Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The world was gone.

Or at least, the only part of it that had mattered.

He stood in the middle of what was once Gotham City, though there was barely anything left to recognize. The towering skyscrapers that once stood tall, their glass windows glinting in the sunlight, were nothing more than skeletal remains. Smoke curled up from the craters that lined the streets, the destruction so complete that it was hard to believe a city had once thrived here. The air was thick with the acrid stench of burning metal, gasoline, and something worse—charred flesh. Every breath felt like inhaling death itself.

The Justice League had fallen.

His team—his family—was gone.

And now, he was the last one left.

Dick didn’t know why he had survived when the others hadn’t. Maybe it was luck. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe some higher power had decided that making him watch everything fall apart before finally killing him was a better punishment. He had fought until the bitter end, until his fists bled and his body gave out. But none of it had mattered.

The Light had won.

The only other living soul in the room was a sorcerer—a disheveled, desperate person who looked like they had seen death up close too many times to count. Their cloak was torn, the edges frayed and singed from past battles. Their gaunt face was streaked with soot, and their hands trembled as they clutched a leather-bound tome to their chest, as if it were the only thing keeping them grounded in the midst of the nightmare surrounding them.

The two of them were holed up in a crumbling apartment, its walls barely holding together, its windows shattered long ago. The floor was littered with debris—broken furniture, scattered papers, bloodstains that had long dried. The ceiling above them groaned, like it was threatening to collapse at any second.

Outside, the distant sound of explosions rumbled through the ruins. The enemy was still out there, sweeping through what remained of the world, looking for the last vestiges of resistance.

The sorcerer coughed into their sleeve, their voice raw and strained when they finally spoke. “You don’t have to die here,” they rasped, their eyes wild with desperation. “I can send you back.”

Dick scoffed, a dry, humorless sound. He shook his head. “That’s insane.”

“It’s the only option.”

The sorcerer stepped forward, desperation burning in their hollowed-out gaze. “There’s nothing left here, Nightwing. But there’s a chance to change it. If you go back—”

“No.” Dick’s voice was sharp, his breathing tight. He didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want the sliver of hope gnawing at his ribs. Hope had gotten everyone killed.

But the sorcerer raised a trembling hand, fingers unsteady as they whispered an incantation. The air pulsed. The temperature dropped. Power crackled through the ruined apartment, and before Dick could stop it, the memories bled into the open air.

A vision formed—a grotesque, inescapable reminder.

Wally, His best friend. His brother. Gone. Swallowed by the Speedforce, lost to time itself, running until there was nothing left of him. Dick had screamed for him, reached for him, failed him.

Artemis had lived for the fight, for her family, for the team. And in the end, it hadn’t mattered. The Joker had gotten to her first, his madness leaving nothing but blood in its wake. Dick had found her too late.

Conner and M’gann. They had trusted him. Followed him. Believed in him. And yet, when Clark had turned—when the mind control twisted him into something unrecognizable—they had been the first to die by his hands. Superboy, who had spent his whole life fighting not to be like Superman, had been killed by him.

And Kaldur— God, Kaldur .

The strongest of them all. Their leader when Dick had been too reckless, too unsure, too young . If anyone could’ve stood against Superman, it should have been him. But even the ocean couldn’t protect him.

Dick had watched him die.

His hands clenched into fists.

His father, in every way that mattered. Bruce Wayne was supposed to be unbreakable. The Batman was supposed to win . But he hadn’t even been given a chance to fight. Drugged. Weak. Taken apart by Deathstroke and Vandal Savage before he could stop them.

And Damian—

Dick inhaled sharply, his breath catching in his throat.

Damian had fought. Even as a child, he had fought with everything he had. But Deathstroke had been stronger. Faster. He had taken his time, wrapping his hands around Damian’s throat, waiting for the moment his struggling slowed—

And then snap .

It played in his mind on a loop. Damian, unmoving. His little brother.

His family.

And now—

Now there was only him .

The last survivor of a world that had been picked apart piece by piece until there was nothing left but dust, blood, and ghosts.

His hands shook as they curled into fists.

“…What are the terms?” he asked, voice raw.

The sorcerer exhaled, relief flickering across their face. They didn’t waste time celebrating. Instead, they dropped to the floor, dragging shaking fingers through the dust, carving symbols into the ground. Ancient, intricate, powerful.

“There are rules,” they murmured. “Things you need to keep in mind.”

Dick forced himself to focus.

“I can send you back sixteen years,” the sorcerer continued, voice steady despite the exhaustion. “To 2010.”

Dick frowned.

2010.

The year the team had first formed.

His mind raced.

That was before everything—before the betrayals, before the war, before they lost Wally, before Bruce and Damian—

Before the world burned.

His breathing was ragged, his pulse hammering against his ribs like it was trying to break free. His hands clenched at his sides, nails biting into his palms hard enough that he half-expected blood to drip between his fingers. The weight of it all pressed against his chest, an unbearable pressure that made him feel like he was suffocating under the weight of ghosts.

If he went back… if he truly had a chance to change things…

Could he?

Would he be fast enough, smart enough, strong enough to stop this future from happening?

Or would he just be dragging himself through the same nightmare, doomed to watch it unfold all over again?

“I can’t pinpoint exactly when you’ll arrive,” the sorcerer continued, voice tight with exhaustion. They barely looked at Dick now, eyes focused on the sigils they were carving into the dust-covered floor. “Could be before the team existed, could be after. You’ll have to figure that out yourself.”

Dick exhaled, nodding sharply. His body felt wired, tense, like his muscles refused to loosen even for a second. Didn’t matter . He could adapt. He had to.

“Fine,” he muttered. “What else?”

The sorcerer’s fingers paused in their work before they glanced up, dark eyes locking onto Dick’s. “Don’t tell anyone right away,” they warned. “If they think you’re insane, you won’t be able to do anything about The Light. You need to be careful.”

Dick let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. Careful . He used to be careful. He used to think five steps ahead, to play the long game. But that had been before he lost everything. Before he was the only one left .

Now? Now, all he had was desperation.

But he knew the sorcerer was right. He couldn’t just show up screaming about the end of the world and expect anyone to believe him.

He would have to be strategic. Play his cards right.

He could do that.

He would do that.

The sorcerer worked fast, chalk scraping against the floor, the white lines cutting stark against the filth-streaked concrete. The symbols glowed faintly now, humming with a power that made the hair on Dick’s arms stand on end. The air felt heavier, thicker, like the weight of the spell was pressing down on the room itself.

“Step into the center.”

Dick hesitated for only a second.

One last look around—at the crumbling walls, at the shattered remains of what was once his world. At the distant fires still burning through Gotham’s corpse.

Then he stepped forward.

The moment his foot crossed the edge of the chalk, he felt it—the static charge in the air, the way his breath hitched like something unseen had wrapped around him, curling tight.

“This will only send your mind back,” the sorcerer explained, voice quieter now. More focused. “Your younger body will be the vessel. When you wake up, it’ll be like… slipping into an old skin.”

Dick’s fingers twitched at his sides.

He remembered what it had been like to be that kid. Thirteen. Younger, lighter. A little cocky, a little reckless. Thinking he had all the time in the world.

Thinking he could afford to make mistakes.

The TV in the corner of the room crackled suddenly, drawing his attention. The emergency broadcast repeated the same grim message it had been for hours.

The last remaining Justice League members are under attack.

But there were no members left.

Dick swallowed hard. His throat felt dry, his chest tight. His heartbeat pounded so loudly in his ears that he almost couldn’t hear himself speak.

“…Thank you,” he whispered.

The sorcerer didn’t answer. They didn’t need to.

They simply activated the spell.

A sudden force, raw and ancient, surged through the room. The chalk symbols on the floor ignited with blinding white light, the lines shifting and twisting as if they were alive . The air crackled with energy, thick and electric, making the hair on Dick’s arms stand on end. A deep hum resonated from beneath him, vibrating through his bones, through his soul .

Then the world tilted .

It felt like something yanked him downward—no, through himself—like an invisible force had wrapped around his entire being and ripped him loose. His knees buckled, his body collapsing, but he never hit the ground.

The light consumed him.

It wasn’t warm or comforting. It was cold, piercing , like thousands of tiny needles stabbing into his skin, burrowing deep. A violent, twisting sensation coiled in his gut, like he was being unraveled and rewoven all at once. His vision blurred, stretched, shattered—

Then everything went black.

Chapter Text

Dick woke with a sharp inhale, his body locking up instinctively, every muscle tensed like he was still in the middle of a fight. His heart pounded against his ribs, his breath coming too fast, too uneven. His mind was a tangled mess of sensations—pain, grief, exhaustion—wrapped up in the fading echoes of the spell. For a moment, he was trapped between timelines, his thoughts screaming that he should still be there , in the ruins, in the fire—

But the air was different.

Gone was the acrid stench of smoke, blood, and burning metal. Instead, something clean filled his lungs. Linen. Old paper. The faintest hint of metal polish. The sheets beneath him were soft, unburnt. There was no rubble pressing against his back, no distant sound of crumbling buildings, no scent of death.

A sound filled the silence—the steady, mechanical hum of the Mountain’s ventilation system.

Familiar.

Safe.

His throat tightened.

Dick squeezed his eyes shut, willing his breathing to slow, forcing air into his lungs as his mind caught up to what had happened. The spell worked.

He was back.

But the shift hadn’t been kind to him. A deep nausea twisted in his gut, his entire body lurching with the aftershocks of the magic that had torn him out of time. His head spun, disoriented and wrong , like the ground wasn’t entirely solid beneath him. A high-pitched ringing echoed in his ears, his equilibrium completely shot.

He barely had a second to react before his stomach violently rebelled.

Gagging, he rolled over and barely managed to hang his head over the side of the bed before he started vomiting into the small trash can on his floor.

His stomach cramped painfully as he heaved, his body desperately trying to purge the unnatural feeling clawing through his insides. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his arms trembling as he braced himself against the mattress. He coughed, spitting out the awful taste left in his mouth, his breathing ragged as he tried to collect himself.

The nausea didn’t fully fade, but after a few more minutes of shaky, deep breaths, it dulled enough that he could think again.

Dick wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, swallowing against the bitter aftertaste. His head still felt off , like his brain hadn’t fully settled into his skull yet. Like a part of him was still stretched between two places—two times .

He forced himself to sit up slowly, sucking in another breath. The room was dim, only the faint glow of the electronics casting soft pools of light against the walls.

His eyes flicked toward the nightstand.

Shakily, he reached out, fingers fumbling slightly before closing around the cool glass of his phone. He lifted it, blinking rapidly as the screen lit up, eyes squinting against the sudden brightness.

The date glared back at him.

August 19, 2010.

His breath hitched.

Holy shit.

His stomach churned for an entirely different reason now.

This is real.

A little while after Artemis had joined. Before— before everything.

Before Wally—

Before Bruce and Damian—

A sharp pang lanced through his chest, but he clenched his jaw, shoving the thoughts away before they could drag him under.

He needed to focus.

This was before he told anyone his identity. Before they found out. Before the secrets started chipping away at their team.

Back then, it had been a game to him. A carefully crafted challenge— how long could he keep them from figuring it out? It was thrilling, fun, even. The deception had felt harmless, a puzzle he was sure he could solve without consequences. He had trusted them, of course—M’gann, Conner, Wally, Kaldur, Artemis—but he had also been raised on secrecy, on masks, on keeping things compartmentalized.

If you know who I am, you have power over me.

That was the lesson Bruce had drilled into him from the very beginning. And Dick had lived by it, never questioning what it meant to keep himself so closed off.

Not until it was too late.

Dick sucked in a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

He needed to remember why he was here.

The Mountain had never been his full-time home. He hadn’t lived here, not like Conner and M’gann had. Gotham had always been his home base—the Batcave, the Manor.

So why was he here overnight?

The answer hit him a moment later.

Bruce had been busy with League matters—something big happening on the Watchtower. It had been hush-hush, but whatever it was, it had kept him occupied. Alfred had taken the week off—vacation in Europe, reconnecting with an old friend. That had left Dick with limited options, and the safest place for him to stay for an extended period had been the Mountain.

A small, almost insignificant detail in the grand scheme of things. He barely remembered it from before— before he lost everything .

But now, it mattered.

It meant he had time. It meant he had a place to plan. It meant he wasn’t being watched under Bruce’s scrutinizing gaze just yet.

He exhaled slowly, letting the reality settle into his bones.

This was real.

He was back.

The thought sent another wave of nausea rolling through him, but he forced it down. He had work to do.

Rolling off the bed, he landed on the floor with a soft thud, his limbs still sluggish, still adjusting to this younger body. He pressed his hands against the cool surface, grounding himself before reaching beneath the bedframe. His fingers searched through the darkness, brushing against dust, the forgotten clutter of his teenage self, until—

There.

His hand closed around the smooth leather of an old gauntlet.

He pulled it out, its familiar weight grounding him more than anything else had since waking up in this time.

This had been his project. His creation . A piece of tech he had designed and customized himself, built over time as he perfected the design. To everyone else, it was just another gauntlet. But to him?

It had been his journal. His encrypted record. A place to store everything he could never say out loud.

His eyes scanned over the sleek surface for a moment before he powered it on. The screen flickered to life beneath his touch, casting a soft glow in the dimly lit room.

His fingers hovering over the keys before he started typing, fast and precise, pouring everything he could remember from the previous timeline into the device. 

• Will—no, Roy right now—was the mole.
• On New Year’s, The Light will attempt to make Roy put the entire Justice League under mind control.
• That might not be preventable.
• Do not bring up time travel to anyone.
• Keep mental shields on lockdown. (Thank you for the lessons, Miss M.)
• Fix as much as possible.
• DO NOT SEND KALDUR UNDERCOVER.
• DO NOT FAKE ANYONE’S DEATH.
• There is a 21st MFD in the Arctic—remember to tell them. If they ask, say it’s a hunch.
• DO NOT LET WALLY DIE.
• Keep as many people alive as possible.
• Make it so Jaime will not trust Green Beetle.
• Have M’gann override the Reach’s control in Green Beetle.
• Blood on my hands is better than blood on theirs.
• Lie as little as possible.

Then, with a moment of hesitation, he encrypted a secondary folder, burying it deep in the gauntlet’s system. A folder that shouldn’t exist. A list he shouldn’t be making.

Necessary Deaths. Make it look accidental.

• Deathstroke? (Accidental might not be possible.)
• Black Beetle
• Joker

• Tarantula

• Blockbuster

• More to be added?

His stomach twisted as he typed it, but he didn’t delete it.

Some people couldn’t be left alive. Not if he wanted this future to change.

Not if he wanted his family to live .

The names on that list weren’t just enemies—they were threats . Threats that, no matter how hard he tried to change things, would always circle back, always come for them. Deathstroke, Black Beetle, Joker. They were the monsters hiding in the shadows, the ones who didn’t lose . Who didn’t stop .

And Dick knew, better than anyone, that trying to be merciful, to contain them, to trust that the system would handle them, would only lead to the same tragedies repeating.

He had seen the aftermath. Had lived it.

Blood, bodies, broken pieces of the people he loved scattered like discarded chess pieces in a game he had never been able to win.

But this time… this time , he wasn’t playing to win.

He was playing to survive.

And if it came down to blood on his hands or blood on theirs , he already knew which choice he would make.

His fingers hovered over the keys for a moment longer before he forced himself to close out of the file, encrypting it so deeply that even he would have trouble accessing it again. He slid the gauntlet back under the bed, hiding it beneath the mess of old clothes and gear he hadn’t touched in years.

He pushed himself to his feet, rubbing a hand over his face.

It was so easy to slip back into this younger body. To feel the old habits creeping in, to let the weight of knowing too much drag him down.

He needed to focus.

His dresser was still in the same place, drawers still half-open, his younger self’s utter disregard for organization on full display. He rifled through them, grabbing something casual. Loose jeans, an old band t-shirt. Something normal. Something that fit the kind of day this was supposed to be.

If he remembered right, today was one of the rare ones. No missions. No Batman looming over them with orders. No life-or-death scenarios to navigate. Just a day to be .

A day to breathe.

He had been so bad at that before.

He was halfway to the door before he stopped short.

His room was a disaster .

Dick turned, frowning as he took in the absolute mess he had left behind. Clothes strewn across the floor, a chair drowning under the weight of unfolded laundry, books stacked haphazardly on his desk, half of them unopened.

His younger self had never cared about things like this. He had been in and out of the Mountain so often that it had barely felt like his space, just a place to crash.

But now, standing here, surrounded by the chaos of who he used to be, it unsettled him.

Because now he was different.

After Jason— after everyone —he had started cleaning more. At first, it had been about control, about holding onto something when everything else was slipping through his fingers. Then it had become something else. A habit. A way to honor his little brother, who had never let a space go unorganized for more than five minutes.

A way to keep going .

Dick exhaled, rubbing at his temple.

Maybe it was stupid. Maybe it didn’t matter. But seeing his room like this— his younger self like this —it made something itch in the back of his skull.

Glancing at his phone, he checked the time.

3:00 AM.

No one would be awake for a while. He might as well get it over with.

Setting his phone on the nightstand, he moved quietly through the room.

Gathering dirty clothes and tossing them into the laundry basket. Hanging up the clean ones that had been abandoned on his chair. Organizing the books on his desk into neat stacks, running his fingers over the covers of the ones he still hadn’t read.

By the time he was finished, the room felt different.

More like him . More like the person he had become , rather than the reckless kid who had once lived here.

A deep breath.

The numbers glowed sharply in the dim room, unwavering and absolute. Too early for anyone else to be awake. Too late to even bother trying to sleep.

Not that he could sleep. His body still felt wrong—off, like he wasn’t fully settled in it yet. Like a part of him was still stretched between two timelines, caught between thirteen-year-old Robin and the man who had lost everything. The exhaustion in his muscles was a different kind than he was used to. Not the kind that came from a long night of patrols, but the deep, bone-deep kind that came from knowing too much .

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, his fingers catching in the strands before tugging slightly, grounding himself.

There was no point in staying holed up in his room.

Might as well head down to the main room.

His fingers curled around the doorknob—then he froze .

Shit.

His breath caught in his throat, realization slamming into him like a punch to the gut.

This wasn’t a point in time where the team knew who he was.

They didn’t know his real name.

Didn’t know the face behind the mask.

He had spent months — years —keeping that secret. Holding it close. Keeping things separate . No one on the team knew back then. Not M’gann, not Conner, not Wally. 

And he had almost walked out there without his disguise.

The kind of reckless mistake that could end this whole plan before it even started.

Dragging a hand down his face, he turned back toward his desk, yanking open drawers and rummaging through them with increasing urgency. He shoved past old mission notes, spare utility belts, a stray Batarang—

Then—

Aha.

His fingers brushed against smooth plastic, and he pulled them out.

His old sunglasses.

The same ones he had worn back then, the dark lenses a staple of his ‘Robin’ look when he wasn’t in full gear.

They felt familiar as he turned them over in his hands, light but solid. He hadn’t worn them in years. Hadn’t needed them in years.

But right now, they were necessary .

Because Robin didn’t have a face.

Robin didn’t have a name.

And no matter what else changed, he needed to keep it that way .

Sliding them on, he exhaled quietly, adjusting to the familiar weight.

They weren’t just old shades anymore.

For now, they were his shades. His mask. His wall between who he was and who they thought he was.

He took one last deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and turned back to the door.

Chapter Text

It wouldn’t be too hard. Just act normal. No big deal.

Just casually seeing his friends—the ones he had watched die. The ones he had mourned. The ones he had spent sleepless nights grieving, aching, breaking over. The ones who had become whispers in the back of his mind, phantoms lingering at the edges of his vision, familiar laughter reduced to echoes in an empty room.

Yeah. No problem at all.

His grip tightened around the doorknob, fingers curling so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His pulse pounded in his ears, a steady, rhythmic drumbeat that filled the silence, an undeniable reminder that his body was younger now. Stronger. That his heart wasn’t weighed down by years of grief, of loss, of pain. But his mind was. Oh, his mind carried every second of it, every fractured memory, every moment stolen from him by fate or cruelty or simply the inevitability of time.

And no matter how many times he told himself this was real—that he had done it, that they were alive, that he wasn’t dreaming—a part of him still flinched. Still braced for the moment when the illusion would shatter. When the rug would be pulled out from under him, and he’d wake up alone, gasping for air in a reality where they were nothing more than names on headstones.

He had spent so long carrying ghosts.

Now he had to look them in the eye and pretend he hadn’t buried them.

Dick swallowed hard, forcing the lump in his throat down, willing himself to breathe past the tightness in his chest. He was a Bat. He had done the impossible before. He could do it again. If anyone asked, he was just having an off day. Maybe he hadn’t slept well. Maybe he was distracted.

No one had to know that he was terrified.

He stood there for another thirty seconds, muscles coiled like a spring, his mind cycling through a thousand different excuses, a thousand different ways to justify locking himself in his room for the rest of the day. The door was right there. A few steps, a turn of the knob, and he’d be out there, surrounded by voices that belonged to the dead, faces that shouldn’t exist anymore.

A few steps. That was all it would take.

He stood there for another thirty seconds, internally debating the pros and cons of walking out that door instead of just locking himself in his room for the rest of the day.

Pros:

He’d get to see his previously dead friends.
No one had been too badly traumatized yet.
M’gann probably had something in the oven as soon as she woke up.
Wally, Wally, Wally.
He could hug his previously dead friends.

Cons:

They might figure out something is off.
He might blow his cover in a grand total of two seconds.
They wouldn’t remember everything he did.

Dick groaned, dragging a hand down his face before exhaling long and slow, forcing the tension out with his breath. His fingers briefly curled into his hair before he let his hand drop to his side.

Screw it. He wasn’t a coward.

His body didn’t feel entirely convinced, but he didn’t give himself time to hesitate. With a final roll of his shoulders, he pushed open the door, stepping out into the hallway. The soft click of the latch felt deafening in the quiet, but the Cave was never truly silent. Overhead, the steady hum of the lighting system buzzed faintly, a sound so familiar it felt like white noise, blending into the background like it had always been there.

His feet moved on autopilot, but his mind wasn’t in the present.

It had been years since he had last walked these halls, and yet, his body still knew the way. Muscle memory guided him, leading him through corridors that had once been a second home, his steps falling into an old rhythm as if no time had passed at all. He still knew every turn, every twist, the way the floor sloped just slightly downward toward the main room. The air smelled exactly the same—cool and metallic, with a faint hint of detergent from the nearby laundry room, just like it always had.

And yet—something was off .

The hallways were wrong.

Too clean. Too untouched.

His steps faltered. For a second, he just stood there, staring at the wall beside him.

It was spotless.

But sometime in the future, there would be a dent—a dent from when Wally had slipped and crashed into it, wiping out spectacularly on a skateboard while trying to show off for Artemis. Dick had laughed so hard he could barely breathe, and Wally, for all his speed, hadn’t been fast enough to avoid the inevitable teasing. That dent had been there for years .

But now? It was just smooth, unbroken wall.

Further down, his eyes landed on a vase sitting on a shelf, pristine and untouched. A perfect, undamaged thing. But he knew it wouldn’t stay that way. He and Artemis would knock it over roughhousing, sending it shattering to the floor in a spray of ceramic shards. They’d feel guilty about it for all of five minutes before deciding to turn it into a makeshift Kintsugi project, filling the cracks with gold like some kind of art statement. It had been a stupid, messy, ridiculous thing, and yet—it had been theirs .

And now? It had never happened.

Dick swallowed hard, the lump in his throat refusing to budge.

This wasn’t the past. Not really.

But it wasn’t the future either.

He forced himself to move.

Stepping into the living room, his eyes flickered across the space, scanning every detail, cataloging every difference. 

The couch—too clean. The fabric unblemished, no faint stain from when Kaldur had lost focus mid-lesson, his usually impeccable water manipulation slipping just enough to send a splash of bright red Kool-Aid sinking into the cushions. They’d laughed about it at the time—except for Kaldur, who had solemnly declared it a mark of failure, and Conner, who had glowered because why did they even have Kool-Aid?

The countertops—pristine. Not a single burn mark, no evidence of M’gann’s culinary misadventures. The girl could bake like nobody’s business, but the second a frying pan entered the equation, the entire kitchen became a potential disaster zone. They’d all had to evacuate at least once thanks to a particularly aggressive pancake fire.

The coffee table—intact. No dented corner from Conner repeatedly slamming his shin into it. It hadn’t mattered how many times it happened—he never learned to move it. They’d even placed it in different spots just to see if he’d still hit it. He always did.

The carpet—unscuffed. No worn tracks left behind from Wally pacing back and forth, ranting endlessly about his finals, gesturing wildly as if sheer enthusiasm could change his grades. He’d sworn up and down that his speedster metabolism meant he didn’t need to study, only to panic the night before every exam, sprinting around the Cave in a caffeine-fueled breakdown.

It was all… wrong.

It was like the Cave itself had been reset, scrubbed clean of all the little imperfections that had made it theirs .

Dick felt his throat tighten.

His fingers ghosted over the back of the couch, tracing a spot where the fabric should have been just a little rougher, where time and wear should have left their mark. But it was smooth, untouched, like no one had ever curled up here after a long mission, like no one had ever draped themselves over the cushions in exhaustion or laughter or quiet companionship.

His breath hitched. He blinked rapidly, trying to push away the sudden sting in his eyes.

This was stupid. He knew it was stupid. It was just a couch. Just a table. Just a hallway.

But he had spent so long looking at these things in a ruined, broken world. A world where this space had been abandoned, left to collect dust and decay, where laughter had been stolen and memories had turned into echoes. He had spent years mourning what had been lost, walking through these halls as nothing more than a ghost himself.

And now, here it all was. Whole. Untouched.

Like nothing had ever happened.

Like none of them had ever died.

He sucked in a shaky breath, his fingers lingering on the fabric for just a second longer before he forced himself to move.

Slipping around the couch, he settled against the armrest, his body sinking into the familiar cushions. They were softer than he remembered, the stuffing not yet worn down from years of weight pressing into them—of exhausted bodies collapsing after missions, of impromptu naps stolen in the middle of the day, of dogpiles formed when someone refused to give up the remote. The cushions hadn’t been molded by their history yet. The fabric hadn’t faded from years of wear.

It was still new. Untouched.

The blanket draped over the back was neatly folded, its edges crisp, untouched by frantic midnight grabs from sleep-deprived teammates, by hands blindly searching for warmth in the cold glow of the TV. No one had wrapped themselves in it while curled up on the couch, balancing a bowl of popcorn on their lap, half-asleep during some awful horror movie M’gann had insisted was a classic . No one had used it to swat at Wally when he made a terrible pun. No one had draped it over Conner when he fell asleep sitting upright, too stubborn to admit he needed rest.

Still, he pulled it into his lap, fingers curling into the soft material, grounding himself in the scent of fabric softener. Clean. Fresh. Safe.

Safe.

That was what this was supposed to be. A safe space . A home.

The tightness in his chest only grew.

He closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply, willing himself to settle.

He was here. They were here.

He could fix this.

The thought repeated itself like a mantra, over and over, as if sheer force of will could make it true.

His fingers twitched. He needed a distraction.

With a quiet exhale, he reached into his pocket, pulling out his earbuds. The motion was practiced, automatic, something he had done a thousand times before. Something normal. Something steady . He placed the buds in his ears, the slight pressure grounding him as he unlocked his phone. His thumb scrolled through his library—music, podcasts, movies, each one flashing past in a blur. He wasn’t really reading the titles, wasn’t really seeing them. He just needed something to focus on, something to fill the silence .

His thumb hovered over different titles, hesitating.

Too action-packed. Too emotional. Too familiar.

And then—

Pride and Prejudice.

He blinked at the title.

For a moment, he just stared at it.

He had never gotten through the book. The language had been dense, the pacing slower than what his restless mind usually had patience for. The few times he had tried, he’d found himself distracted, eyes skimming over words without actually processing them. But Jason— Jason had loved it . Had sworn up and down that it was one of the greatest romances ever written. He had rolled his eyes every time Dick had made a joke about it being some boring old love story.

"You don’t get it, Dickie," Jason had said once, waving the book in his face. "It’s about idiots who don’t know how to talk about their feelings. You should relate."

Dick had laughed at the time, batting the book away with a smirk, muttering something about Jason needing to read something cooler . Jason had just shaken his head, muttering something about hopeless cases .

Now, the memory ached.

Jason would never shove the book at him again, never roll his eyes and call him uncultured , never throw out a sarcastic remark about how Dick was practically Darcy-coded but refused to admit it.

Maybe, just this once, he could get through the movie.

For Jason.

His thumb tapped the screen, and the movie began to play.

The soft, elegant notes of the score filled his ears, wrapping around him like a lullaby. He adjusted the volume, pulling the blanket a little tighter around himself, letting himself sink into the warmth.

As the first scene flickered to life, he let his eyes slip shut for just a moment.

Just existing. Just breathing. Just here .

Warm.

Alive.

Chapter Text

Dick was most of the way through the movie when his eyes flicked up to the clock.

6:20 AM.

The others would start wandering in soon.

He exhaled slowly, forcing his muscles to loosen before they could coil with tension. Stay calm. Stay normal.

