The Family Business

by spoileralertitsme

After Bruce's death at the hands of the Joker leaves Gotham City vulnerable, it falls to his family to keep up the fight. As Dick takes up his mentor's mantle, and Barbara regains her mobility, the two senior Batkids face their most harrowing challenge yet: parenthood.

33. Chapter 33: Before We Go

To paraphrase one of Dick's most favorite songs—the party didn't start 'til he walked in.

Courtiers brazenly removed their masks, leaving them at their place settings on the tables to go and socialize. Eat and drink. Laugh and dance. The band had picked back up, playing a light tune on strings, brass, and even a white baby grand someone had set up in the grass.

John and Calvin had wandered off to join the other Talons in their tight ring around the party. Presumably to keep unwanted guests out. Presumably to keep Dick in. He met their glances briefly as they fell into line, but that was the end of their interaction.

He froze at the hand that cupped over his shoulder.

"Are you just going to stand here the whole time?" Vanaver's voice trickled into his ear like motor oil, and Dick shivered. "This your homecoming party, my boy. Enjoy it."

Dick's shoulders stiffened beneath the older man's touch. "You're not fooling anyone, you know."

"Why, yes," Vanaver said smugly. "Yes, I know."

Because this wasn't Dick's party. This wasn't for him, no matter how Vanaver and the other Owls tried to spin it. This little soiree was to celebrate Dick's surrender. He may have been wearing a suit and tie, dressed to the nines just like any other member of the Court—

—but really, he might as well have been wearing chains.

"Even so," Vanaver went on, "I hope that everything is to your satisfaction. So many people have gone to great pains to make this evening absolutely perfect. We have your favorite hors d'oeuvres, we have mood lighting and appropriate music. A very expensive tailored suit, even. All of it, just for you."

Dick's jaw clenched. "So this is my last hurrah, is it?"

"If you choose to see it that way, yes." Vanaver's hand slid off his shoulder, and patted him on the back. The touch was unwelcome, and Dick stepped away from it. "I prefer to think of it as a…new beginning. A celebration of rebirth."

"Do you throw a barbeque for all of your Talons, or am I just lucky?"

"Hmph. So much bitterness." Vanaver clicked his tongue, and turned towards the House's back door. He stared at the paned glass as if waiting for something, and Dick couldn't help but follow his gaze. "But you'll thank us, soon enough, Richard."

"'Thank you', my #$$," Dick shot back through gritted teeth. "Stop jerking me around, Abraham. Where is she?"

The man only shrugged, brushing a moth off his sleeve with carefully practiced nonchalance. "In a far better state of compliance than you, it would seem. Be careful to watch your tone, boy. Everything that has been given, can also be taken away."

Dick bit back the retort and forced himself to breathe.

"That's more like it." Vanvaver hummed, satisfied. He continued facing the door, but Dick could feel the old man's eyes sliding over to him. "You'll find that in the future, I will not be so lenient towards open defiance. If I may offer you one smidgen of advice, it is this—learn to respect your betters before you learn the meaning of true pain."

"You've got me right where you want me," Dick said coldly. "I don't really see a need for more threats."

"It wasn't a threat, my boy." The old man gave a low chuckle. "It was a promise."

There was movement at the door, and Vanaver straightened, arms sliding confidently behind his back once again. The Talons followed suit, matching their Grandmaster's pose exactly. Dick heard the rustling of the three dozen masked warriors as they stood at attention. Even the Courtiers seemed to go still, watching the door expectantly as the handle slowly turned down.

"Ah, speak of the she-devil…" the Grandmaster muttered, smugly.

Dick felt his jaw loosen as he turned his gaze on the two people stepping out into the garden.

A man appeared first, and Dick stiffened with cold recognition.

Slade Wilson—even mask-less in an Armani suit—was still undeniably Slade Wilson. The mercenary caught his eye (and his scowl), and sent a smirk back his way. There was something self-congratulatory about the way he reached for the doorway. A debonair gentleman offering up his hand to—

Dick's heart stopped.

A pale hand laid itself gently into Slade's. It was the first part of her that appeared out of the shadowy doorway, and when the rest of her followed, Dick felt his mouth go dry.

They'd dressed her in a stunning blue evening gown. And the dark shade matched his Nightwing symbol exactly, before fading into a glittering gold ombre towards the ground. It clung to her curves, left her bare shoulders on full display.

The choice in color was deliberate.

So was the jewelry: a band of gold wrapped around her throat like a choker. Shimmering chains, tiny little gilded links, were attached to a ring resting at her collarbone. They draped down her arms all the way to the rings around her fingers. There were more golden chain links in her hair, woven into the elaborate updo of rusty curls.

The effect was elegant, if blatantly transparent.

But Dick didn't give a &*#% about ulterior motives or subliminal threats. Because seeing her here, right now, was a little bit like dying; he felt his chest shudder just like his heartbeat. Felt the air rush out of his lungs. Felt himself spinning as if he'd just taken a thousand-foot fall, and had yet to hit the ground.

Barbara always took his breath away, but this time it was so much different.

He could feel a thousand and one eyes on him, now. Watching for his reaction. Waiting for him to act, as Slade led her away towards the dancefloor, where other couples spun and swayed. They seemed to goad him. Dare him to try something.

And he wanted to. &*%, he just wanted to take her by the hand and run…

But there was a small army of reasons why he'd never make it more than three feet. And most of them were reaching for their knives, as if they could read his thoughts.

"Ravishing, isn't she?" Vanaver's voice made Dick want to smash something—preferably over the old vulture's head.

But by way of reply, Dick only swallowed his tongue.

Barbara's back was to him as Slade led her into the slow starting steps of a waltz. The band struck up a tune with a steady, lilting tempo that seemed to pound its way into Dick's skull. From where he stood, he could see her scars more clearly now, pale against her white skin, rippling across the muscles of her back. Most he recognized. Others were new, and he could almost feel them on his own shoulders.

"Tell me, do you like it?" the old man pressed. He laid a hand on Dick's arm, but he was too busy staring at his partner to have the presence of mind needed to shake it off.

"What, the dress?" Dick's tone was stony. He could feel his jaw clenching tighter and tighter, knowing exactly what Barbara likely thought about being dolled up and put on display. "I don't give a &*#% about the dress."

But Vanaver clicked his tongue. "Mmm, no. I will admit, your fille de joie is a temptation in any attire—"

"You watch your mouth," Dick snarled.

"Don't be fresh," the man retorted. His grip on Dick tightened, until he sucked in a pained breath. "Hnm. I was trying to tell you to take a closer look, my boy. After all, I wasn't referring to the dress…"

Dick's fists clenched, but he followed the finger Vanaver had extended towards Slade and Barbara. He took her in more carefully this time, trying to decipher what it was Vanaver was getting at.

And, then it hit him like a speeding train—

—Barbara was smiling.

As Slade spun them around, Dick could see her face. The lidded eyes, the relaxed brow. And a soft, happy, blissed-out sort of smile that never seemed to reach the rest of her expression.

She looked half-asleep. Totally out-of-it. If Dick didn't know any better…

"Do you like it?" Vanaver repeated, this time more insistently.

But this time, Dick knew exactly what he meant. And the realization didn't crash into him, didn't set off any alarm bells in his mind. It trickled over him slowly, and tasted a little bit like mounting dread.

"No," he said softly, voice cracking. "No, I don't. What did you do?"

Slade spun Barbara out, grasping one of her hands as she gracefully flung the other out, chains tinkling. As she twirled back into the mercenary's grasp, he could see her eyes flutter shut.

"So many things. She came to us as an insolent little hellcat, after all. Insisted that we'd never break her. Dared us to try."

Dick's stomach churned. Slade swayed Barbara to the music, and shot them a wide grin.

"She was strong." Vanaver seemed to have a note of respect in his voice, but it may have just been smug self-satisfaction. "Just, not strong enough."

As if he'd heard the Grandmaster, and wanted to add his two cents, Slade laid his hand between Barbara's sharp shoulder blades, and dipped her down low, until her curls brushed the stone beneath their feet. Facing Dick and Vanaver straight-on, with Barbara underneath him, held nearly chest to chest, the position was highly suggestive. Slade didn't miss the opportunity to send Dick a thin smirk.

And as he drew her back up, the mercenary pulled her closer until her body was flush to his, and ran the back of his hand over Barbara's cheek.

Dick watched her lean into the touch.

Slade pressed in, captured Barbara's lips with his own.

And Dick's blood boiled over.

With teeth bared into a snarl, he took an offensive step forward. And every Talon in the vicinity stiffened. Blades bristled as they were drawn out of scabbards and sheaths. Their sharp edges caught the lights, and Dick wisely froze in place.

"Oh, I wouldn't cut in quite yet," the Grandmaster mused. "There'll be time to dance with your sweetheart, Gray Son, but remember: patience is a virtue."

The dancers, who'd all frozen at the sudden display of arms, resumed their movements as if nothing had happened. They swirled and twirled to the music, smiling widely and chattering gaily.

"Stop doing this, stop…" Dick wheezed as he saw Barbara lean up to place another kiss at the corner of Slade's mouth. He shuddered violently. "Stop."

The urge to lash forward was intense. To sink his fingernails into Slade's throat until he was bleeding dry. To tear out his eyes and absolutely eviscerate him. It took heavy breathing to slow his buzzing heartbeat and bring the instinct down.

Dick didn't want to think too hard about where that impulse had come from.

"As I said before, this is your party." Vanaver gave him a firm pat on the back, and waved a hand at the rest of the garden. "Go. Socialize. And when this waltz is over, you may have the next dance."

And so Dick was swallowed by the crowd. Men and women reaching for him, flashing their teeth, laughing shrilly. He recognized most of them from galas and fundraisers over the years. Prominent Gotham high-society types. All the Old Money in the city, and a little bit of the New, as well.

He endured their questions and congratulations—all empty and boastful. Every one of them left a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, but somehow, he managed to avoid tossing it into one of the bird-shaped topiaries.

(It seemed the years of Wayne Foundation galas and fundraisers were good for something, after all…)

Eventually, he wound up in front of a man he recognized from TV. The new mayor of Gotham City.

Lincoln March.

He stood out as the only one in the flock of partygoers that wasn't smiling. Dick had kept an eye on him as he'd done his rounds. Noticed the way the older man frowned behind his short beard, clutched his champagne glass so tightly that the thing was in danger of shattering in his hand.

And he'd never taken his eyes off of Dick. At least, not until he was finally passed in March's direction.

The mayor was busy talking to someone else by the burbling fountain, head and voice equally lowered. The girl in front of him nodded with somber seriousness, as if the man's words were more weight being piled atop her shoulders.

She was small, unassuming. And yet, she was muscled enough that Dick knew she couldn't possibly be a society brat. Her long, long black hair hung loose over her shoulders. The black dress she wore made her look like a slip of a shadow, and she met Dick's eyes briefly as he approached. But when he blinked, just like that, she was gone.

March looked up, one eyebrow raised.

When he saw that it was Dick stalking towards him, his expression smoothed over into an easy smile—with eerie speed—and he extended a hand. "Ah. Mr. Grayson."

Dick accepted the handshake with a stiff arm. "Mayor March."

"Please." March swallowed hard. "Call me Lincoln."

He shoved both hands into his jacket's pockets and frowned up at the older man. Dick wasn't sure what to feel about the intensity with which March was staring him down. Searching his face, taking him in. Like a starving man who'd gone too long without food.

It wasn't creepy, per se. Or, at least, Dick's usual alarm bells weren't going off at the prolonged eye contact. But there was still something about that stare that made him take notice.

"Can I…do something for you, sir?" he muttered, frowning.

March blinked hard, a little startled as he took a half step back. But the recovery was quick, and in the space of a second, any sign of the dread that had crossed the man's features was wiped away. Instead, the mayor pasted on a smile and reached for Dick's hand to shake it again.

"Not a thing. Just…" A hard swallow. Eyes shifting to the side. Then, with a lowered voice, just above a whisper, the man added, "Just know, son, that I'm sorry. And I'm doing everything I can to stop this."

Dick's mouth fell open. 'Don't call me son', he'd been about to say. Like he said to every well-meaning authority figure who had the nerve to use the 's' word. Only three people had ever had permission to call him that—and all three of them were dead. No one else, not Clark, not Gordon, not Vanaver, and definitely not the puppet mayor of Gotham, could get away with that.

But he didn't get the chance to protest, before the Grandmaster reappeared at his side, clutching Dick's shoulder in a vise grip.

"Ah, so you two have met. Wonderful." Dick winced as Vanaver's fingers dug into bone, but the man only had eyes for March. "Gray Son, did Mayor March mention his work with the United States Army? Particularly with one Colonel Jacob Kane?"

Dick's eyes narrowed as he studied March's face. It was schooled into a passive frown, but he could see trepidation shining through the slight cracks in his composure.

"You see, the government has had its eyes on Gotham for over a year—ever since the…tragic death of the Dark Knight," Vanaver said. His tone was laced with satisfaction. "They seem to be under the impression that the city could fall into chaos at any moment, most especially now that her most vigilant protectors—the Batman's two lackluster replacements—have gone missing."

Dick felt his heart constrict.

$#!^.

"The Justice League's recommendation that the military step in was…unexpected, to say the least. But invaluable nonetheless. That's why Colonel Kane and newly-elected Mayor March, here, have struck a deal regarding the city's security."

March's eyes were cold.

Vanaver continued, ignoring the other man's ice. "Should there be an…unfortunate catastrophe, the sort that would require more of a response than the Bats can provide, the military is authorized to declare martial law, and occupy Gotham City."

The Grandmaster fell silent, this revelation ringing in the air, louder than every note from the band, every piece of chatter from the guests, every footstep, every heartbeat, every breath—and stared straight at Lincoln March, as though daring him to speak.

And speak, Lincoln March did.

"All who stand in the way of such an occupation—metahumans and vigilantes, alike—are to be shot on sight. So, when the dust settles, Gray Son," he said with narrowed eyes and a flat tone, looking to the Grandmaster with contempt, "every Bat will lay bleeding on the streets, and Gotham city will once again belong to the Court of Owls."

Dick's eyes flew wide.

"You son of a &!^$#," he gasped at March.

Then whirled and roared at Vanaver, "We had a &*##^&% deal!"

His hands flew up, ready to wrap around the Grandmaster's throat. Ready to squeeze the life out of the man who'd promised him—and lied through his teeth—that he'd spare Dick's family if only he turned himself over. That no brother or sister of his would ever even hear the word 'Owl' again if it meant the Court could have Dick.

But before he ever got the chance to touch that lying piece of $#!^, a sharp zing slashed across Dick's cheek. He hissed, feeling wetness trickle down his face. A few feet away, a short dagger—barely the size of a hand—had embedded itself in the lawn.

He paused to stare at it, then looked up. Every Talon in the vicinity had drawn their weapon, but none of them seemed to have thrown it. Dick's eyes flew around the garden fence, looking each monster in the eye. Searching for the one out of the dozens that wasn't holding a knife.

It wasn't until Vanaver spoke, stepping back, that it finally dawned on him.

"Thank you, my dear. Your aim is impeccable as ever."

Dick turned slowly, jaw going slack.

Barbara's skirts were spread fan-like as she crouched into a defensive stance. Perfect posture; straight back, with one arm raised slightly behind her for balance, the other stretched forward, fingers empty, having just let her weapon fly.

For a fleeting moment, her face was twisted into a savage snarl, but at the sound of Vanaver's voice, it smoothed over neatly. Barbara straightened, sliding upward into a demure, ladylike pose with hands clasped in front of her. The chains around her neck and hands jingled softly. A sweet smile spread at her lips.

Vanaver held up a hand, crooking a finger to beckon her closer. "Come here, child."

Barbara's smile widened, and she took a clipped step forward. Then another. Another. Another. Dick watched her approach, feeling that weightless sensation once more, welling inside of him more and more with every step his partner took. Like he could float away just from the sight of her.

But that feeling faded when Barbara came to a stop right beside him, close enough to touch. After all this time, all the searching, all the worrying, she was right there—and that feeling took him from floating to falling in the blink of an eye.

"Babs," he gasped, turning his body towards her. "Babs, it's Dick. What are you—"

"Hush," Vanaver snapped, cutting him off. The Grandmaster held out his hand for Barbara, and she took it with a smile. "Tell me, my dear, what do you think of our Gray Son?"

Barbara blinked once, still smiling that unnerving smile.

There was nothing behind her eyes, and it sent shivers prickling across Dick's skin.

The old vulture tipped his chin up, and through the holes in the mask, his eyes gleamed. "You have my permission to speak."

Relief fluttered across her face for a fraction of a second, before Barbara dipped and pressed her forehead to their clasped hands. "Thank you, Grandmaster," she gasped. "I am no one, I am everyone."

Her voice was…wrong. The inflections were slightly off. She sounded hoarse, breathy, as if her vocal chords were strained to their limit.

Barbara's eyes were on him now, and Dick lost his breath as they looked him up and down. Studying in only the way Oracle could; with a gleam of intelligence and a spark of awareness—just enough to hint that she was still in there…somewhere. But he didn't have the time to hope. She blinked again, and Dick noticed her irises. Where before, they had been a light, summer-sky blue…

…they were now an iridescent Lazarus green.

And Dick felt his stomach churn.

"Well?" Vanaver demanded.

Barbara's head tipped ever so slightly, considering. "He's very pretty," she decided.

"Indeed, child. But what do you think of him, hm? What do you feel?"

And there—a dozen micro-expressions flashed across her face. It was like thumbing through the pages of a book, shuffling a deck of cards, seeing a familiar reflection in the windows of a passing train.

But when she spoke, Barbara flatly said, "Nothing, Grandmaster."

Dick swallowed.

"I feel nothing for him."

He looked away, fists clenched tight.

"But I think he feels something for me." She pouted. "The poor thing. Why is that, do you think, Grandmaster?"

Dick met Vanaver's eyes with venom as he looked up. Watched as Barbara let herself be twirled around, and pulled back against the old man's chest with a smile. The Grandmaster held her close, one arm braced across her chest, face nestled into her neck. Barbara only obliged, tipping her head back to better bare her throat. A happy sigh left her lips.

"I'm sure I don't know, darling," Vanaver crooned. "Perhaps he finds you 'pretty', as well."

The crowd had stopped dancing and drinking and gossiping, and took notice of the tense standoff by the fountain. Slowly, one by one or two by two, they drifted closer. Like vultures circling their next meal. Waiting for their quarry to keel over dead. Dick's eyes tracked them cautiously—noticing briefly that Lincoln March had disappeared—but his attention was all for Abraham Vanaver.

"You lied to me," he growled. "I thought you gave me your word."

Vanaver's fingers floated above Barbara's exposed neck. A taunt. And it was even more evident in his voice as he hummed and said, "Yes, yes, I did give you that. But I'm afraid your claim is a false one, Gray Son. I haven't lied."

He bared his teeth. "And how's that?"

"Let's review the terms of your surrender, shall we? Mr. Wilson?"

Slade brushed Dick's shoulder as he pushed forward, forcing his way into the ring of Courtiers that had formed on the stepping stones. After shooting a cocky smile in Dick's direction, he said, matter-of-factly, "Condition number one—and I quote—'If I come quietly, you will promise me right now that no Talon will ever be sent after any member of my family, meaning anyone working with or under the Bat, or any occupant of Wayne Manor.'"

Flurries of whispers erupted at the name 'Wayne', and Dick winced sharply.

"'You will also guarantee that, should I become your Talon, you will never send me to kill any of the aforementioned family members'," Deathstroke added.

Vanaver hummed again, satisfied, and refocused his cold gaze on Dick. "So you see, I have not violated that term, Gray Son. Not even my little addendum to that condition. No Talon will dispatch your precious siblings, unless they are provoked. Now, I clearly have no jurisdiction over the armed forces, or any of our other allies, but I myself have not broken the Court's promise. Wilson? The next condition."

"Number two," Slade said flippantly. "To quote Mr. Grayson, here: 'I want a sample of your Lazarus water. I know you have it, and I want it now. Consider it a down payment.'"

"And I gave you that sample, Gray Son," Vanaver chided, pulling Barbara closer. "It was to heal your sweet little sister, Stephanie, wasn't it? You wanted to spare her the life of a mute cripple? How fortunate that Deathstroke had a vial left over from his last session with Miss Kean on hand."

"Last but not least," Slade said, with supreme satisfaction. For this final condition, he needed no prompting, and he slipped into a vicious, whimpering imitation of Dick's voice as he begged, "'Please. All I want is an hour with Barbara. Just the two of us, before you do whatever it is you're going to do. Let me say goodbye.'"

A few Courtiers in the crowd let out whoops and wolf whistles and howls of laughter. Dick ground his teeth together as he glowered at the Grandmaster, feeling his fingernails dig painful crescents into his palms. Vanaver himself seemed to be taking a particular kind of joy in the sounds of his fellow Owls. His fingers caressed Barbara's throat possessively.

"Now," he said, "I recognize that Miss Kean has undergone some…adjustments—"

"You %*$#!^& tortured her," Dick snarled.

"—many of which were much needed," Vanaver continued, as if Dick hadn't spoken. "Regardless, it seems that you are less than satisfied with the results."

