A/N:  I really hope you guys like this.  I worked on this for about a month and I hope it shows.  Please read and review.  :D  Btw, I do not own that picture, but you have to admit it looks amazing.

Present:

"Hey Damian, want to go and get ice-cream at Baskin Robins?"  Dick asked, his  brown wallet in his calloused hand as he stood outside of his youngest brother's door.  His blue baseball tee hung half in and half out of his ripped blue jeans, and his navy converse looked tired and worn in the soft midday sunlight that streamed through the cracks of the heavily curtained windows of the manor's hall.  His face appeared tired, probably due to the heavy physical beating that he had endured earlier that week during his suspicious 'night job'.  His bright sky blue eyes had the same shine as they always did, and his perfect movie star smile was still there.

"I'd rather not partake in such a childish action of which you just suggested to me."  Damian answered, already preoccupied with a hobby that he loved to do.  Drawing.  With Titus by his side, he swept his small scarred hand across the page in the graceful strokes that he had learned from his mentor and older brother.  His dark emerald green shirt was crumpled a little in the front, and in his tan pants crossed together with white socked feet on the end.  His sea blue eyes slanted ever so slightly in an adorable concentration and his tongue stuck out of his mouth.  His room was brightly light by the sun, shining a lovely tint onto his bed and nightstand.  For once he could actually appreciate the light in peace.  Sort of.

"Ah, come on Dami!  You love ice cream right?" Dick tried again, sticking his wallet in the back of his jeans while listening for an answer.  Knowing it would be no, he silently crept away to open the curtains and bask in the warm and welcoming light.

"No means no Grayson.  I already have condoned with some of your ridiculous behaviors.  I will not accept your oh so casual invitation to an ice cream parlor."  Damian said, ignoring his brother's plea and going back to shading in a heavy shadow that deeply contrasted the large amount of light that his picture held.

"You sure Dami?  You need to get outside of that room of yours."  Dick teased, putting his hand on the door and waiting for the loud yelling that he knew would receive in a few seconds.

Damian sighed and put his head into his hands, gritting his next words out in measured sentences, "No Grayson."

Dick sighed, only slightly deeply and dramatically, "Are you sure?  It'll be fun!"  Dick awaited an answer as he backed up a little to avoid the major shouting that would be coming from the door.

"I SAID NO!!!! Leave me alone!"  Damian shouted, pounding his fist against the side of his bed, annoyed and very not amused with his brother's antics.  He went back to drawing his picture.

But Dick, being just as stubborn as his adoptive father, didn't know when to shut up, "You sure?"

"Go away!  I wish you never existed!!" Damian yelled, his voice and head hurting immediately once the irrefutable words left his mouth, the light that streamed down into his room starting to dim noticeably, "I wish you were never born!!"

And somewhere in Damian's head a small voice whispered... be careful what you wish for..... you just might get it...

+++++

Another dimension:

Jason Todd stomped across the street, cold and tired, as he subtly stole a sad red haired teen's wallet.  Looking through the old thing, he only saw an I.D, a paper full of writing, and 2 dollars cash.  Another hard day on the streets he guessed.  It's not like Gotham city was the easiest place to pickpocket, with every person scared of each other, living in fear.

Living in fear of that thing... that thing that was supposed to keep Gotham safe....

The Batman.

Nobody knew if he was a man... or a bat... or really, just a figment of someone's imagination.  But seriously, how would anybody else explain the dead bodies of criminals that had been cruelly destroyed and beaten to the ground, never to wake up and see that light.

Not that there was any light in Gotham anyway.  The sun never came.  It was just dark and gloomy, foggy and misty, with an air of mystery, that no one could ever solve.

Jason trudged through the dark black mist and stared dejectedly at the lone 2 dollars in his hands... wondering if he could even have enough to buy a hot dog with condiments from one of those street vendors.  Maybe he could even buy a drink, if he was lucky.

He growled lowly to himself, shoving his hands further into his pockets of his ripped and torn brown coat, that didn't provide much warmth anymore.  His Gotham Knights baseball cap hung low over his head, ill fitting it.  It didn't provide protection, or even warmth, but his mother used to own it, and it was all he had left of her.  His scratched and worn hands fingered it for a few seconds, before he took it off and brushed his hand through his unkempt black hair.  His mom would've hated all that hair.

