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Location Unknown - Time Unknown - Dick Grayson - Nightwing

 

Despite all the odds Dick had survived his fall into the portal but not without consequence. A semi-dark night was falling when he awoke to a throbbing head, which when touched revealed a steady flow of sticky blood. He remembered the fall distinctly because he had noted the growing mesa below him with a huge amount of trepidation, and though the cable had slowed his impact somewhat he was still knocked out after rolling to a stop on top of the rock formation.

 

Standing up, he noticed some of his blood on the ground.

 

“Jeez, how much did I bleed?” Dick said. 

 

Looking at his surroundings revealed a dark and barren landscape. The mesa he stood on must have been about forty stories high as Dick estimated. He usually used Wayne Enterprise as a gauge for height. The building stood over a thousand feet in stature.

 

“It sends a message of hope for Gotham.” Bruce had explained. “My ancestors, Solomon and Alan Wayne, dreamt of it and had it built. They wanted to inspire the people of Gotham.”

 

The mesa was about half of Wayne Tower in height, but that was still an impressive four or five hundred feet. Below the mesa, a desert stretched for as far as Dick could see.

 

The smell of sulfur permeated everything making Dick wrinkle his nose. Every so often the sound of thunder reached his ears and the earth rumbled beneath him. Even more disconcerting was the sound of squawking demons, which though far away were moving closer. 

 

Dick came to himself with a start as he remembered the altar that he was supposed to find. 

 

“Altar, altar,” Dick said, looking around frantically. “Where’s the altar?”

 

There was nothing resembling an altar on the mesa.

 

“Please, let it not be down there,” Dick said, looking over the edge of the mesa. 

 

Squinting his eyes, Dick tried to see if there was an altar at the bottom, but all he could see was a huge collection of oddly shaped white stones. 

 

How long have I been out? Dick thought. The demons could be ripping Gotham apart.

 

A voice behind him startled him.

 

“You have found my altar.” 

 

Dick spun around. The voice belonged to a distinguished looking man in a robe trimmed with gold, and a white turban wrapped around his head. His fine black beard was braided with golden thread. His face was serene and dignified, but etched with a look of irritation and impatience. The part that bothered Dick more were his empty black eyes. 

 

“You must be Aman, then.”

 

“Indeed.” 

 

“I’ve got to close a portal.” Dick said. “Do you know how I would go about doing that?”

 

Aman peered at him, his gaze seemed to lick up and down Dick’s form. While Dick was used to facing evil people on a regular basis, something about the man left a deep unsettling feeling in the cavern between his lungs. 

 

He’s like a snake. Dick thought.

 

“You’ve already closed it,” Aman said, motioning towards Dick’s head wound, and then towards the mesa beneath them. “The blood of a good man on my altar.”

 

“That’s a rather generous definition of an altar,” Dick said, realizing the entire mesa was the altar. 

 

“Mesa, Table, Altar,” Aman said. “It’s all the same.”

 

“So that’s it then. It’s closed,” Dick said. “I’m stuck here, whatever here is.”

 

“It is Duzakh,” Aman said. “The narrow well where evil resides indefinitely.”

 

“Right,” Dick said. “I don’t know what that means.”

 

“It has many names.” Aman continued. “Tartarus. Diyu. Inferno. Hell in vulgar English.” 

 

A memory of Wally studying Greek Myths for school came unbidden to Dick’s mind. 

 

“What’s the big deal with this Tartar Sauce place anyway?” Wally had asked.

 

Donna had looked up from her geometry homework, and without missing a beat, “Tartarus. It’s the worst place of punishment ever. It’s where the gods send people they consider to be totally evil.”

 

She shivered, “Not even the Amazon Warriors would go there.”

 

“So don’t end up there,” Dick said. “Noted.”

 

He should have taken better notes.

 

“So, is there a way out of here?” Dick asked.

 

Aman fixed him with another look, and then abruptly he started laughing. 

 

“So hopeful,” He said, finally. “That will change.”

 

Aman started walking, and gestured for Dick to follow. Dick did, but he was really starting to not like this Aman guy. Aman took him to the edge of the mesa and started talking. 

 

“This is the place where the gods cast those they believe to be truly evil.”

 

“And you’re truly evil?” Dick asked.

 

Aman glanced at him, and said, “A story I care little to tell. All that you must know is that I am the gatekeeper of this wretched place.” 

 

“As such, I will explain things to you.” Aman said. 

 

“Normally, when the gods cast an evil man into this place, they give him a vial of blood from a good man. I care not, nor know anything of the magic which works here. They have tasked me with emptying the vial upon the rocky face of this mount. It is the only thing that will close the door.”

 

“So I do. I have done it hundreds of thousands of times. You are the first man that had no need of a vial. Your blood was enough to do the trick.” Aman said, motioning towards Dick’s head wound. 

 

“I suppose sometimes we must accept that we are the villain of another’s story.” Aman said, eyes on the tortured world below him. “Which god did you anger?”

 

“I didn’t,” Dick said. “I mean, there were no gods involved. Just random cultists.”

 

“Oh, that’s strange.” Aman said.

 

“Why are you the gatekeeper?” Dick asked.

 

“I supposed that I have been on this mount for so long that the gods made me it’s keeper,” Aman replied, picking a piece of ash off of his white cloak. “I am rather orderly as well.”

 

“Did they, like, tether you to the mesa?” Dick asked, his brows furrowing.

 

“Oh nothing so mystical as that. I merely know that to climb down would mean my death.” Aman said, and gestured to the bottom.

 

There Dick’s eyes finally focused on the bottom of the mesa, where he had seen the gathering of white stones at the bottom. With a growing sense of horror, he realized that they were not stones but bones, human bones. Thousands of human remains littered the ground.

 

“Oh yes, many try, and many die,” Aman said. “Some leap down and kill themselves without any effort. I’ve shoved a few ingrates down myself on the rare occasion. Others try and are killed in the attempt. Few mortals have made it into the rest of the world. Monsters, gods, and demigods are what populate this place. They alone survive the climb.”

 

“There was one delightful English man, who stayed with me for some time. He taught me English. Then one day, he took the plunge.” Aman said. “Shame, he was delightful company.”

 

“You see, young chap,” Aman said. “Time cannot kill you here. This place is outside of time. We do not age, we do not hunger, nor thirst, nor defecate here. The only thing that will kill you here is yourself, the world, or the other inmates.”

 

“Those are the rules,” Aman said. “That’s all there is to it.”

 

“Please, tell me there is a way out of here?” Dick repeated his earlier question.

 

“None that you will find on my altar,” Aman said. “If you wish to leave, you must climb.”

 

——-

 

There were few regrets Dick had in life. Not spending more time with Jason before he died. Alienating Tim. Not figuring it out with Babs. This…this took the cake of all his regrets.

 

Going down a sheer rock face without ropes, cams, chalk, and climbing shoes was a big mistake. He had known looking at it that the climb was a death wish, but it was better than being with Aman the Eternal Narcissist. At least, that’s what he theorized earlier.

 

He had taken his tactical gloves off to get a better grip on the rock face. He had tied them to his belt along with the coiled up cable from his grapple gun. Then he settled on his stomach and peered down the rock face.

 

He had planned a route down but implementing it had been an entirely different ordeal.

 

The south face of the mesa, Aman had informed him, was the most successful. Dick, having inspected all the sides, agreed.

 

It was a sheer, crumbling wall for about a hundred feet and then it tapered into a somewhat walkable rocky incline. After that, Dick was fairly sure he was in for a couple more steep climbs.

 

He slithered down gripping the edge of the cliff, and tried to find a foothold. He planted his left foot, and after a few moments his right found an awkward hold. He put pressure on it and, thankfully, it held.

 

Dick wound his way down the cliff like that. He tested each foothold before he placed his full weight on it, and he remembered to keep three points of contact  while testing. Each time praying that the rock wouldn’t give out. Apparently the gods weren’t listening because there were a few times that the rock under Dick’s foot would give out, and he had to grip the rock face with his hands and forearms straining.

 

Tim and Dick had gone rock climbing once at Safe Harbor, Pennsylvania. It had been fun, but they had bought all the necessary equipment with them. When they had told him their plan, Bruce had given them a platinum level credit card and told them to stay safe. Tim had thoroughly researched the subject before going and had taken the time to explain to Dick all the facets of rock climbing. 

 

“So the hardest climbs are called Class 5. Going up them is extremely hard, and we should probably avoid them, but going down them is almost always fatal, so a big no-no in the climbing world,” Tim had explained. “We’re doing a Class 4 mixed with some nice Class 3. So we aren’t going to die, hopefully.”

 

“I don’t know what any of that means,” Dick had said, gripping the steering wheel. “But, I’m sure we’ll have fun.”

 

They had. That was before everything had fallen apart.

 

Now, Dick was fairly certain he was going down a Class 5, and he was definitely alone. He was going down a Class 5 without cams and ropes and chalk. Dick would have been cursing but he was strapped for breath as it was. 

 

He couldn’t really tell how far he had gone, but sweat was pouring out of him, and underneath his mask some had worked its way into his eyes. He tried blinking it out, but it only made it worse. 

 

He stopped in his climb and just held onto the rock face for a moment. 

 

“Still alive?” Aman called.

 

Dick huffed, “Yes!”

 

“You’ve made it farther than most!” Aman said. “You should be proud of your accomplishments. If you gave in now, I would not think less of you.”

 

Dick ignored him, partly out of necessity and out of irritation, and kept climbing. He just kept hoping. Hoping that at the bottom of this climb he could find a way out. Hoped that he could get back to earth.

 

Hell, of course, it’s fucking hell. He thought. Only I can end up in hell on a random Thursday afternoon.

 

He kept climbing down. 

 

Plant three hands. Find a new foothold.

 

Over. Again. Over. Again. 

 

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. 

 

When his feet finally hit the sturdy ground, Dick let out a sigh that sounded more like a whimper. He set his feet down, and still keeping a hand on the wall of rock behind him, he sat down. Breathing deeply, he planned his ascent down the more relaxing incline. 

 

“I’m just gonna butt scoot it.” Dick said, remembering how Tim had employed the tactic several times on their climb.

 

Dick had laughed watching Tim go down, and had stayed on his feet. 

 

Tim had said, “I’m a genius. This is the climbing technique of the century. They’ll call it ‘Tim’ing before too long.”

 

Now, Dick saw the appeal of ‘Tim’ing down rather than walking. If he fell, there was no one to get him. No ropes. No net. Nothing. Except for squawking demons, which he heard distantly.

 

“Okay,” Dick said. “Hard part’s done. Just gotta get off the incline.”

 

He started to slide down slowly and carefully. The incline was a blessed hundred or so feet before what Dick thought was another steep cliff. He decided he was going to take it easy down this part rather than go quickly. 

 

“Just take a breather, Dick,” He said. “Keep going, buddy.”

 

Above him, Aman must have gotten bored of watching because he hadn’t heard another thing out of the man.

 

He scooted down on his bottom, which inevitably rocks dug into his Nightwing uniform.

 

“Designed to block a bullet, but it can’t stop rocks in the ass,” Dick complained.

 

He was about a third of the way down when he slipped.

 

For a moment, Dick struggled to understand that he was sliding down the rock face. He figured he would slow down with the friction, but instead, he started to gain momentum.

 

Upon this understanding, he incanted his favorite mantra, “Shit, shit, shit.”

 

Turning around on his stomach, he stuck his hands out in an attempt to slow his fall.

 

He grabbed at rocks but they kept tumbling out causing a huge tumble of rocks to fall with him. 

 

He turned again and got a glimpse of the cliff that he was now mere feet away from. He tried another tactic, turning around, he dug his heels into the ground, and clawed his hands into the rock face.

 

Ahead, he saw a rather large rock. Dick turned and grabbed it. 

 

It wrenched him to a jarring halt. 

 

But, the rock held, and Dick clung to it. 

 

Breathing in and out, Dick could feel gritty dirt in his mouth, and it filled his nose. His heart was beating fast, and sweat poured again from him. Without looking at them, he knew his hands were bleeding.

 

Gently, he released the rock, and slowly crept down the rock face to the tapered edge of the incline. When he finally reached it, Dick glanced down the edge. 

 

Below was not a comforting sight. It was as steep as the rock face he had initially gone down and there were about 200 more feet until the desert below. He stayed and rested for what felt like half an hour. 

 

Dick couldn’t be sure though. Aman said that there was no real passing of time here. Looking at the sky confirmed that thought. It remained the same. Like the night sky on a snowy night, where the darkness was not quite dark and not quite light, but something uneasily in between.

 

“What are you doing?” He asked. “You should have stayed in bed.”

 

“No more cultists. No more portals. Sorry Bruce, you’re gonna have to call the Justice League. I’m not your guy anymore.”

