Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

 The sky burned crimson, a bleeding wound stretched across the heavens. Gotham lay in ruin, its towers gutted, its streets choked with ash and flame. Smoke curled from the carcass of Wayne Tower, now a skeletal monument to a world undone. At its peak stood Damian Wayne, sword slick with the blood of those he once called allies. Below, the Justice League carved through the last pockets of resistance. Titans turned tyrants. Shadows twisted into marionettes of a new order.

 Superman’s eyes glowed not with warmth, but with the icy hue of subjugation. The Flash blurred past, his lightning trails gouging the earth like claws. Diana marched forward, sword raised, but her grace had vanished. Her face was slack, a goddess reduced to a puppet.
And then there was Batman. His eyes had always been cold. But now they were hollow. Not the chill of a protector this was the gaze of a corpse that refused to lie down.

 Damian spat blood, his grip tightening on the hilt of his katana. His armor was cracked, scorched, but his spine remained unbowed. Not to them. Not even to his father.

 “I won’t warn you again,” he said, voice low. “Stand back… Father.”
 “Do not dream, Damian,” came the reply. “You have lost. The world has lost.”

 Tim’s voice crackled through the comm, strained and desperate.
“Almost there. Thirty seconds. Hold the line.” Thirty seconds. That was all he needed.

 Damian dropped into the inferno.

 He met Diana’s blade mid-swing, sparks flaring as steel clashed with divine metal. He twisted, drove his sword into her heart. She fell without a word. The blur of red lightning came next Barry Allen, fast but reckless. A batarang detonated midair, sending him sprawling. Damian didn’t hesitate. One slash. One breath. The speedster lay still.

 Then came Clark.

 Each dodge scorched Damian’s lungs, the heat of Superman’s gaze searing the air. His blade carved shallow lines into Kryptonian flesh not enough to kill, but enough to say: I’m still here. He reached for the kryptonite at his belt. Green light pulsed in his palm.

 “That won’t work on me,” Batman growled, hurling a batarang that knocked the stone from Damian’s grip.

 “Damian!” Jason’s voice roared in his ear. “You can’t hold this line forever!”

 “I don’t have to,” Damian muttered, driving his blade into the ground just as Clark’s fists came down. The shockwave rattled his bones, but he stood firm. Batman lunged. Damian deflected the blow, steel ringing against the gauntlet.

 “You can’t win,” Batman said. “Join us.”

 “Two legends against one assassin,” Damian replied, katana gleaming under the broken city lights. “Let’s see how that ends.”

 Superman landed first, the ground shuddering beneath him. Batman dropped from above, cape flaring like the wings of a fallen angel.

 “Stand down,” Superman commanded. Damian tilted his head, almost amused.

 “If I stood down every time a god told me to… I’d be long dead.”

 Superman blurred forward. Damian didn’t flinch. His katana sang a swipe aimed not at flesh, but at the seam of Superman’s suit. The blade sparked, synthetic kryptonite laced into the alloy. Superman staggered, his punch shattering concrete instead of bone.
 “You’re fast,” Damian said, sidestepping. “But predictable.”

 Superman backed off, strength leeching with every step near the blade. Batman’s eyes narrowed. He’d seen the trick. Smoke pellets burst. The battlefield vanished in haze. Damian moved like a phantom, blade slicing through the fog. Batarangs whistled each one deflected with a ringing ting. Batman swept low. Damian rolled, sprang up, katana flashing toward the gauntlet. Sparks flew. The blade nearly pierced the plating.

 “You always think you’re the only one who knows best,” Damian hissed.

 A feint. A flick. The katana nicked Batman’s utility belt. Explosives clattered to the floor. A twist disarmed the grapnel gun. The World’s Greatest Detective had been stripped of his tools in ten seconds.

 Superman lunged again, a blur of fury and power but Damian moved first. He grabbed Batman, twisting his father’s momentum into a shield. Superman hesitated, unwilling to strike through his ally. That moment was all Damian needed. With one brutal kick, he shoved Batman backward. The Dark Knight crashed into a mangled car, metal groaning under the impact. Damian spun, blade raised high, and dragged its edge across the steel beams above. Sparks rained down like fire, casting his silhouette in flickering gold.

 They think I’m cornered. They think I’ll break. Let them.

 With a flick of his wrist, Damian hurled an explosive batarang laced with kryptonite dust. The air buzzed with energy. Superman buckled mid-flight, his body convulsing as the toxic particles invaded his bloodstream. He slammed into the ground, gasping, veins pulsing with green fire. His breath caught. His vision blurred. And the last thing he saw was Damian Wayne’s cold, unyielding eyes. Batman staggered to his feet, ready for another round only to feel the katana’s tip press against his throat. Damian’s voice was low, steady, almost mournful.

 “Pathetic. Even brainwashed, you still fight exactly how I knew you would.”

 He looked into his father’s eyes. There was no recognition. No flicker of the man who had raised him. Just emptiness. He’s gone. And I have to live with that. Damian sheathed the katana with a click. His voice dropped to a whisper.

 “I’m sorry.”

 Then, louder: “Tim. Now!”

 High above, the beacon flared the signal Tim had promised. A shimmering tear opened in the sky, humming with unstable light. The portal. Their only way out. From the ruins, the rest of his family emerged, drawn by Damian’s command. From the streets below came the heavy tread of Gotham PD. Commissioner Gordon pushed through the wreckage, his coat torn, his face grim, rifle in hand.

 “Wayne!” he barked. His voice was raw, smoke-roughened, but steady. At his side stood a girl with sharp eyes, her hair tied back, defiance burning in her gaze Barbara.

 “You’ve got your way out,” Gordon said, shoving her forward. “Take her. Take them all. I’ll buy you time.”

 Damian’s jaw clenched. He hated leaving soldiers behind. But Barbara’s eyes met his. Stubborn, fierce and he saw the fire that refused to die.

 “You’ll die here,” Damian said. Gordon lifted his rifle, gaze unwavering.

 “I already knew that when I picked up the badge,” he rasped. “Now go. Don’t waste my girl’s chance.”

 Damian nodded once. No words. No promises. Just the silent understanding of a man who knew what sacrifice looked like. He seized Barbara’s arm, pulling her into the fold of his siblings as the portal’s light grew brighter, more unstable.
“Move!” he barked.

