AN: Wow, haven't been on here in a while, a lot has changed. I'd apologize profusely for not updating but I'm afraid they'll seem like empty words to you guys. I hope you can forgive me, but I was like uninspired to the point where I didn't care if I finished Owlet or not. I had a little epiphany last night and this resulted from it. Hope you guys like it, please review, tell me what you don't like/like, and what you want to see in the future. I know how Owlet is going to end; I just need to figure out exactly how to get there. You guys wanna know something funny? I'm dating a guy named Dick XD Sorry, had to share that. Here's Chapter 25.

An Okay Guy

If there was one thing I really hated, besides Jerome Fincher and people getting away with horrific crimes and justice/revenge not being served (Wow, I really hate a lot of things) it was bullies. It didn't matter what kind of bullies: one from school who picked on the outcasts, ones from the real world who picked on smaller corporations, forcing people out of businesses and jobs, and the ones that went out on the streets at night just so they could pummel someone to feel better about themselves. The lack of confidence in all bullies made me pretty much disgusted. The idea that you'd have to beat down someone else, to mentally and physically break someone just to gain some reassurance in your abilities or in your life was just as pathetic as it was dangerous. If you watched enough news in Gotham you'd be able to see that even though this city is riddled with the regular types of crimes (muggings, murders, drug deals, prostitution, etc etc) the good people of Gotham who want to clean up their city are also targeting the ideas of bullying and how it's grown from the big kid who stole your lunch money to the kid at school who pushes another kid to commit suicide.

To me, any kind of bullying is sick and useless, yet most just let it pass on like it's not that big of a deal. "It's a dog eat dog world out there" they'll say, trying to convince you this is how the world is supposed to be, that this is the way life was intended to run. I hate to break it to them, but life is supposed to be about reciprocity, about dues being paid for crimes done, about balance in all. Life is not about the bigger guy coming out on top, using terror and threats to control the smarter yet weaker people on the bottom.

So as I go out looking for Fincher that Wednesday night, patrolling my way through the Narrows, I can't pass by a scene that is an obvious show case of bullying for power. The terrified screams hit my ears before I can see any of the people in the empty parking lot. As I approach the scene I land lightly on the top of a burned out streetlamp, looking down on the scene with my enhanced night vision from my cowl. In the middle of the parking lot there is a circle of men, most of them probably around their late 20s, all gathered around a smaller figure in the middle. With a little more analysis of the situation I see it's a boy, maybe around 7 or 8, looking scared out of his wits as his eyes dart back and forth, looking for a way to escape.

My cowl picks up the words as one of the men begin to talk, his voice oily and suave. I can easily tell he's a persuasive guy, a smooth-talker who tricks people into doing what he wants them to do. "Calm down kid, the less you struggle the less this is going to hurt, you realize that don't you?" I almost gag as I hear him. It's obvious that they're planning to gang rape the boy, and they think there's nobody there to stop them from doing just that. The smooth-talker takes a step towards the boy, sliding the pocket knife he'd been holding into a pocket on his jacket, holding a hand out to the trembling 8 year old. The boy takes a few steps backwards away from the man, nearly bumping into another at the other side of the circle. If I didn't work fast this would be a horrific and scarring night for the boy, if he even survived it.

I don't even let my mind process what I'm doing as my body takes over, leaping off the top of the streetlamp and perfected an aerial takedown on one of the men to the smooth-talker's left. He goes down in seconds with a muffled cry as his collarbone is shattered. He lies motionless on the ground the other men get into a fighting stance, looking around desperately in the dark before they catch sight of me, crouched next to the moaning man.

"It's Owlet!" one of them exclaims. I give a little smirk, sweeping my leg under one of the guys nearest to me, knocking him on his ass in seconds. As he hits the ground his head slams into the edge of a pothole. He's dazed as I slam my elbow into his diaphragm then give a sharp kick to his head. He goes limp, his breathing shallow as I jump to my feet, getting into an automatic fighting stance.

I'd taken down two in less than a minute, but there were still at least 6 more, including the smooth-talker who was still advancing towards the kid as the boy tried to get away. One of the thugs charged at me, brandishing a baseball back that I hadn't seen before. Using my small frame to my advantage, I ducked his wild swings, shoving my elbow backwards into his stomach. As he doubled over in pain I wrapped an arm around the bat and quickly used my position on the weapon as a lever, twisting it from his hand, leaving the man on the ground groaning in pain.

Another thug raced at me from behind but I was prepared for his attacks. He didn't even get a hit in on me as I spun to face him, the baseball bat still in my hands as I used it to target the most sensitive spots on his body, slamming the brunt of the bat into his neck, using the side of it as it was smashed into his thigh, forcing him to the ground. With a final crack of the bat on his head, he fell over, unconscious.

