[DCU+HSM] Your World Too

[sunrises]

My late birthday present for camalyng! I loved the future fic fragments she sent me, and I decided that for her birthday, I was going to take those fragments and run with them. :) I hope you enjoy this fic, m'dear!

It was a ton of fun to write, even if it was hard to piece together sometimes, and I'm sure I'll be editing this slightly. (I wasn't sure on a title, so you're free to rechristen this fic if you can think of something better in the meantime.)

Title: Your World Too
Fandom: High School Musical + DC Comics crossover, takes place in unnamed universe
Relationships: Tom Bronson/Sharpay Evans, Bart Allen/Cissie King-Jones, Liv Bronson/Nightwing (if you squint)
Rating: PG-13 for language + sexual references
Summary: Darren never wanted to be a superhero. That was Dad's job. Until Dad got lung cancer... and then Darren realizes that maybe, just maybe, he might have what it takes to be a hero after all.
Disclaimer: Nightwing & Starkid are the only characters I own. Everything else is the property of DC Comics, Disney, or my friend camalyng.

You wake up to the smell of omelets and fresh-baked danishes. After the hideous mess that'd been last night, you're not sure why Mom's going to all the trouble of baking danishes for breakfast. Still, the smell's enough to get you to wake up and get changed for school. Once you're dressed, you slowly wander into the main living area. On the couch, opposite from the kitchen, you notice Uncle Bart and Uncle Kyle sitting on the couch with Dad. You're not surprised that they found out so quickly. Aunt Cissie must've told them, despite the doctor-patient confidentiality contract, because you don't think Dad would've told anyone else by now.

Uncle Bart and Uncle Kyle have wrapped Dad in their arms as tightly as possible as they murmur helpful phrases to him. You crack a smile at Uncle Bart. He returns the smile before kissing Dad on the forehead.

"---family, and the family that fights together stays together," Uncle Kyle's telling Dad. "Remember? That's what we are."

Dad somehow manages to grin sheepishly, one you hadn't seen since the diagnosis. "You idiot," He retorts, pulling his friends in closer.

You don't want to interrupt their bonding time. After Uncle Jason, Uncle Kyle and Uncle Bart are Dad's closest friends, and you know Dad needed something to cheer him up after revealing a giant family secret like that. It'd probably work better than the basket of chocolate and snacks that was hand-delivered to your house last night. It'd been a simple basket, the kind that you thought came from one of Liv's boyfriends (you didn't remember which one she was dating right now)... until you saw the scrawl, 'With love from Starkid, Nightwing, and Traci.'

Almost instantaneously, the love poured in from all over the world. You knew your dad was kind of important in the hero business, since he was one of the Justice Society of America's leaders, and the JSA's reputation was well-respected throughout the country. Grandpa, before he passed away, had been one of its founding fathers, and you'd watched enough home videos to recognize that Grandma Zinda had helped out occasionally when she wasn't busy in Gotham.

Prior to this morning, you had absolutely no idea just how many people your father knew and loved. Uncle Bart and Uncle Kyle might've been comforting your dad on the couch, but you'd walked into the kitchen to immediately see Aunt Maxine and Aunt Courtney with your mom. Aunt Maxine was brewing white tea (Peach Blossom, one of Dad's favorites) while Aunt Courtney was pulling out another batch of danishes from the oven. So that's why the kitchen smelled so good! Neither of your parents were particularly good at cooking, but you always loved Aunt Courtney's pastries. They made a crummy morning that much better.

A couple of other women, people you recognized from the news as Starfire and Wonder Woman, were sitting on the barstools and helping out your honorary aunts to the best of their abilities. They gave you warm smiles when you walked in - and despite your best interests, you couldn't help thinking that Dad knew smoking hot ladies.

You tried not to stare down at their... large tracts of land.

You really did!

But somehow, you didn't think Starfire fell for it for even a minute. (Please don't be psychic, you know she's actually married with kids!) She gently pries your chin to look up at her green eyes, ones without pupils, and laughs, "It's nice to finally meet you. Darren, right? I was starting to wonder if Tom'd ever bring his kids to the Watchtower..."

"Watchtower?" You asked with an almost hushed voice.

Damn, your dad even knew people on the Justice League of America. He could've hooked you up with a visit to the freaking space shuttle that circled the globe! You weren't interested in heroing it up alongside Dad, but even you knew a golden opportunity when you saw one. You blushed, trying not to squirm in Starfire's grasp.

"Yeah," Wonder Woman responds, watching you with kind eyes. "From the way he talked about you, we thought you were going into the family business for sure."

(Dad always DID want Wildcat III. You'd protested, claiming that you'd wanted a normal life. So far, you'd gotten your wish. Dad hadn't talked much about his exploits, not unless Mom was around to hear it.)

"Not really," You respond as apologetically as possible, given the circumstances. "At least... I don't think I'm going to join the JSA right now. School's tough enough."

Aunt Courtney rolls her eyes, "You and Syl both say that and yet..."

"Syl's also doing a million extracurriculars," You point out, finally breaking free from Starfire's grip to make yourself a plate of breakfast. "No wonder he's complaining."

Aunt Maxine and Aunt Courtney exchange impish grins, the kind they always share when they've got a really good secret to hide, and your stomach immediately sinks. You know that your aunts aren't purposefully comparing you to Syl (full name Sylvester Batson), but you can't help feeling like it.

