Chapter 3: Daddy Issues

Mark's whole situation was strange. First his dad and now… this. Being led by a butler through a manor in a different universe. Everything looked fancy and cost more than he would make his entire life. It was huge as well. He was lucky to be saved by Batman- or Bruce, he said to call him. He wasn't a supervillain, at least, he didn't think so. He sure as hell looked like one.

"This way, Master Mark," Alfred said, going upstairs. Alfred refused to drop the 'master' part when saying his name, no matter how much he insisted. It felt weird, he didn't like being called Master, but Alfred wouldn't budge. Mark had a feeling he would never change his mind.

"So… is Bruce super rich?" He said, catching up to Alfred. A stupid question, considering he's walking through a very fancy manor with a butler. Of course, he's fucking rich, but how rich?

"Master Bruce inherited his father's company after his passing. So yes, he is, as you say, 'super-rich."

Mark hummed, "So a millionaire?"

Alfred's mouth twitched, "try billionaire," Mark's eyes widened. Scratch that, he was very lucky to be taken in by Bruce. A very lucky man indeed. He eyed his surroundings with awe, though he kept the awe to himself. He wasn't some bright-eyed kid after all. Not anymore.

"Alfred, who is this?" They stopped at the top of the stairs, and before them stood a small child. Black hair, green eyes, and tan skin. Along with a scowl, which seemed like a permanent thing on his face. Much like Bruce, actually.

"This is Master Mark. He will be staying with us till your father finds a way to send him back to his universe," Alfred explained. Oh, he's Bruce's kid? That makes a lot of sense. The boy's face contorted, making his distaste known to him.

"Father shouldn't allow just any trash inside," The boy spat. Rude little brat.

"The fuck is your deal?" Mark exclaimed, narrowing his eyes. He turned to Alfred, "Who is this kid?"

"That would be-" Alfred was cut off by the boy.

"Damian Wayne. The only true son of Bruce Wayne," He said, crossing his arms. Wow, did this kid have an ego. What is he, ten? He really shouldn't be so cocky when within Mark's kicking distance. But Mark didn't have it in him to argue with a kid, let alone care to. He was tired, having just woken up from a week-long nap. Or two weeks. Bruce never told him how long he was out, Mark didn't ask either. Too distracted by the Batcave and Batman.

"Uh, good for you?" Mark said, which angered the kid more.

"You don't deserve to be here, to soil Father's residence," Why the hell was a kid talking like that? Or do rich kids always talk like they had a dictionary up their asses?

"If I had a choice, I wouldn't be here," Mark said back. "But I don't. I'm here, so deal with it," it came out a lot more snappy than he meant, but it shocked the kid enough for Mark to slip past. Ignoring his glare and attempting to snag his attention again.

"Are you running away?" Damian snapped after him, Mark pretended he couldn't hear the kid. The last thing he needed was a rivalry between a ten-year-old.

"Your room is at the end of the hall, Master Mark! I apologize for Damian's behavior!" Alfred called.

"Don't apologize for me!"

"Thanks," he called back, walking down the hallway. The kid didn't say anything else as he walked into his room, and for that, Mark was relieved.

He didn't hesitate to flop onto the bed, his chest and head throbbing faintly. His legs were killing him as well, both of them aching. It was better than when he woke up if only a bit. It was a relief to finally be off of them.

His entire life had been a hot mess as of late. Now? Now he's in a different dimension. Living in a manor. How much more crazy can his life get?

Mark turned his head, staring at the wall. The room was still pitch black, as he neglected to turn on the lights. He wasn't going to sleep or anything, it was still daytime, judging by the light peaking through the curtains. Mark needed some alone time. Time to… he doesn't really know. Think? Relax?

His thoughts naturally drift to his dad and his mom. What might be happening back home. Mark hoped Dad didn't do anything horrible, like… like he did with Mark. All the innocent people as well. Like those on the train where he was run through, or where the building collapsed and Mark tried. He tried so goddamn hard to save them. To do anything.

'Why do you bother?' His father's voice rang in his head, Mark clenched his eyes shut, rolling onto his back. He cared, that's why. He bothered because no matter what Dad said, their lives matter. He doesn't care if they live short lives, or are insignificant, they have loved ones and a family, they- they have a life like him. Mark couldn't sit by and let them die when he could easily save them. It's why he has powers, it's how he should use them.

