Author's Note: Hey, look! Finally, an update. And a long one, at that. This chapter went absolutely nothing like I wanted it to. I was rather disappointed, because Race seems to be in a bad mood, and for some reason he and Spot seem to be at odds, because I literally had to force them to speak to each other, and even then it wasn't very civil... And then my introduction of Thomas Elliot fell rather flat. But don't worry, you'll be seeing lots more of him later. As always, many thanks to Eavis and methegirl for your continued (and prompt) reviews! I'm glad I was able to make you feel for poor Blink in the last chapter. After all, that's really what I write for, to make an impact and to reach an audience. I tend to find angst and violence to be the easiest ways of doing that, most of the time. Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this chapter much more than I did writing it. I'm determined more than anything to not let this story die, hence the forcing of plot and story. But it should get really good soon. I hope. No more rambling, it's three a.m. I really gotta stop this...

Chapter 6: The Deal

Blink didn't come home at all dat night. It was probly 'bout four in da mornin' before we heard anythin'. An' what we did hear didn't do nothin' ta quiet my nerves. Much as Blink'n me was always at odds, we was actually pretty close. Blink was like a brudder ta me, pretty much da closest t'ing ta family I's ever had.

So when Bruce came home real late dat night and said dat Blink was conked out in da hospital, while I'm sure Spot was concerned, he weren't nowhere near as freaked out as I was. For one t'ing, Spot's from Brooklyn, so he didn't know Blink dat well ta begin wit'. Of course, like I said, he was still worried, an' who could blame him? 'Specially when Cowboy told us what'd happened.

I dunno how he knew wit'out us tellin' him, but he'd been out on patrol, lookin' fer Blink, when he'd heard da gunshot. Of course da fact dat it came from Gordon's place was cause for concern, but what was even more disturbin' ta him was when he saw da Red Hood chasin' da Joker away from da scene'a da crime. He'd shadowed'em from a distance, tryin' not ta be seen, an' especially not ta give da Joker any reason ta suspect dat da Red Hood had anythin' ta do wit' him. Da last t'ing he needed, he said, was for da Joker ta be gunnin' for us instead'a him.

Unfortunately dis kinda stopped him from bein' able ta save Blink when da flash bomb went off. He'd seen Blink slip an' fall, an' was on his way ta help him when dis bright light comes flyin' outta da alley, an' a few seconds later da Joker's tearin' outta dere like nobody's business, laughin' da whole way.

An' den dere was da screamin'…

"What happened, Gordon? How did he get out?" Batman's growl was dangerously low, almost accusatory. He'd never spoken to the Commissioner like that before, not ever. And Jim wasn't happy about it one bit.

"If I knew, do you think I'd withhold that kind of information from you?" he snapped. "I didn't even know he was out until he showed up on my doorstep!"

"Somebody let him out and I need to know who!"

Gordon was a little confused. "What difference does that make?" he asked. "I should think it'd be more important right now to figure out where the hell he is, and bring him back. We can worry about the who, how, and why later."

"A kid almost died because he was let out!"

"A kid that insisted on dressing up and playing vigilante. I can't be held responsible for that!"

"Are you implying that this kid may never see again because of me? That this is somehow my fault?"

There was an uncomfortable pause as Gordon finally backed down and shifted his feet. But he didn't break the Dark Knight's gaze. "No. No, I'm not saying that. But I won't deny the possibility either." He gestured back toward the hospital across the street from where they were standing, his voice rising again. "My daughter is lying in a hospital bed right now, and she may never walk again because of this monster. So don't you dare think for one minute that I don't know how serious this is!"

Batman nodded solemnly, the closest he'd ever get to apologizing to Gordon. He'd been so caught up in worrying about Jason, he'd almost forgotten about Barbara. Almost. "Nobody saw the Red Hood in that alley. Make sure it stays that way."

With an incredulous sigh, Gordon shook his head. "What is it about this kid that makes you want to protect him?"

A cold glare was his only response.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Would ya stop dat already?" Race halted his pacing just long enough to give Spot a pointed glare before continuing on to the opposite wall. The incessant tapping did pause momentarily, but the minute Race's back was turned, Spot was at it again. Tap, tap, tap, tap, went the gold-tipped cane on the hard carpet of the hospital's waiting room. Race growled and spun on his heel. "Seriously, Spot, dat's gettin' on my already-tender nerves. Ya been doin' dat fer hours now."

Without even glancing up to acknowledge that he was being spoken to, Spot gave an absent nod and continued tapping his cane rhythmically on the floor. In a last, desperate attempt to save his sanity, Race swiftly snatched the cane from his grasp and gave the floor in front of Spot a firm, resounding smack with the end of it. This brought the Brooklyn boy back to reality with a jolt. "Hey," he said when he'd finally realized his cane was now in hands other than his own.

"Look," Race sighed, running a hand down his face. "I know you's worried 'bout Blink. I am too. But dis tappin' is makin' me all kinds'a jumpy. Ya gotta cut it out."

"Oh sure, like yer pacin' is doin' me any good," Spot shot back, grabbing his cane back and tucking it firmly in the beltloop of his pants.

Race sighed again and combed his fingers through his hair. "Told ya we shoulda told Cowboy 'bout dis," he muttered.

"Would dat'a stopped him?" Spot asked, giving a shrug and leaning back, trying – and failing – to look casual.

"Nah, I guess not." The nervous back-and-forth march continued.

"Stop pacin'. It's givin' me a headache," Spot whined.

