Out on the streets, snow fell swiftly. Christmas and the New Year had come and gone already, leaving the population of Gotham City to wait out the last month or so before the snow turned to a disgusting slush.

Flakes fell like dandruff on a certain pair of broad shoulders. Even in the early morning, their owner had not found sleep. That would make it the third day in a row. Stumbling past a trashcan, he slipped on a patch of ice and landed flat on his tailbone. Sure, it hurt more than anyone would ever be able to contain, but the young man only stood back up blindly and continued on his way.

Something was wrong with the man. Cheeks seemed hallow, lips grey, skin pale. The dark circles under his blue eyes only seemed to add to the frightening features.

But he was human, or so it seemed.

The young man didn't feel human. Didn't feel anywhere near that civilized. First of all, he kept stopping in his tracks every now and again, suddenly and violently shaking before snapping out of his trance.

Look, it's happening again.

First, the young man stopped where he stood next to a dumpster. Behind his blue eyes, images flashed and burnt his eyelids. The scream in his throat wanted so badly to just erupt into the night… but it came out soundless because the voice he once had was no longer there, hoarse and broken from the past two days.

Sinking to his knees, the young man clutched at his chest, nails dragging across the starched suit in a way that implied he had a beast inside. The pain of old and broken ribs sent shock waves up his spine, neck arching and head lolling back on a half broken neck.

How… how could he be alive?

The deathly pale face watched the starless sky. Snowflakes danced across the building tops and down into the alley.

Though the young man grimaced in pain, an unintentional grin was stretching his lips.

[0]

The Bat mobile hovered for a moment before lowering to the landing pad. From there, the top was slid open and the engine cut. Voices, no longer contained by the car, flooded the cave. Still bickering like children, Batman and Robin made their way through the cave, past the monitor womb, and into the locker room, capes being the first garment to hit the floor.

"-Can't just deviate from the plan. That behavior is what puts us in more danger than is necessary-"

"Oh, like you've never pulled that stunt before! Stan was getting away!"

"Yes, but the safety of civilians is more important."

"Yeah, and while you were off playing hero and deactivating a trick bomb, I was the one who adjusted to the plan like you taught me to! Stan has been running through city for a week now. I wasn't about to let him escape."

"There was no way of knowing the bomb was a fake. The building had not been cleared and lives were in danger." The man turned to his partner while fiddling with the clasp of his belt. "You're help would have been appreciated. Your chase only resulted in the demolition of the pier. More damage was done tonight than was necessary."

Robin didn't answer, instead opting to toe off the heavy green boots. Batman may have been right on some accounts, but that didn't justify letting the bad guy get away. Fallowing the boots were the gauntlets, belt, and finally the mask. Trademark blue eyes shone brightly despite the scowl they held for their mentor.

Batman had followed suit and had lost all essential Batman equipment, now reentering the cave wearing the leggings and a clean undershirt. Even without the cowl, the man still had the face of Batman. A habit inherited from his own father.

"Mary," he called to his partner where she seemed to be retreating to the elevator.

Turning around with a sigh, she gave him a grudging, "What?" Her father wasn't taken back by her tone, choosing to ignore it.

"This conversation will continue tomorrow night," he informed her, but his daughter only gave him an incredulous look.

"Don't you mean tonight?" The girl threw a hand towards the clock next to the elevator. "It's already morning."

"You know what I meant." Her father raised an eyebrow, his only real display of amusement. "Get some sleep. I expect a full report by midday about what happened tonight."

Before the doors of the elevator slipped closed, Mary muttered a half hearted, "Don't stay up too late."

"You know, Dami," a voice called through the Bat cave once she was gone. "From what I'm hearing, she did a swell job tonight."

"Grayson," Damian called back while setting himself in front of a monitor calmly. "Last I recalled you were on the other end of the country. When did you arrive home?"