 Dick, Jason, Cassandra, Tim, Duke, Stephanie all scrambled toward the glow. Barbara followed, jaw clenched, eyes forward.
Behind them, Damian turned one last time.

 The King of Atlantis roared a sound like a god’s fury and Damian met him head-on. Steel clanged. Heat seared. But Damian’s teeth were bared in defiance. I won’t die here. Not yet. Not like this. Tim’s voice crackled through the comm, sharp and urgent. “Damian! It’s now or never!”
With a final slash, Damian tore himself free, sprinting into the light.

 The last thing he saw before the portal swallowed them whole was Gordon standing tall against gods, the fuse in his hands blazing.

Chapter Text

 The portal spat them out into a city that wasn’t burning, onto streets unscarred by fire. The weathered buildings that still clung to life, with neon signs flickering faintly, stood in pitiful contrast to the ruined, fire-shrouded city they had left behind, where flames had swallowed everything from sight. Gotham in this universe looked... almost peaceful. Too peaceful. Damian’s boots struck the pavement, but every instinct in his body screamed that this calm was fragile.

 He glanced at his siblings. Tim scanned the area nervously; Duke flexed his fingers like he was checking if they were still attached. Barbara met his eyes briefly, silent gratitude etched in the curve of her jaw. The city hummed with an unfamiliar quiet. No footsteps on rooftops. No sirens screaming over broken streets. The city was quiet, too quiet.

 Damian’s gaze swept the skyline, instincts flaring. “Where... are they?” he muttered to himself. Tim shifted beside him. “Who?”

 “Dick. Jason. Steph. Cassandra.” Damian’s voice was low, hard. His eyes searched every alley, every shadow. “They should be here.”

 Barbara’s brows furrowed. “You think they couldn’t make it across?”

 “No.” Damian’s jaw tightened. “They did. But something tells me... this isn’t how it’s supposed to be.” Duke snorted. “Well, at least it’s quiet. Could be worse, right?” Damian ignored him. His boots echoed sharply as he started walking, hand never far from his sword. “If they’re missing, that means something's gone wrong.”

 Tim swallowed, fidgeting with his comm. “We shoul-”

 “No.” Damian’s tone allowed no argument. “We’re not splitting up. We find a safe position, gather intel, and then...” He didn’t finish, but the unspoken words hung in the air: We’ll bring them back. No matter what it takes.

 Barbara stepped closer. “You don’t know anything about this place, Damian.” He shot her a sharp, calculating glance, but beneath it flickered a trace of gratitude. Even after everything she had been through, she still seemed determined to protect others, just like her father. “I know it’s Gotham. That’s enough for now.” The shadows of the city seemed deeper now, heavier, as if they were watching. And Damian knew, instinctively, that this calm wasn’t peace. Not yet.

[-----<0(0""0)0>-----]

 Orphan and Spoiler were patrolling as usual when they heard the crash. The blonde girl sighed. “And I thought it was going to be a quiet night.”

 Orphan just smiled, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. They broke into a sprint, boots slapping against the rooftop before leaping across the gap. They arrived at an empty warehouse. It was silent, save for heavy breathing and pained groans. Orphan moved first, stepping carefully, silently, every step measured. She had no idea what she was looking at, only that something about it felt wrong, so she took a deep breath and braced herself. When she looked closer, she stumbled back, immediately alarming Spoiler behind her. “What’s wrong?”

 The unconscious girl lay across the dusty floor, pale under the faint, scattered light. As her eyes adjusted, the face before her came into focus, exactly like her own. Had she seen wrong? Was there toxin in the air? No, she would have noticed if that were the case. The girl wasn't alone either,  another figure lay beside the girl, just as still, just as familiar.

 “What the hell! Is that me?” Spoiler exclaimed, her voice pitching higher than she meant. Her hands hovered uselessly in the air. Like she couldn’t decide whether to run, fight or reach for the unconscious girl. 

 Orphan nodded, her expression twisted with confusion. She signed, I think so, and moved to pick the girl up.

 “No, no, no this is insane,” Spoiler muttered, shaking her head. “I don’t… I don’t want to carry myself!”

 “Oracle, we’re on our way back.”

 “ Oh come on!” Spoiler groaned, throwing her hands up. “Why is it never just one weird thing per night?”

[-----<0(0""0)0>-----]

 “Robin, head back to the cave. Spoiler and Orphan found something weird,” came the voice in his ear.

 “On my way!”

 He turned to leave, but something strange, even for Gotham, caught his eyes. Two boys were plummeting from the sky, dangerously fast. Instinct took over; Robin rushed forward to help. But before he could reach them, the smaller one fired a grappling hook, jerking both of them toward a nearby rooftop.

 Robin could barely catch their voices over the wind: “Climb up!”

 He followed their ascent with narrowed eyes, then dropped in front of them as they landed. The sudden movement made both boys flinch.

 “Who are you?” Robin demanded. 

 They froze, startled but not afraid. Both had black hair, blue eyes, different shades with piercing gaze, one taller and the other shorter than Robin himself. Something about them tugged at his memory, unsettlingly familiar.

 “I won’t ask again,” Robin said, sharper this time. “Who are you?”

 “Why do you wear that?” the smaller one blurted. His tone edged with accusation. The taller boy shifted nervously, glancing between Robin and his companion

 “What are you talking about?” Robin snapped. He’d earned his title, and he wasn’t about to let some random kid challenge it.

 The smaller boy lunged with anger. Robin wasn’t looking for a fight, but he wasn’t going to stand still either. He deflected and countered with a well-aimed kick, sending the boy sprawling. He unsheathed his katana. The tall one gripped a pair of pistols, gaze sharp and steady. The short one crouched low, nerves taut, mind racing.

 Robin stepped forward, blade glinting under the broken streetlight. He didn’t speak. He lunged.

 The tall brother fired. Muzzle flashes split the dark, but Robin was unnervingly fast. He zigzagged, deflecting bullets with the flat of his blade, closing the distance in a heartbeat. Steel clashed against steel as the katana struck the pistol, knocking it aside with a clang.

 The tall one held his ground, blocking with one gun, swinging the other to force space. His stance was rigid, but every step back edged him closer to defeat.

 Meanwhile, the short brother turned away. He was too tired for a head-on fight, but he had one move left to send a signal to their big brother. He slipped a hand into his utility belt, pulled out a small device, and pressed it. Then he joined his brother to buy time.