"Yeah, no shi—"

"And I can see how you may interpret this finished product of Miss Barbara Kean as going back on our word, but do keep in mind, my boy," Vanaver said, skimming his fingers ever so slightly beneath the neckline of Barbara's dress. "This is your Barbara, and you will spend the promised interval of time in her company…but we never promised she'd be the best conversationalist."

Laughter bubbled up from the other Courtiers once again, and with a roar, Dick charged forward.

He would have ripped the old man's throat out with his teeth. But something even sharper slid against his throat, pressing into the soft skin, stopping him dead in his tracks.

Dick's eyes slid down the blade of the dagger, following its sharp edge all the way down to the woman who held it. Barbara's eyes were alight with green fire, and her lips were curled back in a sneer.

She was pressed against him now. And the low snarl of her voice was masked by the howling of the Owls around them, low enough to avoid the ears of the Grandmaster, but just loud enough that Dick caught the words,

"Don't make me do this, Grayson. She still cares about you."

And Dick's eyes went wide.

"Enough, enough!" Vanaver crowed, swinging his arms up into the air. The Courtiers quieted, waiting for their Grandmaster to address them. And Vanaver did not disappoint as he said, "This has been an entertaining evening, hasn't it, friends? But I'm afraid our revels have come to an end."

Barbara's eyes went hard again, and the knife dug deeper into Dick's throat.

"We have danced and dined and drunken to our hearts' content." Vanaver seemed to chant the words, hands raised to the sky. "But the morning is nigh at hand. We have celebrated this feast in honor of the Gray Son and his Chosen Companion. Their time of conversion is come, the day ahead is their time to prepare, and tomorrow, when the midnight hour arrives, they will be reborn."

His flock of followers had listened intently, but at the final word, a cheer burst out from the assembled Courtiers, drowning out the unsteady thrumming of Dick's heart. It buried the thoughts swirling in his mind, and smothered the sensation of adrenaline buzzing through his veins, and the bite of the blade against his skin.

"Miss Kean." Vanaver's voice sliced through the din like steel, and Barbara's eyes lit up at the sound of it. "If you would be so kind?"

"It would be my pleasure, Grandmaster," she replied, dipping her chin.

She glared up at Dick through her lashes. And it was the last thing he saw before the hilt of her dagger crashed into his skull, and it all went dark.

#######

#######

Cassandra watched for a little while.

The other people ignored her, at least for the most part. Nearly everyone ignored her when she wanted them to—it was just a simple matter of closing one's mouth and making oneself small. Others, Cassandra had learned, rarely saw small things. The flashy, big, loud, gaudy things of life tended to catch and hold attention, and it seemed to be all anyone ever really noticed.

But Cassandra saw the small things.

Like the little changes in Barbara.

Something had happened to her in the room with the knife and the Talon girl. Something had…broken inside. It was impossible to say what it might have been, exactly. (After all, Cassandra was hardly a mind reader.) But she'd seen the signs. Noticed the shifts in the way Barbara moved, the way she carried herself.

There was more stiffness, now. Like stone or wood, rigid and cold. Before, Barbara had gone about with movements that reminded Cassandra of a graceful deer; perhaps a little wobbly at times, but she'd carried herself with an elegance that Cassandra rarely saw outside of Nanda Parbat. The elegance of a trained fighter.

And her face…there was something dead about it. Cassandra watched her features as she spoke, as she smiled, as she danced. In a way—the sort of way that sent shivers trailing up the back of her neck—Barbara's face looked much like it had right after Deathstroke's bullet had smashed through her skull.

And then, of course, there was the one they called 'Gray Son'.

Cassandra recognized him, of course. Barbara's partner. Her…'better half', she'd called him. The man that Barbara had risked her life to save, dueling Lady Shiva for the honor of using the Lazarus Pit.

But Cassandra knew, the moment she'd laid eyes on him for herself, that she liked this Gray Son. She liked him a lot.

Because, whether he meant to be or not, Gray Son was so very, so purely, so unequivocally, open.

Most people, Cassandra was able to decipher with half a glance. It took the barest second for her to peel away the layers of lies and facades propped up by those who thought they had everything to hide. And most people, whether they had things to hide or not, had all the same walls up.

But not Gray Son.

Looking at him was like looking at a sunrise. Bright, brilliant, and unabashedly unashamed of it. Cassandra didn't even need to blink before she read his micro-expressions and movement. Didn't even need to think twice about it.

Admittedly, he did well in hiding his emotions from the rest of the others at this grim celebration. Cassandra was sure that most people would have been fooled into believing his nonchalance.

But not her.

To her, his anger and disgust bubbled right on the surface. She could tell he hated these people just as much as—no, probably more than—she did.

These pompous, arrogant showmen. Playing at power the way small children with wooden swords were apt to do. They went about with savage grins and squinted eyes, pretending that having worldly wealth was the same thing as having authority.

It was sad. It was pathetic. It was utterly juvenile.

Cassandra had seen real power, and none of these vile rodents would know it even if it hit them in the face with a battle axe.

Worst of all, they tossed her around and spoke down to her as if they owned her. As though their money and titles entitled them to Cassandra's service. She did not understand all of the nuances of their cruelty, but that much was clear.

The fools. She belonged to the house of Al Ghul.

And soon, if the promises from that man Lincoln March carried any truth—

—Cassandra Cain would belong to no one.

She glanced mournfully between her friend, Barbara, and Gray Son, the better-half-partner. If all went well tonight, perhaps she could still save them. Perhaps she could prevent the horrible fate the wealthy fools had in store for them.

But only time would tell.

And so, with Lincoln March's words ringing in her ears, and the sparks of hope fluttering in her chest, Cassandra turned on one heel, and slipped between the cracks of the crowd. She did what she did best—

—and disappeared.

Perhaps, it would be like Barbara had told her all those months ago?

Perhaps these new people—this new family—would help to keep her…better.

#######

#######

When the fog started to clear out of his head, Dick opened his eyes.

He blinked hard, trying to clear the swirling black dots out of his vision. Then winced, at the piercing pain that stabbed at his temples. Had he been knocked out again? He must have—his skull felt like it'd been cracked into a million throbbing pieces.

Being knocked out twice in one day couldn't be good for his head.

But he supposed it didn't matter anymore.

Reorienting himself was a pain in the #$$—not to mention the noggin—that Dick didn't want to endure again, but memories had started to filter in slowly, and he was left with little choice. He was aware of a cold surface beneath his kneecaps. The slow, burning stretch of his arms pulled up over his head. There were bands of metal around his wrists, and, if the experimental shimmy of his arms were any indication, they were attached to chains. He noticed similar bands fastened around his ankles.

Dick's eyesight cleared a little more, and he gave his surroundings a quick once-over.

Gone was the lavish garden party, with its string lights and flower bushes. He was in a cold, dimly lit cell with concrete walls, a flickering strip of fluorescent lights screwed into the ceiling, and—

Dick's breathing hitched when he saw the figure chained up beside him.

She knelt in the same position he did, with her chained hands stretched up towards the ceiling. Her head hung down, long hair like a red curtain over her face.

Barbara.

They'd stripped away the blue dress and the jewelry, leaving her in what seemed to be…workout attire? Skintight black shorts, matching sports bra. It left all of her scars on full display, and Dick's stomach lurched at the sight. And one look down made the twist in his gut tighten. They'd taken his clothes, too, leaving him in a matching pair of shorts.

Somewhere behind them, a door creaked open and slammed shut. It made Dick jump a little, in spite of himself. The sound was followed by the slow punctuation of tapping footsteps, and Dick saw the black boots just before he felt one of them land in his side.

"Nnggh!"

"Rise and shine, Boy Wonder," a low voice taunted above him. "It's your last day on Earth."

Dick raised his chin, teeth bared. "You mean I have to spend my last few hours staring at your ugly #$$ face? Might as well just kill me now."

"Cute." Slade stared down at him with clear disdain. He'd lost the suit and tie, choosing instead to go with his typical work uniform, sans mask. It left his eyepatch and goatee on full display, and he rubbed a hand over the latter thoughtfully. "You know, I'm beginning to see why the two of you made such a good couple."

At his right, Barbara let out a soft puff of a groan. Dick's eyes flicked briefly to her as he snapped, "Can I ask to what it is we owe the pleasure? Or are you just gonna stand there and gloat the time away?"

Slade hummed. "I knew I always liked you, kid. See, when you get mouthy, it's kind of cute. Like a baby rottweiler trying to show off its teeth. Babs, here, on the other hand…" He stepped over to Barbara's hunched form, and dug his fingers into her hair. With a cruel jerk of his fist, he tugged her head up sharply. "Well, let's just say that mouth of hers has other uses…"

"Go %* yourself." Dick pulled at his chains.

"Mm, that was a favorite of hers, too," Slade mused fondly, tipping her face up to the light. "'Course, enough rounds with the cattle prod, and she stopped saying it…but I'm being rude. Didn't even answer your question, kiddo."

Dick heard the door swing open again. The squeak of wheels rolling over concrete brushed over his ears, and he strained his neck trying to catch a glimpse of the source.

Which, it turned out, was pointless. The wheeled cart came to a rest right beside Deathstroke, pushed in by some lackey in a blank white Owl's mask. The random Courtier was quick to leave the room, though, just as Slade dipped a hand into the tray set out on top. The sound of metal clinking softly against metal made goosebumps shiver over Dick's skin.

And Slade noticed. With a smirk, he craned Barbara's head back even further, and muttered, "You know what to do, doll face. Open up that pretty mouth for me."

Dick's heart flew up into his throat, and his chains rattled more violently. "Slade I swear to &*#, I'll—"

"Relax, Boy Wonder! It's just procedure. Barbie knows the drill, don't you sweetheart?"

That did nothing to soothe Dick's jangling nerves, as Barbara's mouth fell open and her eyes fell shut.

The pieces clicked together for him, though, when Slade picked up a shiny metal instrument off the tray. He twisted it in the light, and Dick could see that it was almost like a pair of pliers. Smaller, sharper. The kind of tool that dentists used to—

"Don't," he gasped. "Slade, don't. You've got us both, what's the point?"

The mercenary ignored him, and tapped the forceps lightly against Barbara's bottom lip.

Dick's arms strained. "Do it to me. Do it to me! Slade, don't you touch her! Please! Please don't—"

But Slade shoved the pliers through Barbara's parted lips, fingers squeezing her jaw as he held it open. Dick cringed sharply at the scrape of metal on bone. Felt panic prick at his nerves as he heard the sound snick through the air.

Then Slade's wrist twisted sharply, and Dick's vision went white.

"Eeeyyaahah!"

The pain was blinding. Debilitating. Focused at the back of his mouth, and Dick screamed and screamed, hunching over, mouth hung open. He could almost feel the blood filling his mouth, dripping off his lips. It lasted maybe a few minutes, though each second felt like a month of pain, but when it began to fade, settling into a dull throbbing ache, Dick's sight cleared a little.

There was no blood on the floor below, just a small pool of saliva. Dick blinked hard at it, unbelieving. Then he swiped his tongue to probe at his molar.

Still there. Of course it was.

But when Slade drew the pliers out of Barbara's mouth, there was a bloody pink tooth clamped between its forceps. A drop of blood dripped off the roots, and Slade let it fall into the metal tray with a sharp plink.

"Not so bad, right, love?" He patted Barbara's cheek. "Now, remember what we do?"

Barbara tipped her head to the side, and spat out a gob of red onto the concrete floor. Her head rolled back up, and she reopened her mouth invitingly.

Dick looked on, horrified.

"Of course, your boyfriend's kind of a wimp." Slade clicked his tongue and turned to the cart, sifting through a few of the instruments. "Just one little tooth extraction's got him screaming bloody murder. What's he gonna do when the real fun starts, mm?"

Dick glanced back at his partner. There was a small furrow to her brow. A little strain in her jaw. But besides that, there was no outward sign that she'd felt a thing. Was she sedated? Had they given her some kind of anesthesia?

Or had they been hurting her bad enough that ripping out a tooth was like getting a papercut?

That thought made Dick's stomach roil in sympathy, and he looked away.

Just in time for Slade to turn back around, a pair of tweezers in one hand.

"They mentioned the whole 'empathy bond' thing to me when they brought you in, but I didn't quite believe it 'til now." The man sounded positively delighted, and stepped over to Barbara again, giving her an experimental jab with the tip of the tweezers. "Anything?"

Dick didn't feel so much as a prick. Instead he scowled up at the mercenary, wishing him death with his eyes.

"Hmm. Let's try this…"

Deathstroke raked the sharp edge down Barbara's face, splitting the skin. That left a stinging trail down Dick's own cheek, and he winced hard, in spite of himself.

"Ah. Okay." Slade straightened, and reached for something on the tray, picking it up with the tweezers. "Very fascinating. So, does this mean that these past several weeks while we've been working on her, you felt all of it…?"

Dick didn't have to answer, because Deathstroke was already laughing.

"Hot &*#%! If I'd only known…ah, but what's past is past, I suppose. Still…" He mused tipping Barbara's chin up a little higher. "If we only had more time, Grayson, I would've loved to test your thresholds."

He could see the object clamped between the tongs. Small, smooth, and made of pure bronze. A false tooth, with the Court's emblem stamped on the side.

"You had to've been keeping a pretty tight lid on all that pain, hmm? Wouldn't want the little sibs to worry. Not sure if that makes you tougher than Barbie—she was just screaming her little head off, weren't you, sweetie?—or if you somehow feel it a little bit less?" Slade was rambling to himself, now. Peering into Barbara's mouth with a critical eye. "Hm, hm, hmm. If only they'd give me a little longer. Few days, maybe. I could just get my tools, and—"

Dick felt another zing in his mouth, and a full-body shudder shook his entire frame.

Slade tapped the newly-implanted tooth with the tip of the tongs, and drew his hand back, going for something else on the tray. "Ah, what could have been. I guess I'll just have to settle for the satisfaction."

He returned with a small vial, identical to the one he'd boxed up for Dick just yesterday. Holding it up to the light, he grinned in the soft green glow that lit up his face.

"After all, it's not every day," he said with supreme pleasure, "that you get to break a Bat."

He tipped the vial into Barbara's mouth. The luminous liquid rushed out, dribbling a little off her lips.

Dick felt a cold ache in his jaw. The sensation started out small—like he'd bitten into a popsicle. Then slowly, it grew more intense. Bone-chilling and expansive. He bent beneath the feeling of it, mouth falling open. A groan cracked out of his throat, and he squeezed both eyes shut.

But when it was gone, it was gone completely. And at his side, Barbara let out a soft breath through her nose, and flexed her jaw experimentally.

"There," Slade simpered, running his fingers gently through her hair. "Good as new."

"Now," he said, turning to Dick. "About that last request of yours…"

#######

#######

"I'm going to kill him."

"No, you're not."

Artemis held the bag of frozen brussels sprouts she'd gotten from Alfred to the back of Wally's neck. There was a small cut there, no longer than an inch or so. Nearest they could tell (at least based on the swelling) it had been made with a poisoned knife—the kind of thing Dick would never even have, let alone use. But that didn't stop Wally from cursing his best friend's name under his breath as Artemis did her best to clean and nurse the wound.

The rest of the Family and the other OG Team members, as well as a few scattered Birds of Prey, gathered in the library once again. They stood in a protective ring around the speedster, still in shock.

"So Dick just…left?" Tim asked in a small voice.

"I'm going to kill him," Wally repeated in a low growl.

"No," Artemis insisted. She gave the bag another firm press, squeezing a few four-letter words out of her husband.

From his place on the couch, Jason rumbled out a snarl. Alfred had been generous in handing out the bags of frozen vegetables, since apparently, several people had been knocked unconscious on Dick's way out of the house.

"Get in line, West," Jason muttered. "You can have whatever's left after I take my Glock and shove it up his—"

"Lovely, thanks, Jay." Roquelle waved her hands, frowning. "I get that everyone's upset. #$%%, I know I am. But—" Her voice rose and octave as multiple mouths opened to toss in their two cents. "—we still don't know why Dick took off. Shouldn't we be focusing on that?"

"Oh, we already know why he left," Conner grumbled, arms crossed tight over his chest. "He's doing what he always does, which is throwing himself at the problem cause he thinks he's too &*%# invincible to die!"

"Says the semi-invincible half-Kryptonian," Dina sang under her breath. She was busy pacing back and forth, fingers trailing over book spines. She was antsy. Eager to get out and find their friends. And she wasn't the only one.

"Typical Bat Brat," Will snarled from his post at the window.

Jason shot to his feet. "Now wait justa second—"

Will's eyes narrowed. "Got a problem, zombie boy?"

"Yeah, carbon-copy, as a matter of fact, I do!" Jason's teeth were bared. Between the murderous look in his eye and the purpling bruise on his forehead, he looked downright monstrous. He jabbed a finger in the ginger's direction. "First off? Roy's twice the man you'll ever be—"

Will whirled. He moved to take a step towards Jason, but Kaldur stopped him with a hand to the chest and a piercing glower.

"And second? Nobody talks $#!^ about my family but me! You got that, #$$hole? And that goes for you too, Supertool!"

Stephanie, curled up on the couch, reached up to lay a quiet hand on her boyfriend's arm. Jason startled a little at the touch, looking down. But he softened slightly. Just enough to sit back down, sending Will the kind of death glare that dripped poison.

Satisfied, Steph cleared her throat, drawing every eye in the room. Everyone looked on, shocked stiff and gaping, as she opened her mouth and said,

"Look at you guys, throwin' around playground insults like a bunch of real adults." The bite in her tone was bitter, and her voice was clear as a bell. "I thought you were supposed to be the older, wiser, mature—"

"How—?" Dina gasped.

"I wasn't finished, Di," Steph said sweetly. She stood, crossing her arms tight over her chest and shooting them all a glower that would have made Barbara cry tears of pride. "You're all older, wiser, mature big shots, aren't you? Nod if you agree."

A few of the Team members humored her. The rest only frowned.

"So only some of you agree that you're supposed to show a little &*##*#% maturity? You're all Dick's friends! You know, the people who're supposed to have his back? Even if he does decide to skip out without saying 'bye'! And believe me—I'm just as pissed off as the rest of you—" Stephanie's expression soured, brow furrowing with a heavy scowl. "But come on! Can't you people at least act your age?"

"She's right," Tim said. He clutched Barbara's laptop tight to his chest, thumbing the metallic edge ruefully. "We don't know exactly why Dick left, but he left a sample of Lazarus Water as a parting gift, which means he cut a deal."

"Lazarus Water?" Wally demanded.

"Yeah. The reason you're all hearing the dulcet tones of my voice, carrot-top," Stephanie growled.

They'd found it on top of Jason's unconscious form that morning, and it hadn't taken them long to put two and two together. They'd tipped the contents of the box down Steph's throat, and within minutes, any sign of the corrosive poison had leeched away.

It was a miracle. But the Bats knew from painful experience that miracles always came with a price.

"Whatever the case, Dick's MIA, and we can either waste time here talking $#!^," Tim snapped, tapping the top of the laptop meaningfully, "or we can figure out our next move."

"Don't get me wrong, Tim, I'm all over that. But I still can't understand." Zatanna heaved a frustrated groan. The proceedings had driven the magician up the wall—quite literally. Her feet tapped against the wooden shelves as she walked leisurely up the sides towards the ceiling. "This has to be about Barbara. Right, 'Mis?"

Artemis looked up from Wally, frowning, but nodded. "When Dick came back from his talk with Slade and whoever-it-was—"

"Probably the Grandmaster of the Court," Tim chimed in.

"Sure. But when he came back, he was…I don't know. Spooked. They must've told him they'd hurt Babs if he didn't turn himself over."

Zatanna wandered across the ceiling, gesturing widely. "But still! He has to know we care about her just as much as he does! She's our friend too, for &*#'s sake! Why wouldn't he tell us?"

"Does it matter?" Wally said darkly.

All eyes flipped over to the speedster. He pressed one hand to the bag against his neck, brushing Artemis's hand aside, and grimaced as he moved to stand. His gaze travelled over the room, pausing briefly at each hero.

"He's gone. That son of a bi—"

"Wally, stop."

Artemis's gaze was pure venom as she got to her feet, looking her husband square in the eye. Her tone was a different kind of scary, and it made the entire room fall silent. Everyone tensed in preparation for some kind of explosion. Even Wally's jaw went slack, his eyes flying wide.

But no explosion came.

Instead, tears welled up in the Tigress's eyes.

"Don't you dare," she whispered, voice thin and cracking. She swallowed. Hesitated. Then, "Do you have any idea what it's like to lose someone? To have them disappear without a trace?"

Wally's face went white. "Artemis—"

"To spend every single waking moment of every single day tearing the whole world apart to find them?" Her hands grasped the front of his shirt, balling into fists. "Because you know—you just know—that if you could just get to them, everything would be okay again? Do you know what the #$%% that's like?"

Wally brought his own hands up, and curled his fingers over her wrists. "Artemis, I didn't mean—"

"Because until you do, Wally—until all of you know what that feels like—I don't want to hear it. I'm not going to stand here and listen to all of you pretend like you know what was going through Dick's head. You don't." Artemis dropped her hands, and turned away. "But I do."

Wally reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder. "Spitfire—"

"If I'd known you were alive, Wally…? There's nothing that would've stopped me from going after you. Don't go blaming Dick for doing the same thing." Artemis laid her fingers over Wally's and looked up. "Tim, you said you had something to tell us, earlier. Something that would help us find them?"

