"… who are…? You still haven't told me. I'm getting secret society, but I mean, swing a cat, right? It's Gotham."
Did he really not know?
Wait, was he really becoming an Owl. Like an Owl?
"Well," the old woman was clearly discombobulated, "yes. It's a secret society. We control Gotham from the shadows."
Tim snorted, then raised his eyebrows when she didn't respond—too stunned. "Oh, sorry. You're serious, huh?"
"Yes."
"No."
The room was so quiet Jason could hear a pin drop.
"… No?"
"No… thank you, ma'am?"
"You don't want your birthright? The seat passed down from your father, your father's father, your-"
"No. Not really. I'm done being evil, thanks."
The Owl sighed. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Timothy. Talons?" the Owl waved her hand. The Talons dropped into a guard position.
Uh oh.
"A little on the nose, don't you think?" Tim asked, slowly backing away.
"It's too bad, Timothy. It could have been a golden age of the Court. After all, it's all coming together now." She shrugged. "But, I suppose your seat has been empty since my grandfather's time, it can stay that way. Long live the Drakes."
"That sounds very sinister."
Yeah, Drake, 'cuz they're going to k-
"No one can know we exist. Talons, dispose of him." The Owl flickered her fingers towards Tim. Jason was half out of his crouch.
Tim snapped his fingers in an 'aw shucks' motion. "Oh nooo… if only I could see this coming." Tim waved to the looming assassins. "Bye."
Tim booked it for the window. The one Jason was sitting over. A Talon in tow.
Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shi-
The window shattered and Tim flung himself through it. He deployed a parachute (one, Jason was pretty sure was straight from a Stash, damn did Bruce ever change the passwords on those?).
"Well?" The Owl demanded when the Talons stopped at the broken window. "Get him!" The Talons looked at one another and tossed themselves out the windows.
Shit.
The legends always said that Talons never died. If these were the real Talons, then they were in real trouble.
Jason swung down.
What was Jason supposed to call him now? Sure, the Owl-Lady knew he was Tim Drake-Wayne but did he just… shout that? It just seemed wrong. Uh… "Red Hood!"
Tim turned and frowned. "What? Robin? What are you doing here? And don't call me that."
"Talons-look out!"
Tim glanced up and yelped. One of the Talons landed on his parachute, deflating it. Tim cried out and plummeted like a stone.
Shit! Now Jason would be responsible for Tim Drake-Wayne's second death!
Jason let go of his grapple and let himself drop down. Tim had managed to cut himself loose from the parachute.
"Hands up!" Jason called.
Tim threw his hands up and Jason swooped down, just as he was taught, and up they went. Jason swung them onto a nearby roof. Both winced as the Talons hit the ground with a slap!
Well… maybe they weren't the real Talons. They bled like everyone else.
"Robin, what are you doing here?"
"I want-I was… what are you doing with the Court of Owls?"
"The who?" Tim dropped to a knee and retied one of his shoes.
"The Court of Owls? Are you serious? You never heard the nursery rhyme?"
"No one ever sang nursery rhymes to me," Tim said.
Uh… okay. Jason didn't really know what to do with that.
"Really?"
"Yeah. So they're a secret society, huh? What's that about?"
Jason shrugged. "You know, rich people."
"I was rich people. And you are."
"And…?"
"Yeah. Okay. Rich people." Tim straightened up. "How did you even find me?"
Jason shrugged. "Magic."
Tim snorted. "Yeah, sur-whaaat is that?"
Jason followed his gaze down to the street-level, where the Talons were slowly starting to get up. Their mushed heads were bloody, but not pancake-flat. Their limbs bent at odd angles, but didn't stop them from moving. So, yes, they were the real Talons.
"We should run," Jason said.
"Yeah."
They turned on their heels and ran.
Tim shouted over the wind, "no, really, how did you find me?"
Jason glanced behind him. A steampunk-y taloned claw hooked around the edge of the roof.
"I called Superboy."
"Super-oh, Kon, huh?"
"Yup."
"So B doesn't-?"
"No."
Tim paused. "Okay. Good. Good."
Aw, now Jason felt bad.
"Uh… sorry about… earlier."
"It's fine."
"Okay."
"Left!"
"I know, thanks." God, Jason couldn't even save a guy without backseat heroing.
"Sorry. Did I just B on you?"
"Yeah."
"Sorry."
"It's okay. Lift."
Tim stopped and held out his hands. Jason pulled himself up and Tim tossed him up onto the next roof. Jason turned to hook himself around the lip and pull Tim up but Tim used a retractable bo staff to vault over.
They turned back to look at their pursuers who stared at them, maybe thirty meters away.
"Damn, they kept up?" Jason wondered.
"How are they still alive?" Tim asked.
Oh, right. He didn't know anything about the Court. "Talons don't die."
Tim raised an eyebrow.
Jason shrugged. "Not according to the legend. And if these really are the Talons…"
"Yeah, okay. Whatever. Why not. So, how are we going to get away?"
Jason shrugged again. He pulled out some bomb pellets from his belt. "Boom?"
"Not where anyone can get hurt."
"Duh." Jason turned to the Talons. "Hey Talons! Look at me, I'm a target!"
Jason ran towards the edge of the roof. They didn't follow, their eyes locked on Tim. Jason rolled his eyes.
"Hood, come on."
"Oh, fine." Tim turned to the Talons and waved his arms. "Look at me! I'm another target!" He followed Jason.
They ran to the first park they could find. Parks in downtown Gotham were just about the only greenery outside of the Botanical Gardens or an Ivy attack that Gothamites ever saw. There were a good number of them, dedicated by the Gotham Elite (Jason snorted at the irony), and spread across the rich, bustling downtown area. Not the Narrows part of Downtown, where people actually lived—no, that would be silly.
Ivy would be pissed, but it had to be done. These guys wouldn't stop coming, and Jason wanted to not be the second dead Robin. He tossed a few to Tim, not bothering to explain how they worked. Most pellets could only be activated immediately—but Bruce's bomb pellets came in two types, timer and grenade (i.e. trigger and toss). The timer wasn't much of a timer—just a more delayed reaction than the grenade ones, and depending on where on the pellet you activated it determined how much time you gave it. They set them up in a circle near a clump of trees (careful to co-ordinate the times). The bombs were small enough that they could hide in the meticulously manicured lawn.
Once set, Jason glanced back at the advancing Talons. They hadn't had much of a head-start, and the assassins were gaining fast. Jason kept count in his head, hissing out time markers to Tim.
Tim finished up and Jason and Tim ran to duck behind the nearest entrance-way. After the quake, all buildings—especially in downtown—were up to code on earthquake regulations. That should be enough—the pellets didn't have a large recoil.
Jason whispered the countdown. They peeked their heads around the side of the portico, just as the Talons lurched up to the booby-trap.
