bring me flesh and bring me wine

[bossymarmalade]

It feels like they’ve been walking for days.

Bruce estimates this to be true by the sheer nature of fatigue in his limbs, by the time they reach the next in a series of corridors. Staircase after staircase, the sunless horizon giving him no measure of days or the passage of time, Bruce swallows deeply, his mouth chapped, and turns to look at Dick.

Bruce looks back at where Diana and Ollie are bringing up the rear, and speaks in a low tone. “..alright?”

Demon watches them, unseen and undetected by both.

Dick stares ahead with an almost too-fervent determination, and when he looks at Bruce, his eyes are a little too wide. The brooch his mother gave him is still clenched tight in his hand and it’s that feeling of it that’s keeping him steady. He nods. “I’m all right.” He reaches out with his other hand, rubbing the back of his knuckles against Bruce’s shoulder. “You?”

Bruce moves his own hand out, to wrap over the top of Dick’s shoulder, squeezing the muscles there before dropping his hand. He exhales, and rather than respond with a normal, communicative answer, he states: “There’s something we’re missing.”

Bruce looks around the castle they are in, and he isn’t sure what floor they’re on, as the windows are too high, too narrow, and the sky outside doesn’t change for the altitude. He exhales again, and it seems like he is doing that more than inhaling, and clenches his jaw as he attempts to steady the impulsive urge to exit, determine where they are.

Dick nods, rocking toward him a little at the contact. “She said we couldn’t find him alone. Or, I couldn’t find him alone, but maybe we meant all of us. Maybe that’s what….” He brings his fist up slightly to finish his statement. “It’d just be nice to have a clue about what exactly we’re missing.”



Bruce looks down at what Dick holds in his hand, and stops walking, his brow furrowing a touch. He doesn’t move, and notices when Diana looks up, ahead at them, in alarm; his heart warms at the way the woman’s hand moves to shield Ollie, arguably the weakest of them, right now, but he shakes his head, holding up a hand. He lifts the dark of his eyes to Dick’s—so similar, that blue, and so wholly different—and murmurs. “May I see it?”

Dick brings his hand close to his chest instinctively, an unfair protectiveness creeping up over this thing his mother gave him. But it’s Bruce and he’s just being childish, Dick tells himself. Slowly, he brings his hand down and holds it out, fingers uncurling slowly to present it to Bruce.

Bruce , for his part, doesn’t take it from Dick. He runs his fingers over the top, carefully, looking down at it. It’s a beautiful piece, ornate and old. Bruce takes stock of the stones— opal, emeralds, rubies,— inlaid into the bird’s eyes, wings, chest, and Bruce voice sloughs the skin of his tongue with how rough it is, when he speaks. “..I didn’t think you’d get to even be this tall.”

Dick blinks, not quite sure where that came from. “Just be glad I’m not any taller, huh? I might’ve started giving you a run for your money.”

Bruce moves his hand around Dick’s fingers, closing his hand over the brooch again, and lifts his eyes to Dick’s. “..if the opportunity presents itself, you get yourself out of here.”

"Not without you."

Dick glances back toward Diana and Ollie, more like an apology for momentarily forgetting their presence. “Not without all of you.”

Bruce looks back at Diana, his eyes expectant: tell him to go. He regards the woman with how he imagines his mother did his father: back him up in this, when it comes to the children.

Demon joints pop silently, backwards, away from its body as it climbs across the roof. It makes no sound, hollow-bowl fingers curving into the rugged edges of walks. It looks down at Diana, at Ollie, before turning to look at the two men. Two tongues flicker out of what should be its eyelids, around sharp rows of eye-teeth, testing the air. In its mouth, a row of ..actual eyes, turning and looking around the darkness of the room.

Diana sucks in her cheeks at the look, giving a quick nod.

Dick looks at Diana when Bruce does, his face falling when she nods. There’s an expression of almost childlike betrayal, a petulance that seems like it should be followed by a tantrum and yelling. Instead, he squares his jaw and looks back at Bruce, nodding once. “I will. But I won’t stop trying to get you out, even if I do.”

Bruce looks back at Dick, jaw setting into a hard line that mirrors Dick’s own. He nods, and then, of all things, smirks. His lips crackle, and he smiles, the motion flickering on and off his visage with the beat of his heart. “..I wouldn’t expect anything less.” He claps a hand against Dick’s shoulder, and begins to walk again.

Dick smiles back, pride and happiness burning fiercely in his chest. He looks back to Diana and Ollie, his smile fading, but still there, and nods to her before following Bruce again.

Bruce exhales, and when Diana and Ollie approach, Ollie’s head nodding with fatigue, Bruce moves to pick the boy up, hefting him against a hip. He walks with Dick and Diana, then, the archer instantly asleep, and speaks out loud, his voice taking on the rhythm and cadence it normally does when he is thinking through a problem: distracted, emotionless. “..Kate stepped through,” he states, for confirmation.

Bruce continues. “Kate stepped through as soon as Zatanna cast the spell..” Bruce settles on the spell, as he walks, his hand spanning under Ollie’s thighs, to hold him up, and half under his cape as they continue to travel. They reach another staircase.

Diana nods, “I believe so, I don’t know why she wouldn’t.”

"Do you think she made it here? If she went before us, she might still be ahead of us."

Bruce nods, and takes the first step, his hand moving out to steady as they walk up the winding spiral stairs. “That’s what I’m— ..he inhales, and pauses, hefting Ollie up a bit higher: he’s tired. They’re all tired. The place was living up to its expectations.

Dick rests a hand against Bruce’s back as they walk, not as much to support him as to let him know he’s there to catch him if he stumbles. The contact helps Dick, too, and gives him something to focus on as they climb.

Bruce rumbles, low, as they continue to mount, his voice still whiskey-roughed around the edges: “‘There, in the night, you fill find him.’”

Demon follows them, climbing across the room, all sixteen legs—nine on one side, seven on the other— flickering across the stones as he watches them. It can smell the Hellhound on them.

Dick frowns. “Which ‘him’, d’you think? Hades, Dionysus, or Ramsey? Or do you think it means someone else.”

Bruce stops, when, out of nowhere, a doorway appears to the side of them, a corridor spanning out beyond where they can see. It is darkened, with no sliver or pinprick of light to guide them. Bruce stops, and looks to the two of them.

Kate re-upped for another tour of duty

Diana brow raises at the corridor, “Any of the above would be fine…Ramsey preferably.”

Bruce looks down at the sleeping Oliver, up at Diana and Dick and holds the sleeping child out for Diana. His other hand is going for his utility belt.

Diana scoops up Ollie, holding him easily against her waist.

Dick pulls out an eskrima stick, tucking the brooch into a hidden pocket on his suit.

Bruce unclips a flare, snapping the top off, and grunts as he arches his hand back and throws the stick into the hallway: the red light sparks, and soars, thirty, forty, fifty feet before it clatters against the ground, rolling down and deeper into the darkness.

Kate is ahead of them. (Or behind, it’s hard to tell in this place.) She is still moving, though she’s stopping more frequently as time passes. Her brain keeps reciting bits of the Magic Dance song to her—in college, they always called it Magic Pants—you remind me of the babe what babe the babe with the power what power the power of hoodoo who do you do do what remind me of the babe. After some point she’s ended up softly chanting it to herself, but oddly enough she runs into none of the goblindemons as she does.

Bruce watches, his expression settling into a grim one as he realizes that the corridor is long, and completely pitch black. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask them if he should go: Bruce steps into the darkness, and walks forward, his steps light but not afraid.

Dick exchanges a look with Diana and pulls out his other eskrima stick. He swallows hard and steps forward to follow Bruce.

Demon follows all of them, Kate in particular, and sniffles, extending down his centipede spine to flicker his tongues out, just above her head, tasting the air around her.

Diana follows in after Bruce and Dick, once again holding down the rear with Ollie in tow.

Bruce pulls out another flare, and snaps the top off, holding it out in front of him. He’d spoken the words from the spell, the first line, and the hallway had appeared.

Kate feels something blow past her a little, over her head, but it must just be the wind. She brushes her hair back and carries on. The babe with the power.

Bruce huffs, behind him, as the flare just barely lights their steps: “..in the dark, we’ll find him.” He feels foolish, like the protagonist in a child’s youth novel, but he repeats it, and continues to move.

