Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Cryptophasia. Idioglossia. Twin language.

It's not unusual for twins to develop their own language as young children, but it is rather unusual for that language to be a sign language. They didn't know how they knew it, any more than they knew why when they used it, she was called Bat and he was called Hawk.

They did know that Bat picked up speaking faster, and reading and writing, so she translated for him until he caught up.

'Target incoming,' she signed one day. 'Avoid contact.'

Hawk grinned at her with only a handful of teeth fully formed in his mouth, and hefted himself out of their playpen to hide. Training games were the best way to distract the both of them from the discomfort of their gums. Training for what, neither could say, but they fell into their games like old habits.

She followed him out with careful, deliberate movements covering for very little motor control. She wobbled across the room to find a hiding place, concentrating on placing her feet just so. It was uncomfortable. Her muscles didn't want to work that way, barely wanted to work at all. She kept at it with the unquestioning surety that it would earn her praise. 'My little cat foot,' echoed from somewhere far away, unremembered but not unfelt.

Their father entered the living room and saw the empty playpen, and things went downhill. The best thing that could be said about their coordinated ambush was that it was "an attempt", which… They could admit they were working with disadvantages. And they hadn't expected the extreme reaction their father would have to them disappearing.

They both sat with wide eyes as he loomed over them, his voice loud and reproving before it hitched a bit and he gathered them into his arms. He'd been afraid. He hadn't known where they were.

That baffled them. How could he have not known where they were? The twins exchanged uneasy looks. Had hiding behind a couch and an old vacuum box really been enough to fool an adult?

It didn't feel like it should have been. But the world and their parents continued to be indifferent to how the children thought they should be.

Bat flopped listlessly one morning, refusing to fully rouse herself from sleep when her mother pulled her from her pillow and blankets. When her mother didn't drag her outside, though, Bat grew restless. There was a process to starting the day, wasn't there?

"I woke up in the morning," she prompted blearily, "and saw the mountain there…" Something about the words was strange, but she couldn't pinpoint what it was. There was a moment of silence, and then she was wrestled into a high chair next to her brother.

"What was that?" her mother asked absently as she turned into the kitchen to get the twins their breakfast.

Except… that wasn't her mother's voice. That wasn't even the right language.

Bat's eyes blinked open, but her mother was the wrong shape, and the house was wrong, and her brother was wrong, and the air was wrong, and she cried without understanding why.

The twins watched the television screen with rapt attention as Superman took a deep breath inward. When he breathed out, they waited for fire. Instead, ice spread across the hull of the ship, and Bat frowned in puzzled irritation until a whoosh of air beside her caused her to turn toward her brother.

His hands were pressed into a tiger sign, and his posture was hunched as he pushed his breath outward with all his might into the empty space at the center of the living room. He ran out of air, and nothing else happened.

That had probably been for the best, for a number of reasons.

Even so, Bat shared his alarm when his gaze flew up toward hers. That should have done… something. They both knew it.

The older they got, the more reality clashed with the expectations of the two toddlers. It should have been a normal part of the process of learning, but instead the sense of wrongness grew as they did. They knew things without questioning how they knew them, because the experience was the same for both of them. Some days one or both would wake up and know something they hadn't before. They supposed it was the same for everyone.

Bat flopped to the floor, arms crossed, then winced. Not long ago, that flop would have been cushioned by a diaper. She wriggled herself into a cross-legged position and stared at the floor for a moment, her expression nearly pouting as she thought.

"Paper," she said out loud for her brother's benefit. It sounded like "PAY-pua" in her childish voice.

"Ah," he replied, with an immediate understanding of what she wanted with it. Hawk scuttled off, then returned with a few sheets of printer paper. He ripped a few small scraps from a sheet inexpertly. After handing her a small piece, he sat down with his own and pressed it to his forehead.

His expression of consternation when it fluttered right back down was enough to send Bat into giggles. He ignored her and kept at it, his chubby face screwed up in concentration as he seemed determined to figure out the problem with pure stubborn willpower.

Bat contemplated her own scrap quietly. There should be something inside her, something that she could use to make the paper stick to her skin. She looked for it with that unnamed sense she used even now to feel the people around her, searching inward for the warmth beneath her skin.

She wasn't surprised when it felt wrong. That was all anything ever felt anymore.

Still, there was something. Two energies, barely there, that should mix and spread throughout her body. They… weren't mixing. Realizing this was a bit like discovering she could only breathe in and not back out again.

The flickers of energy swirled in a way that was weirdly foreign to her. She mapped out their paths as well as she could, like finding her pulse points.

Slowly, experimentally, she took hold of one of the energies, then the other. With great care, she brought them together. Her plan was to move a small bit of the result to her hand, just enough to cause the paper to stick, but she found herself unprepared for the jolting force of the energies mixing for the first time and lost her grip. For the briefest of moments, she glowed blue, and the paper launched itself from her grasp.

She wasn't awake to hear Hawk's startled exclamation as she slumped forward.

It was a good while before either of them got the paper to stick.

Chapter Text

Bat sat with her arms crossed and her head drooping almost all the way down to her desk, struggling to find a compelling reason to stay awake in her first grade classroom. Her book had been confiscated, and the lessons they were having on basic grammar and spelling were so inane it was like trying to focus through radio static.

Resignation had given way to bone-deep apathy, and Bat couldn't find the energy to fill out her worksheet, much less participate in the class.

Hawk, she thought. She should be good so Hawk could get in writing practice without being distracted. She tested the thought, but found it couldn't actually get her to raise her head. Her eyes traced the distance from her hand to her pencil. It wasn't the vast gulf it felt like. Maybe four inches.

She didn't move.

Bat wondered if this made her a horrible sister. She wished she hadn't tried to use Hawk as her motivation to begin with.

Her vision went in and out of focus, and she jerked up a bit, once, when she found herself tilting forward sleepily. There was a whistle of air. With a jolt of adrenaline, Bat whisked her arms back, straightening against her chair just as a ruler smacked loudly down onto her desk.

"Principal's office, young lady," Sister Rosa instructed her. "Take this note with you."

Bat tried for sheepish as she palmed the note, but only managed sullen. She shuffled out of the classroom like a tiny zombie, feeling Hawk pointedly ignoring her as she passed him by. She sighed, knowing he was annoyed with her.

It was true that she could have spent the time practicing control. With no innate biological function regulating the production of the energy they had, they had to manage the whole process manually. None of the hand signs that were supposed to manage the expression and ratios of the energy mixtures actually worked the way they should have. Which meant if they wanted to use any of the techniques they were vaguely sure existed, they had to learn how to do them under a severe handicap.