Jason tried not to feel guilty. They'd chosen a Wayne park. B would fix it up.
Gotcha. Three, two… one.
BOOM!
By instinct, both Jason and Tim grabbed for the other, which led to a strange tangle of limbs as they both tried to use their body as a shield, before realizing they didn't have to and awkwardly letting go. So, this was what it was going to be like with Tim, huh?
"Can they survive bombs?" Tim asked as they watched the blaze.
"Dunno. I thought they were a myth until an hour ago."
"Okay. So… now wha-"
"Ow."
Tim reached out a hand to grab Jason before he could fall. Jason hissed and stumbled back, hopping on his left leg.
"What did you do?" Tim asked.
Jason grimaced as pain shot through his ankle. Sure, he was wearing a ton and a half of Kevlar, and this was what got him. "Rolled it stepping off the curb."
Tim sighed. He held out a hand and Jason hesitated. Tim rolled his eyes and nudged Jason. "Come on, kid. Take it. Let's get you an ice pack. On me."
Annoyingly, there were no convenience stores in Downtown. If you worked Downtown, food came from restaurants and why have a pharmacy when you had Pharma companies. Swinging wouldn't be great for his foot, and fuck it, why not. Tim seemed alright. Jason took his arm. Tim helped him limp to the street.
"Did you come with a car?" Tim asked him. Alright, but not smart, clearly.
"No."
"Why not? Wait… B doesn't know where I am…"
Jason cringed. "Yeah."
Tim narrowed his eyes. "Are you grounded?"
"What? How did you-?"
Tim pointed to himself. "Trained by the World's Greatest Detective."
"I wasn't. For your information."
"Trained?"
Jason glared at Tim. "Very funny."
"So… not grounded, but about to be?"
Jason hated how close that was to the truth. He wanted to shoulder out of Tim's grasp but his ankle still hurt.
"Don't you have a car? How did you get here?" Jason snapped.
Tim sighed. "Okay, fine. Just.. it's new, okay?"
Jason rolled his eyes. "I won't scuff the paint."
Tim helped Jason sit down. "I'll be right back."
So… that was weird. Jason waited for Tim to come back. This was a weird night. A very weird night. Jason stared up at the dusky Gotham sky and watched as the Batlight flickered on. B would be busy.
But Talons. Talons. They were real. Fucking crazy. Like Jason didn't have enough to deal with. How did Bruce not know about this? … Did he know and just not tell Jason, for like, shits and giggles? 'Cuz that would suck. Probably not since Tim didn't seem to know about them either (Jason had heard some things about his home-life but damn, no nursery rhymes? Secret societies or not...). Which… major oversight, huh. Also, the Court was supposed to be Gotham's richest people (made sense the Drake family would be on the list, Jason guessed) so why wasn't a Wayne a member? Unless… one was.
Woah. Too much. Jason shook his head.
A motorcycle roared up to Jason's side. Tim flicked up the visor on his helmet. "Don't have one for you."
"I'm Robin. I'll be fine." Jason pulled himself up and hobbled over the bike.
Tim whistled and flicked it back down. "Don't ever let Alfie hear you say that."
Jason liked his head where it was. He would never. "Yeah, I'm not that dumb. World's Greatest Detective, duh."
"Hold on," was all the warning Jason got. He grabbed onto Tim's waist and Tim motored off.
Jason couldn't hear Tim say anything over the rush of the wind as Tim did something ridiculous over the speed limit. Clearly he learned how to drive from B. Not… that Jason was a better driver.
Tim skidded to a stop outside the first pharmacy they saw.
"Watch the bike," Tim said, dismounting.
Jason resisted rolling his eyes. "Please," he added, but Tim was already gone.
Not that Tim had much to worry about. They were halfway between the Narrows, Downtown, and the Diamond District. This was Batman's area. Unless you were planning a huge robbery or elaborate mystery of some type, you knew not to steal anything around here.
Tim came out in a few minutes with more than just the ice-pack. He cracked it and tossed it to Jason who iced his ankle while Tim finished jogging up and pulled a pre-made ice cream cone. He unwrapped it and start eating. After a moment he stuck it in his mouth and fished out a second one (this one chocolate flavored).
"Sorry," Tim said, "didn't know which you preferred."
Jason shrugged. Ice cream was ice cream. He shifted so he could ice his ankle with one hand and eat with the other. Tim leaned against his bike, licking the melted ice cream as it ran down the cone. He wolfed it down, and while Jason took his time, watching. It was strange. Jason had never spent any large amount of time with Tim Drake-Wayne. Sure, when he was locked in a cell, healing from being blown up for save Jason's life, but Jason hadn't exactly hung around just staring at him.
He wasn't very tall. Jason was actually taller than him by a few inches. He was pale from jail, and thin. Not gaunt, but lean. His cheeks hollowed out, and scruffy jaw defined. He sucked the chocolate in the bottom of the cone out and popped the rest of it in his mouth. Jason ate a little more.
Tim stretched, cracking his back and neck. He balled up the plastic bag he'd gotten and walked over to a nearby trash-can to throw it out.
"Huh," Tim said, picked up a flier that was (grossly) stuck to the outside of the can.
"What is it?" Jason asked. 'Huh' wasn't always a good thing.
Tim walked back over to Jason, showing him the poster. "The circus is coming to town. Did you know?"
Jason hadn't, but he'd been busy doing other things. Like getting into arguments with Bruce and having a small identity crisis. The flier was brightly colored with a family of three in leotards slap-dab in the center. Haly's Circus.
"You've ever been?" Tim asked.
Jason made a face. "No, but I have this recurring nightmare that I'm an acrobat and a dyed blond."
"Okay." Tim didn't touch that.
"Have you?"
"Yeah. To see them, in fact," he said pointing to the family on the flier. "But I think the Dad here was a kid back then. Older than this one though." He pointed to child in the picture. "The Flying Graysons—it's my first memory. I guess it's a family business."
"Can they really fly?" A reasonable question.
"Not that I know," Tim shrugged. "But they were really good. Maybe they're metas."
"In which case, B will lose his shit." Both of them snickered.
"Yeah," Tim added, "like that's hard."
Right? Finally! Someone who understood! "Exactly! I mean, shit, I do one thing and suddenly it's like I'm a kid again. Guy's a powder keg, but without any emotional blowout. Just yelling."
Tim cocked his head, watching Jason. It was strange—knowing that he was being surveyed, by someone who could pick out his own flaws just as well as Bruce could. Jason wasn't sure he liked being on the other end of the World's Greatest Detective Stare™.
"You are a kid," Tim said.
"I'm seventeen!"
"Really?" Tim seemed surprised. He shook his head. "Guess Robin's always a kid in my mind. You're as old as Damian was when he became Nightwing."
