Disclaimer Don't own a thing, except the kids, the machine, and the plot.

"Funny, but when you mentioned your 'place' I was thinking you meant 'hideout'. Are you sure it's wise to let me in on your secret identity? Your personal life? I mean, we just met." We were crouched on the roof of Nightwing's surprisingly small house; watching the red-headed boy entered his room via skylight. Nightwing grinned as he led me to another skylight that looked into the garage and I followed the vigilante through. Nightwing centered himself in a pool of light and commanded,

"Civvies. Home." There was a blast of light and suddenly Richard 'Dick' Grayson stood there, Gotham Knights sweatshirt and all.

"You've been hanging around the big guy for too long, Cadmus."

So he knew. I still didn't like the reminder. "My name is—"

"Terry."

"I was going to say 'unimportant' but since you know. . . "

"Civvies."

I was suddenly dressed in my comfortable jacket, black shirt, and pants. Grayson grinned at my bewildered look and clapped me on the back.

"I know more about you than you know, McGinnis. Come on time's wasting and Kory's got dinner ready—I can smell it from here."

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After an amazing dinner that left me wondering if I was ever going to be able to fit in the Batsuit again, Grayson and I parked on the couch. Well, actually, I parked on the couch and my host sat across from me in an armchair; his fingertips pressed together in a thoughtful position.

"So what's the trouble, Terry?"

I leaned in close, "Like I said, a former associate of your needs your help. You remember Garfield Logan?"

"Changeling. Of course I do."

"Well the green guy informed me that the Fastest Man Alive—whom I understand was a close ally of yours back in the day—is about to become the Fastest Man Dead."

Dick's eyes narrowed and he leaned forward, cocking his head. This was Bat-speak for 'I'm listening intently now, please continue' so I elaborated.

"It seems the Flash ran into a blue substance down in Keystone while chasing a rogue. The substance seeped into his costume and he began feeling nauseous and weak. The guy had no idea what was happening to him but he seemed to know that it wasn't anything normal doctors would be able to diagnose. He used up the last of his energy hotfooting it to New York's Tower. Garfield found the Flash on the floor some time before noon last Thursday; blue gunk leaking out of his mouth and nose. The green guy's doing all he can but—he can't come up with a cure."

"He won't be able to." Grayson said darkly, standing up and heading for the garage. I followed and was suddenly face-to-mask with Nightwing.

"Batman. Suit up."

I was once again bathed in the eerie white light and within milliseconds the Batsuit's weight was once again mine to bear. "MAN! The Cave could use this gizmo!"

Nightwing smirked as he reminded me of an all-important fact that I should have memorized by now, while typing a message to Kory telling her that he was going AWOL for a while.

"You know Bruce never takes shortcuts."

He led me to a car that looked like a slimmed-down version of the Batmobile, with a stylized wing on the front that matched the one on his suit. The vigilante opened the cockpit. Circuitry glowed an electric blue, highlighting two seats and a storage space behind them. Nightwing gestured to the passenger seat with one hand while he ran systems checks.

"Get in. We're going to Titan's Tower."

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We broke several speeding laws on our mad rush out of California—which I had a few qualms about but just a few. After all, I DO drive the Batmobile. My main concern was well-founded.

"We're no good to anyone if we're DEAD!"

Nightwing chuckled as he made a hard right, slamming me into my seat rest, "The Nightbird wasn't built for luxury driving, Batman!"

We nearly ran into a cyclist and a bus and I gave the vigilante one of my Bat Looks of Disapproval but my driver just laughed. I grunted.

"What was wrong with taking the Batmobile?!"

"Nothing. The Nightbird has more seats, more supplies, defensive/offensive weaponry and shields, AND it feels and looks much more stylish!"

I grunted again.

"At least my car can fly!"

"The Nightbird can fly; it just uses up the power cells, though. Besides, dodging through traffic is SO much fun! "

"Alright, fine have it your way. You owe me answers to a question I have, though."

"Ask away."

I took a deep breath, and then started drilling. "Why haven't you aged? I mean, you should see Drake. He's grey and bitter to a fault."

Nightwing stiffened for an instant, then turned to me with a pointed look before continuing his mad steering. Horns honked and drivers yelled in the silence that followed my statement as the vigilante composed himself enough to answer.

"Considering what he went through, can you blame him?"

There was a tone in Nightwing's voice that wasn't directed at me. Just like Bruce, Grayson blamed himself for what the Joker had done to Robin. Although, in Nightwing's defense he hadn't even been in town when it happened and thus couldn't have helped even if he had wanted to. Realizing that the crafty vigilante had not only put himself on a mini guilt trip but had also succeeded in avoiding my original question (traces of Bruce's training showing through again; avoiding interrogations was part of the job description for all under the Bat's tutelage, apparently), I growled the Growl of Annoyance.

"I don't blame Drake for being a bitter old crow. I blame you for not answering my question. Why haven't you aged?"

