So... uhhh... sorry this is two weeks late. More on that in the end notes.
Also lots of tws for uh mental and physical torture, starvation, violence, all of the things that go hand in hand with the Night of Owls storyline. Also, I do not claim credit for the lines I ripped straight from the comic, obv those have been ripped from the comic. Also tws for drugs, drowning, and attempted murder. Also whiplash chapter, sorry I think section breaks are sexy.
Oh! Also happy Tim is officially queer! Meant to post this day of, but then stuff happened rip :/
"Did you know?" Tim's voice was hoarse. He stared up at the giant bird fountain that served as their only source of water. At least, as of yet found.
Cass was a spot of darkness against the blinding white of the labyrinth. He knew her silences well enough by now to know she wasn't amused.
He finished the thought anyway, staring at the water as it trickled from the massive beak.
"Owls eat bats."
Anger used to comfort Jason.
But this. This didn't comfort him. Not anymore.
Bruce slammed Conner Kent against the wall of the alley. There was crack as his form shattered the brick around him. Jason caught Bart Allen's movement out of the corner of his eye, barely there in time for the Batarang to trip the speedster up and send him flying into a collection of Dumpsters.
"Go away."
"No!" This from Cassandra Sandsmark. Her blonde hair whipped around her face as she floated to the ground, back from when Bruce had run the Batmobile right into her, flinging her across the street. "You have no right! He's our friend too, and you didn't even tell us he was out of jail!"
"This is our business, and we will deal with it!" Bruce snarled. He reached into his belt to grab his Kryptonite but Champion tackled him, ripping it away and tossing it as far as demi-goddessly possible. Jason heard a faint crack! as he was sure it embedded itself somewhere in Gotham's concrete jungle.
The preemptive spark of lightning was the only warning Jason got before he was pushed back, slamming into the chain-link fence at the end of the alley. Jason took a moment to blink and refocus as the world spun around him. Bruce ducked as Bart Allen flew at him, and tossed him. Flash went skidding out of the alley. Champion rose from where she'd fallen, and Jason tackled her from behind. Champion cried out, reaching behind her, trying to rip him off, but Jason was good at narrowly avoiding her hands.
"And you?" Champion snarled at him as she tried to bat him away. "You of all people defending him?"
Jason didn't respond. Once he might have agreed with Bruce. Once, he might have trusted Bruce. But now… now he thought that after a week of tearing this city apart brick by brick (and ignoring their responsibilities to Dick), maybe they needed some help. But Jason also knew that Gothamites stuck together, and that if Bruce said 'no metas in Gotham' then by no means would Jason argue.
Not while Bruce was angry. Very angry. Too angry. Jason was almost afraid of bringing it up.
Conner Kent was up on his feet again. He shouted as he dodged B's attacks. "-How dare you-" and "-you never visited him-" and "-GONE AGAIN!"
Jason saw the flip coming and hit the deck as B sent Conner flying into Champion. The two of them flew backward and took down the chain-link fence that was still imprinted on Jason's cheek. Flash skidded over to his friends. Bruce pulled out his back-up Kryptonite.
"Get out of my city!" Bruce snarled at them.
Conner began turning a sickly green and Champion held him tightly as he crumpled over her. For good measure, Jason flicked a few Batarangs at the Flash to pin him down.
"Why? So you'll take more time to find him, and leave him to die again?" Bart asked, voice riddled with emotion.
Jason flinched. Batman didn't even blink.
"You think you can do a better job?" Bruce asked, his voice deadly low. Bruce took a step forward and the Flash flinched backward into the wall. "You think that you can tear this city apart, look under every rock and hair, and in every nook and cranny better than I can?" Jason waited for B to bring down the final blow. But instead, "Fine, Flash. Find my son. Search Gotham from top to bottom. Find my son alive, and then you can criticize me."
What?
Bart stared at Batman. Jason wasn't sure if his chin was quivering or vibrating.
Conner moaned from where he lay and Bruce clicked the lead box that held his Kryptonite closed.
"You too, Superboy. You think you're so much better than me, that I would let my children die, go ahead. Find them. Use your powers. Show me that Metagene is worth something."
"This is a trap," Champion whispered. "This has to be a trap."
Bruce took his time putting away the box. He crossed his arms and dared them.
Jason didn't understand. Bruce hated metas. He always had. He hated people in his city who weren't Bats and he wouldn't let metas anywhere near here if he had a say. Bruce did want to find Tim and Cass. He wouldn't be driving himself crazy if he didn't, But Jason would have never expected Bruce to ask for help. To let anyone help. Jason wasn't even allowed to help! This past week he'd been relegated to babysitter when he wasn't on patrol!
Flash phased away from the wall, leaving the Batarangs snug. Lighting cracked and he was gone, zooming through the streets. Jason waited—because he was used to it, not because he actually cared about B's reputation in front of Tim's friends—until Champion had dragged Conner to his feet and the two of them had exploded into the air to ask what the fuck was up with Bruce.
B didn't respond. Not right away. He just looked at the clock on his wrist and counted the seconds. It wasn't until the third gust of wind generated by the Flash that he answered.
"They won't find him. Not if I haven't. Not yet."
"Do you think… do you think they're not here anymore?"
B pursed his lips.
Something worse occurred to Jason.
"Are you giving up?"
"I'm not giving up," Bruce snapped.
And yet… and yet, Jason saw the way Bruce watched the seconds. Saw the resignation on his face.
"If they could be found, I would have found them by now."
Bruce was apparently the World's Greatest Detective, and yet he was bowing to a secret society who had been controlling his city for years and he hadn't even believed had existed until Maps Mizoguchi had come running to them, covered in dust. Even then, Bruce had surveyed where Maps had said they'd been taken from for hours, looking for any evidence, but there had been nothing. It wasn't until three days had gone by without word from Cass that Bruce had begun to finally believe.
Finally. Kicking and screaming, it had taken him three days.
And now here he was, so sure, so sure of himself, as sure has he had been an hour ago that even with all of their powers—three of the most powerful superheroes in the world—and they couldn't do anything to find them.
Sure as he'd been that the Court of Owls hadn't existed. And look out that'd turned out.
It was gust number twelve that marked twenty seconds. Gust number twelve where the Flash skidded back to B, heaving in air, and when Champion and Conner dropped down from the sky. All of their faces grim.
"If I thought you could help, I would have come to you for it," Bruce said, almost kindly. "They're my children. I will not lose any more."
"We can help-we can keep looking! They might make a mistake or-" Champion said.
"Or?" Bruce asked, any warmth gone. "Or what?" And he waited for a response. A suggestion. Anything, from them.
No one knew. Or nothing. If the Batman couldn't find them, they simply could not be found.
Everyone knew that.
So, why didn't Jason feel better? Why was Jason still angry?
"Get out of my city."
"No," Conner argued. Brave words for a man still hanging off of Champion. "I'll stay here. I'll keep looking-"
"There's nothing to look for."
"Tim would have-"
"Tim is missing! I let you look. I let you stay because I understand that you all care about him and want to help. But you can't help. All you'll do is disturb my people and my city. So get out."
Conner's jaw hardened.
"Don't make me call them."
Whatever arguments any of Tim's friends were about to make stilled there.
"Don't make me call them to remove you."
"I'm not afraid of the League. I'm not afraid of any of them," Conner said, totally believably. Especially considering how his knees were quivering and all.
B turned his face to Flash, who looked terrified. "And you?"
Jason didn't know much about Tim's friends. This was partly because before Tim came back, they'd hated him and considered him a replacement for their friend (no matter how Damian had tried to hide it, Jason knew… Jason had always known). After Tim and… everything, they'd still ignored him, and this was understandable because now their best friend was back alive and thrown in jail and they'd been accomplices in a murder (according to the state) and so the three of them had just disappeared from public life.
At some point something had happened to Barry Allen, and Bart had arisen to his place just in time for Wally to appear on the scene. Even though Wally said Bart had handed him off to his own mentor, Max Mercury, that had been okay, because Bart wasn't really the mentor type. Jason had a vague memory that Champion—he had to think of her that way or by her full name because 'Cass' and 'Cassie' were forever his Cass/Cassie in his mind—had run a few teams, none of which had lasted. Then, she'd disappeared for a while, only taking on the name Champion when she had returned. She'd shed her old costume and made herself reborn.
And Conner… Conner Kent was still no one. Kara had met him only once or twice, and she saw him with the family on holidays but other than that Conner Kent was a mystery.
But Jason knew that they were all on thin ice. Every step they made, no matter how much they were needed or how much they tried to throw off their pasts, was watched. Because one day, one very bad day, they had decided to help their best friend murder someone.
That the someone was The Joker never seemed to cross other heroes' minds. It sure crossed Jason's.
Flash looked back at his friends. Champion, being the bravest (and possibly smartest, though she didn't seem it the way she was acting) of them, stared the Batman down.
"Tim isn't alone. We're not giving up on him."
But in the end, they went home too. Jason couldn't help but wonder if maybe they'd come to the same conclusion that B had.
B waited until they were gone. Watching, making sure that they wholly and truly left.
Jason turned to Bruce. B stared out over Gotham. Sirens wailed in the night, and Jason could hear screams. Above them, the Batsignal shone.
"Finish your patrol, and go home."
Jason didn't argue. Perhaps he should have, would have, but he didn't, because he knew who would win any argument.
The realization struck Jason cold.
Had he given up too? Fallen for the same legend as the rest of them? That the Batman was the be all and end all of truth?
Jason opened his mouth, unsure what he would say, but B cut him off.
"I don't want Dick alone." Annnnd Jason was back to being a babysitter. And nothing was changing.
"And what will you do?"
But the Batman was already gone.
Jason stopped three muggings and headed back to the Cave. He took the long way so he could think. When he arrived he heard Steph talking, not wanting to deal with Bruce he sneaked behind her, but she wasn't talking to B. In fact, her comms were muted.
"-now, I know. … I don't-don't you dare. You're not his only friend! And he's not the only one missing, might I remind you. Batgirl-oh shut up!"
Steph paused.
"Apology accepted. I-I get it. You're worried. … No, he's still looking. Yes, I'm sure. If he isn't, it doesn't matter, he's not the only detective in Gotham."
Jason shimmied towards the showers so he didn't disturb her, but he waited, listening to what Steph would say next.
"Trust me, Kon, if anything happens, you'll probably know before I will. … Yeah, okay. … Don't worry about that. I won't let him disappear. Not again. … And if he does, I'll remind him that I became Spoiler against his wishes, I became Batgirl against his wishes, and that landing me in this chair, and I'll remind you too, does not mean that he has any control over me nor my life."
Bruce Wayne did not control Stephanie Brown. She always made that very clear.
Jason stared at the R on his chestplate.
And what good was a Robin, if he always listened to Batman?
"Jason?"
Jason looked up. Steph wheeled over.
"I didn't hear you come in. What happened tonight?"
"What do you think?"
Steph scowled. "Great. Now we're going to argue. Well, you better get upstairs. I'm worried about the kid."
Everyone seemed to be. Jason nodded.
"Just need to shower."
Steph turned back towards the Batcomputer.
"Steph?"
"Yeah?" she stopped.
"Do you think we'll find them?"
Steph nodded. She didn't even think about it.
"But Bruce-"
"If Bruce was always right, the world would be a very different place. Be glad he isn't. We're heroes, Jay, we never give up."
Jason absorbed that.
"Anything else?" Steph asked.
Jason shook his head.
"Then hit the showers, Kid, and get your ass upstairs."
"Yes, ma'am."
"That's what I like to hear." Steph wheeled herself back to the Batcomputer, and Jason took one last look at his R before placing it gently in the hamper and moving his ass.
Tim had to drink. He knew it was probably drugged, he knew he was giving in to what they wanted, but he couldn't anymore. He was too thirsty. And he hadn't been able to stock up himself. Hell, he was homeless, he only owned a tablet for god's sake. He didn't even have any food, how could he have extra previsions stashed somewhere on him?
Not that it really mattered, anyway. They took Cass' belt. Any rations she had were gone too. She had no reason to judge him.
But he still felt her eyes on him from where she curled up against the wall. Tim turned back to the fountain and drank. No, the metaphor was not lost on him—drinking from the Owl's beak. The water was cool, refreshing, and definitely not just water. Tim didn't feel any affects yet, but he would—he was sure. He'd already told Cass to watch out for him. He didn't know if she would… seeing as she hated him, but now- Tim turned back and- crap.
Cass was gone.
Not again. Tim wove back through the labyrinth. Welcoming the darkness of the tight corridors.
Cass had slipped back into the room. That room. The one they kept shoving in their faces.
