Author's Note: I sooooo didn't do shoutouts last chapter. Sorry guys. Eavis: Haha, yeah, Race could definitely use bodyguards, as we all quickly discovered. And I hope intense is good. Cuz that was just a taste of what the sequel is supposed to be like. And, um... yeah, sorry, Twitch has a mouth. Also, I loved the end to Random Goils, and I'm loving Of Life! Sorry, reviewing in a shoutout, I know... I had finals this week, so cut me a break... methegirl! Glad to see I'm holding your interest. :) Not sure how much "pursuing" will be done, as I usually leave stuff like that entirely up to the characters. Anyways, I hope she doesn't annoy you too much this chapter.

Okay, this chapter, believe it or not, doesn't actually fit into my outline. I mean it does, but everything that was supposed to happen in this chapter according to my outline kinda kept getting pushed farther and farther back as more stuff happened (don't worry, I'm very flexible with stuff like this). But yeah, that's why the title sucks. So even though it's kinda one of the filler chapters, it's very long, and there's a lot going on. Blame Blink and Spot's conversation on me reading too many modern fics. Anyhow, it's late (early?), I have work in the morning, please enjoy.

Chapter 10: Bigger Mistake

Before all'a dis happened, Blink an' Spot really was my best friends. I mean, Blink an' I was already pretty close before da strike, an' I's always been on good terms wit' Spot, but da t'ree of us really sorta bonded when Jack disappeared. Tragedy an' loss gotta way'a bringin' people together. It's like one'a dem laws of nature, ya know?

I remember da winter before Cowboy came back, somethin' hit da lodgin' house. Hard. Davey told us it was da flu or somethin', but it didn't really make much difference to us. Every single kid in dat place felt like dey was gonna die at some point. For da t'ree of us, it was almost true. Spot made da trip from Brooklyn ta Manhattan almost everyday t'rough da snow ta check up on us. I'd been havin' a lotta trouble scrapin' together da money for my bunk, so I's actually out on da streets when it hit me. Blink worked extra hours ta get me in outta da cold, but he ended up payin' dearly for it. Most'a us was back ta sellin' wit'in a few days'a catchin' it. Blink was bedridden for near ta two whole weeks.

By dat point, Spot was too sick ta be makin' da trip 'tween boroughs. Since we still hadn't chosen a new leader afta Jack left, an' since da Brooklyn boys was perfectly capable'a takin' care'a demselves for a little while, he'd moved in ta help me take care'a Blink. Soon's he was back on his own feet an' sellin' again, me an' him pooled our money ta keep Blink in bed.

Even so, we almost lost him one night when his temperature spiked. But he bounces back real well from stuff like dat. So does Spot. Me, not as much. Even though I'd only been stuck in bed for a couple days myself, my breathin' never was quite da same afta dat winter…

"I think he's dead! Somebody! He… He just killed Racetrack! Demon just killed Racetrack!"

Spot could have sworn he felt his heart stop. For several seconds, he stood frozen, listening to Twitch scream hysterically as he racked his brain, trying to remember where it was Race had said he took his shortcuts. Murder Alley. He groaned as it finally came to him. Murder Alley is off of Park Row.

As he turned around and jumped down into the alley, he was vaguely aware of his right hand fumbling for the alert button on his utility belt while the other unhooked his collapsed batons – he'd been unwilling to part with his cane and simply had Alfred modify it. He resisted the urge to run straight for the still form hidden in the shadows, instead yanking the screaming twig to his feet and shoving him against the alley wall. "What happened here?" he demanded, pressing one of the batons to Twitch's chest to keep him in place.

Twitch stared at him in wide-eyed panic, stuttering out his response. "One-One'a Demon's guys t-took a dive in the D-Death Ring. Rhino had R-Race s-set it up. And D-Demon don't like n-nobody touchin' his sister. H-He-He caught 'em… caught 'em in an alley." He started shaking uncontrollably under Spot's icy gaze. "I th-th-think he was drunk. He just hauled off on him, a-and he wouldn't s-stop. Man, I told him… I told him goin' anywhere near Angel was a b-bad idea, but he j-just wouldn't listen to me, and now I-I-I think he's dead!"

