Chapter 11: Chaotic Lord of Order

June 2nd

Watchtower

Sparrow

"You are at the center of it."

The words hung in the air, the pointed finger of Fate hovering accusingly in her face for a moment before he let it drop.

Morgan blinked at him, willing her insides to untwist enough for her to breathe, perhaps even use her voice.

Slowly, her eyes rowed around the room, aware of all the attention on her. Zatanna was looking between her and Doctor Fate, a deep frown on her face, as was Kaldur. Wonder Woman looked at her with interest, like she was considering the younger woman in a new light. Bart was the only one still in motion, running worried hands through his hair and offering her an apologetic look. Worst was Dick, who Morgan did not dare to look at for more than a glimpse. He was pale, unusually so, for his tan skin. His eyes, hidden by his mask, betrayed nothing. But the stony countenance, the slight tremble of his broad shoulders from how tightly wound he was, told her enough.

Fate's words rung on a loop in her mind. She was at the center of it. The merging of timelines? Morgan's tongue felt thick in her mouth as she tried to swallow around it. She knew what that meant for her. She knew what was waiting for her on the other side of that veil.

"I'm at the center of this?" she repeated back at him. "Are you saying I'm causing the timelines to shift?"

"No, you are not responsible," Doctor Fate said, and Morgan sagged with relief. "Why these events appear to be happening around you, around both of you," he turned towards Dick, who straightened in his seat at the sudden attention, "why you were the first to become privy to these fogs, why the magic has attached itself to you two, I cannot yet say. I simply know you have a part to play in this. Fate wills it."

Her head was spinning. Fate as in him, or fate as in.. fate?

"Why is this happening?" she asked feebly, wondering why everyone else had fallen silent. It seemed they were allowing her to lead the conversation, as responsibility had landed squarely in her lap. Or their laps since Doctor Fate had also included Dick in his rather dramatic statement.

"When Kid Flash traveled back in time to change the future, he violated the natural order. The fate of this entire planet was changed in an instant." Bart looked stonily at Doctor Fate, clearly unsure if he was meant to be feeling bad about this, when he didn't. "Now, the world groans to converge with its original fate, bleak as it may have been." His echoing voice lent an ethereal air to his dark words, and a shiver ran down Morgan's spine at what he said.

"It is fate. It is predetermined."

Morgan peered at the hard eyes behind the mask of Nabu, briefly, before diverting her gaze into her lap. She ran her thumbs idly over her fingers, the rough skin there a reminder of all the hard work, all the training she'd done, all the battles she'd fought. She considered his words. The Earth wanted to return to the timeline where it was enslaved by an alien race and every human lived in subsequent servitude? A timeline where she and countless of her friends were dead? Her insides were still twisting and knotting, but for a different reason now. She felt fire flare up in her chest, her temper lending her courage as she looked back up at Nabu, her face set in a hard glare.

"Bullshit," she hissed. She got up out of her seat and it seemed to have snapped the others out of their stupor, as several of the other heroes rose as well. Only Wonder Woman and Aquaman remained seated.

"Sparrow," Nightwing spoke up for the first time, his voice cautious. "If Nabu says it's predetermined then-"

"Then we just give up?" she turned to him with hard eyes, unwilling to believe what she was hearing. Betrayal squeezed like an unforgiving hand around her heart. "'There's no such thing as fate' – wasn't that what you told me a few weeks ago?" she reminded him fiercely. "You're going to do nothing? Just because some guy in a kitschy mask says so?"

"No! Of course not, I'm going to do anything I can to fix this!" he assured her and the look on his face was stricken, as if shocked she would think that of him.

Morgan turned back towards Fate, leaning across the table to better get all up in his face. She pointed a finger at him, hoping it made him even half as uncomfortable as his pointing had made her earlier. Vaguely, she registered that Dick was moving across the room, probably intending to make her stand down. The others stirred, but none got involved. She could feel her wings puffing up behind her, an animalistic instinct to make herself larger and more intimidating.

"And you had better stay out of this, Fate, I don't give a damn what is predestined and what isn't, you're not letting this world fall back into shit just because it fits better with your idea of order," Nightwing placed a hand on her shoulder and said her name sternly - a clear order. She tried to shrug it off, but otherwise she ignored him. "We're keeping this new timeline!"

"I agree," Doctor Fate said flatly, his powerful voice echoing across the room. Morgan blinked at him and straightened, allowing the firm hand of her former mentor to pull her back. Her wings fell flat against her back and she let her pointer finger drop. Her shoulder brushed Nightwing's.

"You agree?" she repeated, voice uncertain.

Nightwing turned to look at the Lord of Order as well, brow furrowed.

"What are you playing at, Fate?"

"I am not playing any games." Nabu said, his voice as neutral as ever, yet Morgan detected an edge of annoyance, and she was pleased she'd gotten under his skin in some way.

"As I was about to explain before you saw fit to interrupt me," she managed it in her to shuffle sheepishly at the accusation, "My duty is to protect Earth and to maintain order. There is neither protection nor order to be found in that wretched timeline."

