Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This was all his fault. Roy was sure he must've thought that about a million times, for a million, vastly varying situations, but this one was definite. And, sure, there were a lot of times Roy Harper had felt overwhelmed by his own sheer recklessness that so often landed him in the absolute shittiest of situations. Many, many times. Yet, Roy had to say, this had to be at least top three.

A big part of what was making him think this had to be a peaking point of disappointment in his life was the fact that Donna was fighting alongside him, her back pressed against his own while she brandished her shield and Roy's arms blurred in a frenzied cycle of reaching for arrows and loading them once their successor fired (and most of the time had little to no effect on the steel abominations threatening to end them both.) And that threat was starting to feel pretty real. He had exhausted most of his special arrows, leaving behind the regular, needle-sharp ones (great if it were organic flesh, not so much against titanium) and other specialized arrows that didn't serve to be of much use here. His confetti arrow was great when he was throwing a surprise party, not so much when he was trying to stop an apocalypse.

"LOOK OUT!"

"Huh-"

A strong arm shot out and shoved him safely behind Donna's form while the Amazonian crouched and threw up her shield to meet the challenge of a bright, violet laser charging at them head-on. There must've been at least four different robots attacking them--all built the same stupid way; for an actual brain, you'd think he'd have some more creativity--and instead of firing regular bullets from their unfairly large machine gun appendages, continuous purple rays of god-knows-what-but-promised-hurt flung forth from the revolving muzzles.

Fortunately, Amazonian tech held strong, and Donna eventually shouldered off the blast with her shield. The offending machine dropped its gun arm slightly, seemingly a little disgruntled by its own lack of effectiveness. That didn't mean its friends weren't happy to take its spot. Damn. He felt his teeth grit a little. This... This might actually be not good. Like, really not good. Like, they were gonna die right here right now and Roy Harper was gonna die sober-

Roy Harper could be a real pain. It was a fact Donna Troy seemed to shoulder throughout her time knowing him. That wasn't to say she didn't like him and enjoy his company, far from it, but Donna could want to wring his throat and confidently call him family at the same time. But God, sometimes this man in particular made Donna eternally grateful for the rule barring men from Themyscira. His life regularly resembled a trainwreck, but, so help her, he was right on the goddamn money this time. He was the only one to spot this threat coming, to realize Brain's rise to a concerning amount of sudden power, and they were all idiots for not taking him seriously. Donna admitted that. And she was trying to amend that by coming and giving him the backup Roy deserved, but looking around, Donna realized she might have to face the truth of the situation: she was too late. This was way out of either of their leagues, and their combined forces only served to give them a little more borrowed time to rethink poor life decisions.

This was all her fault. Of all people, she should've trusted him when he begged them with genuine desperation to just listen. But it was no secret--even to outsiders looking in--that the Titans had been growing strained as of late. And then they had disbanded altogether. Each goes their own, resentful way. Donna had been fine with it at the time. Only out of spite, really, but she could've convinced herself she was fine while anger, hurt, and grief were still fresh enough to become one, dangerous cocktail of emotions that let her feel like she was okay losing her family. Not now. Now she was wishing more than anything that Dick, or Wally, or Garth--hell, even Lilith for some support--would show up. No such luck, though.

"T-Troy, can I say something-" A stuttered gasp passed through the redhead's lips as they recovered, straightening, pressing back further against one another.

"No. No, you cannot, Harper, because that is a dying man's plea, and warriors like us do not die," Donna informed her friend stubbornly, completely disregarding her previous thoughts which had been heading in a similar direction, grabbing Roy and shoving him behind her once more to block an oncoming blast.

Roy rolled his eyes faintly, but couldn't find it in himself to squash that obstinate spark of constant admiration for the Amazonian beside him. Roy was certain he, Garth, Wally, and Dick would've gotten killed far before this if it wasn't for Donna Troy. So he felt the need to express his gratitude, no matter the orders Donna had imposed on him. "Thanks..." The words felt oddly shaped in his throat. This was a rare time of apologizing, and even rarer for him to be directing it to one of the Titans. Or, former Titan, considering their team was dissolved. In fact, Roy had made a promise to himself that he wouldn't be thanking any one of them ever again after they had disregarded him so easily. But here they were. And Donna deserved his thanks more than anyone in the moment. "Thank you. For coming. For coming when no one else would."

He didn't have to look over to Donna to feel her expression soften. Just slightly. But Roy was sure that was Amazonian for 'you are so, so welcome, how could I ever doubt someone so infallible.'

"I was a fool for refusing to hear you out," she murmured, voice hardly above a whisper, and she struggled to stand. The arm her shield was wrapped to trembled while she fought to push herself upward, but the seemingly unending force of lavender rays didn't give them much of an opening.

Roy grimaced, still crouched in the safety of Donna's shadow, eyes diligently tracking the rest of Brain's supermachines as the robots slowly circled them. Roy was sure there was something almost mocking regarding the leisurely movement of the steel creations. If Roy didn't know any better, he would've confidently stated that they were messing with them. But he didn't need to lower his ailing dignity anymore. "You were a fool for coming," he replied, voice equally as soft, looking on whilst the robots closed in on them. There was a second rounding on him, and Donna wouldn't be able to shield this one. She couldn't turn everywhere at once. It would probably beam straight through him, then strike Donna. A real two-in-one, if he'd ever seen one. "You're in direct danger just because you-"

"Jesus, before I witness the day Roy acknowledges he's a danger magnet, can you two perk up?"

A blithe, rapid voice interrupted him, and Roy's head whipped around, eyes growing to the size of saucers. He knew that voice. He'd recognize his fellow carrot-top anywhere. "Wally?!-" He exclaimed, just about the same time he heard Donna let out a startled, "Nightwing?" Roy could feel some of his elation melt away. Great. Bat-Narc was here, too.

A blue flash of pure energy bolted through the lab-esque room, smashing into weaponized hunks of steel one at a time, earning a quick 'thump' but never stumbling--at least not slow enough that Roy could see--before Wally was slamming into the next one. Crimson, robotic eyes spun in their metal sockets as the robots tried to lock on their new threat, to little effect.

Roy's eyes flicked to another flash of blue, this one sleek and coupled with black, still flying through the air but at much more humane speeds. A flash of similarly-colored lightning cracked as twin escrima sticks came down on the unsuspecting bulbous head of one of Brain's bots, and the rest of the machine subsequently erupted into an upsurge of amber sparks. Nightwing landed shortly after, tapping his weapons together with admittedly satisfying crackles, smirking over in Roy's direction. "Mind if we cut in?" There was a brief moment where Roy's mouth opened to let out a series of indignant curses before one more looming, metallic figure surfaced right behind Dick, and Roy's heart instinctively leaped to his throat. Suddenly, the words spilling from his throat were a lot different than the ones he'd been intending.

"Nightwing, watch out-"

"Got him!" A stream of duplicate teal streaks careered off of Garth's open palms, striking the android square in its side, sending it tipping off balance with a series of frenzied beeps.

Dick blinked, turning around just in time to watch the creation crash to the ground. He turned to the Atlantean with a shaky grin. "Thanks, Temp."

Roy, who had been standing about gawking at his former friends, finally found his voice (which was no longer a worry-fueled cry), and quickly flared to life. "I'm sorry- hello?!"" He gestured between himself and Donna. "Since when did you all join Team Harper? You told me I was crazy! I had to go through them just to-"

"Big picture, Harper," Donna muttered, coming up to him and resting a faintly shaking hand on his shoulder. The same hand that had been bracing the shield against the onslaught of attacks. "They just saved our necks."

Wally, who skidded to a stop next to Dick and Garth, instantly put his hands together in a pleading motion, gazing at Roy with wide eyes that he hadn't seemed to have lost since he was thirteen. "Arsenal, we owe you the biggest apology. Biggest."

Roy nodded quickly, perking up. "Talk fast before I order the Amazonian to shoot you and I never get to hear it," he instructed, while Donna punched his arm with an irritated noise.

Wally, immediately, began to fire off what sounded vaguely like English but was spoken at a rate that a slam-poet-turned-rapper would be shamed at. So, Dick stepped in with a sigh, waving a hand to try and signal to Wally to slow his roll. "We tracked you, Arsenal. You were right. All along. I was too quick to judge."

"Damn right, you were!" Roy hooted, undeniably pleased that he had gotten the first Robin to swallow his pride like that, but he still had a look to put on. So, he crossed his arms with an unimpressed frown, and Donna swatted him once more.

"Roy!" She scolded, sounding like an exasperated older sibling. "He's apologizing."

Roy grumbled something unintelligible, about to demand similar admissions of guilt and undying appeals for forgiveness, before a loud 'BANG' startled the group.

"I'm expecting one from you two in a minute," Roy warned, eyeing a sheepish Wally and Garth as the former Titans began to turn, heading in the direction of the development. For something that was literally an organ suspended in goo, Brain sure could cause quite the stir.

They hurried in tense silence for a moment, machines defeated and forgotten, before Garth spoke up, voice steady and melodic as Atlantean always seemed to be. "Roy, you're the knowledgable one here, what's Brain's plan-"

"A god!" A familiar, accented voice broke through their musing, and the group skidded to a halt at the sight of a large gorilla rambling towards them, large grey fists thundering across the floor. "Brain is leaving!" Monsieur Mallah cried, voice cracking, seemingly unaware and uncaring of the utter bewilderment on the ex-Titans faces. "Leaving the world behind! He's ascending, don't you see? Brain is on the verge of achieving a state of hypergenuis that none of us can understand!"

Roy resisted the urge to faceplant, only because Wally looked vaguely sympathetic to the silverback's plight. Of course Mallah was here. If Brain was, his counterpart was never far behind. He really hated the two of them and their weird, on-and-off-yet-somehow-always-something relationship.

"You need to help me!" Mallah called, but Dick just shook his head, walking past the distraught animal of sentience.

