flushing with embarrassment at her mistake and clear lack of control,

"Well, you've managed to make quite an impressive mini-hurricane," Constantine stated cheerfully, "But again, I asked for ice…not stormy weather," with a gesture, Constantine dissipated the cloud while Livia ran a hand over her face, more stressed than she was willing to admit,

"I swear I have more control over my magic…I, I don't know what's gotten into me," Constantine was quiet, or as Livia sensed, cautious as he regarded Livia carefully,

"Has this happened with your magic before? Or is this recent," numbing panic coated Livia's stomach as she realized that the lack of control might not be her fault…it could be caused by the merge, or even worse the part of Klarion that was still cognizant, that still existed somewhere within. Livia couldn't let Constantine think anything was wrong,

"No…I-I don't think so. But I also haven't really been using my magic as of late, only instinctive stuff really,"

"You need to use your magic. Not only is it like a muscle—something that grows weaker when out of practice—but it's also dangerous not to use your abilities. You need to let it out or it builds like a pressure on your mind, body, your very soul. It can drive witches and magician's mad if they don't use their ability...why do you think the witch hunts in Salem started? Young witches who couldn't practice freely paid the price as did the majority of their coven. You need to practice, and you need to let your magic out in some way,"

"I…I think I felt that when my magic was coming in again after getting rid of the bracelet, it suppressed my powers. I was scared…so I didn't use my magic, I fought against it, and it just burst out…like a whirlwind of chaotic energy. I felt better afterward…but I think it's also because of the curse, I'm a bit afraid to use my magic. What if the curse is somehow not broken? And using my magic just makes everything worse?"

Livia didn't mean to get deep and personal with Constantine, but it felt nice to have someone understand or at least attempt to understand her deepest fear…that somehow everything was done for nothing, that the curse was still plaguing her, and the next bout of magic would be her last and that she would hurt her family in the process. Constantine's expression softened, sensing her deeper anxiety most likely…though it was still in part because of her growing sense of worry regarding the different kind of blackouts she'd been experiencing, not that he'd ever know. Livia couldn't tell if these were blackouts…they did not occur during waking hours when she was aware, and in the aftermath, she felt different; she felt drained, run-down…exhausted as if she'd been running an obstacle course for hours,

"The curse is broken, you can practice magic freely now with only some consequences," Livia snapped to attention, pushing her inner thoughts aside. Constantine meant it to be funny, but it fell flat, and silence puddled between them. The pregnant pause lengthened until Constantine finally glanced over at Livia, a glimmer of cautious concern on his face, "Have you been feeling differently…has your magic changed in any way apart from your lack of usage…are you feeling dizzy, sick, not quite yourself?"

"No," Livia answered, almost breathlessly,

"Any moments of confusion, lost time…blackouts?"

"No," Livia answered, much too quickly it seemed so she followed up desperately trying to downplay her defensiveness, "No…I'm fine. Really,"

"We need to make sure you are safe from his control," Constantine said, voicing the fear everyone's had since the completion of the Merging Ritual, the possibility that Klarion was still there, still aware and vying for control over his host's body. A fear that grew stronger, and more truthful day by day if Livia's suspicions about herself were true… more and more evidence supported her worries which echoed the concerns of her friends and allies,

"Then I need protection," Livia forced herself to say, changing the topic, "I know how to create wards, but I need something that was effective even against Klarion," Livia fumbled with her bag, trying to hide her trembling hands with too fast movements as she opened the desired pocket and levitated out her family's necklace.

The necklace had provided Livia with protection from Klarion for the year he plagued her, and it had protected her family for generations from his wrath. But now, as it was spelled against Klarion and Klarion's power, Livia could no longer wear it. The metal seared and burned against her skin…and though she longed to wear it again no spell was erasing the effect,

"Can you fix this so I can wear it without burning to death?" Livia asked, a hopeful note in her voice,

"I can't," Constantine answered with a frown, "Only the spellcaster can undo the magic placed upon the pendant. You'd have to find them,"

"Well, that's impossible, the spell was cast centuries ago," Livia groaned, discouraged. This was the only piece of her past that Livia had, aside from her Book of Shadows nothing else remained…nothing physical or sentimental at least,

"Well then find one of their descendants," Constantine shrugged, seeming nonchalant about crushing her dreams…he should be chalant, very chalant,

"Is there no other way?"