Demon enters the corridor after them, following close.

Kate swallows against the dry crackly feeling at the back of her throat and tries to catch her breath while she keeps walking forwards, calling out from time to time. She hasn’t seen anyone else she knows—and she has to wonder, was the gateway only for her? Is she here alone? It doesn’t feel like it—and the fireball she’d felt earlier makes her wonder.

Bruce stops, his head tilting back when he smells— “Kate?” His voice is tight, tinny, and he looks back at Dick, at Diana, who shakes her head: she hasn’t seen Kate.

Kate pauses, looks up because she could have sworn someone said her name, but there’s no one there. She rubs her forehead with a couple of fingertips, starts to walk again.

Bruce continues to walk, and speaks, under his breath: “In drink, in flesh, in feast—” And the man’s heart picks up, when suddenly, in front of them.. Bruce stops when both walls light up, two rows of wall sconces illuminating with the words that flow from the man’s mouth. He inhales, sharply, and looks ahead, the flare still flickering when the table appears, all twenty, thirty feet of it, and atop it, a feast fit for a king.

Dick gasps at the suddenness, the expanse of the table and feast, and moves a little closer to Bruce, eyes wide.

Kate doesn’t initially notice, as wrapped up as she is in her own thoughts, but then suddenly looks up at the light, blinks, and stares stunned at the table. The first thing she thinks is how thirsty she is—the meltwater she’d managed earlier wasn’t enough—and the second is that this must be a trick.

Bruce feels his mouth go dry, chapped lips burning now, at the sight of the glasses of wine, the glistening skin on a fowl that lays on a platter in front of them. He doesn’t say anything, looking back at Dick, locking eyes with him for a moment. He walks down the length of the table, the chairs in front of the table ornately carved, lavish and every backing, upholstery different: one holds the scoop of several crescent moons, a massive stag’s head creating the scooped seat. Another, suns, ravens in flight creating the armrests.

Kate approaches the table warily, eyes skimming down it and up it. There’s no one else there, but it’s laid out as though others will be coming. One thing, though, catches her eye in particular, after the dull colors of the labyrinth: the bright ruby flecks of pomegranate seeds in the twisted turning warrens of each half of the fruit.

Dick walks along the other side, running his fingertips along the top of one of the chairs. “Who is this for?” he asks, thinking aloud more than anything.

Bruce stops at the middle of the table, when Dick speaks, and shakes his head, slowly. He doesn’t speak it aloud, that he doesn’t know, but looks back at Dick, sidelong, tugging his cowl down, as he stares at the food in front of him. His eyes freeze, at the sight of a split pomegranate—it isn’t cut, but had been torn, by fingers—and he reaches out, collecting a few of the seeds in his gloved hands. They gleam like blood against the darkness of his glove. Without stopping to think, he opens his mouth and drops the seeds—six in all—into his mouth. They burst on his tongue, the dryness disappearing. A debt to be paid.

Dick reaches out as if to stop Bruce, but he’s too far away and wouldn’t be fast enough anyway. He curls his fingers around his eskrima stick to steady himself and brings his arm down by his side.

Kate The pomegranate is out of place among the rest of the feast, almost too bright in color. Kate’s drawn to it, remembering that Persephone ate seeds and was forced to stay in Hades’ realm. But she’s already there, and the seeds, she already knows how the seeds will taste on her tongue, so she picks up the half piece of fruit and taps it into her gauntlet, before pushing the seeds (four of them) into her mouth.

Demon leaps down the instant the other seeds touch Kate’s own tongue, and she crosses over into the plane that the others are. The instant it happens the hallway is illuminated, as if some second sense has been activated, and at the end of the table, a woman appears, watching them all, expression unreadable. She holds a child in each hand: a young girl, aubergine locks tumbling down to her ankles, and a young boy, cobalt blue eyes unreadable, as the demon launches itself at Dick.

Demon SCREAMS.

Bruce barely has time to register Kate appearing before him—she is on the other side of the table—and his breath catches when he reaches out, instinctively for the woman, when the demon is moving, and Bruce crouches, pulling out a Batarang. “Dick!”

Dick brings his eskrimas up in defense, stepping back to brace himself. He catches the demon with his crossed sticks and falls back, bringing up a leg to flip the demon behind him.

Kate startles into action, not fully processing that Dick and Bruce are right there next to her now—instead, she’s got her staff out, crouching in a defensive stance, not sure how to get the thing away.

Demon is flipped up, and onto the table, and when it lands—heavy and hard—onto the surface of the oak structure, a leg pops off: teeth hinge and the joint, where it had been connected, and it emits a high-pitched screaming as it launches itself at Kate, the rest of it moving towards Dick and Bruce again.

Bruce looks back at Diana, who is holding the sleeping Ollie, shouting at her. “Get him back!”

Persephone watches this, holding both the children close to her, unmoving.

Dick rights himself and backs away, trying to lead the demon away from Diana and Ollie. He lashes out at the demon to distract it, activating the electrical end of his eskrima in case he makes contact.

Kate was half watching the woman and the children—but the demon’s severed leg is there, in her face, and she shrieks in terror. Or would, if she had much of a voice left. She is angry more than anything else, though, after the initial shock, and she howls, shoving her forearm up at the leg. The gauntlets are bloodied but still sharp.

Demon runs into the end of Dick’s eskrima, and screams again when the current runs through it: it’s spine snaps in half as it throws itself against Dick, eyes opening and snapping as it attempts to take chunks of the man’s flesh, legs shuffling against the ground before they all pop off and scurry across the floor, like spiders under a stream of pesticide.

Bruce grunts, and pulls out Batarang after Batarang, launching them at the thing attacking Kate, Dick.. attempting to clear a path for Diana and Ollie as they retreat. His eyes snap up to the woman—she wears a hunter green dress, her eyes sharp in the etched slope of her cheeks, and starts, violently, when he recognizes the boy that she is holding onto: himself. Aged eight years old.

Kate tries to gut the demon leg but it’s half knocked away by the Batarang as she does. It buys her more room, though, and she shakes the leg to the ground and stabs it through with her staff.

Bruce growls. “Kate!”

Dick bashes the other eskrima against the side of the demon’s head, desperately trying to dislodge it to gain some room. The eye-mouths are horrific, reminding him all too sharply of Cachement and that thing in the forest. He fires the current once more and brings up a gloved fist, smashing it and the end of an eskrima into the mouth of eyes.

Kate looks up as she crushes part of the leg under her foot, holding it down. “Bruce,” she rasps, hoarsely.

Bruce ‘s eyes flash towards her, before he walks over to where Dick is, stepping on a few of the legs as he scoops his hands against the sides of the creature, and wrenches it off his son. “..the last part of the rhyme.. The debt to be paid,” he speaks as he reaches into his utility belt, looking down at the woman, who is stock-still, holding the children’s hands. He doesn’t finish his sentiment.

Dick stumbles back as the demon’s pulled off of him, panting as he looks between Bruce, Kate, and the woman in wary confusion.

Kate stares at Bruce, because she doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about, but whatever it is it’s clearly crucial. Both the boy and the girl look familiar, and now that the demon leg is eased up, she can appraise them, and the woman, better.

Demon slips towards the woman and the two children.

Persephone reaches out a hand for the creature, that seems to simper when she does so, and releases the young girl’s hand; she holds onto young Bruce’s fingers, looking down the table. “Why are you here?” Her voice is bird-like, soft and musical.

Kate growls low at the demon, letting out a blast from her staff to deter it.

Demon is struck and screams again, writhing on the floor, spine cracking and limbs flailing.

Persephone narrows her eyes at the woman, and lifts her hand: she barely flicks her fingers, and one of the chairs jumps out, in an attempt to knock the staff from the woman’s hands. She repeats, but her voice does not grow in depth nor height: “What are you doing here?”

Kate will not let her staff go for hell or high water. “I came to bring back my son,” she says, her own voice a wreck in comparison to the lilt of the woman’s. “And ended up here.”

Persephone ‘s brown furrows. “Your son?”

Persephone looks down at the boy.

Bruce ‘s own brow furrows, cowl lowered around his neck and he speaks, his voice catching. “He was taken from her.” From us. He doesn’t look at his younger self.

Ollie raises his head, sounding almost drugged when he adds his voice to their declarations: “Our child doesn’t belong here.”

