Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

After resurfacing and slowly patching things up with his family, Jason felt like maybe, just maybe, things were finally starting to go well. He’d started college, working towards a degree in literature.

It being online worked out when your nights were booked solid with Gotham's worst and your days were exhausting. With this new way of living starting to settle in, part of his routine became making weekly trips to the library again.

That’s where he met Hayden.

________________

Okay, so— there was this guy.

Hayden started seeing him at the library at the same time, on the same day, like clockwork, as if they were unknowingly part of the same quiet routine. The guy always moved like he had somewhere better to be, quick and purposeful, with this look on his face like the world had already annoyed him that morning, which only made it more confusing why he kept showing up here, of all places.

He seemed like just some guy at first—quiet, unreadable, probably allergic to small talk—but there was something oddly specific about the way he always drifted toward the Jane Austen section, pulling down the novels like he’d done it a hundred times before, like it was second nature.

He wasn’t pretending to read or flipping aimlessly through the pages like most people Hayden saw in that corner; he actually sat there with the books, focused and still, turning pages slowly, like he was trying to memorize every word.

And okay, maybe he was a little cute, but in that rough-around-the-edges, “reads Regency era romance but has probably punched someone in an alley” kind of way. He probably reads books for fun, which made Hayden assume he had more than just muscle. Good looking, seemed smart AND strong? Yeah, Hayden was lowkey into him.

So Hayden kept showing up at the library, hoping to get this guy’s number, but with his own busy schedule with dragons and friends, he couldn’t make it every time. Some days he’d get there just a few minutes too late, or the guy wouldn’t be around at all, which was frustrating but didn’t stop him from trying.

Until one day, Hayden worked up the courage to actually go talk to him. They exchanged a few words, kept the conversation light and easy, but when it came time to ask for his number, he was a nervous wreck and just walked away without it. Classic Hayden move. Still, he told himself, second time’s the charm.

Really though, Hayden should have realized the guy was THE Jason Todd, the one who rose from the dead and all that, but he hadn’t been in Gotham that long, okay?

________________

Jason didn’t usually get attracted to random people, but this person was different—awfully beautiful, with striking auburn hair that caught the light just right and deep green eyes that seemed to see right through him. Despite Jason’s usual wariness, something about him pulled Jason in and held his attention.

Sometimes, Jason lies awake in the early hours, the sky just starting to turn blue outside his window. His laptop’s still open on some half-finished paper, his hands still carrying the bruises of the night before, and all he can think about is Hayden.

Fast forward, and somehow, he had a boyfriend now. One month in, still fresh enough to be considered brand new, still at that weird stage where things are soft and exciting and terrifying all at once. And the best part? No one in his family had figured it out yet. A whole family of detective freaks, and not one of them had caught on. He was honestly kind of proud of that.

Because the second they found out? Oh, they’d absolutely hound him.

Dick would immediately demand every single detail—when they met, what he looked like, how the hell Jason managed to be romantic, and if he needed help planning anniversary surprises. He’d be grinning like a maniac the entire time, obviously thrilled but also annoyingly nosy.

Tim would furrow his brows, tilt his head, and ask the most insulting question possible: “Wait, how did YOU manage to get a boyfriend?”

And Bruce? Bruce would stand there in silence for a moment, that overly long pause that meant he was thinking way too hard, before hitting him with the classic “Jason, this is dangerous. Dating a civilian puts them at risk.” As if Jason hadn’t already thought of that.

As if he didn’t spend every night calculating the risk and choosing the guy anyway.

Honestly, Jason figured the old man was still bitter about the whole Selina thing.

But really, when didn’t Jason make a bad decision? The difference was that at least this one was worth losing sleep over.

Chapter Text

He said there wouldn’t be any service where he was going.

Jason reminded himself of that again, thumb flicking over his phone screen for the fifth time that day. Still no message. Still nothing from Hayden.

He was visiting some family. Something about checking up on some things and figuring out his relationship with his family. Apparently, even before he made the decision to move to Gotham, their relationship had been absolute shit.

He’s said it so casually at the time, tossing the warning over his shoulder like it was nothing.

