A/N: The motivation I have to continue this story is at its peak right now, so I managed to write this up. I already have the next few chapters outlined too, so hopefully the updates will come soon. Let me know what you think!

Disclaimer: I do not own DC Comics

Tim stared at his reflection in the mirror and tried not to think of how ridiculous he looked.

While he did appreciate this mystery guy getting him something to wear other than the hospital gown, their tastes in clothing were strikingly different. Since moving into the manor, Tim's clothing had taken on a more formal appearance; he often wore collared shirts and blazers, and if not he wore plain tops with a pair of faded jeans. That was not the case with this guy's style. At his disposal Tim had been given a black v-neck shirt, a pair of dark jeans, and a leather jacket similar to the one his apparent savior wore, except his had a cloth lining in it with a hood attached.

As far as Tim was concerned, the only way he'd ever dress like this was if he was undercover. He let out a huff, running his hand through his mop of dark hair to substitute for a brush. Turning to the side he straightened out the jacket, unable to stop marveling at how unusual he looked. That was when it hit him; of course he was going to look different. He was about to go sneaking out of Gotham. No one would think twice that it was him in this getup.

This guy was smarter than Tim had originally thought. He obviously knew a lot about Batman and the rest of the family, and had a connection to them somehow. What could have possibly happened that made this guy want to save a Robin? Why was he so hell bent on making sure that Tim didn't get thrown to the side? The questions had tugged at his mind since he'd first woken up, but so far he didn't have many theories. His only solution was to continue going along with whatever his guy had planned and see where it got him.

He emerged from the bathroom and walked over to the bed, shoving his feet into a pair of boots. They were a little big on his feet, but they would work for now. The man stood by the window, gazing out of it thoughtfully as the bright afternoon sun took over the sky. While they had intended to leave in the morning, a traffic jam right in the heart of the city had delayed their plans. It wasn't worth sitting in, and so they'd waited until the flow had resumed to leave. Tim wondered if the man even noticed that he was about ready to go, but as soon as he straightened the guy turned his attention to him, giving him a quick once over with his eyes. "Looks good. Paperwork is already taken care of, by the way."

Tim shrugged the bag over his shoulder, knowing the Robin suit was safely inside giving him a bit of comfort. He didn't know if Bruce was back in town yet, and he knew that he probably should have sent a message telling him he was okay. But he didn't dare to blow the cover that he had with this guy. If he was a danger to the Batfamily, then Tim had to find out before anything happened and he could warn Bruce. For now, he had to give this guy his undivided attention. "So what's the reason for leaving?"

"No point staying where you aren't welcomed," the man said, grimness sparking in his expression. "We won't be going far."

The teen followed the man out of the hospital, pulling the hood of his jacket over his head, hiding his features and also bracing himself against Gotham's chilly air. "Where to, then?"

"I have a place in Bludhaven," the man answered, leading him down the sidewalk. "Hope you don't mind a city worse than this one."

"I've been there a few times," Tim said, gaze glancing around the streets. He'd gone to visit Dick there, and from what Bruce had said and his own take on it, Bludhaven was nothing short of a disappointment. So much crime and bloodshed coated the streets that Bruce had been adamant that Tim stay away from it. Gotham had enough horrors as it was, and Tim didn't need to be exposed to anything worse, according to Bruce. He knew that if the Bat had it his way, Dick wouldn't even be living in Bludhaven, under constant stress and danger. "I know what I'm walking into."

The man gave half a smirk, but didn't bother directing it at Tim. "Good to know. It's been awhile since I've been here, so I don't exactly know where Batman has his main security feeds stationed."

Of course he'd want to avoid them. Tim knew he was waiting for some tip from him, so he spoke up, even though he felt like he was spilling all Bruce's secrets. "It's hard to avoid them, really. If we continue down this street we'll walk right into one positioned by the bank. If you want to avoid passing right through them, we'll have to take a side street."

The man thought on this a moment, and then nodded. "Later. You hungry?"

His question took Tim aback, and he blinked at the man. "Uh, a little."

Now the man looked to him, a single eyebrow raised, "You act like I'm out to kill you. If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't have risked my own ass to come save you in the first place."

Tim just shrugged, "I don't know who you are, but you seem to know everything you shouldn't. I have the right to be suspicious."

"Spoken like a true detective," the man said, and then led them to a diner a block away. It was a small place with minimal decoration, and a few TVs on various walls. Tim didn't protest as he followed him inside, for the first time in a few days he was starving. At least he wasn't being bound up somewhere in a crate with no food or sense of time. They sat in a booth in the corner of the room, facing each other and glancing up every now and then over their menus.

Tim chewed his lip thoughtfully, and then finally couldn't hold his question back anymore. "How are you so sure that Bruce isn't looking for me?"

"Just a hunch." Jason waved his hand towards the TV nearest to them and Tim turned around to see it. The sight on the screen made his heart drop, as much as he wanted to deny it. A televised news conference played across the screen, cameras flashing and reporters asking questions. Bruce Wayne stood outside Wayne Enterprises, talking away and answering questions with the same seriousness and charm he always possessed.