A shift settled over his mind, automatic, practiced. A skill honed through necessity. A reflex as instinctive as breathing. He had spent years perfecting the art of misdirection, of carefully curating the version of himself that the world was allowed to see. His thoughts—raw, unfiltered—were dangerous. Vulnerable. M’gann didn’t go digging, not unless she had to, but emotions weren’t as easily hidden. She felt them, absorbed them like a sponge, read them in ways even he couldn’t always predict. And if he wasn’t careful, if even the smallest crack in his armor showed, she’d pick up on something he wasn’t ready to share.

Sorry, M’gann. This isn’t something you should know about.

With the ease of someone who had been building walls for as long as he had worn a mask, Dick envisioned his defenses rising. A circus tent, sprawling and vibrant, stitched together with flashing lights and shifting shadows. A maze of color and chaos, designed to distract. A hallway of mirrors, stretching infinitely in every direction, each reflection skewed, twisting reality into a thousand different versions of itself—none of them true, none of them quite real. At the entrance stood a ticket booth, small and unassuming, but more than what it seemed. It was a barrier. A checkpoint. A cost that had to be paid before anyone could come close to what lay beyond.

It wasn’t foolproof.

But it didn’t have to be.

His mind shielded, his thoughts neatly locked away, Dick let his gaze drift back to the screen. The movie had long since blurred into a mess of sound and color, but it didn’t matter. The distraction was what mattered. The quiet, the solitude, the illusion of control. A part of him idly wondered who the first to show up would be.

M’gann, Kaldur, or Conner. That was his guess.

It was always one of them.

But then the soft sound of footsteps reached his ears. Slow. Measured. Familiar in a way that made his stomach twist before his mind could even catch up.

When someone finally stepped into the room, it wasn’t M’gann.
It wasn’t Kaldur.
It wasn’t Conner.

It was Artemis .

And Dick— Dick was not ready to see her again.

His breath hitched. His chest went tight, too tight, like something had locked into place and refused to let go. His muscles seized so fast it felt like his own bones were turning against him, trapping him in place.

The last time he had seen her— really seen her—had been on that broadcast. The one that had played across every screen in what was left of the world. The one that had burned itself into his memory with the sharpness of a blade, cutting deeper every time he tried to forget.

Her face, flickering through static.

Her voice, cut off mid-sentence.

The feed going dark.

And then—

And then nothing.

No rescue. No miracle. No second chances.

She was dead.

She had been dead for years.

And now she was standing in the doorway, stretching her arms over her head, blinking sleepily, utterly unaware that the sight of her had just shattered something inside of him.

Dick’s breath stilled in his throat, his body locking up as his mind scrambled to make sense of what he was seeing. His stomach twisted into a knot so tight it was painful, his pulse hammering in his ears, drowning out the low hum of the television. A cold, creeping numbness spread through his limbs, and for a moment—just a moment—he thought he had to be dreaming. Hallucinating. Losing his grip on reality in a way that he never had before.

Because Artemis wasn’t here .
Artemis wasn’t alive .

And yet—

She yawned, scrubbing a hand through her sleep-mussed hair, her movements lazy, casual, normal. Like nothing had changed. Like she hadn’t been gone.

Dick didn’t realize he was staring until she arched a brow at him, amusement flickering across her features.

“Jeez,” she muttered, her voice rough with sleep. “Is my bedhead really that bad?”

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t even hear her.

His mind was caught in a riptide, dragged under by a force he couldn’t fight. The movie still played in front of him, flickering shapes of light and shadow dancing across his vision, but it may as well have been a blank screen. The sound had faded to nothing more than dull, meaningless static. The room around him no longer existed.

His world had tunneled.

His vision blurred at the edges, dark spots creeping in. His muscles had gone stiff with tension, and he didn’t even realize how tightly he was curling in on himself until his knees were drawn to his chest, until his hand was clamped over his mouth, until his back was pressed so far against the couch it felt like he was trying to merge with it. Like it was the only thing keeping him tethered—keeping him from unraveling completely.

A sharp tremor ran through his body.

He didn’t notice it at first.

Not until Artemis stepped forward.

Not until her fingers brushed against his sleeve.

“Hey.” Her voice was different now. Gentle. Cautious. Concern lacing the edges of her words. “You okay?”

The moment she touched him, something inside him snapped.

Dick flinched. Violently.

His breath hitched, his chest seizing up, his body recoiling so fast it was like he’d been burned. His own hand jerked away from his mouth, fingers twitching like they no longer knew what to do with themselves. His lungs were working too fast now, sucking in sharp, uneven gasps that barely felt like they were reaching him at all.

Too much.
Too fast.
Breathe—breathe—breathe—

But he couldn’t.

His chest rose and fell in quick, ragged bursts, his ribs caving inward, his pulse hammering out an erratic rhythm beneath his skin.

Hyperventilating.

He was hyperventilating.

Artemis took a step back, hands lifting instinctively, palms open, movements careful—like she was trying not to startle a wounded animal.

“Okay,” she said, voice softer now, measured but uncertain. “Okay. I won’t touch you. Just—just breathe, all right?”

For a second, she thought he didn’t even hear her. His breathing was too fast, too shallow, his chest rising and falling in erratic, uneven bursts. His whole body was locked up, coiled so tight it looked like he was trying to fold in on himself, like he could make himself smaller, like he could disappear if he just tried hard enough.

Robin didn’t do that.

Robin was always moving, always grinning, always three steps ahead of everyone else. He cracked jokes mid-mission, threw himself into danger without hesitation, treated everything like a game he already knew he was going to win.

Robin didn’t panic.

But this wasn’t Robin.

Not the version she knew.

“Whoa, hey, what’s—” She stopped. The words caught in her throat and never made it out.

Because suddenly, she wasn’t looking at Robin at all.

She was looking at a kid.

A panicked, petrified kid.

Thirteen. Small. Terrified.

The realization hit her so hard it left her momentarily breathless.

Slowly, carefully, Artemis lowered herself onto the floor in front of the couch, sinking to her knees so she wasn’t standing over him, wasn’t making it worse. Every move she made was deliberate, measured. No sudden movements, no reaching out. But even still, when she adjusted her position slightly, his shoulders twitched, and she could see the way he had to fight the instinct to pull away.

Her stomach twisted.

She knew what a panic attack looked like. She had had panic attacks before. She knew how they worked, knew what helped, what didn’t.

But this was Robin.

And suddenly, she had no idea what to do.

Artemis swallowed hard, hands curling into fists against the overwhelming helplessness clawing at her insides. Her instincts screamed at her to do something, to fix it, to pull him out of whatever this was—but how? How did she fix this when she didn’t even know what had broken?

Robin was the last person she ever expected to see like this. He was always composed, always in control, always two steps ahead of everyone else. The moment things got bad, Robin was the one you followed . The one who made the call. The one who never hesitated, never cracked, never lost himself to anything.

But right now—

Right now, he wasn’t in control of anything.

And neither was she.

Artemis forced herself to take a breath, forced her voice to stay as calm as she could manage.

“I’m gonna get the others.”

Nothing. No flicker of acknowledgment. No shift in expression.

Robin was still curled in on himself, his whole body locked up, trembling in a way that made her stomach twist. He was staring at her like she wasn’t really there, like she was something distant and unreachable. And maybe she was .

His breaths were still too quick, uneven. Not sharp and panicked like before, but wrong . Shallow. Like he was running out of air and didn’t even realize it.

She had to get help.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to focus, trying to push past the frustration, the helplessness, the pure fear clawing at the back of her mind.

M’gann.

She projected the thought outward, trying to make it loud enough for M’gann to hear, trying to force it through the same way M’gann had taught them during missions.

M’gann, I need you.

The response came almost immediately, soft but distinct, like a hand brushing against her thoughts. 

Artemis? What’s wrong?

Artemis exhaled sharply, relief washing through her like a tide. 

Wake the others. Get them down to the common room.

A pause. Not long, but long enough that Artemis could feel her own pulse pounding in her ears. Then—

What’s going on?

She hesitated.

For a fraction of a second, she almost didn’t say it.

Then she forced the words out.

It’s Robin.

Another pause. Longer, this time.

What do you mean?

He’s freaking out. Artemis swallowed, her throat dry. 

I don’t know what to do.

Silence.

And then, finally—

I’ll wake everyone.  

A quiet certainty. No hesitation, no questioning. Just action. 

I’ll be there as soon as I can.

Artemis let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding.

She opened her eyes, looking back at Robin.

He hadn’t moved.

Still trembling.

Still watching her like she was something he couldn’t quite understand.

His fingers were curled so tightly against the fabric of his sleeve she thought he might tear it. His breath still hitched every few inhales, shaky and uneven, like his lungs couldn’t quite keep up.

His eyes—

Too wide beneath the black of his shades.

His expression—

His expression was wrong.

Robin wasn’t supposed to look like that.

Not lost.

Not scared.

Not like a kid who had just seen something that broke him.

Not like a kid at all.

Robin had always been impossible to pin down—too sharp, too quick, too much of a ghost when he wanted to be. He slipped through people’s fingers like smoke, never quite staying in one place, never quite letting anyone see past the mask. Even when he was messing around, cracking jokes, playing the role of the reckless acrobat, there was always a wall. Always a careful, deliberate distance between him and everyone else.

But now?

Now there was nothing between them.

No wall. No mask. No carefully controlled expression.

Just a boy—not a shadow, not a legend, not a mystery— a boy , barely thirteen, curled in on himself like the world had just closed in on him and he didn’t know how to make it stop. His hands had locked into fists, his shoulders still trembling faintly, his chest rising and falling in unsteady, uneven bursts. His shades hid his eyes, but it didn’t matter—Artemis didn’t need to see them to know .

He was scared.

And Artemis—Artemis didn’t know what to do.

She stopped kneeling and instead let herself sink down onto the floor, shifting until her back pressed against the couch beside him. It was the only thing she could think to do—she couldn’t touch him, couldn’t fix this, couldn’t even understand what had just happened, but she could stay.

She could stay .

Even if she felt useless.

And she did. More than she ever had before.

Her fingers curled against her knees, nails pressing faintly into the fabric of her sweatpants. There had to be something— anything —she could do.

But nothing came to her.

Nothing except—

A terrible thought.

A sickening, twisting, awful thought.

What if—

Her stomach turned.

What if he figured it out?

Her name.  Her family. What her dad was. What he’d done .

She swallowed hard.

What if that was why Robin was looking at her like that? What if he wasn’t panicking over something else—what if it was her?

She had always known it was a possibility. That one day, someone on the team would put it together, connect the dots, realize why she hadn’t wanted to join at first. Why she was so guarded about certain things. Why her instincts weren’t always the kind they should have been.

But it was supposed to be her choice.

Not like this .

Not now.

She wet her lips, forced herself to keep her voice steady, even as unease coiled tight in her chest.

“Do you—” She hesitated, then tried again. “Do you want me to go?”

Robin didn’t react.

Didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Didn’t even tense like he was considering the question.

Just kept staring .

And maybe that should’ve been answer enough, but Artemis couldn’t shake the feeling that she was making this worse just by being here.

Slowly, carefully, she pushed herself up, forcing herself to ignore the awful sinking sensation in her stomach.

If he wanted her gone, she would go.

She shifted—

And Robin moved.

Fast.

Too fast.

His arm shot out so quickly she barely had time to register it before his fingers wrapped around her wrist, tightening with an iron grip.

Artemis’s breath caught.

For someone still shaking, still pale and unsteady, he was strong.

His fingers dug into her skin, not painful but firm, anchoring. Like she was something solid, something real, something keeping him from being swallowed whole by whatever this was.

And the second his hand made contact, something in his expression changed.

Just slightly.

Just enough.

A tiny flicker of awareness—of desperation .

Something raw and unspoken, something that felt too heavy, too big for words.

Artemis froze.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t pull away.

Didn’t even shift, didn’t even breathe too hard, afraid that any sudden motion might startle him, might snap whatever fragile thread was holding him together.

Slowly, carefully, she let herself sink back down onto the floor, her back pressing against the couch once more. She could still feel the pressure of his grip on her wrist, the faint tremor in his fingers, the way his hold wasn’t tight enough to hurt, but firm enough to keep her there.

Robin didn’t say anything.

Didn’t look at her.

Didn’t make a single sound.

But he didn’t let go, either.

And Artemis stayed.

The seconds stretched, turning sluggish and heavy, warping into something slow and suffocating. She wasn’t sure how much time passed—minutes, maybe longer—but she stayed.

She didn’t speak. Didn’t fidget. Didn’t do anything except exist in the same space as him, let him know she was still there.

Eventually—slowly—his breathing started to change.

The sharp, frantic gasps faded, little by little, into something softer. Less ragged. Still too fast, still uneven, but no longer the overwhelming, panicked struggle for air that it had been.

His shoulders were still hunched, his posture still tense, but the worst of it—whatever it was—seemed to have passed.

The shaking didn’t stop entirely, but it lessened. The tremors in his hands grew fainter, his grip on her wrist slackening slightly, not enough to let go, but no longer desperate, no longer like he thought she might vanish if he loosened his hold too much.

Artemis didn’t know what had just happened.

Didn’t know why it had happened.

Didn’t know what had triggered it, what had sent him spiraling so suddenly, so violently.

Didn’t know if it was a nightmare, a flashback, a memory—or something worse.

Didn’t know anything.

But she did know one thing.

Robin wasn’t okay.

And maybe—just maybe—he hadn’t been okay for a long time.

Maybe none of them had ever noticed.

Chapter Text

Artemis sat stiffly on the floor beside the couch, barely breathing as she watched Robin fight to regain control. She had no idea what had set him off, no idea why he was gripping her wrist so tightly, but she stayed still. There was a quiet desperation in the way his fingers curled around her, a silent plea she wasn’t sure how to answer. So she just stayed.

Slowly, his breathing evened out—not completely steady, still shaky and too quick, but better. The tension in his body loosened, and for a moment, Artemis thought he might finally relax. His fingers slackened around her wrist, though he didn’t let go entirely.

Then the others walked in.

M’gann, Conner, and Kaldur entered the room, the concern on their faces deepening the second they took in the scene before them. Robin, still hunched on the couch, Artemis sitting beside him, his breathing uneven and too sharp.

Robin noticed them instantly. His entire body went rigid.

Artemis barely had time to process it before his grip on her wrist tightened again, his breath hitching. His chest rose too fast, and then the gasping was back.

Panic shot through her. “Hey—Robin, it’s just them, it’s okay,” she said quickly, shifting closer. “It’s just the team.”

Robin didn’t seem to hear her. His breathing quickened, coming out in sharp, uneven pants, his fingers tightening almost painfully around her wrist.

The team froze in alarm.

M’gann took a small step forward, her eyes widening in concern. “Robin?” she called gently, but he didn’t react.

Kaldur’s expression darkened with worry, and he turned slightly toward Artemis. “What happened?” he asked, his voice controlled but firm.

“I don’t—” Artemis started, but then Robin made a soft, broken sound in the back of his throat, and she immediately turned her focus back to him.

Conner’s jaw tightened. His fists clenched at his sides, his muscles tensing like he was ready to take on whatever had made Robin like this. His eyes darted between his friend and the rest of the room, as if expecting an unseen enemy to reveal itself at any moment.

“Is he okay?” Conner asked, his voice low and edged with something sharp.

“I don’t know,” Artemis admitted, her own heart racing.

Then Wally jogged in.

Robin’s reaction was immediate.

He sucked in a sharp breath, his entire body locking up. Wide, panicked eyes—hidden beneath his shades but obvious in every other way—zeroed in on Wally.

Wally slowed to a stop. His easygoing demeanor vanished the second he saw Robin’s expression, the way he was curled in on himself, the sheer panic radiating off of him.

“Hey, Rob,” Wally tried cautiously, holding out his hands like he was approaching a wounded animal. “You okay, man?”

Robin let out a shaky, wavering breath. His shoulders trembled. His lips parted, like he wanted to say something, but no words came out.

Then the tears started to fall.

Everyone stilled.

Robin never cried. Not like this.

M’gann let out a quiet gasp. Kaldur’s eyes widened slightly in shock, and even Conner took an uncertain step back, like he wasn’t sure how to handle this. Artemis felt her stomach drop.

The tears slipped out from beneath Robin’s mask, rolling down his cheeks in silent streams. His breathing hitched, his whole frame shaking, and then—without warning—he moved.

Robin lunged.

Wally barely had time to react before Robin crashed into him, clinging to him like a lifeline, like if he let go Wally might disappear.

The force of it knocked Wally back a step. His arms instinctively came up, catching Robin before he could collapse completely. His hands hovered uncertainly for a brief moment before he carefully wrapped them around his friend, steadying him.

Robin buried his face in Wally’s shoulder, his fingers fisting into the fabric of Wally’s shirt. His entire body trembled, and Wally barely had a second to register the damp warmth seeping into his collar before he realized—Robin was crying into his shoulder.

The rest of the team stood frozen in stunned silence.

Artemis felt like she was intruding, witnessing something too raw, too personal, but she couldn’t look away. Robin was shattered , and none of them had any idea why.

Wally hesitated for only a moment before tightening his hold. “Okay,” he murmured, voice softer now. “I got you, Rob. I got you.”

Moving carefully, Wally guided Robin back down to the couch. Robin went without protest but refused to let go, still clinging to him like he was afraid Wally might disappear.

The rest of the team stood frozen in stunned silence, watching the scene unfold before them with growing unease.

Robin never did this.

Never.

Sure, he joked, he grinned, he teased, he played it cool no matter what. He could be frustrated, annoyed, even angry at times, but this? Breaking down, shaking, clinging to Wally with tears soaking his collar? This was something none of them had ever seen before.

Artemis had seen it first, but even she hadn’t known what to do. Now, staring at Robin’s trembling form, feeling the way he had desperately held onto her before switching his grip to Wally, she realized something awful— he had needed someone, anyone, and he had been alone for who knows how long before she found him .

That thought made her chest ache.

M’gann hesitated before opening a mind link, gently pulling in Kaldur, Conner, Artemis, and Wally.

Artemis, what happened? M’gann’s voice was soft, but the worry was thick beneath it.

Artemis exhaled slowly, pressing her lips together. Instead of just sending the memories over in a blur, she walked them through it, letting them see everything as she spoke.

I woke up and went downstairs like normal, she began, and the team saw her memory unfold in front of them. Robin was already on the couch. He was sitting kind of curled up, leaning forward, completely focused on his phone. I almost didn’t think anything of it.

The memory shifted. They could see Robin, shoulders hunched, back slightly curved inward as he stared at the screen.

I said good morning, just casually, Artemis continued. And then—

The memory froze on the moment Robin looked up.

The entire team felt a jolt of something cold and awful rush through them as they saw it—the way Robin’s entire body locked up, his fingers tightening around his phone like it had electrocuted him. His masked eyes, wide and unblinking, locked onto Artemis as if she wasn’t even real.

Kaldur stiffened. He looks… terrified.

He was, Artemis confirmed grimly. I didn’t know why. At first, I thought I startled him. But he just—he froze. He didn’t move. Didn’t say anything. He just stared at me.

The memory played forward again. Robin’s hand moved—slow, almost hesitant—up toward his mouth. His fingers barely touched his lips before he started trembling.

I was about to ask him what was wrong, but then he started shaking, she explained, her own pulse picking up again just from remembering it. I didn’t know what to do. I tried to ask if he was okay, but he didn’t answer. His breathing got worse. And I thought—

She hesitated.

M’gann, Wally, and Kaldur waited, concern thick in the link.

You thought what? M’gann prompted gently.

Artemis hesitated again before finally admitting, I thought maybe it was because I’m new to the team. That maybe he wasn’t comfortable being alone with me.

There was a ripple of surprise and confusion in the mind link.

That doesn’t make sense, Conner said, frowning. Robin’s worked with strangers before. He doesn’t just panic over that.

I know, Artemis agreed quickly. But in the moment, I was just trying to figure out what could have made him react like that. He was staring at me like he had just realized something—something big—and it completely freaked him out. So I asked him if I should leave.

The memory shifted again, showing Artemis standing there, watching Robin with growing unease.

He didn’t answer, she went on. He didn’t say yes, but he didn’t say no either. So I figured… maybe it was better if I just gave him space.

The memory played forward. Artemis turned, shifting her weight, preparing to walk away.

Then—Robin moved .

His arm shot out, his fingers wrapping tightly around Artemis’s wrist.

The mind link was silent as the team processed what they were seeing.

He grabbed you, Kaldur murmured, something unreadable in his tone.

Artemis nodded. Yeah. He stopped me. The second I tried to leave, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me back down. He needed me to stay. He couldn’t even say it, but he needed it. I don’t— She exhaled shakily. I don’t know what scared him more—the idea of me being there, or the idea of me not being there.

Silence settled over them as they absorbed the memory.

Beside them, Wally had started running his hand over Robin’s back in slow, soothing circles.

Conner’s expression darkened. This is wrong. His mental voice was edged with frustration, but not at Robin—at whatever had done this to him. Robin doesn’t just break down like this. Something had to have happened.

Something did happen, Artemis agreed, glancing at the trembling boy still clinging to Wally. I just don’t know what. But whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

M’gann, looking visibly shaken, took a slow, steadying breath before speaking through the mind link.

We should just hold him until he calms down, she suggested gently. If he wants to talk, he can talk. If not, we don’t push—we just let him know we’re here.

No one argued.

Robin had been their rock in so many ways. The lighthearted one, the one who cracked jokes, the one who always acted like he had everything under control. But now, seeing him like this—clinging to Wally, shaking, unable to stop the silent tears slipping past his mask—it hit all of them just how young he really was.

If Robin was breaking like this, then something had seriously hurt him. And none of them could stand to see that.

M’gann was the first to move. She stepped forward without hesitation, wrapping her arms around both Wally and Robin. She was careful, gentle, pressing a reassuring presence against Robin’s back. His body tensed at first, like he wasn’t used to being held like this, but he didn’t resist.

Kaldur followed next. He placed a firm, grounding hand on Robin’s back, before settling beside him, offering silent strength.

Robin didn’t flinch, didn’t protest.

Conner hesitated. He wasn’t sure what to do. This wasn’t like a battle, where he could just punch a problem until it was solved. This was something raw, something delicate, something that words wouldn’t fix.

But then he saw how Robin was curled into Wally, so small and tired , and all his uncertainty melted away. Carefully, he reached out, resting a hand on Robin’s shoulder. It was a quiet I’m here , no words necessary.

Artemis had spent so much time trying to prove herself, trying to fit in with this team, that she hadn’t realized how much they all truly cared about each other.

Robin was their little brother.

Her little brother too, whether they had ever said it out loud or not.

She hesitated only a second longer before shifting closer, leaning into the couch, pressing into the group.

That was the moment Robin broke.

The second the entire team was there—when their arms surrounded him, when their warmth completely enveloped him—Robin melted .

The last bit of tension bled out of his body. He sagged fully into Wally’s hold, no longer just clinging, but completely trusting . His breathing evened out, still slightly uneven, but no longer frantic. The shaking lessened until it was just the occasional shudder.

And then, slowly, his arms loosened from their desperate grip on Wally and instead latched onto all of them , fingers curling into the fabric of whoever was closest. Holding onto them like they were the only thing keeping him grounded.

No one moved.

No one spoke.

They just held him.

It didn’t matter that they didn’t know why he had broken down. It didn’t matter that they had no idea what had caused this.

What mattered was that Robin wasn’t alone.

They stayed like that for what felt like forever. Just breathing, just existing together.

Eventually, Robin shifted, pulling back just enough to speak. His voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper, but steady. “Thanks.”

He didn’t move far. He still pressed close to Wally, still leaning into the others like he wasn’t ready to be separated just yet.

Kaldur met his gaze, quiet understanding in his expression. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

Robin hesitated.

Then, slowly, he shook his head.

No one pushed.

Instead, M’gann pulled back just enough to give him a warm, gentle smile. Her voice was light, calm, normal —as if she was trying to bring some sense of normalcy back into the moment.

“I can make cookies,” she offered.

Robin blinked. Then, after a long pause, he let out a slow, shaky breath—something almost like a laugh. Small, barely there, but real.

M’gann’s smile widened. “Chocolate chip?”

Robin nodded.

And just like that, the weight in the room shifted.

There were still questions. Still things left unsaid. But for now, they weren’t important.

Chapter Text

The kitchen was warm. Not just from the oven, but from the steady hum of voices, the casual banter, the presence of his team—his family .

Dick sat on one of the stools by the counter, a thick blanket draped over his shoulders. He wasn’t speaking. He didn’t have the energy to jump in, to tease Wally back, to add his own snark to the conversation like he usually would.

But he listened.

He let his gaze drift from one person to the next, lingering on each of them just long enough to confirm that, yes, they were here .

M’gann, mixing cookie dough with an easy rhythm, her brow furrowing in concentration as she measured ingredients with practiced care.

Conner, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, smirking as Wally and Artemis bickered about whose fault it had been that a food truck had exploded last month.

Kaldur, ever calm, standing nearby with his arms crossed, watching over them all with quiet amusement.

And Wally—sitting right beside him, close enough that their shoulders touched, solid and warm, like he was making sure Dick knew he wasn’t going anywhere.

They were all here.

But for how long?

Dick swallowed, fingers curling into the fabric of the blanket as an uneasy chill settled in his chest.

A part of him still expected to wake up. Alone. In that dim, broken apartment, the stench of decay in the air, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him like a physical thing. He could almost feel the rough fabric of the couch beneath his hands, the jagged edges of his own breathing as he struggled to stay grounded.

He could almost hear the rain dripping through the cracks in the ceiling.

The city outside had been silent. No sirens, no chatter, no signs of life—just a graveyard of ruined buildings and empty streets.

He had been alone .

No— not alone.

His stomach twisted at the memory.

There had been them .

The sorcerer.

He never learned their real name—never got the chance—but he remembered their voice, quiet and tired and filled with something like regret. They had found him, had sat beside him in that ruined apartment, had offered kind words and something even rarer.

A chance .

"I can send you back," they had murmured, voice soft but steady. "Back before everything fell apart. Before The Light won. Before you lost them."

A way out. A way to fix things.

Dick had barely dared to believe them. He had asked why , had demanded to know why they would help him, why they would betray The Light to offer him an escape.

They had smiled, just a little.

"Because I know what it is to lose everything," they had said simply. "And because I was never truly one of them."

Dick had believed them.

Or at least, he thought he had.

But what if—

His breath hitched.

What if it had been a lie ?

What if this wasn’t real? What if the sorcerer had never truly escaped The Light’s grip, had never had the power to send him back? What if this was just another trick —one last illusion, one last bit of torture before they finally killed him?

What if he was still there ?

Trapped in that ruined future, in that shattered city where the streets were empty and the sky was always grey, where he was constantly waiting for the moment when The Light would finally finish him?

What if none of this—his team, the warmth of the kitchen, the smell of cookie dough in the air—was real?

His pulse pounded in his ears, drowning out the steady chatter around him.

His gaze flickered around the kitchen, desperately searching for something— anything —out of place, something that would prove what his gut was screaming at him. That this was just another trick.

M’gann, still focused on the cookie dough, laughing as Artemis flicked flour in Wally’s direction.

Conner, rolling his eyes at them both, but the corners of his lips twitching up in amusement.

Kaldur, shaking his head but saying nothing, exuding quiet patience.

Wally, still pressed against his side, nudging him gently with his elbow, like he knew something was wrong.

They looked real .

They felt real.

But the illusions had always been cruel , hadn’t they?

His fingers clenched tighter around the blanket, his breathing shallow.

If this was real—if the sorcerer had truly sent him back—then he had a chance.

A chance to fix everything. To make sure The Light never won. To make sure none of them ever had to live through that future.

But if it wasn’t real…

If it was just another trick, another mind game—

Then this was nothing more than a fantasy. A dying mind’s last desperate grasp at something safe before reality came crashing back in.

His grip tightened around the blanket, the fabric rough between his fingers.

If he blinked, if he let his guard down for even a second, would the warm kitchen vanish? Would the walls around him crumble into dust, revealing only the wreckage of the world he had lost? Would his friends disappear, leaving him alone again?

He squeezed his eyes shut, taking in a sharp, shaking breath.

"You're not alone, Nightwing."

The sorcerer’s voice echoed in his mind, soft and distant, from before . Before they had cast the spell, before they had promised him that things could change .

"This isn't the end—it's the beginning."

Was it?

Could he trust that?

Or was this just another dream?

The voices around him broke through the spiral, grounding him in the present.

“Okay, but technically it was Artemis who fired the first shot,” Wally argued, waving a hand in her direction.

Artemis rolled her eyes. “You’re the one who threw me into the truck trying to ‘save’ me!”

“I was being heroic !”

“You launched me into a deep fryer.”

“It wasn’t on !”

Kaldur sighed, but there was a flicker of amusement in his expression. “Regardless of whose fault it was, that mission is not one I intend to repeat.”

Dick felt something in his chest loosen —the tension, the lingering unease, the remnants of whatever had cracked inside him earlier. It wasn’t gone, not completely, but it wasn’t suffocating him anymore.

He let out a slow breath, the smallest twitch of his lips betraying his amusement.

M’gann caught the expression and immediately pointed a wooden spoon at them. “And this is why I’m not letting you guys anywhere near the oven.”

Artemis smirked. “You make it sound like we’re a disaster waiting to happen.”

“You are a disaster waiting to happen.”

“Fair,” Wally admitted, grinning.

Dick let his gaze drift again, scanning their faces, taking in the way they moved, the way they laughed, the way they interacted so easily.

