AN: Welcome back! I believe I promised you angst and suffering. Here's all that and more.
Selina Kyle
The Gotham Museum of Art
Monday, January 3rd, 2013
A clack of unfamiliar heels echoed down the hallway, prompting Selina to look up from her computer. Somehow, she'd never realized how much email a single person could receive before she took a real job where she was bombarded with them 24/7.
The blonde woman who appeared in the doorway to her office was familiar. Selina smiled as the name clicked into place.
"Dinah Lance, right?" She stood up, walking out from behind her desk to offer her hand. "We met at the holiday party."
Dinah nodded and shook her hand, but this woman wasn't nearly as friendly or warm as the one she'd been introduced to a few weeks ago.
"Hi Selina. Do you have a few minutes?"
Selina raised an eyebrow.
"Are you asking for five minutes or do I need to clear my schedule for the rest of the day?"
"The second one." Dinah answered, sounding apologetic despite the serious tone.
"Alright. Give me a minute."
She sent an out of office memo, gathered her things, and followed Dinah out the door. Clark was waiting for them in the lobby, tucked against the wall in a way that made him almost unnoticeable. He nodded at Selina when they came out to meet him.
"Thank you for coming." He said, sounding far less happy to see her than he ever had.
"Of course. What's going on?"
"Not here."
When they made it out to the parking lot, he asked her, "Do you mind?"
It took her a second to realize he was asking permission to fly her somewhere, and she nodded. The world blurred; sound rushed together and everything blended into itself. When they finally stopped and Clark set her down, Selina looked around at the snowy landscape.
"Are we at the Fortress of Solitude?" She asked. Superman, now in costume, nodded. "Clark, what's going on?"
"I'll explain inside."
Selina shivered at the cold air and shrugged. "Fine by me. It's freezing out here."
Superman led her inside the fortress, moving too quickly for Selina to take in the icy spires. It clearly wasn't the right time to ask for the full tour, so Selina kept pace. Dinah had beaten them there and had time to change into Black Canary. She was standing by an icy console, speaking quietly to Wonder Woman.
Selina fought back the urge to groan; Wonder Woman was no fan of hers. If she didn't respect that Diana was looking out for Bruce and the kids, the feeling would've been entirely mutual.
"Alright, you've got me here. I've been patient. Now would one of you mind telling me what exactly is going on?"
The three heroes looked at each other, none of them wanting to start. Finally, Dinah cleared her throat.
"We know you're spying on the League."
"What?!" Selina sputtered. "I'm sorry, what?!"
Superman frowned, not a hint of a smile on his face.
"We have reliable information that you've been sabotaging League activities and compromising information for several years."
Selina's jaw dropped.
"What?!"
"Did you really think you could get away with it?" Wonder Woman demanded, her voice as cold as the ice surrounding them.
"I am not a spy!" Selina protested, glaring at the Amazon with all the stubbornness of a cat. "Use your magic rope if that's what it takes to convince you, but you're wrong. I'm not a spy."
The three heroes looked at each other and Superman turned back to her.
"Do you consent to the use of the Lasso of Truth?" He asked.
"Yes. Whatever it takes for you to believe me that I would NEVER do something like that." Selina answered. Diana wrapped the lasso around her and it glowed gold.
"Now tell us the truth, Catwoman. Did you meet with Deathstroke about items he wanted you to steal?"
"Yes, but—"
"Did you intend to follow through with the theft?"
"Yes, as part of the curator's plan—"
"Have you had any contact with Deathstroke before?"
"No! Never!"
"Are you spying on the League?!"
"No! I would never! I don't know why you think I would, but I am not a spy. I am not a mole. I would never hurt Bruce like that."
Diana looked stunned, looking down at her lasso like she was checking that it still worked.
"Do you have any idea why Dick is so certain you are?" Dinah asked softly.
"What?" Selina breathed. "Dick thinks I… what?"
"He found evidence of a series of thefts you committed during the two years you claimed you had gone straight."
"Those are fake." Selina breathed. "Before I moved in with Bruce, he wanted to make sure that nobody suspected Catwoman had gone clean. For everyone's safety; nobody would dare to go after Bruce or the kids if they were part of a major player's scheme. Not even the other Rogues. He invented targets, filed police reports, and had Commissioner Gordon log them discreetly."
"So that anyone who went looking would see that Catwoman was still a thief and think you were after Wayne for his money."
"It worked. Deathstroke had no idea I've gone clean. He thought I was in the middle of a con." Selina said. "If Dick saw any of the footage or found the files, he would've thought the same thing. Fuck, I knew he was angry at me, I just didn't realize…"
Selina's head snapped up suddenly. "Does Bruce know?"
Dinah winced.
"He… yes. Dick brought up his concerns with him and from what I was told, it didn't go well."
Bruce Wayne
The Hall of Justice
"I've got a location." Batman said as he strode into the meeting room. All the available League members were present, plus Superboy and Aqualad.
"You found it?!" The Flash scrambled to his feet.
"Deathstroke has a base in Gotham. He's been operating out of it for nearly five years under a false identity as Alan Harris, owner of Harris Auto Repair. I tracked down one of the mechanics who used to work for him, she had no idea why the garage shut down suddenly."
"Did she know anything about his apprentice?" Hawkwoman asked.
"She did. 'Alan' had a teenaged nephew who would help around the garage, mostly managing the electronics and organizing inventory. She described him as a very serious kid who worshipped the ground his uncle walked on. I found a match for Samuel Harris, a seventeen-year-old junior at Gotham North. According to the school's records, he lives with his mother in an apartment in the Narrows."
"See, it sounded legit until you said 'according to the records' like that." The Flash pointed out suspiciously.
"That's because Samuel Harris doesn't exist. The junior class principal confirmed it and had no idea how the record of a fake student was planted."
"There's no way the kid's seventeen either." Green Arrow crossed his arms over his chest. "The more I think about it, the younger he gets. Yeah, he hit hard, but he was tiny; hell, if he's hit puberty I'll break another bow."
"No way." The Atom shook his head. "He looks young, but anyone would next to a guy Wilson's size. Age is hard to guess; I mean, I've had undergrads in my classes that look like they should be in middle school. He could be anywhere from sixteen to twenty-two. But nowhere under that."
"Atom, are you sure?"
"If you'd seen him, you'd agree. He's good; he took out an eight-person strike team in under a minute. And the way he and Wilson talked—not even just that, the way they moved and thought—they have to have worked together for years. I mean, it was next-level. Think military training, not junior high phys-ed."
"That part I agree with." Green Arrow said. "Whether or not he knew how to fight before Wilson got to him, he has to have years of combat training."
"Plus super strength." Superboy added.
"Right." Green Arrow said.
"So basically we still know absolutely nothing about who he is or how long he's been working for Deathstroke." Red Arrow interjected, sounding entirely unimpressed.
"Deathstroke is deliberately presenting conflicting stories. Green Arrow, you think he's a meta-human child. Atom believes he's ex-military in his early twenties. The version Superboy encountered was a Hispanic teenager with enhanced abilities. There are rumors of him being an immigrant from every corner of the globe. The stories are diametrically opposed and that's by design." Batman said.
"You believe that's of special significance?" Martian Manhunter asked.