Cass sat, knees folded up to her chest, and stared at the portraits. Self-consciously Tim scratched at his own stubbily beard. Soon their pictures would be up there. The progress of the undoing of Tim Drake and stoic Batgirl. Cass hadn't changed in the past few days. Not even a scratch from when they'd been brought here, from the times they would stumble into a new dark corridor and hordes of owls had tried to scratch their eyes out. Tim turned his head. The damned camera was still there. Taunting them.
Tim knelt next to Cass.
"Batgirl," Tim's voice was hoarse. Cass didn't move. "We should go."
But Cass couldn't tear her gaze away from the portraits on the wall. It wasn't good to be in here. Clearly this was some sick story that the Owls wanted to shove down their throats. Each room was created to show how small and unimportant the Bats were. How futile their fight was. Here, in the portrait room, were series of every person they'd taken over the years and murdered—torturing them to insanity, and only then, letting them die. At least, that was what Tim assumed—that was the only part of the process that they didn't document.
This was supposed to freak them out. Supposed to make them paranoid. Tim wanted him and Cass out of here as much as possible—even if it was one of the only places with light in the maze. It wasn't good for them. It wasn't good for Cass. The dark was the only place safe for them—even if there was nowhere they could plan here, nowhere out of the Owls' sight.
"Batgirl."
But Cass would come here. Sometimes for hours. Usually when Tim slept. She would sit and stare. It wasn't healthy. It couldn't be healthy.
Carefully, Tim placed a hand on her shoulder. He could feel her tense beneath him, but he needed to break her from her trance. He needed to make sure she wasn't disappearing.
They just had to be strong for a little longer.
"Cass," he whispered her name, but he was sure they knew it by now. Unless they just didn't care. "We shouldn't stay here."
"My father-" Cass' voice caught. She cleared it.
Tim froze. She'd never spoken to him about her family—had barely spoken to him at all since they'd been captured. From his own research, he knew very little about her and her Before. Tim got the sense that this was hard for her to talk about it even with people she liked.
"My father was like this," Cass said.
"Like what?"
Cass pointed to the pictures on the walls. "Evil."
Tim sat back on his hands, staring up at the wall.
"I'm sorry," he said.
Cass didn't move. She continued to stare. "I left to stop this."
"Didn't we all?"
"So, how could you have changed?" Cass asked. She turned to face him. "I don't understand."
Tim sighed. This was not where he'd expected to have this conversation. Or expected to ever have it. He thought he'd been pretty clear about why he'd done what he done.
The Joker had killed him. Had beaten him until he couldn't move any longer, and blown him up. Tim could still hear him laugh as the crowbar dug into his body. The Joker wasn't a person anymore. There had been no relation to morals. There never had been, but this had been the first time Tim himself had seen it. Had understood. The Joker would not stop. The Joker liked killing. He'd liked how Tim had screamed. He'd found it funny.
Bruce had given the Joker every chance in the world. He'd never shown any sign of improvement, unlike other Rogues. He'd never wanted to change. Tim didn't think he was capable. And even if he was, it wasn't right now. It wasn't tomorrow. With anyone else—any other criminal or sick person, that might have been enough. Understanding that tomorrow was something new. That all you needed to do was decide to change today, and tomorrow you would begin.
That tomorrow would never come, not for the Joker. And waiting for that tomorrow to come only gave the Joker one more chance to poison the water supply or blow up a school or destroy a railroad, and he would. He would, and he would laugh.
That was the story Tim told. He'd done it for those who would die tomorrow. But, that wasn't the truth. Not entirely.
He'd done it because the Joker had broken out of jail the same day that Tim was in Bludhaven. The Joker had murdered Tim in cold blood. He'd broken his bones, punctured his lungs, and shattered his teeth, and then, to add insult to injury, he'd blown Tim up. Tim had been so scared. He'd seen that bomb count down and all he could think of was that at least Bruce was safe.
Then, Tim hadn't thought anything. Until he did, once more. Until he screamed, boiling in the Lazarus Pit. Until he lunged out, and Ra's had forced him onto his knees. Until he'd been trained—his body broken again, only this time Tim hadn't been allowed to die. Instead, he'd been required to heal, to fulfill that ever unattainable goal of becoming the next Ra's. The perfect weapon—Detective, and soldier.
And Tim had escaped that. He'd been free. And he'd seen the Joker break out, and knew that he wouldn't sleep another night until the asshole was dead. For real.
"I needed it to be over," Tim said. "I needed him gone."
"That's not good enough," Cass said.
"Why not? Why isn't it?" But the argument was halfhearted. Tim was tired.
"Because he's still a person. He still…" she paused. She thought for a few minutes, and Tim waited while she found the words. "He still hurts too."
Tim wasn't sure he would ever believe that. "I don't think so."
"These people hurt," Cass said. She pointed up.
"They're not the Joker."
"They could be."
"No. No, at some point you become the Joker. I'm not sure-"
"If you can ever come back from it?" Cass asked. Tim scowled. "It's a door that only goes one way?"
Bruce's favorite idiom.
"No. This is different."
"How?"
"It's more than just that for B. He can't be judge, jury, and executioner. In Gotham, a source that will try, no matter what, to keep you from dying—that's important. Even if you need to be subdued, that's different, because if he doesn't protect life, no one will. And he can't kill. Not him. He lives by truisms. He doesn't understand that people can change back. There's always tomorrow, you can always go back."
"And the Joker doesn't have one?"
"The Joker will take that and abuse it! He wasn't like other people. He wasn't like anyone else! That's why I can stop. That's why I have!"
"You killed the assassins."
"What?"
"The ones in the prison. Who tried to kill you."
A few of them, sure. He'd tried not to, but they were mostly League assassins. Some of them wouldn't stop. "That was self-defense. And I tried not to. I don't-I don't work for Ra's anymore. I'm trying not to do that anymore."
Tim wasn't an assassin. He wasn't.
Cass shook her head. That was all she needed to do to show him, that she didn't understand, because she didn't—and that was clear.
"I'm sorry I can't explain this to you better. I'm sorry I can't help you understand," Tim said.
Cass shook her head again. "I understand. I understand what you say, and I understand what you feel. I don't agree."
"Why? Did he really get to you?"
Cass rested her chin on her knees. "When I was eight I killed a man."
Eight?
"What?"
Cass gave a half-shrug. "It was my first assignment. I saw the life drain out of him. I saw his fear. My father trained me to know a person by everything of their being. Every movement and thought. I saw his death as he saw it."
Holy crap. Tim's jaw dropped open.
"I won't kill again. No one deserves that. Not ever."
Her ability to read people… trained? Tim shook the horror from his head. He couldn't imagine. His parents hadn't been around a lot but at least they'd loved him. Even Damian, who had been raised to be an assassin king, had been loved by Talia. Was still loved by her—even with their problems. He'd been taught to kill to, and he'd been killed before, but that was different. It wasn't… it didn't seem like the way Cass spoke about it. So detached about something that had changed her so thoroughly.
"You stopped killing because you felt someone's death as they did," Tim said, "I gave myself one exception because I'd felt my own. Does that make sense?"
Cass unfurled herself. She stretched her legs, and rolled her neck. She shrugged.
Tim sighed and shook his head. He'd tried.
He stood, and brushed off his legs. He held out his hand. "We shouldn't stay here. It's not good for either of us."
Cass rose too, without his help but took his hand anyway.
"I can't believe your dad did that to you."
Cass shrugged again. "He wanted a weapon. He made one."
Tim laughed, not because it was funny but-well, it kind of was. In a gallows humor type way, and really who in the community didn't like that. Cass gave a small chuckle too.
"And I thought Ra's was-" Tim faltered as they headed through the threshold of the room, because… "Dad?"
"They see you at your hearth," Maps hummed. The stupid song had been stuck in her head for days. After the initial shock of seeing what was definitely the same freaking thing that she'd seen at the circus (and the subsequent kidnapping of Tim Drake-Wayne and Batgirl, which, yikes) she'd run back above ground. When she'd figured out where Tim Drake-Wayne had run away to, she hadn't meant to-well, she'd just wanted to keep an eye on him was all! And now, she'd had to figure out what had taken him! The best she could deduce was that she'd seen a Talon. Like from the fairy tale.
It didn't matter if she could have sworn she'd heard the creep say something about the Court of Owls. Or if everyone she spoke to agreed that the steampunk-bird-things were very real, and definitely, very clearly a Talon. Not even though Maps had already gotten to the bottom of another Gotham legend and unraveled ancient secrets, when she was in middle school. No one would believe her if she claimed that the Court of freakin' Owls was real. Hey, she'd gone to journalism school for a reason—time to put her degree to use.
And shockingly, she'd gotten nowhere and everywhere. Signs were everywhere across Gotham. Hints and links and things that in a cartoon would have gone 'wink wonk,' but nothing led to anything concrete.
"Dang it, not again." she hissed under her breath. It would be really in bad taste to be singing that when one of them finally arrived.
Maps rocked back and forth on her heels. The heat from the Batsignal warmed her despite the cool of the night.
"Are you sure you want to stay up here, Miss?" a uniformed officer asked her nervously. He kept glancing back at the door.
Maps had learned many things from Vicki Vale in the week she'd worked for her. First, was that Vicki Vale had no interest in mentoring Maps. Yet, of course. Maps would wear on her. She always did. And second, that Gotham cops—even the ones who claimed that they were honest, which wasn't encouraging at all—were willing to do just about anything for a bit of cash. Yeah, Maps was working on an expose on that, too. Good for someone like her to exploit, but definitely not literally any of the other types of people who might want to do it in Gotham.
But today, she'd needed just a little bit of help. Commissioner Gordon wouldn't let her up, so she'd needed to get creative. Her only other option would have been to take a cannonball off of Wayne Tower but after a scathing lecture from the Little-Blue-Previously-Known-As-Superboy from when she was back in Metropolis, she'd understood that if she ever tried something like that again, she'd better hope that it wasn't someone in contact with the Kid who would be catching her (since he'd promised to make her habit known). Possibly the quickest method, but also probably one of the most frowned upon.
Not like she didn't have her grappling hook just in case, but she'd gotten his point.
"He'll come," Maps told the cop. "But you can leave if you want. I'm fine up here."
The cop shuddered. "No! I can't leave you up here alone!"
Maps shrugged. She barely noticed him either way.
Maps waited. She could be patient. Sort of.
It wasn't like she was trying to bother the Bats. She had a reason to talk to them—thanks to Damian. Not that she needed his help, or wanted his worrying, but he had had a point (much to Maps' dismay). He'd been really distracted lately and he hadn't been looking good, but that made sense when your brother had been doxxed and then disappeared for days.
But that was why Maps was here. She'd seen Tim Drake-Wayne. She'd seen him be taken, and she knew who was responsible. And she was going to get them.
"I don't have time to play, Mizoguchi," Nightwing hissed, scaring the shnitzel out of Maps. She yelped and jumped away from Siggy.
"Holy shit!" The cop shouted, gun out. Nightwing flicked a wrist and the cop yelped as the gun was hit out of his hand and nailed to the wall with a Batarang.
Great, Nightwing. At least Robin liked her. Kinda. Nightwing was just so… Nightwing. Like he used to be when he was Robin.
Maps huffed—almost leaning on the Batsignal and jumping back before she could burn herself.
"I'm not playing. I came because a friend said it might be a good idea, but if you're going to be mean about it?"
Nightwing's stoic face fell. "Wait. What friend? What do you mean?"
Maps made a threatening step back, and Nightwing cringed.
"No, no, no, no, no-Mizoguchi, don't you dare-"
"Are you going to be nice now?" Maps asked, hands on her hips.
Nightwing grimaced. "You're worse than Vale."
"So that's a no."
Nightwing crossed his arms and glared. Maps felt like she'd pushed him as far as she could for now, so she burst into her explanation.
"So, I may have figured something out about something that I'm researching, but it requires me doing, uh, something maybe dangerous? And when I mentioned it to Damian Wayne, well, he laughed at me, but he does that a lot, and what he really meant was not to do it without backup, but maybe—just maybe—he's right about it this once."
Nightwing took a moment to process what she said. She was okay with taking that moment to catch her breath. She was used to it.
"What… exactly do you want to do?"
"Uh, well, maybe… break into Old Wayne Tower? Wait-before you say no, I do have a reason!" Maps hadn't wanted to add this—especially with the cop behind her. She leaned in closer to Nightwing and added, "it may—I'm not positive yet—but it may have something to do with the disappearance of Batgirl and Tim Wayne. You'll help me for that, right?"
Of course, he would. He had to. They were his teammates.
Right?
Not to say that Maps a hundred percent trusted Nightwing. She knew from other reporters that sometimes you would help out a vigilante and they'd take all your work. Sometimes they'd rob you blind of your hard-earned evidence and do the rest of your investigation and you wouldn't even be at the police station in time to see the perps get caught so you didn't get the scoop!
