Fun fact: the Moon is not actually made of cheese. I know, I was just as disappointed as you. It does, however, look like a giant grey tennis ball someone used to aggressively work through their Batman-induced rage issues. Craters everywhere. Definitely not OSHA-approved.
Diana—also known as Wonder Woman, Queen of Calm, Destroyer of Doom, and Mom #1—was soaring ahead of me like a shooting star with perfect posture. Golden tiara glinting, sword strapped to her back like she just walked out of an epic fantasy novel, and silver vambraces polished enough to blind incoming Martian ships. Basically, she was doing the whole graceful warrior-goddess thing.
Meanwhile, I was behind her flying like a caffeinated phoenix with ADHD, emotional baggage, and something to prove. My wings were fire. Literally. A massive pair of burning, flaring, overdramatic I-have-issues wings made of raw magical combustion and flare for the theatrical. I looked like a cosmic chicken nugget that had just learned how to do backflips.
"You're cheating!" I shouted, trying not to get lost in her vapor trail. "You're using the Power of Majestic Serenity again!"
She glanced back over her shoulder with that classic Gal Gadot smile—calm, radiant, vaguely judging me for being a hot mess.
"Or maybe," she said, completely unbothered, "you're just slow."
I gasped. Offended. Personally. Philosophically. On a molecular level.
"Oh, it's on, Princess."
I tucked in my wings and dove, flames trailing behind me like I was a comet crashing toward my ex's wedding just to make a scene. The air around me screamed. Literally. I may have set off a couple of weather alarms in Argentina. Sorry about that.
Diana banked left.
I followed.
We zig-zagged through the stratosphere like two ADHD fireflies in a sugar-fueled rave. She was elegance incarnate. I was yelling, flipping, corkscrewing through clouds like I thought gravity was a suggestion.
Basically: Wonder Swan Dive vs Magical Human Firework With Emotional Damage.
And then I saw it—Mount Justice.
Home sweet giant super-secret HQ carved into a cliff where teenagers with world-ending powers and zero impulse control hang out and pretend they're emotionally stable.
Almost there.
Almost—
TAG.
Her hand tapped my shoulder like a butterfly landing on a grenade.
I yelped so loud a flock of geese two states over had an existential crisis.
"You—!?" I spun mid-air, scandalized. "You TAGGED me?!"
She smiled. "You were monologuing again."
"I was not! I was—okay, yeah, I was. BUT THAT'S STILL ILLEGAL."
"You know I love you."
"Emotionally? Yes. Right now? You're on my list."
She just laughed. And I mean laughed—rich, melodic, utterly unfair. The kind of laugh that made you forget she could bench-press a tank and hurl it into orbit. Birds below us momentarily forgot how wings worked.
I narrowed my eyes. Savage Burn Mode: activated.
Wings roared to life behind me, pure phoenix fire igniting with a fury that would've made Fawkes throw up a thumbs-up. My magic surged. Crown flickered into place above my head like I was about to enter god-tier anime transformation mode.
"Newton," I muttered, "prepare to be violated."
I blinked—teleported—flames spiraling where I had just been.
I reappeared in front of her. Upside-down. Flying backward. Looking smug as hell.
"Hey, Mom," I said sweetly. "Guess who just violated the laws of thermodynamics and your personal space?"
She raised one of her annoyingly perfect eyebrows. "Show-off."
And then she dive-bombed me.
"AGH—!"
We tumbled. Like, tumbled—a chaotic explosion of gold and fire spinning through the sky, laughing and yelling like two immortals with zero chill and a shared love for drama.
Right above Mount Justice, I flipped mid-roll and slapped her vambrace.
"TAG!" I cackled. "You're it!"
"I let you win."
"Please. You let me exist. This victory is mine, and I will cherish it forever."
She touched down beside me with the elegance of a ballet dancer and the quiet strength of a panther. I, on the other hand, did a superhero landing that may or may not have cracked the sand into glass.
Wings retracted into my back with a fwoosh, leaving a trail of embers and me trying to act like I hadn't almost passed out from g-forces and joy.
