Chapter Twenty-One: Rule #21 – Don't Talk to Strangers

Being forcibly settled inside the Batmobile gives Tim time to think – to come down from the adrenaline and fear of the immediate threats he'd faced when actively a captive of the possibly-rogue GHOST affiliates.

It gives him time to assess.

To reevaluate.

To plan.

To scheme.

Even with Spoiler's hyperactive and unfocused commentary running in the background.

She's been so worried about him – is now worried about how he's doing after his ordeal.

She's mad at him for making her worry.

She's anxious about Batman's reaction and how he's definitely pissed with them both.

She's furious at being pushed off to the sidelines like some useless kid.

None of that matters to Tim.

He's fine, Steph made him worry first, Batman would've been pissed no matter how he found out about their existence, and Tim downright refuses to be genuinely sidelined.

Especially as he hears Jason talking to Rwen through the com he's still got lodged in his ear… the bits of conversation he can hear amount to nothing more than inane posturing, but there's an underlying thrum of threat and energy that tells Tim the little prisoner exchange that just went down is not as straightforward as it seems.

Tim was just a hostage, a variable to threaten or dispose of at the gangsters' leisure.

Jason is… something else.

A pawn in the game, a piece on the game board in a way that Tim wasn't… the gangsters want him for something.

There is absolutely zero possibility that something is something good.

Jason has the Bats, but there's a hard limit to what even they can manage, as Tim well knows from having studied the Tolovis' records. If anyone else involved is anything like the three brothers at the top of the food chain… the Bats are going to need back up.

A lot of back up.

They've probably already called in a few of their hero friends, but it could never hurt to have just a few more bodies in play to even the odds up a bit.

And Tim is vehemently determined to help them.

Jason sacrificed himself for Tim's sake, after all, and Tim feels the need to at least return the favor in whatever way he possibly can.

To that end, he has to cede the point that he would not be helpful in a fight.

But he knows people who would.

And in order to talk to them, in order to recruit them, he has to get out of this car – and somehow manage to safely ditch Stephanie Brown while he does it. Preferably without alerting the Bats to any change in the pair's itinerary.

He doesn't anticipate the obstacles being too difficult to surmount.

"Can I borrow your phone?"

He spoke in the middle of one of Stephanie's sentences – she frowns at his interruption, and is reasonably wary of his request. "Why?"

"Because I don't have mine and I need to check something."

She's still suspicious, but she pulls the device out of the pocket stitched crudely into the thigh of her costume and hands it over. Her password is her super hero name. He's already gotten in and established an internet connection by the time she thinks to tell him that.

He accesses his personal encrypted cloud storage and uploads a copy of her sim card… just in case. He doesn't want this to ruin their almost kinda sorta friendship, after all.

And then he pulls a cord out of his camera case and plugs one end into the phone.

Handing Stephanie the other end, he says, "Plug that into the USB jack to the left of where a normal car would have a CD player or a nav system. I can't reach that far."

Stephanie blinks, but she's too worked up and confused to do much more than process that his excuse for not doing it himself seems, objectively, mostly reasonable.

Her thoughts work the request over as she fulfills it, realizing eventually that it doesn't actually make sense – though not quite quickly enough to prevent her from plugging in the cord.

The Batmobile reacts immediately.

Tim holds his breath and closes his eyes and clamps his hands over his ears – just in case… because he's not sure how the car's reaction will play out. He hears the hiss of a gas being released, but no flashes or bangs sound and a few seconds after Stephanie plugged the phone into the car. After a few seconds of silence, Tim peeks over his knees to see that she's been sprayed with knockout gas and has slumped over the center console.

Continuing to hold his breath as long as he can, Tim works quickly to assess the situation: the phone, unfortunately, is fried. Tim will get Steph a new one in the morning, assuming tonight works out. He'll be able to install the sim card he copied as soon as he has a replacement phone and get it back to her by the time school lets out at the latest.

The Batmobile itself is still functional, though it has kicked into what seems like an emergency back-up protocol – low power, careful speed, periodically blinking light probably linked to some sort of emergency beacon.

It still has some very good security, but it hasn't yet been touched by Batgirl's particular genius and it only takes Tim a few moments to get far enough inside the system to force the Batmobile's windows to open – dissipating the remains of the knockout gas so that Tim can breathe without winding up just as unconscious as Spoiler.

He still feels a bit woozy from lack of oxygen when he manages to stick his head out and gulp down a bit of fresh air.