Persephone purses her mouth when the other child speaks—the little boy in her hand looks towards him, his brow furrowing— and looks around the dining room, at the food spread across and in front of them, and then shakes her head, once. The reddish wheat of her hair, straw like and unkempt, shifts across her shoulders and she calls out, against the darkness behind her. “Husband.”

Bruce watches as his younger self reacts to the sound of Ollie’s voice, and as the boy looks towards the young girl. Something catches there, twinges between the phalanges of ribs, and he feels the word slip from his mouth before he can stop it: “..Mar’i?”

Kate stiffens a little at that—from where her brow had been furrowed at Ollie’s childish voice—and waits. The place unnerves her, but what Bruce realizes unnerves her even more. “Oh my god,” she murmurs.

Mar’i is barely over the age of three—all hair and orange skin and tulle-puffed iridescent dress—as she crouches down, inspecting a small green bud emerging from the ground at Persephone’s feet. She squints at it, then gently reaches out, pressing her chubby fingers into the plant, only for it to wither away to a black corpse. Immediately, she looks back up at Persephone, as if she doesn’t hear Bruce at all, eyes wide and going wet.

Persephone looks down at Mar’i and smiles gently, before rounding the tip of her finger across the girl’s brown. Flowers appear, growing out of the tips of her actual hair, rounding her skull. She leans down and kisses the tip of the little girl’s nose. She whispers, quietly to her, something inaudible, before she turns around and calls again, her voice going terse: “Husband.”

Hades ’ throne appears before he does, a massive creation of pumice stone and sharp, obsidian glass. He himself is dressed in a pair of jeans and a cable-knit sweater. Slate grey. Not black. He looks over at Persephone, his expression level and even before he realizes that there is a courtyard of human beings—living at that—in his dining room.

Ollie goes over to Kate and Bruce when Diana puts him down without being asked. He might be stuck like this for now, but it feels wrong not to stand beside them. “None of these children belong here,” he says to Persephone, voice sounding crackly, like small brown leaves. “With you or — or /him/.” Ollie points at the shadowy god who has appeared behind his wife, the rulers of this underworld.

Mar’i is pacified by this, crawling back into the woman’s lap to gently stroke the curling petal-colors that emerge from her head. She puts her free hand in her mouth, all the fingers she can fit, humming some nonsensical tune under her breath as she twists the red-straw locks around the flowers.

Persephone gestures with the hand that she had been using to hold the boy’s own, to Hades. “This is your family’s work, I can tell,” she states, not accusingly, but knowledgeable. She looks back at Oliver, and arches an eyebrow, at the archer. “..and you are not in your proper form, Archer.”

Kate nearly reaches out to stop Ollie, but something tells her not to, and she waits, brow furrowing a little. She still doesn’t know why the hell they have Ramsey, what they could possibly want with him. She’s willing to give herself instead, should it come to that, but…

Hades frowns, as he steps down, Timberlands crunching: there is gravel lodged in his instep, and he pulls his hands from his pockets. “..I see,” he comments, voice resonant and amber-warm. He looks around at the motley crew before him. He rolls up his sleeves, gaze settling on Kate, the pitch-black of his eyes sharpening. “..Ramsey?” He asks, having read her thoughts.

Ollie glances up, at Bruce, at Kate. Then back at the red-haired goddess. “No,” he agrees. “Can you change—” Ollie stops, though, mid-request. There’s something circular here, something thematic, about the versions of them as children and their actual children, grandchildren, appearing in this land of the dead. He lets the question fade as Hades comes forward, addressing Kate.

Persephone adds: “Her son. She states we have taken him.” Her mouth curls into a quiet smile, nearly a smirk. “..are we still in the habit of snatching children from their mothers’ side, Husband?”

Hades inhales and exhales noisily, but there is mirth in his expression at this joke. He looks to Kate, nodding. “Is this true, Catalina?”

Bruce hands tighten into fists at the sound of the woman’s name in the god’s mouth, and he takes a step forward, glancing towards Dick.

Kate The fact that Hades is dressed like someone out of an LL Bean catalog just makes the whole thing more surreal to Kate. She watches him carefully, watches the woman just as carefully. “I don’t know if you have taken him or how he was brought, but he is being kept here,” she says. “And I would like him back, please.”

Dick has kept his sticks at his side, but not loosened his grip on them in the least. He remembers his mythology; the gods aren’t any better than humans, and sometimes worse. He glances at Bruce and steadies himself into a slightly defensive, but not too obviously aggressive, position.

Hellhound limps forward, and whines at the sight of Mar’i by Persephone’s side, not willing to venture any further.

Hades sees his Hound, and his frown grows, puckering the space between his eyebrows as he reaches a hand out to touch the top of its massive heads. He speaks to it, in a low, comforting tone. “..and playing rough, we’ve discussed this, haven’t we?”

Hellhound whines, all three heads lowering, ears drooping at the sound of Hades’ tone.

Hades smiles, and runs his fingers over his ears. “Do you know where the boy is?”

The Child re-upped for another tour of duty

Mar’i looks over at the dog and the tall dark man, a giggle bubbling out of her throat. She claps her hand over her mouth, feet wiggling on Persephone’s lap.

Ollie blinks at this shift in the dog’s disposition and snorts, annoyed. “No! If we knew, we wouldn’t be scrapping with mutant Fido and touring your awful underworld!”

Persephone laughs, and tickles her fingers under her chin. “Sweet pansy-posey, is your mama here?” She points at Kate. “Is that her?”

Bruce watches, unmoving, silent. His gaze settles on his younger safe, and Bruce clenches his teeth when his boy-self looks back, meets his gaze, and doesn’t move.

Kate grits her teeth a little, but her mouth is closed so it’s not obvious. The dog has made her hackles raise a little, but she is too bone-weary to do anything but play these gods’ games, for the time being.

Hades looks over at Oliver. “Grow up, Oliver Queen.”

Hellhound takes off at a run, when Hades asks, yipping brightly, because yes. He does know.

Mar’i looks over at Kate, blinking with her hands still over her mouth. She shakes her head, the dark curls spinning about her cheeks. “Mommy is…is with Xah-Hall,” she says, little plump lips trying to articulate every sound.

Ollie opens his mouth, and then coughs, then retches, doubling over. But he catches his breath quickly, and when he stands back up, the god’s words have done their work. He’s an adult again. “Oh, thank fucking god.”

Mar’i suddenly looks very confused and sad, and looks down at her dress quietly.

Persephone nods, and smiles, curling her hand around her cheek. She kisses the tip of her nose, and her mouth, and closes her hands around the little girl’s own, shushing that sadness. “..our mothers are always with us, sweet vine.”

Bruce looks over at Ollie when he sprouts up, his expression neutral.

Kate doesn’t look at Ollie, but her hand reaches back (carefully) for his, in reassurance. She doesn’t know what to do about Mar’i or this little boy, or about Ramsey…

Mar’i nods quietly, leaning her cheek against the soft rise of Persephone’s collarbone.

Hellhound comes bounding into the room again, going immediately to Hades and planting his rear on the ground. His tail is wagging, three heads held erect: he is taller than all of them, easily.

Dick frowns at Persephone’s words to the little Mar’i and tucks one of his eskrima sticks away. He pulls out the brooch again and curls his fingers around it, holding it over his heart.

The Child follows the Hound’s path, its hand curled around Ramsey’s, looking up at him. It is shorter than the boy, and its dress, now, stained with the dirt from the cavern. Bright eyes shift, to look at the group of them, from Diana to Ollie, Dick to Kate, before settling on Mar’i.

Ollie growls at the dog and pushes forward, towards Mar’i and small-Bruce. “Look,” he says to the godpair, “we’re taking our children, and we’re leaving hell with them. And we need Ramsey, too. He’s not supposed to be here, and you can’t keep him. You can’t keep anybody unless they deserve it or they trade themselves. Kids don’t fall under that clause.” Honestly, Ollie has no idea what the rulebook for Hell actually says. But he did read a shit ton of Greek myths in his youth, so he’s just talking and talking and hoping something will stick.

Bruce feels the blood pool from inside his heart, down into his stomach, and guts. It leaves him dizzy, the sight of the Child, holding Ramsey’s hand. He exhales, sharply, reaching for Kate’s hand, and takes a step forward, his feet leaden.

Persephone looks up at the Child, and her smile is bright. “Child!”

