Chapter Text
Duke blinked blearily at his ceiling, drawing in a shaky breath. He rolled over and groaned as the beginnings of a migraine started to appear. Waking up wasn't usually this hard. Despite his long nights, he was typically a morning person. He liked waking up with the sun. He liked getting up, starting his day early and sticking to his schedule.
A harsh knock at his bedroom door made him flinch.
"Thomas, if you are not awake yet, I will -"
"I'm up," Duke called, closing his eyes tight when the sun seemed to glare past his curtains. "I'm up."
He heard Damian grunt in response before his footsteps receded. Duke pressed his hands into his eyes. He liked mornings so he wasn't sure why today was so different. He'd gone to bed at a decent time, all things considered. He hadn't gotten hurt on patrol. He had eaten enough food, stayed hydrated, stretched, blah blah blah. He had checked all the boxes. So, why did he have a raging headache first thing in the morning?
He reluctantly pulled himself up into a sitting position, a wave of nausea washing over him. He stood shakily and dragged himself into his bathroom.
Duke moved through his morning routine as if in a daze. He dropped his toothpaste too many times because the lights in his bathroom were too bright so he ended up brushing his teeth in the dark. Running into his doorframe didn't even wake him up. He tugged on his school uniform slowly. Maybe if he went down there and started sniffling, Bruce would let him skip school today.
Duke trudged slowly down the stairs and into the dining room. It was less an act and more a precaution. Bruce was at the head of the table, looking dead to the world, a newspaper untouched in front of him. It read BATMAN, LARK, SHRIKE STOP THE RIDDLER and Duke almost laughed but the light in the dining room wasn't any less harsh than in his bathroom. He squinted as he sat down. Damian was looking at him skeptically from Bruce's right.
"What's the matter with you?"
Duke shrugged, holding his head. He wasn't sure if he was just playing it up or if he genuinely felt close to passing out. "Not feeling great."
Damian narrowed his eyes before tapping Bruce on the hand. Bruce blinked and his eyes focused on Duke.
"Did you want to stay home today, Duke?"
"If Thomas is skipping, I would also like to stay home. School is useless to me, anyway. I am above it."
Bruce didn't dignify that with a response. "I didn't see any injuries from patrol last night."
"I've got a killer headache. I couldn't even turn the lights on."
"Hn. Maybe you should stay home, then. I wouldn't want it getting worse. Eat something and get back to bed. We'll see about patrol tonight, alright?"
Duke nodded and waited until Bruce went back to staring blankly at his coffee before he smiled smugly at Damian. "Have a good day at school!"
Damian sneered.
Duke waited until both Bruce and Damian had left for work and school to haul himself back up to his room.
“Shall I fetch something for your migraine, Thomas?”
Duke was filled with relief when Damian’s voice hadn’t come out as loud as it usually does but instead a quieter tone. He buried his head further into his arms, squeezing his eyes shut against the bright light of the Batcomputer. He swallowed thickly, his throat incredibly dry, before answering.
“I’m okay.”
He almost laughed at how hoarse he sounded. As if he hadn’t been chugging water all day just to keep his headache at bay. He would’ve taken Damian up on his offer except he’d just taken a painkiller barely an hour ago. Taking another might not be the best idea. Duke just took a deep breath and sat up when Damian didn’t leave. Prying his eyes open, he was met with a near-blinding light that was only partially blocked by Damian’s head.
“You are clearly unwell.” Damian crossed his arms. “Perhaps you should sit out patrol tonight.”
It wasn’t the usual condescension so Duke figured he looked pretty bad if Damian was suggesting missing patrol out of actual concern.
“I’m fine, Dames. Really.”
Damian narrowed his eyes. “You look like death. But if you insist. Father will only see your incompetence. Do not blame me should he replace you immediately.”
The older boy marched off but the insult had lacked any of his usual bite.
Duke spun his chair away from the computer. He needed a break. He just needed to clear his head before patrol and he’d be good to go. He just needed a nap. Slowly, as if moving too fast would cause him to faceplant, Duke got up and made his way back to the Manor. His feet dragged and each footstep echoed loudly in his head, the sound scraping against his skull over and over. The only reprieve being the darkness of the tunnel leading up to Bruce’s office.
For the first time in forever, Bruce was actually in his office, doing regular Wayne Enterprises work.