Bat just… didn't see a reason to? What would she even use them for? It was entertaining when she and Hawk had first discovered it, sure, but they'd made only a little progress to no discernable end. There was no urgent need to keep at it, and definitely none to rush.

Hawk was just a perfectionist, and while Bat knew he resented that he was behind her in literacy, that didn't mean he approved of her slacking. She sighed again as she found herself in front of the office, then reached up to pull on the door's handle. Time to face consequences.

Two weeks and a few assessment tests later, Bat sat in a chair next to her brother outside the counselor's office, swinging her legs back and forth idly. Her father sat at her other side, still in his police uniform and obviously taking a long lunch to make it to this appointment. He sifted through his overflowing email inbox on his phone. Bat wished the arms of the chairs didn't make it too awkward to lean over and curl into his side while he read.

Across from them was another boy Bat's age, napping in his seat next to his mother. He was spindly, with olive-brown skin, black hair, and a beaky nose. His mother, dressed in a sari and choli in colorful, shiny fabrics that caught Bat's attention, carded a hand through her son's thick hair absently. Bat lowered her eyes to the pages of her book until the counselor poked his head out from his door.

"You can all come in now," he chirped, a professional smile in place.

That was her first encounter with Deer. If the counselor had gotten a chance to offer them the advanced courses, the scholarships he had prepared, it might even have been a fortuitous one. But this was Gotham.

An explosion rocked the building before they'd even entered the man's office. Things only got worse from there.

Fire and chaos reigned in Gotham's streets, and a little girl wandered through them by herself. Her mother and father were gone. Part of her was scared. Part of her wanted to cry.

Part of her was coolheaded and wary as she ducked through panicking citizens. She didn't pause to wonder why.

The nearest explosion caught her attention, and her eyes flicked upward enough to see a small figure knocked off the roof of Gotham bank, falling gracelessly into the alley behind the building. Something pulled at her, urging her to follow.

The boy lay sprawled in a dumpster, and she had to use the trickle of power she could create inside herself to get him out.

It didn't expend any, really. She just had to reinforce her legs for a quick hop up, then perform a full-body enhancement to pick him up and hop back down. There was virtually no energy loss. It was just… reallocations.

The boy was dressed in the tattered remains of a brightly colored costume of red, yellow, and green. Robin, she remembered. He'd been on the news. She assessed her patient swiftly. Burns, lacerations. No fractured or broken bones.

The terminology for her assessment flew through her brain, and she didn't even register that none of them were in English.

Her hand glowed green.

The girl was woozy and out of breath after taking care of only the worst of the older child's wounds. The light in her hand sputtered out, but it looked like Robin would wake up soon.

The hair stood up on the back of her neck. Someone was behind her.

"Looks like Robin's got himself a nursemaid," a man's voice rasped.

The girl found herself being pulled up by her hair. She yelled in pain and outrage, only to be tossed aside like a ragdoll. She sat herself up to glare at the newcomer. He was a large man in a black and white suit. Half his face was handsome, with neat, tight black curls against his scalp. The other half was seared and hideous. She flinched back.

He ignored her, bending down to grab the brightly clad boy by the neck. Robin's eyes were open now, and he pulled futilely at the man's large fingers.

The girl saw red. Robin was her patient. Under her protection. And she would not be ignored.

She picked herself up and stumbled forward, her first few steps clumsy before she charged forward in earnest. Her hands curled into fists. She barely had any energy left, but she mixed what she had and held it delicately throughout her body. He barely spared her a glance as she sprinted forward, aiming for the man's right side with a blatantly telegraphed punch. She timed the use of the last of her energy to explode in a single, perfect moment…

SHANNARO!

Bones broke. A man was screaming. She couldn't get enough air. Her vision grayed around the edges, and the last thing she saw was the concerned face of the boy she had saved.

Chakra depletion, she thought in that other language. I should have known better.

Chapter Text

There was an inner circle among the underdweller kids, and everyone knew it.

Hawk and Bat. Frog and Dog. Bug. Turtle. Deer. They were the ones who taught the rest how to survive on the streets. Who gave the other children dexterity exercises. Who made them run and run until they could run faster than their marks. Who promised to someday teach them to walk on walls.

They were also the first ones to break the Sewer King's ban on talking the instant he was out of earshot.

"Batman's a ninjutsu type. Clear as day," Dog insisted.

Here we go again, Bat thought with a sigh. It wasn't the first time the group had had this argument, and it wasn't likely to be the last.

"Respectfully, I disagree!" Turtle replied. "It is true that he likely has a bat contract! But he is a taijutsu type, there is little doubt. Much like I and my youthful master once were!"

"His strength could come from a storage seal, like the one Obaa-chan used," Frog pointed out. "That's more like nin, isn't it?"

"That's fuuinjutsu," Bat corrected, because even she couldn't help herself. "And also not even close to how that worked."

"Just so! What's more, he displays no elemental jutsu at all!" Turtle crossed his arms. "Would a ninjutsu type limit himself so? Of course not! He either chooses not to use elemental jutsu, or," Turtle's fist shot into the air above his head, one finger pointed upward at nothing in particular, "he does not because he cannot! Much like I, and my dearly missed Master Splinter, once did not."

There was a chorus of groans.

"Once again, you are definitely not a reincarnated ninja turtle, Turtle." Hawk rubbed at his temples. "And, as much as I loathe to engage in this farce, I feel the need to illustrate the obvious. What's our local jonin best known for?"

"Beating up bad guys!" Frog offered.

"Ah! And he can fly!" Dog contributed.

Hawk winced. "...I'm pretty sure that he can't. But there's something even more obvious. Something he does all the time."

"He vanishes," Bat handed to her sibling, who was grasping desperately for an ally.

"Thank you." Hawk nodded his appreciation. "Vanishing without a trace, or in a puff of smoke. Or appearing in a similar fashion. That, of course," he looked smug, "is genjutsu."

"Or a form of teleportation." Deer had that smirk on his face, like he'd just moved a game piece into a winning position. "And given how quickly he appears at crime scenes after they occur — regardless of their location in the city — that seems a bit more likely than genjutsu. Don't you agree?"

Hawk folded his arms. "Not impossible, but solo ninja capable of teleportation are a rarity. He'd be more likely to use the basics – shunshin to move quickly, or maybe a kawarimi after throwing a smoke pellet."

Deer's smirk widened into a grin. "And there you have it. Basic ninjutsu are sufficient to explain his vanishing even without any genjutsu specialization."

"But his reliance on vanishing plus his whole… imposing image thing… implies a specialization." Hawk was being stubborn, even when backed into a corner. That was typical for him.

