I didn't want to let go of his hand. The darkness looked so strange here, awash with the flames of the fire eaters and the loudly colored attractions that filled the air with excited screams. Or maybe that was my imagination trying to keep the sound of terror at bay. It was strange half lit place and only the overly sweet smell of cotton candy and kettle corn could cover the raw odor of dusty canvas, oil and burning metal.

I felt so strange here, unsure about the painted faces and how they creased in the darkness with their red lipped smiles, and somehow I could only stare up in wonder at the stilted men who walked around us like we were nothing more than ants. I'm not afraid of the dark. Batman is the dark-Dad is the dark… But as I stood there clinging to Dick's arm with both hands, I realized this dimness was different—and my brother seemed so at ease in it. Had it not been for him, Dad never would've let me leave. I hadn't been out of that manor in so long…

I was torn, trapped in wonderment and yet sneakily suspicious of that feeling that was crawling up the back of my neck as I stared at the attraction in front of us, listening to the sound of feet pounding on metal steps. Funhouse. Right. But as I stared at giant clowns face, watching people pass through that wide open mouth it somehow didn't strike me as fun. "So what do you think, Squirt?" I found my teeth stabbing me in the lip. If I told him I was scared…he'd take me home. I didn't want to go home. This was the first time in a long time that Dick had been able to visit Haly's Circus. I didn't want to ruin it.

"Dicky?"

We both turned, eying the curvy shaped woman in the backdrop of those scattered lights. Dick Grayson was all but still as stone beside me. "Raya." The second he broke from me, I felt lost in this peculiar place as I watched Dick embrace the woman. It wasn't the first time he'd let me go to embrace or greet a familiar face. But somehow it only made me feel like a stranger in his world.

"Oh my god, it's been forever." The woman cried, her red hair seeming to glow like embers in the haze of lights that flickered through the darkness. I can only imagine what color Dick's face was when she pecked him on his scruffy cheek; lucky for him I can only see the back of his head. But this Raya can see me. "Who's this? She's not your—"

"Uh, No, no. She's Bruce's ward." Dick said quickly, half smiling as he held out a hand to me. "Delilah, c'mere, meet and old friend of mine." Ward. There's something heavy about that word. Heavy and cheapening all the same. It would take some time before I could finally understand why the four letter word rubbed me raw. I don't know what it is about Dick's empty hand, but it pulls me through the wet tuffs of grass like gravity, ever aware that the woman is watching me.

"Old? Who are you calling old, Richard Grayson?" There's something about that cheeky smile and the curl of his fingers that makes me feel safe again. It doesn't matter that the woman is crouching down to my height. "Delilah, well that's a pretty name."

"Thank you." The words tumble out all on their own as the woman's long slender fingers curl around mine, feeling somewhat cool in this humid air. She has a wide smile like Dick's, but it just doesn't reach her eyes.

"Were you about to go in the funhouse?" She asks, forcing me to glance back at the gaping clown. But one glance up at Dick and I can see him staring at her. Not even thirty seconds and he's smitten. Gah, he's hopeless. But the light chiding doesn't dispel the tension in the air, a weight I know all too well…especially when two people have a lot to say. Even though I'm swallowing, my head is nodding. I want to give them the space. Unlike Dad, Dick will actually speak up. But then…he almost seems surprised.

"Do you want me to go with you?"

"Nope. I don't need ya." I say quickly as I pop up a few metal steps before he can say boo to a goose. "Behave." I call back, letting the sound of Raya's sultry laugh chase me up the wobbly stairs.

"I'll be right here." Somehow the words give me the will to duck through that cavernous mouth.

It's not the rollers beneath my feet my stomach all a flutter. Other children aren't batting an eye as the all but plow through the mist at their feet to climb up the rambling stairs or to stand in the spinning rooms. The pictures…the pictures of pointy toothed clowns peering through the darkness don't seem to bother them. But they bother me. I know what clowns can do. Clowns can make Batman bleed—and Robins die.

The ambient crowing of mad laughter forces me onward, up the twisting stairs and down the mirrored halls. I want to look at the floor to find my way through, but with the fog billowing around my feet I can't see a thing, so I force myself to travel the dead ends, trying not to mind as the walls drawn closer and closer in. But it almost makes it hard to breathe. But what's that sound? Something's moving.

I don't know if it's the soft wheeze that's starting to flow out of my lungs, or something else, but by the time I feel that shadow loom over me, I can hear my heart hammering in my ears louder than any song that's booming out of the big top. I see the oversized shoes first, and for a moment I almost can't breathe at all as my gaze travels up to that red lipped face. I can hear his hearty laugh echoing through the halls, and yet nothing comes out of me. I only stare at him, stepping back with every step he takes forward. But the hall is narrowing with every step, soon I'm hitting my head on a mirrored ceiling as I try to make myself smaller and smaller. But then there was nothing behind me. Nothing beneath me. I was falling. I think I was too surprised to make a sound. The second I realized I landed in a ball pit, I knew what I had to do. I had to get out of there.

I never tried to claw my way out of a ball pit so fast in my short life. By the time I dropped over the side, my soft gasps where loud. Your heart's working too hard. I don't know what made me glance up, but as I tilted my head back, I could see him sitting up there, smiling through that gap. The second he disappeared I was up on my feet, feeling the dread prick its way through me when I realized my pockets were empty. No inhaler. I had no choice but to move forward and crawl my way through the tubes before me. Slides. Slides were supposed to be fun…except I was suddenly worried about what would be there at the bottom. No sooner did my feet reach the ground, I ran for it, spilling to the ground when I hit one of those rooms with the spinning floors. For a long moment I just sat there, listening to the wheezing of my lungs over shadow the music just outside. Calm down. Deep breath. It's okay. Or it was until I felt that hand on my shoulder. I didn't scream or yelp, I just felt every muscle in my body jolt before I rolled, kicking out my leg and nailing the clown right in the nose with sole of my shoe.

Only then did I scramble across the revolving floor on my hands and knees to something more solid. I squeezed myself through the crooked rooms and slid down the slanted floors, feeling the panic nibble on the tips of my fingers. Only when I took a tumbled my way through the 'Barrel of fun' Did I feel someone's arms grip around me. Before I could even think to claw and kick my way out, I could feel the tip of my inhaler hitting my lip. "It's okay, Squirt. I've got'cha." I was still squeezing on the drum of my inhaler when he lifted me to his shoulders.

