Cassandra Cain is sixteen years old, and she's not really bothered about how she's probably going to be dead before the year is done.
Her father has raised her for this, and this alone. She is a weapon, forged by his hand, to be wielded by the Council, to push back against the forces of demons in the world.
Because of him, her Watcher, her father, she was perfectly prepared for that moment when the last Slayer died, and the power flooded through her.
She hadn't noticed right away; the change was a subtle thing, and for her, perhaps even more than for most of the girls like her around the world, the ones the Council calls "Potentials".
As a Potential, her destiny had been to learn, to train every day, until she was too old, and then... she wasn't actually sure what happened, then, after. Her father, her Watcher, he had been so sure that she would be Chosen, that the gifts would be hers.
But as the Slayer, her destiny is a different creature altogether. She has been transformed, from someone ordinary, to a perfect weapon, destined to fight against the forces of darkness.
She has been Called, and as such, she will tolerate no demon, no vampire, to stand in her way.
Traditionally, a Slayer is to defend their home, since it is taught that the Powers select a Slayer for location, more than for any virtue of the Slayer herself, but... that's not an option.
So Cassandra has decided to go to the hunting grounds of the last Slayer, because even if the other Slayer had finished the job, it might contain clues for where Cass should go next.
Gotham is fine. It's very different from Macao, but that is not necessarily a bad thing.
It does, however, have many vampires. Cassandra has only been in town for an hour, and already she has fought and staked three.
She holds Mister Pointy tightly, as she observes the two vampires meeting, from her position, hidden within the branches of a tree.
The male vampire, she recognizes from her father's books. Vampires can't be photographed, so the pictures of him are all drawings, but the artist managed to capture this vampire adequately, down to the streak of white in his hair.
The Red Hood.
He is a very dangerous vampire, and has killed a Slayer previously. Cassandra looks forward to staking him through the heart.
The blonde speaking to him is unusual. Their banter is light and easy, and Cassandra has been watching them for a while. The easy affection falling between them is strange. Perhaps this is romance? Vampires can't love, not really, but there is lust enough, and sometimes the vampires mistake that for love, according to her father's lessons.
But what is most fascinating about the blonde is that the Red Hood seems to defer to her. Not properly, not as if she were his sire, but there is respect there, and the way that he falls into step behind her...
She looks harmless, with her soft waves of hair and strange clothes, but the Red Hood himself looks young enough, and who is to say what appearance a powerful vampire will take? It is all a matter of surviving long enough to come to understand the depths of power, and the random chance of how strong a demon ends up in the human corpse.
Yes, it is best that she defeats the blonde first, even if Cassandra is eager to face down the vampire who succeeded in defeating a Slayer.
She follows the vampire, light on her feet, and waits until she is distracted by the lights of the road before striking.
The vampire reacts quickly, and Cass's entire world suddenly collapses inwards, as every sense that she has shifts, the world tilting on its axis, focusing in on this girl, with her dark blue eyes and golden hair. The thrill of the hunt sings in Cass's veins, and she follows up her initial attack, just as her father taught her to.
The vampire dodges, which is rare, but not entirely unexpected. Cass is fast, faster than most vampires, even before she was Callen, and became stronger still.
She counters with a kick, which Cass ducks easily, although she can sense the power packed behind it. The kind of strength that only a vampire—or, in Cass's case, a Slayer—can provide.
Cass watches with a vague sense of pleasure as the vampire realizes that she's outmatched, and begins to plan her retreat. Perhaps she's not as experience of a vampire as Cass had assumed, given how clearly, she projects her plan to Cass's enhanced senses.
The feint is pathetically projected, and Cass is almost disappointed as she cuts off the vampire's real method of escape, grabbing the vampire by the throat, preparing to reach into her jacket to fetch Mister Pointy to finish this off.
But under her fingertips, she can feel a heartbeat, racing.
Vampires don't have heartbeats.
She stares at the person in her grip, sees the flush in her cheeks, the way she's struggling to breathe, and the undeniable warmth beneath Cass's hands.
The warmth of a body, living and breathing.
Cass drops her instantly, her own heart thundering in her ears, loud enough to nearly drown out the human's desperate gasps for air.
"Who are you?"
"You attacked me! That's my question!" The girl's voice is hoarse, but she's already pulling herself up onto her knees, as if she's expecting to have to fight again.
"I am Cassandra," Cass says, her chin going up with pride. No matter what has happened, she has been granted this gift, and she will treasure it. "The Vampire Slayer."
"What?"
"The Vampire Slayer."
"No, I heard you! But that doesn't make sense!"
"And why is that?"
"Because I'm the Vampire Slayer!"
"Liar," Cass says, her eyes narrowing. "You were... socializing with one of them."
"What, Jason? He's—okay, I admit, that looks bad, but my Watcher says he's okay—anyways, you can't be the Slayer, because I'm her! And there's only one!"
"You can't be the Slayer," Cass says, reeling backwards as she stares at this girl with wide eyes. "Because I'm her!" She knows. There's the power in her veins, the strength and speed in her body. There can't be a mistake.
The blonde groans, as if this is some sort of minor inconvenience, rather than Cass's entire world falling apart. Cass... she has to be the Slayer. Father wouldn't have lied to her about this... he couldn't have.