"I can't! Not 'til I know he's gonna be okay."

"He ain't Race." The little Italian shook his head and continued his pacing. "You know he ain't. C'mon, he ain't dead, but dat flash bang screwed up his good eye. He ain't ever gonna see again."

"Gee, thanks for da encouragin' words," Race spat, the sarcasm in his voice nothing like what it normally was.

This fact was not lost on Spot. "I's bein' sarcastic, ya dimwit. I'd'a thought, of all people, you'd recognize sarcasm when ya heard it."

"Yeah, well… yours needs work."

Spot sighed and thumped his cane on the floor in frustration. "Race… Tim… Bruce said dis guy, Elliot… Well, he's s'posed ta be da best surgeon around. An' he said hisself he could get Blink… Jason both his eyes back."

"Yeah, so?"

"So quit bein' so paranoid an' sit down!" When Racetrack refused to comply, Spot grabbed him roughly by the back of his vest and threw him into the chair next to him.

"Thanks, Dick," Race sneered, shifting angrily around in his seat.

At that moment, Bruce walked into the waiting room, looking just as haggard as the two boys felt. With a tired sigh, he ran a hand through his tousled brown hair. "Surgery went well," he said quietly, his voice betraying the level of exhaustion his body must surely be experiencing. "He's in recovery. And he's awake. He's been asking for you two."

Race wanted to let out a whoop and go dancing down the halls right then, but Spot's firm hand on the back of his collar prevented him from doing so. As the two boys followed Bruce down the hall to Blink's room, they were oddly silent. There was a heavy feeling in the air around them. Something told them that Bruce was going to have a very long, very serious talk with the three of them very soon.

Nothing could have prepared Spot and Race for what they saw when they finally reached the room. Kid Blink was sitting up in bed, a thick bandage wrapped around his head and covering both eyes. His blonde hair was matted and stuck out in odd angles, and his skin was pale as death. A large, purple bruise was forming along his left temple. Worst of all, he seemed to jump at every sound.

As the two boys seemed momentarily speechless, Bruce spoke first. "Hey, Jason. I brought Tim and Dick in. How you feeling?"

Blink shrugged, obviously trying to appear much less nervous than he was. "A little banged up. And my eyes hurt."

"That's to be expected," said a man standing in the corner. He was tall, with curly red hair and a white coat, and was consulting a clipboard of paperwork – Dr. Thomas Elliot. "Everything looks pretty clear to me," Dr. Elliot went on. "We'll keep you here a couple more days, just to make sure there are no complications, and then you may return home. In a couple weeks the bandages come off, and you, my boy, will be able to see with both your eyes." He gave a warm smile as he tucked the clipboard under his arm and turned to Bruce. "It was good to see you again, Bruce. But I'm afraid I have pressing duties elsewhere. I'll let the four of you have some time alone." Bruce nodded as Elliot stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him. The three boys waited in silence for what they knew was coming.

When Bruce finally spoke, he didn't raise his voice. But it was still laced with a very stern tone. "I thought I made myself perfectly clear when I said I didn't want any of you involved in this."

Without hesitation, Blink spoke up from the bed in a clear, strong voice. "You brought us out here for a reason, Bruce. Ya need help. Ya need a partner."

"Jason…"

"I don't exactly agree wit' his methods," Spot interjected, "but I'm afraid I's gotta agree wit' da bonehead. Ya can't keep dis up by yourself. Not for much longer, anyways."

Bruce glared at Spot. "You knew he was sneaking out, and you said nothing."

Spot just shrugged. "I wanted ta see how it'd play out. Clearly da kid needs some proper trainin'. I mean, afta all, he ain't no Brooklyn boy."

"So you had the same idea in mind. He just beat you to it?"

"Nah," Spot said, shaking his head and tapping his cane against his shoulder. "I ain't dat stupid ta try sneakin' around by meself. Like he said, ya needs a partner, not some idiot kid runnin' around like a target."

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air for a moment before Bruce answered. "I had a partner," he stated softly. "And the Joker just took her out of the game."

"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute," Race said suddenly, sitting forward in his chair. "Ya mean Jim Gordon's girl? You's trainin' Barbara Gordon ta be yer partner?" Bruce just nodded. "An' dat clown didn't know? Jeez, talk 'bout coincidence."

Blink leaned back in bed and gave a triumphant smirk. "Admit it, Cowboy. Ya need us. Now more'n ever."

Several moments passed in silence as Bruce looked from one face to the next. Spot tapped his cane impatiently against the base of his neck, while Race slumped back into his chair to sulk. Finally, he sighed and dropped his gaze to the floor. "There's just no keeping you boys out of this after all, is there?" It was Spot's turn to smirk triumphantly. "There are conditions, though," Bruce went on, glancing up sharply. "Jason, you aren't going anywhere until you heal up and get some proper training in. Tim, the same goes for you."

"Who said I wanted in on dis freak show, anyways?" Race snapped.

Bruce sighed and turned reluctantly to Spot. "All right, Dick, I guess that leaves you. But I want you to promise me that you'll do exactly as I say, and never put yourself in any kind of unnecessary danger. Is that understood?"

With a grin that showed more excitement than was due such a grave undertaking, Spot spit into his hand and they shook on it.

Author's Note: Yeah. Race was being whiny again. I haven't a clue why. Maybe he's upset cuz I haven't worked on Heart of Brooklyn in a while... Anyhow, please review! I want to know what you think!