He wished she would of just been with him.  Been there for him at least once.  But she'd never been with him, ever.  He just wasn't loved.

He sighed and took something from his pocket.  A small clip.  A hairclip.  It had belonged to his mother.  But that didn't matter.  Just like him.  He clipped the hairclip onto the paper with all the writing on it.

So what if it belonged to his mother?  It's not like like she even loved him.

So he guessed that from now on, his life was just a bunch of empty wallets and a broken heart.

He tossed the wallet to the ground and walked away, the dark snow clouds that hung over the city darkening with each heavy and tired step he took, and he seemed to disappear into the gloom and pollution that had suddenly lowered into the city.

And when the fog lifted later, Jason Todd couldn't be found

_-_-_-_

Barbara Gordon checked her jacket's pocket for about the fifth time, looking for her wallet.  There wasn't a hole in her jacket.  After all, it was new and she'd restitched all of the lining. Maybe that teen that had bumped into her had something to do with her missing wallet.  She had felt a small tug on herself once they had made contact.  She retraced her steps, maybe she could catch him.

She ran hard weaving in and out of the heavy saddened crowds.  She would be late for dinner with her father, but she didn't want her I.D to be lost forever.  Rats.  That darn kid.

She shivered a little in the snowy, dark, cold, forbidding weather, but she forged on anyway.  The snow started to fall, beating heavily down on her tired back and she took a deep sigh, the cold polluted air poisoning her lungs.  Her glasses slipped down her beautiful face, so she just took them off completely, shoving them bitterly in her pocket.

Maybe without them no one would make fun of her computer skills.  Maybe she wouldn't be such a techie.  No, she was just so natural at it, just as she was with gymnastics.  But no one was able to look past her glasses and computer love to see the kind and sparky person she was inside.  Maybe someone, some kid, would finally ask her on a date.  Or maybe the senior prom dance!  One day... one day she would find her true love.

But for now, all she wanted was to prove to her father that she could be useful to the crime department.  After all, every single person that she'd encountered never believed in her.  Girls can't do crime.  No one ever stuck by her.  Ever.

All she wanted was to be useful.  In fact, she wanted the Gotham PD, to just at least consider her idea to work together with Batman.  For someone to be proud of her.

She shrugged her shoulders to herself, then turned to look at the dimly lit store window that she had passed.  A young boy smiled up at his father.   She smiled, she wished her father would smile that proudly at her.  Suddenly the boy turned and looked at her, his hand full of photographs, they looked old and worn.  He looked so happy.  She turned away.

She ran, wondering if she could ever catch the wallet thief.  Maybe not the thief.... but was that her wallet?  Barbara knelt down onto the snowy ground to find her discarded wallet on the ground.  Nothing had been removed but 2 measly useless dollars, but her paper, full of ideas and theories for the crime department in Gotham was still there.  With a hair clip on it?  She wouldn't ask.

Not that anybody would care about these papers.  No one would at all.

Barbara sighed deeply and stood up.  Was this her life?  Being underestimated?  It just wasn't worth it.

She threw the paper with the weird hairclip down, shoved the wallet down into her pocket and walked away, only looking up to see the snow clouds turn dark and bitter, and she seemed to be out of sights when she walked into the shadows of the clouds.

But if you walked up to the shadow, you wouldn't be able to find Barbara Gordon.

';';';';

Tim Drake looked as the girl ran away from the window.  What was wrong?  Did he smile to weirdly?  He'd been doing that a lot lately.  He rushed outside, going to see if he could help her.  He was just in time to see her throw a paper frustrated onto the ground.  He rushed to pick it up.  The paper had a small hairclip clipped to the corner.  Maybe this belonged to her to.  Maybe he could give it back.

He ran.  Too late.  She was gone.  Tim rubbed the back of his neck, feeling skin hit cold skin, then he sighed at shoved his hand into his cargo pants pocket.  He wondered what the paper said, so he unclipped the hairclip.

Wow.  He read the paper.  Twice.  The ideas and theories were great.  Gotham's crime department could certainly use these.  And all her theories on who the great Batman was.

He had theories to!  He was stuck with thinking about Bruce Wayne and Hank Grundel as his two prime suspects.  He looked proudly at the pictures in the journal of theories in his hand.