"Okay, we need to go find my Watcher. He can sort things out. Where's yours?"
"Gone." That should be more painful than it is, but it's simply true.
"Right." Some sort of understanding seems to blossom on the supposed-Slayer's face. Well I'm Stephanie. Or Steph. Whichever you prefer."
"So?" Steph asks, a nervous energy bubbling up in her chest, pulling her between laughter and tears.
Cassandra The Vampire Slayer is impossible to ignore. She's short in stature and slender in frame, and covered in scars. She's not even looking at Steph, with her entire focus centered upon Bruce, who sets down his cell phone carefully on the desk.
"I've confirmed she is who she says she is, Stephanie."
"But... I'm the Slayer."
She never wanted to be, but she is. It's a fact of her life, just like the fact that she burned her dad to his death in a warehouse, just like the fact that her dreams have been full of fevered pictures of a little boy with green eyes dying in her arms,
"But you died, Steph," Tim says. "Remember?"
Steph crosses her arms, and reminds herself that the taste of salt on her lips is probably just sweat. "Oh. Right."
"Two Slayers?" Duke says, glancing up from the book he's been reading. "That seems... unheard of."
"It is." Bruce has a strange look on his face. "I'll have to contact the Council, inform them of your whereabouts," he says to Cassandra. "We'll set up a place for you to stay, while they assign you a new Watcher."
"Why does she need a new Watcher? She's here, isn't she? She has you."
Bruce sighs. "I sincerely doubt that the Council will allow this... unusual situation to remain solely under my supervision."
"One Watcher, one Slayer," Cassandra says. "It is how things are meant to be."
The scar that the Black Mask left on her throat itches something awful.
"Yeah, well, what's the fun in doing things the right way?" Steph says, struggling for levity. It falls flat, and Cassandra just gives her a strange look.
Steph meets Cassandra's gaze, and feels it again; the strange magnetism, a bizarre feeling that makes her both want to move as close to her as possible, but also to run away, because this is not right, not normal. Steph's instincts are clamoring loudly, unsure of how to react to this strange presence.
Part of Steph wants to grab the nearest sword and fight, another part wants to flee and never come back, and the rest of her...
Well.
The rest of her seems to be having a bit of a crisis.
Now is not the time for a gay awakening, but her brain has never done the smart thing, so here she is, definitely having one.
"Where are you from?" Tim asks. "If it's taken you this long to come to Gotham... I doubt you were Called nearby."
"Macao," Cassandra says, shortly. "My Watcher trained me there."
"Wait, you're already trained?" Harper demands.
"Of course."
"Most Slayers are," Bruce explains. "With some degree of accuracy, we're able to pinpoint certain girls who are likely candidates to become the next Slayer. Typically, a Potential is raised by a Watcher, and trained with every preparation for her destiny. Stephanie is outside of the norm."
Steph flinches, despite herself.
"Wait," Tim says. "I thought your Dad was your Watcher, before Bruce?"
Steph doesn't meet any of their eyes. "Yeah but... that was mostly because he was there already. I wasn't... raised that way."
"Explains a lot," Cassandra says, and Steph bristles, even though she has no right.
Bruce looks at Cassandra again. "Have you eaten? Let's get you some food. I've got a spare bedroom; we can get you set up in there while we make arrangements with the Council."
Cassandra's smile is brilliant, and Bruce places a hand on her shoulder and guides her out of the library.
Steph's stomach drops, and she immediately stops thinking about how pretty Cassandra's smile is.
"Oh," she says, staring at the closed door.
Bruce has a proper Slayer now. No need for the screw up who fed her dad to vampires and then burned him to death.
"Right, I'm going back on patrol," she says, not that Tim, Harper, or Duke seem to be listening.
Jealousy is a lousy feeling, but here she is, feeling it anyways.
It feels like it only takes a matter of days before it's as if Cass has been in Gotham her whole life, and absolutely proving without a shadow of a doubt that Steph is a horrible Slayer.
Bruce adores her, and who can even blame him? Cass is amazing. She's clever and quiet and better at Slaying than Steph and pretty and graceful and good with every weapon Bruce hands her.
She's the kind of Slayer that Bruce wishes he had been assigned, rather than an untrained screwup like Steph.
Steph throws open the doors to the library, in a horrible mood after a school day spent trying to avoid Oswald's attention and pass a French test—which she definitely failed, because of course she did, and draws to a complete stop, as she sees other people in the library.
"You should have told us, Bruce!" The man yelling is shorter than Bruce, with long black hair, drawn into a ponytail. His hands are occupied grabbing Bruce by the lapels of his tweed suit. "You had no right—"
"You would have come, and then there would have been questions," Bruce says. "I'm sorry, but it was—"
"Boys," the woman says, looking right at Steph. She's sitting down, with bright red hair, and thick rimmed glasses. "We've got company."
The man lets go of Bruce immediately, and turns to face Steph.
"Stephanie. You're out of class early."
"Mr. Dent let us go," Steph says, squinting at the intruders. "Do I need to defend your honor? Or do you deserve it? I left my mace in my other backpack, but my Pre-Calc textbook is legally classified as a torture instrument, so I can improvise."
"Don't worry, he deserves it," the woman says dryly, cutting off Steph's nervous rambling. "I'm Barbara Gordon, this is Dick Grayson. We're from the Council."