Mark slowly sat up, swallowing the lump in his throat. How would he explain this to Mom? Explain how Dad didn't care about her, about anyone really. That he called her a fucking… pet. A pet! Mark felt his fist clench, the sting of betrayal crashing through him. Burning up his eyes and throat, only for it to quickly fade away. His heart was twisting, he felt more sad than anything. As if he were grieving over losing his dad, the man he once knew. Not the sadistic one he fought.

Mark couldn't be the hero the world needs. Not after that, not after he inherently caused death and destruction around him. Not after their faces, blood, and guts were splashed upon him like an artist paints a canvas, creating a sick twisted piece no one would ever call art. It would be called genocide, not a lesson a father teaches his son.

Mark could feel the blood, he could see their faces. Horror. Fear. Before the release of death, where all the emotion would wash away. He had never seen so many people die until that day. He had never been coated in blood from head to toe until then. A winter coat on his body, too warm. Sticky. The smell, stinking of metallic, he can taste it now. Along his tongue and teeth, invading each crack, reminding him of the many lives he- unwillingly- took. All because he fought his father.

They're dead.

They're dead because of him. If he hadn't fought. If he had agreed, gone along with Dad, stopped resisting so much-

Mark realized he wasn't breathing normally. His heart beat at a rapid pace and his breathing came in short faint gasps. Leaving him lightheaded and more panicked than before.

He could've died. His dad could've killed him, killed his mom, moved on, and made another family. Leave them in the dirt, buried alive. Insignificant human lives. Just an ant to his giant feet.

Mark clutched his shirt, he might pass out. Stop. Stop thinking about it. Stop panicking! He shouted at himself, attempting to keep his breathing under control. He was going to pass out.

He was going to die, and no one would be able to stop his father.

He'd die and the earth would be destroyed, everyone would be gone and Viltrum would reign supreme. He could practically see the Viltrumites, hovering above earth, mangled bodies below. White outfits splattered with crimson blood.

Mark whimpered, clutching at his hair. He couldn't calm down, he couldn't stop thinking- no, seeing the blood and gore in his mind. Hearing their screams. Their mangled bodies. Lifeless eyes stared at him, begging for help.

"Mark?"

It was covering him, and when Mark opened his eyes, he saw it too. The blood coating his body. It was warm. Too warm- he choked on a sob. Get it off of him!

"Mark, stay with me. Breath, just breathe," he couldn't. He fucking couldn't!

"I can't- I'm s- I'm sorry," he wheezed, clenching his eyes shut. He didn't want to see the blood, even if he could still smell it. Taste it. It was everywhere-

"Feel my heart," something grabbed his hand, and he could feel a steady thrum beneath his fingertips. "Breath to it. Ok? Follow me," a steady breath began beneath his fingertips, something he attempted to do. But his breaths were in shudders, wheezing out of him. Mark opened his eyes, everything was blurry, and he could still see bright red coating every bit of his hand.

"Breath again, just follow me," the voice soothed, calm, contrasting his racing mind. Mark copied them, managing one strangled breath through his lips. "There you go. Now, tell me something you can see," the voice said. Something he could see?

"Blood…?" He whispered. Mark could see blood drenching the hand he had against their chest.

"Anything else?" They prodded. What else was there? There was blood, bright and crimson. It covered his entire vision, taking over his hand- oh.

"My hand," he said. Yes, his hand was there. Was the blood there as well?

"Good. Now what can you hear?" Mark could hear a lot of things. Screaming, cracking bones. His dad. He squeezed his eyes shut, what else could he hear? Through the violence, he heard talking in his head, which was their voice.

"Y-your… voice?" He answered.

"What can you feel?" The voice continued. Mark frowned, he had previously felt warm blood all over him. But not anymore. Instead, the constant thrum of their heart was a metronome in his head. Beneath his hand, something real.

"Your heartbeat," he muttered, eyes still closed. He couldn't feel the blood, was it there? He cracked open his eyes a little, finding no blood drenching his hand. Was it all in his head? Mark swallowed, had he just imagined everything? Was he going crazy?

