Tim blinked his eyes open. He was feeling floaty—the good type of floaty. Then, Steph screamed in his ear. Home sweet home.

"B! BATMAN, GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE! B, HE'S AWAKE!"

"Ow," Tim grumbled.

"Oh, shut up! You have no leg to stand on…" Steph tried to come up with a name appropriately horrible for Tim, but couldn't so finished with, "you."

"Ow," Tim repeated.

Steph scoffed. "Don't even start!"

Tim groaned and shifted on the bed. His head swam a little as he moved. Steph grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him back against the pillows.

"Lay down!"

Tim grumbled under his breath. "Lay down, shut up, can I do-" something caught in his throat and he coughed—the movement sent spikes of pain up through his side. He fuzzily remembered fainting. How much blood had he lost if he'd fainted? That couldn't have been good.

Tim squinted and looked around. He was in the Batcave on a gurney. Alfred's hospital set-up hung next to the Batcomputer where Batgirl was spinning around in the swivel chair. A drip IV was attached to one of Tim's arms while the other held… morphine, he assumed (hence, the good type of floaty). He heard a distant clatter and some voices. Great, B had heard and was on his way (with, presumably, Jason).

The kid. Where was Dick Grayson? Tim struggled to sit up again. For some reason, the Talons wanted him just as much as they wanted (or had, and now wanted to kill) Tim. They needed to keep him under lock and key until Tim figured out why and how to stop it. Poor kid. Had just lost his parents (in what Tim was half-convinced was murder but could have just been negligence, right? He didn't know enough about how circuses setup their acts. He'd have to look into that), and now he was being hunted by a secret society.

"Woah, stay down!"

"Where's Dick Grayson?"

"Who? Oh, the kid?"

"Yeah. I need to make sure he's okay."

"Of course he's not okay, Tim. His parents died. But he's here, if that's what you mean."

What here? Here, here? "In the Batcave?"

Steph scowled. "Yeah, unfortunately."

Cass stood from where she was sitting and walked over, handing a mask to Steph. The voices got louder. Steph pulled it on.

"How are you feeling?" Steph asked Tim.

"Like I got stabbed. Did I get stabbed?"

"No, just shredded. And not in the good way."

Tim groaned.

"Tim!" Small feet pitter-pattered against the Cave floor and Dick Grayson appeared from the direction of the gym. He ran to Tim. He was wearing what looked like pajamas and (wet hair as an indication) had recently bathed. He skidded around Batgirl and tossed himself onto Tim's bed, clinging to his neck. His voice wavered as he cried, "you're okay!"

"Didn't I tell you he would be?" Steph said, kindly. She nudged Dick gently but the kid looked like he was on the verge of crying.

"You were bleeding and then you didn't wake up and they wouldn't let me stay with you!" Dick blubbered. Tim could feel how hard his little heart was beating through his chest. He shifted slightly so he could curl an arm around Dick.

"Shh, shh, it's okay. I'm okay," Tim said, patting his back like Bru—like his parents used to do for him. To Steph, he asked, "How long was I out?"

"Just overnight," Steph said, leaning back in her chair. He could see the domino mask crinkle at the edges when she gave him a small smile. "You lost a lot of blood, so we induced some of it to stop you from upping and leaving before you were adequately healed."

"You drugged me?"

Steph scoffed again. "Yeah, like you've never done the same."

Tim rolled his eyes, but the gentle ribbing was so warmly familiar. He was about to say something else when Jason and Bruce appeared—both still in costume. Jason was banged up, but fine. Alive. Tension flooded from Tim's shoulders.

Bruce did not look happy. Tim resisted the urge to cringe.

"Tim," Bruce grunted.

Jason jogged over. His eyes slid down the beeping hospital moniters. He relaxed significantly when he saw that all was in normal range.

"What happened?" Tim asked.

"One of the Talons got you. It was-" Jason stopped and glanced down at Dick, who was still clutching Tim like he might disappear. "-uh, not as bad as it looked."

Yikes. So, really bad then.

Steph took over. "It cut through your abdominal muscle like paper. Nicked part of your large intestine and some of your kidney. But it was fine. We stitched you up in time." Wow. That sounded… not great.

Bruce had his arms crossed. He glared down at Tim. Jeez, like this was all his fault.

"And the Talons?"

"Got away," Jason said. He sat on the edge of Tim's bed. Dick shifted to make room.

"Okay, so where are we? Tracking down old rich people? Looking for a trail? Did you get any trace evidence off my wound?"

The Bats all turned to look at Bruce. Steph scowled at him. Jason winced. Tim couldn't tell with Cass since her mask covered her whole face, but the vibe he got was 'not happy'.

Oh… no. This couldn't be good.

"We'll talk about this in private," Bruce grunted. "Robin, will you take Dick to the-"

"No!"

Everyone turned to look at Dick Grayson. His hands clenched so tightly the close-cropped nails dug into Tim's chest. He tried not to flinch away or say 'ow' but it did kind of hurt.

"Excuse me?" The Batman growled.

"I'm not going anywhere! None of you will tell me anything! I'm staying right here, until everything is explained and you tell me what you're going to do about my parents' murder!"

Steph winced. She put a hand on Dick's shoulder. "Honey, we talk about this…"

"I know they were killed!" Dick cried. "Why won't any of you listen to me? Only Mr. Wayne believes me!"

Mr. Wayne? Tim turned to Bruce who's lips were pressed into a thin line.

"And that will be taken into account, but first we need to find out why someone wants to kidnap you. For your safety and Bruce Wayne's." Bruce's tone wasn't unkind, but it certainly wasn't soft like Tim knew he could be with kids. Especially ones who'd gone through something so traumatic.

"Robin," B repeated.

Jason sighed. He held out a hand to Dick. "Come on, Dickie, we can hang out with the grown-ups after they stop being jerks. Weren't you going to show me that aerial cartwheel on the balance beam?"

Dick's chin quivered. He shifted closer to Tim.

"It's okay, Dick," Tim said. "I'll be right here if you need me."

Dick squeezed Tim harder. "You promise?"

"Mmhm. Oh, and, if you're really good, I'm sure Robin won't mind showing you some of his swords."

"We already did that."

"Oh. Then his… uh, motorcycle? Would you like to see the Redbird?" Tim raised his brows at Jason who nodded. So he did still have the Redbird, good.