"I could find a Siphoner…but they're rare and I'd have to explain the nature of the magic placed upon the necklace. It might bring unwanted attention on you. You're still in training, you don't want to face another magician on your own right now, especially so soon after the Merging Ritual and especially not a Siphoner,"

"What's a Siphoner?" Livia questioned, green-gold eyes bright at the prospect of learning more about the magical side of herself,

"A Siphoner is a witch born with no magic of their own…but they can siphon and steal magic from other sources be it a person or object. They can take the magic from that necklace…but even worse they can take your own magic if face to face,"

"Could it replenish?" Livia wondered,

"Eventually…though most Siphoners are not the nicest. They're like the Parasite, they'll take and take until their victim is nothing more than a husk of what they used to be…and it could kill you faster than any curse could,"

"So that's not an option then," Livia sighed, upset,

"I didn't say that…but it would be risky. How badly do you want this necklace?" Constantine asked, he seemed to be seriously considering helping Livia with this endeavor. A realization that shocked Livia but also made her suspicious…she's learned that Constantine rarely did things without an ulterior motive,

"Badly," Livia answered, "But isn't there another way? Alicio said the family that made this necklace is still around…couldn't we find them?"

"Not 'we,'" Constantine stated sternly, "The fact that the world doesn't know where you are or that you even exist is part of what's keeping you safe. You aren't going to seek out magicians or witches…not until you have a better handle on your powers, old and new. The world doesn't know there's been a change in the lineage of the Embodiment of Chaos…so far only nature's recognized that and we're going to keep it that way,"

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you care about me," Livia mused dryly, "Thankfully I know better. You and I both know you're only worried about me waking up one day red-eyed and hellbent on destroying the universe,"

"And you and I both know exactly where I'd be the moment that does happen," Constantine answered steadily, though a flicker of something—regret, remorse…? —shown for the briefest of moments in his light blue gaze, "Let me see that," Constantine nodded at the necklace still twirling in the air, held magically by Livia. With a winning smile Livia tossed Constantine the pendant which he caught with ease, examining the piece of jewelry up close,

"A raven, huh?" He mused, before glancing over at Livia a wicked and jovial grin on his face, "I think I may have a lead on this…though, it will cost you," the smile fell away from Livia's face,

"Excuse me?"

"This is what most would call, 'you scratch my back, I scratch yours' in business," Livia rolled her eyes,

"What do you want?"

"I want some of your boyfriend's blood," Livia's stomach bottomed out at that, she had not been expecting that ultimatum,

"What do you want with Darren's blood?" She couldn't help but asked, endless possibilities rattling around her mind…endless things Constantine could use against her, paranoia clouded Livia's resolve...paranoia that felt strange and misplaced, she wasn't quite sure she was feeling such a thing herself. That realization confused her…though remained fueled by Constantine's request; Constantine would work against her, he'd said as much even as he helped her master her powers,

"He's an Anchor love, anything related to them is hard to come by…and they're handy when performing difficult spells. I can't use him like I could a cornerstone…I'm not heartless…so the next best thing is his blood," Constantine shrugged, as if he weren't discussing another human being who had gone through immense trauma within their very short lifetime…someone who wouldn't like their agency being taken from them for a mere magic trick,

"That's not an easy ask," Livia stated slowly,

"You said you needed the extra protection…and this is special to you. I'm sure you can make this work. Besides, there are many who would do much worse if they discovered your Talon's little Anchor secret."

Livia blanched at the truth of that statement, remembering Léa's near obsessive gaze in the prison world 'Perhaps I still have use for that Anchor as of yet…this needn't be the end.' The madwoman's words still haunted Livia and she couldn't help but worry—no fear—the possibility of Léa ever getting free. Constantine was right, it could be worse…but she needed to make it clear that this favor was a one-time thing,

"I'll try to make it happen—," Livia stated,

"—Great! I'll hold on to this then…," Constantine stated brightly, he started to pocket the necklace only to stop at Livia's distressed gasp, "What…it's not like you're getting any use out of this," Livia scowled,

"Fine. Keep it for now…and I'll try and get the blood, but only this once…anything more and I'll go straight to Zatanna. I'm sure she'll be interested in why you're using an Anchor for anything, as well as why you're teaching me magic. I don't think she'd be happy with your influence over the new Embodiment of Chaos, would she?"

