Chapter: 25
Darren grunted as he launched himself over the high bar in the Batcave's training room, twisting his body as he swung his other arm around reaching to grab the thin bar only to flounder at a lancing pain that plowed through his head. The world swam around him, the already blurred reality—flashing by as he initially pulled himself upwards over the bar—wavering as his hand slipped on the cold metal bar. For a moment, it seemed as if Darren would eat it and be flung from the contraption in front of all the Bats, the anticipated mortification that would follow had a cold panic wash over him. He was a Talon, these were the warm-ups he's done since he was a child, there was no room for mistake, no room for weakness…not for some headache. Not when he was near invulnerable. Then the moment passed, the world became clearer, his grip righted, tightened around the piece all in a millisecond as he forced his body to still overhead the small metal bar in a handstand, forced his arms to bend into a push-up—once, twice, three times—ignoring the swirling pressure that mounted behind his eyes, at his temples. The mounting pain ignored in favor of lowering himself slowly back the way he came, dangling over the matt. He should attempt one more…just one. Darren gritted his teeth, preparing to continue with the set when a resounding pike of throbbing discomfort radiated through his head, winding down his spine like a snake. He threw himself off the bar, the metal bar reverberating as he did so, landing with a small stumble onto the mat below.
With gritted teeth, Darren desperately refrained from reaching up to clutch at his head. It would make no difference. There was nothing that would change. The pain was there…it was getting worse. More and more unbearable. He knew nothing other than the cause, and more stubbornly the solution. He would not go to his father, not after their latest discussion. He wouldn't go to his brothers not after their last encounter. Grant's blaring taunt still echoed in his head, right alongside the tantalizing pain. Run away from your problems Darren. Run away. Run away. Run away. And isn't that what he was doing now? Running away from his pain, the problem of his precognitive ability. The very thing that started the argument in the first place. Darren had been so sure that the ability would run its course. That the Talon enhancements would overpower and overperform that of the Mirakuru. That was why he told Rose not to worry, that was why he pushed his brothers to back off about the ability. There had been no clear flare-ups, no passing moments of being pulled to a minute future…except fleetingly. Randomly. It wasn't significant enough to consider. And if he didn't train the ability, if he didn't try to use it or strengthen it, wouldn't it fade away with disuse? Yet now it seemed that wasn't the case. Something…someone?…was causing this power to malfunction. Something was causing this searing pain. Something was forcing Darren to face the fact that he wasn't completely a Talon.
Right there was Darren's true fear, his true reason for this stubborn silence on his pain…on the power he had no control over…on the possibility of a threat. The Electrum and Mirakuru coexisted in his bloodstream, the substances both, simultaneously, altered his cells, his DNA, his genetic makeup to the point that he barely aged, that he was stronger and faster than even some metahumans, he could see farther, hear for miles. And yet there was the added fact of precognition. There was the added problem that the Mirakuru hampered the Electrum on more than one occasion—the condition of Sever's disease; certain places where wounds wouldn't heal as easily or where pain was truly felt—while equally working to save Darren's life when the Electrum failed him. How could Darren be wholly a Talon…enough of a Talon…when there was another altering substance within him twisting the very thing that put him on an even playing field with the rest of the Court of Owls. Was something missing? Was this pain from the precognitive episodes proof that something was wrong with the Electrum?
Letting loose a breath, Darren stood upright, ignoring the still reverberating bar as he stepped away from the apparatus and over to the weights area where Bruce, Dick, and Tim were enduring their own intense workouts. The Electrum was what kept him alive. If there was something wrong…he'd be dead. That was what Darren kept telling himself, that was what he told himself to keep from fearing the worst, from acting on the fear of the ability he inherited from Slade. Though, as Darren glanced his cousin's way a hint of a smile gracing Dick's face as Darren reached them, perhaps it was also Dick's resounding hatred toward that side of his family that made him want to stay silent. Push the pain and fear down. He didn't want to disappoint him, or hurt him by bringing Slade back into the picture or even his brothers,
"I thought you had a few more sets of your warm-up?" Tim questioned, looking mildly confused, almost perturbed even, at the possibility of losing count of something as simple as a rep,
"Nope," Darren answered, trying in vain to keep his voice from sounding strained, "I finished, as usual."
He wandered over to the weight rack, putting a hand to his chin, examining the plates as if contemplating how much he wanted to lift or as if pretending to do mental math on his desired weight. In truth, he was wondering if he should try and add less than his usual amount...and attempt to hide it. The contemplation of the lesser weight sent a pulse of anxiety in his chest, creeping over his shoulders like a snake and washing into his stomach like a typhoon…a feeling of dismay twisting into something darker. That shift, Darren usually could never pinpoint the exact moment of a downward spiral. Yet there he stood, the world seeming to dim…a mental fog, a welcome numbness ran concurrently to the roaring rawness raging within his skull. Not even his mind could escape that sensation, a mental numbness was not a physical one—Darren knew that well, it was an escape for him. A reminder that threw him slightly from that path, that engrained rut he always fell into. Though his mind still felt the weight of the lies, the weight of his fear…this wasn't a good road to be on; but there was nowhere and no one else to turn without revealing himself.