"Really?" Jason hadn't known that. No one talked a lot about when Damian became Nightwing—not Steph, not Damian, and certainly not Bruce. He knew there had been a big blow-out type fight between Damian and Bruce, but he didn't know what about. To this day, it was off-limits. A lot of things from the past were off-limits.
"Yep." Tim snorted, "hey if you stay Robin, you'll be the oldest he ever got." Tim considered. "Well, of Bat-sanctioned ones."
Oldest… Something about what Tim had said made Jason's skin crawl. Stay Robin? What would Jason even do if he… stopped being Robin? What did that even mean? He couldn't go back. He could never go back now. But… would he… could he be… something—someone else? Jason had never considered it.
"Because I died," Tim added, as if Jason hadn't gotten that part.
"Yeah, got it."
Tim leveled that assessing gaze at Jason once more. "Is he really that horrible?"
Jason opened his mouth to say 'duh,' but that wasn't really the truth. Jason knew horrible. Horrible was Ma Gunn luring kids in with a hot meal and an education and then turning them into her little soldiers. Horrible was the kiddie-porn scum they took down once a month and the parents who hit their kids. Bruce wasn't horrible. He was just—god, and Little Jason would have hated what he was about to say, as he always had when grown-ups said it—complicated.
"No. I mean, he's just… it's just…" Jason didn't know how to say this without sounded petulant. "Hard."
Tim smirked. "Oh, teenage angst."
Jason scowled at him. "You know what I mean."
"Dead at fifteen, remember?"
God, Jason was beginning to hate this guy. "Oh, shut up. Like, it's just—he's so hard to talk to these days. Every time we just fight."
Tim shrugged. "Makes sense."
"It does?"
"Sure. I mean, like I said, you're seventeen now. I mean, you're growing up. You're-"
"Please don't say that my 'body is changing'."
Tim ignored Jason. "What I mean is that you're getting older. Robin is Batman's sidekick, and you're now someone in your own right."
"What are you saying?"
"What I'm saying is maybe you're outgrowing Robin. Damian became Nightwing for a reason."
"Oh? And you're not just saying this 'cuz you're jealous?"
"Jealous?"
"Since I replaced you?"
Tim opened his mouth and closed it, frowning.
Wow, that was bitchy of Jason, wasn't it?
"Sorry. I didn't mean it," Jason said, half-heartedly.
Tim shrugged stiffly. "It's fine. Besides, he sounds worse."
Jason winced. "Yeah, well, I'm being dramatic and," Jason shrugged, "you know. You changed him. He's more over-protective but it's good sometimes. I hate it but he's sometimes right."
Tim didn't say anything, staring at his feet. After a moment he said, "I guess it never occurred to me that he could be affected by me in a way other than killing the Joker."
Speaking of… "yeah… about that…"
Tim cringed. "Oh. Yeah, sorry for punching you in the face."
Huh? Oh, no, "that's fine. But… that I uh, let you."
Tim almost looked like he was smiling. "Let me?"
Jason narrowed his eyes. "Yes. Let you."
"Uh-huh. Sure, kid."
"My point being," Jason took a deep breath to work up the courage, "please don't tell B."
"What? Don't tell him that you-oh."
"Yeah."
Tim shrugged. "Sure."
"That's it?"
"What? Should I have blackmailed you a little?"
"No, I mean… just like that?"
Tim snorted. He kicked at the curb. "I've kept secrets from B before."
"Really."
"Yeah. Don't you?"
"You're serious."
"The Batarang budget can hide a lot."
Jason didn't know if he was joking, and if he wasn't then Jason didn't know what to do with that.
"I don't know what that means."
"You will one day."
"Sure." Jason finished his ice cream cone and wiped his gauntlets on the condensation on his ice-pack to wash them.
Tim heaved himself onto the seat on his bike, careful to balance. "So, tell me about this Court of Owls."
"You seriously never heard of them before?"
"Nope. Why?"
"They're like, Gotham legend. A bunch of evil rich people who have a bunch of evil henchmen called Talons and they run the city from the shadows." Jason would have rolled his eyes here but from what he saw earlier, those were real Talons, and if so then it wasn't an eye-rolling matter. "You can't kill a Talon and they're like ninjas, you never know they're there until they are."
"Are they ninjas?"
Not an unreasonable question, given that ninjas were pretty status quo for Bats. "I don't know. Didn't know they were real until they tried to kill us."
"Really? Damn."
"Yeah."
"So, what's this song?"
"Nursery rhyme. Beware the Court of Owls/that watches all the time/ruling Gotham from a shadowed perch/behind the marble and lime/they watch you at your hearth/they watch you in your bed/speak not a whispered word of them or they'll send a Talon for your head."
"Dark."
Meh. "It's Gotham."
"Touche. So, does B know about this?"
"Not that I know of. Missing something that big will piss him off though."
"If we tell him."
What? Now, Jason was all for not telling Bruce many things, but this? "Why wouldn't we?"
Tim shifted uncomfortably. "We don't know if they're real. You said Talons can't die, and we blew them up, so we should assume they probably aren't. Just copycats, you know."
"They jumped off of a tower and survived. If not immortal, they're at least pretty unkillable."
"Yes, but-"
"But what?"
Tim seemed to flatten—curl into himself. "Never-mind."
"No, seriously, what?"
"What would he say if he knew that you were patrolling alone?"
"But I wasn't patrolling, I was following yo-oh."
"Yeah. Besides, if they're really important, we'll definitely have another chance to tell him."
"What? Like when they're trying to kill us?"
"Exactly."
Jason groaned. "You're the worst."
Tim gave a half-shrug. "I try."
The ice-pack had warmed significantly by now. Jason flexed his toes and gently began rolling his ankle. It twinged slightly but that would go away.
"Done?" Tim asked, nodding to him. He nodded, and Tim took his empty cone wrapper, warm ice-pack, and the circus flier. He slid from his seat and walked over to the trash-can, pausing once more before tossing them all in to stare at the bright, smiling faces of The Flying Graysons. He almost looked… sad.
Aw, hell.
Tim returned and mounted his bike. "Your leg okay?" he asked.
Jason nodded.
"I should probably get out of here," Tim muttered, shooting a surreptitious glance at the sky. "It's his territory after all."
Right. Jason eased onto his feet. Tim hesitated. "Do you want me, uh, to drive you?"
"No. I can swing now."
"Okay."
"Thanks for the ice cream."
"Anytime, kid."
Jason bristled at being called kid, but he didn't get into it.
Tim lingered in checking his gear, futzing with his things. Drawing out the goodbye. Shit, fine. Tomorrow was a Friday anyway, not a school night. And it wasn't like Jason was patrolling much these days.
"Tim?"
"Yeah?"
