The Family Business

by spoileralertitsme

After Bruce's death at the hands of the Joker leaves Gotham City vulnerable, it falls to his family to keep up the fight. As Dick takes up his mentor's mantle, and Barbara regains her mobility, the two senior Batkids face their most harrowing challenge yet: parenthood.

25. Chapter 25: Back to the Future

"I give you three seconds to let the #$%% go of me before I blow your brains out, Bozo!"

Jason threw off the circus clown's arm with a snarl, spinning away so fast he almost toppled over. His animalistic gaze darted between the offending harlequin and his wide-eyed siblings. Tim swallowed hard, then put up his hands in what he hoped was a placating, mean-you-no-harm gesture.

"Jay," he said, very slowly, "This nice man is just doing his job."

The time had come to meet up with Dick, Damian and the two time-travelers before the show. Tim had managed to track Jason and Stephanie down in the line for the tilt-a-whirl, where Steph had been doing her best to fight off tears while Jason muttered sweet nothings into her ear. Once he'd found them, Tim had led the duo back to the Big Top, which the crowds were already flocking towards in order to find the best seats. They'd made it three feet in the door before being accosted by one of the circus performers.

"Wanna balloon, kiddo?" The clown asked, now brandishing a limp red string in Jason's direction.

Like a vampire confronted with a wooden stake, Jason shrunk back. Tim could have sworn he heard his brother hiss. "Shove it up your #$$!"

"Golly gee! That's not a very nice thing to say, little boy!"

"#*&% off!"

Tim figured they were about three-point-five seconds away from seeing Jason throw hands with the brightly dressed jester. It was lucky, then, that Stephanie chose that moment to sidestep her way into the line of fire, arms crossed, and looking downright murderous.

"Listen, Bozo—"

The clown tipped back his head and let out a high-pitched wheeze of laughter. The red paint around his lips stretched with his grin, making all three of them involuntarily wince. His getup was appropriately ridiculous; just a bunch of clashing colors and patterns mixed together into one kaleidoscopic headache. Baggy pants, giant shoes, comically large Mickey-Mouse gloves, and spiky orange hair that stuck out from his head like two traffic cones.

So, basically, Jason Todd's worst nightmare personified.

"It's Bobo!" The clown protested. He threw his arms out to the side and did a wobbly spin. "Bobo the clown, here to put a smile on your face!"

Stephanie, lips pressed together in a firm line, gave Jason a sideways glance. The Wayne brother in question was staring down the clown, eyes blown wide. Slowly, he reached into his leather jacket.

"Jason, no," Tim gasped.

"Jimmy!"

The sound of Dick's voice cut across the tent like a gunshot. All four of them looked over to see the brother in question swimming through the crowd towards them, leaving muttered apologies and 'welcome to the Haly's Circus!'' s in his wake. It was enough to make Jason's wandering hand screech to a halt, and Stephanie visibly relaxed once Dick stumbled into their small circle.

"Hey, guys!" He greeted them with a grin. Then, turned to the clown. "Jimmy, Bryan's looking everywhere for you. Show starts in fifteen, remember?"

Bobo the clown instantly dropped his act. He rolled his eyes and gave a heavy sigh, deflating faster than one of his cheap balloons. "Eesh. He's definitely on one ta'night, ain't he? Thanks for the heads up, Grayson."

"No prob," Dick waved him off, and Jimmy the clown disappeared into the ocean of spectators.

Jason sagged against one of the steel support beams that held up the stands, and let out a hoarse sigh. It was long and shaky, like he'd been holding his breath in for an hour. Dick frowned over at him, eyebrow raised. Cautiously, he asked,

"Is he—?"

"He'll be okay, wontcha, champ?" Steph poked his arm with a finger, face twisted with obvious concern, despite her cheery tone. Then, softer, "He's gone, Jay."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Jason straightened, and stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets. He seemed to be eager to brush off the whole incident, squaring up his shoulders and pasting on a neutral expression. One that quickly shattered into disbelief when he got a better look at Dick. "Whoa! What…the #$%%...are you wearing?"

Tim's and Stephanie's heads swiveled, zeroing on their brother's get-up.

Dick's face morphed into something that bordered between annoyance and resignation. He held up his arms, and let them take the costume in, silently welcoming their judgment. The leotard was black and form-fitting. The red panels up the sides and circling the legs in bands had a brave amount of sequins and gold embroidery. It reminded Tim vaguely of the old worn-and-torn Robin costume he'd seen in one of the glass cases at the Cave—only way more sparkly.

"Dude," Jason whispered, in awe. "I was so looking forward to giving you #$%% about your old circus nickname but this…" His eyes roved over the costume, taking it all in with reverent silence. A slow, sinister smile was creeping up his face. "This is better than I could've ever hoped."

"Jay," Dick sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Stephanie squealed. "Oh. My. Lanta. Who did your eyeshadow?"

Tim hadn't thought Jason's evil grin could grow any wider. He was wrong. "He's wearing eyeshadow?"

"No, seriously, who? And who did your contouring?" Steph seized their older brother's arm with a hand. Her stare was almost frightening as she yanked him down, forcing her brother's face closer for inspection. "Dick. I need the name and contact information of the artist who did your face. Now."

Tim felt bad for Dick, who was frantically looking between the three of them, and back the way he'd come, as if searching desperately for an escape. So he elbowed his way through the other two and said,

"Hey, when's the show start?"

Dick's face softened in relief. He straightened, then jabbed a thumb up at the stands behind him. "Just a few more minutes. I…actually need to head back, but Damian saved you all seats up near the top."

They paused to glance up towards the nosebleeds, where sure enough, the Gremlin was crouched on the bench like a brooding gargoyle. He appeared to be reading something, shuffling in annoyance as people flooded past him to get to their seats. Tim glanced back down at Dick, who was trying to detach Stephanie with as much care as possible.

"Are you ready for tonight?" she asked, humming. Her eyebrows waggled for emphasis.

Dick paled. "I, uh—"

"Cause we found the perfect spot. Just behind the circus tent? Where all the trailers and tents for the performers are set up? There's this adorable little spot with a couple'a picnic tables, and these string lights everywhere. Super great atmosphere, and should be quiet enough if we manage to shuffle you two out right after the show. Sound good? Cause then—"

"Steph." Tim put a hand on her shoulder. She paused, and glanced back at him with wide eyes. "Let him breathe, okay?"

The man in question shot Tim a grateful glance, then nodded.

"It'll happen, Steph. But first, we've got a show to put on."

And with that, their older brother disappeared into the crowd. Swallowed up before he could hear another word about 'Operation Dibs' or proposals.

Jason was still snickering to himself as they threaded their way through the throngs of people and climbed the stands. "Holy #$%%, he's wearin' a freaking onesie."

They found Damian, and the six seats he'd managed to keep away from the greedy horde. When he caught sight of them, he frowned, and snapped his book closed. Before Tim could see the cover, he stuffed it away in his backpack. They all sat, Steph and Jason pressed together, and Tim on Damian's other side.

"What'd we miss?" Tim asked his little brother softly. "Anything eventful?"

"It's worse than you think," Damian muttered sourly. "Grayson is being played."

"What?" Steph bent in half as she leaned over. Her hair fell over Jason's lap, but he didn't seem to mind. His fingers carded through it carefully as he glanced at them with interest.

"What are you guys talking about?" Steph demanded again.

"By her," Damian added, ignoring Steph completely. He pointed down towards a space between two of the stands. It must have been where the circus performers could come onstage and leave, because there was a wide flap in the tent that went who-knew-where. If he squinted, Tim could see two people standing by one side of the portal, chatting happily. They were much, much too close to each other.

One was Dick. The other…

"Hey," Steph said, frowning. "Isn't that the lady from the magazine?"

Jason's fingers went still in the waves of her hair. Tim watched him lean forward a little, squinting down at the pair with a hawkish gaze. The other three watched with tense silence as his jaw clenched, and his Adam's apple bobbed.

"You're right," he told Steph. Then, pinching the bridge of his nose, he added, "But that's not the only place we've seen her before."

Tim frowned. "What?"

"The press conference." Jason's eyes were hard as he looked up at Tim, then refocused his gaze on their brother and the strange woman. "She was the chick all dressed up in blue who was wailing and whining about Dick. Remember?"

Tim felt like someone had touched a live wire to the base of his spine. He straightened, eyes flying open wide as he gasped, "Wait, she talked to Vale!"

Stephanie growled, clapping her hands over her face. Scornful mumbling filtered out through her fingers. Damian, though, could only sniff in disdain.

"Her name," he told them, "Is Raya Vestri, and she is one of Grayson's fellow aerialists." His scowl twisted as he added, "She has been making advances upon Grayson all day. I watched her kiss him—"

"What?" Stephanie squawked.

"—and touch his behind during their practicing—"

"What?" everyone demanded. The spectators nearby glared at them, but the three Wayne kids were far too focused on their youngest brother to care. Stephanie and Jason were both leaning in so close that they were in danger of slipping off the bench. Tim could feel his fingernails digging into his knees through the denim of his jeans.

"—and, worst of all, Grayson has done absolutely nothing to rebuke her advances." Damian crossed his arms tightly over his chest, and tilted his chin up. "He laughed like it was some odd joke, and, granted, did seem to be somewhat uncomfortable, but…well, it is worrisome."

"Worrisome would be an understatement, little bro," Stephanie muttered, looking about ready to punch someone. Tim scooted away a bit, just as a precaution.

"Ditto," Jason added under his breath.

Tim turned his head to watch the pair down below. Now that he knew to look for it, he could see the woman's—Raya's—hands lingering on Dick's arms, his back, as she spoke to him. Based on body language alone, she was clearly flirting, and Dick was reluctantly going along with it. If Tim squinted, he could tell his older brother was uncomfortable and hesitant, but…still. Dick wasn't fighting it. And Tim couldn't help but wonder why.

"—I think that we can all agree that there is only one course of action, here," he heard Damian say gravely. "We must kill her."

Stephanie's hand shot across Jason's chest to clap over Damian's mouth. The nearby audience members were staring with wide eyes and open mouths. Jason laughed nervously.

"Eh," he said, "He joking. Kid's always been a little drama queen."

Damian made an indignant sound behind Steph's hand. But the other spectators seemed mollified, some scooting a little farther away from the small cluster of Waynes. Into his little brother's ear, Tim hissed, "We're not killing anyone, okay? And you gotta remember that there are other people who can hear us."

Damian glared up at him, but nodded. Reluctantly, Steph lowered her hand and offered her two cents.

"He's just about to propose!" she whispered frantically. "What the #$%% is he thinking?"

"Maybe cut him some slack," Jason replied, voice lowered to match her volume. "We don't really know the whole story yet. He could be working some kinda angle—"

"Grayson did mention something about investigations…" Damian mused, shrugging.

"See?" Jason leaned back on the bench, hands curled over his knees as he let out a puff of air. "That's probably all it is. Now let's just sit back, enjoy the show, and worry about all of this $#!^ later, okay?"

"Well, fine." Steph slumped onto Jason's shoulder, and looked down at the tent floor. The lights began to dim, giving way to one spotlight focused right on the center ring. A man was striding out into the center, dressed up in a bright red tailcoat, with a top hat that was bigger than Tim's hopes and dreams. "But where's Babs?"

"Great question," Tim muttered. He was half glad that his older sister was missing, though, considering the scene going on below between her boyfriend and his…co-worker? Fellow performer? Barbara didn't need to see that, and the press gathering towards the front of the stands didn't need to see her reaction. Their family had been in one tabloid too many, thanks to the Vulture Lady and her nosing. Still, Tim gave the empty spot at his side a meaningful glance. Then noticed the other two, vacant and obvious amongst the dense crowd around them. "Hey. Anybody seen Terry and his bigger friend?"

#######

#######

Raya wrapped her fingers around his wrist and pulled him backstage.

The pre-show chaos was as familiar to Dick as the sound of his own breathing. People rushed through the narrow, darkened spaces. Everything smelled musty and earthy, like paint and animals and dust and sweat. Somewhere, a few of the ladies had dabbed on perfume, and the scent mingled with the rest. Bodies pressed and brushed together in the familiar way of family and blood. Costumes were lovingly adjusted and makeup applied with swiftness and care. The whisper of lighthearted jabs and well-wishes in a myriad of languages rustled in the air. It was a buzz that shivered in Dick's veins, and it brought an unexpected smile to his lips.

It was warm, and dark, and comforting. But Dick had the sense that he should not be stealing away into dark corners with a girl who was definitely not Barbara. He had to brush away the nostalgia long enough to get his bearings. Dick suspected that if he didn't…he might just do something he'd later regret.

Raya spun him around, and inspected his face. With a wry grin, she barked out a few words in Romani, and Sidra appeared nearby with a few makeup brushes and pencils.

"Please, vă rog, Tanti Sidra!" Dick laughed, sliding easily into his mother tongue as the older woman smeared his face with powder. "That's enough!"

Sidra replied in kind. "It's enough when I say it's enough, Richard. Now be still!"

The sound of his name with a Romani accent, and the sounds of words in his native language sent his mind wandering down another nostalgic path. Somewhere light and happy, taking him back to when he was only up to Sidra's elbow, still learning how to walk on his hands.

"Ach! Get that dopey smile off of your face, child! You're moving too much!"

"He's fine, Siddy," Raya chided, grinning up at him.

The brush fell away from his face, and the old woman declared him 'acceptable' before toddling off. Now, he and Raya were left standing alone—or as 'alone' as one could possibly be when a dozen performers were dodging through this part of the tent every few seconds. Aside from their footsteps and harried breathing, and the occasional curse as Sidra accosted another victim, this little corner was quiet. Secluded. Dick edged towards the flap that would take them to a more…public part of the tent. But Raya moved to block his path.

"I still can't get over it." She spoke the Romani words softly. Her voice broke the quiet like a baby bird breaking from its shell. Quiet, halting, and yet persistent all the same. "How much you've grown since we lost you."

Dick bit the side of his cheek. "You too, Rai. You're..." His voice trailed off awkwardly as he fought to think of something to respond with. "…older?"

She hummed a little chuckle, shoulders shrugging. "Yeah, well. Some things haven't changed."

"Is that right?"

"Mm-hm." Her eyes flicked up to his, glowing in the warm light filtering through the tent walls. "You're still pretty clueless when it comes to certain…cues."

"Clueless?" He took a step back. "Cues?"

"Yes." She raised an eyebrow, smirking.

Someone entered their section, hand lingering on the flap as they pushed through. Dick recognized the top hat and the tailcoat instantly. But the man wearing them…wasn't who he expected.

"Bryan?" he demanded, back in English now.

Bryan Haly nodded, then turned to Raya. Dick could only guess at the meaning of the glower the ringmaster's son was shooting in her direction. But Raya seemed to understand it well enough. She straightened a little, squaring her shoulders, and managed a thin smile as she asked him, "When're we on, Bry?"

"In ten." Bryan glanced back at Dick. "Think you've got the routine down?"

Dick's mouth opened, then closed. Gaping like an idiot before he could respond with a brief, "Yeah, but…where's Jack?"

Bryan once again shot a meaningful frown Raya's way, then clipped. "Couldn't make it. He got held up in traffic."

"But Jack always—"

Bryan's mouth twisted into a snarl. "Look, Grayson. Dad's not coming tonight, okay? He'll be here soon, but for now? I'm running the show." His eyes narrowed. "We gonna have a problem?"

Dick frowned, but held up his hands. Slowly. Placatingly. "No. No problems, Bry. Just…I've missed the old man."

Bryan nodded. He seemed to have stopped listening somewhere around the word 'no'. Without another comment, he turned, and stalked towards the next tent flap and out towards the center ring. The show was about to begin, and even from in here, Dick could hear the crowd hush with silent expectation. It was one of his favorite parts of waiting backstage. He'd loved, as a kid, hiding from his parents between the different performers. The others would gasp and pretend that he was missing or invisible. (Where's little Dickie? Has anyone seen him? Do you think Zitka carried him away on her back?) He'd giggle, which should have given him away, but everyone was always too indulgent to acknowledge it. His favorite place to steal away to was closest to the flap, listening to the sounds on the other side of the canvas. The gasps, and cheers. The 'ooh!'s and 'aah!'s of their audience. He'd grin, fingers pressed to the rough tent material. Practically hopping in place as he waited for Mr. Haly to announce in a booming yell, "And now, the act you've all been waiting for, ladies and gentlemen! The Flyinnnnnggg Graysons!"

And his family would rush to the tent flap, scoop him up with a few whispered jabs and chastisements. But then, everyone would be smiling, as they all stepped out—

"Are you excited?"

Raya's voice made him start. But, carefully, Dick nodded, and couldn't keep a grin from slipping up his face.

"Yeah," he said. "It's been so long. I just wish…"

I wish they were here to do this with me. Magda would be married by now, probably. Johnny might even be finished up with that degree he always wanted. Aunt Karla, Uncle Ricky, and Mom and Dad might be retired. Watching from the stands, or helping backstage. But at least they'd all be together…

"I know," Raya said gently, as if she could hear his racing thoughts. "But they'd be so proud of you, Dickie."

He felt a warm pressure on his cheek. Raya's hand. Slowly, she eased his face around. Now, his eyes were pulled away from the tent flap, and towards Raya's soft gaze.

"I know I am," she whispered.

And then she was kissing him again.

The truth was this: Dick had had a crush on Raya since he was five. The girl spent so much time with his family, learning from his mother, playing with Johnny and Magda. Younger him had loved her coppery hair and her bright movements every time she flipped off the bar or stuck a landing. When he was seven, and she was ten, they sneaked out behind his family's trailer to share a crumpled bag of popcorn one of them had snagged from a vending cart. They kissed, but it was before they knew what that really was. What it really meant.

Dick had always had a soft place in his heart for the girl from the circus. Maybe that was why he didn't pull away. Maybe that was why he found his hands at her waist, even as his mind blanked completely of all coherent thought.

