Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There is a man lying face down in the road. He's got Cassandra and Damien looming over him but it's just as his daughter said, he's completely incapacitated.

Even from this distance he looked soaked, which was odd because tonight's rain was more of a heavy mist. The air was wet, but it wasn't going to leave anyone sodden like that. Bruce's eyes were drawn away from the prone man to the blade his daughter was holding, it was the same size as her. She had it laying horizontal across her arms, hands palm up to support it, because there was no reasonable way to hold the ridiculous weapon the way you would a normal blade. To his relief the sharpened side was pointed away from her middle, shining mutely in the light of the orange street lamps the trio were under. Bruce got the impression that his son would rather be the one holding the thing but wasn't because he likely isn't able to lift it off the ground. Anvils probably weighed less.

Batman didn't have the full picture of what was going on, Black Bat had been struggling to find her words today and whilst her younger brother had done his best to fill in the gaps for her, Robin preferred full neatly worded sentences when speaking English. So when he was taking his cues from his sister, explanations were stilted.

What he had gotten was that the stranger wasn't just your typical Gothamite passed out in the street, if the six foot sword didn't make that clear, his children could have handled that.

“He has no identification on his person and we are suspicious that he may be affiliated with the League of Assassins.” Robin had said. It had caused Batman's mind to race in a mix of frustration and fear. What could they want now?

“Why do you think that?” He had asked as he moved across rooftops to reach his children.

“He smells.” The boy answered and it made Bruce's heart sink, knowing exactly what his son was saying.

As he approached the little gathering, he could smell it too.

Lazarus Pits smelt like a combination of gasoline, sulphur, ozone and death. It was a mix of the chemicals they were made of and their signature use was for healing injuries, who knew how much blood had been spilled in them. They were old and you can't just throw a chlorine tablet into one like it's a swimming pool. The only reason Bruce didn't think that the more frequently used Lazarus Pits were teeming with bacteria was because living things couldn't survive in them.

What it meant was that in some cases you might be able to identify a member of the league by the very faint smell in their clothes. They were usually meticulous about not smelling of anything at all but sometimes people got careless.

The man on the floor reeked of pit chemicals.

His thoroughly drenched nature implied he'd only just been submerged and that was deeply concerning. Bruce couldn't understand the reason behind it yet but the league had decided to leave a man fresh out of a Lazarus Pit in the street. If he woke up they would all have to deal with the madness such a process induces.

It didn't make sense. Right down from the lack of subtlety to the clothes the man was wearing, it wasn't the League of Assassins style at all.

Batman looked at the weapon in Black Bat’s hold again. Now that he was close he could see the hundreds of scratches on the flat of the blade's dark metal and that it had two round crystals embedded in it. It was also engraved towards the hilt but the pattern, if it could be considered a pattern, didn't follow any traditional Arabic or League design.

It was ridiculous really, no culture had a weapon like this. Even if it was a reasonable size, there were far better designs for a sword. Perhaps that was his mistake, thinking of the sheet of steel before him like it was a sword. Could it be a shield? At a glance he could see places where bullets it had blocked left their marks.

“What is our plan of action?” Robin asked.

Batman crouched so he could move the man into the recovery position. He needed to get a better look and he needed to think.

A trickle of dirty Gotham water ran past the stranger's head as it travelled down to the nearest gutter. His hair was blond and spiky, excessively so, still holding a shape despite being dripping wet. The green residue of Lazarus chemicals on his already cold and bloodless skin made him look sickly. Bruce might have been convinced the man was a corpse if it weren't for his faint but consistent heartbeat and his shallow breaths coiling into the cold city air.

He couldn't have been older than Jason.

“When he wakes he will be suffering the effects of Lazarus rage. We can't know what goal the League was attempting to reach by leaving him here but we can't ignore it. This man will be a hazard to the public and himself. He could potentially be a victim but until we ask we can't know. Secure his hands and legs, I need to speak with Oracle.” Robin nods, doing as he's told whilst his father stands back.

“Can you identify him?” Batman asks, knowing Oracle was there, already working hard without any prompting.

“No.” She says in a sigh. “You gave me a good shot of his face but so far I've got no feasible matches.

“Hm. We will have to run some DNA tests and see if we can't identify him that way.”

“You're taking him back to the cave?”

“It's league business. The police don't have the resources to handle this. We are going to have a better shot at handling him when he wakes up as well.”

“Right you are B. Look at you trusting your team.”

He huffed at her. “Do you have any theories?”

“About what the League is trying to achieve with this one? Other than let a guy with a big sword rampage through Gotham so they can watch the chaos, I've got no clue.”

“Alright. Tell everyone to finish up early and return to the Batcave, I want us all equally informed. Tell the Red Hood too. He's welcome to join us but I understand if he wants to steer clear of this.”

“You got it. I'll make sure A has the heads up too.”

“Thank you Oracle.”

Bruce returns to his son and daughter saying, “The Batmobile isn't far from our location.”

Its seats in the back weren't often used for giving criminals express rides to the police station but the features were there and it had definitely been done, not that this man is going to the police. Before he picks up his soon to be passenger, Batman takes a moment to check on Black Bat, she has been holding that slab of metal for a long time. She, of course, understands him, no words needed.

A single affirmative dip of the head tells him she's doing just fine so he moves on.

When he picks the blond up he's expecting him to weigh more. On second evaluation Bruce can see he's about the same size as Tim. So he adjusts his estimations about how heavy the man should be and is still left wondering if he's underfed. Considering how muscular he is, he should be heavier.

