What happened

Characters: Huntress (of New Earth), Oracle, and any roommates/protectors
Setting: The Clock Tower
Summary: Morning can't come soon enough. After Oracle returns home, and Helena Wayne calls, Helena Bertinelli drops in for tea unexpectedly...

Blending with the pre-dawn sky of navy and purple, Huntress plummeted from one of The City Institute's tallest structures. Her midnight hair whipping back against her ears, her cape fluttering like a frightened fish on a hook, she fell until the swing of the jumpline thrust her upwards. Hurtling up and up, Huntress gained enough momentum to release and retract the grapple mechanism of the 'line. She soared the remainder of the distance to her destination.

Her destination: the face of the Clock Tower.

As a substitute teacher, Ms. Bertinelli's assigned classroom had afforded her a nickel-tour view of the Institute's Clock Tower. Seeing it from the school's grounds, Helena had been jarred by how familiar it was. From a distance, it merely appeared to be similar, but from her classroom, Huntress had been certain that it was the same. The clock tower was identical to the one Barbara Gordon had destroyed in Gotham City. Through her incipient understanding of The City's metaphysics, Helena could only assume that the clock tower had not been destroyed during Gotham's gang war games. Rather, it had been absorbed by The City. And if the clock tower was here, it's sole resident may have been brought along as well.

After class, Helena had returned to her own home for a power nap. Having fallen out of the practice of living a constant double-life, she slept through most of the night. She chided herself for missing out on her chance to investigate the clock tower, and resolved to visit at a decent hour of the morning.

No one ever won an argument with Helena by calling for decency, least of all Helena herself.

Scaling down the side of the clock face, Helena knew precisely how to avoid the clock tower's security systems. She had done it before, and, for a time, she had been given free access to the building. If the clock tower had been brought here at the time of its seeming destruction, she should still have access to it; alternatively, it had been quite some time since it's arrival in The City. Plenty of time for Barbara to have changed the locks. In the spirit of the trust Babs had shared with her, Helena stood passively at the doorway beside the clock face, removed her right glove, and placed her hand on the sensor pad. A bar of amber light slid down the pad, recording Helena's handprint, body temperature, and for all she knew, her DNA signature. Another moment would tell her if she received an open door, or an intruder alert countermeasures...

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"What—"

Babs held up a hand, silencing the younger man behind her. She needed to gain her bearings in her own house, and while she knew Kyle was as shocked as she was she needed him to be as quiet as she was. She needed to concentrate.

Her eyes ran over the bottom floor of her home critically. Silence except for small footfalls coming from the second floor. Jake. Then that was where all the action had taken place. Babs kept her hand up, and kept looking. They were the only three in the house and upon figuring that out she let out a sigh of relief.

"Go find Batman." Babs looked back at him out of the corner of her eye. He'd been with her for the afternoon as she worked. He'd flown over Arkham for her, reporting back on the little he'd been able to see. Kyle knew what she expected. "Go. Tell him what's happened here. And then patrol. It's going to be all night."

"And you?"

She looked up at the ceiling. "Jake is upstairs." Meaning she would be too. Her fingers gripped the staff under the armrest of her chair.

Kyle simply nodded, suiting up as he did so. Very easy for him, Babs watched approvingly and when he took off, flying out of the open door, she frowned slightly. There was so much to do, so many out in the field tonight, and here she was at home. Because of Jack.

So fun to deal with break-ins when there was real work to be done. Babs sighed, and headed over to the elevator.

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Jake had taken Barbara's warnings seriously. He may have been only eleven, but he was far from stupid. Only a fool would have ignored the fear and the concern in Bab's mind.

His first order of business, after making sure the doors were locked and the alarms set, was to venture up to the attic and retrieve his guns. The first was in a shoulder holster - what Roland (and subsequently, Jake) referred to as a docker's clutch. It felt comfortable there. The weight was familiar, soothing. Like an old friend that had been waiting to give aid and comfort.

The second gun was slung low on his hip. He wasn't expecting anyone else to come home until Babs did, so walking around with the guns strapped on. If Roland wandered back this way, Jake knew the gunslinger would only approve of the weapons.

He locked up the elevator once he was back downstairs and went to the kitchen to find something good and edible -- something that wasn't ice cream -- for himself and Oy. Of course he knew ice cream wasn't dinner. But ice cream certainly was dessert.

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It was when she returned home, for what was supposed to be a short break to grab some supplies, that she finally got a camera to work. One camera in the entire building, which was outfitted with over thirty, but it was still a major accomplishment and Babs wasn't going to complain. She got the thing to face away from one of the dirty toilets first off. She was tired of staring at the things, but had been for a good few hours now as she tried to fix her connections in Arkham. She wanted her video back, she wanted her camera mobility back, and she wanted sound.