As soon as the danger of being immediately knocked out has passed, Tim turns towards getting the Batmobil to drive him towards the Diamond District. It's just after one in the morning on a Thursday, with no exciting events happening around the city to lure out Gotham's elite, so Catwoman won't be hanging around the Opera House right now.

She would be at one of her apartments.

Selina Kyle maintained a few dozen apartments all across the city, some under her name some under cover identities. All of them were rather nice, but she definitely had favorites and the most statistically likely for her to be staying at this week was the penthouse she had arranged for within the center of Gotham's most expensive shopping district.

And that's where Tim aims the Batmobile.

On emergency back up, the Batmobile sticks to driving well below the speed limit, but it gets Tim where he wants to go. He sets the car to continue slowly circling the district for the next fifteen minutes before reverting to its original destination and then he shimmies out the window and drops to the street as the Batmobile rolls passed the back of Selina's building.

The door has a magnetic key-card reader that would be moderately difficult to spoof, but being a high end apartment building in the middle of a 24 hour shopping district meant that people were always going in and out, even at the oddest hours. Tim is easily able to duck though the door as it's still falling closed from a socialite's return.

He gets an odd look from the man behind the desk as he strolls inside, but Tim knows how to dissuade suspicion by looking like he knows exactly what he's doing and has every right in the world to be doing it. The lift has significant security, but only in terms of getting to the Penthouse itself – getting to the floor right below it is as easy as simply pushing the button.

From there, he just has to walk to the end of the hall, disarm a rather overly simple emergency exit alarm, and use the fire escape to climb up the last bit of vertical rise to perch himself right in front of the windows arranged to look in on Selina's living room.

The lights are on but he doesn't get a chance to scan the room for occupants – or to even knock politely – before two faces appear inches away from him on the other side of the glass.

Animal faces, grinning madly with the kind of manic expressions Tim still isn't entirely certain could possibly be natural. Hyenas in general don't seem like plausible natural creations.

Bud and Lou start cackling, wriggling their whole bodies around in fervent, and almost obscene excitement, like overgrown dogs that simply don't have proper tails to wag.

A beat later, the hyenas get called away from the window by a sharp whistle.

And then Selina herself appears, dressed in the elegant, and highly fashionable black pant suit get up that served her like Sunday sweats would serve the average person.

She unlocks the window and steps back to let Tim inside with a sigh.

"Not that it isn't nice to see you twice in a week, kitten," she says, completely unsurprised that Tim knows the location of her hideout and how to get up here unnoticed, "But I would far prefer it if you came to visit me sometime for a reason other than a catastrophe with the Bats."

"Sorry, Miss Kyle," Tim says, carefully setting his feet down on the white tile of the floor instead of the white carpeting beside it. "And I didn't mean to bother you when you had friends over, but it is something of an emergency."

"It's always an emergency with them," Selina sighs. "What is it this time?"

"Robin's been kidnapped by Tavian Ross and Rwen Tolovi," Tim explains. "I was hoping you could help me get him back. Technically, I was the one who got caught and Robin offered himself up as a hostage in my place. So I wanna help him. I have to help him."

"Aw, poor little sugar plum."

The obnoxiously sugar sweet voice that comes discordantly from the kitchen is very probably what Harley Quinn thought of as a subtle and inconspicuous whisper, but is really far more of hoarse shout than anything.

"Harley, hush now," admonished Pamela Isley, sitting beside her with a cup of tea held up in front of what was clearly becoming a bemused smile.

"But Pammy! Cat's little sugar plum is clearly sweet on the birdie," Harley continues in her obnoxious stage whisper – making Tim go beet red as Cat raises a hand to massage at her temples. "And it just doesn't seem right that the birdie's bein' beat on by bozos who ain't even got Gotham in their blood. That's our job. Nobody should get to hurt those Bats but us!"

Bud and Lou whine in agreement and put their noses on Harley's knees in solidarity.

"You're saying we should help them? Help the Bats?" Pamela asks, dripping disbelief like necter from an affronted and sarcastic jungle flower.

Harley lights up. "That's a great idea, Pammy! We could help them! Those bozos have taken our toys and we should go show them that we won't stand for it! Give their butts a few good bruises and make them get their ugly mugs outta our city. You're a genius, Pam!"

Selina sighs heavily, her fingers still massaging her temples.

"This was gonna be a nice night in, kitten," Selina mewls with malcontent. "Movie, gossip, some nail painting, even. A real girls' night. But now we're going to be traipsing into a den of unwashed street thugs."

