Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The punch was easier to avoid than the earlier kick. Though his stomach ached from where he had been struck, he continued to fight.

He moved out of the way, letting his mother's punch hit the air. Grabbing her arm, Jericho pulled her back before letting her fly across the room. She hit the training may with a thud, and it took her a moment to get back up again.

"I suppose that I deserve that." She stood up, leaning against the wall. "I really deserve that." She chuckled and looked over to him. "How are you feeling, son?"

Jericho simply gave her a thumbs up.

"Need anything?"

He froze for a moment, his hands limp at his side. Finally, he raised a sweaty hand up and formed a "W" with his index, middle, and ring fingers. He tapped it to his chin. Once had finished, he swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat; it took two more times to properly get it all the way down.

"I'm on it, Joe; both of us need to stay hydrated." Adeline turned, her dark ponytail swaying. Even after the fight that they had just had, the one where Joseph had put everything that she had taught him to use, she still stood tall and looked unbothered. She turned, looking back at him wide eyed. "Need me to get any bandages? Maybe some ice?"

Joseph nodded. He hadn't actually checked any of his injuries, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

His mother disappeared, giving him a moment to pull himself together. Sweat still ran down his neck and back; even with all the deodorant that he had used earlier, he still stank. He would probably need his inhaler as well; rocks ached his lungs, and his shaking legs were filled with steel.

His mother had said that today's lesson wouldn't be easy.

She just hadn't said that it would be this hard either.

When Adeline returned, she had two bottles of water and a small bag full of medical supplies with her. She was humming a song, though Joseph didn't recognize it.

With one quick throw, the water bottle was flying across the room, and then in Joseph's hands. He uncapped it and took a long drink of water, letting the cool liquid run down his dry throat. Most days, he was always thirsty, but his training days with his mother were the hardest. No matter how much water he drank beforehand, he always ended up with a desert dry throat by the time his lesson was over.

He took another long sip, a bit of the cold water dribbling down his chin.

"Need me to look over any of your bruises? Or can you do that yourself?" A look of worry flashed through her own eyes. Her own water bottle was held near her lips, though she had yet to touch it. "If you need any help, I'm right here."

Joseph pointed to himself and nodded. Walking forward, he took the small bag from his mother and sat down. Digging around inside, he found a number of freshly made ice packs, bandages, and numbing cream. His bright blue inhaler was in there as well, which he pulled out first.

Adeline plopped down beside him. She pulled out some bandages and began to unwind them. "You did great today, Joe."

Joseph smiled.

"You know, I remembered when I first learned this; before I practiced using it, I was terrified."

Joseph raised an eyebrow.

"Hey, it's true! It took me a little while to get used to it." She shrugged. "But hey, those are some useful techniques. I had to learn them, no matter how terrifying. It was better that I knew them then the person that I was fighting."

Slowly, his mother patched up her own wounds. Each movement was slow and careful, and her sharp eyes surveyed every part of her body. Her bruises were smaller than Joseph had expected, and all of them could be easily covered with some form of clothing.

Once he had used his inhaler, he began to work on healing himself. His bruises covered his stomach and the sides of his arms, but they weren't as bad as they could have been. Once they were numb and covered in bandages, they were easy to deal with.

"We'll cover this again in a few days." Adeline grinned. "You're a natural, Joe."

His cheeks blazed, but the blond could not help but smile. Before she could stand up, he wrapped his arms around her waist and squeezed her tightly.

"Could you loosen up a little?" Adeline chuckled.

Quickly, Joseph loosened his grip on her. She pulled a little away from his chest, and yet leaned up and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Those hugs of yours could choke a man." She smirked. "Maybe you should teach me how to do that sometime."

Chapter Text

"Joseph, remember to put on some sunscreen!" Adeline called.

The man in question rolled his eyes. He looked away from her.

Across from him, Kole giggled. "She's right, you know."

Joseph raised an eyebrow.

"Hey, don't tell me that you haven't heard of getting a sunburn before. It's a real problem." Kole put a hand on her side. "Believe me, I got a really bad one when I was a kid. I've been putting on sunscreen ever since then." She reached into her small bag. Decorating the side is a brightly colored drawing of a dolphin swimming through neon blue water. "Come on, I can put it on you."

She laid a beach towel and umbrella out, and then held a container of sunscreen high. "Now lay down."

Joseph really just wanted to start sketching, but he laid down anyway. He hadn't been to the beach in years, not since he was a small little boy. Things had been different then.

He closed his eyes.

Back then, his family had still been together. They had been the image of a happy family - regularly attending synagogue, both parents attentive, and each willing to do anything in the world for their children. His brother had been alive and he had lived with his father; back then, he had been a good man.

Or, Joseph thought, a chill running up his spine, maybe I just had not realized what kind of a man he truly was yet.

"Joey?"

Joseph's eyes opened once again, and he quickly pulled up. His body met with another.

He turned around and placed the fingers of his fist to his chest, directly over his heart. He made a circle over the area.

"Sorry." It was a simple sign, but it was the only one that he could think of using.

Kole shrugged. "You were looking really stressed; your eyes were gazing intently at something I couldn't see; I thought something might be wrong."

Joseph shook his head. He looked away from her.

The whole reason that his mother had wanted to take a vacation was to get a break.

"You can hang up your costume and be Joey. We can all go out and have fun together." She had grinned. "Kole can come too."

Jericho stood up; there was no point in dwelling on this any longer. He took a foot off the beach towel and entered the warm, soft sand.

"Hey!"

Joseph looked back to Kole.

"Don't think that this gets you out of using sunscreen." She pointed back to the towel, and Joseph laid back down.

She got back to work in an instant, rubbing sunscreen down his back. The feel of her hands across his back was soft and soothing; the sunscreen was cold, and for a moment his body cooled against the otherwise hot air.

She went down his legs and then put some on his neck and the top of his ears. Once she finished that side, he turned over. She repeated the process on his chest, arms, and the upper side of his legs. She even put some on the tops of his feet.

Once she had finished, she leaned in forward and gave him a kiss. He wrapped his arms around her waist; she wore only a dark bikini, so everything he touched was soft skin.

Kole was the one to release it. For a moment, she still remained in his arms.

"That sunscreen must not be working, because you're still red." She chuckled. "Need me to put something on your face."

Joseph shook his head and released his grip on her. She stood up, the sunlight reflecting off of her red hair.

Joseph put sunscreen on his own face. Once he finished, he stood back up and stretched out his arms and legs.

Kole sat under the shade of the umbrella, though her finger was pointed towards the ocean. "Want to go swim?"

Joseph nodded.

In only moments, she was back up on her feet. "Race you there!"

The two took off running; in one moment, Joseph was in the lead, forcing his legs to move as quickly as possible. In the next, Kole was ahead of him.

Neither were really sure who hit the cold, clear blue water first.

Chapter Text

The sound of glass breaking echoed throughout the apartment. For a moment, Joseph stiffened and his muscles formed a defensive pose. Images of masked burglars filled his mind, something that he had never faced, but could knock out in moments.

However, it was only Kole that he found standing in the center of his mother's living room. She bit her lip, her eyes never once leaving the mess on the floor.

Joseph's green eyes shifted down, his muscles still tense and half raised to strike.

"I suppose," Joseph signed, his hands finally pulling Kole's eyes away from the shattered vase on the floor, "that I should go get a broom."

She shook her head. "I apologize." Kole raised a hand, and the glass pieces below her began to rise. One by one, they pieced back together into their earlier shape; their adhesive was shiny crystal.

By the time it was finished, her face had softened. She leaned down and picked the vase back up.

Before, it had been pure white other than having a few specks of purple paint on it. It had been a clear artistic choice, and Adeline had paid a hefty price for it. There were many days where Joseph would come home to find a new type of flower inside of it, its aroma encasing the room.

Now, the vase was held together once more. The pieces, however, were just a little further apart from each other. The crystal was clear to see; sunlight coming in from a nearby window reflected off of it.

"I'm sorry." Kole repeated. She bent her head down, red hair blocking her eyes. "How am I supposed to explain this to your mother?"

Joseph's eyes looked back to the kitchen. The cake was still baking, and even from where he stood in the living room the smell was strong.

"You look after the cake." His hands moved quickly. Moving forward, he took the vase from her hands and placed it back on the shelf.

It had been one of a kind, an item to be sold at only one art auction. The moment Adeline had seen it, her eyes had never left it. All the while, a younger Joseph had sat next to her in a hard metal chair, doodling away in his sketchbook. One day, his mother had promised, his own art would be auctioned off at an incredible price.

