Author's Note: Another story completed, more information about what comes next is down at the bottom as always. Before that, today is the one year anniversary of Kevin Conroy's passing. It's hard to believe it's been that long. Unfortunately, Richard Moll, the voice of Harvey Dent/Two-face and the Batcomputer from Batman the Animated Series has also recently passed. Let's take a moment to pay out respects and thanks for what they offered fans over the years. Now, without further ado, enjoy.
Disclaimer: We do not own Batman or the Teen Titans
Scream
Scream 'til there's silence
Scream while there's life left, vanishing
Scream from the pleasure, unmask your desire
Perishing
Scream – Avenged Sevenfold
Raven wasn't one for being around others. Too bad for her that she had six different personalities swarming her now.
First, there was Starfire who had remained in close proximity, a hand placed on a shoulder and never quite leaving. Then there was Cyborg who was doing some scans, basic field ones that would determine that you weren't dying in the next ten minutes. After that, there was Kid Flash who would invade personal space for seconds at a time, disappearing and reappearing, and always saying something whether it was what was on the speedster's mind or an invasive question, which considering this was Raven all questions were invasive.
You had Beast Boy next, but he was keeping a few feet between himself and the empath. For once, the shapeshifter wasn't babbling or bringing any attention to himself, though the looks he was sending Raven's way weren't typical of him. Wonder Girl stood close by, like a guardian ready to take all comers. In one hand, her lasso continued to shine brightly with red even though there were no constructs around.
Lastly, Red Robin was doing his job making sure everyone was alright. The story he managed to get was…strange to say the least. An unconscious Raven, a man named Fate who took Cyborg and Beast Boy into her mind, Jolly Red Giants from Hell, and Ravens—plural—wearing different colored cloaks. Oh, and Batman was in her head too, somehow. Best not to look too deeply into that.
What mattered most was that their friend was safe and back with them.
Glancing around, the teen vigilante held back a grimace. Gotham was trashed, there was no other way to describe it. Couldn't even say it wasn't on purpose. Only one other time came to mind that could compare to this mess, and that had been without the generous help of the Teen Titans making it worse.
Collateral damage was always expected, but teenagers had a talent for making more than was necessary.
What was done was done though, and he suspected that Batman would be most appreciative to have them out of the city as soon as possible. So wrapping up things here were now on top of the list of priorities—well, not quite. There was one thing that needed to be done.
Approaching the rest of his team, eyes focused on Raven, Red Robin greeted, "It's great to have you back."
Raven glanced at him. "While I would have preferred the rescue to be faster, for what it's worth, thank you for coming all of this way. You could have left it to Batman."
"Titans don't leave one of their own behind," he quipped back. "It was hard enough keeping the group small."
An eyebrow raised. "This is small?"
Shaking his head, the masked teen continued, "There's a lot of work back in Jump. Still have to figure out what to do with all those teens H.I.V.E. was using for their private army, but from the talk I heard before we left, there might be a lot of recruits we'll be dealing with, and I think all of us would appreciate it if you were there with us."
Raven stared blankly at him. Then she shrugged her shoulders. "I suppose if I must."
That was perhaps the best anyone would get out of her, but after this whole ordeal, he couldn't find it in him to hold it against her. Now that that was out of the way, time for what came next.
Clapping his hands together, "Alright, we get back to the car, head out, maybe find a motel along the way and get some rest. It's going to be a long trip back to Jump, but we can take the scenic route if we want."
Now there was a frown on the empath's face. "The car? You drove here?"
"And pass up the chance to let the T-car show what it's made of? Not on your life," Cyborg remarked.
"I still don't understand what's so special about cars," Kid Flash grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and looking away. "They're so slow."
"And I will make a convert out of you yet," Cyborg swore, glaring at the yellow speedster.
Looking to Wonder Girl, he noted that while she was still tense, the armored blonde looked a little relieved. The sooner they left Gotham, the sooner she could finally relax. Didn't blame her, really.
"If I may speak?" Starfire spoke up, drawing attention to her. "I know everyone is looking forward to the return journey to our home. Leaving soon is preferable. Red Robin, I would like to make a request for a short sabbatical. I understand the chronological circumstances are not at their best, but there is one undertaking that I wish to pursue prior to that return. I am hoping that you are not against this."
It was a struggle not to frown because hadn't they gone through everything just so they could go back with seven people and not the six they had come here with? Chronological circumstances—ahem—timing aside, what was important that Starfire wanted to take a break?
The Tamaranean wore her emotions on her sleeve, and she was unable to hide the glance she was giving to…
Following that flickering of her eyes, it didn't take long for Red Robin to spot Nightwing of all people. What was this about? Had something happened between the two? He knew that Starfire had left to join his former partner prior to the invasion of nightmarish constructs…
"Is there a particular reason? I'll need to inform the League, you know, since you agreed to be a faculty member for the Initiative. They'll be wanting to know," Red Robin told her.
Dark orange lips curved into a small smile. "Let us call it an investigation of a nature. My absence will not be for an extended period of time. I wish to…consult and sojourn with your previous teammate and educate myself further in the matters of…perseverance."
Red Robin found himself sharing looks with the rest of the Titans, from a blank looking Wonder Girl, a confused Cyborg, a stoic Raven, Kid Flash, and a quiet Beast Boy. It did not seem like anyone was really getting what was happening.
"You're not going to be away for too long, are you?" Kid Flash asked, blurring right in front of the Tamaranean. "Shouldn't we make sure Raven is back safe and sound before going on sabbaticals? And isn't that like going on vacation?"
"I trust you all to see Raven back home." An orange-skinned hand squeezed the empath's shoulder. "However, we are not guaranteed tomorrow, and I wish to pursue and answer questions that I hope Nightwing may be able to answer for me."