Bat was done helping. Hawk would learn more from the struggle, and Deer and Hawk got petty when she sided with one of them over the other.

"Does it?" Deer asked idly. The skepticism in his voice spoke volumes.

Bug finally spoke up after a glance at the bristling Hawk. "Perhaps we should examine the capabilities of his apprentice as well. Why? To illuminate their shared style, as the apprentice potentially reflects the abilities of his master."

"Ah!" Turtle beamed. "I am thrilled by this path of conversation! For the youth, the Robin, is clearly a tai-type!"

"Can't argue with that." Hawk conceded. It was a strategic move; by agreeing that Robin was likely a taijutsu specialist, he implied that neither he nor Deer was correct about the Batman, since they had argued for genjutsu and ninjutsu.

"I concur as well," replied Bug. "His capabilities seem largely focused on dexterity. Wall running, evasion, and a smattering of shuriken-jutsu. This may not, however, be indicative of his master's abilities, for two reasons. One, because masters do not always match the type of their apprentices, even if that is more common. And two, because Robin demonstrates few jutsu in general, indicating that he may simply be inexperienced. Perhaps his training started at an advanced age."

They all nodded. Robin did seem a little old to not know many jutsu.

"What of the Batman's own predecessors, then? Can we draw any conclusions from those?" Bat lobbed the question at the group. Not because she had a specific answer in mind, but because it wasn't a direction they'd taken this argument before.

"Ah! The Grey Ghost was also a tai-type!" Turtle exclaimed.

That definitely wasn't where she'd predicted this going. The Grey Ghost was a character in an old, black and white TV show. She and Hawk used to watch reruns back before their father died.

"Using a gun barely even counts as bukijutsu, forget taijutsu." Hawk countered. "And if you watched the Grey Ghost, you should know that his principal ability is vanishing from perception by controlling people's minds." Hawk didn't even need to add that such a thing was clearly genjutsu; even Turtle understood the implication.

"A valid point, Hawk. Or it would be, if the Grey Ghost was an actual person." Deer shook his head. "That still tells us nothing about the Batman."

Turtle frowned, a look of contemplation on his usually animated face. "Perhaps the Grey Ghost is real and his exploits inspired the fictional accounts about him? Is it not said that he foiled the most recent bombings along with Batman?"

"That was… probably… Batman recruiting an actor." Deer said slowly. "Although I still don't understand why he'd do that."

"Batman has a sense for the theatrical. Kind of like Frog." Bat said, sending Frog a wink.

"Yeah! Batman is just like me!" Frog beamed at the idea. Everyone else rolled their eyes, except Turtle, who gave Frog a supportive thumbs-up.

"Who do we think trained Batman, then? He can't be self-taught, right?" Dog wondered.

"I'm still not convinced the Grey Ghost isn't real..." Frog's expression scrunched in thought. "But if not, maybe it was Zorro?"

"Zorro is also fictional, Frog." Deer said with a put-upon sigh.

"No way!" Frog flailed his arms, dismayed. "He's way too awesome to be fake!"

Bat turned toward Deer. "Better candidates?"

"Hm. There are records of an old organization called the Justice Society of America that was around in the 1940s. Best I can estimate from Batman's build, voice, combat style, and time of activity, he was likely born in the 50s or 60s, making him a good candidate for someone trained by the Society."

That was an interesting tidbit. "Any particular members of this 'society' we should consider? Someone local to Gotham, perhaps?"

"None with a residence listed in this area." Deer shook his head. "I would think the most likely candidates would be Hour-Man, the Spectre, Sandman, or Hawkman."

Hawk perked up at the last name. "There was a Hawkman?"

"There was." Deer confirmed. "Best known for his powers of flight. Ninjutsu, of course."

Hawk wrinkled his nose. "What about the others?"

"Hour-Man would be a strong possibility. Records indicate he was able to greatly increase his strength and speed for an hour." Deer's eyebrows bunched. "I hope that his true abilities functioned differently. Advertising your own weakness like that is..." he trailed off.

Everyone nodded in agreement. No one would name themself after their own limitation.

"Perhaps his true power was opening the Gates?" Turtle sounded hesitant, but hopeful.

"Actually, that's not a bad hypothesis." Deer gave Turtle a nod.

Turtle glimmered with joy at the compliment. They were a rare thing from Deer, and to be savored.

"Sandman is a physical fighter with sleep-oriented abilities," Deer continued, "And many of his abilities are linked to the use of gas. Similar to the Batman's smoke bombs, perhaps."

"That sounds like a good match." Hawk noted. "Especially for a genjutsu type."

Deer ignored him. "And finally, there's the Spectre. The best candidate. He was said to appear and disappear out of nowhere, and even pass through walls, like a ghost." Another smirk. "Which sounds like space-time ninjutsu to me."

That might have been Deer's resounding victory, if not for an unlikely interruption.

"Or he's an actual ghost!" Frog exclaimed, drawing stares from everyone. "What? It's totally possible! You'd better believe—"

"...Don't even finish that catch phrase." Hawk shot Frog a glare.

"Aww. You're no fun." Frog folded his arms. "Ugh. Anyway, I still think he's a tai-type."

"Didn't you say he was a nin-type earlier?" Hawk asked.

"Nah, I don't think so. Anyway, who's hungry?"

A show of hands revealed that everyone was.

They didn't agree on much, but they all needed to eat.

Chapter Text

Frog ran. The shadow followed.

The chase itself was familiar. The twins preferred to snatch things without being detected, but Frog and Dog were much more direct.

They enjoyed the chase.

Ordinarily, it didn't last very long.

But as Frog dodged and weaved through a crowd, outpacing the actual targets of his theft in mere moments, someone began to follow him. Someone or something. He caught hints of movement from behind him, then beside him, then above him. A dark blur in the corner of his vision, the sound of rustling.

He grinned. This was what he'd been waiting for.

He raced up a fire escape on the side of a building, then rushed straight across the rooftop.

"Stop." A deep voice commanded from behind him.

He'd never been good at listening.

Frog rushed forward, jumping across the narrow gap to the next building. "Narrow" in his mind meant about ten feet, but he was Frog – leaping was second nature to him.

He landed without incident on the next building, bounced a step, and then continued his run.

One jump ahead of the Batman, one swing ahead of his sword...

...no, I don't think Batman has a sword, does he?

Oh, man, that'd be so cool, though!

He pictured a black sword with a bat-like insignia for a crossguard as he continued to run, jumping onto a wide pipe on the side of the building and beginning to slide his way down.