“Duke,” Bruce sat up, paperwork forgotten. “Damian said you weren’t feeling well. If you think you need to-”
“I’m fine, Bruce. Just need a nap.”
Duke ignored the man’s concerned gaze and sidestepped out of the office -
Only to run right into Alfred.
The butler gave him a once-over, eyes scrutinizing despite the worry in them. Duke only sighed, patting his shoulder.
“Alfred, I’m gonna go take a nap right now. No need to lecture me on self care.”
Alfred pursed his lips. “Very well, Master Duke.”
Duke was out of breath by the time he made it up to his room. Maybe this migraine was worse than he thought. He climbed into bed after making sure no light got into his room, he even tipped his digital clock over. He pulled his blankets up and over his head and pressed his face into his pillows. The darkness behind his eyelids didn’t last very long even as he slid into sleep.
A flash of bright, burning light. It seared into Duke’s eyes like a branding.
He screamed.
Okay, he tried to scream. He felt weightless like he wasn’t real. Like he was dead.
“Duke.”
At the sound of his mom’s voice, Duke turned around but he was only met with more light, more pain. Not just a flash of it but a light that stretched on and on no matter how he strained his eyes to see past it, no matter which direction he turned. He tried to call out to her, to ask her where she was. To ask if she was okay. But it was pointless.
“Duke!”
Her voice was urgent and scared. Duke reached for her, he couldn’t see past this light, but maybe he could still find her. Except Duke couldn’t move his arms, or his legs with the light surrounding him, buring into his skin.
He struggled, writhing in pain from the light that ripped his senses apart like a knife on skin while his mother seemed to cry out for him, her voice only growing more frantic. He wanted to cry and scream but his entire body felt nonexistent but too aware of the pain for that to be true at all.
“MOM!”
Duke finally regained his motor skills and he shot out of the bed, stumbling into the middle of his room that was ridiculously bright. His shirt clung to his skin, drenched in sweat. He rubbed his eyes when they started to burn and the light was gone when he opened them again. He turned in a slow circle, breathing heavily, forcing the strange dream from his mind, as he tried to find the source of the light.
A sharp knock landed on his door.
Duke’s throat dried up quickly and he stuttered out a small “come in".
Bruce opened the door, a deep frown etched across his face. His eyes flitted across Duke’s figure as he took slow steps into the room. “Duke, you’re shaking.”
Duke wrapped his arms around himself to stop the shivering. “I’m fine. What time is it?”
He moved over to his clock and tried to pick it up but it slipped from his weak grip, tumbling onto the carpeted floor. The green light of the numbers made Duke flinch and turn away from it.
Bruce was closer now. He gently laid a hand on Duke’s shoulder. “Maybe you should just lie back down, Duke. You must have caught something.”
Duke shook his hand off. “What time is it?”
Bruce had the audacity to look guilty. “It’s around five AM.”
Duke took a sharp breath and then another. “You let me miss patrol?”
“Yes -”
“Why didn’t you wake me up? I’m fine! Even after all these years, you keep underestimating me. I can handle a little headache.”
Except Duke knew he wasn’t fine. Despite the complete darkness of his room, he felt the light from his dream seeping into the edges of his vision. His heart rate kicked up when he heard echoes of his mom’s cries and he felt the urge to cover his ears.
"Duke -"
"Just leave me alone, alright?" Duke turned around and he felt the rest of the world spin with him. He managed to stay upright.
"I just figured you could use the rest. You're not fine. Just try to sleep some more and we can get you checked out if you don't feel any better."
Duke didn't respond. He was too busy trying not to pass out, the ground seemingly disappearing beneath his feet as the weightlessness from his dream returned. He was able to sit on his bed in time slip back into unconsciousness.
The last thing he heard was Bruce closing the door.
“Duke.”
The blinding, burning light was there again, still tearing into his retinas like a blender. But the voice that spoke his name now wasn’t his mother’s and it definitely wasn’t Bruce. The voice rattled him down to his bones, inspiring a kind of fear Duke only reserved for some of Gotham’s fiercest Rogues. Duke could hear the sheer power behind the voice despite there being nothing to indicate this was more than another nightmare.
“Wake up.”
Duke’s eyes snapped open.