"Awesome, you're doing great," the voice was familiar. "What can you smell?" Mark took another deep breath, expecting to smell blood. But instead, he was met with the smell of cookies. Wafting into his room.

"Cookies?" He muttered, blinking, his vision unblurring. The form of his hand slowly made a solid shape.

"Good. What can you taste?"

Mark huffed, his mouth twitching up into a smile. "I'd like to taste the cookies," he muttered, hearing a small chuckle from the person. His head felt a little more clear, less of a blind panic than before. He pushed the thoughts plaguing him away, to look at his hero.

"You with me?" It was Dick. Concern etched into his features, face soft and open.

"Y-yeah," He breathed. He wasn't expecting him, he just met Dick and he's already helped him through a panic attack. What a guy.

Dick smiled, "good. Do you wanna talk about it?" Mark tensed, should he tell Dick? Tell him about his dad, about how he failed to save anyone-

"No, no, I don't- I can't," He sputtered, the words seeming to clutch his throat. For a second, he worried he'd go into another panic attack. However, Dick was quick to reassure, backtracking away.

"Ok, you don't have to," he said, not a hint of irritation in his voice. Mark relaxed a little, giving Dick a grateful smile.

"Thank you," he muttered, before looking away. "I've never panicked like that before. I'm sorry," he's had adrenaline rushes, small panics, but never like that. Never a blind panic that consumed his entire being, one where he felt as though he'd… die.

"Don't be. I came in here to make sure you went to the right room," Dick said, before grinning. "I heard you met our resident demon spawn."

"Damian?" Mark muttered, because who else would be nicknamed a demon spawn?

Dick chuckled, "That's him. Don't worry, he's like that to every newcomer… or everyone in general," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

Mark huffed a small laugh, "Good to know," he shifted, feeling embarrassed to have panicked right in front of Dick. Who just met him- and had Mark's hand firmly pressed to his chest. He snatched his hand away, muttering another apology under his breath.

But he didn't seem bothered, continuing on as if nothing happened. "Want to get some cookies? If so, we might want to hurry. They run out fast," Dick said, standing up.

Mark blinked, "Oh, uh- yeah. Sure," he stood up, legs trembling as sparks of pain shot up them. Mark groaned, stretching them a little til the pain trickled into a dull throb. He rubbed at them, finding his hand trembling. He sighed, grabbing his hand to stop its insistent tremble. Mark was a mess. Dick stood at the doorway, sparing him a glance. "Sorry, I'm coming."

"Do you need help?" He asked. Mark was quick to shake his head, he didn't want to bother him more.

"No, I'm fine," he said, not leaving any room for further conversation. Even if Dick's face was full of concern, not believing his words. "Let's just go."

He quickly followed Dick, letting the man lead. Everything about Dick was confident. The way he walked, smiled, and talked. He had this air of ease and confidence that almost made Mark jealous. Plus, he was handsome. William would freak at the sight of him, Mark smiled a little at the thought of his best friend. Which quickly fell as he realized he wouldn't be seeing anyone he knew for a while. Not until Batman found his way home.

They made it to the kitchen, and as Dick said, there were cookies cooling upon racks. Simple chocolate chip cookies fill the kitchen with a sweet smell. Alfred was dividing portions for another batch, rolling the dough into neat balls. He smiled as they walked in, turning to face them.

"Ah, Master Dick and Mark. Feel free to indulge. I thought I'd make a treat for our new guest."

Mark smiled, "Thank you, Alfred. You really didn't have to."

The butler waved him off, "you're welcome. I strive to make every guest feel welcomed in the manor," he said, turning back to his task at hand. Mark picked up a cookie and took a bite, and it was heavenly. A perfect ratio of cookie to chocolate chip, warm and gooey. "Woah," he whispered, Dick nodded, an excited grin on his face.

"I know right? Heavenly," he picked up a cookie himself and slung an arm around his shoulder. About to say something. However, despite himself, Mark flinched. He really didn't mean to, but Dick was quick to relinquish the arm, giving an apologetic smile to him. As if he should apologize, it wasn't his fault.