"Yes. We've devoted a lot of time and energy to the search and we've found nothing concrete. Deathstroke is working very hard to make sure nobody can figure out who his apprentice is. Superboy, tell them what you discovered."
"Renegade warned me about Cadmus a few days before Dubbilex contacted me. He was right about everything and he's the reason Robin, Zatanna and I discovered that I wasn't the only clone of Superman created. Why would he do that?"
"There are two possibilities. The first is that Deathstroke was using a relatively unknown player to lead you into a trap."
"But it wasn't a trap. If anything, he's sabotaging Luthor."
"If it was a trap, the danger may not yet be obvious." Aqualad reminded him.
"The other is that Renegade went behind Deathstroke's back to try and help you." Batman finished.
"And since it's Deathstroke we're talking about here, I'm gonna go ahead and call that one a trap." Flash said firmly. Superboy shook his head.
"But I don't get why Deathstroke would have anything to do with it. Luthor was the one who contacted me about Match. He said it was a failed experiment gone out of control. It's his facility, his money and his… experiment. I don't get how Renegade could have known about it."
"I don't know, Superboy." Batman frowned. "It's possible that Renegade was genuinely trying to help you, but it's very unlikely."
"Do you think Deathstroke is forcing Renegade to work for him?" Captain Marvel asked. He'd been so quiet most of the Leaguers had apparently forgotten he was there.
"It's a possibility."
"I don't think so." The Atom shook his head. "I'm the only one who's seen them together and I'm telling you, they're a team. Wilson might have been the one calling the shots, but that kind of partnership is built on trust and a lot of experience."
"At his appearance in the museum, Deathstroke implied the apprentice was a relatively recent development." Aqualad pointed out. Red Arrow caught on immediately and nodded.
"But if Atom's right, they've been working together for a long time."
"So why now?" The Flash asked. "You said it yourself, Batman. Wilson has been lying low for the past few years. Suddenly, he's turning up all over the place and bringing disaster with him wherever he goes. What changed?"
"You think that the apprentice is the reason?" Martian Manhunter mused.
"It's not out of the question." Hawkwoman answered.
"Unfortunately, it's proven impossible to find any trace of him. Deathstroke has been exceedingly careful. He's only been sighted four times; once in Star City, once in Gotham, once in Scarsdale, and now in Metropolis. If he is being coerced, we have no way to find out what Deathstroke has on him. We just have to wait for him to appear again."
"But you said you found the hideout." Captain Marvel said.
"Deathstroke is too careful." Batman said. "He won't go back there knowing that the location is exposed."
"Well, if Renegade is trying to help, we might not have to wait that long." Superboy said hopefully.
"The chance of him being able to slip Deathstroke's notice and find a hero to pass information to again is slim to nonexistent." Batman said. Then a stunning realization slammed into him as he processed the words he'd just said.
That was it.
Renegade had done this before.
He'd slipped away from Deathstroke and managed to contact someone to tell them information no one else could have known. There was a very good chance he'd done it to try and help.
And knowing how much danger it would put Renegade in, the hero had promised not to divulge how he'd come by the information.
Batman had looked at it from every angle, considered every possible explanation. Except he'd overlooked something; Selina and Deathstroke hadn't been the only ones at the museum that night. Renegade was there too.
And somehow, Renegade found Robin and told him what he thought he knew; that Selina was the mole. The secrets, the lies, the sneaking around, it all made sense. Robin knew about Renegade. He knew about the leaks in the League, the suspected mole lurking on the team. He was trying to protect him.
"Batman?" Green Arrow broke Batman out of his thoughts. The whole room was looking at him, waiting to hear his breaking revelation.
"Apprehending Deathstroke remains our top priority. Renegade is to be considered as a hostage; he is dangerous and an active hostile, but we have sufficient evidence to believe that he is acting under duress."
Wayne Manor
"Why didn't you tell me Dick thought I was a mole?!" Selina thundered as she stormed into Bruce's study. Bruce winced.
"Because it was preposterous and I didn't see the need to cause you any undue stress."
"Undue stress? You want to talk undue stress, try getting interrogated at the Fortress of Solitude!"
"What?"
"Your superpals wanted to ask me few questions. Nothing bad, just getting flown to the North Pole and tied up in a magical truth rope by an immortal Amazon who, by the way, hates me."
"They did what?!" Bruce demanded.
"You heard me. And you know what? I don't blame them! They had a problem and they tried to fix it, not like some control freaks who leave everyone else in the dark because they don't want to cause 'undue stress'! Bruce, how the hell could you not tell me that Dick thought I was a mole!"
"Selina, I—"
"I have been losing my mind! I thought he hated me and I had no idea what I was doing wrong! Turns out, he thinks I've been plotting to kill you and all he could do about it was glare at me across a room! I'd have been pissed too!"
"Selina, I'm sorry. I didn't—"
A phone rang, cutting him off. Bruce looked down at his screen and swore.
"Who is it?" Selina asked, anger fading away for the moment.
"Arthur Brown's attorney."
"Stephanie's father?"
Bruce nodded stiffly.
"What does he want? Is something wrong?"
"If it is, it's not about Stephanie. I take her to visit as often as she'll agree to go, and he has the number if he needs to coordinate a visit with us."
"So he's calling because?"
"He wants to talk to Batman, says he has information he wants to exchange for a reduced sentence."
"Information on what?" Selina asked, her brow furrowing.
"He won't say. I'll go to Metropolis Pen in a few days when this is settled. Whatever it is, it's going to be a big headache."
"How much of a reduction is he asking for?"
"All of it."
Selina raised an eyebrow.
"Must be something big."
"Most likely it's a ploy. Whatever it is, it's going to have to wait. Selina, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I didn't tell you."
"Why didn't you?"
"Because I trust you. I knew you would never do something like that, and I was much more concerned about where Dick got his information. And that was a mistake too. My intention was never to hurt you."
"I know."
"Are you all set for Wednesday?"
Selina didn't mind the topic change at all. They could talk about this more later, especially once Selina had a chance to sit down with Dick and explain everything.
"It's all set up. Ozzy was excited to hear from me, so he's going to be insufferable." Selina forced a half-hearted grin onto her face and sighed. "Bruce, are you sure you don't want to call the League in? I'm only going to get one shot at a meeting and if something goes wrong…"
"I'm not letting the League anywhere near my city. Not after that stunt they pulled today."
"Bruce, they were worried. If anything, if should make you feel better that they're looking out for the kids."
"No. This is too important. I need to be completely focused, dividing my attention is the most dangerous thing I could possibly do."
"Alright. If you're sure… I'll finalize it."
"Good."
Dick Grayson
Gotham Academy
Wednesday, January 5th, 2013
"Hello? Earth to Dick?"
I snap back to reality. Dr. Phillips is standing at the front of the room, arms crossed as he leans against the whiteboard.
Oh right. I'm in Biology.
I must have taken too long to respond, because he raises an eyebrow and asks, "Dick, are you alright?"
"Sorry, yeah, I'm good."
He smiles brightly and I look around. How long has everyone been staring at me?
"Glad to see hear it. Now can you tell us the answer to question seven?"
I glance down at my paper and answer, "NADH and FADH2 transfer electrons from the Krebs cycle to Oxidative Phosphorylation."