He walked on, yelling to his dad that he would be at home.  He shuffled through the snow, barely looking at the clouds that hung low over his head, threatening to darken his day even further.  He had told his father his theories on the great Bat, saying that Batman was a person!  And he suspected Batman to be Bruce or Hank.  His father glared at him and told him that this stuff wasn't worth looking into and he shouldn't waste his time on it.

But every time he ever told someone else about his Batman theories, they laughed at him.  If only he had one piece he could make sure that one person was actually Batman!!

Ugh... all he wanted was to figure out the guy's identity!  Obviously the Batman needed someone to keep him in check.  Batman killed every villain, and it was scary.

Tim was scared.  He looked up a little to see a little kid, black hair and a hood hiding his head to the world.  He looked.... scared.  Tim tried to smile to him, comfort him, but it came out sad, like he was about to start crying.  And truly, he was.  He looked one more time at his notebook and pictures, then...

He clipped the hairbob thing back on, adding his notebook filled with pictures to it.

Would anyone really care what he thought?  No, no one gave a care at all.

He tossed the the paper packet in the trash bin, shaking small tears out of his eyes as he rushed quickly away, disappearing into the darkening streets, letting the paling winter sky rush down and engulf him.

And if you rushed into the gloom after Tim Drake, you wouldn't be able to see him.

'~'~'~

Damian Wayne watched as the boy tried to smile at him.  Bastard.  No one smiles at Damian.  He needs no pity.  Damian looked on as the boy tossed something in the trash, the rushed away upset.  With no regard towards the boys feeling, Damian scoffed at the emotion.  Curious about the trash though, Damian strode over, his feet in front of him placed proudly, and his black outfit's loose ends fluttering violently in the harsh winter wind.  His spiky short black hair tugged slightly at his head as the wind swept through it.

Damian picked the paper packet out of the dirty green trash bin.  Ugh.  It was ugly, with a small worthless hairclip pulling a paper and notebook filled with pictures together.  Disugusting.  He shouldn't be concerning himself with such trivial matters such as this.  But he did anyway.  He looked through it.  The paper was very accurate, with ways to improve the police station.  They weren't very bad to read.  But woah, the notebook contained guesses to who Batman was.

His father!  That silly person was so close to guessing!  Maybe the ugly boy had just given up.  Hopefully he had.  The Batman's identity had to stay secret and only he and his mother had the right to know about it.  Bruce Wayne of course.  Damian had never met his father, at all, but was training to be just like him.  A cruel angry killer.

His mother, though he rarely ever saw her, had told her servants to tell Damian that his father was a killer and it would behoove him to be just like them.  Damian wasn't sure though if he did.  It sounded way better than being a superhero just like Superman(the bastard), but he didn't really want to exactly fight to kill.

Though most of his training including killing, and it was what he had been raised to believe in, some nagging little thought was in the back of his head.

What if he just didn't want to kill?

It wasn't exactly the right thing to do was it?  What if he just didn't want to lead this path?  Why did they have to force him to think like this?  What if he just didn't want to learn this?  What if... what if he just didn't want to be the Batman anymore?

Damian looked at the sai in his hand.  With this sai, Damian had killed many people.  He had made his first kill with this sai.  Damian sighed, then turned to the sky.  The harsh wind howled and the falling snow looked none to gentle.  The clouds seemed to darken with his frown, so he turned to look back down.  A lithe girl with short black hair was darting hurriedly across the street, but she stopped to stare at him(bastard).  He ignored her and stared at his sai before...

Stabbing it deep into the paper packet, embedding every dark feeling with it.

Was this his life from now on?  Being forced to be someone he wasn't exactly sure he wasn't going to be?  Never seeing his parents?

He picked up the stabbed packet of paper, notebook, and hairclip and tossed it onto the street, by the gutter.  He walked off, Mother's servants wanted him home soon, and as he walked, the wind seemed to howl stronger than before, whipping furiously around him until in completely dissolved him.

And later it was like Damian Wayne hadn't even been standing before your eyes.