Yeah, he'd have a sword with bat powers. Maybe it could shoot those bat shuriken things he always uses, too? That'd be the best!

He landed on the ground, still humming the same tune in his mind, but wordlessly.

He bolted down the next alley, skidding across a patch of ground covered in one of Gotham's many spilled liquids of dubious origin, and arrived at a nondescript brick wall.

A quick glance behind him didn't show any signs of pursuit.

Hah! Even the Batman can't catch me. Believe it!

He grinned and fist-bumped a brick in the wall. Said brick sunk into the surface, exposing a secret passage.

Frog started forward, then spun around.

The figure that had descended behind him had been soundless, but the momentary shift in the light had been enough to alert him.

Aww, man. I am going to be in so much trouble.

"Just a second, son. I'm not going to hurt you." The Batman loomed over him, his imposing form feeling like a reminder of something Frog had once known, but long forgotten.

Frog leaned up against the nearest wall. "Course not. You'd have to catch me for that!"

He reached into his cloak and hurled something – a half-empty soda bottle – at his pursuer. It wasn't meant to cause harm, just serve as a momentary distraction.

It barely managed to accomplish even that, and less because of his own skill than his opponent's tenacity. His rapid aim had been slightly off – he'd never been quite as good at throwing as the twins – but Batman ducked and shifted to the right to catch the bottle before it cracked against the ground.

That was all the time Frog needed. He bolted into the passage, made a quick turn, and rushed through the first door. (He was supposed to keep it closed and locked, but again, he wasn't good at doing what he was told.)

He slammed the door shut and bolted it.

Only a moment later, he saw light flickering through underneath the handle, then rotating clockwise around it.

A blowtorch?! No way!

Frog ran. The door blasted open behind him only a few seconds later, but he'd already reached his next shortcut.

He jumped into a thin chute on his left, sliding down the vent with ease. It took him straight into a drainage shaft, and it was nowhere near large enough for a six-foot-infinite Batman to slip through.

He landed, wrinkling his nose at the smell, and then ducked down the shaft to the right. It was dark down here, but he knew the way.

He reached the end of the pipe, hopping down and landing. He wasn't far from home, now. He quietly slipped inside the next door, which he'd also left open.

That proved to be a mistake.

The Batman was right in front of him.

"Uh, hi." Frog offered. "Fancy meeting you here."

The Batman took a step closer. "If you'd just slow down—"

Frog grinned. That sounded like a challenge. He rushed forward, straight at the Batman, then juked to the right.

His dodge was perfect, but his cloak betrayed him. Ever had fashion been his enemy.

The cloth momentarily snapped taut as the Batman grabbed the back of it. Frog stumbled, but didn't fall, ducking to pull his head out of the garment as quickly as possible.

But it was too late. The old man was surprisingly fast for someone of his size, and his other hand came forward to grab Frog's arm a moment before he could move any further away.

Frog struggled for a mere moment before he realized the futility of it. His shoulders slumped. "Aww, man." He turned around, his gaze shifting upward to meet the Batman's. "I bet my last instant ramen that Dog would get caught before I did."

The Batman's eyes narrowed for a moment, then his expression softened. "Help me find the other children, and I'll buy you all the ramen you want."

"...All the ramen I want?" Frog was momentarily awestruck by the concept, but then shook his head. "Nah. Won't get my hopes up. I've been lied to before. But if all you want is to meet the other kids, I can arrange that. We've been expecting you for a while, after all."

The Batman released his grip on Frog's shoulder, which was good, because it had been kind of tight. It was really rude to just grab people's arms like that, you know?

"This way," Frog said. "Bat is going to be so excited to meet you."

The confrontation part went swimmingly. The Batman fought The Sewer King while the inner circle dropped down to fight off his… nin-alligators or whatever… with sharpened silverware. The kids struggled to get the blades through the creatures' thick hides and bones and muscles. A wild swipe of an oversized tail smacked Frog into a wall, but he bounced back quickly. At one point, the Batman ended up in an up close and personal wrestling match with one of the alligators, keeping its powerful jaws open with his gloved hands, and the kids whooped with enthusiasm at the display.

Yeah, the Sewer King's beatdown was pretty much everything the kids dreamed it would be.

The problem was the follow-through.

Chapter Text

"I feel like, maybe, we shoulda told Batman that Social Services is who put us with that sewage guy in the first place," Dog mused from his cage.

"That might have been better," Bat agreed.

The Underdwellers were in small, stacked wooden cages in a poorly lit, grimy storage facility. The doors of each cage had several holes in them, just large enough to see through and let air filter in and out of. It was an unpleasant fact that their living conditions had actually been downgraded since their time spent living in a sewer system.

"Think he'll save us again?" asked Frog, shifting uncomfortably in his own cage. Bat suspected he needed to use the restroom. She could use one herself, truthfully.

Dog sniffed the air, a look of focus on his face as he tried to concentrate his chakra at his nose. He stilled. "A… a lot of people have died in here," he muttered anxiously.

"…Probably not, then," Bat concluded. The wood of her cage was old and marred. A hand tracing the sides found faint indentations where the previous occupant had tried to claw their way through the walls.

Bat pried a largeish splinter from one wall. She tried to remember the seals she'd used in her last life. The details eluded her, like chasing the remnants of a dream upon waking.

She breathed in, then out, and tried a different approach. She let her thoughts drift to the generalities of sealing. What would get her out of here? An explosion. Explosions were easy. Even messing up a seal was liable to produce one, she really couldn't go wrong there.

Except for the whole small, enclosed space thing she was dealing with.

She needed to keep it small, then. Slowly, a design came together in her head.

"I think I can blow off the door to my cage," she murmured quietly. She stuck her thumb with the splinter in a rough stab, wincing only slightly. Blood welled up, thick and usable.

Deer sat up from the cage across from hers, where he'd been pretending to sleep. "That'll be loud," he muttered back, eyes flicking to the doll-like abominations lurking at the edges of the room.

Bat didn't look up from where she had painstakingly begun to paint her seal into the wood by the hinge of her cage door. "Can you do anything to buy me time?" she asked.

"Maybe," he replied. "Only a few seconds, though."

She nodded. It would have to be enough.

The first explosion was more of a pop and a loud huff of air. There was a curse from the cage next to hers. The force had been too weak, unfortunately. The hinged side of the cage door hadn't done more than loosen.

A rattle and a clatter sounded from the far sides of the room. The horrific doll-people were starting to move.

"Bat," Hawk said urgently. She knew, she was hurrying.

