They say that necessity is the mother of invention, and the uneasy alliance between bitter enemies is certainly an invention born of necessity. There was no time for discussion. In fact, they didn't so much as exchange glances. Fear, frustration and fury combined to generate a link between Black Wasp and her brother which bordered on the supernatural. When they moved, it was in smooth tandem, as though they were of a single body and mind, with but one purpose to its name.

Black Wasp twisted and drew a secondary knife from the belt at her waist, as Wilson thrashed suddenly and violently, drawing Batman's main focus to himself while his sister pulled the knife and then slammed it into the thigh of their shared adversary, burying it to the hilt.

Batman cried out, but did not immediately lose his grip on the siblings, so Black Wasp twisted the knife savagely, forcing Batman to turn. His instincts overrode his senses, and he moved to escape from that which was proving dangerous to him, lifting his weight from their backs.

Black Wasp leaped to her feet and snatched her favored knife from where she'd dropped it on the ground in the same motion, whirling towards Batman with the intention of finishing him off before he recovered from her initial assault.

In the meantime, Wilson lunged under the belly of the plane, heading away from the fight.

Robin had begun to move even before the series of events completed themselves, a blind rage of his own driving him to his feet, propelling him forward and rendering him temporarily insensitive to his own injuries. He knew before Black Wasp picked the knife off the ground that she intended to follow through on her attack. She was not seeking escape.

This was chaos. Violence. It was what she'd come for, and she was loving every instant of it.

Robin hit her high from behind, but then altered his own trajectory. Crossing his legs around Black Wasp's neck, he flipped backward, yanking her away from Batman. As his hands touched down on gravel, Robin pulled Black Wasp upward and then released her, throwing her over himself. She hit the ground on her hands and knees, the knife clattered just beyond her reach.

Robin landed upright just to Black Wasp's right. As she reached for the knife, he kicked it aside. She gave up on the knife at once, grabbing his support leg at the ankle and pulling it out from under him. With a yelp, Robin fell and landed heavily on his back.

Black Wasp scrambled over him, plucked up the knife and drew back to try and drive it into him. Robin caught her knife hand by the wrist and writhed beneath her, trying to get at an angle to not merely defend himself but also strike back. Black Wasp put her full weight into pushing the knife towards her adversary's throat, pouring her whole heart and every scrap of rage into the action.

Batman had, by this point, pulled the knife from his leg and gotten his feet under him, albeit shakily. Seeing that Robin was in trouble, he began to move to assist, but a bullet struck down directly in his path, its landing coming so swiftly after it was fired that the roar issuing from the gun seemed a result of the bullet's impact instead of its ejection.

Batman ducked towards the shadows, trying to pinpoint where the shot originated from. Not far. Wilson had found his gun in the bushes and was taking shots at Batman. He was a ludicrously bad shot, but that didn't mean he wasn't still dangerous. Robin was on his own until Batman had dealt with Wilson.

"A wasp saved your life once," she hissed in a low voice, her face a twisted mask of emotion which seemed ill-fitting because it was not rage so much as passion, not hate so much as pleasure, "It's only fitting for a wasp to also kill you."

Her eyes, inches from Robin's, were the color of dark blue sapphires in the night, glittering with cold vengeful fury, but also something else. Total awareness. No light was in those eyes, no spark of goodness nor even confusion. She knew what she was doing, knew what it meant.

That expression of awareness, the simple fact that Black Wasp was willfully and knowingly choosing this path, sent shudders through Robin and he felt a fear he'd never felt before. It went deeper than his own survival or even that of the people he cared about.

It was a trembling fear for humanity itself. That insane people would cause hurt and torment to others was one thing, and that greedy people would do things for money or to protect their interests, that also was in the realms of comprehension. Sure, he hated the man who'd killed his parents, but at least what that man did made sense on some level.

But Robin was no threat to Black Wasp or Rebecca May, or anyone she cared about. Even now he saw that the insane fury within her was under her control. She was choosing to be this angry, this vengeful. No one was forcing it on her. She had tasted the fury within her, and liked it. She had acquired a lust for blood, as surely as a vampire in one of those 30s black-and-white movies did.

"You were Daddy's favorite," she snarled, "Always Daddy's favorite."