*(*(*(*(*

Cassandra Cain stared as the boy seemed to disappear.  She wondered what had bugged him.  His posture made it seem as if he was mad and in despair.  Her posture on the other hand was perfect.  Straight up it made her seem confident and great with herself.  Her appearance was great too, her shiny black hair swept back into a small ponytail, her black sweater with the small bits of fuzz sticking out of the sleeves wasn't wrinkled, and her gray cargo pants had the perfect amount of small weapons sticking out of them.  

But she didn't feel okay inside.  As she contemplated her sad thoughts, she walked over to the gutter where the boy had furiously thrown down... whatever it was.  It was a packet of paper, a small piece of paper, a notebook, all clipped together with a hairclip and stabbed by a sai.

Wow, Cass smiled a little at the stuff about Batman and felt the worn hairclip and sai under her fingers.  It was a nice feeling.

Her smile dropped though when she remembered what she was doing outside in the growing dark storm.  She had run from her father, because of the way he had made her feel.  She had had it.  It wasn't good.  For the last time he had shot her for telling him that she didn't want to kill anything anymore.

But he had turned around and shot her.  But to be fair, he did it all the time.  She was used to the torture and all the practice and working her hard.   It happened all the time.  When she was tardy by a minute, if she didn't kill someone the right way.  There was always something that he would hurt her for.

Always something.  So she was used to it.  But what if she didn't just want to be a mindless servant?  What if she just wanted to be something more?  Why wouldn't he listen to her?

She just wanted to be normal maybe.  Learn how to talk, learn how to read!  She was never taught, why can't they ever teach her.

She pulled a bracelet off her wrist and stared at it.  It was fairly normal.  Black braided with gray, and a small bead painted with two C's, standing for Cassandra Cain of course.  Her father had given it to her, and told her to always wear it, a symbol that she and him would fight together forever.  But she didn't want to exactly fight with him, she wanted to fight against him.  But it's not like he would listen to her really.

She stood up and glanced to her left, seeing a blonde around her age staring at what she was doing curiously.  It hit her that this paper packet with a weapon embedded into it wasn't a normal sight.  Where did it come from.  Certainly a hairclip and sai couldn't have come from the same person.  And the handwriting on the paper and notebook were different.  How many people had touched this?

She took her 'friendship' bracelet and slipped it around the end of the sai on the paper packet, so that it would act as a small strap.

Was her whole life just going to be with no one listening to what she wanted?  Was she always going to be abused?

She sighed and carefully placed the stabbed paper packet down on, pointedly looking at the blonde, then walked away, darkness seeping as her smile faded into a tear-stained face, and she let herself disappear into the snowdrifts.

If you checked there in a few seconds, Cassandra Cain wouldn't even be in existence.

^&^&^&^

Stephanie Brown felt a tiny bit guilty when the girl looked her in the eye with a small pointing glance.  It was intimidating.  Sure, she had been super curious about what the girl was doing.  I mean, normal children didn't just carry around packets of papers with weird weapons on it.  Then again, she didn't think that girl was normal.  Steph grinned a little and couldn't help but run up before someone else grabbed the packet.

She let her wavy blonde curls flow behind her and lash out with the furious wind, and her blue eyes shown with a little excitement when she saw what the thing was when she stepped closer.  A hairclip, worn with wear.  A paper, crumpled and uncrumpled.  A notebook, written and erased.  A sai, shining and old.  A bracelet, torn and ripped.  Wow.... there was so much to look at, so much to read and ponder.

Who was that girl?  Why would she have all this stuff?  It couldn't belong all to her right?  Because she had looked at the bracelet with such pain before putting it onto the sai.  Had all these objects been object of contempt?

Maybe she should add something to!  Well because, all her life, her dad, her stupid dad, that stupid fool had become Cluemaster.  Then he went around performing acts that she scorned so much.  She wished she could just stop him.  She wished she didn't have to be related to him.  He brought her shame.

She didn't want to be like him!  Except everyone thought she was.  OH hey it's Cluemaster's daughter!

Why couldn't she just be good ol' Steph Brown?  Was that not enough?

She growled at a passing limo before sighing.

She sighed again, okay.  Yeah she had something to add to this packet of paper.  She slipped her hand into her purple sweatshirt and pulled out a small picture of her when she was little.  Being held by her dad.  She slipped it onto the hairclip, holding it with the other papers and notebooks.

Was her whole life going to be misunderstood?  Hated?  The daughter of a criminal?