He was the epitome of the nice all-American boy every girl wanted to bring home to their mother. Tall, blond, captain of the Fawcett High's debate team, member of the Red Cross, volunteer at the local Children's Museum, tutor to elementary school kids...

Unfortunately, he also happened to be Uncle Bill's son, which kind of made the comparisons worse because Uncle Bill was so incredibly nice and sweet and kindhearted that you could never find it in yourself to tell him - or his son - no to anything. So you'd grown up watching baseball games and cricket matches with them until the inevitable happened and Uncle Bill had to save the world from another evil supervillain on the rampage.

This happened way more than you'd like to admit with your most of your honorary uncles and aunts. Well, except for Uncle Ryan and his husband, or Uncle Troy and Aunt Gabriella whenever they came over to visit. Uncle Peyton usually bowed out too, but he was mainly more interested in filming JSA exploits than heroing.

Apparently, Dad never did tell him the truth. With the way the apartment was today, you suspected that Uncle Peyton'd finally find out before Dad or Mom was ready. Considering they'd had at least sixteen - maybe possibly more - years to tell him, you questioned if they'd wanted to tell him at all.

"Right, right," Aunt Courtney giggles as she turns off the oven. Instructing you to take yet another omelet, she then heads over to the sink to wash her hands. "Just make sure you don't go in over your head, okay?"

"I won't," You swear, making a cross over your heart with your free hand before digging in and taking your first bite of food. Mm, the danish was even better than you remembered!

Uncle Nathan then comes barreling through the kitchen. It's impossible to not notice him, considering his entire body's made of solid steel (and he's still in his Citizen Steel costume, to boot). You wince, wondering if the downstairs neighbors (and possibly the upstairs) heard him as well. Aunt Maxine sets the tea kettle on the stove, glancing over at him, "Nate!"

"Sorry," He sheepishly laughs, rubbing the back of his neck as he reaches over for a mug of tea. "I came over as soon as I could..."

"You and the rest of the Society," Wonder Woman wryly remarks. "We'll have to move the party to the Brownstone at this rate."

"It might be a good idea," You pipe up. Before you even realize it, the words're spilling right out of your mouth, "I mean, it's a wonder the neighbors haven't suspected anything. You're all here at this hour and the doorbell keeps ringing and there's more chocolate and food and cake and stuff we couldn't possibly finish---"

Wonder Woman wraps her arms around you in a tight bear hug. Embarrassed, you suspect that she's holding her strength back, just like Dad whenever he's proud of you.

"It's okay to be afraid," she whispers in your ear, as if she knows exactly what you're going through right now. "I know this isn't your sister's world. I know it's not your mom's, and I know it's definitely not yours. Not yet, anyways."

Not yet? What did she mean, not yet? Did she want Mom on a murderous rampage?

You stare at her with horrified eyes, not quite sure what to make of her speech. "Um..."

"But it's Tommy's world," Wonder Woman finishes. "And for better or for worse, we're part of your world too."

Right.

Dad was a superhero long before he met Mom, he'll be a superhero until his dying breath, and you know he wants nothing more than for you to take up his mantle and fight the good fight. He'd asked you to come join the JSA a couple of times, back when he thought you actually liked sports and playing basketball, before he realized that it was Liv who'd coerced you into it all.

Then he stopped asking questions and focused his energy on leading the team. You didn't mind: it kept Dad sane, and he enjoyed the time spent with his teammates.

Soon afterwards, Batman and Captain Marvel sent their apprentices, Nightwing and Starkid, to the Brownstone for training. Dad hadn't gawked at the idea the way Mom had ("Are they crazy? If the kids want to be heroes, they should go to the Teen Titans like the other kids!"), but instead calmly accepted them and made them part of his team.

You'd overheard their entire fight about it a few months back. You hadn't meant to: you just wanted a glass of warm milk and cookies before bed. It wasn't your fault that they were both too angry to notice your presence!

Mom was yelling, "You think you're making the right choice, letting them on? They're only sixteen, only a couple of years older than Darren---"

"Courtney was fourteen when she joined the JSA," Dad rebuked her, turning on her with a glare you'd never seen him use before that night (and in hindsight, you'd realized he hadn't used it since either). "Jennifer was sixteen. Jamil was sixteen. It's not any different from letting a kid become a sidekick. Batman took on Robin when the kid was ten.

This isn't Garden, Shar. Things are different---we're the Justice Society of America, we're not some strike force that expects an army of perfection."

"But they're still child soldiers, you're still training them for this just like Garden---"

"SHARPAY EVANS BRONSON."

Dad never raised his voice, not even to yell at football commentators on TV. So when he did, just then? Mom actually cowered back. Dad hesitated, rubbing his forehead as he stared at her with a pained expression. "... I'm sorry," He said after a moment. "But I thought you'd understand by now. Family doesn't turn back on family."

That night, you learned that even if the hero world was weird with its own set of rules, Dad knew what he was talking about. Questioning his methods was his one "berserk button," one that set him off even when nothing else would. You hadn't ever seen him that angry and passionate about anything before, and you doubted you'd ever see it again. Despite your hatred for these apprentices, you didn't tell Dad to stop mentoring them. Not after you'd witnessed the fireworks.