But Nightwing was her friend, sorta. So he wouldn't do that to her. Right?
Plus, it felt mean to keep something like that from him.
Nightwing stared at her. "Are you sure?" he asked, voice low.
Maps shrugged. "I'm sure that I'm not sure yet? That's why I need to go there. As soon as possible. Without dealing with guards."
"Why do you think it might be connected?"
Maps believed that he wouldn't steal her story, but even Maps wasn't that naive. "Get me in without getting caught, and I'll tell you."
That was Tim's dad. Right there. Standing. A-alive. But that wasn't right. Tim's dad wasn't alive-he-he-
"Tim?" Cass grabbed at Tim as his legs seemed to fail him.
But there Tim's dad was, right in front of him.
"Is he real?" Tim asked, pointing to where an older version of his father existed. Staring at him, jowly jaw wide. Around the corner, a woman poked her head out.
"Jack?" Janet Drake asked. "What is it, my dear?"
Mom?
"Tim?" Tim's dad whispered, in shock. "Tim? Is that my Timmy?"
"Yeah, Dad, it's me." This couldn't be possible. It wasn't! Tim had seen them both die! Tim had—god, that was how he'd been killed eventually. "Mom? Dad?"
"Is that Timmy?" Janet walked over to Jack. She took his hand in hers. "You've grown so much."
"Tim," Cass murmured, "they're not real."
No… no, that couldn't be right. Tim could see them! He could see them right in front of him! Yes, a horrible little voice in his head whispered, because your eyes have never been deceived before. "The… the water…" the river-water must have been drugged. He'd expected it. Known it would happen, but he'd… it had gotten him, again.
"Of course, we're real, Tim," Jack scoffed. "Who's this girl? A friend of yours? She looks like one of them. You know how I feel about them."
"No! I swear, Dad! You can trust her! I haven't-"
"We've been here, waiting for you," Janet gasped, "and you've been running around with them?"
"No! No, I swear-!"
"Tim, they're not real." Cass dug her gauntleted fingers into his arm and pain shot through him. Tim yelped and glanced back at his elderly parents—the parents he'd never gotten to see—but they were still there.
Hallucinations, Tim told himself. Not. Real.
"Not real," Tim repeated.
"Not real," Cass said.
"You have to tell me," Tim said. His throat suddenly felt too tight—air too hard to breathe. He gasped and she held him upright. "Please. I can't-the river-water-, I can't tell."
Cass held him tighter. "Yes," she said. And the conviction with which she said it… it didn't matter their difference in opinion or their values… she understood, and she held him close. When she saw that he was ready to move again, she walked him out, letting him lean on her.
"Tim! Tim, where are you going?"
Their voices cut through his soul with hot knives. Burning their way through him. Tim flinched at every word. Like stepping on glass.
"Are you ignoring us? Your own parents? After all this time!"
Not real, not real. Tim squeezed his eyes closed. He put one foot in front of the other. Not real.
"You're a disappointment. Do you understand what you do to us?"
"We just want to love you! To keep you safe!"
Cass and Tim pushed past them.
"Keep going," Cass told him.
They fell into the darkened tunnels of the maze. Tim hugged his hands to his ears. He couldn't see his parents anymore but he could still hear them, like ghosts.
"Tim, how could you?"
"Tim, how dare you?"
"Not. Real," Tim hissed under his breath. Reminding himself. "Not. Real."
Cass tightened her grip around Tim, reassuringly. "Don't listen. Talk to me."
The dark blanketed them. Here they should be safe. The Court was probably still listening but he had to think of something else. The whispers of his parents set his skin crawling.
"About what?"
"Said that the water was drugged?"
"Yes. Drugged. Right. It must be, because I'm hallucinating them."
Their words burned in his head. If they'd still had Cass' belt, there would probably have been an antidote or something in there. Then again, if they had Cass' belt then they'd be out of here already. He'd just have to wait it out.
"Tim."
Tim winced. He knew not to listen. Not to care. They had hadn't drugged the water for nothing—everything in this labyrinth had a purpose. He and Cass had seen the walls of their victims. Some halls had pictures, some had names, some had models of Gotham throughout the years. They'd done this to help break them—Cass and Tim. Even though only Tim was on the chopping block, it seemed they didn't care.
That was the point. Cass didn't matter. The Bat didn't matter. This was about the Owls. That was what they impressed upon Cass and Tim with every room. Their rooms. Their labyrinth. Their prisoners. Their city.
"Tim, how could you?"
Not real.
Tim wasn't going to give in.
"You liked your parents?" Cass asked, almost curiously. Tim had noticed that—in the hours, days, weeks, they'd been down here, her voice had changed. Less emotion now. Sometimes less words too. She'd cut up her sentences to the barest subject and verb. The wear showed on them in different ways.
Tim shrugged, not that she could see that in the dark—or maybe she could, Tim still wasn't convinced that she wasn't a meta.
"They were parents," Tim said. "Sheltered me, hired someone to feed me. When Mom died-"
"Tim!"
Tim ignored his mother's voice. "-Dad became more protective. He found out, you know."
Cass was silent, but he could feel her confusion.
"He didn't like me being Robin."
Cass squeezed Tim's hand.
"But he was killed, and then I was killed tracking down his murderer."
"Why you were in Ethiopia?" Cass' surprise was evident.
Tim almost laughed. "The Joker was a coincidence. B didn't even know I was there at first. We got busy trying to stop the Joker and then… well, you know the rest."
"And yet, look how you failed us."
Tim flinched and Cass held onto him tighter.
"They're not real."
No. And fuck the Owls for doing this. They probably couldn't control what he would hallucinate, but really, this was low. Not that Tim said that. Would say that. Not when they could hear. They could hear everything.
"I guess it's a good thing that you're not the one hallucinating, huh?" Tim said, more as a joke than anything else.
Cass said nothing. She was quiet for so long, he wondered if she was keeping herself from strangling him. Or-er-not strangling him. Or whatever. 'Cuz the whole no-killing thing.
Eventually she said, "That would be bad."
Yeah. Tim had gotten that.
He didn't know how long they sat there, shoulders brushing in the dark while Tim ignored the cries of his not-real parents. He might have fallen asleep at some point—he wasn't sure about anything anymore—but the voices eventually stopped. He hadn't noticed them silencing, just that one moment they were cutting through the pitch, whispering in the back of his mind, and the next they were gone.
What difference was one moment in the dark from another?
Tim was thirsty again.
"They're gone," he croaked. His head was a little woozy. His throat felt raw.
Cass moved. He didn't hear the rustle of her clothes, nor the whisper of her feet, but he felt her leave the space beside him.
He rose and followed her. Not because he particularly wanted to go anywhere, or that there was anywhere to go, but because neither of them should be alone. It wasn't safe.
Cass led him back into the light, and Tim winced, shielding his eyes. As ever, Cass was stoic.
They were led right back to the picture room, both flinched away from the ever present camera that flashed every time they entered. Cass hadn't done it on purpose this time—Tim didn't think. She had just been walking, but every hallway in this maze led them in circles. They would have ended up back here eventually.
Cass came to a stop in front of the picture of an old man. He looked vaguely familiar, Tim couldn't place him. Cass touched the wall.
She felt it? By looking at them? She felt their fear. That was what she'd said. Felt it. Knew it. Lived it.
Tim touched her shoulder and she flinched. Tim hesitated.
"I'm sorry," Tim said.
Cass was quiet again. Her pauses were getting longer. Cass moved purposefully, dropping her hand to her side.
"I'm thirsty," she whispered, barely loud enough for Tim to hear. Each word rolled over her tongue slowly, as if speaking in and of itself was an effort.
Uh oh. If Cass was admitting that now… it wasn't a complaint. It was a warning.
"How long?" Tim asked. How long until you're too thirsty? How long until you give in and we have to deal with something much worse than whispering Drakes?
Cass' jaw was resolute. She nodded slowly. They had some time. She could hold out. But even now, every movement was an effort. Tim had long ago stopped listening to his growling belly, and he was sure Cass had too.
This was all part of the torture. The reliance. The story that the Owls were trying to get them to swallow.
"We're going to get out of here," Tim said, less for either of them, but just a reminder up to the people watching. "We're going to get out. And then we're going to show them exactly why you don't cage Bats."
Cass turned her head to look at Tim. He could feel her eyes on him through the mask. Her anger, simmering just beneath the surface.
The Owls would regret this. They'd make a mistake—bad guys always did—and Tim and Cass would hunt them down.
"Open season on Owls," Tim repeated. They'd get out of this. They'd get out.
"I think you've forgotten, Drake."
No.
Cass and Tim whipped around, hands up. But the voice was coming from nowhere. Cass was hearing it too, right? Tim wasn't still hallucinating?
The Talon's voice echoed in the space. Tim could still hear it as it dragged them away.
Tim Drake, the Court of Owls has sentenced you to die.
"Owls eat Bats." The Talon appeared behind them.
Jason was quiet the entire swing to the stakeout. Bruce was always quiet, but even when Jason was angry he wasn't usually quiet. It just so happened that this swing, this one in particular, he had nothing to say. So, they swung in silence. The only sound that of the flapping wind.
They landed on the roof across from the bar with a whisper of their capes. Bruce crouched, and Jason curled up, leaning his chin on his knee. They'd both done enough of these by now. Jason knew what a stakeout entailed. What to do and what not to do. Jason had been Robin a while now, on stakeouts a while now. So he sat, and waited, and let Bruce do all of his little fiddling and squinting and 'hnnn'ing.
Their mark went by the alias Blade. He was Zucco's right hand, and the easiest way to the boss, since Zucco kept his own home as secure as any gangster in modern day Gotham (i.e. full of supervillians) would. Not that B couldn't break in normally, but Zucco was expecting them now. Blade, however, seemed to figure that he was off the hook, since he kept visiting his normal haunts.
Bruce didn't even shift. Jason's leg kept jiggling, he couldn't stop it. Jason didn't understand how B could sit still for so long. Jason's butt started going numb so he rolled onto his knees, not letting Bruce catch his eyes leaving the bar.
Bruce spoke. The sound so close in resonance to the hum of the streetlamps that Jason almost didn't catch it.
"How's Dick?" The words were carved out of the silence, probably by Steph and her constant prodding to get Bruce to act like a person, or maybe Bruce had finally had enough social interaction in his life to know that it was the polite thing to do to show interest in other's lives occasionally.
"Fine," Jason said, automatically, then winced. "Well, not fine. But alive." Bruce didn't reply. Jason half felt as if he had taken a test and given the wrong answer. "Safe." Still nothing. "Occupied."
Bruce grunted.
The wind was warm tonight. It ruffled through Jason's hair.
"I'm sorry." Bruce sounded like he was pulling his own teeth. Jason didn't know if he'd ever heard Bruce apologize before. Wasn't sure what he did to deserve it now. "I've been… absent. Recently. I took in Dick. I should be the one watching him."
Oh. That. Jason chewed the inside of his cheek, unsure how to respond. Had he resented that Bruce was forcing him to babysit lately? Yeah, a little. Was he embarrassed about that? Yeah. It wasn't the kid's fault, of course. He didn't ask for his parents to be murdered and the rest of his support system to be thrown in prison. But would Jason rather do almost anything else?
"Thanks. I guess." It was good of Bruce to say it, he supposed.
Blade took his sweet time getting drunk, though he walked out of the bar in a straight line. Bruce swooped down and back up to their roof. Jason crossed his arms, and glared—doing his part. B forced Blade to the edge of the roof, so he was just rocking on his toes to stay on. B gave Blade his trademark glare.
"Oh," Blade said. His words slurred slightly. His eyes scraped towards Jason and back again. "Batman." Then, he snorted.
Jason blinked.
Snorted.
He was drunk. Maybe that was to be expected. Bruce leaned forward, baring his teeth slightly. Blade glanced behind himself at the ground, but didn't seem very concerned. He looked back at B.
"Zucco said this might happen. Guess I shouldn't be surprised it's me."
Bruce had had enough of this. He inched forward again, not enough to unbalance Blade but enough to be in his space. "You're going to tell us-"
But Blade interrupted him. Interrupted Batman. "Mm, no. I'm not."
Batman reached forward, but Blade didn't flinch. The soused bastard just glared back.
"You want to know why I'm not?" Blade asked. B leaned back slightly, giving him an opening. As if saying, 'humor me'. Blade's eyes met Jason's and he grinned wickedly. "You brought the wrong sidekick."
Jason's hands curled into fits.
"Excuse me."
Blade snickered. "See, here's the thing Big Bad Batty, you're not scary anymore." Blade tisked.
Says who? He was scary enough for the Champion.
