Stephanie leaned down, blindly reaching into the glovebox. She was looking for something, anything, to prove that these were the transport volunteers they were looking for. Her hand closed around a piece of paper. She flipped it over, eyes scanning its contents. A map of the eastern seaboard with scattered dots highlighted across it. Really? It was that easy? What chumps. She turned the paper over, musing that they must be new to the game. Names and addresses were written in blocky handwriting.

A smile ghosted over her lips.

Got it.

"Steph, wait—"

Bang!

Stephanie felt Tim's body slam into hers before she even knew what was happening. Bullets whizzed past and crackled against the bridge poles.

Oh.

Oh shit.

She stuffed the paper down her bra.

Okay, the thing about guns: when it's pointed at you, it really doesn't feel like anything. It's just like, wow, that's a gun. The idea of death occurs, yeah, but mostly you're like: what the fuck. This is just like the movies only you know that the gun is real and some stunt actor isn't going to appear last minute. It's just you and the gun and you're like, did I brush my teeth this morning? Like never mind that you brushed your teeth before you left, did you brush your teeth in the morning? You think you did, because the orange juice at breakfast tasted weird, but that could have just been the new brand that Alfred bought.

Stephanie slid her tongue over her teeth before realizing she was doing it. Internal monologue aside, she was definitely trying to think her way out of this one. Thinking...not her strong suit. Being mouthy? More her forté, but not exactly helpful in this situation.

"We promise we weren't going to take anything," Tim told them, voice clear.

Stephanie admired him for that. He always seemed to know what he was doing, always had things under control. Like, he probably wasn't thinking about his teeth at a time like this.

"It was a dare. A stupid dare. Our friends are back at the concert. They were going to buy us pizza if we did it. We weren't going to take anything."

One of the men—greasy, like he hadn't showered for days (why were criminals always like that? Her dad was like that too before a heist. Like, soap exists. Don't be gross)—nocked his head to the other.

"Pretty opportune, huh."

"No," negated the other. "You heard them. They have friends at the concert."

They argued back and forth for a moment, trying to keep their voices down, gun still trained on them. Stephanie tried not to shift. Throughout all her scheming and planning it had never occurred to her what might happen if she got caught. Frankly, she thought a little peevishly (and then immediately abolishing those feelings) she wouldn't have if Tim had just walked faster. But here he was now, taking the heat while she just stood there, blinking. Sure, she had gotten involved with criminals before, but that was either as Stephanie Brown or Spoiler. She wasn't sure of the difference, but maybe it had something to do with this mission involving the big league stuff. Normally she was reacting to what was happening, not investigating for herself. Which, okay, she investigated her dad, but that was more like...extremely dangerous trivia night.

"Hey."

She looked up. Tim tried to step in front of her path, shielding her from the gun. She wanted to hug him and also push him right onto the concrete, face down.

One of the men, the one with the gun, was looking considerate. "I've seen you before," he said.

Stephanie's throat squelched. Tim tried to cover her body with his again.

"You have," snapped the other man, circling Tim and Steph to get a better view. "She's that kid, the famous one. The one who did that interview for Vicki Vale."

"The Wayne kid," said the man with the gun, marveling.

"Yep," said the other one, clearly the brains of the operation. "The new one."

"Still don't think it's opportune, Glenn?" he jeered.

Glenn smiled in the shadows. "Well, Charlie," he said, "I think I hear opportunity knocking right now."

Stephanie and Tim side-eyed each other.

"They didn't even tie us up," said Stephanie, crossing her arms and gazing up at the roof. "This is bogus."

A heavy sigh came from the other side of the horse trailer, only it sounded more aggravated than tired.

She puffed out her cheeks, wiggling her nose like a rabbit. She held back a sigh. This was boring. She almost wished she had done something reckless when the gun was around; at least she could have tried instead of standing there like a mannequin. Something was better than nothing. But Tim had glared at her so horribly (and really, he needed to stop acting like Bruce, he looked ridiculous) when they were pushing them into the horse trailer that she went along with it for his sake.