You wanted to tell him, as it felt like Dad was always talking about them in battle ("I was this close to dying, but then Starkid swooped down---") or just in the Brownstone ("I really shouldn't play Trivial Pursuit with Nightwing anymore, I lost ten rounds in a row").

How come they got to spend more time with Dad than you some nights? How come you didn't get to learn their secret identities? You knew most of the big ones, from sheer virtue of growing up around them: Uncle Bart was the Flash, Uncle Kyle was Green Lantern, Dad was Wildcat, Aunt Maxine was Cyclone, Aunt Courtney used to be Stargirl, Uncle Bill was Captain Marvel, and so forth. You never did learn Starkid's and Nightwing's secret identities: they were confidential.

You suspected that you personally knew Starkid, since his voice sounded familiar and he had this incredibly cheerful tone whenever he spoke that made it incredibly hard to dislike him... but his six-pack abs made it slightly easier.

Nightwing, on the other hand, was a complete enigma. Dad must've performed some small miracle to crack through the kid's tough exterior because not even you could get the guy to smile, even when you tried. It hurt your pride a little, as people claimed you had Dad's ability to get along with anyone.

So you'd swallowed your pride when Wonder Woman pointed out the truth, that this world mattered a lot more to Dad than it did to the rest of your family. For the moment, Dad's friends and family mattered more than your dislike for spandex and capes and the world of costumed vigilantes. It just took you more effort to remember that some days.

"Right," You say after what feels like forever. "I'm sorry, I just..."

"Sorry," Aunt Maxine responds, holding out a mug of hot chocolate for you. "We'll restock the tea cabinet later too, we promise."

Only your house has a tea cabinet. Most people have a liquor cabinet, where they house their prized wines and beer for guests, but your dad had always been against alcohol. Even the Brownstone lacked alcohol, instead stocking their refrigerators with fruit juices, milks, smoothies, and so many varieties of tea and coffee that it made your head hurt. You had masala chai, you had green tea, you had white tea, you had Berry Blossom Parfait (it was a rare white tea, made with cranberries and blueberries and a hint of vanilla), you had Hibiscus Iced tea, you had raspberry, you had even Earl Grey and imported Persian Early Grey, and even some blends from Scotland and England that Dad'd gotten from some students over Christmas break.

If Mom'd whined about needing a drink, she'd usually gotten it outside the house. For better or for worse, you'd never thought about sneaking out tea from your parents' tea cabinets if you wanted something to drink. Instead, you usually brewed something yourself---though it never tastes as good as when Dad makes it for you every morning.

Amusingly enough, you realize that he must've trained the entire JSA - and the Justice League - as Wonder Woman's brewing some masala chai for herself, and the good kind too. (You have the overpriced brand, just because someone gave it to Dad for Hanukkah, but you don't like it nearly as much.)

Despite your best interests, you can't help cracking a grin, "It's okay. Somehow, I don't think we'll notice."












The Brownstone's a lot quieter than you remembered it being. As you and Liv walk in, you greet the guard on duty, Obsidian, with polite hello's and smiles. Liv doesn't say anything to you as she wheels around the next corner. It's obvious to each of you that you haven't been here in a while; the photos on the wall have changed, and some of the rooms have fresh coats of paint.

Most importantly, Uncle Bart and Uncle Kyle painted a new mural on the wall. You and Liv both stare at it for a while, trying to remember the team's current roster. There's Flash, Green Lantern, Wildcat, Traci 13, Cyclone, and Dr. Mid-Nite... then Black Canary, Superstar, Starkid, and Nightwing had been added more recently. Of course there's reserve members, like Obsidian and Citizen Steel and Power Lady and King Chimera and Captain Marvel, but the main ten usually took care of the villains around the city.

Part of you's surprised that Gossip Girl doesn't talk about them, considering how much she likes blogging about Liv, but then you remember that none of the JSA's really from old money. Not that you know of anyhow.

"Like the painting?"

The sudden voice startles you both, but Nightwing swoops down from above to greet you before you can even turn to meet him. Liv's staring at him, and you know it's not just because of his sudden appearance. Suddenly self conscious, Nightwing crosses his legs and scoots closer towards you.

You nod, finding your voice. "Yeah. When was it done?"

"In half an hour," Nightwing shrugs.

When you and Liv both stare at him again, he then amends, "Last week, right before Game Night."

"You guys have a Game Night?" Liv scoffs, though she sounds more amused than anything. "How does that work?"

"Pretty badly for your..." Nightwing trails off, shaking his head as he turns to gaze at the mural. "Well, it's fun. It's not like being with the Titans."

Dad wanted you to join the Titans once, back when their death toll hadn't been so high, so you can't help asking, "And why not?"

Nightwing and Liv both look at you strangely. What, your question couldn't have been THAT weird.

"Because the JSA's a family," Nightwing says quietly, leaning forward and tracing the edges of Wildcat's outline. "The family that fights together stays together."

It's the JSA motto, one you've learned by heart simply because everyone recites it so many times that it's become cliched. "And the Titans aren't?"

"They are too, but..." Nightwing hesitates. You can almost hear the teenager underneath the mask, the one hiding his voice with a modulator that makes him sound like he could be Dad's age. "The Titans are more like friends. Confidantes. People that you go to school with. They're not really mentors or older sisters or younger sisters or hell, it's just not the same."

