The Marquis of Wayne Castle

by MistierShades

Beware, all those who set foot into the ancient Wayne Castle, a den of treacherous vampires and dark magic. If one does not heed this warning, such as Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian, they might find themselves... unable to leave. What, pray tell, ensnared them? What magic bewitched their senses? Something perilous is here at play, dear reader... most perilous indeed...

4. Chapter 4

Quatuor

Fickle Hearts and Brimstone

Princess Koriand'r stood like a raging, flaming lioness, staring daggers at Richard from across the restaurant. She marched up to him, clutching a very familiar note in her hand.

"What is the meaning of this?!" She demanded, holding up the piece of paper briefly. Naturally, she was also glaring at the woman seated opposite him. "You vanish with nothing but a note and now, here I find you, swooning over another woman!"

"Dick, what's going on?" Barbara asked sternly.

He swallowed hard. "A simple misunderstanding, I assure you."

"Misunderstanding!?" Koriand'r cried. She slammed the note down onto the table in front of him, causing several other restaurant-goers to gasp in fright. The staff looked like they desperately wanted to take care of the situation, but something held them back. "You seemed very clear when I found this waiting for me at the cafe and not you!"

"You told me that the two of you had broken up," said Barbara, narrowing her eyes.

Richard took a deep breath. There was no sense in panicking, no matter how out-of-hand things were becoming. He cleared his throat. "And we did." Stiffly, he stood and looked Koriand'r in the eye. "I'm sorry, Princess. But what I wrote on that note are my true feelings."

"Is that so?" She replied, her bright green eyes becoming glassy. "And here I was thinking you were a man of quality." She took a final glance around the room and at Barbara and said, "Enjoy the rest of your date, Dick."

With that, she turned on her heel and stormed out, the restaurant staff taking a sigh of relief. They weren't the only ones.

Richard sat back down, still wondering how on earth Koriand'r had managed to find them, not to mention reach them so quickly. And what was with that skin-tight outfit she was wearing? It wasn't nearly as bad as Miss Stephanie's bathing suit, but it was terribly scandalous to go tromping around in public wearing so little. He made to pick up his menu again and asked, "Now, where were we?" but Barbara just glared at him.

"You know, I think I'm just gonna go," she said, gathering her things and starting to wheel herself out.

"No, please!" Richard started toward her. "It was nothing, Barbara. Come on, we haven't even ordered yet!"

"And you honestly think I would after what just happened?" Her frown deepened. "What is wrong with you? The Dick Grayson I know would never stand up his own girlfriend like that." At once, an almost suspicious expression fell over her face. "I'm going home. Goodnight."

Richard wanted to say more—he reached out a hand, wanting to stop her and try to convince her that she was mistaken—but he knew that the moment had passed. There was nothing he could do to salvage this mess. And just like that, his perfect date was over before it even had the chance to begin. He could still feel the jewellery box in his pocket, suddenly a thousand times heavier.

"I won't be needing this table any longer," he muttered to the nearest waiter, and sullenly he walked out of the building, alone.

Outside, he just caught sight of Miss Barbara boarding a bus further down the street, meanwhile the valet retrieved his car for him and he sat down, staring blankly ahead.

So much for the nice suit he had just bought.

So much for the fancy car.

So much for dinner at De La Vigne.

So much for going to the opera together.

So much for giving her that beautiful necklace.

And so much for finally being with the woman he loved.

As the blazing orange sunset slowly started to dim in the sky, he sped back to the manor, believing his earlier words with Jason to be unquestionably true. He had, indeed, been too excited, and so had blown his one shot at winning Miss Barbara's affections. If they weren't careful, this could very well ruin them all. He needed to do some serious covering-up before things got any worse.

Suddenly, there was a loud noise somewhere up the road, like a great crash. Tires screeched angrily against the asphalt, people started shouting, and at once, Richard needed to slam the breaks to avoid being hit by a car that was flying through the air right at him.

Bruce marched into the living room. The first thing he did was grab the remote and pause the movie, looking sternly at the boys. "Does anyone know where Dick is?"

Tense would be the word he might use to describe the atmosphere. The boys gave quick glances at one another, seemingly unsure of what to say.

"Kori just came by looking for him. Apparently, he left a note saying that he wanted to break things off out of the blue, and now he's stepped out for the evening."

"That doesn't sound like him at all," Stephanie spoke up with a furrowed brow, and Bruce caught a small wave of panic cross Tim's eyes.

"Exactly," he said. "So no one knows what's going on with him?"

"Isn't it possible that he just doesn't like her anymore?" Jason asked bluntly.

"Tell me what's going on," he pressed. He knew they knew, he could see it in their faces. What was the big secret? Why was everyone acting so strange? Did it have something to do with their mission last night? The device they used? Had that Lady Zatara done something to it?

When no one spoke up, Bruce decided to take an alternative approach. "Alright. I'll be downstairs. If anyone hears from Dick, let me know."

"Roger that," said Stephanie, followed by Damian who said,

"Yes, Father."

If they weren't going to talk, then fine. He had other ways of getting answers.

Damien whipped out his phone the moment his father had left the room and started texting Richard.

"That's so weird," Stephanie was saying across the couch. "I hope everything's okay."

"I'm sure he's fine," said Jason, reaching for the remote. Discreetly, he stole a glance at Damien's phone.

"Dear Richard, Koriand'r and Father are looking for you! Please be careful! -Damien."

He sincerely did hope that everything would be okay. What if Bruce found out who they really were and sent them home? They couldn't afford for things to go so wrong after only just arriving.

Damien had suddenly lost interest in the film and decided to head to his room. He held his phone the whole time, wondering if Richard would respond, and hoping that he would see the message at all.

He stepped inside his quiet room and started looking around. Earlier, he'd only glanced at some of Other Damian's belongings while looking for his phone, but now he took them all in, trying to get a better understanding of who his counterpart was.

Well, for starters, something he'd noticed right away the first time was how small the bed was, with only a single pillow at the head, very unlike his own large four poster back in Wayne Castle. Perhaps he preferred simplicity?

There was a large fireplace near the bed with many interesting knick-knacks placed atop the hearth. There were a few small shelves for books, some kind of bust, two sword hilts, and a bright red… was it a helmet? A very odd looking helmet, at any rate. He picked it up and inspected it, trying to understand why an item such as this would be placed in such a special, visible place.

The inside was padded and it looked at least a little worn, so it wasn't just decoration. Perhaps a memento? When he brought his face a little closer, it smelled like sweat, and he abandoned the idea of trying it on. For whatever reason, when he looked at the thing, he began to feel a mild sense of smug satisfaction. It was important in some way, but… he just couldn't figure out exactly what was so important about it.

He put it back and kept looking around.

Near the window, there was a desk and a large easel, perfectly set for painting and sketching. He grabbed a sketchbook and started flipping through the pages, pleasantly surprised to find so many life-like illustrations of animals, insects, and people. Other Damian had talent. He could imagine it clearly; sitting in front of the desk or the easel for hours, his wrist feeling tired from overuse.

Not far from the desk, a viola sat, kept in sublime condition. An artist of many talents then!

There was a large wardrobe, several potted plants, lots of books of every shape and size, an odd-looking trunk, and an old sword displayed along one of the walls. Altogether done in good taste.

Something budged the door open and Damien felt his heart rate spike, but it was merely the form of a black Great Dane.

"Titus!" He cried, coming over and scratching him behind the ear. The dog seemed pleased to see his master and wagged his tail approvingly. "I see some things don't change from world to world." So this was Other Damian Wayne? A savvy artist, minimalist, book collector, and animal lover? Not bad at all. But… it didn't quite feel like the whole picture just yet. Especially as he glanced back to the helmet and the sword hilts on the hearth.

Just then, he saw the desk in the corner of his eye and had a thought, but when he looked for hidden compartments, he didn't find any. There was no diary that he could see in any of the drawers, either. Just more sketchbooks. A dead end.

"I don't suppose you have any ideas?" He asked Titus who went to lay down by the bed.

Hmm. The bed…

He walked over and peeked underneath it. Nothing. And yet, he had this lingering feeling…

He disliked having to crawl along the floor, but he slid himself under the bed and looked up at the mattress. There was something familiar about that one section of it… He reached for it and presently discovered a hidden compartment. Could it be the diary?

Apparently not.

A small box fell out and landed on his chest. He moved to sit on his bed and opened it at once. Inside, there were three things. First, a ticket stub. Second, a postcard from a place called Smallville. Third, a photograph of him and his father. They were smiling. Why were these things saved apart from everything else? What was there to hide? And why did he feel so strange when he held each of them?

At any rate, he put the things back into their hiding place and went into another part of the house, suddenly feeling a touch more serious and melancholy.

Bruce went straight to the bat computer and checked the manor's security feed. He saw Dick leaving, exactly as Alfred had said—done up in a three piece suit and in an awfully good mood. Then he went into the garage and… he couldn't believe he hadn't noticed the missing set of keys when he'd come home. Why hadn't he just taken his motorcycle? Instantly, his mind jumped to him going out on some kind of date, but if not Kori, then with who? The last camera showed him speeding off toward Gotham and that was it.

Meanwhile, it seemed like the others had had an eventful day. As he scrubbed further back through the security tapes, he saw them playing around in the pool and—what?! Jason and Damian had taken out his Ferrari!? Further back, he saw them sitting together for hours in front of the bat computer, visibly not training, and when he pulled up the search history, he found all sorts of odd questions.

"What is today's date?"

"How does one pump water into a house?"

"What is a toilet?"

"What is a sewer?"

"What happened to carriages?"

"What is a car?"

"What is a headlight?"

"What is a lightbulb?"

"What is electricity?"

"What is a microwave?"

"What is pizza?"

"What is stuffed crust pizza?"

"What is mozzarella?"

"How do you make pizza?"

And on and on and on the questions seemed to go, until it finally ended with:

"How do you operate a car?"

Along with several clicked links to websites explaining the subject.

Something was definitely up, and in a big way. It had to be something to do with last night, but everyone had seemed fine when they'd first returned, and why were only the boys affected? Or was he affected and he just didn't realise it? Just to be sure, he did some quick scans on himself. All results came up negative. He was about as normal as it was possible for him to be. So then what had happened? The boys hadn't left his sight all evening, and the only other factor he could think of was the magic Other Zatanna had used on the dimensional portal device.

He heard someone enter the Batcave via the manor entrance.