The feeling of the an unconscious body in his arms makes him uneasy. When this man wakes up in a rage he might be able to do some real damage. It's best that Black Bat keeps the sword for now.

Briefly Batman considers that this stranger might be someone attempting to enter the superhero scene. It wouldn't be the first time someone got in too deep without having the experience to stay above water. The weapon, or shield, implied he knows how to fight. Can probably handle himself confidently even, but it's never that simple, especially when the league of assassins is involved

He didn't look like your typical upstart vigilante though, most obviously because the young man's face wasn't covered. But there were other things too, no extra colours or logos, he was all black, the only real oddity was that he was missing a shoulder guard. Perhaps it was more odd that the one he did have was his only piece of armour. The whole thing seemed, manufactured somehow, like a uniform. His outfit would be best described as practical but that still felt wrong. Batman knew practical, he knew efficient, he knew function, just ask his utility belt but he still had ears on his cowl. Batman was a symbol. This man was nothing.

Although, Bruce was looking at the man after his sword had been confiscated by Cassandra. He surely cut quite the imposing figure when he was wielding that monster.

They make it to the car and Cassandra just about manages to fit the five foot nightmare sword in the boot. Damian gets shotgun because Bruce isn't willing to let his youngest ride in the back with a potentially very dangerous man, no matter how secure. He doesn't want his daughter to be in that situation either but the other option is having her walk home. It's a non option anyway because Bruce would rather have her here to help if something goes wrong, he's more willing to admit that nowadays.

Before Black Bat takes her place in the Batmobile she lays a hand on the stranger's shoulder, Batman can tell that she's frowning. his own face goes even more mask-like when she looks up at him and tells him only one word.

“Sad.”

The ride back to the Batcave goes smoothly after that.

When they arrive Alfred is already prepared to greet them, a flash of yellow tells him Duke is also present. As a group, it doesn't take much effort to move the stranger onto a bed in the medical wing of the cave and put his sword next to a crate they plan to keep his belongings in. Damian is looking over it like it's an art peice in a gallery and Bruce can't blame him. The lights here are much brighter than old Gotham lampposts, so his son is probably taking in every detail now that he's got a chance. Unfortunately, the blade doesn't give up its secrets so easily, he still can't place the odd geometric pattern even in better lighting. Most Bruce can discern from it at the moment is that the metal is old. That's not to say however that it isn't cared for.

Bruce is rifling through pockets almost before they have the young man secured down, after all he wants this all done fast. The sooner the stranger is identified the sooner they can have him in a suitable container for when he wakes up. While the holding cells of the Batcave are just that, holding cells, not meant for long term use, they will serve their purpose until he can gauge what kind of threat they are dealing with.

He wasn't sure exactly what he was expecting to find on the blond’s person, it wasn't as if he had a bag full of belongings, just some shockingly deep pockets, two of which were filled with marbles. Or… no they were larger than marbles and far more delicate looking. They only came in three softly glowing colours, green, blue and red, each perfectly smooth with nothing else distinguishing one from another. Bruce's first assumption was that the orbs were kryptonite, there were few other stones out there quite so vibrant, but it was odd they had been rendered into spheres. Kryptonite was somewhat brittle, typically found in shards or chunks, and whilst Lex Luthor liked turning the rock into jewellery there wasn't much reason to bother.

The more concerning piece of the equation was going to be learning why this man was carrying three types of well cared for Kryptonite.

Next thing Bruce knows, there's the roar of an approaching motorbike that he quickly identifies to be Dick's. Soon enough, his oldest son has slowed to a stop, pulled off his helmet and is approaching the congregation of bats already present. He's clearly buzzing with curiosity, not that Bruce can blame him, it's been a while since anything out of the ordinary happened.

“Nightwing. Would you retrieve a lead lined container. Until I'm certain these aren't shedding radiation it's best to put them away.”

The approaching man gives him a playful frown. “I just got here and you aren't going to let me inspect our mystery man? Honestly.” There's no bite to his words though and Dick simply redirects his trajectory towards where they keep the requested boxes and other such supplies.

Cassandra tapps the blue crystal he's still holding to get his attention, then points to her youngest brother.

On cue Damian informs him “What about the two in the sword father?”

Ah yes, Bruce had forgotten. Embedded in the metal, close to the hilt, a pair of green and blue remained undisturbed. They were oddly decorative like that. Two splashes of colour on an otherwise dark blade.

“For now don't touch them. We don't know if they serve a unique purpose yet so it's best to leave them be.”

Some of his other possessions include an old flip phone that will likely never turn on again, a ribbon and a bundle of red feathers that are oddly warm to the touch.

When Bruce is done there is a rancid film of pit chemicals coating his gloves, slimy and green. Bruce wants to wash his hand, feeling horrible just knowing how close the chemicals are to his skin and a wave of empathy washes over him for the man laying restrained on what is essentially a fancy hospital bed.

“We need to get him out of these clothes. They're only going to make his condition worse. Then, check for injuries.”

It's his eldest son who helps strip the man down to just briefs, the procedure as clinical and efficient being a familiar routine whenever a member of the team is injured. Compared to the skintight vigilante uniforms and layers of body armour everyone is accustomed to, a turtleneck and baggy trousers are easy to remove, even with two belts and a harness.