He paused his speech for a beat to look at all the heroes in the room.

"It may be the will of the natural order, but it is not Nabu's will. My duty to Order comes before even predetermined fate."

"That sounds remarkably chaotic of you, Lord of Order," Wonder Woman pointed out, with an edge of humor in her voice. Morgan agreed, but she wasn't about to argue with his verdict.

Despite his stony countenance, Nabu suddenly carried a conspiratorial air about him.

"Any choice made by anyone has the potential to diverge the timelines. Choosing to act now and prevent the converging of our timelines is simply a matter of free will."

Morgan raised an eyebrow. She had the distinct impression the Lord of Order was bending a lot of rules based on technicalities.

"Even so, as a Lord of Order, I cannot involve myself directly, as this is, technically, against the will of Order. I will provide guidance, but nothing more."

Morgan's head was reeling with the number of times she felt he had contradicted himself by now. Yet, she felt that she understood the most important part; Nabu was not going to prevent them from keeping the timelines separate.

"Besides, someone is causing this to happen." Wonder Woman reminded them all. "If we can stop whoever is behind this, perhaps the timelines will settle all on their own."

"It is imperative that you discover who is behind this." Nabu agreed. "However, in the meantime, we must find a way to seal up these rifts, lest they grow so large, or so many, that the fabric rips apart entirely. You do not have the luxury of sitting idle; every day, the converging looms closer."

"We'll keep looking into the fake Fates." Aquaman agreed. "I'll make sure it is seen to. Meanwhile, Doctor Fate and Zatanna, you need to see one of these fogs, study them and let us know if there is a way to seal the rifts."

"We'll figure something out, I'm sure." Zatanna spoke with confidence.

"The fogs are fragile." Nightwing said from next to Morgan. She shuffled half-a-step away from him, still peeved that he'd tried to force her to stand down when she'd attempted to intimidate Fate. In the heat of all the dramatics, she hadn't realized he stood so close to her that his warmth had radiated onto her, but as she moved, she felt cold air brush her side. "You won't be able to reach them in time unless we find a way to track them. I managed to scan the one that we went through; I can create a tracker that locks onto the specific makeup of the fogs, so we'll know next time one appears."

Aquaman nodded at him.

"Good. When can you have it ready?"

"Two days, tops."

"I will keep looking into these Fates." Wonder Woman said. "I trust you can take care of the rest."

Everyone stood for a moment, all in agreement of the newly hatched plan.

"Sooo.." Bart awkwardly cut across the silence. "Meeting adjourned?"

June 3rd

Batcave

Dick

With a sniffle from his runny nose, Dick withdrew further into his jacket. June though it was, not even a heatwave during the height of summer could warm up the underground layer beneath Wayne Manor. Bruce didn't react to Dicks sniffling at all, and neither did he care when Dick made a big show of zipping up his jacket and drawing up his shoulders to better shield his ears. He didn't necessarily have a cold, but the chilly, clammy air in the Batcave always got to him.

At least he'd had the foresight to bring a jacket with him this time. He shot a sideways glance at Bruce, who sat in his thin turtleneck, seemingly unbothered by the cold. Dick supposed in this way, Bruce was a typical dad. Nobody got to touch the thermostat except for him, and he preferred it chilly.

He squinted at the numbers on the computer, feeling pretty sure there was something about this specific equation he was getting wrong. It wasn't that he was bad at this specific aspect of hero work, he just didn't like it much– in fact, he kind of hated it when he had to sit in the Cave and work by the computers for hours. He much preferred the part where he was out and doing stuff, or when he was with his team, working as a unit instead of being alone. He was grateful Bruce was there to help him, since he had always been better at this kind of thing. Dick supposed that's why he was never going to be the kind of Batman that Bruce was – if, indeed, Dick was ever required to don the cowl one day.

Unwillingly, his thoughts led him to recall his alternate self, the Dick who had become Batman. He had seemed.. like himself, in many aspects. And yet incredibly different. Dick was sure some of that was just due to the other him being four years older.

Inevitably, as he remembered the other him, his thoughts veered towards those that had been occupying a lot of space in his mind since they'd arrived home. Thoughts of a little boy with black curly hair, piercing blue eyes and gray wings. He closed his eyes tightly and pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering why the image of the little boy had been allowed to take root in him like this. Why he found himself drifting back to his short meeting with Alex anytime his thoughts were idle. He supposed the boy had come to symbolize everything Dick had lost.

Bruce leaned across the table and altered a few variables in the calculation. The very same, Dick noted, that he'd just plotted in and which he'd suspected were wrong.