"Now, if you had the Red Hood, man who killed the Joker?" Jason froze, and waited. He expected B to lose it. Expected B to show Blade just how scary an angry Batman could be. But B did nothing. Said nothing. Didn't move a hair.
"Then, yeah. We'd be having a conversation now. But you? What're you going to do? Dangle me over the edge of the roof? Claim you'll drop me? Loosen your grip 'til I agree to flip? Maybe break a few bones or my nose? Zucco doesn't play bullshit games like that. He'll kill me, and then he'll kill my family. He told us that. All of us, to our faces. You? Everyone knows the Batman doesn't kill. You and your ex-sidekick made that pretty clear. You brought the wrong boy in tights."
B 'hnnnng'ed.
"You're not scary anymore, Batman. Real terrors have moved into Gotham, men unafraid to take on the worst of the worst. You ain't shit."
Jason looked to Bruce. Expecting him to say something. Do anything. But Bruce stood there and glared. B had thrown two of the most powerful superheroes in the world out on their asses with five words, but when it came to lowlifes who would orphan eight year-olds, he couldn't even get a flinch. It wasn't that B wasn't doing anything, it was that he couldn't.
Blade was right. Batman just wasn't scary anymore. And what was Batman if he wasn't scary? What was Batman if he wasn't vengeance? Wasn't the night? None of it would matter. Not if he couldn't strike fear into the hearts of men. Of normal men, not those with over-extended senses of morality, but everyone else. The ones who hurt others. The ones who mattered. What would happen to Gotham if the Batman stopped scaring them? Or more to the point, Batman was nothing, because Batman already had. But that didn't mean that Robin had to follow the same line.
Jason moved swiftly. He ducked first, avoiding the arm that he knew B would throw out to stop him, and grabbed Blade around the waist. He purposefully skimmed a little too close to the pavement as he jumped, before pulling the two of them up on his grapple.
"Robin!" B shouted behind him. Jason paid him no attention. Didn't even check to see if he was following. B would, for as long as he could, but the faster Jason kept going, the more weight between him and Blade, the faster their momentum, the farther they flew.
And Jason flew. Wind rushed past him. Blade emptied his belly a few times on the ground below. Jason paid him no attention either. They plummeted, and jerked, and flung, and flew. Jason kept Blade out of air, kept his limbs pinwheeling in time with their momentum, throwing them this way and that.
Jason knew scary. He knew it every night he worked in these god-forsaken streets. Knew it from the tips of his hair to his toes.
Blade wanted scary, Jason could be the something to tell his kids at night.
Be good, or the Jason will get you.
"I'll give you scary," Jason whispered into Blade's ear.
Jason didn't stop until they reached where he wanted to be—the oil rig out in Gotham Bay. Not too far from shore, but not close either. Waves against the quiet rig, covering Blade's gasping until he recovered his breath. Jason let him have a reprise. When he glanced at Gotham, at the twinkling lights in the distance, the rush and roar of the streets almost rivaled the bay. The city that never slept. Not even during the quiet hours. He knew what he would have to do. Resolved as if he'd seen a strike of lighting, a broken window, and the flashing wings of a bat.
But he didn't see a Bat. Not that it mattered. This had to happen. Gotham needed him.
Dick needed him. Tim-
Jason walked over to Blade. His boots thumped loudly against the metal of the rig's structure.
Blade spun around. Saltwater sprayed into the air, misting his face. Sweat pooled in his collar.
"Wh-What are you going to do now? Use the Almighty Dangle? I'm not afraid of you!"
Jason knelt, eyes narrow. "Why not?"
Blade blinked. "What?"
Jason didn't respond. He knew a Bat-sanctioned-glare would do the trick. Say what you would of B's methods.
"You're…" Blade gasped for breath. "You work for the Bat! You won't kill me! You won't!"
Jason pulled out his wire. Blade cried out and began kicking at him, trying to keep his hands away. Jason grabbed his ankle and broke it. Blade's scream was swallowed by the wind.
"Batman's not here," Jason said as he wound the rope around Blade's limp leg. "And you're right. He's not scary anymore. Not something that hides under your bed at night. No… no, you're absolutely," Jason zipped the knot tight, the sound set his teeth on edge, "right."
To his credit, Blade stayed resolute. "Not afraid," he whispered to himself, "not afraid. When Batman comes you'll see! He'll stop you! Batman will catch me!"
Jason shrugged and tied the rope around the rigging. He began lowering Blade down. Inch by inch, until his head just brushed the lapping water below.
"I'm not afraid of you!" Blade screamed. The bay splashed against the rig, and saltwater spurted into Blade's eyes.
Jason sat on the edge of the rig, kicking his feet out. He had levered the wire over a support beam so he could pull it and Blade would bob up and down.
"You're right," Jason called down. He let Blade bob in and Blade sputtered as he swallowed a mouth full of water. "There's no reason to fear Batman." Something had to change. B's methods weren't working anymore—none of them.
"So, what? You're going to kill me?" Blade cried. "What's your fate worse than death? Is it-" gulk-burble-glub "-death? Because that's what-" gluk-gluk-haaaak hak hak "-Zucco's is!"
"I don't have one." Jason dropped Blade back down, brought him up, and let him retch. "You're going to give us Zucco's ledger, or however he stores his income," -dunk-gurgle- "you're going to testify at his trial," -dunk–spat- "you're going to help us put him behind bars," -dunk–hyaaack!- "and when you're done, maybe… maybe, if you ask nicely, you'll be able to live your life."
"And if I don't?"
"And if you don't?" Jason repeated. He dunked Blade once more for good measure. Blade coughed up half the bay and said, stubbornly,
"Yeah. If I don't? Are you going to kill me? You, Robin? You? You're not the Joker-killer. Not the Big Bad Bat. You're nothing. What're you going to do?"
"For someone fond of mentioning my predecessor, you seem to be forgetting one crucial thing."
"And what's that?"
"The Red Hood was once Robin, too."
Jason waited. Heard Blade cough as the waves splashed over his nose and mouth once more. But nothing else.
Jason took a vial out of his belt. He jerked the wire, and Blade swung on it, skimming the tumultuous bay.
"You can't see this," he said, tapping it against the wire, letting the vibrations do his work for him, "but it's a vial of acid. The same acid Zucco used to destroy the ropes on the Graysons' trapeze." Not true, but it was acid nonetheless and that was all that would matter to Blade. "In five seconds I'm going to pour it on this wire and let it do its thing. There is one thing you can do to stop me, if you're scared enough."
There was a pause. One… two…
"Batman will stop you. Batman will save me. This is a trick."
"Do you see Batman around now?"
"You're Robin!"
"Yes. Yes, I am. Three… Four…" Something had to change.
Blade said nothing.
Five.
Jason began pouring. "Putting it on now. When you die," he said as the liquid soaked into the fibers of the cable, "your body will be swept out to sea. I'll make sure of that. Long enough that Zucco will just assume that either you split or you're dead. Either case, he'll kill your family. It'll be a shame we don't know where they are. That we can't stop him." the acid was quick-acting. It began to degrade the wire. Not much, but enough that he knew Blade could feel something change.
"Batman will save me," Blade chanted. "Batman doesn't kill."
"Were you there, Blade? Did you kill the Graysons?" He paused for Blade to answer but there wasn't one. Not to him, at least, but to Batman, to God, to Gotham. The acid had worked its way through about a quarter of the wire now. It was beginning to shred faster. Jason knew Blade knew also.
"If you were there you would know how quickly this acid acts. Not long now, Blade."
"Batman will save me. Batman doesn't kill."
"Are you scared yet, Blade?"
Halfway through. The wire unraveling quickly.
"Batman… Batman.."
"Last chance, Blade. What are you more afraid of?"
Three-fourths. Seven-eighths.
Snap.
Blade submerged beneath the inky black depths of Gotham Bay, ironically, with Batman's name on his lips.
Jason watched.
He didn't see any bubbles, not in that churning deep. Didn't see the floating rope. Didn't catch a flash of skin, or limb, or hair.
B burst from the waves. A pitch wraith. His grapple caught on the side of the rig and Jason stepped back to make room as he swung over the edge. Water streamed off of his cape and he landed with a heavy thunk. He didn't make eye-contact with Jason—didn't even look at him—until he got his first breath into Blade's lungs. His crossed hands pounded rhythmically as he pushed on Blade's chest. He bent down and breathed life into Blade once more.
Blade did not stir.
Batman kept at it. His head flicked up to meet Jason's eyes.
"You didn't know I was coming," Bruce said. It wasn't a question.
Jason tried to argue anyway. "Of course I did. You're Batman. I didn't expect to lose you."
"You. Didn't. Know." B breathed into Blade once more. Pound, pound, pound.
Jason would lie again. He would, if he wanted to. He could. He was good at lying.
But what was the point? Jason was tired. And Jason was angry.
Something had to change.
"Blade's right, you know. They're not afraid of you anymore."
Pound, pound, pound. Breathe. Pound, pound, pound.
Bruce didn't even seem to care. All of this. All of everything about Bruce, and he didn't even seem to fucking care!
The anger rose.
Pound, pound, pound. Breathe. Pound, pound, pound, pound.
Breathe.
Gasp!
Bruce turned Blade over as his body vomited the seawater he'd swallowed. It poured from him in a river of its own.
Bruce tied the last bit of the wire around Blade's ankle to the rigging. Not that it mattered, Blade was half fainted from dehydration anyway. He collapsed as Bruce moved away from him.
"What good are you? If they're not afraid! Isn't that the point of all of this? That you scare them? That you haunt the things that go bump in the night! That you keep this city safe? It's been twenty fucking years, B, does it look safer to you?" Did it stop the Court from taking Cass and Tim? Did it help you find them?
B continued his stride. Jason would not flinch. Would not back down.
"The streets are filled with villains who kill and will keep killing until they get their way! Against them, you're nothing! At least Tim changed something! At least Tim won!"
Bruce stopped, barely an inch away from Jason. In Jason's personal space. Glaring at him. Daring him to humor the Dark Knight.
Just like B had done to Blade.
Jason balled his fists.
"Go home."
"Or what? You'll dangle me?"
"Go home. Take off your mask."
"Fine! But I'm right! Blade is right! And you fucking know it!"
"NO!" Batman's voice sliced through the rush of the world. He snapped out a hand and grabbed Jason before he could walk past. "Go home. And take off your mask."
"So what? You're grounding me? Original."
"You're fired."
Jason blinked. "What?"
"Go home. Take off your mask. And don't put it back on."
"Fuck you." Jason tried to pull his wrist out of Bruce's grip, but he couldn't break it. It was starting to hurt.
"Go home. Take off your mask."
"No."
Bruce tightened his hand. It really hurt.
"Now."
"FINE!" As soon as the word let Jason's mouth, B let go, sending Jason stumbling. He caught himself on the rail. B brought a finger up to his comms.
"Oracle, make sure he gets there."
Batman turned his back on Jason, and focused on the criminal lying before them.
Steph's voice crackled over the private comms channel. "Jay, don't worr-"
Jason turned off his comms. He'd go home. He'd even go quietly. But he wouldn't go swiftly. He dallied around Gotham. Worked off the top of his rage on some unsuspecting muggers. Got a few good kicks and heard some satisfying snaps.
Bruce wouldn't do anything to him. Bruce couldn't.
Blade was right. B wouldn't kill him.
But there were fates worse than death.
Something had to change.
When Jason finally slunked into the Cave, Steph was around but no Bruce. Jason ripped off his suit and tossed it onto the ground, ignoring Steph's cries. He had school tomorrow, he told himself, he had to get at least half an hour of sleep. Steph would understand. Steph would.
Jason went to school the next day. He slept through his boring classes, handed in whatever assignments necessary, and threw the dodge-ball a little too hard in gym (whatever, Winston Price the Third was a bitchass punk anyway, so what if his hand started to swell a little).
When Jason turned on his phone at the end of the day he noticed twelve texts from Steph. None about Tim or Cass. Still no word then. Nothing from Damian either. Jason only noticed the voicemail notification when he was walking into the Manor. Who used voicemail anymore?
"When you get back, check on Dick and then come down to the Cave. We need to talk." It wasn't the scary 'we need to talk,' just the 'I'm Steph and I need to fix everything or my abandonment issues will terrify me into not accepting the change that needs to happen as a progression of life'… or whatever.
Jason didn't need the reminder to check on Dick either. Kid had been worrying himself to the bone since Tim had disappeared. He was going to implode if something good didn't happen to him soon. That was why they needed to nail Zucco, and nail him soon. That was what Bruce said. That was his excuse.
"Hey, Kiddo, what's the good word?" Jason asked.
Dick was pushing his after-(home)school snack around on his plate. He'd been eating less too. Jason shared a concerned expression with Alfred, who ducked out to give the two of them privacy.
