"Knew I should have moved to Metropolis," muttered a young fire-fighter hosing down the bomb's effect on the subway...or what once was left of it. "Feel like freak'n Batman up at this hour every night..."

"At least there wasn't a death this time," her comrade pointed out.

"Not that we've found...How long has Damarcus been in there for?"

"Long enough. I'm going to go in after him."

"Be careful. Fire's dying but it ain't dead."

She watched him rush over to the flames and prayed he would return—empty handed at best. Her head cocked backwards to admire the work they had accomplished over the past hour. Smoke and flames still inhabited the area, but it had just become a bearable amount.

Grumbling under her breath, she realized that her sister would need a ride to work with the subway abolished. Still, not a single fatality from the bomb, and no deaths. It was hardly a miracle, considering the previous Arkham outbreak, but in Gotham, they took what they could get. No wonder insurance here skyrockets every year.

Shouting erupted on top ground as a small boy in Batman pajamas came running down the stairs and almost right into the fire.

"WHOA, HEY!" she yelled, managing to hold onto her hose with one arm and snatch the kid with the other one. "SOMEONE GET HIM OUT OF HERE!"

"MY FRIENDS ARE IN THERE!" he screamed back, flailing all limbs.

Before the firefighter could respond to this distressed civilian, her crew came stampeding down to assist.

"He said there are people in there," she informed her comrade as one hastily pried him away from her arm. "We need back-up! The crew should be back by now, and if his friends are in there-"

"We're going in!" called a group of two more fire-fighters rushing down. "Get the kid out of here! The smoke's more of a hazard than these flames!"

"BEAST BOY! RAVEN! CYBORG!" shrieked the boy, uselessly trying to kick his way out of hold.

"What is he-?"

"STARFIIIIRE!"

"Get him out, NOW!"

The man held Dick to his chest and darted up the stairs into the crisp, fresh night air. He didn't allow the kid space until they were back by the fire engine. As soon as Dick's slippers contacted the cement, he darted but was yanked back by the hand still on his shoulder. Snatching him by both shoulders, the firefighter turned him around.

"Hey, hey," he tried to console the child. With only one hand firmly grasped on his twig-thin arm, the firefighter hastily removed his mask in an effort to calm. "Son, it's alright; we got our best guys in there." At the kid's still panicked breathing and darting eyes, the firefighter tried to take it a step further. "This place was evacuated hours ago. Your friends are probably out looking for you right now. So are your parents. Do you know where they are?"

The kid snapped his head back in his direction, finally keeping his stare on the man. With an ugly look of both frustration and misery, he screamed at the top of his scratchy lungs.

"DEAD!"

Dick didn't bother to check the firefighter's shocked reaction before sharply elbowing his face, gaining release and staring to bolt. Recovering quickly, he grabbed Dick's ankle and tripped him to the ground.

"NO! Let go! Let-!"

The struggling stopped. He looked up to find the boy completely still on his stomach with his elbows propping up his upper body to look upon the firefighters emerging from the licking flames. With reasonable caution, he slowly released his ankle, allowing the boy to get up and greet the heroes who had rescued his friends, or more likely, confirmed that no one was down there.

Slowly, the child rose up to his feet and darted toward them at a high speed...then a slower pace...then a stance...then shaking, until he returned to to his running, out of grasp and back into the night.

The man looked up to find his crew holding a single communication device with a T marking it.

It was all too appropriate that a night with such a mysterious outcome would be decorated with a fog as thick as this. Did the Titans return to a future where Robin was his well-known apprentice or would they have yet to meet him? The future was full of opportunities as countless as the stars, and it all depended on tonight. How refreshing.

Slade entered upon an old, abandoned playground that may have once been used for its intended purpose, but now marked the area eerie as the fog around him. The parked machines and trucks implied that this old recreational park was meant to be torn down with the 30-foot-deep cliff as an obvious hazard.

He hardly even tried to find Dick. The lad's sobs existed as a GPS, alone. The small figure hunched over what was left of a swing needed no identification.

The empty swing was claimed by Slade. Dick hadn't even noticed him at first until the creaking chains notified him of a much heavier person. He didn't turn to identify the stranger. Dick hardly knew the man, but Slade's type of aura was one very recognizable. Not that Dick cared. He didn't even bother to tame his shaky breaths.

"I heard about what happened to the Titans. I'm sorry, Richard."

