Chapter: 8

"You have got to be kidding me," Tim groaned, thumbing through one of Darren's many notebooks scattered across the table, "You have seriously got to be kidding me." Darren had the gall to look sheepish as he rifled through his backpack, filled to the brim with random bits of snacks and papers, some books, and notebooks, trying to find his physics homework. Pens had exploded inside the knapsack and were still there in pieces at the bottom of the bag along with skittles wrappers and soggy Cliff bars congealed into a gross mass within their wrappers,

"I told you my bag was a mess," Darren stated shrugging, an impish grin alighting his features having found what he was looking for brandishing the rumpled-looking piece of lined paper triumphantly, "See, I have done my physics homework!" Tim resisted the urge to thwack his head against the wooden table repeatedly,

"One. One subject out of seven," Tim hissed, they were in the special education room as much to Darren's disappointment he had a promise to uphold as did Tim on this matter. Tim had offered to stay with Darren during his second one-on-one session with Al since starting at Gotham Academy. It was in that moment, fifteen minutes before classes started that Darren requested Tim's help with an English assignment which turned into Tim discovering that Darren had not finished the majority of his coursework…well clearly except for physics…the unfinished work left no impact, no imprint of worry on Darren's mind; at least there was no visible distress that Tim could detect. It was almost impressive, Tim almost admired Darren's deep-rooted apathy while simultaneously being utterly distraught by it.

Tim had not known that Darren was such a disorganized and frankly, uncaring student with his work. Not only was Darren late on assignments, but his notetaking was sorely lacking if what Tim saw as he continued to flip through Darren's sparse, and empty notebook was any indication. The sheets were practically empty there were barely any notes on the pages. Though the notebook was filled with plenty of drawings; some of which Tim noted were quite good…and perhaps a little goofy, though one of the grizzlier depictions clearly resembled his English teacher…clearly these sketches were from boredom and lack of attentiveness rather than something significant or effortful on Darren's behalf as he didn't try and yank the notebook from him. Darren was very protective of his art and Tim was sure he wasn't the only one who wondered what Darren drew in times of internal struggle. With a huff of a breath, Tim fed up with the first notebook, tossed it back onto the table and instead reached for another to start looking through, disheartened to find the other book in a similar state,

"Did you take any notes? Any at all?" Tim questioned, unable to hide the irritation in his tone. Darren's grin faltered, turning rather quickly into a frown as he silently shrugged his response looking somewhat concerned by Tim's voice. Tim took a deep breath; it wasn't that he was mad or upset with Darren…perhaps he was a little, but it was more so worry for Darren's ability to keep up with the standards of Gotham Academy. Falling behind was not an option, and he was sure Darren would not enjoy retaking a course or even the year if he failed. Darren's indifferent attitude toward his own education was understandable…education wasn't exactly a priority in the Nest, though the Owls made sure their Talons knew and understood enough; but the lack of effort and importance, though not in intelligence, was reflected in Darren's behavior with his own work and studies,

"I took some notes," Darren protested, gesturing to a few pages of scrawling notes in large, nearly illegible handwriting,

"I can't even read any of this…can you read any of this?" Tim stated, showing the page to Darren who squinted at his own handwriting thoughtfully, a determined expression on his face which wavered into a slightly dismayed frown as he shook his head. Tim suppressed another sigh,

"It's not my fault!" Darren insisted indignantly, "The teachers speak too fast, or change the slide or erase the board before I get everything down…I can barely read it all let alone process it along with whatever they're nattering on about verbally all the while trying to write that all down as well!" Tim opened his mouth to say 'just ask the teacher to slow down or go back' before shutting it again, realizing how annoyed he'd be if someone told him that…and Tim knew sometimes it wasn't that easy to ask that of a teacher especially for Darren as someone who had grown up fearing people with seemingly vast amounts of authority over every aspect of his life. An influential position, even a meager mundane teacher, would have a significant amount of control from Darren's point of view, control he couldn't afford to give up,

"I mean…what's the point?" Darren continued tonelessly, shrugging once more,

"I'm sure we can request some accommodation for you to bring a laptop to class instead of taking handwritten notes," Tim replied matter of factly, ignoring Darren's statement. Some teachers at Gotham Academy allowed laptops in class others were adamantly against them…Tim was sure through the services offered by the Academy that it would be possible for Darren to forgo any teachers' rules regarding laptops easily,

"No," Darren said tightly, shifting in his seat uncomfortable at the notion of seeking aide from anywhere else, "No shortcuts,"

"Dare, it would really help with your classes…there's nothing to go off of here, how would you study from this?" Tim flicked his hand at the messy unreadable notebook,

"Does it matter?" Darren muttered, again rather monotoned, once more. Tim gritted his teeth, unsure of what to say to that…unable to quite verbalize the importance of at least trying in a way that would mean something to Darren,

"It matters," Tim stated lamely, taking up the sheet of physics homework and flattening it out as best he could, "Perhaps you don't see it, but it does matter." Tim couldn't help but feel surprised as he read through the homework, most of it if not all of it—even the questions relating to the mathematical application of theoretical notions—was correct. It was almost a relief, if anything at least one assignment was completed,