She'd finally stopped trying to get sound right before lunch, but she was determined to be able to move the damned cameras. Maybe it was something about her hacking abilities from her home computer or maybe Jack was just having a little fun. Either way, Babs was glad for it

She wrote down each thing she'd done before the camera had started working, hoping to be able to repeat it when she got back to the manor. There were quite a few steps to the process, some which Babs wasn't even sure had effected it at all, but she was willing to write them down anyway. She didn't mind the wracking of her brain, it just took staying focused. A task which was harder than it seemed when she was concentrating on the view her one camera afforded her as well.

Babs was an attentive person, and her eyes kept flicking up to the screen, hoping to see something of note. Perhaps a guard left alive whose frequency she could hack into to contact. A group of the remaining prisoners so that she could get an approximate body count for Bruce. A note of some sort left lying around, and sort of clue.

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"Oy! Stop!"

Jake didn't have the time to wonder if it was something inherent in the billy-bumbler. Some genetic trait leftover from the part of him that was canine.

"Come back here!"

Maybe it was some kind of racial memory. Or maybe, somewhere in Mid-world, there were some smaller versions of the cougars they had seen in the Callah that had prompted Oy's reaction.

"Oy!"

He didn't have time to wonder these things. Because as soon as Oy had spotted the orange tabby, the bumbler's mind had been dead-set on one thing: catching it.

So Jake had chased, and was trying to catch the billy-bumbler with both hands and mind, using a fairly uncommon approach. But the bumbler stopped short, his mind going strangely blank, and Jake saw it through Oy's eyes before his own.

The Tower.

His breath caught in his throat and he almost fell over, trying to move around the man who was standing in the way. Part of his mind registered that the frame was too small, that it was only a painting, but the part of him that knew (Tower! Key! Rose!) thought that maybe, just maybe, this could be a door. Like the one that had brought Eddie and Susannah to Roland, like the one Eddie had used to draw Jake himself.

Can'-Ka No Rey. A place he had only seen in his dreams, but a place he knew intimately. A red field, so deep a red that it took a moment, and a skilled eye, to realize that the red was not blood, but a field of roses. And there, standing in the center, with brick of dark, not-quite-black ash and soot, was the Dark Tower.

Jake was helpless to stop himself. One hand reached out, moving towards the door -- (the canvas? the DOOR) -- and his feet moved him closer.

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Who- Max and Jake
What- Talking on the walk home from school
When- Backdated to before the trial

Max: The faster she got Short Round home, the faster she could go back to the bundles of wires she'd been playing around with in the Lair. The net and phone lines were up, and the power was more or less stable, now it was just a matter of connecting everything and then making sure that she could access what she needed. The system down there was paltry compared to Babs', but that was just for now. Max knew that it was going to improve. Just give her a few months, she'd see to it.

But babysitting duty was taking time out of her afternoon schedule. Babs' house wasn't exactly close to the Institute's campus, being more in the residential area of the City. Babs wasn't free this week to drive Jake home directly after school and she'd told Max that there was no point in bothering Alfred for something that Max was perfectly capable of doing. At first the girl had thought that Babs had meant driving, and she would've been cool with that, but what Babs had meant was that she was to walk Jake home after school everyday.

Max knew better to argue, so she did as she was asked, but it ate away at ninety minutes of time after school when she could've been working with Kate at the Lair. She couldn't wait until this damn trial was over and Babs wouldn't be so busy anymore, at least that's what Max assumed Babs was working on. She was monitoring things, always on the phone or writing emails to someone. It just made Max more eager for her and Kate to get their own fledgling enterprise up and running.

Max turned, realising that in her musings she'd pulled ahead of Jake a little, so she stopped. She had a feeling that if she lost him, no one would be very happy with her. Least of all that guy he called his father. From what she'd seen, he looked kind of menacing. "C'mon Short Round. I know you've got homework that you can't wait to get home and do."

Why did she call him Short Round? Because Max had seen way too many 'old' movies since arriving in the city, and Short Round was so much more fun than Jake'. It was said with love, really!

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The morning sun shone in through the bedroom window, and the gunslinger winced at its brightness. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept so soundly. It had been a peaceful rest. And even though his body still ached a bit, and his mind still felt the effects of the temporary psychosis, he felt considerably rejuvenated.