"If it's answers you want, I can look them up in an instant—" Cyborg began to offer but stopped abruptly when Wonder Girl's armored boot stopped on his. While not harmed, the act was enough to get his attention on the blonde.
"I get the feeling that the answers she's looking for aren't ones you can find online," Wonder Girl stated. "I think it would be a waste of time to have to go back to Jump, do the boring paperwork she needs to fill out only to have come right back out here. I think we can handle the boring part ourselves and save Star a trip."
Starfire shared a grateful smile to the armored blonde, then looked to him hopefully. Damn it, he really couldn't say no to a look like that. Yet, thinking about what Batman had said before, about leadership and making tough choices, would it be a good one to allow this vacation? Starfire had her responsibilities back west; she was an employee in name. Things were messy back there, so this was a hell of a time to make such a request.
Another look towards Nightwing, a slight darkening of the cheeks…oh.
Oh.
Well then, it was starting to click for him. Wonder Girl must have figured it out already. Kinda figures when it involved matters like these. Yes, a leader did lead, but leaders also needed to know when to step out of the way.
"If you can give us a timeline of when you're coming back, then I don't see a problem," Red Robin said, and the way the Tamaranean glowed made the decision worth it.
The Titans had surrounded their missing team member, relief the main emotion. Eventually, Red Robin and Nightwing had parted ways with them, leaving the other Titans to head back to Cyborg's vehicle.
Batman made certain to see that the Titans had indeed reached their ride home, no other detours along the way, before he went after the other two vigilantes. He didn't really need to tail them; there was only one place they could be going.
That was Barbara Gordon's apartment.
Bypassing Oracle's security system through his self-made backdoor allowed him entry without alerting the three. He slipped into her—messy—living room, where the three were exchanging pleasantries. He didn't interrupt the moment. He just watched them for a time.
At least until Nightwing perked up and turned his head to regard him.
"Uhh, this is a private party," the young man remarked as he stared at the Dark Knight, arms crossing over his chest. Gordon turned her wheelchair so she could face his direction as Red Robin just turned.
Batman took a step forward, his cape covering his body. "I didn't mean to interrupt. There are a couple things I wish to discuss with you."
"The Titans and I will be leaving shortly," Red Robin spoke up, quickly trying to assure him of his team's intent.
"I know," he responded. "But that isn't what I wanted to discuss."
"Then what do you want to talk about?" Nightwing questioned, raising an eyebrow.
"First and foremost, I want to thank you for your assistance in protecting Gotham."
The three blinked their eyes, even going so far as to share looks with each other, a nonverbal "pinch me" moment. "Uhh, you're welcome," Nightwing said after a moment, dropping his arms to his sides.
"Without all of your help, Gotham would be in a much worse state. There's still cleanup, but I'm certain you can organize that, Oracle."
"Yeah, consider it done," Gordon confirmed.
"With that said," he continued, "there's one other thing we need to talk about.
"I understand you all have some reservations with my support of the latest interaction of the Batclan."
Their bodies stiffened and Nightwing immediately crossed his arms over his chest again. Red Robin did the same, whether he consciously or unconsciously copied his former teammate was of little concern.
"Get over it."
There was a scowl on Nightwing's face now. "We were the ones that founded the team, not you. You don't get to tell us how to feel about it."
"Considering you were the one to make the decision to shut it down, I think I do."
"I did that to protect Bluebird and Spoiler. I didn't do that for you to undermine me by bringing them back with your hand-picked Batgirl."
"A mantle you all agreed to give her," Batman pointed out, taking a step towards them. "All of you have moved on from those days. Each one of you has found yourselves in completely different circumstances, whether it's leading your own team, becoming the backbone of the Network's information infrastructure, or protecting your own city. You've outgrown your own team."
The three of them shared looks with each other. Then, "What about Bluebird and Spoiler?" Gordon brought up. "What did they do to get your acceptance over us?"
"That you'll have to ask Batgirl. She was the one to pick them. If I had it my way, they'd still be retired." He took another step towards them. "Understand this, Batgirl resurrecting your own team was not meant to be a slap to your faces."
"It still was," Nightwing countered. "We busted our asses for you, only for you to threaten us and try and run us out of Gotham, only then to take what we built and give it to someone else. How can you not see that as an insult?"
"You know my feelings towards the expansion of the vigilante community," he retorted. "I never made that a secret. But tell me this: even if they called themselves something other than the Batclan, would you feel any less insulted?"
There was silence before, "Probably not," Red Robin relented, dropping his arms to his sides. "It still doesn't mean it doesn't sting."
"Any offense wasn't intended. You've all worked to be where you are not, despite my disapproval. That's something no one can take away from you. So instead of looking back at Gotham and wondering 'what if,' focus on your own futures. Your day jobs are far more important than any approval I can give."
Batman then stepped back intending on leaving. Gordon, however, rolled forward then, which forced her two male former teammates to take a step back. "Thanks for coming to talk to us. We probably needed to hear this."
"Speak for yourself," Nightwing grumbled.
"For what it's worth, you all surpassed my expectations of you, even after everything that's happened."
"Thank you," the redhead accepted.
Again, Batman made to leave before he eyed Red Robin. "There's one last thing I'd like to ask of you, specifically you Red Robin."
"What's that?" the youngest male asked.
"It's more of a request, if you're accepting."
The day had been won. Naturally, Damian had helped. He would have preferred being the reason for victory, but there had been so many participants that he could not make such a claim without looking insufferable. Even he could admit that.
Of course, just because the battle was over did not mean the war was.