Steph glances between the two of them, concerned. "Which of you is Cass's new Watcher?"
"Me, but that's mostly a technicality," Grayson is unfairly handsome, and he has dimples, which he unabashedly flashes at her. "Really, Bruce has it handled."
"So they sent two of you?"
"I'm here to help Bruce keep the library in order," Gordon says. "This situation has required for some... unusual acquisitions, and the Council wants to make sure that the books are looked after properly."
"Oh," Steph says, unsure if she's entirely happy about all of this. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Mr. Grayson, Ms. Gordon."
"It's Dick and Babs, Stephanie," Babs says, raising an eyebrow. She manages to convey a whole lifetime of emotions with that one eyebrow lift, and Steph has a new icon. "We don't really stand on formalities. What, does Bruce make you call him Mr. Wayne?"
"He tried but I have a rebellious streak and trouble with authority," Steph says, feeling a little bit of the residual anxiety that she's been feeling in her chest ever since Cassandra showed up uncoil slightly. Maybe...
"Dick will join you on patrol tonight," Bruce says, cutting off pleasantries, because he's an anti-social loner like that, and Steph's definitely not allowed to have any fun. "You'll be patrolling St, Cloud Cemetery."
Steph squints at him. "Shouldn't Dick be going with... you know, his Slayer?" Not to mention, Jason usually kept vampires under control in St. Cloud Cemetery, since that was where his crypt was, but she wasn't sure if she was allowed to talk about that in front of other Watchers.
"No," Bruce says.
"Bruce—" Dick's voice is low with a warning. "What are you planning?"
"Probably just to make my life miserable," Steph mutters, more for herself than for Dick, who hears it, and laughs.
"Well, I guess we'll figure it out," he says.
Steph shrugs. "I'll meet you at the entrance to the cemetery," she says, and then goes to find Harper, Tim, Duke, and Cass if she can find her, and update them on the situation.
She'll figure out what Bruce is plotting later.
"Oh," Steph says to herself, as she watches Dick Grayson hug Jason Todd tightly and sob. "That's what he was plotting."
Cass has declined to be enrolled in classes, because she's a proper Slayer and thinks the time is better spent sleeping and training.
Given that she's an undocumented immigrant and basically a superhero with no use for either algebra or literary analysis, Steph can't exactly fault her for that logic, even though she'd like to get to spend more time with her.
Cass is... great.
Really great.
"Want to patrol with me tonight?" Steph asks, unable to keep the hopeful note out of her voice.
Whenever she and Cass patrol together, Steph fights... better. The two of them fall into sync, their abilities seeming to become exponentially more powerful. They don't even need to speak (although Steph does, because she's her), because it all simply... flows. The two of them fit together, in ways that Steph can't even begin to describe.
Cass feels it too, Steph knows she does, but Cass also is way better than her and has an independent streak, so she isn't always interested in patrolling.
"Sure," Cass says, and Steph lights up immediately.
"I'll come too," Dick says, picking up a crossbow. "We're investigating that hatchery, right?"
"That's right," Steph says. "They were giving them out in health class."
"Are they seriously doing eggs for those classes still?" Babs muses, flipping through one of her books. "The flour sack babies from our era were just as bad."
"They changed it to eggs after you and Dick managed to cover the entirety of the Computer Lab in flour," Bruce says dryly.
"Bette Kane pretended to snort it like cocaine, I'm not going to feel guilty over a pillow fight."
Dick holds his hand over his heart and wipes away an imaginary tear. "Poor Zitka. I will never forget you!"
"For the last time, his name was not Zitka; he was Jimmy."
"It was a sack of flour and the two of you killed it through malicious neglect."
"It wasn't malicious!" Dick protests.
"Your choice of a bedtime story was Jason's copy of The Joy of Cooking."
Steph's eyes flicker between the three of them, completely and utterly fascinated by their behavior.
"Anyways," Dick says, finally realizing that they have an audience of teenagers, all of whom are watching the banter keenly. "Tim? Duke? Harper? Do you guys want to come along?"
"I've got to go home and help Cullen with his homework," Harper says, shaking her head.
"Duke and Tim are helping me tonight, actually," Babs says. "Sorry boys, no evil eggs for you tonight."
Duke shrugs. "Well, there are worse things than not having to deal with another one of those egg things. As it is, I already had to hit DJ with a hammer."
"I am going to fail Health," Tim groans, apparently still traumatized by the memory of Steph going after his midterm project with an axe, even though it had tried to kill him before she'd done so.
"If it makes you feel better, I'm going to fail it too," Duke offers.
Tim pauses, considering this information. "Do you know what? I do feel better."
Steph snickers, and goes to get her katana.
Duke's head hurts something awful.
"Duke? Duke!"
"Not so loud," he mutters, batting away the hands that are reaching for him—hang on, those hands are pale. "Tim?"
"Thank God, you're awake," Tim says. "We're in some sort of... creepy dungeon place."
"Wha—oh right. The vampires." Duke rubs his head and sits up. Just as Tim said, this place has fully mastered the creepy dungeon vibe. The walls appear to be rough stone blocks kept in place by concrete, with one of the walls made entirely of metal bars so rusty that Duke wants a tetanus shot just for being near them. Past the bars is a staircase, leading up to... somewhere. The lighting is bad, only coming from a single bulb inside of their cave cage, and then from down the stairs, but it's enough for them to maneuver by, at least. "Not to complain, but why are we alive?"
