Thirteen Minutes Ago.

A year ago, upon seeing a large explosion erupt out of a nearby apartment complex, Henry Duncan would probably have run away and maybe called nine-one-one. However, since he had met Nightwing, Hank's first thought when seeing such a disaster was more like: I have to get in there.

Though his ears were ringing from the explosion, he heard a vague shout from the young woman next to him as released her from his grip in order to open his backpack. He fished around for what felt like ages before finding a rebreather mask, and then another.

He put one mask on and extended his arm to hand the other to Aubrey, who was standing still, staring at the building. "Hey!" Hank snapped. "Get it together. Are you coming or not?"

Every passing second meant less oxygen, more fire and smoke, and more people in danger. There was no time to wait around for Aubrey—luckily she snatched the rebreather from his hand and strapped it on, her silver eyes glinting with determination.

Hank nodded silently and fired his grapple toward the top of the Dexter Lofts. He aimed for a window in the middle of the building, one window to the right of the origin of the explosion. As he swung, he retrieved two small pellets from his belt, flinging them in front of him.

The pellets exploded into a yellowish foam that corroded the window in front of him in a matter of seconds, allowing for a smooth entrance. Aubrey's landing next to him was inaudible, but he felt a soft vibration as she gracefully set her own feet down.

The room was already filled with smoke and embers, pouring out from a large hole in the wall made by the explosion in the adjoining room. Kite dashed forward and dove through the hole, rolling as he landed and staying low to the ground to avoid the smoke.

Bright orange flames licked at every corner of the room, blurring his vision even through his mask. As Aubrey appeared over his shoulder, Hank reached into his belt again, this time throwing three small black orbs, which hissed as they landed in front of him, spewing a white bubbling foam that grew and absorbed a small portion of the blaze.

"Kiera!" Kite heard Aubrey's voice to the side of him as she brushed past his shoulder in a blur. The liquid nitrogen capsules that Nightwing had told him about did little more than make a small dent in the fire, but it did help to make his vision a bit clearer.

Aubrey was crouched on a section of tile floor that was untouched by the flames, attempting to lift the remains of a large granite table. Hank leapt over a stretch of fire and crouched on the other side of the table's remains, opposite of Aubrey.

"On three," Aubrey shouted over the roar of the fire. "One, two, three!"

Kite squeezed his core tight and drove his heels into the floor, extending his legs with a grunt and miraculously feeling the tabletop lift from the ground. Underneath the rubble, the young woman he had met in Liz's brownstone lay unmoving.

Kiera's forehead had a nasty gash in it, and her skin had turned red from the heat of the room. Hank and Aubrey shoved the table to the side, and Hank hoisted her onto his shoulder with another grunt, though luckily the girl wasn much lighter than the table.

"Got a pulse." Hank said quickly as he removed his fingers from her throat and used his free hand to take his rebreather off so he could place it on the unconscious young girl. He marched forward, quickly realizing he would not have to kick the apartment door open because the entire door was gone, replaced by a flame-lined gap in the apartment's drywall.

He jogged out of the hole carefully, using his free arm to cover his mouth. The fire had spread down the hallway a ways, but the sprinkler system had activated, mitigating the damage. Staying careful not to jostle Kiera around too much over his shoulder, Hank made it to the stairwell door, away from the flames but still clouded with smoke.

Aubrey took Kiera into her arms as soon as Kite set her down, and he paused for a moment to make sure both of the women were alright before spinning on his heel and running back toward the blaze.

As Hank was running, another loud BOOM sounded from the apartment he was just in. He quickened his pace to a sprint, coughing lightly into his arm as he leapt back into the inferno. The apartment's water heater had exploded due to the heat and pressure, revealing a large hole in the floor.

Though he felt the echo of the explosion reverberating through his ears, Kite managed to hear a weak cry below him. He dropped through the hole, passing through a blossom of smoke. He ignored the coughing fit his body was thrust into as he made his way toward the soft sobs he heard.

A small boy sat in the corner of the room, his face buried into his arms, which were wrapped tightly around his knees. The flames hadn't yet reached the corner where the boy sat.

"Hey!" Kite called to the young blonde boy. The boy, who couldn't have been more than six, raised his blonde head, revealing brown eyes glistening with tears and a face dark with soot. The boy cried out again upon seeing Hank, and his limbs flailed desperately in an attempt to push himself further into the corner away from Hank.