Dick narrowed his eyes at Tim, as if he wasn't fooled.

"It has a rocket launcher," Jason offered.

Now, Dick was interested. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." Dick climbed down from Tim's bed, but still held his hand. He turned his big, blue, pleading eyes up to Tim.

Aw, man.

"Promise you won't leave?"

"Promise."

Dick walked over to Jason and Jason took his hand, leading him away.

"Careful," B grunted.

Jason's shoulders tensed, and he said, "I know," back.

Tim waited until they were out of earshot. "Does he even understand what happened?" he asked.

Steph sighed and pulled off her mask. "Yeah. You're about three hours too late for his meltdown. Well-deserved, of course. I would too, if I saw my parents murdered in front of my eyes and then blown up."

Oh, right. Tim winced. They had done that, huh.

"We don't know it's murder," Bruce said.

Steph rolled her eyes. "Sorry, figured that his parents falling to their deaths minutes before the Court of-"

"Don't say it."

"-Owls attempted to kidnap him was pretty murder-like."

"We don't have any evidence to the fact," Bruce said. "And the Court of Owls doesn't exist."

Really? Because they'd tried to kill Tim twice now.

"Then what do you call old people in owl masks calling themselves the Court of Owls with a bunch of almost-unkillable assassins?" Okay, so Tim was a little bitter.

Bruce jerked his head to look at Tim.

"What?" Tim asked, slightly petulantly. Something about B always brought out the worst in him.

"What do you mean: old people in masks?"

Oops. "J-Uh, no one told you?"

"Told. Me. What?"

Snitches and stitches. "Well, I mentioned it to Jason at the circus—information collecting, but he didn't know much. Guess he forgot to mention it in the chaos. Turns out, I may, uh, be the heir to a seat on the Court."

Steph's jaw dropped open. She hit Tim on the shoulder.

"Ow!"

"Of course you are!"

"It's not my fault my parents were rich, and apparently also members of a secret society!"

"Two! Two secret societies, Mr. Ninth Legion!"

Oh, right. Tim had forgotten about that one.

"Stephanie, stop that," Bruce snapped. Steph did, but she glared at both of them.

"And what excuse do you have, Wayne? Shouldn't you already be on the stupid Court?"

"No, because they're not real."

"The hole in my torso begs to differ."

Bruce's jaw tightened, but the worrying thing was that beside him Batgirl stiffened. Her head craned from looking at B to Tim.

In his time in jail, Tim had heard a lot of things about the new Batgirl. All he'd managed to find on her during his revenge rampage was that her name was Cass and that she was mysteriously missing from the interwebs. When she'd fought him, he'd learned that she was very, very good and what she did and that was why he'd avoided her during that last battle. She had probably trained with Lady Shiva a few times. More than Tim had, clearly. Everything that he'd heard in prison had agreed with that. The Batgirl was a wraith. She wasn't a real person—like the Batman (gratuitous eye-roll)—but even worse, she was the souls of all the wronged. She was an assassin. She was a ninja. She had killed hundreds. She would never let you die, but would make you wish you had.

Tim wasn't sure about any of that, but from watching her fight, he was sure she had probably been trained for a very long time. Most likely by an assassin group of some type. He also wouldn't be surprised if she had heightened senses from the offensive way she fought, doing more dodging than blocking. But he had learned enough to know that he did not want to piss her off more than necessary. The fact that she beat his ass when he was recovering from being blown up aside. Not that he couldn't take her, necessarily. Just that… he didn't want to. Yeah. That was it.

"The Court of Owls doesn't exist. I know because I've done my own investigation into them."

"What? When?" Steph asked.

"When I was younger."

"Could you have missed something? Because the whole trying-to-kill-me thing seems to indicate they might be the real deal," Tim said.

"They're not the Court," Bruce snapped. "They're impostors."

"Okay, well, if they are impostors, they're doing a good job of fooling me," Steph said, arms crossed. Her fingers drummed out a tune on her bicep, unconsciously. "Especially with the Talons not-dying thing."

"Yeah, how are they doing that?" Tim asked. "What are we thinking? Venom? Some type of Lazarus goo? Though, on second thought they don't seem the type to be Lazarus-ized."

"What do you mean?"

Tim shook his head. "The way the fight is just wrong. It's not like League assassins, and they don't have any of the pit-rage. They're very powerful, but very controlled. Almost robotic. But they can't be robots, can they?"

"No," Bruce grunted. "But I will handle that when we come to it."

"Of course we-wait, what do you mean, I?" Tim asked.

"You will not be joining us."

"Excuse me?" Bruce had the audacity-! Of course, he did. Tim rubbed his temples and held back a groan. "This is my case!"

"Not anymore."

"I'm not your son anymore! You made that painfully clear. You don't get to boss me around anymore!"

Bruce tensed. "Tim, that's not what I-"

"No. You don't want my help? Well, too bad! You're not the one who's an heir to a secret society. Steph, help me up." Tim struggled. If he wasn't wanted here, he would just leave. He was an adult now—had been for a while (no thanks to Bruce) and he was going to do this on his own. As soon as he could stand up. He pulled the morphine drip out of his arm and was about to take out the IV saline when Steph slapped him back.

"Ow! Are you taking his side?"

"I'm not taking anyone's side," Steph said. She glared at Bruce. "You," she leveled a finger at him, "are going to work this case with Tim, and you," now she stabbed Tim in the chest, "are going to not get pissy and kill anybody."

"I'm not planning to!" Really, Steph?

"I'm not done!" Tim snapped his mouth shut. "You two are going to work together on this case to give solace to that little boy, or so help me God I'm going to murder both of you and bury you in the same grave so you can duke it out in the afterlife. And don't think I wouldn't get away with it either!"

Tim knew she would. He sat back on the hospital bed and pouted.

Bruce was not amused (but when was he ever?).

"Stephanie-" He was probably about to say something that would get both of them lead shoes, but Steph cut him off before he could continue.

"Don't you dare! Zip it! I don't want to hear any words out of that dumb mouth of yours other than 'Yes, Steph' or 'Of course, Steph,' and 'You're so smart, Steph. I won't traumatize this poor child anymore than I already have by arguing with the one adult who he still has an attachment to, Steph, because that would make me a monster and I do have the smallest amount of emotional intelligence so I understand that this will only isolate me further and drive a rift between me and my family, as well as, you know, worsen the already fragile state of the mental health of a newly made orphan!'"