Kate murmurs, softly, “Oliver,” but whatever she’s about to say is cut off by Bruce catching her hand tight in his. She turns and stares, spellbound.

Ramsey is quiet. He stares at the ground as he walks in a loose, cold shuffle.

The Child waves at Kate, Ollie and Bruce, like a child at a school play, as if they might not be able to see him, to tell that they are there.

Kate says, “Ram,” and it’s a raw broken sound as she takes in the sight of him, like she wants to scream or sob.

Hades looks over at the Child, and his expression also warms. He looks up at Ramsey, eyebrows lifting. “Ramsey Robinson,” he states. It is an intimate sound, the boy’s name in the god’s mouth. His brow snaps together, and a darkness swarms over his face, his features as he watches the way he walks. As he realizes— “..you ate from my tree.” His voice goes hard, rigid and hard, and when he takes another step forward, tendrils of dark roots snake out under his feet.

Persephone picks up Mar’i, young Bruce, when she hears the sound in her husband’s tone, her own eyes snapping up. Any mirth that had painted her features evaporates, and she scoops up both children, walking away, as the darkness consumes the flowers that had flourished in her wake.

Bruce tightens his hand over Kate’s fingers, and he moves forward. “Ramsey,” he echoes, and his hand moves for his grappling gun. His expression is dark, without any discernible emotion transcribing his intentions onto his visage. He tenses, eyes flicking to Dick.

Kate Kate goes tense, shifting, like she won’t hesitate to attack if Hades touches Ramsey. She’s always loathed this part of the story, that eating from Hell without knowing the rules can harm you.

Hades reaches the Child and Ramsey, and his hand lifts, as if he means to touch Ramsey, but stops when the Child lifts a hand and halts his arm. He looks down.

Ollie lurches after Persephone as she turns away with the other children. “Wait!” he shouts, hand outstretched. “You can’t leave with them!” Without Mar’i, at least, Ollie adds silently. The grind of Bruce’s voice, his grown-up voice, reminds him that the small dark-haired boy isn’t the real deal.

The Child gestures for Hades to lower himself, hand curling around its mouth.

Hades stoops, hands curling around his knees.

Ramsey looks up the slightest bit, eyes lightless and hooded under sleep-deprived and darkened eyelids. “Stupid fruit,” he says finally, in an almost animalistic snarl. Underneath his ragged shirt, a dark red stain flushes against his skin, up his neck.

The Child says something, from the way his mouth moves, although nothing is heard.

Persephone looks back at Oliver, then down at Mar’i. She kisses the girl’s cheek. “Plum-blossom, do you know this man?”

Hades nods, and rises, his posture straightening, and he walks to the massive table—the steam still rises from the fowl Bruce had been staring at, the fruit still ripe and lush—and curls his hand around a massive goblet of wine. He tips it over, the red liquid flowing across the oak table, and splattering against the floor. “Dionysus. Nephew!”

Dionysus re-upped for another tour of duty

Kate holds off on moving forward, though her gritted teeth are obviously this time. “Ramsey,” she murmurs, and hopes.

Dionysus pops up, in his chair, when the wine splatters against the floor, and tries to stop the flow of it from the cup. “..oi! That was unnecessary!”

Mar’i looks over the woman’s shoulder, pupil-less peridots staring at the blonde older man. She frowns, squinting as the roundness of her mouth rises up against her cupid’s bow.

Hades exhales, his patience almost visibly growing thin. “Nephew, what have you done now?”

Ollie “Of course she knows me,” Ollie declares brashly, loping closer to grasp Mari around her middle, elbows crushing down the tulle of her skirt. “She’s practically a god-daughter or daughter-in-law or something. Right, posy?” The girl is heavy, like Lian is, and Ollie ruthlessly pushes down the sudden, tiny fear that they’re not going to make it out of here with their children.

Dionysus looks over at the bunch of them, his mouth screwing up, “Me?” He smacks his teeth, and spots Persephone. His eyebrows shoot up. “POM-tastic,” he leers. “How’re you do—”

Kate figures this is family shit she best not get too involved in, these gods.

Persephone bares her teeth, and vines erupt from her hands, shooting forward and wrapping around Ollie, slivers sliding under his skin. "DO NOT TAKE HER FROM ME."

Dionysus winches.

Mar’i lets out a squeal like a cat that has had its tail stepped on, struggling against Ollie’s grip. “YOU’RE NOT 아빠 YOU’RE NOT 아빠!!!” she squalls.

Ollie yelps in shock and pain as all those splinters drive themselves into his flesh, sliding along the nerves thick under the skin. He doesn’t let go of Mar’i, though, and snarls back at Persephone. “She never belonged to you! She belongs with them!” He jerks his head in Dick’s direction, Bruce’s. “THEY have a blood claim on her that’s stronger than anything /you’ve/ got, daughter of Ceres!”

Dick glances at the others, at the gods, and at Bruce once more, before he steps forward toward Ollie, Persephone, and Mar’i. “She knows me,” he says, boldly. He looks at the little girl. “나 여기있어, Starbolt.”

Ramsey looks over at the commotion disdainfully. “Stupid place,” he grumbles, gaze slowly drawing over towards his mother. He looks up at her and…and there’s nothing there.

Bruce steps forward when Mar’i begins to squall, his heart tightening in his chest, and he speaks, tersely: “Dick.” He moves towards the young girl, grappling gun sliding into his belt. “우리는 당신의 가정을 취할 것.”

Kate can tell there’s some Ollie yelling going on somewhere but is focused on Ramsey, on Hades and Dionysus, and why the hell doesn’t her son recognize her? “Ramsey,” she says, and walks over, carefully.

Persephone moves to the girl, her hand curling around the boy’s waist, and she plants kisses all along Mar’i’s cheeks. She kneels, her dress blooming around her, and whispers: “..do you know them, my darling, my beauty? Do you know who they are?”

Hades walks over and slaps Dionysus upside his head. He ducks his own, and begins to speak to him, in low tones.

Dionysus had been sampling the wine his uncle had spilled—Bordeaux, Chateaux Margaux, expensive stuff—when he’s slapped. He sputters. “AYE, yes, yes! I’ve done something, now?” He turns and faces him.

The Child eavesdrops on this, all while paying very close attention to Ramsey and Kate, Bruce(s) and Mar’i. It places its hands behind its back and rocks on its heels.

Mar’i looks even more frantic as the two men begin speaking to her in Korean, and her eyebrow furrows fearfully as she looks between them, then back at Ollie and his bloody splinters, then back to the two men. Her little chest heaves frantically under her dress. “Grampa and 아빠…” she begins, sounding distrustful of herself. “But not old…”

Ramsey blinks, rubbing at his cheek, pushing all the baby fat up against and then away from his right eye. “Justin died,” he states, simply. “I hate this place. Stupid place. Stupid guy.”

Persephone looks at the two men, eyes narrowing. “I will not release her if she does not claim you.”

Ollie “That’s right,” Ollie breathes, and moves out of the way so that Dick and Bruce can get closer to Mar’i. He works a sliver of green wood out from his arm as he joins Kate and Ramsey, watching the two of them, listening.

Hades: has reached comic levels of pantomime now, with Dionysus, who is gesturing with both hands, fingers steepled, at the fowl.

Dionysus hisses up at his uncle. “..and I’m always bein’ blamed for things!!”

Mar’i is very nearly in tears now, but something catches her eye and she struggles against Persephone’s grip very suddenly, before turning and kissing the woman on the cheek like she would her own mother. She takes off, then, dress floating around her little legs as they push and run and she slams full-force into the Child, wrapping her arms around its similarly small body.

Kate chokes back a gasp into a swallow. “I’m sorry, little man,” she says, crouching down on aching calves so that they’re on a level. It’s an honest apology, not the usual one from adults, not patronizing or dripping with sympathy. Kate is raw and so is everything she does and says and feels. “We’ve come to take you home. If you want.”

The Child chirps, and grins, beatifically, wrapping arms around the little girl.

Hades exhales, and rises up from where he had been bent, talking to Dionysus, and when he does, his hand curls around air, cylindrical and empty. It rises up, that empty fist, and when he brings his arm down, a noise like thunder cracks against the stone floor, and his voice booms loud enough to make even the silence bend under the weight of his command. "ENOUGH."

Ramsey looks down at his feet, and his shoulders don’t jump when Hades yells. He barely looks up.