Did he mean it? In a way. He was sorry to provide additional trauma to a seven-year old, regardless of the fact that this was Robin. The kid was already scarred enough watching his own parents fall to a gruesome death. If the Titans had simply stayed in the timeline they belonged, then Dick's anguish would have remained at a minimum, but no; they just had to interrupt everything.

Dick turned his head to the side, ignoring the man. Slade figured that might Dick have been in any other mood, a man like Slade sitting on a swing could have been almost amusing, but nothing was funny about tonight. Dick's tiny hand left one swing chain to join his other hand on the other chain further from Slade. His back rotated to face Slade as his forehead rested on the back of his hands. Uneasy breathing continued to labor into small clouds of chilled air, but little to no sobs emitted.

All of these deaths could not have been healthy for one his age, but it would pay off in the long-run. Still, the fact that his feet didn't even touch the ground below him while on the swing reminded him yet again just how young Dick was.

A pitiful laugh slipped from the boy's mouth before he looked up to the cloud-invaded sky.

"...like you care..."

"Despite what you may believe, I do care." Slade ignored the shaky scoff and continued in the softest voice he could produce. "If I wanted you to suffer, I would have left you in the detention center or the Justice League's Headquarters, where you couldn't have warned the Titans."

"BUT THEY'RE DEAD SO WHAT'S THE POINT!?"

Dick leaped off of the pitiful excuse for a swing and marched over to the tether-ball pole. He hit the ball as hard as he could over and over and over again, each hit exhaling a louder and uglier yell than the last. Just as Dick was at the end of his rope, so too was the tether-ball. It dangled in its stationary position, taunting the boy with its motionlessness.

Roaring, Dick punched and kicked at the ball, impulsively until rage blinded him into trying to choke the pole as if the violence would resolve all of these agonizing deaths.

A familiarly large hand seized the small wrist.

"Dick, calm down."

"N-NO! NO MORE! N-NO MORE DYING! I c-cant...!" He paused, struggling to tame the sobbing breaths, the pounding heart, everything. "I CAN'T!" His free wrist began whacking its fist into Slade's abs. "Y-YOU! I HATE YOU! YOU...Y-YOU-!"

Slade grabbed his assaulting fist, not because it hurt, but because Dick was starting to shift his anger onto him. Growing hatred would lead them back to the rivalry that they already carried. The frustration was a useful tool, but it had to be redirected or else they would end up back at square one.

"I what, Dick? Helped you escape? Tried to train you to prevent this kind of outcome?"

"You tried to train me into an a-assassin! Y-you-!"

"Assassins can get rid of bad people, Dick. People like Joker, who killed the Titans or Zucco..."

Dick halted his fit.

Hook, line, sinker

"Zucco..."

Slade released his hold to kneel on one leg in front of the child. He looked down into the eyes so ready to influence until Dick's full attention was reached.

"Batman fights criminals, but he doesn't kill them..."

"Killing isn't right." His words sounded rehearsed rather than believed.

"But if Joker was dead, he wouldn't continue killing. Good people wouldn't die because of him. Good people, like the Titans." Dick looked down, no arguments to fight such a statement. "Think if Batman had killed Zucco before he came to the circus."

Dick's head snapped upward to show the definition of conflict playing on his face. It was all there: the scrunched eyebrows, the wide eyes that darted back and forth like a ping-pong ball, the slow blinking. The gears in his head were hitting all the right notes, and Slade knew that the next few words would win him over.

"You can save people close to you if you finish off those monsters trying to kill them."

Slade knew that Dick still didn't trust him—with fair reason. But the logistics of killing a murderer were indisputable, and the quicker Dick realized that, the easier this transition would be on all of them. He probably grew up with the concept that killing people was wrong, but with so many deaths occurring, he was maturing enough to realize that the world wasn't so black-and-white. It also helped that up until now the fear of killing most likely hadn't been drilled into his head by Batman.

Dick turned around and stared out into the foggy night, letting it all sink in. The fact that his parents' death could have been prevented if somebody had taken Zucco's worthless life was...infuriating. Batman was the hero so why was the villain making so much more sense?

"I can help you, Dick. I can help you be strong."

The child let out sob. He was so tired—tired of loved ones dying like cicadas in September, tired of confusion, tired of being picked up and moved around. The chance to make his own choices and protect people instead of falling to his knees and crying at every death,...it was tempting. So tempting...

A familiar toy was pulled out from behind Slade's back.

