Fandom: Batman
Pairing: Bruce Wayne & Male OC, Damian Wayne & Male OC [Platonic]
Rating: Teen
Content: Amnesia, Loss of Identity, Blood and Injury, Non-Verbal Character, Body Horror, Body Dysphoria
Date written: 6th July 2024
Summary: There are whispers of a creature crawling around in the streets of Gotham, something dark and foreboding. The shadows curl around it like it belongs there, and it’s eyes glow white as they pierce through the dark. It’s whole body shifts and moves in ways deemed unnatural, and it watches the citizens of Gotham like a hawk.

The problem for Bruce?

That creature isn’t Batman.

Author's notes: sooo this is actually a fic i have posted before, but this is the rewritten/better version. the old version is here if for some reason you want to read it, but it's unfinished and abandoned, and very much not great by my own standards. i have changed quite a bit about the fic, because the previous thing that i was writing about was WAY too much for me to handle. I was trying to handle like 3 or 4 secretive plot line things that i knew i did not have the skill to pull off, so i have tried to go for something a LOT more simple, and focusing a lot more on just omen and his struggles as a....well...weird creature that doesn’t know how or why he exists! so the previous plotlines involving lex luthor trying to destroy the entire justice league and ra’s al ghul doing some fucky shit regarding where omen came from (who was supposed to be the main antagonist eventually) have been scrapped lmao. i even significantly changed omen’s origins/reasons for him existing and being born into this world to fit more with the theme/story that i was going for, but on the surface it won’t seem like much has changed since some of the stuff omen goes through is really similar regardless!

i know the people who read the previous fic may not like the extreme changes, but at the end of the day omen is my oc and i’ll do whatever the hell i want with him. i just wanted everything to be easier to follow, more consistent, and not all over the place in terms of plot as well as characterisation. also lowkey the titus and krypto plotline that was going on in the previous fic felt really mean and i felt like in reality bruce and clark and damian would NEVER in million years allow that to happen to their dogs and SHOCKINGLY it was originally supposed to be even more mean (because i have trauma lol). but i don’t like doing mean things to puppydogs so that shit has also been scrapped forever.

basically the whole point is i’m focusing more on omen’s character and his struggles, and while there obviously is stuff going on around him in gotham, and he WILL help out if he believes it’s a good idea, i don’t want to make that the main focus. i want this story to focus much more on omen’s loneliness, and his struggles trying to connect with others, and how he overcomes that. idk why my ass decided to put this into the DC universe and not keep it as an entirely original work since i have a habit of doing stupid bullshit like that.. but that’s where he originated from when i created him soooo. sucka my balls.

He woke up in a body unfamiliar to him.

He knew things about himself that seemed to be ingrained into his very existence.

He knew that this body was not the body he was used to. He knew he was in a place he didn't remember travelling to. He knew he was supposed to have two legs. He knew that "he" was the correct way to refer to himself.

He knew, almost inherently, that he was in Gotham, and that Gotham was his home.

But he didn't have any memories. He couldn't remember his childhood, even though he knew he should. He couldn't remember any of his family or friends, or if he even had any. He couldn't remember anything from before the very moment he was currently experiencing. It was like it was the first time he'd ever opened his eyes before.

He couldn't remember his name. He realised that he should have a name, and yet, somehow...he didn't have one. He wondered if all of his memories had been replaced, or if this was the first time in his life he'd ever had a conscious thought.

He almost hoped it was the former, as terrifying as that felt to him.

He moved to get up, and as he did so, he realised something odd..his body was... non-corporeal. He was something like a shadow. His form moved and flowed without his input, and it was inky black in colour. He looked like he was just a shadowy blob....if that blob was alive and capable of defying the laws of physics, twisting and turning within itself.

It terrified him. He could physically feel the tendrils of his form reach out towards his environment, but it was unlike anything he'd ever experienced before, and yet somehow he could not remember any other experience than the one he was currently having. He was certain this was not right. He could've sworn he used to have arms and hands and fingers, right? Why was his body like this? Why couldn't he remember anything about himself? Why was he in a dirty, empty alleyway in the middle of the night? Why, why, why?

He tried to move forward like how he would with legs and feet, but instead of walking or running, his form rushed forward through the air, like he was floating- or flying. He panicked and tried to slow down, and was startled once more when he abruptly stopped in mid-air. He could feel the tell-tale sign of a panic attack coming on, and...he found himself not requiring air at all.

He gasped for air anyway, with a mouth that he did not have.

He eventually collapsed on the ground in a shadow of black, the smokey tendrils of his form squirming around wildly as he attempted to gain control of his body, of his mind, of the entire situation at hand.

After many minutes of attempting to calm himself down, he got back up again, this time with only a little bit more confidence than before, before slowly and cautiously sliding across the ground instead of rushing forward through the air. He left the confines of the alleyway that he was born from, and into the streets.

He knew not what he was, but he knew he must find out.