She huffs and lets her hand fall away from her face, snapping her bright green gaze to Tim's. "I hope you know that you're going to have to make this up to me somehow, my dear little stray – and you can start by coming with us."

There's a viciousness in her smile, one that bares her teeth like fangs, but there's a certain fondness as well. Haughty and certain, she goes on, "I've told you before that I've picked up a few things for you here and there… in case you ever decide to put your sneaking skills to real use. Now is as good a time as ever to make sure all my little presents fit correctly – and maybe see if the lifestyle fits, too. Give it a test run, as it were. You might find you like it."

Tim's stomach sinks as Selina speaks, but he's not exactly surprised by her demands. He had run through the probabilities, after all.

"I'll come, Miss Kyle," Tim consents.

He can feel it when Poison Ivy arches an eyebrow, literally feel the change in the subtle shift of moisture in the air that happens as she does it.

"No one is going to protest to this?"

"Pammy!" Harley huffs, scandalized to comical proportions, "It was your idea! And it'll be great to see the sugar plum in action, and we finally get to play dress up with him! We don't want to discourage this behavior. He never lets us dote on him, like never ever. Oh, I know, we can all go out for ice cream afterwards! Positive reinforcement, Pammy, it's a very important part of raising kids. Especially the smart ones."

Already well beyond halfway to defeated, Ivy throws a look at Selina.

"Look, Ivy," she starts, resignation thick in her tone, "I'm not gonna say no to you, and you're not gonna say no to her, and nobody is gonna say no to my sweet little kitten's cry baby face, so let's just skip to end bit and get going. So maybe we can get back before sunrise."

Tim tries not to pout at the cry baby comment, but doesn't quite manage to keep the frown off his face. Fortunately, none of the women seem to notice as Harley bounces up to give Pamela a lip smacking kiss on the cheek before rushing over to do the same to Selina and Tim.

Harley's course is followed by Bud and Lou, her kisses too. Though the hyenas only dare to give Selina a damp nuzzle before they move to smoother Tim.

While Tim fights to extricate himself from the cuddle pile, Selina stalks off into a part of the apartment he can't see. By the time Tim has gotten back on his feet, Selina has returned with a nondescript black box.

"You can change in the guest bed room while I take a shower and get ready for this insanity myself," Selina instructs, handing it all over to him.

Tim nods, but Selina has already turned away. She disappears into her bedroom and Tim makes his way to her guest room as Harley and Ivy settle on the couch.

Tim has had a sneaking suspicion ever since Selina first mentioned the idea of becoming her apprentice a few years ago that he wouldn't like the costume she would select for Stray to wear on the streets during their nighttime excursions, and he is quickly proven unfortunately correct as he opens the box and begins sorting through the articles.

It certainly is not as bad as it could be, but it definitely suits Selina's taste more than his and is a get up constructed in a rather slinky and salacious style.

It's a skin tight suit of blacker than black armortec and it has accents in charcoal and glittery onyx that give a subtle, but seductive, highlight to the swoop of every bony jut and smooth curve on his body. The plates of armor layered underneath alter the silhouette, and so do all the secret hollows and pockets he can feel – all filled with what would surely prove to be tools no thief would be caught leaving home without.

Even so, if the suit didn't make him look like some sort of sexual fantasy ninja it would probably make him look utterly emaciated. He's only about 80% confident in the ninja assessment as it is, but he'd rather be that than a bony husk of forgot-to-eat idiocy.

The cowl is Tim's favorite part – being that it completely and very effectively hides his identity by covering his head almost entirely. It lets just a little bit of his fringe fluff out around the cat ears, but it covers his neck and forcibly modulates his voice without any acting necessary – although Tim knows it's better safe than sorry and plans to adopt a very different register and speech pattern for this little outing, regardless.

His goggles, like Selina's are head's up displays with readouts from the slim computer components stashed inside his suit, and they bulge out over their eyes to distort the shape of their faces and thwart computerized recognition attempts. Tim's goggles are redder than Selina's – which helps conflate the vibrant blues of his eyes into a muddy sort of purple.

He has a tail, too – though it's more of an industrial belt strap than the kind of coy whip Selina has as part of her costume. His is attached to a cleverly embedded harness and designed more to serve as a means of hoisting him in and out of tight places than anything else.

"Doin' alright in there, bugaboo," comes Harley's voice through the door as Tim is twisting around and around in front of the mirror.