"What?" Darren questioned, his expression guarded perhaps misreading Tim's approving expression for something negative,

"So, you can barely get through your math homework without a conniption and a headache, but you can whiz through physics with no issues whatsoever?" Tim put on a teasing tone, but he was genuinely curious as to what the difference was for Darren…if he could parse it out perhaps Tim could make Darren's understanding of math more manageable,

"I uh…I don't know," Darren stated, unsure of how to react and perhaps relieved to hear something positive for once since sitting down, "I guess it just…I don't know…feels different?" Darren scrunched his face up as he spoke, as if uncertain of his word choice. Tim nodded silently, filing that away for later before reaching for the clearly unopened and unread English book,

"So, what do you have against Macbeth?" Darren's expression soured further,

"The font, the writing…everything. Reading is hard enough as it is, old made-up English? That's a million times worse,"

"At least you know a lot of it's made up," Tim stated with a grin,

"All words are made up though," Darren monotoned. Tim rolled his eyes,

"C'mon, we can only get through so much before Al gets here," Darren's expression became more guarded at the mention of Al, and his gaze tracked around the room, pausing on the doorway a bit longer before continuing his once over of the space as if assessing the area for some kind of threat.

Tim couldn't help but bristle with nerves at that reaction. This deal that they agreed upon could go more than one way and Darren's unwillingness to try indicated that it would go poorly…though Tim wanted to remain optimistic he couldn't help but resign himself to that fact especially since Darren seemed so insistent on not helping himself in the scope of his education. Though all the same, Tim wasn't trained in teaching people who had difficulties with learning…Al had that expertise, and hopefully would breakthrough differently and more effectively and succeed in a way that Tim's efforts had not been able to.

Darren himself didn't seem that on edge, he seemed in less of a dark place than before though what happened with Lydia was still a mystery. Darren hadn't said anything to Tim about why he needed to see the Court of Owls's Grandmaster or what the conversation had been about. Though it seemed whatever the discussion was, it hadn't left a mark or a toll on Darren's mind or behavior…at least not in a way Tim could see or interpret. Darren was very good at hiding or disguising his emotions…and perhaps that manipulation of himself was due to his own misunderstanding of what he felt or even the bouts of apathy that arose more often than not. Darren didn't seem to remember sleepwalking the night before, which was a relief. He, of course, didn't remember those moments very often but on occasion, he did wake up before getting guided back to bed. The deep slumber was a relief to Tim, as it meant his conversation with Dick in the hallway hadn't been somehow overheard by Darren, and while perhaps puppeteering things behind Darren's back wasn't the best course of action…it might also be the only kind of action taken at all,

"So what language are you working on?" Tim asked,

"Right now? Bulgarian and Farsi," Darren replied a grimace on his face and Tim had to suppress a chuckle,

"I meant at GA, not at home,"

"Oh!" Darren barked, blinking, "Uh…Latin,"

"So, a cakewalk?" Tim questioned and Darren grinned nodding his answer.

Languages weren't the easiest for Darren to pick up, but he was actually attempting to learn multiple languages along with the rest of the Bats. His Romani was exceptional, which made sense as Dick spoke it quite often around the house and Tim was sure at the penthouse, he, Darren, Mike, and Barbara shared, and Darren's Spanish was improving with Barbara's tutoring. Darren's Greek and French were also pretty good, though languages that were rather similar still got mixed up for Darren. As for Latin, the Court definitely provided enough background to make high school language courses somewhat easier and Darren also learned American Sign Language while in the Nest a skill that Tim still sometimes wondered about. He was curious as to who taught Darren and their significance to Darren's past…but wouldn't bring that subject up unless Darren did so organically; which hadn't happened as of yet,

"Okay, so which will it be…math or English?" Tim stated, "We do not have that much time left," Darren bit at the skin around his thumb, a nervous habit, a picture of concentration on his face,

"You…you do know what your math assignment is right?" Tim asked, realizing there wasn't a planner anywhere in the mess on the table nor in Darren's backpack. Tim also didn't have that class with Darren, he instead was in the AP calculus class with Livia,

"Uhhh…no?" Darren answered shrugging uncertainly. Tim couldn't help but let his head fall into his hands,

"Please don't tell me you are months behind on your coursework…,"

"No! I'm not…it's-it's just…things, things got worse…right after my birthday—," Tim had the courtesy to at least feel slightly bad for groaning over Darren's obvious struggle but all the same just didn't quite know what to say or how to sort out the enormity of mess Darren got himself into,

"Well, this is a change of pace," a new voice stated, Darren went rigid while Tim jerked his gaze up from the pile of books and notebooks to see Al standing near the door. Darren's demeanor took a one-eighty, leaving him with a dark and guarded expression,

"I'm glad you could make it," Al continued, oblivious to Darren's dark inattention as he walked over to the adjacent table and set his belongings down. A few other students meandered into the room, settling at other tables or the computers waiting for their respective teachers to enter the room. Darren remained silent, a reproachful scowl communicating his discomfort of the situation,