 The katana wielder pressed harder, eyes narrowing. Blow after blow rained down. It was only a matter of seconds before the steel slipped past the pistols. Robin froze for a fraction of a second, distracted by a shadow approaching. His instincts  screamed: More enemies.

 That instant was all the tall one needed. He raised his pistol and fired a single, sharp shot. The bullet struck the katana’s hilt, knocking it from Robin’s grip. The steel clattered onto the concrete. Before Robin could recover, the short boy tackled his legs. The tall brother swung in, pressing both pistols to Robin’s chest. Pinned, outnumbered, and weaponless, he growled in frustration.

 The short brother grinned, sweat dripping down his temple. “Two against one. Bad odds for you.”

 The tall brother’s eyes never left him as he tied him up. “Don’t move, or this gets worse.” The battle was over.

[-----<0(0""0)0>-----]

 Damian was furious. Half his siblings were missing, and he had no clue where to find them. He needed to reach his little brothers, the ones who thrived on chaos. And his trouble-magnet sisters? Just as urgent.

 “Oh god! Oh god! Where are they? Damian, we need to find them. Now!” Tim was spiraling. Without his computers or gadgets, he felt useless. “We’ll find them. Calm down, all of you!”  Damian snapped, just as his comm lit up. Dick’s emergency signal. He checked the location. “I found them. Let’s move!”

 When they arrived, Damian froze, double-checking what he was seeing. When did his little brothers find someone to fight? He sighed. The headache was already forming.

 He made sure Tim, Duke, and Barbara were behind him before stepping in. “What’s going on here?”

 “Damiaaannnn! He attacked me!” Dick wailed, throwing himself at Damian, who caught him easily.

 “Damian?” said the boy on the ground.

 Damian let Dick down and stared. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” That boy was none other than his younger self.

 “Are you Damian Wayne?” the man asked.

  Everyone turned to Damian, stunned. “What?” Tim muttered, fussing over Jason. Then he looked up and cursed. “What the fuck!” He glanced between Damian and the boy. “Care to explain?”

 Barbara folded her arms. “Seriously. What’s going on?”

 “I don’t know either,” Tim admitted. His brain was going into overdrive. He had a million ideas but couldn’t put the pieces together. He was tired to think rationally. 

 Damian stepped closer to his probable most likely alternate self. He should’ve seen this coming. Was this before the others arrived? Or something else entirely?

 “No. Who are you?” the boy growled.

 Damian sighed. “Just answer the question. Don’t make this hard.”

 “For him or for you?”

 He turned toward the voice then took a punch to the face. He stood upright again, exhausted. God, he needed sleep.

 The other man grabbed the younger version, putting distance between them. “Why don’t you answer your own question first?” he said, untying the boy.

 Damian studied him. The man’s height was just right. He carried himself with grace in a black and blue spandex suit. His face was relaxed, but his body was tense ready for a fight.

 “My name is Damian Al’Ghul Wayne.”

 His younger version froze for a heartbeat, then stormed forward, fury blazing in his eyes. “How dare you, you imbecile!"

 The man in spandex grabbed his collar, pulling him back with ease. “Calm down, Robin.”

 Before anyone could react, another voice rang out, sharp and defiant. “He’s not Robin! I am Robin!”

 Dick’s face flushed with anger, and tried to lunge forward. Damian caught him by the collar and dragged him back like he had done it a thousand times. “Let me go!” Dick spat, thrashing in his grip.

 The man looked between them bewildered. His brow furrowed as if trying to solve a puzzle. “This is getting confusing… Let’s start over. I’m Nightwing.” He offered a gloved hand.

 Damian didn’t move. His eyes narrowed, studying the stranger as though he could peel away his mask with sheer willpower “That can’t be your real name.” taking his hand.

 Nightwing smirked, calm despite the tension that filled the air. “I don’t reveal my real name on first dates. Why don’t we solve this somewhere more private?”

[-----<0(0""0)0>-----]

 It was a quiet night, so Nightwing was surprised when Oracle's voice crackled through his comm, calling him back.

 On his way, he spotted Robin cornered by a cluster of strangers. The tallest among them stood out, clearly the one in charge, leaning in with a question Nightwing couldn't make out. Taking advantage of the man's unguarded turn, Nightwing slipped forward and drove a sharp, precise punch into his cheek, making him staggered. Before the others could react, he seized Robin by his arm and pulled him from their circle. 

 Nightwing's hands worked quickly at the ropes binding Robin's wrists. With a swift tug, the knots came loose. Robin pushed himself up to his feet, ready to fight once more. 

 “Why don’t you answer your own question first?”

 Who were these people?

 He looked at the man in front of him. The first thing he noticed was how tired he looked. He was tall, even towering. But what unsettled him most was how much he resembled Bruce. The eyes were different shades, but familiar.

 “My name is Damian Al’Ghul Wayne.”

 He should’ve known. Those eyes could only belong to one person.

 “How dare you, you imbecile!” Okay. Time to take a breather.

 “Calm down, Robin.”  While he tried to calm his Robin, a very familiar scream pierced the air. He knew that voice.

 “He’s not Robin! I am Robin!” Oh, he definitely knew that voice.

 For a split second, he froze. Damn it, Barry. What did you do again?. That angry face brought back memories he very much wanted to forget. The child in front of him, furious, trembling with anger looked far too familiar.

 “Let me go!” the boy shouted, thrashing in the tall man's grip. Dust rose off the ground with every violent jerk, filling the air with tension as sharp as broken glass.

 We really need to solve this. He thought, jaw tightening.

 “This is starting to get confusing,” he needed to get a grip of himself. “Why don’t we start over? I’m Nightwing.”

 The adult version of Damian didn’t even blink. He shook his head, calm but firm. “That can’t be your real name.” His tone was flat, but his eyes were sharp, studying every twitch and moving.

 Speaking here wouldn’t get them anywhere; too many ears, too many eyes. So he raised a hand calmly, “I don’t reveal my real name on first dates. Why don’t we solve this somewhere more private?”

 Nightwing glanced back at the man’s team, all on edge and waiting for a cue. He needed them in one place, whatever was happening, it was far more complicated than it looked.

 “Let’s head to the Batcave.”

Chapter Text

 Damian shook his head, jaw tight. He couldn't leave. Not when he didn't know where his sisters were. 

 "No." he said, voice low, answering Nightwing's questioning look, "My team isn’t complete. I have to find them first."

