"Robin…hold on. I'm coming!"

Catgirl stopped her sleek, black motorcycle with a swift, jerking motion to the side next to what seemed like a large warehouse. It had previously been abandoned, another building left to its luck in the middle of a snowy wasteland. That is, until the Joker had recently made it his temporary torture chamber.

This is where I last got the signal of his communicator before it was broken. God, please, let him be in there…

"Hey! Stop right there!"

She didn't have to be a brain surgeon to understand how he intended to finish his sentence. Using her right leg for impulse, she dodge rolled out of the bullet's trajectory before turning to face one of many assailants that were running at her. All armed. Her teeth mashed together as she flung a curved metallic projectile, shaped much like a bat in flight, at the first man's gun. It practically flew from his grip, giving her the opening she needed. Rushing at him with astounding speed for the average teenager, she slid on the ground at the last moment and shot her grappling gun at his legs. She attached it to his left leg, letting the sliding motion come to a full stop after she had slid from under him. She got to her feet and pulled. His arm cracked loudly as his body set all its weight on it with his fall, dislocating his shoulder. An agonized groan escaped his lips.

Another one of the many pointed a weapon at her and fired. She sidestepped with ease; already her mind was calculating where the bullet trajectories would go, simply by observing the angles which they pointed their weapons. While it took less than two seconds for a bullet to hit its target, more than often it took three or four seconds for the average gunman to aim. Meanwhile, she could fling four projectiles in about 1.5 seconds if she saw the right opportunity. Unfortunately for them, this was one of those times. She held both arms close to her chest before she flung the four batarangs she had in between her fingers at them, causing her body to arc backwards in an almost graceful manner. Instead of falling back, she landed with a split on the ground, watching three bullets whizz like angry hornets inches above her face. The fourth was far more off its mark, due to the fact that she had been able to knock off the weapon before it fired.

The score, which had started at five versus one, was now down to four versus one. Still an unfair number, but to be honest, it was never fair and she had faced much worse before. At least she had been able to level the playing field by taking out the weapons. Now things could go by faster.

The disgruntled henchmen seemed to be agreeing on a plan of action when she raised her first kick at the nearest man's face, breaking his nose. She followed up with a hard knee to his abdomen. At this distance, she could perfectly see the surprise in his face as she kneed him. After all, she hit hard for someone that appeared so petite. But if that took him by surprise, the haymaker she planted on his cheek must've made him see stars. The other one came at her as soon as his comrade was knocked out. He was screaming something about a bitch when she dug the thick, metallic claws attached to her suit in his face. She lashed at him three times with her claws, lightning fast with each strike, causing him unable to react in time to stop her. Ribbons of blood and skin flew into the air. It was after the last scratch that he tried to counter. His open hand went for her face, but his desperate attempt remained too slow. She gripped his wrist, twisted it in one swift, smooth motion and dislocated it. His yowl echoed through the empty land. He was wide open now, and she took the chance without an ounce of hesitation. With all her might, she slammed into him, arms first, before pushing him. Just as she expected, he fell into his friend and they both tumbled off the small slope they had been on the edge of.

One more to go. She was heaving but far from tired; if anything, the adrenaline and the urgency of the situation fueled her to go on, to go faster. Her heart danced a frantic mambo in her chest, causing her to believe, just for a second, that it would burst out of her flesh and land on the frozen ground in front of her. The odor of sweat and grime reached her nostrils as drops of it fell down the only uncovered part of her face, on her cheeks.

An agonized, almost inhuman cry split the frigid air, sending jots of horror through her spine.

Jason!

A coarse laugh cut through her thoughts. The last of the five, wearing ridiculous clown make-up like the rest of them, rumbled with mocking glee. His tiny pig eyes then fixed on her. Her fists clenched tightly as she heard words tumble out of his disgusting, grinning face.

"Looks like the Joker's having his kicks with Boy Wonder. And when I bring you over to him, you can join him on the floor," he said, rubbing his meaty hands together. "Assuming there's anything left of him by that time."

A surge of heat hotter than red coal traveled from deep inside to her face. Once again, her body moved, seemingly of its own accord, as the distance between the two fighters closed in.

Her legs tensed before she launched into the air, suspended in time for a brief instant before she fell upon him. The drop kick hit him clean in the face, making for a swift knock down. When his wobbly form tried to lift itself up again, she locked her arms around his neck from behind. He struggled, twisting his arms back as much as he could, but it was no use. He quickly conked out.

Without even bothering to check her outside surroundings, she sprinted past the unconscious guards. When she reached the door, she halted. Only an amateur or an incredibly seasoned professional would waltz in through the front door of a dangerous situation. Instead, she searched the utility belt that crossed over her body in the form of an X until she got her hands on her grappling gun. She fired it. After a metallic clicking confirmed she had connected with something, she let the wire pull her off her feet. The wind whipped across her face as she flew into the winter night air. Once full retracted, she got some footing before disconnecting it from the zinc roof.

There was no opening she would be able to jump in through. Before she began a quiet but passionate string of curses, however, she noticed that the old metal was already in a state of decomposition. Various areas of it already had rusted holes in them. Realizing that, while this was chance, it could also be her death if she didn't tread carefully, she slowly crept her way around, finding the place where the rust had affected it the most.

As soon as her feet had touched the roof, she identified two different voices inside the building. The first one's high-pitched tone was often interrupted by an unsettling, psychotic hurricane of laughter that drastically contracted from his cool words. The second was barely audible. If the first was the ring leader of this madness, the other was just the tired observer, waiting for the show to end. While she had no doubt who the voices belonged to, she peeked through a hole in the zinc to confirm it.

The first thing that hit her was relief; she had made the right call in avoiding the door. A pile of explosives was rigged to the handle. Opening it wouldn't have just blown her to Kingdom Come, but anyone else near them as well. However, the feeling was fleeting as she turned her complete attention to the two figures father up ahead, and a large, rock-sized lump formed in her throat, stinging it and her eyes. It was them alright; the Joker and Robin. The Joker was clad in the same tacky get-up as always; a purple suit and dress pants with the shoes to match. His face, also the same; inhumanely pale from the toxins that had drove him insane long ago. His evil, green irises were alight with what she could only assume was excitement, as his painted red lips continued to twist into sick grins or part completely out of laughter. His green hair was held back with gel that he occasionally put his gloved fingers through. He was currently circling an almost motionless body, a hungry lion toying with his prey. In his hand, slightly gleaming in the dim lightning, was a bloody crowbar.

Without warning, the Joker gripped it and sent it upon Robin's side, causing a dreadful cracking to sound and a groaning from Robin's mouth. Catgirl had to bite her lip in order to stop a scream that had almost leaped out of her throat. She could suddenly feel the cold in the air despite her temperature-regulating suit. Her body trembled like a leaf in a storm as she beheld the state her stepbrother had been beaten into. The red tight-mesh suit that he had always donned proudly was in tatters. The R patch on the left side of his chest was stained with his blood spatter, which also covered the floor. His strong body now seemed like a crippled heap on the ground; she could tell from even this distance that many of his bones had been broken. Black and blue, his usually handsome face was unrecognizable and even his black hair was matted with blood and filth.

I swear, as soon as I get Jason out of this, I'll beat you into a six week coma that'll make you wish you never lifted a finger against him, you goddamn sociopath.

