Chapter 22

The faint nudging in Tom's mind was enough to stir him awake, Kaelith's presence warm but insistent. "Rise and shine, Tom. It's 6:00, and you've got a full day ahead."

Tom groaned softly, rubbing his eyes as he pushed himself up from the unfamiliar bed in his room at Mount Justice. It was comfortable enough, but he wasn't used to the quiet of the base yet. He stretched, his joints popping lightly, before dragging himself out of bed.

After freshening up and pulling on some sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt, he set out toward the training rooms. His mind drifted as he walked the quiet halls, thinking about the Team's schedule. Their days seemed structured but flexible, with time carved out for individual training as much as team exercises. It made sense—each member had unique abilities and specialized techniques, so their routines had to be tailored to match.

For Tom, that meant sticking to his resolve to revive the habit his father had drilled into him: martial arts practice. He needed to refine his fighting techniques, not just rely on his magic. The sparring match with Superboy had made it clear—his skillset was solid, but there was plenty of room to grow, especially when it came to integrating his magic with his movements.

Finding a training room at random, Tom stepped inside and took a moment to survey the space. It was sleek and well-equipped, with plenty of room for hand-to-hand practice. Setting himself up near one of the mirrored walls, he began with warm-ups, his body slipping into the familiar rhythm of stretches and basic drills.

It wasn't long before he transitioned into more advanced katas, his movements sharp and deliberate. His strikes and blocks flowed seamlessly, each sequence a dance of control and precision. Sweat began to bead on his brow as the intensity of his practice increased, his focus narrowing until the outside world fell away.

"Looking good, Tom," Kaelith's voice teased lightly in his mind, her tone laced with approval. "You've still got it."

"Thanks, I think," Tom thought back, his breaths steady as he moved into another sequence.

For the next hour and a half, he pushed himself, blending the techniques his father had drilled into him with his own creative flair. At times, he added subtle bursts of magic, testing how well he could weave it into his physical movements without losing balance or precision. It was challenging, but things worth doing often were.

Eventually, he finished his session, his body humming with exertion but his mind clearer than it had been the day before. Grabbing a towel from a nearby rack, Tom wiped the sweat from his face and neck before stepping out of the training room.

His stomach growled, and he realized he hadn't eaten yet. With a faint smile, he set off toward the kitchen, navigating the halls with a growing sense of familiarity. It was still early, and the base was quiet, but the thought of a good meal—and maybe some coffee—was enough to put a bit of energy back in his step.

Tom stepped into the kitchen, the faint hum of the lights overhead greeting him as he took in the modern, fully stocked space. It was quiet, with no sign of anyone else up this early, and the stillness was oddly comforting. He headed for the fridge, pulling it open to assess the contents.

As he scanned the shelves, it dawned on him—he didn't have any money. He'd assumed this was a communal fridge, but now that he thought about it, he wasn't entirely sure. Did the Team have a stipend? Some kind of allowance? Would Bruce cover living expenses?

Great, Tom thought, grabbing some eggs and bacon. Another thing I'll need to ask Bruce about. It'd suck if I'm technically stealing breakfast right now.

The thought amused him, though he made a mental note to figure out how pay worked here. If it came down to it, he could probably find a side gig, though the idea of balancing that with superhero duties sounded exhausting.

He set the food on the counter and pulled out two plates, deciding to focus on the task at hand. He turned on the stovetop, cracking eggs into a pan and laying strips of bacon next to them as the room began to fill with the warm scent of cooking breakfast. A couple of slices of bread popped into the toaster, the quiet tick of the timer blending with the sizzle of the pan.

Kaelith's voice flickered in his mind, her tone curious. "Are you expecting someone to join you?"

Tom paused, flipping the bacon with a faint smile. "No," he replied aloud. "This is for you."

Kaelith's warmth shifted, amusement tinging her presence. "Tom, you do realize I don't actually need to eat."

Tom chuckled, setting the toast on the plates before adding the eggs and bacon. "Yeah, I know. But I'd be a pretty horrible friend—not to mention a lousy person—if I didn't think about the one person who's always with me. You deserve breakfast too."