 Nightwing studied him. His posture, the tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes scanned the area for danger, he looked like he hadn't slept in days. "Then let Robin take them to the cave.” Nightwing offered gently. “I can help you find the rest of your team." But It didn't look like that was going to be enough to convince him.

 His eyes narrowed. "They are not leaving my sight." He couldn’t risk it, he would not lose anyone. Not again. He glanced at his family, worn down, suits torn, faces pale with fatigue. The blood stood out stark against their skin. He knew they wouldn't last much longer. They’d been fighting for months without rest, they were exhausted. All of them needed a break and he was running out of time.

 "I know you have no reason to trust me." He stepped closer and placed a firm hand on Damian’s shoulder. "But I know what it’s like to lead a team, to make the right call. But you are exhausted. If it makes you feel better I’ll give a comm to one of your teammates."

 He hesitated. The offer was reasonable, strategic and he knew Nightwing was right. "Tim come here." he said, handing him the tiny device Nightwing had offered. "Take this. Make sure everyone is safe and gets treated.". Tim frowned "You sure we can trust them? We don't know these people.". His gaze hardened "Look at yourself, look at them. You’re all wounded and can barely stand. We don’t have the luxury of doubt". Tim nodded slowly, still unsure, but unwilling to argue further. 

 "Robin, I know you're angry, but I need you to take them to the cave.". Nightwing said, his tone unusually serious "Make sure to check their injuries, but more importantly, be patient". Robin bristled, wanting to reject the order. But Nightwing’s tone was different, commanding, almost Batman like, it wasn’t a suggestion. 

 "tt. Fine!" He muttered, turning to the strangers with a glare "Follow me imposters." Damian watched them go, a storm of emotions swirling beneath his calm exterior, fear and guilt. 

 He turned to Nightwing. "Where do we start?" 

[-----<0(0""0)0>-----]

 Nightwing led them through different parts of the city while introducing Gotham. His own Gotham. He kept his pace deliberately slow, knowing the man beside him was running on fumes. He glanced sideways and saw Damian beginning to stumble. "Wanna take a short break?" he asked in a casual voice.

 "No-" before he could finish, his knees buckled mid-word. He dropped, breathing heavily, one hand clutching his sides. "I ha- have to-". Nightwing caught him in a swift, practiced motion before he could hit the ground. "Okay big guy, time to rest." he said firmly. And before Damian could protest, "No objections". Damian lifted his eyes, meeting the white lenses of Nighwing’s mask. His pride warred with exhaustion "Fine!" he muttered, setting onto the pavement.. 

 The city noise filled the space between them, honking cars, distant sirens, the hum of Gotham’s restless heartbeat, they sat side by side, the silence stretching comfortably between them. "So…was it just a phase?." Nightwing asked. "What?" Damian blinked, confused.

 "The anger.” Nightwing clarified with a light laugh.“Was it just a phase?". Damian smirked."You mean the mini me? If so, I am not what I was once." said with the same humor in his voice. "which age did it pass?” Nightwing asked, tilting his head. “Wait, how old are you?"

 "You accepted this way too easily.” Damian said, amused. “But to answer your question twenty seven."

 Nightwing let out a soft breath, surprised. "You’ve really outgrown my Damian, haven’t you." he said in a whisper. Voice amazed and quietly aching. Damian caught the flicker of emotion behind his mask. It was familiar. Like something he’d carried himself. "Who are you to this Damian anyway?” He asked, “You seem close." 

 "You already know who I am,” Nightwing replied. “I am just older than you know." 

 "What is that supposed to mean?" he frowned. Before he could get an answer a voice crackled through the comm. "Damian, this is Tim. Do you copy?" he pressed the device, "Speak."

 "Head back. We have Cass and Steph." Damian exhaled, relief washing over him. Finally, some progress. "Understood." he rose to his feet. "They found them, lets go"

[-----<0(0""0)0>-----]

 Nightwing led the tired man to the cave. When they arrived, all they saw was chaos. Robin had his katana drawn on the newcomers, Red Robin was trying to stop him, and Red Hood was cheering like it was a wrestling match on a tv. 

 "You all stop that right now!" Nightwing barked, voice sharp with authority, "What is going on?" All heads turned to him. Damian looked at his team, eyes heavy with exhaustion. “I am too tired for this shit.” he mumbled. Nightwing beside him glared at his team, and started to take control of the situation “Robin, put the sword down. Hood, stopped cheering, Orphan, help Red Robin.” he sighed like he gave up on their chaotic behaviour. “I think it’s time to meet officially. What do you say?” He turned to the tall man beside him. “You may start.” Damian said with a nod.

 Nightwing walked to the center of the cave, unsure how to begin. “Okay, ı am starting the introductions.” he said, gaze sweeping his team “Do not interrupt me!”. 

 He pulled off his mask. 

 “My name is Dick Grayson or as you saw Nightwing. I’m 27, which means I’m old enough to rent a car but young enough to make terrible life decisions in spandex.” he said with a smirk. 

 “This is Barbara Gordon, she is our tech wizard Oracle. She’s 26.” He gestured to the red-haired woman in the wheel chair. 

 Then he turned to a man with a white streak in his hair, built like a tank. Only slightly smaller than the older Damian. “Jason Todd a.k.a. Red Hood. He’s the only one here who treats bullets like a business card. 22.” 

 Next was a dark-haired Asian woman, her expression more serious than a brick wall. “Cassandra Cain, a.k.a. Orphan. Also 22. She speaks less than Batman which is terrifying if you think about it.“ 

 His finger moved towards the blonde woman beside her, “And this is our very own Stephanie Brown, Spoiler, age 19. Her plans go sideways so often we started calling her our GPS.” 

 Just as he was about to introduce the next person, he frowned and snatched the coffee from his hand “And this coffee addict is Tim Drake, or Red Robin, 18. He’s got contingency plans for our contingency plans and probably hasn’t slept since 2014.” 

 Next was a dark skinned young man, “Duke Thomas, Signal. 16. The only Bat who works the day shift. Basically Batman’s intern without the sun allergy.” 

 He placed a hand on the shoulder of the boy with the katana “And last but not least Damian Wayne, or Robin. Age 14. Technically the only blood son. Don’t bring it up, he already does every five minutes.” 