A few kids start laughing, Manny hi-fives Neil, and Dr. Phillips looks impressed, "Guess we were wrong. You were paying attention after all."
My desk-neighbor Cindy slides me a piece of paper that looks a lot like an attendance sheet, apologetically whispering, "We took a vote."
The paper is labelled, "Is Dick sleeping in class again?" About three quarters of the class voted yes. I wince. At least Manny and Neil believed in me.
"I'm really sorry." I say.
"Stay awake the rest of class and we'll call it even." Dr. Philips says, turning back to the white board. He starts explaining the next step of cellular respiration and I try my best to pay attention. I didn't mean to fall asleep, but I felt exhausted when I woke up this morning. Talking to Canary felt good, it really did, but it took a lot out of me.
I just can't let that happen again. Dr. Philips has a good sense of humor, but even he's going to get mad if I fall asleep in class again.
Of course, staying awake is a lot easier said than done when he starts explaining the process of oxidative phosphorylation and the role of the mighty mitochondria, powerhouse of the cell. It's boring and there's so much busy work that even thinking about it makes my chest hurt. He starts explaining how to do the analysis for our cell respiration lab and all the diagrams and equations and reactions make my head hurt.
I'm so sick of doing work. It just feels so pointless when everything else is so much more important. I fight back a yawn as Dr. Phillips starts talking about phosphate groups. Speaking of more important, I could be home sleeping right now.
As if on cue, the bell rings, interrupting Dr. Philips mid-word. People start stuffing everything in their bags to get out of the room as fast as humanly possible.
"Really?!" He exclaims, throwing his hands into the air in mock outrage, "We always run out of time!"
He shakes his head and the class pauses on their way out to listen, "Alright guys, see you Thursday. Make sure to finish your cell respiration lab reports for Monday."
I stand up and sling my bag over my shoulder when he flicks his finger at me, "Dick? A word? Don't give me that look, you knew this was coming."
Dammit.
Dr. Phillips sits behind his desk, shuffling a stack of papers into a neat pile. He looks over to the door to make sure it's closed, then pulls up another chair.
I sit. He doesn't seem mad; but by the way he's fidgeting, he seems nervous. It shouldn't be a big deal. I normally pay attention in class and I've been keeping up with the material. Even today, I finished the worksheet before I zoned out. That doesn't explain why he looks so uncomfortable.
Dr. Phillips opens his mouth to talk, but then closes it. His face creases and his lips press together. He's worried and there's something he wants to say but isn't sure how to.
Great. I fight back the urge to roll my eyes. Another intervention.
"What's up, Doc?" I prompt with a grin, making sure my body-language is as relaxed and carefree as possible, "Am I in trouble or something?"
"No," he says carefully, "You're not in trouble. I just need to ask you, why are you taking this class?"
"Um…" Wasn't expecting that. "Biology is a required course?"
"I know that." Dr. Phillips raises his eyebrows. "But I also know that this is nowhere near the highest-level class offered, and it doesn't fit in with your other AP and honors classes. You're an incredibly smart kid, Dick. That much is clear. It's also clear that you're bored in this class. What math are you taking?"
"AP Calc."
"And would you ever fall asleep in it?"
"Uh… well… no."
"That's what I thought. So tell me, why didn't you take a harder course?"
I decide to tell him the truth, more or less. "I didn't think I could handle anything else. I'm kind of overwhelmed right now."
"With classes?"
"Yeah." I say dismissively, but my stomach tightens. "I mean, they're part of it."
Dr. Philips frowns, looking at me like he sees through me.
"Are you okay, Dick?"
A frustrated huff escapes before I can stop it.
"Everyone keeps asking me that, I'm fine." I have to be fine, or else everything is going to fall apart and I'll fuck something up so badly that things will never be okay again.
"I'm serious, Dick. I know you're a smart kid and that you have a ridiculous amount of stuff going on, but this goes beyond normal stress. I heard so many stories about you from the middle school teachers, about how you had so much energy and passion. I was really excited to have you in my class but I don't think I've ever seen you care. You only talk when I call on you and you seem so checked out all the time, even when you're not falling asleep. And I don't think that's you. I want to help, but I don't know what you need if you won't tell me."
"I have to go Dr. Phillips. I'm late for English."
"Dick." He says, standing up after me. "Dick. Richard! Please listen to me."
I hear the chair scrape on the linoleum floor behind me.
"I just want to help."
When I get to the door, I freeze. I take a breath, plaster a calm look on my face, and turn around.
"I'm fine, Dr. Phillips. I just haven't gotten that much sleep lately and I've been scrambling to catch up. But I promise, I'm fine."
I'm a damn good actor. Not even my biology teacher's scrutiny can find a crack in the mask. We hold the staring contest for as long as it takes his doubts to win out, and he finally sighs.
"All right. But if you need anything, there are people here to help you, myself included."
He reaches for a hall pass, scrawling his signature over the paper. "What class are you going to?"
"English."
"Who's your teacher?"
"Mrs. McKendrick?"
Dr. Phillips hands me the note, repeating, "If you need anything, just let me know."
I take the pass, carefully meeting his eyes.
"Thanks," I respond, feeling equally relieved and guilty. Dr. Phillips is a really good guy. He sees a kid who needs help and he's trying his best. Too bad he can't help me.
I make it out of the classroom without breaking down, which feels like an achievement because that was terrible. There's no sign of Babs outside. That's weird; she always meets me after Bio so we can walk to English together. Now that I think about it, I haven't seen her all day.
My phone rings and the number makes my blood freeze. What now?
"Do not come back to the garage." Slade says without introduction.
"What?"
"The location has been compromised. I will meet you in a secondary location tonight."
"What are you talking about? What's happening tonight?"
"It's pickup day."
Oh.
Oh no. This is going to be bad.
"No way, I'm not going—hello?"
The line goes dead.
Matches Malone
Iceberg Lounge, Gotham City
Wednesday, January 5th, 2013
"That's the thing about Penguin," Beer slopped over the sides of his glass as Ax slammed it on the table. "He runs a classy establishment."
"Oh yeah, real classy. Right up until some bimbo in a jumpsuit made of question marks and icicles steals your wallet to pay off her tab." Joe Shmoe agreed to a burst of laughter. The Chrises laughed along with the rest of them, and Greg inhaled his drink mid laugh. A few quick pounds on the back stopped his coughing.
"You're a lifesaver, Matches." Greg coughed.
"Tell me that one more time when we're paying the tab and I swear…" Matches threatened, but the grin on his face set the other men back to laughing.
"Wanna remind me again why we're not at O'Malley's?" Tall Chris demanded. "All this ice is giving me frostbite."
"Quit whining, you pussy." Short Chris smacked him.
The men at the table weren't the usual type to frequent this particular establishment. The Iceberg lounge catered to the Supervillains with a flair for the dramatic and cash to burn.
Henchmen usually sat as far away from the highrollers as they could, but these men were Odd Jobs. The Chrises did detailing for hideouts and lairs and worked solely through their agency. Joe Shmoe, Matches and Ax picked up gruntwork in the Harbor. They'd been drinking buddies for the better part of twenty years, and despite their differences, had similar opinions about the state of Gotham.
