#like just. just *imagine* being in damian's shoes during all of this. he's *six* you guys. i've worked with six year olds and they're

[starry-bi-sky]

Clone^2 Damian

If you really think about, Damian's situation in the clone^2 au is... kinda tragic? Especially in the early months of his arrival. Like,,, think about it. Damian has always known he was a clone of Damian Wayne, that he was a copy of the blood son. There was nothing 'original' about him, not even his name (of which at least Danny has that). He was just... a replacement. A disposable one, to boot.

And he knew that, to an extent, by the time he was six years old. he might not have been actively acknowledging it -- he's six years old -- but deep down he knew. And like, he's six years old. Every small child craves the love and affection of an adult, especially their parents, and even though he knew he was clone, I imagine he still considered - and still does consider, somewhat - Talia and Bruce as his mother and father. And I really doubt he was... getting it?

Now, I know Talia loves Damian, her son. At least in some interpretations she does, and in this au she does. But... a clone of her son? I'm not so certain if she would have the same affection for baby Dames as she would for Damian. I don't think she would treat him badly, but I don't think Talia would treat him warmly either. Kinda just, distant. Colder than she would have been with OG Damian.

And, I know I've mentioned Damian's arrival from Danny's point of view, and its kind of comical kind of insane from his perspective -- a little boy clone of Damian Wayne falls through a portal and immediately attacks him. That sounds like a bad joke.

But, if you think of this from Damian's point of view? It's like he just got dropped into a scary movie. Like, think about it. You're six years old, and suddenly a portal, as green and as swirling as your grandfather's pools, opens up beneath your feet and sucks you through.

After an intense bout of vertigo, you end up in a massive, urban city -- completely different from the rural mountain palace that you lived in for the last six years of your life, and in this city, you don't know any of the language. You don't know what anyone is saying, you can't read any of the signs - you are completely stranded, away from home.

And then, to make things worse, you're facing a figure with a terrifying mask and eyes as burning green as the portal you fell through. Of course Damian's first instinct, six years old, is to attack. He's terrified.

And this figure, he's not a good fighter, but he's fast, and he dodges you quickly. He grabs your sword with his hands, and tries to restrain you, saying something in a language you don't know. Naturally, Damian is just scared. He's six! He'd just be learning how to read if he was normal child going to school.

This figure halfway through the fight yanks off his mask -- he realizes you're scared -- and looking at you now, is a youthful version of your father. This is a clone of your dad, someone you have never met but, six years old, still wants to. Damian gets defensive. This is an imposter.

But this imposter eventually gets you home with him - and he's using his little box, his phone, to communicate with you through a mechanical voice speaking in arabic. and it's frustrating. The boy, the imposter, can say whatever to you just fine, but trying to talk back is a hassle and a half. He's six, he doesn't have that much patience.

He wants to go home.

And so he keeps trying to run away. He keeps trying to find out of this hellish concrete jungle, and he keeps getting lost. It's loud, and busy, and there are people talking to you and you don't understand them, and there are rules and signs you don't understand - Damian tries to cross the street and nearly gets hit by a car. He doesn't know how the road signs work, he was never taught. They didn't get to that.

And he gets lost. And it gets dark, and Damian is brave, but he is six, and this is the worst stress he's been under in all his six years of life. He wants, desperately more than anything, to go home. Why wouldn't he? The only stable... semi-stable environment he was in just got ripped out from under his feet, literally! He wants his mother.

And it's not happening.

But there's something good to be said, at least. The imposter that looks like his father always comes and finds him, no matter what. He could have left that morning, and he will find Damian at midnight, frazzled and worried, and carrying an extra jacket with him because it is cold in Amity Park and Damian is six years old.

And sometimes Damian attacks him - he's scared and stressed and he doesn't want to be here. And every time he catches the sword. Even though Damian can see it cut into his hand and pearls of blood well up and stains his fingers. Even though Damian can see him wince in pain and bite his lip, he still catches it.