Hades is no longer in jeans, his sweater, workbooks. Instead, a cape, spider web thin, drape across the massive breadth of his shoulders. He wears black linen pants, his feet bare, the collar of the web-cloth arcing high above his head and his eyes—pitch-black—stare​ at the assembled group.

Kate startles at Hades’ exclamation, but she puts her hand out to Ramsey anyway—not touching him, just an offer.

Dick does jump, straightening back up in apprehensive awe.

Bruce stares at the god, thinking he needs to work on his projection a bit more.

Mar’i is too busy hugging the Child to pay attention to anyone else. “I missed you, baby,” she murmurs, child-voice coating some distant adult-words.

Persephone rises up, in a matching dress, intricate patterns of spiderwebs woven with dark, lacing tendrils of ivy. The dress is nearly sheer, iridescent like a beetle’s wing, and she holds, still, the boy’s hand as she stands to her full height, joining her husband.

The Child kisses the center of Mar’i’s head, stroking the little girl’s curls: as it touches the tendrils, they brighten, like starlight, shimmering down to the root.

Hades "This is the land of the Dead," he explains, as if it needed explanation. "And you are not yet welcomed here." He looks at the group, at Ramsey. “Ramsey Robinson, who do you Claim?”

Bruce watches Persephone as she rises, the transformation of the two into royalty, and he feels apprehension sink into his gut. He moves towards Oliver, and closer to Kate, his eyes lighting on Ramsey. He exhales, muscles tensing and untensing.

Ollie takes in the godpair’s more formal raiment as they converge and reaches out to put his arm around Kate, holding her tight as Hades starts to speak in a voice that feels like it’s reverberating through their viscera. Bruce appears at Kate’s other side, and Ollie brushes his fingertips against the other man’s arm as well.

Ramsey looks up at the god, his lips still stained with the pomegranate’s juice and blue underneath from the cold. He glances over at the three people—his mother, his step-father, his… Ramsey looks back now, dark brow furrowed. “Them,” he says, after too-long of a pause.

Dionysus snorts. “Three parents, delightful little godling,” he declares.

Dionysus leans back, propping his feet up against the table and eats a few grapes.

Kate is terrified, and the relief of Ramsey’s answer is not entirely enough to abate that. They had broken her son, and she is still angry.

Hades ignores his nephew. He turns to look at Mar’i, his staff—it is a winding thing of gnarled roots, slivers of glass, roughed asphalt scattered throughout—lifting, to point at the young girl. "Mar’i Grayson.. Who do you Claim?"

Bruce releases a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding. He moves to Kate and Ollie’s side, his fingers brushing against Ollie’s before he reaches out, places a hand against the small of Kate’s back, gloved fingers tense. Ready to move.

Roy is heating up Pizza Rolls, topside. Just letting everyone know.

Kate leans into Bruce’s and Ollie’s touch, but only a little. She still has her hand out to Ramsey, not certain he’ll ever take it again.

Mar’i lets out a little squeak, looking immediately parts scared and angry. “My baby,” she says, childishly, holding the Child to her, and then looks at Bruce and Dick. “Them too, they’re mine too, don’t hurt them.” It’s clear that without her full memories, the girls believes she’s being asked which dolls she wants to keep most. She looks over at Persephone, blinking. “Please.”

Dick reaches out towards Mar’i with the hand holding the brooch. It balances on the edges of his fingers, jewels shining.

Mar’i looks at the brooch, eyes glinting in that completely selfish way children’s do, and adds slyly: “Mine too.”

Persephone looks at the young girl, but there is no shining mirth now to soothe her fears; her eyes cast over to her husband, the blue of her irises wan and thin. She nods at him.

Hades looks at Persephone, then at Dionysus; he nods at his nephew.

Persephone moves towards Dick, gathering up her skirts as she descends the short steps: her shoes, made of butterfly wings, fluttering and clink against the ground as she moves. She reaches out for the brooch, but does not take it from Dick’s hand; she meets his eyes.

Kate very suddenly wants to go home. Not that she hasn’t through all of this, but still.

Hades ’ eyes move to the young boy at Persephone’s side. “Bruce Wayne,” he declares.

Bruce starts, when the god of Death calls his name. Then, inhales, when the boy to the side of Hades looks up, and over at the god.

Ollie blurts, “Wait, he’s not real! We have the real one right here!” His fingers snag at Bruce’s arm again, as if to convince himself.

Bruce mumbles. “No.”

Dick straightens just slightly, his fingers curling just slightly around the brooch as he meets Persephone’s gaze. “My mother gave it to me. Will it let us leave?”

Persephone shakes her head. “No.” She reaches out, and touches the tip of it with her finger, and every jewel in it lights up. She meets Dick’s gaze, her own unwavering, powerful. “Do not lose sight of her.” It is a warning, a promise, and she steps away from the young man, back towards her husband, and king.

Mar’i is trying to pick up the Child, as if she isn’t smaller than it. “Grampa has to come too,” she says, looking over at the little boy. “My grampa’s Bruce Wayne.”

Kyle wants Pizza Rolls…

Hades looks at Oliver and Bruce, then, at the boy. The young boy looks over, and at the group of them, his gaze uneven; not allowing Hades to ask again, he licks his lips, and declares in a quiet voice: “..I Claim them all.”

Bruce exhales, his voice tight. “All of them,” he echoes. He steps forward, towards the sight of his younger self, cape billowing around his ankles.

Dick nods slowly, not blinking until she returns to Hades’ side. He looks down at the still-glowing brooch and closes his hand around it, bringing it back to rest over his heart.

Ollie gives a crow of triumph at small-Bruce’s response, and lets go of Kate to lope forward again, already reaching for Ramsey. “Twenty questions over,” he says, tightly. “Now let’s fucking skedaddle before the lightning round.”

Hades nods, and holds up a hand, halting Bruce. He looks at each of them: Diana, The Child, Dionysus, Ramsey, Mar’i, Oliver, Kate. "You have been Claimed."

Kate isn’t certain what’s happening but feels that it is utterly critical, vital, and she will need to process this at some point.

Dionysus swings his feet down, and chomps on a few more grapes. “..and we can give all the dramatics a rest.” He brings his hand up, scrubbing at his neck, and looks over at Diana, grinning a bit. He twinkles his fingers at her, before he closes his fingers, and makes a gun with his forefinger and aims at the princess. “Han shot first,” he declares, and ‘shoots’: Diana disappears from sight, rocketing back to where her heart wants to be most, in the human world.

Dionysus brings both hands out and aims at Dick and Mar’i next, making a soft ‘peow!’ sound when he does; he sends them both back to Earth.

Ollie snatches Ramsey up and bustles back to Kate with the little boy. “Hang on,” he demands, “what about Talia? And her deal? Is this gonna come back on us somehow?”

Dionysus turns on a heel, and his voice is sharper than a whetted razor: "Talia?"

Ollie perhaps regrets having brought her up, now.

Dionysus raises his hand and shoots up, at the sky.

Talia appears, with a gasp.

Dick is sad he’s missing out on the Talia drama he’s actually unaware of, but is happy to be back in his Blüdhaven apartment. “Why do I smell pizza rolls?”

Dionysus points and shoots at: Kate. Young Bruce.

Bruce jerks, a whole body tremor trembling his limbs, and he staggers, to the side. He hisses, fingers going numb when his younger self disappears.

Ollie moves closer to Bruce, with his arms suddenly empty of wife. “Where did the others go?” he yells, glaring at Talia as if she’s responsible for it. “What did you do to him?” Ollie shoves up against Bruce, bolstering him.

The Child watches, expression going soft with worry. It moves, over to Oliver and Bruce, and settles a hand against Bruce’s side, also to steady him.

Kate is about to say something but is then whisked away.

Roy jumps, but doesn’t drop his pizza rolls. “Dick??” He sets the plate down, approaching the other man.

Kyle is downstairs in Dick’s apartment, checking up to make sure Talia hasn’t escaped in some kind of crazy assassin way when suddenly - she escapes. Literally, right in front of his eyes. “Oh no. Oh no no no NO - ROY! TALIA’S GONE!!!” Kyle flails towards the stairs, but is stuck there still staring at Talia’s now-empty cage.

Ramsey looks more than alarmed when Kate disappears, the fingers on his right hand twitching as he almost reaches out for her.