 

After catching his breath, he reassessed his body for injuries. His head wound hadn’t been giving him much trouble, but Dick wasn’t so sure he was out of trouble yet. The head was so tricky, and his head had been bleeding a lot. He had been avoiding looking at his hands, but finally he took a look at them. 

 

They were not pretty.

 

A few of his fingernails had ripped out when he dug his hands into the rock face, and the beds were bloody and painful. Dirt caked into them, stopping the bleeding, but Dick was afraid that an infection might settle into them.

 

He had some antiseptic and bandages in his utility belt, but he was going to put them on later. His priority was getting to the mesa without dying first.

 

Dick really didn’t want to climb the rock face, and he had an idea that hopefully wouldn’t kill him and, hopefully, would get him down quicker.

 

He took out a soldering tool he kept in his utility belt, and the cable he had secured to him. He slowly climbed back to the rock that had stopped his fall. It jutted out just far enough that Dick felt he could secure the cable with his soldering tool. He tied monofilament cord with secure knots, and for extra security, soldered the knot together. Dick took the rest of the cable and threw it over the cliff. He watched as the cord unfurled and finally came to a stop about fifty feet from the bottom. 

 

Dick sighed in relief. 

 

His climb would be a lot shorter if he went down this way, but he would have to sacrifice his cable. At this point, Dick was willing to make the sacrifice if it meant he could avoid the slow climb down. 

 

His hands, already ripped to shreds, would look like raw meat if he didn’t wear his tactical gloves. Sliding them on over the cuts and bloody nails was pure torture, but it was going to save him the pain later. 

 

Easing his way onto the cable, he tested his weight as much as he could. Satisfied when the rock stayed securely in the face of the mesa, he started to slide down the rope.

 

He maintained a tight grip, as he twisted the cable in between his legs. 

 

It was quick, but still exhausting. Dick had worked gymnastics and acrobatics his whole life. While it made the climb possible, it didn’t mean it was painless. His forearms and shoulders were dying. 

 

This might be muscle death. Dick thought. Never to perform again, end of the Flying Graysons. 

 

He slid down the rope comfortably, and he somewhat closed his eyes for part of it. 

 

I’m in the batcave. Dick thought. I’m just working out, doing rope climbs, not dangling from a cliff, a couple hundred feet from a painful death.

 

It made it easier to just flow, and do something he had done thousands of times. He lept from buildings for Pete’s sake. Yet, this mesa was giving him trouble.

 

Dick couldn’t quite put a finger on it, but there was something about this place that put Dick ill at ease. He already knew that it was a terrible place, but the absolute dread in the pit of his stomach was making him sick. There was something else. 

 

It was like the landscape and inhabitants were so hopeless and angry that it just absorbed any good thought or feeling Dick had. 

 

Just keep climbing, Grayson.  

 

He had no concept of time during his climb, he just kept going down. It could have been an hour, it could have been minutes for all Dick cared.

 

He was nearing the end of the rope, about forty feet from the ground, when the cable twinged. 

 

Dick’s eyes wrenched open. He looked up. Taking a breath, he moved one hand down under the other, and again with the opposite. 

 

The cable twinged again. 

 

No. Dick thought. And I was so close. 

 

He was too far from the rock face to safely reach. It was one of the reasons that he hadn’t been rappelling down. He was too far out, and he was afraid the cable couldn’t handle the trauma of the bouncing. 

 

Dick started sliding down faster than before. He was about twenty feet from the end of the rope, when he felt a give. Suddenly, he was weightless. 

 

It was a feeling he knew so well and loved. 

 

Right now, not so much.

 

He was plummeting quickly. 

 

Instinct took over, and Dick took action. 

 

His arms reached out, and he gripped at a branch that stuck out of the face. He felt the shoulder of his left arm wrench with the force, but he flew with it. He swung on the branch, allowing it to break the fall. He was still quite a distance away from the floor, but his descent slowed. The ground grew, and Dick prepared for impact.

 

Upon hitting the ground, Dick rolled with the momentum. He felt his ankle twist, and his body made impact with the ground as he rolled again on the rocky surface. His unprotected head slammed against the ground. 

 

Then, Dick knew nothing. 

Batcave - October 23, 2016 1345 ET - Damian Wayne - Robin

 

Damian was the son of Talia al Ghul, grandson of Ra’s al Ghul, head of the Shadows, and Damian was also the son of Batman, fierce defender of Gotham City. His biological family was a force to be reckoned with, and Damian counted himself amongst that number. There was nothing that could break him. Nothing.

 

So why did he feel so hopeless now that Grayson was gone?

 

It wasn’t as if the man was around 24/7 usually. He kept to Bludhaven except when Gotham needed a little extra security. Occasionally, Damian would come around Grayson’s apartment, but only when it was apparent that Grayson needed his help. Grayson needed a lot of help.

 

Ever since Grayson had gone missing, Damian couldn’t help but feel a tension in his stomach that never ceased and never loosened.

 

When Damian had explained these symptoms to Pennyworth, the old butler’s eyes crinkled, and he said, “I believe, Master Damian, that what you are describing is worry.”

 

Worry? Damian didn’t worry about anything.

 

It, also, didn’t help that the rest of the family had been keeping any information from him. It was entirely juvenile what they were doing. He could handle it. He always handled everything with maturity and a sense of responsibility. 

 

That’s why he had to sneak into the Batcave while he knew his father would be at work, searching the database for information on their investigation. Drake was upstairs in his bedroom sleeping like the dead. Damian had checked. Alfred was polishing silverware for the annual Wayne Banquet, which if his estimate were correct would take Alfred the whole day and then some to finish.

 

Damian was in the clear. 

 

He pulled the computer out of its slumber and started searching through files. Father typically had Drake organizing the computer files now, and Damian would never tell him this, but the organization on the database was impeccable. Finding what he was looking for wasn’t difficult, it was opening the file designated “ September 22, 2016 — Anomaly” that stumped Damian.

 

After his father had revealed Dick was still alive, Damian couldn’t help but think that they weren’t trying hard enough to bring him back from wherever he had gone. Drake had nearly gone insane trying to get father back, but when it came to Dick, he had seemingly given up. 

 

Oh look, my dear brother has fallen into the chasm to another dimension, guess I’ll just give up, Damian thought sarcastically.

 

Damian had confronted Drake about it one night in the Batcave during a lull in the Losloin onslaught.

 

“Damian, I don’t have time for this right now,” Drake had said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

But Damian had persisted, “Not until you tell me why you’ve given up so quickly! Grayson means everything to you.”

 

“I’m not!” Drake shouted, and then realizing how loud he was, quieted. “I’m not giving up, Damian. I don’t know if it’s wormed its way inside your thick skull, but we’re kinda in the middle of an alien invasion right now.”

 

Damian wouldn’t let it go, “You’d go to the brink of insanity to bring my father back, but when it comes to Grayson, you’ll just give him up for dead. Is this because your pathetic excuse for an ego is still bruised after he fired you?”

 

Drake glared at him and crossed his arms. Damian replicated the motion, matching the boy. If Drake wanted a staring contest, a staring contest he would have. Damian Wayne was the king of staring contests, having defeated his whole 7th grade class in one lunch hour, and if a few children left in tears, no sweat off his back.

 

Finally, Drake broke with a resigned sigh.

 

“Okay, look, I don’t like this as much as you do Damian,” Drake said. “Dick’s been there for me for a long time. Heck, he used to be my babysitter when I still lived with my parents.”

 

Drake turned away from Damian then, and he wrapped his arms around himself. Then he explained precisely why he was failing to bring Grayson back.

 

Damian shook his head at the memory. 

 

“-Tt- Idiot,” He huffed, and attempted to open the file with a password.

 

He was in the middle of typing “ Aceisthebestbathound28” when a hand grasped his shoulder. Damian gripped the hand, and judo-flipped the person onto the floor.

 

“Jesus Christ!” Jason Todd said, from the floor.

 

“Oh, it's you,” Damian said, staring blankly at the man on the floor. “What are you doing here?”

 

“You know kid, you are always right here,” Todd said, making a motion with his hand. “You need to take it down to about here.”

 

“Did you just come here to admire my intensity, or did you have a point?” Damian asked.

 

“Jeez,” Jason stood up from where he had fallen. “I was coming because your dad said you might be able to help me out with something. Something regarding a certain missing someone.”

 

“Father wanted me to help you on the Grayson case?” Damian asked.

 

“The Grayson case,” Todd snorted. “Lord, give me strength. Yes , the Grayson Case.”

 

“I’m heading over to Dick’s apartment complex to look for anything suspicious,” Todd explained. “Bruce said that you're over there a lot. You’d be able to tell if there was anything off.”

 

Damian crossed his arms in suspicion, “It sounds like my father wants me out of the cave.” 

 

Like Father didn’t want him snooping around.

 

“Whatever you choose to believe kid,” Todd said, holding up both arms in a mocking surrender motion. “I’ll head out then.”

 

Then the older man started walking down the catwalk, rubbing his backside and complaining about demon children. Damian knew, in that moment, what he had to do.

 

“Wait!” Damian called. “I’m coming with you.”

 

Todd turned around, “Oh, not paranoid Bruce is out to get you.”

 

Damian glared at him, “No, I’m more worried that your incompetence will ruin our chances of safely returning Grayson.”

 

“Sure, we’ll go with that,” Todd said, and walked towards the vehicle bay in the batcave.

—-

 

Bludhaven, New York - October 23, 2016 1550 ET - Damian Wayne - Robin

 

“Disgusting,” Todd said, as he walked into the bedroom of Grayson’s apartment. “I have never understood how a man of that precision can live like this.”

 

There were clothes strewn wildly across the apartment, and wrappers from protein bars were scattered in various places on the floor. It smelled like stale pizza and old spice.

 

“-Tt- He calls it L'ouragan de Richard,” Damian said from the living room. “Such an absurd man.”

 

“I’ve never heard of someone being so proud of their own mess,” Todd said, coming into the room briefly only to snort and shake his head and walk back into the bedroom. “Richard’s hurricane. What a prick.”

 

Damian ended up being glad that he came. The clerk in the lobby had just buzzed Damian up upon recognizing him, though he had cast Todd a funny look. Damian suspected that had he chosen to not come along, Todd would have had an entirely more difficult time getting into the apartment.

 

Todd was not entirely incompetent though. As soon as they entered through the door, he passed Damian some medical gloves, and donned his own pair. So he knew the basics of detective work, at least.

 

“We’re looking for anything that would indicate Dick doing something out of the ordinary, or meeting or communicating with someone we don’t know,” Todd had explained. “At the meeti—“

 

“Which I, apparently, wasn’t invited to,” Damian huffed.

 

“ At the meeting , Wonder Woman and Wonder Girl said they think Dick may have pissed off the wrong person,” Todd explained more emphatically. “We’re looking for any evidence of who or what he may have had contact with.”

 

After that, the two of them had split off to search the apartment. 

 

Grayson was indeed a mess. Damian had seen the apartment clean maybe once since he had started visiting. Other than that, it was just varying degrees of disarray and mayhem. 

 

Lying limp on the sofa was a maroon cashmere robe that Grayson tended to wear while lounging around his apartment. Damian picked it up and held it in front of him.

 

Damian had asked about it once.

 

“It was a gift from Bruce,” He had explained to Damian. “For my 18th birthday? I think. Can’t remember. I like it because it makes me look posh.”

 

Damian didn’t tell him that it was the finishing touch on the developing image of total disaster. 

 

He did tell him, “-Tt- It looks like you don’t have a day job.”

 

Grayson had merely chuckled, ruffled Damian’s hair, and asked him if he wanted cornflakes for lunch. 

 

A corner of Damian’s cheek went up as he remembered that visit, and dust must have gotten in his eye because they started to water. He pulled the robe into his chest and held it tightly. He smelled it, and it smelled just like Grayson always did: sweaty, but sweet like sugar. Exertion mixed with fun. 

 

Behind him, Damian heard creaking on the floorboards, like someone awkwardly shuffling their feet. Damian threw the robe back on the couch, and turned to look at Todd, who was rubbing the back of his head and avoiding eye contact.

 

“Did you finish searching the bedroom?” Damian asked, smacking the liquid from his cheeks with the back of his gloved hand.

 

“Yeah,” Todd said. “Listen kid, we’re not good at talking about feelings in this fam—.”

 

“It’s nothing,” Damian explained, quickly. “Dust got in my eye. Grayson, the incompetent fool, never dusts in here.”

 

“Well, regardless,” Todd said. “If you ever need to talk, someone will listen. Bruce, me, Alfred. Maybe Tim if he’s not too tired.”

 

Damian snorted, “Drake’s too tired to care anymore.”

 

“No, Tim’s too depressed to care anymore,” Todd said. “Come on, he has all the tell-tale signs of clinical depression.”

 

“What?” Damian said.