"Zitka!" he exclaimed, forgetting caution and reaching toward his only sure friend. The toy was taken from Slade and crushed toward the shattered heart that lingered within Dick's trembling chest. Emotions, Zitka, Slade,...the deja vu of their encounter upon waking up to a nightmare rang in Dick's head. The man had been so kind then; Slade's ability to soothe nightmares seemed almost surprisingly natural, like he wasn't born from the depths of hell, like he actually had a heart.

His head was foggier than the night with right becoming wrong, wrong becoming right, and the whole world revealed as the mess it was. Batman and the Titans were good people. He could feel it in his guts; it was an ability that had always been natural for him. Slade was the exception. Kidnapping, killing, fighting,...they were all bad, but how could someone who did bad things be nice to you at your weakest moments? None of it made sense, and Dick struggled to not run into his arms just for the feeling of safety and consistency.

Suddenly, an object flew over and hit Slade straight in the face. It whipped around the air until flying back to its original owner, perched in the shadow-cutting streetlight.

Batman.

Tension gathered like the rain-congested clouds above them. The intensity was so thick it could be tasted in the fog-flavored air, but Dick couldn't have been more oblivious.

"Batman!" he shouted in relief until agony caught up. "The Teen Titans- they're—they..."

"I know," Batman returned as softly as he could afford to say in front of the enemy. He didn't know which Slade he was facing—future or present, but both were dangerous and Robin was standing right beside either one. His first objective was to separate Dick from Slade. He opened his arms up subtly enough that Slade wouldn't act quickly but obvious enough to call Dick over to him and away from Slade.

Slade caught on faster than Dick and apprehended the boy's shoulder. Dick's attention on Batman slowly strayed back to Slade, more specifically, his vulnerable position beside the threat. At that moment, he gathered the magnitude of their situation and cursed himself internally for playing right into Slade's hands again, instead of following his instinct.

"Wayne," Slade acknowledged, stare heavy and pinned.

Batman didn't respond—simply responding with a stare sharper than any knife Slad carried.

A growl of thunder broke through the sky, causing only the child under Slade's fixed hold to flinch. Dick's rushing heart beat was the only assurance that time hadn't permanently paused. The two men remained firmly rooted until lightning flashed its signal for hell to be unleashed.

The hand that once claimed Dick's shoulder wrapped around his stomach and bound his back to Slade's armored chest. Slade's free hand drew out a gun from his belt, but not before Batman had launched himself into the villain.

"RUN, DICK, RUN!" Batman yelled while holding down Slade to the ground.

"That's right, Richard. Go run and hide. Play the victim card your entire life."

Dick looked back and forth between the two, struggling to decide what he should do. His guts screamed to listen to the hero, but everything that Slade had promised remained in his head, pulling him back against his better judgment. It was even harder to think logically when both options were strangling each other. The two remained locked in their position of brute force for a good couple of minutes, neither allowing any space for an attack.

Looking down at his toy elephant in his hands, Dick suddenly remembered that he had left Mr. Wilson's pocket knife in Zitka's large pocket. Hastily drawing it out, he resolved to never again be a victim!

"UGH!" Batman grunted as he was jabbed in the knee by Slade and thrown to the side. Both heroes arose into a stance simultaneously. They both kept their eyes on the other, circling around and assessing the best strike.

Their fingers brisked over their own belts, choosing their next weapon with careful consideration. As thunder again broke through the filling clouds, a poisoned dart cut through the sky at one direction while a bullet shot in the other direction, barely missing both targets.

Batman hissed as he tumbled to the ground just being hazed, then continued to perform a series of rolls, missing the following bullets until arriving behind the jungle gym. A miniature bomb was tossed over the playground, erupting in blinding lights. The Dark Knight leaped over the lights and onto Slade, knocking his gun out of grasps and reaching for the neck.

"Stop it, guys!" Dick yelled, not even slowing them down.

Slade countered the attack by swiftly raising his arms in-between Batman's grip of his neck and using their elevated force to push down Batman's hold while head-butting him in the process.

"I said QUIT IT!"

As soon as Batman got to his feet, Slade kneed him in the guts, knocking him down and placed a boot on his chest.

"PLEASE STOP!"

Slade reached for his sword until a familiar pocket-knife was thrown against his hand, grazing the glove and landing firmly in a tree.

"THAT'S ENOUGH!"

They looked at the boy that they both knew from another timeline and witnessed the Robin emerging. Silence crawled between the two as rain lightly joined the scene.

"Just...stop. Please, please stop...!"

"Dick...AGGGHHH!," Bruce yelled as the sword cut through his shoulder.

"BATMAN!"