I was grinning. Panting. And also possibly vibrating with post-flight adrenaline.
"You okay?" she asked, resting a hand on my shoulder. The concern in her voice? Real. Gentle. Warm. Mom.
"Yeah," I said, catching my breath. "Just... gonna need a milkshake. And like... seventeen waffles. Maybe pancakes. Maybe a nap on the floor. You know, the usual."
"I'll make pancakes," she said.
I blinked. "Wait—you cook?"
She raised that eyebrow again. "I'm over five thousand years old, Harry. You think Themyscira had Uber Eats?"
"…Touché."
We started walking toward the cliff entrance, the doors of Mount Justice hissing open like we were stepping into the world's fanciest garage-slash-danger room. I caught our reflection in the glass.
Wonder Woman and Shadowflame.
Warrior and Phoenix.
Mom and her DNA-spliced magical chaos gremlin with control issues and a superiority complex disguised as sarcasm.
I grinned.
We were ridiculous.
And amazing.
And probably the reason the multiverse had to keep resetting its firewall.
But we were also okay.
Even if the universe exploded tomorrow? We'd handle it.
But first?
Waffles.
And maybe a nap.
—
The doors to Mount Justice whooshed open like they were announcing royalty—or possibly the next contestant on "Survive the Girlfriend Gauntlet." Spoiler: that contestant was me. Also spoiler: I had no survival plan.
I froze like I'd just walked into a surprise pop quiz. On nuclear physics. In Klingon.
Eight pairs of eyes zeroed in on me. Not blinking. Not smiling. Just... watching.
Correction: Seven pairs were laser-focused. Raven was doing her patented broody-in-the-shadows thing, looking like a cross between a haunted cathedral and a hot topic poster come to life. Still gorgeous, still terrifying, still definitely in my head. (And my heart? Maybe. Probably. Cue internal screaming.)
Kara stood with her arms crossed, rocking the Kryptonian Disapproval Face™ like it was fall fashion week on Krypton.
Kori was glowing—literally—with excitement. It always amazed me how she could look like a human lava lamp and a cinnamon roll at the same time.
DeeDee, literal Death in a sundress, waved at me like I was her favorite soul to harvest. Spoiler: I probably was.
Tia, a.k.a. Galatea, had her arms folded, flexing her biceps like she was ready to deadlift an aircraft carrier. She looked at me like I was a Rubik's Cube she hadn't decided to smash yet.
Megan gave a shy wave, clearly reading my mind. Which meant she absolutely heard the "Don't think about waffles" chant I was internally screaming. (I told you, Meg, it only makes it worse!)
Mareena stood like a queen who'd just gotten out of a merman council meeting and decided to crash my emotional train wreck.
Zatanna gave me a slow, sultry wink. My brain fizzled like a soda shaken by Zeus.
Then there was Raven. Raven, who kissed me before I went to the Watchtower. Raven, who looked like she was trying to decide whether to smooch me again or banish me to a pocket dimension of awkward silence.
So, yeah. Pretty normal day, all things considered.
Wonder Woman walked in behind me, completely unfazed by the impending emotional thunderstorm. Honestly, if Gal Gadot had ever played a goddess of calm authority, this would be it.
"Ladies," she greeted like she was stepping onto an Amazonian runway.
"Hi, Mom," Kara blurted. Then blinked. Then, in full panic mode: "I mean—Diana! I meant Diana!"
Diana chuckled warmly. "Kara. You've been training."
Kara lit up like someone handed her a gold star sticker. "You noticed?"
"Your aura is stronger. You're carrying yourself like a warrior. Like family."
Cue Kara melting into a puddle of pleased Kryptonian.
"Can we talk about how I'm being stared at like a side of beef in a vegan cooking class?" I asked no one in particular.
DeeDee skipped toward me, barefoot, on obsidian floor tiles. Because of course she did. Her sundress swished like a Tim Burton musical. "Harry! I made brownies! Some with ghost pepper chips. One batch is cursed. Choose wisely!"
"You terrify me in ways that would make Freud retire."
She blew me a kiss. "Love you too, sugarbones."