It didn't mean anything. Just like when they were children, exchanging a quick peck before morning rehearsal.

It didn't have to mean anything.

#######

#######

Amusement mile, as always, was packed.

But as the sun and temperature both dropped, the crowds began to thin. The only people who lingered were those armed with thick coats, gloves and scarves, and the 'give-em'-#$%%' attitude every Gothamite seemed to carry like a badge of pride.

Tonight, the sky was dark and starless, and so cold that Barbara could see her breath pushing clouds in front of her face. The air itself seemed to be frozen, stiff and chill enough that walking towards the circus tent felt like wading through a frozen pond. Her legs chafed together, numb from the cold, and skin tingling. She really should have stopped by the manor for a change of clothes, but it was too late for thoughts like that, now.

The Big Top itself glowed warmly. So warmly, that its enticing red and white stripes drew the carnival-goers like moths to a big, loud, buttered-popcorn-scented flame. Every other attraction at Amusement Mile glittered and shone, but there was something more real about the light around the circus tent. Something more genuine and inviting.

But Barbara was barely ten feet from the entrance, when the flaps flipped shut. The glow lessened, as the lights from inside were trapped by the thick canvas. She could feel the sudden cold, displaced by the space heaters lining the tents interior, rush back around her full force.

She shivered, and pulled a little desperately at her peacoat. Thank goodness for the stash of outerwear she kept stowed under the seat of her cycle.

The other prospective spectators sighed, offered muttered promises to their children or companions that they'd 'see the circus next time', and wandered away. Barbara lingered by the tent flap, and reached out to push it aside. Her fingertips just barely brushed the canvas when she heard a voice shout,

"Miss! Admission is closed!"

Barbara whirled around. Spotted a young man stalking towards her. He wore a uniform she recognized from the Haly's Circus staff. The way he moved was harried and purposeful, and she watched him advance through lidded eyes.

"Is there a problem?" she asked him dryly.

He held up a hand, scowling. "We're sold out, ma'am."

"I have a ticket."

"Wonderful," he snapped, and she got the sense that he didn't think it was 'wonderful' in the slightest. The hand stretched out towards her, fingers curling and uncurling expectantly. "Can I just see it, please?"

"Oh." She blinked. "Well, um, I—don't have it with me."

"Oh." His head tilted mockingly to the side. "Well. Um. I guess you can't go inside, then. We have another show on Friday at two, then again at nine-thirty. Please grace us with your presence then."

Barbara scowled. Squared her shoulders. "Sir, let me inside."

"No can do."

"I know Dick Grayson—"

"So does everybody else," the man said with an eyeroll that made her blood boil. "He's on the program."

"I'm his girlfriend."

"I'm sure you are, miss! Now, please, don't make me get security."

That was the last straw. It was too cold for this kind of $#!^. Barbara's mouth fell open, and she made ready to rip into this man with everything she had. Demand he let her in, insist on seeing Dick to corroborate her claims, maybe put him down with a quick jab to the neck—

Then she caught sight of someone else over the man's shoulder. A girl, short and shadowed against the tent's homey glow. Her hand came up in a wave, beckoning Barbara forward as if offering a secret.

"Excuse me? Are you listening to me, ma'am? I can call them right now—"

"You know what?" Barbara said softly, eyes snapping back to the staff member. "You're right. I'll have to catch the show another time. Maybe when you're off duty."

The man sniffed, glowering up at her with barely-disguised contempt. "Fine. Then, beat it."

Barbara tilted her chin up, and marched around him, pausing only to look back as he hurried off, then glanced back up. The spot where she'd seen the girl was vacant now, but a person of the same height and build was slipping around the curve of the tent. Towards the back.

Barbara hurried forward, heels clacking on the wooden slats of the boardwalk. Her skirts brushed the canvas as she slipped between the tent and the metal guardrail. She'd reached the backside of the tent, revealing a stretch of smaller tents and trailers set up in a semicircle. Unlike the Big Top, these were unlit and darkened. Vacant. Most likely where the performers lived during their stay in Gotham, but the performers were obviously elsewhere. She picked her way past a cluster of picnic tables and wooden crates, and glanced around carefully.

"Hello?" she called out, softly. "Is anyone out there?"

There was no reply. Barbara felt a shiver of panic run up the back of her neck, and spun on her heel, surveying the darkness for any potential threats. This felt too strange. Like a setup—or maybe a setup for a slasher flick.

Somewhere, a cat yowled, and Barbara jumped a little.

Stupid, she scolded herself, Now, just get back to the entrance and text Tim or Jason. They should be able to—

Barbara leapt three feet in the air when she felt a hand on her wrist. She spun around, leg flying up in an arc. It didn't make contact.

Instead, the kick flew over her assailant's head as they ducked. Barbara stumbled, and felt the whip of a ponytail against her cheek as the stranger spun around her, grabbing for her other wrist. She brought her knee up sharply towards the stranger's gut, but they hopped back and out of the way.

"Hey," they whispered. It was a girl's voice.

Barbara jabbed for her shoulder. But with both hands trapped in a grip that was stronger than she'd expected, the most she got was a light hit. The girl lifted Barbara's arms as she spun around behind her, pinning them against the small of her back.

"Who are you?" Barbara demanded, craning her neck to catch a glimpse.

"Your ticket in?" The girl released her hold, and shoved Barbara forward, almost playfully. "Well, sort of."

Barbara whirled around, fists raised, shoulders lined up with her hips. Ready to land a fist in the girl's teeth. But then she paused.

Her hands were raised in the air, but not to fight. The girl was showing Barbara her palms; a gesture of surrender. Slowly, Barbara's muscles relaxed, and she took in the newcomer's appearance critically.

Her sleek, dark hair was pulled into a high ponytail, and it fell over one shoulder, the ends curling softly beneath her chin. Barbara noted that the girl's skin was darker than hers; a light olive tone that reminded her of Dick's.

But there was something…different about her clothes. She wore ripped black jeans, and combat boots. A robin's-egg blue blouse peeked out beneath a leather jacket, complemented by a silver chain with a bird charm that hung from her neck. Really, the outfit wasn't unusual. It was something Barbara might have worn.

But it was…so much like something Barbara might have worn, that it put her off for a few seconds. Come to think of it, that charm looked a little familiar…

"Who are you, really?" Barbara asked again, this time a little more soft and unsure.

A playful smile lit up the girl's whole face. It was blinding in brightness, and almost made Barbara stumble backward. Because that even seemed familiar, too, as if Barbara had seen it a hundred times before.

"Doesn't matter," the girl chirped. "For now, we've gotta get a look at the circus. Follow me?"

She spun on the rubber heel of her boot, waving Barbara onward as she stepped towards the tent. Barbara watched her walk with a slackened jaw; the girl's footsteps were smooth and fluid, like a dancer's. Effortless and floating.

"I'd say it does matter," Barbara muttered, trailing behind carefully. "Since you actually managed to pin me thirty-seconds ago."

The girl glanced over her shoulder. "What, like it was hard?"

Her fingers trailed over the canvas, searching, and Barbara couldn't help raising one eyebrow skeptically. As if she could read her mind, the girl snickered, and looked up at her with a grin.

"Patience," she sang softly. Then found a seam in the fabric, and pulled at it. A tear appeared, threads shivering as it grew wider and wider. The hole was big enough now that both of them could peek through and see the show unfolding inside.

They'd picked a spot that was uninhibited by the stands of spectators, so the view was amazing. Barbara watched horses canter around the edges of the center ring, positively dripping in glittering tassels and flowing ribbons. With every step, bells fastened around their fetlocks jingled merrily. There was a man holding a silver ring, coaxing a lioness to leap through and land gracefully on the other side. Its muscles tensed and moved beneath a golden pelt, and Barbara pressed closer, feeling the fingers of heat brush invitingly against her skin. The smell of roasted peanuts and buttery popcorn floated out into the cold air like an invitation.

And then the man in the center of the ring was announcing the aerialists. If she craned her neck a little, Barbara could see the trapeze. She could feel the other girl next to her move for a better view, as well, and they both watched with wide eyes as the routine unfolded.

Dick grinned, waving to the crowd as his name was announced. Barbara could hear a wave of whispers fill the air as old-timers recognized the name 'Grayson', and everyone else struggled to place their senses of familiarity.

And then? He leapt. Soared. Down through the air, body streamlined and movements as fluid as falling water. His dark hair fluttered around his eyes, and his face…Barbara resisted the urge to gape. Because his expression was the brightest, the most relaxed, and the most carefree she'd seen it in a long time. Like a ray of sunshine. Like an open flame. Something warm, and open, and…happy. He caught the hands of another acrobat, and swung up. Let go. Stiffened his posture as he flipped and spun through the air, hands tucked against his chest, before going liquid once again.

Dick's arms waved gracefully, his back arched playfully. Every movement was a game, every gesture a performance. And Dick was born to perform. Barbara couldn't tear her eyes away. The man she loved was in his element. The air.

And when he flew, unfettered by clumsy Kevlar wings, Dick wasn't Batman. He was Nightwing again. He was everything he loved, again. Unweighted. Untethered. Free.

He tipped his head back to laugh, and Barbara's heart stuttered in her chest.

"Like what you see?" the girl whispered.

Barbara turned her head to respond. Then paused, caught off guard by the girl's piercing eyes. Exposed to the light, they shone blue. A shocking blue, like a neon sign or an electric spark. The rest of her face was half illuminated, and half cast in shadow from the tent's balmy light. Barbara opened her mouth, then closed it again.

Because she knew those eyes.

"Please," she whispered. "Who are you?"

This time, the third time, the girl didn't shake her head or shrug off the question. She blinked, once, twice, nibbling her lower lip. Then, softly,

"My name's Marie."

Some relative of realization sparked in her mind like a blown circuit, though Barbara wasn't sure why. Or what had caused it. But the second she felt it, she looked at the girl from a different perspective. A whole new paradigm. It was like looking into a snow globe that had just settled.

"You're…one of them." Barbara whispered. "You're from the future. Aren't you."

Not a muscle on the girl's face twitched, but her eyes still widened. "Um…yes."

"You're…" Barbara leaned away slightly, squinting as she tried to get a better glimpse from a better angle. "You seem familiar. How old are you?"

Marie blinked again. "Twenty-one."

Just a few years younger than she was, but the girl was so short, Barbara wouldn't have guessed it. "Do we…know each other? From your time?"

A smirk tugged at one corner of Marie's lips. "You could say that."

It was then that Barbara noticed the bloody scrape just below Marie's left eye. She reached out, not fully understanding why she felt the pressing need to, and laid a finger just under it, gently as she could manage. "What happened?"

Marie didn't seem to be put-off by the physical contact. Not in the slightest. With an aborted huff of laughter, she breezed, "Ah, got into a fight with a coupl'a idiots. No big deal, or anything."

"What idiots? Were they trying to hurt you?"

Barbara was…surprised at the amount of concern in her tone. She could hear it in her voice, feel it in her bone marrow, even. Some unexplainable, inexplicable urge to protect and shelter this girl in front of her. Even though they'd met literally ten minutes before, Barbara had the feeling that she'd take a bullet for her. Was she under some sort of mind control? Queen Bee had similar effects on her—the Team had banned Barbara from any missions where the woman might be present, for good reason. Was this…feeling…something similar?

It…didn't feel like it was.

But the girl didn't seem to mind the concern. Instead, her face lit up with something Barbara couldn't even begin to identify. It was happy, and warm, and as Marie reached up to wrap her fingers around Barbara's wrist, she felt some rush of instinctual…joy?

"No," Marie said softly. "No one was trying to hurt me. Just had to break them up. That's all."

Music was booming from inside the circus tent, but Barbara's heartbeats felt louder than any drum or trumpet. Marie blinked, and Barbara could see how moist her eyes were all of a sudden.

"Hey." Marie's whisper was soft, and vulnerable in a way that made Barbara's heart lurch. "Can I…" She swallowed, looked away. Towards the ocean, back to the show inside the circus tent…down…up…then finally, she met Barbara's gaze. Her words came out in a desperate rush. "Can I hug you?"

Barbara's arms were already open. Marie collapsed into them with a sigh, wrapping her own around Barbara's ribcage like a vise. The embrace was warm, and soft, and so familiar, that for a moment, Barbara wasn't so sure that she and this girl hadn't met before. She ran her hand up and down the ridges of Marie's shoulder blades, feeling the smooth leather under her fingertips.

Marie let out a shaky sigh. "I'm sorry," she said into Barbara's coat. "This time-travel deal is just so…draining, y'know? When you're not sure if you're ever gonna get back home, and sometimes all you want is your mom, and—"

She cut off with a choked gasp, and Barbara's hand stilled on her back.

"What?" Barbara whispered. Her fingers had caught on a small rip in the leather. It was tiny, and jagged, like it had been caught on something sharp. All Barbara could focus on was that rip—and the word mom playing over and over in her mind on a maddening loop.

She recognized the tear, because maybe a month or two ago, she'd worn the same jacket and caught it on a chain-link fence. She'd been out running drills with Stephanie—some parkour exercise they did in their civilian clothes. The crowds always loved it, and it was a great way to practice moving through the city by ground as fast as possible.

This leather jacket was hers. The charm around Marie's neck was hers—right now, an exact copy was probably sitting in a box on her desk back at the Manor.

This girl…was hers. Wasn't she?

"Marie," Barbara breathed, and once again felt that same brush of familiarity.

"Oh slagit," Marie muttered, burying her face in Barbara's shoulder.

Barbara pulled out of the embrace, cupping the girl's face gently, lovingly, in her hands. Warmth exploded in her chest as she suddenly felt the urge to cry. Marie was crying, too.

"Are you…?" Barbara breathed. "Am I…?"

"Marie!"

"MG? MG, where are you?"

The snap of voices burst through the air. The two women sprung apart, whirling around towards the for people turning the corner of the tent. Barbara recognized the first two as Terry and Nightshade, both dressed out in their civvies. But they were joined by a tall flannel-wearing man, and a girl Barbara didn't recognize. Her outfit was simple—black and yellow tank top under a heavy coat, skinny jeans, combat boots and a black armband—and yet they were...well, was there an opposite of out-dated? Her neon-pink hair was buzzed close to her scalp. She let out a cry when she saw the pair kneeling by the hole in the tent.

"Marie! What the #$%% are you doing back here?" She rushed over. Marie gaped up at the newcomer as the girl reached down and seized her wrists, yanking her to her feet.

"Max," Marie said carefully. "I was just—"

"Do not run off like that again! We lose you back here, we lose you forev—"

Barbara met Older Damian's piercing look with raised eyebrows. He nodded once, then rumbled out a soft, "Hello, Delphi."

Barbara slowly got to her feet, heels sliding a little underneath her as she struggled to find her footing. But once she did, she crossed her arms over her chest and said, "Hello, Dami. I didn't think you'd be bringing friends."

"Neither did I," he said, mouth twisting. Barbara noticed that he was sporting a black eye, and when he moved his jaw to speak, she could hear soft crackling. Next to him, Terry was scowling. The bottom half of his face was streaked with blood.

"What happened to you two?" Barbara's eyes widened. She took a half step back, noting the heated glare exchanged between Nightshade and the future Batman. The girl with pink hair—Max—let out a mighty sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose. The other man—who was even taller than Damian—rolled his eyes skyward. Even Marie breathed out a soft, indignant huff.

"Remember those two idiots I mentioned?" she stage-whispered.

A line appeared between Barbara's brows as she looked back and forth between the time travelers.

"You were fighting? Why?" she demanded. "You're both Bats. You're all on the same side, aren't you?"

"Yeah, well, apparently not," Terry snarled, eyes snapping up to his mentor. His posture stiffened, hands curled into fists.

A warning sound hummed out of Max's mouth. "Terr, if you start up again, so help me, I will drop-kick you off this pier."

"Right after I kick your slagging teeth in," Marie growled. "You hear me, Terrence Wayne-McGinnis? Enough." Barbara watched her arms cross over her chest, glare heated and mouth twisted into a snarl. At the sound of the small girl's voice, she noticed the other time travelers' spines straighten as they jumped to attention. All except Damian, who seemed largely unaffected. Marie plowed on, jabbing a finger in each man's direction. She started with Nightshade. "You messed up this whole thing, D."

Damian scowled. "Mar—"

"I don't care how justified you feel. If you hadn't gotten involved, our plan would have worked. No offense? But you kinda ruined everything." Marie jabbed a finger in his direction. "Thousands of lives are on your head."

Damian recoiled, clearly stung.

"That's what I'm saying—" Terry started. His voice suffered sudden death when Marie focused the full heat of her glower on him.

"And as for you," she snapped. "D has a point. This time period was never the plan and you know that. So stop trying to spoil things, like it'll fix what you failed."

"I didn't fail!" Terry protested. "I was sabotaged!"

"Yeah, Terr. And water's wet. Damian's a massive ego. Oh, and the sky is blue! But you don't hear the clouds complaining!" Marie threw her hands up in the air. "Now that we're done stating the obvious, it's time to move forward. We have very limited time until someone from HQ sends Booster's little time-robot after us. Okay? So in the meantime, we regroup, we wait, and when the time comes?" Her eyes were steely as she focused on each one of her four companions. "We go back home and figure out a way to avenge what we lost."

The others nodded. Barbara noticed a shift in their resolve, like someone had flipped a switch to send electrical currents racing through them. Spines straightened even further, jaws clenched. They appeared almost deadly in the half-light of the cold evening. Ready and eager to fight. But while she was tempted to wonder about some of the things she'd just heard, only one stood out in her mind.

"That…that thing you said. About the clouds," she said softly, carefully. Weaving her way through what she was sure could be a potential conversational minefield.

Damian's eyes widened, ever so slightly. The others shifted a little, but it was the other man, the stranger in flannel, who managed a cautious, "What?"