Bruce didn't really have anything to say to that.

"Well?" Steph demanded.

"Fine."

Wow, that must've hurt.

Bruce leaned back against the Batcomputer, arms crossed. "What do you know?"

Tim told them everything except that Jason had been with him for the first attack—from the Owls (fake or otherwise) getting him out of jail to the Graysons' death.

"So, how exactly do you know these aren't the real Court of Owls?" Tim asked.

Batman's eyes narrowed. "I told you."

"Yeah, and I just told you, they're pretty convincing."

Bruce straightened and typed something into the computer in that annoying way he did when he was trying to show how little he actually cared to answer you. "I thought that they killed my parents."

That, uh, had not been what Tim had expected.

"What?" Steph gasped. Even Batgirl seemed shocked.

Bruce ignored their reactions and continued typing. "I didn't want to admit that my parents could have been killed by a nobody like Joe Chill, so I started looking. The closer I looked the more clues I found—an owl stamp here, a talon scratch there, a person who swore they heard hooting. I was obsessed, and one day, I thought I'd found their hideout. Everything fit. It was an old abandoned social club called Harbor House, and there was a windowless room at the top of the building. So I broke in, and found nothing." Bruce paused. When he spoke again, his voice had a more gravelly edge. "All I found was dust. I didn't notice the door close behind me—it had an automatic lock. I was stuck in there for days."

Holy shit.

"Bruce…"

Bruce turned back around, his eyes meeting Tim's. "If there was a Court of Owls, I would have found it. But these people… they want to use that title. The Court of Owls…" Bruce steepled his fingers in front of his face as he thought.

Something inside Tim thrilled. He was back. Doing this. The thing he'd been meant to do. Here, watching Bruce Wayne, the Batman, unravel a mystery. This was the stuff of dreams—what had kept him sane in the League of Assassins, what had gotten him through every painful night in the prison infirmary with one more person's blood on his hands.

"Beware the Court of Owls, that watches all the time," Steph sang under her breath. "Ruling Gotham from a shadowed perch, behind granite and lime."

Bruce nodded along.

"They want us to think they're all powerful. Maybe they think they are," Bruce murmured. "But this is our city."

"So, what's the point? What's their master-plan?" Tim asked. "And if it's all bullshit, why did they get me out of jail? Why now?"

"I think…" Bruce said, "the more imminent question is what does Dick Grayson have to do with it?"

The circus. When Tim had met up with the Owl at Old Wayne Tower, she'd mentioned that everything was coming together, that with Tim there would be a golden age of the court. They hadn't known that Tim would be going to the circus—it had just arrived in town. Haly's hadn't been back to Gotham in years—not since Tim was a kid himself. Not since—well, Tim couldn't remember any time after his first memory, not that his parents would have ever taken him again. By then, he was in the hands of nannies.

What if this hadn't been a coincidence? What if Tim had been sprung now because the Court wanted both him and Dick Grayson?

"We need to go back to the circus," Tim said. He shifted to the edge of the bed, trying to stand again. "We need to find out everything we can about the Flying Graysons."

Behind Bruce the Batcomputer beeped. Bruce turned and opened up whatever had pinged the filters. Steph rolled up to see also. By the stiffness of B's shoulders, Tim could tell whatever it was, it wasn't good.

"Jack Haly was just arrested for murder," Bruce read, "the GCPD's working theory is that he cut the Graysons' rope for their life insurance money which covered death during a work accident."

Steph gasped, and covered her mouth. "Oh my god, the poor kid, this'll kill him. Now, he'll never be able to go back to the circus. Haly was like a father to him."

Bruce didn't reply, but Tim knew that silence. B didn't believe that GCPD was right on this one, and Tim had to agree. Something stunk about it.

"Who did the kid think did it?" Tim asked. Dick had mentioned he thought they were murdered.

"Tony Zucco," Cass said.

Tim's eyebrows rose. "The mobster?" Only Gotham still had mobsters anymore.

Cass nodded. "He said he overheard Haly and one of Zucco's wise guys talking. Something about protection money."

Shit.

The computer beeped again. Bruce moved to open the ping but it beeped again. Then again, and again, and again. It wouldn't stop. More and more beeps. Steph leaned over and slapped a button, fingers flying across the keyboard.

"Crap," she hissed when she finally got the computer to stop.

"What?" Tim asked.

Steph opened something up. She cursed again, and even Bruce grunted in his equivalent.

"What?" Tim asked again. He asked Cass who was in eye-sight but she just shook her head.

"Breaking news," Steph said, voice tight. She turned on a news broadcast.

"We can now say with absolute certainty," the anchor said, "having confirmed this with Gotham Gazette's own Vicki Vale that Tim Drake-Wayne is now at large."

Well, there went Tommy Hill.

"-Drake-Wayne was released from custody without parole. After many witnesses claimed that he appeared in front of them last night at the tragedy at Haly's Circus, we now have confirmation from the prison itself that Drake-Wayne was indeed released not three days ago. How this could have possibly missed the proper channels we have no idea, information is still incoming. We cannot forget all that came out at his monumental trial two years ago, for killing the super-villain called the Joker. This man was a Robin. The GCPD would like to remind the citizens of Gotham that, even though he may have served his sentence, Drake-Wayne is still considered highly dangerous."

Jason and Dick ran into the room. Jason had his phone out and was waving it around. "Are you guys seeing this?"

"Yes, Robin."

"-I have to say I agree, Jan. After last night's bombing and his subsequent disappearance courtesy of the Bat, himself; it's clear that Drake-Wayne has managed to curl the Dark Knight, a man who previously has shown no predisposition to kindness, not even appearing for Drake-Wayne's defense in his trial-" trial was a bit of a misnomer, Tim had pled guilty. "-around his itchy trigger-finger. What this means for Gotham is yet to be determined, but one thing's for sure, no one's free from the Red Hood's wrath. Not even visitors. Stay safe out there, Gotham."

God, he hated being called the Red Hood now.

Everyone turned to stare at Tim. Bruce scowled at him.

"Okay," Tim admitted, "this one is a little bit my fault."


"Mr. Wayne, your eleven o'clock is here."

