3. Welcome to Bartertown

"You're gonna need my help to find the twerp, Jaybird."

"No, I won't. It'll be easier for me to travel alone anyway," Jason said, brushing his hand over the top of his helmet, which he had set down at the work station. They were back in Nightwing's safe house now, which was empty though there were signs of the youngest Wayne having been there recently.

"I want to help, Jason. You're not the only person who was close with Dick."

Jason glanced over at him with a frown as he turned the computer on. Heroes like Roy had bull's eyes painted on their chests. Jason was sure that one had been placed on his back, too, but it wasn't quite as fluorescent for him. There were still criminal circles he could blend into easily if he had to. Hardly anyone was aware that his alignment had taken on a slightly lighter shade of gray in recent months. He supposed working out of the country had its benefits.

"Close," Jason snickered. "The closest I've been to him recently was when Joker was thinking about trying all our faces on for size."* Those who had been taken in by Bruce could grow as distant as they wanted; because there was always a villain out there who seemed to want to take them out as one neat and tidy package.

Right now, though, that family was awfully small. Bruce was 'dead.' Tim was missing, along with the rest of his entirely new team, after they had taken a full-frontal approach with the Crime Syndicate. (No one had made the same mistake since.) Babs was still around, and now Damian. Maybe they weren't too bad off, after all. They weren't alone, either.

"You know what I mean, Jason," Roy said, interrupting Jason's coagulated thoughts. "I want to-"

"I know. And you will. We're going to need backup, Roy," Jason said, looking his friend in the eye. "We're going to need your old team."

After retiring from the Titans, Wally West had gone on to college so that was the first place Roy decided to check. About six hours out from Gotham, Roy headed to MIT by car. A plane would have been nice, but they weren't exactly at ready disposal, and Roy had never been trusted with the yoke to begin with.

It made for a long drive.

The roadways were still open, though they were frighteningly deserted. The Crime Syndicate had announced that business should go on as usual, and Roy imagined some parts of the country were. The east coast, on the other hand, seemed largely shut down. Afraid for their lives, citizens didn't go to work. And where their businesses stood empty, criminals took up the slots like weeds.

Adjusting his baseball cap, Roy slowed the vehicle down. He was on the highway and approaching what had been a toll at one point. It now looked more like a blockade. Roy frowned. This was not a situation he wanted to go into. If the odds were in his favor, it was just the police. But usually the odds were not, so Roy brought the car to a crawl before turning it around. He was still too far away to draw much attention, so he found the nearest off-ramp and took it.

Navigating Boston was convoluted, but Roy found the college just as the sun setting. His shadow was cast long in front of him, seeming to emphasize the emptiness of the campus. It looked like many of the students had taken off; the whole place resembled a ghost town.

Removing a piece of folded paper from his pocket, Roy glanced at the directions that had been scribbled down, via Barbara. It was a dorm name and room number, as well as his last known phone number. It was to be used only in a last ditch effort. Barbara had confirmed that Grid had become the latest version of the NSA and was monitoring calls. With the Justice League's satellites still in orbit but only being used against them, Oracle had grounded all communication on systems not 100% in their control already.

Roy found the building without much issue. Hoisting his backpack (which contained most of the tools of his trade without making him look suspicious), Roy hiked up to the fifth floor and stopped in front of room 513. He knocked several times, but when there was no answer he tried the handle. Locked, of course. Sliding a lockpick from his pocket he set to work.

"What are you doing?"

Roy straightened quickly and looked to the left, to find a girl standing several paces away. He slid the pick up his sleeve to hide it and turned towards her.

"I'm- uh. Looking for a friend. Wally West?"

"He's not in there," the girl said, adjusting her hold on the stack of books she had. Roy had the distinct impression that she had collected them from a library without checking them out, as she shuffled them around and tried to hide them under her coat. If only the world's worst criminals were book thieves.

"Do you know where he is?" Roy asked, hoping the answer wasn't a solid no.

"Probably in the labs," She replied instead, and Roy looked relieved.

"Thanks." He turned away to head down the hall, but paused after a few steps and turned back around. The girl looked at him with an expectantly raised eyebrow.

"Top floors of Building 37 over on Vassar."

Roy gave a tight smile and offered her a nod, before heading off. He paused in the vestibule to grab a map of the campus; this would have gone so much faster if Wally was the one looking for him, not vice versa.

When Roy found the labs, they largely appeared dark from the outside. He slipped inside to complete silence, and took the stairs up. Each floor was as deserted as the next, and Roy was beginning to think that the girl had sent him on a wild goose chase when he saw the first sign of life.