“Oh, and by the way. No signal where I’m going—like, zero. Don’t bother texting, I won’t get it. I’ll be gone six days, tops. I’ll be back before you even start missing me.”

Jason had snorted at that. “Not possible, I’ll miss you by day two. Minimum. But where the hell are you even going that has no service?”

Hayden had just grinned and leaned in. “You're such a softie… My mother is a wildlife rehabilitator, so I thought we could talk about some unspoken things.”
“So no service out on the wild.” He said as he was making eye contact with Jason.

Now it was day four.

Hayden could take care of himself, and Jason had known what to expect: no updates, no late-night sarcasm via text. Just six days of silence.
And yet… it felt off, not having him around. Must still be in the honeymoon phase.

____________

Jason had barely made it halfway down the metal staircase when the snark started.

“...Don’t say anything yet,” came Tim’s voice, dry and preloaded with sarcasm. “Let’s just watch how he walks. If he starts skipping, we panic.”

Jason paused on the bottom step, giving them all a flat stare. “Seriously?”

Dick looked up from where he was stretching on the training mats. “Hey, no offense, but you’ve been walking around like Pinkie Pie threw you a surprise birthday party. It’s freaking us out.”

Jason blinked. “So now I can’t even be happy without triggering a full-blown Batcave intervention?”

Steph spun her chair around from the comms desk, eyes narrowed like she was inspecting a cursed artifact. “It’s not just the walk. It’s the whole vibe, man. You haven’t stormed off in a brooding rage spiral for, like… what? Three weeks? A month? And where are the insults? You used to be so creative with them.”

Jason set his helmet down on the table with a thunk and exhaled slowly. “Right. My bad. Forgot that showing basic emotional growth is considered a federal offense in this house.”

Tim leaned back against the console, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. “It’s not about growth, it’s about the lack of chaos. You haven’t even threatened to throw me into the bay all week.”

Jason ran a hand down his face. “Ever consider that maybe, just maybe… I’m doing fine for once?”

“Sure,” Tim replied, dry as dust. “But it must’ve worn off sometime in the last three days, because now you look like a guy whose grip on inner peace is hanging by a thread.”

Stephanie snorted behind her hand.

Jason opened his mouth to respond—probably with something sarcastic, probably involving blunt objects—but the heavy tread of boots on metal cut through the Cave.

The temperature in the room shifted like someone had opened a window in winter.
Bruce descended the stairs in full gear, cowl off. His face was set in that signature unreadable calm, but the quick sweep of his eyes across the room meant business.

Behind him came Damian, Domino mask already in place, arms crossed like someone had questioned the honor of his ancestors. Cass followed silently beside them, her expression unreadable as she tugged on her gloves.

“Patrol starts in ten,” Bruce said. “Briefing in three.”

Jason glanced at the others and rolled his eyes. “Guess I’ll put my mysterious emotional stability on hold.”

“Tt,” Damian sniffed, not missing a beat. “Your emotional instability isn’t new, Todd. The only surprise is how long it took for you to notice it.”

Jason turned slowly, deadpan. “Wow. Did you spend all afternoon crafting that, or did Alfred ghostwrite it for you?”

“I don’t need help stating the obvious,” Damian replied coldly, brushing past him without a glance.

Bruce, already reviewing the night’s case files on the main screen, didn’t look up. “Two minutes.”

And just like that, the teasing faded. Conversations dropped. Gloves were tightened. Faces shifted.

The room changed.

Boots hit the floor with purpose, and laughter was replaced with silence.
The Bat-family moved like a system when it was time—separate pieces falling into place.

Jason stood a little straighter, watching the briefing screen light up.

Jokes aside, there was work to do.

________________

The rooftop was cracked and weather-beaten, but it had one thing they needed—a clean vantage point.

Jason crouched at the edge, pistols holstered at his hips, hands resting lightly on his knees. His eyes flicked to the side entrance of the warehouse across the street just as two figures slipped through the door, moving fast but cautiously.

“Warehouse. Three o’clock. Two going in.”

Red Robin’s voice crackled softly in his earpiece. “Got eyes. Thermal’s picking up at least four more inside. No heat signatures outside the perimeter. Yet.”