Tamara looked up at Damian, surprised. She'd been in the middle of saying something, Damian hadn't realized how long their meeting had gone over.

"Sorry," Damian said leaning back in his chair. Tamara sighed. Damian was only in Gotham two days out of seven—Bludhaven needed Nightwing pretty often, and most of his work he could do from home. Except, of course, for the couple days he had to come into the office.

"Damian, you promised we could get everything on my agenda done." Tam crossed her arms.

Damian tisked. "I already apologized. I didn't realize how long the Martha Wayne's School for Orphans would take to cover."

Tam narrowed her eyes at him. Alright, so perhaps irritating his assistant wasn't a great idea. Wasn't her fault he'd taken a nasty dip in the river yesterday. Damian winced and rolled his shoulders. He'd had half a mind to just sleep in today, but he was up with the sun anyway and Tamara might really try to murder him if he blew off today.

Damian checked his schedule. The meeting was only for thirty minutes. "We'll continue over lunch."

"Sure, because I don't have anything else to do today."

"Tamara…"

"Oh, shove it up your butt." Tamara sighed and stood up, brushing herself off. "I'll see you in thirty. You better not be late."

Damian clicked his intercom. "Send them in."

"Yes, sir."

Tamara collected her papers and the door to Damian's burst open with too much enthusiasm. Damian turned to yell at whoever it was—really, how rude! One did not enter a room so indignantly!—and froze.

Oh no.

"Dami!"

"What are you doing here?"

Tamara turned, papers in hand. Mouth open to say something, and she took in the woman before her.

She hadn't grown at all since he last saw her. She had gotten a haircut though. And she still wore that infantile bow in her hair. At least, she was wearing a suit—something professional. Around her neck hung a lanyard that said in large letters: PRESS.

How had Damian not known Mia Mizoguchi had moved back to Gotham?

"Surprise!" Mizoguchi cried. She ran up to him and tried to hug him. Damian ducked, swerving behind her.

Tamara's eyebrows raised. No. Absolutely not.

"Get out." Damian realized his mistake after he said it. Tamara smiled, about to open her mouth and complicate Damian's life further, but Mizoguchi (as always) got there first.

"Excuse me, Mr. Rude-y McRuderson," Mizoguchi said, "I would like to meet this lovely young lady." She spun around, hand out. "Maps! Maps Mizoguchi."

Tamara took it. "I'm-"

"Tamara! Fox! Yes, I know! I did my research." Mizoguchi tried to elbow Damian. She was very physical. Damian had not missed that. He bent out of the way.

"What are you doing here?" he repeated.

"Hey! Rude-y McRuderson!" No. No, Damian was not going to let that stick around. That was the thing with Mia Mizoguchi, you had to be careful what you let her say or do or she'd never let go.

"Absolutely not."

Mizoguchi stuck her tongue out at him. Child.

"I'm Damian's best friend!" Mia said.

Tamara's eyebrows raised. "Really?"

"No, she isn't."

"Yes, I am! Well, I'm one of them! Come on, Dami, didn't you miss me?" Dear God no. Mizoguchi turned her puppy-dog eyes on him. "Can't I even have a hug?"

`tt`.. Damian hated when she did that.

"Yeah, Damian. Can't she?" Tamara asked, making it worse. Damian glared at her. He'd deal with her later. Damian sighed, and opened his arms.

"One hug. For five seconds."

Mia squealed and-oof-she'd gotten stronger since he saw her in person last.

"I'm so happy we could do this! Now that I'm in Gotham we can see each other all the time!"

"Calm yourself, Mizoguchi."

"No!" she grinned. "This is going to be awesome!"

Tamara was clearly trying to hide a smile. Damian flushed. Now, he looked weak in front of his inferior. Once Tamara left, Damian was going to explain to Mia how exactly their relationship would proceed. She could not soften his image to his employees.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Miss Fox, but do you not have plenty of urgent work to do." Tamara didn't move. "Elsewhere?"

"I'll leave you two to it, then," Tamara said. She smiled indulgently at Mia. "Miss Mizoguchi-"

"Call me Maps! Everyone does. And one day so will this lug," Mia said, poking Damian. He batted her hand away.

"Tam."

"It was nice meeting you, Tam!"

"Work? Urgent?" Damian repeated.

Tamara rolled her eyes and closed the door behind her.

Damian would have a lot of damage control to do. He always did around Mia.

"So, you work for the Gazette, I assume?"

"Yep! Can you believe it? I got my dream job! All thanks to your help on that Luthor expose."

Damian had let her use one of his (as Damian Wayne, of course) grappling hooks after the MPD had confiscated hers. He wasn't sure that counted as help. Definitely as accessory.

"I'm happy for you, Mizogu-"

"Oh, your people are gone now, you can call me Maps." She nudged him. "Come on, you know you wanna~"

He did not.

"Mia-"

"Maps."

"No."

Mia sighed and threw herself into a chair. "Well, it was worth a try."

"No. Why are you here?"

"Besides to say hi to a friend?"

"Yes."

Mia shrugged, pulling a tape recorder out of her pocket. "Well, I am officially on business."

"Business?"

"Yeah!" She pointed to her press lanyard. "See. Press. It's legal and everything now."

Damian resisted the urge to groan.

"I meant, what business could you possibly have here?"

"Oh. Well, duh. I wanted to ask you about your brother."

The blood rushed out of Damian's face. "What are you talking about?"

"Your brother. You know, Tim Drake."

Mia had met Timothy a few times when he had been… before. Both in and out of Robin costume, if Damian remembered correctly. But Mia had never been one of Damian's friends who'd known about his alter-ego. Damian had made sure of that. He liked Mia—he really did—and he trusted her. But he had not told her. Not ever.

"What about him?"

"Crazy, isn't it? I knew you two as kids and everything and now he's out and getting attacked by steampunk-bird-people in the middle of the circus."

Damian took a moment to process but… no. Those words still didn't make sense in conjunction. "What?"

Mia cocked her head to the side. "You know. Boom?"

"Boom?" Damian repeated.

"Haven't you seen the news?"

"I've been very busy. What are you trying to say, Mia?"

"I'm trying to say how do you feel about your brother being released from jail early and almost getting killed by bird-people before being whisked away by the Batman and blowing up a circus."

Damian blinked at her.

Mia snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Dami? Hello? Anybody home?"

"What?"