He was still prepared to do it – to become Batman – if it ever came to that. Dick knew the world needed Batman – would always need Batman. And Bruce wasn't going to be around forever. Dick wondered if that time ever came, he'd be okay with shelving Nightwing and taking on the role of Batman instead. His insides curled a bit at the thought. He knew he'd have to do it, knew that his sense of duty would persuade him in the end, but he still rebelled at the thought. Nightwing was his. Something he'd made for himself, by himself. He would always be tied to Batman, to Gotham and the Bat-family – But he couldn't deny that the thought of discarding the identity he'd created for himself, to carry on a legacy that had been put upon him by others, left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He shook his head and refocused on the computer. Why was he even having these thoughts?

Dick ran a hand through his hair, the silky strands falling in front of his eyes, and he pushed them out of the way as he pushed his previous thoughts out of his mind and willed himself to focus on the task at hand. He needed a haircut, probably. This year, he'd taken to wearing his hair longer, long enough for his loose curls to grow back and frame his face. It was a less tight and severe look than the one he'd sported during his teenage years when he'd still been under Bruce's influence, and it felt liberating.

He was broken from his musings by the rhythmic echo of steps, and the two men both looked at the staircase leading up to the Manor, watching as Alfred came into view, carrying a tray.

"Since you both neglected to show up for dinner," his voice was the epitome of politeness, but Dick could easily pick up the undercurrent of disapproval. He placed the tray of food and drink on a table behind them.

"Thanks, Alfred," Bruce said, pushing away from the desk with a sigh. He looked at Dick. "Let's take a break while we eat."

Dick frowned. He could count on zero hands the number of times Bruce had willingly taken a break when he was working. Still, he welcomed the break, stretching his stiff back and accepting the plate.

"Thanks," he mumbled, already shoveling stew into his mouth.

For a few minutes, they sat in silence. Eventually, Bruce took a long drag from his glass of water and broke the quiet.

"Do you have this timeline business handled, or do you need my help?" he asked. "Think carefully now; this is a pretty serious deal that affects us all and I wouldn't want you to mess up because you didn't ask for help."

His first instinct was to get defensive, assure his former mentor that he absolutely had everything covered, and by the way why didn't he ever trust him to handle things on his own. Instead, he carefully chewed his mouthful of food, mulling over Bruce's words. Obviously, Bruce was right; this timeline nonsense did affect them all, the entire world, and he couldn't afford to fail.

"You're helping me with this algorithm right now," he pointed out neutrally.

Bruce's face was blank, but his eyes were intense.

"You know what I mean."

Dick shrugged. He had been deflecting, of course, and they both knew it.

"Right now, I've got things covered. There's not really anything I need your help with. Besides, I'm not alone with this. We're got a small team working on it."

Bruce accepted his answer and continued eating.

"Diana told me Morgan is also involved."

Dick immediately felt his shoulders tense up. He realized eating dinner wasn't a break, it was a setup.

"She discovered the first fog. She was there for the third. We were both sent to the other dimension. We each carry one half of a spell that we don't know how to get rid of," he shrugged, his voice controlled. "It makes sense that she's involved."

"Diana said she noticed.. tension."

Dick's head shot up and he looked at Bruce. Where exactly was he going with this? For a horrible moment, Dick thought Bruce might be trying to have a.. heart to heart. Was he trying to get Dick to open up about their breakup? Did he want to comfort him? Talk about feelings? He could see it in his mind's eye, Bruce awkwardly and sternly trying to get through some encouraging words, perhaps even a hug. He balked at the idea and got ready to shut it down, if Bruce did try.

"I just want to make sure this isn't going to interfere with the mission."

Right. Of course.

Dick smiled ruefully at Bruce, wondering why he'd thought his adoptive father had been trying to talk about the breakup. Obviously, Bruce's focus was on the mission, and his worry was only afforded to Dick's capability or lack thereof.

"Don't worry. We've worked together for years, I'm sure it won't be a problem."

Somewhere, deep inside his chest, a small stab of disappointment settled. Had he wanted Bruce to ask about him? Show concern for how he was doing? Dick frowned at his food. He realized maybe he'd wanted someone to ask. It had been several months now, and he hadn't really talked about it with anyone. Sure, right when it had happened, M'gann or Kaldur had tried to talk to him, but he'd blown them off, and so they'd given up. Granted, Dick often had a hard time opening up, but he wished they'd tried maybe just a few times more, as he was sure he'd eventually have relented.

His heart gave a little throb when he realized the one person he'd always counted on to get him to open up, to get real, was dead. And then after Wally, Morgan had been the one that got through to him.

Who did he have now?

He looked back up at Bruce, who, he discovered, was watching him intensely.

He knew he was being tested. Dick understood that his reaction, whatever it was going to be, Bruce would use to judge whether he needed to step in and take over this mission.

"I swear, we're fine. Things are awkward, yes, but we can stay professional."

Could they?

Bruce relented. "Good."

"Out of the two of us, I'm not the one who keeps dating criminals," Dick's mouth was running, and he knew it. "My relationships are a lot less complicated than yours, and so are my breakups."

He bit his tongue but to his relief, Bruce barked out a laugh.

"You've got me there. But dating criminals means I don't have to worry about working with them afterwards," he joked with a smirk.

