BART

I won't pretend that we actually stayed in touch all that well after the breakup, but after Tim's disappearance in Vlatava, we really stopped talking to each other. It just didn't feel right somehow, without him there to intrude on our calls and tell us all we were idiots before laughing it off five seconds later and insisting he was only kidding. If the dissolution of a second team made the rest of us more uptight, it made Tim less tense. He went out of his way to smile, to put on a happy face, to joke around and act like nothing was wrong when we all knew he was super-stressed and had his hands completely full. Looking back, I think he was trying to keep us close. I don't really blame him; after the closest thing he had to a family since his dad's death deserted him, we were all he had. That was why it'd kind of hurt when I heard from Cassie that Tim had joined up with the Veteran. I guess I just wanted him to be my friend, my teammate, my Robin, nobody else's. I didn't like that he'd found a new group to run with, much less the fact that they'd probably get him killed faster than it would've ever happened with us.

The thing that really made me uneasy, or disturbed me, I guess, was how quickly Cassie and Conner could dismiss it. When Tim went missing, it was like they weren't even affected at all. Cassie's response was something like, "We all knew the risks, especially Tim. He got himself into this; it's his choice." Conner wouldn't really say much of anything about it, but I could tell he wasn't too bent out of shape over it. It might've just been because he was confident that Tim would make it out okay, but I wasn't sure.

Me, on the other hand, I was freaking out. I called everyone I could think of for updates about every day of the week, demanding to know if they'd found him and where he was and if he was alright and if they needed me and if there was anything else I could do and talking for what felt like hours before somebody finally told me that they still knew next to nothing about it. The final transmission sent said something about "enemy fire", which basically meant—to me, at least—that they'd been shot down by Markovians. After all, they had been sent as relief aids for Vlatavan civilians and soldiers after the Markovian invasion. People argued that we couldn't be sure, since it wasn't specified in the transmission and they'd heard nothing since, but who was to say it wasn't the Markovians? I heard they could run some awful prison camps, not unlike the Nazis.

I tried to put that out of my mind, though, and focus on the problems at hand.

I volunteered to go find them. I meant it, too, really, I did. But I found out that, as time went on, I became less and less concerned about Tim and the Veteran's team and more and more concerned about keeping Central City safe. After the Crisis, Wally was MIA and Jay couldn't run anymore, so I was the only Flash left to protect everything my grandfather had watched over in his time and Wally and Jay in theirs. Not that I couldn't handle it; I mean, when you're a speedster, time doesn't really mean anything, so you can kind of do whatever you want in an hour and still make it to dinner on time. It was just that...I was used to having backup, you know? I was used to being able to call in Wally or Jay to help me out when I was getting my butt kicked. With me being the only speedster left in the whole city, maybe even the whole world, I couldn't do that anymore. It was all on my shoulders, and I had to saddle the weight with as much grace, dignity, and finesse as my predecessors.

Yeah, thanks, Crisis. We all love you so much for ruining our lives.

The only person I really, actually continued to talk to on a regular basis was Mia, and one morning, I went on a run to Star City to see her. She, thankfully, didn't have to go on her own too much. She had Roy Harper and Connor Hawke to fall back on for assistance when she needed it, and she was doing fine for someone who was going through what she was. I guess, in a sense, she was worse off than any of us, what with her HIV-positive status confirmed and all. She was living her life knowing she would die young, childless, and unmarried—practically the opposite of what most people wanted to do. But she was happy where she was at, and she wouldn't change it for the world. Or, at least, she said that she wouldn't. I never believed her…never have, never will. And I stand by that, even if I'm saying it to her face.

MIA

I always liked talking to Bart, as opposed to talking to any of the others. Cassie always seemed too superior, Conner too distracted, and Tim always too distant, trying too hard to express emotions he wasn't experiencing within himself. Out of all of them, Bart had always felt the most…real. It was like he had some power over me where he could just walk up, ask, "What's up?" and I'd open up to him, because his words were never just common courtesy, like what I'd get with Tim sometimes or what I could squeeze out of Conner if he paid enough attention to me. Bart was always sincere, always genuinely cared about what I had to say and was truthful when he responded to me about how he really felt. That was why I liked talking to him more than anybody else.