"Touché," Constantine monotoned, holding his hand out to shake on it, "We've got ourselves a deal."


A scuffling bang followed by a soft murmuring voice woke Tim from a light sleep, he jerked awake fully shoving away from the hard wood of his desk disturbing papers and files resting there. He'd fallen asleep researching Charles Chamberlain for Darren. It was an odd request, one that fueled more than just a background check. Darren wouldn't ask for information on just anyone and he'd been cagey about who this person was and why he was of any interest. At first Tim worried he was one of the Owls on the flash drive's list, but no Chamberlain showed up in any of the files Tim's managed to gain access to, so that left other avenues to pursue. A simple routine search using national and international DMV records, or the equivalent to such an agency as well as biometric databases just to cover all bases in case this Chamberlain person was harder to track than anticipated.

In actuality, Charles Chamberlain was easy to find…almost too easy. The guy was a science teacher at the Metropolis School for the Deaf, he was widowed with two young daughters named Violet and Ruby, the oldest being twelve and the youngest nine. An uninteresting and mundane individual…a nobody by all accounts, and certainly someone insignificant to Darren. Something wasn't right, Tim had felt certain that there was more to the story…both for Darren's and Charles's. So, Tim started to dig deeper, sue him…he needed the truth. Darren wanted information and Tim didn't want to feed him lies or half-truths, he needed the whole story. The more Tim looked the more threads began to unravel, pieces of Charles background didn't make sense, there were little inconsistencies, instances of suspicious cover-ups, lies…half-truths and deceptions. Information that at a glance made sense but upon further investigation crumbled in the face of true unbridled logic. Tim followed these pieces down the virtual grapevine, watching as each metaphorically withered and died…he was getting closer to something, what that 'something' was at the end of the line Tim wasn't sure, but he was certain it was the truth.

As for Darren's inquiry of this man…Tim was uncertain and perhaps wary. Initially it was understandable, the Metropolis School for the Deaf was one of the places Dick and Barbara had been looking at for Mike, they'd even toured there recently. It made sense that Darren, being protective of the younger boy, wanted to make sure the school was secure for Mike should the kid want to attend. But with what Tim's found, he wasn't quite sure that Darren's concern rested with that of Mike's wellbeing. It was something else, something else entirely. And so, Tim leapt down the rabbit hole trying to uncover the truth about this mysterious Charles Chamberlain…and has not found the end of his fall as of yet. Hence, falling asleep at his desk.

With a groan, Tim straightened his stiff spine grimacing at the loud—yet satisfying—popping crack that sounded. The voice that had woken him slowly made its way further down the hall, toward Darren's room. With a frown Tim pushed back from his desk, turning not toward his bed for some much-needed sleep but strode instead to the bedroom door. Silently Tim poked his head out into the darkened hallway of the Manor's west wing…all the bedrooms were in this area of the house. The guest bedrooms were in the east wing where Darren had resided earlier on when he'd first moved into the manor. The kitchen, dining room, Bruce's office and living rooms—among other rooms not quite necessary for everyday living—were on the first floor in the main wing. The Attic rested above the entirety of the house though it wasn't such a steep climb from the wings of the house to the roof as Darren so often liked to prove. Tim could see Dick, leaning in close to Darren whispering quietly to his cousin his arms out as if ready to catch him not quite touching Darren but there at the ready. Darren's head was slumped forward, his movements sluggish and uncoordinated as he stumbled around following Dick's quiet guidance. Tim frowned at the sight, it was no secret or oddity that Darren sleptwalked from time to time and it was certainly no surprise that such an event would happen that night. The stress Darren was under as well as the tension from being forced to meet with Lydia must have done him in. Perhaps Tim should have anticipated this and set up a pile of clothes to knock Darren over, he knew Darren didn't like when these episodes of sleepwalking occurred and disliked it even more so to know that Tim, Dick, and other Bats living in the Manor or penthouse had to guide him back to bed. Though such a rough awakening wasn't very good to deal with either…perhaps they needed a better system for dealing with Darren's sleepwalking in general and to lessen the risk of him falling down the stairs.

Dick glanced up at the sound of Tim's door creaking open, throwing an apologetic smile Tim's way as he silently and somewhat effortlessly got Darren back into his room and to bed without waking the younger boy up. Tim silently walked over to Darren's bedroom door as Dick quietly shut it behind him,

"What are you doing up?" Tim questioned, nearly silently, Dick raised an eyebrow and gestured at Tim,

"I could ask the same thing," he stated simply, his tone just as quiet. Tim rolled his eyes,

"You woke me up…what are you even doing here?"

