Warnings: Language and Disturbing Images . . .


The sounds of beating wings and birds screeching filled the night air as Nightwing landed on the roof of the building that neared the intersection. He set the box down in a secure location and peered over the ledge and straight into chaos. Birds! Hundreds of them . . . big and black, and out late. According to his chronometer, it was nearing midnight.

They were circling like a tornado in the middle of the street. Every few seconds, Nightwing would catch a glimpse of the action going on at the center of this feathered vortex. Flashing red and blue lights of at least two cruisers were parked nearby. Inside the whirlpool, several officers were shooting at the black birds in self-defense but there were too many for them to handle.

A bullet ricocheted off of the ledge near his foot and Nightwing stepped back.

How the hell could he help them? He checked his utility compartments and pulled out several smoke pellets. Perhaps this would confuse and disorient the birds enough to scatter them and allow the police to escape and take shelter in their vehicles. He was preparing to throw them from the safety of his perch rather than get closer and possibly take a stray bullet when he spotted her.

There was a brief parting amongst the birds but it was enough that Dick could see there was a woman in the midst of the wild animal assault as well. It had appeared as though several birds had latched onto her back, probably caught in her hair. That she hadn't been hit by a stray bullet yet was miraculous but it was only a matter of time before the inevitable happened.

His first duty was to protect the civilian . . . He would have to help the police while on the fly and hope that someone was looking out for him upstairs. He shot a line to the antennae across the street, atop the building opposite his, and leapt into the fray.

As he neared the swirling conflagration, Nightwing flung a handful of pellets and smoke billowed out even as he was struck by several birds. They were large enough that their weight and speed ensured he would be black and blue tomorrow morning even without his uniform on. A beak or a talon, he couldn't see well enough to tell, struck him across his left cheekbone, just below his eye, as well as across his arm and chest and thigh along one side. He couldn't tell how well his new uniform protected him but he had felt every impact.

"Hang on," Nightwing yelled out just as his arm wrapped around the woman's waist and they lifted high into the air. She stiffened but didn't fight him for which he was grateful.

A powerful burning sensation tore across his side as a bullet grazed his rib cage but he refused to let go of either his grapple gun or the woman. Should he do so, she would surely be injured if not killed outright. Instead, Nightwing lifted his legs on the upswing and hit the recoil switch on his grapple, letting the gun do the work. It lifted them higher than Dick could manage alone through the sudden onslaught of pain and against the drag of the woman's skirts and the extra weight of another person.

He let go of her as soon as they cleared the edge of the roofline, even as one of his legs collapsed out from under him, sending Nightwing tumbling across the tar and gravel rooftop. His suit did a lot to save him from major road rash as he skidded to a halt but Dick knew he would still be picking gravel out of his right side at the end of the night. He struggled back onto his feet in case the birds followed them.

"Are you alright?" he asked the woman as he hunched over a moment to regain his breath. "Are you hurt?"

She didn't answer him although, at a glance, she seemed to be alright. His body had protected her from the impact of the birds . . . Dick decided they were ravens. Too big to be crows, he thought, and there was a good chance that this would excuse Scarecrow from being behind this nightmare, not that the Master of Fear stepped foot outside of Gotham.

Nightwing limped over to the edge of the roof to check out his handiwork and make certain the cops were safe. The swarm of ravens suddenly swooped up the side of the building, nearly knocking him over. He stumbled back from the edge and prepared to defend the woman and himself.

"Run to the door," Nightwing yelled at the woman as he readied himself to take the brunt of the next attack. "I'll cover for you! Don't worry." He limped in her direction. "I won't let them hurt you."

His first thought was that she must be in shock because she neither answered him or followed his directions. And then he got his first good look at her . . .

She's no civilian, was his next thought.

Her skin resembled that of a corpse. The feathers he had believed were ravens replaced hair and she was staring at him with eerie golden eyes. He was close enough now to see that the whites were a jaundiced yellow and her irises were a deep gold color with double rings around them of orange and gray. She tilted her head as she studied him with bird-like movements that was more than a little disturbing.

Is she the one that I'm looking for? Did she kill all those people? But he knew the answers to those questions even as they formed in his mind.