"'The sky is blue'," Barbara said softly, brow scrunching a little in confusion. "'But you don't hear the clouds complaining'. Dick's said that…before. He…told me his father used to say it?"

The others went dead still, but Barbara continued. She squeaked a little. "So if I'm your…then is he…?"

Damian seemed to lock onto Marie like a heat-seeking missile. "What did you tell her?"

"Nothing!" Marie hopped back out of the range of fire, hands raised to the sky.

"Grayson, you hypocrite!" Terry growled. Then paused, eyes wide as the others whirled on him, glares heated and deadly. He frantically tried to backpedal, stuttering over his words as he attempted, "Uh, did I say-? I meant—um. Grace. Yeah. Her name's Grace—"

"My name's Marie, you dipstick. She already knows that."

A hand clapped over Damian's face as he let out a long, weary sigh. But Barbara's head was imploding.

"Grays—" Barbara clapped a hand over her mouth, and swiveled to stare down Marie. Her daughter. Her daughter with…with Dick.

The girl in question looked up at her sheepishly, seemingly torn between a smile and a cringe. But Barbara couldn't help the sudden grin that tugged at the corners of her lips. Warmth rushed through her entire being, and when she felt a sudden prickling behind her eyes, she bit her lip to keep the tears at bay.

"This…" the flannel-clad stranger muttered, too loudly. "This seems like a family thing. If you want, I can—"

Damian's hand seized his, and he clasped it tightly. Growling, he spun his head around to level a BatGlare at the man as he said, "You are not going anywhere."

"Yeah, Supes," Max chimed in with a sigh. "Significant others don't get a pass on family awkwardness, believe me. 'Sides. You're practically a member of this family already, so—"

"Supes?" Barbara demanded, inspecting the stranger through a new red, yellow and blue lense. The shaggy black hair, the five-o-clock shadow, the broad shoulders and Kentucky-bluegrass eyes… This man was a Kent. Her jaw dropped. "Jonathan?"

The others let out cries of disbelief. Marie dug her fingers into her hair, while Max clapped both hands over her mouth as if she'd said something with catastrophic consequences. Terry had gone pale and was mouthing things no one could hear. Even Jonathan Kent seemed to be considering a hasty escape.

Only Damian seemed unaffected. If anything, he seemed more determined. His posture stiffened. His jaw clenched. Barbara recognized the sudden shift instantly; it was the same reaction her Damian had to a challenge or threat. His eyes narrowed, going for a dismissive expression, but unconsciously betraying and underlying vein of fear. His voice was clipped as he said, to the others, "Honestly, what did you all expect? Nothing ever gets past Delphi. You know this."

"All-seeing Oracle indeed," Max muttered behind her hands.

Damian ignored her, and turned to Barbara with visible defiance burning in his eyes. "I suppose you have other suspicions you'd like to address? Speak them now. Let's get it out of the way."

Barbara nodded. Swallowed. Then, waved a hand between the two. "You two," she said softly. "You're…together?"

Damian squeezed Jon's hand even tighter. The half-Kryptonian bit his lip.

"Yes," Damian clipped. "We are."

"And…" Barbara squinted, noting their posture. Their reactions. They both seemed afraid, though they clearly had very different ways of reacting to that fear. Which wouldn't make sense, if in the future—

"And no one else from your time knows about this, do they?"

Jon nodded sheepishly. "Well, I mean, the kids all figured it out. But…yeah. None of Dami's siblings know about us. My parents don't. The League doesn't. And B—"

"No one," Damian cut in, a meaningful glower tossed in his boyfriend's direction. His eyes snapped back to Barbara's, then narrowed. "This is…the first time we've formally told anyone."

She saw it in his lower lip. The slight quiver. It was a 'childish' reaction that her Damian had been trying relentlessly to train himself out of. He hated the involuntary reaction, and claimed that it made him appear more 'infantile'. But, regardless, whenever Damian wasn't careful, whenever he was feeling particularly vulnerable…his lower lip quivered.

She wasn't sure what Damian expected from her, though Barbara had her suspicions. But whatever it was, it wasn't the sight of a warm smile lighting up her face. It wasn't the quick embrace she wrapped Damian and Jon in with one swift step forward.

Both men tensed in her grip. John slowly relaxed, but Damian stayed as stiff as an iron pole as she pulled away, still smiling.

"Dami," she said softly, "Thank you for telling me."

His eyebrows climbed up his forehead. "You—?"

"You know I don't care, right?" She reached out, landed a gentle punch on his arm. The others startled, gaping over at her like she'd just slapped a slavering lion. "You're my brother. I love you. And that won't ever change, no matter what." Crossing her arms over her chest, she added, "So if you ever do want to tell future me? I'm sure she'll be ecstatic. For both of you."

Damian swallowed. Hard. Looked away. Jon's face split into a wide grin.

"Besides," she said, "I've suspected for a while."

"Is that right?" Her brother's eyes met hers, once again. The challenge was back, though more tempered than before.

"Of course," she breezed, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her peacoat. "It…takes one to know one, after all."

There was dead silence from the others. Inside the tent, a massive cheer went up from the crowd. Barbara could only guess at the marvelous feats of flight they were missing out on. But right now, the most important thing in the world to her was seeing her little brother (well, not so little anymore) gaze at her with wide, wondering eyes. His jaw fell open slightly.

And Marie let out a whoop.

"I freaking told you guys!" She pumped a fist in the air, then held out a grasping hand. "All of you. Pay up. Now."

"Sorry," Max shot back dryly, "I left my wallet in 2047."

"Yeah, but Terry always keeps his in his suit, don'tcha, buddy?"

Terry scowled. "I hate you."

"No you don't." Marie pursed her lips. "I'm too adorable."

Barbara raised an eyebrow. "You had a bet going on—"

Damian chuckled. "I suppose your daughter spends far too much time with her Aunt. Brown is…a terrible influence, to say the least."

"Careful, Uncle D," Marie stage-whispered. "Or she'll travel twenty-six years into the past just to kick your #$$."

"Honestly, I would not put it past Stephanie to do just that." Damian rolled his eyes skyward. Then let go of Jon's hand to clasp both of his behind his back. "That being said, I suppose it goes without saying that none of you are allowed to divulge any more information. No offense, Delphi, but even the things we've said here and now may have catastrophic consequences."

Barbara frowned. "None taken. But why? Booster's robot has a feature that will wipe any trace of you out of our time. Including our memories."

"Yes. However…certain things have the potential to slip through the cracks." Damian lowered his chin, gaze darkening. "Especially when the subject in question has certain…mental training."

Barbara blanched.

The others exchanged a few sidelong glances. Terry raised an eyebrow, looking to Nightshade in confusion. "Mental training? You mean, like, 'mind over matter'?"

"No," Damian said, never breaking eye contact with Barbara. "I mean other mental training. The sort of techniques that my father trained his original protégés in. Ways to resist mental attack or alteration from those with telepathic abilities. The same may be applied to…an attempt at memory erasure, for instance."

She remembered sitting on a cushion in the cave with Bruce and Dick. Fifteen years old and still new to the vigilante game. Though, not so new that she didn't already have an arsenal of skills under her utility belt. But this was just one more she and Dick needed to master. Bruce's smooth voice had been the only sound she and her partner were allowed to focus on during these sessions. Clearing the mind. And then sending the stream of thought on a different path. Weaving and winding through a mental maze that not even Martian Manhunter could navigate.

You are in a dome. And in that dome, there is a maze. And in that maze, you turn left… Left… Right… Left… Right… Right… Right… Left…

Miss Martian had come close, a few times, on the various attempts she'd made at reading Dick and Barbara's minds. But never without detection. When Barbara had first joined the Team, she'd felt M'gann's touch in her consciousness, trying subtly to find something. Probably her secret identity. Maybe even her 'hidden feelings for Robin'—something the older members of the Team had been convinced of the first time they'd seen her punch Dick in the face. But instead of finding any of that, M'gann had paused, eyes widening as she gazed at Barbara with open shock.

"What—?" she'd gasped.

"Sorry, Miss M," Barbara had responded cavalierly, as the others gaped in their direction. "But I don't like just anyone picking around up there."

Apparently, Dick had been skilled enough to keep the Martian out as well. But according to the notes Bruce kept on their training, he was far outmatched by Barbara's mental prowess.

Bruce had trained the rest of his partners with this technique. Had hoped it would protect their identities, and make them more resistant to torture, should that situation ever arrive. The others never took to it quite as well as Dick and Barbara, however. But during the Gotham City Gang War, Stephanie Brown was able to employ the techniques Barbara had passed onto her (Bruce had stubbornly refused) to resist Black Masks brutal 'information gleaning' techniques.

But for the eldest two, it came naturally. Their minds were stronger, more resistant to mental attack or alteration, just as Damian was telling her now.

"So, what you're saying," Barbara muttered, "Is that there's a chance that…"

"Some things will slip through. At least, for you and Grayson." Damian shrugged, expression hard and blank. "You cannot help it. And so, I highly recommend that you visit Miss Martian once we take our leave. If you remember anything at all, she should be able to help you remedy that problem."

"I—"

"Delphi, this is imperative," Damian insisted. "If one wrong thing—one wrong detail—were to remain in your minds, it could drastically change the timeline as we know it."

Barbara opened her mouth. Closed it. Then sighed. As much as she hated the thought of anyone rifling around through her memories, she knew that her little brother was right. How many times had she caught Bruce lecturing one of the speedsters about the same thing? ("I don't care that it worked for Bart. This is nonnegotiable, Barry. We cannot afford any more risks to the timeline…")

"But then, how will I remember to do that?" She mused. "You said some things might slip through. What if that little piece of advice doesn't?"

Damian sighed. "I'll write you a note. The robot can wipe databases and memories alike, so that no digital or mental evidence of our presence will linger. But concrete proof, like paper or other objects, can survive the protocol."

Terry's head turned towards the ocean, and he blinked, slowly.

Barbara nodded. "Alright."

When Marie cleared her throat, though, everyone paused to look at the young woman. She tapped her foot impatiently against the boardwalk, blinking back at them with an over-exaggeratedly calm expression.

"This is great," she said, clapping her hands together. "We're talking, we're working stuff out, and it's all gonna work out just fine. That's great. Now. Can we please go back to our show? I want to see my dad on the trapeze." Now her hands lifted, clasping under her chin in a pleading gesture. For extra strength, she stuck out her lower lip.

Damian rolled his eyes, but nodded. "That's why we came looking for you. The others will grow suspicious if we do not make an appearance for the show."

Max frowned. "And what are they gonna say when three extra people show up?"

"I suppose we will just have to tell them the truth." Damian pinched the bridge of his nose, then looked up. "We've let worse slip, I suppose."

"One problem," Barbara said, sending a meaningful glance back towards the tent. She could practically hear the annoying security worker's voice screeching in her head. "I don't have a ticket."

Damian slipped a few out of his pocket. There was enough for all of them. At the sight, everyone's eyes widened. A reaction that earned a wide smirk from the man.

"Let's just say," he rumbled. "That I have…as Marie would put it, 'mad skills'. It was child's play, to secure a few extra."

Marie punched the air. "%^*# yeah!"

"Language," Jon chided. "You're mom's standing right there!"

Barbara smirked. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go check out the—"

And from inside the tent, there came a massive crash.

All of them whirled around, nerves jumping at the sound of terrified screaming. It was a wave of sound that washed over Barbara like cold dread. She followed the others as they rushed back to the tear Marie had made in the tent, and pushed the others aside to look through.

Because her heart was in her throat. Her blood had frozen in her veins. How many times had she woken next to Dick to find him thrashing in their sheets, covered in cold sweat as he was tortured with another nightmare of that night?

The night the Haly's Circus had been filled with screams.

And she tore aside the fabric of the tent, terror rushing to her head as she glanced desperately inside. Afraid to see what she expected to see.

But instead, Barbara wasn't sure if what she did see was better…or worse.

Masked figures in dark clothing stalked through the stands, wove through the scrambling crowds. They moved like living shadows, as sober as grim reapers. Yet despite their calm demeanor, the people around them knew to be afraid. Very afraid. A few figures stepped close to the exits, brandishing bronze blades that glinted evilly in the wane light. Audience members drew back at the sight, panicking as they struggled to run wherever the demons were not.

"Who—?" Terry muttered.

"Talons," Barbara spat. She looked up, caught Damian's eye. "My suit's in the bike. I can be ready in five."

Damian's hand clapped to his chest. Miniaturized black panels skittered over his skin, an armored suit unfolding from some kind of mechanism on his chest. "Go," he told her, as the material spread up and over his face. "We'll get to work."

She hesitated, watching in amazement as the others followed Nightshade's lead. All of them but Jonathan Kent clapped a hand over their chests, and the same dark substance spread over clothing and skin alike. It covered their hair, their faces, even their eyes. Spread down to their fingers, their toes. A cape unfurled behind Max, and a glowing purple symbol that Barbara was as familiar with as her own name appeared on her chest. Next to her, Marie's armor plating slid into place. A light blue-green eagle flickered to life over her heart. Barbara felt a sudden surge of pride, noticing the way the head and undersides of the wings were reminiscent of Dick's symbol. But the tips of the outstretched feathers curved upwards, reminding her of Batgirl's wings.

Barbara's daughter caught her staring, and offered her a wide grin. It was startling, seeing white teeth in a sea of all that black and gray, but Barbara managed a small smile back.

"Everyone ready," Damian snapped. "Except for you, Jon."

"But—"

"Gothamites will not notice a few extra Bats flying about, tonight. But a Kryptonian will draw attention."

Barbara nodded sadly to the Future Superman, who seemed to deflate under the weight of his crushing disappointment. "He's right. Sorry."

Terry raised his fists. "Go, Batwoman. We'll be ready for you."

She smirked.

And then turned, and fled into the darkness.

#######

#######

"Seriously? How many free nights do we get, like, ev-er?" Stephanie growled. She crumpled up her empty popcorn bag and tossed it over her shoulder. Tim might've protested ('littering isn't cool, Steph') but he doubted anyone would care at the moment. "&*#%, people are annoying…"

Around them, people screamed as they dashed back and forth in search of cover. A sea of wide eyes and flashing teeth, waving hands and earsplitting shouts. It was a dull roar that shook the tent, and popped in Tim's eardrums.

The show had been going so well, too. Watching their older brother on the trapeze had been an indescribable experience. Just seeing Dick in his element had been entertaining enough, without all of the daring routines involving fire-lit hoops, silk ribbons, and miniature fireworks. But during one of the aerialist's stunts with the ribbons, there had been a small swish. Anyone else might've ignored the sound, or taken it as background noise.

But the four Batkids sitting in the stands would've known it anywhere—it was the sound of a small, sharp projectile flying through the air. Almost like a batarang.

Before any of them could open their mouths to scream out a warning, the projectile sliced through the red ribbon twined around Dick's limbs. The ribbon frayed. Their brother's eyes had gone impossibly wide, mouth falling open in shock. Then…he was free falling through the air. Back arched, arms spread out wide. Tim and the others were used to watching Dick Grayson fall, but the rest of the audience let out a hair-raising cry of alarm.

But, as always, Dick knew what he was doing when it came to flight. He gave a shout. The red-headed girl, Raya, looked down in a panic, then twisted. Her body spun in mesmerizing circles as she fell down her ribbon, toes pointed and fingers outstretched. She gained speed. Grasped her ribbon as she finally reached the edge and—snagged Dick Grayson's pleading hand. The weight of their brother alone should have been enough to tear them both from the ribbon, like spiders plucked from a web by a strong breeze.

Instead, Dick used the momentum. Swung them up to the other aerialists. The other male member of the troupe grabbed his outstretched fingers, and managed to lift them both to the safety of the platform. On the ground, the ringmaster had let out a sigh of relief with the rest of the crowd. Then, threw his arms out and announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, you've just witnessed another death-defying feat by the amazing F—"

"Attention."

The crisp voice floated above the rest of the din, cutting through the noise like a sharpened dagger. Tim had never thought hundreds of people looking in one direction at once would make such a stark noise, but it did. All eyes focused on the three figures standing at the entrance to the center ring. It was where Dick and the other performers had all danced through not long before. They stood tall and powerful. Tim could see their muscle tone from the nosebleed section. One man, flanked by two. All of them wearing the same dark regalia of the Talons.

"We regret to inform you that tonight's event has been postponed…indefinitely." The Talon speaking rolled his head on his neck, swiveling to look around at the audience. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, then sprang open. There was a sharp snik that Tim could hear clearly, even from so far away, as the Talon's gloves sprouted sharp bronze claws. Talons.

As his companions did the same, snik, snik, an audible gasp rose from the crowd. Confusion, but not yet terror. (This was Gotham, after all, where freaks wearing animal costumes were a weekly occurrence.) It was only when the creature spoke again that the gravity of the situation began to sink in.

"The good news is," he said, "that some of you may make it out alive."

It was when those words broke over the whispers and humming of the crowd, and it was when the hordes of Talons streamed through the tent flap—flowing around the three lead Talons like river water cut by jagged rocks—that the screaming began.

Now, Tim watched Jason and Damian stand up next to him, glancing back and forth at the others. Steph frowned, getting to her feet. All of them asked each other the silent question, had anyone brought their gear?

It took too long for the fact to sink in. And it sunk like a stone in the pit of Tim's stomach.

No. No one had.

He looked up at Dick, standing on the platform above the cacophony. His hands hovered by his chest, eyes sweeping the crowd. Ready to jump in, but knowing he couldn't. One of the other flyers dragged him back as a Talon landed next to him, swiping its mighty claws at his face. It narrowly missed, and Tim felt his heart fly up to his throat.

"We're sitting ducks," Damian spat. "We need options."

Jason straightened. It was subtle, but it was there. The smooth, commanding edge that they'd been seeing more and more as of late. "You're right. Tim. How far away are the cycles?"

"Twenty minutes. Minimum." They would've had to come all the way from the Cave, bringing the spare suits along with them.