As Father's associates began to do damage control over the city, Damian found himself cornered by his mother. No, not cornered, in a discussion with. Though the Order of Assassins surrounded him, he was not entangled in a trap. He had encountered them as he was leaving the rooftop where this latest crisis had ended, no doubt more an interception by his mother's forces.
"It is good to see you, Damian," his mother greeted him warmly. The look of motherly affection took away from the battle-hardened image she was conveying. Her catsuit was torn in various places, like her right arm and her left thigh. There was even one along her right flank, some dried blood present along the wound. She had sheathed a sword, which rested on her back, the hilt poking out from over her shoulder. In one hand she held a rather large battle axe, chipped from recent usage.
Of course, Damian wasn't the only one facing his mother.
"You know, I always wondered what Damian's dad saw in his mother," the infuriating Bluebird murmured to Spoiler. The two of them were standing at the edge of the building, watching them. It was all they could do because they were simply no match for the Order of Assassins. He wasn't quite sure how these lackeys had found them. Why they were still here when this was a private conversation, he did not know, but he certainly could do without the additional commentary that would be coming from them. "And…I gotta admit, I kinda get it now."
"Yeah," Spoiler added, not one for words apparently.
"You look well, Mother," Damian returned his mother's greeting. "I hope the demonic hordes did not pose any trouble for you."
"They were quite a work out, I will admit," Mother responded. "It has been quite a while since I was involved in such a battle."
"I would be more surprised if you ever were involved in such a battle."
"Do you not think I have been?"
"You are one of Grandfather's best assassins. You are too skilled to be involved in one."
Her smile grew wider. "You handle yourself quite well, my son. You certainly have not been slacking in your training."
"Of course not," he scoffed snidely. "Such a battle is a trifling for me."
Spoiler nudged the blue-haired girl with her elbow. "Which fight is he talking about?"
"The one in his head, I guess," Bluebird shrugged.
Damian shot the two a glare, only for it to be interrupted as his mother reached out with one hand and pressed it to the side of his face, turning his head back to her. "I am glad to hear that. We do need to talk about a few things, however."
He narrowed his eyes. "What things?"
"How long you intend to stay with your father, for instance. Your things are still in our home, necessities as well. It would be nice to know if I need to send some to you, or keep them where they are."
Ah, his mother was speaking of logistics and the like. For a moment, he thought she was going to insist that he return home with her. "I will be with Father for the foreseeable future," he proclaimed.
His mother's smile lessened. "I see. You do know you can always visit me. I would like to see more of you."
"Of course, you do," Damian dismissed. "But I need to see what my place is with my father. I have only just arrived in his home and I need to cement myself at his side."
"Understandable. Just know that you always have a place to come home to when you wish and a parent that will always love you."
"I know, Mother, I know."
"I must know something, though. Why do you prefer your father over me?" his mother asked pointedly.
Why? Well, there was a very simple answer to that.
"Because he's cooler than you."
He found Cassandra sitting up on the medical bed, her arms resting on her bent knees. Her mask was off, revealing a gloomy look on her face.
Batman slowly approached her, coming to a stop next to the bed. His daughter didn't even spare him a glance, but she was quite aware of his presence. The dark-clad man opened a drawer to a nearby cabinet and began rifling through the medical supplies contained within it.
"It's over?" the dark-haired girl asked after awhile.
"It's over," he confirmed as he pulled out a blood pressure cuff and stethoscope. He rested the stethoscope over his shoulder before he began wrapping the cuff around her arm. She didn't resist him as he did this.
"I messed up," she stated next.
"You did," he confirmed as he pulled his own cowl off. Picking up the stethoscope, he placed the ear buds into his ears and placed the listening bell at the bend of the girl's arm, tucking part of it under the cuff. With his other hand, he retrieved the black bulb, his index and finger and thumb tightening a small dial before he began squeezing the bulb. Over and over, he squeezed the bulb, the cuff beginning to inflate. There was a gauge he kept his eyes on, a long red needle bouncing higher and higher on the scale. He stopped around the 160 mark and began turning the dial again, slowly so that he could control the release of air in the cuff. He listened intently until he began hearing a beating sound in his ears. He listened until it softened and vanished completely.
"116 over 58," he reported before he took the stethoscope out of his ears and pulled the blood pressure cuff off of the girl's arm, the sound of ripping Velcro filling the air. "A little elevated for you."
"You know a machine could have done that," Cassandra pointed out.
"Manuals are more accurate," he retorted. "It also gave you some time to collect your thoughts."
She nodded her acceptance before she sighed. "I saw a monster and…I've never been so scared before."
"That was the fear toxin," Bruce told her gently. "You're probably going to have some after-effects that won't be fun. I suggest you don't believe anything negative you see or hear for the next several hours."
"Is that from a medical report?" she asked.
"Personal experience," he grunted back.
Again, she nodded. "What should I have done differently?"
"What do you think you should have done differently?" He wasn't going to let her off that easy.
Cassandra blew out through her lips. "I should have told you what I learned from Red Robin instead of going to Arkham."
"Yes, you should have told me."
A silence took over for a while.
"I didn't want to get Bluebird and Spoiler involved," she eventually confessed. "Those constructs were becoming too strong for all of us. I thought that if I put an end to the mastermind, it would fix everything."
"You weren't wrong about your conclusion, but you did underestimate who you were going after." Bruce sighed. "There's a reason I prefer that I take on the Arkham residents over everyone, Cassandra. I don't want any of you getting hurt, especially you."
"I'm not some fragile flower," she retorted.
"You are to me and I'll be damned if I let one of your petals get damaged."
Cassandra didn't respond to that, but a corner of her mouth did twitch up.
Again, Bruce sighed. "You know I can't let this go, right? With Damian around, I have to treat you equally."