But with that little box, he coaxes Damian to come back with him. It's cold, it's dark, Amity Park is unsafe at night. They can figure something out tomorrow, please. And every time, he agrees, reluctantly. And the imposter takes the extra jacket he brought with -- a flannel, a hoodie, a jacket -- and he wraps it around him. It's warm, Damian's clothes are not that thick, and even though he thinks he might hate this imposter, he still sticks close to his legs as he leads him down the street.

And sometimes the imposter carries him, because Damian's shoes are not that thick, and he cuts his foot on broken glass while they're walking home. The imposter sits in the bathroom with him and carefully cleans the cut out, and makes sure it doesn't get infected.

There's hope you know, he still has it. His mother will be looking for him. She'll be worried. He's important to them. Damian may not be the original, but he is still a blood son. He is still her son. She will come find him. This nightmare will end soon. He can go home.

And then weeks pass, and nothing. Then months, and nothing. His family is not coming for him, and it hurts. Hurts more than anything. And yet while that happens, the boy he's attacked, and hurt, teaches himself arabic in order to speak to him. He takes Damian out of the house one afternoon and buys him new clothes, or tries to. And then he keeps buying him new clothes. He gives him blankets and gives up his bed to him until they can get him one himself, and steadily he teaches Damian english.

This boy is kind. Kinder than Damian's ever experienced, and he doesn't know what to do with it. He's devastated by the fact that he is not as important to his family as his family is to him. What do you do when you're six years old and you learn something like that? When a random stranger who looks like your father is kinder to you, and cares more about you than your family did?

And then Damian tells him he's a clone. He's Damian Wayne's clone, and he tells him his purpose - that their grandfather made him to kill him. And the boy, the imposter, Damian thinks he probably already knows that he's a clone. But he doesn't say that. He just nods, and asks him if he wants to tell his original about him.

Damian says no. He doesn't want to. He's tired of living in the shadow of his original. He wants to keep this to himself. This is his. For once, all of this is his.

And to his surprise, the imposter doesn't try and convince him otherwise. He just nods, and says okay. And when Damian asks why, the imposter - his brother - looks at him and says.

"I don't care about Damian Wayne. I care about you." And in Damian's gobsmacked silence, his brother continues. He tells him that if Damian doesn't want to tell his original that he exists, then they don't need to. They don't need to worry about the LoA going after him, because clearly if his 'grandfather' needs to make a clone of Damian in order to take him out, then whatever it was that Damian Wayne was doing to keep himself safe, was working.

"Wayne already has people in his corner, he's got Gotham's army of vigilantes to keep himself safe." his brother says with his eyes as blue as moonlight. "You, however. Do not." And he continues, and says that if Damian Wayne has the same training as Damian does, then he will be fine. He doesn't need to be aware of his clone. Because if DW doesn't know about Damian, then the LoA doesn't either.

And here's the thing. Damian would not have survived in the LoA for long. Not as a clone. No matter what, he was going to die no matter what he did, and sooner rather than later. The sword of Damocles was always hanging above his head in the League of Assassins.

That portal, and meeting Danny, saved his life. There's no way around it. And to an extent Damian knows this even at six years old. He may not be aware that he would've died, but he knows that meeting Danny was the best thing to happen to him.

It's no wonder after that, that Damian is as clingy to Danny as he is. Danny is the first person he's met to offer him unconditional love, with no strings attached, only pure affection.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dpdc #dpxdc crossover #clone^2 #like god can you imagine how scared he must've been? how afraid? he just wants his mom - only to realize he doesnt even matter to her #dpxdc au #danny fenton is not the ghost king #this poor kid man. no wonder he latched onto danny the moment he gave up on the league like a leech. he's a six year old kid man and #it doesnt matter how smart he is or how mature he acts. he still is six years old. he still needs that validation and affection from adults #or from people older than him. and his emotional needs were just not being met in the league. #cue the song “two” from sleeping at last - some of their songs are very clone^2 honestly. #'sweetheart you look a little tired. when did you last eat? come in and make yourself right at home. stay as long as you need.' #'tell me is something wrong? if something's wrong you can count on me' #'its okay if you can't find the words. let me take your coat and this weight off of your shoulders' #'like a force to be reckoned with. am i the ocean or a gentle kiss. i will love you with every single thing i have' #'like a tidal wave i'll make a mess. or calm waters if that serves you best' #'i will love you without any strings attached' #like just. just *imagine* being in damian's shoes during all of this. he's *six* you guys. i've worked with six year olds and they're #pretty independent but they're still six. they get excited when they see their parents and they get upset when an adult is angry with them. #they're still developing their motor skills. they're still developing everything else!

