Chapter: 17
Tim couldn't sleep. And he couldn't fathom why. He was tired…he was exhausted…bruised and honestly a bit battered from patrol…he should be out like a light. Yet there was…something…something bugging him. Something dogging him as he lay, silent and still in his bed, staring up at the blackened ceiling of his room. He couldn't determine the origin of his sleeplessness, there weren't exactly many hours left of the night for him to begrudge a restful night, but his eyelids wouldn't budge. His mind, though still and silent parsed through the information of the day, detangling the billions of synapses that ran rampant in his brain forming thoughts, opinions, actions…memories. An electrified picture of his entire life, and his entire day. The mind was a strange feat. Storing significant amounts of information, facts, numeric values, formulas…an inordinate record of knowledge. Yet, when called upon specifically, it faltered. Erasing what had once been available at a moment's notice. Even the most intelligent beings on earth were wrought to have moments as these…cowed by something that should be so simple.
There could have been numerous things that stole away his restful night, pieces of the day stored away for a later time…like the toxicology report from the latest victim from a murder, a strange case with a hollowed body, ashes…more like a residue that nagged at Tim's memory...surrounding what remained of the victim. Something about it felt too familiar but there was nothing forming a connection and the given report only left him with more questions. But that was not what kept him up. It could have been Livia, and this new power she acquired. The ability to see the dead. Tim wouldn't lie to himself…he'd been tempted, so very tempted, to ask what she had seen. Were there two spirits attached to him? Walking the very steps Tim took day in and day out by his side without him ever knowing. Did he even want to know? If they were still here, that meant they were earthbound, stuck with some unfinished purpose and while Tim could imagine what that might be, it still settled in his stomach harshly…nauseatingly. Did Tim really want that, no. No Tim didn't want that. He wanted them gone, and moved on. If they stayed here, he couldn't see them, couldn't speak to them without Livia to translate…and that wouldn't be the same. It wouldn't be worth it. That wasn't quite what was keeping him up. Though it was definitely something that, ironically, haunted his waking thoughts.
Another thought trickled through, settling bitterly at the thought of spirits. Tim wondered if Conner's spirit was earthbound and if he could get some answers on his death…on what it meant if he came back. On what was implied by his spirit still being earthbound…and what it meant if it wasn't. It was a foolish thought…a despairing thought. Though it begged the question, what happened when you came back…was there a piece of you still trapped on the other side? Darren was an Anchor, someone both dead and alive, was there a sliver of his soul still in that place beyond where the dead go? That place Tim knew never to ask about, a place he dared not think of even as he banged on its door each night. What if there was nobody left to return to? Tim hadn't seen Jason's body when he'd died, though in truth that most likely wasn't him in the first place. But being at the heart of an explosion implied grievous injuries and lost limbs, yet he returned whole. Was it the Lazarus Pit? Or something else? Neither Darren nor Jason talked about their returns very much, which was understandable. But Tim's mind raced, thinking of these things, of life and death. And while that contributed to his lack of sleep. It wasn't the heart of the issue. Perhaps that understanding itself implied he already knew the answer but didn't want to pursue that line of thought for whatever reason…fear…uncertainty…laziness…? Tim didn't know, and his attention shifted before he could consider anything else.
Sal's inquiries about Darren popped up then, the memory of that moment coming sharply into focus, that recollection of right before Tim and Livia's escape to the House of Mystery. And while overall not extremely concerning, the fact that Sal was desperate enough to sneak behind Darren's back to talk with his friends and family at least proved Sal truly wanted to be Darren's friend, it was Darren's reaction that had Tim pausing. Darren's reluctance to step beyond the fear of the Court of Owls, even with the protection of the blackmail, was the concern. It was his despondent demeanor, the jaded measure of his response…as if nothing could change even if he willed it. As if the day-to-day of his life didn't matter. And that drew Tim to what was at the heart of his insomnia.