Like nothing had changed.

Like he wasn’t—

He swallowed hard, gripping the edges of the blanket a little tighter.

No one was forcing him to talk. No one was pushing him to explain. They had simply gathered around him, surrounding him with warmth and familiarity, grounding him without a single question asked.

He hadn’t realized how much he needed that.

“Cookies should be ready in about fifteen minutes,” M’gann announced, sliding a tray into the oven and dusting off her hands.

Wally perked up. “Sweet.”

Artemis raised an eyebrow. “You’re not even going to pretend you didn’t just eat, like, four sandwiches before we got in here?”

“I have a high metabolism, okay? I need fuel.”

Conner smirked. “I don’t think cookies count as ‘fuel.’”

Wally gasped, placing a dramatic hand over his chest. “ You take that back. ”

Conner just smirked, arms crossed. “No.”

“You monster .” Wally shook his head in exaggerated disappointment. “This is a betrayal of the highest order.” He turned to Dick, expression full of mock outrage. “You hear this, Rob? He doesn’t believe in the sacred power of cookies as fuel.”

Dick let out a quiet huff of laughter before he could stop himself. It was small, barely noticeable, but everyone caught it.

The conversation paused —just for a second, just long enough for the warmth of it to settle in his chest, loosening something tight and knotted deep inside him.

Wally turned toward him immediately, his teasing grin softening just a little. He didn’t push, didn’t call attention to it, just bumped their shoulders together lightly and said, “See? Robin gets it.”

Dick didn’t respond, but the corner of his mouth twitched again, just slightly.

It wasn’t a full smile, wasn’t anywhere near his usual grin, but it was something . And from the way Wally’s eyes softened, the way M’gann smiled just a little more, the way Artemis and Conner shared a brief glance—they all noticed .

Kaldur studied him for a long moment before speaking, his voice careful, measured. “Are you feeling any better?”

Dick hesitated.

Was he?

The laughter, the warmth, the teasing—it was all good , all real, but it didn’t erase what was still there .

He wasn’t fine . He wasn’t even close to fine.

The weight of everything still sat heavy in his chest, pressing down on him, reminding him of the truth he couldn’t escape. The memories of the other time, the other future, the ruined city and the broken people and the emptiness of it all—they weren’t gone . They weren’t even fading .

And yet—

He wasn’t alone.

That was different.

That mattered .

That helped .

So he took a slow breath, exhaled carefully, and gave a small nod.

Not okay .

But better .

Chapter Text

The conversation fizzled out gradually, fading into a comfortable silence. The sounds of the oven humming, the soft clatter of M’gann’s utensils, and the distant ticking of the kitchen clock filled the space instead.

No one rushed to fill the quiet. No one made an effort to force things back into lighthearted teasing. It was an easy, natural lull, the kind that came with familiarity—one that said we’re here, we’re not going anywhere, take your time .

Dick appreciated that.

But he should’ve known it wouldn’t last.

“So… what did happen?” Conner asked bluntly.

M’gann let out a sharp breath and immediately elbowed Conner in the side.

Conner frowned at her. “What?”

“You don’t just say it like that,” she hissed through the mind link, though Dick could still hear her physically sighing in frustration.

“It’s a fair question,” Conner argued. “He scared the crap out of us.”

Dick swallowed, fingers curling slightly in the fabric of the blanket still wrapped around him.

The question had been coming—he’d known it was coming. But he still wasn’t sure how to answer it.

Lying was an option. He was good at lying. He could brush it off, say it was nothing, say it wasn’t a big deal. They’d want to believe him. Maybe they’d even try to believe him.

But they knew him.

And even if they let it go, they wouldn’t actually believe him.

Wally didn’t say anything, but Dick felt him shift beside him, waiting— watching .

He opened his mouth.

Then closed it.

Opened it again.

Nothing came out.

Kaldur didn’t push, but his steady gaze told Dick he was waiting too. Artemis’s expression was carefully neutral, but she leaned forward slightly, just enough to show she was paying attention.

They all were.

Dick clenched his jaw.

He hated this. Hated being looked at like this, like he was fragile, like one wrong word might make him break again.

He forced himself to exhale slowly, carefully, and finally mumbled, “I had a pretty bad nightmare.”

The words felt clumsy in his mouth, too small for what had really happened, but it was close enough.

M’gann’s expression immediately softened. “Oh,” she said gently, like that explained everything.

“Okay,” Wally said, nodding like that was something normal, something understandable. “Yeah. I get that.”

Conner still looked skeptical. “That’s it?”

Dick let out a dry, humorless chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “Well, clearly it wasn’t just any nightmare, but yeah.” He glanced down, tugging at the edge of the blanket. “Didn’t wanna bother anyone, figured I could deal with it myself. Fat lot of good that did.”

He meant it as a joke, but no one laughed.

Wally nudged him with his elbow. “Dude. You know you can wake us up for this kind of thing, right?”

Dick huffed. “Yeah, yeah. And normally I have B to help with this kind of stuff, but he’s not here, so…” He trailed off, shrugging.

There was a pause.

Artemis leaned against the counter, resting her chin in her palm. “So you what ? Decided to sit there and suffer in silence?”

Dick shrugged again, this time with a little more exaggeration. “It’s a classic move.”

Artemis rolled her eyes, unimpressed.

Kaldur’s expression remained unreadable, but there was something thoughtful about the way he was watching him. “Batman often helps you with… nightmares?”

Dick hesitated.

He hadn’t meant to admit that.

He glanced away, shoulders tensing slightly. “Sometimes,” he said finally, voice quieter now.

No one said anything for a moment.

Then Wally, casual as ever, clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Well, lucky for you, you have an entire team now. So if B’s not here, you’ve got us instead.”

There was something reassuring about the way he said it—no teasing, no dramatics, just matter-of-fact certainty .

Dick swallowed.

The team was here.

Dick sucked in a sharp breath, trying to steady himself, but it was too late. His vision blurred, his throat tightened, and before he could stop it, tears welled up in his eyes.

Dammit.

He hated this.

He wasn’t supposed to be the one crying. He was supposed to be the one cracking jokes, the one lifting the mood, the one keeping things light. But now—

“Oh man,” Wally said, voice dripping with fond exasperation. “Here come the waterworks.”

Before Dick could even think about protesting, Wally yanked him into a hug.

It wasn’t careful or hesitant—it was warm and solid, the kind of hug that didn’t ask for permission, didn’t wait to see if he’d accept it. It just was.

And Dick—

Dick melted .

The tension in his shoulders, the last remnants of restraint he’d been holding onto so tightly, unraveled all at once. He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his face into Wally’s shoulder as the tears slipped down his cheeks, soaking into the fabric of Wally’s shirt.

But he was smiling.

The ache in his chest hadn’t fully gone away, but for the first time in what felt like forever, it didn’t feel unbearable.

“Alright, alright,” Wally muttered, his tone still light but his hold unwavering. “Let it all out, dude. You’re totally ruining my hoodie, by the way, but I guess I’ll let it slide.”

Dick let out something between a laugh and a choked sob, gripping the fabric of Wally’s hoodie a little tighter.

“You own like, twenty of these,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, but this was one of the good ones,” Wally shot back. “And now it’s all wet and snot-covered —”

Dick smacked his shoulder without lifting his head. “Shut up.”

Wally just grinned, squeezing him a little tighter before letting the others back in.

M’gann was already moving, stepping forward and wrapping an arm around both of them, her warmth and reassurance radiating through the space.

Kaldur followed, resting a steady hand on Dick’s back, his presence calm and grounding.

Artemis didn’t hesitate this time, just leaned in and rested her chin lightly on Dick’s other shoulder, like this was something normal .

Even Conner, after a brief moment of hesitation, reached out and gripped Dick’s wrist—a silent I’m here, too .

And just like that, the weight of the world wasn’t quite so heavy anymore.

Dick took a shaky breath, blinking away the last of his tears.

“… You guys are so clingy,” he mumbled, voice thick but teasing.

Wally huffed. “You started it, dude.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

M’gann squeezed his arm lightly. “Feeling better?”

Dick let out a slow breath, looking around at the people surrounding him. The people who had stayed, who had held onto him even when he was too tired to hold on himself.

He nodded.

And that was all it took.

The team didn’t push. They didn’t ask for more. They didn’t press him for details he wasn’t ready to give. They just accepted it. Accepted him .

“Alright,” M’gann said, her voice soft but steady. “That’s good.”

She didn’t sound relieved exactly—just reassured, like she had been ready to hold on as long as he needed. Like all of them had.

Wally finally loosened his hold, but not by much. His arm was still draped around Dick’s shoulders, casual, like he wasn’t quite ready to let go yet. Not until he was sure Dick wouldn’t slip away again.

Dick was… okay with that.

Actually, he was more than okay with that.

He sniffed, scrubbing at his eyes before shaking his head with a watery chuckle. “Man. You guys are so dramatic.”

Artemis snorted. “ We’re dramatic?”

Wally pointed at him. “Dude, you were the one crying in my hoodie five seconds ago.”

Dick rolled his eyes. “And yet, here you are, still wearing it.”

“I like this hoodie, okay? I’m hoping it air-dries before the trauma soaks in.”

Dick huffed another laugh, lighter this time, shaking his head. He was exhausted, wrung out and still a little shaky, but the crushing weight that had been pressing down on his chest before?

It wasn’t gone , not completely. But it wasn’t suffocating him anymore.

The others started shifting back, giving him a little space without actually leaving. M’gann moved toward the oven to check on the cookies. Kaldur returned to leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching them all with quiet amusement. Conner reclaimed his previous position too, though he kept glancing at Dick like he was still assessing if he was okay.

Even Artemis, despite her usual tough act, gave his knee a quick, light tap before turning her attention back to Wally.

And just like that, the atmosphere settled again, slipping back into something normal.

M’gann peeked into the oven and nodded in satisfaction. “They’re almost done.”

“ Finally ,” Wally groaned, dramatically flopping onto the counter. “I’m starving.”

“You just ate,” Conner deadpanned.

“Okay, and ?”

“Do you have a black hole for a stomach?”

“Listen, I burn a lot of calories, man—”

The teasing picked up again, easy and familiar, and Dick just… sat there for a moment. Listening.

Taking it in.

Letting it ground him.

They were here. They were real .

And for the first time since waking up in the right timeline, he let himself believe it.

Not a trick. Not an illusion. Not a cruel dream that would be ripped away the moment he blinked.

Real.

He pulled the blanket a little tighter around his shoulders, shifting slightly so he was leaning into Wally’s space.

Wally didn’t comment on it, just smirked slightly and nudged him with his elbow again. “Glad to have you back, Rob.”

Dick glanced at him, brow raised. “Where exactly did I go?”

Wally shrugged. “Dunno. Just… wherever your head was at before.” He nodded at him, more serious now. “Wherever that was.”

Dick blinked.

For a second, he thought about telling them everything. About the future he’d escaped, about the world he’d left behind, about the world that had crumbled under The Light’s control. About the sorcerer who had given him this second chance—who had risked everything to send him back.

He thought about telling them how close he had come to losing all of this.

But then Artemis smacked Wally with a dish towel, M’gann pulled the cookies out of the oven, and Conner stole the first one while they were still too hot.

And Dick decided—

Not yet.

Not tonight.

Tonight, this was enough.

He smiled, shifting the blanket around his shoulders as Wally dramatically whined about being abused with kitchen utensils.

Yeah.

For now, this was enough.

Chapter Text

M’gann woke up to the soft hiss of shifting sand beneath her. The air was crisp and cool, the sky above her an endless stretch of darkness sprinkled with countless stars. A desert. She was in a desert.

She sat up slowly, disoriented, her fingers sinking into the fine grains of sand around her. Her head ached, a dull throbbing behind her temples, and everything felt... off.

Hello, Megan!

The familiar phrase popped into her mind unbidden, but the usual spark of excitement wasn’t there. Instead, confusion pressed in around her like a thick fog.

“I’m on Earth,” she murmured, her voice barely more than a breath.

But... how?

Frowning, she glanced down at herself. She was wearing a costume—one she didn’t remember putting on. 

Why am I wearing this?

M’gann pushed herself to her feet, brushing sand from her legs as she took a hesitant step forward. And how did I get to Earth?

The throbbing in her head flared as if protesting the question, and she winced. She tried to focus, to think back to what had happened before she woke up here, but her memories were fuzzy, slipping through her grasp like sand between her fingers.

Why does my head hurt so much?

She took another step, only for her foot to sink too deep into the sand. She yelped as she lost her balance, tumbling forward and rolling down the side of the dune in an ungraceful heap.

For a moment, she lay there, dazed.

Is this a dream?

Before she could pull herself up, a heavy thud landed next to her, sending up a small cloud of sand.

M’gann gasped, scrambling backward as the dust cleared. A figure stood there, his broad frame silhouetted against the moonlit sky.

A low, feral growl rumbled from his throat.

M’gann’s breath hitched. She knew that symbol. The red “S” emblazoned across his chest.

“Wait,” she whispered, eyes wide.

The boy’s head snapped up, fixing her with an intense, almost animalistic stare. His eyes burned with something raw.

M’gann swallowed, forcing her voice to stay steady. “Are you... Superman?”

The only response was a sharp intake of breath. Then, with no warning, the boy’s hands flew to his shirt, tearing it apart with a guttural scream.

M’gann barely had time to react before he lunged.

She gasped, throwing herself to the side as his fist swung through the air where she had just been. The wind from the punch alone sent a sharp sting across her skin.

He growled again, turning toward her, his movements tense and aggressive.

M’gann’s heart pounded.

“Wait! I don’t want to fight—”

But he wasn’t listening. With another furious shout, he lunged again, fist raised.

M’gann let out a yelp and jumped into the air just as his punch struck the sand beneath her, sending a shockwave through the ground.

The boy didn’t hesitate. His muscles tensed, and then—

He jumped.

Straight up.

Right after her.

M’gann’s breath caught in her throat. He can fly?

No—he wasn’t flying. He was leaping , but it was just as terrifying. He was coming straight for her.

Instinct took over.

M’gann raised a hand, summoning her telekinesis, and pushed.

A force rippled between them, sending both of them flying in opposite directions. She barely managed to steady herself midair, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Below, the boy twisted mid-fall, landing on the sand in a crouch before bounding away into the distance, disappearing into the darkness.

M’gann hovered there, trembling, trying to process what had just happened.

Not a dream, she thought, curling up slightly in the air, hugging herself.

Her head was pounding, her heart racing.

Not a dream.

A nightmare.

Dick groaned, trudging through the endless stretch of sand, his boots sinking into the soft surface with every step. The desert air was dry, almost suffocating, and the heat clung to his skin despite the cool night breeze.

"Great," he muttered to himself. "Lost in the middle of nowhere. Just another day in the life."

The landscape around him was barren, save for a few towering rock formations jutting out from the sand. He made his way toward them, seeking higher ground. Maybe he could get a better vantage point—figure out where the hell he was.

As he reached one of the taller rocks, something caught his eye. A dust cloud in the distance, rising fast, moving toward him.

DIck narrowed his eyes, quickly ducking behind the rock.

That’s not just the wind.

Peeking out from behind the boulder, he adjusted his mask’s lenses, zooming in on the source of the disturbance. A convoy of armored vehicles rumbled across the sand, kicking up dust in their wake. Soldiers marched alongside them, their dark silhouettes stark against the pale dunes.

His eyes zeroed in on the insignia on their uniforms.

Red armbands. Military-grade rifles.

He sighed. "Those are Bialyan Republican Army uniforms."

Great. That’s just what I needed.

He moved quickly, climbing up the rock with practiced ease until he reached the top. The height gave him a better view of the convoy’s movement—definitely military, definitely organized, and definitely not something he wanted to run into.

"But what are Bialyans doing in—" He flicked his wrist, activating the holographic map on his gauntlet. The blue light flickered as it loaded, the desert terrain rendering itself in a wireframe grid.

Location: Bialya.

Dick blinked.

"Uh… Bialya. Okay."

The realization made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

"Better question—what am I doing in Bialya?" His brow furrowed as he scrolled through the date settings. "In September?" His eyes widened slightly as the map confirmed the month.

His frown deepened. "What happened to March?"

The last thing he remembered…

His mind reeled, grasping at fragmented memories, but nothing concrete surfaced. He had been with the team. He had been somewhere else . And now—

Now he was here.

A sinking feeling settled in his gut.

"Better radio Batman," he muttered, tapping the communicator in his ear. His finger hovered over the activation switch—

Then, suddenly, a memory flickered through his mind.

Maintain radio silence at all times.

Batman’s voice. Steady. An order that was drilled into him more times than he could count.

Dick hesitated.

Then sighed.

"Or not."

Flipping off the boulder with a practiced somersault, he landed lightly in the sand below. If Batman wanted radio silence, fine. But that still didn’t explain how he got here, or why the last several months seemed to have vanished from his memory.

His eyes scanned the ground as he moved, looking for anything that might give him a clue. And then—

He stopped short.

Something was half-buried in the sand ahead of him, caught in the wind and tangled around a jagged rock. The fabric was torn, its edges frayed and stained with dirt.

Dick crouched down, carefully pulling the cloth free.

His breath hitched as the familiar red S emblem came into view.

The Superman symbol.

Dick’s grip tightened around the fabric.

His pulse quickened.

This just got a whole lot worse.

“Hey.”

A voice. Distant. Familiar.

“Beautiful.”

A pause. Then—

“Wake up.”

Artemis’s eyes snapped open.

The first thing she registered was the dim, musty interior of a shack. Wooden beams, rough walls, a dirt floor. A single broken window let in a sliver of moonlight, casting jagged shadows along the walls.

The second thing she registered was the boy crouched beside her.

Artemis shrieked, scrambling back until her shoulders hit the wall. Her heart pounded, her hands grasping at her bow.

“Hey, it’s okay! It’s okay!” The boy raised his hands in surrender, eyes wide, voice rushed. “I-I won’t hurt you. I’m one of the good guys. You know—Kid Flash.”

Artemis’s eyes narrowed. Her breathing was still uneven, but she forced herself to focus. Now that she got a better look at him, she recognized his face from the news—freckles, messy red hair, stupidly earnest expression. But—

She scowled. “I’ve seen Kid Flash on the news. He doesn’t wear black.”

It was true. The Kid Flash she knew wore bright, obnoxious yellow. This guy? Look like a shadowed version of the hero she had seen before.

Wally glanced down at himself with a frown. “Yeah, uh… still a little unclear on that myself.” Then, nodding toward her, “What about you? Uh, Green Arrow fixation?”

Artemis followed his gaze and realized what she was wearing—a green combat suit, fitted with a quiver of arrows strapped to her back.

Her fingers curled into fists.

“Who put me in this?” she demanded.

Wally let out a nervous chuckle. “Wow. Yeah, I am not touching that with a ten-foot—uh—” He cleared his throat. “So, you know how to use that bow?”

Artemis glared at him. “Yeah. My dad taught me.”

Her stomach twisted at the thought.

Of course this was his doing.

Artemis’s hands clenched tighter, her anger bubbling beneath the surface. “Dad,” she muttered, her voice dripping with frustration. “He must have done this. Another one of his stupid tests.”

Wally frowned. “What kind of test?”

Artemis met his eyes, deadpan. “He probably wants me to kill you.”

Wally blinked.

Before either of them could react, a sharp whistling sound split the air.

Artemis’s instincts screamed at her.

Wally’s eyes widened in alarm. “Uh—”

No time.

Without thinking, he grabbed Artemis’s wrist and yanked her toward the door.

They barely made it outside before the shack behind them exploded.

The blast sent heat rushing against their backs, the ground shaking beneath them as wood and debris flew in all directions. Artemis stumbled, coughing as smoke and dust filled the air.

Wally steadied her, but his attention was already locked on something else.

Artemis followed his gaze.

Tanks.

A line of them, rolling toward them through the dunes, cannons aimed. The moonlight glinted off their metal plating, the insignia on their sides barely visible through the haze.

“Oh, come on ,” Wally groaned.

The first shot fired.

“Run!”

They sprinted in the opposite direction, sand kicking up beneath their feet as the tanks rumbled closer. The air filled with the deafening boom of artillery, shells slamming into the dunes around them, sending up bursts of fire and debris.

Artemis risked a glance over her shoulder, assessing the distance. Too close. They weren’t going to outrun them like this.

Think fast.

She skidded to a stop, yanking an arrow from her quiver and spinning on her heel.

Wally noticed immediately. “What are you—”

Artemis didn’t answer. She notched the arrow, aimed beneath the nearest tank, and fired.

The explosion was instant.

A shockwave blasted through the sand as the tank launched into the air, flipping over itself before crashing down in a twisted heap of metal and smoke.

Wally’s jaw dropped.

“Okay,” he muttered, “ noted. ”

Before Artemis could react, he scooped her up—bridal style—and took off at superspeed.

Artemis let out a startled yell, instinctively grabbing onto his shoulders as the landscape blurred around them.

“Sorry,” Wally said, dodging another blast. “They’ve got bigger arrows.”

Artemis huffed, but she couldn’t argue with that. “Thanks.”

Wally smirked. “Hey, told you—good guy.”

They sped across the dunes, the tanks falling farther behind.

Then, without looking at her, Wally added, “Now, not to pry, but what’s your name?”

Artemis hesitated.

Before she could answer, he continued, “Oh, and what’s this about you killing me?”

She sighed.

Yeah. This was gonna be fun.

M’gann soared through the night sky, the cool desert air brushing against her skin as she flew high above the dunes.

I’m actually on Earth!

Excitement bubbled inside her, warmth spreading through her chest. She had dreamed of this moment for so long, imagined what it would be like, picturing it just like the shows she had watched—adventures, friendships, laughter.

But… this wasn’t exactly like TV.

Her joy dimmed slightly as confusion crept in.

Why can’t I remember how I got here?

She furrowed her brows, slowing her flight as she tried to concentrate. Think, M’gann. Remember.

She closed her eyes and let herself float, settling into a meditative pose mid-air. The desert stretched endlessly beneath her, silent and vast, but her mind reached inward, searching.

Somewhere far below, a figure stood next to a strange machine, his broad shoulders tense. The moonlight illuminated his symbol—a red "S" on his chest, standing out starkly against his black T-shirt.

Conner.

His hand rested against the machine, fingers curling slightly like he was bracing himself.

Another voice, unseen but familiar, spoke softly in the night.

“Good idea. Go.”

Conner hesitated, then, voice low and steady, murmured, “Be careful.”

The vision shifted.

M’gann was no longer in the sky but back inside Mount Justice, warm and safe. The kitchen was filled with the scent of freshly baked cookies as she held up a tray of them, steam still rising from their golden surface.

“Careful, Superboy,” she said, smiling. “They’re hot.”

Wally appeared in an instant, snatching a cookie off the tray before she could protest. He winked. “Not as hot as you, babe.”

M’gann blinked in surprise. “Thanks, Wally. That’s, um… sweet.”

Wally took a dramatic bite, swallowing quickly. “Not as sweet as you, sugar.”

Artemis and Robin entered the kitchen just in time to witness the exchange.

Artemis rolled her eyes and smacked the back of Wally’s head before snatching a cookie for herself. “Oh, grow up.”

“ Ow! ” Wally yelped, rubbing his head.

Before anyone could say anything else, a voice cut through the room, clear and authoritative.

“Team, report to the mission room.”

Batman’s voice echoed over the intercom.

The warmth of the memory wrapped around M’gann, filling her with something bittersweet.

I’m on a team.

She let the thought settle in, let herself feel it. 

“I have friends! I belong here.” She exclaimed.

And Conner—

Her stomach flipped slightly.

He might be in danger. “I need to find him. Find them.”

Without hesitating, she reached out with her mind, her telepathic voice stretching as far as it could.

Hello? Um, team?

Silence.

M’gann’s heart skipped a beat. “Maybe they’re just out of my range…”

But something about the emptiness in the link made her uneasy.

Wally skidded to a stop, finally slowing enough to put Artemis down on the sand. He bent forward, bracing his hands on his knees as he sucked in deep breaths.

“Sorry,” he panted. “Running on empty. Don't think I've eaten in a while. Been out here for over twenty-four hours… Or my cupboards wouldn’t be bare.”

Artemis barely had time to respond before something landed heavily between them, sending up a blast of sand.

The sudden impact sent a shockwave through the ground, and both Wally and Artemis let out startled screams.

Before Wally could react further, the other’s fist swung out, catching him across the chest with terrifying force.

Wally barely had time to register what was happening before he was flying through the air—his back slammed hard against a nearby rockface, pain exploding through his body as he collapsed onto the ground.

Artemis gasped, eyes darting between him and the other boy.

He turned to her next, eyes burning with something wild and uncontrolled.

Not good.

Artemis barely managed to back handspring away as he lunged. In one fluid motion, she reached back, grabbed an arrow, notched it, and fired.

The explosive arrow struck him dead-on—

The blast sent sand flying in every direction, engulfing the area in smoke and debris.

Artemis didn’t hesitate. She was already moving, rolling to the side as he ran straight through the explosion like it was nothing .

She barely avoided his next hit—his fist smashed into the sand where she had been a second ago, sending a tremor through the ground.

Before he could strike again—

A missile slammed into him.

The impact sent the guy sprawling, a crater forming in the sand where he landed.

Somewhere miles away, M’gann gasped, clutching her head as the pain rippled through her connection to Conner.

Superboy! Where are you?!  

Her voice rang out telepathically, her concern thick in the words.

But Conner didn’t answer.

The tanks reappeared over the dunes, rolling back toward them, weapons locked and ready.

Then—

The guy leapt out of the crater, heading straight for the nearest tank. He tore into it like it was made of paper, his fists denting metal, his growl low and dangerous.

Artemis stared, her breathing still heavy. “Whose side is he on?”

Wally groaned from where he was still half-slumped against the rock. “Wanna stick around and find out?”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

Before Artemis could protest, Wally grabbed her and took off, sprinting across the dunes as artillery fire rained down around them.

They didn’t make it far.

His foot clipped a jagged rock, throwing off his balance.

“Uh-oh.”

The next thing they knew, they were tumbling down a steep sand dune, rolling head over heels until they landed at the bottom in a tangled heap.

Two planes roared overhead.

Then—gunfire.

“Get down!” Wally shouted, covering Artemis as the ground around them erupted with bullets.

Don't worry! I'm almost there!

The voice wasn’t his.

It wasn’t Artemis’s either.

Artemis’s eyes widened. “Did you just hear a girl talking in your head?”

Wally groaned, shifting slightly. “Girls are always on my mind. But they’re not usually talking.”

Before Artemis could glare at him properly, the sky ripped apart.

The two planes suddenly slammed into each other as if an invisible force had crushed them together. A deafening explosion lit up the night sky, sending flaming wreckage spiraling to the ground.

From the smoke, a figure descended, floating gracefully toward them.

A girl.

Red hair, green skin, a red-and-black costume, and a symbol Artemis vaguely recognized.

Wally blinked up at her.

“Well, J’onn,” he muttered, looking her over, “the costume looks familiar… but I’m not sure the new bod screams ‘Manhunter.’ ”

The girl beamed. “You know my uncle J’onn? Hello, Megan! Of course you do! You’re Kid Flash! Wally! And you’re Artemis!”

Wally’s eyes widened slightly. “Wait, wait, wait. Martian Manhunter’s your uncle? Is that how you know my name?”

Artemis raised a brow, smirking. “Your name is really Wally?”

Wally sighed in deep, profound disappointment. “Why is that what you take away from this?”

M’gann’s expression softened. “It’s okay. We’re teammates. Friends.” She gave them both a hopeful smile. “I made you cookies.”

Artemis blinked. “You know her?” she asked Wally, suspicious.

Wally put both hands up in mock innocence. “I swear, beautiful, never seen her before in my life. At least—”

M’gann’s face fell slightly. “You both lost your memories too.”

She straightened, determination shining in her eyes. “Come on. I’ll fill you in as we go. Robin and Superboy need our help.”

Wally squinted. “Of course. Robin and Super what now?”

M’gann sighed.

This was going to take some explaining.

Chapter Text

The desert stretched endlessly beneath the night sky, the sand cool under the moonlight. Robin’s boots barely made a sound as he ran, his breathing steady despite the ache in his muscles. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was here, only that something deep in his gut had driven him to this exact spot.

“I really wish I could remember why I put a GPS marker here,” he muttered under his breath.

A glint of metal caught his eye, half-buried in the sand. He dropped low behind a boulder, peering around its edge. A box . Heavy-duty, reinforced, and definitely not something that belonged in the middle of nowhere.

“Huh,” he whispered. “Guessing that’s why.”

He moved swiftly, dropping down beside it, fingers brushing the metal surface just as the ground exploded around him.

Armed soldiers burst up from beneath the sand, weapons raised, their movements precise and coordinated. An ambush.

Robin was already moving. He dropped a smoke bomb, the thick white fog swallowing the battlefield in seconds. The first soldier didn’t even have time to react before Robin’s foot connected with his jaw, sending him sprawling. He twisted mid-motion, grabbing another by the arm and using their own momentum to flip them over his shoulder, slamming them into the ground.

The remaining soldiers recovered quickly. Gunfire erupted, bullets slicing through the night—

And then—

A blur of red and black.

“ I’ll hold that. Thanks! ”

The soldiers’ weapons vanished from their hands before they could even blink.

