Author's Note: I wanted to post the second chapter today, but I will try to update every Friday starting next week. Thanks for reading ;)

Warnings: Some depiction of violence at the end of the chapter.

"I know you're upset about your dad, but you can't stop going to school."

Stiles pulled his knees closer to his chest and laid his head on top of them.

"Stiles," He heard Parrish sigh behind the door, "will you at least talk to me?"

Stiles wiped at his eyes. "I'm fine."

"You've been locked in there for nearly a week, Stiles. That doesn't sound fine to me."

"What do you want me to say?" Stiles snapped. "My dad's in prison for murder and I can't do anything about it!"

"I know. But I made a promise to your dad, Stiles. I told him I would take care of you. If you don't go to school, they'll take you away from me. Please don't make me go through that again."

Stiles felt a pang of guilt. Parrish only ever wanted to help. After the massacre at the sheriff's station, Parrish was one of the few people to sign up for the deputy's position. He even moved to Gotham, becoming a GCPD officer alongside his dad. In only a few months, Parrish had become a brother to Stiles and a second son to his dad.

Stiles opened the door and was met with a disheveled Parrish sitting against the wall, his eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep. "I'm sorry for making you worry." Stiles said quietly.

"Well, that's what little brothers are for." Parrish pushed himself off the floor. "By my count, you still have about thirty minutes before the bus passes by."

Stiles snorted. "I'm guessing that's what big brothers are for."

"Now you're getting the hang of it."

Stiles rolled his eyes and made a beeline for the bathroom.

"Don't use up all the hot water!" Parrish yelled from the kitchen. "Last time it felt like I was taking a shower in Siberia."

(15) MISSED CALLS

Stiles tucked his phone into his pocket not really wanting to talk to Scott. He commandeered a secluded table in the cafeteria and propped up a textbook to hide his face. Whispers and stares followed him from class to class, some curious and others frightened. Even Brock, who never missed a chance to harass him, was relatively quiet.

"Mind if I sit here?"

Stiles peered over his textbook and saw a smiling Tim standing with his sack of lunch.

"Knock yourself out. It's not like anyone else is gonna take it." He pushed his books to the side and made a space for Tim.

"So," Stiles began, "did you hear what happened?"

"Yeah."

"And you don't think I'm some psycho killer like them?" He asked, pointing to a group of girls who kept looking their way.

"Not really."

"You'll be the first." Stiles picked off the pickles from his sandwich. "What are you eating?"

Tim peeled the lid off of his container. "Just some leftover casserole from yesterday. Alfred doesn't like to waste food."

"I'm jealous. Parrish, he's a friend of my dad's, isn't exactly what I would call a great cook." Stiles emphasized great with air quotes. "The last time he tried to make spaghetti, my dad and I had to call the fire station." He laughed. "You should have seen it."

"That would have been fun to see."

"Yeah." His smile died away.

Tim put a hand on his shoulder. "Your dad's going to be okay."

"I haven't talked to him since that day." Stiles confessed. "He must hate me."

"I don't think your dad can hate you, Stiles. He probably understands you need some time." Something about Tim, the sincerity in his voice, made Stiles want to believe him.

Stiles threw up his hands in frustration. "I should at least be out there looking for something to help my dad."

"What are you going to find that the police haven't?"

"I don't know. Something. Anything."

"And what if you find out that this is bigger than you are? If your dad is innocent, then someone went through a lot of trouble to frame him. Someone probably very important."

"That's exactly why I have to try, Tim. The police have already condemned my dad. The press have vilified him. You know what they hate worse than cop killers? It's cops who kill other cops. No one else is going to help him."

"I get it, Stiles. But Gotham is not like Beacon Hills. If you start looking where you're not supposed to, then you can end up hurt, or worse, dead." Tim said, sounding grave.

"You sound like you know from experience."

Tim got a faraway look in his eyes. "I lost both my parents to crime. I know exactly how dangerous Gotham can be"

"I'm sorry-"

"You don't need to apologize. I've made peace with it. I just want you to be careful, Stiles."

The bell rang, disrupting their conversation.

"Don't forget to stop by. " Tim threw his trash into the bin. "Everyone wants to meet you."

Stiles felt his face flush. "Really?" He asked. "Are you sure your dad is okay with me coming over?"

"Of course. Bruce isn't like the press make him out to be. He won't judge you over what's happened. And, just by complimenting his casserole, you've already won some points with Alfred."

Stiles hunched in his seat and sneaked a glance at the people around him. Most were crying. Others were immersed in conversation as if they weren't surrounded by armed guards and separated by a thick glass. Stiles just stared ahead, unable to utter any words. His dad sat across from him. His eyes were full of concern.

"Stiles?"

His dad knew the telltale signs of a panic attack. He helped Stiles through many of them. But right then and there, he was completely helpless.

Stiles blinked rapidly. His breath hitched. The image of his dad in an orange jumpsuit was forever etched into the back of his mind. Prison was taking its toll. Cuts littered his dad's face. He didn't seem as strong as Stiles had imagined.

"Mieczyslaw."

Stiles snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of his real name. His dad placed a hand at the bottom of the glass.

"I'm sorry, dad." Stiles blurted out.

His dad gave him a weak smile. "You have nothing to be sorry for, son."

Stiles shook his head. "I should have come. I abandoned you like everyone else."

"Stop right there, Stiles." His dad said sternly. His knuckles turned white from how hard he was gripping the phone. "You have not abandoned me. Come or don't come, you are my son, and I will always love you."

Stiles scrunched up his face, trying not to cry. "Tell me there's something I can do."