A small trashcan was overflowing with candy wrappers outside of a doorway. Peering into the rectangular window in the door, Roy saw a figure hunched over a desk that was also the only light source in the room. It looked like a tornado had gone through- papers, graphs, and diagrams plastering the room.

"Wally?" Roy said, upon entering the room. The man remained stooped over the table, his hands occasionally flying towards an open book or binder with blinding speed. Roy moved closer.

"Wally. WALLY. Wow, man, gotta work on that spatial awareness thing."

The hunched man jumped and turned around, looking shocked.

"Roy?Whatareyoudoingherehowlonghave-" Roy held up his hands, and Wally innately slowed his speech. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you. What are you doing?" He asked, walking over to the table. Papers were scattered everywhere, and all of them were covered in both mathematical and scientific equations that Roy had no business even trying to decipher.

"What's it look like?" Wally asked, waving his hand with such a flourish that several papers shifted as if a window was open.

"...Something important?" Roy ventured, raising a brow. Wally grunted and turned back around, picking up his pencil. Roy moved to the side to get a better look at the spread without getting in the way of his former teammate.

"I came here looking for you. We need your help, Wally," he finally said, when Wally seemed unforthcoming about his project.

"Dick," Wally said, without looking up, though his furious pen scribbles paused. "I know. I saw it. Everybody saw it," he said, reaching over for a book and dragging it closer to him. Roy waited for him to expand, but the speedster seemed to become consumed once more in his work.

"Dude."

"I'm workingonit, Roy," Wally snapped, lifting his face. It had been a long time since Roy had seen him, but he looked years older. There were bags under his bloodshot eyes. The green irises stood out sharply.

"When's the last time you had something to eat?" Roy asked, and Wally waved an impatient hand towards the corner of the room. Glancing over, Roy spotted what looked like an entire vending machine's worth of wrappers. Knowing the speedster, though, he could have gone through that in a matter of minutes. It was far from the healthy fuel he was required to burn in order to keep functioning properly.

"So… what is this all, exactly?"

Wally's shoulders tensed like he was going to snap again, but instead he let out a sigh and slumped downward.

"I'm trying to find the Justice League," he said, resting his elbows on the table and lifting his head to look at Roy. The archer looked surprised, and Wally cut him off before he could even ask. "I know what the Syndicate said, but I don't believe they're dead. I got a strange transmission from Barry not long before everything happened. It was garbled, I thought it was just a butt-dial. Belt-dial. Ear-dial- whatever. I ignored it until… well." Wally waved his hand noncommittally, and Roy knew what he was talking about. Until the Crime Syndicate had declared them all dead.

Wally sat down, reaching up to rub his hands through his hair. It stuck out in odd directions, greasy. Reaching forward he removed a piece of paper that had fluttered over a device on the table, and indicated to it. It was his old communicator, dismantled and hooked up to several other devices.

"Well that explains why we couldn't reach you via com-link," Roy said, taking a seat on a stool opposite Wally and looking at his former teammate. "If it makes you feel any better the batkids don't think they're dead either. Oracle might be working on something to find them herself. It might do you good to knock heads with her."

"Who else do you have?" Wally asked, ignoring the comment. He seemed attached to his current labspace.

"Oracle, obviously. And Jason."

"Todd?" Wally scoffed. "He's actually helping you?"

"He's not a bad guy, Wally. I've been working with him a lot lately."

"He's an asshole."

"Dick's his brother."

That shut the speedster up. Wally's gaze dropped back down to the numbers, roaming over them as if looking for faults. He kept his focus low as he spoke again.

"What about Starfire? Isn't she on your little squad now, too?"

"She's off-world," Roy sighed. Maybe it was better for her. She'd have likely tried to punch through the walls to reach Dick by now, only to be stopped by something or other.

"Red-Robin? The rest of the…" Wally trailed off as Roy shook his head.

"They attacked directly, not long after the announcement. No one has heard from them since," Roy said, his voice dropping.

Wally stared at him for a moment. "Are they…?"

"No. Barbara said that there was a fluctuation in the… I don't know, space-time continuum or something. Like when Bart first came through. She said you'd probably understand that."

"The Speed Force," Wally said, frowning, before he shook his head. Excellent. Another thing to look into. He returned his troubled gaze to Roy. "Is there anybody?"

Roy looked at him, and considered mentioning Damian. He started to open his mouth when he decided against it. The only reason he knew the little demon was back was because he hadn't been standing all that far away from Jason when the motion sensors in Nightwing's pad had lit up. The fewer who knew, it had been decided, the better.

