I still remember the very moment we met. How that tiny breathing bundle fit into my arms—fragile as glass and just as solid, just as real. It'd been some years before something so small and delicate could fill this old heart with such a terrible delight. Delight for everything you were—terrible for everything I was not.

It occurred to me then that these precious seconds rightfully belonged to someone else. You would have wrapped Thomas around your tiny finger in a heartbeat. And Martha? No contest. You would've melted the poor woman. Just a look and they would've fallen in love with you instantly.

Don't ask this guilty person how he knows, my dear.

"Though she be but little, she is fierce." I'm sure Bailey would approve, there were few things she loved more than theatre and words. We had that in common—and now there was you. It was for her—them—the grandparents you should have had—that I'd decided that I would keep you as safe as an old lion could muster. After all, of all the secrets I've been privy to, you were my favorite.


"Shit! Alfred, I think I nicked her."

"Out of the way, Boy."

Tongue tied, Jason had no choice but to step back as Alfred shoved him aside, tossing his bindings to the floor like old rags. Just how long have you had those undone, Old Man? But the thought only fizzled into the darkness when the man reached right into his pocket—as if he there would be a blade there. "I can't tell the difference…" Jason whispered as Alfred sank to his knees next to the lifeless body.

"Really now, Master Jason." The man scoffed, tossing him a sneering face as he ripped up the girl's thick hoodie, revealing the thick corset and the sacs of blood. "It's just corn syrup, laundry soap, water and food coloring." He said, blade glinting in the low light as it ripped through the corset and syrupy red bags.

But as the body beneath him jolted, filling the empty manor with the sound of her gasp, the old butler seemed to sag with relief, netting the sticky girl in his arms as she bolted upright, huffing and wheezing as her lungs struggled to open. "Steady now, my dear. Steady." He murmured, letting a hand drop to a small pocket in his waistcoat to produce an inhaler. "Perhaps it was laced a bit too tight." But just as her shaky fingers might've plucked it from him, the old man's hands clenched, pulling the thing out of her reach. "You need to control it."

"Al, now's not the time!"

Alfred didn't make a move to release the inhaler. "It's the perfect time." He uttered, paying little mind to the girl who was panting –struggling to make herself breathe. "Jason can't help you, Madam. I can't help you." He said coolly as he rose to his feet.

"Alfred…"

The soft croak was useless, the man was already easing down the steps, but just as he might walk away, he whirled around on his heel. "No suit. No oxygen. No inhaler. Pray tell, Delilah Wayne, what will you do?" He spat. "Dear Ol' Dad won't be coming to save you. What will you do?!"

He couldn't, he couldn't just let the pipsqueak sit there and gasp for air like that. What the hell is wrong with you old man?! But as his feet began to drop down the steps aching to reach her, a sound squeaked between her wheezing huffs. "One…"

"Master Dick can't rescue you this time."

"Two…"

"Batgirl is useless. There's no mask for you to hide behind now! "

"Three…"

"What will you do?!"

"Four…"

"Master Damian is out in the open! Are you going to leave him like that?!"

"Five…" With the flat of her hand held out to him, Jason had no choice but to sag against the banister and take in the sound of her ragged breaths.

"You know what need to do."

"Six."

"Don't you?"

"Seven."

"All your life they've been saving you." Alfred hissed, his sharp steps closing the gap between him and the stairs. "Now they can't."

"Eight."

"It's time to save yourself, Delilah." He whispered, shadow lording over her once more.

"Nine."

"So, Girl, what will it be? What will you do?"

"Ten."

With nothing but the slithering hiss of her full lungs, Del held the man's gaze as her fingers curled into the railing. "Get back up." She rasped at last, staggering to pull her weight off the floor. It earned nothing more than a nod.

"Very well, Madam." He murmured, uncurling his fingers from the inhaler. "Shall we move onto the next act?"

"It worked…right?" Letting Alfred pull her arm around his bony shoulders as they rose together on the stairs, the tattered corset and punctured bags of fake blood falling out of her hoodie to her feet. "Damian…we should've told him-"

"No. You needed his reaction to sell the performance. He'll understand." Alfred uttered, paying no mind to the puddle squishing beneath his shoes as he helped the girl down the steps. "Maybe."

With that the old butler looked over his shoulder at the man who was standing motionless, staring into dark stains on the runner. "Best watch your back until then, Master Jason."

"Yeah or the kid might stick a knife in me," Jason grumbled, turning to follow after them. "So Al…how did you know to do all this?"

"Once upon a time, a young butler almost handed a wealthy family his two-week notice so he could answer the siren song of the theatre."

"What stopped you?"

But the man said nothing as he let Delilah slide into an empty kitchen stool. "Alright, why don't we make sure Master Jason didn't get carried away?"


"Not hungry, Madam?"

You looked so small—a ball of rail thin arms and legs with bent joints. Had it not been for the stark gray shirt that was swallowing you whole, one might mistake you for a ghost. You were so still, so quiet—that when your head looked away from the window—my muscles jolted.

You weren't the first grieving child I'd ever beheld, but watching you simply shake your head and ball yourself tighter into the corner, I was at a loss. Another cold plate of untouched food. You couldn't continue on like this for long.

"You must eat something. You'll make yourself sick." In truth—I think you were already there. God only knows how much weight you lost. And the more I looked at the puffy red skin under your eyes, the more I ached. I expected you to go through a bit of shock—the way a sapling might when uprooted and replanted elsewhere—but this?

I resigned myself to a sigh and turned away to carry off the untouched tray just as the sound of rain began to tap on the windows. I thought nothing of it or the stark flash of light that danced across the room. Not until the boom rumbled after it. I'd never heard such a peculiar sound come out of a child before. In my haste to twist about, the tray spilled to the floor just as you scurried beneath your father's bed. "Madam?" But the word stuck there as the room filled with that thunderous noise, summoning me to the bedside at once.

"It's okay…it'll be okay…"

The choking wet words all but had this old man easing to the floor as if the realization was weighing me down. Master Bruce had his bouts with PTSD. And you—you with your little hands over your ears—were no different. "Madam, why don't you come out of there?" Of course, the way you shook and jolted with every rumble, I knew it was useless. I doubt you even missed me when I left the room or heard me when I returned. But oh, that look on your face when I peeled your hands from your ears. I had to act quickly or else that quivering lip would drop. "Why don't we try this?"

The bulbous headphones made your head look that much smaller, but the whimpering had turned to mere sniffles. I made no move to remove you from your hiding spot. After all, you had spent more time in the master bedroom those last few weeks than your father had during your entire existence. I doubt he minded much at all.