"And the car?"

Tim shook his head, trying desperately to think over the noise. "Ten? Maybe seven, if there isn't any traffic."

Jason swore. A heated word that ripped out of his throat in a growl. Fists clenched at his sides, he muttered, "And by then, people will be dead…"

Steph's face was pale. Stricken. She turned her face to the rest of the tent, watching in horror as people screamed and ran. A shaking hand flew over her mouth. "Oh, g—"

Something flashed. Purple. Then red. Green. Blue.

The Bats whirled around. Gaped. Four new figures had joined the chaos, flying above it all on lines that had been attached to the tent's support poles. They moved in streaks of black and color. Like shadow and light. One of them—the dark figure painted with blue—collided with the Talon attacking the aerialists, soaring through the air like they'd been born to it. The creature toppled over the side, screeching as he fell. Tim couldn't see where he landed through the shifting bodies below. Only that the figure in blue caught the edge of the platform, and swung their body up. Triumphant. Alive.

The man in red took out three more. Glowing, scarlet wings clipped out from beneath his arms, and he flew. He streaked through the air, snatching up attacking Talons and tossing them back to the ground like he was plucking weeds.

A figure in green was leaping from enemy to enemy, using the shoulders and backs of his opponents as stepping stones. He moved swiftly, spinning a pair of glowing escrima sticks above his head, behind his back, and over his shoulders. Incapacitating enemies left and right. A Talon bent over a screaming woman found himself cut down in a second. Two more threatening a young family were rendered headless by the sweeping escrima—they must have had hidden blades of some sort?

The Bats gaped at the scene. Tim could feel his heart begin to beat in his chest again. Help had arrived, even if it had a stranger's face. He—

"Timothy Drake."

A low voice made the hair on the back of his neck spike to attention. Tim and the others whirled around. Coming face to face with the giant Talon stalking towards them.

He took his time, wading through the shuffling, screaming people like a tiger through the reeds. His arms swung, letting the twin blades in his large hands glint evilly in the dim light. Every step seemed like a warning. Every movement a signal of danger. When he spoke, his voice warbled like something ancient that had dug itself out of the ground.

"The Court of Owls has sentenced you to die."

#######

#######

"Like #$%%," Jason roared. He thrust himself in front of Tim, one hand craned behind his back to rest on his brother's chest. Steph and Damian flanked him, expressions dark.

"If you want Drake," Damian growled, a low, rough sound from the bottom of his throat, "You'll go through us first."

Tim was momentarily touched by his siblings' show of force. But the feeling dissipated when the Talon cocked his head. His neck cracked a little as he twisted, and Tim found the movement creepily avian. Through the amber-colored goggles the warrior was wearing, he could see staring, soulless eyes watching their every movement, no matter how miniscule.

"Just as well," the Talon finally warbled. He lunged.

They all tensed, waiting for the strike. But the slash of the Talon's knife across someone's throat never came. There was no pain. No blood spatter. Just a loose wheeze from the owl man as they all zeroed in on the sharp black point that had sprouted from his chest.

Blood, darker than any blood Tim had ever seen in his life, oozed like slime from the wound. Bubbling and trickling. The point disappeared with a sickening slurch, and the Talon toppled forward. He landed in a bloody heap inches away from Stephanie's boots. She gave a small grunt of disgust when some of the black-grey blood spattered the tip of one shoe.

Where the Talon had been only a second before toppling, stood a girl all in black. She brandished a sharp batarang like a dagger, and lowered its dripping tip as she straightened. When they all saw the purple bat glowing in the darkness, eyebrows were raised all around. No one spoke, at first. All five of them stood in silence, islands in the chaotic sea of screams and terror around them. But it was Steph who finally gulped down her confusion and posed the question,

"Um. Who the #$%% are you?"

The girl blinked. The white of her eyes disappeared in the black before returning to glow back at them.

"Not important," she snapped. "What is important, right now, is that we get you all to safety."

"If…" Jason squinted. Studying the girl carefully, most likely noting, as Tim definitely was, the design of her costume. The tech she wore like a uniform. "If you are who I think you are," he managed again, a little less hesitant this time, "then you know we don't just run for safety."

The white eyes narrowed. "Mm. Yeah. I guess you don't."

A Talon screeched, diving through the air like a falling star. Everyone flinched back, but the girl whirled around, cape swirling behind her like a whirlpool of diamonds. Her batarang flashed. And the Talon's head and body rolled separately down the bleacher stairs. It was so fast, that Tim might've missed it if he'd blinked. The girl let out a soft pant, wiped the 'rang casually against her thigh, and glanced back up at them.

"But, since I'm the one with the suit and the weapons, I think it's best if you leave it to me." She nodded out to the rest of the tent, where figures like her were fighting the same battle. "And my partners."

Stephanie squeaked, backing away from the dead Talon at her feet. "You're killing them…that's not what we do!"

The other girl almost seemed bored. "Talons don't die," she snapped. "Not really. Unless you douse them with enough liquid nitrogen to—look out!"

She surged forward, shoving Damian aside. There was a loud crash, as another Talon's body fell from the air, landing where the boy had been standing only a second before. Another figure stood atop it, the collar of the monster's suit gripped in both fists. This one, though, they all recognized.

"Terry?" Tim demanded. "What's going on?"

Jason waved a hand. "Who's she?"

Terry looked up, mouth hanging slightly open. He shared a look with the girl in purple that was clearly a cry for help, but she only frowned.

"Uh, well," he grunted, "That's a great question, but right now—"

The Talon twitched underneath him. Then, quick as lightning, its arm shot up, and it wrapped a clawed hand around the future Batman's throat. He gargled, stumbling back. Tim and Jason both surged forwards to help, but before they got the chance, the Talon…shattered. Pieces and shards fell like glitter around Terry's boots, raining and tumbling across the bleachers. He kicked at them with a disgusted sigh before he tipped his head up to meet their eyes.

"Nitrogen pellet," he explained with a shrug. He rubbed his fingers together, dusting off some grainy residue. "But what're you all still doing here? Batgirl, get them out—"

Stephanie opened her mouth to protest, but Tim had the feeling Terry didn't mean her. The girl—the future Batgirl—planted both hands on her hips with a BatGlare so heated, Tim could feel his eyebrows singe a little. "What do you think I'm trying to do?" She waved a hand in their direction with a huff. "Slaggin' stubborn as ever."

"You're from the future, too," Steph cut in, eyes widening. "Holy $#!^…are you—?"

"Damage control," Terry muttered. Then, raising the volume. "Damage control! You four? Handle getting everybody out. Can you do that?"

Damian scowled. "Do not speak to us like we're helpless civilians, McGinnis. Allow us to help our way, or I will break both your arms."

Batgirl let out a low whistle, white eyes widening. "This is baby D, isn't it? Oh. My. G—"

Another Talon leapt, this one nearly taking off Tim's head with the sweep of a blade. She—they could immediately see that the Talon was female—whirled, arms stretched out, and claws gleaming as she hissed, "Timothy Drake, the Court of Owlsss hasss ssssentenccced you to diiiieeee."

Her voice was even dustier than the previous Talon's had been. Like she spent her free time gargling sand. Terry's arm whipped out, and a small pellet burst against the Taloness's chest plate. There was a pop, a hiss, and a few curls of vapor floated in the air. Then, the woman screamed, tossing her head back, and curling her fingers in agony. Tim could tell by the pull of her cowl that her mouth was stretched open as wide as it would go. And then, a jagged crack ripped up her torso. And just like that, she shattered. Pieces of her rained to the ground, skittering and sliding on the metal stands.

"Aw, fantastic," Terry muttered. "They're gunning for him, too?"

"Yes, they are," Batgirl hissed. She moved closer to her partner, head bent low to his ear. She needn't have bothered, though, since all of them were literal experts in eavesdropping. But apparently, the future Batgirl didn't know that. "I hate to say it, Terr, but…this could be our chance. To make things right again."

"Max," Terry growled. He seized her shoulder and spun her away. A smart move; now none of them could read their lips. They dared to step a few feet away, but if Tim strained, he could still make out,

"That's not what we do."

"I know, but Terry, it's him. Do you know how many lives we could—"

"Not happening, Max."

"We just…stop helping the guy. Let nature take its course, and—"

"No. Absolutely not." Terry raised a finger, glowering. "And if you do, I'm telling D."

Batgirl's eyes went wide, and she took a hesitant step back. Then recovered, and mumbled out a venomous, "Fine." To the rest of them, she crossed her arms and snapped, "Get everyone out of this tent. We don't have casualties so far, thankfully, and we'd like to keep it that way." Under her breath, she added something that sounded a lot like 'apparently', but Tim was too busy following his siblings to care.

#######

#######

Dick had been having such a great night.

He'd stepped out into the ring to a roar of applause. Felt the rush of adrenaline in his veins as he leapt off the platform, and it felt like pure ecstasy. The warm lights, the heavy air of the circus tent…amazing. Every move he made, every rush of wind against his face, every sound of approval from the audience…it all felt like home.

And, as he was spinning and leaping and twirling and flipping, Dick knew, subconsciously, that he already had a home. One at the Manor with his family. But here? In his first home? With his first family?

Dick didn't know if words could ever come close to describing how amazing that felt.

And then it all went straight to #$%%.

A Talon had landed on the platform next to him. Made a swipe at his face with gleaming claws that looked sharp enough to eviscerate one of the elephants, and said, in a low chuckling voice,

"Oh, you have no idea how long I've waited for this."

They circled each other, Dick and the Talon. He hadn't known that there'd be more than one psycho going by the name 'Talon' out there, but he should have figured. The creature in front of him wasn't the same man as Barbara's pseudo-brother, Calvin Rose. For one thing, he was shorter. Leaner. Built like a leopard. And, based on body language alone, just as eager for a kill.

The Talon made another jab for his face, and Dick ducked. (On second thought, maybe a cheetah, because this one was quick.)

"I'm sorry," Dick breezed, "I don't think we've been formally introduced."

"True enough, I suppose," the Talon mused. He side-stepped, and wove around Dick, coming up behind him. "But I know who you are…Gray Son."

Dick frowned. The way the other man had said his name…it was different. Like it was two words instead of just two syllables. He spun around to face the creature, keeping in mind the position of his feet and the space he had between them and the edge. Shivers of panicked awareness were sweeping up and down his spine as he reached the realization that he…may not be able to do anything. Not without the risk of blowing his cover.

As Batman? He could've kicked this guy's #$$ in two seconds flat. Then, moved onto the rest of the owl-like assassins swimming through the crowds. But Dick Grayson wasn't supposed to be able to do any of that. Acrobatics? Yes. Aikido? Definitely not.

"Doesn't seem fair," he decided, looking the man right in the eyes. They were tinted orange by the goggles, but he could tell they were lightly colored. Blue or gray, maybe. And he watched them narrow to slits as he continued. "You know my name, but I don't know yours."

"I agree. If I had it my way, you'd know everything, little Dickie," the Talon growled. Two blades shikked out of his gauntlets, and he raised his arms, crossing the knives like an 'x' over his chest. "And I'd love to tear you open, just like I did your pretty little Barbie doll—Ah. You should've heard the noises she made underneath me."

Dick's breathing hitched. He could feel the air trapped in his throat pushing against his chest, but he couldn't force himself to take a breath.

He didn't need to say anything. The Talon seemed to note the look on his face with supreme satisfaction. "Oh, don't worry. She's not dead, Dickie. But after what we'll do to her—" His tongue clicked as he shook his head. "Well. You'll only wish she was."

Dick could feel something searing and molten bubbling in his chest. His first thought was how good it would feel to seize the monster's head in both hands and twist sharply to the side— And then he stopped, nerves singing and goosebumps prickling over his skin.

'What the #$%%?' he thought.

He knew when he was being baited. So he shoved that horrible impulse to the back of his consciousness. Something to be inspected and dissected later. Better to focus on the task at hand—keeping the civilians safe.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dick watched Raya shepherd the others to the corner farthest away from the assassin. She must've been trying to get them to the ladder. But Christina's foot slipped off the edge, and she let out a small gasp. The Talon's head swiveled in their direction, and zeroed in on Raya's stiff posture.

"Well," he said. His voice was as smooth as chocolate and twice as likely to induce a stomach ache. "If it isn't just the lady I was looking to meet."

The sound of his blades sliding against each other grated against Dick's ears. He watched Raya's eyes go wide. Mouth fall open in a sort of half-gasp. She urged the others away, letting Christina be the first to take the ladder down. The twins followed. But she didn't have the time to make her escape before the Talon began to advance.

"Raya Vestri," he crooned. "It is my pleasure to inform you that the Court of Owls has sentenced you to die tonight."

She took a step back. Cried out when her heel met open air and staggered to right herself. As the Talon stepped forward, getting closer and closer, she threw up her hands. "Wait!" she gasped, a squeaking, desperate noise. "This isn't—"

"Hey!" Dick lunged. Caught the Talon's shoulders and tensed as they both hit the platform. He rolled, landing a punch against the monster's jaw as he flipped Talon onto his back. One blow. Two. Three.

The Talon roared, and moved so quickly, and with such inhuman strength, that it caught Dick off guard completely. One moment he was on his knees above his opponent. The next, he was flat on his back. Head slammed so hard he saw fireworks. The wooden boards dug painfully into his shoulder-blades. He let out a small cry of pain as the Talon's claws latched around his neck.

"&*#, you're annoying," the assassin hissed. He raised a blade in the air, elbow bent and arm arced. Ready to plunge that sharp tip down into his face, or chest, or throat. "#*!% what the Court said, I'll just put you down right he—"

A blur. Black and glowing blue. And the Talon was gone.

Dick could hear him shrieking, a sound that grew fainter and fainter, and he realized that the man had fallen over the platform's edge. He sat up. Rested his weight on his elbows and blinked hard. Raya had rushed over to his side, hands hovering above him as she asked him frantically if he was alright, if he was hurt. But all he could focus on were the fingers gripping at the edge, seeking purchase.

Dick moved to help, but two elbows and the top of a head appeared. With a small grunt of effort, a chest, torso, and pair of legs followed. It was a young woman, and she pulled herself back up onto the platform with a huff, laying on her back with limbs sprawled out lazily.

"Good grief, that guy's heavier than he looks," he heard the girl mumble. With a groan, she pulled herself up onto her elbows. It was nearly a mirror of Dick's own position, and they met each other's eyes suddenly. His own widened. Especially when they lowered to the blue eagle on her chest.

"Uh…" His mouth opened, closed. Then he wet his lips, unsure of what else to say.

A gleeful sort of squeal leaked out of the girl's throat as she whispered, "Oh, this is so schway."

She popped to her feet with almost mesmerizing grace, and stretched out a gloved hand. His eyes never left hers—white slits, but no less captivating—as he accepted the hand up.

She was slight and short, a good foot shorter than he was. Though, it was hard to tell exactly, because she was bouncing nervously on the balls of her feet. "Well, citizen," she chirped. "You're safe now. So, if you would please kindly make your way down the ladder in an orderly fashion and evacuate with the other members of the show and audience, that would be great."

She was grinning up at him. It was a little bit harder to tell, since her mask covered her entire face, but there was something almost smug about that smile. As if she knew something that he didn't.

"How many masks are there in this town?" he heard Raya mutter softly.

"Have we…" Dick squinted. "Have we met? You seem…familiar."

And he didn't just mean the fact that it was his symbol on her chest. His real symbol. The one he'd made for himself. Granted, there were a few small design tweaks, but that was his Nightwing eagle.

"Name's Nightingale," she said, shooting him a two-fingered salute with a smirk bigger than the circus tent. "Now—"

She didn't get the chance to finish before a Talon's fist cracked against her cheek. She twisted, not fighting the momentum of the blow, and slipped into a crouch. One leg swept out to catch the newcomer's ankles. But this Talon was quick on their feet. They leapt, dodging the sweep-kick and swung a blade in Nightingale's direction.

This time, she wasn't fast enough. The girl yelped as a thin cut opened on her shoulder, and bared her teeth. "Okay, pal. You wanna dance?" She pressed a hand to the seeping wound and got to her feet. Shakily, but still ready for a fight. Her eyes were caught by something in the distance, and she gaped a little. Then grinned. Tipped her chin down. "'Cause I already brought my own partner."

Two boots crashed into the Talon's back, pinning him to the ground. The flap of a cape, spread out to the air like great black bat wings, was all Dick saw before the impact. There was a flash of red as the figure rolled and came up to stand beside Nightingale, fists raised.

Dick yelped. "Batwoman?"

Barbara's eyes flicked over to his, and she managed a tense smile. "Always glad to be recognized, citizen. Now, if you don't mind, Nightingale and I have some #$$ to kick."

Nightingale beamed, like a little kid on Christmas morning.

And they both lunged forward.

It was like…watching clones fight together. Every one of Batwoman's movements was mirrored in those of the smaller girl. Every kick, jab, swing. Barbara went high, Nightingale went lower. Batwoman kicked up, Nightingale swept below. Both women finished the Talon off in the amount of time it took Dick to figure out how to take a full breath again.

It was so fast, that Barbara's sudden glance told him everything he needed to know.

"There's more of them," he muttered with a sigh. "Awesome."

Next to him, Raya frowned. "Um. What?"

"Talons," Barbara snapped, sending Dick a warning glance with one raised eyebrow. "There's more Talons on their way. So I'd suggest you both find somewhere to hide. Preferably safe. Preferably out of the line of fire. Oh, and, Miss Vestri, was it?" She turned, but he could still see the ironic tilt to her mouth. "Keep an eye on him. Seems like the kinda guy who could use a babysitter."

Dick frowned. Opened his mouth, and closed it again. Gaping like a &*#% fish out of water. There were a few choice words he wanted to offer up at that moment. None of which would be good for Raya to hear. None of which he should probably say as Dick Grayson to Batwoman. And yet—

Barbara smirked, now, sending a saucy wink his way.