You don't think you've ever heard a hero swear in the Brownstone. It seems unnatural.

Liv smiles softly at him, like she understands his pain or something, before wheeling forward to take his hand. "It's okay to be upset. I know we're not blood-related, but Dad thinks of you as his kid too."

Then the stoic hero, the one that you've always imagined as some kind of strange, inhuman mystery, envelops your sister in a tight hug and doesn't let her go for ten minutes. If it had been anyone else, you would've pried him off---but considering it's Nightwing, the one guy who couldn't possibly be interested in Liv, you leave them alone.

The minute you walk out the door, their whispers morph into choked sobs. You feel a lump in your throat as you gently close the door behind you and head back towards the lobby. It's going to be a long night, and you don't think you'll end up getting any sleep whatsoever.










At 2 AM, the (incredibly berating) alarm rings throughout the Brownstone. Instinctively, you snap up and stare at your open door as half-dressed superheroes make a mad dash towards the entrance. Starkid's adjusting his goggles, Cyclone's barely got her leggings on, Dr. Mid-Nite doesn't even have her cowl.... The entire house's in a frenzy, and you know it's because of some city-wide crisis.

You're tempted to go back to sleep, partially because you don't remember how you fell asleep in the first place. But the alarm's still ringing, and you don't think you can ignore it at this rate. So you lazily jump out of bed, put on your borrowed slippers from Grandpa Alan, and wander towards the source of the noise.

Most of the JSA - save for Dad, you realize - is getting a quick briefing from Green Lantern.

"---burning buildings in the Bronx," Green Lantern's telling them. "Cyclone, Starkid, you'll fly up and see if you can rescue anyone. Nightwing and I'll head down and make sure the firefighters've got it covered."

The team nods and disbands towards their stations immediately after GL calls, "Dismissed!"

Dr. Mid-Nite wasn't with the others. You stumble towards her clinic in your half-asleep state. If she wasn't there, doesn't that mean that she, Superstar, and Black Canary have other business to attend to? You're not stupid; you know that the JSA handles many different cases at once, and that burning buildings are standard procedure. They usually make sure emergency services could perform their job all while saving the people who needed it most.

You yawn, rubbing your eyes as you walk into Dr. Mid-Nite's clinic, "Aunt Ciss---I mean, Dr. Mid-Nite?"

Then you stare at the bloody, half-beaten body before you. Recognizing the dark-haired man as Mister America, one of the lesser-known heroes patrolling the area, you slowly turn your head towards the good doctor. As she wraps bandages around the cleansed wounds, she hums softly to herself and keeps a steady hand on her patient. Halfway through her procedure, she looks up at you with a slightly concerned frown.

"Darren?" she asks, adjusting her gloves. "Is everything alright?"

"That's what I was going to ask you," You say, gesturing towards Mr. America. "What happened?"

Dr. Mid-Nite bites her upper lip, "Icicle Jr. happened."

Ah. You don't need more explanation than that to grasp the severity at hand. While on the job, Mr. America had gotten hurt badly by your dad's archenemy's husband, and he was clearly still on the rampage along with his other pals on the Injustice Society. "Is that where Canary and Superstar are?"

"Yeah," she responds, double-checking Mr. America for any last wounds before gently lowering his arm. "I'm going to let him get some rest. He's had a pretty long night."

She looks at you for a while, as if she's contemplating on something. You gesture for her to go ahead and ask, while there's no one else in the room. So she bows her head, "... I'm sorry."

"What?" You laugh, wrinkling your nose slightly as you move closer to her. "Why're you sorry? Just because you told Dad the news doesn't make you a bad person..."

"I thought you might hate me for the diagnosis," she admits after a moment. "I do spend a lot of days telling people bad news."

"But you also give them hope," you retort slyly. Folding your arms, you try to look menacing before you help Dr. Mid-Nite move Mr. America to a more comfortable bed for the rest of the evening. "Aunt Cissie, don't ever think that about us. We're family, right?"

A shy smile appears on her face. Once she tucks Mr. America under the covers, she turns to pull you in for a sideways hug. As you both exit the room and gently shut the door behind you, you allow her to give you a proper hug. You've been getting a lot of hugs from your aunts lately, you realize. Most teenage guys would've killed to be in your position, and yet... the hugs make you feel like you're five years old again. Nothing wrong can ever happen as long as you're safe in your aunt's arms. You just want to believe that for a little bit longer.

It's weird, thinking that you're taller than your Aunt Cissie now, but you don't dwell on it as you return the hug.

"We are," she says once you let go of her. "I know that."

You smile at her. "I know I'm not a cape, but I get it. Really."

Aunt Cissie snorts. "You don't have to remind me, remember? I quit being one for ten years."

In that moment, Aunt Cissie seems less like one of your dad's friends and more like someone who actually understands you and your reluctance to jump into this world. She willingly left it to pursue a civilian life, only to come back when Grandpa Pieter passed away from illness. She had his blessing, but Uncle Bart once confessed that he thought she'd never don a costume again.

You make a mental note to ask about her life later, when it's not 2:30 AM and your body's not begging for some more sleep. But right now, you just want to go back to your bed, where it's nice and warm. The moment you turn to head towards your room, the alarm sounds again.