"Barbara said Darren didn't come back to the penthouse, I-I figured I better assume he was crashing at the manor instead of the worst," Dick lost his smile as he spoke an almost hard expression crossing his face. Tim nodded mutely, acknowledging with some regret the worry and fear Dick must constantly face with his cousin the target of the Court of Owls. In all reality, Dick was also a target of the Court being William Cobb's true choice in maintaining the Gray Son legacy…but Darren's constant betrayal and now his blackmail overshadowed that attention. Though none of that mattered now, William was dead and the threat he posed over both Dick and Darren gone along with his demise,

"I should have let you know…sorry,"

"Darren should have let me know," Dick corrected, before shrugging, "Though I guess I should have known he was here, he needed food after that run in with the pipe bomb…still, he knows how I feel about him just disappearing," Dick grimaced at that as if trying to decide how he felt about the situation as a whole,

"He's been dealing with a lot," Tim stated softly, almost hesitantly. Unsure if he was somehow saying too much,

"Yeah…I, I sometimes wonder—," Dick cut himself off, shaking his head and letting out a sigh, "—never mind,"

"Wonder what?" Tim asked, "Not talking about it won't make anything any better and it certainly won't change what's bothering you, it'll just fester until it bursts out at the worst possible moment," Dick's lips twitched up into a fond smile before disappearing altogether, a slight shadow crossing his face as he glanced toward Darren's door as if worried Darren could hear him,

"Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever really know him…know what he's feeling or thinking, especially when moments like this occur," Dick's shoulders slumped, as if weighed down by such a revelation. Tim couldn't help but feel conflicted by such a confession.

On one hand, Tim understood Dick's dilemma…he wouldn't lie and say the thought didn't cross his mind as well even when he was somehow—if not accidentally—privy to more of Darren's truth than the others. But on the other hand, it wasn't exactly fair to place the blame on Darren or on Dick…or on any of them. What Darren had been through…what he endured, no one should expect to overcome such trauma and emerge the same person. None of them expected it, though this was the only version of Darren they knew…someone that was hard to reach, someone who suffered even beyond what he'd lived through…someone who could not cope in the same way the rest of the Bats did,

"He still has nightmares…he still, just, fades away randomly…just disappears—goes somewhere else, in his head—even while he's there in the moment, he'll be riddled with anxiety one moment before turning silent and cold and just melancholic in the next…sometimes he'll be so fidgety and irritated—distracted too—that he can't sleep…on better nights he'll only sleep a few hours at a time, the times he gets through the night are rare and few…and of course, he obviously still sleepwalks," Dick ran a hand through his hair, an unconscious gesture one that showed how truly concerned he was for his cousin, "I know it's not Darren's fault. But it just makes me wonder…are we, am I, really doing everything we possibly can to help him?"

Tim unintentionally stiffened at that, his mouth going dry as his gaze darted to the door as if waiting for it to open with Darren's steady glare pinning Tim in place…reminding him of the promise he'd made all those months ago in the hospital. But that moment never came. The door remained closed and solidly wooden…though the memory—the weight—of what Tim promised was still there,

"We want to do what's best for him…we've been considering options…but we're unsure of what will happen. It's the potential outcome that's holding us back," Dick continued, his voice soft and steady though it seemed to echo through Tim's skull.

Was this the moment…was this when Tim decided to break his word and tell Dick his own worries for his friend, someone he'd come to consider his brother of a sort? Could he betray Darren like that even if it meant more directed action…a potentially positive outcome…at the cost of their friendship, at the cost of Darren's trust. It was moments like these, where the others, the rest of the Bats, were aware that something wasn't completely sound…that there was a volatility in Darren's behaviors, in his actions that were concerning. To Tim, it wasn't that hard to see but he had more insight than anyone else…and the others, the rest of the Bats, didn't want to see any part of themselves reflected to them. Perhaps they managed it well but the life they lived, it wore them down in varying ways—physically and mentally. Though Tim would admit, with Darren…it seemed to go beyond PTSD, especially with Darren's history of self-harm. Tim opened his mouth, ready to speak his mind…