"Hello, Father," said Damian.

Bruce watched him carefully. "Damian." He seemed a little… distracted. "Did you all finish your movie?"

"No, I… I didn't." He was looking around the Batcave, thinking hard about something.

"Is there something wrong?" Bruce made sure not to get too close, just in case. Right now, he needed to play along and not let him know that he was getting suspicious so that maybe he could do a little probing.

Damian seemed reluctant to speak, though there was clearly something he wanted to say. "No," he said at last. "Just…"

When for a long time he didn't say anything, Bruce took a quiet breath. "Did you and the boys have a good day?"

His eyes went the tiniest bit wider. "We did, yes. It was very fun. The most fun I've had… in a while."

Bruce squinted. He sounded legitimately genuine, not at all like a victim of mind control or anything similar. "How did you do with your training today?" He asked, knowing full well that the training course had never been touched.

Damian swallowed. "Oh, well, uh… it, um…" He looked up at him, fear in his eyes. "Am I in trouble?"

Now Bruce wasn't sure how to react. Nothing he'd said or done so far seemed outlandishly out of character. Rather, he just seemed to be having an oddly un-guarded, vulnerable day. And the way he was looking at him right now… as though he expected Bruce to come at him with some form of interrogation or punishment…

"Why didn't it happen?" Bruce asked, arms folded.

Damian shrunk back a bit. "I… I got caught up… having fun with Jason."

…

…

"And…" he continued, his throat a bit tight. "Well, I… haven't been able to do that very often, so… are you angry?"

Part of Bruce's brain was screaming, "It could still be a trap! It could still be a trap!" But the way he was looking at him right now… If it wasn't a trap—if the boys just legitimately had a fun (albeit reckless and somewhat odd) day together—then if he came down on them now, it would feel like the ultimate worst dad move ever. He took another measured breath.

"I'm not angry," he said carefully. "Just… surprised."

"Well… um… in that case… dinner is soon, and, um… I… was wondering… will you—"

An alarm suddenly went off—a standard crime-in-progress. He moved to the bat computer in a flash to check it out.

"What is it?" Damian asked, coming up beside him.

"Man-Bat," said Bruce. "On a rampage downtown, near the old opera house."

"The opera house? Richard's down there!"

Bruce stared at Damian who's eyes suddenly went wide. "Is that right?"

Damian bit his lip guiltily.

"We're going to have words when we get back."

"Get back?" He repeated as Bruce moved to grab his cowl.

"What, do you have better things to do?" Bruce asked, taking out his phone and sending out an alert to the others upstairs.

"Oh my gosh," said Stephanie, looking at her phone. "Come on!" She ran out of the room, leaving Timothy looking to Jason for an explanation. He handed his phone over as they followed Stephanie toward the entrance to the Batcave.

"Man-Bat attack. Dick's there now. Let's go!"

Timothy wasn't sure what to make of it entirely, but he knew that it was bad.

Down in the cave, they found Bruce wearing the same outfit from this morning, though now with a black mask covering most of his face. Damien was also there, wearing a bright red, green, and yellow ensemble with a dark, jagged cape.

"We'll meet you there," Bruce told them while Stephanie ran to grab a purple outfit. He and Damien hopped into the big, black vehicle near the car and took off flying through a special door, leaving them wondering what on earth was going on.

"I guess we grab a change of clothes?" Timothy suggested.

Richard dove out of the way of the next flying car and hid close to the ground. The front of his car had gotten totally mangled and he'd gotten out, running for dear life as a horrible, monstrous beast came tearing up the road. It was twilight now, and the city's lights illuminated the creature's hideous, bat-like face as it screeched and snarled and demolished everything in its path.

He'd never been in a situation as terrifying as this before in his life. Sure, his father was a force to be reckoned with, but this was a monster, and he was but a delicate human. No great strength or speed, no shapeshifting or invulnerability, just his own two hands and his will to survive. Not being a vampire was horrible!

It looked as though the beast was starting to move on, so Richard mustered his courage and bolted from his hiding place. He had no clear destination. The only thought on his mind was simply, "get away as fast as you can!"

So he ran and he ran and he ran, until the sound of giant flapping wings filled his ears. When he turned to look, he let out a scream as the creature was upon him! It took him up in its massive, clawed feet and away they flew, so high into the sky that if he fell, Richard knew he would surely die. Was this considered normal in this world!?

On they flew, and Richard was sure that death was near for him, until a bright light suddenly shone in his eyes. The monster screeched again, causing Richard to cover his ears, and then it started flying madly away from the light.

This strange light seemed to have a mind of its own, and it pursued them through the sky, higgledy-piggledy, over Gotham City.

Then, a wire with a grapple attached to it came flying at them, tying up one of the monster's wings. They were being pulled down, onto one of the rooftops, where they crashed and Richard rolled several feet, bruising himself most painfully.

He grunted as he tried to get up, his heart racing at a million miles per hour.

"Richard!"

Was that Damien? But where—how?

It was indeed Damien who came propelling down from above on a wire, wearing a ridiculous outfit and mask.

"Damien? What on earth—?!"

"Father's here, he's taking care of it!" He told him as he helped his older brother to his feet. When he looked over at the beast, there was a dark, cloaked figure attempting to trap the writhing thing in a large net.

"That's Father?!" Richard exclaimed. Clearly he'd been wrong about them merely being detectives.

A purple cloaked figure appeared next and started helping Bruce contain the monster while Damien helped Richard over to a flying vehicle.

"Get in," Damien urged. "You'll be safe here."

"Me? What about you?" He asked, looking at his small human body.

"Don't worry. I've got this." He reached for his belt and revealed the hilt of a sword, metal gleaming from within the sheath. "Let's just hope all those fencing lessons did me some good!"

"Wait—Damien!" But it was too late. He was already running up to Bruce's side right as the monster broke free of its constraints.

"Don't let him get away!" Bruce shouted, shooting another wire and hook around the creature's leg before it could well and truly get airborne. Damien and the purple figure threw their own lines and tried to pull the thing down.

"Dick!" Bruce called. "Activate the sonic canon! Now!"

Sonic canon!? What did that mean!? Was it one of the many buttons inside this flying contraption? Which one should he press!?

Suddenly, two more figures appeared, rushing to aid in the capture of the beast. The first wore mostly red and black and gold with a cape, the second wore nothing but a black, skintight suit with a red bird emblem on his chest. Could it be—Jason and Timothy?

The beast was now reaching for a large metal structure nearby on the roof, and he wrenched it from its bolted feet so as to use it as a massive club. Before it came crashing down, Jason swooped in and pulled Damien out of harm's way, and Timothy rescued the purple figure.

"Dick!" Bruce shouted again as the creature made to swing at them again.

Richard frantically looked down at the control panel. Which one was it? Which one was it?

'Please!' He begged himself. 'Remember! The sonic canon!'

One of the buttons suddenly stood out to him. Instinct, or perhaps familiarity, was tugging at him, so he clenched his jaw and listened.

BOOP.

A large device suddenly unfolded itself from the hood of the vehicle and lit up. Bruce leapt out of the way, urging the others to do the same, and then the creature was suddenly on the ground screaming with pain. Bruce came over to the cockpit and shut the thing down when the beast had stopped moving. It was, however, still breathing, Richard noticed.

"Alright. Let's get him back to Arkham," said Bruce, walking back to the group. He paused when he saw Jason's outfit. "Interesting choice."

"Oh, uhh," Jason stammered. "I left my usual suit… at home."

"Hmm."

The next few minutes were spent immobilising the creature known as Man-Bat with tight bonds and hooking him up to the flying vehicle. Then, Jason, Timothy, and who turned out to be Stephanie, left together to head back to the manor, while Bruce, Damien and Richard flew Man-Bat to this Arkham Asylum.

Bruce was noticeably silent as they travelled. Damien was as well, and Richard was still just trying to wrap his head around what had happened. As he looked down at his shaking hand, he noticed that his suit jacket sleeve had been torn. Could this have been a terrible mistake? Had Jason been right when he warned them about trading one foul circumstance for another?

"Are you alright?"

Richard looked up at Bruce, sitting stiffly in the pilot's chair.

"Fine," he replied. How strange. He didn't think that such a mundane question would mean much to him, and yet… somehow he felt as though he hadn't heard those words in a long time. Let alone from his father. From Bruce.

That seemed to be the end of the conversation.

It wasn't until everyone was safe back at the manor that the full thrust of conversation began. Bruce took Richard aside to a quiet part of the Batcave and asked,

"So what's been going on?"

'Damage control,' Richard reminded himself.

"I'd rather not talk about it." Playing defence was at least one strategy where he wouldn't have to lie. And truthfully… he really didn't want to talk about it.

Bruce narrowed his eyes but said nothing more. In his mind, he was still one-hundred percent suspicious, but at least it didn't seem to be anything threatening. For now. The boys weren't going crazy, they weren't trying to kill people, they weren't spreading alien hosts to other humans, they just seemed… different. And until he knew exactly what that difference was…

"Why don't you stay at the manor for a few days?"

"Really?" Richard asked.

"Just until we catch Scarecrow, at least. In fact—Jason? Why don't you stay for a few days as well? I'll have Alfred open up your old room."

"…I'll think about it," said Jason, watching him carefully.

Bruce took a look around the group and nodded. "Dinner should be ready. Why don't you all get something to eat while I talk to Damian?"

The boys and Stephanie eyed Bruce suspiciously, but left without complaint. Damien, however, knew that he was in for it.

"You knew where Dick was, but you kept quiet. Why?" Bruce asked, crossing his arms.

Damien swallowed. "I—uh…"

Bruce leaned in close. "What was he doing?"

Right when Damien felt like he just might cave in, the computer sprang to life and an image of Barbara Gordon appeared.

"Bruce?" She said seriously. "We need to talk. It's about Dick."

"…Go," he said to Damien.

The boy slunk away, fearing whatever it was Miss Gordon was going to tell Bruce. He'd best warn the others.

"Go ahead," said Bruce once Damien was gone.

"Have you noticed Dick acting… a little strange lately?" She asked.

"I have. He stood up Kori and then left for the evening."

"Well I can tell you where he was."

One explanation later and Bruce was leaning in his seat, trying to figure it all out. Dick seemed to be acting more formal, his affections had changed overnight, and he was indulging himself not only in expensive things, but his own self interests. Putting it all together, he wasn't the least bit surprised to find his intuition leading him back to Wayne Castle.

