#i have this odd sense of pride mixed with grief mixed with rage.

[stimmingandstruggling]

every other video on my for you page is a creator begging people to donate to palestinian families. creators from all sorts of communities are volunteering to sponsor families, using their platforms to spread the word and focus attention. tiktok has problems but it has BY FAR been the loudest about palestine, despite the algorithms best efforts. THIS IS WHY THEY WANT TO BAN IT. because like it or not, tiktok gets information out quickly.

[qunnblackthorn]

( robert sheehan, cis male, homosexual, he/him ) rome welcomes QUINN BLACKTHORN, a WEREWOLF. they are 25/27 years old and have been in the city for ONE MONTH. they are known to be ADAPTIVE + RECKLESS, which makes sense because they’re RESISTANT about the marriages. i heard they’re betrothed to BASIL FAININ - a CHANGELING.

Hello! Let me bring you this disaster of chaos and random self-doubt. Feel free to hit me up for plots whenever, I’m always ready to throw poor Quinn into the most outlandish situations and watch him flounder around. Best of luck, he’s a first rate mess and well aware of it.

@bloodwedstuff [repost of this since the first time it apparently didn’t want to tag.]

Some people are seemingly born with madness in their blood, be it from generations or their own vein of it; they come into the world a shrieking torrent and rarely fall to silence. Such was Quinn, a problem from his first wailing breath. There was nothing extraordinary about him, or his pack, aside from the way they carried on about life. As they were not, as most other packs argued, anything near to proper wolves.

They had the gifts of course, the blood in their line surprisingly pure in fact with few humans in the mix, but it was the way they decided to live that cast a shadow upon the entire lot of them. Dogs, scavengers, city-side mongrels by the murmurers of other wolves; the Blackthorn pack had generations long history of etching out an existence right in the middle of human affairs. Or, technically, in the very midst of their towering cities. Which was no place for wolves, not when they were meant to run and hunt, to defend their territory with teeth and claws.

The Blackthorn lot did all those things and more; they adapted. Early on in their line the founders saw the opportunity for something better than lingering in the forests and never let it be said that a Blackthorn isn’t an opportunist right down to the marrow of their bones. So they became what other packs would not; city shadows and lurking creatures in the neon glow. Brilliant con artists who taught their pups the wisdom of how to navigate the humans’ booming cities and fit themselves in. Quinn was no different aside from being born into the important spot of being the youngest of the alphas’ brood; a example for the rest of the pack.

Too bad he was so very terrible at it.

Because Quinn wanted freedom, wanted everything just the way that unpredictable desire ran in the pack. He learned exceptionally well to roam the streets, to be a wolf and a human in the light of day, and he had a smile that could charm anyone. It was just never enough; he was endlessly bored. His older brothers reprimanded him, often, about pulling himself into some sort of presentable shape; even for a pack of scavenging mongrels they still held their heads high after all. But Quinn was starstruck by life, so young, so very eager to explore it all. The war fractured his wild nights and restless joy; tore everything down around him in one fatal swoop.

The pack slunk back, melded into the underbelly of the city and refused the fight; seeing no reason in throwing their lives away by picking sides. They had known good in both, humans and their supernatural kin, so they avoided the bloodshed. Many snapped and snarled that they were cowards for it but they were very swift-witted cowards, yes, and too hard to corner for other packs to bother much with. Most assumed as the cities fell the Blackthorn pack would go down with it. Instead they thrived as the world turned to dust, the true mark of a survivor is knowing when to swallow pride and stalk the vultures rather than fight the lions; better to have a full belly from stolen spoils than your throat ripped out for testing the anger of a bigger predator.

So the ruins of the city, once called London, became their playground. The world fell apart and they established a territory that even now many are afraid to venture too far into; very few want to take a chance on earning the anger of the wolves who rule over their kingdom of rubble and wreckage. It nearly became their destruction though, and Quinn will certainly claim it was his own, the strength of the pack to survive in the decay around them. As they grew larger a fracture appeared, a battle between the alpha and her brother over the state of the pack as their numbers outgrew their resources, and that weakness was exploited by another rival pack that had been lurking and mulling in their rage over the Blackthorn’s mingling in the affairs of humans and turning their back upon outsiders.

It was a vicious, terrible night that most were not prepared for, too many dead and among them Quinn’s second eldest brother and father. There was victory but the cost was a grave one and what remained was a weary, weakened pack. Then the accusations began. They had been united, stronger for it, but blood rage burned in those still alive, demanding answers. Quinn felt the intensity of it when his remaining brother turned sharp teeth on him, knowing his habit of roaming, of testing and toying with the other creatures in the dying woods and lands outside their city domain. It was his fault for tempting them, his fault for foolishly befriending them and leading them right to the pack in the middle of the power shifting between the leaders. Quinn couldn’t even properly defend himself because perhaps it was true.

It was also a noose around his neck for certain, betrayal of the pack was an offense that would not go unpunished but his mother stepped in to save him. Her command over the pack spared his life but it took his place within it away forever and Quinn had no choice but to run. And he kept running, weary through and through but refusing to allow it to show. Right up to the day he found himself in Rome, the sanctuary he doesn’t trust. The alternative has vicious teeth though, not all of his former pack were pleased with the idea of simply banishing him from their ranks, he’s felt them too close on his heels for comfort for far too long.