He would've given you anything…even his last clean t-shirt. It was a change. Something I don't think he'd even noticed. And between you and me, I wasn't about to tell him. I didn't want to spook the man.

Somewhere in the middle of cleaning up the porridge, I realized you'd hardly made a peep. I'd imagined you'd fallen asleep right there under the bed. I remember wondering just how I was going to get you out but as I carried my supplies back to the light of the hall, that soft pleading voice stalled me at the door.

"Thank you..."

"You are most welcome, Madam." I doubt you heard me any more than the sound of a woman's laugh echoing downstairs. but I pulled the door to anyway. You didn't need to see her any more than she needed to know about you. Not that that one lasted very long—he was far from ready, but there were appearances to keep I'm afraid.

The second the front door closed behind the blonde woman and her umbrella, Master Bruce all but fell against it shedding the act like a weight. "Too soon perhaps, Master Bruce?" The question only earned me a sharp jerk of the head and sour look. If he thought that worked on me, I had news for him. "You keep this up and one of them will discover the secret under your bed."

"Under my bed? Why—" But as the lightning cracked casting his shadow across the foyer floor, he wiped his hand over his mouth. He had his answer. Instead, he let his eyes fall to the dishes. "Still not eating?"

"Afraid not. Little girls can't live in t-shirts and survive on animal crackers alone, Sir." I said gently, making the pacing man pause at the foot of the stairs.

"Whatever she needs-I don't care."

"Perhaps it would do the child some good to have her own space—to fill it with things she's familiar with." He stopped dead. We both knew what that meant. It meant going to that house. "I'll go. I'll pack her things myself."

"Alfred, I can't ask you to do that."

"Someone has to, Master Bruce. We can't put it off forever." I said, certain the man was following me even if I couldn't hear him. "Where shall I put her things?"

"The East wing."

"Yes, but where-"

"Just give her the whole damn thing!" The man snapped, throwing his hands in the air as if to admit defeat to a foe I couldn't see. "What do I care?!"

To be frank, this place was nothing more than a shrine—too empty and quiet for one man to fill—but too valuable as a reminder to ever let it go. I wonder when he realized that the world beneath the manor was more his home than what was built above it? He hadn't a reason to make it home.

Until now.

"You're going to Mommy's house?"

One simple question and the pair of us were still as stone, gawking at the boney girl who was peeking so carefully around the door frame, hair wild, eyes red and those bulging headphones hanging around her neck.

"Can I go?" You peeped, hobbling from the safety of the shadows. You may have grabbed your father's pant leg to keep your balance, but those big eyes were squarely on me.

"Well, Madam-"

"I'll eat whatever you want me to. Okay? I promise. I'll be good." I don't know if it was the desperation in your voice that had the tile digging into my old knees or if it was the way your gaze dropped to the floor. "I promise. I just wanna go." You could've sucker punched me, it would've been easier. My mouth was going dry at the lack of words. I was still searching for the right thing to say when the man you left standing at your back spoke, surprising us both.

"Del," He said, sliding onto his haunches right there in the threshold. "Mommy isn't going to be there." I know the words weren't easy to say. And the way you recoiled from him…

"I-I know. But it's Mommy's house. It's my house."

"Hey, Boss? You might wanna see this. Er—you're busy, my bad."

I could've strangled that boy.

"Just her bedroom, Alfred. We'll let her decide what to do with the rest when she's ready." Master Bruce uttered as he rose. I could see his hand stretching, like he might reach out to you—but then it just fell limp at his side. Without another word he twisted about and wandered out of sight.

It's not that your father didn't love you. He just seemed to lose those he cherished most.

Fear makes us fools.


I had my reservations. Just weeks ago there had been blood on these walls and glass on the floor. It didn't matter that the carpet had been ripped up and the walls scrubbed and repainted. I couldn't get the sight out of my head. And I still had to get the boxes out of the car—which meant I had to let go. I had to leave you alone in this place. Alone with your memories.

"I'll just be a moment, Madam. And then we'll grab your things." But you said nothing to me as I set you to your feet and forced myself back into the damp world. The boxes were nearly sodden by the time I worked myself through the door, half worried and anxious to complete the task at hand. But as I made it through the storm door, the sight before me made me colder than the wind at my back.

You were sitting on the floor, Batman hanging in your arm as you reached out to touch the bare spot of carpet. But then you little fingers froze in the air. I can only imagine what you could see, how horrific it must've been to make that little knot in your throat bob. But then that your head jerked up. I don't know how long we stood there staring at one another. But in wordless agreement, you crawled to your feet and I forced myself from the door, letting you lead the way to your room for the very last time.


I knew your little bedroom better than you might imagine. I'd painted those walls with Bailey some years before. But it's nothing but a memory now…splattered with grays and pinks and riddled with vivacious laughter that still haunts me when I'm alone. Putting your room in neat little boxes wasn't easy for either of us.

You may not have spoken, but I could see your fingers hesitating before you shoved things into a box as fast as you could manage. Reaching into the depths of your closet, I pretended I couldn't see your fingers flitting through the toile of the last Halloween costume. Something that looked like a cross between Batgirl and ballerina—I'm sure you lived in it for weeks. And I'm also sure you knew it was the last thing your mother ever made for you.

"Nearly done." I murmured, hoisting clothes and hangers out from the rack. But in the midst of pulling them free I noticed something tucked in the corner of your closet. A black bag. A bag that was anything but empty. The second I unearthed it, the box at your hands was forgotten. "What's this?"

"It's my go bag." You said it so simply, unaware of the dread it filled me with as I set the thing on the bed. "You know, for spontaneous trips and stuff." Spontaneous trips indeed. I could only loosen my breath as I opened the thing, revealing a set of neatly folded clothes, a bag of medication. "I even have my passport." Ignoring the envelopes of different denominations, I could only force a smile as you proudly showed me your French passport. I don't think you realized you had more than one, Miss Delilah Devereux.

"Let's put them back, we might use them one day. Master Bruce travels a lot you know." But as you slipped the documents back inside, I could only stare at the plain white envelopes peeking out from the soft gray Yale t-shirt. Staring at my name in your mother's hand, I made a mental note to myself. Your mother wasn't the one who went to Yale. Come to think of it, I hadn't seen your father wear that shirt in a long while.

"A-L-F-R-E-D. What does that spell?"

"My name," I whispered, lifting out the envelope while your little hands explored the next item.

"B-E-A-U." You said nothing as I pocketed the envelopes. "You know my Mommy, Alfred?"