"I suppose breaking up is easy if you can just throw your ex in prison." Dick sent him a funny look.

Bruce shook his head with a small smile.

"But I shouldn't worry. You're far better at staying on good terms with people than I am. It's one of your best qualities, and why you're such a good leader," he fixed Dick with a strange look. "I'm proud of you."

Dick blinked at him, wondering where that compliment had come from.

"C'mon B, don't go soft on me now," he deflected.

Bruce shrugged, but there was a knowing glint in his eyes.

"Let's get back to work," Dick said, hoping to end the conversation right there. He got out of his seat and headed for the computer to watch it work. Numbers and letters ran across the screen.

"One more thing," Bruce said, making Dick turn back and look at him. "How are you doing?"

Strangled, confused emotions coiled around in him at the question. He didn't want to have this talk. He was touched Bruce was asking, but he didn't want to talk about it with him.

"I'm fine."

Bruce looked skeptical. "You were together for a year-"

"Year and a half," Dick corrected, flinching at how quickly he said it. He was showing his bluff.

"You were together for a year and a half," Bruce powered through, though his eyes were sharp and studying the younger man, who did his best not to squirm under his knowing gaze. "And I know you care about her a lot."

Dick spent several moments trying to piece together an answer.

"Of course I did – do," he eventually said. "But it happened, and I've accepted it. You don't have to worry, Bruce."

"Alright," the older man said after a pause. "Just promise me you'll speak up if you need help."

"Obviously."

The conversation mercifully ended there. They sat working together for a while longer, the silence not uncomfortable. After all, the two of them had worked together for just about fourteen years now. They were used to sitting together in the Batcave for hours on end.

"Anything new about Jason?" Dick asked after ten minutes of silence. "I know you suspected that he had something to do with the fire at Arkham, but now we know different. That means it's been months since he last made a move."

Bruce typed in a long piece of code, his eyes moving across the screen with intensity. Though, Dick knew he was contemplating his question.

"Nothing, for now. He's gone completely off the radar. No one from my network has anything. I'm starting to think he's buying silence."

Bruce was frowning, and Dick understood his worry. If his informants in the underbelly of Gotham were being bought by Jason, it shook his faith in them, and would leave him vulnerable through ignorance. They were an important source of information that Bruce relied on often, and which he would be loath to lose.

Neither said anything else. Dick sat fiddling with a pen, typing in equations every so often. The Algorithm was slowly taking form. His thoughts kept drifting between their current mission, the mystery of the people behind the spell, and Jason and the trouble he was no doubt brewing. It had been a shock to the entire family when he'd shown up last year. He'd been different – violent, angry, out for blood. He'd crossed a line none of them ever had – he'd taken a life. Several, in fact. He had tried to force Batman to kill Joker. When Bruce had refused, Joker had ended up in Arkham, and Jason had slipped from Batman's grasp.

That almost a year ago, and they'd had very little news since.

The heavy clank of the grandfather-clock sounded, and the almost completely silent pitter-patter of Damian's footsteps followed. Dick knew he probably wouldn't even have heard the boy, had the noise from the door not alerted him.

He halted at the foot of the stairs and Dick offered him an encouraging smile. Bruce was still entirely focused on the computer.

"Father," he said to get Bruce's attention, when his arrival had not gained it. "Are we going on patrol tonight?"

"Not tonight, Damian," Bruce answered, eyes never leaving the screen as he was rapidly typing in numbers. "I need to finish this."

Damian looked at his feet, his small shoulders slumping ever so slightly with disappointment. Dick fought the urge to kick Bruce's shin under the table to break his concentration and have him notice his son.

"I'll go with you," he said instead. Damian looked back up at him, his face neutral but his eyes hopeful. "If that's okay, Bruce? I'm barely helping as it is right now."

"Sure," Bruce waved at the two of them. "I'll have this ready for you. Should take a few hours."

"Great," Dick said, happy to get out of his seat and stretch his legs. "Gear up, Damian."

"Can I drive?" Robin asked as the two headed for the Batmobile once they'd donned their suits.

"Does your dad ever let you drive?"

Robin's mouth pursed in what might've been a pout if he'd been any ordinary eleven-year-old.

"Only once."

"Then no," Nightwing jumped into the driver's seat, "Come back when you're sixteen and have a permit."

"You're even stricter than father," Robin huffed. Nightwing let out a laugh and smiled crookedly.

"I think you mean I'm more responsible."

The engine came to life loudly, drowning out any protest he was sure would've followed, and they sped off into the night.

"So, tell me what you and Batman are working on," Nightwing said once they reached Gotham proper. "Where should we go?"

"We've been tracking a new gang. They call themselves the Militia because they're heavily armed and in possession of military-grade weapons," Robin explained. "Head for the Narrows, that's where they're most active."

Nightwing altered their course and headed for the accursed Narrows. It always had to be the Narrows.

"Are we fighting or shadowing?" he asked.