He knows he doesn't have time for this stupid fretting – knows that Jason doesn't have time for it. But he can't help the self-consciousness that strikes him.

He doesn't even know what it's selfconsciousness for, exactly.

But he's still listening on the com Jason slipped him – listening to the transition as Jason is moved out of the loft at Obscura and into a car where Rwen Tolovi is working on coercing Jason into downing a dose of the absolutely wretched serum that's been killing people all over Gotham… Jason can only hold out for so long and Tim's knees nearly give out as he listens to Jason react to the taste of it.

Jason doesn't have time for Tim to keep being this pathetic.

He steels himself with a deep breath and drops into the act, plasters on the mask Selina's coached him into wearing as Stray – allows himself to fully inhabit the mask and the character it makes of him. It's just like any other mask he's worn. In a suit, he's the Drake CEO in training; in his school uniform, he's the nerdy teacher's pet; and in street clothes, he's whoever he has to be to get where he wants to go – so becoming Stray is no challenge once he makes himself do it.

"I'm fine, Harley," he purrs. "Just got a zipper stuck. I'm ready now, though."

He swings the door wide and saunters through it with the kind of saucy swagger he's seen Selina show off countless times.

Harley gives an impressed whistle as he struts towards her down the hall.

"Come on! Give us a twirl, now, baby doll," Harley giggles, "Show us that pretty boy butt you've got goin' on there."

Tim doesn't let the mask crack – doesn't even let it shift. He knows how to hold a character; Selina's even helped him with polishing his masterly of it – teaching him that the most important part was to stick to the story no matter what.

"If you're uncomfortable?"

Selina's voice is pedantic from where she's curled up on the couch – already decked out in her full Catwoman regalia.

"Use it," Tim replies, finishing, "If you're uncomfortable, make them uncomfortable."

"And if anyone questions the story?"

"Play it harder," Tim responds, letting a sly grin play across his features with a haughty confidence. "We've been over this, Cat, and you're the one who said I know what I'm doing."

Harley pounces on him – squeezing his head to her chest and squealing, "Oh, squirt, you've grown up so good. Ain't he, Pammy? Ain't he grown up good?"

"You would make a terrible mother, Cat," Pamela drawls, all breathy sass and deep amusement. "Corrupting young children so thoroughly."

"Motherhood is overrated. I'm the fun Aunt who breaks all the rules and lets naughty kittens chase birdies around after midnight," Selina huffs.

"And get ice cream," Harley chirps, squeezing Tim tighter and thoroughly cutting off any hope he has of maintaining an air supply.

"And get ice cream," Selina relents.

Harley squeals again and gives Tim a loud kiss to the top of his head finally releasing him. Tim gasps for breath as Harley announces brightly, "I'll drive."

She'll get them clear across the city in ten minutes, so no one protests. Instead, they follow after her and pile into the bright white humvee she's using for the night.

No one asks where she got it, or if the original owner is still alive.

In mere minutes, Tim and the women he's with from Gotham's shadier side are standing outside of the Raven's front door – Ivy had directed them there instead of to the Obscura, her plants had a very keen sense of the vibrations Jason gave out and it would've been ridiculous to question her authority on the info.

Tim is tasked with getting inside on his own, the other three will barrel through on their own way in as soon as Tim proves he can get passed the doorman.

Selina knows he can do it, and she wants him to make waves.

Tim saunters up to the bouncer with a special sway in his stride, thinking over all the most important lessons Selina has delivered to him over the last two years of casual encounters and random questions about her fascinating anti-hero activities.

Never show fear.

Never show weakness.

Keep your eyes on the prize.

Figure out what you want… And take it.

"Hiya, handsome," Tim purs as he rises up on his tip toes and wraps himself around the bouncer – who is far too busy staring and attempting to process what the hell his happening to even vaguely recall that he has a job to theoretically be doing.

The bouncer's hands float towards Tim's hips in a daze as Tim twines around him and gets his back to the door the bouncer should be guarding.

Before the bouncer's hands make contact, Tim is slipping away.

"Sorry, sweetie," he calls diving into the dark of the club's interior, "This cat's already got a date waitin' inside for a show."

Once he snakes quickly around a few corners, Tim shudders, just a bit of himself sliding back into his awareness while safely hidden in the dark as he shuffles down the stairs alone.

It's weird playing Stray.

Weirder than playing future-CEO or innocent middle schooler.

But he can do it.

For Jason, he can do it.