"I said I'd talk with him about coming back. And he's agreed to try again," Tim started, throwing Darren a look to which Darren curled his lip at in response, "I'm just going to tag along for a while…just until things adjust," Al raised an eyebrow at that,

"Don't you have class?" Al sounded more like a teacher right then and there than he had when Tim first spoke with him,

"I'm…I'll be fine. I'm sure you'll be writing a great note excusing my absence from my class…as this is beneficial to both Darren and yourself?" Tim grinned cheekily, all they while fixing Al with a piercing stare as if daring him to mess things up,

"As long as I don't hear from your teacher that your failing class. And this won't be a permanent thing, you've got your own education to maintain," Al stated seriously, his deep blue eyes solemn. Tim nodded his agreement, eyeing Darren out of the corner of his eye. Darren had explained his consternation with facing one on one periods with Al, but with Tim there as a third party he hoped Darren would ease up more than he had seemingly in the past few months,

"Of course. This is just for now," Tim replied calmly,

"Alright, let's get started," Al nodded toward the table he'd set his stuff down, and Darren reluctantly and haphazardly gathered his things before slouching over to the table his shoulders stiff and tense from something Tim couldn't ever understand.

Nonetheless, the lesson started smoothly and while Tim started off with a watchful eye on the duo—mystified by the calm demeanor Al had in the face of Darren's utter disorganization and disregard for academic work—he couldn't help but let his mind and attention wander. Tim silently fished out the holo-computer tablet he and Bruce had built out of old Wayne Enterprises equipment—the holo-screen setting turned off as he was in his civilian role at the moment though the features applied to the tablet were linked from the Batcave's computers—determined to uncover the mystery that was Charles Chamberlain as well as somehow deduce the significance and connection the man had to Darren; content with keeping his distance from Darren's time with his tutor. Tim typed away, glancing up every so often to see Al and Darren bent over a scrap of paper or a book. Darren was still rigid and hesitant, but Tim could see that this wasn't something Darren had expected from his special education courses or teacher.

Eventually, Tim stopped glancing up altogether, unable to avoid letting a satisfied smirk cross his face…feeling somewhat accomplished for getting Darren back into the classroom. Though the smirk faded as if almost by fate Tim unintentionally glanced up one more time near the end of the period to see—almost as if by slow-motion—everything ruined in a mere second. Al had meant well, moving to clap Darren on the shoulder in a congratulatory manner. Tim had already started to his feet a hand outstretched mouth opened in warning, but it was too late, the hand fell and so did the carefully constructed peace in the classroom.

Darren's reaction was immediate, a startle response well avoided by the members of their family but virtually unknown to anyone else. Al's arm was forcefully, fiercely, removed from Darren's shoulder as he shoved his chair back the legs screeching across the floor echoing Darren's resounding shout as he stumbled free of the chair, Tim numbly watched it crash to the ground causing several students to start at the noise and all attention swiveled to where Darren stood, eyes wild the silence in the room cut only by Darren's labored breathing. Al sat stunned; his hand still held out; mouth opened as if to say something…anything…to diffuse the situation. Tim hoped Al remained quiet, that he stayed seated and well away from Darren as he himself took a step closer. Darren jerked to attention at the movement, his mind clearly a million miles away but still aware of everyone there in the room even as Tim could hear the smattering whispers ebbing and flowing around the classroom; students reanimated all the while a flash of embarrassment crossed Darren's face, filtering through the panic and anguish still frozen on his face. He glanced around the room, looking for something or perhaps for an escape…and retreated even as Tim got closer before abruptly turning on his heels and fleeing the room.

Tim bit back a curse, moving to grab his bag before hurrying over to the table shoving everything that was Darren's into the crushed knapsack on the floor. Al shook himself as Tim reached over him for one of Darren's books,

"I…I didn't mean to do anything. I was just—," he shook his head at a loss for words. Perhaps Al felt guilty or was concerned by Darren's strong reaction…more so he seemed to think it was his fault though he knew nothing about Darren's sensitivity to being touched,

"It wasn't you," Tim stated tersely, distractedly, grabbing at pencils as they rolled towards the edge of the table, "Trust me…it's, it's more complicated than that. You didn't know. I'm going after him, we probably won't be back before the end of the period. Just-just don't take this personally." With that said, Tim hurried out of the room, searching frantically for a panic-stricken Talon somewhere within Gotham Academy's walls.


Tim almost lost hope at finding Darren, the school was built like a cathedral…a fortress…huge and mysterious, and perfect to disappear within. Tim zigzagged through the mass of students as the bell rang signaling the end of first period…perhaps another trigger for Darren. Loud alarms and a swarm of people in close quarters. He went to the cafeteria, seeing very few students milling around waiting for early lunch to begin while others were bent over books. Darren might have gone to the roof, though Tim knew that in moments like these it wasn't always the sense of freedom found in the view of an open sky and the wind blowing across his face, it was more often found in something grounding…anchoring. In moments like these Darren sought the comfort of something centering and real. When the past haunted Darren the skies wouldn't always help, the height and sense of freedom wouldn't help because, in the past, that freedom wasn't real…in that cage, that mindset, that Darren was trapped in, the reality wasn't of freedom and peace. The rooftop wouldn't help…but neither would isolation.

