"Nightwing! I am waiting for you!"

"Come meet me you coward!"

"Robin! What is going on here?" Batman intoned.

Nightwing appears at the top of the stairs leading to Wayne Manor, a look of arrogant disgust smeared across his face. The same face that once held a laugh to share with his little brother, and eyes that twinkled with a familial happiness for Tim... making the betrayal all the greater.

Robin's anger flares, his eyes filling with vengeance, remembering the sight of his brother raining blow upon blow on his unresisting boyfriend.

Robin strides forward across the cave, his pace increasing with each step. Never pausing, his hand moves to his belt and with a sharp metallic sound his staff extends to it's full length within his grasp. His pace increases to a dead run, long slender legs closing the distance to his new opponent. At the last moment, just steps away from Nightwing, Robin strikes the floor vertically with his staff, vaulting forward from the end of it's steel shaft, and rolls through the air and strikes his foe at the chest with both feet.

Many villians and thugs had fallen to that graceful and powerful attack, but Nightwing has been honed by over fifteen years of battle at Batman's side and his role as the guardian of Bludhaven. Nonetheless, the ferocity of Robin's vault belied the the smaller stature and younger age. He was avenging the honour of one he loved from the betrayal of this man that he had loved like a brother.

Following through the vaulting strike, Robin tucked into a roll as he hit the floor, spinning back to face Nightwing in a crouch as he followed through with his staff, sweeping the taller man off his feet. Initially shocked by the ferocity of Robin's attack, Nightwing regains his poise, arches his back and snaps forward to his feet, facing his brother. Robin never slowed. His staff spun and struck precisely and firmly, propelled by hands that had learned their trade under their tutelage by Batman himself. His feet never stopped, feinting to strike an opening that his staff had made for him. Nightwing was no novice either. Though his staves were left on the floor, he was not without his own skills. As Robin's staff twirled in the dark gloom of the cave, the bare light gleaming off it's shining forged length, his legs carrying him forward gracefully and lashing forward with every opening he found; Nightwing doged and flowed around every attack. Not one blow landed upon him. Again and again Robin swung, struck, and moved, like a mongoose enraged facing a particularly vile cobra. Were it not for the tragedy of these brothers fighting one another, the demonstration of martial skill by both was awe inspiring. Though Nightwing had the greater experience, Robin was in the fullness of his youth and had the purity of purpose.

Little by little, Nightwing was pressed under the attacks and backed further and further up the stairs. Robin never slowed, wishing to only repay the blows that Nightwing had rained down upon Superboy. At the top step, Nightwing's footing was lost and his foot slipped under him and he fell to his back. With a snarl of rage, Robin's staff shortened to half it's length as his over-handed strike fell upon Nightwing's head... to be blocked by a black armoured arm.

"Just what is this about?" Batman asked stoically, his voice never giving way to the turmoil in his heart.

"I went to the mountain... and found him in the arms of that clone. He's a fucking pervert!" Robin said nothing as he glared at Nightwing, feeling no need to defend himself. His hands tightened once again around his staff, asking for excuse to strike. He took only bare satisfaction from the dried blood on Nightwing's face from his attack in the mountain.

Batman's hand lashed out, finger extended, ending just inches from Nightwing's face. Pointing in accusation he said "Never speak of your brother in that manner again." The barest hint of pain escaped from Batman's throat as he spoke.

Bruce Wayne, and the Batman that he had become, was an orphan and made so by a murderer in an alley. He had taken in Dick as his son, who's family was murdered by the Joker, his long-time nemesis. As the years ticked by, a precoscious kid from a broken home had discovered his secret and saved his life; and his burgeoning family grew by one more. None of them was unscathed by this tragedy. If Batman loved anything in this life, it was his "family" as they had all become. Batman had suspected for some time now that the friendship between Robin and Superboy had become something more, and he chose to appreciate that Robin's family had grown by one. Batman had his grave concerns, and they would be addressed in due time. But, one loved, respected, cherished, and defended their family. You did not strike them out of ignorance and hatred. Batman had seen too much of that over the years in the streets of Gotham.

"Tim, go upstairs. I will be in shortly." Bruce didn't ask but he did not command. It was simply the firm directive of a father.

Robin slowly took the last step up, and passed the portal covered by an ancient clock, his anger now exhausted.

Batman turned his steely gazed upon Nightwing. As his heart twisted within his chest, a pain he had not felt himself since a small child, he said to Nightwing:

"Richard. You have disrespected your brother and dishonoured this house. You have no cause to do this."