'What's the point'
The phrase rattled harshly around Tim's head.
'What's the point'
That phrase had been uttered too many times by Darren for Tim's liking.
'What's the point'
Especially recently.
It was hard to figure out what exactly Tim's problem with the phrase was. Was Darren depressed? Was that the source of this defeatist monotoned phrase? It was a phrase that could be an offhand comment, something meant for banter or witty commentary…but Tim picked up on that phrase with a bit more urgency, a bit more caution. Not because of Darren, not because of Darren's past or his secrets…but because of Tim himself. He's heard that phrase, uttered it to himself in the silence of the night, he felt those words radiate, thrumming through his chest…alarm bells ringing in his head. Was that where Darren's increasingly impulsive and reckless behavior stemmed from? Though Darren had always been impulsive, taking after his cousin in a way with their penchant for leaping gleefully off tall buildings…though with Darren such actions were tinged with a darker undertone but that might only be comprehended through knowledge of the secret Tim kept.
It was hard to pin down, hard to pinpoint whether there was something to note, or it was just an offhanded comment. Something to keep the others off Darren's back…or something he believed with certainty. Things had gotten steadily worse for Darren since his death day. Tim had no knowledge of what had transpired, and he knew not to question or try to pry. That wasn't for Tim to know or wonder about, it was something Tim knew he could never understand. The trial happened and even in the light of the legal win, Darren still seemed…distant, though equally still his usual self. Then Shepard had been killed, and Darren had been gutted; the justice won fairly suddenly rendered pointless…but there was something else, something had gotten to him while in Metropolis. The news Livia had slipped Tim also had him concerned, wishing he could make a move without ruining Dick and Babs' plans. They were all jerking back and forth over a starting line, and a false start could destroy everything, with no clear finish line in sight, and no certain outcome of the events they were attempting to ignite. None of them knew where or how to start…and Tim knew he couldn't betray Darren's trust.
There hadn't been much time to consider everything, as Tim haphazardly, and with difficulty, stumbled through a shoddily created portal to the House of Mystery, but now…alone, exhausted, and still, wide-awake Tim had time to think. To continue thinking, as he hadn't come to any clear conclusion. What was there to do…was there anything he could do without dipping too deeply into the sea of secrets Darren so carefully protected. How could Tim do anything, he knew what interference could do…he knew the cost it may bring. But perhaps a source, the true source, the Court is a constant, Sal's friendliness was avoidable, and behavioral problems at school were not necessarily odd for Darren. It was the subtler stuff, it was Darren dipping his toe across his own starting line…a darker more dangerous one, that was the tipping point. That had a source. That source was a skipping stone, starting with the death day and ending, or rather pausing, with Shepard's death. But there was something in between, a hovering point of that metaphorical stone stopped in the balance between the air and water below…that hovering point was Metropolis.
There was one thing Darren had asked of Tim, something specific, something out of place in the scheme of all things Darren. One thing that was specific to Metropolis. Something that sent a light finger down Tim's spine…a shock of realization…alarm bells joining the fray within Tim's mind. Darren had asked him to find information on a Charles Chamberlain. That was the source. He was the source…if not entirely then in part. In order to understand at least a snapshot of what was going on, Tim needed to find out who Charles Chamberlain was to Darren.
Tim kicked back the covers, lurching over to his desk, and flicked on the desk lamp. There was no time like the present.
Tim couldn't sleep anyway.
Livia couldn't sleep. And as Livia lay in bed, mindlessly scratching behind Plagg's ears knowing sleep was far from attainable, she knew exactly why. For one, the taunting knowledge of the other side, her newfound ability to see the dead haunted her as ironic as that was. It wasn't something she asked for, yet it was thrust upon her because of her actions. Livia's rash decision to perform the séance without fully knowing the potential consequences landed her here; awake late in the night—or early in the morning depending on how one thought of it. Her head didn't hurt anymore, and there were no flickering specters out of the corner of her vision nor was she pulled into the other world, or rather the vision of the other world, filled with the dead. But Livia didn't know when another attack would occur, and she didn't know what would trigger another episode. She couldn't constantly be pestered by spirits, nor could she continuously help them…perhaps it was selfish, perhaps she should attempt to do some work for the dead, but all the same, Livia still didn't understand her role in the universe, magical or otherwise how could she manage both being Chaos personified and helping the dead when both aspects of herself were still a mystery.