The sound isn't even pleasant; it sounds like metal banging against each other as hard as possible. You groan, resigning yourself to your sleepless fate as you wander towards the meeting room. You can see the Flash urgently talking to Traci 13. You can barely make out what they're saying - Uncle Bart's speaking that fast - but you try to make out as much as you can.

"---flash mob out of control at the football stadium---"

"--can't handle it, just the two of us---"

"butwehaveto,ithinkwe'llbefineaslongaswecall----Darren?"

Busted. You manage a sheepish smile as you approach them. "Sorry, I know I'm interrupting a briefing." By now, you've been conditioned to bow out once the team starts talking official business, so you turn to leave when the Flash runs to your side and pulls you into Dad's chair. Damn, it still smells like Peach Blossom tea.

"It's fine, it's not like there's more than two of us," Traci explains. "But we'll need you to stay with Obsidian while we go fight this flash mob, okay? The Music Meister's been pretty active lately."

You nod, not quite sure what 'staying with Obsidian' entails, but it sounds better than fighting a whole crowd of people. "Sure," you say, nodding. "I'll make sure no one breaks into the place and steals the last cinnamon roll."

"Atta-boy," Flash smiles, clamping his hand on your shoulder. To Traci, he motions towards the door. "Let's go."

She nods, grabbing her staff and flying towards the door. They both zoom out, towards the flash mob the Music Meister's controlling, leaving you to shut the main door and leave the key with Obsidian.

Standing in the doorway, you hesitate before you run to the spare room that you shared with Liv. Surprisingly, Liv's still awake, with her nose buried in one of those frou-frou young adult novels Mom bought her last week. You cough loudly, "A-HEM."

She jumps, immediately shutting the book and hiding it under her pillow. "H-Hey."

"Could you do me a favor?" You ask, with all seriousness, as you start flexing your fingers. Liv follows your gaze before she slowly nods.

"Sure."

You smile, "Could you hold down the fort? I've gotta go somewhere."

Liv gives you a Look, the kind she gets when you do something you're going to regret, but you ignore it as you immediately run out the door. Even when you try your best to ignore her yelling, you can still catch the tail-end of, "BUT YOU DON'T EVEN LIKE HEROING!"

With great reluctance comes great motivation, and you know more than anyone that right now, Flash and Traci need more support to handle a giant flash mob and a creep like the Music Meister. So you put on your brave face and relax your muscles as you will yourself to transform. It's weird, doing it again so soon (you normally wait weeks in-between transformations), but you manage the process smoothly enough. Once your hands morph into giant black furry paws, and you hear your tail thumping against the ground, you push the doors open and run towards the football stadium. The wind rushes through your fur and you think, for just a moment, that you might belong to this world after all.









As it turns out, you hate yourself when you're half-asleep. Half-asleep you makes incredibly stupid decisions that even drunk you won't make. Not that you would know, of course, because you're underage and underage people don't drink. Not even in their own home because their mother definitely doesn't sneak in alcohol when your dad's out of town on conferences and then tries to mask the odor with her newest perfume. (You don't know why she bothers, Dad has super-smell.)

The Music Meister knows how to enthrall an audience. Literally. Seconds after you arrive, the dancing mob immediately turns on you and starts to attack.

You instinctively dodge, letting one dancer kick another in the face. Then you duck, allowing two more to knock heads. You give one a well-aimed kick before turning on the others and punching them towards the brick walls.

Even as you attack, the Music Meister continues his siren song. You're glad you remembered ear plugs, 'else you would've become part of this crazy dance crowd the moment you stepped foot on the turf. Part of you pities them; clearly some of them didn't know what they'd signed up for on tumblr. The rest of you, though, remembers that the Music Meister's name alone should have tipped people off. If they still came, even after doing a little Google-Fu, then it was their own damn fault.

Traci notices you before the Flash does. Blasting three sets of dancers with her wand, she floats over to you. "Wildcat?"

The name sounds weird when you're the one being addressed. You start to shake your head, "No, I---"

"It's not him," you can hear the Flash say as he comes up from behind. "Wildcat's taller."

You've never transformed in front of them before, so you can't blame either of them for not realizing it's you. You shake your head, glancing up towards the jumbotron as the Music Meister's face appears on the screen. Thanks to your ear plugs tuning out his frequency, you have absolutely no idea what he's saying--or singing. Judging from the puzzled looks on Traci's and the Flash's faces, you're not the only one.

"Nevermind," you say, motioning for the others to attack the guy. "Right now, we've got bigger fish to fry."

Traci cracks a smile, "You even joke like him."

You try not to roll your eyes as you run past the dancers. Pushing the ones still daring to block your path, you attempt to keep your strength in check. You don't want to injure them, since the mob's mostly innocent, but you also don't want them to prevent you from doing Dad's job. What would Dad do? He'd probably ignore the ones he could, find the Music Meister, arrest him, and send him straight to jail, all without thinking twice. The jumbotron flashes the time, 3 AM. God, sleep was more than just an elusive mistress at this point, she was also a dream of her own.

"Have you figured out where he's broadcasting from?" You ask, watching the Flash zoom ahead of you.

Traci shakes her head. "It's gotta be somewhere around here, the stadium can't broadcast from that far..." And the flash mob wouldn't be dancing all over the turf if he weren't here.