The ravens were landing all over the rooftop, the antennae, and across the street and alleyways on the buildings, surrounding them. Their presence felt ominous, sinister, and the way they watched him creeped him out. There was no doubt in his mind that the woman controlled the birds and he suspected strongly that she was the being responsible for all the death this night . . . but how?

Birds didn't cause those people to shrivel and turn to dust.

Fear began to slither through his veins and crawl up his spine. He was staring his own mortality in the face and he knew it. His adrenal glands just dumped a load into his blood system and it was taking everything in him to reject the fight or flight instinct and just stand still. When woman took a step in his direction, he couldn't help it, Dick flinched, taking a half a step back from her. He felt like she was looking at him through the lens of a microscope. As if she were searching his soul in order to determine whether or not he deserved to exist.

And then she spoke.

"You . . . saved me?" she asked him, curiously.

Her words seemed to have a weight to them. Dick could actually feel each of them brush over his skin like a physical presence. Her voice sounded like the roar of a mighty wind and he could hear within that wind multiple voices speaking to him all at once.

Behind his white lenses, Dick's eyes widened as he came to the terrifying realization that even her voice could kill him.


He is scared . . .

His fear didn't bother her. All feared her. As she watched, he licked his lips and gathered his courage. He was acting as if he were facing a dangerous animal. That he understood his mortality in this moment was good. It meant he was not stupid but she was surprised when he didn't run for his life as all creatures did save her favored pets.

How peculiar, that . . .

"Who are you?" she asked. She wondered why he would attempt to save her when all others sought to destroy or entrap her.

Perhaps he is a god? He had flown her into the air without the aid of wings. It was this act that had saved him from her power. She had hesitated out of curiosity.

He had passed through her ravens and the flying metal without harm . . . No, she corrected herself. He is hurt. She could smell the blood on him. Her eyes immediately found each wound received by him in the act of aiding her. The fact that he could bleed wasn't unusual to her. She knew better than most that gods could bleed. But the question remained as to why a god would bother to save her when even a god had to know his ultimate end lay at her fingertips?

"My name is R- . . . Nightwing," he told her.

His voice shook slightly but he did not stammer. He had started to give her a different name but then deliberately said another.

Night. Wing . . . Her bluish-black lips lifted slightly. A strange sensation with which she was unfamiliar. I am . . . amused, she decided, plucking the knowledge out of the ether.

She walked toward him. That he stiffened and took another step back was ignored but when he continued to hold his ground, she was oddly pleased. Stopping in front of him, she sniffed, breathing in the scent of his skin, his sweat, his fear, and the blood. Her eyes watched a bead of red as it slid slowly down his cheek from a deep scratch that one of her pets had given him. Her vision then dropped down to the ragged tear in his strange clothing, where his blood dripped far more freely. She reached out with one hand and dragged one of her talons across it.

He hissed but never moved. Far more used to beings cowering, she was fascinated by his audacity. It was . . . refreshing.

She brought up the crimson drop to her own bloodless lips. She watched as the artificial lighting of the city glistened off of its surface and then . . . her finger dipped into her mouth and she tasted him.

She blinked, surprised. She was never surprised and yet he had managed to do it twice in just a few short minutes.

"Human," she announced unnecessarily.

"Um . . . Yes," he answered softly.

She frowned at him. "But you flew. Humans don't fly."

The corner of his mouth tipped up. "Actually, we do but no, not in the sense you are meaning." He held his grapple gun up as a means of explanation. "I, uh, take it that you aren't . . . human, I mean?"

"I am not," she explained. "I am . . . MORE."

He shivered in response. Her lips tilted again as she watched him fight his instincts.

"Why did you attack the police?" Nightwing asked her. His courage was growing, she noted.

"They attacked me," she told him.

"And why were they attacking you?" he asks for clarification. "Because of those you killed?"

She shrugged one shoulder carelessly. "When do they not? It is the nature of all creatures to fight for their own existence. It is of no consequence. Death comes to all in the End."

"S-So, you were going to kill them?" The Night Wing switched his position, taking a more defensive stance.

Her lips twitched. Like he could stop her should he try; she found the idea mildly entertaining.

"Of course," she said quite reasonably. "Although I am replete for now. I find my curiosity outstrips my appetite at the moment." She considered him before admitting, "I have never actually spoken to one of you before."