Kaelith was silent for a moment, though her presence in his mind felt... lighter, almost touched. "Well," she said finally, her tone soft, "I suppose I can't argue with that logic. Thank you, Tom."

Tom grinned, finishing the last of the food before carrying the plates over to the counter. He set one down in front of him and the other across from his spot, as though Kaelith were physically there.

"Bon appétit," Tom said lightly, grabbing a fork and taking his first bite. The warmth of the food and the quiet of the kitchen made the moment feel strangely peaceful, a rare reprieve from the chaos of recent weeks. He glanced at the empty seat across from him, imagining Kaelith there as he ate.

But then, from the corner of his eye, he noticed a faint ripple of movement. His shadow stretched unnaturally, and Kaelith began to emerge from it, her human form materializing with an effortless grace. Her dark hair shimmered faintly in the overhead lights, and her luminous eyes held a playful glint as she fully stepped out and sat down across from him.

Tom blinked, his fork frozen halfway to his mouth. "I thought you weren't actually going to eat," he said, his voice laced with mild surprise.

Kaelith smirked, reaching for the plate he had set in front of her. "Well, you went through the trouble of making it," she said smoothly, picking up the fork. "It would be rude not to."

Tom chuckled, shaking his head as he set his fork down. "You could've given me a heads-up, you know. I almost dropped my food."

She tilted her head, an amused smile playing on her lips. "Where's the fun in that?"

Tom rolled his eyes but couldn't hide the grin tugging at his mouth. Watching her take a bite of bacon, he leaned back slightly, his curiosity getting the better of him. "So, how does this work? Do you even taste it?"

Kaelith paused, savoring the bite like a connoisseur before replying. "I can, though it's more for your benefit than mine. The experience is... muted but enjoyable." She took another bite, her expression warm. "This is delightful."

Tom laughed, his earlier awkwardness easing as they ate together. "Well, glad to know my cooking passes the Kaelith test."

Kaelith's eyes sparkled with faint amusement as she glanced at him. "I might make this a regular occurrence. You've set a high standard now, Tom."

The two of them shared the meal in comfortable silence. For all the strangeness of their bond, moments like these reminded Tom how much he appreciated having Kaelith in his life—not just as a guide, but as a friend.

Tom and Kaelith were halfway through their breakfast when the quiet of the kitchen was interrupted by the soft sound of approaching footsteps. A moment later, Nightwing entered, his casual demeanor matched by his usual air of confidence. He glanced at the two of them and offered a small wave.

"Morning, Tom. Kaelith," he greeted, his tone friendly but carrying that faint edge of leadership.

"Morning," Tom replied, giving a nod. Kaelith inclined her head slightly in response, her expression calm and unreadable as usual.

Nightwing made his way to the fridge, pulling it open and scanning the contents. "Smells good in here," he remarked, grabbing a container of pre-cooked chicken and some veggies. He set them on the counter and began assembling a quick meal.

As he worked, Tom hesitated for a moment before speaking. "Hey, Nightwing, can I ask you something?"

Nightwing glanced over, raising an eyebrow. "Sure. What's on your mind?"

Tom leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the counter. "It's about Raven. I ran into her last night, and I guess I'm just... curious. Do you know why she joined the Team?"

Nightwing paused, considering the question as he grabbed a plate from the cabinet. "I don't know all the details," he admitted, setting the plate on the counter. "I only know that she came to Batman's attention through Dr. Fate. Something about her caught his interest, and that eventually led her to us."

Tom frowned slightly, his curiosity deepening. "Dr. Fate? That's... interesting. Did she say why?"

Nightwing shook his head, scooping some of the food onto his plate. "Not really. Besides what Batman shared, the only things I know are that she's competent and that she's been trained by some monk order. Azarath, I think? Beyond that, she's kept things pretty private. If you want more answers, you'll have to ask her yourself."

Tom sighed, leaning back in his seat. "Figures. She doesn't exactly strike me as the chatty type."