Another issue that dogged Livia's consciousness was Léa and the spell she wanted performed to obtain more power. She hadn't looked in her Grimoire for the spell yet, afraid that she would be too tempted to help the mad witch in exchange for more knowledge…a better understanding of her new powers and the consequences of the séance. A part of Livia worried it would be too simple…it would be too easy to enact magically, and she would give Lea that power at the cost of herself, her conscience, and the magical community. The other part of herself worried she would give Léa too much or would give the mad witch her own power or the ability to manifest in the world of the living. Knowing the spell would help quell these fears, Livia knew that, but it would also leave endless possibilities dancing in her head. The role of an Anchor for the spell was potentially tricky, but Darren might be willing to help if it meant closure on the chapter of the Baudelaire curse. And that willingness is what Livia equally feared. Darren's willingness meant Livia could work the magic for Léa's spell…it meant getting more information, something Livia wanted desperately even if it was more of the nonsense Léa spouted at the séance.
All the same, Livia knew she couldn't help Léa even if the threat she posed to Darren, and to herself, was all too real. The magical community would go nuts over an Anchor…objects and trinkets could only go so far and if Anchor blood was as significant in spells as Constantine made apparent through his bizarre request, there'd be a price on Darren's head within the moment Léa even whispered about him on the wind. Could Léa even do that? Influence a whole community of people just to get Livia to give her more power? Would they listen…was there such a need and desperation for Anchors so widespread? And how much power would the spell grant? Could Livia control the output? What was the source of the magic, and where did it come from? What would the witch want that power for? Just to trap more Baudelaire witches. For some grand scheme that Livia would enable by doing the spell. There were too many factors Livia couldn't account for in either direction, yet the answer was also a will away.
Plagg let out a disgruntled meow, smacking a paw lightly on Livia's chest as if to announce his displeasure at Livia's thought process. Livia glanced down at the black cat, his emerald, green eyes nearly glowing in the dark, and couldn't help but agree. Yet her sleeplessness was unignorable, as were the numerous problems that rattled around her brain. New powers, potential enemies, and possible information on what was happening to her currently. Aspects both within and outside her control. Livia shook her head, fed up with everything swirling around creating a storm. Plagg snorted haughtily and stood, pawing at her shirt before leaping off the bed, looking back accusingly at her before disappearing into the shadows of her darkened room. A part of Livia wanted to comment on the attitude the cat exhibited but decided it was not worth the dead bird on her pillow. Instead, her gaze shifted to her phone sitting on the desk by her bed.
There had been nothing new on the case of the dead jeweler, though it was still not a closed case. The stories in the news and from the press had trickled to a near stop as other more urgent issues filtered through. It was Gotham, a murder wasn't going to stay a central story for long…and though Livia kept telling herself it was all coincidence. That it was all just the random mayhem that was Gotham City. Livia couldn't help but feel, deep down in her bones that there was a connection…that there was something significant about this man's death. Whether it was to Livia herself or just the magical community, in general, was unclear. But Livia couldn't ignore the pull, the sensation of familiarity…the death felt too close, too targeted to be just nothing. The facts aligned as such…but the reports, and the people working the case didn't have the insight Livia did. They wouldn't know what to look for, not even the Bats would know what to look for…how to tell, magic or man…mystical or entirely mundane. Some may argue that nothing was mundane in Gotham, and perhaps they were right…but what happened to that man couldn't be merely murder…there had to be something else. Which led to another very troubling thought. Did Livia want to figure out what happened, did she want to know what magic or whose magic killed that man? Was she so hesitant and scared because she already knew the answer? Or was she so daunted by the potential outcome because she wasn't the answer…what would it mean if there was another magic user in Gotham. One that was not only attacking innocent people but in essence targeting Livia through them.