 

“Oh please,” Todd said. “When have we ever known Timothy Drake, the Mr. Insomniac, to be a frequent sleeper? Kid’s depressed because Dick is missing.”

 

“Sure,” Damian dismissed with some guilt, the unexpectedly his temper flared. “Meanwhile for Pennyworth and Father it's business as usual. Polish silverware for the Wayne Banquet and attend board meetings on the regular.”

 

Todd sighed, shaking his head, “I really don’t know how I became the emotionally intelligent one in the family.”

 

Sitting down on the sofa, he motioned for Damian to sit. It reminded Damian painfully of the other dark haired man, who sat there in the past. Damian sat down in his usual spot.

 

“Damian, when is the Wayne Banquet?” Todd asked. 

 

“It’s in December,” Damian said, eyebrows furrowing. 

 

“That’s, oh, two months from now,” Todd said. “When does Alfred typically polish the silverware for big events?”

 

“I don’t know,” Damian said. “Usually, a week before it starts.”

 

“Exactly,” Todd said, flatly.

 

“Oh,” Damian said, pieces falling in place. “He’s worried about Grayson.”

 

“And Bruce,” Todd said. “Do you know what happened to Wayne Enterprises’ profit margin after I died?”

 

Damian swallowed, “I’m not sure.”

 

“It went up,” Jason said. “By 12%.”

 

Damian wasn’t too aware of corporate lingo, but he did know that was a lot for a company to grow, “Father likes to work when he’s hurting?”

 

“Yeah,” Jason said, nodding his head. “Bruce likes to work when he’s hurting. You know who told me that? Who pointed that out to me?”

 

Damian paused, but he knew the answer, “Grayson.”

 

“He knows all of us, Damian, like the back of his hand,” Todd said. “That’s why this is so hard, for all of us. We aren’t giving up, Damian. We’re just trying to adapt to a world without Dick Grayson in it. That’s not easy.”

 

Damian nodded, and despite himself, that hopeless feeling that was rattling around in him for the past month came to a head. His eyes watered, and Damian felt so sad sitting on that sofa he had sat on so many times before, surrounded by an empty abode awaiting a man who might never return to it.

 

“Oh kid,” Todd said, and reached out a tentative arm, pulling Damian into a rough, but comforting hug. “Let it out.”

 

And Damian did. He was surprised when he felt himself struggling to breath, and tears fell helplessly from his eyes. Todd held him in a comfortable hug, patting Damian’s back as he sobbed. He didn’t know how long it lasted, but eventually, there was no moisture left in his eyes to cry out.

 

Todd helped him up from the sofa and brought him to the kitchen. He got a paper towel from the counter and got it wet. He handed it to Damian, who washed his face from all the grossness.

 

“Feel better?” Todd asked.

 

“Yes,” Damian said stiffly, and he still sounded stuffed up. “We speak of this to no one.”

 

“Sure thing,” Todd said. “My lips are sealed. Now, let’s finish going through this shithole.”

 

Damian sat at the breakfast counter for a moment and just breathed for a moment. That’s when he noticed the letter on the counter. The letter addressed to Timbo .

 

“Interesting,” Damian said, picking the letter up.  

 

“What’s that?” Todd asked, coming over to where Damian was seated. 

 

“It’s a letter,” Damian said, flipping it to show the man. “To Drake.”

 

“That’s definitely odd,” Todd said. “Dick’s never one to write letters. He’s a face to face kind of guy.”

 

Damian snorted, “Not if Drake is being an insufferable fool.”

 

“What do you know about it?” Todd asked, green eyes narrowing.

 

“Drake and Grayson,” Damian explained. “They were having trouble. Drake’s been upset because Grayson fired him. Didn’t believe him about Father still being alive.”

 

“I really can’t blame Tim,” Jason said. “It’s not easy being replaced, kid. And to lose the position from the “king” Robin himself, that had to suck. You’ll learn that one day. You can’t be Robin forever.”

 

“-Tt- Watch me,” Damian said, recalling what Drake had told him that one night during the Losloin invasion. “Anyway, Grayson kept trying to talk it out with Drake after Father returned. Kept trying to explain himself. Drake told me that Grayson told him he only wanted Drake to get out of his denial stage of grief.”

 

“Yikes,” Todd said with a wince. “Dick playing a psychiatrist is never fun. He gets that puppy dog look on his face and tries to get you to accept your feelings.”

 

“Exactly,” Damian said in agreement. “Anyway, Drake got mad. He told Grayson he was wrong, that he should’ve accepted that Father wasn’t dead. That Grayson just gave up. Then Grayson told Drake, I hadn’t given up. I’m just ready to accept loss when it comes. ”

 

“I bet Tim didn’t like that,” Todd said, rubbing his chin with his hand. 

 

“No, he really didn’t,” Damian said. “Anyway, he told Drake that he didn’t want him to go crazy like that if he went missing like Father. He made Drake promise that he would move on and accept the loss. Drake promised, but he was angry about it.”

 

“Sheesh,” Todd said. “Dick was being such a hard ass.”

 

“Apparently,” Damian said, looking at Todd. 

 

“That explains why Tim has been so messed up about this,” Todd said. “Why he’s been so depressed. Dick basically derailed his own rescue party. God, he can be such a tool sometimes.”

 

“Maybe this letter will help,” Damian said. “We should give it to Drake.”

 

“I don’t know,” Todd said, sounding unsure. “What’s in the letter might make Tim worse. Maybe just take it with us for now.”

 

Damian nodded, and he put the letter on the table where they wouldn’t forget it. He noticed Todd was looking at the fridge with disgusted apprehension and shook his head.

 

He was looking through the rest of the mail on the counter when he noticed something in the trash bin below. 

 

A plant? Damian thought. That’s odd.

 

He fished it out of the trash can and looked at them. It was an odd sort of palm, with some sort of orange spiked berry hanging from it. 

 

“Do you know anything about horticulture?” Damian called to Todd.

 

“The basics to deal with Ivy, but not much else,” Todd said, from the sink, where he had started throwing dirty dishes, essentially disturbing the crime scene.

 

“I wonder what this plant could be,” Damian said. “I’ve never seen it before.”

 

Jason came over and looked at the plant.

 

He inhaled sharply, “I have.”

 

“What’s wrong?” Damian asked.

 

“ Arbutus Unedo, ” Todd replied. “A branch of it was on the ground at the warehouse when Zatanna and I went back to look for evidence.”

 

“Why am I only being informed about this now,” Damian complained. “This is why you shouldn’t leave me out of investigatio—“

 

“There’s a note,” Todd interrupted, taking the plant out of his hands. 

 

Damian looked at the note hanging from the plant and read it out loud, “Thee only do I love.”

 

“There’s a name,” Todd read. “Teros.”

 

“This is definitely evidence,” Damian said.

 

“Uh, duh, go get me a trash bag,” Todd said, and then under his breath added. “If Dick even has those around.”

 

“He’s not a total loser, Todd,” Damian said, reaching under the cabinet for the supply of trash bags. “He’s somehow managed to make it this long on his own.”

 

“Dick subsists off of cereal, stale pizza, and potato chips,” Todd said, inspecting the plant. “If we get him back, he’ll probably have a heart attack at forty.”

 

Damian frowned, bringing Todd the trash bag. He didn’t like that sentiment one bit. Dick Grayson should live a long full life with several kittens, and a spouse, and children. It just wasn’t fair.

 

Todd turned to grab the trash bag, and seeing Damian’s face, said, “I’m sorry kid. We’ll get Dick back, and he’ll miraculously outlive both of us.”

 

He put the plant in the trash bag, which had become their new evidence holder, and tied the loop. 

 

“Father probably won’t like that you stuck it in a trash bag,” Damian said.

 

“Well, Bruce can suck my dick,” Todd said. “Grab the letter. We’re going back to the cave.”

 

Damian wrinkled his nose at Todd’s colorful language but complied, grabbing Tim’s letter and heading towards the door. 

 

There, Damian saw it. It was wedged in between the door frame and the wall, an index card. It had oil stains from fingers like it had been touched several times, like Grayson would tap it before walking out the door for good luck. Damian wondered why he had never noticed it before. 

 

On it was written the simple phrase: “ The show must go on.”

 

It was weird.

 

Donna being alive, and in the flesh. Dick almost couldn’t believe it, even though she was walking next to him. After Dick had mentioned being naked, Donna had fashioned  a sort of poncho out of the blanket he had been wrapped in. She then cinched his utility belt around his waist, essentially making a tunic.

 

“It’s not perfect, and it's not going to protect you from anything down here,” Donna said with a shrug. “But at least you aren’t naked.” 

 

Then she had gathered the bags, while Dick took account of his utility belt. He still had some smoke pellets, wing dings, and a few other essentials. He also noticed the berry from the oasis, and he thought about asking Donna about it, but thought better of it. He tucked it back into its compartment, and bending down, he tightened the laces on his Nightwing boots.

 

Dick was used to being a fashion disaster with his incapacity to pair appropriate colors, but this was next level. He was wearing a blanket poncho with Nightwing boots, and a utility belt. He had turned to Donna, and held up both hands in a what the hell is this motion. She had snorted, which turned into a full laugh.

 

“You look ridiculous,” Donna said, through tears.

 

That had been a while ago, when they were still in the protection of the cave. Now, they were marching to anywhere in the dead world in companionable silence. Dick couldn’t help but feel weird walking next to his dead friend. He had decided a long time ago that death was a part of life. His parents had died when he was eight after all; he had to learn to accept that vicious fact sooner than most. But, lately, death seemed so very temporary.

 

First, Bruce (who wasn’t technically dead, apparently). Now, Donna.

 

It was odd. Dick wasn’t used to having the people he had lost return miraculously. He had wished so hard when his parents had died that it was all a dream. He remembers laying on his bed that first night in the Youth Study Center, the juvenile hall in which he had been cast when the Gotham orphanages were filled. He had prayed for it all to be a dream and for his parents to come in through the door, gather him into their arms, and run away with him.

 

That hadn’t happened.

 

Instead, Dick had stayed, seemingly forgotten, at the juvenile hall for months before Bruce finally got custody. When he learned later that the Youth Study Center was referred to as “mini Arkham,” Dick hadn’t been surprised. There were things that happened there, things the other kids had done to him, such shameful things. Some of which, Dick had never told Bruce about. It was during his time there that Dick accepted death. It was a part of life. An inevitability, even a release, that awaited all people. He had even hoped for death at some points while staying at the Youth Study Center. The only thing keeping him going was his dead set idea of getting revenge on his parents’ murderer.

 

Now, Dick’s whole view on death was shaken up.

 

He turned to Donna, who was walking next to him in the desert, and looked at her. 

 

She turned, “What’s up Wonder Boy?”

 

“It’s just,” Dick said, haltingly. “Is it really so easy for Hades to just pop a soul back into existence?”

 

Donna sighed.

 

“I’m not really sure, Dick,” Donna said. “He didn’t seem too happy to do this.”

 

“I wonder why he did, then,” Dick said, eyes cast to the earth.

 

“I’ve thought about it,” Donna explained. “It was probably Diana. Hades owes her some favors for things she’s helped him out with in the past.”

 

Dick’s eyes popped back up to look at Donna, “That means they're looking for me, doesn’t it? That they’re close to finding us?”

 

Donna looked at him with some trepidation, “Dick, they can’t come get us from down here.”

 

“Why not?” Dick asked. “All they need to do is just open the portal like the cultists did and—.”

 

“Cultists?” Donna asked incredulously. “What cultists?”

 

“The cultists, guys in robes chanting in Greek, that opened the portal with the flock of demons coming out of it,” Dick said. “That’s how I got here. One of the cultists told me that the only way to close it was with blood on the Altar of Aman.”

 

“That makes zero sense to me,” Donna said. “Humans can’t open the gate to Tartarus. It had to be a god.”

 

“Well, they looked human,” Dick said.

 

“Yeah, gods can do that, Dick,” Donna said. “Any clue which one you pissed off?”

 

“I don’t know. How do you know when you’ve pissed off a god?” Dick asked.

 

“Well, sometimes it's obvious,” Donna listed. “Zeus usually just throws a thunderbolt. Athena might turn you into something nasty. Artemis will turn you into a stag, and then hunt you.”

 

“So, none of those then,” Dick said.

 

“Other times it's not so obvious,” Donna said. “Have you spurned any lovers lately?”

 

Dick shot her an exasperated look.

 

“What?” Donna said, defensively.

 

“Do you know how many people I have to let down on a regular basis?” Dick asked. “Just because I don’t like thinking and talking about it, doesn’t mean I’m not aware of it.”

 

Donna sighed, and she nodded.

 

Dick had a problem. It was a stupid problem, but a problem nonetheless. Some people might not see it as a problem, but Dick saw it as one. Ever since he was young, even back in the circus, people had been drawn to him. He could never quite explain it.

