Catch the Gargoyles reference and win something. And BB's backstory is going to be AU, because I simply can't ignore the potential for angst, here. Apologies for lateness.

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Chapter Three

1

November 20th, 2:30 AM

Starfire moaned as steaming hot water rained down on her skin. The heat and the pounding eased some of the tension in her aching muscles, the percussion of water sometimes beating on her bruises. It felt good, as warm water washed into her cuts and banged against her bruises— perhaps not 'felt good,' because it hurt… in a good way.

She showered for a good, long time, making sure to stay within the shower even after Batman and Robin left. She wrapped a towel around herself shortly after she turned the taps, ending the wonderful jet, and padded up the stairs.

There was no one awake to note her passing, so she headed straight to her bedroom and changed into her pajamas.

She dreamed of the long, arduous fight with Killer Croc.

8:00 AM

Sunlight streamed in through her open windows and Starfire groaned to be awake, her sleep-filled eyes squinting at the alarm clock.

She'd only had five hours of sleep, it seemed.

"Wake up, sunshine," somebody crooned. It sounded like Robin— no, Dick, she reminded herself.

"I am awake," Starfire informed him.

"You'd better get up soon, or no breakfast."

She nodded. "I understand."

When he left, she stood and dressed herself, careful to wear nothing similar to her garb in Jump City.

The doorbell sounded, a great, chiming sound, as she stepped down the steps.

The doorman immediately opened it, revealing another green-eyed redhead standing on the porch.

Dick entered from the hallway leading to the dining room. When he saw the other redhead, his face lit up.

"Babs, you're here!" He laughed. "Kory, meet Barbara Gordon. Babs, meet Kory Anders."

"It is a pleasure," Starfire told the other redhead, eying her warily.

She tried, to little avail, to squash the tiny spurt of jealousy within herself. Though it had been a long time since she'd felt jealousy, she recognized it instantly, remembering the way she'd felt when Kitten had forced Robin to accompany her to her Junior Prom.

Barbara smiled. "Charmed."

Dick watched them evenly. "Breakfast is ready, you know."

Breakfast turned out to be a veritable feast.

"Did Alfred prepare all of this glorious food for our consumption all on his own?" Starfire asked, staring at the laden table. She might have sworn that the wood groaned under the weight!

"Not entirely on his own," Dick laughed, easily juggling a trio of spoons. "We have hired help in the kitchen—I don't think even Alfred could manage all his duties without at least five other people."

Starfire felt certain there was a phrase to describe what happened next. 'Speak of the develop and he appears,' or something like that.

Alfred appeared just behind Barbara's shoulder, looking down at the young hero.

Dick made a weak, 'heh,' sound and put the silverware back on the table.

Alfred straightened up the place settings, informed Dick of something about a 'birthday present,' and retreated.

"Dick?" Starfire asked. "Where is Bruce?"

"He's at work." She could barely make out the answer; Dick appeared to be trying to cram the entirety of three plate-sized chocolate chip pancakes into his mouth. "Today's Monday, so most people go to work and school."

"Who does not go?"

Dick's response was unintelligible, and would be so to anyone, unless it was a human custom to divine meaning from the trajectory of half-masticated chocolate chips.

"I beg pardon, but I did not understand your words. I believe the mass of pancake in your mouth obscures your speech."

Dick rolled his eyes and held up a single finger, now chewing thoughtfully on what was probably a mass of food the size of a gorilla's fist. He swallowed several times, and then explained, "People who don't have jobs, or are too young to go to school tend to stay home."

Starfire nodded. It made sense and seemed obvious now that he'd said it aloud, but he had a way of saying it so that she didn't feel bad she didn't already know. She doubted that anybody else could exhibit such patience.

"Want to go to the Gotham mall today?" Dick asked.

"Perhaps later. I am still tired right now." She eyed Barbara. "I could not sleep until late last night."

Dick laughed again. "Don't worry about Babs; she's a member of the Bat family."

"Batgirl," Barbara informed her, smiling gently. "I assume you're Starfire?"

"I am."

Alfred appeared again, just as suddenly as the first time he had come. "Master Dick, you have a telephone call."

"Excuse me," Dick said, all evidence of being anything other than a seventeen year-old courtier vanishing as he rose.

"I wonder what that was about," Barbara observed. Her merry green eyes slanted like a cat's. "Dick has a lot of friends at Gotham Prep, but none of them know that he's back yet."

