Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Alright, William. I'm going to say a word, and I want you to tell me the first thing that comes to mind when you hear it, okay?”

“Sure.” William was lying down on the therapist's couch, absently tossing a ball into the air, and trying to figure out why her voice sounded familiar. “Are you sure I've never seen you before, Dr. Lance?”

Dr. Lance gave him a smile that for some reason crawled unpleasantly down the back of William's neck. “I'm sure. But it's been a pleasure getting to know you during our session today. Now, are you ready?”

“Go ahead.”

“Alright, stop me if you ever feel the need to elaborate. Home.”

“Family.” William threw his ball into the air.

“Color.”

“Red.” He caught it with the same hand.

“Mother.”

“Egypt.” Throw.

“Father.”

“Pyramid. Wait,” William caught his ball between his thumb and palm in a clumsy stop gesture. “The ones in Mexico. Not the ones in Egypt.”

“Interesting,” Dr. Lance wrote something down on her notepad. “Do you know why?”

William rolled his eyes. “Of course not. I wouldn't be here if I did, would I?”

Dr. Lance gave a small chuckle. “No, I suppose not. Shall we continue?”

“Go ahead.” He threw the ball again.

“Sky.”

“Blue.” Catch.

“Sink.”

“Boat.” Throw.

“City.”

“Faucet. Wait.” William creased his eyes in confusion as he caught the ball. “I think I was still thinking of sink.” He hadn't been, but what other explanation could there be? “Can I try again?”

“Of course, I'll go back to that word later, after your mind's had some time to reset. Animal.”

William grinned as he tossed the ball. “Tiger.”

“Storm.”

“Cloud.” Catch.

“Bird.”

“Eagle.” Throw.

“City”

Catch. “Gotham.”

“You.”

“Split.” William kept tossing the ball up and down and tried to ignore that pitying look Dr. Lance was giving him. Of course he didn't know why, but that look rankled at something deep within him that William had decided to call his “alley cat brain”.

“Would you like to elaborate on that?”

William sat up just to give his look of incredulity more oomph. “After the last half hour, how can I elaborate more?”

“Sorry,” Dr. Lance smiled. “I suppose that should've been obvious to me.”

“And I'm sorry I snapped at you. It's just...” William laid back down and tossed the ball halfheartedly between his hands. “Is this really gonna help me get my memories back, Dr. Lance?”

Dr. Lance sighed. “William, memory loss as complete as what you have usually means that you went through something extremely traumatic –Possibly for a very long time– and your brain is trying to protect you from it. Your memories might come back on their own, when you're ready to heal from them.”

William nodded. “I guess that makes sense, but...”

“Yes, William?”

“I can't even remember Mr. Wayne adopting me. What if I never get my memories back?”

Dr. Lance smiled at him again. Not the pitying look that still made William's alley cat brain raise its hackles, something more real. “Then I think you should consider that you don't have to remember all the bad things that happened in your past in order to have a good future.”

“Okay... yeah.” William smiled. Was it weird that he suddenly felt lighter? “Yeah! Thank you Dr. Lance!”

The sound of bells fluttered through the room.

“That's our time for today, but I hope I've given you something to think about. Now go on, I'm sure your family's eager to see you again.”

“Definitely. To both. See you next week!” William Wayne gave Dr. Dinah Lance a quick hug and ran out the door to see his family.

-

William Wayne's first clear memory was waking up warm, in a bed that was so soft and sheets that were so cozy that it felt like he was sleeping in the middle of a whole pack of tigers, all lazing away in the sunlight after a successful hunt. So what if tigers are mostly solitary creatures and don't tend to cuddle up in big packs like other cats, that's just how it felt.

Except when he opened his eyes, instead of a bunch of friendly tigers, he saw a whole lot of human faces he didn't recognize smiling down at him from under an unfamiliar and unreasonably fancy ceiling.

“William!” One of the taller faces said. That wasn't his name. That was definitely not his name. Something about a grown-up calling him William rang alarm bells in some wild and animal part of his brain that for some reason made him think of alley cats scattering in terror. “Hey buddy. Glad to see you're finally awake. How do you feel?”

Well, he couldn't remember where he'd fallen asleep, and now he was in a strange place surrounded by strange people calling him the wrong name. Naturally, he did what any reasonable alley cat would do in his situation and started biting.

Or tried to, anyway. Between all the yelling and commotion after he'd lunged at the guy that had been talking to him, he never actually managed to sink teeth into flesh. The smallest kid had drawn knives at him.

“William,” the largest man said. The one who'd been standing next to the man he'd thrown himself at. When he spoke, everyone else in the room stopped. “It's alright. The doctors told me you might react like this. How much do you remember?”

The answer, as it turned out, was nothing.

Vague images of a warm bed, cold alleys, a lightning strike.

And then... nothing.

Nothing.

Fifteen minutes of sobbing and a cup of Mr. Call-Me-Alfred Pennyworth's hot chocolate with whipped cream, marshmallows, cinnamon, and a dash of orange extract later, the family had filled William on his situation.

His name was William, as much as the name squirmed uncomfortably under his skin and made his alley cat brain want to scramble away and hide in the nearest abandoned building every time he heard the grown-ups say it. His name was William Wayne. For some reason the alliteration made it sit better with him. Less like a squirming wriggling bad-ness trying to crawl out of his skin and more like the itch of a shirt with the tag still on. He was the most recent adopted child of Billionaire CEO Bruce Wayne. Before that, he had been living alone on the streets of Gotham City. One day ago, he'd disappeared for ten hours. A heroic vigilante detective called Batman had saved him, but the trauma of what had happened to him those ten hours combined with the trauma of his life on the streets had made him lose all his memories.

A warm bed, cold alleys, a lightning strike.

Well... Their story fit. Almost.