Robin barely had a second to register Wally —Wally, here, alive, moving like a streak of lightning—before white-hot agony erupted behind his eyes.

His knees nearly buckled.

The world lurched.

Robin clamped his hands over his eyelids, pressing hard against the sudden, searing pain. His breath hitched as something in his mind snapped into place—

Memories.

All of them.

Like floodgates breaking wide open, they crashed down on him, overwhelming, unstoppable.

He remembered .

He remembered everything .

How this played out before. How it ended .

How he failed .

For a moment, he just breathed, focusing on the sting behind his eyes, on the feel of the desert air against his skin. Then, carefully, deliberately, he forced his expression into something more neutral.

He couldn’t screw up the timeline. Not yet. Not until he was sure he could change it without making things worse . If he messed with too much, too soon, he’d be flying blind. He wouldn’t know what was coming. He wouldn’t be able to save as many people.

He couldn’t risk that.

So he swallowed down the turmoil, the desperation, and forced himself to smile.

“K.F.!” he said, voice bright, too bright. “Man, it’s good to see a familiar face.”

Wally slowed to a stop beside him, tossing the confiscated guns into a pile. He looked Robin up and down, concern flickering in his green eyes. “Hey, Rob. Memory loss?”

Robin let out an exaggerated sigh. “ Six months! ”

Wally winced. “Oof. Been there.”

Robin rolled his shoulders, forcing himself to stay relaxed even as his mind raced, calculating, reworking every plan he had ever made.

They had work to do.

“Let’s hogtie these creeps,” he grumbled, voice edged with something sharp, something almost spiteful. “Then we can compare notes.”

The group stood over the bound attackers, their unconscious bodies slumped against the sand. The desert air was still, the only sound the faint rustle of wind against the rocks.

Dick turned toward the others, his mind still reeling with the weight of knowing —of remembering everything but pretending he didn’t. For now, he had to act like the rest of them. Like he was lost, trying to piece things together.

“So… we’re a team?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

M’gann nodded. “The four of us and Superboy.”

Dick glanced down at the strip of fabric in his hand. The iconic red S stood out against the material, familiar and unmistakable.

“Then this must be his,” he mused, turning it over between his fingers.

M’gann’s face brightened. “Yes! Did you see him?”

Before Dick could answer, Artemis spoke up.

“I think we did.”

Wally scoffed, crossing his arms. “ Feral boy? Some teammate. He attacked us.”

Artemis shot him a look. “He didn’t know who we are. I don’t know who we are.”

DIck hummed thoughtfully, running his fingers along the rough fabric of the Superman insignia.

“I remember Batman ordering radio silence,” he muttered finally, watching their reactions. “Our team must work for him.”

Wally frowned, his fingers absently drifting to the Flash symbol on his chest. “How do you know we don’t work for my mentor?” He blinked as something shifted beneath his touch. “Whoa.”

The others turned just in time to see his suit change.

The sleek black and red flickered, then lightened, morphing into the usual yellow and red version.

Wally grinned. “This is so cool !” He pressed the emblem again, and the colors snapped back to their stealth mode. “I can switch modes just by touching it? That’s awesome .”

Curious, the others followed his lead, pressing the symbols on their own suits.

Nothing happened.

Artemis huffed in irritation, crossing her arms. “We look ridiculous. Quit touching yourself!”

Dick smirked. Some things never changed.

Artemis turned serious, shaking her head. “We need our memories back.”

M’gann nodded, her expression turning solemn. To help Superboy, she sent, her voice gentle in their minds.

She took a breath, stepping forward. “I brought you into my mind before—to share what I’ve remembered so far. But I need your help. Together, our broken memories can form a whole, if you open your minds to mine.”

Artemis stiffened. Her green eyes flickered with something guarded. “You want to paw through our private thoughts?”

M’gann hesitated. “I have no wish to intrude, but—”

Wally cut in with a broad grin. “My brain’s all yours. Try not to let its brilliance overwhelm you.”

Dick rolled his eyes. “Or underwhelm you. Hey, why isn’t anyone ever just whelmed?”

Artemis sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Last six months only, and only what you need.”

Robin felt Wally’s gaze flick toward him, and before he even spoke, Dick knew what was coming.

“Rob…?” Wally’s voice was quieter now, laced with something hesitant.

Dick didn’t answer immediately. His heartbeat felt just a little too loud in his ears.

M’gann was waiting.

Robin exhaled slowly.

“Stay out of what I have boxed off,” he tried. “Just—just give me a moment to set it up.”

Wally’s brow furrowed. “Rob, what —”

Dick ignored him.

Carefully, he built his mental walls. The same defenses he had crafted a hundred times over in the past. The circus tent. The mirrors. The ticket booth. A carefully constructed maze, designed to keep things hidden.

If M’gann touched anything beyond what he allowed, she would find herself in a labyrinth of endless distractions.

When he was sure it was secure, he nodded. “Alright. It should be okay now. Just don’t go digging. And only what you need.”

M’gann hesitated but eventually nodded.

A rush of memories flooded through them, fragmented but vivid. Each piece snapping into place, forming a picture that still had far too many gaps.

Batman’s voice was calm and steady, a briefing given with precision. “The Watchtower detected an immense power surge in the Bialyan desert. Spectral analysis revealed elements non-terrestrial in origin. Find out what happened at that site—what landed there. Bialya is a rogue state ruled by Queen Bee and not a member of the League’s U.N. Charter. All communications are subject to interception. Maintain radio silence at all times. You’ll land in Qurac, on Bialya’s border, two clicks from the hot zone.”

The image shifted. The desert stretched before them, vast and silent under the night sky as they disembarked from the jet.

“All clear,” Robin’s own voice echoed, calm and controlled.

“The Bialyans control the site,” Artemis noted, scanning the area with narrowed eyes.

Kaldur nodded, his expression serious. “Set up here.”

Conner knelt down, placing a strange metal box onto the sand. A machine. Something important.

Robin was crouched beside the device, fingers flying across the keyboard with ease. “We’ll be up and running in no time.”

Wally grinned, pointing toward the readings. “Jackpot! The site’s lousy with Zeta beam radiation.”

Robin barely glanced up. “Detecting non-terrestrial trace elements from the tent.”

M’gann straightened, determination in her stance. “I’ll check it out in camouflage mode.”

Kaldur nodded. “Good idea. Go.”

Conner turned toward her, his brow furrowed. “Careful.”

Kaldur’s voice was steady. “And maintain telepathic contact.”

“I will, Aqualad.”

Reality snapped back in an instant.

The team jerked upright, startled gasps echoing between them as their minds pulled away from the shared memories. The desert night air felt colder now, heavier with realization.

“Aqualad!” they all said at once, the name slipping from their lips instinctively.

Robin’s pulse pounded. “Where is he? What happened next?”

Do I really still have to act like I don’t remember this entire situation? he thought to himself, barely resisting the urge to sigh.

M’gann’s expression twisted with worry. “I don’t know! That’s the last thing I—I mean, we remember.”

Wally’s jaw clenched. “We landed 24 hours ago. If Kaldur’s been wandering the desert that long, well… That’s not good for a guy with gills.”

Robin was already moving, fingers flying over his glove’s holoscreen, activating the tracker embedded in their suits. Now that he knew to look, it was easy to find.

“He’s close,” Robin said, eyes locked on the glowing map that flickered to life above his wrist. A pulsing red dot blinked just southeast of their position.

“But he’s not moving.”

Kaldur was barely conscious, his body limp against the sand, his skin far too dry. He mumbled something in Atlantean, his words slurred and feverish.

Dick crouched beside him, straining to pick out anything useful, but none of it made sense. His normally sharp, composed friend was completely out of it.

M’gann hovered nearby, her expression pinched with concern. “I can’t restore his memories in this condition.”

Dick’s jaw tightened. Kaldur wasn’t just exhausted—he was dehydrated. Badly. If they didn’t get him water, memory loss was going to be the least of their problems.

“He needs immediate rehydration,” Dick murmured. “Call the Bioship.”

M’gann’s eyes fluttered shut as she reached for a mental connection, only to grimace. “It’s out of range,” she admitted, shaking her head. “But you can get him there fast.”

Dick turned to Wally, who frowned. “He’s too heavy, and I’m too low on fuel.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, then shot Artemis a look. “Right now, I couldn’t even carry her .”

Artemis scowled. “ Gee, thanks. ”

Then she turned to M’gann. “Why not just levitate him back?”

M’gann hesitated, guilt flashing across her face. “I can’t ,” she snapped. “I have to find Superboy. Six months ago, he didn’t exist. He has no memories—just animal impulse . I’m the only one who can help him.”

Wally let out an exasperated groan. “Superboy’s indestructible! Just ask those tanks,” he argued, waving a hand. “It’s Aqualad who needs your help! Like, now! ”

Dick opened his mouth to add to the argument—because, yeah, Superboy could handle himself—but then M’gann stiffened.

Her entire body locked up, eyes going wide in horror.

Then she gasped, staggering back a step.

Dick immediately knew what that meant.

“No— Superboy’s in pain! ” M’gann’s voice was tight, panicked.

A split second later, she shot into the sky, flying off toward wherever Superboy was.

Dick exhaled sharply, dragging a gloved hand down his face.

“We still don’t know what erased our memories!” he called after her, though she was already too far away to hear. “It could happen again! ”

Well , he thought dryly, you don’t know who erased our memories. I do. Psimon is a pain to deal with.

His fingers twitched at the thought. Note to self: work more on mental defenses.

Pushing that aside for now, he turned back to the team. Kaldur needed help, and they weren’t going to get it by standing around arguing.

“We should start heading for the Bioship,” Dick muttered, standing.

They didn’t have time to waste.

Wally’s arms burned .

Dragging an unconscious Kaldur across the desert wasn’t exactly how he’d planned to spend his night—especially when he was already running on fumes—but here they were. He and Artemis had rigged together a makeshift stretcher from salvaged supplies, doing their best to keep Kaldur stable as they followed Robin’s lead.

Robin jogged ahead, scanning the terrain, eyes sharp even in the dim moonlight. “Quick, over there.”

Wally and Artemis barely had time to react before he veered off, ducking behind a massive boulder. Wally grit his teeth and adjusted his grip on Kaldur’s side, moving as fast as he could without dropping him. They reached cover just in time, their bodies pressing into the cool stone.

Kaldur muttered something low and fevered, Atlantean words spilling from cracked lips.

Artemis pressed a hand against his shoulder, voice gentle but firm. “Shh. Kaldur, quiet now.”

Robin’s gaze flicked between them and the open desert. “We can’t risk a firefight with Aqualad KO’d like this.”

Wally huffed, shaking his head. “It’s not just him. I’m way out of juice.” He wasn’t exaggerating. His limbs felt like lead . Running on empty sucked.

Artemis sighed. “And I’m almost out of arrows.”

Before either of them could say anything else, Robin was gone.

Just— gone .

Wally groaned. “Ugh. I forgot how much I hate it when he does the ninja thing.” He let his head drop back against the boulder for a second before turning his attention back to Artemis. His brow furrowed slightly. “Hey, you never said why your dad would want you to—” He made a vague ktttk noise, mimicking a blade slicing across a throat.

Artemis glanced at him, then away. “I got confused by some old movie I saw the other night. About a ninja girl whose ninja dad ordered her to kill her ninja boyfriend ’cause he was from a rival ninja clan.”

Wally smirked. “So, I’m your ninja boyfriend , huh?”

Artemis shot him a flat look. “Hey, amnesia , remember? Completely forgot how truly annoying you are.”

Wally scoffed. “Oh, like you’re the goddess of congeniality.”

Before Artemis could come up with a comeback, Robin’s voice cut in, exasperated and teasing all at once.

“ Yeesh. Get a room. ”

Wally turned sharply. “Dude, where were you? ”

Robin smirked. That smug, I-know-something-you-don’t smirk that was more infuriating than Wally cared to admit. “Breaking radio silence.”

And then—

Laughter.

A sharp, eerie cackle echoed across the desert, bouncing off the rocks, warping, stretching— too much like Robin’s own laugh, but wrong.

Wally’s stomach twisted.

Before he could process it, explosions erupted on the other side of the boulder. A wall of fire and sound roared into the air, illuminating the night with bursts of violent orange light.

Robin didn’t even flinch.

“That’s our cue,” he said, already moving. “ Move! ”

Wally and Artemis didn’t hesitate. They lifted Kaldur again, dragging him toward the rendezvous point. The Bioship was camouflaged somewhere ahead, its form hidden beneath M’gann’s mental command.

Robin stayed close behind, footsteps barely making a sound as he kept watch over their escape.

Whatever he had just done—whatever he knew that they didn’t—Wally didn’t have the energy to question it.

Not yet.

Artemis sat beside Kaldur on the Bioship, watching his chest rise and fall in slow, steady breaths. His skin was still far too dry for comfort, but the color was finally starting to return to his face. The liquid IV in his arm dripped rhythmically, rehydrating him drop by drop.

He was stable. That was what mattered.

Artemis exhaled softly, rubbing at her arms. The quiet hum of the Bioship was soothing in a way she hadn’t expected, a steady presence in the background as she kept watch over her unconscious leader.

Leader.

She had barely wrapped her head around the idea. Kaldur always seemed so composed—calm, in control, the kind of person people listened to. But now, looking at him like this, vulnerable and still too pale, it was hard to reconcile that image with the person in front of her.

A quiet voice—warm, familiar—slipped into her mind.

I've got Superboy. He's back to normal, and we're on our way.

M’gann.

Artemis let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Good. One less thing to worry about.

But the relief barely had time to settle before Kaldur jolted upright.

His movements were abrupt, disoriented, and his eyes darted wildly around the Bioship. His muscles tensed, shoulders squared for battle even as exhaustion pulled at his body.

Who are you , he demanded, voice firm, and how did you get inside my head?

Artemis startled, hands instinctively raised in a placating gesture. "Whoa, hey—it's okay!" she said quickly. "You're safe. You're on our ship."

Kaldur didn’t relax. His eyes flicked to the unfamiliar liquid IV in his arm, then back to her, wary and assessing. He looked ready to launch himself off the bed at the first sign of danger.

Artemis opened her mouth to try again, but before she could, M’gann's voice rang through their heads once more.

Hello, Megan! There was a mental thunk , like someone smacking their forehead. Aqualad’s memories! I knew I forgot something.

Artemis winced at the phrasing. Great. That’s not ominous or anything.

Kaldur’s eyes narrowed further. Memories ? His voice was sharp, suspicious.

Before anyone could respond, a second voice chimed in—this one full of dramatic disappointment.

Aw, man. Me too. I didn't get a souvenir from the mission.

Artemis groaned. Wally. Seriously?

His mental tone was completely unbothered. What? I'm just saying, if we're handing out missing memories, maybe we could get some cool stuff out of this. A laser sword, a pet alien, a jetpack—

M’gann sighed. Don’t worry. Got the souvenir thing covered.

Chapter Text

Back at Mount Justice, the team sat in the mission briefing room, the atmosphere thick with anticipation. The air was still, heavy with expectation. The faint hum of the overhead lights filled the silence, the only sound punctuating the tension that had settled over them.

All eyes were locked on Batman, who stood at the head of the table, his presence as solid and imposing as ever. His cape draped around him, shadows clinging to the sharp angles of his suit.

“I’ve asked J’onn to assist you all in strengthening your mental barriers,” he stated, his voice cutting through the stillness like a blade. No hesitation. No wasted words. Just the direct, unwavering command of a man who expected them to follow it. His gaze swept over the team, keen and assessing, lingering on each of them for just a second longer than necessary.

“Your last mission proved that Psimon remains a formidable opponent,” he continued. “You were compromised. That cannot happen again.”

Dick fought the urge to smirk.

Oh, this is gonna be fun.

He kept his expression carefully neutral, nodding along with the others as if this was just another routine training session. As if he wasn’t already internally dying of amusement.

Because the others?

They were nervous.

Psychic attacks weren’t something they had much experience handling. Sure, they’d fought powerful enemies, faced down threats that could crush them in a second—but this was different. Having someone else in your h ead , shifting through your thoughts, digging into the things you didn’t want exposed? That was a whole different kind of terrifying.

Dick understood why they were uneasy.

But for him?

This was a joke .

If there was one thin g he didn’t need to work on, it was his mental shields. They weren’t just good—they were among the best in the world. And they had to be. If they weren’t, he wouldn’t have survived as long as he had in the last timeline.

Wouldn’t have lasted through the constant psychic attacks.

Wouldn’t have fought off the mind control attempts that had taken down people stronger than him.

Wouldn’t have withstood the invasive prying of beings who could tear into someone’s consciousness like it was nothing .

His mind had been his fortress . His one unbreakable stronghold.

And there was no way J’onn was getting in.

Batman continued, oblivious to Dick’s internal amusement. “J’onn will lead you through each other’s minds. You’ll attempt to keep him out, and he’ll provide feedback on where your barriers need improvement.”

J’onn inclined his head slightly, his expression calm and unreadable. “Mental defenses are like muscles—they must be trained. This exercise will help you recognize weaknesses and reinforce your strengths.”

His voice was steady, smooth—just the right balance of authority and reassurance. The kind of voice that made you want to trust him, made you want to believe that everything was under control.

And for most of the team, it worked.

Most of them.

Dick flicked his gaze across the room, taking stock of their reactions.

Artemis had her arms crossed, her expression carefully neutral, but the tightness in her shoulders betrayed her unease.

Conner was tense, his brow furrowed, hands curling into fists almost imperceptibly.

M’gann was watching J’onn closely, her posture straight, attentive—but beneath that, Dick could feel the nervous energy radiating from her.

Even Wally, who was normally the first to crack a joke, was bouncing his knee slightly under the table, restless.

They were all worried.

And why wouldn’t they be?

Letting someone into your mind—into the deepest parts of yourself, the places even you didn’t like to look—wasn’t something you just did .

Even with someone as trustworthy as J’onn, it was unnerving .

Dick, meanwhile, was trying very hard not to laugh .

J’onn gestured for them to sit. “Who will go first?”

Before anyone else could even think about answering—

“Ooo, me!” Wally shot his hand up, grinning. “I wanna see what my brain looks like!”

Dick bit his tongue to keep from making a joke.

Oh, Wally.

He already knew Wally’s mind was going to be a disaster, but now? Now they were about to get visual confirmation.

J’onn gave a small nod, closing his eyes.

And then—

The world around them shifted .

They opened their eyes inside Wally’s mind.

And immediately, Dick had to bite down on his cheek to keep from laughing.

A traffic jam.

They were standing in the middle of a massive, congested highway, stretching endlessly in both directions. Cars honked around them, their blaring horns overlapping into a chaotic, headache-inducing symphony. Exhaust filled the air, a thick haze hovering just above the pavement.

Every lane was packed bumper to bumper, vehicles of every make and model frozen in place like they had been trapped there for hours .

Somehow, this felt exactly right for Wally’s brain.

Artemis turned in a slow circle, taking in the sheer mess surrounding them before deadpanning, “Dude. Your brain is actually rush hour.”

Dick nearly lost it right then and there.

Wally crossed his arms, scowling. “Yeah, yeah. Very funny.”

But it was funny. It was perfect.

Because of course Wally’s thoughts were a constant, never-ending traffic jam—his mind running at full speed even when his body was standing still, ideas and distractions and emotions all competing for the right of way.

Dick could almost see how it worked—the way certain thoughts were weaving in and out of lanes, trying to overtake others. The way some were completely stuck , trapped behind blockages caused by overthinking or doubt.

A mess .

But an organized mess, in a way that was so uniquely Wally .

J’onn, unfazed, moved through the chaos effortlessly. He weaved through the clutter like it was nothing, stepping between honking cars, slipping past log-jammed ideas without hesitation.

Dick didn’t even see how he did it—one second, J’onn was navigating the gridlock, and the next—

He was through.

Just like that, the traffic melted away, the blaring horns fell silent, and a memory flickered into existence.

A younger Wally—maybe seven or eight—was standing in a dimly lit room, red-eyed and sniffling, his small hands clutching the fabric of his shirt.

Before Dick could make sense of what had upset him, a blur of yellow entered the frame, moving fast but not too fast—

Barry.

The older speedster crouched down, expression gentle, and without a word, pulled Wally into a tight hug.

Wally clung to him.

Barry murmured something—too soft to hear, too private to intrude on—but whatever it was made Wally’s little shoulders tremble before finally relaxing.

The memory lingered for just a second longer—Barry’s hand smoothing over Wally’s hair, Wally’s tiny fingers tightening in the fabric of Barry’s suit—

Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the scene dissolved.

The memory of Barry and Wally faded like mist in the morning sun, and in its place—

Water.

A crash of icy saltwater slammed into them from all directions.

Dick barely had time to react before he was pulled under, the force of the current yanking him into a chaotic, swirling abyss. His arms flailed for balance, his feet scrambling for ground that no longer existed.

The world had transformed.

Gone was the honking gridlock of Wally’s mind. Now they were in the middle of a stormy sea, its waves unforgiving, its depths limitless.

Dick sucked in a sharp breath, the scent of salt filling his nose—except he wasn’t actually breathing, because none of this was real , but it felt real. The cold stung his skin, the relentless push and pull of the tide throwing his body in every direction.

Artemis yelped somewhere to his left as a wave slammed into her, flipping her upside down before she managed to right herself.

“Okay, this sucks !” Wally’s voice was muffled by the churning water, his arms pinwheeling wildly as he was tossed around like a ragdoll.

M’gann tried to telekinetically steady herself, but the currents were erratic, unpredictable, shifting without pattern or warning. Conner, usually the most physically stable of them all, was struggling too—his body twisting as the water pulled him under, then spit him back out again.

This wasn’t just a storm .

This was Kaldur’s mind.

And it was fighting back.

Dick barely had time to orient himself before another wave sent him tumbling. He flipped once, twice—then suddenly, a hand caught his wrist, stopping his descent.

J’onn.

The Martian was the only one completely unaffected by the chaos, his posture steady as if the water didn’t even touch him. His glowing eyes flickered with concentration, his grip firm but not unkind.

J’onn’s jaw tightened slightly as he pushed forward, cutting through the relentless tides with precise, deliberate movements. He was working for it this time.

Dick could see it—the subtle furrow in J’onn’s brow, the way his shoulders tensed ever so slightly under the strain of Kaldur’s defenses.

Kaldur’s mind was a fortress, but it wasn’t made of stone.

It was made of water—constant, untouchable, impossible to pin down.

J’onn was pushing through rapids, navigating the endless, rolling currents of discipline and duty, carefully moving past the walls Kaldur had built over years of training, years of holding himself together .

Still, even the strongest defenses had weak spots.

And J’onn was good.

Slowly, deliberately, he pressed forward, his presence like a steadying anchor against the tide. The waves surged again, desperate to keep him out, but he didn’t stop.

Didn’t waver.

Didn’t sink .

Then, finally—

The storm broke.

The sea stilled, and for the briefest moment, everything was calm.

A memory surfaced.

Aquaman stood before Kaldur, golden armor gleaming in the sunlight. His expression was warm, his eyes filled with pride—pride so genuine that it nearly radiated from him.

Kaldur, younger, stood at attention, his stance stiff with discipline but his eyes bright with something new .

Approval.

Acceptance.

A place at his king’s side.

The moment lingered, stretching just a little longer than expected—then, as suddenly as it had come, it was gone, slipping through their grasp like smoke.

Artemis was up next.

Her mind was a mountain, towering and imposing, an unshakable force against the world. But it wasn’t stable. Cracks ran deep beneath the surface, hidden fractures threatening to split wide open. Without warning, sharp boulders and jagged rocks tumbled down, forcing them to move, to weave and dodge, to keep pressing forward or risk being crushed under the weight of her defenses.

“Jeez, Artemis,” Wally muttered. “Ever heard of a welcome mat?”

Artemis shot him a glare, but she was too tense to come up with a snarky reply.

J’onn’s approach remained steady, calculated. He didn’t push—he observed, he adjusted, moving with patience and care. Every step forward was met with resistance, every attempt to break through met with more falling debris, but he did not falter.

Then, finally, a crack in the stone. A way through.

A memory unfolded. Artemis stood in a dimly lit room, arms wrapped tightly around an older, dark-haired woman. Her face, normally sharp and guarded, softened into something rare—something vulnerable. The woman murmured something against her temple, pressing a gentle kiss to her hair. Artemis let out a slow breath, shoulders easing in the kind of comfort she never let anyone see.

“That’s—” M’gann started, then hesitated. “That’s your mom, isn’t it?”

Artemis stiffened. “Drop it.”

“Wait,” Conner frowned. “I thought you said—”

“Drop it,” she repeated, sharper this time.

The moment shattered. The mountain reformed, sealing itself shut once more.

Then came Conner.

His mind was tunnels—dark, winding, endless. Twisting passages that seemed to loop in on themselves, eerily similar to the ones beneath CADMUS. Cold, sterile walls pressed in from every side, the air thick with something oppressive, something heavy.

They wandered, lost in the maze, turning corner after corner with no sense of direction. Every passage looked the same, identical and unyielding, a structure built to trap, to control, to contain.

“Okay, this is officially worse than Artemis’ boulder booby traps,” Wally muttered, crossing his arms. “At least hers had, like, an exit.”

“There is always an exit,” Kaldur said, though even he sounded uncertain as they turned yet another identical corner.

J’onn moved with more urgency now, pressing forward, searching. He had to push harder here—this place wasn’t just a defense mechanism. It was a cage, a labyrinth built to keep things locked inside, and Conner had been trapped in it long before they ever stepped into his mind.

M’gann wrapped her arms around herself, a shiver running through her. “This place feels… lonely.”

Conner didn’t say anything.

Then, finally, a shift. A crack in the darkness.

A flicker of light.

A memory unfolded, soft and unexpected—Conner sitting with the team during a movie night. The glow of the screen flickered across his face, but he wasn’t watching. His gaze was on them, on his friends. His expression was unreadable at first, almost guarded, but then—just for a second—his features softened. The smallest trace of a smile, something warm, something real.

“Dude,” Wally whispered. “You actually like us.”

Conner rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “Shut up.”

M’gann smiled, her own emotions swelling. “That’s a good memory, Conner.”

Conner shifted uncomfortably but didn’t deny it.

Then, just as quickly as it had come, the tunnels collapsed, crumbling in on themselves until there was nothing left but darkness.

Then M’gann.

Her mind was Mars itself.

A sandstorm, raging and relentless, sweeping across the vast red expanse with unchecked fury. The winds howled through their ears, whipping their clothes and stinging their skin like a thousand tiny needles. Visibility was practically nonexistent—nothing but swirling gold and crimson dust stretching endlessly in every direction.

Wally coughed, raising an arm to shield his face. “Okay, M’gann, I gotta say—this is not a very inviting atmosphere.”

“I can’t control it,” M’gann said, frowning as she looked around. “At least… not like this.”

Kaldur braced himself against the wind, scanning the endless storm. “This is a defensive measure,” he observed. “Much like the others.”

Artemis grimaced as another strong gust nearly knocked her off balance. “Yeah, but hers is trying to flay us alive .”

“I do not like this,” Wally muttered, shaking sand out of his hair.

M’gann swallowed hard. She looked almost embarrassed, like she hadn’t expected her mind to manifest this way.

J’onn, however, remained steady. He was patient, methodical, studying the chaos before pressing forward. But the storm resisted him. Every step he took forward, the winds pushed back harder.

Dick crossed his arms, watching carefully. “She’s fighting it.”

M’gann’s eyes widened slightly. “I—no, I wouldn’t—”

“You’re not doing it on purpose,” Dick said, his voice calmer this time. “But yeah. You’re pushing back.”

M’gann frowned, shifting uncomfortably.

“Why?” Conner asked bluntly, staring at her through the sand. “What don’t you want us to see?”

M’gann’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t answer.

The winds howled louder, stronger, forcing them to brace themselves once again. But J’onn didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. He pushed forward, past the resistance, past the walls she had built up so instinctively—

Then, finally, something shifted.

The storm eased. The haze parted.

A memory surfaced, flickering like a candle against the darkness.

The kitchen in Mount Justice. Warm light, the scent of fresh-baked cookies filling the air. The gentle hum of the oven.

A Dick sat on a stool at the counter, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His posture was tight, his head bowed slightly. Even through the shades, it was obvious—he had been crying.

Wally sat next to him, one elbow propped lazily on the counter, his other arm draped over the back of Dick’s chair. His usual energy was dimmed, his expression softer, more focused. He was watching him, waiting, offering silent support.

Artemis leaned against the counter, chin propped in her hand, her usual sharp demeanor softened by something quieter. Kaldur stood nearby, arms crossed, his presence steady and grounding. Conner was close as well, his gaze flicking between them, uncertain but present.

The conversation had faded into silence by then. The kind of silence that wasn’t awkward or heavy, but easy—one that said, We’re here. We’re not going anywhere. Take your time.

M’gann moved about the kitchen, clattering utensils, checking the oven, but she wasn’t trying to fill the silence either. She just let it exist. Let them exist in it.

“I remember this,” Artemis murmured, eyes fixed on the scene.

Wally exhaled, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah. It was right after he scared the hell out of us.”

Dick, watching the memory play out, tensed slightly.

Conner frowned. “This was after the nightmare.”

M’gann swallowed, her expression unreadable. “Yes.”

Wally’s gaze flicked to Dick, then back to the memory. “You didn’t want to talk about it,” he said quietly. “Not really.”