Checking the courtyard at the center of the school revealed a few students working diligently or listening to something through headphones but no Darren. The courtyard had floor-to-ceiling windows and was opened to the outside as there was no roof though it meant the area would be closed soon for the winter. It was a nice scenic place and somewhere Tim really thought Darren would have fled to, it was an atrium filled with plants, bushes, and trees. Stone benches ran around the perimeter of the squared area with a fountain filled with Koi fish…but with the windows, it was too open and too noticeable. Darren wouldn't have vanished there especially with the students present. Tim continued on, resisting the urge to call out Darren's name…as well as the need to contact Stephanie and Livia to help him locate Darren.

Tim had considered bringing the girls…and perhaps even Damian…in to help him find Darren. They knew Darren the best, they knew his mind or at least his mind when he's pulled into this instinctually panicked mode. But Tim ultimately decided against it, while it would have been helpful, too many people present could have the opposite effect. The others didn't know the context of the situation and on top of that Darren probably wouldn't want them to. As much as it irked Tim, he understood that Darren knew he would keep his secrets. Tim hadn't told Dick about skipping classes nor had he told Dick of Darren's visit to the Grandmaster…and of course, there was the even bigger secret that seemed to gnaw on Tim's strength and reserve, the secret of Darren's self-harm.

The more Tim considered the bigger picture of their friendship…the more he realized how many secrets were adding up. And all of them were on Darren's behalf, all of them were to prevent theoretical rejection…to protect Darren's paranoid idea that if these secrets were revealed it would be the end of everything good he built with the Bats. That their family would treat him differently…see him differently or toss him out, isolate him, take his role as Renegade away from him…but that wasn't the case. Tim knew his family well…Darren knew them too…but he couldn't see past that deep-rooted fear, the illusion that everything was a lie, a mere means to an end. And if anything, Darren's continued behavior would be what truly takes Renegade from his life. But Tim couldn't say that…certainly not right then and there, and perhaps not ever. Not until everything blew up like it probably inevitably would. The mere recognition of that fact sent Tim's stomach twisting in knots and he hurried his search of the school. As much as he hated the secrets he kept, Tim couldn't let Darren spiral, nor could he betray Darren's trust…the secrets must be kept.

Finally, Tim found Darren outside the back of the school, crouched in front of a crumbling stone wall tangled with patches of ivy sprinkled within loose stones and bricks, perhaps an old foundation for the school before it was renovated. Tim approached cautiously, letting both their bags drop a few feet from where Darren sat, knees to his chest his head bent with one hand grabbing at the browning grassy ground the other was tucked to his chest, as if feeling for his heartbeat or pulse or to clamp over his mouth if pulled too deep into a flashback of the Nest, his hand closed tightly in a fist resting just under his chin. Darren was mumbling…something…Tim couldn't quite pick up just what though as he came closer the words became easier to parse out,

"The grass…the trees…the sky…the grass…the trees…the sky," Darren's voice was small, rough, and shaky, but rhythmic and he almost rocked in time with the repeated phrases. Tim couldn't help but let a small—if not sad—smile cross his face, recognizing the method of how Black Canary would calm each of the Bats when faced with a panic attack. It was as if Darren couldn't get past the first step: 'what can you see?'

"That's right Darren…what do you see?" Tim spoke softly, carefully kneeling across from his friend and reaching out a hand. Darren stilled for a moment, his gaze darting to Tim before flitting back to the ground as he took a deep breath and with effort tore his hand from where it clenched at the earth instead gripping Tim by the wrist in a familiar trapeze artist hold, a nod to Dick and his love for flying on the trapeze as well as a meaningful sentiment to Darren's desire for freedom from the Court of Owls…from his past, "Tell me what you see,"

"The grass," Darren stated slowly, his breathing still unsteady, his eyes glazed from the past…from something Tim couldn't see or understand, "T-the trees," his gaze lifted from the ground to the few and sparse but still growing and vibrant treetops overhead,

"Good…what else?" Tim prompted, sitting back on his heels,

"The sky," Tim followed Darren's gaze to the cloudless day, the sun shining brightly despite the chill of the November air,

"What can you hear?"