"Did Robin call?" Dick asked him.
Jason frowned. "No. Why?"
"Bruce didn't come home last night."
"It happens, kid. Told ya." Jason ruffled his hair, but neither of their hearts were in it.
"Batman hasn't called either."
He hadn't? What? After all of that last night, B hadn't even managed to get the ledger location out of Blade?
"He's probably busy working on the case. You know how Batman can be. Won't stop 'til the job is done." And hand Jason an Oscar please, he'll thank everyone except B in the acceptance speech.
Dick looked up at him.
"I'm tired, Jason. I want to go home."
"I know, kid."
"I want to go home."
Dick went to bed early. He skipped dinner.
Jason didn't wait to rush to the Cave. Steph was waiting for him.
"You don't call, you don't write…" Steph was angry too. Great, now they could all be one big angry family.
Jason headed straight for his suit. B may not have come home last night, but someone had put his suit in its glass case. Jason punched in the code to open it.
"Jason. Hey! Jason!"
Beep! Access denied.
He didn't.
Jason tried again. He meticulously hit every number in the correct order.
Beep! Access denied.
"You fucker." Jason did it again, jabbing hard enough to practically break the damn thing.
"JASON!"
Beep! Access denied. Three incorrect entries, you are now locked out. Try again in thirty seconds.
"You FUCKER!" Jason grabbed one of the stray weights that had managed to find its way out here and hurled it at the glass, ignoring Steph's screams.
The weight crashed against the glass. Not. A. Scratch.
"What the hell has gotten into you!"
Of course not. The fucking thing was bulletproof.
Jason screamed and punched it for good measure. Nothing but a yelp and a hurt hand.
Steph grabbed Jason, jerking him back by his shirt. "Jason! STOP!"
"He locked me out, Steph! Has that ever happened to you? In all your great, Bruce Wayne wisdom, has he ever locked you out?"
"What? Shut up, you're not making any sense."
Steph pushed Jason aside and put in the code to unlock the case.
Beep! Access denied. Fourth incorrect entry. Now locking down. There was a loud beep! sound and the screen on the keypad went blank.
"You've got to be kidding me…" Steph whispered.
"Now do you think I'm over-reacting?"
"Don't you dare yell at me," Steph snapped. Jason flinched, rightly chastised.
"Sorry."
"I'm going to talk to him, I'm going to figure this out-"
"Don't bother."
"What? Why? What are you talking about?"
Jason's eyes had caught on the armory. He strode past Steph and into it. That Bruce hadn't thought to change the code on. Jason looked around and found a discarded costume on the floor.
He recognized it as soon as he picked the red kevlar chest plate up.
"Bruce hasn't been in contact with Dick. If he doesn't want to talk to me, fine. If he doesn't want to work with me, fine. But this is my city as much as it is his, and I'll be fucked if I let Dick also suffer because of it."
If Bruce didn't want Jason to be Robin anymore that was fine by him. Jason didn't need Robin. Jason didn't need any of it! Any of them!
Jason strapped the chest piece on, and went for the pants next.
Something had to change.
"Jason, please…"
No. No more. If Jason couldn't be Robin, that was fine. Because Jason could be something else. Something more.
Jason could be what Gotham truly needed. Something under their beds. Something scary.
"Fuck me," Steph hissed, "Jason if you walk out of that door in that suit…"
"I know what I'm doing, Steph. For once, why don't you trust me?"
Left gauntlet.
"Don't take it personally. I think you're all idiots."
"Great. So one more idiotic thing should mean nothing, right?"
"But I'll have to clean it up."
"So stop."
Right gauntlet.
"What?"
"It's not your job. Let B be in charge of his interpersonal relationships for once."
"Easy for you to say. Last time he was, he almost-" Steph paused. Because Jason remembered the last time Bruce had been. When he'd lost his support system. Lost Steph to grief, and Damian to rage, and Alfred to guilt. Lost his son.
His pride.
His golden son.
The one he now hated.
The one he now tore up the city over but couldn't find. The one he now raged over. The one he now refused to look for.
"I'm going out," Jason said. Because he owed her that much. Probably more, but at least that.
Steph didn't ask why, or where, or for how long. She just wiped at her cheek, straightened her back, and turned her chair around. It hummed as it wheeled back to the Batcomputer.
Jason finished pulling on his new suit. Tim's new suit.
He pressed a hand across the black half-bat stitched over his heart. Took a deep breath. Felt his heart beat in his ears.
Wished Tim was here.
And for some reason, Jason felt safe. Jason felt steady. Jason felt comforted.
Jason grabbed a staff on his way out.
"We crunch you down. Eat you whole. Bones and all."
Tim just had time to dive down as the Talon's heavy, clawed arm swung over his head.
"And may we choke you on the way down," Tim hissed back.
Cass grabbed Tim, and the two of them ran. Neither were in any shape to fight the Talon now. Together they might stand a chance—a very slim one—but it would be at a cost neither wanted to pay. This much activity wouldn't help Cass any, either.
But the Talon must have known that. The Court. Because it kept coming. Cass and Tim ran, dodging through the halls they knew so well, but instead of running through the dark, the lights had been turned on with a flash. Every hall, Tim now could see, was the same bleached white as the rest of the maze.
"Split up," Tim managed to huff. His heart pounding in his ears. Cass nodded and they forked. Tim went left and Cass went right.
The Talon went after Tim. Good. Hopefully that would give Cass a minute. She needed it more than him.
"Give in, Drake," the Talon said. Its voice reverberated around the maze. "Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide."
Tim hung right and almost skidded into the wall. His head pounded with every step. His body was weak from starvation and his mind exhausted from being drugged. Tim knew enough about the body to know that this wasn't good.
"You're going to die here," the Talon said. "I'm going to get you."
No. It wasn't. No. Tim was better than that—Tim hadn't fallen for the hallucinations, and he wouldn't fall for this either.
The Talon hummed. That robotic monotone that Tim had first heard it use must have been a one time thing. Now it knew how to taunt.
"We see you in your hearth," it sang.
Tim could imagine the Owls laughing as they watched Tim run. He imagined them giggling themselves sick as the Talon came closer… and closer… and closer…
Why now? Because Cass had finally admitted that she was weak? Because they both were tired and half-dead from lack of energy and the Talon was a coward?
Heh, that would be a good one to goad it with, if Tim ever got to where he was going. Where was Cass?
Cass and Tim knew this maze. They'd been here for what seemed like forever by now. They knew it. Which was why, they knew that the hall that Cass had gone down circled back and led to right around… here. But where was she?
They weren't stupid. They weren't going to outrun the Talon. They couldn't. But that wasn't the only trick Bats had up their sleeves. They'd practically invented these tricks. Tim skidded, coming to a dead-end, just like he was supposed to. He turned. The Talon crept closer, ever closer, singing the stupid nursery rhyme.
Tim hated that rhyme.
The Talon turned the corner and Tim could almost hear it smile.
"Nowhere to run now, Tim Drake."
Tim put up his hands.
"Give in, Drake," the Talon whispered. "We win." The Talon cocked its head, it looked up at the darkness (only that was still a void) above them. "How do you wish him to die, my Owls?"
Tim imagined them screaming.
"You may not know this," Tim said, as a flash of black caught the corner of his eye, "but while I'm not very hard to kill, I don't tend to stay dead."
"I don't either," the Talon hissed.
Tim shrugged as Cass' hands wrapped around the Talon's neck. "We'll see about that."
Tim went low. Cass went high. The Talon scratched at her, desperate to get her off. So they felt pain, needed air… but that wouldn't kill him. If a fall from the top of Old Wayne Tower wouldn't, that certainly wouldn't. But it wasn't to kill him, it was just to subdue him long enough for Tim and Cass to figure out a better plan.
Or…
"What are you doing?"
Cass grunted in answer as she held the Talon close. She hadn't cracked his neck. Had she decided to choke him out? That would only give him more time to heal. In her hands the Talon squirmed. Claws drew blood, finally cutting through Cass' weakened kevlar.
Oh… couldn't be. "Batgirl! You won't kill him when you snap his neck! He'll be fine!"
But Cass continued. The Talon was beginning to weaken. Its hands grasping uselessly.
"Still. Feel. It," Cass replied. The Talon slumped and Cass dropped it, letting go. She turned to Tim, and Tim steeled himself against her glare. "It'll kill because it felt its own," Cass parroted.
"Screw you," Tim snapped. Cass continued to glare at him. Tim turned. The Talon wouldn't be down for long, if at all. He took off down the hall and Cass followed, breathing heavily.
"Should we rest?" Tim asked.
Cass glared at him. Tim threw his hands up, and they kept moving. They turned a corner and Tim was surprised to find himself in a new room.
They stopped.
Coffins. Coffins lined the floor in neat rows. Deep, reddish wood with gold accents. They were the first color Tim had seen in a while. He squinted against the brightness. Who were these? Their enemies? Another tactic to piss Tim off before he died of exhaustion?
Tim looked around but couldn't see anything they could use as a weapon. He was sure the coffins weren't removable from the ground. He didn't even bother to check.
The Talon would be coming back. The Court was done with their game, and they'd decided to end it. Tim just didn't understand why. Why now? They were weak, sure, but they'd been weak for a while. And even if Cass had finally admitted it out-loud, that didn't mean she hadn't been feeling it already for a while. It just didn't make sense.
The Talon should be okay by now. Tim turned to tell Cass, but she was-
What was she doing?
Cass was halfway across the room, staring at one of the coffins.
One that was open.
A sinking feeling burrowed into Tim's gut. He called her name, but she didn't respond. Tim jogged over. As he passed, he looked at the coffins. Each one had a picture embedded in the golden accents that Tim hadn't noticed before.
A picture of a child.
This wasn't a room full of enemies.
Oh, Cass.
"Batgirl!" He met her at the end. At the open one. He was afraid to do it, but he needed to focus with her now. He grabbed her shoulder. "Batgirl!"
Cass moved. Her head was slow as it came up and met Tim's eyes. A shiver so violent fell over Tim that he physically stumbled back.
Oh no…
Tim saw Cass' head move, and he turned. The Talon stood in the doorway, for all its troubles unharmed and unworried.
And why should it be? It was home.
"Did you think that would keep me down?" The Talon asked. "Did you think you would win?"
"No," Cass' voice rasped. Her hands balled into fists.
"Then what was the point?" The Talon asked.
"No!" Cass screamed.
This was a mistake, Tim thought. He knew what this meant, this symbol. Each room a story trying to convince Tim and Cass that they were meaningless, that the Owls were eternal. This room was their final confession. These coffins were their sins.
And there the Talon stood, among his (because he was a he, Tim could see, the photo of a young boy with dark hair and glasses, a young boy who looked so familiar… a young boy…) sleeping brethren. Evidence of it all.
They'd turned these children into killers.
And now Cass had finally decided fight. She was finally seeing green.
She bounded toward the Talon, and Tim smashed the glass on one of the picture frames. He ripped a strip of cloth from his dirty shirt and wound it around his hand so he could lift the weapon and join her.
Cass' voice was worn with all of her exhaustion, her past, her father's abuse, even the pain of her first kill. All there as she threw herself at the Talon, screaming.
"I'M NOT LISTENING!"
Nightwing let Maps poke around without too much hovering. Whenever he was getting too close or nosy, she'd have to bat him out of the way. Old Wayne Tower wasn't very interesting, which was annoying, because Maps was sure that Tim had been here the day he was released. She just wasn't sure why yet.
"What are you looking for?" Nightwing asked, leaning against the panes of the large broken window (Maps deduced that was one of Tim Drake-Wayne's causalities).
"Not sure yet. I'll know when I see it," Maps said. She took out her little black notebook and pen.
"What makes you think this has to do with Drake-Wayne and Batgirl?" Ooh, Maps cringed. She knew that voice, Nightwing was not playing around.
Maps had gone straight to the Bats after Tim Drake-Wayne and Batgirl had disappeared into a whirl of dust and sewer infrastructure. She'd tried to follow—of course she had, but all she'd seen was Gotham sewer water, and when she'd jumped down into the sewers in the first place—in hopes of finding Tim—she hadn't actually thought through what that might mean. And even once someone was in a HAZMAT suit, the sewers of Gotham weren't exactly the healthiest place to be. Not like proper Metropolis sewers—those were spick and span.
They hadn't believed her—or rather, hadn't wanted to. She'd taken Batman and Nightwing straight to the spot, but by the time she'd gotten there, any evidence of the others was gone. They'd believed her after they couldn't get in contact. Then, she'd been told in no uncertain terms to stay out and that the Bats will deal with this and to go away. Not that Maps ever listened—then she wouldn't be half as good at her job as she was.