"I certainly do. " Knew. Did. I couldn't correct you. I couldn't tell you the truth about your little bag. Instead, I closed it and returned to your clothes, aware that you were slithering for the door. "And just where do you think you're going?" I asked, sealing the last of the boxes as you just stood there.

"Bathroom."

"I'm going to take these to the car and we'll be on our way." With a nod you slithered into the dimness. After I returned, sopping and empty handed, I found myself half afraid. Afraid to find a child hovering over the last place she'd seen her mother alive. But the living room was empty. As was the bedroom. And the loo. I could feel the pinprick of worry starting in my shoulders when a crash sent me sprinting for the faint light of the kitchen.

There you were—standing on a chair as you stretched as far as you could into the freezer.

"Just what are you up to?"

At my query you twisted, the frozen bags in your arms spilling to the floor. But you just stood there, blinking. "Mama made 'em."

I could reason that you didn't need them. I could tell you that I'd cook you whatever you'd ask of me if it would get you to eat. But to be able to eat something your mother made—I couldn't compete with that. Finally, there was something I knew you wouldn't refuse. Thank God.


"All that work and the squirt fell asleep on us?"

"I beg your pardon, Master Dick?" I hadn't the slightest idea what the young man was babbling about. I simply assumed that the smack on the back of the head that Miss Gordon gave him was well earned.

"Don't start whining. Just go get the boxes out of the car, Dummy."

With a shake of my head and your light breathes warming my neck, I began the trek to the East wing, juggling you, the black bag and the doors all at once. Multi-tasking at its finest if I do say so myself.

Stepping into that hall of rainy light, I could see why your father had chosen this for you. It wasn't a part of the house that guests ever stepped foot in. In truth, no one had bothered with it in years. No one would even suspect that there was a child here.

As bitter as the thought was, I also knew it was also the safest solution. It was remote and yet it was the only part of the manor that was connected to the house in a series of secret passages. These halls hadn't heard the echo of feet since Thomas's boyhood.

I'm sure a part of him hated this very place. I'm also certain that's why it'd been left untouched for an entire generation. But as I carried your sleeping body toward the open doors at the end of the hall, I could only wonder what he would think if he knew that his granddaughter would grow up in these same rooms. Maybe as a father he could understand the reasoning behind it—even if he never used them for his own child.

A child I found staring out the window of a room I still expected to be a pale shade of blue rather than a warm gray. "It's too much space, isn't it?" He whispered, clasping his paint-speckled hands behind his back. I half expected him to turn his gaze back to the window, but his eyes were locked on you.

"She'll grow into it, Master Bruce. She'll be driving us crazy with those little tunnels before you know it." I offered, trying to keep my gaze from wandering around the room. White trees, red birds, yellow curtains, and blankets. There's no way they could have pulled that off without Miss Gordon. "Just like your father and I used to when we were boys." Watching the man sink into the plush yellow chair, I knew it would soon bear the imprint of your father's weight. A mere moth to a little flame—he didn't have a clue.

In the midst of releasing you of your raincoat, I could see him reach for the black bag. He made no move to investigate it further. He simply leaned over and shoved it in the bottom drawer of your dresser. "Sir, don't you want to know what's inside?"

But the man just shook his head as he staggered to his feet. "Where do you think P got the documents?" He didn't smirk or gloat like I expected. He just stood there, watching your shoulders rise and fall in your sleep. "Looks like you got shafted in the deal, Alfred." He whispered. I could only hide my disappointment as the man turned for the door without so much as making a move toward you.

Oh, I wasn't calling our deal off. Not yet.


By the time you stirred, the lightning and thunder had melted into nothing but rain. It certainly didn't deter you from tiptoeing down the stairs like you might wake one of us with the squeak of the floorboards. I'm sure you know just how ridiculous that is now.

I wasn't sure what you might be up to, but as you looked right and looked left before darting into the kitchen, I was hopeful. I thought to tease you—that little shadow in the light of the refrigerator, one that was struggling to reach what her fingers wanted so badly—my feet were at the ready to move and yet someone reached over your little head. "You're hungry too, huh?"

For the longest second I'd ever known, you just stared up at the man who had the sleeves of his jumpsuit tied around his waist. Master Bruce was scruffy and greasy and you? You were just blinking up at him. I didn't dare move. "So what is this?" He asked, turning the bag over in his hands as you worked yourself out of the appliance.

"Soup." You chirped, rocking back on your heels. "Mommy made it." You would've thought you slugged the man by how still he went—chest tight as if his lungs had forgotten what it is they do. "But you gotta wash your hands. You got black stuff all over you."

"Well excuse me, Alfred Jr." I hadn't seen him smile like that in so long. I'm not even sure he was aware of it. "Are you always so bossy?"

I could see you giving that nervous smile, uncertain if he were teasing or scolding you but the man went to the sink anyway.

"Bossy? It's called leadership skills."

That sound—that raspy sound. It was enough to stop the pair who came bickering out of the elevator shaft.

"Dude, you're not gonna get it started unless you take the whole thing apart first."

"Oh, yeah? Watch me—what the…"

I don't think they knew what to do with the little girl who had her hands perched on her hips, or the man who was chuckling into the sink. "All right, you know how this is supposed to work, don't you?" He asked, looking at you expectantly as he ignored the gawkers at his back.

But you just gave a dramatic sigh and took the bag out of his hand, making your father's lips part that much wider as you muttered about boys and their lack of brains.

"You gotta thaw it a little." You told him, struggling to reach the faucet even as you stretched out on your toes. I didn't expect the man to lift you up, and by your little squeak, neither did you.

"Okay, Miss Bossy, now what?"

"Leadership skills."

"Right."

"Now we need a pot." You said, holding out your arms. "A great big one. It'll make a lot."

"Watch this." Without missing a beat the man glanced over his shoulder at the small audience. "Dick, grab a pot would you?"

"What? Why—never mind."

Leaning against the counter the man just looked at you. " Management skills." He said, paying little mind to the young man's shaking head as he squatted down and pulled out one of my better pots. I wasn't sure he could see the twist of Jason's face as the kitchen filled with the happy sound of your giggles but he spoke without looking back.

"Jason, you should eat."

"Not hungry."

"What If I told you P made it?"

The boy stalled, gripping the doorjamb as if it were holding him in place. "Yeah right."

"But she did make it." You protested. "I brought it from my house." The sound of your voice only stilled the dark kitchen, making the rain's beating that much louder.

The boy crumbled. "Fine. I'll grab the bowls."

"Teamwork." A single word and you were beaming, earning a twitching lip out of your father.

"You catch on quick."