Securely stabbing the sword through the shoulder and into the ground, Slade deemed his enemy securely pinned and headed towards the tree that held Dick's thrown pocket-knife. Dick tried to tip-toe toward while the enemy's back was turned.

"I didn't kill him," Slade tried to assure the child who froze when the single eye caught him. "Don't make me regret it." With his free hand, Slade yanked out the weapon from the tree, balancing the pointed blade on his finger with ease.

"Never underestimate a kid from the circus," he mused to himself before securely placing the knife in one of his spare belts. "Now..."

SMACK!

Batman full-force body-slammed into Slade's back. Hastily ran after the two, Dick noticed something just ahead in the fog.

"STOP! STOP! THERE'S A CLIFF! STOP!"

Slade had Batman pinned to the ground for the last time, his eye focused on the man.

"You know," coughed Slade, "I was trying to avoid killing anyone in front of Robin, but you're really not leaving me any choice..."

"He'll never join you, Slade. He's not a killer—never was, never will be."

"No," he pushed Batman's injured shoulder deeper into the ground. "You never will be, and that will always be your downfall."

"As far as I can tell, it doesn't count as murder if you return to your future time-frame..."

Slade reached for his gun, but Batman acted first—using his suddenly free legs to kick him off the edge of the cliff.

"SLADE!" Dick screamed running over to the thirty-foot ledge, but Batman grabbed his pajama collar before he could get too close.

"He's not dead, Dickie. Look..."

Dick hesitantly did as he was told to find only the street cement at the bottom with no body.

"Wha-?" Dick struggled for an explanation. "A...ghost...?"

"I'll explain when we get back home, okay?" Bruce smiled back. It truly was a blessing to hear the same kid's wild imagination again.

Dick numbly nodded, taking Batman's open hand and letting his destiny be guided down the foggy road home they were taking. Dick tried not to think about the events of the night. The Titans' death, the conflict between killing policies, Slade's mysterious vanishing act,...he felt like he didn't know up from down anymore, and that's saying something when you're an acrobat.

So he stopped himself from thinking and tried to focus on the immediate present, with the rainy, foggy atmosphere reflecting his current confused state of mind. He looked up to the sky, absent-mindlessly.

"What's going to happen to me now?" He didn't know if the question was more for Batman or for himself.

Batman halted, knelt in front of Dick, and looked him straight in the eye.

"You're going to come live with me now, chum. The paper work's ready to be mailed for adoption. Would you like that?"

The widening orbs of baby blue answered that question. The hug that encompassed Batman's neck exclaimed it. His face slowly buried itself within the grove of shoulder and chin, while shaky breaths struggled to escape his teeth clenched jaw. Strong arms secured the shaking figure that curled itself within the cape while his free hand gripped the back of Dick's messy hair.

"I almost went with him," Dick choked.

"Shhh, I know. You're safe, now."

"NO! I almost thought...I thought he could help me so I—I'm sorry, Bruce..." Dick put a hand to his face just discovering the blood on it. He followed the gooey, red trail to Batman's shoulder.

"You're hurt! You need a hospital!"

"It's okay, Dicky," the older said before rising to his feet and slipping his hand over Dick's to lead him. "I know someone who can patch me up, and get you the best cup of hot chocolate you've ever had. How does that sou-?"

Dick would have nodded if he heard the rest, or if he heard anything at all beside the loud bang from a distance. He would have looked up at Batman and nodded, happily if he could see anything but the dark figure falling on top of him. He would have followed Batman's lead to wherever he was taking him and try that world-famous hot-chocolate if he wasn't squished by a large body. He would have done a lot of things if he had registered who had been shot.

Sudden weight slammed on top him until he was squashed into the ground. The weight sluggishly shifted off of him and allowed him a chance to catch his breath...but he wasn't already breathless. On his back, Dick turned his head to the cowled face that lied across from him: Batman.

"NO!" he shrieked, getting on his knees and trying to roll the Dark Knight over and assess how much he was bleeding. The hero's weak hand reached his smaller one, and squeezed it in a python hold.

"Dick...," he gasped.

"No, no, no, n-no, no...NO! NO!"

"Dick,...listen to me...!" He tugged Dick's arm to draw his attention toward his face and not the bullet hole in his chest. "Go to Wayne M-manor! I'll meet you th-there..."

"YOU'RE L-LYING! YOU'RE NOT GONNA BE THERE! YOU'RE GONNA B-BE..." a choke shortly stole the rest of his sentence.

"I-it's not-t wh-what-t...it-t s-seems-s-s..."