[ckbookish]

BATMAN BINGO MASTER POST 2020

1 "I thought you were dead.": I Still See Your Ghost 

Today was just not Dick's day. First he overslept his alarm and was late to work. Amy had been less than impressed at his tardiness... Then He had bungled what should have been an easy take town... But the straw that broke the camel's back was Tim. Dick had forgotten to call Tim. 

2 Friendly fire: Fratricide 

Jason was pissed. No, Jason was enraged. Yeah, he was enraged at the whole mess his family-- if that’s even what they were to each other anymore-- had gotten him in. It was meant to be a simple night. Break in. Torch the drugs. Maybe shoot a couple of people and go home. But no, Batman heard about his plans and decided that arson was too extreme. “Someone could get hurt.” Well someone had gotten hurt, a lot of someones. 

3 Hypothermia: Weekend Commute 

Dick Grayson makes his way home during the first snow fall of the year, when he finds himself confused and cold, miles from home.

Chapter two Bruce's perspective.

4 Superman: Bringer of the Dawn

The Aftermath of when the Joker shoots Dick.

or

Where do you go when your family tells you to get out?

5 Shot: The Gratitude Trap

Bruce finds himself in the dark, a place he never thought he would be when it came to Clark Kent and Dick Grayson. Yet here he is digging for answers, because he is too scared to pick up the phone and call. 

6 Two-face: The Better Choice 

How do you reconcile the man who was once your friend with the monster he has become? Bruce reflects on how the man he once called his best friend changed. How could the man who helped him foster Dick, hold that baseball bat? 

7 Drowning: Omori’s Law

Deep in the sewer's under Gotham, Batman is trapped. There is no back up, no Robin. He is faced with the single truth that he tried to teach each of his partners... You have to save yourself. 

  8 Found Family: A Restoration from a Resilient Heart

Dick just wants to not be alone with the shadows in the house. Bruce doesn't realize he has lived with them for far to long, and maybe he doesn't have to anymore.

9 Adoption: The Irrefutable Truth

When he reached the reception, he found himself looking around a fairly empty room. There were a few call girls in the corner filling out forms, an older woman holding a dog, a kid that looked about twelve and a middle aged man who looked like he was ready to cry. He knew no one. Dick was about to turn around and head back to his desk when the on duty officer called out to him. Officer O’Conner was one of his fellow rookies, he had a thick accent. Dick thought he might be from Louisiana. “Grayson! Why didn’t you say your brother was coming to see you?” Dick looked at him with his mouth slightly open. There was no way he heard that right. “My what?” 

10 Bruises: Mr. Wayne

Tim is new to this. He's only been Robin for a little over six months. It was going well. But now he was going to be fired. Batman wouldn't want a partner who got caught at school with a black eye. Would he?

11 Bruce is dead: You Have One Saved Message 

Gotham gossip columns spread lies and smear good people's names. But yet Damian can't help but think maybe this mornings article was true.  That despite all his claims of being the true son of Bruce Wayne, he was in fact the only unwanted one.

12 CPR: Vital Signs 

Robin wakes to find him and Batman in an exploded factory. With Batman injured and the building burning around them, Dick struggles to get them both to safety.   

13 Dad:  Storge 

Bruce could have sworn his spirit had left him momentarily.  The sudden hollowness that filled him couldn’t be explained in any other way. 

 “Your dad must have his hands full with you.”  Elizabeth Ribbons leaned forward and patted Dick’s shoulder, as he reached for yet another slice of cheesecake from a passing waiter’s tray.  

Bruce fixed his eyes on the ice sculpture that hid him from view.  It suddenly seemed like the most interesting design in the world.  The soft lines of the ice on the otherwise insignificant over sized swan seemed like a lead shield...  Because Dick would read it easily in his expression. He wanted to be Dick’s dad.  But he wasn’t. 