"How'd you know?"

"Oh… a wild guess—and maybe a clown with a bloody nose." He said as the night air began to wrap itself around us once more. "I figured that had to be your doing. We'll have to find him and apologize."

"I don't like clowns."

"I know."

"And I don't like tight spaces either."

"I know that too."

"Why's it called a funhouse when it's not fun? "

"That I don't know." Dick murmured, ducking a little so I wouldn't hit the flap of the tent. Just as I lifted my gaze, I could see that redheaded woman diving from one trapeze to another. She was good, but I knew Dick was better.

"She calls you 'Dicky', huh?"

"My parents used to call me 'Dickybird'. Short for that I guess. No one calls me that now." Any other time I might've laughed, but as he stood there in that tent, I couldn't help but wonder if it was the same one—the same one he'd lost his family in. I didn't ask.

"I guess I needed you after all…"

"That's alright, Squirt. It just means that you'll help me if I ever need you, deal?"

"That's a promise, Dickybird."


Leon Daniels, Ethan Craig, Carter Hagan, Marley Glozman, Haylee Carrera, Lydia Snyder and Colleen Roth—the seven. The minute Del put those names together, she could only wonder what her father would do with them. She never thought it would be this. Listening to the recording echo through the office, Del couldn't help but put her eyes elsewhere, her reflection in the large wooden table, the horrified faces of their parents, or just the pale gray wall of the mediation room. Anywhere was better than that screen. "Now you see why I've asked you here." The second she heard the screen turn off, Del felt her lungs ballooning in her chest, forcing a sigh to slither out under the sound of the gasps and scolding that followed.

"Ethan Craig! You apologize to her this instant!"

"I don't want his apology." She said suddenly, quelling the murmur with her simple words. "I don't want an apology from any of them. So please, Mrs. Craig, don't even waste your breath." Leaning back in her chair, she could only watch the woman close and open her mouth like a fish at the end of the table.

"Be reasonable, Young Lady!"

"Mr. Glozman, do I have to remind you of your daughter's part in this? If I'm not mistaken she's the one who brought them the acid in the first place." Bruce said lightly, but it was enough to make Mr. Glozman's face pale a few shades. "How is the old publishing house these days? Can't it stand on its own legs anymore?" With his threat hanging in the air, Del could see the realization flickering across their faces. Lawyers, publishers, industry leaders, and foundation chairs—every one of these families was tied to Wayne Enterprises in some form or another. Their children had targeted the wrong girl.

"Then how can we rectify this?"

"You can't." The words were falling out of her before she could stop them. They couldn't fix this. They couldn't take back her humiliation or her shame. They couldn't keep her big brother from watching that damned clip, or take that sallow look off his face. "Only they can." But no sooner had Del spoken did she hear Carter's laughter cutting over her.

"You've got to be kidding me. You ran right to your daddy like a bitch. What are you going to do when he's not around, huh?"

"What I heard is you got your ass handed to you by a ten year old." Dick interjected, letting a knowing smirk wind its way around the side of his mouth as he stretched his arms above him. "Like a bitch." But before anyone could open their mouth, Delilah was shoving herself out of her chair, letting her fingers dig in as she rooted herself to the table.

"If it were left up to me, the Hagan Group would be crawling on its hands and knees."

"Sounds familiar." Damian murmured, breaking his silence as he leaned back in his chair eyeing the boy. Oh, they knew just who had crawled out of that bathroom on his hands and knees.

"Like a bitch? If it were up to me, not only would you precious angels be slapped with assault and battery charges, I'd cut every single one of your families loose!" She cried, not paying any mind to how badly her hands stung when she slammed them down on the table top. "Like a bitch…that's cute. My daddy is the only buffer you've got!"

"Charges?!" Someone's mother cried. "Wait, must it come to that?!"

"Oh, calm down. She's bluffing. Sweetie, sit down and let the grownups hash this out. No need to be so melodramatic."

Del tilted her head to her father as he started to rise from his seat. "I was bluffing?"

"You always did have a flare for the dramatic." Bruce said evenly as he reached over to the intercom before him. "Send them in." Even as his request echoed through the room he could see the uncertainty begin to build across the table. "Dramatic…but brutally honest." He added as the door came open, letting the commissioner, and a few uniformed officers file into the room. "Commissioner Gordon."

"Mr. Wayne."

"You can't be serious, Wayne!" Mr. Craig roared, shoving himself from the table, but as the man tried to pry his son away, he found himself blocked off by the men in uniform.

"Very. Or did you forget it was an act of violent assault that your children committed?" He asked, vaguely aware of the sob that was shuddering from one of the girl's the second their Miranda Rights started to fall from the officer's lips.

"There has to be another way!"

But Bruce Wayne didn't turn back to the table of frantic parents and their terrified children. He turned instead to that surprised sixteen year old girl who was still standing there at the head of the table. "Del?"

The girl just shook her head. "No." No other way but forward, there's no going back from this. If I don't stick up for myself, if I let them slide- "There is no other way." She said lifting her chin. "I do have some suggestions to keep them spending their time in juvenile hall." Del uttered, watching the relief flood a few faces. "I'm not dropping the charges. I can't and won't forget what they've done. Everything their criminal record comes up, I hope they think of me." She said, fighting back the surprise she felt when Clark Kent eased himself through the door with his notepad and recorder clutched in his hand. "I'm a grudge holder, I guess." She said with a shrug.

"I've already seen to it that our transactions with you are already up to date because from this very moment, Wayne Enterprises no longer finds any of your services nessicary. Continuing this strain would only be bad for business on all sides."

"Over something our children caused?! This isn't even related to our business relationship!"

"Your children are your future as mine are the future to Wayne Enterprises. It'll be up to them if they want to continue to bear their grudges in the future, but for now, this chapter is over." With that he turned to Clark. "Kent, good to see you. Del will just be another moment or two."

"You're going to publish this?! You can't do that!"

But before Bruce could even think to retort, Gordon spoke. "All charges are open to public record for any individual over the age of fourteen in the city of Gotham. I assure you he can."