"What you can do for me is go to school and continue to live your life. Sooner or later, I'll get out. Hopefully sooner now that a lawyer has agreed to represent me, pro bono. He says I've got a good chance."

"How do you expect me to act normal," Stiles' voice shook, "when you're here, and I don't know if you're going to be okay or not?"

His dad sighed. "I don't expect you to. I just want to keep you safe."

"And who is going to keep you safe, dad?" Stiles asked in a harsh whisper.

"I can take care of myself, Stiles. It's not your job to protect me!"

Stiles flinched at his tone. His dad usually reserved that tone for when he was being stubborn.

"I'm sorry. You are all that matters to me, and I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you. Promise me that you will not get involved with this case, Stiles. I need to know you're okay out there, too."

Stiles did not respond immediately. He felt numb. "I promise, dad."

"I have to go. I love you."

"Me, too."

His dad hung up the phone and disappeared behind the door.

Stiles sat there remembering the first time his dad had left him at school. He had been so lost and scared. It wasn't until he had come back that Stiles knew he had nothing to worry about. His dad would always come back. This time, he wasn't so sure.

"Please, forgive me." He hung up the phone, and walked out of the prison, not looking back.

He would free his father. No matter what it took.

Batcave

"You have been looking through the footage for nearly three hours, Master Bruce. What is it you expect to find?" Alfred set a tray on the desk.

"Discrepancies." Bruce said, picking up a mug. "John Stilinski was the sheriff of Beacon Hills. He is a GCPD officer. Why would he kill Tom Dougherty in broad daylight, in front of multiple witnesses and cameras?"

"Maybe it was in the heat of the moment?" Alfred suggested.

"I don't think so. John looked as surprised as I was when the GCPD arrived. Someone is trying to frame him, Alfred. I just need to find out why."

"Perhaps a break, Master Bruce. You have not rested since the day Mr. Stilinski was arrested."

Bruce shook his head. "No. I know there is something missing. I can't let his son watch him rot away in prison."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Is that why this case is so important to you, sir?"

Bruce folded his hands under his chin. "He is Tim's friend." He answered.

"I know that is not the only reason, Master Bruce."

Bruce closed his eyes. "I see a lot of Jason in him. Stiles is intelligent, but brash. If he hasn't figured out his father was framed yet, then he will soon. I'm afraid without guidance he will be driven by anger."

A ping sounded from the monitor.

"Shall I prepare the Batmobile?"

"Yes." Bruce pulled the cowl over his head. "Tell Tim I will be back late."

Unknown warehouse, Gotham City

There was a certain thrill when he caught his prey. Jason circled the monster handcuffed to the chair. Five murders in the span of two days. All young girls who were ripped in half.

He tightened his grip on the metal pipe. Anger coursed through his body.

"Sam Gallagher." He rubbed his chin. "Hm. That's a very suburban name for serial killer, don' t you think? Any relation to the baseball player?"

The man glared. He slammed the pipe against the wall; the sound echoed through the warehouse. "You don't think I'm funny? I think I have a great sense of humour." He pressed the end of the pipe into the man's stomach.

"What the fuck do you want with me!" The man yelled.

Jason reached into his jacket and began to throw pictures onto the floor. "Angela Morales, 16. Katie Grant, 15. Tiffany Hughes, 17. Shall I go on?"

The man narrowed his eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, Sammy. I think you do." He waved the pipe in the air. "You're going tell me how a scrawny twig like you managed to rip someone in half or else I am going to have to practice my batting swing with you."

"What are you, some avenging angel?"

"I am no angel." He said, bringing the pipe down again and again until all he saw was red.

The man spit the blood pooling in his mouth to the side and laughed. "You're making a big mistake."

"Are you a metahuman?"

The man snarled. His eyes flashed yellow. Behind his helmet, Jason's eyes widened.

"So, yes to that question." Jason lowered the pipe.

"Just wait and see! There's monsters you've never seen before, boy! And they're all coming!" The man looked towards the window. He seemed to bask in the moonlight.

"Who's coming?" Jason pressed.

"I'm going to kill you!"

His teeth became jagged and sharp. The man howled in pain.

Jason could hear the distinct sound of bones breaking and shifting. Fur began to cover the man's body. He took a step back, marveling at the transformation. "Oh man, you are an ugly fucker."

He dropped the metal pipe and pulled out his gun.

The man, or wolf, broke through the restraints. It was now on all fours, growling at him. It charged. Jason pointed his gun and emptied a round into the wolf.

"Fuck." The wolf continued to charge, unaffected by the bullets. Jason threw up his hands as the wolf plowed into him, effectively knocking him to the ground. Its nails dug deep into his skin.

"Come on, Sammy! Is that the best you got!" Jason stabbed the wolf in its side with a knife he kept hidden in his boot.

The wolf cried out in pain. Jason forcefully threw the creature away from him and jumped to his feet. The wolf recovered just as quickly. It looked angrier than before.

Ignoring the pain from his chest, Jason moved his hand towards himself in the universal sign of come get me.

The wolf scratched the floor and charged again.

Jason let it get close. Then, he flipped over the wolf and landed on the opposite side. He grinned. "Sorry but I'm all out of time today, Sammy. "

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Boom!

The device he had planted on the wolf's back exploded. Blood splattered in all directions. The wolf morphed back into Sam Gallagher.

Jason went over to inspect the body noticing something shiny adorning his finger. He plucked it off Gallagher. It was a class ring. He recognized it immediately. Gotham Academy. It must have come from one of the girls.

If Gotham Academy was his hunting ground, it was there he would find answers.