Even if it didn't, it's not like he was in a position to argue about it. And anyway, the Waynes seemed nice enough. Mr. Alfred was probably the best cook in the world and he didn't mind that William probably didn't know any rich-people manners and was still dirty from whatever happened in those ten hours. Mr. Call-Me-Bruce Wayne had taken him shopping for new clothes in case he didn't like whatever he'd bought for William-From-Before, actually let him pick the clothes he wanted, and even let him see a brain doctor to help him deal with the memory loss! Mr. Call-Me-Dick (why) Grayson let himself get absolutely grilled about the Batman (he was a fighting superhero detective with a kid sidekick who could use swords) and even told him about Gotham's other superheros (Nightwing used to be Robin, and according to Mr. Bruce was a better villain-fighting detective than Batman. Agents Duck and Swan of the Little Dragon Detective Agency were independent players who worked with Batman and Robin a lot, and once beat The Riddler without even leaving their base) He even agreed to let William call him D! And Damian-Will-Suffice let him play with his dog (An adorable giant named Titus) and instead of getting mad when things got a bit too rough and rowdy and they accidentally knocked him into a patch of mud, he joined their human-vs-canine wrestling match.

And when the three of them came back to the manor laughing and covered in mud, nobody got mad that they were dirtying up the clean floors. Mr. Alfred just sighed fondly and said “It's good to see young Master Damian playing with another child his age”, and D said “Trust me, this is far from the worst thing someone left on Alfred's floors”, and Mr. Bruce just gave them a warm smile and said “you should probably clean yourselves up before dinner. Here, I'll take Titus. Damian, show your new brother to the bathrooms.”

Something about the way all of that had made William feel all warm and fuzzy inside told him that nobody had ever treated him as good as the Waynes in a long, long time.

Chapter Text

“Dr. Lance?”

“Yes, William?”

“Do you believe in magic?”

Dr. Lance laughed. “No. I'm afraid I know too many magicians to believe in magic. They look like they can do completely impossible things, but in the end there's always a perfectly reasonable explanation. Why do you ask?”

William wrung his hands together. “It's nothing, I guess.”

Dr. Lance hummed. “In my experience, nothing is ever nothing. But if you're not comfortable talking about it now, that's alright. We can always revisit it when you're ready.”

“I'm fine talking about it. It's just... what if you think I'm crazy?”

“I won't think you're crazy, William. This is a judgement-free zone, I promise.”

William breathed in, and steeled himself to talk. “Okay. So yesterday Damian was showing me his knife collection-- don't look at me like that Dr. Lance, a lot of them are really cool. he's got this super well maintained Jambiya that he says was owned by the Last sultan of Granada and holy moly it's-- But that's not what I want to talk about. He showed me this very well-preserved ornamental Xiphos from Olympia that his friend Timothy gave him. It had a bronze eagle at the end of the hilt and I think an inscription on the blade, but when I leaned close to it to get a better look it jumped out of Damian's hands and Zap! ” William made a zig-zag with his hand and slapped it down onto his other hand. “A tiny bolt of lightning jumped out of the dagger and hit me right on the nose! We both almost jumped out of our skins. I'm pretty sure Bruce thought we were gonna die, I've never seen him run into a room that fast.”

Dr. Lance hmm -ed. “Why do you think it was lightning?”

“It looked like a little lightning bolt, and it made a loud Pop! sound almost like a thunderclap.” And what else could it be? It just... felt like lighting, in that alley cat part of William's brain. But his alley cat brain had steered him wrong before, when it told him that his name wasn't William and that the Waynes were dangerous strangers, so maybe he couldn't trust it.

“I see,” Dr. Lance nodded. “What do you know about electricity?”

William shrugged. “I don't know. There's a lot of stuff I don't know that I know until I find out I know it. You know?”

“I know.” Dr. Lance gave a soft chuckle. “Sometimes a lot of electricity ends up trapped in one place, with nowhere else to go but where it already is. Like a water balloon that's about to pop.”

Something in William's alley cat brain recoiled at the idea of trapped lightning, but William was careful to make sure it didn't show in his face. That was definitely a stupid thing for his alley cat brain to be bothered about.

“It's completely normal,” Dr. Lance continued. “Most of the time people do it by accident, by shuffling barefoot on a carpet or even just going down a plastic slide. Then, when you get close enough to a conductor, like an ancient Greek dagger, all that electricity suddenly has somewhere to go.”

“And the water balloon pops.”

“And the water balloon pops. Thunderstorms work like that too. So do magnets, in a way. Which is probably why the knife jumped out of your brother's hand and why you described the spark that came out of your nose as a tiny bolt of lightning, don't you think?”

“Yeah,” William nodded. “Yeah! Golly, I feel really silly now that you've explained it to me like that, Dr. Lance.”

Dr. Lance smiled at him. “I don't think it's silly at all. I'm glad you asked me about it. Tell you what, if anything like that explain happens again, and you don't know how to explain it any way other than magic, tell me about it. I'll explain it to you, and I promise I won't judge. Okay?”

“Okay. Thanks Dr. Lance.”

“Of course. Now, I want to finish our session with the same word association game from last week. Is that alright with you?”

“Sure. I'm ready.”

“Alright. Bird.”

“Robin.”

“Sun.”

“Chariot. Not sure why, that's just the first thing that came to mind.”

“Home.”

“Manor.”

-

It is in a cage. It is movement itself and somehow someone has caged it. Ripped it from its wielder and locked it somewhere with neither lock nor key nor space nor even an outside from which it can petition aid.

It has many enemies, but which of them is powerful enough to do this?

None but the Seven, the Traitor, the Champion, and the gods.

The Seven are naught but mindless beasts, each in pursuit of a singular goal, utterly blind to anything else. The Traitor would steal it for himself, never condemn it to this constricting nothing. It has not enraged the gods. It knows their rules and it has not broken them. If it had, they would tell it so before caging it, announcing his failures before the Muses so the next ten generations may know not to do whatever it is that it had done.

The Champion would never willingly cage a part of himself. It knew this. It knew this, but it did not know who The Champion was.

Why didn't it know who The Champion was?

Where was it?

Who was it?