"Oh good! You're awake! Mister J will be happy 'bout that!"
The woman leaning against the bars of their cell is a short, bottle-blonde woman with a creepily wide grin. Her clothes are tattered but brightly colored, and she's carrying a baseball bat in her hands.
"You're... Harley, aren't you?" Tim asks, helping Duke to his feet. Duke staggers, feeling the world spin for a moment, before adjusting and forcing himself to stand without Tim's support. "Harley Quinn?"
"Aww, did Jay Jay tell you about me?" Harley's eyes are wide. "I knew he still cared!"
"Wait, you mean Jason?" Duke says, a bit incredulous. "You call him Jay Jay?"
"Sure do!" Harley laughs. "I'm a bit of a nicknamer. I'm still working on you two's, though." She frowns, tapping her chin with her baseball bat.
"Harls! They up yet?"
"Ooh! Yes they are, Mister J! I told you I didn't hit them too hard!"
Footsteps come down the stairs, and Duke and Tim look at each other, both of their eyes wide.
The Joker, in person, is shorter than Duke might have expected. But the rest of him... green hair, strange face paint, and a voice like knives being thrown together... it's exactly like Steph and Tim described him.
"Here you two are!" The Joker says. "At last. It's so good to meet you properly, without all of those pesky Slayers and things getting in the way!" Beneath the clown makeup, his face is pure vampire, even as he smiles. "Well! It was a long trial period, but I have wonderful news!"
"Trial period?" Duke whispers, feeling very, very scared.
"Yep! And you both were the winners!" The Joker bows low. "It's going to be so much fun, having kids around again."
"It's a big honor!" Harley adds. "Mister J doesn't turn just anybody into vampires!"
"Indeed I don't!"
"You can't be serious," Tim says.
"I'm never serious! That's part of the charm!" The Joker says. "Now, I know what you're thinking, but don't worry about it. Your parents will never agree—so I'm going to get them out of the way, so you don't have to deal with any of those pesky human attachments!"
"What?" Duke yells. "You—"
"Mister J?" Harley says, looking worried. "But I thought—"
The Joker slams his fist into Harley's jaw without hesitation, and she goes down. Tim slaps a hand over Duke's mouth, stopping him from saying anything. "Don't," Tim whispers, both of them frozen in place, barely able to breathe through the paralyzing fear that threatens to come crashing down on top of them. "Don't."
"Harley, Harley, Harley... you don't think. Remember? That's my job."
Harley lets out a small, pained noise. "But Mister J—"
"Tough love, doll! It's important for kids! Remember how Jay Jay caused such a fuss when we first got him? Or you? It's the same thing." He blows her a kiss. "Now, I'm off! I've got some people to be, places to kill, all that jazz!" He waves at them, his grin wider than ever. "Now, you two watch yourselves! I'll let you decide which of you goes first!"
"It's okay," Tim whispers after the door slams, and then they hear Harley's footsteps go up the stairs. "Steph will find us."
"Steph is at the hatchery," Duke says, numb. He unclenches his fists slowly, looking down at the row of crescent moons his nails have left in his palms. "And she doesn't know where we are, or that he's going after our parents."
Tim swallows, and the two of them look at each other, their panic mirrored, but their determination doubled. "Then we need to get out of here on our own."
"Right." Duke nods. "I don't suppose you know how to pick locks?"
"No, but how hard can it be?"
Harley was a psychiatrist, before. She did med school and everything.
She was good at her job, too, no matter what people liked to whisper about her, about how she got her degree, because those kind of people never could accept that, just maybe, a woman had been the top of her class, could never accept that she had earned every internship, every award.
But the whispers never stopped her from getting the kind of attention that changes her life forever.
"The Initiative? What kind of name is that?"
"The Demon Research Initiative is the official name."
"Demons?" Harley aimed for skeptical, but she paged through the briefing packet, eyes already widening with a curiosity and excitement that she hadn't felt for a long, long time.
"Demons. Vampires. Werewolves. You name it, we're studying it."
"And you want me involved?"
"Doctor Quinzel. We want you to lead our psych unit. These creatures behave in ways we don't understand. I've read your work. I think you're our best shot at getting there."
She lowered the packet, and beamed at Amanda Waller.
"Where do I sign?"
Steph swings her axe downwards, smashing the last of the eggs.
"This is so gross," Jason says, examining the sole of his boot critically.
"Well, if you would come and visit, maybe I wouldn't have to drag you along just so I can spend time with you, Little Wing," Dick says. Steph desperately tries to pretend she isn't eavesdropping.
"He doesn't want to see me, Grayson. And you shouldn't, either." Steph's heard that before; the layers to that. Jason's told her parts, but clearly, she still doesn't know the whole picture. She's still not sure where Dick fits in. Clearly, he and Jason were close, before Jason had been killed and resurrected as a vampire. But there's more to it, and Steph can't figure it out.
"That's my decision. And you should let Bruce decide, too."
Steph is nudged, sharply, in the ribs.
"It's not our business," Cass reprimands her, but there's a hint of a smile to her mouth, even as she carefully cleans her own sword.
