{the salvaged kitten}

-The flesh is ashes, the soul is flame-

He'd awoken in a strange burst of pain, as if the world had gone pure white and numb for a split second after his laughter died on his lips, and then he'd awoken to the acrid taste of blood and smoke in his mouth. His throat was dry and raw from laughing and screaming, and his eyelids felt crusted over, sticky and heavy from tears and sleep. He was floating for a moment in a pool of icy water, and then he awoke to blazing pain. For a moment, he breathed and breathed and sucked in smoky air, blood trickling down his throat.

The sight of the assassin that had injured him earlier in the day was about as shocking as any other twist in his life. As in, not quite so much as it should have been. In truth, Tim was not easily surprised anymore. He was rather confused, and slightly irritated. And in pain. His chest was aching so badly that when he was pushed onto his back by a small redheaded child, he could do nothing but oblige because there was a rattling in his chest like ricocheting bullets, and his skin felt as though it was aflame.

"Sorry we don't have anything for you to drink," a small girl said, poking her head out from behind the assassin. Her face was round, and her skin was dark, and she had eyes that glittered like coals in the firelight. The assassin was maskless, and as Tim stared at him, he realized with horror that he was young. His face was very skinny, and his eyes seemed to be sad blue bruises inside the hollows of his head. His jawline was very sharp, distinct, as were the rest of his features. He had the face of a boy who had grown into a man in darkness, and so barely grew at all. And now that Tim looked, he looked vaguely familiar.

"It's okay," Tim said to the little girl. "I'm just glad to be alive right now. Do… do any of you have a phone?"

"Yeah?" A blonde girl pushed the littler girl aside, and she folded her arms across her chest. "Who are you going to call? Because we don't play nice with the police."

"Actually, we do," the younger girl said, smiling at Tim apologetically. "Artemis here, though, she has a record."

"One night in juvie for assault," the blonde spat, looking aggravated. "And trust me, if you knew the guy, you'd have shoved him in a trashcan too."

"Does anything please you?" asked a small boy, the smallest child besides the dark skinned girl. Tim looked at him, and his eyes widened. His hair was short, but it still fell across his forehead in fluffy white wisps. His mind sent him back to the very strange encounter with Stephanie earlier, and how she was looking for a boy assassin called Ghost.

"I do, in fact, have a soft spot for watching douchebags roll down hills while trapped inside a garbage can," Artemis said. She was staring at Tim, but there was obvious hostility directed toward the white haired child. "It's really therapeutic, I should show you sometime."

The boy gave a soft scoff. "If you think you can take me in a fight, you are deluding yourself."

"Sorry," the younger girl whispered, sitting on the arm of the couch. "They've only known each other for like twenty four hours, and to be honest I think this could go on forever."

"What… is going on exactly?" Tim asked weakly as the assassin pinned his bandages and stood up straight. "I mean, you guys are kids. Well, most of you." Tim gave the assassin a level glare, and the man simply looked away. There was a hint of shame glowing in his sad eyes. It made Tim feel guilty, and he thought about Stephanie. So many assassins, he thought, running his hands through his hair and wincing in pain. His bandages went taut, and he took a deep breath, trying to level his breathing.

"Welcome to the Rabbit Hole," the assassin said quietly, his head bowed. "I'm… sorry. This isn't how I expected things to turn out, and…" He looked around, and Tim stared at him, puzzled by his actions. "I'm not sure how any of this will turn out, to be honest."

"I'm Nell," the littlest child chirped, offering out her hand. "That's Artemis, and over there, the guy who stitched you up? That's Colin. Or, Abuse. He goes by that on the street sometimes. We mostly call him Colin though. That's Ghost over there, but his real name is—"

"None of your business," Ghost snapped. The child was wearing sunglasses, which struck Tim as odd, but he didn't care all that much.

"Ghost," Tim repeated. Stephanie needs this boy to stay alive, Tim thought, staring at the child. He tried to kill Jason. So did the assassin. But they're helping me. They saved my life. What the hell is going on? "You tried to kill Jason. And another friend of mine. God, please tell me everyone here isn't an assassin."

"Me and Colin aren't?" Nell offered, still smiling her sweet, innocent smile. Tim looked to Artemis, who was glaring at Nell fervently.

"You know, at the rate you're telling everyone," Artemis said through gritted teeth. "I might as well just wear a tee shirt that says, property of League of Shadows!"

"Well," Ghost said, folding his arms across his chest. "Not yet."

"Not yet what?" Artemis asked, rounding on the tiny boy, her eyes flashing.

Tim watched curiously as the boy remained unfazed. "You're not property of the League of Shadows," Ghost said, his tiny shoulders rising and falling. "Not yet."

"And what about you?" Tim asked, looking up at the assassin who was responsible for the still very, very painful gash on Tim's shoulder. "Are you a Shadows guy too? Sent to drag Ghost back?"

"I'm not part of the League of Shadows," the assassin said.