And Darren…he wasn't himself. He knew this, something was wrong, something was hurting him…something internally. Or perhaps it was also deliberate if someone was stalking him. They would need to know about his precognitive ability and subsequently know that he was Slade's son, where else would the knowledge of his ability come from? That in itself was a terrifying notion. This mysterious stranger would then also know that his alter ego Renegade, and Darren Crowne were one in the same…especially since now most of Gotham knew of Renegade's connection to Slade, a catastrophic truth. Not only for Darren but for the Bats, it wouldn't take much extrapolation from one truth to the fact of the identities of each of Gotham's vigilantes. Darren couldn't be the cause of that, he couldn't destroy what the Bats had so delicately built, not just for themselves but for Gotham. If they knew who Darren was, they were a threat and Darren needed to find them…and destroy them.
Charles Chamberlain danced in Darren's mind's eye again, he wouldn't lie. The teacher knew who Darren was, that he was a Talon, that he was Slade Wilson's son, and that he was Renegade. Was he dropping these truths one by one, leading a trail back to him…just for the flash drive? Was he truly willing to ruin Darren, his own family, on the off chance that it might save him and his children from the Court of Owls? Would he throw Darren to the mercy of Gotham, the Bats, and the Court of Owls to save his own skin? Darren couldn't say, but the possibility was still there, and he couldn't lie and say he wouldn't do the same if pushed hard enough. Charles could be causing Darren's blinding headache. But Charles was an injured man, he couldn't move from location to location to stalk Darren as this eluding figure, trigger his precognitive ability and then remain out of sight as well. He was also a teacher in another city. The timing didn't work. He could have hired somebody Darren hissed internally to himself. But Charles would have to somehow know the limitations of his ability, how wide his field of 'sight' was and where his blind spot was, to direct someone to avoid his vision finding them,
"Darren—?" With a blink, Darren turned his head to the person questioning him. The effort caused another cascading ripple of agony through his skull. He fought off the grimace but not the wince, "Are you okay?" All three men had stopped in their sets, Darren had no idea how long ago. He'd disappeared into his head for too long. It happened occasionally, sometimes without Darren noticing. This time, he'd been down a rabbit hole, thinking about his head, its cause, and whoever might be involved. The Bats sometimes let those moments run their course, but would also pull him from the trance if the moment was not safe for it…like patrol, walking in the city or, as shown presently, training,
"I'm fine," Darren replied, trying not to sound too curt,
"Are you sure? I saw you stumble when you landed back there, is it your heel acting up?" Darren gritted his teeth, another reminder of his failure as a Talon. An injury the Court hadn't accounted for, nor one that the Electrum could fix,
"It's not. My heel is fine," his tone was icy, his jaw still clenched; his head still throbbing,
"We just saw you wince at something, Darren. Don't sit on a flare up or an injury. It won't do you any good," Tim stated placatingly. Darren could feel their eyes on him, wondering, caring, empathetic,
"I'm fine. I said I was fine," Darren snarled, trying not to sound desperate, trying not to sound as if he was convincing himself of that fact,
"Okay Darren," Bruce stated simply—though Dick and Tim looked as if they wanted to argue—before leaning down as if to casually pick something up, "You're fine. In that case, here, catch," In the blink of an eye a fifty-pound metal plate was hurtling his way, Bruce had thrown it like a frisbee.
Technically, Darren caught it. His hands snapped the plate up on instinct. But the resonating headache had the world hazy once more, and the resounding force of the plate crashing into his sternum threw Darren backward. Normally, Darren knew how to fall, he knew how to land without injuring himself. That moment, his head clacked against the rocky floor of the weight room with a crack that echoed Dick's outraged cry,
"Bruce!"
Though Darren felt no pain from the fall, the world erupted into a scattering of fire bursts, Dick and Tim darting into view—their figures almost comically like a stop motion film—flickering in and out of sight as they hurried over to him. Darren hoisted the fifty-pound weight off of him, not caring as it crashed into a nearby rack of weights—the screeching of metal on metal near deafening as it also raked claws down the inside of Darren's skull—and pushed away Dick and Tim's helping hands. Darren rocked to his feet and darted toward the exit, a step up from launching himself angrily at Bruce. Ignoring Barbara and Stephanie as they hurried over at the sounds and yelling, ignoring Damian's inquisitive stare as he marched out of the Batcave and to the manor on the surface above.