The man stepped forward from his shadowed nook. At the age of fifty, Dick still looked young. Well, as young as you can with graying hair. The older acrobat was still dressed in his business suit, the one he had been wearing to a conference not eight hours ago. The blue tie was bright, a compliment to his smiling eyes. Dick walked calmly to the chair where his old partner typed away, logging his hours.

"Just a little while before you guys. Tim told me you were still out."

"Why is Drake not sleeping? It is past midnight."

"Why wouldn't he be up?" Dick corrected with a smirk. But his light tone fell and the older man leant against the chair holding his brother. Damian didn't spare him a glance, instead focusing on checking over news feeds about the night's happenings. "What happened?"

"Mad Stan."

"Doesn't Terry usually deal with him?" Dick inquired.

"Yes. But he was with Dana tonight," Damian informed him, tone a bit too frustrated. "He broke a rib a few nights ago and has a few more days of leave before he will be ready to patrol again."

"When-" Dick started to inquire after Damian's eldest protégé, but decided to stay on track. "So, what happened with Mary?"

The younger man was silent for a moment, finger flexing where they hovered above a keyboard. Breathing an almost inaudible sigh, he started. "The chase doesn't matter. But when it comes down to it, Mary pursued Mad Stan when her orders were to evacuate civilians." Dick made an understanding grunt, urging his brother to continue. "In the end, Mad Stan was able to plant a bomb at the docks."

"Sounds like someone I know," Dick teased, finally pulling an extra chair over and propping his feet on the counter next to the keyboard. "Both of you are so stubborn."

"-tt-" Damian smirked, turning back to the monitor. "She reminds me of Todd."

"Really?" Dick's voice dropped. Glancing warily at his old partner, the older man decided it was time to confront his brother. "I thought Logan would remind you of Jason."

Damian stilled, but it wasn't like before when he was contemplating how to report to Dick. Instead, the younger mans hands slammed down on the edge of the table and stayed there as if bracing himself after being punched. His jaw clenched visibly and the skin around his eyes tightened. Dick took his feet off the console, stood and approached his old partner, hand landing firmly on his right shoulder.

"Have you spoken to Jason about all of this yet?" he asked hesitantly. "And I mean formally, the fit you two had at the funeral doesn't count." At the mention of the fight, Damian stood, pushing back his chair while he walked away from his older brother stiffly. "He's the only one that can help," Dick continued, fallowing his brother to the stairs and climbing after him.

"I do not need help," came the gruff reply while the bookcase entrance to the cave was pushed open roughly.

"But it would be a good idea to talk to him anyways," Dick kept at it. "Damian." A strong handed landed on the younger mans shoulder, stopping him before he could get further down the hall.

"Grayson, I do not require you're words, nor anyone else's."

"Whatever," Dick told him noncommittally, still not removing his hand. "But Jason might."

Silence in the Wayne manor was far from foreign. But this new one was icy, seeming to echo mutely off the high halls. In fact, if Dick listened hard enough… He might be able to hear the old ghosts and memories of the Wayne manor.

Yes. There was his childish giggle during his first Christmas here, Jason's angry yelling from when he was so young, maybe even Tim's quiet crying after his parents' death. There was Alfred and his low voice humming an almost silent tune while dusting. Ace barked at the front door while Terry pounded on it from the other side, demanding entrance. There were Mary's stubborn tantrums from when she was little and baby Tom's colicky cries when he was just a baby.

And of course, there was the ever present brooding silence of the first Bruce Wayne.

And then, if Dick listened hard enough, he might be able to hear Logan. Just his voice. Maybe the tap-tap of his shoes on the floor, steps far apart because of his long legs.

Could Damian hear it too?

"Maybe." Damian's voice cut through Dick's wandering thoughts, bringing him back to the present. "But I do not think Todd will talk to me willingly."

"Give him time-" The acrobats younger brother grunted and was down the hall again, ending the conversation swiftly.