Rome might be the best chance he has but it won’t be an easy road.

First and forth-most Quinn will offer as little as possible about his past, shift the conversation to any other direction because he doesn’t want to speak of such things. He still suffers horrible dreams over it and still has no doubt his eldest brother intends to track him down. After seeing that anger he’s terrified of it catching up to him. The less he speaks of the past the more he can pretend it never happened, the more he can pretend the more he can exist without being wary of every shadow that crosses his path.

Quinn is exhausting. There’s little way around it, and  it doesn’t trouble him very much. He’s sarcastic, talkative and generally difficult to follow in a conversation but the opinion that if he’s going to make the effort of accepting the oddities and downsides to other people they should do the same for him is one he holds strongly to. Then just as quickly he’ll tip into bland indifference, boredom plagues him. His downsides are a bit harder to navigate, he’s a dramatic, argumentative sort, sometimes to a fault and rather stubborn, but nobody’s perfect.

As it is with most wolves, Quinn values loyalty a great deal. Once his is earned, which doesn’t take as much work as it should, he’s not likely to turn his back on anyone. He might tell them to their face he thinks something they do is foolish but he’s the type to be there for whatever terrible idea it is regardless. He’s devoted to those he is close to, even if he’s just as likely to playfully push buttons as he is to do anything else.

A creature of the pack; he does not do well solitary. Quinn is afflicted by misery when alone and he does everything in his power to avoid it. His decisions are often questionable as it is but when it comes to finding a comfortable spot around others he’s a real master at worming his way into peoples’ graces because he is exceptionally earnest and accepting. He needs people, he’s lost everything else; being all alone is the worst fate he can imagine.

That doesn’t exactly extend to the idea of being pushed off onto some poor soul in the idea of marriage. It’s downright offensive, actually. Pack mentality, wolf mentality, puts a high value on the idea of connections and bonds, and mates, and frankly the idea of a stranger being expected to hold that spot? He’s still got his hackles up about it, that’s not likely to be an easy situation for anyone to walk into. He has every intention of avoiding it as long as possible.

Unpredictable tends to be Quinn’s main direction in life. He is a very sharp survivor and thinks on his feet faster than most, but his attention often wavers and he simply cannot help but fall victim to the extremes in his own emotions. Which means everyone around him has to suffer it as well, misery loves company after all. He’ll take whatever risk crosses his mind, what does he have to lose? He’s a hedonistic sort who never grew out of it, the only difference is now he has grief to haunt him and make the need to experience life all the more dire. Missing out on anything is a missed chance, he doesn’t want to leave any path unexplored.

Other wolves might know of him, the Blackthorns were rather distinct and a bit notorious for their odd ways of life. They also weren’t viewed in a very positive light and generally considered the last bunch anyone would want to trust. Those opinions don’t bother Quinn, but he does know that it keeps most other wolves at a distance. He doesn’t see rejoining a pack in his near future because he can’t fathom one would have him.

In spite of everything he’s not one to get too drug down by life, rather optimistic and unrealistic in his views that things will turn out good enough in the end. Sometimes it’s all he has left, that conviction. And why not? He’s seen what he thinks must have been the worst so things have to get better in comparison to what they used to be.

Oddly, even if he doesn’t look it, Quinn isn’t one to back down when cornered or his teeth are bared. He’s bolder as a wolf than a human, certainly, and he’s faster on his feet than he is strong but that doesn’t mean he’s a pushover by any means. It’s more the fact that he won’t stop, blood rage and blind intention, until he physically cannot take anymore. It’s the sort of brutal necessity that his pack taught; too often if other wolves challenged them it was with intent to kill. He very rarely uses that humanoid wolf form in a fight, or at all, finding it awkward to manage, and prefers to be fully human or fully wolf.

Quinn is a pack-rat. He adores collecting the oddest things and his tiny little apartment home is proof of that much; it’s a bit cluttered and something is nearly always falling over. He loses things more often than he keeps up with them, but it doesn’t matter much. He also has a fascination with books and amasses them, he’s probably read more than he can recall and is constantly curious over new stories.

Rather than take advantage of the usual comforts of his own apartment, Quinn still holds to some old habits. Growing up it was rare to stay one spot too long, even rarer to have much personal space. The excess of it, even though his place is small by most standards, feels strange. He still hasn’t gotten used to the exposed feeling of a bed, prefers to keep his matress in the closet and sleep there.

It’s usually up for debate just how it is he pays for his existence, but the truth is he’s good at finding ways to make ends meet. There’s few jobs he won’t take on, or hasn’t in the past, from the legal to the less than so degree, and he usually has enough in his bank account to stay on his feet comfortably enough. His morals are always a bit shifty though, so it’s not like answer to that question is always an answer he offers up.

Since he has little luck with other wolves Quinn has managed to end up with a few dogs, three to be exact, that share said apartment with him much to the disdain of his neighbors. The animals are actually rather well behaved, he has a way with them, and more often than not has them in tow if he’s near to home. An ancient pug named Gin, a mongrel named Bacardi, and a corgi named Vodka; they’re quite the interesting trio. He found them along the way and far be it for him to turn them away.