When the Flash's face leers on the jumbotron, you can't help jumping. "Guess he found him."

"Come on!" Traci says, staring ahead to feel the Flash's aural energy. (You think that's what she's doing, at least; you've never asked how her powers work.) She starts to float off towards the bleachers, "I'll take you there!"

You don't know why you hesitate when you see her offered hand. It's not because you're not her boyfriend; Starkid could probably care less when supervillains are involved. No, you can't quite put your finger on why you hesitated, but you eventually swallowed your fear and latched onto her hands as tightly as you could. When Traci flies at top-speed, she really means it. You could actually hear the Music Meister singing about life, about stealing things, about how much he really wanted to kill the Flash right now but couldn't because the speedy little bugger stole his knife....

Traci and you flew up to the room attached to the bleachers, the one where the Music Meister had taken the Flash hostage, and immediately descended onto the ground next to them. The moment she let go, you actually knelt over and vomited all over the Music Meister's designer shoes.

That ceased his singing. Actually, it caused him to glare at you with the ferocity of ten thousand suns as the Flash and Traci 13 laughed their butts off at you. If it weren't 3 AM and you weren't so nauseous that you didn't know if you were going to vomit again---

Oh. Nevermind, that was definitely your dinner on the Music Meister's hand-tailored, lime green suit.

Flash takes the opportunity to place handcuffs around the Music Meister's hands while Traci helps you up on your feet. Both take off their headphones, now that the music's stopped altogether.

"Don't I at least get a change of clothes?" You can hear the Music Meister whine to the Flash as he's carted off. "Your leader ruined my priceless clothes! They were worth at least----"

"You can bill the JSA if you're that desperate," the Flash was rolling his eyes. "Dude, it's just vomit, it'll wash off."

Ugh. You have a headache, and it's not even because you're drunk. You instinctively rub your temples, though it hurts slightly because of your claws, as you try not to look at the floor. Traci's still giggling as she helps you walk.

"Okay, you definitely aren't him," she says in-between laughs, "but that was definitely easier than I expected."

Below you, the dancing mob's starting to realize just where they are, as well as the time. Some of them are complaining about the police, and how they're going to get busted for sure, and how the news cameras really aren't getting their best angle... wait, news cameras?

"This is Vicki Vale, reporting to you live from the Logan Football Stadium!"

You groan. Your first outing as a superhero, and you're going to be famous because you vomited all over a supervillain. Traci flashes a smile at the cameras as she ushers you out and towards the road to the Brownstone. You can hear snippets of the news coverage if you strain your neck, but Traci gives you odd looks every time you try.

"Sooooo..." she says as you walk back. "Who are you, exactly? You're not Wildcat, but you've got his powers---"

Surprise registers on her face as she slowly puts two and two together.

"Darren?"

You sheepishly nod, unable to speak for fear that you'll vomit all over her too.

"Ohmigod," she says in hushed tones. "... Does your dad know?"

You nod.

"Your mom?"

Another nod.

".... Liv?" Yes. "The rest of the JSA?"

That's when you hesitate. "... No." You say, holding your paw over your mouth just incase. "You're the only one who's figured it out."

She smiles shyly at you, kind of like Adelia does when she's nervous about something, as she stops before the Brownstone and opens the door for you.

"Then I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to."

You shrug. "I don't mind the team knowing, but..."

"... you don't know if you'll do this again," Traci finishes. When you nod, she gives you a look of complete understanding before she leaves you in front of Dr.

Mid-Nite's clinic. "I understand. Just know that if you do, there's always a spot for you here."

You don't remember much after passing out onto the nearest couch, but Traci's words give you some solace. Maybe if you give this hero thing a chance, it won't be so bad---and you'll build up more of a reputation than 'that one werepanther that threw up on a supervillain.' Maybe. You're not counting on living it down anytime soon.











Liv's face greets you the moment you open your eyes. She leans back, to give you maybe an inch of breathing eoom, before she wraps you up in a warm hug. Before you could even say hello, she frantically confesses, "I was so worried! You just up and left after mentioning some nonsense about holding down the fort!"

You laugh nervously, wrapping one arm around her as you try to process just where you are. It looks like the spare room, the one you two stayed in last night, but a few things seem different. For one thing, you don't remember that big basket sitting in the corner. For another, Liv's frou-frou book pile magically increased overnight.

"Sorry," you say once your brain registers everything. "I was just trying to do the right thing."

Right as she lets go of you, Liv gives you a wry smile. She's not going to say it out loud, because it's Liv, but Dad would've said something like that. You also know that if he'd been here last night, the Music Meister would've been defeated in milliseconds, versus you getting lucky and defeating him without trying.

"You can say it," you tease her. "I know you want to."

She sticks her tongue out at you. "As if!"

"So does this mean I can ask about your books?"

Now Liv just looks embarrassed. "Ash Grayson sent them over to Mom last night," she explains. "I don't know how he knows, but I've now got the entire series."

You try to remember just who this Ash Grayson person is. You know you've heard his name before, it's one of those rich kid names that sometimes pops up in conjunction with a few others on Gossip Girl, but not too often... if you're remembering correctly, he shows up less than Liv does, mostly because Ash lives in Gotham...