Nightwing smirked faintly, grabbing a fork and taking a bite of his food. "She isn't, but that doesn't mean she won't answer. You just have to ask the right way."

Kaelith, still seated across from Tom, glanced at him with a raised brow. "Well, it seems your questions have only grown."

"Yeah," Tom thought back, trying not to let his frustration show. "They definitely have."

As the quiet stretched on, Tom glanced at Nightwing, an idea forming in his mind. He set down his fork and leaned forward slightly. "Hey, Nightwing," he began, catching the Team leader's attention.

Nightwing looked up from his plate, his expression curious. "Yeah?"

Tom hesitated for only a moment before continuing. "Would you be up for sparring with me sometime? I mean, you're one of the best martial artists here, right? I'd like to fight someone else who's been trained."

Nightwing raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Flattering, but you do realize you just fought Superboy yesterday, right? Not exactly an easy first sparring partner."

Tom chuckled, shrugging slightly. "Yeah, but that wasn't exactly about technique. I want to see how I measure up against someone who's trained like me—someone who knows the ins and outs of hand-to-hand combat. It'd be good practice."

Nightwing considered the request, his smirk softening into a more thoughtful expression. He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms as he studied Tom. "You're serious about this?"

Tom nodded. "Completely. I need to improve, and the best way to do that is by going up against someone better than me. You'd be doing me a favor."

Nightwing's gaze lingered for a moment before he finally nodded. "Alright," he said. "I'm up for it. Let's set something up after today's training. But just so you know, I won't go easy on you."

Tom grinned, a mix of excitement and nerves sparking in his chest. "Wouldn't want it any other way."

Nightwing returned to his food, but there was a faint spark of interest in his eyes now. Tom felt a small surge of satisfaction—if nothing else, he'd get a chance to test himself again, and maybe even learn a few things in the process.

As Tom, Kaelith, and Nightwing continued eating, the kitchen gradually grew livelier as other Team members began waking up. Impulse was the first to zip in, moving so fast he almost knocked over a chair.

"Morning!" Bart called, grabbing a bowl and a box of cereal in a blur. "What's up, breakfast crew? Planning world domination, or just a good workout?"

Tom smirked. "Just eating, but thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Give it time," Nightwing said dryly, taking another bite of his food.

Miss Martian floated in next, a warm smile on her face. "Good morning, everyone." She began preparing a smoothie, the hum of the blender blending into the room's growing energy.

Superboy entered shortly after, giving a brief nod to the group before heading for the coffee pot. His quiet presence balanced out Impulse's boundless energy as the kitchen settled into a comfortable rhythm. Blue Beetle and a few others trickled in soon after, each grabbing food or coffee and contributing to the chatter.

The conversation flowed easily, a mix of light teasing and shared updates.

After breakfast, the Team gathered in the training room for a scheduled group exercise. The goal was clear: improve coordination and teamwork in combat scenarios.

Nightwing led the session, his instructions sharp and efficient as he set up a series of drills. The exercises involved pairing off into groups to simulate missions, with Miss Martian providing telepathic guidance to help everyone stay synchronized. Tom was paired with Blue Beetle and Impulse for the first round, their task to neutralize a set of moving holographic targets without stepping on each other's toes.

Tom's movements were precise but slow as he got familiar with teamwork, his magic flickering as he used it to deflect projectiles and create openings for his teammates. Impulse zipped around the room, sometimes too quickly for his own good, while Blue Beetle's tech provided ranged support. The three of them gradually found their rhythm, their movements becoming more cohesive as the exercise progressed.

Other drills followed, each designed to push the Team's ability to communicate and adapt under pressure. Superboy and Nightwing led a simulated rescue mission, while Tom found himself teamed with Miss Martian and Raven in a defensive exercise. Raven's abilities were subtle but effective, her dark energy weaving through the fight with precision. Tom made a mental note to ask her more about her training—if she'd be willing to share.