[residesatshamecentral]

Masks and mirrors

I don’t do fanfiction, yet here I am. I throw myself upon the mercy of the court.

.....

1. Grey skies

Everything was grey.

The country was depressed. The eyes of the houses were empty and grey. The children in the streets, before the war, had been relatively clean, chasing each other and throwing stones after school, or buying sweets at the corner shops. Now, many of them wore clothes so patched that they would once have been used for rags ages ago, and no-one had money to spare for the sweet shop any more.

Archer felt nothing.

He observed the world as though from deep underwater. Sometimes he would wonder - watching a woman with Jewish blood being arrested or a dissenter gunned down - if he really counted as a human being any more. Human beings would respond to all this wouldn't they? Mostly though, he got on with his work.

Until Huth happened to him.

 2. Stirrings

Fear – and the occasional twinge of disgust – were the only real emotions that filtered down to the chilly underwater world Archer seemed to inhabit now. So fear was not an unfamiliar reaction, or unexpected.

The little verbal blows were new though. Something broken and raw twisted in Archer when the SS officer mentioned his wife in passing. He kept his face as blank as possible with Huth watching him, and tried to read his expression. They were passing through one of the poorer areas. Stretches of dark road, unlit except by the light from windows gave way to intermittently lit main roads. The light from the street lamps passed over the new officer's face and away again, leaving Archer none the wiser.

Huth's eyes were very pale. They were, Archer thought distantly, the colour of dirty ice, and the light in them was icy too. Horribly intelligent eyes. They seemed to see too far into you, and left you feeling disturbed and slightly sickened, as though you had just undergone an examination where no limits of privacy were respected.

When he finally got home, away from the new officer, he found space to breathe for the first time in almost twenty-four hours. He got into bed gratefully, aching with tiredness.

Detectives are plagued with the disease of all intelligent introverts, introspection, and worse, they are trained to look deeper than most people. In the foggy void that hangs between sleep and waking, Archer found himself trying to analyse the disturbed emotional state Huth had left him in. he was not the same, he knew. With this frightening man around - probably for the long term – he was in for something long-drawn-out and already he was feeling the marks. Not a good sign.

Was it, he thought sleepily, that the man was too honest? Or too malicious? Or too lacking in pity? Or all three? Was he just too demanding a personality to be around comfortably? Five minutes in his presence was like standing next to a furnace. Sooner or later the heat would get to you.

  3. Ragings

He punched the officer in the face.

He punched him in the face. Terror, hatred, pride, all the emotions he had though buried and calcified went into that punch, there, in the cellar of his blasted home, where the body of his informant hung like a parody or a scarecrow.

Then he waited for death.

A strange calm filled him as his tormentor stood straight. He was a man, here, now. They could do what they like to him but he would die a man. He met Huth's eyes steadily.

For the fist time in four years, he felt whole.

And Huth...laughed.

  4. Dreamings

Archer rarely dreamed, but when he did, he tended to forget them. The night after the assassin attacked him, he woke sweating, heart hammering, tasting salt. Barbara was in the kitchen, her space on the bed cold beside him.

He had dreamed he was dead. Deep, deep underwater, on the slimy seabed, so deep that the light no longer penetrated, among black, stony caverns where the only sea life is the stuff of nightmares. And he was very dead.

Help he tried to scream, but corpses cannot talk and who could have heard him anyway? He was alone, trapped in a body that would not move because no blood beat through it, feeling the slimy seaweed twine around him, the only sound the distant heartbeat of an ocean.

He had no idea how long he floated there, in silent panic. But at last a calm came over him. So he was alone. No news there. We all have to fight the world alone. He must simply make himself move.

With effort, with great patience and effort, he forced his dead body to obey him. First his fingers, them his hands clenched. His sluggish arms moved, then pushed his dead torso up from the seabed. Alone, dead, or un-dead, or half-dead, he stood alone, in the dark, and then began to swim upwards, seeking the light.

There no time in that place, or all times were eternity, but the darkness began to thin. The light-less void became a green void. Diaphanous shapes in the distance that might have been jellyfish surrounded him, passing by. He was back among the living. Above him the sun glimmered and he strove toward it, half-sure now that he could feel his fingers again.

A huge shape of pure darkness blocked the light above him. I knew you had it in you, Archer whispered  Huth.

And he was falling, far beyond the dark he had known as death, beyond the caves at the bottom of the sea, falling in terror because this was final, there was no way up, and the eyes of the world were on him as he fell.

Awake in the small hours, Archer ran himself a bath. Cold sweat still clung to him. He knew he was not ready to brave sleep again, yet. He sat on the edge of the bath and considered recounting the dream to Barbara. The horror he had felt was too real to him. It had not vanished with the dream  but stayed, lurking, like the clammy sense we feel on having touched something dead. Perhaps, he thought, recounting the dream would help him make sense of it. He closed his eyes, soothed by the sound of running water, and saw the dark shape above him, indecipherable, blocking the light. Heard the whisper in his inner ear. What a horrible sense of intimacy it had carried.