Dick let’s out a long sigh. “Roy? Have the others—” He cuts off, head turning toward the faint sound of someone yelling.

Dionysus exhales, and looks at Ramsey, folding his hands over his hips. “Boy,” he states. “Why did they take you?” Then, as if not expecting to move on, he walks over to Talia, staring down at her. “What did you do?” He asks, and while his tone is somewhat bright, there is a curling hardness, like a hidden blade, under the words.

Talia exhales, and holds her chin up, the motion haughty. “..what I needed to.”

Dionysus ’ eyes widen, and without another word, he backs up. And disappears from sight.

Ramsey looks up at Talia, eyes squinting with a lack of recognition. “That guy stuck his hand in my chest,” he says, as if this helps at all.

Talia snarls at the boy. “He should have taken your heart.”

Ollie “Okay, the sight of the fuckin’ God of Wine running away from her isn’t exactly filling me with hope,” he says to nobody in particular.

Ollie thins his eyes at Talia when she snarls at Ramsey and swings the child away from her.

Persephone steps over to her husband, a hand curling against his bicep: the pale of her skin near-melts into his, and she lowers her head to look at the man, expression soft.

Hades meets his wife’s gaze with a burgeoning sorrow, and lifts the opposite arm to settle his palm against the top of her hand upon his shoulder; an intimate exchange, to be sure.

Bruce growls, and pushes himself up, away from the Child—he cannot focus on the sight of its hands, the curl of its mouth—and moves to lift Ramsey up, into Ollie’s arms; his voice bites out: “Stop, Talia.”

Dionysus pops into Dick’s Blüdhaven apartment, his expression dark, a storm of emotion making the—oh, Pizza rolls. He walks over to the plate, and picks one up, popping it between his lips. It burns the roof of his mouth.

Dionysus “Oh, for the love of—” He looks at Dick, and at Roy, as he walks to the fridge. He opens it, searching for something cold.

Roy stares over at the guy who has just appeared in the living room, and is eating his Pizza Rolls.

Roy ‘s Pizza Rolls are serious fucking business, dad.

Kyle stomps upstairs. “Can’t you hear me? I said Talia al Ghul’s escape - oh hi Dick. Dick?” Kyle stares and then his eyes slide over. “Who the hell is that guy? What’s going on?”

Dionysus settles on a Dr. Pepper, opening it up and taking a swig. He exhales, and swings his gaze around to Kyle, eyebrows shooting up on his high forehead. He sets the can down, and moves to Kyle. “He was in you,” he states, with confidence.

Dick blinks, taken aback, but this is his place and no meddling god’s going to walk around like he owns it. “What, didn’t see me enough in Hell?”

Dionysus waves a hand. “Eat some pizza rolls, Dick.”

Kyle looks huffy. “Come again, buddy?” Kyle takes a couple steps back from this stranger, his hands lighting green. “I don’t have time for this…”

Diana is sent back to her office by Dionysus, trying to catch her breath and get a grip before she calls Dick over her comm, “Are you back?”

Bruce brings his gloved hand to his mouth and bites the tip of the middle finger, pulling the material off. He lifts his bare fingers to Ramsey’s forehead, smoothing back his hair. “..Ramsey.”

Dick is about to retort when his comm goes off. He growls and steps away, tapping it. “Yeah, I’m back. I don’t know where Mar’i went. Dionysus is in my apartment.”

Roy grits his teeth. “Like the Greek God?”

Dionysus gestures wildly with his hands, making no sense of anything. “He was in you! I can smell—” He sucks his teeth and without warning, jumps into Kyle.

Kyle looks over at Dick and then back at the stranger. “Who’re you talking to? Mar’i’s back too? What about Kate and her boy?” Kyle’s brain clicks. “Was Talia a trade?”

Diana growls, “What?”

Dick decides that far too many things are happening at once. “Yes,” he says to Roy, then taps his comm again. “He just jumped into Kyle. If you could get over here, that’d be great.”

Kyle hups and staggers back, Lantern shield doing nothing to stop the God. But Kyle isn’t giving up easily, not a fourth fucking time of getting someone else sharing his body. “AH—” He curls in on himself.

Dionysus rattles around for a moment, scraping up what is left of the presence—knucklebone​s, knucklebones—before ​ he pops back out, muttering— “..fuckin’ artists and their sense of organization—” He turns on Kyle, holding out the jacks, the crude, rubber ball, and exclaims: “How the hell does this belong in a box labeled ‘Nuts and Bolts’?”

Dionysus blinks, and then mutters: “Well, no, actually..”

Diana nods, “Yeah, yeah I’ll be right there.” Diana runs, this time for the zetas. Two minutes, she’ll be there in two minutes.

Kyle punches Dionysus.

Kyle jacks go flying.

Dionysus is punched, and topples over, ass over teakettle.

Dionysus rolls over, “..Tonic water and bananas..”

Dionysus rises to his knees, collecting the jacks. He cannot find the ball.

Roy moves over to Kyle, and wraps his arm around the other man’s shoulders, pulling him back.

Kyle punches him again, and again for good measure. And again and more until Roy pulls him back. “Lemme - ” He points at Dionysus. “Get the hell out of here and bring our friends back.”

Dick steps forward. “Goddammit, no fighting in the apartment!”

Kyle lets himself get pulled away by Roy, although there is some squirming. He is so mad now.

Dionysus reaches under the couch, and rises up, staggering a bit: his face is torn, bloodied from Kyle’s punches. He smears his arm over his face, and then suddenly, realizes. He aims his finger down, and zaps two more beings, Zatanna and Stephanie, back into the world of the living. He looks up at Kyle. “Bananas and tonic water’ll get rid of the rest.”

Dionysus disappears, again.

Roy decides he needs to read more, and turns to look at Kyle, a rough hand curling around his jaw to scan the other man’s face. “Alright, cholo, all there?”

Roy is ready to knock Kyle out and drag him down into the cells.

The Child walks to Ramsey, and settles a hand against his ankle, looking up at the two men.

Dionysus reappears in Hell, and upon arriving, throws himself onto his knees, spreading the jacks on the ground. He doesn’t speak, his brow furrowed, and bounces the ball, scooping all the jacks up at once.

Ramsey looks up at Bruce, mouth pinched tightly.

Hoodie appears, near instantly, in the place the jacks once were, floating several inches off the ground.

Talia inhales, softly.

Diana lands on Dick’s balcony, entering with a frown as Dionysus is not in sight, “Where’d he go?” she frowns.

Kyle pants heavily, staring at the space where Dionysus just was. He disappeared the same way Talia disappeared except Talia was — “I’m all here,” Kyle grouses, but he understands why Roy asks, why there’s a slight tension in his friend’s voice like a strung bow. Just in case. Kyle’s been coco-loco enough over the past year. He looks up at Roy, meeting his eyes. Windows to the soul and all that jazz - and he nods once, not moving away from Roy’s grasp yet. “I’m all here. Thanks, I don’t really think I should’ve been smack down with an ancient Greek god…” Kyle looks over at Dick. “You okay? Where’s everyone else, Dick?”

Ollie “What’s he doing? Is he summoning? Is that what this is? Are we supposed to leave? Are we gonna have to fight our way outta here??”

Dick throws up his hands in an exaggerated shrug. “Who knows? Back to Hell, I hope.” He looks over at Kyle. “Probably still in Hell, although hopefully he sent a couple people back. Bruce, Ollie, Kate, and Ramsey are all still there as far as I know.” He stuffs a pizza roll in his mouth angrily.

Ramsey yells and struggles against Ollie’s grip, his fists instantly flashing the bright blue of his mother’s staff. “THAT’S HIM, THAT’S HIM!” He grits his teeth, a stream of cuss words bubbling behind too-innocent lips.

Kyle breathes out, finally. “In…Hell.” Okay so it’s not like Kyle didn’t have an inkling after seeing that doorway-portal opening in Wayne Manor, but it still sounds absolutely bizarre, even for a Lantern.

Ollie widens his eyes, startled, and holds Ramsey closer. “Hey, hey, moppet, it’s okay. He can’t do anything to you now.” He kisses the child’s soft brown hair, over and over, searching for a trace of that milk-and-meadow scent he associates with Ramsey. But there’s nothing there except cold silver, and a tartness that aches up in Ollie’s sinuses.