14 Stealing the Batmobile: T-Minus Six Hours

Some days Tim is sure that he’s gonna be killed. Usually it’s some luck shot or near miss that made his life flash before his eyes. Not today though. Today he was positive Bruce was going to kill him. Yes, today was the day that Timothy Jackson Drake was going to be put down. He’s not sure that even Nightwing could save him. He was going to go down in history as the first sidekick to be murdered by their mentor. Because the Batmobile was definitely not where he’d parked it.

15 Wayne Enterprises: Amidst the Absence of Meaning 

Bruce is worried. He's running on less than three hours of sleep, and way too many cups of coffee. He had messed up. That much was obvious. The question was would Dick forgive him?

A gruesome night on patrol bleeds into Bruce's work day and now all he can wonder is if this is the thing that will push Dick over the edge? Had he finally seen to much pain?

16 Ransom: Sum of My Worth

The ring of the phone seemed to echo through the manor’s still too quiet long, winding halls, and everyone present collectively held their breath. Bruce lunged for the phone.   

17 Secret Injury: Hiding in Pain Sight

“What?” Dick asked sharper than he meant to. He was tired.

“Nothing.” Tim said with a small smirk. “Heavy is the head.”

Dick closed his eyes, glad that Tim couldn’t see them. He was so sick of this. Tim, Jason, Damian and Cass all didn’t think he was good enough, well Cass hadn’t said that, but Dick could read her. They didn’t think he was up to the job. Well they didn’t need to tell him that. He knew it.

18 Superboy: An Interlude in Breathing 

Tim looked out over the water in a daze. Bruce and Dick had gone somewhere below deck and he was alone. Well there were strangers on the ship mingling and talking excitedly--but Tim gave them no notice. Instead he watched the water lap up against the hull and crash down back to meet the dark, cold waters. They were far enough out that he could no longer see the shore. It was just endless expenses of sea and sky. Something tickled his neck and he started, only to realize he had been crying. It was only a tear slipping under his collar.

The days after the battle of Infinite Crisis

19 Betrayed: Smother

She took another drag of the cigarette, letting the smoke roll in her lungs for a long moment before allowing it hiss out between her teeth. The screams from the warehouse weren’t completely muffled by the distance, or the walls. Perhaps she was only imagining them. But then, sounds like that, she didn’t think she could dream up. She jumped after a particularly high pitched yelp. “Get a grip.” She dropped the cigarette and pulled out another. Her hand shook as she lit it. “It’s just some random kid. He’s not--” She bit back a sob. She didn’t deserve to cry. She had no right to tears, not when it was her fault.   

20 Crowbar: Breaklights

The mail fell to the ground and the paper smacked the tiles hard.  The sound in reality couldn’t have been all that loud, but it seemed to echo around the entryway.  Bruce didn’t look at the dropped bills and the invitation to a fundraiser for the new Gotham women’s shelter.  He was too fixated on the small stamp with the queen of England's head on it.  Wolverhampton.  

The large envelope was far heavier then it should have been.  Bruce could feel bile crawling up his throat.  

He had forgotten.

21 Deathstroke: Debts and Dues

There were some things that were never pleasant, getting caught in the snow without socks, losing your keys, and not being able to remember the name of a song. Having a gun pointed at your chest, Dick felt, qualified as extremely unpleasant. He stood stock still. The barrel of the gun was still hot, it burned slightly as it dug into his sternum. Even with his uniform he could still feel the heat left over from previous rounds fired. He didn’t flinch. He couldn’t flinch. “Move.” “You know I can’t.” Dick wondered if Slade had the guts to do it.   

22 Mission Gone Wrong: Murmur in the Quiet Hours

Superman? Clark froze. He knew that voice. But-- he had never heard it sounding so sad. Was that-- no. Clark dove for his phone, still on the counter from when he got home last night. The screen was black. Dead. Clark swore and dropped it. He was in his coat and shoes before it hit the counter top.   