Hank thought of Tanner, and his stomach knotted up. Then he remembered his brother's story about being saved from a shootout in a convenience store by Batman and Robin.

"Jared and I were scared, but Robin was very nice. He said Batman would get the shooters, and he would take care of us. Jared kept freaking out, so he took of his mask to show us he was just a kid like us."

Even in the midst of a disaster, Hank's mouth turned up into a soft smile. He was still learning from Dick even when he wasn't around, and he was still learning from Tanner as well, even about the superhero gig. Hank peeled off his white mask, wincing slightly at the spirit gum coming off his face.

"It's okay!" Hank held up his hands in a gesture of peace to the young boy. "My name's Hank. What's your name?"

The boy's brown eyes widened as he stammered. "I—i—it's Josh."

"Hi, Josh." Hank tried to put all the warmth he could into his tone. "Can you come with me? I want to get you out of here."

Josh nodded, and Hank scooped him up quickly over his shoulder, crouching as he walked through the flames. Kite's lungs felt completely empty, and his vision was blurring more every second, but he pushed away the dizziness as he coughed his way through the room.

The door to Josh's apartment was still intact, but Hank knew before reaching for the doorknob that it would be blazing hot to the touch. He took as deep a breath he could, mostly inhaling smoke.

"Hold your breath and hold onto me tight, okay, Josh?" Hank managed to get the words out between coughs. He put all the force he could into his kick, and as his foot met the door he felt a very hard pinch in his ankle.

The door gave way nonetheless, and Hank had to ignore the pain for the moment as he adjusted Josh quickly to be wrapped in his arms at his torso rather than over his shoulder. Just as Hank knew, the door opening caused a backdraft, resulting in the fire roaring to new life behind him.

The force of the blaze pushed him, and Hank stumbled forward through the doorway. Between his vision, his ankle, and his lungs, Hank was not sure how he was still standing at the moment, other than his determination to make sure this young boy made it out of the inferno.

He felt water coming down on him from above, and did his best to move with Josh away from the blurry orange blobs to his right. Large white spots obscured his view, his throat was dry and scratchy, and his ankle was very unhappy with him continuing to put weight on it.

Suddenly, despite all his desire to get Josh away from the fire, his body stopped listening to him. He heard a high pitched beeping echoing from his midsection. His belt? He felt an arm wrap around his waist as the blurred world around him finally faded into a sheet of white static.


NOW.

Dick remembered being outraged when he found out about a tracking chip that Bruce had implanted in his arm. Even though the tracker allowed Batman to save him when he had been caught off guard by Bane while on solo patrol, Dick felt that his privacy was violated, as well as his trust.

However, since then Dick recalled many instances when he wore the cowl with Damian at his side, where he was grateful for the ability to find the tenacious (if not pigheaded) Robin. With Hank, Dick proposed an alteration on Bruce's original concept.

"It's just a precautionary measure, you know? And it's completely up to you." This was one of the first instances where Dick felt the need to use his serious voice with his protege. "I won't know where you are unless you're in danger. You'll still have your independence, your privacy."

Hank let out two short laughs, and a small snort. "Dick. It's cool, man. I'm down. And really, even if you could look me up whenever you wanted, it's not like I have anything to hide from you."

"I'm not worried about that at all, Hank. I just… Look, overall, Batman did a good job. But I want to do this my way." Dick paused. "I have to, for me. Is that okay with you?"

"Yes sir, Nightwing, sir." Hank saluted, his expression turned exaggeratedly serious. Dick rolled his eyes, wondering how many time Bruce had to deal with this sort of thing from him.

"Dick. Looks like he's awake." Dick shot up from the chair, rubbing his eyes, which were bleary from staring at the computer screen. Tim Drake briefly glanced his way before returning to his work, poking and prodding at the circuit board of the small black device given to Dick by the young woman who had been with Hank a few hours earlier.

Dick's eyes found the small screen in front of Tim featuring video footage from the infirmary. A sandy blonde head had risen from the pillow on which it previously rested, and was turning around to take in its surroundings. "Thanks, Tim." Dick strode through the doorway and then stopped short. "Making any headway?"

"Sort of." Tim put down his tools for a moment. "There's no timer, so it's definitely motion sensitive. But, there's no way to manually arm it, so it must have to receive some sort of signal. If I can figure out the frequency and signal situation, I might be able to disarm the rest of them."

