Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

As a general rule, Bruce  hated  spending any amount of time in the vicinity of Lex Luthor. At its best, these moments could be used to gather intel -even a man as intelligent as Luthor was prone to blab to those he thought to be his lessers, including Hapless, Affable Bruce Wayne- or plant surveillance bugs on his clothes and possessions. At its worst, it was an infuriating exercise on how long he could maintain his Public Face. Yes, underneath Luthor's superficial charisma and the carefully cultivated image he presented to charm the easily pacified public, the man was a black hole of greed and self-aggrandizing ambition. As Tim would say, Lex Luthor was every Evil Rich White Businessman stereotype rolled into one frankly embarrassing cliché. 

And, yes, Bruce was more than aware of how hypocritical he was being. 

"So, what have you heard about her?" Luthor asked, tapping the toe of a $3000 handmade Italian leather shoe on the private elevator carpeted floor. 

"Probably as much as you," Bruce said, all false cheer and a fake, friendly smile. 

Almost humorously, his statement  was  probably true. Bruce took great pride in his intelligence gathering but could admit that Luthor's was nearly as good. It was only the man's own hubris that kept him from knowing more. He refused to believe the great and powerful Superman would choose to live his life as the painfully ordinary Clark Kent, so he did not know. He refused to believe that friendly party-boy billionaire Bruce Wayne would spend his night solving crimes and fighting mutated crocodile-men in the sewer, so he did not know.

And that was how Bruce liked it. 

"Oh, I doubt that  very  much," Luther said, only a hint of nasal arrogance in his voice. Then, after a moment, "She's done a very good job of avoiding the spotlight and keeping herself out of the press. Strange for a woman of her status."

Bruce nodded. That fit with the information he had, at least on the surface level. There were only a few pictures of the CEO and owner of Thousand Solutions Enterprise out there, all blurry and taken from a distance. Even her page on the company website only offered an elegant drawing of a wrench intertwined with a pink flower against a stylized sun -a more ornate version of the company's logo. If one were hoping to get a glimpse of her at any press releases, then they'd be out of luck in that regard too. They were done by someone else entirely and, if the CEO  was  there, she hid among the crowd remarkably well. 

Needless to say, he was suspicious. After all, it wasn't every day a brand new tech company sprang out from nowhere and revolutionized the industry in a few short years with a combination of alternative fuel sources and organic technology, among other things. And it was rare that the person in charge of it all would seemingly have no use for the fame and praise that came from heading such a movement. Rarer even still was such a...  clean  company. 

Not that all the company's legal, government, business, and financial were records were  perfect , of course. No, perfection didn't occur in nature; it was an artificial construct. A company with no flaws or mistakes in its records was not a real company and would have drawn far more suspicion to any auditor or government inspector who cared to look close than one with the excepted amount of mess-ups from human error. 

Batman cared to look.

"We're in for a treat then," he said.

Ping!

The doors to the private elevator slid open revealing a large, sprawling office full of bookshelves, a tasteful yet odd and eclectic collection of decorations, many potted plants, large and small, and gleaming wooden furniture lit by wide bay windows overlooking the Atlantic ocean. 

'Homey,'  was the first thought that came to Bruce's mind. 

The office was beautiful, no doubt, but more than just being stylish, Bruce couldn't help but notice how  comfortable  it was. Most CEOs' offices -and Bruce had seen a great many in his lifetime- either preferred a sleek, ultra-modern design with little in the way of ornamentation or personal effects or elaborate altars to their occupant's expensive hobbies and interest. But this one... there was no showmanship to all the interests on display here, only genuine enthusiasm. If he didn't know any better, Bruce could even mistake this room for a private library.

"12:30 on the dot. I do appreciate punctuality in my visitors."

From behind a large planter of Casablanca lilies rose the tall, dark-haired figure of their host. As she peeled off a pair of pink gardening gloves and came closer, Bruce heard Luther let out a long, low whistle. 

"Now that is a lot of woman," he said under his breath, eyes firmly fixed on the impressive figure before them.

Nico Franks, the CEO and owner of Thousand Solutions Enterprise, was a slightly older woman -perhaps mid-forties judging from the small lines around her eyes and mouth that gave her face far more character than it took away- but an exceptionally beautiful one with long, toned limbs, an hourglass figure, and tanned skin. Her long, inky black hair was pulled into a stylish half-updo, with the loose locks falling artfully over one shoulder. A simple jewel green wrap dress, pair of black heels, and perfectly understated make-up completed the look of a lovely, unthreatening buisness woman.

It was an interesting lie. A pleasing Face to present to the public, what little she interacted with it.

"I am Nico Franks, and it is nice to finally meet you two gentlemen," the woman said, extending an arm for a handshake. "I've read so much about you both."

"Oh no, the pleasure is all mine," Bruce said, easily slipping his own Face back on. He took her hand, shook it firmly enough to feel the woman's impressive strength and surprising callouses, and kissed the back of it. 

Bruce Wayne was a playboy after all.

"It's  both  of our pleasure, Ms. Franks," Luthor said, taking her hand next. 

'What do you see, Luthor?'

Because the first thing Bruce noticed about Nico Franks wasn't her beauty or even her impressive bust, it was her  height.  His trained eye put the woman at around 6'2''-same as Luthor and himself- and the heels she was wearing gave her an extra three inches, letting her tower over both of them. When Bruce looked beyond that, he saw even more. He saw the lean, solid muscle of Nico Franks' body, in addition to how each visible limb was dotted with an assortment of white, healed scars. She moved with a grace of a trained dancer... or fighter, every step and gesture was smooth and deliberate. Even the woman's choice of attire was carefully selected, not dissimilar to how Bruce chose his own; the wrap dress didn't provide must protection but it was easy to move in with a loose, layered skirt that could be used to hide any matter of weapons or devices with heels low and solid enough to run in. Finally, her smile was pleasant... and completely fake. It, like every aspect of Franks' appearance, was a vacantly pleasant mask to present to others. One even Bruce was struggling to see past.

In the back of his mind, Bruce wondered if Luthor could see that she was a lie or if he was taken by Franks' disarming beauty. In the  front  of his mind, he wondered if the woman could tell Bruce wasn't fooled.

"It's so nice to meet two of my most illustrious peers. It is a shame we haven't had a chance to become acquainted before," Franks said. "I follow the work of both of your companies with great interest."

"And I yours," Luthor replied. "Though, admittedly, you haven't made it easy. Your company keeps its secrets close to the chest, and you, Ms. Franks, seem to be allergic to the camera."

'That was forward, Luther. If you're not careful, she'll clam up. Or are you hoping to trip her up?'

" Fufufu.  You can't blame up a new, up-and-comer for being secretive in the face of older, more established competition, can you?" Franks asked with a sweet, fake laugh. "So many of our ideas were experimental, some outright outlandish, that they needed to be kept private until they proved viable."

Yes, outlandish ideas. Bruce had been dubious when he'd started hearing of compact, reliable, and affordable devices that could do things like covert salt or polluted water into something drinkable, or manipulate the weather in the immediate vicinity. And yet, when he investigated, the skepticism was completely invalidated. Both machines proved to work exactly as advertised. 

Other inventions that Thousand Solutions had turned out included a durable, powerful engine that could run on their specialized corn syrup, a skin-like polymer that could be used in the medical reconstruction of burn wounds or other disfiguring trauma, some truly fascinating new antibiotics, and guns that fired powerful yet non-lethal bursts of highly pressurized air. The last of those was so impressive that several police departments in the United States had begun experimenting with using them in place of regular firearms. 

Despite his suspicions about Nico Franks and her company, Bruce approved. 

"But surely you can understand the benefit in partnering with a larger company to get your products out into the world," Luthor pressed. "Secrets and individuality are important, of course, but so is  success . I'll admit to being surprised you didn't reach out to form a partnership with Lex Corp-" then, after a moment, added "or a similar company in the beginning. After all, we have an established consumer base that trusts our products." 

'Subtle, Lex,'  Bruce thought wryly. That being said, for now, he was content to allow Luthor to lead the conversation. If Franks' attention was on him, then it gave Bruce the opportunity to more closely examine the woman's office. You could tell a lot about someone by what they keep in their personal spaces. 

'Quite the scholar, I see.' 

The largest bookshelf in the room housed a truly impressive amount of history, archeology, anthropology, geography, and linguistic books, in addition to volumes on buisness, patent, and finance law. Some of the titles Bruce recognized from his father's study and, having read a few himself, he could guess Franks had quite the extensive education. He also noticed that, strangely, there were no books on engineering, medical engineering, chemistry, or any of the other fields that Thousand Solutions specialized in. 

Apart from the books and the obviously lovingly cared for plants, Bruce noticed that what at first appeared to be aesthetically appealing trinkets were all objects a student of history would find fascinating -a brass telescope, a sundial made of stone and gold, a gilded bronze hourglass, and much more. Little statues and eyecatching babbles were securely locked in a glass case, along with what he could recognize as the common tools of an archeologist like dental picks, trowels, brushes, and measuring tapes. Even the paintings, prints, and tapestries that hung around the rooms depicted historical sites and-

"Is that a map?" Bruce asked, though he hadn't even meant to speak. 

But he couldn't help it. The massive piece of thick parchment depicting some land he'd never seen before had completely enraptured him. The delicate lines of the piece, each seemingly done by hand, were so meticulous and purposeful that he couldn't bring himself to look away. Bruce's eyes would lock on and follow one line after another, unable to look away. On the surface, it looked like a colorless version of a map from the 1500s, complete with depictions of strange sea monsters in the corners. Yet there is something beyond that. Something... fascinating and  perfect .

His question cut off whatever nonsense Luthor was spewing, and brought all attention back to Bruce. Ms. Franks' lips quirked upward as she slid away from Luthor to stand beside him in front of the frame.

"Yes. Cartography and mapmaking are the passion of a dear friend of mine," she explained. With aching tenderness, Franks stroked the carved wooden frame, "This was a rough draft of her masterpiece. She said it had too many mistakes, too many imperfections and issues. But it was those very imperfections that made it precious to me. I couldn't bear to see it destroyed so I retrieved it from the rubbish bin and had it framed."

"It's beautiful," Bruce said, earning him the first truly genuine smile he'd seen from Nico Franks. Taking a closer look at the map he  was  able to see mistakes. Nothing that was hugely noticeable at first glance -a few lines that were shaky or drawn thicker than they should be, some smudges, and ink-stained fingerprints around the edges- but still enough that the piece couldn't qualify as technically flawless.

"The final version is even grander, I assure you. Twice the size of this one and complete without mistake; it is truly a sight to behold. For now, though, this one simply serves as my reminder of her. And, for that, I adore it all the more."

“I can only imagine. My mother would have clambered to have this in one of her galleries. She loved unusual pieces like this,” he said. Sometimes a bit of truth was the best way to maintain a facade. 

That said, it didn't escape Bruce's notice that Franks never once mention her friend's name or anything identifiable about her. 

'The list of people who make fantasy maps by hand can't be large, especially not with this level of skill. That could be a lead.'

"Making fake maps is a cute hobby and all but think good ol' Bruce got us off-track," Luthor spoke up, trying to draw Franks' attention back to him and the file in his hand. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce saw Franks' frown. He hid a smirk,  'That was a misstep, Luthor. You just insulted someone she cares about. Her guard is going to be back up.'

"Ah, yes. The partnership proposals, I'd completely forgotten," Franks said airily, the sweetly fake smile back in place. She slid in her plush desk chair, taking the file from Lex's hand. Franks flipped through it for a moment before closing it again, handing the file back. "Unfortunately, I-"

"LUNCHTIME! IT'S LUNCHTIME!"

Bruce and Luthor watched stunned, slack-jawed surprise as a small, blue and gray Rubix cube-esc block on Franks' desk unfolded itself into the shape of a man holding up a tiny clock. It started pacing up and down the length of her desk, waving the clock in the air and shouting.

"IT IS TIME FOR LUNCH! EVEN SOMEONE AS  SUUUUUUPPPPPPPAAAAAAA  AS YOU NEEDS TO EAT! SO GO! GET! LUNCH!"

A fond smile -also completely genuine- graced the woman's face. She picked the strange little device up, cradling it in her hands with the utmost tenderness, before pressing down on the top of the clock, silencing the chant. 

When Franks saw them staring, she giggled. " Fufufu,  it's a gift from my husband. For as much as the man admires my work ethic, he worries about me skipping lunches. He built this to remind me to stop and eat."

"Yes… that's right, I'd read you were married," Luthor said. The man had surely sensed Franks' interest slipping away; if he was to regain control of the conversation, he'd have to act quickly.

Bruce wondered if Luthor would ever look back on the conversation and realize that he'd never been in control. Neither of them was.

Franks rested her cheek in her hand and smiled, "Where?"

"What?"

Another smile. "Where did you read I was married? My husband isn't mentioned anywhere on the business' website. I've never mentioned him in my rare interviews and he's never appeared in public. Tom is the shy sort, I'm afraid; he prefers to spend the day toiling away in his workshop."

Bruce faked a cough to hide his smirk.  'Another slip-up? You're off your game, Luthor. Were you expecting easier prey or just thrown off by a woman not immediately falling for your so-called charms?'

He'd know Nico Franks was married too, of course. He'd found the woman's marriage certificate to a Thomas Water Franks when digging into her life, along with her schooling and health records. The records of both individuals were completely clean and utterly unimpressive, except in the fact that they were exquisite fakes. Bruce couldn't even spot any of the tell-tale signs of the most elite forgers on his radar. Either one of the Franks was an expert at creating fake identities or they knew someone who was. The only thing Bruce could be reasonably certain were genuine was Nico Franks' academic works and the company's patents and paperwork. Honestly, he couldn't even be entirely sure Tom Franks was a real person.

However, 'Mr. Franks' may have just given Bruce an opportunity to get his 'wife' into a more vulnerable position.

"Well, we certainly can't let our presence cause you to disappoint your husband, can we?" Bruce said. "Might I suggest we move this meeting somewhere more casual? I know an excellent restaurant not far from here."

When Franks and Luthor both turned to him, Bruce could see the wheels turning behind their eyes. They were considering what his angle could be, what game was being played. In the business world, even 'friendly' competitors were constantly manipulating and trying to get one over on each other. Nico Franks and Thousand Solutions were squeaky clean on paper, yes, but the woman's eyes were far too shrewd and calculating for her to have  not  stabbed someone in the back on her way to the top. 

Lex Luthor was Lex Luthor, enough said there. 

And that left the two weighing the pros and cons of agreeing to Bruce's proposal. For Luthor, the advantage of taking Franks out of her home turf was the same as it was for him: it put the woman in a more vulnerable position. For Franks, it allowed her to get them out of her private space. The question was if they'd decide the potential benefits outweighed the known dangers. 

It was times like this Bruce's carefully cultivated Public Face of a charming and intelligent yet utterly hopeless airhead truly came in handy. Luthor, at least, could never even  dream  that good ol' Brucie Wayne might be up to something nefarious. 

So, after a moment, the bald man gave a friendly grin. "Lunch sounds like a fantastic suggestion. What do you say, Mrs. Franks? My treat."

Franks looked between the two men, brown eyes slightly narrowed in suspicion yet never once losing her own Face. And, sure enough, after a moment...

"Why, that sounds lovely." Franks picked up her desk phone, "I'll just call a car and then take a moment to freshen up. Tending to my plants can leave me such a mess, I'm afraid."

"Actually, I don't suppose you could point me to a restroom?" Lex asked, faking an appropriately half bashful look. "Nature calls, and all that."

"Of course, take the elevator one floor down. The closest guest bathroom will be the second door on the left. You should be able to find it without issue, the rest of the rooms on that floor are just used to house servers and old files.”

Internally, Bruce flinched. Franks had been doing  so well,  not giving either himself or Luthor an inch when it came to her company's internal data. Even with all of his skills and equipment, he hadn't been able to hack into their systems or cameras. Everything was entirely closed circuit and in-house, even the building's public wifi was kept entirely separate from the network all the work computers operated on. And that didn't even  touch  on the level of security the place had!

'Either she doesn't think we'll do anything or she is confident we won't be  able  to do anything,'  he thought, watching both Luthor and the woman leave -Franks into a small connecting room and Lex down the elevator. 

Suspicion buzzed in the back of his mind but Bruce wasn't about to let this opportunity go to waste. He scanned the room once more; even to his trained eye, he couldn't see any security cameras. Not that it meant anything. As much as Franks was obviously a woman who liked her privacy, she was  also  a business owner who clearly understood the importance of security. Which meant he still needed to be careful.

His Face still deliberately up, his moments purposefully casual, Bruce ambled around the room. To whoever was watching the cameras, he would appear as nothing more than a bored man killing time. What it wouldn't show, however, was him planting a series of small surveillance bugs. 

First, he walked back to the framed map, leaning forward to slide his hand down the -expertly made, Bruce had to admit- wooden frame and sticking the first of the bugs around the back of it. From the way Franks had spoken of the map, it was clear that she treasured it deeply. Even if she tore the room apart looking for listening devices, he couldn't see the woman risking harm to it. After that, another six bugs were placed on a windowsill, on of the bookshelves, more of the room's artwork, and various curiosities. 

The final and most risky bug was tucked into Frank's desk. Leaning over and pretending to investigate the various items scattered across it -' No personal pictures,'  Bruce noticed.  'Not even of her wedding, family, or friends.’ - nestled into the wiring of her computer. He'd only just gotten it in place when Bruce heard the door to Franks' private bathroom sliding open. Bruce grabbed the closest thing on the desk and held it up like he was examining it as a cover.

"Thank you for waiting, Mr. Wayne. I'm ready to- What are you doing?" Franks asked. 

Bruce put on a bashful grin and glanced down at what he grabbed -the strange little alarm Franks' husband had designed. "Sorry, I was curious. Didn't mean any harm, I've just never seen anything like it before."

"That isn't surprising. All my husband's inventions for friends and family are highly personalized, each completely unique to the tastes and needs of those who receive them," Franks said, taking the alarm from his hand. The sunglasses and stylish sunhat Franks was wearing made her even  more  infuriatingly difficult to read than before. "Shall we go then? We can pick up Mr. Luthor on our way down."

Bruce offered up his elbow, which Franks slid her hand into with -genuine- laugh. "Let's go."

"Here you are. For the gentlemen -duck breasts with apricot chutney and rice, and pan-fried Hungarian foie gras served with flambéed apples, caramelized pears, and mushroom salad," the restaurant's head waiter announced as a team of servers set about serving Bruce and Luthor's respective meals. "And, for the lady... Pork Bánh Mì With quick pickles & roasted broccoli sandwiches. Is there anything else I could do for our most esteemed guests?"

"Just send over the sommelier and a bottle of your best cognac," Luthor said, shoving his menu at the nearest waiter. 

Bruce fought the urge to frown and made a mental note to give a more generous than usual tip. 

"Some coffee, if you don't mind," Franks said sweetly, handing over her menu with far more gentleness. "A splash of milk and one sugar, please. Just one, that is very important. I don't want it too sweet."

"Of course, madam. I will see to it personally."

"Coffee for me as well," Bruce added. "Black."

"At once, sir," the waiter said with a respectful nod of the head. "For now, We'll leave you all to enjoy your meals."

When he was gone, Franks' picked up one of her sandwiches and smiled. "This looks delicious. What a wonderful place you recommended, Mr. Wayne."

"I've been here a few times and never left disappointed," Bruce said. "And, please, call me Bruce. Mr. Wayne was my father."

"Wasn't your father a surgeon?" Luthor commented. Then he cocked an eyebrow at Franks, "Sandwiches, really? We take you to a gourmet restaurant and you order  sandwiches?"

" Fufufu,  I like what I like," Franks giggled. But, when she took the first bite of her meal, something strange happened.

She frowned.

"Is something wrong with your food?" Bruce asked, confused. "If you don't like it we can call the waiter back."

"No, it's fine. Delicious even," the woman said, shaking her head. "I just spent...  years  eating the food prepared by the best. After that, nothing quite compares." 

Luthor pounced on the comment, no doubt seeing it as a chance to glean more personal information. "Oh, you had a personal chef? Where was he trained? Mine studied at the Culinary Arts Academy in Switzerland. I know everyone says that the Auguste Escoffier School of Culinary Arts is the best but I remain skeptical."

Another sweetly fake smile. "He was trained by his father. In a restaurant, you wouldn't have heard of."

The warm way she spoke left Bruce certain that this chef was another dear friend.  'And another person whose name she was careful not to mention.'

By his side, Luthor stiffened. He was careful not to let it show but Bruce could tell he was growing annoyed by the repeated stonewalling. The man had started this meeting so  smug,  so confident he'd walked away with everything he wanted and more. It was increasingly clear that Luthor hadn't been expecting the enigma that was Nico Franks.

Neither of them had been. 

The three lapsed into silence for a while as they ate, broken only by the sommelier coming to present some wine choices. It was a comfortable enough atmosphere, here in their private VIP room, but Bruce never let his guard down. Not around Franks. Not around Luthor, who could easily have mercy nearby. And there was no telling who else around them was on the take. 

That was part of the reason he'd suggested The Silver Spoon in the first place. Picking the location of lunch gave him more control of the situation. Bruce had been here before. He was familiar with most of the staff, the layout, and the best places to sit for cover and surveillance. And the other reason was that...

"So, Mr. Wayne, how did you come to be familiar with this place?" Franks asked. "You are Gotham man, correct? Wayne Enterprise doesn't have a branch in Bludhaven so I'm surprised you've spent enough time here to have a favorite restaurant."

"Yeah, Bruce, how'd you manage to find the one decent place to eat in a city unfit for human habitation?" Lex asked.

"Oh, my son lives in Bludhaven and is where we eat when I come to visit."

...On top of the food being genuinely tasty, he had some good memories of this place. Mostly of the rare times when Dick decided he could stand Bruce’s presence long enough to have a good meal and make awkward small talk.

Luthor gave him a confused look, "Son? You don't have any kids."

Bruce frowned, a spark of genuine anger coming through before he was able to shove it back down. Forcing a friendly grin, he slapped Luthor on the back with more force than strictly necessary. "C'mon, Lex, I know you've been avoiding my parties but has it been so long that you've forgotten Dick and Tim?"

He hated bringing the boys into this conversation. Even if their existence and connection to him was public knowledge, giving the names of his biggest weak spots was a special kind of necessary evil.

"Oh yeah, the circus kid you took in! Grayson, wasn't it?" Luthor asked. "I remember him. A real charmer that one. Haven't seen him lately, is he off running one of your foreign divisions?" 

Ah, there it was. The digging for anything that could be used as ammunition. Luthor had always been fond of the fishing-for-information-disguised-as-casual-conversation tactic. He was charming enough to pull it off with most people too. Bruce wasn't like most people, he knew what the other man was trying. But to clamp up and refuse to talk about his children would be suspicious. Even if Luthor wouldn't think anything of it, Franks -who'd kept suspiciously quiet through the entire exchange- might. After all, most father's loved bragging about their kids.

'I'd like to brag about them,'  Bruce admitted to himself.  'I'd have so much to go on about. Tim is brilliant, and Dick is amazing on all fronts.'

He rolled a response around in his mouth, eventually settling on, "No. I  am  planning on opening a branch of my company here in Bludhaven, but Dick doesn't work for me."

'He's refused. Multiple times.' 

"Ah. Well, I guess you don't need to keep Grayson around now that he is an adult," Luthor shrugged.

"...Dick chose not to be involved. He wanted to be a cop instead," Bruce said after a moment. "It's a noble pursuit."

Luthor, at the very least, had the decency to nod in pretend respect. "That it is. Still, I can't imagine it was easy for you. Don't worry, I'm sure your prodigal son will return to the nest eventually."

It was times like this where Bruce wondered if Luthor wasn't as willfully blind as he believed. That comment was almost too pointed for it to be a coincidence. 

"Lex, would you mind going to find the sommelier?" Franks flashed Luthor a dazzling smile, reaching over to stroke the man's forearm, "I'm just  dying  for more of that delicious red he had, and I'm afraid I can't be patient enough to wait for a waiter to return."

Whatever surprise Luthor -and Bruce, for that matter- was feeling after that abrupt change of demeanor, vanished quickly. "If  that  wine was enough to impress you, I have some in my personal collection that would completely blow you away."

"Mmmm, perhaps I'll let you show me sometime."

Thankfully, Bruce was saved from having to listen to any more of that by Luthor leaving to go fetch the sommelier. Before Bruce could spend too much time analyzing all of Franks' possible avenues, the woman sighed.

"What an unpleasant man."

Bruce blinked, turning to face her. Was this an attempt to confuse him? To trick Bruce into revealing something useful about Luthor? 

He shifted in his chair, playing into the discomfort he was feeling. "Oh, Lex? I know he can come across as a little... rough around the edges, but that is just the force of his personality. When you're that brilliant, rich, and successful, it's hard not to be that confident in everything you do."

Franks gave him an unamused look. "Don't pretend with me. It's undignifying for us both."

.

.

.

"Alright," Bruce nodded, voice dropping low and his false smile falling away. "Cards on the table then. Who are you? I've checked everything possible about you online and come away absolutely empty-handed when it comes to personal details. Except for you being married and your academic papers, you might as well not even exist outside of your role as the CEO for Thousand Solutions. And, I have to wonder, what is a historian doing leading a tech company?"

The sweetly fake smile was back. Only, this time, it wasn't quite  so  faked. There was a little more genuine amusement this time, a little more interest and investment in the conversation she was having. 

"It is true that my husband is the real brain behind the R&D part of the company. Honestly, I have full faith he  could  run the human resources and business sides of it perfectly well too, but that doesn't interest him nearly as much as the inventing and building," Franks said easily. "As for me? My story is simple enough."

I became a historian and archaeologist at a young age. My mother was the inspiration for my passion but a library and the people who worked there cultivated it. When I lost them, I struck out on my own, traveling around and learning about history wherever and whenever I could, never settling anywhere for long. After many years, I met a group of individuals who loved me like family and convinced me to stay, including my now-husband. I consider  that  to be the true start of my life.”

She sipped her coffee. "My husband was adopted, you know? I suppose I was too, though far less happily. Still, I have great respect for those who open their hearts and homes to children the world didn't want."

Franks said the last bit like it was an explanation. Like the woman wanted Bruce to know  why  she was deciding to reveal these details about herself.

And yet...

"You're telling me a lot about yourself and your life, Mrs. Franks," Bruce said slowly. "But it occurs to me that you're saying very little at the same time. You also haven't explained why you invited Luthor and me to your company when you obviously have no interest in a partnership."

" Fufufu , a woman has to have her secrets, Bruce. For example, I-" Franks held out a closed fist in front of him "-have eyes everywhere."

Then, without another word, she dropped all of the surveillance bugs Bruce had planted in her office on the table in front of him. 

Chapter Text

Robin was in a contemplative mood as she steered her car -such a wondrous invention, why hadn't anyone in her own world come up with it?- through the ill-kept streets of Bludhaven and passed the city limits until she reached her and Franky's home. The house they'd built together was comfortably situated in a rural area outside of the city; perched on a cliff overlooking the Pacific ocean and surrounded by a thick forest of trees that gave them all the privacy they needed.  

As she took in the building before her, Robin couldn't help but smile. It truly was a creation of hers and Franky's imagination; a testament to their respective skills, and built with their own hands -though Robin provided a few more, in that respect. Robin had poured over magazines and books on architecture, studying the pros and cons of different styles both in terms of looks and defensibility, before deciding on a Colonial Revival–style house. The majority of the home was white but they'd painted the shutters and doors calming shades of green, gray, and cream. Several brick chimneys jutted from the roof like towers and their modest grounds were covered with flourishing Anglican-style gardens. Ivy, white O'Hara roses, boxwood topiary, Annabelle hydrangeas, a mixture of other flowers, and creeping fig blanket moss created a lush oasis. Overall, Robin liked to think she and Franky managed to create a home with an elegantly classic, yet timeless aesthetic. 

And yet... all of that beautifully crafted exterior was just for show. Though you'd never be able to tell from looking at the outside, the glorious exterior of the house was nothing but a carefully constructed shell for their secret fortress. The glass in the windows was the same Franky as used for the  Sunny's  windows, aquarium bar, and The Shark Submerge III. Both incredibly durable, to the point of being able to withstand bullets and hurricane-force winds, and easy to clean, it was a safe choice. The doors and walls were reinforced with Wapometal and the entire building along with its surrounding perimeter was defended by the tightest security system that they both could think of. Even the internal rooms, as richly furnished and beautifully decorated as they were, very rarely saw use.

'No,'  Robin thought to herself as she slipped through the dark rooms and into a secret elevator hidden behind a bookcase.  'The real magic is hidden underneath.'

Both Franky and Robin had lived difficult lives full of strife and fear. They knew the importance of hiding vital truths -names, locations, and secrets- and how crucial having a place hidden and defended from the rest of the world could be. So, while their first base of operations after arriving in this new world had been a littoral cave in the cliffside, big enough to hide the  Thousand Sunny  and small to go unnoticed later a bit of clever camouflage. From there, they'd drilled rooms and halls into the stone; these passages would continue to expand until they connected to the surface. It had taken months of hard, laborious work, especially since Robin was also working on getting the company up and running. They'd needed capital, after all. 

'And it was all worth it in the end,'  Robin thought to herself.  'Perhaps this isn't our true home, sailing the seas with everyone else, but it is  a  home. One where Franky and I have each other. I'm not alone again.'

Speaking of Franky... 

Robin smiled when she saw the little sign above his workshop door was lit up red. That light was one of the codes that made their relationship work; when it was green, Robin was welcome to come and go at her heart's content but, when it was red, that meant Franky was working on something dangerous or volatile. Robin had something similar. When she hung a little tree-themed wind chime on the doorknob of her office, it was a sign she needed quiet. Over the years, they'd grown to have their own special, silent language of touch and gestures. Simply put, she and Franky understood each other.

Giving the door a soft knock to let Franky know she'd arrive home safe, Robin made her way to the master bathroom. As the enormous tub filled up, Robin slid out of her heels and shimmied out of her dress, letting it fall to the floor. Switch to start some soft music, she pinned her long hair up and sank into the hot water.

"Ahhhh," Robin sighed, breathing in the steam. 

Within moments, a familiar numbness overtook her body. And yet... it was not as  powerful,  not as debilitating, as what Robin was used to. Though she could not prove it, Robin wondered if this world's water lacked the power that it had in her own. There were, to her knowledge, no Devil Fruits in this world. Therefore, the sea could not have the same level of hatred for those who'd consumed the cursed fruits, so its grip on them wasn't as powerful. 

Granted, Robin still couldn't swim and prolonged exposure to any standing water would still zap her strength. As such, even living next to a coastal cliffside, she did her best to avoid it. 

Closing her eyes, Robin couldn't say how much time had passed before the tell-tale sound of metal shifting against metal entered the room. The water was still warm, but with Franky's heat sustaining tub -perfect for long, cold nights on the open seas- that didn't mean off. 

"How was your day?" she asked, opening one eye. 

"Eh, the usual. Did some fine-tuning of the next engine project," Franky said, not even pretending he wasn't enjoying getting an eye full of her body. "You had a big day though. How'd the meeting go? Did you have them eating out of your hand?"

" Fufufu , you know me so well." After a moment of thought, Robin continued with a serious answer. "The bald one, Luthor, is dangerous and intelligent, yet his arrogance blinds him. We should still keep an eye on him, of course, but I don't believe he is the one behind the office break-ins. He is too... obvious, and I see no reason he'd been going for my artifacts instead of information. Nor did Luthor show any interest in my collection, just the company assets."

Then she paused before adding, "And me, of course."

"Well, who wouldn't be?" Franky joked, maneuvering his massive metallic body to sit on the edge of the tub. "What about the other guy?"

"Bruce Wayne." Robin shifted so she was sitting up, arms crossed over the edge of the tub as she replayed every interaction she'd had with the businessman over again in her head. "He is...  interesting."

"Good interesting or bad interesting?"

"Hard to say. He tried planting more bugs than Luthor and is hiding plenty. Wayne likes to play the affable fool for the cameras and for his peers; he's good at it too, it took me a while to see through the mask."

Franky hummed, "He must have had a lot of practice over the years. I was watching old interviews with the guy and the ones from back when he was like twenty-five -You know, when he got back to the city after vanishing off the face of the planet?- make him seem like a completely different guy. He's putting on a good front, don't get me wrong, but there was definitely anger seeping."

Robin grinned. Sometimes, it was easy to forget how brilliant her husband was. Not just with machines and technology either, but also with people and planning. While Franky's raw, rough charisma may not have been as overpowering as their beloved captain's unmatched ability to win others over, you couldn't unite all the gangs and general riff-raff of an entire city into one functional, tight-knit family unit as their undisputed leader without being able to understand and read people on a deep level. 

In many ways, he was better at it than she was. The former Devil Child of Ohara knew how to read people, yes; she had learned how to manipulate them as a little girl abandoned by the world, and she was  good  at it. But inspiring people? That was... more difficult, and it was why Robin had left the majority of the initial hiring process for the company to Franky. He knew how to handle the thugs and criminals of the city and, more than that, Franky knew how to make them want something better for themselves and Bludhaven as a whole.

And, if they didn't, he was more than capable of dispatching them with ease. 

"Bruce Wayne is hiding something," Robin repeated. "I have some theories as to what, though no solid proof yet."

"So, what's the plan?" 

"For one, I left a single bug from both Luthor and Wayne in the building. I know it's risky," she added quickly to cut off her husband's protests. "They're going to keep trying to get information and this way we can control what they get. You know how I prefer to have all trouble happen right under my nose."

"Hmm, that's true. Anything else?"

"Wayne has an adopted son who lives in Bludhaven that I want to make contact with. He is a cop, which presents certain...  complications,"  Robin admitted. "However, getting into his good graces will allow us an inside look into how Wayne works, especially if their relationship is as strained as I think it is."

The way Wayne had talked about his son had been...  telling.  There was sadness there, regret mixed with longing and a touch of bitter confusion. The story behind it was undoubtedly tragic. Tragic and useful. Robin would have to go searching for more information on it later. 

"And our other little problem?" 

Robin hummed. "On that... we wait and see. Whoever keeps trying to break in will attempt once more, soon, I have no doubt. These past few times have been sloppy; they're getting desperate."

Pushing all thoughts of business and other unpleasant matters aside, Robin smiled at her husband. "Enough of that for now. Help me wash my hair?"

Franky gave a ridiculous grin that made her laugh. "That would be  SUPPPPA!"

For dinner that night, Robin prepared them spaghetti and meatballs with a side salad and garlic rolls. They traded off cooking and kitchen cleaning duties, both good and bad at each in their own ways. She was not a poor cook, neither of them was, but, just as Robin had explained in the restaurant, anything she made was mediocre compared to Sanji's food. 

'Sanji...'  Robin thought cast a sad glance at the framed photo she and Franky kept in their living room. 

After finding Laugh Tale, uncovering the True History of the World, defeating Blackbeard, overthrowing Imu and World Government, and seeing Luffy take his rightful place as King of the Pirates, it seemed as if there was nothing the Straw Hats couldn't do. Even as they mourned Law, Shanks, and their other allies who'd fallen in battle, they also celebrated bringing justice - real  justice, not the twisted horror the World Government spent centuries spewing to justify their cruelty- for Whitebeard, her captain's beloved older brother, Ace, the people of Ohara and Flevance, and everyone else who'd suffered at the World Government's hands. Parties had gone on for weeks, seemingly without end, and persisted on every island they'd ever visited. Days were spent happily sailing the seas, fulfilling their dreams, and relishing each other's company. It felt like the merriment would last forever.

That was, until the day they got a call on their private Transponder Snail line -the one reserved only for family and their closest friends- from the Baratie. The call wasn't long, it didn't need to be for Sanji to get the message.

Zeff was sick and it was bad. 

The crew, including the ones who'd never met the old chef, had immediately sailed towards the floating sea restaurant at top speed. They had to or else Sanji might have attempted to sky-walk his way there completely alone. After arriving, Chopper had used every bit of his medical skill and knowledge to treat Zeff, only to return with a devastating diagnosis. 

Zeff was old.

He was old, had lived a hard, dangerous life, and suffered a long period of starvation and exposure. The last of which was coupled with an improperly treated traumatic injury. Yes, the chef was strong. He ate well, got plenty of rest, and exercised -usually in the form of training with Sanji or beating the tar out of unruly customers- but time took its toll and there was nothing any doctor, even one as skilled and devoted as Chopper could do about that.

That news had left their beloved cook in the most terrible position imaginable -having his loyalty torn between two men he loved as family. Robin could so clearly remember the look on Sanji's face as he processed Zeff's diagnosis. On one hand, he hadn't wanted to... couldn't even  imagine  leaving Luffy and the rest of the crew behind. But, on the other, Sanji couldn't abandon his adoptive father in the man's last days either. Not after everything Zeff had done for him. 

They'd all ached for him yet there was nothing Robin or any of the crew could do. With all their power, skills, and influence, none of the Straw Hats could turn back the hands of time or hold dominion over death. So, in the end, they just provided the support they could. While they had not discussed it, there was a silent agreement among them all that they'd stay at the Baratie for as long as needed. When he caught onto this, Sanji protested, saying they didn't need to put their lives on hold for him. Every single Straw Hat had refused to listen and the argument went round 'n' round until, at last, Luffy had figured out a way to half Sanji's burden.

After gathering the entire crew together, Pirate King Monkey D. Luffy made a decree: the crew would temporarily split up once more to have their own adventures. Then, when the time was right, they'd regroup and continue on as they explored the seas they now ruled. 

He hadn't specified that 'when the time was right' meant 'when Zeff died and Sanji needed them more than ever.' Just like Luffy hadn't admitted he'd come up with this idea because of their cook's situation in the first place. 

They'd all understood just the same.

This way, Sanji no longer needed to choose between his two families. This way, he didn't have to feel any more guilty than normal. This way, the cook didn't have to worry about the crew resenting having to put their travels on hold of him. This way, Sanji could enjoy the adventure that was spending Zeff's final days together.

In unanimous agreement, the crew had made their plans and departed. Yamato wanted to visit Sphinx and spend time with the old members of the former Spade Pirates before returning to Wano to see Momonosuke and Hiyori. Jinbe went to spend time on New Fishman Island, checking the progress of the kingdom's development and occasionally helping teach Fishman Karate to the royal army along with local children. Brook returned to Laboon and Crocus, hosting radio concerts from their home at Reverse Mountain. Chopper, having been inspired in the darkest way possible by the story of Amber Lead Poisoning and the massacre of Flevance, decided he would spend this time writing academic papers dispelling all the horrible medical and scientific lies that the former World Government had spent years spreading. Nami and Usopp had set off for their home islands at first, deciding to use at least part of the time to catch up with family and friends. And, finally, Zoro went with their captain, proclaiming the idiot wouldn't survive without him. 

At first, Robin thought the idea horrifying. Neither knew how to walk a straight line without getting lost. She was certain they'd somehow end up on one of the planet's moons if left alone. But the calls they got over the Transponder Snail said they were getting along just fine. Though, strangely, sometimes Zoro would disappear and show up a couple of days later back at the Baratie. He'd stay there for a week, bickering with Sanji until Zeff got annoyed and sentence them both to dish duty as punishment -just because the old chef was bedridden didn't mean that Zeff no longer ruled the restaurant with an iron fist. Eventually, the World's Greatest Swordsman would disappear once more only to reappear back at Luffy's side.

Robin wouldn't claim to understand how it kept happening, she'd long since stopped trying to decipher that particular mystery of the crew's swordsman. It simply was what it was and, if nothing else, it made everyone happy.

She and Frank had decided to stay together. At first, it was simply because they were traveling in the same direction -him back to Water 7 and her to an island with particularly interesting ruins that Robin had never been able to study extensively- and then because their long-simmering mutual attraction boiled over, first into something physical and then into something truly romantic. 

They'd never verbally agreed to stay together long-term, it just went without saying. They'd stopped in Water 7 so Franky could see Iceburg, Kokoro, Zambai, the Square Sisters, Paulie, and everyone else. Dinner with Iceburg had been  slightly  awkward -the man was quite gracious in the face of his once would-be assassin, Robin could admit, even if the scars were still there- but the visit had been nice, relaxing even. Robin hadn't been able to truly enjoy the beauty of the city during her first visit. This time though, she'd been able to explore and relish in Water 7's unique charm. Usually, Franky was busy assisting in the process of turning the city into a floating fortress against the Aqua Laguna but, sometimes, he'd take her on a personal tour, showing her all the places that he had enjoyed visiting when he was younger.  

After that, they'd visit the ruins that Robin had always wanted to see and just... never stopped traveling together. Island after island, ruin after ruin, they'd stayed together. And, eventually, they'd ended up in this strange world.

"We'll get back," Franky promised, catching her line of sight. "We never got anywhere playing by other people's rules before. However we got here, we'll get back."

"I know. I never doubted that" she said, picking up the picture.  'I just hope we get back in time to be there. Who knows what we've already missed.'

"Want to turn in early? You've had a busy day."

Robin shook her head. "No, I want to put some time into that research paper I've been working on. You remember, the one about depictions of sun deities."

"Well, don't stay up too late. Otherwise, I'll drag you off to bed myself."

"Promises, promises," the archeologist chuckled. 

Three hours later, the house was quiet aside from the  tap-tap-tapping  of Robin's fingers on the keyboard. A few sprouted hands held up her notes, books, and the various primary texts she was using so she could more easily consult them. Some might call this cheating, Robin called it multi-tasking. 

 

While solar deities are often thought of as male and their lunar counterparts as being feminine in nature, statistically speaking the opposite has more often been the case. One could attribute this misconception to the most visible and commonly known mythological pantheons in the Western world as possessing male Sun deities, Apollo and Ra being two examples.

An extra hand turned the page of her notes but, before Robin could begin typing her next line, an alert popped up on her computer. 

MOTION DETECTED IN MAIN OFFICE

'Ah, back again. Will I see your face this time?'

Pulling up the surveillance live feed to her main office, Robin folded her hands and waited. For the past three months, someone had been repeatedly breaking into her office and searching for...  something . Robin did not know what, though she sincerely doubted it was company secrets as her computer was never touched. In fact, in twenty-four 'visits' nothing has been taken either, except some spare cash she left and boxes of teabags. But whether that was because the culprit hadn't been able to find what he was looking for or because the security always showed up in under three minutes, she didn't know. 

Three minutes...

It only took security three minutes to get up to her office and, in that time, the culprit was  always  gone. Never taking anything of real value but never leaving any trace of their presence either, aside from the vague, lingering smell of cigarette smoke in the air and scattered bits of ash on her carpet. Even stranger, whenever this ghostly visitor arrived, the cameras would go dark. Tests showed they were still technically working and online, something that had the entire IT department and even Franky himself stumped. After the tenth break-in, some of the senior members of the security staff had offered to camp out in Robin's office to catch the culprit in the act.

She'd refused. Just because no one had been injured yet, that didn't mean whoever was doing this wouldn't lash out if caught. Robin would not have her employees' blood on her hands; death and blood were no payment for the loyalty they showed. 

That left needing to use more...  unorthodox  methods of investigation. Acquiring the security photogate of the surrounding areas had been child's play, most had been freely given out of gratitude for the revitalization that Thousand Solutions had brought to the Bludhaven, some had been discretely paid for, and some had been...  borrowed . In the end, it had yielded no results though. Robin didn't know what to look for in the first place and wasn't even able to find any repeating faces that could be possible leads. Reaching out to the heads of the companies that most vigorously courted Nico Franks had been her next step. She wasn't foolish enough to think the other companies out there weren't already trying to uncover her secrets and inviting the vipers into her nest was a ploy to see if Luthor or Wayne would give anything away. And they had, though nothing that convinced Robin they were behind the break-ins. 

'Of course, they could be behind  this  one. The downside of inviting snakes in is allowing them the opportunity to get comfortable and lay eggs.'

Robin lead back in her seat, she waited. At first, the screen just showed her empty office -time to readjust the cameras again, there were  still blind spots- but, so enough, the image went dark.

"Hello there," she smiled. Closing her eyes, Robin folded her arms and stretched her consciousness out until she could clearly picture the wall of her office.  "Ojos Fleur."

As a general rule, the Hana Hana no Mi's abilities only reached their fullest potential in the hands of crafty, precise users who weren't afraid to fight dirty and use the element of surprise. Robin had learned at the knee of experience that face-to-face confrontations while those bigger and more powerful than herself would only end in disaster. She learned to play by her strengths quickly; she had too, less dear Saul's sacrifice be in vain. 

But as the years passed and circumstances changed, Robin found herself needing to expand her repertoire of skills. Enemies were getting more powerful, too powerful to defeat as she was, and Robin refused to be a burden. The future King of the Pirates could not have a subpar subordinate who relied on tired old tricks and sneak attacks to get herself through the day. Luffy needed... No, Luffy  deserved  the best of the best on his crew so that is what Robin became. She had pushed herself and her skills to the next level, awakening abilities she'd never thought possible. 

The results spoke for themselves, in that regard. 

Opening her sprouted eyes, Robin scanned her office with her usual intensity; as a former assassin and an archeologist, she'd always understood the importance of small details. 