As the room began to empty of handcuffed teens and flustered faces, Del let herself sink back into her chair. Her father had gone along with her plan and then some. And yet coming from her it felt like nothing but vengeance. Vengeance. Justice. When did the two become so similar?


The second she felt a glove graze her head, Del knew she was in trouble, no weak attempt to put up her guard was going to stop that coming blow that hit her in the gut. It was enough to drop her to the mat, coughing and sputtering as she tumbled backwards to her feet under her father's looming shadow. But the second the girl sprung back to her feet she could see those pale blue eyes scrutinizing her from the shadows of the dim room. "Where's your head?"

"Not here." She groaned out as she scooted back, aware of the slender beams of sunlight that had made it through the narrow openings in the dark window coverings. They almost felt warm under her feet. But as her father took his stance the girl did the same, forcing herself to take a long silent breath.

"Get it here." You can't let your concentration break out there. Not even for a second. That's when mistakes are made. Mistakes will burn you. Mistakes will get you killed. But the words never left his lips, no matter how she found herself waiting on them. Instead, he struck out at her with a knee. As soon as Del went to block it with her arms, he jabbed her again. "Watch what you're leaving open." He said, throwing up his gloves the second she spun back with a kick.

Just as they broke apart, Del could see the bits of sunlight flickering across her father's face as he shook his head. "What's got you so preoccupied?" He snarled, watching her shake out her hands.

"I don't know..." She said breathily, as she came at him swinging, filling the room with the sound of gloves beating on gloves. "I don't know if having them spend their community service in a burn unit and Gotham's anti-bullying program is going to be enough." She said at last, more than aware that her father was leaving his stomach unguarded when he put up his hands to deflect her upper attacks. "There's a part of me that thinks they're not going to learn anything from it. That it won't matter." The moment she took her shot for the unguarded spot, his arm came down on her, locking her in a choke hold, and even as she deflected his feet with her own, he still threw her to the mat. "Shit."

"I left that open on purpose." Crouched down beside her, he wiped at the sweat on his brow with his wrist. "Always have a plan, even if things don't work out exactly as you think they will." He added smacking her in the stomach, forcing her to roll over to her knees. "It may not make a difference to all of them." He said at last as they both rose to their feet. "But if it makes a difference for one of them—it's a start."

"And if they all walk away from it with nothing?"

"They'll be back to their old antics and we'll do it all over again. And we'll keep doing it until we find a way to break the cycle. It's not like they can be found innocent of their charges, not with that video-"

"Don't tell me! Please tell me you didn't let them put that in the evidence locker! C'mon! It's the GCPD, someone would sell it the second-"

"I gave it to Gordon and Gordon only." He said evenly, watching her block his fist as he swung at her. "And he turned around and gave it to Barbra for safe keeping." Watching her duck under his kick, he could feel his lips tugging at the corner of his mouth as she came at him again. There she is.

"It's kind of blurry, isn't it?" She asked, her voice almost swallowed whole by the swatting of gloves and the tap of the mat. "The line between vengeance and justice, I mean." The question only seemed to earn him an elbow to the chest, but as the man kicked her back, he could hear her still. "It wasn't about the pain." She said with a grunt as she worked to block his coming blows, alternating between her hands and her feet. "What I really wanted to do was humiliate them." The words spat out as she leapt up to avoid his sweeping kick, forcing herself to twist into a back handspring to miss the next hit and put some needed space between them. "It's not like I haven't been hit before, it's just the way they made me feel…"

"Vulnerable and ashamed of it." The man rasped out. As Bruce ripped off his gloves, he could see those neat little brows arching together. He knew, he knew what it was that bothered her most, what brought her shame. The boys wore their scars like badges, good and bad alike, but for Del, they'd always been a sore kind of secret. Having them revealed had paralyzed her. "Did your mother ever tell you why she chose your name?" The words seemed to make every muscle in her body go slack.

"No…" She whispered. "Talia told me what it meant, but Mom never…she never told me why she chose it. It means 'delicate' or 'weak', I guess since she knew about-"

"To make weak." He said suddenly tossing his gloves to the mat. "She knew your body would be delicate, but she made sure to instill a will in you that weakens others." Yanking her by the front of her shirt, he could see her eyes going wide in the slender streaks of dying light. "You have clawed your way up more times than those little shits ever will!" He sneered. "You froze! You let their perceptions of you stop you from fighting back! You gave them the power to make you weak! And that isn't what your mother named you for!" Hearing his own voice echo through the space, Bruce forced himself to take a breath. "Not everyone who sees those marks is going to understand the hell you've been through." He said, minding his volume as he released her from his grip. "I'm not saying you should be proud of them. But you should at least acknowledge the strength it took to overcome what left those marks on you. Don't let anyone take that from you with shallow words. Is that understood?" He asked, waiting for a soundless nod before he turned to retrieve the fallen gloves.

"Yes. The line does get blurry at times." He said at last, forcing the girl to stare at his back as he eyed the ceiling. It wasn't like she hadn't spoken so pointedly with him before. "But you chose how they spent their time, not for your own satisfaction but for the sake of other people they might encounter." He said as he turned back toward her. "That's not vengeance."

"And cutting off their families?"

"If you had made the cuts-that would have been vengeance."

"But you did exactly-"

"For business. It wouldn't have done us any good to continue on with them after their children were charged with assault on an heiress of Wayne Enterprises."

"And the paper?" She asked, watching a bit of smirk curl around the edge of his mouth as she peeled off her gloves.

"Karma." He said simply, ignoring that silly little smile- as if she could see right through him. "If you're just going to stand there, go run the stairs." He told her, pointing to the open door. Like any typical teenager, the girl rolled her eyes and muttered to the ceiling but she went just the same. And yet the thing made him pause when she stilled just outside the door. She didn't turn around, she just stood there.

"Karma...sure Dad, we'll go with that."

A part of him wondered if her shadow could see the faint smirk on his lips, but the man just shook his head as he made his way to the racks. Did she honestly think the father in him would let them get away with what they'd done to her? Like hell. This was far from over.


"Why didn't you tell me?!"

"Because I didn't think you had the strength to bear it! I don't think you understand! I don't think you ever understood-"

"I understand that that my son is throwing his life away! You think this city cares?! " So many volatile words. And yet these long unfilled silences seemed harder to swallow.

