AN: Okay, here it is! This is the second part of the 'Downtime' episode from Whisper's point of view. As for the question about his Batarangs, I'm leaning towards calling them 'whisps', so thanks for the idea!

youngjusticefanatic: I thought the same thing when I wrote it, so I'm doing that in this chapter.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Sadly.

Bruce and Whisper arrived back at the Manor around 5:30, just in time for dinner to be taken out of the oven. The capellini d'angelo was delicious, to no one's surprise, and the pair pretended not to notice when Alfred started calling the teen 'Master Whisper'. After they each had a heaping helping of both pasta and cookies, they retired to the living room and chattered idly. A few minutes passed before Alfred sauntered in, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

"Master Bruce, you might like to turn on Channel 7. It seems the latest speculation of your love life is circling the media."

The TV was instantly switched on and flipped to the said station, where a grainy picture of a man and a teenager walking side-by-side was shown. The image shrunk, soon becoming the background to the a spunky blond.

"You heard it here first folks. Bruce Wayne, playboy billionaire, has been seen with a young teen at Gotham City Mall as of earlier today. Many believe the boy to be Mr. Wayne's long lost son, but others are not so sure. So far, we have received calls from past girlfriends claiming that the teen has their eyes or nose, but his heritage has not been confirmed. We-hold on folks. We've got another call coming in. It's from Bruce Wayne himself! Mr Wayne, this is Channel 7 Today, and you are live."

While Whisper had been laughing manically at the conspiracies being thought of, Bruce had picked up the phone and dialed the news station's number as fast as was humanly possible. He was not getting into another 'long lost son' scandal. The last one was bad enough.

"Hello, this is Bruce Wayne. I would just like to put all these rumors to rest. The boy in that picture is not my son, I'm merely taking care of him for a friend."

The reporter seemed downcast for a moment before her annoyingly perky smile reappeared, just as bright as before. "Well, we appreciate your input, Mr. Wayne. Thank you."

"Your welcome. Good-bye."

A distinct click was heard on TV, whereas, in Wayne Manor, a cackling Whisper had turned to face Bruce, who had a large scowl adorning his face.

"Oh my," the teen gasped. "They actually thought I…what the…your son!? How stupid are they?"

His only answer was a pointed stare from Bruce. Whisper had the decency to blush and calm his laughter.

"Not that, you would be a bad dad, I mean, you've been nicer to me than anyone I've met since-." Whisper cut off. He was about to say 'since my parents died', but he had to remember who he was talking to. Bruce wasn't a replacement for those who he had lost, he was just someone who was kind enough to spend his day with a kid with no living family members. No matter how much the part of him that still reminisced about his circus days wanted to get closer to the residents of Wayne Manor, he had to realize he didn't really belong here.

He was a lethal assassin, trained by the best (He had even had private lessons with Deathstroke the Terminator), and taught to have no mercy. It didn't matter that he'd never wanted to be that, it didn't matter he dreamed of still being with his family. It was what he was; what he was molded to be, and he couldn't afford to get attached to anything. If the Justice League found out, he would probably be on the run again within the hour. He was already starting to actually laugh around Bruce, if that continued, then-.

"Master Whisper? Are you well?"

The youth was jerked out of his thoughts by the worried voice of Alfred. Whisper jumped and met the concerned stares of both Bruce and Alfred, letting out a half attentive, "Huh?"

"You spaced out for a minute," Bruce explained. "Are you okay? Do you need to go lie down?"

Whisper pulled up his holo-computer, checked the time, then powered it down again. "No thanks. But it's getting late, I need to head back to the mountain. The others are probably wondering where I am."

The butler and master exchanged a brief glance before Alfred strolled out into the hallway and Bruce turned to face the restless teen. "I'll tell the Team your staying with me tonight. Alfred's already preparing a bed in the guest room." Before Whisper so much as had a chance to reply, Bruce stalked out, leaving Whisper to wonder what had just happened.

"Whoa. Is this Bruce's?"

Whisper was being escorted to his guest room by Alfred when he had peeked into an open door and seen something he had not expected to see. Rings, balance beams, and a rope net that led from floor to ceiling adorned the room, just begging Whisper to try them out.

Alfred came up beside the teen and gazed nostalgically around the room. "Yes, Master Thomas had it installed when Master Bruce was but a boy. I fear it is rather unused nowadays."

"Oh. Okay. Um, so my room?"

The pair continued down the hallway before reaching an ajar door. A bed, dresser, and trunk could be made out in the gloom, with a sliver of moonlight shining through the window. Whisper walked into the room, where he found the pajamas he had just gotten today (Bruce had insisted on a Batman T-shirt and pants) laying on his bed. Whisper turned to Alfred, and in the dim light, the butler could make out a half-smile before he heard the softly spoken, "Thanks," that was obviously meant to be a dismissal. Alfred gave his own small grin back before he closed the door and left the boy to a hopefully dreamless sleep.

(AN: Imagine all of this is underlined, 'cause Doc Manager hates me.)His gut instinct was his first warning. His second warning was the fact he was a part of the crowd. No matter what, he was always either a late arrival or a performer in his dreams. They never began with him watching the show from the very beginning.