Livia let out a rough sigh, turning onto her side, and stared mournfully at her phone. Her fingers itched to reach for the device and search through the meager information remaining on the poor man's murder. It wouldn't do much good, scrolling through her phone…and neither would her silence. Livia knew that. She had resources…people she trusted. And there was no reason to believe these murders were somehow connected to her…or at least that's what Livia kept telling herself. She gritted her teeth, grabbing the pillow out from under herself and smushing it over her head letting out a brief frustrated scream into the mattress.
It was times like these that Livia wished for Darren's company…he had a way of keeping her out of her own head, something that was very desirable right now. And perhaps Darren may understand her fears and worries…and he might be able to help. Though he'd been strangely quiet that night, Livia hoped there wasn't trouble going on for the Bats that night. Livia released herself from the pillow dome with a pitiful groan before reaching for her phone. The desperate need to reassure and distract herself from the possible predicaments the Bats could be in at the moment outweighed her need for blissful ignorance. There would be nothing new, Livia knew that…expected that there would be repeated facts about the case, ongoing speculations, and continued reassurances by the police, though no suspects no new pieces of evidence, and no solution.
Though, when Livia turned on her phone, she gasped. Lurching to her feet, sleep now the furthest thing from her mind. She scrambled over to her dresser, rattling through the upper smaller drawers filled with knickknacks and years-old accessories…items that should have been thrown out but were kept for nostalgia or in this case, for proof. Livia picked through the riffraff of items, pieces of her childhood and past tumbling to the floor as her movements became more and more agitated. Until finally, she pulled out the piece of paper she'd been looking for, a receipt from the tattoo parlor for the mysterious dragon design inked into her skin. Turning back to her bed Livia snatched up her phone, staring back and forth between the paper and the phone, dread, disbelief, and fear slowly snaked its way down Livia's spine.
There had been another murder. This time at a tattoo parlor…the same one that Livia had supposedly gone to get her new tattoo. The victim with the same name on the receipt made out to her. Same MO…same husk of a corpse. Livia took a deep shaking breath as she stood, turning on her heels to pace around her room hands on her head trying to calm down. Trying to make sense of everything. Once was chance, twice was only a coincidence but Livia couldn't let this get to a third happenstance. Not when innocent people were dying, and certainly not when the murders appeared to be tied to her…to Livia and her movements. Well…not her movements. Or was it her if she was asleep? Unconscious…noncognizant? Whatever she was when the piercing and tattooed appeared.
Livia abruptly stopped her pacing, lurching around to stumble over to her desk, to her computer. She needed answers. And while perhaps the best question was to find out how the piercing and tattoo appeared on her body and what was occurring when those two events happened, Livia needed to understand more about the concept of two minds one body.
Livia needed to figure out if there was some merit to Lea's ramblings. If Klarion was somehow still aware within her, if their merged essences allowed him access to the physical plane through Livia herself like it seemed more and more as time passed since the merge, she needed to know. Livia needed to stop whatever this was…before anyone else found out. Constantine wouldn't let her survive if he got wind of this and while she trusted the Bats their duty was to Gotham…even the world…not just one person. Darren may act to safeguard Livia, but she wouldn't ask him to put herself before his family…or Gotham…or the world if it came to that; Livia was Chaos personified if Klarion could puppeteer her without her knowledge that connection needed to be severed. There was always a loophole with magic.
Livia would find that loophole. Even if it cost her everything.