"You mean humans."

"I mean, prey," she said, truthfully. "But you . . . You . . . amuse me."

Despite her open admission of her fascination, she noticed that he remained on his guard. She wasn't offended. It was a sign of his intelligence. Though, had she wanted it, his life would be hers between one breath and the next.

"So happy to oblige," he said, sarcastically.

She did not understand the concept of sarcasm, however. It was his word choice that caught her attention and her smile faded as she considered him for a time.

"But you are not, are you?" she asked. "Not really."

The Night Wing frowned. "I don't know what you're talking about."

She studied him for a second as she compared their existence. "It is my nature to have a solitary existence," she explained. "I do not seek companionship. If I converse, it has only been to one or two of my peers . . . gods and goddesses," she clarified. "None, however, are my equal for they, too, will fall before me . . . in the End."

He blinked at her. "So, you are a goddess?"

"I am The Goddess," she said to him.

"The Goddess . . .? Like the One who created everything?"

"No. I am not the Creator," she explained. "I am the Destroyer. I am Dal 'Riata Abn'la, the goddess of Death and of Blood. I am The End."

She watched him grow pale. "The end of . . . life?" he asked.

"Of Everything."


The End of Everything . . . It was not so much what she had said as it was the way she had said it. Matter-of-fact, with not even a hint of arrogance. Unlike some of the more powerful creatures he had had the misfortune to meet over the last few years, she did not feel the need for arrogance. She was what she was . . . And what was that she had said? That gods would fall before her as well . . .

Sh-She's a god-killer, Dick realized, swallowing. How the hell do I stop a being capable of destroying the gods themselves. His knees felt a little watery and he stiffened them. How powerful was she?

"But not tonight," he declared with a bravado that he did not feel.

She ignored his challenge much like a man would ignore the challenge of the ant. It was of no consequence to one such as she.

"You grieve," Dal 'Riata announced abruptly.

The change of subject threw him for a moment and Dick's mind fluttered with images of his parents and then of Bruce . . . of Alfred, and the manor before settling back on Bruce. The latest loss was the most painful.

"My parents were murdered years ago," he said slowly.

"There is that," she acknowledged, "but no, that grief has ebbed while another grows. It is not death that saddens you."

"M-My guardian," he admitted. "How did you . . .? Are you reading my mind?"

"It is not so difficult," she shrugged lightly. "You are so very troubled. I think that, for you, death would provide much relief."

When she raised her hand, Nightwing moved back again, needing the distance. He pulled out his escrima sticks, flicking the switch to enable the stun option. It would be naught but a token gesture and he knew it.

"I have no desire for the Big Sleep just yet, goddess."

That sly smile was back. "It is inevitable."

"That may be, but I will never go willingly into that embrace," he said with a hint of anger. He wasn't that desperate. Not yet.

She tilted her head again, those cold eyes seeing, effortlessly it seemed, into his soul. "I do not believe that is entirely true . . . but," Dal 'Riata smiled grandly, shining teeth behind bloodless, blue lips, "I will honor your request."

Nightwing let the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. "Thank you," he felt compelled to say.

Dick took a couple of steps to the side to look down at the action happening in the street. It was an epileptic's nightmare below. There were more flashing lights from yet more patrol cars, SWAT, and other emergency vehicles that had arrived during his peculiar conversation. The police officers had been injured, although none appeared critically. He had the feeling that without his ill-conceived actions earlier, there would have been four more corpses to add to the number of dead.

An officer spotted him and pointed. Nightwing moved back out of sight. He worried about the outcome of another confrontation tonight. He would prefer to avoid that but, unfortunately, no ideas were presenting themselves to him.

"Why are you here? Now?" Nightwing asked the goddess. Maybe if he knew what she wanted, he could get her to leave before more police officers rushed up here and found their own deaths.

"For the same reason I go anywhere," she told him.

"Which is?" he growled a little in his frustration. Getting a straight-forward answer from her was proving to be difficult. Dick decided she hadn't much experience with communication. And why would she bother if everyone she spoke with was about to die?

"To destroy," she answered, tilting her head back to look at the sky. "It is your universe's time. When nothing else exists, I will travel to another realm and then to another and another until only I and the Creator remain."