Then he saw the people occupying the trapeze. The usual assortment was there: his parents, his aunt and uncle, and his cousin, but there were also seven shadowed figures standing above the audience. He didn't scream when his family fell, only winced. He'd seen it in his dreams enough to be able to block off the pain.

But he didn't react when six more people fell. He could't tell who they were, their faces were blurry and unclear, so why should he have mourned for those he didn't know? The seventh shape met the ground, and suddenly, he could tell who was laying broken and bloody on the ground.

The frozen faces of Wally, Artemis, Superboy, M'gann, and Kaldur all stared glassy-eyed into space, causing Whisper to flinch away. Then, his eyes landed on the other two bodies. His breath caught in his throat when he saw the thin man clothed in a freshly-pressed suit, surrounded by a pool of blood. However, he didn't break down until the seventh face caught his eye.

Bruce, Batman, the Goddamn Dark Knight, laid motionless on the ground. He knew who did it, the same person who killed his parents: Tony Zucco. But Zucco was in prison, out of his reach, unable to hurt anyone again.

Is that why it made sense when Whisper looked down at his hands and saw two bolts? The very same bolts that belonged on the trapeze rigging. Is that why it made sense that Whisper was the one who killed them? Because Zucco was locked up and unable to murder another family?

The horrible truth of it was, the only reason it made sense was because that was his purpose. To kill, to murder, to assassinate.

And his mission had just been accomplished.

Waking up with terror grasping at his very being was starting to get old for Whisper. Every night, he had a nightmare, something that intertwined his lack of family and his life with the Talons. He hated everything about those dreams, but he couldn't do anything about it.

He was powerless.

But, just because he was impotent in that sense, didn't mean he wasn't capable of other things. And if he was able to do other things, then that gave him something to do with his restless limbs. Whisper's mind instantly flew to the room that he had discovered earlier while walking to his room with Alfred. The boy glanced at the plain, digital clock on the dresser and grimaced.

3:14. He definitely wasn't getting anymore sleep tonight. Whisper nimbly hopped out of bed and changed into his normal attire of black hoodie and skinny jeans, before opening the door and creeping down the hall. Upon arriving at the desired room, he shut the door and quickly found the light switch. The gymnastic equipment shown in all it's glory did little to raise his spirits, but it didn't stop him from immediately heading towards the rings.

Bruce watched the screen in front of him, cowl down and chin resting on his clenched hands. He had arrived back from a rather peaceful patrol to receive a request from Alfred to turn on the security footage from his childhood acrobatic room. One could say he was rather surprised to see his latest guest to be using the equipment with practiced ease.

He had known that Whisper was agile, but he didn't know that he was this skilled. Bruce watched with baited breath as the teen flipped off the rings onto the balance post. His foot slipped, and Whisper caught himself with a back bend but his back still crashed into the wall. Suddenly, Whisper spun on his heel and punched the wall, leaving a small crater where his fist had been.

Bruce turned to Alfred, a request fresh on his lips.

Whisper caught the rings with his hands once again and poised with his lower frame suspended above him. Slowly, he lowered his nether body and mumbled out a barely audible, "Just an assassin," before flipping once more. Whisper angled his body so that he would land on the balance post, but his aim was off and he tripped, sending him falling towards the floor. Letting his instinct take over, he twisted his body and shot right into a back handspring, but still rammed his back into the wall. He barely registered his actions, too caught up in his thoughts to perceive what was around him.

Whisper was never supposed to make friends, heck, he wasn't even supposed to escape and become a part of the real world. He had been sculpted to be a killer, not a hero. His life had been decided for him. He was the best of the Talons, rivaled only by one: his former mentor, but that didn't matter. He didn't matter, he wasn't a boy who had to deal with post-traumatic he was a biological creature made for programming.

He was 'just and assassin'.

He didn't want to be that, he didn't want to do that, he wanted to be his own person, he wanted to be something his parents would be proud of.

Not 'just an assassin'.

CRACK.

Whisper blinked guiltily at the newly-made depression in the wall, let out a deep breath, and walked over to one of the many benches along the wall. He rested his head in his hands, feeling the sweat dripping through his bangs.

After a few moments, the door creaked open, and the teen's head jerked up. He was definitely surprised to see Alfred's composed face at this hour, but was even more shocked at Alfred's next statement.

"Master Bruce would like to see you."

Whisper nodded and rose, following the butler to the back of the mansion. He realized soon enough that he was being led to the back door, and when he walked out into the backyard, he only just managed to catch the basketball thrown at him. Whisper knew what basketball was, he had played with his dad back at the circus, but he'd never played it at 3:30 in the morning. "What's this?"

The teen detected the slightest smirk on Bruce's face, but expected the beat-around-the-bush approach that was sure to come. "Training exercise. Hand-eye coordination."

Whisper was sent back to his past games with his father and he fell into the familiar pattern. "One on one?"

"If you think you can handle it." The reply sounded so much like something his father would say, he couldn't help the small grin that appeared.

Not replying, he sent the ball hurtling back towards Bruce.

Even though he could never escape his past completely, he could always pretend it wasn't there.

AN: Finally! It took me forever to get this done! And don't even get me started on how Doc Manager erased part of my work at one point. *Sigh*. But it's done! Read and Review!

-GSDLover