Archive of Our Own ^beta

»Hey, Jo.« Michael’s voice sounds strained. »Did you – do you … see that?«

»See what?« Joey wants to ask. »You can’t just say that and expect me to know what you’re talking about.«

Except, in this case, he can.

»Yeah,« she answers, unable to look away from the TV.

At the other end of the line, Michael’s next breath comes out so sharp it’s almost a gasp. »You think it’s really …?«

»Yeah,« she repeats when it’s clear that he won’t finish the question. »That’s … yeah.«

It doesn’t make any sense, Joey thinks. Her knuckles must go white with how tightly she grips the phone – the landline, since nothing else is probably working right now. The landline that they got as a joke. It was supposed to sit on the side table and look ridiculous. It wasn’t supposed to be useful.

Then again, none of this can possibly be supposed to happen. And yet, somehow, it is happening. That’s unmistakably Dick’s face on the screen. Her roommate Dick, who told them how funny it would be to get this very landline that’s the only thing allowing Joey to speak to Michael.

Did Dick know? Is that why he insisted on getting them this phone that shouldn’t exist in any apartment shared by self-respecting millenials? Did he know that it would help Joey and Michael communicate when he would inevitably be kidnapped by some weirdos calling themselves Crime Syndicate and talking about hunting down his allies and friends?

Because that’s her roommate on the screen, but … Nightwing? Apparently, he’s Nightwing. Who doesn’t move and has his eyes closed – possibly restrained or unconscious? – and who’s in the presence of costumed supervillains who just said that they want to take over the world.

Truth be told, Joey didn’t take them all that seriously two minutes ago. She was more concerned with the fact that their TV had managed to switch channels all by itself. But it probably doesn’t take world domination-levels of superpowers to make TVs do that, she thought. Maybe this is a prank, she thought. Now, staring at her roommate in Nightwing’s costume – at Dick without a mask, but with blood trickling down his face –, things suddenly seem far grimmer.

There’s something heavy settling in her chest, something cold and hard that makes it difficult to breathe. Joey shivers a little.

»Shit.« Michael’s voice shakes so badly that she almost can’t make out his next words. Or maybe that’s just the ringing in her ears. He’s closer to Dick than she is, she remembers all of a sudden. »Let me … I’m on my way. Fifteen minutes, okay? I’m …«

»Yeah,« she says again, and then she ends the phone call and watches the clip start over. Someone who looks like the few pictures she’s seen of Superman talks about being from another world for the second time in ten minutes.

It sounds made up.

So – perhaps it is? That could be an ad for something. An action comedy? A horror movie? It would probably be good promo, right? Make sure people see the video, get them talking, reveal that it’s all fake after a few hours.

But then, Dick’s face appears again and … Oh. This is real.

Suddenly, Joey feels sick.

This cannot be real.

It also can’t not be real, though.

Because Dick isn’t an actor. He’s a bartender. Fuck, he’s someone who has had some serious bad luck for … basically his whole life. Who recently moved to Chicago for a fresh start. Who is excited to finally be truly on his own, as far as Joey knows. Just the other day, she overheard him telling Michael in the kitchen how weird it felt to be that far away from his foster family without knowing when – or if – he’d move back. Michael asked, »Good weird or bad weird?«, and Dick laughed and said, »Not sure yet, but … not that bad, I think.«

»Not that bad,« echoes through Joey’s mind. She recognizes those words; she said them herself after she finally cut contact with her mother on her nineteenth birthday. It was the strangest thing – she felt as though it wasn’t right to simply feel good about it, because that was her mom, but at the same time, she was doing so much better than ever before.

Dick was doing well, too. »Not that bad« probably meant »pretty good« in reality, the same way it had for her.

And then, he went back to Gotham.

Joey didn’t really think anything of it, even though it came out of nowhere. Dick didn’t seem too worried when he told them yesterday morning that he had to go back for a few days. »You know how it is,« he said, »you move and think everything’s sorted out, and then, there are suddenly all those loose ends you just need to tie up before the end of the month. At least, it’s the perfect opportunity to see my foster siblings.«

Yeah, well. As long as his foster siblings aren’t dressed up as Ultraman and Superwoman, Joey guesses that Dick didn’t get to meet up with them. Because he’s kidnapped. And also Nightwing, Ultraman informs her for the third time while the camera zooms in on the blood on Dick’s face.

Joey shivers once more, and then, she can finally move again. Or maybe it’s more that she wants to move again; she probably could have done so before if she had tried. But she didn’t, and now she does, if only to lunge at the coffee table and grab the remote so she can turn the TV off. She doesn’t think she could bear to see Dick’s unconscious – dead? – body and the reveal and the fucking blood for a forth time.