Jason winced. "Do you want to go to the circus tomorrow?"
Tim's eyes brightened. He sat up a little straighter though his tone was far from eager. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah. B'll be busy tomorrow doing… whatever anyway, and I'm sure Robin can be spared." Plus it sounded like something normal people would do. Not that Jason would ever want to be normal again, but a little fun couldn't hurt, right?
Tim smiled slightly. "Yeah. Sure. I'll meet you at the entrance at opening?" Opening started at six PM and first Big Top show was around eight. Jason would have to change before he left school to make it, but that was okay.
"Sure. See you there."
"Goodnight, Robin."
"Bye."
Tim motored off and Jason stretched out his cooled muscles a little more before taking out his grapple. It was late and he had school tomorrow, time to get swinging.
The Gotham Gazette building was nowhere near as eye-catching as the Daily Planet. After years of school at MetU and interning at the Planet, it was kinda underwhelming. Not that Maps would have traded it for the world—she'd come back to Gotham for the same reason everyone came back to Gotham, the city had her claws hooked into her. Call Maps infatuated, she was head over heels, and that made the Gazette enough.
It was a wonderfully overcast day in Gotham, and Maps said thank you to her bus driver before hopping off. She adjusted her purse, made sure her butterfly clip was on straight, and headed in.
The Gotham Gazette was thirty-six stories tall. A gothic skyscraper in the middle of downtown Gotham. The bottom lobby had a large desk with four different secretaries. Small groups of tourists walked around, looking at articles on display and at the architecture.
"Hi," Maps said to one of the receptionists when they had a chance. "I'm Mia Mizoguchi. I got hired by Vicki Vale?"
"Fourteenth floor."
"Thank you! Hey, listen," Map said, leaning on the desk, "I'd love to go out with you guys tonight if I don't end up busy or something! I'm new to town, and you seem very nice."
The receptionists looked at one another.
"Uh…" the one who'd answered her said, "thanks… you probably won't though, Vale's like, a hardass."
"Working herself sick to catch up to Lois Lane in Pultzers," one of the others rolled her eyes and her coworkers nudged her, eyes wide.
"Oh." Maps had never worked with Lois Lane herself, but the head of the interns—some guy called Jimmy—used to be her photographer. "Okay. Thanks anyway! See you around."
Maps headed to the elevator bank. She rocked on her feet as she waited. All of the employees around her were very serious. They read newspapers and had big fancy watches and were all frowning. Was Maps doing this wrong? Should she be more serious? Hmm… Nah.
Maps waited in the fancy, old elevator, and gently pushed her way out when it stopped on her floor (the place was stuffed). Maps had expected the floor to be bustling. People shouting at every corner, interns running around, papers flying, phones ringing—like the Planet had been. But instead loads of people were somewhat humdrumming around on desks with half-cubical walls.
Maps searched for Vicki Vale's bright red hair, and couldn't find any.
"Excuse me," she asked the nearest person to her, "where is Miss Vale?"
"Big office," the guy said, hooking a thumb at the end of the room. Maps looked up and saw that a door had been squeezed into the wall. Not... a wall, an office, with a teeny-tiny window.
Maps walked past the busy reporters and to Vicki Vale's office. She knocked on the door and steeled herself. Finally, Maps Mizoguchi, cup reporter—reporting! Or… hmm, she would have to think of something better.
"Enter."
"Hi, Miss Vale!" Maps said, stepping into the office. "I'm Mia-woah." Now this was more like it. Unlike the drones outside, Vicki Vale had ceiling to floor windows and a giant movie-like cork board on the wall with her current open cases.
"Who-? Mia-Ah yes, Mia Mizoguchi, right?"
"Reporting! Ha, get it?"
Vicki Vale, in the flesh. She sat at her desk, a pen in her hand as she scrawled down some notes, phone tucked under her ear. Vicki Vale raised an eyebrow at her.
Maps winced internally. Shoot.
She raised a finger for Maps to wait, and Maps did while she finished up her call.
"And it's been like that since yesterday?… Mmhm. Okay, thank you so much for the heads up. No, I'm sure you did what you could, it is a top secret prison after all, isn't it?" Vicki Vale gave a small cheeky giggle into the phone, but to Maps she knowingly rolled her eyes. Maps nodded, as if she understood which she didn't entirely. "Alright, alright, thank you Warden. If you know anything else-of course. Right. Talk to you next time. Bye~" She sighed and hung up. "Sources, am I right?"
"Yes, Miss Vale," Maps said, though she didn't.
Vicki Vale scribbled something down and turned to Maps. She gave Maps an assessing glance. A smile curled onto her face—and was it Maps or did it seem almost predatory? Nah, couldn't be.
"Please, sit, Miss Mizoguchi." Maps walked over to Vicki Vale's desk and sat down.
"Call me Maps. Everyone does."
"Maps."
"Yep."
"Your resume caught my eye. An internship with Jimmy Olsen?"
"Sure. I went to Metropolis University. The Daily Planet was right there."
"Most interns continue to work there. Why did you come back to Gotham?"
"I grew up here. This is my city."
Vicki Vale's grin widened. She sat back. "Good, you're perfect."
Was this some weird type of interview? "I… thought I already got the job."
"You did, cub reporter. But if you're up to it, you'll get a tiny reassignment." Vicki Vale pulled out a lanyard with an ID. "You're going to be my assistant reporter."
"Assistant what?" Maps cried. She snatched at the ID and stared at it. There was a small place for her picture that was empty, but her name was printed on it as well as PRESS in big letters.
"Assistant reporter." Vicki Vale grimaced, and smoothed down her hair. "It's your previous job, but you'll work directly under me. I'll delegate stories to you, and you'll get your name on bylines as opposed to just taking notes. You'll need to go down to IT and get the magnetic strip in your ID card calibrated, then to payroll to iron out your financials, but after that, you'll be ready to go. So, Maps, you ready to be an investigative reporter?"
"Only my whole life!"
Vicki Vale held out her hand and Maps almost jumped to shake it.
"Welcome to the team, Maps."
"Thank you, Miss Vale!"
She smiled. "Call me Vicki."
Vicki cocked her head and glanced at the cork-board.
"And, I already have an assignment for you when you return."
"You do?"
"Yeah." Vicki stood and surveyed it, running her finger down what looked like a to-do list of story pitches: Arkham counter security; Bats and their natural enemies, what it means in a city of alter-egos; new Gotham building project ? ; and, underlined three times in red ink (with a small note in someone else's handwriting that said: DUE TOMORROW), the one word, haly's. Vicki wrote something down that Maps couldn't see and crossed off the last pitch.
"How do you feel about the circus?"
"Really, Steph?" Bruce scowled, arms crossed.