Now they were just sitting in silence, bumping on the backroads out of the city.

"Want to play 'Pick a number between one and ten'?" she asked.

"This isn't a game," Tim said sullenly. "We've been kidnapped. You're being held ransom."

"We're being held ransom," she corrected him. "And I know it's not a game. If it was we'd be wearing party hats."

Tim opened his mouth, no doubt to say something bitchy because he had been a bitch all evening, making sure they weren't shot withstanding, but the car rolled to a stop. Tim stopped. He crouched to his feet, holding up a hand to keep Stephanie off. She ignored him, rolling to her feet too. If they had been in a different situation, he would have rolled his eyes. As it was, it was a near thing, she could tell. She considered sticking him full of pins, just to get him to loosen up. Acupuncture or voodoo, whichever worked.

A car door slammed and two pairs of footsteps echoed against tarmac. They faded in the distance. Stephanie stood, trying to get a good look out the window, but she wasn't tall enough to see out of it.

"This is the part where they steal our organs," she joked.

Tim's pale hands clenched into fists. "If that—" but she didn't let him finish.

"I've got hairpin in my pocket, I can get us out in a jiffy."

Tim stood as she leaned over, eyes scanning the door lock in the dark. "Stop," he said breathlessly. His chest felt tight. "Stop it, if they come back and they find you—"

"I can escape any lock under four minutes," she boasted.

"—they'll hurt you," he finished.

She snorted. "No they won't," she said. "I'm precious goods, remember?"

Tim wanted to close his eyes, even though it was already dark. She didn't get it. She never got it. This is what Bruce got for trying to protect her from this mess, he thought acidly. Then he instantly felt guilt. It was Bruce's choice. Tim didn't get a say in it, Tim didn't get a say in anything. He never did. Bruce knew best, except when he didn't. But most of the time he did, almost all the time he did. He was probably right about Stephanie. She certainly hadn't done anyone any favors tonight. He rubbed at his eyes, feeling tired suddenly.

"Don't try to escape," he said wearily. "If you do then it opens up questions about your identity."

"What, that I'm a badass and know how to pick locks?"

"It will get back to Bruce," he whispered. "If you're not going to do it for you, do it for your family. Try to keep them safe, for once."

She paused. "'For once'?" she echoed. "Nice to know you agree with Bruce's bullshit assessment of me."

"I didn't—" he began.

"No no, this entire evening has been you being an asshole. God!" She stood, slamming her foot against the ground. It made a tinny sound on the metal. "I wouldn't have brought you along if I'd known it was going to be like working with a shorter Bruce."

"You didn't bring me along because you wanted to," he said dully. "You brought me along because I was easy to manipulate. You lied to me, to Bruce, to Alfred—just to get what you wanted."

"And what did I want, Tim? Huh?" She crossed her arms. "For you to have a good time?"

"This wasn't about me."

"Yes it was," she said firmly. "You've been sad and mopey since the beginning of October, and now you're lashing out at me because I noticed."

The history grade. The fucking history grade. It all came back to that.

"I don't need," Tim said through gritted teeth, "your constant nagging."

"Help," she enunciated. "It's called help. Which you would understand if I could have let you know what I was planning, instead of hiding it because you're always reporting back to Bruce."

"I don't," he began helplessly. He sighed. "What do you want me to do, Steph? You're never safe."

"Oh, I don't know, maybe be on my side for once?"

"There aren't sides—"

"Yes there are, and you always choose Bruce. Always always always!"

Tim looked at her. "At least he hasn't lied to me," he said shortly.

Guilt began to niggle at her insides. She ignored it, rolling back her shoulders and straightening her spine. What did Tim know?

"I wouldn't have had to do that if I was in charge of my own life," she told him, chin lifted. "You may not get this, since you're so devoted to the idea of being spineless, but I have my own thoughts and opinions and dreams that are my own, that have nothing to do with Bruce. I do not need his stamp of approval for everything."