The Team split up, each member heading to prepare or unwind. Tom and Nightwing made their way to the sparring room, with a few curious teammates tagging along to watch.

Superboy leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. "This should be interesting."

Impulse grinned, already bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Oh, man, I'm calling it now—this is gonna be crash!"

Tom stepped into the center of the room, stretching as he glanced at Nightwing. The Team leader was calm and composed, his movements deliberate as he warmed up.

"You ready?" Nightwing asked, his tone steady but carrying a faint challenge.

Tom nodded, shaking out his hands. "As ready as I'll ever be," he said, before pausing and offering a small, sincere smile. "And, uh, thanks for agreeing to this. I really appreciate it."

Nightwing smirked, his sharp blue eyes flickering with a hint of amusement. "Don't thank me yet," he replied, settling into a fighting stance. "Let's see if you still feel that way after we're done."

The room quieted as the sparring match began, the air thick with anticipation as the two squared off.

Tom and Nightwing circled each other in the center of the sparring room, the air between them charged with anticipation. Nightwing's stance was relaxed but precise, his sharp eyes analyzing every movement Tom made. Tom, for his part, kept his focus steady, determined to test himself against someone of Nightwing's caliber.

"You sure you don't want to use your magic?" Nightwing asked, his tone light but curious.

Tom shook his head, his gaze locked on Nightwing. "Not this time. I want to see how I stack up without it."

Nightwing nodded, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Alright, your call. Let's see what you've got."

Without warning, Nightwing darted forward, his movements fast and controlled. He led with a feint, his left hand drawing Tom's attention just long enough for him to throw a quick jab with his right.

Tom deflected the strike, his forearm meeting Nightwing's in a sharp block. The impact stung, but Tom didn't hesitate. He stepped into the motion, using his momentum to counter with a swift knee strike aimed at Nightwing's ribs.

Nightwing twisted out of the way with practiced ease, pivoting on his heel to deliver a low sweep toward Tom's legs. Tom jumped back, narrowly avoiding the strike, and immediately moved to close the distance again.

The exchange was fast and fluid, both fighters testing each other's reflexes and technique. Nightwing was clearly the more experienced of the two, his movements deliberate and precise, but Tom's determination and adaptability kept him in the game.

Nightwing launched into a series of rapid strikes, each one designed to probe Tom's defenses. Tom blocked and redirected as best he could, his footwork keeping him just out of reach of the more punishing blows. When an opening presented itself, he capitalized on it, delivering a sharp elbow strike that Nightwing barely managed to deflect.

"Not bad," Nightwing said, his smirk widening as he stepped back to reassess. "You're quicker than I expected."

Tom didn't respond, his focus unwavering as he adjusted his stance.

Nightwing moved again, this time faster. He closed the distance in a flash, throwing a spinning back kick that forced Tom to duck low. Before Tom could rise, Nightwing followed with a sweeping punch aimed at his shoulder.

Tom blocked it with both arms, the force of the impact pushing him back a step. Gritting his teeth, he used the momentum to his advantage, pivoting into a roundhouse kick that Nightwing narrowly avoided by leaning back.

The two exchanged blows in rapid succession, the rhythm of the fight intensifying. Nightwing's strikes were relentless, but Tom adapted quickly, his movements becoming smoother and more deliberate with each passing second.

At one point, Nightwing feinted a high kick but transitioned into a lightning-fast palm strike aimed at Tom's chest. Tom caught the motion just in time, twisting his body to deflect the blow and counter with a straight punch that clipped Nightwing's arm.

The sparring room was silent except for the sound of their movements—footsteps shuffling, strikes connecting, and the occasional grunt of exertion.

Watching from the sidelines, Impulse leaned closer to Blue Beetle, whispering, "This is crash. I didn't think the new guy could keep up like this."

Blue Beetle nodded, his gaze locked on the fight. "Yeah, he's holding his own. But Nightwing hasn't really turned it up yet."

Back in the ring, Nightwing tested Tom's endurance, increasing the speed and complexity of his attacks. Tom was breathing harder now, his muscles burning from the relentless pace, but he refused to back down.