"Drag me back." Ghost's attention was stuck on Tim, and there was a strange sensation creeping up Tim's spine. "Drag me back where? Who are you?"

"Can I please make a phone call?" Tim asked, directing his attention to Artemis, struggling to pull his suit back up onto his shoulders. It had been unzipped to below his navel, and it was barely hugging his hipbones. Artemis studied him warily, and Tim bit his lip. "Please? I need to call my mom, okay?"

"You mean Catwoman?" Artemis asked, folding her arms across her chest. Tim didn't answer, and she gave a short snort. "Yeah, your costume isn't exactly unrecognizable, bud. But, It's been a weird week, so I really don't care anymore who the hell stumbles in here."

"God, who are you people?" Tim found himself exasperated and wondering. What if this turned out horribly, and he was in a worse situation now than he'd been when he'd fought the Joker? And admittedly failed horribly… Shit, he thought, his eyes widening. Bart, I forgot about Bart.

"We just saved your worthless life," Ghost said, his voice lowering darkly. "I am beginning to question why."

"Well, thanks?" Tim took a deep breath, trying desperately to calm his nerves. "I need to call my mom, though, she's going to think something horrible happened to me."

"Something horrible did happen to you," the assassin said, blinking at Tim's face with a strange expression. His eyes sparkled with a sprinkle of childlike innocence, as if he was surprised that anyone was speaking to him, and he wanted to bask in it. Tim felt suddenly awful for hating him so much.

"Yeah, well." Tim zipped up his suit, wincing a bit at the pain that spiked through his chest. "It could have been way worse. Um…" He struggled to get the right words, and he felt awkward and confused. "Thank you, though. Really. I don't even want to imagine what could have happened to me out there."

"Undoubtedly something grotesque," Ghost said.

He sat in thought, trying to understand his situations. Four children, one adult, three assassins, two… civilians? None of it made sense. And yet, it was the apparent situation. Tim was growing increasingly puzzled by the fact that this stuff was happening. It was fascinating and strange and bewildering. Also, slightly terrifying. Why assassins? Why are there so many damn assassins in this city right now?

"So…" Tim rubbed his neck, his teeth gritting in pain as he felt the loosened skin. He'd torn at his throat when the Joker had gotten him with laughing gas, and now that he looked, his silver claws were crusted with dried blood. "You guys tried to kill Jason." He looked between the assassin and Ghost, and he rubbed his chest out of irritation. "Why exactly is that? You know, if you don't mind my asking?"

"That is our business," Ghost said, raising his chin high. "What you should be concerned about—"

A dog began to bark, and Tim struggled to push himself to his feet. He stared at the dog for a long moment, and then he gave a short, disbelieving laugh. "Titus?" he gasped, hobbling forward to get to the beast of a Great Dane. He felt the assassin grasp his arm and steady him, and Tim gave him a long, pensive stare before he turned back to the barking dog.

Colin bolted up straight, his pale face glowing in the firelight. "Titus," Colin said, his eyes wide. "Dog's name is Titus?"

"Um, the better question is," Nell said dubiously, "you know him? Are you his owner? Why do you let him out so late, it's really not good for him, he might get sick!"

"Nell, priorities," Artemis sighed.

"Titus, what are you doing here?" Tim asked, ignoring the children. In truth, he wouldn't have recognized the dog if not for the collar, which had been something Selina had given Bruce when he'd taken in the dog. Tim had seen the dog around, and taken him for walks while Selina and Bruce did their… thing. And Tim blinked as the dog barely acknowledged his presence, and instead kept barking vigorously. That gave Tim a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Dog… is yours?" Ghost asked, sounding very small.

"No, no," Tim said, shaking his head, gripping the assassin's shoulder and wincing a little as he shifted his weight. "Not mine. Uh, I used to watch him sometimes. For Bruce Wayne."

The little boy seemed shocked into silence, and Tim glanced at him as Titus continued to bark wildly. Tim felt the assassin holding him go tense, and he blinked at the child, wondering what on earth he could be thinking. Bruce Wayne, Tim thought. That's got your attention. Ghost opened his mouth to speak, but the door burst open, and the force of chilly wind blew Tim stumbling backwards.

There was a shocking blur of red as the kids in the room shrieked, and Ghost unsheathed a katana at his hip, his head snapping from side to side trying to follow the blur. Tim blinked rapidly as the assassin was knocked completely out from beneath Tim's fingers, his body slamming into the opposite wall as the blur skidded to a stop beside Tim.

"Don't touch the cat, buddy," Flash said, jerking a finger at the injured assassin. The man laid limply on the floor for a moment, the dent he left in the wall sending a jagged crack slithering up the wall. Tim stared at it, and looked up at the ceiling. There was a gaping hole just above the fire pit to let the smoke and fumes out. It looked incredibly dangerous, with the floorboards from upstairs jutting out of the chasm.