Not the sight of a blond man in a tan trench coat was a small detail, of course. 

Robin watched on as the man crouched down at the lock of one of her display cases, fiddling with something she couldn't see. After a moment, the figure let out a frustrated growl; she heard the tell-tale  snap!  of someone's fingers and saw a small flash of golden light. After it faded away, Robin was surprised to see the man raise the case lid -the lock of which Franky himself had designed, assuring her it was unpickable. 

'What is he looking for?'  she wondered. 

Robin's office was full of old, interesting curiosities and much of her collection was valuable but the only thing in  that  display   case was a set of antique archeology tools. Pretty to look at, yes, though hardly interesting to anyone not in the field. She'd paid a few hundred dollars for it, mostly because she found the designs of the decorative engravings to be intriguing. Yet as much as she liked them, Robin would be the first to say they were hardly worth the effort this man had been going through. 

'Perhaps I'll just ask then.'

Robin 'pushed' her consciousness out towards her office, forcing the bloom of the eyes to expand until it was her full body. It was draining on her stamina to create and maintain a duplicate at this distance, even after years of practice and training. She'd have to do this quickly. 

"Hello there," she said pleasantly, as if this stranger rifling through her possessions was just a friend dropping by for tea. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

At the sound of her voice, the figure swore loudly and dropped what he was fiddling with as he spun around. Now that she was finally able to see the man's face clearly, Robin realized her estimation of the intruder's age was quite wrong. This wasn't another adult, even calling him a young man would have been generous.

This was a teenage boy.

Sixteen or seventeen at the most and looking younger due to malnutrition that was clearly plaguing him, the teenager had messily cut blond hair and tired blue eyes that stared at Robin in shock. The black slacks and white button-down he was wearing had seen better days, and the trench coat was too big for him. That, combined with his thin frame, black eye, and half-healed split lower lip gave the impression of someone who'd dealt with far too much hardship for a short life. 

Robin could relate. 

"You are...  not  what I expected," she admitted. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

The teenage boy blinked at her, mouth agape. This only lasted a moment though, before he stiffened. His eyes narrowed, jaw set in anger and determination. Fingers twitching by his side, the boy opened his mouth to say something when-

"Tres Fleur: Grab!"

Two arms sprouted from the teenager's back, grabbing him by the wrists and twisting his arms into a tight hold. A third arm popped out from his shoulder, slapping a hand over his mouth. 

"None of that now," she scolded, gentle but firm. "I don't know what you were about to do but I promise that it was a bad idea."

"Ggrrrrmmham!"

"I'll release you when you promise to answer my questions, young man, and not a moment sooner. Now, I'll ask again. Who are you and what are you doing here?"

"Mmmhmpf!" the teenage boy grunted, eyes burning with defiance. 

Robin tsked. "I'd rather not involve the police in this matter, but I will if you insist on being difficult. You look young enough to have social services called as well. Is that something you'd want?"

At this, the teenager's eyes went wide again, seemingly with genuine distress. 

"No, I thought not. Are you-"

The hum of her private elevator cut Robin off. Damn, she forgot to track the time it would take for security to arrive. Living in this strange world had made her soft. No time to think of a clever ruse, Robin pulled her young 'guest' to the ground with a flick of her wrist, so he was out of sight. Then she hurriedly sat down at her desk, turned on a lamp, and opened a random file.

Ding!

The elevator door opened and her head of security, Enrico Fernandez, rushed in with his weapon drawn and three other guards behind him.

Robin pretended to gasp in surprise. "Oh, dear!"

Enrico lowered his gun. "Mrs. Franks, what are you doing here?"

"I- I came in to do some last-minute paperwork that I'd forget about," she said, voice appropriately nervous and concerned. "Is everything alright?"

"We thought the intruder was back. The motion sensors were activated and the cameras freaked out again. Are you alright, Ma'am? Are you sure you're alone?" 

"Of course, I've been here for a while now and haven't seen anything," she promised, making sure her sprouted arms maintained a tight grip on her little visitor. 

"Are you sure?" Enrico asked. The concern in his dark eyes was so obvious that Robin felt a twitch of shame for the lie. The man's brows furrowed, "Mrs. Franks... when did you come in? I don't remember seeing you."

" Fufufu , you know I have my ways." When that only got her another confused look, Robin crossed her fingers behind her back and continued. "I came in through my private entrance. I used my override to remotely turn off the camera because I didn't want Tom to know I was here, he worries so much about my late nights. Unfortunately, I'm afraid that I've caused you all a fright."

She bowed her head. "My apologies."

Enrico bit his tongue. "I... guess that explains it. Sorry for interrupting you, ma'am. We'll leave you to your work."

"No need to apologize for doing your job, Enrico," Robin said, making a mental note to give the man a raise. "And as excellently, as usual, I might add."

"Don't go singing my praises just yet. I still have managed to catch the bastard that keeps breaking in." Enrico sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I really thought we'd get him tonight."

"Try not to trouble yourself. If the intruder hasn't gotten what he wanted by now, I doubt he'll keep coming back," she said.  'I'll make sure of that.’

"I hope so. After everything you and Mr. Franks have done for everyone in the city, I hate the idea of some asshole going after you both." Enrico shook his head but waved the troop of guards back into the elevator. "Have a good night, Mrs. Franks. Please come get one of us to walk you to your car when you leave; Bludhaven is still a dangerous place to be at night."

"You're so sweet."  

When Enrico and the others were completely gone, she hauled the teenage boy back to his feet. He was calmer now, no longer struggling, and was looking at her with more curiosity than animosity. Robin hoped that was a good sign. "Are you ready to talk?"

The teenager looked at his scuffed black dress shoes for a moment before his shoulders slumped and he nodded.

"Good," Robin smiled sweetly and let the arm covering his mouth dissipate into flower petals. "Now, let's start with your name. I'm Nico Franks. You are?"

A bright, roguish grin was flashed at her and Robin almost cooed at the teenager's vain attempt to regain some control of the situation. 

"John Constantine," he said, still grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "At your service, Luv."

Chapter Text

The teenager looked at Robin like his name was supposed to mean something. It didn't, though she would surely be doing a deep dive into it the moment she got home.

"Well, I'd say it's a pleasure to meet you, John Constantine, but it is not," she said. "Not when you've been breaking into my place of business in an attempt to steal my personal possessions. Explain that now please."

Constantine shrugged his shoulders, testing her grip on his wrists. "I don't suppose you'll let me go for this friendly chat, pet?"

Robin cocked an eyebrow at the name.

"Ma'am," he corrected himself, ducking his head. 

"Once you've shared your intentions, I'll consider it."

Annoyance flashed across the boy's face but he covered it well, schooling his face into an expression of shy guilt. Under different circumstances, Robin might have congratulated him on excellent control of his facial expressions. That skill could only come from years of practice, practice that usually came from unpleasant circumstances.

"Look, I'm not after... trade secrets or company trademarks or anything like that," he said. 

Robin considered saying that she knew that yet decided it was best to let the teenager talk. Who knows what he could reveal?

"I was just looking for a specific magic artifact. A tracking spell led me to your office a while back but wouldn't point the specific one, so I've been searching through them ever since." Constantine nodded to the case he'd been rummaging through. "Finally narrowed it down. The magnifying glass here -it's all I need. Let me have it, and you'll never see hide or hair of me again."

"Hmmm, is that so?" Robin said, more to give herself time to absorb the information presented to her. Then she blinked. "Wait, magic?"

Constantine dropped the guilty boy act to flash her another cocky grin. "That's right, Luv. You stumbled into a powerful magic artifact. Don't you worry though, John Constantine: Exorcist, Demonologist, and occasional Master of the Dark Arts, is here to handle it."

"Master, really?"

"Master... Petty dabbler, it's all semantics in the end. Master just looks better on a business card," Constantine shrugged. He gave her a confused look, "Most people would be spooked by that news. Why aren't you?"

"I am not most people."

Magic. That was surprising enough, though fitting with what she'd seen of this world. Some of these 'superheroes' and their enemies claimed to use magic in their endeavors. While Robin had never seen it in person nor gotten a chance to study the phenomenon herself, she had no true reason to doubt it existed. Franky claimed it was likely just science that no one had found an explanation for yet; for all his love of the dramatic, her husband was practical like that. 

"Yeah, I guessed that." Constantine rolled his shoulders again, "I sense... some sort of energy coming from you. No sort of magic I'm used to though. Are you one of those metahumans or do you have a magic of your own?"

"You could say that."

There was a good reason for her noncommittal answer: Robin simply didn't know the best response. Magic, if it was to be called that, worked very differently in her world than this one. Though they still had their stories of witches and warlocks, Robin had never seen anyone casting spells or brewing potions. Devil fruits could certainly be considered magical in origin, and then there were extraordinarily rare, unique abilities like Madame Shyarly's power of precognition. Then there was Voice of All Things, as great as it was mysterious. 

"I'm going to release you now," she decided. "I'll warn you not to run or attack. Rest assured, I am faster than you and it's impossible to escape my grasp."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

'So much cheek,'  Robin fought the urge to grin as she dispersed her sprouted limbs. 

"Thanks, much appreciated." Constantine rubbed his wrists and glanced over at the case. "So... Can I have it?"

"Hmm." Rather than answer right away, Robin went over and picked up the magnifying glass. She turned it over in her hands, once more observing the strange symbols on the sides of it. "Why do you want it?"

"Huh?"

"I need to know your plans for this before I decide whether or not to turn it over to you."

"What, are you part of the caps and cowls crowd?" Constantine scoffed.

"Hardly," Robin replied. "I am not a hero but I have no interest in being party to the victimization of others. So, if you want this-" she held up the magnifying glass "-then you'll need to start talking, young man. What does it do? And why do you want it?"

.

.

.

"The offer to call the police and social services is still on the table," Robin reminded the teenager, more gently this time. 

The teenager’s reluctance to speak didn’t seem like it came from maliciousness, no... It was more like pride or stubbornness. More like fear. She took another look at his back eye and split lip. The latter of which Constantine kept gnawing at, to the point it started bleeding again.

"John?"

The teenager looked away. "The enchantment on it is unique. Looking through the glass allows one to 'find what they need,' and 'uncover what has been hidden.'"

"How interesting..." Robin had played around with the magnifying glass when she first purchased it, of course. Nothing had stuck out to her at the time and, when she held it up to look through it again, she still saw nothing of note. "I don't see anything."

"There probably isn't anything hidden or that you need here," Constantine said with another shrug. 

When Robin turned to face him, the magnifying glass still raised, she nearly gasped when she saw a glowing gold aura emanating from the young man. She put the device down, "Fascinating! So what do you want it for? Are you trying to find something?"

"No, not exactly," the teenager shook his head. "I actually want to invert the spell."

"Invert it?"

There was a subtle, yet palpable shift in the teenager's demeanor. Something within him seemed to...dim. He licked his split lip, and looked away, "I figured that, if I reverse engineer the spell, it'll help me hide from..."

Constantine let his voice trail off, refusing to finish. Once more, Robin took in the teenager's poor state. Someone, likely over a prolonged period judging by the different colors of his bruises, had put the young man through the wringer. Robin was not a stupid woman. Putting those two 'n' two together was an easy enough task. 

"Here," she said, holding out the magnifying glass. "Take it."

Blue eyes went wide and Constantine reached out to take the offering, only to pull his hand back at the last minute. He glared up at her, "What's the catch?"

Robin felt her lips twitch upward, unsurprised by the suspicion. She'd have her guard up in this situation too. "What makes you think I want something?"

"Everyone  always  wants something," Constantine sneered. "That's just the way the world works."

'Not always,'  Robin thought, something deep in her heart twitching in empathy.  'Luffy had only ever wanted friendship.'

Perhaps that  was  something but what her captain had offered in return was worth that and so much more. 

"I'll make you a deal," she said. "I give you this-" she held out the magnifying glass "-and you swear not only that you will not use it to harm innocents, nor cause trouble in my city. My husband and I have put far too much work into it to allow riff-raff to run amuck. Agreed?"

Eyes still narrowed, Constantine didn't move. "And how do you know I'll keep my end of the bargain? I could shake your hand, smile, take my prize, then turn around and start causing carnage."

"You haven't hurt anyone yet, haven't even tried," Robin pointed out. "Even though you've had ample opportunity to attack me or my security team, you've always left before they arrive. You don't even want to be seen, let alone end up in a confrontation."

The teenager chewed at his split lip. "Blood makes everything messier. Would have made it harder to come back and search. That's all."

'It'll never heal if he keeps doing that, ' Robin thought, watching as Constantine continued to chew on his lip with a chipped tooth. "If that is what you chose to believe then so be it. My offer still stands, however: the magnifying glass for a promise."

.

.

.

"Okay," Constantine whispered. "Okay, deal. I'll take the deal, Luv."

There was a tinge of something in his voice, something tired and worn. Something...

'Desperation,'  Robin realized.  'He's desperate. Whoever he is trying to hide from must truly terrify him.'

"Who are you trying to hide from?" she asked. 

Predictably, Constantine didn't answer, instead growing even tenser, his mouth pressing into a tight, thin line. 

"A parent?" Robin asked. She didn't expect him to answer and instead was watching for the smallest little micro-expression. In this case, there was the slightest raise of an eyebrow. Minor as the moment was, Constantine might as well have just told her 'no.' 

"A sibling? A friend? A teacher? A rival?"

A slight widening of the eyes told Robin that her last two guesses were closer.  'Closer, but still not quite.'

"A lover?"

Without hesitation, the teenager grabbed the magnifying glass from her hand with a snarled, "Thanks!" before stomping over to the corner of the room. Robin watched on in silent curiosity as Constantine muttered something under his breath, holding his hands out in front of him. The air in the corner quivered before a ring of golden light formed, whirling around and around as it widened. Through the 'ring,' Robin was able to catch a glimpse at what looked like a half-abandoned apartment with worn furniture. But, before she could analyze the sight before her, Constantine rushed forward. With a flash of bright gold light, the 'ring' snapped shut -disappearing like it was never there to begin with. 

"Huh, how odd," Robin mused. "You meet the strangest people in the city."

And with that, she released her hold on this bloom, letting it dissolve into flower petals. 

As Robin's consciousness returned to her main body, she let out a low groan. Maintaining full-body bloom like that always required energy and concentration. Maintaining one for that long took more out of her than she'd have liked. 

"Foolishness, Robin. Letting yourself get out of practice like that," the archeologist chided herself. Come tomorrow morning, she'd ask Franky to start sparring with her every night. While their combat styles were incredibly different, it was better than nothing. Franky's heavy-hitting style would also be effective in allowing her to practice with her Armament Haki. 

"Hmmm." Robin turned back to her laptop, pulling up a new search engine. 

"John Constantine"

A second later, Robin had a medley of search results in front of her to explore. The top of the list didn't tell her much. In fact, it wasn't even about John Constantine. Instead, it was just a short blurb about a ‘Johanna Constantine' on a blog about historical occult figures. As she scrolled through the other results, she clicked on the 6th option.

Fire At Nightclub in Casanova Club in Newcastle Leaves Few Survivors

Robin checked the date, seeing that the news article was dated almost two years ago. 

'Two years,'  she thought, scrolling through the article.  'Constantine can't be more than eighteen. He could have been there, but why would a teenager be at a nightclub? Was he responsible for the fire? Was it someone else? Does this have anything to do with the person he is hiding from? Is-'

"Robin?"

The archeologist jumped slightly when Franky's voice knocked her out of her concentration. "Yes?"

The cyborg gave her a confused look. "You've been in here for a while, longer than usual. Did you get a lot of work done?"

"...Something like that."

"Wow, so it was a kid all along?" 

"It would appear so," Robin replied. She leaned back against the headboard of her bed, "Though not an exceptionally young child, I suspect he was close to our dear captain's age when we all first met."

"Seventeen in this world means something different than it does in ours."

"True."

Seventeen was the age of the majority in their homeworld as decreed by the (now former) World Government. Laws of specific kingdoms varied island by island but, in general, you were considered an adult by your late teens. Old enough to marry. Old enough to run for elected positions. Old enough to sail away from your home island and travel the world. Old enough to join the Marines; though, perhaps it was telling that you could join as a chore boy as young thirteen with parent or guardian permission. Or, more likely, you had no parents and were raised in one of the government-sponsored orphanages scattered across the seas. Alone in the world and unable to think of anything better to do with your life.

Most importantly, you were old enough to be executed without much public outcry. 

Portgas D. Ace, born Gol D. Ace, hadn't even been  born  yet the first time the (now former) World Government had tried to kill him. He was only twenty when they finally succeeded. In this new world, he wouldn't have even been able to legally drink. 

At least in the country where Robin and Franky had ended up, that is. Such limitations had been a strange source of amusement to the archeologist when they'd first arrived. Eighteen for the purchase of cigarettes? Twenty-one for drinking alcohol? Eighteen for the purchase of cigarettes? Why, Zoro and Sanji would have  hated  it here!

"Still, the pain I saw in his eyes... it was familiar. I know his story, even without having to read the words on the page. Different worlds yield the same wounds, I'm afraid." She looked over at her husband, "Does that make sense?"

"You saw a desperate kid and wanted to help him, I get that," Franky said. "I am surprised that you gave him a part of your collection though. You're pretty greedy when it comes to that kind of thing."

Robin grinned, "Blame our beloved Miss Navigator. After so many years, it is only natural that she rubbed off on me." The grin slipped away, her face becoming serious once more. "As you said, he was desperate. I... I know what that is like. More than that, trading away what was to me a mere curiosity to someone to whom it represented safety? That was an easy choice."

"Hmmm. Do you think this kid will ever pop back up?"

"I don't know," Robin admitted. "I hope so. I surprised him by giving him the magnifying glass and trusting that he would keep his end of the deal. I wonder if that will spark something inside of him? If he'll... come looking for something?"

"And until then?"

"Until then, I'm going to have our people see what people can find on one Mr. John Constantine," the archeologist said, snapping out of her sentimentality. "What they learn may cause me to change the course of my actions."

A broad, sneaky grin broke out across Franky's face as he gave her a knowing look. "And I'm guessing "our people" are the ones we pay under the table, am I right?

"You know me so well," Robin said, leaning forward to give her husband a goodnight kiss. "Now, let's get some sleep. There will be much to do in the coming days."

"Ain't there always?"

High above the ground below, nestled among the stars, a marvel of technology and protection orbited. The Watchtower, the officially unofficial headquarters of the Justice League, was truly one of a kind. A largely automated facility, not requiring the expense and danger of any sort of extensive maintenance or operations crew to operate and maintain it, allowing for the seven members of the team to come and go as they pleased with little issue and focus their attention on the more pressing matters of catching criminals and aiding in various crises. While it may not have all the comforts of home, Batman would be forever grateful he'd been able to slide it into the Wayne Industries R&D budget. 

Which reminded him that he owed Lucius a very expensive dinner sometime soon. 

Among the many advantages, it provided was one of the most highly advanced computer hardware systems in the entire world, perfect for the research and aid needed to solve the increasingly complex and brutal crime of the world. It was second only to Batman's own personal Batcomputer, and yet it was failing him at every turn.

'What  is  this language?'  he wondered to himself, watching as yet another decoding algorithm attempted to decipher the glyphs before him. 

Years of training, crime-fighting, detective work, and raising children had carved patience deep into Batman's bones. But, as yet another algorithm failed, he had to fight the urge to slam his fist down on the keyboard before him. With all but one of his bugs found and...  returned  to him by the mysterious Nico Franks, the little data he'd been able to pull from Thousand Solutions' servers -or, rather, what Luthor had been able to pull and which the Dark Knight had promptly 'borrowed'- over the was more valuable than ever. It was encrypted, of course, and he suspected nothing less, but this encryption was like nothing Batman had ever seen before!

'It bears similarities to Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs, as well as Sumerian and Akkadian, while also seemingly having nothing in common with it at all. It doesn't have anything in common with any earthly language. Hell, it doesn't have anything in common with  any  of the alien languages we have on file either,'  he thought.  'Could it just be gibberish then? Something Franks cooked up herself? But, if that were the case, then I should have had some luck cracking the code by now.’

The slight shift in the energy of the room broke Batman from his concentration and he spun the seat around to see his... co-worker hovering in the air as he approached.

"Darn it, I thought I could sneak up on you if you couldn't hear my footsteps," Superman said, a teasing smile on his handsome face. 

'Bad enough you encourage Dick and Tim to do that, you have to indulge in childish games too?'  Batman refused to be baited and, with a straight face, replied. "The day I miss someone trying to sneak up on me is the day it's time to retire. What do you want?"

Superman didn't respond, instead looking past Batman to the monitor behind him. "What's that?"

"..."

"Something you got from Thousand Solutions?" Superman asked, coming closer. "When Lois heard rumors that you and Lex got a face-to-face meeting with the CEO, she nearly smashed her desk. She's been trying to get an interview for years now, thinks it could be the start of a series of successful women in the tech business."

Against his better judgment, Batman felt his lips twitch upward. "Should I be expecting an angry phone call?"

"Oh definitely," Superman nodded. Then, after a moment, added, "So the rumors are true? You got to meet Nico Franks in person? What is she like?"

Batman paused for a long moment, trying to think of the best way to describe the woman. "...Mysterious." 

Superman cocked his head to the side. "Good mysterious or bad mysterious?"

"Undecided," the Dark Knight said, spinning the chair back around to face the monitor once more. "Franks is definitely hiding something and I'm convinced she is a metahuman but I’m not certain enough to speculate on her overall goals. From what I can tell, all the company's records are clean. Still, I find it suspicious that so many of their in-house employees have criminal records, some quite extensive."

"Wayne Industries is a felon-friendly company," Superman was quick to point out. "It has one of the most extensive reintegration-through-employment programs in the world. And D- Nightwing has personally told me that the crime rate has been plummeting since Thousand Solutions took up shop in the city."

The fact that Superman and Dick spoke casually wasn't news, yet it twisted something bitter in Batman's mouth all the same.

This was true and Batman was very proud of the fact. Perhaps it wouldn't help the Riddler or Poison Ivy, but if he could keep even one man from going back to a life of crime then Batman could consider the program a success. For all people called Arkham Asylum and Blackgate Penitentiary revolving doors of crime, how could they expect things to improve unless there was a better option waiting outside?

This was different though. 

"It's not to the point that nearly half of our employees are ex-convicts," he said. "Once I decode this-" he nodded towards the screen "-I'll know if I need to pursue this issue further." 

Superman just shook his head. "If the public knew you did stuff like this, it would be a PR nightmare."

"And you think I care?"

"I know you don't care but, unlike you, the rest of us operate out in the open. And for that to happen then we need people to trust us, Batman."

"I don't have that luxury," the Dark Knight said with a frown. "And if it makes you feel any better, Luthor stole this from the company. I just stole it from him."

"It doesn't."

The air between the two men grew tense and awkward. Batman refused to budge or back down but, after a moment, nodded towards the screen again. "Do you recognize the language?"

To say that the Man of Steel possessed a level of superintelligence was  probably  inaccurate. He was certainly intelligent -even if Batman had an itemized list of evidence to the contrary- yet testing had suggested that Superman's ability to think and process information at a seemingly genius speed was more due to how fast his brain operated rather than any extraordinary level of intellect. Had Krypton never been destroyed and Clark grew up there, he'd likely have been a general normal man, if a rather smart one. 

Superman gave an annoyed sigh even as he complied. He glanced over the glyphs before shaking his head. "No, I can run it against the records I have at the Fortress of Solitude but, to be totally honest, I've never seen anything like this before."

"Me neither," Bruce reluctantly admitted. Then a thought occurred to him, "What are you doing here? You weren't scheduled for monitor duty tonight."

"Oh, that's right! I was coming to get you. We've got some visitors."

"Well, look what the cat dragged in."

Batman ignored the snickers from Flash as he took Zatanna's hand, giving it a friendly squeeze. Had it just been the two of them, the gorgeous, ebony-haired magician might have indulged him with an embrace or kiss to the cheek. Yet, with others around, this gesture of affection was all he'd allow. For all the warmth he felt for his Zatanna and her family, for all they'd done to him, she too was something he had to keep at arm's length due to their shared connection through the world of the strange and extreme. 

"That is one way of putting it," he allowed. "I'm surprised to see you here. You've always said that you preferred-"

"The spotlight," Zatanna agreed with a nod. "I won't lie, the center stage is where I feel most comfortable, where I feel I can do the most good. But even I know that desperate times call for desperate measures."

"Why don't I like the sound of that?" John Stewart, Earth's current Green Lantern, grumbled. 

"Because it isn't," the second visitor said, speaking up for the first time. 

With his piercing eyes, slicked-back, white-streaked auburn hair, and seemingly permanent scowl, occultist Jason Blood cut an impressive figure. Despite their long-standing acquaintance, Batman felt a twinge of discomfort and suspicion when he met Blood's eyes. More than once over the years, the Dark Knight wondered if hints of the man's internal demon seeped through his skin, even in human form. 

"Jason," he greeted. "I don't suppose you're here to tell us that Morgaine le Fey is back."

From his seat at the Justice League's main meeting table, Batman saw the normally stoic and unflappable J'onn flinch ever so slightly. The movement was so small, to most, it would be indiscernible; it was only Batman's keenly trained eye that allowed him to catch it. He recalled the League's last encounter with le Fey and the effect it had on the martian. For as much trouble as it had caused them, Batman couldn't truly fault the other for his actions. 

J'onn had lost more in his life than most, and Batman understood that pain all too well. 

"No," Blood said quickly. "While le Fey is still out there and will undoubtedly return to cause trouble for all mankind one day, she is quiet for now."

While none of the Justice League let out an audible sigh, one could feel the palpable relief in the room.

"If not le Fey, then what is the problem?" Wonder Woman asked. As the Leaguer who dealt with magical issues and opponents on the most regular basis, this was an obvious question for her to ask. Her beautiful blue eyes were narrowed ever so slightly and Batman wondered what possible scenarios were running through her mind. 

Zatanna bit her lip, obviously mulling over what she was going to say. "Well... it isn't so much a  problem  as it is a concern." 

Blood rolled his eyes, "You're being too generous. That boy is a menace."

The magician shot her magical peer a glare before turning to the rest of the gathered League, gesturing to the table. "Please, sit. This will take some explaining."

Batman bristled at the instructions, even as he followed them. Generally, he explained things to others -not the other way around. 

When they were all seated, Zatanna raised her hands out in front of her and chanted.  "Wohs Su Nhoj Enitnatsnoc!"

The air in the center of the table shimmered with a glistening white light before swirling about and reshaping until it showed the form of a blond teenager in a tan trench coat.

"A kid?" Green Lantern asked. "You came here to warn us about a  kid?"

"Yes... and no," Blood said begrudgingly. "For as much trouble as that brat can cause, John Constantine has no machinations for evil doing. At least not in the same way le Fey, Felix Faust, or Circe does. That does not mean he isn't dangerous, however."

That explanation told Batman little and, what it did tell was unpleasant. He turned to Zatanna and said, "If you're here then I can only assume this John Constantine is a powerful magic-user."

"That... is complicated," the woman responded, uncertainty clear in her voice. "Honestly, no. He isn't that powerful, not right not at least. But, as Jason said, he  is  dangerous."

"What are you saying?" Superman asked. 

"That-"

"Constantine leaves a trail of destruction wherever he goes," Blood said, cutting Zatanna's explanation off. "He wrestles with demons that he cannot hope to handle and swings his magic around like a neanderthal with a club. And now he has come to your backyard."

Though Blood didn't further elaborate, Batman felt his stomach twist at the declaration. He made it a point to be aware of any possible threat to Gotham, and the world as a whole. Knowing and monitoring these threats was the only way to properly protect those who needed them. 

"John comes from a long line of magicians," Zatanna said. "Usually in that kind of situation, the responsibility of training young magic users falls on-

"Hogwarts?" Flash asked, unable to stop himself. 

Hawkgirl rolled her eyes as Green Lantern reached over to smack Flash on the back of the head, an act that the speedster allowed. Likely for the sake of humor. Batman bit his tongue to stop himself from scolding the younger hero. Not for the first time, he reminded himself that Flash was (technically) his equal now, even if he still was only a little older than Dick. 

Zatanna gave Flash a quick grin before continuing on her spiel. "It falls on the head of the family. But, as John is the only one in his immediate family with magic, he never had that. Since childhood, he's been teaching himself magic through books and the internet."

"Truly a child of the modern age," Blood mused, earning himself another dark look from his peer.

"You called him John, not Constantine," Batman pointed out, suspicion twisting in his gut. "Do you know him?"

A flash of guilt and sorrow crossed the woman's beautiful face. "I met him a little over a year ago. He'd read about my father and came to my home in search of a teacher. I was suspicious but let him stay with me a few days until I found him rifling through Dad's old archives. I am ashamed to say that I turned him away after that. If I hadn't then perhaps we wouldn't be here now."

She looked at the League with pleading eyes. "John isn't a bad kid, I know he isn't. His life has just been full of so much hardship that he refuses to trust anyone now, ensuring no one will trust him either."

She waved her hands again, muttering a spell that turned the image of John Constantine into one of a dark-haired man. " This ... is Nicolas Edgar Nolan, more commonly known as Nick Necro in the magical circles. He is one of New York's most successful sorcerers for years and-"

"-A complete asshole," Blood grumbled. This time, Zatanna didn't argue.

"After I turned John away, he ended up in New York and under the tutelage of Necro. That is, however, until a month ago when John stole some of his artifacts and ran."

"That's how we got dragged into this mess," Blood said. "Necro contacted both of us in search of Constantine."

"Little trust as I have in Nick, I agreed to search for John. More for the kid's own safety than to help Necro. He'd done a good masking himself but I was closing in. That is until last night when his magical signature completely disappeared."

"Could he be dead?" Hawkgirl asked, pointing out the obvious.

Zatanna shook her head. "No, I'd still be able to find him if he was dead. I honestly don't know what happened."

Superman spoke up again. "I don't understand what you want from us. Are you asking that we take this kid into custody or help him?"

"No, I want you to  find  him," Zatanna said gravely. 

"Hold on, this is a kid!" Green Lantern pointed out. "Where are his parents? Can't we call them?"

Anger flashed over Zatanna's face but she quickly got it under control. "I doubt they're involved with his life all that much."

"Madame Xanadu has agreed to take him in and host his education," Blood said. "We just need to find him first. So, Justice League, will you help us?"

'Of course,'  Batman thought.  'How else will we ever know what he is capable of?'

Chapter Text

"Grayson! Get your ass over here!"

Dick nearly flinched at the loud bellowing of Police Chief Delmore Redhorn. He cast one sad, longing glance at his still half-wrapped BLT before turning to face his superior. 

"Coming, sir," he said cheerily, like he didn't know just how deeply in cahoots the man was with Roland Desmond and the rest of the Blockbuster Gang. "Right away, sir!"

The rest of the officers present let out a choir of cat-calls, boos, and other shouted insults. His fellow beat cop and one of the few friendly faces in the precinct, Amy Rohrbach, sent him a worried, sympathetic look from across the floor. He shot her a bright grin in return, not letting any of the one thousand thoughts racing through his head show. As soon as he was no longer visible to anyone, the fake smile fell away.

'It's probably nothing,'  the young man told himself.  'It could be a case or a complaint or a new assignment. There is no reason to think it's about anything but work.'

Redhorn was not a particularly smart man, nor did he truly care about preventing or solving crime in Bludhaven. Then again, he'd gotten to this point in his life and career by being cunning enough to hook up with the right people, and slimy enough to stay in bed with them. And why wouldn't he? With the BPD having no formal commissioner, the Chief of Police was the most powerful man in Bludhaven in all but name and pay grade. Who'd give that level of power up for something as silly and pointless as morality, ethics, and justice? 

Dick had known all that before joining the force. He had no right to be as surprised and angry as he often found himself by the level of casual corruption around him. In the five years since he'd officially become a police officer for the department, he'd think of it as something of a pandemic. A deep, rancid poison that radiated throughout the entire city, rotting it inside and out. 

That was, until recently...

"You rang, Chief?" he asked, fake smile back in place. 

"Don't be a smartass, Grayson," Redhorn growled. He was a tall, heavy-set man with a crew cut that didn't match his round, fat face. "We have a very important visitor in the station who asked to speak to you directly. I don't want you fucking this up."

'Oh god, please let it not be Bruce,'  Dick mentally begged, the false smile nearly falling from his face at the thought. Still, he prevailed. "Wouldn't dream of it, Chief."

Redhorn scowled at him again but silently led Dick to his office where a woman in a sharp, expensive-looking coal gray pencil skirt suit set with a purple undershirt and glossy black stiletto heels was waiting. Heels that Dick quickly discovered were very, very unnecessary when the woman stood up to greet him, an action that left him literally looking up at her. Dick's first thought as he took the entire sight of the woman in was that she must be an amazon because she reminded him in beauty, height, and aura of silent, steady strength of the one time and only time he'd met Wonder Woman. 

"Officer Grayson, it's a pleasure to meet you," she said, holding out her hand.

Recovering quickly from his shock and snapping his slack jaw shut, Dick took it in a firm handshake. "And you as well, Miss..."

"You'll have to forgive Grayson here. The kid is pretty to look at but doesn't have much in the brains department," Redhorn cut him, shooting Dick yet another dirty glare as he closed the office door. "It isn't surprising that he doesn't recognize one of Bludhaven's most illustrious citizens."

He looked at Dick, giving him an 'I told you not to fuck this up,' look. "Grayson, say hello to Ms. Nico Franks. You know, the CEO and owner of Thousand Solutions Enterprise."

"Oh!" Dick felt his eyebrows shoot up. "Yes, of course, I've heard of you! I've been following your company's developments in athletic wear. I just didn't recognize you because-"

" Fufufu . How flattering, Officer Grayson. And it's quite alright, I'm so camera and interview shy that it isn't surprising you didn't recognize me," Franks laughed. Yet, when she looked at Redhorn, a slightly colder, more serious look crossed her beautiful face. "And it is 'Mrs. Franks.' I've been happily married for some time now."

The reprimand made Redhorn look like he was sucking on a lemon. When he went to say something, Franks cut him off. 

"Chief Redhorn, would you be so kind as to point me in the direction of some coffee? I'm afraid my busy schedule leaves me exhausted more often than not."

"I can show her to the breakroom," Dick offered quickly, recognizing an attempted brush off when he saw it. It also wasn't hard to guess that whatever Franks wanted to talk about, she didn't want to do it in front of the chief. He held out his elbow, "Allow me to escort you, Ma'am."

The woman giggled, tucking a delicate, manicured hand into the crook of Dick's arm. "I'd be delighted."

Confidence was key in getting away with anything and, with this in mind, Dick was able to lead Franks right past Redhorn and through the halls of the police station until they reached the empty breakroom.

"How do you take your coffee?" he asked, grabbing two paper cups. Dick was struck with the thought that Alfred would scold him for not offering the woman a proper mug but, then again, those never lasted long in the BPD considering their tendency to end up as projectiles. 

"With a splash of milk and one sugar. Not too sweet, please."

"Coming right up," he said, pouring one for himself as well. When he passed it to the woman, he couldn't resist adding, "Just as a fair warning, the coffee here is terrible."

"I'm sure I've had worse. Besides, I didn't come for the coffee."

Oh, right. 

Dick took a seat opposite Franks, letting himself grow serious instead of keeping up his cheery façade. "Why are you here, Mrs. Franks? And, more importantly, why ask to speak with  me  specifically. I don't hold any real seniority in the department, beyond having managed to not die since I started, and I'm not exactly Mr. Popularity here."

The older, more established members of the force hadn't exactly liked it when a fresh-faced young rookie rolled up and refused to play ball with the bribes and complicity that was expected of Bludhaven police officers. Once his past as Billionaire Bruce Wayne's former ward got out, despite Dick's best efforts, the teasing and harassment had only increased. The fact that Dick hadn't fallen to friendly fire in his first year surprised both him and everyone else. Not that there weren't plenty of attempts. 

Franks took her time answering, taking a long, slow sip of her coffee. "Are you familiar with Thousand Solutions' specialized high-pressure hand cannons?"

Dick blinked. "Yeah, I think so. The NYCD has been experimenting with using them instead of regular firearms, right? And I think the Metropolis Police Department was considering trying them out too?"

"Correct on both counts. And to great effect in New York, I might add. Since implementing them, deaths involving police fire have decreased by 30%," Franks smiled, her pride clear. "And after seeing the success there, my company and I have decided to start offering to sponsor their usage in other police departments as well."

"...Starting with Bludhaven," Dick said, as realization and, strangely, excitement dawned on him. 

Another smile. "Exactly. And I want  you  to be our liaison for the program."

"Me?" Dick asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes." Franks stirred another packet of sugar into her coffee. "I won't insult you by assuming I need to explain to you the effect my company has had on this city?"

"Well, on top of the influx of new jobs, I know you're responsible for the crime rate basically being cut in half, mostly in terms of petty street crime but a lot of the mob crime is being strangled too. It's gotten to the point where there have been talks of budget cuts. Not enough crime to go around anymore."

"I suppose you wouldn't be the only unpopular one then," Franks said, tilting her head to the side with a small smile playing on her lips. "But, as to why I chose you specifically, the answer is simple: you come highly recommended."

"By who?" he asked.   'Please don't be Bruce. Please don't be Bruce. Please don't be Bruce.'

"My head of security, Enrico Fernandez."

Dick searched his memories for the name -it did sound vaguely familiar- but ultimately shrugged, shaking his head. "Sorry, doesn't ring a bell."

" Fufufu,  I believe you arrested him once."

'Oh god, this is a setup,’  Dick thought, forcing himself to keep calm. "And he's recommending me for a job now? I have to confess, that is a little suspicious."

"Understandable," Franks said. "Enrico told me that you treated him with respect, compassion, and professional restraint even while arresting him for drug running. According to him, you are one of the few honest cops in the city -sad of a statement as that is."

Dick agreed, though he didn't say that. "So, just to get this straight, you're offering me this position because your former convict head of security -very interested in hearing that story, by the way- said that I behave with common decency and basic ethics?"

"Well, that isn't the only reason," Franks admitted. "I've done my own research, Officer Grayson, and I'm impressed. Your academy scores were fantastic, as are your performance reviews... except for some unsubstantiated complaints from your fellow officers, though I didn't take those very seriously.

Letting out a groan, Dick rolled his eyes. "Like I said, I'm not exactly popular with the old guard."

"I can relate. People fear change and, in turn, hate those who threaten the lives they are comfortable with." For a moment, Franks got this look in her brown eyes like she was somewhere far away before snapping back to the present. "I also understand that, in several years of service, you've only fired your gun three times. Why is that?"

Dick shifted in the hard plastic chair. "I... don't really like them. Guns, I mean."

There had been a hot rush of rebellious euphoria when he'd first gotten his service weapon. Even holding it in his hands felt like he was going against every rule and code that Bruce had ever tried to install with him. Practicing with it had been even more exhilarating; the energy that shot through his body as every shot had gone off was like a shot of heroin. But, as time went on, the ecstasy had worn off. After drawing it on someone for the first time, Dick had thrown up some overgrown shrubs. He still didn't have the same aversion to them as Bruce did but if Dick could go his entire career without having to fire his gun again outside of shooting range, then he'd retire perfectly happy. 

"I just think there is usually a way to handle situations without them," he continued. "One where hopefully no one has to die."

"Hmmm." While Franks' face remained pleasantly blank, there was a little twinkle in her eye that told Dick he'd passed some secret test. "As do I. Which is part of the reason my husband and I developed the Mini Burst Hand Canon. Make no mistake, we both believe in the appropriate use of force when necessary and wouldn't hesitate to take out a threat should the need arise. But, at the same time, justice should be tempered with mercy and compassion. Should it not?"

When Dick smiled this time, it was genuine. "I just wish more people agreed. You know, I really  do  admire that your company is willing to employ former convicts. More than anything, I credit that with the drop in crime rate. Now all those people coming to prison have somewhere to go aside from back to a life of crime."

Franks shrugged her shoulders and pulled a card from her wallet, sliding it over to him. "I'm not demanding an answer today. Take some time to think things over, and perhaps make a list of other officers you believe trustworthy. If I don't hear back from you in a week then I'll assume you aren't interested and start looking elsewhere."

"And if I  am  interested?"

"Then stop by the office and present that card to the person at the front desk," Franks said, rising to her feet. "I'll see myself out now. It was lovely meeting you, Officer Grayson. I hope we'll be working together in the future."

"Nice to meet you too," Dick said, keeping his answer purposefully noncommittal.

Hesitating for half a step, Franks looked down at the now lukewarm cup of coffee clutched in her hand. "This is very bad."

"Mmmhmm," Dick nodded, watching the woman empty what was left of her drink into a nearby half-dead potted plant. "BPD's special brand of terrible. Keeps you away and literally nothing else."

"If nothing else, I can promise you better coffee at my office," she said. Then, with one final mysterious smile, Franks sauntered away, disappearing around a corner as her long, shiny ponytail swayed behind her. 

"Nico Franks... there is more to you than meets the eye," he muttered before finally picking up the card, turning it over in his hand. It wasn't anything particularly special to look at -just pale purple cardstock with the image of a wrench intertwined with a pink flower against a stylized sun on one side.  'Curiouser and curiouser.'

After a moment of thought, Dick tucked the card into his back pocket. If nothing else, it might be worth running some tests on the thing back home. 

'Now, what am I going to tell Redhorn about this whole thing?'

'That went well enough,'  Robin thought to herself as she steered her car -a shiny, cherry red Mercedes- through crowded city streets as she made her way back to the office.  'He didn't reject my offer immediately. Now, we just wait to see what young Officer Grayson will do. And if he'll go running towards his former guardian.'

She hadn't been lying about doing her own research on the young man, Robin had just neglected to mention how in-depth that research had been. And, to be truthful with herself, Richard Grayson's story had broken her heart. 

'To lose your family at such a young age, and so horribly too. No matter which world I'm in, I see tragedy wherever I go,'  she shook her head.  'I'm impressed his heart didn't harden to the world after such an event.'

Robin had considered asking Grayson about his family, specifically Bruce. But, in the end, she decided against it. The young man's relationship with his former guardian was, by all accounts, highly strained. If she pushed the wrong buttons, then she risked Grayson retreating entirely.

"Carrot and the stick method. It never fails," she said to herself, pulling into her private parking, the security gate closing tight behind her. "Best to let him come to me."

Parking her car, Robin headed for her personal elevator, mind already on the mountain of paper she needed to work her way through. But, before the doors could fully close, Robin looked through the gap and past the security gate into the alleyway across the street. There, she caught a small, quick glimpse of blond hair and a flash of tan cloth disappearing down the alley.

'John?'

Robin slammed her hand on the 'Open' button but it was too late. The elevator shuttled her up to her office, Robin tapping the toe of her high heels shoe on the ground. When the doors finally opened again, she rushed to the window overlooking the alleyway. 

"Nothing," she grumbled, the angle too poor to see anything. Robin knew without even checking that none of the office's security cameras would reach there either. That would have to be fixed later. "Only one option left then.  Medio Cuerpo Fleur! "

Robin closed her eyes, stretching her consciousness out into the alleyway below. Her eyes sprouted first, blinking briefly to look around to see the lean, rumpled form of John Constantine leaning against the wall of a building. The teenager was too busy trying to light a cigarette to notice when Robin finished growing the rest of her upper body from the wall. 

"Hello there," she said pleasantly.

"JESUS!" John spun around, dropping his cigarette. When he saw her there, the teenager swore again. "Bloody hell! You got yourself some power there! What, you can teleport parts of yourself?"

"Of sorts," Robin replied. Then she had an idea. "I can tell you more...  if  you tell me why you are here, skulking about outside of my building."

John smirked, cocking his head to the side. "Another deal, eh?"

Robin said nothing, instead keeping her face carefully blank as she stared at the teenager before her. After a long moment, John shrugged. He tugged the collar of his oversized coat up before picking his cigarette up off the ground, popping the end back into his mouth. 

"Decided to stick around the city for a while, gotta nice enough set up in one of the old west-side apartment buildings. Plus, this damn city happens to have the best fish 'n' chips I've had on this side of the pond. I was on my way to get some when I happened to pass by," he said. John looked away before adding. "It was just a coincidence."

He muttered something under his breath and a small ball of flame bloomed in the center of John's hand. The fire wasn't natural, Robin could tell that immediately. For one, it stunk like sulfur and burnt human corpses. For another, it was a sickly green and black in color, with thick, greasy smoke. Unperturbed by any of this, John used the flames to light his cigarette before shaking his hand out, causing it to disappear. 

"Oh?" Robin decided not to voice her doubts, nor let her surprise at the display of... magic show. 

After a moment, John's armor snapped back into place. He took a step back and fixed Robin with a glare. "Alright, I held up my end. Now it is your turn, what are you doing? How are you doing it?"

"Hmmm, I will... but first I would like some lunch." 

"Huh?"

"I'm hungry," Robin said. "It was planning on going out to eat anyway, so now is as good of a time as any. If you'd like to join me, I'll be happy to tell you over a meal. My treat, of course."

"..."

"Excellent! I'll be right down, " the archeologist continued on like John had actually agreed to come. Still, it was only fair to offer him an out. "You don't  have  to come, of course. I can't stop you from leaving."