Of course, the remote doesn’t work. Because why would it?

Joey hates how her first reaction to that realization are tears. She hates even more that she’s a tiny bit relieved because now, she doesn’t have to see what’s going on; she only hears the voices.

It’s still too much, though. She needs it to stop and it won’t, no matter how hard she presses the power button on the remote. And then, she’s in front of the TV all of a sudden, with the same baseball bat she used weeks ago to intimidate who she thought was the world’s most tired burglar, swinging it with enough force to shatter the screen with one hit.

Dick’s face vanishes as the TV bursts into a million tiny glass shards.

For a long, terrible moment, the sound does not stop, though. Joey feels a heavy pressure in her throat, an uncontrollable scream building up at the realization that the fucking sound won’t stop – when it does.

From one second to the next, it’s nearly silent in the apartment. The only things Joey can hear are her heavy breaths and what Michael once lovingly dubbed »a city’s proof of life« – the faint sound of sirens somewhere in the distance, underlaid by the vague humming of thousands of people walking and driving their cars and talking and listening to their music in public.

If she closes her eyes, this can feel like any normal day.

If she opens them again, the gaping hole in the TV screen and the jagged edges of the remaining screen scream at her that something is very wrong.

Feeling strangely detached from her actions, Joey lets go of the baseball bat and watches it fall onto the shards that are scattered all around her.

Right. The glass shards. Those are a safety hazard, aren’t they? She needs to clean them up. She should really do it now, before Michael comes home or Dick leaves his …

The next thing Joey consciously notices is how cold the bathroom tiles are under her knees while she holds her own hair out of her face, retching over the open toilet. Without really meaning to, she wonders what her final straw was: the casual assumption that everything’s alright and her roommate should be here or the idea of seeing even more blood than she already did? It doesn’t even take her a second to regret that thought. The sour taste of vomit mixes with newly rising, bitter bile on her tongue. Joey grits her teeth and leans her head back until the feeling of sickness slowly subsides. At least, the worst seems to be over.

Or … maybe not. Because when she tries to stand up, her soles are in a lot of pain all of a sudden. She bites back a curse and immediately sinks back into her kneeling position on the floor, this time leaning against the wall. Right. The glass. She must have simply … what, walked over it when she was trying to get to the bathroom?

Fuck. This is bad – really, truly bad. Her eyes start to prickle with new tears again at the thought, but it’s true. She can’t get up, not with all those shards probably still stuck in her feet. She shouldn’t stay here, though, not when the coldness of the tiles makes her feel miserable. She can’t reach the sink to pour herself some water into her toothbrush cup so she can get this disgusting taste out of her mouth. And she can’t even call anyone – because what if she unlocks her phone and it just plays that video on repeat, too?

A plan. That’s what she needs. Right. She will take … what’s an appropriate amount of time to form a plan in a situation like this? A minute? Two? Five?

Joey doesn’t know; she never needed to know stuff like this before. Or she might have done, during those last two years with her mom when everything was really bad all of the time, but she doesn’t actually remember most of that.

Maybe she should go to therapy, just like Michael used to say when they first started living together.

And maybe she will, as soon as she can afford it. It’s just that it’s not that easy when your employer loves to underpay the people who try to keep their whole business afloat and then you get fired and the city starts blowing up and businesses start talking about leaving the area instead of hiring new people.

But that’s a problem for future Joey. Right now, she needs to focus on a plan. Or should she set a goal first? Maybe a plan will form on its own once she knows what, exactly, it is she wants to accomplish. That’s easier said than done, though, since Joey’s not really sure what she can expect herself to do right now.

It’s less difficult to remember what she can’t do. She can’t get up, can’t reach the sink and can’t use her phone. There’s also the fact that seeing blood makes her very queasy sometimes, so she probably shouldn’t try to treat whatever is going on with her feet.

That doesn’t leave her with too many options. At least not ones Joey can think of. Maybe … crawling out of the bathroom? It might not be the worst idea, if she thinks about it. There’s a decent chance that the hardwood floor is not as cold as the tiles in here – and even if it’s only marginally warmer, that’s better. Depending on where the rest of the glass shards are, she could also try to drag herself to the side table with the phone again. Although she’s not sure who she would call, in all honesty, especially since she doesn’t know that many phone numbers by heart.

Before that thought can send her into a downward spiral of questioning her social life and wondering where she has taken all the wrong turns to end up here, there’s suddenly some noise in the apartment. The door is creaking, keys are clinking, and then there are heavy, irregular footsteps coming closer.

»Jo?«

Michael. Right. Of course it’s Michael. He did say that he would come home, didn’t he?