 Damian scanned the group in front of him. He couldn’t help but feel amazed. They looked so much like his family, shared the same names, but completely different people. Even his younger self felt like a stranger.                                      

 “What the fuck, DickFace?! Why would you tell them who we are? It is a secret identity for a reason.” Jason snapped, advancing towards Dick. Barbara agreed, but her words were far more sharper: “Just because Bruce isn’t here, doesn’t mean you get to make decisions for all of us. You're not the boss here.” she said, arms crossed.

 “Watch your mouth Gordon!” young Damian snapped, the red haired woman turned her glare on him “Don’t interfere with adult business, Robin.” she spat. Just as Robin stepped forward Dick raised his voice. "Enough! All of you. What I did has a reason, Jason. It will make sense if you let them introduce themselves.”   

 He turned to older Damian, blue eyes locking with the green ones “Can you introduce your group to us?” Damian nodded seriously. He tone clipped and very technical.

 “The name is Damian al Ghul Wayne or Obscura. Age 27. I’m the leader of this group. Next is Duke Thomas, or Solaris. Age 26.” He started to point out one by one.

 “Tim Drake or Cipher. Second-in-command. Age 22.” “Stephanie Brown or Violet. Age 22.” “Cassandra Cain or Silhouette. Age 19.” “Jason Todd, or Outlaw. Age 18.” “Barbara Gordon, no superhero. Age 16.” “Dick Grayson or Robin. Age 14.”  

 Even his own team watched him with a look that said “Are you serious right now.” 

 A heavy silence settled over the cave. The two teams stared at each other, the weight of mirrored names and mismatched identities pressing down like fog. It was surreal, like looking into a funhouse mirror that reflected not just faces, but choices, consequences, and paths not taken.

 Young Dick looked between the two, visibly confused. “Wait, so I’m you? Or you’re me? Or… what the hell is going on?”

 Nightwing rubbed the bridge of his nose. “We were hoping you’d explain that part, Obscura.”

 “You named yourself Obscura?” young Tim muttered, eyebrows raised. “That’s dramatic even for you.” Cipher, older Tim, smirked. “Says the guy who drinks coffee like it’s a personality trait.”

 “Still smarter than you,” Red Robin shot back.

 “Still shorter,” Cipher replied, sipping from a flask on his belt.

 Nightwing rubbed his temples. “Great. They’re already bickering. Multiverse or not, some things never change.” eyes looking sharp “Can you guys let him explain please?”

 Damian nodded. “We’re not from this universe, we are not imposters or any other weird things” he gazed at his younger self. “Things went south in ours. We had no choice but to get away from there. We managed to open a portal but we couldn’t control where it would lead.” 

 Oracle’s eyes widened. “You’re from another universe?”

 “Not just another universe,” Cipher added, stepping forward. “A universe where Gotham and the rest of the world fell. Where the Justice League disappeared. Where we had to fight and destroy what once was our own.” Before the heavy silence could settle. Spoiler, young Stephanie, looked at Violet with a mix of awe and horror. “You’re me? You look like you’ve lived through ten apocalypses.”

 Violet smirked. “Something like that.”

 Young Barbara leaned forward. “You are not an active hero in your world. Why, is it because?”

 Oracle hesitated. “I chose a different path. One that didn’t involve the cape. I am still a part of the team. Just... not in the field.” Young Barbara narrowed her eyes. “I respect it,” She said. 

 “She’s the one who keeps us grounded.” Red Robin replied.

 Older Jason, Red Hood chuckled. “She also keeps our budget from imploding. You wouldn’t believe how much Duke spends on solar tech.” Signal raised a hand. “It’s called innovation.”

 “You bought a solar-powered grappling hook,” Spoiler muttered. “It exploded.”

 “Once,” Signal said defensively.

 Nightwing clapped his hands. “Okay! Before this turns into a roast session, let’s focus.” Red Hood crossed his arms. “So what, you’re here to warn us? Fix something? Or just sightseeing?”

 Obscura’s voice was calm, but firm. “We’re here because we had no choice.” 

 He looked troubled now. That calm exterior was cracking. He didn’t know his next move and that terrified him more than he’d admit. How many years had passed since he last felt this uncertain? Since he stood still and realized he had no plan? He couldn't tell. His gaze drifted to his brothers and sisters. They looked one minute away from collapsing. There was no direction, no strategy. Just survival. The feeling of failure crept in like a slow, cold tide.

 Nightwing watched him carefully. It was like he could see the weight Obscure carried. Because he carried it too “Let’s postpone this conversation for now, okay?” he said gently. “While we sort things out you guys are welcome to stay here.” 

 Obscure opened his mouth to decline like an instinct, habit. But Nightwing raised a hand to stop him, “You and your team are injured. And in need of a well deserved rest.” His eyes were warm, his smile was kind. And for a moment he looked so much like his little brother, his precious Dick, that it hurt.

 Obscura hesitated. He didn't trust easily, not anymore. But Nightwing’s hand on his shoulder was steady. Grounding. And the look in his eyes… it wasn’t just kindness. It was understanding. Familiar. Like home.

 He nodded once. “Just for the night.”

 Nightwing smiled. “That’s all I ask.”

 The cave shifted into motion. Oracle wheeled herself toward the medbay console, already scanning for supplies. Spoiler and Orphan moved to help the injured. Red Hood muttered something about bunk assignments, while Signal left to tell Alfred to start prepping the guest quarters. Even Robin, young Damian grumbled but obeyed, sheathing his sword and stalking off with a glare that promised he wasn’t done arguing.

 Obscura turned to his team. “Get patched up. Rest. Cipher, keep your comm open. Just in case.” Cipher nodded, already running a dozen escape plans in his head. He never stopped calculating in case of any danger.

 Solaris helped Violet limp toward the medbay, her shoulder still bleeding through the bandage. Silhouette followed silently, her eyes scanning every shadow like they might betray her. Outlaw gave a nod to Red Hood half challenge, half respect and walked off without a word. Barbara lingered, watching Oracle with quiet curiosity before finally joining her.

 Obscura remained behind, refusing any medical help. He stood beside Nightwing as the cave settled into a strange rhythm. Two teams. One roof. A thousand questions.

 “You okay?” Nightwing asked.

 Obscura didn’t answer right away. His voice, when it came, was quiet. Honest. “I haven’t been okay in months.”

 Nightwing nodded slowly. “Then maybe this is where it starts.”

 They stood in silence for a moment, the hum of the cave filling the space between them. It wasn’t awkward. It was grounding.