Tim started. But nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. Right, um…right here."

He flipped open the laptop, and let the touchpad scan his finger again. He ignored the gaping, wide-eyed stares of his siblings that were burning holes in the back of his head.

And when Barbara's desktop filled the screen, the other Bats collectively lost their $#!^.

"Holy mother%*$#!^& $#!^balls," Jason gasped, leaning over the couch to ogle the screen.

Stephanie clapped a hand over her mouth and screamed.

"How did you bypass the defenses?" Damian demanded, a note of reverence in his voice. "You are, at best, passable at hacking, so how on Earth…?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Helena waved her hands, pushing off the shelf she'd been leaning against. "What's with the theatrics, kiddos? What is that?"

"It's Barbara's laptop," Tim said, a little sheepishly.

Which made everyone else collectively lose their $#!^.

"How the %*$# did you get that!?"

"Get it? Get it!? How the %*$# did he get IN!?"

"Do you have any idea—!"

"I touched that thing once, and she 'bout took my head off—"

"How the #$%% did you—!?"

"—thing is like the lost library of Alexandria! Don't—"

"Holy mother of—"

"—aaaauuggghhh!"

"Tim. Tim." Steph's voice was as insistent as the death grip she used on his shoulder slowly ground his bones together. "You know not what powers you hold in your hand. The wealth. All of Oracle's blackmail is on that computer. Every piece of dirt, every embarrassing video, every—"

"It's not a toy, guys," Tim snapped, glaring at them all over the edge of the screen. "Babs gave me a temporary login just in case anything were to happen to her—which it did. So nothing—not blackmail, not her Netflix password—"

"Holy $#!^," Jason breathed. "That's where she keeps it—?"

Damian advanced, fingers outstretched. "At long last, we can finish Avatar—"

Tim clapped a hand over his younger brother's face. "—is as important as finding out what the Owls are planning. And where they're keeping Dick and Barbara."

The other heroes sobered at that.

They were sheepish, but at least Tim had their attention. "So," he said, returning to the keyboard. "I already took a look at some of their files, but if we open up the folder again, we should find…aha."

Over a dozen faces crowded above Tim's head, craning and pushing and straining for a good view of the computer. Tim ignored the swearing and shoving, and instead focused on skimming through the data.

As he read, a slow, aching feeling began to churn in the pit of his stomach.

There was no location listed in the file he'd opened.

Only something called Operation Red Queen.

"What the heck's a 'Red Queen' supposed to be?" one of the Birds snapped over Tim's shoulder.

'Red Queen' was a phrase he vaguely recognized. Tim tapped thoughtfully at the keys, maximizing the document to full-screen.

"In the original versions of chess," he said slowly, "the two opposing sides were black and red, rather than the black and white we use today. And the queen is one of the most powerful pieces on a chess board…"

Stephanie hummed a bit skeptically. "Somehow, Timmy, I don't get the sense that the Owls are putting together a chess club."

"Although they do have Grandmasters in chess…" Jason mused.

Everyone paused, heads swiveling to the Red Hood.

Jason blinked, cowed by the sudden silence and attention. "Aw %* off," he growled. "I know stuff, too."

"He's right," Tim said, nodding slowly as he dragged his eyes back to the screen. "But another possibility could be Van Valen's famous hypothesis, the 'Red Queen Effect'…"

He tapped at the keys, scrolling down through the file, skimming as he went.

"Uh, Tim?" Conner tapped the back of the couch. "Let's just pretend that nobody else here knows who Van Valen is, or the…whatever else you just said."

Tim's cheeks heated.

"Right, uh, sorry," he muttered. "Van Valen was an evolutionary biologist. In his Red Queen Hypothesis, he proposed that species constantly need to adapt and evolve in order to survive, or even just to stay in the same place biologically, because if they don't…then they face total extinction."

"So kinda like Darwinism? Survival of the fittest?" Jason asked, then threw up a hand as all eyes landed on him for the second time. "I was a nerd in high school, guys, big %*$#!^& whoop. Why don't the rest of you pick up a book sometime, anyway? Darwin's, like, fifth grade."

Tim nodded, shrugging that one off, and continued. "It is similar, but not quite the same. For instance, Van Valen suggests that the best way to go about evolution is through—"

He cut off sharply, eyes flipping away from the screen. That heat in his cheeks turned into a full-on inferno, and he tipped the screen down slightly.

"What is it?" Artemis demanded, moving to snatch Tim's hand. "Tim?"

"Uh…" He swallowed. Hard. "Maybe we should just…um…"

Jason reached out, and flipped the screen back up so the rest of them could see what it was that had Tim so flustered. And it was all spelled out right there, in black and white—the Court's plans for Dick and Barbara. In…excruciating detail.

Essentially, the text explained the Talons' physiology. Their biology. How the Court's special 'serum', which they used to create their monsters, was beginning to expire—diluted over the centuries. Consequently, the Talons were beginning to die out.

They needed to recreate this…Talon Serum…in its original form. For that, they needed the original ingredients. And the one component they were missing was…Dick's blood.

But the Graysons—who, according to the file, were the original Talons—had all but gone extinct. There was only one live descendent remaining. So, Operation Red Queen was the Court's plan to reestablish the Grayson line through…

"Uh…sexual reproduction," Tim mumbled as everyone else read the words, his face scarlet red.

"$#!^…"

"Ugh!"

"Oh &*#, please tell me that's not—"

M'gann had gone even paler than usual. "Back at the circus…the Talons said that Raya hadn't 'gone through with her end of the deal'…is that…?"

"She was probably supposed to get pregnant with Dick's baby," Helena spat, disgusted. "It makes sense. They'd want one for the circus, and one for their little cult. Can't have all their eggs in one basket—pardon the phrase. So, they must want Babs to—"

Stephanie clapped a hand over Damian's eyes, screaming through pursed lips. Jason covered his ears.

"You imbeciles," Damian growled. "I already heard you!"

Barda, towering above everyone else, roared as she slammed a fist into the nearest shelf. Books flew off, clapping and smacking against the ground. "Those monsters want to breed them like animals, and steal the blood of their children," she growled. "They must be stopped!"

"But why? Why Dick?" Will looked like he was going to throw up, a hand pressing hard into his stomach. "And why the #$%% would they want baby's blood?"

Tim knew.

Horrifying as it all was, his eyes were glued to another paragraph. This one detailing every reason that Grayson blood was required for the Court's 'serum'. Not baby's blood—Dick's blood, the same blood as that of his progenitors. His ancestors—

—the first Talons.

The Grayson line had a genetic mutation. Dormant, but present in the makeup of their plasma. It was the prime ingredient in the 'Talon Serum'. And the Talon Serum was the catalyst—it was what made Talons…Talons.

Dick's descendants would carry the same genes.

And that genetic mutation? The one that made it possible to mutate humans into monsters?

Tim recognized the indicators. He knew exactly what it was—even if the Court had no idea.

#$%%, he'd helped design the tests used to screen for it!

He closed out of the document before the others got that far. Switched over to another file that held info on Talon armor or something of the sort. Swallowed the lump in his throat and felt his heart go haywire. He looked up at Alfred, and met the older man's eyes from across the room.

"Here, Jay," he mumbled tonelessly, as he tipped the laptop into his brother's eager hands. Jason accepted it with the air of a devoted acolyte, eyes wide as he glanced over the keys.

Tim stood, and walked over to the old butler.

"Master Timothy?" Alfred's voice was low and gentle. And, as always, oh so very knowing.

"How long have you known?" Tim asked dully, sounding like he was talking in his sleep.

The others were gasping over the information on Barbara's screen. Tim ignored them, focusing all of his confusion and bewilderment and shock at the older man in front of him.

"Alfred." Tim breathed in deeply, steeling himself against the answer as he asked, "How long have you known about Dick's metagene?"

Alfred said nothing.

But before Tim had the chance to repeat the question, to demand some semblance of a response, the others cried out sharply. Somebody screamed.

Tim whirled around, following everyone's gaze.

The window had been pushed open—

—and a girl dressed all in black tumbled through.

#######

#######

Dick hit the concrete with a gasp, then a groan.

His shoulders burned from the strain of holding his entire weight, and now that it was gone, he was left to feel all of the pain in its entirety. His cheek still burned from where Slade had healed Barbara's cut, and where his own was still bleeding. His muscles ached from holding a stress position for so long. When he sat up, his bones clicked painfully.

But all of that, Dick could ignore. All he could think about was this moment. This time. This hour.

Because he knew it was all they had left.

There was an itching sense of impatience that came along with that knowledge. It curled and uncurled Dick's fists for him as he waited for Slade to make his way over to Barbara. It made a vehement sort of tingle crawl underneath his skin as the mercenary reached up with the key to unlock her cuffs. He clenched an unclenched his jaw at the jangle of the chains. Tensed his shoulders at the turn of the lock.

And when she slumped to the ground, it took every single ounce of self-control within him to wait. To hold back, just until Slade left the room.

Deathstroke turned to him, a meaningful grin arching up his face. He shot Dick a wink, and moved towards the door, pulling the cart behind him.

"The rules are pretty straightforward," he said flippantly, going for the handle. "One hour, total privacy. Provided you stay in this room, of course. No plotting escapes, no making a run for it, no carving your manacles into shivs, etcetera, etcetera."

Dick's fingers twitched. His eyes never left his partner's prone body. Jaw clenched, he grunted, "Fine."

"You know," Slade added, with no shortage of satisfaction. "I'd be interested to see what a conversation would look like between the two of you, what with Barbie being catatonic, and all."

His laugh set Dick's teeth on edge.

"Ah, well. Time waits for no one, as the saying goes." Slade stepped out, but paused to send Dick a wide smirk, waggling his eyebrows. "You two kids have fun, now. But not too much fun."

The door shut with a click.

And Dick flew to Barbara's side.

"Babs," he gasped, hands on her shoulders. He shook her gently, heart constricting as her head rolled on her neck. She gave no response.

His fingers slid to her jawline. It wouldn't have surprised him by now if Slade had just decided to kill Barbara and leave him to hold her corpse for the allotted hour, but he prayed that wasn't the case. Not even Deathstroke would be that cruel.

…Right?

He gave her another shake, this one more desperate. She had a pulse, but it was faint. And Barbara's eyes stayed closed. Her face was settled into an angelic calm, lashes fanning over her cheeks, lips slightly parted. It almost looked like she was in the midst of a dream, and Dick hated to wake her if it meant a break from her suffering…

But there was just no time.

"Babs?" he choked. "Hey. Hey, Batgirl. Don't you dare leave me hanging like this, you hear me? Come on…"

He tipped her head back, and laid her down. If he had to start chest compressions, so be it.

Folding his hands over her breastbone, he heaved a steeling breath. "Need you to open those eyes for me." He pressed down. Began to pump. "C'mon…heh…this…hhn…this is totally…hh…payback for when I…went and…hng…died on you last time, isn't…hkk…isn't it?...heh…heh…"

He paused, moving to bend down and lock his lips over hers.

Barbara's hand shot up and wrapped around his throat before he ever got the chance.

"Hhkk!" Dick gasped.

Her eyes flashed open. They glowed pure poison green for a fraction of a second before the color faded, and when they landed on him, Dick watched her pupils shrink.

"You," she growled.

Dick was pinned by those gorgeous but deadly eyes. He froze in her grip, like a mouse captivated by a swaying cobra. All he could do was stop and stare right into the eyes of the woman he loved—

—and immediately know it wasn't her.

"Where is she?" Dick rasped.

Not-Barbara sat up straight, fingers still clamped around his windpipe. "You," she said again, leaning closer. "You're going to ruin everything."

"Where?"

"Do you have any idea how long it took to soothe her, you son of a &!^$#? How long it took to make her forget her pain? She's safe now! But seeing you here is…is…" With her free hand, the woman in Barbara's body grasped desperately at the roots of her hair.

For a moment, her eyes unfocused as she stared at a spot over Dick's shoulder. There was an intensity to her gaze that was almost frightening, and it made Dick shiver to see that look on Barbara's face. But when he heard her voice again, it was quieter, but still just as wrong. "It is taking everything I've got to keep her down. You're ruining it. You're ruining everything."

Dick's eyes tracked over her face frantically. And quickly, the pieces started to fall into place. Until understanding took over.

"You're… You've been keeping her safe," Dick said softly, doing his best to unwind the fingers from his neck. "Thank you. I can't thank you enough."

Her glower was heated. "What are you—?"

He cut her off, raising a hand to cup her face tenderly. "We both love her so much, don't we? And all the pain she's been in, everything she's had to face—you've been right there to help her, haven't you?"

"I—" She faltered. Then scowled. "That's right. Which is more than you can say."

"I know," Dick whispered, voice crackling. "I wasn't there, when she needed me most. Believe me, I'm never going to stop being sorry for that. But I'm here, now. And I really need to talk to her."

"She doesn't have anything to say to you."

His fingers tightened desperately around hers. "Please. I promise she'll be safe."

"She's not safe. Not out here. Not with you."

Panic was mounting in Dick's chest as his mental timer ticked down second by second. "All I ask is an hour. Less, even! Just until they take us away. I swear on my life that she'll be safe until then, and after that, you can protect her. You can…you can…please."

He sobbed brokenly on that last word.

The thought of sitting here with some other version of his partner while their time together—the last few minutes they had left—slowly slipped down the drain was more than he could bear. The fact that someone had hurt Barbara this badly was even worse.

Before Dick knew it, his eyes were welling up. His vision blurred and bleared until all he could see was a fuzzy outline of red hair and too-pale skin. Like this, he could at least pretend it was her in front of him…

A shattered gasp burst from his throat, and the dam broke.

Dick surged forwards and held her. He held her, and held her, and clung on for dear life, feeling sobs rack his chest like savage blows. Tears streamed down his cheeks, dripping onto bare skin like acid. And he gasped, heaving for air that never seemed to fill his lungs.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't bear it. After everything he'd just sacrificed…he just couldn't.

For a century, Dick held her like that. Letting all of the pain, all the fear, all the anguish of the last several weeks—the last several months, even—flow out of him in the form of whimpers and howls. Shaking shoulders and an aching heart.

He was barely aware of Barbara's hands until he felt them rest on his shoulders.

That gave him pause, and he held his breath. Waiting.

"One hour," she said softly, "…is acceptable."

Dick's breathing hitched hopefully.

"Maybe more. If she wants. She…cares about you," Not-Barbara said hollowly, as if she couldn't fathom the 'why' behind that statement. "Even thinking about you causes her tremendous pain, but she still does it. Remembering the sound of your voice cuts her to the center, but she still longs to hear it again. Seeing you here, now—it would break her heart, but somehow…I think she'd still want that."

Dick's heart was buzzing in his chest. As he waited, waited, waited, barely daring to breathe. For fear that the smallest sound would change her mind.

"So," she concluded. "I will let her out. One last time. As a…mercy."

Dick leaned back, holding her at arm's length as he searched her face. "You'll…? Oh &*#, thank you," he gasped. "Thank you."

Not-Barbara frowned with narrowed eyes. "Just don't make us regret it, Grayson."

There was a pause. A brief moment of stillness. Then, as if she'd been touched by lightning, her whole body went shock-stiff. Dick watched with tingling horror as her eyes rolled back into her head, the blank white flashing in the dim light. Barbara's mouth fell open in a silent scream. Then, her entire frame slackened.

She went limp in his arms, leaving Dick to cradle her close.

"Barbara?" he whispered, tears still streaming.

And a line appeared between her brows. A tight frown twisted at her lips.

"Mmhh," she groaned, lids twitching.

He watched her eyes flutter open slightly. There was no glow, but her irises were still the same startling green, stained from dose after dose of Lazarus water. Dick was mesmerized by them, staring into their depths. And he knew, when she looked up and met his gaze, that it was really her this time.

His own eyes had dried, but one last tear trailed down his chin as he reached up. Traced a thumb over her cheek and watched her study his face. Lucid. Aware. And, above all, disbelieving.

"There you are," he whispered, smiling in spite of the jab to his heart.

Barbara's eyes tracked over him, and slowly, hesitantly, she reached for him. Her hand cradled his jaw gently. And when she spoke, it was just a single word. Uttered in a shaky whisper. Completing the same exchange they'd traded on a rooftop nine years earlier, back where it had all started.

"N-naturally."

A dry sob of laughter huffed out of Dick's throat. The hand that had been slowly caressing Barbara's face came up to meet her hand, fingers lacing together. He twisted his face, placing a feather-light kiss into her palm.

"Dick," Barbara whispered his name like it was an epiphany. Her head shook slowly. Listlessly. In a breathy sob, she groaned, "No. &*#, please. Please. I can't do this again..."

Dick's sad little smile slipped. "…Babs?"

"You're not real," Barbara cried, pulling out of his grip. The slide of her fingers jolted him, and he moved to reach after her. "You're just a memory. Some sick illusion. I don't know, I don't know, just stop, I—"

She went silent as Dick pressed his lips to her forehead.

"Angel," he breathed, pressing his lips to her cold skin again and again. "I'm here. I'm right here."

Her breathing hitched with a shuddered gasp. He could see her wide eyes staring up at him. But he cupped her face in his hands, and placed another kiss at her temple. Her cheek. Her eyelids. Her nose.

"I…" Her voice shook with awestruck realization. "…Dick…?"

After all, memories couldn't touch you the way reality could.

Dick tipped his head, and brushed his lips over hers.

At first, he felt her stiffen, like she'd fight it or pull away. He would have let her. Would have held her close, or moved away—whatever she needed.

But instead, she melted. Went boneless in his embrace, draping her arms over his shoulders. She leaned into him, whimpering in relief.

"Dick." She sobbed the word into his mouth.

And between kisses he hushed her, pulled her close, and whispered, "It's me…I'm here…It's you…It's really you…"

"You came," she gasped.

"Of course, I did." He left a lingering kiss on her lips before pulling back. "I made you a promise, didn't I?"

Her eyes were wide, taking him in—like he was the sun, and she hadn't seen a ray of light in years. Dick could see her mouthing his name silently to herself, over and over. Trying to convince herself that he was really here. He almost found himself doing the same.

But then, a shadow seemed to come over her. Barbara's brow furrowed. Her lips pulled down. The hands that rested on his shoulders tightened, until Dick could feel each fingertip pressing into his flesh. And then, her eyes flashed poison green.

"You came," she said again, but this time, the note of hope and wonder in her tone was completely gone. Something darker had replaced it.

And so again, hesitantly, Dick whispered, "Of course."

She bit down on her lower lip. Her chest shuddered.

"Dick. You shouldn't be here." The tough voice she tried to use cracked like glass. "I thought I told you to move on."

He shook his head, moving to rest a hand on her cheek, pull her close, kiss her lips…something. Because time was running out, and he couldn't stand to be apart from her. Not even by an inch. "Babs, I could never—"

"No, stop. Stop." She cried, moving away, pulling herself across the floor, flinching slightly. "Don't do that. Don't say…don't."

Dick opened his mouth to reply, but paused as he watched Barbara struggle to her feet. She swayed, staggered. A small moan leaked out past her pursed lips as one hand shot out and slammed against the wall. She did her best to steady herself, but it wasn't enough, and she slid down to her knees with a gasp.

"You're hurt," Dick muttered, feeling his heart twinge painfully.

"No, I'm exhausted," Barbara snapped. She swung a fist at the wall. Dick flinched at the crack of bone on concrete as she heaved a wounded cry. "And I was ready to die, so that you didn't have to, Dick!"

His eyes went round as they fell to her ribs, defined in cruel ridges under her skin. They fell to the scars on her torso, her shoulders, her legs. The ligature marks that circled her wrists like brands. The shock of white in her hair. She'd suffered so much, so indescribably much, and now she was saying—?

"&*#, why are you even here? You could have lived," Barbara moaned, hand moving up to cover her face. "You could have had a life! You were supposed to go back to school, get a degree, do something that…that means something, Dick! I wanted you to move on, meet a nice girl who makes you…who makes you laugh 'til you can't breathe, and tells you everything instead of keeping it all in. Who makes you feel loved in all the ways you deserve. I wanted you both to have a life together. M-make some babies, buy a house, get the #$%% out of Gotham, because this city never deserved you, and...and…"

"And do you think that's what I wanted?" Dick slowly stood.

The sound of his voice cut through the air with a dry slice, and it made Barbara's hand drop, her eyes widen, her breath cut short. She stared up at him with tears brimming in her eyes as he walked over, stepping carefully.

He felt shaky, muscles shivering as if the idea of movement made his body hesitate. But he managed. And he didn't stop until he was kneeling right next to her.

"Because what you just described," he said softly, "is the worst thing I can imagine."

She worried at the skin on her arm with her fingernails. Eyes wide, gaze pleading, she hissed, "Dick, you threw yourself away."

"Yeah. For you." He reached out to grasp her hand, twining his fingers in between hers desperately, until he could feel her pulse tapping through her skin into his. "Barbara, living a life in the aftermath of losing you is no life at all. Moving on? I'm sorry, but that's impossible. All those things you said—going to school, having a family, making something of myself—none of it matters to me if I don't have you there with me, every step of the way. So, maybe I did give myself up. Maybe I did lose the rest of my life. But I get to spend the rest of that life with you, even if it is just a few more minutes. So, from where I'm standing, I didn't throw myself away. I won."