The day that Bart came to see me in Star City, I was taking an idle stroll through the park, enjoying the foggy, cloudy weather, when he zoomed up in front of me, grinning as I'd never seen him grin before. "Hey, Mia," he greeted me cheerily. "What's up?"

I couldn't stop the snort that escaped me. "You're chipper," I remarked.

Bart cocked his head in perplexity. "And you're not?"

"Not really much to be chipper about around here," I muttered.

Bart's smile immediately collapsed into a concerned gaze, and he motioned to a nearby park bench. "Let's sit down and talk about it," he suggested, but it was really more of a gentle order than anything else. So, I followed him to the bench and sat down next to him. He sat forward with his elbows resting on his knees, gazing at me with interest, eager to hear what I had to say. "So," he began, "what's up?"

I shrugged. "Same thing that's up with everybody else," I responded, slouching down a little farther in my seat. "Bad guys are taking advantage of the post-Crisis mess, looking for an opportunity anywhere they can find it to wreak havoc and raise hell. They'll do anything if it means they'll get their money or their goods." Or their girls, I added mentally, but didn't voice it. "Occasionally, a cop will work up the guts to make an arrest, but nowadays, most everybody's too worried about who's working for whom to do anything without thinking about the consequences. They've already gotten threats, everybody who's trying to clear up the streets, saying that retaliation will be severe if they interfere with their operations, so that's pretty much scared the law enforcement and city council into staying unseen. It's pretty much just us now, keeping people safe and the bad guys in their places. But with Ollie out of commission for the foreseeable future, I don't really think we're as organized as we should be. I mean, don't get me wrong, Roy and Connor are great heroes; they just…need leadership lessons."

I was quiet for a moment before I continued. "You know, Bart, I figured this would happen. I figured that the Crisis would pretty much make Star City unbearable, so I was really looking forward to having the Titans standing behind me, ready to pitch in and lend a helping hand when I needed them. After what happened with the team, and with Tim gone, I…I don't know what to look forward to anymore, to tell you the truth. I just…I don't know what to look forward to anymore."

Bart and I sat there together on the park bench in the silence for the longest time before either of us said anything at all. For somebody so fast, it took him a long time to process something like that. At last, he nudged my arm, and I turned to him. "Just 'cause the Titans are over doesn't mean we have to be," he said. "We're still friends, Mia, after everything that's happened. Doesn't that tell you something? It should tell you something."

I didn't have an answer for him. I just stared numbly at him, waiting for him to keep talking.

"If the Teen Titans were all that held the five of us together," he reasoned, "then, when the Titans broke up, all of that would be over. I wouldn't be here, talking to you. Tim wouldn't have called every weekend to check up on us all. Conner and Cassie wouldn't have stayed together. And even when the stress and the responsibilities started to catch up with us, we still tried to keep in touch with one another. Look, my point is that the Titans didn't constitute our friendship. We did. It was us, all us, and nothing else. That's the most important thing, Mia, at the end of the day, and it's all that matters. And you can always fall back on that—no matter what."

That was probably the deepest thing that I'd ever heard come out of Bart Allen's mouth, and the words actually made sense, too. He was right, you know. The Titans didn't hold our relationships together; our relationships added life to the Titans. I nodded to Bart, signifying that I understood what he was telling me. "Don't give up hope, Mia," he advised. "There's always a way to get it done. And I'm sure that everything will work out, with the team, with our friends…and with Tim." He stood up, sighing. "I've gotta run. See you!" And with that, he was gone, nothing left but a vaguely bright-red blur racing off into the distance, cutting a wake in the fog as he ran. I sat there on the bench after he'd gone, my hands folded in my lap, thinking back on what he'd said. It made sense. I got it. And for the first time in weeks, I was at peace.

TIM

This is how it happened to me.

The team and I were on the shuttle, headed off to Vlatava for the relief effort. We had five U.S. Marines on board with us, making the total number aboard at the beginning of the flight thirteen. They were there strictly as escorts, they told us, to help us through the tougher parts of the war zones. Not that we couldn't handle it ourselves, but we had to get through checkpoints with relative ease, and that wouldn't happen without the regular military personnel backing us. I was vaguely disappointed that none of my friends or so-called "family" came to see me off with the Veteran, but I got over it quickly. I couldn't focus on anything but the mission for now.