"He's going to be no help," Dick muttered, and Roy just shook his head in agreement. Finally, something they could agree on.

The group collectively began to move past the teary mammal, trying to discuss their next move. "Brain's taken the entire Justice League off the board," Donna stated, voice holding a lilt of incredulity to it. "He's got them all distracted, fighting one thing or another. He's never been this powerful before." She frowned, and the grim sentient seemed to rapidly settle on the five.

"What do we have?" Garth grumbled, and Wally perked up a little, a hesitant smile edging onto his lips.

"Each other?" He suggested, earning a collective groan from the group, Roy muttering about 'Disney movie tropes.' Wally frowned annoyedly, glancing rapidly between his former teammates. "I'm serious! We've been able to do anything in the past, when we're together. Titans together, right?" He prompted, only to seem more spurred when no one rose to his chant. "I mean, its like we never got disgraced, broke up, and resented the hell out of each other!" He exclaimed, and Garth actually did facepalm, Dick sighed in a manner Roy had heard a million times when one of his younger siblings did something (namely Jason), and Donna let out a riled 'Wally!' The speedster in question just threw up his hands, finally relenting. "Fine! Since no one believes in the power of friendship anymore, I guess it's too soon!"

"Friends..." Mallah sniffled sorrowfully from behind them. "I'm going to miss mine." He whimpered, while Roy snapped 'Are you five?!' to his fellow ginger. Eventually, the silverback's head swung to them, seemingly just clocking that they were actually leaving. "Wait!" He blustered, scrambling after them. "T-This, this has to end..." Mallah moaned, and the five shared curious looks, quickly redirecting their attention. Well, a change of heart from a supervillain was always a good sign. "It isn't right. I want... I want to save my friend. And that means stopping him."

"Join the team," Roy grunted unhappily, while Dick just shook his head, seemingly in disbelief over their whole situation.

Mallah just shook his large head, his red beret flapping about. "It seemed like such a good idea at first. Brain always has so many of those. So of course I helped him. It was finally a chance for us. We were constantly getting defeated left and right, many times by wannabe superheroes too embarrassing to mention," he looked briefly shamed before he hurriedly continued. Half of Roy wanted to tell the ape to skip the sob story so they could get to ass-kicking, but a larger part was telling him that there had to be something to this. "Other great villains mocked us at every turn. But Brain had a new plan. Something that would change all of that, win us some real respect. Brain knew he could become the smartest entity in the universe. His intellectual capacity was contained only by the physical limitations of his life support module. It was a hardware problem. So I designed a new drug called Bliss." Roy felt four pairs of eyes land on him, and he shifted, skin suddenly feeling hot and a size too small, and his fingers twitched, aching to itch at something, but he stared stubbornly forward, trying to act like this was as impersonal to him as it was for the rest of his companions. "It harnessed the minds of users, creating a gestalt that Brain could use to expand into. It's all rather... advanced. In your terms, think of the users' minds as cloud storage."

His right index and ring finger absently curled to erode at the thin skin on the inside of his wrist, but, outwardly, Roy was stepping forward, eyes flashing beneath scarlet glasses. "You were making 'brain-space' for him? Using people across the city and beyond? That's what the Bliss drug is for? You got people addicted for that-" He didn't realize how loud he was getting until he felt a hand on his shoulder, lightly squeezing, and he pulled back with a shaky sigh. He turned, the beginnings of a mumbled expression of gratitude on his lips, expecting Wally, Donna, Garth-

Only to find Dick.

Roy felt his lips purse and he turned away, head tilting downwards, but he didn't pull away from the Bat's hand.

"It only needed to be temporary!" Mallah protested, eyes narrowing a little, but Roy was sure he was still visibly seething. His nails were working at his skin a little faster. So that was one of the many things he'd been hooked on, huh. ICloud storage for a floating organ. "Just a few weeks until Brain's cognition levels reached one hundred percent..."

Mallah sighed, reaching down and pulling out what looked to be a tablet, but was dwarfed to look more like a phone in the gorilla's large hands. "Then Brain would be freed from his barbaric physical prison. He would reach a hypergenuis state, a purely mental force of universal power..." Mallah's tone sounded almost dreamy for a moment before the silverback looked back down at his tablet screen. There was a pale blue, glowing background, and chunky letters taking up the forefront of the device, displaying the symbols: 99%. This seemed to sober Mallah, who exhaled heavily through his nostrils, mumbling a quiet: "Oh dear."

Wally seemed to be the first to truly register this, as usual, and his expression quickly dropped, green irises widening an impossible amount. "No physical body, universal power and knowledge... You mean like a god?" He exclaimed, voice rising in both pitch and volume.

"No," Mallah lamented, grey skin crinkling at the edges of his eyes, "more than that. You need a better descriptor. He's already occupied the Justice League. He commands the weather patterns, he's opened tears in the very fabric of matter, he-" The ape suddenly shook himself out, straightening, turning to face the now grave-looking superheroes. "He's hacked Earth itself like it's kindergarten." The severity of the situation was starting to set in. A villain was rising to forever unbeatable, unlimited power and the Justice League was off fighting their own problems that Brain had devised for each and every one of them. "Until Brain reaches one hundred percent, he is still reliant on his physical form. This can be... exploited. He can still be attacked. I will show you where he is, just don't hurt him...I want my friend back, nothing less nothing more."

The group exchanged a solemn nod (though Roy personally wasn't quite sure how well he would be obeying that 'play nice' rule after everything he'd learned), but followed after a lumbering Mallah anyway, eyes aching from how deeply they were narrowed.

"And none of this ever struck you as a bad idea, or...?" Dick cut in, and the rest of them emitted varying sounds of noncommital agreement grunts. "This seems like a plan that had to be months--hell, years,--in the making. Lot of time to stop and reflect."

Mallah just let out a frustrated sound, his fists pounding a little extra at the ground as they proceeded through the clinical hallways of where Mallah and Brain had apparently made base camp. "We could have never guessed what this level of intellect would do to a mind. I could have never guessed. No one's ever been this smart!"

Mallah suddenly whimpered and abruptly stopped, sizable hands curling then reaching up, knuckles rapping weakly at his head. "Poor Brain... he's becoming something other. He's not being callous with his absolute disregard for any form of life-" Garth quietly snorted a 'really', while Wally piped up, much more concerned, 'his total what-now?', but Mallah didn't seem to hear them nor care. "He has simply lost touch with all earthly bonds that once tied him to this mortal plane. You understand, there's a reason gods don't talk to us. It's the same reason we don't talk to bacteria. Oh, Brain, my love..."

A silence--in Roy's humble opinion, an awkward one--settled over the assembled group after Mallah's mournful weeps, and no one had the heart to break it. Or seemed to really care enough. After a while of Mallah quietly sniffling, Roy finally decided to speak up, sounding loud and abrasive in the dead silence that had overtaken the lab. "Great, so can we start moving, or-"

There wasn't an indicator of everything suddenly distorting from right under their feet. There wasn't a loud 'KABOOM' as there should've been, the usual indicator that everything was about to be knocked off its axis. It just happened.

"What the hell-" Dick was the first to react verbally, but Roy could feel a startled yelp leaving his mouth as the ground under him started to move.

The walls surrounding every side of them suddenly began crumpling, folding onto them like a paper square being crushed by a strong fist, giving way to a tsunami of swirling colours enough to make Roy's eyes hurt. He had no clue when they had suddenly tansported to a pocket dimension, but here was pastel hell, he guessed. While some walls wrinkled, others twisted and divided, forming an odd sort of spiraling horizontal helix encompassing them. Roy's limbs suddenly had to work overtime to keep him upright, arms pinwheeling and legs blundering about. A cursory glance about him only proved that his teammates were in no better situation than he was.

"What's happening?!" Donna yelled, and Roy's head craned to catch a glimpse of the Amazonian. His eyes rapidly found Donna on one bone of the skeleton that was this impossible shape, rotating upwards while her arms flailed in an attempt to not fall on her head, gradually trying to slide down for each angle of altitude gained. It vaguely reminded Roy of a hamster wheel, and he might've laughed if he couldn't feel himself cycling skyward.

Meanwhile, Mallah seemed to have locked down, crouching and wrapping two mountainous arms around his piece of spinning hexagon. The silverback also seemed particularly distressed, head swinging back and forth while his beret flapped with gravity, somehow miraculously staying on its mount. "No, no, no!" Mallah bayed, bowing his head, and Roy was momentarily jealous of how balanced this ten-ton gorilla seemed to be while he tripped forward and tumbled down his object. "He's dismantling reality!" He wailed, which instantly served to have the head of each Titan snapping upward in alarm.

Mallah's statement seemed to hold more truth than it did mere moments before when the already unstable ground beneath them erupted into an explosion of splintered and shattered materials, frozen petals dissolving in a firm grasp. Roy's head swung about wildly, trying to see what was awaiting them should they lose footing, and he swallowed hard at the sight. It wasn't exactly a comforting one.

The void of swirling pastels had migrated below them as well, waiting patiently for their inevitable tumble, mainly faded pinks and purples serving as their gateway to oblivion. Roy cursed--loudly--but it may as well have been a whisper with how it immediately lost to the howls of spontaneously severing steel and drywall.

"Everyone grab onto something!" Dick's voice rang out through the chaos, sounding infuriatingly focused and driven as always. Why couldn't the bastard just sound defeated once? A 'we're fucked guys, but we had some good years so mazel tov!' would've been comforting every now and then. To know their faultless leader gave into the very human urges of 'let go and die' every now and then.

"There's nothing to grab onto!" Wally shouted back, voice more of a yelp, and Roy briefly caught a view of blue fulguration zipping from one fragment of dissected wall--which immediately crumbled away into nothingness in the vacuum awaiting them--and reappeared in a more visible form on a tiny island on Roy's left. Roy just rapidly nodded his agreement, even though he knew no one would catch it through this havoc.

"Mallah!" Dammit, Dick, you steadfast bastard, "what's his endgame here?! What's Brain doing?!"