"DON'T LEAVE ME! PLEASE! PLEASE! NOT YOU, TOO!"

One last strike of thunder split the fat clouds and rain drenched the once Dynamic Duo. Hardly aware of anything else, Dick rises in a shaky stance, pulling Bruce's good arm over his shoulder. The unnatural morsel of hope lingering within him forces Dick to try and drag Batman through the mud despite tragedy's distinct stench.

Just like his parents, he could practically feel life spill from Batman with each labored gasp he made. The attempt to prevent death's cruel finger was as hopeless as trying to transport the man twice his size; he was trying to race the inevitable and quickly falling behind.

"BRUCE, S-SAY SOMETHING! SAY SOMETHING!"

"...run, ...Dick..."

The strangled breath hardly hitting his neck slowed, but he ignored it. He ignored the stabbing rain and the aggressive wind that agonized with him. He ignored the fact that he was dragging what was more of a corpse than a body. His only defense was denial, putting one foot in front of the other and sobbing more than breathing. Tears, sweat, snot, and rain layered Dick's clenched-up face as he pulled Batman through blood-stained mud.

A figure stood in front of him, barely recognizable with the blinding rain. Dick didn't need sight; he knew who it was.

"MOVE!" he yelled through the wind. "MOVE NOW!"

"Dick...," Slade tried with thick regret.

"I SAID MOVE! He's dying!" Dick's eyes widened at his own confession. "He's dying...HE'S DYING, SLADE! PLEASE, HELP HIM! He's-"

"Go wait in the car. I'll take care of this," Slade instructed. As Slade moved through the rain, glimpses of the car behind him and of the sniper-gun strapped over his shoulder registered into Dick's suddenly more aware mind.

"You shot him," Dick whimpered, almost asking Slade to deny it. Slade remained unresponsive.

"YOU SHOT HIM! YOU SHOT HI—-"

"Hello? Sir, are you alright?"

Dick immediately dropped Batman, and reached for the hero's ear-piece emitting a British accent.

"HELP! CALL 9-11! CALL THEM NOW! BATMAN'S BEEN SHOT! He's...he's BLEEDING! THERE'S SO MUCH BLOOD-D. H-He's...he's n-not gon-g-gonna m-make-!"

"Good heavens! Master Richard...? Is that you?"

"YOU H-HAVE TO-TO HELP HIM! PLEASE! YOU-!"

If Alfred responded, Dick didn't hear him. He was too focused on the escaping breath that he had heard not that long ago. That breath. The final breath of a mortality passing through to immortality. It was the call out to Death, himself. Denial couldn't shield Dick anymore; it had died with his family that night at the circus.

"NOOOOOOO!"

The scream couldn't be drowned out in the pounding crack of thunder or the intense pouring of rain, the howling wind, none of it could overpower the noise of loss.

As an arm came under his arm-pit and pulled him away from the dying Batman, the most intense thrashing, snarling, coughing, screaming fit followed. Those that Slade had tortured couldn't compare, not even the possessed had such an intense reaction. The storm assisted in the protest and Slade felt as if he was battling the elements, but it didn't compare to Dick's turmoil.

Regret

Anger,

Sorrow

Confusion

Hatred

Coldness

Loneliness

Hopelessness

Slade attempted to drag him, but the freedom of his feet resulted in relentless lashing with each outburst. So he threw him over his shoulder, holding onto his legs, but the hands banged against the back of his cloth mask. The shaking violence almost proved impossible to control when Dick managed enough space to wriggle out of hold. Finally, Slade had to resort to a full-out python hold to effectively restrain him.

He mustered all of his energy for one, final, ear-piercing scream and then suddenly went limp, only shudders assuring Slade that he was unharmed and still conscious.

When they reached the car, he was placed in the back-seat, even buckled in place with Zitka placed on his lap. Slade drew back to shut the door, but had to pause at this look he was being given by the shell of a boy. Completely dead. No trace of any emotion resided in the normally expressive eyes. Its dullness sucked viewer into an abyss of numb depression within his soul.

Slade muttered something uncaught by Dick as he shut the door and came around into the driver's seat. His own door shut with a click of a child-lock. Slade looked up into his mirror to find the soaking-wet boy with a look reserved only for the dead.

"Alfred?"

"Oh, thank goodness!" breathed the butler as he collapsed in the computer chair down in the cave. "Master Richard contacted me. It sounds as if your future version has been shot."

"I traced the signal to the Westside cliff by Braxton. He's gone, Alfred. Both he and the Titans have returned to their timeline."