…Only to close it once more, internally wincing at the realization that exposing Darren's secret, something he guarded so closely and fiercely—out of fear or necessity or out of shame, Tim didn't know nor could he comprehend Darren's thought process any more than anyone else—could potentially throw Darren over the edge, into a monumental tailspin. Tim had been there before, wavering on the precipice…he'd felt that weightless crashing fall and knew what it was like to continually pull himself out of that chasm over and over again. Tim couldn't be responsible for that; he couldn't put Darren through that after he'd faced that moment repeatedly himself. It pained Tim, but he instead redirected the conversation…only a little bit. It was clear the walls were closing in little by little in on Darren's wellbeing…Tim wouldn't slam them closed but he would push them inch by inch in the right direction. Darren may not agree, he may not like it…but it could be helpful…it would help him understand himself in a new light, it could help him make sense of everything he did and didn't feel and think and do,

"What did you have in mind?" Tim managed, swallowing thickly as if trying to clear his throat. Dick hesitated as if wary of revealing a plan already in the works before leaning in almost conspiratorially as if worried Darren might overhear,

"We asked Dinah for referrals…for psychiatrists and psychologists, whichever," Dick let out a breathless sigh, "We know she could diagnose, if necessary but we don't want to…disrupt…the rapport established between her and Darren,"

"You want to take a more pathological approach…you don't think just therapy is enough," Tim breathed,

"I know it probably sounds like the most hypocritical thing we could do given what we've all endured, but with Darren…it seems deeper, and we want to do what's best for him. We have names, we have the potential to follow through…but, it just hasn't felt right to do it behind his back, at least not yet. I mean look what happened with Livia and her father's actions," Dick murmured, concerned at once of Darren's reaction. Darren didn't take being cornered—literally and figuratively—very well especially from the people he trusted,

"Do it," the words slipped out before Tim could stop himself, and Dick jerked his head up, surprise in his gaze, "Do it…don't start anything yet…but put whoever seems the best in contact with Dinah, she has more insight on Darren then even you do,"

"I don't know if this is a good idea," Dick started, his expression wavering between determination and slight despair, "I don't want to lose him,"

"This might be a way to find him," Tim insisted. Let Darren keep his secret…for now that could be his. Let Darren dangle that promise over Tim's head…if Tim would have anything to do with Darren's wellbeing, any meddling done with the intention to help Darren cope and deal and face what he's been through…let it start with this, with this moment right here in pushing Dick into finding that help. Darren's grown up in the year he's been with the Bats, in the year it took for form a true and strong family with each and every one of the Bats—Waynes, Graysons, Todds and Drakes alike—it would hurt him…confuse him…maybe it would break his trust, but he'd find his way back again. Tim would have faith in that.

Tim would also have faith in Darren's desire to learn the truth about Charles Chamberlain…it would be enough to pull Darren from whatever he decided to fall to, anger or acceptance…or perhaps both…in the wake of Dick's revelation for potential psychiatric help.


A/N: Hope you liked this chapter guys! I honestly had so much fun writing the first section between Lydia and Darren. I think it was nice to see a little bit more of Darren's darker side, the one that's not reflected inwards. Will his threats have any consequences, perhaps, stay tuned to find out. And will he follow through on those threats if he has to...that's debatable...Darren is desperate enough to want to keep his freedom but at the cost of the Bats who knows?

Livia's chapter was also kind of fun, it was interesting to see her dynamic with Constantine also the fact that she was even taking lessons with him in the first place was also interesting. This section was kind of used to show that even if it seems like she has a handle on her powers, she is still a self-taught witch and has her own shortcomings when it comes to magic even though she is so powerful. I also wonder what Constantine wants Darren's blood for...and if Livia is desperate enough to actually get that amulet back. The introduction of Siphoners is important...and they are quite different from their namesake from the Vampire Diaries :)

Finally, the chapter with Tim and Dick was to show that although it doesn't seem like it, the others do realize Darren is struggling. They want to help, they want to find help for him, but they also knew the first time they brought him to Dinah was not necessarily the best method and they don't want to hurt Darren in the process of obtaining that help. So this section was to establish the baby steps being taken by Dick and Barbara for Darren. Remember, Darren is still a minor, in a sense Dick and Barbara can 'make' him go see a psychiatrist but they don't want to force that angle...at least not yet.

Hope you liked this and as always if you have a question, comment or concern PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!