"She means that literally," Zatanna added, without looking up from her phone. "I caught her sketching wedding dresses in her Reaper Notebook."
"I added skull lace," DeeDee said proudly.
Raven cleared her throat. You know that sound when someone draws a sword in a movie? It was like that, but with emotions.
Everyone turned to her. Even the cave's AI dimmed the lights like we were about to watch a telenovela.
"So..." I started, scratching the back of my neck like it might sprout a parachute. "About that kiss..."
Raven arched a perfect eyebrow. "We should talk."
"My favorite phrase," I muttered. "Right after 'We need to talk about your car insurance.'"
Diana gave my shoulder a supportive squeeze. "You've got this."
"You say that, but I punched Black Adam in the face once, and I'd rather do that again than this."
"You should have screamed 'This is for Billy, you discount lightning rod!' while doing it," Megan chimed in cheerfully.
"It would have been a great line," Zatanna added. "I would have given it a solid 8 out of 10."
Kori floated closer, hair trailing behind her like a comet of happiness. "You are not bleeding! This is good news, yes?"
"Mostly," Diana smirked. "He ran into a satellite. And then a comet. And then a flock of very confused geese."
"I was distracted, okay?!"
"By what?" Mareena asked, clearly skeptical.
I pointed accusingly at Diana. "Her! She cheated!"
Diana raised an elegant brow. "I was graceful. You were shouting threats at gravity."
"GRAVITY HAD IT COMING!"
Tia chimed in, arms still folded. "You gonna kiss Raven again or what?"
Everyone looked at me.
Even the air seemed to pause.
I sighed. "I'm just gonna lie on the floor and hyperventilate into a brownie. Someone pass the cursed one. Let fate decide."
DeeDee handed me a brownie with a skull-shaped chocolate chip in the middle.
I took a bite. Brave. Bold. Possibly stupid. But very on brand.
"You're stalling," Zatanna said.
"Yup."
Raven stepped forward. Close. Too close. Her eyes locked on mine, and for a second, the whole world fell away. It was just me. And her. And an awkwardly hovering brownie.
Time to stop running. Time to grow a pair.
I stood a little taller. Smirked just enough to be a problem.
"Okay, Raven," I said. "Let's talk. But if this ends in a magical soul flaying, I'm haunting you forever. With karaoke."
She smirked. A real one. Sharp. Dangerous. Hot.
"Only if you sing Taylor Swift."
"I only sing Taylor Swift."
The cave sighed with relief. Or maybe that was just me.
We were gonna be okay.
Probably.
Unless the cursed brownie kicked in first.
—
I followed Raven into the dim, broody corridor that led to the meditation room—the one place in Mount Justice that always smelled like incense, moonlight, existential dread, and at least three kinds of teenage angst. Basically, it was Raven in architectural form.
The door hissed shut behind us like the building itself was like, Ooooh, something juicy's about to go down.
Raven kept her back to me, arms crossed, posture stiffer than Batman at a birthday party.
Alright. Showtime. Big Boy Pants: Activated.
I cleared my throat, ready to say something brilliant—something that would totally make her swoon.
She turned first. "I've tried," she said, her voice soft but cutting like a ninja throwing knife made of feelings.
And just like that, my brain abandoned ship and left me standing there like an idiot.
"I tried to suppress it. Bury it. Ignore it. Just like I was taught in Azarath." She turned, those violet eyes practically burning through me. "Emotions are chaos. Emotions are dangerous. Love is the worst of all."
I opened my mouth—probably to say something stupid like "I love love!"—but she shut me up with a single raised finger.
Harry Potter: silenced by one tiny goth girl. Add it to the list.
"You—Harry—Charis—whatever other edgy rebrand you're trying out this week—" she said, taking a step closer, "—you're not just a magnet for chaos. You're a black hole of affection. You suck people in. Even me."
I blinked. "You think I'm affectionate? That's adorable."
"Don't make me regret this conversation."
"Too late."
She scowled in that patented Raven way that somehow made her look 70% murdery, 30% kissable.