The teenager still said nothing but, behind his blue eyes, Robin could see one thought running through John's mind. 

If I leave, I might never learn.

'He's a curious boy,'  she thought fondly. Robin was always one to appreciate the thirst for knowledge.

"See you in a moment," she said. Without another word, Robin dispelled her spouted half-body and let her consciousness return to her main body. Without another word, she let the boy make his choice. 

"I'm glad you decided to wait for me," Robin said cheerily.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw John shrug again. He pulled out another cigarette. "I'm not one to turn down a free lunch."

Robin looked over her shoulder to smile at the teenager. "A fine policy. A dear friend of mine would agree."

Of course, it didn't escape the woman's notice of how skinny John was. Not in the natural way teenage boys often were -even Sanji had looked like a thin little string bean when they first met, though his slender body had been counterbalanced by steel-like lean muscle and near unparalleled skill in combat- either, no this was the kind of thin build that came from a lifetime of never getting as much food and sleep and comfort as one needed to survive, let alone thrive. 

"So where are we going?" John asked, clearly shifting the subject away from himself. 

Before Robin could answer, a hooded thug appeared from behind a dumpster and lunged forward, making a grab for her purse. Without even missing a step in her relaxed stride, Robin slammed her palm upward into the man's nose, breaking it with a satisfying   crunch!  Letting out a pained groan, the would-be thief fell back against the side of the dumpster while clutching his nose. 

Not sparing the man another thought, Robin continued on. Behind her, John followed more cautiously. When he passed by the thug, he paused... then landed a solid kick to the man's groin.

"Umpf!"  the man wheezed, falling to the ground. 

When John hurried to catch up with her, standing closer now than ever before, Robin had to hide her smile. 

"We're going to a little Vietnamese place I've grown fond of," she said. "Do you like pho?"

"Never given it much thought."

The answer was vague enough that Robin had to wonder if John had ever had it before. "Hopefully this will change your mind then."

The restaurant was a tiny, hidden place. A true hole-in-the-wall, one had to cross the ground floor of an old parking garage, down a set of stairs, and knock on the right door. If one was lucky, someone might just open up.

Today, Robin and John were lucky.

"Oh, Miss Robin," Hoang, the son of the owner, greeted when he opened the door. "Good to see you again!"

" Fufufu,  you know I can't stay away for long. Your father's food is far too delicious," Robin laughed. "Are you open today?"

"For our best customer? Of course!" Hoang said. The smile on his face fell slightly when he saw John standing there next to her, still smoking a cigarette. 

Robin followed his stare. "This is John, he is a friend of mine."

That was enough to calm the spike of tension. Hoang held the door open, "Come in! Come in! I'll tell Bố that you're here."

"Thank you."

The restaurant proper was a dimly lit single room with six, two-person tables. It was far from the most lively of establishments, but Robin liked it. Partly because the food was so excellent and partly because the family who ran it were so lovely, but also because it was perfect for quiet conversations. 

Kim, Hoang's younger sister, was already pouring two glasses of water when Robin and John sat down. "I already put your favorite tea to brew, Miss Robin."

"You're so kind." She turned to John. "Do you already know what you want, or should I have them bring us a menu? They don't offer many options but I assure you that everything is wonderful."

"Doesn't matter to me."

"Hmmm." Robin turned to Kim, "Bring us one serving of everything please, then we'll go from there."

"Yes, Miss Robin."

As the teenager hurried off, John gave Robin a surprised look. "Ain't that a bit much, Luv?"

" Fufufu , you'd be surprised by how much I can eat. And besides, Ir. can take anything leftovers back to my husband." 

"You're married?"

"Quite happily for some years now," Robin replied. She gestured to the table, sliding into her own spot. "Please, sit."

After a moment of hesitation, John jerked his chair out from under the table. Even when he finally sat down, Robin noticed that he did not tuck his legs back under the table. 

'He feels the need to be ready to make a quick escape. Smart boy.'

"Alright, I'm going along with your little game, so it's time to keep that you keep the end of the bargain," John said. "So spill, what are your powers? Where do they come from?"

Kim returned with Robin's tea then, giving her an excuse not to answer immediately. She drew the moment out, pouring herself a cup and stirring it slowly. "What  do  you think my abilities are?"

"I think they're fucking creepy, that's for sure."

"Well, you're not the first to say that," Robin laughed. "But is that all?"

John frowned, his brow drawing in concentration. He slumped down in his chair and scratched at the stubble that dusted his chin. "I've been thinking about it. You can... make duplicates of yourself, or  parts  of yourself. I'd call them clones but it doesn't seem like they have a mind of their own; you seem to be able to control them remotely."

'Impressive deductive skills, especially since he's only seen my powers in action twice,'  Robin thought, sipping her tea. "Very good. Anything else?"

"I've been thinking of the different types of spells and magic that could create the effect. You're solid enough to grab people, so it's not an astral projection. The same reason tells me that it isn't an illusion. And, like I said, I don't think it's a clone -magical or otherwise. So..." the teenager gave Robin an annoyed look, "I'm stumped. You have to be a metahuman, but I don't know much about those freak shows. And I hate being in the dark."

If that was a threat, then it wasn't a very good one. With his messy hair and scowl, John looked like a grumpy, disheveled cat. It was quite adorable. 

She decided to toss him a bone. "Well, to be honest, I'm not quite sure if my powers qualify as magic or if they make me a… metahuman in this world. However, they are considered magic in mine -even if the truth is a touch more complicated than that."

"When I was young, I ate something called the Hana Hana no Mi or, to some, the Flower-Flower Fruit. In simplest terms, it granted me the ability to sprout multiple body parts on any solid surface, including my skin and the bodies of others. With training and a little imagination, I was able to do even more. And you're right, I  can  manipulate my blooms as if they were the original limbs." She smiled, cocking her head to the side, "You're an observed young man."

At the compliment, John ducked his head. It was only for a moment though, almost as quickly as Robin could blink, John's walls were once more back up. Robin fought back a sigh at this. It seemed like every step of progress she made with John also came with two steps back.

At least his curiosity remained.  

"So you're telling me you got your powers by eating a fruit?" he asked incredulously. "Luv, you're going to have to get me pretty damn bevied before I'm willing to believe that."

"Is it truly so hard to believe? Even in this world, mythology has plenty of stories of magical fruits that grant the consumer powers. Figs from the Tree of Knowledge in the Garden of Eden made Adam and Eve aware of Good and Evil. Peaches of Immortality were consumed by the immortals of Taoism to ensure their longevity. Then there are the Apples of Immortality from the Garden of the Hesperides. If one were to-"

"Alright, alright! I get it! The idea isn't completely ridiculous" John said, cutting her off with a wave of his hand. Then something seemed to occur to him. "What, you said 'this world.' Does that mean you're an alien like the Big Blue Boy Scout from Metropolis?"

Robin took a moment to answer. She glanced at the kitchen door. Kim, Hoang, and their father had always been good about giving Robin her privacy and, even if they  did  overhear this conversation, she very much doubted they'd care. This was a strange world indeed, and Robin tipped extremely well. Well enough that talks of her being from another world were happily ignored.

"If by that, you mean 'And I from outer space?' that the answer is no... as far as I can tell. A more accurate description is that I'm from a world next to this one."

John nodded slowly, "Another dimension then. Okay, I can wrap my head around that. I-"

"Appetizers!" Kim announced, kicking open the swinging kitchen door with a massive tray of food in her hands. "We've got some Bánh tôm, Bánh ít, and Chả bò for you today. The rest of your food is on the way."

"Delightful!" Robin turned to John and translated, "Shrimp and sweet potato fritters, sticky little rice cakes, and Vietnamese beef rolls."

"Sounds good," the teenager said nonchalantly, even though he was eyeing the platters of food with a tell-tale hunger. 

"Oh, speaking of you..." Kim pulled a can of soda from her apron pouch, holding it out to John. "We don't really sell soda in the restaurant but I thought you might like something besides water and tea, so I snuck one of mine down from upstairs."

John took the soda with a small smile. "Aren't you sweet for looking out for me? Thank you, Luv."

Kim flashed him another grin before returning to the kitchen. Robin watched her go before looking back at John. " Fufufu , quite the young charmer."

The teenager flinched ever so slightly. "No. No, nothing like that. Don't get me wrong, she's pretty and seems sweet. But I'm not interested in anything like that."

He scratched at his neck then and, for the first time, Robin noticed the thin gold chain of a necklace that'd been mostly covered by the collar of John's shirt. When his fingers caught the chain, tugging it slightly, Robin saw something -likely the pendant of the necklace- move under his shirt.

'How curious... Why would he feel the need to cover up a piece of jewelry? And why react so negatively to a bit of light teasing?'

Robin poured another cup of tea, passing this one to John who took it with a look of surprise on his face. He didn't thank her, but the small smile he tried to hide was more than enough. 

"So... have you made any progress on your project?" she asked with careful casualness. 

"Hmm? What project?"

"The magnifying glass. I believe you said you wanted to reverse the spell on it? Have you made any progress on that front?"

John's hand almost immediately twitched towards his neck before he could stop himself. But even that small movement told Robin what she wanted to know. 

"Fine," John snapped, shoving a rice cake into his mouth. 

"Any thoughts on the food?"

"Only that I eat too much of it," John said. He nodded down at the stack of white takeout boxes in his arms. "What are you going to do with all this?"

" Fufufu,  you can keep it. I have all I want from the meal," Robin replied, holding up her own box.

"But your husband-"

"Pho isn't something Franky particularly cares for. He is more of a steak and burger sort of man."

John paused in his step, shifting uncomfortably. His hesitation made Robin press a bit more, "Don't overthink the matter. Take the food or don't, but the offer was mine to make."

"...Alright," the teenager said, a touch too gruffly to be considered polite. But then, "Thanks."

'Better than nothing,'  Robin thought.  'Perhaps I  am  making progress with him. And, if nothing else, I know he has something to eat when he goes... home tonight.'

Home... Where did John consider home? She'd have to look into that.

Silence lapsed over the pair as they made their way back through the dimly lit parking garage. It would almost be peaceful if not for a slight lingering tension between the two.

"Why'd you do this?" John asked, breaking the quiet. 

"Do what?"

The teenager shot her a sharp glare. "Don't bullshit me."

'Smart boy,'  she thought once more.

"Perhaps I simply wanted to help you in a way I thought you'd accept," Robin said. "Perhaps I-'

'Someone is here!'

Robin spun around, eyes narrowing as she scanned the surrounding environment. Her Observation Haki buzzed in the back of her skull, warning her of the coming danger. It was so loud that it put her teeth on edge.

"You feel that too?" John whispered, also looking around. By his side, his hands clenched and unclenched repeatedly. 

"Yes. Someone is watching us.  Ojos Fl -"

BANG!

Chapter Text

BANG!

In the half-second that it would have taken Robin to either call upon her Armament Haki or dodge the on-coming bullet, John had shoved her to the side. 

"Agh!" the teenager cried out in pain, crumpling to the ground. One hand clutching his shoulder, John drew in a shuddering breath. "Bloody hell, that hurts! The fuckin' telly lied! This bloody fucking hurts.”

With a calmness that only years of combat situations could create, Robin wrapped an arm around John's waist and pulled him up. Though she attempted to be as gentle as possible, speed was more important. She all but dragged the boy behind a nearby concert pillar, setting him on the ground and kneeling beside him. 

"Let me see." Not waiting for an invitation, Robin pried John's fingers away from his injured shoulder revealing a bloody hole just under his clavicle. "This is going to hurt."

Robin tilted John forward so she could examine the back of his shoulder as he choked on pained half-sobs, finding both his clothes and skin were intact. "No exit wound. The bullet is still in there."

"Is that good or bad?"

"Depends on the situation," Robin replied, already checking her pockets for something she could use as a bandage. Finding nothing, she unbuttoned the bottom of her top and ripped off a strip of cloth.

"How 'bout now?"

Robin clicked her tongue and bandaged the wound to the best of her ability. "That remains to be seen." 

For some reason, her response got a dry, rough laugh from John. "Get out of here."

"What?"

The boy looked up at her with unfocused blue eyes. "The git that shot at you is still here, he has to be. You've got to get out of here before he decides to try again."

"I'm not leaving you here," Robin said sharply, refusing to even consider the idea. She pulled the makeshift bandage tight, tying a quick knot. "Why would you even suggest such an idea?"

"I can survive on my own, I always have before. It comes with being able to make your own luck." John shook his head, an action that turned the already pale pallor of his skin a sickly green. "Look, just... picture where you need to go in your mind. Your house, your office... I don't care which, just focus on it."

'What is he going to do?' Robin frowned but gave a slow nod of agreement; it was probably better to play along. For now, at least. She closed her eyes for a moment and focused on her living room back home, envisioning it with her usual level of detail. "Okay, I'm picturing it now."

"Good." With a shaky, blood-soaked hand, John reached out to press the tips of his pointer and middle finger against Robin's forehead. The other hand, the one he was barely able to lift a few inches, was held out to the left of them. "Sic puto, ibi ero! Ab animo, ostium creatur!"

Robin's eyes went wide as the air in the space John was gesturing to quivered before a ring of golden light formed, whirling around and around as it widened. 'Just like what happened in my office! This must have been the... spell he used that night as well. Truly fascinating!'

But she didn't have time to think about it too deeply. Through the 'ring,' Robin was able to see her living room, though thankfully not her husband. She'd have to explain this all to Franky later.

"Alright. Off you pop now, luv," John said. His head lolled back against the pillar, the blood flowing freely from his shoulder now. "You'll want to move sooner rather than later. I won't be able to keep the portal open for very long."

"Good."

Without another word, Robin grabbed John under his uninjured shoulder. Before he could protest she hauled him up and shoved him through the portal. Robin winced when the teenager landed on his bad shoulder, causing him to yelp in pain. Still, it had the desired effect. The gold energy ringer flickered once... twice... then a third time before it disappeared from sight. 

'With John out of harm's way, I don't have to worry about going all out if need be.'

Robin folded her arms. "Ojos Fleur!"

Using her best estimate of the bullet's trajectory, Robin sprouted her eyes in that direction as far as they could go. She refused to allow the attacker to escape unpunished.

'There he is.'

Not all that far from Robin and John was an older, well-built man with white hair and a fitted black bodysuit. 

"Shit, shit, shit!" the man hissed under his breath. He was fumbling with a sleek, long-barreled gun. "You're never going to live this one down, Cain."

But when he stood up and turned around, the man was unprepared for what he saw.

"Jesus!" he shouted when he saw Robin's many eyes sprouted from the wall. His shock only increased when she disbursed all but two of her eyes and pulled the rest of her upper through the connection. The man went to pull a smaller, secondary handgun from a hip holster. 

Robin put a stop to that immediately. "Tres Fleur!"

Three arms, each reinforced by Armament Haki, sprouted from the man's back. Two grabbed and pinned his arms, while the third wrapped around his neck in a chokehold. 

"Who are you?" Robin demanded. "Why did you attack me?"

The man -Cain?- didn’t reply at first, instead twisting his head the best he could to look at Robin's sprouted limbs. "Fuck, he didn't tell you were a metahuman!"

"Someone sent you after me then?" 

Cain clicked his tongue. "I'm a professional, sweetheart, so you won't be getting anything out of me. But know this, you've been making some enemies."

Robin was almost impressed by the calm facade the man was able to maintain. 

Almost.

SNAP!

"Fuck!" Cain shouted in pain as Robin easily broke the arm he'd been trying to wiggle out of her hold.

"That is nothing new," she said coldly. "And I wouldn't attempt that again. Strength, speed... Those words have no meaning to me. You hurt a boy I've decided to save and now you need to pay for that."

"The kid?" Cain scoffed. "That was his own fault, I was aiming for you. Besides, it wasn't a fatal shot."

Robin frowned, 'Does he mean that John should be able to survive his injury... or that he wasn't shooting to kill in the first place?'

"I will give you one more chance. Who sent you after me? Why was I targeted?"

Cain gave her a smug grin. "Not telling you anything, honey. Professional policy. Go ahead and call the cops. I'll be able to get out before even seeing the inside of a cell."

Sadly, Robin could believe it. Corruption may often wear a different face here than it did in her world, but it was just as widespread. 

"Tell me, why shouldn't I just kill you then?" she asked, tightening her hold around Cain's neck. "If you refuse to give me the information I want and will be on the streets again soon, putting myself and those I care for in danger, then it seems like that would be the most logical solution to the problem."

Now, there was a spark of fear in the man's eyes. A slight waver in his voice, Cain tried to bargain. "If you kill me, then you'll never know who hired me!"

"Oh, I like to think of myself as an intelligent woman. I'm sure I can solve the mystery myself," Robin replied with a fake, cheery smile.

 A bead of sweat trickled down from the man's forehead. "Y-you can't do it. If the goddamn Batman won't kill me, then you certainly won't. All the so-called heroes of the world are too weak to do what needs to be done."

"On that, I happen to agree with you," Robin said, remembering stories she's read about what the 'villains' of this world were allowed to get away with. "Unfortunately for you, I am no hero."

"What are you then?"

"A pirate," the woman smiled sweetly. "So, rest assured, I have no issue getting my hands a little d-"

'Someone else is here.'

Another figure, this one far more dangerous than Cain, was approaching. Even with her haki warning her, Robin turned just in time to see the metallic glinting of a throwing knife flying through the air at her. Though she could probably take the damage with little issue -Robin and Franky had come to the conclusion that they, and likely everyone from their world, had a higher baseline durability than the humans of this world- Robin instead decided to disperse all of her blooms. With this second, unknown foe lurking in the shadows, she could no longer control the situation. For now, it was best to step back and reevaluate things before making her next move. 

And besides, the approaching police sirens told Robin that she only had a few minutes to prepare the story she wanted to tell. 

'Today is your lucky day, Mr. Cain,' she thought, pulling a small switchblade from its hiding place on her person. 'Savor it, I'll be coming for my pound of flesh soon.'

She glanced down at red pools of blood from where John had been sitting. Without flinching, she sliced a clean gash on the strongest part of her muscular right thigh, far from any major blood vessels or arteries. The blood started flowing immediately but Robin just calmly tucked her knife away before dragging her thumb along the length of the gash, widening it enough to pass as the type of wound that would come from being grazed by a bullet. As the police sirens drew closer, Robin watched as her blood dripped down, mixing and covering John's. 

After that and a few more quick... adjustments to the environment around her, Robin tore another piece of her shirt off to bandage her wound. 'This might be one of the rare cases where a police force's corruption could come in handy. I didn't have all the time to prepare things the way I'd like. I'll have to rely on my performance and their lack of care to smooth things over.'

Robin was in the middle of arranging herself artfully against the concrete pillar, deliberately smearing her own blood where she could when she felt her cell phone buzz. Pulling her phone out, she saw a text message from Franky. 

Husband: Hey Babe, anything you want to tell me?

Robin typed out a quick reply, letting Franky know she'd explain when she got home. Just as she put her phone away, Robin heard the loud cry of, "POLICE! COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!"

"I'm in here! Please, I'm injured! I need help!" she yelled back. 'Time to put on a show.'

"You shouldn't have come," Batman growled under his breath. 

Superman landed gently a few feet from him and the Batplane. "Sometimes a friendly face gets more answers than a scary scowl. This isn't Gotham, Batman. You don't have as much pull here."

"And you do?" he asked, shooting his colleague a withering glare. "What is this really about?"

The alien hero said nothing at first, instead staring out at the scene before them. He paid particular attention to the dark-haired woman sitting in the back of an ambulance surrounded by police officers. 

"You've been focused on Nico Franks for the past few months now, even more so since your little meeting," Superman said slowly. "I won't deny there is something suspicious about her and her company, but I want to make sure this is done right."

Something dark and bitter twisted in Batman's guts. "Do you think so little of me?"

"I think I know you. I think I know that your desire to protect the world blinds you to individuals." Superman clapped Batman on the shoulder. "Don't take it so personally. You know what they say, two heads are better than one. We can play Good Cop/Bad Cop."

"Hmmm." Batman refused to say anything else on the subject, instead approaching the nearest police officer, and tapping him on the shoulder.

"What is- Fuck!" The cop jumped when he turned to see two famous heroes staring at him. "Uh, Superman... Batman... Sir, what the hell are you doing here?"

"We have reason to expect that the attack on Mrs. Franks is related to a case the Justice League has been working on," the Dark Knight said. "I need to speak with her immediately."

It wasn't technically a lie. Batman was a member of the Justice League and he was investigating Nico Franks. 

The police officer glanced over his shoulder at the crowd of other cops. "I don't know. Redhorn hates vigilantes, it would be my ass on the line if he found out I-"

"It's fine, let them through," another, highly familiar voice called. 

'Dick.' 

It was only years of practice and training that allowed the Dark Knight to show no reaction as his eldest son stepped into view. Superman didn't have the same restraint, however, and Batman frowned when the man shifted uncomfortably by his side. 

"It's fine, Clayborne," Dick repeated to his fellow officer. "We could use the extra help. I'll take the heat from Redhorn if he flips out."

"But-"

"You think someone as high profile as the Nico Franks is going to trust some underfunded, under-trained police force to find whoever attacked her? C'mon, after everything she's done for this city, doesn't the lady deserve the best. "

"I guess... Ah, what the hell?" the other officer, Clayborne, shrugged. "They're all yours, Greyson. Probably for the best. You used to live in Gotham, right? You're probably more used to-" he nodded towards the two heroes "-this kind of thing than I am."

"Hmmm." Dick turned to Batman and Superman, his own face a careful mask of professional calm. "Can you two follow me? I'll take you to Mrs. Franks."

Batman swallowed. "Of course."

For a moment, he wanted to say more. He didn't though, now was not the time nor the place. Besides, what would he even say?

"What can you tell us about what happened here?" Superman asked, stepping in to take over the conversation. 

"Not much, honestly. Mrs. Franks hasn't been formally interviewed yet, we were more concerned with treating her injuries and ensuring the shooter wasn't about to go on a spree."

'"Did you find him yet?" 

Dick shook his head. "No, and Mrs. Franks unfortunately hasn't been of much help. According to her, she only caught a glimpse of the attacker. She described him as an older Caucasian man with white hair. Which, as I'm sure you can imagine-"

"Isn't very helpful," Batman cut in. "Have you checked the security footage from nearby buildings?"

The annoyed scowl that flashed across Dick's face didn't go unnoticed, yet it was gone quick enough that Batman could pretend it was about something else. 

"We've seen officers out to ask around nearby stores and apartment buildings," he replied. "I'm not holding my breath though. Not many places in Bludhaven bother keeping their security cameras going, fewer still trust the police enough to just hand over their footage."

Batman let out a grunt. There were ways to get around that. 

"Can we speak to Mrs. Franks now?" Superman asks. 

"If she agrees." Dick nodded towards the ambulance, "Follow me."

As they approached, Batman's keen ears picked up the tail end of a conversation. 

"...no interest in going to the hospital. Just give me some bandages and ibuprofen then allow me to go be treated by my private physician."

"Mrs. Franks, I don't suppose you'd been willing to answer a few questions?" Dick asked, cutting off whatever the ambulance worker was about to say. 

Nico Franks looked notably different than she had weeks ago when she met with Bruce Wayne and Lex Luthor. Injuries and torn clothes aside, the sharp, stylish pencil skirt suit and darker make-up emanated a different energy than the unthreatening wrap dress and subtle cosmetic scheme. It made her look more serious, for one; more like the high-powered businesswoman that was. More than that, the calm, collected, and mysterious woman he contended was replaced by one who was radiating anger and frustration in thick, palpable waves.

'No fear though, not ever after being shot,' Batman noted, taking in the annoyed twist of the woman's mouth. His eyes narrowed when he saw how the annoyance lessened when she turned to face Dick.

"Of course, Officer Grayson," she replied, her voice as calm and relaxed as if the two were simply exchanging pleasantries. "Though, happy as I am to be working with you, I must admit that I did not expect it to be so soon or under such circumstances."

"Yeah, funny how life works sometimes," Dick chuckled. When Batman gave him a questioning look, his eldest son just looked away and said nothing.

Franks' eyes slid from Dick to himself, one plucked eyebrow creeping up her forehead. "My company and I have tapped Officer Grayson here to head up a potential collaboration between Thousand Solutions and the BPD" she explained. Turning to Dick, she gave him a sly, teasing smile. "I'm still waiting for a response on my offer, by the way."

Dick laughed again. "Haven't had much time to consider the idea in the four hours since you gave it, Mrs. Franks."

"Ah, how disappointing. I hoped the answer would be an easy one."

"Getting back on task," Batman cut in, shooting a look that clearly said, 'we'll talk about this later." before turning back to the businesswoman. "I need you to explain what happened here."

Franks' eyes narrowed. "That is a rather presumptuous question for someone not with law enforcement to ask such a question. Why are you here? Your home city is Gotham, not Bludhaven. And while I've read about your professional relationship with the GPD, one certainly doesn't exist between you and the law informant of this fair city."

Batman bit the inside of his cheek. This was why dealing with common criminals was so much easier. He could just hang no-name, unimportant thugs off the side of a building until they gave up the information he wanted. 

"We have reason to suspect that your attack has something to do with an ongoing investigation the League is conducting," he repeated, voice tense. 

"How so?" Franks asked, tilting her head to the side, her dark, messy hair falling over her shoulder.

As if he could sense Batman's growing frustration, Superman stepped forward. "Please, ma'am. Any information you could offer us might be invaluable. Even if it turns out that this has nothing to do with our investigation, you'd still be helping get a dangerous man off the streets."

There were few things Batman admired -and sometimes envied- more about his colleague than Superman's ability to put people at ease. People trusted Superman by virtue of him simply existing. If the symbol on Batman's chest was designed to inspire fear and draw panicked gunfire away from his more vulnerable areas, then the one on Superman's chest was designed to inspire awe and hope. 

"Hmmm... I suppose I can help you," Franks said after a moment of contemplation. "But first-"

"Mrs. Franks, please," the ambulance worker interrupted. "If you insist on refusing to go to the hospital then I need to tend to your leg immediately. I'm worried about the amount of blood you've lost."

The woman rolled her eyes. "If you must..."

Without another word, Franks swung her long, shapely legs up into the ambulance and leaned back into a reclining position, an action that caused her skirt to ride up higher on her thighs and the toned muscles of her exposed lower abdomen to ripple. Something that drew the eyes of every nearby man. Even in tense circumstances, one must appreciate a beautiful sight -even if it was scuffed and stained with blood. 

"Get on with it," she instructed the paramedic supposed to be assisting her. 

"O-oh, yes," the man stuttered, finally pulling his eyes away from Franks' mile-long legs inches from his face. 

Professionalism returning, the paramedic carefully untied the makeshift, blood-soaked bandage that was tied around Franks' thigh. Batman inched closer; you could tell a lot by a bullet wound. When the bandage was fully pulled away, a fresh trickle of blood dripped down the woman's leg from a long, wide gash.

'That isn't a normal bullet wound.' Batman narrowed his eyes, 'What are you hiding, Franks?'

As the paramedic went to work cleaning the injury, Franks settled back into a more comfortable position before turning back to the heroes. "Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes... I'm afraid my story wouldn't help your investigation any. What happened to me seems to have been a simple mugging gone wrong."

I was walking through the parking garage when someone came up behind me and grabbed the strap of my purse. We struggled, I refused to let go and tried to elbow the man. Then... BANG! I heard a gunshot and felt pain in my leg. I fell to the ground but managed to turn just in time to see an older white man running off.”

"Someone must have heard the gunshot and called the police," Dick said. 

"Someone?" Superman asked. "You don't know who?"

Dick shrugged. "They didn't give their name, and the call only lasted a couple of seconds. Not unusual around here, I'm afraid."

Batman studied Franks' face, hoping to catch some sign of... something. When there was nothing but vague curiosity, he decided to push. 

"What was a CEO doing wandering around a parking garage? Your company's headquarters is only five blocks away; there is no reason you'd be keeping your car here."

"Oh, I wasn't," Franks said easily. "There is a small restaurant nearby that I enjoy. The most direct route to and from there is through the garage.”

"Really?" Dick asked. "We didn't see a sign for one when we were searching the area. But I guess that explains all the takeout boxes scattered around.”

"Well, it isn't an official restaurant, if you understand what I mean. But the owners are good friends of mine, so I stop by every so often for a good lunch. And, yes, I actually lost all my leftovers in the struggle. Truly disappointing.”

"Hmm, is it possible that they were the ones who called the police?" Superman asked.

"I suppose, they live close enough to have heard it. If you wish to speak to them, then knock on the blue basement door of the apartment building," Franks instructed. "I cannot promise they will be open to speaking with you, however."

"Yeah, I'm used to that," Dick grumbled, jotting down a quick note.

All of this was good information, yet Batman knew Franks still wasn't telling the whole truth. "Why didn't you drive here?"

Franks waved a hand around. "It's lovely out and I spend most of my days cooped up in an office. What is the purpose of this line of questioning? Is there reason to believe that my attack is anything more than an attempted mugging gone wrong?"

The woman's answers were short, clipped, and terse. Perhaps it would be understandable, Franks had been through what most would consider a traumatic ordeal, yet everything about the situation left Batman with ever-mounting suspicion. 

'Still no fear,' he noted. 'Not a trace of it. She just wants to get rid of us.'

"You did a good job making a field bandage," the paramedic noted, seemingly obvious to the tension between Franks and the heroes. "It stopped you from losing a lot more blood."

"I'll be sure to pass that one to my personal physician," Franks said, giving a dry chuckle. After a moment, she added. "I've had practice. My early life was not easy, I'm afraid."

That fit with what Franks had told him during their lunch, though it continued the woman's frustrating vagueness with details. Her words weren't where Batman's focus was, however; instead, he narrowed in on the discarded make-shift bandage. Even crumpled and covered in blood, it was clear the fabric had been torn from the bottom of Franks' shirt, and yet...

'It doesn't match,' he realized. 'More fabric is missing than what was used to bandage her leg.'

"You were alone when you attacked?" 

It was subtle, only perceptive to someone who spent painstaking years drilling themselves to pick up on such things, but the way Franks tensioned up at the question was undeniable. She looked up from watching the paramedic tend to her wound to glare at Batman. 

Once more, no fear. Just anger.

"Yes," Franks said, cold and curt. "Completely."

Franks turned to Dick. "Are there any other questions I need to answer? I would like to get home. My husband is very worried about me."

"Is he on the way here?" Superman asked, glancing around the small crowd. 

"No," the woman shook her head. "Tom rarely leaves the house. But he has called our private doctor, so I want to be getting on my way."

"Is she safe to drive?" Dick asked the parametric.

The man clicked his tongue. "I'm not going to recommend it. Mrs. Franks seems coherent and in none-the-worse for wear, but I worry a dizzy spell could hit while she is driving."

"I will thank you all not to speak of me as if I'm absent," Franks said sharply, shooting the paramedic a glare that had him red with embarrassment. "I will call the office and have a company driver come pick me up before driving me home. Is that acceptable?"

"Errr... I'd still rather you come to the hospital, Ma'am."

"And I'd rather have not been shot! Clearly, neither of us will be getting what we want today."

The Face that Nico Franks was putting on today was so different from the one she'd worn in front of Bruce Wayne and Lex Luthor. Rather than effortlessly pleasant, charming, and harmless, this Nico Franks had a stern, commanding presence. She spoke with cool professionalism, though with a slight self-important sneer that many wealthy, so-called important people spoke with. In essence, she was putting on the airs of a woman who refused to be disobeyed or denied. 

The parametric sighed but shrugged, giving Dick a, 'What can you do?' look. "I'll put a few more bandages on. After that, she's free to go."

"Okay then," he said. "You heard that man, Mrs. Franks. Just a few more questions then you can head home. I'm sure you've had a hard day."

"Indeed." 

Silently, Batman nudged Superman before nodding in the direction of the Batplane signaling that it was time to go. The alien cocked an eyebrow, clearly surprised that the detective was ready to leave without further interrogations of Nico Franks. Batman said nothing in response, just turned without a word of acknowledgment to anyone, and left. After a moment, Superman followed.

Batman had gotten what he wanted. Or rather, he'd gotten what he could. Franks would tell them no more today. Together anything else out of her, they'd need leverage. Specifically, whomever she was going out of her way to hide.

When they were far enough away, Superman spoke up again. "You're right. She is hiding something. She's a good liar though, the best I've ever seen since you."

The Dark Knight decided not to acknowledge that last part. "That wasn't a bullet wound on her leg. If I had to guess, Franks slashed her own leg to make it look like she was grazed by a bullet. A bullet that will never be recovered by police searches."

"You think the attack was faked?"

"No, but it wasn't a mugging. And Franks wasn't alone."

"If not a mugging, then a hit?"

"If it is a professional hit, then it was a sloppy one," Batman said. "Then again... maybe that was the point."

Superman gave him a questioning look. "What are you thinking?"

"I have some theories. I'll let you know when I get further in the investigation."

The more Batman looked into the mystery surrounding Nico Franks, the more complicated it became. She was hiding someone, someone she was willing to be seen in public with yet also not tell the authorities about. Then there was the attack. People target the rich and powerful all the time, yet a deliberately failed assassination? That was a scare tactic.

As for who was behind it? 

The Dark Knight had his suspicions but he knew where to start.

John Constantine woke up thirsty, confused by his surroundings, and with a shoulder that hurt like hell.

'Where the bloody hell am I?' he wondered, looking around. 

It wasn't a large room. In fact, it wasn't even a bedroom at all. Instead, it looked like a study or library with tall, wooden shelves filled with books and various nicknacks. The floor was covered by a woven blood rug and across from him, passed a coffee table covered in loose paper, coasters, and magazines, there was a wrought iron pellet fireplace that put out a comfortably warm heat. The flames of the fire illuminated the dim room, letting John make out a collection of bizarrely large armchairs. John himself was laying on the room's only couch, though it too was so large that it was probably the size of a full bed. 

'Comfortable too,' he muddled mind thought as John forced himself to sit up. 'Most comfortable thing I've slept on since...'

John pushed that thought away. 'C'mon, Johnny. Don't let yourself get distracted. Figure out where you are, what happened, and then how to get out of here.'

"Let's see..." he whispered to himself. John rubbed his forehead, "I... want to see if- Agh! "

This shoulder throbbed with a dull sort of aching pain effectively cutting off the young warlock's thoughts. Instinctively, John grabbed at his shoulder, sparking another throb of pain. As soon as he touched it, John's fingers slid over the soft texture of gauze bandages until they hit the collar of a t-shirt. A t-shirt that John hadn't realized he was wearing. A vastly oversized t-shirt that definitely wasn't his.

"That's right... I got fucking shot!"

Creak!

The sound of a door opening had John nearly jumping off the couch in surprise, an action that did nothing to help the pain throbbing through his body.

"That you did. Very foolishly too, I might add."

There, standing silhouetted in the doorway, was the damned woman whose kindness had been messing with John's head for the past week.

Chapter Text

The wound on Robin's leg ached with nagging pain the entire drive home; one that took three times as long as usual. She took multiple wrong turns and false paths to be certain no one was trailing her. The sun was dipping low in the sky when she finally pulled into her home's well-guarded garage. While the injury was minor compared to those Robin had suffered before, she still kicked off her heels as she exited the car and made her way to the secret elevator. No matter how strong you go, rolled ankles are still annoying. 

Ding!

Robin didn't even get a chance to step outside the elevator before Franky was there, massive metal hands on his hip and an eyebrow cocked in her direction.

"Honey, I'm home!" she said cheerily.

Franky snorted. "Cute joke."

" Fufufu,  glad you think so."

Her husband rolled his eyes before the bandage wrapped around Robin's thigh drew a concerned stare. "What happened?"

"Nothing to be concerned about," Robin said gently. Reaching out to tap a fingertip against Franky's lips, cutting off more concerned chatter. "It is just a little pain. I've dealt with worse."

"Don't I know it," Franky scoffed. Without another word, the cyborg scooped Robin up in overly large, powerful arms and carried her to the living room. Depositing her on one of their couches, her husband said, "Wait here."

Robin decided not to argue, instead laying back on the couch as she watched Franky disappear around a corner. "Where is our guest?"

"The kid?" Franky called back. "I patched him up and put him to bed in the library. He's sleeping the last time I checked."

"His injuries?"

Her husband returned carrying a small box of medical supplies, kicking an ottoman over to the side of the couch. He settled next to Robin, gently moving the injured leg onto his lap. The metal components of Frank's new and improved cybernetic hands shifted, rolling, and bending until the large red set was replaced by a smaller, more slender golden pair. While not perfect for the delicate work Franky sometimes did, this was the set he used specifically for touching and handling other people -with them even being heated so they were warm to the touch. 

Using these 'Warm Hands,' Franky delicately undid the paramedic's bandages. The wound's bleeding had slowed, though a fresh trickle of blood dripped down her thigh. The skin around the injury had grown red and puffy, feeling hot and aching. 

"What did you do to yourself?" her husband asked, clicking his tongue as he wet a clean cloth with some of Chopper's signature healing ointment. 

"Had to make a believable story for the authorities. There was quite a bit of blood, and I needed a reasonable explanation from where it all came from," Robin replied, her voice hitching as Franky dabbed at the injury with the medicine, cleaning off both the injury and the dried blood. "The boy? What of his injuries?"

Franky hadn't replied the first time she'd asked but Robin was nothing if not persistent.

"The kid-"

"John," Robin interrupted. If what she was planning came to fruition, then they needed to start calling John by his name. "His name is John."

Another raised eyebrow. "Alright.  John  was passed out well and good when I found him on our floor -you'll be happy to know that I managed to get the blood out of the carpet, by the way- so he didn't fight when I pulled the bullet out of his shoulder."

"Where did you do it?" Robin asked, only now realizing that the only infirmary they had was on the  Thousand Sunny . Did Franky drag the bleed-out John all the way onto their ship to tend to his wounds?

"On the kitchen island, it was the closest flat surface I could easily work on."

When Robin shot him an alarmed, slightly disgusted look, Franky shrugged his massive shoulders. "What? The blood wiped right off the marble! I bleached it down!"

In spite of herself, Robin chuckled. She readjusted herself position on the couch as Franky put the washcloth down and unscrewed the lid of a pick jar, causing the aroma of cherry blossoms to fill the air. When her husband began to lightly dab Chopper's miracle cream on her wound, Robin asked him to continue with his recount. 

"Not much more to say. I pulled the bullet out, cleaned up his shoulder with this-" he nodded towards the box of medical supplies "-before bandaging it. I shot him up with a dose of painkillers and something to help him stay asleep. Then I put him in one of my old shirts and made up a little bed for him on the library couch. He'll probably be waking up soon."

With a smile, Robin leaned forward to press a warm kiss against her husband's forehead. "Thank you for looking after John. I know it must have been surprising to find him on the floor there."

"Yeah," Franky chuckled. "That is an understatement. A bleeding out teenager isn't what I was expecting to find when I was on my way to the kitchen to get some cola. What happened? I take it this was the kid who was breaking into your office?"

"Indeed. I found him watching the office and managed to get him to come to lunch with me."

"How'd you do that?"

"I promised to tell him about my powers."

Franky gave her an alarmed look. "What?! You told him about us? Isn't that dangerous? That is why we decided against going to any of those costumed weirdos for help when we first arrived."

Robin decided not to comment on the irony of Franky calling others 'weirdos,' and instead replied, "I don't believe we have anything to worry about. John has his own secrets, his own abilities. He claims it is magic, and I suppose I have no reason to doubt him."

"After all the craziness we saw on the Grand Line, doubting anything would be stupid," Franky agreed. "It doesn't explain why he ended up half-dead in our house though."

"We were attacked on our way back from lunch."

.

.

.

"WHAT?"

The look of fury that crossed Franky's face shouldn't have been as attractive as it was but, well, Robin was weak. The idea that someone loved her -either platonically or romantically- enough take on the entire world for her, was incredibly attractive. 

She stroked the side of her husband's face. "Calm down. You know that I can take care of myself."

"Well, yeah. I'm sure you could kick the ass of just about anyone on this planet. But you’re  still  hurt all the same. Not to mention the kid passed out in our library."

A rush of guilt came over Robin, nagging and tugging at her heart and stomach. 

"That is my fault, I'm afraid. John pushed me out of the way, he took the bullet." She frowned, "He didn't know it wouldn't have hurt me. More than that, it was not a kill shot. I would have been fine had John done nothing."

Franky gave her a comforting squeeze to the shoulder. "Hey, the kid's actions were his own. I know I can't stop you but try not to blame yourself. Especially now that we've got something else to worry about. First thing's first, why do you think it wasn't a kill shot?"

"Because I caught the assailant, and he let it slip after a bit of...  questioning ." Robin gave a little smirk, one Franky returned, before continuing, "He mentioned that the bullet meant for me wouldn't have been fatal. And I do not believe that was because the man was a bad shot."

"A warning shot."

"A threat," Robin nodded. "By someone who wants me scared."

Franky scoffed. "It's going to take more than a bullet or two to scare you."

"Of course, it is. But now it leaves me with two questions: who and why?" 

"Well, it isn't like we didn't make plenty of enemies when we brought Bludhaven under our control," Franky said, preparing to apply the final touches on Robin's leg. "I mean, we weren't exactly  gentle  with the gangs that didn't want to partner up. And that's not even bringing up all the costumed assholes who were always lurking around."

Ah yes, the so-called supervillains that ran around in costumes causing havoc. The most aggressive of which had been dealt with or forced to leave the city. Those that remained were allowed to do so with the understanding that they stay far away from Franky, Robin, and their company. 

"Speaking of costumes, you'll never guess who got a visit from two of the world's best and brightest."

A tight look of concern crossed her husband's face. "Who was it?"

"The ones they call Batman and Superman," Robin said. "Apparently they are very interested in the attack on me."

"I don't like the sound of that," Franky grumbled, scratching at his chin. After a moment, he shrugged. "I guess that's what you get for being so popular, babe. Everyone wants a piece of you."

Robin glanced down at her now-bandaged leg and gave a dry grin.  'Pound of flesh, pound of blood.'

"Cain," she said, catching Franky off-guard. "That was the shooter's name. At least, that is what he referred to himself as." 

"We've worked with less," her husband said. The look he gave her was warm and protective, yet fierce and strong all at once. "He won't get away with this. I promise."

"Franky, there was someone else there with him. I never saw them though."

The cyborg just shrugged again. "What's two people when we've taken on the entire world?"

There wasn't much that could make the Demon Child of Ohara blush like a child, but that there? That was enough to do it. 

"That's right... I got fucking  shot !"

Robin paused at the library door, letting out a small chuckle at John's muffled exclamation of outrage. The fact that the boy was already up and aware enough to be annoyed about his injury was promising, though it wouldn't surprise her if John's brain still hadn't caught up with the pain his body was in. The drugs that Franky had given him were likely helping in that regard. 

She pushed the door open, the wood creaking loudly with the motion. "That you did. Very foolishly too, I might add."

"...Bugger. I really can't escape you, can I?"

From his place on their oversized couch, John blinked at her with sleep-hazed, owlish blue eyes. The teenager's blond hair was messy, and he looked, quite frankly, ridiculous in one of Franky's large shirts. It was in a good way though. He looked quite endearing really. Robin had to fight the urge to reach out with a sprouted limb and ruffle John's hair. 

" Fufufu,  if you're thinking of running, you should know I have eyes everywhere," Robin teased.

Deciding to leave the lights off for now, Robin was careful not to move too quickly as she approached the couch. She didn't want to startle John. He'd undoubtedly be sensitive and skittish after everything that had happened. Even with how careful she was being, the teenager noticeably inched away when she sat down on the coffee table next to him. An action that caused him to wince in pain when it put pressure on his injured side. 

"Careful," she warned gently. "You're still injured. The bullet tore through your shoulder bone and muscle. We got it out, but the damage still lingers. Avoid aggravating it."

"You don't say!" 

Despite her warning, John prodded at his injured shoulder. All it took was one rough poke too many for the teenager to wince, clearly regretting the decision. 

"If the pain is already back, you'll probably need more painkillers soon. Franky says he gave you the last dose two hours a-"

"No!" John shouted, cutting Robin off. When she gave him a confused look, the teenager looked away. 

"No painkillers. No drugs. Not taking that chance."

"...Alright, I'll respect that. It is your body, after all. You can control what you put into it," Robin said. "Besides the pain, how are you feeling?"

The look John gave her said it all.

"I'm serious," she pressed, fighting the urge to grin. "I need to be aware of your symptoms so we can more effectively treat you."

"I'm fine," John growled. "I can take care of myself, always have. Thanks for patching me up and letting me have a bit of a kip, but it's time that I got on my way. So just give me my trousers, and I'll go."

'Quite a bit of bravado you have there, young man. Oh, the folly of youth. Youth and fear,'  Robin thought sadly. Not so long ago, she'd have likely said something similar in such a situation. She leaded back, deciding to humor the boy for now. After all, it was the only way to make John realize he needed help. "Your clothes are in the wash, I'm afraid. However, you can find some spare clothes in the hallway closet. You're welcome to them. After you're dressed, I can show you to the door."

.

.

.

"...Thanks," John grumbled once he realized that Robin was content to sit where she was and let him get the clothes himself. She was going to make him do this himself. 