Tim didn't say a word to it and just turned back around and slid down slightly in his seat, staring at the laminated menu in front of him that seemed to mock him with its vibrant colors. There had to be a reason that Bruce wasn't out looking for him. No way would he choose a business meeting over looking for his missing partner. The evidence was striking, but he just looked back up at the man cautiously.

If he expected some sort of reaction, he didn't get it. The man looked as if he'd seen this coming from miles away, so unsurprised that it threatened to be startling. He shook his head at the screen, and then shrugged to Tim, "It's what he does. Wish I didn't have to admit it, kid."

"Did you guys have a falling out or something?" Tim asked, their conversation pausing as a waitress delivered them drinks and took their orders.

Once she had gone the man answered, "Something like that. We haven't talked in a long time."

"He does tend to piss people off," Tim said, stirring the ice in his drink with his straw.

The man let out a small, bitter chuckle. "He's good at it."

"I guess I just don't understand," Tim said, his gaze narrowing thoughtfully. "Bruce told me all about people that knew about us. But I don't remember him mentioning you."

A look passed over the man's face akin to him being shot. It peaked Tim's interest, but it was gone as fast as it had arrived. "He probably didn't think it was important. He never expected me to turn up again, after all."

Tim nodded slowly, "But we always expect him to show up."

"Always in our time of need," the man replied, his dark gaze finding Tim's. If he hadn't been so serious, if the far away look in his eyes didn't remind Tim of an abandoned, wounded animal, he probably wouldn't have listened as closely as he did. "That's the cruelest part about it, Tim. He gives up on everyone when you need him the most."

Nightwing was pretty sure he'd gone a full twenty four hours without sleep at this point. He blinked tiredly behind his mask, resisting the urge to rub at his face. The search throughout the night hadn't gotten them anywhere, none of Joker's minions making an appearance. Somehow they must have tipped off each other and now were just as hidden as the Joker himself. Bruce hadn't wanted to stop investigating, but Dick promised he would continue while his father dealt with real world matters.

"It's better that at least one of us continues looking," he had told his former mentor. "If I stay on it while you're with the company, Tim will have someone looking for him at all times."

Bruce hadn't resigned easily, but eventually gave in. If Dick could have gone to this conference for him he would have done it instantly. Instead he took the other job, which for now was just patrolling the streets during the daylight to see if he could pick up any leads. It amazed Dick how many crimes he'd stopped just by listening to talk among the citizens. So he stuck to the shadows, having to be more careful now that the night had gone, but nonetheless continued his investigation.

Currently he sat atop the roof of Gotham's arcade, scanning the streets for any sign of mischief. There were a few places nearby where criminals tended to flock; a small jewelry store, an ATM, even a bar a block away. Everything appeared to be quiet, the citizens going about their normal business. The diner straight across from him had customers walking in and out, from what he'd observed in the last ten minutes.

Looking at the sign made him realize just how much he'd been pushing his hunger down. He hadn't even eaten dinner when he found out that Tim was missing, just threw on his suit and left for Gotham. There had been no question of his involvement, only a slow burning anger that rose every hour that ticked by without success. He may have failed the last time a Robin went missing, he may not have been there for the last bird, but he'd be damned if he let anything happen to Tim. No more Robins had to suffer, never again.

The anger only emphasized how tired he was growing, blinking bleariness from his eyes. He was tempted to just walk into the diner and grab coffee to fuel him for a little while longer. It would take the edge off his nerves if he was lucky. He rose to his feet, nodding to himself. Yes, that was a good plan. Then he could continue surveying the rest of the city until Bruce called him.

"Master Dick?"

The voice came through the comm, momentarily distracting Nightwing from his plan. "Yes Alfred?"

"I do believe you have not returned to the manor at all. I think it is best that you return and get some rest before the night comes about again."

"I promised Batman I wouldn't stop searching," Nightwing replied.

"I'm certain that he will understand you are no help to him if you are dead on your feet," Alfred replied. "Back to the manor for some rest. You can continue to search for Master Timothy tonight."

Dick wanted to continue arguing, wanted to continue searching the city for as long as possible. But he was swaying on his feet, and Alfred had a point. All he had to do was get a couple hours of sleep and then he'd be ready to go back into the field. At least he could reconvene with Bruce beforehand and develop a new plan.

"Okay," he relented, "I'll head back."

He cast one last look at the scene below him, letting out a despondent sigh. Then he turned his back, setting his sights on the manor reluctantly.

C'mon, Tim. Where are you?

Tim opened his eyes as the car came to a stop. They'd finally gotten to his new guardian's car (though Tim highly doubted it actually belonged to him since it had been hidden out of the public eye) and fought through the traffic caused by Bruce Wayne's conference. By the time they made it out of the city and through the half hour that separated Bludhaven from Gotham, the sky had grown dark. The two of them hadn't said much to each other during the ride, and Tim had taken the opportunity to rest. While he did feel better than when he first woke in the hospital, his injuries still throbbed, and he really hadn't caught up on sleep yet.

Now he sat up straight in his seat as the man parked the car, looking to Tim. "We're going to have to go on foot from here."

