"Hello? Is anyone there?" Batman's voice floats throughout the cave, reverberating off the rock walls, drifting throughout the various rooms and tunnels. "I'm just checking in to confirm I'm alive and well. I have a lead on the Joker… he's planning something, and I need to put an end to it before it begins. He's… He's once again targeting Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, and Robin, and while I have no solid evidence of his plans yet, I am already beginning to suspect his next moves. I'm just calling in to confirm that there's no need to worry, and to say I will not be returning to the Cave until I collect more evidence. Be… be careful, all of you. Batman out…"

"Wait!"

Dick throws himself across the Cave towards the computers, sliding to his knees and slamming against the desks as he desperately hit the /REPLY/ button. "Batman, are you still there?!" he calls into the microphone, heart sinking when he gets no reply. "Batman? Batman? Bruce?!"

Nothing.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it!"

He sinks down so that he's sitting against the nearest desk, microphone still clutched in his hands as he lets his forehead drop onto his knees. He doesn't look up, even as approaching footsteps grow louder and nearer, even as Alfred comes walking up to him and looks down in concern. "Master Dick?" the butler asks quietly. "Is everything alright?"

He shakes his head, not bothering to lift his head, but holding up the microphone to enunciate his words. "He called in," he says miserably. "Left a quick message saying he was going after the Joker. Saying the Joker was after us again… He said he won't be back for a few more days." Why? Why can't you just let the GCPD keep the Joker running for a few days, just a few, so that you can be here? Helping us? He knows the answer, knows that the police don't stand a chance against the Joker by themselves, but he can't help but ask the questions anyway. He feels Alfred lay a comforting hand atop his head, the sensation soothing and familiar, as the older man says, "Master Bruce is strong, Richard. When you think about it, two days really isn't a long time to be away." Dick pretends not to hear the doubt in his voice. "He'll be alright."

Yeah, right.

Like anything is ever alright in this family.


"Damian, give it back!"

"Make me."

"Don't tempt me."

"Your overconfidence is unsettling, Drake," Damian tosses back as hangs from the second floor chandelier, one hand gripping the décor lights while the other clings to a blue iPad. "I'm merely saving your eyeballs from further torture; you staring at this screen for five hours straight cannot be healthy for them."

"Like you care about my health," Tim says grudgingly, glaring up at him. "What if Alfred comes up and sees you hanging from the chandelier? Again?"

"I'll merely tell him that it's all with good intention."

"Pffft. You? Good intention?"

"Shut up, Drake."

Both boys are suddenly interrupted by a loud groan sounding from the bedroom all the way at the end of the hall, the one with the shut door, the one that neither have ever entered up until yesterday. Tim forgets his iPad in the sake of taking a step towards the room with the noise, while Damian hops down onto the floor and places the tablet on the staircase railing, cocking an eyebrow as another moan floats down the hall towards them.

"That's Jason," Tim whispers, taking another step forward.

"t-t, Drake, congratulations on becoming Captain Obvious…"

"Shut up." Tim looks over his shoulder at the frowning child, and waves him off with his hand. "He could be waking up; go get Dick and Alfred. I'll go check on Jason." He didn't wait for an answer, instead moving forward and ignoring how suddenly dry his throat has become. It's only when he reaches Jason's door that he realizes Damian is still trailing him like a shadow. A scowling shadow. "I told you to go get, Alfred," Tim hisses, irritated.

"And allow Todd to impale you as soon as you are alone with him?" Damian crosses his arms over his chest, smirking slightly. "Please, Drake, you insult me."

Tim resists the urge to defend how he doesn't need a child to watch his back, because he knows it's not true, because Robin has been there for him (despite their unbalanced relationship) on more than one night. So with a heavy sigh, he consents, and pushes open the bedroom door, stepping into the darkness.

Sure enough, Jason's eyes are halfway open, hazy and incoherent for the moment. Tim creeps over and stands at the foot of the bed, watching the older boy as he tries to wake up fully, hearing a small creak behind him followed by a little whoosh of air. He turns to find Damian perched on the nearby desk, crouched down, three batarangs laced between his fingers as he pulls them back, ready to throw. "Damian," he hisses between clenched teeth. "Cut that out."

He waits until Damian resentfully slides off the desk before turning back to Jason; whose no longer in the bed. He feels his blood chill as he jumps and quickly sweeps his eyes over the room, trying to figure out where the injured Red Hood has disappeared to…

He isn't expecting a strong hand to shoot out from under the bed, and thus lets out a panicked cry when that hand pulls him down, his back slamming painfully onto the hardwood floor and jarring his still-sore body as Jason pounces on him, growling. "Gah!"