But first thing was first. She couldn't let her emotions cloud her judgment right now. She swallowed any tears that would form like a bitter pill, and picked up her pace as she crawled across the roof. Luckily, her light weight made it easier to creep across without a sound. The slightest hint of a creak would alert the madman that something was wrong, and that was a risk she refused to take, especially not now. Her anguish only hardened the tempered steel that was her determination, even as the cruelty continued in the room under her as the Joker relished his moment.

"You know, we never really did take some time to get to know each other," he said. At the corner of her eyes, she noticed him play with the crowbar in his stained gloves. "I mean, it's kind of funny once you think about it. We always meet up, your old Bat and I, yet we always just rush through everything." He sighed, shaking his head. "I mean, sometimes I wonder where the relationship between Bats and I has gone, y'know? If you have a kid, you're supposed to take the time to let the little bugger warm up to your partner first."

His ridiculous charade would've continued if it weren't for the victim's shifting. The Joker stopped, glancing down at Robin as if wondering what was so important that he needed to interrupt. Her stepbrother appeared determined to form a sentence as he glared at his attacker with pure hatred.

"I'm…Bat…man's…only…" the teen would've continued, but he lost his breath and began to struggle to find it.

Catgirl reached the spot that was directly over some old storage crates. Quickly and in succession, she set three tiny bat-shaped bombs around the oxidized metal. Five seconds, and it would blast a hole big enough for her to go through. The most difficult task was ahead, she knew, but the stakes were too high for her to wait for back-up like she was supposed to. Besides, if it was her down there, Robin would've done the same for her.

I'm almost there, Jason. Please, just hold on a little more!

"Agh—gah!"

Jason Todd's vision blurred as another injury inflicted itself upon him in the form of the damned crowbar. He felt the explosion of pain, the sharp sensation of yet another bone cracking sharply inside his skin. The breaking of his flesh was only half the pain; the sensation lingered, vibrating on his skin like invisible flames for long, agonizing moments until it diminished. It never completely left, just cooled down a bit. Of course, by the time that happened, the clown would just hit him again in a new area, re-alighting the searing pain. More and more blood flooded out of his mouth, the metallic taste overwhelming his tongue and nose. Involuntary tears seeped from both eyes.

As much as he tried not to, the groans kept coming out of his mouth. He was already past the point where he could scream or fight back; hell, that opportunity, if he even had one to begin with, was long gone. He could only shiver and brace himself for the heavy iron of the crowbar to descend upon him again. And again. And again. It seemed to have a life of its own, a cruel persona bent on making him suffer. With each blow, he would shudder violently, struggle against the tight rope around his wrists and ankles until it dug deeply into his skin, eventually causing more of his blood to be drawn out, flowing over the dried, caked blood.

But if all of that was horrible, it only added insult to injury hearing the Joker's taunts while knowing he couldn't stand up and shove the crowbar up his ass. Joker knew this, and it only infuriated Jason more. With every beating, a flood of angry thoughts stormed into his head, hardening into a fury that he transmitted through his eyes. Every time the Joker saw this, he would grin. It only filled the boy with venomous hatred that seemed to course through his very veins.

You must be enjoying this, you sick bastard. Fine. Enjoy it now. Because I swear to God, when I get out of this, I'm going to take this same crowbar and beat you until you're eating through a straw for the rest of your natural life. That's a promise, you ass—

Another distressed sound came from his mouth. The crowbar had made its mark against his face. More of his blood flew out of his mouth as his jaw cracked. He gasped, struggling to breathe through the pain. His heartbeat felt like it had been amplified to sound so freakin' loud. Every breath felt like knives were being sunk into his body, but dammit, he wasn't going to give the clown the luxury of killing him. Especially not like this.

Besides, he had people waiting for him. Like Avery. She was still a rookie. He couldn't just leave her on her own. Who would tease her and piss her off? Who would watch her back and help her survive Batman's training? And, more importantly, who but him would be able to convince her that this wasn't her fault, that he had taken her place 'cause he knew she wouldn't have had a chance at surviving? She was too much like Bruce; she'd blame herself until the guilt ate her alive. At least if he stayed alive, he'd be able to snap her out of her stupidity.

And not just Avery, but someone else was waiting for him. Someone he couldn't disappoint. Someone he had made a promise to. Despite everything, that someone's name caused his mind to wander, the millions of thoughts he had in a second disappearing as he closed his eyes, relished the memory that had happened only a day before…

He had glanced over at the clock for what was the sixth time in the last minute. His fingers had tapped rhythmically on the smooth, wooden table where his sleek metal laptop sat. He stared at the blank laptop screen in front of him. A small, white video camera icon and some tiny white circles flew in a circular motion, showing the loading process. He glanced out the window, lost in thought. The dreary white flakes were slowly making their way towards the ground outside. He closed the window.

Another minuet ticked by. Had he missed the video chat time?

It had been at one, right?

His anxiety was beginning to get the best of him, something that he hoped wasn't going to show when she popped up to video chat.

Alright, Todd. It's been a year and two months since you started seeing this girl. And let's be honest, that's a lot more than most people thought we'd last, me included. The days for screwing around are far behind. It's time for you to man up and tell her how you feel. Just three words. That's all it'll take. You can do this…

A cheerful ping! announced a successfully connected video chat. He nearly jumped into the chair. After taking in his appearance in the mirror to make sure he was well groomed, he took a deep breath as he clicked on the "accept" button.

Immediately the face of a beautiful girl around Avery's age filled the screen. Her chocolate brown eyes were fixed on him the moment they got connected. The texture of her long, cascading black hair with tight, tiny curls was as sleek as a river. Her skin was no less appealing, smooth and dark. The result was a creature that looked more like a mermaid than an ordinary teenager. He found himself staring at her for a few moments, just taking in her appearance, until he realized that she had been speaking to him.

"Uh, sorry, what was that last part?"

The lines of her mouth stretched upward into a smile. "I said Happy Birthday. Are you there, Jason?"

She spoke with a heavy French accent and a delicate voice that seemed to make guys fall in an instant, himself included. "Yeah. Just remembering how beautiful you are."

She giggled. "That is such a cliché line, Jason."

"Perhaps, but you gotta admit that I make it work."

She giggled again, this time shaking her head. "You're such a terrible flirt. You're worse than a girl."

He leaned forward towards the camera in his computer, making sure that his eyes were as close to her vision as possible. "No one flirts as good as I do, Fleur."

"As well."

Surely, she was trying to dissuade the powerful influence of his eyes by correcting him. "Fleur, I'm dating you, not Avery."

"I apologize. I just want to make sure that my English doesn't get oxidized during my time over here."

"I think the word you're looking for is 'rusty', but very close. And still very cute, may I add."

"Thank you, on both things. Pardon my question, but how is Avery? I had called her cell phone, but she hadn't answered."

"Asleep. She had another argument Bruce. It was pretty intense. Then again, it's Avery, so it's always intense."

Fleur frowned. "I wish she wouldn't do that. I mean, I can understand her feelings, but she takes it too far. Sometimes I wish she wasn't such a headstrong person."

Jason leaned back on his chair, taking the opportunity to stretch his arms. "Headstrong isn't even beginning to describe what she is. Honestly, sometimes I forget that she and Bruce are two different people. They both are as stubborn as bulls when they're pissed off. When they both butt heads, all of Hell looks like it's ready to break loose." Not that he would ever let her know, of course. "Then again, Bruce probably just can't stand the fact that she's so much like her mother. The only thing I know is that I stay out of it. A guy's gotta know when to pick his battles, after all."