 

Old Pop Haly had seen it as a gift. Allowing the future aerialist to walk amongst the crowd and hype up the show. Five years old, and he would do what flips he could in front of people. He would chat to the families, and do tricks with the clowns. Climb on the back of Zitka. People had loved it—loved him. It had been so innocent back then.

 

That changed when Dick’s parents had died. In the juvenile hall, Dick had tried to hide himself from unwanted attention. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it hadn’t. Then he had been taken in by Bruce. 

 

Bruce had done what he could to protect Dick—shield him from the evils of the world. It was something Dick became gradually more aware of as he got older. But, there was only so much Bruce could do, in the end. Dick’s endless magnetism made him a target. It made him a target as Dick Grayson, and it had made him a target as Robin. 

 

“Take your pick, Donna,” Dick said. “I don’t know who could’ve been a god. Was it the guy at the coffee shop, who asked me out? Or was it the prostitute who propositioned Nightwing? There’s a long list of rejected people, Donna. Is it Barbara? Kory?”

 

She sighed again.

 

“You never were good with romance, Dick,” Donna said. “You and Kory didn’t work out then?”

 

Dick snorted, “No. I thought she was the love of my life. Felt that way with Babs too. I guess I’m just never what they expect.”

 

“What do you mean?” Donna asked.

 

“I’m just, I’m not,” Dick stumbled for words sounding frustrated. “Never mind.”

 

“Come on, let's sit down. We’ve been walking for an eternity,” Donna said. 

 

Dick sat down on the sand as Donna tossed the pack she was wearing next to him. She stood for a moment with her hands on her hips. She closed her eyes and a gentle breeze tussled her dark wavy hair. She was a beautiful person, Dick couldn’t help but think. Beautiful and strong.

 

She looked almost exactly like Diana, but instead of Diana’s blue eyes and sharp features, Donna had twinkling black eyes and a softer face. 

 

Dick let the tension from moments earlier disappear.

 

Finally, she opened those eyes and sat next to Dick.

 

“Enjoying it?” Dick asked.

 

“What?” Donna said. “Being alive?”

 

“Kinda weird to enjoy Tartarus, isn’t it?” Dick said.

 

“Yeah,” Donna said solemnly. “I guess when you’re dead, you take what you can get.”

 

“I’m kind of enjoying it now, too,” He laughed, nudging her shoulder playfully. 

 

Donna laughed, “I guess only the two of us can find a sense of enjoyment in what’s supposed to be the greatest place of punishment known to all beings.”

 

“Aren’t we a pair?” Dick asked. 

 

They sat for sometime, resting and enjoying their vacation in hell. 

 

“I, honestly, don’t know how we’re going to get you out of here, Dick,” Donna said. “We need the key to get out as well as the ancient knowledge of the gods.”

 

“We have neither of those things,” Dick said. 

 

“Exactly, Hades wasn’t all that forthcoming on how to get out of here.”

 

“Bruce always says: information is key,” Dick said, after a moment.

 

“But how do we get that information?” Donna said. “We could ask another inmate, but from what you and I have seen already. They aren’t exactly friendly people.”

 

Dick contemplated for a moment. She was right. From what Dick had seen and experienced, the folks in Tartarus were impossibly strong and terribly evil. If the rest of the inhabitants down here were even a fraction of what the women were, they were out of luck. Forebodingly, Dick suspected the women were the least of their troubles down here. 

 

“That’s another thing I’m worried about, Dick,” Donna said. “How are you supposed to defend yourself? Some of the people down here are gods, or worse, titans, and you’re a man… wearing a blanket.”

 

“And whose fault is that?” Dick said, jokingly.

 

She glared at him.

 

Then Dick added more seriously, “I’ll be fine, Donna. You know me, I manage. I always manage.”

 

“I’m still not happy about it,” She sighed, “We better get moving.” 

 

He stood up, and brushed himself off while she grabbed the pack up from the ground. 

 

They started walking again. 

 

“So, what all is down here?” Dick asked Donna.

 

“It’s difficult to say,” Donna said. “I had always thought the Danaids were released from their punishment, but apparently not. That’s the difficulty. Some of these legends have different factors. It’s difficult to know which parts are true and which aren’t.”

 

“That’s kind of frustrating,” Dick said, trying to recall some of the things he knew about Tartarus. “What do we do if we encounter a titan?”

 

“A titan?” Donna said. “Probably just lay down and die.”

 

“Seriously?” Dick said, looking over at her.

 

“That’s a battle I can’t win,” She said. “Zeus barely won it, and he’s the most powerful god there is. We are hopefully going to avoid running into any titans.”

 

“What about a god?” Dick asked.

 

“That’s a battle I might win,” She said. “You should probably hide though.”

 

“I don’t really like that idea,” Dick said.

 

“Yeah, well. Do you think you could win a fight with Superman if you had none of his weaknesses to employ against him?” Donna asked.

 

“Probably not,” Dick said, remembering the time when the Justice League had fallen under mind control of Antithesis. 

 

The Teen Titans had to come in and help out. Thankfully, the mind control had weakened the Justice League members powers, making them shells of their former selves. Dick still had bruises all over his body. More than one was from Superman. If Wally had failed to grab him from one particularly smart right hook, Dick would have been mince meat. The memory gave Dick a brief headache.

 

“Superman has about equal strength as some of the old gods,” Donna said. “It’s hard to tell, not having seen them go toe to toe, but generally the gods aren’t someone you want to mess with.”

 

They went back to walking in silence after that. Dick contemplated how he would handle leaving Donna to fight something on her own. He didn’t like it, but if Donna wanted that from him, Dick would comply. He was so out of his depth in this evil world.

 

The world itself had remained the same. There really was nothing out there. Occasional rock outcropping with a few shallow caves. Sand, tons of sand, for miles, as far as Dick could see. 

 

I hate this place, Dick thought, kicking a stone. 

 

He wanted color again. He wanted color and time, and God, did Dick want a bowl of Frosted Flakes. He was stuck in his thoughts when Donna stuck out her arm stopping him. 

 

“Dick,” She said. “Do you see that?”

 

“What?” Dick asked, looking where Donna was staring.

 

Sure enough, there was a shape in the distance. Dick couldn’t quite discern it because it was so far away, but whatever it was, it was big. And fast. And heading straight towards them.

 

“What is that thing?” She asked.

 

“I don’t know,” Dick said. “You’re the Tartarus expert.”

 

“I don’t know either,” She said. “It’s not from any story I’ve ever heard. We need to get out of here.”

 

“Agreed,” Dick said, and scanned the area for a place to hide.

 

“Dick, climb on,” Donna said, motioning for him to climb on her for a piggy back ride and handing him the pack.

 

“Donna, if I can walk on my own two feet, I am not going to let you carry me,” Dick said, putting the pack on. “I have some pride.”

 

“Stop being so stubborn,” Donna said. “I can carry you easily, and I can fly. Can you fly, Dick?”

 

“No, well, not really,” Dick said. “It’s just. I mean come on Donna.”

 

“Dick,” Donna said firmly. “While we sit here, arguing about your manly dignity, that thing gets closer. Climb ON.”

 

At her command, Dick swallowed his pride, and jumped on her back. Donna didn’t even flinch at the extra weight. She grabbed his arms, and started flying. 

 

“We speak of this to no one,” He said. 

 

“We may not get a chance to speak to anyone,” Donna said, and she started flying fast in the opposite direction of the thing.

 

At one point, Dick closed his eyes. The wind that Donna was creating kicked up dust into his eyes. For a while, they flew like that. 

 

Until they heard a roar from behind them. Donna stopped and turned them around. Dick creaked open his eyes to look at what Donna was looking at. The thing as they had dubbed it was closer, extremely close. 

 

Dick could see it now. 

 

It was massive. It had the face of an African lion, but it’s body was long and slithery like a snake. It had two massive wings pulling it through the air.

 

“Is that the Greek version of a dragon?” Dick asked.

 

“The Greek version of a dragon is a dragon, Dick.” Donna said. “I don’t know what that is.”

 

It was incredibly fast, and Dick could see that its eyes were a piercing red color, like Superman’s eyes when he used heat vision. 

 

This is so not cool, Dick said, his heartbeat beating in his ears.

 

“We’re going to have to fight it,” Donna said. “I just, I don’t know how to kill this thing, Dick.” 

 

“Maybe, it's friendly?” Dick suggested.

 

“Does it look friendly?” Donna asked.

 

“Looks can be deceiving?” Dick said, hopefully.

 

She lowered them to the ground, and shoved Dick behind her. 

 

“Hey,” Dick protested.

 

“Dick, you are not fighting this thing,” She said, and drew her sword. “Go find cover in those rocks over there.”

 

She pointed to an outcropping not fifty yards away.

 

“Donna, I don’t want to leave you,” Dick said, and if he was in a mild panic before, he was in a major panic now. “Please, don’t make me leave you. I just got you back, I can’t lose you again.”

 

“Dick Grayson,” Donna said, grabbing Dick by the front of his blanket poncho. “I will never leave you, but right now you need to hide. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but I need you to do this for me.”

 

The lion-serpent roared about a mile and a half away. 

 

“Please, Dick,” Donna said. “Don’t make me beg.” 

 

With one last desperate look at Donna, he ran to the rocks. He took cover behind one of them, and watched as the Lion-thing continued to fly, rapidly closing the distance. Dick really didn’t want to watch Donna die, not again. 

 

He started fishing through his utility belt for something useful. Distinctly, he remembered a time that Bruce had been working on repellents for various animals in case the Dynamic Duo encountered them. He had developed various repellents, but after one fateful event involving a shark, Bruce had stopped. 

 

“I think at this point, the repellents are just grenades,” Robin had told Batman, pulling shark guts off of his arm. 

 

Boy, did Dick wish Bruce had developed a lion-repellent right about now. 

 

A rustling next to him jolted him upright. Besides him, a white dove shifted its wings and cooed. 

 

“What the heck?” Dick said.

 

He hadn’t seen any animals at all since coming to this place. The dove cooed again, and landed on his shoulder. It pecked gently at his hair, and then it flew a foot away. Dick stood up and followed it. The dove hopped another foot away. Beckoning to him with its head.

 

Making a split decision, Dick turned around. 

 

“Donna,” He hollered, coming out of the rocks.

 

She turned and glared at him, from her position facing the impending creature. 

 

“Just trust me,” Dick called. “Come here!”

 

Donna threw a glance at the rapidly approaching, roaring lion monster, then she ran towards Dick’s location.

 

“Look,” Dick said, gesturing towards the dove as she rounded the rock. 

 

The dove hopped closer to them, then hopped away. 

 

“I think it wants us to follow it,” Dick said. 

 

Donna threw him a weird glance, then shrugged, “Whatever, we’re probably dead already.”

 

“Hey,” Dick said. “Stop catastrophizing. Let’s just follow it.”

 

They followed the dove. It hopped playfully, and flew. Eventually, leading them to a small crack in the rocks. It was just large enough that Dick and Donna could squeeze in one at a time. Climbing into the confined space first, Dick kept following the dove. Behind him, he heard Donna shuffling on the uneven rock. Outside of the crack, he could hear the roar of the Lion. It was close, really close. 

 

They crawled like that for a time. Donna behind Dick and Dick behind the dove. At one point, Dick’s blanket had begun to ride up on him during the crawl. 

 

“You better not be looking up my blanket, Donna,” Dick had joked. 

 

“Pfft,” Donna said. “As if I would want to see that. Why don’t you wear underwear anyway?”

 

“The Nightwing suit is way too tight to wear anything underneath,” He said, crawling behind the dove. “Besides, the suit isn’t usually supposed to come off until I’m in the comfort of my own apartment.”

 

“Sounds uncomfortable,” Donna said.

 

“I’m used to it now,” Dick said.

 

The dove led them through the tight crevice, until at last, the space opened into a flat room. It was lit by two small quaint lanterns on either side of a normal looking white door. Dick and Donna stood up and shared a look. Meanwhile, the dove beckoned for them, cooing and hopping outside the door.

 

Donna made a gesture with her head like alright, I guess we’re doing this, and moved towards the door. Dick was right behind her as she turned the door knob and pushed the door open. 

 

They walked through the door, and heard the sound of a woman saying, “Hello my darlings!”

Starling City — October 28, 2016 1921 PT — Roy Harper “Arsenal”

 

Roy had seen some shit. He’d seen some shit as Speedy, sidekick to Green Arrow. He’d seen some shit as Arsenal and as an Outlaw. He’d seen shit as a former drug addict. He’d definitely seen shit as a father to a toddler.

 

“Jesus, Lian,” He called, chasing his bubble-clad little girl down the hallway as she exited her bath time preemptively. “Come back.”

 

The small girl only giggled and ran naked to play hide and seek.

 

“Hide and seek,” She hollered playfully.