"You don't mean that," she said hollowly.

"I lived life without you for over a month," he shot back quietly, "and I couldn't take it. You should know that I spent every waking minute searching for you. Trying to bring you home. Going out of my mind. And when I was asleep, I dreamed of you. I dreamt you were there next to me, like always, with your head on my chest, wrapped in my arms, and…" Dick swallowed hard, keeping the emotion down.

But his brief breath of hesitation gave his partner an opening.

"Do you want to know how I spent the last month?" Barbara said flatly, "I spent the last month trying to escape this #$%%-hole, and failing every &*##^$% time!"

He flinched at the bite in her tone.

"And every time I failed, I thought. While I was staring at these walls for hours and hours. While I was gargling my own blood. While Slade, or James, or Strange, or Kuttler took my body to its very limit. Then past it. Then, started all over until I was a screaming, begging mess." Barbara bared her teeth. "I. Thought!"

She paused, angrily glancing up towards the ceiling, biting her lip as if she didn't want to let the next words out. Wanted to keep them close. Hidden. Dick waited patiently, letting a few of his fingers rest on her knee. And when she finally spoke, it was through thick emotion that made his heart burn.

"And one thought kept me going, Dick. I had one thought that I held onto, while I was bleeding out, fighting for my life, trying to get out only to have them drag me back by my hair…just one single phrase I repeated over…over…and over to keep myself sane! Do you want to know what it was?"

She took a deep, heavy, dragging breath. Steeling herself, before she spoke the words, pounding them out one by agonizing one.

"I'm just glad it's me."

A sob cracked out of her suddenly. She pressed a hand over her mouth to stifle the noise, squeezing her eyes shut against the sound of her mantra voiced out loud and in the open. Tears streamed over her fingers, and Barbara squeaked with every shuddered gasp.

Dick could feel his heart breaking.

"Because…" she gasped, letting her hand fall away. "Because if it was me, it meant Steph wasn't the one getting torn apart on that table! It meant Dami wasn't being forced to kill or maim anybody else! It meant Jay didn't have to die and come back, just to die again! Timmy wouldn't have to feel himself going slowly, slowly more insane with every passing moment, and—!"

She hiccupped, gasping through tears, and Dick surged forward.

In a second, he had her wrapped in his arms, pulled close to his chest. One hand cradled her head, resting it against his stuttering heart. His grip was fierce. Protective. He cradled her gently, and firmly, feeling his cracks widen as Barbara said in a small voice,

"And it meant I'd never have to live without you, if you had just stayed the #$%% away. Because I've already held your body in my arms once. I've already felt your heart stop once, Dick, and I swore to myself that I'd be &*#%$& if I let that happen again!" She heaved another sob, and it was laced with a deeper sort of pain. "So if it was me…If I was the one who died…then that meant you could…you could finally be happy."

"Barbara, no—"

"No, listen. Please, just listen," she cried. Barbara buried her face into his chest, and he could feel her tears, wet against his bare skin. His thumb brushed over her hair, and he laid his chin on the crown of her head. Holding her close, holding her safe. "This time, I'm going to be honest with you, Dick, so for the love of &*#, listen. These last few weeks, I've prayed I'd never have to see you again. I didn't want to have to face you."

"Babs—" Dick's voice broke.

"They read me your messages while they worked. To hurt me. To get a rise out of me. I don't know; it doesn't matter, and I didn't care. Because every time I heard what you wrote, at least I could think of you. Your eyes… The sound of your laugh… That knockout smile—the one that can take a bad day and turn it around just like that, and that…that helped me escape from the pain, just a little. Just…imagining you here with me…" Barbara sniffed. Whimpered. And then she said, "But then they told me what happened to you at the circus."

He froze. "Barbara—"

"Dick," she sobbed, and the heartbreak—the agony—in her voice physically hurt. "You were raped."

A violent shudder ripped through her entire body, so Dick held her even closer. "And, where the #$%% was I? Off sulking? All because when we fought, you gave it to me straight, and I couldn't accept that? It was wrong, and it was pathetic. But even worse, when I came back, and saw you with her, I thought…I thought, 'this is it, I pushed the one person I love more than anything else in this world so far away that he finally decided to leave, just like everybody else'. And then I blamed you. I hit you! &*#, Dick, I practically spat in your face and left you there, all alone, after you'd just been…just…" Barbara shuddered violently, even as Dick clutched her closer. "How could I ever look you in the eye again? When you needed me most, I open-palmed you across the face and left you! How could I ever forgive myself? How could you not hate me? I was so sure that you did, and I couldn't even blame you!"

He wanted to interject. He wanted to envelop her and tell her that he couldn't hate her if he tried. He was running out of time, anyway. But he also knew Barbara, and knew that if she didn't air this out into the open, it would eat her alive until her dying breath.

So, if it meant easing her pain in any way, Dick would hear her out.

"I kept everything to myself. I snapped at everyone. I pushed you all away. Especially you. You were my partner, and the one person I should've trusted absolutely, but I still pushed you away, because I thought I was strong enough to handle everything. I had to be. I have always had to be. So that nobody else would have to, but especially not you. I can take more pain—I can always take more pain—but I'd rather die a thousand times than see any of you get hurt." Barbara took another breath, shaking. She pulled out of his arms, just slightly. Enough to look up, meeting his eyes through her tears. "Dick. You have to know, I just wanted to spare you the pain. That's all I wanted. I knew that if the Court had me, did whatever they wanted to me, then at least they wouldn't do it to you. I…I loved you too much to let that happen. I loved you too much to drag you down with me."

He forced in a measured breath. And Barbara finished with one final, hopeless, defeated whisper.

"But…I guess in the end, we ended up there, anyway. You didn't win a &*#% thing."

Dick's brow furrowed as he looked down at her. He ran his fingers through her hair, carding softly through the dry strands. Settled a hand on the small of her back, one of her most vulnerable spots. He could feel her shiver at the touch, but she didn't move away.

And so, the time for listening had passed. It was his turn to speak.

"I need you to know, right now, before I say anything else," he said in a gentle whisper, "that I have never hated you."

Barbara opened her mouth to protest. "You—"

"And I never will." Dick's hand stilled in her hair, as he softly said, "That fight, back at Haly's? I wasn't in the right for that, either. I was angry. I wanted to help you, because I could see that you were hurting and there was nothing I could do. Seeing the woman I love in that kind of pain, and being powerless to stop it…that's…agonizing. And I was so frustrated, that I lashed out. Which wasn't fair."

"No, I wasn't fair, you—"

"Shh, hey," he breathed, looking her right in the eye. "I listened to your monologue, Barbara. I need you to listen to mine, now."

She nodded slightly, looking pained as she bit down on her lip, as if to hold back a thousand self-scathing words.

"You hurt me," Dick said slowly. "You did, and we need to acknowledge that. Seeing you pull away from me, close in on yourself. That hurt, Babs. I can't even describe to you how much that hurt."

Her eyes welled up again, and she nodded, closing her eyes. Welcoming whatever he had to say. He had a feeling she wanted him to hate her.

But Dick wasn't about to vindicate her worst thoughts.

"It really did," he whispered. "I know you had your own $#!^ going on, but I did, too. And even when I found out that Raya never even touched me—that she faked the whole thing—it didn't stop hurting. Everything's hurt for a long time, Babs. And let me tell you, you're not the only one who's been trying to tough their way through. Believe me."

Barbara's eyes were welling up. A rough gasp shook her shoulders.

"But the pain of losing you? Angel, that was the one thing I couldn't push down."

"Dick, you—"

He lowered his hand, cupping her face tenderly. "I think we've both hurt each other, these last couple of months, Babs. But remember, we lost our father, and suddenly we had to think about what that meant. What came next. We had a city to look after, kids to protect, and a whole &*#% legacy to carry. All while mourning the man who raised us. I know I buckled under that, so how could I ever blame you for doing the same thing?"

Barbara darkened, glancing away. "There's something you should—"

"Please." His thumb brushed over her lips, quieting her gently. "You need to know that. I could see the pressure you were under—"

"You were under more," Barbara protested.

"—and I could see what losing Bruce did to you. He was more your father than he ever was mine, you know. At least I knew my parents, but he was all you ever really had, wasn't he?" Dick swallowed hard, but continued. "Everything else, too. Seeing Joker again, getting your legs back. Losing me, fighting Shiva, and everything else. You've been through #$%%, Barbara Delphi, so of course something had to give." He smiled a little, lightening his tone. "I'm honestly surprised you didn't crack sooner."

Barbara's eyes went round. Her mouth fell open. Then, she let out an indignant huff. "Are you seriously wisecracking? Now?"

"Yeah, yeah. Maybe my timing isn't the best." He chuckled darkly. "But I'm being serious. A long, long time ago, I thought you told me you were going to give up the self-sacrificing bull$#!^."

"I—"

He reached up to stroke her face carefully. "You've carried so much for the family, Babs. So please, just tell me…why couldn't you let us carry you?"

Those impossibly wide eyes filled with tears. Dick watched her jaw shake with the effort of holding in the emotion.

There. He'd found something there. Finally chipped through that wall she'd thrown up to the other side, and he could catch a glimmer of something wounded through the hole. It made his heart ache even sharper. But when he heard the crack of her voice, it hurt him even more.

"Because that's not…" She shook her head side to side, face pinching. "that's…I was supposed to be stronger…"

"Why?"

She sobbed once, disbelieving. Incredulous. "Why?"

His finger slid beneath her chin. "Yes. Why you? Why did you feel like you had to take it? That you had to shoulder everything?"

"I…" Barbara swallowed. Shook her head again, and looked away from him. He could tell from the way she ground her bottom lip between her teeth that this was hurting her, and a part of him wanted to stop. A part of him regretted even asking, and Dick just wanted to reach out and hold her, keep her safe and secure in his arms again. Let her melt into him, and enjoy peaceful silence. As their hearts beat as one, counting down the last few minutes of their lives.

"I…I don't know," Barbara whispered, sounding lost. Then her face twisted, anger flashing bright in her eyes. "What the #$%% do you want from me, anyway? It's not like it matters, now!"

Dick huffed. "Well, darling, I'm not sure what you've been doing for the past twenty-six minutes and twelve seconds, but I've been baring my soul to you. A little reciprocity wouldn't hurt."

He didn't mean it, but there was a bite to his tone, and Barbara visibly tensed, eyes wide and wounded.

So he backpedaled. "That's…not the point. You already— What do you want from me?" he asked, trying for a lighter ring in his voice. Jokingly, he asked, "Fine. Topic change. Any deathbed confessions we should get off our chests?"

Barbara swallowed hard.

"Hey," Dick said, softly, wincing sharply. Maybe 'death jokes' were in bad taste at the moment. He reached out and took her hand, startling a little at the cold feel of her fingers against his skin. "Forget I said anything. Just…heh. Let me take my foot out of my mouth and we can—"

"I'm sorry." Her eyes were wide. She swallowed again. Her voice was tiny as she said, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…I—"

Oh, man. Dick felt his chest go tight. "No, Angel, I'm sorry. What are you…?"

He trailed off, and at first, she didn't reply. Just pulled back, turned her body carefully, and leaned up against the wall, one knee bent, the other leg extended. She clenched her jaw tight and stared straight ahead. Dick could see a single tear trailing down her cheek, and he reached up to swipe it away. The second he touched her, Barbara flinched, and he pulled back.

"Sorry," she huffed again. Then took a deep, shuddering breath, as if she were steeling herself. "Just…you know something? I broke every single promise we made that night." Her breathing shuddered painfully as her eyes fell shut. "Do you remember?

How could he ever forget? Their first date, when they'd stolen away from Bruce for the first time. The night from his dream. Their first real kiss…

"Yeah," he breathed, smiling a little at the memory, in spite of himself. He moved slowly, mirroring her position against the wall, and tipped his head back, letting it rest against the cold stone. "First time I realized what a phenomenal kisser you are…"

She smacked him lightly with a scoff. "Dick, what was that you were saying about baring souls?"

"I was saying we've been there, done that," Dick said, shooting her a careful glance. "And sure, you did break those promises. You pulled a ton of self-sacrificing bull$#!^, went AWOL on me, and then left. Trust me, we have established that."

Barbara's brow furrowed. "So, then—"

"So, nothing." He shrugged. "I forgive you."

That seemed to throw her for a loop, as her eyes cracked back open. "Just like that."

"Just like that," Dick replied easily. He dropped his hand to rest on the floor beside hers. Intertwining their pinky fingers, he said, "I seem to recall making you a promise, too—that I'd never leave you, no matter what. The way I see it, we both screwed up on our agreement, so the only thing we can do now is to keep moving forward, keep trying to be better for each other."

Her frown turned into something pained. "For the next hour, at least."

"Actually…" He swallowed. "Less than that, now."

"Oh," she breathed, shakily. For a moment, she paused, head tilting just slightly as if she were listening to something in the distance. Then, almost muttering to herself, "Yeah, she's…she says it's about thirty minutes."

"Right. This other half of yours…" Dick ignored the twinge he felt, thinking about the other personality living in Barbara's body. "She got a name?"

"No. Yes? I'm not really sure." Barbara blinked rapidly. "Wait, how did you—?"

Dick clicked his tongue and said, "Well, for starters, we had words, and I won't lie—she's kind of rude. Personally, I'm not a fan. She seems to think you're some sort of shrinking violet who can't take care of herself, when I know for a fact—"

"Wait," Barbara interjected, throwing up a hand. "Wait, stop. You…talked to her?"

"Yes? And?"

"And?" she spluttered, eyes wide, and just as desperate as her tone. "What did she say? What did she tell—"

But she cut herself off, waiting for Dick's answer.

"Nothing much. Just ranted for a little while about keeping you safe. Especially from me," he muttered, remembering with a hollow feeling in his chest the way it had felt to hold…someone else in his arms. But he pushed those thoughts away, and pasted on a sneer, rolling his eyes dramatically. "&*#, it felt like I was getting the Shovel Talk from your ultra-conservative maiden aunt or something—" Dick imitated a shrill, shrewish voice. "'No touching, young man! Always make sure you can fit a Bible between your persons at all times! Don't hop into bed until you're wed!'"

He almost choked on that last bit, feeling his face heat at the thoughts that last word led him to. Things like 'rings' and 'bells' and the word 'together' on a never-ending loop. And when he saw Barbara staring openly at him, Dick let his mouth fall open to offer up some semblance of an explanation, some attempt to play things off, change the subject, crack a joke—

And then to his surprise, her lips started to twitch.

She snorted.

And then, clapping a hand over her mouth, Barbara started laughing.

Dick watched with two parts confusion and two parts absolute delight as his partner doubled over, arms wrapping over her stomach. Her hair fell into her face as her shoulders shook, and the flighty chirps of her laugh filled his soul like the breath of fresh air he hadn't even known he needed.

"Are you telling me,"" Barbara gasped, "that my alter-ego's a…a %*$#!^& Karen?"

At that, a laugh bubbled out of Dick, too. Bright and surprised in equal measure.

And for a moment all they could do was laugh. Dissolving into uncontrollable giggling as they tipped their heads back to rest against the wall. Their chests heaved for air, and their gasping breaths only egged each other on. Until neither one of them could remember what had been so funny in the first place.

Not that it mattered. Theirs was the laughter of the condemned. Dick and Barbara laughed in the only way two people on death row could—with high pitched huffs and reckless abandon.

It was only after an eternity that they finally sighed and managed to breathe again, turning their faces to each other, all small smiles and fond grins.

Dick stared into the depths of those green, green eyes, and felt like something inside of him had been brought back to life. And then, when he heard Barbara's voice again, he could feel his heart beat just a little faster.

"Did this maiden aunt of mine have anything elseto say?"

"Well," Dick added coyly. "She did say I was pretty…"

Barbara huffed, giving his shoulder a gentle shove. "You are pretty, Dick."

Something warm fluttered around in his heart, and Dick couldn't help the shy smile that spread up his face. "Oh, really? Well, since we're on the subject of deathbed confessions—"

"Are we?"

"—I seem to recall the words 'knockout smile'…care to expound on that?"

He noted the pink tint to her face with absolute glee.

"I, um." She cleared her throat roughly, barely hiding a smile as she tipped her face away. "Yeah, I…guess I might've mentioned something along those lines."

"So," Dick prompted, leaning over a little. "I've got a 'knockout smile', huh?"

"Look at you, fishing for compliments." Barbara smirked. But it softened into something warm and fond as she turned her head to look him right in the eye. And as soon as he met her gaze, Dick felt his heart trip over a couple beats. He felt his mouth go dry.

"But yes, you do," Barbara said, gently. Her fingers slipped into his, and she gave his hand a small squeeze. "And it's beautiful. I think it's one of the most beautiful things about you."

And what the #$%% was he supposed to say to that?

His heart couldn't take this kind of treatment. He registered his mouth opening slightly, agape. And when his partner ran a finger underneath his chin, Dick felt his soul leave his body completely.

"My, my." Barbara raised an eyebrow, her smile widening. "Have I finally managed to render the Hunk Wonder speechless?"

A sound came out of his mouth, but it most certainly didn't qualify as anything near 'speech'. He was too busy getting lost in those Lazarus Pit-colored eyes, thinking all manner of corny, lovey-dovey thoughts that concerned dying and resurrection, and how she'd always be able to bring him back to himself, every single time.

And in a small, breathy whisper, Dick cried, "Can I hold you?"

"Please," she whimpered, the teasing edge in her voice slipping suddenly away.

And then, Barbara was in his arms, wrapped up in his careful embrace.

She fit in his grasp like she was meant to be there. Like the missing piece to Dick's puzzle—like the missing piece to his heart. He pulled her close, until she was seated in his lap, legs slung over his. Her arms slid around his ribs, holding him just as tightly. As she buried her face into his bare shoulder, he could feel the wetness of tears.

Dick rested his chin on the crown of her head, squeezing his eyes closed against tears of his own, and breathed out the words,

"Ești fata visurilor mele."

He could feel her stiffen a little in his arms. Tilt her head upward. And as he looked down into her eyes, he could see confusion written there, open and questioning.

Barbara sniffled, and swiped a hand over her eye. "Is that…?"

"Yeah," he said softly, managing half a smile. "The only language I could ever seem pass you up in, drăguță."

In training, Barbara had always excelled at foreign languages. Dick suspected she had to have some sort of eidetic memory, because she seemed to memorize every workbook or program that Bruce set in front of her. Spanish, Russian, Portuguese, Mandarin, German, Cantonese, Italian, …she mastered them all with ease. Dick and Jason (and later Tim) had been left floundering, sounding out basic phrases on repetitive loops until the pronunciation stuck. Dick's only advantage was that English wasn't his first language (and, quite frankly, if you could learn the world's most stupid language, the others were bound to come more easily).

And yet, despite their best efforts, Barbara had always been leaps and bounds ahead—

—except, of course, for when it came to either of Dick's mother tongues.

Her mouth fell open indignantly, and his smile grew into a smirk.

"Only because those curves and dots and accents on the letters always freaked me out!" she scoffed. Then softly offered, "Your French has always been better than mine."

That earned a laugh, and Dick waggled his eyebrows as he said, "Que dire de plus?"

"Well there you go, just rubbing it in," she grumbled, albeit with a smile. Barbara shifted in his arms, laying her head softly over his heart. Into his chest, she muttered, "It was beautiful, though. That first thing you said. I've heard you say it before, when…when we're in bed. What did it mean?"

He said it at other times, too. After a kiss or quick embrace. When he brought her coffee during late night hacking sessions. In passing. Mostly, he whispered it beneath his breath so quietly that he was never sure whether or not she could hear him.

Dick traced his fingers over her back, massaging the space between her shoulder blades. Humming thoughtfully, he said, "Well, I know Romanian's always been on your bucket list…"

"You did say you'd teach me, one day. Romani, too."

He smirked into her hair. "But it's so fun to say stuff behind your back. I could tell you anything, and you'd never be able to guess."

Dick felt her melting beneath his touch. "Please?"

"Mmm…fine. I guess we've got time for a quick lesson." His fingers stalled briefly as he said, with feeling, "Ești fata visurilor mele. It means… 'you are the girl of my dreams.'"

Barbara pulled away from him, her head tipping up to meet his eyes. He could see tears welling there, her mouth open in a silent gasp. Dick knew she recognized the words, because he said them in English almost as many times as he said them in Romanian.

She brought her hands up to his cheeks, cradling his face gently.

Then Barbara surged forward, and kissed him.

Dick went weak under her touch, feeling his heart buzz in his chest as he tipped his head. Let himself get lost in the smooth brush of her lips on his. &*#%, he'd missed it, the soft assurance of her presence. The way she could touch him and make everything else melt away. He loved the feel of her tongue, the drag of her teeth.

Between their mouths, he whispered,

"Inima mea îți aparține."

Barbara slid her tongue against his, then pulled back to whisper "What's that?" before moving back in.

Dick gasped, "My heart is yours."

And Barbara hummed, "More."

So he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her flush against his chest, speaking the words of his heart in the language of his familie, peppered in between kiss after kiss after kiss.

"Ești raza mea de soare, dragostea mea, you are my sunshine, my love."

"Te ador, însemni atat de mult pentru mine, I adore you, you mean so much to me."

"Esti o parte din mine, you are a part of me."

"Ai adus culoare în viața mea, îngerașul meu, you brought color to my life, my angel."