"It doesn't matter if Gotham cares or not! I do!"

"How long are you going to stand there Dad?"

Jack Drake had gotten so used to watching his son's shadow tremble on the wall, that when the boy finally spoke, the reverie was broken, forcing him to leave the darkness of the doorway and move closer to the yellow lamp light of the boy's desk. He'd spent many nights walled in his room doing only God knows what. How many nights had the man pulled himself out of bed and seen the light on under his door?

But as Jack inched closer, he could see what Tim was hunkered over—a guitar. He hadn't seen the boy pick up something like that in years, but on closer inspection, Jack could see all the cracks that webbed out across that pale blue thing like scars. Watching Tim's deft fingers put such a small delicate sliver back in place, Jack couldn't help but notice the bruise like smudges under the boy's eyes. They'd gotten even darker. "I haven't seen you with a guitar in years." The man said carefully, half holding his breath as Tim slowly let the tweezers settle on the desk. How long he keep could this up? How long will he make himself live this way?

"Not mine." He said with a groan as he leaned back and stretched his arms above his head, making his long body seem even thinner. But then, when was the last time he'd seen the boy eat more than two bites? Even as his eyes scanned his desk, he could see the plate Dana had left for him still sitting there, untouched. Jack could feel himself frowning.

"Is this what you've been doing all this time?" the man asked, tilting his head at his son's handiwork, more than aware that the teen was watching him.

"Beats risking my life out there, right?" Tim asked suddenly, turning over a small shard of the guitar in his hand. Maybe he wasn't risking his life out there in the streets, but as Jack Drake saw it, his son was wasting away little by little right here in his room. It almost didn't matter if this city could survive without him—he couldn't survive without it.

"It's hers, isn't it?" Jack asked at last, glancing at the boy as he bit at his finger, no doubt trying to rid his flesh of a splinter. The question was enough to make him go still, and enough to make Jack free his own fingers as he stuffed the large envelope dangling in his grip under his arm, to reach out and snag his son's hand. The last time he'd done this, it was to get a fishing hook out of his hand. He was a hell of a lot younger then. He wasn't so determined to withdraw from the world back then either.

"Her mom's…" Tim answered, not seeming to mind as his father squeezed the flesh of his finger. "I guess that makes it hers." As Jack yanked the protruding splinter away, he could see Tim's eyes flitting to that small frame tucked on the corner of his desk. Unlike his boy, he knew that lovely face well.

"I wish you'd gotten to know yours better than you did." Jack said suddenly, feeling the jolt roll through his son's body just before he let boy's hand fall. "She was something." He said, resigning to a sigh. "Every time she'd walk into a room it was like she made all the air go out of it. If she put her mind to something—forget it, you'd pass out from a lack of oxygen before she'd ever change her mind." He said feeling his small smile shorten when his son let his gaze fall. "When you were little it was clear just how damn smart you were." The man said after the pause had gone on long enough. "Must've got it from her, because you certainly didn't get it from me." He murmured, aware of the dry chuckle that still found its way into his words. "And we…we were at a loss—we weren't geniuses, we didn't know how to nurture that in you. So we turned to your education instead." At his words he could see Tim glancing up at him. "I'm not making excuses Tim. I'm sure we lied to ourselves about what that was stealing from you in return. But we had the best of intentions." He told the boy, handing him the envelope. "I can't take credit for the man you've become. You became him on your own."

"Dad-"

"No. Let me say this. You were right when you said I may not have the strength to help you carry the burdens you bear." He said, watching the contents inside that orange envelope spill out across the desk. Trimmed articles fell to the surface like lost feathers. Max Collin's obituary. The front page article where he could still see his son crouching down at that wall of flowers and teddy bears beneath the window of Page for Parents. But then there were more. Edward Killinger embracing his parents. Anabel Collins emerging from those tunnels under the earth. And the magazine cover showing those iconic shadows on that ruined bridge. "All I'm asking is that you let me try." Jack added, watching his son pick up the frayed patch that was hiding among the paper.

"Did you-"

"No." Jack murmured, watching him turn the patch over in his hands, eyeing the soft scrawling ink that was etched in the back. It was just a single word. Always. "I don't think any of them have such…girly handwriting." Jack added. "I got that maybe a day after…and at first I was so damned angry that she'd even think to send that to me. But the more I stared at it, the more I began to see… just who my son really was." He could hear that chair squeaking under the weight of his words, and yet the man couldn't take his eyes off the desk, even when he felt the boy's arms wrap around him. "That's the man I want to get to know."

"Don't start getting all emotional and crap on me, Old Man." Tim grumbled, listening to that hoarse laugh fall into the rhythm of his father's hand as it slapped him on the back.

"Who are you calling old, Boy?" The man cried, tapping the teen on his cheek with his palm. But as the man stepped back he shook his head. "I'll talk to Wayne myself." He said, paying no mind to Tim's suspicious face. "Hey, I can be civil with the man."

"Right."

"I didn't say anything about having to like it." Jack muttered. There. There was a ghost of smirk. "Your stepmother can't know. I don't know if she could handle it. Hell, I don't know if I can…well. You know…"

"I'll be alright, Dad.

"I know. I know you will." Jack said quietly, forcing himself to turn back for the door. "But before you fly coop, because I know that's what you'll do—eat something for God's sake and at least get one good nights rest first." Catching the shake of Tim's dark haired head, Jack paused by the door. "Oh, and one more thing."

"What's that, Dad?"

"Don't let someone like her slip through your fingers."


She didn't recognize this smell, this dampness, this sticky warmth that almost felt humid—but then it was hard to pick anything else out over the rusty scent of her own blood. Where am I?! But there was nothing but darkness, a darkness that was filling with the thickness of her ragged breathes. Never in the darkest corners of her imagination did Sasha Bowman ever think the night would go like this. One minute she was leaning in to kiss her date on the cheek outside her dorm and the next thing she knew…she was on the pavement at his feet, unable to move, unable to make a sound—unable to stop what happened next.

Her body ached, and yet at the same time it was like she was still wading through a haze, even when she felt herself fall to something that felt like rough concrete. But as the young woman laid there, listening to the sound of waking moans and bitter sobs, something else raked across her ears, like a bellowing of a bell. It gave to a strange cacophony of sounds as it echoed around her, the sound of heavy sliding doors-like doors on tracks, the sound of shoes on the pavement and the murmur of voices.