This caused the girl to narrow her eyes.
"Consider yourself off patrol for the foreseeable future."
"And what about the Batclan?" Cassandra protested, turning her head to glare at him. "I can't leave them by themselves in the field."
"Considering all of the training you've put them through, they should be able to handle your run-of-the-mill carjackers and muggers. Things will be quiet for the next few days, so use that to your advantage," Bruce pointed out. "Plus, you'll need some time to get over Crane's fear toxin. I've given you the antidote, but Crane's concoctions tend to have lingering effects regardless. You can monitor your team from your base, but you will not be putting on your armor."
Her scowl didn't let up, but she slowly nodded her acceptance. "Would you be doing this if Damian weren't living with us?" she grumbled.
"I like to think I would. I would be remiss if I didn't admit I'm using you as well. Damian has been very defiant in my discipline of him. If he sees you go through it, and your discipline ends quickly, he may come around."
"I don't like you using me with anything involving him."
"I know you two don't get along well—" at this, Cassandra snorted derisively, "-but I do want a relationship with each of you. I won't blame you if you want space, especially after everything that's happened over the last few months. Through some twist of fate, we've ended up here, the three of us under one roof."
"I preferred it when it was the two of us," she grumbled, turning her head away.
Bruce reached a hand out and gently took hold of her chin, turning her head back to him. "The coming weeks, I'll be spending time with Damian, but that doesn't mean you and I can't have our time. We'll arrange some outings, just the two of us. It'll be a little while, but we'll do it."
Cassandra stared at him before she sighed. "Alright, but you have to promise it'll be only us two. Damian can't force his way in."
"I promise," he replied, a small smile on his face.
He lowered his hand from her face before he stood up, beginning to take off his gauntlets. There was a moment's silence before his daughter asked, "What now?"
"Now, I have to get ready for an early morning meeting."
With everything starting to settle down, Helena made the executive decision to check up on her student.
As a teacher, she had to be professional around her kids, which included dressing appropriately. You didn't get dressed as if you were about to go clubbing just to teach a bunch of third graders. However, most casual wear wasn't much better. Skinny jeans and a tight T-shirt wasn't the look to go with either.
It was always weird to see a student and their parents outside of school. It was like there was some unspoken arrangement that you weren't supposed to see teachers outside of school. No way could they be seen as normal people. Helena had heard stories of teachers running into their students at concerts, holding cups of beer. It was quite awkward to say the least.
So, the dark-haired woman had settled on a look that was in the middle of casual and professional. She went with a pair of mom jeans and a purple T-shirt, a jean jacket on to better cover up with.
Yeah, she owned some mom jeans. It was just for her students, just so you know.
Helena hadn't bothered to ask where Colin's room was since she already knew where it was. Considering that the boy had been strapped down to his bed during the night, there might have been some protocol she should have followed, like checking in with the hospital staff to see if it was okay to see him, but she figured they'd just kick her out if it wasn't.
Reaching Colin's door, she paused, staring at the door as she took a deep breath. She wasn't certain what she was going to see on the other side. It could be pandemonium; it could be a comatose kid; it could be anything. She had read up on the withdrawal effects of Venom, and she wasn't expecting to see many nice things.
Exhaling, the dark-haired woman pushed against the metal door handle and opened the door.
Much to her surprise, there wasn't any yelling or fighting. Heck, the bed wasn't even in the middle of the room like she had been expecting. Instead, it was up against the wall with the window. Colin was laying in the med, its head elevated up so that he looked as if he were leaning back in a chair. There was a table over his lap, a couple coloring books and crayons on it, with a couple opened cartons of juice.
More importantly, the restraints weren't on the boy, laying on the floor with one end tied to the bed frame.
Colin turned his head the moment the door opened, distracting him from his coloring. "Ms. Bertinelli!" he shouted with excitement.
"Hey, Colin," Helena returned with a warm greeting. As she closed the door behind her, she caught sight of something out of the corner of her eye. On a counter next to a sink were restraints just like the ones tied to the bed, but these had clearly been torn apart.
What was that about?
"Did you see? Did you see?" Colin continued, damn near squealing. His young, high pitched voice nearly went to levels only a dog could hear. "I saw her!"
Helena approached the bed, eyeing a reclining chair next to the bed. Well, she might as well use it. "Who did you see?" she asked calmly as she took a seat.
"I saw Huntress! She was outside the hospital last night!"
Helena paused as her eyes glanced to the window. She had to do some mental gymnastics to confirm that, yes, she had been out front fighting those monsters. Clearly, Colin had a view of it, but how did he…
Suddenly, the broken restrains and the bed being up against the window made sense. Colin must have come out of his sedation during last night's battle, broke his restraints from the residual Venom in his system and watched the fight. The bed must have been moved at some point so Colin could keep watch outside of the window.
That…that was clearly a committed fan.
"You did, did you? That must have been exciting," she managed to say after a moment. "You weren't scared?"
"Well, yeah, but I saw her fighting and I knew everything was going to be alright." Colin relaxed back into his bed, picking up a crayon and began coloring again. "And it was."
She nodded her head in acceptance. Faintly, she wondered if she should show Colin her shirt. After all, she thought wearing one of those Huntress T-shirts would lift his spirits; clearly he had gotten something a lot better than that.
"Well, Colin, I just came to see how you were doing. I'm sorry you had to go through everything that you did," she said.
Colin shrugged his shoulders. "I don't really remember much of anything."
"You must have been scared."
"I think I was, but I don't remember."
Something seemed off to Helena at this point. She was well aware of Colin and his troubles. He had a tendency to hyper-focus on things and just wouldn't let them go. Yet, here he was, brushing off a kidnapping and drug consumption like it was an everyday thing.