"I'm going to the store to get flowers." Once his hands turned still, he turned.

The vase, now held together with genuine crystal, had just risen dramatically in price. That, however, could be explained later.

"Alright," Kole responded. She turned towards the kitchen. "Should I wait to frost it once you've come back?"

He shook his head.

Kole only nodded in reply. "I promise to make sure that nothing happens to it. I don't believe that your mother would like it if she discovered her cake had been turned to crystal."

Joseph laughed, a breathy sound that came out of his nose. His jaw and fell, the image adding for the sounds that he could not make it.

"That," Joseph replied, signing a little slower than earlier, "would certainly be a birthday surprise."

Chapter Text

It is almost surreal, getting to be a civilian - getting to be anybody. Joseph put his head down after grabbing his newspaper, letting the clerk keep the small bit of change. Already, Joseph had enough loose change to deal with.

The cover and title would have been sickening to anyone, but to him it was pure bone chilling. The hands that held the newspaper were as white a pillow sheet, and his grip was hard. The paper crinkled, its former smoothness lost.

DEATHSTROKE FOUND TO BE ASSASIN OF LOST POLITICIAN

His stomach churned.

The picture was even worse; this was not a family newspaper by any means, but a picture of the politician's corpse was certainly not something he wanted to see. Even printed in black and white, it was easy to tell where the blood stains were.

Then again, the person who put the picture there probably did not care. Whatever sold newspapers was fine with them.

He had to read the article to remember the politician's name; he had never been one to follow the political climate, and more often that not learned about it from others.

All politicians were corrupt in one way or another - some were just better at hiding it.

On May seventeenth, at precisely four-thirty in the morning, the body of William Z. Christopher was found dead in his bedroom by one of his hired staff. The worker, who wishes to be left unnamed, was horrified by what she saw and immediately called the police, who arrived only minutes later. After a weeklong investigation, Deathstroke has finally been discovered to be the killer. The culprit, a villain known well by the Teen Titans and FBI, has not been caught. No leads have been found on where he is hiding. The case was determined due to similar murder types based on past cases. Read more on page C3.

Joseph froze. The moment he could move again, he turned in the opposite direction towards the library. They had newspapers dating all the way back to The Great Depression; if any place had what he was looking for, it was them.

He walked past the newspaper stand, and the black man that he had bought the newspaper from earlier smiled at him.

Joseph plastered on his best fake smile back; it was like putting on his costume and trying to convince the world that he was only Jericho and no one else, but in his civilian body.

There was nothing wrong with the guy; he just sold the newspapers that were shipped into him, nothing more. He never got to choose the headlines or the photos, and he certainly didn't make the headlines.

Joseph scowled down at the smaller image of his masked father. It seemed more like an after thought than anything, something else thrown in at the last moment.

Once he got to the library, he made his way upstairs to where they kept the newspapers. A few other people were around, though they were all focused on older issues or different newspapers. No one noticed him - just like them, in here, in normal clothing, he was a nobody.

He immediately dug through newspapers, bringing up dates by memory. The headlines, though worded differently, were all the same.

There were a whole list of names, a whole number of people dead.

It was a good thing that Joseph hadn't eaten lunch yet, or else he was sure that he would have hurled right there on the library floor.

All of the politicians rang a bell.

His mother had supported all of them.

He raced out of the library and to the nearest trash can, dropping the newspaper inside. His legs carried him home, back where he could take off his every day costume and be a somebody again.

However, once he got to the door, his hand shook and it took a few times to get the key in.

Surely Adeline would already know.

Chapter Text

Even as a young child, back when his family had been together and he had considered his life happy enough, he had complimented on his eyes.

"They're so green," people would compliment. "They're beautiful."

He would stiffen at their compliments and hold his mother's leg tighter. He had been a shy, quiet child; it had been easier to hide behind his mother and brother than to acknowledge the people before him.

However, no one's compliments hurt quite like those made by friend's of his father. All of them were tall, thin men, with cold eyes that came in all colors. Their eyes would shift over him, only a child at the time, and make comment after comment. Adeline would never be home at the time, and his father made sure no one breathed a word about it. Grant was rather indifferent to it, and did not need his father's reminder to not bring it up.

Afterwards, once his father and his friends were gone, Joseph would close the door to the bathroom, pull up a footstool to the sink, and then stand on top of it. For hours some days, the blond child would look at himself, analyzing every inch of his face and skin. Most of the time would be spent looking at his eyes, as green as an emerald and as bright as fresh grass.

When his mother came home, her high heels clacking on the hardwood floor as she entered, he would put the footstool away and leave the bathroom. She would simply think that he had been inside for regular reasons; sometimes, he would flush the toilet before he left for good measures.

It wasn't hard to draw himself. In between drawings of dinosaurs, dogs, and cats would be pictures of himself, his green eyes the focus of the piece. None of the other drawings of his friend's or family had quite the detail.

Those were the drawings that he hid.

When Adeline left, she took her sons and one of her husband's eyes with her. Grant had struggled to adjust to the new life, while Joseph had taken it calmly. He drew, played guitar, and learned American Sign Language with his mother. He never put a five hand to his forehead, never signed the word "father". Slade was the elephant in the room, and Joseph was glad to never bring him up.

All in all, he had a good life. Joseph's drawings and guitar and violin playing all improved. Soon enough, the compliments left his eyes and turned towards his talents.

"Oh, if I could only draw like that."

"He could be a star."

"When he grows up is he going to Julliard?"

And that was just fine with him. Adeline beamed whenever someone said that, and soon enough he was able to smile along as well.

When Grant left and never came home, Joseph kept pushing himself forward. There was another elephant in the room, and another family sign that he was never to form with his hands.

And then, years later, when the elephant finally fell, Joseph did not even blink when he came home to find all the mirrors covered and his mother crying. It was not as if there was anything in the mirrors that he needed to see.

Like before, he simply went forward, even if it meant just going through the motions.

This was his only life, and unlike some he could at least be proud of it.

There were some things just not worth turning and looking back on. He could only look forward, his eyes as green as the coming spring and his hands ready to either sign or strike.

Chapter Text

Above them, the stars twinkled on, burning bright against the dark sheet of night. Jericho had read enough about stars to know their fates - most were already dead, their glow only a memory of something once amazing.

Thankfully, he himself had not become a star. None of the Titans had.

"My bones are aching," Herald commented. "I'm so glad the fight is over."

And it was - the Brotherhood of Evil headquarters in shambles, itself only a memory.

Jericho nodded.

He hadn't been sure what to expect once the fight was over. Some had decided to party, Beast Boy yelling that Titans Tower was open, and that he was ready to start calling the pizza delivery men. Others had scattered to places of their own and declared their own celebrations.

Jericho had simply moved forward. When Herald had offered to take him home, he had been thrilled.

The mountain always looked better at night. There were whole nights where Jericho would simply stay up all night, his eyes set on the stars. Moonlight was the only light here; street lamps, neon signs, and fluorescent light bulbs existed in cities hundreds of thousands of miles away. This was the earth the world had forgotten, a place almost completely untouched by human hands.

Jericho stopped moving, and Herald quickly took notice. He turned around and looked to him.

"Is something wrong?" Herald asked. Worry tinged his voice, and he clutched his trumpet tighter.

Jericho shook his head. He raised his hands from his side and began to sign. "It isn't really over, is it?"

"Huh? What do you mean?"

Jericho looked back up to the sky. His hands moved on. "There will still be crime."

For a moment, Herald was silent and Jericho's hands were still. Perhaps he should have signed something different.

"I get what you mean." Herald grinned. "But that doesn't make me any less happy. Sure, we'll still have guys robbing banks, but they don't hold a candle to Brotherhood of Evil. They were just plain evil, and they knew it. They didn't try to reform themselves or stop hurting people - unless you count Kid Flash's new girlfriend."

Jericho snorted through his nose. Well, he definitely had a point.

"That kind of evil has to be stopped." Herald turned away from him. "If not, then more people would have just gotten hurt. They knew exactly what they were doing. With the butt kicking we just gave them, I believe that the world is safe from a new Brotherhood of Evil or a Brotherhood of Evil copycat for a good long while." Herald turned back and held out his hand, and Jericho took it. Herald squeezed it. "And that's why I'm so glad that we fought back. The Brotherhood of Evil needed to be stopped, and I'm glad that the Titans took the risk. We had to pound them into the dust. And, you should know, you were great out there."

