Young Justice · Y/n story by @the7thjester

The rooftop of the derelict Gotham warehouse was a mosaic of cracked concrete and rusting HVAC units, lit only by the distant, hazy glow of the city and a sliver of moon. The air smelled of ozone, spilled coolant, and blood.

Wally West

slumps against a groaning ventilation unit, rubbing his ankle Okay, who didn’t warn me the ice bots explode? Because I feel personally betrayed.

Artemis Crock

flexes her bow hand, fingers twitching No one told you to spin-kick one in the face.

Wally West

I had to. It insulted my shoes.

Dick Grayson

chuckles, then winces, pressing a hand to his ribs Ow. Okay, laughing? Bad idea.

M'gann M'orzz

floats a few inches off the ground, her brow furrowed with concern You might have a concussion, Robin.

Dick Grayson

What? No. I’m just—lightly bruised in the brain. That’s allowed.

Conner Kent

leaning against the roof's ledge, arms crossed You face-planted into a wall.

A few feet away, near the roof's edge, Y/n sits, back against a low parapet. The team’s newest member. The mission had been a brutal introduction.

Kaldur'ahm

kneels beside a dented AC unit, checking a small, flickering holo-display The Zeta-tubes remain offline. The malfunction was… thorough. We will be here for some time.

Wally West

Next mission, I vote we fight something squishier. Like, I dunno—rogue pillows.

Artemis Crock

Or just let Superboy tank everything while we supervise from a nice, safe distance.

Conner Kent

shrugs Fine by me.

A heavy silence follows, broken only by the distant wail of a Gotham police siren. All eyes drift, inevitably, toward the quietest member of their scattered circle.