"Of course I do. I'm not just cute ya know." For the first time in a long time, the small skeleton child was lively, more alive than I'd seen her since her arrival. "I like my room." You said, prying your father's eyes from the stove. "It's pretty. And big." I could've held my breath when your father put a hand on your head. "Kinda reminds me of my room at home." But then you weren't looking at him. You were looking anywhere but him. "I won't ever go home…will I?"

At your words, the boys went still as Bruce let the spoon slide into the soup pot. Forcing himself onto his haunches for the second time that day, he seized you by the hands. Fatherly gesture or maybe a preventive measure to keep you in place.

"That'll always be your mother's house. It'll always be your house." He whispered, words growing thick enough to make him pause. "But this place? This is yours too. I know it's big and empty and little strange, but this is home. You are home. So do you think you could try to give it a chance?"

"Y-yeah."

"Good girl. Remind me and tomorrow I'll show you a secret."

"What kind of secret?"

"The kind that'll drive Alfred nuts."

Knowing that you were in good hands, I crept back to bed. For the first night in a long while, I slept without worry. After all, I may never get a chance to sleep again.


"They're probably still watching the house—ow."

"Stop the presses, Batgirl says ow." Alfred murmured, looking up from the small cut, but he made no move to grab more antistatic. "It appears Master Jason did indeed get carried away." He stated, tossing the young man a glare when he whirled around on his heel. "Avert your eyes Boy, or lose them."

"S-sorry."

Shivering in her bare skin, Del forced her eyes to the counter as she prepared for the bite of the needle. "I'm no batgirl." She said with a hiss as the thread wormed through her. "I'm just…a girl who plays dress up."

"Girl who plays dress up or not," Alfred started, tossing a clean shirt in her direction as he trimmed the suture. "You're the only chance they have." The girl stopped trying to work herself into the t-shirt when the old man's hand gripped her by her cheeks. "You're the daughter of the Bat and a child of dragon. You're nothing to be trifled with. Don't you dare speak such rubbish in front of me again. Do you understand, Delilah Wayne?" With the pressure of his bony fingers sliding from her face, the man snapped the first aid kit shut. "I have no doubts that we'll have eyes on us."

"So the question is, how the fuck do we get out of here without blowing the cover?"

"What did I say?!"

Jason could only blow out a breath as the scalpel in Alfred's hand landed in the wall, the cold metal handle resting against his cheek as he twisted his eyes back to the window. "Jesus, old man. I didn't see anything." He grumbled, listening to Del's scuffling as she worked herself back into a shirt.

"The passages…"

"The what?" Jason asked, flinching for cover as he twisted his head.

"She's dressed now, you imbecile," Alfred said with a sigh, as he routed around in the cabinet revealing a small black bag. A sight familiar enough to make the girl still. "Alan Wayne placed passages within the walls of the East wing. Some connect right to the servant's quarters. Some connect to the outside. The caves…this house…the entire property. It's all inter-connected."

"I never knew about them."

"Only the Waynes do. Old family secret I'm afraid. Alan Wayne was slightly…off. He had a fear that someone would come for him or his family. Not the kind of information you share with the rest of the world."

"But the pennyworths knew."

"We always have." The man said primly, paying no mind to Del as she wrenched open the bag before him.

"So let me get this straight, your family has been serving the Wayne's for generations. Weren't you a MI6 operative or something—"

"Retired."

"Why become...Just what kind of butler are you?"

But the old man just simpered. "Only the very best, Sir."

Ignoring Jason's rising brow, Alfred turned his attention to the girl who'd gone silent at the counter. A gray Yale t-shirt had been pulled into her lap, the documents and colorful denominations forgotten for a letter. "Madam, I know how you feel about the tunnels…" He stated, words failing as the girl reached up and smeared the tears on her cheeks.

Without a word, she folded the paper, stuffing it carefully into the cords of her katana's sheath before hastily stuffing the shirt back into the bag with the passports. "We don't have options or time." She said sliding out of the stool. "Alan Wayne might've been off. But he wasn't wrong."


We Pennyworths have been privy to a lot of secrets about the Wayne family. But not even we know them all. Had your father known what might transpire within those tunnels, he may never have shown them to you.

It was our secret—the first among many. I suppose it was a test, though I doubt you noticed that. You'd been given reign of a world beyond the walls and for a time that kept the skeleton child happy.

I told myself you were happy. Happy to become a cookie thief. Happy to become the Manor's smallest spy. I told myself it was for the best—best you knew the fastest way to get to me. I didn't mind the dusty little footprints or the cookie crumbs. I'd gotten so used to a little girl popping out of my kitchen cupboard with that silly smile on her face that I never realized…

… I was lying to myself.

It kept you occupied. You were so enamored with the halls that you ran for those corridors from sun up to sundown. There was a time when you didn't bother with the sun at all. The world outside had been completely forgotten.

Those dank tunnels made it easy to tuck you away in a moment's notice. Party guests, board members, countless girlfriends-they never knew.

The skeleton girl had become nothing more than a ghost, and her father was carrying on just the same as he always had…and that's the ghastly truth.

To you, it was a game—startling guests and causing smirks. But like all children, it wouldn't be long before it became a game you didn't want to play.

"I'm telling you, Bruce, I heard it. Look at this! It's giving me goosebumps just thinking about it."

It was the slipping of the Master's face that summoned me to the balcony. Reminding myself of the young woman's name I ducked into the fading light just as he let her slender white arm slide from his fingers.

"It's probably just your imagination." His tone may have told his fair-haired companion he was teasing, but a sharp lashing of his eyes and my lungs were collapsing. I knew better. I always have.

"Skeptic. I bet Alfred believes in that sort of thing." The woman sighed, lifting her lovely dark eyes to me as I reached for their empty plates.

"And what would that be Madam?" I asked, feeling the dread drop into my gut like stones as she told about a trip to the powder room and the soft crying she heard behind the walls. But just as quick as it started it had stopped. I couldn't even fake a smile for the woman.

"It's an old house," I say, watching the Master take his napkin from his lap. He wouldn't be able to keep up this charade for long. "Not to bother sir, but you also have a call from Mr. Fox. Shall I take a message for you?"

"No, no. I'll take it. I'll just be a moment."

"You always say that." The woman teased, giving him a wiry smile. But no sooner had the man stepped in did the practiced smile drop like a weight.

"Where's Del?"

"In the…passages." I don't know why the words drag out of me, but Bruce's face is already flushing. And for once, I can't tell if he's angry or just worried. "I'll look for her at once."

"I'll get rid of what's her Name? Bianca?"