Jericho's cheeks flushed. He broke his hand away from Herald's hold, and then gestured towards the dark skinned boy.

"Thanks," Herald said. "I'd like to believe that I did great as well."

His smile was infectious. Soon enough, Jericho slipped his hand around Herald's own again. This time, he was the first to squeeze.

The two walked forward once more. At first, Jericho hadn't understood why he had dropped them off near the bottom of the mountain, but now he understood. Every sight took his breath away; his hands itches to grab a pencil and capture the moment on paper forever.

"Hey," Herald said after a while.

Jericho raised a blond eyebrow.

"If you ever got bothered by the crime still in the world, just know that I'm uncomfortable too." He grinned. "I would always be glad to work with you to help stop criminals."

Jericho nodded. A rush of warmth ran through him.

He looked up to the sky, to the stars that burned on and lit up the world even after going through the hardest times.

Perhaps he and Herald were stars after all.

Chapter Text

The world was a binary - it had to be. If not, how could it have held itself together for so long? Where there was bad, there always had to be good, lest the world break apart. And if there was good then there surely had to be evil, if only because there were those who served only themselves and never thought of others.

However, it was not justice that had brought Jericho to this side of Jump City, but his own two feet. He had taken each and every step knowing exactly where he was going.

And he was the one who plopped down next to Kyd Wykkyd, giving the other only a mere look before the other had nodded. Having his consent, he had sat down.

He didn't know how long that he had been doing this. The days, weeks, and months had all started to blur in his mind. However, he knew for sure that it had not been a year yet. That he at least knew.

Perhaps it was just the comfortable silence, being around someone like him - someone who understood and never questioned him. It wasn't, Jericho reminded himself, because he himself was evil. If he came before crime, Jericho would do everything in his power to stop it, and do the best that he possibly could to at least try to defeat it.

However, here, in that small space in the city, with it's small little sitting space and star filled sky, no evil occured.

Kyd Wykkyd nearly blended in with the shadows. He simply drew a question mark in the air at the sight of the guitar strapped on Jericho's back.

Jericho pointed to himself, and then shook two Y hands at his shoulders. Two simple words - "I play".

Kyd nodded, and gestured towards him.

Jericho took his guitar off and began to play. He had certainly enjoyed the comfortable, unquestioned silence before, but tonight he had needed something different.

Coming here, he knew, didn't make him equal to Slade.

It couldn't, not when he really thought about it. What would coming and sitting with a villain really do to him? There was no fighting, just silence and star filled gazes. His father killed without question; something told Jericho that sitting here and playing his guitar next to a former H.I.V.E. member was not nearly as bad, let alone in the same ballpark.

After playing for a while, he noticed that Kyd silently inched closer. Their elbows touched and a shiver ran up Jericho's spine.

It was a nice feeling, and no one was getting hurt.

He played on.

During those nights, there was no good and there was no evil. There was just them, blending together and sitting side by side. Though their night's were simple and followed formula (save this night), Jericho always got excited about it and counted down the days.

He did not flinch when Kyd began to massage his elbow with a gentle hand, nor was he surprised when Kyd met his lips once Jericho stopped playing. His lips, he noticed, were soft and warm, which was surprising considering his otherwise cold appearance.

Then again, looks could be decieving.

The feeling that ran through them as they embraced, Jericho noted, was perhaps the best feeling in the whole (two-sided? Three-sided? Four-sided?) world.

Chapter Text

The emptiness that filled his chest was cold, though it was more like a cold mist than ice. This feeling was not exactly solid, and never stuck to just one area. It ran through him, coating him in pain. There were not signs for this, nor any word fitting for it in the English dictionary. How could there be a word, anyway? This kind of pain was indescribable.

Sometimes he knew how it started, but most of the time it just came. It entered somewhere, usually his chest or arms, and then ran through his body. Blankets did nothing to warm him, and it was hard to distract himself from it.

Perhaps he should have gotten used it by then.

Anyone else would, he mused. Jericho had been having them since he was a child, since his world fell apart and his mother could not give him answers.

"You shouldn't have to worry about them." Adeline had said. Her own eyes had been sad, and there were times where her strong composure broke. Her limbs would turn limp and her frown would deepen, and it would physically pain him to look into her eyes. He would give her some of his cookies and candy, even some of his stuffed animals to cuddle, to try and help her.

Now, however, he knew that he could not. It had been months since he had gone home for a visit, and he did not know how he would be able to get down the mountain in his condition.

At his side sat his guitar, untouched and sad looking. Whenever he was like this, his limbs would turn into noodles and he could hold almost nothing.

For the longest time, his eyes would stare at nothing, and memories would crop up. Those were the bad memories, the kind that no one was allowed to know - not even him. Yet try as he might, there was no box or dark hole in his mind that could fit everything that he wanted to forget. The dark cloud in his brain could only block so much - some things stuck, imprinted forever in his mind.

Jericho didn't know when Herald arrived, but he knew that it was him who wrapped his arms around him and brought him in his lap. On most days, he would have been (literally) jumping up and down to see him.

Now, however, he could only lean in closer to the other boy and try to warm himself.

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

Jericho shook his head - a feat in and of itself. His limbs seemed robotic, but as if they had been manufactured in all the wrong places. Besides, he could barely bring his hands up from his lap, let alone sign something.

For the longest time, he stared forward. Herald had started to hum, though Jericho did not know what.

Herald got the same way sometimes, Jericho knew. He had seen the empty look in his eyes, and Jericho had done his best to help him.

Maybe Herald supposed helping Jericho back was a fair trade.

Some part in the back of his mind was sure that Herald knew. There were times when he had come close to telling the other boy, when his hands had been hard to control and he had nearly signed out his secrets.

The only things that had stopped him was the pain in his chest and the fear of what Herald would think once he knew.

Chapter Text

Sometimes Joseph would pull the mirror out of his closet and look into it. It was a rare occasion, however, and most days he had considered donating it or selling it or even just throwing it out. It wasn't as though he would die without it. But just as soon as he thought of an idea on how to get rid of it, the urge to look at it would run through him in waves, beating hard against him as if his body was a sandy shore. Unable to stop the tide, he would pull the mirror out and ensure that it stayed in his room a little while longer.

He always did this when Adeline was gone. Whether she just needed to go out and get groceries, or if she had a solo mission or some other form of business to attend to, Joseph would always wait until she was out. The mirror had been in his room since Grant's death, positioned to where he could not look at it; rather than simply covering it, he had packed it away where he could not see it. Joseph had done the same with the toys Grant had given him, some hand me down clothes that he knew after the funeral he would never be able to wear again, and anything else that even made him think of his older brother.

But when he took the mirror out, he thought not of Grant. How could he when it wasn't his brother reflecting back at him, but Joseph himself?

It would need only a quick, fast dusting for Joseph to be able to see himself reflected clearly.

It was not his body that he noticed, no matter how hard muscled; he didn't need to see it to know that it was there, not when he could feel his muscles being put to use in fights. And he didn't need to touch a hair on his head, because somehow his blond curls managed to look presentable whenever he went out.

No, it was his eyes that caught his attention. The irises were so green, almost cartoon like. It was the color of fresh spring grass and emeralds, so different from the lighter green eyes of some of his past girlfriends.

It was no wonder how they got him so many compliments; if Joseph himself could not look away, then how could others not as well?

They would glow sometimes while he stared, turning even greener. His pupils would shrink, sometimes the point where the black dots were almost impossible to see.

However, there would be no one to possess. His eyes would realize this and turn off by themselves - an involuntary function he could not help but despise. Others got to see their powers at hand for much longer.

Soon enough, though, the mirror would be back inside his closet, where his mother could not see. It would hide amongst other the other things that Grant still clung to, and would wait for him in the darkness. One day, he would pull it out again and let the glass glow green.

Until then, he would move onto other things, his earlier desire to see himself filled.

Chapter Text

This was nothing like the jails on TV, with simple bars and cold stone walls. No, that would have been too easy for his father - for more than half of the villains inside - to break free and begin their reigns of terror once more. This jail, rather, was meant for the likes of them, the real criminals. As Joseph walked forward, Adeline just slightly ahead of him, he could feel the glares of the others on him. Most of them were villains that he had seen on the news, the kind that made headlines and struck fear into the hearts of millions.

His own face remained blank, as stoic as that of a Greek statue. Joseph had no need to glare back at them, not unless they wanted their bodies and minds invaded; considering that they were already in jail, however, there was no point in using his powers on them.

Besides, he was in his civilian clothes.