Nightwing dropped into a crouch beside Jason. “Any chance they’re just there for a romantic meeting? Maybe a heartfelt arms exchange?”

Jason snorted. “They brought rifles and body armor. Unless that’s some weird courtship ritual, I doubt it.”

“Man, Gotham dating culture really evolved while I was in Bludhaven,” Dick muttered.

Jason cut in, sharper now. “Two more coming in. South alley. One’s lugging a duffel bag that looks like trouble.”

The casual tone dropped as the three shifted, eyes narrowing on the movement below.

“That’s the trade,” Dick said softly. “No markings. Freelancers.”

Tim updated the team. “Batman and Robin are still tied up at the south docks.”

Below, the deal was starting to happen—quick handshakes, curt nods. One of the newcomers unzipped the duffel, revealing a glint of something green.

Tim zoomed in through his scope. “Can’t confirm what it is. Lining’s blocking a full scan, and whatever it is, they’re treating it like gold.”

“They’re twitchy,” Dick added. “This isn’t a routine drop.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed. “Then let’s cut the waiting.”

Without hesitation, Red Hood dropped from the rooftop, landing behind a stack of crates. Nightwing followed, landing smoothly on the far end.

Red Robin stayed above, fingers flying over his gauntlet. “I’m watching your exits. Two more coming from the west stairwell.”

Jason crept forward through the shadows. “Time to move.”

He surged from cover and slammed the nearest buyer into the wall. Nightwing hit a second with a flying kick, disarming him before the gun could clear the holster.

Gunfire erupted. Jason rolled behind a container, firing two non-lethal rounds at the attacker charging them and taking down the guy with the duffel bag.

Suddenly, one of the men bolted.

“Runner!” Tim’s voice cracked through the comms. “He’s heading east!”
Jason cursed under his breath. “One always gets away.”

Tim launched his grapnel and vaulted after him, but the runner vanished into the maze of alleyways before he could be caught.

They regrouped near the duffel bag, breathing hard, alert but unsettled. Jason’s gaze flicked to the empty path the runner had taken.

“We didn’t get him,” Jason said quietly, the frustration clear in his voice.

“Yeah,” Nightwing added, voice low. “But we got a good look. He won’t slip away next time.”

Jason caught his breath and glanced at the duffel bag. “Let’s see what all the fuss was about.” They carefully unzipped it, expecting the usual weapons, black market tech, maybe even kryptonite.

Instead—

“…It’s a root.”
Inside lay a thick, coiled length of dried, greenish root sealed in a polymer case.

Nightwing blinked. “This isn’t what I expected.”

Tim scanned the root. “No radiation. No toxins. Definitely cultivated. Grown in controlled conditions.”

Jason poked it lightly. “So… someone hired these guys to smuggle dried plants?”

Tim’s comm buzzed. “Batman wants it brought in. Full containment protocols.”

Jason nodded. “Let’s move it.”

By the time patrol wrapped, the adrenaline had worn off—replaced by bone-deep exhaustion and the stiff ache of half-healed bruises. Tim, naturally, was already typing something on his tablet before they even made it inside the cave.

Jason rolled his eyes. “You ever sleep, Replacement?”

“I don’t sleep when we bring home mystery vegetables sealed in science-grade polymer,” Tim muttered, not looking up.

“I thought it was a root,” Steph said, yawning as she dragged off her hood and mask.

“It’s technically classified as a root,” Tim corrected. “That doesn’t mean it’s just a root.”

Whatever argument might’ve followed was cut short by the unmistakable sound of footsteps on stone—slow, measured, and carrying the ancient weight of authority.

Alfred.

“I don’t care if the fate of the cosmos is hanging from a stalk of parsley,” he said sternly, hands folded behind his back. “You are all going to bed. Now.”

Tim opened his mouth.

Alfred raised a single eyebrow.

Tim shut his mouth.

Bruce gave a subtle nod. “He’s right. We’ll reconvene in the morning.”

One by one, they peeled off for the night, boots heavy on the manor floors as exhaustion settled in like fog. Even Jason, who usually made a point of retreating to his own place after patrol, didn’t bother arguing when Alfred gave him that look—half stern, half quietly expectant.