Of them all, Greg was the only full-time henchman. He'd been working for the Joker for longer than even Harley had, and everyone in Gotham was in awe of the only man who could weather the Joker's unpredictability. Rumor had it that even the Batman wouldn't go near him, but as Greg always joked, he had the bruises to prove otherwise.
"Hope you've had your ears open recently," Greg answered. He glanced back at the rest of the bar like he was looking for someone.
"Wasn't there some big stink with that Kobra trial?" Matches asked distractedly, pulling a matchbox out of his pocket and sticking a match between his teeth.
"Kobra ain't shit. That's the thing they don't tell you about cults; they're cheap as hell. Wanted to hire some muscle a while back, get this, for the pride of joining a cause greater than yourself. Wouldn't pay so much as a dollar," Joe Shmoe shook his head disgustedly.
"That's why you have to have a flat rate." Short Chris said. "Say, this is what you're paying me or your new hideout is going to be an empty warehouse with a giant question mark taped to the wall."
"Course, Riddler's never going to risk that one again. You should've seen the email he sent us." Tall Chris grinned. "Got himself sprung from Belle Rev and whoever he shacked up with basically gave him a list of stuff to do and left him stranded. Took him a solid week to make it back to Gotham, and the Bat cleared out his lairs by then so he was stuck in Hi-Ho motel. Gave the word desperate a whole new meaning."
"Wasn't our best job but at some point, you just have to cut a guy a break." Short Chris agreed.
"AFTER we cashed the check," Tall Chris finished.
"Seemed like Riddler was going to cut and run outta Gotham for a while there." Ax said. "There's too much of that going around. Gotham is it. Who gives a shit if any of those Secret Societies are trying to take over the world?"
"There was Freeze and that Snow Gang, and last I heard Ivy and Joker were pulling that Injustice League stunt together."
"Bullshit. Ivy'd never team up with him. Slice him up and use his corpse as fertilizer sure, but a team up?"
"Believe it or don't." Greg shrugged. "But they're both up in Arkham and from what I hear, if one of them doesn't break out soon, the doctors are ready to blow the place up themselves."
"Those poor shrinks," Joe Shmoe finished his beer and flagged a feathered waitress over. "Another round for the table."
"Love the new look, Finch." Tall Chris told the waitress, who beamed and glanced back at the golden-speckled plumage decorating her leotard before holding up her wrist to show him the matching cuff.
"You like it?" Finch tilted her head, considering the bracelet. "Ozzy decided to change things up a little. Some new 'birds of paradise' kick. It's not bad, but I liked the old design better."
"Honey, they're gorgeous. Your ass looks ah-mazing." Tall Chris proclaimed, and Finch preened.
"I'll be right back with those beers." She practically flounced towards the kitchen.
"How come they like it when you compliment their asses?" Ax complained. Tall Chris just raised an eyebrow at him. Suddenly, the lounge went silent. The men looked at each other before turning around to see who had just walked through the door.
"Something happen with Catwoman?" Joe Shmoe asked cluelessly as the purple-clad villainess sauntered through the main floor of the Iceberg, heading for an empty table between Harley Quinn and Scarecrow.
Greg and the Chrises stared at him.
"You're kidding, right?" Greg asked.
"About?" Joe Shmoe raised an annoyed eyebrow.
"Catwoman made some kind of deal with Deathstroke. Some contract got messed up and he hired her to pick up the slack."
"Big whoop." Joe Shmmoe interrupted as Finch arrived with the tray of beers.
"So what? She takes jobs sometimes. He's sure as hell got the clout to hire her." Ax said, taking the bottle the waitress handed him. "Thanks doll."
Finch looked around the lounge quickly and made up her mind. She leaned over the table and whispered conspiratorially, "She came here all kinds of freaked out. Ordered the biggest bottle of vodka Ozzy would let us give her and told everyone about Deathstroke's new sidekick."
"His what?" Matches asked. Greg leaned forwards, indulging in his flair for the dramatic.
"Deathstroke decided it was time to grow the business and found himself an apprentice. Nobody knows who the kid is, or where Deathstroke found him, but…" Greg paused and shook his head, "I wouldn't want to be that kid."
"You should've heard Two-Face going on about it." Short Chris butted in. "Half righteous fury over child abuse, half convinced it was the most brilliant idea he'd ever heard. Wouldn't shut up about it the whole time we were working on his place."
"You think that's bad? Harley's giving a lecture a series on criminal psychology and the need to subjugate those you have power over. She's selling tickets."
Matches turned to look and sure enough, Quinn's table was filled with people hanging on to her every word as she explained something. Whatever she was talking about, it included a lot of hand gestures and sure enough, there was even a small whiteboard filled with bullet points.
"The whole thing is beyond messed up. Apparently Deathstroke went around kidnapping orphans and made them fight each other to the death until there was only one left."
"No, Poison Ivy made that up." Finch corrected. "Word at the bar is this family tried coming here illegally and got held up at the airport for fake visas. The parents were deported, but Deathstroke paid off ICE half a million to let him have the kid."
"Bullshit. He probably just walked up to a homeless kid and said, 'I'll pay you.'"
"Ha. You think that kid is getting paid? More like beaten to death any time he so much as breathes." Greg answered.
"He's got to be getting something out of it," Finch said worriedly. "There's gotta be some reason for it. Regular people don't just get grabbed like that, especially not kids."
"Lady, I don't know who told you the world is fair or anything like that—Oh shit." Matches started, but the bar went silent again. The whole room seemed to hold its breath as a man walked in… wearing a black and orange mask, guns holstered on either side and swords strapped to his back.
Matches had never seen Deathstroke the Terminator in person but the mercenary was pretty easy to recognize. Damn, that was a lot of firepower.
Deathstroke walked into the room and the Penguin himself pompously strode out to meet him. Cobblepot glared at the mercenary in an attempt to remind him that he was firmly in Rogue territory and as long as he was out of favor with Catwoman, he was in all of their bad books.
Sure enough, a few steps into the room, Deathstroke's new shadow came into view.
The kid's uniform was a mirror of his mentor; all black with a block of orange over the chest. A silver 'S' right over his heart, proclaiming ownership for the whole world to see. There was a spiky black mask over the top half of his face, practically sharp enough to cut him.
He walked in exactly in step with Deathstroke, posture perfect, face pulled into a tight frown, looking very, very aware that the entire room was staring at him. Matches felt a little bad that he was one of them but he couldn't help it. The pair of them were like a twisted version of the Bat and his sidekick. Matches hadn't seen Robin that many times, but everyone knew the Boy Wonder's job was to stick out like a sore thumb; the bright colors, flashy smile, godawful puns and constant chatter were all supposed to distract you from the dark shadow that was about to pummel you into the ground or hang you off a building. Where Robin stood out, the kid was just there. He wasn't drawing attention to himself or running away from it, he just kept his eyes straight ahead and followed his boss.
He looked a little bit like Robin. Mostly the black hair. The similarities stopped there; this kid was taller and broader, probably a few years older. Matches eyed the bruises covering the kid's cheek and chin, the yellow tinge showing it was mostly healed. The scabs on his face looked much newer; Matches had taken a hit enough time to recognize those marks and he winced in sympathy. A punch hard enough to break skin hurt like a bitch.