Red Robin and Spoiler arrive together, bickering away at each other, and Bruce is able to breathe a little better knowing where all his kids and his not quite kids are. The Red Hood isn't with them but at the very least he's agreed to share his location with Oracle. Batman has to be ok with that for now.

With one problem taken care of he moves onto the next, automatically checking the man for injuries. A proper inspection for subtler damage will come once he's clean, for right now though it's best to make sure they haven't missed anything fatal. In theory a man fresh out of a Lazarus Pit is in perfect health, excluding the insanity, however Bruce has found that in practice it's better to be safe. That, and his family has attempted to hide injuries one too many times for him to not want to make sure. Tim and Dick are perhaps the worst culprits but you would be shocked by what Stephanie has managed to hide.

Lucky for the man, he's not hurt.

His fair skin is completely un-mottled by bruises or battle scars, the only thing interrupting the pale surface are small collections of freckles, hardly visible in their own right. It's almost suspicious, Bruce is about to add a point to his mental tally that says ‘not league of assassins’ because none of their members are without scars, when Duke points at the stranger's abdomen.

It's paper thin and silvery, so close to healed there's no wonder why it wasn't spotted sooner, a scar that's about the height of a blade. Every single person in the cave has had the unfortunate experience of dealing with a stab wound more than once in their lives so the scar is clocked for what it is straight away. Without a word Black Bat shifts the stranger onto his side so they can all get a look at his back and to Batman's disappointment, there is a matching scar. It's placed higher and longer, meaning whatever blade went through him, likely a curved sword, was done at an angle and slid up, only stopping in it's trajectory because it hit his ribcage.

“Must be why he needed a Lazarus Pit?” Spoiler asks the room.

“Scars left behind by the Lazarus Pits don't heal that way though.” Robin replies. “I know first hand that while it will heal you to perfect health, it requires a much longer soak to leave your skin so fresh and smooth. This man would not have been given such a privilege. No. The scar is just old.”

Bruce felt his heart squeeze at the reminder of how much experience his youngest has with pits and League hierarchy.

“Unless he has a healing factor.” Red Robin counters.

“TT.” he breathed back.

There's nothing any of them can do about previous impalement, so for now it's just another question to ask later.

The next step is cleaning off the inside of an elbow and drawing blood that can be analysed by the computer. Once he's achieved this, Bruce has done everything he currently needs, so he switches with Alfred to let him take over. He's always been better at delegating tasks to the kids, something about how receptive they are to him has Bruce thinking it's deliberately done, except maybe from Damien, just to make a point.

What their point is exactly, other than liking their grandad more than him, Bruce isn't sure.

He breaks away from the bat huddle so he can set the fresh blood into the computer for analysis and Alfred begins going through his own list of checks he makes for the people in his care.

He isn't very far away from his family while he takes the required steps to get a DNA scan going, still within hearing range, all the same Dick slips over to tell him they checked his eyes and they are just as green as they all expected but at the very least it doesn't look like he has a concussion.

“Tapetum lucidum too. Jason’s got a new friend.” his son absently explains while checking over Bruce's work. He had predicted as much but did his oldest really have to put it like that?

With his setup peer-reviewed by Dick he gets the go ahead, the blood goes in and the computer starts working.

While they wait he checks around the corner to make sure everything is going smoothly then returns to the computer to send a message to Oracle. After all it's important she gets the results as fast as he does, if not faster.

Tim and Alfred are efficiently sponging off the drying Lazarus water and they must be nearly finished because Alfred asks, “Spoiler, would you please retrieve some of Red Robin’s casual workout clothes. Preferably on the larger side. I'd like to have the poor fellow dressed before he wakes up.”

“Me?” Bruce can practically see Stephanie pointing to herself, even in the room over.

“I trust you're familiar with how he organises his clothes. Am I wrong?”

“Nope! I got it!” There is the sound of her hopping down from where she was perched and some kind of annoyed noise from Tim as she likely shoves him on her way past. Shortly thereafter Bruce receives his own customary smack on the shoulder as she slips by and prances up the closest flight of stairs. He hardly feels it through the Bat suit.

Damian mutters something Bruce can't hear and that's that.

DNA analysis takes a while even for one of the world's greatest supercomputers but this is an unusually long time. The little green loading bar that indicates how long the system predicts the scan will take got stuck for a while. It's just all a little to the left of correct and it's making him feel a rising sense of paranoia. He's used to the feeling and it's not nearly at a level high enough to tell anyone about yet. But it's there and it's frustrating because already he knows a problem is inbound, Bruce just hasn't pinpointed how yet.

The analysis concludes, a toneless beep sounding when the loading visual gives way to information. The text file created for him is abnormally lengthy, topped with a red and bold statement.

NO MATCHES FOUND.

And it goes on to tell him it can't find anyone this man might be related to either. Not a single person in the world he comes close to. It can't even tell what his ethnicity is.

This is baffling. It's impossible.

Batman is glowering at the screen as he tries to decide how to proceed when a message from Oracle pops up in the bottle right of the monitor.

“Keep reading.” It says. “Our problems don't end at his lack of biological origin.”

Whatever that means it would explain why the document is so big even though it has nothing useful to offer.

UNIDENTIFIABLE DNA SEQUENCES.

The block of text Bruce is confronted with next is near incomprehensible to read. Not because it's garbled beyond recognition but instead because it very clearly lists that while the blood sample provided had the information needed to make a human, said biological information was tangled up immutably with genetic code that was not comparable to anything found on earth.