"But it's interesting!" Steph protests, going to pull her katana out of the wall, where she'd left it imbedded in a particularly large cluster of eggs. "Besides, are you telling me you're not curious?"
Cass flushes slightly. "Maybe. But it's... Watcher business."
"But Jason is a vampire, so doesn't that make it our business?"
Cass narrows her eyes at Steph. "You're using... um... words?" Cass's brow is furrowed, in that frustrated way she gets, whenever she doesn't know the English word for what she's searching for.
"Semantics?" Steph offers. "An excuse?"
"Yes. That." Cass nods, satisfied. "You're using excuses. Because you want to... butt in."
"Rude. But probably true." Steph finally manages to tug her sword out of the concrete. "Uh, you've got a little slime on your—" she gestures towards her face.
Cass immediately tries to wipe it off, but goes for the wrong side. Her second attempt is on the right side, but still misses it.
"Hang on, I've got it," Steph says, crossing the small space between them, and reaching out to touch Cass's cheek.
How can Cass not feel this? Steph's entire skin tingles at the contact, and her senses become hyper focused, her entire world focusing around Cass, but her peripheries stretching out, further and further...
Halfway through removing the slime from Cass's face, Steph stops, as a feeling like the Atlantic Ocean crashes over her, drawing a gasp out of her again.
"The Joker," Cass says, her eyes as wide as plates.
Panic crawls up Steph's throat, because she's not ready for this, not even with Cass here, not even with Dick and Jason to back her up. This vampire is dangerous, and she's terrified.
But that's not an excuse to sit back and do nothing.
"Jason! Dick!" Steph yells. "We need to go! Now! The Joker's on the move!"
"This is Subject B-01, Dr. Quinzel. Calls himself "The Joker."
"Mandy! You brought me someone new to play with!"
"Be careful with him, Dr. Quinzel. He's probably one of our most dangerous subjects." With that, Amanda Waller left her alone, except for the security cameras, watching their every move.
Harley looked at him in fascination. His hair was green; it would always be green, because he was incapable of growing it out. The makeup from the photos was gone, washed off at some point, or perhaps just faded, with no opportunity to reapply. Without it, she could see deep set lines in his face; not quite like the wrinkles that would be there when he exposed his true face, but perhaps almost there.
"How old are you?"
She took a step closer to the glass wall of his cage. There were holes, each of them smaller than one of her fingers, there to circulate air and to allow for them to hear him. The glass itself was thick, bulletproof, and strong enough to survive a vampire's full strength. Not that they were supposed to call them vampires. The Initiative didn't like that term. It was unprofessional.
He laughed, and her skin crawled.
"Tell you what, Doc. I'll answer your questions... if you answer mine. Quid Pro Quo, you know?"
His smile was wide and horrible.
"That's not really how that works, Zero-One," she said, and then turned and walked away.
As it turns out, picking locks is harder than it looks.
Tim manages to scrape up a bent nail out of the wall, and Duke has a hairpin in his pocket that he can contribute to the cause.
Tim takes the first go at the lock, because he's nominally done this before, even if the circumstances couldn't be further from this.
While Tim paces the length of the cell, feeling clammy in his panic.
He's been in danger before. He's even put himself willingly in harm's way, in order to help Steph, or Tim, or any of his other friends.
But there is something different about this. The claustrophobia of the cell, the panic; not of immediate danger, but the waiting...
His parents might already be dead, and there's nothing that Duke can do about it.
Duke tries to shove aside that thought, but the fear won't go away. He thinks of all of the victims of vampires that he's seen, ever since befriending Steph. He thinks of their computer science teacher from last year, and the way that he looked, discolored from blood loss, his neat shirt stained a dark red, his eyes wide open with fear.
He tries not to think of his parents like that, tries not to throw up, tries not to just curl up into a ball and have a panic attack.
There's a sound of metal snapping, and Tim curses.
"What?" Duke says, the pit in his stomach plunging even deeper.
"I broke the pin." Tim says. He's positively ashen, and his hands are trembling as he holds up the hairpin.
Duke gives in, and sits down.
"I hate this," he whispers. "I hate... being useless."
"Makes you think that Steph's right, huh?" Tim says, sitting down as well, the bent nail and the broken pin, both useless, sitting in front of him. "When she told us we should stay away from her."
Duke stops and thinks about Steph, and her ashamed looks when Duke had finally confronted her about not telling him about this stuff earlier. Her argument about him being normal feels so laughable now, here in a literal dungeon, captive of an ancient evil vampire.
Would he be here if he'd ran away from her when he'd had the chance?
Duke doesn't know the answer.
But he thinks about Steph, with her self-deprecating jokes and her one-liners, and the way she bodily throws herself between everyone and danger. He thinks about how, desperately lonely she is, how much she's retreated into herself ever since the Mask, the way she acts like everyone is just counting down the hours until her (second and permanent) death...
He couldn't have left. Not her, not any of them.
Even here, feeling the cold of the concrete through his jeans, and the specter of his own doom hanging over his head, he can't bring himself to regret being Steph's friend.
"Nah," Duke says. "She just blames everything on herself."
Tim manages a ghost of a smile. "Yeah. She does that."
"Doctor Quinzel. The board finds your lack of results these past few months to be... troubling."