He followed the others up the stairs, absently rolling his shoulder where a bruise was already starting to settle in. His room was waiting for him, unchanged and dim in the low light. It smelled faintly of cedar and worn leather, familiar in a way that didn’t ask for anything.

He didn’t bother turning on the light. Just dropped his gear by the door, shrugged off his jacket, changed clothes, and collapsed onto the bed. Sleep pulled him under before he could think twice about it.

It was late morning by the time Jason woke.

Downstairs, the manor kitchen was already alive with the soft clink of dishes and the quiet shuffle of bodies moving like ghosts after a long night. The scent of coffee and something warm and buttery drifted through the halls, familiar and grounding.

Alfred stood at the stove, moving with his usual calm precision—because of course he remembered exactly what everyone needed before they did.

Breakfast at the manor was always a quiet affair after patrol.

Cass was curled in the corner of the oversized couch, tea cupped gently in both hands, eyes still half-lidded. Steph scrolled through her phone with one hand and shamelessly stole toast with the other.

Damian sat at the table, back straight, already halfway through a plate of grilled vegetables and scrambled tofu—his version of breakfast as disciplined as the rest of him.

Jason shuffled in last, still in yesterday’s shirt, hair a mess, and a borrowed hoodie thrown over his shoulders. He dropped into a chair with a grunt, nursing a mug of black coffee.

He looked as tired as he felt

Then Tim entered the room at full speed, tablet in hand, dark circles under his eyes like badges of honor.

He didn’t bother sitting.

“Okay,” Tim said, bursting into the kitchen with his tablet already in hand. “So I spent the last five hours analyzing every molecular scan of that root and cross-referencing it with botanical, pharmaceutical, and alien biological databases. And guess what? It’s not in any of them. Not even the weird deep-cut Kryptonian flora lists.”

Jason blinked at him over the rim of his coffee mug. “Good morning to you, too.”

Dick glanced up from his plate, brow raised. “Weren’t you supposed to be asleep like… eight hours ago?”

Tim waved a hand without looking up from the screen. “I was. Briefly. Then science happened.”

Steph muttered, “You’re gonna pass out mid-sentence one of these days.”
“Worth it,” Tim said, already pulling up another diagram.

Tim continued undeterred. “It’s not just unknown—it’s either something no one’s discovered yet, or some ancient species of plant that was written off centuries ago and forgotten. Either way, we’re dealing with something way beyond smuggled tech.”

Bruce looked up from the end of the table, finally giving Tim his full attention. “What else?”

Tim swiped something on the tablet, flipping the display toward them. Molecular diagrams filled the screen. “Under closer inspection, I found something in the structure that mimics neurotransmitters. The plant contains compounds that look like they’re meant to bond to neural pathways.”

Dick blinked at the screen, then at Tim. “In English?”

Damian folded his arms, rolling his eyes. “He means the plant can mess with your brain. Feelings and maybe thoughts”

Tim pointed at him without looking away from the display. “Exactly.”

Wait,” Steph said, suddenly interested. “So it can makes us batshit crazy?”

Tim shook his head. “No, not us. That’s the weird part. The compounds don’t interact with human neurotransmitters at all. Zero reaction. Which means—”

“It’s designed for something else,” Bruce finished.

“Exactly. It’s targeted for a species with a vastly different neurological layout—something we’ve never seen before. The plant wants to interface with a mind… just not a human one.”

Jason straightened slightly. “Okay, creepy. So we’re talking aliens?”

“Maybe,” Tim replied. “But we don’t really know how—or even if—it would affect alien biology. Its impact could vary wildly depending on the species. We’ll need to run careful tests before we can understand what it’s actually capable of.”

Bruce leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. “So it’s designed to affect something.”

Tim nodded. “That’s what it looks like. Some kind of biological trigger. But without knowing what system it’s supposed to work with—or even what species—it’s impossible to tell what it actually does. Right now, we’re blind.”

Jason took a slow sip of coffee. “So either someone’s growing sci-fi weeds for fun, or we just intercepted a piece of plant that’s meant to make someone go completely crazy.”

Tim swiped to another slide—zooming in on the root’s structure, revealing faint, almost organic veins pulsing beneath the surface, like living circuits running through the fibers.