"We'll separate them later, right now, they need to be cleansed." Cleansed? Cleansed of what? Feeling someone's fingers, grip the back of her head, Sasha found her breath catching in her lungs as the cover on her face began to loosen. But just as she found herself eager to see light of any kind, a familiar voice cut over the din.

"And what about my payment?!" She'd never have another blind date in her life after this. If she ever had the chance.

"Shut up, only the Collector will determine if you get paid or not."

The fingers were curling into her hair, she could feel the hand catching and releasing. "That depends entirely on what you've brought us." The that black covering lifted from her face, the woman found herself squinting though the low light to look up at the white masked face that was all but hidden beneath the folds of a dusky green cloak. "Well now, isn't she a lovely little bird?" She thought to scream, she thought to cry or yell or make some kind of noise, any sound at all, but as the man tilted her chin with his gloved fingers—she was silent as the grave. "A request?"

"Someone wanted a dancer. One that was young enough to be broken."

"And are you a dancer, little dove?"

There are people behind him. Lots of people. Sasha had gotten so preoccupied with the shuffling shadows and the flicker of lamp light that had almost forgotten the man had spoken at all. Until she felt something hot and sharp like a shock press through her back, wringing a cry out of her without her consent.

"The master has spoken to you!" But as the girl blinked through the tears that had welled up in her eyes, she could see the cloaked one holding up his free hand.

"That's enough." His words were soft. "Now then," he said again, his fingers digging into her chin like claws, "Be a good girl and answer my question."

"Y-yes." No sooner had the word croaked out of her did his fingers stop clawing at her.

"How long?"

"Th-thirteen years."

"Thirteen? Now Pet, don't start lying to me. You hardly look over the age of twenty."

"She's a ballet dancer. the requester wanted a dancer with elegance and grace. They didn't specify what kind of dancer they were looking for other than that."

"So you brought them a ballerina?" The sound that deep and throaty laugh made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Without warning, the man let her face drop as he kneeled down in front of her. When he reached for her foot, Sasha didn't so much as move, hell, she didn't so much as breathe as the man gently coaxed the strappy black shoe off her foot.

"You certainly have the feet of a ballerina. If you're as talented as your feet are ragged, I'm afraid you'll be wasted on them." Without another word to her the man rose. "Pay him half."

"HALF?! But-" Before that blonde haired pretty boy could finish his sentence, the masked man gripped that heel in his hand like a stake before striking him dead in the face. Sasha could only cower there on the floor trying to ignore the tacky drops that touched her cheek as the man proceeded to wail on him, crushing bone and flesh alike.

"Ignorant fool! Know what the requester really wants before you add to the collection!" With that he let the bloody shoe drop to the floor, letting the sound echo through the darkness. Even his sigh was loud. "Make sure his face is fixed. He's an idiot, but he does lure them in."

"And what about the ballerina? She wouldn't last in the pits."

Even as Sasha tried to make herself as small as possible, she couldn't get her mind off the feel of someone else's blood drying on her skin. What the hell were these people going to do?! "No. Clean her up, let her rest, and then bring her to me. She may be refined enough for our high bidders." But just as she thought the man would walk away, he paused. "Let's hope you dance as well as that boy thought you did…Pretty One."


"They're our kind of people—if you know what I mean." Lonnie Roach. When you needed something off the streets of Gotham, this was the man you went to. After all, who'd pay any attention to a little roach? It was taking everything Jason had not to smash him into the pavement and smear his guts along the sidewalk like the insect he was. But it'd taken a long time to get to this point—that and hell of a lot of guns. As they say, money talks, bullshit walks. "Get on their good side and they'll let you into the bigger stuff." Roach said, ducking into Drunken Crow, a little hole in the wall pub. It was dead as usual, the air still lingering with the smell of cigars, lard and the sour breath of drunkards.

"Ah, you decided to show after all, Roach." The gruff call all but force's Jason's eyes to bar, reminding him just whose part of town he's in. Bird might've been wiping down the bar, but his eyes were on Jason, no doubt sizing him up in a glance. "This the kid you mentioned?"

"Oh, shit, excuse me." Roach said, stepping out of the way as they moseyed closer. "Yeah, yeah. This is JT. Been a real help ta' me." Yeah, by help, he meant moving weapons. What he didn't know was that Jason had left a little something extra with those weapons.

"A help, huh?" Bird said with a tilt of his head as he dried his hands. "No one helps anyone in Gotham for nothing…especially in our world."

So why did you help the Pipsqueak? "A guy has to do what a guy has to do to survive." Jason said evenly, dismissing the thought as he watched Roach's thin body relax ever so slightly. "Especially in this city. She's not the most hospitable place on earth."

He could see Bird's thin lips pursing as he gave a nod. "That she's not, but she's a hard to quit." He said at last holding out his hand to him. "Bird." But as the man shook his hand, he didn't quite let go. "Something familiar about you. We met before?"

"Don't think so."

"You don't think so…" Just when he though he might've fucked things, up, the man let go of him. "JT was it?"

"It was."

"Hope you're in the mood to lose your money." Bird murmured with a smirk as he turned toward a perch that was sitting at his back letting a falcon claw its way up his arm to roost on his shoulder like an overgrown parrot. Roach automatically took a couple steps back. Someone's had a run in with Talon, Jason thought, and watching Bird lift a few bottles from the shelf beside him before he lead the newcomers into the back room of smoke, cards and crooked faces.

"Fresh meat." A man rumbled, not minding the scantily clad thing that was withering on his lap. The second Bird sank into his seat beside them, the girl slid off and immediately started to slink away from the table. "Why do ya gotta scare her off like that?" The man grumbled, half watching the new faces take their seats and half watching Bird turn on the TV that was perched in the corner of the room.

"Did I say a word?" Bird asked, not even trying to hide his smirk as he reached for the cards, paying no mind at all to the older man who reached back and snagged the girl by the wrist. "If you're not careful, the old man, might steal her." He murmured bridging the cards in his hand, as the old man in question tapped his scruffy cheek, beckoning the girl's lips.