She inhaled through her nose like she was counting to ten. "Maybe I could've resisted. Maybe. If it was just your stupidly unfair face or your magic from seven different pantheons or your laughably bad jokes—"
"You think I'm funny!" I said, grinning like a lunatic.
She deadpanned, "Funny like a trainwreck."
"Ouch. Savage. Someone's been watching my TED Talk: 'How to Emotionally Eviscerate a Wizard in Under Two Minutes.'"
Raven rolled her eyes so hard I swear I heard her soul leave her body for a second.
She crossed the distance between us in two angry steps, standing so close I could feel the cold heat of her anger... and something else. Something dangerous.
"It wasn't just you," she hissed. "It was your harem."
I held up a finger. "Tight-knit, emotionally supportive polycule."
She glared.
"...Yeah, okay, it's a harem."
She pointed a finger in my face. "Do you have any idea what it's like living next door to that? Hearing Kara screaming 'Daddy!' loud enough to shake the support beams? Listening to Deedee giggle about your 'magic wand' while eating Lucky Charms? Having to put up five different wards on my room just to meditate—only to have them fail because Zatanna thought it'd be funny to slap an amplification spell on her own moaning?!"
I rubbed the back of my neck. "In Zee's defense, it was a science project. She got a B+."
Raven stared at me with the same look you give a paperclip stuck in an outlet.
"Okay, not helping," I muttered.
She wasn't done. Oh, no. I could feel it building, like the world's most goth volcano about to erupt.
"I tried, Harry." Her voice broke, just a little. "I tried to ignore it. Tried to meditate it away. Exorcise it. I even considered asking John Constantine for advice."
My jaw dropped. "Constantine?! Raven, that's like asking Gordon Ramsay for dieting tips!"
"I was desperate!" she snapped, then immediately winced, like the words hurt coming out.
She stepped even closer, until the space between us was practically a rumor.
"And every time," she whispered, "every time I heard them call you Daddy... I imagined what it would be like... if I said it too."
My brain immediately exploded, leaving only a faint cartoonish puff of smoke.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, a tiny voice said, Don't screw this up, Potter. You're on the edge of greatness. Or getting kicked in the face.
"I—uh—" Brilliant start, Harry.
I pulled it together. Barely.
"Raven..." I said, cupping her cheek gently. She didn't pull away. Progress! "You're not broken for wanting something. Or someone. You're just human. Well. Half-demon. Half-human. One hundred percent stunning."
She stared at me, blinking once, twice, like she couldn't believe I actually said something that smooth without being hexed immediately.
"I kissed you," I said softly, "because I wanted to. Because you deserve someone who sees you—the real you—and thinks, Yeah, I'm the luckiest idiot in the multiverse."
Her breath hitched.
Her hand rose, fingers trembling slightly, and she placed it over mine.
"What happens now?" she whispered.
I leaned in, forehead resting lightly against hers, and murmured, "Well… unless you punch me into another dimension—which, you know, mood—I was kinda hoping you'd call me Daddy too."
Her eyes widened.
Silence.
A beat.
Two.
And then—snort.
The tiniest, most reluctant, most adorable snort in recorded human history.
"I hate you," she grumbled, cheeks tinged a delicious pink.
I smirked. "You say that, but your soul just snorted. It's basically a legally binding love confession in Azarath."
"I will hex your eyebrows off," she warned.
"Bold of you to assume I wouldn't rock the no-eyebrow look."
She narrowed her eyes. "You'd look like a thumb."
"You'd still want me," I said with a wink.
"I have questionable taste, obviously."
"Good," I whispered, tilting her chin up. "Because I'm a very bad decision."
And then I kissed her.
Properly, this time.
Slow, deep, and full of everything we weren't saying but had been feeling for months.
She didn't pull away.
She kissed me back, melting into me, and somewhere deep inside I heard her soul whisper finally.
And somewhere outside—because God clearly wanted to keep things humble—I heard Kara yell:
"ARE YOU SERIOUS?! I JUST PUT ON A MOVIE!!"
I grinned into the kiss.
Best. Freaking. Day. Ever.