"He's trascending!" Mallah wailed in response, now fully wrapped around his chunk of the former wall, and Roy was quietly impressed that it hadn't also dissolved yet. "He's not destroying this plane of existence - he's remaking it! Remoulding it to something that better suits him!" Mallah shook his head, burying his body closer to his floating chunk of safety. "We'll never reach him now!" He moaned.

Roy suddenly stumbled, the ground beneath his own feet suddenly feeling like a crisp autumn leaf waiting to shatter. With a yell, he leapt forward blindly, arm swinging up and he managed to lock onto a chunk floating by. He gritted his teeth, hauling himself upwards, blinking a little as he was met with Donna's panicked expression on the other side. He grinned shakily, and she immediately groaned loudly.

"Mallah! We have to reach him before he becomes invulnerable!" Dick called, and the gorilla just looked up helplessly, head braced between his two hands clasping either side. "You're his friend! He loves you! You can get to him!"

Mallah sniffed, loud enough to somehow be heard over the sound of crumbling structures, and he just shook his head weakly. Wally seemed to be floating past his and Donna's rock at the time, because Roy heard a low, sympathetic whistle from him and quietly shared the sentiment. You did not deny Dick Grayson, especially in moments like these. It was the Batman teachings of 'take-no-shit-'. He'd been exercising it since he was Robin.

"Just do it!" Dick snapped, and the top of his wall--though it looked more like a disformed boulder that he was crouching on by now--eroded a little, and it took Roy a moment to realize that he was just gripping that hard.

Mallah startled at the harsh tone and shakily gathered himself. The silverback straightened, colossal fists grasping the bottom of his plot while his back arched and his head tilted upward, like he was about to call to a damn god. Maybe a bit accurate. "Brain? Brain?! It's me! Mallah... You know, your old friend Mallah!" The only noise that answered him was more decaying material, which sounded like a gunshot each time a new piece of rubble collided. Mallah whimpered faintly, but swallowed hard and kept going. "It's... It's all coming to an end, isn't it? I just wanted to say goodbye, one last time..."

For a long moment, nothing happened. Then, Garth's eyes flashed and his head shot upward. "I think he heard you..."

Suddenly, it seemed like the gentle colours making up the wall of their doom began to deteriorate as well, ripping away into a dark crimson backdrop, broken by a small black figure. Said silhouette slowly floated forward until the encased form of Brain was revealed, in all its Frankenstien glory. "Who dares to disturb my work?" A metallic, grating voice demanded, and Roy huffed quietly, resting his head on the rock. This was too much. Could they just hurry up and either die or live already?

Mallah's eyes widened, something dangerously akin to desperate hope, and he quickly straightened all the way, hands unsteadily lifting from the concrete. "It's me, Brain..."

The villain in question didn't respond, staring unseeingly forward, and beeping quietly. Mallah swallowed, a bit of light in his eyes withering, but he pressed forward anyway. "I just wanted to say goodbye. I-I love you...and I'll miss you."

"that statement makes no sense," Brain replied matter-of-factly, and the robotic beeps increased a little. "Emotional cognition is redundant. I will not miss you."

Roy scowled. Oh, come on. This was award-winning stuff! Mallah had just delivered one of the most heartfelt, wooing speeches Roy had ever heard, and Brain just denies him like that? Oh, nah. He didn't stand for that.

Without thinking, his right hand was gradually relocating to his quiver. His fingers closed around the first arrow he felt, and he mindlessly loaded it into his bow as he had done so many times in the past. He drew his arm back, then his hand opened. "Neither will I." He grunted, and he swore he felt a ghost sensation of every needle prick lingering in his arms. The arrow hit its mark, lodging itself in the metal between Brain's eyes. For a moment, nothing happened, before there was a tiny spark.

Then, four things happened very fast.

The arrow triggered; tiny explosives. Then, multicolored confetti flung forth from the weapon, littering the impossible space. Subsequently, the propellants that powered the arrow that was always meant to be a nice little surprise seemed to catch on something. Maybe Brain's inner-workings, Roy had no clue. Because what had once been a tiny spark the equivalent of a firecracker suddenly turned into an all-out eruption. There wasn't time to yell, to look around for his friends, because suddenly the third event was in motion.

White. An overwhelming detonation of blazing white suddenly swallowed Brain, then Mallah, and then Roy watched, now in horror, as Wally disappeared, Garth, and Dick must've had enough time to react and call for him and Donna, since he heard a panicked shout, and then the white ate him too.

Then the fourth took place.

Darkness. Black. Noir. Whatever you wanted to call it.

It didn't hurt, or at least Roy didn't feel a thing.