Darren couldn't sleep. And it was nothing if not expected. There was no tossing and turning, no shifting or fidgeting, only silence…stillness…as he stared up into the darkness. Darren found the silence as deafening as it was welcoming and as horrible as it was calming…his thoughts could never be still in the darkness like this, he could never find sleep when his mind roared. It wasn't intentional, and it certainly wasn't consistent…but sleeplessness dogged Darren. Its cold and mind-numbing embrace unescapable. So, Darren stopped fighting it…at least in part. On the nights when insomnia followed nightmares and terrors; Darren would take the sleep medication provided by Dr. Leslie. In moments like these, where Darren would just lay in silence, unable to close his eyes for whatever mysterious reason invisibly hounding him, Darren would stay lying still and silent. Letting the darkness encroach closer and closer, letting the darkest and deepest, the most sinister thoughts hover just at the surface, just until Darren couldn't take it anymore.
Perhaps it was insanity, to let Darren's demons, his fears, pain, the little dark voice he sometimes couldn't quite ignore, rise so close to the surface. Especially while alone, especially now when temptation had been…more difficult for him to ignore; when the past was so heavily weighing on him to the point that Darren had begun to fall back to old coping methods. Especially when those old habits proved ineffective…not enough to escape the torrent of emotion that drowned Darren or the periods of time that drained him dry of any emotion he could possibly feel. Darren could feel the pressure…even if he was silently weathering the storm, even as he lay in his bed quietly staring off into the darkness a kaleidoscope of memories shuttering by within his mind. The weight forcing Darren down, sunken into the mattress, a means of release, a solution, a mere…
…Darren bolted upright unable to remain in the silence any longer. The ringing emptiness that had once been sweet silence was now a crescendo of agony in his sensitive ears. The thoughts dispersing, the silent fears and insecurities wrested from his mind, but still buried deep. Like a barb, he couldn't pull out, a bullet that couldn't be removed. Darren hated the thoughts, the feeling…the helplessness that engulfed him as the past washed over him…yet he tried. He wanted the proof of what Dinah had said, that if he waited and listened his emotions would change…that his thoughts would shift away from the past. But no amount of time seemed like enough. Or maybe the past, the fear, the pain, the trauma was too embedded within Darren's psyche for there to be anything else. Yet still, Darren tried, even as it made him sick to his stomach, even as nightmare after nightmare forced him from sleep or the strain of what he witnessed while asleep pushed him to sleepwalk. Perhaps control was out of Darren's mental bandwidth…maybe there was only one means of control for Darren.
With a sharp exhale, Darren shook himself, rising from the edge of his bed, moving purposefully to the door. Eyes trained ahead, not pausing to consider, not stopping to think of the phantom itch…that twitch…that pinpricked its way up and down Darren's inner arms as he stumbled silently out into the hallway of Wayne Manor. Sleep was a no-show and sanctuary was unattainable in his room…so it must be found elsewhere, through a distraction. But what distractions were there when the past came knocking? How could Darren force the dark thoughts that stalked him from his mind? Calling Livia circled his mind, a fond warmth radiating to the surface, pulling him briefly from the pulsing dread that held him captive. Darren couldn't even tell what triggered the reaction, the pull to the darkest parts of his fractured psyche. A dream? A memory? Both? Fears not real but a cursed whisper in his mind…of all that he could lose with one misstep. The danger the Court could pose if they slipped through the cracks if Darren was not watchful in his blackmail and his demands. The need to maintain appearances at school…the exhausting attempt at keeping both the faculty and his guardians off his back? The slipped truth of Renegade's parentage to the criminal underworld of Gotham and law enforcement? All were a constant presence in Darren's mind, all at once or one at a time, it made no difference any one of those reasons—or even darker ones, memories of the Court, of William, his time captive within the compound though those were more obvious—could have sleep fleeing.