—
Returning to the lounge felt like walking into the lion's den—except the lions had superpowers, no respect for privacy, and were definitely plotting some combination of interrogation, teasing, and very public humiliation.
The second Raven and I strolled through the sliding doors, every conversation screeched to a halt like someone had hit pause on reality.
Kara was hanging off the couch upside down, her platinum hair brushing the carpet, pretending to read a magazine. (It was upside down. A for effort, Supergirl.) Deedee was fake-texting at hyperspeed, like she was trying to send distress signals to Mars. Zatanna leaned against the wall, arms crossed, smirking like the Queen of Knowing Things She Shouldn't.
And then there was Diana. Sitting like a goddess-turned-high-school-principal in her armchair, legs crossed, arms resting gracefully, her stare polite enough to make me feel like a misbehaving altar boy.
"Back so soon?" Diana said, voice smooth and dangerous, like she was offering me a cookie laced with a truth serum.
"Yeah," I said, plopping onto the couch beside Kara with all the casual innocence of a fox breaking into the henhouse. "Raven decided not to murder me. A true triumph for diplomacy."
"You say that," Raven said, gliding past me to sink into the chair next to Zatanna with lethal grace, "as if the night isn't still young."
Kara snorted so hard she nearly faceplanted off the couch.
I grinned at Raven, who didn't smile back. Naturally. She's the reigning champ of 'emotionless chic.' But there was the tiniest twitch at the corner of her mouth—a microscopic, blink-and-you-miss-it smirk.
Victory.
Diana tilted her head, studying me like a cat studies a particularly suspicious laser pointer.
"So..." she said. "Would you care to share what you two discussed?"
Translation: Confess everything voluntarily, or I break out the Lasso of Truth.
Before I could speak, Deedee—our resident goddess of sarcasm, chaos, and death—snickered from her seat. "Yeah. Spill it, Potter. We've got popcorn ready."
I gave her my most dazzling, weaponized grin. "Nothing major. Just bartered my soul, discussed world domination, compared skincare routines. The usual."
Deedee threw a pillow at me. I caught it one-handed because I'm cool like that.
Kara flipped herself upright with a gymnast's grace, landing beside me with a bounce. She stared at me like a golden retriever about to demand a walk.
"We started betting," Kara said. "Zee thought Raven would roast you alive."
"I had faith you'd survive," Zatanna added, flicking her black hair over her shoulder. "Just... crispy."
"You owe me ten bucks," Kara said smugly. "I said they'd make out."
"Please," Deedee cut in, winking. "I said Raven would go all Mortal Kombat—finish him!—and we'd have to clean your remains out of the drywall again."
Tia, lounging with her feet on the table because rules are for mortals, smirked. "I said Harry would seduce his way out of it. I mean, look at him."
I finger-gunned at her. "Tia understands me."
Diana cleared her throat. Loudly. Like thunder rumbling over an angry Olympus.
Everyone went dead silent.
"I did not wager," she said, pure Gal Gadot grace and steel. "But as a concerned maternal figure... I am invested in your emotional well-being."
Translation: Give me details or I'll put you in an emotional headlock.
Raven leaned back in her chair, folding her arms in a move so casual it belonged on a 'You Can't Afford This Mood' poster.
"Private conversation," she said, voice dry enough to spark wildfires.
I nodded solemnly. "Strictly confidential. Bonded by sacred oaths. Also, Raven might turn me into a frog if I spill."
Megan—sweet, sunshine Megan, all green skin and Ariel Winter energy—clapped her hands together. "But if it was something good, like... you know..." She wiggled her eyebrows exaggeratedly.
"I plead the fifth," I said, grinning.
"Not an answer!" Deedee called out.
"I'll allow it," Diana said, because of course she would. Classic mom move—appearing neutral while secretly soaking up every drop of gossip.
Kori floated over like the goddess of enthusiasm she is, her hair a literal blazing red waterfall behind her. "But if it was the romantic love, you must share! We are the family! We must support the bursting of the heart with joy and possibly fireworks!"
"She means kissing," Kara said, patting Kori's hand like she was explaining Earth customs to an excitable alien (because, well... she was).