Finally, he peered past the light, straining his eyes, down at his arms and hands. Beams of light were pouring out of him like water from a stream. It flooded the room, almost solidifying around him, encasing him in light.
He began hyperventilating. Duke shut his eyes tightly and sunk to the floor, trying to snuff the light out. Maybe if it just went away he could figure this out, he could make it stop and he could be normal again.
Sweat poured down his face and he pressed himself into the floor, willing the light to go anywhere else.
When it finally died down, Duke didn’t open his eyes or get up. What was happening to him?
Duke felt panic building in his throat. He needed to leave.
When Duke made it out of the Manor - via window because he couldn't face Damian or Bruce, not right now - he booked it to the nearest bus stop. His legs felt weak, like he'd slip into that same feeling of weightlessness as in his dream. He moved faster despite the burning in his legs. He practically collasped onto the seat of the bus and pulled his knees up to his chest, leaning against the window. There was no sun in the sky this morning and Duke was grateful for that.
He pulled his bag into his lap. He had quickly grabbed all of the things that he was sure he couldn't go without. It was easy grabbing the photobook, his dad's jacket, his mom's old walkman. Things he'd grabbed before the rest of his apartment was locked away. Stuff he hadn't really unpacked. A part of him always wanted to be able to grab it and go. Guess he hadn't been too far off.
He pulled his dad's old bomber jecket out of his bag and shoved his arms through it. When he had grabbed it when he was ten, he had never imagined he could wear it without the sleeves hanging over his hands. But now the jacket was starting to fit better. Duke zipped the jacket all the way up and hugged himself.
The bus stopped at the facility his parents were in and he hesitated before stepping off.
The cold facility made him shiver, the light brimming beneath his fingertips. He swallowed, the sensation hardly fading. Duke focused on pushing it down, keeping the light at bay, keeping it from blazing out of control and blinding everyone in the vicinity. He stepped quietly and slowly down the hallway - the forced and strained laughter of other Jokerized patients grating against his ears.
Would his parents even be able to answer him?
Duke knew the answer to that, of course.
His parents were barely ever lucid and when they were, they were plagued by amnesia, hallucinations they couldn't explain, and those periods never lasted longer than a few moments. The doctors still were nowhere near a cure (and neither was Batman) and they seemed more clueless as time went on. Duke kept walking.
The familiar sound of his father's laughter made him stop, his fists curling at his sides.
The sound was harsh, less of a laugh and more of pressure suffocating his father from the inside. His father choked on his laughter and Duke could hear the rattle of the bed shaking as his father thrashed against his restraints. Duke approached the door and glanced into the small window. His mother was curled as best she could, staring blankly at the wall while his father continued with his fit.
Duke finally entered the room slowly. What was he even supposed to do? Why did he come here? They couldn't help him - they couldn't even help themselves.
"Mom," Duke's voice cracked.
He had to shout over his father's laughter. Duke wanted to wipe his father's eyes when they filled with tears. He stepped closer to his mother's bed. She didn't move.
"Mom, I know you can hear me. I know you're in there. Please, just tell me what's happening to me."
His mother's eyes shifted until they focused on him. Duke's heart leapt into his throat. The light burned under his skin and he clasped his hands together, physically pushing back against the light threatening to pour out of him.
"Mom? Mom, what's going on? Did you know? Did Dad?" He rushed up to her, resisting the urge to grab her hands. What if he hurt her?
She just stared at him and his father's laughter echoed around the room.
The edges of Duke's vision began to blur again.
Duke. Wake up.
The voice from his dream.
Goosebumps spread across his arms as he tensed, becoming far more aware of his surroundings. He didn't miss how his mother's eyes turned fearful as her gaze slid past him. Duke turned to look where her gaze landed but there was nothing but a chair in the corner. He stared at it, his eyes unfocusing.
"Mom," Duke tried again, frustration growing. "Did you know I was a metahuman?"
His father abruptly stopped laughing.
Duke whipped around. His dad was staring at his mom.
"Dad?"
Duke wasn't sure what he had expected. They hadn't spoken in complete, comprehensible sentences since before they'd been Jokerized. He felt warm, feverish almost. His hands burned where they were clasped together. He let out a harsh breath, irritation growing. He didn't want to be mad at them - none of this was their fault.
But he needed answers.