From what she could gather though, none of the Bats had gotten anywhere yet.
Maps had decided to work backwards—and she tracked one of Tim's first documentable movements to Old Wayne Tower. She told Nightwing so.
"I know," Nightwing said, "Batman searched this place after the sewer-dead end. He found nothing."
"But I'm not Batman."
"No, you're not." Maps was pretty sure that Nightwing was rolling his eyes.
"Besides, everyone knows that Batman is busy with the Circus case, I'm just helping out. An extra eye, you know?"
"Sure, Mizoguchi."
"Aw, Nighty! Surely, I've rated a nickname basis by now! Come on, I know you can say it… Ma-Maaa-come on with your mouth open like this, Maaaps."
Nightwing scowled.
Hmm. Nothing caught Maps' eye directly—time to start from the beginning. What did Maps know? She knew that Tim had come here for some reason after appearing in Gotham. The window was broken outward, which meant that he'd broken out. One couldn't grapple from here to anywhere, there wasn't any other building in range which meant that he'd jumped or glided.
"Did Batman know why he came here?"
"Asking us to do your dirty work?" Nightwing asked.
He was relaxed about it. Clearly he trusted Batman and whatever he'd found. Either he thought that it wasn't related to the Court of Owls, or that the Court wasn't a threat—which didn't make sense because they clearly were.
A white residue colored Maps' shoes. She bent down and swept a finger through it. She'd done her research on Old Wayne Tower—built at the beginning of the life of Gotham by the wonderful Waynes. The city's tallest building for a while, one of the first buildings to get rid of the thirteenth floor, Alan Wayne's crowning achievement, thirteen gargoyles… all of the normal things one could find on the website.
"That could be anything," Nightwing said, nodding to her. "There's construction over there."
Yes, Maps had noticed the scaffolding piled in a corner of the room, thanks. Maybe she was being dumb, maybe there was nothing here? But Tim had come here for a reason, she was sure of it.
"Have you spoken to the Waynes?"
"Aren't they your friends?"
"Yeah, and I love Dami, I really do, but I wouldn't put it past them to be part of the Court."
"They're not."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"Because we are. The Waynes have no connection to this."
"Other than Tim being taken."
Nightwing was quiet for a moment. "We believe he was taken because of his connection to Robin—not his Wayne name."
"Or because the Drakes pissed off the Court."
Maps knew she'd hit a mark then, because Nightwing shifted ever so slightly.
"What?"
"The Drakes. You know, rich family, archaeologists, were killed-"
"I know who the Drakes are."
"Then you must know they pissed off the Court."
"How do you know that?"
Maps did her best impression of the voice from the Talon from the circus. "No, Mr. Drake, I expect you to die!"
"That wasn't what they said."
"How do you know? You weren't there."
"Mizoguchi…"
"What I mean is that they called him Drake."
"So?"
"So, the media calls him Drake-Wayne. Everyone calls him Drake-Wayne. That was what they called him when he was sentenced and that was what they called him when they announced that he was free. And now, suddenly Tim appears at Wayne Tower after being attacked by Talons who know his name and have a vendetta against him, and they call him Drake? I mean, really."
Nightwing shifted uncomfortably. "It's just a name."
"When is it ever just a name? I mean, Wayne. Like, hello? It's Gotham—it's always about the Waynes. So, either they're making a point by calling him Drake, or he's making a point by coming here—which I have a hunch was to meet with them."
Nightwing was quiet again. "Why would you say that?"
Gotcha. So Maps was close.
"First, Tim's let out of jail with a mysterious benefactor who can't be traced back—strange, sure. Especially because the Waynes have been distancing themselves from him for the past two years. Then he gets attacked at a circus by assassins of a secret society who—until now—haven't been seen in public or daylight, like, ever. And you know, the whole setting fire to the park."
"The… what?"
"He blew up a park the same night he came to Gotham? It's not far from here. Camera footage shows him and Robin hiding in a doorway while they waited for whoever they set the bombs for to explode. Set off a few proximity sensors near the park—'cuz, y'know, there are banks and jewelers there and everything, but not enough to actually harm anything. GCPD were busy that night, so by the time they got there all that was left was the scorched spot, but it's clear it was them. Did you not know this?"
Nightwing was quiet again. He didn't look like he was going to respond.
Maps continued. "Anyway, it makes sense that they were fighting Talons since, well, Talons can't die or whatever, and they used bombs which… not what you guys usually use. Plus, it being near here, this place makes sense as a meeting place. Even if the Waynes aren't part of the Court—especially if. It could be like, a slap to the face. Secret societies are like that you know, all mystery and symbolism."
"I know."
"I'm just not sure why they would have let Tim out of jail, if so. I mean, wouldn't it be easier to just kill him in there? Not that anyone else managed it, but with an unkillable assassin, maybe they could—" Maps gasped as a thought occurred to her, "unless… what if they tried to hire him or something? Like, to be a Talon? Would work with the gross, rich blueblood vibes and that he's—well, he's Tim Drake-Wayne. But then why would they want to kill him? Maybe he said no? That makes sense, I guess."
"You realize you have no proof for any of this."
"That's why we're here! Duh."
"This is horrible detective work."
"ThIs iS HoRRiBlE deTecTiVE wOrK," Maps grumbled.
"It is."
"Yeah, well, if you told me what you knew, maybe I wouldn't have to conjecture so much."
"`tt`"
"But then, why here? What's the symbolism? Just that it's like," Maps gesticulated grandly, "giving away the Wayne name and rising above it, yada-yada-yada?"
"You're assuming they met here at all which is-"
"I mean, if you're sure that the Waynes have nothing to do with it-"
"They don't."
"And never did-"
"They didn't."
"Then… oh."
"What?" Nightwing groaned.
But Maps' brain was whirling with possibilities. Secret societies didn't tend to give up easily—and they always held grudges. Maps would know. Using Old Wayne Tower as a meeting-place didn't just have to be a jab at the Waynes—in fact, it didn't make sense that it was! Tim had no relation to the old Waynes—they should have met on top of new Wayne Tower. No, no, no, this had to have meant more than just Tim. Especially if they considered him a Drake.
What if… what if this was more than just a meeting place? What if… the connection wasn't to Tim at all. What if it was to the Court?
Something sparked in the back of Maps' mind. She pulled back up Old Wayne Tower's Waynepedia page.
"Didn't Alan Wayne go crazy at the end of his life?"
"Yes."
"Yeah, yeah…" Alan Wayne. Died, 1922. Death… yes, here it was. He'd fallen down a manhole and broken his neck. He'd lost his mind, had paranoid delusions and had an episode. He'd thought that someone was after him and he'd run into some police officers in the street. It had a quote from the police report: "'They're after me! Please!' he kept pleading with [the Police Officers]. 'Their nests are all around! They're in my home!'"
"In his home…" Maps repeated.
Nightwing frowned. "There was nothing in his home. They checked. Not even bats."
But it made sense—the Court taking out their petty anger by the Waynes not joining by haunting them. He'd even died in the sewers—where Maps knew they could access, even if Batman couldn't find anything after they cleaned up… Maybe… that was it. They'd cleaned up. They'd haunted him and swept on out once that was done. "All around…"
What if they didn't just have a nest in Alan Wayne's home? He worked here. In Old Wayne Tower, after it was built. What if they'd gone a step farther… and what if they were still here?
But where could a secret society hide for centuries in a tourist attraction?
Unless… they went somewhere that no one ever went. Made their home in the one floor that was never used.
"Can you take me down to the fourteenth floor?"
The thing about the superstition about skipping the thirteenth floor was that you couldn't just skip the thirteenth floor—then it would just be the thirteenth floor with a different name. No, to fully be safe, one had to make a thirteenth floor. Small in width, so it wouldn't disrupt the rest of the building but large enough that it could still count as a floor, to seal off the bad luck so it couldn't bleed out.
Nightwing warily swung Maps down to the fourteenth floor, and as she begged him to humor her, he lasered open a hole small enough for the two of them to fit through.
Maps and Nightwing dropped down. Maps cracked a glowstick she had in her bag. It illuminated the crawlspace.
And Maps' jaw dropped.
"You have got to be fucking with me," Nightwing hissed under his breath as they turned around, staring at the regalia of either the world's kinkiest conspiracy theorist (Maps took out her phone to start snapping pictures of the weapons sprawled out around the room, each engraved with an owl) or… well… or this was where a Talon slept.
"Makes sense, right?" Maps murmured, staring at the empty Talon suit, upright and ready against the wall. "Criminals, superstitious and cowardly lot."
"Batman," Nightwing said into his comms, his voice dropping in pitch. Maps shivered at his tone. She snapped more pictures. "What do you know about Alan Wayne?"
This time there was no surprise. The Talon was done chasing his prey. Now, it was time to eat.
Cass might have been weak but she could still read him. Knew his movements. When he would strike, or dodge, or feint. She just was a smidgen slower, her kicks lacked just enough punch. Cass screamed as the Talon's claws caught, and just as they had to her arms, ripped her suit open.
No. Not Cass too.
Tim threw himself at the Talon, shard of glass raised. He might have been screaming, he wasn't sure. His throat shot with pain. The glass embedded itself in the Talon's neck and with a flick of his wrist, the Talon threw him off. Tim hit a coffin and tumbled backward over it. Pain splintered up his back and Tim groaned as he struggled to his feet. Automatically he felt for his wound—which had been healing nicely. No blood leaked from the scabbing now, but his stitches did ache.
Tim heard something snap and he jumped back into the fray. The Talon had wrenched one of Cass' shoulders from her socket. She managed to escape his grasp and dodged another attack aiming for her head. Tim tried to tackle the Talon but only ended up jumping on him.
If Cass wasn't going to kill him, Tim would have to. Rage burned in Tim's veins, green pulsed under his eyelids. He had to kill him. He had to. If he didn't, Cass and Tim would die! It wasn't even truly killing because-urk!
Tim scratched at the hand closing off his windpipe. One moment he had been on the Talon's back trying to keep control and the next the Talon had him in his hands. As Tim struggled for life—the Talon said something but Tim didn't hear, couldn't hear, all of his brainpower overrun by the green in his veins.
Tim grabbed at the glass sticking out of the Talon's neck, and used it to rip the Talon's arm off.
The Talon screamed. Tim didn't give him another moment to resist. He swept his arm up in an arc and the blood splattered from the Talons throat all over Tim. In that moment of peace, Tim grabbed Cass. He couldn't kill the Talon any more and Cass would be a better fighter after her arm was back in its socket. He yanked her out of the room and shoved her arm back into place. There was a crack and Cass let out a howl. She wilted, knees losing themselves for a moment and Tim caught her.
"You're okay, you're okay," he whispered, checking her as he did. She was bleeding, but other than that she seemed fine.
"Kids." Cass was so angry she could barely speak. "Those kids."
"I know, I know."
"Monsters."
"You're right." Tim heard a sound and glanced back to see the Talon start moving again. "No," Tim breathed as he watched the Talon's throat close up. "No. You need more time. You should need more time!"
But the Talon didn't seem to care that his revival wasn't on schedule. He let out a rough laugh. Tim grabbed Cass and pulled her out. Cass tried to fight him, tried to fight back, to attack the Talon. But Cass could die. The Talon couldn't.
They stumbled into the portrait room and Tim screamed in frustration. They were blinded as the camera's flash went off. Cass ripped herself from Tim's grip and tried to exit the room, but the Talon was already there. She dodged around him.
"You…. Little…. I'll kill you! …. Pest!" The Talon snarled as he fruitlessly tried to land a punch.
No…
"KILL!"
"MONSTER!" Cass shouted back.
No!
On the wall of portraits, there was a space that had once been empty. Mocking them. Now, two portraits of their faces, bared into screams, sat proudly in their place. As if rightfully.
No. Tim wouldn't let this happen! This was not over! The Owls had not won!
"Tim!" Tim barely turned in time to hear Cass' cry. She jumped on the Talons back, trying to do anything to stop him other than killing.
Tim lifted his arm and the Talon's weapon stabbed into him. The Talon wrenched it out, blood spattering the white room. Tim screamed, unable to help himself. He grabbed at his arm, just dodging another strike.
"Kill him, Cass!" Tim shouted. Green bleeding out. "Kill him!"
The Talon grabbed Cass and threw her across the room like a ragdoll. He grabbed Tim, securing a hold in his hair. Uncaring, Tim sliced his head free with the shard of glass, nicking himself in the process. He ran across the room, slipping in his own blood and slamming into the wall. A portrait fell to the ground and shattered. Glass stabbed into the side of Tim's leg.
Something shiny caught Tim's eye.
The camera.
It was the last thought he had, the last one that was truly him. He reached out.
The camera. They'd moved the camera.
Tim's insides soaked with green.