"You're the man, Red Robin." Dick shot a grin Tim's way before exiting the room and turning the corner to the makeshift infirmary he hoped never to have to use when he had it constructed in his gym's basement.

"How do I look? Be honest." Hank's voice was rough, unsurprisingly, due to all the smoke he inhaled hours earlier. Dick laughed softly under his breath, shaking his head. Henry Duncan could always think of a witty quip in situations like these—he wanted to convince people around him that he was just fine, that he didn't need help.

"You look like you got blown up. How do you feel?" Dick asked his pupil with a smirk.

"Yeah, that's about how I feel." Hank softly smiled back at Dick, then his expression quirked with curiosity. "How did you find me?"

"Your vitals dropped below critical levels, bonehead."

"Ah. So you pulled me out of the fire? Wait—is the kid okay? Josh?" Hank's scratchy voice was suddenly filled with concern.

"He's fine, Hank."

"How do you know? And what about—the girl who got caught in the explosion?"

"Red Robin—he's a friend—took them both to Haven Med Center. The girl was checked in as a Jane Doe…" Just as Hank relaxed back against the pillow, he shot up back up again in a coughing fit.

"My—mask," he managed to croak the words out between coughs.

"It was on you when I found you." Dick kept his tone even as he spoke, though he felt the warmth of irritation on the back of his neck. "It wasn't me who pulled you out of the fire."

"Oh." Hank's scratchy voice was quiet. He turned to the table beside his cot to grab a bottle of water, from which he took a quick drink.

Dick pulled a chair to the side of the bed and sat, folding his arms. "Yeah. Now we'd better chat about that." Hank eyed his mentor carefully, taking another drink before opening his mouth to speak.

"Long story short—I know the girl. The one who must've pulled me from the fire. Her name is Aubrey. The last time I saw her, I was twelve, maybe thirteen. But then, when I was out with Batgirl and I chased after her, her hood came off for a second… And tonight, she must have seen me without my mask, when I took it off so I wouldn't scare that little boy." Hank trailed off for a moment and stared at his hands. His next words were quiet. "I'm sorry, Dick."

Dick frowned, not out of disappointment, but curiosity. "Well that does explain a few things I suppose."

"What do you mean?"

"Well she was very concerned about you when I got there. And then she just started talking to me, rapid fire, without any prompting."

Dick recounted the young woman's words to his wide-eyed partner. Aubrey said that she was supposed to bug a specific apartment—the same one that exploded. She hadn't been told that she was actually planting a bomb rather than a microphone.

As Dick spoke, Hank's jaw became set, his lips pursed. "Her friend—the unconscious one—was apparently doing the same thing at the Carter residence, which I assume is how you got involved in this."

"Yeah." Hank's expression was blank as he stared straight ahead at the wall. Several seconds of silence passed between mentor and mentee.

"Hey, Dick, I've got something." A voice called from the doorway of the infirmary.

"Hit me, Tim." Dick started, then caught himself. "Oh, wait, first; Tim Drake—Hank Duncan. Kite—Red Robin." Dick nodded back and forth between the young men throughout his introduction.

"Nice to meet you." Tim said cheerily, either unaware or purposely ignoring the tension of the room.

Hank cleared his throat. "Uh, hi."

Tim nodded back before speaking again. "I found the frequency the bombs are running on, and I can disarm them, at least temporarily. I also triangulated their locations. But there are even more than we thought. Four in Metropolis, three in Gotham, and three more here in Bludhaven."

"So we divide and conquer. Can you upload the locations to the computer and send them to the family's comm-links?" Dick shifted into leadership-mode, and although the Titans might have had more raw power than the Bat-Family, the family was a well-oiled machine.

No hotheads, no drama, no glory-hounds, just highly trained people doing what needed to be done. "When Batgirl gets here, you two take the ones in the 'Haven. Call Red Hood—he should still be in Metropolis, and I bet Supergirl would be willing to help there, too, if she hasn't taken care of them already." Tim nodded in agreement and tapped his gauntlet to activate his comm-link on the way out of the room. Dick did the same, tapping his gauntlet with one finger and putting the other to his earpiece.

"Hey, it's me. Did you get what Tim sent you? I'm on the way." Dick turned to leave the room, but was stopped by a scratchy-voiced call from his partner.

"Whoa, whoa, what's happening? Am I, like, grounded or what?" Hank's palms were turned upward slightly in a questioning gesture. Dick breathed out a quiet laugh.