I wasn't quite ready when two of them rushed at me as once, grabbing me by the armpits and forcing my arms behind me painfully. I hissed but didn't cry out as a third guy came up with another pocket knife, an evil smile on his face as he approached me. The man was nearly in range to slice at me when I used his chest as a spring board, kicking him to the ground and flipping my body over the two men holding me. One of the men holding me did exactly what I'd wanted him to; he let go of my arm as I twisted it out of his hold. But the other guy kept a death grip on my left arm and as I flipped I could feel my shoulder seemingly slip out of the joint, clicking painfully against my bones. I let out a pained yelp, quickly knife-handing the man's arm that held me at the elbow, forcing him to let go. Before he could orient himself once more, I grabbed him by the front of his shirt, yanking him down to my level as I head-butted him as hard as I could. The combination of the cowl's hard composition and the electric shock from someone without my biometric readings touching the cowl knocked him out within seconds and he was on the ground with his friends in no time.

The two thugs, the other one that had held me and the guy with the knife, had regrouped and were going to try their luck once more at coming after me. Apparently the one who had held me had found the discarded bat I'd used on his comrade and was now holding it with a death grip as he and knife man made their way towards me. I gave a little triumphant laugh as I dodged an attack from the baseball bat with a simple tuck and roll. As I crouched in the gravel of the parking lot I waited for them to strike at me once more, slipping a bola from my utility belt without their knowledge. As the got closer I threw the bola at them, watching as it curled around the two, binding them together within seconds. With their balance compromised, the two fell to the ground, one smashing his face on the gravel.

I climbed to my feet with a satisfied smirk on my face, letting myself catch my breath. For a moment I thought I was done here a little muffled yelp came from the boy. I turned to my left to see the smooth-talker holding the boy in a choke hold, his hand clamped over the kid's mouth. The boy's eyes were wide with fear as he struggled to get away. With his other hand, the man held his pocket knife to the kid's throat, poised and ready to kill him.

"It's your move, Owlet," the man growls with a sick smile on his face. He digs the point of the knife into the boy's neck, who struggles even more as the first droplets of blood start to blossom from the wound, dripping down his neck. "You can't get me, can you?"

"Let him go," I order, my voice cold and hard. My tone is unforgiving, and if this man had been easy to intimidate he would've been cowering in his boots right about now. But he held his ground giving a cold laugh that rivaled my order.

"You seriously think that's going to work?" he mocked, glee in his eyes as he angled his elbow higher, ready to plunge the knife into the boy's throat. I took a moment to assess everything around me. My left shoulder was screaming in pain but I ignored it, noticing how the man was not even slightly scared of me. The boy looked like he was about to pass out, now. His eyes were as big as dinner plates and all the color had gone from his face. If I didn't work fast this boy would be dead. Ignoring my now useless left arm, I searched in my utility belt for a Batarang, extending it slowly so the man could see what I had.

"Ooh, now she's getting out her toys," he said with a little laugh. "Things are finally going to get interesting."

I aimed the Batarang, squinting my eyes beneath the cowl, hoping that I was aiming this correctly. I only had one shot to get this right. A boy's life was on the line. I needed to work fast and this needed to be perfect. With a little grimace I threw the Batarang, watching as it flew at least two feet to the left of the man, not even coming near him. He saw this and a smile broke on his face.

"That's seriously the best you can-" he cut himself off as a scream of pain erupted from him. I smirked as he staggered away from the boy, trying desperately to yank the Batarang that was now buried in his shoulder. He fell to his knees, still trying to get the weapon out. I strutted over to him, forcing his head up to look at me, triumph etched into my face.

"It's not called a Batarang for nothing," I tell him sweetly, smashing my knee into his face. He falls to the ground with moans of pain, joining his comrades on the ground. I turn slowly to see the boy. He's shivering in the night but some of the color has now returned to his face and he's not trembling as hard as he had been. I walk towards him and he only shies away a little bit. I kneel down so my face is level with his.

"I thought you were a bad guy," he tells me, his voice breaking only the slightest bit with fear.

"Do I look like a bad guy?" I ask him.

"Yes," he replies sincerely.

"Do I talk like a bad guy?"

"Sometimes," he admits.

"Do I act like a bad guy?" I give him a pointed look but it's lost on him through the cowl.

He shakes his head immediately. "No! You took down all those guys! There was like 12 of them!" I only counted 8 but I didn't correct the boy. "So are you a good guy?"

I make a little thinking noise that makes the boy give a small little giggle. "Well, I'm not a bad guy, but I'm not a good guy."

"So you're an okay guy?" he asks me. I give a little grin, but this time it's not condescending.

"I guess you could say that," I agree with a nod. "I'm an okay guy." He smiles at me and I don't expect it as he darts forward and gives me a hug. He puts a little too much pressure on my left shoulder but I ignore it as I pat him on the back with my right arm. "Okay, do you know how to get home from here, little guy?" He lets go of me and shakes his head, the look of fear returning to his face.

"No…" he whimpers, looking down at his shoes.