Tim would kill him. He would kill the Talon and kill the Talon and kill and kill and kill until there was nothing left. Nothing could stop him now. By the end of this fight either Tim would be dead, or the Talon. Tim no longer cared. No longer felt the pain from his wounds. No longer saw anything but green.
Tim lurched at the Talon who dodged his attack. The Talon moved, his back to the entrance and retreated every time Tim lunged. The Talon was making a noise—laughing. Must have been. Tim didn't care. He was past caring. He blinked blood from his eyes and saw green, green, green.
"Do you see now, Tim Drake?" the Talon asked. "Do you see?"
Then, instead of running, the Talon bent down. He'd stepped over the Batgirl's body. He raised her over his head—Tim didn't care. He'd kill her too. He'd kill them all. The Talon dodged him once more, and hurled Batgirl's body right through the wall. It crumbled beneath her and she rolled across the floor towards the shiny, green owl waiting.
Tim didn't care.
"You are nothing, Drake," the Talon said. "Your friends are nothing. The Bats are nothing. This city is the Owls' and will always be the Owls!"
Tim didn't care about any of that. Didn't try to ask. He just tried to kill. The Talon faltered when Tim came for him. Did he expect him to care? Did he expect anything but the blood on Tim's hands, the beating heart of his victim slowing to a stop…. Did he expect any of it to matter?
Stop.
Tim froze. The green flickered. Green, white. Green. White.
Cass.
What was 'Cass?'
Get. Cass.
Tim didn't know or care about a Cass. It wasn't an organ, nor a weapon. What could Tim-
Weapon.
Something, something buried deep in Tim rumbled.
Yes, yes, a weapon. Tim glanced down at his hands. A weapon… but everything was green. Green, and green, and green—Tim couldn't see a difference. Couldn't tell what he had or needed. Everything was just-
"Ah!" Once again, Tim's indecisiveness had caused him to pause, and now he paid for it. Useless, useless, useless, how could he ever grow, how could he ever win if he couldn't focu- Tim's head made a sickening crack! as it slammed into the edge of the owl fountain behind him.
Dazed, Tim stared, unable to tell his body to move, as the Talon stepped forward. It looked up at the sky—no, not sky, roof. Up at the Owls.
"Well, my Court? How would you like Tim Drake and the Batgirl to die?"
Tim couldn't hear them. Couldn't understand. Couldn't move. No, nothing seemed to be working right. His hands… the green flickered in his vision. Green. White. Green. White. His hands…. Something about-
"Yes, of course, my Court. You are wise in your judgment," the Talon said. It walked over to Cass and ripped her mask off. Short black hair splayed across a bloody face. Cass' legs twitched, trying to move, to run, but she couldn't in his grip.
"For your heresy, Batgirl, the Court of Owls has sentenced you to drink from the Great Owl. Let his wisdom guide you. Let him watch you die."
Then the Talon submerged Cass under the water of the white, marble owl fountain. Cass gulped down her share of river-water, struggling against his grip.
"It is unfortunate, you were a worthy opponent," the Talon murmured. Barely loud enough for Tim to hear.
The Talon swung her out, water and blood spraying. Pink droplets painted the white room. Tim was soaked in the poison water.
"What do you see?"
Cass was quiet for a very long moment, just breathing. The Talon shook her in the air.
"I said, what do you see?"
"Cain."
And a world of memories that Tim had buried slammed into him.
Cain. Cain. Caincaincaincaincain.
David Cain. And in a moment it all made sense. Everything Tim had thought, everything Cass had told him, everything he held.
David Cain, ex-assassin. David Cain, bastard extraordinaire. David Cain, the man who raised the mythic assassin of assassins. The shadow under the bed. The one who was everything. The one who was all.
Cassandra Cain.
And Ra's voice whispered in Tim's head, "one day, little Detective, one day, it will all be up to you and her. The Little Miss One who is All and you will rule the world."
The Talon didn't stand a chance. This Cassandra Cain was not she from before. No, her moves were cleaner, slicker. The Talon was on his back in an instant and Cass' feet had landed silently on the floor (Tim shouldn't have expected any less, but that was hardly the point now).
Cass would win. Cass had to. She was… she was Cassandra Cain.
Tim tried to call out to her, but his throat clamped up.
"Cain," Cass snarled. "Cain!"
But Cain wasn't here. Cain was nowhere to be found.
Nowhere except Cass' mind.
"Cass!" Tim tried to scream. His voice gave out halfway. He wasn't real.
Tim struggled to his feet, the world spinning. He tried to wave his arms to get her attention, but Cass was fighting a man who wasn't there. Silently, but her mouth was open in a roar, as she dodged and parried and blocked and fell.
"Cass!" Nothing came out of Tim's mouth. He tried to clear his throat. Cass was so busy fighting the man who made her that she didn't see the Talon rise again.
Again. Again, again, again. Even the Cassandra Cain—she who was made to be the world's worst weapon—hadn't killed him! Tim tried to warn her. Tried to scream. The ground pitched toward him and he fell, hands and knees and feet keeping his spinning world steady as they pressed into the white.
The Talon grabbed her and flung. She crashed into Tim and the two of them hit the marble rim. Tim cracked his head again, and flailed, his limps tangling in Cass'. The world was still spinning. He had to communicate with her. How could he communicate?
No. Tim, think. You're the detective for a reason, aren't you?
"Now, my Court?" the Talon crowed, bowing to an invisible crowd. "Who shall I end first? The betrayer or the pest?"
Cass. This struggling thing beside him, this limping, wounded thing was still Cass.
Cass didn't speak with words.
Tim grabbed her hand. Grabbed it and held it tightly.
Cass stopped struggling. She relaxed. Her eyes met his and together they stared. Tim Drake held Cassandra Cain close and hoped she understood.
Not. Real.
Cass stared at him. Her eyes slowly traveled down, down, down to his hand.
His hand, that held their way out.
The Talon strode closer. They'd need to do it now. But they'd want to get him too, before they could send someone else. Tim had to wait. Just a little more.
"The Court has spoken! Say goodbye to your comrade. This is all you'll get."
Just a little closer. That was all they needed. But the Talon stopped. Waiting. Waiting for them to accept, to say their goodbyes, to make peace with this mortal coil.
Tim couldn't speak. Couldn't drag him forward. He could barely tell what direction forward was at this point. And Cass… he wasn't sure what she could say right now, in this state. He tightened his hand.
Trust me, he begged.
Cass held him back.
"Nothing?" The Talon sneered. "No last words? Sentiment? Nothing you want to outlast you? No forever?"
Cassandra Cain stared up into the Talon's clockwork eyes. Stared, and then spat in his face.
Stunned, Tim's jaw dropped open. Then, he followed her example.
This was his city. This was their city. To the core. Tim knew every crack, cranny, and crease. He knew it all.
That was how he'd been able to identify the water in the fountain as river water. He knew that the fountain of the giant owl was white marble, as opposed to construction marble like the rest of the maze because he was a detective, had trained most of his life for this, to know and understand this. And because he'd been trained in chemical reactions, trained in death and killing, trained in things that went boom… because of all of that, because of the life that Gotham had given him, he knew that filament plates in the Owls' camera had potassium chlorate.
And he knew that when set on fire, potassium chlorate exploded.
The Talon charged, Tim held onto Cass tightly, and with her wishing him luck, he took one last breath, and sparked the plate. The world exploded, and Cass, Tim, and the Talon plunged into the icy depths of the Gotham river below.
"I'm losing them, Steph. I'm losing this city," Bruce whispered, as he stared out over the Gotham skyline. First Tim… Cass had disappeared… then this…. This Court, and now… Jason. His hand flexed, as if trying to close around the smog of Gotham, the thick dusky air. But there was nothing he could do, nothing he could catch. He was losing it all.
"Well, maybe if you actually listened to them instead of pushing them away-"
"I'm not pushing them away! I'm trying to keep them safe! I'm trying to keep Gotham safe!" Why didn't anyone understand? Why was this so hard? "I'm-!"
"Whatever, Bruce." Steph sounded tired. So tired. Bruce was tired too. "Tell it to your kids who you've hurt. Tell it to someone who cares."
Bruce watched the lights of the city, heard the sirens and the shrieks from down below, and the static. The static on his comms in his ears where Steph used to be.
"Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?"
"Holy shit, holy fucking shit-I can't believe-I can't-"
"Sir, I'm going to need you to calm down. Can you do that? Take a couple breaths?"
"O-oh, yeah, shit, sorry, I mean, not shit-I-sorry ma'am."
"Can you tell me what the emergency is?"
"Huh? Oh yeah. Yeah. I-I need an ambulance. Yeah. An ambulance now. I'm, I'm on Dock Twenty-Three, Pier Nine. I need an ambulance, I-"
"I'm sending one to you now, sir. Can you tell me what's wrong? Is someone sick?"
"No, no! I mean, yes, thank you for the ambulance, but nobody's sick. It's not-it's not…"
"Sir?"
"I found them!"
"Found who, sir?"
"Them! They're here! I found the Batgirl and the gods-damned Red fucking Hood!"
"Well?" The Owl's voice was mocking. They stared at the hole in their labyrinth. Their beautiful labyrinth, and maybe, just maybe some might have been pondering if they were a bit hasty in their… execution of Drake's treatment.
Not Owl Drake. No, not the loyal Drake. Not the Good Drake.
Nor the deserter son. No, the prodigal grandchild.
Or, well, not so prodigal it seemed.
"Now what?"
Insolence would not be tolerated, not even from other Owls. Another stepped forward, a plan forming in her mind.
"Tim Drake will die," Owl Powers said. Her hands were balled into fists. "Such the Court as decreed, so it shall be."
"With what?" the insolent Owl Orchard asked. "Our mystical divine right?"
The Owls hissed. But every Owl had a voice. And every Owl had a leeway to speak.
Owl Powers did not let him say anything more. "No. Deserter Drake may have taken one of our Talons, but we still have the whole foot."
"This is ridiculous!" Another Owl shouted, slamming her hand against the table. "What should we do? Reveal ourselves to the world? They already know too much!"
"And so, they shall die," Owl Powers repeated patiently.
"But-!"
"But?" Owl Powers sneered at her cohorts. "But? There is no 'but' for the Court of Owls. Are we not strong? Are we not mighty? Is this world not ours for the taking?"
Murmurs blossomed.
"This is our city. Our world. Tim Drake will die, and when we're through with Gotham no one will dare whisper our names in their mirrors nor invoke us singing their children to sleep! We will be the living nightmares, gone when you look. We are Owls, and we hide in plain sight!"
Owl Powers stared down at the screen over the maze. Down at their nest of drones.
"This is our kingdom! We have grown lax. We will root out the pests once and for all and this city will know who they serve. Tonight, Gotham falls! Now wake them up! Every. Last. One!"
Dick sat on the couch desolately. Jason felt bad as he watched. Sure, he was going to get an earful—and rightfully deserved. Here he was, one of the only people still in the kid's life, and Jason had abandoned him last night. Pissed at Bruce and needing to get out. He deserved to run, to be angry, but not at the kid's expense. And Jason should have been able to understand that. Even if he'd been trying to make him happy.
Jason hedged into the living room.
"So," Jason asked, more nervous about Dick's ire than he'd ever been Bruce's. "How mad are you?"
Dick didn't say anything. Just sat. Jason tiptoed closer.
"Kid? Dick?"
"I'm not mad," Dick whispered. Barely loud enough for Jason to hear. "I'm just all alone."
"Oh… kid-"
Dick sniffed. Jason sat on the sofa next to him, and after an awkward hesitation pulled him into a hug. Dick sobbed.
"Why isn't he in jail? Why didn't Batman and Robin figure it out!"
"They'll do it. They'll get him. They're Batman and Robin. It's what they do."
But Dick wasn't consoled. Jason held him tighter. Felt his little heart pound like a racehorse in his chest. Dick trembled.
This was all Jason's fault. Jason had tried, and Jason had been angry. And now, now, Dick was the one who was suffering for it. That was it about hero-work, when it wasn't you who taken the punch, sometimes it hurt worse. Jason did the only thing he could when there was nothing else to do, he just sat there. When Dick cried, because he was all alone in the world—a feeling Jason knew all too well—Jason was there, and held him, and made sure that he was there with all he had.
Jason let Dick blow his nose on his shirt—it was the least he could do. Jason rubbed Dick's back awkwardly. He tried to dig up anything he could think of about how his mother used to comfort him, but every memory of her in the moment of stress was just gone. Poof. So he did what felt right, and hoped it was somewhere near comforting, since he knew it would never be enough.
He paused when he saw Alfred out of the corner of his eye. He looked over and mouthed, "Alfred?" over Dick's head.