"Mă faci să doresc să fiu un om mai bun in fiecare zi, you make me want to be a better man every day."

"Şi o sută de inimi ar fi prea puține pentru a purta toată dragostea mea pentru tine, and a hundred hearts would be too few to carry all my love for you."

Barbara was crying. Tears streamed down her face as she pressed her lips to his once again, silencing him totally. Dick's mind was awhirl, his heart soaring at the sound of his language, and the words he'd been longing to tell her.

There was one more declaration on the tip of his tongue—one that he'd been so afraid of speaking out loud for months.

But their time was short. There was nothing more for either of them to lose, and Dick knew that if he didn't speak now—if he forever held his peace—that it would haunt him until his dying breath, and even through whatever came next.

So, pulling away, he looked into the eyes of the love of his life. And he said, softly, gently,

"Nu-mi pot imagina viața mea fără tine în ea. That means, 'I can't imagine my life without you in it."

Barbara's eyes widened by a fraction as Dick leaned in to press a feather-light kiss to her forehead. "Avându-te lângă mine mă face să fiu complet. Having you by my side is what completes me."

"Dick…" Barbara whispered, blinking away tears.

"Vreau să-mi petrec restul vieții cu tine, Barbara." His lips brushed over her cheekbone. "It means 'I want to spend the rest of my life with you'."

She drew in a shaky breath, eyes widening by just a fraction. They gleamed with slow realization, as what he was trying to say dawned on her at the speed of a sunrise. He watched her lips part. Watched a pair of twin tears slip down her cheeks.

And Dick's hands reached up to cover hers, carefully lowering them from his face. He twined his fingers with hers, clasping her hands, and pressed them over the place on his chest where his heart thundered against his ribs.

"I didn't bring it with me," he whispered, running a thumb over the ridges of her knuckles. "I was worried they'd take it. But I've been carrying it around for months, trying to find the right way to ask."

Barbara heaved a shaky gasp.

Dick huffed, tearing up a little as he lifted his gaze. "And I'm so sorry, Angel. I should have done this sooner. When there was more time. When there was still…still a chance…"

"Dick," Barbara rasped. Tears streamed down her face.

"But if this is really it, then…before we go, I need to ask you—"

Her lips crashed against his.

Dick could feel the anger there, burning hot as fire as she kissed him. The way her fingertips dug into his shoulders. The way he could feel the shape of her mouth, twisted into a snarl.

When she pulled back, he could see the edges of her rage, etched into the line between her brows, the downward pull of her lips. But her eyes shone with tears, the look dancing inside of them nothing short of broken.

When she finally spoke, her voice was a wounded cry.

"No."

And he felt something in his chest crack.

Felt like he'd taken a bad leap off a building and his line had snapped, leaving him lost in the freefall.

Felt like the ground had been snatched out from under him. Like he was floating, with that one word ringing in his ears like a death knell.

"…O-oh," Dick whispered, sounding out of breath. He swallowed hard, trying to force down the lump in his throat and the ache in his chest. "I…that's okay, I…I understand."

But his mind was whirling. Of course, she didn't want to. What was he thinking? The timing couldn't have been worse—they'd just spent nearly an hour airing out issues and past hurts. Had only just barely started to fit back together as normal. Was she still angry with him? Did she—

"Wait, no! &*#, Dick that's not what I meant." Barbara stayed close, her lips hovering just over his, tone softened like velvet, smooth and comforting. But as she continued, it hardened to steel. "I mean no, they can't—those sons of &!^$#*$ can't take this from us. Not after everything else." She brushed her lips briefly over his. "I won't let them."

Her hands slid back up to his face, and a look of fiery determination lit up in her eyes.

"I love you," Barbara said. "More than you even know. And I can read you like a book, Wingnut, so I know you're second guessing right now, but it's true—I love you."

Dick bit his lip, waiting. Barely daring to breathe. Hope flapped its wings against his ribs, right alongside his heart, as Barbara softly added, "You are my whole life, Richard Grayson, and I want to spend the rest of it with you, too."

A shuddered breath left his lungs, relieved and rejoicing.

"So," Barbara continued firmly, trailing her thumbs over his cheekbones. "You are going to ask me that question again. And I'm going to give you an answer. But not until we get the #$%% out of here—not until it's just the two of us. Okay?"

"Okay," he breathed, hypnotized by the dancing firelight in her eyes. Then, his mind cleared, as the meaning of her words sunk in.

"Okay," Dick agreed again, letting resolve creep into his tone, his gaze flashing around the room. "So, we're running?"

Her eyes gleamed, suddenly hopeful. "We're running."

He breathed a relieved laugh, and leaned forward to kiss her again. Dick didn't think he'd ever be able to pull back, but the thought of getting out, getting free, and actually having a future with the woman in his arms was enough to flood his veins with adrenaline. "How do you propose we get the #$%% out of Dodge, then? Are we being watched?"

Barbara shook her head. "No cameras in here. I already checked."

He smirked, running fingers loosely through her hair. "That's my girl."

"Hh," she snorted, rolling her eyes. Then, pulling away from his embrace, she got shakily to her feet. One arm extended to brace herself against the wall, she offered him the other. "Door's got a pretty standard double cylinder lock…"

"Are they even trying?" Dick groaned, accepting the hand up. He stood beside her, squinting over at the door.

"I don't have anything," Barbara muttered. "And I'm pretty sure they already searched you—"

Dick doubled over, hacking.

"Dick? Dick!"

He felt her hands on his shoulders, could hear the panic in her voice. But instead, he chose to focus on contracting the muscles in his throat. The noises that came out of his mouth were wretched, and Barbara's cries of alarm were a startling distraction, but Dick didn't stop until he felt the dull clench of metal between his teeth.

Slowly, he straightened. His smirk was a mile wide. And he couldn't help the smug grin or triumphant laugh as Barbara's jaw dropped.

Dick reached up and pulled the lockpick from his mouth. "What say we give these bird-brained blowhards a little #$%%?"

For a moment, all his partner could do was gape. But her recovery was quick. Barbara shook her head as a wild smirk spread up her face.

"Y'know," she said slyly, "Somebody once told me that swallowing your picks is—and I quote—'icky and so, so gross, not to mention a risk to our secret identities cause of all that DNA in your spit, plus it's just wrong!' And that's verbatim, by the way."

Dick stepped over to the door, and got to work. "Well, whoever it is you're referring to sounds very knowledgeable, Babs. And handsome. Not to mention a great Picklock."

"Oh, he's all of those things, for sure." He could almost hear her eye-roll. "And on top of all that, he's humble as can be."

Dick chuckled as the first tumbler clicked. Then the second. "He wasn't wrong though. It was super icky. You have no idea how many times I threw up trying to get it just right—and that's when I was able to get the picks back up at all…"

"Wait, you mean—?"

The last tumbler clicked, and Dick felt the lock turn beneath his hands. "Well," he mused, "You know what they say…all things must pass."

"Three letters for you, babe. T, M, and I."

"You asked." He pushed the door open, feeling his hopes surge, and Barbara tensed beside him. With a flourish, he waved his hand towards their exit. "Shall we blow this joint?"

She gave him a slight bow, barely able to keep the amusement out of her voice. "We shall."

But when Barbara straightened, she also dropped all sense of levity. Her expression hardened with resolve, and she glowered out at the stark white hallway. "Alright. We have roughly seven minutes and forty-six seconds before anybody comes for us."

"Right." Dick matched her focus, falling into the familiar feeling of unity he'd missed so badly.

"And I know these hallways like the back of my hand," Barbara muttered, and Dick could just see the gears turning in her mind as she ran herself through invisible mental mazes.

"So, I'll follow your lead. We go fast, we go quiet, we get out."

"On your mark." Barbara shot him a coy side-glance.

"Get set." Dick couldn't help the smirk that tightened at his mouth.

And the final word was flung to the side, inconsequential in the face of 'escape'. Both Bats took off running. Their bare feet beat soundlessly against the tile. With arms swinging, and shoulders loose, they fell into the same pattern of movement. As if this were just another rooftop. Just another patrol. Just another average run in Gotham city, with nothing between them and the future but an endless expanse of the night.

So Dick and Barbara did what they were made to do. They did the only thing they still could—

—they flew.

#######

#######

Nothing could shut a room of superheroes up quite as quickly as a random guest appearance.

Especially if that guest had a %*$#!^& katana strapped to her back.

Team members, Bats, and Birds of Prey alike all openly stared at the slight figure that had crawled through the library window. All dressed in black as she was—and Tim was at least 86 percent sure it was a she—the girl looked like a shadowy assassin ready to slit somebody's throat.

She seemed to reach this conclusion at the same time as everyone else.

Because in the same moment as weapons and fists were drawn, cocked, and raised, the girl reached up and pulled the hooded mask off her head.

The room re-froze when her face came into view, hair spilling out over her shoulders and down her back. She was pretty in a quiet sort of way, and Tim found himself mesmerized by her, jaw slackening, breath cut short. It wasn't attraction; more like the hypnosis brought on when a gazelle looked into the eyes of a she-leopard. Her eyes flitted searchingly around the room. She was taking everybody in one by one, and perhaps, Tim thought, getting ready to pounce.

He found himself tensing for a fight. Watched everyone else in the room follow suit. Saw Dina open her mouth, voicing their collective thought process at the same time as Stephanie and Damian both jerked upright and gasped,

"Cassandra!?"

"Who the %*$# are—huh?"

Black Canary paused, gaping at both of the younger Bats.

So when Stephanie got to her feet, no one moved. When she stepped over to the girl and raised her hands, no one flinched. All anyone could do was stare, visibly confused. Because nobody—not the Birds, not the other Bats, not the Team (and not even the members of the Team who were actual full-fledged members of the Justice League)—knew who this costumed girl was. But apparently Steph—and Damian, of all people—did.

"Whoa, whoa, Blondie!" Helena barked, hefting her crossbow. "Back it up. She could be a Talon for %*$#'s sake!"

"Yeah, look at her!"

"Is that a sword?"

"Uh, is somebody gonna grab the &*#% sword?"

"She looks League," Will said darkly, "And I don't mean 'Justice'."

"Wait, stop." There was a note of fear in Jason's voice that made the rest of them take notice as he slowly rose to his feet. "Steph, get the #$%% away from her."

Tim felt his throat go dry at his brother's tone. The room went still.

And Jason stalked forward, boots pounding against the floor. Everyone watched silently, poised for a fight, waiting for the Red Hood to reach out and strike.

But instead, he stopped, just a few steps away from the strange girl. He shouldered Stephanie aside, placing his body between her and the newcomer. And he said, his voice a low growl,

"I saw her with Vanaver."

"With…?" Stephanie's jaw dropped, as her head whipped towards the other girl. "But…no, wait. You and Babs…how would you know where to find us if she didn't send…?"

The look in the girl's—Cassandra's—wide brown eyes screamed 'help'. So Tim stepped forward. "Steph. Jason. Back off for a second, okay? Let her breathe."

Stephanie paused, then took a step back.

"You said she knows Barbara?" Tim continued, taking another step. He raised an eyebrow towards the girl and asked her, "Where did you come from? Can you tell us where to find—"

"You're all wasting your breath," Damian snapped, pushing past a few of the taller heroes to stand at Cassandra's side. The two of them took each other in slowly, eyeing critically from head to toe. Then, shyly, Damian waved.

A hesitant, relieved sort of smile spread up the girl's face. And she raised her hand in kind.

"What the #$%%'s going on?" Conner muttered, and the sound of his voice set off a flurry of hushed whispers and exclamations all around the room.

"She can't speak," Damian explained, turning back towards the group. "Therefore, your questions are quite pointless."

"So, she can't communicate," Dawn Granger said slowly.

Jason's eyes flashed dangerously. "Wait, howdo you know this girl, D?"

Tim watched Cassandra's eyes track the speakers, and spotted a glimmer of comprehension there. So, she could understand them, but if she couldn't speak…

"We were allies in Nanda Parbat," Damian explained curtly, then to Dawn, "And, no. Not really. But—"

Stephanie exploded, cutting him off "But! Babs did this thing with her where they could talk without actually talking! She used a little…Persian Sign Language, I think, but mostly they had this kind of mind-meld thing going on where she could just read Cass's body language!"

The room fell into stunned silence.

Someone cleared their throat.

And hesitantly, Zatanna asked, "Does…does anyone know how to read body language?"

No one answered. All eyes flipped to Damian, who only shrugged.

Then M'gann raised a slow hand and said, "Well, I don't know about body language, but…maybe we can try a little 'mind-melding'."

"That is a good idea," Kaldur rumbled, glancing cautiously over towards Cassandra. His eyes seemed to linger on her katana, and he wet his lips before he continued, "See if you can enter into her mind and glean Dick and Barbara's location from her thoughts. The sooner we mount a rescue, the better hope we have of finding both of them alive."

"My thoughts exactly," Miss Martian answered, stepping over to the newcomer. "Cassandra? My name is M'gann. Can you understand me?"

Cassandra's eyes narrowed, and flicked to Damian, who gave a curt nod. Tim watched her shoulders relax, and carefully, sticking her chin out a little, she nodded as well.

M'gann gave a relieved smile. "Good," she said, letting her eyes begin to glow a bright, glimmering green. "I'm just going to take a quick look inside your head. Please relax, and clear your mind..."

Cassandra's eyes went wider.

M'gann's breathing hitched. "M-more…um…more clear than…"

With a gasp, the Martian doubled over. Conner shouted her name, hurrying to her side, but M'gann shook him off. A deep line furrowed her brow as she glowered in concentration. "Her thoughts…her brain…it's all murky," she said shakily. "Like trying to look through a brick wall. I don't…I don't think I can read her."

A bead of perspiration traced down M'gann's forehead all the way to her chin. Gritting her teeth, she raised a hand to Cassandra's temple.

"But m-maybe I can…rearrange things? If I can't go to her, then maybe she can come to us—"

Something happened. Tim wasn't sure how exactly to describe it, but there was a definite shift. In the way both M'gann and Cassandra were standing. In the way their faces were both tight with concentration and determination. In Cassandra's sudden gasp.

The girl threw her head back with a ragged inhale, and stumbled.

Stephanie caught her quickly under the arms, helping to keep Cassandra upright as she whirled. Coughed. Retched.

Then, slowly, tipping her chin up to the room as a look of abject horror crossed her face, Cassandra gasped,

"What did you…do to me?"

#######

#######

The smaller girl had M'gann pinned up against the bookshelves in the time it took any of them to blink. She snarled, hand clasped around the Martian's throat. Eyes shifting to the sides, taking in the heroes that had jumped back to attention.

But still, no one moved.

M'gann was more than capable of throwing Cassandra off of her if she really wanted to, but she seemed far more interested in openly staring at the other girl.

Cassandra's free hand scrubbed desperately at her forehead. "What—no, this…not—what did you—my head—I cannot understand! What did you do!"

M'gann raised her hands slowly. "I, um…I rearranged the makeup of your inner mind. Specifically, the left hemisphere, which handles language and speech. It was…severely underdeveloped when I compared it with the other part that handles visual and spatial processing—"

"Do not understand," Cassandra growled, reaching for her sword. "Fix it. Put me back how I was."

"Cain!" Damian snapped, and the girl's head whipped to the side to stare at the preteen as he stepped carefully over. His hands were raised in a placating gesture, and he said softly, "I am sure this is a misunderstanding. Let Miss Martian down, and she will undo whatever she did."

"Akhi." Cassandra muttered, her expression turning mournful. "I cannot…cannot understand you."

"Yes she %*$#!^& can," Helena griped. "She's talking to him right now."

"That's not what she means," Damian explained, waving again for Cassandra to set Miss Martian down.

Slowly, she acquiesced, lowering M'gann until her boots tapped against the hardwood. As soon as her hand left the Martian's throat, Conner surged forward, pushing between Cassandra and M'gann, snarling protectively.

"Cannot," Cassandra whimpered, eyes glancing all over the room. Her gaze landed on each face in turn. Tim could see her glance over shoulders and arms, bodies and faces, and the light of recognition he'd seen before was gone. "I cannot…cannot…cannot. You are all…quiet. So still."

"Cassandra understands the language of movement," Damian snapped, turning an accusatory glare on M'gann. "It's how she expresses herself, how she communicates. And now you've taken that away!"

"Back off!" Conner growled at him.

But M'gann raised a hand, quieting them both.

Voice shaking, she said, "I'm…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…mess things up. But, Damian, this is the only way we can find out where to look for Dick and Barbara. If we—"

"No. Not the only way," Damian said darkly, "The quickest way. There's a difference."

"Difference doesn't matter right now, kid." Jason stepped up and put a hand on his little brother's shoulder. "I know it sucks, but we have to find them. And right now, speed's the only thing that counts."

"Barbara," Cassandra muttered, drawing all eyes back to her.

"That's right." Steph perked up hopefully. Her voice rose a little as she reached for Cassandra's hand. "Barbara. Did she send you? You were looking for her, and found the Owls, right? You're not really with them, with them, are you? Do you know where she is? Did she—"

The girl clapped a hand over Stephanie's mouth. "Please," she whispered, wincing violently. "One question…just one. Barbara did not send me. A…man did. Lincoln March."

"Oh, that's right, your Court buddy, Mr. March!" Jason crowed.

"The mayor?" Tim yelped.

Cassandra shrugged. "Name…Lincoln March. Gave me…instructions. Told me 'go to Wayne Manor for help'. Called it 'Operation Coup D'état'. I…I am supposed to lead you to the…the Owl people. People in the Court. Court of Owls."

Language seemed to taste funny on Cassandra's tongue. She savored each word like it was a flavor she'd never experienced before. She seemed to relish them as she turned them over in her mouth, just as much as she seemed repulsed by them.

"Well…great! Great!" Steph gasped. "Lead us, then! Show us where!"

"Uh, no!" Jason swiped a hand through the air. "Didn't you hear her? She wants to turn us over to them!"

"No."

All eyes fixed on the girl as she swallowed thickly, nodding. Slowy, she raised her hand.

"I will…help you. Not turn you over. But you must…follow. Follow fast," Cassandra said, "Because if…if you do not, Barbara and Gray Son are going to die."

#######

#######

Dick and Barbara fell into complete sync, down to their steps. Down to their thundering heartbeats. Down to their huffing breaths.

Their arms swung in tandem, feet pounded in time, as they sprinted down hallway after hallway. It all looked exactly the same to Dick—just empty corridors of marble and limestone. No discernable signs or markings, aside from deep gouges and scratches in the stone in some places. In the cracks, he might've even spotted blood. And yet, despite the identical walls stretching upwards and hedging them in, Barbara seemed right at home.

He let her lead them through the Maze. Followed her around blind corners, blindly trusting.

And he tried hard not to notice the way Barbara lagged, the way her soft gasps slowly began to sound more and more ragged.

It slowed them down, and the fact made his pulse quicken. Barbara had always been slightly faster than him, and when they ran together on patrols, she'd always slow her steps by just a hair. Just enough to match his stride. And now, listening to the way she heaved for air, Dick found himself doing the same thing.

But Barbara was getting slower, and slower, and slower.

Even she knew it—he could see the sweat beading on her forehead, the line between her brows. The realization dawned slowly on her face, and her shoulders sank.

Dick's teeth ground together when at last, just after turning another corner, Barbara's footsteps petered out, and she pulled to a stop. Panting for air, she deflated, and threw a hand out to the wall to keep herself upright.

There was a dizzy look in her eye, as though her head was spinning out of orbit. She swayed on her feet, back and forth, eyes lidded.

"Hey," Dick huffed, jogging to a stop a few feet ahead. "Just a little further—we're almost there. I can feel it."

Barbara swallowed hard, and wet her lips. Her chest stuttered with a staggered gasp. "No," she breathed, sounding wrecked. "We're…we're about a…m-mile from the surface."

Dick stepped over, hands coming up to rest on her shoulders. "There, see? Not so bad. We can do a mile in our sleep."

A bitter sort of chuckle puffed out of Barbara as she shook her head, reaching up to lay her fingers over one of his hands. "Maybe…heh, heh…maybe you can. But let's face it, Wingnut…I…I'm not exactly in top shape."

Dick heard a sound somewhere in the corridors behind them, and his head jerked up. Barbara's eyes had gone sharp, too, and she squeezed his hand once, before sliding both of hers to his chest. She gave him a rough shove.

If she'd been at full strength, maybe Dick would have stumbled back. But as it was, he staggered half a step, and shot his partner a grim frown.

"No," he said firmly.

"Dick." Barbara bit her lip. Shook her head. Heaved a heavy breath. "No use. There's no scenario where we both make it out of this hole alive. So, you can—"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence," Dick growled.

"You can move faster if you drop the dead weight. Take a right. Then a left, another left, then a right. There'll be a grate in the floor for draining the blood—lift it and crawl through the space. There's only room for one, and if you move now, I'll holdthem—" She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "—off long enough for you to get to the surface. Don't stop running. Do you understand? Don't look back, don't stop running, and don't you dare hesitate until you—ahkh!"

Throwing one arm behind her knees and the other behind her shoulders, Dick scooped Barbara up into his arms, and took off running. She was way lighter than he was used to, but sprinting with the added weight still posed a challenge. Barbara smacked the side of his head in protest, shouting and gasping as he ran them down one hallway, then another. But when he readjusted, she threw her arms around his neck, burying her face into his neck.