Darren blinked, pulling his thoughts away from the possibilities of his sleeplessness and back to the present, glancing around the wing of bedrooms. The halls of Wayne Manor were never quiet. Creaks and groans swept through every surface and crevice. Old buildings like the manor, like Gotham Academy, were always alive in a sense. Though sometimes they were quiet as tombs, Darren grimly thought of Crowne Manor its barren halls dusty in ghosts and memories. The manor was quiet but filled with people, filled with purpose and direction. Darren could hear the heartbeats of its occupants; he could parse out where they were…map out their locations…just from sound alone. He could hear them sighing in their sleep or typing away at a computer as he drifted down along the carpeted runway, edging closer to the stairs pausing once to poke a head into Mikey's room…just to see, to make sure, Mikey was still there his chest rising and falling before continuing on his way closing the door softly behind him as he left.
There was no intent in Darren's movements, he was meandering down to the lower levels, drifting through the manor like a ghost. Untethered…unable to rest, Darren wondered what other occupants the manor housed…the dead were home to old buildings as well. Livia could see the dead now, a dangerous ability…an addicting one too. A beacon to those with loved ones to see, for those with unsaid last goodbyes. It was a power that should have tempted Darren, but he knew Amanda was gone. She wouldn't have stayed around even if she could, his mother wouldn't want to watch him suffer for years on end. Amanda would have passed on to the beyond, there was nothing for her here. Not anymore. The thought should be sobering, hurtful even…but to Darren it just made sense.
Darren's feet stopped, suddenly…unaware. Pulling Darren yet again from mindless swirling thoughts. He stopped just before the beam of light cutting across the hallway floor, angling up the nearby wall a hallway table spattered with vases and pictures warping its warm glow, the door to Bruce's office opened a crack. Darren stared for a moment down at the light arcing over the runaway carpet, trying to parse out what would have brought him here before stepping forward anyway. Poking his head into the office, mildly amused as the memory of his first sleepless wandering brought him to that very spot…only he'd been fearful, cowed, terrified of bringing about Bruce's wrath for wandering at night…now, Darren was unafraid. Perhaps time wasn't as stagnant as Darren had thought, maybe Darren himself could be malleable, and he could shift and change as time went on. Maybe even his emotions—too much or too little—could as well, eventually,
"Yes?" Bruce hummed from his desk not even looking up, a fire roaring off to his right, with two large comfy seats surrounding a coffee table and bookshelves crammed with a variety of genres from fiction and fantasy to chemistry textbooks and rocket blueprints. The weather was colder, some sprinkling of snow over the course of a few days. Not enough for a snow day, but enough for the plows to come through to clear off the driveway and for the nearby lake to freeze. Christmas wasn't too far off either, and Darren had yet to gather any ideas or presents for anyone.
Bruce seemed to be writing something, his pen scratching mildly across a sheet of paper. Perhaps a contract for Wayne Enterprises, or a crime report or something for the Justice League…adoption papers? Darren couldn't tell, nor did he necessarily care,
"What are you writing?" Darren asked instead…always initially dodging the true reason for his wanderings or ponderings—good or bad. Everyone had commented on it, even Dinah. Darren didn't know why he did his 'roundabouts' as the others called it so often, but even nowadays he saw it as it happened. Bruce paused in his writing, a fond smirk crossing his face as he too caught Darren's roundabout,
"As a matter of fact," Bruce started, picking up his pen once more, "I'm updating my will,"
"You are?" Darren questioned, stepping forward, edging into the room slightly, wondering if he should be alarmed, or concerned, "Why?"
"Well, you never know," Bruce stated practically with a shrug, "and there's been a few additions to the family,"
"Oh right, Mikey," Darren nodded in understanding,
"And you," Bruce pointed out,
"Me?" Darren barely resisted the urge to point at himself,
"Yes, you."