Steph was unmoving. "Really." She took a sip of her frappuccino and tossed four computer batteries up and down in one hand.
Bruce grunted. "Steph, put them back."
"But then you'll have no reason to apologize to Tim."
"I'm not going to apologize. And I don't need the Batcomputer to patrol."
"Gah!" Steph snapped slamming them on the dashboard. "What is up with you?"
Bruce futzed with his cowl, and wiped dust off of his shoulders. "Stephanie…"
"Just tell him you missed him! Is that so hard?"
"No."
"Then why won't you?"
"He doesn't regret it, Stephanie. I love him and I miss him, but he doesn't regret it. I can't work with him."
Steph sighed and rubbed her temples. "People have worth other than that."
"I'm aware. Cassandra!" Bruce clearly thought that was the end of the conversation. It would never be. Not so long as Steph was around.
Cass popped up, cowl pulled up as she shoved the last of her dinner in her mouth. She wiped at it, and pulled the mask down.
"I'll need your help tonight. There's a deal going down with the Falcones. We'll need to stake them out."
Cass nodded.
"Bruce! Just talk to him, please."
"Stephanie, he doesn't want to talk to me."
God, he was infuriating. "How do you know? You threw him out!"
"Because he hasn't left a phone number or an address."
"Like you need that to find him."
"I don't. It's just what normal people do."
Steph scowled and huffed. "Like you know anything about being normal," she muttered.
"What was that?"
"Nothing."
"Steph, please put the Batcomputer back together." Bruce finished his futzing and turned to Cass. "Where's Jason?"
Cass shrugged.
Bruce scowled. "Cassandra…"
"Dunno," Cass said resolutely.
"He's at the circus."
Both of them turned to Steph.
"What?" Bruce asked.
"The circus? You know, big cats, bearded ladies, acrobats… clowns."
Bruce didn't reply. He just stared at her.
"The circus."
"I know what the circus is, Steph. Why is he there?"
What? How could he not know? Did Jason just not ask Bruce?
"He asked me if he could be spared, 'cuz he wanted to go to the circus. It's not like he's done much patrolling this week anyway, so I said sure."
"Who is he going with?"
What was Steph? Jason's babysitter? "Uh, he went alone?"
"What?"
"He's seventeen, Bruce! If he can cart off to other galaxies and fight inter-galactic wars, and get us all turned into teenagers for a few days, he can go to the circus alone."
Bruce wasn't happy. He wasn't frowning anymore than before, but he definitely had that not-happy-Bruce-vibes.
"Fine," Bruce said, not sounding petulant at all. "Steph, tell me when comms are back up. Cassie, let's go."
"Bruce, wait damnit! You haven't promised-"
"I'll talk to him, Steph. Happy?"
"Fine." Steph pouted, slumping into her chair. "Whatever."
Cass gave Steph a hug before hurrying after B to the Batmobile. Steph sighed, and moved her chair to the back of the computer to put the pieces back. She booted back up the Batcomputer, and Alfred had brought her some hot chocolate.
She'd just said 'thank you' to him when the computer starting ringing. Someone was calling B on his private line. Steph answered.
"Yello."
"Steph! Steph, get Bruce on the line now!" It was Jason. He sounded scared. In the background, Steph could hear muffled screams. Her fingers were already moving, patching B into the call and sending a message to Gordon just in case.
"Jason, calm down, what's going on?"
But it wasn't Jason's voice who answered. It was Tim's. He was out of breath.
"B, Haly's. Now. Something's happened."
Jason waved to Tim and Tim couldn't help but snicker as the thought occurred to him. Jason jogged over—he was wearing civvies, not his Gotham Academy uniform—and a backpack was slung over his shoulder.
"What?" he asked.
Tim just grinned. "Look at us, doing things. Going to the Circus. Like normal people."
Jason snorted too. "Normal. We wouldn't know normal if it bit us on the ass."
"Hey! Language."
"You're not my dad."
"Thank god for that."
They walked to the gates and Tim paid for them both. Tim knew he didn't have to, and that Jason probably had a debit card, but he didn't mind. It was B's money either way.
"Where did you get the money?" Jason asked.
Tim was sure Jason knew, but answered as if he didn't. "Around. Fairbanks doesn't keep anything safe."
Jason laughed. "I know. You'd think he would know to change his passwords frequently."
"At least have a capital, number, and symbol."
"Right!"
Both of them grinned. They stopped by the funnel cake booth and chowed down. Once done, Tim grabbed himself and Jason lemonade and waved to the fair. Haly's had put on a small carnival outside of the Big Top.
"After you."
Jason led them straight to the games. Tim should have known. He settled on a shooting-the-clown game (on the nose). He paid for both of them.
Tim raised his water-gun.
"You know, with the amount of horrors that've happened at carnivals here, you got to wonder why the city would keep sponsoring them," Jason said, shooting twice before he knocked the balloon-clown off his shelf. Tim threw the first two shots before landing the third. They both took a giant plushie Wonder Woman. Jason shoved his into his backpack and strapped it in. Tim gave his to a little kid who stared aghast at the games, chocolate smeared all over his face.
"Well, he's gone now. They should be safer. Especially with Harley busy… what is she doing these days?"
Jason shrugged. Wonder Woman bobbed up and down behind him. "Dunno. Last I heard she was living in New York. Yeah, strange. Guess no need to fear now."
Tim scratched at his neck. "Yeah. I'd hope so."
Jason was quiet. They stopped to watch a blindfolded man throw knives at his wife, who'd been strapped to a spinning wheel.
Tim tried to think of something to say. He didn't want to sound lame, and he also didn't want Jason to pity him. Or pity him any more than he already did. He knew that on some level, Jason probably hadn't wanted to come here—at least not with Tim. His estranged, weird, murderer, older half-brother. If Tim could even call himself Jason's brother. But Tim didn't want to be alone anymore.
It wasn't like he'd totally expected what he'd done to be just ignored. And he knew that B was pissed. Like really pissed about it. But.. on some level, in some part of him Tim had opened that Bruce would have at least… hugged him or something. He didn't know, and it felt weird to even think about it. He hadn't realized that Bruce would hate him. Bruce dallied around with ex-super-villains and had even had a child with an active assassin, for God's sake. Why was Tim… why didn't Tim matter to him as much as them?
"Thanks," Tim told Jason.
"For what?"
Tim shrugged. "For not hating me."
Jason was quiet again. The knife-thrower helped his wife down and both bowed with a flourish. The crowd erupted in applause.
When it died down, Jason said, "how could I hate you? I think I might have done the same thing, one day."
What? "Are you joking?"
Jason shook his head. Face, solemn. He looked like he'd been thinking about it for a while.
"That's why I let you. Hit me, I mean. I just… I thought he should die."
"Why?"