Only when she plopped a kiss on his cheek did he reach over to the wad of cash in front of her John and hand her a fold of bills. "Because you know he's gonna be broke by the end of the night." The girl smiled.

"I was gonna pay her!"

"Yeah…next year, maybe."

"Run along, Rabbit." At the sound of Bird's voice, the girl snatched up her coat, turned tail and practically fled. But not before Jason spotted the familiar shape of circles grouping together across her arm. Those kids in the alley, they had that too.

"So you like to gamble, do you, Kid?" The old man asked, stopping to take a drag from his cigar. Cuban if he wasn't mistaken.

"Yes, Sir. Would I be here if I didn't?"

"You hear that? He called me Sir." The old man jested, letting his eyes rest on the screen that was at Jason's back.

"Pipe down Old Man. There's not enough room here for that ego." Bird sneered, winning a few chuckles from the table as he threw a few chips into the pot. "A polite smart ass." He mused aloud, watching Jason call his bet. "What else do you bet on?"

"Fights and poker mostly."

Bird's narrow blue eyes seemed to glimmer at that as he watched the young man lay down his cards. "Fights, huh? I know of a few fights that might be lucrative." He said, as he scraped the pot into his chips. "That is…if I don't break your piggy bank first."

"The pits?" Roach asked, sounding more like an excited child than a balding adult. But the words only force Jason to hold his breath. B-but they're going to send me to the pits! Even now he could still hear that small thing so clearly. She's just a kid. A terrified kid.

"The pits."

He could see the other men smirking over their cards, leaving Jason to stare at his hand. "What are they?" He asked, half aware of the TV's murmuring at his back.

"I think our real dark horse is going to be Delilah Wayne, we haven't seen her on the circuit for months. But from what I understand she's still holding onto her bid in the Santa Prisca Invitational. I'm excited to see what skills she's been working on."

"You'll see." Bird murmured, watching the young man tilt an ear to the TV as he fought not to turn around. "Now are you in or not?"

This was moving faster than he anticipated. Hell, why would Bird let him in so easily? There had to be a reason for it. Watch your ass, he's still suspicious of you. With the warning all but humming through his ears, Jason shoved his chips into the pot, making sure to hold the man's scrutinizing eyes. "I'm in."


"Someone's glad to be home." Dick noted, watching the girl's shadow as she released from the high bar, forcing her body to straddle and summersault through the air before reaching for the high bar with an echoing rattle. Try as she may, she couldn't hide the creasing in her face—things were still tender, and yet here she was twisting, turning and straddling the air. "You know why she's doing it, don't you?" He murmured, knowing full well that the man leaning on the inside of the door would hear him. He wasn't sure when he became aware that Bruce Wayne was lurking at his back. In truth he was surprised the man had even made it out of the cave at all. It'd been weeks and he was no closer to finding those kids.

"She should've—"

"Scratched?" Dick couldn't stop himself from quirking a brow at the man. "Let's see you tell her that." Dick spat. What? Did he think that he hadn't tried? "That's like telling you to leave the cowl alone until your head's healed." He said, taking his eyes off the girl for just a moment. "Hell would freeze over first." No matter how he tried to talk her into it, scratching from Santa Prisca wasn't an option. "This is just as important to her."

Watching her rotate over the high bar to build her momentum, Dick could only hold his breath as she flung herself free, snaking her body into not one but two backward twisted somersaults. But even with his applause, he could see her face pinching as she wobbled and stepped back on the landing.

"Shit." She hissed, ripping the grips from her hands, it didn't matter, the on her palms was all but raw under the chalk lines. But just as the girl went to dart for the spring board, she found herself caught by Dick's arms. Before she could even twist to shove him away, he was kicking her legs out from under her, forcing her to crash to the mat in a panting heap. "Dick!"

"Break time."

"You can be such a butt."

"You've been at this since four in the morning. It's noon." Dick said, watching her peel herself up and head right back toward the bars. "If you don't chill out, you're only going to get sloppier." He said, watching her dip her hands into the chalk. "You're pushing it. Too much momentum is just as bad if not worse than too little." He said, watching her pause as the dust formed a cloud in the air. "Take a break, clean yourself up and clear your head."

"I just want to get it right."

"Then do as he says." At the sound of his low command, that thin frame seemed to go sill in the dull winter light.

"How long have you been standing there?" She murmured, her tight shoulders rolling down into a slump, before she walked off the mat completely.

"Long enough."

"Just long enough to see me fail." She put in, bending down to yank up a towel and a fist full of paperwork. "Entry forms." She said, holding them out to Dick. "I already filled out most of it." She told him as she worked her way by them to get to the door. "Damian up yet?"

"Nope. After putting up with the Riddler last night, and staying up 'til who knows when, the kid's still out like a light. Why do you think the house is so quiet?" Dick asked, relived to win even the faintest of smirks out of her, before she slipped out the door, leaving him there with Bruce. "No, it's nothing you said. She always gets a little snarky around entry time." Dick said, with a tilt of his head as he handed the folded papers out to the man.

How many seats do you wish to reserve for family? He didn't expect that blue inked 0 to take the air out of his lungs. "Why didn't she just—"

"Ask? Why would she make you choose between her and Gotham when she thinks she already knows the answer?"

He never wanted to walk the line like this. But then he never thought he'd be choosing between being a father and being something else entirely. Maybe there was a time when he fooled himself into believing he could somehow straddle this dual life. It seemed like nothing more than a fantasy now, and a dead one at that.

He didn't imagine he'd find her sitting on the floor of that familiar room, picking quietly at a guitar that was certainly too big for her arms. She didn't even look up; it was like she already knew it was him. He could see her head tilting toward him as he stole a pen off her desk, but said nothing, she just continued to press her fingers into the frets of the guitar, letting the air soak up the soft twang of the strings.

"I didn't know you played. That one's a bit big for you, isn't it?"

"Mom's guitar was busted during the party." The girl lamented, "It's a big but it's the only thing I've got." She said, letting her fingers strum over the strings. "She taught me a little bit…but she never really used this one. I don't think she cared for this guitar as much as the other one."

Indeed, why would she? All that instrument seemed to do was stir things up. He could still hear the echo of Noah Larson's voice, the way the man's face twisted when his daughter stopped to stare at her bloody hands. Even now, he could still see Paige biting back her lip to control the unshed sobs as she forced herself to play, marring the brassy strings red.