"I don't need to be included in your will. I have my own inheritance." It was an odd thing to realize, that he was technically a billionaire himself, he was as rich as Bruce…they were both descendants of Gotham's founding families. It was equally an odd thing to forget,
"Well, this is just in case…a backup plan if you would. It can be changed if needed later,"
"I wouldn't do that," Darren retorted,
"I meant by me but okay, good to know," Bruce replied with a chuckle. A stretch of silence lengthened between them, interrupted only by the scratching of Bruce's pen before he stopped once more, glancing up in Darren's direction,
"Something on your mind?" Darren started, pulled from his thoughts, before sighing,
"Is there anything new?" Bruce shook his head,
"No. No movement from Slade, before or after that night with Falcone,"
"It had to be him…no one else knew who I was,"
"There are a lot of ways that information could have been revealed,"
"You mean me," Darren bit out,
"No. I didn't say that," Bruce said firmly, "It could have been Wintergreen. It could have been the Court. Or the League of Shadows,"
"Wintergreen has nothing to gain from revealing that,"
"Money," Darren scoffed,
"The blackmail wouldn't have been shaken by the Court revealing anything,"
"You could have been shaken…you are shaken, this truth put a target on Renegade's back. Regardless of whether they want you alive or dead, they've basically hired Gotham's collective criminal underworld to assassinate you, and with Slade in prison you're even more vulnerable,"
"You're not benching me," Darren insisted, stepping forward slightly, as if in warning,
"No, I'm not. We'll just need to be more aware, watchful…cautious. And reevaluate if needed. Nothing is decided nor will anything be set in stone," Darren scowled at that,
"Talia is the head of the League now. I doubt she would have interest in me…especially with the threat Livy poses to her,"
"Well, then there's no reason to worry," Bruce stated, giving Darren a meaningful stare—one that read, go the fuck to sleep,
"But Slade could escape," Darren muttered, slightly cowed,
"If Slade was attempting to leverage revealing Renegade's identity as Deathstroke's son to escape from Belle Reve, he would have done so already. There would have been no reason to wait and the reaction of the guards, if there was a reaction—after all your counterpart is known as a Talon by most of the law enforcement here in Gotham. That night would have been the most opportune moment to enact any escape plans. He didn't. But we've monitored him since then to make sure, you'll know if or when he makes his move."
Darren let out a huff of air, unsure how to try and counter the claims Bruce had made…not sure why he was even attempting to do so. Did he want a truth that simply wasn't there or was it just the fact that the reasoning…the person…behind Renegade's parentage being outed remained unknown had him so wound up. Darren grumbled, unsure of where to go from there, toeing the ground with his bare feet. Bruce once more stopped his writing and put his pen down, glancing over at Darren still standing in the doorway of the office,
"Can't sleep?" he asked softly as if he didn't already know the answer to that. Darren merely shrugged. Bruce looked thoughtful for a moment before bracing his hands on the desk and standing up, "C'mon," he said it simply, but Darren felt a glimmer of alarm, a trace of distress. An innate reaction, something Darren thought he'd grown out of since escaping the Court…though visceral reactions were hard to shake off,
"Where are we going?" Darren mumbled, trying not to let his reservations echo in his voice, following Bruce out of the office and through the darkened manor. The structure was not quite so loud now that it was filled with Bruce's footfalls as well as his own,
"Trust me," Bruce merely answered as they retraced the path Darren first took to arrive at the office's entrance. Up the stairs to the wing of the manor housing the bedrooms. Past Darren's own room, and Dick's where Mikey now slept, then Jason and Tim's rooms, before entering Bruce's own master suite. Darren had never really entered Bruce's room before and while he was curious, his attention caught on Bruce who crossed the room determinedly to what appeared to be a telescope. He grabbed it, and then as an afterthought, also a nearby blanket from a basket by a window seat before moving towards the double doors leading out to the balcony,
"Are you coming? There's a method to my madness, and you'll definitely need this," Bruce shook the blanket at him. After a silent pause, Darren took the blanket and pulled it around his shoulders as he followed Bruce out into the crisp early morning air,
"Now," Bruce spoke, after adjusting and fiddling with the telescope, "from what I've heard you're pretty decent at physics?" Darren grimaced at that,
"Decent is a bit generous…but yeah for some reason it's more bearable to me than math,"
"And what do you know about the constellations and planets?" Darren shrugged,
"Not much honestly, mostly just enough to navigate,"
"Have you been able to see them up close?"