 Then Obscura spoke, voice low. “You remind me of him.”

 Nightwing turned. “Bruce?”

 He shook his head. “Dick. My Dick. He was the one who kept us together when everything fell apart. Still does. Even though he is the youngest of us.” The blue eyed man looked at him with a smirk “So basically, you are saying I’m the best.” For the first time in months Damian gave a small smile.

 “Shut up.”

[-----<0(0""0)0>-----]

 Later that night, the cave was quiet. 

 Red Hood sat sharpening his knives with theatrical flair, clearly enjoying the drama of it. Cipher was cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by flickering holographic projections of dimensional data, his mind racing even when the cave had slowed. Oracle and Barbara were deep in conversation, comparing lives to each other. Spoiler had passed out mid-sentence on a couch, one arm dangling off the edge. Silhouette stood near the entrance, unmoving her eyes fixed on the shadows like might shift without warning. 

 “Alright, everyone grab their own clone and show them where they’re gonna stay.” Nightwing called out, voice echoing through the cave “Great, more work. My favourite.” Red hood mutters sarcastically, flipping a knife into its sheath with practiced ease. 

 “Dick, come here. You’ll stay with me.” Obscura called out to the younger Dick. Said boy bounced over, visibly happy. There was no fear in his steps, just quiet joy from getting to share a room with his big brother. Obscure watched him approach, and for a moment something in his chest tightened. His little brother seemed like the only one that was able to put behind the thing that happened to just enjoy the moment, like always.

 One by one, everyone retired to their rooms. Nightwing led Damian and Dick to their room, Robin trailing behind, still visibly untrusting. His eyes flicked between the older man, calculating, guarded. “You guys sure you want to share. The Manor has a lot of rooms, I’m sure you already know.” Older Dick offered. 

 Damian gave him a single nod. He looked more tired than he had just minutes ago, like the weight of the day had finally caught up to him. Nightwing didn’t push. He recognized that kind of exhaustion. The kind that didn’t come from battle, but from holding too much for too long. 

“Alright then, we will leave you to rest. Let’s go little D.” Robin followed, still glancing back, his expression unreadable.

 Damian stepped into the room with Dick beside him, the door closing behind them with a soft click. For the first time in a long time, he was alone with his thoughts, and that was both comforting and terrifying.

Chapter Text

 The room was dim, lit only by the soft amber glow of a bedside lamp, shadows stretching long across the floor. Young Dick had fallen asleep almost instantly, curled up like a cat in the corner of the bed, one arm flung lazily over his face. His breathing was steady, peaceful, something Obscura hadn’t seen in months. For a moment Damian just sat there, watching him. The sight of him resting so peacefully felt almost foreign, a fragile echo of a world before everything went wrong.

 He sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped. Dried blood crusted along the side of his ribs where his suit had split open, the fabric stiff with dried blood. The adrenaline had long since worn off, leaving only the raw ache beneath his skin. But it was familiar, Pain was an old companion by now. He let out a slow breath, half a sigh, half a silent curse. The silence passed around him, heavy and close.

 He didn’t flinch when the door creaked open.

 “Still awake?” Nightwing said softly, stepping inside. His voice was low, careful. He held a small medkit in one hand, a towel slung over his shoulder. “Figured you might need help.”

 Damian glanced at him, then at the bathroom door. “I was going to handle it.”

 “I know,” Nightwing said, walking past him. “But you’re terrible at asking for help, I assume, just like smaller you.”

 Damian didn’t argue. The truth was, he didn’t have the strength. He stood slowly, wincing as he moved, and followed Nightwing into the bathroom.

 The bathroom light was harsh, fluorescent bulbs bouncing off white tiles and casting sharp, sterile shadows. The smell of antiseptic lingered faintly from some previous patch-up. Damian caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looked pale, streaked with grime, eyes ringed with exhaustion, like bruises earned from battles no one saw.

 He sat on the closed toilet lid, pulling off his shirt with a grunt. The wound on his side was deep, clean but angry. A reminder of the fight they barely escaped. Every small moment sent a dull throb to his ribs. He was used to treating his wounds much later and continuing his mission, but tonight it felt heavier, weighted by the chaos that they just escaped.

 Nightwing knelt beside him, flipping open the medkit. “Are you always this dramatic?” he said lightly, “or is it just a multiverse thing?”

 Damian let out a quiet, humorless laugh, he didn’t want to wake his little brother up, “You’re one to talk, you introduced yourself with a joke of spandex and car rentals.”

 “Hey, I’m charming,” Nightwing said, dabbing antiseptic onto a cotton pad. His tone was teasing, but his hands were steady.“You’re just brooding.”

 “I’m strategic,” Damian muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward despite himself.

 “You’re exhausted.”

 Damian didn’t reply. He hissed as the antiseptic touched the wound, gripping the edge of the sink. For a while, neither of them spoke, Younger Dick murmured in his sleep. The sound fragile, human, grounding them both to something that almost felt like peace. 

 Nightwing continued his work, his hands steady, his touch careful. The only sounds were the faint hiss of his whenever the cotton touched his skin and the hum of the bathroom light. Damian watched him work, the concentration, the gentleness. There was something there, something he didn’t understand. Then he spoke again, quieter this time

 “You know, when I first saw you... I thought you were Bruce. Just for a second.”

 Damian’s eyes flicked to him. “I get that a lot.” His tone was light

 “But you’re not,” Nightwing said. “You carry the weight differently.”

 He tilted his head. “How so?”

 “Bruce wears it like armor. You wear it like a scar.”

 That made Damian pause. He looked at Dick, really looked at him. The way his brow furrowed when he concentrated, the way his hands moved with practiced care, the way his voice softened when he wasn’t performing.

“You know me better than you should,” Damian said.

 Dick didn’t look away. “I know you because I’ve been you. Or maybe you’re just the version of me that never stopped fighting.”

 Damian’s lips twitched into a ghost smile. “That’s either profound or nonsense.”

“Probably both,” Dick said, smiling faintly. He finished wrapping the bandage, smoothing the gauze with a gentle press. “You’re lucky. It’s deep, but clean.”

 Damian’s breath hitched slightly at the pressure, but he didn’t flinch “I don’t believe in luck,” he muttered, the word tasting foreign, like something meant for softer lives. For people like them, luck never lasted long. Still, for tonight it was enough.