There was a long pause. I swore that we ran over three pedestrians while that pause lasted but we couldn't hear them screaming over the squeal of the brakes as we entered the city of Las Vegas to refuel. As we left the Casino City, Nightwing ended the silence and sighed heavily.

"A villain by the name of Ras'al Ghul had a devious plan to kill every person on the planet."

I snorted, "How original."

The driver shrugged. "It's standard for him."

"I see. Go on."

"Any way, Batman and I stopped him but before we could bring him in, he flung red dust at Batman. Ras knew that I would jump in front of my mentor (I'd done it many times before and would gladly do it again if the need arises) and he was right. I backflipped spread-eagle and got coated in scarlet dust, which seeped into every miniscule opening in my Kevlar mesh. This in turn caused the powder to become absorbed into my bloodstream, tinted my costume brown and handing me a nasty curse to add to my misery. "

"Hold it! What was the dust, magic or something?! What do you mean 'curse'? I thought the bad guys were supposed to be the superstitious lot."

"Just be silent! Ras's magic works in strange ways with me, McGinnis. A drop of my blood has wrecked one of his spells in a HUGE way before, and the result was weird to say it simply. I won't go into the details of that encounter now, though. Stranger things have happened during my encounters with Ghul and his whacked-out magic-things that would blow your mind. It got to the point where Ras got so sick of me that he cursed my Romany heritage in nineteen different languages in one sitting—right before I kicked his butt for trying to turn Bludhaven into an ashtray."

I cocked my head to the side in thought, "So, this magician guy thinks that the reason his spells go haywire when any part of you interferes with his magic is because you're a Gypsy? Weird. So what did the evil pixie dust do to you?"

"The dust was supposed to make Bruce rapidly age until his years were used up and he turned to a pile of dirt. It wasn't going to happen to me that way. Instead, the dust acted as the Elixir of Life. Ras laughed at me and said that I'd live young forever; forced to watched as my friends and family grew old and died. He said that my situation was a suiting punishment for Batman as well because he knew Bruce would blame himself for my curse, which we found out later, had no cure."

I thought for a moment, an epiphany hitting me like a blow to my gut.

"Do you think this Ras'al Ghul could be responsible for our little problem?"

Nightwing shook his head.

"No, this isn't his style and as much as I'm sure Ghul would love to get his hands on the Speed Force, Batman has always been his primary target. Now that Bruce is retired I highly doubt that that magician would be starting trouble now. You may be Batman, Terry but you're not- to many of the old rogues that can still cause trouble—you aren't the Bat they want."

We grew silent as we entered New Jersey. When we passed the city of Newark, Nightwing suddenly pulled over and growled under his breath, "No, no, no, NO! Jason Todd Grayson, you sooo did not pull a Spritle Racer on me-not now!" I wondered what he was talking about until he opened the trunk and got out; emerging from behind the tailpipe holding two squirming boys by the back of their Kevlar suits. The two stowaways looked guiltily at each other and cringed as their captor blew up as calm as a viper who's been disturbed.

"You two are in serious trouble and if I wasn't in such a hurry I'd cart your rears back home! Now, get in the back and fasten your restraints. If I hear one peep out of either of you unless I ask you a question or Batman addresses you, I'll tell uncle Gar to lock you in the holding room then I'll ground you from patrol for three weeks, got it?!"

The boys nodded and quickly complied. Their father leaped back into the cockpit and we were off again.

"So," I said, giving the Bat Glare to our uninvited passengers, "these boys are your protégés?"

"You could say that. Though technically they could be called my offspring. The one in red and orange is Flamebird 5, or Jimmy Gordon Grayson-which is what he'll stay if he's grounded from using his super hero name, *Ahem!* " The ticked off father looked pointedly at his fidgeting, shame filled son before continuing.

"You've already met Bluejay, aka Spritle, aka Busted, aka Jason Todd Grayson which is what I named him when he came out with hair the color of a robin's breast and the attitude of a real jerk. Right Jay?"

His seat was promptly kicked as a small voice protested, "Mommy told you to never say that again because according to where she sat, if you had moved your face BEFORE I kicked it you wouldn't have broken your nose on my foot!"

It took all of my willpower to keep from laughing hysterically at the mental picture that brought up! As the boys burst into fits of giggles, Nightwing turned as red as Bluejay's hair before growling to himself, "Yeah, and I also would have dropped you on your head, you little stinker. You are well named." Looking at the approaching skyline, the vigilante's eyes lit up again, humiliation and sourness forgotten as his gaze fell on one particular structure. Pointing, our driver announced,

"Aha! There's our exit! Keep your eyes to the east and your head straight and you'll be able to spot the Tower!" then to himself, so softly that only I could catch it, the vigilante whispered a silent plea:

"Hang in there, Wally! Help is on the way. I'm coming buddy. Titans Together!"