{AN: 4/4 Sorry for the trouble!}
Jonathan sat cross-legged in the corner of the room, eyes closed, breath steady. The silence around him wasn't natural—it was constructed. Intentional. Like every breath was a calibration.
"Auditory channel secure. Awaiting query."
Nexus.We're changing how you talk to me. From now on, no more speaking out loud. Just internal dialogue.
"Acknowledged. Reasoning?"
This place is wired. I don't know how many mics Bruce has planted, but I'm guessing the answer is 'yes.' If I can hear you, he probably can too.
"Probability high. Adjusting communication protocol: mental-only interface. Neural feedback mode engaged."
Immediately, the silence deepened. There was no whisper, no glow, no shimmer. Only thought—and a presence now rooted behind his eyes like a second heartbeat.
Jonathan opened his eyes. Everything looked the same. But nothing sounded the same.
It was better.
Tighter. Cleaner. Safer.
He exhaled through his nose and stood, tugging on the sweatshirt Alfred had left folded at the foot of the bed.
Time to play guest.
He was halfway down the grand staircase when he heard voices—real ones. Not recordings. Not Nexus simulations.
Just people.
Alfred's voice, crisp and controlled. "Master Jonathan, may I introduce Mr. Allen. He's an old friend of Mr. Wayne's."
Jonathan stopped three steps from the landing. The man standing in the front hall didn't look like the other rich ghosts that drifted through the manor. He was lanky. Brown hair a little too messy. Smiling in that easy way people do when they're trying not to look like a threat.
Jonathan didn't know why that smile annoyed him. Maybe because it was working.
"Hey," Barry said. "You must be the kid I've heard almost nothing about."
Jonathan narrowed his eyes. "And you're just... visiting?"
Barry shrugged. "Bruce owes me a favor. Technically several. I cashed one in to come meet the mystery tenant."
Nexus?Cross-reference facial scan. Match against public records.
"Match probability: 99.7%. Civilian identity: Barry Allen. Profession: forensic scientist, Central City Police. Known alias in underground data archives: 'Streak'."
Figures.
Jonathan extended a hand, cautious but calm. "Jonathan."
"Nice grip," Barry said, shaking. "Most kids your age have a limp fish handshake. You've got... presence."
"I've had a lot of time to practice," Jonathan replied, deadpan.
Barry laughed. "You don't talk like a teenager."
"I don't feel like one."
They took the conversation to the back garden.
Jonathan didn't speak much. Barry filled the air, casually asking about books, food preferences, how much of Gotham he remembered. Nothing about powers. Nothing about the coma. Nothing about the nanites.
That was the giveaway. He knew.
"You're not what I expected," Barry finally said.
"What did you expect?"
"Hard to say. Bruce keeps his cards really close to his chest. But I figured you might be skittish. Or angry."
"I am," Jonathan replied.
"Yeah?" Barry looked sideways at him. "At who?"
Jonathan didn't answer. He didn't know.
LexCorp? For injecting him like a lab rat?STAR Labs? For the wave that turned him into something unrecognizable?His mom, for falling apart while he slept?
Or maybe himself.
Barry didn't push. Just nodded like he understood something unsaid.
After a moment, Jonathan spoke again. "You're not just a friend."
Barry tilted his head. "What makes you say that?"
"You're careful. You watch everything. You're moving slower than you're used to."
Barry blinked. "Excuse me?"
Jonathan turned to him, voice level. "You don't walk like someone used to walking slow. You're calculating how much to not move. That's the kind of habit someone has to build."
For the first time, Barry's smile twitched.
"Smart kid."
Later that night.
The League's holograms flickered again into place.
"Impressions?" Bruce asked, tone as unreadable as always.
Barry crossed his arms, leaning against the table in his own home in Central City. "He's sharp. Reads body language like a profiler. Processes information like someone with two brains running in parallel."
"He has one brain," Victor cut in. "It's just got... company."
"Either way," Barry continued, "he's not unstable. I'd know. He's thinking about everything, but not obsessing. He's not stuck in trauma or paranoia. Just control."
Clark's expression softened. "That's impressive. Most people—especially kids—crack under that kind of pressure."
Bruce remained quiet.
Diana took a step forward in the projection. "Bruce. He needs structure. Right now he's caged. You're giving him information, but no purpose. No anchor."
"He's not ready for a team," Bruce said flatly.
"No one said team," Diana replied. "But he needs people. Peers."
Victor nodded. "Gotham Academy is local, high-security, and elite. We can keep an eye on him through proxy channels. If anything happens, we'll know."
Barry shrugged. "Or we can all just hang around outside his bedroom window like weird uncles."
Bruce's jaw tightened—but only slightly.
Then, finally, he nodded.
"I'll prepare the paperwork."