"Sorry. I wasn't- I didn't mean to," he sputtered, taking another bite to silence himself before he said something stupid.

Dick leaned against the counter, "It's alright, not everyone's a huge fan of touch," Mark had no problem with touching, it bothered him that he did now. Was he always going to flinch and feel his skin crawl whenever people touch him now? He grimaced at the thought. The kitchen fell into silence, which had Mark shifting where he stood. Should he leave? Maybe go back to his room? The thought of sitting in a dark room made his throat tighten. He didn't want to be alone right now. But if he was making this awkward, then he should leave.

"Master Mark, I must ask," Alfred was the one who broke the silence. Taking another batch out of the oven, the smell of fresh cookies made his shoulders relax. "What is your home like?"

Mark shrugged, "Pretty similar to this. I think. We have heroes, the most elite force is the Guardians of the Globe," Mark started, looking at his half-eaten cookie as he spoke. "Y'know, Batman reminded me of Darkwing, he was pretty broody as well."

"Was?" Dick muttered, raising his brows.

Mark thinned his lips. "Yeah, was. The old Guardians died. There are new ones now, but y'know," the old ones were murdered by his dad, and he couldn't join the new ones. Now knowing what his dad did to their predecessors.

"They aren't the same?" Alfred offered, but it wasn't what he wanted to say. He nodded anyway.

"Yeah. Sure," Mark muttered. How the hell could he say his dad murdered them? Answer, he wasn't going to say shit. They didn't need to know, it wasn't important or urgent.

"How about your family?" Alfred changed the subject, seeming to sense his dampening mood. But honestly? It wasn't the best subject change.

"My family? Uh," he thought for a second, considering his words. "Well, my dad's an alien. He's around. Mom is a human, she's great. She makes some pretty awesome mashed potatoes and always wants me to help people with my powers. I don't know where I would be without her," Mark said with a fond smile on his face.

"That's lovely," Alfred said.

"Yeah. My dad is…he's not as caring. I don't know," Mark regretted bringing up his dad, finding it hard to describe him. Especially with his new ideas about him, and who he really was. Sure, he looked up to him, wanting to be just like him. Before he could easily describe Dad. But now? Mark couldn't stomach the thought of him.

"Am I hearing Daddy issues?" Mark froze, and a new person entered the room. Snagging a cookie off the cooling rack and looking him up and down. He was tall and much more built than Dick, with a small tuft of white hair sticking out among the black. Cold green eyes met him, narrowing. "Who's this?"

"Mark Grayson," Dick answered, smirking a little.

The new guy paused mid-bite, sending Dick a wide-eyed look. "Holy shit. No way Bigwing, is he your brother?"

Mark blinked, "what?" He exclaimed. Where the hell did that come from? Dick burst into laughter, shaking his head. "Why would I be his brother?" And why was Dick laughing??

"You have the same last name! Is he a distant relative? That's cool and all, but you could've texted me about it before I came here," the man said, pointing his cookie at Dick. Mark sent Dick a wide-eyed look, as he finally finished laughing. Do they have the same last name? Weird.

"No no, I'm not related to Mark," Dick said, wiping the tears from his eyes.

The man frowned at him, "then who the fuck is this?"

"Manners, Master Jason," Alfred chided. "Master Mark is from another universe. He is simply staying here until he is able to go back home," Alfred almost looked tired from having to give that explanation again.

"Oooh, yeah that's definitely not going to cause problems," he deadpanned, and the man turned to him. "Anyways, I'm Jason. I hear you have daddy issues?"

Mark flushed a little, he did not! "no! I don't- it's just- it's complicated," he managed through his teeth.

"Woah, no problem. I get it," Jason said, laying his elbows on the counter. Mark huffed, he was done talking about his family. Let alone his 'daddy issues.' "Me and B aren't on the best terms either." Who the hell was B? Did he mean Batman? Mark remembered Dick called him that earlier, strange.

Dick smiled, "Yet you're here."

"And so are you, Dick. What's that about?" Jason snapped back. Saying his name as if it were an insult. Which, it kind of was.

"I was visiting. Though it seems my stay has extended a little," Dick said, looking at Mark. He looked away from him.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to disrupt," he muttered, feeling like an outsider within this strange family.