"Universe?" The word came out weakly. Not just earth, then, but the entire universe . . . other realms, other universes . . . "No. Please. We're not ready."

"Death waits for no one." Those cold eyes landed on him again.

"Is there no way to convince you to let us be . . . for now?"

She frowned at him and it terrified him. This feeling was far more potent, he discovered, than any fear toxin.

"So many worries for one so young," she murmured. "You sought to save me and now you seek to save others from me. The irony does not escape me. Such a grand resolve and yet, I wonder . . . Is there no one to save you?"

Bruce appeared instantly in his mind's eye and Dick shook his head to clear it. He had burned that bridge when he had left Gotham this last time. This wasn't about him anyway. What good would it do to save himself if everything else he cared for died around him?

"Once, maybe but not anymore," slipped out. He hadn't meant to say anything.

He startled suddenly when Dal 'Riata was suddenly standing inches in front of him. He hadn't even seen her move! Was she that fast or could she teleport?

"I will do it," she declared, wonderingly. "I will save you."

"You . . . Wait! What? But . . . I-I don't need . . ."

"Ah, but you do," she corrected him gently. "You should be grateful. I have never before chosen to bestow a gift upon any being in all of my eternity."

Another spike of fear. His heart was pounding out of his chest. "I am afraid of your gift, goddess. I don't want to die." Remembering the gray, shriveled corpses before they disintegrated into dust, Dick found himself wondering if it had hurt. It looked as if it had hurt.

"Say my name," she commanded.

"Dal 'Riata . . ." he stumbled on the unfamiliar words.

"Abn'la," she coaxed him and he repeated it.

"It is not death, my Night Wing," she assured him. "I merely wish to take your worries from you, to send you back to a simpler time."

"No . . . I . . ." Was she talking about time travel?

Laying a cold finger across his lips, she interrupted him.

"You may thank me now," she whispered. She punctured her thumb with one of her talons and pressed the black blood upon his forehead and then, pressing cold lips upon the mark, she bestowed her blessing on him with a kiss.

The world twisted, his head swirled, and Dick lost awareness for a time.

He blinked as the trance-like feeling receded and he became aware of his surroundings again. When he opened his eyes, he found Dal 'Riata Abn'la standing on the far side of the rooftop from him. Her ravens were flying, spiraling upward in the air above her. Then horror overwhelmed him as Dick finally noticed the bodies surrounding him. The rooftop was covered in corpses. Gray, shriveled statues in the form of Bludhaven police officers and SWAT. Far more numerous than those disturbing remains, were the empty uniforms and the scattering of a fine, gray powder that shifted and flowed across the roof and around his ankles.

My God! No! How long had he been out of it? Had all of this been happening while he had just stood there?

"What did you do?" he screamed at her.

"What I always do," she answered, her voice as calm as before, although Nightwing could tell that her many voices had grown in power. It now echoed over the buildings and throughout the desolated streets below.

"Go home, my Night Wing," Dal 'Riata commended him. "I will spare your world for a time and will begin my work elsewhere."

"Elsewhere?" he asked. He felt lightheaded, shocky. He was having difficulty focusing his thoughts.

"But I will be back," she told him.

And with that ominous promise, the ravens swooped down and surrounded her like a whirlwind and, when they flew away over the tops of the buildings and skyscrapers, she was gone. And although time for him had been affected, he hadn't travel through it. He didn't know if he should be grateful for that or disappointed but, for now, earth at least was safe from her power.

This was bigger than him. Bigger than anything he had ever even heard of . . .

Dick stumbled over the piles of clothing and equipment. It looked like the ravages of war up here, and it took everything in his power to keep his feet under him. Where was his famous Grayson agility now? He caught himself on the small parapet that lined the edge of the roof. He was pulling his grapple gun out when he remembered the box he had hidden across the street on the top of the other building.

Somehow, if there was a way to stop her, he prayed that the box and the scroll he had discovered contained the answer.


The trip back to his apartment was fraught with close calls. Whatever the goddess, Dal 'Raita Abn'la, did to him, Nightwing counted himself lucky that he had not killed himself before he was easing through the window in his bedroom. By the time he slid the window closed, he was ready to collapse.