23 Kidnapped:  Chum 

Dick trumped through the leaves, stopping his feet roughly. He relished the sound of the crunch beneath his shoes as he tread on the brown, dead leaves before him. He felt rather justified in his satisfaction. After all the world had taken so much from him, why wouldn’t he do his best to crush it in return. The woods were cool and as he went deeper into them they grew darker. The sun had long set, and the sky was quickly vanishing as the trees grew thicker. Wayne Manor was far behind him. He was never going back. He hated those pristine walls, those old floor boards. He hated the quiet. He hated the stuffy furniture and the rules and the vases and pictures. He hated his new guardian and that… that… Dick couldn’t remember what Alfred was called, but he hated it. The bag on his back felt heavy. It had everything Dick owned in it. Well and a toothbrush that Alfred had given him. But he didn’t think that was really stealing. 

24 Riddler: Seeking Silence on Shortwaves

Normally Dick would be happy to listen to Tim talk. In fact, Dick thought it was one of his favorite sounds in the world. Tim rarely allowed himself to be excited about things. Hearing him speak so freely and openly to Bruce and him about his plans was refreshing. Dick only wished it wouldn’t be at the cost of his life.

Batman hadn't always been so strict about talking unnecessarily over comms. When it was just two of them it hadn't mattered, their walkie talkie system had always worked. But now that Nightwing and Robin were in Gotham, it seems insane that they never realized: if only one person can talk over the radio at a time... how could they call for help?

25 Mr. Freeze: Glimpsing the Sun While Trapped in the Rime

He almost called Bruce between his fourth and fifth class. He pulled his phone out, leaning against his locker, and half dialed his number when a warm hand fell on his shoulder. “Hey.” Dick spun around and blinked back black spots as his body protested the sudden movement. A blaze of red hair filled his vision and Dick felt a small fire build in his chest. His face split into a wide smile.

After a run in with Mr. Freeze Dick finds himself feeling odd at school, but he can't go home, not when Barbara's asked him to drive her to Betty's party after school.

#batman bingo 2020 #Master Post #Batman #CK Writes #Nightwing #Dick Grayson #tim drake #Jason Todd #Damian Wayne #Red Hood #Red Robin #robin #My Writing

[soriseerakyra]

Nice to Meet You -9-

Being greeted by the visage of his middle son was not something Bruce had expected to see so soon.

 “Tim?” He questioned seeing the young man sitting in the computer chair typing away.

 “Hey,” the boy says casually not moving from the screen in front of him. “How was your date?”

 “Short,” Bruce replied slightly perturbed at the thought of his youngest son’s interruption.

 “She seems nice,” Tim says absently.

 “Looking through the file?”

 “That, and Barbara told me she met a woman who was filled out an exorbitant amount of missing persons’ cases and when I came down here to find out what you knew, I put two and two together.”

 Bruce looked at the files being moved on screen, “So you're down here to catalog.”

 “More or less, I also wanted to tease you about your date, but this is more important right now.”

 “Good,” Bruce says turning to leave the cave, “Tell me if you found any other similarities than the ones we’ve found.”

 “Will do, but more than likely you’re going to have to snoop around for them. Aside from the info that she’s given there is almost nothing about these people that stand out.”

 “Understood.”

 ***

“I’m not crazy, right? That’s weird, right?” You question into your cell phone as you spin around in your chair.

 “Don’t know,” Camille sighs. “I’ve never been on a date where someone’s kid ninja flips over the guardrails.”

 “It wasn’t the flipping,” you say planting your feet on the ground, feeling your head spin. “I mean, the flipping I can deal with, I was a weird kid too. It’s the ‘your kid suddenly being on a date with us thing’ I just wasn’t prepared for it.”

 “I imagine you weren’t.”

 “What does that mean?”

 “It means it takes you twenty minutes to use the bathroom in the office building because you are in the stall wiping down the seat six times on both sides because you saw a documentary one time about how you can get crabs from a toilet seat.”

 “...It’s a valid concern.”

 “I’m not saying it’s not valid, sweetie. I’m just saying that most people would just put down an extra layer of seat covering, not bleach the entire room.”

 You remain silent as she sighs and figures out a better way to say what she wants to say to you.