"You're not coming with." Bruce nodded to Cass and starting pulling things out of the armory to restock her belt. He pulled up his cowl.

Tim's hackles rose. He was already halfway to his feet, IVs pulled out of his arms. "Screw you."

Bruce stopped. "Pardon?"

"You're not the boss of me, Bruce. You made that abundantly clear."

Steph groaned and turned off the news-broadcast. "Again? And we were getting along so well," she grumbled.

Tim ignored her. He had no problem working with Bruce. It was he who had the problem.

"You're injured and a liability in the field. I'm not bringing you with."

"He has a point," Steph said. When Tim glared at her, she added, "the injured part, and a little bit the liability part, but was mean, B."

B grunted.

"I'm going. I'm a detective, Bruce, this is what I do-"

"No. End of discussion."

Asshole. "I'm not asking for permission. I'm going."

"Tim-"

"I'm going. If I've learned anything over the past decade, it's that I don't need you and I don't need your permission."

This got Bruce's attention. Of course, he thought that Tim wanted to be near him—for everything to go back to normal—because he needed him. Because Bruce couldn't think of a world where people outgrew him. Outgrew his needs and teachings.

Tim didn't need Bruce. But Bruce was-god dammit, Bruce was his dad. He wanted Bruce around. God, he wanted so much. He just wanted… normal. Wanted how things were. He wanted to feel safe and home again. He wanted to laugh with Bruce, to get burgers after patrol, he wanted…

Well, none of it mattered now. He had to accept his actions. Had to accept that Bruce would never forgive him. Would never want him back around.

Tough shit. Tim was free and he was here to stay.

"I'm going. You can be pissy or accept it—either way, it's happening. At the very least, I owe it to the kid."

Bruce would try to drug him or something. Would hit him. Try to keep him any way he could think of. Tim gripped the IV pole harder. It was the only weapon he had. He shifted into a guard position—ready for anything.

Anything except, "You are suiting up before you go."

Everyone turned at the sound of Alfred's voice. He had appeared at the top of the stairs, domino mask over his eyes (in case Dick was around, Tim guessed).

"Alfred-"

"If you are going, you will suit up, Master Timothy. This is not negotiable." He glared at B for his last sentence. Bruce was seething. Tim could practically see smoke puffing out of his ears. "Miss Cassandra can keep an eye on him."

"Cassandra has other things to do."

"On an investigation?" Alfred asked with a clear unsaid point that Tim didn't quite understand. Did Cass not usually join them on investigations? That was practically half of Batman's work. But Bruce clearly conceded the point from his grunt.

"What would he wear?"

"Where? To the ball? Just ask the fairy godmother for something in kevlar." Steph said.

"I believe we still have some old costume attempts, Master Bruce, if I remember correctly."

B grumbled. He nodded sharply to Cass, who had stood frozen, hands by her sides. Her head turned eerily to Tim, masked eyes seeming to stare into his soul.

Tim shivered.

So… he was going. He was going?

"But first, Master Timothy will let me tape him up." There was the catch.

"I'm fine, Alfred."

"This is not a request."

Tim didn't want any of them coming near him. He knew how arguments were ended in this family, and he had no intention of being drugged. But he didn't have much of a choice.

"Fine." But he'd keep an eagle eye on Alfred.

"Back in your bed, young master."

Tim complied warily. Meanwhile, Bruce took that time to escape to Haly's, with only a barked, "keep an eye on him," at Cass.

Cass stayed standing. Dark holes where her eyes were stayed glued to Tim.

Alfred didn't attempt to drug Tim, though he did try to push painkillers. Tim was already doped up from the IV, but that would fade soon. He didn't mind the pain though. It would keep him in control of his own actions. Tim also slapped a plaster cast around his wound for safety. Securely taped up, Tim hobbled to his feet.

"My staff, where is it?" he asked.

Cassandra took something from the wall and tossed it to him. Tim raised his arm and bit the inside of his cheek bloody against the sharp jab of pain. He caught the staff though. Like his bo staff, it was retractable. Or rather, like the bo staff he'd stolen from one of Bruce's BatStashes.

Tim unfolded it and used it as a cane. "Where is this mysterious kevlar fairy?" he asked.

Alfred brought both he and Cass to the back of the armory and punched a code into the revolving wall. It whirred and opened up shelves of discarded costumes. Some were ripped or shredded in places—Tim couldn't use those. He sifted through them, passing over anything that was just a mock-up and had never gotten to the kevlar or padding stage. He came out with a red tunic that had half of a black bat stitched into it—probably from an early attempt at making his suit scary, but the red was definitely too bright (also probably the reason it had been discarded in the end).

This would really piss B off. Tim took it.

It was easy to find spare tights. Tim took a black pair that had plenty of loops for holding buckles. After declining help, albeit still under Alfred's watchful eye, Tim put the clothes on. He took a domino not because he necessarily felt like he needed one (everyone already knew his secret identity) but for B's sake. He pulled on dark boots. He didn't see the point in the drama of a cape, so he took a dark green vest that had probably been an alternate for one of Damian's costumes. It had plenty of places to put things though, and that was the important thing. He took a belt as well, and loaded it up with any extra detective supplies that he could find. He doubted B would let him keep the costume past today, but he might as well. He added a few R stars and a slingshot to his leg.

He would have done more but B had left a while ago now, and Tim knew he was going to…. Disturb the scene or stack the guards against him or something. Tim wanted to get there now.

"Wait," Cass snapped when he headed towards the car.

Great, now what?

"Why?"

"Dick Grayson."

"What about him?"

"You promised you wouldn't leave."

Tim had forgotten. "Right, crap. Okay."

Tim headed towards where Jason had dragged Dick off to after Bruce had kicked them out. The cave hadn't changed too much since he'd last been here—er, and hadn't been held captive. The gym was in the same place. The external garage still under it. The elevator shaft—or rather, those stupid fire-poles which had never been uninstalled. Tim snorted.

He found Jason sitting on the floor, with Dick curled up in his lap—fast asleep.

Oh man.

Jason looked up when he saw them coming.

"So you killed him and then raided his closet?" Jason whispered. Dick grumbled something in his sleep and Jason went froze—not even breathing until he settled back down. Tim felt bad, he needed to wake him up. Poor kid was probably exhausted.