All there was was nothing at all.

~~~~

"Cancel alarms!" Bruce barked. "Damage report!" He demanded harshly from a system lacking the sentience to be bothered by it. He loved machines, surrounded himself with them, but he swore his life would be so much easier if he could just intimidate them into working faster the way he did his colleagues.

”No recorded damage. No intruders detected. Global weather patterns stable.” The program Bruce had painstakingly crafted to inform him of not only the state of the Watchtower at any given moment, but most of the world (AKA the cities Leaguers resided in and a handful more), responded dutifully, impassive as ever. Normally, Bruce would appreciate the indifferent tone—helped him keep his own cool—but at the moment it made the muscles in Bruce’s jaw twitch.

“Link me to the rest of the League,” Bruce rumbled, eyes narrowing as they rapidly flicked from blinking alarm screen to blinking alarm screen. A moment was all the great Batman could wait before his jaw finally gave into his itching muscles and clenched. He began shouting at the screens, uncaring if the program had actually connected him to his teammate’s comms yet. “Superman?” He queried, though it was spoken more like a challenge. “Do you copy?”

After a moment, a weary voice came through the unseeable speakers scattered about the Watchtower’s main room of technology--and communication--and Bruce let himself relax just slightly. “Batman? The situation, it just… stabilized. Completely out of the blue.”

Then another voice came in, speaking rapidly yet not for panic. ”Watchtower? This is Flash- everything’s okay!”

"Batman! It's Cyborg! I'm okay!"

”Green Lantern to Watchtower… What the hell just happened?”

Bruce sighed and shook his head, turning away from the large display of Wayne Enterprises tech framing a large view of an awaiting--now safe--Earth. While he'd normally turn his nose up at Hal’s use of less-than-dignified dialect, Bruce had the exact same question. It was, most certainly, the strangest thing they'd seen in a while. And it had almost been the most dangerous. Almost.

Clark had called in first. Yelling into his comms, voice distorted by background sounds of screaming wind, reporting something about a ‘cube.’ A quantum cube, to be exact, that had spawned and encased him randomly. One he couldn’t punch his way out of. Clark had described it as green, but Bruce was unsure if that was because it had been made of Kryptonite or if it was just the colour of choice by whichever villain orchestrating this. Bruce hadn't really been able to get all of the details out of him, and now, since Clark seemed fine, Bruce doubted he ever truly would, but he was satisfied with the knowledge that his friend was safe regardless.

Hal contacted next. The Lantern’s plight had at least given Bruce some insight into the situation. He was surrounded by Brain’s bots, ones that had seemingly materialized out of nowhere but were wreaking havoc nonetheless. He’d been asking for backup, and Past-Bruce had been unable to give any because then the next call had come in.

Barry's distress signal. Bruce hadn't been able to make out too much from the inevitable static that came when someone was trying to talk into a microphone that could only do so much and running at the speed of light, but he'd gotten a few words out of the speedster's hyperactive rhythm; stuff like: 'ice storm' and 'lightning'. Hacking into Barry's suit hadn't revealed much difference. It was an onslaught of razor white falling in all directions, broken up only by the occasional CRACK of lightning that somehow seemed to hit Barry each time. Bruce was sure that had been a fun blast from the past

No pun intended.

Then came Diana. The Indian Ocean had sprung into a sudden typhoon, enraged and explosive, yet somehow constantly feeling like it was directed at just her. Or, at least, that was how she'd described it. Bruce couldn't even fathom what had happened to Cyborg without his head starting to hurt. Victor had pinged the Watchtower on their strictly emergency-only line, no communications or calls, and when Bruce had tracked the signal, he'd found readings similar to what a microverse would emit. A subatomic microverse, and an artificial one at that. Cosmic vortexes didn't just come to life and swallow one person. But, according to Vic's very relieved--and normal-sounding--voice, Bruce assumed everything had worked itself out as it had for the others.

At the very least, that was what had happened to him. Yes, Batman had also fallen to these engineered attacks, each as perfected and personalized as the last. He'd been in the Watchtower, doing some long overdue routine maintenance. He'd realized a heartbeat too late that something was wrong with his systems, this being brought to his attention when wires and chords shot out from all around him, binding to each limb and hoisting him off the ground. He was sure the red ring around his neck would bruise whence a ballsy wire had tried to suffocate him, but he'd cover that up easily enough when the time arose. He was more focused on what had been causing these nearly devastating attacks. Or, now, lack thereof.

"Batman, it's Diana..." Bruce huffed out a quiet breath of relief when he heard the drained voice of his friend become the next to pop up on the comms. That was everyone, he thought. All accounted for. "...The storm's gone. Like it never happened. Do you have any explanation for these events?"

"...No, Wonder Woman. I do not." As much as it pained Bruce to say the words 'I don't know', even indirectly, he wouldn't lie, he respected Diana too much for that. He would tell the truth to anyone who asked, he didn't know. Sure, he could think of a handful of villains strong enough to exercise such power, but there had been no sign of any of them, neither was this their style. Darkseid, for example, would've just come to fight them face-to-face. Or even if he isolated them, he wouldn't just... let up like this. The attacks were smart and beyond well-thought-out. There were more than a couple of their enemies smart enough to organize such a thing, but none powerful enough to create such sheer power. So there was only one other explanation. "Except that someone, somewhere, must have intervened. And I intend to figure out who."

In typical Batman fashion, he hung up without another word. He was sure all his friends could have lengthy discussions complaining about his disappearing habit--mainly Jim--but he didn't care enough to put an end to his custom.

The whole Watchtower was in absolute disarray. Sizzling metal wires hung down from just about everything remotely resembling technology, the ceiling, and every wall containing a damn lick of metal, but it was still functional--at least for what Bruce needed--so he would find the energy to care later. Right now he was focused.

Bruce sighed, gingerly moving to sit down in one of the lesser-affected chairs, fingers hesitantly pressing down on each key of the main keyboard, trying to figure out what had deviated and broken itself and what happened.

After about twenty minutes, Bruce had gotten a location. Nothing more, but it was something to work with.

All of the incidents targeting the League seemed to be tied back to a trace energy source. Small, but it was still there. Little red trails on a screen that all trailed right back to a large crimson dot, somewhere in Manhattan. Bruce frowned with a low 'hnn', fingers rapidly clicking away until the image had largened and enhanced. A large lab owned under a name he didn't have the clearance to access. His frown deepened enough to wrinkle the edges of his mouth and after some more tapping of his fingertips, the security images were his to view at his will.

The current image couldn't have been more surprising. The Titans were there, lacking Omen, all unconscious. Multicoloured suits were littered across the ground but Bruce's eyes naturally gravitated to the one designed black and blue. His fingers curled a little. Nightwing. What was Dick doing there? Hell, what were any of the damn Titans doing there? He had bore witness to the colossal meltdown that was the utter devastation of their friendship and Bruce, for someone who was a self-proclaimed planner, had never seen it coming. He could personally attest to the overwhelming closeness of the five while they were growing up, and as they'd grown older their relations had grown strained. That was normal, Bruce figured. Happened with time. Then Arsenal had come in, pleading his case to not only his to fellow Titans but to the Justice League as well, and Oliver himself had had to be the one to turn him away when no one came to his support. Bruce had then been there to behold the aftermath, the upheaval that settled on Dick. But there had been no viable evidence to back up Roy's claims regarding his theories for the Bliss conspiracy at the time, and so he'd been shut down. Shunned, really. In hindsight, Bruce regretted his own part in it, his harshness, but there was nothing to be done about it now.

But maybe Roy had been onto something. And maybe his former partner and his friends had realized it before they did and shown up to aid Roy's one-man crusade.

Now that Bruce was functioning under that perspective, it made sense. Roy had claimed Brain was the one outputting drugs for more sinister means. The lab he was currently hacking into was a former--thought to be abandoned then sold--base of the Brotherhood of Evil, a known association Brain and Mallah frequently affiliated with.

Bruce gritted his teeth, one hand leaving the keyboard and reaching for his personal comms. Well, 'personal' as in his family. The League could be informed later, when Bruce wasn't quietly worrying over his oldest son's safety.

"Red Hood? Red Robin? Robin?" Bruce barked into his comminucators, getting to his feet and beginning the walk towards the teleportation tubes. It didn't long to get a response, to which Bruce's sanity was grateful for.

"Yeah, Batman?" Tim's voice filtered through the machine, and Bruce exhaled faintly.

"Are you three all together?"

"At the Batcave. We were just about to head out for some patrol." Jason's voice this time, though still on Tim's line. Bruce shook his head in exasperation as he heard the vague sounds of a conflict from the line. He could already picture his middle sons trying to wrangle the comm one way or another. After a moment, Tim's voice came back, now seeped in the same displeasure Bruce was experiencing. "What do you need, B?"

"One or all of you need to go to Manhattan. Right now. Nightwing is there, unconscious. I'll send you the coordinates. I've yet to figure out what happened, but the other Titans are there, and they're all in the same state. We can figure out the extent of injuries once we retrieve him," Bruce paused for a moment before rethinking and adding: "just Nightwing. I will contact Flash to pick up the others, but I prefer to have Nightwing checked out ourselves."

A beat of silence before: "...Yeah, but I can pick up Roy, right? Wing's not that big, I can cram them both in the back seat-"

"Jason," Bruce snapped, irritation eroding his usual patience and caution. He finally arrived at his teleportation pad, though he knew it would just land him in the Batcave. He'd send his sons out, they could go retrieve Dick, and Bruce would set the Cave up for any possible medical procedures. "I'm serious. Nearly all League members were under heavy attacks and it's looking like the Titans were the one to stop it all. Now, your brother could be seriously hurt so go get him."

Bruce could hear a background, owlish squeak of 'Richard?', and he sighed inwardly. So Damian had overheard. He knew his youngest son would be very distressed over this development, but Tim and Jason didn't seem too worried. He guess he could understand why. They got knocked around a lot. But they weren't there to witness just how effortlessly the entire League had been occupied in a mere haf hour. And if the Titans really had been the one to put a stop to this, Bruce needed to make sure they were okay, because there was no shot they could've come out unscathed. The image still played through his head, the surrounding lab looking like it had been hit by a hurricane from the inside out. It made his stomach rile, but he needed to instill some urgency to this. "...You can take the Batmobile." He relented eventually, voice a low grumble, and he was rewarded with immediate hisses of victory from the other line.

"We'll be in New York in fifteen, B," Jason promised, and Bruce just shook his head. He didn't bother to follow up, switching his comm off and powering up his teleportation pad.

"Barry?" His League-designated comm was back in his hand, and Bruce was talking rapidly. He didn't enjoy taking care of other people's problems, not when he viewed them as equals. They should take care of their own, but right now Bruce was the one with the information. "The Titans are passed out in some laboratory in Manhatten. I think they were the one to put a stop to everything that happened. I can't tell if they're hurt or not, so you're gonna go pick them up. Alright?" Bruce didn't wait for a response, continuing on. "Grab everyone but Nightwing and deliver them to their respective mentors... if they'll have them," Bruce mumbled the last part, grimacing as he remembered the last interaction between Roy and Oliver. "I'm dealing with Nightwing myself." Trusting that Barry would listen without further protest, Bruce finally shut off all his comms and stepped onto the pad.

~~~

Dick awoke with a splitting headache.

A small gasp passed through his lips as he struggled to sit up, vision still swimming and dappled by lingering black spots. Immediately, he tried to run stock on himself. Okay. So he was sure he could still feel all his limbs. Great. Now... how did he get here, again?

Dick finally felt his centre of gravity shift once he finally managed to sit upright fully, and groaned faintly as what felt like all of him instantly ached in protest.

Immediately, he felt a small hand on his shoulder and noticed a tiny figure next to him, seemingly supporting his movements in his gradual endeavour to rediscover his bearings. "Garth...?" He mumbled, his brain running through viable options of people who could be near him who were shorter than him. That's right. The Titans. He had been with the others, right? Where were they?

"Guys...?-"

"Relax, Dickie, your perfect, caring brothers have come to your rescue," an unfamiliar, undeniably pleased, voice rang through his ears, and Dick winced faintly. Every bit of stimuli felt like a personal assault on each of his senses.

Dick felt his expression waver before his brain latched onto one specific grain of that sentence. Suddenly, his head snapped up, eyes wide and panicked. "How-" he shook his head wildly, mouth dry with disbelief. "You know my name?" He squeaked, voice rising in pitch, and that drew Dick's attention to another thing. He blinked, glancing down and rubbing his throat. His voice sounded deep... was his hearing still just all messed up? Then Dick's eyes flicked to his hand itself, eyes impossibly widening further. His green gloves were missing, replaced by a black, skin-tight body suit that seemed to encase him completely. He let out a strangled noise of surprise, gaze flying back up to view his companions.

His incredulous question seemed to have earned the attention of the group, and he was awarded with a trio of utterly confused looks accompanied by growing concern. Well, at least he was certain two of them felt that way. The other one, the one driving, bore a large red helmet that Dick couldn't just see through. Though his head was turned away from the road and towards him, so at least he had attracted his attention, and hey wait a minute-

"What'd you do to my suit?!" Dick suddenly yelped, stare focusing on the one in the passenger's seat. The man--boy? He looked definitely older than him, but not as old as Bruce--wore a costume vaguely resembling his own, though much more... depressing. It retained the same red tunic and that iconic 'R' Dick had worn with pride for so long now, but the sides had been dyed an all-consuming black. His green pants were gone, replaced by a similar black along the knees, and his bright yellow cape had been switched out for a black one, though Dick thought he saw hints of yellow peeking out from under it. "You made it all... emo," he mumbled in thinly veiled dismay, groaning and rubbing his forehead like a parent who'd discovered their child was failing school.

Now the group was definitely concerned. The two in the front exchanged a quick look, mumbling something about a 'Ric', while the one to the side of him--who Dick had temporarily forgotten about--looked ready to either cry, die, or stab someone. It was the kinda look someone got when they knew they were about to head straight back down that same, shitty road they'd gone down once before.

"Richard...?" The young boy began tentatively, reaching for his arm, but Dick quickly pulled away, alarmed. He scrambled back in the large back row of whatever vehicle he was in--it roughly reminded him of the Batmobile, but seemed way more modern, so B would not be happy about that--until his back reached the door. He had half a mind to reach for the handle to unlock the door, but he caught a glimpse of racing surroundings behind him and decided he would rather try his chances with his kidnappers than risk becoming a splattered pancake on the side of the road. Dick's frantic gaze quickly took in the boy in the same row as him, trying to gauge the skill of his captor. Keep calm. Assess situation. Just like Bruce had taught him.

"Hey- you did it, too!" Dick exclaimed, eyes narrowing in indignation over yet another vandalization of his suit.

The car lapsed into silence and Dick was quietly wondering why his aggressors hadn't tied him up yet. Or attacked him. Then, the red-helmeted one spoke up, voice steady and calm, but Dick could recognize when someone was making it that way. "Hey, Dickie, just chill out and take a big breath, alright?" The man added insult to injury by demonstrating an exaggerated breath in, then a loud exhale, and Dick grumbled quietly. He wasn't a child!