Jason turned to Tim, face pinched. "Why do you fucking think? He was a monster. He didn't-" Jason took a deep breath. "I know he teaches us that all life is sacred. Important. Whatever. But sometimes… you see assholes who won't stop doing what they do—no matter how much they go to jail, no matter how much mental help they get and some of them… not people like, I don't know, people who genuinely need help like Harvey or whatever, but someone who really just won't stop. Not ever, and you… you wonder."
Tim wasn't shocked. He wasn't sure if he should be. Tim didn't want to kill again. He wouldn't—not unless he had no choice. But… Tim had never wanted to kill anyone. Not before he'd died. He'd believed in Bruce, agreed with Bruce—he had understood. But now… Tim had said only one, and Bruce's entire philosophy surrounded the idea that murder was like potato chips. What Jason was saying sounded…
Tim had taken too long to respond, and Jason backtracked. "N-not that I would! I mean, killing is wrong, and we have a responsibility not to. I never would, you know that. I'm Ro-I can't. I wouldn't."
"Slow down, kid. I'm not B. You don't have to explain yourself to me."
"What I meant was… uh, you know, like, if I had a choice. But I don't. 'Cuz we're the good guys, you know, so there's that and-"
"Jason, it's okay. I understand."
"You do?"
And Tim did. He got it. But, he didn't agree.
No more killing. He'd promised himself. No more killing. Not judge and jury. Not for normal people. But the Joker had been someone—something else. And wasn't Tim allowed to be the tiniest bit selfish to want to avenge his own death?
"Sure. But who decides where that line is?"
Jason whirled on Tim. "Says you?"
Tim hadn't brought this up to argue again. "That's not what I-"
"So it's okay for you but no one else?"
"No! Jason-ugh." Tim groaned. "Look, I don't want to fight-"
"Neither do I! But I thought you understood!"
"I understand both."
"Both? Both what?"
"You and-er-him. Look, in a city where the citizens can't trust the cops not to go in guns blazing, they should at least be able to trust anyone else out there at night."
"And then watch those perps walk because the judges are crooked too?" Jason asked, arms crossed.
"That's another problem," Tim admitted. "One that they also try to solve, but one step at a time. Though, sure, pop a sexual abuser one a little harder than his buddies."
Jason stared ahead of him. A juggler wove between the circus-goers tossing flaming torches.
"Okay," Jason finally conceded, but Tim wasn't sure how much he believed him. "Cotton candy? B's paying."
"Then, by all means."
So that was what had gotten in B's belfry, huh. No wonder he and Jason were on the outs. Tim watched as the cotton candy artist made a large multi-colored neon flower out of spun sugar. They each got their own.
"How about this? No more shop-talk?" Tim asked, picking his carefully crafted flower apart.
Jason had gotten a Robin mask. He stuffed the entire thing into his maw. Coloring dribbled down his chin. "Sure." He made a loud slurping noise to suck his saliva down. "Just fun."
"Just fun," Tim agreed.
The sideshows were all they could see before the first show—but Haly's was full of sideshows. They had bearded ladies, and strongmen. Clowns dotted every corner, and acrobats sprung around the place like frogs.
"You know, the Graysons are known for this really hard trick. Supposedly they're the only ones in the world who can do it," Tim said as they watched a sword swallower do their thing. "It's like a quadruple somersault or something."
Jason scoffed. "Please. Fifty bucks I've seen B do it before."
Tim raised his eyebrows, and grinned. "You're on. It's his money anyway."
Both of them laughed.
"So where are you living these days?" Jason asked.
"Narrows. Best place I can get somewhere for cheap with no ID."
"No-you still don't have ID?"
"I've been out of jail," Tim checked his watch, "like thirty hours."
"Uh, yeah, but you have a watch."
"Point taken. Oh, and technically I'm Tom now. You don't have to tell B."
"Snitches and stitches," Jason said sagely.
They joined everyone else in the Big Top for the show when eight o'clock hit. Tim pretended not to notice Jason surreptitiously check his phone. Patrol had probably just started. Tim would have done the same, if he was still a vigilante. Jason glanced at Tim as the crowd cheered and the house-lights turned off.
"Are you still, you know? Doing the Thing?" he asked.
Tim shrugged. "I don't know if I could ever stop, really. It's a part of who I am."
"I know what you mean."
"Would you ever? If you could?"
The crowd hushed, and Jason dropped his voice to a whisper. "I don't know. I don't think so."
Jack Haly appeared in a suit and top hat. He whirled around, smoke billowed out into the tent. Music blared.
"Ladies, Gentlemen, and everything else, Welcome to Haly's Circus! Collection of mysteries and marvels! Tonight for you, my beautiful Gotham, we have the best selection of astounding stunts and mind-boggling tricks that we could find, after scouring the world!" Jason rolled his eyes, and Tim sniggered.
Haly brought out some jugglers and clowns first. Tim noticed that none of the clowns were styled with neither green hair nor red smiles. Smart. They didn't have any trick flowers or guns too—again, knew their audience. The bastard might have been gone, but the trauma was still there. They did tricks and slap-stick comedy. They were actually pretty funny after the weird-ness. The clowns ran themselves out of the ring, honking and tooting as they went to make way for the other acts. They popped in and out between acts while the others set up. Danger acts were next. Jason and Tim both unconsciously shimmied closer. This was the interesting stuff. Tim counting how many of the tricks he hadn't done something similar (or the exact same thing) to in his time as Robin. Out of twenty, he counted five, but that was because three of them involved guns.
The crowd burst into applause, and Tim and Jason did too but afterward Jason nudged Tim.
"What does it say about us that we've done almost all of those tricks multiple times before?"
Tim grinned. "Be nice, they're only daredevils."
Jason's eyes widened. "God, is that what we are?"
"And we don't even get paid for it."
The clowns came out again while the animal trainers got ready, and then did their own acts. After them were the trapeze artists and stilts balancers, and finally the clowns came out for one last transition.
"Now! The act you've all been waiting for…" Haly said, flourishing while they set up behind him. "Haly's prized trope, our most amazing and death-defying group: The Flying Graysons!" A spotlight appeared. A family of three stood on a platform, in bright red, green, and golden costumes. They sparkled under the lights as they waved to one another. Their son couldn't have been older than eight.
"Preforming their signature feat—one even the Batman couldn't complete: The quadruple somersault! With no net!"
Jason straightened to see better. Tim squinted up. The Graysons each bowed, and the crowd elicited an 'awww' when the little one spun around to bow to every side.
The parents went out first. The father flipped across to the second bar and the crowd 'oohed' and 'ahhed' as he stuck the landing. He pulled up so he was hanging by his feet. The bar wobbled and the crowd gasped. He smiled and gave the crowd an 'okay' gesture.
This wife stretched showily and began to climb onto the other bar to flip across and join her husband.