Darren seethed with silent internal rage, embarrassment, and frustration as he stalked down Wayne Manor's halls. He itched to hit something, to destroy something, to scream and rage…but knew the only place to do that was in the Batcave. And he couldn't go back down there, not after that dramatic exit, not when his temper was so frenzied. Not when the possibility of hurting people was too real. The pain in his head hadn't stopped, either. It seemed to almost feed on his anger, though Darren knew that wasn't reality. But the hurt was growing, incessantly. As his anger dissipated a bit, as Darren tore through the hallways trying to put distance between himself and whoever came after him, Darren felt feverish, an uncommon sensation for a Talon who was always cold. Too hot, too much pain…the world flickered in and out…he stumbled over his own feet catching himself on a nearby hallway table. Trinkets and memorabilia clattering around its surface and the disruption.
Silence settled around Darren though the pounding in his ears, in his head, mounted higher and higher overtaking everything around him, his vision swam, and he hung his head between his arms, now braced on the table barely holding him up, blinking desperately to clear his sight. Darren felt ill, he felt hot, he felt pain…just pain. Unending burning pain. Darren lifted his head, an attempt to get upright, sending shockwaves down to the base of his skull as he did so a large glass window came into view—revealing a picturesque snowy winter scene outside—the urge to smash his fist through it and scream "Where are you!" into the frosty starry night was overwhelming. Darren might have done it, he didn't know, he didn't remember. The startling pull of his precognitive ability was jarring—it overtook everything—the view of himself in the window something out of a horror movie as he clawed at the glass.
The moment Darren snapped back into his body, he lost his grip on the table, and collapsed to the floor. Clutching at his head, pulling at his hair…the last vision was too much. The agony in his head seemed to crack his skull in two—that or Darren was attempting to pry his head open with his hands, trying to dig the torturous excruciating pain out. He might have been yelling, Darren didn't know, he didn't care, not as wave after wave of agony took over him, until ultimately…finally…it pulled him to a blissful and familiar bleak darkness.
Darren came to slowly, the dull throbbing ache in his head an unwelcome reminder of the events before his blackout. The minute humming noise and beeping of telltale monitors had his eyes snapping open, the cool gray stone of the Batcave's med bay greeted his bleary sight. A hand on Darren's shoulder had him jerking, the glare of the med bay's lights piercing his eyes as the sudden movement shot through to his still pounding head. With a wince Darren curled in on himself as he reached for his head. Hands grabbed his wrists, gently, but still Darren lurched trying to break from their grasp,
"Hey, hey! Darren, it's me!" It was Dick's voice, as calm as it was strained while he tried to keep Darren's hands from his head, "You're okay, you're with us. You just can't touch your head right now," Darren stilled at that, aware again of the monitors beeping and jittering, the sound of voices and footsteps around him, and glanced up from his crumpled form on the medical bed.
Tim and Alfred were off a few ways discussing something quietly while Bruce, Damian, Barbara, and Stephanie were out in the training room continuing with that day's session, though Darren noticed their gazes sometimes tracked over to the med bay occasionally. And while Darren was sure it was to check on him, it might also have to do with the two extra—perhaps somewhat unwanted—guests, Darren's brothers Grant and Joseph pacing about the med bay area. Darren balked at the sight of them, if they were here then that meant one thing…they knew. They all knew. The others knew what had caused him to pass out.
Grant slowed his pacing upon seeing that Darren was awake and moving, his silver blue eyes, a mirror to Darren's, narrowing as he approached, leaning lightly—almost casually—against the foot of the bed though it did nothing to hide the critical, judging, worried, look in his eye,
"You are a goddamn idiot, you know that?" was his brother's scathing hiss,
"That—," Dick began, his tone unreadable as he slowly and gently released Darren's arms, "—is entirely unhelpful and unnecessary,"
"He was reckless and withholding regarding his precognitive abilities. He knew what could happen if he didn't learn control,"
"If he said he's working on it with Rose then he's working on it with Rose," Dick bit out, his irritation at Darren's brothers' presence clipping through,
"Well, he is in fact not working on it with Rose," Grant shot back, "We know, we asked her," Dick didn't readily respond to that, and Darren merely gritted his teeth, both at the factual insinuation, as well as at another shockwave of pain radiating through his skull. With a hiss Darren reached to clutch his head again, only to stop short at the feeling of the electrodes that dotted his head. With effort, as his neck and shoulders felt stiff from the pain and strain, he turned his head to see an EEG monitor bleeping steadily off to his left,
"Is it happening again?" Dick asked gently in Romani—seemingly wanting to keep Grant and Joey out of the conversation or at least to soften Grant's aggression over the problem; Darren shook his head,
"No, it just hurts," he muttered,
"Yeah it hurts because you let it run wild too far and for too long…we warned you what could happen," Grant again snapped from the foot of the bed,
"Regardless of what happened, we are glad to have arrived in time. Things could have been much worse," Joey was quick to step in with his signing, shooting a glare at their older brother in the process, "We are just worried, we know how bad this can get,"
"No matter the outcome the fact of the matter is you kept this from us," this was Tim, walking over with one of the med bay tablets in hand, "Why? You were in pain…and clearly you knew there was some risk in staying quiet about this…ability. If it weren't for Livy remembering what you said last time this happened—at Baudelaire Castle—we might not have known what was wrong or to call Grant and Joey at all," it wasn't said out of anger, like Grant seemed to seethe with—and even that was just a mask for genuine worry, Darren knew this even if he felt cowed by the mere overbearing presence of his siblings; their last interaction still bouncing around his aching head—it was said out of concern and Darren still felt conflicted in his reasonings for why he kept silent.