Finally, Nightwing launched a high kick aimed at Tom's head. Tom ducked low, stepping inside Nightwing's guard and attempting a takedown. Nightwing anticipated the move, twisting his body to break free and counter with a sharp knee aimed at Tom's side.

The blow connected, forcing Tom to stagger back, but he recovered quickly, resetting his stance. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, sweat dripping down his brow, but his determination hadn't wavered.

Nightwing straightened slightly, his smirk replaced by a look of genuine respect. "You've got skill," he said, his tone more serious now. "And a lot of heart. Let's see how you handle the next round."

The room seemed to hold its breath as the next round began. Tom and Nightwing circled each other, their movements sharp and deliberate. The casual atmosphere that had started the sparring match was gone, replaced by a focus so intense it felt like the walls of the training room were closing in.

Nightwing struck first, his movements almost a blur as he launched a combination of punches and kicks designed to break through Tom's defenses. Tom blocked the first few strikes, his arms moving instinctively, but Nightwing's speed forced him to pivot and duck just to keep up.

"You're really good," Tom admitted through gritted teeth, deflecting a spinning elbow aimed at his shoulder.

Nightwing smirked, barely pausing to reply as he transitioned into a low sweep. "And you're tougher than you look."

Tom leaped over the sweep, his footwork quick and precise as he countered with a straight kick aimed at Nightwing's midsection. Nightwing twisted his body at the last second, catching Tom's foot with his arm and shoving him off balance. Tom stumbled but recovered instantly, launching into a flurry of punches that forced Nightwing to retreat a step.

From the sidelines, Impulse whispered to Blue Beetle, "Dude, it's like watching a fight scene from one of those crash action movies."

Blue Beetle nodded, his eyes wide as he watched the two fighters trade blows. "Yeah, but this is real. And fast."

Superboy, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, added, "Nightwing's better, but Tom's holding his own."

In the center of the room, the pace of the fight accelerated. Nightwing feinted left, his body a blur as he spun into a back kick that Tom barely dodged. Tom used the opening to deliver a quick jab to Nightwing's ribs, but Nightwing deflected it with an almost imperceptible motion, countering with a sharp knee strike. Tom twisted, avoiding the full force of the blow, but the glancing hit was enough to make him wince.

Nightwing didn't let up. He pressed forward with a rapid combination of high and low strikes, each movement fluid and precise. Tom was forced onto the defensive, his arms moving almost too fast to follow as he blocked and redirected the attacks. His footwork was equally impressive, keeping him just out of reach of the more dangerous strikes.

Then, with a sudden burst of speed, Tom switched tactics. He stepped inside Nightwing's guard, feinting a left jab before spinning into a low kick aimed at Nightwing's ankle. Nightwing dodged, but not quickly enough to avoid being thrown slightly off balance. Tom seized the opportunity, launching an uppercut that clipped Nightwing's jaw.

The impact didn't faze Nightwing for long. He recovered with a speed that left Tom scrambling to adjust as Nightwing countered with a sweeping roundhouse kick that grazed Tom's ribs. Tom twisted to absorb the blow, his breath hitching from the impact, but his stance held firm.

The watching Team members couldn't take their eyes off the fight. Miss Martian leaned forward slightly, her expression a mix of awe and concern. "This isn't just sparring," she murmured. "They're pushing each other."

"It's impressive," Raven said from her spot near the back, her voice calm but with a hint of interest. "Both of them."

Back in the ring, the intensity only grew. Tom threw a quick combination of strikes, his fists moving with precision as he aimed for Nightwing's shoulders and torso. Nightwing blocked them with almost inhuman efficiency, countering with a sweeping kick that forced Tom to roll to the side.

The roll transitioned smoothly into a crouch, and Tom launched upward with a sharp elbow strike that Nightwing barely avoided. Nightwing retaliated with a lightning-fast spin kick that caught Tom's shoulder, sending him stumbling back a few steps. Tom grimaced but recovered quickly, his stance firm and his breathing steady despite the obvious toll of the fight.