There are exactly no DNA matches to whatever makes up this stranger and with no genetic matches to the human structures either, identifying this man just got infinitely harder.

“Ok this is just getting weirder and weirder.” Says Nightwing, who was likely reading the section of document Bruce has paused at. “Looks like our guy is an alien. Somehow. I'm not entirely sure what I'm looking at here. O can you put this against our-... Oh ok.”

He doesn't even bother finishing his question as Oracle's message answers, “the Bat Computer can't match his blood with any of our alien DNA samples either. We are looking at something completely new here.”

None of them bother proposing that the computer might be malfunctioning somehow. If it was, it would tell them.

And it wouldn't look like… this.

Batman can feel his anxiety settle over him like a cold, heavy and unwelcome blanket. ‘My family is in a room with something that is not a man’ he feels his paranoia whisper. ‘None of us are safe’ he stresses. ‘I don't know how to properly control this situation anymore’ he seethes.

A hand on his shoulder and a voice by his ear seals his attention. “Breath B. Nothing bad has happened yet. You are in the cave, you have everything at your disposal and you can figure this out with time. For now, let's leave this to Oracle and we go back to the clan. They're only a door away.”

So they do.

Their stranger is in a fresh set of clothes, his vitals are all within safe parameters even if his heartbeat is a little slow and nothing bad has happened.

Everyone except Barbara and Jason is pressent, which is how it's supposed to be. No one is hurt but they are all a little on edge. Bruce probably isn't helping that, each of them able to recognize when he gets like this. Everyone is anticipating the moment the man wakes up. If he does, it will be like attempting to hold down a rabid dog at best.

They don't even know that his position as a human man is now under debate.

But the oddity of a man never comes around.

Not during or after they move him into a humanoid container suitable to hold metas as strong as superman.

Batman watches him for hours and still nothing. Over time the majority of the Bats filter out, their new mystery safely locked away and so, for the time being, their interest fades.

He goes back and forth with Oracle. Exchanging information and theories until she decides to take her leave. Then he does the same thing with a freshly rested Red Robin until Alfred says it is time for Batman to tag out of observation duty and let the next vigilante take their shift.

The man doesn't wake up.

Chapter Text

It's been five days and their new mystery remains unconscious.

Everyone has been following the protocols in place for events like this. Mostly it's just routine as normal with space made for round the clock surveillance of the new guy. That and research.

Although so far they hadn't been able to make any progress on who he was or where he had come from. It was driving Tim, Barbra and Bruce up the wall. Their lack of intel making them question their investigation skills and in Bruce's case, steadily making his anxiety climb ever upwards.

They had tried every avenue they could.

B had even asked as many alien associates he could about any leads they might be able to give him on finding out where the stranger came from. So far he, and his alien cells, aren't known to anyone.

After confirming they weren't kryptonite or radioactive, there's also nothing they can glean from his weird crystals. Bruce found money on him, but it wasn't a recognisable currency to any country, so useless. The feathers, while not fake, also had no animal matches and the phone was a bust too.

They'd had a lot of hope for that phone. At first they all worried that it would have been fried by the Lazarus pit but once they found a way to charge it, which took a fair amount of engineering from Tim on its own, the screen had lit up and they found it had contacts they could try. The hope was dashed when they realised that the phone numbers weren't valid in any country nor did the phone have a signal despite being taken into the heart of Gotham city.

There's no manufacturer for his shoes or his armour.

The sword, which they found to be made of steel, is definitely one of a kind and so is its magnetic harness. Aforementioned harness has a logo, or a symbol, on it that goes nowhere when investigated.

At this point they'd unanimously concluded that he isn't with the Leagueof Assassins either. Whatever altercation this man had with a Lazarus Pit, it wasn't league business.

Now, however, it was Bat business. His lack of anything traceable had been taken personally by pretty much the whole family. Absolutely none of them wanted to admit it but the only way any answers about the stranger were going to come out was from the source of the problem himself.

Jason stopped in on day three to get a look at him and be filled in on what's going on with him, what have they learnt, then laughed his ass off at them all when he found out there had been exactly zero progress.

Babs stopped by multiple times just to get her own physical look of him, she'd been curious the first visit and came back every other time simply because she was still baffled.

Still the blonde stubbornly refuses to be woken from his coma.

Tim is getting especially fidgety about it, but that could just be his chronic lack of sleep.

There was maybe one close call when they first moved him to the holding cell, where they thought he was waking up. Jostling him had caused the guy to make some sad little distressed noise. Nothing came of it though, he quieted down again and that was it.

So now here Dick sits on surveillance, waiting for a breakthrough or for the guy to wake up. Either would do.

…Ok he's not the one actually on observation, Cassandra is. And yeah sure it's not the worst job in the world, sitting in front of one of the Bat Computer's many monitors, watching for something to happen in the holding cell a few floors below them, but it gets boring. So after running through a workout Dick figured he could do his cooldown stretches in here and keep Cass company. Tims there too, using the Bat Computer to research his current case and none of them are really talking but at least the silence isn’t lonely.

The unconscious man on the screen hasn't stirred for the duration of his stay, delicate features resting one step away from relaxed.

And that's exactly when the silence is broken.

Cass shifts in her chair right before the guy screams. It's a sort of pained wail turned horrified cry, not immediately ear piercing because it's coming from one of the computer's speakers. Turned to a reasonable volume as it is, all of them are only surprised by the sudden new sound filling the space. What's worse was that, for a moment, Dick felt like the screaming was echoing up from below them. It wasn't, obviously, the containers like the one their guest is in, are noise tight. The noise just threw him off.