This family had become far too complicated. Brothers and sisters warring one moment and then embracing the next. Field work seemed to be taken home and work for Wayne-Powers Enterprises being handled by more people than was necessary.

A good twenty five years had passed and the family of the Bat had grown, crime fallowing suit.

[0]

Tim watched on in silent amusement while the two at the table continued with their loud banter. Absentmindedly washing the dish in his hand, the man considered if intervention would be the best idea.

"And then!" little Tommy continued, still tugging on his older sisters pant leg. "The entire plane blew up! It was amazing!"

"You've never even seen a Lantern in person!" Mary persisted. Her brother's wild imagination deemed too much for her. "Plus, I don't think you'd ever be chosen. What's so special about a twerp like you?"

"But-" Tom started and the eight year olds hands clutched and tugged harder on Mary's pant leg. "But I really can fly!" he protested.

"No, you can't!"

"Yes I can!"

"No!"

"Yes! You're just jealous because you can't!"

"Tom, stop tugging on the table clo-"

"I'll show you! I'll show you I can-"

"Get down! You're going to get hurt!"

"But you jump off stuff all the time-"

"Because I know how now get off the table before you-"

A crash resonated through the kitchen and Tim found himself looking down at the tiles where the two siblings lay sprawled on the floor. Tom had jumped off the table, taking the table cloth with him. His sister had leapt across the table in order to catch the boy and when she went sailing past him, she knocked against the open cupboard Tim was using. Freshly cleaned plates came raining down on the two while the older curled over her brother, protecting him from the projectiles.

"Ow," came Tom's outright whine although he hadn't been hit.

"Ugh." Mary uncurled herself stiffly from her brother after the last plate had fallen. "Are you okay T? Did you get anything in your eyes?" The girl leant down to examine her brother but was pushed away roughly by the boy's hands.

"I was gonna' fly and then you ruined everything!" He whined, picking himself up off the floor and latching onto Tim's leg while stifling a sob. The eight year olds emotional rollercoaster was just starting. "Unca Tim! She's beinga meany face!" he wailed and buried his face into the man's pant leg. "I don' nothin' and she just pushed me out of the air! I was gon' fly an' ever'thing!" Tommy's words began to slur while crocodile tears fell, painting the boys face with snot as well.

Tim, more than a little surprised by the sudden turn of events, patted little Tom on the head numbly. Mary was glaring daggers into her brothers back while still seated on the floor, plate shards and debris from the crash littered her hair and back.

"Please tell me you saw what just happened," she groaned while looking hopelessly up at her uncle.

Tim nodded to her while absently patting the crying boy who seemed to be squeezing the life out of his leg.

Tim left with the little boy, intent on finding his oldest brother so Dick could console the child while he helped Mary clean up. Tom however, wanted no such thing. Complaining and whining the entire search, Tim finally found Dick asleep in his room. Though the man had only flown in the night before, jet lag was not a worthy excuse in Tim's eyes. Dick was promptly roused from his slumber and a wailing Tom was dropped in his lap before Tim left, but not without giving the boy a peck on the forehead first.

Returning to the kitchen, he found Mary already tying up the full trash bag and pulling a rag from a drawer.

"Mary?" he spoke, realizing she had yet to acknowledge his reentrance.

The girl gave a noncommittal grunt and was on her knees in a swift movement, already wiping the dust off the floor and smaller bits of debris. Tim sighed and focused himself on straightening the table which had been wrecked when Tom had taken the table cloth with him on his flight.

"Are you okay? You didn't get cut did you?" Another grunt was the only answer she offered. "Mary," he said more sternly. Finished with the table; he turned hands on hips to the girls on the floor. Although the mess was gone, she still scrubbed furiously at the tiles. "Are you hurt?"

"No." Her answer was final, a tone that refused to say anymore.