 

She kept saying it, even as she was hiding, which alerted Roy to exactly where she had concealed herself.

 

When Roy finally crept up to the drape she was hiding behind, he said, “I wonder where Lian is. She was here just a minute ago.”

 

He heard her giggle and whisper, “Hide and seek.”

 

“There she is!” He pounced on the child, pulling her in his arms as she squealed.

 

“Aww, daddy, you found me,” Lian said.

 

Roy laughed, “I don’t think Hide and Seek works very well when you announce where you're at, sweetheart.”

 

He took her back to the bathroom and dried her off. 

 

“Can I stay up and watch Scooby-Doo?” Lian asked.

 

“Hmm. How about this? You go to bed tonight, and tomorrow you can watch Scooby-Doo all day if you want,” Roy bargained.

 

Lian’s eyes widened, “ All day?”

 

“All day,” Roy confirmed, knowing she would get bored after the fifth episode.

 

“Okay!” Lian agreed quickly.

 

Roy understood that in her mind, she had just won the lottery. He resisted the urge to laugh, keeping a serious face as he went about Lian’s bedtime routine. If he got her too excited, she wouldn’t be able to sleep.

 

He put her into her pajamas, and tucked her into bed.

 

He pulled out the well-worn story book, which featured a brown Great Dane with black spots, and four groovy teens.

 

“Could it be, Red Herring? Fred said, and pulled the mask from the Creeper’s head. But, it wasn't Red Herring. Just as I suspected, Velma said, It’s Mr. Carswell, the bank president.” Roy recited from memory as Lian flipped through the pages.

 

He had begun acting out the voices at some point along the way. His Velma wasn’t too bad, but his Fred could use some work.

 

Lian still let out a gasp every time the villain was revealed. Every time, it surprised her. Each time. Roy sighed.

 

“So it was him all along,” Lian said, and yawned.

 

“Yup. Alright Princess, time to sleep,” Roy told her, putting the book away and pulling the covers up under her chin.

 

“No,” Lian elongated, even as she closed her eyes and promptly fell asleep.

 

Roy flicked the light off, and a Robin, the Boy Wonder night light flickered on in the corner. He shook his head, remembering how Dick had given it to Roy after one babysitting escapade had revealed Lian was afraid of the dark. 

 

Lian wasn’t afraid of the dark. But, she was playing her Uncle Dick like a fiddle. He had come home to see Lian curled up on Dick, watching Scooby-Doo and sucking down a juice box. He had glared at Dick, who had just shrugged.

 

“She was scared,” Dick said, with big blue eyes. “I couldn’t resist.”

 

Oh, Dick, Roy thought helplessly. I need my babysitter back.

 

Roy plopped on the couch and sat sprawled in it for a moment. He closed his eyes and just let his mind wander.

 

Dick and Roy hadn’t always seen eye to eye on things. They argued far more often than they agreed, but Dick would still go down in history as one of his best friends. If he was in trouble, he definitely wouldn’t call Ollie, and depending on the situation, not Jason either. He would call Dinah, and he would call Dick.

 

Sighing, Roy pinched the bridge of his nose. 

 

His phone buzzed on the coffee table, and Roy picked it up. A quick glance told him it was a text from Jason.

 

He read the text, tossed his phone on the sofa and went to the door. He opened it to see Jason Todd standing at ease with both hands tucked in his jacket pockets on his apartment door step.

 

“Sorry, I didn’t want to wake Lian by knocking,” Jason explained, walking through the door.

 

“Yeah, thanks for that,” Roy said, shutting the door behind his friend and teammate. “If she knew you were here, she would flip.”

 

“Yeah,” Jason said laughing. “She ready for Halloween?”

 

“You have no idea Jason,” Roy explained. “She will not shut up about her Elsa costume. I’m supposed to go as the Snow Man apparently. Omar? Owen? Otis?”

 

“Olaf,” Jason said. “Jeez, Roy I’ve seen that movie once, and I know that.”

 

“Well, I’m a tired dad,” Roy excused. “You want a beer?”

 

“Sure,” Jason said, settling onto the sofa. “You going tonight?”

 

“I’m planning to,” Roy said, reaching into his fridge. “Although I don’t know how much help I’ll be.”

 

“You were plenty of help last time,” Jason said, turning and looking at Roy. “They were all about to give up. Just like that. And it turns out, Dick’s still alive, afterall.”

 

Jason unzipped his jacket and muttered, “Fucktards.”

 

“Yeah, they're called the Justice League,” Roy said, handing Jason a beer. “Not the Hope League.”

 

It was one of the many things about the Justice League he didn’t like: They’re hypocritical righteousness. 

 

They went on and on about Truth, Justice and the American way. But, at the end of the day, when people really needed help, they just didn’t do anything. The people who were stuck on the streets, or stuck in a bad spot, the sort of people who became the villains they fought.

 

Ollie, the old bastard, had tried to explain it away to Roy, “We can’t prevent every bad thing from happening, Roy. We aren’t gods.”

 

“Then how come you like to act like it so much,” Roy had said. “You sit up there in fucking space and act like you own the keys to the kingdom, but when it comes to the actual people your supposed to help, you do nothing.”

 

“Roy, I haven’t always been the best fan of the Justice League either, and I’m sorry we weren’t there for you,” Ollie said. “I’m sorry I wasn't there for you, but it can be so hard with drug addiction.”

 

“Get out,” Roy had said flatly.

 

That had been years ago, right after Lian had come into his life, right after he cleaned up. While Ollie and Roy had come to a sort of truce, the argument still lingered as a rift. Roy would never forget some of the things from his childhood and later.

 

“You can say that again,” Jason snorted. “It just keeps getting weirder and weirder. This whole thing.”

 

“What do you mean?” Roy said.

 

“The demon spawn and I; we searched Dick’s apartment,” Jason said. “You know that plant we brought to the meeting?”

 

“Yeah,” Roy said. “The one with the spiky fruit thing, Artudus Bunedo or something?”

 

“Arbutus Unedo,” Jason corrected. “We found a bouquet of it at Dick’s place with a love note.”

 

“What the fuck?” Roy said. “That’s not a coincidence.”

 

“No,” Jason said seriously. “It’s not.”

 

Roy sighed, “Oh, Dickwad. What did he get himself into?”

 

“I don’t know,” Jason said. “But it's pissing me off. The idea that Dick turned someone down, and they sent him to hell. That shit really gets me.”

 

He remembered years ago Dick had taken the Titans on a special mission in their civies. They weren’t fighting any supervillains or going undercover. They were volunteering at a homeless shelter.

 

Roy had been mildly pissed as Dick, who just shrugged and went on to help people. Roy had eventually sizzled down and organized clothing to give to some of the downtrodden people. The homeless shelter was a sad gray place, filled with people who were twitching and talking to themselves and desperately in need of showers. 

 

It had been a surprise when he had heard laughs echoing from a corner of the room. He looked over to see Dick talking to an elderly man without any legs. The man was laughing at something Dick had said and he was crying from the laughter. Dick just had that look on his face like he was pleased with something. The look where his eyes twinkled and the lines around his lips deepened.

 

The Titans had returned to the shelter anytime they had the time. 

 

After one visit, Roy had stood next to Dick, who had a far away look in his eyes.

 

“What’s up, wonderkid?” Roy had asked.

 

Dick turned and glanced at him, “Just thinkin’.”

 

“What about?” Roy had prodded.

 

“It’s always better to prevent people from becoming criminals,” Dick said. “Then to stop the villains that have already gone down that path.”

 

Roy scanned the room. He wondered how many of the people in the room would become criminals whether out of hunger, drug addiction or excited delirium. He wondered if the Titans had prevented it at all.

 

“Wish we could do better,” Dick had said.

 

Of all people, Dick didn’t deserve to go to hell.

 

Roy sighed, “I just wish that Dick had settled down years ago, and then he would have a valid excuse for turning down assholes. I always kinda thought, well, never mind. Can’t happen now anyway.”

 

“What?” Jason said.

 

“It’s just during the original Titans days, I always thought, well, him and someone else would become a thing,” Roy explained. 

 

“Oh?” Jason said, his interest sufficiently piqued.

 

Roy leaned over and whispered conspiratorially in Jason’s ear. Little ears could pick up the darndest things, and Lian was the repeater of all things that should not be repeated.

 

Jason pulled back jaw hanging down and said, “What? No! This is the juiciest piece of gossip I have heard, literally all my fucking life.”

 

Roy just nodded with an all-knowing smirk on his face. Jason was such a gossip whore when it came right down to it. He turned into a sixteen year old high school girl at the scent of private information. 

 

“Yeah, I always thought it would happen when things got better,” Roy said. “But things never got better, and then the Titans fell apart.”

 

“Then Donna died,” Jason said, remembering the history. “Then Wally disappeared.”

 

“Yeah,” Roy said, solemnly.

 

Dick had reformed the Titans later with Starfire, Raven, Beast Boy, and a few others. For Roy, it was never the same again. He could never reclaim those glory days. He just remembered them fondly. It was just the five of them: himself, Wals, Dickhead, Grumpygils, Princess.

 

“Whatever happened there anyway?” Jason asked. “It’s like Wally just kind of fell off the map. Did you guys ever find out what happened to him?”

 

Roy huffed, “I don’t know. It’s kind of pissing me off now that you mention it.”

 

“What do you mean?” Jason asked.

 

Roy’s phone dinged. 

 

“I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about it,” Roy said, picking up his phone and checking the message. “Come on, that’s the babysitter. We better head out if we want to make it to the meeting tonight.”

 

—

 

Watchtower — October 28, 2016 PT 2200 — Roy Harper “Arsenal”

 

The same group that had gathered in the meeting room last time was there, though it was running a tad-bit late. Dinah was the queen of lateness, and had, like she always did, made Ollie late because he always waited for her. It was an endless cycle with those two. Barry, the usual king of lateness, had the decency to be on time for the meeting Roy noted.

 

Roy took a small sense of satisfaction as Ollie and Dinah looked sheepishly at Batman, the king of punctuality, and with brief apologies took their seats.

 

With that the meeting started. 

 

Roy and Jason had been surprisingly early for once in their lives. If Jason had any superpower, it was his ability to arrive precisely on the dot. He didn’t show up a second late, nor a second early. Roy had once joked lamely that if he was going to change his alias it should be Mr. Right-On-Time.

 

Jason had shot him an irritated glance, and said sarcastically, “Ha ha. Where’d you get your jokes from, Cartoon Network?”

 

Which, yes, Roy really only watched kid shows anymore. Some of them were pretty good, though.

 

While the rest of the group filtered into the room, Roy and Jason had shared a running commentary of stupid remarks about the super powered beings.

 

It wasn’t until Wonder Woman and Superman came into the room, that they had stopped messing around. Part of it was because of the “Super” hearing that came with them.

 

The other part was the shock. Wonder Woman didn’t look so hot, Roy noted. She was always beautiful, but she seemed worn out.

 

“Guess this Dick in Tartarus thing is really getting to her, huh?” Jason murmured to Roy.

 

“Yeah, maybe,” Roy said.

 

He had always thought the unflappable woman was an immortal, but maybe that was wrong. She looked almost sick, with her normal olive complexion having a pale tint to it. She sat down at her customary spot with Superman sitting next to her, throwing her the occasional worried glance. 

 

Batman had started the meeting by recapping everything they had previously known regarding the situation. Roy nodded his head at the appropriate parts along with the others. He was really focused on Batman’s appearance though. The man was as stoic as Roy had ever seen him. He was also tense like a support beam about to snap.

 

“Red Hood will explain his findings at Dick’s apartment,” Batman said stiffly, turning the floor over to Jason.

 

Jason shifted from his position against the wall, and started explaining what Damian and he had found. 

 

“The apartment had nothing out of the ordinary except for something Robin found in the trash,” Red Hood said, he made a motion with his hand. “It looked like Dick had tossed it out.”

 

Black Bat again produced an evidence baggy with a plant in it. She set it on the table, and it was passed around. 

 

“There was a note on it from someone named: Teros,” Jason explained. “Is that name familiar to anyone? Ring any bells?”

 

Roy shook his head and saw a few of the league members doing the same. Roy couldn’t remember Dick mentioning anyone named Teros. Nor could he recall a Titan’s villain by that name. And oh boy, did Roy remember the Titan’s villains.

 

Finally, Roy watched as the bouquet found its way to Wonder Woman, who again removed it from its bag. Wonder Girl looked over her mentor’s shoulder. 

 

Aloud, Wonder Woman read, “Thee only do I love. The back just says Teros.”

 

Roy resisted a snort. What sort of cornball wrote that? 

 

Zatanna, who had been quiet previously, walked over to where Wonder Woman was holding the card, “May I?”

 

Wonder Woman handed her the card, and Zatanna went to inspect it.  

 

“Uggh,” She gagged, dropping the card.