"Maybe there was kissing," I said, winking at Kara.
She blushed. Kara actually blushed, which was about as rare as a solar eclipse. Then she shoved me, nearly knocking me off the couch.
Deedee squealed and started rapid-fire texting Wally. I could see her phone flashing:
"IT HAPPENED. BET COLLECTED. HAHA PAY UP LOSER."
Diana smiled—an honest-to-Hera, terrifying smile that said I know there's way more you're not saying, and eventually, I will have it.
"Good," she said. "As long as you were... respectful."
I stood up, hand over my heart. "Diana, I was the very model of a modern major gentleman. Like James Bond, but if Bond was raised by aggressively polite nuns."
Raven muttered, "More like if Bond was raised by sarcasm and caffeine."
"Hey," I said, mock-offended. "My caffeine addiction is a finely tuned survival strategy."
"Sure," Zatanna said, deadpan. "Right up there with your addiction to chaos, dad jokes, and looking smug."
"And let's not forget his devastating cheekbones," Mareena said sweetly, perched on the arm of the couch, sipping her drink like a villainess planning her next conquest.
"Truly my most powerful weapon," I agreed solemnly. "Second only to my overwhelming humility."
Kara slow-clapped. "Congratulations. You're romantic and delusional."
"Don't hate the player," I said, tossing a wink at Kori, who actually sighed dreamily, "I do not hate you!"
I was killing it.
Even Diana laughed—full-throated, musical, the kind of laugh that could level armies.
Raven, meanwhile, just watched me with those fathomless dark eyes. Cool. Unbothered. Probably plotting my death.
But when I caught her eye, something passed between us.
Something electric.
She held my gaze a second too long.
And—barely, barely—she smiled.
Tiny. Perfect. Earth-shattering.
I winked back, because subtlety is for people less awesome than me.
She rolled her eyes so hard she probably saw the back of the multiverse.
Still didn't hex me, though.
Progress, baby.
—
The Batcave was doing its best impression of a haunted cathedral at midnight—vast, echoing, filled with the low hum of technology and the occasional drip of water from somewhere way, way up above.
Batman—because, down here, Bruce Wayne didn't exist—was hunched over the Batcomputer like a caffeinated vulture, his cowl casting sharp shadows over the sleek, polished console. His cape flared around his chair in dramatic folds. (Because if you were going to sulk in a cave, you might as well do it fashionably.)
The only sound was the furious clatter of keys as Batman updated a file labeled in that very "I-am-terrifying" Batcomputer font:
Subject: SHADOWFLAME
Status: Critical Asset / Potential Extinction-Level Threat
Classification: Beyond Meta (Note: Conventional power-scaling irrelevant. Nice try, Superman.)
Threat Level: Cataclysmic (Above Kryptonian Prime / Equal to Multiversal Class Entities)
He stared at the blinking cursor, his jaw tightening behind the cowl.
Blink. Blink. Blink.
It was taunting him.
Bruce exhaled slowly through his nose—the bat-version of a sigh—and clicked open the Contingency Protocols window. His voice, low and rough like gravel that had fought in two world wars, activated the dictation program.
"Record contingency notes," he said.
The Batcomputer beeped, obedient as ever. (He liked to pretend it was afraid of him.)
Primary Strategy (Containment):
Develop armor utilizing nth-metal, quantum-reactive alloys, and runic enchantments against Promethean-level thermal output.
Integrate multidimensional dampeners tuned specifically to Shadowflame's cosmic wavelength. (Note: Must survive the installation without accidentally erasing oneself from existence.)
Psychological anchors mandatory: Leverage personal connections with Wonder Woman, Supergirl, Starfire, Miss Martian, Zatanna, Galatea, Mareena, and... Death. (Yeah. Death. No pressure.)
Optional: Install emergency teleportation failsafe. (Code name: "GTFO-Protocol.")
Batman flexed his fingers. He hated dealing with anything "cosmic." Give him a mugger in an alley or a mob boss with a cigar any day. But this? This was like trying to punch a hurricane wearing body armor made of dreams.
Fine. Next.