Robin hadn't the foggiest idea what she was on about. He didn't know Bernard was dead, and he certainly didn't know that Bernard had left his money to him. He had not noticed that Bernard had respect for him and no other, and wouldn't have cared if he had. Bernard's opinion of him had no value.

"Daddy loved you best!" her voice was getting louder, higher pitched, "He loved you best! And you weren't even his!"

Baffled by the words, disconcerted by the boundless rage being inexplicably directed at him, Robin knew he was losing this battle. But he'd thought that before and, so far, wild cards kept coming up and saving him in the nick of time. He just had to keep going until it was over, let the rest worry about itself.

"You weren't his!" she was shrieking now, the knife was trembling but still coming closer, "You weren't his! You bastard! Bastard child of a monster!"

At her words, Robin felt a shiver of rage of his own. His eyes narrowed and he dug deep for whatever reserves of strength he might have left. He sought strength in his own fury.

He was tired of people kidnapping him, trying to kill him because of Batman. He was sick to death of it. He hated being always secondary, always in the dark shadow of Batman, always treated like he was a second-rate hero, or like he was just there to hold Batman's cape for him while Batman did the real work. He hated being thought of as a child, as a sidekick, as less than.

"Do not mistake me for him," Robin snarled, his own fury rising to match Black Wasp's, "You have a problem with him, you take it up with Batman. Leave me out of it!"

He heaved upward, shoving her up and to the side. He rolled on top of her, keeping one hand on her wrist, holding the knife at bay. But he released her with his other hand, freeing up his elbow to strike that sensitive point just below the ribcage.

With a pained gasp, Black Wasp dropped the knife. Without even thinking, Robin snatched it up and laid the blade across her throat. He leaned in close, so their noses almost touched, and gazed into her eyes. She did not yield. Her eyes flashed and she spat in his face, so he leaned more heavily on the knife, until she made a soft mewling sound of pain.

"You wanted chaos, violence, monsters," Robin whispered, staring her in the face, "Well this is what a monster looks like. I guess now you can die happy."

Convulsive shudders rippled through him as he tried to force himself to let go of the knife. Robin wasn't a killer, he never had been. But, just for a moment, he wanted to kill this woman. She who had dared shoot Batman, leaving him to be unmasked by the public. She who had tracked Robin all the way here with the intention of killing him. She whose madness was not medical or trauma-based, but wholly voluntary. She who wanted to be a monster, a demon from Hell.

And then he saw it. In the depths of those blue eyes, he saw that she was, at last, afraid. She felt the pain of the blade against her throat, saw her own mad rage reflected in Robin's eyes, and she was afraid. She did not want to die. The fear in her eyes broke through the hatred which had momentarily gripped Robin's heart, turning his emotions to ice.

He sat back, threw the knife aside. It made a snap sound as it buried itself to the hilt in the gravel.

Panting more from the effort of throwing the knife than the preceding fight, Robin sat back, then got up, yanking Black Wasp to her feet by grabbing the collar of her jacket.

Looking over at where Batman and Wilson were, Robin saw that Batman had caught his villain too. When Batman looked his way, Robin smiled weakly. He felt like he was about to pass out.

"I saw you," Rebecca whispered in his ear and he looked at her sharply.

Her eyes showed something they hadn't before. Respect. And possibly awe. Robin felt a cold chill chasing up and down his spine, but tried to ignore it.

"I saw the animal inside," she went on, "The animal Daddy always said was there. You wanted to kill me."

"No," Robin managed to choke out.

"Kill me dead."

"No."

"Dead. Dead, dead, dead, dead," she was taunting him now.

"No," Robin repeated, but fell silent as Batman came within earshot with Wilson in tow.

"Dead like Daddy," she hissed in his ear, so quietly he could just barely hear it.

Instead of answering, Robin gave her a shove towards Batman, who passed Wilson to him. Batman had tied Wilson's hands behind his back, and now did the same to Rebecca.

"Little bird," she said, looking at Robin while Batman tied her hands and checked her for more weapons, "Little birdy's got the heart of a panther. Wanted to kill me. Loved it. Every minute of it. Little birdy wants me dead-" here she was forced to break off because Batman stuffed a gag in her mouth, which provoked a muffled squeal of protest.