 “It is weird that you met his kid so soon and I imagine it would have been awkward too, but you would have to meet the kids eventually, right? Dating a parent is a package deal after all.”

 “I suppose,” you mumble.

 “And are you serious about giving this guy a chance?”

 “I...,” you pause and think for a moment. You hadn’t told her about your suspicions about the Bruce and Damian, you’d figured it would be rather rude to tell people about his identity without his permission, but that also meant that she wasn’t operating with the full amount of knowledge that you were and what the implications of getting serious about Bruce Wayne could mean.

 “Oh, hold on,” she says during your silence. “There is someone at the door.”

 You can her hear the slight tap of the phone being placed on the table and her heavier-than-normal footsteps pad to the door, but the phone is out of the way and you can’t hear what is being said other than the opening and shutting of the door.

 “Hello?” she questions as she picks the phone up.

 “Still here.”

 “Weirdest thing, hun,” she starts with a hum. “UPS man dropped off a package, but I haven’t ordered anything recently.”

 “What is it?” you question leaning back in your chair and let your eyes drift to the office wall clock. Your lips pull down into a frown as you see the time. It was almost three o’clock and you needed to print out the quarterly reviews for your floor before four.

 “It looks like, a radio,” Camille states shaking the metal object slightly. She puts it down and uses her free hand to turn the dials on the small rectangular device. Her face lights up slightly when the radio hums to life and the first sounds she hears are the familiar yet foreign sounds of doo-wop tones flowing out of the radio. “It’s got good sound for being so small.”

 “Maybe it is a gift?” You say shifting the phone to rest between your shoulder and ear as you bring the reports that you need and hit print. “Listen, I needed to head to the copy room and you know there is no service down there.”

 “Yeah, okay,” she says absently smoothing over the metallic finish of the small radio. “Call me after work so we can finish having this talk.”

 “I will,” you say standing and stretching

 “Actually, you know what? Eric is out of town why don’t you come over?”

 “I don’t know,” you say looking out of one of wide paned windows of your office building.

 “Call a cab when you are done and I’ll pay for it okay?”

 “All right,” you say with a smile.

 “See you then, love.”

 The click of the phone brought you back to the reality of your office. Dull office chatter filled your ears, offering a comfortable amount of white noise to the room. There were occasionally the extended lulls in conversation that offered up an awkward silence but that usually didn’t last long.

 Tapping your fingers anxiously at your desk you wait, until the message all your papers are finished printing to finally stand up and make your way down to the copy room.

 “Anyone need me to pick up some printouts?” You ask politely.

 A few of your co-workers ignore you, too busy filling out their own reports or the sound is muted in their ears by head phones. Others shake their heads’.

 A platinum blonde woman, about your age with wide rimmed glasses, shoots her pen up with a smile and calls out, “Me!” weakly.

 “Got it, Ana,” you say with a smile, and turn to exit through the elevators when no one else speaks up.

 The ride down to the fifth floor was short and sweet and luckily the floor itself seemed to be empty, which meant the you were lucky enough not to have to make awkward small talk with the usual assistants that occupied the space.

 Heading in, you make your way to the printer assigned to your floor, only to find someone already standing there looking over some of the papers that seemed to have come out of the machine.

 The man wore a well pressed burgundy suit with a mustard yellow shirt underneath accompanied with a black tie and matching dress shoes. He turns to look at you and his narrow brown eyes widen slightly at your presence, probably startled because you hadn’t bothered to announce yourself.

 “I know you,” he says snapping his fingers in an attempt to jog his memory, but he can’t quite place your name. “You came with us from San Francisco, right?”

 “That’s right, Mr. Preston,” you say voice slightly small at the recognition and the unexpected meeting with your boss.

 “One of the loyal ones, huh?” he questions bringing a brown hand up to grab the handkerchief from his breast pocket to wipe sweat from his brow. “I hope, you're setting a good example, we’ve lost so many since we moved here.”

 You don’t respond right away to his claims and you watch as he goes to dab again at the sweat on his brow and then at the beads of sweat at his neckline. His closely shaved head, seemed never to stop sweating.