He pushed the blankets off and tried to roll the edge of the (comparatively) massive couch, grunting, swearing, and clearly in pain the entire way. Robin merely watched as he struggled, feeling a combination of bemusement and sympathy at John's absolute refusal to accept help. John swung his skinny legs to the ground and went to stand up...

...only to fall forward immediately as John's knees buckled out from under him. " Dammit !"

Sprouting a pair of extra arms, Robin grabbed the falling teenager. Arranging him back on the couch, she tucked a plush blue blanket around John and said, "I suppose I can add 'faintness' to your list of symptoms?"

John turned away, red-faced. "Was there actually any clothes in the closet?"

"There are some of my fancier dresses and nice coats in that closet, yes. I doubt you'd be interested in walking out of here in a ballgown."

"Eh, if David Bowie can rock a dress than why can't I?" 

Robin chuckled. "Alright then. Come on now, John. Your symptoms, let's hear them."

The boy grumbled but sighed and reluctantly did as he was told. Robin nodded along, already forming a plan of treatment in her head. 

"You're definitely experiencing the side effects of blood loss," she said, reaching out and pressing the back of her hand against John's forehead. His skin was pale and cool to the touch, yet covered in a layer of clammy sweat. "Franky said he considered giving you a transfusion but didn't know your blood type, so we didn't want to risk it."

"You and me both, luv," John replied, eyes hazing as he settled back into the small mountain of pillows. 

"Thankfully, recovering from blood loss itself is not particularly difficult. Aside from plenty of rest and relaxation, it is mostly a matter of replenishing the liquids and iron that you've lost."

John licked his lips. "I'd kill for a glass of water."

"Water is important, but juice would be better in the short term. I think we have some wheat grass juice in the fridge." 

It has been left over from an experimental breakfast that neither Robin nor Franky had ended up enjoying. It was only years spent with Sanji that prevented her from dumping the remaining juice down the drain that very day.

"Yuck, it'll stick with the blood loss," John said, face scrunching up. He looked so disgusted that Robin had to laugh. 

"Is orange or cranberry juice more acceptable then?" 

"Anything sounds better than drinking grass!"

"Okay," Robin said. "You also will need something to eat. For the next couple of days, I'll be putting on a diet of fruits and vegetables that are high in vitamin C, along with fruits like red meat, poultry, fish, beans, tofu, and some dark-green, leafy vegetables."

"What good will those do?" 

"They're rich in iron and B vitamins, it'll help you rebuild your strength." 

"Huh, I wouldn't have expected that you were a doctor in addition to a businesswoman. Quite the overachiever, aren't you?"

"Well, I'm actually an archeologist and historian. But, yes, I've worn many hats in my life. My medical skills are a result from both spending many years having to care for myself and living with my world's greatest doctor." Robin smiled, thinking of a certain green-haired swordsman. "My friends and I got injured quite often throughout our adventures. I'm afraid our poor doctor became an expert at treating blood loss because of it."

John just nodded slightly. "Can I have some orange juice? And something to eat? It doesn't need to be anything special, it'll take some toast or a bowl of cereal or something. I'm just hungry."

"Of course." Robin stood up and said teasingly, "Don't go trying to escape now."

"Where would I go?" the teenager chuckled. An action that caused John to wince as he jostled his shoulder.

'Poor boy. He's trying to be strong, he doesn't want to admit weakness. I know what that is like,'  Robin ducked her head, frowning as she made her way to the kitchen. 

"How's it going, babe?" Franky asked. "Is the k- John up?"

"Yes, he is awake. Awake, in pain, and somewhat disoriented. But he is aware enough to be hungry, so I'm going to make him a sandwich." Robin said, pulling out a pitcher of fresh squeezed orange juice and some leftover roast beef. 

"Chopper always said that an appetite was always a good sign," Frank said. "I was about to start dinner anyway. I'm thinking of grilling up those ribs you bought a couple of days ago."

"Mmmm, that does sound delicious." She nodded toward the cupboard, "Can you hand me a cup? And the bread?" 

The two worked in silence for a while. Franky set to work on the ribs, letting the excess fat boil away in a large pot of salty water as he whipped up a quick marinade. Robin, on the other hand, busied herself by preparing a sliced roast beef sandwich with plenty of lettuce and tomatoes. She added a tall glass of orange juice and some chopped up broccoli with dip as a snack, placing it all on a serving tray. 

"I don't expect John to be able to finish all of this," Robin admitted. "But it'll make me feel better to know that he at least has something in his stomach before he passes out again."

"Speaking of that, should I go get another dose of painkillers?" Frank asked. "Since it's from our world, it's pretty strong stuff. It might be easier on the kid's body if we mix it in with his food."

Robin shook her head. "No, John has asked to not be given anymore pain killers. We should respect that."

Franky's eyebrows shot up. "Really? Is that smart? His shoulder is pretty messed up. I doubt he's feeling the full experience of it now, but soon it'll be hitting him in full force. He'll be wanting something then."

"Perhaps," Robin agreed. "And I definitely agree that he'll keep needing antibiotics to prevent infection. Yet it isn't our place to force drugs that he doesn't want onto John. If he asks later, we can administer them. For now though, we trust his word."

"If you say so," Her husband shrugged, taking a swing of his cola. Then, after a moment, added, "Have you learned anything else about him?"

"Only what I already knew. John is guarded, withdrawn, and does not want to let anyone close. He's actually already tried to leave once."

"Hmmm. He's staying though, right?"

"For tonight, at least. Past that... I can only hope," Robin sighed. 

Back in the library, Robin found John thankfully still on the couch, having fallen into a light doze. Not wanting to wake him, she nearly turned to leave when her elbow bumped against the door. The  thump!  it made was enough to shake John awake, the teenager nearly jumping out of his skin at the sudden sound. 

"Wha-? Who's-?" he mumbled, squinting at her once more. 

"It's just me." Robin held up the trey. "Me and your dinner."

"Oh yeah... Forgot about that." John rubbed his eyes and forced himself to sit up, wincing as he did so. "Thanks."

The gratitude was a small thing, yet it was still enough to make Robin smile. "My pleasure. Here, eat."

John gulped down half of the glass of orange juice in one go, letting out a sigh of relief. Picking up the sandwich, he turned it over in his hands. "Looks good. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you can cook too."

"I won't claim to be any sort of master chef, but I know my way around the kitchen," Robin said, returning to her perch on the coffee table. Balancing a cheek on her hand, she was content to just watch John nibble at the sandwich. 

After a few moments, the teenager cocked an eyebrow in her direction. "Do you want to take a picture or something? It'll last longer."

"I'm just thinking."

"About what?"

"You." John blushed and looked away at her words, letting Robin continue. "I'm thinking about where you might have come from, about your powers and family."

John did his best to shrug, doing his best not to show anymore pain on his face. "Nothin' much to say. I'm from Liverpool, my mother died when I was born and my father is such a right arsehole that I did a runner a while back."

"After the fire at Casanova Club?" Robin asked. "That was around two years ago, correct?"

This was a test, of course. Robin had memorized every article she could find written about the tragedy. While she had no proof the 'John Constantine' mentioned in those articles was the same one lying before her, the teenager's reaction was more than enough to confirm her suspicion. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," he growled. "Look, you did me a solid by helping me here, but that doesn't give you the right to go nosing around in my life!"

"Alright," Robin said calmly, deciding not to call him out on such a clear lie. "My apologies. May I ask you one more question though?"

"...What?" John asked, voice tense and suspicious.

"Why'd you do it?"

"Huh?"

"The bullet. Why'd you tried to shield me? You were under no obligation to do so, and I am more than capable of looking after myself."

John was quiet for so long that Robin wondered if he'd simply decided not to answer. Until... 

"I didn't plan on anything, just acted in the moment. Don't overthink it. It didn't mean anything."

"Ah, well I still thank you for it," she replied. "It was kind of you."

At her words, John turned himself away from her every further. Tucking his thin body into the back of the couch. "I'm tired."

Ah, there it was: the brush off. John's wounds were becoming red and wet and exposed to the surface, and it spooked him. He was locking down for the night, not wanting to talk anymore. 

"That is understandable, you've been through much today, and sleep is vital to the healing process." Robin gathered the dirty dishes up, stacking them up on the serving tray. "Goodnight."

She had almost made it to the door when John spoke up again. 

"Wait?"

Robin turned. "Yes."

John's back still was to her, the teenager was pulled tight in on himself. But he was still talking, still hadn't completely shut down. "Those adventures you went on with your friends... Can you tell me about them?"

The question sent a flutter of joy in Robin's heart. Curiosity was a powerful thing, and, if used right, it could draw people together like moths to a flame. John was a closed off soul yet she'd notice how the teenager seemed more willing to share bits about himself if Robin did so first. Tit for tat, and all that. This was an invitation, one to share more about herself. And, perhaps, it would lead to learning more about the mystery that was the teenager in front of her. 

"I'd be happy to," she said, returning to her perch. "Would you like to hear about anything specific?"

The pile of blankets shuffled about slightly. "Nah, I just need something to help me sleep."

"Then shall I tell you about the time we all sailed into an island in the clouds?"

John snorted. "Sure, sounds like fun."

Robin leaned back, smiling as she remembered her first real adventure as a Straw Hat Pirate. "Well, it all started when a massive ship fell from the sky and nearly crushed us all to death. After that, we..."

"The kid asleep?" Franky asked.

"Yes, he drifted off sometime around Usopp seeing Merry's klabautermann," Robin said, pouring herself a glass of wine. 

"Skypiea? Why were you telling him about that?" 

"He asked to hear about the adventures I went on with my friends, I thought Skypiea would be a good starting point for, well, all of it."

Franky chuckled. "Little did you - we - know how connected it would all be in the end."

"How foolish we were," Robin nodded in agreement. Then she gave her husband a teasing grin. "You know, if John is going to end up staying with us then you'll need to get better at calling him by his name."

"Meh, 'kid' is good enough for now." Franky said. He nodded at the table, set and prepared with serving trays full of delicious looking food. "C'mon now, let's eat. Oh, and I put the word out to all the contacts we've made. By morning, we should know all we need to know about this 'Cain."

Robin smirked. "You sound excited about that."

"Of course I am, I've got a lot to say to the guy who was gunning for my girl."

"You flirt."

For all they both laughed at the idea, Robin had no doubt Franky was serious. The cyborg had always been protective for those he loved. This included his original adoptive family of Tom, Kororo, and Iceberg, little Chimney & Gonbe, the old Franky Family, and ,of course, their crew. As one of the older members, Franky had always felt a fatherly responsibility for the younger ones. With them, Franky was a careful balance of endeared indulgence, and making sure Luffy, Usopp, and Chopper didn't run off and get themselves killed. And that isn't even talking about the various friends and allies they had made throughout their travels!

That caring, protective instinct -the instinct of a True Man as Franky liked to assert- was part of what had attracted Robin to him in the first place. A man who truly cared for others and was strong enough to protect them while also having a kind soul? Yes, please!

"There is something else I want to look into -the fire at the Casanova Club." When Franky gave her a confused look, Robin continued, "I've mentioned it before, it popped up a few times while I was first researching John." 

"And that still didn't satisfy you?"

Robin shook her head. "All the news articles reported basically the same thing: that a fire got out of hand and burned down the club, killing over a hundred people through a combination of the fire itself, people being trampled by the terrified crowds, and the smoke inhalation. Because the establishment has such a poor reputation, no one bothered looking into things too deeply. Sometimes accidents happen after all. And yet..."

"You don't believe that?" 

"No, I  believe  that is how most people died. But... one of the reports I read said that a child's body was recovered from the scene. Why would a child -two, if we count John- be at such a place?"

"I don't know. They had terrible parents?"

"Sadly possible yet I doubt that is the case," Robin said. "I'd like to look into the incident more deeply. My gut tells me there is more to the story, something John is involved in." 

Franky shrugged his massive metal shoulders. "It's not like you need my permission. If you think it's important then go digging for answers, babe."

"That's why I love you, Franky. You're so supportive of me."

"Well, I'd be an idiot if I didn't side with a clear winner."

By the time John woke up again, it was about three in the morning and his shoulder was on fire. 

"Fuck!" he hissed, grabbing his shoulder. An action he immediately regretted as the slightest contact sent a fresh wave of fiery pain down his arm. "Bloody hell! Fuck!"

For a moment, John wished he'd accepted the painkillers he'd been offered. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, the teenage magic user shoved it away.   'No, I'm not letting anyone get control of me again. Not after Nick.'

Breathing through the pain and doing his best to not to barf up that roast beef sandwich, John forced himself up and onto his feet. The dark room spun around so intensely that John was forced to grab ahold of the arm of the couch to stay upright.

"Not to self, never get fucking shot again!" John gathered up all the concentration and strength he had into casting a healing spell on his shoulder. This type of magic was never his strong suit -Nick said his soul was too dirty, that John was too selfish for it- and it did little but soothe his pain, the healing process incomplete. Still, it would have to be enough. 

"Alright, Johnny, time to get out of here." 

As nice as Robin and her unseen husband had been, John knew what came of relying on others for anything. 

Looking around, his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The fire that had been light for him had now burnt down to just glowing embers. Still, that light was enough for him to see a small pile of clothes on the corner of the coffee table, all folded and neat. 

'She wasn't lying,'  he realized, picking up his freshly laundered coat. Now free from blood stains -both old and new- and holes patched up, the damn thing even smelled nice! John rubbed the soft, worn fabric against his cheek briefly before pulling on his clothes, careful of his injured shoulder.  'Robin and her beau shouldn't mind me raiding the kitchen before I go. Importance of hospitality and all that, and I need my strength.'

Despite this, as he stumbled through the quiet, dim halls, John couldn't help but think that he was going to miss this place. 

Chapter Text

"The kid is gone."

Robin kept her gaze down into the dark liquid of her coffee cup. She took a moment to answer, adding a splash of creaming and stirring it in. 

She took a sip. "I know. I saw it this morning. He also took the coin jug."

That had been started as an experiment, in addition to being an unofficial calendar of their time in this world. Neither of them wanted to count the days the'd been in this world. Doing so felt so... cold and absolute, like they were admitting to being stuck here with no idea how to get home. Filling a milk jug with random coins they found or that were left over from paying bills with cash -something they preferred to do whenever possible, less of a paper trail that way- had proved to be a way of watching the time pass without having to put an official number on it. Instead of measuring in years or days or hours, they could just say, “Oh, we've been here for 3/4ths of a milk jug.”

They'd filled that jug up twice now, and had been working towards the third. 

"I'm surprised he managed to haul that thing out of here in his condition. Even without the blood loss and bullet wound, that thing probably weighed like 80 lbs, and he's a scrawny brat." Franky opened the fridge, stared inside for a long minute, before closing the door and looking back over his shoulder. "It looks like he raided our fridge too. He took all of our hard boiled eggs and breakfast protein bars... Pickles too, not sure the reason behind that one."

"There's a pillow case missing from the linen closet in the hall. I suspect John was just throwing anything he could grab into it, no rhyme or reason. Still, both Sanji and Chopper always swore that pickles can help you heal from injuries so I'm hoping he does end up eating them," Robin said. She finally looked up from her coffee. "How about pancakes?"

"Hmmmm, you know me, babe, I'm a  MAN!  Pancakes sound good but I need my protein in the morning."

Robin laughed. "Sounds good. I'll make the pancakes, you make the eggs and sausages. Provided we still have them, of course."

The kitchen lapsed into a comfortable silence as they went about their separate tasks, their kitchen large enough that even Franky's bulky frame could move about freely without getting in her way. Soon, the smell of fat, juicy sausages grilling filled the air as Franky scrambled eggs. 

Robin poured some of the batter onto a hot skillet. "How do you want your pancakes? Chocolate chips? Blueberries? Bananas?"

"Throw in some bananas and chocolate chips, that way they balance each other out."

"I don't believe that is how such things work," Robin teased, even as she acquiesced to his request. "I'm just adding blueberries myself."

"And  that  is why you were always Chopper's favorite," Franky replied. "We should probably ask the kid what he-"

He cut himself off abruptly, sighing and letting his head drop. Robin smiled sadly, saying nothing. 

"We should have expected he'd run," Frank said after a moment. "I must have run away half-a-dozen times that first year Tom took me in." 

"And you came back?" Robin asked. 

Franky shrugged his massive shoulders. "Sometimes. Usually if the weather was really bad or I got hungry and couldn't find food. Other times, Yokozawa, Kokoro or Iceberg would find me and drag me back. Ice-For-Brains always complained about the trouble I caused, but Mr. Tom and Kokoro would just laugh and bring up that he did the same thing when he was my age. I don't know... maybe it's just a natural reaction when you're a kid who had to survive on your own for a while. You want to run before you can be hurt again."

His words rang so true that Robin nearly dropped her spatula.  'Yes. Eventually, you get to the point that you think feeling nothing and letting no one in is a better alternative to the pain of constant betrayal. And then that is better to die on your own terms than to lose what you've come to love. But that is not sustainable. No one is born to be alone, not in our world, this world, or any other. Not Franky, not me, and not John.'

"So, the question remains, how do you want to handle the John problem going forward," Franky finished, unaware of Robin's internal retrospection.

Once more, she took a second before answering. Flipping over the pancakes and sprouting a few extra pairs of arms to start the breakfast clean up. With the eggs and milk tucked back in the fridge, she said, "We'll have to find him again. He mentioned that he was squatting somewhere in the city, though I am unsure that he'll return there for the long term. I won't force him back though; I doubt that will do much good in the long term."

Franky nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I was a stupid little kid. Don't get me wrong, I was a  SUPPPAAAA  inventor and shipwright, even back then, but I couldn't take care of myself. Not really. John though, he's young and dumb, but he ain't weak or stupid. He's survived on his own for a while now. He won't appreciate us acting like we know what's best for him."

"No, it's best to wait for him to come to us. We'll find him, watch from a distance, and wait. Either for him to come to us or for something bad enough to happen to justify stepping in," Robin finished. The pancakes finally done, she stacked them up high onto a plate and turned off the skillet. "Let's put that out of our minds for now. Breakfast is done!"

Belly full of pancakes, sausages, and eggs, Robin returned to her study with a fresh cup of coffee.  'Alright, Mr. Cain, let's learn who you are.'

Opening the first of encrypted files she and Franky had been sent that morning, Robin began to read. And, the further down the page she got, the more intrigued she became. 

'David Cain is one of the world's premier assassins.'

'...skilled in hundreds of martial art forms, in addition to weapon usage and explosives.'

'An expert in espionage and other forms of covert operations, with ties to MI6...'

'...known victims have included some of the most famous and powerful people on the planet. Hits likely ordered by some of the other most famous and powerful people on the planet.'

'...rates are known to be outrageously expensive.'

"Well, isn't that interesting," Robin mused. She wasn't sure where she fell on the 'famous and powerful' spectrum. 'Nico Franks' was certainly important, but there were likely many in this world who'd never even heard the name. No, nothing like the universally known Nico Robin was in her own home world. Still, surely going after her couldn't have been cheap. So whoever hired him had to be of means as well.

The most recent members of the elite she'd dealt with were Bruce Wayne, and Lex Luthor, both of them had cause for her to be suspicious. Luthor, for all his slimy charm and well-polished public façade, was easy to clock for his ill intentions. He openly coveted Robin and Franky's company, and the inventions they created. Her 'friend' at the patent office had given her the heads up that several Lex Luthor's own companies had tried to submit patents for lesser versions of Thousand Solution products. So, yes, he was a safe bet.

'Then again, Wayne is certainly hiding something. And I think it is time to figure out what that is.' 

Pulling out her phone, she called up her secretary. "Hello, Cheryl? Yes, I know it is last minute, but I need you to contact Lex Luthor's people to arrange a dinner meeting between us. Offer to let him pick the place. That sort of power should make him seem safe. I also want you to go through the list of event invites I have gotten recently and RSVP yes to one where Bruce Wayne will also be attending."

On the other end of the line, the woman paused. "...This is a pretty new request, boss. Can I ask what this is about?"

"Oh, I just think it's time to get to know the competition on more... personal terms," Robin said, twirling a lock of her hair around a finger. "If you can arrange these things for me by this time tomorrow, I'll see to it that there will be a fruit and chocolate basket on your desk on Friday, along with a $500 VISA gift card."

"Ma'am, yes Ma'am!"

Robin chucked as Cheryl hung up, no doubt to immediately start pouring over her computer. Robin was generous with her employees (Franky was as well, though the staff was less appreciative of the talking, highly opinionated coffee makers he tended to produce for the various break rooms), especially when they deserved it. Pay was good, bonuses were common, health and dental insurance was the best Robin and Franky could find, breaks were encouraged, they offered paid maternity and paternity leave, complimentary lunches were ordered on a regular basis, and break rooms were always stocked with a variety of good snacks. When there was issues or failures, they were dealt with firmly or fairly. Some abused the privileges Robin and Franky allowed, but they were always swiftly dealt with. And, over the past few years, they'd cultivated a loyal, hardworking staff that they'd come to be extremely proud and fond of. 

It was not their nakama, but it was something. 

Just as Robin was about to open the second series of files, her phone buzzed. She glanced down to see a text message from Cheryl.

Hey Boss, I forgot to tell you that I got a call from Officer Richard Grayson. He is hoping to meet with you sometime this week.

Excellent. Robin texted back. Arrange it for noon on Wednesday.

With that plan moving along well, Robin opened the second series of files. The first was a birth certificate for one John Thomas Constantine, born in Liverpool, England to Mary Ann and Thomas Constantine. The next two files were scans of death certificates for James Michael Constantine and Mary Ann Constantine. One dead before they took their first breath and the other died bringing new life into the world. 

'What a tragic beginning,'  Robin thought as she started clicking through some school records. 

John was smart, that much was clear. There were many comments for teachers that mentioned John's 'keen intellect' and 'easy wit,' yet there were also repeated mentions of poor attitude towards authority, near constant rule breaking, and many absences. With all that in mind, it didn't surprise Robin when she clicked her mouse again and found herself staring at a long series of reports from England's child protective services. Bruises, cuts, split lips, black eyes, broken fingers, and an arm pulled completely out of its socket had all chronicled, often with the photos. Yet, as Robin read on, she was horrified to learn that it wasn't enough to justify taking John away from his household, especially since the boy himself was apparently never willing to speak with authorities about his injuries. 

'That...  man  better hope were never to cross paths,'  Robin thought, gritting her teeth and gripping the computer mouse tighter. 

She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. For as much as she refused to abide by the mistreatment as children -the thought hitting too close to the past of many of Robin's loved ones- letting that rage overtake her would do Robin no good as she did her research. Next up was a single missing person's report, filed roughly three years ago by one Cheryl Constantine. The investigation seems to have been just a brief canvassing by the local police, and no follow up was noted. Clearly, no one cared enough to actually search for or try to protect the boy. Perhaps that had been the case for his entire life?

Double Checking the dates, Robin pulled over a legal pad and grabbed a pen. Sketching out a rough timeline starting at the time of John's birth and ending a present day, Robin penciled in all the ones she'd learned. 

'Let's see, the missing persons report is the last concrete mention of John in the public records. He next appears in connection to the fire at the Casanova Club six months later,'  she thought.  'But why would a child be at such a place?'

Of course, there were many reasons that a young boy would be at a sketchy nightclub, but not that Robin cared to think much about. The next file was a portfolio of the club's owner, Alex Logue. The man's criminal record was as long as Robin's arm and filled with everything from public urination to domestic. Reading it made the historian feel slimy and ill. Their informant had left his own notes and speculation on the man. 

There are rumors that Logue was involved with the occult. Can't speak on that, but his fondness for massive drug fueled orgies was well known. For what I can drag up, the bastard invited his VIPs to engage in all sorts for messed up shit. Blood, bondage, kids... After reading about what Logue forced his own daughter, Astra, into, I kinda wish the guy wasn't dead. I'd like the chance to kill him myself.

'Me too, my friend,'  Robin thought darkly. Then a thought occurred to her,  'Astra... How old was she?'

A quick check into the little information they had on the girl, Robin's suspicions were confirmed. "Close in age to John. Perhaps it wasn't the club itself that attracted him, but rather  someone  there? Friends maybe?"

Just then, a dark speculation filled Robin's mind. Had John started the fire? Did he start it trying to save Astra Logue, only for it all to go horribly, horrifically wrong?

Robin would have to ask him next time they met. 

Moving on, the next file was a few more police reports. None of these listed the culprits as 'John Constantine,' instead reporting on the thefts, loitering, truancy, and... prostitution of Billie Bators, Glenn Jett, Jerry Ramone, and Henry Reed. But the fingerprints all matched, as did the mug shots. Robin frowned as she scanned the photos, John looking gaunter and more beat up in each. This series of arrests lasted for roughly six months until... until John had appeared in Robin's life. 

'So what happened in that time?'  she wondered.  'How did you disappear for so long, and what happened to make you need to hide yourself with magic?'

Logic dictated that, if John was attempting to use magic to hide, then the person he was hiding from also had magic. There was also the boy's reaction when Robin questioned who he was hiding from. 

Satisfied by the information she'd gained, Robin opened and sent a reply to their contact’s private email address.

Excellent, thank you. The rest of your payment will be sent along shortly. If you wish to make double your regular fee, then I need you to find out the last known location of David Cain and any information possible on the activities of John Constantine between the last police report and him turning up in Bludhaven. Oh, and see if you can dig up any secrets on Bruce Wayne while you're at it.

Robin didn't sign her name, her contact would know who she was. Instead just sending it on its way and leaning back in her chair to ponder the different mysteries she had on her hands. 

 

1. Who sent David Cain after her?

 

2. Why was Cain sent after her with the intention to scare and injure, but not kill?

 

3. Why were the Justice League involved?

 

4. What was John's connection to the Casanova Club?

 

5. What was he doing during the missing months in the timeline?

 

6. Who was he hiding from?

 

'And #7, where is he now?'  Robin wondered. The more she dug into these mysteries, the more worried for the boy she was. While he was far from helpless, John was still injured and seemed to have few allies in the world. If something happened, who would he turn to?  'And yet, John might need to find himself in trouble before he accepts help. I can hardly drag John back here kicking and screaming.'

Well, she could but Robin had no desire to make a prisoner out of John. Robin knew the value of freedom and the ability to choose one's own path in life, after all. 

For now, Robin forced those thoughts out of her mind. Even with all those mysteries spinning about, there was still work to be done, the socially legitimate kind. Payroll had to be looked over, a few new patents had to be sent in, and the advertising budget needed to be approved for some of their new products. More than that, as Thousand Solutions started to expand into other countries, she needed to brush up on international business regulations. Robin may be a pirate but she had a respect for the law. 

Sometimes.

Under the right circumstances.

When they were reasonable. 

Well, if nothing else, breaking the law could bring unwanted attention to Robin, Franky, and their company. No one needed that. 

A few hours later, Robin rose from her seat to stretch out and check the clock.  'Lunchtime. I'd hardly realized how much time had passed.'

Heading towards the kitchen, she passed Franky's workshop, its sign lit up red. ' Yes, Franky did mention he had some projects to work on today.'

Breakfast had been large and filling enough that Robin couldn't justify cooking something up. Instead she threw together a nice chicken salad sandwich with a mug of hazelnut coffee and a glass of lemonade. Deciding to eat in the sunroom today, she loaded her meal up onto a tray and headed through the maze-like halls of her home. Yet, when she passed the library, a strange little gleam caught her eye and stopped Robin dead in her tracks. 

"What is that?" she wondered. Brow furrowed, Robin put the tray down on the coffee table to investigate. 

The gleam was coming from something metal wedged between the seat cushion and the arm of the couch. Only a small bit of it was poking out, but when Robin pulled it out, she recognized the object immediately. 

"Oh no," she whispered, eyes widening at the sight of her old magnifying glass. 

John had a pretty good set up here, it was the only reason he stayed. The studio apartment building may have been condemned, but the bones were still solid. The windows were still intact, there weren't any holes in the walls, the roof only had a few leaks, and the apartment he was squatting in ever had a fireplace that was still usable. Bludhaven was colder on average than Liverpool, but at least it had less rain than the UK, so John could deal with the help of his fireplace. 

Honestly, finding this place was such a stroke of good luck that it made John think that God might not hate him as much as he always thought. Hell, the place still had furniture inside. Or, at least, it had a faded, sagging sofa, a small table with two folding chairs, a small dresser, and the desk in the corner. all better than nothing. John had bought two camping stoves, a travel freezer, blankets, and a couple of cheap pots with a stolen credit card (that he'd promptly ditched afterwards, John was no fool), and set himself up a nice little nest. He slept on the sofa (generic brand painkiller mixed with whiskey handled the back pain that came from it), stored food in the freezer (kept it away from bugs and rats), dragged one of the chairs to the desk to make it a study area for his books and potion ingredients. John (usually) ate at the table, and kept everything else he had in the dresser. One of the camping stoves, he used for cooking, while the other was reserved for potion brewing. Why, it was almost a proper home.

Sure, maybe the place didn't have running water or electricity but, hell, neither did John's old house in Liverpool. Not with how often his old man forgot to pay the bills (or, more accurately, drank away). And there was a YMCA around the corner that didn't ask questions when John went there to shower and wash his clothes. Batteries were easy to steal too, so he could power his lantern and radio for as long as he needed to. There was really no downside in living here. It might not be the Hilton, but it was nice, it was solid, it was good, and, most importantly, it was...

'Safe,'  John thought . 'It's safe and not anywhere near Ni-.'

He killed that line of thinking immediately, stuffing one of the stolen protein bars into his mouth and chewing it vengefully before chasing it with a shot of whiskey. The protein bar probably didn't deserve the rough treatment. It tasted good, with fruit, nuts, and a little bit of chocolate all baked into a mixed oats and peanut butter base. They were also filling, with three of them being enough to fill John's stomach for most of the day. Which was good because, with John's busted shoulder, it was harder to pick pockets or steal food. 

'I stole 24 of them, they'll get me through four days. Five if I'm careful. I can stretch them even further if I also eat the eggs and pickles.'

Well, John Constantine had never known a healthy diet. Why start now?

John sighed, shuffling around in an attempt to get into a more comfortable position on the couch while also not putting any extra pressure on his injured shoulder. The traitorous thought that he missed Ro- Nico's weirdly large, overly soft couch crossed his mind, John squashed that thought like it was one of the cockroaches that sometimes skittered about. 

He focused hard on the book in his hands, working his way through the handwritten Latin text scrawled on the parchment pages in spidery handwriting. If John was reading this right, than this was an advanced scrying spell. 

'I'll need to get a mirror for that one,'  John thought, turning the page delicately. The book was good, thick with exciting new spells and potions to try.  'Hope the Zatanna wouldn't be too sore to find it missing.'

John had gone to the Zatara household looking for sanctuary and, more importantly, a teacher. He'd found the first temporarily but, when Zatanna refused to teach him, John went looking for knowledge himself. It had backfired completely but it wasn't like John could go back and change things. The stealing after he'd been thrown out was done out of pettiness as much as it was out of desperation. Even after... even after he ended up with Nick, he studied those stolen spell books every chance he got. Good thing too, it was the teleportation spell he found in there that allowed John to eventually escape. 

“Fire spell, eh? I like those. Let's see, 'Burning Touch'... What do you do?" John squinted at the tiny words, reading out loud, "Defensive spell, gives one a hot, burn touch that lasts as long as the caster maintains focus... Sounds easy enough."

If nothing else, he might be able to use it to light his cigarettes or make popcorn. 

He read over the incantation a few times before finally feeling ready to speak it. The first thing any aspiring mage learned was that fucking up an incantation was a good way to get someone (or, more importantly, yourself) killed. Pre-reading was always a must. 

"Ignis ignis manus ignis! Afferte mihi potestatem ignis!"

The thing about magic was that it was simple, any idiot could do it with a bit of time and effort. All you need to do is want something badly enough and then let yourself have it by focusing your desire through some fancy words or a mirror. The real problem was controlling the magic you summoned once you actually had it.

"Shit!" John said, jumping up when the tips of fingers started to glow bright red-orange. The movement jarred his shoulder, causing John to hiss in pain. On instinct, he reached up to touch the sore area. To... predictable results. 

"SHIT!" he screamed as the hot, burning pain. The cloth of his shirt grayed and smoldered at the heat, though thankfully did not catch fire. John shook his hands out until the glow disappeared, "Bloody hell, not trying that one again. That book wasn't kidding about needing to focus."

Deciding that was enough for tonight (he didn’t fancy having to deal with any apartment fires after all the other shit he'd gone through recently), John returned his book to its place on his desk. After a nighttime cocktail of painkillers and whiskey, the young Laughing Mage gingerly arranged himself on the couch, trying to find a position where the least amount of springs were poking him as possible. Stretching the blankets out, John closed his eyes and let the alcohol-aided exhaustion carry him to sleep. Hopefully he wouldn't dream tonight.  

John had a lifetime of reasons to be a light sleeper. And damn if it couldn't be helpful at times. 

His eyes snapped open, John completely awake, heart racing, and every nerve in his body alert. Deep inside John's mind, a millennial's old primal instinct screamed  "DANGER!"  and demanded that he run. Still, he forced himself to remain absolutely motionless as John scanned the room with his eyes. Even in the dark of the night, the ambient light of the city filtered through his newspaper-covered windows was enough that John was able to make out the various shapes in the gloom. How strange it was that, despite John's familiarity with his temporary shelter, each outline now seemed more ominous than the last. 

Nothing... nothing... nothing... noth- There! There was someone in the corner!  

John squeezed his eyes closed, digging his fingernails into his palm under the blankets.  'It's just a nightmare! It's just my imagination! It's just a trick of the light! When I open my eyes, it'll be gone!'

Summoning all the idiotic courage he could, John forced his eyes open and nearly leapt out of the couch when he saw that the figure had moved closer. He swallowed his scream, and closed his eyes again. 

'Shit! The bloody thing is still there. Okay, if it's real it is probably either a shade, spirit, or demon. Both of which will be weaker in the light. Lightlightlight... The lantern!'  John glanced down at the floor beside the couch where his battery powered camping lantern. Even in the dark, the red on/off switch was visible. He swallowed hard, and slowly -excruciatingly slowly- moved his hand down the couch and toward the switch. He had to catch this thing off-guard. 

"I wouldn't do that, Johnny. We both know things always seem safer in the dark."

'Nick!' 

John dry heaved at the sound of the man's voice. But he didn't let himself freeze up, John grabbed the handle of the lantern and hurled it at the dark figure's head. Not wasting a second, he threw himself off the couch and twoards the door. He had to put distance between himself and Nick; after that, he could use the portal spell to get to the other side of the fucking country. But, because God hated him, John's legs tangled in the blankets and he went down hard. 

THUD!

Pain shot through his knees and his head bounced off the floor, making him bite down on the soft flesh of his lip. As blood started to gush down his chin, the ache in John's shoulder started up again. When he touched it this time, John felt something hot and slick on his fingertips. 

Heavy footsteps approached, the wooden floor groaning underneath their owner's weight. "Oh, Johnny... What have you done to yourself?"

"Fuck you," John groaned. 

A strong hand seized the collar of his shirt, hauling John onto his feet before throwing him against a wall. In the brief second he was released, John tried to bolt for the door again, only for Nick to grab a handful of his hair and pull him back. 

"Now, now. We've talked about this, kiddo," Nick said. He was so close now that John could see his face, make out the color of eyes, the slant of his nose, and the curl of his lips. That man's face... so handsome and achingly familiar. It made John want to hurl. "Are you going to calm down, or do I need to punish you?"

John grinned and spat a wad of bloody spit into the man's eyes. "How the hell did you find me?"

Nick wiped his face off, rage nearly glowing in his eyes, but he took a deep breath and smiled. With his free hand, he cupped John's cheek, stroking his thumb up and down for a moment. Then he dug it into John's brand new split lip, causing the young mage to writher in pain. 

"I lost you for a while there, Johnny. Your magical signature completely disappeared out of nowhere," he said. "I was worried someone finally ended your sorry existence, or you did it yourself. I was thinking, 'What a waste!' Can you imagine my delight when it popped back up?"

Immediately, John pawed at his throat, feeling desperately for the thin metal chain he'd attached to the enchanted magnifying glass too.  'How did I lose it? How did I not realize it was gone? Fuck, why did I put that weight augmentation spell on it?'

Nick chuckled at John's fear, patting his cheek. "It's alright, kiddo. I'm here to bring you home."

"I'm going back to that place! Let me- Argh!"  

A wad of cloth, maybe one of John's own shirts, was shoved into his mouth, cutting off his words and keeping him from casting any spells in one foul swoop. 

"But first-" Nick continued, as if John hadn't spoken at all at all. As if John wasn't scratching at his hands and struggling to get free. As if John wasn't terrified. 

He snapped his fingers and tight, wriggling bindings wrapped around John's wrists and ankles. John glanced down and saw serpentine eyes staring back up at him. 

'Snakes. Why'd it have to be snakes?'

"The harder you struggle, the tighter they'll become. So I'd calm down if I were you, Johnny, " Nick advised, his voice calm and friendly. Completely in contrast to his tone, the man threw John back onto the busted sofa with so much force it almost overturned the couch. 

"Umpf!" The impact brought more pain, and John gagged when he couldn't properly gasp.  'Get your head on. You can't beat Nick like this; you have to outsmart him, just like last time.'

So he calmed down. John calmed down and watched with narrowed eyes as Nick tittered around the apartment. The man retrieved the thrown lantern, turning it one and putting it on the table. He poured himself some whiskey from John's private stash, savoring the first sip, before pulling over the folding chair. 

Settling himself in, somehow managing to look like a king on his throne, the older mage looked John dead in the eye. "Now Johnny... What did you do with the Books of Magic?"

Chapter Text

"I don't know what you were talking about, mate," John said with a grin. "What, you're still chasing that old legend?"

Nick's grip on his glass tightened, but he maintained his cool facade. "Oh, Johnny, you are a good liar... but not that good. Not to the people who know you."

He leaned forward, tilting John's face to look him in the eye. "And I know you better than anyone. Don't ever forget that."

John yanked his chin out the man's grip. He glared, "You don't know anything about me, you bastard. Anything you think you know was a lie I made up to fool you into trusting me. When are you going to realize that I played you like a fiddle and ran for the hills as soon as you weren't useful to me anymore? You just-"

SLAP!

John's face burned when Nick hit him again, his body nearly slumping to the side with the force of it. He forced himself not to let the pain show. 'Just breath through it, Johnny. Don't let Nick sense weakness. That's how you survived him in the past, that's how you'll survive now.'

"You will tell me what you did, John. Sitting there, lying through your teeth will only delay the inevitable," Nick said. "No matter what that lie is."

"You're delusional, mate," John shot back. 

The thing was, Nick was right... somewhat, at least. John always kept some cards close to his chest, yes, but Nick had slipped past his defenses and wiggled his way under John's skin. Before he knew it, John was giving up personal secrets, fears, doubts, hopes, and dreams. He messed up, got vulnerable, and let Nick in, letting him take control. The worst thing was that there had been warning signs. Fuck, Nick had gone through John's cheap flip phone and deleted most of the phone numbers in there! And that was after only three weeks!

Still... things had felt so good at the start. Not perfect, obviously, but living in Nick's penthouse with him, eating his food, and sleeping in his bed, felt so comfortable and safe. John liked the attention Nick would give him, he liked the security of not having to worry about where he'd sleep that night. More than anything, he liked that Nick could teach him! He spent hours teaching John spells and potions and every other form of magic that John only ever read about. In return, Nick trusted and thought enough of John's ability to bring him in on his personal quest to find the Books of Magic, the supposed source of all magical energy on Earth. Though he'd be loathed to admit it, John had thrived under Nick's tutelage in more ways than one. He basked in the trust Nick seemed to give him, been ready to devote all parts of himself to fulfilling Nick's dream. More than anything, John was sure he'd, for the first time, truly found someone who would take care of him.

And maybe Nick was that... at first. Then... then things got bad. Nick got more and more obsessed with the Books of Magic. He stopped teaching John, instead preferring to spend all day pouring over books and chasing down leads. He'd yell at John for stopping to sleep or eat or even stretch. Nick got angry. Nick got mean. Nick got rough. John got scared. And when he found something, a deceptively simple riddle ridden in the pages on an old book that revealed the relative location of the Books, John panicked. By that point, Nick had grown so fanatical, he was crossing lines that he himself had installed in John! Fearing what Nick would do if he did find the Books, John tore the page from the book, made sure Nick slept real well that night, and ran. 

It was pure luck that John was able to escape as cleanly as he was but, well, John had always been able to make his own luck. Hiding had been hard. By the next morning, John could sense Nick tracking him. He used every masking spell he knew, yet the low hum of magic at the back of the skull was always there, growing stronger whenever Nick was closing in on his location. It was only through the liberal use of teleportation spells that John was able to stay ahead of the man, skipping around the country to avoid him. Part of John had wanted to return to the familiar streets of Liverpool, or even the foggy allure of London. But the teleportation spell didn't have that great of a range, and he didn't want to risk trying to sneak back into the country. Hell, it was a miracle he managed to speak into the States in the first place. Maybe he could figure something else out, but not with Nick breathing down his neck. Getting his hands on that enchanted magnifying glass had been his first chance at real freedom, even if it came with the added complications of Nico Franks. 

'Then I went and fucking lost it!' he scolded himself furiously. Still, he gave Nick a bloody grin. "I don't know what to tell you, Nicko, but I don't have the Books. You think I'd be living in this hovel if I did? I mean, feel free to search it, just don't freak out when you see the roaches."

It was only then did Nick truly seem to look around the studio apartment, only illuminated by the light of the lantern. He frowned, "You're right, this place is a dump. Then again, given how you grew up, you're probably used to this style of living."

John flinched, but refused to let the words get to him. 

"Then again, you wouldn't have run if you hadn't discovered something," Nick continued. He cocked his head to the side. "So what was it? What had you running scared?"

'Damn, I can't let him keep talking like this. I've got to get control of the situation,' John thought to himself. He gave an experimental tug of his wrist, wincing the magical bonds tightened brutally. His fingertips were already starting to turn blue. 'If I can get him to slip up, I'll be able to escape.'

"Y-you did, Nicky," John said, letting his voice go meek and scared. He put on the puppy dog eyes, staring up at his ex-mentor. "You got so obsessed with those damn Books, you forgot all about me, unless it was to yell or get your rocks off! You were scaring me, it was just like being a helpless kid again. So, yeah, I ran."

Nick's dark eyes softened. Taking John's face in one hand again, the man pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket. John stiffened as Nick wiped the blood from his face with the utmost gentleness. For a moment... for half a second, he saw a glimmer of a man who made John lose himself. 

"I suppose I was neglecting you," Nick admitted. "A willful brat like yourself needed a firm hand and constant attention, or else you have a temper tantrum and do something stupid like run away." 

'Fuck you!'

"Which is just another reason for me to bring you back home," Nick continued. "To get you back under control and remind you of your place."

'FUCK YOU!'

"I said it before and I'll say it again, I'M! NOT! GOING!" John growled through gritted teeth. 

"Nonsense. Where else would you go? No one else in this world cares about you, Johnny, and your magical education isn't even close to being finished." Nick picked up John's trench coat from the back of the chair, eyeing it for a moment before chuckling. "I bet my old coat looks good on you."

John certainly thought so, even being too big for him. Not that he was going to tell Nick that.

"Well, that was the first lesson you taught me, wasn't it? To take what I wanted when I wanted it," he said.

Another chuckled. "Willful brat you may be, you always were an excellent student, Johnny. If only you managed to surpass your teacher."

"We need to think like John would," Robin said. "He's a smart, scrappy kid who's been on the run for a long time now. He'll have a system for picking out the safest place to bunker down, especially if it's for extended periods of time."

Robin certainly did when she was living on the run. Once she learned that others couldn't be trusted to do anything other that serve their own self-interest, but before she was old enough to be a valuable asset to all manner of vicious pirates and criminal scum, Robin had developed ways for picking the best location to sleep and recover from fights. Somewhere with a good vantage point of the surrounding area, somewhere close to a source of food and water, and somewhere with multiple escape points.

Franky hummed, scanning the large map of Bludhaven they'd pinned to the wall. Perhaps it would have been easier to use a computer to do this, yet, for as helpful as this world's strange technology could be, years spent with Nami had left Robin with an appreciation of physical maps. 

"You said he mentioned squatting in the old west-side apartment buildings, right?" Franky asked. "Do we trust he wasn't lying?"

"I don't... think so," Robin said cautiously, thinking back over the conversation with John outside of her office building. "He said it so casually, I don't think he even realized what he was saying."

Sickening worry still bubbling in her gut, Robin sighed. "The question is, even if he was telling the truth, is he still in the same place?"

For all they knew, John wasn't even in Bludhaven anymore. Had he realized the magnifying glass, his source of protection, 

"We've got to assume he is, otherwise we don't have any other leads," Franky replied. Silently, he grabbed black marker off of Robin's desk. It looked hilariously small in his hand but the appendages were surprisingly graceful as he drew a large circle around the west area of the city. "Now, the good news is that there are only a couple of clusters of apartment buildings."