 

“What, what’s wrong?” Superman asked.

 

“It’s coated in love magic,” She said, disgustingly. “Not the nice kind.”

 

“There’s a not nice kind of love magic?” Barry asked, his face looked confused, even with the cowl on. 

 

Zatanna looked at him, “There’s two sides to most magic. Not all, but most.”

 

“Explain,” Batman said, flatly. 

 

“Anything can be used for good or bad based on the intention of the user,” Zatanna said. “The user who made this card did not have good intentions.”

 

“So, what was the intent of the spell or whatever that was on it?” Roy asked, curious.

 

“Well, normally love magic is almost silly, almost shallow. He loves me, he loves me not,” Zatanna said, waving her hand. “How do I find my one true love? How can I get them to love me? Things like that.”

 

“Stuff for twelve year old girls,” Dinah said. “Twelve year old girls with a crush and gossip magazines.”

 

“Exactly,” Zatanna said. “But then there’s what was on that card.”

 

“Which is?” Red Robin asked in a subdued voice, and Roy noticed him now for the first time.

 

The kid had been so quiet. He looked worn out, like dry toast. 

 

Zatanna sighed, “There are some spells where the user's intent is to force love upon the subject. To essentially remove their free will on the subject.”

 

“Jesus,” Hal said, and the normally at ease man looked angry. “That’s disgusting. Someone was trying to do that to Dick?”

 

Roy couldn’t help but agree. That was tantamount to rape. Nothing could piss off a room full of superheroes more than that heinous act, and to be perpetrated on one of their own was even worse. 

 

“Yes, but it seems like it didn’t work,” Zatanna said. “Despite it being extremely potent, which is really odd.”

 

“Wait, hold up. Robin and I touched that note,” Red Hood said. “How come we weren’t infected?”

 

“Simple, you weren’t the target of the spell,” Zatanna explained. “Love spells aren’t Ivy’s pollen. The caster has the subject in mind while casting it, which would make it impossible to infect someone else.”

 

“I know who did this,” Wonder Woman said, quietly.

 

Roy saw the room turn to look at her. He felt kind of weird about how sad she looked about it all. There was definitely something off, but he decided to store the information for later.

 

“It was Anteros,” She said, solemnly with her eyes downcast. “One of the Erotes.”

 

“I’m a little slow on Greek Mythology, Diana,” Ollie said. “You’re gonna have to explain.”

 

Wonder Woman sighed about to explain, when Wonder Girl took over.

 

“The Erotes are the children of Aphrodite, the Greek love goddess,” Cassie said, shooting Diana a worried glance. “Eros, you guys probably know him as Cupid, is the most well known one. He shoots you with an arrow and you fall in love. Anteros is his brother.”

 

“Is he like, the god of hate or something?” John asked.

 

“No, the opposite actually,” Cassie said. “He’s the god of requited love.”

 

Roy and the room sat in stunned silence for a moment.

 

“Did Dick actually turn down the god of requited love?” Roy asked. “I can’t believe him. Only he ends up in these ridiculous situations.”

 

“I’m curious how he turned down the god of requited love,” Zatanna said. “That level of magic! I don’t care how skilled Dick is at controlling himself, he couldn’t resist that.”

 

Roy hadn’t thought about that. 

 

“I have a working theory,” Wonder Woman said. “Ever since Dick was a young boy. I suspected, but could never confirm if it was true or not.”

 

“What, Diana?” Superman asked.

 

“Dick has been getting help from a deity since he was a child,” Wonder Woman said. “I’m not entirely sure which one. It could be any number of them, honestly. I could feel the blessing on him one time, clear as day.”

 

“Feel the blessing?” Jason asked. “What does that even mean?”

 

“I suppose it’s like how Zatanna senses magic,” Wonder Woman said. “It felt as though Dick was in the arms of a god. Protected.”

 

“That would explain some things,” Batman said. “ Things that were previously unexplainable.”

 

“I wonder which god or goddess it is?” Cassie said.

 

“That’s the least of our worries now,” Wonder Woman said. “Now that we have our suspect, we must find him. That needs to be our mission.”

 

“He has the key that can get Dick out of Tartarus,” Superman said.

 

“Exactly,” Diana said. 

 

“So, where can we find ourselves a love god?” Jason asked, cracking his knuckles.

 

Roy couldn’t help but think that this Anteros-guy was going to get a rude awakening.

 

Donna wasn’t exactly sure how she got in these messes, but she was pretty sure it was Dick’s fault. Everything was Dick’s fault. That’s what the Titans used to say every time their mentors had shown up with disappointed looks on their faces. 

 

A building got blown up while chasing Mr. Twister.

 

Dick’s fault.

 

Wally broke his arm.

 

Dick’s fault.

 

Roy shot Gar with an arrow “accidentally.”

 

Dick’s fault.

 

And Dick had always said, “The buck stops with me.”

 

He took responsibility when even Donna had been scared to do just that. 

 

So, yeah, this is Dick’s fault, Donna thought, as they walked through the door in the cave.

 

“Hello, my darlings!” The most beautiful woman Donna had ever seen called to them.

 

She was clothed in a stunning sea foam green dress and lounging on a divan in an elaborate sitting room. The room looked like it belonged in Versailles rather than Tartarus.

 

Donna shared a look with Dick, who had also halted at the entrance. His eyes were wide and he looked like when he had first woken up to see her: like he had seen a ghost.

 

What the hell?

 

“Come closer,” The woman called. “I want to get a look at you both.”

 

Donna stepped in front of Dick, and came closer to the woman until she was standing in front of the divan. 

 

“Closer,” She said.

 

Donna leaned down, and the woman grabbed her face with two of the softest hands Donna had ever felt. The woman smelled like Si by Armani, a scent that Donna had always secretly loved.

 

“Hades did nice work,” The woman said. “You’re lovely dear, take a seat.”

 

Confused, but compliant, Donna went to sit in the high backed plush chair in front of the divan. When she had sat down, she looked at Dick, who was pale as a crisp linen sheet standing in front of the woman.

 

The woman beckoned, and Dick came forward. She grabbed his face, and Dick flinched.

 

The woman hummed and smiled, “Splendid, child.”

 

Dick straightened stiffly.

 

“Mother?” Dick asked.

 

Donna froze. Now, that it was pointed out the woman did look like the photo Donna had seen of Dick’s mom. She had the same gentle-red hair, and softly shaped eyes. The same everything, if Donna was being honest. Even her smile had the same ease to it.

 

“Oh,” The woman said, cocking her head to the side and her eyes looked so mournful. “An easy mistake, my love. Your mother was a beautiful spirit, but she’s still a shadow, I’m afraid.”

 

Dick didn’t look like that eased his soul at all, Donna noted. 

 

“Dick,” Donna called, and he looked at her. “Sit down.”

 

He complied, and wiped his palms on the ridiculous blanket-gown he was wearing.

 

“I will explain what I can to you in the time that I have,” The woman told them. “It’s a long story, but I think it will help you. Is that alright with you?”

 

Dick and Donna nodded their heads.

 

“Do you know who I am?” She asked.

 

And, strangely enough, Donna did know who the woman was at that moment. It all seemed to come together in her mind. The dove was the key.

 

“You’re Aphrodite,” Donna said. “Goddess of love and beauty.”

 

Aphrodite smiled and clasped her hands, “Excellent, and I know the both of you. Introductions have been made.”

 

“But, how are you here right now?” Donna said. “Why?”

 

“To help, Donna,” Aphrodite said. “Or did you want Dick to have to fight the leontoeides stalking you with just his hands?”

 

“No, not at all, my lady,” Donna said, respectfully.

 

Goddesses could be fickle.

 

“The leontoeides,” Dick said, brows furrowing. “That’s that lion-serpent thing?”

 

“Yes,” Aphrodite said. “A demon of the old world. An agent and lord of Chaos. He was cast here at the beginning of time for his evil deeds, and he was meant to torture the cruel inmates.”

 

“Can he even be defeated?” Donna asked earnestly.

 

“Anything can be defeated,” Aphrodite said and then smirked. “If you have the right information.”

 

She stood from the divan, and walked to a table. There was a pack on it. 

 

“Dick, sweetheart,” Aphrodite said. “Come here.”

 

Dick obliged, standing from his chair, and adjusting his blanket, went to stand near her. Though Donna noticed that he still had that look of pinched apprehension on his face. Aphrodite handed him the bag, which he held gingerly.

 

“Through that door is a refresher,” She said, gesturing to another door in the room. “Clean yourself up, and change into that.”

 

Dick glanced at Donna one last time and moved towards the door pushing it open. 

 

“Oh and darling, I’ve forgotten,” Aphrodite called. “Don’t drink the water from the faucet. I can barely do what I am doing now, but giving you water to drink is strictly forbidden by the Tartarus Ordinance of 1237.”

 

“Okay?” Dick said hesitantly, and pushed the door closed.

 

“Now, Donna,” Aphrodite said, once Dick had disappeared through the door. “I am going to tell you how to defeat the leontoeides.”

 

—

 

Aphrodite, as it turned out, was a hoot.

 

“So, I told Ares, stupid wonderful Ares, if he wants to take on Diana of Themyscira on a regular basis, he’s going to have to get used to getting his ass handed to him,” Aphrodite said, hand waving wildly.

 

She also happened to be Wonder Woman’s number one fan. Donna wished she could tell Diana that.

 

Now, that she had sat here for a while. Donna could see the differences between Aphrodite and Dick’s mom with more clarity. The goddess had sparkling green eyes while Dick’s mom’s were a fierce blue. The shape of the nose was different as well, and Dick’s mom had been petite and muscular, a contradiction that only an acrobat could be. Aphrodite was soft and curved. 

 

Donna had told Aphrodite when Dick left the room, “You really do look like Dick’s mom, at least from the photo I’ve seen of her.”

 

Aphrodite looked at Donna with a shrewd look, “A mere coincidence, I can assure you.”

 

But there was something that sparked mischievously in her green eyes.

 

Aphrodite had explained to her how to defeat the lion, and then went on to discuss her favorite gossip, which Donna was enjoying more than she would ever let anyone know. Her respect for the goddess had gone through the roof. 

 

“Lords of Chaos are incredibly tricky to fight,” Aphrodite had said. “Fortunately for you, I was produced out of Chaos.”

 

She giggled and produced a vial, with an iridescent liquid in it.

 

“This is primordial soup,” Aphrodite claimed. “Not the evolutionary kind, the metaphysical kind. A lasting remnant of the sea foam I was born from and the very stuff that the universe is made from.”

 

She handed the vial to Donna, who held it carefully in her hand. 

 

“If you were to put this on a sword, and pierce him, preferably on the lion's part, he will be weakened. Not killed unfortunately,” Aphrodite said. “He won’t be able to fight anymore, and he will have to go into a restorative slumber.”

 

“Sounds simple enough,” Donna said.

 

“Easier said than done, darling,” Aphrodite said. “You still have to fight him, and Dick will, unfortunately, need to play a part.”

 

“I’m worried about him,” Donna confided. “I don’t know how to get him out of Tartarus. And, the longer he stays here, the more he’ll become…”

 

Donna remembered how Hades explained the cruel fate that awaited Dick if he were to stay here.

 

“Unfortunate, yes. We want to avoid that the best we can, I’m going to do my best to help you both,” Aphrodite said. “But, you know, there are limits.”

 

Donna did know there were limits to how the gods could help mortals. There were rules. In fact, Aphrodite was breaking several of them right now.

 

“And I am worried about you, darling,” Aphrodite continued. “If he dies, the consequences for you are…horrendous.”

 

Donna swallowed and nodded, remembering Hades’ warning in the dark palace of the Underworld.

 

“How are you even helping us now?” Donna asked, returning to her earlier curiosity. “I mean I’m appreciative, I’m just wondering, my lady.”

 

Aphrodite looked at Donna with a gentle look, “If I am going to explain that, I will do it with Dick here.”

 

Dick, who was taking an awfully long shower. Though, Donna didn’t blame him. He deserved it.

 

Aphrodite was recounting a rather amusing tale about a man who had accidentally married a fish that had begged Aphrodite to look like a human, when Dick came out of the room.

 

His hair was clean, and for the first time, Donna saw his skin clean and refreshed. His hair, which had become increasingly wilder in the humid Tartarus air, now hung damp and smooth around his temples. He was wearing an outfit similar to Donna’s, but white as opposed to Donna’s dark grey garment. 

 

The garment Donna was wearing was incredibly comfortable, and probably the best thing for traveling through Tartarus. It was nice and loose and airy around the core of the body, but it tapered and tightened at the wrists and calves to keep the sand out. It also had a hood, which could wrap around the head whenever she needed the extra protection from the hostile environment. 

 

“Excellent,” Aphrodite claimed, clasping her hands together. “Now we can get started.”