“Then believe in me,” Dick said, his voice steady as he stood and rinsed his hands beneath the cool stream of water. The sound filled the quiet space, a soft punctuation to the weight of his words. “I’m good at keeping people alive.”

 Damian watched him, eyes tracing the lines of his face, the way the light caught the edge of his jaw. After a beat, he leaned back against the wall, exhaling slowly, as if letting go of something he hadn't realized he was holding. “You’re different from my Dick.”

 Dick reached for a towel, drying his hands with a deliberate calm before resting against the counter beside him. His tone was light, but there was a flicker of something more behind his eyes “Better or worse?”

“Just... softer,” Damian said, his gaze distant, as if watching a memory play out behind his eyes. “He is sharp. Always moving. Always calculating. Like he’s always preparing for a war that never ends”

 Dick nodded. Corner of his mouth tugging into something that wasn’t quite a smile “I used to be like that. Then I realized being sharp all the time cuts the people closest to you.”

 Damian looked down at his hands, scarred and calloused. “I don’t know how to be soft anymore.”

“You don’t have to,” Dick replied gently. “Just... let someone else be soft around you.”

 Damian glanced up. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world narrowed to that single point of connection. The silence between them wasn’t heavy, but electric. Familiar. A thread pulled taut between two versions of the same heartbeat.

 Then Damian chuckled, the sound low and rare. “You flirt with all your guests?”

 Dick leaned in, a playful glint in his eyes. “Only the ones who survive the apocalypse and still manage to look good shirtless.”

 Damian raised an eyebrow. “You’re shameless.”

“And you’re blushing.”

“I’m bleeding.”

“Same thing.”

 They stood there, the air between them shifting, less like a storm, but more like a tide, slow and inevitable. It wasn’t dangerous or overwhelming. It was something entirely. Familiar. Curious. Safe.

 Then Damian broke the silence. “Thanks.”

 Dick smiled, warm and easy. “Anytime.”

[-----<0(0""0)0>-----]

 Sleep didn’t come easy for Damian, it rarely did. He was used to the restless nights, the quiet battles behind closed eyes. But he wished he could sleep at least for tonight, a few hours to forget the things he had done. The weight of them pressing against his chest like armor he couldn’t take off.

 He wandered the halls of the manor with the quiet certainty of someone who knew every creak in the floorboards, every shadow cast by moonlight. In a way, he did. And yet, everything felt different. The walls, the silence. They were the same, but at the same time they were not. He wondered how everything could feel wrong while looking the same.

 The kitchen was dimly lit, the soft hum of the refrigerator the only sound breaking the stillness. Damian stepped in barefoot, his movements quiet, his eyes tired but alert. At the counter sat a boy, fourteen. Sharp-eyed, posture rigid, a half-eaten apple in hand. “You walk like you own the place. Guess that hasn’t changed,” he looked at the eyes that mirrored his own, “Neither has your habit of lurking in the dark.”

 “I don’t lurk. I observe.” young Damian replied defensively as his older version settled into the seat across from him. “You’re me, aren’t you?” The boy asked. “Like me, but a different version.”

 “Unfortunately.” the older Damian answered with a faint smirk. “You look... tired. Like you’ve been fighting ghosts.” 

 “I have.” the humor in his voice barely masking the truth. “Some of them wear capes. Some wear my face,” the older one said, still not entirely serious. The younger one’s expression shifted, curiosity, unease, a thousand questions flickering behind his eyes. He didn’t bother hiding it. But the older’s lack of seriousness grated against his nerves.

 “Did we become what Father wanted?” he asked with a deep voice, a voice too deep for a fourteen year old.

 That question finally got an actual reaction from the tall man. His eyes darkened but not with anger; it was a look which had seen battles and fights, war and blood. His shoulders stiff as he answered “We became what we thought ourselves needed. What our family needed. Not the same thing.” He looked like he wanted to say more but the words faltered, betrayed by the weight behind them.

 “So in other words, we failed.”

 “No, we survived.”. He said, eyes are still hollow, exhaustion etched into every line of his face. Not just from months of fighting, or just from the blood of his own father, but from the weight he carried all his life. 

 He rose to his feet, conversation fading like smoke, forgotten or at least buried like it never happened. 

 “You should try that sleep thing one more time, as will I.” Without saying another word he left the kitchen and returned to his room. 

 He looked toward his bed and saw his little brother, sound asleep. There he was, his whole world. Right there, safe. Untouched by the horrors he’d endured. 

 Damian stood still, watching him breathe. He thought about every move he made, every life he took, every sacrifice carved into his soul. For him. For all of his family. One part of him whispered that it was justified. While the other side made him remember the great losses. Like Jim Gordon, Kate Kane, Lucius Fox, Jon Kent and so many others. His mind shifted quickly to all he has done for the past months.

 His mind drifted, unbidden, to the blood he’d shed and lives he took. The father that once was his, the one he killed. His cruel thoughts were interrupted by a sleepy voice beside him.

 “D, you haven’t slept again?” 

 “No, insomnia kicked again.” 

 “Come ooon, sleep beside me. I don’t have any of my stuffed animals here.” he whined, voice soft and sweet.

 “Should I be concerned that you’re using me as a bear made of cotton?” Damian asked, with a slight amusement in his voice.

 “No, this is a privilege.” he laughed full and wholeheartedly. Damian laid beside him, pulling him close into his arms. “Goodnight, my little Robin.” he whispered.

 And before the boy could answer, Damian’s mind finally surrendered to sleep.

 [-----<0(0""0)0>-----]

 The manor was alive with noise. Not the quiet hum of late-night patrols or whispered strategy meetings, but full-blown chaos. Someone had burned toast. Someone else had spilled coffee. And someone, almost certainly Jason, was locked in a heated argument with the espresso machine, as if it had personally betrayed him.

 Damian stood in the hallway, blinking at the cacophony. His ribs still ached. His mind was still foggy from the night before. And his little brother had drooled on his shoulder in his sleep. He hadn’t moved him. He didn’t want to. The weight was grounding.

 “Hello, Master Damian the Second.” came the dry, unflappable voice of Alfred Pennyworth.”If you intend to stand there brooding, kindly do so out of the traffic lane.” The old man looked entirely unfazed, as if the surrounding chaos were nothing more than a mild breeze. 