For Jason, who's breath is suddenly coming hard and ragged… and Tim knows he's missed something… because on the car ride over things got too noisy for Tim to interpret any unique details or follow any new developments.

But he knows that Jason was in control before he got into Harley's Humvee, and now the last hint of that control he still retains is quickly slipping.

A quick breath has Tim refocused and he's fully inhabiting the Stray persona again long before the three women he arrived with make their own entrance and join him at the edge of the main dance floor.

The Raven has a full house and the party's clearly bangin'.

But Tim's studied the Raven's blueprints closely enough to know that the real party is taking place down stairs – through over fifty feet of concrete and steel with exactly one staircase that can access it from here, and that is secured with two vault doors and at least two guards.

But no vault has ever stopped Selina from getting what she wants, and Harley brought her hammer, so it does not take long at all to get down to the private areas where Xansa, Rwen, and Shankar Tolovi have established their current base of operations for the Blackbirds.

Half of it is lab-space, Tim discovers. The part that probably used to be a bar and VIP lounge has been converted into some sort of state of the art medical facility-esque area that probably has a lot to do with the drug research Rwen Tolovi keeps mentioning as being originally and rightfully his.

There's no one in the lab space – all the people gathered in the basement are clustered on the far side and they're making enough noise to have covered up the commotion at the door.

It's a fight, Tim realizes with a sinking sensation that threatens to drag his gut through the cold cement floor. It's a bare knuckle boxing match – bloody entertainment for the vicious, addle minded masses – and Jason is the evening's prize pit bull to be played with…

Moving without giving his body any conscious command to do so, Tim twines his way as Stray through the crowd – using subtle touches and his own lithe figure to cut a path to the center of the circle where he can get a visual on Jason.

The sight of him, bloody and battered, but grinning like mad man – absolutely manic with the ecstasy of the high he's on from whatever Rwen Tolovi pumped him up with – nearly makes Tim's knees give out…

But Stray knows better than to show weakness.

Stray sees Jason swaying on his feet as he uses the back of his arm to wipe a line of blood from the corner of his mouth where it's dribbling down to his chin and Stray breaks into a smile.

It's a Cheshire cat smile, the kind of grin that immediately precipitates a kitten feasting on a helpless little canary, and it spreads wide as Stray formulates a plan to cause a distraction.

The Bats are already here, already trying to figure out their own methods to get Jason out of this unique hell Tim abandoned him to bearing, but they're not strong enough to take on the metas and enhanced persons that are doubtlessly lurking among the crowd of spectators.

They'll need a massive distraction if they're gonna get Jason out of there safely.

Especially with how obviously high Jason is at the current moment… Jason may not even be conscious enough of what's happening to help with his own rescue.

May not even want to help.

Good thing Stray's entire persona is built around being as distracting as possible.

Stray saunters out of the crowd of spectators, crossing the unmarked line between observer and participant with a sultry sway of his hips that makes the deliberate motion of his entrance even more obviously pointed.

He hardly spares Jason's opponent a glance – just long enough to ascertain that the opponent is Shankar Tolovi, and while that observation sends a bolt of fear down his spine, the observation that follows close on it's heels is that Shankar is looking at him with an obvious hunger that makes Stray calm down smoothly because his plan is clearly working.

The crowd goes quiet quickly as Stray saunters over to Jason – whose glazed over eyes are skimming up and down the catsuit with a potent, hormonal interest and a teenager's best imitation of an inviting, appreciative, and persuasively bedroom bent smile.

It's not a bad imitation – Tim notes, somewhere deep beneath Stray's mask, it's actually alarmingly aware in a way that makes Tim's thoughts leap to uncomfortable questions about the parts of Jason's life on the streets that Tim does not want to have answered – and Stray lets himself flow languidly across the ring to lay his claws on Jason's hoodie-clad chest.

Goes one step passed acceptable to make the idea of this as just a simple charade evaporate as he tips up on his toes and locks lips with his target. With Jason.

Tim kind of wants to stab himself.

Stray is just amused, and utterly unashmed.

"There's my big bad birdie," Stray purs when he breaks the kiss, loudly enough for the spectators to hear – the crowd having gone eerily silent in wake of his arrival. "You disappeared on me, again, and I was starting to get worried. But here you are, just having all this fun without me. I should punish you for that. Birdies in this city have no place in pissing off the pussy cats."

Jason's hands find Stray's hips – close in without hesitation and hold him firmly flush.

He cracks another smile, this one looser and less controlled as he lets the swirl of drugs and hormones take his fuzzy mind where they will.