She half-crawled, half-rolled into a position on her back, legs curled inward. Then she sent a chakra-enhanced kick toward the weakened door. It clattered to the ground. She curled up and forward, launching herself from the cage, her tattered green cloak fluttering at her descent.

The dolls closed in from all sides as she jammed her splinter into the nearest lock—Dog's. It took a few seconds to work out the correct positioning. She kept at it even as she felt one of the dolls tottering ever more quickly toward her, as sweat rolled down her neck.

Bat worked the lock, head bowed, shoulders hunched, a doll looming over her back. Its arm rose, a knife in its hand, dropping down toward her just as the lock *clicked* open… and froze in place just before it hit her.

"Cutting it close, Deer," Hawk sniped tensely from several cages down. Dog kicked the door of his cage open and dove straight for the doll before Hawk had even finished speaking.

"Shut up," Deer's retort was strained, his shadow snapping back to its normal shape.

I can do that, Bat thought irrelevantly as she whirled and started on Deer's lock. She pushed the strange certainty away. She'd stick with what she knew for now, and interrogate Deer about the technique later.

Dog had the doll by both hands. He swung her around and threw her straight into the two dolls closest to Bat. This time, there was a *snap* as the lock clicked open. Her makeshift lockpick had broken, but it had lasted long enough to get Deer out.

They'd have to get the key from the Dollmaker to free the rest of the kids, unless she could find another substitute. Finding him wouldn't be a problem, if the loud, thumping footsteps approaching were anything to go by.

Bat clambered up the stacked cages. Even as quick as she was, by the time she crouched at the top, he'd arrived.

Anton Schott wore a filthy, bloodstained apron over his clothes. A baby doll's cut-out face covered his own, attached by thick black straps that ran around the back of his head. He was a giant of a man, nearing 7 feet tall and weighing in at a solid 300 pounds of bulging muscle.

Bat, at nine years old, barely topped 4 feet, and weighed maybe 55 pounds soaking wet.

Well, at least she had the high ground.

"Here!" Dog tossed Bat a knife he'd taken from one of the dolls he and Deer were fighting.

She caught it between two fingers and smoothly turned the catch into a throw, sending the knife onward toward Schott. She followed behind it, using his distraction as he batted the projectile away to plant both feet directly into his masked face. She used it as a springboard to throw herself back up and away again, landing on the floor in front of more cages.

The Dollmaker roared and charged her like a bull. She barely managed to leap out of the way. He kept going, smashing straight into the stacked cages and sending them toppling, the kids inside screaming helplessly.

She used his recovery time to snag the knife from where it had landed and throw it toward his neck, but the impact had barely slowed him down. The knife buried itself in his shoulder instead, and he kept right on going.

He lifted an entire fallen cage and turned. Her eyes widened. Then the cage was hurtling through the air, shrieking passenger and all, and it was all she could do to dodge.

There was a crash as it hit the row behind her. More cages were toppling, more screaming was added to the cacophony. Bat had dodged successfully around the cage, but Schott was right there in her trajectory. She'd known he would be, she'd predicted that, but it had been the only angle to move that would get her completely clear of the cage in time and—

A hand grabbed Bat's arm with crushing force and swung her upward in an arc, pulling her back down to smash against the ground with terrifying velocity. Her free arm flashed in swift movement before that downward arc, but then the impact hit her and she could feel ribs snapping. She couldn't breathe, the wind knocked out of her.

"Bat!" she heard Deer shout as she was lifted again, and despite the pain, her eyes glinted slyly.

Deer's shadow froze Schott's movement just as the hand gripping her cleared his head, and her free arm whipped around to slam the knife she'd snagged before into his unprotected throat.

The dollmaker fell, and so did she. Bat got back up. Schott did not.

As she claimed the keys from her guardian's body, the screaming died down into pockets of quiet sobbing.

She took a moment, just one, to breathe.

Chapter Text

Rattling around like beans in maracas had taken its toll on the Underdwellers unfortunate enough to have been in the cages Schott had dislodged. They shuffled out of their cages, happy to be out, but unhappy in general, concussed, bruised, and—in some cases—a bit broken.

It made for a miserable trip back to the main streets of the city.

Turtle took the job of walking the normal Undersiders through pain management techniques. Only a few of them could even access their chakra, much less numb themselves with it, but he was more than familiar with mundane ways to work through it.

"This is definitely Hard Work," he said to a boy who was struggling not to hyperventilate, "but if you had to go through it, you can at least learn from it! We're all here with you, and you can get through this." He gave him a thumbs-up and a bright smile.

Meanwhile, the rest of the inner circle debated the merits of going to a hospital. Would a hospital even treat them without any money? Did they want to deal with the hospital inevitably calling the cops?

"It's gonna be the same thing all over again, except maybe next time we don't get everyone out in time," Dog insisted. He hadn't forgotten the smell of carnage from that storehouse. He wouldn't any time soon. "We've gotta stop letting them tell us where to go!"

"We can't just not treat broken bones," Hawk argued, tense. Not being able to participate in the fight that had practically flattened Bat had wreaked havoc on his nerves. Now the most constructive thing he could do was get his sister medical attention, and he had no patience for any arguments to the contrary.

Bug pursed his lips, huddling within his cloak as if it could hide his tall frame. "Does anyone have memories of how to treat them, then?" he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

"Sssplint… them?" Bat suggested, drawing out the words with uncertainty. She was clearly short of breath, but trucked along without complaint, one foot in front of the other.

The kids exchanged looks. That sounded right.

"Uhhm," Frog waved a hand hesitantly. "I know a clinic we can go to?" He paused when the comment garnered him stares, then blustered on, "There's this old doc over on Park Row. She doesn't charge street kids money, and she won't call anyone on us unless we ask her to."

"You know a doctor in Crime Alley?" Dog's question was more surprised than judging, but Frog bristled anyway.

"Hey! Granny Thompkins is the best there is!" He glared. Then his voice quieted, "She looked out for me before I got picked up by Stupid Services to go live in the sewers."

Frog had been the last of the inner circle to arrive in the Sewer King's kingdom. He often talked as though he'd been alone for at least as long as Deer and the twins had, though.

Bat didn't like thinking about how closed off he'd been when they'd first met. "We believe you," she said. Her voice would have been soothing if it hadn't hitched mid-sentence. Still, it successfully distracted Frog, if only by provoking him to worry over her.

Deer nodded. "Let's check it out, then."

Doctor Leslie Thompkins was bemused to have her clinic overrun with roughly two dozen green-cloaked children. After a few moments, she spotted Frog and blinked in recognition, striding over to him.