"You've got an idea?" Barbara asked.

"I've got… something."

"Well, let me know when something turns into an answer. I've got a bad feeling about this one."

"Me too."

With that, the computer screen flicked off.

For the time being, Bruce was going to keep the boys where he could monitor them and hopefully uncover the truth before anything bad could happen.

All of a sudden, an alert popped up on screen. He opened it and revealed a laundry list of recent expenses charged to him, totalling somewhere over seven thousand dollars.

"Dick!"

It was as if they were caught in a time loop. The next night, Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian woke up, were dressed, went down to breakfast, barely spoke a word over their eggs and bacon, and then, finally, they were excused.

The same as the night before, they were given one hour of free time before their lessons began, so they made for the library at once.

"What's it called again?" Dick asked, looking over the first shelf.

"Secundi Generis Artificia Magica," Tim recalled.

"Right. Now do you think it's in this library," said Jason, looking around the massive room. "Or in the other library?"

Dick sighed. "I guess we'll find out soon enough."

They scoured the shelves, reading over title after title after title, eliminating whole sections based on subject, until they found a shelf laden with spell books and magical artefact catalogues. Tim traced his fingers along the spines of each leather-bound cover, tracking Secundi Generis Artificia Magica down via the alphabetical order in which the books had been arranged, but… nothing. Tim double and triple checked—this absolutely was where the book ought to be—and yet it was simply missing.

"Nooo…" Jason moaned, knowing that now they'd need to go and check the whole next library and it was already fifteen minutes till ten o'clock.

"I mean… we could just check tonight," said Tim, semi-optimistically.

"That's still a whole day virtually wasted," Damian pointed out.

It was then that Dick noticed someone else moving in the shadowy, moonlit library. It was a kind-looking gentleman with spectacles, jotting something down on a piece of parchment.

"Excuse me," he said, coming over. The other boys watched him curiously.

"Yes, sir?" He replied with a bow.

"Do you know all the books in this library?"

"I ought to, yes, sir."

"Do you know where Secundi Generis Artificia Magica might be?"

The man appeared thoughtful. "Yes, I believe you loaned it to someone recently."

"To who?" Dick asked curiously.

"If memory serves… Miss Barbara Gordon."

Dick's eyebrows shot up. It sounded like the sort of thing he'd do to keep something important from being discovered by someone like the Marquis.

"Will that be all, sir?"

"Yes. Thank you." He went back to the others and relayed this new information as they left the library and started for the study room.

"Great," Tim deadpanned. "We're all grounded, and the book we need is at Barbara's house. Fan-flippin-tastic."

"Not entirely grounded," said Damian.

"You're saying I can get it while I'm out today?" Dick surmised. "How am I supposed to do that when I'm gonna be tied up in small talk with Kori's parents at Loomishire Hall? I don't even know where this Barbara lives!"

"Which means we're gonna be stuck here until we find a way to get that stupid book," Jason groaned, wincing a bit at the thought.

"You are all so pessimistic." Damian once again pointed out an alternative option. "If we can at least discover where their meeting place was, we stand a chance of finding the medallion, don't we? So all we have to do is keep looking for that place."

"Yeah, and what if it takes us months to find it?" Jason argued. "And what if, after we do, it turns out that we still need the stupid book?"

"Well, hopefully by that time, we'll be un-grounded," said Dick, lowering his voice as he spotted movement in a nearby hole high up in the ceiling. The staff were a lot more present than he'd previously realised.

"I don't want to be dancing and eating raw meat and gelatinous fish for the next few months," Jason mumbled, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Or ever again."

"Here here," Tim agreed. Then he had a thought. "Not to mention Dick's getting married soon."

Dick swallowed hard and his stomach felt all wriggly suddenly. "I don't suppose your diary mentioned when that's supposed to be?"

"I'm afraid not," Damian answered.

"You look more like a smooth tassel to me," Tim quipped, smiling. No one smiled back.

"Puns are the lowest form of comedy, Drake," said Damian.

"Oh, shut up."

"What he said," Dick agreed.

Jason's eyebrows suddenly rose. "Ooh, I get it. Yeah, that sucked, Tim."

They met the Marquis again in the study room, this time decorated with a small table set with all the expensive cutlery and glasses that had been used on the night of the dinner party. Something told them that today was going to be all about table etiquette. Surprisingly, no one came to fetch Dick like when Tim left yesterday, and the lesson began with all four boys present.

There was a designated seat for each of them, and after they sat down, Pennyworth came around the room and tied each of them by their shoulders to the backs of their chairs. It reminded Dick very much of his lessons with Alfred back home.

"Let us begin," said the Marquis, standing at the foot of the table.

"The first course is kidney soup," Pennyworth announced, standing beside the food-less table.

Jason took a breath through the nose and recalled what his counterpart had shown him the night of the party. He picked up the soup spoon and daintily brought it down into his bowl, pushing it away from himself, and bringing it gently to his lips, pretending to eat. The others followed his example and the Marquis seemed… well, as pleased as he ever was.

"When a nobleman addresses you for the first time, how do you reply?" Bruce asked, circling them methodically.

"Pleased to meet you?" Dick guessed, thinking back to all of their conversations from the past three days.

The Marquis paused. He waited all of two seconds before he scowled at the table and Jason, Tim, and Damian gasped in pain, two of them dropping their spoons.

"How do you reply?" Bruce repeated.

In a droning, unison voice that felt unsettlingly familiar to the boys, they replied, "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"And an acceptable start to a conversation would be?" Bruce went on, circling the table again.

It took a moment, but a sentence materialised in their minds. "To ask about the weather or the state of the roads."

Every so often, Alfred would come around, acting as the staff and adjusting their place settings as though they were having a real meal and announcing what it was they were eating. This time, however, if they picked the wrong fork or drank from the wrong glass, it wasn't mere social disdain which they would be punished with.

"Tell me then, the rules of conversation," the Marquis ordered, and Jason rubbed his eyes gingerly.

"Do not be a sedentary weaver of long tales," he blurted, surprising even himself. He didn't even know what "sedentary" meant, and yet he felt as though he'd said the word a hundred times.

"Speak clearly and properly," Dick joined in, feeling the same sense of mundane routine coming over him. Soon, they were all reciting.

"Never interrupt someone when they speak. Never use profanity. Do not speak only to relations or spouses, but mingle among other guests. Do not use puns or proverbs too often. Do not be absentminded. Do not speak in a hurry. Sustain from being a gabber. Never speak so low as to be sententious. Never speak so loud as to be vulgar. Avoid slanderous gossip. Do not contradict someone else. Always respect elders and women. Avoid exuberant and drawn out compliments. Always be an attentive listener—never hog conversation. Do not speak at length of another person's health, unless speaking with a close relative. Never debate in relaxed company. Do not ask more questions than a person is willing to answer. Never discuss the short-comings of staff. Never speak at length about one's own children. Timidity and shyness are to be avoided. And tittle-tattling is not proper conversation."

The ocean of words came flooding out of their mouths, one after another, and after a certain point, they didn't even have to pay attention to what they were saying, or that they were speaking at all. They were, in every sense of the phrase, on auto-pilot—the meaning behind what they were saying softly fading into the backs of their minds.

"Very good," said the Marquis; the first compliment they had received from him over the course of their stay. He then went on to throw more examples of conversation at them. Bits of dialogue that one might encounter at a party or at dinner, such as not discussing the food, as that was somehow considered "improper."

More and more, the boys felt pity for their counterparts. Despite the fact that they had no right to switch their places like they did, the longer they stayed in this dreadful place, the more they began to sympathise as to their motivation for doing so.

Sometime around the fifth course, Dick was finally fetched for his luncheon with the Tamaranean Royal Family. The other boys gave him looks of envy and of good luck as he departed with his escorts. He, in turn, gave a solemn nod to his brothers who would undoubtedly be stuck in the study room until dinner time.

Tim had mentioned something about Talia accompanying him yesterday, so it was little surprise to find her waiting for Dick when he entered the main foyer. Instantly, the night of the dinner party came to mind and he became stiff.

"Hello, dearest," she said daintily. "Shall we?"

The carriage ride was uneventful, to say the least. Lady Wayne gave him a few notes on what she thought he ought to say in his apology to Princess Koriand'r and he remained stiff by her side, trying not to let his thoughts linger on the situation.

At last, Loomishire Hall came into view. Despite the fact that Koriand'r was a princess, the estate paled in comparison to the House of El, which greatly surprised him. Although, the more he thought about it, the more he began to realise that this was not the Tamaranean royal palace proper, but merely an estate outside of Tamaran in which the royal family might stay from time to time. At any rate, it was at least as grandiose as Wayne Castle, if not slightly more so. A large, multileveled building with two gardens, several lovely facilities, a horde of servants, polished marble, crystal chandeliers, roses and lavender—every luxury one could ever hope for.

Dick remembered seeing Kori's parents at the El Ball—the first time he'd ever seen them before—and sucked in a nervous breath when he met them in the grand foyer, dressed from head to toe in various shades of rich purple, capped with two silver diadems. Standing behind them were—he blinked—was that Blackfire? And who was the boy standing next to Kori? Could it be Darkfire, her younger brother? He'd never met him before, only heard stories in passing. He appeared to be younger than his sisters by quite a few years, leaving him looking small and scrawny, while the eldest, Blackfire (or Komand'r, as he recalled) looked alarmingly sickly and pale for a Tamaranean.

"Thank you for agreeing to see us, Your Majesties," said Lady Wayne, curtsying low. Dick bowed beside her, his eyes briefly looking up at Kori, who was stunning as ever in her deep violet gown that fell in luscious ruffles down to the floor. She noticed him staring and blushed.

"Of course, Lady Wayne," said Queen Luand'r congenially. She and Komand'r bared the most resemblance, what with their long, jet black hair and all. Meanwhile, it seemed as though Kori and Darkfire (Ryand'r) took after their father, King Myand'r, a tall, staunch man with a full, red beard. "Please, join us in the green house garden, won't you?"

They walked in a very strict procession. The king and queen took the lead, the prince and princesses behind them, and finally Lady Wayne and Dick in the back. Apparently, walking together in any other way would have been considered "inappropriate." Although Dick couldn't decide if that was a manners thing, or a Tamaranean thing.