"You have nothing to prove to us," Dick murmured in Romani, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. The tone, and the language—Dick's first language—taught to Darren throughout his time getting to know his cousin, sent a calming rush of familiarity through him. As well as relief. Dick knew, he understood—if not in full—Darren's reasonings. He comprehended enough to recognize why Darren reacted the way he did. With a soft, small smile Darren let that feeling wash over him, the headache seeming to respond and recede as well,
"I thought it was nothing," Darren finally answered quietly, "the flashes happened sporadically at first, then became more and more frequent…and I wasn't seeing anyone, just myself,"
"Is that…normal?" Tim questioned, glancing at Grant and Joey,
"It's not uncommon. Though even so, our abilities aren't exactly universal, this ability is unique to our family because of the Mirakuru…it protects us from perceived threats. Without training or control…many things could be 'interpreted' as a threat. Even someone or something unwelcome or unknown," Joey signed. Most of the Bats were now well versed in sign language thanks to Mikey, no verbal translation was needed,
"However, not seeing what or who the threat is…implies they know Darren might have our precognition," Grant interjected, "Not many could trigger the ability and remain in a blind spot. I mean the precognition itself is from the perspective of the one doing the threatening…it's almost like briefly jumping into someone else's mind. It's why Darren sees himself. In a fight, we'd know where an opponent was coming from and be able to act before the threat could move against us,"
"How long has this been happening?" Tim asked Darren,
"A while," was all Darren was willing to say,
"Weeks?" Tim prompted, waiting for a beat into Darren's silence before asking incredulously, "Months?"
"Had to have been that long for it to get this bad," Grant muttered, moving upright to cross his arms. One of the monitors next to Darren picked up in pace, he wasn't sure if it was the EEG or the heart monitor as another wave of throbbing pain lanced through his head; they were lessening but still hurt like hell. Dick squeezed the hand still on Darren's shoulder,
"Breathe, just breathe," he whispered soothingly in Romani. For once Darren didn't pull away
"Where are these episodes occurring?" The question came from Bruce, who Darren didn't notice come over from the training room,
"Yeah, does it happen at the Manor?" Tim asked, Darren slowly nodded his answer,
"At school?" Dick wondered. Darren grimaced before answering,
"Yeah, though not as often,"
"Whoever or whatever this is…is following you," Bruce mused, "I don't know what we can do for the school…but we can adjust the circumference of the Manor's security. See if there is a range limit for the ability and keep whoever or even whatever is stalking you a bay until we figure out who or what it is…you shouldn't be in pain or fear at home,"
"The school should already have its own security," Dick stated, "We'll try, but I don't think the new Headmaster would be inclined to help Darren,"
"We'll make it work," Bruce replied,
"What about the penthouse?" Tim asked,
"Not really…though I haven't been there as often lately,"
"Hmm, maybe you should spend some more time at the penthouse. We can see if the episodes get worse," Dick suggested, "It's noisy but it might be safer,"
"Perhaps, though we should be focusing on controlling these episodes; it's better to have them work for Darren rather than against him," Tim stated, "Don't glare at me, you know I'm right," Darren in returned glared harder,
"I agree," Grant sighed, Darren's scowl turned to his brother,
"As do I," Bruce monotoned, and Darren stifled a groan,
"Though equally as important as mastering this precognition, we need to narrow down who is causing the sporadic episodes,"
"And if they're triggering them on purpose to hurt Darren…or if there's another ulterior reason to keep tabs on him,"
"It has to be the Court right?" Dick insisted, "I mean stalking and intimidation is one of their MOs,"
"You're not wrong, but they know what's at stake if they act out," Tim stated,
"Then what else is there? The League?"
"No, Livia would've known if something was awry with them. This might be someone new."
Darren felt his throat burning with the knowledge of Charles, what he knew…the threat he did pose…all he needed to do was speak up. Tim would know who he was talking about, that Darren had asked for information on him. But still he held his tongue, too tired from the pain, too wary by his brother's glaring anger and too nervous about the reaction this new relative would bring to the family Darren worked so hard to find a place within.