"You're not grounded, chainsmoker. You're just on injury reserve. Don't worry, we've got it."


Aubrey's grip on her grapple line tightened, her knuckles white under her gloves, as she stared through the window at her injured friend. The dark haired young man in the red costume, Red Robin, had assured her that Kiera was in good hands at Haven Medical Center, but she had heard that before.

"Your brother will be just fine. It's just a minor cardiac dysrhythmia."

In a matter of days, the doctor's message had changed to:

"We're doing everything we can, but Jared needs specific expertise. St. Mary's in Metropolis has the nation's leading cardiac unit."

Aubrey's expression morphed into a dark grimace at the memories. St. Mary's was also one of the most expensive hospitals in the nation. And believe it or not, two orphaned kids had no health insurance.

She gazed at Kiera's heart rate monitor, and could almost hear the slow, rhythmic beeping as the green line traced itself across the black screen. A flash of lights entered her mind, and an irregular beeping filled her ears, following no rhythm but speeding up constantly.

Rage welled up in her chest, and she kicked off the glass window, not bothering to remain silent when doing so, so she swung away from the building with a soft thunk.

Her anger fueled her on as she sprinted across the rooftops toward the Blud Harbor Hotel. With all of her energy focused on one thing, time flew as she ran, and before she knew it, she was picking the lock of the balcony doors of the twenty-fifth floor penthouse.

"Aubrey!" It was rare that John carried surprise in his voice, but as he sat in an armchair, still in his 'work clothes', Aubrey knew she had caught him off guard. A small feeling of joy swam around briefly in the waves of anger she felt within her. "I wasn't expecting you. How did things go tonight?"

"Kiera is in the hospital, John." She had thought of many more dramatic, cleverer opening lines while on the way here, but in the moment, she felt it would be silly to say anything other than the truth.

"What?"

"She was caught in an explosion. From a bomb that I planted." Aubrey's teeth were gritted, she felt her fists clenched tightly. Her gloves saved her palms from being cut into by her nails. "On orders from you."

She had never spoken to John in this tone. Perhaps she had never spoken to anyone in this tone. But Kiera was the closest thing Aubrey had to family.

She had run into the young girl while in Coast City. Kiera was trying to steal a basket of bread from a farmer's market.

"Are you all alone?" Aubrey asked. The young girl in front of her nodded. Her dark brown hair was frayed and matted, her face dirty. The girl's eyes glistened with fear, and her mouth was shoved full of bread. She must have been homeless.

"I'm Aubrey." Aubrey said slowly, approaching the girl with her hands raised. "You don't have to be alone, if you don't want."

Aubrey was fifteen at the time, and Kiera was twelve. The same age that Jared was when he died.

"If something happens to her, I'll be all alone again. And that will be on you," Aubrey hissed. John looked genuinely puzzled, and perhaps a bit hurt. Two very unfamiliar expressions on the dark haired man.

"Aubrey… I'm so sorry. I had no idea that the devices they gave us… You have to believe that I had no idea." John paused, taking a gentle step toward Kiera. "You know this is not what our family is about."

"Do not touch me." Right then, Aubrey felt far closer to being on fire than she had when running through the flames of the Dexter Lofts. Her entire torso was so filled with tension that she was shaking.

"Aubrey you have to see how truly sorry I am. I only want to help people like us, the people who are pushed down and stepped on by those who climb to the top. You know that. I only agreed to work with these people because I thought we shared the same goal…" John trailed off. "How did Kiera get to the hospital?"

"Some people helped me save her. Vigilante types." Aubrey spat out the words. Many images of the blonde masked boy flashed in her head, as well as plenty of images of him without his mask. "After all your words about them protecting corrupt and wealthy people and harming poor people just trying to make a living… You nearly killed Kiera, and they helped her."

"Aubrey… I—" Aubrey cut John off.

"You're sorry. I heard. Try telling that to Kiera. She's in Haven Medical Center, and someone is going to need to foot the bill—whether she survives or not." Her silver eyes flashed dangerously as she turned to exit the room. Not via the elevator—she couldn't stand to be in the same building as John.

"Aubrey, Kiera will be fine." He called to her as she felt the humid night air hit her on the balcony. "And you will never be alone as long as you're with us. With me. Your family."

The only thing Aubrey could do in reply was bark out a short, cold laugh of disgust.