"Veronica, Sir. Bianca was last month."

Without a word I move for the East wing. And while my feet are steady and certain, I can feel something worming around in my chest as I enter that hall of yours. Bright and dreadfully empty. "Madam!" No giggling. Not a knock of your bony little knuckles or the tapping of feet. There was nothing but rising of my own terrible pulse, a beat that all but propelled me to a door I hadn't opened in years.

The panel wouldn't come open easily—or at all. In my haste to rip it open, the board cracked beneath my fingers. "Aw, for Pete's sake…I just shampooed these rugs."

"Alfred did you find—Al, hold on—" Hold on Hell, I was taking that damn door down one way or another, even if my old bones hated me for it later. I wasn't sure if the cracking was my shoulder or the door, but then the thing was crashing to the ground in great plumes of dust.

"No more busting down doors for you, old man."

"Or you'll what? Fire me? Wouldn't be the first time, Master Bruce." I spat, swallowing at the stale hot air. I'd forgotten just how stifling those tunnels could be in the summer months. "She couldn't get out…the heat must've expanded the latches." I say, watching the man lean the broken panel along the wall.

"Not that she didn't try." Bruce muttered, crouching down to retrieve a small wire at his feet. "There's blood on the back side of the door, but it's dry." I don't know how he could say it like it was nothing more than a fact. He knew as well as I did how you broke free from the closet those monsters had put you in. But it didn't work. Not this time. "Why didn't she just exit through your living quarters?"

"Because…it's locked. I didn't want her spoiling her supper…" But the words just hung there as your father surged forward for the darkness, leaving me with my guilt.

"DEL!"

Breathing in the stale air I squinted at the paneled walls aware that your father's calling was growing fainter by the second. But I had a feeling that neither dust nor time could wrinkle my memory. My feet would know where to go, and the smeary red finger prints I spotted would lead the way.

I had to find you.

"Delilah!"

"You know these routes, Alfred, where else could she go?"

"I'm afraid there are secrets here even I haven't learned. Look. The prints stop at the end of this panel."

"She could've stopped bleeding." The man whispered, frowning as he ran his fingers over the dried spot in question. "But they're all consistent…"

Knocking on the wall, we stared at one another. "Hollow."

Without another word, Master Bruce ran his hands across the door. As he pulled himself from his haunches I was certain he'd found a way to open the thing. But instead, he was working himself out of his shirt and wrapping the expensive thing around his hand.

"Why look for a way to open it when you can beat it down," I grumbled as the man worked himself down to peer through the hole he'd made.

"We could but if she's not in there we'd be wasting our—" His words just lingered in the air as he all but scrambled back to his feet. I had no choice but to duck as man proceeded to kick the door in. As the board snapped and bent before me, I could finally see the dull gray room that had been hidden away.

And there balled in the corner was the little skeleton girl.

It's a musty place, choked with dust and webbed by age. But there's a sharpness, like salt water, and the unmistakable odor of vomit. I couldn't care less. I just want you in my arms as fast as possible. "Delilah?" You don't stir and for the briefest second, I fear the worst as your body rolls into my arms. But your shallow breath is pooling against my chest, and my name comes crackling out.

"Alfred...you're hurt." Lifting you, I can see what's kept Master Bruce. There, strapped to the rusted bed is a skeleton, mouth open as if it were screaming. How could no one know? "I don't like this game anymore. I don't want to be a ghost."

"You don't have to. Wayne Manor has enough of them." I say, aware that your father is moving toward the corner that I've pulled you from, brow furrowing. "Master Bruce?"

"Something's off…"

"It's cooler there." You croak, making the man still. "There's air."

"I'll be damned." Unsure of what to make of his words, I could only watch in horror as he forced his shoulder into the stone, certain he would break something before the rock would give. But it did give with a great scraping groan.

We knew that damp earthy smell long before the chirp of bats could reach out ears. "Your grandfather must've walled this up long ago." But was it to keep Thomas and I out? Or to keep the family secrets in?


"This isn't creepy, or anything." Jason scoffed, blowing at the cobwebs that were reaching for his face. "And they let you play back here?"

But the silent girl at Alfred's back only hugged her arms tighter to her body, knuckles white around the handle of that small black bag. "Something like that."

If he knew any better he'd swear she was holding her breath. But just as his hand might feel the sharp bones of her shoulder, Alfred was ripping a door open, letting them escape into a wider…dustier room. Just where was this old geezer leading them? "What the hell is this?" Jason asked, squinting at what could only a collapsed bed frame.

"Great-grandfather and his secrets…" There had to be more to the woman she found all those years ago, but the dead don't give up their secrets easily. If her father knew the identity of the woman in the unnamed grave he hadn't said.

"Or Alan's." Alfred put in, giving a groan as he pushed back that heavy stone door, letting the humid air wash over them. "I'm sorry, Madam, I wish I could do more," Alfred said, stepping back to let them peer into the darkness beyond him. "There's a thin trail caved from this point down to the water. The tide's still low enough that you can follow the cliff face to the main road. But once the tide rises, the path is lost. Do hurry." He said, his long fingers frantically digging into his pockets before shoving a set of keys at her. "It's tucked off the exit marker."

"Alfred what about you? I can't leave you here! What if Elliot—" But before the words could escape, Jason grabbed her by the back of her jacket and was pushing her into the darkness "Jase! Wait!"

"MI-6 remember? He'll be fine."

But then the old man had a hand on him. "Keep that in mind should anything happen to her. The bat will be the least of worries."


"Is he in?" By the way the woman just blinked at her. Evelyn Cleary was sure the woman hadn't heard her. Tucking a wayward hair behind her ear she realized why the woman's eyes had gone so wide. She couldn't pull her sleeve over her wrist quick enough. Could they all see? Did they all know? Is that why the station was so damn quiet?

"Y-yes of course." The officer stammered, eyes flitting from the tug of her sleeve. "Follow me."

Heart hammering, she followed after the woman, holding her wrist as if it would stop the ache, but even as she passed through the cramped halls, she could feel those wandering eyes sliding back toward her.

"Are you alright, Mrs. Cleary?"

"Oh, I'm fine. I'm fine…" She wasn't sure if the whisper had sold her, but she could see the door to Jim's office fast approaching. Squeezing the thick envelope in her fingers, she found herself staring down at the grubby orange tiles. "A little too much over time." She added, thankful that the woman was poking her head into the office to announce her arrival rather than asking anything more. Surely they wouldn't want to pry too much. She was the Commissioner's sister after all.