Tim raised an eyebrow, but the man stepped out before he could ask questions. The guy was full of surprises, and the teen decided it was best to just continue going along with it. He quickly opened the door and slid out, slinging his bag over his shoulder. Most likely the car wouldn't even last until morning, and Tim figured the guy had his ways of getting another if they needed it. While Tim wasn't condoning thievery, it wasn't something he could worry about at the moment. Instead he followed beside the man, matching his pace. "I'm kind of surprised you live in Bludhaven. You seem to know Gotham pretty well."

"I grew up there," the man explained. "But Bludhaven serves the same purpose. Doesn't matter where you live, really, as long as you stay the same."

"Are you the same?"

"Full of questions, aren't you?" The man didn't look annoyed though, just amused. His blue eyes held a grin that didn't appear on his face. "Actually, no. For me, Bludhaven is a new start."

"Not the kind of clean slate I would have imagined," Tim muttered.

"Who said anything about it being clean?" The man didn't seem bothered by Tim's half alarmed expression, but his own features hardened as he stopped in his tracks.

Tim almost asked what made him freeze, then he caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. Suddenly a group of men moved out in front of them, taking up the sidewalk. From his peripheral vision Tim saw more of them come out from the alley behind them, and then move so that they completely surrounded the two in a circle. Instantly his mind was on alert, taking them in. He looked at the weapons, saw the glint of knives, the dark metal of a gun. Tim clenched his jaw, but other than that made no move-not yet.

His guardian didn't look at all fazed. "You all need something?"

"Yeah," their leader spoke up; a man of muscle with a tattoo of a snake curled around his neck. "Give us all you got and then you can be on your way."

"I don't think I have much that will interest you," Tim's guardian answered. "You're better off moving along."

"Really, pretty boy? Cause with that getup you ought to have something I'd like," the leader motioned to the two of them.

"Never thought I'd hear that nickname directed at me," the man mused. He glanced down at his clothes and tugged at his leather jacket, straightening it out. "Although you're not wrong."

"Enough," another man from the back spoke up. "Are you gonna hand over what you got, or are we going to have to do this the hard way?"

A sly smile passed over his guardian's face, and he looked to Tim with a knowing gaze. They had a silent conversation, and somehow Tim knew exactly what he was thinking. His muscles tensed as he felt the thrum in the air, and his guardian shrugged his shoulders, "Sure, we'll hand you what we've got."

Tim took the cues from his guardian. The man moved so fast it was nearly a blur, pulling two pistols from inside his jacket and using the back end to uppercut the leader. Tim dropped the bag he was carrying and spun around, catching the nearest man by the wrist as he attempted to cut his knife through the teen. Tim twisted the wrist so that the knife fell to the ground, then knocked the man out cold with his knee.

Another two lunged at him and he sent a kick to one's abdomen, then grabbing him by his shoulders he threw the attacker into the one rushing towards him. Tim turned, watching as his guardian moved so fast for having such a broad form. In only a few swift motions he had the three of his own attackers on the ground. The one with the gun came from behind, aiming for his back, when he grabbed the man's arm and locked it under his own, pulling hard. Tim almost winced at the sickening crack and the scream that followed, but instead kicked the gun out of the reach of any of their attackers.

"Didn't even have to use my own," his guardian said to no one in particular, setting his weapons back in their holsters. He nodded to Tim, "Let's go."

Tim grabbed the bag, only because of the Robin suit hidden within it, and ran after his guardian. They bolted down a side street, Tim on the man's heels as they darted through the slums. He smelled blood and dirt, along with other scents he didn't really want to identify. The man slowed after a while and pressed himself against the side of a building, glancing out into the street. Tim leaned out to try and get a sense of where they were, and raised his eyebrows. They were right by a police station, and it briefly occurred to him that he may run into Dick, since this was his city after all.

The mystery man waited a minute, then when he decided it was all clear he motioned for Tim to follow. To Tim's surprise, they made their way towards the police station. Did he live inside or something? They grew closer and closer before the man switched tactics and walked into an alley, reaching down and removing the cover to a sewer system. Without bothering to explain he jumped into the hole he created, and Tim simply followed, climbing down the ladder and pulling the cover back over where they entered.

He was only further surprised when below he didn't find himself in the sewers, but in some sort of shelter. No, not just a shelter, a very large bomb shelter. Tim followed his guardian down a large flight of stairs, stood behind him as he opened a pair of large metal doors that were as big as the wall itself. The man walked in and Tim followed, astounded even though the contents were minimal.

The room beyond was huge, a giant computer taking up most of the front wall, reminiscent of the Batcave itself. On the far left wall sat a trophy shelf filled with books, and a few mementos that to Tim meant nothing. On the far right wall was an array of weapons, from guns to knives to various staffs. This wasn't just a home, Tim realized. This was a hideout.

"Well, Tim," the man said, crossing his arms as he turned to the boy. "This is it. Welcome home."

For the first time since he'd met the man, he was at a loss for words. All he could do was stare, and try to keep his expression as neutral as possible.

Who are you?