***
Mount Justice always felt a little too quiet after a mission, the long halls echoing with memories and weighty silences. That evening, the air thrummed with a tension no one wanted to acknowledge, but everyone could feel—a complicated, gnawing aftermath born from their clash with Mr. Twister. They'd won, technically. The threat was neutralized, the civilians were safe. But victory tasted bitter when served with a side of disapproval from the League.
Leon, for his part, had always been ambivalent about the team's victories and setbacks. He hadn't come to Mount Justice looking for glory, or even a sense of belonging, despite what some of the others might have believed. Still, even he couldn't escape the energy that hummed between the young heroes in the lounge that night.
He arrived a little late, his stride relaxed and hands shoved into his coat pockets, with the faintest trace of a smirk playing on his lips. He'd spent the last ten minutes psyching himself up—not for a fight, not for a mission, but for something far scarier: confessing to Raven his plans for a date, an outing away from the chaos and judgment, away from prying eyes. He'd replayed the words in his head so many times they had begun to lose meaning, his mind drifting into the math and logistics of the thing rather than the fluttering apprehension of making the offer.
But tonight wasn't his night, apparently. Destiny—or at least Batman—had different designs.
" Freaking Emo Asshole, Does he think everyone's into this gig 24/7 like him ? "
The lounge was bathed in the soft, recessed lighting that lent Mount Justice its strange, otherworldly calm. The team—six strong without Kid Flash—had gathered in loose clusters. Robin perched on the arm of a sofa, bouncing a batarang restlessly in one hand. Miss Martian leaned forward in her chair, eager and attentive. Superboy brooded in his corner, eyes flickering toward the exit every so often. Kaldur, now comfortably leading the group, exchanged whispers with M'gann, while Raven stood near the far window, wrapped in the melancholy of dusk.
Waiting for Leon's arrival as always when he entered the room the first to notice as always was her, Leon's gaze grew softer realising her attention.
But what caught Leon's gaze immediately wasn't the team or her; it was the imposing triad at the far end of the room. Batman radiated authority, arms crossed, cowl shadowing eyes that seemed to see through walls. Beside him, Martian Manhunter maintained the stillness of someone who had seen entire worlds live and die. Black Canary's presence was more human, but no less intimidating; she exuded quiet power, every muscle tuned to perfection.
As always, Robin didn't let the tension build for long. "Okay, Batman, what's up? New mission, Or we finally getting a pizza budget?" he quipped, a teasing smile lifting the edge of his mouth.
Batman's reply was curt. "No." He swept his gaze across the group in turn, pausing just to let the anticipation build. "You're here because your documentation and educational statuses have been resolved. In three days, five of you—" he singled out Kaldur, Conner, M'gann, Raven, and Leon with an almost mechanical precision, "—will attend Happy Harbor High as regular students."
A beat passed. The words seemed to hang in the air, as if daring anyone to challenge them.
The reaction of the team was palpable, M'gann seemed visibly excited while Kaldurr and Conner simply nodded.
Raven remained silent, however if you paid attention you could notice how she subtly shifted abit closer to Leon.
"It is imperative you learn what it means to live among the people you protect," Batman continued, his voice even and measured. "Understanding society—their customs, their struggles—will make you better heroes and better human beings, regardless of your origins."
At first, no one spoke. Leon could feel impulse rising in his chest—a discomfort he'd learned to mask better than most, but one that simmered now. The others, by contrast, seemed equal parts stunned and intrigued. Miss Martian's eyes lit up with curiosity, Kaldur nodded with the weight of responsibility. Even Superboy looked, for once, not entirely resistant.
Raven's expression was most difficult to read. She was very still. Beneath her placid exterior, Leon glimpsed the smallest tremor—the memory of years spent on the outside, never quite belonging, always a step away from catastrophe.
Robin finally broke the silence, unleashing a ripple of relief through the group. "You hear that, guys? Looks like you're going undercover as ordinary teens. Could be fun!" His voice was irrepressibly bright, always looking for the light even in Batman's shadow.
Robin was not joining them as they already knew he went to Gotham Academy, Wally lived in central city so he wouldn't join as well meaning it would be the five of them together which made the tension visibly ease between the teenagers.