“I’m still looking into whether any plants on Earth are remotely similar. So far, no luck.. If there’s more of it out there, we need to find it—and fast. Someone went to a lot of trouble to keep it sealed, hidden, and moving through unknown channels.”

Bruce stood. “We’ll begin tracking where that shipment originated. If it’s connected to any known smuggling routes, we’ll know by tonight.”

Steph raised an eyebrow. “And if it’s not?”

Jason muttered, “Then we’re in the opening credits of a very weird movie.”

Chapter Text

Hayden learned early that for some, family makes a house a home, but for others, it’s just a building they happen to live in.

His parents weren’t bad. Just… gone. His mom, Val, was a wildlife rehabilitator—always off in some forest or mountainside nursing owls with broken wings or coyotes hit by cars. She had a way with animals that made Hayden proud, sometimes.

But it also meant she was always moving, always answering some emergency that didn’t include him.

His dad, Steve, was military. The kind of military that didn’t come with details—just long deployments, brief calls with poor reception, and an unspoken expectation that Hayden would figure things out for himself.

They loved him, he guessed. In the way people who are never around say “be safe” more than they say “I love you.” They left notes. Paid bills. Sent check-ins through text. But he grew up in empty kitchens and cold garages.

Birthdays quiet. Holidays were often spent with the neighbors because someone was always away. He didn't act out or get into trouble. There was no one around to notice if he did.

So he poured himself into things that stayed—sketchbooks, tools, machines he built from broken appliances

Freshman year, Hayden spent more time in the art room than anywhere else.

He wasn’t a loner—not exactly (or at least that’s what he told himself). He just never found much room to breathe in crowded hallways or locker rooms.

While other kids talked about weekend parties and football games, he was hunched over a sketchbook, hands smudged with charcoal and mechanical grease. His ideas spilled out in pencil lines and blueprints.

So when his science teacher told him he should join the robotics team, he gave it a shot. And when he won regionals with a fully automated sorting drone made from scrap parts and an old game controller, people started paying attention.

Just not in the way he’d hoped…

The sketches, the gadgets, the quiet—it all made him stand out, and not in a good way. Some kids started calling him names, whispering nerd when they passed by.

Others just bragged louder about their own achievements, like they needed to prove his didn’t matter

Astrid Henderson wasn’t one of them.

She was sharp in every sense of the word—sharp voice, sharp focus, sharp aim on the archery field. Track star. High honors. Always surrounded by people who laughed too loudly and moved too fast.

And yet somehow, she noticed him.

It started small—group projects, hallway run-ins, a question about one of his designs. Then it grew. Quiet conversations between classes. Sneaking into the art room after hours.

The kind of closeness that doesn’t need defining, until it’s suddenly too much.

By sophomore year, they were a couple.

It didn’t feel real, not at first. She was the kind of person who looked like she belonged in a story someone else had written. But when she laughed at one of his terrible jokes, or showed up to one of his robotics meets even when no one else did, he let himself believe it.

Everyone else thought it was a joke, like there was no way she’d actually choose him. But for the first time, he felt like maybe they were wrong.

Until everything started to fall apart.

It wasn’t her fault. Not really. He just started leaving.

Disappearing after school. Skipping team meetings.

He had ridden his bike out past the edge of town, looking for quiet. The hills out there were steep and tangled with pine trees, dotted with the forgotten wreckage of old power stations and logging trails. It was a place to be alone.

That’s when he found the clearing.

It wasn’t natural. The ground was torn open like something had been hurled from the sky, its impact carving a wide, jagged wound into the forest floor.

Trees lay shattered at the edges, their trunks splintered and blackened. The underbrush was scorched, branches stripped bare, and the air still shimmered faintly with leftover heat.

The world had gone quiet. No birds. No wind. Just the scent of smoke and earth and something older—something alive.

In the center of it all, nestled low in the debris, was a dragon.

Coiled in on itself, breathing in shallow, trembling bursts. Its scales gleamed black with an almost liquid shine, like oil beneath moonlight. And its eyes—watchful, wary, full of pain—locked onto Hayden the second he stepped too close.

His mind stumbled. Denied it.