Dick returned it with a slight smile and a look that clearly meant, Oh. We're so coming back to this, later.

And Nightingale was just looking between the two of them like this was the best day of her life.

But he did what the lady said. He grabbed for Raya's wrist, jerked his chin in the direction of the ladder to prompt her forward, then sent Barbara a wide-eyed glance. There were a few dozen questions in his mind that he wanted answered. But at the moment, he figured they all had more pressing concerns.

Nightingale and Batwoman both flipped off the platform. Dick felt the familiar swooping in his gut before he watched their lines snap around the support poles. And away they flew. Dark shadows against the canvas sky.

His feet had barely cleared the first rung when he heard Raya's small voice beneath them.

"Dickie? What the %*$# was that?"

He huffed out a breath, resting his forehead against the cold iron rung in front of his face.

"Welcome to Gotham, Rai," he said with a slight smile. And, to quote the billboard at the entrance to Amusement Mile: "Where the nightlife's way better than Metropolis's."

When their feet hit the dust, Dick's legs buckled a little, and he threw a hand out to steady himself against the support pole. One glance around told him that the Talon who'd fallen fifty feet was nowhere to be seen, and Dick wasn't quite sure what to think of that. Nor was he quite sure how to react when his phone buzzed in the pocket of his suit.

Technically, he wasn't supposed to have his phone during a show. One glowing screen could distract a lot of audience members if it was brought out at the wrong moment. But Dick had been eager to hear from Barbara. And, besides, lately he'd had the needling feeling that it would be a good idea to stay close to his phone at all times.

He brought it out, ignoring Raya's pointed frown, and looked at the caller ID.

Pressed the 'accept' button and raised it to his ear.

"Alfred?"

#######

#######

The aftermath was a swarm of cops and EMTs wandering through the dilapidated crowd. Checking vitals, checking stories, and making sure that everyone was alright. The screams of terror had faded into dull murmurs of confusion.

Because as quickly as they'd come, the Talons had disappeared.

Barbara would have liked to think it was because they'd managed to beat them off. But she knew better. There'd come a certain point in the fight when the assassins had suddenly begun pulling their punches. Dodging out of the way instead of engaging new targets. It was a subtle change, but one by one, they left the tent. Until the only ones left were in shattered pieces on the ground.

The Bats—present-day and otherwise—left it to the GCPD to clean up the leftovers. They all made their way silently to the back of the tent, where the performer's trailers had been set up. Like it was during the show, the space was completely deserted. Every member of the Haly's Circus had been brought out front to give statements and answer questions. The only reason Dick had gotten a pass was because Batwoman had shot one look at Renee Montoya, shared an understanding nod with the grizzled detective, and then discreetly led her partner away to the meeting.

Raya Vestri, though, had tried to stop them.

"Hey," she'd said, laying a hand on Dick's arm. "They're saying no one was hurt. A few of us are going to open up a few bottles later to celebrate. You want in?"

Dick had paused. Longing and hesitance warred on his face, and his hands shook. It must have been difficult; spending so little time with his old circus family before everything spiraled into chaos. Barbara watched the battle without saying a word, silently leaving it up to him to answer.

"I'm…um…my family needs me," he finally said, turning his body away.

"But," a look of hurt spread over Raya's face. "I thought…aren't we your family?"

Dick's eyes widened slightly at that, visibly stung. Batwoman came to his rescue with a soft sound at the back of her throat.

"I'm afraid that Mr. Grayson's younger brother was injured during the confusion," she said, keeping her tone level and detached. "He needs to see to the medical arrangements. But he'll be back soon, I'm sure."

They left Raya standing there, one hand still hovering in the air, as if reaching out for Dick, even while he was walking away.

Barbara waited until the distance between them and the crowd was wide enough before she said, as gently as she could manage, "Are you okay?"

He hummed, low in his throat. "No injuries. Took a fall, but as you can see—" His arms flew out to his sides. "—I'm still in one piece. But. I'm guessing that's not what you meant, is it?"

They rounded the corner of the tent. Already, they could see the others gathered in a huddle at the back of the Big Top. Stephanie was almost vibrating in place. Tim and Jason had their arms crossed over their chests, while both Damians were engaged in an intense staring contest. A sigh leaked past her lips, and she dared a glance over at Dick. His eyes met hers, then darted away. Her partner's expression was tight. Almost…guilty? Angry? Barbara wasn't sure which.

"This was your night," she said softly. Waved a hand through the air. "And then this happened."

A rueful smile twisted his mouth. "Hey, it's fine," he breathed with a slight chuckle. The sound was warm, but it didn't match his tone. "I mean, when've things ever been ideal?"

Barbara frowned at him, feeling a sympathetic line forming between her eyebrows. "I'm s—"

"Know what? Don't be," he clipped. He sped up his pace, striding easily ahead of her. Barbara faltered, mouth twisting into a frown as her eyes widened.

"Dick—" she said.

"Babs," he repeated. Glanced over his shoulder and met her eyes. "Let's do this later, okay?"

She threw up her hands, marching after him. "Um, no? Talk to me!"

But Dick didn't get the chance to respond. By then, they'd reached the tentative circle of Bats—present and future—and when she felt their eyes on her, Barbara shut her mouth. At her side, Dick was equally silent. Equally stiff. And he was staring, with large eyes, directly at Nightingale.

They'd removed their masks, leaving their true faces out in the open. Maybe it wasn't an issue; they'd forget everything soon enough, anyway. But still, Barbara shot Older Damian a questioning glance. The man in question was standing very close to Jon Kent, fingers brushing but not intertwined. He met her gaze briefly, but returned to staring at her younger siblings.

"This is not a debate," he snapped. "We cannot tell you anything more."

"But whyyyy?" Stephanie whined. Her shoulders drooped, eyes rolling pathetically. "You already told us a ton, and if the little robot's gonna wipe our brains anyway, what's the point of keeping everything hush-hush?"

Max's eyelids drooped, and she shot a frown Marie's way. "&*#, she's just like ours, isn't she?"

Marie giggled behind a clenched fist.

Terry frowned, crossing his arms. "I'm sorry, Steph, but Damian's right. We've…kinda told you too much already."

"It is in everyone's best interest to keep things…'hush-hush'," Damian finished with a dark expression.

They knew he was right. Bruce would have told them the same thing; don't ask questions, don't do anything that would threaten the timeline. It was a little maddening, having so many strangers in front of them, and no way to make sense of the questions hovering silently in the air. No one seemed happy about it, but all of the present Bats nodded.

Except for Tim.

"Sorry," he said shortly. "But I don't accept that."

His hands were stuffed deep in his coat pockets, and his frown was indignant. This was the Red Robin who glared sleep in the eye every night and told it 'no, thank you'. The Timothy Drake who was ready and willing to rip someone's arms off over a game of Scrabble gone awry. Barbara usually thought his scowl was adorable—it was like trying to take an angry duckling seriously—but right now, she wasn't tempted to laugh.

Older Damian's gaze locked on Red Robin with frightening speed. "I'm sorry?"

Tim didn't waver, even though his older-younger-brother's expression was borderline explosive. "I want answers," he said nonchalantly. Barbara could tell he was intentionally trying to play off his emotions. But even still, she could see a tremor in his posture. The way his fists opened and clenched in his pockets. "I want to know why everyone seems to want me dead."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Then beg, Damian," Tim snapped, and everyone gaped at his tone. His expression had gone darker than the open ocean on the other side of the iron railing. And twice as tumultuous. "I heard your Batgirl in there. She wanted to throw me to the Talons and walk away. Said it was your guys' chance to 'make things right again'. And don't think I haven't noticed the way you all look at me, like I'm some kind of bomb that's about to blow. So tell me, right now, little bro. What's the deal?"

Damian's eyes were blown wide. Barbara watched the color leak from his face as he swallowed hard. Jon put a hand on his back, leaning in to whisper something frantically. Marie and Max were sharing a lip-biting, wide-eyed glance, and Terry was staring out to sea.

"Come on, tell me," Tim pleaded. "Am I dead in your time, or something? Am I sick? Or am I some sort of villain?"

Max sent a startled glance Damian's way as Marie bit her lip. Terry's eyes flashed dangerously, and Barbara could hear Tim practically swallow his own tongue. The silent, torn reaction from the time-travelers was damning. It was all the answer they needed.

"No," Jason snapped, putting one foot forward. "No, that's not possible. Timmy wouldn't hurt a fly. He couldn't—"

A bright golden flash knocked them all off kilter. It was blinding. It was searing. Barbara's retinas stung as she clapped a hand over her eyes and cried out. She could hear similar reactions all around. Along with a loud, staccato beat that she recognized too late as the stomp of heavy boots on wood.

A strangled gasp tore from Tim, and Barbara's eyes flew open.

A newcomer had arrived from the future. It was easy to tell, as Skeets was hovering anxiously above Older Damian's shoulder. Jon's hand darted up, and he seized the wailing robot in one large fist before it could escape.

But that wasn't the most worrying concern at the moment. Not remotely.

Because the newcomer in question had her hand wrapped around Tim Drake's throat.

She—Barbara could tell by her getup that it was a she—shouted, shoving him down to the wooden boards beneath their feet. Barbara heard Tim's skull crack against them, and he let out a sharp cry. His fingers scrabbled over the girl's gloved hand, trying to tear it away. But they froze when she whipped a pistol out from under her black jacket and pressed it to his forehead.

Barbara couldn't see the girl's face behind the red helmet she wore over her head, but she could hear the raw rage dripping in her voice as she snarled, "I've waited too long for this, you son of a &*!%#. Any last words?"

The others surged forward, ready to tear the girl in the red hood limb from limb.

The gun clicked. And they all locked up, frozen stiff.

"I wouldn't," she snapped. The sound of her voice was distorted through her helmet. But she sounded resigned. "I'm pulling this trigger either way, but you all get to decide if Drake goes now or in a few seconds."

The time-travelers had stood by, paralyzed as they gaped over at one of their own. But the sight of the gun seemed to break the spell.

"Lee!?" Marie cried. "What are you—?"

"Leslie—"

Max staggered forward. "Les, babe, you don't wanna—"

Terry blanched. "Think about this for a se—"

"Don't!" Stephanie cried. She took a hobbling step forward, hands up, and the girl froze. For the space of a few heartbeats, she stared openly at Steph, silent and still. Like she was seeing some mythical creature worth a few seconds of shocked admiration. Steph swallowed, then said again, "Don't. He's innocent. Whatever you think he did—"

"You," the girl said, voice suddenly hoarse. "Will thank me for this. All of you will. I—"

Tim Drake, though, was done being a damsel. He brought his legs up lightning quick, crossed his ankles around the girl's throat—then pulled down hard. With a grunt, the girl fell back. Her helmet cracked against the ground, but the sound was lost in the gunfire as the pistol shot into the sky. Tim shakily got to his feet, slipping into a defensive stance. The girl did the same. But she clapped a hand up to the side of her helmet. Its digital panels flickered and disappeared, revealing long, wavy black hair streaked through with angry red slashes, and a face overflowing with rage. Teeth bared, blue eyes blazing, she raised her pistol again, arm outstretched.

Barbara recognized the girl's face; she looked just like her mother, though her cheekbones were a little more defined, and the shape was narrower. She recognized the warm tint of her skin; it was the same shade as her father's.

"Leslie Sheila Todd," Damian snapped, voice like a thundercrack and twice as deadly. "Put the weapon down now."

"Suck my &*#%, old man," Leslie snarled through her teeth. Her eyes never left Tim's hard face.

"You're not going to shoot me," Tim told her, keeping his tone level. His fists uncurled, and he bared his palms to the angry young woman. "Let's just talk."

The girl's lips curled up in a humorless smile, and it was the most unnerving thing Barbara had seen all day. (Which was saying something, considering that she'd watched Nightshade and Batgirl decapitate a dozen or more Talons.) "Yeah, okay. We'll talk. You'll try and tell me how you're not such a bad guy after all. Maybe these guys—" She waved her free hand dismissively towards the other present-Bats. "—will add their two cents in. But honestly, Drake? I don't care."

"Todd," Jason muttered. His eyes were faraway. "Holy $#!^…"

"Put the gun down," Barbara said, more firmly than even the future Damian had said it. There was steel in her tone with just enough ice that she could see the other girl flinch slightly. But still, she never wavered.

"Do it now!" Dick snapped.

"Les," Marie moaned, taking a step forward. She put her hands up, spoke slowly. Like she was talking down an angry bear, singing a rabid wolf to sleep. "You can't. You can't do this. It's Tim. Uncle Tim. Remember how he used to sneak us candy when our moms weren't looking? He got you your first grapnel. He taught us how to—"

"Shut up!" Leslie barked. A line had appeared between her eyebrows. Even from where she stood, too far away to help, Barbara could see moisture beginning to bead at the corners of the girl's eyes. She grit her teeth, the muscles in her jaw straining. When she spoke again, her tone was hollow and stripped bare. It was tired. It was heartbroken. "I don't care," she whispered. Then again, in a ragged huff of air that betrayed more pain than anything else, "I don't care. He killed my mom."

The other time-travelers froze. It was subtle; if Barbara hadn't seen the shift from the corner of her eyes, she might not have noticed it at all. They suddenly stopped, like someone had pressed 'pause' on a movie, or stopped time completely. Damian had gone very still, as stiff and pale as a marble column.

So, when Terry wet his lips and spoke, it was the only sign that they were still amongst the living at all.

"What did you say?"

She jammed her free hand into her pocket. Drew out a sleek device that was phone-sized and phone-shaped, and she tossed it into the air. Terry caught it between both hands, frowning like the ground had been ripped out from underneath his boots.

"Watch," Leslie Todd's voice snapped like a whip, and her eyes narrowed. Guarding herself against whatever was on that phone. "Then you'll see."

Terry flipped the object in his hand, laying it face-up on his open palm. Finger poised above some unseen button, he hesitated. And so Older Damian finally unlocked his jaw and said, hoarsely,

"It can't be true." He swallowed. "It…can't. McGinnis, don't press that button."

But Terry, as always, wasn't very good at following instructions.

The pad of his finger tapped the screen quickly, as though it were molten. A shimmering image appeared above the object, fully colored and three-dimensional. Any other time, Barbara would have marveled at the technology necessary for a 3-D rendered recording, and with such incredible quality, but now was not that time. Instead, she could feel the blood in her veins ice over, rooting her in place. Like her siblings, she was still, and silent, and horror-struck.

Because the recording showed a woman laid in a fetal position on her side. She was middle-aged, and yet still appeared to be physically fit. But her wrists and ankles were bound, and, based on the bruising that painted her skin in angry colors, broken. The woman's eyes were shut, blonde hair matted with scarlet and snarled over her face. Barbara could see a trickle of red seeping from the corner of her parted lips.

Over the phone's speaker, they could all hear a low, chilling chuckle of laughter. The sound grated against Barbara's nerves like sandpaper, and she could see the others tensing up around her. It was a smattering of a laugh that was simultaneously familiar and unfamiliar. The laugh belonged to the Joker…but…Barbara had the feeling that it wasn't their Joker. And that thought alone set off a host of panicked whispers in Barbara's mind.

Max's hands went to her mouth. "No," she breathed.

"Hellllllo, Family," a man's voice crooned. The sound of it was smoother than the Joker's voice. More…gentle. A soft-spoken Clown Prince of Crime.

Jason took a step back, with a ragged breath. Stephanie squinted at the screen, staring at the woman, before her eyes widened in horror. Dick was watching with a slackened jaw, while Barbara felt her heart stutter in her chest.

Tim blanched.

"It's been so long," the voice sighed mournfully, "since we've all been together. I got lonely. I missed you. So I went looking. And, wouldn't you know it, happened upon one of your little safehouses. The one in the Blud, actually…"

Damian's face was a mask of sheer terror. Any color that had been left in his face was gone now. He swayed on his feet, and as Jon staggered to steady him, he whispered, "The children—"

"Naughty of you, trying to hide from me. I'm hurt." Another low chuckle, more menacing this time. "Lucky for me, though, you were stupid enough to leave our little bundles of joy under such…inadequate supervision."

A boot appeared on the screen, and it was planted in the woman's side. She heaved a pained grunt, and her eyes flickered open. They were narrowed indignantly, but bloodshot and watery. When she cracked open her mouth, she managed, in a gritty whisper, "That the best you got, you son of a b—aach!"

Another kick to the stomach silenced her. But that one phrase, that one slip of the woman's voice, was enough.

Stephanie—present Stephanie—whimpered, staggering backward with her arms hugged tight over her chest. "Oh, &*#, is that—?"

"You honestly all thought that Spoiler would be enough to protect them? I'm disappointed in you. I was expecting Damian. Thought he was the one you all perpetually put in charge of babysitting." The voice sighed again, wearily. "But, no. You trusted poor, stupid Stephanie with your legacy. And now you'll pay dearly for it, I'm sorry to say."

The scene panned to the left slowly, agonizingly. Barbara could see that the recording had been taken in some sort of underground bunker. Emergency lights flickered, lighting the scene up in flashes of cautionary orange. And there, on the floor, was a huddled mass of bodies. Crammed tightly together in a ring, they shifted, squinting warily up at the camera. Like Future-Stephanie's, their wrists and ankles had all been bound tightly. Barbara's heart stuttered again when she saw that they were all children.

Terry's mouth fell open. "Matt—" he choked.

"You left them all here. Ripe for the picking. Really, Family, I thought you were smarter than this. I really, truly did." The lense shifted, allowing more space around the huddled group of kids. Now, there was just enough room for one more figure to step into the frame. A man. He stayed close to the camera, face close enough to send prickles of discomfort trailing across everyone's skin. And when that face came into focus, Barbara felt her heart stop completely.