"Children laughing…birds as they fly through the sky…a train whistle as it rolls into the station," Darren's voice was growing stronger and his breathing less labored, his sentences were more deliberate and less like repetitive and desperate phrases,

"What do you feel?" Tim questioned finally, the last step of this process,

"Your pulse…the wind…the sun, the heat from the sun," Darren's eyes were closed as he turned his head back towards the sky and his grip loosened on Tim's arm as he slowly pulled away. This time when Darren opened his eyes, they were less haunted, more there…aware…and less panicked,

"Better?" Tim asked gently and Darren nodded stiffly, not meeting his gaze, "It's alright…we both knew how you felt about this, and we both knew it wasn't going to be easy," Darren's jaw tightened as he crossed his arms over his chest, slumping back against the uneven walling shaking his head,

"I…I can't do it. I don't know why…I just, I just can't go in there and think of anyone but William and his fucking private lessons…I can't walk through the walls without hearing the alarms and sirens they used to keep us up all hours of the night…training us to be nocturnal, like a predator of the night," Darren scoffed and Tim remained silent unsure of how to respond, of what to say though he needn't have tried Darren plowed on his anger or anguish, or perhaps both, getting the better of him, "I can't sit in the cafeteria without seeing Talons gouging each other's eyes out over food or just for the sake of fighting…of proving their worth, like those senseless jocks and bullies I see prowling around the hallways," Darren's laugh was bitter and his gaze grew darker,

"Hey now, I'm technically one of those senseless jocks," Tim stated jokingly. Darren didn't seem to hear him as his hands slid to the tops of his knees, his knuckles turning white against the fabric of his uniform as he continued oblivious to anything Tim said,

"I can't walk around these halls without feeling eyes on me, without the feeling of being watched and observed and measured by others," Darren threw a hand at the security camera attached above the nearby doorway, "Everywhere I turn there's just more and more of the Court nestled in here…I know it's not real…I know these people are not them…that Al is not-not William or the Owlman or anyone connected to the Court, but I can't…I just can't get this from my mind when I hear the bell or see Al or hear people shouting in the lunchroom. It's all there and I don't know how to make it go away…I can't shift it or change or reimagine it…Tim, I can't draw this away…I can't leave…I'm trapped…I'm trapped," Darren's voice became breathless and hopeless…devoid of anything but anguish and despair and fear. Tim hurried to perform damage control…though he didn't know what kind of approach to take. The initial panic was gone, and it was clear the situation was prompted by something far and beyond from what happened in the special ed classroom.

There were moments when Tim wished he could see inside Darren's mind as if it would lead to the perfect way to calm him…a means to bring peace of mind when these moments of doubt and fear and past trauma reemerged but deep-down Tim knew that he wouldn't be able to bear it or understand it all in the way he'd hoped. Tim didn't know what to say…was there really some way to ease Darren's worry, to ease his panic and the connection he drew between his past with the Court of Owls and his time spent at the Academy? No one expected this outcome upon sending Darren to school. They all thought it would help, that it would ease his wariness of the world around him…push back against the paranoia and fear of his freedom being taken from him in a moment's notice; Tim was sure neither Dick or Barbara expected Darren to suffer as he seemed to while at school, nor did they want that for him. It seemed they had traded one prison for another—albeit a metaphorical one.

All the same, what else was there to do? Keeping Darren surrounded by familiar people and familiar places through homeschooling wasn't productive or positive and yet it seemed physically going to school was just as debilitating only in a different way, a darker way. In the end, Tim settled on familiarity to draw Darren from his mental rut,

"It's not all bad here Darren…you've got me, and Stephanie, and Livia; you even have Damian here," Tim stated mutedly, a crooked grin on his face attempting to lighten the mood with a meager attempt at humor…as Damian was less likely to be of assistance in this situation or be around as he was still in with the rest of the middle schoolers. Darren's expression lightened at the mention of their friends…though perhaps more so at the mention of Livia…but it fell just as quickly, a different kind of shadow crossing his face,

"Not forever," he murmured, "Not forever," Tim frowned, uncertain as to what Darren meant when the loud ringing of the bell sounded forcing a cry of surprise from Darren as he clapped his hands over his ears. Tim winced, they'd missed all of second period,

"This school isn't a cage…or a prison. It's a building, that's all. A building filled with students and teachers…who come and go when they please, the same as you. You're not in the Nest, Darren. William is dead. The Court can't touch you. You're not trapped," Tim opted for stating the facts, the things that are centered and grounded in reality. Substantive truths that even Darren couldn't deny and layered that against what Darren perceived as comparatively connected to the school,

"I'm not in the Nest," Darren whispered brokenly, his gaze downcast as he lowered his hands the trilling of the bell long faded away,

"You're with us…you're with your true family,"

"William is dead," Darren muttered, swallowing thickly at the mention of his great-grandfather his voice sounding stronger, surer of himself,

"Gone…for good," Tim stated, nodding along encouragingly,

"The Court can't hurt me…can't touch me," Darren's gaze leveled with Tim's own stare though his tone was filled with uncertainty,

"Not without damaging their organization in the process, they wouldn't risk that…we have all the leverage,"

"I'm not trapped," Darren parroted, his tone hollow—tired from the events of the day even as the day's just started—but strong,

"Not ever again," Tim agreed offering a hand to Darren as he rose, eager to get both of them back in the building and in their respective classes, and Darren, with clear effort, took the help up to his feet, "It's only a building. Only a building with people in it," Darren nodded silently and trudged after Tim as he turned back towards the school.

Tim darted through the hallways and much to Darren's consternation back towards the special ed classroom though didn't voice his discontent merely continued on, keeping pace behind Tim. The goal and Tim knew Al understood that he at least owed them this, was to get an excused absence note for their missed second period. There was a limited number of unexcused absences allowed by the Academy…and as a Bat, they tended to use up most of those absences. It didn't seem like Al would rat to the headmaster but the other students and teachers…they were more likely, and Tim didn't want Darren rattled to the internal edge once more that day.