And there was nothing like having Venom forced into your system while you cry in a dank, dark cave.
Was…was it her imagination? Colin definitely seemed calmer. In fact, she had never seen him this calm before. Was this just him coping with everything? And by that, she meant just ignoring the whole thing happened?
She wasn't certain how to feel about that.
"So, what are you drawing?" Helena decided to ask, changing the subject. She was going to be keeping an eye on her kid here. Batman had said there was no way to know how Venom affected children. She was about to get a first-hand look into it.
Car trips were boring. It didn't matter what kind of spin Victor would give it, sitting in a vehicle with two people on either side of you pinning you in and having to listen to whatever music the driver decided to inflict was not anybody's idea of a good time.
With Cassie to her left and Bart to right, Raven slumped back in the middle seat. If she wasn't so tired, she would be glowering. With Victor at the wheel, Tim in the spacious front passenger seat, and Garfield in the form of a cat curled on their leader's lap, the only mercy was that there wasn't a seventh person in here.
Once Tim had concluded his business with his Gotham contacts and returned to them, only then did Kori take her leave at the side of Tim's associate Nightwing. From there, it was to the nearest highway, and then the interstate. Allegedly the plan was to get some distance from Gotham, enough to appease Batman, and then stop off to rest.
Until then, it seemed like she couldn't get comfortable in her seat. It felt as if something was pressing against her body, underneath her leotard. Beside her, Bart was impatiently tapping his fingers against the car door, head tilted enough to press against the window. He blew air through his lips, letting them flap rapidly.
The only source of entertainment, other than the music which luckily was not of the pop variety, was the moving scenery that was only visible from the windows and the windshield. A long stretch of road indicated where they were going. There wasn't much for vegetation unless you counted trees and bushes, but a lot had been cleared for human development.
And here she was without a tome to read. Motion sickness was not a concern of hers.
What was…was her father's parting words. They were not a threat, but a promise. Years of hiding had come to nothing. Beneath the exhaustion, a sense of dread was building. If there was one thing she understood about Trigon, he was relentless and now that he had been able to find her, his efforts would only increase.
He had all of the time in the world; everyone else didn't. She wanted no part of his grand design, but destiny and fate, but not Fate, seemed to be conspiring against her. The man she had learned who called himself Scarecrow had ruined all of her efforts to remain hidden, her out of control powers drawing her progenitor to her.
Raven had to tell herself that all was not lost. It wasn't over. Trigon had no power on Earth, not yet, which meant he would have to try other means. The cult her mother had fled from? Other puppets who had no idea of what forces they were dealing with? Long time agents waiting for their master's call to act?
She could hope that her friends would be of help here. They may not know everything, but what they did had them solely on her side. They also had a talent for disruption. Could that talent be enough to avert prophecy itself?
And what was irritating her? The way it was pressing into her skin, almost felt like paper…
It wouldn't hurt to call upon her demonic strength to slip it through her weeks-old leotard. Right, a clean outfit would be the first of many things to do once they stopped. Anyway, so long as she remained in control and her emotions under check, such a use of her powers would slip under her father's attention. That meant it was perfectly safe to draw this paper through her clothing.
Now what was this doing here? Scarecrow's accommodations had not allowed for any writing or hiding. Further inspection revealed that the paper was folded up. Carefully, she opened it up and gazed upon the writing on it.
Naturally, her actions drew the attention of her bored teammates. Bart was the first to ask, "What's that?"
Cassie peeked at her from the corner of her eye. Victor and Tim directed their gazes to the rearview mirror attached to the windshield. Garfield peeked around the seat Tim sat on.
Taking in the writing, Raven was unable to hold back the smirk. "A souvenir," she remarked.
For perhaps the first time in some time, she heard Garfield pipe up, "When did you have time to find a souvenir? We were in Gotham for days! No sightseeing! How did you?"
The shapeshifter had been a little quiet, the empath realized. Then again, there hadn't been much of an opportunity to have an in-depth conversation about what had occurred within her mind. How he had tried to comfort her. His overreaction to her emotional avatars. How the avatar of passion had tried to hit on—
We are not going there.
So back to the souvenir.
"Sometimes opportunities seek you out instead of you seeking them," Raven answered enigmatically.
"What's on the paper?" Victor asked loudly.
He was setting himself up for this, wasn't he? Well, perhaps the bragging rights would be worth it.
With some slight theatricality, she turned the paper over to reveal the treasure that had slipped out from her mind and into the real world. A treasure unheard of and perhaps one of the most valuable items on the planet to a select few.
"Batman's autograph."
"No way!" Garfield exclaimed while Cyborg jerked his head around and away from the road. Simultaneously, the T-car began to drift alarmingly to the right, which caused an unmanly screech to come out of Tim.
"Cyborg, the road!"
It was still moments that made Bruce realize just how tired he was. He had spent the entire night stopping Crane's horror show, and then checking in on the others. He had made certain to see the Titans leaving the city limits after his talk with the former Batclan members. He had seen to his stubborn children. He had given Cassandra the day off due to her fear toxin poisoning, so she was currently at home. Damian was too, for that matter, but Bruce hadn't brought up his grounding again, just so the older girl could get some rest. The last thing any of them needed was for Damian to be storming around the penthouse in a rage, keeping Cassandra up.
Which brought him to Wayne Enterprises. The billionaire had loaned Stephen to Lucius due to the abruptness of Cassandra's call in. He had explained things to his business partner and Lucius was quite understanding.
The two men were currently in the conference room, waiting for their first appointment of the day. It was this moment of calmness that made Bruce feel as if his eyelids would shut and never open again. He was definitely going to take a power nap after this meeting.