"Why don't you guys tell me where my friends are!" Dick demanded, straightening further and let out a squawk of surprise and mild pain when his head hit the roof of the car. Dick quickly slumped again, dumbfounded. He'd never been tall enough to do that... And why was he so much taller than this kid? Dick didn't think he was that much older than him...

"Dick, relax," there was the use of his name again, now from Passenger Seat calm, instructional voice, and it made Dick bristle with both anger and fear. How did they know his name?? "The other Titans are with their mentors. Barry delivered them. They're gonna be fine. You're gonna be fine. You probably hit your head, you're a little confused-"

"I'm not confused!" Dick retorted hotly, albeit more than a little petulantly, and he felt his jaw clench when his unwanted redesigner called Flash by name. That wasn't good. Just how many of their identities did these guys know? "If you guys took me 'cause you think I'm an easy mark with no powers and all, think again, 'cause I'll kick your asses-"

Dick reached down for his utility belt, only for his hands to grasp at empty air. He cursed quietly, irritation and overall concern for his situation growing by the second. This suit was so stupid! How was anyone supposed to get anything done?

"Dick," Red Helmet's voice was suddenly a whole lot more authoritative, and Dick instinctively startled a little. Damn. This guy sounded like Bruce when he did that. "Calm. Down. We're not doing this in a highly-weaponized car, on the road, where innocent people will get hurt if you make me start swerving." He scolded, but there was a distinctive undertone of steady worry. Dick's eyes narrowed, but his head was just starting to hurt more. He was so confused...

"Richard, you are safe. No one is going to hurt you," the tiny boy reaffirmed, gingerly reaching for him once more, and Dick jerked back like a wounded animal. The tiny suit-stealing kid stilled a little at that, his expression visibly hurt, but he didn't push it further.

So, an awkward silence overtook the car, and Dick (out of spite) didn't do anything to break it. He instead just crossed his arms and sulked quietly in the corner.

He could hear the other three whispering about him, all in concerned notes, and for the sake of nursing his skull-crushing headache, well. There was the art of accepting defeat, too. He didn't know what else he could do--punch someone, maybe? But Red Helmet was right, regular people moving on the roads would get hurt and Dick couldn't live with himself if he was the cause of it. He didn't know what had been done with his belt or his weapons--and his suit, had these guys changed him or something? Why? That was so weird--and he couldn't clearly remember how he'd ended up in this situation. He did know it had something to do with his teammates. But at least they'd know something had happened to him. They'd tell Bruce, and his mentor would come for him. Like he always did.

So, Dick decided to make the best of the situation and rest his head against the side of the window, exhaling shakily to try and calm the fluttery feeling of worry in his stomach. He closed his eyes, dark unconsciousness already tugging at him once more, but he decided to just get one more point across, so these guys would know exactly who they were dealing with. "Batman's going to kick your ass..." He mumbled, before letting a promising rest take him.

Chapter Text

“Okay, so what the hell was that?”

Jason’s voice was tense as it pierced through the taut silence that had settled over the Batmobile following Dick’s abrupt loss of consciousness.

The remaining three Waynes had been managing to keep their composure throughout Dick’s… episode, but now that the eldest was decidedly resting, their emotions had much less restraint bounding them.

“He didn’t recognize us.” Damian’s voice was uncharacteristically small, and Jason could see the youngest’s green eyes locked on Dick’s relaxed form through the rearview mirror. He sighed irritably, fingers wrapping around the steering wheel a little tighter.

Usually, Jason could rely on Damian to be reasonable. He wasn't like other kids his age—hell, Jason was sure there had never been a child like Damian Wayne all throughout the history of the entire damn planet. And while he was, definitively, a little freak, Jason could rely on the kid to be like him. Rational, recognizing when a situation had gone past simple resolve and required something more firm.

But, of course, when it came to Dick that all went out the damn window.

Jason didn’t really know where or when the attachment had spawned, but Jason knew it was easily mutual. Damian displayed more loyalty to Dick than he did Bruce sometimes, which was a definite blow to the man’s ego, Jason was sure. He naturally assumed that their bond had blossomed during Dick’s time being the possessor of the Batman mantle, and Damian serving as his dutiful Robin. Jason recognized the kind of impact that had. Damian, a kid who had never had something like a father figure, had been torn from his home and suddenly placed in Bruce’s care, for, like, two seconds. Then their father ‘died’, and Damian had been transferred to Dick. Whether he meant to or not, Dick was the one to fill that void.

And now it seemed to be the reintroduction of Ric Grayson 2.0. Which, of course, meant Jason now had to be the one to keep a level head, even if all he wanted to do was shake Dick until some sense returned to his thick skull. But Jason couldn't do that, at least until they were able to reach Bruce, who would undoubtedly take over the moment he saw one of his kids in danger. He always was a control freak, whether those around him wanted it or not.

“Recognize us?” Jason snorted. “He didn’t even know us. He thought we were kidnapping him, and he thought you two stole his damn suit!” Jason’s voice had become sharper than he intended, but his jaw was clenched and a flurry of strained, anxious emotions bubbling in his chest rendered him unable to cough up an apology.

He could feel Tim’s glare lock onto the side of his head, and Jason felt himself form his own glare directed at the road in front of him. He was sure the citizens of New York were very confused about why their emo neighbours were tearing through their city, but Jason personally figured that they were doing them all a service; introducing them to the epicness that was the Batmobile.

“He’ll be fine, Damian,” Tim said, craning in his seat to glance back at the distressed boy in the back row, trying to offer a reassuring smile that damn near made Jason roll his eyes. “Dick’s probably just disoriented. There was no damage sustained to the surrounding property, but there’s clear evidence of an intense blast from the interior of the building. He might’ve hit his head. He could be a little confused. He’s not hurt, though, so we can take that as a win.”

Jason almost pointed out the glaringly obvious: that Dick was so damn 'disoriented' he didn't even recognize the Batmobile, and how just because Dick's brains weren't spilling out of his head none of this was a 'win', but the unnerving amount of genuine dolor that Damian was displaying made Jason bite his tongue. What was that saying? If you don't have anything good to say don't say anything at all? Bruce would probably quote that in his face right about now, which, infuriatingly, probably meant he should heed it.

"Timmy's right," Jason commented gruffly, leaning his foot down further on the gas pedal while he made a rather sharp turn towards the exit leading to Gotham. They didn't need to waste any unnecessary time. Sure, Tim was correct, there were no real visible injuries on Dick, but that didn't exclude the possibility of internal bleeding. His head was Jason's main concern considering how Dick was acting. But he didn't need to voice that right now. "Dickwing's bounced back from worse. He'll be fine after some rest." Jason tried to force more confidence into his grunt than he really felt. He was rewarded by feeling Tim's glare lessen and turn back to facing Dick's sleeping form instead.

Damian hardly looked convinced, still looking at Dick with a worried frown, but just nodded wordlessly. Jason thought he saw the youngest's hand snake out towards Dick's own, but the reflection didn't show much of the bottom of the car.

Tim let out a heavy sigh, slumping back in his chair. Jason felt a similar way. He would appreciate some answers right now.

His thoughts involuntarily wandered back to Roy. The red-clad archer hadn’t been there when the three of them had arrived at the scene, so Jason had to assume that Barry had followed through with Bruce’s request and zipped the remaining Titans home.

Jason, admittedly, hoped his friend was okay. He didn’t know if Roy was behaving the same way Dick had been, but Jason was rarely one for optimism. He was more of a ‘they’re-probably-dead-that-sucks’-until-proven-otherwise type of guy, but Jason liked to think he could reserve some hope for one of his closest friends.

He wasn't going to say ‘best’ because he wasn't twelve.

But. If he did have a best friend, Jason guessed it would've been Roy Harper. So it was natural to worry, Jason rationalized.

Although, as the anti-hero nearly mowed down a bewildered family of four, Jason figured he should probably direct his concerns to the road instead.

“Father will fix him,” Damian declared from the back, voice once more returned to its usual state of ‘I am the son of Batman and grandson of the Demon’s Head and I’ll make sure you know it’—AKA loud and demanding as all hell—though Jason wasn’t too sure if Damian was announcing this to soothe his somewhat rattled elder siblings, or if he was trying to comfort himself. Jason decided he would let him have it either way.

“Yeah, of course he will,” Jason agreed loudly, veering to the left so they could enter the turnoff to Gotham. Like most cities, they had a welcome sign. Key word being had. Jason had vague memories of being little and seeing a relatively unblemished sign, but in current times it was graffitied with malice. A once pride sign that formerly read: ’WELCOME TO GOTHAM!’ now displayed various slurs, curses, or warnings - including, but not limited to things like 'GOTHAM DOESN'T WANT YOU’ ‘GO BACK HOME' ‘TURN BACK’. All very fair apprises, in his humble opinion. Jason swore he could feel the gloom settle over their very beings as they entered the city limits, and the fog that regularly choked Gotham yet magically cut off the moment the city’s borders did followed a similar pattern. “After he has a mild heart attack, that is.” Jason continued with a small snort that lacked any real amusement. It could’ve been a placebo effect, but Jason opined that the Batmobile ran smoother when it was on the grounds of its homeland.