"You can do whatever the hell you want with me, hot stuff," Jason breathes, voice rough and gritty was the heavy ache of a drug induced high and a heady puberty still in full swing.

A triumphant thrill runs through Stray's body – his plan is working perfectly and even with their faces only inches apart, Jason has no idea whose eyes are behind the goggles.

Body language is a marvelous thing and Tim is very pleased with how his intensive studies are already taking leaping strides in progress.

"Let's get out of here," Stray purs. "Make our way to somewhere private."

"Lead the way, pussy cat," Jason sighs, hands tightening on Tim's hips as Tim begins to walk Jason backwards – towards the nearest exit Tim could possibly maneuver a drugged up Jason through without significant help.

They only make it a few steps before Rwen's voice booms out over the hush.

"Not so fast."

His voice is dramatic, authoritative, and it makes everyone stand a little more alert.

Stray twists in Jason's hold, keeping one gloved hand firmly over the fingers Jason has splayed over his hip. With a bored pout, Stray whines, "Who the hell are you?"

"Just a passing stranger," Rwen Tolovi comments blithely, "Who is a lot more interesting than I first appear. We seem to have that in common, you and I. Allow me to introduce myself: I am Rwen Tolovi. And you are?"

"Not interested," Stray snaps, leaning back into Jason's chest with a casual inclination he knows looks just as lascivious as it feels. "You don't belong here, stranger. You've banged up my birdie's face and you've let your stupid drug poison my city. Promise to be gone by morning and my friends and I will leave you alone while you pack up – but I am walking out of here with this guy, right now."

"You tell 'em, kitten!"

Again, Harley's voice is probably meant to be quiet.

And again, it's decidedly not.

All eyes turn towards where she and Pamela are standing on the sidelines, the crowd immediately around them stepping back to make them all the more visible. Harley's leaning calmly on her hammer's upturned handle, one fist raised like she's cheering on a nephew in a little league soccer match.

There's a nervous tittering in the crowd and Rwen frowns.

"Friends of yours, Kitten?" the ganglord asks, keeping his gaze on Stray, but letting his attention slide to the new commers in his periphery.

"Indeed," Ivy sighs, a dramatic shrug in her shoulders that throws humidity into the air with such force that it's almost a visible haze. "But before we get on with the posturing and the inevitable stupid macho pissing match, let me ask you one thing. As one chemist to another, what exactly did you put in this drug you've got everyone here hopped up on? I'm sensing at least three different formulas, but all variations on the same base theme… and it's… odd."

"You've something special in your own blood, I see," Rwen allows, without answering Ivy's question. "As much as I would love to talk shop, I do want to reaffirm that we can't let your kitten and the little Robin that he's claimed leave just yet."

Stray doesn't curse, but he does cease coaxing Jason backwards as he levels a glare at Rwen Tolovi and waits for something he can snark at to be said.

"Robin still has a fight to finish," Rwen explains. "It's bad manners to cut out early, especially when he's bound by a gentleman's agreement. He needs to fulfill his end of it."

At his words, Jason's fingers tighten on Stray's hips.

"I promised," Jason whispers against Stray's neck – and even through the layers of armortec, spandex, and leather, Tim can feel the heat of Jason's breath against his skin.

"Robin and I have come to an arrangement," Rwen announces to the crowd. "He tries out my personal formula, and battles it out with my brother. If he wins, he's set to fight a representative from GHOST proper. If he wins both bouts, we'll all go away and leave your dingy little city in the muck and mire of its own making. You'll never hear from any of us again."

Stray's lip curls at the terms, at the honey thick sweetness of Rwen's voice in speaking them so casually. It doesn't sound like an agreement. It sounds like a flytrap.

"I smell a rat," Selina hisses from across the ring, draped languidly across one of Tolovi's goons. She leans on his broad shoulders and her claws splay across his chest dangerously as she addresses Rwen with a vicious snarl, "A cat's nose always knows."

"I'm with the Cat on this one," chimes the bright, but forceful voice of Nightwing – who also steps fully into view and is given a wide berth by the crowd around him.

A tall young woman – slender but voluptuous in a way Dick has either failed to accurately relay or simply 'forgot' to mention by intent – steps up beside him. Starfire's balled fists glow green with threat as she says, "I, too, have my thoughts aligned with the feline."