"No and yes. I'm going to investigate. A won't let me leave without kevlar."

Jason's jaw hung open a little. "What? How did you get B to agree to that?"

"I didn't and I don't need him to. I'm not Robin anymore. Don't need him."

Jason pressed his mouth into a line. Tim bent down. It felt like a crime to wake the poor kid, but Cassandra had been right. He had promised.

Tim gently nudged him awake. He pulled off the domino so as not to scare him.

Dick yawned loudly and rubbed his eyes. "Tim?"

"Hey, kiddo. We need to talk."

"Why are you dressed up?"

"I'm going out."

"No!" Dick threw himself at Tim, and Tim peeled him off. "No, you can't go!"

"Don't worry," Tim promised, brushing his spiky hair back, "I'll be okay. Batman will be there. So will Batgirl. Nothing's going to happen. Promise."

Dick didn't seem reassured.

"I'm going to find out who did this, and I'm going to keep you safe. Okay? Just listen to Robin and Mr. Wayne. I'll be back before you know it."

Dick's large eyes made guilt tug at Tim's guts. If he did somehow get hurt, the kid wouldn't need to get mad at him, Tim's guilt would kill him first.

"Are you going to make Zucco pay?" Oh, that was right, the kid thought that mobster Zucco had caused his parents' death. Tim couldn't see why that would be, but he wouldn't put it past the mobster. But the last thing Dick needed right now was someone else who didn't believe him.

"We'll bring them to justice," Tim promised.

Dick nodded, and hugged him tightly. "Text Oracle or Mr. Wayne when you're done?" he asked. "That you're okay?"

Tim nodded. "I will. But I have to go now, okay? Be good for Mr. Wayne."

Dick squeezed Tim once more and Tim put back on his domino. He turned to Jason.

"Don't let him drive you nuts," Jason said.

Tim gave Jason a small smile. "B? Never." He nudged Jason. "Sorry. Seems every time we hang out one of us gets hurt."

Jason half-laughed. "Hey, usually it's you. What's to complain about?"

Tim rolled his eyes. "Yeah. I guess. Keep him safe?"

"It'll be hard. He's very fast and small, and I'm only Robin."

Yeah. Tim deserved that. "No! Don't put yourself down. I'm sure you're perfectly capable."

Jason stuck his tongue out at Tim. Tim ruffled Dick's hair.

Jason made a face. "Pop Zucco a hard one from me."

Tim followed Cass back out. He didn't even know what would be left there once they arrived. They'd blown up the Big Top surely there were trailers for the families or something. Plus-

Cass spun around, pushing him hard against the wall.

"Stay away from Jason." Her voice was rough.

What? Her hand pressed with just enough strength against him that he could barely breathe for fear of pain rocketing up from his wound.

"What? What do you care?"

"We don't kill."

"Yeah, yeah, so B got to you too, I get it-"

"No." Cass' voice was hard. "Jason is angry, and he will not look up to you. Anymore."

Look up to… oh-Anymore…? Oh.

"Cass, Jason is seventeen years old. He wouldn't listen to anyone tell him what to do, much less someone like me."

"No. Not anymore," Cass repeated. She came closer. If her mask was off, he was sure she'd be glaring at him. "Stay away from him."

Tim wanted to fight about it. He wanted to yell. But on some level… Cass was right. He wasn't exactly the best role model. Death and all.

"Okay."

Cass let go. She spun on her heel. "I'm driving."


Bludhaven General Hospital was not known for many things, least of all their trauma unit. Not that it wasn't good, or even adequate—it was both. But when your city was up against cities like Gotham and Metropolis in crime rate and violence, those cities were obviously going to get the better doctors. Who wouldn't want to piece back together the skull of a man who'd gone up against the Batman?

That said, they'd done a marvelous job sewing Prudence Wood back together. After two years of intense physiotherapy, she had almost complete range of motion back. Sure, her skills weren't what they used to be, but her limbs worked and she could even run if she didn't push herself too hard. She would have to keep working, definitely, therapy was a constant process not just a one and done. But Pru had a good feeling about it. That was why she decided it was time to leave. Well that, and the news.

"Are you sure?" her nurse Jeremy asked, worriedly.

"Yeah, mate. Look at me, I can even do the jig again."

"Don't forget to take your medicines, and get plenty of rest. Don't push yourself too hard-"

"Jeremy, love," Pru slung the bag of the things she'd slowly accumulated over the last couple of years over her shoulder, "you're kind. I won't."

"And.. oh fuck it. Here," Jeremy pulled out a pen and took her hand. He scribbled out a number on it. "This is my phone number. If you ever find yourself needing help, call. Gotham's not so far away—I'll be over as fast as I could."

That was very sweet of him, but Pru wouldn't need help. "Thanks."

"Where are you off to now? Can I drive you?"

"You have a shift."

"I'll cancel."

Pru sighed. "Trust me, Jer, I'll be good."

"If you're sure."

"I am. Bye, Jeremy."

Besides, where Pru was going wasn't any place for a bloke like Jeremy. He was the type to save people, not kill them.

Tim Wayne should never had left the comfy little walls of his jail cell. He should have made sure he'd finished the job, when he'd pushed Pru off of that roof. Now, he'd pay.


Cass skidded to a stop and Tim threw himself out of the Batmobile and dry-heaved until his world stopped spinning. He could feel Cass' disdain though she never said a word. Yeah, definitely learned to drive from Bruce. She was going to kill someone if she wasn't careful. Probably Tim.

He turned his attention to the circus. The fairgrounds were surprisingly abandoned. It was the middle of the day, where was everyone? Where the tent had been last night was a smoking heap surrounded by caution tape. But there were no police, no carnies, no one. The entire camp was empty. The carnies made sense—the place was a crime scene. But the police? Where were they? That was never a good sign.

They didn't even need to be sneaking. Not that being in costume would help them be particularly sneaky in the middle of the day.

Cass cocked her head, listening to her comms. "He's this way." She led Tim through the grounds. It was eerie. Almost like one of the times the Joker had led Tim and Bruce to Amusement Mile—yet, whenever that had happened (he was very predictable in his HQ), it had always been at night. Somehow, desertion in the daylight was creepier.

"So, how did you get involved with B?" Tim asked as they walked.

Cass didn't respond. Her head rotated, surveying the area. She barely made a sound when she moved. Her arms didn't swing. Her body didn't twitch. Tim could barely tell she was breathing.