The scene shifted—Conner, blunt as ever, finally asking, So… what did happen?

M’gann elbowed him. You don’t just say it like that.

It’s a fair question, Conner argued.

Wally had stayed silent, just watching Dick, waiting.

Dick, shifting uncomfortably under their stares, had finally mumbled, I had a pretty bad nightmare.

And they had accepted that. No interrogation. No pressure.

Just acceptance.

“That’s why this memory came up,” Kaldur said thoughtfully. “It was a moment of trust.”

M’gann blinked rapidly, arms wrapping around herself. “I… guess so.”

Dick inhaled sharply, staring at the memory of himself, curled under that blanket, surrounded by people who had stayed. Who hadn’t pushed. Who had just been there.

“It’s a good memory,” Wally said after a moment, quieter this time.

“A safe memory,” J’onn corrected gently.

M’gann let out a slow breath. “Yeah.”

For a long moment, no one said anything. They just stood there, watching. Letting the warmth of the memory settle around them, grounding them in the familiarity of it.

Then, like all the others, it faded—swallowed back into the storm.

Finally, it was his turn.

The team braced themselves as they entered Dick’s mind, expecting something difficult, maybe even horrifying.

Instead—

A ticket booth.

They all stared at it.

“…Seriously?” Artemis deadpanned.

Wally groaned. “Oh, come on. ”

“I should have expected this,” Kaldur muttered, exhaling.

J’onn studied the booth with interest, his gaze flicking toward the glowing entrance to the circus tent just beyond it. “A controlled environment,” he mused. “But one that misdirects.”

“That’s a fancy way of saying bullcrap, ” Conner muttered.

Before anyone could step forward, the entrance swung open with a dramatic flourish, revealing the path inside.

M’gann frowned. “I don’t trust this.”

“Yeah, well, we’re already here,” Wally grumbled, stepping in cautiously. “Might as well get this over with—”

SPLAT .

A pie hit him square in the face.

The team froze.

Artemis blinked. “Was that…?”

Wally slowly wiped the cream from his face. His jaw clenched. “ Robin. ”

A laugh echoed through the air.

“Oh man, I was hoping M’gann would walk in first.”

J’onn sighed, amused. “It seems he is playing games with us.”

“No kidding ,” Wally muttered, still trying to get the pie off.

They took another cautious step forward—

HONK .

A giant cartoon horn went off, deafeningly loud.

Conner flinched violently. “What the—?!”

Beneath him, the floor suddenly tilted and he went sliding straight into a pit of rubber chickens.

Silence.

Then—

“Oh, you have to be joking,” Conner growled, his voice slightly muffled under a pile of squeaky toys.

Artemis doubled over laughing.

“Okay, okay,” Dick’s voice echoed. “That one was for me.”

Kaldur pinched the bridge of his nose. “Robin, this is childish.”

“That’s the point, ” Dick shot back, clearly delighted.

They pressed forward cautiously, Conner pulling himself free from the rubber chicken abyss.

Then—

BANG.

Colorful confetti exploded from nowhere, showering them in bright paper.

A banner unfurled from the ceiling.

WELCOME TO THE MAZE OF FUN! GOOD LUCK, SUCKERS!

Artemis groaned. “Oh, I hate him.”

M’gann sighed, brushing confetti out of her hair. “I don’t think we’re getting through this easily.”

Kaldur took a steady breath. “We must try.”

J’onn smiled. “Indeed.”

They stepped forward—

And immediately found themselves inside a hall of mirrors.

The reflections stretched infinitely, distorting in unnatural ways.

A whoopee cushion went off from nowhere.

Wally spun around, scowling. “Okay, which one of you—”

Dick’s laughter echoed through the maze. “Not me, man.”

The team groaned.

They cautiously stepped forward, eyes darting around for whatever else Dick had planned.

Artemis froze. “Okay, if anything else—”

CLANG.

A bucket dropped from above, landing perfectly on her head.

Wally wheezed. “OH, THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE.”

Artemis ripped the bucket off, eyes blazing. “I AM GOING TO KILL YOU.”

Dick just cackled .

J’onn simply nodded in approval. “His mind is well-guarded.”

“No, his mind is annoying, ” Conner grumbled.

The mirrors flickered—

And suddenly, they were in the center of a massive circus tent.

Spotlights blasted on, blinding them. The distant cheers of an invisible audience echoed all around.

“Ugh, what now ?” Artemis muttered, shading her eyes.

Dick’s voice rang from above. “Final act, guys! Hope you enjoyed the show!”

And everything changed.

The bright lights dimmed. The funhouse distortions faded, replaced by something darker.

The air turned cold.

The mirrors around them were no longer warped in an amusing way. They stretched unnaturally, their surfaces dark and slick, like polished obsidian. The team’s reflections were still there, but now… they weren’t quite right.

Their reflections lagged behind their movements, staring long after they should have looked away. Some of them didn’t move at all.

M’gann took an instinctive step back. “Uh… guys?”

Wally’s laughter died in his throat. “Oh. Hell no.”

Then the lights went out.

For a moment, there was nothing. Just pitch-black darkness.

Then—

Drip.

A single sound echoed in the silence.

Drip. Drip.

Like water leaking from a cracked pipe—except it was too thick, too slow.

Something moved in the darkness.

A shape. A shadow.

Then another.

And another.

“ Robin, ” Artemis said slowly, voice tense. “This better be another joke.”

Silence.

Then—

A whisper, too close. “Who said I was joking?”

The team spun —but there was nothing there.

The whispers started again, this time overlapping, surrounding them, coming from the mirrors, from the darkness, from nowhere and everywhere at once.

Robin. Robin. Robin.

It wasn’t just their voices anymore. There were others —some familiar, some not. Voices that dripped with distortion , words stretched and broken.

You left us.

You couldn’t save us.

Your fault.

M’gann gasped as her reflection in the mirror smiled at her—a sharp, wrong smile—before slowly lifting a hand and pressing against the glass from the inside.

“ Nope. ” Wally turned on his heel. “I’m done. ”

“Agreed,” Kaldur whispered, his voice tight.

A cold breath ghosted over Artemis’s neck. She whipped around—nothing was there.

The air grew heavier , pressing in on them like unseen hands. The shadows stretched across the floor, creeping toward them.

Then—

The mirrors cracked.

And the world split open.

The floor vanished.

Down.
 Down.
  Down.

They fell, the echoes of twisted laughter chasing after them—

Then—

They woke up.

Back in the real world.

Staring at Dick, who was lounging comfortably on the couch, casually eating a cookie.

He grinned at them, far too pleased with himself.

“Welcome back,” he said innocently.

The team just stared at him, still trying to process what had just happened.

Wally finally pointed an accusing finger. “WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT? ”

Dick blinked at him. “What? You didn’t like the horror theme? Thought I’d switch it up.”

M’gann was still pale, staring blankly at the wall. “I want out of your brain.”

Artemis exhaled sharply. “I hate you.”

Dick smirked. “Aw, c’mon, that was fun!”

Conner crossed his arms, scowling. “Fun?”

J’onn simply smiled, entirely unfazed. “A fascinating defense system.”

Wally groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “Dude,” he complained, leveling Dick with an unimpressed look, “your brain is just as confusing and twisty as you are.”

Dick only grinned, pleased. “Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment,” Wally grumbled.

Artemis, still visibly rattled from the sudden horror shift, shot Dick a glare. “I don’t know why I expected anything less than psychological warfare.”

“I told you,” Conner muttered, arms crossed, still tense from whatever that had been. “I said we shouldn’t trust it.”

M’gann, who was still ghost-white, shivered. “I’m never going in there again.”

Dick just beamed .

But he wasn’t really paying attention to them anymore.

Because out of the corner of his eye—

Bruce and J’onn exchanged a glance.

Dick caught it.

That subtle but deliberate moment of silent communication. The kind that would slip past anyone else.

Oh. That look.

That concerned look.

That this isn’t normal look.

That why does this thirteen-year-old have mental shields that could rival some of the best telepaths in the universe look.

And the thing was—

Dick wasn’t supposed to have those shields yet.

He knew that.

Knew it because this wasn’t the first time he’d lived through this conversation.

Because in the future —in the timeline he left behind —Batman had asked J’onn to teach him how to shield. He hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

Which meant J’onn was concerned .

Because no kid should have mental barriers that solid.

Not naturally.

Not instinctively.

And definitely not ones strong enough to keep J’onn J’onzz out.

J’onn didn’t say anything right away, but his gaze lingered on Dick, studying him, quiet and unreadable.

Assessing. Calculating. Trying to figure it out.

Trying to find the why.

Dick smiled.

Casual. Easy. Harmless.

Like a kid who had just played a few pranks. A kid who had no idea why everyone was being so dramatic. A kid who wasn’t hiding something so much bigger.

Because J’onn didn’t know.

And he wasn’t going to find out.

Chapter Text

A week had passed.

Things had settled. Mostly.

The incident inside his mind had been reduced to an occasional joke at his expense—mostly from Wally. Every now and then, someone would toss a bucket of water in his direction or make a comment about rubber chickens, but for the most part, the Team had moved on.

Dick wasn’t surprised. They were busy people. Between training, missions, and whatever chaos Wally and Artemis were up to on any given day, no one had the time to obsess over what had happened inside his head.

Except maybe J’onn.

Dick had caught him watching him a couple of times since then, that quiet, unreadable gaze lingering just a second too long. But J’onn never said anything about it, and Batman hadn’t brought it up either. So for now, it wasn’t an issue.

For now.

Dick shook the thought off, shifting his focus back to the present.

The Team was scattered around the main room, sprawled across the couches and chairs, talking and laughing. M’gann was curled up on the couch next to Artemis, flipping through a magazine. Conner sat on the floor, leaning against the couch, arms crossed, half-listening to the conversation while pretending not to. Kaldur stood near the entrance, sipping from a glass of water, looking relaxed but always observant.

Wally was stretched out across the other couch, legs draped over the armrest, animatedly recounting some story about how he totally could’ve beaten that speedster villain last week if he hadn’t been distracted.

“You tripped, dude,” Conner corrected flatly.

Wally sat up. “I was pushed! ”

Artemis snorted. “By gravity? ”

Before Wally could argue, Batman’s voice crackled over the intercom.

“All Team members, report to the mission room.”

The atmosphere shifted immediately.

Conversations died.

Everyone exchanged glances.

A mission.

Without a word, the Team moved.

Dick pushed off the couch, stretching briefly before making his way toward his room to get changed. The others did the same, splitting off in different directions, their usual playful energy replaced with quiet focus.

Dick stood near the front of the mission room, arms crossed, watching as Batman pulled up the holographic display. The screen flickered, shifting to a satellite image of a dense forest. A rusted factory sat in the middle of it, surrounded by thick trees. Even from the low-res aerial view, Dick could spot the signs of recent activity—tire tracks cutting through the dirt roads, figures patrolling the perimeter, faint heat signatures hinting at more guards inside.

“This mission will take you to Estonia,” Batman said, voice steady, commanding. “League surveillance intercepted encrypted communications between Intergang and an unknown buyer. The meeting is set to take place here.” He gestured toward the factory on the map. “Your objective is simple: observe, gather intel, and identify the buyer. Do not engage.”

Dick frowned slightly.

This… hadn’t happened before.

In the future—the one he had left behind—there had been no League intelligence leading them to an Intergang deal in Estonia. No intercepted transmissions. No mention of a mysterious buyer at an abandoned factory in the middle of a forest.

So what was this?

Was it just a different path to information he already knew, or was it completely new intel? Something he never would have had access to before?

He forced himself to focus.

“The area is heavily guarded,” Batman continued, zooming in on the image. Red markers highlighted security measures along the perimeter—motion sensors, automated turrets, guard positions. “These defenses are active and well-maintained. Someone is investing heavily in keeping this place secure.”

Beside him, Wally let out a low whistle. “Geez. Little excessive, don’t you think?”

“If the buyer is who we suspect,” Kaldur said, studying the map, “then it makes sense.”

Batman’s gaze flicked toward him. “The League has yet to confirm their identity,” he admitted, “but there are rumors of a connection to The Light.”

The room went still.

Dick kept his expression neutral, but inside, his mind was already running a hundred miles an hour.

The Light.

They didn’t know yet. The League didn’t have names. Didn’t have proof. Didn’t even have solid theories.

He knew everyone who was involved. The ones who were pulling the strings now, the ones who would be recruited later, the ones who would betray, manipulate, rise and fall.

But what he didn’t know—what had him on edge—was whether this mission was leading them to something he already knew, or if this was completely new information. A thread the League had never pulled before.

He wasn’t sure which possibility was more unsettling.

Batman turned back to them, unreadable as ever. “Your primary goal is reconnaissance. If you’re spotted, the deal could fall through, and we lose the chance to track The Light’s movements.”

Then—he hesitated, just for a fraction of a second.

And said something Dick wasn’t expecting.

“The rest,” Batman said, “is up to you.”

Dick blinked.

Wait.

What?

He exchanged a quick glance with Kaldur, who looked just as surprised.

No strict plan? No outlined contingencies? No carefully structured mission protocol?

Batman was leaving how they handled it up to them.

This wasn’t just a mission.

It was a test.

And if this was different—if this mission hadn’t happened before—then that meant he had already changed something.

The thought made his stomach twist.

He forced himself to push it aside. Focus on what was in front of him.

Kaldur straightened, stepping forward. “Understood. We will proceed with caution.”

Batman’s gaze swept over them one last time before he gave a sharp nod. “You deploy in one hour. Dismissed.”

The Team exchanged glances as they turned to leave.

No one said it out loud.

But they were all thinking the same thing.

This mission mattered.

And they couldn’t afford to mess it up.

The steady hum of the Bioship filled the cabin, a low, comforting vibration beneath their feet. Outside, the deep blues of the ocean stretched endlessly below them, the horizon blurred by their speed as they closed in on Estonia.

Inside, the Team had formed a loose circle, leaning against seats, crouching near the center console, or—in Wally’s case—sprawled out like he had no bones.

"Alright," Kaldur started, ever the professional. "We need a strategy before we arrive."

Artemis scoffed. "You mean before someone ”—she cut a look at Wally—"runs in blind and gets caught?"

"Hey!" Wally sat up, offended. "That was one time!"

Dick smirked. "Yeah, and it will happen again if we don’t give him something to do."

“Okay, rude,” Wally muttered, crossing his arms.

Kaldur, ignoring them, gestured to the holographic map floating above the console. "We must be careful. This location is well-guarded, and we cannot risk exposure. Our mission is intel only. That means no direct confrontations unless absolutely necessary."

"Fine," Conner grumbled, slumping back against the wall. "But if things go south, I'm not not throwing someone through a wall."

Dick grinned. "That's the spirit . "

Conner gave him a dry look.

"Alright," Kaldur said, pulling them back on track. "Robin, I assume you can access their security?"

Dick stretched, lacing his fingers behind his head. "You assume correctly."

Artemis raised a brow. "That’s it? No details?"

He shrugged. "I'll get in, pull whatever footage I can, and record everything important. If I can loop the cameras, I will, but I won’t know until I see what I’m dealing with. Worst case, I create some blind spots and we move fast."

"Translation," Wally muttered, "he’s gonna wing it."

Dick flashed him a bright grin. "Would you expect anything less?"

Kaldur sighed but let it slide.

"I can stay camouflaged and scan their surface thoughts," M’gann said, shifting back into mission mode. "Nothing invasive, just listening in. If the buyer or Intergang say anything useful, I’ll pick it up."

"As long as it doesn’t alert them," Kaldur said.

M’gann nodded.

Artemis twirled an arrow between her fingers. "I’ll get up high, take out anyone patrolling too close to us. Silent takedowns only. Happy, Aqualad?"

Kaldur gave a nod of approval.

"Alright, now me," Wally announced, sitting up straighter. "I’ll—"

"Run in too fast and trip an alarm?" Artemis cut in.

"No!" Wally frowned, then hesitated. "I mean, statistically , that’s possible, but—"

"We’ll have him handle quick retrieval," Dick said, smirking. "Anything physical we need to steal, he’s our guy. Grab and go."

"See?" Wally huffed, gesturing wildly. "At least Robin believes in me."

"I do believe in you," Dick said, slapping a hand on Wally’s shoulder. "I believe you will cause problems."

Wally shoved him off.

Conner rolled his eyes. "I’ll hang back for extraction. If you guys screw up, we’ll need an escape plan."

" When they screw up," Artemis corrected.

"Wow," Dick deadpanned. "The betrayal in this ship right now."

"Trust is earned, Boy Wonder," Artemis teased.

Kaldur exhaled, his patience clearly being tested. "To summarize—

"Robin, you will hack into the security feeds and record any intel available.

“I will lead the team and coordinate our stealth maneuvers.

“Miss Martian, you will remain camouflaged and conduct telepathic surveillance, gathering surface thoughts without detection.

“Superboy, you will stay on standby for extraction and emergency support.

“Kid Flash, your priority is the quick retrieval of any physical evidence we may need.

“Artemis, you will take a high vantage point, eliminating threats with silent takedowns as necessary."

He let his gaze sweep over the team, making sure they were all paying attention.

"No unnecessary risks. No deviations from the plan. Stealth is our priority. Understood?"

No one spoke for a moment, letting the final plan settle in.

Then Wally stretched and leaned back. "Alright, good talk, team. I think we really grew as people today."

Dick hummed thoughtfully. "Did we, though?"

Wally kicked his shin.

Dick grinned.

The Bioship beeped, alerting them to their approach.

"Two minutes out," M’gann reported.

And just like that, the playful energy faded, replaced by quiet focus.

Dick glanced out the window, the dark trees of Estonia coming into view below.

Showtime.

The Bioship hovered silently above the dense Estonian treetops, cloaked in M’gann’s camouflage. Below, the abandoned factory loomed in the darkness, rusted walls and broken windows giving it an eerie, skeletal appearance. But despite its outward decay, the place was very much active .

Through his binoculars, Dick counted at least a dozen guards patrolling the perimeter—some armed with high-powered rifles, others stationed near key security points. Mounted turrets perched on the rooftops, their barrels shifting with precision, scanning for movement.

They weren’t messing around.

“This place is locked down tight,” Dick muttered into the comms.

“Good thing we’re not knocking on the front door,” Wally whispered back.

Dick smirked but didn’t respond.

Kaldur, crouched beside him, studied the layout. “Robin, begin the hack. We need those security feeds.”

“Already on it,” Dick said, pulling out his wrist computer.

He had managed to piggyback off a low-range signal coming from the factory, likely a wireless connection between their internal systems. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to give him a way in.

As his fingers flew over the keyboard, M’gann’s voice came through the link.

“Surface thoughts are all business,” she reported. “Guards are tense but focused. They know something’s happening tonight, but they don’t know we’re here.”

“That’s something,” Artemis murmured.

Dick’s system finally found an access point, and a grin spread across his face. “ Gotcha. ”

One by one, security feeds popped up on his HUD—grainy but clear enough to work with. He cycled through them, mapping out patrol routes, guard stations, and—most importantly—the meeting room where the buyer was supposed to arrive.

“Cameras are ours,” he confirmed. “I can loop some of them, but I need to be careful. If they’re running manual checks, they’ll notice if I shut down too many at once.”

“Prioritize the entry points,” Kaldur instructed. “We need a way inside.”

Dick nodded, setting up a timed loop on the east side of the building—a temporary blind spot just big enough for the Team to slip through.

“There. You’ve got a window. Three minutes before the next rotation.”

Kaldur signaled to the others. “Move in.”

Artemis was the first to go, disappearing into the trees to take up her sniping position. M’gann followed, cloaking herself and hovering just above the treeline for aerial support. Wally and Kaldur moved quickly and quietly along the perimeter, staying out of sight.

Superboy hung back, his job simple—wait and be ready. If things went sideways, he was their out.

Dick lingered for a second, double-checking his loops, making sure nothing was about to alert the guards.

Everything looked fine.

Then he moved.

Sticking to the shadows, he crept forward, eyes flicking between his wrist computer and the terrain ahead. He was good at this—no, great at this. Sneaking into high-security facilities was practically second nature by now.

Which was why he wasn’t expecting the tiny, barely noticeable click beneath his boot.

His stomach dropped.

For a split second, nothing happened.

Then—

Floodlights blasted on, slicing through the darkness like a blade. The once-shadowed perimeter of the factory became an overexposed battlefield, stripping away every ounce of cover. The air filled with mechanical whirrs—cameras pivoting, turrets activating, the low thrum of a security system springing to life.

Then came the shouting.

Guards rushed in from every direction, moving fast. Too fast.

Dick’s stomach dropped.

Robin’s been made! Artemis’s voice hit the mind link like a gunshot.

Fall back! Now! Kaldur ordered.

Rob , move! Wally practically yelled .

Dick didn’t need to be told twice.

He bolted, already calculating the best escape route. Left flank—three guards, twelve feet to the treeline. If he moved fast enough, he could—

Pain exploded through the back of his knee.

He went down. Hard.

He’s hit! M’gann’s voice was panicked. I—There are too many of them!

He barely had time to react before another strike slammed into his ribs, forcing the breath from his lungs.

He tried to roll, to recover, but hands grabbed him—too many to fight off.

I’m going in— Wally started.

No! Kaldur barked, Hold position!

Dick thrashed, but someone wrenched his arms behind his back, another fist connecting hard with the side of his head.

His vision blurred.

His body wouldn’t cooperate.

He was losing.

Another hit.

White-hot pain.

The mind link crackled—

And the last thing he managed to push through was a single, exhausted, resigned—

Fuck.

Then—

Nothing.

Chapter Text

Dick came to slowly, consciousness dragging him back in hard—like being yanked out of deep water. His skull throbbed, a deep, pulsing ache radiating from the base of his head, sending sharp spikes of pain through his temples. His limbs felt heavy, like dead weight strapped to his body.

That was bad.

His senses started recalibrating, the way they always did after being knocked out.

Cold metal around his wrists—cuffs. Rope biting into his arms and torso—extra reinforcement. The faint hum of an overhead light, flickering just enough to be annoying. The scent of damp concrete, gun oil, and sweat.

His fingers twitched experimentally. Nothing broken. His legs were tied to the chair, but his ankles weren’t bound together— sloppy.

He cracked one eye open.

The room was dim, lit only by a single industrial bulb that swayed slightly from the ceiling, casting long, shifting shadows. The walls were bare concrete, cold and uninviting. Crates were stacked against one side—some marked with faded shipping labels, others completely unmarked.

No windows. One door. Two guys.

Dick didn’t need more than a second to assess them.

The first man— Buzz Cut —was broad, built like a tank, standing with his arms crossed near the door. The other— Restless —was leaner, more jittery, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Their body language said a lot—Buzz Cut was confident, fully convinced they were in control. Restless, on the other hand, wasn’t so sure.

“…this is huge, ” Buzz Cut was saying, his voice thick with excitement. “Batman’s kid. The Light’s gonna pay big for him.”

Restless didn’t look nearly as thrilled. “I dunno, man. This feels too easy.”

Dick nearly rolled his eyes.

Because yeah, no kidding it was too easy. Batman’s sidekick, alone, captured in the middle of a mission? If he were in their shoes, he wouldn’t trust it either.

A slow grin tugged at his lips.

Time to really mess with them.

He let his head loll forward slightly, slumping his posture, forcing his breathing to slow. Playing just weak enough to seem convincing.

Then he inhaled deeply and let out a low, unnatural chuckle—his voice twisting, glitching slightly, like corrupted audio.

Both men froze .

Dick lifted his head just enough to give them a lazy, too confident grin. His voice was slow, deliberate. “Seriously?” he drawled, letting the edges distort just enough to make them question what they were hearing. “You really think you caught the real me?”

Buzz Cut’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Dick tilted his head, making the movement just a little off. His grin widened. “Bats has backups, genius.”

A flicker of uncertainty passed between them.

Good.

He shifted in the chair, deliberately rolling his shoulders in a way that made his posture look wrong. Like his limbs weren’t sitting right in the restraints. He let his chest expand slightly, like something underneath his skin was moving.

Restless took a full step back. “No. Nope. I knew something was off. What if he’s—?”

“A decoy? ” Dick offered, voice glitching again. He let out another distorted chuckle, shaking his head. “You really think Bats sends his real sidekick on recon missions alone ? C’mon. Be smarter . ”

Buzz Cut clenched his jaw, stepping closer. “You’re bluffing.”

Dick’s grin stretched . “ Am I? ”

He twitched his fingers just enough to make his gloves crinkle like shifting mass. Let his head jerk slightly, like his neck was reforming.

Restless cursed under his breath. “Nope. Nope. I don’t like this.”

Buzz Cut shot him a glare. “Pull yourself together—”

“If he’s a shapeshifter, he could be anyone, ” Restless muttered, voice rising slightly. “What if he’s a trap? What if we take him in and he just—just melts into something else?”

Dick fought to keep his grin from breaking into a full-blown smirk.

This was too easy.

At his core, he was always a performer—whether soaring under the big top or weaving a lie with nothing but a grin and a well-timed shiver. 

The stage had changed, but the act? 

Flawless as ever.

Buzz Cut hesitated, but Restless was already backing toward the door, shaking his head like he wanted nothing to do with this anymore.

"I told you, man," Restless hissed. "This is wrong. What if he is a trap? What if he—"

Buzz Cut let out a frustrated growl. "Then we get rid of him."

Dick blinked slowly, keeping his expression carefully blank.

Oh?

Restless looked between him and Buzz Cut, eyes darting, fingers twitching like he was debating bolting from the room entirely. "You're serious? "

"Yeah, I’m serious," Buzz Cut snapped, pulling out a knife. He twirled it once between his fingers before gripping the handle tight. "We dump him. Off the roof. If he’s real, he’s dead. If he’s not—" His gaze flicked to Dick’s still-warping posture, uneasy. "—then I don’t wanna be anywhere near whatever the hell he turns into."

Restless still looked hesitant, shifting from foot to foot, but he didn’t argue. His fingers twitched at his side, like he wanted to object but knew better.

Buzz Cut wasn’t waiting.

The blade sliced through the ropes securing Dick to the chair, the fibers snapping under the sharp edge. His arms were yanked forward, wrists still bound in cold, heavy cuffs.

Buzz Cut grabbed them next, fishing out a key and unlocking them with a quick click-click. The metal clattered to the floor.

Dick felt blood rush back into his limbs, a dull tingling sensation crawling up his arms.

His muscles were sluggish from being restrained too long, still thrumming with leftover pain from the earlier fight.

Not good.

Before he could so much as blink, Buzz Cut hauled him up by the front of his tunic.

The sudden motion sent a sharp jolt of pain through his ribs, but Dick didn’t react.

Didn’t fight.

Instead, he slumped, letting his body go limp.

Letting them believe he was still too out of it to resist.

The smarter move would’ve been to struggle now, to fight his way free before they got him anywhere near the roof.

But no.

No, this would work better.

He just had to time it right.

The two men dragged him through the halls, boots thudding against the concrete floor. The metal stairs groaned under their weight as they climbed, each step making Dick hyper-aware of how high they were going.

Then—

Cold air slammed into him as they shoved open the rusted rooftop door.

The wind howled, sharp and biting, stealing the breath from his lungs. His boots scraped against the roof’s gravel-covered surface as Buzz Cut pulled him forward.

Dick barely caught a glimpse of the factory yard below before—

"One way to find out," Buzz Cut grunted.

Then—

He was falling.

The ground rushed toward him, fast, too fast.

The wind roared in his ears, a deafening, familiar sound.

He knew this feeling.

He’d felt it before.

A long time ago.

A different fall.

A different night.

Screaming. Not his own.

The snap of a rope giving way.

His mother’s hand slipping from his own.

The safety net was too far below, too small, too— not enough.

They were falling.

He’d almost—he had —

Almost didn’t fly.

His stomach lurched, and for one terrifying second, he forgot what he was supposed to do.

Forgot he had a grapple.

Forgot he wasn’t eight years old anymore.

The ground was too close.

He had to—

Wait—

At the last possible second, instinct kicked back in.

His hand snapped to his utility belt.

He fired.

The grapple line shot out, catching onto a thick branch of a nearby tree. The sudden pull yanked him sideways, his body jerking violently as the rope pulled taut. The force wrenched his shoulder painfully, but he forced himself to hold on.

The tree rushed toward him—

CRACK.

He slammed into a branch, rolling with the momentum, but he barely had time to react before his body collapsed against the bark.

His hands scrambled for purchase, nails digging into the rough bark, splinters biting into his skin.

For a moment, it wasn’t enough.

He slipped, fingers scraping uselessly—his stomach lurched—his breath caught—

Then, finally, finally, his grip held.

He barely caught himself, arms shaking violently from the strain.

For a long second, he just hung there, his entire body trembling, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

He was alive.

Barely.

Everything hurt. His muscles felt locked, rigid, unresponsive . His shoulder burned from the force of the grapple stopping his fall. His ribs ached, bruises deepening with every shallow breath. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

But he was alive.

He tried to move, to pull himself up properly onto the branch, but his limbs weren’t cooperating. His fingers dug deeper into the bark, clinging with raw desperation.

Come on, come on, move.

It took an agonizing minute, but eventually, finally, he swung a leg up, dragging himself onto the thick branch. His body slumped back against the tree trunk, his chest heaving, muscles still twitching from the adrenaline overload.

His head tilted back, eyes shutting for a brief second as he tried to catch his breath.