"Father wants us to shadow them. He wants to know who their leader is, so he may uproot the whole institution at once."

Fifteen minutes later, the two of them stood atop a rooftop, Nightwing listening in on the police scanner. There was no mention of armed felons, so he asked Robin to lead the way, and off they went. The younger boy was not very well-versed in Gotham yet, having only lived with Bruce for less than a year, and so far having only been allowed to patrol when Batman or Nightwing was present. Nightwing had only gone with the boy a handful of times, but he knew Damian had been raised to be perfect, and he was very hard on himself, so he always took care to encourage him when they were out together.

Robin led them to another rooftop, an outcropping bathed in shadow serving as the perfect spot to camp out.

"This was where we encountered them last week," Robin explained.

"Good," Nightwing plopped down on the coarse surface, stretching his legs out in front of him. "Let's wait here for a bit and see if they turn up again. I'll have one ear on the police scanner."

Robin studied his relaxed form, but eventually, hesitantly, he sat cross-legged next to him. Nightwing knew this wasn't the most effective use of their patrol, but he was tired and not altogether in the mood for a night of jumping from roof to roof. Back at the batcave, if he'd taken a moment to consider whether he had the energy to go on patrol, he probably wouldn't have offered to take Damian. But now they were here, and the cool breeze, although not exactly refreshing – it was Gotham air, after all – did wake him up. A light drizzle of rain settled in his hair, and he pushed the dampened strands out of his face.

Then, above them, a form passed soundlessly, casting a wide shadow as it blocked the rays of the moon. He watched the shadow glide across the rooftop before casting his eyes upwards, searching for the source of it. His heart did an uncomfortable little jump when he saw it was Morgan. Instinctually, he drew his legs to him, sinking deeper into the shadows. She didn't appear to have noticed the two of them as she kept her downwards glide, landing in a nimble crouch on the fire escape of the adjacent building.

"How long has Sparrow been patrolling in Gotham?" he asked Robin, as, indeed, that was clearly what she was doing. He hoped his voice had come across as relaxed as he had intended.

"A few weeks, I think," Robin shrugged his shoulders. He played with the bird-a-rang he held in his grip. "Father permitted it, though I have no idea why. She nearly ruined our last investigation."

Nightwing huffed out a small laugh, a crooked smile on his face. It was typical Morgan to stumble into trouble without meaning to.

I never try to seek it out.. it's like trouble just finds me, she'd told him.

Dick wondered if perhaps the largest trouble that had ever found her, had been him those three years ago.

"What about Red Hood?" he asked, thinking about the reappearance of Jason last year. "Any news?"

Robin frowned. "Father doesn't tell me much."

"Oh," Nightwing said.

The rest of the night, the two of them hardly spoke. No one from the gang showed, and they settled for stopping a bank robbery instead. It was well past midnight when the two of them arrived back at the cave, Damian stifling a yawn as he peeled off his Robin suit, leaving for bed with only a short goodbye.

Dick stood in the cave for a moment, his tired thoughts indefinable. Then, he strode over to the computer, spotting the small chip waiting for him. It rested upon a paper note, on which Bruce had scribbled "fixed it". Dick breathed out a little laugh at the message, grabbing the chip and inserting it into his holo. It took the program a few moments to start up, but eventually it was up and running. Satisfied, Dick made for the zeta-tube, already sighing wistfully at the thought of getting to bed.

As he walked the streets of Blüdhaven, his thoughts strayed back to when he'd seen Morgan in Gotham. He'd been surprised, sure, but her patrolling in Gotham wasn't so surprising. He thought about back in the day, when they'd patrolled together every week, how strong their teamwork had been. It worried him that she was out alone, especially in a city like Gotham. She was still very untried and inexperienced. Perhaps he ought to talk to Bruce about it – maybe she and Robin could team up and the two of them could watch each other's backs?

He shook his head as he reached his building, knowing such a team up was very unlikely. They would surely be at each other's throats. The combination of their tempers would absolutely get explosive. And anyway, he knew it wasn't his responsibility to take care of her anymore.

Entering his apartment, Dick went straight for his bedroom and shed his clothes. Standing in his bathroom a moment later, he looked blearily at his reflection in the mirror as he brushed his teeth, studying the large bruise on his left shoulder, a parting gift from the last fight he'd been in.

His thoughts were dulling as he slipped into bed, scooting all the way over to the edge on the left side, as he had always done to allow Morgan's large wings space. In his last conscious moments, he mumbled out a 'goodnight' before dully remembering there was no longer anyone there to hear him.

June 3rd

Sparrow

Gotham

Why did it always rain when she was out on patrol? Sparrow folded her wings and landed nimbly on a roof; her thick boots almost soundless against the concrete. The building she had landed on was nestled between two skyscrapers and the tall buildings lent her a bit of cover. She pushed damp curls out of her face and dug around in her utility belt, looking for a few hairpins to contain her bangs with.

At least it wasn't an extreme downpour this time, but a light drizzle.