 ‘Does that mean people are actually leaving the company?’ you think to yourself.

 “Are you well, sir?” you question eyes moving to meet his own and finding large purple bags underneath them. It was so strange, despite his current appearance, the man you’d first met had been practically glowing. His already bronzed skin had been kissed beautifully by the ever-present California sun, that added with the fact that he was the younger of the two partners had made this transformation slightly starling.

 “Haven’t been sleeping well,” He replies honestly. You believe it, but the pales ness of his brown skin tells you something more than sleepless nights is plaguing him. “But according to these reports I should sleep better, your floor seems to be doing excellent.”

 He raises the stack of paper he was reading in his free hand and dabs himself again with the other.

 “Thank you, Sir,” you say reaching out to take the stack from him.

 He lets the papers go and he meets your eyes for a few seconds when your fingers accidentally brush against each other. His stare seems shivers down your spine as you notice how blank his eyes are, like he’s looking through you.

 He rocks back on his heels and lets out a huff and strained smiled, “Well then, have a good rest of your day.”

 You don’t get to respond as he pushes past your quickly, but his speed seems to be impaired by a slight limp in his left leg. You finally let out a breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding and wipe the fingers he touched on the sides of your pants.

 The shuffling of paper lets you know that the machine has started up again, and that it is most likely Ana’s documents spooling out of the printer.

 ‘So, strange,’ you think to yourself.

 ***

It’s nine ‘o'clock when the cab pulls up in front of your office building. You jump when the yellow cab honks at you but you quickly slide in and give the driver Camille's address.

 ‘On my Way,’ you text, ‘Sorry it’s late, today was review day and you know how that goes.’

 You wait for a response casually looking at the screen for the telltale dots to appear on your phone, but they never do. The only thing that changes is a read receipt that tells you that she had at least looked at the message.

 ‘Maybe she’s upset I’m so late.’

 You lean back and watch the city pass in silence. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched the lights pass by, excited to have a sleepover with your friend.

 A half hour passes and in you are in an older more suburban part of Gotham, filled with two story town houses and the occasional Victorian. The cab stops in front of a white house that you recognize as the property that Camille had stated was left to Eric by his grandmother.

 “$34.20.” the driver says slightly frustrated, he’d been trying to get your attention while you stared out the window.

 Checking your phone and still not seeing a response you quickly pull out three twenties from your wallet and hand the money to the many through the partition and wait for your change.

 Once you are out of the car and the door closes behind you, the cab speeds off, leaving a small skid mark on the street.

 You look up with wide eyes at the building in front of you and fill your heart thud, with nervousness.

 ‘Why are there no lights on?’ you think worriedly to yourself.

 Reaching into your bag you pull your house keys and a can of pepper spray. You quickly tuck the can into your front pocket and thread the keys through your fingers, giving you a makeshift version of brass knuckles.

 Walking upstairs to the building you knock gently and are slightly relieved when the door doesn’t swing back already open. However, the pounding of your heart skips into overdrive when you reach for the doorknob and spot scrapes in the wooden door frame. To your horror, the knob turns, unlocked, when you grab it.

 Bile jumps to the back of your throat when you push the door open. The darkened room seemed normal enough as you stumbled in and searched for the light switch. Running your hands up against the wall you feel the familiar bumps of a light switch and flick on the appliance.

 The light turns on giving way to yellow painted white trimmed walls of the two-story town house. Everything seems normal. There is a small brown couch setting unmoved on top of a burgundy rug and topped with a matching through. In front of it a small wooden candle adorned coffee table. Each piece of furniture aligning to face a gray-stoned fireplace.

 Walking in your carefully watch the wooden floor, making sure there is no blood or weapon that you are disturbing.

 “Cami?” you call hoping that she’d only forgotten to lock the door, but you knew better.

 When no response comes, you walk further into the house and find yourself standing in between the living room, the combined kitchen and small dining room. Quickly peeking into the white tiled room, you let out a huff of relief when you don’t spot any blood soiling in the perfectly renovated kitchen.