“He's awake.” is the only message needed to alert the rest of the family about the situation, then one look around the room at each other and the three of them are practically flying out of there and down jagged stairs. Years of Bat training being the only reason they don't slip on the cave floor's surface.

Dick has to make a brief detour for a mask as, unlike his on duty siblings, he wasn't in uniform. He knows he should be taking the time to put on the full Nightwing suit if he doesn't want to catch a lecture from his dad, however, he would argue there's no time, his black sweats and the cropped Nightwing hoodie he found on Etsy he's wearing will have to do. It's a good hoodie, exactly how he imagines his merch would be if he ever made any so it's worth being a “Fucking looser ass golden boy. Who buys their own merchandise?” in the eyes of Jason.

The screaming has stopped and when they get there, the man has moved to post himself in the back right corner of his room, like a feral dog.

Red Robin moved the surveillance feedback from the main Bat Computer to his wrist mounted one and grimaced at the results. Their prisoner would have been silent if it weren't for the erratic breathing he was attempting to control. It sounded the same as listening to a civilian attempt to ignore a crushed limb after getting a building dropped on them, the only issue with that comparison was that unless in the short time they had kept him here he'd grown a malignant tumor, he was physically in perfect health.

The worst bit though, in Dick's opinion, was the eyes. They had all seen the man's eyes at some point during their five day interim, the Bat Computer probably had over twenty images saved to a frustrating, still unsolved, case file alone. Blown wide with terror, the calm blue intermingled with Lazarus green Dick was used to was gone, in its place two reservoirs of violent, chemical green that screamed with fear and animal hate. Looking in those eyes you could believe he was experiencing every fear toxin out there at once.

Cassandra grabbed his hand.

Dick supposed they had no idea what kind of mental distress the guy was under.

“Alright now what?” asks his brother.

“Normal protocol.” Dick shruggs lightly. “We try to calm him down. Then more medical checks. It's important we get what we can done while he's awake to give us feedback. That and we have to see what information he's going to give us.”

“I feel like normal protocol doesn't apply for pit crazies.” says Tim.

“Maybe brain scans should be high on the priority list. So we can figure out how much crazy we are dealing with.” he replies.

“He's not mad.” Cassandra voices, a little quiet but it's not like that matters. “But something is wrong. He's upset. Afraid.”

Tim seems to take this in for a moment, after all they know to trust Cass’ knowledge on matters like this, even if upset might be an understatement. ‘Do you think we can handle him as he is now? Or are we going to need more help?’ He eventually signs to his sister.

She signs back ‘Not sure.’

‘Well it won't hurt to get started, even if it's just asking questions for now. If it goes well we will take the next step that makes sense.’ Dick also says with his hands instead of his voice. The rest of their family are either at work or at school, Bruce is probably the only one able to get away in a timely manner because while this case is important it's not so important Damian or Duke are allowed to skip school.

‘Yes.’ agrees his sister.

Well there's no time like the present.

From the corner of his room, their prisoner had begun observing the three of them, his breathing still shallow, and it's about time they engaged him in conversation.

Between himself and Tim they don't get much. Yes and no’s mostly. Do you know where you are? Do you know who we are? Are you in pain? Would you be able to tell us if you were in pain? Do you want water? And to his credit, the man answers them. His voice is clear and flat. He doesn't sound how Nightwing had imagined, being softer than the loud mess of spiky hair had him predicting.

There isn't any confidence here, or demand. The blond doesn't ask for anything, doesn't chase the questions with is own. It's just no. No. No. Yes. No. He seems so lucid and calm that it's unnerving, jarring how free of fear it is. A far cry from the screaming and panic attack he was working through before the three of them arrived. Nightwing couldn't get a read on personality at all. It's like he's deliberately behaving well or on a script.

To be fair that is completely possible, they may have ruled out the League of Assassins but there are plenty of other organisations out there that want to keep their secrets. But Cassandra hasn't interrupted yet, so he's willing to keep going.

“We'd like to move you to our medical wing and do a few checks. Is that ok?” Nightwing asks with a friendly amount of authority in his tone.

“Yes.” Once again comes a flat reply, perfectly bland.

Moving him from point A to point B is risky. Removing him from that room at all is risky but they were the best of the best and a great team. Besides, if things got out of hand, Nightwing knew Red Robin and Black Bat respectively had some form of tranquilizer or sedative on their person.

Still…somebody will have to cuff him.

It's a task they eventually perform, after rock paper scissors, with enough caution to make Batman proud.

The man is docile and compliant. He's easily directed and lets them put their Bruce paranoia approved handcuffs on him with zero fuss and follows in perfect, if a little slow, step to medical.

The journey up is gradual and charged with nervous energy caused by a restless distrust of their patient. The day would surely end in catastrophe, however, for now Nightwing just tried to explain to the guy what they wanted to do with him. Idle noise to fill the quiet was a skill of his. Afterall one of the most consistent characteristics of the Robin mantle was the frequency to chatter. As with everything about Robin it had changed from the absolute nonsense Dick came up with to whatever worked best for the person wearing the colours. Jason can monologue like no one else, Tim talks the best smack, nobody beats Stephanie when she's hekling, Damian learnt from the best how to make threats and Duke has a way with words that could move crowds.