As Darren glanced around the room, trying not to look to conspicuous, his gaze locked with Bruce's dark, stormy grey stare. His gaze seem to bore into Darren, as if he was jumping to every one of the conclusions that Darren had before his collapse…as if he knew the implications of this unknown individual and the threat they now posed not just to Darren…but to all of the Bats,
"Can I leave? Or at least go up into the manor?" Darren asked breaking eye contact with Bruce, first, gesturing to the electrodes taped to his head. It hadn't been an accusatory stare, just one of shared understanding or perhaps just pensive thought and Darren was paranoid, reading too much into a shared stare,
"Well needless to say you aren't going anywhere until your brain calms down," Alfred stated, stepping closer from a nearby host of computer screens, gesturing to the monitor registering the EEG activity, "Once we're back to more normal readings then we can discuss moving upstairs,"
"That's not normal?" Darren questioned,
"Its…a little spikey," Tim stated with a wince,
"Aren't I supposed to be spikey?!" Darren demanded,
"Not that spikey!"
"Again, you're jumping minds little bro. It's not a quick thing, nor is it easy on the synapses,"
"I'm impressed you know what that word means," Tim muttered, tapping away on the screen, oblivious to Grant's irritated glare. After a beat of silence, Tim looked up in surprise, seeing the varying reactions and finally Grant's silent anger,
"Oh, was I talking out loud?" At Darren's side Dick let out a sigh,
"Too much coffee again?"
"Hardy har har," Tim crowed in answer as he turned with an eye roll back to Alfred and the computers reading out data Darren couldn't see or discern,
"I'll get you something to drink," Dick said, getting up with a mild groan from the edge of the bed,
"Something with electrolytes," Tim called as his brother passed,
"Noted," was the receding reply. Bruce had returned to the others to aid in their training. Leaving Darren, Grant and Joey alone and in close quarters for the first time in a while.
A beat or two of silence filtered between the three brothers, interrupted by that thwacking of eskrima and bo staffs out in the training area as training resumed. Darren itched with the urge to go and join them, even with the dull ringing ache in his skull, the monitors still swiftly running in time with his is very worn-out brain. He honestly hadn't thought it would come to this, that waiting and not saying anything would become this bad, despite the constant warnings and worrying of his siblings. You don't think it will happen, until it does.
Grant and Joseph, out of the corner of Darren's wary eye, exchanged a series of signless expressions and gestures. Getting more and more silently heated until Grant let out an exasperated grunt and shuffled closer to where Darren lay in bed. Darren watched on silently, unsure of what to make of his brother's sudden and clearly reluctant approach,
"Look…uh…Dare, I'm…um—," Joey made a 'get on with it' motion with his hands as he rolled his eyes, "—I'm sorry about what I said, the last time I was here. It was…mean,"
"Oh!" Darren warbled, surprised and honestly touched, "Um…thanks, I appreciate that,"
"We just worry and care about you," Joey signed, "There's a lot out there that's against you…we want to help protect you…but we also don't want to smother or hurt you in the process,"
"I get it," Darren replied, "and…you, you weren't exactly wrong. Case and point now, I—I do tend to run from things. I do it to Dick, I do it to you and the Bats…I don't know why. But I run, or try to be anywhere else or to avoid it all when things are too much. I'm working on it,"
"You'll get there," Grant stated certainty in his voice, a validating point of support,
"We're all working out our growing pains…suddenly having three other siblings is a big shift in even relative normality,"
"Especially with our family,"
"And especially with our histories," this was Dick, who had returned with a red Gatorade for Darren, a measured look on his face as he retook his seat at Darren's side,
"I said electrolytes, not pure sugar!" Tim called, from where he still stood with Alfred, "Now he's going to be even spikier!"
"I don't think that's how sugar works,"
"Are you the one that knows how to read these monitors?"
"Well, I'm certainly not the one who measures the readings as spikey and spikier!" Dick huffed back. Darren let the grin fall into place as Dick and Tim argued mockingly back and forth with one another, cutting a silent pensive glance at his brothers who stood, still somewhat uncertainly near the medical bed,
"Thank you," Darren murmured again, "For being here, for helping me, for apologizing,"
"We promised right?" Grant said, "Nothing is going to stop us from being your brothers,"
"And we keep our promises," Joey signed.
Maybe they knew, maybe they didn't, how much that meant to Darren. Someone who didn't have the guarantee of promises or of help or support. The Bats knew, Dick knew. Which is why Darren saw the strain in his grin as Darren and his brothers spoke, and he realized with surprise that maybe he wasn't the only one who feared losing the family and relationships he's made. Maybe Dick felt that tug-of-war pull and didn't quite want to consider the possibility of letting go.