»Yeah, I’m in here,« she calls out, right before it hits her how incredibly stupid her whole situation is. Why didn’t she just wait for Michael before doing anything? Alternatively, she could’ve tried to turn down the volume of the TV or simply gone into her room. There was absolutely no need to destroy the thing or to get all worked up about that video until she got herself hurt, was there?

»Hey, J-… oh, shit,« Michael breathes when he appears in the doorway. »What happened? Are you okay?«

»I …« Joey doesn’t really know what to say. ›I freaked out and smashed our TV and now my feet are hurting and possibly bleeding and I’m still feeling a bit sick‹? Yeah, how about no? »I’m fine, I guess,« is what she settles on, even though that’s obviously not true. »Could you … uh, water?« She gestures to the sink.

Michael frowns, but doesn’t call her out on her lie. Instead, he actually steps into the room to fill her toothbrush cup with water and give it to her. »You need anything else?« He looks her over, his gaze obviously lingering on the soles of her feet. »Like to go to urgent care?« His voice sounds louder now, a lot more stressed than before.

Joey shakes her head. »No, I … Are the billboards playing the video, too?« Because as much as she thinks that she should’ve handled this whole situation better, she really doesn’t want to be out in public if she has to see Dick’s bloody face there.

Michael grimaces. »Yeah. It’s … I’d say it’s unavoidable right now.«

That’s what Joey suspected. She shakes her head again. »Then I don’t want to go,« she says, trying to sound self-assured. Even to her own ears, it comes out small and helpless and afraid instead. »That clip is horrible. I never want to see it again.«

Something in Michael’s facial expression shifts. Joey’s not really good at reading people, so she’s not sure what it means. Maybe he’s relieved that he won’t have to see the video while taking her to urgent care? Or is it pity? »So,« he says, »is that what happened there?« He points in the direction of their living room.

Right. He must have seen the TV as soon as he opened the door. Maybe he didn’t see the baseball bat on the floor, but with no broken windows and no one else here other than Joey, it’s not that hard to figure out who did it.

»Uh. Yeah,« she admits. Her cheeks feel very hot all of a sudden. This is embarrassing. »I’m so sorry! It’s just, the power button didn’t work and …«

»Nah, I get it,« Michael interrupts her. »The second time the video started all over again, I was ready to throw the damnscreen out of the window. And that would’ve been work equipment, so …« He shrugs. »I think we didn’t even find our remote, so Gisele just pulled the plug.«

Joey knows that he probably told her this so she can feel better about her overreaction, not worse, but all she hears is that she could’ve simply unplugged the TV. No power – no vision or sound. That would have been even easier than going to her room and pretending she couldn’t hear anything there.

»Sorry,« she repeats, more quietly this time.

»It’s fine,« Michael says. Joey doesn’t really know whether his tone indicates that he’s lying to her, but maybe that can be a problem for future Joey, too. »So. You don’t want to go outside, okay, then what’s the plan here?«

If she’s being perfectly honest, Joey has absolutely no idea, seeing as she never got around to forming a plan in the first place. Or did she? There was something about getting to the living room, wasn’t there? Maybe that’s a good starting place, she decides.

»Uhm,« she still says instead of just getting it over with, because while she’s lived with Michael for four years, she doesn’t think they’ve ever relied on each other like this. Sometimes, one of them buys groceries for the other one when money is tight, yeah, and they emotionally supported each other through long nights of writing papers and theses and two devastating break-ups, but this right here is new. It just … feels very awkward to ask for help in a way you never had to before. »I mean, these tiles are really cold, but I probably shouldn’t try to walk out of here, and … I thought about going back to the living room?« She leaves out the part where she planned on lying on the hardwood floor, because she’s pretty sure that won’t happen now that Michael’s here.

He instantly understands what she’s saying. »Good idea, yeah,« he says, but slowly, almost hesitating. »But I … don’t think I can carry you, to be honest.« The way his voice goes up with his last words makes it almost sound like a question.

»No, yeah, I totally didn’t expect you to,« Joey says quickly, which is … not a lie, exactly. The truth is that she didn’t think at all about how Michael could help her to the living room. Now that she does think about it, though, there’s something like an idea forming in her mind. She takes a deep breath. »We can figure this out,« she promises both of them with a bit more confidence than she’s actually feeling.

But to Joey’s surprise – not that she’d admit that –, she turns out to be right. It involves her bending her ankles in an uncomfortable way to walk on the side of her feet and Michael still carrying most of her weight, but she makes it to the sofa. The problem is that she didn’t think much further than that.

»I could ask Mrs Bell for help,« Michael proposes when the silence gets a little too uncomfortable.

