A/N: Sorry for the delay. I was going to post this yesterday but I had to rewrite it and I got distracted. Any one else watching the Olympics?
And soo many reviews! They more than DOUBLED! I hope this chapter is as good for you guys!
Guest: Lol! Here's the next chapter not sure if you really find out what happens.
Guest that reads: Ya it's Dick. Lol my nook censors the word Dick from the review.
Talia Al Ghul stared out the window of the private jet.
Her fists tighten, but her face remained unemotional.
Eyes glance to the man, her father, who was seated across from her.
"Don't worry Talia, he is an important asset, we'll get him back."
She didn't say anything, only looked back out the window, trying to see the ruins that had long since passed.
The hide out, the tunnel they had used to escape, Dick, they were miles away, and quickly getting farther.
She didn't move, as much as she wanted to reach out towards him and press her hand against the cool glass she couldn't.
She had to be strong in front of her father's watchful eye.
So instead Talia stares out the window.
Sitting in the chair, in the interrogation room, alone, is horrible.
All he can do is stare and look.
Currently he's staring at the door, knowing it's locked. He wonders how well.
The door is metal and probably reinforced by different kinds, hard to tell what exactly, but it looks pretty heavy duty, making brute force impossible if it ever was a possibility.
The lock mechanism is probably not a good option because the cameras are trained on him and the door, and most of his 'tools of the trade' were taken from him by Ra's.
He lowers his head to look at his feet, curling his toes, rolling his ankle. He can't keep still and thinking about Ra's, about Talia, makes the itch in him worse.
With his head bowed so it's not obvious, he examines the glass. The one-sided glass was laced with metal and considering his location and current company trying to break it would probably give Superman a little trouble.
His fingers are twitching now and he's pretty sure his face is going to start next.
He wants to do a handstand or a cartwheel or a handspring, just something.
But he won't allow himself, can't allow himself to do that.
It's a piece of his training that keeps him still.
Without powers he can't get a one-up with brute force or light speed.
He has to outsmart, outmaneuver, breath, focus. Can't show them his cards, has to keep every trick prepared up his sleeve, every advantage on his side, and one-up he can pull.
His eyes scan the rest of the room and he sees nothing new.
The door, the glass, cameras, walls, floor, ceiling.
He's trapped in a room without even a crack.
It was suffocating.
Exhaustion tugs at his eyelids, tears prick in the corner.
His heart is picking up pace and he's twitching in a frenzy, adrenaline making him want to move, making him squash and push down his exhaustion.
He wants to rub at his eyes and cry, but he can't.
No showing weakness, no showing how weak you are.
His breath hitches, catches, in his constricting air way, as panic washes over him, drowns him.
He clenches his small hands into fists as he struggles to remain coherent, to fight through his panic.
His insanity.
His mind is pulling him somewhere else though and he wonders if it's sleep or his sanity slipping. Maybe they sedated him, tried to sedate him. He was in the process of becoming immune to toxins, poisons, sedatives.
Starting with the Joker's gas.
And ending with the fear toxin.
Maybe the Lazarus pit ruined that too.
Or death kept it as her prize.
His body goes rigid and he wonders if they care that he's on the verge of dying.
All over again.
Black Canary sat on the other side of the one sided glass, staring at the boy as he looked and twitched.
Twitch.
It made her feel an itch and she stretches back in the comfy chair.
Her comm comes on and she's glad she has a distraction from the pure energy the kid radiates. It's making her twitchy.
"This is Batman, calling Justice League, come in Justice League."
"Black Canary here."
"Has Young Justice reported in?"
"Affirmative."
"Injuries?"
"Negative."
"Did they find anything? Anyone?"
"Affirmative. They reported finding a cell. A boy black hair, blue eyes, pre-pubescent found. He is currently in the custody of the league."
It's silent on his end and Canary thinks he's processing the information, asking the questions that cultivate pathways for answers and make him the world's best detective.
"… I'm coming in."
"I'm not sure if you have the authority to do that."
Canary whips around and sees Superman listening in to the conversation through his own comm.
A growl is heard from the other line.
"I am coming in."
The line goes dead.
Superman takes deep breath and when he breaths out she rubs her arms to fight the frosty breeze.
"He is a detective Superman, if anyone can get answers it's him. Besides, from what I've heard about Ra's this kid probably has connection to the bat."
Superman doesn't say anything but his nostrils flare.
She turns away from him.
"I'm on babysitting duty."
The kid is tucked into himself on the chair, his form shrouded by the bright yellow cape, only leaving a shock of black hair exposed.
"Poor kid. Should I give him a blanket, or maybe something to eat?"
"No."
Canary whips around to glare at him.
Superman sighs.
"He is not our guest he's-"
"What? Our prisoner, because by the cell they kept him in, I'm pretty sure he was Al Ghul's prisoner as well!"
She turns back to the kid.
"I was going to say person of interest, maybe even victim."
Canary sighs.
"Even people on death row are allowed a last supper Clark."
"He's not on death row, his needs will be met, but not until we can assess if he's a threat or not. Just wait until Hal or Diana arrive."
Canary purses her lips even though he can't see it.
"I'm only waiting until Batman gets here."