His heart was still pounding, hammering against his ribs like it wanted out.

His lungs burned, too tight, too closed. The air he was pulling in felt thin, like no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get enough.

His fingers curled into the bark beside him, but they wouldn’t stop twitching.

Too close.

Too fast.

He had almost—

Almost didn’t—

Dick swallowed hard, his throat tight, barely able to breathe past the weight crushing his chest.

He forced his eyes open and looked down.

And suddenly, the world tilted.

The ground stretched far, too far beneath him, swaying as vertigo slammed into him without warning.

It was only 60 feet. It should’ve been 60 feet.

But right now, it felt like infinity.

Like he was still falling.

Like the ground wasn’t waiting for him, wasn’t stationary, but was still rushing up to meet him.

Dick sucked in a sharp breath, squeezing his eyes shut again, hard. His fingers dug into the bark, body locking up as a violent shiver ran through him.

He couldn’t—

His breath hitched.

"Fell," he mumbled hoarsely, barely aware he was speaking. His chest shook with the effort to breathe. "They fell."

His vision blurred.

His parents.

The empty space where their bodies should’ve been.

The snap of the rope.

His mother’s voice, calling his name—

Then nothing.

Dick clenched his jaw, biting back a sound that was too close to a sob.

He needed to move. He needed to go.

But he couldn’t.

He was stuck.

Paralyzed in the tree, lungs burning, hands shaking—

And no one was here to catch him.

The facility was already in chaos by the time the Team made their move.

Aqualad led the charge, slipping through the shadows with practiced ease, signaling quick, sharp hand movements to coordinate their attack. Artemis took to the rafters, moving fast, bow drawn, covering their advance with silent precision.

Kid Flash blurred past security checkpoints, snagging keycards and weapons before the guards even realized they were unarmed.

Superboy crashed through a side wall, taking down the last line of defense with brute force. The sharp crack of concrete splitting under his fists echoed through the corridors.

Miss Martian phased effortlessly through the walls, her form flickering between visible and transparent as she disrupted communications and disabled security systems.

The mission had already been blown , and at this point, their priority was simple:

Get Robin out.

But when they reached the interrogation room—

It was empty.

The chair where Robin had been tied down sat abandoned, the ropes cut clean through, the handcuffs discarded on the floor like they had never mattered.

The only sign of movement was the rusted rooftop door, still swinging slightly, as if it had been flung open just moments ago.

Artemis skidded to a stop, eyes darting around the room, taking in every detail. 

"Where is he?" Wally demanded, shoving past Superboy, his voice sharp with barely restrained panic. "We were supposed to extract him!"

Kaldur’s gaze swept the room, taking in every detail, his brow furrowed. "Something happened . "

" No kidding, " Wally snapped. " He's gone! "

Miss Martian barely heard them.

Because something was wrong.

Something was—

A sharp, invisible impact slammed into her mind, sending her staggering back, a hand flying to her head as her breath hitched.

"M'gann?" Kaldur was immediately at her side, concern lacing his voice.

It was faint—so faint she almost didn’t feel it—but it was there.

A familiar presence, one that was usually so carefully shielded, now frayed at the edges, flickering, crackling with raw, uncontrolled distress.

Robin.

Robin? she reached out, telepathic voice soft, careful. Where are you?

The moment she said his name, the link stuttered.

And she felt it.

Fear.

A spiraling sensation, like falling, falling, falling—

A blur of distorted memories rushed at her—air whipping past, the ground below, a hand slipping from his grasp—

Then—

Silence.

M’gann gasped, physically stumbling back. "He's—he's outside!"

"What?" Kaldur turned to her immediately. "Can you sense him?"

"Yes," she pushed, concentrating harder, focusing on that frantic, spiraling presence. "He's—he's not in the facility anymore, he's in the trees, but he's—he's—"

She felt it again.

The weight in his chest. The way his fingers refused to let go. The suffocating feeling of being too high and yet falling anyway.

He was stuck.

His mind was screaming at him to move—but he couldn’t.

Her breath hitched. "He's not okay."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Wally snapped, already moving. "Let's go!"

M’gann didn’t wait.

She shot out of the building, the Team right behind her.

She barely took a second to pinpoint Robin’s exact location before reaching out with her telekinesis, lifting all of them into the air and racing toward him.

She found him almost instantly.

Perched on a thick branch, barely holding himself together.

He was slumped against the trunk of the tree, his body stiff, unmoving.

His head was tilted downward, eyes half-lidded, locked on the ground below but seeing nothing.

And he was shaking.

Not from the cold.

Not from exhaustion.

But from something far deeper.

Oh no. Artemis breathed through the link, her voice quieter than any of them had ever heard it.

Wally’s stomach dropped. Rob?

Robin didn’t respond.

M’gann pressed in gently, feeling the erratic noise in his mind, the fear circling like an echo he couldn’t shake. Robin?

The only thing she got in return—

A whisper. Barely a thought.

Fell.

The Team hovered in silence, watching their youngest, their most confident member—

Frozen.

Stuck.

Trapped in a moment none of them could see, but all of them could feel.

For all his bravado, for all the jokes and theatrics—

Robin was still just a kid.

A kid who had come way too close to dying alone.

Chapter Text

Dick couldn’t move.

His body was locked up, arms wrapped tight around himself, knees pulled to his chest, back pressed against the rough bark of the tree. His breath came in short, sharp gasps, his lungs refusing to pull in enough air no matter how hard he tried. His fingers clenched into the fabric of his sleeves, as if holding onto something would keep him from slipping further.

The ground wasn’t that far away. It was sixty feet. That was nothing. He’d fallen from higher, jumped from rooftops twice as tall. But when he looked down—

It didn’t feel like sixty feet.

It felt like the void.

Like he was still falling.

Like he was eight years old again, reaching, reaching, reaching— but it wasn’t enough.

A hand touched his shoulder.

He flinched so hard the branch shook beneath him.

Robin? M’gann’s voice was soft in his mind, careful, like she knew if she spoke too loudly, he might shatter. Can I lower us all down to the ground?

Dick’s head snapped up so fast it made him dizzy, and he frantically nodded, jerky and desperate.

Yes. Yes.

He needed to get out of this tree. He needed to get down.

M’gann nodded, but instead of just using her powers—she reached out and took his hand.

She didn’t need to. She could’ve levitated him without it.

But she did it anyway.

Because she knew.

The moment her fingers wrapped around his, something in his chest loosened, just a little. The world still tilted, but it was quieter.

The descent was slow, steady, but Dick’s grip on M’gann’s hand never wavered, like letting go would send him plummeting all over again.

When his feet touched solid ground, his knees nearly buckled.

But then there were more hands—Kaldur steadying his shoulder, Artemis gripping his arm, Wally moving in so fast it was like he wanted to physically shield him from the world.

M’gann didn’t let go of his hand.

Superboy stood slightly off to the side, arms crossed, tense, like he didn’t know what to do but knew he had to do something.

They were here.

They were all here.

But it didn’t fix what was wrong.

His mind wouldn’t shut up.

I almost blew it.

I got sent back to save them and I almost ruined everything.

One mistake. One stupid, stupid mistake.

What if I had died?

What if I wasted this chance?

What if—

“ Rob, ” Wally’s voice cut through the spiral, soft but firm . “Hey. Look at me.”

Dick couldn’t.

He clenched his eyes shut, his fingers still locked so tight around M’gann’s that his knuckles ached.

Someone else touched his back—Kaldur, solid and steady. “You are safe now,” he said gently. “Breathe.”

Dick tried.

He really, really tried.

But he still felt like he was falling.

A new voice—Artemis, soft, uncertain, but trying anyway. "You’re not alone, okay? We got you."

Robin wasn’t sure when his body unlocked, but at some point, he realized he was leaning into Wally’s space, his forehead pressed against his best friend’s shoulder.

Wally just let him.

Didn’t joke, didn’t tease, didn’t push.

Just let him stay.

And slowly— slowly —the world stopped tilting.

He let out a slow, shaky breath and opened his eyes.

Everyone was still there.

Kaldur, steady and unwavering. M’gann, watching him with quiet concern, her hand still loosely wrapped around his. Conner, arms crossed but focused on him in a way that meant he cared, even if he wasn’t sure how to say it. Artemis, hovering close, pretending she wasn’t worried even though she so obviously was.

And Wally.

Wally, who hadn’t moved away, who had let him lean against him without a second thought.

Dick swallowed past the tightness in his throat and leaned back slightly, just enough to give Wally a tired smile, still a little raw but real.

Wally, predictably, took that as his cue.

“Wow,” he said, smirking, voice light but warm . “So, you trust us enough to have a full-blown panic attack around us, but not enough to tell us your name? Rude. ”

There was a beat of silence.

Then—

A short, breathy chuckle.

Dick laughed.

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

The Team chuckled too, relieved by the shift, the tension in the air easing just enough.

Wally grinned, but his expression softened as he met Dick’s gaze, the teasing falling away as quickly as it had come. “ Seriously, dude,” he said, voice quieter now, steadier. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Dick felt his throat tighten again, but not in a bad way.

“You don’t have to,” Wally added, watching him closely. “But if you want to? I’m here. We’re all here. ”

Dick swallowed, looking away, because damn it, Wally was making it hard to keep everything locked down when he said stuff like that.

Artemis, thankfully, broke the moment before it could get too heavy.

She crossed her arms, raising a brow. “So, real talk—do we need to stage an intervention? Is the big bad Bat pushing you too hard?”

Dick blinked.

Then snorted.

It turned into a real laugh this time, tired but genuine.

Artemis smirked. “I’m serious. We can take him.”

“Absolutely,” Wally agreed. “Might take all of us, but we probably won’t die.”

“Unlikely,” Kaldur muttered dryly, but there was clear amusement in his eyes.

M’gann giggled, floating just a little higher. “I could try phasing into the Batcave and deleting all his training schedules.”

“Do you want to get vaporized by the Bat-defense systems?” Dick asked, raising an eyebrow.

M’gann hesitated. “...Fair point.”

“Or we just punch him,” Conner offered with a shrug.

Dick gave him a look. “You seriously think you can just punch Batman? ”

Conner raised a brow. “Worked on Superman.”

There was a long pause.

“…Okay, I need that story,” Wally murmured, eyes wide.

“Focus,” Artemis huffed. She turned back to Dick, smirking. “So, what’s the plan, oh fearless leader? Should we start small? Maybe, I don’t know, replace all his coffee with decaf?”

Dick snorted . “You’re insane. ”

“I prefer dangerously ambitious. ”

The Team exchanged glances.

Then Artemis grinned.

“So, you’re saying there’s a chance?”

Dick sighed, running a hand down his face. “No, guys. The problem isn’t Batman.”

That immediately wiped the smirks off their faces.

Wally frowned, tilting his head. “Okay… then what is the problem?”

Dick hesitated.

That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it?

What wasn’t the problem?

That he’d almost blown everything? That he’d made a stupid mistake and nearly died before he had the chance to fix the future? That he was terrified of screwing this up again and wasting his only chance to save everyone?

That Wally was here, alive, talking to him—so bright, so warm, so unaware of what was coming?

That no matter how much time he had now, it would never be enough?

His throat felt tight.

“…There’s nothing you guys can do,” he murmured softly, shaking his head.

Wally’s frown deepened. “Are you sure? I mean, you did just have a total breakdown in a tree—”

“ Thanks, Wall. ”

“—so, y’know, maybe something’s bothering you.”

Dick huffed out something that was almost a laugh, but there wasn’t any real humor in it.

He looked away, toward the darkened treetops, searching for anything to focus on that wasn’t Wally’s concerned expression.

Because Wally cared.

He had always cared.

And that had been Dick’s first mistake.

Because he had always loved Wally.

And Wally had loved Artemis.

And she had loved him back.

So Dick had done the only thing he could do—he had gotten close, but never too close. Close enough to be his best friend, close enough to share laughs and late-night talks and dumb inside jokes—

But never close enough to cross the lines.

That hadn’t worked.

So he had backed off.

Let Wally be happy with someone else.

And then—

And then —

He had gotten Wally killed.

His fingers twitched, curling into the dirt beneath him.

He remembered that day. Every single second of it. The way the static had cut through the comms. The way Wally had smiled, even as he disappeared. The way Artemis had cried .

The way Dick had failed.

He swallowed past the lump in his throat, forcing himself back to the present.

To now.

Where Wally was still watching him, still waiting for an answer, still alive .

“…I’m fine,” Dick lied.

Wally didn’t look convinced.

“Sure,” he muttered. “And I’m The Flash. ”

“Hey, you could be,” Dick tried, aiming for teasing, for normal.

Wally rolled his eyes but let it drop.

For now.

But not forever.

Dick knew Wally. He knew the way his brain worked, the way he latched onto things that didn’t sit right. Wally would let it go in the moment, sure—because he knew Dick wasn’t in the right headspace to talk.

But later?

Later, when things were quiet, when the mission was over, when Dick let his guard down just enough —Wally would bring it up again.

And Dick didn’t know if he’d be able to lie twice .

The others weren’t fooled either.

Artemis had her arms crossed, brow furrowed in open suspicion. Conner looked like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure what. Kaldur was watching him carefully, calculating, probably deciding how hard to push. M’gann still hadn’t let go of his hand.

The weight of their concern was suffocating.

He had to end this.

He straightened up, legs still shaky but working again, forcing a smirk as he dusted off his uniform. “Look, I appreciate the group therapy session, but we should probably wrap this up before Batman sends a search party.”

The attempt at deflection was blatant, but it worked—mostly.

Kaldur nodded slowly. “We should return to the Bioship.”

“Yeah,” Wally agreed, but his eyes lingered on Dick for a second too long.

The Team began moving, M’gann finally letting go of his hand but still hovering way too close. Conner fell into step beside him like a silent bodyguard.

They didn’t trust him not to fall apart again.

And the worst part?

They weren’t wrong.

Dick followed them back through the trees, but his mind was stuck elsewhere.

Stuck on Wally.

Alive, breathing, talking, teasing him like nothing had changed.

But everything had changed.

Because Dick knew how this story ended.

And no matter how hard he tried to rewrite it, no matter how many chances he got—

Some things were already written in stone .

Chapter Text

The mission briefing room was silent, save for the low hum of the holographic display as a map of Prague flickered to life. The industrial district stretched across the screen, a web of abandoned warehouses and forgotten structures sitting on the outskirts of the city. A red marker highlighted a single building, larger than the rest.

Batman stood at the head of the room, arms crossed, gaze sharp beneath the cowl. His presence alone was enough to keep the Team on high alert.

“This mission takes you to Prague,” Batman began, his voice even, unwavering. “The League has received intel that Sportsmaster is running an underground meta-human fight club. We suspect this could be a recruitment ground for The Light.”

That got everyone’s attention.

Dick barely kept his expression neutral. The Light again. Of course.

Batman continued, pulling up a satellite image of the location. “The arena is believed to be hidden within an abandoned industrial complex here.” He gestured toward the highlighted structure. “So far, no external surveillance has caught anything. The operation is well-hidden, but word of mouth has confirmed that something is happening inside. Fighters—some enhanced, some not—are brought in to compete. And if The Light is involved, this could be more than just entertainment.”

Kaldur stepped forward, studying the map. “Do we know the rules of these fights?”

“Not yet.” Batman shifted the display, cycling through grainy, low-quality images of individuals who had allegedly participated. “Some of the fighters never reappear. Others vanish for weeks before resurfacing, unwilling to speak about what happened.”

“That’s not ominous at all, ” Wally muttered.

“Your objective,” Batman continued, ignoring him, “is to infiltrate the operation, confirm its existence, and gather intel on key players. Identify who’s running it, who’s competing, and whether or not The Light is involved. Do not engage unless absolutely necessary.” His gaze swept over the Team, his tone sharp. “If you are discovered, the entire operation could shut down before we have enough information to act.”

Dick barely held back a sigh.

Which meant they were going in blind. Great.

“Sportsmaster is known to be operating within the arena,” Batman added. “But if he’s involved, it means others are, too. Stay vigilant.”

“Any leads on how to get inside?” Artemis asked, arms crossed. Her expression was carefully neutral, but Dick knew her well enough to see the tension there.

Batman pulled up a new image—a man, mid-thirties, broad-shouldered, face partially obscured by a hood. “This is Viktor Zima. He’s a known fixer for underground events in Prague. If there’s a way in, he’ll know it.”

“Translation,” Conner said dryly. “We find this guy, we find the arena.”

Batman nodded. “Gather intel. Stay undercover. Do not reveal yourselves as heroes.”

“Understood,” Kaldur said firmly.

Batman’s gaze lingered on the group for a moment longer, as if assessing their readiness. Then, with a sharp nod, he finished, “You leave within the hour.”

The display flickered off.

The Team exchanged glances.

“Well,” Wally sighed. “Guess we’re going to a fight club.”

Artemis rolled her eyes. “First rule—”

“ Do not say it,” Dick cut in, already rubbing his temples.

Wally grinned. “Too late.”

The building was barely holding itself together.

They had taken shelter in an abandoned factory just outside Prague—windows shattered, metal beams rusted, graffiti covering nearly every inch of exposed concrete. The air smelled like old rainwater and dust, and the occasional groan of shifting steel echoed through the vast, empty space.

They weren’t supposed to be here long. The plan had been to observe, gather intel, and regroup before making any moves. But then the storm rolled in.

And just like that, they were stuck.

The rain hammered against the broken roof, wind howling through the cracks. Outside, the roads had turned into sludge, and even with M’gann’s Bioship, there was no safe way to extract without drawing attention.

So, for the time being, they waited.

Huddled around a dim lantern, the Team sat on old crates and discarded pallets, trying to pass the time.

And, as with all long stakeouts in creepy abandoned buildings, the conversation naturally turned to ghost stories.

“Alright, listen up,” Artemis announced, stretching her legs out in front of her. “I’ve got a good one.”

Wally smirked. “Let me guess—you're gonna try and scare me?”

Artemis grinned. “Duh.”

“Good luck with that,” Wally said, leaning back with a look. “I don’t scare easy.”

“Challenge accepted,” Artemis said smoothly. She flicked off the lantern, plunging the room into near-darkness. The rain outside made everything worse, filling the air with eerie white noise. “So, there’s this legend,” she began, voice low, dramatic. “A hitchhiker—pale, drenched from the rain—standing alone by the side of the road…”

She weaved the story expertly, dropping her voice at just the right moments, letting the storm outside add to the effect.

Wally just laughed.

“Really?” he said, unimpressed. “ That’s what you’re going with? Classic vanishing hitchhiker? Pfft. C’mon, Artemis, I expected better.”

She huffed. “Whatever, West. Just wait.”

The factory groaned.

A metallic clang echoed from somewhere in the distance.

Everyone froze.

Wally’s smirk slipped just slightly. “Okay, that wasn’t funny.”

Artemis blinked. “That… wasn’t me.”

The Team immediately tensed.

Superboy stood first, scanning the shadows. “There’s something here,” he muttered.

M’gann floated just a little higher, eyes glowing faintly. “I don’t sense anything…”

Another clang.

This time, closer.

The Team stared into the darkened corners of the factory.

Then, after a long silence, a single gust of wind blew through a broken window—knocking over an old metal pipe.

CLANG.

Wally yelped.

Artemis burst out laughing.

“Oh my God—” She clutched her stomach, wheezing. “You—you screamed! ”

“I did not scream,” Wally shot back, crossing his arms.

“You totally did,” Conner said flatly.

“It was a yelp , okay?” Wally huffed. “Totally different thing.”

Artemis wiped at her eyes. “Sure, sure, whatever you say, screamy. ”

Wally glared.

The conversation should’ve moved on from there.

But then Superboy, who had been silent for a while, suddenly spoke up.

“I don’t really get fear,” he admitted. “But I do remember this one story from Cadmus.”

The shift in the room was immediate.

Artemis straightened. Kaldur glanced at him carefully. Even Wally—still trying to recover from his moment—went quiet.

Superboy didn’t notice.

“There was this scientist,” he continued. “Didn’t work on my project, but was in the same wing. He was experimenting with accelerated aging on himself. It didn’t go well.”

The rain outside suddenly felt louder.

“He started changing,” Superboy went on. “His body was breaking down faster than his mind could handle. Said he could hear his own cells rotting.” He glanced at the group, deadpan. “One night, he clawed his own skin off. Said he wanted to ‘shed the dead weight.’”

Artemis stared.

M’gann looked vaguely ill.

Kaldur exhaled slowly, closing his eyes. “That is… deeply unsettling.”

Superboy just nodded. “Yeah.”

Silence.

Then Wally, voice a little higher-pitched than usual: “Y’know what? Let’s never ask Conner for a ghost story ever again. ”

M’gann coughed. “Agreed.”

“You guys ever hear about the Gotham Slashings?” he asked, voice light, almost too casual.

Artemis went rigid beside him.

The rest of the Team just frowned, oblivious.

“I mean, no?” Wally said, raising an eyebrow. “But given Gotham’s track record, I assume it was bad.”

Dick’s lips curled into a slow, unreadable smile. “Yeah. It was bad.”

He let the silence drag, just long enough to sink into their bones, before continuing.

“It started small,” he said, voice smooth, even. “One body. Throat slashed. No signs of a struggle. Then another. And another. Bodies popping up all over Gotham. No connection between the victims—different ages, different backgrounds, different neighborhoods.”

He let his voice drop slightly, just enough to make them lean in.

“The only thing they had in common?”

The Team didn’t even breathe.

“They were all killed exactly the same .”

A heavy silence settled over them.

M’gann’s fingers twitched against her sleeve.

Wally scoffed, but there was a tightness to it. “Okay, but like—Gotham’s kind of a mess. That doesn’t exactly narrow it down.”

Dick tilted his head. “No, it doesn’t.”

His voice was still light, still calm, but there was something wrong about how steady it was. Like he wasn’t telling them a story—he was reliving it.

“GCPD was stumped,” he went on. “No forced entry. No witnesses. No evidence. Just bodies.”

Kaldur’s brow furrowed. “How many?”

Dick exhaled slowly, deliberately drawing it out. “By the time Batman and I got involved? Sixty-two. ”

M’gann wrapped her arms around herself, looking deeply unsettled.

“Except,” Dick continued, “that wasn’t really the start.”

The factory groaned, the sound stretching through the rafters like something alive.

“These murders?” Dick said, voice dipping lower, quieter, almost like a whisper. “They weren’t new. The same M.O. showed up in Gotham records for generations. ”

The Team froze.

“The first one dates back to the very start of the GCPD,” Dick murmured. “Far before Batman. Before capes. Before the city was even the Gotham we know today.”

The lantern flickered.

“These killings were never connected,” he continued, his fingers tapping absently against his knee. “Not at first. The victims were decades apart. Some were high-profile. Some were just… gone .”

His voice was soft. Steady. Unshaken.

“But in the months before Batman picked up the case?” He paused. “There was a spike.”

No one spoke.

“Twelve in one month,” he said. “Twelve. Before that, the pattern had been scattered. But suddenly, it wasn’t hiding anymore.”

The Team was silent.

And Dick was enjoying himself.

He could feel their unease.

The way M’gann’s fingers curled into her sleeve, holding onto the fabric like it might ground her. The way Conner’s shoulders had tensed, muscles coiled tight, as if the story itself was something he could fight. The way Kaldur’s expression remained impassive, but his fingers had begun tapping just slightly against his knee—calculating, as if breaking the story down might somehow lessen its weight.

And Wally—

Brave, bold, fearless Wally—

Didn’t make a joke.

Didn’t roll his eyes. Didn’t interrupt with some sarcastic comment to break the tension.

Instead, he just watched.

Waiting.

And then—

Just when the weight of the silence became too much—

Dick smiled.

Slow. Unreadable. Enjoying this far too much.

Beside him, Artemis had gone completely still.

She already knew where this was going.

She had heard rumors.

But hearing it from Robin was different.

“There was a witness,” Dick said, voice smooth . “First and only one.”

The factory seemed to breathe with them, the walls groaning as if leaning in to listen. The storm outside had settled just enough to make the silence feel unnatural.

“The witness told us they had been hanging out at their friend’s place. Normal night. Movies, snacks, nothing weird. At some point, they had to go to the bathroom. While they were in there, they heard the window shatter. ”

Wally frowned, finally speaking. “The front window?”

Dick shook his head, watching them closely.

“No.”

He let the word linger .

Let it sink into their bones.

Then—

“The bedroom . ”

The Team barely breathed.

Kaldur’s expression darkened, sharp eyes flickering with thought, already trying to piece together a pattern that wasn’t there.

Dick continued, voice even, steady, practiced.

“The power was already out,” he said. “So the only light they had was from a flashlight. When they heard the glass break, they panicked and shut it off.”

The lantern between them flickered, casting deep shadows across the factory walls.

M’gann swallowed hard. “So they were trapped in the dark.”

“Not trapped,” Dick corrected smoothly. “Hiding.”

His words hung in the air like fog.

“They heard their friend step toward the noise,” he continued. “Confused. Then they heard him say—”

He paused just slightly, letting the tension pull.

“‘Who the fuck are you?’”

The factory creaked around them.

Somewhere, wind whistled through shattered windows, a distant howl through rusted beams.

Dick’s voice lowered, just slightly.

“And then,” he said, smooth, deliberate, drawing them in, “they heard a response . ”

The air shifted, thick with expectation.

“The most haunting thing they had ever heard.”

The air in the factory changed .

One moment, Dick had been telling a story—calm, collected, almost entertained by their unease.

The next—

His posture shifted .

Subtle, but wrong.

His shoulders squared, his back straightened, and the boy they knew —the one who smirked, who cracked jokes, who was always too lighthearted—was gone.

In his place sat something colder .

Something deadly.

When he lifted his head, his gaze was sharp, piercing through the dim light, freezing them in place. His eyes, usually bright with mischief, were now empty. Cold. Unfeeling.

And when he spoke—

His voice sent a chill down their spines.

"Caleb Johnson," he said.

Flat. Emotionless.

"The Court of Owls has sentenced you to death."

The words hung in the air, thick and suffocating.

M’gann sucked in a sharp breath, fingers curling tightly around her sleeve.

Kaldur’s jaw tightened, his fingers twitching—like he was resisting the urge to move, to react.

Wally shifted , visibly uncomfortable, his earlier bravado gone. "Oh, hell no. "

“The witness said they heard Caleb scream . Then—” he made a slicing motion across his throat. “The gurgling of blood. Then— silence. ”

No one spoke.

“Half an hour later,” Dick continued, “they finally got the nerve to open the bathroom door. Caleb was on the floor. Throat slit. And there was no sign of anyone else. Only the small drawing of an owl on the floor in blood, Caleb’s last attempt to expose his killer.”

The lantern flickered.

The wind outside howled louder.

And then—

Artemis spoke.

Soft. Barely above a whisper.

"Beware the Court of Owls, that watches all the time…"

M’gann flinched.

Kaldur’s hands clenched.

Wally looked between them, completely lost. “What—?”

"Ruling Gotham from a shadowy perch, behind granite and lime…"

Dick felt his stomach drop.

"They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed…"

His jaw clenched.

Artemis turned to look at him.

And together, their voices dropped to a whisper—

"Speak not a whispered word of them, or they'll send the Talon for your head."

A sharp gust of wind slammed against the building.

The lantern sputtered.

The factory groaned.

Then Wally, voice a little too high-pitched, muttered—

“…Okay, screw that. ”

Chapter Text

The alert pinged softly against Dick’s wrist, a tiny vibration that sent ice straight through his veins.

Alarm triggered.

His stomach twisted as he tapped his gauntlet, pulling up the notification. It was one of the security measures he’d set up while scanning the complex—a silent tripwire embedded in the facility’s internal network, rigged to warn him if anything unexpected moved through the system.

Something had.

Dick’s breath caught for half a second before he forced himself to exhale slowly. He didn’t jump to conclusions. Not yet. It could’ve been nothing—just an automatic system reset, a routine check-in, a faulty signal. But deep down, he knew better. He had set those alarms carefully, with precision.

They weren’t supposed to go off.

“Uh, guys?” He kept his voice low, but the urgency was clear. “I just got a hit on one of my alarms. Something’s happening inside.”

Immediately, the Team snapped to attention.

Kaldur stepped forward, gaze sharpening. “Location?”

Dick’s fingers flew over his gauntlet, pulling up the map of the complex. His HUD flickered, the alert flashing red over a section of the blueprint—deep within the building, far from any main entrances, tucked away in an area with no external surveillance.

That was odd.

If this was a fight club, that should’ve been where the holding areas were. Where the fighters waited, where the betting rings operated, where the action was kept hidden until the crowds funneled in.

But there was nothing. No entry routes, no seating, no designated fight zone.

Just storage.

Lots and lots of storage.

Dick’s brows furrowed. “I don’t like this,” he murmured. “Something’s off.”

“Then let’s check it out,” Artemis said, already moving.

The Team followed, slipping through the storm and across the muddy lot. The rain came down in thick sheets, masking their footsteps but also making every movement slick and uncertain. M’gann kept them cloaked as they approached the perimeter, ducking behind crates and abandoned machinery as guards patrolled nearby. The facility was active—too active for something that was supposed to be underground and discreet.

Dick’s mind raced through possibilities. Maybe Sportsmaster had upped security. Maybe the fight club was running more like a closed circuit, keeping most of the action underground. Maybe—

Or maybe it was something else entirely.