Joey leans her head back until it hits the backrest and closes her eyes. »That’s probably a good idea,« she admits reluctantly. Mrs Bell is a nurse, so she’s much more qualified than someone who gets queasy around blood or someone who feels the constant need to apologize while pulling out splinters or applying band-aids since something he does could hurt the other person, regardless of the fact that he’s doing so because he’s helping. But Mrs Bell is also Joey’s favorite neighbor, and she would’ve loved for the woman not to see her like this.

Oh well. Another entry on the ever-growing list of reasons why this situation is terribly embarrassing and Joey should make better choices next time.

»Alright. I’m just going to clean this up and then ...«

Alarmed, Joey opens her eyes. As suspected, Michael used the time she didn’t pay attention to bring their broom from the kitchen to the living room area. »No, no, no, no, no!« she protests at the sight. »That’s my mess, so it’s my job to deal with it.«

Michael shrugs. »Maybe, but I don’t think that’s happening anytime soon and I also don’t think we should ask Mrs Bell to please watch where she’s going just to avoid injuries, you know?«

Which is … fair, Joey thinks. He’s right, obviously.

And it’s not like she can stand up to do it herself and simply chooses not to.

That doesn’t mean she has to like it when Michael assumes her responsibility. She doesn’t. But arguing won’t help either of them, so she simply closes her eyes and pretends that she doesn’t know what’s going on to avoid getting uncomfortable and saying anything else about it.

Somehow, regardless of the pain in her feet, Joey must’ve dozed off for a few minutes, because when she blinks next, the apartment’s door is creaking and Mrs Bell is saying something to Michael that she doesn’t quite catch. »Hi, Joey,« she calls out the very next second. »How are you, my dear?«

»Never better,« Joey murmurs, which is obviously a lie, but also true in a strange way. She does feel much better than she did before. Maybe it’s the rest, or maybe it’s the fact that Mrs Bell seems very calm and smiles at Joey as if everything’s alright.

Of course the good feeling doesn’t last too long.

It’s not really Mrs Bell’s fault. She’s great – there’s a reason why she’s Joey’s favorite neighbor, after all. She gives Joey a Tylenol, only asks a minimum of concerned questions, reassures Joey that it’s not that bad and talks about her girlfriend’s current obsession with baking the perfect Black Forest cake and all of the ways that those can apparently turn out wrong. She’s obviously very good at talking about anything and everything to put people at ease.

It would probably work, even though Joey’s never eaten Black Forest cake and can’t imagine caring that much about baked goods. But the thing is that it reminds her a little too much of Dick. Because this right here is what he did when the apartment they had originally signed a lease for blew up a week before their move and Michael – despite knowing better – got anxious about the possibility of having to pay rent for it regardless.

He didn’t talk to them, of course, but Dick must have figured it out somehow. And all of a sudden, he was telling Michael and Joey about the time he tried to design an experiment to determine what kind of cereal he liked best. »It’s all fun and games until you start to think about confounding variables,« he grinned. Ten minutes later, the description of said experiment had grown incredibly complex so as to account for possible influences of Dick’s health and underlying mood, the time of day, the season, overall eating habits leading up to the days of measurement and, naturally, the error of central tendency. It’s also entirely possible that Joey forgets some factors that he mentioned, because there were a lot of them.

Apparently, Dick never actually conducted the experiment and therefore still has no answer that meets scientific standards. That’s not the point. The point is that at the end of his frankly wild story, Michael was distracted enough to relax.

The second point – the one Joey’s discovering right now – is that Dick sounded exactly like Mrs Bell sounds at the moment. So, Joey can appreciate that Mrs Bell means for her to be distracted and relaxed, but in reality, that’s not happening. The longer this is going on, the more tense Joey’s feeling. But it’s also not as if she can just say that she doesn’t want to hear anything else about Mrs Bell’s partner’s Black Forest cakes without being horribly rude. It’s a real lose-lose situation.

Ultimately, Joey manages to nod occasionally and keep quiet until Mrs Bell finally claps her hands and declares that her work is done. »Thank you,« she manages and hopes that her smile doesn’t look like a grimace. Maybe it actually doesn’t, because Mrs Bell smiles back at her and promises Michael that she’ll share the next failed cake with them before she gathers her things – mostly consisting of a first-aid kit – and leaves.

All of a sudden, the apartment is very quiet.

Joey leans her head against the backrest again and tries to take deep breaths, hoping that the tense, anxious knot in her stomach might disappear.

