Author's Note:Yes, it's been far too long since I worked on this. I'm trying to finish what I started on a few of my stories. God give me strength. Give me some reviews, and I may be able to continue.

"You can set your stuff down in the hallway." Tim made a face at the man behind his back as they entered the rather large apartment flat. He didn't make a move to set he stuff down, only started looking around the complex.

"Wow. The entire floor. In Gotham. You must be so proud." Tim's words echoed sarcasm in every syllable.

"This is only my temporary home. Coming from the manor everyday would be too far of a drive, and I own this apartment complex anyways."

"What are you, some kind of millionaire?" Tim scoffed.

"Yes, actually." He glanced up at Tim and smirked. "Would you like to put your things down, or would you rather carry it all evening?" Tim threw his bags in a corner, and Bruce nodded in satisfaction. "Good. Now, have a seat, Mr. Drake. There are a few rules I'd like to discuss with you." He waited for Tim to find a chair, but when it was obvious the teenager was going to refuse, he nodded and pulled up one of the kitchen chairs and sat himself. "Fine. You can stand. I can sit. But I highly suggest you listen."

Tim only gave him a nod to continue, and then Wayne started in with a barrage of demands.

"You will not interrupt me while I give these rules."

"And who are you to tell me what to do?"

The man smirked. "I am the one who governs whether you eat, where you sleep, and how hard you work for the duration of your sentence. It's in the courtorder that the therepy can be given in any way I determine suitable. Child abuse does not apply." This seemed to shut Tim up, mainly from shock, so Wayne smiled and continued.

"Now, may I start?

"You are not to leave this building without my accompanyment. You are not to be left alone in this building without me. Besides such times as bathroom use, you will not be left alone. You will sleep in a bunk bed I have brought in from the juvenile hall that has been placed in my bedroom.

"You will not skip meals. You will not be allowed knives, lighters, guns, daggers, swords, canes, pins, or anything else with sharp edges or that can be used as a weapon. You will not be allowed to drive anything. You will serve your community service time, as usual. You will do your schoolwork.

"All aquaintences will be approved of by me. All books, TV shows, websites, comic books, magazines, newspapers, ect will be approved of by me. You will submit all your bags to me at the end of the day to be searched." Wayne stopped to survey the ever darkening look on the boy's face. "I am not your friend. I am not your idiot. I am your disciplinarian. I will respect you if you respect me, but I don't believe you do. If your going to be a criminal, I will treat you like one."

"What about the others? Their there for crimes. Are they getting one on one people?" Tim spat between gritted teeth.

Wayne smirked. "Let's just say your the guinea pig. You're an interesting case, Mr. Drake."

"I'm a person. Not a case."

"No, you're neither. You're a criminal."

Gar snickered slightly behind his hand as he and Cy waited for that little bald idiot to turn the corner. Cy looked distrustful, as if this plan wasn't exactly a good one.

"Are you sure you saw him coming?"

"Of course! Dude, don't you trust me?" They had rigged some of the leftover school speghetti in a makeshift catapult made of rubber bands and elastic and very thin plastic blag. Gar was holding it back, waiting for footsteps. There were a few more breathless moments of waiting, and then echoes bounced off the hallways. Gar grinned and started to let go of the band, but Cy tried to stop him.

"Wait, Gar, there's more than one--"

Too late. The bag was flying and they heard one highpitched female yell of surprise and then another female giggle. Both boys looked at each other in a moments hesitation. Cy mouthed "let's run for it". Gar nodded and they turned to creep down the hallway quietly, but were met by the site of the fuschia haired girl covered in speghetti sauce and a blonde girl who was still trying to supress laughter. The fuschia girl's eyes were shooting daggers, her pale skin flushed. "Which. One. Of. You. Will. Die. Today?"

Gar flushed a serious shade of red, his blonde hair clashing with it. The blonde girl giggled and waved her hand. "Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner! Garfield Logan, come on down!" She said with a slight laugh. Gar muttered something about 'shut-up Terra', but Cy intervened, standing from his crouched position and walking up to the fuchsia haired girl.

"Look, ya'll, it was just a misunderstanding. That thing was meant for someone else."

"Doesn't mean it's any less personal." She said with a snarl.

He smiled. "Look, we'll give you back your table, you get to slap him, and we'll let this slide."

She glared for several more seconds, but finally caved. "Fine." The girl proceeded to storm up to Gar and slap him hard, leaving a red hand mark on his already red cheek. Cy laughed, and the girl turned to give him a quizical look. "What? Don't tell me you thought I wouldn't go through with it."

"Actually, I was just thinking you're cute when you're angry."

"Don't push your luck, Stone." She said with a flat finality, and started to walk away, closely followed by the blonde. He took a few steps forward.

"Hey, wait, don't I get a name or anything?"

She turned, giving him a look that clearly said she wished to give him something more fatal than a name. "Call me Jinx."

Cy chuckled as she walked away, then turned and looked at Gar. "So...you were sure he was coming, were you?"

"Shutup." Gar shook himself back to normal and frowned. "Great. I got slapped and humiliated."

Cy smirked, seeing another potential area of threat in the open. "Yeah, and in front of...Terra, was her name? Who was she?"

"SHUT UP!"

Raven propped her chin in her hand as she tuned out the pointless "suicidal" teen that was complaining to her on the phone. This was community service? This was pointless. Whoever invented support hotlines was an idiot.

Of course, it was probably invented by the same person who invented support groups and juvenile halls.

Raven looked back on the little therapy session from earlier that afternoon. Tim had seemed to be the only one with a brain in there, and for once there was someone who wasn't afraid of her. This was more terrifying than it was intrigueing. She was thinking too much about the fact that he almost seemed to be seeking her out...and she didn't mind when he did.

And what was he? Some rich kid punk who took a pack of gum? And if he knew that she was dangerous, than he wasn't brave, he was just stupid. And if he didn't know yet and found out--well, if he was smart then he would back off.

Part of her told her that he had a nice smile. Another small part of her knew that she shouldn't even be thinking about him, because thinking about him was truely dangerous.

She was brought back to earth by the annoying buzzing in her ear that happened to be the sound of the other girl sobbing in her ear. "So, can you help me?"

"Um..." Raven wanted to laugh. She couldn't even help herself.