"You up for this, Bruce?" Lucius asked him, seated in the chair next to him.
"Do I have a choice?" the younger man replied tiredly.
"Not really, no."
"I'd rather they get here soon. Any longer and they're going to find me lying face down on the table."
"Considering your reputation, that might not be out of character," Lucius joked. "At least your old one anyways."
"The old me is really making an argument to do it."
At that moment, the intercom on the table went off. "You're 8 o'clock is here, Mr. Fox," Stephan said.
"Looks like you got your wish," Lucius observed before he hit the call button. "Show them in, Stephan." He then gave a stern look to Bruce. "We're in agreement, yes?"
"We are," Bruce confirmed. "We'll let them get set up, and then give them their answer."
The door to the conference room opened then, Stephan holding it open for Selina Kyle and her towering lawyer, Chris Ward. For a brief moment, Bruce's fatigue fell to the wayside as he eyed Selina's choice in business attire. She had on a tight white blouse, and a black pencil skirt that hugged her hips and legs tightly. She complimented this look with a short black jacket and a wide-brimmed hat.
"Good morning, gentlemen!" Selina announced as she strode towards the table, her lawyer right behind her, carrying a box. Bruce and Lucius both stood up from their seats, reaching their hands out to the blonde woman as she reached them. She shook their offered hands, giving a rather limp handshake. "I hope you weren't caught up in the unpleasantness from last night."
"I can thankfully say I wasn't," Lucius replied as he sat back down in his seat, Bruce following his example. Selina did the same on the opposite side of the table, her lawyer setting his box down on top of the table before digging out two folders. He handed them out to the two businessmen.
"How about you, Bruce?" Selina asked as she glanced to him. She paused. "You don't look too good."
"Can't say I had Lucius' good luck," the dark-haired man responded. "I was in the building when those monsters attacked. I'd like to say I was brave and fought them off, but that's why we have security."
It wasn't a lie that Wayne Enterprises had taken some damage during the night's festivities. The lobby was a wreck, along with some damage to the upper floors. It made for a good cover story to explain his less than ideal look.
"Well, you certainly cleaned up well."
"The benefit of having a private shower and spare suits."
A small smile appeared on her face. "Well, how about we get things started? Before you is a proposal on expanding Gotham's power grid by building the latest, state-of-the-art power plant."
Bruce and Lucius both opened the folders in front of them, the two skimming over the first couple of pages as Selina continued, "I know it has been said over and over, but Gotham is in a power surplus. In fact, I think you said that to me, Bruce, at some point. But that isn't always going to be the case. We need to stay ahead of the curve to maintain that surplus, or eventually we will fall into a deficit, one the city cannot handle. The people that will suffer this most will be the low-income neighborhoods, East Gotham, the Narrows."
"We already have received the City Council's approval for the project," Chris then interjected. "We also have the land in hand as well. It's just a matter of getting all of the zoning permits, utilities like water, and the labor."
"What we need though, more than anything, is capital," Selina butted back in. "Namely, we don't have all the funds necessary to complete this project, which is where you come in."
"What can we expect in return on investing in this project?" Lucius asked.
"Aside from all the good will you'll surely receive for being forward-thinking?" Selina returned rhetorically.
"No doubt you're hoping for several million," the older man pointed out. "That sort of investment makes most people antsy, as you've probably noticed if you've approached others about this plan. What we're asking for isn't really outside of the norm for such massive projects. Regular updates on the progress of construction isn't too much to ask."
"That's a fair request," Chris said to Selina.
"So you just want progress reports? Is that it?" she questioned.
"Certainly that. There may even be room for closer collaboration," Lucius added. "For instance, Wayne Enterprises employs some of the best engineers in the world. We could partner with you on this project."
"We would be very appreciative of that level of assistance," Chris was quick to say. "However, we do have to take into consideration the unions. Organized Labor wouldn't be too thrilled if we outsourced too much of the project."
"Naturally, the framework of the building will be all theirs," Lucius assured him. "But there aren't a lot of construction workers that know how to put together a generator. It's the technological aspects we would lend resources to."
A coy look appeared on Selina's face. "Why is it I get the feeling you want in on this project?"
Hmm, perhaps they had overplayed their hand here. "We're very interested," Bruce decided to assure her. "We just have a concern or two that needs to be addressed."
"Such as?"
"Well, there is a competing power plant proposal with Max Shreck's group. He's approached us many times concerning his proposal. Why should we pick you over him?"
Selina's face dropped and she stared at him. "Well, there's one very good reason you should join us and it's that Max Shreck is involved in the other one."
Bruce and Lucius shared a look before the younger man shrugged his shoulders. "She's got us there."
The blonde woman leaned forward, resting her clasped hands together on the table. "I've been speaking to all manners of businessmen, as you've pointed out. One thing I've picked up is that when Shreck sold Computron to a non-Gotham company—Lex Luthor of all people—he didn't win a lot of fans. As far as I can tell, it was a big no-no. So, I offer you an opportunity at a little taste of revenge for that. You can help crush his little pet project with ours. Send him a big fat message that he messed up with Computron."
As intriguing as that sounded, revenge should never be a reason to get involved in a deal. The project could become a money pit that never ends, but because of the ego involved, it becomes too tangled for anyone to pull out.
However, Bruce saw an angle he could work with. If he wanted to learn more from Selina, it was clear her disdain for Shreck was an opening that could be exploited to learn more of this power plant. "So, how much do you think this plant of yours is going to cost?"
"We do have estimates," Chris pointed out. "Anywhere from $750 million to $900 million."
Bruce raised an eyebrow. "You're talking about a nearly one billion dollar power plant."
"An investment now will be cheaper in the long run," Selina was quick to point out.