He turned off the tap and got into the bath, sinking in past his ears. He would not tell Barbara, he decided. If she failed to understand the dream, she would be no help, and if she did understand, well, he had had more than enough of other people reading his soul lately.

  5. Offerings

Huth was drunk, and Archer would have barely believed it. The Huth he knew, the leather-trenchcoat-clad, steely-eyed, iron-souled force of nature was incapable of being drunk, just as he was incapable of being vulnerable or bitter. The man slumped into his chair was all three.

Archer was an analyst of human beings, though not, he admitted to himself, the best analyst. He was better at understanding evidence than people. He never kidded himself that he was even close to having the measure of Huth, but he had built up an image of the man. He sipped his drink – he had orders to take one after all – and tried to reassess his enigmatic superior.

What forces shape us into people like this, he wondered? Huth seemed almost to be talking into the void, talking like man dictating a diary, or the memoirs of his private sins. Archer thought of the caverns at the bottom of the sea, and the cold touch of the seaweed, and the silence. He repressed a shudder. Life was worse for Huth than that, he thought. There was no immobility about Huth's life, but worse, there were no escape routes. You could see despair in his posture, languid and long-term.

Huth was the most driven man he had ever met, but there was nowhere for him to run to, nothing to strive for, because he believed in nothing. Apart from himself, there was no firm ground. His prison had no escape route, so he was alone without hope.

Now Archer saw a mourning, rather broken human being, and he was not sure he wanted to.

Now where did that thought come from, he wondered? Odd that he should dislike seeing Huth like this. It was not the embarrassment of seeing private grief. Not exactly.

“Would you like to stay with me, Archer?”

The chilly eyes had something new in them. “On my personal staff?” The touch to his cheek, roughly affectionate, could have been mistaken for patronising fondness. The hand dragged down his chest could not. Huth leaned back in his chair. The statement was made. An odd, joyless grin settled over his face. There was a direction-less hate in his eyes, mixed with something else. Not hope. Perhaps anticipation of hope. 

Some analyst of human beings he had proved to be, thought Archer. Why not just admit to himself that he had never properly understood Huth at all, or even tried to? He had been too wrapped up in himself to see the person. Until grief had made him crumple like this Huth had been a force of nature to him, wearing away the grey bubble of Archer's depression. Moron. You do not look at someone and see no further than the Nazi uniform.

This was Huth holding his hand out through the bars of a prison.

He wanted company. It was as simple as that. Painful, to think that the man who had dragged him out of solitude was more alone than he had ever been. And painful, to think that taking his hand was not an option. Because that was the way to Hell. It really was. Archer had met people like Huth before. Any pact with a man like this might as well be signed in blood. He would always be a sadist out for himself. You cold tell from the ice in his smile.

And yet.

And yet.

Years later, Archer would think back to that time, and think of Huth in the office that night. He would always picture him lost in himself, talking at Archer from the depths of his solitude, or reaching out, gripping Archers arm, drunkenly looking for contact. And he would wonder.

There are people who say, everything that can happen, does happen. Every relationship ends well somewhere. Every relationship ends in blood, somewhere. Somewhere close, a universe away, they broke the walls of solitude, or failed to, and Huth shot him one night on the steps of a police station with his pockets full of stolen information, and somewhere they are in bitter shared retirement with the closeness of long-term inmates, and somewhere Huth has achieved his ambitions and Archer is at his side, straight-backed in his immaculate uniform and his only regret is the look in his sons eyes every day, which scar him more deeply every time and make him wonder how much is left of his soul.

Everything happens somewhere. Archer thinks of that, and wonders where Huth was buried.

[letthesleepingdoglie]

The Long Road - 04

Title: Culmination

Part: 04 of 12

Rated: T

September 5 th , 2014

Gotham City

12:47 AM EST Team Year Four

“Batgirl.” Nightwing said, dropping down into one of Gotham’s many alleyways.

The female vigilante stood triumphantly over what looked like a pair of would be muggers, looking satisfied with herself. In contrast to his more subdued tone, she was clearly excited to see him.“Nightwing.”

She smiled he landed on the ground next to her. “There you are! I was worried.”

“We need to talk.” He told her. He pulled out his grapnel launcher and fired it, ascending to the roof of a nearby building. Without having to check, he knew she was using the equipment he and Batman had given to her barely a few months ago to skillfully follow him.

Batgirl was enthusiastic about crime-fighting, but she wasn’t cocky. When she’d first donned her home-made cape and cowl, she’d mostly stuck to small time criminals and muggers. That had brought her to Batman’s attention, who then tracked down Gotham’s newest vigilante and made a deal with her.

In return for new equipment and advanced training on how to use it, Batgirl had sworn to them that she wouldn’t approach situations in Gotham that they thought were too tough for her. It wasn’t a question of trust, but of skill.

Batgirl had been trained in various martial arts, and that gave her an edge over the would be muggers and rapists that she encountered in certain areas of Gotham, but she wasn’t up to the task of clashing with an assassin from the League of Shadows, or dealing with a squad of mercenaries employed by any of Gotham’s major crime families. At least, not yet.

She could tell that something was wrong as she landed next to Nightwing. He had his back to her. “What’s happened?”

“Robin is… gone.” Nightwing said sadly.