In that moment, and without warning, Charles Chamberlain bloomed in Darren's mind. Feeding the fear of losing his cousin even as he gained the mended relationship with his brothers. Perhaps he misread Dick's uncertainty, maybe it was just worry for Darren's condition and had nothing to do with Grant and Joey…but he couldn't push the insidious thought as it nudged itself to the forefront of everything clattering around in Darren's head. If Dick saw this as a loss, of some kind in some way, that's one more mark favorable to Charles if he does come forward as a Crowne. As family that Dick so greatly craved. It was a horrible thought, it was a haunting thought, and Darren couldn't describe the feeling that shattered the peace that engulfed him, as it blotted out every light thing that happened when he woke up. The banter, the jokes, the forgiveness, and the reconciliation faded away, as this black rotten thing took root.
Darren could feel the shift, he could trace it back to its roots, the ridiculousness of it all—but he was stuck in those same old grooves worn and dusty from years of use, falling into old unescapable paths and patterns. An unending cycle even as Darren stared down its source, even as he strove against the grain. It was always there, a dark reflection staring him down through a locked mirrored glass, feeding the worst of himself. The paranoia, the fear, the anger, the selfishness, the pain. A knotted web of everything he pushed away. All that he tried to smother. It sat there, in the dark. Always waiting for its chance to break the surface. A parasite.
The world around him was the same, though faded. A whisper to the vibrant warmth it was before. And everything, Darren's demeanor, his energy, his mind…wound down, down down.
Invisibly. Silently.
"Dick, could you—," Darren poked his head into Dick and Babs, one eye open to be on the safe side as he held up his tie helplessly,
"Could've sworn I already taught you how to do that," Dick mused, from where he stood in front of a floor-length mirror, wrapping his own tie around itself—to Darren, who has never liked ties—in a mimic of a noose, "But sure, c'mere. Let the expert help you." Darren shuffled in, relieved he wouldn't have to attempt the thing himself,
Barbara, from where she sat at a glass vanity touching up her makeup, let out a snort,
"Oh please, 'the expert.' Hardly. I end up fixing all your ties in the end as it is,"
"Oh I'm wounded, stabbed in the back!" Dick crowed, comically clutching his heart as a stumbled back a few steps while Darren stared on, more irritated than amused, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, "We're going to court today Babs, you can't be mean to me."
"Well, if only for the occasion," she retorted coyly, grinning at Dick's laugh. Darren merely scowled at the antics, unable to reign in his dour mood. Though he quickly tried to school his features into something more pleasant as Barbara's green-eyed stare, reflected in the vanity's mirror, leapt to him. Dick stepped back in front of him, the culprit tie in hand, before Darren could determine if his quick change had fooled his guardian's fiancée. He was uncertain, it was as if he could feel Barbara's piercing stare right through his cousin as he detailed the steps to a second-best tied tie. Unease prickled along Darren's shoulders.
All of the Grayson household were going to court that day, not for any insidious reason and not for anything related to Darren. They were heading to court for Mikey, today was the day. Mikey was officially going to be adopted by Dick and Babs. And Darren felt…he felt…Darren didn't want to say jealous, of course he was happy too, excited even. But he couldn't ignore the feeling of envious irritation at the prospect of this adoption. It was confusing, it wasn't as if he had any reason to be upset. He liked Mikey, loved him even as a brother would and of course he was protective of him. If he hadn't cared about the kid, he wouldn't be here to get adopted to begin with. Yet Darren still felt…selfishly looked over.
Darren hated that he felt that way, it was ridiculous. It was stupid. It was childish…but it was still there. Prickling up and down his spine, into knots in his stomach, and through his mind with flashes of irritation and annoyance. Did it feel like another step of distance between him and his cousin…yes, did that wave of uncertainty and upset from the thought of Charles causing the precognition episodes contribute to this consternation…yes. Darren knew all this, he knew it wasn't real, this feeling of pain at the false thought of losing his cousin to Charles, to Mikey even, wasn't his reality. It was all still there, simmering silently within his paranoia. There was no logic to his reservations, and it made his head spin as he tried to sort through it all, as he tried to rationalize and push away the feelings of uncertainty and nerves.
It was also unfair. Unfair to Mikey, unfair to Dick and Babs too, for Darren to feel this way, after everything Darren cost him. Regardless as to whether or not he held the blade, Darren was the root cause of Mikey's parents' deaths. Darren couldn't make this day about him, he couldn't let himself lose control like he had with hearing about Shepard's death, and he couldn't have Dick and Barbara worrying about him too much to focus on Mikey. This was their day, something special, something memorable. Darren couldn't interfere. He also couldn't think the worst of them. They would never forget about him or cast him out like that, not for someone who had threatened his safety and not because they were welcoming someone new into their home and family. The truth was there, even if it was slowly being picked away by some rotted black thing of Darren's mind. Something that had been twisted out of shape by the Court. The part of himself that couldn't trust the good in his life. Couldn't trust those around him not to turn their backs. The part of himself that tricked him constantly at every turn, pulled him to darkness, to the deep rutted tracks in his mind. There were no diverged paths there, no less traveled path to find…at least not easily. It was the same old dance, the same back and forth. Darren fought internally, as his internally fought for dominance, for expression.