Of all the strange, unusual and unexplainable things about his existence that he'd learned of thus far, this particular ability was something that he was actually glad to discover.

His ability to shift the shape of his body was, at first, quite startling, but afterwards became very exciting. He'd shifted his body into that of a human, hoping to see how he appeared, as he was still unsure of what even looked like, but when he peered into the reflection of the puddle below him, he recoiled at what he saw.

A man made of shadow. Bright white eyes that glowed and seemed to have smokey tendrils of their own, much like his body. His regular, dark tendrils making his human shape look less defined, as though he were less man, and more monster.

He went back to his amorphous blob shape, and stayed like that for a month.

He eventually gained back the courage to change his form once more, after much agonising over the image he saw in his reflection a month previously. Clearly, there was no way to change the fact that he looked like a shadow, or change what his eyes looked like, or the ability to get rid of the smokey tendrils that made up his entire body. He would simply have to accept that he looked terrifying, and deal with it.

He wasn't sure he wanted to go with the human shape again, though. It was...too much for him, right now.

Besides, if he could change his shape, why bother sticking with the shape of a human, if he could be whatever he wanted? He was trying to find himself, yes, trying to understand who he was and how he came to being...but that didn't mean he had to look like a human when he did it. At least...not now.

So, he started to experiment. He tried the form of a small cat at first, but found the tendrils were...too much for such a small form. He was more tendril than cat. He then tried the shape of a horse, and found that while he liked it...his hooves were too loud on the concrete beneath him. He wasn't sure how to make his hooves not make so much noise without floating (and he was too scared to try that again), so he scrapped the idea entirely. He then tried the forms of other various creatures, like birds or demons or angels, and other strange critters and fantasy animals that he could think of.

In the end, he chose the simple form of a wolf. A large one. One large enough that the tendrils along his back seemed purposeful, like his long fur was moving with the wind, rather than him appearing to be some horrible demonic beast.

When he looked at his own reflection for the first time in a month, though, all he saw was the same monster as before.

He had his form now. The big scary wolf of Gotham. He slinked in and out of streets and alleyways and between empty cars and trucks, in the dead of night where he knew no one was around to see him.

He was so very, very lonely.

He k new he should be around other people. That he should be walking around during the day, socialising with others while they walked along the street, towards work or friends or family. He wanted to talk to them, to play with them, to follow them around and simply have fun, but every time he caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of a store window at night, he would recoil at his appearance every single time.

I shouldn't look like that.

He wanted to have company, to have friends and family, to simply remember his past life so that he might even be able to ask for help from those he cared about, but the image he always saw in the reflections of windows and puddles and the shiny surfaces of parked cars stopped him from doing anything more than lurk in the shadows.

It broke his soul into pieces.

He noticed, after a while, that he was not the only one that stuck to the shadows in the dark and foreboding city.

They were not like him. They weren't monstrous or horrifying or inhuman, wandering the city without purpose. They actually had a job. There was a reason they stuck to the shadows, and it had nothing to do with how they looked or what their place in society was.

They weren't like him by any means, but at least one of them could be considered"scary."

It felt obvious to him that the"scariness" of that person's appearance was done on purpose, unlike himself, who was scary regardless of whether he wanted to be or not.

He wanted to talk to them, wanted to relate to them in some way, but he felt that if he tried, he would be shunned. He knew he would be shunned. They might think he was just another criminal, just another monster that the city had spewed out from her putrid underbelly.

He wanted company so desperately, but he wasn't sure it was worth being wrongfully chased across Gotham for it.

Despite his best efforts, people start catching more and more glimpses of him. It was never on purpose. He didn't like the idea of others seeing him; Not after the numerous times that people had screamed in terror at his presence, when he'd accidentally revealed himself. He wanted to be alone (he wanted to be loved) but he found that he couldn't escape people's eyes forever, not in a place like Gotham- not when being unobservant of your surroundings got you killed.

For a while, all the evidence that he existed were just whispers that people spoke of him. Nobody really knew if the stories were true. Anywhere else in the world, and people would put it up to superstition and the fear of the dark. But Gotham had The Scary One, and the brightly dressed clown, and another different scary individual dressed in a potato sack, and a talking crocodile that lived in the sewers and supposedly ate people. If there was another shadowy creature out there, creeping in the alleyways, then people were going to start spreading the news, if only for their own safety. A heads up that there was a new demon in town.

Some people thought it was The Scary One. But he knew better. He knew they were talking about him.

He gained an actual name, after a while.

The people of Gotham were calling him an omen. A bad one. An evil one. A dark one.

He could hear the whispers they spoke of him, saying that there was a dark and shadowy being lurking around Gotham, and that being was not The Bat.

Was that The Scary One's name?

One man swore he saw it clearly, a dark shadowy wolf far too large to just be a big dog, with bright white eyes that shifted as much is his fur did. It had dark tendrils that erupted from its back that could grab and manipulate things much like hands could. It was smart and intelligent, unlike any canine that existed on Earth.