The garden proved to be the main highlight of the whole estate. It was built inside a massive greenhouse, by all accounts an atrium, where the air was warm enough that the guests weren't uncomfortable, lit by large, golden torches and beams of silver moonlight from above. There were tall hedges and topiaries carved into the forms of horses and birds and people and other things Dick couldn't even recognise. There were fountains spilling sparkling water into lily-pad-filled pools, bush after bush of red roses, white roses, pink roses, yellow roses, black roses, wisterias, orchids, lilacs, carnations, and peonies. Each of them seemed to not know that it was, in fact, November, as they were all in perfect bloom in the warm greenhouse. There were even a handful of bats flitting and squeaking about overhead, swooping from their hollows, looking for any pests who had the misfortune of entering the greenhouse.

Near the centre of the glade enclosure, nestled between two cherry trees, sat their destination: a lovely, white gazebo set over an artificial koi stream. The table was set with a million beautiful things—cakes, cheeses, bread, tea pots and tea cups, sandwiches, cuts of beef, fillets of fish and, unfortunately, more jellied eels.

Dick watched the king and queen as they sat down, taking in their solemn and professional countenance. They didn't remind him at all of the Kori he knew, or even the Kori he'd gotten to know at the ball. But perhaps they were more relaxed in private.

He was reminded vehemently of his lesson earlier in the night when the conversation began. Each and every rule he'd somehow remembered was put into practise, every formality being utilised to its fullest capacity. The royals made it look so easy, too. It was almost painful to make such meaningless small talk and intentionally avoid anything deeper than the weather. To avoid trying to make such dull conversation, Dick made it a habit to take a bite of his sandwich (cucumber, his least favourite) or to sip his nice, warm cup of red tea, whenever possible.

Seated at either side of him were Princess Komand'r and King Myand'r. Kori sat practically on the other side of the table, smiling at Lady Wayne chatting guilelessly. If what Damian suggested were possible—if he could somehow manage to slip away and find Barbara's house while he had the chance—Kori just might be able to help. After all, Stephanie had been in on their secret, so it wasn't altogether a huge leap to assume that Kori might be as well. He just needed to find an excuse to be alone with her.

"You seem more quiet than usual, Lord Wayne," the king noticed. "Pray, what is on your mind?"

Dick swallowed. "Well, Your Majesty," he caught sight of Talia giving him an encouraging look and suddenly he realised that now just may be his time to apologise. "If I may be honest, I am still feeling terribly remorseful regarding my behaviour on the night of the El Ball." He wanted to keep his eyes low on his plate, but he knew that it was only proper to make eye contact when he spoke, especially to someone as important as a king. "I would like to offer you and Queen Luand'r and your daughter my sincerest, humblest apologies. If ever you could find it within your heart to forgive me, I would be most honoured." Dick felt rather pleased with himself. He'd never come up with an apology quite that extravagant before, and he doubted he ever would again.

"Very well, then," said the king, taking a cut of beef. "You have proven yourself to be an honourable young man. I shall not hold it against you."

Dick smiled to himself. If only Kori could see him now, talking with her father and getting along.

Much more small talk went on at the table. It was a chore to remain focused on it at times, however, every now and then the conversation would turn toward something mildly interesting. For example, these Tamaraneans did not customarily use cutlery when eating, and only did so when traveling to other countries where the use of such tools was considered proper. Also, he learned that Koriand'r was an aspiring painter and singer, and she had just finished a portrait that she was quite proud of.

Komand'r suddenly began to cough beside him, and she pulled out a small, white handkerchief. An attendant came up behind her, but she reassured him that she was fine. Dick wondered what exactly it was that had happened to her. Some form of illness, clearly, but what, he wasn't sure. He could rule out something contagious like a flu since she was here, sitting around other people, leaving him to assume that it was something more chronic in nature.

Dick looked across the table and caught Koriand'r's eye. She smiled just then, reminding him that she did still have fangs and that she wasn't really his Koriand'r. He'd been a bit starstruck the night of the ball, but now that everything had come crashing down, he could clearly remind himself that his true Kori was waiting for him back home.

"Father," Koriand'r spoke up just then. "Might Komand'r, Lord Wayne, and I take a turn about the garden to enjoy the flowers?"

"Very well," said the king, setting down his glass.

Kori urged the two of them to follow her and she led them down one of the stony paths. She stayed close to her sister's side, holding her arm as she did appear somewhat dizzy at first, but upon reaching the first bend, where the gazebo vanished from sight, they gave each other a knowing look and then parted ways, leaving Koriand'r alone with Dick.

"I'm glad to see you are feeling better," said Kori, immediately latching onto his arm fondly as they walked deeper into the garden, the moonlight framing their path. Dick felt his whole head and neck warm up. "I was so worried for you, having left so suddenly. I did not know what to think! But I am ever so glad that all seems to be resolved now. And then some!" Her smile broadened and Dick wondered what she meant. "Ah! I must tell you about the delightful bouquets I've settled on for the wedding! Baby's breath and red-dipped white roses. Absolutely stunning!"

That's right. The wedding. He swallowed again as he thought about when that might be. Hopefully, not too soon, or else he'd be off on a honeymoon with someone else's Koriand'r.

"Oh, my dear Richard," she sighed, leaning her head against his shoulder. "I am ever so glad that we found each other. Actually… if you'll pardon my forwardness… up until a few nights ago, I was beginning to wonder if you truly felt affection for me at all." They stopped and she stared longingly into his eyes. In a moment, their faces were a breath away from each other. Any fear of their being heard was drowned out by the fountain next to them, lapping water noisily. Finally, she whispered, "Tell me that you love me."

Richard—Dick—felt his throat go incredibly tight. He needed to stay focused on the task at hand—there wasn't time for this… this quiet moment… just the two of them… alone… so close…

Finally he swallowed and whispered back, "Koriand'r…"

"Yes?" She smiled.

He felt just awful for having to put out her good mood, but… there was just nothing for it. "I think… there's something… you need to know."

"What is it, my love?"

"I… I…" Oh, those precious green eyes of hers. Why did they have to be so big and vulnerable-looking? He tried again. "The… I… y…" She was smiling wider now, in an amused sort of way. Darn it! Why could he not just say what was on his mind?

"Perhaps words alone cannot convey the feeling," she whispered, their noses almost touching. "In that case…"

She closed her eyes and began to lean forward. It took every ounce of willpower for Dick to force himself backward.

When Koriand'r opened her eyes, she frowned. "What is wrong?"

"I… think… I need some air," Dick breathed, at last making his escape. He could have strangled himself for not being able to get a grip on his senses, but she had looked so happy, he just couldn't bring himself to spoil it.

"Would you like me to accompany you?" Koriand'r called after him.

"I won't be but a moment, my love," he called back reassuringly, and then he mentally paused, repeating that sentence, which had come out of his own mouth, over again in his mind. With a shaky breath and a quickened pace he began to come to terms with the fact that the body he was in had its own muscle and mental memory. He simply needed to get used it. That was all.

He slipped out of the green house, unaccompanied, and let the chill of the November air seep into his jacket. What was he going to do? His only available option was to break the news to Koriand'r that he was not, in fact, the Richard she knew, and that her Richard had left… had abandoned her and their marriage… The longer he thought about it, the more sour the feeling in his stomach became. Oh bother, this had seemed so simple during the carriage ride.

"Come to be alone again?"

Dick turned and saw Komand'r, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders, behind him.

"Princess Komand'r," he said respectfully.

"Lord Wayne," she replied quietly. "And what might it be this time? Finally broke off the wedding, did you?"

Dick frowned. "No, no—of course not."

She merely sighed, her black ringlets bobbing slightly in the gentle breeze. "Pity."

"And why is that?"

"Have you not been bewailing the arrangement for the last two months?" She eyed him in a shrewd sort of way. After a cough or two into her handkerchief, she added. "One might think you've had a stroke of memory loss."

Bewailing? Complaining? Was Lord Richard not in love with Princess Koriand'r? Was his proposal… more of a betrothal? What a dreadful thought, particularly for Koriand'r. It was clear that she was fond of him, at least. Oh, but now he was more stuck than before. How could he possibly break the news to Koriand'r after lifting her spirits so high?

"You'd best return to her, lest her opinion of you begin to dwindle further."

"Huh? Oh, right," he said, turning back around toward the green house. What was he going to say to her?

She was waiting for him in exactly the same place as before, looking somewhat worried.

"Are you feeling unwell?" She asked timidly.

With a small cough, he said, "Simply… a little lightheaded."

She did not seem nearly as happy as before, and came up to him, wringing her hands gently. "You are a mystery to me, Lord Wayne. One that I desperately wish to understand." Her delicate eyebrows barely wrinkled her forehead as she looked up at him. "You have always been… quite mature regarding affection. Quite withheld, as a matter of fact. Then, at the ball…"

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "As my parents have said, I've been feeling… out of sorts lately."

"But…" she tried to smile and some of her Tamaranean accent slipped out, "You do love me… yes?"

This time, it was impossible to resist her pleading, innocent face. "With all my heart," he said, despite really meaning the words for his own Kori.

At once, he regretted his decision, for after her smile broadened, she moved forward and forced her lips into his. It was nothing terribly passionate, and yet it still made Dick's head light up and his heart do flips, as though there was a flying trapeze inside his chest.

For that one moment—that blissful, peaceful moment—he was actually able to forget that he was trapped in another world, trapped in his own home, by none other than his terrifying vampire parents. No, his mind was altogether here, in this moonlit garden, with his beloved, Princess Koriand'r.

Several minutes later, Dick, Koriand'r, and Komand'r were walking back to the pavilion, the two lovebirds hiding smiles in the corners of their mouths. Dick didn't really remember anything else that was said at the luncheon, something about packages or sandwiches or something. It was suddenly just very hard to focus with Koriand'r sitting right across the table, looking like a vision in violet ruffles.

It wasn't until the luncheon was wrapping up, however, that he finally came to his senses. What was he doing!? He needed to be looking for a way to sneak off to Barbara's house, not getting all goo-goo-eyed simply because the most beautiful woman in the whole world—his fiancé—was sitting just a few feet away from him. He had to be stronger than this, his brothers were counting on him.

But alas, the luncheon was over, and there was nothing left to do but bid the princess farewell with a kiss on the hand and another hidden smile. In the carriage, however, all of that euphoria was quickly melting into despair. He'd let his natural urge to comfort her get the best of him, and now Koriand'r was even more in love with him than before, leaving him no closer to getting that book. He would have banged his head against the window if Lady Wayne wasn't sitting right next to him.