Who could have stolen it so completely?

Trapped in a colorless prison, all the Living Lightning can do is rage.

William Wayne woke up with the mother of all headaches and the worst case of floaty hair the world had ever seen.

-

“Do I really have to go to school today?” William grouched to his dad over his breakfast. Porridge oats with apples, cinnamon, and a huge helping of Maple Syrup. On top of the headache that still wouldn't go away all the way, in the hour and a half since he'd woken up, he'd been shocked by the doorknob to his room, the first aid kit Mr. Alfred (“Master William, I insist you dispose of that honorific.” “You first, Mr. Alfred.”) had given him so he could take some ibuprofen, and even his spoon.

“School's important, William. Especially your first day,” Mr. Bruce said, placing his index and middle finger on William's forehead. “Hmm. No fever. Is your headache any worse?”

William shook his head.

“And you haven't noticed any other symptoms?”

William shrugged. “Not unless you count getting shocked every half hour.”

Mr. Bruce tousled his hair. William leaned into the touch. “There's been an unusual buildup of static electricity lately. But no, I don't think that's a symptom of whatever's causing your headache.”

William huffed. It felt like they were connected, with his nightmare about the caged lightning too. But maybe that was just his alley cat brain talking.

Yeah, that was probably it.

“How about this,” Mr. Bruce began, reaching for something in his pocket.

“Father,” Damian interrupted him from right outside the dining room. “Why are you still awake?”

Mr. Bruce looked up at his son. “Why don't you think I went to bed after you?” The way he asked it was... strange. It wasn't like he was denying staying up all night. More like he was... assessing something.

Damian scoffed. “I'm well aware of your nightly routines and how long certain events would delay them. You likely returned to the manor late, saw what time it was, and decided that it would be more efficient to remain awake in order to see myself and William off to school instead of going to sleep and letting Grayson drive us.”

“Quite so, Master Damian, Quite so.” Alfred said as he set Damian's breakfast down on the table.

Damian nodded as he sat. “Thank you, Pennyworth.”

William looked up at Mr. Alfred and grinned. It felt wonderfully like a tiger baring its teeth. “See, Mr. Alfred? Damian still calls you Pennyworth.”

Damian looked at William like he wanted to throw his knife at him. He stabbed it into his falafel instead. “I will not be used as ammunition in your petty argument.”

Mr. Alfred sighed. “Master Bruce has the uncanny ability of exclusively taking in children who are just as stubborn as he is.”

“What can I say,” Mr. Bruce chuckled. “It's a talent.”

The sound of bare feet sliding across tile at inadviseable speeds sliced through the room. D narrowly missed slamming facefirst into the doorframe. “B! What's this I hear about you not getting any sleep last night?”

Mr. Bruce put on a smile like he was putting on a mask. His entire face changed, it was weird. “Dick! Good morning, son.”

“Nope,” D grinned and lifted his index finger at him. “You do not get to get out of this by calling me 'son'.”

“Grayson,” Damian nodded at him. “I see you received my text.”

“And it's a good thing too,” D said before turning back to Mr. Bruce. “Were you planning on driving the kids to school? What happened to all those lectures you kept giving me and Ja-- you kept giving me about how 'driving tired is more dangerous than driving drunk'?”

D, Mr. Alfred, and Mr. Bruce always interrupted themselves when they almost said that name. Jay-something. William wondered who he was.

“Master Bruce appears to have listened to his own advice on the subject about as much as he listened to mine,” Alfred came into the room and set D's breakfast on the table. An unholy amalgamation of the sugariest, most marshmallow-filled cereals William could ever remember seeing (not that that was saying much) fried into a french omelette. “Good morning, Master Dick. I take it you will be the one to drive the children to school today?”

“You bet.” D sat down and took a bite of his crime against eggs. “Delicious as always, Alf. Thank you!”

Mr. Alfred sighed. “I suppose we must all make sacrifices for the ones we love.”

“I can drive,” Mr. Bruce said, practically moping into his... William hesitated to call it breakfast, of black coffee and chocolate covered coffee beans.

“Mr. Alfred,” William looked up at him. “If Mr. Bruce is driving, can I stay home?”

“You may indeed, Master William.” Mr. Alfred nodded. “Your safety is far more important to than your education, as I'm sure Master Bruce would agree.”

“I have taken longer drives on less sleep.” Mr. Bruce protested.

Both Mr. Alfred and D froze. Their eyes widened. What did they think he was talking about?

Damian rolled his eyes, seemingly unaffected by whatever had caused his grandfather and big brother to act like they'd seen a ghost. “That does not inspire confidence in your decision making abilities, Father. I promised Timothy and Cassandra that they would meet William today, and I will not be made a liar because you fell asleep at the wheel. Regardless, you've been outvoted.”

“Since when is this family a democracy?” Mr. Bruce said with his version of a wry grin (it looked exactly like D's wry grin, but divided by two and mostly concentrated in the eyes. Most of Mr. Bruce's expressions worked like that).

“Since every one of our votes equals to one of yours,” D said. “Now go to bed. You can drive the kids to school tomorrow.”

“Only if you get some sleep first!” William added.

Mr. Bruce sighed. “Alfred, My children are ganging up on me.”

“Indeed they are, Master Bruce.”

“Was I like this when I was their age?”

“Indeed you were, Master Bruce.”

Mr. Bruce sighed again, and buried his head in his elbows, defeated.

“Great!” D finished his more-of-a-breakfast-than-what-Bruce-had and jumped up from his seat. “I'll get the car.”

“William,” Mr. Bruce said, reaching in his pocket again. “Before I forget. Your phone.”

“Holy moly.”

Mr. Bruce smiled. “It has everyone's contact numbers on it. If your headache gets worse, or you start feeling to ill to stay in school, or if there's an emergency, you can call me or Dick or Alfred, and we'll come over to pick you up.”

William jumped up to hug his dad. “Thank you Mr. Bruce!”