Nightwing stepped forward again, his movements a blur as he unleashed another series of strikes. Tom matched him, their hands and feet colliding in a flurry of motion that echoed through the room. The intensity of the exchange left no room for error; every strike, block, and counter was executed with expert precision.

"Whoa," Impulse said, his voice a whisper as he leaned closer to Blue Beetle. "This is insane."

"It's like watching two kung-fu masters," Blue Beetle added, his eyes darting between the two fighters.

Tom could feel it too—Nightwing's years of experience, his razor-sharp instincts. Every move Nightwing made was calculated, and Tom had to push himself to the limit just to keep up. But even as the fight wore on, Tom refused to back down. He had something to prove—not just to the Team, but to himself.

With a burst of energy, Tom closed the gap between them, his strikes coming faster and more unpredictable. Nightwing parried most of them, but one slipped through—a quick jab to the side that made him step back. Nightwing's smirk returned, his blue eyes gleaming with approval.

The fight reached its peak, both fighters pushing their limits. Tom's breathing was heavy, his sweat-soaked shirt clinging to his skin, but his movements remained sharp and deliberate. Nightwing was no less fatigued, though his controlled demeanor gave little away. The flurry of strikes and counters had slowed, but the intensity of each move remained as fierce as ever.

Finally, after one last exchange, Nightwing managed to slip past Tom's guard, delivering a clean strike to his shoulder that forced Tom to stagger back. Tom raised his hands in surrender, his chest heaving as he caught his breath.

"Alright, you got me," Tom said, grinning despite the ache in his muscles. He rolled his shoulder, feeling the dull throb of the impact. "I think that's enough for me."

Nightwing stepped back, lowering his stance as he let out a steadying breath. "Not bad, Tom," he said, his tone carrying genuine approval. "You've got skill—and the stamina to back it up. You made me work for that one."

Tom laughed softly, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "Thanks. That means a lot, coming from you." He straightened, offering Nightwing a small but sincere smile. "And, seriously, thanks for agreeing to this. I've learned more in one match than I have in weeks of practice. It was... humbling, in the best way."

Nightwing tilted his head, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "The feeling's mutual. It's been a while since I sparred with someone who could really push me." He adjusted his gloves, his sharp gaze meeting Tom's. "We should make this a regular thing. You're good enough to keep me on my toes."

Tom blinked, caught off guard by the offer, but the grin on his face widened. "I'd like that," he said earnestly. "I could definitely use the practice—and the challenge."

Nightwing extended a hand, which Tom clasped firmly. "Deal," Nightwing said, his smirk softening into a genuine smile. "Now, go get some water. You've earned it."

Tom nodded, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten as he stepped back toward the sidelines. The watching Team members began to stir, their quiet awe replaced by light chatter as they commented on the match.

Impulse zipped up to Tom, his eyes wide with excitement. "That was crash! You were like—bam, pow, block! And then Nightwing was all—spin kick, swoosh!" He mimed exaggerated fighting moves as he spoke.

Miss Martian floated closer, her expression warm. "You did really well, Tom. It's clear you've been training for a long time."

Superboy gave him a curt nod of acknowledgment, his arms still crossed. "Impressive."

Tom blinked, caught slightly off guard by the praise from the stoic Kryptonian. He managed a small smile and nodded back, but as the rest of the Team began to disperse, his thoughts started to drift.

He lingered in the sparring room, sitting on the edge of a nearby bench as his breathing steadied and the adrenaline faded. His mind turned to the fight—not just the technical aspects, but how he'd felt during it.

Growing up, fighting had never been something he enjoyed. His father's lessons had been grueling, relentless, and filled with sharp criticism rather than encouragement. Each session was a test of endurance, both physical and mental, and the prospect of training had often filled him with dread. Back then, every strike, every block had felt like another failure in his father's eyes, another reminder that he wasn't good enough.

But today had been different.