She grinned prettily. "Well, someone has to keep you in line, mon chéri." she said, the French words floating out of her lips in an almost whisper, sending invisible shivers down Jason's spine. Damn, she talked so sexy. It's a good thing she didn't realize it, or he would really never be able to get his way around her. Previous experience taught him that while she had a docile appearance, she had a tendency to become very stubborn when she felt she needed to be.

"Well, enough about Avery. You can call her later. In the meantime, I just wanted to make sure that everything's going well over there in France."

"Ah, c'est magnifique," she said. "My family was able to get a very beautiful apartment near the countryside. It's close enough to Paris so that we can go with ease whenever we need to. It's simply wonderful. My father is overjoyed to be reunited with everyone and out of Gotham…" she paused, the excited twinkle in her eyes fading. "But it just still does not make up for the fact that I can no longer see you and Avery every time I wish to see you. I know it has been a month, and do not get me wrong. I am relieved that the two of you have less to worry about, having your…other duties and all. But…"

"Oh, come on, Fleur. Don't be like that. Look, this mission's gonna take us two more days tops if anything goes wrong. After that, I'll head over, just like we planned." He grinned, already looking forward to the trip. He had even succeeded in getting the permission to go by himself, something that had been a first. "Then it'll be just you and me."

"And my family." she reminded him, although she did little to hide her smirking.

"Right. Mostly us though. Then your lips are gonna be all mine."

Fleur muttered something in French, covering her heated cheeks with her dark hands. "You horrible flirt." she finally said, averting her gaze from him.

"Are you saying that because you're embarrassed?" he asked, already knowing the answer. "Or is it because you're already thinking about all the French kissing that's going to happen as soon as I get over there? Among other things."

"Quiet, you. The last thing I need is for someone to come by and hear your filthy mouth."

"A little late for that. I already disturbed Avery's mind with images of our mutual defilement."

"Jason!"

"Relax. I didn't go into details." Although I almost did. But you don't have to know that.

"You leave her alone," she said. "She's got enough to deal with right now. Try helping her for a change instead of teasing her," Then, with a bit of a softer tone: "Please? For me?"

He sucked in a breath before letting it out. "Damn. I can't say no when you say it like that. Can't I just do it a bit more, just for today?"

"I think you've done enough. In any case, tell me more about Bosnia. Is the snow as deep as I read about?"

Fleur was aspiring to become a journalist, and her passion drove her to dedicate at least two hours every day reading foreign newspapers online, keeping articles that caught her interest.

"It's deep, alright. About two inches. Actually, yesterday we had to call over some employees and—"

The conversation went on for a while. They caught up in what had happened with each other, on things that they planned on doing when he went over there. Without realizing it, he eased his usually confident posture and melted into a calmer self. She had that effect on him, something no one else could do. It was as if her voice was a smooth wave that washed over him, overwhelming his senses until he was as relaxed as a guy his age got. Because of this, it was difficult to shake himself out of his tranquil state when she spoke her next sentence.

"I believe you must go now?"

"Huh?" He glanced over at the round glass clock on the wall. It was already two o' clock; time for training.

"Almost. Time sure flies, huh?"

"Oui."

"Well, that's my cue." he said. "If Bruce finds out I got late because of a video chat, he'll kill me. Or do the closest thing to it."

"Of course. I understand."

"Come on, don't tell me you're disappointed," The look on her face told him everything he needed to know. "Look, I promise to do everything that I can to wrap this up as quickly as possible. Then it'll be just you and me, like I said. You'll see."

Her hesitation only confirmed her true emotions and a heaviness that had begun to form in his chest. Before, he had always welcomed every patrol and mission with savage anticipation, relishing the opportunities he would have to break the bones of the scum of Gotham. Being an orphan on the streets only hardened him and his hatred towards the criminals they would come across in the night, and he welcomed every one of them with iron fists…and anything else he could use to beat them up into unrecognizable pulps. That had always just been how it was.

But seeing her eyes, filled with a deep concern that would peg inside the crevices of his mind during every step in his Robin suit, changed his drive. He actually found himself wishing he could stay to reassure her a bit longer.

"Agh, Fleur, I seriously gotta go." he said, recalling the inhumane training penalty Bruce had put him on last time he had been late.

"Then go. I'd hate to get you into trouble. Say hi to Avery for me, alright?"

"Will do." he said, grabbing his suit and shoving it into a bag. He reached for the laptop, aiming to end the conversation, when he took one last glance at her. Her gorgeous face staring at him like a sad puppy. He made sure to lock her vision with his, taking a quiet, emotional moment to do so.

"…I promise that as soon as I go over there, I'll take you to the very top of the Eiffel Tower at night, give you a view like nothing you've ever seen."

"Jason, I've been to the Eiffel Tower countless times—"

"Not the way I'm taking you there," he said with a wink. Then, remembering the countless hours spent learning French: "Je t'aime." I love you.

Shock seemed to have overcome her features and she didn't speak.

He felt a lump the size of a rock in his throat. He cursed himself for just blabbering it out like some kind of a love-sick moron, even if he was one. True, it was in his nature to dive in first and worry later, but right now he was sure he had just screwed himself over.

"Moi aussi, je t'aime."

He almost did a double take. "I'm sorry, what?" He felt sure he understood, but he really, really wanted to make sure.

"I said I love you too, you fool." she answered with a dark blush. "Now, run along. I do not wish for you to get into more trouble. Go."

The video chat ended. He stared at the screen for a few moments before a smile stuck to his face. He ran down the hall, feeling the soles of his feet spring with every step. Not even the pissed-off face of Bruce would be able to kill his mood. Sure, he would have to endure an extra hour of abdominals and whatever other twisted punishment came from the man's mind. But screw it. He had gotten it off his chest, and she had accepted it.

Nothing's gonna ruin this day.

But now, returning back to the present as he saw the Joker raise his arm, watching it go dark against the ceiling light, he realized how wrong he had been. He had made a huge tactical error, running after the Joker on his own. But what else could he have done? Catgirl had been knocked out conscience, a target too easy to get at. He had no choice but to meet the clown before he could capitalize on her weak state.

So, really, he had brought his on himself. And he had paid the price. He knew that there was a chance that he might come out with some permeant damage out of this. That is, if he even survived.

…No. I gotta hold on…just a little longer…this won't last forever…

He couldn't die. He just couldn't.

"What's wrong, Boy Blunder? Sleepy? I know this must be rather dull for you, me doing all the talking and all. But I'll try to entertain you until I get an eager reaction from you. Or until you die. Whichever comes first."

The jarring laughter reverted through his skull as time seemed to slowed down and the arm descended closer and closer to him. He shut his eyes, allowing the comfort of darkness to ease what he knew was to come.

That is, until the explosion.

The burst of hot air blew the Joker down to the ground. Jason shielded himself from the debris that fell down as best as he could, or as well as his weakened reflexes would allow him.

