Disclaimer: I don't own Young Justice or anyone from the DC Universe. I own the OC and plot.
A/N: I am so incredibly sorry! I know I've pretty much fallen off the map but I hit writers block the size of Mount Everest with this one. And I've been really busy lately with school and Drivers Ed and learning new music. But here's a new chapter for you at long last, and I pray I've done a decent job. The jumping POV's will be a little different this time.
Warnings: I've said it before and I'll say it again. Cursing.
The light of the Batcave computer lit up Nightwing's masked face as he paced before the massive screen. The system had the largest database of DNA anywhere, perfect to run his sample against. He'd had it running most of the day, yet there still hadn't been any match found. He blew out a gusty sigh and plopped down in the fine leather chair, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. Once he knew who she was, then what? Was he going to threaten her civilian identity, assuming he could even find her? She was proving herself pretty damn hard to find when she didn't want to be found. Was he going to try to plant a tracker on her? What was the point if he wouldn't be able to even find her?
He leaned his head back into the soft cushion, closing his eyes. He was looking for the person who hurt his baby brother. That was why he was trying so hard. Even if he couldn't track her down, he could at least say he knew who had hurt the squad and he could deal with her if she ever popped up again. Because no one touched his siblings. Ever.
Cold air whipped through his hair as he raced along the Gotham rooftops. A flash of white and blue alerted him to his sister's presence as they ran in the direction of one of the Gotham banks. An alarm on their belts told them there was a robbery in progress. What better way to prove to Batman that they could handle their own when he wasn't around? When they reached the place they stopped, squatting on the edge of the roof of the neighboring building. They watched a small group of people come out of the back door, bags of money slung over their broad shoulders. She gave the signal, and they jumped down in front of the criminals. A couple of them jumped, but the others dropped their bags and ran at them with baseball bats and crowbars.
He heard her laugh and her shoes clicking on the pavement, then and abrupt snapping and a yell of agony. One of the robbers stumbled forward, blood pouring from his newly broken nose, courtesy of her. Robin leapt into action, throwing half a dozen smoke bombs as he simultaneously socked another robber in the face, ignoring the stream of cuss words pouring from the criminal's mouth. The bombs exploded, grey smoke flooding the alley. The pair of vigilante's moved silently through the smog, criminals falling left and right. Soon they had them all on the ground, unconscious or too scared to move. Or at least he thought they did.
It wasn't until he heard a strangled scream that he turned around. Through the diminishing smoke he could see a stocky older man holding his sister by the hair and pressing a switch blade to her throat. A small stream of blood trickled slowly down her neck.
Robin saw red. He wasn't even aware of what he did, but the next thing he knew he was on top of the man, knife thrown to the side, his sister out of sight, and driving fist after angry fist into the criminals face.
He didn't stop until a hand caught him around the wrist, an arm locking under his arms and around his chest and dragging him backwards. He struggled until a familiar voice hissed in his ear. "Stop fighting, it's just me!"
Robin stilled, then slumped into familiar arms. They guided him gently to the fire escape, which he followed her up to the rooftop. He started to walk away until he heard her call him. "Dick."
He stopped, staring at his gloves. His dirty, blood spattered gloves. He turned slowly to face her, eyes on the ground. Soon her shoes came into view, warm hands rubbing his shoulders. "Look at me, little bird."
He was slow to oblige, but when he finally made it up to her face he found she had pulled her mask down, giving him clear view of her dark blue eyes. She smiled and lightly brushed his cheek with the back of the knuckles. "Thank you. You were very brave today, and I'm glad you're my little bird." The weight of what he'd done hit to the man below them in the alley him like a brick to the gut, and before he knew what happened he was in her arms, cold and utterly alone together on a rooftop. Teardrops rose unbidden in his eyes, and he snuggled his face into the front of her costume. Her inky blue cape wrapped around them both in the wind as she smoothed his hair back from his face, kissing the top of his head. "My little solider. My little Robin."
And not for the last time Dick Grayson wept in the warm embrace of his big sister, his protector, his guardian angel.
Nightwing pulled himself out of his dredged up memories, trying to clear all images of her from his head. Why did his mind keep going back to her so much? Sure he thought about her all the time, but the memories had never been so overpowering before, never drenched him so completely in the sound of her voice, the music of her laughter and the unspoken eloquence she carried with her. He missed her… God knows he missed her. But she was dead, still cold in the ground, stuck in a box six feet under while he went about his business as normal. It just wasn't fair… she had so much ahead of her, so much life… what gave two criminal the right to take that away, steal that chance away from her? She had so much more coming to her, so many things she could have achieved if they had only left her be. Dick laid his head down on the pillow made by his arms, letting his eyes drift shut. Maybe if he just closed his eyes for a little bit, he could pretend… pretend he could still feel her hands carding through his hair… still smell the mango shampoo she used… hear her call his name… Maybe, just for a moment, he could pretend he was still her innocent baby brother, still her perfect solider… still her little Robin.
The streetlights far below flickered, their sickly yellow light casting eerie shadows everywhere you looked. Anything could behind that thin curtain of darkness: a rapist stalking the next pretty girl, an average thug stalking waiting for a potential target, a psychotic clown with a bazooka. This particular night it seemed to be none of the above as a single caped crusader emerged from the black, all muscle and capes and glares that could chill a room by ten degrees. He was silent as he shot off a grappling hook, flying through the air with grace rivaled only by his first partner. He was determined, and nothing could stand in the man's way when he was determined.