Poor kid.
When the group reached the far side of the bar, Catwoman rose seamlessly from her table and strolled into Cobblepot's office. Cobblepot followed her in. Deathstroke paused and the kid stopped dead behind him. The mercenary nodded his head to the side and the apprentice took up a guard position outside the door. Then Deathstroke disappeared inside and the door closed.
Their table was the closest to Cobbelpot's office and Matches was sitting closest to the kid. He was in the best position to see that the kid's hands were shaking and the blood had drained out of his face.
He was terrified.
He didn't fidget, didn't move, didn't look away from his post, but everything about the way he was standing showed how far beyond petrified he was. And the whole bar filled with villains and henchmen and criminal scum was still dead silent, staring at him in a mix of hostile curiosity that wasn't doing him any favors. Matches decided to take pity on him.
"Jack Daniels on the rocks," he told Finch, who nodded and slid out of the booth from next to Tall Chris. The waitress walking back over to the bar was enough to break the stand-still. Slowly, the chatter resumed and soon, the usual noise was back.
Matches glanced back at the kid, who looked like he'd managed to remember how to breathe. Greg had the same thought but went one further than Matches. Probably had something to do with the way Harley Quinn was frantically waving her arms at him in some incredibly obvious signal.
He waved at the kid and said, "They're going to be a while. Come take a load off."
The kid froze. He stared like Greg had grown five heads and started breathing fire.
"Come on, we don't bite!" Tall Chris grinned.
"At least, we won't bite you," Short Chris laughed, winking at Tall Chris.
"Is that a promise?"
"Don't mind them." Greg shook his head and repeated. "Come sit. They're going to be in there for a while and most of us have showered recently."
"Move over, fatass," Matches shoved Ax to the side. "Give him the sightlines."
Renegade still didn't move. His back was as stiff as it would go, and Matches figured the kid was too terrified out of his mind to make any kind of decision for himself. So Matches nodded his head at the seat and said, "Here, kid. You can see the whole place."
The kid—geez, he looked way younger up close, what was he, fifteen?—stared at the vacated seat. The kid finally sat down, but he was even more tense than before. Matches looked back at Greg who raised an eyebrow smugly. Matches wasn't impressed.
"Catwoman, huh?" Tall Chris said, glancing at the closed door to Cobblepot's office. "Damn, if I was five years younger and not a flaming homo…"
"You bitch." Short Chris smacked him playfully. "Making eyes at other women right in front of me."
"Aright we get it. You're both twinks. Let's move on." Ax interrupted.
"Don't think we've given up on you, buddy." Short Chris said good-naturedly.
"Wish you luck. Who knows, maybe I'd have better luck with guys than I've been having with the ladies," Ax answered, and the three knocked glasses together before taking a drink.
"Seems like your first problem is calling them, 'the ladies.'" Greg pointed out, using his beer for emphasis. Joe Shmoe laughed with him.
"Who asked you?" Ax sneered. "What do you know about ladies anyway? How'd it work out with that last bird, Tee-something. Tammy? Tracy?"
"Talia." Greg sighed wistfully. "And for the record, we split up. Mutually. Her dad wanted her back in Nepal. It wouldn't have worked long distance."
"Ugh, long distance." Tall Chris nodded. He looked up suddenly like he'd just remembered something important. "Matches, are you still with Gina?"
"Two years and counting," Matches grinned proudly.
"Damn."
"Why?"
"Chris and I were redoing that new lair for Two-Face on the East Side and we brought this girl, Mary Berry, in to do the detailing for the yin-yang mosaics and let me tell you she is a ball of fire. Literally. I thought she was going to burn the place down the way she was burning through packs, 'specially with all the turpentine and C4, but god, she's the perfect woman for you. Didn't stop talking the whole time, and I know what a gossip you are."
Matches bit down on the match between his teeth and said, "Huh."
"He's not even trying to deny it." Short Chris laughed.
The kid looked away from the bar like he'd just registered what Chris had said.
"Two… Face?" he asked slowly, halting over the words like it was all the English he knew. What Matches could see under the mask looked like a frown and his finger pointed accusingly at the Chrisses.
"No, no. We don't work for Two-Face. Maybe they've picked up a job for him, but we're contractors. Set up lairs for just about everyone in here." Tall Chris said.
"Except Mad Hatter." Short Chris interjected.
"Never for Tetch," Tall Chris agreed darkly.
"I swear, one of these days I'll make you tell me what he ever did to you." Ax shook his head.
"Three words. Anime body pillow. That's all you ever want to know." Short Chris answered before draining his glass.
Matches had no idea what that meant, some kind of cartoon thing maybe, but by the way Greg shuddered it must have been pretty messed up. He looked down at the empty glass in front of him and frowned. Finch still hadn't come back with his Daniels.
He tripped when he stood up, catching the back of the kid's chair to steady himself. The Chrisses were too busy arguing about details of Tetch's sins for anyone to make fun of Matches' clumsiness. He hurried away while they were distracted. The bar had calmed down from the hysteria when they'd first arrived, and everyone was minding their own business. At any other bar it'd be business as usual, but here it was weird. This was supposed to be some crazy villain bar right?
The actual bar was full of people, and it was a mix of B and C- list villains. Matches muscled in and waited for the bartender to see him.
"Jack Daniels on the rocks," he half-shouted drunkenly, but careful not to slur or risk getting cut off. The bartender slid him the drink so quickly Matches blinked to make sure he hadn't already had it made. Then he took a long drink.
When he turned, he saw who'd he was sitting next to.
"Hey, you're Killer Croc," he said, wobbling a little on his feet. "Damn, Blake was wrong. Some scrawny lizard boy-" he snorted out a laugh as he stumbled away. A massive hand clamped around his arm like a vice and jerked him back.
"What did Blake say?" Killer Croc demanded.
"N…n…nothing."
Killer Croc snapped his jaws and Matches gulped.
"I mean, uh… well… he said that you were an overgrown lizard with a… a… peanut for a brain and a dick to match and that… well… just because you're the size of a hippo doesn't mean you're tough shit."
Killer Croc roared in anger.
"BLAKE!" he thundered, shoving tables out of the way as he stomped over to the lounge where Catman was reclining on a couch. He sat up real fast at the sight of a five-hundred something pound crocodile-man storming toward him.
"Oh shit." Matches murmured and hurried back to his table. He fought against the crowd that sprang up and hurried out of the dining room to watch Catman try to survive against a furious Killer Croc.
"Matches, what the hell did you do?" Greg laughed, watching the flow of people heading in the direction of the crashes and shouts.
"I didn't do nuthin."
"Killer Croc?" Tall Chris asked.
"And Catman." Matches slurred.
"Forty on Croc." Joe Shmoe stood up.
"Blake has his cloak?" Ax asked.
Matches nodded slowly, sinking in his chair. He fumbled for a fresh match from the box in his pocket and clumsily stuck it in his mouth, chewing on the wood nervously. If Croc and Catman realized what he'd done, he was in for the beating of his life. Matches took a breath, trying to ignore the grins on his asshole friends' faces. He heard a sniff and looked over to see the kid staring at him, eyes going wide underneath the mask.
"Fifty on Blake." Ax said.