A burst of yellow and orange lighting precipitates a fierce breeze as the only other Teen Titan able to travel all the way to Gotham from California in anything less than an hour shows up and skids awkwardly to a dramatic stop by latching onto Nightwing's arm and swinging himself around to stand on the side opposite Starfire.

"Sorry, I'm late! So, who exactly IS the bad guy," Wally West chirps brightly, " 'Cause I'm counting a lot of angry dudes and scary dudettes in black here…"

"Kid Flash, shut up," Batgirl huffs, revealing her own position and striding a few steps forward to help angle the crowd's attention away from where Stray has resumed attempting to wheedle Robin backwards.

This time he's not as pliant or accommodating and Stray barely gets him to take a single step towards safety as Batgirl addresses Rwen Tolovi to say, "We want our Robin back, and we're going to take him whether you like it or not. You might have that super drug on your side, but you have to admit that the odds are no longer standing starkly in your favor."

Rwen shrugs – refusing to cede the point.

Beside Batgirl, Wonder Woman appears, placing a warm and steadying hand on Batgirl's shoulder as she announces, "The Mist of Themiscrya would welcome a warrior of such prowess as any of you standing here – such battles you have waged, such victories you have earned… I cannot understand why an honorable warrior is draped in such ill intentions. You have malice in your heart, malice equal even to the great worth of your noble motivations. Why not simply let the boy go? Why force this drugged and dishonorable combat?"

With a sigh that shows Rwen is growing tired of having to repeat himself, he says, "For the data, mostly. I am a scientist at heart, and knowing more about the effects of my research is paramount for my Family's effective longevity. If someone is sick, sometimes a fever is a necessary evil to purge the infection, and I have no qualms about doing what I have to regarding the security and health of my Family."

"You have enough data for your research," Superman says, revealing himself on the edge of yet another part of the crowd. "You drugged the boy and made him fight, now let him go."

"I do not have enough," Rwen snaps, vehement enough to nearly break the cool calm of his façade. "I need to see him injured, and to see how his responsiveness to being injured changes as the drug runs its course. This might be sport for Shankar and Xansa, and for Tavian and GHOST, but I need to see him fight through to the end."

His outburst effectively silences the room.

After a brief pause to rein in his temper, Rwen goes on to add, "I made your Robin a deal and he agreed. Two fights, two wins, and we disappear forever. With aliens, a goddess, and a other of Gotham's own oddities on your side, you might – just barely might – be able to best us all here tonight, but have no doubt that if you somehow manage to accomplish the feat, GHOST and the Blackbirds will swarm in to finish what was started here – what I've agreed to abort in my negotiations with Robin. You'll never be able to fight them all, even if you occupy the city with your vigilante thugs."

Rwen lets the heroes swallow that before he adds, "I am a man of my word. Robin wins two fights and we disappear. Simple as that."

"Pardon me for not believing you," Catwoman yowls with a bored antagonism.

Rwen sighs.

He lets his gaze leave Stray and Jason to look directly at Wonder Woman. "Your lasso has unique qualities, no? From what I've heard it can make a person be honest, even if it goes against their will to do so. Allow me to prove my intentions."

There's a beat of stunned silence.

Wonder Woman's lasso is a harrowing experience, not to be undertaken lightly.

But Rwen Tolovi offers his hand and does not pull it back as Wonder Woman approaches and pulls the golden coil from her hip. She loops it securely around Rwen's wrist and commands, "Speak to me your Truth."

Rwen winces, draws a sharp breath and lets the words be dragged out of him.

"I made an agreement with the boy, a binding one," Rwen explains, "He agreed to test my formula and best two opponents. In exchange, I promised that neither GHOST nor the Blackbirds will ever venture into Gotham again."

"And you have the authority to make that promise truly binding?"

Rwen nods at Diana's question, without even looking over his shoulder to where Xansa, his older brother and the official leader of the Blackbirds, sits as a haunting shape within the withering shadows. "This is my research, my mission. Gotham is my operation and as such I have complete discretion over its proceedings. Let the boy fight, he will win and we will all leave without further trouble for either side to handle."

There's another drawn out pause as the lasso glows and then releases its hold.

"The warrior speaks true," Diana announces, a sliver of shock hiding in the back of her tone. The only reason Stray can hear it is that he's spent so long learning how to parse every detail out of Jason's much more shuttered and dissuasive communications.

"Then it seems we have an arrangement," Batman says, materializing out of the shadows.

Whiplash tears through the heroes in the crowd as everyone swivels to look at the Bat.