Lucius looked to Bruce. It was clear he was giving him final say. The younger man covered his mouth with one hand, his eyes glazing over as he considered this. It was becoming readily apparent he was going to have to put some significant skin into this investigation. If he came at it with the thinking he was going to lose all the money invested, he had to consider just how much he was willing to throw away. That was really the only question here.
"I guess the only thing I can say is how much do you want?" he eventually said.
You might say the leg irons were unnecessary, what with him confined to a wheelchair. The handcuffs chaining each arm to one of the wheelchair's armrests was almost overkill. What was he going to do, make a run for it?
His chest was incased in a body cast, already restricting movement. A neck brace held his head still. The only injury that remained uncovered was the swollen left side of his face, a dark black lined with yellows and greens that suggested the body was healing itself from the damages.
It seemed no one was going to be lowering their guard around Dr. Byron Merideth, the latest addition to Gotham's renown gallery of costumed antagonists. His ego was swelling from these measures, and he relaxed back into the wheelchair more for comfort than anything else.
The disgraced doctor was in an office, one with muted colors that sought to be neutral with framed, abstract pictures lining the wall. There was a plant in the corner, a Ficus, and next to it a window with a view of the front of this building. Of course, you had to peer through the thin branches of a tree that obscured some of the view, but it was more than enough to allow some natural lighting in.
There were those who had a preference for natural lighting in the mental health field. Sunlight was viewed as a tool to help make patients comfortable and more willing to open up. It sounded like New Age bullcrap to Merideth, but to each their own he supposed.
Opposite of him was a forgettable looking male, middle aged and approaching fifty if that small patch of gray meant anything. A sweater vest over a dress shirt was all that was visible, the rest hidden behind a desk that had a single file laid on top of it, a few writing utensils, and a phone. However, this man behind the desk wasn't some bureaucrat or paper pusher, but a psychologist.
This was a psychological examination, one dictated by the courts as necessary to determine Merideth's capability to stand trial. The disgraced doctor knew all about this, had done many himself, so he knew exactly what he needed to say in order to get a favorable outcome.
"Ten minutes alone with the Joker is enough to give most people nightmares for life. After Hugo Strange vacated his position as that man's clinician, Arkham had to pick someone to continue treatment. He gathered many of us together to do an evaluation, one more for us than for him. Before it was over, one member of the evaluation team had wet his pants. Another had fainted and still another was throwing up. There were only two of us left after the stampeding exit. One was myself, and another was an intern, Harleen Quinzel. By virtue of seniority and experience, I was the one assigned to treat the Joker."
Meredith shifted in his seat once more. The body cast was uncomfortable and unyielding, yet the healing ribs more so. It was going to be a few months before that changed.
"For the purpose of your evaluation, that's how this all began for you, is that correct?" the evaluator asked. "An evaluation meeting with the Joker during your tenure as a psychiatrist at Arkham Asylum?"
Meredith held back the contemptuous snort. "Not during my tenure," he corrected, "At the end of it. When I could no longer learn from him, I submitted my notice the next day." There was no need to mention any conversation with Strange, but Merideth hadn't needed any convincing to give up that madman. "I had an idea, you see. Because I was right there, I saw Quinzel and noticed the look on her face. The look of inspiration. The look of adoration. I saw it…and I understood it."
The evaluator nodded and jotted notes into the file on his desk. "Interesting. Do go on, Dr. Meredith. What did you understand?"
Meredith allowed a smirk. "I understood the influence the Joker has. Something that affects people on an almost subconscious, primal level. For most people—regular people—he inspires fear. For the less stable people—he simply inspires."
He tensed up the fingers in his hands, relaxing them. Legs were adjusted to prevent cramps. His rear shuffled in the wheelchair's padded seat. Discomfort lessened momentarily, but only for that long.
"People forming gangs of hooligans, the Jokerz. They were some of the first to exhibit this influence. The first hint. While they diminished over time, what fueled them, the Joker's influence, that never went away. I saw it every day, in Arkham. The mentally damaged and deficient—who thought the Joker was somebody to emulate."
"Is that why you went into private practice?" the evaluator asked. "You wanted to help?"
The snort could not be contained. "Help? I wanted to profit. There was no end to these rejects, especially in Gotham. Any time the Joker would resurface, I'd get more business than I could handle. One lonely loser after another, telling the same sad tale. Alienated at school, or on the job, rejected for that big promotion, dejected over a recent lover. It always starts the same way—focusing on the Joker. Finding some way to obsess over the Joker. Collecting newspapers clippings about his crimes, saving articles online, or filling notebooks full of Joker-inspired art. In some cases, it would escalate into something else."
The evaluator nodded. "I see. How much success would you say you had in rehabilitating these unfortunates?"
A sneer leaked out. "Rehabilitate? What's the point? You can't rehabilitate these people. But you can certainly manipulate them."
Business was good, but there were easier ways to make money. Not everyone who sought his services could afford them. Investments into something promising went bust. The last straw, his wife taking what was his and leaving, forsaking vows and everything. Who was he to demand she uphold til death do us part?
"Which brings us to here. I have no hallucinations or delusions. My thinking is clear, without disturbance. No depression, no anxiety, no impulsiveness. I know right from wrong, I just don't care. Perhaps some issues with anger, but who doesn't? No traumas in my past, my parents were well-adjusted for the time. No illicit substances that I did not recommend to my patients."
The evaluator nodded, did not speak, using a minimal encourager to prompt more from the disgraced doctor.
"Gotham is probably the only city on the planet where criminals don't want to be found guilty by reason of insanity. I've seen Arkham. I know what goes on in there. I'd take Blackgate any day over that place. Say, you wouldn't be willing to go out on a limb for a former colleague and recommend me for a particular Blackgate wing? I hear D-wing isn't so bad, comparatively."