"Deal." Short Chris shook his hand. With that, Ax, Joe Shmoe, and the Chrises headed for the fight.
"You coming, Matches?" Greg asked. Matches took a long drink and stayed silent, letting the whiskey burn down his throat. Greg looked between Match, who was trying not to sway in his seat, and the kid, who'd gone back to staring at Cobblepot's door, before he shrugged and walked away. The room had been full, but now there were only a handful of people still at their tables, leaving Matches and the kid practically alone.
The kid slumped, looking towards Cobblepot's door anxiously. Matches flinched at the sound of the loudest crash yet, followed by a roar of fury.
"Why did you do that?" The kid asked, breaking the silence. Matches blinked in surprise. There was no trace of an accent; Matches would bet his secondhand Buick that the kid was a native Gothamite. So why was he pretending he didn't speak English?
"I didn't do nuthin." Matches repeated drunkenly.
"Yeah, right. What do you want?"
"None of your business."
The kid looked unimpressed and crossed his arms over his chest. "Suit yourself."
He started to stand up and Matches folded immediately. "Aright, alright, sorry. How'd you know?"
"You were sober when you stood up, then as soon as everyone starts shouting and running to see the fight you came back drunk off your ass. You're not drunk. You're not even a little buzzed."
"How do you… figure?" Matches tried to raise an eyebrow but ended up blinking in a drunken stupor. He shook his head clumsily and accidentally knocked over his glass.
The kid caught the glass before any of it spilled.
"Nice try. That's your third drink in the two hours you've been here. You've barely touched this. Even if you had, those matches are treated with a chemical that counteracts alcohol. There's nothing else in the world that smells like it."
"Damn, you're good." Matches said, pulling the offending match out of his mouth and snapping it in half before sticking it in his pocket.
"That's the problem," the kid muttered. He shook his head and looked up. "What are you doing here?"
"I'd tell you I'm here for a drink but I won't waste your time with that. The best way to get information is straight from the source."
"You're an informant?" The kid asked dubiously.
"Nah, nothing like that. I just make it my business to know."
"Knowledge is power." The kid said darkly.
"Something like that." Matches agreed. "How much does your boss care what you get up to?"
The kid's jaw clenched. "Don't tell me anything he can't know."
"Fair enough. I'm here for a friend of a friend of a friend who's got the hots for Catwoman. They don't much care for the idea of your boss being in her business. No offense."
"None taken." The kid snorted.
"Not a lot of love lost there?"
The kid shuddered and looked down. If Matches had any kids, his parental alarms would be going off at the obvious signals of an abused child. As it was, he glared furiously at the door before the kid looked back up.
"Parents?"
The kid's head shot up and leveled a death glare at Matches. Whoops. Touchy subject.
"Died a long time ago."
"Anybody ever file a missing report? CPS? Foster care?"
This time, the kid actually laughed, but it was the bitterest laugh Matches had ever heard. "I'm not missing. Legally, I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be except when I'm not."
"And if you go to the cops?"
"I can't prove anything. And the stuff he's made me do, he has evidence. Cold, hard, indisputable proof. If I try anything, he'll get me thrown back in juvie before I can say a word."
For a while, Matches was silent. Then he held out his glass and asked, "Have you tried getting drunk?"
The kid actually laughed at that.
"That's one way to get myself killed."
"You say that like he's threatened to."
Again, the kid shrunk in on himself, but this time he rubbed his wrists and looked away.
"Jesus." Matches said.
"Why am I telling you any of this? I shouldn't even be sitting here, let alone talking to you." He muttered.
"So why are you?"
The kid shot a dark glare at the door and suddenly Matches could see exactly what was in front of him. Fury and desperation, paired with hopeless, terrified grief and exhausted acceptance of the chains weighing him down. If there was any doubt that the kid was a victim, it died at that look on his face.
"Because you'll find everything out one way or another. That's your thing, right Bats?"
Matches blinked.
"What did you call me?"
"Bats. It's a nickname for Batman."
"Nice, kid. Real nice. What'd I ever do to you that you're saying shit like that to me?"
"Same profile. Nose, chin, jawline, build. It matches. Didn't mean that as a pun. You've been here doing recon all night."
Matches considered denying it, but there was a tangible shift as the act was replaced by Batman's intensity. Renegade barely acknowledged it and Batman added it to the mental file he'd been making all night.
"So this is what you do in your spare time?" Renegade asked. It would have been a joke if it wasn't for the despair on his face. "Stake out bars so you can stalk Bruce Wayne's girlfriend? She's only in it for the money, you know. And whatever she can find out on the League by pretending to turn good."
Batman filed that away too, his suspicion that Deathstroke was interested in Selina's relationships confirmed.
"Don't believe everything he tells you," Batman graveled, staring at the door that led to Cobblepot's office suites.
"I don't get to choose that." Renegade answered bitterly, voice tightening with every word. "Whatever he says is what I do. He says jump, I jump. He says shoot, I pull the trigger. He rips away my name and calls me Renegade, that's who I am. That's all I am."
"It doesn't have to be." Batman answered.
"You're right, it doesn't have to be. But it is, because he decided it is."
"It doesn't have to be." Batman repeated. "GCPD headquarters is eight minutes from here. You'll qualify for protective custody. We'll keep you away from him."
"It's funny that you believe that." Renegade frowned. "You know that's why he left me out here, don't you? He told me someone might try something, and this way he's just behind the door if I get into trouble. And given that you're here to keep tabs on Catwoman, somehow I don't think you want to risk upsetting him when she's in there too."
"Catwoman can take care of herself."
Renegade didn't acknowledge the response. Batman leaned forward, encroaching on the assassin's space.
"I know what you've done, Renegade."
"Do you?" The kid looked sad.
"The question is, does Deathstroke?"
"What?"
"Does he know that you tipped Superboy off about Cadmus?"
Renegade jerked back, eyes going as wide as the mask would let them.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Renegade hissed.
"Superboy wants to believe you were trying to help. The rest of the League isn't so sure. So why don't you tell me why you did it?"
Renegade shook his head stiffly. "I don't know what you're talking about."
The denial didn't clear up enough. If Renegade was really trying to help, then he wouldn't want to risk Deathstroke finding out he'd done it. But if Deathstroke had put him up to it, he would want the League to think they could trust him.
"What does he have on you?" Batman asked. Renegade actually snorted at the question, leaning forward for emphasis.
"Everything." Renegade said. "Nothing. That's the problem."
"Glad we resolved that personal issue." Catwoman purred in his ear, signaling that the conversation was wrapping up. Batman stood, noting the way Renegade stiffened.
"Where are you going?" He asked. Batman inclined his head toward the office door. Renegade's hand twitched up to his ear, but he didn't say anything.
"You recognized me, I'd rather not take the chance with your boss." Batman answered, turning to leave. The bug he'd planted on Renegade when he'd pretended to trip would pick up anything he said and double as a tracker. Catwoman would let him know once they'd left Cobblepot's office, and keep eyes on where the pair went.
Batman got outside and while the Batmobile made its way to him, he listened to his comms.
"Slade, he's here." Renegade whispered, sounding beyond terrified. "What am I supposed to do?! He just left, there's no way he's not going to…"
Deathstroke's response clearly didn't sit well.