The panicked fear threatened to overspill, as Darren stepped out of Dick and Babs room. He could feel the strain, in his chest, over his shoulders…his mind a whirlwind storm. The back and forth of his thoughts only adding to the fire within…only for everything within to slow at the sight of Mikey standing by the large set of windows that ran behind the newly purchased dining table—amongst the ever-growing stacks of moving boxes—shifting nervously from foot to foot, fidgeting with the little bowtie he wore with his brand-new suit. Darren couldn't help the small smile that curled his lips…he'd been there a few times before, the times he's gone to court. He automatically crossed the room to the younger kid, only one thing on his mind,
"Are you excited?" Darren signed after waving to get Mikey's attention. Mikey frowned, his face scrunching up before he signed his answer,
"Yes…but nervous,"
"Nervous? What for? You have nothing to be nervous about!"
"I don't know. I just am. I can feel it right here," he tapped his chest lightly,
"I know the feeling," Darren replied, and he did. It was a constant roaring pressure, like an ocean, in his chest. Ebbing and flowing just as his thoughts did. Sometimes worse, sometimes better…sometimes forgotten as in the moment he saw Mikey's nerves getting the better of him, "It's a hard one to get rid of," Mikey nodded solemnly in agreement,
"It's certainly not the mood of the day," he signed,
"But it's understandable. I get it. Though, it's what you want right?" Mikey nodded, "And you like Dick and Babs…you like living with them?" again, the kid nodded,
"Do you love them?" a pause before Mikey nodded, somewhat shyly, "Then that's what matters. This is just to get some legal documents…you've been part of the family for a lot longer than that," Mikey beamed at that, moving to sign something else but Darren couldn't see, not as the world splintered and shattered, and he was yanked out of his body…his mind's eye gazing at the back of his head through the windows of the penthouse. It lasted a second, or not much longer than one, though the ache through Darren's head as he was thrown back into his body was thunderous…enough to have him scrabbling heavily for the dining table to keep from crumpling to the floor. He must've cried out as he heard two sets of feet rushing into the living room,
"Darren?" Barbara asked alarmed, her gaze flickering between both boys,
"My head," Darren managed to ground out, blinking in the too bright light,
"Dick, the roof," was all Babs needed to say. Dick was practically already out of the apartment as she spoke. Sprinting to try and see if there was anyone nearby to indicate that they were the cause of the precognitive episode.
There was a loud buoyant silence, that spread…not necessarily uncomfortably between the three of them—Darren, Mikey and Barbara— remaining…though rather resignedly. Tim, Alfred and even Dr. Leslie had cleared Darren since the last episode had brought his siblings to the Batcave. But everyone knew that until they figured out who was causing these attacks, they could happen at any moment even if they took every precaution possible. The best they can do is to react when it did happen, as Dick had, though he merely shook his head when he returned, huffing slightly,
"Nothing, I couldn't see anyone on any nearby buildings," Barbara let out a hiss of frustration before checking her watch,
"I'm sorry, we'll have to investigate this later. We really need to get going, we can't be late."
"Are you okay to go, Darren?" Dick asked, as he grabbed both their coats. Barbara was helping Mikey into his, hers already pulled on. Darren swallowed thickly, nodding silently as he pushed away from the table. He knew they would drop everything, even the court case if he needed them to. But he couldn't do that to Mikey, even if his paranoia and fear screamed at him to do exactly that. To use their kindness and concern to reassure himself that they did truly care. He couldn't do that…not now. So, he pushed that feeling, as hollow and heavy as it was down down down and followed Dick out the door.
In the aftermath of the adoption, the party at the penthouse with 'new' family and some friends Mikey had through the online schooling program he was enrolled in—Dick had a gaggle of kids hanging on his arms and legs as he shuffled around roaring like a monster or dinosaur—Darren tried not to mope around. Tried to reason with the contrasting emotions he was feeling.
Thankfully the attention wasn't on him in the courtroom, it was about Mikey, Dick and Babs. Though the precognitive episode had affected him more than he let on, more so emotionally than physically. That was all it took to bring him to his knees, to incapacitate him? He was a Talon…they had no weaknesses other than the cold and Serum. How could he claim this control over the Court when he barely had control over himself? What was keeping the Court from continuing their rule over Gotham, when Darren couldn't keep himself upright because of a power he'd inherited from his father? He had no answer other than to learn how to control it, but even that proved out of his grasp. Darren felt a failure, as a Talon…as whatever his father made him—Metahuman, superhuman—as a vigilante. What good could he do if one nudge could down him? Darren was spiraling, his thoughts gnashing, running into one another, running aground in his already aching skull.