Long, black hair hung over his eyes—and those eyes were empty. A dull, clouded blue, like a weathered piece of sea glass. They were sharp and calculating all the same. There was a raw intelligence glinting inside of them, even through the haze, and Barbara felt herself turn slightly to look at Tim Drake—her Tim Drake—and the way he stared up in horror—

—at his own face.

Tim had always been pale. But this version had skin with a sickly yellow tinge to it. His stature had always been narrower, but now it was gaunt. Withered. A scarecrow standing watch in a barren field. He was dressed in a form-fitting black bodysuit, with a purple waistcoat thrown over the top. And when he leaned down, leering into the camera, she could see his smile. Stained teeth…and two curving, twisting scars that disfigured the corners of his stretching mouth.

"No," Tim whispered weakly. "No, that's not—"

"Now they're with me. And with me, they're going to stay, until their parents decide to join the fun. I'm sure you've already traced this message, Lover. You always were quick. So that makes this simple." His eyes narrowed, but his smile only stretched wider. "You know where I am. You know what I want. And I have a sneaking suspicion you know what'll happen if you don't follow these instructions carefully, mm? Come to the front entrance—all of you. If even one member of our happy little ménage is missing, I will slit a rug rat open ear to ear and let the rest of you hear the screaming. That means the McGinnis kid, too, by the way. His little brother has been missing him so."

One of the kids on the recording, a pre-teen boy wearing something that looked suspiciously like parts of a Robin suit, scowled. He spat out a hateful curse, and a girl huddled next to him burst into tears. The Joker—Tim—looked at the boy disinterestedly.

"Hm. Maybe I'll kill him first." His dead eyes returned to the camera. "All of your weapons and gadgets? Leave them at home. You know I have my ways of knowing. If I see one batarang—one flash pellet—I'll take a crowbar to little Archer Todd's skull."

The camera focused on a boy—probably fourteen or fifteen—with dusty blond curls and Jason's teal blue eyes. Or at least, the teal eyes he'd had before the Lazarus pit. The kid glared up at the camera and spat out, "Let my mom go, you son of a &*^$#!"

Tim clicked his tongue as he retook center stage, and shook his head. "Language, language, language. Jason, you really shouldn't teach your kids such vulgar vocabulary. I'm going to have to take his tongue for that.

The boy blanched.

"Where was I, again? Ah. Right. You have twenty-four hours. That's the standard time-frame, isn't it? One day exactly to pull yourselves together and join me for one last little Family Reunion." A hand fluttered next to Tim's leering face, and he gestured widely at the group of huddled kids. "For every minute after that I have to wait, I will kill one of the children. Maybe I'll start with plucky little Matt Mcginnis. Maybe, Dick, I'll take Tommy's fingers off and stuff them down his throat? And Duke, little Ronnie has been crying for her daddy all night long. Should I stop her tears by tearing her eyes out? Harper, your twins have been so brave. Maybe I'll watch them kill each other after a good old-fashioned dose of Joker gas? And Kate, love, I'd hate to see your grandson damage himself, but…well." Tim fixed his eyes, his unhinged eyes, squarely ahead. It was as if he were staring right at them, and Barbara felt a shiver of horror rip up her spine. He licked his ruined lips and added, "I already beat my baby girl to a pulp and I feel nothing. You probably don't know, Lover, but she fought so hard…you'd be proud. She couldn't see a thing, but she struggled so stubbornly. At least until her skull caved in. So. All of you. My Family. My brothers and sisters, and everyone in between. Do you really think I would hesitate to do the same to your whelps?"

"That &*$^*$#," Max hissed.

"Twenty four hours. Front entrance—no backways or shortcuts. No weapons. Oh, and no Leaguers. This is a Family affair. And one last thing? Just to show that I'm committed. Families thrive off commitment, or so I'm told." Tim disappeared from the frame for a few seconds. On the screen, kids suddenly sat up straighter, started to scream and plead as they pulled at their restraints. When the Joker returned to his place in front of the camera, he was holding Stephanie's hair in one tight fist. Her eyes rolled up, narrowed, as he placed a thin switchblade under her jaw.

Tim bent low, lips pressed against Stephanie's ear. His whisper was just loud enough for the phone's speakers to pick up.

"Would you like to say anything before we begin?"

Stephanie's eyes brimmed over. Two tears streaked down her cheeks as she sucked in a gasp through her teeth. Then, "Jay? Jay, I love you so much. Always have, babe, and I always will. Do whatever you have to do to take care of Lee and Archer, okay? Archer, baby, can you hear me?"

"Mom!" a voice behind them wailed.

"You're going to be okay, honey, I promise you. Take care of your dad, okay? And Lee, if you're seeing this? I'm so proud of you sweetheart. I'm so glad you got out. Don't come back, do you hear me? Keep running. Don't stop." Her voice shattered on that last word, and she looked up at Tim through teary eyes. A sob ripped out through her clenched teeth, and her shoulders strained at her bonds. "And Timmy, I'm sorry we failed you. This isn't your fault. This isn't what you wanted. I know that. So if you have to kill anyone, kill me. These kids haven't done anything to you—"

The knife dug into her skin, releasing a stream of blood. It was fast, it was brutal. And Future-Stephanie's mouth fell open in a silent scream.

"You're right. But watching you all suffer is what I want. So, wherever you wind up on your second trip down, Steph, I hope it was all worth it."

Barbara shut her eyes. She could hear the wailing. The sudden gasps and cries from the time-travelers in front of her. Stephanie let out a strangled scream that matched her future self's as the knife dug in deeper, deeper, deeper.

"I hope it was all worth it."

A thud. Then Older Damian's voice.

"Turn that off. Now."

Barbara opened her eyes and saw the future Bats gazing at each other with silent shock and edging panic. Leslie cocked her gun and grit her teeth.

"He sent that to everyone." Her voice was toneless and dry. "By now, they're all probably at his front door, getting mown down because Nightshade and Batman didn't get the memo. So. I came back to kill Drake now, before he can go rabid. Consider it a public service."

Tim's knees cracked against the boardwalk, arms wrapping up around his chest, trying to keep himself together. As he tipped his chin up, Barbara saw tears brimming in his eyes.

"You should've let me die in there," he whispered. "I…&*#..."

He looked sick. Barbara was at his side in two steps, and she knelt beside him. "Timmy, no. That's not you," she said softly. "That's just…"

Barbara looked up at Older Damian helplessly, unsure of what to say.

"Steph," Tim croaked. He hazarded a glance up at her, and saw her pale, tear-streaked face. Watching yourself die in real time was probably a traumatizing experience, and their sister looked gutted. When they met eyes, Tim jerked his gaze back down. "I'm sorry," he hissed.

"I…I need a minute." Stephanie was pale as a ghost, and she took one step back. Then another. And another, before she turned and took off towards the front of the circus tent. Jason moved to follow her, but stopped dead in his tracks when she snapped, "Alone!"

For an eternity, they were all silent. Barbara could see the looks of horror on everyone's faces as the words and the images played back in their minds on a constant, horrifying loop. For the present-day Bats, it wasn't quite as terrible. They didn't know those kids, yet, and…there was no context. No explanation to tell them why Tim Drake was the Joker. Why the children had been hidden in a Bludhaven bunker, and not one of the Gotham City safehouses spread throughout the city. It was terrible, witnessing Stephanie's future murder right before their eyes—Barbara could feel her stomach turning, reminded of a time, years ago, when her little sister had died the first time—but still…there was a level of detachment. It wasn't…real. At least, not to them. Not yet.

But for the time-travelers…Barbara couldn't even image what they might have been going through. Older Damian was staring out to sea, eyes looking into the future at something Barbara couldn't even begin to guess. At his sides, his fists were clenched so hard that they shook. Max staggered, expression blank as she leaned on Jon for support. Terry had turned away. And Marie was a puddle on the ground, crying softly into her hands. Barbara could see her wide, terrified eyes over the tops of her fingers, and the sight made her heart lurch painfully. But she couldn't leave Tim's side, couldn't stop subtly shifting her body in front of his. If she moved, Leslie Todd would open fire.

So it was Dick who finally spoke.

"You need to go back," he said. "All of you. Now."

Future Damian tore his eyes away from the ocean, and they could all see his tears now. He wiped them away with the back of a hand and scowled.

"Grayson," he snapped. "What are you s—"

"You have the robot." Dick pointed up at Skeets, who was blinking bleakly in Jon Kent's clenched fist. "Leslie, right? How long has it been since Damian and Terry travelled back?"

"Months," the girl snapped. Her hand still held the gun, but it dipped slightly in her confusion. "And it's been six weeks since the girls and Jon came back to find them."

"Jon—?" Present Damian muttered below his breath, finally daring a glance up at the towering Kryptonian.

"Good," Dick continued. "So, go home. Before he can get to the bunker. None of you exist in that timeline, except you, Leslie, so it should work."

"Then what about me?" she snapped, raising the pistol again.

"If they manage to fix that future point in time, you'll never have come back here with the robot—"

"—which was supposed to come pick us up anyway," Older Damian muttered, eyes widening.

"And things will work themselves out." Dick's voice lowered gently, and he stepped forward. Laid a hand on his much taller little brother's arm. "You still have time to save them, Dami. And we'll save Tim. Don't worry."

Damian's eyes were a size that was almost vulnerable. Barbara didn't usually see that in her Damian, let alone this future version of him, and it made her heart ache a little. Those scared eyes blinked, then glanced down at Tim. The rest turned to follow suit.

Tim was crouched behind Barbara, taking shelter under her cape like it would shield him from his own bleak future. He cried into her armor, sniffling and gasping weakly, and Barbara pulled him closer. Wrapped her arms around his shoulders to hold him together.

Leslie lowered her weapon, finally, and let out a dry sob. "Would that really work?"

Dick nodded solemnly. "Trust me, I know timelines. My friend, Wally, has told me all about them. It'll work."

Barbara looked up at the time travelers. The Batgirl and Batman who would be patrolling the night skies when she and Dick were ready to pass their mantles on. Her daughter. Her baby brother—now a grown man—and his boyfriend. They all shifted nervously, still shell-shocked by the revelation brought to them by one of their own.

Barbara spoke up. "What we just saw—that's not happening. Not anymore." Her words were for Tim's benefit, too, and she could feel him go still in her arms. "So, there's no reason for you to mourn."

Older Damian nodded. He turned to the others with a stiff frown. A scared frown.

"Delphi is right," he told them solemnly. Then nodded again, trying to convince himself. "She's right. Someone go and find Brown. It is time for us to take our leave."

"I will," Present-day Damian volunteered, to the surprise of everyone.

No one had the chance to protest before he'd already disappeared around the corner. Barbara had to admire the kid's speed. She could only hope that he wasn't too affected by what they'd all just seen, though. It was a lot for her to process.

Marie got shakily to her feet, arms wrapped tightly around her midsection. Her eyes travelled between Leslie, and Barbara, and Dick, and finally landed on Tim, who was still a shaking puddle in Barbara's arms. A line appeared between her brows, and she pushed past her cousin to kneel down in front of him. Leslie looked ready to protest, but when she saw Marie lean in close, hands on her knees, she stayed quiet. Barbara's eyebrows lifted. Marie whispered,

"You're a good man, Uncle Tim. It wasn't your fault."

Tim managed to tip his face up a little to stare at the girl. "I-I don't know that. Not yet."

"But I do." Marie's voice was gentle and even, like she was coaxing a shy animal to eat from her hand. Or maybe taking a leisurely stroll through a minefield. "What Joker—original Joker—did to you? It's not your fault. It's…not your fault you broke."

Tim heaved a shaky gasp, and dragged a hand over his eyes. His glance up at Barbara was sheepish as he said, "Yeah. Yeah, um. I'm sorry." He moved to stand, clothing rustling and breath hitching. "Lemme just—"

"Tim," Barbara said. "You don't have to apologize for anything."

"She's right, little bro," Jason added firmly. He stepped forward, and gave Tim a hand up. The clasp of his brother's hand seemed to steel him, and he seemed a little more put together when he'd gotten to his feet.

Dick surged forward and wrapped his middle brother in a hug before Tim even had the chance to say 'no thanks'. His eyes widened as the air was squeezed out of him, but Dick didn't relent.

Marie was looking up at him with an expression Barbara couldn't name. Some combination of sadness and nostalgia, with a little bit of amusement mixed in for flavor. She noticed Barbara staring, and shot her a small smile.

Leslie squinted. "Wait. Dad?"

Jason looked up, tearing his laughing eyes away from Tim and his new straitjacket, and fixed them on the girl with the red and black hair. The girl with his symbol on her chest.

"Are you—?" he muttered.

Still squinting, her mouth fell open a little. "Whoa. You look so different with both eyes."

Jason scowled. But held his arms up and waggled his fingers. "My kid, huh? Welp, get over here, squirt."

"Hugs are for sissies." She said it like she was testing the waters.

Jason raised an eyebrow. "Um, I am trying to show affection, future child of mine? Please don't make me regret it, yeah?"

A look of surprise and delight lit up Leslie Todd's face as she collapsed forward into his arms. A sob ripped out of her throat, and she nuzzled her face into the front of his shirt. Jason's eyes widened by a fraction, his hand coming up to hover over her head. He hesitated, but then seemed to settle for awkwardly stroking her hair.

Barbara was surprised by the sudden embrace she was squeezed into as well when Marie's arms locked around her ribcage. She returned it gently, holding her daughter in her arms.

"I'm going to miss you," Marie whispered, voice small and fragile. "I mean, I know I'll see you when I get back, but…"

"I know." Barbara reached up to thread her fingers through the girl's silky ponytail. The strands shone in the dim light, and felt cold and satin-like against her fingertips. Then, "Dick? You need to get over here."

Dick looked up from Tim (who was starting to turn a whole new shade of purple) before dropping him to float over. His brows were raised, mouth turned down in confusion. "Yeah?"

In spite of herself, Barbara could feel tears prickling in her eyes. "I want you to meet Marie Grayson."

Marie smiled up at him, eyes brimming. "Hey, Daddy."

And Dick looked like he'd been hit by a semi-truck. In the best way possible.

"Then you're—?" He pointed at Marie. Looked up to Barbara. Back to Marie. Then back to Barbara. His face lit up like the Fourth of July, and he reverently whispered, "Then that means—"

Barbara grinned, nodding even as she felt one tear slide down her cheek.

And then both women were crushed in a gigantic hug. Barbara could feel her ribs creak a little, but let out a boisterous laugh. So did Marie, before burying her face in her father's arm.

"I'm a dad!" he crowed, lifting them both up, and he spun them around. It was only a hair's-width off the ground, but it was enough that both ladies let out shrieks of surprise. Dick's head snapped to the side, hair flying. "Jay, did you hear that? I have a kid!"

Jason was still clutching his own daughter protectively. "Yeah, man. Join the club."

"Timmy! I'm a dad!"

Tim had one arm wrapped around his chest. With the other, he managed a weak thumbs up and an even weaker smile. "Yay?"

"Dami—!"

"Yes, Grayson, I am aware of the fact," Older Damian droned. He shot a longsuffering glance towards his boyfriend and sighed. "I am the one who trained her, after all."

"Taught her everything she knows," Max added.

Terry folded his arms over his chest, smirking as he chimed in. "I mean, you were gonna do it, man. But you threw your back out when you tried to do a double front-flip on the trampoline to prove to Jason that—"

"—and I quote," Max said in monotone, making good use of sarcastic finger-quotes, "'I've totally still got it, Little Wing!' One trip to the hospital later, and…" She shrugged.

Dick seemed largely unaffected by this statement, though, as he pulled away from Barbara and their daughter. His eyes glowed, and Barbara recognized the look. It was the same gleam she saw whenever he took a flying leap from somewhere high, only to fly back up, defying gravity completely. She saw it when he laughed at a joke or funny story. She saw it when he was telling those jokes or funny stories to kids they'd rescued, while they waited for their parents or the authorities.

It was her Dick Grayson, before all the weight he'd accepted onto his shoulders.

Open. Unguarded. Happy.

Then, he squinted. Frowned slightly.

"I…I know you, though," he whispered, sounding a little more than awestruck. "Have you…travelled in time before?"

Marie frowned back. Shook her head.

"No. No, I know I've seen you." He looked up at the circus tent. Lifted a hand to indicate the Big Top in all its glory. "Here. At the circus. Somehow."

Again, Marie shook her head. "Sorry."

"Maybe it's just the family resemblance?" Terry guessed with a frown. He looked up towards Nightshade, as if to confirm the suspicion, but Damian could only shrug.

Dick nodded, seemingly unconvinced. "Yeah. That's…that's probably it."

Still, he looked at his daughter through welling eyes, and reached out to plant a hand on her shoulder. Whatever had been bothering him, it didn't seem to matter now. He was just reveling in the chance he had to stand with his family.

But apparently not his entire family, because Marie giggled and said, "I've got a little brother, too. His name's Thomas."

Dick grinned. "Tell me more. About both of you."

Marie's eyes lit up as she spoke. She told them all about her schooling—she had master's degrees in Law and Forensic Science, and a B.S. in Criminal Psychology—and her day job as a Court Liaison. She was young, but somewhat of a prodigy (she told them, with no shortage of pride) and was working at getting a position as an attorney or lawyer, because she wanted to follow in her parents' footsteps. Namely, her mother's job of taking down criminals as the GCPD's Commissioner, and her father's job as the D.A. on the other side of the justice system. By day, she worked in court, and by night, she patrolled the skies with Batman Incorporated. Her little brother, Thomas, was a freshman in high school.

When she talked about him, her voice took on a nervous tinge. Barbara remembered the Future Joker's threats on the recording, and placed a hand on her daughter's arm with a smile to urge her on.

Thomas Alfred Grayson was a free spirit who loved acrobatics as much as his father. Marie laughed as she relayed stories of daring stunts involving moving cars, rooftops, bookshelves, and homemade go-cars (that were egged on by his father and uncles), impromptu hospital visits, and life bans from many restaurants and arcades around Gotham. Like his mother, Thomas had a sharp wit, and was easily one of the craftiest of the next generation of Bats. Like his dad, he had an easy-going swagger that made him popular with Gotham's female population, and a charming smile that helped him get away with almost anything.