 Walking back over to the couch, a metallic shine catches your eye. A small radio sits in the middle of the coffee table. Picking up you feel the weight shift in your hand. There is a small red light indicating that the radio is indeed turned on, but as you turn each of the small front facing knobs nothing happens. No sound comes out.

 A vibration on your left thigh causes you to take your attention away from the radio and you place your keys down on the table so you can look at your phone. Slipping it quickly from your back left pocket, you swallow quickly when you see that the message is from Camille.

 “‘Don’t worry about it. Maybe we can reschedule, I’m going to bed early tonight. Call you in the morning?’” You read out loud feeling tears well up in your eyes. “Oh God!”

 There is a thump from the front door that causes you to wipe your head up. You put your phone away and quickly arm yourself with your pepper spray.  Walking from the living room to the entrance hall, your shoulders drop their tension when see the door being whipped up by the wind. You close it and make your way back to the living room.

 Fear isn’t something that you are unfamiliar with, it was par for the course with your everyday paranoia, but this was different. You don’t remember the last time that you felt so violently ill and yet starving at the same time, as you felt your stomach almost churn. Your arms feel light and heavy at the same time and your tongue seems to turn into sandpaper in your mouth.

 In the living room, in the exact same place where you had stood not a minute before, stood a man or a creature in a brown jacket. He had what looked like black armor underneath. On his head, he wore a blood read mask and when he turned his head to examine you, you couldn't help but feel that you were stuck to the ground. What's more, was that as your eyes scanned his form, noting that he was significantly more muscular than the robber you’d encountered previously meaning that there was even a slimmer chance of you escaping the situation unscathed, there was the black shine of a gun barrel that swayed to and fro with every movement of his arm.

 “I-I,” you start hand shaking as you try to raise your arm to ready your pepper spray, only to have your eyes fall upon the mask of the intruder and realize that your defense would be useless.

 The man doesn’t say anything and instead opts to press a gloved finger over where his mouth should be. You watch as he picks up the radio and he brings it to where his ear should be and listen carefully. He shakes his head in frustration and the violently uses his hands to crush the radio.

 He lets the remnants fall to the ground and he cocks his head as if he’s analyzing something. He searches through the pieces until he finds what he wants. Despite his roughness, a small motherboard like object remains intact and from your point of view you can see the rhythmic beating of a red light against his black gloved palm.

 “A tracker,” he mutters voice slightly distorted through his mask.

 “A tracking device?” you question feeling your eyebrows furrow as the man slips the small device into his pocket.

 “Your friend is gone,” the man says as he lulls his head in your direction before exploring the immediate area around the living room. “No one is in this house, I’ve already been upstairs.”

 You aren’t sure if he says it to reassure you but the fact that he had been inside the entire time you’d been has you feeling light headed with distress.

 “Someone took her?” You question softly. It's a lazy question, a dumb question but it's the only thing that your lips can form to say as your mind processes the fact that the man, for the moment, doesn’t seem to mean you any harm.

 “It doesn’t look like they hurt her, at least too bad,” he says ignoring you. “There’s no blood around here. Which means they are at least trying to keep her alive. She’s not dead yet, so be happy about that.”

 You feel your back hit the wall as your mind parses out his words. Everything that he’s saying makes total sense, but your mind can’t seem to move on from the words blood and dead. What kind of monster would kidnap Camille?

 “I-I should call the police,” you mumble to yourself pulling your phone from your pocket.

 “Why so they can come ruin the crime scene? You call them in here and it’ll be like having a bull in the China shop.”

 Your fingers pause, over the dial button and you glance back at the man. If he’s not here to hurt you, then is he one of the Robins that Camille talked about? That would explain the strange outfit.

 “Are you like Batman?” you test.

 He doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t turn back to you, but you don’t miss the way that his neck crooks slightly to the left in irritation when you say the name. You don’t miss how his fingers clench and unclench as if he’s trying to keep himself from losing his temper.

 “Answer me!” you say loudly surprising yourself and causing the man to whip around and face you. “If you’re not, I don’t have a reason to assume that you aren’t working with whoever took Camille. So, are you like Batman or not?”

 He sizes you up for a moment and if you could see him without the mask you know you’d see him furrow his brow.

 “I’m better.”

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