With that in mind, Tim strode into the classroom, Darren still behind pressed against the wall out of sight as if he wanted to remain hidden…like he couldn't bear seeing Al's face or perhaps the sympathy and perceived pity Darren expected from strangers upon witnessing such an outburst. Tim paid no mind, determined to set things back on track.

Regardless, when Tim exited the room with two notes and a list of Darren's assignments to be completed the hallway was empty save for a few straggling students forced to endure a trek from one side of the building to the other.

Darren had vanished.


Darren wandered through the halls of Gotham Academy…his head throbbing with misery and anguish at the events of earlier that morning. Mortification ran deep as well as misery and self-loathing. His confession to Tim only added to the deep-rooted sense of panic and dread and all things negative that swirled over him like his own personal hailstorm, pounding him relentlessly and tirelessly. Darren ducked against walls or hid behind lockers when teachers came into sight passing by unaware of his presence or backtracked when they appeared chatting with another faculty member in the hallway. Darren dodged security cameras, feeling the prickling on the back of his neck…of eyes, so many eyes on him always. Paranoia was a spiteful thing. He could destroy those cameras if he wanted to, just reach up and crush them with his enhanced strength but Darren knew the trouble that would cause as well as the attention. Darren didn't want that, more importantly, Darren didn't want to disappoint Dick.

The numbing pulse of anxiety, thrumming under his skin, told Darren that he should return to class, he knew that Tim had put in effort to find him as well as cover their absence from class, but Darren found he didn't care. Darren couldn't care. As much as he tried, as hard as he tried…as much effort as he put in…Darren just couldn't care. There was no point, there was no reason, for Darren to care. What was this in the grand scheme of things, wasn't Darren so far beyond the bounds of schooling? Or was he so far down below…unable to appease, unable to perform, and unable to assimilate with the expectations and behaviors of others…the bounds of schooling? Darren realized it didn't matter…nothing did, the only thing that simmered within was a bitter sense of melancholy and the uncomfortable sense of overbearing anxiety…the rushing pinpricks of paranoia featherlight along with the two conjoined maladaptive sensations.

As Darren stumbled against a nearby wall, overall exhausted from this day, he clutched at his right wrist, eyeing it as if trying to find evidence of the ringed bitemark left there; shame and guilt coiling volatilely with the despondency and anxiety…melding into a swill of senseless overbearing emotions. He let loose a breath, and then another closing his eyes, Darren let his head lightly bump against the stone walls of Gotham Academy. Darren hadn't been able to stop himself…and an icy sense of dread barreled through his chest at that realization…such a compulsion was a thin gateway leading to something even worse and even darker, but he'd needed a sense of control. Something Darren craved…something Darren was desperate to obtain.

Another exhale as Darren tried to calm himself once more, tried to push things and thoughts and feelings away as he listened to the buzz of the school. The structure was not like a typical house, creaking and settling, it buzzed as if alive. Thrummed with the energy and voices of its occupants. Gotham Academy was no Baudelaire Castle, but its vitality was closely tied to those that dwelled within…voices could always be heard. Friends whispering in class, the scratches of pencils on paper, chalk against boards, the sound of fingers on keyboards, and thin voices of teachers lecturing about the Civil War. The school, while nauseating and unbearable…also settled what nerves and reservations Darren held onto; a paradox unto itself.

An offset of voices, loud and angry distracted Darren from his thoughts and wayward emotions…something unseemly was happening. Darren could hear jeering taunts and boisterous laughter echoing down the halls the sound made Darren's gut twist and his jaw clench in anger. It was unclear what prompted the verbal—maybe even physical—outcry, nothing was distinct, Darren just knew something sinister and vicious was occurring. For a moment Darren stood there, wavering between the sudden need to intervene and the desire to remain unknown…somewhat invisible within the web that was the high school hierarchy. Darren had never been one to follow the social standards interwoven within everyday life…he'd never had to interact with the implicit demands of social interactions before at least not in the same way regular civilians and students did. The concept was foreign to Darren, unheard of though the law of the Court was still fresh and barbarous as ever.

Uncertainty gnawed at Darren's mind, he knew there could be consequences to interfering especially if he went too far in his attempt to stop the bullies…he didn't think it would come to that, but his restraint had lapsed momentarily and with disastrous results when the news about Shepard landed, it was hard to trust himself around others when that kind of rage could become deadly. Darren needed to be as cautious as ever now around peers his own age, now that he was out in the open, out in the public. Gone was the bubble of protection that the manor and even the penthouse offered Darren, he was not surrounded by only family for when the past weighed too heavily or when whatever pushed him over the edge into a furious rage arose like before with the robots. The ability to hide was gone, nothing went unnoticed, and people stared, people judged…and people shared. While the potential for attention brought protection from the Court of Owls it also put Darren's enhanced abilities in danger of being discovered. Here, at school, Darren needed to rein in both his internally volatile turmoil and physical abilities…as difficult as it often was, it was all Darren could do to keep whatever anonymity he had.