“What?” Her tone was clearly shocked.

“He’s dead, Batgirl.” he said, using some of the rage that he felt from his brother’s death to color his tone. “Things have changed. You can’t be do this anymore. You need to hang up your cape and cowl.”

Her hands twitched towards her utility belt, as if afraid he was going to take it from her then and there. “It’s not up to you.” She said, folding her arms over her chest and glaring at him. “You don’t get to make this choice for me.”

His comm chimed in his ear. Probably one of the Team members, M’gann or KF probably, checking in on him again. He banished the call with a touch of a button before continuing to speak. “If you don’t quit, I’ll-“

“You’ll what?” She glared.

Nightwing was unfazed. “I’ll tell your father, Barbara .”

She gasped in fear, unconsciously reaching up to touch her cowl to make sure it was still there. “How did yo-“

He crossed his arms. “I’m a detective, remember?” He said flatly. “Either you stop now, or I stop you. It’s that simple.”

It took a measure of self control to keep his tone and expression flat. He hated doing this to her; she’d always been one of his closest friends. Barb wouldn’t meet his gaze, clearly distraught about the prospect of losing the opportunity to be a vigilante.

“Why do you want to do this?” He asked her, again keeping his voice flat.

She looked up at him, but didn’t answer, confusion beginning to color her dismayed expression.

He started moving towards the edge of the roof.

“You have one week to figure out your answer.” He declared. “If you need more time to figure it out, you shouldn’t be doing this. If you put on your costume again before then, I’ll know.”

He somersaulted backwards over the edge, arms wide as he fell. Barbara gasped and sprinted to peer over the edge of the roof, but it was a wasted effort. He’d disappeared.

July 5 th , 2016

09:34 EDT

Wayne Manor

Can I really do this?  Dick thought as he surveyed the meagre array of belongings he’d packed for his trip.

Yes. He’d already made up his mind. The rest was just details.

While they might have received the League’s official approval to form the Team three days later, in Dick’s mind, July 4 th would always be the day he, Wally and Kaldur first come together to do great things.

As Kaldur had said that night, exactly 6 years ago, together they had forged something powerful. The three of them, him, Kaldur, and Wally, had come together and freed Superboy from Cadmus. That night had been the first time he realized he could step out of Batman’s shadow and stand as a hero, all on his own.

The symbolism of officially starting his leave of absence today felt right.

Apart from Zatanna and his adopted family, the only people he’d informed that he was leaving were Kaldur and Dinah. He’d felt that Kaldur deserved to know he was leaving, given his friend’s role as the Team’s leader, and he’d told Black Canary out of professional courtesy. Now that she’d replaced Captain Atom as chairman of the Justice League, she needed to know what resources were at available to her. Or not.

Keeping his preparations for leaving secret from Bruce, Alfred and Tim had never been a realistic option, but none of them had questioned his decision to leave. In a way, Dick felt better that they knew; once the Team worked past its initial grief and came looking for him, his family would help cover for him.

Satisfied that his bags were packed, Dick turned to his computer and keyed in a code that would erase his search and message history completely. Covering his tracks made sense; he didn’t want to be located before he was ready to come back.  

Once the process was done, he scooped up his duffel bag and left his room.

Bruce was waiting for him in the Manor’s expansive dining room, wearing a charcoal gray suit and browsing the paper. At this point in the day his mentor was usually already at the office or the Watchtower, but Dick knew that Bruce had stayed behind today in order to see him off.  Not for the first time, he was grateful for his adoptive father’s unquestioning support.

“I’m going now.”

Bruce nodded and stood up slowly, walking to stand in front of him. He set a firm hand on Dick’s shoulder.

“Say goodbye to Tim and Alfred before you go.”

Dick nodded and turned to leave the room, but was pulled short. “Dick.” Bruce said.

He turned to look at his mentor questioningly.

“Wherever you want to go, whatever you want to be… I’ll support you.” There was respect in Bruce’s eyes, mixed between sadness and pride. The pride of a father who had seen his son take on impossible odds and win. The sadness of a father who might never see his son again.

Dick didn’t have the words to express how much the support meant to him, and settled for giving his adopted father a heartfelt hug. “Thank you.” He whispered.

Tim and Alfred were waiting for him in the main hall leading to the garage.

Evidently Tim had still been sleeping before Alfred had grabbed him to say farewell. He was still dressed in his pajamas, and there was a definite dent in his normally perfect crew cut from the way he had slept on his pillow.

Dick reached over and ruffled his adopted brother’s hair. “Sleep well?” he asked, smiling. Tim swatted his hand away, before stifling a yawn.

“Indeed he did sir.” Alfred said, a twinkle of amusement in his eye. “Young Master Tim was snoring so loud that dust was shaken loose from the rafters.”

“Like you’re one to talk.” Tim replied as he rubbed his eyes sleepily. “How is it I can hear you snore from two floors up and three rooms away?”

Dick chuckled as Tim finally managed to gain some semblance of consciousness. Tim looked up at him. “You’re leaving now?”

“Yeah. I was going to leave before you woke up, but Bruce…”

“Yeah.” Tim said, looking away.