"I thought I said," Dick panted, dipping his chin quickly to plant a kiss on the crown of her head, "no more self-sacrificing bull$#!^."

"Idiot," she sobbed in reply. "You idiot. We're never gonna make it."

He turned them down another corner. "'Course we will. I've still gotta give you that ring, don't I?"

Now, there was an idea…

Barbara was shaking in his arms, and he jostled her a little to get her attention. She looked up, eyes brimming with angry tears, and Dick gasped, "Hey. We've still got a wedding to think about."

She blinked up at him. "What?"

"We've got plans to make, babe!" He pasted a wild grin onto his face as he jogged a little faster. "I'll be honest, I didn't really think too far past the proposal..."

She gaped up at him in shocked silence for several minutes. Dick passed the grate she'd told him about—there was no way he was going to fit through the opening. Frankly, he was surprised Barbara had ever been able to.

He watched her acknowledge his decision before her expression twinged slightly.

"Figures," she said, in a light tone that didn't match the sorrow in her eyes. "We've never really been ones for planning ahead—at least not when it comes to stuff like this. Take a left."

"Well, we've got time now." He spun around the corner, shoulder nicking it just slightly. He winced, but his stride recovered, and so did his smile. "There's no time like escape-time for hashing out the nitty-gritty details, wouldn't you say?"

Barbara gave him a rueful smile. "Oh, Dick."

"D'you want a traditional wedding? We could book a church, grab a pastor-preacher-minister or whoever. Do the reception up like something straight off a Pinterest board. Invite everybody we ever met, and then a few extra stragglers for the clout. What do you think?"

"That we should hash out a few of these details a little 'nittier' and 'grittier'…" Barbara said, raising an eyebrow. "But don't think for a second I don't know what you're doing."

"Oh, darling, I'd be shocked if you didn't. Left here?"

"No, a right." Barbara shook her head. And, slowly, she allowed herself a small smile, and this time, it was genuine. "And fine. I'll bite."

Dick grinned. "Fantastic. So. First, and foremost—where's our venue gonna be?"

"You'd hate having a ceremony in a dusty chapel," Barbara muttered, and Dick hummed in agreement. "So, if you ask me, I think we should do it outside."

"Outdoor wedding," Dick mused, "I like it, I like it. Any particular place? Which way?"

"Left again." Barbara's arms wound a little tighter across the back of Dick's neck. "I don't really have a preference. As long as there's trees, and grass, and sunshine. I am fed the #$%% up with stone walls."

"I love the sound of that."

"And I think Alfred should marry us," Barbara decided.

"Absolutely, he should. That man's been everything from Special Forces to Sous Chef—I'm willing to bet my bottom dollar he's got 'Minister' credentials tucked away somewhere." Dick panted. "Plus, he's already basically our grandpa, so—"

There was another sound behind them. A wailing screech, almost like metal dragged across a chalkboard. They both stiffened a little at the noise, and Dick sped up, feeling his chest tighten.

"Y'know, babe," Dick said, tone strained, "I can't decide on color scheme. Should we go blue and gold—you know, like Batgirl and Nightwing? Or could we do red, green, and yellow, like Robin, and first-edition-Batgirl?"

"I thought you said you hadn't put any thought into this." A wry, shy smile pulled at Barbara's lips.

"Oh, just humor me."

"Hmm." Barbara's fingers wound tighter into the hair curling at his nape. "Blue and gold, definitely. Very elegant, and I love the nod to our roots. We could do kind of a night-scape theme. I'm thinking candlelight, paper lanterns, glitter…"

"A $#!^-load of glitter. I am so glad we're on the same page."

Barbara swallowed hard when another wail echoed through the corridors. "A-and I need help deciding on a Maid of Honor. Dina could do it, but then, so could Artemis. Turn right, then sharp left."

"Lock 'em both in a broom closet to battle it out," Dick decided, rushing to follow her instructions. The marble started to give way to more limestone, and Dick could tell they were getting somewhere, if not close. "I for one, have already decided that Wally should be my best man."

"What about Jason?"

"Flower girl, obviously."

A shocked and unexpected laugh bubbled out of Barbara's throat. "Oh, obviously!"

"But what comes next, huh?" Dick panted. "Once we've said our vows, once we drive off in one of Bruce's old Thunderbirds—"

"The blue one?" Barbara's grip tightened across his shoulders.

"Of course. The others'll probably tie some tin cans and stuff to the back so it makes a huge racket when we drive off. I wouldn't put that past Steph, you know?" He whirled around a corner, feeling his chest tighten painfully. If this rat-race didn't end soon, he was going to run out of steam. "But I mean after that. After we have our honeymoon in Europe or Tahiti, or wherever the #$%% else we can go to get away from these owl-loving creeps—"

"Owls are indigenous to everywhere on Earth but Antarctica," Barbara suggested under her breath, completely deadpan.

Dick huffed out a laugh as he sidestepped a (concerningly) random human skeleton. "Well, great! Guess I'll pack the parkas."

She chuckled, and rested her forehead against his heaving chest. "But I know what you mean. After."

"We've got our whole lives ahead of us, Angel," Dick said warmly, turning another corner. "All the time in the world. So let's—"

He cut off short.

Barbara's smile died on her face.

And the five Talons standing between them and the exit unsheathed their knives slowly, drawing them out into the light until their razor edges glinted with malevolent promise.

Dick felt a shiver tingle down his spine.

"I'm afraid you're quite wrong," Calvin Rose said, cocking his head unnaturally to the side. With a flick of his wrists, he spun both blades until their fine tips pointed skyward. "Your time is up."

#######

#######

"Here," Jason said, sounding slightly unnerved. "You're sure?"

Cassandra led them through the halls, crouched low, pressed to the wall. Tim marveled at the way she moved. As Batman's partner, he'd been trained in stealth. He knew how to move without a sound, how to creep through a hostile setting and go undetected. But this was a whole different level of stealth. He could barely hear her breath. The patter of her footsteps was utterly nonexistent.

By way of reply, Cassandra held a finger up to her lips, then nodded.

The others followed close behind.

They'd opted for a smaller entry team. Just the Bats, Cassandra, Zatanna, and M'gann.

The rest of the Team had protested, wanting to storm in with the others for some dramatic rescue, but Artemis had helped them see reason—they'd be more helpful on the outside. They'd gone toe-to-toe with Talons before, and now, they were about to poke the whole hornet's nest. When the entry team grabbed Dick and Barbara, they'd make their way outside, more likely than not pursued by a horde of angry undead warriors. Someone had to be waiting with a getaway car (or Miss Martian's Bioship, as it were). Someone had to be ready to fight off any following hostiles.

Tigress would be leading the support team. The last Tim had seen of her, she was crouched on a gargoyle across the street, crossbow poised.

Most of the Birds had already gone back to Cormorant, albeit begrudgingly. One of their contacts with the local mob had tipped them off to a weapons deal going down near the harbor. The perp leading the operation was a man they'd been tracking for months, and this was their best chance at finally nailing him down.

Black Canary and Dove stayed behind to help Tigress's support team. Huntress had taken the rest of their people home, though not before extracting a promise from both her fellow Birds to 'make those sick sons of &!^$#es pay'.

Zatanna and M'gann were the two members of the Team who Jason had deemed the most likely to follow their lead without drawing attention. Their combined powers would help them sneak past guards, open locked doors, and transport the two senior Bats if the situation called for it.

All of which they could have done on their own. But Tim and Jason, at least, were both humble enough to admit that meta abilities would get the job done in a fraction of the time, which was a luxury they seemed to be fresh out of. Their siblings didn't have the heart to protest, and as long as neither of them were left behind, they didn't seem to care.

Cassandra led them to a library, and Tim shivered a little when the room's cold air brushed against the seam at his jaw where skin met Kevlar. The ambience matched the general theme of Harbor House—dark, dusty, cold, and, old.

When Cassandra had brought them here, to the two-hundred-something-year-old house, Jason had let out a curse so loud, the rest of them had jumped.

Apparently, Harbor House had been on the shortlist for 'Possible Secret Court HQ Spots' that Jason and Dick had already checked. And that was after Dick and Barbara had swept the place clean.

So when Cassandra's fingers brushed against the spine of a vintage Audubon, the Bats' jaws loosened as a panel in the shelves slid away to reveal a hidden passageway.

"Well, I'll be &*#%^&." Batgirl muttered.

"This way," Cassandra took off, waving them along. "And hurry."

#######

#######

Barbara slid out of Dick's arms, and her feet tapped against the stone.

"So how does this work?" Dick said, as he shook out his shoulders and raised both fists. "You try to stop us and we kick your feathery little *$$es? Or do you wanna just step aside and forget you saw us here?"

She'd missed that attitude of his.

But all Barbara could do was stare Calvin down, brow lowered. She took in his posture, his stance. His grip on the knives was slack—he was definitely going to make a throw. She reached out instinctively to lay hand on Dick's shoulder. Just in case.

"Cal," Barbara said, hating how weak her voice sounded to her own ears. "You can come with us. All of you can. What has the Court ever done for the Talons? Tortured us? Killed us? Forced us to run their errands and bend to their whims like good little soldiers?"

The four Talons who stood behind her old friend shifted quietly. She could see their gazes flick to the sides, eyeing one another cautiously. 'Treason' in any form was verboten amongst their ranks.

But she'd heard their whispers in the corridors and shadows. She knew.

"Enough is enough. You said they brought the Gray Son here to save you?" Her tone dripped with derision. "You know just as well as I do that their hold on him only guarantees an eternal hold on the rest of you. He's the one the rest of you can't live without. But come with us, and you'll never have to answer to Vanaver or any of those self-righteous Courtiers ever again. I know that's what you want, Cal."

Dick was watching her; she could feel the weight of his gaze.

But whether that gaze held concern or approval, Barbara never got the chance to guess. She thrust down hard against his shoulder, forcing both of them low. Calvin's knife zipped through the air above their heads. With a piercing thwack, it lodged in the marble wall just inches from where Barbara's left ear had been.

"What have I told you," the Talon hissed, eyes darting nervously upwards. "Not a word. Not one, whispered word."

"Calvin, please—"

He drew out another knife from the sheath slung across his chest. "You've signed your own death warrant, Barbara. We are merely the ones who will escort you to the chopping block. Come quietly, and perhaps the Court will be lenient."

Barbara snarled as she and Dick pulled themselves upright. "Lenient?" she snarled. "You know what they're going to do to us!"

"Only what they have done to generations of Talons preceding you." His blade gleamed between his fingers. "Are you any better than those who came before?"

"So, I guess the correct answer is 'we kick your feathery *$$es," Dick interjected. With a nod towards Barbara—a silent agreement—he slid into a familiar offensive stance. Waiting for just the right moment to lunge. "It's good to know where we stand."

"Yes," Barbara agreed, shooting Calvin one last bitter frown. "It really is."

Exactly which of them moved first was an impossible guess, but before another word was said, knives whistled through the air and bodies spun out of the way. Dick's fist cracked against a Talon's jaw. Barbara dodged a sweep and ducked beneath a swinging blade.

She'd missed the familiarity of a partner—of Dick—by her side. No words needed to pass between them, no exchange was necessary. Their strategy was instinctual. Barbara knew exactly when he was going to move, where he was going to strike. She filled the gaps, and he returned in kind.

Fighting alongside her Nightwing was like dancing with the perfect partner. It was how it was meant to be—how she was meant to be. And as she spun and kicked, he leapt and struck. It was only when they'd fallen into their familiar rhythm that Dick began to banter.

"So, about that 'after' I mentioned."

Barbara grunted as she slid beneath a sweeping knife. "Oh, yeah?"

She felt Dick's hand on her shoulder, and watched just as well as felt him flip over her head, landing both feet into the face of an advancing Talon. He landed, panting, and shot her a dazzling grin. "I want an apartment with a view. For just the two of us."

"What, no brothers or sisters snooping through our stuff?" Barbara huffed, and hit the floor, sweeping a Talon's legs. If she'd been up to full strength, it might have had an effect. But the blow only tripped the warrior up. Even so, he collided with one of his comrades on the stumble.

"Nope." Dick waggled his eyebrows. "Just you, me, and all the privacy we need."

He raised a fist, and it crashed into a Talon's nose. Dick followed the momentum, and swung around to attack the next unlucky warrior.

"Sounds amazing." Barbara panted, whirling to duck past another strike. "Our own place..."

"How do you feel about pets?" Dick mused.

"I'd be willing to consider a cat? Maybe a dog. But a goldfish might be a better fit, considering our 'work hours'."

Dick smashed two Talons' heads together with a sharp crack. He'd just put the same pair down with broken jaws a few moments ago, but as with all of their attacks, nothing quite seemed to stick. For every bone they shattered, every drop of inky blood they spilled, the creatures only seemed to come back stronger.

&*#% that unnatural healing factor.

"You can't cuddle a goldfish, but fair point." Dick was breathing hard, and pressed both palms back against the wall. Pushing off, he kicked hard into Talon Loong's teeth. "Here's another question. I know we haven't really talked about it, and I swear it's not a dealbreaker so…uh…"

"Shoot," Barbara offered, dodging a blow to the head. She spun around, swinging her fist towards Calvin's jaw.

"…Do you want kids?"

Her knuckles glanced off the Talon's chin as Barbara reeled. She glanced at her partner for a fraction of a second.

"I—"

It was only a second. But that was long enough for Calvin to seize her wrist. Twist Barbara's arm behind her back and pull her taut against his chest. She could feel the hilts of his knives digging into the ridges of her spine, but she couldn't feel a heartbeat underneath the armor. There was none.

The bronze edge of his knife slipped beneath her chin, pressed to her trachea. Barbara grit her teeth, barely daring to breathe.

"Gray Son," Calvin snarled.

Dick held Talon Seaver's tunic in one fist, the other poised to land a crushing blow. At the sound of Cal's voice, he looked up. Stopped. And let Seaver fall to the ground in a heap.

"They need her alive," he said hollowly. Desperately, as if he was convincing himself just as well as the Talon. Barbara could see the line furrowing his brow. Watched his gaze flicker between her eyes and Calvin's.

"But they don't need her upright." The Talon's grip on her shifted, and Barbara froze as the blade's point was lifted away from her throat—

—and pressed firmly into the small of her back.

"Cal." Barbara's voice was a hoarse rattle. The panic mounted in her chest, climbing up her throat.

"I will sever her spinal cord." The tip of the knife dug into her bare skin, and Barbara bit back a whimper. "The Conversion Process will undo the damage, but the pain will debilitate you both. So maybe I should—it would make all of this so much easier."

She wasn't breathing. Her chest rose and fell in sporadic bursts, but her lungs drew no oxygen. It made her vision blur. Her mouth went dry, and her tongue glued itself to the roof of her mouth. If it weren't for the Talon's firm grip, she would have already been on the ground.

"Calvin." Barbara heaved a single terrified gasp. "Please."

There was a pause. It lasted only for a single beat, but she still felt it. Something like hesitation at the sound of her crippling fear. Something almost like regret.

But if Talon Rose was having any second thoughts, he shoved them down deep, and growled out an addendum to his malicious threat. "Instead, I'll give you a choice."

Dick's throat bobbed. Barbara could see the growing panic twisting at his features, and wondered if the expression wasn't mirrored exactly on her own face.

"Tell me, Gray Son. Do you and Barbara prefer to be carried screaming to your deaths? Your final moments spent in unspeakable agony? Or will you accept your fate and come quietly?"

"That isn't a choice, Rose." Dick lowered his fists, and let two of the Talons pin his arms behind his back. A mournful frown twisted at his mouth when he looked at Barbara. She read the apology in his eyes, the silent wish to spare her any more pain.

Barbara should have wanted to die fighting. Pain be &*#%^&, she was supposed to be stronger than this. But she knew the agony of a shattered spine, firsthand. The thought of reliving even a piece of that left her trembling.

If that made her a coward…well, so be it.

She was only sorry her fear would cost her partner everything.

Dick saw her apology, and it made his jaw clench tight. He shot Calvin a venomous glare, the kind Barbara rarely ever saw from her devil-may-care partner. It sent an involuntary shiver up the back of her neck. "But I'll remember this when they put a knife in my hand, you son of a &!^$#. Count on it."

"Oh, I will, Gray Son," Calvin said. He gave his comrades a clipped nod, then gave Barbara a firm shove towards the door. "We all will."

#######

#######

"Red, on my left. Batgirl, right," Jason breathed, keeping his voice down as he advanced in a low crouch. "Robin in the rear—"

"Why?" Damian hissed, and brandished his katana. "I should be taking point."

Tim and Steph exchanged a quick glance, following Hood's lead and stance as they crept through the eerie marble Maze.

It was a marvel, for the first few seconds they'd seen it. Towering white walls threaded through with wispy gray veins. Stark and bleak, and stretching on, on, and on. For so long, that the novelty had worn off quickly.

If it hadn't been for Cassandra's navigational lead, they all would have been hopelessly off-course. Doomed to wander these cold halls until the Owls found them, or they died of starvation.

Jason's voice dripped with irony. "Because we need you watching our six, bro-ham, and I'm not in the mood to watch you get filleted by some freak in a bird mask, alright?"

According to Cassandra, the Maze was inhabited by wandering Talons. Running drills, running training exercises, or just running in general. The labyrinth was the perfect playground for the Court's built-in security system.

And if they did happen to stumble upon a Talon (or vice versa), things were likely to take a very nasty turn very fast.

Damian, needless to say, had no further points to argue.

Tim watched Cassandra's eyes flick over the stone as they hurried around turns and down corridors. Every now and then, he could see what she was looking for. Small cracks and grooves in the marble—almost imperceptible if you weren't looking. He wondered at what they were, until the girl finally pulled to a hard stop and pressed her hand to the wall.

The others watched as a yellow bar of light flashed beneath her palm, scanning up, then down, before blinking green.

With a hiss, the cracks in the white stone deepened to fissures, before an entire panel slid out of the way.

"Here," Cassandra said softly. "They kept them here."

Cautiously, the group stepped through the door into a pitch-black space, with Zatanna and M'gann floating soundlessly behind them. There was an eerie feel to it that sent shivers of goosebumps prickling over Tim's skin. When Cassandra's hand reached out, and she flipped on the light, his stomach dropped all the way down to his knees.

Hanging fluorescents fizzled and flickered, illuminating the stark room. It was clinical and cold, and reeked of bleach and blood, and something stronger. Tim's eyes roved over shelves of vials and equipment. Gurneys and carts. Trays of wicked metal instruments lying in puddles of dark sticky red.

The blood was everywhere, if you looked hard enough. He could tell the room had been cleaned recently; most of the red stains had evidently been scrubbed away. But there were still signs of it everywhere, in all the places the lazy cleanup crew had evidently been unwilling to touch. Spattering the trays, dripping off the teeth of a mounted roundsaw. Tim took half a step forward, and his boot squelched in a small puddle that was half-dried.

But the pièce de résistance was the steel table at the center of the room.

Mounted lights hovered above it like curious onlookers. Leather straps hung off the sides, and the surface was marred with more scratches and gouges than anything else in the room.

"My &*#," Zatanna whispered.

And Stephanie let out a strangled gasp.

Tim's head whipped around just in time to see her stumble back, eyes impossibly wide. She crashed against the wall, hands flung out to steady herself against the tile. With her pupils dilated, hyperventilated breathing, shaking knees and shaking shoulders, it took Tim all of a few seconds before realization hit.

Jason was at her side in half the time, pulling her into his arms. He spun them away fast, cupping the back of her cowl in one large hand. "Hey," he breathed. "Count with me, blondie. One…two…three…four…hold…two…three…four…"

Face buried in Jason's chest plate, Stephanie breathed in time with her boyfriend's voice. Inhaling for four seconds, holding her breath for four more, and exhaling deeply for four seconds after that. The others watched on as Jason upped the timing to six, then eight, then back down to four.

Cassandra's and Damian's faces were both twisted with confusion and concern.

"What is—" Cassandra started, then paused to bite her lip. "Is she…okay?"

"Brown?" Damian asked softly, taking a step towards her.

Tim held up a hand, stopping his little brother short, and hazarded another glance towards the other pair. Jason was stroking her hair slowly, and rocking them both back and forth as he shifted his stance on the balls of his feet.

"What is this place," Tim breathed, shifting his gaze back towards the evil-looking table just a few feet away. "Is this—?"

Cassandra blinked. Then frowned grimly. "Where they bring people to…hurt. Where…where they hurt Barbara. To make her…different."

Tim's stomach lurched at that. Behind him, Stephanie heaved a stuttered gasp, quieted quickly by Jason's assuring whispers. M'gann and Zatanna had both gone pale, with the magician clapping a hand over a horrified gasp, and the Martian twisting both fists into her cape.

"Stephanie," Cassandra said again, more insistently. "Is she okay?"

Tim frowned. The easy answer was 'she'll be fine', but he knew it was so much more complicated than just that. The hard answer was a resounding 'not if we don't get her out of here fast', but that would just bring on more questions.

He hadn't been counting on this, but really, that was no excuse. He and Jason had figured there was a chance they'd come across something like this on the mission, while at the same time praying they'd be lucky enough to avoid it.

Tim squared his shoulders, and said, "Show us where they'll have Dick and Barbara."