Every nerve was on fire. He felt every bruise, every scratch and, in particular, the gouge along his ribs. The entire left side of his suit was sticky with his blood. But, for all that, the wound were still oozing; it wasn't bleeding freely. If he could get himself cleaned up and bandaged, he should be fine. With that goal in mind, Dick peeled away the first layer of his Nightwing personae with his mask. He tossed the scrap atop the box and shoved them both into his closet with the intent of hiding them in his secret compartment where he stored his costume and other hallmarks of his Nightwing personae later. First things first . . .

Dick leaned against the wall as the room began to spin around him. He needed to get into the bathroom before he lost his stomach. He dropped his escrima sticks and gloves, and one of the weapons rolled across the floor. He left it where it lay. He would get it later, when he was feeling better. He groaned as his joints began to ache.

"Damn it, Grayson, this is the last time you are allowing any goddess to bless you," he growled to himself aloud. Or maybe it was just the blessings of goddesses of death and destruction that really sucked.

He tugged at his top, yanking it over his head and leaving it where it lay on the bathroom floor as he stumbled to the sink. He glanced at himself in the mirror and saw the black mark on his forehead left by Dal 'Riata. He rubbed at it with his thumb but the substance had already dried and would require more effort that he had to spare at the moment.

He turned his attention to the torn skin on his cheek, instead. While he admitted it wasn't as bad as it could have been, it could still get infected if he didn't treat it. Considering it had been a raven, who knew what type of foreign bacteria the scratch contained. Luckily, his body, while was peppered with bruises, had few scratches. His body armor had protected him from the vast majority of potential injuries he could have accrued doing what he had been doing.

The worst areas belonged to the gash that bullet had gouged out of him and the scrapes along his right shoulder and hip. His costume's material had been partially scraped away in those areas but had held together enough to save him from serious road rash. What he did have was red and bruised from his impact with the roof but had bled very little. Dick knew there were a few pieces of gravel and asphalt that had been left behind but, for the most part, it looked worse than it felt.

He was reaching for his bottle of painkiller when the room began to spin again, even more aggressively than before. This time, darkness finally swept over him and Dick's head met the bathroom floor with a sickening thud.


It was the crying that had dragged thirty-year-old Livie out of sleep. The sound made no sense. She blinked as she tried to recognize it. It sounded like a child or maybe a baby but their building didn't allow children. Her husband, Marty, groaned and tugged his pillow over his head.

"Livie," he whined. "Tell the neighbors to turn down that racket. I've got to get up early for my shift."

That's right, she thought, Marty's working first shift in . . . she glanced at the clock, and winced, in four hours. It was one o'clock in the morning. She rolled out of bed and reached for her robe, dragging it on to help ward off the chill of March temperatures. Her slippers made a scuffing noise as she shuffled out into the living room and opened the door to the hallway.

Livie squinted into the light produced by the bare bulb. The Willis' were opening their door as well. She waved at Frank and Doris as the met her in the hall. Frank was scowling as he scratched at his morning beard. Doris smiled, looking chipper, despite it being in the middle of the night. The retired couple had lived in their apartment since their marriage fifty years ago. Livie knew they wouldn't move even though they were getting up in years and their building had no elevator.

"Who the hell is making all that noise?" Frank growled at her.

Livie shook her head. "Like I would know," she fended off his grumpiness. "but it sounds like a child."

"That's what I told him," Doris said as she elbowed her husband out of the way. "Didn't I say that, Frank? It sounds like a child."

"Can't be," he groused, rubbing the pain from his wife's bony elbows away irritably. "No kids allowed."

Dorus harrumphed. "It wasn't always that way," she told Livie as if imparting a great secret. "We raised our David right here in this apartment. Didn't we, Frank?"

Livie smiled. She had heard this story a million times since she and Marty had moved here five years ago. "It's coming from the new guy's apartment," Livie noted.

"He seemed like a such a nice, young man," Doris nodded. "Didn't he, Frank?"

Frank grunted. "Barely out of short pants, that one is. Think it's him that's making all that noise?"

Livie blinked. The new guy had appeared to be young but hardly a child. This sounded like a very young child, perhaps even a toddler. Whoever was crying was extremely upset about something.