It doesn’t work. In all honesty, she didn’t think it would. When she’s in a mood like this one, she usually tries to stay busy – maybe finish up a work task or make some progress on one of her pet projects. But both of these options are out of the question, seeing as Joey is unemployed and doesn’t need to start up her laptop to know that it, too, will only show her the Crime Syndicate unmasking Nightwing.

»The video,« Michael says suddenly, as if her thoughts conjured up the subject and now, they’re free to talk about it. When Joey turns her head to look at him, he drops down onto the sofa, but stares straight ahead at their smashed TV. »Do you really think that’s Dick?«

Uneasy, Joey starts tapping on her thigh with the fingers of her right hand. »Yeah,« she answers slowly. Because it’s true. She would prefer not to think about it at all, and it feels surreal – that someone she knows is involved with vigilantism. That he’s important enough to get kidnapped by supervillains. She thought that the closest contact she’d ever have with that would be living with a guy reporting on it, not living with a guy fighting crime in a costume. But she doesn’t doubt that the person in the video is actually Dick. »I mean, didn’t they even say his name?«

Michael blinks. »Yeah,« he mumbles, »I guess they did.«

Something’s wrong, Joey thinks. Which, yeah – of course it is. Everything’s wrong.

But something is wrong with the way Michael is staring at the TV. He just looks at it as if he’s not actually seeing anything – with that faraway look he sometimes gets when he tries to figure out a mystery. That in itself is not bad, obviously. It’s just that Joey doesn’t understand what, exactly, it is he’s thinking about. So she also doesn’t know how to react, which adds an uncomfortable helplessness to the already unpleasant mix of emotions she’s feeling.

Luckily for her, Michael either knows that she has no idea what’s going on or simply feels the need to share. »You’re right,« he begins, even though Joey didn’t say anything for at least a minute. »They did say his name, didn’t they? Richard Grayson.« He still doesn’t look at her, but Joey finds herself nodding to that regardless. »But how would they know it?«

That … is a good question. Without meaning to, Joey stills her fingers while she contemplates it. »I mean,« she finally says, »they did take off his mask. Maybe there’s a Dick where they came from, too? Just one who’s a supervillain, you know?«

»Could be,« Michael says, but he doesn’t sound convinced. »It’s just … how would they know that his name is the same in our world?«

»Why wouldn’t it be?«

»Why would it?« Michael counters. »If you look at their aliases, they’re not the same, right? There’s no Batman, but they have an Owlman. They’re not called the Justice League, they’re the Crime Syndicate. So why would their other names be the same? And if they actually fought the Justice League, they have to know that their aliases aren’t the same, so why would they assume?«

»Okay. Yeah. You could be right,« Joey admits. »But it could also be the other way around, couldn’t it? They could have fought the Justice League and found out that their villain names and hero names are different, but that they’re the same people underneath the masks.«

»Sure.« Michael shrugs. »Except, how would they have done it? People in the Justice League probably don’t carry their IDs around, so they couldn’t have found out after the fight. But I also can’t imagine that they’re in the middle of shooting at each other with laserbeams or whatever and go, ›Hey, are you by any chance called John Smith, too, when you’re not Superman?‹, you know?«

And yeah, that makes sense. Joey can’t imagine it, either. Still, they must have found out somehow. »But if they actually … killed the Justice League, like they said …« She swallows. This is so strange. »Maybe they got information from them after the fight, but before … that? Or there could be some kind of database with heroes and their secret identities that they could have found.«

Michael doesn’t answer right away. He doesn’t look as if he believes that she’s right – and he probably doesn’t –, but the longer Joey thinks about it, the more she thinks that she can’t be too far off. Perhaps this Crime Syndicate didn’t manage to make the heroes talk or find the database, but there has to be one, right? How else would superheroes contact each other in cases of emergencies if they didn’t know the secret identities of their teammates?

Wait. Does that mean that her roommate – who asked her about smartphone security because he assumed computer coding was all the same – knows who Wonder Woman is?

Joey’s vague curiosity at that thought comes crashing down when Michael sighs and she remembers why she had it in the first place. »I don’t know, maybe I just don’t want to believe that. But … databases can be hacked, right? If I were a superhero with a secret identity, I wouldn’t want to put it on a list with all of the other heroes’ secret identities and then simply trust that no one with bad intentions is ever going to find it, you know?«

That’s a good point, although Joey still thinks that there has to be a list somewhere. Maybe written down on a very well secured piece of paper.

»And yeah, maybe they all know each other’s identities,« Michael continues, »but why would they tell their evil counterparts?«

Torture, Joey thinks without really meaning to. She can’t bring herself to say it out loud, though. Because that’s not a real thing that real people in real life do, is it? Yeah, bad things happen. People have accidents all the time – Joey knows that, seeing as the only reason she lived with her mother was because her father had gotten in one. And if something goes horribly wrong, they get mugged or murdered or both – which still feels like it’s a terrible joke or a nightmare, not like an actual thing that happened to Jen’s parents.