The spar with Nightwing had been intense, challenging, and... exhilarating. For the first time, Tom realized he hadn't felt weighed down by doubt or fear. Every strike and counter had been purposeful, and the rhythm of the fight had felt natural, almost freeing.

And it wasn't just the sparring. Even his solo practice earlier that morning had carried a sense of focus and clarity he hadn't expected. There was something satisfying about the precision of each movement, the way his body responded to muscle memory and instinct.

Do I actually enjoy this? he wondered, the thought both strange and oddly comforting. Fighting had always been something he associated with his father's overbearing presence, but here—without the weight of his father's expectations—it felt... different.

Kaelith's voice flickered in his mind, her tone quiet but knowing. "You're starting to realize it, aren't you?"

Tom smiled faintly, leaning back against the wall. "Yeah. I think I am."

"It's not about him anymore," she continued, her presence warm and steady. "It's about you. What you can do, what you're capable of. You're learning to make it your own."

Tom nodded to himself, her words resonating. For so long, he'd seen fighting as a chore, a burden tied to his past. But now, it was starting to feel like something more—a skill, a discipline, and maybe even a way to grow.

The sparring room buzzed with lingering energy, the Team members chatting about the match as they gradually began to disperse.

As Tom stepped out of the sparring room, wiping the last of the sweat from his brow, he saw Nightwing leaning casually against the wall outside, waiting for him. The Team leader's usual confident demeanor was in place, but his expression carried a hint of thoughtfulness.

"Good match," Nightwing said, pushing off the wall and falling into step beside Tom. "You've got talent, Tom. And more than that some incredible training"

Tom grinned faintly, still coming down from the adrenaline of the fight. "Thanks. You didn't make it easy, though."

"That's the point," Nightwing replied with a small smirk. "You're not here for easy."

As they walked toward the lounge, Nightwing's tone shifted slightly, becoming more serious. "I wanted to take a minute to give you a clearer picture of what the Team actually does. It's not all about missions the League assigns us. There's a lot more to it."

Tom raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Like what?"

"Major operations are usually missions handed down by the League," Nightwing explained. "Those are the big ones—things like tackling threats that need a precise, covert approach. But that's not all we do. When there's nothing major going on, we're not just sitting around twiddling our thumbs."

Tom nodded slowly, falling into step with Nightwing as they walked through the base.

"Take Gotham, for example," Nightwing continued. "Let's say Batman discovers that a gang or mob is smuggling weapons out of Gotham and into other cities. Sure, he'll usually handle it himself—he's Batman, after all—but there are times when he might send us in. It's less about protecting Gotham and more about stopping the spread of a larger threat."

Tom frowned slightly, considering that. "So, kind of like... mini-missions?"

"Exactly," Nightwing said, glancing at him. "We call them patrols or assignments, but they're just as important. They're about handling the smaller fires before they become bigger ones. Sometimes, it's helping out League members who are stretched thin. Other times, it's taking care of situations that don't need the League's high-profile involvement."

"Like what?" Tom asked, curiosity piqued.

"Think about it," Nightwing said. "If the League investigates something, it draws attention—media, governments, whoever's watching. We're a covert team. We go places with less scrutiny, handle things quietly. Say Green Arrow needs backup tracking something in Star City, or Aquaman asks us to investigate a disturbance in some remote village. That's where we step in."

Tom nodded, the picture becoming clearer. "So, we're not just shadowing the League. We're filling in the gaps."

"Exactly," Nightwing said with a small smile. "And those gaps? They're a lot bigger than you think. We're a team, Tom, but we're also problem-solvers. Adaptable, low-profile, and effective. That's what makes us different."

Tom absorbed the explanation, feeling the weight of the responsibility settle in. It wasn't just about being part of the Team or learning to fight better—it was about stepping into a role that mattered, where his skills could actually make a difference.

Nightwing clapped him lightly on the shoulder as they reached the lounge. "You'll do fine," he said. "Just stick with it. And don't be afraid to ask questions—this isn't something you figure out overnight."

Tom smiled, his confidence bolstered by Nightwing's words. "Thanks, Nightwing. I'll keep that in mind."