Spot glared darkly at him for another brief moment before releasing him and motioning toward the alley entrance. "Get outta here!" he shouted. "Go! Get out!" Twitch eagerly complied, screaming the whole way for someone named Scooter and continuing his hysterical screams of "He's dead!"

Heart pounding in his ears, Spot finally allowed his eyes to search the dark shadows of the alley. No details could be determined, but he could vaguely make out a small form huddled in the corner where Demon had been but moments before. There was no movement. "I swear, Race," he muttered under his breath, his fists clenching as he slowly made his way over. "I swear, if you're not already dead, I'll kill you myself." He reached out into the darkness, feeling for any signs of life he could find. There was so much blood, torn flesh, broken bones… It almost didn't seem human. A faint pulse still beat in what he assumed had once been a neck, but the breathing was extremely shallow and had a hitch to it. He felt his throat clamping and tried to swallow past the lump forming there, cursing under his breath. "Could be anybody," he tried to tell himself, even though he really didn't believe it. "Might not be him, could be anybody."

Booted footsteps sounded near the alley entrance, and he turned when he heard Bruce's voice. "Robin!"

"Over here!" he called, working hard to keep the strain out of his voice.

Bruce hurried down the alley, concern edging his tone. "You hit the alert. What happened?"

"I found one of the Murder Alley gang members here, guy named Twitch. The other gang was from the Lower East End, Demon's men. I found Demon here beating one of the other members over a thrown match, something Twitch called a Death Ring. The guy who set it up…" His voice choked as he averted his gaze. "He's hurt real bad, Batman."

"He going to make it?"

Spot shook his head. "Not unless we take him with us."

"And Demon?"

"He got away. I didn't trust myself not to kill him, so I let him go."

Bruce gave no sign, of approval or otherwise. "Robin, we can't take in every gang member we find beat up in an alley. It's one less kid causing trouble on the streets. Just let him go."

Spot winced inwardly, but ignored him. The only thing he could hear was Twitch's hysterical screams running through his head as he struggled with the weight of the form at his feet. He couldn't lift it without knowing what was where – or, at least, what should be where – so he grabbed a shattered leg and pulled as gently as he could manage, trying to get the body as much into the failing light as he could. The more he saw, the more his heart sank as his hopes that Bruce was right, that it really was just another kid, were dashed.

"Robin—" Spot hissed at him to be quiet as he rolled the limp body over onto its back. One arm made a sickening thud as it landed on the ground with the force of the roll. The face was covered in bruises and blood, but he'd know it anywhere. Again, he swore under his breath as he fought the sudden urge swelling in his chest. He couldn't yet tell if it was the urge to scream or to vomit. Bruce just stared for several seconds. "How did you know?"

"I heard the other gang member screaming that Demon had just killed Racetrack. He was Rhino's set-up. And something about Demon's sister, Angel."

"Smells like alcohol."

"One of 'em was drunk. Twitch didn't say which one." Spot laid a gloved hand gently on Race's chest, feeling it hitch with each shallow breath and shaking his head. "His lungs ain't right. Haven't been since last winter. We gotta get him outta here, or he ain't gonna make it."

"I swear I'm gonna kill him!"

Alfred moved across the room to pick up the ice pack that had been flung into the wall, silently thankful that there were no breakable objects immediately within Blink's reach. "Master Drake has kept later hours than this," he intoned gently. "I'm sure it's nothing to worry about." Blink responded by flinging a small pillow at the wardrobe in the corner. The injuries he'd sustained in his fight with Darren were putting him in a decidedly bad mood. "You, on the other hand," Alfred continued, "are in no condition to be throwing a fit over something so trivial."

"I'm not throwing a fit," Blink snapped, his head starting to pound. If he hadn't been so furious, it would surely have sounded like pouting. "And it's not trivial."

"Then what, pray tell, is it exactly, Master Jason?"