"They do not? But is Mister Wayne not an important figure here?"

"He is," the older girl agreed. "But the media knows better than to follow him around unless he makes an announcement. If the Dynamic Duo haven't announced his arrival yet, then nobody knows he's here. I didn't even know he was here."

Starfire made a mental note of the disappointment in Barbara's voice.

"Why are you here?" Starfire asked. "Today is Monday… how is it that you are exempt from work?"

"I'm in college; we have a week off every year so that the college can use the campus for a convention."

Dick returned and looked at his plate for the barest instant. "I'm going to go do a little research. Let me know when you're ready to leave, okay?"

"What was the purpose of your telephone call?" Starfire asked.

Dick did not miss a beat in replying, but she still felt something was wrong. "It was just a call from my younger brother, Jason. He says he's having a lot of fun spending the Wayne money."

Starfire accepted the explanation, even if something about it felt wrong.

Dick felt guilty about lying, but forced himself to push it aside. He had other things to think about.

Like why Slade had used Tim Drake, of all people, and just what he'd planned to do with the boy.

Drake and Wayne…Their families go back a long time. Hand in hand.

Dick ignored the whispers in the back of his mind.

Damn you, Jason Todd, Dick thought, scanning the bookshelves in the library for the title he sought. Aha! There it is! He easily scaled a ladder and grabbed the book, then performed a double backflip off the ladder. He landed perfectly atop another bookshelf.

The book fell to the floor with a loud whomp, and Dick soon joined it.

Within the book, he found the one thing he'd never thought could be possible.

2

Logan Manor, near Bludhaven.

Cyborg stared at the sponge in his hands. His gaze returned to the wall. Then he looked back at the sponge in his hands.

There had to be an easier way to do this.

His gaze shifted from the wall to the sponge, until Beast Boy snapped, "Just do it."

"I thought everything here died?" Cyborg grumbled.

The expression that found its way onto Beast Boy's face scared him. It was like Robin in one of his Miniature Batman modes. Or like Raven when she was slipping in the fight with the Demon inside of herself.

Except Beast Boy was supposed to be the brightest of the Titans. Beast Boy and Starfire were always happy.

It was like your mother trying to chop your head off, or seeing a hated teacher in a restaurant. It was sick and unnatural and it made you want to go hide under the bed.

"Yes," Beast Boy hissed. "Everything here died. I killed my parents… my sister… my friends… the servants… the animals…"

Cyborg wasn't stupid enough to ask the logical question. He could see how close being here had brought Beast Boy to the edge.

Beast Boy's T-Communicator began to beep.

"Beast Boy… You're from the Logan family, right?" It was Robin's voice speaking, but it sounding nothing like Robin.

He sounded strained.

"Right," Beast Boy said, softly.

"What do you know about the Drake family?"

Beast Boy shrugged. "It's an old family… I think they're related to the Dracon family, up in NYC… Anyway, they were pretty rich, too, but they fell on hard times about a generation ago."

"Hm…" Robin murmured.

Drake… Like Tim Drake? What does Robin want to know about Tim's family?

"Do you know of any connections between the Drake and Wayne families?"

Beast Boy shrugged again. "No, but I could check. I've got a book on the rich and powerful of the Eastern Seaboard somewhere in the library."

"If it hasn't been eaten by mold," Cyborg muttered.

Beast Boy glared.

"Do you mind doing that for me? I want to double-check something I found out," Robin's voice said.

"Not at all," Beast Boy said, but there was something wrong with that voice.

Beast Boy snapped his T-Communicator shut and started down the halls.

Cyborg started at the mold-covered walls, and looked back at the sponge. He whimpered.

I hate cleaning.

Beast Boy found the volume he was looking for and turned to the D section.

His eyes widened at what he found.

This could get interesting. And NOT in a good way…

He flipped the T-Communicator open. "Robin…" His voice cracked.

"Here."

"Robin… The Drake family has ties with the Wayne family… Something about one of Bruce's great aunts marrying a Drake. And not only that, but the Drakes also have ties to the Wilson family."

"And we care why?"

"Slade Wilson."

"…Oh shit. That could… That could explain a lot of things." Robin paused. "On the other hand, Slade also could have gotten all his money for equipment from a televangelist ministry."

Beast Boy grinned weakly. "I thought I was the one who made the lame jokes, eh?"