"Raymond," she said sharply, "what on Earth…"

Frog gave her a sheepish look, one hand behind his head. "Hi, Granny Thompkins," he greeted her. "We need help? Please? Oh, and… it's, ah, Frog now."

She huffed. "I'm sure it is not." Still, she started organizing the children, assessing their injuries and triaging who needed her care first.

When they explained their concerns about going to Gotham General, she lectured the group as she treated the injured kids.

"No hospital is allowed to turn you away based on insurance, payment, or the lack of either," she said firmly. "If someone has been doing that at Gotham General, you get their name and you tell me. I still have enough connections to do something about it.

"As for the police," she continued, "hospital staff usually won't bother calling them in unless there's evidence you've committed a crime." She leaned in to look the sniffling girl whose wrist she was bandaging in the eye. "Have you been committing any crimes?"

The girl went from wet crying to wide-eyed innocence in a moment of pure, trained reflex. "No, ma'am," she replied, and butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.

Dr. Thompkins rolled her eyes.

"With that in mind, I hope you all now know you should go to the hospital when you're hurt.

"Now," she said, with little hope in her voice, "do you want me to call someone about whatever happened to you all? If not the police, then Child Protective Services can help you."

Dog made a rude noise, then squawked when Bug swatted the back of his head.

"No thank you, Doctor," Bug said, as though that interaction hadn't just happened. "We appreciate your explanation, however, as well as your assistance."

The doctor sent them off with sample packets of painkillers and anti-inflammatories, as well as strict instructions in their use.

When Bat remarked idly, once they were unobserved, that it would be nice to have jounin to watch over the normal children and see to their training, she was unnerved to find five sets of eyes on herself and Hawk.

"We weren't…" she started, then stopped.

"Were we?" Hawk murmured, unsure.

"Well, we're not now," Bat said more firmly. That was obvious. They weren't even genin level in most of their proficiencies yet. There was only one jounin in Gotham, and they all knew it.

"There are twenty-seven of us," Bug mused. "If we divide up the rest between the seven of us, we would be almost perfectly divided into genin teams."

"Numerically, anyway," Hawk muttered. You couldn't have a genin team comprised entirely of pre-genin.

That didn't stop the dreadful sense of inevitability from creeping in on Bat.

"Pass," Deer drawled, with what Bat considered an unjustified level of optimism. Hawk's snort indicated his agreement with her.

"C'mon," Frog urged, "these kids are counting on us!"

Determination burned like flames in Turtle's eyes. Deer made a strangled noise in his throat.

"Let's at least find a place to live before we commit to something like that," Bat said diplomatically.

It wouldn't matter. She could feel responsibility creeping up on her, and she knew she wouldn't dodge it.

She had to go and open her mouth. Ugh.

Chapter Text

It was noisy outside of her room.

NaruSASUko

itaidoushin

INOshikajiShiBAta

itaidoushin

SaSAneTENlee

itaidoushin

SAI continued to stare at the wall. He sat in a cheap plastic chair with his back straight and his legs dangling toward the floor, hands folded limply in his lap. His eyes were wide open, pupils slitted like a snake's, and fixed incuriously on the blank white paint.

Outside was the sharp report of gunfire, and the screams of scientists and soldiers. Distant laughter grew louder, echoing in the hallways.

But Sai was a tool of Root—she was a WEAPON of CADMUS—and tools had no function unless they were used.

An explosion boomed nearby. He didn't outwardly twitch, but what if that had been his sisteammaShikako-chan— What if Shikako was here?

That was ridiculous. She was Shikako. She'd know if the explosion was hers.

There was a heavy thump against her door, and a whimper that quieted to nothing. A puddle of blood began to ooze in from the floor outside. She sat passively in her chair, gaze still fixed to the wall in front of her. In her head though, she cycled through the relevant medical texts, one hand tugging at her messy pink ponytail as she raced to absorb the material. She'd outperform that stuck-up clan kid if it was the last thing she did.

There was a sweeping noise and a soft thump, then the handle of the door was tilting downward. The door opened with a soft click, and she heard the tap of dress shoes on the floor.

The man who stood before ShINOtoTeNji could best be described as, "sharp". Sharp edges, sharp smile, sharp eyes. His teeth and sclera were yellowed, but his skin was papery white. The rest of him was a loud mix of greens and purples.

He crouched down to her level and loOkED HeR iN ThE EyeS.

The world fuzzed at the edges of her vision and she stopped breathing for a moment, shocked. No one had looked straight at her eyes in years. Not since—that jutsu had gone wrong, and her spirit had been tainted by his—they'd found out what she could do with them. Even with the control band around her head restricting her powers, forcing her into docility, no one dared.

"Well," he drawled, too cheerful, "aren't you just cute as a button." He tousled her hair roughly. "You look surprised. Thought I'd be as cringing as those sad sacks out there, huh?" He tsked, pursing his lips and shaking his head in a parody of rueful disappointment.

"No, I'm not like them." He leaned closer, his face right up against hers. "I'm not afraid of you."

That was absurd. Everyone was afraid of him. He saw it in their eyes, the fear and hate that made them keep their children away from the demon inside him and she'd seen the look in her brother's eyes when he'd witnessed what she was willing to do and it was fear—

"I know what it's like," the man said. His voice dripped sympathy. "I know what it's like, to frighten other people." His hand cupped her face, then drifted upward. "That's why I'm not afraid of you." He gripped the metal control band around her head.

"I'm the only one," he sighed, and lifted the band up and off.

Her already wide eyes widened further still. There was a dizzying, prickly feeling, like blood rushing to return to a sleeping limb.

The man patted her cheek, just shy of too hard, and led her from the room. They walked past the bodies in the hallway to the common area, where the other test subjects (teammates?) were gathered.

"My new friends!" he cried, throwing his hands skyward. "Today, you have been liberated!" The other teens in the room whooped. The room reeked of recent death.

"Now, as your liberator, I would like to present myself as your humble patron." The man took a bow. "For too long have you been trapped here, taking one inane test after another. It's time to stop. You're not guinea pigs," there was a cheer, "You're better than those lab coat stiffs, and I can show you why. We can show the world why!" This got the loudest cheers yet.

The man basked in it for a bare second before getting bored.

"Yes, yes. Now, introductions! You might know me—if they allowed you any TV in this backwoods dump—as the Joker! And you are…"

One of the teens started to introduce herself.

"Yeah, no," the man interrupted harshly. "We need to come up with a theme here."

The girl looked unhappy at his dismissive attitude. His body language morphed to conciliatory in an instant.

"Aw, don't look so glum! I've got just the name to put a smile back on that face. Queen! That's who you are from now on!"