OH. "Bruce Wayne's grandson?" You ask incredulously. "But we haven't talked to him in months!"

"You haven't," she corrects you. "But I text him sometimes. I guess he must've known through those."

You doubt it. If Liv's embarrassed about liking these books in front of you, you don't think she'd mention it to a guy she might be romantically interested in, much less one whose grandfather could own the entire country if he so desired. But you don't say so, because you don't feel like ruining the illusion for her.

"That's nice of him," you say, managing a smile. "I'm glad."

She sweetly smiles back at you. "Good. Now if you're all better, the JSA wants to see you in the meeting room after breakfast."

"What? Why?"

She shrugs. "Beats me, but I don't think you're getting fired after your little stint last night."

"I'm not even on the JSA," you say, rolling your eyes. "They can't fire me."

"That never stopped Batman!" Liv calls as you get up, change your shirt, and quickly brush your hair. "Look at how many Robins he has! He's on his eighth one as we speak!"

You dismissively wave your hand at her before you walk out, "But it's Batman, the guy's been proven to be mental."

She has a point: it might actually be possible to get fired from Dad's team before you had the chance to join. If they're going to fire you, you just hoped they had the decency to be nice about it.







Not that you remember Liv's words after breakfast. Your worry morphs into secondhand embarrassment the moment you wander in and witness Uncle Bart passionately making out with his own wife on the kitchen counter. They at least have the decency to get up once they feel your presence, but you have a sinking feeling that their honeymoon had never ended. In fact, you jump at the chance to leave early and head towards the meeting room. Uncle Bart and Aunt Cissie had seized every opportunity to carress each other. They lovingly held hands as they ate; they used embarrassing petnames with each other; and you even witnessed one of those Eskimo kisses before you got up and refilled your glass of orange juice.

You never thought you'd hear Aunt Cissie talk about a comatose victim - over breakfast, no less! - before leaning in to give your Uncle Bart a kiss on the cheek. When Uncle Bart rebutted her with the Music Meister story, you wanted to vomit again, and not because you were physically sick. Compared to these two, your parents actually seemed normal.

Still making faces as you left the kitchen, you head into the hallway and descend the small set of stairs into the meeting room. Staring at the round table in the middle of the room, you study it more intently. The round table had always been a fixture of the JSA, as it'd been homemade by Hawkman and some of the other founding members, while the chairs had been a more recent addition. Ever since the team gained two artists as leaders, nearly everything in the Brownstone was customized. You could see the stars on Starkid's chair, the blue birds on Nightwing's, and even the fuzzy kittens on Dad's...

You take your fingers and trace the edges of Dad's chair. You never thought about taking his place and sitting down in his chair, not as Wildcat III. You wanted a normal life, one with Adelia and Liv and normalcy. Even when you didn't add superheroes into the pot, your parents had enough drama to fuel their own CW show. With them? You could've probably gotten your own sitcom on network television.

The door cracks open as the Flash and Green Lantern walk through. They're mostly-dressed, in that Uncle Bart and Uncle Kyle are wearing their costumes, but neither of them have their mask on as they greet you. Uncle Bart hugs you first, then Uncle Kyle, and then both say in perfect sync, "Sit."

Without hesitation, you obey their orders. "Liv said you wanted to speak to me?"

Uncle Kyle and Uncle Bart exchange glances, the kind when they're not quite sure what to say, before Uncle Kyle nods and looks straight at you. "Yeah. I wasn't there last night, but Bart tells me that a little Wildcat was helping him and Traci out last night. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

You have the decency to look embarrassed as you nod. "Kind of."

"It's okay," Uncle Bart chimes in, smiling brightly. "I know it was you last night."

"Huh?" You ask incredulously. It was that obvious?

"Your family is the only one that can transform like that," Uncle Kyle explains. "At least, that we know of. It didn't take us too long to put two and two together, especially after Obsidian said he couldn't find you last night."

"Sorry." You stare down at your feet and tap the edge of your heels against the floor. "So..."

"So we're again extending the invitation for you to join the Justice Society of America." Dad's voice rings loud and clear as he descends the stairs and takes a seat in Hawkman's chair. He grins brightly at you, just as widely as he did the last two times he asked you. "I'll try to help out as much as I can, but I'm not sure how often I'll be able to with my current diagnosis."

You avert his gaze. Honestly, you're not sure what to think. Dad's asked you to join the team before, and you've said no each time. Why should it be any different now, just because Dad's been diagnosed with cancer? You have no obligations to the JSA. Absolutely none, even if you think of the Flash and Green Lantern as your uncles and the other members as your family.

That's why you sit straighter in Dad's chair. Ignoring the scent of peach blossoms as you press your lips together, you try to look as calm and collected as you could. You're going to say no, that you just want a normal life and that you only helped Traci and the Flash because it was 2:30 AM and you couldn't sleep---

"I accept your invitation." You shrug your shoulders in defeat. Even if you want to say no, part of you wanted to say yes. Deep down, you know that you have a place here too. "Until Dad becomes well, I'll take his place in the Society."

Dad wraps you up in a tight bear hug. He nearly squishes you to death until you squish him back with all of your strength. You find it surprisingly easy; did the transformation activate some kind of inner strength? Dad laughs with surprise as he wraps his hands around your wrists, "Darren! I can't breathe!"