Regardless of the reality that no one was really dead, the concept of his son-like figure being shot to death still pulled at his heart. It was far too close to the Wayne's own death by gunshot, but he knew that Master Bruce wouldn't admit to any type of disturbance in the matter. He would dismiss it with the fact that, despite the traumatic experience, they were not in fact dead. Then he would continue to push his luck with death, like he did every night since his crusade began. Sometimes, Alfred sincerely wished that Master Bruce would consider therapy sessions with Dinah.

"But, Dick's still out there. There were fresh tire-prints near the signal. Slade has him. I know it."

"You've grown rather attached to the lad, haven't you, sir?" Alfred couldn't help but smile.

Bruce remained silent. With all of these deaths, his fear to care for those only to lose them resurfaced. There was no doubt that Dick was growing on him, as his future self had predicted, and he knew that from here on out, it would only become stronger.

"I'm bringing him home, Alfred. Batman out."

Dick woke with a start. The rain had ceased and it was morning,...or afternoon-hard to tell with such an overcast. Memories of last night arose, but his exhaustion prevented the emotional trauma from before to rise again. Rather, it all seemed like a bad dream; it still felt like a dream—so surreal and intangible.

He turned his head to the driver's seat... discovering it empty. Bolting up, he looked around to find them parked at a practically deserted gas-station. No one was within sight and the child-lock had been undone. Rubbing his eyes, he debated if he was still dreaming or in the Twilight Zone series. Following only motions without thought to direct, he undid his seat-belt and slowly opened the door with only the soaked elephant toy to accompany him. Sliding off his seat, his slippers hit the cracked cement ground and guided him away into the skeletal-tree-infested forest behind the gas-station.

Should he have been a healthier state of mind he would have run, marked his path, navigated with the remaining moth clinging to lifeless trees. Most importantly, he would have prioritized the need to stay warm in a frost-bitten territory.

The sun still was up, but offered no heat while hiding behind cowardly clouds. With each step, crinkles of frozen leaves moaned a warning to turn back. His teeth chattered from the nippy wind, hunger growled for food, but his shock still prevented his mind to assess the situation. Still-damp pajamas suffocated the warmth out of his body. Fingers stung until numbness overtook the body just as it had his mind since Batman's death.

One thing he knew, it was daylight. What seemed like only a moment later, darkness reclaimed the sky with a distant dog howl gradually breaking Dick out of his stupor. Immediate adrenaline lead Dick to a tree with low enough branches that he could use in his condition. Forgotten determination called to him like a muffled voice under water as he pulled himself up with each branch. As he looked down, he found a wolfish dog barking up at him. The hungry gleam in its yellow eyes prized the child as his overdue meal. Dick forced himself to stay calm as he continued climbing, but a weak branch betrayed him and gravity had full control.

Suddenly hitting the ground on his shoulder, he let out a shriek of pain. The animal leaped on him. Its fowl breath hit his face with jaws meeting sight. Dick's defiant scream was interrupted by a bullet to the dog's head.

Just before unconsciousness swallowed him, blurry vision caught hold of a familiar figure emerging from the trees.

"Mr...Wilson...?"

A/N:

PLOT TWIST!

Hi, everybody! Just hiding behind a rock here because I'm so embarrassed with my curse in updating! I'm worst than Chris McKay in delaying his Nightwing movie over and over again. Have I fan-girled about that, lately? Idk, but y'know what I haven't fan-girled about yet? THE LIVE-ACTION TITANS SERIES! Ok, ok, I get that it's having a bunch of hate going around with the Made-in-China quality Starfire outfit and Robin's potty-mouth, but c'mon! My fandom is going to be a live-action so I can stop acting like a ten-year-old who fangirls over a cartoon!...Okay, still act like that. Season 3 of YJ is out so there's a good right to still love cartoons!

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed! I appreciate long-term readers and to those who have just read it for the first time, welcome!

Echoes 01, good question! If they didn't get killed after a certain amount of time, they would cease to exist because of timeline requiring balance also because (INFINITY WARS SPOILERS FOR ANYONE WHO'S CRZY ENOUGH TO NOT HAVE SEEN IT BY NOW) Thanos killed half the plant. Jk.

FireShifter: Yes, I have seen Gotham! Very good show! Did you see how the actor for Bruce Wayne in that series responded to Robin's "F-YOU" remark in the Titans series. Pretty funny! Also, I can't let this live-action Titans series go! Sorry. Not sorry.

Review button. Down there. Review. Thank you!