Adeline had gotten in on a lie, explained that she needed something else. If there was anything that his mother could do, it was lie. She had done it for years, lying to keep away from her husband and to keep her children safe. By now, her life was that of masks, and even Joseph no longer knew just when she was wearing one. After all, the person that she had lied to the most throughout the years was herself.

What she had told the guard, Joseph could no longer remember. Not that it truly mattered - already, they were inside and walking freely.

This prison was high security, with sterile, cold floors and walls that shined. If Joseph looked down, he could see himself trapped in the marble, his own green eyes beckoning back up to him. Electricity and bulletproof glass kept the prisoners inside their cells, along with high security keypads. Considering they used finger prints, there was no way that any normal person could release someone.

At the very end of the dimly lit hallway, Joseph saw a face he had not seen in a long time, but would still recognize anywhere. Though his father's hair had turned grey, and he had never seen him with any of his eye patches on before (his mask, however, was different). No armor covered him, and no longer was his mask there to hide him.

There was his father, trapped in a cell and completely powerless to save himself.

His one blue eye widened in shock. He got off of his small cot and stepped forward. Slade only wore a prison uniform, a horrifically bright orange that surely no one would miss.

"Adeline? Joey?" His voice shook, and had he not spoken those names then surely Joseph would have thought that he was an imposter.

Adeline's face remained blank, as did Joseph's. For a moment, he blinked, letting his eyes shut.

"Hello," Adeline said. "It is so nice to see you, Slade."

Lies, lies, lies. Adeline Wilson was a liar, and for once she did not try and hide it. Then again, even Jordan Baker revealed her secrets. Surely his mother might do the same, knowing that they could never leave this awful place; they had made sure that Slade was put into the best of the best.

Joseph's hands remained still; there was no sign in the world to express his feelings, nor could he look in the dictionary and find a word to point at. His face remained cool, a mask that he had made himself and modeled after his mother's.

"What are you doing here?"

"We came to bring you news," she said. She met his eye, and for a moment Joseph watched them as they seemed to try and look through each other. Her gaze hardened, and it was Slade who broke under her sight.

"What?"

"You were caught." That was no lie. Adeline stepped forward, until she was only inches away from the glass. Her reflection reflected off of it, and Joseph could see her steely eyes.

Slade merely nodded.

"We are like you, at least in some ways." Adeline clenched her fists tighter.

Joseph looked away from the man before him. The longer that he looked at him, the more and more that he seemed like a puppet, a fake. Even if the voice was completely accurate, and the eye patch was medical rather than felt - surely they would not let him keep his original. And even if it was his father - the word seemed wrong - then why should he even look at him? What had that man ever done to earn Joseph's respect? What had he done to earn anyone's respect? How could his mother still even look at him?

He knew that if she had the chance, she would not take out his other eye. Rather, she would take out everything else, leave him in a bloody heap like he did to some of his victims. She would have him appear in the same position in photographs as the bodies of his victims did; surely that would make headlines.

But, at least from what Joseph knew, tonight Slade would still be alive.

"Like you, Joseph and I are hired out for various jobs. Certainly not by anyone you know; you have your side of the fence, one that I was sure a supposedly good man like you would never cross, and the one that Joseph and I sit on." She shook her head. "Not that it matters any longer. We finished our mission."

Slade's one eye widened, and his face paled. "You didn't-"

This time, it was Jericho who nodded. Finally, he looked at the man straight in the eye. Even if he was far taller than Joseph himself, Joseph still held him still.

"I thought it was someone else-"

"Well," Adeline finished," it was not." She looked over to Joseph. "Well, your father has the news. Shall we be going? I know that I need to stop by the grocery and pick up a few things. How about we go get some ice cream as well? That sounds wonderful right around now." His mother's voice had relaxed, and her body had lost its stiffness. A familiar gentleness filled her eyes when she looked at Joseph.

He nodded. What else was there to do?

Though he could hear Slade calling back to them, begging for them, Joseph did not look back. He had lived long enough without him; what was the point in letting someone like him back in anyway? Joseph had his own life and his own needs.

"So," Adeline said, once they were outside in the fresh air, "what flavor of ice cream do you want? Your usual, perhaps, of chocolate?"

Joseph nodded.

Chapter Text

The less Adeline brought her up, the more that Joseph knew that Kole was allowed in the house. It was hard, after all, not to let her in. She seemed to fit in just fine in their apartment, and she was certainly better there than back at her father's home.

Things had changed ever since Kole moved in. His mother would raise a few eyebrows some nights, and give him advice on things he did not want to do (he always refused Kole's sexual advances, to the point where she had just stopped asking). But even his mother had gotten the point as well.

Really, Adeline just seemed happy to have another woman in the house.

Most mornings, Joseph would now wake up to pancakes cooking and the smell of fresh flowers. Though Kole was by no means a master chef, her breakfast was certainly good. It was definitely better than waking up to cold cereal.

The flowers would always be freshly picked. Joseph had always considered himself a morning person, but Kole woke up even earlier. She would bring flowers that she had picked herself, filling the house with a sweet aroma that lasted long after breakfast was eaten.

On the days they weren't busy, they either trained or found something to do. Kole had taken to pottery, and Joseph would sketch beside her. He always had someone to play guitar with.

He watched his place change before his eyes; never before had his mother smiled so regularly before, not since Grant had died. The place had also lost its slow moments - Kole always seemed to find something new to do.

For hours, the two would stay up. Despite what his mother thought, they didn't just kiss (though that was certainly a perk). For hours, Kole's eyes would never leave his hands, watching every sign. She would reply back, discussing her day. Joseph listened closely, making sure that he heard every word.

There were some days where they made it into bed before falling asleep, often not wearing their pajamas and having to make sure neither hogged the blankets. Other times, he would wake up in the same spot on his floor as the night before, the scent of Kole's sweet shampoo still hanging in the air.

Kole had fit so well into the Wilson household that sometimes Joseph forgot that there was a time that she had never been there at all.

Chapter Text

Everyone is silent once the battle ends. Jericho is sure that if someone drops a pin, a penny, even a small ring that the noise will fill their ears, louder than any evil laugh or taunting villain's voice. He would raise his hands and sign something, anything, but no one is looking at each other.

Kole's hands are wrapped around a fallen, torn piece of brick. She must have picked it up before they left - there were enough buildings destroyed that no one would notice if another was gone. Slowly, it turns to hard, cold crystal in her hands, which only seems to make her clutch it tighter.

Herald's shoulders are slumped and his frown is deep. His trumpet is merely strapped to his side, completely untouched since the fight ended. For a moment, their eyes meet, but then he quickly breaks contact.

Gnaark looks angry, though his muscular body is unnaturally still. His eyes are firmly placed on the wall, cold and hard metal, so shiny that he can see his face. To think, he came to the future and all he got to see was destruction.

Bumblebee floats above the ground, her fists wrapped tightly together. It is hard to make out her face, but Jericho thinks that she may be crying. No one can blame her.

Jericho's own eyes feel ready to burst at any moment. The dam he has built around them cannot hold back the years forever, and soon enough he knows his walls will crack.

Tomorrow, they can start all over, maybe even try and contact other Titans if they have to. Tomorrow, they can pick up the pieces once more and start all over. The city still needs them after all.

However, now it is now, and tomorrow is still hours away. The papers are probably already declaring the Titan's loss, turning it into a news issue in hopes of increased sales.

Jericho turns away from his comrades and hugs himself like he had as a child. And just as he had when he was but a boy, when his father was lost and his mother faked smiles, he cries where no one can see him, with heavy, silent, and salty tears that burn his cheeks.

Chapter Text

"Relax," Raven instructed, patting the space next to her. "A lot of people forget that when they try to do that with me."

Jericho nodded. He sat down, and adjusted himself on the cold, hard metal floor until he was sure that he could relax. Raven must not have realized how lucky she was at being able to float.

"Whatever you have seen about this before," Raven added, her eyes moving towards the large TV. It was certainly hard to miss. "Well, I won't say that it's wrong. We just do things differently around here."

Jericho adjusted his legs until both were crossed and his hands were at his sides.

"Any questions?"

Jericho shook his head. Quickly, he brushed blond hair out of his eyes.

"All right," Raven responded. "You don't need to sign Azarath, Metrion, Zinthos or anything. Your body should be given a break; still hands are fine. This is an exercise for the mind, the one thing that really saves you during missions."

Jericho snorted through his nose, and Raven gave a small, quick chuckle. Before this, he had never taken her for the joking type.