"Count with us!" Haly cried.
"One!" The crowd shouted as she swung back. Her husband pretended to grab for her and made an 'aw man' snap.
"Two!" She swung again, and blew a kiss to her son who made a show of catching it.
"Three!"
The Grayson woman flew across and caught her husband's hands. The crowd gasped. She smiled and the son made an exaggerated 'phew' and wiped his face.
Tim laughed along with everyone else. The acrobats swung back and forth as they did some balancing tricks to readjust-
Tim froze, eyes caught on the ropes holding them up. One was slowly… barely… Tim squinted… unraveling?
"Jason," Tim said, nudging him.
"What?"
"Jason, call Bruce."
"What? Why-"
The rope was unraveling faster. There was a cut. The Graysons wobbled and the crowd laughed but this wasn't the same joke-not this was-
"Call him now!" Tim snapped, pushing between the spectators. The acrobats looked at one another. The son came to the edge of his platform, frowning. Tim was too far away. There were no ropes near him, no drapes of fabric. Nothing he could use to swing over to catch them.
The mother's scream ripped through the air, leaving silence after it. Tim stood, watching, unable to do anything, as the Flying Graysons fell to their deaths.
Murmurs, wondering if this was real, if the thud and splaying limbs had been living people not seconds ago, then came the screams. First, from the son, who watched on his knees, hands over his mouth. Tim took the phone from Jason. Chaos erupted around them. Someone nearby fainted. Gothamites pushed even though no one seemed to be actually going anywhere. People were screaming, some were asking their friends if this was a joke or a gag.
Roustabouts ran to the middle of the ring. Haly's voice burst over the speakers.
"D-Dearest citizens of Gotham, please, remain calm. If you'll follow the clowns out of the tent. Please, single file." Haly tried to save the night, ushering everyone out but this was Gotham—and everyone had seen death before. They stared like vultures, watching the poor boy as he screamed. Another acrobat swung up, taking the kid in their hands. They helped him down.
"B, Haly's now. Something's happened."
"Everyone, single file line, please."
"That poor kid," Jason stared in horror. The boy ran to his parents' bodies, still shrieking. Haly held him back, and the Strong Man took over trying to rush everyone out. Haly hugged the boy as he cried.
"Jason?"
But Jason wasn't really paying attention. He stared at the bloody scene before them.
"Jason?"
Jason blinked, still staring. "Do…" his voice was hoarse, "do you think this was because of us?"
"Jason."
"Do you think that if we weren't here, they'd still be alive?"
Tim could understand. There's a saying: there are no atheists in a foxhole, but no one ever spoke about when you were blessed enough to be somewhere every time Something happened, you started to wonder if maybe it was you.
"Jason," Tim put a hand on his shoulder and Jason shook it off. Watching the boy and Haly disappear behind the curtains. "This isn't because of you."
"I.. know that. In my head. But…" he paused. He wiped at his eyes. "My parents are dead too."
So were Tim's.
"I know." Tim squeezed. "It's hard."
"I have to find that kid."
"Jason…"
"I have to let him know he's going to be okay."
Tim had his own questions he wanted to ask.
Tim nodded. "Okay."
They slipped between the crowd. The tent was almost completely empty now. But Bats were nothing if not good at blending into the shadows—even in red and green. They slid backstage and chaos surrounded them. Some of the carnies were yelling, trying to get to the front while the line of clowns held them back. Haly was nowhere here—neither was the kid. Tim stood on his tiptoes and saw a hole a dressing area in the back where a sign MANAGEMENT: DO NOT ENTER had been hung. Tim pulled Jason around the performers.
They pushed into the back. It had a small vanity, a hat stand, and hanger. It also had a-
"Shit," Jason hissed.
The Talon turned its head. Its spotlight eyes stared at Tim. One of its brass clawed hands clasped around the boy's mouth. Tears streaked down his face. Haly sat behind them, bleeding. His top hat was lopsided and his jacket was ripped.
"Please," Haly croaked, "get help."
"Run," Tim said to Haly. He reached to his belt and pulled out his bo staff. Jason was no longer behind him, he knew, but he didn't spare the time to look to see where he'd gone. He'd be fine. He was Robin, after all.
"B-b-"
"It's okay, Mr. Haly, I've got this." Tim turned to the Talon, who continued to stare. Maybe awaiting further orders. Since Tim was supposed to be an Owl, could he order a Talon?
"Let the boy go," Tim said in his most commanding voice.
The Talon cocked its head.
"I order you to let the boy go," he said again.
The Talon looked down at the Grayson boy, then back up at Tim.
"Tim Drake for betraying your birthright, the Court of Owls has sentenced you to die," the Talon rasped.
Well… shit.
Tim shrugged, trying to show the boy that he wasn't in any real trouble, that everything was going to be okay.
"Had to try, right?"
The boy gave him a weak, terrified smile.
Tim threw himself at the Talon. The Talon let go of the boy to protect itself. Tim tried to kick it and it dodged. It swiped at Tim but there wasn't really any room to move in the small dressing room—especially with all of the limbs near Tim's feet. Tim felt the claws catch and a light stinging on his side, but he ignored it. Tim brought the staff down on its head. It glanced off the black helmet. The Talon turned its head—and Tim was flying back, crashing into the canvas. Tim groaned. At least the canvas cushioned him.
"Are-are you Robin?"
The boy. What was he still doing here? Tim turned to try to tell him to run, but was interrupted by a blissfully familiar voice.
"He isn't," Jason was back. Tim let out a sigh. Haly cried out. He was still here too—dammit! "I am!"
Robin flipped into the room, both feet kicking the Talon back against the vanity. It crashed down and Haly screamed, running away (finally).
"Get the kid out!" Robin shouted. He threw a smoke bomb and Tim grabbed the boy, sweeping him up into his arms.
"What are you doing? You have to help him!" This kid, man…
Tim held him tighter to try and stop him from wiggling. "Grayson-Gray-"
"Dick! My name is Dick!"
Well, that was either cruel or very over-confident. "Dick! That's Robin, don't worry," Tim told him, "he's going to be fine. This is what he does. Cover your mouth and nose now." Tim tightened his grip around Dick. Poor kid's heart was beating a hundred miles a minute, making him shake.
Smoke filled the tent as Robin pumped it full of gas pellets for cover.
"Help! Help! R-Robin?" Haly. Shit.
"Hold on, kid," Tim muttered into his ear. He squinted, his eyes watering from the smoke. "Haly! Cover your mouth and nose, and say something." Tim closed his eyes to help his spacial awareness. He heard grunts and yelps coming from the dressing room area.
"What?" Haly cried. Left. Haly was stumbling around, crashing into things.