"Sit up straight, Richard," she suddenly said, and with a great deal of surprise, Dick felt a familiar invisible force grip him round the torso and force his spine straight. He glanced in Talia's direction, at long last remembering that she possessed some form of telekinesis. Was that something all vampires could do?"Did you and Princess Koriand'r have a pleasant time?" She went on, her half-open eyes delicately staring out the window.

"Oh, w-well, we, uh, we—"

"We speak in clear, full sentences, Richard," said Lady Wayne icily.

"…Yes, Mother," he sighed, staring ahead at the black wall of the carriage. His eyes felt suddenly very heavy. "We had a good time."

"Lovely," she cooed. "And don't you worry. Spring will come sooner than you think. Time flies when you're in love, as they say."

Dick, however, felt somewhat nauseated. Spring? Was that when the wedding would be held? At least it was a few months away still. Surely they could find a way to get home before then… right? Especially since, after they were married, his life would continue on at Wayne Castle. There would be no house hunting for him, as he was set to inherit his father's estate, and most likely live there, with Lord and Lady Wayne, until the day they died. Whenever that would be.

At a fork in the road, some minutes later, they took a turn that seemed to Dick unusual. He hadn't been paying very close attention before, but he felt sure that something was different about the view outside. It did not take long for him to work out what that difference was as a new estate which he did not recognise came into view.

The driver took them up the gravel pathway and parked them just beyond the main entrance.

"Are we visiting someone else?" Dick asked carefully.

"Honestly, you must pay closer attention when people are talking," said Lady Wayne as she collected a small package from beneath her seat. "I'm running a gift to the Gordons." Dick did his best to contain his surprise. "You will remain right where you're seated."

He watched her be helped out by the footman, and then knock on the door to the small estate. He waited anxiously for her to step inside, and the instant that the door had closed, he transformed and slipped out through the carriage window. This was his chance to see Barbara, but he needed to be quick about it, or else Lady Wayne would return to find him missing and he'd be in even more trouble.

He flew to the nearest window and peaked inside, expecting to see Barbara with Officer Gordon in the main foyer, but the commissioner was the only one present. Dick flew to the next window, and the next, but the fire-lit rooms were all empty. So she must be upstairs, he thought, and he went immediately to the second floor. He had perfect timing. Right then, one of the maids was exiting that particular room and what should he see in the hall through the open door but the shape of a wheelchair.

The window lock unlatched and he crept inside, detransforming.

By now, the maid had gone, and so had Barbara, leaving Dick all alone in the hallway—voices drifting up the stairwell from the main foyer. He needed to find her quickly, but there were at least half a dozen doors in this hallway. Which one should he check first? That sense of familiarity came to him again and he made for the door on the end of the hall, crossing his fingers.

He slipped inside and… he paused. There, by the bedroom window, sat a red headed woman in an old wheelchair, watching the moon as a pale, misty fog began to roll in over the downs. A bright fire blazed 'neath the hearth, casting shadows on the walls and bookshelves.

All of a sudden, Dick felt rather… forlorn.

The memories were faint, like the impression of words left on a spare piece of paper after one has finished writing a letter, but they were memories nonetheless. He'd seen this many times; had seen her many times. She often sat alone, quietly thinking or reading, escaping her surroundings through the exciting adventures penned in ink. He… he was often with her… by the fire's glow, reading old detective novels together, late into the night. It was about the only thing they could do together.

Dick remembered when Barbara had been crippled from the waist down due to an unfortunate childhood illness. She could never play with the other kids, could never attend dinners or balls without extreme inconvenience, and worst of all, she was already considered an old maid, destined to never marry any man of any reputable income or status. She would live with her ageing father until the day his health declined, at which point she would be turned out of the house, as women could not own land or estates. She would be destitute and alone in an already unkind world. And Richard—Dick—he could do very little for her. Indeed, these last few months, he had been forced to keep his distance, as his mother did not want rumours spreading of an engaged young man paying calls to another woman.

So, Miss Gordon sat, staring out her window, watching the fog roll in.

Pulling himself out of his thoughts, Richard cleared his throat. "Please, forgive the intrusion."

Barbara turned around in her chair and smiled shakily. "Richard. What brings you here tonight?" She was somehow the most pale person in this whole lymphatic world, and her yellow eyes seemed weak in the dim light, but she was by no means homely. Not even slightly.

"I've come to reclaim the book I lent you."

Her smile faltered. "You aren't worried that you're father might find it?"

"Well," said Richard, "Not just now."

"Very well." She wheeled herself over to the trunk in the corner of her room and dug through it until she produced a very worn and beaten book. Across its leather cover were scrawled the words, "Secundi Generis Artificia Magica."

"Here you are," she said, and when their hands gently touched, passing the book along, Richard hesitated. His eyes followed her doll-like fingers all the way up to her face, framed with ginger locks, and he found himself staring. He had no idea why… not a clue… "You needn't worry about me," she whispered, letting go. "I feel fine."

How odd. He could almost swear that the feeling in his chest right now… was the same feeling he had felt with Koriand'r.

"I'm sorry to have to leave so suddenly," he whispered back. "But—"

"No need to explain. If you must hurry, then hurry," she said, smiling again. "I love you."

As his cheeks grew a touch warmer, he found himself saying, "I love you too," in return.

When he had left her company, alone in the hall, he fingered his book, mulling everything over. He knew that he wasn't in love with Barbara—his Barbara—but as of this moment, he wasn't so sure anymore. Was this yet another of Other Richard's feelings bleeding through? Was he secretly in love with Miss Gordon rather than the princess to whom he was engaged? What an unfortunate arrangement.

As he looked, one last time, at the door to Miss Gordon's room, he felt certain that he'd seen this particular hallway so many times that it almost felt like a second home to him. The smell of the wood, of the brassy doorknobs, the bouquets set out along the hall… he had come here many times throughout his life, ever since he was a boy.

With a loud "thank you" from the main foyer downstairs, he very suddenly remembered that time was of the essence, and so he transformed and flew out the window the way he had come. He was down by the carriage in a flash, situating himself on his seat just as the front door opened and Lady Wayne emerged. The book, he stowed beneath his seat, and their ride home resumed as if nothing had happened.

Yet still… Richard's mind lingered on the image of Miss Gordon by the window, all alone. How very odd indeed.

Richard hardly spoke a word when he returned home that morning, not at dinner, nor in the sitting room. Lady Wayne made a comment to the effect that he was day-dreaming about his beloved, and he laughed it off with refined composure, but inwardly, he was really still thinking of both women and the situation he now found himself in.

By the time he was being dressed for bed, he was still thinking.

"Earth to Dick," Jason suddenly said and his eyes snapped to attention. Everyone had gathered in his room again, eagerly waiting to hear how his excursion had gone. "Jeez, what happened out there?"

"You've been acting weird all night," Tim added, looking worried.

"Nothing," he lied, trying to shake out his thoughts. "It's nothing. In other news, I was able to see Miss Gordon." The others gave him odd looks. "You'll be happy to know that Secundi Generis Artificia Magica is now back in our possession."

"So where is it?" Damian asked, setting down his hot coco.

Richard froze. "Sitting underneath the seat in the carriage." He had completely forgotten about it! Although, how exactly would he have brought it inside without Lady Wayne noticing?

"And I suppose that means we'll have to go retrieve it," Damian sighed, rolling his eyes. "I love it when you make extra work for us." Now, Damian was not always the easiest person to like, and Richard and he had had their spats in the past, but in this moment, something about the face he was making, his snide attitude and his childish superiority complex, set Richard's teeth on edge far more than it had any right to.

"Well why not just stay in your room and finish your coco instead?" Richard said quite pointedly. That had felt peculiarly out of character, and yet, so satisfying, especially as Damian's eyes grew wider. "Then perhaps call for one of the maids to come massage your feet and sing you to sleep."

"You would be wise to refrain from insulting me," Damian snapped, coming a bit closer.

Richard felt the sharpness in his chest lessen as Jason asked, "Dick? You feeling okay?"

"Fine," he said, briefly pinching the brim of his nose. "I feel fine." In reality, he didn't know how he felt at all. Those remarks had seemingly jumped from his mouth out of nowhere, and though he knew he ought to apologise, whenever he looked at Damian, the words abandoned him and were instead replaced by more nasty thoughts.

"You'd better be," said Damian, still frowning.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" That sharpness in Richard's chest had returned with even greater force. It longed to be unleashed.

"What do you think?" Damian shot back.

"I think you ought to sew that pretentious little mouth of yours shut." Part of Richard's head was screaming, "What are you doing?!" The other was egging him on, relishing every word he spoke. Meanwhile, Jason and Tim looked as though they were witnessing a murder.

Damian frowned and swallowed slightly. "Perhaps you need some time alone to cool off and get your head on straight."

That sharp feeling reared its ugly head again and he narrowed his eyes. "I will not be spoken to that way by a spoiled twelve-year-old brat. You think the whole world revolves around you, don't you?"

"Dick?" Said Jason, his voice rising. But the feeling in his chest demanded to be listened to. Richard took a step closer and loomed over Damian, baring his fangs.

"You get everything you ask for—served to you on a silver platter—and yet all you do is complain! Oh, yes, you'll have to marry the Crown Princess of Azarath and one day be king, how dreadful for you! It's not as though you'll be stuck living in this abysmal castle for the rest of your life! Or as though there's anyone else you had plans on marrying! Not that it's surprising you'd be given the best possible match out of all of us. You've always been Mother's favourite you ungrateful little whelp!"

Richard was breathing a little harder than normal, and when he had finished speaking, he found himself staring at a very shocked Damian. It was his hurt expression that finally warded off the sharp feeling in his chest and brought him back to reality.

"Dick, what's the matter with you?" Jason asked, grabbing his shoulder.

"Sorry," he mumbled, still looking at Damian. It was as though he'd briefly turned into someone else. "Damian, I… I don't know where that came from—I'm… I'm so sorry…" He stumbled back into his armchair, placed right by the fire, and rubbed his forehead.

"Dick?" Damian said quietly. "What's wrong?"

He took a breath, cupping his hands over his mouth and closing his eyes for a moment. The others were all watching him, faces plastered with worry, and it was no wonder. How often did he, of all people, lose his temper like that? "I think… we've been here too long…" he finally said. "I've been… seeing memories…"

"…Memories of the Other Us's lives," Tim finished, understandingly.