"Yeah, well, I couldn't resist." Robin paused again. "Well… If Slade was somehow related to Tim, that would explain why he let Tim live."

"Slade doesn't seem like the type to care about that."

Then again… I killed my entire family… A whole household… And only Robin and Raven ever knew…

Is that why Raven hates me? Is it because I'm a murderer?

I hate cleaning, Cyborg grumbled. I hate cleaning. I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it. I am never putting on a pair of rubber gloves EVER again.

The wall made the most disgusting farting sounds he'd ever heard when he took the sponge to it. And the mold tried to close around his hand and eat it.

Just what does Beast Boy think to accomplish? We'll never get a home base set up.

And suddenly there Beast Boy was behind him, dark green eyes glittering, face serene.

He looked like he stepped out of a portrait of a stereotypical fifteen- year- old noble, done in green crayon, if you ignored how ratty the black jeans were and didn't notice all the holes in the shirt.

"That's enough, I think," Beast Boy said. "We're moving operations to Bludhaven, and Robin is going to arrange for a reliable cleaning crew."

"Bludhaven, huh?" Cyborg mused.

Aw, man! That means I have to walk fifteen miles again!

"What's it like?"

"Corrupted," Beast Boy said. "Corrupted, obscene, vicious, and completely crime-ridden. The entire town devotes itself to being the nastiest little place it can." He laughed. "Like Gizmo."

The laughter echoed eerily off the walls and Cyborg couldn't help but wonder for what must have been the thousandth time if Beast Boy was sane.

"I'll help you back, if you want," Beast Boy offered.

"Nah, that's okay. I got it." Cyborg shrugged. "So… What'd you and Robin talk about?"

"Robin thinks that Slade and the Drake family are relatives."

"If it weren't so out of character… You could almost see that as a reason for sparing Tim."

"Almost," Beast Boy agreed quietly.

3

JumpCity

Yes, Raven decided as she added just a few drops of valerian extract into her chamomile tea, if silences had rings, then the Tower's silence would sound like Big Ben.

I'm always complaining about the noise... But now that I finally have quiet, I can't sleep.

She wanted to laugh, but she was afraid of what would happen. She wanted to cook a real meal but she had just drugged herself, and operating a stove under the influence of a sleep aid wasn't the brightest idea.

She cursed when her cloak clasp began to glow again.

But she somehow managed to pull her scattered, tired thoughts together to teleport to the disturbance.

As the raven vanished in the air behind her, returning to the shadowy depths of her soul, she noticed that no one had threatened her.

The alley was empty.

Something's not right here.

Her gaze traveled to the abandoned factory just a few streets away, the ugly brick building rising up above the area that she might call a slum if she felt particularly generous.

Heavy footfalls sounded— four people running, if she trusted her ears.

"Ekaitz! Heriotza! Hau zorionrako da!" Someone cried. "Hau Ekaitzrako da!"

"Ez ditugu inoiz ahaztuko." Someone else said, and the strange sounds continued.

She couldn't make sense of it. It sounded like a little like Spanish, if all the Spaniards had been on that Language Crack That Makes Languages Sound Evil about four hundred years earlier.

"Mobilizatu bonba." She heard those seven syllables quite clearly, and then she heard a blast.

The factory went up in flames.

She fought down shock and narrowed her eyes as she lifted herself a few feet of the ground and made her way to where she could hear still voices shouting with triumph.

Four people stood in another alley, making congratulatory gestures. Two of them gave each other high fives; the other two were hugging each other.

"It really worked," one of them said. Any traces of the strange accent she'd heard earlier vanished. "I can't believe it!"

Another admonished the first in a barrage of syllables, heavily accented. The only word Raven caught was "Euskara".

"Ekaitz, hau zuretzat da!"

She moved fully into the alley. "You are under arrest for destroying public property with the aid of an illegal bomb."

"Lau, zinez." One said, smirking. The others laughed.

And then they were running off. She gave chase, but she lost them.

Fury welled, and she crushed it without mercy. If they were truly terrorists and not just a bunch of crazy kids who refused to speak English in public, they would strike again.

She landed at the Tower's entrance and blinked several times.

There, on the front walk, was a bowl of red Jell-O. It came with a large placard, reading, "Ongi pasa!"

Sometimes I wake up in the morning

The gingerlady by my bed

Covered in a cloak of silence

I hear you in my head

A Rainy Night in Soho, THE POGUES