"That won't… it's Batman!"
Another long pause. The Batmobile pulled up and Batman climbed in, setting the autopilot to circle around the five blocks surrounding the Iceberg.
"No, he started a fight and cleared everyone out."
There was a drawn-out silence in one ear, in the other he could hear the sound of footsteps.
"No! You can't!" Renegade burst out. Deathstroke clearly did not appreciate that because the next sound was Renegade stammering, "Please, you can't, please. Don't hurt her!"
There was a long pause which left plenty of room for orders. Then finally, in a voice bordering on desperate, Renegade said, "Yes sir."
Batman was in full costume and on the roof opposite the Iceberg Lounge by the time Renegade appeared outside. He was alone, no sign of Deathstroke or Catwoman.
"We're doing the handoff now." Catwoman told him via coded message in his other ear. That meant Renegade was a distraction, supposed to keep Batman away from the stolen property deal on the other side of the building.
"Be careful. If you suspect a trap, get out. Your safety is the priority."
"I handled it myself." Was Selina's coded reply. But since she gave the all clear, Batman was free to follow Renegade.
That was a much simpler task said than done. Renegade scaled a fire escape, free climbed three stories and pulled himself over the ledge with the ease of someone walking down the street. Renegade paused, stiffened, then reached around his back, yanking at something to produce… a tracker. He dropped it and crushed it under his heel.
Dammit.
Renegade started to run, crossing the roof in a few steps and jumping to a roof only a few feet below. Batman took off after him, trying to keep up. The only advantage Batman had was his grappling gun. Renegade was constrained to shorter jumps and a more limited number of directions he could go. Unfortunately, that didn't stop him from sprinting across rooftops, dashing across the tops of wire fences, and leaping from fire escapes like gravity had no power over him.
Batman landed on the roof of a multi-block apartment, scanning through the maze of low fences and clothes-lines and access doors. Renegade had come this way; he was sure of it.
"You shouldn't have followed me." Renegade said. Batman whipped around, spotting him sitting on the roof of one of the access doors. Now that they were away from the prying eyes and ears of the Iceberg Lounge, the assassin looked a lot less stiff.
"You knew I would." Batman answered.
"So you were listening." Renegade nodded, referencing the tracker he'd discovered. "Did you hear the part where he threatened to kill Catwoman? For what it's worth, I asked him not to."
"Why are you working for him?" Batman asked, making sure his hands were clearly away from his utility belt. "You're not a killer. I know you've been trying to help. You told Superboy about Cadmus. You told Robin that Catwoman was a spy."
Renegade flinched violently and Batman took a step closer.
"Why do you work for him?"
"You don't know what I've done!" Renegade snapped, standing up so he was better positioned to run. "You don't know what I'm capable of."
"I might not know what you've done, but I know that it isn't too late to end this. Whatever your reasons, it's not too late. If you work with me, we can end this. Nobody else has to get hurt."
"Right, like it's that easy!" Renegade shouted. "You're Batman, you're supposed to know everything! Well you didn't know about me! You think I want to be here?! I don't have a choice! I—"
Renegade flinched, hand flying up to his earpiece. Horror spread across his face at Deathstroke's words. Batman felt rage building in his chest; whatever Deathstroke's game was, it ended tonight.
"Forget it. It's too late." Renegade said, voice sounding hollow.
"No. It isn't." Batman insisted firmly. "If you come with me, I will take you somewhere safe. We can protect you while we take Deathstroke down."
"How are you going to do that?!"
"We will stop him."
"You don't have a plan." Renegade mumbled like he'd just had an epiphany. A terrible, soul-crushing epiphany. "He's been ten steps ahead of you the whole time. You can't… you can't fix this."
"Come with me." Batman said. "We will keep you safe."
Renegade shook his head, taking a step back.
"I can't go with you."
"I'm not asking." Batman said. "I won't let him keep hurting you."
"I'm not going with you."
"This is your last chance to turn yourself in. It will go a lot easier for you if you cooperate, but I am taking you in one way or another."
"Easier? There's nothing easy about any of this." Renegade said. Batman saw him glance down, mapping his escape off the roof. "For what it's worth… I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."
Renegade dropped off the low roof and onto the next one. Batman was ready; he'd thrown the batarang the instant Renegade moved and it exploded into a pulse of blinding light. Renegade stumbled, bringing his hands up to protect his eyes. The delay was all the time Batman needed to catch up. He swung a bolo, trying to wrap the assassin's legs together, but there was a click as Renegade extended his bo staff and intercepted the projectile. With a flick of the metal, he flung it to the side before settling into a fighting stance. Batman charged. He swung forward with his fist and rather than meet the blow with his staff, Renegade dropped under his arm. Batman shifted his weight, expecting a low sweep kick to knock him off balance. Instead, Renegade dove to the side and started running the second he rolled to his feet.
Renegade had no intention of fighting. He was trying to run away and he was good at dodging. That meant three things; Renegade didn't want a fight, the direct attack wouldn't work, and Batman needed a different approach to stop him.
In the seconds it took Renegade to reach the edge of the roof, Batman decided on a takedown. He flicked his wrist and a Batarang lodged itself into the low restraining wall. Renegade broke stride when it started beeping, but he was so focused on the explosive that he didn't notice Batman aim his grappling line. With a bang, he fired. The rope hurtled through the air and just before it reached its target, Batman yanked. The line recoiled, wrapping around Renegade's outstretched wrist. Batman pulled hard. The rope tightened and Renegade was dragged back by his wrist just as the Batarang detonated. The assassin let out a groan as his back slammed hard against the ground, the wind getting knocked out of his lungs. Before he could recover, Batman pulled a pair of cuffs out of his belt, the other hand keeping a tight grip on the grappling gun.
He misjudged the assassin's recovery time.
Before he got close enough to cuff him, Renegade's hand wrapped around the line and his legs shot up into the air while his back arched, giving himself the momentum to fly back to his feet. He wrapped his arm around the line and yanked, bo staff extending at the same moment to slam into Batman's sternum.
Even through the body armor, the hit was hard enough for Batman to double over. There was that metahuman strength Arrow and Superboy warned him about. Renegade unraveled himself from the line and started running again. Batman launched another Batarang, trying to slow him down enough to get his breath back. It worked. The projectile landed under the assassin's foot and Renegade tripped, losing his balance.
The problem was, he'd just reached the edge of the building and had been preparing to jump the eight-foot gap to the next roof.
The world slowed down.
Renegade's foot flew up, destroying his momentum.
Instead of jumping, he fell.
"No!" Batman shouted, staggering to his feet as Renegade disappeared over the side of the building. He crossed the distance in two steps, throwing himself after the assassin. Renegade looked up at Batman, terror written on his face as he reached up. Batman's greater mass lent him speed and after a second, he was close enough to wrap his hand around Renegade's wrist. The instant that his grip tightened, his other hand was shooting the grappling line at a nearby building. The line caught, the sudden change in momentum jerking Batman's' shoulder roughly, before slowly lowering them down to the low roof below them.
Batman cut the line and they fell the last two feet, landing easily. Renegade stared at Batman, face frozen in shock. Before he could say anything, a force like a train slammed into Batman's side and knocked him to the middle of the roof.