Black Bat was hanging back. Although she's yet to interrupt their slow going but still smooth process, it doesn't mean she is relaxed. She melts into the shadows and watches with a hunter's intensity so silent you could forget you saw her.

If Nightwing is reading it right, his sister has caught onto… something. All it takes is one movement from someone for her to know what a person is going to do before they themselves do.

If dick had to guess the guy is plotting an escape plan.

-

It happens when they get there.

Before they even sit him down or hook him up to any equipment because he's striking like a viper the second everyone is through the threshold into the room.

In a snap of something metal and something organic, the man frees himself from the restraints and sweeps Red Robin's legs. Nightwing’s brother catches himself with his own wip quick reflexes but by then their, now free, prisoner has put distance between himself and the group. Lazarus green eyes wide and feral as he searches for a way to escape, he pays no mind to what Dick has to assume is at least one broken wrist caused by breaking the handcuffs.

The three of them had been ready to deal with a pit mad human. After what went down with Jason and the league of assassin's steadily becoming a bigger presence in their lives, they had been drilled relentlessly on everything that could possibly have some kind of Lazarus Pit connection. They all knew how Pit Madness behaves, imbuing the victim with seemingly inhuman strength, not through any blessing or new found superpower but instead through hysteria. People become far more willing to do anything, even at the cost of their own body.

Dick is the one to attempt to subdue the stranger, being the largest and closest. The guy doesn't have a weapon so he is on the defensive but it's like trying to hold Kon down.

You can't.

Despite using his leverage, size and the man's own panicking to his advantage to swiftly get him into a pin, it doesn't last.

Turns out, he must be one of those aliens with superstrength, which is most of them, because even with the extra leverage, it wasn't enough to hold him. The man is simply just too strong, which is just insane. And unfair.

As Nightwing is thrown to the side Red Robin takes the opening to attempt to jab the man with a sedative but with a snarl his hand is caught. The syringe he was holding shatters under the force, causing shards of newly snapped glass to bite into his palm. Red hardly had the time to process this hurt before a kick to the chest sends him across the room, leaving him with a newer, more painful, hurt in his ribs to worry about as he gasps for air amongst scattered medical supplies.

With the way briefly appearing clear the blond attempts to bolt from the room, but before he's able to move Black Bat catches him and performs a flawless over the shoulder throw that leaves him with his back on the floor and one arm in her grip as she stands over him.

He stops fighting and the room is painfully still, as an expression other than the porcelain calm or animal ferocity finally breaks onto his face. It's confusion, like he's finally woken up from an odd dream and found himself in the wrong house.

“Tifa?”

It's a name, and he's asking it to Black Bat like he recognises her even with the majority of her face covered. He doesn't wait for a response before he fluidly uses her grip on his arm to pull himself off the ground so he can be on her level.

“You didn't come here to get me did you? Tifa I'm not worth it. I'm not real- not safe. There's something wrong, we knew there was but I… I still- Why did I let him make me do that?” He shakes his head like he's shaking off memories. “You have to go. Hojo will be here any moment, you can't let him see you.”

While the words he's saying make sense, without proper context they are as good as incoherent to the three of them, though clearly they mean a lot to him as he implores Black Bat to leave. Dick feels his heart go out in sympathy for the guy and briefly has to squash a thought about Jason. The blonde doesn't know where he is or who he's talking to but he thinks he does. Lucid enough to recognise details in his surroundings but not lucid enough to realize his conclusions are wrong. He's just confused and scared.

For her part Cass stands firm and listens, keeping her point of contact to him in an attempt to subtly help ground him to the moment while he suggests he'll help her get out.

And look, Dick trusts his sister, he really does, but he doesn't know what to do right now. He's honestly worried to move and break this spell she seems to have put the man under. Cassandra had said the man wasn't crazy. This however looked a lot like madness that would logically have been brought on by resurrection chemicals.

Cassandra finally speaks again simply saying “No Hojo.”

“You're not Tifa.” He concludes almost sharply.

She shakes her head “Not Tifa.” she puts his hand over her heart. “Still safe though.”

It's as the man is finally pulled out of his haze and looks around again and sees his surroundings for the first time that Alfred appears in a doorway, does his own taking in of the room and goes to help Tim without a word.

This is a good thing because Tim himself is still coursing with adrenaline and struggling to pull glass out of his hand with shaking fingers and aching ribs.

Batman is hardly two seconds behind his butler and Nightwing sees his lips pull into a thin line as an emotion that is probably exasperation at this point cross him as he attempts to puzzle out what's going on.

“You didn't wait for me.” B not-asks and Dick feels a righteous indignation at it.

He stands up “We have it handled.” and oh he can just feel the eyebrow raise directed at him.

“There's glass on the floor, Red Robin is injured, Black Bat is attempting to subdue our unrestrained visitor and you are not in proper uniform.” says Batman and ok yeah but Dick thought this was going quite well compared to some previous experiences. Although one of those comments does make him realise, he thought their guy broke one of his wrists getting out of the cuffs but both of his hands appear perfectly intact. Add self healing to the list of abilities, he supposes. Still, hedoesn't have any shoes on and there are splinters of glass littered across the ground.

“We should probably relocate. I don't think the medical wing of the cave is doing him any favors," Nightwing indicates to the blonde, who looks like he's attempting to nurse a killer migraine.