"She's a mouthy one," Robin commented lightly, but Batman saw the relief in his eyes.

"Keep an eye on them," Batman instructed, moving to check on Melina.

"Sit down," Robin told them, "Right there."

Rebecca obeyed, but Wilson resisted. Robin clipped him in the back of the knee with a boot, forcing him down into a sitting position. He then laid a hand on the man's shoulder.

"And stay there."

He resisted the urge to look over at Batman, kept his concern for the girl at bay. It had been easy to do during the fight, when the instinct to survive had consumed every thought. But now he felt a pang of worry, and guilt. She should never have been hurt.

Somehow, all of this seemed like it was his fault. He should have known Melina had feelings for him, should have put a stop to that before it got out of hand. He shouldn't have spent so much time with her, should have realized that she suffered from hero worship.

He should have outrun Black Wasp that night in the alley, should have brought her down no matter what he heard behind him. He should never have let Wilson get the upper hand in the courtroom, should never... it suddenly hit him that William Bernard was somehow dead. That's what Rebecca had said. And suddenly it all made sense. He understood why both Rebecca and Wilson had come after him.

"It was Bernard's game all along," he said aloud, floored by the realization and grappling with disbelief, "He planned it. I don't believe it. He meant for this to happen. But... why?"

"Control," Wilson said in a bleak voice, gazing emptily at the ground before him, "Power. Influence beyond the grave. He valued that above everything. It was his version of immortality."

"This island was never for him," Robin said, "He bought it with intention of bringing you and Rebecca here, having you fight. He wanted you to kill each other. You were never the children he envisioned for himself, and you both stood as constant reminders that he didn't have full control of the world. But, more than that, he wanted you to kill me."

Wilson looked up sharply, and a light seemed to go on in his eyes as he stared up at Robin.

"He left everything to you because he wanted me to kill you," Wilson said, and a bark of humorless laughter escaped him, "And then he wanted me to kill Rebecca."

"He built you," Robin said, "He knew what you would do. He knew that you were his hope for immortality. Because you wouldn't be satisfied with his empire. No, not after what he did to you. You would want everything. Control. Power. Influence. The things he valued most."

Wilson was shaking his head. He seemed smaller, diminished somehow. Robin knew he'd killed several people in pursuit of his goal, was a dangerous individual who could never be trusted in society. He was a murderer, a master manipulator of the legal system. But, in that moment, he was just a pitiful creature, a soul tortured by the sins of his father.

But, like Melina, Rebecca and Bernard before them, Wilson was fully responsible for his actions. It had been Bernard's game, but Wilson had chosen to play. He had chosen to kill.

"I played right into his hands, all the while telling myself I was getting revenge, that I was taking what he owed me. And I was doing just what he wanted," Wilson shook his head, and his shoulders shook as he tried to fight back bitter tears of defeat.

"You became a killer of your own free will," Robin reminded him in a harsh tone devoid of sympathy, "Nobody forced you into that. And I don't believe you feel remorse, not even now."

Wilson didn't answer, instead just looking fixedly at the ground.

"She's alive," Batman announced.

Robin turned his head just enough to see Batman in his peripheral vision. Batman had picked Melina up in his arms, but seemed to be expecting Robin to do something.

The Batwing couldn't carry them all. But there was the plane, and its pilot.

"Take her," Robin said, "I'll bring these two in."

"You're exhausted. Are you sure you can handle them?" Batman asked.

Robin glanced at him, saw the question was an honest one, and a fair one. Batman had been stabbed in the leg, but he was still better off than Robin, physically speaking.

"I can't pilot the Batwing," Robin admitted reluctantly, "I've got double vision as it is. If I tried to fly, I'd pilot myself right into the side of a mountain."

Batman nodded, but there was still concern in his face. Robin sighed.

"I can handle it. Not only are these two restrained, neither one of them can fly a plane. They'd have to be suicidally insane to try and take over the plane."

"And you're sure they're not?" Batman asked, and again it was an honest question.

"It's over now," Robin said, "They won't give us any more trouble."

Batman nodded and started to turn towards the Batwing.

"Oh, and Batman," he turned back to Robin, "Thanks for coming after me."

"What are friends for?"