"Not hardly. Maybe he fell asleep with his television on," Livie suggested. It was possible, too, that he had a girlfriend with a child staying over but Livie had seen no visitors coming or going during the week he had been here.

Frank snorted. "Damned inconsiderate," he grumbled as he marched over to the door. "How can anyone sleep through that screeching?"

He banged on the door with his fist. The door was solid wood and heavy but it rattled on its hinges from the force of Frank's pounding.

"Hey, shut that racket off in there," he roared, determined to make himself heard. "People are trying to sleep!"

The crying stopped for a few short seconds before it began again, even louder and higher pitch than before. Even Frank appeared a little startled by this. The three adults exchanged startled looks.

"That sounded like a real baby. You don't think . . ." Doris began. "Could there be an actual child in there?"

"No kids allowed, Doris," Frank reminded her.

Doris nodded immediately in agreement. "That's right," she said. "We have to go to David's house to see the grandchildren, don't we, Frank?"

"Well, it certainly sounded real and it reacted to your pounding," Livie commented. "Maybe the kid belongs to a girlfriend?"

"Hey, what all's going on up in here?"

The couple and Livie turned as Hector from the fourth floor was coming up the stairs. His apartment sat right below the new tenant's. He had to be suffering just as much for sharing a ceiling with the guy as the rest of them did for sharing walls.

"We think the new tenant might have a child in his apartment," Livie explained.

"It's the damned television," Frank insisted. "No consideration." Frank pounded on the door again. "Shut that crap up," he yelled.

The crying raised in pitch.

"Stop it, Frank," Doris patted her husband's shoulder. "You're scaring the poor thing."

"What the hey?" Hector rubbed his eyes. "Didn't Horowitz give him the spiel?"

"No kids allowed," all four of them quoted together.

"Yes, Hector, we know," Livie told him.

"Yeah, well, I called down a few minutes ago and told Horowitz to get his tight ass up here," Hector said around a yawn.

"I'm getting to old for this shit," Stephan Horowitz complained as he stomped up the stairs to join the growing crowd. "What the hell is that noise?"

"We think it's a baby," Livie told him.

"Impossible! No kids allowed," Stephan barked, ignoring the way the others rolled their eyes at him. "I told him that, too, before I gave him the keys. He said he didn't have any kids and he didn't have a girlfriend."

Hector raised his eyebrows. "A good-looking guapo like that has no girlfriend? Do you think he likes the fellows?" he asked, suddenly interested.

Stephan snorted, "Keep it in your pants, Hector. I'd be surprised if Grayson isn't still jailbait."

Hector snapped his fingers. "He's certainly built like he's all man. I'm just saying is all."

Frank rolled his eyes. "Then where did this kid come from?"

"That's what we're going to find out now," Stephan told them, moving to the door.

"Already knocked," Frank told him, "twice."

Stephan knocked and called out. "Grayson? Open up! It's the super. . ."

After a couple of minutes passed with no answer except more crying, Stephan pulled out a wad of keys from his plaid robe and searched out the one he needed. He slid it in the lock. The knob turned but the door refused to budge. There was a brand-new deadbolt on the door and it looked as though Grayson was using it. Horowitz rattled it in frustration and the crying stopped a couple of seconds before resuming yet again.

"Do you think the guy's hurt?" Livie asked. "Maybe that's why he's not answering."

Hector clicked his tongue. "You mean like a drug addict? You think he's OD'd or something?"

"Not necessarily," Livie denied. "I meant that maybe he fell and hit his head?"

Stephan gaped at her. "You think he's bleeding all over my floors?"

Doris looked alarmed. "Oh, no . . . Should I call 911?"

"I don't know!" Livie threw up her hands in frustration.

Stephan was looking alarmed now. "Oh no! No, no, no . . . No 911," he declared. "They come in with their muddy shoes and crowbars and axes. They tear up my hallways and destroy my doors," He shuddered. "No, no 911."

"Then what the hell are we supposed to do?" Frank bellowed. "Listen, Horowitz, we pay our rent on time . . ."

Stephan held up a hand as he thought for a moment. He nodded. "Okay, listen. The kid gave me a number to use in emergencies. Told me not to use it but, you know, I got to have someone to call if someone croaks or whatever."