The evaluator sat back in his seat, giving Merideth an appraising stare. "Blackgate? And what makes you so sure I'm going to recommend you for Blackgate?"
The sense of smugness, of basking in his knowledge of the process, all of it turned cold in an instant, Merideth's stomach sinking. "Wh-what do you mean?"
Looking down, the evaluator reached to a drawer and from its contents removed a stamp. As he did this, the man remarked, "Well, you know, the argument could be made that you're a sociopath."
"But that is notoriously hard to accurately diagnose!" Meredith protested, leaning forward in his seat as much as the body cast would allow.
"True, true," the evaluator agreed. "And who is to say that you yourself are not another victim of the Joker's influence? You are a very sick man, Dr. Meredith, and while we strive for accuracy in our fields, sometimes we just aren't concerned with accuracy."
The file closed and down came the stamp, leaving a clear red word that stated in no uncertain terms the single word INCOMPETENT. Setting the stamp aside, the evaluator reached for the phone and pressed on a button to activate the intercom function.
"We're finished. Please escort Dr. Merideth for transport."
He would have stood up, but the cast and the leg irons interfered with it. All Merideth could do was vocally protest, "What? No! Those people are crazy in there! Legitimately crazy! Sick! They're monsters, and in Arkham they get treated like monsters!" His eyes were wide, manic, and desperate, even as two guards entered the office to take custody of him, one on either side of the disgraced doctor.
Folding his hands together, the evaluator said, "Goodbye Dr. Merideth."
"No! Don't send me to Arkham! Don't send me there!" The guards wheeled him out, closing the door behind him, though Merideth's screams continued.
Counting down the seconds, the evaluator stood up from his seat and strolled over to the window, peering past the branches of the tree outside to watch Merideth wheeled towards transport, especially the one that would take him to the city's asylum.
He would be helped there.
Once Merideth was loaded away, the evaluator returned to his desk. The final touches on the paperwork needed to be completed, but it wouldn't be too demanding. As he sat down, he opened up a drawer and slipped out a notebook, one that could be found for less than a dollar at the local big box store.
Opening it up, the pages were filled with doodles, many of them cartoonish. Many of them had a grinning face, some with a prominent nose, and a styled hair that looked almost horned. Some doodles had ball-shaped bombs with lit fuses, others had dynamite, some involved a stick figure tied to railroad tracks. Others had knives, some blank and other colored, and those that were colored had small droplets dripping under them.
Flipping to a page that had some space still in it, the evaluator began a new doodle, one recently inspired. A sane man being declared insane and placed in a straitjacket while a grinning face offered only encouragement.
Who ever said you had to be a lonely loser—a reject—to be inspired by the Joker?
The symbol of the ankh glowed brilliantly, Dr. Fate striding out of it and into the Tower of Fate.
Reaching his hands up, he pulled off his helm, the features of Kent Nelson emerging into the surprisingly cool air. It probably had something to do with the void that surrounded the tower, pulling out heat into this dimension outside of space and time. You could remove the tower from any form of reality, but it seemed physics were determined to reassert themselves.
Kent sighed as he continued to walk through the tower. The events of Gotham were freshly etched into his mind and worried was the mildest way he could describe himself.
The man known as Johnathan Crane would be under his care for a period of time. Excising the dark powers he had willingly allowed into his body would take time, and he did not want to leave the man as a potential backdoor left open for those malevolent forces to use at a later date. Once the purification process was complete, he would be returned to his accommodations within Arkham Asylum. It still did not change one important fact, however.
After years of interference, despite his efforts, Trigon had finally found his daughter.
Spiriting away Raven's mother during pregnancy had only been the start. The hellspawn had been relentless in his search for his missing offspring even after all of these years. Azarath had been an effective hiding place for the girl. Its destruction had been shocking, but it should not have been surprising.
Upon learning of its destruction, Kent had gone to its remains to investigate. He had his own reservations, namely how Trigon had discovered Raven's existence there. He did not like the implications as someone with knowledge of Raven and her parentage would have had to inform the demon.
If there was one boon, the Shield of Olympus had ensured Trigon could not follow his wayward daughter to Earth. Even that demon had to respect the powers of the Old Gods.
However, there were ways around ancient decrees. Raven's passage through the Shield was evidence of that. Then there was the incident between the lesser Olympic Gods and the Justice League. No doubt Trigon was searching for his own passage to Earth, especially now that he had located the girl.
How did he fix this? How could he fix this?
Reaching a room, Kent set the Helm of Nebu on a table and took a seat in a chair. He slouched in the stone chair, a look unbecoming of a Lord of Order. It was one of the few human mannerisms left to him after his long tenure, something even the Gods of Order could not rid him of.
Kent did not need to learn of Trigon's intent. All one had to do was meet the fell beast and they would instantly know. The issue was preventing his success. So far, the demon had steadily obtained small successes until this latest incursion. He had located Raven and entered her mind. Had he fully possessed her, Earth would have been doomed.
As it were, that doom had been delayed. Trigon would be coming now, using whatever influence he had, whatever minions he could summon, whatever treachery he could inspire. It was only a matter of time now.
And he would have to be at the front lines to stop it.
Trigon was coming. Fate would have to be ready.
Author's Note: Alright, what everyone's been waiting for: what comes next. We continue with another Batman story, The Twelve Days of Retribution, which will be posted on my, Anonymous Void's, account. I look forward to seeing your guesses of who to expect in this next tale, so speculate to your heart's desire. Check in on my profile page for updates for when posting will begin. Take care everyone and I hope you all have a good day.