A small smile formed on her lips and Jericho's heart fluttered.

"Just think it," Raven said. "Think it until there's nothing but those three words in your mind. Focus on them. That's what I was taught, and it works."

Jericho nodded once more. It certainly could have had harder instructions. Besides, with the fighting that had gone on that day, he didn't mind relaxing his limbs. His hands had dealt more punches than signs that day, and he was sure that they deserved a break.

Raven closed her eyes, and Jericho followed after. Titans Tower faded.

Azarath, Metrion, Zinthos. The words rang through his mind. Not in his mind's voice - the voice was not male and sounding far away like his own mental voice. Realizing it was Raven's he relaxed further. Her voice was calm; surely it would be considering she had done this many times before.

Jericho's muscles loosened, until finally the last of the pain from earlier had gone on. A smile had formed on his lips, though he did not realize it.

Azarath, Metrion, Zinthos - he had thought the words for so long that he had forgotten their meaning. Still, they repeated through his mind, until there was nothing else to hear.

The words continued to echo through his mind as his pain seemed to vanish and his heart rate lowered. The adrenaline from earlier went up into the air like smoke, and his mind no longer thought of villains and his need to crush them. To crush them like they had tried to crush them, to get them for daring to think that they could hurt others and get away with it. For one in particular who wore a mask for all the time Jericho had known him, one made of metal and one under the word father-

The pain vanished, and the anger as well.

Without hesitation, he let calmness pour through him, until peace ran through his veins like blood.

Chapter Text

Though he no longer remembered why he had signed the school papers, Joseph knew that it was he himself who did it. No one had possessed him to do it, themselves breaking into Joseph's body as he had done many others. It had been his idea, after all, to try and start a new, normal life. Adeline had merely gone along with the idea, supporting him through every step and signing whatever papers required her name.

Finn West Academy had been promising. It had a good education offered alongside decent rates. The uniforms weren't too bad, all genders wearing the same brown pants, matching colored jacket, and light blue undershirt alongside a light yellow tie. If anyone wanted a hat, then one could be purchased - a brown newsboy style. Joseph had refused; he had never been much of a hat person.

Classes had started one brisk, cool September day. Joseph's thoughts left Adeline, Slade, and Grant, and who each of them really were. Here, they were just family (though certain members were hard to actually call that), the people who sent students there. No one ever actually saw them, not unless they helped them in.

When Joseph had come in, he had settled things in himself. That had weighed on his mind as he hugged his mother goodbye.

"And you promise to write to me?" Adeline's eyes were puffy, and Joseph could hardly look at her. Rarely did she ever cry, and it looked wrong on her face.

Joseph nodded.

For a moment, the jug broke and Adeline rubbed at her eyes. "I love you."

Jericho signed the words back, and then hugged his mother tighter.

Then she was gone, and the school was Joseph's business.

It had looked well enough on the outside, with large brick towers and huge signs declaring the academy's name. It seemed more like a castle than a school.

His dorm room was private, as had been specially requested, and Joseph quickly tried to make the place feel like home. Still, no matter how many pictures of his mother, his few friend's from home, and of Grant (he doubted his mother would notice a few missing photos of his late brother, not when she had not even mentioned the name in months).

The classes were the easy part. Though the work challenged him, he stayed on top of his work and made sure to get it done. After all, he had come to study.

It was the people that were the hard part. Most ignored him altogether or made up rumors about them. Joseph ended up sorting out more with punches rather than signs, even if he never was the one to attack first. Even if he wasn't training with his mother, he still got lots of fighting in.

Most students were an enigma, few being transparent about what they wanted. Few could be called his friends, and those few tended to be like him. Just like him, they had their own shaky ground, though their feet were planted firmly on it.

It wasn't the violent life, not by any means, even counting the fights. Those were just playground squabbles, nothing more; Joseph never even used any of the advanced techniques his mother had taught him. Perhaps Grant had even deserved this life. It was bland, yes, but safe, boring, and predictable. Surely that life would have kept his brother alive.

But, once the semester was over, Joseph returned home to snow with all his suitcases packed. His mother opened the door for him and life returned to his definition of normal.

He kept his school books at home, and his tests were no longer over math and English. Adeline continued to push him how to fight, until he finally knew what she had meant when she said that he was meant for something more, and it wasn't filling in the blanks with number two pencils.

Chapter Text

The thieves and con men were easy to keep in jail; they were normal folk, the kind that could go to an ordinary prison that did not have maximum security. Though a jail break was never wanted, few slept hard at night knowing that someone who had robbed a small grocery store was out.

The villains were the hard ones.

Jericho had fought more than he could count. Unlike the small crooks, the ones whose eyes were only on money or quick fame, the villains were the one who could do real damage. Most of them were impulsive and showed little empathy for others, and their powers only helped to make those facts worse. A punch, a kick, even looking inside them was all he could ever do to stop them. Most could not understand his signs, and most would not pay attention if they even knew what his hands were saying. That look in their eyes gave away who they really were and what they were really focused on.

How many he had fought, Jericho no longer knew. It probably was not as many as the main Titans - Robin had even once said that he had stopped counting. Jericho had never counted in the first place, just fought like his life (and others) depended on it. After all, it mostly did.

He fought until sweat covered him, until he wanted was to close his eyes, and until his entire body ached. Every villain that came before him got what they were asking for; if they expected to get away with what they were doing without any opposition, than they were in for a surprise.

He fought and fought, sometimes with Herald or Kole, but most of the time alone. He fought until few villain's faces actually immediately registered with his mind, not unless he had to face them multiple times or had infiltrated their body.

And at the end of the fighting, the villain would be down and Jericho would be trying to catch his breath. Fighting was what heroes did, after all - not against others or to make harm, but to right the wrongs of another.

With that in mind, Jericho kept fighting. The title of being an Honorary Titan wasn't enough.

His father never would have done this, would have just turned a blind eye (quite literally).

With every fight, Jericho let his memories of Slade melt away. How could they ever be of use to him anyway?

Chapter Text

It had taken him a while to get used to Grant's death. Most days, Joseph would wake up in his room, the same as always. The smell of breakfast would fill the air, and the clothes he had chosen to wear the night before would be set out. A new day would start, a normal day, a day that Grant could have slipped into like old shoes.

But he never did. As the day worn on, Joseph noticed his absence and his mother's silence. There were only two plates set out, and furniture being removed from a room neither of them used. The mirrors were covered, and the body had been buried within twenty-four hours, as was tradition.

Slowly, those days faded away. Joseph no longer signed to ask where his brother was, because he already knew. If he wanted to go see him, he could. The cemetery was always open.

Still, there were some days where from the corner of his eyes the young boy would see someone who looked like his brother. His green eyes would widen, and then his face would set into a deep frown. None of the men were ever Grant, no matter how similar they might have first appeared. They had different noses or eyes that were too light or too dark.

And then those men had vanished as well. Grant was dead, and he was not going to return.

This woman, however, had not been seen from the corner of his eye. This woman had the right nose and the right colored eyes, and the exact facial shape and low voice.

This woman was Penny.

Joseph stepped back, his eyes looking back to the pool. From what he could see of his reflection, he was incredibly pale.

You look like you've seen a ghost, he thought bitterly.

Maybe this was just the sun getting too him, or maybe he was still grieving. Perhaps he had not had as much time as he thought to get over her death. The therapists had mentioned how hard grief could be, something so hard that he had not felt since Grant had died years before. They had prescribed medicine, given him extra appointments, and scribbled down every sign he made. They had given him diagnosis after diagnosis, and yet none had taken the pain away, just given words to it.

Penny was dead, murdered right in from of him. This wasn't like Grant, where he had not seen it. This was the woman who had died in front of him.

His hands were at his sides, and he could not bring them up. Even if he could, they surely would shake too much for him to be able to properly communicate anything.

Tears flooded at the corners of his eyes.

"Joey?"

Yes, that was her. That was the voice that he had heard so many nights, close enough to touch and yet miles away from him. Just when he thought he had her, when he could save her, he woke up alone back in his room.

He wasn't a boy any longer. He was older, stronger, and (hopefully) smarter. Surely Penny was not really there.

In fact, this all could have been a dream. Perhaps he would wake up and find himself alone in his bed again.

But that didn't explain the hot sun on his skin or the water covering his legs and soaking his Speedo. That didn't explain the hard, hot concrete beneath his feet, or the sting of the tears against his eyes.

This was Penny - his Penny. She was back.

She reached up and touched his shoulder. Her fingers grazed his skin rather than going through. She looked too solid - too beautiful - to be a ghost.