What the hell? There was no way that was Bruce. Batman would've been far more direct in his approach. If it was him, the clown would've been shoveling gravel with his teeth by this point. Which meant…

Three shots rang as the Joker, surprisingly quick for someone dressed in an outfit like his, aimed with ease at where his target had leaped down. His confident smirk replaced with irritation, he tucked the metal weapon away in his coat. Although it was only a standard pistol, the amount of damage that could be done in his hands was alarming, something the Joker seemed aware of as he took sure-footed steps toward the stacked up industrial crates that the mystery intruder had used for cover. Just as quickly, his red lips expanded into another expression of enjoyment. It took Jason only a few seconds to notice what had got him so happy; there were bloodstains on the wall. One of the bullets had hit its mark after all.

Now he was sure it was Catgirl, and he felt a panic seize him unlike any other as he felt the futility in his actions. His body refused to move more than a few inches at a time. In this pathetic state, he wouldn't have been able to fling a lousy batarang if their lives depended on it. And their lives might've just been depending on it.

Goddammit, Todd. Since when have you been such a wuss? Get the hell up!

But his body refused, leaving him with no choice but to watch the show to be.

"Here, kitty, kitty…," said the deadly smooth voice of the Joker as he stepped over the first crate. "Now, don't hide. I just want to introduce you to a friend of mine so we can all enjoy this little party—what!?"

From his position, Robin was momentarily unable to understand why the madman seemed so confused. It was only when Catgirl leaped from the railings of the iron platform overhead that he had gotten it. Too bad that the Joker didn't get the memo until it was too late.

"Aaagh! Get off me, you rabid cat!"

He only saw snippets of the action, but it was still clear as day that she had gotten the upper hand. She tore at his face, her teeth showing and her mouth snarling like an angry…well…cat. The Joker began to shoot bullets at random as she continued assaulting with her claws and fists. One of them whizzed so close to Robin's ear that he almost thought he had been done for. At one point the firearm had been sent flying, rendered useless for its now distant owner.

However, as clever as her surprise had been, the Joker still ended up smacking the crowbar he had so cleverly tucked away right in her face. She yelped, only just barely scratching the clown's face. The Joker took the chance, all grins, to take out a long, sharp knife that had been hiding under the folds of his suit.

If he had been panicked in the beginning, Jason was nothing less than full-blown terrified now.

"Time for a de-clawing!" said the Joker, a malicious grin wider than any normal human being stretched impossibly on his white, hideous face.

No! Not after everything—

Not a moment too soon, Catgirl whipped out a black object he didn't recognize until she shoved it on the Joker's abdomen. Tiny bolts of electricity flew in the air along with the sound of an almost inaudible, high-pitched ringing. Robin watched as the psychotic's body convulsed and shivered until the jolt stopped and he fell back, tripped on some debris, and fall unconscious as soon as he finished the fall. Catgirl, true to her training, stayed heaving over the man for a few moments. When she felt certain that she had done the job, she ran over to him.

Even through her mask, he saw the overwhelming amount of concern she had felt. That was Avery for you; always on the verge of tears when someone got hurt. Then again, putting his beating and the fact that the lights around him seemed to be dimming into perspective, he got the feeling that this time it was a bit more justified.

"That was a stupid move, rookie." Damn, I must sound and look like shit.

"You look horrible," she said, grim as her eyes scanned him up and down. "And don't talk. You sound like you got a damaged lung."

He was 99% positive that he did, and would've made a snarky remark about it if his body hadn't unexpectedly swerved. The ground seemed to rise up to meet the left side of his face; if it wasn't for Avery's quick reflexes, he probably would've fell flat on what wasn't broken. Damn, he felt like crap, especially now that the adrenaline pumping in his veins was fading. God, everything was starting to burn or pulse with dizzying intensity. The small reserve of strength he had left had fled with certainty of not coming back. He leaned most of his weight on his stepsister, grimacing like the pussy he must've looked like.

Avery didn't protest. She was also awfully quite, that is until she felt her body tense. All at once he was carried on her back, draped over her like an animal that had just got gunned down and was now being carried somewhere to be stuffed.

"What the hell are you doing?" is what he would've asked, had he been able to muster coherent sentences. As it was, she understood whatever gibberish came out of his mouth, because she merely began taking large, steady steps towards the backdoor of the warehouse.

"I said don't talk. And I don't care if you like this or not, this is the fastest way to get you out of here".

The room spun as if suspended on a pointed axis as his eyelids began to flicker like the rapid wingbeats of a bird. Sleep might've not been such a bad idea right now…

"Hold on. You're going to be okay. Do you hear me, Robin?" he could feel the willpower that had been used in order not to speak his real name. "Stay with me just a little bit more."

Her voice sounded distant, slightly distorted. As if he was in a dream where he could feel every sensation with an astounding amount of clarity. Every experience.

Was he really going to die? Shouldn't he have been more scared if he was, instead of on the verge of relief? He wished he could answer, but the answers themselves were far away, out of his reach.

"Robin? We're almost—"

Like a switch being flipped in an empty room, he found he could hear the click of the grenade launcher behind them as if it was next to his ear.

Catgirl ran, his body swearing left and right on the bumpy ride. He heard her panicked breaths, vaguely aware of the fact that she was unable to do anything else if she was carrying him on her back.

A batclaw launched itself. They hovered into the air. And for a brief moment, he glimpsed the snowy night.

It was ironic that as the fiery flames of another explosion and the hot air pushed them up into myriad directions, his last thought was exceedingly simple.

…I really do hate the snow.

Batman new something had gone wrong when the communicator cut off when Jason had faced the Joker. Any doubts he would've had were erased when Avery called a few moments later, frantic after discovering the situation that her stepbrother had fallen into. And, even if all this hadn't occurred, that faithful pit in his stomach had begun to bother him. His instincts have saved him on countless occasions, and had also saved countless lives as well. He knew he could count on them more than anything.

But this felt different. He was not the least superstitious or religious, but he was smart enough to know that some things weren't in his control, or anyone's control to be honest. Some things were just thrown into the wind for the world to destroy or scatter as it pleased. He knew this. He knew this all too well. Yet, at that moment, an unimaginable sense of helplessness filled him. His hands, which were clutching the steering handles of his motorcycle, pushed on a handle causing it to surge even faster, making him gain momentum.

There wasn't much time left. He could feel it in his core.

The land changed before him as he left a trail of dirty snow in his path. He zoomed past obstacles, land mines strategically buried in the snow. They would've tricked a less experienced man, but not him. Even though he could see the locations with the nanotechnology installed in the lenses of his cowl, he barely had to think about the movements he made as he blasted through. This was good, because he had far more important things on his mind at the moment.

The next sign that told him the sensation he had felt was true made itself clear when he leaped off his vehicle, opening a special cape that extended like bat wings, allowing him to glide in the air before landing safely on the ground. Around him, ruins of a recently destroyed building all around him. Flames foiled the clean snow as well as the soot that collected itself around, also falling like flakes. An eerie silence he recognized all too well enveloped the entire field, giving it the sense of a battlefield after the violent bloodshed, a wasteland of broken wills. One side had won. But which?

He almost floated above the land, his steps silent even in the crisp blanket under his feet. He made his way towards Catgirl's signal, aware of the fact that he was almost there.

Then he heard it. He picked up his pace, expertly dodging through anything that had been placed in his path, dead or unconscious guards and metal. He had expected to hear screaming, or at least the voice of Catgirl urging him to locate them. What he hadn't expected however, was the laughing. Quiet, almost inaudible but definitely there. Like the hoarse whispers of Death, the sound found a way to be heard over everything else without being any louder than a whisper. Batman walked over to the source, coolly taking a batarang from his belt.