He sat up, pistols still tied about his waist -- he'd been too weary the night before to remove them -- and glanced over at the sleeping figure of the boy. Jake. The boy who was. The boy who always had been. Everything made sense to him now. He'd had two histories running through his mind. Two pasts. Two separate tracks that had each happened. Now they finally combined and made sense.

He was whole once more.

Roland slipped out of the bed, stretched his arms up above his head, and paused to peer at his reflection in a mirror above a dresser. Haggard described him well. He was in good need of a shave and a bath. A change of clothes would have suited him too. Or, at least, the washing of the garments he was currently wearing. But there was something even more important than that, and his growling stomach let him know almost immediately. He needed nourishment. And so he wandered the distance of the halls, the twists and turns, until he came upon the kitchen area. Where hopefully that woman, Barbara of Gotham, would be cooking something.

If not, then everyone would be subjected to gunslinger cuisine. And albeit edible and sustaining, not exactly chef's choice.

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Jake wasn't getting any better.

The touch of Delirium had hurt him, badly. The small part of his mind that still seemed capable of rational thought had deduced that, if he was in the state he was currently in back in old New York City, he would have been making baskets in the Sunnyvale Sanitarium by now.

With his mind fractured into two, he had still been able to keep some distinction between the two. They had merged at times, like when he became obsessed with doors a few days ago. Completely obsessed. He'd have to open them two, three, up to seven or eight times in a row before turning aside and almost collapsing from grief when the scenery on the other side refused to be the desert, or the mountains, or even the Oracle's speaking-ring. There was a limited number of doors in Bab's home. Jake knew them all. Every crack, blister, scratch, and scuff.

After he'd died again, in his mind, Jake had locked himself in his room.

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It might have distressed those of the Wayne estate to learn that there were somethings that could still successfully go bump in the night, with or without the high tech security system of a mansion. Of course, these creatures were few and far in between, but Delirium could count herself as a part of this exclusive group.

She felt Jake differently now and given her last encounter with him she felt compelled to see him. She sat on his bed and folded his bed sheets into different origami shapes, her favorite being the life sized John Lennon. She was going to work on a tiny Ringo Starr to go with him out of a pillow case while she waited for Jake to come back to his room.

The tea party had been rescheduled, but this didn't bother Delly too much. She knew exactly where her favorite trickster had gone, along with all the other shiny fishes that belonged to her. She would have to go visit them soon, too.

As she started to fold the nose of the former Beatles drummer, one of her multicolored frogs appeared and croaked appreciatively at her work. At least someone would like it.

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Note: Backdated to before the Wayne dinner

That night was torture. Just after Barbara had sent him to bed, Jake had fallen into an uneasy sleep, claimed on merit of pure exhaustion. She'd made him a sandwich and left it in the room for him to eat. His nerves weren't frayed enough that he didn't wake up when she came in, but he stayed silent until she left, hoping that sleep would claim him again.

It didn't. Once he was awake, his body having taken some form of rest, the echoes began in his mind, fresh and alert as ever.

You died.
I didn't, though. I'm right here, safe in bed.
That doesn't matter, and you know it.

Jake thought he might scream. 'I don't know which voice is true, but I know I can't go on like this. Just quit it, both of you. Stop arguing and leave me alone. It doesn't MATTER if I died or if I didn't, I'm here now!'

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They walked the grounds at sunset.

Every so often, Bruce glanced to the side. Alfred always looked ahead, chin high, face impassive. The invitations had already been sent: You and a guest are cordially invited to Wayne Manor for a family dinner at 8 o'clock on Friday the 14th of April, 2006. Casual attire only. RSVP.

"You should have told me when you knew."

They'd already been over this. The fact that Bruce pressed the point again - a wholly unnecessary act - only demonstrated his irritation. There was nothing to be gained for it.

"My apologies, Master Bruce."

It was problemmatic for one such as Bruce to find himself in a place where he did not know every detail that went on under his roof. He was used to knowing everything; he depended on it. Apparently, however, Alfred had known about the additional guests living in Wayne Manor, and had chosen to keep it a secret. In further conversation, Bruce discovered that they'd been living there even longer than Bruce himself was aware. And they believed that Bruce had been there much longer than when he woke up in his bedroom, some weeks before.

He was also angry with himself, for not realizing that there had been other people in the house. He had certainly had enough time to figure it out on his own. The amount of time that it took him was unacceptable. Never mind that his guests had tried laying low; it was his home. He should have been aware. Bad things happened when he wasn't aware of everything around him. People got hurt. People died.