It was galling, to wrestle with himself like this…the stress of this worry too much for his own rational mind. Irritating to try and hide his uncertainty with so many prying eyes silently judging to the point that he didn't notice Barbara come up to him until she tapped him lightly on the shoulder. Darren jumped but didn't twist away, too tired emotionally to even overreact as he was prone to do,
"Can we talk?" Barbara asked, nodding in the direction of his room. Darren said nothing, though he knew what she wanted to discuss…she'd seen right through him in that vanity mirror that morning. She could probably guess what Darren's mood was from, "Now." It wasn't a request. So Darren steeled himself as he followed his co-guardian into his bedroom. Darren slumped immediately onto his bed, while Barbara pulled over the wheely chair usually pushed into the room's desk,
"I can see you feel somewhat neglected in my and Dick's action to get Mikey adopted," Barbara started after a moment of Darren's silent stare. Darren added nothing further, not bothering to defend himself or mention the other reasons for his dower mood. Though she continued, undeterred,
"But it's not all that it entirely seems. We are cautiously optimistic because it's about you, for you and for us—,"
"—wait, what are you talking about?" Darren interrupted, confused. This was not what he expected to hear, even if he wasn't quite sure what Barbara was going on about,
"And we also didn't want to put pressure on you after everything that happened over the summer and since your deathday, the trial…that aftermath…and now these precognition episodes. But I don't want you to feel forgotten, or unwanted or unloved in any way, so if you want, and if you'll have us, we would like to formally adopt you," Barbara pulled out a stack of papers, on the front were Dick and Barbara's signatures, his name and waiting signature just underneath,
"I—I wait…what?" Darren stuttered, taking the papers from Barbara's hands, scanning them over again and again, unsure if this was real, bewildered surprise and warmth shuddering through the maudlin darkness that had vilely circled his mind since Charles wormed his way into his thoughts, a light airy feeling suddenly surrounded him…delight, joy spiling through, breaking the spell,
"We've had them drafted for a while now. But we weren't sure if this is what you wanted. We know how much you miss your mom, and while you don't have much of a relationship with your father he is still alive and annoyingly well. You're also two years out from being a legal adult and though we could adopt you in legal adulthood if you wanted, it might not be what you want or need at eighteen. Though we still wanted the paperwork, we wanted the possibility of making it official on your time,"
"Y-you both want to adopt me," Darren asked, needing to hear it out loud, needing to feel the words wash over him,
"Without question. We just need your name," Barbara said a smile stretching her face, green eyes dancing with emotion and excitement. Perhaps she feared he react differently, or it was just nerves at explaining something they'd done quietly behind his back. All that Darren cared about was that he was wanted. For once he mattered, for once others wanted him to belong. Despite all of his past and present, despite the turbulence of his emotions and mind, in spite of the fears he had of himself and his future. Dick and Babs wanted him,
"Could I…keep my name?" Darren deigned to question,
"Of course, be Darren Crowne, be Darren Crowne Grayson with or without a hyphen, or be Darren Grayson Crowne…whatever you want,"
"Could I speak about it with Dick…before?" Darren wanted to hear Dick say it…he wanted to know that this came from Dick as well,
"He would love that," Darren stared silently at the paperwork once more before throwing his arms around Barbara the sound of crinkling paper echoing her surprised "Oof!"
"Thank you."
There were no other words that could describe what Darren felt or needed to express. This was his choice, up to him. It was their choice…for him. To be with him, to be and have a family. And that meant everything.
A/N: Sorry for being late again! And hope you enjoyed this chapter!
I definitely felt I needed to push along the precognitive abilities plotline, especially as it applies to something other-in the preirphery-that Darren can't see but knows is there. And it's honestly up in the air who-or what-is causing the reactions. Whether it's just nothing or it is Charles or it's something else all together that is a threat separate to what Darren is dealing with already. Either way, Darren's lack of control and also willingness to control the ability is hurting him. It also brings to light the further insecurities he's holding about himself, in his abilities, and his abilities as a Talon. What does it mean that this ability is so strong in him when the Electrum should be the core factor in what 'powers' he has. Is he somehow defunct because of his genetics prior to becoming a Talon like the Owl Scientist was? Or is he a different kind of Talon because of them? How does this inherited ability factor in.
The last section I really enjoyed writing. I thought it was so sweet and I felt it should be Barbara who picked up on Darren's mood because she'd kind of be expecting it in a way. So that she could be the one to say, I am going to be Dick's family, Mike is going to be Dick's family...I want you to also be apart of that family, and so does Dick more than just a guardian, more than just a cousin because while you're almost an adult I know that sense of belonging is significant to you. Just as much as a name and just as much as your identity is to you as well. It's also because Dick of course wants to adopt Darren as Barbara said but he already sees his relationship as that with Darren...Barbara understands that Darren needs it to be blunt, spelled out and official for him to feel the truth of it all. Which is why she stepped up at seeing his emotional reaction during Mike's adoption.
Again! Sorry for being late, happy holidays and PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!