She'd gone to him for everything. Skinned knees to broken hearts and decisions she was far too young to make. Jim had always been her rock. It didn't matter what she'd done, he'd be there. But what about now? He'd have to draw the line at this, wouldn't he?

"Hey, Mom."

"Chinese again, Jim?" She should've been wrinkling her nose at the smell deep fried day old whatever it was he was eating. But instead she simply opened her arms to the child who'd sprang around the desk. Her youngest could almost fit under her chin. Had it been that long? "Hi, Baby."

"Someone looks like I feel." He teased, but the smile that was peaking around that gray mustache faltered as Jordon slid from her arms. "Just get off the night…"

"Mom, you're bleeding."

Glancing down, she could see that the blood had soaked through the sleeve of her jacket. "Oh, it's nothing…" She murmured, wincing as Jim's chair squeaked with his rising. "Just a mishap. It better come out, I love this jacket." She said handing the envelope to Jordon. "Hey, I need you do me a really big favor. You think you can run this down to your sister?"

"Aw, Mom—"

"Go on, Jor."

"Thank you." She called as the boy slithered out at his uncle's command. But her big brother was already closing the gap. She couldn't stop the tears. After this, they'd hate her.

"Evie?" When she said nothing grabbed the arm in question.

"Please don't." But it was too late, she could feel the air on her skin and her shirt sticking to her arm as he ripped up her sleeve exposing the deep gash across her wrist. No amount of gauze and cotton could hide the truth.

"Ah, Sis, what did you do?" He asked, throat bobbing as he reached for her other arm. That wrist too was hastily wrapped. He didn't have to unbind it to know what he'd find. "Evie…Evie. Why?"

"I-I…"

"What about your kids? What about—"

"I tried and I couldn't…Jim, I'm going to Hell."

Behind those thick round glasses, she could see his eyes going wider before he yanked her forward. His arms felt like vice grips. "It's just a divorce, Evie. It's not a sin."

"No…but murder is, isn't it?"

"Murder? Eve, you're not making any sense."

"Jim, I don't think you can save me this time."


She's putting on a good show. But the truth is? I know she's dead tired. I know her muscles have shaken so hard they ache. I know the sweat on her back has turned to slime. She won't tell me that—stubborn shit. She doesn't have to. I already know.

"They're probably here by now." I utter, rolling the window down ignoring spit coming out of the clouds. Only the flick of my lighter steals her attention from the grubby brick building. "Shouldn't keep them waiting for too long."

"They can wait a few minutes more."

"Someone's bitchy." But she doesn't retort, she simply lifts her phone, illuminating the cab and the skinny wisps of smoke that aren't quite making it out of the window. "Del…you don't have to do this. You can back out righ—"

She just stares at me. She's not having any of my shit. And the only thing that makes it into my brain is how gray her eyes look in this light. For one second I'd forgotten about the criminal mastermind that was waiting on us and all the ways this plan could go south.

Did she forget that her dear old dad had put most of these people—if not all of them—in the clink? "Never mind." No, scratch that. She just doesn't care. I kinda like that about the boobless wonder. "So what's the plan?"

The question doesn't stop her fingers from moving across the screen. Hell, she doesn't even bother to look up. "Find Damian." She answers at last. "Find Damian, we find Dad."

"Wait, you don't even know where we're heading—"

"I didn't say that." I can hear her phone ringing. "Sam?" I can't say a fucking thing. I know that girl hates me, not that I blame her. I hate me too. "Were you able to ping off the tracker?"

"You bet your ass I did. If Damian found it, he must've left it." The girl says, her voice giving in to the sound of keys. "Just how did you put a tracker on the ninja anyway?"

Del's smiling into the phone, the low light making those pearly teeth gleam. "Well, I realized that every time I went out by myself he always seemed to find me. Found his little tracker sewn into the tongue of my boot. I just returned it is all."

"You two are a mess. I'll send you coordinates, and then I'll see what kind Intel I can scrounge up. Shame the main computer's in lockdown. I feel like we're sending you in blind."

"We'll be fine. Where's Tim?"

I just stare at her, earning nothing but a furrowing brow. "Barb'll be heading down to the GCPD to use their lab for the anti-venom. Barb kicked Tim down to the cafeteria. I'll keep you posted."

With the beep of an ended call, she tilted her head. "What?"

"We'll be fine, huh? Overconfident much? Our plan's half-baked at best—" The little bitch was pushing her door open, cutting me off as she ripped up her hood and leaned in to face me.

"Where's Jason Todd and what have you done with him? Last I checked he wasn't such a pansy ass." She shot back, snatching her katana before slamming the door. "It's called winging it."

"Someone let you spend way too much time with Dick." I don't know if she hears me, she just disappears into the pub. I won't let her be alone for long,

"She's far too young for the likes of you." I didn't know what to say to the man. Del hadn't been out of the room longer than a blink and it was already too long. I didn't expect him to haul off and punch me in the shoulder. "I see the way you look at her," Alfred said, words soft as he shoved the first aid kit back on the shelf.

"And what way is that?"

"It's a look I've never seen on your face before." My mouth was flopping and I knew it, groping the air for something to say, something I can hurl at him. Something that'll hurt. Something that'll shut him up. But he's faster. "The way a man looks when he cares."

"I just owe her. That's all."

I curse at the sky and mash my unfinished smoke into the concrete. "Just couldn't leave it alone, could you Al?" Some of us just want to keep our secrets.


"Do you know what's here?"

I'm not the only one who sits up in his chair when Bane's massive shadow stretches over the table to peer at the small device Del is pushing forward. Bird's been rather quiet. It's not like him not be giving orders or a ration of shit, but he's melancholy at best. We both know what he's capable of.

"I haven't been to the North African compound in years." He says, and we're all watching Del shrink back, cheeks filling with a breath. This plan's so screwed. "The layout may have changed." He offers, those dark bottomless eyes flicking toward her as if he can sense the hesitation. "But I still know how to get there."

"Not the fucking Sahara."

"Oh, don't be such a baby." I knew the silken voice, and by the way Bird's head popped up, I knew he'd had his run-ins with the always delightful Scandal Savage. If I told her she reminded me of Talia, she'd cut off my balls. Immortal father, good in a fight. In truth—she's a hard bitch to get rid of. Like some other lunatic I know.

"So tell me," She purrs leaning over the table. "You actually know how to use that blade?" She asks, snagging Del's hand off the table. I'm not sitting anymore. I know what Scandal can do. "With such soft hands—" But the words stall as she turns the girl's hand over, revealing the jagged scars.

"Nothing is quite as it appears, Scandal," Bane tells her, paying no mind to Delilah as she rips her hand back.