No one said anything. It wasn't notifying the tenant's next of kin that Horowitz was talking about. He was only concerned with any back rent the person might have left behind or to pay for any repairs for damages that the tenant might have caused.


Stephan stomped back down the stair to his own apartment and to the rolodex he kept just for the people who live in his building. Whoever he got ahold of could be helping Grayson move right back out of here if he really broke the rules and brought a child in his place . . . and after Stephan had spent several long minutes making sure the kid understood them and everything.

Damn shame, too. Grayson had seemed like a nice enough kid but it seemed like they were all alike. So, it wasn't the parties all night with him but the results were still the same in the end and Stephan couldn't abide getting phone calls from irate neighbors in the middle of the night. He found the card he was looking for with the name and number on it. On it was Grayson's written request not to call it except in emergencies.

Well, this was an emergency. Nobody can sleep and if Grayson won't open the door. . .

Alfred Pennyworth, the card said. It was a Gotham number. Damn!

"Couldn't have been someone local, could it?" he complained, muttering under his breath as he picked up the phone. He made a mental note to add the long-distance charges to the kid's bill.


"Understood, sir," Alfred spoke into the mic on his headset. "Yes, the boy is fine. He was sleeping when I checked on him an hour ago. He will be pleased to know that you have captured the rest of the men. That is very good news."

He was currently watching the video that was streamed to the cave from the camera fitted into the cowl. He had hated watching the video when they first implemented it but for occasions like this one. Watching Batman sweep through the building where the latest cache of drugs was being distributed to the middle men that headed up the various neighborhood, including Jason's old one, Alfred hated it for different reasons.

The violence that the Batman would mete out in his brand of vigilantism was to be expected but, during the last half year, the level of brutality had increased far more than was necessary. When he had been accompanied by Master Robin, that violence had only been the amount that was required in order to get the job done. For several months, after Master Richard had left the manor angrily, Batman's barbarity had risen as a direct reflection of Master Bruce's frustration. These last several weeks, however . . . Well, Alfred would have to admit to it being the first time his sympathies lay with the criminals of which Batman was forced to deal.

"Will you be returning to the cave shortly, sir?" he asked.

"No, not yet," Batman's voice sounded through the earpiece. "I got a name out of one of the men here tonight. I want to check it out first and make certain the information is legitimate. I don't trust him to be as willing to testify before a grand jury as he was for me tonight. That means I need to find the evidence that will connect the name to the drugs."

"I have a feeling that your interrogation methods wouldn't be approved of by a court of law." Alfred added dryly.

There was a hint of a smirk in the growl when Batman answered. "It wasn't as if I had planned to actually drop him, Agent A."

"Hm, well, it is nice to see you in a good mood for a change," Alfred noted sarcastically as his pocket buzzed. "Very well, I will leave you to it, then."

He frowned as his hand dipped down to retrieve his personal cell phone. The number of people who had his personal number were less than a handful, and coming at this time of the night meant it would not be good news. He looked at it and felt his heart skip a beat.

He didn't recognize the number, only the area code. Bludhaven . . . and that could only mean that the reason behind Batman's most recent foul temper was in trouble.

He took off the headset and answered the call.

"Hello? Master Richard?" Alfred answered carefully. "Are you in trouble?"

"Master who?" came a harsh voice on the other end of the line, making the butler's breath catch in his throat. "I'm looking for an Alfred Pennyworth. Is that you?"

"Indeed. May I ask who you are and how you came about this number?" Alfred demanded. Why was a stranger calling him in Richard's stead?

Dear Lord, he had talked to the young sir just two weeks ago! It wasn't as if Master Richard wasn't capable of caring for himself against the dregs of society. Alfred's concerns for the young sir had been regulated to thoughts of shelter and food. Of course, he was fully aware that Master Richard had taken on a new identity with which to battle the criminal set, and who knew what dangers that boy would face without the protective aid of the Batman or his young Titan friends but Master Richard seemed determined to prove he could go it alone.