Dick pulled him into a hug, which Tim reciprocated. He was proud of how much his little brother had matured in the last few months. He was smart, capable, and a good leader. Dick wished he had been as good as Tim was at his age. His only problem was confidence, and that couldn’t be taught.

Once they were finished, but before Tim could step out of reach, Dick grabbed his little brother and trapped him in a simple headlock. Roughly, he ran his knuckles across the top of Tim’s head, which elicited a laugh from Tim and a smile from Alfred as the youngest member of the Wayne Household struggled to get free.

“Hey, I’m just trying to help you fix your hair, porcupine. Don’t forget, you got a girl to look good for now.”

As Tim finally wriggled free, smiling this time, Dick turned to face Alfred. Quickly, the butler pulled him into another hug. “Make sure you take care of yourself sir.”

Dick smiled at them before picking up his bags and walking to the garage, where his modified Ducati waited for him. It was time. He tucked his bag onto the bike, making sure it was attached securely before grabbing his helmet.

He hit a switch, and the garage door slid open. Rather than the empty driveway that he expected, Barbara was standing in front of the garage. It was clear that she’d been waiting for him.

“Going somewhere?” She asked him flatly, arms crossed.

He laughed, but the sound was bitter, even to him. “You really are a detective.” He sat back on his bike. “Who told you I was leaving?”

“Dinah.” She said defiantly. “She was worried about you running off on your own. I know we didn’t end things on the best of terms but… You’re still my friend. I still care about you.” She walked over and placed a beseeching hand on his shoulder. He stiffened. “Please, talk to me.”

Dick looked up at her blankly. “What is there to say, Barbara? You made it pretty clear when you broke up with me that you couldn’t accept me because of what I’ve done.”

It hurt him to says those words. He’d loved her, once. He really had. Barbara was smart, beautiful, strong. When they’d finally gotten together, less than a year ago, he’d thought he’d found someone who understood him fully. Her outburst on the Watchtower had shattered that illusion.

He’d accepted her rage at his deception before, but now… now he could feel anger beneath it. Not just anger at her, but anger at his friend’s death. Anger for everything that had ever been unjustly taken from him over his life so far. He struggled to keep his rage in check.

“You lied to everyone on the Team. You lied to me, Dick. You didn’t trust me. You let me think one of my best friends was dead! How did you think I was going to feel?”

“I thought you’d be angry. What I did, I knew you’d be angry. But I trusted you to understand why I did it.” His voice broke, and he turned his head away. “I really didn’t think you, of all people, would reject me.”

“I’m sorry.” Her tone softened at his expression. It was clear that she was struggling with a mix of emotions too. “I’m here for you now.” She said soothingly. “Me, Zatanna, Kaldur, M’gann. The whole Team. We will help you get through this.”

Dick looked at the ground. “No.” He met her eyes again. “I’m sorry, but no. It’s too late for that.”

“You know what I really need, Barb? I need the last 10 years of my life back. Where I would’ve gotten to be a normal teenager. Where I get to live a life not worrying about the fate of the world. Without having to bury my parents. My brother. My best friend.”

“Dick, you can't blame yourself for his death. It wasn't your fault!” Barbara yelled, frustrated with his inability to accept help. She immediately knew that she’d said the wrong thing. Dick’s face hardened into something she’d never seen before; something frightening.

“That’s the point!” Dick screamed at her, unable to contain his rage any longer. “Why do you all think saying that will make me feel better?! I did everything right and he died anyway!”

He pointed outside, out the open garage door. “You think I want to go out there and be on my own? I want to be a hero again, work with the Team I helped create. I want to go back and be with the only friends and family I have left. But I can’t.”

He flipped the kickstand up on his bike and gunned the engine. “Leave me alone.”

He didn’t look back as the bike roared away from the manor, leaving Barbara in tears.

Barbara keyed the comm in her ear with a shaking hand.  “I’m sorry Artemis. I screwed up. I used to think that I knew how to talk to him, but now…” She took a shaky breath. “He’s gone.”

————————————————————————————————————

July 5 th , 2016

Barcelona, Spain

19:52

He rode for an hour from the manor to a small private airstrip outside the city limits, where a private jet was waiting for him. He left the bike when he boarded; Bruce would have it picked up and returned to the Manor later.

From there, it was a relatively quick and comfortable flight to Barcelona. He could’ve simply taken the Zeta tube from Gotham, but he’d decided against it. For one thing, it didn’t seem right to rush through his journey.

There was also a much more practical reason he’d decided against using a Zeta tube: each time someone used the tubes, both the point of origin and destination were logged, and using one would’ve left a clear trail for someone to follow. In contrast, the flight Bruce had chartered for him had been under an assumed name, and the smaller airports that catered to private jets usually had fewer cameras and less strenuous customs and security to deal with.

The whole point of taking a break from the Team had been to re-examine his life on his own terms, and he didn’t want anybody, especially the team, intruding on his contemplation until he felt he was ready.

Dick made his way towards the city center, and eventually passed sign that proclaimed proudly in big bold letters “Haly’s International Traveling Circus”.

The circus wasn’t fully assembled yet. Off in the distance Dick could see workers erecting the big top using long guide wires and a veritable fleet of big rigs were arrayed in the parking lot, waiting to be unloaded

Still, Dick felt happy. He’d come back to his first home.