"No,"
"Would you like to?" Bruce asked, gesturing to the telescope. Cautiously, and perhaps a bit bashfully, Darren crept closer to the device, looking through the telescope's lens eyeing the series of stars and planets as Bruce pointed them out, angling the device so Darren could see more clearly, following the path of one constellation before moving on to another. Bruce retold the stories behind each one, from Orion and Scorpius, to Andromeda, Perseus, & Cassiopeia, to Corona Borealis.
And Darren had to admit, it was fascinating. The stories behind the stars, those flaming orbs of gas out billions of miles away in the cosmos. Darren had been to outer space. He'd seen the earth from so far away in the Watchtower, but he'd never been beyond. Darren hadn't thought of what might be beyond…in truth he'd never thought that was an option. And while he still doubted that freedom, it was a closer truth than it had been before. There was more even beyond these stars...there were nebulas, asteroids, other galaxies, moons, suns, and black holes. It all made the world, the earth, and everything that occurred on it so insignificant and entirely so miraculous. As the cosmos continued, ever-expanding, their little world spun on oblivious. Other planets with life continued concurrently with Earth's, as matter shifted and changed spawning new truths and new secrets to be discovered,
"You could consider astrophysics," Bruce stated at one point, eyeing the look of obvious joy on Darren's face with a small smile on his face,
"What?" Darren questioned, confused,
"For college," Bruce continued, unfazed by the surprise in Darren's tone, "I mean it wouldn't just be stars and mythology…but if you are truly inspired by astronomy and like physics well enough, you could always combine the two,"
"I…uh…I mean I haven't really given college much thought," Darren's answer hit pathetically as the excitement from before faded away, the future and freedom it brought suddenly too much too soon,
"Well, I guess that's not really a discussion for three-thirty in the morning. But it's a possibility to consider…for now, at least this could be something to focus on when insomnia is hitting hard,"
"You wouldn't mind me using this?" He gestured to the telescope,
"Not at all," Bruce insisted, "You know how to use it now, and perhaps you could make some improvements on it, you are a pretty deft tinkerer,"
"You're sure," Darren couldn't help but check again, perhaps the telescope had actual sentimental meaning,
"I'm sure," Bruce answered, amused, with a tone that told Darren he shouldn't be surprised if a few books on astronomy filtered into his room over the next few weeks,
"…thank you." It was all that could be said. It wasn't such a significant gesture…it wasn't even an obvious one…but it was enough and meaningful in its own right...and sometimes that was all that mattered.
They continued looking at the stars, catching glimpses of satellites, a shooting star here or there, and something that looked suspiciously like Superman until Darren's thoughts drifted to his bed of their own accord, a steady peace settling around him as he shifted slightly under the covers…a fantastical kind of tiredness dancing through his bones.
A/N: I hope you guys liked this chapter! I had a lot of fun writing it, I felt it was a different setup/tone than my usual chapters which is probably refreshing! Also, sorry for the delay in posting...I honestly got home super late and did not have the mind for editing this chapter at that hour. So pushed it back to a Monday post.
I also really loved Bruce and Darren's section. They haven't always had the best relationship throughout this series so I wanted to include something with them that showed their progress and development as characters in their own right but also in their relationship. Despite their distance and despite any reservations they may have had about one another, they are family in the end. Bruce has grown fond and protective of Darren, even if Darren himself can't see it or believe it. And Darren in turn values Bruce in his own special way. Even if the past jumps up on him, even if he believes his place in this family is as temporary as his future freedom. This family, including Bruce, is important to Darren.
As always, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!