Secondary Strategy (Suppression):
Temporary alliance with Dr. Fate, Zatara Zatanna, and John Constantine. (Note: Buy Constantine a drink after he saves the world. Maybe.)
Magical nullification fields rooted along primary Leylines.
Design custom disruption device: "Doom Pigeon Mark I." (Yes, it's a working title. Stop judging, Batcomputer.)
Celestial intervention backup plan: Call Zauriel. (Extreme Risk: 10/10 chance someone gets sermonized and smited.)
Bruce paused, tapping the keys rhythmically.
He hated this part.
Really, really hated this part.
Final Strategy (Neutralization):
Only to be deployed if every other plan fails (and if pigs fly and Gotham turns into Disneyland).
Kryptonian-level force? Insufficient.
Theoretical solution: Trigger Second Ignition. Sacrifice a fragment of the Source Wall via controlled Boom Tube collapse at the event horizon.
Estimated survival probability: 0.03%. (Fun.)
Batman sat back in the chair, the heavy cape settling around him like a shroud. His mouth was a grim, hard line. Because deep down, he knew one thing:
Shadowflame wasn't evil.
Wasn't monstrous.
Wasn't even broken.
He was hope wrapped in wildfire. A second chance the universe rarely got.
And yet, here he was, planning how to kill him anyway.
Because Batman always planned.
Always.
Click click click.
The elevator dinged.
Bruce didn't bother turning as Alfred's familiar, measured steps echoed down the steel stairs. A silver tray appeared beside him a moment later, like magic—or at least the magic of Alfred Pennyworth, Battle-Butler Extraordinaire.
"Coffee, sir," Alfred announced, in the sort of tone that suggested Bruce was two missed meals away from being force-fed. "Black. Triple strength. Lightly seasoned with concern for your mental wellbeing."
"And sandwiches," Bruce said dryly, glancing at the small plate.
"Cucumber and salmon," Alfred confirmed, setting it down neatly. "Because even vigilantes require proper nutrition. Or would you prefer I garnish it with a vial of adrenaline and a side of stubbornness?"
Batman allowed himself the faintest of smiles. "Later."
"Of course, Master Wayne," Alfred said, straightening. "I do look forward to your next existential meltdown."
Bruce tapped a key. New folders bloomed across the screen.
"You're worrying again," Alfred said, peering over his shoulder. "You know what I always say: worrying won't empty tomorrow of its problems. It'll just empty today of its strength."
Bruce grunted. "Shadowflame isn't a problem. He's... potential."
"Yes," Alfred said lightly, "the potential to save the universe. Or, alternatively, the potential to turn it into one very large, very fiery paperweight."
Batman didn't answer. He clicked a few more keys. A new project folder opened:
PROJECT: PHOENIX GUARD
An idea, barely born. A team, maybe. A safeguard. A way to help, instead of just planning for disaster.
On the center monitor, a new insignia rotated slowly: a stylized flame, ringed by an unbroken circle of stars.
Hope... weaponized.
"May I offer a suggestion, sir?" Alfred said, voice deceptively casual.
Batman arched an eyebrow.
"Perhaps, rather than focusing solely on how to defeat him..." Alfred poured a cup of coffee, handed it over with the air of a man humorously resigned to his charge's dramatics, "...you might invest in teaching him. Trusting him. After all, Master Wayne, you of all people should know—"
Bruce finished for him, voice low: "It's not who we are underneath, but what we do that defines us."
Alfred gave a small smile. "Yes, sir. I was rather fond of that line myself."
For a long moment, Batman sat there, cradling the coffee.
Thinking.
Not brooding. (Okay, maybe a little brooding.)
The Batcomputer pinged softly, like it was trying to be encouraging.
Bruce set the coffee down.
"Load secondary protocols," he ordered. "Draft recruit list. Start files on new team assets. I want psychological profiles, training regimens, and potential mentor figures analyzed."
The Batcomputer got to work.
"And Alfred?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Add contingency plans... for if I lose faith."
Alfred's gaze softened.
"Already done, sir," he said quietly. "After all... I prepare too."
---
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