"Okay, don't tell me."

When Cass spoke she didn't turn to him, so Tim almost thought someone else had. "We're not friends."

"Ouch. Why don't you get to know me?"

"We don't kill," she repeated.

Right. Yeah, like Tim had forgotten. "N's killed before."

"That was different."

"How?"

"You know better."

Know better. Where did this chick get off on judging him? "You don't even know me. Who are you and B? The judgment police? How come villains—people who purposefully wake up and decide to poison the water supply—get more benefit of the doubt than I do? I'm trying to help! I did help! I-No. You know what? I don't owe you an explanation. I don't need to apologize to anyone! I did the right thing!"

Cass said nothing.

"Fine," Tim muttered under his breath. "Then pout, I guess."

"Stop talking."

"Whatever."

And Cass was supposed to watch Tim.

Cass stopped and fished something out of her belt. She handed it over to Tim. "On button here-" it was a comm.

Tim took it from her and put it in his ear. "Yeah, I know how it works." It may have been a few years since he'd worn one but they hadn't changed much by looks. Tim stuck it in his ear. Great, now B would be in his head.

"Hood," B's voice crackled through the earpiece. Tim grated against the name. "Take Batgirl with you to Haly's office. I'm in the Graysons' trailer, but everything looks untouched."

"One, don't call me Hood, and second, where is everyone?"

"I took care of it." His end buzzed into silence.

"B? B, what do you mean, 'you took care of it?'" Tim waited an appropriate amount of time while they crossed the field. Bruce never answered. "B?" Still nothing.

Asshole.

Tim picked the door's lock and the two of them entered the musky trailer. No one had entered all night, or opened the windows. The whole place was stuffy as hell. Cass turned on the lights.

The office trailer was a small box with a desk and rows upon rows of filing cabinets. Clutter sprawled everywhere. Papers all over the desk. There was a small fold-able chair, an empty coat-stand, a pile of clown props (Tim gave them a wide berth out of habit), but other than that the trailer was mainly just cluttered with things. There were disposable cups littered about and sometimes a random piece of a costume. It was whimsical in a detective's-worst-nightmare type of way.

Of course, B had left the two of them the hard part.

"BG, check the cabinets for the Graysons' file or insurance statements. I'll check the desk for secret compartments."

Haly didn't seem like the 'secret compartments' type of guy, but Tim didn't feel like doing the grunt work. That being said, it took him fifteen minutes to search the whole desk. Zip. Tim turned back to check on Cass.

She'd opened every single drawer and had a Flying Graysons' flier in her hand.

"BG? Update?"

Cass didn't reply.

Tim sighed and leaned against the desk. It took him another minute before he realized that Cass was still on the same drawer.

"BG? What's up?"

Cass's shoulders rippled up and down. Tim pushed himself off the desk. He peeked around her shoulder. Batgirl stared down at the labels on the files, tracing the letters with the tip of her thumb. The file she had open was the animal trainer—not the Graysons'.

"Batgirl… you know that's not the right one, right?"

Batgirl jumped and took a step back. She turned to Tim.

Tim didn't understand.

Batgirl shoved the flier into his chest. She looked down.

"Sorry," she murmured, almost too softly to hear.

Tim looked down at it. It was just a regular flier. He looked back at the folder. "Do you know him? Is that why you stopped?"

Cass shrugged again. Great.

Tim brushed it aside. He pointed to the next cabinet over. "Start there. Look for insurance records—the police said Haly's motive was the Graysons' life insurance."

Cass shifted over and Tim took her place. To be fair, Haly hadn't filed his personnel files in any coherent way. Just according his whim, apparently. He paged through labels until he came to the Graysons' (shoved all the way in the back, why Haly would put his headliner's files in the back was pretty suspicious. One would expect that he would have to get out their information more often than others…). He pulled it out and leafed through it.

The Graysons (Mary, and John) had indeed made Haly their beneficiary on their insurance policies. He was also to be Dick's guardian in case of death. But the information in the files were mainly expenses. The Graysons had top quality practice mats. They received the best material outfits, and had pages and pages of costumes listed. Sure, they made Haly money, but it seemed that Haly was invested in them too. He'd even hired tutors for Dick while they were on the road so he would have pretty consistent schooling when not performing. Little notes dotted the margins of the receipts: tell Mary, green bad for complexion under lights; don't forget, John's birthday present—not an ostrich again; Dickie's kindergarten graduation next week, get cake. It was strange. He seemed to genuinely like them. Plus, what were the odds of the Not-Owls attacking minutes after the Graysons' were killed?

No. If this was a plot on Haly's part, then why risk losing Dick? Why risk it at all? They were his headliners. Surely, their policies weren't worth more than what he would make over the years. Could they have been sick? Maybe this was good ol' insurance fraud? But then, why make it look like a murder where Haly could get caught? Especially if he and the Graysons' were in on it. It would traumatize Dick enough, not to mention that keeping Haly as the beneficiary would automatically make him a suspect in any investigation.

Tim looked up.

Cass still hadn't moved. What the hell?

"Uh… Batgirl?"

"Sorry," Cass said again. She sat heavily on the foldable chair. Something was wrong. Tim wasn't sure that Cass had ever done anything heavily before.

"What's wrong?"

"I tried."

Tim reached for his weapon. He'd been in too many of these situations not to be wary of those words and these types of pauses. "Tried?"

Cass made a sound that was suspiciously close to a sniffle. "I can't… read."

Tim blinked. "What?"

"I'm learning. But I can't… You have to."

"Oh." Tim relaxed. Can't read? What? How could Batgirl not read? "Why can't you read?"

Cass cocked her head at him. "My father never taught me. Even speaking is… hard, sometimes."

That explained the exaggerated way she pronounced words. The thickness of her voice. The strange speech patterns.

Tim wanted to ask why, but when he thought for a moment he realized that he couldn't think of an answer to that that would be happy. Saying 'I can't read,' that might have referred to dyslexia. Saying 'my father never taught me'… that was something else.

"Then can you check for trace evidence?"

Cass stared at him again.

Tim pulled out his magnifying glass and a fingerprinting kit from his belt. "Trace evidence?" he said again, holding them out to her.