"Pretty much everybody we've been in touch with is busy trying to defend their cities. Jay and Barb have been trying to keep Gotham afloat, but… well. It's not looking too hot, but don't tell them that. They're trying to balance a rescue plan along with keeping the city alive."

"I guess Dick wouldn't let us live it down if we let his favorite city go to shit just for him," Wally said, a hint of sour sarcasm in his voice. He sat back on the stool and spun it 180 degrees as he got up to head across the room.

"Us? So you're in?" Roy asked, standing up. Wally made no reply as he opened a cabinet and pulled out a bag of Doritos.

Roy waited for an answer, but all he heard was the crunching of corn echoing around the otherwise quiet room. He frowned. Roy knew that Dick and Wally had experienced some sort of falling out just after the Titans dissolved and everyone went their own way, though he would have thought they had made up by now.

Even if they hadn't, did it really matter?

"You've seen what we're up against. Not just the average everyday villain we get to deal with, but Evil Superman, Evil Batman, Evil Flash- Wally, we need your help," Roy said. "You know how bat-prodigies like to pretend they don't need any, but this was their idea. If that's not telling enough, then- no, you know what? I don't even know why I have to explain this to you. Your best friend is being held by a bunch of twisted fucks who would sooner toss him out to the dogs than to-"

"You don't think I know that?" Wally snapped. Roy abruptly started to walk towards him as the speedster began to rant. "Do you even know if he's alive? Doyouevenknowhereheis? Doyou even have a plantostoptheSyndicate?"

"When has that stopped us before? This is Dick we're talking about here," Roy said, stopping a pace away from Wally. He could see the speedster's face now, though nearly regretted it. Wally looked completely torn. Green eyes were pained; his fist had crushed his snack-pack sized bag of doritos into dust.

"We're gonna need the League to stop them, Roy," Wally sighed, leaning back against the counter. He looked down at his bag of chips forlorn, and tossed them onto the counter as he reached up to rub his temples. "It's the only way I can think to help."

There was silence as the two former teammates considered each other, then a shuffling as Roy reached into his backpack. He held a communicator out to Wally, who took it and turned it over in his palm. He smoothed his thumb over the symbol carved into the surface.

"Bat-tech?" He asked, and Roy nodded.

"Grid can't track it. We're not using cells for a reason," he said. Wally nodded again, and slid it into his pocket.

"Where are you going now?"

"Anywhere I think I can find some backup," Roy said. He paused a moment, looking at Wally. "When the time comes…. will you come if we call?" He asked, meeting Wally's eyes. The speedster returned his gaze, and this time Roy saw the fire he was accustomed to.

"In a heartbeat. And I'll try to bring the cavalry with me."

"He's not here either," Jason grumbled into his com link. He kicked at a pile of trash, riffling through it with his foot. Stooping down, he picked up a tiny black chip that had clearly been torn free from a costume. It was one and a half days since they had last seen Damian on the live feed. "This is pointless. The little idiot is smart enough to have ditched the tracers, he's just going to send us on a wild goose chase through the city."

"Try to contain your excitement over the fact that Damian is, in fact, alive," Barbara's voice crackled over the link.

"Yeah, for now. Idiot's gonna go get himself killed." Jason rolled his eyes, his shoulders hunching forward. It had startled to drizzle, because what else could make this day even better?

"He downloaded all the info we had on the case," Barbara said. Her voice was diplomatic. It sounded that way whenever she was referring to Dick's 'case.' It was very Batman, Jason thought, and very annoying. "He's going to try and get in himself."

"So, let him. We've got enough to deal with out here," Jason said, irritable.

"Jason." God, she sounded so condescending even over a voice-link.

"Yeah yeah yeah, whatever. Call me if you find anything. I'll do some scouting. Hood out," Jason said, reaching up to turn the link off before Barbara could berate him.

Jason had a few ideas of his own where Damian might be going. Out of all the members of their sad, extended little family, they thought the most alike. And now they had one giant green puddle in common, too.

Jason wasn't too thrilled.

Damian had been pig-headed beforehand. He'd already been a killer, an assassin. It had taken a long time to coax anything good out of him, and now? There was a good chance that it had all been wiped away.

Then why is he back? Could it really be because of the predicament Golden-boy had gotten himself into? Jason tried (poorly) to withhold judgment as he traversed the city on foot and avoided drawing attention to himself.

He ended up down by the docks, overlooking the bay where several miles away the Watchtower had crashed. Murphy's law was the law in Gotham, so of of course it had fallen here, instead of some place wild and abandoned.