"Well, isn't this a party now." said a voice Batman knew well.

So, he had survived. While he was severely burned, his right arm and torso buried under a hunk of metal and his eyes barely open, there lie no mistake in Batman's mind that the Joker wasn't out forever. The charred remains of a metallic barrel he assumed the clown had got into to minimalize the impact of the blast were next to him. How he could survive all of the situations he had gotten himself into, even though suicidal, was lost on him. Perhaps it was a part of some curse the evil man brought with him.

The Joker coughed, some blood covering his sweaty and white face. His breaths came out in wheezy attempts to grasp the air around him, yet it didn't seem to keep the madman's joyous attitude down. "You know, Bats, I'm a bit disappointed." He paused for another breath. "Your timing is usually spot-on. I expected you to come in and prevent me from blowing us all sky high. But obviously, you had better things to do than come save your little protégées. Such a shame…"

The next words sent a raw chill up Batman's spine.

"I had really thought that the kid was gonna make it. I guess the second version is never as good as the original, huh, Bats?"

"What are you talking about?" came the caped man's cold-cut reply.

The grin that he had seen countless times before stretched up all the way up, showing yellow teeth. "Oh, you know how it is. One day, they're kicking bad guys into comas, the next a bad guy beats them back. You know, business as usual."

"What did you do, Joker?" His voice was rising, cold and angry. Only he knew the terror behind it. Then again, the Joker must've known. Why else would he enjoy this so much? "Where is Robin and Catgirl?"

"Ah, that is the question, isn't it?" Another cough, this time accompanied by many more. "That, my dear goth-obsessed friend, would depend on how close they were to all the explosives when I shot a grenade launcher at it. Not my most delicate approach, but I had to admit…it was pretty funny! Ah, I was worth it, I tell you."

The muscles around his jaw tensed so much it was painful. He felt his hands clasp around the madman's collar and lift him up, hearing his suit rip as it got caught on the rusted metal his arm had been under seconds before. A long, scarlet cut ran up his arm and already the fresh blood ran down his clothes. Batman didn't care. Nor did he care to loosen his grip when he slammed Joker hard against the frozen ground. By this point, the laughter began, hysterical and full of strength. He sounded like he would laugh himself to death, coughing blood, groaning in pain, but he kept allowing the hysteria to continue despite the hard core of anger that formed in the Caped Crusader's chest. Adrenaline made his pulse run wild as his brain begun to realize the horrible thing that must've occurred in order to get the madman in such a state.

"What did you do!?" he found himself screaming as he once again clutched the psychotic's collar, preparing a fist. The laughter grew louder, mocking. Any control he had was lost now. He punched him as hard as he could in his wound, hearing a disturbing combination of laughter and groaning come from the clown.

"Tell me!"

Another hit, this time deeper on the wound.

"What did you do!?"

He slammed his face against the solid dirt, breaking his nose.

"What did you do to them!?" Another slam. "Where are they!?" A kick. "Tell me!" An even harder punch on his blistered wound.

"WHAT DID YOU DO!?"

Blood stained the entire area around the miraculously still-conscience Joker. The sound of laughter had finally went quiet. All that was left was wheezing. A little chuckle rose from his throat as he stared right up at the man in the Batsuit, looked him right in the eye and told the truth.

"Sorry, Bats. Looks like…you're gonna need to find…a new Robin."

With that, his eyes rolled over and the pale-faced man fell unconscious with a smile on his face. Batman released his grip, letting the broken body crumple to the ground. His hands were trembling. No, his entire body was as he stood up, scanning the area until he saw two figures collapsed on the snow, all the way on the other side of where a warehouse once stood. Lightning fast, he ran.

The first thing he saw was Catgirl. Parts of her suit had holes burned in it, revealing burnt flesh exposed to the cold air. Some of her long black hair stuck out of her headgear, in a messy nest around her face. Her body was hunched over another's. It convulsed as horrible, loud sobs escaped her mouth. Clutched in one of her hands was Robin's.

No.

God, no.

"Jason…"

To his surprise, it was him, not the young girl in front of him that uttered Robin's true name. Even though it barely came out as a whisper, it was enough to raise Catgirl's head. He felt her gaze reach his in one last desperate attempt.

"Father…please…tell me—"

He knew what she was expecting, or at least asking for through her eyes. It only made the knife in his heart sink deeper.

"You know there's nothing I can do."

He felt like the words that came from his lips, so cold and emotionless, weren't his, but something another man had said. It felt as if he was just the spectator looking through someone else's eyes as he saw her let out a low, agonized cry and collapse on the ground, crying uncontrollably. He couldn't bring himself to believe this was real, even as he kneeled down and set his hand over Jason's eyes, closing them with his two fingers. Snowflakes touched the boy's eyelids, some nestling on his eyelashes. He took a full look at the body. Just as quickly, a wrecking ball of infuriated agony assaulted him as he saw the body of the proud Robin he once knew reduced to an unrecognizable husk of bruises and blood.

Jason was dead. He was dead because he hadn't been able to save him in time, not even with the fact that Catgirl had put so much on the line to keep her stepbrother alive. It all hit him just like that, destroying the emotions inside like a wrecking ball until he felt nothing but numbness.

All around, the snow kept falling, despite the blood that tainted the white he would come to hate for the rest of his life.

The funeral for Jason had been private, held as soon as the two had gotten out of Bosnia under the guise of rich grief-stricken billionaire Bruce Wayne and his equally depressed daughter. They had held it in the Wayne Manor cemetery, having no more company than her older stepbrother Dick Greyson, who had also been Batman's first Robin, and Barbara Gordon, a natural red-headed woman around Dick's age whose alias was known as Oracle due to her intellectual back-up abilities that were indispensable on the field. Alfred Pennyworth, the butler whom had raised Avery since she had been a baby, was also there.

All the while, the only thing she could do was clutch onto her older stepbrother's tuxedo and sob as they all solemnly witnessed Jason's casket be lowered into the ground, where he would eventually deteriorate and become nothing more than bones wrapped up in rotted clothing. Her father's presence hadn't been a comfort; he hadn't directed a single word of comfort since the incident. That was why she knew that Dick would accept her crying self in his brotherly arms without complaint, whereas her father wasn't even approachable.

The days afterwards did little to ease her pain. On nights like the one she lived now, the memory of Jason's death would stab her subconscious until Avery found herself gasping through her sweat, waking up inside her dark room. During this particular night, the half-moon naturally illuminated her figure as she hugged her knees, trying to convince herself that it was all over. But as always, it ended in the same thought:

Yeah, right. Who the hell am I fooling?

It had been four months since Jason died. Four months since she stopped being Catgirl because her father prohibited it. Four months since the halls of the Wayne Manor became conquered by silence. Four months since she had a good night's sleep. And discovered that for the first time in her life, she wished that she was dead.

The realization that Alfred had been knocking on her door snapped her out of her miserable trip into the past. She checked her bedside clock; it was 2:02 a.m. Her voice was groggy and her eyes prickly from tiredness. She dragged herself out of bed. Then she gave him permission to enter.

"What...is it Alfred? Something wrong?" She yawned, realizing that her pulse was still running wild from the terrifying visions she had seen.