Leon stood slightly apart, the command sticking in his craw. He hadn't asked for any of this; in fact, he'd come to the team to avoid precisely these sorts of forced social experiments.
He folded his arms with deliberate slowness. "I refuse," he announced quietly.
The effect was instantaneous. Every gaze in the room turned to him. Kaldur's posture tensed. Miss Martian's eyes widened in confusion. Even Superboy seemed mildly surprised, his habitual scowl faltering for a heartbeat.
But it was Raven who met his gaze most directly. "Leon? Why?" Her voice was soft, threaded with something that was half incredulity, half raw empathy. "It could be good for us… to fit in."
She understood, in her way, what it meant to long for acceptance and to flinch from its price. He supposed that was why she was the first to ask, her words hovering between defense and plea.
Batman's eyes narrowed imperceptibly. "Your refusal is denied. You are not exempt from this, Leon. Your powers and your intellect do not place you above the value of learning to be part of society."
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. Black Canary stepped in, her tone less severe, but still firm. "I don't understand, Leon. School's not a punishment. You might even enjoy it, if you give it a chance."
Robin, always eager to dispel conflict, jumped in. "Dude, be whelmed. School's actually not so bad. You meet people, have fun, sometimes even learn stuff that's useful. C'mon—it's an experience."
The team followed suit, their encouragement as varied as their personalities—Superboy's silent nod, M'gann's enthusiastic support, Kaldur's measured assurances. Even as Leon heard their voices, he felt himself resisting the group's optimism, withdrawing behind the familiar shields of sarcasm and detachment.
Through the noise, Raven drifted closer, nudging him lightly. Her eyes locked with his—eyes that had always unsettled and grounded him in equal measure. There was a challenge there, a question, and a silent insistence that he explain himself not just to her, but to himself.
Still, Leon was unmoved. "If fitting in means adapting to high school drama, I'll pass," he said, voice calm but unyielding. "I've managed for the past fifteen years. I'm not your ward—I don't have to follow your arrangements."
With that, he turned to leave, his footsteps ringing louder than he intended. If anyone tried to stop him, Batman chose not to; the Dark Knight simply watched. Black Canary and Martian Manhunter shared a look, a silent agreement to let things play out.
Raven hesitated, then followed. The others' voices faded into the background—their encouragements, their protests, left behind like echoes in a wide, empty hall.
Outside, dusk had fermented into full night. The sky above Mount Justice lay broken open by the winking lights of satellites and the faint, blurred trail of the Milky Way. It was the sort of night that made the world feel limitless and intimate at once; you could almost believe, for a moment, that you were the only two people alive.
They stood together, silent. Leon drew a breath, held it, then released it slowly, counting out the tension by the length of his exhale. Raven didn't press him; she simply waited.
She had always been patient, in ways that made him uneasy and grateful by turns. There is something unspoken in the way she balanced stillness and movement, the way her presence soothed and unsettled.
After a while, the stars above seemed to flicker, as if urging one of them to break the silence.
Raven was the one to speak, her words soft but steady. "What's the real reason you don't want to go?"
Leon considered his answer. He could have given her sarcasm, or humor, or even anger. Instead, for once, he chose the truth—a version of it, at least.
"School feels pointless for someone like me. I don't need it. I'd rather be training, or actually living my life. Besides—" his lips twitched into something like a smile, "my finances are sorted. Jarvis and my parents' inheritance see to that. Why waste time pretending?"
The faintest ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, but her eyes remained serious. "I get that. Trying to fit in… it's exhausting, sometimes. But I'm not going for friends. I'm going for knowledge." She hesitated, the tiniest quiver in her voice. "And I… I'd like you to come. For support."
He feigned shock. "So you want me to be your emotional support dog?"
Raven's lips twitched. "If you bark, I definitely won't mind."
Leon grinned, something impish sparking to life behind his eyes. He leaned just a little closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "Woof."
Raven's face went red, even in the dim light of the stars. She shook her head, a reluctant laugh escaping. "Pervert," she muttered, but there was no heat behind it—just a familiarity that warmed the battered edges of his heart.
He cocked his head. "Should I start using my tongue for comfort, too?"