"And their skills," added Damian.

Richard—Dick—took another breath. "And their feelings."

The room collectively listened to the sound of the crackling fire as they tried to move on from Dick's sudden outburst. Damian, in particular, still looked quite shaken.

"Hey, guys?" Tim asked, drawing their attention. His arms were folded and he was staring ahead at the floor just before the fireplace. "Have any of you been having… trouble… remembering things about home?" Dick sat up a little straighter. "It's just… at dinner, I got thinking, and…" he turned to them, looking frightened, and said quietly, "…I can't remember my mom's face."

At once, Dick tried to recall his own parents. Thankfully, it wasn't much trouble. The image of them felt perfectly clear. Mary and… and… now hold on… what was his father's name? He ought to know this, he was named after him for crying out loud. Richard… Richard… Richard something. But the more he tried to recall it, the further away it seemed, until only three words floated in his mind: Richard Bruce Wayne.

"Does anyone remember… my last name?" He asked meekly, causing the room to rock back and forth a bit.

"Of course," Jason tried to chuckle. "It's… it's…" but he too seemed to be having difficulty remembering. "You're Dick…" The word felt like it was still on his tongue, but had been rendered mute somehow.

"Grayson," Damian quickly said. "Dick Grayson."

Dick swallowed, relieved, if only just, for his middle name and father's name still remained as "Bruce" in his memory, no matter how hard he tried to recall the proper name, and even now, the Marquis' face threatened to overtake the image of his biological father, and even Bruce's for that matter.

"We really have been here too long," Jason muttered, rubbing his eyes and sitting down on Dick's trunk next to Tim.

As the quiet seconds wore on, Dick saw Damian standing by the little table he'd set his coco down on, staring sullenly at the floor. He still could not believe the way he'd acted just a few minutes ago. More importantly, he couldn't believe the way Damian had looked up at him. As though he'd never in his wildest dreams imagined that he would act that way—say such mean things to him just out of pure spite and malice and jealousy. "Damian," he started earnestly. "Damian, I'm sorry for saying all those things. I swear I didn't mean them."

"I know," he said, still looking at the floor. "It's fine."

"All the more reason to get that book and get out of here," said Tim, rising. "Let us not waste anymore time." He paused. "I mean… let's go."

The four of them transformed and set out into the castle under the cover of darkness.

The carriages were located in the "garage" which was connected to the castle via a long hallway. It made sense, considering that the sun was out currently, and vampires would need a way to travel between places without getting burned during the day. No servants were around here either, they were all down in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner.

Tim was the one who grabbed the book from under the carriage seat and then the four of them sat together in a corner of the windowless garage, pouring over its pages, looking for the picture Other Damien had mentioned in his diary entry. It was a great mercy that he'd also written down the medallion's proper name, otherwise they might not have been able to identify it among the countless other illustrations.

"In the earliest ages of the—yada yada—The Medallion of Anima Iter," Tim read aloud. "Is one of three great magical artefacts of its kind constructed by—blah blah blah—its aforethought function is to, by means of—da da da—magical jargon—deracinate a man's soul from within the body, and insert it into that of another man, forcing both souls to interchange betwixt the two. All the while, the mind remains undisturbed."

"We know this," said Jason, leaning his head against the wall and folding his arms.

"I'm getting there, just—shush," said Tim, flipping the page. "And heretofore the spoken command to bring about the medallion's magic—oh, it needs a spell—was thought to have been lost in the—sheesh, this goes on forever—aaah, ba ba ba—here—The spell to cast is thusly…." He stopped and looked up suddenly. "It's been inked out."

Jason let out a long groan. "Cooome oooon."

"Does it say anything else?" Asked Dick, leaning forward.

Tim scanned the page. "Nothing useful, I'm afraid."

"Well, I'm still glad we were able to find it. We never would have known that it needed a spell to activate otherwise."

"Yes, but now we need to figure out what exactly that spell is," said Damian. "And I doubt we'll be able to find another copy of the book simply lying about somewhere."

Dick got up and started moving toward the door, saying, "Well, then… shall we?"

"'Shall we' what?" Tim repeated.

"Look for the medallion, of course."

"We might as well, I suppose," Damian frowned. "Are we still operating on the assumption that they hid it in the 'secret place?'"

"I think it's less of an assumption and more of a hope at this point," said Jason, coming up beside Dick and transforming.

Together, they made their way back into the castle and down into the lower levels where they resumed their search. They avoided all the hallways and storage rooms they'd checked the night before, and began snooping about the myriad of other halls and rooms which had yet to be investigated. The further they explored, the quieter the corridors became. There were no lit candles, no servants coming and going—it actually felt as though no one had come to certain areas in a long time. It was this feeling that spurred them on. Surely, a good secret meeting place would be found here. It just made sense.

However, exploring every single room was proving to take far longer than any of them would have liked or anticipated, and by now it had to be early afternoon, perhaps later. Damian and Tim would yawn periodically and rub their eyes, their investigating becoming sluggish and weary.

"Stupid body," Damian muttered as he fought another large yawn and leaned against a wall. "I never used to get this drowsy back home."

"Perhaps we'd better call it a night," said Dick, feeling tired himself.

Jason, however, was looking restless.

"You want to keep going?" Tim asked, rubbing the sleep from his eye with his nightgown sleeve.

"I just feel like we've been wasting time, looking in all the wrong places." He started pacing, looking the room they were in up and down. It was an old cellar room filled with barrels that smelled like rotting wood and mead. "For if I were to choose a hidden meeting place, certainly I would have the common sense not to use an old cellar that could be accessed at any time. Er… you know what I mean."

"And have we forgotten that—" Damian yawned again, "—this place is meant to smell like pickled onions? All I smell here is alcohol and rot."

Dick "hmmed" to himself and stepped out into the hallway. They were all bringing up excellent points. There had to be a more efficient way to search. Or else, a piece of the puzzle that they were missing. They couldn't afford to waste time when it seemed that with every second, they were losing themselves to this world and these bodies. But the corridors seemed to go on forever! Perhaps… perhaps if he just let himself fall into Other Richard's memories for a moment… the location may very well be revealed.

"Dick? You got something?" Tim asked as he and the others slowly joined him.

"There is a strategy I wish to employ," he said, closing his eyes and trying to focus.

A heaviness came over him, similar to how he felt in the carriage with Lady Wayne. A grey, dreary, emotionless heaviness. And in the midst of the fog, a dim glimmer of hope. When he opened his eyes, the smell of the stone walls, of the wood rot and mead, all triggered deep, nostalgic memories in his subconscious, and at once he knew where they were.

"This way," he said, leading them on. Yes, it was all so clear now. They were in the east wing of the cellars, and they needed to move further in. There was a place here that he knew the path to very well indeed. Gradually, the smell of pickled onions came to their noses, sharp and odorous. Yes, this was the way alright. They were getting close.

Movement made his heart stop. Instantly he threw his arm back and stopped the others from walking any further. There was someone else down here and Richard could see the light from their candle just a few yards away. In a panic, the boys transformed and when the candle started coming closer, as if it could see them, they grabbed Damian by his eight legs and started flying away as fast as their wings could carry them. There was no time to look back, no time to see if it was merely a servant or a maid or worse, a butler or Mr. Pennyworth. They had only time to run and hide.

So, tonight's venture ended with the four of them reluctantly returning to their bedrooms, but at least they had uncovered the general location of the secret place. Richard—Dick—was sure of it. Besides, the two youngest were stretching themselves too thin as it was. They needed their rest. Tomorrow night they would return and finally get one step closer to home.

Back in Dick's room, he watched Tim and Damian scurry up the wall, vanishing into the hole that was hidden behind his bed canopy, but then he noticed Jason hesitate. His furry little bat head looked back at him, and then he was suddenly detransformed.

"What's wrong?" Dick asked at once.

Jason appeared to be uncomfortably debating with himself. He was fidgeting with the hem of his sleeves and wouldn't bring his eyes up to meet him. "Just…" he sighed. "…you know what you and Tim were saying earlier? I…" Dick sat down on his bed and Jason sat next him, leaning heavily on his knees. "It's weird… to say out loud… but… the more I think about it… the less I remember… like… did we used to wear some kind of brightly coloured suits?"

Dick thought about it. "Yes, I remember that. We were… Batman's sidekicks. Robin."

"Right," Jason nodded. Then sighed in a bewildered-sort-of-way. "Never thought I'd be able to forget something like that. …And Alfred… he was the one who would bake and cook for us, right?"

"Best chicken jalapeño sandwiches in the world," Dick smiled, suddenly hungry. Quite hungry, actually. The bitter taste of his blood-soaked pork loin from dinner was still sitting at the back of his throat, and at the thought of Alfred's cooking, his mouth felt suddenly very lonely.

"There's a lot there… that I feel like… it's just starting to slip away," said Jason slowly. "And… I dunno… it's kinda scary. Mostly because… there are some things… some things that… I think I want to forget. Dark things."

Dick's eyes dropped to the floor. Yes. There were a lot of dark things in their pasts. At the moment, most of them felt hazy and distant, but he remembered how terrified they made him feel. And there was very little that terrified him. He would be lying if he said he didn't partially agree with his brother. This place was miserable, yes… but a different kind of miserable than back home. As long as they behaved, they didn't have a whole lot of problems. They didn't have to sneak out every night, round-housing gangsters and aliens and terrorists, always taking a beating, always looking over their shoulders for threats, wondering when the next person they loved would die… Instead, they could just… relax. Be together as a family. Eat dinner… play games… go to balls… read in the library… visit their friends… get married… start families… inherit the Wayne family estate… have a high risk of dying from small pox… be subject to the endless litany of social etiquette rules for the rest of their lives… be chained to the Marquis' tortuous punishments… be separated from their real loved ones and friends… abandon their duties to their home… their real home.

Dick finally shook his head. "As much as it would be nice to forget… and if I'm being honest, there's a lot I wish I could forget… our friends are waiting for us. Gotham is waiting for us. And Bruce is waiting for us. We can't allow ourselves to forget. Even if that means having to remember the bad stuff too."

Jason started nodding solemnly. "You're right. As usual. Gosh, you can be so annoying sometimes."

"We all have our faults," Dick reassured him.

Then Jason smiled. "Did I just say 'gosh?'"

"Yeah, you did," Dick chuckled.