Joseph let the tears fall. This was Penny, his Penny.

For a long time he wept, Penny's arms wrapped around his waist and her face to his neck. She whispered to him, sweet words and promises to give answers.

"I'm back," she whispered. "I came back for you, Joey."

Chapter Text

Jericho plopped down on the couch, letting his muscles relax. The latest training session, as had been designed by Robin, was particularly rough. It went in various intervals, only having a few Titans doing it at a time.

"Even with the Brotherhood of Evil gone," Robin had commented, "we still have crime to fight. You can't just kill all evil."

Considering some of the fighting styles they had been taught, however, made Jericho think otherwise. If he performed half of those moves on a villain, he was sure that in no time their necks would be broken and they would be bleeding on the floor.

No one else seemed to be in the main room, which was rather surprising. Most of the time, the Titans were inside fighting over the remote or trying to beat high scores on video games. Just about everyone would get involved; Jericho had even played Mario Kart for a while once.

Considering that most of the sound he heard was coming from outside, it was a safe bet to guess where most of the Titans were.

Not that he minded being alone; the last thing that he needed then, while his body ached, was a bunch of Titans fighting over what TV channel to watch.

"Jericho?"

Jericho looked up and then smiled.

"Mind if I sit down here?"

Jericho smirked and patted the spot down beside him. When was he ever not allowed?

Herald sat down next to him, close enough that the two's bodies clung together. The feel of Herald beside him was so normal, and he only relaxed further.

"Mind if I play?" Herald asked. "I have a great new song. Want to hear it?"

Joseph nodded. Then, just before Herald could bring his trumpet to his lips, he reached forward and met his lips with Herald's own. Just like sitting beside him, kissing him was natural, something that they had done a thousand times before. Still, that didn't make the warmth in Jericho any cooler, or cause his heart to slow. The happiness that ran through him was new, a whole different kind of rush; every kiss was different because every circumstance was different.

Personally, he liked this better than the heated kiss of finding each other alive the night before. Jericho's battle adrenaline had gotten in the way of the moment, as had his earlier anxiety that Herald had gotten hurt.

Here, now, he knew that things were fine. When the kiss ended, Jericho was only happier because for once things were looking up.

Soon, he would have that excitement, that rush, again.

Very soon, since only a moment later Herald met Jericho's lips.

It was perfect in almost every way; Herald could not have done better.

In his defense, the bird noises were not actually his fault.

Both shot up and looked towards the sound - a green bird.

"A quail?" Herald asked, looking over to Jericho.

He shrugged. There were no quails up on his mountain, and he could hardly be considered an expert on ornithology.

"I'm pretty sure they aren't green." Herald stood up, clenching his trumpet tightly. "Beast Boy?"

The bird looked ready to fly away, but for a moment Jericho caught his eyes.

Being inside of a bird was weird, even if said Bird was actually Beast Boy. Still, Jericho got out after only moments, leaving a newly reverted Beast Boy on the floor, his green arms stretched out on the ground as if reaching for something.

"Would you care to explain?" Herald asked.

"I swear, I saw it on accident." Beast Boy stood up, his hands held up in surrender. "Please don't kill me."

"Fine," Herald replied.

Joseph merely waved his hand, and then looked back to the couch.

"Look, I'm really, really sorry. I guess I just sort of forgot that we have a ton of guests here. I also did not know all our guests' intimate details." He paused, looking over the both of them. He scratched the back of his head, making his green hair even messier than usual. "So, uh, want to know some more private places? They exist. I just feel bad for accidentally interrupting you and all."

Jericho nodded fervently, and then signed a quick please to Herald.

"We'd love that," Herald responded.

"Okay." Beast Boy relaxed, the tension in his face and muscles melting away. "Just follow after me."

The two followed him along, walking down hallways.

"You know, all of us are pretty similar." Beast Boy put his hands in his pockets.

Jericho raised an eyebrow.

"Uh, what?" Herald asked.

"I'm a quail, and can be a dove, a bluejay, a cardinal - any bird that you can name. You guys? I can't see your wings, but I now know that you're lovebirds."

Jericho rolled his eyes, Herald looked as though he wanted to grab Jericho and just take him to another dimension, and Beast Boy laughed at his own awful joke.

"Just hurry up and find us this private place, Beast Boy. Jericho and I want some private time."

Chapter Text

Rose's one eye widened. "Thank you," she said to the waitress, a tall red head with a tag reading "My name is Tambry". "This looks delicious."

Joseph licked his lips. His bread stick appetizer hadn't held him over as much as he had hoped, at least not enough if his stomach suddenly felt like a bottomless pit. The pizza, extra cheesy and hot and fresh, smelled heavenly. Joseph's mouth watered.

"I'm so glad that you like it. I hope that you enjoy your meal." She put her notebook in her pocket. "Do you need anything else?"

Both shook their heads.

"Okay, I understand. Please enjoy everything." Tambry smiled and then turned away. A few other customers had come in, and sat at formerly empty tables.

Originally, Joseph had been unsure of accepting his sister's invitation to go and get pizza. He had never heard of the place, and had only had his sister's word for if it was good. However, the Titans had not been busy that night, and spending time with his sister didn't sound like that bad of a way to waste some time.

The pizza was hot and cheesy. As soon as Joseph had swallowed his first bite, he took another.

He could see why Rose had liked it; no one had looked at either strangely when Joseph had signed at his sister, nor had anyone looked at her any differently despite her white medical eyepatch. Not to mention the background music wasn't too loud, and the place was rather quiet. It was a peaceful place; that was definitely different from the Titans Tower on a free Friday night. He could already imagine the fights over the TV remote.

Rose's eye wondered to the large window beside them. "Tonight is beautiful."

Joseph nodded. It truly was, the lights dimmer than usual, and the stars shining bright. It was as if the whole city was reveling in its peace.

The two ate on. Rose began to talk about something that had happened earlier; either her life was ten times funnier than Joseph's own, or she liked to embellish things, because soon he was snorting through his nose and clapping - his own way of laughing. Rose laughed along with him.

Once that ended, he ate some more of his pizza and then signed out a bit about his day using greasy fingers. Rose watched intensely, following along with every hand movement.

And maybe he was funny, because soon the sound of his sister's laughter filled his ears. He grinned, and signed on.

They left the pizza place late that night, long after their leftovers had gone cold, and just as Tambry's shift had been close to leaving.

Fresh air hit them as they walked outside into the warm night. There was a slight breeze, however, which sent goosebumps up Joseph's neck and arms.

"Want to go do something else?" Rose asked.

Jericho nodded.

The night was still young, and he knew his sister probably still had a lot of places she wanted to show him.

Chapter Text

His eyes had been closed for what had seemed like weeks. When he managed to open one, he saw that it had only been a few hours - if the calendar and clock by his bed were correct.

It took him a moment to sit up and look around. Joseph had never seen the room before in his life. Small and sad looking, it seemed like a forgotten place, perfect for a forgotten boy.

But he was not forgotten, not if what he remembered was correct. Joseph remembered the pain from the night before and the overwhelming fear of dying. The life of a hero was just that - the life. Had he died, then his days as a hero were over, and there would be nothing that he could do to stop it.

I'm alive, he thought.

His vision shook slightly, so every few seconds he blinked a few times. It was a little annoying, but at least he was seeing the world around him.

Absently, his hands began to survey his body. His legs were heavy, as if they had been stuffed with sand, and he wasn't sure if he would have the energy to get up and walk. Still, he could move them if he tried, though it exhausted him.

His arms felt surprisingly bruise free. Bandages covered his stomach, though a thin T-shirt covered them. It was just his size, and rather comfortable.

But how could anyone know that?

There had been pain the night before, the kind that had seeped in through Joseph's bones and ripped through him. Blood had filled his eyes, and he had almost thought that the person that grabbed him was an angel.

Then he had seen the mask, and known the person under it.

Out of nowhere, the door opened. Light spilled into the windowless room.

"Joseph," Slade said, voice low and one eye set directly on him. This time, he wore no mask; it was not as if he had an identity to keep secret here. "You don't know how happy that I am that you're awake."

The night before, he had seemed especially concerned. Just before Joseph had blacked out, he had listened to Slade talk about Grant. Despite knowing it was him, part of him still clung to his father for hope. After all, he had no one else to turn to.

"You're bleeding," he had said.

Joseph had given a weak nod.

"Don't worry, you'll be recovering in no time."

Grant, however, was dead, and Joseph wasn't.