Jason hovers over him, his hands pinning down Tim's shoulders as he straddles his chest, glaring down at the younger boy even as Damian leaps into action. The youngest Wayne tackles Todd from behind, wrapping his small arms around the man's neck and grinning darkly when Jason chokes and falls down backwards. Tim takes this time to get to his feet, just as Damian is thrown across the room. Jason gets to his feet and backs up until he's pressed against the wall, glowering at the two younger boys just as he catches sight of himself in the mirror. "What the hell?!"

"GAAAAAAH!"

Damian pounces before Tim can shout at him to wait, and soon, they are wrestling on the floor while Tim watches. He saw the look on Hood's face, one of confusion and disbelief and… could it have been fear? Probably not; but it was still a possibility, wasn't it? "Damian, cut it out!" he yells as Damian punches Todd right in the jaw, causing the older boy's head to slam back and collide with the bed post. Jason retaliates by wincing and then kicking the kid right in the gut, even as his eyes begin rolling back. "Cut it out, Damian!" Tim repeats, rushing forward. "Don't! Damian, STOP!"


His head hurts bad, so, so bad; but this scrawny child with a devilish snarl on his face won't stop attacking. The other boy is shouting something, but Jason can't hear him over the ringing in his own ears, and even as black spots continue to mar his vision, he kicks and punches and fights as hard as he can. He can't lose this, not this time. He's been in this situation before – all the boys in Dark Lord's fight club tend to scrap like mad dogs whenever a newcomer is added into their ranks – and he knows losing means serious injury. Or death. He's seen kids get their guts beat right out of their mouths by other boys their same age, and so when the demon child jumps on him once more, he doesn't feel bad when he bites down hard on the kid's shoulder, causing his enemy to cry out and retreat a bit.

Only thing is, he doesn't exactly remember signing up for another fight with Dark Lord's crew. He thought he'd been looking for his mom, who'd gone missing again, and then he'd gotten hit by the biker; the biker must've been working for Lord. That was the only explanation. He'd been hit, picked up, and dragged back into this hellish pit once more to fight to the death for survival. Perfect. And he'd thought he'd seen the last of all this when he'd dragged his mom from the Gotham 'sludge town' all the way here to Crime Alley.

When he sees himself in the mirror, something in his brain temporarily freezes when he sees not himself, but some young man wrapped in bandages and dressed in a white t-shirt and gray sweatpants. Not his clothes, because his clothes have never been without a blotch of stains… but when he looks down he sees that he's dressed in them, and that he seems to have grown. A lot. "What the hell?"

The demon kid attacks again, throwing him back against a bed post – bed post? – and making his head seem to explode in fiery pain. But don't give into the pain. You've had worst. Get this thing off of you! He throws the demon child back into the wall and uses this time clutch his head, feeling his eyes roll back as he desperately tries to get the fire out of his brain. Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop… Everything around him seems to blur, and while he hears voices shouting again, he can't make out the words or the owner of the voices. He manages to crack one eye open, and spots the demon child slinking out of the room holding his arm, while the other boy stands back and stares at him with wide eyes. Two other figures run into the room, and instinctively, he backs himself up, pushing himself across the floor until he's pressed against the nightstand. Nightstand? Bed? What the fu…?

An old man hovers over him, whispering words he can't understand, running gentle hands through his hair. He wants to flinch, wants to tell this stranger to leave him alone, he's in pain, he doesn't want to fight… but his body won't obey his mental commands. He's trapped here, vulnerable, with no idea what's going on. He hears the elder say something about 'head injury', and his heart races increases along with his breathing. Maybe this is a hospital? Some sort of weird, fancy hospital, without the white walls and with wooden beds and nightstands? Maybe he'd been injured really bad by that biker, and someone had actually had the decency to bring him to help? But that doesn't explain the attacking kids from earlier… though he had attacked first. Well, what was he supposed to do? Stay lying in bed, susceptible, while two strange children chatted away near him, the demon kid holding knives (or something) in his hands? What was going on? And… all this talking just makes his head hurt more, so he turns all trains of thoughts off and chooses to just pray these people don't belong to Lord. Or any of his mom's druggie friends. Or him.

The old man moves out of his line of view, and is replaced by another man, younger, just out of his teens apparently. He has dark wavy hair and deep blue eyes, and he looks so painfully familiar that Jason's muscles sudden lose their tension. He doesn't remember this young man, doesn't understand why he's touching his arm and whispering gently to him; but some part of his brain tells him this one isn't dangerous, that this young man is synonymous with safety. It's such a ridiculous idea, but when the kid with the blue eyes leans down slowly so that they are at the same level and whispers, "It's okay, Jay… you're safe. It's okay. You're safe", Jason actually believes him. A stupid move, a foolish move, but he believes him. And he lets his heavy eyelids slide shut as the blue eyed kid runs his hand over his face, not in malice, but in checking for injuries. Just trust him, his brain whispers. So he does. Jason falls unconscious again, and Dick looks down at his brother in concern and despair as he murmurs, "What the hell is going on?"