Jason knew Bruce would freak when they informed him of the full extent to which Dick was currently… out of it. Jason had heard Bruce's voice when the man had called them, and while a normal onlooker never would've been able to tell, Jason could pick up on the rattled undertone in his mentor's voice. It was slightly unnerving to hear him like that all by itself. Batman, the man nerves didn't touch, sounded disconcerted. It was enough to let Jason know that something had happened prior to his call, which also informed Jason that he was not in his usual, composed mood to take any further bad news. Though it did make Jason curious as to what was going on with this whole damn situation in the first place. Titans (maybe) form back up, they explode but also don't, Dick is acting like a bit more sentient—and petulant—version of Ric, and Bruce sounds off-kilter. It was a Tuesday for the damn history books.

~~~

"Be careful with him, Todd!"

Jason rolled his eyes as Damian's voice, suddenly high-pitched and bossy, reached his ears, and he let a low, irritated grunt of displeasure pass his lips. His jaw clenched as he wrapped his arms a bit more firmly under Dick's own, hauling his older brother out into the light (or lack thereof) of the Batcave.

When they'd finally finished tearing through the streets of Gotham and returned to Wayne Manor, it had quickly become evident that Dick's little napping act had been a bit more than a quick rest of his eyes. Damian had tapped him, Tim had reached back and shaken him, and Jason had even tried his hand at barking out a few nonsensical orders—trying his best to channel his inner Batman—all to no avail, which, in all honesty, was starting to make Jason worry. There were few times where he had enough evidence to let profound concern for Dick Grayson truly set in, but Jason was starting to think that this was one of them.

"He's always heavier than I think he is," Jason grumbled, his movements reduced to awkward jolts to keep Dick's limp form moving with him. He shuffled in an odd zigzag toward a nearby medical bed that had been conveniently set up preceding their arrival, a little too conveniently, making Jason wonder if Bruce had beat them here. Or it was just Alfred and his mystical third-eye regarding all problems towards their family, which he constantly waved off as ‘I had a feeling’.

Damian was rapidly clambering out of the back seat while Tim unbuckled and elbowed open the passenger door. After a couple of moments of (embarrassing) lumbering about, Jason finally managed to haul their unconscious older sibling up onto the cot, wincing at the cramped position Jason had limply organized him into. Any longer, and Dick was definitely gonna feel that when he woke up. Not that Jason made any move to rearrange him.

"Anyone know where Bruce is?" Tim questioned wearily, nearly smacking his head on the roof of the Batmobile, to which Tim neatly dodged, albeit with an undignified grumble. Jason had half a mind to ask Tim to fetch his helmet—which he had discarded haphazardly in the driver’s seat (happy belated birthday, Bruce, whenever you find that)—but something told him it wasn’t the time.

"Right here."

In true Batman fashion, with a low rumble of a voice and a somehow always-appearing sweep of his inky cape, there Bruce Wayne was, stalking out of the shadows. He was still fully geared up—cowl, cape, and everything—so Jason assumed that he had only recently returned from wherever his previous residings had been. Jason wouldn't have admitted the slight jump that coursed through him at the bastard's reappearing act, but it annoyed him nonetheless.

"Nice of you to show up," Jason mumbled, folding his arms firmly over his chest while he fixed Bruce with a halfhearted glare as his adoptive father approached him. Though, to Jason’s credit, Jason did reluctantly shuffle to the side to allow Bruce to pass through. The older man in question just pinned him with a warning look, and Jason relented with a noiseless huff. “Don’t worry, we did all the heavy lifting.” Jason snarked loudly, putting on his best look of innocence when Bruce’s head swung back.

"Father, something is amiss with Richard!" Damian straightened to his full (un)impressive height rapidly once he noticed his father had finally inserted himself into the situation. The boy had been all but climbing up his leg from how closely he'd been tailing him once Jason had initially hauled Dick out of the car and was now firmly planted at Dick's bedside.

Jason could see the slight wrinkling of the dark material that made up Bruce's mask when he received Damian's disclosure, and he knew that corresponded with the furrowing of the man's brows. Even with the mask off, it probably would've looked just as subtle as it currently did, but it was the Bruce-Wayne equivalent of all-out panic. Basically.

"What's wrong?" Bruce demanded to no one in particular, and he finally advanced on the hospital bed they'd rested Dick on. The lower, visible portion of his face crinkled in response to the corners of his mouth turning down as he stared at the still form of his oldest son, and Jason watched as one gloved hand came to rest upon the side of the bed.

Jason shared a look with Tim, who shared a look with Damian. Where did they even begin? What even was wrong? Something, that was for sure, but what type of condition could this even be classified as? Amnesia? But he seemed to have remembered Bruce, so that didn't fit. Sue him, he wasn’t a doctor.

Seeing as the rest of his siblings didn't seem inclined to be the first to speak—Damian had returned his focus to Dick, and Tim looked more absorbed in whatever mental hoops he was running through to decipher the situation—Jason sighed and angled his head Bruce's way. "We... We don't really know. There's no real injuries-" the few bruises and cuts scattered about didn't seem worth mentioning, "-but he's acting weird. He woke up for a bit in the car, didn't recognize any of us, seemed personally offended that Damian and Tim had 'vandalized his suit', conked out again, and hasn't moved since." Jason paused briefly before tacking on: "He remembered you, though. Guess he thought we were kidnapping him or something because he oh-so politely informed us that 'Batman will kick your asses'." Jason recounted dryly.

"Hm."

Ah, the good ol' 'hm.' Not a good sign, especially strained like this, reforming it as more of a 'hnn.'

"And how was he acting?" Bruce pressed, and Jason watched with a definitely nonexistent twinge of envy as Bruce's free hand reached up to Dick's relaxed countenance, brushing some dark strands of hair away from his face. Jason knew it was for the purpose of determining if there were any external wounds to his head hidden beneath his bangs, but there was no denying the tenderness to the action.

Jason blew out a breath through his teeth, shaking his head. Oh boy, where did he start? Nowhere, turned out to be the answer, because Tim abruptly interrupted him.

"Irrate," the teen noted, "he seemed pretty pissed at us, but I guess that's fair if you think you're being abducted." Tim hesitated for a moment, eyes squinting a little in deliberation before he tentatively continued. "It... It wasn't really Dick's normal attitude, though, even when he's mad. He seemed borderline..."

"... Aggressive?" Jason supplied dryly once Tim trailed off. The observation wouldn't be wrong, in fact, Jason thought it was pretty accurate. Disoriented, confused, and overall vulnerable, Dick had been ready to throw down in the damn Batmobile. And while Dick Grayson wasn't a softy that shied away from a conflict by any means, usually he tried the 'let's talk about this' route first. Especially when he was at a disadvantage. Usually, if you were a hostage, you didn't start spewing threats. It was something that could've been categorized as a rookie mistake, which should've been the last thing Dick out of all of them would be committing.

Bruce didn't reply, concentration focused on sifting through Dick's bangs, but he eventually pulled away with a tiny sigh, head dropping ever so slightly, which told Jason there were no head wounds. External ones, at least.

For a moment, silence fell over the assembled family, before the sound of Bruce's costume broke through the atmosphere. He reached up and delicately took off his cowl, not-so delicately tossing it to the side of him and not even bothering to look as the mask descended on a closer portion of the large array of tables that made up the desk section of the Batcomputer.

Now that his face was free, the worry painted across Bruce's features was exceedingly obvious, more so than Jason had even assumed it would be. Of course, Bruce wasn't as much of an emotionless hardass around his family, but this was damn near an overwhelming amount of emotion. If 'overwhelming' was a bunched brow, downturned lips, and eyes narrowed in focus, that is.

"Tim," Bruce's eyes flicked over to his middle child in question, who's head snapped up, "can you prepare a CT scan? We need to check if he has any internal injuries, specifically brain ones."

Tim nodded quickly, a light of approval washing over his expression like he was wondering why he hadn’t thought of it first. Tim spun on his heels, making his way over to a shadowed room further back in the Cave, which Jason knew from experience contained most of their medical equipment.

Bruce waited until Tim rounded the door to the room and disappeared to the shadows, expression pinched, before he turned to Damian, who was still solemnly hovered at Dick’s side. “Damian, can you track the address you located Dick at and run the security footage of the last forty-eight hours? I want to see what happened leading up, and I want to see what happened to them.” Bruce briefly considered Jason, who in turn scowled at being the last to receive a task. Through theory of superiority by experience, he should be the first one Bruce was turning to! Not that Jason necessarily wanted to be saddled with the grunt work of preparing tools or running footage, but it was the principle.

“Jason, you too.”

Jason felt his eye twitch. So not only did he have to do all the boring, training-level stuff of reviewing security, but he had to split it with Damian. “What?!” He protested, stepping closer. He was petty enough to start a fight over this if he felt it of that level of importance. “Didn’t you make me do enough of all the basic detective stuff when I was thirteen?” He griped.

Bruce seemed to take in Jason’s complaints for a moment, weighing it, before he slowly nodded his agreement, to which Jason was pleasantly surprised with. “You’re right. Damian can handle that. Can you go find some clothes for Dick to change into when he wakes up?”

The beginnings of smug victory instantly shattered in Jason’s expression as his features collapsed to a scowl. He swore he could see the slightest smirk toying at Bruce’s lips, so he knew the man was getting a kick out of this. Touché, old man. Jason had to give credit where credit was due.

Unwilling to push it anymore and get demoted yet again, Jason resigned himself with a low grumble as his last show of defiance before he stalked over to the elevator leading up to the Manor.

Bruce took a moment to regroup and recompose himself. Tim was busying himself with the CT scan beyond Bruce’s vision, Damian had located himself on a large ‘spinny-chair’, as his Robins affectionately dubbed them over the years, and was diligently assessing the security footage of that warehouse. Jason was already behind the elevator’s closing doors, which left him and Dick.

Bruce sighed heavily, leaning back down and carding his fingers through Dick’s hair once more, gingerly nudging it back; gently, in fear of aggravating some hidden injury. He hadn’t found any cuts, which meant he had to search for bruises, which tended to be much more difficult to find due to their ranging size and lack of tells, like dried blood in a cut. But even the smallest bruise indicating the weakest hit at a well-placed target could cause catastrophic damage to the human body, especially something as fragile as their heads.

But the more Bruce investigated Dick’s forehead, temples, and scalp, his searches continually proved to be fruitless. Which was both concerning but mostly… puzzling. If Jason, Tim, and Damian’s reports were to be believed—and Bruce had no reason to doubt his sons—then Dick’s behaviour would suggest to some kind of damage to his head, even if it was just temporary memory loss and disorientation directly after a hit. But… there was nothing. No cuts, no bruises, no dips or ridges in bone that Bruce could feel when he pressed. Of course, a seemingly harmless external injury could snowball into a grievous internal one, but for there to be an internal injury there had to be some form of external force. Which, especially in cases of skin as delicate as the thin kind wrapping one’s head, typically presented itself in the form of a bump, bruise, cut or otherwise. But Dick seemed to be perfectly fine. If Bruce’s vision and senses were to be trusted, Dick was… totally and utterly okay. Save for some bruises along larger body parts like his torso, and minor lacerations scattered about, Bruce had witnessed his eldest act far better from far worse.

Which meant Bruce was missing something, and if there was anything the man loathed, it was not knowing all the information.

“Hnn.” He’d been informed by various members of his team and family that this was apparently one of the (very few) indicators to a stumped—which meant souring—mood, and while Bruce had been trying to curb the habit, it had proved to be of little success.

Bruce straightened, frustration beginning to bubble painfully in his chest. Something was wrong with his son, but he didn’t know what and now had no leads to figuring out, either. Powerlessness was something Bruce was rarely acquainted with, but most usually steered clear of him when he was.

Staring down at Dick’s limp figure, the irritability began to thaw to something even more disgruntling: worry. He needed Dick to wake up soon, if only to soothe the nerves boiling in his gut.

When an all-too cheery ‘ding!’ pierced the air of intensity building around Bruce, he sighed, one hand lingering on Dick’s shoulder while he turned to see Jason, filing out of the elevator with a pile of poorly folded clothes secured in his arms. The irked look on Jason’s face cheered him up slightly. While Bruce did feel somewhat bad for putting Jason on a, admittedly useless, job while the situation was so worrying, he did enjoy reminding his children he did have a sense of humour.