"Just who are you anyway?"

"It doesn't matter, Scandal. You're not going." Bird rumbles, earning nothing but a cluck of that Brazilian tongue.

"Neither are you, Bird."

"What?! After all the shit I went through to secure a plane?! I'm not sending her—"

"You're not going," Del says suddenly, ignoring her uncle's pinching brow. I don't know if removing an ally for her father's secret is worth the risk but to Hell with it. We're winging it.

Out of the corner of my eye I can see the man lifting an arm, summoning that temperamental falcon from its perch. "Are you sure?" He asks. If he can see that shadow sliding over Bane's face, he's ignoring it and putting all his attention on the hooded girl.

"Yes."

"He goes with you then." He says, sending the bird toward her.

I can't tell you how many times that freaking thing drew blood and tore suits and made things less than favorable for the bat and boy wonder—and now it's sitting on Del's arm like it belongs there. I hate that falcon. But the action tells me something more.

Bird's worried.

"You speak the same langue as birds?" Bane ask, he eyes slithering toward me as I shove the extra league of assassin's gear across the table.

"Yes." She answers, eyes weighing on me before she snaps up the gear with her free hand. "We speak the same langue." With that she locked herself into the dark little office, toting Talon with her.

It's only when the mercenaries disperse into the noise in the front of the house that I slither back into my chair. "You see a problem," I say, half listening to the noise of patrons and the soft shuffle behind Bird's office door.

"I don't know if it's a problem." Bird mutters, leaning his ugly mug into his hand. "It's odd and I don't care for it. He's not taking anyone from the usual crew."

"So you don't know the mercenaries he's got?"

"Not a single one. I don't trust them."

"And Bane?"

But the man just stared at me. I got the message. Least of all. That's just great.


I wish I could say she was leaning against my side simply because she wanted to. Stupid, of course. I know she's got an ulterior motive. She's using me. Using me to keep herself upright. Using me to keep warm. And I let her. I'm the only ally in this rickety cargo plane that she's got.

That's not saying much.

"Just where did you get that?"

At Bane's question, Del's fingers pause on the keyboard of her laptop as she glances at the man who's squinting at her from his resting position. I can see her looking down as he reaches over and slides the small green-hilted sword away from her.

"Someone important gave it to me." She said carefully, watching the man turn the scaly sword over in his hands.

"Someone important." He repeats, glancing at her as if he can see her expression through the balaclava. "And how would the girl come to know this important person?" But she's quiet, so quiet that the sound of Bane's laugh forces the mercenaries to look up from their card game.

Without another word he hands it back to her hilt first, watching her as she clutches it closer. "Is that my venom?" He asks suddenly. He doesn't care that the hull is the quietest it's ever been. I can see the nod and I can hear that swallowing noise she trying so hard to hide. "Show me."

It's not an invite.

I'm more than happy to tell the meat sack to go fuck himself, but Del soundlessly works her way to her feet.

She seems so fragile. I wouldn't be able to reach her in time if he decided to snap her neck. Now I'm just cold, grumpy and thinking of all the ways I could kick him out of this plane.

I'd settle for Talon shitting on him in the meantime.


We both have ulterior motives and I'll take the risks for mine. With a falcon's claws poking through my cloak and a scabbard digging into my hip, I have no choice but to sink down beside the man who'd all but snapped my dad in two. I need whatever answers he'll let slide. In turn, I'll let him see what my mother had created.

"It's stronger…" He murmurs, and in that second my insides shudder, there'll be consequences for this and I don't know if I can afford the price. But it's too late.

"It's one of the reasons making the anti-venom has been so difficult. And considering we have to make it artificially…" I say, aware that the pinched face and hard eyes are meant for me. "Not that it was ever natural to begin with."

"No, it wasn't. May I?" He doesn't wait for an answer he just relieves me of my computer. "I was nothing more than an experiment. The first in few to survive."

"What happened to the others?"

"Their hearts exploded." He shrugged those massive shoulders. "I wasn't always so immune. It took time to build this immunity…this addiction—one painful day at a time. It's venom. It's deadly. And it's more addictive than heroin." I know what he's telling me. If we can save those affected, the fight won't end there. It'll be like detoxing heroin addicts. The longer it's in the system the worse it'll be. And I've made them wait. I put Dad first.

Leaning my head back on the splintery wooden crate behind me, I could see Jason slipping that white piece of paper from the cords of my Katana. Either he thought he was sneaky or he just didn't care. I'm pretty sure it was the latter.

At four I could write my name, but not much else. I remember writing out each skinny cap under Mr. Wayne's careful eye. I didn't wonder why he was in my mother's office without her, or what could make him look so sad despite the half-hearted smile. I just remember handing him the pen and asking him to write his name. He left me a five letter word. I couldn't read then. But I'll tell you now, it didn't begin with B.

Half watching Jase fold a bit of my past back into neat squares and half watching Bane wander through my mother's files, I pull my knees to my chest. I know what Jason's thinking over there shaking his head. The man who wrote that word is gone. He won't be what I find.

I know that, but I still hope…I don't know why. It's kind of like hoping the dead will come back to life.


"I should've asked for anti-venom! I should've—why didn't I put everyone else first?!"

"Because deep down, you're selfish and human just like the rest of us." In retrospect, that probably wasn't the best thing to say, especially when it did nothing but reduce her to a pile of wilted flesh and bone.

"Jason!"

"Sorry, no filter. You wanted to know why now you do." I muttered. Not sure what to do with the girl who was making fists in her hair.

"What if—what if I don't find him in time? What if I just condemned Dick and hundreds of people to death?! " She cried, sniffing as if that would clear the snot. "I could've helped Dick and we could have found—"

"You love your Dad, Del. That's it!" I didn't mean to yell at her. "Stop apologizing for it! He doesn't apologize for shit and neither should you!" I was sure Bird would hear us yelling in his office, but the door at my back never opened.

"But I love my birds too." I can't breathe. Not brothers. Birds. I was a bird once. With the weight of her words, my arms fall to my sides. "I broke my promise."

Now I was easing to the floor, more than aware that her face was just a breath away. "You haven't broken any promises yet. You made the demon spawn a promise too, didn't you?"

"How do you know about that?"

"I asked a question."

"Yes. I did."

"He's counting on you too. Dick would make you go to him first. C'mon, you know that. That's Dickhead 101. If you want to feel guilty about it, fine. Feel guilty. It'll be your secret and I'll keep it. You just gotta do me one thing. Just one."

"I'm listening."

"Don't brood. It's creepy."