She gasped, swatting at him with mock indignation, but she didn't pull away. She was quieter now, a little more vulnerable, as if his teasing had given her permission to drop her own guard.
"Seriously, Leon." Her tone was gentle, but insistent. "Why don't you want to go?"
He shrugged, eyes tracing the constellations above. "I just don't like socializing, Rae."
She arched an eyebrow. "You don't seem to have that problem with the team."
He offered her a grin, but it faded quickly. "That's different. With them, I can actually be myself. No masks. No pretending. But outside? 'Blending in' means putting on a mask, following someone else's expectations. How is that different from—" he hesitated, reaching for the right words, "—from being locked away, forced to play by rules that don't make sense to me?"
She scoffed, folding her arms. "You're overthinking things. Maybe too much."
Leon shook his head, unwilling to let the point go. "Maybe. Or maybe I just see things differently. You ever notice how normal people wish for extraordinary lives, while people like us—" he gave her a pointed look "—run from our own uniqueness? It's like everyone wants what they can't have. The curse of knowledge, I guess."
He paused, letting the silence stretch between them. The air was cooler now, tinged with salt from the distant ocean. A stray breeze ruffled Raven's hair; she hardly seemed to notice.
Leon continued, voice gentling. "Our powers… they're not a curse. Not really. Yes, they come with problems, some of them massive. But I've seen what happens when someone spends their life wishing they were different. They end up either bitter or broken, or worse—numb. I refuse to see myself that way."
He turned to her, more earnest than he probably intended. "Take you, for example. I know you hate your demon heritage. It scares you. Sometimes, you wish you could just be normal, just for a day. But listen—" he stepped a little closer, eyes never leaving hers, "—that legacy is the reason you're still here. If you weren't who you are, you wouldn't have survived what you've survived. Can't you see? Without your powers, fate—or your father—would have found you anyway, and without strength, you'd have had no choice. You're alive not in spite of your powers, but because of them."
For an instant, Raven's mask cracked. She looked away, shame burning in her cheeks. "It's not that simple. You talk about cherishing powers like it's easy." There was a trembling vulnerability in her tone—a deep, old wound. "They're a reminder of everything I hate about myself. Of everything I'm afraid I'll become."
Leon didn't flinch. He reached out, brushing her hand with his, light as a question. "I know it's hard. I know you see your father in your darkest moments. But your powers—they're also your mother's, your own. They're not just a legacy of fear, but of survival and choice. Every day, you choose who you are. That's what matters."
He let the words settle between them, watching her struggle beneath their weight.
For a moment, Raven fought it. Then, with a shuddering breath, she allowed herself to look at him again, eyes shimmering with something like relief... and resentment, too. "You make it sound so easy, Leon."
He smiled, soft and a little sad. "Of course, it's not easy. It never is. But you have a choice. That's more than most people get.
Living without a choice having no power over your own fate is something we all understand and share but it is a generalized event for most common folks. "
She was silent for a long while, gazing out at the infinite field of stars above. The night pressed in, but there was warmth now, in the closeness between them. Leon saw her shoulders slowly relax, the tension melting away inch by inch. In the hush, she finally spoke.
"You always sound so philosophical," she said, voice barely more than a whisper. "But sometimes you're the dumbest person I know." She glanced at him, a real, wry smile ghosting across her lips. "Seriously though… you're complicated. More so than anyone else here. Sometimes… you feel so empty to me. I can feel your sense of loss at times different from others, What did you lose to be this way?"
Her question lingered, softer than the breeze.
Leon's answer was almost lost to the night. He looked up at the scattered stars, his voice hollow and brittle. "When did I ever have anything to lose?"
For several heartbeats, all was silent. Raven looked at him, not with pity, but with understanding. She knew about loss. They all did, in different ways. But it was rare for Leon to let anyone close enough to glimpse the ache beneath his bravado.
They stood there for a long time, neither speaking nor moving. The world spun on, indifferent to their small universe of pain and longing and hope. But in that moment, together beneath the endless sky, they found a brief, unsteady peace—two outcasts, drawing strength not from what separated them from the world, but from what held them together.
If only for tonight, that was enough.
***