"Does anything hurt?"

He shook his head.

"Need anything?"

He shook his head once more. Wherever he was, he didn't want to be there; still, he couldn't leave.

A hand went up to his face and he froze.

It really had happened.

"You'll get used to it." His frown deepened. "Had I gotten there on time, it wouldn't have happened."

The eye patch was surprisingly soft against his fingers. Part of him supposed that he would get used to it; Slade had, as had Rose.

Did Rose even know where he was? What about the other Titans?

"If you're worried, I could get you-"

Joseph shook his head before he could finish. Raising his hands, he signed for him to close the door.

Right after, he signed for Slade to let him fight his own battles.

Slade paled and his face hardened. He clenched his fist and mumbled something under his breath. "You would have died if it weren't for me. I don't need another dead child on my conscious."

As if I care about your conscience, Joseph thought.

Slade continued to glare at him. "At least now you'll see things my way."

He shut the door, leaving Joseph in darkness.

It was only then that he slumped further into the bed and began to cry from his one green eye. All the while, his father's words echoed throughout his mind, until he had forgotten what the words even meant and all he could hear were the sounds themselves.

Even on the brink of death, he should have realized that was no angel.

Angels served some sort of goodness; the only person Slade served was himself.

Chapter Text

There comes a day when the Teen Titans are no more. Jericho does not blink a single green eye, just shrugs and grabs his guitar. It is so easy to play, him having memorized the uses and workings of the instrument years before. Now, he plays a song, though most would hardly call it one. It changes, with no real rhythm or tone.

No meaning.

He plays until the moon comes out and shines onto the mountain. Whatever it does not touch goes dark, and Jericho goes under one to sleep.

When he wakes up, no new messages have been given. This was no dream, and there was no decision to reawaken the Teen Titans. While he slept, the other Titans moved on.

Jericho watches the sun rise. As it does, the light compliments his body. He can hardly be called a teen any longer; he now has a goatee and a long sideburns, not to mention large, hard muscles that his thinner, younger self had only dreamed of having.

He grabs his guitar and leaves. The mountain will still be here if he comes back, but until then he has other things to do.

Titan or not, there are still problems in the world. If he does not step forward and try to fix them, then what guarantee does he have that others would do the same? 

A lot of places could use a hero like him, no matter what he chooses to one day call himself. Jericho, like the Titans, is gone.

He's already thought of some possible ideas. Jericho slides off him like a coat, and a new identity is just waiting to go on.

Chapter Text

The graveyard was the same as it was the year before, or at least this side was. When Joseph and Rose had entered, new plots had been ready by the entrance, and wooden markers stood where future tomb stones would be. This side - Grant's side - was the same as the year before, if only just a little more melancholy.

For a moment, Joseph's green eyes scanned the numbers printed on the tomb stone. As the years passed him by, the final number became older. No longer could he consider it just a few years since Grant's death, not really.

Still, that did not keep Joseph's eyes from beginning to water and his fists from clenching. Tears burned at his eyes, and fell off of his cheeks, sprinkling the grass below. Sometime soon, Adeline would drop by for a visit as well, as was their small family tradition. She would probably cry even harder, and her eyes would still be red and puffy when she returned home. There was just a certain sadness to this time of year - a magnet that pulled Joseph and his mother to Grant's grave every year without end.

Rose wrapped her hand around Joseph's own and squeezed it tightly. "I'm so sorry, Joey."

Joseph nodded, keeping his firmly hands to his sides. They were too shaky to make any proper signs at that moment.

Rose had seen pictures, and Adeline had told her a few stories about Grant. Still, she never got to meet him.

Joseph's eyes looked to the ground under his feet. He was standing here, his hand wrapped around his sister's, and living the life that was torn from his brother. A chill ran up his spine, and suddenly the numbers on his tomb stone were just that - numbers, and nothing more or less.

Grant had never come home, and he never would. After this, Joseph would go home and eat dinner, draw a little or play guitar. Perhaps tomorrow, if he had the energy, he would do some friendly sparring with Rose.

"It's not your fault."

Joseph's muscles relaxed at the words. Rose was right, after all. He was a kid when it happened, and there was nothing he could have possibly done to have started or stopped Grant.

Her shoulder was comfortable enough to cry on. Rose had wrapped her arms around him and let him put his face to her shoulders and chest. She rubbed his back gently, her one eye never leaving him. Eventually, he broke apart from her and wiped at his eyes with his hands.

They stood there in silence for a while longer before Joseph arched this thumb at the path headed towards the graveyard's entrance.

The graveyard passed them by. A few other people were inside, all staring at their own graves, at their own Grants.

Once they were out, and the rest of the city (which was so much faster and upbeat than the graveyard) in front of them, Joseph turned to his sister. His hands had finally stopped shaking and he could sign again knowing that she understood what he was trying to communicate.

"He would have liked you, Rose." He signed quickly before letting his stands still, keeping them suspended in the air.

"Really?" She smiled.

Joseph nodded. For a moment, he had the strength to smile back at her.

Chapter Text

What was the old saying again? Oh yes - walk a mile in another's shoes or something else on similar lines. Joseph could not be sure who had first invented the quote or where history muddled and moved the words; he was sure, however, that whoever had said the words did not mean for him to take the words literally.

Oh well, how could they possibly stop him?

He slipped through the man's body easily, passing through it as though it were not even solid at all. Jason Christopher, if the name tag Joseph read was correct, was an average build white man in his mid thirties. He was not as muscular as Joseph himself, so it was best not to get in any fights while in his body. He was, however, well over six feet tall, and had very good vision.

Joseph might have chosen him at random, but he had chosen correctly.

He stepped forward, headed towards the furthest office. Before he had been sent in, Adeline and her employer had gone over a map with him, showing him exactly where he would need to go and what he would need to get.

"Remember," his mother had said, "to stay focused. This should be a quick mission, nothing more. Do not fight unless you absolutely have to." Her face had softened before a smirk crossed her lips. "And if you do have to fight, do not be afraid to show them some of the new moves that I taught you."

The hallway was long and bland looking, with white walls and dark grey carpeting. Music that seemed fit for the inside of an elevator played throughout the hall, and everyone was dressed in business attire. From what he could see through the doors of rooms he passed, most spaces had cubicles full of people busily working or people talking intensely to a phone.

No one noticed him. His mother had said that this mission would be different from most, but he had never imagined it anywhere near this. It was almost boring, in a way. Still, he could not complain when everything was going well.

He slipped inside the room at the end of the hall. The metal of the doorknob was ice cold against his (Jason's?) skin. It did not make a sound as he opened it and entered inside.

This office was clearly only for one person. It was rather neat, but completely empty. Joseph smiled and stepped forward, passing by a wall of pictures of people that he would probably never know. If he did, then he just might go inside them and get the full experience of looking into their lives; that is only if he needed to.

His mother had said that the mission would be quick, but he had never known she meant that it would take less than fifteen minutes. The file was easy to find, and soon enough Joseph was once again outside of the office. No one noticed him or acted any different around him; he must have worn Jason's shoes well.

It was only when he was outside, the file still in his hands and Jason's body dumped on the ground that he began to run. Now, he was shorter and didn't have to be anyone but himself. The pavement was hard against his feet, but that only made him run harder.

Chapter Text

It took one single punch to knock the villain out, though it likely helped that Jericho was actually inside the villain. One hard blow to the head with their fist got another villain down. By now, Jericho had stopped counting how many fell by his (technically their own) hand, having given up around thirty-three or thirty-four.

Leaving the last body, he looked around. Most we're knocked out, but the Titans could cause casualties if needed. Besides, he didn't even know if freezing the Brotherhood of Evil actually killed them. If it did, he would gladly see them freeze, if only to see them be gone.

Titans were on all of his sides, crying out at times and attacking any and every villain. The Brotherhood of Evil had hired a large number of goons, but their numbers were not doing much to help them. For once, the title of an Honorary Titan truly mattered.

His eyes met with another villain, this one tall and hard to make out. Still, Jericho had enough time to get inside of them, and used what little energy they had to propel himself forward. This time, it was a punch from Herald that knocked the villain out. Like always, Jericho left just before he could feel any pain.

"Doing okay?" Herald asked. A villain headed towards him, but was stopped by Gnaark and a crystal covered Kole before they could reach him.

Jericho nodded and pointed to him.

"I'm fine, and I would say that they are to."

Jericho looked away from him, and back towards a few enemies headed towards him. One met his eyes.

