AN) Uh…hi? So sorry for not updating this in, well, forever. But I haven't had a lot of time to write. But I got you fanfam. So I got another PR in CC! 27:37, it was really cool! I'm so happy, I finally got a Batgirl onsie from Walmart! It's so comfy!

Normalcy is a lie. There's no such thing as 'normal'. Richard knew this since he was a child—but there could be 'normal' things. Things that weren't extremely special, things that didn't scream 'insanity' or 'strange'. While people couldn't be normal, things could be.

There was a routine. Richard was dismissed from training. He would help set out plates and silverware and then he could leave. He would switch from his training uniform into civilian clothes. Normally huge sweatshirts, jeans and his favorite pair of socks.

Yes, he had a favorite pair of socks. They were now a dingy white, with a hole on his left heel. He was certain Will was going to dispose of them soon, but he loved them.

He ran a brush through his hair. It did nothing, but the action had been drilled into him through his life, and if Will made a comment about how messy he looked he could claim he had tried to look presentable.

Richard brought down whatever art he had created. Master wanted to see. Even his art would be judged, Richard didn't mind. If he wasn't creating something useful—it didn't make sense for funding. There was a drive in him, to create the perfect picture. That captured everything. Love, hate, war peace, joy and grief—all in one snapshot. He had yet to do so, he had come close, but he couldn't think so what he could draw. So he stuck with ribbons, he wowed Scott with Hamilton, Star Wars and Harry Potter fan art. He even turned in fan art to Studio C, once receiving permission to join the mural committee and paint on in the park.

He tramped down the stairs, staring at the paper in his hands. It was an ocean. Swirls of blue clashing with bright yellows as the sun set into the waters. He had worked on it for three days, deciding this was the best to show Master. While he would've preferred to showcase the Jefferson portrait he had finished, Master didn't exactly…care to see that art all the time. He didn't understand why Richard was so interested in the musical. Yes, Richard loved the music—but he couldn't even explain his interest. Maybe it was a side effect of his medication?

The medication was supposed to help him focus on the present, making him forget the memories the League had implanted. They drew his attention, keeping his mind from wandering too far. If he even tried to think too long or too hard about the memories, which was extremely rare since he hated them, Richard would get a headache.

He gently presented the paper, waiting almost nervously. He had yet to receive a negative review—yet there was always that possibility.

"You drew inspiration from van Gogh's work didn't you?" Master gestured to the swirls or water below the surface.

Richard nodded. "Starry Night, Sir." Richard smiled slightly as a brief smile crossed his master's face. Will snatched it away, still being careful. He knew how much Richard's creations meant.

"Very good." He praised, turning.

He plucked a small magnet off the metallic surface of the fridge. Sliding the paper under it, Will let the drawing hanging onto the surface. The ocean joining in display many other pictures. A safari, jelly fish, a city skyscape, a multitude of musical characters, a highly appreciated portrait of Scott and sketches of people Richard had seen on the metro.

While it seemed—and was—childish for Richard to take pride in his drawings being displayed on the fridge by Will like a parent would their child's messy school projects, it was amazing. To think that his art was so good that Will wished that it be able to be seen, and that his master was disgusted by it.

He twirled his fork across his finger, waiting for Master to begin eating before he started. He no longer needed permission, but it felt right. His knife sliced easily through the meat, he roast beef tender. Richard scooped some of the mashed potatoes on his fork, stabbing a bite of meat and dipping the combination in the white gravy on his plate.

He was starving. While he wasn't as hungry as he had been as a child—those times rendering him able to last without rich food for periods of time—he always pushed himself during his training, leaving him exhausted and his body in need of energy restocking.

Meals were held mostly in silence, conversations over the table were usually better at lunch—when it was only Will and Richard. There wasn't really tension, but Richard sometimes felt like he couldn't speak as he normally would around Master.

He was surprised that he was finished so quickly. Great, he grumbled mentally, now you have to wait to clean up. No going out for you.

"Put your plate in the sink," Will caught his eye. "I can manage for the night."

"R-Really?" Will waved him off, a smile flickering about his features.

"Back before dark." Master reminded him.

"Yes, Sir." He practically sprinted from the house. Jumping into his sneaker, a light jacket being pulled off the coat rack.

In reality the coat was unneeded, it wasn't terribly chilly. But what was in his pocket was what was important. There was a small notebook. He was doing something stupid, trying to piece together the Ghost Song. He had a few lyrics, and some of the chords. He got headaches, and he really didn't want Master to find him.

So he would ask to leave, and he would work on his project somewhere else. As he walked briskly down the sidewalk, breathing in the sharp evening air, he was unaware of a conversation that might change his future.

Breakline

The sound of running water and scrubbing carried into the air. It was not exactly normal though. Usually by this time the boy was listening to his music. Singing along under his breath to the rock, humming with pop and belting his heart out to musicals. He actually missed the child's voice.

The comfortable silence was broken. "He asked to be off the medication again today."