-

Three hours later, William was sitting in the principal's office next to a kid twice his size who was nursing a slowly darkening black eye with a bag of ice. Hidden behind the bag of ice was a concerningly lightning-shaped burn that looked like it was coming out of the bruise.

Not unlike the scars William had that zigzagged out from over his heart. The ones his family claimed not to know the origins of.

The principal was looking dubiously at the teacher who had taken them there.

“Professor Silver,” The principal began. “How sure are you that it was this Mr. Wayne who punched Mr. Powers?”

“It was!” the kid that the principal called Mr. Powers bawled. Either William's punch packed a lot more power than he thought, or the kid was a very good actor.

“I wouldn't believe it either if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes and heard his fist meet his skull with my own two ears.”

Personally, William thought it sounded more like a thunderclap than a punch. Not that he remembered ever hearing any punches in his life. Or thunderclaps, come to think of it.

Stupid alley cat brain.

“Sic the Batman on him!” Mr. Powers continued to whine. “He's a meta! He's gotta be!”

The principal just gave the kid an unimpressed stare. “If the newest Mr. Wayne were a meta, he'd have been shipped out of Gotham years ago. By the bat or by human traffickers.” She leveled the stare back at Professor Silver. “Now, I don't know what you two are playing at, but Mr. Wayne is still one of our biggest sources of funding and I will not have your lies and hearsay jeopardize that. If it didn't work with the mulatto, it's not going to work with the beanpole.”

William launched himself at the principal. He was going for the nose, but she turned her head at the last minute and he punched her in the cheek instead.

Professor Silver grabbed Willam by the ankles and dragged him off of her.

“As you can see,” the Principal said, gesturing to her infuriatingly unscathed face, “while both of Bruce Wayne's children have impeccable form when it comes to throwing a punch, this one completely lacks in the muscle needed to cause such a bruise as can be found on Mr. Powers' face. Mr. Wayne.” She turned to William now. “If you are willing to forgive these two individuals for trying to frame you, I am willing to forgive the assault you just made on my person.”

William didn't want to. Boy he didn't want to. But Damian had so been looking forward to introducing him to Timothy and Cassandra over lunch today! And he'd already missed almost half of it because of this debacle, he didn't want to miss more.

So, begrudgingly, he accepted.

-

“You're late.” Damian thrust a tray of food at William. “I've already taken the liberty of selecting what most passes for edible food in this establishment, so you won't waste further time in the line picking through leftovers like a sparrow among seagulls.”

William grinned. “Thanks, Damian. Sorry I couldn't get here earlier, there was this--”

Damian raised his hand. “Explain when we reach our table. There's no sense in repeating yourself. Is your headache still troubling you?”

William's eyes widened. He couldn't remember it bothering him any time after he'd punched Powers. “...No, actually. Why?”

“Because Timothy has the uncanny ability to exacerbate them.”

It wasn't a very long way to the table, but something in William's alley cat brain demanded he not wait until they reach it to start eating.

It was its first idea in a while that actually made any sense. He couldn't eat and talk at the same time.

“I don't know what you problem is with this food,” William said, mouth half-full and chewing. “It's pretty good!”

“Please,” Damian scoffed. “That is an insult to Pennyworth's cooking.”

“No it's not,” William swallowed. “Mr. Alfred's food is amazing.” He took another bite. “This stuff's just pretty good.”

Damian's eye twitched. “If you consider that poor excuse of a meal to be pretty good , I shudder to ask what you would consider bad.”

William took another bite. “Don't remember.”

“Cease this behavior at once! However good you might find it, it's not worth even the slightest risk of choking.”

Damian moved to... something. But before he could, another kid's hand grabbed him by the wrist.

“Calm,” the owner of the voice said. She was a tall teenager of Asian descent, and held her own surprisingly well in the scuffle that ensued when Damian tried freeing himself.

It almost looked like a real fight, but William's alley cat brain told him that it wasn't. Something about... not taking advantage of obvious openings?

William himself decided that it was because the other teenager at the table was just eating his lunch and looking on as if this was just a normal Monday thing. William didn't want their fighting to knock his tray out of his hands, so he chose the safer option and sat next to him. Interestingly enough, there were two abandoned trays of food on the other end of the table.

“Calm,” the teenage girl said again after she had successfully grabbed both of Damian's wrists (though not his plastic knife and when did Damian even get that his hands were empty the last time William had seen them).

Damian glowered. “I assure you, Cassandra, I am perfectly calm. Now please unhand me.”

William couldn't help it, he laughed.

Damian stared daggers at him. William would ask him what kind of daggers later. He hoped they were Xiphos. “What.”

“Sorry,” William giggled. “It's just the only time I've seen you not run on at least one or two percent anger is when you're talking about knives or playing with Titus.”

Cassandra released him, and sat down in front of one of the abandoned trays.

Damian massaged his wrists. “That is because Titus and Pennyworth are the only people in this family who consistently demonstrate evidence of sense.”

The plastic knife was gone as if it were never there. No wait, the tip of it was just barely peeking out of his sleeve.

“Ouch,” William said.

Damian scoffed and sat down in front of the other previously abandoned tray. “You, at least, have a valid excuse. Occasionally it feels like Father and Grayson delight in behaving like fools.”

William furrowed his brows. “D? Really? Sure, he likes sliding down the railing while doing a one-armed handstand, but...”

The teenage boy who was probably Timothy laughed. “Wow. I can't believe he still hasn't told you the story about how he--!”

“Timothy,” Damian hissed, “be silent. He cannot know that father is--” He caught the plastic fork Cassandra threw at him without looking back and turned to her. Surprisingly unhostile considering what he'd done when she grabbed him. “What is it, Cassandra?”

What Cassandra did next was... strange. She spoke, and William could understand it, but she was talking with her hands instead of her mouth. “He's listening. He understands you.” She looked closer at William. It felt kinda like someone was reading his soul again. (again? What did his alley cat brain think it meant by again?) “He understands both of us. He doesn't know why.”

Timothy and Damian looked at William, confused.