"It's… It's nothing." Curse you, Race, for making me keep quiet.

Alfred simply gave a longsuffering grin and brought the pillow and the ice pack back to the bed. "Then might I suggest you forget about it for the time being and try to get some rest? Master Wayne and Master Grayson should be back at any moment, and it won't sit well with them to see you all worked up over… Well, nothing."

A soft, hesitant knock sounded at the open door, and Blink turned to see Spot standing there, still dressed in his uniform and looking slightly flustered. "Alfred?" Spot said quietly. "Bruce… um… needs you. In the cave. It's… kind of urgent."

With a sigh, the butler turned to walk out the door. "I do hope it was not the dogs again," he muttered to himself as he left. Blink was sure he heard more about stitches and dislocated shoulders as Alfred made his way down the hall.

Spot didn't follow, but instead stood there in the doorway as if he wanted to say something, all the time pointedly avoiding Blink's eye. "So… How bad is it?" Blink asked hesitantly, trying to sound casual. Spot didn't answer, and a decidedly unpleasant feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. He lifted the eyepatch away from his left eye so he could see Spot better as he went on. "C'mon, Dick. This is Bruce we're talking about. I mean, how bad could it be?"

When Spot's eyes finally met his, he immediately regretted asking in the first place, though he still wasn't quite sure why. Those blue eyes behind the black mask flashed with something Blink could have sworn was guilt. "You ever hear of the Murder Alley gang, Jason?"

Blink squirmed a little. "Yeah, down off Crime Alley, right? Bad news. Everybody knows that."

Spot nodded, his voice shaking a little as he went on. "You know what it is they do over there?"

"Gambling ring or something, last I heard. Why? What gives?"

Spot shook his head and once again averted his gaze. "For once, Jason, you were right. We shoulda put a stop to it before it got outta hand."

"What… What are you saying, Dick?" Blink asked slowly. He had a sinking feeling he already knew.

"I… made a mistake, Kid. And he might die because of it."

A somber mood fell over the two boys as they sat beside Racetrack's bed and watched his slightly shallow – but steady – breathing. Thankfully the injuries he'd sustained were not outside Alfred's expertise. While Demon had managed to crack several of his ribs, the deranged gang leader had somehow only hit him in the head once with the bat, so a trip to the hospital was not necessary. Still, it would take him a long time to recover, particularly his lungs.

Blink let out a sigh and shifted the ice pack that was sliding off of his swollen ankle sprain. He was sitting with his leg propped up on Spot's chair while Spot stood leaning against the bed post, hands shoved into his trouser pockets. "I'll bet this is how you guys felt while I was in surgery," Blink said softly, rubbing at his left eye in annoyance. The patch was starting to get on his nerves. Spot just nodded without taking his eyes off of Race. After a moment of silence, Blink gave a humorless chuckle. "Better watch it, Dick. You'll be next."

Spot finally turned to glare at him, his eyes burning and intense. "He wouldn't listen. That was stupid. You broke your promise. That was stupid. So far, out of the three of us, I'm the least likely to end up incapacitated."

Raising his eyebrows as he resettled the patch in its place, Blink made a mocking sound in the back of his throat. "Mmm, lotta syllables there. You sure you can count that high?"

"You sure you're spelling syllables right?" Spot snapped back, averting his gaze once more.

"I wasn't spelling it," Blink scoffed. "I was saying it. There's a difference."

"I know you. You can't pronounce a word unless you can spell it in your head."

"Well, then I guess I did well enough, didn't I?"

Spot ignored him and pulled his hands out of his pockets, crossing them over his chest as he watched Race's unconscious form. He kept running the scene over and over in his head, trying to figure out if he could have possibly been there any sooner, if he could have done something. He was rudely interrupted when Blink continued. "Besides, what I did wasn't stupid. It was just poor judgment. Ya gotta be some kinda idiot to get yourself involved with a gang in Gotham City, though."

"Look, I know this is your way of trying to cope with your best friend getting beat half to hell, but it's not helping me."

"Funny," Blink smirked. "What does help you cope?"