It was just . . . Bludhaven! Even the dregs of Gotham's criminals looked like upstanding citizens compared to most of those who trolled that city's streets. Despite his hesitance, Alfred had agreed to keep the boy's location secret from his employer. That had proven to be especially difficult when he knew that Master Bruce had been searching for information on the Richard to ease either his conscience or his worry. Indeed, after kicking the boy out of the only home he had, Alfred had thought it fitting that his employer had to deal with a bit of worry on the young master's behalf.

Alfred only heard the report secondhand from Master Jason as to what had occurred in the Batcave nearly a month ago. Master Bruce had refused to speak of it but the butler knew it had been very bad. The Batman's degree of violence had been pushing the edge since then.

"My name's Stephan Horowitz . . ." said the man on the phone.

"I do not recognize the name, sir. I do not mean to blunt but it is late. If there is a point to this call, I would appreciate it if you would get to it post haste."

"Yeah, don't need to get all hoity-toity like on me, Mr. Fancy Pants," Mr. Horowitz complained. "I have a tenant here that gave me your name as his emergency contact. A Richard Grayson. Does that name mean anything to you?"

Alfred's heart skipped a beat. Not a kidnapper then, but this boded just as ill in his opinion. "It does. What, pray tell, is the nature of the emergency? Is Master Richard alright?"

"Ah, well, see, it's like this. I don't really know," Horowitz sighed. "The kid added an extra deadbolt to his door and I cannot get in to check, and he refuses to answer."

"Perhaps, then, he is asleep or isn't at home at present," Alfred added reasonably, quite certain now that the boy was likely out patrolling his new city. But for what reason had the building's superintendent felt the need to get Richard's attention.

"That is part of the problem, see? His kid has been screaming straight through for the past thirty minutes and the building doesn't allow for kids," Horowitz explained.

Alfred blinked. "I'm afraid there must be some mistake. Master Richard doesn't have children."

Horowitz snorted into the phone. "I don't know about 'Master' Richard, but Richard Grayson had a child in his apartment, against the rules I'll have you, and the kid's been screaming his lungs out. Richard is neither opening the door nor is he doing anything to quiet the brat down. Now, someone needs to deal with this, as my other paying tenants are complaining, otherwise I'll be forced to call the police and ring up child protective services."

Alfred had no idea what situation that Master Richard had gotten himself into, but the last thing anyone needed at this point was the addition of the police or CPS. He didn't know where this child had come from but no situation had ever been improved, in Alfred's estimation, with CPS' involvement.

"Very well," Alfred conceded. "I can be there first thing in the morning." He began making plans to rearrange his day in order to allow for this trip.

"Ah, see, that right there . . . That's a no go," Mr. Horowitz disagreed. "This needs to be dealt with now, tonight."

"I'm afraid I simply cannot get there before then," Alfred argued.

He did not wish to drag Master Jason out at this time of night and he certainly couldn't leave the boy alone in the manor unattended. The younger boy had only been in the manor for a couple of months, hardly long enough to become acclimated entirely, and also, Alfred reluctantly admitted, he didn't fully trust him to not sneak out on his own as Robin.

"Right," Horowitz sighed. "The police it is then . . ."

"No! Wait . . . I'll need to contact someone first. I can have another there in my stead in an hour. Would that be agreeable?" Alfred said quickly.

"An hour? That's a long time to listen to this kid screaming . . ."

"I'm sure you noticed when you called this number that it has a Gotham area code. The city is at least an hour from Bludhaven," Alfred reminded him. "The best we can do is an hour."

"Okay, fine. But three o'clock comes along without someone showing up and I'm calling the cops. There are laws against leaving little kids alone. You get my drift?" Horowitz agreed grudgingly.

"Your drift has been gotten, sir, I assure you." Alfred told him stiffly. "You can expect Master Wayne in approximately an hour from now."

"Sure . . . So, who's this Master Wayne fellow you're talking about?"

"He is Richard's father." Alfred said, ending the call.

He sighed, not looking forward to this next call in the slightest. He dreaded the row that would likely result from this but, if Richard was in trouble, not to mention this unknown child the building superintendent was speaking of, then who better to rescue him than the Batman? Alfred would do what he could at that point to have Master Bruce rescue Master Richard, then would attempt to save him again from the wrath of his rescuer.

A child. Dear Lord . . . Master Richard, whatever have you gotten yourself into now? Alfred wondered of his unofficial grandson.


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