 

Dick still looked at Aphrodite like a live grenade, but he moved closer and sat in the chair he was in previously. Donna noticed that he had rolled up the blanket and stuck it in the bag. 

 

Smart move, Grayson , She thought. 

 

They might need it again. 

 

“Dick,” Aphrodite started. “Donna. I am going to tell you what I know.”

 

Donna nodded her head, and Dick nodded his, slowly, as well.

 

“First off, Donna,” Aphrodite said. “You asked an excellent question. How am I even helping right now, with the Olympus Non-Interference Act in place?”

 

Donna hadn’t realized the law had such an asinine name. 

 

Diana, serious Diana, had always just said, “The Gods can’t interfere, Donna. It’s the rules.”

 

“However,” Aphrodite said. “There are some allowances in the act if you actually sit down and read the bill. Fortunately for you, I have.”

 

Donna couldn’t help but think that Aphrodite reminded her of Reese Witherspoon’s character from Legally Blonde.  

 

“Now,” Aphrodite rapidfire recited. “In the event or events that a human person, defined as someone with a capacity for death and/or without godly parentage, is pledged to the service of a god or goddess, gender never withstanding, the godly party, may in times of distress assist, abet, and save the human party. This includes but is not limited to the conferring of gifts, defined as items transferred from the ownership of the godly party to the human party, and the transference of knowledge. Article 12, Section 2568. Olympus Non-Interference Act, 1521.”

 

“I should have paid attention in business school,” Dick said. 

 

“You most certainly should not have,” Aphrodite said with indignation. “That place was such a drain on your potential.”

 

“I don’t really understand all of what you just said though,” Dick explained.

 

Donna couldn’t help but agree. The legal terminology was convoluting the meaning. 

 

“Oh, I totally agree,” Aphrodite said. “Athena has a way with words, doesn’t she? I much prefer Apollo’s law writing skills: All gods are born with inalienable dignity and inherent rights. Etcetera.”

 

“Anyway, I had Artemis explain it to me,” Aphrodite explained. “Since you’re under my service, I’m allowed to help you in certain ways. Same way she’s allowed to help the Amazons and her hunters.”

 

“Wait, Donna works for you?” Dick asked, turning to Donna.

 

Donna’s eyes widened, she didn’t remember pledging herself to the Goddess Aphrodite, but then again, she couldn’t remember some things from before she died. It was still fuzzy at some points.

 

But, Aphrodite laughed, “Oh, darling no! Not Donna. You are under my employ, Dick Grayson.”

 

Donna let out an awkward laugh. That explained so much .

 

“Um, I don’t remember signing any contracts,” Dick said. “I’ve never even met you before.”

 

“ You didn’t,” The goddess explained with a coy smile. “But your mother did. And you have met me, Dick, you just didn’t know my name.” 

 

“What?” Dick said, dubiously.

 

“Mary was always a servant of mine, as were her mothers before her,” Aphrodite said. “She prayed at my altar frequently in her youth. I granted some of her desires, some of them I did not. One day, she came to my altar, and she was in tears. She was in so much pain.”

 

“You see, her and John were struggling to have children, and Mary, she loved children. She wanted a baby so badly,” Aphrodite said, and she sounded upset at the memory. “She bartered with me and said that if I gave her a child, she would dedicate them to my service.”

 

“That makes so much sense, Dick,” Donna said. “The endless attraction you have. The way people are drawn to you.”

 

“Oh, no, darling,” Aphrodite said. “That’s all Dick. I had nothing to do with that. It was a pleasant surprise, he was doing the work I had intended for him without me even stepping in. You’ve been a good servant, Dick. You're one of my top number bringers.”

 

Donna couldn’t help but feel bad for Dick. He looked so shell shocked, like the world was collapsing around him. 

 

“What does that even mean?” Dick asked.

 

“You bring petitions for love more often than Apollo did back in the heyday of Greece,” Aphrodite said. “And your work with Bruce Wayne was absolutely incredible.”

 

Donna was confused, “Surely, him being your servant has impacted all this.”

 

She made a sort of wild gesture to Dick’s whole presence. 

 

“Being my servant doesn’t necessarily indicate great beauty or even attractability,” Aphrodite said and then complained. “I had one unfortunate servant. She had the love ability factor of a grocery sack. She couldn’t even get a dog to love a bone. Poor girl.”

 

“So, what have you been doing, then?” Donna asked.

 

“Oh, you two know very well, pretty hurts,” Aphrodite said frankly. “Sometimes people see us and they don’t think about what they can give. They think about what they can get from us. I’ve been steering you from danger all your life Dick Grayson. I was there at Haly’s, I was there at the Youth Study Center, and I’ve been there ever since. Sometimes I get you the help you need, and sometimes. Well, sometimes I can’t.”

 

Dick looked uncomfortable, and Donna saw him shift his arms to hold himself. Donna was unfortunately familiar with the feeling. She had experienced the staring and comments in her life on earth, and she bore them with patience. Her super strength had saved her from more than one terrifying experience. Dick didn’t have super strength. He had his wits, his training, and his mentor. And, apparently, Aphrodite as well.

 

“Anyway,” Aphrodite said. “That explains how and why I’m here. Now let's get to this. We don’t have a ton of time now. And things have gone south. Very south.”

 

“What do you mean?” Donna said.

 

“Diana,” Aphrodite said. “She swore an oath on the River Styx  that she would find and return the Kleidi Tartarus, the key to Tartarus . ”

 

“Oh gods no,” Donna said, pain piercing her heart. “Why would she do that?”

 

Donna knew the consequences for breaking an oath made on the River Styx. In fact, it had been Diana who had warned her against it.

 

“Don’t make a promise you can’t keep, sister,” Diana had said, looking Donna straight in the eyes.

 

“Because she loves so fiercely,” Aphrodite explained patiently. “You know her. She wanted to help Dick Grayson anyway she saw fit.”

 

“Unfortunately, the key is nowhere to be found,” Aphrodite said. “The culprit has yet to be caught, and until they find it, Diana’s life force will continue to be drained away by the River Styx.”

 

Dick and Donna looked at each other. Donna knew that Dick hated to be the cause of other people's trouble. His eyes were so sad and she saw him swallow.

 

“The culprit,” Dick asked. “The cultists?”

 

“A rouse, my dear,” Aphrodite explained with a sort of sadness. “Someone who had fallen deeply in love with you felt the sting of your rejection. It is your right to do so, Dick, make no mistake. However, this person became enraged.”

 

“If I can’t have you,” Donna inferred. “No one else can.”

 

“Exactly,” Aphrodite confirmed.

 

Dick, who had been staring at the ground, listening, looked up. Donna saw that there was moisture in his eyes.

 

“I don’t understand,” Dick said. “Someone did this to me. They put me down here because I wouldn’t go out with them. Who would do something like that?”

 

“Unfortunately, I know the perpetrator, quite well,” Aphrodite grimaced and looked away. “Had I known he would go this far with his… obsession, I would have nipped it in the bud. Hindsight is 20/20 though.”

 

“Who is it?” Donna asked. 

 

Aphrodite sighed, “I don’t really want to tell you. It hurts my spirit too much. How could he have gone so terribly wrong?”

 

She shook her head.

 

“My son, Anteros. He fell in love with you, Dick,” Aphrodite explained. “He came to me one afternoon, in a glee. He was singing poetry he had written, and he was fluttering around. He wanted to make you a god, and whisk you away from your mortal woes. But you rejected him.”

 

“I don’t even remember doing that,” Dick said, infuriated. 

 

“You probably wouldn’t,” Aphrodite said. “He had it planned out. He orchestrated a meeting between you too, and he went with a cliche coffee shop barista persona. He was a fool in love. You didn’t react the way he had planned.”

 

“When that failed, he attempted to cast a love spell on you. He was going to force you to love him,” Aphrodite said. “But, I intervened. Love doesn’t belong in bonds.”

 

“That’s messed up,” Donna said. “He had a whole different reality in his head. I didn’t know gods did that.”

 

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Aphrodite said. “Dick was the first thing that had excited Anteros in centuries. For me it's easy to see how he became so fixated on someone so wonderful. The pantheon has started wars over less, my dear.”

 

Dick sighed, and Donna felt bad for him. His whole life had been turned on its head because someone was too stuck in their own mind to accept reality. That’s pretty much the usual with Gotham villains and apparently Greek gods too.

 

“So is there anything we can do?” Donna asked. 

 

“Survive,” Aphrodite said. “And, Olympus willing, your friends will find Anteros and return the Kleidi Tartarus . Without it, you’ll be stuck down here.”

 

“Why can’t you find Anteros,” Dick asked. “You probably know him best.”

 

“I’m helping how I can, darling, but it's tricky,” Aphrodite said. “Olympus is in lockdown right now, and I won’t be able to do much. This was a task in and of itself to get here. I had to use my talents and my lover to get past the guards.”

 

“That being said: I have a few more gifts for you,” Aphrodite said, and she pulled out another big bag. 

 

“Like Santa,” Dick murmured.

 

Aphrodite broke into peals of laughter, and said, “A little.”

 

She pulled out a rolled up bundle and handed it to Dick, who grasped it firmly in his hands, “These are twin blades. Themyscaran steal, a gift from Hippolyta herself, it will turn most things down here into ribbons if you wield it right. You have had some blade training, yes?”

 

Dick nodded. To what extent his sword training had gone, Donna had no clue. She wanted to find out though. 

 

“Your clothes, darling, are enchanted by Hecate. They are typically worn by the Erotes in my retinue for protection,” She explained. “Where the clothing touches, nothing can pierce it, nor harm the body underneath.”

 

“And Donna,” Aphrodite said, pulling a rolled up paper. “This will hopefully help you find your way around. It’s a map of Tartarus.”

 

“Is it accurate?” Donna asked, opening the scroll and peering at it.

 

Aphrodite laughed again, “As well as it can be.”

 

The goddess stood from her divan, and Donna and Dick followed her example.

 

“I can’t hold this room together for much longer,” Aphrodite said. “It’s a small mirror realm, a fracture in reality that has allowed me to contact you. If I could hold it longer, I would allow you to rest.”

 

“We’ll have to face the leontoeides sometime,” Donna said with a huff.

 

Her and Dick moved towards the door, grabbing both of their bags respectively. Dick moved slightly ahead of her. 

 

“Dick, darling, I know it's been difficult for you,” Aphrodite called out before he went through the door. “But don’t give up on love, especially the love that pays the price.”

 

They shared a look that Donna could only guess at.

 

Dick nodded at the cryptic message, and Donna noticed that he looked disturbed. He went through the door, and Donna went to follow him.

 

“And Donna, don’t give up on Dick,” Aphrodite said behind her. “He won’t give up on you. Not ever.”

 

Donna went through the door back to Tartarus, where the lion-serpent thing awaited them.

 

For most of Cassandra Cain’s life, words had been totally incomprehensible to her. The language someone spoke in didn’t matter, they never made sense. It was the way they moved, the way their muscles twitched and constrained that spoke to her.

 

Now, after extensive training, and painful reprogramming, she could understand some spoken words and could understand the context. But verbal language was still an odd sensation to her, like a hunger that food couldn’t quench. The written language was even more so.

 

The black-haired boys she knew as brothers liked to talk. They liked to talk a lot. They were loud, and angry, and from their faces she could always tell when they were angry or joking, but the words themselves were an odd jumble, which took her way too long to assemble into sense. She rarely tried, especially when they were all together.

 

Now, her brothers were quiet. In their dead silence, she could read them so well. 

 

The resounding call that resonated: grief. 

 

And anger. 

 

She looked out of the window in the Wayne family library, it was a rainy Halloween this year. In Gotham, Halloween was a war. Gangs, killers and mobs gathered to do battle in the streets. When the sun went down, the small costumed children that went from door to door crept into their warm homes, and her family went into the cold darkness as their true selves. 

 

They had a couple more hours of daylight before they went out into the evil night. 

 

The brothers had gathered in the Wayne library, flipping through books and manuscripts. Cass understood that they were searching for something, something that she could not help look for in the convoluted written words. 

 

Instead, Cass had gone to the place Dick had brought her to once. It had been an apology, she remembered. He was mad at himself for being mad at her. There was a distance now between that time and the time she lived in now. She had forgiven him. He had her sit down at a table, and he brought her a vibrant orange drink with black balls at the bottom. 

 

She had looked at it puzzled, and he had laughed. His eyes with lights in them as he stuck a pointed straw through the film of his drink. He slurped it up. 

 

She was grateful for his example, and followed suit. 

 

Cass sucked up the orange liquid with one of the black balls at the bottom, and she was surprised when a gooey and chewy ball went into her mouth. Sweet flavor exploded in her mouth, and she sucked it up faster. 

 

It was pure happiness in a drink. 

 

She had looked at Dick with wide eyes and he had laughed with his whole body reverberating in the action.