"Hey, look at me," I say softly. He obeys and for once doesn't look intimidated by me. "It's gonna be all-right, okay? I'm going to take you to the Police Department and they're going to help you find your house, okay? How does that sound?" he gives me a little nod and I assume that means "Good" so I stand, looking down at the boy. "Do you want a piggy-back ride?" I ask him. His eyes light up and he nods immediately. I bend down a little and he jumps onto my back. Once again my shoulder is on fire with pain but I push through it, starting a light jog as I make my way towards the Police Department.

It takes us about half an hour to get there, and the kid apparently got very comfortable with me because he started to talk and he didn't stop talking. It was a good distraction, though. I was able to listen to his babbling to keep my mind off the pain and the exhaustion that was beginning to set into my body. When we finally reached the Police Headquarters I could've sang I was so happy. I walked right in the front door, not even bothering with stealth at this this of night with a little elementary school kid clinging onto my back. When I made my way into the lobby the secretary behind the desk looked extremely shocked to see me.

"Where's Gordon?" I asked gruffly. My tone tells her how much I really don't want to put up with shit tonight. She points at a door behind me and I follow her directions without another word. The boy has gone silent at this time, clinging onto me a little bit harder as if he was scared and I was the only one to reassure him.

The door led to a hallway with a bunch of empty offices and cubicles. There were only a few people still at work at this hour, and they openly stopped their tapping away at their computers to stop and gawk at me as I waltzed through the corridor with a kid clinging onto my back. Finally the cubicles led way to an office with the light on but the shades pulled down on the windows of the glass walls. I open the door without knocking, surprising Gordon as I come in, setting the kid down in a cushioned chair and closing the door behind me.

"This kid was about to get attacked in the Narrows, he needs to get back home. I'm sure you guys can handle that, right?" I ask. My voice is more tired that I cared to show but with Gordon I didn't really think it mattered. He looked over me almost suspiciously, analyzing my black Owl suit with scrutinizing eyes.

"I liked the grey one better," he tells me gruffly, getting up from his desk to come around to the boy. He kneels down to the kid's level and speaks softly to him. "Hey there, what's your name?"

"Tom," replies the boy shyly, looking down at his hands.

"Tom what?" prods Gordon gently.

"Tom Hemsworth."

"That's a nice name you've got there," Gordon says, making the kid smile easily. "Do you know your parent's names?"

Tom looks up at Gordon, suddenly looking extremely pleased with himself as he nods furiously. "Yup! My momma's name is Helen and my dad's name is Robert."

"That's really good," Gordon says, giving the boy a smile. The Commissioner grabs his walkie-talkie from his belt, speaking into it clearly. "Can I get Thompson to come down to my office?" A quick "Roger that" is heard and in a few seconds the door opens to show a kindly looking woman with deep chocolate skin, her hair pulled into a tight bun at the top of her head.

"You called?" she asks Gordon, her eyes flickering suspiciously from me to the boy and back to the Commissioner.

"Can you take this kid to get something to eat and search databases for Helen and Robert Hemsworth?" he asks. "This kid needs to get back home."

"It'd be my pleasure," Officer Thompson says with a kind smile. She holds her hand out for Tom to take as he climbs off the chair. Before he leaves, the boy attacks me with another hug that I'm yet again not prepared for. The pain in my shoulder screams but I hug the kid back with my right arm.

"Thanks Owlet," he whispers in my ear.

"Anytime, kid," I say with a pained smile, waving at him as Officer Thompson takes him away. As the door closes I get back up from my crouched position and lean heavily on Gordon's desk.

"Rough night?" Gordon asks. He sizes me up, looking at the odd angle my shoulder is at.

"Had to fight 8 of them to save the kid," I mutter.

"Screwed up your shoulder pretty bad," he notes. "Dislocated?"

"I think so," I say, attempting to shrug. The motion forces me to cry out in pain, my face contorted with the agony of it. "Yea, most definitely."

"Here," Gordon says, coming up in front of me. He places the palm of one hand on the front of my shoulder as the other stabilizes itself on the opposite side of my neck. Before I'm quite ready for him to, he shoves my shoulder back in place. It slides into the socket with a satisfied click and immediately all the pain is gone. I test out my shoulder, rotating my arm a bit as if I'm a pitcher. It feels as good as new, like the injury had never even happened.

"I'm going to have to remember that for next time," I mutter, massaging my shoulder. "Thanks, Commish."

"Thank you for bringing the kid here," he says, the gruffness back in his voice. "It was a good thing to do."

"What?" I ask him, looking at him from the corner of my eye though he can't tell. "You think just because I'm playing the part of the bad guy I always have to act it?" Gordon sighs.

"Get your smart mouth out of here, Ryder," he sighs. "Some of us have work to do."

"You should get better hours, Commish," I tell him. "Staying up all night is for the bats." I give him a small smile before quickly exiting through the window, making my way out onto the streets of Gotham without a single glance back.