Nightwing nodded, his smirk returning. "Good. Now, get some rest. Tomorrow's another day, and trust me—you'll need the energy."

With that, Nightwing walked off, leaving Tom to reflect on the conversation. The more he learned about the Team, the more he realized how much he had to contribute—and how much he still had to learn.

The days at Mount Justice quickly settled into a routine for Tom. Mornings began early, with Kaelith nudging him awake for personal training sessions in the sparring room. He alternated between honing his martial arts and integrating his magic into combat, each session leaving him a little sharper, a little stronger. Afternoons were usually filled with team exercises—coordinated drills, simulated missions, and strategy sessions designed to strengthen their cohesion in the field. Evenings were a mix of free time and smaller group activities, giving the team a chance to bond.

As the week passed, Tom's thoughts wandered to the anomalies he'd encountered since arriving. Impulse and Raven—neither of them had been part of the Team in the original timeline he remembered.

Impulse was a particularly glaring oddity. Bart's exuberance and energy were just as Tom had imagined, but his early presence here nagged at him. Why now? Tom wondered. What changed to make him join the Team earlier?

Raven was another mystery entirely. She'd joined a week before Tom, and though she largely kept to herself, her skills and demeanor commanded attention when she was present. Her connection to the Team made no sense, and the more Tom thought about it, the more his unease grew. Was her inclusion a ripple caused by his own arrival, or was something else at play?

And then there was Blue Beetle. Jaime was a solid teammate—reliable, friendly, and skilled—but Tom couldn't shake the looming issue of his scarab. He knew that in the original timeline, the scarab's influence would escalate, slowly overtaking Jaime's will. The Tribe of the Sun and Zatanna had eventually intervened to fix the problem, but Tom couldn't stand the thought of waiting for things to spiral out of control before acting.

I could plant the information, he thought. Just give Batman a nudge in the right direction. He'd figure out the rest.

But the idea filled him with dread. His heartbeat quickened every time he thought about it, his chest tightening with the memory of what had happened the last time he'd shared knowledge. Klarion had found him. The Light tortured him. The scars on his body weren't just physical.

Kaelith's presence flickered in his mind, steady and reassuring. "You'll figure it out," she murmured.

Throughout the week, there were lighter moments that made Tom pause and reflect on how surreal his life had become. Seeing these legendary heroes in civilian clothing was one of the strangest adjustments.

Miss Martian often dressed casually, floating through the halls in comfortable leggings and oversized sweaters that made her seem far more approachable than the confident hero he'd seen in action. Impulse, true to form, zipped around in graphic tees and sneakers, his energy making him seem like a regular teenager—if you ignored the speedster thing.

Nightwing, on the other hand, had an effortless coolness about him, even out of uniform. His dark jeans and leather jacket gave him a laid-back vibe, but the sharpness in his eyes never left, a constant reminder of the seasoned hero beneath the relaxed exterior.

Even Raven, who Tom ran into a few times in the Grotto, wore simple black clothing that matched her brooding personality but also felt oddly... normal.

One particular encounter stuck with him. He'd gone to the Grotto late one evening, needing time to think, only to find Raven already there, as if waiting for him. They'd exchanged a few words—enough to make the silence less heavy—but for the most part, they'd simply shared the space, both lost in their own thoughts.

By the end of the week, Tom felt like he was finding his footing, even as questions continued to linger in his mind. His training had improved, and he was starting to feel more integrated with the Team, but the weight of his knowledge—and what to do with it—remained a constant shadow.

That morning, the Team was called to the main hall, Batman waiting for them with his usual stoic demeanor. The sight of him immediately silenced the casual chatter, and everyone instinctively stood a little straighter.

Tom felt his pulse quicken as Batman's sharp gaze swept over the group. Whatever was coming, it was clear this was going to be important.

Author Note: Hey! I just want to thank you all for reading the story up to this point and for the reviews! I know its not much but I do appreciate all the kind words and you taking the time to read my work!