The sights that greeted him as he walked around the area devoted to Hill’s Circus filled him with a sad nostalgia. He’d spent years here, playing with the other performers, practicing on the trapeze with his family. In taking him in, Bruce had given Dick a good home and family that he’d always be grateful for, but that didn’t change the fact that he’d been born and raised a wanderer.

Despite the pain of loss that the recollection brought, he had missed this place, and the happiness it had brought. He could still see his mother, fussing over him and making final adjustments to his costume before a performance. His cousin John, who would often watch him during the day when his parents were busy.

His reverie was interrupted by a familiar voice that called out to him. “Is that who I think it is?”

Dick smiled as he spun around to see a familiar figure approaching him. The man in question wore a simple shirt with his sleeves rolled up, and his pants were held up with suspenders. Inwardly, Dick was surprised to find the old man still up and about, since he knew that his old ringmaster had to be pushing 70.

“Nice to see you again, Mr. Haly.” he said, somewhat awkwardly. He extended his hand. It had been almost 5 years since they’d last seen each other, and 10 since they’d last been able to really interact. Dick found he didn’t know how to treat the old ringmaster.

“Please son, just Jack,” Haly chuckled, ignoring the proffered hand and pulling Dick forward into a giant bear hug. ”Lord knows you’ve earned the right to call me that.”

He motioned for them to walk, keeping his arm wrapped around Dick’s shoulders in a fatherly manner he led him away towards the RV that currently served as the show’s main office.

“It’s good to see you again.” Jack said, patting him on the back affectionately. Dick appreciated the warmth and kindness his old ringmaster was showing him. He hadn’t known his biological grandparents, and the closest he’d had to a grandfather as a kid had been Jack Haly.

“You’ve come back at a good time, all things considered. We’ve had a good couple of years, and I decided to buy out Hill’s circus to get some new blood under this old big top.”

“I’d heard.” Dick said earnestly. “I’m glad too. I know things were rough for you a while ago.”

“Mmm.” Jack grunted in agreement. “So what happened Dick? You get adopted and disappear for five years, and then you suddenly show up and help with that Interpol trouble in Europe. Five years later, and now you’re back again. I’m not in trouble this time. At least, I don’t think I am.” Haly raised a questioning eyebrow at Dick, who smiled and shook his head.

“So that means that the trouble is on your end.”

Dick took a steadying breath. “I don’t want to lie to you,” He said. Dick felt like he’d done enough lying to last him a lifetime. “But, there’s a lot I can’t tell you about the last few years.”

Haly nodded. “Of course” he clapped Dick on the shoulder as they kept walking. “Just tell me as much as you can.”

Dick’s mind worked quickly, trying to boil his story down to a manageable level while keeping any compromising details out.

“The basic story is that I kept a secret from my friends. A big one. It ended up hurting a lot of them, and my best friend died before I could make it up to him.” They stopped walking, with Dick avoiding Jack’s gaze as he continued. “My life’s just been a mess the last few years, and it feels like everything I’ve done to fix it has made it worse.”

He breathed. “I just need to get away from my usual life for a while. Find a place to think.”

Dick felt Jack squeeze his shoulder before he gave him a reassuring pat on the back and ushered him further towards the center of the circus.

“So you came back home, just like you should’ve done.” Jack said warmly. He motioned at the assembled big top, and the circus performers milling about outside, and despite himself, Dick smiled.  “I’ll give you the quick tour, then we’ll talk about getting you set up here.”

He hugged Dick closer to his chest as they walked. “It’s good to have you back son.”

Once they arrived at the main office, the two of them chatted some more. Hill’s was starting another European tour, and was planning to stay and perform for about three months. Jack gave him a quick tour, covering the logistics of having Dick live and work there once again. After another day or two of setting up, Dick would be able to join a group of Trapeze artists Jack had signed and practice before their opening. Dick found himself excited. He was looking forward to being back on a trapeze.

“That’s your bunk covered.” Jack said, as Dick emerged from the interior of one of the many trucks that comprised the fleet of vehicles required to move the circus around. Jack had offered to put Dick up in one of the apartments the circus was renting  for its performers, but Dick turned him down. He wanted to stay close to the circus.

Jack walked on, with Dick following close behind. “I’ll introduce you to the trapeze guys later. Maybe breakfast tomorrow at the cafeteria.”

“Alright.” Dick said.

“You got a stage name picked out yet?” Jack asked. “I’m assuming you’re going to want to keep your real name quiet, just like that last time.”

Dick considered Jack’s question. He most definitely did not want his real name appearing anywhere on the circus’ promotional material, where it might be easily found online. After a moment’s thought, he spoke.

“Put me down as Daniel Lloyd, for old time’s sake.” Dick said, knowing that Jack would understand the reference. Dan had been the stage name he’d used while undercover at the circus years ago, and Lloyd had been his mother’s maiden name.

It seemed fitting.

“Alright.” Jack agreed. “Daniel Lloyd it is.” The old ringmaster waved a hand towards the emerging big top. “Welcome back to Haly’s Circus.”