Nightwing had called him at the Watchtower earlier and informed him of what had happened to Robin. He assured his mentor that the youngest member of the family was perfectly fine, that the worst of his injuries was wounded pride, and that he had a DNA sample he was running. That was fine: he could do that. Batman was more interested in the happenings in the alley across the road. Whoever attack the Squad and whoever murdered the Intergang members were likely the same person, or people given that it was extremely unlikely one person had managed that without help. Perhaps the police missed something: they usually did. And that lead him here, stalking the rooftops of Happy Harbor that the creepy Bat he was. It didn't take him too long to reach the area: it was rather easy to find with all the yellow police caution tape and detour signs directing cars away from the area. When he got there he noticed a black motorcycle he'd never seen before sitting at the curb inside the police tape. His eyes narrowed. 'It appears someone had the same idea…'
The alley was still caked in dried blood and gore when Jason and his partner pulled up to the crime scene. The police had long since left, satisfied with taping off the alley until they returned the next morning. The two vigilantes casually stepped over the tape like it wasn't even there and entered, carefully avoiding the overlapping outlines of various bodies. She made a face at the ever present aroma of flesh and intestines. "God. Smells like a fucking slaughterhouse."
"That's 'cause it was."
She snickered a bit as she meticulously studied the wall, traing the outline of the bricks with gloved fingertips. "That was a bit morbid, don't you think Jay?"
A snort. "Whatever. Get back to work."
She mock saluted, though she knew he couldn't see her. "Sir yes sir "
Fifteen minutes of careful search revealed absolutely nothing but a switchblade belonging to one of the men that he'd never gotten the chance to use and a sock so drenched with blood it could have been dyed crimson. The girl put her hands on her hips, pebbles shifting under her high heeled shoes. "There's nothing here."
Jason stood from the crouch he had been in and brushed off his pants. "Let's book." They were just about to leave when she stopped him suddenly. "What are you-"
"Ssh!" She cut him off. She listened for a moment, the whispered, "You hear that?"
"Hear what?" He whispered back. Then he heard a faint clinking sound, like two beer bottles clanking together.
"That." She answered. Two pairs of observant eyes scanned the alley until they settled on a dumpster with just enough room for a person to hide behind. She nodded, an unspoken message between them as they moved slowly forward, barely making a sound on the gravel ground. When they reached it Jason shoved it away while she drew the gun at her waist, holding it steadily on the person in front of them. They were met with a quivering thug, dirty, bloody, and looking like he was ready to shit himself. She slowly lowered her weapon and shot a smile in Jason's direction. "Told you there were more than twelve."
The gunman swallowed and tried his hardest to sound tough. "I won't talk."
She laugh, a creepy chuckle that sent shivers down his spine. She advanced menacingly, cracking her knuckles as she went. "Oh, but you will. You simply require the proper… motivation."
The man's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to scream when the shadow of two tell-tale bat ears fell into the alley. She whipped her head around to the figure outlined in the slivers of moonlight showing through the clouds, growling in the back of her throat. "Son of a bitch." She turned back to her partner. "I'll deal with him. Do a girl a favor and give this guy," she gestured to the thug, "some motivation."
Jason grinned. "With pleasure."
She only nodded in response before scaling the fire escape on the building on the other side of the alley, leaving the two men alone.
Batman knew something was off when the girl left, so the gunshots weren't exactly unexpected. He dodged each one with precision, never allowing them to come within more than a foot. He tried throwing a few batarangs, by they were apparently dodged when the hail of lead began to come from a different angle. Then just as suddenly as it started, it stopped. For a moment there was nothing before a slender knife came whipping out of nowhere. Bruce ducked, and the metal blade imbedded itself in the brick where his head had been a moment before.
It was a well made weapon, light and easy to carry. The handle was black, stainless steel metal sleeved in a black rubber cover perfect for gripping before throwing. The blade itself was six solid inches of stainless steel, polished to perfection. The edge was fine and sharp: he could probably have shaved with it if he tried and done a pretty good job with it too. On the end, nailed to the wall by the blade, was a small card covered in words written in straight lines with black ink. He tore the note off the end and scanned the neat script.
Another birdie, huh Brucie? You want this one dead too? He wasn't nearly as much fun, may want to pick up the pace on the kid's fighting training, but I guess I can't complain. Thugs don't exactly present much of a challenge. But you're probably more curious about who I am, aren't you? Meet me at the old chemical plant. I know you know where I'm talking about. You just might get some answers.
P.S. - Seriously, the kid was decent, but not good enough. Pick up the slack, old man. Last thing Gotham needs is another dead hero.
Bruce must have read the note three times before he finally folded it and stashed it in his belt. He looked back up and for a split second when the clouds split, silver moonlight highlighted a feminine figure on the other rooftop. And just as soon as she was there, she was gone. For a moment he just stood before turning on his heel and, which a whirl of his cape, disappearing once again into the night.
A/N: Again apologies for being so late, I wish I could have done this sooner, but c'est la vie. Please leave your thoughts and opinions in a review. And, if it affects your decision to review at all, it's also my birthday…