"But I've made so much headway! My data about the post-mortem personality changes—"
"That data is interesting, but not useful, Doctor. Our men go out there and fight these creatures every day, and everything we do is about giving them an edge. They want to know how we're going to put these things down."
"I'm a psychiatrist, Waller! What am I supposed to—"
"Zero-One. He's one of the oldest subjects we've got on record. Just... get him to talk. About his kills, his methods, something. He likes to talk. Just get me something, and we can make something of that."
"... okay. I can do that."
"Be careful, Doctor. He's tricky."
"Aw, don't worry about me, Amanda. I can handle anything he can throw at me."
"What do you mean you don't know where Duke and Tim are?"
"They went out on their errand for me and they stopped replying to me. I pulled up their GPS, but I can't find them. Someone smashed their cell phones."
"The Joker," Steph whispers, nearly breaking her own cell. Only Cass's warning hand on her shoulder prevents her from grinding it into useless pieces of plastic.
"We can find them," Cass says, with a note of pure, unadulterated confidence that Steph envies. What must it be like, to never doubt her own abilities? Steph swallows done her momentary envy, and then closes her eyes and breathes deeply.
"Right. Let's go find them."
"What's your favorite color, Harley?"
"I told you, my name's Harleen."
"That's not an answer to my question."
"... green. How old are you?"
"Oh, who keeps track of things like that? I think I'm somewhere around four hundred, probably older."
"Really?"
"Really."
His smile is wide, and she can't help but lean closer.
"What color are my eyes, Harley?"
Harley looks.
"... green."
He laughs, and this time... she doesn't mind it.
The door swings open at the top of the steps, and Harley Quinn is there.
She stops just outside of their cell door, and smiles at them.
Tim tries to punch her, a valiant effort, if wasted on a vampire, but...
She goes down.
"Ow," she says, and...
And her nose is bloody.
"What?" Duke says.
"You're human," Tim whispers. He takes another look at the woman. Dark circles under her eyes, and the dark roots of her natural hair color are visible beneath the blonde.
That shouldn't be possible. Vampire hair doesn't grow.
"'course I'm human," she says. "Mister J doesn't turn just anyone."
"He was going to turn us!"
"Well yeah," she tilts her head to one side. "You're special."
"And you're not?" Duke asks.
"Of course I am! But not... not like that."
Tim spots them now, as she pushes herself back onto her feet.
Bite marks litter her skin, concealed partially by makeup, but now that he's looking for, he can't see anything but them. There's even one on the web of her hand between her thumb and forefinger.
"He'll turn me soon! He's promised. But right now, with the Slayer an' all, it's important that he doesn't have to go out and hunt too often." She smiles at them.
"Is this a thrall?" Tim asks. He's heard of vampiric thralls, but this...
"Don't be silly," Harley says, but there's something off about it, even as she laughs. She swallows. "You two are sweet," she says. "But... so was Jay Jay. Before... not that I didn't love him, after! But it was... different. And... and it's not fair on you two, what Mister J is doin'."
The door to their cell swings open.
"You should go before he gets back," she tells them, stepping aside.
Tim is halfway up the stairs when he hears Duke say. "Come with us. Harley. He'll kill you."
She laughs. "Oh, you're sweet! Don't you worry. Mister J won't ever hurt me." She pauses, and that pause says an entire universe. "Well, he does sometimes, but he doesn't mean it. Don't you worry about me. I'm a big girl."
"Duke!" Tim calls, understanding that Duke is, technically, doing the right thing, but their parents—
"Right."
Duke follows him up the stairs, and the two of them start running back towards the school, leaving Harley standing by the door to their cell, watching them.
It was her own fault; she was the one who let him out. She didn't exactly remember how it happened... it had all been going so well. The board had been happy with her results, and Waller had approved of the next round of experiments, behavioral modification.
He hadn't liked the sound of that.
Now, everyone was dead or dying, except her. Maybe some of the others had survived, but she hadn't seen them, hadn't heard anyone but her and him for ages now...
"How does it taste, Harley?"
She lifted her head away from the Initiative soldier's neck, gagging on the blood, and he laughed, and he pushed her head back down towards the neck.
"You wanted to understand, didn't you? We'll work on it!"
Harley drank the blood.
Jason is the one to find them, in his ridiculous car, and Duke has never been happier to see a vampire.
"You're alive!"
"No need to sound disappointed!" Tim yells, vaulting into the shotgun seat.
"We need to get to our houses," Duke says. "The Joker's going after our parents!"
Jason swears vividly, and changes gears. "Call Steph!"
Tim scrambles to grab Jason's phone out of the charger and starts dialing.
Duke's heart is in his throat, desperately feeling every moment, as the road speeds by.
"Okay," Tim says. "Cass and Dick are heading to my house, since I live further out. Steph's going to yours."
"We might beat Steph to your place," Jason says, his eyes on the road.
Duke swallows. "Just... drop me off, and then you take Tim to his."
"I'm not leaving you alone—"
"Jason. Steph will be right behind me."
"... check the bag. There's a stake there."
"Isn't it dangerous to have sharp pointy pieces of wood in your car?" Tim says. "Especially with the way you drive?"
"Why do you think it's in the bag?"
"I'm pretty sure Steph has proved that it's possible to be staked through fabric!"
Duke's house approaches rapidly, and Duke grips the stake tightly.
"Good luck," Jason yells.