"And about a third of them are abandoned due to gentrification, the closing of certain businesses, and crime driving citizens out," Robin said, glancing up from all the information she'd pulled up on her computer. Sprouting an extra hand, she grabbed a blue marker and circled though the abandoned apartment clusters. Staring at the seven blue circles, she let out a frustrated growl. "That's still too many places to search; we can't waste that much time."

Franky clicked his tongue. "Alright, we'll narrow it down in other ways. You know better than I do, what would a kid on the run with no adult supervision need around if he was squatting in an abandoned apartment building?"

Robin bit her lip, worry for the boy turning into creeping doubt. "John has magic, something neither of us fully understands the limits of and they include the ability to open up teleportation portals. There is no telling what he'd do, let alone if he'd do anything remotely similar to what I would." 

Shrugging his massive shoulders, Franky gave her a knowing look. "Try. We owe the kid that at least. And I have faith in you, babe. You and the kid are too alike for you not to have some insight on what he'd do."

Ba Bum!

How was it that, even after this time, Franky could still make Robin's heart flutter with just a few simple words?

"When I was... when I was on the run, I typically found it helpful to be near enough to other children to blend in," Robin said slowly. "After all, a single child wandering the city alone could be suspicious, but one running around near a school could be overlooked." 

"Makes sense." Franky scanned the map, fiddling with the brown marker in his hands. "There are twenty-five high schools in Bludhaven, and only six of them are in the West side of the city. Which-" he made the appropriate marks on the map "-already narrows things down. What else?"

That one was easy. "Food. Sometimes that meant staying near restaurants so I could get to the food that was just thrown out but, if I was lucky, I could get food at the markets or grocery stores."

"No farmer's markers in the west side of the city, luckily, and restaurants are pretty scattered. There are a couple of grocery stores though, and I'm going to mark convenience stores too, just to be safe," Franky said, adding a few more marks to the map.

An old, mostly forgotten memory forced its way to the surface. A large home with faded blue paint. The sickening, sweet smell of flowers and half-rotted fruit scattered across the ground. A hammock made from old rope and dusty tarp. 

Robin smiled. "I remember once spending six months living in the shed of this lovely manor. The owner was an old woman who'd grown too feeble to go outside so she never noticed me there. She must have had quite the green thumb in her youth though, as her entire backyard was this massive, overgrown fruit and vegetable garden. It hadn't been tended too in years but some of the plants were still growing, so I could eat all the carrots, tomatoes, green peppers, apples, blackberries, and oranges I ever wanted. It was one of the few times I felt even remotely safe as a child. I would have spent longer there if I hadn't gotten sloppy and let some town guards hadn't spotted me hoping the fence."

It was a happy memory, one of a good time in Robin's life. Yet, when she finished, Franky gave her A Look, the one the Straw Hats frequently gave each other. Not pitying -never pitying, they all respected and loved each other far too much for that- but rather one of softness and sad understanding. Each Straw Hat came to the crew with their own stories, unique in their pain and sorrows, yet part of their strength as a crew was their ability to understand one another's tears. 

"...Alright, what else?"

"He'd..." Robin swallowed hard. She hadn't expected this conversation to be so emotional. "He'd need somewhere to wash, somewhere he could clean his clothes. Abandoned apartment buildings rarely have running water. And I doubt very much that John, or anyone for that matter, would want to wash or bath in the Narrows."

Thousand Solutions had been working on improving the environmental health of Bludhaven, cleaning up the air, water, and city parks. It had been slow going (and some people even complained that lessening the smog meant destroying the city's beautiful sunsets), but several reports showed that fish and other sea life had been returning to the Narrows like never before. And most of them didn't even have two heads!

"Okay, that is a good place to start," Franky said. Pulling out his specialized table, he tapped at it for a few minutes. Grabbing a green marker, he started adding a few smaller circles to the map. "It looks like there are a couple of gyms and a handful of laundry mats in the west side, some of which overlap with the other marked areas. Not sure if the gyms would allow a kid to get their own membership though, not with how weird the rules of this world are. There is also a YMCA, which could-"

Robin's head shot up at his words. "What was that?"

"Uh... The YMCA?"

In a second, Robin was on her feet and in front of the map. Her eyes narrowed at the freshly drawn circle, so close to some of the others they made. "I've read that some YMCA locations have services that offer aid to the homeless and struggling. Including laundry rooms."                                                                  

"Hmmm," Franky scratched his tri-pointed chin. "So you're saying that it is the kind of place where no one would pay much attention to a scruffy looking kid coming or going every so often?"

"Exactly." 

Franky grinned at her. "Looks like we're on the right track then. I told you not to doubt yourself, babe. I think it would be a SUUUUPA t ime to give that YMCA a call and see if anyone there has seen our stray."

"Flatterer." Robin pulled out her phone to look up the YMCA's number. Lightly, she smacked her husband's massive chest. "And don't call John a 'stray'. It's rude."

"Eh, it's that what all of us Straw Hats were at some point? Strays that most of the world did want to acknowledge or care for until we found our place in the world."

'Does that mean strays can only find a place with other strays?' Robin couldn't help but wonder. For now though, she pushed that thought away as she hit the call button. 

After a few rings, there was a voice on the other end of the line. "Hello, this is Bludhaven's YMCA. This is Bella speaking, how can I help you?"

"Hi Bella, this is Tina Wallard," Robin answered. She made her voice overly bright and perky with just the vague hint of an accent. Across the room, Franky shuttered. He always thought this voice was weird and made her sound 'creepy,' to Robin's admitted amusement. "So I'm in a bit of a bind and hoping you can help

"Why don't you tell me your problem and I'll see what I can do, Ms. Wallard?"

"Okay so my nephew has been fighting with my sister and ran off a while ago. I just found out, which tells you what kind of mom my sister is. Now, he's seventeen, so I don't want to call the cops on the kid, but I'm trying to find him." 

There was silence on the other end of the line. Understandable, Robin doubted the poor girl on the other end was trained for this situation.

"...That's pretty horrible, ma'am, but I'm not sure how I can help you."

"Well, he lives near you guys so I'm hoping you or someone else might have seen him coming or going."

"Hmmm," the girl sounded more confident now, though still worried. "If you describe him to me, I see if I remember and check with my other co-workers on duty. If you give me his name, I can check the sign-in book if you like."

"Really? You're the greatest, Bella. So my nephew is normal height, skinny and pale. Blond hair and blue eyes. Oh, and he also has this tan trench coat he likes to wear because he thinks it makes him look cool," Robin said. "And his name is John, but I'm not sure he'd use his real name when signing in. He's trying to stay out of sight and John is a smart kid."

"Ugh, that description doesn't sound familiar but I just started here a week ago. John is a common name too... Still, I'll see what I can do. I'm going to put you on hold and do some asking around," Bella said.  

"Thank you, just talking to you has lifted a giant weight off my shoulders."

Bella giggled, "Happy to help, I'll be right back."

The line clicked over to hold and Robin grinned over at Franky, who shuttered again. "It's creepy when you do that voice."

"You like it when I'm creepy," Robin pointed out. 

"I like it when you're weird. When you're creepy... Well, even I have limits," Franky replied. Then, after a moment, he shrugged. "I can't deny it was effective though. It's always pretty SUUUPA to see you break out the old Miss Sunday routine on people. It feels like I'm married to one of those femme fatale types in the Bond movies."

"I'll keep that in mind next time I break out my old cowgirl hat," Robin said coyly. 'We'll have to figure out a way to take those with us when we finally go home. Luffy and the other boys will like them. Disney too, Brook will love the musicals and I think Nami will get a kick out of Robin Hood.'

Franky winked at her. "I-"

Click . 

"Hi, ma'am, I'm back and I have good news," Bella said. 

"Good to hear," Robin replied, immediately slipping back into the false voice. 

"I asked a couple of my co-workers who have been here longer and typically take the mid-day shorts and, luckily, it looks like some of them might have seen your nephew!" Bella sounded so excited that Robin could picture her practically vibrating in her seat. "They said someone fitting that description has been coming in once away for awhile now to do laundry or sometimes eat in the cafeteria. A few have approached him to try and offer help, but he never engages. The only thing is... the few times this kid has talked to others, he seems to have a British accent." 

"...Yes, before the divorce, his family was stationed overseas. Even after all this time, John still has it," Robin replied. She fought to keep calm. This was a real lead, this was a real way to find John. To keep him safe. 'The question is, will we be able to get to him in time.'

"Do you want me to leave a notice that all workers should keep their eyes out for John? We obviously can't detain him or stop him from leaving or anything, but we call if he shows up again," Bella asked. 

"No..." Robin said slowly. She still didn't know the danger John was in, and didn't want to risk involving innocent civilians. "I think I'll just come and hang around for a while. Mostly, I wanted to know that he was safe. I can't force him to come home if he doesn't want to. I hope he'll decide to talk to me but, in the end, that is still his choice." 

"Oh... okay..." Bella sounded dejected. After a moment, she added. "I hope everything turns out alright with your nephew."

The eagerness in her voice warmed Robin's heart. "Thank you, so do I. Please, have a nice day and I appreciate all your help."

They exchanged their goodbyes, Robin made a mental note to send the woman a fruit & chocolate basket in thanks, and hung up the phone. 

"It sounds like you found something on our boy then?" Franky asked with a grin. 

Wordlessly, Robin grabbed the black marker and started to connect things. "We know for sure that John has been spotted multiple times at the YMCA, which means we can logically conclude that he was living somewhere nearby. More than that, we know the building is in close proximity to three grocery stores, a high school, and-" She drew connecting lines between the stores, school, and the YMCA " in-between all of these things in the Greystone Apartment buildings. They've been shut down the past three years and, considering the area, I doubt anyone is watching them too closely."

Franky grunted as he studied the map for a moment before pointing to something. "You want to know something interesting? I'm pretty sure there is a bus route that runs from outside the YMCA to a block or so outside of our office."

"Really?"

With his magic, John likely had no reason to take public transportation. But, from what Robin had read, the British tended to take buses more than Americans so maybe John would find doing so nostalgic and comforting. Magic also seemed like it would up energy. There were certainly times it would be too much trouble to use it. 

"It might not mean anything," Franky admitted. "But it is interesting."

Robin nodded, eyes narrowing in one the circled apartment complex. "We have work to do."

Franky laughed. "It's been a long time since I've gotten out of the house. Time to stretch these SUUUPA muscles."

And, just like this, the Straw Hat Pirates, fractured as they may be, were on the move again. 

Zatanna Zatara spent less time at her house than she'd have liked, constantly being busy with her stage career, heroics, and maintaining her father's legacy. Returning to their... her San Francisco home with sheets of heavy rain hitting the ground behind her, the first thing she did was nearly fall flat on her face after the toe of her she caught on a box of unopened mail. 

"Maybe I can just magic you away," she mumbled, staring down at the letters and catalogs. When it didn't answer, the mage sighed. "One minute."

Zatanna kicked off her shoes -fighting and performing in heels always looked impressive but, man, did it have drawl backs- and muttered a quick spell to swap her outfit for some comfy pajamas. She waved her hand at the fireplace, lighting it to warm up the room against the cold rain. Then, with a great sigh, Zatanna pulled the box into her lap and began pawing through the contents.

"Bill. Bill. Fan mail. Junk. Junk. Junk. Bill. Junk. Fan mail. Letter. Bill. Fan mail. Junk. Junk. Junk. Junk. There has got to be a spell that eliminates all junk mail from the world. And spam calls while I'm at it," Zatanna said to herself, flicking the junk mail into the fire. Anything else was sorted onto a table to be dealt with later. 

She idly flipped through a Macy's catalog, ready to toss it into fire, when she turned the heavy booklet over in her hands and spotted something strange. A crumbled letter stuck to the back of the catalog. 

"What the..." She peeled the letter off, the white paper peeling away as she did so. 

When Zatanna had finally freed it, she tossed the catalog aside and brought the envelope closer to the firelight. The address was written in a sharp, scrawly writing that looked familiar but there was no return address. She muttered a quick spell, double-checking that there were no hexes, curses, or other magical traps placed on the letter. It would not be the first time one of her or her father's enemies had tried such a thing. 

Yet there was nothing. The letter was just paper and ink. And, for some reason, that surprised her. Zatanna supposed that, after having lived a life so strange, the common had become odd to her. 

So she carefully ripped the envelope open, pulling out a folded piece of thick paper. Closer investigation revealed it to be a page torn from an old book. While Zatanna couldn't place the book from the spidery writing or beautiful illustrations tucked into each corner, the weight and texture of the paper reminded her of some of her father's old grimoire and history books. Still, for a brief moment, Zatanna wondered why someone would send this to her. Then her eyes caught more of that sharp writing across the bottom of the page. 

Books the Magic.

Don't let Nick get them.

-J

Eyes widening in shock, Zatanna let the page slip through her fingers and flutter to the ground. 'I've got to tell Bruce and the others about this.'

Chapter Text

Emergency midnight calls to the Watchtower weren't unusual enough for Bruce to be annoyed, even if it came in only a few moments after his head hit the cool silk of his pillowcase. Instead, he merely grumbled for a moment, rolled out of bed, and headed for the Batcave -pausing only momentarily to check on a sleeping Tim and leaving a note for Alfred to have an excuse ready in case Bruce couldn't make it to the early morning shareholders meeting. 

"Mornin' Bats," Flash said with an insulting amount of cheer. "If we can ever consider this morning."

Bruce grunted, eyes narrowing behind his mask as he glanced over the speedster. "I'm surprised you're so cheery. I know you spent the entire night rounding up your Rogues."

Flash chuckled. "Yeah, good ol' Abra Kadabra was making trouble again. But, what can I say? I'm young. I can go for days."

The little jab wasn't subtle, nor was purposefully malicious. Yet, for Bruce, it was a stabbing reminder both that Flash was the same age as his own son, and that Bruce wasn't getting any younger. Pretty soon, he wouldn't be able to do this anymore.

Flash's grin faltered for a moment, before passing Bruce a mug of hot coffee and continuing with a muted, "Being a speedster... it affects all parts of you. How you eat, how you think, and even how you sleep."

'Interesting.' 

Barry had never consented to have the physical effects of his powers studied, so most of Bruce knew it came from observable and theoretical data. Perhaps Dick could get Wally to agree to be studied.     

He took a sip of the coffee, nearly moaning at the taste of  Hacienda La Esmeralda  coffee as the hot liquid slid over his tongue. The brand may have been ridiculously expensive, but Bruce could excuse the indulgence by sharing it with colleagues. Here and at Wayne Enterprise. Now if only he could figure out a way to set up a steady supply at the GCPD...

The familiar slide of the automatic metal doors signaled someone else's arrival. 

"Batman, glad you were able to get here so fast," Superman said. Even more so Flash, Clark looked completely away and aware -not so much as a hair out of place. "Good, everyone's here. Zatanna is ready to start."

Bruce nodded silently, following the alien to take his seat at the main table. The  tap-tap-tap  of Flash's surely specialized boots on the metal floor behind him. This itself was odd, Flash rarely missed a chance to show off -to play with his powers- in front of others. For him to move so slowly, it must have been a sign that Flash wanted the extra seconds to think.  

In addition to Jason Blood sitting in the corner, Zatanna was there, clad in her usual outfit. Yet there was a hurried undertone to the tilt of her mouth, the way her brow was knitted together, and the way she was paced back and forth. There was a piece of paper clenched so tightly in her hand that veins were visible. Still, her face brightened when she saw him.

"Batman," she smiled. "Glad to have you here."

Bruce nodded again, allowing a small smile. 

"That is everyone then?" Blood asked, grunting when Superman nodded. "Good, because I fear we have a problem."

"Is it that wizard kid?" Green Lantern asked. With his unshaven face, dark bags under his eyes, and scowl, he was the only one who had the decency to look tired and disgruntled at having been dragged here at three in the morning. "We've tracked him to New England but are having a hard time pinning down a location. And, I know it sucks to say, finding a kid falls pretty far down the list of priorities when we have to deal with attempted alien invasions, rich assholes with too much time on their hands, weathering controlling nutjobs, and bank robbers with overly complicated gimmicks."

Zatanna gave the Green Lantern a look that made it clear that she wasn't amused but, though she didn't say anything, Bruce couldn't help but mentally agree. For all the research he was doing on John Constantine and the disturbing information that research was yielding, the Joker attempting to poison Gotham's supply of baby formula and the Ridder setting up trivia death games in the Gotham University library took priority. 

'Still, Zatanna was worried about Constantine the last time she was here but she was still collected and calm. She wanted him found but didn't seem pressed for time. She would have told me privately if it was a true emergency. But now... Now she is nearly frantic. Even Jason seems tense.'

If someone as powerful as Zatanna, or as old and collected as Jason Blood was worried, then something dangerous was coming. 

Bruce really hated magic. 

"Well, change your priorities because, if we don't find John, the stability of magic itself may fall out of balance."

Green Lantern didn't flinch, but his eyes narrowed as his lips pressed into a tight line. "And then?"

"Chaos will consume the world," Wonder Woman answered for Zatanna. Her beautiful face troubled, she continued. "Magic... It's everywhere, it's part of everything. My mother often told me that magic was interwoven with all life on the planet. She told me that it wasn't to be trifled with, that it may be the domain of Hecate but it is older than the gods or titans. If something were to happen to the balance that it holds, all life on earth will be affected."

"Magic isn't contained to just Earth though," Hawkgirl said. "Would... whatever your concern is affect other planets as well?"

Her words were cautious and careful, quite different from her rough, straightforward approach to combat. 

"There is no way of knowing for sure, but it is certainly possible," Zatanna replied. With a sigh, she laid the crumpled piece of paper on the table, smoothing it out with her hand before passing it around the table. "I found this letter at my house yesterday. I'm not sure how long ago it arrived, it was buried under a week's old mountain of junk mail and bills though. Take a look at the writing on the bottom."

"I am unfamiliar with the Books of Magic," J'onn said. "Though, given the context, I must assume they are important to the situation."

"That would be an understatement," Jason Blood replied, voice grave. J'onn's eyes narrowed ever so slightly when the immortal disgraced knight began speaking. Clearly, there was still distrust, if not outright animosity there. "The Books of Magic may just be the most dangerous magical artifacts in the world."

"What, can they turn everyone on earth into doves or turn off the sun or something?" Flash asked. Something about his voice told Batman that he was only half joking. 

Despite the situation, Zatanna gave the young speedster a small, indulgent smile. "No. There  are  artifacts in the world that have the power to do things like that, but the Books aren't among them. Like Jason said, they are dangerous, not powerful."

"Yes, but knowledge is power and all that jazz," Green Lantern said. "So share some of that power and tell us more about them."

"Very well. Keep in mind, most of what I'm about to say is based on rumor, speculation, and legend. Still, if even a kernel of those is true, we have plenty of reason to worry. Supposedly, the Books of Magic contain all knowledge -both known and unknown- and might even have been the source of all magic itself.”

"To over-simplify matters to a pathetic degree, the Books of Magic supposedly give the hold the necessary information to perform any magic they wish," Blood said. "In the hands of a powerful enough mage, I'm sure you understand how horrifying such a possibility would be."

.

.

.

"...And I suppose Nick Necro is powerful enough?" Superman asked, his calm voice being the first to break the tense silence. It was only the furrow between the Man of Steel's eyes that showed any nervousness or concern for the situation. Emotions he was certainly feeling; magic was one of the few things in the known universe that could harm the superpowered alien.

'But even more than his own safety, he's got to be worried about not being able to protect the world from this new potential threat. Then there is that teenager, John Constantine... Clark has to be worried about him too. He's too soft for his own good. I wonder if even he is powerful enough to survive the weight of such a flaw,'  Batman thought, studying his colleague’s face carefully. Smooth and perfect as a marble statue, there were times he understood why Luthor feared Clark. For all the man tried with his ill-fitted suits, glasses, terrible posture, and harmless, affable Face, Clark could never quite manage to perfectly mimic humanity. 

"I'd make a joke about the pen being mightier than the sword or something like that," Flash said, earning a twin pair of groans from Green Lantern and Hawkgirl, "but it doesn't seem like a good idea right now."

"There is never time for jokes on the job," Batman said sternly, trying not to think of all the times he'd tried unsuccessfully to impart that lesson to Dick. He turned back to Zatanna, "If these Books of Magic are as dangerous as you're implying, then securing them is our top priority."

"Wait, what about the kid? Constantine?" Flash piped up again. "He's wrapped up in this too, and probably in danger. You came to us for help finding him first and that is what we should be focusing on."

"I agree with Flash," Wonder Woman said. "Our protection and aid cannot be limited to the large scale. Helping a single young man in danger is as worthy of a cause as any other. And, forgive me if I'm wrong, but aren't there laws about children running away from their parents?"

"John won't be going back to his father," Zatanna cut in immediately. "No matter the outcome, he won't be going back there. If for no other reason than he needs a proper magical education. He will be going to Madame Xanadu, and that is that."

Despite what Zatanna said, Flash sent to Amazon Princess a quick smile. One that faded when Green Lantern decided it was his turn to speak. 

"It's pretty obvious that this Constantine kid is involved in something nasty but if he's been on his own and on the run for all this time, then he isn't going to want us trying to get involved with his life. I know kids like this, I work with them down at the center," John explained. "They're private. They've been burned too many times and by too many adults. We show up in front of him and do what? Drag him up here for his own safety? At best, it will terrify him into clamming up and, at worst, we'll make sure he'll never accept his help."

"You aren't the only one who has worked with troubled children, GL, and you aren't wrong but I stand by my point," Flash said, shaking his head. He turned back to address the entire group. "Look, no offense, but I remember what it's like being a teenager a lot clearer than the rest of you and, if he's going out of his way to send a warning like that-" he nodded towards the note "-then he's terrified of something."

"No, he's afraid of  someone ."

All eyes turned to Batman, silently prompting him to continue. "I'm assuming the 'Nick' referenced in the note is the same man you mentioned last you were here? Nicholas Nolan, Nick Necro?"

"That does seem to be the case," Blood said. "Especially considering Necro is known to have a long-standing interest in the Books of Magic."

Batman had looked into Nick Necro along side John Constantine during his few spare free moments in these past weeks that weren't taken up by his investigations into Nico Franks and her company, his own company, the messes caused by his own Rogues Gallery, and other League business. The man's life was interesting in how dull and sparse the official records were. His mother, Patricia, was a seamstress and his father, Donald, was a plumber; both, by all indications, were honest, hard-working people. 

Blue-collar, but respectable.

A missing person's report was on file for Nolan when he was sixteen. Five years later, one Nicholas Necro made a name for himself in the Art & Antiquities scene of New York. He bought a penthouse, made suspiciously good investments, drove fancy cars, bought expense suits, and ate at the best restaurants. A fancy life, one expected from a wealthy, young bachelor in a major city -one not too different from the life a younger Bruce Wayne seemed to have lived- and yet when you dug deep, it was obvious how fake it all was.

'How much of Necro's success is due to magic?'  he wondered.  'What did he do to get where he is?'

The most unnerving thing about digging into Necro's life was seeing the increase in utility bills and a new, second set of credit card purchases from the months that John Constantine would have been living with him. That part of Batman's stomach that had developed after Dick came into his life twisted when he read through a list of purposes that could have only come from a teenager: junk food, video games, takeout, in-game purchases for at least a dozen different app games, online pornography, expensive clothes, and cheap aftershave, and dozens of the most random Amazon purchases.

That discomfort turned to blinding rage and burning bile when Batman then dug into Necro's purchases. Even thinking back to them had Batman clenching his fist. 

God, he hated magic.

"If what you're saying is true, then something else must be considered," J'onn said, speaking up for the first time. "When Nick Necro contacted you, he said that he was searching for John Constantine because the boy had stolen some artifacts. Yet, with all this new information, I must wonder if that is a lie."

With a slow nod, Hawkgirl spoke up. "I see what you're saying, J'onn. The kid sees or finds something about his mentor that freaks him out, he rips that page out of a book, he mails it to Zatanna here, and then goes into hiding. Necro tries to find him but, like you-” she nodded towards the magician “-told us, something was... hiding him? So he turns to others in your community in hopes that you could do the dirty work for him."

Batman watched as Zatanna and Blood met each other's eyes, both growing a shade paler at the thought of being used to hunt down a scared teenager. They may have already been suspicious of Necro yet it seemed like only now were the true implications of the situations that were sinking it. 

"Wait... when was the last time you tried tracking John Constantine?" Superman asked. 

Zatanna blinked at the question before raising her hands. " ?nitnatsonC nhoJ si erehW " 

The air shimmered in front of her, twisting and glowing until it formed a spinning globe. The magical globe spun faster and faster, the image shifting as it seemed to zoom in. First on the Western hemisphere, then onto the United States, then the eastern shore board, and then further still until the city of Bludhaven... only to then seize and stutter before fading away entirely. 

"Hmmm, I guess the kid is still hiding himself," Hawkgirl said.

"Noooo..." Zatanna said, her beautiful face twisting in confusion and concern. "That was different from all the other times I've tried locating him. Something has changed."

"A different type of magic is hiding him now," Blood mused, eyes narrowing.

"Try tracking Necro," Batman said. 

Zatanna's eyes widened in understanding, waving he hands once more.   "?orceN KciN si erehW"

Once more, a spinning globe appeared and narrowed in one Bludhaven... before sputtering away.

"Damn," Green Lantern grunted. 

"Language," Superman said absentmindedly, before turning to Zatanna. "Is there anything else you can do? Any other spells you can try?"

"My magic is stronger than Necro's, do doubt. With enough time and focus, I could break through his cloaking spell," Zatanna said. "But that’s time we might not have. Still, now I know for certain that John is with Necro."

"How so?" Hawkgirl asked.

"Every mage in the world has their own unique magical signature. It's hard to explain but, if you know what to look for, a magical signature is as unique as a fingerprint," Zatanna explained. "The spells hiding John and Necro? Those have the same signature."

Batman fought the urge to finch at the thought of a teen being in the claws of a predator. Yet, even with his worry, there was no denying that securing the Books of Magic  was  the bigger priority. He didn't like it, but no one said being a hero meant making easy decisions. 

"Looks let's put aside the magical hocus pocus for now," Flash says. "When we ignore that element, isn't this just a search and rescue mission? We know they're in Bludhaven; that's just one city. Between me and a few of the rest of you, we can search that in a couple of hours."

His voice was calm and even, almost commanding in its easy strength. And the way Flash spoke made it clear that this was what he was going to do no matter what the overall group decisions ended up being. And, if he had to do it himself, then so be it.

Under most circumstances, Flash's youth stubbornness was frustrating for the same reason it was irritating to see in Dick. Being so sure in your own course was dangerous. There was a saying that 'The candle that burns twice as bright, burns half as long,' and that often reminded Batman of reckless young men. He didn't want to see Dick or Flash dead before their time, let alone before him. 

Now though, Batman found himself hiding a small smile. For all that brashness could be dangerous -could easily be a young hero's downfall- there was something about the pure dedication to helping people that reminded Batman of why he -why they all- donned their caps, masks, and costumes: to protect those who needed it. And, despite being a hero for over a decade now, Flash's soul still hadn't been worn down by all the horrors he'd been exposed to. 

He still had hope. 

"...Flash is right," Superman announced. "We'll divide into two teams. One to search for John Constantine and Nick Necro, and the other to find the Book of Magic."

"If we're lucky," Blood grunted. "The boy wasn't courteous enough to send us the actual location of the Books, just a riddle hinting at where they are."

"Good," Batman said. He turned to Superman, "You'll be staying here with the second group."

"But-"

"You're as vulnerable to magic as the rest of us. Moreso even," the detective pressed. "You'll be more help here with Zatanna and Blood. Flash's speed is more than enough, and having you free creates a safety precaution in the event of an emergency."

Superman looked ready to keep arguing, only to be cut off by Zatanna.

"I'm going too," the magician declared. "And don't you dare try to argue with me, B- Batman! I am the most skilled magician the Justice League is associated with. And I know Nick Necro. If things come to blows, you're going to need me there."

One of the chairs screech against the floor as Wonder Woman rose to her feet. "Zatanna is right. Her skill and experience could be invaluable. Additionally, there is the possibility she can break through the cloaking spell the closer we get."

"You can count me in too," Hawkgirl said. She patted her mace affectionally. "I've been up against my fair share of magical opponents. I know what I'm doing."

"As will I," J'onn volunteered. "My telepathy might come in handy during the search."

'They all make this sound so easy,'  Batman thought. He still wasn't thrilled about the idea of charging into Bludhaven -a place known to be hostile to heroes and vigilantes in general- while still operating on so little information. Still, time and experience had taught him that sitting around waiting to be sure of something only led to pain. Finally, he cleared his throat and spoke up. "Fine, it's settled. Superman and Green Lantern will stay at the Watchtower with Jason to search for more information about the Books of Magic. The rest of us will search for John Constantine and Nick Necro in Bludhaven."

"And, if all goes well, we'll all be done by breakfast," Flash said, confidence and cheer returning in full-forced. 

Batman grunted. "Everyone meet at the Javelin in five minutes."

There was a flurry of agreements and solemn nods as the newly formed Away Team stood to go gather the things needed for the mission. Before he left, Flash appeared at Batman's side, leaning in to whisper, "Hey, are you going to call Nightwing before we touchdown in Bludhaven? That's his turf, after all. And we could always use an extra set of hands"

The Dark Knight bit the inside of this cheek as he thought over the question. It would be the best thing to do -a sign of good faith and trust. A fair warning about the situation. One could even call the professional courtesy. And yet... What if Nightwing rejected their arrival outright? Batman and the League would still show up -Nightwing couldn't handle the situation on his own- and then they’d be seen as a willful and deliberate disregard for his wishes. And that would just make things worse. 

Alfred may have always hated the mentality, but sometimes it was better to ask for forgiveness instead of permission. 

"He'll know when we get there," he said eventually. That much, at least, was true. 

"Man, why haven't you even told me how much of a dump this city is?"  Franky asked.  "I mean, at least seeing it at night means you don't see all the piles of trash?"

Robin covered her mouth to smother the sound of her giggling before tapping the small, communicator that rested in her ear -designed to fit deep enough that it wouldn't fall out and the sound came in clear with being audible to those around her without muffling the sounds around her, or doing damage to the user's eardrum. " Fufufu!  That is the side effect of you not coming out in public all that much, I suppose. I can promise you this though, everything looks leagues better than it did when we arrived."

These strange little Bluetooth devices of this world lacked the charm of Transponder Snails, but Robin could appreciate the convivence.

"Eh, how did this city survive so long without us?"  Franky asked.  "Well, Tom was able to help turn Water 7 from a hopeless trash heap into a prosperous city, then-"

"Ahhhhh!"

"Oops! Sorry, man, didn't mean to bother you."  There was the sound of the door shutting loudly, making Robin giggle again.  "Where were we? Oh, yeah. We can do the same for this place. Also, it looks like the kid isn't the only one who's been hiding out around here."

"Makes sense, the homeless population of this city is still unfortunately high. Abandoned apartment buildings and complexes are the convenient and fairly safe places to stay."

Franky grunted in response. There was more shuffling over the line, the sounds of rustling, and bumping against walls, the clattering of doors, and the cyborg's heavy body on old steps and rickety wooden floors.  "Damn, that is another building down, and no signs of the kid. Anything on your end?"

Robin bit her lip as she pulled out the small paper map of the area, crossing out another building. Three down, three to go. 

"No," she sighed. "Do you want to take building D while I take E?"

She didn't want to think about the fact they didn't have any real proof that John was ever really here. That they could be completely wrong in their deductions, that this could all be a waste of time. John could in peril, could need their help, while she and Franky were riffling through abandoned buildings playing detective!

"Sure, I-" 

Once again, Franky was cut off but this time by the loud  WOOOSH -ing sound of a plane flying low overhead. Robin looked up at the dark sky, only to see nothing.

"...You heard that too, right?" she asked. 

"Yeah, damnit! It looks like we have company,"  Franky said. 

Robin glanced upward again, this time making out the figure of a winged woman -Hawkgirl, if the files and news articles she read were accurate- flying overhead. She tucked herself against the side of the building to remain hidden and out of sight. 

"What are the Justice League doing here?" she wondered out loud.

"Those clowns? The ones who've been bothering you?"

For the years after they arrived, Franky had been bemused by the existence of the Justice League and masked heroes in general. He appreciated the good they did for the world but found the need to dress up in costumes and have odd gimmicks to be ridiculous -though admitted they'd be something Luffy, Ussop, and Chopper would enjoy the existence and appearance of. However, after learning of Batman and Superman's questioning of her after the incident with David Cain, Franky's opinion of the group plummeted, now seeing them as far too nosy and secretive for his liking. 

On the whole, Robin found it to be a sweet if ultimately unnecessary reaction. Yes, she hadn’t  enjoyed  the unsubtle interrogation and was nervous about the possibility of future 'interest' but it wasn't as if the League was another CP unit. 

Probably.

Robin had long since learned to not rule out any possibility.

'Could they be here looking for John as well?'  Robin wondered. She kept an eye on the sky until the winged woman disappeared from sight. "Franky, are you safe?"

"Always, babe. These  suuuuper  muscles of mine can hold up against any clown running around in his underwear!"

"Franky..."

There was a sigh,  "No fun, Robin! I'm out of sight if that is what you mean. What do you want to do now?"

A hundred and one answers flooded Robin's mind. The smartest answer would be to run away or hide for now. To fall back and gather information as to what the Justice League was doing here. Yet, the Straw Hat inside her told her to throw caution to the wind, and the desire -the need- to find John was still strong. Even if he didn't want to come back with her and Franky, she at least needed to know he was safe. Robin spent so long as one of the world's uncared-for and rejected children to allow John to be one as well. 

"...We still need to find John," Robin said after a moment. 

"Hmmm, that'll be harder these new visitors,"  Franky replied immediately, not even questioning her decision.  "We'll have to be careful."

"Agreed," Robin nodded, even though Franky couldn't see it. "You should head back to the van, though."

"What? I-"

"You stick out more. If you're spotted, we'll have a lot more difficulty explaining what you are and what you are doing here. If I'm found, then... Well, Batman seems to have already taken an interest in me. Finding me here won't help matters, but at least I look like a normal human and it is known that I live in Bludhaven."

Franky scoffed.  "Yeah, but I'm sure they'll love to know why the owner of a major tech company is hanging around an abandoned building complex." 

"Because I'm considering purchasing land and revitalizing it into low-income, private charity-run housing, of course," Robin replied smoothly. "The worse that'll happen is that I have to pay a trespassing fine."

"I still don't like it, what if you need backup?"

"Then I'll call you."

"... And I'll be by your side immediately,"  Frankly replied. There was more shuffling on the other end of the line before he spoke again.  "I'll head for the van. But if you're not there in thirty minutes then I'm coming looking for you, babe. Capes and cowls be damned!"

Robin chuckled. "Deal. be safe."

"You too."

There was a click and the line went silent, though Robin could still call Franky back if need be. For now though, Robin took a moment to listen to the world around her. There was no longer the sound of a plane's jet engine, which gave her no comfort because it meant the plane had landed nearby. Aside from the general sounds of the city at night, there was the closer, barely audible sound of people talking. Several voices... four, at least. 

Robin let out a low growl. This was going to make her job harder, especially with the (admittedly reasonable) time limit that Franky had given her.  'Time to do this fast way then.'

Looking around to assure herself that there was no one nearby, Robin darted across the small courtyard towards building E. The main down was jammed shut not locked and a sharp, hard shove was enough to force her way inside. Propping the door closed behind her, Robin surveyed what would have been the main lobby and mail room of the apartment building. Much of the original furniture was still there, though torn and filthy. Anything from the value in the room had long since been stripped from it, either by the original owners of the complex, the former residences, or squatters in the time since the building had been abandoned. The tiles of the floor were cracked and chipped, covered in dirt and leaves. 

Creeeeeek!

Fear spiked in Robin at the distinctive sound of a door opening somewhere above her. In three quick bounds, Robin rushed towards and leaped over the old mail counter. She tucked herself behind the counter, safely out of sight if anyone were to come down the main staircase. 

Crossover her arms, Robin closed her eyes and whispered,  "Ojos Fleur."

She'd never quite be able to explain what it was like to see so many places at once. It was... disorienting at first, back when Robin was a young child first discovering her abilities. Over time, Robin had learned to focus and use the power to its full strength, and it had saved her life many times.

Now though, it let her spy on a man with curious green skin.

Chapter Text

In her adventures, Robin had seen many unusual types of folks. Giants, dwarfs, sky people, mermaids, fishmen, cyborgs, skeletons that could dance and sing, Lunarians, and just about everything in between and beyond. After traveling all over her own world and then into another, the former Devil Child liked to think of herself as hard to surprise. 

And yet...

"Batman, I ensure Building E is properly evacuated of civilians... Yes, it took longer than expected. Whatever Necro has done to the surrounding area, it has created some sort of telepathic interference."

Robin had seen this... man before. Or, at least, she'd seen pictures and videos of this man. He was part of the Justice League and appeared in some of her research of the group. Though, of all the members, this one -the Martian Manhunter- had the least information known about him. Even with how deep Robin and her informants had dug. 

'Telepathy? He can read minds?' 

A shiver went down Robin's spine at the thought. Viola's devil fruit had always unnerved her. Robin had too many dangerous secrets locked away in her mind to be comfortable around anyone who could riffle through her thoughts like the pages of a book. But the now-queen of Dressrosa was an ally and, by her own admission, many years of being forced to read minds for Doflamingo has left her with little desire to do it without just cause. High-level Observation Haki users could also peer into the minds of others, though that was closer to reading emotions, intent, or even the future to a limited degree. They, however, were rare. 

Despite her limited knowledge of the Martian Manhunter's abilities, Robin forced herself to remain calm. Sprouting an extra few ears, she slowed her breathing and listened in.

"You've located the boy?"

Robin's sucked in a surprised breath. The boy... Was that John? It had to be.

"Very well, I will do one final scan of the surrounding buildings for..." the Manhunter trailed off. He cocked his head to the side and oh how Robin wished he had regular eyes. The eyes were windows to the soul, as they said, and they could tell you much about a man's state of mind. But the Manhunter's eyes were empty red pools, completely unreadable. "...Yes, I am still here. I will join you at Building F momentarily. Then we can converge on Nick Necro."

Nick Necro... 

'Well, my green friend, it looks like I will be joining you in Building F. I don't care what you do to Necro, but John is mine and I will be taking him home.'  Robin thought, a sharp, determined grin spreading over her face. Releasing her sprouts, Robin rose to her feet and headed for the door. She had a teenage boy to collect and, if need be, necks to snap. 

From his place in the shadows, all the hair on the back of Batman's neck raised as J'onn phased through the wall next to him, settling into a crouch. 

"Everyone evacuated?" he asked quietly. 

If he'd give permission, J'onn could communicate with him through telepathy. Theoretically, such a method would be safer, being silent, and safe from ease-droppers. Yet Batman could never allow himself that openness, that vulnerability. The Martian had proven himself to be an honorable hero, a dependable teammate, and a good man. But Batman had too many secrets to protect, many not even belonging to him.

Still, it said much about his character that J'onn respected that. 

"Anyone living on the premise has been encouraged to vacate for the night. Some left of their own free will, especially after I provided monetary compensation and directions to a homeless shelter."

"And the others?"

Bludhaven's homeless population was even larger than Gotham's, and while it had been declining in recent years, Batman still made a mental note to see what kind of programs he could donate to to help that along. If he found none to be satisfactory, he could always have Wayne Industry make one. That was a last resort though; Dick always hated when Batman did anything in this godforsaken city. 

"Some ran when they saw my appearance," J'onn replied, usual monotone voice sounding slightly bashful. Something that only increased with his next statement. "And others had to be...  nudged  into leaving."

Batman tore his eyes from the building in front of him to level a disapproving look at J'onn, who simply shrugged. An oddly human gesture on the alien, perhaps a side effect of spending time among his Earthly colleagues. 

"They won't remember anything unusual or frightening. They'll just wander to the homeless shelter where they will be safe, at which point the mental hold will released."

"Hmmm," Batman growled, a low, non-committal sound. "At least the grounds are clear for when Zatanna and the others arrive."

"...There is something else. When I was searching one of the buildings, I sensed a presence."

Behind his ask, Batman's eyes narrowed. A silent prompt... no,  demand  for the Martian to continue. 

"At first, I thought it was another of the building's secret tenets. Yet, when I tried to focus in on it, I noticed there was something off about the thoughts."

"You couldn't read them?"

J'onn was always hard to read, something about his pupil-less eyes and the strange proportions of his face made most of Batman's standard tricks unusable. Still, if he were a betting man, Batman would have bet the Martian was confused. 

"Not... completely." At Batman's deepening frown, the Martian continued. "Her thoughts were... odd. It was like trying to understand a different dialect of a familiar language. I could understand some of the words, as well as the intent behind the words, yet it was never completely clear."

"Her?" 

"Her," J'onn confirmed with a nod. "And, before you ask, I do not believe she is an enemy. Her thoughts were far too... focused, she was intent on finding and protecting someone. I did not detect aggression in her mind, but there was also confidence in her ability to complete her objective. Which, I believe, is to find a 'boy'."

Boy. If they were right, there was only one 'boy' in the vicinity. 

"She's here for John too."

"Yes, I believe that is the case."

The wheels of Batman's mind started turning, shuffling through what he knew of John Constantine and the teenager's associates, trying to deduce who this mysterious woman could be. 

"What did you do with her?" he demanded. 

"Nothing. I sensed no hostility in her so I thought it would be best to simply wait to see how things unfold."

"What?!" Batman's voice rose, "You let an unknown factor wander around on a mission? That's foolish and dangerous! At best, she will be in danger, and, at worst, she will  be a  danger."

J'onn's red eyes stared at him passively. "I highly doubt that." 

"Why?"

"Because I was in her mind. You were not."

Whatever response Batman could have given was cut off by the tell-tale  woosh!  of Flash arriving. Even in the dim light, the gold of the speedsters boots and costume highlights shone bright. Bright and obvious and dangerous. 

"This the place?" he asked. 

Grabbing the young man's shoulder, Batman shoved him down into a crouch. "Yes," he hissed. "Zatanna and Wonder Woman are doing one last loop. When they get back, we'll move in."

Flash nodded. "Is Hawkgirl still scouting around?"

Batman grunted in agreement, turning his gaze back to the building. Out of the corner of his eye, he still that Flash was still staring at him. 

'Don't say it. Don't say it. Don't say-'

"So... Will Nightwing be joining us?" 

Now J'onn's eyes were on him. He didn't know the relationship between Batman and Nightwing -that was known only to Superman and Flash- and while Batman trusted that J'onn wouldn't go rooting around for answers in Batman's mind, just the idea made him uncomfortable. 

"Keep focused on the mission," he grunted. 

Flash looked like he wanted to say something, but it was his turn to be cut off by the arrival of Zatanna and Wonder Woman. 

The goddess floated down gracefully, her beautiful frame backlight against the bright moon. One strong arm was wrapped around Zatanna's waist for support, as they flew together. Batman knew that Zatanna could fly or levitate, but, by her own admission, it required a lot of energy and concentration, so she preferred not to do it. As they neared the ground, Wonder Woman released the magician, allowing Zatanna to safely drop to the uneven cobblestones of the apartment complex's overgrown courtyard.  

"Everyone here?" Zatanna asked, looking around.

"Hawkgirl is still flying around," Flash replied, waving a hand upward. "Should we wait for her?"

Zatanna clicked her tongue, glancing toward the building. "I'm not sure we have time. I can sense a lot of magic going on right now, and I'm worried about what it's being used on."

An uncomfortable silence fell over the group. Batman felt his teeth grind together.  'It's John, let's not pretend it's being used on anything else.  What  it is being used on is the bigger concern.'

"She'll join us later. For now, she'll be more helpful as eyes in the sky," he said before turning to Zatanna. Nodding towards their target, he asked, "You mentioned there is a shield around the place, anything else we should know?"

"Calling it a shield is a gross oversimplification, Batman," Zatanna said. " Wohs su eht cigam! " 

The air around them shimmered before the layers of red energy became visible. One surrounded the building in front of them, and a much larger, more lightly colored one covered the apartment complex in a dome of magical energy.

"My father called this spell the Bullseye Guard. It contains three layers of magical barriers: the first-" Zatanna pointed to the red dome above them "-is the weakest. It allows living energy signatures to enter but, when working properly, won't let anyone out. Like a lobster trap. But, because it's the weakest, I was able to trick it. Now, we can pass in and out as we please without the barrier deactivating and alerting Necro."

Reaching out, she prodded the barrier covering the building. A pulse rippled out from her touch, the movement of the energy eerily smooth and organic. Despite the unease eating at Batman's gut, he forced himself to step forward. As he got closer, Batman felt an odd vibration frequency fill the air and radiate through his body. He could feel it in his teeth and bones. 

" This one  is going to be our biggest problem. It's not where the magic is strongest, but it is a solid wall -nothing in and nothing out. More than that, this is the layer that usually has other spells mixed in. In short, it's likely booby-trapped and, since the barrier's magic is the most pronounced, I can't sense what those other spells might be."

"Can you trick this one too?" Flash asked. "Or maybe I can vibrate through? Not sure if that'll work, but..."