But torturing people for information? That happens in movies, not in reality. It doesn’t happen to the colleagues – friends? – of people Joey knows, and it sure as hell doesn’t happen to the people Joey knows themselves.

It’s not happening to her roommate, right?

Fuck. Okay. Joey is not thinking about this right now.

Absentmindedly, she registers that she starts tapping on her thigh with her fingers again. That makes sense. She really wishes she could use her laptop to distract herself with something simple. Maybe program a game of Sudoku again, but this time without any for-loops.

But since she can’t do that, she might as well find out why Michael is so hung up on how the Crime Syndicate found out who Dick is. »Okay,« she concedes, even though she’s obviously not convinced that there’s no list and no way someone talked. »I see why you’d think it’s strange that they knew Dick’s name. So what’s your theory?«

Surprisingly, Michael hesitates before slowly saying, »I … I don’t know if I actually think that, yeah? There’s probably a million ways they could’ve found out that we haven’t even thought of – facial recognition software, or maybe they got lucky googling him, or whatever. But.« He takes a deep breath. »What if he got set up?«

That’s … not what Joey expected. At all. »What?«

Michael sighs, finally turning his head to look at her. Joey wishes she could tell if he looks lost or desperate or something else entirely, but as it is, all she knows is that it feels intense. »I mean, what if he got set up? What if he’s not actually Nightwing?«

It doesn’t make any more sense to Joey the second time around. »That would be pretty fucked up. But how would he have ended up there if he wasn’t?«

»I’m … not really sure,« Michael admits softly. »I just keep thinking – what if he got set up? What if the real Nightwing is still out there and can keep trying to fight those Crime Syndicate people now that he lulled them into a false sense of security? What if Dick was in on it and agreed and that’s why he didn’t do anything when they took aways his mask and said his name? Or what if he wasn’t and now he’s stuck with supervillains who think he’s a trained hero when he’s not?«

Joey’s not proud of it, but her first impulse is to shake her head and laugh. Thankfully, she manages to suppress it just in time. Because yeah, Michael’s theory sounds strange, but he has to have a reason for thinking it. And between the two of them, he’s the one who works at a newspaper – the one whose instinct is often right when it’s telling him that there’s more to a story. So, the least she can do is think it through before reacting.

It’s just … hard to imagine. Would a superhero really get a random person to take their place in a kidnapping situation? Obviously, Joey doesn’t know much about them, but that would probably go against their moral code, wouldn’t it? It’s not a good thing to endanger people, and isn’t being good supposed to be heroes’ whole thing?

On the other hand, it’s probably more complicated than that. If the Crime Syndicate actually took out the Justice League, it must be hard to organize a resistance. Joey doesn’t know how many other heroes there are, because if she’s being honest, she’s never been that interested in them. But no matter how many or few there might be, it would make sense for them to look at the situation and decide that they can’t afford to lose any more people who are actually qualified to do something about it.

On the other other hand, the heroes would’ve had to know about the potential kidnapping to arrange something like this charade. And if they’d known about it, they could’ve simply avoided it, couldn’t they? Maybe Joey simply doesn’t see the bigger picture, but from her point of view, there’s no real advantage and therefore no need to get a civilian kidnapped if there’s the option to get no one kidnapped.

There’s also another problem with Michael’s theory. »Alright, so let’s say he isn’t Nightwing.« Even if Joey thinks that’s unlikely. »That still doesn’t answer your original question. How did they get his name? He wouldn’t have come with a nametag.«

»True.« Michael looks away, staring at the TV again. It takes him some time – Joey isn’t sure whether he tries to decide what to say or how to say it –, but when he speaks again, he sounds careful. »He could’ve simply told them himself. I guess superheroes would have some practice not telling people who they are even if they get kidnapped, but … I mean, wouldn’t you tell them if you were in that situation?«

Joey doesn’t think that her hypothetical reactions are a good predictor for Dick’s or even Michael’s hypothetical reactions, but …

She remembers the blood on Dick’s face. And maybe that’s not what Michael meant, but he’s probably right. The thought makes her feel a little sick again.

Before she can say anything, though, Michael sighs deeply. »You know, I can’t tell whether that’s some conspiracy bullshit or whether I’m onto something. It’s just …« He runs a hand over his face. »I don’t even know why, but it’s really hard for me to believe that Dick’s actually Nightwing.«

Joey is reminded of something she thought during their call: Michael is closer to Dick than she is.