It couldn’t be a dragon. Dragons didn’t exist. Not really. They were myths, symbols, stories. But this… this creature breathed. Shifted its weight. Watched him with intelligence that rooted him in place.

It was real.

And it was hurt.

Hayden didn’t run.

Didn’t scream.

He stepped closer.

At first, he could only leave food. Bits of fish from the market, raw meat wrapped in foil. He’d leave them a few feet away and back off, watching from behind the trees. The dragon wouldn’t eat if he stayed close.

A quiet understanding formed. No sudden movements. No loud noises.

Hayden didn’t try to touch it or talk to it. He just showed up. Every day.
And slowly, the dragon began to trust him.

In the days that followed, Hayden did everything he could to hide the clearing from the outside world. The destruction was too obvious—burned trees, blackened soil, gouges in the dirt where claws had scraped or tail had dragged.

So he got to work.

He dragged fallen branches into awkward piles to block the path. Hauled in old fencing scraps and leaned them against trees like weathered debris. Tossed pine needles over the scorched earth, packed moss into cracked soil, and built a makeshift wall from brush and stone to shield the view from the main trail.

It wasn’t perfect. But from a distance, it just looked like a damaged patch of woods, long-forgotten and overgrown.

And every time he came back, the dragon was still there.

A little stronger.

A little more curious.

Sometimes already watching before he arrived.

Hayden started calling him Toothless—not because he had no teeth (he did, and plenty), but because he’d never bared them at him. Not once.

This was no pet. No beast to tame.

He was something wild. Something ancient.

And Hayden… was the only one who knew he existed.

So he kept the secret, guarded the clearing, and stayed quiet.

And that’s when everything else in Hayden’s life stopped making sense.
Astrid noticed first. The excuses. The tired eyes. The missing pieces. Her voice sharpened when she asked where he’d been, why he missed her meet, and why he didn’t text back.

He couldn’t tell her. How could he? "Sorry, I missed our date. I was out feeding a fire-breathing apex predator in the woods" wasn’t going to go over well.

So he said nothing.

And she walked away.

He didn’t blame her. Not when her friends whispered that he was wasting her time. Not when she stopped showing up at the art room. Not even when she gave back the bracelet he made her—copper wire wrapped in the shape of a falling star.

He just let her go.

And at sixteen, he let everything else go too.

He packed a small bag—just the essentials he could grab without drawing attention—and slipped out of the house just after dawn. Toothless was waiting. Not with wings spread wide, but with patient eyes and a silent invitation.
Together, they left the world Hayden knew behind.

Toothless led him through tangled forests and across rivers. They traveled beyond any trail marked on maps, deeper than the old power stations and logging paths where Hayden used to ride his bike. The further they went, the more the air changed—it grew thick with whispered creatures.

They reached the Hidden World.

A place that breathed with life beyond imagination.

The entrance was cloaked by a fierce storm and the cascading waters, concealing a vast cave system carved by time itself. Inside lay a sprawling underground biome. An otherworldly sanctuary glowing with mysterious plants that shimmered like stars, towering rock formations, and endless caverns alive with the gentle hum of dragons.

Dragons of every shape and scale soared through the glittering crystals and slumbered peacefully on their secret nests. Pools shimmered with impossible colors, reflecting the magic that pulsed through the air.

Hayden wandered, learning the names of dragons from cave drawings and ancient books so fragile they seemed as if they would turn to ash at a single touch. He uncovered the names of dragons long thought lost, discovering their unique strengths and flaws, their songs and secrets.

But he wasn’t just an observer—he became their protector.

He vowed to keep their existence a secret from a world that wouldn’t understand, that would hunt them down and destroy the last of their kind. Toothless was no longer just his friend; he was his family. Together, they moved between the human world and the hidden realm, keeping balance as best they could.

Letting dragons experience the outside world with a little more safety, without letting anyone know they were even there

But secrets are fragile.

One day, while sneaking into a nearby town to gather supplies—tools,
food, anything that couldn’t be found in the wild—a shadow fell over Hayden.
A man with cold eyes and a cruel smile blocked his path.

