Part 3

Part 3, and Young Justice free again, I'm afraid, but this is very short. They're back for the final part. None of the characters are mine, etc. etc. Thank you for your reviews =)




Quiet night. A mugging or two and some jerk trying to smash open a cash machine. Very taxing.
Not that I'm not glad it's quiet, of course. I'm still not on top of my game since - well, my little arctic adventure, let's say. We all know that. Bruce is still pretending he thinks I'm fine. Which is why I'm not meant to know Dick's been following me all night. Shall I tell him he's wasting his time? The night is dead. What could happen?
I sigh and pause on a very bright rooftop. I scribble a note on a scrap of paper, weight it down with a 'rang and leave it for him to find. One good thing about my "big bro" - he's very, very, very nosy. I know he can't resist. And I'm fed up of being treated like I can't even open doors on my own.

* * *

Nightwing watched Robin vanish over the edge of the building and made to follow, but his eyes were drawn to the scrap of paper. He stared at it for a moment. Well, maybe if he gave the kid some time to get away he'd be less conspicuous. Tim wasn't stupid. He'd spot him sooner or later.
He landed silently on the rooftop and tried to walk nonchalantly to the scrap of paper. He kicked off the batarang and unfolded the paper, reading the short note and pulling a face. "Behind you?"
He spun around - and Robin struck him straight in the back, bowling both of them over. For a second there was a complicated rolling mess skidding across the rooftop which finished with Robin on his back with his head dangling over the edge of the building, glaring up at Nightwing pressing on his chest. "Jeeze, you [really] need to cut down on the between-meal snacks."
"You said behind," Dick said accusingly, waving the paper with his free hand, the other trying to keep Robin pinned.
"I hit your back, didn't I?"
"That's hardly fair."
"And following me all night is?"
Nightwing paused. "Okay. But if the Bat asks you to do something it isn't such a good idea to argue."

* * *

How exactly did I get into a staring contest with Dick? Only now we're both glaring at each other and neither of us wants to blink first. This is stupid. I could be the mature one and break it off but - well, then I'd lose. This is a hard call.
"Get off him!"
We both look up in shock and then Dick goes flying in a whirl of purple and blue. I sit up and watch and I'm definitely not smiling as Dick tries to hold off the furious whirlwind that is Stephanie Brown, the girl who never gets the full picture before she jumps in. I let them try to kill each other for fifteen seconds before I say, "It's okay, Steph. I think he's learnt his lesson now."
They fall apart, panting, and I dust my cape off and try to stop grinning. I think Steph's scowling under her mask, and Dick really looks grumpy now. "Why am I the one that gets attacked? He jumped me," Dick whines.
"Don't be such a baby. You were the one following me."
"Boys," Steph sighs. "Would anyone like to tell me what the heck is happening?"
"Just a brotherly spat," Dick says, and tries to ruffle my hair. I duck under his arm and kick him in the shin. He winces. "What the heck was that for?"
"Don't thick I'm not still mad at you," I snap. "Go away."
Steph starts to snigger. I'm still not exactly happy with her, either. I suppose it's time to sort everything out.
"He said-"
"I don't care," I am not going to go crazy. I'm not. Deep breaths. Doesn't work. "I don't need someone following me to make sure I'm okay! Go home!"
Dick gives me a hurt look, and my anger simmers and dies, but I don't move, just stand with my arms folded and glare at him. He shrugs and turns around. "Fine. Call me if you need anything."
I watch him until I lose sight of him in the shadows. Okay, what do you want me to say? I feel bad? Well, yeah, I do. But I've had a rotten time of it recently and I don't need to be treated like a baby.
I also kind of wish Steph didn't see that.
Don't think I can deal with this right now. I know me and Steph have had more than our fair share of problems and I should jump at the chance to sort them out, but right now . . . I have too many other things on my mind. I've sort of forgiven Bruce, even though he hasn't given me any sort of explanation. I just couldn't think how to ask. Why does everything always have to be so complicated?
I hear Steph shuffle behind me and say quietly, "Robin?"
I sigh and try to think how I can get through this, when there's a shatter and an alarm screams out. I'm swinging towards it with no in between. Stupid instinct. I wonder if Dick heard it. He was pretty far away last time I saw him. Maybe me and Steph can handle it alone. I can hear her slightly behind me, and every now and then a flicker of lavender in the corner of my vision.
Two guys in ski masks, one waiting on a bike while the other's trying to scrape the ruins of a jewellry shop window display into a bag. The broken glass is shining more than the jewels, and I can see from this distance that he's digging more of that out by accident than anything expensive.
I glance at Steph and she's aiming for the motorbike guy, so I dive on the one with the bag. I land a little too close but manage to kick him under the jaw and he staggers back for a moment before pulling a gun on me.
It's odd, but you see the flash of light ages before the sound comes. That's what it seems like, anyway. I roll behind a car and hear one tyre hissing down, and detach a batarang and rope from my belt.
I take a quick look to see how Steph's doing as I roll out to lasso him, and that's probably why the next bullet clips the side of my chest. The kevlar protects me from any real damage but I'm winded instantly and I know I'm gonna have a heck of a bruise in the morning. Ignoring the stinging, I throw the 'rang and line and trip him up so his head clops off the wall and down he goes.
We'd better get out of here before the cops arrive. Steph's guy's revving the engine and trying to throw her off the bike so I quickly knock him out - he wasn't expecting a second attacker - and we make our getaway, leaving them tied neatly back-to-back for the cops.
"Are you okay?" she says gently as we watch the street flicker blue and red from a rooftop, our two new friends being carted away to Blackgate.
I'm getting sick of people asking me that. I put a hand over the rip in my costume where the bullet scraped past. "Fine," I mutter. It's getting early and I'd like to go home and sleep for the next week or so.
She pulls her mask off and I try to avoid looking at her, because when she puts on her puppy-dog look it really is hard to feel angry at her. "Tim," she said quietly, and puts on hand on mine.
Okay, choices. I can forgive her and try to forget all the betrayal and pain that made me agree to go on the stupid trip with Danny in the first place. Or I can stay angry at her for a while longer. Or I can break up with her entirely, and put an end to all the craziness and confusion, but - but I don't want to. I like Steph. A lot. I'd like to find out how much. But still . . .
I try to think back to trekking through the snow on a broken leg. In those few hours my thoughts were really, really mangled, kind of like dreaming on my feet - but I do remember a sort of panging regret that I'd never get to see anyone I cared about again. Including Steph. Especially Steph.
Maybe . . . maybe some things are too important for stupid pride to get in the way of.

* * *

I was going to sulk in the Cave for a while until I heard the alarm, but when I saw the others already heading to it I just decided to watch for a little longer. I almost stepped in when someone started shooting, but they seemed to have the situation well under control. Anyway, I was still really mad.
I think Tim's made up with his little friend. I can't think of any other explanation for all the soppiness, anyway. Ah, young love.
I'd better get out of here before he notices me again, anyway. I run a hand over a bruise on my forehead. When that boy gets mad he gets mad. And I know full well that in the mood he was in at the time, if he wasn't still recovering he'd have had me for lunch. Can't say I don't exactly deserve it. We're both stubborn idiots sometimes. Maybe that's why we get on so well.
Anyway, I'm heading home. Just hope those two don't lose track of time. Kind of reminds me of me and Barbara . . . maybe I can make a visit on the way home . . .