Suddenly her heart felt heavy and the snow seemed to beat down harder.  She let it, and she let the darkness take her and she started to fade, leaving the beaten packet of oddities behind.

Anybody who noticed Stephanie Brown before, would think she was just a figment of their imagination now.

%$%$%$

Bruce Wayne called to Alfred to stop the limo.  His torn scarred hand shot forth and tugged harshly at the one of his many servants.  He growled at the man to stop.  Alfred shuddered and stopped quickly, seething to himself.  Bruce yelled.  He had seen something.  A girl by the side of the road, her blonde hair covering beautiful eyes.  Normally he wouldn't care about girls on the street.  Homeless people could die for all that he cared.  That wasn't what bothered him though.  It was what she was holding.

By the time he had backtracked to the place she was sitting, he only saw the object.

He got out.

The object was strange looking, even from the distance.

Of course, it could have been the smarting pollution, the damp fog, the swirling wind, the beating snow that had blinded his vision, but the object kind of looked like a man being stabbed by a long sword.  Was that a sign for all the men he had killed?  As he drew closer in the dark, his hands started shaking.

It wasn't a man being stabbed though.  Lucky for him.

It was a collection of odd items.  Bruce laughed at himself and chided his mind for being weak.  He instead focused on looking at the items.

They were silly items by the looks of it.  He saw a hairclip.  A paper.  A notebook.  A sai.  A bracelet.  A photo.

He drew closer to it.  He didn't want to, but something inside what was left of his heart tugged towards it.  He looked on confused as his hand reached out to lightly tap it.  Big mistake.  A pain, a sharp shooting pain that went through his body.  And epiphany occurred.

And suddenly he understood.  He understood the objects.  He understood the pure unbridled pain that was emitted by them.  He didn't understand how, but once he touched it, it was like he could see.  Like suddenly the world made sense.

The hairclip.  Sure, the pink purple pattern was worn, and had obviously been used many times, but it was thrown down in contempt.   A sad person wanting, missing something in his life, had thrown this away.

The paper.  Ideas, that were brilliant, but no one seemed to understand them, and so that paper had been given up on.  An lonely person who just needed a hand to guide them, to support them, had thrown this away.

The notebook.  Photos, guesses, intelligent and well made by a person with so much smarts, but obviously had thought they weren't good enough.  A broken person, who just wanted to be heard, had thrown this away.

The sai.  Rusted with blood, but somehow it had an air of pride around it, this had been thrown away in disgust.  A confused person, they didn't know who or what they were going to be, they needed someone to help them see, had thrown this away.

The bracelet.  Worn with care, torn in fights, the bracelet was old, and had been thrown away in rebel.  An abused person, who didn't want to be the role that they were forced to play, who wanted someone to be gentle with them instead of hurting them, had thrown this away.

The photo.  Torn at the edges, and the faces and prints smudged with tears, had been thrown away with pure anger.  An enraged person who wanted to be something else, wanted someone to save them from the thing that people judged them on most, had thrown this away.

Bruce pulled his hand away so quickly, that you might have guessed the object was a stone.

Bruce didn't know who these people were, but he vowed to find them.  He picked up the object and walked back to the car.  From now on, he'd try to find a light in his dark life.

+++++

Present:

"Dami?  Damian, are you okay?" 

Damian lifted up his head in pure shock, What had he just seen?   "Hm?"

"Dami?  You just literally conked out.  I went into your room to check on you a few minutes after you yelled me out...." Dick paused and added under his breath, "Quite rudely I shall say."

Damian shook his head in a daze, Had he just seen a world without Grayson?   A world without Grayson.... was a world without light.  With only shadow...

"Are you okay?  Because you were kind of screaming back there... I was so worried.  Don't ever ever ever..."

Damian sat up a little, trying to get a hold of himself, I didn't know one person could make such a difference on a whole set of lives.  A whole city full of lives.  The world even!

"Damian?! Dami?!  Are you okay?" Dick asked, waving his hand again in front of the young boy's face, letting the light illuminate his face.

"Yeah... hey Grayson?" Damian asked, his face frowning as he watched light seep through the door.

"What D?" Dick asked, stretching his arms into the sunlight.

"Is it to late to get ice cream?"