"Small blessings," she mumbled as she found a hairpin and pulled her wet hair back. Once done, she looked around her, taking in the small roof and the sidewalk down below. The building was an apartment complex and there was a simple courtyard below, with a few sad looking trees and a set of swings that were rusted beyond use. The streetlights kept flickering in and out at a rhythmic pace, casting shadows across her face.

The place was quiet.. too quiet. Almost like the small neighborhood was holding its breath before an oncoming storm. Sparrow's eyes rowed around the street below, when a loud boom across the small courtyard instantly drew her attention. The building across from her shook from the explosion that had gone off inside. Several windows blew out, spraying glass across the abandoned playground. She jogged towards the edge of the building she was on and jumped off it, propelling herself into the air as she approached the explosion ahead. Her wings opened with a snap, water droplets spraying everywhere.

Had it been a gas leak or something more nefarious? The building was old, so an accident wasn't out of the question. It had looked abandoned too, so there was no maintenance. But if the building was abandoned, there shouldn't have been any gas to cause an explosion, right?

Morgan nimbly landed on the fire escape on the upmost floor, peeking inside. The old window was dusty and dirty, but she thought she saw movement inside. Taking an elbow to the window, she broke the glass with a grunt. Using her boot, she kicked away enough of the glass to get a hand inside, to unlock the window.

She was inside a moment later, having had to squeeze and wiggle to get her large wings through. It was strange, being so small, and yet taking up so much space. She felt short, but with the addition of her wings, she was technically as tall as most of her friends.

Sparrow snuck down a set of stairs, trying to find the room which the explosion had originated in. As far as she could tell, it hadn't done any substantial damage to the building. Nothing appeared to be on fire, or close to collapsing.

At last, she reached a floor which smelled of powder, and where she could hear the crackle of small fires. Rounding a corner, she entered a large room that had once been used for storage. Crates were piled around in various corners, and large pipes, that had probably once been central heating, ran across the ceiling. She saw the black-sooted walls and the scorch marks on the floor and knew she had arrived. In the middle of the room stood the remains of a burning crate. Splintered wood had scattered across the floor, what had once been part of the crate.

She saw no immediate danger, and curiosity took the place of caution as she beheld the scene before her. The room was dark, and as she stepped inside, she realized too late that she felt the weight of a wire press against her shin.

"Ah, shit," she said when the wire gave way from the pressure, and she braced herself. The hair on the back of her neck raised, and she almost felt time slow. In an instant, another crate fell from the ceiling, and Morgan had only a split second to hold up her hands and create a shield with her telekinesis, to contain the angry wall of fire that was sent in her direction.

Another bomb had gone off – one she had started by walking into a tripwire like an idiot.

Again, she wondered, why did it always have to be fire?

Despite her best efforts, the pressure wave from the bomb sent her flying backwards, and she was thrown out of the room and slammed into a wall out in the hallway. Her wings took the brunt of the fall and she let out a small grunt of pain as she fell onto her butt on the floor.

"Ow," she said. This was annoying and humiliating. She got off the floor and wiped her hands on her suit.

She became aware of the sound of footsteps approaching, and an aggressive voice berating her.

"You just ruined my trap, that was meant for Batman!"

Morgan watched as a tall, angry figure came round the corner and straight towards her. He wore black, combat pants, paired with a brown leather jacket. Strangest was the red bat-symbol on his chest, and the red helmet covering his face. He was the one that had spoken, his voice agitated and annoyed.

"Who the hell are you?" Morgan's mouth ran off on her, but she was annoyed about the bomb – she didn't deal well with fire anymore, and she didn't appreciate getting a bomb thrown at her.

"Who the hell are you?" the tall guy shot back, making a big show of fingering the gun he had in his hand, to make sure she understood that he was armed.

"Well, I guess I'm the one that tripped your stupid trap!" she said. "How on earth were you hoping to get Batman with that?" she scoffed. Seriously, if she'd managed to get out of it with barely a scratch, she doubted that Batman would've even triggered it.

The guy let out a small growl and cocked his gun, pointing it straight at her.

Morgan stared down the barrel and wondered why she was being this antagonistic towards a guy that was armed and angry with her. She just had a feeling that he wouldn't actually shoot her.

"I'm asking again: Who. Are. You?" he growled.

"I'm Sparrow," she said, holding up a hand to signal peace. He let the gun drop. "Who are you?"

"Red Hood."

Ah, she'd heard about him. She should've guessed, really. She knew Red Hood had a big vendetta against Batman. It also explained the red symbol on his chest – a bat-symbol, meant to mock Batman and all he stood for.

She also knew that he was Jason. Dick had admitted as much to her, when the Red Hood had first cropped up last year. It had been.. a rough few weeks for him and Bruce. Tim, too.

She studied his red helmet and tilted her head with interest.

"That's a helmet, though."

He let out a loud groan and pulled the helmet off, revealing a chiseled jawline, a red domino mask and spiky black hair, with a streak of shocking white in his bangs.