Before Darren could slip away, avoiding the altercation altogether one voice echoing out above the others…familiar and jarring…grating on Darren's ears, but that wasn't what settled over Darren harshly, freezing him in place. A pitiful whimper reached Darren's ears, the resounding and pained, '…please…,' washed over Darren, pulling him to a time he didn't want to revisit and a time that equally made his blood boil. Before Darren even thought things through before he knew what he planned on doing by interfering, Darren was off following the noise to its source. An odd almost desperate need drove Darren forward, the sudden impulse to go, move forward, do something was so strong and unignorable. Darren rounded the corner and saw a crowd of seniors huddled in a ring around some guy—a freshman or sophomore—in the center of the hallway no windows leading out with a row of lockers along one side of the bricked walling, laughing, and shouting. There in the center stood Derek Powers, he leered over the crumpled guy, his black hair shining brilliantly against the backdrop of the white lighting in the hallway, his ice-blue eyes mirroring the cold cruelness found in Lydia's uncaring gaze with his mouth twisted in an identically vicious smirk Shepard once wore. Something twisted in Darren's chest at the sight of Derek standing over that kid, something like panic, fear, and rage rolled into one simmering emotion. Darren threw himself forward, the consequences and revealing the truth be damned…Derek was never going to be Shepard to anyone else not as long as Darren still breathed.

Darren pushed his way through the crowd of Derek's cronies, using a little more force than necessary—reveling in the bare taste of less restraint on his enhanced strength—Darren's gaze locked on Derek as he started forward, the leader of the pack, whether to hit or kick or yell something at the guy on the ground Darren didn't know. The reason or objective didn't matter. Darren only wanted to stop Derek, perhaps maybe even hurt the other teen with the cause of his father's death staring him down. The smile didn't break from Derek's face until Darren slid between him and the student on the ground. Only then did Derek rear back at the sight of Darren between him and his target. Darren didn't know what expression he wore only that Derek's expression stilled and shifted into something forcefully unreadable, reminiscent of Lydia's cold unreadable expressions, and he stumbled back a small step his body language bleeding wariness,

"Enough of this Derek, back off," Darren barked, his voice sounded harsh in his ears, but Darren didn't care.

The crowd around them grew silent, everyone stared. They knew the history that lay between Darren and the Powers. They knew—to a degree—what caused such a rift in the story of the ever-caring Powers. Derek's friends or lackeys, whichever, knew that Darren was the reason Shepard went to jail…and they knew that Shepard had died there, not even lasting a day in the hell Darren sent him to. What they didn't know was the underlying truth. The rest of the students didn't know the true reason for such tension between Derek and Darren, they didn't know about the Court of Owls or Darren's connection to them. They didn't know about Darren's strength, or his training or his inability to die by normal means…but Derek, Derek knew. He knew it all, he'd lived through it, in a very benign way, through an invisible glass window observing the chaos of Darren's life without truly understanding it. Darren felt rage simmering dangerously under his skin…but couldn't walk away, not now, not this time. He couldn't put his head down,

"This doesn't concern you," Derek snapped, his town haughty…entitled. Darren glowered as Derek's gaze scanned the pack of his friends, Derek was putting on a front…Darren could hear how Derek's heart pounded in his chest. Derek was afraid or at least nervous about what Darren's involvement meant socially and well...he worried about what Darren intended to do. Darren couldn't help but let a slow, small smirk grace his face,

"You made it my concern the moment you decided to take a page out of Shepard's book," Derek flinched, a small, pained jerk, at the mention of his father a glimmer of emotional vulnerability flickering across his face before anger drew him closer to Darren…nearly in his face. Darren didn't budge though the hair on his arms prickled at Derek's nearness, the desire to smash Derek's skull in with his bare hands only intensifying,

"Don't you dare mention my father," Derek hissed, "It's your fault…it's all your fault!"

"I didn't make that call," Darren stated evenly, his voice low though it still carried in the empty hall, "You know exactly who did,"

"Shut up!" Derek yelled, using both hands to shove at Darren only Derek merely rebounded instead Darren not moving an inch even with the sheer amount of force behind the shove. The downed student remained huddled on the floor behind Darren, perhaps too stunned to move, or like the rest were mesmerized by the standoff between the two ex-'brothers,'

"You can ask her all about it!" Darren taunted, unable to hide the glimmer of glee he felt at Derek's stricken expression. But the visible distress vanished quickly, replaced by a twisted sneer,

"At least I have a mother to talk with—," Darren forgot about the others around them as he threw himself forward, shoving Derek with somewhat excessive force into the lockers behind the ring of students. The metal screeched and groaned by the force of impact and Derek let out a small gasp as he stumbled back to his feet,

"Knock it off Derek. We both know how this will end. Let bygones be bygones. We've said enough," Darren muttered wearily…hoping no one noticed the dented locker doors, still creaking behind Derek,