The seven-hour flight got boring fast, so we talked and told jokes and stories to pass the time better. I'd only had about five minutes to get introduced to the Veteran's team before we were hurried onto the shuttle, but I could still recognize them thanks to Batman's training. Clipper, the sniper, and Connelly, the front fighter, talked nonstop. Scarlett, a silent, red-haired young woman a little older than me, stuck close by Veteran the whole time, never speaking or even laughing at all; Garrett, a burly bear of a man, piloted the shuttle, and Parson, a slight, lean martial artist, told all the jokes and all the funniest stories about past experiences in the military. The five Marines participated as much as possible, conversing with them and relating their own narratives. And then there was me, just sitting there, not really doing anything in particular and trying kind of hard not to be noticed. I actually succeeded, for the most part, until Clipper leaned forward in his seat and poked my shoulder hard. "What's wrong?" he asked me.

I kept my face turned to the window as I answered, not wanting to look at the twelve pairs of eyes now turned to me. "Just…thinking," I replied. I was proud of myself. I was actually telling a lie that wasn't totally a lie.

"About…?" Clipper pressed.

I shrugged. "About how my life caved in on itself in a whole six months, mostly; but, other than that, I'm not thinking about much."

Clipper and Connelly glanced at each other incredulously. "What do you mean your life 'caved in on itself'?" Connelly repeated. "Things couldn't have seriously gotten that bad for you." Then he looked around and asked, "Could they?"

I still didn't turn away from the window, just kept my eyes trained on the water flashing by below us. "Let's just say that everything I cared about, or thought I cared about, ended up only being a temporary deal. Now that the deal's off, I don't have anywhere else to go but here, with you guys. But, hey, I don't regret being here."

"Well, but you've got to have somebody to turn to," Clipper insisted. "Don't you have a home?"

I shook my head.

"Don't you have a family?"

I shook my head again.

"Don't you even have any friends?"

I thought about it for a second, but then I shook my head a third time.

Parson whistled low in amazement. "Lone ranger, huh, kid?" he teased. Clipper, Veteran, and Scarlett glared at him. "Sorry," he apologized. "I just meant…pretty lonely life you lead there. Why did you even accept Veteran's offer? I mean, what was in that for you other than dying before you turn twenty?"

"That's enough, Parson," Veteran warned, his deep voice reverberating off the shuttle walls. "Don't trivialize the boy's losses. He's suffered enough." I finally looked away from the window and met Veteran's eyes, and I saw in them genuine sympathy for me. I could sense that, to him, we were all more than just a bunch of soldiers under his command, but especially me. I could tell that I was something of a son to him.

"I took up the offer because I lost everything," I explained, sitting forward with my elbows on my knees and my hands clasped, despite the discomfort of my seatbelt digging into my shoulder. "Batman, Nightwing, and the others deserted me after the Crisis, and the Teen Titans are disbanded, and things in Gotham are so unbelievably hopeless that I just—I need to build something back up for myself. I'm not going to just sit here and wallow in self-pity in the ashes of everything that was when I can spend my time constructing something new to fill the void." I was careful not to say "something new to replace it all", even though some part of me thought that. No, I told myself firmly. Nothing can replace Mom and Dad and Stephanie and everything else that I lost. But I can certainly make it hurt less with something just as good.

I was brought out of my reverie by the sound of someone clapping, and I realized it was Scarlett. Then, slowly, applause spread through the shuttle, until everyone except Garrett (who had to fly the thing) was clapping at what I'd said. Veteran seemed proud of me, and Clipper congratulated me, "Well said, Robin, well said."

Parson interjected, as if to have the last word, "Hey, don't worry, kid; no matter what, you've got all of us here to help you through. You can count on that. Well…unless you're infected with an alien parasite that eats vital organs. Then you're on your own."

I shook my head at him, actually chuckling a little bit, before an explosion from behind me made me throw my arms over my head and get as low as possible.

Garrett swore loudly from the cockpit. "What the hell was that?" I bawled at him.

"Are they shooting?" Clipper demanded.