He trailed off, looking young and eager to help even under his cowl. Zatanna gave the young speedster an indulgent smile but shook her head. "No, that wouldn't work. No more so that J'onn-" she flashed the Martian a sweet smile "-could phase through it. Even trying would probably fry your systems. And, considering we can't be sure what other nastiness Necro mixed in there, I don't want to risk either of your even trying. So... I'm going to have to burst it."

Now it was J'onn's turn to be confused. "Burst it?" 

"Yes, a single magical attack delivered hard and fast to a single, focused point. So long as I make it powerful enough, it should be enough to disrupt the magical connection that holds the energy web together and POP!"

Batman raised an eyebrow in the magician's direction. "Should?"

Zatanna shrugged. "Well, I've never done this before. So, I'm going on what my dad has told me, my own research, and a bit of hypothesizing. Now, everyone needs to get behind me."

"I  really  wish you hadn't told us that," Flash mumbled under his breath, even as he did as he was told while Batman followed behind silently. 

'I hate magic,'  he thought as Zatanna began to chant.

"Evitcetorp dleihs dnuorrus su! Lacigam raeps, mrof dna ekirts reirrab! Lla eht htgnerts I evah!"

A beautiful, bright blue aura surrounded the group of heroes, glowing in the darkness. The muscles of Zatanna's body tensioned as she focused on the energy swirling around her hands and forming an energy spear. With a grunt, she thrust her arms forward and-

BO-OOM!

Heat and cold and the buzz of pure energy rushed over Batman's body in rapid succession, nearly knocking him to his knees. Blinking the spots from his eyes and fighting the wave of nausea with every motion, the Dark Knight stood his ground. 

"Ugh," Flash groaned. "You couldn't have warned us there, Glinda?"

"If I hadn't put up my own shield, there is a good chance we would have all been obliterated when the barrier burst," Zatanna replied. 

Studying the courtyard around them, the detective frowned that the pieces of the barrier that were still sticking up out of the ground like giant shards of red glass. 

'Or teeth.'

Pushing that thought away, Batman instead quickly checked over his teammates. J'onn looked on impassively, the only thing of note being his slightly narrowed eyes. Diana was merely brushing some dust off herself, barely a hair out of place. Flash looked pale against the red of his suit but was vibrating in place, anticipation obvious. It looked like, once again, only the normal human was suffering any ill effects. Speaking of that, Batman turned to check on Zatanna and was unnerved to see that her body was still tense -ready for battle.

"Zatanna?" 

"Stay ready everyone. Necro will know we're here now. Something is come-"

RARWWWW!

Batman's eyes widened as one of the 'shards' of the barrier morphed into a massive, black and red tiger-like creature that leaped at Zatanna. Before he could even think of moving, a red blur shot forward, colliding with the beast and zipping it away. 

"Guard demons!" Zatanna shouted. "Get ready!"

Her words were confirmed when more of the shards began shaking and warping, growing and morphing as they took on different shapes. With a war cry, Diana threw herself forward at a demon shaped like a standing crocodile. She shoved her left wrist into the thing's mouth, forcing it to bite down on her indestructible bracelet. Bracing her powerful legs against the ground, the goddess unleashed two furious punches on the side of its head. With another scream, a third punch sent the demon flying across the courtyard before Diana threw herself after it to finish the job. 

At his side, J'onn's frame shifted and changed -not unlike that of the shards- until he took the form of a giant cobra. Striking forward, the Martian caught a bat-like demon in his mouth, shaking it viciously, before diving downward and phasing through the ground. Zatanna was swiftly surrounded by a trio of what could only be described as goblins, each about waist height and wielding crude weapons. Nimble as could be, the magician danced away from a flurry of attacks before her eyes began to glow. 

" Eci drahs mrots! " she called. A small cluster of storm clouds form overhead and unleashed a shower of sharp ice down on the goblins with enough force that two of them dropped almost immediately -death by a thousand cuts. " Hninthgil tsalb! "

A bolt of lightning shot from Zatanna's palm, frying the final goblin into a darkened husk. But, before she could rust to help anyone else, a massive spider scuttled out of the darkness towards her. 

All of which left Batman alone to face a corrupted version of a fairytale troll. He dodged to the side as the beast rushed at him with a club. An incendiary Batarang was sent flying into its face, exploding in a cloud of fire and smoke. The force was enough to stun the monster, blinding and stopping it in its tracks. The effect wouldn't last long, but it would give Batman the chance to fire and wrap his grappling hook around the beast's wrists. As soon as the troll realized it had been bound it began thrashing, yanking its arms side from side until it eventually ripped Batman straight off his feet. Not one to be deterred, Batman used the momentum, kicking off one of the buildings and angling his body so both he and the grappling hook cord would wrap tight around the troll. Tucking and rolling his body to avoid being bludgeoned to death by a giant club, Batman darted and weaved around the troll's legs, wrapping the cord tight. When he was sure it would hold, only then did Batman jump back and pulled with all his might.

THUD !

The ground shook under his feet as the troll fell, stunned and dazed by the force of it all. Looking on, Batman couldn't help but have the amused thought of,  'Just like David and Goliath.'

His amusement faded quickly when the creature regained its senses and began to struggle. Made of his own personally modified 304 stainless steel, the inner rope of his grappling hook was among some of the strongest in the world. It could have easily supported a suspended car. And yet the troll’s struggles started to snap the individually braided wires. Pressing a button on the side of the grappling hook electrified the wire rope, zapping the troll with the strongest amount of technically non-lethal electricity voltage possible. Off course, that was nonlethal to a  human . When turned against whatever the hell this thing was, it might have as well just been a bit of static electricity.

"AHHHHH!"

A shrill war cry filled the air, and a mass of gray feathers and green fabric dropped down from the sky, landing on the back of the troll and pinning it to the ground. Before Batman could say anything, Hawkgirl raised her mace high and brought it down on the troll's head.  One, two, three times...  Until black and red bits of... parts flew through the air, coating Hawkgirl and the ground around her in a thick fluid that Batman could only assume was this creature's blood. Even with the mess, Hawkgirl still struck it four more times before she stood. 

"Awww, you guys started the fun without me," the alien woman teased. She flicked her wrist, spraying some of the viscous fluid that dripped from her mace onto the ground. "So, what's going on?"

Running his thumb along his belt, Batman mentally took stock of what he still had and what he could afford to use on this mission before answering. "Zatanna says they're called guard demons. We have to defeat them before we can get to Necro. If you have any more questions, I suggest asking him."

Batman nodded toward another demon coming their way - a tall, bulky creature with green skin, pointed ears, red eyes, and sharp teeth. Sharp teeth that were poking out of a drooling mouth.

With a chuckle, Hawkgirl raised her mace once more, sinking into fighting stance. "No problem," she said. " And if he doesn't want to answer, then I'll just beat the answers out of him."

Under different circumstances, Batman would be unnerved by Hawkgirl's bloodlust. She was one of the more battle-driven smaller trees members of the League, always the first to throw herself into a fight. And while boldness was certainly an admirable trait in their line of work, Batman was just waiting for the day this would backfire on all of them.

Today though, would hopefully not be that day.

"Have your fun," he said. " I'm going to see if I can slip inside the building and find Necro and Constantine. Maybe we still have a chance to take him bu surprise."

"I'll cover you," the alien warrior grunted, not looking back in his direction. "Alright, you pointy freak-eared freak! Time to-"

Both Hawkgirl's boast and Batman's rush towards the building were interrupted by the strangest of sights - two pairs of very human arms sprouting from the beast's shoulders to wrap around its neck and head. Identicial pairs sprout from it's sides to catch and hold burly arms in place. The demon started to thrash about but the arms held strong as began to pull and twist.

SNAP!

Neither Batman nor Hawkgirl flinched at the loud, visceral sound of snapping bones that filled the air. They did, however, watch on with confused amazement as the monster fell forward - the arms disappearing with a flash of pink petals- and hit the ground before its body dissolved into black goo that evaporated into nothingness.

"...You saw that too, right?" Hawkgirl asked, glancing over her shoulder at Batman.                                                                         

Batman grunted in affirmation.  'Zatanna, was that you?'

Astra was adorable. That had been John's first thought when he saw her. She was a tiny girl with long curly brown hair that poofed out around her face, big brown eyes, light brown skin, and a cute brush of freckles covering her nose. The first time John saw her, he was reminded of the scrawny little alley kittens that he sometimes saw skittering around the alleyways of Liverpool and New Castle. Adorable and sad, all in one.

It was no wonder they got along so well.

"What did Dad and his friends do to you this time?" Astra whispered, eyes big and glistening even in the room's dim light.

John grunted, putting off the need to answer for just a few seconds long. He wanted to shower and change his clothes  so bad,  but asking for that would almost certainly result in a beating if he was lucky and demands for 'payment' if he wasn't. So, instead, John grabbed a stray blanket off the back of the chair and wrapped it tight around himself before collapsing on the narrow bed next to Astra. 

"Nothing to worry about, luv," he promised. "Nothing I can't handle."

Astra shook her head. "You shouldn't have to handle anything. That is my problem, not yours! You should just leave John, leave and go somewhere safe. That way at least one of us-"

Reaching an arm out from his blanket cocoon, John took Astra's hand and squeezed it as tight as he dared, cutting her off. 

"Hey, none of that now. Okay?" John asked, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. "I promised I'd get you out of this, and I will. For now, we just gotta hang in there, got it? And by being here, I can protect you. Nothing your old man does can be worse than what mine did, and we both know what his rules are about me staying here."

Astro didn't look like she quite believed him. Which was fair because it was a lie. Thomas Constantine was a right bastard, there was no doubt about that. But all this cursing, beatings, and peeking at his teenage daughter while she was changing was nothing compared to the depths of depravity that Alex Logue got up to.  

The owner of The Casanova Club was a third-rate sex-and-drugs magician who was more interested in orgies than magic. But despite the man's inadequacy in his chosen craft, like any addict, Logue was constantly chasing more intense, more powerful highs. Magical highs, sex highs, drug highs... it was never enough, and pretty soon, Logue had cultivated quite the following of like-minded sickos. Sickos that he would go to any length possible to satisfy and keep near, even if that meant looking close to home for resources. The bruises on John's hip ached as he shifted on the crappy mattress, trying to get comfortable. The movement sent a wave of nausea through him. All that blood Logue had taken from him left him lightheaded and nauseous.

'What I wouldn't do for some juice,'  John thought before shoving the idea away harshly. He knew  exactly  what Logue would force him to do for a some juice.

"Alrighty, brat, you wanna stay here? Then you'll have to do what I say. You'll be mine, just like little Astra here. You'll do what I say, when I say, and you won't complain if you know what's good for you, no matter what it is. Got it?"

John remembered looking up at that nasty face, ugly grease paint smeared across his skin and into ratty hair. He had forced himself to smile and looked down at his feet, sweet and meek and unthreatening. He had called the man 'Sir' and agreed without question, all while fighting down the urge to hit and scream and bite at this sick fuck for everything he'd done to his own daughter!

But he couldn't, not while Astra was sitting beside him quivering and sniffling in fear of her father. John had tried conving her to run at least a dozen times by now, but the girl was just too scared. She was convinced the man could hunt them down to the ends of the earth and, when he caught them, he’d hurt them both in all sorts of ways. Things that until then, only existed in the man's threats.

So, for now, John just dealt with it. He kept his head down and did what the man told him while picking the pockets of all the drunken bar patrons and squirreling away food (and booze) from the kitchen, trying to make sure that he and Astra would have enough supplies when the time came to run. But the most important thing he used his time for was studying Logue's spellbooks. For all the man was shit at magic, his books were the real deal.  And  he was usually so blazed out of his mind that John could sneak a book into his and Astra's bedroom to pour over. Astra might have been scared of her own magic, but John devoured each spell like a man starving. It would be the knowledge in these books that finally got them somewhere safe, that finally got rid of Alex Logue once and for all. 

"Will it... Will it be much longer?" Astra asked, her bottom lip quivering. "I can't take much more of this, and I don't want you to have to suffer anymore either."

John bit the inside of his cheek. "I don't know, luv. I'm trying to think of something but..."

His voice trailed off as tears began to flow freely from Astra's eyes. 

"If I have to go into the basement again, I swear I'll... I just won't do it, I won't let Dad get me down there! If I have to take a knife to my own throat, I promise I won't go down there again!"

A shiver went down John's spine. "Oh, you don't mean that. Please, Astra, don't tell me you mean that!"

"I don't want to," the girl cried, " but, at least if I'm dead, then there's nothing holding you here. You can leave and not feel guilty. You can be safe."

"But that won't matter if I don't have you with me," John replied. "I promise that it'll be the two of us who left here, and if it isn't then I have no reason to leave here either. Just... Try and hang on a little longer. I'll think of a way to fix this, I'll keep us both safe. You'll be free Astra, just give me a little more time."

John tried to wiggle closer to the crying girl on the bed. He opened his little blanket cocoon beckoning her to come closer so they could snuggle up like they had in the past. Usually, John hated being touched if it wasn't by Cheryl or Chas, having long since learned that touch usually equaled hurt. Astro was different though. She was sweet and kind and took pity on a street rat who was trying to sleep on a park bench by buying him a sandwich and a soda. So, even though John hated being touched more than ever now, Astra would always be the exception.

Yet the closer he got, the quieter Astra grew. The tears vanished from her eyes, as did the fear, and she sat up straight staring at him with a cool expression.

"But you didn't, did you, John?" she asked. 

He gave her a confused look. "Huh?"

Astra frowned. "You didn't keep your promise, John. You didn't keep me safe! I never got a chance to be free!"

Now it was John's turn to sit up, despite the protest of his many cuts and bruises. "Astra, luv, what are you talking about?"

"I died, John!" Astra screamed, the wall behind her bursting into flames. 

John scrambled backward on the bed. The blanket tangled around his legs, catching on an exposed spring and tearing as he fell onto the floor. The back of his head slammed against the floor, knocking John's vision dark. When he blinked away the dark spots, he yelp in fright as he saw Astra on the bed above glaring down at him. Only it wasn't Astra, her skin had turned bluish-gray, her puffy hair was now long and stringy, and sharp dark teeth jutted out from under split lips. 

"You got drunk and passed out so Dad dragged  me  into the basement. Then, after he and his friends finished taking their turns, I was so scared of what they'd do next that I tried to summon a demon to do what you couldn't: protect me!"  Not-Astra shrieked. Behind her, the fire started to spread over the other walls and onto the floor.  "And it came and killed my father and his friends. For a second, I was happy. But then it turned on me. Do you want to know what it did to me, John? Or how much worse it got when you tried to 'help'?"

Shaking his head, John pleaded desperately. "No! No! Astra, I'm sorry! I tried to help you! I didn't know how strong Nergal would be, I didn't know I couldn't keep him bound. Please, I didn't mean to hurt you!"

The fire continued to spread as John sputtered apologies did little to help his friend. He closed his eyes as she leaped down at him, her newly grown sharp fangs starting ripping into his guts. 

"All you got to stop all of this is tell me where the Books of Magic are, Johnny," Nick's voice slithered into his ear. "Tell me the truth, and you don't have to suffer anymore."

Chapter Text

John Constantine was born to a mother who died in childbirth, and alongside a dead twin brother. He supposed that fate wanted to make sure John knew his lot in life from the very beginning because things didn't get any better from there. 

The day his father broke his arm was the day John Constantine committed himself to running away from home. Not that he could ever call that filthy house in Liverpool at home. The only thing that had ever made it bearable was Cheryl, and she'd run off two years ago with her dim-witted lug of a boyfriend. His sister couldn't even do John the decency of telling him goodbye in person, instead just leaving it quickly scribbled note under his pillow. 

'I love you, goodbye, and good luck,'  that was all his big sister had to say to him as she left John to the mercy of their arse of the father.

The first month hadn't been so bad. The crotchety old geezer had been silent and still for the most part, wasting the days away drinking or smoking in this gross old armchair. If he got up at all, it was to head down to the pub to see if the bartender on duty was willing to keep his tab open. Maybe it was guilt for having driven his daughter away, or maybe it was shock that Cheryl would actually leave. Either way, John found himself vastly preferring this version of his father and hoping he would stay like this.

John Constantine was never that lucky.

After the silence came rage. The old man drank more, yelled more, and he started to hit twice as hard. You'd think being left with only one working arm would mean a man couldn't hit that hard, but John knew differently. He dealt with it, as he always did. He charmed or aggravated the teachers into leaving him alone -if John went to school at all. He refused to respond to Chas 'worried looks, even as he silently endured his friend's clumsy attempts at first aid. He stole food to keep himself fed. He stole booze and smokes to keep himself calm. And he made sure to be out of the house as often as possible.

And then came the day John came home from school to find his fledgling collection of magical study burning in a pit in the backyard. They hadn't been anything fancy; in fact, most of them had probably been bogus. They'd been spells John found on sketchy sites on the internet. He would print them out at the library, or scribble them down in one of his school notebooks. Then at home, in the relative safety and comfort of his own bedroom, John would practice. Sometimes, he even got results. They were small things, a levitating pencil or small glowing orbs that filled his dark room, but they were something. Something uniquely his, something that made John special, and something no one could take away from him.

Then, like an idiot, John had forgotten to return his notebooks and printouts to their hidden spot in his dresser before heading out to school. The old geezer had probably been looking for smokes or any cash John had squirreled away, only to find the notebooks still spread out on his bed. And maybe Thomas Constantine had believed his own dribble about them being evil, devilish nonsense, but John was pretty sure he burned them because he knew they brought John joy.

Or maybe the idea of John being anything aside from a scrawny, helpless kid no one cared about scared him. 

Thomas Constantine had been surprised by how fiercely John lashed out at him. The geezer was a good head taller and was probably twice as heavy, but John bought and hit and bit and kicked as hard as he could. Right up until John had gotten slammed against the deck railing, his arm pinned behind him at just the right angle for a lovely little break in the bone. He probably hadn't meant to do it. At least, that's what the drunkard had babbled out for a few minutes as John lay on the ground screaming and clutching his arm, before fleeing back inside so that his old buddy bourbon could nurse him to sleep. And, of course, he locked the back door so John couldn't come inside -less the old bastard have to face the results of his actions.

After throwing up from the pain, John had finally been able to gather enough of himself to limp over to Chas' flat, vomiting only once more along the way. His friend's amateur medical skills couldn't help him this time, and Chas' mom was only slightly less awful than Constantine's old man. So, in the end, Chas had gone to the sweet, slightly dotty old lady three doors down and asked her for a ride to the hospital, claiming John had hurt his arm during their play and that all their parents were at work.

Either the lie had worked, or the doctors were too busy treating his arm because John hadn't been questioned too deeply, and, as soon as he got the chance, he and his bright white new cast had made a run for it. By the time he got home, John was already formulating a plan. The first thing he needed was a dead cat. And John liked to think it was fitting to use one of the strays his father took delight in running over for his little project.

Maybe the day would come when John was old enough and wise enough and forgiving enough to feel bad about binding his father's soul to the dead cat, shoving it in a jar, pickling it with vinegar and salt, and then burying it under the deck. But four years had passed since then, and John  still  hadn't lost a moment of sleep. 

Then it was just a matter of waiting until his arm healed, cutting the cast off with a kitchen knife, packing his few important belongings up, and robbing the old man blind. In the end, it had almost been too simple. The geezer had been drunk, as usual, with a bottle of bourbon still clutched in his hand as John raided the house and shoved anything of potential value into an empty pillowcase. He hadn't even woken up when John took the bottle and spitefully spat into its contents before returning it to its former position. Then he left the house and vowed never to return. In England, most adults didn't look twice about a twelve-year-old boy buying himself a bus ticket and riding alone so only a few hours later, John was in New Castle.

"Where this got so much worse for you, didn't they, Johnny Boy?" Nick asked. 

John blinked up at him from his place on the ground. He felt strange. The fire engulfed the room, and the blood that was pulling beneath him felt warm. But his insides that Astra had ripped open and exposed to the air felt cold. At least the pain had died down.

Nick sighed and shook his head. " I had such high hopes for you, John. Sure, you weren't as powerful as some natural mages. But, by God, were you clever. More than that, you were  conniving . You got what you wanted. And I liked that in an apprentice. I thought you would be the one to help me, especially after I showed you so much kindness. After everything else in the world had kicked you down and spat on you and told you how worthless you really were, I was kind. It's a shame you didn't appreciate it."

That's right... John wasn't twelve years old anymore. He wasn't in New Castle. He didn't have his guts ripped open. He wasn't about to burn to death. And Astra wasn't a monster. Instead, she was just dead. Dead and in Hell, all because of John.

He glared up at Nick. "You're barking up the wrong tree, mate. You think your little interrogation spell can conjure up any scenario more fucked up than what my mind can dream up every time I go to sleep? This is amateur hour. I guess you don't want those Books after all."

The man's face twisted in anger before he drew a deep breath in. A smile appeared on Nick's handsome face and he snapped his fingers. In a flash John found himself as a sixteen-year-old once more, sitting on a chair with his wrists bound behind him. For a moment, John hoped that Nick released the spell. The white void they were in, however, dashed that hope immediately.

'I can work with that though,'  John thought.  'He dragged us into a magic pocket dimension. The rules of the real world don't apply here, and the magic can be turned back on the caster in a second if one knows what they're doing. I just have to wait for the right opportunity.'

Unfortunately, that also also having to deal with more of Nick's yammering.

"God, you're far too stubborn for your own good, John," the man groaned. " Twenty times I've put you under a bit of... magical persuasion, shall we say, and twenty times you've refused to break at the end. I know you like things rough, but I'm starting to think you enjoy the torment."

"Well, maybe that's just a sign you aren't trying  hard enough , Nicky," John sneered back. "Then again, you never were the most creative. If that last piss poor attempt at making me cry like a baby was the best you can come up with, you're better off trying to buy the answer off of me with a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue and a pack of smokes."

John met bitter innuendo with bitter innuendo. The things Nick had taught him... The things John had learned about himself... Nick had ripped away at most of the few remaining tender parts of John's psyche during their time together. It was embarrassing, and humiliating, and made John want to cringe in shame. But he refused to give in to the man's sneers. There was little John liked about the world, he refused to let a bastard like Nick Necro ruin more of it. He would not let his sexuality be used against him. 

Nick snapped his fingers again, and the world around them shifted until it formed his childhood bedroom. Fuck, whatever this next little dream torture session Nick had cooked up, it was bound to suck. But, just as the surroundings were fully taking shape, everything seemed to... shutter, sliding out of place and focus for just a brief second before snapping back.

"What was that?"

Slap!

John's cheek burned at the impact of Nick's hand.

"You should stop paying attention to anything going on except what's in that little head of yours, Johnny," Nick said, stepping back to adjust his tie. "After all, the sooner something in there breaks and realizes it's better just to give up, to give yourselves and the Books of Magic to me, the better off everything will be."

Rolling his eyes, John snapped back. "The last twenty times didn't work, what makes you think this one will?"

"Oh, it doesn't have to be this one. It doesn't have to be the next one, or the one after that, or the one after that. Eventually, you'll break. it's only a matter of time before I find the right combination to access that fucked up little brain of yours, Johnny. And I have all the time in the world."

'No, you don't,'  John realized, staring up at a smile that didn't quite ooze the confidence it wanted to.  'That disturbance it the spell. It was a magical fluctuation. This little mind trap you have me in isn't the only spell work you've got going on. And something's messing with the other part.'

Nick leaned down until he was staring John in the eye, his face disgustingly close. "One last chance to end it. Just tell me what I want to know. Do that, and I'll let you g- Fuck!"

The man jerked back and out of the way of John's teeth, able to keep the nose the teenager was hoping to bite off.

"Fine then," he growled. "Have fun visiting your dear old man."

'Have fun trying to keep your spells together, Nicky. I don't know what's going on but something is happening, you and I both know it,'  John thought. He blinked suddenly he was nine years old and on his childhood bed.  'The question is, can I hold out long enough for you to slip up?'

BAM!

His childhood door was flung open, and John closed his eyes. 

-------

BANG! 

The flashbang exploded in the demon's mouth, sending it reeling back. Batman leaped forward, kicking off one of the apartment's walls to flip over the creature's head. He wrapped a makeshift garrote wire around its neck, using that and combined it with his own body weight to pull it to the ground. A quick blast from his high-powered Taser shocked it into what Batman assumed to be unconsciousness. He had no intention of sticking around long enough to find out, but a quick binding of the creature's limbs gave a little extra reassurance.

That taken care of, he sprinted back through the halls. Even inside the apartment building, sounds of combat rang out. By his count, there were at least sixty of these creatures running around. Each hard to kill in their own right, only capable of being put down through severe trauma to the spine or skull - as Hawkgirl had so generously demonstrated. Not willing to waste time on a symptom rather than the problem, Batman followed through on his plan to rush inside the building. If he found and subdued Nick Necro, then the spell encapsulating the surrounding area and creating the guard demons would fade -at least according to Zatanna.

Let his teammates deal with the insanity of magical creatures. Batman had more than enough experience needed to deal with one insane, selfish man.

Of course, finding Necro in this apartment building proved tiresome. Superman didn't realize how lucky he and his X-ray vision had it. Not helping matters was the fact that the thick magical energy in the air had sent the most sensitive of his electronic and digital equipment on the fritz. His thermal scanner was able to narrow down three floors but no closer before the screen started to blur.

Then the thought hit him like a truck.

'When you can turn an obstacle into an asset, then you have truly mastered your battleground. That's what Sensei Fujimoto always said. If being close to the source of the magical energy interferes with my scanner then I can use that. The more distorted it gets, the closer I am.'

It was a long shot. Batman didn't even have time to test the hypothesis. But if it could say even precious seconds, if it could get Batman towards Necro and, hopefully, John Constantine faster, then it was worth trying. Pulling out the scanner, he did a quick 360 spin to see which direction distorted it the most. 

Northwest, he could work with that.

Rushing through the halls, Batman landed a well-placed kick on the chin of a goat-like demon, sending it flying backward. When it didn't get back up, he took a brief moment to lay some electrified tripwire across the hall. If it bought him a little extra time, it would be enough. He credited a good internal sense of direction that led him to navigate the holes of the dilapidated building. It would have been easier if he could just make a straight run for his target, but that was not the case here. He kicked open the door to the staircase, holding the scanner first down low, close to his knee, before raising it above his head.

'Up. I need to go up.'

One shot of his grappling gun later and Batman was zipping upward. One floor wasn't enough, three floor wasn't enough. Swinging himself forward, he landed perfectly balanced on the staircase's guardrail... and immediately shot forward when the metal and concrete began nervously shifting under him. As he ran, his left knee ached and jerked with each step. An old injured, long since healed but still not willing release it's hold on Bruce's body. 

'It's going to take me ten minutes to go up a flight of stairs by the time I'm sixty-five,'  he took a moment to mentally grumble. He pushed the bitterness away. Every day Batman could protect others was worth a lifetime of physical pain and beyond. 

Another three steps forward and the screen of the scanner dissolved completely to static. 

'Almost there,'  he thought, a slight, dark grin creeping up on his face. 

“ Cien Fleur: Wing! ” 100 limbs sprouted from her back and Robin kicked off from the ground, shooting up through the air Towards her target. Even now, after mainly years of practice, this was not an easy technique to maintain. Still, it allowed for quick traversal of the stairwell, and she needed to get to her target quickly.

‘Hold on, John. I’m almost here,’  Robin thought. She followed the urging of her haki, catching and swinging herself over the railing of the proper floor. She tapped the communicator. “Franky, are you still there?”

“Of course, babe. Got any news on why I just suplexed some weird, glowing alligator?” 

The cyborg didn’t sound disappointed about the action, and that made Robin grin. It really had been so long since they’d seen a proper fight. 

“I have no concrete evidence yet it can be assumed that whoever John was running from,” Robin replied. She peered around a doorway to see a pair of patrolling demon monkeys. A quick pair of sprouted limbs and two snapped necks took care of that issue. “I’m getting close. This may need to be a smash ‘n’ grab. Keep the van running.”

“Gotcha. Stay safe.”

“You as well, love.”

Robin crept through the halls, the sounds of movement and grunting echoed through the dilapidated building. When before long, her observation haki was screaming at her both that John was close and there was danger standing in her way. Turning a corner, she was met with a strange, dark red barrier. Hesitantly, she tapped the barrier with the tip of her finger. 

“Agh!” she hissed, yanking her hand back as a jolt of pain shot up her arm. ‘It looks like brute force is not ideal in this situation.’

She took a step back and, focusing on the closest wall behind the barrier, crossed her arms. “ Dos Fleur! … Umpf!”

Robin bit her lips against the burning pain that overtook her arms. No to that course of action as well.  ‘Magic. I do not think I live the magic of this world.’

It looks like I’ll have to be clever to beat this situation. 

New Castle was busy and colorful and a hard place to live. 

Of course,  any place  was hard to live when you're a runaway twelve-year-old with an arm that still ached and a suspicious aura. Under different circumstances, John's blond hair and blue eyes would have given him a sweet, cupid-esc look that would have adults around him cooing and going out of their way to help him. Instead, Jon's perpetual frown, bruises, and clothes that hung too loose off his frame gave him the sharp, rumpled look inter-city poor kids did. Store workers would keep a close eye on John when he wandered in; adults on the street would skirt around him, one hand firmly on their wallets and purses. 

Not that it mattered in the end. Magic helped. Magic could quite literally open locks and doors to the money and food that John needed. It could make people forget they ever saw him. Even without the magic, stealing came easily to John. Wallets were the most useful but watches and fancy bracelets worked too. It was harder to shoplift food than one would think, but little bottles of cough syrup and painkillers could easily be tucked into a pocket. And, in the event John was caught, it rarely mattered. 'Cause John was a charming son of bitch. If he could some underpaid employee or hapless moron to talk to him for more than two minutes, John could talk them into doing just about anything he wanted -money, food, rides, somewhere to sleep, smokes or booze. He could never take too much, or stay for too long otherwise people would get personal. They'd start asking questions, they'd get concerned, they'd get controlling. So John would leave, and he'd be back on the streets. 

Then John met Astra, and she took him home. All these years later, John still isn't sure if she did that because she wanted to help him, because Astra thought John could help  her,  or because Astra wanted some company in her own, personal hell. Whatever the answer, John couldn't blame her. 

As they say, misery loves company. As they say, misery loves company. If you had someone to suffer beside you then at least you weren't alone in your pain. John only wished he was strong enough to keep to himself.

He survived the events at the Casanova Club, not that he was happy about it. It had been a shitty place to live, kept only bearable by Astra's presence. But when it was gone John was left with nothing and no one and nowhere to go. Streets were as hard as and cold and he is as he remembered. If John spent the next year wandering the city, stealing smokes and booze wherever he could, then who cared? If John tried a dozen times to summon a demon he could barter his soul for to get Astra out of hell, then who cared? If John had tried to end it all more than once, then who cared?

But if there's one thing every street kid learned, it's that sticking around in one place for too long gets you noticed by the local authorities. And after one too many pushy questions, John skipped town. Then he skipped town again, and again, and again, and again until he eventually ended up completely skipping right over the pond to the States. Even to an underage novice, the magical community still talked and gossiped. Sometimes they even helped. And that was how John found out about Giovanni Zatara.

It had been a fool's hope, showing up on the man's doorstep begging for a teacher. The magic he learned from books he could steal and on the streets wasn't enough, not nearly enough. John wanted more. He wanted to know all the arcane world could offer him. So, of course, Zatara had passed away not long before he arrived, leaving behind a bombshell of a daughter who was kind enough to let John crash on the couch and cold enough to throw him out at the first sign of trouble.

That really was a theme in John's life.

Then there was Nick, but the lass set about that the better.

"Damned killer!" Thomas Constantine bellowed. "You should have been the one who died!"

He waved his belt like a flail, the metal buckle striking John under the chin and sending him stumbling backward until he hit the door. John grunted in pain, his knee giving out from under him, as he slid down the cracked wood and onto the floor.

John let out a weak cough, blood dribbling out of the corner of his mouth. His ribs ached, one of them likely cracked. 

"Maybe you're right," he mumbled. "Maybe I should have died. That would have been a hell of a lot easier than going through all of this."

"I should have drowned you in a pond like we did with the cat's unwanted liters!"

'Then go right ahead, you bastard,'  John thought. He wanted to close his eyes and let it all drift away. Drowning was apparently a God-awful way to die, but even that would have to be over eventually.

The old man lumbered closer to John, belt raised over his head to take another swing. The teenager tensioned and braced for the sting of leather on skin, only for this vision of his father to freeze in place. It stood there opposed to dole out more abuse, like some sort of grotesque statue. John stared up at it, not wanting to blink less it start moving again.

Then he heard slow clapping.

"I gotta admit, you are one tough cookie, Johnny Boy," Nick said. "This spell is no joke. The most I've ever heard of anyone enduring is about fifteen rounds. But you? Johnny, it took twenty-three rounds of turning your own inner demons back at you for you to finally break down."

Oh right... None of this was real. Well, wasn't that just bloody great? 

"Oh, shove off, you tosser," John grunted. "If you don't have the balls to kill me, or even the decency to just let me die, then give me some peace and quiet already."

Then Nick was there, standing right in front of John, and there was a hand in his hair. It was soft at first, gently stroking his blond locks in a way that was almost reassuring. Then the grip tightened, and John's head was yanked back.

"Not. Until. You tell me. Where. The Books of Magic. Are," Nick growled. When John rolled his eyes, he sneered and slammed John's head back against the door. "Come on John, would it kill you to do something  useful  for once in your life? After years of messing things up for everyone who knows you, this might be your one chance to actually help someone! Then you can die for all I care. Or maybe I'll take you back. Things won't be  exactly  how they were before, I'll need to keep you on a tighter leash. But at least you'll be around someone who cares about you. Hell, we both know I'm the  only  person who cares about you."

Part of John wanted to give in. After all, the world was messed up enough as is. Giant space aliens appeared to try and take over everything at least once a year, there were fish men in the ocean, and killer clowns roamed free. Nick may have been a right arse, but could a world he shaped really be much worse than the one they had? 

John opened his mouth. He was so tired, the words almost slipped down. Nick was right, John stupidity had gotten so many people hurt over the years. Hell, his own mother had died bringing him into this world. Maybe it was time to just let it all...

 "Why'd you do it?"

"Huh?"

"The bullet. Why'd you tried to shield me? You were under no obligation to do so, and I am more than capable of looking after myself."

John bit his lip, mind racing against the pain and the drugs to think of something to say. Eventually, all he could come up with was, "I didn't plan on anything, just acted in the moment. Don't overthink it. It didn't mean anything."

Nico Franks gave him a soft smile.

"Ah, well I still thank you for it," she said. "It was kind of you."

John had done that. He had protected Nico Franks from that gunshot. It hadn't been a choice he consciously made, nor one he benefited from in any way, as the woman herself said she would have been fine anyway. But Nico had been kind to him when she hadn't needed to be. She hadn't let the security guards find him, she'd given him the magnifying glass, she fed him, and, in that moment, John hadn't wanted her to die.

So he protected her, and she thanked him for it.

'If I gave in now, Niko Franks would be sad. Sad and disappointed.'

The thought shouldn't bother him, but it did. It also made him think of Chas. He hadn't talked to Chas in nearly two years now, but he still thought of the other boy as his best mate. Chas had always claimed that John was the strong one of the two, the one who could stand up to bullies and teachers alike, the one who got them into and out of trouble in equal measure. If John gave up now, on the dirty floor of his imagined childhood bedroom, poor Chas would be devastated.

"Come on, Johnny," he imagined his best friend saying. "You promised you didn't escape for the both of us. You promised you'd get settled somewhere and then, when the time is right, you'd come get me and we could start a band. my mom's a nasty piece of work, I won't be able to get away from her without your help. You promised!"

"Come one, Johnny Boy, spit it out," Nick cooed. 

"...You're wrong."

John forced himself upward and glared. "I said, you're wrong. I have helped people. Not as many as I've hurt, that's for sure. But I've helped people. There are people out there who care if I gave up. And their opinions are worth a lot more than you, you bloody tosser."

Nick's jaw dropped like he didn't believe what he was hearing. It was enough to make John laugh.  'Alright, Nicky wants to use my inner demons against me? Then I guess he should see them all laid out before him.'

The amusement ended when Nick's expression turned vicious once more. "You listen to me, you stupid bitch. I'm tired of your games, now tell me-"

Whatever insult or threat he was about to hiss was cut off when Constantine summoned a small fireball and chucked it into his stupid, smug face. As Nick sputtered and tried to slap the magical flames away, John rose to his feet. Even if this didn't work, he was at least going to go down swinging.

"Don't look so surprised. You were the one who locked us in a magical pocket, Nicky Boy," John mocked. "I can use my spells here, same as you."

Soot covering his face, it was Nick's turn to glare. "Your magic was never as strong as mine. You think that'll be different here, in a place created for the sole purpose of torturing you?"

"I told you, mate, no one can torture me worse than I torture myself," John grinned. "No one knows my demons better than me."

Without warning, the world around them shuddered and twisted again. John's old bedroom and the visage of his father, still frozen in place, began slipping away. This was it. John wasn't going to get a better opportunity than now. 

Touching his finger tips to his head, John closed his eyes and began to chant.  "Expelle tenebras meas! Festet inimicum caro mea amaritudo! Converte amaritudinem meam in telum contra eos qui noverunt me! Expelle tenebras meas! Festet inimicum caro mea amaritudo! Converte amaritudinem meam in telum contra eos qui noverunt me! Expelle tenebras meas! Festet inimicum caro mea amaritudo! Converte amaritudinem meam in telum contra eos qui noverunt me!"

The spell was complicated, and the incantation was long and complex. If John messed up even a single word or inflection of it, there was a good chance he'd scramble his own brain beyond repair. A very real possibility, especially considering he had only read this spell twice and never practiced it. But, as they say, you learn by doing and right now this might be the only thing that could save him.

John felt his body burn as a golden aura surrounded him. With every second that passed, it felt more and more like he was being ripped apart. But he chanted on and soon felt the magical energy begin pouring from his eyes and mouth. With one final brutal sensation of something being ripped away from him, the spell was complete. 

The teenager opened his eyes and grinned victoriously. Surrounding him with a small army of goblin-like creatures, a dozen or so, each about a foot tall and a crude caricature of John's own image with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a coat that didn't quite fit them.

A wave of exhaustion swept over him. John wanted so badly to collapse and fall into the welcoming arms of sleep. But he pushed that aside and stood strong. "You want my thoughts? You want my demons? Well, here they are. If you can beat them, I'm sure one of them will be able to tell you where the Books of Magic are."

With that, John gave the mental command for his personal army of dream demons to attack. They pounced on Nick without hesitation or mercy, biting and ripping at his clothes, hair, and skin before he got a chance to react. When Nick started to string together the words to form a spell, one reached in and ripped out his tongue. It was gruesome, and it made John's smile widen.

CRASH!

All at once, the world around them shattered into a million tiny fractals. They rained down from the sky before they two faded away into a white void so bright that John had to close his eyes so as not to go blind. When he opened them again, John was back in his crummy flat.

'It looks like I win this round.'

Chapter Text

For all that Dick and Tim liked to tease that Batman would always choose the most complicated, complex solution to any situation (undoubtedly provoked by Alfred and Superman), the Dark Knight understood the beauty of Occam's Razor. 

'The shortest path is usually a straight line,'  he thought as he primed the small, localized explosive on the ceiling above them. 

He had thoroughly scoped out the area Nick Necro was holding the young John Constantine hostage, finding no weak points. His call to Zatanna had yielded no response either, with the beautiful sorceress still busy fighting the sentry demons. In fact, no one had replied to his calls. Generally, that was a cause for concern. But Zatanna had warned them that their coms would likely fail the longer they spent in the magical bubble. Magic and technology, it seemed, were never intended to exist side by side for long.

At least, that is what Batman told himself.

'I can't think about them now. Zatanna, Flash, and the others know what they're doing. They are trusting me to do my job, and that is to find and save this kid. That is what I must focus on.'

So when he couldn't find a way to slip inside the bubble silently, it left the back of Gotham to try brute force and surprise. As a general rule, Batman preferred stealth. He was a prideful man, yes, but Batman did not let his ego drive him. He knew his limitations, and he understood very well when an opponent was stronger than him. Being quick, clever, and quiet had always served him well; it had allowed him to figure out his opponents' weaknesses and take advantage of them before his enemies even knew he was there.

Now though, Batman would have to rely on simply being fast enough to surprise Nick Necro. He didn't know the extent of the man's abilities, but something he had learned from Zatanna and her father was that magic users tended to neglect their physicality in favor of their magic. If he could land a strong enough attack on this man before any spells could be cast, he would win.

And he  had  to win.

Which meant finding another way. Inspiration for that other way had come from an observation, that the bubble was not truly a bubble. In fact, it was closer to a dome. The red energy expanded to cover the dilapidated apartment, but it did not cover the floor. Therefore, the floor was theoretically a weak point. Doubling back down the stairs, Batman found the apartment directly underneath the one John Constantine had been squatting in. Like many of these similar low-income, mass-developed apartment buildings, the layout of all the floors was the same. Which meant that the ceiling of this apartment's bathroom was effectively the floor of the one above it. And, with a little creative demolition, it would serve as an ideal entryway into the apartment above.

Ideally, Batman could have just detonated a hole in the living room, grappled up, knocked out Nick Necro, and been done with it all in under thirty seconds. But Constantine's presence complicated everything. He couldn't risk a demolition that close to the teenager; he was there to save the teenager, not accidentally blow his leg off. So the bathroom it was, even if it would likely add another minute to this endeavor.

Oh well, you work with what you got.

And what Batman had was the equivalent of a high-tech spray can of gelignite. To most people, the gelatinous explosive was mostly useful for mining purposes. Batman was more creative than most. Creative but careful, it took many tests to ensure that the formula he used would never be enough to harm innocent civilians or himself. It was a tool, not a weapon.

Satisfied by the ring of gel on the ceiling, Batman ducked behind the wall and crouched down, hitting the detonate button on his gauntlet. He was not a man to pray often, but he took a half second to do so now. If this technology didn't work, Batman was going to have to light that explosive by hand.

BOOOOOOM!!!

The explosion was enough to rattle his teeth and popped his ears, but the Dark Knight didn't give himself time to get his bearings. He sprung to his feet and rushed forward toward his newly created entrance. Drawing his grappling gun, Batman fired. The claw latched onto the ceiling above, and with the push of a button, Batman was propelled upward. He didn't even bother recalling his gadget when he got his feet on solid ground once more, instead letting it hang there as he threw himself against this apartment's closed bathroom door.

CRASH!

The cheap, hollow core door gave way easily under the force of Batman's shoulder. He couldn't even say it was flung open so much as it  crumpled  open. Still, the sound was loud and distracting, exactly what Batman needed.

Under different circumstances, Batman would have allowed himself a moment to enjoy the stunned, dumbstruck look on Nick Necro's face as Batman crashed into the room. Instead, he whipped a taser bolo from his utility belt, and toward the man. Its thin wires were not even visible as it flew through the air. Then again, even if Necro had been able to see them, it moved so fast that he didn't even have time to blink before the wires wrapped tightly around his body, pinning Necro's arms to his side. The wizard opened his mouth, surely about to grunt a spell, but his words died immediately on his lips as the bolo's tazer function was activated, its wires turning electric blue and zapping him into unconsciousness.

As Necro's body hit the ground, the red energy that incased them flickered before fading away.

'Still under 60 seconds. Not bad.'

Batman still could have been faster.

"Fuckin' bloody bastard," John Constantine growled, staring down at Necro's prone form. 

Dark Knight glanced over at the teenager, his lips pressing together into a barely contained scowl at what he saw. Looked like he could have been one of the dozens of underage boys who came in from street corners to be checked over at Leslie Tompkins’ clinic -covered in half-healed scrapes, cuts, and bruises, dark circles hung under tired, hostile blue eyes, and a recently split lip was swollen up. He was also favoring one side of his body over the other, one shoulder slumped lower in a clear sign of pain and injury. This was made even more prominent by the way Constantine's hands were still tucked behind his back.

'Odd,'  he thought, eyes narrowing behind his cowl.

Was Constantine hiding a weapon? It was possible, the teenager might have been waiting for an opening to attack Necro himself. He needed Constantine to show his hands.

"You're safe now," Batman said. He stepped forward and held out a hand. "Come on, I can get you out of here."

The teenager said nothing, his eyes narrowing as he stepped back.

Batman remembered what Green Lantern and Flash said about kids like this. Hostile and untrusting towards adults, but also terrified. He remembered when Dick and Tim both came to the Manor for the first time, so young and yet already so world-weary from the hand they'd been dealt.

"I know what he- " he jerked his head toward Necro, still lying on the filthy floor where he belonged "-did to you," Batman said, gently as he could manage. "He won't do it again. I'll make sure of it."

It was a risky move. No one liked talking about how they'd been abused, teenage boys less so than most. Machismo and societal pressure against the idea that males could be the victim of such a horrendous crime almost being more effective in keeping victims silent than their abuser's threats ever could be. Still, Batman wanted to say it. Part of him thought that it was a false promise. After all, not even The Dark Knight could truly make sure it never happened again.