"Ooooh, I can't wait to get back home. My code name is Red Hood, right?"

"Yes, that sounds right. And I'm…"

"Nightwing."

"Right."

They talked for a long time after that, just quizzing each other on miscellaneous facts, swapping stories from their time as vigilantes, keeping the memory of their past alive for a little longer. It was nice having someone to talk to. Not about the weather or the state of the roads or how little time they had left to get home before they were stuck here forever. Just… talking. It had to be at least four in the afternoon when Jason finally went back to his own room, and both boys went to bed feeling a bit more like their old selves.

That did remind them, though: they needed to figure out how to use the medallion once they found it, and before they forgot about their true home all together. In the meantime, they had more lessons with "Father."

Bruce barely slept a wink. He'd spent most of the night trying to make at least some progress on his Scarecrow case, while also keeping an eye on the boys and trying to figure out how to get the dimension device to open a portal to Wayne Castle.

The Scarecrow case? Nothing more than dead ends and lots of coffee at current.

The boys? He'd watched them eat dinner from the security cameras. Once again, they seemed oddly ordinary, which was precisely the problem. He began to wonder if he should allow them to come out on any more missions or even just patrol.

Lastly, the device. It wasn't as though he had saved the address on the thing's data banks or anything, and so, several hours at been committed to retracing his steps and figuring out how the vampire world had been dialled in the first place. Needless to say, very little progress had been made, but he wasn't going to give up until he had his answers.

Upstairs was a different story. After dinner, and after Stephanie had gone home for the night, the boys convened in Damien's room. He told them about Barbara's call and the implications of it were clear. They needed to move—fast.

Damien decided that he would continue to try and convince Bruce that he was completely normal, but as for the others (Richard in particular) it may be time to consider leaving the manor altogether. After all, did he and Jason not have homes of their own currently? If they truly intended to protect their freedom and their safety, then it was time to start distancing themselves from Mister Bruce Wayne as much as they could. Maybe even disappear altogether.

It was decided.

Jason was the first to come to Bruce and tell him that he would be refusing the offer to stay a few nights. Bruce had been awfully quiet but had also gone along with it. Jason left alone, calling a cab to take him back to his apartment with no fuss or hassle.

Richard, on the other hand, received a little more pushback. When he told Bruce that he would be going home, he asked him again what was going on with him and Kori, and again Richard said that he didn't want to talk about it. Bruce asked if he was sure that he didn't want to stay longer, and Richard said yes. And then, after promising that he would handle the whole seven-thousand dollars situation, the matter was considered settled and Richard also left the manor. In some ways, Bruce's reaction almost made them more nervous than if he had begun arguing with them. But still, Dick and Jason were out of the Bat's den and away from danger. That just left two.

Damien and Timothy's remaining time alone that night was spent familiarising themselves as much as they could with their counterparts' lives, exploring their rooms, taking a whack at their hobbies, going over their phones' photo libraries, and trying to remember anything that they could through their counterparts' bodies. Then, the youngest went to make a calculated visit to his father.

"You're up late," he said, a touch more condescending, as he came into the Batcave. "Or should I say, early?"

"Good morning, Damian," said Bruce evenly. He stretched his sore back muscles and reached for his coffee mug. "Sleep well?"

"I suppose." He walked up next to him and scanned the computer screen. "I see you've been busy." He honestly didn't understand most of it, but he got that Bruce was trying to figure something out. Something that had to do with an unsolved crime and some oddity calling himself "The Scarecrow."

"It's only my job," Bruce replied. "But enough about me. We never finished our talk last night." He turned around to face him fully. "I'm going to give you one chance to be honest." Damien resisted the urge to swallow. "You know what's been going on with Dick. So tell me. Now."

Inwardly, he grimaced. There was no way out of this, no possible way he could spin the story to save both their necks. Richard was done for and both he and Bruce knew it. But that didn't mean Damien or Timothy or Jason had to get pulled down with him.

He closed his eyes and said in a reluctant voice, "He made me promise not to say anything… made us all promise…"

"Stephanie included?"

"No. Just me—" he wanted to say Timothy and Jason, but that felt somehow wrong. Hopefully his speech pattern didn't sound like he'd just pivoted as he continued, "—Drake, and Todd." What those names meant, he had no idea, but they sounded right. "Before breakfast," he added, reimagining the day, "We were talking, and…" as he caught Bruce's suspicious eye, he thought of how he might make the story even more believable, "…he was acting strange. Well, stranger than usual. He left the Batcave just after you did, saying that he was going to visit 'Miss Gordon' rather than go on his date with Koriand'r."

"And you didn't think to tell anyone?" Bruce squinted.

"As I said, he made us promise not to."

Damien watched his father lean back in thought and waited for him to say something.

"Come here," he eventually ordered, getting up and leading him over to a strange device. Damien did as he was told, though he had no idea what Bruce was trying to accomplish with all these lights and strange machines he kept pointing at him and the needles he kept poking him with. After a few minutes of this, Bruce was hunched over a screen, scratching his chin. "Everything's come back negative."

Damien raised an eyebrow beside him. "Were you worried I'd—" he inwardly smiled, "—become a vampire or something?"

"Yes," he replied seriously. Then he turned to look at him as if he still wasn't quite convinced.

"—Tt—," he scoffed, the sound seemingly rolling off his tongue. "You worry too much."

Bruce sighed in an almost reluctant sort of way as he looked over the results one last time.

"Will we be going out again tonight?" Damien asked, trying to move the conversation away from all these suspicions.

"I will be going on patrol. You will be making up for the hours you lost yesterday. As soon as you get home from school, I want to see you training. Understood?"

"Yes, Father."

School? Did Damian go to school with other children? Did he have friends that weren't simply sons of other stuffy socialites? Suddenly he felt like he wanted to skip for joy, but another part of him quickly pulled his enthusiasm back down. He didn't even let himself smile, just in case. This was supposed to be a "normal" day, after all.

"There you are, Master Damian," said Alfred, entering the cave. "Come along, you're going to be late for school."

"Goodbye, Father," he said as he went with the butler, inwardly counting the seconds until the moment he arrived at his school. What would it be like? What kind of friends did Other Damian have? Oh, the suspense was simply too much!

Bruce, though, he watched Damian leave from out of the corner of his eye. Out of all the others, he seemed the most unaltered, save for the fact that his typical anger seemed to have been quelled. He was more cool and collected. Was it an effect of having a good time yesterday, or was it something else?

Speaking of something else, he pulled up the GPS trackers he'd planted on Jason and Dick before they left. It was another sign that they were not themselves. Otherwise, they'd have discovered and disabled the devices shortly after leaving, unless Bruce's training had failed them.

Jason and Dick did do as they said they would, though. They were both back at their respective homes, seemingly not doing much. He pulled out the headphones and started listening.

Still only footsteps and the occasional page flip or bed squeak. They were both alone.

Alfred had Damien's backpack ready for him, lunch packed and everything, so all he needed to do was put on the uniform hanging inside of his closet and he was ready to go. It was so lovely having this version of Pennyworth around. He much preferred him as a butler than a tutor.

Timothy asked him where exactly he was going as he passed him in the hallway, and Damien excitedly replied, "School!" Before shooting off down the stairs.

Damien had expected to take one of the cars, but he stopped himself from heading toward the garage when he noticed Alfred walking in another direction. "Act normal," he reminded himself as he followed. Much to his surprise and glee, they walked outside to a large patch of pavement where another flying contraption sat waiting for them. They were flying to school? He could practically click his heels, he was so excited! Of course, he made sure to keep these thoughts of himself as he buckled up, and the large metal beams above the cabin started whirling round and round in circles, lifting them off the ground. From up so high, he could see for miles around the sunlit city. It was incredible! The most incredible thing he'd done since arriving here! Of course, it would have been better if he had been free to enjoy it openly, but still, he would never have seen anything like this back home.

West-Reeve Private Middle School was a very large building positively flooded with children, far more than he had anticipated, and suddenly Damien became very nervous. Was it normal here for schools to be so big? There had to be over a hundred at least, probably double that. But, not wanting to appear daunted by a "normal" day, he took a breath, and waited patiently for the… the helicopter… to land. Ha! He'd just remembered what this flying contraption was called! He was doing well thus far.

His first thought, of course, was how he would approach the other school children. Oh, he hoped that Other Damian had some good friends. Well then, imagine his profound confusion and disdain when, standing outside of the helicopter on the grass, stood none other than Jon El. Of course he would happen to go to the same school as him. Just lovely. He said goodbye to Alfred and braced himself for whatever contemptuous comments the ten-year-old menace had prepared for today.

"You seem chipper," Jon commented, smiling.

As Alfred flew steadily away, Damien adjusted his backpack and walked past his classmate. "I will ask you only once to kindly not spoil my day."

"Okay," he replied, following him toward the main building. "So how was your weekend? My dad said you guys got sucked into another dimension or something."

For a brief second, Damien didn't know how to respond. "I… yes, that's right." Was this some sort of trick? Why hadn't Jon insulted him yet? It was only his favourite pass time. And for another matter, how had word travelled so fast? Oh, right, computers. Gosh, that technology stuff truly was revolutionary.

"Cool! What was it like there?" Jon went on, walking with him through the crowd of students who… didn't exactly smile as Damien walked by.

Could this… not be some sort of ploy or trick? Was Jon really… Other Damian's friend?

Well, he didn't want to give out too many details, but Damien did briefly tell of the vampire world and some of the stuff that happened at the dinner party. Jon was hooked on every word, saying how "cool" it was to have spent a night in with vampires. Damien didn't know if "cool" was the word he would have chosen to describe it, but he had to admit, it was surprisingly nice having someone so eager to talk with him. A genuine surprise, to be sure, but a welcome one. And from Jon, of all people.

"So, how was your weekend?" He finally asked. Jon went on to tell him about the training trip his dad took him on and Damien listened intently to all the things the two of them apparently did together. My, they sounded close. Much closer than anyone back home. A whole weekend trip for just the two of them to spend alone together? Not even visiting relatives or anything? It sounded nice.

"Hey, where exactly are you going anyway?" Jon asked after a while and Damien realised that he had no idea, he'd simply been walking.

"Just… taking the long way to class," he lied, suddenly looking around, trying to find his bearings. At least he still had Jon to show him where to—

"Oh, well, I guess I'll see you at lunch," Jon smiled, and then took off. "See ya!"

Brilliant. Bloody brilliant.