He hit the others, smiling for a moment at the fear in their eyes. Their own comrade had turned on them and was going to bring them down, in an act of what he was sure was pure poetic justice.

Once the last villain was down, he gave his host's body a large blow to the skull before leaving.

Taking a quick look around, his smile reached his real lips. The Titans were both fighting well and winning. The number of villains had thinned down dramatically.

Jericho raced forward towards the nearest one, heart racing, lungs burning, and both his fists and eyes to attack. Adrenaline rushed through his body, filling his veins. His head throbbed, but the pain was minor, just like every other bruise he had received. The Brotherhood of Evil just could not hurt him the way Jericho had hurt them.

The Brotherhood of Evil had been prepared to show the Titans no mercy. If they considered the fight harsh, then they had only themselves to blame. After all, the Brotherhood of Evil was the one to start the game, and Jericho and the other Titans were only playing by their rules.

Chapter Text

The apartment was strangely quiet. Joseph closed the door and locked it, and then stood still and listened. Not a single sound could be heard. It was only when he willed himself to breathe again that he heard something.

Ever since Kole had moved in, his mother's apartment had been anything but silent. She had brought new life into the home, ripping through ghosts and dust and stampeding over the elephant in the room, all without realizing just what she was doing. She had slipped inside easily, the red head always having a bright smile on her face. There were days where Joseph forgot that it always had not been that way.

No light was turned on, nor was the radio. His mother liked to keep it on, even if the volume was usually low, so that she would not return home to utter silence. Even as a small child, he remembered returning home to the soft sound of a jazz station playing or radio ads.

It was as if the place had been robbed of its life; the only time that Joseph had heard it this silent was right after Grant died years before.

He walked through each room, not bothering to remove his shoes or soften his steps. His backpack was still held over one shoulder, and he had yet to empty it. The weight was hard to notice, not when the apartment was so strangely devoid of life.

He dropped the backpack to the floor, letting its thud echo through the room and bounce off the walls a few time. No other sound came, and Joseph again scooped it up in one arm and threw it over his shoulder.

Before he had left, he had made sure that Kole knew where he was going. He had circled a letter L hand in the air, signifying he was going to the library. Kole had given him a few books of her own to return, and Adeline had waved goodbye to him.

He entered each room and surveyed them. Not even the slightest sound could be heard, and each place was empty. Had it not been for the mirrors not being covered and for Kole's room still being there, then Joseph would have thought that he had stepped back in time to somewhere shortly after Grant's death.

The windows outside also showed the pool to be completely empty, the blue water completely still.

He entered the kitchen last, and finally noticed the paper stuck to the refrigerator. Pulling it off the fridge, he held it up to his eyes. The handwriting was quick and slightly messy, but Joseph had gotten used to reading Kole's handwriting. Mixed in were small doodles of herself, Adeline, and Joseph.

Joey,

Your mom got a sudden call from one of her employers. She had to fly to a meeting, but promised that she should be back within one or two days. She even gave me a number so I can call her if needed.

She also gave me some money to go get some stuff for her, which is why I'm out. I don't think that I'll be gone too long, but I'm leaving this note any way.

Thanks again for returning those library books for me!

XOXOXOXO,

Kole

Right beside her name, she had doodled a smily face.

Joseph stuck the letter into his pocket, and clutched his backpack's strap tighter. Walking to his room, he placed his backpack down and picked up his guitar. Strumming a few chords, he began to play a song that he had composed himself. When Kole returned, which he guessed would be sooner rather than later, he didn't want her returning home to a place that felt lifeless.

Chapter Text

The flowers dotted the mountain, rising towards the sun and blooming red, purple, blue, and yellow. It was as if they were trying to alert the sky that they were happy that the winter was finally gone and the warm sun had finally returned.

Jericho returned to his rock, dressed once more in his loose spring suit. It was not as heavy as his winter clothes, and allowed air inside.

He looked across field, at the flowers proclaiming their silent joys to the sun. A breeze rustled  Jericho's blond hair, and he placed his guitar down against the rock and simply watched.

Herald had said that he would be there, but never gave a time. Though Jericho had no clock, he had learned to tell time by the rise and fall of the sun, and applying numbers to what his eyes saw. The sun was not nearly as high in the sky as it could be, but it would soon. That, combined with the receding shadows he saw, meant that it was probably around eleven fifteen or so. Noon would be there sooner than one would think. Hopefully, Herald would arrive soon as well.

He walked across the field with light, careful steps. This was his home, and heavy steps would only hurt it.

The field of flowers smelled heavenly. After the long and heavy winter, the flowers were in full bloom, and even larger than last year. They swayed in the breeze, and a few bees and butterflies flew past Jericho, hopping from flower to flower.

The red, blue, and purple flowers were certainly beautiful, but the yellow ones were the ones that caught Jericho's green eyes. He leaned down a little to look at them closer.

They had large petals. Their coloring varied slightly in shades of yellow, but all seemed like little drops of the sun. For a while, he just stared down, taking in the end of winter and the return of spring.

Then, however, his hands began to move. He picked each flower carefully, making sure not to accidentally hurt another. Jericho only picked a few - there was no point in being greedy. Then, he carefully arranged them in his hands, and tied all the flowers together using one of the yellow flower's stem.

Carefully, he left the field of flowers and returned to his familiar seat on the rock. He placed the flowers behind the rock, and then picked up his guitar and strummed a few chords.

The portal opened around noon, and Herald stepped out. Jericho waved.

"Jericho!" Herald called, running out. "Are you ready to jam?"

Jericho shook his head and placed his guitar down.

"Huh? Is something wrong?"

Jericho shook his head and raised a finger. Once Herald stilled, Jericho went behind the rock and gathered up the flowers that he had picked earlier. Putting them behind his back, he left the rock and walked towards Herald. The dark skinned boy still had a confused look on his face.

That look vanished the moment that he saw the flowers; Jericho returned his bright smile. Herald's fingers brushed against his own as he accepted the small bouquet, and a wave of warmth ran through Jericho.

It was only when Herald had stopped sniffing the flowers and brought them down from his nose that Jericho leaned in for a kiss.

Chapter Text

The sudden purr of a cat broke Jericho's concentration and made him drop his guitar pick. He placed his guitar down and quickly began to look for it; his expression darkened when he realized that he had dropped it between the couch cushions. Ignoring the dark green cat at his feet, he moved the couch cushions up and searched for his guitar pick.

The couch cushion hid old candy wrappers, a good deal of money in both coins and bills (finders keepers), various broken pieces of other objects, and Jericho's guitar pick. His eyes widened when he found it, and a smile again returned to his face. Placing the cushion back down with one hand, he returned to his spot on the couch.

This time, a dog sat by his legs. Looking down, Jericho saw a dark green Labrador puppy at his feet. He met his eyes, but did nothing else.

Jericho grabbed his guitar and began to play his song again, starting over at the beginning. It was a song that he had made himself, and listening to it again filled him with pride. This song was certainly one of his better works.

Jericho played on, and was about to get to one of his favorite parts when he heard a squeak. Looking down, he saw a dark green mouse crawling up his leg. He reached out and tried to grab him, but the little mouse scampered past him and turned into a lizard in his lap.

Then, he was not an animal at all.

"What does a guy have to transform into to get a little attention around here?" Beast Boy crossed his arms.

Jericho laughed through his nose.

"Hey, it's not funny." Beast Boy looked away from him. "Besides, your guitar is crushing me."

Jericho moved it, giving the other boy more space on his lap.

He met Beast Boy's eye and raised an eyebrow.

"So now you're finally noticing me."

Jericho rolled his eyes. At this point, Beast Boy should have been a crustation considering how crabby he was acting.

Meeting his eyes, Jericho leaned forward and gave him a kiss. Now that his hands were free from his guitar, he wrapped them around Beast Boy's waist and pulled him closer. The kiss deepened, and the two entered each other's mouths. Beast Boy put his own hands in Jericho's blond hair, running his fingers through gently.

Once the kiss ended, both were grinning.

"Finally," Beast Boy said. "I thought that I would be waiting all day."

Jericho simply rolled his eyes. At least those words meant that Garfield was acting normal.

Patting the spot beside him, he picked up his guitar once more. Beast Boy reluctantly sat down. Jericho moved in closer to them, letting their legs touch and allowing Beast Boy to wrap an arm around his waist.

Then, Jericho played once more. He started a new song, one that came in moments from his fast moving fingers. This song was faster than the other, and louder. A new song idea had come, and he needed an honest audience to tell him what they thought of it (though Jericho hoped he would receive the news from a human).