Disclaimer: I do not own YJ or any characters in this story!


I stepped into the asylum, looking around. Where was he? He had asked me to meet him here . . .

Mom walked up next to me. "When you're ready to leave, I'll be outside." She sniffled and turned around, walking out. I sighed. She was always running. No wonder we always were moving. When something didn't go her way, she had to leave. Sometimes I wondered about her.

I headed deeper into the asylum. At first I felt lost, but then I stopped and stared at the wooden sign that was hanging from the ceiling. No wonder I hadn't seen it; the paint had been chipped off.

I closed my eyes and opened them again. I was able to the basic indents in the wood: Visitor's Office: Straight; Cells: Left; Restricted Cells: Right. I wondered which one my father would be in.

I walked straight until I found the visitor's office. There was an old, fat lady at the desk with thick horn rimmed glasses from the eighties, thumbing through some paperwork while popping her gum and talking on the phone. I could tell she was trying her best to seem like she was young again.

I stood there in front of her for five minutes waiting for her to finish her phone call. Still, she didn't notice me. Finally I said, "Excuse me." Still, she kept popping her gum.

"Yo, lady! Hello? I'm right here!" I exclaimed after waiting for ten minutes. She looked up, her eyes wide. She stopped her popping, too.

"Can I help you?" Her voice was soft, tiny. Nothing at all like my loud, booming one.

"Yes, you may. I'm looking for my father's cell."

"What's his name?"

I leaned in. "I'd rather not say. There are too many people here." I looked around, scanning the faces of the people sitting in the waiting room. Some had newspapers in front of their faces, others were writing things down. Federal agents, no doubt.

"Well," she slid a clipboard towards me with a sign-in sheet on it, "Write down your name, person you're here to see, time in, and I'll fill out what cell number and time out."

"I can read, thank you." I snatched the form and sat next to some rich guy. You could tell he was rich from the watch he was wearing, the shoes he sported, and the way he sat. I wrote down everything I needed to write and headed back up. The look on the woman's face was priceless as she read my information. Silently, she slid me a pass with a cell number written. I snatched that, too, and headed out. I vaguely felt someone's eyes following me.

I took a left down the restricted cell hall and kept walking, counting numbers in my head.

Finally, I was there.

I saw him looking up, on his knees, hands clasped together. What the hell? He was praying? What happened to the boss I knew?

"Hey, Daddy," I whispered, grasping the bars. Dad turned around, his face shining.

"Hey, punkin!" His accent made him mispronounce words sometimes. I used to think it was funny, now it was just annoying. "How are you?"

"I'm doing fine. Why am I here? I have things to do, you know. Leroy sent me on a few jobs."

"Well, I have another one for you. You remember that one circus I took you to? The one where you helped me?"

Of course I remember, you jerk. How can anyone not remember their initiation? "Yes."

"Well, one of them survived. He's working with someone famous now." He lowered his voice. "Michael will slip you the folder on your way out." Michael was the messenger boy, always sending me assignments from Leroy and Daddy.

I nodded, turning away.

"Oh, and, Cassie?"

"Yes?"

"Tell Diana I said hi."

I nodded, heading out. As I made my way towards the exit, the same man I had been sitting beside in the waiting room came in stride next to me. Silently, he slid me a manila folder, and I tucked it under my shirt. At 16, I was a pretty damn good sneaker. When we came to the doors, we parted ways.

I ran to my mom's car and slid into the passenger's side. I noticed Mom's uniform under her blue shirt and didn't even bother to ask. She could get her missions done in less than five minutes if she wanted to.

As we drove away, she didn't even bother to ask me how the visit went. When we got to my school, I told her Dad said hi. She just nodded, not even bothering to acknowledge me as I slammed the door and headed towards the doors. She knew what I was doing, and she'd stopped trying to change me after I got arrested a couple of months ago.

After checking into the main office, I headed into the cafeteria and sat down with my friends. They didn't say much to me; they knew what my game face looked like. I didn't want to be bothered.

Silently I slid the folder out of my shirt. There were packets of papers paper clipped to each side. I glanced at the tab, sucking in air when I saw whose name was written in red Sharpie.

Richard (Dick) Grayson; Robin.

Bruce Wayne; Batman.

I knew what red meant.

Kill.