But he would do his damnedest to make sure Nick Necro never even set eyes on John Constantine again. 

He pulled out a pair of iron restraints, specifically handed out by Zatanna for the specific purpose of bringing Necro in. Batman couldn't say he liked them. The restraints felt oddly cold in his hand, to the point he could feel it through his glove, as well as being lighter than iron usually was; however, the strangest thing about them was the purple runes that glowed off the surface. In some ways, they were beautiful, and in most others, they made Batman uneasy.

That being said, these restraints did as advertised, he'd be asking Zatanna for a few pairs to take home. It'd good to keep a thing like this in the back cave in case of emergencies. And the sorceress was sweet enough on him that Batman could surely talk her into it.

At the sight of the restraints, Constantine scrambled even further away. The fear was obvious in his eyes, overtaking even his anger and mistrust. Batman didn't allow himself to look directly at the teenager though, instead approaching Necro's body and kneel down to restrain him properly.

Constantine wouldn't talk now, it was clear he was still too skittish and fearful. If they hoped to win him over, they'd have to get the teenager more comfortable. Something to eat, a mug of hot chocolate, a shower, and some clean clothes would do wonders. That's what Alfred had always said, and it never failed to be true. Not with Tim, not with Dick, not even with Bruce himself, all those years ago.

And the first step was getting the teenager's abuser safely restrained and thrown into one of the Watchtower's very expensive and  very  fortified cells.

But just as Batman reached out to roll Necro onto his back so he could start securing the man's wrist, Constantine yelled out from behind him.

"Get back! That isn't him!"

Relying more on instinct than thought, Batman threw himself to the side as the figure on the floor started to flicker and fade. He rolled to his feet just in time for it to disappear entirely.

"It's an illusion!" Constantine yelled. "It's another layer to the illusion!"

'Did he know this whole time?'

A slight movement out of the corner of his left eye, as well as the immense feeling of something behind him, gave Batman all the warning he needed to leap out of the way of a bright bolt of magical energy.

Hand going to his utility belt once more, ready to deploy a battering the second he got an opening, Batman glared at the man before him. "Nicholas Nolan, I presume?"

The use of his birth name hit its mark. The sorceror scowled, an ugly expression that contorted handsome features that wouldn't have been out of place on a movie star or young, upcoming politician. It was almost laughable how Necro forced himself to smile. 

Less laughable was how he moved across the room so he was standing between Batman and Constantine.

"Nick Necro, if you don't mind," he said, voice oily and false. He looked Batman up and down. "I'm sure you, of all people, understand a preference toward a specific name."

Batman glared. "I'm going to one chance to leave. Leave now and pray I never have reason to find you again."

Zatanna though, would definitely have reason to track Necro down again. There was no way he was walking away from this completely. But Batman wasn't above exploiting a couple of loopholes here and there. Hell, that was how he got most of his Batman-related projects funded via company funds

He really  did  owe Luicis that expensive steak dinner.

Necro laughed, a sound that made Batman want to punch out the man's teeth. "How generous. I've heard all about the Big Bad Bat of Gotham. But, honestly, I am so far out of your league that you should just turn around, leave me to my business, and go-"

"Ignis ignis manus ignis! Afferte mihi potestatem ignis!"

There was a bright red and heat from Constantine's direction as he lunged for Necro. The man whirled around, only able to make out a strangled scream when the teenager grabbed ahold of Necro's face. 

"A little burn makes it better, isn't that what you also told me, Nicky?" Constantine hissed. "Then I'm sure this feels like a dream!"

The screaming that filled the room was... Agonizing. As was the smell of burning flesh. Necro fell to the ground, writhing and kicking, as John came down on top of them. Desperate to maintain his grip. By the time Batman had crossed the room, grabbed a hold of the collar of the teenager's shirt, and pull him off, there were a pair of twin handprints burned deep into the sides of Necro's face.

"He's down," Batman said. Just to be safe, he stopped down on Necro's stomach.

"Bastard!" Constantine growled, aiming a sloppy, bared-footed kick at Neco's side. 

Batman pulled him further away. Better to be safe than sorry. Still feeling the heat, he looked down at the teenager's hands, eyebrows raising when he saw they were glowing bright with small flames dancing around each digit. 

Constantine caught his gaze and shook his hands out, extinguishing them. Fire melted back into soft flesh. "Just a spell," he muttered. Then he smacked the hand that was still gripping the back of his shirt. "And let me go!"

"Earlier, you knew we were still under an illusion. How?"

"I could still feel the damn bonds he had on my wrists. Spells like that, they can change what you hear, what you see, but not what you feel. It's a parlor trick, but good for a distraction. The bloody arse must have had it in place as a backup plan."

Alfred would have a fit if he heard this kid's mouth.

Why didn't you warn me sooner?" Batman demanded, ignoring the fingers trying to pull his gloved hand. 

"I thought you might be part of the illusion, didn't trust you." The teenager shot him a sharp look. "I still don't."

Batman gave him another once over. He was thin. Teenage boys usually were, despite the seemingly endless amounts of food they could put away. He doubted Constantine was eating enough for his age and height. But there was more: a damp, dark smudge over his right shoulder. And under it, peaking out from the collar of his shirt, was the white fabric of gauze bandages. 

'Blood.'

"...Fair enough," he said, releasing his grip. 

The teenager immediately pulled away, putting a solid six feet of distance between them. Constantine's left hand immediately came up to cradle his injured shoulder. 

"Did Necro do that?" Batman asked. 

Still suspicious, the teenager turned away -doing his best to hide his shoulder from view.  

"Fell down the stairs," he grunted. "What are you doing here?"

That was a question that Batman got asked far less often than one might think. Usually, his arrival got screams of terror, gasps of relief, or angry roars. All of which he could understand. But a teenager asking why he was here before thanking him for the save? Now, that was unusual. 

"Zatanna. She contacted the League to find you."

Constantine clicked his tongue. "Yeesh, she must still be salty I nicked those books. It was only a couple, seems greedy when she has a whole library to herself."

The teenager said it so easily, it was surprising. 

"No," Batman said slowly. "She was worried about you."

"Yeah, worried enough to throw me out," Constantine scoffed. Walking over to a discarded tan trenchcoat, he picked it up, pulled it one, and fished around the pockets until he pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes out. When Batman cocked an eyebrow, the teenager scoffed. "What are you looking at? I smoke, and you dress like a giant rodent and punch people every night. Are you really going to claim  I'm  the one with an unhealthy method of dealing with stress?"

Then, still staring Batman dead in the eye, Constantine popped a cigarette into his mouth and went to light it when-

BAM!

Constantine jumped further back, bringing his hands up as if to block his face as the cigarette fell from his lips. Batman whirled around to face the source of the noise, hand going to his belt. The teenager still didn't trust him, but that didn't mean the Dark Knight wouldn't defend him.

BAM!

At the sound of impact, a large crack appeared in the out-facing wall of the apartment. Confused, but still cautious, Batman inched closer.

BAM! BAM! BAM! BOOM!

With an explosion of dust and rubble, the wall gave way, revealing a smiling Wonder Woman and Hawkgirl. Behind them, hovered the Javelin with J'onn in the cockpit. 

The Martin steered the Javelin around, its loading door lowering so a Flash and Zatanna could greet them with a twin pair of happy waves. 

"Saved the day again, eh Bats?" Flash asked. "Always got to steal the glory from the rest of us?"

Any response that Batman could have to that stupid question was lost when Zatanna leaped from the Javelin and into the apartment, rushing forward to hug Constantine.

"Oh, John," she said, "I'm so glad you're okay."

'Okay' was a gross exaggeration, anyone could tell that just by looking at Constantine. If not from the half-healed injuries that covered his body, then from the way the teenager stiffened in horror as Zatanna hugged him.

"Uh... Good to see you too, Zee. You and the rest of the capes, tights, and cowls club," he coughed, scanning the rest of the room over the sorceress' shoulder. "But I, um, need to get going."

He pulled away from the woman, outright yanking his trenchcoat from Zatanna's hands as he started inching toward the door. 

"Wait!" Zatanna grabbed his sleeve, pulling Constantine back. Batman frowned as the teen winced, the motion undoubtedly irritating his injured shoulder. "John, I talked to Madame Xanadu. She's going to take over your education. You're going to stay with her from now on."

For a moment, Constantine looked dumbfounded... before jerking away and glaring. "I'm no charity case, Zee. And I  don't  like it when people try to decide my life."

His eyes flickered toward the door once more, muscles tensioning in a way that made it clear that he was ready to bolt. Batman shifted himself, ready to chase or block the door. He could understand the desire to go it alone, but he wasn't about to let more teenagers suffer than absolutely necessary. A glance to the side told Batman that his colleagues were thinking the same.

"Hey, calm down now. No one trying to force anyone to do anything they don't want to," Flash said, voice all gentle cheer. He jumped into the room, Flash raised his hands and slowly approached Constantine. "Look, kid, we're just here to help. I know that-"

BOOOOMMMMM!

The force of the... explosion(?) was enough to shake the building, knocking Constantine and Zatanna to their knees as he and Flash scrambled to stay upright. Out of the corner of his eye, Batman saw J'onn pull the Javelin away from the side of the building as rumble rained down -Wonder Woman and Hawkgirl dodging and smashing the chunks of stone in equal measure. 

Then, barely detectable over the rumbling, was the laughter. Laughter comes from the prone, smoking form of Nick Necro. As swirls of crimson and black energy filled the air, Batman could only think,

'What's going on now?'

Pain shot through John's body as his knees hit the hard floor, coupled when he stumbled forward, and his chin clunked against the wood.

' How many lips can I bust in one day?'  John wondered. Blinking the stars from his eyes, he forced himself up and glanced at the swirling energy around him. "This isn't good."

"No," Zee whispered. "This... This is a fail-safe. If the spell fails... Or the spellcaster falls, the last lingering energy compresses into one final burst of guard demons."

She swallowed hard. "Everyone, be ready! Something bad is coming!" 

As if on cue, the head of a glowing-eyed, red-skinned, massive cobra-like demon appeared in the hole in the wall, lunging up at Wonder Woman and Hawkgirl, who dodged it. 

"Are we lucky enough for that to be the only one?" John asked Zatanna. 

He'd been bitten by an adder when he was a kid, and had never liked snakes since then. A giant demonic one was pretty high on his list of things John did not want to face, especially not after everything he'd gone through today.

Zee silently shook her head, flinching when something unseen let out a massive roar. Wordlessly, the Superhero Squad leaped back into action. It was all very noble, and John was happy he'd never have to be like that. So stupid. He had more important things to worry about.

"Nicky, you've got to stop this!" he yelled at the cackling man. 

His former teacher, his former...  everything  lifted his head from the floor to look at John. That handsome face, the one that used to give him so much joy, was ruined. Even without the burns John himself had inflicted, the mania in his eyes was the ugliest thing John had ever seen.

"Bloody useless!" John scrambled for the dirty area rug that covered the middle of the floor. He yanked it to the side, coughing at the dirt cloud that kicked up, to reveal the sigil trap he'd painted on the floor when he first 'moved into' the apartment. "Zee, I need your-"

"Nrut ot tsud!"

John looked upward just in time to see several chunks of ceiling dissolve to dust, covering him and almost certainly asbestos-filled tan powder. Oh well, still better from getting knocked out from a chunk of ceiling tile. Of all the ways he was likely to die, John would prefer not to go out in a way that humiliating.

"John, you need to get out of here," Zatanna yelled over the sounds of combat echoing from outside.

"How? It's not exactly a peaceful spring day outside!" John shouted back, pointing through the destroyed wall where Hawkgirl was beating a demon-gorilla to death while Batman clung onto its back. "We've got to get rid of them! Help me!"

Nick's laughter increased. "You'll never be able to-"

"Shut up!" he and Zee demanded at the same time.

The sorceress looked down at the sigil trap, lips pursing. John knew what she was thinking, these types of magical traps could be dangerous. If they were drawn wrong then they could backfire. And when magic backfired, it typically backfired with deadly results.

And yet... What other choice did they have? Even if he had the energy, John didn't think he could leave the people who had helped him behind. Life wasn't fair, sure, but John rarely played by the rules of life.

"...Alright," Zatanna agreed reluctantly. She crawled over and crouched across from John, holding out her hands. "Do you know the incantation?"

John grinned. "Wouldn't have set up the trap without knowing it."

He'd learned his lesson about messing with things outside his control.

They began to chant, their voices reverberating through the room. Magical energy sparked between them, and the sigils painted on the ground started to glow bright white and gold, Zatanna and John's magic combining to activate the trap. The vortex started, sucking in the lingering remnants of Nick's spell from the environment. 

CRUNCH!

John's eyes widened in shock as fractures appeared in the ceiling of the apartment. It was only due to luck and instinct that he was able to keep up with his chanting. If he and Zee stopped now there was no telling what the portal would spit back out. The sorceress met his eyes, and he could tell she was thinking the same thing.

'Can we finish before-'

An air-splitting crunch was the only thing that warned them of the ceiling collapsing in on them. John shut his eyes, ready for it to be over... Only for the pain to never come. His eyes peeking open, he almost gasped when he saw a dozen pairs of long, lean permanent arms crisscrossing across the ceiling, holding it up.

'Nico...'

She was here. She came to help him. 

Joy sparking in John's heart, he refocused himself on the spell he was casting. In Sync with Zatanna, they pushed through the final words. The pulse of energy that flooded the room as the spell was finished, the vortex opening fully, was a euphoric satisfaction. 

"There, it's in place" Zee yelled. She jumped up, rushing over to pull John to his feet. "We've got to go!"

John didn't want to go with her. Sure, Zee was nice enough, and pretty as a peach to boot. But she threw him out once, and that meant he couldn't trust her. And he certainly didn't know enough about this Madame Xanadu to trust her!

'If Nico is anywhere around here, I should find her. She might be in danger.'

Zatanna started pulling him toward the destroyed wall. "C'mon!" 

The tugging aggravated his injured shoulder, sending jolts of pain through John's entire body. Without thinking, he moved with Zatanna's tugging.

"Wait, I-"

A hand seized John's ankle, stopping him in his tracks. He looked down at Nick's ruined face. He wasn't laughing anymore. 

"You can't- You don't get to leave me!" Nick hissed as he glared up at John. 

Behind him, John heard Zatanna growl. "I forgot about him. We'll have to-"

"I've got this."

John pulled Nicky to his feet and stared into those beautiful, deranged brown eyes. Leaning close, he kissed the man's cheek before whispering in his ear. "Sorry, Nicky, but you were the one who taught me this little trick. So I look like I'm the one screwing  you  this time. This ends here."

Then, without hesitation, John shoved Nick backward. The man stumbled, shrieking and swearing as he was caught in the pull of the magical vortex. Not waiting to see the result, John turned on his heel to face Zatanna. 

The sorceress's face was pale. "That spell doesn't affect humans."

"It does if you tweak it to target the caster of the spell you're trying to suck up," John grunted. Nicky was the one who'd shown him that little loophole. The building shuttered one more, only barely holding it together with the damage it was taking. He glanced up at the arms still holding the ceiling up. "Let's go."

After a moment, Zatanna pulled herself back to the present and nodded. She reached up and tapped a small device on her ear. "J'onn, come get us!"

Before John could fully understand what was happening, he was being swept into the good guys brigade neat little plane and shoved down into a seat at the back of it as the aircraft started to raise into the sky.

The green guy piloting jerked the plane to the side as the nasty bugger of a snake lunged at them once more. Even with the vortex kicking up, that thing was the last holdout of Nick's spell.

"No more magic for a while!" the Flash yelled, as they were jostled. 

"Just go! The vortex Zee and I set up will take care of it! Just go!" John shouted back. 

"Are we really trusting a kid in a trenchcoat here?" Hawkgirl asked. "I still say I should go take care of that thing myself!"

As if responding to her challenge, the demonic beast reared back and prepared to strike once more... Only for a massive arm, nearly fifteen meters in length, sprouted up from the ground. The hand grabbed the snake, slamming it hard into the concrete and pinning it in place. 

"What in Hera's name is that?" Wonder Woman gasped. 

While the heroes were in shock at the odd sight before them, John's eyes darted around the inside of the plane, hoping to see- Yes, there it was. 

The familiar brown eyes of Nico Franks peer out at him from the shadows. They met his, a clear question shining from their depths. It was such a relief that John could barely even hear Zatanna yelling for them to go.

Slowly and silently, John shook his head.  'No, you can't help me here.'

Then, in a blink, the eyes were gone, and John was alone once more.

The table in front of John was a gleaming chrome, so well polished that he could see his reflection in it. It wasn't a pretty sight.

The door of the room opened, and Flash walked in, a big smile on his face and a big tray of food balanced in his hands. John's stomach clenched with  want  when he caught a whiff of roasted chicken. He refused to let it show though; after all, all the food in the world didn't change how the door slid shut behind the superhero, audibly locking. 

John crossed his arms, careful not to irritate his freshly bandaged shoulder. "What are you, Good Cop or Bad Cop?"

Flash put the tray down on the table. "I'm the  young  cop. They sent me in hoping I can talk your lingo. It was a toss up between me and Wonder Woman coming in to talk to you, and I figured you wouldn't want someone getting too gentle with you. "

Then he pulled out one of the other chairs and sat down so he was straddling the seat, arms folded over the back of it. "So, why don't you want to leave?"

With a scoff, John leaned back. "Would you want to stay in a place where you were locked up in a room and not allowed to leave?"

"We're not holding you prisoner, kid."

"You're saying that door isn't locked? With both magical seals and whatever tech nonsense you've all cooked up?" John asked, nodding toward the exit. "That I can stand up and leave whenever I want?"

"Hmmm, fair enough. But, John, you're sixteen, got a bullet hole in your shoulder, and are in America illegally. We can't exactly just drop you off outside a 7/11 and call it a day," Flash said. He cocked his head to the side. "I understand that you might not want help -trust me, I remember being your age and feeling like I was alone in the world- but don't you want to help yourself? Zatanna says this Madame Xanadu is a good teacher. I bet you could learn a lot from her."

He probably could, but that wasn't where John wanted to go. He couldn't trust this lady to put up with him. And, for all John knew, she wanted something out of him too. They all did. 

'Everyone except...'  He thought of a comfy couch, way bigger than normal. Of a tasty sandwich and stories about an island in the sky.  'She came for me. I ran and stole from her, and she still came for me.'

John wanted to go back to that weird, underground house. He wanted to go back to Nico Franks. He wanted to meet the unseen husband who bandaged him up and tucked John into bed without even knowing who the hell he was.

He wanted to be safe. He wanted to be safe and  free! 

And to get that, he'd need 60 seconds alone and some blood. 

'Time to put on a show, Johnny.'

He slumped down in the chair, peeking up at Flash through his messy bangs. "Would you believe I'm scared?"

The smile he got in return was soft enough that John almost felt bad about what he was about to do. Almost. 

"Yeah, I can believe that," Flash said. "But would it be so horrible to try? If nothing else, you'll get some new, awesome magic spells! And who know? Maybe you can even join the Justice League one day!"

John almost gagged at the thought. "I guess... Can you go get Zatanna, please? I want to talk to her. In private?"

He added that last part so Flash wouldn't try to hang around. 

"Yeah, no problem. Oh, and try to eat something. Our food is a lot better than high school cafeteria goop, I promise," Flash said, pushing the tray closer to John. 

As he stood to leave, John held his breath.  'C'mon, leave so I can-'

"Hey?"

John jerked but tried not to let it show. He forced a smile. "Yeah?"

"When you graduate from Hogwarts, promise you'll come show me how to pull a rabbit out of a hat?" Flash teased. 

Nearly groaning at the corny joke, John nodded. "Sure, but you gotta keep it. Rabbits don't go back  in  the hat nearly as easy."

With a laugh and a wave, Flash left the room. He was a nice guy, but John didn't let himself think too much on that before sliding a hand under the collar of his shift. He pulled the bandages out of the way, and, bracing for the pain, dug his fingers into the bullet wound. John's blunt fingernails tore through his stitches, grimacing as blood started to spill down his arm and chest. 

It wasn't pleasant but it gave John what he needed. 

His hand dripping with blood, John began scrawling the right ruins on the shiny tabletop as he chanted a spell.  '40 seconds.'

.

.

.

"JOHN!" Zatanna rushed through the door, face pale once more. Behind her, John could see the rest of the Heroes Club. "What are you-"

WOOOOOOOOSH!

Heat flooded John's body as his vision was overtaken by bright white light. He was rushing, his body being pulled through space and time in an instant. Away from the heroes' weird space station and toward the place he most wanted to be.

Then- 

"Umpf!" 

John hit the ground hard, sprawling out in the grass. When the pounding in his ears lessened, he could hear the peaceful sounds of crashing waves and strong, cliff-side wind. The teenager gasped, trying simultaneously to catch his breath and not throw up. He might have passed out at some point if the way the sky changed between blinks was any indication, but it was hard to say. 

All John knew was that in one moment he was alone, then he opened his to see a pair of legs in front of him. He let his eyes trail upward to meet the warm, worried eyes of Nico Franks and then smiled.

"Can I stay?" he asked, voice weak. "Please, I want to stay."

A warm hand cupped the back of his neck. "Of course."

Chapter Text

Robin pulled John to his feet carefully, sprouting an extra arm to help her support the boy as she led him towards the back door of her surface home. Under different circumstances, she may have taken him through the cave entrance that was well obscured in the jagged cliffs below. However, with how unsteady John was on his feet, she didn't want to risk him slipping on the slick, narrow stairwell that could lead down there. The sea breeze was also powerful and cold, and she wanted to get inside quickly.

'I'll show him Sunny soon,'  Robin promised herself. John would love the ship, she was sure. 

Reaching the door, Robin quickly tapped in the 12-digit security code and scanned her thumbprint, only after which the door swung open on its own.

"Fancy," John said. His eyes darted around the dim, quaintly decorated halls of this surface shell of a home. "Nice place you've got here."

The teenager was surely smart enough to notice the precise, almost clinical nature of the home. There was no personalized clutter -no half-read books left open on coffee tables, or cardigans left draped over the back of the chair- and the only pictures were of things such as animals, landscapes, or people that could have easily been taken as stock images for all the sentimentality they held for Robin.

So she flashed him a secretive grin as she went over to one of the bookcases, running her finger along the top of one of the shelves until her finger caught the trigger that allowed the false door to slide aside to reveal one of their hidden elevators.  

"It serves its purposes," she said, enjoying John's slacked-jawed expression. 

The sprouted hand grabbed a knitted gray throw from its place on the back of the couch and tossed it their way. Robin caught it and draped it over John's shoulders. A combination of blood loss, recent experiences, and who knows what else would likely have shock setting in soon, a little comfort would help.

 And besides, it was about time some of the stuff up here got put to good use.

She herded John into the elevator with the gentleness usually reserved for small children or frightened animals. Robin would never describe the action to the teenager in such a way, of course, for risk of offending his pride. Pride was important to young men, after all, and could even be beneficial. So long as it didn't turn into arrogance.

"I'm sure you have many questions," Robin said as the elevator descended, "And I will be happy to answer them. But first, I want to get you patched up, fed, and changed into something more comfortable."

'And clean,'  she thought, eyeing the dark smudges on John's face and hands, along with the growing spot blooming on the shoulder of his coat. It looked like Robin would be cleaning and patching that thing once more. 

John's response, however, caught Robin by surprise. 

"Not really," he mumbled, rubbing his face and leaning against the elevator wall. "Mostly I just want to..."

He trailed off, eyes drifting close, but the meaning of his words was clear. Robin reached out and gently tapped his cheek, causing blue eyes to flicker back open. "Hey now, no sleeping. Rest is important for healing, but first, we need to get you mended and fed. Unless you want to be scrubbed down and tended to while unconscious by Franky again, that is. More than that, I need to ensure you don't have a concussion."

The teenager scrunched up his nose. "Franky... That's your husband, right?"

Good, John's mind hadn't completely drifted away. That meant that Robin still had an hour or so before the exhaustion truly set in. She would have to work quickly yet that was nothing new. As a hunted child, a feared pirate, and as CEO, Robin was used to speedy solutions.

"Indeed, he is the love of my life," she nodded. Cocking her head to the side in consideration, Robin continued. "You will like him, I believe. My Franky also has this soft spot for misfits. He will be glad to learn you are joining us. I warn you though, Franky is a brilliant man, yet eccentric, loud, and strange-looking. He means no harm and has his tender side but neither of us will be offended if you are intimidated at first. If there ever comes some time that you need a bit of distance, simply let us know."

John grunted in acknowledgment. "How bad can he be?"

Robin resisted the urge to chuckle. Oh, if only the boy knew.

'He will soon enough, I suppose.'

Ding!

The elevator doors opened and, once more, Robin herded the teenager through the halls toward the kitchen. 

"Any of this look familiar?" she asked, deciding to test John's memory. If nothing else, keeping him engaged would lessen the chance of John drifting off on his feet. 

"Yeah, the living room I crashed in is that way, right?" John asked, waving his hand at the entrance of a corridor they passed. "And I think we're headed for the kitchen."

" Fufufu , right," Robin nodded. "How does steak sound?"

The loud rumbling of John's stomach answered the question for the teenager, who looked down at his own body as if offended by the betrayal. Robin bit the inside of her cheek to stop from laughing -Sanji would not have approved of it. Even if the expression on John's face was amusing, hunger was no laughing matter. 

A few more steps, and they emerged into the kitchen. Not for the first time, Robin was glad they'd gone with warm cherry wood and Cristalita blue marble countertops for their kitchen's aesthetic. The combination looked much more welcoming than the cold sterility of white paint and shining chrome. 

Silently, Robin pushed John down into one of the empty seats on the kitchen island, careful not to jostle his injured shoulder too badly. It was a sign of the teenager's deep exhaustion that he neither argued against nor fought the action. Instead, John just put his head down on his folded arms, the blanket slipping down to pool where his waist met the back of the chair, and watched Robin bustle about. 

Sprouting a few extra arms from the island countertop, Robin grabbed a tangerine from the fruit bowl and peeled it. Presenting the fruit to John, it was a relief when the teenager took and ate it without hesitation. the sugar and vitamins would be good for John's blood loss. It also bought her some time as Robin pulled several thick DeBragga steaks from the fridge and set them on the counter with the oil and herbs that would pair best with them in the cooking process, along with various odds and ends that could be used to create the different side dishes that were forming and Robin's mind. 

'Mushroom gravy, of course. Sauteed asparagus maybe? Or should I do something with spinach? Definitely need to have some sort of green vegetable. There's always something with potatoes, but should they be mashed or roasted? And what about dessert? Well, we have those berries that I've been meaning to use... Blueberry or Raspberry crumble bars maybe? Those are simple to make and aren't too sweet.'

It was 5:00 PM, a good time to start dinner and for that reason, Robin didn't hesitate to start up on the steaks and mushroom gravy. Still, that would take time so a chain line of hands dropped a bottle of pomegranate juice up in front of John while another set of hands whipped up a tuna sandwich.

"It's harder to find good, fresh fish here than it was while sailing the seas," Robin said, more to keep up a conversation than anything else. She didn't want John to pass out. "This world also has a far more limited selection and mine does. Not a single blue-finned elephant tuna to be found anywhere."

"...Elephant tuna?" John mumbled, sipping the juice. "Never heard of that thing."

"No, I suppose you wouldn't have. It's a very large fish, easily longer than a man can be tall and twice as heavy, a pair of tusks it can grow and a trunk-like snout. It is also incredibly delicious, and our dear Sanji had several fantastic recipes involving it. Like many of his meals, I miss them terribly."

"Hmmm. Could he make fish and chips out of it?" John asked. "That's my favorite."

"I don't see why not."

That was good. John was already thinking of a future in which he stayed with Franky and Robin, one where he got to meet the rest of the straw hats. Even if he didn't know it yet.

The tuna sandwich found its way in front of John in minutes, leaving the teenage boy to nibble at it tiredly at first before polishing off the rest in three large bites. He looked on the verge of asking for a second when he was cut off by a rhythmic  thud thud thud  that signaled Robin's favorite cyborg would soon be joining them. 

John looked back towards the hallway, confused. "What the bloody hell is that? It sounds like-"

"OOOOOoooowwww! Baaaayyyyybeeeee, is that steak I smell grilling?!" 

There he was. Robin's husband, the love of her life. Her world's most advanced, and unusual cyborg. The shipwright of the straw hat pirates, and the creator of the  Thousand Sunny . And so many other things as well. He stood at the entrance to the kitchen, in all his Hawaiian shirt and Speedo-wearing glory, striking a pose as he threw his head back -massive form filling the doorframe. Today his speedo was blue, his shirt was red with neon green penguins, and his hair had been morphed into the shape of a beehive. 

He was glorious. 

"I can't fool that nose of yours, dear," Robin laughed. "You'll have your usual, I assume?"

"Rare on the inside, charred on the out! Like a real man," the cyborg said, thumping a large, metal hand against his chest to emphasize his point. It was then that he finally noticed their visitor. He blinked down at John. "Huh, you came back on your own. I guess I lost that bet. I thought we would end up dragging your unconscious butt back here."

The sound of Franky's voice was enough to pull the gaping teenager back to the present.

"Ah!" He yelped, throwing himself back with such force that he almost toppled over the chair. Frantic blue eyes started around the kitchen before landing on the fruit bowl. As Robin watched on in amusement, John grabbed a banana and hurled it with all of his might at Franky.

The yellow fruit hit the cyborg's chest before bouncing off and falling to the floor. Franky glanced down at it before looking back at John. "I think I liked you better last time we met."

"Franky!" Robin sprouted a hand from the wall beside her husband and gave him a good smack across the back of the head. "Be nice!"

She turned back to John and said, "Apologies. This cretin is my husband, Franky. Technically you two have already met; he was the one who tended to your wounds and cleaned you up the first time you stayed at our house. But you were unconscious and so I understand you not remembering him. He's happy to have you here too.  Aren't you,  Franky?" 

The cyborg rubbed the back of his head. "Yeah... Of course, I am!" Putting his hand on his hips, Franky smiled. "Glad to see you, kid. Even if you look more beat up since the last time I've seen you."

Now it was John's turn to blink, still silent. 

"Speaking of that," Robin interrupted. "I need to grab the first aid so I can fix John up before dinner. Darling, would you mind taking over here so I can do that."

"Not a problem, babe. Medium-rare?"

"You know me so well."

Passing the spatula to Franky, Robin headed for the hallway. For a brief moment, she swore she caught a brief look of panic crossing John's face.

'Poor thing,'  she thought.  'He probably doesn't want me to go. For all the unanswered questions between us, he and I at least have had conversations.'

Still, Robin could not let her heart grow too soft in this instance. If John were to stay with her and Franky, he would have to get used to her husband. She did not think it would take too long, all things considering; boys and young men had often been drawn to her husband, both because of his masculine energy and the curiosity for a mechanical, weaponized man.

Heading down the corridor, Robin turned the corner and then paused. Safe both in the knowledge that she was out of sight and that Franky would certainly know that she stayed to eavesdrop due to his own haki. That...  and  how aware he was of Robin's nature, the archaeologist let herself listen to the conversation that was starting between John and Franky.

"What are you?" the teenager asked. Robin was pleased to detect no fear in John's voice, only curiosity and caution.

"Huh, Robin didn't tell you?" Franky replied. "I'm a cyborg, kid."

"A cyborg? Like... part machine? Ugh, what the hell am I saying? Of course, you're part machine! Just  look  at you!" There was a stretch of silence, and Robin could picture John's young face scrunching up as he processed this new information. "Okay, a cyborg... Yeah, I've heard of them. The Capes 'n' Cowls Crew has a couple of the knocking around... None of them looked like you though."

Now Robin could imagine the smile stretching across Franky's face. 

"That's 'cause I'm a  suuuuuuuper  cyborg! You won't find anything like me anywhere."

The snort of laughter that echoed down the hall was reassuring enough that Robin headed for where they kept the first aid kit without a worry in the world. 

"Alright, I need you to remove your coat and unbutton your shirt as much as you feel comfortable with," Robin instructed, putting the trunk-size medical kit down on the island with a thunk. 

John raised his hand up as if to protect his injured shoulder. "Here?"

Robin paused. "...We can go into another room if you wish but, rest assured, Franky treated your original wound right here on this very island."

The teenager gave the surface look that screamed of a mixture of alarm and disgust. 

"Hey, I scrubbed that thing to perfection!" Franky mock-protested from his place at the stove where he juggled several delicious smelling dishes. 

John hesitated for a moment before shrugging and pulling off his coat, letting it drape over the back of the chair. His fingers shook as he undid the top buttons of his shirt. Robin said nothing and waited patiently. She could give him that. 

When the fabric was finally pulled away -John wincing when he did so, the blood from his wound having certainly dried into it- Robin pressed her lips together in a tight line. With a few spare arms at the ready With supplies and linens to wipe up the blood. But first Robin scrubbed her hands down in piping hot water and grabbed her bottle of Glenfiddich whiskey off of the liquor shelf. 

"Is that for sterilization?" John asked.

"No," Robin chuckled at the thought. "I have sprays and wipes for that. Besides, that would be a waste of excellent liquor."

Silently, Franky tossed her three shot glasses, which Robin filled up before passing one back to her husband and sliding the other over to John.

The teenager looked down at it uncertainly before giving Robin a confused look. "I'm sixteen."

Franky scoffed and mumbled something like, "Damn stupid laws," under his breath before turning back to the steaks. Robin felt the urge to chuckle. John had spent a month repeatedly breaking into her office, on top of breaking who knows how many other laws in the course of his life, and now he was worried about a bit of underage drinking? 

How quaint. 

"Very well," the CEO said. She downed her own shot before picking up the one she poured for John, gulping half of it. "There. Half as much as Franky and I got. I doubt it would even make you tipsy."

there was another concerned glance at the liquor, only for John to shrug and down it. The bottom of the glass clinked against the marble island top as he put it down and pushed it back towards Robin. 

"Best whiskey I've ever had," John said. "Can I get more of it?"

"Perhaps later. Too much alcohol with too little blood is a bad combination," Robin replied, recalling how often Chopper had shrieked at Zoro for gulping down booze after another near-death injury. "Now, are you ready?"

"...Do you worst," John sighed, leaning back in the chair but baring his injury to the world. 

" I've treated many wounds before," Robin reassured. "It will be quick and, to the best of my ability, minimally painful."

Tired blue eyes met her own. "I know you aren't looking to hurt me."

Something about that made the pirate's heart hurt. She pressed until the wedding her lips together and slapped on a pair of latex gloves. It was time to prove herself.

First, Robin pulled away the ruined bandages from John's shoulder with a frown. Then came the sterilization. Just as she had said, proceedings against my mother Robin used a combination of spray to sterilize the wound directly and wipes to clean down the surrounding area. The sharp, hissing breath John sucked in told Robin that it was painful, even if the boy refused to complain about it. She pushed it out of her mind, however, for it was hardly the worst of what was to come and if Robin let her sympathy overwhelm her, she'd stop. And that would be far worse overall. 

"Now, I know you said that you don't want any painkiller but this-" Robin held up a blue glass jar of cream "-is a localized numbing agent. You'll still feel me cleaning out and stitching up your shoulder, but it will make the event far more bearable while still leaving you with a clear mind."

When the teenager didn't protest, Robin used a clean hand to smooth the cream over the area. After five minutes, she took a small pair of medical scissors and tweezers. "You may not want to watch this."

Carefully, Robin snipped the remaining stitches. She was no doctor, but from what she could tell they had been applied properly, even expertly, yet some looked like they had been ripped crudely open.

"How'd this happen?" she mumbled under her breath. 

Under her hands, John grew stiff. Robin paused. "John?"

"...I needed some blood for the spell that got me to you," he said reluctantly, eyes looking everywhere but her. "It was the only way it could get it quickly."

.

.

.

"I hope you will not have to do that again," Robin said firmly. 

Silently yet with grim determination, she plucked the remaining threads of the stitches from the boy's body -depositing them on a nearby napkin. Soon enough the wound was clean once more. The skin around it was red and inflamed -though thankfully it did not appear to be inflected. 

'Still, I should insist on some antibiotics and anti-inflammatories,"  Robin thought as she prepped the needle for a new set of stitches. She held up the spool of thread for John to see. "This is wool spider silk. Strongest steel, yet flexible and it will dissolve in about a week. Perfect for stitches when the patient refuses to cooperate and insists on getting into trouble."

John blushed, earning a chuckle from Robin, before wearily asking, "Is that from a real type of spider from your world?" 

Before Robin could gauge the correct answer, Franky snorted and said, "Yep! Giant ass things, they can grow to be the size of a tiger! And they like to live on winter islands, if you can believe it or not. Glad they don't have them here. Hey, babe, you remember the first time we found him, and poor Sanji almost died of a heart attack? Good times, good times..."

It  had  indeed been amusing, watching their dear cook and beloved navigator cower behind Usopp as he shooed the spiders away. But the look on John's face said that that was hardly the story to be telling at this particular moment.

"They are more docile than you would think," she tried to reassure, patting the boy's knee. "And their webs have excellent medicinal properties. On top of what I've just told you, their chemical composition also fights against infection."

"I take your word for it..." John grumbled as he looked toward Franky. "Hey, ...Big Man, can I get my steak rare too?"

"Coming up, kid!" 

While he was distracted, Robin made the first puncture with the needle. John grunted but gritted his teeth and grabbed ahold of the edge of the island top. Every muscle in his body was tense, something that did the pain he was going through no good. Yet, at the very least, it allowed Robin to finish the row of quick, clean stitches without issue. 

She snipped the end of the spider silk with the medicinal scissor before rocking back on her heels. "There," she said, pleased by her work. "The worst of it is over now."

John looked down at her arm, setting the rows of stitches before gently flexing his shoulder up and down, back and forth. "What more do you have to do?"

"Well, first is this." Robin held up another jar full of cream, this one pink. "The doctor on my ship, Chopper, was always very worried about how we would look as we healed from injuries. So he developed this cream to help minimize scarring. I will apply it this time, and you should do it twice a day for the next few weeks as your wound heals."

When John gave another nod, Robin once again applied cream to his injury. Then she finally re-bandaged his wound and signalled for the teenager to redress. 

"How does that feel?" she asked. 

"Better," John said quickly, rolling his shoulder once more. "You don't need to worry so much about me. I can look after myself, you know? I've got some healing spells in my back pocket. Here, I'll show you."

Before Robin could attempt to stop him, John muttered something under his breath. His hand began to glow with a bright gold light...

...and John's eyes immediately rolled back in his skull as he tipped forward in the chair. 

Robin caught him easily and sighed, meeting Franky's amused look. 

'We clearly have a lot of work to do.'

When John woke up, he was staring at the sky. 

'N-no... Not the sky.'

It was a painted blue ceiling with swirls of white to make fluffy clouds. As John blinked himself back into consciousness, he could swear that he also saw small seagulls painted up there. Though that might be the dim light playing tricks on him.

"Huh?" 

John forced himself to sit up and immediately was hit by a coughing fit. He gasped, rubbing his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he tried to gather some moisture. 

No luck. 

His eyes darted around the room, hoping to find something to-

'Drink.' 

John's eyes landed on a bottle of water and he lunged for it, sending a sharp jolt of pain rocketing through his body. He ignored it in favor of ripping the twist-off lid off the bottle and downing its contents. Under different circumstances, John would have been more cautious. The lid was secure, its seal unbroken, but the plastic of water bottles was thin and the gap between the surface of the water and the underside of the lid was wide enough that someone could use a syringe to inject all manner of substances. 

For now, though, thirst overtook everything else.

It was only once the bottle was empty that John could bring himself to take stock of his surroundings. It was a bedroom, that was simple enough. The bed he'd been lying in was enormous, it definitely had to be a king-size, and easily the softest thing he had ever slept on - even beating out Nico- No,  Robin's  couch. The bedding was all shades of cool gray and soft green and felt so nice that John found himself unconsciously rubbing his hands against the sheets and blankets. By his bedside was a small table where the water bottle had been. Aside from that, it was home to a lamp that was emitting a light dim enough to illuminate the room without being intrusive to John's sleep. Fiddling with the small buttons on its base brought the brightness level up to allow John to better see.

Flopping back against a small mountain of pillows, some thick and firm and others feathery and flexible, John's attention went beyond the bed to the rest of the room. The blue paint continued down the walls until the halfway point, where they gave way to warm golden-brown wood panels. The carpet was a dark green color and looked incredibly plush. And, other than that... the room was mostly barren. Sure, there was a bookshelf that was empty aside from a large seashell on one of its shelves, a desk and table, a dresser with a vanity mirror, and a closet with opened doors but this room, while cozy, didn't have much in the way of personality. 

There were two doors. One, John figured, had to lead to the hallway. And the other... Maybe a bathroom?

'I guess this could be a guest room but who would be using it? Robin and... Flunky? Franky! They're from another world. They live in an underground lair that's built into a seaside cliff. It's not like they're hosting dinner parties!'

Well, maybe they were. The rich tended to be weird as fuck, and to afford a place like this, Robin and her semi-mechanical husband had to be very rich. 

The thought that this room might have been set up for him crossed John's mind but he crushed it immediately. As kind as this pair of weirdos had been to John, that was way more than he should ever expect. 

Gurrrrrrrgllllle!

John looked down at his own stomach, realizing for the first time that he again had been changed into an oversized shirt. Or perhaps not oversized, John thought as he remembered how massive Robin's husband was. No, it was a perfectly sized shirt for a comically oversized man. Then John chuckled when he realized he'd probably fit into  Robins's  clothes better than he would into Franky's. 

And then John realized he might be losing it. 

Another growl of a stomach reminded the teenager of his hunger and he sighed, thinking back to how goddamn  good  that steak had smelled. Even when John's own flesh was being stitched together, his mouth was watering. 

'And if I hadn't tried to show off like an idiot, I would have gotten to eat some of it,'  John swore at himself. He'd known the spell he performed to bring him here zapped the rest of his strength, what little he had after a long day of spell casting on top of... everything else. But all of Robin's fussing had twisted something in his gut and John thought he should...

He thought he should do something...

'Suck it up, Johnny Boy,'  he told himself, swinging unsteady legs out of the bed.  'This is just one more thing you did to yourself. Maybe there will be leftovers in the kitchen. I'm sure I can find it again.'

Stumbling towards the door, John reached for the knob when it suddenly swung open. He tried to jump back at the sudden motion, only for weak knees to give out and nearly send John sprawling on his ass. The only thing that stopped him was large red digits seizing the front of his borrowed shirt and hoisting him into the air. John blinked and found himself staring into the strange, intensely colored blue eyes of Robin's cyborg husband. 

"Hey there, kid. Where are you headed to?" he asked, an amused grin playing on his face. It was that look combined with the tray of food balanced in his other hand that told John that Franky knew exactly what John was in search of.

The teenage mage turned away, hating that he could feel his face heating up.

"Yeah, the missus and I figured you'd be hungry when you woke up so we kept your plate warm for you," Franky laughed as he carried -or maybe  hauled  was a better description- John back to his bed. "But you really shouldn't be walking around just yet. Not until you get something in your stomach, at least."

And that was how John ended up settled with his back on the pillows again, covered by the same gray blanket that Robin draped around his shoulders when he first arrived, and with a serving tray in his lap. On it was his steak, cut up into bite-sized pieces, with sides of Brussels sprouts and mashed potatoes all covered in a thick gravy. There was another bottle of water, along with a cup of tea and a chilled bottle of cola. On a smaller place was a small stack of berry-filled squares that looked soft and crumbly. 

His mouth started watering again, and John picked up the fork to start digging in. 

"Don't worry about your dirty dishes, we can get those tomorrow morning," Franky said casually. "There are more blankets in the closet if you need them, and the bathroom is through there. It's got towels and soap and stuff, but I'm not sure you should try showering with your new stitches." 

He jerked his head to the second of the two doors, confirming John's suspicion, and continued on. "I know you might get or if you're up in a while and Robin wouldn't let me put a TV in this room because she says it messes with sleep, so I made you this."

Reaching into one of the big pockets of his massive shirt, a shiny silver tablet, and dropped it next to John on the bed. 

"It's got the internet and all the good streaming services already on it, plus some games, so you can kill time that way. If you hit the red button with the snail it will also bring up a way for you to message Robin and me. That way you can call us if you need something."

"Oh... thanks," John mumbled, not sure what to say as he looked down at the device. It looked fancy, fancier than anything he'd ever owned before. 

"And I guess that's it," the cyborg said, shrugging to himself before heading for the door. As he passed through it, pulling the door shut behind him, Franky paused and looked back over his shoulder at John. "Hey, kid? You planning on doing another runner?"

.

.

.

"Not tonight," John replied, surprised by his own honesty.  'I've got nowhere to go.'

That, at least, John didn't have to bear the humiliation of saying out loud.

Franky nodded. "Glad to hear it. Try to get some rest. G'night, John."

"Goodnight," the teenager replied. 

Then he turned to his dinner and began to eat. 

Chapter Text

They say nothing could quite prepare one for parenthood. And, as Robin perused the online catalog advertising young men's clothing, she couldn't help but agree. 