"May I come in? There's a matter I wish to speak with you about."

At two in the morning? Granted, he was aware that she hadn't been sleeping or doing missions, but he was usually asleep or helping her father at that hour. The situation felt a bit odd, but none the less, she allowed him in.

"Morning Alfred. Aren't you supposed to be asleep at this hour?" she said with a hollow smile.

"I should say the same for you. I assume you had yet another night terror?"

"Yeah. They just keep coming. The pills don't really help with that."

"They help you sleep, Master Avery, something you are depriving yourself of."

"...I still drink them. Just...not all the time," she answered, averting her gaze from his.

Without even noticing, she rubbed her temples, feeling her head throb a bit. Her body wasn't happy with her choice to stop resting like she should. Shut up. I'm not closing my eyes right now. Not to see Jason's dead face again. Then, realizing that she had kept quiet for too long, tried to reassure the old man. "It's okay, Alfred. Really. I can usually get some sleep in the day without too much trouble." Usually. "So, what did you need to talk about?"

Alfred didn't look like her was ready to give up on the subject. "...I know this is difficult, Avery. Master Jason's death hurts me as well...the halls seem deserted without his constant trouble making."

Avery couldn't help but chuckle. "Yeah. I still expect to see him pop his head around their corner, telling me it was all a joke and that I was dumb to fall for it," She could already see the silhouette of her stepbrother before her eyes, barging in at the most inopportune moments to bother her about something. Calling her a rookie, picking stupid fights with her.

Before all of this, those little details used to drive her crazy. Yet she discovered, in the most painful way, that it was actually the lack of all of these things that was really driving her mad. The hole in her heart wasn't healing with time, as all her other wounds did. If anything, it seemed to be expanding into a never-ending rift, tearing her heartstrings apart more and more.

"Miss. Avery?"

She snapped back to the present, just in time to stop the process of a stray tear running down her cheek. "Sorry. Just," She sighed. "Forget it. I'm fine."

The latter's mouth pressed itself into a thin line. His eyes seemed to have aged a hundred years in a second as he looked at her.

Like paint slowly sliding down a wall, she felt sadness begin to cover every other emotion she had. She looked away, unable to bear the sight. "Uh, what is it that you wanted to tell me, Alfred?"

Luckily, he didn't pursue the subject like she thought he would. "Your father wants to speak with you. There's someone he wants you to meet."

That was a surprise. She had barely seen her father during these last few months; he had been locked away in the Batcave, barely leaving the dark chasm. Yet, suddenly he wanted to see her and introduce her to someone? She hadn't realized he had even been socializing with anyone else besides Alfred.

"Uh, sure. Where does he want me to meet him?"

"In the Batcave, Miss. Avery."

Another surprise. "He wants me to meet someone in the Batcave? Are you sure?"

"Yes."

She was skeptical, but nonetheless stood up from the comfort of her bed. "Alright. Lead the way, Alfred."

They made their way out the room and down the long hall, passing paintings and vases before arriving to the main hall. They continued further on, passing the study with them portrait of her late grandparents. Their painted eyes seemed to follow her as she passed, as they always seemed to, as if her grandparents were still keeping tabs on their granddaughter. It was ironic how the deceased could at times appear to be more alive than the living.

Before she could even realize it, they stood in front of a portrait at the end of the extensive wing.

The city of Gotham had been painted in the large frame. The artist had chosen to re-create Gotham at night, looking at it in the point of view of an observer that would hypothetically have to be in a boat in order to appreciate such a view. The lights were blurred, looking like precious jewels on the buildings, which were painted in sharp, thin dimensions to appear like charcoal knives cutting the bleak heavens. There was a thin crescent moon hanging next to one of the skyscrapers, an eerie scythe that couldn't even surpass the height of the buildings. The harbour bore its reflection in its black waters, the only bright white figure in the surreal composition.

Alfred leaned forward, as if examining the painting in detail, before the sound of an almost inaudible beep confirmed his facial recognition. Seconds later, the frame slid to the left, revealing a rapidly expanding doorway in the wall. As soon as it got as tall as Alfred, the butler darted in. He stood at the top of a narrow stairway, gesturing for her to go in ahead of him. She obliged. As soon as she got inside, she felt the wall seamlessly fall back into place. By the time she glanced back, there was no trace of an opening of any kind.

The long flight of stairs twisted around in a way that didn't allow someone to see where it lead until near the very end, when the narrow walls suddenly disappeared from around you and you beheld the most unusual sight a human being might ever set eyes on.

The Batcave. Quite literally a cave full of bats, a wonder of nature itself. It was a natural formation that had been under the Wayne Manor, its very existence unknown to generations of the Wayne family until her father had uncovered it during his transformation from Bruce Wayne to Batman. There he named it and began the lengthy process of fortifying the foundations of the cave and transferring all the technology that filled the chasm. A hanger had been made where all the vehicles resided, ready to be piloted at a moment's notice. All this placed over natural rock.

In front of her was a strange sight. Or at least, something she definitely wasn't expecting.

"Who is this?" It wasn't as much of a harmless question as much as an escalating anger mixed with a good hunk of disbelief.

In front of her, standing next to her father, was a boy that could, in a moment of chaotic madness like the one she found herself flung into, like the spinning image of Jason. Granted, had it not hit her as hard as it did, it would've occurred to her that the kid barely looked like her stepbrother besides the black hair, perhaps a similar height if Jason had been that age, and the confidence in the way he was presenting himself.

Before her stood her father with the same impassive mask on his face he had worn like a badge every day, even more after Jason's death. Even though she was certain that he knew the raving emotions that were ripping her apart in the inside, he remained as cold as her stepbrother right before they had set him in the casket.

It only enraged her more. But, before more words could come out of her mouth, her father spoke, making his heavy words heard through the cave like a final judgment sent upon her head.

"Avery, this is Timothy Drake. He discovered my identity and Dick's years ago when he saw him as Robin performing a maneuver he had seen him practice in the Flying Greyson's circus. Even so, he has kept our secret for years. And about a month ago, he came to this manor to become the next Robin."

"What!?" She couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth as naturally as if he was explaining what he thought the weather would be like tomorrow. A month? One whole month the man had been considering a new Robin and no doubt meeting with him on more than one occasion, yet this was the first she heard about this. For the love of God, what would it take for at least some type of indication that he had been secretly hoarding a possible Robin in the Batcave?

"You heard me, Avery." he said. "And because you've insisted on continuing being Catgirl, now is your chance to prove it to me." He gestured at Timothy, whom she noticed had become increasingly uncomfortable. She almost felt bad for him, having to have his first impression of her like this. Almost. "You're going to be in charge of half of his training. If I see you can handle him and yourself, you'll be allowed back on the field."

Allowed? Now she knew she had to put her foot down. "What is that supposed to mean?"

This was a dangerous game to play, she knew. Her father's facial expressions hardened even more, causing the blue of his eyes to look like solid ice. Usually, she was wise enough to stop, but lately she wasn't paying much attention to common sense or he older, more cautious self.

"It means exactly what I just said. You're still not ready to go back out there. You've allowed yourself to get weak and careless."