“Didn't you grow up on the streets of Gotham?” Timothy asked.

Now William was confused. “...Yes? But I don't actually remember any of it. What's that got to do with anything? What can't I know about Mr. Bruce?”

Timothy stared. Half at him, half at some vague point right beyond him. William could practically see the gears whirling in his head. “The ASL I get. There's plenty of opportunity to learn on the streets. Jas-- well, an Alley kid I know learned it long before-- Nevermind. What I'm trying to say is there's a thriving Deaf community both on and off the streets, so you could've learned.” Timothy's eyes focused all the way back on William. “But Gotham isn't exactly famous for its Arabic speaking community.”

Whatever point Timothy thought he was making didn't land. “What does Arabic have to do with anything?”

Timothy blinked at him. “You don't know?”

“I have amnesia.”

“I know that, that's not what I'm talking about. I mean--”

Damian growled in frustration. “This will only continue to get you nowhere, Timothy. William, I am going to ask you a question.”

“What is it?”

“Brother mine, do you speak Arabic?”

William shook his head. “No, why would I...” Except the way he said no didn't match up with the way he usually said no. It sounded like he was saying la. He repeated himself, just to make sure he wasn't going crazy. “No.” There it was again. He was saying no but he was actually saying la. “Holy moly...”

“So that's a 'yes'.” Timothy said, except for what William heard as yes was actually pronounced aywa. “We should probably figure out what other languages you speak before we embarrass ourselves.”

William's stupid alley cat brain wanted him to blurt out “all of them”, but that was definitely impossible.

“Later, Tim.” Cassandra said. “First: Hellos.” She gestured to herself and made signed her name against her chest. “Cass.”

Cass held out her hand.

William took it. “William. It's a pleasure to meet you, Cass.”

Timothy laughed. “Right, sorry. Hi William. My name is Tim Drake, please call me Tim. I hope the Principal wasn't too hard on you.”

William's brows furrowed. “How did you know I was called to the Principal's office?”

“My brother is a good detective,” Cass signed.

Tim blushed and sank into his chair “Cass...”

Damian rolled his eyes, and... was that the beginnings of a smile? “He will claim it was nothing but simple deduction.”

“It was!” Tim said, still red as a tomato as he sat back up. “And this was too. When you didn't show up to lunch on time, the most likely reasons were either that you got in trouble or that you got sick. Since you're here, you're obviously not sick, so you must have gotten in trouble. Who did you punch?”

Before William could begin to wonder how Tim had come to that conclusion, Damian pinched his nose and said “as I recall, you were adamant that he was in trouble with the principal long before he entered the lunchroom and your conclusion became obvious.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Fine, if you wanna get technical about it. You said Mr. Wayne gave him a phone, right Damian?”

“Correct. With the instruction to contact the Manor in the event of an emergency.”

Tim pointed at Damian. “Right. We'd all know if there was an emergency, so we can rule that out. They'd have told you if he had to call in sick, so we can rule that out. And from what little you've told me about William, he was looking forward to meeting your friends.” He gestured to himself and Cass, then turned to William. “So you would've shown up on time if you could've. That leaves getting called to the Principal's office. And I could tell you punched someone by looking at your knucles. So again: who'd you punch?”

William was at a loss for words for a moment. “Wow. Um... So, have you heard of this kid called Powers?”

Cass nodded with a grimace.

Damian growled like a tiger seeking revenge. “Powers is an imbecile and a coward who believes his overabundance of muscles can make up for his lack of intelligence.”

Tim's eyes widened. “You punched Powers?”

William nodded.

“You're not hurt.” Cass signed. “Impressive.”

Tim looked him up and down. “No offense, but... how?”

“More relevant,” Damian interrupted before William could answer, “is what Powers did to deserve it.”

William shrugged. “He was trying to steal some first graders' lunch money, so I just... punched him. And he went down.”

“I agree with Timothy. Your story seems... improbable.”

“I'm not lying!” William snapped, and immediately regretted it. “Sorry, Damian, I...”

“Your apology is unneded, though appreciated. I did not mean to call you a liar. I merely meant to say that you must be stronger than you look.”

William blushed, and looked down. “I'm not so sure about that...”

“Obviously, you can't tell Mr. Wayne.” Tim said, to general nodding from the other two.

“What? Why? Does it have anything to do with what I can't know about him?”

Damian and Tim flinched.

“That's what we didn't want you to know. Mr. Wayne's a nice guy, but...” Tim grimaced. “He's got closeted anti-metahuman beliefs.”

Damian pinched his nose. “That is a gross oversimplification.”

“No metas in Gotham.” Cass signed with a scowl.

“That is also a gross oversimplification,” Damian sighed. “As well as irrelevant, since that is a baseless rumor about the Batman that serves to prevent metahuman civilians from coming to Gotham and potentially getting used by a villain to cause widespread destruction. However,” he turned to William. “It would still be unwise to tell Father about the altercation with Powers, as if he believed you had abilities similar to a metahuman's, he would likely try to suppress them.”

Something unpleasant crawled up the back of William's neck. “Suppress... how?”

Tim's eyes widened. “Nothing bad, we promise! Just distractions, mostly.” He rested his hand on his chin and started counting on his other hand. “Homework, busywork, hobbies... It's been a while since I've visited you guys, does he still use the gym to...”

Damian scoffed. “If you're speaking of his attempts to use exercise for petty psychological manipulations, yes. Though I am far too skilled for them to prove effective on me.” The tips of his ears reddened. “Mostly.”

“So yeah, that too. He likes to keep his kids' brains occupied with enjoyable and/or rewarding activities so they hopefully forget about whatever he doesn't want them to think about. Superpowers, in your case. Which you've been weirdly accepting about potentially having.”

William shrugged. “I don't know. I guess something about it just... fits? Like it's normal for me to think of myself and having powers in the same sentence.”

“But you don't know what those powers could be,” Tim asked.

“Not really, no.” He'd like to, though. It'd be cool if he had lightning powers.