Dionysus looks at Hoodie, and the jovial nature of his being shivers from his body in an instant. The clothing he had worn, dress shirt, pants, shimmering, and now, he, too, rises up. He is not a king, he wears no crown, but the clothing that unfurls around him—silk and velvet, the collar sharp and angled at the precarious slope of his jaw—nearly glow and he turns to look at Talia, his voice garbled and vicious as he spits: “..stupid, devious wretch.”

Hoodie looks over at Ramsey, and rises up, where he is floating, his body turning sharply as he careens towards Bruce, Ollie, Ramsey and the Child.

Bruce moves his arm up, around Ollie and Ramsey, pulling them back, behind his body.

Ollie turns his back on Hoodie without a second thought, shielding the child in the cradle of his arms as Bruce provides even more protection.

Persephone raises her hand, and instantly, dark green vines shoot forth from the dark stone of the throne room, wrapping around Hoodie’s ankles. She drags him down, onto the cool tiles, and speaks with utter authority: “Still.”

Talia watches this, expression unmoving.

Hoodie shouts, fighting the queen’s hold, as the vines wrap around his arms and ankles, tethering him to the ground. “He is MINE. HE IS MINE.”

Diana huffs down onto the couch, eating a pizza roll, “Gods.”

Dick “I’ll drink to that….”

Bruce presses his lips to Ramsey’s forehead, exhaling as he looks over at the gods.

Hades looks to Dionysus, the mood in the throne room far from the soft humor that had been exchanged, just moments before. He descends, walking to the creature, watching it fight. Too strong. The stone cracks under his steps, and he removes the hood from Hoodie’s head, revealing.. Dionysus. Hades lifts his gaze to the other god, words curt. Succinct. “Explain yourself, Nephew.”

Hoodie rages, thrashing, his skin coming apart under the thorns of Persephone’s vines. “..HE IS MINE.”

Roy snorts. “Me too.”

Ollie pushes Ramsey into Bruce’s arms, going over to Talia. He cinches the woman’s elbow with one hand, still oozing trails of blood from the splinters and slivers he hasn’t taken the time to remove. “What the fuck did you do?”

Talia looks over at Dionysus and even here, her expression does not change. She looks ahead, her expression unmoving, even in the sight of Bruce curling around Ollie and Bruce, the child held between them. It is only when Ollie approaches that she deigns to look over, and her lip curls, but she says nothing.

Dionysus looks down at himself, Hoodie-no-longer-hooded staring up with a ravenous, manic gaze, mouth frothing at the corners. His expression shutters, countenance growing sorrowful, as he approaches Hoodie, and crouches by the creature. “To name a thing,” he mutters, softly, running his fingers over the shaggy locks of hair that trail against the darkened material of his hoodie. He inhales, and rises, chest inflating with a deep breath. “Uncle.” His voice is formal, his cadence shifting as he addresses the god before him: stronger, older, and sometimes, wiser. He holds his hands open, palms out. “This creature is mine.” His eyes flash. “My avatar.”

Persephone ‘s eyebrows lift on her face, staring at Dionysus.

Hades mirrors his wife’s expression, and his mouth turns down, in disapproval. “Dionysus, you—”

Dionysus cuts him off. “I know.”

Kyle rubs his face and squeezes Roy’s shoulder before moving away. He then sinks down to sit on the floor, sprawling his legs out on the rug as he leans against the side of Dick’s couch. “Bananas and tonic water…” Kyle ponders to himself. It’s worth a shot; he’ll hit up the grocery store later. For now, he’s suddenly tired, like he needs a recharge with his lantern, or a triple espresso, or both.

Dick eats another three pizza rolls before Kyle’s earlier words click. “Talia’s gone?”

Kyle looks up at Dick and then nods. “Yeah, I’m guessing pretty much the same time you and Mister Bacchanal got here.” Kyle looks over at Diana and smiles wryly. “Some family you got, Princess.”

Ollie has, unfortunately, no respect for high drama, even that of the gods. “Hey,” he interrupts rudely, “sorry to barge in on your Melrose Place evil twin moment, but when we leave, we’re taking this one with us too.” He shakes Talia, roughly.

Dionysus looks to Hoodie. “I understand, Uncle..” He lifts his eyes up, to both of them, a repentant expression sluicing across his features. “When I lost Ariadne to Hippolyta, I—” He swallows, and looks down to Hoodie, who still thrashes. “I had to excise it.” He looks up, at the dark, looming space above them all: there is no roof, no end to the darkness. If there had been stars, it would have been space. He stares, for a moment, and looks down at Ollie, when he speaks. “Ask her why she did it.”

Ollie holds Dionysus’ gaze, when he gives instruction, then looks at Talia. “Why,” he asks, toneless and flinty. “Why did you do it.” His hand is almost gentle on her elbow, now.

Diana bites into another pizza bite, “Not my family. Not by the way I count it.”

Talia pulls away from Ollie, her lip curling over her teeth, and speaks through the bared front of them: “..as all things I have done: for my son." She looks up at Dionysus, at Hades and Persephone. "I promised him the blood of Ariadne’s power—" She gestures at Ramsey, who had shown them, not moments before, of the power. "—in exchange for power of my own."

Dionysus ‘s expression softens too, under Talia’s words, the harshness and the bite of her words: there is a lingering motion in his body, like he wants to move forward. To touch her.

Bruce watches them both, holding Ramsey in his arms, easily—he had experience, now. He looks down at the Child, who drifts from his side, watching all of this with a somber-expression.

Kyle points at Diana, frowning slightly. “Were you there too? In - in Hell? Does that mean Zee might be back topside as well, just…somewhere else?” Kyle doesn’t wait for an answer, he just constructs a commlink piece into his ear. “Zee?” he ventures.

Ollie takes in Talia’s words, letting them dissipate into the chill air. Finally, he says, “If you think for a moment that Damian — that /Bruce’s son/ — would want that kind of power, for you or for him, at the cost of Ramsey’s life? Then you’re so crazy it’s rotting you from the inside out.”

Talia pushes Ollie away, expertly, with a shove and twist of her palms.

Dionysus whispers, quietly. “But you lied.” He looks down at Hoodie. “And this.. sliver, this creature, it couldn’t tell the difference..” Something sharpens in his gaze, and he narrows his eyes at Talia. “You led it to believe that the boy came from her power, fed it falsehoods and warped my power—" His teeth flash, and in a blink, he is on Talia, pulling her away from Ollie and slamming her back against the dining table.

Zee groans into her commlink, “Hi, babe.”

Dionysus roars, his features distorting into horrific, mangled ones: more animal than human. “MY POWER!!”

Talia ‘s eyes widen, of their own accord, her hands sliding against the table for purchase, for a weapon.

Bruce tenses, turning his body so Ramsey cannot see what is happening, even as he attempts to meet Ollie’s eyes, to call him back to him.

Dionysus hisses at Talia, his teeth bared, the tips of horns emerging from the top of his hair, features narrowed and pinched. “..you used what you knew against me, and all without understanding the price you would pay.”

Ollie has never been easy with the idea of the gods having dominion over humans, though, and he can’t watch Talia be thrown about by Dionysus and walk away from it. So instead he catapults forward, slamming bodily into the god and inserting himself between the two, as much as he can. “Leave her!” Ollie roars. “Leave her to us! We should be the ones dealing with her, dammit, not this freakshow underground tribunal!”

Kyle sits up and grins at the others - another one’s back, stay hopeful - and presses the commlink into his ear. “Boy’m I glad to hear your voice. Are you okay? Are you safe?”

Dionysus is barely jarred by this—in fact, running into him would be like running into marble—before he extends a hand and sends Ollie rocketing back, away from him. Unbothered.

Dick flops back on the couch with a groan. “I’m seven levels of done with all things Hell, I swear.” He reaches out for a pizza roll before realizing they’re all gone. “Wait, were those mine?”

Talia ‘s expression tightens, her fingers stilling when she finds no weapon, nothing she can use, and she grunts when Ollie runs into them, her hands lifting to curl into Dionysus’ robes.

Diana shrugs, “I thought they were up for grabs.”

Bruce moves, immediately, to where Ollie has fallen, and kneels, Ramsey still in his arms. He lowers the boy, gathering up the archer to sitting, speaking low, and under his breath: “..we need to get Ramsey out of here.”