"That's the Flash," Nell whispered, her dark eyes growing so big and awed, and her mouth agape in shock, she looked rather like a fish. Then she grabbed Artemis's arm, and she shook the girl excitedly. "That's the Flash, like the real Flash! This is so cool!"

"Um, he just knocked Talon into the wall," Artemis said, sliding her hand away with plain disgust scrunching up her features. "Not so cool."

It was then that Tim, as he struggled to the couch, noticed Ghost. The small boy had engaged the Flash in a fight, and… was holding his own remarkably well. For a half-pint with a sword against the fastest man alive. Tim could still hear Wally laughing though, as he zipped between the boy's blurring blade strokes. Tim leaned against the couch, watching with a prickle of curiosity as he watched the small boy try and try and try to land a blow, his tiny body jerking fast and lunging and swerving, barely missing flames. Tim swore aloud as he saw the long white robe the boy wore beneath his tunic catch flame, and Nell gave a little shriek.

"Ghost! The fire, it—"

The assassin had gotten there first, appearing behind the boy and grabbing him by the shoulders to settle him down before stomping out the flames. Ghost craned his neck up at the assassin, and gave a curt nod, before shrugging him off and going back to vainly slashing at the Flash. Tirelessly. The kid had a lot of stamina, Tim would give him that much.

"Yeow," the Flash said, dodging swipes easily. "You still awake? Dang, I thought I put more juice in that slam. Oh well." He ducked a blow from Ghost's blade, and Tim watched in complete awe as the boy landed a hit. The Flash didn't seem fazed, as it was only a graze to his back, and the boy had obviously been aiming somewhere else, but damn. The kid was more impressive than Tim initially gave him credit for.

"Okay, not nice!" Flash wrenched the sword away from the child, and in that brief moment of pause the boy elbowed him in the stomach. "Ack! Didn't your mother ever teach you not to play with sharp things?"

The boy gave a noiseless cry of rage, kicking at air as the Flash zipped away, and a dark figure loomed in the doorway. Tim stared, and he saw a pair of luminous green eyes glowing in the darkness. Tim listened as Titus began to bark again, and then he began to snarl, his body coiling in tension. Tim felt dizzy with all the movement as Starfire flew into the room, flinging starbolts at the assassin, who had been moving in sync with Ghost to try and slow the Flash down.

"Don't!" Tim gasped, watching the assassin fly across the room, his back crashing against the opposite wall, and the resounding crack that echoed through the room was spine tingling. Tim watched in horror as the crack in the wall that had precariously crept up to the ceiling spiderwebbed across the face of it, and he listened to the floorboards above them creak as cement and paneling gave way.

He immediately looked to the kids, who were all huddled up on the couch together, looking rather terrified. "Move!" Tim gasped, reaching for them as the ceiling above crumbled and fell.

The couch had been pushed away in the last moment, and Tim was slammed onto his back by the force of the ceiling caving. It was only the area around the hole, but even still the crumbling wood ignited the dimming fire, and Tim blinked away stars as he watched the flames creep upward and upward, crawling away from the pit and around the splintered boards littering the ground. The kids were all stumbling to their feet, the couch laying on its back, and Tim felt someone pull him to his feet.

"Starfire, those kids—!" Tim gasped.

"Yes, I understand," she said softly. "But you are first."

"Forget about me!" Tim fought at her, stumbling back and clutching his chest. "Get the kids! I'll be fine!"

Tim heard the sound of struggling, and he saw the assassin pinned under a slab of debris. He was slipping out from under it, but the fire was creeping closer, and Tim coughed and blinked through the smoke and flames. "Flash!" Tim called. The man was still fighting Ghost, who just would not give up. When they both turned, and Ghost saw the assassin pinned down, a roaring fire drawing closer, he looked frozen in place.

"Grayson…?" Tim heard the boy utter in shock. He was scooped into Starfire's iron grip while in his frozen state, and Tim watched him struggle and shriek as he was flown out of the building, disappearing from sight.

"Alright," Flash said, the assassin— Grayson?— half-slung over his shoulder. "Let's get the hell out of here."

The flames were roaring, and Tim looked around, feeling the devastation creeping in as the fire swallowed up the ceiling, and Tim was dragged backwards by Starfire, who was talking to him, but the snarl of fire crackling and hissing was too loud for him to hear. He held onto her weakly as he was dragged from the burning building, stumbling into the snow and coughing and rasping, the whip of wind and ice slamming into him as his body racked. He was dizzy and sickened, clutching Starfire's hands as he tried to pull himself to his feet.

"Wait…" Flash said, cuffing Grayson, who stood in a sad sort of silence. He was staring at the empty alley with a strange sorrow. "We did not just misplace four kids."


Well, that's it for the Rabbit Hole! Which sucks, because that was the go to place for chats and things. SIGHS WISTFULLY.

Oh, and Dick got caught. Gr8 job, Dick.

Victor Hugo rolls in his grave even now at the bullshit that I'm using his quotes for.