Tim couldn't help but smirk. The way she acted, it was so much like her father. Damian and his offspring shared the same skin tone, maybe a bit watered down by the generations, but there was still that desert tint in it. Tom and Mary shared the trademark black hair and blue eyes that seemed to be a curse in the Wayne household, but then again, Damian had been a test tube baby. For all Time knew, the gene could have been programmed to pass on.

Though it was hard to tell who the eight year old Tom would look like, Tim was sure Mary would end up like Talia, with just a hint of the Bruce. The girl had the broad shoulders and lean build, sufficient for carrying muscles needed in the field. But Mary had the same jaw as her father, strong, but sharp. She had the same height as Talia, the long legs that made Mary a fast runner. And then there was her personality.

Withdrawn from the family, she was seemingly alienated without anyone ever meaning to. This trait much resembled that of her father's and the way he was as a child. Mary was quick tempered, adrenaline based and fast to move. Though Damian and himself had done the larger portion of her training to be Robin, Tim smirked at the times he had seen Jason show her a few moves, ones that could incapacitate a grown man with only a well placed blow. The small amount of time Mary had spent with that certain uncle was sparse and always far between, but in those few occasions Jason rubbed off on the girl more than anyone. Well, besides Damian that is.

Tom however, took after Dick. The eight year, young and impressionable, had idolized Dick and Tim, mostly the former. But there were times when the boy was a stubborn mule and always seemed to favor one over the other at the most inopportune times. No, Tom was nothing like his Grandfather. With his sister already holding the name of Robin, the boy had no need to think seriously over the issues Gotham presented.

There were other siblings as well… Well, sort of.

Terry McGinnis had taken the role of Batman while Damian had disappeared for a few years. The young man had only been in high school at the time and juggled the death of his father along with a criminal past. Bruce, finding something in the boy, gave him the title while the old man was still at Wayne Manor. Once Damian returned, Terry (though grudgingly) gave the cowl to the older man. Instead of leaving the few years behind, Terry stayed with Batman and Co. and took up Dick's old mantle of Nightwing.

For a Batgirl, one Margret Harding had risen from the crowd. Though the real identity of her vigilante companions stayed a secret, the young girl of twenty trusted in her partners' ability to get the job done. Margret was hoping to be a doctor before budget cuts forced her into physical education. Her knowledge of the human body and how training and physical activity was supposed to be done was what kept her on the job as Batgirl.

Then, there was Logan Nash. Damian's first Robin. A little more than two years had passed but still, the pain was still fresh as if it were splattered on the walls. No one spoke of him, little Tom doesn't even remember him. Logan went down in history as the second Robin to be killed on the job, murdered.

Instead of Joker, this time it was Jester.

Jason had blanched.

Tim pulled himself out of his thoughts. The anniversary had passed only a few days ago and the tension in the house was always thick. Before the man could react, a hand was shaking his shoulder.

"Tim!" Mary called again. Seeing her uncle blink, she sighed in frustration. "You blanked out for second there, old man," she joked. Her uncle only raised an eyebrow.

"Old man? Really?" he whined in a mocking tone. Forty Two was not old. Not when you could still take down a group of street thugs with your hands tied together. Blindfolded. "You gotta' be kidding me," he sighed but Mary only spared him a scowl. Oh yeah, definitely taking after her father. "Did you finish that report for Damian?" he asked, and as long as he was on the subject of reports… "And where's that physics essay you promised me? I assigned it only two days ago."

With a defiant huff, Mary shoved the rag she had been using at her uncle. Turning on her heel, she left the kitchen, determined to hand in the best damn report Tim had ever seen.

A/N: Hey everybody. Moe here, nice to see ya and if we haven't met, welcome.

Yes, this story contains a bit of Batman Beyond but I kind of like it!

Booyah! I have a fistful of stories going right now (because I CAN'T STOP THINKING OF PLOT BUNNIES) but this one demanded my attention.

Voila!

I have a picture of Mary on my Tumblr if you would like, link is in my bio.

Also, reviews are welcome!