Ollie doesn’t make a sound as he goes flying like he was hit by a tree trunk, and when he shores up, he’s quiet longer still, the breath knocked out of him. “Yeah,” he manages to gulp, in response to Bruce’s statement. “While they’re distracted?” He grimaces as he makes the proposal. He still doesn’t like the idea of leaving Talia here.

Zee laughs softly, “Yeah, I’m alright. I’m at my place in Gotham. I’m safe now as far as I can tell. How are you, did you go in?”

Dick kicks at the table and whines, pulling himself to his feet. “I’ve probably got more somewhere if someone didn’t eat them all.” He half-glares at Roy and Kyle as he stomps to the kitchen.

Roy snickers. “Princess Dickiepants,” he calls after the other man, even as he pulls his phone out, dials M for Mar’i. “Get me some, too.”

Dionysus rises, releasing Talia, and turns to look at Hades, Persephone. His voice is firm, but strangely, soft when he speaks. The clear green of his stare settles on Persephone, for a brief moment, before he casts his eyes away, nearly ashamed, and to Hoodie. “..he must be satisfied.”

Dick yells from the kitchen. “Eat me out of house and home, why don’t ya!”

Hoodie bares his teeth at Dionysus, but does not speak.

Kyle looks utterly innocent as Dick stomps by him. “No, I didn’t. I had to keep an eye on Lian, remember?” There’s no bitterness in his voice, only relief as he glances over at Roy for a moment. In a rush of breath, he says, quietly, “I’msogladyou’reokay.” He wants everyone else to be okay too of course - Kate and her child especially - but now with Dick yelling in the kitchen and Zee on the line, Kyle feels he can actually start to relax. This isn’t Cachement, and they’re going to get out. All of them.

Persephone exhales, roughly, and does not look to Hades. She moves away from them both, to her throne: it is the same height and width as that of her husband’s. Wearily, she sinks upon it.

Bruce nods, pushing a hand over Ollie’s hair as he looks at Ramsey. “Ramsey,” he begins, slowly. “You hold onto—” He takes a slow, easy breath, letting the warmth of it siphon between his teeth. “..hold onto pa.” It isn’t a request, but a command, sharp and brusque on his tongue.

Ramsey looks up at Bruce, then nods his head, one arm, then the other reaching around to grip Ollie. To hold him tight with strength children are not supposed to have.

Talia rises up, brushing food from her elbows as she walks, away from the table and looks towards the gods. She doesn’t speak, measuring their expressions, those of Oliver and Bruce.

Hades looks at his wife, as she walks, and there is a split second where it seems like he may go to her, to kneel by her feet, and work the tension and sorrow from the lines of her face. But, he does not. He shifts his staff in his hand, looking to Talia.

Ollie gets to his feet carefully, holding on to Ramsey just as tight. “And pa says you better not be coming up with some kinda fucking grand play self-sacrificing bullshit, daddy,” he mutters at Bruce.

Hades ’ voice is even, and calm. “There was a time where mankind could not claim to be aware of our powers, our realms of dwelling,” the god’s gaze sharpens, the black of his irises spreading over the sclera of his eyes. “..that moment has passed.” He takes a step forward, towards the woman. “..you warped and abused the power you stumbled across, Daughter of the Demon.”

Bruce pushes his hand against Ollie’s back, shaking his head, even as his hand tightens over his utility belt.

Talia lifts her head, staring at Hades, unbowed. Unbent. Her chest rises and falls, dark grey eyes locked resolutely on the darkness of the god’s eyes.

Bruce looks away from Talia, fingers tightening against the sculpted muscles of the archer’s back. His voice is tight, pained. “..on my mark, Ollie.”

Ollie snugs Ramsey against the side of him, tucked under his arm, face grim. He nods.

Dionysus looks at Talia, and shakes his head, animalistic features dissolving into something more human, more sorrowful. He glances at the men, at the closeness of them, and shakes his head. “..the life within you.”

Talia curls a hand against her belly, at the words, and takes a step back.

Hades ducks his chin in a slow nod. “There is a price, and you knew.”

Bruce looks over, sharply, at Talia, then.

Ollie stills at that as well. “Oh, jesus,” he says, in a choked, thick voice. “Oh, fucking /hell/.”

Persephone: “No.”

Dionysus looks at Persephone, where she sits on the throne, her hands steepled.

Bruce looks from Talia, to Ollie, his fingers tensing against the curve of Ollie’s back. His brow is knit, mouth curled into a tight line, jaw clenched.

Hades frowns, and looks back at his wife, his voice quietly soft. “My Queen..?”

Persephone rises, her spider-web skirts drifting against the edges of the throne: black-root, obsidian stone, dark, blooming belladonna. Her butterfly shoes click against the stone as she steps forward, her expression stony. “You cannot touch the seed,” she announces, her voice firm and unwavering. “I will not allow it.”

Ollie gives a whoop of admiration.

Talia ‘s breath tightens, as she listens to the woman, her gaze darting around the room as she attempts to assemble the pieces, figure out the next step. Her gaze settles on Bruce.

Bruce does not look at Talia: his eyes are on Persephone, on Dionysus. And then, his apprehension not subdued with Ollie’s joyous whoop, on Hades.

Dionysus ‘s brow furrows, and he licks his lips, casting his gaze to his uncle.

Hades looks to his nephew, then, his Queen, and there is a quiet defeat that implodes on his face. He bows his head, in deference to her power, because he cannot harm the budding growth; it is not his realm. It is not his place. He lifts himself to standing, gaze sliding across the floor to the raging avatar, still locked in place. The threat that it poses, the rage and the sorrow and the agony that the mortal woman had awoken. There is no joy upon the god’s face as he shifts his staff, inhaling, once, before he speaks, power blossoming in the wake of his timbre: “Damian Khalid Wayne.”

Talia starts in place, as if her body had been set to a live wire, and looks away from Bruce, to where the boy has appeared.

Bruce pulls his hand away from Ollie and Ramsey, away from the Child. He moves forward, where Talia is motionless, towards Damian.

Ollie ‘s face turns slowly red. “This is bullshit!” he bawls. “Asking children to make choices about who lives and who’s sacrificed! What the hell kind of bloody business is that?”

Persephone looks to Oliver, and her expression is ashen. “There is no question to be made, archer.” She turns, and walks, away from them all, her skin pallid, lips trembling.

Damian The boy appears within a blink, dressed in thick desert gear, rough cream fabric pulled over his mouth, his nose. He pulls it away almost instantly, annoyance clear on his features. “Where am I? Who is—” he stops mid-sentence, seeing his father, his mother. His father AND his mother. Together. Damian’s mouth pulls tight. “Batman,” he says, almost sharply, demanding an explanation even as something in his eyes softens at the sight of his mother’s long hair, her plush lips.

Dionysus looks at Talia, and he raises his chin, his gaze dark and hard. “For the life you pulled into existence, Daughter of the Demon..” He bites out. “Talia.”

Hades raises his staff.

Bruce feels his heart swell, the pace picking up wildly as he moves towards Damian, his steps slowed against the tile floor. His lips are numb. “No.”

Talia’s own eyes widen, as if she suddenly understands, and she holds a hand out. “No, take— you can’t—”

Bruce is pushed by the sound of Talia’s voice, the panic that rises in her tone, so unlike her. He thrashes against the force that keeps him planted where he is. Bruce lowers himself, legs trembling as he pushes against the invisible wall, with all his strength. "NO.”

Bruce shouts at Hades. “He HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS.”

Ollie presses Ramsey’s face against his chest, arm wrapped tight around the little boy’s ears. He’s heard and seen enough of this place and the things that go on here. “Give them the unborn one,” Ollie urges the other two, hoarsely. “Not Damian.”

Damian looks over at Talia, eyebrows furrowing. “What?” he demands, looking up at Hades and Dionysus. “What did you do, Mother?!” He looks over at his father, the confusion, the anger, the betrayal all still fresh on his face. But the tone of Bruce’s voice—of Batman’s voice—makes him shrink, makes his eyes go wide. “Mother?”

Dionysus looks at Ollie, his expression sympathetic, and he raises his fingers, making the gun again. He aims, clicking his tongue, sadness seeping into his features. “..I’ll make sure the vines do well this year,” he offers in consolation. And, closing one eye, he fires at Ollie, at Ramsey.

Hades lowers his staff.