“Then it's not a cause for concern,” Damian said. “Since you no longer need to use your abilities to survive, there's no purpose to wasting time and energy attempting to figure out what they are.”

William narrowed his eyes. That sounded... wrong, for some reason.

Cass snapped to grab William's attention. “You punched two people. Who else?”

William's brows furrowed. “The principal. I don't think she even felt it. How did you...”

“Saw it on your face. Next time, punch her where we can see.”

“Cass is good at that,” Tim said. “She reads body language like J-- a librarian reads books.”

“Like who reads books?” William asked.

Tim's expression closed off. “A librarian.”

“Violent librarian.” Cass gave a wry smile. “No late returns allowed.”

“This is an exercise in futility, William.” Damian said. “The only way any of them will divulge information about my predecessor is against their will.”

“Your... predecessor?” William cocked his head to the side.

“Yes,” Damian said. “My predecessor. The boy he adopted after Grayson, who died shortly before my Mother was forced to allow me to live with our Father nearly a year ago. I assume in a manner disgraceful enough that his family and friends dislike to speak of him.”

Tim winced. “That's pretty harsh, Damian.”

“Well, what else am I meant to believe if nobody will even tell me his name!” Damian's empty tray clattered to the floor as he stood up. He breathed in once. Twice. And then sat down. “I apologize for raising my voice.”

“Don't apologize, Damian.” William said. “You're right.”

“Jason.” Cass said. Then raised her hands to sign. “Tim and Waynes don't say his name because they're stupid.”

“That's not really the reason why I--” Tim began.

“Stupid,” Cass said again. “Not always wrong. Still stupid.”

The bell's harsh buzz rang through Gotham Academy, signaling the end of lunch.

-

After school ended, both Mr. Bruce and D were there to pick them up from school.

William tried his best to hug them both at the same time. D tried his best to hug both William andP Damian at the same time. Damian tried his best to duck out of D's hug, and Mr. Bruce tried to ruffle both of their hair with the mild upturned lips that were his version of a face-splitting grin.

The resulting tangle of limbs was both happy and well-acquainted with the ground.

“Dami! Willy! How was school?” D asked after everybody had dusted themselves off.

“William appears to be fluent in Arabic”

“Really?” Mr. Bruce raised one eyebrow. “You both must have been surprised, my sons. How did you find out?”

“Damian was saying something to Tim in Arabic, and before we knew it we were having a whole conversation in Arabic and I didn't even Know!”

D laughed. “That's amazing, Willy.”

William grimaced. “Please don't call me Willy.”

D grinned. “Willy. Won't-y. Willy-Wonka. Willy-am. Will-you-are.”

“Ricky.” William shot back. “Rick-roll. Richy. Riches. Richer-than-God.”

D chuckled. “Nope, that one's Bruce.”

Damian rolled his eyes. “The difference is immaterial. You have all but moved back into the manor since I arrived, and Father would provide you with nearly anything if you simply request it.”

“I'd do that for all my children” Mr. Bruce said. Then He and D had a whole conversation with just their eyes that William couldn't parse out at all.

So obviously, he wasn't fluent in every language.

“Anyway!” D clapped his hands. “Let's head to the car. B has a little surprise for you to celebrate your first day of school.”

The surprise, as it turned out, was a trip to the zoo.

-

When the car turned on, so did its radio.

“...Moving on to the Midwest. Fawcett City, famous for its vintage charm and for being the home of the missing Justice League member Captain Marvel, is back in the spotlight with even more bad news.

“Called 'The war between the eras' and 'Video v Radio Star', the Daily Planet's lawsuit against the Fawcett-based media company WHIZ Radio, alleging a violation of of various child labor and safety laws, got a new twist today when an anonymous employee of one of the two media giants revealed that the Wayne Foundation is helping to fund the Daily Planet's--.”

Mr. Bruce changed the channel and light classical music filled the car as he let out an almost convincing chuckle.“Who listens to the radio for news anyway?”

Chapter Text

Dr. Lance spoke as soon William closed the door to her office. “Water.”

“Gotham Bay.”

“News.”

“Television.”

“Sky.”

“Grey.”

“Sink.”

“Fawcett.”

“Bird.”

“Damian.”

“Color.”

“Red.”

Dr. Lance smiled and turned to the next page of her notepad. “So, William. I heard you had an eventful trip to the zoo yesterday.”

William blushed, burying his face into the giant plush tiger he'd brought with him to today's session. It wasn't life-sized, exactly, but it was certainly bigger than him. “Dad told you about that?”

Dr. Lance laughed. “He only said that it probably gave you a lot to tell me during our session today.”

“Dad baseball pitched an eagle for me.”

“Really?”

William nodded, slowly emerging from behind his tiger as he got more and more into the story. “Damian was really excited to see the raptor show, he was practically biting at our heels trying to get us there on time. I really only wanted to see the tigers, but they were on the other side of the zoo from where the raptor show was gonna be and there was no way we could see the tigers get to the first showing on time even if we went straight to both places without stopping.

“'Why don't we see the tigers first?' Dad said. “Another raptor show is scheduled to happen in an hour and a half, and by that time, we'll probably be more than ready to sit down'

“Well, he said 'we', but something in the way he glanced at me and ruffled my hair makes me think he just meant 'me'. And I don't know why, but that made me feel angry. Like some grown-up was underestimating me for no reason just 'cause I'm a kid. Like saying I don't have much stamina was the worst insult you could say to me.

“Luckily, nobody seemed to notice because Damian had immediately scoffed, saying 'This is Gotham, anything can happen in such a large span of time. I am not willing to place our viewing of the event to the hands of chance.'

“'Dami's right, B.' D put his hand on Damian's shoulder. Damian leant into it, but I don't think he knew he was doing it. 'The tigers will still be there after the show, it doesn't make sense to go to an enclosure first.'

“Dad stroked his chin like he was thinking, but I've seen him thinking, so I know he was only pretending. 'Hm, you make a good point' He said, then looked at me, knelt down, and put his hand on my shoulder. 'What do you think, son?'