It did the trick. Queen tossed her hair back and looked pleased.

"And you," Joker pointed to one of the boys, the one who could shoot hot plasma. "You use a rod, yes? Let's call it a scepter from now on, shall we… King?"

King grinned with delight.

Joker's finger moved on lackadaisically to the other two boys in sequence. "That makes you Jack, and you… erm, Ten."

Ten.

TEN.

TEN.

Ino wore her brand new hitae-ate and gave her teammates a skeptical look. She was going places, and these lumps better carry their own weight. Like hell would she let Shikako's team overshadow hers.

"Mind-body switch!" She'd landed the jutsu perfectly, and they'd captured their target with flawless teamwork. Asuma-sensei looked on proudly, and they were going to nail the chuunin exams, she knew it.

Ino examined Shikamaru critically as they sparred, and not just his new prosthesis. His conditioning had slipped some, but he was focused now, as he hadn't been for a while. It seemed he'd finally gotten over his slump. She felt cool relief at the knowledge that Team 10 wouldn't be dissolved after all.

Joker swanned back to her, a sparkle in his eyes. "And you, my dear, will be my Ace in the hole!" He threw his head back and laughed, high and shrill.

Ace…? No. That wasn't right. She'd drawn the wrong card.

"Reshuffle," she demanded.

"Wha—" The Joker's gaze dropped back down to hers. They all looked her way. Her eyes flashed.

"And you," Joker was saying. "You use a rod, yes? Let's call it a scepter from now on, shall we… King?"

King grinned with delight.

Joker pointed to the boy who stretched and to her, in sequence. "That makes you Jack, and you… erm, Ten." He tossed the name out carelessly.

Ten's eyes gleamed in satisfaction.

The Joker swanned over to the largest teen. "And you'll be our Ace against Supes, yes? Yes!" He thumped Ace's chest, and the newly-dubbed Ace grinned proudly.

"And there we have it, ladies and gents. The Royal Flush Gang!"

Chapter Text

"YOSH!" Turtle cried as he and Frog swooped into the old arcade. "We have acquired a mission!"

"A little kid went missing downtown!" Frog continued, his distress blending with his enthusiasm. "We promised to send a team to track him down!"

Dog made a put-upon noise, somewhere between a whine and a groan. "Is there any chance we're getting paid for it this time?" He knew it'd be his team getting sent out for this. "You know the point of a mission is to make money, right?"

Turtle saluted him cheerfully. "Never fear, friend! The mother of this young boy agreed that her family would feed the team that brings her son back for a full week!"

Frog, who could see Hawk's mouth opening with an irritable expression on his face, raised one pacifying hand. "Plus, we'll get an extra set of cookware! Some old auntie died recently, and left them lying around. We get recipes to use them for, too."

Hawk's mouth stayed open for a moment, but no words came out. Then he quite obviously looked around the abandoned arcade the Undersiders had annexed as a base. Notably, while they had a surplus of pinball machines, they lacked both a kitchen and electricity. "Where are you planning to put them…?"

"My team should be getting some income," Bat said quietly. "Mostly simple home repairs, but we got a few bites for omamori. When word spreads, we'll probably get more requests for them."

"What are omamori?" asked one of the kids on Bug's team, a white boy with fine brown hair and crooked teeth. Benny, Bat remembered.

"Protective charms," she answered. "In this case, single-point barrier seals. I made some that should protect a person from gas attacks, since they're such a common danger. They're…" she frowned. "I can't make them good enough against physical attacks to not break when they get hit yet, so I just, ah, bypassed that functionality entirely." She looked awkward for a moment. "They filter air," she finished, sounding embarrassed.

"How is your team's progress with them?" Bug inquired from beside the boy. Bug and his team sat around a disassembled arcade machine, going over the mechanical and electronic parts with stolen tools in hand.

"They can activate them without having to bleed on them, which is an improvement. Two of them can replicate them reliably with a visual reference. We're not close to getting them to iterate on them yet."

Making seals usable for other people in this world had been a problem. The main issue was that seals require, under most circumstances, chakra to activate. In their old world, even a civilian could activate a common seal by using their blood, because chakra flowed through it ready-made by even their underdeveloped chakra coils.

Here, all chakra had to be mixed manually, which meant that a seal needed accommodations for people who weren't trained for its use.

Every seal Bat made for public consumption needed a circuit designed to convert the latent energy in blood to usable chakra. Of course, the circuit needed energy to run in the first place, so she had to either design one able to use pure spiritual or physical energy, or find a way to store chakra. That had led to a brief, thus far fruitless fixation on the creation of a chakra battery. She'd had more luck with using spiritual energy as an initial catalyst.

Of course, she'd also needed to ensure they'd be able to safely access blood. It had been a pain to secure her initial supply of lancets, but she had enough to include with her first promotional batch. And while people disliked bleeding as a matter of course, she was pretty sure they'd dislike being another victim of Joker Venom or Scarecrow's fear toxin even more.

"How about you, Bug," Deer challenged. "What's your team up to after this?"

"Acquisitions," Bug replied evenly. "Why, you might wonder? It is not for the purpose of financial gain, but a learning opportunity. With the Joker recently escaped, the police raids on his known bases has left many of his mechanical and explosive devices in their evidence rooms. Our experience with explosives in particular has thus far been limited to seals, and I have noted that we are underprepared to deal with… is anyone listening?"

"I got it, I got it," Deer waved Bug off. "Just don't lead the cops right to our front door."

"Because we wouldn't want to have to move." Hawk said, voice thick with sarcasm.

"Ugh," Deer flopped backward on the floor and covered his eyes with one arm. "Find us a better place if you're going to complain about it nonstop."

"Why don't you?"

"Because we aren't going to school."

Hawk looked baffled. So did the other kids, to be fair.

"None of us have gone to school in years. We're laughably ignorant, and we need to fix that. I have a lead on getting us textbooks, but we're going to need a lot, on a variety of subjects, for a variety of skill levels." He wrinkled his nose. "It's going to be such a pain."

Chapter Text

"The woman accused of endangering dozens of children in the foster care system is out on bail and back to work today, despite public outcry. Child Protective Services' spokesperson, Maddie Schill, has made the following stateme—"

"Tim, I made us dinner!"

There was a clattering sound as Tim knocked the remote over in his scramble to get off the couch, abandoning the television to join his sister in the kitchen. Michelle handed the boy a bowl filled with beef, potatoes, and onions—nikujaga, one of the dishes she'd simply always known how to make. Fortunate, since no one had seen fit to teach her how to cook in this lifetime.