“B…?”

All of Bruce’s attention diverted at once when a strained voice reached his ears, and he quickly whirled, his eye scanning Dick from head to toe—then again to make sure he didn’t miss anything that had suddenly displayed itself with Dick’s newfound consciousness—before settling his gaze on Dick’s half-lidded, but open, eyes; bleary blue peeking back out at him.

Bruce couldn’t have restrained weighted exhale of relief that escaped him even if he wanted to, and he felt his expression soften fractionally as he met a confused Dick.

“Take it easy,” Bruce warned lowly, but his tone was lacking any real heat despite the scolding.

Dick either didn’t hear him or didn’t care because he struggled to push himself upright, continuing his valiant efforts even after Bruce repeatedly pushed him back down. "Man, I had the craziest dream, Bruce. Like, two guys stole my suit and made it weird, and then this other emo guy was driving this cool car, and-" Eventually, his words seemed to have clicked in Dick’s head, because his son’s head shot up and fixed him with a puzzled, if not mildly concerned look. “Jesus, B. Why do you sound like that? You sound old as fuck—no offence.” Dick informed him earnestly.

And then there was silence. Damian’s fingers had stopped clicking away at his keyboard, Tim’s metallic rustling had ceased and he poked his head out from behind the wall with a floored look, and Jason’s footsteps had abruptly halted.

Bruce just stared, something tugging at his mind along the lines of deja vu, yanked out of its burial by Dick’s current timbre and way of speaking.

Dick didn’t swear too much, not really. At least not around them. If you caught him unguarded around friends, you’d hear the expected mouth of any other male in their twenties. But Dick made a conscious effort to limit his vocabulary in the presence of his family, mostly after the addition of younger siblings. It was mainly present when he was in Damian’s company, Tim as well though to a lesser degree, and he even minced words with Jason, to the latter’s immense displeasure at being ‘babied’.

But Bruce knew from experience it hadn’t always been that way. Dick possessed an absolutely foul mouth growing up, even by Gothamite standards. Bruce had always attested it to his time growing up in a circus, where Bruce assumed you were bound to encounter all kinds of vulgar language. Alfred was probably the main reason why Dick hadn’t grown up to swear like a sailor at every minor inconvenience, having pulled the boy aside and forced a lengthy scolding each time a curse from Dick reached his ears. Bruce had tried to follow suit, to little avail. He was pretty sure Dick had been aware a part of him found it very humorous to see a little, brightly-coloured eight-year-old spewing vulgarities severe enough to make a criminal blush, and prided himself on coaxing that lighter, amused side out of a younger Bruce. So, instead of long-winded lectures, Bruce had always just settled for-

“Language,” the reprimand tumbled from his lips soft and unbidden, and Bruce felt his eyebrows furrow as he processed his own train of thoughts. It was certainty… odd, Dick’s behaviour. How much it resembled an earlier time.

An idea began to form in Bruce’s head. A silly, unrealistic one, but some semblance of a diagnosis was all Bruce needed to jumpstart his usual demeanour, and he promptly stood as Dick frowned at him, unimpressed.

“HAH!” Jason’s laugh was more of a shrill bark as he threw his head back and suddenly started cackling, and Bruce eyed him exasperatedly. It really wasn’t that funny, was it?

“Jason,” Bruce grumbled, and his child in question just laughed harder. Bruce was mildly concerned he’d pull something at this rate.

“Can we keep this Dick?” Jason asked between loud bouts of laughter, and Bruce let out a long-suffering sigh, all while Dick’s frown just deepened at the sight of seeing Bruce interact so easily with Jason. “I like this one.”

“Jason.” Bruce repeated, a bit more firmly, and Jason finally seemed to wrangle the attack of laughter that had gotten to him, fighting it back to just a few shaky exhales and a grin trying desperately to appear in his face. "Just give him his clothes." Bruce sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Satisfied with his plan to occupy all of his sons, Bruce began to turn away, before a hand latched onto the tight material of his suit and Bruce blinked, looking down. Gazing back at Bruce was the nervous face of Dick Grayson, and he carefully tugged Bruce a little closer. "B... These are the guys from my dream," Dick informed him quietly, whispering like he was sharing a grand secret. Bruce glanced down at his oldest son with a small grimace. "Why are they here? Who are they?" He asked, quiet voice sounding very distressed and confused.

Bruce just stared at him, unsure what to say. Of course, the last time something like this had happened, Dick hadn't remembered anyone. Bruce hadn't realized it then, but somehow that had been an easier situation than this. Because how was he supposed to explain years worth of relationship to someone who just remembered... him? And how much of Bruce did Dick even remember? He needed to understand what Dick's perception of all this was first.

"Dick," Bruce began carefully, each word carefully thought out as not to accidentally drive Dick further into a panic. "You hit your head, bud. I just need to take a look at ya, okay?" Bruce asked, and something in him reared its head and spurred his tone to something much softer. He didn't know if it was instinct or some leftover habit from a time long past, but he was very aware of the baffled (and rather judgemental) look Jason was sending him. "Do you know what year it is?"

Dick narrowed his eyes in confusion for a moment before frowning. "2014?" He replied slowly, like it should've been obvious and Bruce was the idiot for asking this.

A second silence fell over the room, a bit slower, before being broken by a strained breath Jason exhaled through his teeth. Bruce would've had a similar reaction if not for the subtle shakiness of Jason's huff, which told Bruce that his second-eldest was five seconds away from bursting out laughing again. Bruce would've liked to think it was just a nervous response from being worried about his brother, but he knew it was far more likely that Jason just genuinely found this whole thing very humourous.

Bruce, meanwhile, was resisting the urge to put his head in his hands and lean face-first against a wall like his father used to whenever Bruce accidentally destroyed an object probably worth millions.

2014? So how old would Dick have been then- thirteen? Fourteen? Somewhere around there. Bruce cursed softly but tried to force an unsteady, 'Everything is fine' smile so as not to concern Dick further. What did he say? 'It's eleven years past that?'

"Uh, Bruce?"

Bruce's head craned once more, and Bruce was starting to wish that whatever deity watching them right now--and probably laughing--would just throw him a break and give him one problem at a time.

Tim had moved to stand beside Damian, Bruce wasn't quite sure when it had happened but he guessed they probably didn't need the CT scan as urgently, if at all. Something was telling Bruce it wouldn't be of much help in any aspect. Damian's eyes were fixed on Dick--who was returning the favour, with much more blatant distrust--his expression twisted into a foreign one that Bruce couldn't decipher. Tim's eyes briefly migrated to Dick as well, who was starting to look very much so like a cornered animal with all these unfamiliar eyes on him, before they traveled back to Bruce. "Some of the other Justice Leaguers are trying to contact you," he quickly stole a glance back at the screen Damian was supposed to be monitoring, "specifically the ones who had the Titans returned to them."

So, Arthur, Diana, and Barry, that was. Oliver hadn't responded when Bruce had informed him of Roy--Bruce didn't know if the archer had thought it would be better for himself if Roy wasn't returned, or better for Roy if he hadn't woken up on Oliver's couch. It could've gone either way from Bruce's current understanding of their complicated relationship, which somehow never failed to make him sigh. And that was saying something coming from him, he was sure the majority of his children could attest to that.

Oh well. He didn't have any room to comment on lacking, father-son relationships; he had his own kid to worry about. And hopefully, some outside input would shine some of the clarity Bruce needed to help him finally understand what was going on.

"Put them on," Bruce sighed wearily, straightening and starting to walk over. It took him a moment to realize that Dick had followed right after him, stumbling out of his bed and sticking close to Bruce. Bruce had to stop, sending a look that was both exasperated and concerned Dick's way, but his kid in question just stared back at him with silent stubbornness, so Bruce reluctantly let it slide.

After a moment of Tim nodding and fiddling with the controls, Barry's concerned, pinched expression suddenly appeared on-screen, in his civilian attire, and Diana's joined a heartbeat later, dividing the screen to fit both equally.

Bruce raised an eyebrow, his patience having long since thinned over the duration of this entire situation. “No Arthur?” He asked curtly, not bothering to hide the derisive dryness from his coworkers.

“I would assume he’s otherwise occupied,” Diana replied, her tone equally as short, but holding far more tension than sarcasm.

"And we're not?" Barry chimed, sounding a bit incredulous.

Bruce let out a long-suffering sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose with two fingers. He didn't like the sound of that. "So, I'm assuming you two are also facing... complications?"

Dick's head abruptly swung around, suddenly looking very offended. "Complications?" He echoed, "wait- am I supposed to be 'complications'?" He demanded, and Bruce wordlessly confirmed with a weary look in his eldest's direction.

"Oh yeah, 'cause I'm the one out of place in this sitaution-"

Before Dick could begin slewing accusations--which Bruce was sure he was about to, judging by the way he immediately looked to Jason, Tim, and Damian--another voice interrupted, operating a much faster pace.

"Dick!" Barry's struggling camera was able to pick up a blurry flash of red before the form of Wally West solidified on the screen, pressed up close to the monitor like he was trying to observe his friend as close as possible. "Woah, what's up with the suit!" The younger Flash asked in a surprised, slightly awed tone, only backing away from the camera when Barry's hand landed on his chest and gently nudged his nephew back, freeing up some space on their portion of the call. Wally seemed to be in a similar state to Dick physically; still in costume, and only slightly banged up with a bit of ash marring the bright red of his costume.

"Wally, I told you to stay in bed and get some rest," Barry began gently, exasperatedly, and the young man in question just frowned petulantly at his uncle. "You clearly aren't-"

"I know, right?!" Dick's loud tone quickly drew the attention of both speedsters, and Bruce resisted the urge to mute his share of the video call. "That's what I said!" He exclaimed, looking very proud that someone seemed to agree with him on something, while Wally's head just bobbed along in silent agreement to his friend's words. Then, Dick seemed to regard Wally with a bit more intensity. "Hey, what's up with your suit?"

Barry winced while Wally simultaneously peered down at himself, only for his eyes to widen in shock in a manner that suggested this was his first time realizing this 'development.' Wally's head snapped up and seemed to meet Dick's gaze over the cameras as both of their expressions scrunched up in confusion. "Jesus, when did you get so big?" The question was voiced in synch from the both of them.

Through the general confusion and mounting havoc, while Barry tried to talk Wally down and the remaining of Bruce's sons eyed their older brother with thinly veiled stupefaction, Bruce spared a helpless glance at Diana, who had remained silent up until this point. The woman was resting her head in one hand and staring at the camera with a look of utter puzzlement, and it was possibly the most disgruntled Bruce had ever seen the Amazonian.

But, at least this call was proving to satiate some of Bruce's desires. It was giving some more insight, no matter how... troubling. Dick and Wally both clearly recognized and remembered the other, but seemed to be in equal states of startlement over each other's states. This meant Bruce could roughly place that wherever Dick thought he was in the timeline, Wally was mentally right beside him.

Bruce caught Diana's gaze and subtly lifted an eyebrow, to which she just gave an imperceptible nod. Great. So Donna was acting in the same fashion.

As if on cue, the younger Amazonian suddenly walked into view from the side, and seemed to be the only one who looked like they hadn't just woken up. She was dabbing at some soot stains that defiled the white stars in her costume and her hair looked brushed. Donna paused when she caught sight of whatever device Diana was calling on, backpedaling and coming up beside her mentor with curiosity. "Hey, who's the new guys?" She asked casually, leaning down to be eye-level with the camera.

Wally and Dick's focus was quickly relocated to focus on Donna, and their faces lit up with recognition at the same time. "Donna?!" They said at once, and perhaps it may have been comical if not for the sheer gravity of the situation. In face of that, Bruce was still pretty sure he heard a muffled snicker from Jason's direction.

The woman in question blinked, then squinted like someone who thought they recognized someone but wanted to make sure before embarrassing themselves. Then, her eyes widened in shock. "Dick?! Wally?!" She demanded bewildredly, and the two men at issue just nodded dutifully.

The trio was silent for a moment, seemingly all taking the other in, before one sentence left the triad's lips at the same time: "What's up with your suit?"