Stray can almost hear the crack of Nightwing's teeth as he bites down on the vicious question of what the hell Batman thought he was doing, bargaining with Jason's life like this.

"If you had another volunteer, would you let Robin go?"

Relief floods Stray as Nightwing reels himself back – allows the sweep of his own relief to wash over him and stands down from openly confronting his mentor.

The relief is short lived.

Rwen huffs and explains, "No one else is as perfectly compatible. I suppose I could try the kitten here, seeing as this one is the next closest to compatible among you all, but I somehow suspect that Robin might protest if he were in his right mind to do so. Cat, Canary, each claimed by the other as they are."

He looks right at Stray as he speaks and only Stray fully understands the threat.

While even Jason can't tell who is beneath Stray's goggles, Rwen Tolovi has no trouble in telling that the scared little boy Jason had traded himself for only an hour ago is the one currently pressed against him and being considered for a trade back.

He would do it.

For Robin, for Jason, he would do it.

But Robin wouldn't let him and Jason would be angry with him if he knew Tim was even considering it… not to mention the fact that seeing how the drug has already affected Jason makes Tim's knees quake to consider taking on a dose himself.

"My sweet kitten is not going to be your plaything," Selina hisses, claws digging into the goon's chest she's got hold of until she draws blood.

Jason's hold tightens on Stray's hips, before one hand slides around his rib cage to hold him closer. Some lower instinct in him – something running deeper than the drug can touch – seemingly has recognized that Rwen is talking about potentially drugging Stray and sending him into the ring instead of himself. Some lower instinct that does not like what he's hearing.

"I made the agreement, I took the drug," Jason says, low like he's trying to control the volume but loud enough to be heard by everyone who wants to hear him. "I did it to protect my friend and I promised to fulfill my end. Let me fight like I said I would. There might be another way, but this way is the best way."

His demeanor has turned pleading and his gaze has found Batman's.

Tim's finds it as well, glares with every fiber of his being.

If Batman nods, Stray is going to be pissed.

And… Batman does nod.

Of course, he does.

Because Jason's right on every count.

But Tim still doesn't want to let him go.

Stray twists, his claws finding Jason's neck and shoulder, digging in just enough to make Jason aware that he's almost bleeding as Stray's terror and possessive streak join forces. Stray stares through his red-lensed goggles with a desperate plea for Jason not to do what he knows Jason will always chose to do.

"Don't be a hero," Stray begs, forcing Jason to look down at him.

"Too late for that, hot stuff," Jason tells him with a smirk. "You just sit your pretty ass down on the sidelines for a beat and I'll be back to finish this in no time flat."

Jason plants his hands on Stray's hips and gingerly uses his enhanced strength to gently push Stray away from him. Tim can feel how careful he's being and still he nearly stumbles as he's released to find his own feet – but Stray refuses to show the weakness of an uneasy stride.

"I promised, and I did it for a friend, so I have to follow through," Jason says.

It doesn't ease Tim's worries, but it limits Stray's potential to respond.

Tim pounces on Jason one last time for a tight hug

"Don't you dare die," Tim hisses right in his ear.

With an entirely inappropriate chuckle, Jason lets Stray skirt away and smirks boldly as he says, "Wouldn't dream of it, pussy cat."

With that, Stray relents to let Robin step back into the center of the ring.

And Jason rolls his shoulders to get back into the mindset of a fight.

"About fuckin' time, Birdie," Shankar Tolovi huffs, rolling his own shoulders and beginning to circle the ring as Jason does the same and the crowd pushes back in close.

The two combatants meet in the center in a harsh flurry of blows that Tim's eye can barely track – it's impossible, this speed, this strength, this obliviousness to pain and harm.

It's unnatural and terrifying – all the more so for how wrong it is that Jason is the one who has to suffer through this fight. Tim can't watch, but Stray refuses to let the sight of blood spots blooming on Jason's shirt make him look away.

It hurts with every breath, but Stray stands and stares – bears witness.

Tim grits his teeth and just waits for it to be over.

Author's Note:

This was the longest chapter yet for Manners!

There's a few coming that are just a touch longer, but this one's the first of the really long ones!

Also, Wally and Kori are my favorite Titans. There's probably a way the others could've gotten across the country, but... I really just wanted a Wally / Kori cameo so I've magicked Kori into having supersonic flight powers (which is really only a slight alteration) instead of using the jet or anything that would be able to hold another passenger.

NEXT TIME: Jason's PoV on everything with Rwen Tolovi's little Fight Night gone awry.