Tim took his bowl to the kitchen table and hopped into his chair. He took a bite from his dish as Michelle joined him, washing it down with the weak tea she'd had already sitting at the table. He made a face at the taste.

"Can I have coffee?" he asked, as though Michelle had ever answered yes to that question.

"You're t-too young for coffee," she replied patiently, like she always did.

"But it smells better than tea," he whined. She noted that he at least never complained about the food, which he was eating greedily. He heaved the put-upon sigh of an oppressed seven year-old, then took another grudging sip of his tea.

"Tomorrow's Saturday," he observed between bites. "Are you going to teach me more chakra tricks?" His expression was hopeful, eyes wide and sparkling beneath messy black locks of hair.

"Once you g-get through your physical c-conditioning exercises," she replied, her tone firm.

Tim groaned.

"Who was it who wanted t-to be 'just like Robin'?"

He groaned again through a mouthful of potato. Michelle smiled at his theatrics.

Despite not taking well to the physical training he'd asked her for, she knew he'd be diligent in practice. Her little brother was obsessed with Batman and Robin, the way some children were with cars or dinosaurs. He had a map of Gotham with which he tracked all their known sightings, as well as a collection of newspaper articles about the duo's exploits.

His enthusiasm for training to be more like his heroes had inspired her to take her own training more seriously. She was never quite sure how she knew the chakra exercises or martial forms she did, but she was happy they'd earned her the respect of her little brother.

Frankly, he needed someone to look up to in this otherwise empty household.

"Ah, ah, ah. Don't touch that remote! I know it's heartbreaking to have your favorite shows preempted, but look what you're getting instead: me! And a whole truckload of mindless violence and wanton property damage—everything that makes T.V. great! So stay tuned; you won't believe your eyes…"

Tim's head tilted as the voice from the television made its way to the kitchen. He frowned. "Is that…"

"The Joker," Michelle whispered, pale. "Tim, go to your room." He shouldn't have to see the kinds of things the Joker did on live T.V.

"No way!" he cried, already racing to the living room. "I want to see Batman!"

"Tim!" she snapped, following on his heels.

Anyone from Gotham would recognize the sickly dapper figure of the Joker on the television screen, lounging in a high-backed chair like it was a throne. He was framed by an arch of pink and black balloons. To the side of his chair was a little girl about Michelle's age, sitting huddled, facing offscreen. Her hands rested limply on her knees, which were pressed to her chest.

"Here's how we do this little tango: I've tucked away a great big time bomb somewhere on the Vegas Strip. Only the Justice League can stop it…"

Michelle felt like she could breathe again when she realized that whatever the Joker had planned wasn't staged in Gotham this time. The relief was followed swiftly by a wave of guilt.

Tim looked back and saw the expression on her face. "Don't worry," he told her earnestly, "Batman's going to save everyone. Watch!"

Against her better judgment, she did. A countdown timer appeared onscreen—the Joker's way of showing the audience when the bomb would explode if the League failed to find and disarm them all.

Batman was the first to arrive on-scene, followed swiftly by Superman and the Flash. Superman found a bomb almost immediately, the timer ticking down on their screen still in excess of twenty-one minutes, but a plasma blast knocked the Man of Steel on his face.

That cued the entrance of a new group of supervillains—teenagers with a playing card theme who Joker called the Royal Flush Gang. It seemed as if the gang had the upper hand at first. But Hawkgirl and Green Lantern's arrival turned the tide, allowing Batman to get to work figuring out the bomb.

The siblings watched as Joker gloated about his new team, detailing their origins. Ace, King, Queen, and Jack fought a delaying battle against the superheroes, and Ten sat quietly through Joker's fawning pseudo-affection. Superman discovered another twenty-five bombs with less than fourteen minutes left on the clock.

The view switched to a split screen as Batman fought off Jack and talked the Flash through disarming a bomb at the same time, impressing Tim greatly. Michelle observed Batman catching himself on walls and signs during his fight with some interest.

Is Batman sticking to the walls with chakra? She'd never seen anyone aside from her brother and herself use chakra techniques and, for all that Tim showed signs of surpassing her in fine manipulation and control, she'd still introduced the concept herself. She wondered what it would imply if he was.

She regretted letting Tim stay and watch when the Joker blew up a bomb preemptively, the Green Lantern right up close and personal with the explosion. She heard a sharp intake of breath from her brother at the sight.

"He's okay," she said, with far more confidence than she actually had. "S-see? Hawkgirl's helping him." She took his hand in hers, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

The rest of the bombs were taken care of swiftly by the Flash and Superman, while Batman worked on tracking down the Joker's location.

Just when it seemed things were going to turn out all right, the Joker turned Ten to face the camera. Abruptly, the world seemed to twist. The room melted. Nausea churned in Michelle's stomach, the night's dinner gurgling uneasily.

"You see, Ten can send out thought waves that alter perception. But enough with the jargon; she can make you crazy just by looking at you!"

There was something… There was something she should remember about that. Genjutsu? Some counter. But… she was immune, right?

She sent chakra, uselessly, to the wrong eyes and fell further into the girl's strange spell. Her world was dominated by a pair of snake-slitted eyes, then even those drifted away like dispersing mist.

Trees loomed tall, impossibly tall. Men and women hopped through their branches like crickets, moving in spurts of blurred motion. She saw green flak jackets. No, they were black haori. She saw white, white eyes, and veins that protruded at the temple, and she knew they could see her, they could see everything.

You! She heard a crowd of voices shouting at her. They gathered close, like physical presences pressing in on the boundaries of her mind. Familiar somehow, nostalgic, but too close together, something was wrong—

Help us!

She didn't know how to help. A massive, twisted energy overwhelmed her chakra sense, and her other senses were running haywire. She was horrified, dizzy. She was going to be sick. She wanted this to be over.

The crowd pressed nearer still, painfully close. The distinction of her core self blurred, and she lost track of who she was among the group. Her thoughts cracked under the pressure, and one of the presences was pressed by the rest even further through the boundaries of her mind.

A flood of recognition washed over her.

Vaguely, she registered that the hallucinations had stopped, and so had most of the pressure. But the single presence that had been forced into her mind remained. It was her. She was it.

Far away, she heard the Joker whimper, then scream as Ten turned against him.

Tim clutched his head. "Ugh… I don't feel so good," he muttered. She didn't respond.

"Michelle?"

That wasn't her name.

"Michelle?!"

From the floor of the room beyond the television screen, Batman croaked out a question. "Where… are you gonna… go?" The words were slurred.

"Home."

Hinata knew with a dread-filled certainty that the girl had no home to go to.

"I want to go home."