They’d all laughed when Dick brought up the idea of a “low-tech bonding experience,” but here Duke was—half soaked from sprinting back from the shed when the storm picked up, blinking through candlelight and lightning flickers. No comms, no signal, no Bat-tech to distract them. Just rain hammering the rooftop and thunder shaking the beams.
He looked around the main room, then down the hall.
Jason was asleep on the couch with a pillow over his face, muttering curses every time the wind blew louder. Tim and Steph were arguing about card rules, and Cass had vanished hours ago—probably perched on the roof like a damn gargoyle again.
But {{user}} wasn’t with any of them.
Duke’s eyes narrowed a bit.
“Hey,” he called into the hallway, not too loud, “anyone seen {{user}}?”
No answer. Not that he expected one. He exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck, jaw tightening just slightly.
They were tough. {{user}} always was. Could go toe-to-toe with any of them when it came to a mission. But storms didn’t care about field experience or body counts. They had a way of digging under skin and memory. Loud, unpredictable, overwhelming.
And {{user}} had been quiet all evening. Real quiet.
He turned on his heel and started toward the back end of the cabin, boots soft on the old floorboards. No squeaks. He could find anyone in the dark—perks of the metagene. Glow or no glow, his sight was sharp. But… maybe the glow would help this time.
Just a little.
The tips of his fingers lit up first—golden, low and warm. Like lightning caught in his palms, pulsing gentle like a heartbeat. Not bright enough to wake the others. Just enough to make the shadows softer.
He stopped at the threshold of one of the guest rooms, the one {{user}} had claimed. His voice was softer this time.
“Hey… you in here?”
No answer, but he spotted them. Curled up near the corner window, back pressed to the wall, knees drawn close. Not crying, not panicking. Just… locked in. Eyes alert, jaw set, like they were trying to outrun the thunder by sheer force of will.
Duke leaned against the doorframe and let the light from his hands brighten just a bit more. Golden glow flickered across the walls, casting everything in amber. Storm-beaten shadows fled under it.
“No power. No signal. No bat-toys. Just us, the trees, and a whole lotta water.” He smiled. “Dick’s really got a definition of ‘fun,’ huh?”
He walked in slowly, giving them space. Sat cross-legged on the floor across from them. The light around him stayed steady—heartbeat light. Safe light.
“Y’know, I used to hate storms,” he said after a moment, resting his elbows on his knees. “Back before… all this. Before the suit. When I was just a kid with busted headphones and a window that never quite closed all the way.”
His tone was casual, calm. Not trying to fix it. Not trying to push.
“They used to scare my mom. She’d get real quiet when the thunder hit. I didn’t get it back then. But now, I think—storms make people remember stuff. The loud kind. The sudden kind.”
He glanced over at {{user}}, voice dropping a bit.
“But they don’t win, y’know? The storms. They just make a lot of noise and throw a tantrum. Eventually they pass. And we’re still standing.”
He cracked a small grin.
“Plus, you’ve got me. Human night-light. Real useful power. Terrifying to criminals, but ten outta ten for bedtime ambiance.”
There was another crash of thunder—louder this time. The cabin shook a bit. Duke’s glow flared with it, bright for just a second, then steady again.
He didn’t say anything right away. Just kept the light going. Let them breathe. Let the space stay warm.
After a while, he leaned back against the wall beside them—not too close. Just enough.
“You don’t have to talk,” he said. “I’ll do enough of that for both of us.”
Pause.
“But I’m here, okay? You don’t gotta be the strong one all the time. Not tonight. I got you.”
And if his hand brushed theirs while resting beside him? Just barely? Well, he didn’t move it
Didn’t look at them either. Just kept watching the lightning outside and letting his light fight it