New York City lay on the spectrum of disaster somewhere between Gotham and Metropolis: there was crime day and night, but the nutters in NYC were of the civilian breed as opposed to the sheer insanity of Gotham. That was the problem, really: Gotham made absolutely no sense. What logic was there? What about Gotham attracted the sort of people who lived there? New York was the city to lose yourself in, to sink into the strangeness of the city's residents and try to avoid getting into the gangs and mobs. Metropolis was a city of light and hope, Superman's symbol beacon of strength to everyone. Gotham – well. Gotham was where madness went to die.

The zeta let out in a tiny flat on a Broadway alley where nobody would react to peculiar noises and flashes of light. In this neighbourhood, the Bats blended into the soot-stained brick like fawns in woodland, hidden in the crevices where only the bravest and most cynical dared look. Not many people outside of Gotham believed in the Bats. Their existence was like that of Bigfoot, the creatures in the corn, presences in graveyards. Who could disprove them? Who, more to the interest of the world away from Gotham, could?

Bruce peeled himself out of his batsuit (again) and pulled on the almost-approaching-casual suit Alfred had laid out for him. It took no effort to appear suitably frazzled, given his hair stood on end in all directions and the suit was gently creased from zeta travel. Looking in the mirror was surreal – how had they got this old? Tony was 38, he himself in his early forties or so (time travel and space shenanigans had been throwing the maths out since Dick was a kid), and here they were. Six or so kids and many superheroes culminating in this, a threat, the unveiling of a public figure as a mask.

The Batsuit tucked behind a few floorboards, stiff from lack of use and years of dust, and he laid Batman with it – he really couldn't let that side of his personality out in front of the press, who would undoubtedly show up. The rusty snick of the latch set him reflecting on whether this place was worth keeping on as a safe-house. Tim had been the last Bat in New York, unless one of them had snuck through when he wasn't watching, back when he'd been collecting some present or other he wasn't talking about. Bruce really hoped there wasn't a girl involved – or any prospective partner. Not his babies. That had been seven or eight months ago now, and before that it had been when Bruce came to scream and rail against the board when they tried to call off the search for Tony. Rhodey had to collect him, take him out to get very drunk in one of the many clubs which existed to lose yourself in. Bad night, that.

New York traffic was nothing like in Gotham. People in Gotham just – didn't drive much. There had to be a reason for that beyond tradition and the constant threat of traffic jams, because people in Metropolis and New York drove. Actually, considering the number of stereotypical yellow taxis etcetera Bruce has had to dodge in the last five minutes, maybe he'll leave the matter alone to avoid the chance of Gotham developing traffic. There was chaos enough as it was.

"Excuse me, but am I near Tony Stark's New York residence?" Bruce had ducked into a tiny takeaway to check if Tony was still here. He thought so, but Tony would be running to Malibu within hours if he hadn't already, and why waste his time?

"Nah Mr Wayne. You best head on down Malibu if he ain't in touch," answered the waitress. Bruce was somewhat surprised she knew his face – but then again, why wouldn't she. He was on the news as much as Tony currently, the pair of them considered the greatest heirs in business (Lex came in at a struggling third, sometimes). The waitress continued, "He said he wanted to be home, yanno?"

Malibu.

Excellent.

Hal kept one uncomfortable eye on the monitor for the Bat's quarters. There were, like, ten kids in there, and one who was ill. How many were girls? He'd worked with girls for years. Did he need to provide pads and stuff? Batman is always crazy prepared, so likelihood was that his help wouldn't be needed, but just in case maybe he should send directions to the medbay and –

Wait. If he sent them there, would they drink the blood in the supplies? That would be... Well, he wouldn't say anything about it because hello he valued his life, but he was pretty sure Diana would be a bit put out about it. Hal gave serious consideration to calling Flash to make a plan of action, but before he could reach for his phone his attention was snatched by a blue blinking light. That light, a single LED, meant trouble.

Waller's light. Batman and Cyborg (Victor) had designed a program to sift through news reports and government files to update the logbook, and when she made the news unexpectedly the light would flash in silent warning. What made Waller so dangerous, was that she'd almost managed to completely outlaw vigilantes before, way back when it was just Clark and Ollie and a few other people trying to keep themselves afloat, gradually working towards acceptance. It was days like this, reflected Hal as he punched the Adult In Charge Summoning Button, that made him want to retreat back into space and anonymity and avoid the bursts of tension caused by the emergence of a new hero. Maybe he should join the Bats.

"What's happening," demanded Nightwing from his left, looming into his space. Hal let out an undignified screech as he lurched out his chair in alarm. When would these people learn to knock, holy crap. It was like living with ghosts – or, you know, blood-sucking crime-fighting super creepy completely silent Bat-themed costumed vigilantes from the worst city in America and possibly the planet who quite possibly had a hive mind and assorted superpowers, including but not limited to telepathy and reading the future.

"This Waller woman really is starting to rub me the wrong way."

"Yeah, don't get me started," said Clark as he and Diana entered the room, two towers of strength and hope and Hal let out a reflexive sigh of relief – they were inhuman, terrifying, but emitted such an aura of safety that even Nightwing lost some of the tension in his back. Padding behind Diana was a plain-clothes Red Hood, in dark jeans and a red t-shirt and a black domino mask. Was this his life now? Were the poor sods on night-time monitor duty going to be left to the mercy of Batman's insane bloodsucking offspring? He shuffled out of Clark's view of the monitors, deliberately thinking about how that made him closer to Diana, not about how he was now within arm's reach of the infamously violent Red Hood of Gotham whose soul oozed the greyish wisps Hal had come to associate with a life of extreme violence and guilt.

Diana set herself lightly into his vacated chair, leaning in close to read the streaming data. As the two thought – and Hal regretted not having brought his glasses, because willing himself a pair never quite got the prescription right – he knew that the two Bats and himself were trying their damned hardest to work out exactly what Waller and the man on screen with her were stirring up in the great industrial cesspit of American politics. Something about the livestream playing in the top monitor disturbed his stomach, some intangible taste of the speech, some oddness to the audio-

"She's afraid," he realised, "Waller is doing this because we frighten her."

"What the hell you on?"

"I know fear, okay, and I'm telling you that we scare her." Scepticism was clear on Red Hood's face, but Nightwing gave no indication of anything other than intense focus, like being faced down by a dragon or a bear or your mother, so he pressed his point. "The ring runs off willpower. When you wear a ring enough, you start being able to distinguish different inclinations. Strength, hope, love, regret, and fear are the easiest for some reason," he shot his eyes to Hood, "Waller looks like fear."

The intensity of four superheroes is awful in its focus, and it feels like being stripped bare to your bones with your heart on display and your soul stretched like shrinking wool over hot steam, but Hal stood firm with his eyes on Diana who could tell his lies without even needing her lasso. I am not wrong, he thought firmly, I am not wrong. Certainty grew in his bones to straighten the set of his shoulders and raise his chin in almost-defiance.

"He is right. Waller fears our strength," spoke Clark, "We should call a meeting. Us three, and some Bats."

Nightwing and Red Hood locked eyes. Hood's hand flicked; Nightwing's nose wrinkled. Whatever conversation they had must have been far more charged than the usual: those who heard the Bats discuss a plan instead of issuing steady orders usually didn't live to tell the tale.

"We have an idea," rumbled Hood.

Hopefully this story will now get updated fairly regularly, so that I can work towards completing the series. I have the timeline mostly worked out, as having the JL around would affect events such as Civil War and Nick Fury's attitude towards the Avengers Initiative. If Hal stops stealing the show it might even be done by Christmas.