 

Cass returned there whenever she came to Gotham from Hong Kong. She came to Gotham a lot now. Nightwing was gone, and the family needed the gaps filled in the neon-lit nights of Gotham City.

 

The people at the place where Dick had taken her knew her now. When she walked in, they made her orange drink without questions asked. She put change on the counter, and they took it.

 

This time she held up a hand flexing four of her fingers. 

 

The woman behind the counter smiled and nodded at her. Cass laid down the cash on the counter like she always did, and she leaned against the wall to wait for her drinks. While she waited, she watched the customers. 

 

It was a somewhat safe corner of Gotham, and the building smelled like fresh paint when Dick had brought her earlier in the year. Families with young children came into the colorful shop. She watched a little blonde-haired girl in a booth swinging her feet and sipping a lavender colored drink. She waved at Cass. Cass waved back.

 

Dick had sat across from her at that table, and without words he had communicated with her. Of course, his mouth was moving, but Cass never needed that. He spoke with his body better than anyone she knew. Better than her trainers had spoken in a fight. Better than a dancer on a stage. 

 

At their initial meeting and in following meetings, his body had said war. But with time, it came with a new message for her. A message Cass had never experienced so intensely before. 

 

The woman at the counter brought her the drinks in a carrier. Cass nodded at her and her lips tilted up slightly. The women smiled back and nodded.

 

Cass brought them back to Wayne Manor to the library of her adoptive father, his absence noted heavily. She had never seen the prideful man’s body so deflated. It was like a piece of him had fled, and now he merely ate, went to work, and fought criminals like an automatic machine, going through motions thoughtlessly. 

 

He had never spoken much, but Cass liked that. He was harder to read, but his language was filled with nuance that Cass could appreciate. The slight twitches of the mouth. The hand motions. They painted a picture.

 

After Dick had disappeared, he rarely spoke. Rarely had a movement.

 

Her adoptive father and brother were yin and yang. Two sides of the same coin, swirling, twirling in an unseen dance between order and chaos. Dick was a cyclone of movement and emotion, Bruce was clear formatting of order and tranquility. But at the cores of their beings, it was switched. In his heart, Dick was at peace. In his heart, Bruce was at war.

 

They were not opposed. Merely two halves of a whole. 

 

She set the carrier on the table in the library. Tim’s eyes flickered up to her from his massive book. Cass pointed at the book, and made a gag noise and motion with one index finger pointing into her mouth. Tim lips tilted at her, and he nodded. 

 

He said some words, but Cass didn’t need them. He understood that she didn’t like books, and at the moment, he looked like he didn’t care for them either. The boy looked tired. Like moving was a painful motion and waking was a trial by fire. She moved an orange drink towards him, which he accepted forlornly. 

 

She had seen that look in her own eyes more than once. The look of someone who would prefer to go to sleep and never wake again but had woken up this morning and forced themselves to walk through the rest of the day. It was a dreadful soul cracking monster that trapped them from the inside and never let go.

 

Cass understood.

 

She turned to look at the older man in the room.

 

Jason was on his back, lounging on the sofa, holding an open book above his head, and frowning. He looked like he was reading, but Cass saw him throwing subtle glances at Tim. Then at Damian.

 

He was worried. 

 

He slammed the book shut, said some words, and tossed the book aside. He folded his arms down on himself, and then hopped up from the sofa. He came and grabbed a boba, and signed thank you . 

 

Cass nodded. 

 

Jason was a different sort of man. The actions his body made sometimes did not reflect his meaning. His body always said war, it always painted the picture of bloodshed and violence, but that was not always how he felt. Sometimes the war was love. She had learned this in time. Some of the others had not.

 

He fought those he loved, sometimes harder than those he hated. 

 

Lately, his language had changed.

 

She turned from him to look at the young boy.

 

Damian had not yet acknowledged her presence. He sat hunched over a book with his small face smooshed into his palms. When he didn’t show he was going to acknowledge her, she picked up the orange drink and brought it to the boy.

 

She tapped his shoulder, waking the boy from his reverie, who shot up. He looked at her with wide green eyes, and she handed him the orange drink.

 

He looked at it with eyes that were sad. Eyes that were filled with memories. He took the drink, and started slurping it. She patted his back, and he leaned slightly into the touch, then pulled away. Her lips lifted into an amused smile, and then she looked into the book that he was reading.

 

Her interest feigned, in an attempt to distract him from sorrow. He pointed at a word, and signed it to her.

 

“A-N-T-E-R-O-S.”

 

Cass cocked her head to the side. It was easier for her to discern words when they were signed and read at the same time. She had not noticed this word spoken or written before. 

 

She looked at Damian’s face, it was pinched in anger, and sad in frustration. This word made him feel loss. 

 

Cass said a rare few words, “Bad man?”

 

Damian nodded. 

 

Cass stored it for later. It was the man who had taken Nightwing from them. She moved back towards the table and grabbed her own drink.

 

With one last glance at her brothers, she left the room.

 

—-

Wayne Manor — November 1, 2016 700 ET— Cassandra Cain “Black Bat

Halloween had been quiet even by Cass’s unusual standards, but it had also been incredibly loud. A storm had ushered into Gotham City, and after the sun had gone away, hail assaulted the ground and lightning flashed unendingly. It rained and it rained. 

 

The noise had scared Cass, it was so intense.

 

The family had not gone out in the storm. Neither had any of the criminals, apparently. She was sitting in the kitchen while Alfred prepared breakfast watching the newscaster in the small box on the counter. She didn’t bother to translate his gibberish into sense, preferring to infer what was being talked about.

 

Alfred liked having her in here. He smiled when she came into the room, as was her custom when she stayed in the manor. 

 

She sat at the stool, sipped an orange juice, and watched the screen. The man had very nice hair that swooped up like a swirl. He was standing in front of a bad street corner, where it was totally empty. There were no police cars, no sirens. Nothing. He interviewed a lady in one of the shops, and she seemed like she was surprised and happy. 

 

The scene switched and it showed the mayor talking and he too seemed happy and surprised, his eyebrows high and he was laughing. 

 

Gotham, from the police scanners last night, had experienced no street crime. While that was unheard of on a normal day, it was even more of a rarity on Halloween night. A city-wide street record.

 

Cass cocked her head to the side as the screen showed some of the damage from the storm.

 

Tim stumbled blearily into the room dressed for school in his Gotham Academy uniform. He didn’t look well at all. He was pale and he had dark deep circles under his eyes. Alfred said some words to him and Tim merely moaned in response.

 

He sat at the counter next to Cass and put his head in his hands, where they gripped at his hair. She looked at Alfred, who looked at her. Then they both looked at Tim.

 

He had always been pale and thin. Always been quiet and sweet natured, always empathetic. Now it was like it had turned on its head. His mind was cannibalizing his body. Cass didn’t even see him argue  with Damian anymore, which was kind of a sport in the family.

 

Everyone from Alfred to Dick had to put the kid in his place. Tim used to do it all the time. Now, Tim barely spoke with the rest of the family. He was at all the meals Alfred required of him pushing food around on his plate, and he still accomplished his Red Robin duties, but when he wasn’t doing those, he was laying in his dark bedroom. 

 

Cass sighed.

 

Damian walked in the room in the same uniform with his backpack on and Titus at his heels. He plopped the bag on the floor and sat in the stool next to Tim. The little boy stared at his brother with a look of concern. He looked at Alfred and Cass with a look of indignation and was that guilt?

 

Damian was commanding them, Help him.

 

Damian was asking them, Why aren’t you doing anything?

 

But Alfred and Cass couldn’t do anything other than what they were already doing. Watch helplessly and support endlessly. Alfred finished cooking the eggs and set two plates in front of both boys. Damian picked up his fork and went to eat.

 

But, upon seeing Tim’s lack of movement he nudged the other boy with his elbow. Tim’s head turned up, and Cass could see sorrow etched deep in his face. Damian motioned with his fork towards the food, and Tim actually complied.

 

They said a few words, which Cass ignored.

 

People usually told the truth, when they didn’t open their mouths. Tim was lying. Cass made her decision.

 

The two boys eventually went to school. Tim usually drove the two of them to Gotham Academy in the silver Lexus. After Damian had gone out to the car, Cass had pulled Tim by his hand to face her. His face was confused, but Cass knew what she was going to do.

 

She pulled him into a tight embrace, and when he tried to break away, she refused him. This was what he needed though he would deny it. All her brothers would deny needing what they required most.

 

Cass had tucked her head against his chest, and she petted his back with one hand until he relaxed into the embrace. Tim’s body was, at first, limp in the embrace, and then she felt his breathing pick up, and his chest heaved. She felt hot moisture fall on the top of her head where Tim had rested his cheek. 

 

This was progress, Cass decided. 

 

He was finally telling the truth to her and to himself. 

 

Cass wasn’t sure how long they stood there, but it was awhile. It wasn’t until the car horn of the Lexus sounded, that the two of them broke apart. 

 

She looked at him while he avoided eye contact. His usual pale face was a puffy pink, and looked like he had fought someone. His eyes were red in the white part, and there were still tears left in them. He picked up his bag where it had fallen, and rushed out to the car, hitting his face with his uniform cardigan shrouded hand trying to get rid of the moisture. 

 

Cass wondered what he would tell Damian about his face. 

 

He probably didn’t need to say anything to the boy. Damian could be observant. 

 

She wandered back into the main portion of the Manor and went to find Alfred. On her way, she ran into a newly awakened Jason, who had stayed the night when the storm had struck, not willing to risk his motorcycle or his body. He was fresh and clean with a new set of clothes on, and he was heading towards the kitchen. He paused when he saw her and smiled his crooked smile.

 

She moved to walk beside him in companionable silence. 

 

They walked into the kitchen to find Alfred, who was pulling out the battery powered radio. Cass cocked her head. That was only used for power outages, and the lights were still on. She heard Jason say something to the man, who gestured to the TV, where an error screen was displayed on the usual Gotham News channel. 

 

Alfred looked at her, and signed, “Candles.”

 

He had shown them where they were once, after a particularly harsh winter had caused several power outages. Alfred lit the candles in frequently used rooms without windows to provide some light in the big house. Alfred kept them in his room, in a drawer during the year

 

He handed her a flashlight despite the lights still being on, and she left the room. 

 

Cass had been in Alfred’s room a few times in her life. He had shown her on occasions some of his possessions, and she loved them. He had swords, little skulls, maps, and posters of pretty and ugly places. The room was a house for lost little trinkets. It felt safe to Cass, who was a lost little trinket herself.

 

She pushed the door open and stepped in. Looking as she went in, she perused the many books on the shelves.

 

It had never bothered her, not being able to read, until she saw those books. Alfred’s books. They were worn and discolored. Some had little notes sticking out of them, and pages folded. It bothered her because she could not love something that Alfred loved. 

 

She couldn’t even understand it. 

 

Rubbing her hands against the spines of the books as she walked, she looked at the posters on the wall. One was of a huge red bus in a grey cloudy place. Another was of a statue in a busy place, a young man with a bow and arrow. She noticed for the first time that there were squiggly places at the bottoms of each poster. 

 

She squinted at the words, desperate to understand. To understand more about the kindly elderly man. 

 

Cass sighed. She was about to give up and look for the candles, when one word stuck out to her. She had seen it before but it was difficult to organize it in her mind. She cocked her head and looked at it.

 

Then, the lights overhead flickered out of Alfred’s interior room. She was plunged into pitch darkness. 

 

Cass switched on her flashlight, and pointed it at the words. 

 

The memory spilt into her mind. Damian signing a word in a book with anger on his young face.

 

“A-N-T-E-R-O-S”

 

Cass’s eyes widened. 

 

It was the name of the man who had taken Dick from them. She wondered if her brothers had found this statue in all their searching. 

 

Cass deliberated for a moment. It seemed so small and unusable. On the other hand, whenever she found something, Bruce always expected her to communicate it. Even if she thought it was insignificant.

 

Batman had looked at her one time. Communicating the way he always did in grunts and motions, in emotions and movements, in order and action. She watched him analyze a crime scene training her by doing the work, turning over and studying the insignificant clues just as equally as the significant ones. She had understood, sometimes the smallest things are the ones that catch the killer.

 

Making her decision, she went to find Jason, forgetting about the candles.

 

When she got back to the kitchen, she flashed her light to see the room, she grabbed Jason’s arm from his seated position, where he messed with a flashlight. He looked at her in the dim lighting and said some words.

 

“Bad man,” Cass said. 

 

Jason stood up quickly in surprise, and she led him out to Alfred’s room. There she stood him in front of the poster, and she pointed a light at the description on the poster. Jason squinted his eyes and read the small writing. Slowly, his face turned into one of surprise, and then something else she had not understood.

 

He looked at her and confirmed, “Bad man.”

 

It turned out Cass had helped after all.