"He gets away with murder," Marie groaned. "And me? I'm, like, the oldest, so I never get away with anything!"

"Helena's older!" Max shouted, as she turned from the huddled group of time travelers standing a few feet away. Her neck craned, and the smirk on her face was absolutely $#!^-eating.

"Helena's practically my aunt!" Marie shot back, sounding scandalized.

Terry barked out a laugh. It was a knowing sort of laugh that Barbara would have dissected if she weren't so locked onto her daughter.

"And I mean, he has ADD," Marie continued with a shrug, as if the interruption had never happened. "But, like, he can be such a pain in the #$$ when he wants to be. But what can I say? I love the little twip."

"Twip?" Dick asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's a future thing," Terry called out.

Just then, Damian appeared around the edge of the tent. One foot, then his head, then the rest of him. With one hand, he gently grasped Stephanie's wrist, pulling her carefully behind him. Stephanie Brown had on a dazed, shell-shocked expression. It was the same kind of look she got anytime she was confronted with situations that would trigger her old memories. The memories of being trapped and tortured by Black Mask for three horrible weeks. When she caught sight of Tim, Steph flinched back, looking away.

Tim deflated.

The two final pieces of the Batfamily came to a rest just a few feet away, hovering on the edge of the group. Hesitating. Jason lifted an arm carefully, invitingly, and caught Stephanie's glazed eyes.

"Blondie," he said, "Get in here."

She shuffled over, let herself be wrapped in Jason's arms, and rested her head on the top of Leslie's.

"Good," Older Damian said at last. "Now that everyone is present and accounted for, it is time to take our leave. Two minutes to say your goodbyes."

A cry of protest rang up from everybody, but the older man didn't relent. He didn't even react, remaining instead just as stone-faced as ever.

Marie squeezed her parents even tighter, sniffling. "I'm really gonna miss you guys."

Leslie sighed into her mother's shoulder. "Dad. Mom."

Max had made her way over to Tim. They regarded each other warily, but when Max reached up to lay a hand on Tim's shoulder, they both relaxed a little.

"I'm sorry for all of that," she told him gently. "It wasn't right for me to hold a grudge—especially when the reason for that grudge hasn't even happened yet!"

Tim managed a chuckle, almost shrinking under the weight of her hand—and her statement.

"You mentored me for a little while in computers," Max continued. "If it wasn't for you, I never would've been able to crack government databases. And the Watchtower's systems!"

Older Damian's head whipped around. "I beg your pardon?"

Jon gasped. "That was you?"

"Ooohh," Terry groaned. "Someone's in tr—"

"Can it, McGinnis!" Max's scowl was deadly.

Older Damian jabbed a finger in her direction as he snapped, "Later." Then, he turned back to his younger self. He'd just handed the list of instructions for memory-wiping and maintenance to Barbara (she accepted it with a confused grin) and was left to deal with tiny Damian, who was staring up at him and Jon with a questioning frown.

"So," Present-day Damian clipped.

"So," Older Damian repeated.

Jon looked back and forth between them, only the irises of his eyes moving. Then, he huffed out a bit of a laugh and said, "Yeah, well! Any advice for your younger self, Dami?"

"Ludicrous. He will not remember this conversation after we make the jump."

"Dami…"

"Be true to yourself," Older Damian said blankly. "The rest of the world will try to sway you in one way or the other. Tell you what you should be, and what you should become. But don't listen. As long as you pave your own way, and stick to the principles you know to be correct, you will not find yourself falling into Mother's life."

Damian blinked. So did his future self.

"Also," the older of the two added, slipping his hand into Jon's. His present-day equivalent let his jaw go slack with surprise. "Your family loves you. Your true family. Not Mother. Not Grandfather. But everyone else. Remember that, and you will have the confidence to go after the things you want in life."

"Hi, my name is 'Thing Dami Wants In Life'!" Jon waved a hand, beaming. "But seriously. Just remember to let people in, kiddo! Look how well it turned out for this old stick in the mud!"

He swung their grasped hands a little, and in spite of himself, Older Damian's face cracked into a smile.

Terry made his way around the group, bouncing from one person to the next. There was no one he 'belonged' to, and no one who resembled him in any way. Still, though, Terry McGinnis was just as connected to everyone here as they would someday be connected to him. He rustled little Damian's hair and told him 'not to be such a hard#$$ when he got older'. He exchanged fist-bumps and laughter-filled goodbyes with Jason and Stephanie (Steph's laughs seemed forced, but no one commented on it). Tim, he embraced tightly. Then did the same with Dick.

"I know how much you like hugs, big guy," he told the oldest Bat with a grin.

Dick squeezed back. "Can't wait to meet you in the future, kid."

"Yeah…um. Remember that." Terry bared his teeth in a panicked smile, face half buried in Dick's chest. "What you just said. For…when that happens. Okay?"

It was Max's turn to burst out laughing.

When he turned to Barbara, Terry went still. His arms hung at his sides, hesitating and expectant. His mouth opened and closed, as if the words were struggling to escape his tongue. When he finally swallowed, he stepped forward, and held out a hand.

"I know you've got a lot on your plate," Terry told her. His tone was sheepish; his eyes darted up to Older Damian, who was still talking with his counterpart, before snapping back to Barbara. "But…there's something I need you to do."

Barbara could feel a line appear between her eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

In his hand, there was a small scrap of paper. It was the Haly's Circus program, but judging by the way it was folded and clenched protectively between Terry's fingers, she wagered a guess that it wasn't the evening's itinerary that was so vital. It was whatever he'd written on it.

"The robot is calibrated," Older Damian announced.

"This is the last time I deal with you Bat-freaks, do you hear me?" Skeets screeched. "I should take you all back in time and dump you in the Cretaceous Period!"

"But, you cannot do that," the older man sighed, with a dramatic roll of his eyes, "Because your programs do not allow you to do so. Now. Everyone? Come and gather around the small golden pain in my #$$."

Marie gave Dick and Barbara one last squeeze, one last smile, then skipped over to the rest of her posse. Max and Leslie seemed reluctant, but they drifted over as well, feet dragging sadly.

Only Terry hesitated.

"McGinnis," Damian snapped. "It's time."

"Just a second, D," he called out. Then, his eyes flicked back down to Barbara. His expression, like his tone, took on a pleading edge. "Please," he whispered. "Take it."

Barbara reached out. Her fingers brushed the paper.

"McGinnis?" Damian's voice turned dangerous—with a desperate twinge that made the hairs on the back of Barbara's neck stand straight up. "McGinnis! What the #$%% are you—!?"

Barbara grasped the program in her hand. Slid it into her belt.

And with that simple action, all #$%% broke loose.

Future Damian made a sharp sound like the air had been forcibly yanked from his lungs, ragged and gurgling. With a retching gasp, he doubled over, falling to his knees in one heavy collapse. His hands pressed over his stomach. The spot just below the arch of his ribcage. And they came away stained in scarlet, bright and dripping.

"D!" Terry raced to his side, sliding on his knees.

"Dami!" Jon screamed.

But everyone else could only watch in horror as Marie let out a gasping, strangled cry. She held up her own left hand in front of her face, watching as it began to…dissolve. The tips of her fingers floated away, ashes on the wind. Her knuckles puffed and scattered in the breeze like a blown dandelion. Tears streaked down her face as she cried out,

"W-what's happening to me? I don't—"

Her forearm broke apart into fluttering butterflies that disappeared as soon as they took flight.

Damian looked up at Terry McGinnis, eyes wide with betrayal.

"M-Mc-guh—ginnis," he gurgled. Blood burbled from his lips, and he paused to retch. "What ha-ave you done?"

"Wait—!" Barbara cried.

There was a stunning flash of gold.

…And she forgot what she'd been about to say entirely.

Barbara blinked around at her siblings, who were standing with her behind the Big Top of the Haly's Circus. It was some sort of living area, filled with tents and trailers. More likely than not, it was where the performers lived while they were in Gotham, and relaxed when there were no shows to put on. It was dark, and silent, lit only by a collection of string lights scattered around and hung off of anything within reach. A chill breeze brushed across her skin, rocking the lights gently, and smelling of popcorn and ashes.

"Um," Jason said, blinking as his eyes took in the scene. "This might sound really weird, guys, but…does anyone have a really weird sense of déjà vu right now? But not really déjà vu, more like…I dunno…"

"Yeah…" Stepanie scowled contemplatively. Damian was standing nearby, and his expression was a perfect mirror of his sister's.

"Something happened," Tim said softly. He, out of all of them, looked the most haunted by this idea.

"You're right," Dick said mournfully. "It feels like we lost something important."

#######

#######

It didn't take long for the others to recover from the strange 'blip' in their evening.

In fact, if anything, they seemed…ecstatic. Stephanie had practically been vibrating with excitement while the boys exchanged knowing glances. Barbara couldn't help but wonder what sort of trap they had in mind as Stephanie 'subtly' suggested that the younger four go grab corndogs. The older pair, it was decreed, would remain behind. To…'talk'.

Before she had the chance to protest (Shouldn't they all stay together? What if she wanted a corndog, too?) they'd vanished. Leaving her behind the circus tent, standing with Dick in the soft glow of the string lights.

But Dick wore a frown.

He stared at her coldly, and it was a temperature that Barbara was neither accustomed to nor inclined towards. It sent chills dancing up her arms beneath her uniform's sleeves. The tight pull of his mouth, his lowered eyelids. If she didn't know better—and Barbara wasn't completely sure she did—Dick almost seemed…

"Nice makeup," she said softly, with a trace of warm humor. "Really accentuates your cheekbones." It was a lame attempt to break through the ice, but it only seemed to freeze her boyfriend over even more.

"Thanks," he said flatly. Eyes raked over her figure. They lingered at the hem of her cape, at the utility belt settled on her hips, before finally settling on the red insignia. "Nice costume. It sure is a good thing Batwoman got here so quickly."

Oh.

So that was it.

"Yeah," she breezed, frowning. "It is. Think of how many people might've been killed if she hadn't. Talk about lucky."

"Maybe I don't want to talk about that." Dick's eyes narrowed even further. Now, they were slits, slivers of ice. "Maybe I want to talk about how you tore your stitches yesterday?"

"How did you—?"

"A little birdie told me." He pinched the bridge of his nose, then looked up, incensed. "You were attacked—by a Talon? How could you not tell me about that?"

"It doesn't matter—"

"Oh, it absolutely matters," he said darkly. His blue eyes stared into her, sharp and jagged like an arctic wind. He took a step forward. "He could have killed you. He could have done worse. Did he?"

"No."

"Then how come you didn't tell me?"

Barbara took one step back. There was something a little too real in the sound her boot made on the boardwalk. "Why are you so up in arms about this? I'm here, aren't I? I'm alive. It was just a few stitches."

"It was just a few stitches," Dick repeated dryly. His eyes sank to her shoulder, then returned to meet hers with renewed fury. "And what if it wasn't? Would you have told my anything, then?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" She demanded. Bared her teeth. "Of course I—"

Dick cut her off, voice shaking. "Then can you explain the call I just got from Alfred?"

Barbara froze, every muscle contracting. Finally feeling the cold that emanated off her partner seep into her own bones, crackle against her own skin, and flash-freeze her entire thought process. She couldn't have explained a &*%# thing if she'd wanted to. And now…

Dick's expression was deadly. Each statement was posed as a withering demand, fired at her without mercy. "He told me that there was a knock on the door? You told him to get to the safe room, and that it was the last he heard from you?"

Barbara could have facepalmed. How had she forgotten about Alfred?

"Or how about when he finally busted out—three hours later, funny enough—and found the place swarming with cops and detectives? But the kicker? He called me in a panic, because you weren't there, but a package with the Joker's face was. Can you explain that? Babs?"

His volume had risen gradually with every passing moment, and now he was just on the brink of all-out shouting. The look in his eyes pierced Barbara to her core, but she tipped her chin up, crossed her arms tight over her chest—over her symbol—and glowered. Her voice came out as a venomous whisper, tight and dripping with poison,

"Do. Not. Patronize me."

"I—"

"I was fine."

"He sent you his face—!"

"Sorry, did you hear me? I was fine."

"Then would you care to tell me why you ran off? Where the %* was Helena?"

"I was with Helena. We got a lead on a case. We worked that case. And then—"

His mouth twisted in a snarl. "I asked you to stay home!"

Her eyes blew wide. "You told me to park it, and stuck me with a babysitter!"

"No, I called a friend," Dick snapped. "One who should have been able to keep you out of trouble."

"Hate to break it to you, boy wonder, but Helena's not the boss of me."

"No. She's your—"

Barbara reared back, a cruel laugh barking out of her throat as she crossed her arms tight and shook her head. Dick startled a little at the sound, but his face molded right back into its stern anger. She laughed again, then said, "Word of advice? Next time you call me a ba-by-sit-ter? Call someone who actually has a &*#% shred of authority over me. Like Artemis, maybe. But do not just call up one of my girls and tell them to feed me animal crackers and put me to bed on time, do you understand me?"

"I don't like your tone," he said flatly. "And that is not—"

"I don't like your tone!"

"Then maybe grow the #*%$ up! Joker got into the house!" He tossed his arms out to the side with a huff. Tapped them against his chest. "How the #$%% am I supposed to be reacting right now?"

"Technically? Harley got into the house."

"Harley—!?"

Barbara threw up a hand. Waved it over her shoulder as she brushed off his shocked outcry. "I had it handled. This may come as a surprise to you, Grayson, but I can actually hold my own. Benching me was—"

"You didn't see the library," he hissed, drawing himself to his full height. It was something she wasn't used to seeing—not the height, but the sheer anger in the way he rolled his shoulders, took a deep breath. "Innocent civilians, gassed and shot. Everywhere. It was like a warzone, and honestly, I'm glad you weren't there."

She stepped closer now. Inches away from his face. Barbara was close enough now that she could see every line on his face, every flash of anger in those beautiful eyes. And it infuriated her. How dare he be angry with her for striking out on her own?

"Last I checked?" Her voice was soft, and yet it strangely seemed to carry more weight in the air between them. "We're both adults. And this relationship is not a dictatorship."

His eyes narrowed. "You know? I was actually thinking the same thing."

"Oh, do not turn this back on me."

"Why not? You're the one who's—"

A cellphone's frantic chime cut him off. Both of their mouths snapped sharply shut, eyes going down to Dick's pocket, which dinged again. Then, again. And again, before it began to buzz.

"I think you're getting a call," Barbara sneered.

"I think I'm going to answer it."

"Good. Wonder what it's going to tell you this time?"

Dick glowered. Dug his hand into his pocket to fish out his phone, then pressed it to his ear, never pausing to take his eyes off of hers.

"Grayson," he snapped. "What—"

His eyes flew open wide. "Selina?"

Barbara almost bit her tongue in half. &*$# it.

Dick pressed the phone hard against his ear, turning away from her. He pivoted on his heel, looking out to sea as he stumbled towards the railing. Barbara nibbled her lip as she watched him collapse against the iron rung, shoulders tight and raised around his neck. She could hear him murmuring vague replies to their common ally—though Barbara may need to rethink the word 'ally' after whatever it was Selina had to tell her partner—but mostly, he was quiet. Listening. Frowning.

The phone conversation went on for ages. If Barbara listened carefully, she could hear the dull drone of cops and people, radio chatter and footsteps. In between the sounds of the crime scene, plucky carnival tunes plinked over tinny speakers, doing their best to keep up the signature mood of Amusement Mile. After all, there were still plenty of people around who were still just trying to enjoy their night. Without all of the terror of the last few hours. Without all the fear that followed amber goggled-eyes and gleaming bronze talons. And certainly without all of the baggage that came with weeks of never really talking to each other, fleshing things out and being honest—

"T-thank you Selina. Yeah. I…I will. Thank you for telling me." Dick swallowed. She could see the bob of his throat, and the clench of his jaw, as she sauntered over to the empty spot just a foot or two to his right. Her elbows pressed against the top rung, hands dangling over the edge. She couldn't feel the iron through her elbow guards, but she could imagine the chill they must have carried; she felt that same chill in her bones.

"You, too." Dick sounded like he was forcing the words out. "Bye."

He lowered the phone. Brushed the 'end call' button with the pad of his thumb.

And when he looked up at her through the bangs of his hair, his eyes were deadly.

Dick whispered, "Barbara. What…did you do?"

Her fingers curled into fists. "This time?" she muttered. Met his gaze as her chin snapped up. "You're going to have to be more specific, Wingnut."

And without breaking that fury-filled eye contact, he slammed his finger against the screen of his phone. Audio filtered through the speaker. Quiet, but clearer than the smoggy night sky.

"Yes. You're her. Barbara Kean, but…also… You're the Batwoman."

Edward Nygma's grainy voice made her skin crawl. Like a thousand spiders skittering over her arms, her back. Up her neck and into her hair. Crawling down her spine. Barbara's eyes tore themselves away from the phone to stare up at her partner.

"Dick—" she began.

"Oh, just wait." His tone was mocking, almost as derisive as it was furious. "It gets better."

"Then…that means that Grayson…"

"Is just a pawn in the Bats' grand chess game. Just like Bruce Wayne. You boys seriously think that Batman would let someone like Wayne go unprotected? After all the funding he's provided for our little…crusade?"

Hearing her own voice, disconnected from herself, made Barbara's blood ice over in her veins. Her eyes flicked between Dick's stony face to the phone. She couldn't decide where to put her eyes, which place was worse.

"That's where I come in, gentlemen. The perfect little 'in'. Of course, Brucie's never been into younger women. Some kind of moral thing, I'd guess. But Grayson was perfect. Just the right age, and just close enough to Bruce that I can keep an eye on things for Batman."