"Is that so?"

"I don't know how many times he's asked—surely he has to understand it won't be happening."

"What was his case this time?" Will asked, this was the perfect set up for his case.

"Same as always," Slade had a hint of annoyance. "Wanted to exact revenge. He will, but not by regaining his memories. Too complicated."

"Why would it be so bad? It's been five years Slade."

"Will, please. Not you too."

"The boy is addicted Slade. He depends on them to live."

Slade paused a moment, knowing he was toeing a thin line between conversation and lecture, many of which Will had been known to give. "He has become dependent yes, but his loyalty remains intact."

"Then surely it will remain with the drugs?"

"If he stops taking them he'll remember the truth."

Will turned, leaning against the sink's edge—hands soapy. "You can't just pull him off, the withdrawals he has after a day or so without them are bad enough. Don't give him as much. One less pill of the drug and maybe a headache reliever."

"And if he remembers because of this?"

He was so close, if he could sell Slade on it—Of course the answer to that question was not one William wanted to provide, but in order to Slade to agree he would need to.

"Then mind-wipe him like you did before. The serum."

"I hate it when you're right."

"Then you must be angry a lot."

Breakline

They listened with open ears as Garfield explained how the older members had been fighting like crazy. How Wally and Nightwing snapped at each other, Artemis joining the fray. How everyone yelled at each other—except Connor, who then calmed everyone down by showing them a video of their happy brother.

He explained the picture Megan had in her room of the original team with the kid. The possibility that their teammates had kept such a big thing from them was shocking. Questions teeming in their minds. Where did this kid come from? Was he a Leaguer's son? Why didn't the team talk about him? Why hadn't the met him? Was he dead? Did he run away? How could they never have heard of him?

Garfield boasted for a few seconds about how he had snuck past the bats and a telepath, but then wet deadpan about how emotional Megan had looked.

"It was like she had watched her puppy die." He tried to explain. "She looked heartbroken, like she was replaying every happy time she shared with it—but those happy things are now…like…sad. I didn't like it. Even the Bats looked upset…well…sounded upset. Y'know…the masks…can't really see how they feel anyway. Why don't you think they told us? They were talking about finding him, and how much they loved him and stuff."

Bart looked at his friend in shock. He had wanted to tell Gar to spy sooner, he knew what had to happen. That was the worst of it, he knew what was happening. He knew. How many times had he heard the stories? Bart knew who Richard Grayson was-who didn't. Everyone from his time did. How many times had he heard Grayson scream?

The legend of Richard Grayson was huge—resistance leader. He sacrificed himself for the human race—it didn't make a difference, but it gave hope. But something was wrong. Richard Grayson was rescued when he was twelve years old, he had been taken again when he was fifteen and had overthrown his captor and began to topple regimes left and right.

But he hadn't been rescued. Bart wasn't even sure if Dick Grayson existed in this time-line, he had messed up so much. He should've said something about Grayson. He did exist!

What had been happening to him? He remembered the stories, hushed whispers-encouraging words for the slaves to get through the day.

Grayson's back is covered with scars, but you should've seen the kid smile. Grayson was locked in white rooms, he has PTSD—I know you can do this. It took forty men to take him down, and he had been beaten the day before—I think we can do this. If we accepted Grayson as a hero when he was a murderer you can forgive someone for cheating rations.

He watched his friends freaking out over the idea of a new brother. Yes, it was exciting. But Bart wanted to scream—what they were suggesting, fantasizing.

"What if he's like a secret agent?" Jaime suggested, Cassie smacking his arm.

"That would by why he haven't heard about him!"

"But why were they sad?" Garfield mused.

"Maybe because he had to go off the grid, they miss him." La'gaan shrugged. "That's why they were talking about not hearing from him."

"No! No, he probably being tortured! He's being held hostage! He might be forced to be a villain!" Bart tirades inwardly, trying to keep his face blank of any rage or emotion. Simply interested.

But twists were filling his stomach. What if he had done something? What could he have done? He didn't know where Grayson had been rescued from, he couldn't tell them where to look. But what Beast Boy had told them, how angry and sad the older kids had been—he should've told them that at least in Bart's future Grayson was saved for a bit.

Nightwing had told him never to tell them of the future. Nothing of it, absolutely nothing. But…wouldn't they want him to tell them about this.

Brat shook his head, biting his lip slightly.

"We got to find out more about this kid." Jaime spoke. "It's going to drive me insane if I don't know." There were nods of agreement, Bart felt himself nodding along as his friends turned back to relaxing.

"Not as cray as it's going to drive me though."

AN) That's a warp! Hey…uh…if anyone knows if 'A Lonely Rainbow Girl' is okay please tell me, I saw a review on one of her stories that made me nervous. And dlsky, if you read this, please review. I really need your good advice! Thanks guys! Please review! Also check out IbeWildBella's spinoff of Apprentice, it's really good—and hopefully reaching the amazing ending soon! Have a great week guys!