"Jesus Fucking Christ. Better?"

Sparrow blinked innocently at him but couldn't stop a small humorous smile.

"Why are you trying to off Batman? With a tripwire, no less?"

"That bomb would've worked if you hadn't cheated by using powers," he grumbled, turning away from her, and walking into the room where he studied the rest of his bomb. From the way he so easily turned his back to her, she could tell he didn't consider her a threat. "The wood splinters alone would've pierced his armor, but I also filled it with nails and sharp metal. Some of it was bound to hit its mark. He probably wouldn't have died, but it would've hurt."

"Is it really cheating when I'm just using the abilities I was given by nature?" Sparrow peeked inside the room. She wondered if she ought to try and capture him, but for now she found the conversation interesting.

Red Hood sighed and massaged the back of his neck. "Gotham was so much easier to navigate back when we had no metas running around."

"Batman said I could," she shrugged. "If you hate him so much, why are you wearing his symbol?" she had to admit she was curious. She could remember seeing Jason's memorial statue in the Batcave and then at the Watchtower, and she'd always wondered about him. It was interesting to talk to him, knowing that he'd come back with a murderous vendetta against his former mentor. She'd also never talked to someone that had come back from the dead, and the concept was quite intriguing.

"I'm wearing it because I will prove that I can be a better Batman than he ever was. With my methods, I'll surpass that old fool in no time."

"Your method of indiscriminate killing?" she wrinkled her nose in distaste. "If you think Batman is just about results, you clearly don't understand what he's about at all."

He seemed to almost vibrate with annoyance and Morgan wondered if perhaps she had said too much.

"What the hell do you know about what Batman is about?" he challenged, waving his gun at her again. "As far as I know, you're not part of his brood!"

"He's my superhero grandfather," Sparrow said, and instantly cringed. Why the hell had that even caught on?

He tilted his head at her in clear confusion.

"Erh, I mean, I trained under Nightwing - you really don't know who I am?" she swore it wasn't an ego thing, but come on, she was a member of the Justice League! "You don't stay very updated on superhero stuff, do you?"

"Fuck, you're annoying."

"Keep talking like that and I just might drag your ass to the police precinct, or maybe even the Batcave? I'm sure Batman would love to talk," she shot back, bristling. He was starting to get on her nerves.

"I'd like to see you try!" he exclaimed, and a hand moved like lightning towards a pocket in his cargo pants. Sparrow didn't have time to react before he threw a flash bomb at the floor. She was wearing her night vision mask, and the bright flash completely blinded her. She stumbled a step back and blinked rapidly, hiding her blinded eyes behind her arm.

The blindness only lasted for a few seconds, but when she'd regained her vision, she was alone. Morgan ran towards the window and looked out, but the streets were empty.

"Dammit," she sighed, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. He'd gotten away.

She vowed to never let Batman know she'd allowed him to slip away like that, not when she knew how much he wanted to talk to his former Robin-turned-rogue.

This night was a bust, she decided. Feeling like a bit of a failure, she climbed out of the window and flew home. She was exhausted, anyway. Her nightmares weren't letting up - in fact they only seemed to gain in intensity.

The rain had chilled her, and as she climbed through her bedroom window and slipped out of her suit, she started shivering. Her suit was left hanging over a chair to dry off, and Morgan went into the hallway, shedding her underwear as she went. Entering the bathroom, her eyes instantly found the mirror. Her cheeks were blushing red from the damp, cold air she'd been out in, and all her baby hairs, as well as several larger tufts of curls, were sticking up in a mess, creating a halo of frizz around her head.

She tried to smooth it down on instinct, despite knowing nobody was there to see her. As she'd gotten older, she'd started taking proper care of her curls, actually treating them with the necessary hair products. The result was a head of big, bouncy curls that were much shinier and more defined, instead of the mess of frizz she'd had as a teenager.

Her eyes involuntarily traveled from her hair and down to her arm, where her gaze found the mark of a handprint, branded across her entire upper arm. She preferred to not look at it at all, and pretend it wasn't there. She'd avoided telling anyone about it so far, but she knew, with the summer heat fast approaching, it would only be a matter of time before it got too hot for long sleeved shirts. She could only hide the mark for so long.

To any outside watcher, it looked like a cool tattoo, but just the sight of it made her stomach flip and curl, and her throat tighten. She didn't understand why or how the spell had left a perfect imprint of Dick's hand where he had grabbed onto her. It wasn't a scar, and the skin didn't feel any different. It wasn't raised, like if it had been a tattoo, nor was it more sensitive. It was just... there. Almost like a guiding outline, so that he'd always be able to grab her at the exact right spot to activate the spell.

She wondered if he had a similar mark on his wrist, but he hadn't mentioned it to her. Of course, that might just be because the two of them weren't talking, outside of Justice League meetings.

Walking into her bedroom after a quick rinse to warm up, she eyed her phone, lying innocently on her desk.