~~~~

"You've got to be fucking kidding me. You've got to be fucking kidding me!"

"Roy."

"Don't 'Roy' me, Grayson! Look at us!"

"Roy."

"Dick's right. Panicking's not going to help anything."

"Oh, easy for you to say, Troy, at least you had a half-decent costume!"

"Hey, speak for yourself. Atlantean designers outdo themselves every time, including this thing."

"Ohmygod guys, it's exactly the same!"

"Don't squeal in my ear, West- Jesus, would you stay still? Grayson? Oh, great leader? Care to say something? Drop some of your cave-dwelling wisdom?"

Dick was trying to say something. Honest. He was trying to conjure up a rallying speech, dissect the situation, make a plan, and fix this. It was the usual, relatively bulletproof, Batman TM blueprint for any strategy. Though, Bruce typically did without the moral support. But Dick was too busy staring. His reflection caught in the black windshield of the helicopter he remembered so clearly.

Staring back at him was... him, thankfully. But at the same time, not quite. He was much shorter and his muscles had yet to fully develop. His face was softer and his hair was much brighter; more reminiscent of his mother's brown instead of the black his dad had possessed that Dick was used to now seeing on himself. Bright colours oozed from his very being; a flowing, yellow cape, short green sleeves, and larger green gloves. And he couldn't forget the bright red chest plate that sparkled with the one symbol Dick simultaneously longed for and loathed: a sharp, capital R.

Not to mention where he was standing. On the helicopter landing, which cut out into the middle of the thick forest that had long since overrun the rocky cliffs. The helicopter was still there, the Batcopter, if you will, though a much older version of itself--not to say it wasn't the pinnacle of technology. Even without the inky black of Bruce's bat logo detailed on the helicopter's side, Dick still would've been able to recognize it anywhere. It used to be his ride, the one he'd take from Gotham to the cliff they currently stood on. Garth usually just swam in and they'd collect him at the foot of the mountain, Wally made it his personal goal to shave off more and more time each time he sprinted from Central City to just outside Gotham, Donna took various means of transportation and sometimes just stayed at their base for days or weeks altogether, and Roy also had a helicopter that he and Ollie would fly in on. Dick specifically remembered the occasion that their vehicles had arrived at the same time, and instead of doing the sensible thing of getting on their comms and communicating so that one could land first and the other could follow, Dick and Roy had constructed a challenge of who could jump out the most flawlessly and still hit the landing pad--ideally without injury.

Dick would've smiled at the memory had he not been so rattled. He slowly glanced down at himself. The colours were even brighter and his clothes were even more real when he wasn't staring directly into a dark window. He gingerly flexed his fingers, and the emerald material of his gloves bent with him. This was as real as it could get; Dick had enough hallucinations and dream recognition training to realize if it wasn't.

And judging by Wally's enthusiastic report after he'd done a quick lap of the area--it was the first thing he'd done after they'd all woken up, since they'd apparently just been splayed out on the landing pad--it was exactly where they all knew they were, with no change.

Dick slowly turned to look at his friends.

Roy's hands were moving wildly as he reprimanded Wally for one thing or the other, his bright yellow cap shaking precariously on his head while the red feather swayed with a vengeance. His red attire was the same as Dick remembered it, halted solely by the yellow of his boots and gloves. His quiver of arrows rattled on his back each time their owner made a sharp maneuver, and the black bow Roy was so enamored with growing up was wrapped securely and snugly over his chest by its bowstring.

Wally on the other hand didn't look at all phased--by Roy, at least. He had gone to observing himself as Dick had done, rapidly shaking out his hands in an electric blur of red, then his arm, which, combined with the bright yellow that made up most of Kid Flash's outfit, created more of an orange pattern tearing through the air. He then took to swinging his head wildly in any given direction like he couldn't believe what he was seeing, despite being the only one of them to have already run through their environment completely. Wally's eyes eventually came back to Roy, and Dick could see the disgruntled expression that came over him when he realized--or remembered might be more accurate--the height difference they have. Had. Have?

Donna and Wally stood off to the side, but they too looked like they had stepped out of the reminiscences Dick had in the mind of his childhood. Donna's muscles had yet to become as defined as they usually were--though Dick was ninety percent sure she was still more muscular-looking than all of them--her hair was longer and had a much more dramatic side part that, while Dick recalled being very fashionable for the time, Dick was sure she could still easily pull off in any time period. Her red earrings were studs on her ears yet glimmered nicely under the sun, and her lips seemed to be coloured with some brand of darker lipstick. Her costume went along with the 'red' theme they had inadvertently created; a crimson jumpsuit with fresh, white stars trailing up her sides, only interrupted by the gleaming loops of her golden lasso, and the red only broken up by tall black boots. She had similar metal plates along her forearm that Diana did, complete with some bracelets she had either bought or made. Garth was possibly the most significant change from what Dick was used to seeing on his friend, though.

Gone was his many arching and swirling black tattoos, instead replaced by smooth, light skin. His face was clean-shaven and much softer, though it didn't hold that slightly nervous look like Garth was ready to bolt back into the sea at any given moment that Dick was used to associating with the kid he'd grown up with. It held the same determination Dick was familiar with in current days, and his jaw was set as he looked around. A little jarring to see on what Dick was used to remembering as a shy kid, but Dick was slightly proud of him. It was hard remembering just how far someone had come in self-esteem and confidence until the differences were thrown in your face like that. A hand came up to rub bleary purple eyes, blue-sleeved with fabric that cut off with a rim of white before continuing on in a fierce red, which was the general idea of his suit until his waist, where he had his old blue tights and a belt containing a buckle of Aquaman's symbol.

"I think..." Dick muttered slowly, almost tripping on his cape as he gradually made his way over to his friends. Man, he forgot how much he did not enjoy the cape. "I think something is very wrong." Roy just snorted in a 'no shit' way, which Dick was well aware he deserved, but the others just shared the same frown Dick mirrored on his own face.

He was just glad that this seemed to be one of the years he'd decided to start wearing pants.