"And eventually, you'll have no one left. Everyone will be gone, like her, you'll be alone…again," Derek wheezed, taking a step closer to Darren only to be flung back again as Darren again lunged forward, nearly a blur, a hand pushing Derek back into the lockers catching him on the slight rebound and pinning him there by the chest. Derek hissed as if pained and Darren loosened his hold though Derek still scrabbled at his wrist fury in his cold blue eyes,

"I said that's enough," Darren snarled, his expression dark if only to hide the visible distress those words—those very true words—had on him, ringing around his head. Derek merely snorted relaxing into a macho façade of toughness,

"Whatever," his gaze slid to the still armadillo-crouched student behind Darren, "My point got across, let's go, this hallway's gotten a little too… pathetic…for us," Derek grinned at Darren's minuscule flinch at his words his expectant gaze moving from Darren's face to the hand still pinning him in place. Darren merely stared at Derek for a long-drawn-out moment before pushing off Derek's chest a bit more forcefully than necessary—as if to tear through his rib cage and gouge out his heart—causing Derek to blanch wide-eyed with fear, letting his own grin slowly form. Darren let that small thrill of satisfaction trill down his spine as the rest of the goonies dispersed leaving Darren and the other student behind,

"Hey, are you alright?" Darren questioned, glancing down at the guy as he peeked from behind the elbow thrown across his face. He didn't offer a hand up for the student, Darren avoided the gesture as much as possible—with the exception of a panic attack on his part—the possibility of being grabbed and thrown into a wall too severe for any real comfort in shaking hands,

"I-I…y-you…I, thanks," the guy finally stammered out as he slowly rose to his feet. Darren gave him a once over, determining that he was perhaps a sophomore, not very tall, and on the slight side with blue eyes and roguishly long dyed light blue hair which was starting to bleed back to blond. Perhaps a summer dye job that was growing out for the school year or he would have gotten in trouble already…Livia was still petitioning to revoke that rule from the Academy, she missed her streaks of color. Darren personally never understood the concept of dyeing hair, though he did find the color choices and styling fascinating,

"No problem. Anytime. I'm Darren—,"

"—I know who you are, everyone knows who you are," Darren wasn't sure how he felt about that. There was a pause, a chasm of silence between them as if they were both wondering where to go from there. Whether to continue talking or to go their separate ways, the ever-present issue found in high school and perhaps even adulthood,

"What's your name?" that felt like a safe option,

"Sal," Before Darren could say anything else, the bell trilled causing him to grimace, wincing at the piercing noise. If the newly named Sal noticed, he didn't say anything, which was a relief. Though the grimace was also at the realization that he'd skipped both second and third period, that would surely be noticed by someone. Darren needed to be careful, he didn't want to worry Dick or raise attention to his discomfort and indifference at school,

"Well Sal, I have lunch now…you free?"


A/N: Hope you guys liked this chapter!

To start, I do want to emphasize here that Darren's seemingly struggle with academics is not borne from his learning difficulties, it's strictly his lack of motivation. As in it's not a matter of his intelligence more so his inability to care about something as mundane as his education. Darren is an extremely intelligent character, even if he doesn't present as one. Tim can see it, he knows it. But applying that knowledge to 'mundane' things like schooling, homework and tests just aren't melding well for Darren. So Tim's meddling is him trying to change that for Darren. Tim is exceptionally academically inclined so while he understands why Darren may be struggling in a new environment with so many new people and authority figures, he equally doesn't understand why Darren can't just actively work to show his intelligence where he thinks/believes it matters. Which in part is why his meddling isn't working exactly as he wants. I hope that got across in this chapter and in the chapters discussing schooling beforehand.

Another thing I wanted to note, and also something I hope got across, is kind of the slow but steady downward spiral that Darren is seemingly going through. I mentioned it a little bit in the last few chapters, but it's definitely still present. And I want to say that it's not coming from just anywhere or out of the blue (which again, I hope is getting across). It started with his death day as mentioned, followed by the stress and emotional impact of the trial, which Darren couldn't partake directly in due to the impact of his deathday and the overall trauma of facing Shepard, and the whole of the city in reality. Exposing himself in such a way is in itself traumatizing (ie reason 1001 why the US Criminal Legal System re-traumatizes its victims). Then his birthday just wasn't what it could have been because of everything. Then Charles Chamberlain popped up threatening everything Darren had established with the blackmail and his life as it was. And finally, Shepard died, way before his time in Darren's mind and by someone else's hand. Lydia's actions behind his back also added to that strain. So these little moments of 'compulsion' are physical representations of the metaphorical fraying of Darren's practiced repression, coping, and everything in between.

Finally, the introduction of Sal was...honestly unexpected. He's not going to be an extremely important character, but he will still be significant in Darren's development as a character. He'll be there but not strictly as another OC...he's more like an NPC tbh, like Allison. He was also inspired by the character Sal in SallyFace. I have no idea why I wanted there to be a SallyFace related character in this story...but here he is. Enjoy.

So, overall, hope you enjoyed this chapter. As usual PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW. I look forward to your thoughts and opinions so much! And they really do help with my writing. So definitely leave them when you can.