Garren

He was a scientist and researcher obsessed with the unknown, the myths people dismissed as fantasy. As a boy, Garren had claimed to see a shadow—a glimpse of what could only be a dragon—but his stories were ridiculed, dismissed as the wild imaginings of a dreamer.

That rejection fueled him. Over the years, he scoured every scrap of folklore, every encrypted file, every whispered legend online to prove that dragons existed.

Why was he looming over Hayden now?

Because of the necklace.

The copper pendant hanging around Hayden’s neck wasn’t just an accessory. He had found it in the Hidden World, etched with strange markings—symbols that matched the carvings in the ancient caves deep beneath the dragon’s sanctuary.

Garren had spotted it, recognized the significance immediately, and had been pestering Hayden ever since—questions sharp as knives, probing for more, desperate to uncover anything that could lead him to the dragons.

Hayden had managed to slip away that day, heart pounding, but the encounter left its mark.

It was clear: Garren was closer than anyone out there.

Determined to protect the dragons, Hayden spent the next few years hiding their existence, thwarting anyone who came too close. But the world was shifting, and when he turned eighteen, he joined an online group dedicated to studying the mysteries of the world—the things that didn’t fit the normal rules.

He mainly joined because he found out Garren was in the group, but mostly because it was hilarious hearing these people talk about ghost stories, spooky Slenderman hauntings, wild theories about secret government conspiracies, and even bizarre ideas about the Justice League secretly watching over them.

It was in that group that Hayden met Viggo. Viggo was complicated—close enough to Garren to know his ambitions, but wary and guarded, he was the kind of person who played chess while everyone else was playing checkers, every word and gesture a calculated move.

Garren had dragged him in with promises of power, discovery, history-making revelations—and maybe Viggo believed some of it. Maybe he didn’t. Mostly, though, Viggo seemed like he was just there for the thrill of it all. The secrecy. The schemes.

The psychological games they played with the world and each other.

Hayden was cautious from the start. They kept their conversations vague. Viggo seemed to enjoy it—like Hayden was another puzzle to crack, a riddle he couldn’t quite solve.

But then Hayden slipped—a misplaced comment, a hesitation that didn’t belong. It was enough. Viggo didn’t confront him—not directly. That wasn’t his style. Instead, he circled, watched, tested, laid out verbal traps like bait, and waited to see if Hayden would step into them. And eventually, Hayden did.

That was when everything changed.

Viggo’s interest sharpened. His messages turned personal—subtle questions buried in casual chats, offhand comments.

He never asked if Hayden had seen a dragon—maybe because he wasn’t sure himself. But Hayden could tell he was thinking about it. Viggo’s messages came slower, more carefully worded. He started phrasing things like guesses, not accusations—if dragons were real, would anyone even know? Hypothetically, what would someone do if they found one?

It wasn’t pressure, not exactly. More like he was circling something he hadn’t quite figured out. And Hayden could feel it. So, before the questions got too close, he disappeared.

No more near-misses. No more slipping up.

He learned his lesson, too. Keep the necklace hidden under his clothes.

He resurfaced at eighteen.

Not with fireworks or headlines—but a quiet knock on the door of a two-story home that hadn’t seen him in years.

His mother opened the door first. A mix of shock and relief flickered across her face before she pulled him into a hug that felt like it came from someone trying to hold on to something they didn’t quite believe was real.

His dad said less. But Hayden could see it in his eyes—that same unspoken relief. That hesitation to ask where he'd been, not because he didn’t want to know, but because he wasn’t sure he could handle the answer.

He didn’t stay long.

A few months, maybe. Enough to share quiet meals. To fix up the shed. To sit at the table again, even if it didn’t quite feel like home.

Then he left again, but this time to a city named Gotham.

He’d built up a reputation online as a remote inventor-for-hire. Prototype designs, custom devices, commissions from people who didn’t ask too many questions, as long as the tech worked. Through encrypted forums and niche tech sites, he stayed busy, stayed fed. Of course, he still stayed in touch with his family.

Gotham was chaos—noise, crime, and anonymity packed into every alley. He’d been living there for a year now, age 19, and that’s when he met Jason. It was quiet—of all places, a library.

Which brings us to now: Jason was picking him up from the airport. He’d just come back from the Hidden World, making sure everything is as it should be.