"That'll do. Stay there!" Tim followed the sound, and grabbed Haly by the back of his collar. Haly screamed and tried to bat him away. "Calm down! Calm down, it's just me."
"Oooh-kay, um…"
"Tom. Come on, let's go. Keep your mouth closed. I've got you. It's going to be okay."
Tim fumbled through the smoky tent until they stumbled out. Tim heard the sirens before he saw them. He blinked away the stinging. Dick coughed and Tim fumbled for a water capsule before he realized that he wasn't in costume and didn't have his belt. He really needed to restock. He had gotten weapons today but not a belt.
Haly screamed, ripping himself from Tim's hand and running to the policemen. Tim put Dick on the ground and shook his head to try and clear it.
"-our head! Hands on your head! Hands-"
"Stop that!" Dick shouted between coughs, kicking at one of the policemen's ankles. "He saved my life!"
"Water," Tim coughed. "We need water. Get Batman here."
"You don't tell me-oh my god, you're Tim Drake-Wayne."
Shit, shitty-shit. Shit-
"Water, get us-"
BOOM!
Tim grabbed Dick and pulled himself around the boy. When the ringing in his ears had subsided, Tim looked down. Dick stared blankly behind him, eyes wide at the ashes of his parents. The fire was enough to make Tim start to sweat. The ringing from the blast faded from Tim's ears.
"Robin," Dick whispered. "Robin was in there."
Now Tim was sweating for another reason. He spun around to watch the tent burn down with everyone else.
"Don't worry," Tim repeated, numbly. Please be okay, please, please, please be okay. "He's Robin. He'll be right out."
"How could…" Dick swallowed. A tear slid down his cheek. "How could anyone survive-" he gasped, hands over his mouth. A dark shadow appeared against the flames. Tim watched as Robin's silhouette blackened against the fire behind him.
"Robin." He looked sooty and a little banged up, but mostly fine. A weight lifted off of Tim's shoulders. He looked down at Dick and frowned. There was blood on his face. Tim wiped it off, it was still wet.
"Does that hurt?" Tim asked.
Dick wiped at his cheek. "No… it's… it's not-"
A dark shadow appeared against the fire. But there was… that wasn't not Robin. Robin had already come out. It was smaller, sluggish.
"Behind you!" Tim shouted, pulling out his staff. Robin spun around, batarangs out as the Talon crawled towards them, one armed, like a zombie. "Look out!"
Robin threw another batarang at the Talon. It sliced through the Talon's other arm, but the Talon didn't seem to notice. It wriggled forward like a worm.
"Fire at will!" The police shouted behind Tim. Tim grabbed Dick and tackled him to the ground as the police lit up the air above them. Freakin' police, give a little warning next time. Tim felt himself get nicked on the top of the shoulder. Tim looked up and saw Robin shout as he ducked out of the way of the barrage of bullets. Tim also heard him swear. He rolled his eyes. B must have really gotten lax if he let Jason curse like he did in costume. But he seemed not shot. The police stopped to reload, and Tim pushed Dick behind them to get him out of harm's way.
"Robin!"
Robin whirled on the police. "Stop! Shooting!" He snapped. He turned back and ran to the Talon, but it did seem down for good.
"Put down your guns." The deep voice sent Tim's skin crawling.
"Y-Yes, Batman, sir," one of the police stuttered. Tim turned.
Batman and the new Batgirl stood like wraiths between Dick and the police.
"Oh, hi Batman."
"Batgirl," Batman said. Batgirl nodded and ran past Tim, toward Robin.
Batman turned to Tim. Tim winced.
"Tim Drake," Batman's voice rumbled.
"Before you get mad, I swear this is not my fault. I swear, I had nothing to do with this-"
"Tim."
"-that being said, you might want to look at the kid—um, Dick, I think his name is?" Where was he? Tim couldn't see-
"Tim."
"Don't get mad, this is-I mean, it's not my fault, but Robin, it's not his either you understand that, right?"
"Tim. You're bleeding."
Tim glanced down. Oh, that was why he was a little dizzy. He'd thought it was the smoke. Tim brought his hand away from where the Talon's claws had slashed through his side. That was… a lot more blood than he'd thought originally.
"Oh. I'm fine."
"Tim." Batman put one strong hand on Tim's shoulder and his legs gave out. He crumbled—and hated himself for it—and Batman swept him up, careful.
"Call an ambulance," Batman told the police who jumped to do what he said. No, the kid was bleeding. This kid was more important. Where was he?
"B, the kid-"
"Tim, it's okay."
"No, Dick, where is he?"
"Where-?" Batman turned around. Tim muscled himself out of his grasp and pushed through the crowd who (unhelpfully) stared at them.
"Dick? Dick! Dick Grayson! Where are you? Dick-?"
Tim heard Dick scream. Tim ran, pushing the others aside, not caring if he hurt anyone.
"Dick!"
"Stay back." The cool voice was as mechanic as the voices of all the other Talons. Batman stilled behind Tim. He held the boy like the other hand. Careful not to hurt him, but clearly not afraid to.
"What is that?"
"Later."
Tim could feel Batman's eyes on his back. "Is this why I might have been mad at you?"
"Later," Tim hissed. "Let go, and we'll let you crawl back to your masters." Thankfully, Batman stayed silent behind him.
Dick stayed strong. He didn't even whimper.
"If you're not with us, you're against us," the Talon said rotely. His claws curled around Dick's neck.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Tim warned. He knew that Batman was no longer behind him. The Talon didn't flinch. It should have.
"Tim Drake, you have been sentenced to death."
"You're just a bundle of laughs, huh?"
"Tim Drake, you have been sentenced to death," the Talon repeated. It raised its hand, and Tim lunged.
"Dick! Duck!" Tim shouted, but had to swerve at the last minute when Dick instead, pulled himself up, using the Talon's arm as leverage, and flipped up and over the Talon's back. Batman took the time where the Talon's focus was on grabbing Dick to tackle it. It let go of Dick and Dick flipped away. With seemingly no emotion attached, the Talon kicked B off and spun, meeting Tim's eyes.
"You have been warned," it said, and ran off into the throng of the crowd. When B finally pulled himself to his feet, the Talon was long gone.
Tim knelt down next to Dick. "You okay, kid?"
Dick nodded. "What was that?"
"Yes, Tim, what was that?" Batman asked in a tone of voice that was definitely not a question.
Tim winced. "Would you believe me if I told you it was an assassin from a legend of Gotham?"
"No."
"Then I guess you're SOL." Tim winced. He brushed a hand by the wound at his side, and it came away thick with blood. Don't worry, Tim, it always looks worse than it is. Yeah…. Always, right?
"Tim?"
Tim didn't get to worry anymore though. Not about Bruce, and not about Dick who was staring at him with eyes as large as saucers, because his adrenaline plummeted and Tim fell.