He forced the thought down as they reached the side entrance. The lock was a simple mechanism, a five-second job at best. He slipped a small tool from his belt, working quickly. The click of the door unlocking was almost silent under the rain.

They slipped inside.

The moment they crossed the threshold, Dick’s instincts screamed at him.

It was dark.

Too dark.

Not just from lack of light, but in the way the air itself felt wrong. Heavy. Unclean.

The scent hit him next—damp concrete, rust, something metallic lingering underneath. A faint chemical tinge clung to the walls, the kind that burned just slightly in the back of the throat.

The hallways stretched ahead of them, lined with reinforced doors. Some were chained, others bolted shut. None were marked. No signs of a fight club, no posters, no evidence of an underground ring.

Instead, it felt sterile. Controlled. Like a high-security facility trying to masquerade as something else.

They moved deeper, their steps careful, silent.

Then Dick saw it.

And stopped so fast Wally nearly ran into him.

His stomach lurched.

This wasn’t an arena.

This was something else.

Rows upon rows of locked cages stretched out before them, stacked against the walls, lining the open space like an inventory system. Metal bars, reinforced locks. Some cages were large, others barely big enough to fit a person.

Inside, people huddled together, their faces drawn, exhausted. Some were slumped against the bars, their eyes half-lidded and unfocused. Others looked more alert, but there was no fight left in them.

A few were clearly meta-humans. Power-dampening collars dug into their skin, the blinking red lights on the devices signaling that their abilities had been stripped from them.

Others looked like ordinary civilians. Ragged, lost.

Terrified.

A sick realization settled over Dick like a weight.

“This…” His voice barely carried over the sound of distant machinery. His fists clenched so hard his gloves creaked.

“This isn’t a fight club.”

Kaldur’s expression was grim, his jaw tightening as his gaze swept over the cages. “No,” he said quietly. “It’s a prison.”

Silence fell.

A heavy, suffocating silence.

Wally swore under his breath. M’gann covered her mouth, horrified. Even Conner, usually unreadable, looked shaken.

Dick  forced himself to breathe.

This wasn’t Sportsmaster’s operation.

This was something else.

A trafficking ring. A full-scale system for moving people in and out of the city, hidden behind the cover of an underground fight club.

And the League had no idea.

Dick’s pulse hammered in his ears. His breath felt too shallow, his lungs too tight. He had expected a fight ring—a bad one, sure, but this ?

This was something else entirely.

His mind raced through every possibility, every scenario, every horror that could have already taken place in this facility. How long had this been running? How many people had already been moved, shipped off to God knows where? What happened to the ones who never resurfaced?

He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to focus. Questions wouldn’t save anyone right now.

“This wasn’t in the briefing,” he whispered.

Artemis’ jaw tightened. “Doesn’t matter,” she said, voice sharp. Resolute. “We’re not leaving them.”

Kaldur didn’t hesitate. “Agreed.” He turned to Dick. “How fast can you get those cages open?”

Dick’s eyes flicked between the locks, already calculating.

“Depends,” he muttered. “Some of these are old school—easy.” His gaze narrowed at the high-tech security consoles built into some of the reinforced cages. The blinking red lights on the power-dampening collars sent a fresh wave of disgust through him. “Others… might take a minute.”

Kaldur nodded, already shifting into leader mode. “Then you and Artemis start on that,” he ordered. “M’gann, take Kid Flash and Superboy—disable the guards, clear an exit route.”

They nodded, immediately moving into position.

Dick didn’t waste a second. He dropped to his knees in front of the first cage, already pulling out his lockpicks. His fingers moved on autopilot, the motions muscle memory, but his mind kept running ahead of him.

Who was running this?

A click. One lock down.

How long has this been happening?

The metal door groaned as it swung open. The woman inside scrambled back at first, eyes wide with fear. Then, seeing the uniforms— not the guards—her breath hitched.

“Who—?”

“Stay quiet,” Artemis whispered, slipping inside to help her up. “We’re getting you out of here.”

The woman hesitated for only a second before nodding, pressing a trembling hand to her collarbone.

Dick moved to the next lock.

Another click. Another cage open. Another life pulled from the brink.

Above them, the sounds of fighting erupted—grunts, thuds, the occasional burst of electricity. A gun went off. Someone shouted. The fight was getting louder.

The Team was holding them off, keeping the guards occupied.

All he had to do was keep moving.

He exhaled sharply, tuning out the chaos, tuning out the frantic thudding of his heart.

Lock after lock.

Shackle after shackle.

One by one, the cages opened.

One by one, the prisoners stumbled out, their bodies weak, their eyes hollowed by exhaustion. Some flinched at every noise, their fear so deeply ingrained that even the act of stepping forward seemed impossible. Others barely hesitated, rushing out the moment the doors swung open, their desperation pushing them past their wariness.

But all of them looked haunted.

Dick kept moving, his hands steady even as his chest felt tight, as the weight of what they had found pressed heavier and heavier against him. His gauntlet readouts flickered—one final sweep of the complex confirmed it. They had freed everyone.

The last of the locks clicked open. The last shackle hit the ground.

The night air was thick—damp with the remnants of the earlier storm, clinging to the broken pavement in slick puddles and the smell of rain-soaked rust. The factory stood eerily silent now, its secrets stripped bare, its victims no longer confined within its walls.

The prisoners—no, the survivors—were being ushered outside, their steps uncertain, their fear lingering like a ghost that refused to leave.

Dick moved to follow, guiding the final group toward the waiting authorities. He could see their silhouettes through the open doors, the flashing red-and-blue lights of emergency vehicles painting the darkness in rhythmic pulses.

But something in his gut twisted, a lingering instinct gripping him, refusing to let go.

He glanced over his shoulder.

And stopped.

Across the room, crouched in the farthest, darkest corner, was Artemis.

She wasn’t following the others.

She wasn’t moving at all.

Her body was lowered into a crouch, her voice soft, coaxing.

And in front of her—huddled against the cold concrete, wrapped in nothing but a thin, too-small blanket—was a little girl.

She was tiny. Too tiny.

And she was afraid.

Her knees were pulled to her chest, her wide, uncertain eyes darting between Artemis and the exit like she wasn’t sure which was more terrifying.

Dick felt something invisible and suffocating coil around his ribs, pressing hard.

Of course it had to be a kid.

For a second, just a second, his vision blurred. His mind flickered back to other cages. To other children. To the ones he had found too late—

No. Focus.

He forced himself to breathe.

Artemis was handling it. She was good at this.

Better than she gave herself credit for.

She shifted, lowering herself onto one knee, still giving the girl space, but making herself smaller—less threatening. Her tone was gentle, patient.

“What’s your name?”

The girl didn’t answer at first.

Her hands gripped the edges of the blanket tight, knuckles white, fingers curled so tightly around the fabric it looked like she might tear it.

Then, finally—her voice barely more than a whisper—

“Marie.”

Artemis smiled, soft and reassuring. “That’s a really pretty name, Marie.”

The girl didn’t respond.

Didn’t relax.

Just curled in on herself a little more.

Artemis didn’t push. She kept her posture steady, her voice warm. “How old are you?”

Marie’s lips parted, but the words didn’t come right away.

Then, finally—quietly—

“Ten.”

Dick’s stomach dropped.

Artemis’ expression didn’t change, but he knew her well enough to see the way her fingers twitched, like she wanted to reach out but was forcing herself to hold back.

She took a slow breath, keeping her voice even. “Do you know where your family is?”

Marie hesitated—then, almost imperceptibly, shook her head.

Dick felt the answer settle into his bones like lead.

No.

No, no, no.

She wasn’t supposed to be alone.

She was supposed to have someone looking for her—a mom, a dad, someone. But instead, she was here, in this place, in this hell , wrapped in a blanket that wasn’t nearly enough to protect her from any of it.

The girl shifted, her grip on the fabric tightening.

“We—we were at the beach,” she murmured. “And then… the scary man came.”

Dick’s breath hitched.

Marie swallowed hard. Her small voice cracked as she whispered, “He grabbed me.”

Artemis inhaled through her nose.

She didn’t react—didn’t let the anger show on her face, didn’t let it sharpen her expression, even though Dick knew it was burning through her like acid.

She just nodded, slow and careful, like she was saying I hear you. I believe you.

Her voice didn’t waver, didn’t falter. She kept her tone level, her posture steady, offering something solid in a world that had been anything but. She didn’t rush the girl, didn’t crowd her, just stayed there— present —like she had all the time in the world.

Like Marie wasn’t just another name on a list of people they had saved, but a person Artemis genuinely cared about.

And maybe that was why the girl’s grip on the blanket loosened. Just a little.

Across the room, Dick watched the exchange unfold, and something inside him twisted painfully.

Shit.

He curled his fingers tighter around his escrima sticks, jaw clenching so hard it ached. He had always been aware of his feelings for Wally—had spent years pretending they weren’t there, pretending Wally’s easy grins and stupid jokes didn’t make something warm curl inside his chest. He had told himself over and over again that it was just Wally being Wally , that it didn’t mean anything, that the way his heart skipped when Wally threw an arm around his shoulders was nothing more than instinct.

And now, Artemis too?

It wasn’t fair.

Not when he already knew how this would end.

He had seen it—had lived in a world where the two of them were drawn to each other like gravity, where their bickering turned into something softer, something real. He had watched it happen from the sidelines, had swallowed down the ache of knowing he would never be in either of their orbits the way they were in each other’s.

And now, he had to do it all over again .

It was already happening. It had always been happening.

He saw it in the way Artemis softened around Wally when she thought no one was looking. In the way Wally looked at her, even now, like he was fighting a battle with himself that he didn’t even realize he had already lost.

Dick had spent a lifetime reading people.

He could see the ending before the first page had even turned.

His chest felt too tight, like his ribs were caving in, pressing against his lungs until breathing was a conscious effort. He forced himself to exhale, running a hand through his hair before stepping back, slipping into the shadows. Artemis had this under control.

She didn’t need him watching, lingering, making this moment about something it wasn’t .

She needed time.

And maybe, selfishly, so did he.

Chapter Text

Marie didn’t let go of Artemis’ side—not when they handed the rest of the victims off to the local authorities, not when Kaldur and the others gave their report, not when the chaos of the night finally began to settle.

She just stayed there, pressed against Artemis’ leg, her small frame tucked into the fabric of Artemis’ uniform like it was the only thing anchoring her to the moment. Her tiny fingers clutched at the material, trembling, as if letting go would mean losing herself all over again.

Artemis didn’t move away.

She stood tall, arms crossed, her stance firm, unwavering.

A protector. A shield.

The others kept their distance, giving Artemis and Marie space.

Conner shifted uncomfortably, arms crossed over his chest. “She shouldn’t have been here,” he muttered. “None of them should have.” His jaw was tight, his expression unreadable, but Dick could hear the frustration beneath the words, the anger barely held back.

M’gann hovered nearby, her hands twisting together. “I can try to soothe her mind,” she offered gently. “Help her calm down before she goes with the authorities.”

Artemis shook her head without looking up. “She’s been through enough,” she said. “She doesn’t need anyone else poking around in her head.”

M’gann hesitated, then nodded. “I just wish we could do more.”

Kaldur, who had been speaking with the lead officer, turned back to them, his expression grave. “The authorities will take her to a local shelter while they search for her family,” he said. “If they cannot find her parents…” He trailed off, his lips pressing together.

They all knew what that meant.

The system.

Marie—small, scared, and clinging to Artemis like she was the only thing keeping her tethered to reality—would be swept away into a system designed to handle her, not to care for her. A system that didn’t ask questions. That didn’t always bother to understand.

The words barely had time to settle before something changed.

Dick froze.

It wasn’t obvious at first—Robin was good at hiding things—but the team knew him too well to miss it. His breath hitched, just barely, like a glitch in a perfect machine. His shoulders, usually loose and fluid, locked up. His hands curled into fists at his sides, knuckles going white under his gloves.

And his face—what little of it they could see beneath the domino mask—went completely blank. Too blank.

It wasn’t calm. It wasn’t collected.

It was wrong .

M’gann felt it first. The sharp flicker of something raw and jagged at the edges of his thoughts—fear, anger, pain —a hurricane bottled tight behind the mental walls he usually held so steady. It hit her like static, sudden and sharp, and her breath caught as she instinctively pulled back. She didn’t mean to intrude. She never did. But his emotions were loud, too loud, and the edges scraped against her mind even as she tried to retreat.

What—?

Conner shifted uncomfortably. He wasn’t a telepath, but even he could feel the tension radiating from Robin—coiled tight, like a spring about to snap. It wasn’t normal. Not for him. Robin didn’t freeze. Not in the field. Not when it mattered.

And this? This wasn’t just a pause. 

Artemis, still beside Marie, caught the stillness out of the corner of her eye. Her teasing edge faded, replaced by something quieter, more serious. She knew that look. She had seen it before—on herself, in the mirror, after too many long nights spent wondering what would’ve happened if her mom hadn’t pulled her out of the wreckage of her father’s legacy.

This wasn’t just him thinking through a plan. This was personal.

And Wally—

Wally felt it immediately.

The shift. The weight. The way Robin’s entire body seemed to lock down, like he wasn’t even there anymore.

It scared him.

Because Robin didn’t get like this. Not ever.

Sure, he could be intense—too intense, sometimes—but Wally could always pull him back. With a joke, a jab, some easy smile to remind him that the weight of the world didn’t have to rest on his shoulders alone.

But this wasn’t the usual weight of the world.

This was something else.

And Wally didn’t know how to touch it.

Dick’s thoughts spiraled, distant and cold. He barely heard the others, their voices muffled like they were coming from the other side of a thick glass wall.

The system.

The words echoed over and over in his head, rattling through the fragile locks he had forced over old memories—memories he didn’t want to touch, memories he thought he had buried years ago.

But they came back.

The coldness of the holding cell. The sterile smell of bleach and metal. The ache in his wrists where the cuffs had dug too deep.

The way no one had cared—not about what he had lost, not about who he was. They didn’t see him as a scared kid who had watched his parents fall to their deaths. They saw a dirty little gypsy boy. A troublemaker. Someone they could toss into the system and forget.

If Bruce hadn’t come—

If Bruce hadn’t seen him—

His stomach twisted violently.

And now Marie—this child , this tiny, fragile girl—was about to be thrown into that same cold, unfeeling machine.

Not again. Not again. Not again.

A hand landed on his shoulder. Warm. Steady. Grounding.

“Rob.”

The voice was softer than usual—none of Wally’s usual bravado, none of the teasing warmth. Just concern. Real, genuine concern.

The touch startled Dick out of the spiral. His breath caught sharply, and the world snapped back into focus—too bright, too loud. The flashing red-and-blue of the patrol lights burned against the dark. The sound of the rain hitting the pavement felt distant, far away.

And Wally—Wally was watching him.

His green eyes, normally bright with mischief, were serious. 

“Dude,” Wally said, his voice low enough that only Dick could hear. “You with me?”

For a moment, Dick couldn’t speak. His throat felt too tight, like something was lodged there—something heavy and jagged and impossible to swallow.

But Wally’s hand didn’t move. His fingers curled slightly against Dick’s shoulder, firm but careful. Reminding him—quietly, without pushing—that he wasn’t alone.

He forced himself to breathe. Shaky. Uneven. But it was something.

“Yeah,” he finally managed, the word barely scraping past his throat. “I’m good.”

Wally didn’t buy it.

Not for a second.

His grip on Dick’s shoulder tightened—just for a moment, like he was debating whether to push—but then he let out a breath and backed off. His hand fell away, leaving the warmth behind.

“You sure?” he asked, and it wasn’t casual.

Dick tried to force out a laugh, but it was weak. “Define ‘sure.’”

Wally huffed, rolling his eyes— barely —but the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease. “If you say so, Boy Wonder.”

Dick swallowed hard, his hands still curled into fists at his sides.

“She, uh…” Wally rubbed the back of his neck, shifting awkwardly. His voice was softer than usual, missing its usual teasing lilt. “She’s gotta go with the authorities. They’ll take care of her. Get her checked out.”

Artemis nodded. She’d known this was coming—had expected it from the second she found Marie huddled in that corner, too afraid to move. But knowing didn’t make it easier.

Slowly, she dropped to one knee, making herself smaller, gentler, meeting Marie’s gaze.

“Hey,” she murmured. “You have to go with them now, okay? They’ll take you home. Get you some new clothes, some food.”

Marie hesitated, her small hands curling into the edges of the blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders. Her lip trembled as her eyes darted from the patrol cars to the officers waiting near the curb.

“But—”

The word was tiny, fragile.

Artemis reached out, palm open, patient.

“You’ll be safe, Marie,” she promised, voice steady and warm. “I know it’s scary, but you’re not alone. You’re going to be okay.”

For a breathless moment, Marie didn’t move. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, trying to process the words—to believe them.

Then—tentatively—she reached forward, slipping her small fingers into Artemis’s.

Artemis squeezed gently, a silent I’ve got you .

She led her toward the police car, keeping her pace slow and steady, like she was guiding a wounded animal out of hiding. Marie didn’t resist—but she didn’t let go, either. Not until they reached the open door. Not until there was no other choice.

When her fingers finally slipped away, the absence of that small, fragile hand settled heavy in Artemis’s chest.

Marie climbed into the backseat, disappearing into the folds of the oversized blanket. It made her look even smaller—too small for everything she had endured.

Artemis lingered, raising a hand in a small, quiet wave.

The silence stretched long after the police car door shut. The soft click echoed louder than it should have, cutting through the night like something final. The engine rumbled to life, low and steady, a reminder that the world was already moving on, whether they were ready or not.

Marie didn’t move at first.

She just sat there, small and fragile in the backseat, her thin fingers curled tightly around the edges of the worn blanket. It swallowed her slight frame, making her look even younger—like a child playing dress-up in something meant to protect her but failing miserably. The blanket trembled faintly in her grip, but her knuckles stayed white, as if letting go might unravel everything keeping her together.

The streetlights cast pale streaks of gold across her face, catching on the tear tracks drying along her cheeks. For a breathless moment, it seemed like she wouldn’t react—like she had already begun retreating inward, shrinking into a place where no one else could reach her.

But then—

Her hand shifted.

Slowly, carefully, she uncurled her fingers from the blanket and raised her hand in a small, uncertain wave. It wasn’t much. A flicker of movement, fragile and hesitant. But it was something.

It broke something in Artemis’s chest.

The door shut, sealing Marie away from them. The car rolled forward, tires crunching softly against the wet pavement. No one moved as the vehicle disappeared down the road, the red taillights burning dim against the darkness until, finally, they were gone—swallowed by the city’s shadows.

The silence left behind felt heavier than it should have.

For a long moment, no one spoke. No one even breathed too loudly. The only sound was the distant hum of the city—a world still moving, still spinning, as if nothing had happened. As if a scared little girl hadn’t just been swept back into a system none of them could trust.

Conner was the first to break the silence. His exhale was sharp, angry, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “We should’ve gotten here sooner,” he muttered, the words low and edged with frustration.

Kaldur, ever composed, shook his head—but the weight in his voice betrayed the same guilt Conner carried. “We got here when we could,” he said. But there was no conviction behind it. Not really. Like he wanted to believe that was enough, but deep down, he didn’t.

M’gann shifted closer to them, her hands twisting nervously in front of her. Her eyes were too bright, emotion pooling just beneath the surface. “What happens to her now?” she asked, the question trembling between them.

Dick didn’t hesitate. The answer came automatically, too fast—too practiced. “The system takes over,” he said, his voice flat, distant. “They’ll try to find her family first. If that doesn’t work, she’ll get placed in foster care.”

A bitter scoff escaped Wally. “Yeah, ‘cause we all know that always works out great,” he muttered under his breath. The sarcasm barely masked the anger underneath—frustration tangled with something deeper, something harder to name.

Dick didn’t argue. He couldn’t.

Because Wally was right.

Not everyone was lucky enough to have a billionaire in a cape pull them out of the system. Not everyone got saved.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dick saw Artemis still standing by the curb. She hadn’t moved since the car disappeared. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, shoulders tense like she was holding herself together by sheer force of will. Her face was carefully blank, but her eyes—her eyes hadn’t left the empty stretch of road where Marie had vanished.

She looked exhausted.

Not just physically—though the dark circles under her eyes were evidence enough—but deeper than that. A kind of tired that settled into your bones, that clung to you no matter how much rest you got.

Wally shifted on his feet, his weight rocking awkwardly from side to side. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something—wanted to fix this, somehow—but no words came. For once, the jokes weren’t there. Nothing he could say would make it better.

Still, he tried.

“She’s gonna be okay,” he said quietly. Too quietly. And maybe he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

The words hung in the air for a beat too long before Artemis finally turned to face him. For once, there was no sarcasm, no sharp-edged quip ready on her tongue. Just an exhale—slow and steady, like she was trying to keep something fragile from cracking open.

“I hope so,” Artemis said softly.

And for once, Wally didn’t have a joke.

Dick caught the look on Wally’s face.

Soft.

Uncharacteristically so.

Wally had a million different smiles.

The smug ones he wore like armor. The teasing ones he used to needle everyone around him. The wild, reckless grins meant to get a rise out of whoever was unlucky enough to be within earshot.

Dick had cataloged every single one over the years—without meaning to, without realizing how much he wanted to hoard them, to keep them for himself.

But this smile—this wasn’t one he’d seen often.

Small. Quiet. Loving.

And it wasn’t for him.

His fingers curled into fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms through his gloves. It was the only thing keeping him grounded, the sharp edge of pain pulling him back from the crushing weight in his chest.

He had spent years pretending—pretending that Wally’s easy grins and familiar touches didn’t mean anything. Pretending it didn’t make his heart twist every time Wally threw an arm around his shoulders, or how his pulse quickened whenever Wally leaned in too close, his warmth brushing against Dick’s skin like it belonged there.

Pretending he wasn’t in love with his best friend.

It had been easier that way. Easier to laugh off the ache. Easier to convince himself that Wally didn’t see him like that—because if he let himself believe, even for a second, that there was a chance…

He didn’t know how he’d survive it when he lost.

And now—now, Artemis too.

The realization had hit him like a freight train not even twenty minutes ago, and it hadn’t let up since.

The way she had held Marie’s hand—gentle, patient, so solid in a way Dick would never be. The way she had spoken softly, without any of her usual bite, easing the girl’s fears with nothing but her presence. She wasn’t just good with the kid. She cared.

And it had been so painfully obvious—what Wally saw in her.

Because how could you not fall for someone like that?

Dick had spent years loving one person he could never have. Now, there were two.

And the worst part?

He already knew how this story ended.

He had seen it—lived in a world where the two of them had already found each other, where their bickering softened into something else, something warm, something real.

And he had stood on the sidelines. Watching. Pretending it didn’t hurt. Pretending he hadn’t wanted— hoped —for something different.

It had been inevitable.

And it wasn’t his.

It would never be his.

He swallowed hard, forcing the lump in his throat down where no one could hear it. He couldn’t fall apart now—not here, not with them so close. If he let the feeling crack open even a little, he wasn’t sure he could put it back.

So, he did what he did best.

He buried it.

Dick turned away before anyone could notice the way his expression faltered, before anyone could see the truth written too clearly on his face.

He let his body slip into motion—quiet, controlled, like none of this touched him. Like he wasn’t unraveling beneath the surface. He could feel Wally’s eyes lingering on him for a beat longer than usual, like maybe he had seen something in the way Dick froze. But he didn’t say anything.

Thank God.

Because Dick didn’t trust himself to answer.

Because at the end of the day—

It didn’t matter.

This wasn’t his story.

It never had been.

Chapter Text

The lights in Mount Justice flickered faintly, casting a cold glow over the mission room. The air was tense—heavy with the kind of stillness that only came before everything went to hell.

The Team stood in a tight formation behind Kaldur, their usual banter and easy confidence absent. No one moved. No one spoke. Their eyes were locked on the massive holo-screen stretching across the room—a live feed of chaos unfolding above the Earth.

Aliens.

Not a covert infiltration. Not a hidden threat lurking in the shadows.

A full-scale invasion.

The video displayed Justice League members fighting against the impossible—Superman ripping through metallic warships as they hovered menacingly above Metropolis, Wonder Woman deflecting blasts of alien energy with her bracelets, Green Lantern struggling to contain an onslaught of projectiles with glowing constructs. And still, the sky burned.

In the middle of it all, Zatara’s voice crackled through the video link, calm but urgent.

"Tornado, did you—"

Red Tornado’s gaze didn’t waver from the screen, his mechanical form as still and composed as ever. “Yes, Zatara. We saw. Celestial defenses have failed. Initiate all terrestrial measures.”

"Affirmative," Zatara responded. His voice softened—just for a breath. “See you in the field.”

The transmission cut out, leaving only the faint hum of the holo-screen behind.

For a moment, no one breathed.

Then Red Tornado spoke again, his voice as smooth and emotionless as always. But beneath it—if you listened closely—there was weight. The weight of duty. Of something that stretched beyond logic or protocol.

“I must join the League,” he said, stepping forward. “We will protect the planet at all costs. But should we fail…” His red eyes glowed faintly, sweeping across the young faces before him. “The responsibility falls to you.”

The words settled like a physical thing.

It wasn’t a warning. It wasn’t a request.

It was a fact.

The Team stood at attention behind Kaldur, their leader’s back straight and unyielding despite the pressure threatening to crush them. The rest of them were close—too close—but right now, that didn’t matter. None of it did.

Only this.

Only the planet.

Kaldur inclined his head, his voice steady despite the weight pressing against his chest. “We stand ready.”

The air in the cave was heavy, suffocating in its silence. The team stood frozen, eyes locked on the monitors as the footage replayed.

One by one, every member of the Justice League—Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, Flash, Green Lantern, all of them—were consumed in a blinding light, vaporized before their eyes. There was no time to react, no chance to fight back. Just—gone.

The last transmission crackled over the speakers, Red Tornado’s voice flat but laced with something heavy beneath his robotic tone.

"Red Tornado to Cave. I fear I am all that remains of the League."

Wally swallowed hard, his throat dry. “RT!” he called, but there was no response beyond the steady hum of the failing signal.

No one spoke. No one moved. The weight of what they had just witnessed pressed down on them like an avalanche.

The League was gone.

Their mentors. Their leaders.

Their world’s protectors.

Kaldur was the first to break the silence, his voice steady despite the tension lining his shoulders. “We are Earth’s heroes now.”

Conner let out a short, humorless laugh. “So what are we waiting for, a theme song?”

Kaldur turned to face him, his expression unreadable. “A strategy. Earth’s weapons are ineffective. And it has been made tragically clear a direct attack will not succeed.”

Dick exhaled slowly, pulling up a map on the holoscreen. “Checking satellite imagery. Here’s where the aliens are now.”

The map flickered, red indicators marking enemy positions across the planet. Conner’s eyes scanned the screen, then narrowed at a blinking marker isolated from the rest. He pointed.

“This one get lost?”

Dick adjusted the display. “That’s Superman’s Fortress of Solitude.”

Conner blinked. “Superman has a Fortress of Solitude?”

Dick gave a small shrug. “Its power source must have attracted the aliens’ attention, at least enough to send a scout ship to investigate.”

Conner scoffed. “Must be some fortress.”

M’gann turned toward him, concern flickering across her face. “Conner.”

He shook his head before she could say anything else. His voice was quieter when he spoke again, less sharp. “No, it’s okay. I guess there’s a lot about Superman I’ll never know. Uh, you know, now.”

The words hung in the air, heavier than he had intended.

Kaldur refocused the conversation. “We will target this lone ship.”

Wally perked up. “Yeah, break it down, build more, hit those ugly aliens with their own mojo.”

Before he could get another word out, Artemis’s fist connected with his arm in a sharp punch.

“Ow!” Wally yelped, rubbing his shoulder. “What was that for?”

Artemis shot him a pointed look. “Martian and Kryptonian in the house.”

Wally let out a nervous chuckle, glancing between M’gann and Conner. “Uh, heh heh. Not that all aliens are automatically ugly.”

M’gann rolled her eyes.

Conner just sighed.

The alien ship hovered above the frozen wasteland, its sleek, metallic frame gleaming under the pale light of the Arctic sky. Snow whipped across the ground in frantic spirals, but the team moved with precision, their every action synchronized through M’gann’s telepathic link.

M’gann tore through the air, her hands glowing with psychic energy as she reached out and— crunch —ripped one of the ship’s wings clean off.

Communications disabled. Propulsion disabled, she reported telepathically.

Artemis was already moving. She pulled back her bow, releasing an arrow laced with a specialized chemical compound. The moment it struck the ship’s entrance, it exploded—sealing the door shut with a thick, metal-hard resin.

And ETs are sealed inside, Artemis added, her voice sharp with satisfaction.

Below them, Dick crouched over a holographic display, scanning the ship’s schematics. His fingers flew over the controls as he identified key stress points in the structure.

Red markers flashed on the screen.

Weapons systems are linked here, here, and here, he noted, sending the coordinates to the others.

Conner didn’t wait for further instructions. He grabbed hold of one of the ship’s mounted cannons and ripped it free with a metallic screech. The ship groaned under the force, sparks flying from exposed wires as he tossed the disconnected weapon to the ground.

Then—

A beeping sound.

Conner barely had time to react before Wolf—his Wolf, their Wolf—slammed into him from the side, knocking him out of the way.