The door is closed, the porch light is on...
Duke almost believes that things will be okay.
"Mom! Dad!" He yells as he pushes open the door to his house.
"Duke!" His dad's voice says. "You're home early."
Duke lets out a sob, which he doesn't bother concealing, before throwing himself at his parents, letting the stake fall to the floor.
His parents embrace him.
"Shh, it's okay," his mom whispers, and it's only then that Duke realizes that something's wrong.
His mom's hands, always warm and comforting, are cold and clammy against his skin. So are his dad's.
He jerks back, just in time to see his parent's faces warp into vampiric visages.
"It's all going to be okay," the vampire says, with his mother's voice.
Duke stands, frozen, staring at his parents, as they walk towards him, their movements strange, as if... as if they're not used to their own bodies. As if they're not really themselves. As if, now, there's a demon standing in their places.
He takes a step backwards, and his foot catches on the stake, sending him falling to the ground—the stake, he has a weapon, he can fight back. He scrambles for it, listening as the demons who aren't his parents laugh at him.
"We're all going to be a family again, very soon. The Master promised," the demon wearing his mother's face promises. She and his father start laughing, horrifically in sync.
It's while they're laughing, and Duke is sitting on the floor like an idiot, clutching the stake, when a hand grabs him by the collar and jerk him backwards.
"Run!" Stephanie Brown yells, looking terrified but at the same time, looking like she's the stubbornest person on the planet.
"Slayer!" His father's voice shouldn't be used like that.
Steph throws him out of the door, and Duke scrambles to his feet, but Steph slams the door behind her, and he hears the deadlock click into place.
Duke scrambles for his keys, yelling at Steph the whole time, as he listens to the sound of fighting come from inside of his house.
"Let me in! Steph!" He wrenches the door open, just in time to see the vampire that was once his father collapse into dust, while Steph holds the remains of a dining room table.
Steph looks at him, and drops the chair.
"I'm sorry," she whispers.
"Duke," Bruce says, and Duke turns around and wraps his arms around Bruce, and finally, as the shock wears off, begins to sob.
When he finally looks back, Steph is gone.
"Why didn't you tell us Harley's human?" Tim asks, as they drive away from Jason.
Jason glances at him, barely even keeping an eye on the road, which, given the speed he's driving, should probably be worrying.
"Harley's... she's Harley," Jason says. "She's..."
"She's the Joker's thrall," Tim says, his eyes narrowed at Jason. "I thought only really old vampires could do that."
Jason scowls. "No one's sure how old the Joker is. Not even him, I think. But he's... Harley was always there, with him, ever since I first met him. She was there when... well. When it happened."
"She let us go," Tim says. "Do you know why she'd do that?"
"She likes kids."
"She—"
"Yeah. When—before. She was nice to me. And after—she still was. She put herself between me and the Joker more than a few times. Of course, I didn't—I didn't exactly react to it well."
Tim thinks about the bite marks on Harley's arms, before he realizes what Jason's not saying. "You feel guilty about her?" Tim says, incredulous. "She helped the Joker turn you!"
"She's human, and I left her with him."
"You can't seriously blame yourself for that!"
Jason lifts a shoulder in a shrug, and then turns a corner a little too tightly.
Tim has no idea what he's expecting to see when he and Jason pull into his driveway far too fast. Gravel scatters everywhere under the treads of the tires.
But it's certainly not Cass, sitting on his front steps, hanging her head.
"Cass!" Tim yells, throwing open the door to Jason's car and leaping out, not even waiting for Jason to put the car in park. "Cass!"
Cass raises her head, and his heart draws to a stop as he sees tear tracks on his face. "Not—not fast enough," she says, her voice trembling. "Sorry."
"No! Dad! Mom!" Tim pushes past her, barreling into the house.
"Tim!" Jason yells, trying to follow him, before being stopped by the barrier. He's not invited—how did the Joker get past that? Did his parents invite him in?
He smells blood, and hears—
He hears his dad sobbing.
"Dad!"
"Tim?"
Tim opens the door to the living room, and his stomach drops.
There's...
There's so much blood.
"Dad?"
"Tim," his dad says. He's pale, and he's bleeding, and his leg—his leg is at an angle that shouldn't be possible.
But Tim stares, instead, at the body that his dad is cradling.
His mom's body.
"Oh," Tim says.
He doesn't cry. Not yet. That comes later.
Right now, his knees buckle out from under him, and he just kneels there, with his dad.
"It was—it was a monster, Tim," his dad is saying. "Some sort of—and then this girl! She came out of nowhere, but she drove him off."
"That's Cass," Tim says, feeling... numb. "I should—she's still outside."
He tries to get to his feet, but his body refuses to move.
"Tim!" Jason's voice yells. "Tim!"
"You can come in," Tim says, dissolving the barrier to his house with that easy invitation.
Jason comes in, a cell phone in his hand. He puts a hand on Tim's back, and tries to get him to stand. It doesn't work. "I called 9-1-1. For—"
"Sorry," Cass says again. "Wasn't—I wasn't fast enough. Not—good enough."
"No," Tim says. "Cass—no." He lets Jason draw him to his feet this time, even though his legs feel like they have the consistency of jello beneath him, and he launches himself at Cass to pull her into a hug.