Garrett was already on the radio, sending out a distress call. "Mayday, mayday, this is United States Paramilitary Unit V-26," he barked into it. "We have been exposed to enemy fire and are going down! Repeat, we are going down! Approximate position is—"

The minute I heard the words "we are going down", I was pressed back against my seat, pulling my seatbelt as tightly around myself as I could. I started ordering the others to do the same, to make sure they were fastened in well for what would certainly be a hard crash. We were past the ocean now, so all that lay below us was miles of tree-filled Vlatavan countryside. I was already analyzing exits, possible escape routes through the forest, forming a plan before we had to go into action. One quick glance over my shoulder confirmed that the people behind me were hurt, unconscious, or worse. From what I knew of shuttle crashes, we only had a forty-five percent chance of survival. Please let us be in that forty-five percent, I prayed.

Glass sprayed into the shuttle from the shattering windows and windshield, grazing my skin and leaving behind dozens of stinging cuts. Sparks flew and metal crushed inward towards us as the shuttle slammed headlong into the ground and skidded, bouncing off trees and rolling to a stop somewhere in the woods.

When I opened my eyes, Veteran had dragged me out and was leaning over me, concern written all over his face. "Robin," he called softly. "Robin, talk to me."

"Holy crap," I coughed out, raising a hand to rub my aching forehead. "What just—what was—oh, gosh…" My gloved fingers slipped on my forehead, the stickiness from the blood on my skin making it difficult for them to find a good grip for massaging. The bright sunlight hurt my eyes, but I managed to squint against it enough that I could look around and assess the damage. I counted only three of the Marines who'd been on board at the start, and Garrett was nowhere to be seen, as well. I turned back to Veteran. "What happened to—?" I began.

"Garrett and two escorts were killed in the crash," Veteran cut me off abruptly. "Four more may still die. You'll live, though; just a little banged up is all you are. We were lucky, Robin. Most of us were in the forty-five percentile range."

Barely, I thought, but I decided against saying it. Right now, the last thing anybody needed was negativity. I could plainly see that my plan I'd made earlier wasn't going to work. The four most seriously wounded couldn't be moved for fear of worsening their injuries, and, watching Clipper recite coordinates and team statistics into the somehow-still-working radio, I could tell that Veteran had already opted for us to stay here, anyway. Besides, thinking about it, that was probably the better option, considering that all our weapons and supplies were stashed in the shuttle. I got shakily to my feet and turned in a slow circle, surveying the area. "Who shot us down?" I demanded.

As Veteran gave some official response, a movement in the brush caught my eye. I locked my eyes onto it, watching carefully. I could just make out the figure of a man coming towards the crash site, carrying what looked like a machine gun.

"Get down!" I yelled, tackling Veteran to the ground as bullets tore from the trees. Everyone else who could still walk followed suit quickly, ducking and covering their heads with their arms.

"We're under attack!" Connelly bellowed. "Get through the trees now!"

We all took off in different directions, leaving the radio and the crash site behind. However, we'd underestimated their numbers. No matter which way we went, there were at least six men, maybe more, waiting for us, outnumbering us. I ran as hard and fast as I could, my legs pumping and carrying me far, but before long, I could hear the sounds of the others as they were taken. Please, please, please, let somebody get away, I found myself begging inside my head. We can't all get caught.

A strong, muscular arm whipped out of the trees, catching me in the nose and knocking me down. I came up swinging, and the man was tied to a tree in an instant. His buddies began pouring out of the woods, surrounding me, and I had no choice but to turn off all thought and go into Bat-mode. The fight only lasted about five minutes before there were two of the strongest guys holding me down on my knees, one hand planted firmly on a shoulder and the other roughly gripping a wrist to keep me on the ground. Another man walked up in a Markovian military uniform heavily decorated with medals and stars, so I assumed he was probably a general or commander or something. He pulled out his pistol, cocked it, and touched it lightly to the bridge of my nose, and I understood enough Markovian to know that he was threatening to kill me if I didn't cease to resist. I didn't let that stop me, though. I kept struggling to get free, jerking at the men's hands as I tried to get up and run. The other man lowered his gun, grinning a little as if he were impressed. When I glanced down at his gun hand, he was holding the pistol by the barrel. Then the butt of the gun smashed into my temple, knocking me cold.

After that, I was told, they proceeded to load me and the rest of the survivors into the backs of their convoys, which took us off to prison camps in the woods. I would remain a prisoner of war in Vlatava for two years. I was sixteen years old.