Dick tapped the phone screen. This time, so gently, that it was slightly unsettling. He settled his gaze on her, face betraying nothing. The fact that it had gone so expressionless was the most unsettling thing of all.

Barbara opened her mouth. Then snapped it shut.

"Not sure what to say to that?" Dick said tonelessly. "Good. I'm not either."

"Dick—"

"I don't care what you called me. A pawn, or whatever. That's just a cover story. You were just working a case. Putting their suspicions to rest. I get that." His eyes drifted shut. He took a deep breath through his nose, exhaled through his mouth, then curled on hand over the railing to steady himself. "But why—why the #$%% would you let them get that much?"

"Because—"

Dick held up the phone. The movement was flippant. Her voice on the speaker was even more so.

"Because I feel like it."

Barbara's forearms slid against the rung. Now she could grip the railing with both fists.

"That's not—"

"You've 'felt like' doing a lot of things, lately," Dick growled. "You told them your secret—"

"I found out that they're working for the Owls!" she snapped back, "And that this network we've stumbled on might actually be bigger than we thought! How is that not a good thing?"

His eyes narrowed. "There were other options. Other ways to get that intel. But you didn't care about that. Didn't stop to think. Didn't even take a second to—"

"Not fair."

"I'll bet that's what those Joker thugs were thinking when you tore them to shreds," Dick hissed. When he saw her stung expression, he plowed on. "That's right. I know all about that. I mean, I had my suspicions, but just now? When Selina told me about her contact in the GCPD? Who saw Batwoman leaving the scene of a brutal assault on three men, two of which were sent straight to intensive care? Oh, all the pieces started to click, Babs. She also said that maybe I should be keeping a closer eye on you. I wonder why that is?" He leaned closer. Towering over her. "Just tell me why. Why you went that is, if you're in the mood to share."

Instead of leaning away from his closeness, she leaned in. Narrowed her eyes as she bared her teeth. "I took two rapists off the streets," she snarled, words slow and scraping. "I took my rapists off the streets before they could hurt anyone else."

His eyes lost their fire. "They were the—"

"Yeah. They were. But by all means," Barbara threw an arm out, eyes dark. "Proceed. Don't back down now, you ^$$#*!%. Tell me what a terrible person I am. A terrible person who can't keep their emotions in check, so she needs to be kept under lock and key!"

"Look, that's not the iss—"

"Yes, it is the issue! If you would just trust me to handle things, then maybe—"

"Trust you?"

His voice snapped like a thundercrack, and it almost split Barbara wide open. She took a step back, startled. His eyes were narrowed. And beneath the lowered lids, she could see them glowing a soft, emerald green. (Little did she know that her eyes had been doing the same.) Dick's mouth pulled into a tight snarl as he advanced.

"Trust you," he repeated with a derisive laugh. "You barely tell me the time of day. And you expect me to trust you? Last I checked, sweetheart, that's a two-way street!"

He was shouting now. Normal Barbara would have shrunk back. Tried to talk things out, understand things from his perspective, because normal Dick would…would not be talking to her this way. Not unless something painful had been simmering under the surface—something he'd been swallowing down for far too long.

But Barbara had had a long night. She was done being coddled and condescended to. She was tired of rolling over and accepting anything Batman had to say, and it was about time she let him know.

But before she could snap his head off his shoulders, he plowed on, with even more heat.

"You say you trust me and then you hide everything! We were supposed to be a united front, remember? Batman and Batwoman, us versus everyone else! But then you go dark, Babs!" He jabbed a finger, and it landed squarely between the ears of her symbol. "You keep going off the rails, and when anyone tries to stop and help, you bite their heads off. Me, Tim, Jason, Steph, Selina…#$%%, the only reason you haven't snapped at Dami yet is because he's too scared to talk to you!"

Barbara drew back. "I—"

"Don't you dare talk to me about trust, alright?" He blew past her, knocking her shoulder so roughly, that it made her head spin.

So Barbara pivoted, rushed after him.

"We're not done here," she snapped. "We—"

"No. Not 'we'." His head whirled around, and when he fixed her with his most hatred-filled gaze yet…this time, she did shrink.

"What—"

"We don't need to do anything, Babs. If you've got to figure your own $#!^ out, then do it. But, if it pleases her highness, would you quit dragging everyone else down with you?" He turned. "I'm done trying to get through to you."

He marched around the corner of the tent. Barbara re-fixed her mask and hurried after him.

And they both almost collided head-on with Raya Vestri.

"Dick!" she gasped. Barbara watched her eyes go wide with sickly-sweet concern. "Oh my gosh, are you okay? Why are you crying? What happened?"

Barbara's heart twinged. She took a step forward, but when he turned his head again, his expression made her stop short. Angry eyes, that were indeed brimming over, narrowed when he saw her standing there.

"Nothing, Rai," he clipped.

She watched with wide eyes as his hands went to Raya's wrists, holding them gently. Barbara looked up at him, but he'd turned away, focused completely on the girl from the circus.

"In fact," he added gently, "You know what? I think popping a few bottles with the old crew sounds great. That is, if you're still up for it?"

"Yes!" She beamed, eyes lighting up. "C'mon. Let's go round up the others and…"

She continued to chatter. Barbara could feel something ringing in her ears, growing louder and louder. She watched the way Raya's hands lingered over his body, brushing and feeling, and—

Barbara squeezed her eyes shut against the noise. Then, when they snapped open, she strode forward. Brushed past Dick, making sure that her shoulder clipped his. As she passed, he turned his head, leaned in and whispered,

"Don't bother waiting up."

Through her teeth, "I wouldn't worry about it."

She stomped away, taking great pleasure in the sound her boots made—angry and clomping—against the wooden boards beneath her feet. She pushed past GCPD officers and detectives, weepy witnesses and curious carnival-goers, and scanned the crowd. Bobbing heads were everywhere; the crowds were thick. But for some reason, she had a sneaking suspicion that her siblings weren't far.

There. Stephanie's blonde waves stood out like a neon sign amongst the dark winter coats. Barbara pushed through the crowd, ignoring the gasps and flashing camera phones as she waded through the sea of bodies. She was used to fanfare, and she was used to being annoyed. So the only thing that hindered her was the lingering sting in her chest. Like a searing needle piercing right through the atrium of her heart.

Her hand clapped over Steph's shoulder, and she whirled around.

"Bab—uh, Batwoman!" she cried, grinning ear to ear. The boys whirled around, matching smiles lighting them up like carnival signs.

But everyone's expressions froze over when they caught sight of their older sister's face. Barbara could feel something wet on her cheeks, but didn't pause to think too hard on it.

Through gritted teeth, she said,

"We're going home. Now."

#######

#######

Dina Lance fell back into the mattress with the most contented sigh she'd heard out of her own mouth in a long time. The sound of it was muffled by her partner's soft groan, carnal and satisfied. The sheets were warm and soft against her bare skin, and she took a moment to take in the texture, still buzzing in an afterglow as bright as a supernova.

Above her, Dina's bedmate shifted, leaning his elbows against the mattress on either side of her shoulders. The look in his dark eagle eyes was predatory, like he wanted to take a bite of her—and that was so much hotter than she would've ever expected. The way his shaggy hair hung over his forehead—framing that beautiful, beautiful face—didn't do her heartrate any favors either.

"&*#%," he rumbled. She could feel the vibration of his voice in his chest. He leaned down, nosing her neck until she tipped up her chin. Teeth grazed her throat, dragged down to the crook of her shoulder. Dina let out a soft hum of pleasure.

Round two was shorter. But it still left Dina glowing.

"You," she breathed, as he rolled off of her. "Are an incredible lay. Has anybody ever told you that?"

He landed on the mattress, rocking the bed under his weight, and joined her in watching the ceiling.

"Mm. Not really," he rumbled back. There was a self-satisfied little note of humor in his voice that made her grin.

She turned her head, nuzzling the pillow a little to shift the hair out of her face. And she looked at him, really looked at him. The profile of his face—roman nose, straight cheekbones, square jaw—and the outline of his broad shoulders. He looked, for all the world, like a demigod of antiquity. A marble bust, with veins of black running through the stone.

Calvin Rose turned his head, meeting her eyes. She was struck again by those golden irises. In the half-light of the lamp at the room's corner, they were luminous. Watchful. Dangerous. Like a screech owl just before the dive. And instant before the kill.

He smiled his little half-smile. The one he'd had since they were just kids. And with that one small gesture, she felt her heart burst.

"&*#, I missed you," she whispered.

His fingers trailed over her cheek. She could feel the soft brush of her hair against her skin, and it sent shivers along the back of her neck. Every touch seemed to light her up like fireworks. She was really going to have to work on that, if she was going to keep up the 'no-care attitude' she usually showed off for any guy who got too close.

Men, in Dina's experience, were ridiculously easy to play, because they only ever seemed to want one thing. Sometimes, it was the same thing she wanted, so she'd go along with their flirtations and showboating. Pretend that they'd outwitted her—conquered her, even—and then she'd kick them to the curb when she was done. All she had to do was act like a 'frigid &!^$%', and they'd lose her number. Granted, the persistent ones—and there were always persistent ones—made trouble for her sometimes. Usually, though, one use of her Canary Cry was enough to scare those ones off for good.

But Cal…Cal was different. He'd always been able to get under her skin. See her for who she really was. No masks required.

"I've missed you as well," he told her gently. A line appeared between his thick brows.

A puff of laughter brushed from her mouth. "You don't have to stick to the society talk, bird boy. It's just me."

"I know."

Barbara had warned her to keep her distance. Dragged her aside one night after one of their little meet-and-greets when they'd finished comparing notes on the Court of Owls. Once Calvin had gone, Barbara had wrapped her fingers around Dina's arm and whispered into her ear,

"I don't trust him."

"You don't trust anybody," Dina had scoffed.

"First off, not true. It's just…something isn't right about this. I…I want to trust him, Di. I really do. But for now…" She'd trailed off. Looked at the jagged horizon through narrowed eyes. "Just keep him at arms' length. Promise?"

It was classic Barbara. Everyone was always 'guilty until proven innocent' with her. Dina blamed it on Bruce. That megalomaniac had taken her in, and passed every paranoid conspiracy in his labyrinthine skull on to his younger partner. And if Dina had only been there…if she hadn't gone and #*&$%# off to L.A. for all those years…maybe things would've been different.

Still, for all her paranoia and trust issues, Barbara was right, more often than not.

Which was why Dina really should have seen the claws around her throat coming.

The metal of his talons was chill and sharp against her soft skin. Like ice. She swallowed hard, felt the sharp tips bob against her neck's most sensitive places. And when she spoke, it was a hoarse, muttered complaint.

"Ugh. Babs is never going to let this die."

Calvin leaned over her, looming and close. But this time around, it wasn't exactly sexy. The gauntlet he wore, holding a plethora of hidden blades and sharp attractions, clenched around her throat painfully. His eyes narrowed to malevolent slits, and she could feel his breath puff against her face as he hissed, "Scream, and I will kill you. Speak, and I will kill you. You are going to hold absolutely still—"

"Or you'll kill me," Dina deadpanned. "Thanks, Cal, I think I've got it."

Then, after a few tense seconds, "Wait. Were you wearing that when we—?"

He bared his teeth, expression forcing her to trail off into silence.

And with that, the answer to her unspoken question—why would he want her quiet if the Tower was practically deserted?—came in the form of a slammed door. The noise was distant, muffled by the layers of drywall and plywood, but she could recognize the familiar sound of Helena coming home to the Clocktower after a long night. She usually stumbled in around three or four in the morning on any given evening. One that involved drinking more often than not. And it seemed like tonight fit into the 'more often' category. Dina could hear her friend slur,

"Dawn, yer nev'r gonna buh-lieve the night I just 'ad."

Dawn answered from her usual perch on the couch, but her voice was too soft. Dina could only guess at her reply. But Helena's rebuttal wasn't hard to make out.

"Got lad…laid. By Cat-friggin'-woman. It was epic."

Dina, in spite of the claws circling her trachea, raised an eyebrow. Calvin shifted over the top of her, muscles seeming to strain with the effort of holding back his talons. If she didn't know better, Dina might have thought that he was trying not to slash her open.

She could hear Dawn's voice, closer now, as she and Helena walked down the hall.

"We should get you to bed, Hel."

"Pfft." Helena let out a long, wheezing smatter of laughter. It was high-pitched and unhinged, which told Dina all she needed to know about the kind of night the other woman had had. Helena could usually drink everyone else under the table. If she was this plastered, she must have drained someone's entire stash. "I don' need bed Dawnny! Jus' wan' more wine. You got any?"

Dawn groaned. Based on their footsteps, it sounded like she was dragging Helena. Maybe even carrying her completely. "You are going to have the hangover of your life tomorrow, sweetheart."

"Word...uh…worth it. Buon vino fa buon sangue…ha!"

Dawn grumbled, "I just had to take French in high school…"

They were passing her door now. Dina shifted on the bed. Just barely, but it was enough that Cal squeezed the claws deeper into her skin. She hissed through her teeth.

"Quiet." His whispered warning was not given lightly.

"Dina'll lemme drink. Hey Dina!" There was a pound on the door, off-rhythm and too loud. "Dina come drink with us!"

Open the door. Open the door, Hel. You've never cared about privacy before. Now open the &*#% door.

But Huntress just continued to bang her fist.

Dina threw caution to the wind. "He—!"

Calvin's hand contracted, cutting her air off completely. It hurt, and she could feel the warm trickle of blood streaming down her neck, pooling in the hollow of her collarbone. A weak gurgle bubbled from her throat, and it must have sounded like something totally different to her unsuspecting comrades, because Dawn let out a scandalized squeak.

"Oh my &*#! Shh, Hel!" Dawn chided. "She's got a 'friend' over tonight. Let's not bother them, okay?"

No, no, no, she thought desperately. Her mind whirled as her eyes darted over Calvin's stone-hard expression. Her airway was blocked—there was no way a Canary Cry was happening. He pressed her deeper into the mattress and she let out a shattered screech. It was all she could manage.

Helena's chuckle from the other side of the door was like sandpaper against Dina's heart. "Daaang, they're gettin' rough in there. Sounds like somebody just—"

"I'm so sorry Di!" Dawn wailed to the door. To Helena, she snapped, "Come on!"

Their voices faded as they continued off down the hall. Dina's only hope of rescue…gone. Just like that.

If she had her clothes on—if they were both standing on equal ground, even—she could've laid Calvin Rose out flat. If she wasn't pinned under his full weight, she could've rolled him off, kicked him in the groin, shoved his head into a pillow until he stopped moving. Something.

"You…" she muttered, as soon as he loosened his grip slightly, "You—heh—got me right where you wanted me, didn't you? &*$^%!#."

His smirk stung more than the knife's sharp edge. He knew, probably better than she did, that her Canary Cry would be useless with her ribs crushed like this, and her throat one sudden movement away from game over.

"You don't give yourself enough credit," he muttered. His free hand now stroked her cheek once again, gently. It gave her shivers…and not in the same way as it had before. "You're strong, Dina. Even the Court knows this. It's why they sent me to…remove you."

She rolled her eyes up to the ceiling, and let them fall shut. Dina heaved a shaky gasp.

"So, you're…hhh…going to kill me."

Calvin's smile reminded her of a shark's—sharp and hungry. He leaned closer, pressing his lips to the shell of her ear. "Death to all metas," came his feathery whisper, and she felt panic well up inside of her chest.

This was it. Of all the ways to die, naked and on her back with her throat ripped out, was probably one of the worst.

"But," came his soft voice again. Dina felt goosebumps pricking at her arms just from the feel of his warm breath on her bare skin. "The Court has sentenced you to a far greater purpose, my love. One of servitude."

No. Kill her and leave her bloody corpse on the bed for the other Birds to find in the morning. Let her death be a testament to his treachery, the gory hollow of her throat a way to warn Barbara that she'd been right. And to run far, far away from Gotham and Cormorant, and their infestation of owls.

But switching sides?

"I would rather die," she hissed.

A wad of saliva splashed against Cal's cheek, just under his eye. He flicked a thumb over it, with a disgusted frown. Then brought the wet digit to her mouth, streaking it over her lips. "Now, now. None of that," he chided her, ignoring the way she struggled in his grip. "You are about to be a part of something beautiful. I wish I could give you the choice, dear, but destiny never gives anyone a choice. Not me, not you, and not our little B-girl."

Dina froze, eyes widening, with Calvin's thumb in her mouth. He drew it out slowly. Wiped it against the soft underside of her chin. The wetness almost felt like blood, and she shivered in spite of herself.

"W-what…what are you going to do, Cal?" she breathed.

He reached for the bedside table, brushing aside the alarm clock, the condom wrapper, and the loose change that had been sitting there for days with his fingers. Then, he found what he was looking for, and held it up to the light. A small object, no bigger than a popcorn kernel. It didn't look like anything, really, and yet Dina recognized it in a single moment of heart failure.

She'd helped remove dozens of them from heroes' ears after the debacle with Roulette.

"This will make you compliant, but you'll barely even know it's there," Calvin soothed. He frowned, though, when Dina suddenly resumed her struggling underneath him. As if he didn't understand it. Couldn't fathom why she'd fight this. "Shh. Trust me, Dina. You've always trusted me, haven't you?"

"You &*$—ah!"

The talons dug in deeper, sharp and stinging.

"This will all be for the best. You are going to help us with one simple task, and once complete, you will be welcomed into our ranks. You and Barbara." He leaned in again. Planted a kiss against her lips. Half an hour ago, Dina would have let herself sink into it like it was heaven. But now, all she could do was shiver. Especially when he pulled away to whisper, "And then we will be together again. Forever."

"Not like this," she whimpered. Closed her eyes tightly. "I didn't…hk…want it like this."

His finger was at her ear. Pressing in.

"You'll thank me later, love. I promise."

"Cal—" she gasped.

But that was the most she could manage before it all went white.