The people who paid attention of what was going on in Gotham's night-life were starting to get scared. The city had to be cursed, for another dark and horrible creature to come crawling out of it's wretched maw once more, like The Bat before it, and the other decrepit criminals that had followed after him.

The state of the city was dreadful. This new wolf-thing could only ever be a Bad Omen, a dark promise for what was to come.

Omen thought it was all a load of shit. But he kept the name anyway.

Omen struggled to figure out what it was that he believed in.

Just like with everything else, he was certain that he used to have morals, values and particular beliefs, but he just couldn't remember any of them. He'd been building himself from the ground up, trying to make himself into a new person, in a way he was sure no one else on Earth had ever had to do before now.

It wasn't easy, though. He struggled greatly as he tried to understand his own ideals, his beliefs, but there were a few things that stuck out to him, that seemed ingrained in him- much like the idea that he used to be human.

He didn't like violence. He was afraid to be hurt by others. He was scared of people who were loud and angry and aggressive. He didn't like the idea of hurting other people unless given no other choice.

When he heard the screams in the night, the loud banging of guns being fired and explosions being set off, Omen could feel all of his tendrils sticking up like hair, shocked and frightened by the sounds, by the promise of violence that would come soon after.

He thought to himself that they must all be regular fears. Nothing more than your average survival skills that kept you alive. He figured most other people would experience the same things that he did, would feel the same ways he felt. No one liked to get hurt, after all. No one wanted to die.

And yet, he wondered if everyone else also felt the dread that loomed over him every single time he was too close to a crime scene. The sight of blood staining the concrete filling his entire body with ice. A sight so new to him, and yet familiar all the same.

All he knew forcertain, was that this city was Hell, and for all the whispers that spoke of him like he was a Demon...he wasn't very good at being one.

One night, he was sitting on top of a building that he'd floated up onto, viewing The Scary One and his colourful child from afar as they trailed someone who looked like they were up to no good, when a veryinteresting person showed up. One he'd heard from Gotham's whispers.

The crocodile man.

He watched the vigilantes do their work, sometimes, when he was around to see it. There was something about what they were doing that drew him into watching them diligently. It was as if he could feel something within him lurch every time, like he wanted to stand up and go with them, but he always stayed behind. He never wanted to get hurt, and hadn't the slightest idea why the criminals were being chased, or how dangerous they actually were.

But he still felt something within him begging him to follow.

He did, sometimes, but only from above. Watching from a distance. Careful to not intrude or get in the way, or to alert The Scary One or his flock of children that Omen was there. He especially never wanted to alert any of the criminals that were there, either.

Now, though? He felt different.

As he watched The Crocodile Man and the The Scary One fight, he realised that The Scary One and his child were outmatched. The Scary One was knocked back by a single swing of The Crocodile Man's arm, and The Scary One rolled along the pavement until he hit his back against a lamp-post with a large thud. Omen winced at the sight.

And then, The Crocodile Man grabbed the small colourful child and lifted them up by their neck, and barred his extremely large and sharp teeth at them.

Omen knew very little about himself, besides his fears and desires. But he found out another thing about himself that day: He would not allow anyone to hurt a child in front of him.

He leaped out from atop the hiding spot on the roof, and landed directly on top of The Crocodile Man, gnashing his teeth and biting into his flesh. The Crocodile Man roared in pain, dropping the child onto the ground, and the true fight began. It was a mess of claws and teeth; Running and jumping around to escape the crushing pain of the other's jaws. The Crocodile man swiped at his back, and was met with Omen's tendrils, which wrapped around his arm and flung him through the air, far further than Omen ever thought he was capable of throwing anything.

The Crocodile Man's entire body hit the side of a building, and he fell to the ground, motionless. Omen stood there, watching him, waiting for him to get up, but nothing happened.

He started to walk away, and as he did so, he yelped out in pain, the sound coming out of his mouth resembling the form that he had taken. He was bleeding a strange substance from his back leg that a first he thought was blood, but as it dripped onto the ground, it looked much more viscous and dark, like blackened goo. The"blood" smoked like it was on fire, as though even his own"blood" had tendrils of their own, moving and shifting around on the ground while the goo itself remained still.

He heard some movement behind him, and Omen decided he needed to leave. Now. Before The Scary One and his child could catch him. Or hurt him.

He limped away as fast as he could, but it wasn't fast enough.

"Wait!"

Omen froze. He looked back over his shoulder, and saw the small child in red and green who he'd saved. The child had an unreadable expression on their face.

They stared at each other, cautious and yet unmoving.

"You...helped me," the child said.

Omen wasn't sure what to say, so he said nothing. The child crept closer, slowly, still unsure of Omen's presence.

"...Thank you."

Omen nodded at the child after a moment of consideration, and limped away into the nearest alleyway, disappearing into the darkness.

When Robin and Batman tried to follow him, there wasn't a trace of the dark wolf left.