"You didn't disrupt anything Mark," Dick said, in the same soft tone that brought his shoulders down.

Eventually, as if the cookies were calling to them, more and more family members poured into the kitchen. It then moved to the dining room once Alfred insisted they were crowding the kitchen. Now Mark understood why Dick said hundreds because this was a lot of kids to have. Taking in Damian's words, he was the only biological one of the bunch.

Bruce might have a problem.

Then a boy slid next to him, "I'm Tim," he said simply, not offering a hand to shake. He didn't even look at Mark, instead staring straight ahead, nibbling on a cookie.

"Uh, hi Tim," he muttered, watching Damian boldly threaten a blond girl. Who he learned to be Steph, as Damian shouted when he pointed a knife at her. Who gave the kid a knife? Mark didn't question it, because no one else was.

"Tell me, what powers does a Viltrumite have?" Tim suddenly asked. Mark frowned at him, and Tim shrugged. "I'm curious." Curious his ass, this felt like a discreet interrogation. Especially with how Tim wouldn't look at him, instead observing the ongoing fight before them. It escalated, Dick was attempting to peel Damian off Steph.

Mark sighed, it wouldn't hurt to answer. "Flight- though my dad said it was creating our own leverage, whatever that means. Super strength, speed, uhh, and invulnerability. To an extent I guess," he could still bleed, and get his insides torn to shreds. Mark knows from experience.

Tim hummed, "Your dad is from another planet?" Mark sunk further into his chair, not liking where the conversation was going. It was like everyone could sense he had issues with his dad, was he that obvious?

"Yeah. He goes by Omni-man for his superhero name," Mark was now avoiding looking at Tim too, even when Tim finally turned to face him. He didn't look Tim in the eyes, because he didn't want to talk about this. Not now.

But instead of pressing, he changed the topic. "Y'know, this entire family is full of heroes. Vigilantes," Tim said, leaning back in his chair. "We're all a little fucked up. So, if you're a little fucked up too, it's ok. You'll fit right in."

Mark huffed, "I don't want to fit in. I just want to go home," it sounded pathetic, like a whining kid. But it was true. He wanted to see his mom and his friends. He… really missed his mom. Especially now. It felt like he had been torn away from everything he knew, and Mark was left floundering. Unable to do anything but follow along, hoping Batman and his family could help him.

"You will," he could see Tim smile a little out of the corner of his eye. Mark couldn't find it in himself to return it. "But for now, enjoy the cookies," Mark eyed Tim, who waved the cookie a little before turning back to his family. He appreciated Tim for trying to cheer him up. Even if he basically interrogated him before, it was the effort that mattered. Not that it helped, Mark wasn't too concerned about being an outcast.

'You'll outlast every fragile, insignificant being on this planet,' Mark tensed, the words of his dad ringing in his ears. A hollow empty feeling opened up before him, leaving Mark disconnected. The voices seemed further away. He watched the family talk, laugh, and eat cookies. Living.

'You'll live to see this world crumble to dust and blow away!' Was all of this truly meaningless? Mark didn't think so, but his dad did. Why? For all it's worth, he couldn't understand why his dad decided to kill the Guardians. He understood some of it, weakening Earth by killing its greatest heroes.

But they were friends, weren't they? He loved his mom, right? Mark frowned deeply, he hated his dad for what he did. Mark felt like he should want to kill him and want revenge for his actions.

Yet there was a part of him, a rather huge part, that still cared. He still wanted to believe he had good intentions for his actions. Mark… really wanted to believe that. But it wasn't true. There was no good reason, only a broken one.

"You ok?" He jumped a little, snapping to look at a girl. She had shoulder-length black hair and dark eyes. Her face was void of much emotion, but he could see the small furrow of her brows. It seemed like a constant expression on everyone who talked to him, he was beginning to hate it.

"Fine," he mumbled. Mark didn't want to be here anymore. Surrounded by a family he didn't know, didn't understand, and didn't want to care for. He snatched a cookie and quickly got up, thanked Alfred again for the cookies, and left.

He didn't want to think about his dad anymore. He didn't want to feel anything. So Mark didn't. He allowed his problems to get stuffed away, a problem for later.