"Cass, thank you," he says, and it's only as he's hugging her, that it really sinks in, and he starts to cry.
Jason has to leave when the ambulance comes. It's going to be hard for people to parse this as it is—what the Joker did to Janet Drake can't exactly be written off as death by barbecue fork—without bringing in a walking, talking corpse into the question.
He gets in his car and drives.
He doesn't know where he's going, until he finds himself parked outside of a familiar house.
He takes a moment to consider if, maybe, he should drive away, and pretend that this has never happened.
But he sees a light on, and he knows that he has to.
He knocks on the door.
There's a long pause, before, finally, the door opens, and Dick is there.
"Jay," Dick says. He looks... tired. He looks so, so tired.
When they'd been kids, Dick had only been two years older than him.
Now, Dick is almost thirty, and Jason still looks seventeen. And Jason will keep looking seventeen, even when Dick's whole head of hair is grey.
"Heard about Duke," he says. "Is he—"
"Asleep. In my old room," Dick says.
"Not mine?" Jason says, unable to help himself.
"Never," Dick says. He steps aside, and Jason looks away.
His heart hasn't beaten in a decade, but of course it hurts anyways.
"You have to invite me in," he tells Dick. "I can't—"
"It's your home, Jason," Dick says, with a kind of fierce honesty that had once annoyed Jason so much, when he'd been thirteen years old and wildly jealous of Bruce's other son. "You're always welcome here."
Jason swallows down the lump of emotion in his throat, and steps through the door.
The Manor, as it's called, is a large house, but it's always felt cozy to Jason. He looks to his left, and sure enough, the pictures are the same. Bruce and his parents, Bruce and Alfred, Bruce and Dick, and then, finally, Bruce and Dick and Jason.
Had it really only been three years, when they'd been happy?
"Did you hear from Cass?" He asks, finally forcing himself from looking away from the last photo on the wall, with the three of them and Babs, for Dick and her graduation from high school.
"Yeah. She's... she's taking it pretty hard. She and Tim are at the hospital."
"His dad's going to be fine," Jason says. "Well, except maybe for that leg." He shrugs, because, really, in the grand scheme of Joker attacks, that's getting off pretty light. "How's Steph?"
Dick's face becomes even more exhausted. "She's off the grid. She's texted Babs, but that's it."
"I'll go—" Jason says, because Dick clearly needs sleep, but Jason doesn't, not really.
"Jason?" Bruce says, his voice quiet, but tentative.
It's been longer than Jason cares to think about since he's seen Bruce like this, out of his suits, without his professional mask. Instead, he's wearing a Gotham Knights t-shirt that Dick had bought him years ago, and the lines of grief and exhaustion are written clearly on his face.
Here and now, he's not some Watcher, not someone who's written off a teenage girl's life in the name of the greater good.
He's Jason's dad, who's just watched another kid go through the exact same thing that he had, all those years ago.
The vampire who had killed Thomas and Martha Wayne is long gone, but Duke Thomas has just lost both of his parents—vamped, despite the short time period, and staked—and Tim Drake has lost his mother.
The shadows of grief are long, and they hang heavily on Bruce's shoulders.
"Hey Bruce," Jason says, and smiles at him. "Duke get down okay?"
"As well as could be expected," Bruce says, sitting down at the kitchen table. God, but he looks so much older than he does in Jason's memories.
Ten years, it's been, since he was in this room.
He sits down next to Bruce.
Dick sits down on his other side.
"What's going to happen now?"
Bruce sighs. "Duke doesn't have any other close relatives, at least none nearby. It's likely he's going to end up in the foster system. Probably out of Gotham."
Jason stares at him.
"And you're going to let that happen?"
Bruce looks at him. "Jason—"
"You—you can't be serious! You know what the foster system is like! You know what being forced to leave Gotham—"
"I won't put him in the line of fire again!" Bruce yells. "Not after what happened to you!"
Jason freezes.
"B—"
"I can't," Bruce says. "Not again. I won't lose—"
"You didn't—I'm here," Jason says.
It's a lie, and they all know it.
Ten years, since he's been in this kitchen.
Three years, since he's had a soul.
This is the first real conversation he's had with his father, since he opened the door to his birth mother's house like an idiot, and seen the Joker standing there with her.
"It wasn't your fault, Bruce."
"Jason—"
"It wasn't. It wasn't mine either." He swallows, and clenches his hands into fists. "It was just his. The Joker's."
Bruce reaches out and grips his hand.
"I don't—I know I don't deserve—what I did—"
"Don't you dare!"
Jason turns to Dick, shocked.
"What you did—it wasn't your fault, Jay." Dick's face is pale and furious. "You didn't have a soul. It wasn't you."
"I—"
"I don't care! I couldn't kill him, because he looked like you and he sounded like you, but—" Dick grabs him by the shoulders. "I never once believed it was you."
Jason—
Jason cracks.
The tears flow, flow like they haven't in a long, long, time, and before he knows it, Bruce is embracing him on one side, and Dick is embracing him on the other.
They don't hate him.
They don't blame him.
Despite everything, they're still family, and this is still his home.
And Jason Todd, for the first time since he's crawled his way out of his grave to an unquenchable thirst for blood and violence...
Jason Todd is at peace.
Far away, a green crystal globe in Talia al Ghul's workshop cracks, then splinters into a million pieces