That stung, specifically because of the truth behind it. Even so, she remained stubborn. All the emotion she swore had been sapped out of her was returning in powerful waves. Her cheeks began filling with the color she had been sure was lost forever. "I can't believe you even dare to talk to me like that when you've ran around flinging yourself at criminals as if you were some rabid animal. I've watched the news reports. Whoever you catch these days barely gets turned in in one piece. Yet you have the nerve to talk to me as if I'm the one who'd get destroyed out there?"

His reply was colder than ice. "I know I can get myself out alive. I won't have you out in your state. Whatever death you would receive would be a disgrace."

She gasped, actually finding herself taken aback so much she couldn't think of a thing to say. Which, of course, was what he had wanted.

"You have two choices." he said, making no attempt to hide the authority in his voice. "You can either prove that you can stand up and fight again, that you want to...or you can stay locked up in the house and let Jason's death be in vain. It's your choice."

And with that, he left the cave, leaving Timothy and Alfred as her only companions besides the bats hanging in the rocky ceiling. For a moment, all that could be heard was their annoyed chattering as she began to contemplate her options. She would rather bite her middle finger off than continue to stay floating around the house like a vagabond on the streets. Yet she shared almost equally strong feelings regarding the subject of training her stepbrother's replacement.

There was no pleasant choice here, and she knew it. Her hands were trembling, eager to give someone a swollen eye. That had been another present of the death of Jason: anger. A deep, hard, black coal that burned deeper into her soul, soling the purity and happiness of her heart. He had always had issues managing his anger. It felt incredibly ironic that now, she had inherited that feeling beyond his death, a dark present from a fallen partner. All the people around her just seemed to piss her off. Alfred was the only one spared. But her father, oh, how she felt her anger accumulate when the thought of him crossed her mind. He had left her in this evil pit of guilt to suffer by herself, locked away like some pathetic princess in a tower while he went on his dark crusade to find peace where they both knew it didn't exist: on the streets of Gotham. She hated him. There were no other words that could describe her feelings. She hated him more than she ever had before in her life, even back before she knew he had been Batman and saw him as Bruce Wayne drowning in luxuries and pleasantries apparently too splendid to take time off to go to one of his daughter ballet performances.

It occurred to her that she still had to face the boy in front of her, awaiting an answer. She felt her fists tense up before letting her hands limp on both of her sides. In surrender. She let out a tense, controlled breath. Then, with a tone as bitter as her soul, gave her answer.

"We start tomorrow, at five in the morning. Don't be late."

Timothy Drake didn't really know what he was expecting when Bruce Wayne had told him that his daughter would be the one taking him under her wing. To begin, while he knew many things about both Batman and Robin, Catgirl had always been a mystery to him, an unfamiliar figure that would appear from time to time on the newspaper with the Dynamic Duo. Her very existence had been something of a controversy to the people who decided to try and label the vigilantes. Some say she worked for Catwoman, and only appeared from time to time to help the two heroes. Others say that she was just some way of trying to bring a good light to the name of the Cat, which everyone knew originally (and currently) belonged to an expert thief. Of course, many of them agree on the fact that something very unprofessional had to have occurred in order to have produced such an odd choice in name for an apprentice sighted with Batman in so many occasions. The only thing he knew for certain was that he had no doubt that she had been Avery Wayne; Catgirl came onto the streets about a year after the press announced that the girl would be taken out of the academy and home schooled.

Unfortunately for him, none of this information would prepare him for their first encounter.

Two minutes into their first day (he had arrived half an hour early, just for the sake of a good first impression) he had barely gotten into position to train when, faster than he had ever thought possible for a human being, she punched him hard in the eye. It had been worthy of someone far more heavily weighted than she was.

He had held it, (the steady, throbbing pain would remain with him for the rest of the session), feeling as if an iron ball had been flung against his face. Her grim expression filled what was left of his sight, and that here had been no pity in it. Then, came the first sentence of the day:

"Your reflexes need work. I knew you saw what I was going to do, but you didn't react with your thoughts."

He had tried pretty damn hard, but a lightning fast right-hook was more easily done than evaded. "Isn't the point of this for you to show me how to do that?"

She hadn't appeared to be amused by his remark, or bothered for that manner. "I need to see what you're capable of first. If I don't, how am I going to train you?"

Well, you can start by keeping me in one piece. "Right. So what now?"

To his unpleasant surprise, she once again got into a fighting stance. Her cold eyes on him made him feel like she could already see six steps ahead of whatever he was going to do. The thought was not pleasing.

"Now, we keep going. When I see you're at your limit, I'll stop."

His limit?

"Well, what are you waiting for?" she asked.

He decided it would be pointless to delay this any further, and thus tried to throw a punch of his own. He had just started to feel confident about its success when he felt his arm get swatted away like a housefly. Another swift jab hit his stomach. He gasped for air, immediately regretting the fact that he had chosen to have breakfast beforehand. He was just barely able to keep it in. A second later, he swerved his head to barely get out of the way of her foot smacking right into his face. He didn't count on another kick hitting him in the chest about two seconds later. He landed hard on his back, feeling the painful impact of the craggy floor. Thankfully, he had been able to avoid getting his head slammed against it as well, but already he had two new sore areas in his body, and he was positive that two minutes hadn't even passed by. By some miracle, she didn't continue her assault. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and he once again got looked down upon.

"Get up. We're not done yet."

She can't be serious. He had really hoped she wasn't, but it only took one glance at her expression to crush those hopes. What the hell did I just get myself into?

He got his answer an hour and a half later, when he was bathing in his own sweat and far too much of his blood for his comfort. There, he found out what it was like to have your body and pride broken. Ridiculously, embarrassingly broken.

A towel suddenly covered his hunched figure. When he glanced up, a precious bottle of icy cold water was held in front of him. He grasped it with a trembling hand. After practically ripping the cap off, he drank it all in one swing, relishing the feel of the cool liquid falling down his throat. She still stood there, as if slowly coming to a decision while watching him collapse on the ground like a sack of barely to catch some breath. The silence between them was becoming insufferable, so he decided to gather enough words to speak a sentence.

"I…," he sucked in more air, finally feeling as if he had regulated his breathing. "have to hand it to you. I didn't think it was possible for anyone to beat someone up so badly without breaking anything."

She gave no reply. Ouch. I think I preferred it when she punched me in the face. He tried to stand up, but felt all his body parts protest loudly. He groaned, choosing to stay down a bit more to see if it would pass. On second thought, I think I'll live with the silence.

"…So, what's your story?"

Her voice sounded surprisingly soft, so much that it took him a moment to realize it was her speaking. He looked up again, this time determined to look a bit more decent. "What do you mean?"

She settled herself on the edge of the large metal control panel for the tri-screen computer before answering. "I mean, what brought you to come here. To become a Robin, I mean."

The last bit of the sentence felt very skeptical, as if she was silently wondering if he was actually in his right mind. He couldn't argue that he was. It's not like a sane person would willingly sign up to run around the dirty, highly dangerous streets of Gotham City in the middle of the night wearing nothing more than a Kevlar suit and a belt full of tools. Not to mention, he'd be working next to a cold, questionably sane man in a Batsuit, and spending a large amount of time training under his command.

Oh, right. I almost forgot to add the fact that I'm getting my ass kicked by Bruce Wayne's grief-stricken daughter to that list. That, and the fact that the last Robin had been killed off. Geez, I think I can feel some regrets begin to surface already. Despite his thoughts, he faced her with a straight face, his tone as serious and determined as he felt about his decision.