A good portion of this part of the city was flooded, thanks to the stunt that Ultraman had pulled with the moon. Where rooftops were usually the playground of the vigilantes and their antagonists, they were now like little island hubs of activities. Namely, an illicit marketplace. Planks had been passed through windows and over rooftops to form makeshift pathways.

Jason passed under a sign dubbing the place 'Bartertown.'

You had to hand it to the underbelly of the city; like cockroaches they emerged from the cracks to take advantage of the worst situations. They certainly were quicker than the Government was in setting up things. FEMA trucks had yet to even arrive. Jason could only wonder what kind of truce the United States congress had made with the Syndicate.

Wearing his civvies (jeans, leather jacket, and a hat), Jason's gruff exterior blended in flawlessly. He'd been here on several occasions already as it was. Anything could be found if you knew where to look. Weapons, booze, girls. Information.

"Heya Peter. What kind of day is it, whiskey or hooch?" A man asked as Jason took a seat at the end of a bar. It was made up of several doors; the benches were crates turned on their end.

"Both," Jason muttered, leaning one elbow against the edge of the table. "Got any of that White Lightin' left?"

"Fresh out, sorry. I'll get you the cleanest we got, though," The man replied, and Jason nodded. He was slid a glass of clear liquid in a less-than-clear glass moments later, and Jason handed over a few bills. He swirled the moonshine around in the glass for a moment, looking down at it. What he wouldn't give to slop it all down. He raised it to the bartender in thanks before bringing it to his lips, though he ingested only enough to get a taste.

He was here on business. Damnit, Damian was going to owe him one when this was over.

"How's business?"

"We had a few more 'visitors' than I would enjoy. Big boss types trying to lay a tax down on us," the bartender, who Jason knew only as Kenny, said. "But we take care of our own here. McCaul got shot in the leg."

"Fuck, man," Jason said, faking empathy as Kenny nodded solemnly. "Anything else exciting going down?" As one of the first stops at the entry into Bartertown, Kenny saw a good portion of those who passed through.

"Some Rev started up a chapel over on top of Firehouse 32, it got surprisin'ly busy," Kenny chuckled.

"Right next to the Brothel. Prime location," Jason chuckled as he again lifted the dirty cup to his lips.

Jason continued to prompt the barkeep about the goings on in the shantytown, listening to far more stories than he was interested in. He was about to give up and toss the excess moonshine over the edge of the building when Kenny said something of note.

"...Redhorn was in here earlier. Said some kid was over in his shop, trying to buy a gun."

"A gun, really," Jason said, sitting up slightly. Could it be Damian? It wasn't rare to see kids younger than they should be in this place, so all bets were off. Jason tried to think if the demon-spawn had ever used one before. Maybe the Pit had deminished Bruce's plague against them in his mind. Jason's hand slid impulsively towards his own, where it was strapped toward to his hip.

"Yeah," Kenny was saying. "Guess kids haveta protect themselves these days, too."

"Did he let him buy it?"

"Pff, no. Probably woulda, had the kid enough money. Get this, though. He had one of them sticks- num-chucks or somethin?- with the Nightwing symbol on them. Redhorn suggested a trade. Woulda given him several pistols for it. Kid got real mad and almost broke Redhorn's nose."

Damian. There was no doubt about it, now. What was he thinking? So much for laying low. Jason tried not to let his scowl show as Kenny moved onto a new story. At least no one was smart enough to link a short black-haired kid carrying Nightwing gear around to his former alias.

"... Speakin' of, anyway, you want in on this week's vote?" Kenny asked, indicating to a chalkboard behind him. The Crime Syndicate was a popular discussion at Bartertown, understandably. As was Nightwing and Dick Grayson, since a good majority of people who ran the shops here had good reason to hate him. The tally on the board was a good count of how many there were. There were bets not only when he would die, but how he would go, too. Jason's eyes lingered over the marks.

"Not today, Kenny," he said, and took a deep swig from his glass. The barkeep shrugged and turned away to tend to another customer, and Jason tossed the rest of the drink away before he stood. He left a few bucks on the counter as a tip (Kenny waved his appreciation) and headed away.

He had an angry kid to find.

A/N: Anyone else mad that they pushed the final FE-related issues back to MAY? Originally it was meant to come out this week. Have a fanchapter instead. :P I hope you enjoyed. We'll get back to Damian next chapter.

Thanks for reviews and favs!

Notes:

*Jason was referring to events that took place in the Death of the Family arc in New52