 Damian turned just in time to dodge Red Robin, who swept past like a caffeinated hurricane, three tablets in hand, a mug balanced precariously, and what appeared to be half-eaten banana clenched between his teeth. He was headed towards Dick with a purpose.

 “Morning. Crisis in Gotham Heights, power outage in Arkham, and someone hacked our comms. Again.” Tim rattled off, not even glancing up.

 “Was it you?” Dick asked, half concerned, mostly amused.

 “Not this time.” Tim shrugged, already typing furiously.

  Jason finally gave up on the espresso machine with a dramatic sigh, muttering “Traitor,” just as Cassandra vaulted over the kitchen island, snatching a piece of burnt toast mid-air like a ninja hawk. She landed silently, chewing with a serene expression that clashed wildly with the pandemonium around her.

 “If you're all done trying to cook and failing,” Alfred said, ” I will start preparing a real breakfast.”

 Stephanie stumbled in next, wrapped in a blanket like a disgruntled burrito. “Why is it freezing here? Did someone forget to pay the heating bill? Or did Tim reroute the power to his tablet army again?”

 “I needed bandwidth,” Tim said without remorse, balancing his mug on a tablet corner while  typing.

 “Tell that to my toes,” Steph grumbled, stealing Dick’s coffee without asking. He didn’t protest, he was too busy trying to coax Damian’s little brother off his shoulder.

 “Is he… drooling on you?” Dick asked, one brow arched.

 Damian gave a regal nod. “He’s recovering. He fought valiantly last night. He deserves rest.”

 Outlaw opened his mouth, probably to mock him, but Barbara wheeled in from the monitoring room, hair slightly frazzled, eyes sharp. “Okay, who rerouted the satellite feed to stream cat videos? I swear, if this is another of ‘Duke's mental health’ breaks…”

 “Hey!” Duke called from the couch, surrounded by three empty cereal boxes and a laptop playing lo-fi beats. “It was one video. And it was educational. That cat was doing yoga.”

 “Yoga?” Cass echoed, intrigued.

 “Downward dog,” Duke confirmed solemnly.

 Alfred reappeared with a tray of fresh tea and a look that could tame wild beasts. “If you all intend to reenact a circus, kindly do so with dignity. And preferably outside.”

 Solaris sighed deeply. “This is going to be a long day.” 

 Silhouette nodded silently, her agreement as quiet as the eye of the storm.

[-----<0(0""0)0>-----]

 The Batcave buzzed with tense conversation. The air felt tighter than usual, thick with disagreement and exhaustion. The two leaders and their lieutenants were arguing about their next move. 

 “We can’t just go on like nothing happened,” Oracle said, her voice sharp as she typed on her computer. “If you operate without legal identities, without cover. Every mission you run risks exposing all of us.”

 “We’ll be careful,” Obscura replied, arms folded. “We know how to stay hidden.”

 “Not here you don’t,” she snapped. “This isn’t your world, your tech bleeds data. Your patterns won’t match any known ones. You’re anomalies, and anomalies get hunted.”

 Red Hood leaned against the table, arms crossed. “She’s right. You’ve already pinged our satellites twice.”

 “We were trying to save ourselves.” Cipher said, defensive but not angry. “I didn’t ask for the powers to flare.” His voice held a trace of guilt, but no shame

 “No one is blaming you.” Nightwing said, trying to calm down the room. “But we have to be realistic. You’re not ghosts here the way you were in your own city. You’re here and ıf you guys want to stay, we need to talk about what that means.”

 Cipher looked up from the holographic interface. “We will try to stay off the radar, but someone or something will eventually detect us”

 Obscura hadn’t spoken yet. He stood slightly apart, watching the debate unfold. His team was waiting for him to lead, but he was still calculating, still weighing the cost of what they were being asked to give up.

 “We’re not asking you to forget your world,” Nightwing said. Turning toward him. “ But you can’t stay in the shadows forever, you need to build something here. Something that lasts, ıf what you said is certain, you won't be going back.”

 Oracle’s voice cut through again. “You need identities. Civilian ones. Digital ones. I can build them, but you’ll need histories, records, social ties. You’ll need to exist.”

 Nightwing nodded slowly “Then maybe we should consider new identities. It is not like you guys can return now.” Red Hood leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes flicking between the newcomers. “You’re not wrong, but let’s be clear this isn’t just about hiding. It’s about rewriting who you are. That’s not easy.”  

 Obscura stood, arms folded, his silhouette sharp against the Batcave’s dim glow. “We didn’t choose exile. Our world collapsed. Our names, our symbols. They’re ashes. If we’re going to fight here, we need to become something else.”

 Solaris stepped beside him, his voice steady but tinged with grief. “Back home, I was a beacon. A protector. Here, I’m a stranger with powers that don’t belong. I don’t know who I am without the people I swore to protect.”

 Cipher didn’t speak immediately. He was still scanning the holographic display, fingers dancing across the interface. “In our world, I was the one who erased trails. I never thought I would be creating one. For ourselves.”

 Oracle’s voice came through calm and precise. “I can help with that. I’ve built identity protocols before. But you’ll need more than fake names. You’ll need stories. Histories. Something that makes sense in this timeline.” Her posture was professional, but a flicker of doubt lingered in her eyes, mistrust.

 Nightwing nodded, looking at Obscura with a warm, trusting smile unlike Oracle. “We’ll build those together. You’re not alone in this.”  And Damian saw it, the looks they gave him. Nightwing’s healing smile, Oracle’s guarded stance, Red Hood’s feigned indifference. And then his team: Solaris and Cipher. Their eyes held him like he was the last piece of their world. In a way, he was.

 Red Hood smirked. “Just don’t pick anything too dramatic. The last thing we need is ‘Shadow Twins’ or ‘Clones running wild.”

 Nightwing raised an eyebrow while smirking. “You’re one to talk about dramatics, Mr. I died once.” 

 Solaris chuckled softly. “We can still use our vigilante names but our civilian ones gotta change.”

 Cipher stepped up, turning to Damian “You can name us since you are the oldest, right?”. Obscura stares at him “Because I am the oldest or because you don’t wanna do it.” 

 “Yes,” he said bluntly.

 Nightwing stepped forward, his voice low but resolute. “Then we start now. You may be from another universe, but that doesn’t mean you can’t make a home here. And we will help you all the way.”

 The Batcave hummed with quiet resolve. The past was gone. But the future, rebuilt from fragments and fire, was theirs to shape.