A brilliant flash of light erupted where he had just been standing.

Wolf didn’t make a sound.

One moment, he was there. The next—

Gone.

Ash and snow drifted through the air where his body had been.

M’gann let out a choked gasp. Wolf…

Dick clenched his fists. He had been scanning for power surges, for energy spikes—there had been nothing. No indication of feedback.

There was no indication of feedback, he said, his voice tight in their shared link. I’m sorry.

Conner didn’t move for a long second.

Then, without looking at any of them, he shoved the grief down, forced his expression into something cold. Can’t do anything for him now. Let’s go.

He hefted the massive alien cannon onto his shoulder and carried it toward the Bioship.

M’gann’s voice was thick with emotion, but she didn’t let it slow her down. She took a steadying breath, forcing herself to focus. Rerouting systems to integrate weapon into the ship’s biomatrix. We’ll need to decamouflage for a few minutes.

Dick’s gaze flicked upward, his stomach twisting.

From the corner of his eye, he saw movement. Other alien ships. Approaching fast.

May not have a few minutes, he warned.

Kaldur’s command was instant. Miss Martian, open fire.

But M’gann’s frustration bled into their link. Can’t. Weapon systems are offline to incorporate the new cannon. And that’s not fully integrated yet, either.

Artemis cursed, pulling another arrow from her quiver as enemy fire rained down on them. She twisted, firing shot after shot, keeping them covered.

Got you covered. Get inside. Almost there.

Then—

Artemis, behind you! M’gann’s warning came too late.

Artemis turned, bow already drawn—

A blast of white-hot energy struck her dead center.

She never even had the chance to fire.

For a split second, she was still there. Then—

Gone.

The world went silent.

M’gann’s scream shattered the quiet. “ARTEMIS!”

“ARTEMIS!” Wally’s voice cracked as he lunged forward, eyes wide, desperate—

Kaldur grabbed his arm, yanking him back. “Get inside,” he ordered, voice hard, unreadable. “All of you.”

And then, without hesitation, Kaldur turned and unleashed hell.

Water surged from his weapons, turning to razor-sharp blades of ice mid-air. The nearest enemy ship never stood a chance—it crumpled under the onslaught, its hull splitting apart as it crashed into the snow in a plume of fire and smoke.

Wally stood frozen in place, staring at the spot where Artemis had just been. His breathing was ragged, his hands shaking.

Then—

His expression hardened.

“They’re dead,” he muttered, voice low, seething with quiet, deadly rage.

His hands curled into fists.

“Every single alien, if it’s the last thing I do.”

Dick barely heard him. His mind was racing, heart pounding—

He had forgotten.

He had forgotten this was going to happen.

He had forgotten Artemis would die.

Panic swelled in his chest, crashing into him like a tidal wave. Why had he forgotten? He knew this was fake—he had memories of doing this before, memories of a timeline he wasn’t supposed to remember—

But he couldn’t remember how to get out.

He clenched his jaw, forcing his breathing to stay even, forcing his face into something neutral.

The others were watching.

He couldn’t let them see.

He couldn’t let them know.

Not yet.

Dick’s boots crunched over broken stone and shattered glass as the team moved through the ruins of the Hall of Justice. The air was thick with dust and the acrid stench of burning metal. The statues of their mentors loomed above them, cracked and crumbling, shattered remnants of the heroes they had once looked up to.

Everything—the way the dust swirled in the air, the way the silence pressed against his ribs, the way his breath hitched as his eyes traced the broken statues—was exactly as he remembered.

“They’re really gone,” he murmured, his voice low but certain.

M’gann let out a broken sob.

Dick didn’t flinch.

Because this was where it started.

This was where it all began .

He turned slightly, just in time to see M’gann’s eyes widen in recognition. Without hesitation, she leaped back, her hands glowing with telekinetic energy as she flung aside a massive slab of debris.

The moment the dust settled, he saw him.

J’onn J’onzz, buried beneath the rubble, his green skin streaked with grime, his breathing ragged but steady.

M’gann’s breath hitched. “Uncle J’onn!”

Kaldur’s voice cut through the moment like a blade, sharp and precise. M’gann, check his mind. Make sure he is whom he appears to be.

Dick felt a strange, distant sort of amusement. Kaldur had said that last time too—exactly like that. No hesitation. No wasted words.

M’gann’s expression shifted as she reached out with her mind, scanning the presence before her.

It’s him, she confirmed, voice thick with emotion. He’s real. He’s alive.

Conner stepped forward, his brows furrowed in confusion. “But we saw you get disintegrated. You and Superman. And everyone.”

J’onn groaned, pressing a hand to his forehead as he pushed himself up. “Yes, I remember,” he said slowly. “But I cannot recall how I survived. Or how I arrived here.”

M’gann tilted her head, considering. “Maybe you were density-shifting when the beam hit. The energy passed right through you.”

Dick exhaled softly. “Scrambling your brains along the way.”

J’onn’s gaze was distant, his voice lined with something almost desperate. “My mind is… clouded. I feel certain I had something important to tell you.”

Dick closed his eyes for half a second. I know what you were going to say.

Wally, oblivious to everything running through Dick’s head, suddenly stiffened. His attention snapped to a shattered piece of alien tech among the rubble. He crouched down beside it, his fingers ghosting over the surface.

Here it comes.

“I knew it!” Wally exclaimed, his face lighting up with realization. He lifted the device for the others to see. “Look.”

Dick felt his chest tighten.

Wally didn’t know.

Not yet.

But he was right.

“This thing is giving off zeta beams,” Wally continued, excitement creeping into his voice. “The same stuff that powers our zeta tubes. This thing doesn’t disintegrate —it teleports .”

He sucked in a breath. “Artemis is alive.”

The words landed like a gut punch.

Dick wanted to let himself react.

He wanted to let hope flicker across his face like the others.

But he knew better.

His expression stayed neutral. “Maybe, but—”

“No maybes ,” Wally cut in, his green eyes blazing with determination. “They’re all alive.”

M’gann gasped. “That must have been what you wanted to tell us,” she said, looking at J’onn.

Before anyone could respond—

Boom.

The sky erupted in fire.

The alien warships above loomed closer, their weapons charging with a piercing hum.

Kaldur, Dick sent quickly. We’re on our way.

Negative, he corrected immediately. We can’t win this. Miss Martian, camo the Bioship.

Then—

A shockwave.

J’onn and M’gann cried out, staggering as their hands flew to their heads.

“Conner!” M’gann gasped.

“That didn’t feel like—”

We’re falling back, he said through the link.

His voice was sharper this time. Urgent.

The Air Force general beside them looked grim. “We’re trapped.”

Kaldur didn’t hesitate. “Maybe not. We can all zeta to the cave if you can grant us computer clearance to access the tubes.”

J’onn’s eyes flickered with uncertainty. “I can only authorize one at a time.”

Just like last time.

Kaldur’s decision came immediately. “Send the soldiers first.”

The general bristled. “Belay that! You six are assets we cannot afford to lose.”

J’onn’s voice was firm. “Override. Martian Manhunter 07.”

The computer’s voice rang through the chaos. 

“Recognized. Access granted. Miss Martian. B-0-5.”

M’gann hesitated, but Dick knew she’d leave.

She always did.

“Recognized. Robin. B-0-1.”

Dick took a slow breath, locking eyes with Kaldur just before stepping into the portal.

Kaldur.

He wanted to say something.

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

The light swallowed him whole.

“Recognized. Kid Flash. B-0-3.”

An explosion rocked the Hall.

Wally hesitated.

Kaldur grabbed him, threw him into the zeta tube.

“Recognized. Superboy. B-0-4.”

Conner helped a limping soldier forward. “He goes next.”

Kaldur nodded. “Fine. Then you.”

“Recognized. Private Jason Bard. USMC.”

Conner let go of the soldier’s arm. “Can you make it?”

The soldier gave a weak nod. “Sure, Superman.”

Conner flinched. “I’m not—”

Too late.

The computer cut in. 

“Recognized. Superboy. B-0-4.”

The soldiers and the general barely had time to react before they were vaporized.

And then—

Kaldur.

Kaldur, who had always been steady.

Kaldur, who had always been the one to hold them together.

Kaldur, who was about to die.

Kaldur.

He wanted to stop it.

He wanted to grab him, yank him back—

He knew—

Kaldur turned toward J’onn, his expression unreadable. “We need you more than me. Go.”

And then he threw J’onn into the zeta tube.

The light.

The energy.

The second before impact.

Then—

Nothing.

Mount Justice felt too quiet.

The kind of quiet that wasn't comforting. The kind that stretched through the air, thick and suffocating.

They were down two teammates. One maybe alive, if Wally was right. One definitely gone.

And yet, there was no time to grieve.

Dick stood at the center of the mission room, the faint glow of the holo-map casting sharp shadows across his face. His hands gripped the console’s edges as he took a breath, steeling himself.

“Our next mission is clear,” he said, his voice steady. “If we believe the aliens have been teleporting their victims—”

“We do,” Wally cut in immediately, arms crossed, eyes hard.

Dick nodded, pressing a few keys on the console. The holo-display flickered, shifting to reveal a planetary map. A red marker blinked ominously over the center of the United States.

“Then the only reasonable detention facility is here.” He pointed to the marker. “Their mothership, atop what used to be Smallville.” His voice was even, but there was something heavy beneath it. “Ring any bells?”

J’onn, standing slowly from where he had been resting on the floor, shook his head. “No,” he admitted. “I’m sorry.”

Dick’s expression remained unreadable.

Of course, you don’t remember. 

His jaw tightened, but he kept going.

“Superboy,” he said, turning toward Conner, “you’ll create a distraction.”

Before Conner could even respond, M’gann’s eyes widened in alarm.

“No!” she burst out, stepping forward. “He’s offering you as a sacrifice! Aqualad would never do that.”

The name hit like a knife.

Kaldur should have been standing here, making the call, guiding them through this moment.

But he wasn’t.

Because Kaldur had done exactly what M’gann had just said he wouldn’t.

He had sacrificed himself.

Dick clenched his fists. His shoulders tensed for just a moment before he exhaled, forcing his expression back into something neutral.

“You’re right,” he said, and for the briefest second, something flickered in his voice. A crack in his carefully held control.

Then it was gone.

“Aqualad would sacrifice himself.” His gaze flickered across the team. “A mistake that just cost us our leader.”

The words landed.

M’gann’s face crumpled slightly, guilt and grief mixing in her expression.

Dick didn’t want to do this—didn’t want to push them like this—but he had no choice.

They needed to move.

“Superboy is the most likely to be perceived as a threat,” he continued. “Motivating the aliens to deploy.”

Wally, standing off to the side, let out a slow breath. “Worst case,” he said, his voice quieter but firm, “he’s teleported inside, and we set him free along with Artemis. And Aqualad. And everyone.”

The unspoken if they’re still alive hung in the air, unspoken but felt.

Conner exhaled through his nose, gaze flicking to M’gann, whose worried expression hadn’t changed.

Then, after a long pause, his voice slipped into their minds, quiet but resolute.

It’s okay, M’gann.

His jaw set, his blue eyes burning with determination.

It’s what Superman would do.

Chapter Text

Dick took a slow, steady breath, keeping his expression neutral despite the storm raging in his mind.

Stay on script.

Everything had to play out exactly the same.

That was the only way to get out of this.

He turned toward M’gann, his voice calm, controlled. “Stay close to J’onn. He’s still…” He trailed off, letting the implication settle. Still recovering. Still vulnerable. Still not at full strength.

M’gann nodded, though she didn’t look happy about it.

Dick exhaled. “First Team, deploy.”

The mission had begun.

M’gann’s voice slipped into their minds like a whisper. Ready. In position. A pause. Then, softer, directed toward one person alone— Be careful, Conner. I love you.

Conner leaped onto the alien base with ease, his landing cracking the metal beneath him. Without hesitation, he grabbed hold of a massive alien cannon and ripped it free from its foundation, sparks flying as he tore through the weapon’s structural supports.

“ All right, you glorified trespassers! ” he bellowed, voice echoing across the battlefield. “ You wanna see how a real alien fights?! ”

Dick’s fingers flew over his gauntlet, scanning the cannon’s power source.

Careful, he sent through the link. Don’t disconnect the power source.

Conner didn’t acknowledge him, just planted his feet and hurled the massive weapon into a line of approaching enemies.

Now or never, Conner sent.

Dick barely had time to process the words before Wally moved.

The world blurred as Wally scooped him up, the familiar rush of speed sending wind whipping past Dick’s face.

Seconds later, they were inside the ship.

The landing was practiced, effortless. They hit the ground, separating in a fluid motion—ducking, rolling, blending into the shadows before the enemy could detect them.

Way’s clear. Go, Dick sent through the link.

J’onn and M’gann materialized beside them, their forms shifting from camouflage into visibility.

Then—

M’gann froze.

Her breath hitched. A spike of emotion hit the mental link like a hammer.

No.

Her voice was small, shattered.

He’s gone.

Dick’s hands clenched into fists. He didn’t turn, didn’t react—because he couldn’t.

But Wally—Wally still had hope.

It’s all right, Wally sent, firm but gentle. We’ll find him with Artemis. I know it.

J’onn exhaled, something unreadable flickering across his face. No.

The single word made the air feel heavier.

My mind is clearer now, J’onn continued. The disintegration beam is exactly that. There is no detention facility, no prisoners to rescue. Our mission holds no purpose.

Dick kept his breathing even. His heart was pounding, but his face remained carefully blank.

This is the moment, he realized. This is when it all turns.

Wally shook his head. No, you’re wrong. The zeta radiation proves she’s alive. She’s—

Stop it, KF.

Dick’s voice cut through the link like a knife.

Everyone went still.

Dick inhaled sharply, forcing himself to say the words even though they made him sick.

I’ve been scanning for League and team signals since we got inside.

A pause.

Then—

They’re not here.

He hated the way Wally stiffened beside him.

Artemis is gone.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Dick’s throat burned.

But he couldn’t waver.

Our mission still holds purpose, he pressed on, voice firm. To destroy this mothership.

They ran.

Boots slamming against the cold metal floor, breaths sharp and quick. The corridors stretched ahead of them, lined with pulsing energy conduits, alien tech thrumming with an unsettling, unnatural hum. The glow of the ship's core flickered in eerie blues and greens, casting long shadows as they moved.

The control room wasn’t far.

This is the power core, he sent through the link, skidding to a halt in front of the massive, glowing structure. The chamber was vast, the core itself a towering column of shifting energy, raw power crackling beneath its surface like a storm barely contained.

The room pulsed with unstable energy, the hum beneath their feet almost alive.

Dick turned to Wally, breath quick, sharp. Blow this, and the whole mothership goes down.

They moved in sync. No hesitation.

Racing toward the core, hands already reaching for the explosives—

Then—

Dick’s foot caught.

An uneven panel—just slightly raised, just enough to throw off his momentum. His body lurched forward, weight shifting too fast.

His breath hitched.

And suddenly, there was no floor beneath him.

Just open air.

Just the endless drop below.

A split second of weightlessness.

Then—

A hand.

Fingers clamped around his wrist, hard enough to bruise.

Wally.

Time stilled.

For a single, breathless moment, they just hung there, suspended between survival and the abyss. Dick’s pulse pounded against his ribs, sharp and frantic, but Wally’s grip was steady, unwavering—like he had never even considered letting go.

Then gravity won.

They fell.

The world blurred past them, the lights of the mothership streaking like static in their vision.

Dick’s fingers scrambled for his grapple, every nerve in his body screaming at him to move—

He fired.

The line snapped taut, yanking them backward, slamming their momentum sideways—

Too high. Still too high.

And then—

Something caught them.

A force wrapped around them—soft but firm, holding them steady.

M’gann.

Her telekinetic grip slowed their descent, guiding them back toward the platform. The moment their feet hit solid ground, Dick exhaled sharply, shaking off the lingering adrenaline as his hands moved automatically, pulling explosives from his belt.

The countdown had already started in his head.

Every motion was precise. Unwavering.

Because he had done this before.

Because he already knew how this ended.

But Wally—

Wally was still looking at him.

Dick didn’t have to turn to know.

The weight of his stare was heavy, pressing against him like a held breath.

The silence stretched, thick and knowing.

Then—

You knew.

Wally’s voice in the link was quiet.

Accusing.

Not angry. Just—understanding.

Dick didn’t stop working.

Didn’t acknowledge the words.

His fingers moved too fast, too practiced, pressing another charge against the core’s surface like it could somehow drown out the way his pulse had spiked.

You knew from the beginning why we were really here.

Dick swallowed hard.

Didn’t look at him.

Didn’t answer.

Instead, he set the final charge, his voice calm, controlled.

Four minutes. Let’s go.

The exit slammed shut.

Heavy metal barriers dropped into place with a resounding clang , sealing them inside.

Dick barely reacted.

Wally, on the other hand, let out a frustrated breath, running a hand through his hair. “Oh, perfect.”

Sixteen seconds and counting, Dick sent through the link, his voice detached, cold. Manhunter, take Miss Martian and go.

No. M’gann’s voice came immediately, emotions bleeding into the link—fear, frustration, defiance. We won’t leave you.

That’s an order.

His voice sharpened, leaving no room for argument. We’ll follow as soon as we blow those doors.

M’gann hesitated.

Then—reluctantly, reluctantly—she and J’onn vanished.

Gone.

Dick barely had time to exhale before Wally turned to him again.

A look passed between them.

Unspoken understanding.

Wally nodded.

Dick just sighed.

A deep, long exhale, like he was already tired of what came next.

The first few seconds were the worst—the heat swallowing him whole, burning too fast for nerves to even register pain at first. Then came the shockwave, the air ripped from his lungs, the force of it fracturing bones he wouldn’t live long enough to feel break.

It was always the lungs that went first.

Suffocating. Crushing.

Then nothing.

He had been here before.

He had died here before.

And now, he was about to do it again .

Dick tilted his head back slightly, staring at the ceiling, his lips pressing into a thin line.

Jason was going to love this.

The thought came out of nowhere, abrupt and absurd.

Jason, always the dramatic one, had so much to say about his own death—about getting blown up and burned alive. You don’t know what it’s like, man, he’d say, throwing his hands up. It’s hell.

Well.

Now, Dick could tell him exactly what it was like.

The thought amused him, just a little.

A low, humorless chuckle almost escaped—before the floor trembled beneath them.

A distant boom rumbled through the halls, getting closer.

Wally frowned, glancing between Dick and the sealed exit. “Dude, what—?”

Another boom .

Dick sighed again, rolling his shoulders, exhaling slowly like he was bracing himself for a long, exhausting conversation.

Then—

The world went white.

Dick already knew.

He had known the moment he opened his eyes and saw the briefing room, the way the others staggered back into reality, shaking, disoriented. He had known before J’onn even started talking, before Batman’s voice cut through the heavy silence, before M’gann gasped out, “You’re all alive.”

Knowing didn’t make it any easier.

“What happened in there?” Batman’s voice was even, controlled.

J’onn’s expression was grim. “The exercise… it all went wrong.”

Dick blinked, forcing his face into carefully neutral confusion. “Exercise?” He injected just the right amount of hesitation into his voice, feigning ignorance.

Batman studied him for a beat before continuing. “Try to remember. What you experienced was a training exercise. Manhunter psychically linked the six of you within an artificial reality. You all knew this going in.”

“What you didn’t know,” Batman continued, “was that it was a train for failure exercise. No matter what the team accomplished, the scenario was designed to grow worse.”

Dick barely resisted the urge to scoff. Yeah, no kidding.

“Still, you were aware nothing was real,” Batman went on, “including the deaths of the entire Justice League.”

J’onn inclined his head. “That is why you hardly grieved, even when Wolf was disintegrated before your eyes. But all that changed when Artemis died.”

Across the room, Artemis flinched.

Artemis’ death was the tipping point. Dick had seen the way M’gann spiraled, the way reality warped around her. It had happened exactly like this in his timeline—M’gann forgetting, dragging them all down with her.

J’onn turned toward her. “Though consciously, Miss Martian knew it was not real, her subconscious mind could not make that distinction. She forgot it was only an exercise… and her subconscious took control, making all of you forget, too.”

M’gann let out a choked breath. “I—I’m so sorry.”

“This isn’t her fault,” Conner said, voice firm, protective. “Why didn’t you stop the exercise?”

J’onn sighed. “We tried. But M’gann had a death grip on the scenario. Even Artemis, who should have awakened upon her death, was so convinced she had passed that she slipped into a coma.”

J’onn’s voice was heavier now. “I realized I would have to wrest control from Miss Martian’s subconscious from within. But upon entering the reality, I was overwhelmed by your collective emotion. There was too much noise to think clearly, to remember why I was there.”

Dick remembered the sheer, gut-wrenching despair. The way everything had felt so real. How they had all been so sure they were the last ones left, the last chance Earth had.

“The deaths of Aqualad and Superboy helped,” J’onn admitted, “but only when the mothership exploded and Robin and Kid Flash were silenced did my mind clear enough to remember my true purpose—” his gaze flickered toward M’gann, softer now, “—to shock Miss Martian out of the exercise before your comas became permanent.”

M’gann flinched like she had been struck.

J’onn’s voice softened further. “My apologies. I had no idea a training exercise could be so dangerous. So damaging.”

Dick swallowed hard. You should have.

Batman’s expression didn’t shift, but his tone was sharp. “As bad as all that?”

J’onn hesitated. Then—“Perhaps worse.”

A heavy silence settled over the room.

Dick already knew it was worse. He had seen what this did to the team in the future. The nightmares. The hesitations. The doubt. This wasn’t something they would just walk off.

Red Tornado finally broke the silence. “Yet this is not what troubles you.”

J’onn nodded. “Make no mistake—my niece is untrained and cannot be held responsible for this. For our debacle.”

Batman met his gaze. “No one blames her,” he said evenly. “But clearly, we underestimated her abilities.”

“You understated,” J’onn corrected. “In terms of raw power, she has the strongest telepathic mind I have ever encountered.” His exhale was slow, deliberate. “Stronger by far than mine.”

Dick clenched his fists under the table, nails pressing into his palms.

The team would brush this off—or at least pretend to. They’d move forward like they always did, burying the unease under missions and training and forced normalcy. But the damage was already done.

M’gann wouldn’t trust herself for a long time.

Conner would struggle to reach her.

Artemis would keep her walls up even higher than before.

Kaldur would carry this failure like a personal burden, whether or not he admitted it.

And Wally—

Dick’s gaze flickered to his best friend. Wally was quiet, his usual energy drained, his expression carefully blank.

Wally never fully got over this.

None of them did.

Chapter Text

The lounge was quiet.

Too quiet.

Dick sat slouched on the couch, legs stretched out, head tilted back against the cushions. The dim glow of the overhead lights buzzed faintly, casting soft shadows across the room. The rest of the Team was nowhere to be seen—either resting, training, or dealing with their own lingering thoughts after what had happened.

Which left him here.

Alone.

Exactly where he wanted to be.

Except—

A sudden weight dropped onto the couch beside him.

Dick didn’t flinch, but his body tensed automatically.

Wally.

Of course.

The speedster sprawled out, arms crossed, sinking into the cushions like he belonged there. He was quiet at first—too quiet. Then, in the same easygoing tone he always used before dropping something completely serious on Dick’s head, he asked,

“So… why did you sigh?”

Dick went completely still.

His heart skipped a beat.

Shit.

He didn’t let it show.

Instead, he turned his head slightly, just enough to look at Wally, his expression blank. “What?”

Wally raised a brow, eyes sharp, searching. “Back on the ship. Before we, y’know—” He mimed an explosion with his hands. “You looked up at the ceiling and sighed. Like you were annoyed.”

Dick’s mind raced.

Came up with a dozen different ways to play this off.

Landed on the simplest answer. The easiest lie.

“I’ve been minorly blown up before,” he said, forcing his voice into something casual. “I knew it was gonna suck.”

Wally stared at him.

Flat. Unblinking.

Like he wasn’t sure whether to be horrified or impressed.

“Minorly blown up,” Wally repeated, deadpan.

Dick shrugged. “It happens.”

Wally ran a hand down his face. “Dude— what the hell. ”

Dick waved him off, shifting slightly, trying to steer this conversation away from the very obvious landmine Wally was currently circling. But before he could, something in his brain misfired—some part of him that always made bad decisions when Wally was involved—because suddenly, he was asking,

“Didn’t you feel it?”

Wally frowned. “Feel what?”

Dick hesitated.

Then, carefully, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer—

“The heat swallowing you. The air getting ripped from your lungs. The force of the shockwave fracturing bones you didn’t even feel before we died.”

Wally didn’t answer right away.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t breathe.

And that was when Dick knew.

“…No,” Wally said, voice quiet. Almost hesitant. “I didn’t.”

Dick looked away.

Of course he hadn’t.

Because none of them had.

The others had been disintegrated instantly. Even Wally—who had been right next to him—hadn’t felt it.

But Dick had.

He had felt everything.

The burn of the explosion swallowing him whole. The way his skin had seared, peeling back in an instant. The way his lungs had collapsed before he could even scream.

A sharp exhale from Wally broke the silence.

“You should probably tell Canary.”

Dick tensed. “Tell her what?”

“That you actually felt your death,” Wally said, and it wasn’t a suggestion. It was a statement.

Dick said nothing.

“You felt it, Dick.” Wally’s voice had dropped, quiet, edged with something raw. “Unlike the rest of us. We all just—blinked out. Even I didn’t feel the explosion.”

Dick didn’t respond.

Didn’t move.

Then—without a word—he slid further down the couch.

Wally let out a sharp, frustrated breath.

“Oh my God.”

Dick closed his eyes.

“This is not healthy,” Wally pressed, exasperation bleeding into his voice. “Keeping something like that to yourself? Yeah, no, great plan.”

“I’m fine.”

Wally let out a short laugh—sharp and disbelieving. “Yeah? Because bottling up trauma always works out so well, right?”

Dick kept his eyes shut.

“I mean, sure,” Wally continued, voice dripping with sarcasm. “It’s not like keeping things to yourself has ever ended with you having a panic attack like you did that one morning. Or after you got kidnapped a month ago. Nope. Totally unrelated.”

Dick’s jaw clenched.

“That’s different,” he muttered.

Wally narrowed his eyes. “How?”

No response.

Wally huffed. “Dude, you suck at taking care of yourself.”

Finally, after a long, heavy silence—

Dick exhaled. Slow. Tired.

“I know . ”

Wally let his head fall back against the couch. “Good. Just making sure we’re on the same page.”

Neither of them moved after that.

The silence stretched.

Wally didn’t push.

Didn’t make a joke.

Just stayed.

The air in the room was thick. Not with tension, not exactly—but with something heavier. Something unspoken.

Conner sat rigidly in his chair, arms crossed, jaw tight, staring at the floor like if he glared hard enough, it would crack open and swallow him whole. Across from him, Black Canary was watching him carefully, her expression unreadable but patient.

She didn’t push. Not yet.

“You all went through something traumatic,” she said after a moment, her voice calm. Steady. “You were trapped in a reality where your worst fears came true. You lost the people closest to you. Your family. And it felt completely real.”

Conner’s fingers twitched against his arm. His breath was slow, measured. Too controlled.

Black Canary leaned forward slightly, careful not to crowd him. “I can only imagine how devastating that was.”

Conner’s eyes flickered—just barely—but he didn’t look at her.

She continued, voice gentle but firm. “I understand, Conner. You’re Superboy. You’re not supposed to have feelings of sadness or vulnerability.”

Something snapped.

“You don’t know what I feel!” Conner shot up from his chair, his voice sharp and angry, but there was something beneath it—something raw, something cracking at the edges.

Black Canary stayed still. Unshaken. “Conner—”

“Just leave me alone!” he snapped, his fists clenching at his sides.

Then he turned.

And stormed out.

The door slammed behind him, rattling in its frame.

Black Canary exhaled slowly.

Artemis sat slouched in the chair across from Black Canary, arms crossed, eyes fixed on some point in the distance like she was already done with this conversation before it had even started.

“Look,” she said, exhaling sharply. “Me dying during the exercise might have started things going south, but I was coma girl. Missed out on all the fun. Forgetting it wasn’t real, so, no trauma. No need for the shrink rap.”

Black Canary raised an eyebrow. “You’re too tough to need help.”

Artemis shrugged. “Whatever. Maybe.”

Canary tilted her head slightly. “Or maybe too tough to admit you need help.” She kept her voice light, careful, but Artemis still felt the weight of it settle over her. “Artemis, it’s not a sign of weakness to open up to your friends.”

“I know that.” The response was automatic, defensive.

“But you still keep secrets from them.”

Something in Artemis' posture stiffened.

Her jaw clenched, but her voice stayed even. “And you won’t tell them. You can’t. ”

Black Canary nodded, her expression unreadable. “I won’t.” A pause. “But you should.”

Artemis scoffed. “Right. Sure.”

“You could start,” Black Canary continued, “by admitting you’re not really Green Arrow’s niece.”

Silence.

Artemis' fingers twitched against her arm. The mask of indifference wavered just slightly. She looked away.

Then—flatly— “Great. Can you imagine what Wally would do with that?”

Black Canary blinked.

Then, slowly, she smiled.

“Interesting,” she said, leaning back slightly. “So, the person you’re most worried about… is Wally.”

Artemis frowned, caught off guard. “What? No. I mean—” She scoffed, shaking her head. “That’s not what I meant.”