Cassandra frowned, clearly still troubled, but turned on her heel and gestured them onwards.

"Can you do this?" he heard Jason gruffly whisper behind them, as they stepped out.

Cassandra led them through the torture chamber into a separate corridor. Gray replaced white, and the change in color left them all blinking suspiciously at the granite walls. This had to be a part of some smaller network, separate from the Maze and the rest of Harbor House.

Where they brought people to, as Cassandra had said, hurt.

Steph swallowed so hard it was audible and breathed, "Y-yeah. Yeah, no p-pro-problem."

"Babe, if this is too much…" Jason's voice dipped further, until Tim could barely hear. "We'll get you back outside. You and Artemis can—"

"I said I'm fine."

All of them paused, turning back to gape at Batgirl as she snarled at the Hood. Tim felt his own jaw slacken at the look on her face; the anger that twisted her features was something he hadn't seen out of Stephanie in a long, long time.

"No st-stopping," she barked, shouldering past as she marched ahead of them. "We're on a t-ti-time crunch, people. Let's move!"

Tim shot Jason one wide-eyed glance, before turning to follow Batgirl and Cassandra down the hallway. Their pace quickened, bootsteps clapping rhythmically against the stone.

"The room…" Cassandra said softly. "They call it…'Coverson Chamber'—"

Jason frowned. "Conversion Chamber?"

"Yes. Where they are taking Barbara and Gray Son. If we hurry, we will beat them."

"Where are the guards?" Tim demanded, casting a suspicious glance at their surroundings as they began jogging just a little bit faster. "If they've been keeping them in these rooms…"

"Gray Son," Cassandra said solemnly. "Asked for one hour. With Barbara. Alone. To…say goodbye."

That almost gave them pause, and Tim felt his own footsteps slow, slightly.

Idiot.

He felt anger flare low in his gut, as his brow fell low over his eyes. He'd hoped—he'd actually dared to hope—that Dick's stupidity translated into some deluded notion that he could storm the Court's base of operations and whisk Barbara to safety like some mythical white knight. Because that was feasible. That was understandable. Dick was no white knight, but he was the &*##*%^ Batman. If he couldn't take on the army of Talons and crooked socialites, then he'd at least go down trying. The idiot.

But this? This was so much worse. This scenario was exactly what Tim had worried about—that Dick's stupidity translated into some deluded notion that he could give himself up to the Owls and expect them to play fair! Whether he'd hoped to take Barbara's place, or if—and Tim didn't even want to think it—he'd given up completely and wanted to end things for good…

What did it matter, anyway?

Dick Grayson was an idiot if he didn't think his family would be right behind him, ready to kick some feathery Court of Owls *$$. Ready to save their brother and sister, or die trying themselves.

Cassandra saw something up ahead—a room with an open door—that made her footsteps falter. Tim watched something akin to shock flutter over her face, before she took off in a dead-on sprint.

The others followed her down the corridor. Doing their best to match her stride, but she didn't make it easy.

"Cass?" Stephanie gasped, swinging her arms as she picked up her pace.

But the girl didn't answer. She led them past an empty cell with two long chains hanging from the ceiling. Then around more corners and turns, down hallways and long stretches. Somewhere along the way, the walls had turned white again.

They were back in the Maze.

"Still time," Cassandra said fiercely. "Cut them off. If we hurry."

"Cass…?"

"Still time."

#######

#######

Dick grunted as the Talon thrust him to the ground. He felt his knees clack on cold stone, and threw his palms out against the tile to steady himself.

At his side, Barbara gave a sharp cry as she collapsed to the floor, curling tightly in on herself. Dick felt a burning in his ribs, and wondered what hidden injury his partner had been nursing. He reached a hand out towards her curled fingers.

But a boot came down hard, grinding down against his knuckles. Dick let out a sharp cry, then a whimper as he clenched his teeth to stifle the sound.

He could see Barbara's eyes through the curtain of her hair, mournful and teary. Sending him a silent apology that he wasn't about to accept. He managed to give her a small (albeit weak) smile, before Rose's voice cut through the dry air.

"Grandmaster," he said reverently, and both of the Bats' heads whipped up sharply.

Vanaver stood over them like a looming threat. His body was placed between the captives and a towering set of intricately carved stone doors. They were inlaid with wood and brass, a sharp contrast against their otherwise stony surroundings, and Dick couldn't help but gape up at them, almost going cross-eyed as he struggled to gauge their full height.

"Is there a problem?" Rose asked, weakly. There was a tremor in his tone.

Dick might've felt sorry for the guy; for a big, burly man like him to cower before a shriveled old troll like Vanaver…they must have really done a number on him, back when he'd been in Barbara's place.

But then he remembered the scars lacing his partner's skin, heard her ragged breaths as she looked up into the eyes that glittered behind an Owl mask, felt her stiffen instinctively beside him.

And his pity for Rose expired like week-old milk.

"Yes, Talon," the Grandmaster snapped, "there are several. Miss Kean, for one, does not seem quite as docile as I remember."

"Who, me?" Barbara dug her nails into the stone. "I'm docile as a lamb, you crusty piece of—"

Vanaver's boot crashed into the side of her head, and Dick and Barbara both reeled from the impact. But while his partner pressed her forehead to the floor and stuttered out a gasp, Dick's lips twisted into a snarl.

"Oh, none of that." Vanaver dismissed his Gray Son's rage with the wave of a hand. "There are more pressing problems, Talon Rose. Security problems."

Dick turned his head up, daring a glance at the towering Talon. And he saw Rose's eyes flare wide behind his amber lenses.

"Secur—I am afraid I…I do not understand, G-grandmaster."

Vanaver let out a weary sigh.

"It would appear, Talon," he growled, "That we have an inside leak."

"S-sir?"

"The location of our sanctum has been compromised—"

Dick lifted his head. He watched Barbara slowly do the same.

"—and our defenses have been breached." The old man's eyes narrowed wickedly behind the unflinching planes of his white mask. "Have your men put these intruders down, or I'll have you stuffed and mounted like a real bird of prey. Am I clear?"

Rose gave a trembling nod, but Dick didn't catch his stuttered reply.

Instead, he looked to his partner, and saw her eyes shining back at him. Shining with hope, for what was quite possibly the first time in so long.

The words were unspoken, but Dick and Barbara glowed with them all the same.

They're here.

Our family is coming.

#######

#######

"We're coming," Stephanie gasped, as they dashed around one final corner. "We're coming."

Tim felt his breath catch as Cassandra finally pulled to a stop before a pair of gigantic double doors, standing like guardian behemoths. Watchful over the silent corridors of the Maze. Shivers tingled over his skin at the sight, and he looked to Jason, who gave a clipped nod.

"Ready," he snapped, drawing both guns from the holsters at his hips.

Robin drew his sword with a metallic shink.

Batgirl and Red Robin pulled their staffs out simultaneously, their weapons giving synchronized fwiks as they extended to full length.

Zatanna raised her hands. M'gann's eyes glowed emerald green.

And Cassandra heaved a deep breath, then pulled with all her strength against the heavy iron door handles.

They swung open with a rusty squeal, and when Tim saw what was on the other side, he choked on a gasp.

Jason stiffened beside him.

"Oh, &*#," he breathed. "No."

#######

#######

As three of Cal's Talons split from the group to fade back into the Maze, Barbara tipped her chin up. She shot a venomous sneer at the creature in the Owl's mask.

"You've lost." A triumphant cackle burst from her lips, and she pulled herself up to her knees. "For all your planning, all your scheming—how does it feel to watch it all come crashing down?"

Vanaver's cold stare was unwavering.

Barbara felt her confidence flag.

"You've…you've lost," she repeated quietly.

But instead of a sharp rebuttal, or really any response at all, Vanaver only tipped his head back and laughed.

At her side, Dick shifted. His confusion was almost as tangible as her own.

The Grandmaster cackled, a hand lifting to clap against his chest.

"Oh, my dear, dear Miss Kean," he crooned between gasps, as he fought to bring his breathing back under control. "I'm afraid your gibing is a tad premature."

He turned, then, and dryly snapped his fingers.

Cal and the other Talon leapt forward, metal claws wrapping tight around the monstrous handles of the door. They pulled sharply, muscles straining, and the wood and stone creaked open.

"Your brothers and sister have breached Harbor House and her secret underbelly, yes," Vanaver sighed, waving a hand at the sight revealed on the other side of the double doors. "That much is true…"

Dick's breathing hitched.

Barbara heaved a broken wail.

Before them shone the gilded halls of the Gotham Cathedral, with its soaring columns and stretching ambulatories, its gleaming stained glass and flickering candles—all in its grim glory. A structure as old as Gotham herself.

A structure that sat three miles from Harbor House—at the opposite end of the city.

"But they'll never reach you in time, I'm afraid." Vanaver sighed, with a smirk in his tone. He turned his head towards them, fixing his cold expressionless stare on Dick, and then Barbara in turn.

"So tell me," he said, "For all your running, all your hoping—how does it feel to watch all of that come crashing down?"

#######

#######

"No," Jason cried again, taking a sharp step back.

But the monster in the empty stone room threw his hands out to the sides with a burst of laughter.

It was a cold, unhinged sort of laughter—the kind that had been haunting every Bats' night terrors for over a year, and for some, over a decade. At the sound of it, each of them felt goosebumps prickle across their skin. Their teeth stood on edge. Their hearts skipped several beats.

"Oh, yes!" the Joker crowed.

Like a switch had been thrown, flames erupted behind them. They soared ten feet into the air, and Batgirl lunged forward, swatting desperately at the searing edges of her cape with a cry. Tim tensed, eyes tracing over the grating in the floor—

—just as Miss Martian dropped to the ground beside them.

"M'gann!" Zatanna whirled around with a snarl, raising her hands like claws. Her eyes glowed blue, and matching starbursts bloomed in the palms of her hands.

Then a shot cracked through the air.

"Agh!"

Blood sprayed from the magician's shoulder as she went reeling.

Tim looked up sharply into the room, right into the barrel of the smoking gun. But it wasn't the Clown Prince of Crime who held it in hand—it was the man stepping into the room through an open door. The bronze-orange of his suit gleamed under the fluorescent light as he stalked forward, followed by a parade of faces familiar as well as unfamiliar.

Tim spotted James Gordon Junior, who sneered at the Bats as he swept into the room. He saw Hugo Strange waddle in after him, glaring down the length of his beaked nose. A third man entered after, who Tim didn't recognize, with hunched shoulders and horn-rimmed glasses. Dusty graying auburn hair fell into his eyes as he pulled a rickety cart stacked with whirring computer towers, twisting wires, and a laptop that looked as though it could withstand a nuclear blast.

But it was the man in the purple suit who commanded the Bats' attention. It was him that made shivers dance up their spines.

And he leered at them with a surprisingly intact face, giving off one more cackle as he said, "Surprise, kiddies! Bet you thought you'd seen the last of your dear old Uncle J!"

Tim opened his mouth, but his throat was closed off completely.

Jason wheezed at his side. He couldn't see his older brother's face, but Tim watched his hands shake and his knees wobble. Steph threw a hand out to the side, and grasped the Red Hood's wrist.

But Damian snarled. "You."

Joker swung his eyes over to the smaller boy and his grin stretched eerily wide.

"Well, hel-lo, baby-bird," he crooned. "Been a while, hasn't it? My, how you've grown! I'd say you look just like your dear old man, but there's something missing…hmmm…"

"Robin, don't," Tim hissed, but Damian only raised his sword.

The clown snapped his fingers. "Oh, that's it! You just don't have that bleeding heart of his."

"You son of a &!$^#!" Damian roared, flying forward in a staggering lunge before the others could reach out to stop him.

His sword arced down towards the monster's head.

"Taeh eht eldnah," a smooth voice said.

The hilt of Robin's sword glowed white-hot, and he dropped the blade with a cry. It clattered across the floorboards, skidding to a rest beneath Deathstroke's boot.

The others spun around, gaping, as Zatanna Zatara held up a splayed hand.

Any sign of the pain that had twisted her features was gone, her expression smoothed over like the stone walls that hedged them in. She stood erect and stiff. There was a glassy sheen to her unfocused eyes.

"Zee?" Stephanie gasped softly.

Tim's eyes widened with realization.

"She's been chipped," he muttered. "Just like Dina."

"Ding-ding-ding!" Joker cackled.

"That is correct, my boy. In fact, the rest of your Team have devices just like hers embedded in their skulls," Dr. Strange explained cavalierly, waving a hand towards the red-haired man and his computers. "Placed during their stay with Roulette several months ago, and there they have stayed all this time. Dormant, until we gave them the signal to activate."

"So no help is coming, kiddos." James Junior sneered. "Your super-friends all just came online!"

The blast of a bullet made all of them flinch. Plaster rained from the ceiling, pattering against the floor.

"Enough posturing," Slade snapped. He lifted his gun, pointing it squarely at Jason's head. "We take them now."

"Like #$%%," Tim snarled, raising his staff.

"Ooh, a regular Braveheart." Gordon giggled wildly, bringing a switchblade out of his pocket. It snapped open with a flick of his thumb. "Just like someone else I used to know…"

"Where is she?" Steph demanded, taking a step forward. "W-where are they?"

"In a far better place, now," Strange crooned. "Unlike the rest of you. Kuttler, won't you do the honors?"

The spectacled man with the tower of tech gave a purse-lipped smile, and hit a button on his keyboard. The clack rang through the air, and Zatanna's spine straightened.

"No ruoy seenk," she canted tonelessly.

Tim felt his legs wobble. All around him, his siblings fell to their knees, gasping. He felt pain in his shins, aching dully from the impact, and looked up at the Joker, who advanced slowly.

"Tim-Timiney, Tim-Timiney, Tim-Tim-ter-oo," the monster sang sofly, marching up until the tips of his shoes nudged Tim's kneecaps. "Boy, don't I have me some big plans for you."

He felt his heart seize up as the clown laughed above him.

"Leave him alone!" Damian growled from his spot a few feet ahead. He was doing his best to pry himself off the floor, but to no avail.

Joker reached down, taking Tim's chin in hand. He could feel the tips of the clown's fingers digging into his jaw, and shivered as he felt a phantom pain prickle at the corner of his mouth.

"Oh, perish the thought," he said softly, tipping Tim's face from side to side. "Surprised, to see me like this, little bird? With my face-mask all glued on snug? I have my new skin-care regimen to thank for that. Lazarus water does wonders for crows' feet, I tell you!"

"Why the #$%% are you doing this?" Tim squeaked as the Joker's grip tightened.

"You get your hands off him," Jason snarled. "You hear me? I will kill—"

"Zatanna, be a dear!" Gordon sang.

"Tuhs ruoy htuom."

Jason fell silent, his upper body jerking against the invisible restraint.

Tim's gaze twitched to the side, and he spotted Cassandra in the corner of his vision. Her eyes had fallen shut, her expression tranquil. Almost meditative.

Her knee twitched against the floor.

"Why do I do anything?" Joker sneered. "Because it's funny. Because I can."

His thumb traced the stretching scar up Tim's cheek, thoughtfully.

"But mostly," he added, "Because I've been thinking ever so fondly of you all since the last time we met. What a group, you kids are, what a flock! It's gotten me all teary-eyed, just the idea of it. I guess you could say, it's gotten me in a bit of a family way…"

Tim's eyes widened.

"You've all got buyers," James jeered through a bared-tooth smile. "People who've paid us some very big bucks for the privilege of offing you!"

"The Owls don't know, of course," Kuttler mused. "I suppose what they don't know won't ruffle their feathers too badly…"

"But you, Timmery," Joker crooned, leaning in closer until Tim could feel the heat of the clown's breath puff against his face. "You're my consolation prize."

Steph and Damian screamed at the clown, but Tim could only gape as he felt his heart stop beating in his chest.

"Cassandra, on the other hand, will face the League's justice. Ra's Al Ghul's going to make your life a living #$%% for this betrayal, little girl," Slade growled. "But on with business. Zatanna, knock them out."

The magician raised her hands and opened her mouth.

But at that moment, Cassandra moved.

Her hand snagged the arm of the person closest to her—Stephanie—and she dragged them both to their feet. All five of their captors shouted. A smatter of gunfire sprayed above the boys' heads. But Cassandra and Batgirl rolled through the flames and disappeared, just as Zatanna spoke the words,

"Srenosirp, sthgil tuo."

And Tim's eyes slipped shut, his mouth still open in an aborted scream.

#######

#######

Someone was burning incense—it was the first thing that hit Dick's nose as he and Barbara were dragged into the Cathedral's stony interior. The smell was heady and strong, crowding into his senses until even drawing a full breath would have become a losing battle—

—were it not for the sight that really punched the air from his lungs.

They'd emerged from the apse of Gotham Cathedral, just behind where the altar should have been. From their vantage point, Dick and Barbara could see straight down the nave of the building, view all of the faces that filled the dark wooden pews.

Cold, still, silent, watchful.

Two, maybe three hundred people, all wearing pale white Owl's masks.

Then there were the Talons lining the aisles. All dressed in formal regalia with bronze gleaming in the thin light. Their hands were clasped behind their backs, spines straight and shoulders squared. They stood at attention, gazes fixed on the disheveled pair as their leader and his remaining right hand hauled them forward.

Dick was transfixed by the candles. They seemed to be everywhere, with their soft glow fighting for dominance against the moonlight that danced through a kaleidoscopic host of stained glass. He watched their flames dance and shiver in the shadows. Felt Barbara stiffen at his side, her arms pulled taut behind her back.

Her gaze was fixed elsewhere; the space where the Cathedral's altar would have been.

The Court had replaced it with a pair of black padded chairs. They stood dark and still in the shimmering candlelight, and Dick felt a shiver trail up from the base of his spine when his eyes drifted over the leather buckles that dangled from their arm and footrests. The four glass tanks that stood like solemn guards at their backs—two of them empty, and the others filled with oily black liquid.

"You should be flattered." Vanaver's voice was a hushed whisper, so low that even Dick and Barbara struggled to catch the words. "Most Talons are born in the room where the two of you spent your final hour together. Of course, given the circumstances…"

Circumstances. Like a family of angry Bats descending on the Court's usual haunt.

"We felt you, our Gray Son and his Chosen Companion, were worthy of a far more…illustrious delivery room."

Barbara shivered violently.

"Oh, hush, my dear." The old Vulture lifted a hand, and traced the back of his knuckle down her cheek, tutting when she pulled away from the touch. "Don't you fret. It will all be over soon. It's a bit like going to sleep. You simply drift off, and then…well. I suppose you'll see."

Vanaver pulled away, and folded his arms neatly behind his back. To Rose, he said,

"Prep her."

And Calvin dragged Barbara away from Dick.

He cried out, lunging for her, fingers grasping, but his own Talon hauled him back. Dick's arms were pinned below his shoulder blades with a painful twinge. He grit his teeth and struggled, but in the end, he was no match for the creature's inhuman strength. All he could do was watch as Rose thrust Barbara into the chair. She bared a snarl at her old friend, fighting him weakly as he buckled one wrist onto the armrest, and then the other. He moved deftly to her ankles, and didn't even flinch when Barbara managed to land a savage kick to the side of his skull.

Vanaver muttered something to the other Talon, and Dick was led numbly to his own chair. He didn't bother giving up a fight as the leather strap slid over one wrist, then the other, buckles jangling like a death knell. He only watched as a Courtier—a woman dressed in a long, flowing black dress—marched up the carpet-covered stone stairs towards them.

In her thin hands, she held a gold-colored pillow, bearing it up like an offering when she swept into an elegant curtsy before the Grandmaster of the Court of Owls. On its plush surface was a long, evil-looking syringe, filled with some unidentifiable yellow fluid.

Vanaver nodded as two more newcomers appeared behind the woman. Like her, staring masks covered their faces, but instead of white, they were dark as their black clothing—though they wore medical smocks and scrub pants instead of gowns. Nurses? Technicians, perhaps?

One of them plucked the syringe from the pillow, and stepped forward, the other following close behind.

Dick only watched, feeling numb, until one of the technicians planted a rough hand on Barbara's forehead, forcing her head back. The other pried open her left eye with two fingers, and held the syringe aloft.

"No, stop!" Dick snapped.

Barbara squirmed in the chair, shoulders jerking, eyes narrowing against the technician's grip. "Don't you touch me," she snarled. "Don't—"

The technician's free hands slammed against her shoulders, pinning her down hard. The chair reclined with her, until Barbara's entire body was stretched out.

"Struggle too much, and you will lose vision in that eye." Vanaver tutted disdainfully. "Do try to behave yourself, my dear, won't you? Just a little longer, and you won't have the choice, anyway."

Barbara whimpered wide-eyed at the needle as they brought it down, down, down.

Dick flinched hard when the tip pierced in. Pain bloomed and then burned in his eye socket, gleaming bright as a supernova, and he let out an earsplitting scream. At his side, Barbara keened, teeth bared in agony.

They depressed the plunger, and the fire spread to his whole head. The back of his skull hit the headrest as Dick panted and gasped and shrieked. Barbara's mouth fell open in a silent scream, jaw coming nearly unhinged.

And when it was over, they were both left heaving for breath, limbs going slack against the restraints as the pain slowly ebbed away. The technicians bowed to their audience, and moved to stand directly behind their chairs.

Vanaver ignored them, and swept down the stairs. Until he stood on the floor, at level with the rest of his Court.