To Joey, it feels surreal to think that her roommmate lives in a world where he’s constantly surrounded by crimes and secrets and people like Wonder Woman. But ultimately, that’s not because she can’t believe she didn’t notice it. She knows she wouldn’t have, since they’re still at a stage where she’d attribute every strange habit of his to the fact that he’s someone she hasn’t even known for six months, who grew up in a circus and then as the foster son of a billionaire after that. He could’ve talked about Batman constantly and she wouldn’t have thought twice about that. Sometimes, all Joey can think and talk about is how badly she wants to go to Berlin to see the archaeopteryx that’s exhibited in the Museum für Naturkunde there – that doesn’t make her a pre-historic animal, it makes her a person with hobbies and interests.

No; to Joey, it feels surreal simply because superheroes are more like a story than like anything that should ever have an impact on her actual life. It’s why the last few months with the Prankster were incredibly stressful, especially once her ex-employer started talking about him semi-regularly.

But maybe it’s different for Michael, who works at a newspaper because he’s good at getting to the bottom of things and who spends more time with Dick than her. Does he think that he should have noticed? Does it feel strange to him that Dick might be Nightwing, or does it feel like he’s been deceived by someone he trusted?

Joey doesn’t know how to ask, although she’d like to. But she can’t find the right words, and then it’s too late, because Michael is speaking again. »Shit. You think it’s conspiracy bullshit, don’t you?«

»I don’t!« Joey says before she can think about whether he’s right or not. Maybe it’s simply because Michael actually sounds nervous, but her anxiety is suddenly back, making her feel like something bad will happen if she lets him think that she doesn’t believe him at all. »I mean, I can totally see why you think that there’s something strange going on! I think so, too.« She takes a deep breath. Perhaps she shouldn’t say the next part out loud, or perhaps she should lie, but Michael knows her pretty well – he could probably tell. »It’s just that I … I guess I don’t have that much of a problem believing that Dick is Nightwing.«

During the long moment of silence that follows, Joey holds her breath. Then, Michael tilts his head, even though he’s avoiding her gaze, and simply asks, »Why?«

It’s a good question, Joey supposes.

She would probably appreciate it more if she knew how to answer it.

But Michael took the time to explain his theory to her, so she can take a moment to figure it out, right?

»It just fits,« she finally says. When Michael looks like he’s about to protest, she quickly adds, »I don’t mean that Dick’s just the kind of guy who seems like he could be a superhero or anything like that. But.« She stops, chewing on her lower lip for a moment while she tries to decide how to phrase the next part. »If I look back on the whole time since Dick moved here, I can’t think of anything that makes it impossible for him to be Nightwing, you know? It all just … fits. I mean, look at the timing, for example. Didn’t Nightwing basically appear in Chicago the same day you rented my old room out to Dick?« At least, Joey’s reasonably sure about that. She was a little busy at the time, what with playing – and losing – a game called ›am I going on a business trip, yes or no?‹ and then trying to come to terms with an unexpected second roommate.

»And you and I talked about the horribly bad luck Dick has, coming to Chicago only to find out that the murderer of his parents has lived here for years.« She swallows. »We thought Nightwing might be here because of the Prankster. But … the Prankster had been active for a while. Why then? And Nightwing stuck around after everything with the Prankster blew up, too. So – what if it wasn’t about him? What if Dick somehow found out about Zucco being here and decided to do something about it? And when he liked it here and decided to stay, Nightwing obviously stayed, too.«

Michael hums. It doesn’t sound convinced yet, but that’s fair. Joey’s well aware that these things could simply be coincidences.

So, she continues on, »And he’s gone all the time. You’ve been gone a lot, too, so maybe you didn’t notice it as much, but half the time, you think he’s just in his room, only to knock –« – or, well, go in with a stack of magazines that does not belong on the coffee table – »and find out he’s not there. Especially at night. And I didn’t think much of it, but his excuses are pretty bad.«

Which really means that most of the time, Dick just says that he has plans. Joey’s thought that he’s going to parties or having an extraordinary amount of one night stands or … whatever it is you do when you’re taking ›being an extrovert‹ to the extreme. But in retrospect, that could’ve very well been Dick going out as Nightwing. »Especially if you consider he always takes his backpack with him. That makes no sense if he really goes on a simple walk, but it does if there’s a costume in there that he plans on putting on somewhere on the roof or something.«

It’s then that Joey stops for a moment, contemplating. She’s not sure whether to include the fight she and Dick had or not.

On the one hand, Dick getting so mad about her going into his room was a bit out of character, because Dick’s usually pretty calm. It would make sense, though, if he was anxious about her figuring out his secret superhero identity, especially if he’s as bad at putting his Nightwing stuff away as he is at putting away his shoes, magazines, hoodies and whatever else he routinely loses track of somewhere in their shared spaces.