"I want to help people. I mean, really help them. That's something that gets limited by a uniform. Eventually, it'll just get to the point where someone who wants to put you down will find the way to do it. But this thing that you guys got going? This can be real justice. And I want to be a part of it."

A frown formed on her face, as if his words dissatisfied her. Or was that really it? He found himself following her gaze, receiving a bit of a surprise when he did so. There was a glass display case he hadn't seen through due to a blue curtain that had always been placed around it. Today, however it had been left open to reveal a red body suit with a domino eye mask held as if it was attached to an invisible manikin.

It quickly hit him, what that thing was. "…Is that your stepbrother's costume?"

"…Yeah."

Oh. That would explain a couple of things. "Your, er, father…"

"Never mentioned it. I guessed that much."

Was it just him, or did he detect a hint of bitterness in her voice? "He's pretty intense." …And it looks like the apple falls pretty close to the tree.

"You'll get used to it. You'll go crazy if you don't." she said, surprising him with a tiny upward tilt of her mouth. "It's all a part of the job, after all."

She sounded like she spoke from experience. "It, uh must be hard for you, having all of this happen so quickly." He finally found the strength to get back up on his feet without wobbling like a newborn toddler. "Look, I'm going to be straight with you. I don't expect you to like me, especially not with the fact that Jason Todd's death is still hanging over your head. And I really am sorry that we had to meet in such bad circumstances. But I'm not here to try to replace anyone. It's not my intention."

She once again said nothing in reply. She just seemed to be closing her eyes, as if remembering a recurring nightmare, before taking an unexpectedly sad glance at him. It was as if she was looking at him as if he had turned into a completely different person. Once again, all that could be heard were the chattering of bats hanging upside-down in the ceiling.

"You don't have to be so formal." she said, her voice as soft as the sound of fallen autumn leaves shuffling in a pile. How could a person change from such drastic, contradictory tones in one moment? "Call me Avery."

Just like that, she began walking to the stairway that lead out of the cave. He was left there, feeling stupid, (a feeling he didn't have much experience with) as if he had just missed something from a puzzle he was supposed to have understood. It was only when she got to the foot of the staircase when she decided to stop again. And look back.

"You don't have anything to apologize for."

And she had left, just like that. He wondered if this was common of the Waynes, for them to overwhelm you with their presence, punch you emotionally (and in this case, physically) in the gut, and then float off as if they had never been there in the first place. The fact that she was capable of that without a mask both intimidated and impressed him. This would be an interesting life. He supposed it would eventually be up to him to determine whether or not it would be worth it.

Seeing as he was alone, he found himself walking over to the glass case around the suit. He saw his own reflection in the spotless, clean glass. He went closer, until he fell under the optical illusion that he was in it. He allowed himself to linger there, take it all in. The oddly clean smell of the cave, the dim lighting of the computer screen and the lights, the throbbing soreness he still felt persisting throughout his body (especially his eye) and the sweat pouring down his face and under his clothes.

"It looks like you're gonna be missed around here." he said. So I'm talking to a dead teenager's suit. Well, Drake, it looks like that's one point for the crazy. "I've never met you, but I want you to know your death won't be in vain. I'll carry the Robin title with honor…" And I'll take care of her too.

At the very least, Bruce Wayne knew there was still hope for his daughter.

She had returned from her day's training with Timothy Drake looking far less dead in the eyes than she had been beforehand, although she still passed him with an icy silence that had begun to build around them. He had deduced that her reaction to his ultimatum would be of that nature. After all, Avery was far too much like her mother: calculating yet reckless, cool on the outside with wild passion underneath. Giving her an order, he knew, would only cause rebellion to rise from her inside until she would eventually find the smartest way to jump through a loophole. And right now, that drive would be just what she needed.

"Another sleepless night, sir?"

He didn't bother turning his head to notice Alfred setting a hot cup of tea on the table that had been set next to him. Judging by the smell lingering from the cup, it was an English breakfast blend. At three in the morning. The old man's sense of humor never seemed to leave him.

His hand took the handle as he sipped. No sugar or honey, just the scent to fuel his senses enough to keep them awake. He still felt Alfred's presence linger behind him, and he knew what that meant. However, he was just going to continue his research until—

"Master Bruce, I would like to have a word."

There he goes. "And what would that be?" Bruce already knew, of course.

"It is regarding Avery."

"What about Avery?" He meant for his tone to be as heartless as it sounded. The fact that Alfred was about to poke into something he was already convinced of carrying out never pleased him.

"Bruce. You know what I'm about to say."

"And you already know my answer, Alfred. I don't see the point in talking about this."

"You cannot continue to treat your daughter as if she was the same as Dick or Jason."

"I never thought that I was." Then, with a slightly angered shift in his voice: "I know what I'm doing."

"So you're not even going to approach your own daughter whilst she's mourning the stepbrother she saw die before her eyes by the hands of a madman?"

"Avery doesn't need someone to candy coat reality, Alfred. She needs someone to push her back on her feet."

"Who said anything about candy-coating?" he said, putting down the tea tray with more force than needed. The kettle and cups still chattered as the vibration of the metal settled down. "How about some comforting words, an actual conversation that doesn't have to do with any of you flinging a batarang at the next psychotic that escapes Arkham?"

"And what will change any of it? Jason is gone, Alfred. Nothing I tell her will change that. Nothing I tell her will help her sleep at night!"

The butler's eyes widened. "You know? When—"

"Ever since she started having the nightmares. I've been slipping the sleeping pills into her drinks before you bring them up to her. She's lying when she says she's tried to take them. This just proves how rusty she is, if she hasn't figured it out yet."

He continued scanning over the information in front of him as he heard a tired sigh from behind. He could almost see as the old man rubbed a tired hand over his wrinkled forehead. "Has it ever occurred to you to mention it to me?"

"You knew she wasn't taking them. I didn't see why I had to say anything."

"…She won't know you care of you don't tell her, Bruce."

"She doesn't need to know. She just needs another partner to remind her why she put on the mask in the first place."

Alfred said no immediate response. The silence helped Bruce's thoughts and his emotions to settle, like a waning tide after the storm. If there was anything he hated, it was having his emotions get the best of him. Even years of training to smooth out every disturbance in his soul sometimes wasn't enough to stop them from running out of control.

"…I assume you're going to go out?"

By now, he had gotten a solid grip on himself. All that was left to deal with was that hard, solid coal of anger that remained lodged inside his chest. Nothing new, and nothing he didn't know how to bear with.

"Yes. Make sure that Avery stays in check while I'm gone." The last thing I need is to see her hurt too. I'll give her a few more weeks…maybe then I'll…"

Silence began to suffocate him faster than he could notice. And with it, came the guilt that ran as profoundly as the darkest chasm in the deepest part of the ocean. The faces of the many people he had let die found their way into his head. The negativity threatened to overcome him again, to lead him down into the filth he swore he'd fight. With a tense grip, he pulled the cowl over his head until it covered his face.

"I'm off."

He left the butler with nothing else but the sound of the engines of his armored vehicle, the Batmobile, as he drove into the evils of the night, too aware of the fact that the real evils were right there, within himself.

Around Gotham, spring had already melted away the cold winter. But no one let themselves be fooled, least of all him. He knew that eventually the seasons moved. And with that movement, the snow would eventually return.