“I don't know why, but my first thought was to suggest I go see the tigers by myself. I knew that was a stupid idea as soon as I thought it, but forcing me to choose like that was also stupid. I had to choose the raptors, because if I didn't then Damian would be sad. And D was right, there wasn't a time limit to see the tigers.”

“But that's not the reason you chose to go to the raptor show?”

William shook his head. “No. I just chose the raptors for Damian. But I'm glad I did because the raptor show was really cool! They gave Damian a piece of meat (which I thought was strange at first because he's a vegetarian), then a trained falcon flew onto his arm and ate out of the palm of his hand! Not really in that order, and he was wearing a thick leather glove and holding the scrap of meat between his thumb and his index finger, so it wasn't really out of the palm of his hand, but holey moley he looked like a knight's squire from straight out of a picture book!

“Then,” William leaned in close, the giant plush tiger half crushed and half forgotten between his chest and his lap. “They brought out the golden eagle. Have you ever seen a golden eagle Dr. Lance?”

She nodded, slightly. “Once or twice, yes.”

“They're huge. The one they brought out was half as tall as I am, with a wingspan so wide it could cover me in feathers and you'd never find me again. It flapped in place once. Twice. Then... it looked at me. They brought the falcon wearing a hood to keep her calm and focused. The eagle didn't have one. Its eyes were bright gold, almost glowing under Gotham's overcast sky, and I didn't think I'd ever seen a golden eagle before, but the moment we looked at each other I was sure we knew each other.

“Then it screamed, loud and ferocious like an angry god, and leapt off its handler's arm and straight towards me.”

William leapt off of the couch as he spoke, tiger fallen in a heap on the floor. He raised his hands, forming claws with his fingers.

“It's talons were out, ready to tear me to bits! Dear listeners, I could almost see my blood in its claws and my flesh in its beak. But was your Whiz Kid going to just freeze in fear and let it happen? No! Waiting until the last possible moment so that it would get caught in its momentum, I ducked and turned to prepare for its second pass!” Billy ducked and turned, mirroring the words he spoke. “But no second pass came.

“No, dear listeners, no second pass came. You see, so enraptured by the raptors was I that I had forgotten; Sitting right behind me was my new dad: Bruce Wayne. That's right, Bruce Wayne! He leapt to his feet, grabbed the eagle from right above my head, and threw it back to its handler as fast as it had flown away! And so the day was sa--”

William's eyes focused back to the real world, and he found that he had just thrown empty air right at Dr. Lance's face.

His face grew almost as red as his sweater, and he picked up his tiger and practically threw himself back onto the couch.

“There's nothing to be embarrassed about, William,” Dr. Lance smiled, “You're a very good storyteller. I've never seen you get immersed like that before. What were you going to say?”

“Um...” Billy kneaded his plush tiger like an alley cat kneaded a warm lap while it was being scritched, but for the opposite reason. “I forgot. Is that normal? I'm not gonna start to forget everything again, am I?”

“I'm sure you're fine, William. Trauma-induced total amnesia like what you have almost never affects the same person twice. But if you're not fine, then your family and I will always be here to help you.”

William gave a soft smile. “Thanks, Dr. Lance. I'm glad I have cool people like you helping me out. Um... the rest of the trip to the zoo went normal. We saw the tigers and one of them tried to nuzzle me through the glass. D got us to feed the elephants, because apparently he knows one of them? He called her Zitka. One of the zookeepers told him not to climb her, but apparently Zitka doesn't know English because she picked D up and put him on her back. Damian managed to draw every single animal they have. I asked him how he could draw so well so fast and he rolled his eyes and said that 'putting to paper what's right in front of one's face is trivial work'. Dad refused to go into the place where they keep all the bats, which D laughed at him for, for some reason. I asked Mr. Alfred why he didn't come with us and he said 'While it is wonderful to see light and color returning to this house, it is also a good reminder as to the benefits of the occasional bouts of peace and quiet'. Oh! And when we were leaving, dad let us get whatever we wanted from the gift shop!”

“That sounds fun,” Dr. Lance said, “I'm glad to hear that you've started calling Bruce your dad. I'm sure he is, too.”

William started to reemerge from behind his tiger. “He is. He gets this little crinkle around his eyes every time I call him dad, and his mouth twitches like he's just about to smile, but he doesn't remember how to, or he's trying not to for some reason.”

Dr. Lance nodded, then gestured to the giant plush tiger. “Now, before we leave, would you like to introduce me to your friend?”

William flushed red again, and squeezed the tiger tight. “D said I could bring him to these sessions.”

Dr. Lance smiled. “Of course you can, I want our sessions to be comfortable for you. If having him here makes you more comfortable, then I'm willing to bend doctor-patient confidentiality a little so that he can listen in.”

William giggled.

“So, what's his name?”

“I haven't figured it out yet. Damian thinks I should name him Muharib, which means warrior, but that just doesn't... feel right, you know? And D thinks I should name him Sasha after the tiger he knew in the circus, but he's not a girl tiger and I don't want to name him after a tiger I don't know. Dad suggested the name 'lion', which is NOT funny even though he thinks it is, and Mr. Alfred suggested the name Darjeeling, which sounds racist. Then he suggested Earl Grey, which I'm pretty sure is worse.”

“I see,” Dr. Lance took this with far more seriousness than it probably deserved. “And what about you, William? What do you want to call him?”

William placed the plush tiger across from him and looked it in its green eyes. “I don't remember. I look into his face and it feels like his name should be something I remember. So I can't give him a name yet until I figure out what it is.”

Dr. Lance sighed. “William, I know that it can be frustrating, but sometimes it's better to let sleeping tigers lie. Maybe you could think of it as a chance to give him a new name. A new beginning, so to speak.”

William shook his head. “If I give him a new name then it won't be his. It'll just keep bothering me until I remember it.”