Carefully, he looked around, hoping that maybe one of the other students would help him, or perhaps, more ideally, were friends with him. However, the more people he made eye contact with, the more glares and disgusted faces he seemed to receive. Oh no… Oh no! Was Damian not popular here? Was he… a social outcast? Or worse yet… a problem child? Oh, this would not do. This would not do at all.

In something of a panic, Damien opened up his backpack and started searching for anything akin to a schedule sheet. Which class was he supposed to be in right now? He'd give anything for a map as well.

Before he found anything else, he noticed the bright red suit Alfred had packed for him. Oh dear. He wasn't expected to need it, right? He hurriedly pushed passed it and—mercifully—found a small sheet of paper neatly folded and tucked away in one of the side pouches. It listed every one of his classes throughout the week, allowing him a much needed breath. Now he just needed to find the classrooms.

He thought about asking one of the other students, but every time he got close to someone, they just gave him the cold shoulder. It wasn't until a teacher walked by that he finally made a breakthrough. Mr. Whirtright, by pure lucky happenstance, was his teacher in his first class of the day, and while he was a bit surprised to find Damien asking for directions, he still ended up in his seat before the bell rang. Crisis averted.

Eagerly situating himself in preparation for his first lesson outside of Wayne Castle, he pulled out all of his text books and notebooks and pencil case, ready for anything.

"Good morning, Class," said the teacher, closing the door. "Today we will be going over biodiversity."

…What?

Damien blinked, trying to piece together the words his professor had just said. What happened to Mathematics or English or Geography or History? What kind of subject even was this? Bio-diversity… he knew latin, so breaking down the meaning of the word wasn't hard, but still, the educational benefits of such a subject eluded him.

When the teacher asked them to turn to a specific page, he started pouring over its contents, trying desperately to catch up to his peers.

About fifteen minutes into the lesson, the teacher called for someone to answer a question, and Damien was horrified to find himself caught in Mr. Whirtright's gaze.

"Damian. Can you tell me some of the main benefits to having a biologically diverse ecosystem?"

He froze. He didn't know whether or not to stand up or to remain seated, though he felt like he would draw more attention to himself if he stood. At any rate, he needed to think. The teacher was watching, and so was the rest of the class. Benefits of a diverse ecosystem—what were they?

"More variety?" He asked hopelessly. The teacher seemed a little taken aback.

"A serious answer, please, Damian."

Shoot shoot shoot shoot shoot. What should he say? Everyone was looking at him now, and still, a genuine answer wasn't coming to him.

"Uhh…" he hesitated, trying to think of anything to say. "My apologies." Then he gave a cough and lowered his voice to sound more "serious." "More variety."

Several other students actually laughed, or else made faces of surprise. The teacher, however, looked very unamused.

"Right then. Can anyone else give me an answer?"

He wasn't called on for the rest of the class, thank goodness, and instead, Damien busied himself with learning all about the science of ecology which, given that it had to do with animal life, turned out to be highly fascinating to him.

Damien was feeling pretty good about himself as he left the class, several students having actually smiled at him. It may take some work, but he was starting to feel confident that a breakthrough could be made.

For the remainder of the day, whenever Damien was called on to answer a question in class, he did his best to find a way to make the class laugh, and by lunchtime there were already kids repeating some of his jokes in the cafeteria. He and Jon had met up again and were discussing the "strange" stories going around about the young Wayne. Jon leaned over at one point, squinting and poking Damien's forehead.

"You haven't been replaced by an alien shapeshifter, have you?" Jon asked.

Damien made a face. "Excuse me?"

"There's no way people actually think you are funny," he clarified, picking up his carton of chocolate milk.

Damien simply replied with a smug, "Well then I guess you don't know me as well as you think you do."

Actually, during lunch, one kid came over to sit with him and Jon, saying that he thought his joke during history was "priceless." Damien gave Jon another smug smile, relishing all the sudden attention he was getting.

After that, the three of them somehow got talking about dogs and Damien brought up Titus with no small amount of enthusiasm. He, of course, remembered all of his lessons about social interaction from home and made sure to ask plenty of questions about the other person, told a few more jokes, and generally kept the spirit of things so alive that by the end of lunch, five more kids had joined them. Jon seemed confused but delighted with the situation.

Damien told them all about his big manor house with its giant tv and swimming pool and at some point he suggested that they all come over and hang out some time, to which everyone's faces lit up. Everyone's except Jon's, that is.

Discreetly, he whispered into his ear, "Uh, might wanna check with your dad first."

"Right, right, of course," he agreed. So his idea would have to be vetted, but the excitement of a get-together at Wayne Manor seemed to spark the imaginations of the other students whom they found themselves currently surrounded by.

Why, making friends wasn't so hard at all. How could Other Damian have ever been so bad at it? He might even thank him if he was here right now to see this. Too bad he was stuck back in the vampire world, getting canings from Mr. Pennyworth. He did not miss his old life, no sir, not one little bit.

The rest of the day continued like this, more jokes, more laughs, more disgruntled teachers, and all the while Damien was learning a million new things in every subject. It was staggering how much further along this world was.

When the final bell rang, several students (such as the ones from lunch) were walking with him and Jon as they left the building. Nothing exciting, fairly mundane conversation, but that was the sort of thing he was used to. At one point, he let loose a rather sensational comment about their teacher, Mrs. Yohansen, which got the whole group laughing. Damien just couldn't help but indulge in a deep, smug smile as they passed by other children, watching them jealously. Yes, let them stare. Let them be jealous. They had every right to be so. He was Damian Wayne, after all. What wasn't to envy?

Just then, his and Jon's backpacks started vibrating. Was it their phones? Damien politely excused them from the conversation and they pulled out what looked to be some variation of a phone, waiting to give them a message. He sincerely hoped that this didn't have to do with another "mission."

"Come on," Jon whispered, leading him out of the school. Well… this was different. But Damien supposed that this was "normal" behaviour? He hated leaving his new friends, and he hated leaving even a tiny blemish on his budding social life, but he valued maintaining his cover more.

Jon took them to a quiet, private place near a supply shed outside where he finally answered the incoming call.

"What's going on?" He asked it.

Damien marvelled at the little picture of a green boy who could perfectly hear and talk back to Jon. It was just like Barbara last night on the bat computer. And all this without magic. Incredible!

"We've got trouble. The big kind. Can you meet us on top of Greytech Tower in two minutes?"

"We'll be there in one," said Jon confidently.

"Oh, is Robin there too?"

Damien quickly hit the answer button on his communicator. "Here."

"Sweet. See you in a minute."

Damien had so many questions at the moment, but he held his tongue, knowing that, yet again, this was meant to be a "normal" day for him. Still, the more things that happened to him, the more he questioned whether or not any of this was actually considered "normal" at all. In this or any universe.

"Come on," said Jon, opening the locked shed doors easily and going inside.

Okay. He was blending in. Just doing what Other Damian normally did.

Inside, he saw Jon taking off his school uniform and glasses, replacing them with a new outfit from his backpack, and Damien began doing the same. So this meant another mission? Would they be facing off against another giant monster?

After they were changed and their backpacks hidden, Jon started out the shed's secondary exit and said, "Come on!" Gesturing toward his back. Was he… was he suggesting that he get on his back?

"You're not serious," he said in a mixture of disbelief and mockery.

"We don't have time for this, Dami. Come on!"

Just act normal. Just act normal. Just act normal.

Despite how awkward it felt, he begrudgingly climbed aboard, impressed by the fact that Jon could hold him up with his scrawny legs. But then—

"WOAH!"

Suddenly, they were just in the air, the wind whipping their hair back, rushing in their ears. Damien clung to Jon as he tried to look at anything but the ground. It was as if the whole world had just hiccuped. Were they going to fall and die? How did they even get into the sky in the first place?

At long last, they landed on top of a very tall building and when Damien was finally set down, he felt as though his legs might just give out underneath him.

"You good?" Jon asked.

"I'm fine," he replied, trying, just barely, to hold himself together. Just act normal. Act normal. Act normal! Oh, how he missed the safety of the classroom right now.

There on the roof, a group of older people were waiting—teenagers, he realised—perhaps some sort of group that Other Damian belonged to. Actually, there were some faces he recognised, such as Donna Troy, Jaime Reyes, Kaldur'ahm, and—

His eyeballs nearly bulged out of his head.

Was that… Raven?! A much different Raven than the one he knew, at any rate, and… quite grown up. Her hair was cut short, her fingernails were painted black, and she a wore long, dark cloak over… a very interesting outfit. Perhaps he had judged Miss Roth too soon…

"Great, we're all here," said Donna, directing everyone's attention to a small holographic screen. Well, everyone except Damien. His eyes were still a bit… distracted… He had no idea someone's chest could feel so fluttery all at once, as though a flock of doves had been released somewhere inside of him.

"Psst, Dami?" Jon nudged him. "You getting all of this?"

"Mmhmm, yeah, absolutely," he lied, trying to force his eyes to focus on the little screen… for about five seconds before they wandered back to Raven. If only he'd known before what he was passing up by abandoning his betrothal. What a fool he was! An utter fool!

After… whatever it was that Donna had said, they all started for a large flying vehicle like the one in the Batcave, only this one had colour. Jon stayed outside, opting to fly alongside the ship, which apparently was a thing he could do. When Damien saw him soaring beside them, he felt cheated. How come Jon had powers but he didn't? Neither of them were vampires. This just wasn't fair!

That's when Raven came and sat down in the seat across the isle from him and all coherent thought left his brain. Should he say something? No! No no no, that sounded like a wretched plan for multiple reasons. Perhaps if he just sat still, he wouldn't attract attention to himself.

"Hey, Robin?" Raven suddenly asked casually.

"Ha ha! Yes?" He nervously chuckled, blood pounding in his ears and his face heating up faster than a brick oven.

"Um…" Raven paused, raising an eyebrow at him. "Never mind, I can get it." With a wave of her hand, she magically shut off an air vent right next to Damien's seat which was blasting cold air into their isle.

She was a sorceress too!? And not just a sorceress in training, either. What a woman! Of course, for the entire remainder of the flight, Damien had no clue what to do or say, and so just sat there, beat red, next to Raven, trying not to make eye contact with her, lest he say some other stupid thing.

"Are you feeling okay?" Raven asked quietly.

"I'm fine!" He practically shouted, going five octaves higher than normal. He coughed, lowering his voice. "Fine."