Now the ashen looks on his parent's faces when they saw the girl's torn up hands made sense. "I wouldn't be surprised if a part of her hated that damn thing." The man said at last, watching his daughter's hands still as her head popped up. "You know who it belonged to don't you?" He asked, nodding toward the initials that were all but scratched into the head of the guitar. "Noah Larson—"

"Her Dad." She mumbled softly, turning the instrument over in her lap. "She didn't talk about him much."

"He was…he was definitely different than anything I was used to." He could see Del's lips frowning in the guitar's reflection.

"He up and left when Mom was nine." The girl put in. "She never saw him again. Maybe it was just as well. But I don't know why she kept it."

"Because it was her father's." He added, tossing the amended paperwork in the girl's lap. He could only watch her as she set the guitar aside to pick up the documents to stare at them and the adjusted number overriding her ink.

"You…you actually want to go?" She asked, her voice barely breaking over a surprised squeak. "Did Dick say—"

"You're not going to start the water works are you?"

"Dad!"

"I mean I could always call the Boy Scout back and cancel."

"Gah, you can be such a butthead." The girl muttered, wiping her eyes with the ends of her sleeves. "Now I know where Dick gets it." She said, staring at the folded papers in her lap. "Are you sure? I-I mean if you can't…"

"Do you want me to go or not?"

"Y-yeah."

"Then I'll go."

"Promise?" He paused at that, unsure of what to make of those large blue watery eyes. It wasn't like he was aiming to make the girl cry.

"Promise. Now knock that off." He said, reaching out and flicking the girl on the tip of her nose. "You're taking all the fun out of it."

"Sir, I hate to interrupt, but you have a visitor."

"Alfred! Help! He said the 'f-word.'" The voice on the intercom went utterly silent.

"I beg your pardon Miss?"

"He said fun. I'm scared." Del squeaked out.

"That is frightening."


The snow was just deep enough to hold her footprints, tracking her movements from the Manor down into the snarled trees. Bare birches, leafless and like her they were shivering in the cold. He promised. Strangely enough, the cold didn't matter. He actually promised…That had never happened before. Trampling the half frozen world under her boots, Del could only spin, blurring the whites, grays and greens together in blobs of color, never minding the soft touch of snow on her cheek, or the breathlessness of her lungs. The only thing that stilled her world was that laugh, soft and warm, scratchy as if bitten by the cold but not quite so deep.

"When nobody's looking…"

"Tim." His name slid off her lips in a patchy cloud that was as gray as the sky that stretched out over their heads, but unlike that opaque wispy thing, he was real, as real as the shadows of the trees that cut across him. As real as the sound of the oars in his hands cutting through the chunks of ice that had formed across the pond. As real as the dock under her feet as she slowly pulled herself closer trying to still the hammering of her heart as the wood creaked beneath her feet—the pond was anything but solid.

"I bet if I waited a bit longer, I probably would've caught you trying to catch snow on your tongue." He jested softly, watching the girl purse her pale lips as she crossed her arms in front of her.

"Now you'll never know."

"Now I'll never know." He murmured, the smile on his face seemed to light up the shadows that stretched over him.

"So the visitor…that's…"

"My Dad."

"He's gonna let you—he's—are you serious?!"

"That's the hope anyway. He wanted to talk to Bruce alone." Tim said, watching the thing hop up and down there on the dock, forcing her scarf to flutter like a flag. The small rickety boat paused at the edge of pier, wobbling up and down like a bobber as the boy out stretched his hand to her. There was something eerie about the way she grew so still. "You're not afraid are you?" He asked, watching her eyes flit from his gloved fingers to the water. But just as he thought to goad her a little further, the air slipped from her in one big cloud before she reached out filling that open hand with her own. It was strange weight, familiar and yet so foreign like the soft tremble he was certain he could feel. But as the boat rocked under her weight, forcing her to cling to him with her free hand, it was too late to think. He just reached for her, stilling her. "Easy. Boats aren't your thing are they?"

"Water's not my thing." She uttered, nearly letting herself fall down on the seat across from him.

"But you took a ferry to Arkham?"

"Because Dad wouldn't expect me to." She said, scraping at her cheek with her frozen fingers to pry the slender wisps of hair away from her mouth. When the boy reached out and did it for her, Del's hands fell to her lap. "And it wasn't like I was gonna tell Damian." At that Tim rolled his eyes, half watching the girl's arms stretch out to steady herself as he shoved the boat away from the dock with the point of an oar. "He'd never let me live that down. He'd push me overboard for the hell of it."

"Probably." He murmured, half smirking at her as she struggled to maintain herself. "Hey, I'm not gonna let you drown or anything. Been there, done that, haven't we?"

"Y-yeah." She breathed, watching him pull the oars from the water and let them rest in the latches of the boat, setting them a drift in the mixture of wraith like shadows, patchy gray clouds and the specks of white that kept coming down.

"Spiders, thunder and bodies of water?"

"Just the bodies of water…it's not like I'm going to set the house on fire for a spider or anything."

"So why the water?" He asked, watching her stretch forward to snag one of the pads of paper that was sitting next to him.

"You mind?"

"No, no. Go ahead." He murmured in rushed words. There was something strange about watching those red tipped fingers trace over his work before she found herself a fresh page. When her empty hand reached out, sneaking a pencil that was peeking out of his pocket, Tim didn't so much as move, hell, he wasn't sure if he even breathed. He just listened to the ice that scraped across the sides of the boat.

"I almost drowned once before…" The girl whispered, the sound of the pencil dragging across the paper almost masking her voice out. "I don't remember too much. My hair got caught on the drain. Next thing I know…I was poolside coughing up water. Mom looked away just for a second. I don't know what for, but she never forgave herself for it. I haven't cared for the water since then." She said glancing up at him. "I don't remember fighting to save myself. It's like…I was lulled into accepting my fate. Then I could feel Mom grabbing me." Delilah shrugged, letting her eyes return to the paper before she found herself staring at Tim for too long. "I gave in. Just like that." You almost drowned right here in this pond too. She didn't know the pencil had rolled from her fingers until she felt those gloved hands curling over hers.