Cass stared at his hands before slowly taking them. She ran her fingers over the objects almost reverently. Jeez, was this what Alfred and Bruce had meant about bringing her on an investigation?

The comm in Tim's ear crackled to life. "Hood."

"Don't call me that."

"Didn't find anything. You?"

"Doesn't seem likely that Haly killed them. I mean, yeah, he was their beneficiary, but they were making him boo-koo bucks, and he would clearly be the suspect. Plus, he seemed to genuinely like them from his notes."

Bruce was quiet for a minute. "You think this is a frame job?"

"Yeah. But I'll need further evidence to be sure."

Bruce was quiet again. This time for long enough that Tim began searching for the insurance claims. Cass was actually moving too. Silently shifting around papers, getting on her hands and knees peering through the magnifying glass.

"I'm going to the GCPD to speak to Haly. I don't like this."

"We'll keep looking."

B didn't reply, but Tim was actually used to that from him.

Tim continued to snoop. Here were files on past cities this tour. Here were permits and there were applications for other towns and cities. Insurance… insurance… where was-

"Hood."

"I said stop-" Tim turned. Cass was on her knees, head turned up to him. In her left hand she held the magnifying glass. Something in her stance made him stop. "What?"

She pointed. Though the glass, Tim could see it on the baseboard. Slowly she raised it, showing a very faint blood-trail down the dark wood of the desk and to the corner edge against the wall.

That hadn't happened by accident. Not unless Haly was prone to fainting.

"Well, that's not good," Tim said.

Both Cass and Tim jumped when the door burst open. Outside stood two police officers in their Gotham best. Their jaws dropped open when they saw the Bats.

"What the hell are you doing here?" one demanded, voice trembling.

The other one kicked him. To Tim and Cass he said, "you can't be here."

"Why weren't you two at your post?" Tim countered.

Cass turned to look at Tim. Tim ignored her.

Something was weird about the way the daylight silhouetted them.

"We were at lunch!" The second one cried, indignant. "'Sides, we were told that replacements were on their way! Not our fault."

"Y-yeah!" The first one said, "yeah! Not our fault!"

Tim was half inclined to believe them. Not because it was allowed—contrarily, that was very much against protocol—but it was because it was so against protocol, it rang true. And yet.. something about them was-

Cass lunged. Tim grabbed her as the nervous one screamed and grabbed his gun. He pointed at her and Tim brought them both to the ground. Tim's ears rung with the discharge. He came up with a smoke bomb and grabbed Cass. They'd go out the window. If the cops (though Tim was starting to think that something might have been wrong about that statement) followed, then they'd fight. But last thing he wanted right now was attack on two officers of the law on his rap sheet. He was trying to be reformed now. Besides the breaking and entering.

Whatever.

"Roll!" Tim said as he pulled him and Cass to safety. Cass didn't need his warning though, because she pulled up gracefully into a fighting stance and turned back towards the cops to show them why you really, really didn't want to shoot at a Bat, but when the smoke cleared Tim saw that both of them were already out.

Leaning against the outside of the trailer, escrima stick twirling between his costumed fingers, Damian Wayne looked the picture.

Tim automatically reached for his weapon.

"`tt,`" Damian tisked when he saw, eyebrow raised. The sun seemed to be completely absorbed by his black and dark green outfit. "You don't call… you don't write…"

"Says the guy who didn't visit me once in prison."

Damian tensed, but didn't show an ounce of shame. "Doesn't mean I didn't keep an eye on you, Hood."

"Stop calling me that!"

"What did you do to them?" Cass asked, nudging one of the unconscious cops with her foot.

Damian put away his weapons. "Simple knock-out. They'll be fine."

Cass turned one over and picked up the gun like it was a bomb. Ridiculous. Guns weren't as unreliable as bombs, though dangerous. Any Bat should have known that—they dealt with both on an (almost) weekly basis. But on second thought… something about the gun was strange…

"You shouldn't have done that. Commish'll be mad," Tim said absently. He'd been out of the game too long, if this was stumping him.

"No, he won't," Cass said.

Damian turned to her. "What?"

Cass kicked the other cop. "They're not pigs."

Pigs? Tim held back a laugh. But Damian didn't respond to it.

"What do you mean?"

Oh! Yes, that was what Tim had thought. Tim pushed his way forward and check the gum. A six barrel revolver. He handed it back and checked the not-cop who'd pulled it. First the waist holsters, but no, those were full and weren't generally revolvers anyway. He checked the wrists, ankles, and arms next but he knew none of those would be fruitful because the guy hadn't reached there when he'd grabbed it. He'd reached behind his back.

"What are you looking for?" Damian asked, testily.

Tim unbuttoned the not-cop's shirt. He grit his teeth and began searching. He couldn't… ah, there. Of course, in his underpants. This guy was as old school as the revolver, Tim shouldn't have been surprised. It either would have been there or the guy's shoe.

Tim pulled out the dude's wallet. The name in the driver's license was Maroni.

Well, that answered that question. "Why does Dick think Zucco is responsible for his parents' death?" Tim asked Cass.

She shrugged. "Said he over-heard some thugs warning Haly to pay them protection money. But he ran away before he could hear anymore. They mentioned Boss Zucco."

Then Tim and everyone else owed him an apology. "Well, looks like he was right." Tim was about to toss the wallet to Cass so she could see for herself before remembering that she couldn't read. He passed it to Damian instead.

Damian poked around in it. "Mobsters masquerading as police."

"Probably to get rid of any evidence," Tim said, nodding to Cass. "We found blood. I'm guessing Haly's. I don't remember seeing any cuts on him at the circus, but he could have covered it up with make-up."

Damian took some pictures, then folded the wallet back up and handed it to Tim. Tim left it open, anchored to the Maroni's belt, so the real cops could see it when they came. Cass pulled out some zip-ties and got to work.

"I'll tell Batman. And then, we can talk about how you were released twenty-three years to life early."

Great. Tim was totally looking forward to that.

"As nice as that is, N, I think we have more pressing matters."

"And what might that be?" Damian demanded in a very Damian way that made Tim want to punch him. Very hard.

"If mobsters really did kill the Graysons, then what the hell do the Court of Owls have to do with this?"

Damian paused. "Court of what?"

Tim sighed. "We have a lot to catch you up on."


Oh, right, sorry for the late update, and next update'll be postponed two weeks cuz im gonna be super busy recently