Alfred had his eyes closed. His head was cocked to the side. Suddenly, they opened. Responding to something Jason couldn't hear over Dick's whimpering.
"Master Jason, why don't you show young Master Dick to the basement-"
Whatever was going on, Jason wasn't getting. "Alfred, we're kinda in the middle of something here."
Dick raised his puffy, red eyes and sniffled loudly in Alfred's general direction. "What's going on?"
"Nothing, Dick it's-"
"Now, Master Jason."
"But-" And then Jason heard it. The soft, barely perceptible thump.
Someone was in Wayne Manor. Someone who wasn't supposed to be.
"Come on, kid, let's go wash your face." Jason pulled Dick to his feet and tightened his grip on Dick's little hand.
Dick sniffed. His soulful blue eyes looked up at Jason. Even amongst the worst month of his life, the kid still trusted him. He must have, because he nodded, wiped his running nose on his sleeve and said, "okay."
But they never made it to the bathroom or the "basement," because there was a rustle and a woosh and they were surrounded. Talons surrounded them. Gleaming yellow eyes fixed on the three of them. And Jason, without his fucking belt.
At least they had Alfred.
"Jason Todd-Wayne, where is your father?" The one in front of him asked. He took a step forward, and Jason pulled Dick behind himself. Alfred brought up the rear, hand drifting near where Jason knew he kept a weapon. He'd never actually seen the weapon, of course, but he knew it was there. Bruce and Steph hinted enough that Alfred was always armed, and the fact was when you worked for both Bruce Wayne and the Batman, usually you needed to be. Like in situations like this.
"Dunno. Out."
The Talon advanced again. Jason went over the Manor's inventory of hidden weapons in his head. Smoke bombs on every third bookcase and hidden in doorknobs—too far away. Katanas on the wall—behind him. Collapsed staves and escrima sticks—on the other side of the Talons. Hidden Batarangs—not on the way to the Cave from here.
"Jason Todd-Wayne, give us the Gray Son."
Jason forced Dick between him and Alfred's bodies. He gripped so tightly he almost worried for the kid's circulation. Later problem.
"Dick's not going anywhere."
The Talons were still for a moment, and then they began to laugh.
"And who do you think you are, Jason Todd-Wayne?" The one who'd first spoken asked. "A street rat? Do you think that you belong in this town? In this manor? The boy is ours. We bred him, and now, he'll take his right. Give him to us."
"How much clearer can I make this? No."
Alfred's hand tapped Dick's hair, and moved gently before finding Jason's back. Alfred tapped out a signal. Not that Jason needed help with a plan, he knew exactly what to do.
The Talon turned to Alfred.
"What about you, Old Man? The boy worth what you have left of your life?"
Alfred said nothing. Nothing at all. He stared down the Talons with his head held high, and his free hand inching ever so slightly closer to his weapon.
"We are going to be leaving here with Bruce Wayne's location and the boy. It can be easy, Jason, or it can be hard. Your choice."
Alfred gave the signal. Jason screamed, "BRUCE! RUN!" The Talons jerked around, looking at the staircase and Alfred fired. The bullets embedded themselves in the Talons in Dick and Jason's way, the shock of the impact more than anything else made them falter just enough for Jason to wrench Dick into his arms and run. Jason ignored the gunshots and held Dick tighter as he sprinted to Bruce's office. The Grandfather clock was too far. He was only feet away when something grabbed onto him. Jason tripped and Dick went flying.
"GET IN THE STUDY!"
For once, Dick didn't argue. He just ran. Jason spun around and kicked the Talon in the face. Two giant holes had been blown into his chest. Jason tried not to look too long.
"I remember you…" the Talon hissed, tightening its grip. "You blew. Me. Up." Jason kicked him again. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit-
"When your father is dead, then you will understand. I will make you pay." His grip was tightening, almost breaking Jason's ankle. Like Jason had broken Blade's.
Dead? They wanted to kill Bruce?
"Yes, dead." Jason hadn't realized he'd said it out-loud. "The Court of Owls has sentenced Bruce Wayne to die." Jason whipped off his belt and stabbed the sharp prong into the Talon's hand. The Talon winced. They might not have been able to die, but they could feel pain. Jason used that barely half a second to rip himself free.
Jason skidded into Bruce's study, and slammed his back into the door. There was a thump as a Talon ran headfirst into it, but Jason held it closed.
"Dick, open the head on the bust on the desk."
"Jason, what's going on? Why do they want me? What did I do?"
"Dick! I promise, I'll tell you everything I know after you pick up the head of the bust of the desk!"
Dick did as he was told as Jason scrambled to lock the door to the study. He'd come back for Alfred. He'd come back. He'd come back.
"Press the red button."
There was another thump! and Dick jumped, terrified. The door didn't jerk. Bruce had it reinforced long ago. Jason hoped it was enough to stall.
"Dick!"
"Okay!" Dick cried, and he pressed the red button. Jason shoved all of the furniture he could in front of the door, anything to help.
The bookcase slid open. And Steph had called Bruce crazy for not decommissioning this entrance.
Dick's mouth fell open.
"What…?"
"Later. Now grab on and slide down, just like fire-poles, okay?"
Dick nodded. He walked over to the alcove and stared at the two identical poles, plunging into the unknown.
"I need you to be brave, Dick."
Thump, thump, thump!
Dick looked like he was going to cry again. He sniffled and straightened back his shoulders.
"I am brave," Dick said. He turned to look at Jason. "I'm a Flying Grayson. This pole is nothing."
Thump, thump!
BOOM!
The walls shook with the force of the explosion.
To his credit, Dick Grayson went first. He wrapped himself around the pole and let himself fall.
Jason went right behind him.
Craaaaack!
Wind whistled past Jason as he fell. He'd never actually used the poles beyond that first time he'd done it, just once, just because he had to. And now, he had to again.
Jason bent his legs as he fell, letting them take the shock. He rolled and looked around frantically. Dick was sitting on the ground and Alfred—thank God, Alfred—was by his side. Out of breath, pink with exertion, and covered in blood. But alive. Alive.
"Steph! Close off the Cave!"
Red lights flashed and alarms sounded as the Cave went into lockdown. Jason let himself exhale and limped over to Dick.
"You okay?"
Dick nodded. He seemed strangely calm. Scared, worried, and upset, but calm.
"What the hell is going on up there?"
"We're being attacked by the Court."
Steph's mouth dropped open. "You can't be serious."
"I am, I-"
"Seems like you have a little secret, don't you, Jason? Does your father know about this?"
Jason spun around. They hadn't been quick enough. The Talon after Jason had made it down the poles before the alcove had closed itself off.
Frantic, Jason patting himself for a weapon but he had nothing. Alfred stood, and raised his gun, but when he shot nothing came. He was out. And Steph was halfway across the cave.
"Jason!"
Jason flicked his eyes back and watched as Steph hurled a belt towards him. Not his belt—no, his was still locked away in its glass case, but her belt. Her old one. Very old one. The Spoiler's.
The Talon lunged and so did Jason. The Talon's claws met air as Jason just slipped by, far enough to grab the belt with one hand and pull out a Batarang. He spun, using his momentum to help lend strength as he sliced, met bone, and kept going. The Talon screamed as Jason cut that out-reaching hand right off at the wrist, shaving the corner off a strange metal bracelet the Talon wore.
"Look out!" Alfred shouted. Jason dove back, and the Talon tried, but it didn't make it. Jason watched as the giant penny fell from its stand and squashed the Talon like a bug.
There, at the penny's base, stood little Dick Grayson, Jaw hard, and face determined. Jason could almost imagine a cape fluttering behind him. Dick was right, he was brave.
The Talon's arms were outstretched, stuck out from under the penny like the Wicked Witch of the East's legs in Wizard of Oz. Jason saw them twitch. Once, twice, then nothing. Not relax, as a dead person's might, but simply stop. As if they were frozen.
Jason bent down and examined the bracelet. It was a small computer. Jason pulled it off and turned it on. His heart skipped a beat. Names. There were only names. Bruce Wayne, Lucius Fox, James Gordon, Sebastian Hady, Randal Davis, Jeremiah Arkham… Names, and names, and names. Jason's fingers found a small stub and pulled it out.
"Steph, this is a list of names." Jason tossed it to her and she caught it. She opened up their secure port and plugged it into the Batcomputer. No viruses seemed apparent. Steph opened up the list.
"They want to kill Bruce," Jason added as names filled the screen. "They said, they'd sentenced him to die. You don't think…" there had to be…. Thirty… forty names on that list. All of them major members of Gotham society, from elected officials, to benefactors, to mobsters.
Steph's face fell. She pulled up Bruce's comms and opened the channel. "B, something's happened."
Jason glanced behind himself, listening absently to Steph's conversation. Dick had come to the top of the penny and was pulling at the Talon's arms, as if trying to pull him out from under it.
"Dick?"
"Pick it up!" Dick cried, eyes filled with tears. "Please, you have to pick it up!"
"Dick, the safest thing for you to do right now is to back away-"
"I need to talk to him!"
"Dick-!"
"You've been lying to me!" Dick screamed. "All this time, you've been Robin! And you've been lying to me! LET ME TALK TO HIM!"
Jason looked at Dick, and saw him. Saw that he would stop at nothing to lift that penny. So Jason helped, and would let the Talon, or what was left of him, speak to Dick. Only speak. Nothing more.
They shifted it enough that the Talon's crushed face peeked out. Despite everything, he still seemed alive. Unable to move, but alive. The Talon wheezed. Dick knelt down, and shoved his face right up close to the Talon's own. Jason grabbed the collar of Dick's shirt, just in case.
"Did you kill my parents?"
Oh… kid.
The Talon blinked slowly. It wheezed out something that sounded like, 'what?'
"DID YOU KILL MY PARENTS?" Dick screamed, pounding his fists on the ground.
The Talon wheezed again. Slowly, as if with the greatest effort it could muster, it said, "no."
Dick sat back on his heels.
Jason could have told Dick that. Dick had been right all along, and no one had listened to him. It was Zucco. It had always been Zucco.
"But…" the Talon hissed, with a sound like his lungs deflating like balloons, "to get you, we would have."
Dick stared at the Talon. At its squashed face, stretched into a disgusting grin and, in one last act of defiance, kicked the Talon's head. But Talons wouldn't die that easily, and Jason could still see him laughing.
"Jason, get Dick a bulletproof vest right now, and get dressed," Steph ordered from her chair. Her fingers flew across the keys pulling up GPS windows and hacking into the police radio.
Jason pulled Dick over to the armory and was about to grab his suit when he remembered that the case was still locked. Still locked. Jason shouted and slammed a fist into the glass, knowing it would do nothing but hurt his hand. Dick stared at him, horrified. Jason grunted and rubbed his bruised knuckles. Now, of all times, was not the time for Bruce's stupid fucking power-trips.
"Still locked?" Steph asked, incredulous.
Jason nodded.
Steph shook her head. "We don't have time for this. Throw on something else! Go! Now!" Jason and Dick ran. Jason grabbed a vest and some kevlar leggings and told Dick to put them on. Jason pulled himself back into the slapdash red suit. It was still out from when he'd come back early in the morning, with nothing to show for his sleepless hours.
Upstairs, something exploded and Dick flinched.
"Don't worry, we're in the best secured place in the world right now," Jason told him, tightening the straps on Dick's vest. Jason topped off his pockets. Alfred came in behind him and walked right over to one of the glass cases and unlocked the keypad. Dick watched, eyes wide, as Alfred climbed into the Hellbat suit.
In the Cave proper, Jason could hear Steph as she did what she did. Stephanie Brown built a plan to save the city.
"-I know for some of you, we've maybe never spoken or even met, but I'm asking now. Now, when we need you most-"
"Who is this?" A voice demanded.
"This is a secure line! Get off-"
"Don't you know who that is! It's the fucking Oracle!"
"-the Court of Owls is real, and tonight it plans on murdering forty of Gotham's most prominent citizens. I'm publishing the list now, and I'm just hoping we're not too late. Please, if you're listening, which I'm sure you are, we need you. Gotham needs you." Steph took a deep breath, "Batman needs you. I'll be coordinating from the Batcave, if you have any questions you all know who to contact. All lines will be open for as long as I can manage under the circumstances, so please, private contact unless urgent."
"Calling all Bats, it's time to take Gotham back."
SO, i know there are only 4 chapters left of this. I'm very sorry, and I hate to do this buuuuut... I'm afraid I'm going to have to go on hiatus sort-of. I'm just very busy right now and I'd feel bad about making yall think that I'm going to update regularly when I'm just not going to be able to. I'm going to try to finish this asap, but I'm not committing to any dates. But DW, however long the time betwene chapters will be, it wont be four years. Promise.
Thanks for yalls understanding. Lots of love.