On the other hand, Joey already told Michael about it when it actually happened, feeling terribly guilty after Dick had basically said he was going to move out. Luckily, Michael wasn’t mad at her then – and he wouldn’t be now –, but he still took Dick’s side. »What did you expect?« he asked her, shrugging. »He likes his privacy, so? You can’t just go into his room without his permission and expect him to be okay with it.«

Chances are that Michael will still think that it has more to do with privacy than secrecy, so it’s best not to mention it. That leaves only one argument – possibly the most convincing one, if Joey thinks about it.

»And then, there’s the whole thing with Jen,« she says, watching Michael frown for the first time since she started her – admittedly shorter than expected – list. Frowning is good. Frowning usually means that Michael is surprised, but willing to consider what she’s saying.

Or maybe Joey’s just making that up in a desperate attempt to prove to herself that she knows her roommate after years of living with him. Not willing to dissect that thought right now, she quickly continues, »When she disappeared, he was like, ›We have to find her‹, and stormed out to look for her, remember?« As if there’s any chance that Michael has already forgotten the highly memorable events that happened two days ago. »And then, Jen’s suddenly back, coming down from the roof, telling us all about how Nightwing saved her and dropped her off.«

It’s another thing that Joey didn’t think about in the moment – too relieved that Jen was alive and physically okay. It’s something she thinks about now, because it fits. »But how would Nightwing have known where to take her? Jen’s never been on our roof before, so she wouldn’t know what it looks like. And how would he have known to look for her in the first place? Or if he simply happened upon her while doing something else, why would he have taken the time to bring her here instead of handing her over to the police?«

In a way, it makes sense that she didn’t question it. Usually, Joey wouldn’t ask how Wonder Woman knows when to use her famous lasso or how, exactly, Superman decides what kind of threat is big enough to make an appearance. So why would she wonder how Nightwing found out about a little girl in danger and why he decided to bring her back to where she was staying instead of the nearest precinct?

Maybe she’ll ask him about it when he gets back.

»So, yeah,« Joey finishes her little speech a bit anticlimactically. »I know that’s no proof and that these things could all be coincidences. But I guess it just makes sense to me.«

And then, she waits for Michael to say something.

It takes him a really long time, but when he finally does, his words are quiet – almost defeated, Joey thinks. »I guess you’re right.«

Somehow, Joey is surprised enough not to react in any way. It’s not that she expected him to vehemently disagree with her or anything. But seeing him give up on a theory he clearly put some thought into that easily is almost unsettling.

After another moment of silence, Michael shrugs and adds, »Maybe I actually just didn’t want to believe it. But when you talked about Jen …« He grimaces. »I mean, when Dick came in a few minutes after her, I remember looking at him and thinking, ›Oh shit, we forgot to text him she’s back.‹ I don’t know, maybe you did, but I don’t think so, and I sure as hell didn’t. But looking back now, he wasn’t mad or, like, overly concerned or anything, you know? Almost as if he already knew that everything was fine. So, yeah, I think you’re right. Like you said, it makes sense now.«

Joey didn’t even register that. She remembers being relieved and hugging Jen and she remembers that at some point, Dick was back in the apartment, but if she’s being honest, she didn’t pay too much attention to him. If Michael’s right, though, that’s another thing that just fits.

He’s not happy about it; even Joey can clearly see that. And on some level, she understands – he probably does feel deceived, and it likely doesn’t help that he dislikes costumed superheroes as much as every other Chicagoan. Joey herself does, too, and she’s only lived here for four years.

But he still sits here. And maybe Joey’s wrong, but – in her experience, Michael usually doesn’t sit still if he’s angry. He paces and he gestures and he talks it through.

Which means that he might not be angry. He’s not happy, but he’s not mad about it, either.

And that’s a good thing, because … Because if Joey’s being honest, she doesn’t want them to have big fights and sides to take and all of that drama when Dick comes back. She doesn’t delude herself: This whole thing is a big deal. Living together won’t be the same as before; everything will probably feel strange for a while. But Joey would like it if they could give it a try, at least. Because Dick – who talks about cereal experiments and apologizes after a fight even though he’s possibly the one who’s less in the wrong – is a good roommate, all in all, and could probably be a good friend, too. So maybe, there can be room for one costumed hero in Chicago after all.

»Hey, Mike,« Joey says quietly, hoping that he’ll be on the same page. »You think it’ll be okay?«

And when Michael slowly nods, Joey wishes he’s right. Maybe, everything will actually be alright.