Should she text him and ask? Would that be weird? She chewed on her bottom lip and then the nail on her thumb as she considered it. Curiosity was gnawing at her. She couldn't decide which outcome was worse. That he did carry such a mark? Or that she was the only one that had been branded?

She tried to convince herself that she ought to ask him, at least for the sake of their research. Maybe, the branding was a specific thing that only happened with certain spells and knowing about it could help them find answers quicker. And she was definitely not considering asking him because she just wanted to talk to him. Because she missed talking to him. Because getting a text from him used to make her feel warmth in her stomach, and she missed that feeling. It was strictly about the mission.

Right?

She was starting to feel chilly again, standing in her wet towel. With a series of quick motions, she grabbed her phone and went to her bed, throwing off her towel and slipping under the warm covers. She felt around for the big t-shirt she slept in, slipping it on and wrapping her blankets tighter around herself.

Before she had time to think, she opened the message thread she had with Dick. There had been no new texts since January 5th, the night she'd broken up with him. Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard and her heart started pounding.

'Hey, I know this is kinda random but –'

'Hey, I know it's weird that I'm texting you –'

'Hey, I'm sorry for texting you out of the blue but –'

'Hey Dick, I hope you're doing well. How is the algorithm coming along? I have one thing to ask –'

'Hey Dick, do you happen to have a weird brand on you because of the spell? –'

She groaned and deleted another message, throwing her phone away and watching it land at the foot of her bed. She sat staring at it for a bit and found herself trying to read the last few messages she could see they'd sent each other.

She knew reading through their messages would only be an exercise in misery, and yet her curiosity got the better of her. She picked up her phone and started scrolling.

Hearts. Promises of date nights. Playful flirting. She blushed when she scrolled too far and found a few explicit messages from one time where he'd been away on a mission for a week, and they had missed each other. Despite feeling chilled only moments before, it was suddenly getting a bit too hot under her blankets.

However, in spite of the ache in her heart, she felt a small smile creep up on her. Their messages were sweet, funny and... and with an air of ease. An air of ease she'd convinced herself hadn't actually been there.

Still, she knew text-messages weren't representative of an entire relationship.

"I'm such a coward," she mumbled to herself as she put the phone away and settled into her pillow.

She lay for half an hour, her heart still pounding and her mind racing. She felt disappointed that she hadn't just sent him that text.

Was she really not going to be able to fall asleep, until she sent it? She felt like her brain had already made up its mind that she needed to text him, only her courage was failing her.

"This is so stupid!" she groaned to herself and stared at her phone. She sat up again. "I've fought real, actual supervillains, I've been in life threatening situations. I'm not a coward! I just had a gun pointed at my face like an hour ago! Why shouldn't I be able to send him a text? It's not like I'm just doing it for no reason at all."

But what if he got mad at her? What if he didn't know what she was talking about, and she sounded like an idiot?

Worst of all, what if he never responded? That would be too humiliating, she'd never be able to face him again.

With a flash, she reached out and grabbed her phone, unlocking it and reentering their thread.

'Hey, this might be a weird question.. after we got home, did you notice something almost like a brand on your wrist from where I grabbed you? I have one on my arm and I'm wondering if it's something we should be looking into..'

She worried at her bottom lip and quickly added 'hope you're doing well'

Before she had the time to chicken out again, she sent the text, feeling her adrenalin spike.

She stared at the text, reading it over a few times.

"Ugh, I shouldn't have added that last part," she mumbled. She forced herself to act like she didn't care, and quickly put the phone back down.

For the next thirty minutes, she kept checking her phone. No answer came. Was he already asleep? It was well past two AM at this point, after all.

At some point, the adrenalin wore off, and she finally slipped into a blank sleep, where, thankfully, she didn't have any dreams.

I love that texting scene with Morgan because I feel like its the most relatable she's ever been lol. Who here hasn't struggled to text someone and been unable to sleep from the adrenaline after sending what feels like a risky text? If you think Morgan didn't handle it gracefully, you should be excited for Dick's side of the story, he's decidedly undignified about the whole thing.

I've been trying to forge some sort of direction for Dick's relationship with Bruce and the Batman legacy as I write this story. In the comics, they're often a big, complicated MESS, and his break from Bruce when he became Nightwing was a pretty angry and chaotic time. In the show, however, they seem a lot more chill and on good terms. I'm trying to find a middle road where they're still on good terms like in the show, but it's something they often struggle to maintain because theres so much stuff they disagree on. It'll be explored in more depth as we move along, and some of Bruce's more unhealthy tendencies will rear their ugly head. I hope you like the direction I'm going with.

Also I'm trying to consciously use their hero aliases more when they're in costume, so I'll be referring to Morgan as Sparrow more often when she's out. I hope its not a jarring thing!

Plot A is now set up and we're ready to get it going, and with the introduction of Red Hood, we've also begun to unpack the B plot!

As always don't forget to let me know what you think! (Also I hate the name of this chapter lmao so if you ahve a suggestion for a better name, let me know so i can change it)