“William--”

“It's just a toy's name, right? It's not like it can hurt me or anything. Look at his face,” William held the tiger up in front of him by the shoulders, “Does this look like the face of a ferocious face-eating tiger to you?”

Dr. Lance laughed softly. “No, that looks like the face of a gallant child-protecting tiger.”

William nodded and tapped the tip of the tiger's nose with his index finger. “That's because he's a perfect gentleman.”

-

In its colorless, spaceless cage, the Living Lightning rages. It thrashes against its matterless confines for what could be hours. Days. Centuries. What meaning can time have in a place that doesn't exist?

“Well, Captain, You are certainly in quite the pickle.”

There's a tiger in its cage with it.

Why is there a tiger in its cage with it?

“Now, what sort of friend would I be if I didn't help you out of a scrape every now and again?”

The Living Lightning would remember if it were friends with a green-eyed tiger who wears a green tweed suit.

The tiger cocks its head to the side. “Curiouser and curiouser...” He bows and holds out a gloved paw. “In that case, my name is Tawky Tawny, it is a pleasure to meet you again, Captain.”

The living lightning shakes his paw with a hand it had not realized it has. It does not recognize the tiger's name.

“I see.” Tawny rises and takes off his gloves. They vanish into nonexistence as soon as he lets them go. “Your other half in the waking world is in a similar predicament.”

Its other half. The Champion. Where is The Champion? Does this creature know where he is? If he's safe?

“Oh, Billy is quite safe, Captain, I assure you.” The tiger licks his paw and smooths his fur back into place after The Lightning calms itself down. “Far too safe, as the case may be. He's been missing for quite some time, and I have only just managed to find him.”

Where?

“Somewhere the gods fear to tread, I'm afraid. I dislike cages, but with the both of you so thoroughly locked up I'm afraid there's very little I can do to get you out.”

Despair crashes through the Living Lightning like a cold front. It has to get out it has to get out it has to get out.

The tiger is on the other side of its bars now. How did he get out? How is there an out? It has to get out it has to get out it has to--

“Fortunately we are in the realm of dreams, which happens to be my favored hunting grounds.” Tawny bares his teeth in a predator's smile.

The Lightning knows about the realm of dreams. It is a place where there is no reality outside the will of the dreamer. The Champion is the dreamer, he must be. And it is part of The Champion. It need only will the cage into nonexistence...

It is in chains. It is movement itself and somehow someone has chained it up. Ripped it from its wielder and chained it somewhere with neither lock nor key nor space nor an anchor point to tear the chains out nor even an outside from which it can petition aid.

It has many enemies, but which of them is powerful enough to do this?

“I'm afraid it will take more than a Champion's willpower to free you, Captain. Though this is an improvement from the cage, wouldn't you agree?”

The tiger is standing in front of it. Tawny, that's his name. The Lightning strains against its chains. It has to get out.

“I wish I could help you with that, captain. Believe me, when I find out who placed you in such a cage...” He growls, shaking the nothingness around them like an earthquake.

The nothingness, but not the chains.

“However,” Tawny continues, straightening his tie as he regains his composure, “I can take you to someone who may be able to help.”

It can not escape its chains. It can not move out of this realm. How can this dream-guardian bring him to an ally?

“It's as you said,” Tawny licks his chops. “I am our Champion's dream guardian. And, as it happens, he thinks that you are nothing more than a nightmare.”

The tweed suit is gone. The green-eyed tiger is nothing more than a four legged beast of muscle and teeth.

The last thing Billy saw before he woke up in a cold sweat was a mouth full of sharp teeth, opening up into a yawning abyss of darkness.

-

It was still dark outside when William woke up. The clock on his bedside table read 2:32am.

But for some reason, he could distinctly hear voices in the hall outside the door. And there was light shining through from beneath it.

“It's not fair!” Damian was practically shouting. “I am perfectly capable of--”

“I know.” A strange man's voice said. It was gruff and deep, Like if Bruce Wayne smoked a pack a day. His alley cat brain cringed at the voice, like he was about to be chastised for something that was probably only partially his fault. Quiet as a mouse, William grabbed his plush tiger and got out of bed. “But it's a school night. You remember the deal.”

“Tt.” Damian said. “Of course I do. I merely need another half hour--”

“I already gave you an hour and a half.”

Silence, for a moment.

“This isn't a punishment, Damian.” The gruff man said.

William tip-toed to the door, trying to see who was speaking through the space between it and the floor.

Just two pairs of socks, Damian's paw print pattern, and a nondescript black, standing in front of Damian's door.

“Or an insult to your skills. Finding a missing tiger is lower on the priority list than you getting sleep. You need to be in top form tomorrow.”

Damian scoffed. “I am always in top form.”

“And I always make you get a good night's sleep,” the gruff man countered. “Agents Duck and Swan have agreed to take the case, I'm sure they'll find it soon.”

It was probably stupid. Okay, it was definitely stupid. But William had to know who the gruff man was. He tucked his giant plush tiger under his arm and opened the door ever-so-slightly to see through the crack, hoping that it wouldn't creak. It didn't.

They noticed him anyway.

The gruff man Damian was talking to was their dad.

They stared at each other, for a moment, absolutely frozen.

“Dad?” William asked, “Why do you sound like that?”

“It gets like that late at night,” Bruce said in that same gruff voice. “Shouldn't you be asleep, chum?”

“I had a nightmare,” William said. A yawn escaped his jaws. “There was a tiger getting an electric shock, and then he ate the electricity. Except I was the electricity?” He'd probably talk about it with Dr. Lance later. “Then I heard voices. Something about a missing tiger?”

Damian's eye twitched. “Yes. It appears that one of the tigers we visited yesterday has escaped from its enclosure and may be wandering freely around Gotham.”

“Oh.” William was too tired to process this information. He yawned again. “Good for him, I guess. I'm sure he'll be come back soon. G'night Damian. 'Night dad.”

When William woke up the next morning, he would look at his plush tiger's face and remember his name was Tawny.