"…Babs?" Dick whispered hoarsely.

She gave no reply.

Dick huffed. His head flopped to the side as he glowered up at the Talon who flanked his chair. "Wh-what…what the #$%% was that?" he demanded.

The creature didn't move. At first, Dick thought she was going to ignore him completely. But then he heard her soft voice, thin and papery as it brushed his ears. "The Talon serum," she whispered. "To begin the process."

"Quiet," one of the technicians hissed.

Dick's eyes darted to the woman with the pillow, but she had returned to her seat amongst the other Owls. "What about me?"

"The components are in your DNA, already," Barbara's technician muttered. "To give you the serum, Gray Son, would be like immunizing a patient who already has the antibodies to repel the disease. Utterly pointless."

"I said quiet, Moffit!" the other bit out.

Dick's eyes widened. "Moff—you?"

The woman's eyes bulged behind the holes of her black Court mask.

Dick knew the name. It was the girl—the Medical Examiner at the GCPD—who had helped him and Barbara with the Triple B Killer case! She'd seemed so friendly, so…childish, even. So starstruck by Batman and Batwoman. So eager to help…

"You work for them?" Dick grunted, eyes narrowed.

Something like hurt gleamed in her gaze as she whispered, "Not all of us get to chooseour family, Batman."

"My Courtiers." Vanaver's voice projected, echoing through the stone hall. It silenced the hushed whispers and titters of a hundred members of the audience, and captured their attention with just those few words.

The Grandmaster seemed to relish this captivation. "We gather here today for a very historic Conversion. The first true conversion in nearly a century."

Dick's eyes strayed towards his technician as he began to move, gloved hands full with flexible plastic tubing and something else he couldn't quite see. At least until the contents of the man's hands were laid out on a small tray placed between Dick's and Barbara's chairs.

And his eyes widened.

"The Talon legacy is rooted in loyalty, built upon submission. Even William Cobb, the first of this noble breed, was aware of his place in the world. And that place, my dear friends, was at the feet of his betters…"

The technicians worked quickly, fingers brushing lightly, deftly, over their captives' skin. Dick shivered at the touch on his inner thigh, then winced when the needle and catheter pierced in. His other thigh followed. Then his throat. His elbow. His wrist. His knees and feet.

Realization was dull, as the technicians' cool fingers searched for their veins. Dick could name each and every artery as the intravenous needles went in.

Femoral, Carotid, Brachial, Radial, Popliteal, Posterior Tibial…

Once upon a time, Bruce had drilled his kids on them all. Every single place to not get hit during a fight. A wound in any of those places would bleed them out quickly—maybe too quickly to be saved.

Dick turned his head to look at Barbara. Her eyes were lidded, but she watched her own technician prep the IVs on her body with resigned calculation.

When her gaze flicked up to his, Dick knew that she'd reached the same realization—

—they'd been sentenced to death by exsanguination.

"Before the dawning of a new day, the Gray Son and his Companion—the first truly pure Talons the Court has witnessed in seventy-five years—will take their rightful places at the feet of the true sovereigns of this city. And as the sun rises on Gotham City, so shall a new age of power rise on our beloved homeland!"

Dick shivered at the uproar of a hundred voices cheering. It echoed off the stone walls, ricocheted through the arches and columns until it scraped at his ears like needles on a chalkboard.

And speaking of—one more needle pricked at his throat.

"Ketamine," the man in the black mask whispered regretfully. "It will dull the pain, Gray Son."

And also elevate their heartrates, lower their blood pressure. Make it that much easier to drain them both dry. But Dick only clenched his teeth and swallowed thickly.

"But before we welcome our warriors into the fold, there is one more matter of the utmost importance, to which the Court must attend." Vanaver's voice had gone cold. He flicked a beckoning finger, and said, stonily, "I ask the following members to stand before us. Johannes Bryke."

Whispers erupted through the Cathedral as a man rose from his seat, visibly shaking, and stepped forward.

"Lincoln March."

Dick watched the Mayor of Gotham, masked identically to every other villain in the audience, stand, and stalk down the nave with purposeful intent. He came to a stop at Bryke's side, standing before Vanaver with his arms crossed tightly.

"Jack Haly."

The name ripped through the air, and Dick flinched from the bite of it. His head jerked up, and he met the eyes of the man who'd helped raise him as he stepped out of his pew. From this distance, his eyes were invisible, but Dick could see the way the old man's hands shook.

And tears sprung to both their eyes.

Barbara was looking at him, an agonized pull to her frown.

But Dick could only watch.

"My friends, I have news of the most terrible kind," Vanaver announced, a performative edge of melancholy lacing his words as he continued. "We have received word that, mere moments ago, the Bats of Gotham—those vile vermin—have breached our sacred halls, and plundered our secrets."

A cry rose up from the audience. Hands gripped the backs of the pews. Voices lifted in alarm, and someone gave a horrified shout above the cacophony.

But it all went quiet when Vanaver threw up one gloved hand.

"I am afraid," he said, "that the only way our enemies could have come by the location of our most carefully guarded sanctum is through an inside source."

Dick and Barbara exchanged a wary frown.

"And, though it breaks my heart, my dear ladies and gentlemen—I must inform you that one of these three men has betrayed our confidence." He waved a hand at the Courtiers that stood in a neat line before him. "I, and the other members of my inner circle, have long been aware of a mole amongst our ranks. Before you stand our suspects. But only one is the true culprit."

The three men visibly tensed as Vanaver stepped forward. He waved a hand towards Bryke.

"Our brother, Johannes. His forefathers were amongst the first noble families of Gotham, and his blood has run through the veins of the Court for centuries." The Grandmaster whirled, suddenly, pressing his face close to Bryke's as he sneered. "But his father, Reuben Bryke, was executed thirteen years ago for high treason against the Court of Owls. A snub that, albeit justified, may not have been forgiven by the Bryke family after all this time, hmm, Johannes?"

The man fell to his knees, hands raised imploringly. "Grandmaster," he gasped, "I and my family have been nothing but loyal. I beg of you, please, do not shame us with this accusation! We would neverbetray the Court!"

Vanaver gave a clipped nod, and stepped down the line. "And then, there is Mayor Lincoln March." He cast his gaze up and down, inspecting the man thoroughly. "A newcomer—an unknown. He came to us over a year ago with a proposal, do the rest of you remember? Claiming heritage to one of Gotham's oldest noble families, he charmed his way through our ranks. I'll admit, I was quite taken in by his sob-story. A mother who left him in an orphanage, favoring her second son as the family heir. A very compelling story…" Vanaver faced March with a growl, shoulders squared. "…or a clever fib? What do you think, Mr. Mayor?"

Lincoln didn't even flinch. Arms crossed over his chest, he coldly replied, "I think, Grandmaster, that I have done nothing to deserve this accusation. I have served the Court faithfully. It was I, who proposed the inhibitor chips, our partnership with the Gotham City crime families, and even our agreement with the Light. If you had any real reason to suspect me of high treason, would you have agreed to my suggestions so readily?"

He took a step forward, meeting Vanaver toe to toe. "The Court of Owls welcomed me as a brother. You are the only family I have left in the world, and I would sooner die than betray you. That is what I think, Grandmaster."

Stunned silence fell over the room. But Vanaver nodded, as if he'd expected as much, and clapped a hand over March's shoulder.

"Of course, my friend," he said softly.

Then he moved on, to the final man in line.

"Lastly, our esteemed Jack Haly." A note of cruel humor dripped into Vanaver's tone. "Curator of the Court's champions. Our zookeeper."

Dick grit his teeth so hard he wondered if his jaw would snap.

"His family has faithfully served the Court since the days of William Cobb. Earned their way into our ranks through loyalty and determination. But Jack, here, has displayed reservations, hasn't he? He has hesitated at every turn, and his list of betrayals is a long one, my friends! Hiding children away during our visits, denying us John Grayson when we demanded his life. And when we asked him to remind the Grayson family of their loyalty to the Court—his efforts killed them all!"

Jack seemed to shrink in on himself as jeers and angry snarls from the audience rolled over the room. Dick's heart twinged painfully in his chest.

"Only one member survived!" Vanaver thrust a hand towards Dick. "And instead of turning him over to your Grandmaster and your Court, you sold him away to Bruce Wayne!"

Jack swayed on his feet, and Vanaver stepped up sharply.

"This man has betrayed our trust at every turn. He has proven time and time again that he will stop at nothing to deprive the Court of their Talons and 'protect' his precious Graysons to the bitter end, and so I think, ladies and gentlemen of the Court, that we have our culprit!"

"No!" Haly cried.

"Talons!" the Grandmaster barked.

Dick could already feel the ketamine begin to gnaw at his senses as two Talons broke off from the ranks and seized Jack's arms. He heard Vanaver order them to detain Haly until the ceremony was complete—until he could face 'justice' properly. He was aware of Lincoln March's watchful gaze, burning a hole in him with its intensity, and Dick was aware of the poisonous sneer Barbara sent the man's way. More poisonous than anything Dick had seen on her before…

But his vision was blurred, and he struggled to blink some clarity into his eyes as he tipped his head back.

Strapped down, bristling with more needles than a porcupine, and drugged into submission—the facts were all there. Laid out right in front of him.

Dick knew, then.

Neither he nor Barbara were ever leaving this room alive.

"My friends, we have delayed the proceedings for long enough," said Vanaver as he turned back to the crowd. "And so, let us begin."

The click of a thrown switch brushed Dick's ears, and the tanks behind him rattled to life.

#######

#######

"We have to go back!"

Cassandra dragged Stephanie through the entrance to the Cave, her grip ironclad and unyielding. Her hand had fastened around Steph's wrist back in that Nightmare House, and all across Gotham—over buildings, through the sewers, down alleyways, and across sidewalks—her hold had never slackened.

Steph fought her the whole way, of course; it hadn't even slowed the warrior girl down.

But as soon as the musty cave air hit their faces, Cassandra let go.

"Safe here," she said firmly.

"Cassandra what the #$%%!?" Stephanie roared. Her eyes darted to the side, catching sight of a lovely quartet of wheels that would carry her like a chariot back to battle, and Cassandra followed her gaze—just in time for Steph to land a right hook to the other girl's jaw.

It was a cheap shot. And it surprised Steph just as much as it did Cassandra. But while the assassin was reeling, Stephanie made a mad dash for the Batmobile.

She made it a good six feet before a stiff hand seized her cape and dragged her back. Heels scraping across the ground, Steph struggled. But with one thrust, and a lightning-fast leg sweep, the shorter girl had her on her back before Steph could even open her mouth to scream.

"No," Cassandra insisted. Her face twisted into a pained scowl.

"Cass, that's my family!" Steph cried, writhing underneath the boot on her chest.

"Yes, but…too many enemies."

"So!? How dare you!?" Stephanie screamed, then heaved an outraged moan and went limp, glaring up at the shorter girl with heated malice. "You think Babs would have left you with those sadists? Would any of the others leave you for dead?"

Cassandra's eyes narrowed.

"And why the #$%% did you grab me, anyway?" Steph huffed. "Damian was right there! So was Ti—oh, &*#..." She turned her head, stomach lurching like she'd taken a dive on the world's fastest rollercoaster. Thoughts of gleaming knives, vicious laughter, and Tim's drawn out screams burst into her mind, and it left her shivering.

"You," Cassandra said softly. "Because…you could not be there. Because you were not…you did not…"

Stephanie watched the girl's face twist. Whether it was in frustration, concentration, or confusion was anyone's guess, but Steph suspected it might have been all three.

"The room," assassin girl finally decided, glowering at some dark spot in the stalactites overhead.

Steph frowned at that. And it took a good chunk of time before the dots connected.

"O-oh," she whispered.

"Cannot…I cannot understand moving like…I did. Before." A line appeared between Cassandra's perfect brows. "But…I could still see you were not…okay."

Not okay?

Stephanie hadn't experienced panic quite like that in years. Bursting into that room and seeing all those…instruments…laid out had set off her flight response like fireworks. It was like being punched in the gut. Having her lungs fly up to her throat.

She'd known it was different, that she wasn't in the same place or time or situation as she had been the last time she'd seen scalpels and syringes on a tray. But even so, she could hear Sionis in her head, with that rattling chuckle as he whispered,

We're gonna make this nice and simple, sweet-cheeks, m'kay? Gonna play a little game I like to call 'either-or'. It's a riot! You're gonna love it. And I hope you're ready, 'cause heeeerre we go!

Stephanie had seen the bloodstains on the table, and felt her heart stop. The whirring of a phantom power drill had shrieked in her ears and made her knees turn to jelly.

'Either' you tell me more about this little gang shebang you were trying to start…'or' I'll take this little guy here…stick 'im right up against your cornea—like so—and press ever so slightly on the trigger…

Her own screaming had filled her head as Jason grabbed her. Pressed her into his chest and started easing her down from the ledge. She'd tried to focus on the thrumming vibrations of his voice in his chest, her cheek pinned right against his armor. And slowly, but surely, he'd managed to bring her panic down to a more manageable level. Just before it'd escalated into a full-blown attack. Just enough for her to keep her eyes on the prize and keep pushing through.

"What happened?" Cassandra asked her softly.

Lying very still, Stephanie whispered. "A long time ago. Somebody hurt me. Like…I think like they were hurting Babs. But I didn't make it."

The other girl was silent. Watching her carefully, with a look like regret on her face. But she didn't move her foot away, and she showed no sign of letting up.

So, Stephanie let the venom seep back into her tone.

"And those men—Joker, and Slade, and all the others—they're going to hurt my family like I was hurt, and if we don't go back there and save them, Cass, they're going to die!"

"I'm afraid I'm on your friend's side, kitten," a smooth voice crooned from the shadows, and Stephanie looked up sharply.

Catwoman slinked into the light, hips swaying gently as her fingertips traced the glass uniform cases on the Cave's edges. A frown twisted her mouth as her eyes ticked back and forth between Batman's entombed suit and the pair of girls struggling by the car.

"The five of you were too far out of your depth." Selina's hand dropped to her side, and she stalked towards them. "Going into the Owls' nest? What was your plan, just storm in with flying fists and crossed fingers?"

Her footsteps stopped just a few feet away, and Stephanie felt her jaw go slack as her eyes lifted to the woman's narrowed gaze.

"Honestly, Stephanie. Didn't Bruce ever teach you kids better than that?"

"We had a plan," she retorted, once her tongue decided to start working again. "And it was a &*#% good one, too."

One of those manicured eyebrows ticked upward.

"It just…got a little derailed."

"Mm-hmm." Selina's eyes flicked up to Cassandra. "Well, I'd ask for an introduction, honey, but I'm afraid we've got bigger things to worry about."

The boot finally lifted, and Stephanie heaved a deep breath. Pulling herself off the floor, she clambered to her feet and made sure to shoot a dangerous scowl Cassandra's way. "You mean, besides the fact that the others are in mortal danger? Or do you actually have your priorities straight tonight, Sel?"

"Cut the tone, kitten," Selina snapped. "I'm here to help. Because right now, the rest of your friends are on their way back to the Watchtower with more of the Court's inhibitor chips."

Stephanie's eyes widened. "What? You mean, they're—?"

"Under the Court's control, yes. And they're about to make sure the rest of the Justice League joins them."

"How the #$%% do you know this?"

Catwoman's eyes gleamed dangerously. "That doesn't matter. What does matter is our next move." She turned away from them, and trailed over to the Batcomputer. "We're too late to stop them from taking down the League, but if we play our cards right, we may be able to figure out where the Court's signal to the chips is streaming from, and dismantle their plans at the source. We'll need—"

The familiar whirring sound of the elevator cut her off short. All three women looked up, just in time to see the doors slide open.

Alfred stood at attention, with arms clasped behind his back.

At his side, stood one very pissed-off Katherine Kane.

"I came as soon as I heard," she snapped, stalking into the room.

Alfred trailed behind her, one eyebrow raised high. "My deepest apologies, Miss Stephanie, Miss Kyle. She, ah, twisted my arm, as it were."

Stephanie's jaw dropped. "I'm sorry, what?"

Kate marched over to Selina. "Catwoman, right? My partner's with the GCPD, and called an hour ago, telling me to get somewhere safe. Two metas—a fast one and a strong one—are wrecking up $#!^ downtown, and I think it might have something to do with the Court of Owls."

"Well," Selina said, eyes wide. "Guess that decides it. Batgirl, you and I are all this city has left. Grab your things and meet me by the car—"

"Hold up," Steph said, lifting her hands in the 'time-out' sign. "What about Cass?"

Cassandra nodded. "I can help."

"So can I," Kate snapped, as the other three women and the butler turned to gape at her. "Don't give me that look. I know my way around a fight, and I've got a bone to pick with these freaks for interrupting date night. Take me with you."

Selina crossed her arms over her chest. Skepticism rolled off her in waves. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but a recent interview with one Vicki Vale made your stance on 'the capes in Gotham' crystal clear, Katherine. Why the sudden change of heart?"

The other woman softened slightly, suddenly sheepish.

"I know I haven't exactly been Batman's biggest supporter, but that was before Batwoman saved Renee's life. And…" she hesitated, and lifted her arms to mirror Selina's guarded stance before softly adding, "It was before I knew we were family."

The dubious frown on Selina's face dropped.

And Stephanie cleared her throat. "Well, it's not like we aren't hurting for backup right about now. I say we give her a shot."

"Fine." Catwoman thumbed at the bullwhip on her belt thoughtfully. "But if these two are going to run with us, they're going to need to look the part…"

"You mean—?"

Steph, Cass, and Kate all followed Selina's gaze to the row of glass cases. One of the original Batgirl uniforms stood stoically behind one polished pane. Another held the Batwoman suit, discarded after Barbara and Stephanie's last outing, and waiting patiently for its owner's return.

Steph's eyes traced thoughtfully over Cassandra's and then Kate's figures. "Do you think they'll fit?" she mused.

"Oh, darling," Selina purred, clearly warming to the idea as she smiled over at the other two women. "I think they'll be a perfect fit."

#######

#######

"Cavete Curia Strutionum, quod vigiliarum omni tempore..."

Each word pounded through the room. A forceful chant. Straight from the mouths of a hundred speakers. It thrummed in his ears, in his head, until it was all Dick could hear.

His head sagged weakly to the side, cheek brushing the cold black padding of the chair.

"…regens Gotham ex umbrarum perticam, post granite et calce…"

He just wanted to see her. Not the staring masks or the flickering candles. Not the crimson ribbons of plastic wrapped around his body, draining the blood from his veins. Her.

The love of his life.

When Vanaver had given the word, the technicians had thrown a switch, and the IVs had begun their work. The Owls and Talons had begun their intonation. And with every buzzing beat of his heart, he could feel himself getting weaker and weaker. Even lifting his gaze took herculean effort.

But then his eyes landed on hers…

"…vigilate et vos in vestri focus…"

Barbara's breath came in short, huffing pants.

"Dick…?" she gasped.

"H-here," he wheezed, his own chest feeling tight.

"…vigilate et vos in cubili tuo…"

She'd gone paler than pale, her lips a cold blue. Her tongue traced over their cracked edges before she rasped,

"T-thank you…for always b-being you."

"Sta…stay with me, Angel…" His soft voice cracked.

"…loqui non aurem verbum eorum…"

"I…I wanted to say…" She wet her lips again. "…te iubesc. Th-that means…means…"

"I love you," Dick whispered like a plea.

Her eyes were dimming, but for a moment, he saw them gleam.

"And I w-wanted to s-ay…b-before I…before we go…"

"…aut mittam In Talon enim caput tuum!"

A loud roar went up from the crowd, and Dick felt his lungs quake. He glanced back at Barbara, and watched a violent shiver wrack her frame.

Then the tubes at their wrists shuddered, and they watched helplessly as blackness spread beneath the plastic like spilled ink. Once it reached their skin, Dick and Barbara jolted.

Their spines curved off the chairs. Mouths stretched open to their limit as they reared back and screamed. The convulsions began, shaking their bodies to the bone. Dick's skull crashed against the headrest as he let out a long, cracked groan. Pain like nothing he'd ever felt before threaded through every cell in his body. So intense that his mind wouldn't even process it. It was like lightning. It was like acid. It was like his molecules were flying apart, then joining back together in all the wrong ways.

It hurt, it hurt, it hurt…stop, make it stop, just make it stop…

Tears streamed from his eyes. He dared one last glance at Barbara.

And he found that she was already watching him.

Agony was etched in every line on her face as she suffered through the same torment. But still, she managed to gasp out one desperate word, a broken cry—

"Yes!"

A feeling he couldn't name burst through him, burning bright like an imploding star.

"Y-yes? You mean—?"

"Before…we go," Barbara whispered, as her body went still. Her breath rattled as her eyes fell closed. Limbs stopped their shaking, and with the last bit of life in her lungs, she told him, "Yes."

It was her answer to the question he'd never gotten the chance to ask. The question he'd agonized over for years, and now, hearing the word, hearing that affirmation…

But then Dick watched her go.

Saw the moment she left him.

The realization sunk into his chest with unbearable weight. He inhaled a cracked sob, turning his face to the vaulted ceiling above. And he could feel himself following her.

Sleep well, Angel, he told his love silently, saving his last breath for his final vow—

"Ești fata visurilor mele."

You are the girl of my dreams.

And Dick Grayson joined his partner in death.