"No wonder you fight so damn hard all the time."

"I can't be that bad."

He could feel her icy fingers flexing in his, and try as he may, he couldn't stop that side winding smirk. "Lesser people would've broken by now." He murmured, watching those pert lips twitch. Almost. "People break themselves like life is full of rocks or something. But you…you're a rock. You can't be moved or pushed in any direction. And people only have a few options, continue getting swept away by life, cling to you or break themselves on you."

"Have I broken you?" She asked slowly, making him so unsure of his words. But as he untangled his hands from hers, Del bit her lips, feeling her cold cheeks sliding into the palms of his damp gloves.

"I'd rather hold on if you don't mind." He uttered, watching those long dark lashes hide her gaze. "Thank you. Thank you for sending that stuff to my Dad."

"You're my partner. Wouldn't be any fun without you."

"Now which one of us is spending too much time with Dick?" He asked vaguely aware of that annoying voice echoing out from the house.

"You'd rather argue with Damian about speed and wind shear, is that it?"

"I'd rather kiss his sister." He whispered, feeling her fingers curl around his wrists.

"JAX! Get back here you mongrel!"

"Really now? And have you spoken to her about this?" She asked, feeling the pad slip from her lap to her feet as her body leaned into his, eager to feel the warm wisps of his breath touch her cheeks.

"Maybe… I'm not too sure what she thinks of the mess." He mumbled, letting his head lean against hers, oblivious to the noise, the cold, or the snow that was clinging to their cheeks.

"Why don't you kiss her and find out?"

No sooner had he tilted his head to dip closer to those silly lips, did he hear the sound of nails scrambling across the pier. Not even a curse had time to fall from his lips as the snow damp dog leapt into the boat, causing thing to rock and splash across the icy water as the animal struggled to find balance.

"JAX! Sit! Sit! Sit You Jerk-" It was too late. She couldn't remember the sudden prick of the adrenaline as the boat tipped, but the water couldn't be forgotten. The burning stab of the cold was all too familiar as she tried to claw her way back up to the surface, willing her lungs to exhale after the shock had all but paralyzed them. But there was nothing but darkness in the murky depths. No pale sun or gray looking ice. Just…blackness and the feel of someone's arms ripping her up.

"Hold on. I've got ya." The sound of her own gasps seemed so loud over his voice as she finally broke the surface finding herself cupped under the capsized rowboat. "Swimming isn't your strong suit." He noted, grabbing her when her head bobbed under the water. "We'll have to fix that." He muttered, clenching his jaw before it decided to chatter, but then, wrapping his arms around her, he'd almost forgotten about the cold.

"Damn…dog." Del uttered, in the midst of dragging the air into her lungs as the contents of the boat floated around them. Even now she could hear the dog swimming to shore and shaking himself out. What she didn't expect was for the boy she was so casually wrapped around to tilt back his head and laugh.

"What the fuck is it about our timing?! Jesus-"

If you want something, you have to take it…Maybe it was Selina's advice rolling around in her head, or maybe it was the nervous flutter driving her to cup that wet face in her hands. But the second she arched her head up to those lips and swallowed his words—it didn't matter.

Cold bodies, freezing water, everything felt numb—but those warm shivering lips. There was no certainty at first, like her own footing, his mouth was shy and unsure. But when she felt his hands reach down to lift her up, allowing her to wrap her body around him like a vine—the kiss changed, humming with broken laughs when he stumbled back smacking his head on the boat. "Do I have to kiss that and make it better?" She asked against his winding lips, the second he let her own mouth free.

There was something about the feel of her frozen fingers reaching up to cradle his head that made all the air in his lungs want to pause. Or maybe it was the soft brush of her lips traveling up his face to the offended spot, warming him with the soft whispering breaths of her laugh as she planted her lips on his head that made everything sort of hazy. Ice Queen? There was nothing cold about her! He never expected her to be so bold or that sweet at the same time.

God only knows what made him shift in that freezing water, turning her around to press her body against the capsized mass. "Why do you have to be so damn cute?" He asked, winning a breathy laugh out of her as her legs curled around him, letting him free his hands so he could finally reach out to her. So he could finally capture that laughing mouth. "That was one. I believe we missed this three times." He told her, watching those trembling lips break into a smile before he took them for himself, earning a gasp from her when uncertainty finally shed away. He'd never kissed anyone this way before…and yet, with her it was all too easy. All too easy to unravel right there with her shivering body wrapped around his. "I always wanted to know what that laugh would feel like." He told her at last, ushering the words out in the veil of huffs and ragged giggles.

"Hold on there, Bird Boy. That was only two."


"There goes the dog…"

"And there go the kids." Bruce sighed, even in the reflection of the large deco windows, Jack could see the man shaking his head as he ambled back toward his desk for the intercom button. "Alfred, be warned-Thing One and Thing Two will be soaked from head to toe." With that the man let it go, never mind that he'd just referenced a children's book. No sooner had Jack turned his attention to the capsized boat floating there in the pond like a speck did he manage to make his tongue move.

"The agreement…"

"I still remember it. I won't go back on something like that Jack. No matter what we disagree on."

Jack could feel his breath hissing from his lips as he deflated there in front of the window, watching a pair of dark heads finally poke out of the water. "Good." He answered, watching those two foolish things work themselves out of the water. "Not a good swimmer, is she?" He asked, he asked, watching the reflection behind him ease a little as if he'd been holding a breath.

"You in some kind of trouble Jack?" Bruce asked, stepping closer to the window as that sound of a laugh began to spill out into the air. That ridiculous girl, wet and shaking was still sticking her tongue out in an attempt to catch the falling flakes.

"You two are going to catch your deaths out here!"

"If only we could be so lucky, Pennyworth."

"I'm not entirely sure." Jack said with a shrug, letting the silence between them as they watched Alfred usher in the sopping teenagers. "They're just kids…doesn't it bother you?"

"Every day."


A/N: Had to break it down into parts again. There's a lot of moving parts and foreshadowing to for the next chapter. So, what do you guys think? I know, they finally freaking kissed. Geez! Broken Birds Part 2 is next, and I'm sure you can probably draw a few conclusions on who the victim(s) may be. Some of this will be a major theme for the sequel as well. Especially now that Jason is digging too.