He gazed at her unimpressed. "So what," he said, "you thought lying would be better?"

It was like talking to an especially thick brick wall. "I didn't lie," she insisted. "We made that agreement a month ago, I can do whatever I want now."

"Bruce isn't going to see it that way," he pointed out. "All he is going to see is that you aren't safe, and it's going to be my fault."

Stephanie rolled her eyes. She wasn't a stupid doll that they could put away whenever they wanted, and she was sick of Bruce's reign of terror over Tim. "He is not going to get rid of you just because you can't control me, Tim."

Tim's heart cracked. He opened his mouth to reply when the footsteps returned. Stephanie put her hands over his mouth. He could feel her pulse quickening.

"Shhh! Shhh shh shh, don't say anything."

Tim moved his face away, disgusted. "I wasn't going to," he whispered hotly, but she put her hands over his mouth again. "Stop it, your hands are gross," he protested in a muffled way.

The car door slammed. The engine started up two seconds later. Tim kept his weight heavy, staying upright. He grasped Stephanie's wrists to keep her upright too.

A heavy exhale.

"Okay, you might be right about one thing," she muttered under her breath. "Going in without a full plan wasn't smart. Bruce is going to kill me." She sighed and dropped her hands from his lips.

Tim sighed too, brushing his fingers through his hair. Finally, they were getting somewhere. "I don't know why you can't just listen to him when he says," he began, cut off by her snort. "What?"

Stephanie shrugged. "It's just that I think it's funny."

He narrowed his eyes. "What's funny."

"You giving me advice dealing with Bruce, that's all."

"And how is that funny."

There was a sharpness to his voice, a warning that Stephanie either didn't notice or didn't heed.

"You know, because you can't stand up to him at all, you work overtime to please him in the hopes he'll notice, that sort of thing."

"And what," Tim spat before he knew what he was saying. (That wasn't true. He knew what he was saying, he knew just what to say.) "Acting out, pushing him, behaving like a spoiled brat in order to get his attention is any better?"

She stiffened. "I don't do that to get his attention," she protested, but Tim cut her off.

"Yes, you do," he shot back. "You've done everything you possibly can to push him away, but you really don't want him to go away, you just want him to prove to you that you matter. All your life and no one ever proved to you that you matter, so you thought you'd try Bruce Wayne, huh?"

"Shut up, Tim. Like you're any better."

"I think I am. At least I'm capable of doing my job without someone looking over my shoulder and telling me that I'm such a wonderful person, aren't I just the greatest, talk to me all the time—"

"Because you know that no one would, your parents don't give a shit, why would Bruce care if you aren't indispensable, huh, you're so important to his mission that he can't lose you, so you don't ever reach out, you don't even bother to try!"

Silence.

"Holy shit," she breathed. "Tim. Tim I'm sorry."

"Fuck off, Steph."

"No, please, I'm sorry. I know what it's like when your parents don't care, I shouldn't have said that, I'm so sorry—"

"Stop saying that!" He pushed her hands away. He could barely see in the dark, but he saw a glint of tears. "My parents do care about me! Maybe they're not around all the time, but at least they're decent enough to provide for me, didn't overdose while I sat eating breakfast! I mean, hell, it's not like your parents want to be around you either. You think that Bruce wants you around when you act like this?"

"No." A sniffle. "I'm really sorry, Tim."

"Whatever."

"I didn't mean it."

"Just shut up, Steph."

She did, wiping her nose. Tim closed his eyes even though it was already dark. He tightened his jaw.

"I never should have believed you," he whispered. And he ignored when Steph struggled to contain her sobs. He leaned his head against the wall.

Stuck in horse trailer on the way out of Gotham.

Not how he wanted to spend his Friday night.

"There has been a message, sir."

Bruce looked up. His lips quirked. "I'm sure. What's the excuse this time?"

"It appears to be ransom, sir."

Bruce's smile disappeared.

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