It wasn't as if she had never shopped for men before. True, shopping for the boys had always been more of Nami’s self-designated chore, but Robin had tagged along often enough and was never shy about giving her opinions on what amusing t-shirts Luffy would like and what sturdy trousers Usopp would find easiest to work in. Yet this was different. On top of only being able to make an educated guess about John's sizes -measuring him while the lad was unconscious seemed like a breach of trust that Robin was unwilling to overstep. She checked the labels of John's clothing when throwing them into the wash,  of course, but clothing sizes were far from uniform. On top of that, Robin had yet to gain a firm grasp of what John's specific taste in garments was.

‘We'll start with the basics for now,’ Robin decided as she added three more shirts to the digital cart. ‘Anything that doesn't fit or isn't to his taste can always be returned or altered. When John is more settled in, I'll have him select his own clothes. It'll be important in letting him craft his own identity here.’ 

A few more quick selections and Robin hit the buy button without even bothering to check the total. As much as she missed her home world, she couldn't deny the ease of online shopping. That being said, Robin was sure that Nami would miss the thrill of shopping at each new island they came across, discovering each island's unique clothing style.

That task completed, Robin leaned back in her office chair and sighed. While it certainly was important to get John some new clothes, the necessity of the task did not negate the fact that she was only tending to it this quickly because it served as an excellent diversion from the two other problems racking her brain.

‘Well, two-and-a-half.’

First was the issue of David Cain. Where was he now? Who had hired him to attack her? And perhaps most importantly, why had they only wanted her scared instead of dead?

The answer lied, she was sure, with either Bruce Wayne or Lex Luther. Not only were the two some of the biggest names in the industry and therefore had much to gain from her downfall, but it certainly couldn't be a coincidence that Robin was attacked so brazenly only a few days after they both visited.

The question -Question 1.5- was which one? 

Bruce Wayne had been the more brazen of the two, what with his attempt to bug her office. Leaving one behind had been a strategic move on her part. Letting the man believe he had still found a kink in Robin's armor could be useful in the future. Especially if it let Robin control some of the information he got. Furthermore, there was a vicious intensity behind Bruce Wayne's eyes that Robin had seen many times before. It spoke of the deep endless pain that gave to passion bordering on obsession.

Yet she also saw gentleness and humbleness within him. Humbleness in his treatment of both the waitstaff at the restaurant and the behavior her secretary reported. Gentleness when he spoke of his own employees and children, pride clear in every word he spoke of his eldest son, even if there was pain there too -undoubtedly caused by a strained relationship. Yes, the man certainly had his secrets, yet Robin could not see Bruce Wayne as a man who would sink using hired guns as an intimidation technique.

That didn't mean he was off the hook though. Robin would be keeping her eye on him for the foreseeable future. She thought that was only fitting considering Wayne attempted to intrude on her personal space.

Still, setting Bruce Wayne to the side for now left her with Lex Luther as a suspect. And every fiber of her being told Robin that he was far more likely to be behind the attack anyway. On top of being bald (rarely a good sign), the man's dealings with less savory elements of the world were not hard to find. The man's lawyers must work hard to keep stories of alleged ad allegations of wrongdoing from lingering too long in the public consciousness. Yet the internet was supposedly forever, and Robin had compiled quite a file of the man's dirty little dealings.

Among them being his theft of Thousand Solutions company data. Even if Robin had been kind enough to allow it, that didn't mean she was happy about it.

She would say it surprised her that a man who had been imprisoned more than once was still allowed to run a major company, access vast riches, and have a thumb in so many political and social pies, but it didn't. Different worlds they may be, corruption could be found everywhere. By this point in Robin's life, men like Lex Luther were old hat.

Robin’s eyes slid down to the embossed, scented paper of a gala invention on her desk. The raised, golden ink lettering was written out in a long, fanciful script:

You, Nico Franks, are Cordially Invited to the Pembertons’ Annual Charity Gala.

More followed, covering particulars of the event such as other guests in attendance, who’d be catering, which musicians would be playing, and what they’d be raising money for: financial relief for the families of deceased first responders. A worthy enough cause that Robin would not regret donating to it. 

The charity was not, however, her reason for finally RSVPing ‘ YES’ to this particular gala invitation -one of many that arrived each week. No, that simply came down to wanting the chance to engage with Wayne and Luther in a more… peer-filled setting. 

Robin was not looking forward to it. It would be a different situation if Franky or, better yet, the entire crew could be with her -that would actually be enjoyable!- but, alas, it was not to be. Instead, she’d be stuck playing the verbal game of manipulation and schmoozing with her so-called peers while eating annoyingly small foods and disappointingly weak wine for what promised to be a frustratingly long night.

‘Perhaps I’ll steal something, just for the fun of it. Nami would approve,’ Robin mused, amusing herself with the thought.

Tucking the invitation away for now with a mental note to go shopping for a new outfit and make the appropriate appointments for nails and make-up, Robin let her mind turn to the second major problem in her life.

The Justice League. 

Robin frowned, the name leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. For so long, she’d seen the idea of ‘justice’ twisted and violated to excuse all manner of atrocities that she'd long since lost any trust in it. 

A changing of computer tabs brought up the most recent photo of the group, each looking powerful and regal with their flowing capes and impressive jawlines. Robin rested her chin in her hand as she studied the photo. They were a fine-looking group, odd taste in clothing aside, but that didn’t mean the archeologist trusted them. Yes, they’d fought hard to save John from the awful Necro fellow and, for that, Robin would be forever grateful. Yet that didn’t change the fact that John had run from them at the first possible opportunity.

John choosing to return to Robin and Franky over whatever the superheroes offered filled her with a possessive sort of pride. One that, if questioned, Robin would not even attempt to deny or be ashamed of. She was a pirate, after all; it was in her nature to be greedy. 

‘But will they come after him?’

Over the past few days, Robin had read many articles on the activities of the Justice League. And it truly did seem like their days were spent solving much bigger problems than a runaway teenage mage. Did that mean they wouldn’t waste significant resources on tracking John down? 

Robin’s gut told her that wouldn’t be the case. And she’d learned to trust her gut at a young age. It kept her alive many times. 

They'd been there for some reason. This wasn't the case of a dangerous incident happening and the heroes responding. No, Robin and Franky had seen them searching the area. Then there was the dark-haired female magician... She's known John. Perhaps not as well as she clearly thought she did, judging by how John had reacted to being hugged by her unexpectedly. But they weren't strangers.

Robin leaned back in her chair and recounted the encounter she'd had leaving that rundown neighborhood after John was taken by the heroes.

***

Her hands were raw and dirty, her palms stung bright red ever so slightly, and her fingertips were stained with dirt and dust. Robin wiped them on the skirt of her dress as she picked her way through the shadows, heading to the street corner where Franky would be waiting with the van.  As much as she hated leaving John behind, Robin saw sense in his instructions for her to go. With the heroes' arrival, the chances of extracting him quickly and quietly had become slim. For now, that was a task that would have to be put on the back burner. Her new priority was leaving this area and meeting up with Franky as quickly as possible.

The former Devil Child of Ohara fought the urge to frown as the heel of her boot caught in a crack in the sidewalk. Of course, that was a minor inconvenience, and it wasn't really why Robin was upset. No, she was upset that John had been stolen away! The heroes, whatever they may think, had no right to interfere in this matter. It should have been her and Franky disposing of this Nicholas Necro and retrieving John! 

Well, at least it didn't appear that Necro would be a problem any longer. Ideally, Robin would have preferred for John not to do the threat disposal himself. He was still young, after all. While it was important for someone to be able to save themselves from a bad situation, Robin didn't like the idea that it would weigh on such a young mind and heart. It wasn't fair. 

Not that life ever was.

 Robin was so lost in her thoughts -as well as the first fragments of plans to extract John from his new troublesome situation- that she didn't notice the tickling of her Observation Haki until heartbeats before a voice spoke up.

“Well now, this is quite the strange place to find such a beautiful lady.”

Brown eyes raised to the form of a slender yet well-built young man in a tight black and blue skin-tight suit. Illuminated by only the light of the moon and the few street lights that remained operational, Robin took in the sight above her. Dark hair framed a lovely sculpted face that might have been better suited for a runway than a mostly destroyed block of apartments. It was only partially covered by a black domino mask, obscuring the man's eyes under white lenses.

 Nightwing. Bludhaven’s own resident superhero.

Robin gave the young hero a pleasant, if somewhat vacant smile. “Can't a girl explore her own city? I find walking at night so much more peaceful than during the day. Less people about.”

Nightwing lazily shifted his perch on a half-destroyed fire escape that was likely held together more with rust than with nuts and bolts. Now seated on the narrow railing, his legs dangled down, swinging slightly with relaxed ease.  “I'm not sure anything could be called peaceful about tonight.”

“Hmmmm,” Robin pretended to consider his words. “I suppose things have been rather lively in this corner of the city. Do you know anything about that?”

“No, I guess the big guns didn't think a little hero like me needed to be let in on the fun and games,” Nightwing replied, shaking his head.

There was no guarantee the young man was telling the truth. He certainly would have no reason to do so. Even Robin could admit that she was acting suspiciously. Yet the bitter edge in Nightwing's voice, coupled with the annoyed twist at the corner of his mouth, told Robin that there was genuine emotion in his words.

‘Now that’s interesting,’ Robin thought. 

As far as she remembered, there was no concrete connection between Nightwing and the Justice League. That being said, there were plenty of situations where famous superheroes teamed up with their smaller, local heroes to deal with threats. So why not Nightwing?

“Can I tell you a secret?” Robin asked sweetly, all but batting her eyelashes at the younger man. It was time to test something. 

The hero leaned forward, a smile growing on his face. “I’m great at keeping secrets. What do you want to get off your chest?”

Robin couldn’t tell if the young man’s eyes glanced downward to her ample bust but supposed it was a safe enough bet. She traces her fingers along the hemline of her dress to draw attention to it, brushing away a smear of dirt as an excuse. As a seduction attempt went, it was crude, unpolished, and frankly pedestrian. Nami would have been disappointed. Franky would have found it amusing.

“I'm considering buying up this complex and rebuilding it from the ground up. I plan to still keep it as low-income housing though. Housing is so expensive these days, and maybe it can be a way my company can impact the unhoused population of the city.”

It was a lie. Or rather, it had been a lie when it popped into Robin's head, but as soon as she spoke the words into being she thought that it could be a good idea. Corporate-funded housing could be a slippery slope, but if she shifted the management around it might be helpful to many. If nothing else, it was something to have her lawyers look into.

“Wow, you must have some serious dough to throw around if you’re considering something like that,” Nightwing asked. He cocked his head to the side. “What do you do for a living?”

Given that Robin worked viciously to keep her face from becoming well-known to the public, this could have been a genuine question. Yet the teasing way Nightwing spoke implied that Robin was more familiar to him than most would have been. 

‘So it's not just a test, it's also a game,’ Robin thought. ‘Curiouser, and curiouser.’

She decided to play. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” 

The hero leaned in more, to the point he was always falling from his perch. His smile was still growing; only now, Robin was matching it. 

Robin winked. “I’m a pirate.”

Then, with a toss of her braided hair and a casual wave of the fingers goodbye, Robin left. She walked with purpose, yet not overly quick. That could be dangerous. That could lead to Nightwing chasing her. 

Once she turned a corner, Robin ducked down and summoned up a flower clone, sending it off in the opposite direction of where Franky was waiting as she hid in the shadows. 

If Nightwing tried to follow her, and Robin was sure he would, then he would follow the clone as it walked aimlessly north until it got far enough away and dissolved back into petals. The hero seeing that could certainly be a problem, yet his following her to Franky’s location would be far worse. So she stayed crouched and hidden in the shadows for fifteen minutes before creeping away. 

***

Ping!

The message alert from her computer had Robin opening her eyes, emerging from the memory. Clicking on it, she grinned. More information from her contact. It looks like Cain was still in the neighborhood.

Ping!

Another message. This one was from her secretary letting Robin know that Dick Grayson had called. He was ready to arrange a meeting.

“Okay, take me through things again,”  Superman said, his voice an annoying picture of calm and patience. “If we can figure out what happened in Bludhaven, maybe we can figure out where John went.”

Flash pressed his thumbs into his temples and sighed. “I don't know what else we can say. There was an evil wizard dude. There were a lot of monsters. We fought the demons. Batman fought the evil wizard dude. The magic went boom. John pushed the evil wizard dude into a portal. Bad magic gets sucked away. The end.”

“I'm glad your mission reports are more elaborately phrased than that,” J’onn said. It was only the thin smile on his lips that gave away that this was a rare moment of humor for the alien.

Batman said nothing, even though he did not think this was the time to joke. Part of him was furious that Flash had made the rookie mistake of leaving John unattended, but he kept his tongue bit. Both because it would do them no good in this circumstance and because the Bruce Wayne part of him needed Flash -or, rather, Wally West- in his corner. Nightwing would have learned of their exploits in Bludhaven by now; he would have learned that Batman did not call him about what was happening and he would be angry about that. If Flash and Batman were in good standing, then maybe the Speedster could explain it to him.

“All right, I need an explanation for that portal thing,” Green Lantern said. At some point, he had found time to shave and shower and now looked marginally more alive and aware of the world around him than he had during the emergency meeting at 3:00 a.m. “Zatanna, can you help a man out?”

The sorceress drummed her fingertips on the shining metal surface of the conference table. “There's not much to explain. Well, that's not true. The spell is fairly complicated, but the theory behind it is simple enough. Think of it like a vacuum, except it only sucks up the magical energy of the nearby environment.”

“Then why didn't it affect you and Constantine?” Batman asked, speaking up for the first time since this meeting had begun. He hated magic, it made everything too complicated. That didn't mean he didn't always try and learn everything about it that he could.

“From what I understand, the lad must have used the more advanced version of the spell. Attuning it to Nick Necro's specific magical energy meant it targeted anything cast by him specifically.” Jason Blood explained. 

“Unique magical signatures,”  Hawkgirl piped up. “Zatanna, that's what you were talking about earlier, wasn't it?”

As his colleague nodded, Jason continued. “Even the most advanced versions do not affect magic users, only the magic they cast and its effects.  Unfortunately, that means…”

He trailed off as Zatanna shivered. 

“It makes me worried about what John did to the spell,” she said. “Any decently powerful and learned mage can tweak and customize a spell. Once they've mastered the base version of it, that is. But to change the fundamentals of the spell so it not only targets the magic cast but also the caster? That's not only exceptionally clever, that's…  unnervingly vicious.”

An uncomfortable silence filled the chamber. Even with the many groans, echoes, and hums the Watchtower created, the entire structure felt almost as still as the endless void outside its windows.

“I will be the first to say it then,” Wonder Woman spoke up.  “John, the boy we intended to rescue, to protect, effectively killed a man. How do we feel about that?”

“He killed his abuser,” Flash replied. Glancing around the table, he elaborated. “Let's not pretend any of us are idiots. We're all smart enough to read between the lines of what was happening between those two.  And I'm not necessarily saying I'm happy John ended up pushing Necro into that portal, but if you're asking me to condemn it, to condemn him, I'm not going to.”

“That's a… dangerous way of thinking, Flash,” Superman said cautiously. “Many are already uncomfortable with the amount of power we wield and how we take action against criminals in our own hands. We can't go around handing out death penalties or deciding what killings can be considered justified.”

The speedster gave him a blank look. “I do support the death penalty, Supes.”

“As do I,” Wonder Woman added, reaching over to squeeze the back of Flash's hand in a show of solidarity. He gave her a small smile.

“Diana-”

“And the fact that you do not is foolish to me,” she continued. “Taking the life of one who wishes and intends to harm many is not simply practical, to my people it is considered ethical.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be all about love and compassion?” Green Lantern asked, cocking an eyebrow. 

The Princess of Themyscira met his incredulous look. “My heart overflows with compassion. Compassion for those who are harmed, compassion for those who cannot protect themselves, and compassion for those who ache for vengeance and justice. Do not forget that I am a warrior, just like you were. Tell me, is there truly a difference between what you did as a soldier and what this young man did?”

“Yes,” Green Lantern said firmly. 

Across the table, Batman could see J’onn shift. Even without any pupils, he was certain the man's pure white eyes were focusing on him -Doubtlessly wondering when he would give his two cents to this discussion. The Martian swore that he never read any of their minds without permission, yet times like this made the detective dubious of that claim. He liked J’onn quite a bit and respected his abilities. That did not mean he wasn't appropriately wary of him.

 “Why?” Wonder Woman questioned. “Because the people you worked for deemed the deaths you caused as justified? Because you were legally permitted to take those lives?  Did you bear a personal grudge against the men you killed? If not, and those deaths are only due to the orders you will given, then I find that more egregious than if they had done you personal harm.”

Times like this reminded Batman just how much older Diana was than the rest of them. She was naive in certain aspects of life and ‘Man's World’, yes, yet she was also wise and self-assured in so many others. Perhaps that was because she had spent so much time considering her own morals and values? Or maybe she was simply built that way.

“What? No, I- Damn, it's different. I-” Green Lantern looked over at Hawkgirl for help, only for her to shake her head and shrug. 

“You're looking at the wrong person to back you up there, sweetheart. I was trained to do what needed to be done. Death is rarely pretty, but sometimes it's…” She hesitated, as if unhappy with the last word she was about to say. “Necessary. Sometimes it's necessary”

Superman cleared his throat. “What about you, J’onn? What are your thoughts on this situation?”

“I have taken many lives. And while I can truthfully say I did it in defense of my planet, I will also admit that, eventually, I also took satisfaction in the act. Shallow comfort as it was, every enemy I defeated felt like just recompense for my fallen kin,” the Martian Manhunter said in that slow, calm voice of his. “For that reason and others, I do not feel it fair that I judge this young man for his choice. I only regret that events played out in such a way that he had to make it.”

Flash snorted before shifting to look at Batman. “Alright, Bats, your turn. Can you genuinely say that the world wouldn't be a better place if that clown of yours got a needle in his arm?”

This entire situation had the Flash in rare form. 

Despite his usual behavior, the Speedster was perfectly capable of being serious. For all that Batman sometimes found the childish attitude annoying and distracting, he could not fault the young man for the quality of his work. After all, he was able to keep two cities in top shape, maintain good public relations, and do his League work on top of a forty-hour work week. Even in his personal life, his job in Central City’s forensic unit was immaculate. More impressively still, up until a few years ago, he was doing that as a college student. 

Over the years, the Detective often wondered if Flash chose the uniform of a carefree clown to hide his competence and to lull others into a sense of security. That would be Batman's technique if it suited his brand of criminals. He could also do it to separate himself from his uncle, the former Flash. Still, for him to have been so consistently serious, surely the situation had been affecting him more than expected. Even being closer in age to Constantine than the rest of them wasn’t a strong enough explanation.

Those were thoughts for later, however. Batman should give Flash a lesson on avoiding such intense emotional attachment. It always clouded judgment. 

“I am not answering that question,” he said gravely. “I don't kill for my own reasons. And whatever the justice system chooses to do with the Joker after he's in their custody is out of my hands.”

Before Flash could offer a retort, Batman decided to get the conversation back on topic. “Besides, we can’t pass judgment on John Constantine before finding him. Zatanna, can you track him with magic?”

“No, I've tried five times since he disappeared. Something is masking his magical signature again. Not like when Necro had him either, it's more like that first time he disappeared. I still don't know what is causing it,” the sorceress said, shaking her head. Then it was her turn to give the room a stern look. “I'm not happy with what John did. But I'm saying this now, he and anything he’s done is my responsibility now. I don't like what he did to Necro but I'm not letting him be hauled off to jail or return to his father.” 

“Besides, the magical community tends to deal with matters within its own circle,” Jason Blood added. “If it makes you all feel better, once he's found we can arrange for some magical parole -to use a term you may understand.  Yes… That would likely be better overall. Young, reckless magic users are a danger to us all. It's best to keep him in an environment where he can be under observation as he learns. And few are better suited for such a task than Madame Xanadu.”

Batman bit the inside of his cheek. He couldn't say he entirely agreed with Jason Blood. From Zatanna’s description, there had been a viciousness to Constantine throwing Necro into the portal. And from what the sorceress had told them, the very fact that Constantine had crafted the spell so he could use it against his former teacher showed an element of premeditation. He couldn't, in good conscience, call it outright murder. But there was no doubt to him now that John Constantine was dangerous and he needed to be found. Contained.

“Zatanna, I want you to continue trying to track John Constantine through magic. Try at least once a day. See if you can break whatever spell is masking him. I'll try and track him down through the more conventional ways.”

“This kid has practice staying off the grid, Batman,” Green Lantern said. 

“That was before I was hunting him,” the Dark Knight replied. “He's hurt now. And the home base he had established is gone. We should keep an eye on that area. It's destroyed now but there's a chance he could try to return for lack of a better place to go. Sooner or later, he'll trip up as he tries to get himself resettled. And that's when we catch him.”

“I will ensure the magical community also knows to be on the lookout,” Jason Blood added. “The boy is cunning, but he's also got a young mage’s greatest weakness. Hunger. He'll want to learn new magic so badly that he'll do anything to get his hands on the information. Like an addict chasing a fix.”

“I don't like talking about John like this,” Superman said, shaking his head. “I don't agree with what he did, but he's not some bloodthirsty murderer on the run. If I had been there-”

“Then you would have had to fight magical demons like the rest of us,” Flash said. Then he sighed and shook his head. “I'm sorry guys, I should have guessed that John was trying to get me out of the room so he could do a runner. I just… wanted to believe him.”

Zatanna reached over to rub his shoulder. “Don't feel too bad, I should have seen it coming too. I should have put wards in place to ensure he couldn't use that teleportation spell.  I figured he would try to get out of the room, so I guarded against that, but I didn't think he had the strength to do such a major spell. To be honest, I'm surprised he even knew it.”

Honestly, Batman was still disappointed in the Flash for that slip-up.  Still, he said nothing at the moment. It would not help, and the Dark Knight had agreed to allow the Speedster to go talk with the teenager first. There was sense in Flash’s idea that Constantine would be more willing to open up to someone younger. He would not make that mistake again.

“So the kid got away, nothing we can do about that. We just got to figure out where he went, that would be the quickest way of finding him,” Hawkgirl said. Glancing toward Zatanna and Blood, she asked, “Could he have gone after those magical books? That's what started this whole thing, after all. 

All eyes turned toward the sheet of paper on the table between them, and Jason scowled. “I'm still not convinced there is any special message hidden in this poem. For all we know, this entire thing was a trick Constantine came up with to get our attention. It's something the little trickster would do. I'm sure he'd even find it amusing.” 

“Why would he try and get our attention and then run from us?” Zatanna asked. 

“Because something better came along,” Batman said, pieces of the answer working to click themselves together in his mind.

John Constantine was bored. 

That was kind of a stupid thing to think, he could admit. For the first time in... probably his entire life, John was seemingly in a safe place and he had abundant access to food and a shower where the water didn't smell and look like piss. So he should be grateful. And he was! But in the past three days since John arrived, he mostly slept -getting over a bullet to the shoulder took a lot out of the body, as it turned out, especially when you kept poking at it- and by now, he was sick of resting.

He had searched the bedroom, hoping to find some sort of hidden passage or secret compartment built into the walls. Robin and Franky seemed like the type to enjoy that sorta thing. Alas, no such luck. The room was boringly bare. 

There was a big closet, but it was just filled with linens, as Franky had promised. Extra blankets and sheets that smelled fresh and clean, the kind of smell you only get from using the expensive type of laundry detergent. Extra clothes had also appeared on top of the dresser on the morning of John’s second, all neatly folded and comfortable looking, even if none of them actually fit. Aside from John’s own clothes, that is. Those had once more been washed, repatched, and ironed like they were worth something. Still, John couldn’t deny he felt safer having his possessions back in his possession. 

Even the bathroom was relatively mundane. Oh, it was nice, nicer than any bathroom John had ever seen. Lots of smooth, light blue-gray and white marble, with some splashes of blue paint to brighten things up. There was a separate waterfall shower and jacuzzi bathtub along with a big sink with a mirror that opened up to reveal a stocked medicine cabinet full of shaving cream, razors, dental care supplies, hand soap, deodorant, and fresh bandages for his shoulder, along with the painkiller and scar creams. The bathroom also had a closet, which itself was full of fresh towels and washcloths, body wash, shampoo, and conditioner.

It was all very nice. And very generous. So much so that it had John was still convinced that there had to be something going on here.

Yet, despite John’s skepticism, only two things that could even be considered slightly weird had come with the bedroom. First was the large seashell he found on the bookshelf. It was odd looking, the shape of a conch shell yet purple with cream-colored dots. And when John had held it in his hands, passing it back and forth between his palms, his thumb had caught on some sort of button trigger, causing it to play a musical tune.

~Yo-hohoho, Yo-hoho-ho

Yo-hohoho, Yo-hoho-ho

Yo-hohoho, Yo-hoho-ho

Yo-hohoho, Yo-hoho-ho

Gather up all of the crew!

It's time to ship out Bink's brew!

Sea wind blows. To where?

Who knows?

The waves will be our guide!

O'er across the ocean's tide

Rays of sunshine far and wide

Birds they sing of cheerful things, in circles passing by!~

The song was lovely, if not John's usual tastes. Still, something about the joyful yet melancholy lyrics stuck with him, and he had found himself humming or whistling it in the coming days. The teenage mage had also spent a good couple of hours trying to figure out how the shell worked. Was it just a novelty music player? It certainly felt like a real seashell but John supposed that didn't mean anything. Robin and Franky didn't play by normal rules. In the end, he decided to ask them about it later on. If they had left it in the room with John, it was unlikely that it was anything too important or dangerous.

That led John to the second strange object he found in the room,  something that definitely wasn't dangerous, but he couldn't help but find it really, really weird.

So here John was, wandering through the maze-like halls of Robin and Franky's home, with a massive teddy bear tucked under one arm as he attempted to find something to do. Even a stop by the kitchen for some homemade fruit bars and brown sugar muffins hadn’t satisfied him for long. Glancing down at the teddy bear, he couldn't help but snort. It was big, nearly the size of his torso, and almost unbearingly cute. Made of brown flannel with large button eyes, and a matching blue hat and t-shirt. The shirt had a big sun design on the front and the name ‘KODA’ embroidered on the hat's brim. At the end of each little teddy bear arm was the design of paws, the individual pads all raised and delicate.

‘Do bears even have paws like that?’ John wondered. He’d never seen a bear in person, not unless you counted… Well, no. THAT definitely didn't count. ‘Who left this in my room, and why?’

John was sixteen, far past the age he needed a plushie. No matter how huggable it was.

He passed the library he'd crashed in that first time he stayed here, pausing to admire the shelves and shelves of books. Robin loved to read. John had gathered that even in his short time here. Not only was the house filled with books -there was usually at least one on any given flat surface- but every time the woman came home she usually had bags of new literature. Hell, John was pretty sure this wasn't the only library in the house! From what he could tell, this was just the one that Robin had filled with fiction novels. Which the teenager could appreciate. John's favorite books were about folklore and history, but he’d torn through his local and school library's fiction section more than once.

‘I could spend hours in here,’ he thought. Before John could stop himself, he was heading towards one of the shelves and pulling out the first book that caught his eye: Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier. “I’ve heard of this one. It's supposed to be good.”

The hardcover book was black, with raised blue lettering. It must have been a special edition copy. John thumbed through some of the pages before turning to a random one and reading a few lines… Before snapping the book shut and slide it back into place.

Robin loved books. And people who loved books were protective of their books. As much as John liked it here, that doesn't mean he had stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop. And fiddling with her collection could very much trigger that particular event.

So back into the halls, he went, idly turning corners with no real direction in mind until he stumbled upon a large metal door. It was almost comically oversized, with large hinges, a handle the length of John’s arm, and bolts that looked like they could mechanically slide into place if need be. Above the doorframe were two glass bulbs, one red and one green. The green one was lit up. On the wall next to it was a small call box that included a large button that said ‘PRESS ME,’ as if it wasn’t obvious. Strangely though, it wasn't any of that that drew John's eye. No, it was instead the small note taped to the front of the door with what John had come to recognize as Robin's delicate, looping handwriting.

‘John, this is Franky's workshop. He spends most of the day here, so don't be alarmed if you don't see him for hours at a time. If the green light is on, feel free to come in. He’ll probably enjoy the company. If the red light is on, that means he's working on something dangerous, and you'll need to leave him be. Still, if you want to get his attention while the red light is on, just hit the call box, and you can talk to him.’  

For a moment, John considered walking away. Could anything be interesting in the man's workshop?

‘What the hell am I thinking? The man's a cyborg! Of course, he has something interesting in there!’ John reprimanded himself. ‘And besides, it's time I learned more about these people.’

He knocked on the door, hearing a metallic echo radiate out. Then…

Bang !

.

.

.

“Damn… COME IN!”

Without waiting for his better sense to get ahold of him, John grabbed the massive handle and pulled. The door was heavy, so much so that John’s injured shoulder ached with the effort of it, but, eventually, it swung open to reveal a wonderland of beakers, machines, test tubes, blueprints, mechanical parts scattered on tables, and just about everything else John had ever imagined after reading sci-fi comics and watching late night reruns of Doctor Who and Star Trek . 

“Oh, hey kid! I was wondering when you'd find your way here,” Franky called out from his perch at the head of one of the tables.

“What does that mean?” John asked, cocking his head to the side. 

Massive shoulders shrugged. “Even TV and the internet can only keep you busy for so long. Plus, you're the curious type.”

John fought the urge to frown. Franky was right, but the teenager never liked when people were able to see him that clearly.

Frankys didn't seem bothered by John's silence, instead waving him over. “Come take a look at this. I'll show you what I'm working on.”

Slowly John made his way over to the table, careful to step around piles of spare parts or rolls of blueprints that filled assorted crates and barrels. When he came to stand across from the cyborg, he couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at Franky.

Nodding towards the large, semicircular object on the table, he said, “Why are you building a giant turtle?”

“Robin is insistent on calling it the BANCHI, but I haven’t thought of an anagram that fits with the name yet,” Franky said with a snort, metal hand scratching his triton of a chin. “He's a water safety robot. You can set him up in lakes, pools, even in the shallow areas of beaches, and he's got sensors to detect things like riptides, rocks, current changes, high tide or low tide coming in, any sort of dangerous wildlife, and if I can get the sensors working right, it might even be able to sense the movement patterns of someone who's starting to drown.”

“Sounds useful.”

“Yeah, I've had the idea of something along these lines for a long time. You've got to remember, the world Robin and I come from is almost all water. The island I was raised on, more so than most. Most kids learn to swim alongside walking, and even then you see a lot of drowning deaths.” The cyborg tapped the ‘shell’ of BANCHI before grinning over at John. “I thought that since it would be around a bunch of kids, it should look friendly. The boys, at least, will think it's SUUUPPPPPAAAA! The missus disagreed, but I won the argument on that one. The less said about the design Robin wanted, the better. But they say you got to pick your battles in marriage and that was one worth fighting for.”

John forced himself to return the grin. 

The entire man was bizarre in appearance, and as little as John wanted to admit it, he had a hard time looking at Franky. Yeah, that was stupid as hell coming from someone who would spit in the eyes of demons and smooched more than a few others. But there were parts of the cyborg that fit so squarely Into The Uncanny Valley that the teenager found himself fascinated and disturbed by Frankie in equal measure.

They were the obvious parts, of course. The metal chin, the blue hair, the metal pieces that made up a solid half of his visible body…  Then there was the whole speedo thing, but John had decided not to question that. A man with the (possibly silicon) balls to run around more than half-naked had certainly earned the right to do so. But there were other things too, things you didn't notice until you looked closely. 

First, there were his eyes, a cerulean blue that was too intense to be a natural color, and that almost glowed in the dimness of the workshop. Then there was Franky's skin. It had scars, yes, and the before-mentioned metal pieces. It even had hair, but outside all of that, it was too smooth, too perfect. It had bothered John for a while until he realized that the man had no pores! Finally, there was also the mechanical hum that followed him everywhere. It was in the background base of his voice, and, whenever you stood close, you could hear it radiating from his body. Faint yet always there.

“How much of you is real?” John blurted out. ‘Ouch, real subtle there, Johnny boy.’

But the teenage mage was never one to deny himself answers. And he wasn't about to let this place or the admitted kindness of strangers turn him into a shrieking violet who is overly afraid to step on toes.

‘And caution is different from fear,’ John told himself as he slammed the door on memories from the library.

“All of me is real, kid,” Franky replied, seemingly unbothered by the question.  “But if you're asking how much of me is organic? Then the answer is 27%.”

The look on John's face must have said it all because Franky laughed and continued. “I didn't start out with that much, mind you. I used to be a normal guy. Then I had a bit of a run-in with a train, and I ended up as a 59% cyborg. But as time went on and I made adjustments to myself, the organic bits got replaced by more and more SUUUPPPPAAAA machines.”

“Why do that to yourself though?”  John asked. He looked over Franky again. The man was big and strong. Who knows what kind of things he could do. But it wasn't worth it to be so obviously different? John wasn't an idiot, he knew that Franky never left the house. His modifications to his body meant that, in this world at least, he was stuck away hiding away from people to avoid notice. “I get using machines to save your own life, but beyond that?”

Franky shook his head, cutting John off. “Look, you're trying to find tragedy in victory. I'll admit that the circumstances around that first round of augmentations weren't the best, but everything since then was just in service of making me the best version of myself.” 

He thumped himself on the chest, creating a soft metallic echoing sound. “When I was younger, I was obsessed with making strong weapons and now I am the strong weapon. Everything I change about myself is so I can better service myself and my friends. And I don't regret any of it. So don't go looking at me like I'm a victim, kid. These shoulders are more than wide enough to carry my own pain, you don't go trying to pile more up there.”

.

.

.

'Alright, time to change the course of this conversation. It's getting too sappy.'

“And what does your wife think of all those metal bits?” John asked, a small smile creeping onto his face. Unable to help himself, he glanced in the vague direction of Franky's crotch before promptly banishing that thought to the deepest pits of hell.

“What can I say? Robin's a freak,” Franky replied with a wink. 

It was only then that the cyborg noticed what John was carrying.

“Oh, you've got one of the Koda bears.” He held out a hand, and, somewhat awkwardly, John passed him the plushie. In Franky's giant hands, the bear looked normal in size. “This is one of the originals too. I knew Robin kept a couple, she must have gotten one out of storage.”

Well, that answered the question of who would put it in his room.

“Any idea why she put it in my bed?” John asked, a bit more harshly than he intended to. “She knows I'm not some sort of bed wedding brat, right? I don’t need a teddy bear.”

“Not a brat, huh?” Franky snorted at his own joke before turning his attention back to the bear.  “And be nice. She based these bears on someone very important to my crew and I. He was a good man, and even though you didn't mean to, I won't hear him insulted.”

John's first instinct was to apologize, but he bit his tongue. “You're honoring a friend by turning them into a plush toy?”

“It was Robin's idea. She thought the company needed a mascot, so she came up with Koda. When she found out that the kids of employees thought he was cute, she made a couple of plushies to give out as gifts. Those kids showed the bears to other kids, word got around, and a demand was created. Pretty soon after that, we were producing them. When they started getting profitable, we decided they'd be for charity.” Franky explained, staring down into the bear's dark button eyes with an expression of solemn remembrance. “He would have liked that, I think. Helping people and being a SUUUPPPAAAA buddy to little kids.”

Logically, John knew Robin and Franky had plenty of adventures in their pasts -only some of which he'd heard about- but it was different to actually hear one of them talk like this. John's past wasn't anything he liked to talk about, even the better stuff was tainted with all manners of darkness. To be able to remember even painful things with undeniable warmth? That was… enviable.

Anger sparked in John's chest. “What am I supposed to be doing here anyway? What plans do you have? What's my part in them?”

The anger was a familiar friend, old and comfortable. Some days, John wondered when he learned that being angry was preferable to being scared or lost in self-loathing. The heat of anger kept him warm at night, at least. When it didn't bite him in the arse when he let it spark out of control, that is. 

It crackled under his skin as Franky turned his back to John, lumbering over to the desk to grab an absolute throne of an office chair.

“You're the one who wandered into my workshop, kid,” he said, settling down into the chair.  He cocked his head to the side. “What do you want?”

“I-” The response caught in John's throat. It was such a simple question, one he had asked himself many times. And yet.. he wasn't sure he even remembered an adult asking it to him before.

‘Nicky once asked me what I wanted to be able to do,’ John remembered, ‘And what I'd be willing to give up to get it.’

John locked those thoughts away. The less time spent on that topic the better. But, if nothing else, he had an answer.

“I want to study magic,” he said. “Ever since I found out magic was real, it's all I've ever wanted to do. First I studied whatever I could get my hands on online or at creepy old bookstores, and then I tried to find a teacher. It didn't go well, but I managed to get a few proper spell books out of it.”

They were all gone now, and bloody hell did that hurt! Not as much as his bastard of a father burning those first notebooks, but it still felt like a knife in the ribs. The little library John had started to build had all been in his hovel when that entire mess with Nicky and the Capes 'n' Cowls Crew went down, and there was no going back for them now.

“Well, there's not much Robin and I can do to help you with that,” The cyborg replied. Then, with a hum, he pressed his metal nose and his hair popped out into the form of a question mark. The first time John had ever seen him do this, he nearly choked on a hamburger in surprise. Now he barely blinked. “I'll tell Robin though, and if you give us any leads, I'm sure she can track some spellbooks-" he grinned around the word "-down for you.”

John was dubious. “Really?”

“Don't you go doubting my wife! A couple of books is hardly the most impressive thing she will have tracked down,” Franky said with a proud nod. Then his face turned into something thoughtful. “ You know, I didn't ask what you wanted to do. I asked what you wanted.”

“Is there a difference?” 

“I think so.” With a wide gesture to the workshop around them, the man continued. “Everything one wants something, John. And that's not a bad thing. All my life, I wanted to create. And to go along with that, I've wanted the tools to create with! Then I wanted to be around people I could gift my creations, who would love and admire them just like I did. All the stuff in here and beyond are things I've wanted. And I use them to do the things I want. Get what I’m saying, kid?”

“...Uh." John didn't want to answer. It seemed like too much of a test or a trick. Time to divert again. "You never answered my question. What do you and Robin want out of me? Am I supposed to do something for you?”

The thing was, he did get it. At least, John thought so. Franky was saying that they wanted John to ask for things. Physical things mostly, but things beyond that like help and answers. 

‘Asking for things is dangerous.’

Franky shrugged. “You're looking too much into things again. We want to help you, that's it. You remind us a lot of ourselves and our friends when we were younger. And maybe you'll find that insulting. I remember what it was like to be young and hurt and to not want anyone's help. But it is what it is.”

The answer was so mundane and easily said that it hit John like a slap to the face. He flinched, grateful that Franky was considered enough to pretend not to notice. These people already saw him too clearly.

“Robin and I are trying to get home, kid, And if you have any ideas on that, we'd be grateful. Beyond that? I don't know, we're mostly just letting you settle in for now. We'll probably ask you to do some simple chores eventually. Keep your room clean, help with dishes, and stuff like that. And there'll be a few rules. You know, bed by 10:30 and no leaving dirty boxers in the hallways. Robin will also insist you get an education, and I can't argue with that. Knowledge is important, and, as an inventor, I’ll say that learning new things is the first part of creating something new.”

School? John cringed. School had been better than being at home, and sometimes the subjects were interesting, but he had hated being there too. The only major upside for the library and getting to see Chas.

‘Chas… I hope the old boy is doing all right. I let him down on getting away from his mom, I wonder if he's figured out a way on his own? I wonder if he's giving up on me yet?’

“What kind of school are you planning on sending me to?” John asked, eyes narrowing.

Franky chuckled. “Don't worry, we're not planning to ship you off to some boarding school with a dumb uniform. You'll have to talk about it more with Robin, but honestly, I think she'd be fine if you just picked some different books to read each week and kept a journal of it. She's a big believer in the importance of reading, my wife. If you have something particular you want to learn about, ask her and she'll get you on the right path.”

The anger was dimming into a low simmer and John found the corner of his lips cutting upward. “What if I want to learn to take over the world?”

Another shrug. “I'm not sure there are any books on that. You could ask Robin about ideas, just know you'll have to live with the knowledge of what she suggests.”

The laughter forced itself out of John's throat before he could stop it. It was a strange, strangled thing but it was genuine laughter. The teenager was surprised to find that he liked the sound of it. 

Franky blinked, then joined with laughter of his own, fittingly open and boisterous. Eventually, he wiped an eye and said, “All right, I got to finish working on the turtle and sparks are going to start flying for this next part so you got to skedaddle. But first…”

A massive hand rifled through the mess on one of the tables before retrieving a pad of paper and a pen. “We'll start you off with some homework. I want you to make a list of ten things you want for your new room.”

He tossed the stuff to John, who scrambled to catch them. “Wait! What? I-”

“And you don't get to cheat on this homework either. No putting down stupid stuff like socks or a lamp. Get creative. Hell, try and pick stuff that'll freak us out if you think it would be more fun that way. I guarantee you we've seen weirder,” Franky said, rising his feet to usher John towards the door. He passed the teddy bear back to him as well. “Now if you go, take the bear and go get up to trouble. Message me when you get hungry and we'll order some lunch.”

“Uhhhh, thanks?” John juggled the pad of paper, pen, and bear in his arms, getting them all situated and only half listening to what the massive metal man was instructing.  

It was only when he heard the thud of the door closing behind him and the whirling of the mechanical locks sliding into place did he realized he'd thoroughly been dismissed. Glancing upward, he saw that the green light had gone out and now the red bulb was shining brightly.

And yet… John found that the dismissal didn't hurt. He felt loneliness creeping back in, yes, but there was no feeling of shunning. This wasn't like when the other kids at school, or even the adults, would brush him aside and go out of their way to avoid John for his dirty clothes or biting words. This was just…  an adult needing to get some work done and knowing it would be too dangerous for a kid to be around. 

He looked down at the bear's eyes. “I don't suppose you have any plans, do you?”

There was no response. which John found himself strangely disappointed by. After all the weirdness he had seen from Franky and Robin, and this house in general, he wouldn't have put it past the man to make it so this bear could hold full conversations.

“If I bring that up to him at lunch, you might get some upgrades,” John told the bear. Then he realized that he really did need to find actual humans to talk to.

He considered asking if there was a way for him to go back into the city, but the aching in his shoulder, the fact that he didn't know how to drive, and knowing that the only person he really had to talk to in the city was Robin -who'd be home in a few hours anyway- made him realize that that would be a stupid request. John would want to go back eventually if only to get some fish and chips from that hole-in-the-wall restaurant by the docks, but today was not the day. So instead he wandered back to the kitchen and got himself more snacks. 

It seems like the obvious answer.

That left John just sitting there at the kitchen island, eating a slice of tangerine drizzle cake, and staring at the phone on the wall. Look, the teenager didn't claim he had many good ideas. In fact, he'd come to the point where he realized that his bad ideas were typically his only ideas and he had to work with what he had. So when Chas' home phone number kept flashing through his mind, John didn't fight the urge to go pick up the phone all that hard.

…Ring…Ring…Ring…Click… “Hello”

Part of John wanted to throw the phone back down onto the receiver. Instead, he swallowed and took a deep breath. “Uh, hey… Chas. Its John. How are you doing?”

“...Johnny? Is that you? My god, I thought you were dead! Where are you? are you in the area? I can come meet-”

“I'm in the States.”

There was a pause, during which John could practically hear Chas' mind whirling. He could picture the look on his face too, Chas' thinking expression with the pinched brow and sucked-in left cheek.

“Don't go thinking too hard, mate. You'll hurt yourself,” He said, trying to keep things light.

Chas let out a groan, both long-suffering and amused. It felt good to hear it again. “Damn it, how did you end up all the way across the pond? Are you okay?”

That was a complicated answer. John didn't think he'd ever been okay in his life. Now though? He was at least… 

“I'm somewhere safe,” he answered. “Somewhere comfortable. I think I'll be here for a while, so… I won’t be able to come get you anytime soon.”

“Fuck, I don't care about that. Mum spends more time in the hospital or the bar than she does at home now. It's not great, but I'm fine. I've been worried about you!”

‘Typical Chas, always too worried about his screw-up of a friend to care about himself. ’ John wanted to smile. “But since I'll be here for a while, I wanted to let you know that I was… Well, I wanted to let you know.”

“And I'm glad you did! If only because…” Chas swallowed audibly. “John, your dad… He's dead.”

A cold weight dropped into the teenager’s gut. “What?”

“Yeah, for a while now. I've been keeping an eye on your house. You know, just in case. And I found out that one of your neighbors had reported a bad smell, so a bobby came around, and found your dad dead in his recliner. It looks like he'd been that way for a while.”

Something indescribable was buzzing in John's head, drowning out the rest of the world. His father was dead. The father that he hated was dead. the man who had never taken care of him was dead. The man John left behind was dead.

“...Good.”

No one could force John back there now. 

Another pause from the other end of the line but then Chas snorted. “Yeah, that's what I thought you'd say. I wasn't disappointed to find out the old codger had croaked either. But Cheryl had him buried. I went to the funeral, more to talk to her than anything else. I was hoping she had heard from you, she was hoping I had heard from you, and we were both disappointed. You've got a niece now, though. Her name is Gemma, she's a little cutie.”