"Are you defending him?" Nightwing asked incredulously.

"Have you forgotten what each of us has lost, that you would turn away love so readily? I would not have my sons fight each other because one cannot accept the love the other has. Dick, you are brothers." Batman spoke that last word slowly and carefully as if something sacred was contained within it.

"That faggot is not my brother."

"Leave this house. NOW! You may return when you have learned some respect and some decency." Batman shouted at the indignity of the situation. Batman never shouted. Ever.

As Nightwing stormed out, Batman slowly stepped down the stairs and slumped into his chair at the computer console, suddenly feeling old, as if his cape had settled further on his shoulders with the weight of tragedy.

As Robin stepped through the passge to the first floor study, he could contain himself no longer. He pulled his mask off his face; fell to his knees and wept. Alfred, hearing the steps up from the cave, came to offer his services. Robin looked up as Alfred approached and all the distinguished elderly gentleman saw were a pair of blue eyes, broken by tragedy. No longer was this the young hero who had accomplished great things and passed through death, retaining his joy and happiness. Now he felt like a little boy, lost and forlorn, the red and green uniform covering him feeling like a fraud.

"Come on, Master Tim." Alfred calmy said as he took Robin's arm and pulled him up.

"Let's get you to your room and I'll bring you som tea to calm you. I'm sure Master Bruce will be up directly."

"Alfred." Robin whispered simply, looking to the man who had been the closest thing to a grandfather he had ever known, trying to share the pain in his heart.

"I know lad."

Minutes later, Tim lay curled up on his bed, a cup of cooling Earl Grey tea set on the bed stand. He was wearing only old sweats, hanging off of him like a penance. Once Alfred had closed the door to his room, he had torn the uniform off for he could not bear it any longer. Lost in his maelstrom of thoughts, he was surprised by a soft rap at the door.

In walked Bruce Wayne. Not the Dark Knight, but the foster-father of a very hurt young man.

"Tim. We need to talk about this." Bruce said as he settled gently on the edge of Tim's bed.

Timothy pulled his head off the pillow slowly, looked on the face of the man who had made him what he was and said "Dad?" It was the single word that could make the billionaire industrialist turned vigilante weak when no boardroom or villian would ever break him.

"Bruce, I love Konner." said Tim, his voice pleading for acceptance. He'd just had a crash course in understanding that his love might not be accepted. But his inherant honesty would not allow him to deny any element of the matter.

"I think I knew the moment I took you away when your were hurt. I saw he loved you back when we took you to the mountain while you were still ill. It concerns me. You're still young and in some ways innocent of the world."

"Bruce, my innocence left with my mother and was murdered with my father; and you took me in and I let you make me what I am. I am no victim and I'm not blind." Robin snarled bitterly.

"I know. But we just don't know what Kon-El really is."

"I do." Tim said with more certainty than he has felt through this whole tragic day.

"He's good, loyal, loving, kind, gentle, and will never hurt me. He is my friend that I can share any secret with and still he will never betray me. With him I know I will never be alone, forgotten, or left behind; and he's already proven that."

"Tim, not all others will understand or approve."

"Dad, if I lived my life by other's standards I would never become a man that either you, Konner, or I could respect. With him I have felt protected and safe, able to not be Robin for a moment, but just 'Tim', and I haven't even told him who I really am. Konner is the one most wronged today. Is it right to even try to share a love while hiding yourself?"

Bruce Wayne felt a pang, feeling like maybe he should have been able to make Tim feel that safety and protectiveness. But he was proud that his youngest son, wounded in the heart though he was, had stood his ground, not apologized, and defended his love.

"Go back, find Konner. I will meet him under different circumstances soon. Let me deal with matters here. Just go back to him."

Batman had just allowed his bird to leave the nest. He only prayed that he had taught him well and he would return... whole. Trust came hard sometimes.

Robin B-20

Walking through the mountain fastness that the Team calls home, Robin tiredly shuffles down the hall of the residential wing to his room, wanting only see his Konner again. Exhausted by his ordeals, he opens the door and walks to his bed. Lying there neatly folded are the elegant pajamas that he had given Konner and had only seen this morning on the magnificent man he called his boyfriend.

Konner was gone.

Robin laid down on his bed, pulled Konner's pajamas to him, and drank in the scent of him. He had left. Robin was alone. Too exhausted and drained to even cry, he could only thing of the poet's line:

"These times are sent to try men's souls."