“Then perhaps a more open space, with less loose objects to be tossed around.” Alfred suggests with just a tiny bit of accusation in his voice. “You three will take him and I will remain here to help Red Robin clean up.”

“Thank you A” replies Nightwing.

It's Black Bat who leads them all down and over to the section of Batcave where they do all their training, specifically where they have their crash mats, with the intention of having him in a larger area where he is less likely to hurt anyone or himself, no wall to be easily thrown into and so on. It also helps distance them from the medical environment, with the bikes and car in view as well as a fresher feeling in the air due to the exit for aforementioned vehicles causing airflow.

Seems like it works too because the man, gosh Dick really needs to ask for a name soon, finally looks both lucid and not in pain.

Nightwing is ready to step up and start asking questions but before he can the blond pulls away from Cassandra with a ruffled look about him saying, folding his arms across his chest “Thanks… but I need to get back. What day is it, where am I?” The questions are directed to Cass; she lets her brother answer for him.

“You're underneath Gotham at the moment.” speaking up garners the attention of the man and Nightwing curiously observes how, even now with a clear head, there's no recognition at all in his eyes. Maybe not for Nightwing he'll give the guy that, the majority of them are only city wide vigilantes. Batman however, is a Justice League figurehead, he's not just a global figure but also not an insignificant figure in the greater universe.

Despite this B, who's looming just at Nightwing's back, is only given the same amount of cautionary sizing up everyone else got.

Nightwing gets a pinched, confused expression for his reply and the man asks, head slightly tilted and the corners of his lips moving to a frown “How far from Midgar is that?”

Now it's Dicks turn to be confused. “Midgar?” He casts his eyes briefly to his sister for any spark of recognition and gets nothing. “I've not heard of the place.”

“How have you not- What about Mideel. Or…Wutai?”

He shakes his head. “Haven't heard of those either. If it helps, a few of the other nearby cities include Bludhaven and Metropolis.”

He gets a full on scowl for his effort.

Instead of asking another question, the man goes to reach into a pocket and retrieve his phone. A phone that will not be there.

Nightwing is, in fact, quite observant. He's one of the more emotionally intelligent and insightful members of the family. He might not always apply this skill for his own wellbeing, his coping mechanisms arguably just as bad as the rest of them, even if he is better at hiding it. So he doesn't struggle to figure out the man's line of thoughts.

Dick sees the exact moment when he realises he isn't in his own clothes anymore. Not his trousers, no phone, no gloves, no boots, no harness and finally…

“Where's my Sword.” this time he doesn't ask.

Very quickly the bizarre blonde is dangerous again and Nightwing is returned to high alert, this might turn into another fight if he doesn't tread carefully. At his back Batman feels like a tense and foreboding omen. So Nightwing plays a little bit stupid, sidestepping the underlying threat in that demand by pretending he didn't ever notice it.

“Hm?” He smoothly lets a harmless smile onto his lips, “Oh yeah we have all of your stuff in an evidence box by a room over there. The clothes you were wearing had been soaked through with Lazarus water, which definitely isn't good for you and on top of that we didn't want you getting sick from being left in wet clothes. You were already shivering. Agent A washed all your stuff too.” ‘After extracting any and all information we could get out of them’ Nightwing thinks but does not say. Still though he keeps his friendly, helpful tone of voice as he explains, “We didn't want to wreck them so he decided to air on the side of safety and hand wash them. I hope that's ok.”

“I'd like my things back.”

The blonde isn't even playing at being friendly and Dick finds himself floundering a little at the flat request, everyone present is reluctant to return a weapon to the hands of the stranger, especially now that he's proven so capable in a fight. On top of that they have yet to get any semblance of an answer to all of the mysterious, confusing, concerning and unexplained things going on with this guy. Like the fact that he doesn't exist and is also a bit alien.

Dick side eyes his dad, the mask helping it go unnoticed. No way in hell Batman is just gonna let this guy collect his things and leave.

Not that they really have the authority to stop him. As far as dick knows they guy hasn't done anything that could warrant captivity and definitely not a place in Arkham. But when have they ever needed authority? This is just more vigilante justice. That being said, this guy is considerably more lucid and coherent than they thought, so it's starting to feel less like holding a dangerous person hostage until they can figure out what's wrong with them and more like just kidnapping.

It's kidnapping with good intentions.

If you asked Nightwing about the situation, and he's sure Black Bat would agree with him, he wants to help this guy. Figure out what happened to him. Make sure he doesn't have brain damage from coming out of the pit and also make sure he isn't going to cause any trouble. Maybe they can get him home. Find out if he's got family or a support system or if anyone is looking for him. Make sure that if someone is looking for him, they aren't going to cause trouble either.

Everyone wants him to stick around for one reason or another because he's… a puzzle, challenge, mystery, person in need… a threat?

At the very least he needs help.

“It can't do any harm to give him back his clothes and shoes.” Dick suggests to no one in particular. It would make him more comfortable and we know there is nothing special about them other than lack of origin, he thinks.

“We have been keeping all your equipment close together by the armoury over that way” he loosely gestures to a short corridor, “because that sword of yours won't fit in the usual boxes we use during cases.” Dick casually gestures in the vague direction. “We needed a sword wrack sturdy enough to effectively house your uh… sword.”