"I believe you have something of mine." Deathstroke said, yanking his apprentice back by the shoulder. "I suppose I should thank you for saving him. I never would have let him out if I'd realized he'd gotten so clumsy."
Batman straightened, cracking his knuckles and breathing through the pain.
"You shouldn't have come to Gotham." Batman graveled. "You've escaped justice for too long. Don't think your luck will hold forever."
"Oh it's not luck. I don't leave anything to chance." Deathstroke tilted his head to the side, drawing attention back to his apprentice. "Nothing."
Batman found himself staring at the apprentice, who was standing behind Deathstroke like he was trying to hide. Deathstroke stood firmly between them, a twisted version of a protector. Batman's doubts about Renegade resurged. He looked scared, but it wasn't aimed at Deathstroke.
"Well Batman? Are you impressed?"
"What is there to be impressed by?" Batman snarled.
"That's a bit harsh. I modeled him after your very own sidekick, I'd have thought you could at least recognize talent."
"You're sick. Let him go."
Deathstroke snorted.
"If you insist, Batman. Renegade, you're free to go." Deathstroke swept his hand out towards his apprentice, who stood as still as a statue. "Go on."
Renegade didn't move, never looking away from the same spot.
"No? I'm sorry, Batman, it appears he's exactly where he wants to be."
Batman tightened his fists.
"Enough games. Whatever you've done to him, it ends tonight."
"Whatever I've done to him?" Deathstroke laughed. "Oh please Batman, don't tell me it was that easy for him to win you over. Did you enjoy your conversation with my apprentice? Find out anything interesting from him? I would hate for you to have wasted your trip."
"As a matter of fact, your apprentice was very helpful. The hair sample I took will be more than enough to get an identity match. If you're abusing a child legally under your care, that's a conviction you can't weasel your way out of."
Deathstroke didn't appear bothered, but Renegade stiffened at Batman's words. The little bit of his face that was visible under his mask lost all the rest of its color.
"Robin's running the DNA now, we'll have a match any minute." Batman lied. Deathstroke didn't need to know the hair sample would be insufficient to run through the sequencer.
"Is that why he couldn't be bothered to join us? I admit, I'm disappointed. I wanted to see how my apprentice fared against the original model. I was impressed the last time we met… although I do worry about his health. He seemed quite out of breath by the end."
Batman saw red. When Deathstroke ambushed the Team at S.T.A.R. labs, he'd strangled Robin. It was nothing short of miraculous that he hadn't burst an artery based on how bad the bruising had been.
"Don't you dare talk about him."
"It appears I struck a nerve. As much fun as it would be to strike a few more, I've already gotten what I came for so it's time for me to take my leave."
"You're not going anywhere."
"Do you really think you can take us both without your precious sidekick?"
"I don't need Robin to stop you."
"Oh? Did you hear that Renegade? He doesn't need Robin." Deathstroke snorted as Batman pulled a set of Batarangs out of his utility belt. "Well, Batman, this has been fun, but I have no intention of fighting with you today. Another time, perhaps."
"I don't think so."
Batman let the Batarangs fly, but Deathstroke was ready. His sword flashed, deflecting all the projectiles and swinging around to point at Batman's throat.
"Hey ugly!" A new voice shouted from up above. "Didn't anyone teach you not to play with knives?!" Seconds later, a figure dropped onto the roof, slinging a projectile at the sword and knocking it out of the way. For a split second, everyone just stared at the newcomer. She was short with long red hair and not nearly enough protection in the messy excuse for a uniform, not when she was standing a foot away from one of the deadliest men on the planet.
Batman felt his heart stop; she was going to get herself killed.
At that instant, Deathstroke and his apprentice used Batman's distraction to disappear in a cloud of smoke. The figure watched the smoke dissipate before nodding sharply and turning to Batman with a face-splitting grin.
"Did you see that?!" The girl exclaimed gleefully.
"Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?!" Batman roared.
"Please, I scared them off! Did you see them run! That was great!" Barbara threw her hands out to the sides, practically beaming with excitement.
"Do you have any idea what you just did?!"
"I do, actually. I saved your life. Mr. Halloween was about to cut your head off. So I think what you meant to say was 'Thank you,' and by the way, you're welcome."
Batman took a second to process what had just happened. Deathstroke was gone, and so was Renegade. Batman was no closer to figuring out the apprentice's identity than he'd been when they started. He just had more questions with no way to answer them. Batman took a deep breath, pulling all his anger and outrage and fear under control.
"How did you find me?"
"The audio feed from your com link. I converted the transmission to shortwave, then ran it back through my da—an old radio receiver and sent it through my computer. I already wrote the program to record the distance per sound wave and ping any overlapping signals, so all I had to do was overlay it on a GPS and get there in time to kick butt."
"Does your father know where you are?" Batman demanded, grudgingly impressed at her methods.
"No, and you're not going to tell him!"
"If you go home and never try anything this reckless again, I'll consider not telling the commissioner."
"You can't stop me."
"Watch me."
"You need me out here."
"It's way too dangerous."
"I've been training for this my whole life! I've taken self-defense classes since I could walk! Besides, you guys need me."
"It's too dangerous."
"Is that what you told Robin when he started?"
Batman closed his eyes and took a breath.
"That's different?"
"How? Because he's an orphan? Because no one would miss him if something happened?" She shot back, daring him to fall for the bait.
"Barbara." Batman growled.
"Batgirl." She snapped back. "You let Robin out because he was right; you needed him and he wanted to be there. Well now Robin needs someone watching his back and it's clearly not going to be you."
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"I don't know what I'm talking about?! Robin's going through hell and you're just making it worse. He needs someone to watch his back and you are not going to stop me."
"… I'm making it worse?"
"You didn't tell him you were dating Catwoman."
"What? Is that what this is about?"
"What happened?!" Catwoman landed on the roof beside them. "Where are they?"
"You!" Barbara whirled, projectiles in her hands.
"Barbara, enough." Batman snapped. He turned to Catwoman. "They escaped."
"Did you get a name? A place? Anything?" She asked. Batman's frown deepened.
"What's going on?" Barbara demanded. "What's she doing here?"
"Same question," Catwoman said.
"We'll debrief back at the Cave." Batman told Catwoman. "I need to take Barbara home before she gets herself killed."
"You're not getting rid of me!" Barbara protested.
"You just let the Justice League's most wanted criminal and his hostage escape. You are going home and if you say one more word, I will tell your father everything you've done tonight." Batman snapped. It was harsh, and definitely unfair to pin Deathstroke's escape solely on her, but being harsh was acceptable if it stopped Barbara from getting herself killed.
Tonight had been enough of a disaster.
AN: Oh Barbara. She really tried. To be fair to her, Slade's plans to escape would have been a lot more miserable for Dick, so Babs actually did help him.
Batman has officially met Renegade! He didn't manage to take him in, but he's at least confirmed that Deathstroke is coercing Renegade to cooperate. Unfortunately, if he can't get Renegade away from him, there's not much Batman can do to help.
Mwahaha.
Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you thought about this chapter or if you're enjoying this story or if you just have conspiracy theories about what's going to happen next and what the hell Slade's plan was bringing Renegade face to face with Batman!
See you soon!