September 10 th , 2014

Gotham City

1:11 AM EST

Team Year Four

“You’re here.” Nightwing said, dropping down onto the roof of the building that he’d left her on several nights ago. He’d been tracking her movements, enforcing the ultimatum that he’d set for her.

“Surprised?” She asked. There was a bit of playfulness in her tone despite the obvious resentment.

He thought about it for a moment. She was early, but the mere fact that she’d put on the uniform and waited for him meant that she’d made a decision.

“No.” He said ruefully. “You’ve always been a stubborn one.”

He tilted his head. “So? You have an answer to my question?”

Her eyes blazed. “You’re a real jerk, you know that?”

“Barbar-“ He began, but she cut him off.

“I told my dad myself. Two days ago. This is what I want. I won’t let you or anyone else stop me.”

He was stunned. “Wow.” Barbara’s father was a lot like Zee’s had been. He’d met Commissioner Gordon more than a few times in his civilian identity, knew how protective he was of his daughter. More than once, Barbara had complained to him about how overbearing he could be.

“That must have been difficult.” He said sympathetically.

She crossed her arms. “As if you care.”

That hurt. Nightwing didn’t expect it to, but it did. He did care. That was the whole point of trying to get her to stop.

He sighed, taking her by the arm. “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?” She asked.

“You’ll understand when we get there.”

They made their way to his bike, and he drove them out of the city via the highway, and then off road into the wilderness. Although it looked like an ordinary sports motorcycle, various upgrades to the suspension, tires, and shock absorbers meant that he was more than capable of handling the rough terrain necessary to get to where he was going.

It took half an hour of riding, going through the woods and up and down various hills, but eventually they arrived safe and sound. He pulled off his helmet. “We’re here.”

Barbara unwrapped her arms from around his torso and looked around.“Where are we?”

He didn’t answer her, pulling a bundle of flowers from the motorcycle’s storage compartment and walking off towards a solitary tree at the edge of a hill.

“What’s…” She began to ask, but her voice died off as she realized what she was looking at. Three gravestones were arranged in a neat row. Two of them were larger, built for a couple, while the third was small, meant for a single grave.

“It’s why I do what I do.”

She made her way over to him. Despite the fact that it was dark, there was enough moonlight for her to read the inscriptions on each stone. She began with the smallest.

“John…” Barbara’s eyes widened as she read the last name. “…Grayson.” Quickly, she moved on to the next gravestone. “Karla and Richard Grayson.” She almost tripped over herself in her haste to get to the last gravestone. “John and Mary… Grayson.”

He ignored her and knelt down tidying his family’s graves, removing weeds, debris and other leaves before placing the flowers he had brought with him on top of the dirt.

“Oh my god…” she whispered to herself, as it dawned on her who was behind the mask. She turned back to face him, her eyes wide with shock. She pulled off her cowl slowly, not removing her gaze from the man in front of her. “Dick?”

Nightwing sighed as he peeled his mask off. He raised his head so that his eyes met hers, the expression on his face a mixture of sadness and resignation. “And now you know.”

Barbara began to breathe rapidly, her mind racing as everything fell into place. “But then, you and Bruce are… and Jason was…” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“Yes.” Dick said, looking at her the entire time. “Jason was the second Robin. We told everyone he died in a bombing during one of our trips abroad, but the truth is, he died saving millions of people.

She struggled with this information, too shocked for words. That didn’t stop her from trying though.“Wha-…. How… Why?”

“Barbara,” Dick said, finally moving forward to her. “I’ve never spoken to you about my childhood. I know you already know most of the story… but this is the truth.”

“I grew up in the circus with my family. Then, when I was 9… My family was killed by a mob boss named Tony Zucco. He was trying to shake down the Circus for protection money, and our ringmaster Jack Haly refused to pay him. Zucco sabotaged our trapeze rig, and my family died. My family was killed… to send a message.”

He knelt down in front of his parent’s headstone, placing a hand on top of the heavy marble. He didn’t look away from his parent’s names as he spoke.

“Bruce was in the audience that night. He saw what had happened to my family, he saw what had happened to me. He knew that I wouldn’t rest until I brought their killer to justice. He took me in, trained me. And I’ve been working to make him proud ever since.

He got up and turned to face her. “You have to understand Barbara. I never asked for this. The kind of trauma Bruce, Jason and I went through, it’ll never let us stop. We will keep fighting the good fight until it kills us.“

“I don’t want this for you.” He said, his voice soft. He gripped her by the shoulders, fingers tight as he spoke. “Live your life. Let me protect you. Leave the good fight to Bruce and me.”

Gently, she stepped forward and hugged him tightly. Dick was dumbfounded, but returned the embrace. “This isn’t just about me. You know the system is broken. You, Batman, my dad. I want to help. I want to take some of the burden off of your shoulders.” She whispered. “Could you really think less of me for wanting to make a difference?”

“No.” He whispered back, resigned. He held onto her for some time, taking comfort in her embrace.

When they finally broke apart, it was so that he could look her in the eyes again. “Bruce will never accept you. Not now. Not if you keep going the way you’re going.”

“Then…” She hesitated.”What do I do?”

He gave her a determined stare. “You listen to me, train with me. And we change Batman’s mind, together.”