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Who: Babs and Jake
What: Talk of insanity after school
When: Wednesday Afternoon
Where: Babs' house



Babs: Babs found herself really liking the arangement she'd set up in her home. Helena, herself, and now Jake, suited her just fine. Everyone had their own space, seemed to repsect each other, and got along. She'd had no major disputes with Jake besides the initial talk about where his weapons were to go, and they'd come to an agreement on that without and tears or bloodshed. Everything was working out just fine.

Babs didn't even mind the bit of extra cleaning a new member of the household added. Sometimes domestic activities were nice. They reminded her that things could actually be normal in her world.

The radio was on as she worked through the kitchen, loading the dishwasher and wiping down the counters from lunch. She even opened the door so that air could blow in through the screen door. It was rather nice out, and for once, she wasn't up in the tower.

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Setting: Babs' house, sometime Monday afternoonish
Summary: Helena comes home to find that she is no longer the only houseguest...

Work had been long. Her cases seemed to be particularly perplexing of late, not to mention that the District Attorney's re-appearance was throwing everyone into a frenzy. Helena had yet to meet Mr. Dent, but she already disliked him, if only because she was tired of half the office running around in a panic. It was interrupting her own train of thought, and given the cases she was working with, that was a very bad thing.

And so, tonight she had promised herself a night off from it all. She would be returning home at a normal hour, and she was going to take a hot shower, slip into her pajamas and watch a movie. Maybe Barbara would even be home to join her, for once.

She reached the kitchen door, pushing it open and dropping her keys on the table, instinctively locking the door behind her before kicking off her shoes and heading up the hallway towards the bathroom.

"Barbara?" she called out hopefully as she moved through the house.

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Who: Jake and Babs
What: Suspicion to Understanding
Where: On the streets

[Jake Chambers]: The street was unfamiliar. New York? Chicago? Los Angeles? He didn't know. If didn't look like New York, but the so-called Daily Planet screamed that it was The City. What city? A few dozen of them, if the bizarre architecture was any indication.

Turning to retrace his steps, Jake let out a cry. It had changed. Again.

He wasn't getting used to this. Which was strange. He could function within changing worlds, going todash, dying and coming back. But there was something that had been lost, and Jake knew that it was something more than his way. His anchors. His friends - his family. His ka-tet. He didn't know what to do without them. And he couldn't find the Path of the Beam.

Tired, frustrated, and feeling horribly alone, Jake sat on a doorstep, curled his knees against his chest, and squeezed his eyes shut, thinking of a different land, a quietly commanding voice, and a pair of pale blue eyes.

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Daredevil wasn't patrolling so much as figuring out where the hell he was. It had been a couple days since the explosions downtown, but there had been other folks around the scene saving bystanders, battling each other...he'd stayed out of it. Since then, he had not strayed far.

Moving from shadow to shadow, he lept across the rooftops. Nothing had changed tonight. No buildings had shifted as far as he knew. He would pause every so often to make sure his apartment was still directly behind him - it's signature echo remaining constant in his senses. Pulling his billy club from its holster, he shot the ripcord out, hooking it onto a cornice. Swinging down onto a lower building he paused once again. There was a pizza place below where he stood. The smell of garlic and bread engulfed him. Too strong.

He kept moving, creating a mental map of where he was.

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It always happened like this. The pain. The loss. How the world outside his body dulled, while the world inside was expanding to a multiverse of pain.

And then, silence. Stillness. An absence of everything that was so much worse than the pain.

As he did each and every time, Jake Chambers of New York opened his mouth and screamed as life slammed back into his body. It was only a matter of seconds before his body remembered how it was supposed to behave. The painful overstimulation was gone, and the boy looked around curiously.

"Roland?" The first word to leave his lips, the name of his father. The man who was truly his father.

Roland. He'd been with Roland. In the Keystone world. He'd pushed Sai King out of the path of the truck, and took the lethal force on himself.

It didn't horrify Jake as much as it would have horrified others to remember the details of his death. It was the third he could recall. But this one was different. Death was final in the Keystone world. So why was he here now?

"Roland?" he called again, a note of uncertainty making him sound like the eleven-year-old boy he was. Not the cold and natural-born killer that he also was.

The satchel of Oriza plates was heavy against his hip. Jake wondered briefly if he'd had hem when he jumped from the car. Then he just hope that the dishes had given Sai King one hell of a fucking bruise.

Jake looked up at the skyline, through the misting rain. There was the line of the Empire State Building. And over there, that looked like Central Park. Right? Was he back in New York again?

Familiar ground. That was all he was looking for. He was heading towards the park when he heard footsteps. Jake spun, each hand dipping with blurring speed into the satchel at his side, and lifting a plate in each hand, ready to throw.

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