"Sorry," You say, loosening your grip slightly as you look at him, and then your uncles. "... But even if I join, I don't exactly have a codename."

"You could be Wildcat III," Dad smirks. "After all, we've got two Flashes and five Green Lanterns running around. What difference do two Wildcats make?"

Wasn't that the same argument he gave you the first time he asked? Uncle Bart and Uncle Kyle join the hug, and Uncle Kyle even ruffles your hair as you embrace them. Surrounded by their warmth, you then decide that maybe it won't be so bad to become Wildcat III. It's not going to be permanent - just until Dad recovers from treatment - and you're not expected to lead the team like Dad.

"Okay," you agree, more out of a desire to end the conversation than any actual acceptance with your codename. "I'll be Wildcat."

"That's my boy," Dad responds, letting go to look at you better.

Your vision's getting blurry. You duck your head so you can't look at him. How stupid! You can't even get through a whole conversation without losing your cool. Was this how Starkid and Nightwing felt sometimes, surrounded by all these adults? How did they manage to have so much faith in you? You didn't even have that much faith in yourself. Hell, you didn't even fight your first supervillain fairly.

"Y-yeah," You say, ignoring the lump in your throat as you release yourself from the love. "Thanks, Dad."

He looks at you oddly. "I should be the one thanking you."

"Why's that?"

"Because you're taking on my legacy," He says quietly. "No, you're taking on Dad's legacy. I really couldn't ask for anything more."

No, he really couldn't. Nor could you ask him for anything more. Wonder Woman was right: this really was your world. You don't think you belong here, not yet, but they've carved out a spot for you at the round table and you accepted it with open arms. Now the big question was, how were you going to break this to Mom?

If you'd gotten everything you wanted in life because Mom'd had prenatal depression, then surely you were going to get your way and join the JSA too... but would she really approve? You always figured she approved of Dad's superhero activities because he'd been a hero before he met Mom (and he sure wasn't going to quit, even if Mom asked him to), but she might throw a fit if you took up Dad's mantle.

"Let's just hope Mom doesn't blow a casket," You say with a slight laugh.

Uncle Bart makes a face. "Sharpay blows up at everything. That's asking for a small miracle."

"But I think you can handle it," Uncle Kyle jokes, smiling at you and Dad before he glances up at the large computer mounted on the wall. The screen briefly flashes for a moment before turning on. The morning report was still blathering on about stocks and economic crises. Strangely, Uncle Bart immediately turned his head towards the screen before he sat cross-legged on the table and continued to watch the economic news.

You shoot Uncle Kyle a look as the three of you head out, "Is he okay?"

"We started him on the Fantasy Stock Exchange website last week," Dad explains cheerfully as he shuts the door behind you. "We figured it was about time."

"... Isn't that website for eight year olds?" You ask after a moment of silence.

"Like we said," Uncle Kyle chuckled. "It was more than about time."

Of all the superhero teams, you had to join the one with the crazy childlike leaders. At least it'd never be boring around here. A small mercy, considering the Brownstone would consume your entire life if you weren't careful. Liv and Nightwing are waiting for you and Dad in the lobby, with all your packed bags. She smiles brightly, gesturing towards them as she wheels forward to meet you.

"How'd it go?"

Dad thumps you on the shoulder, pushing you forward. "Meet the new Wildcat."

Liv laughs wildly, though she tries to muffle it with her hand. "Seriously? He actually said yes?"

"That's great!" Nightwing's grin betrays his entire bad boy image as he holds up his hand towards the sky. Still stunned, you take a moment longer than usual to give him a hi-five. The hero grins mischievously at his mentors, "One more kid to even the numbers, right?"

You don't think you've ever seen Nightwing smile. He seems so enthused by your decision that you decide you don't comment on it. Not now, anyways. So you return Nightwing's smile and try not to look as surprised as you feel. "Right. Just so you know? I suck at Trivial Pursuit."

"So?" Nightwing laughs, losing whatever credibility he had in the first place. "I'm sure we'll find that one board game where you kick major ass."

He stops, then quickly amending, "I mean, where you'll be kicking major butt."

Dad expectantly holds out his hand. Seething, Nightwing pulls out a wallet from his utility belt and hands over two quarters. "We really shouldn't have started a swear jar," He groans, putting the slim black wallet back into his belt. "We don't live in the 1940's."

You snort, "Who started it?"

"Bart," Nightwing and Dad grumble in perfect unison.

You'll probably hate the swear jar in a couple of weeks yourself, but right now, you still can't get over the fact that your job has a swear jar, that your boss plays on websites meant for eight year old kids, that you're taking over your dad's spot on the round table, and that you still haven't broken the news to Mom, all in the span of twenty-four hours. The week hasn't even ended, and it's been more eventful than half of your life without even trying.

That hideous sound of metal banging against metal starts again. Instinctively, you and Nightwing turn towards the meeting room.

Dad ruffles your hair before pushing you again forwards. "Go get 'em, tiger," He calls, before taking Liv's luggage.

You glance over your shoulder at them and give them the widest smile you can manage before following Nightwing inside. It's weird, watching Dad leave and you going in for the briefing, but that's how the circle of life works, right? It's your world now, and for better or worse, it's your team now too. The family that fights together always, always stays together.