Good lord the silence is stifling. Blondie remains silent and expecting, Black Bat is Black Bat and Nightwing can tell Batman is mulling over the idea. Even still it just hurts him to not have anyone to bounce off of. He really wished Red Robin hadn't gotten his hand crushed. Actually wait that made it sound like he only cares because he wanted someone to talk to. Dick was not happy that Tim had had his hand crushed, he wished it hadn't happened for all the usual reasons as well as because he wanted someone who said more than one word an hour.

To his luck though Batman makes a decision.

“You two will escort our visitor back to his… room while I get his clothes.” B doesn't leave space for argument and Nightwing doesn't plan to contradict him anyway. It's reasonable.

Black Bat nods as well but the guy decidedly does not. As Batman turns to leave he just follows him, like he either misunderstood or is actively ignoring the orders given.

B rounds on him and the dude doesn't even flinch. “Follow Nightwing and Black Bat.”

“No.”

Dick watches in amusement, horror and delight as Bruce goes through every emotion at once. It hardly shows more than a slight tug at the corner of the lips but he's got experience reading his dad. The response was so childish and so similar to Jason or Damien, although less outwardly theatrical, that Dick almost wants to laugh.

And what was B meant to do? It wasn't hostile but also wasn't a debate. They weren't going to reason this out but Batman couldn't just try and sleeper hold the guy out of nowhere. Well he could but Nightwing got the feeling it might not work and that's a risk his dad would calculate and decide wasn't worth it.

Bruce subtly draws himself taller and very diplomatically explains “I can't let you have it while we keep you here.”

“Good thing I'm not staying then.” the man stubbornly replied. Breaking his glare off with Batman he instead looks at Nightwing “you said by the armory?”

“Me?” Dick asks and thinks ‘uh oh’. He might have unthinkingly given up some important information that is now going to be the downfall of this whole operation. If blondie gets away he's never going to hear the end of this. “No I never-”

But apparently that was enough information the guy wanted because he cut in “Thanks.” and sure enough takes off like a shot without any more fanfare. Nightwing feels a bit of the light in his eyes die.

Babs is going to be so mad at him.

The guy is fast, something to do with the fact that metas are usually capable of superior physical feats meaning he's got plenty of strength hidden away in those legs and no one is able to grab him in time to make him stop. With the force at which the blond took off Dick got through feeling even if one of them had grabbed him the experience would be comparable to a five year old attempting to stop a large hunting dog from chasing a bird.

Nightwing had not lied when he had said the bats were just keeping all their evidence in a box by the armoury. they had finally found a place for the six foot metal slab and from there didn't want to keep everything separated while in use. Moving the sword wrack upstairs would have been so awkward to do and hadn't seemed worth it originally due to how they had all expected mystery man to wake up much sooner than he did, so that meant the collection just lived by the unlocked door. It would have been such a hassle for every member of the clan to locate every piece otherwise considering they visited the evidence almost once a day each.

But now, Nightwing is forced to watch as he is too slow to catch the runaway prisoner as he, with military efficiency, equips himself with that magnetised harness and puts all of those colourful marble thingys they found on him into his pockets. He spares little energy on his other things, only dropping his phone and one of those feathers into a boot. Boots which he doesn't bother to put on in order to save time.

Batman throws out a batarang but he isn't fast enough. The projectile is blocked by the flat of the sword with a cold metal ring and something about the man's practiced stance looks like he would be willing to block a shower of bullets if they tried it.

It does however create a momentary opening for Batman, Nightwing and Black Bat to close the distance. Although this also is quickly put an end to because the man's stance shifts into something much more aggressive.

In a threat the dark sword is leveled at all three of them it's full range being used by the blond as he keeps his arm fully extended and pointing at them, creating almost two meters of space for him to control. The Newfound display of strength was already enough to discourage further approach, Dick mentally lemants the fact that he is holding it up with one hand, arm not faltering once. For a moment, Dick also considers that maybe he's lucky he didn't have more severe injuries from their last spat.

“Just let me go.” he quietly but sternly says.

“Not possible. You will leave too many loose ends open and I can't have that.” comes Batman's answer, accompanied by Black Bat’s sad shake of her head.

It's probably the reply he was expecting but even still the man's pale shoulders drop in a silent sigh.

“... I asked nicely.”

All of a sudden, something in the air shifts bring a rising sense of energy into the room. Briefly, the man's attention is on all of them equally.

It's fast. It all happens so fast, like time itself left an opening for the blonde. And in that moment the taste of burning plastic appears unbidden on Dick’s tongue and the scent of chlorine fills his nose without explanation and it's so quick his mind hardly has a chance to register it. Such a blip on the radar that his brain doesn't name the sensations before he feels a buzzing.

Then lightning hits them.

It's a flash of gold and blue and white that fills his eyes. The shock of the light hitting him before the pain does. Sure enough though every nerve in his body alights in blazing energy. It's heat, it's sharp, his bones feel like splintering wood, the sweat on his face is gone.

Nightwing is left, breathless and momentarily deaf, on the floor. For a moment he thinks he's gone blind but no, all the lights, the screens, anything in the proximity that could have protested the high voltage has been cooked.

Just as fast as the pain hit him, it leaves and…Dick has been tased before but the power supply for this, in the seconds he experienced it felt so fundamentally other. This was the same but also vastly different because all of his limbs fail to aid him when he tried to move.

Whatever it was, it didn't matter anymore. Nightwing couldn't move and his com was dead in his ear and past the pounding of adrenaline in his veins he hears bear feet on the cold stone flee past him probably towards the vehicles which means the guy is getting away for real.

…

Dick would be the first to admit that this could have gone better.