Spot scowled darkly at him. "I think I preferred his pacing to your talking."

"Sorry." Blink pointed to his ankle. "Darren kinda put my leg outta commission."

"I freakin' told you, man."

Blink considered this for a moment before responding. "Okay, maybe that was a stupid move. But it's still not as stupid as this. Besides, we all know you ain't perfect, yourself."

"I have my own issues, and my issues are my business," Spot growled. "Fortunately for me, they don't involve being a bonehead like yours do."

With an exaggerated sigh, Blink rose as best he could and limped to the door, muttering under his breath the whole way. Just before stepping into the hall, he turned around. "Hey, Spot? There's some redhead in a wheelchair here to see you and Race. And she didn't do anything stupid, either. Think about that."

Spot sank heavily into the chair as Barbara wheeled through the doorway with a bemused grin on her face. "What was that about?"

"Nothing." He leaned forward and put his face in his hands, letting out a shuddering sigh as he did so.

"He's not looking too good," she observed softly. "Is his breathing always like that?"

He shook his head. "Not until last winter. He got hit real bad with the flu, hasn't been the same since. Broken ribs didn't help."

They sat in silence for a while, his gaze on the bed and hers on his hunched form. "You feel guilty," she said at last. It was a statement, not a question.

He didn't respond for several moments, but when he did, his voice was dark and cold. "I told him I was okay to go out. You heard me tell him I was ready. I wasn't ready. I froze!"

"You didn't freeze. From what I heard, you held yourself back—"

"I made a mistake," he said quickly, cutting her off. "I made a drastic mistake, and now Tim may die because of it." Drawing a shaky breath, he rested his chin on his tightly folded hands. "Wouldn't you feel a little guilty about that?"

"This wasn't your fault," she replied forcefully. "If anything, you did the right thing. You realized you weren't ready to take Demon without letting your need for revenge get in the way. And you walked away from it." He shook his head angrily and turned away from her, but she caught his face in her hand and brought his gaze back to hers. "He was stupid enough to get Demon mad at him. He put himself in that position. You did not. Think of it this way. If you had stopped Demon, if you had saved Tim… What would have become of you?"

"I'm sure that's not how Bruce sees it."

"Of course it is! He's proud of you, he just… doesn't know how to show it." He gave her a skeptical look. "Hey, where do you think I heard about it in the first place?"

They both glanced up suddenly when they noticed a shadow in the open doorway. Bruce stood there, leaning against the door frame with his arms folded almost uneasily. "Dick," he said slowly. "I'm sorry. You did the right thing. She's right, I am proud of you. And… I want you to know there's nothing more you could have possibly done. If nothing else, you probably saved his life."

Spot nodded gratefully and shifted his gaze back to Racetrack. It seemed as if one weight was lifting from his shoulders while another one settled quietly into its place. He folded his hands in front of him and leaned his elbows heavily on his knees, an empty smirk tugging at his mouth. "We've come a long way, haven't we, Cowboy?"

Bruce gave a hollow smile in return, nodding to himself. "Yes we have, Spot," he replied, sincerity filling every word. "Yes we have."

Author's Note: Whoo... I think that's the longest one yet. I almost cut it short in several places, but I didn't want to leave things hanging for the next chapter, cuz the plot will actually progress in the next one. This was kinda one of those "here's the answer to the cliff hanger and a break from all the intense, dark action before we dive right back in again" things. Oh, and guess what? My characters are evolving! I've never had that actually happen in a story before. Ever. Not to this extent, anyway. Anyhow, I'm going to Florida for youth camp. We leave Sunday morning, won't be back until late next Sunday night, and I'm only allowed a phone because I'm the only leader with cell service down there. So sadly, you will not have an update from me before then. I am bringing a notebook, though, so look forward to possibly a new chapter very soon after I get back. Until then, can't wait to hear from you guys, and keep Carryin' the Banner! Btw, if the whole situation with the underworld seemed sketchy and vague, it's supposed to be. After this story is finished, I'll be doing a companion piece called Take a Dive that explains what all was going on...