"I just need a big enough window to find the first target without alerting them. After that, all bets are off." The girl I'd found weighed down by her decisions was long gone, hidden by a mask and a coating of sand.

"So…how likely is it for all Hell to break loose?"

"I guarantee it."

The merc grinned, making creases in the sand on his face. "I think I like those odds." He said, causing his two buddies to laugh. They'd come to regret it the second they found themselves chewing on a little extra protein. Locusts are little on the crunchy side.

"What if…we get a little excited?"

I could see Bane's mouth working as if he were about to break his silence, he hadn't said a word since we climbed in the back of this truck, but before a sound could leave him, there was a blade at the man's throat. He wasn't smiling anymore.

"You'll contain yourselves or you'll find how easily a body can get lost in the Sahara." Bane rumbled, reaching across me to lower Delilah's blade. "Don't bloody your sword with this lot, Girl. Not when the desert kills for free."

Without another word, he tilted his gaze back to the open flaps of canvas. "You are here for money and blood. Do your jobs and you'll see both."

Out here, I couldn't tell the dunes from one to the next. But for the man beside me, I think it was a hell of a lot more than that. This had been home once. I didn't need to tell an Ubu what to do. But I wonder what it's like slipping into the skin of a man you no longer are.

I was a regular fixture in their ranks, and with a former Ubu, we'd have no problem getting in. Bane could easily keep tabs on Ras, and I would no doubt be summoned to the queen of psychos. That would leave Delilah free to find Bruce or Damian, and once she found one of them, she could no doubt find the other.

Leaving would be tricky. And that's where the mercenaries and the heiress' money came in. We'd paid the same piolet to land at our coordinates upon signaling, but there was no guarantee.

By the time the walls of the compound rose out of the dunes and sand-worn cliffs, Del's chest was still. Ready or not, this was happening. I wish I had more details to give her, but I'd never been to this location. We were all in the dark…perhaps say for one. "Guess at the best route?"

"Rooftops. Always."

"Naturally."

"I thought you'd like that." I teased, hopping out of the back of the truck when it jerked to a stop.

"Heights never bothered me anyway."

"You should've been a bird." I could see the skin crinkling around those pale blue eyes when I tossed her a grappling gun. She may have been raised by a bird, but she was always meant to be something else.


"One day, Damian, you'll see it our way."

"Tch."

"She was in your way."

His wrists were raw. If they hadn't bound him during his sedation maybe his muscles wouldn't have been so sore. It would've been easier to break free. "You mean to say she was in your way, don't you, Grandfather?" He shot back, watching the man pause. It wasn't often that he earned his Grandfather's disdain. In fact, he wasn't sure if he'd ever had it before. "She wasn't in my way." He muttered, aware the man was shaking his head over his goblet.

"Don't sulk, it's unbecoming."

"And what of Father? Will he see it your way?"

"He won't even remember her." The words rolled of off his tongue so simply that it had the boy rearing up his head. "Before long, his mind will be nothing but a clean slate—a slate ready for us to fill. Certain obstacles had to be removed before we could even attempt to use the technology on him."

"What obstacles? Grandfather, what obstacles?!"

"It no longer matters. The future is all you should concern yourself with."

"I see." Damian huffed, letting his head bow to the floor, aware of the sunlight that was burning its way through the glass dome above their heads. "This was always the plan..." He murmured unsure of the shadows he could make out on the polished floor. It was enough to still his busy fingers.

By the time the glass was shattering, The boy had forced himself to roll to his side, his loose fingers snatching and grabbing at any loose shards he could reach.

"What is the meaning of this—" But the words just stalled when the unknown ninja ripped that sword of scales free. "YOU!" He could scarcely pull his own sword free to block the coming blow. "You should be—"

"Dead? Yeah, I could say the same for you!" Del cried sliding back to miss a jab from the man. "Not bad for a little girl who likes to play dress up, right? You just never know what I'll be next."

"Bleeding on the floor suited you so well." Ras sneered, forcing her back with a swipe of his blade, unaware that his grandson was staring up from the floor, eyes wide and unmoving.

She came. She actually…came. The glass was digging into his knees when Damian rolled upright, slipping his binds with his bloody hands he went tearing across the study. Grandfather was never without a watchful detail. Snagging a katana from his grandfather's belt, the boy slid beneath the clamoring swords, ramming the steel into the door just as it might burst.

"DAMIAN! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

"Removing obstacles."

"Down!"

No sooner had the command roared out of his sister, did the boy realize that she had taken a spear from the wall. Stomach clenching, his grandfather's eyes were wide. He expected to feel the splatter of blood on his face. He expected to hear the sound of metal tearing through flesh and bone, but instead there was only the snap of wood.

Ras Al Ghul was pinned to the bookcase at his back. The blood was minimal at best. If anything it looked ridiculous. But before any snide remark could escape, the man tilted his head back and filled the room with his laugh. "You missed." He chided, grimacing as the girl crouched down in front of him, gripping him by the face.

"No. I didn't."

"The next time we meet, Little Dragon, you won't be able to walk away."

"Maybe not. But I'm not the one who's afraid of dying." Del said, ignoring the man's glare. "Touch my bat or any of my birds again and I swear, I'll take you down with me." She hissed rising to her feet as the world just outside filled with the sound of gunshots. Hell had arrived. "Damian, what you do next is up to you."

But the boy was already yanking the sword out of the door. "Since when did I become your property?" He asked, ducking into the fight just outside.

"From the second I learned that you were my brother." The girl said, sliding in to deflect the blade at his back. But the boy said nothing more of the matter as his shoulders pressed into her spine.

"You left him alive for me." The boy muttered, ignoring the blood at his feet as he ripped his sword free. "Didn't you?" He expected her to say something. Something about his question or the bodies he was leaving behind. But what came out of her had nothing to do with either.

"Any ideas where they might stuff Dad?"

"A few."

"You take the left I take the right and we'll leave the rest for the mercenaries to deal with." But no sooner had she spoken was the boy taking off, his cry echoing over the clatter of steel and the pop of gunfire. "Or you can take them all out..." Del huffed, paying no mind to that cockeyed grin when he wandered back with his Katana resting over his shoulder. "You know, you really are a fun-sucker."

"Tch. Not my fault you can't keep up. You coming or not?"

"I'm sorry, who just traveled half way around the world to rescue you?"

"About that, you think you can be a little faster next time?"

"Next time?! Who said there was gonna be a next time?!"


"Tim, if you don't stop that pacing I swear! "

"She went in blind!" The boy shot back, earning nothing but a wide-eyed stare. "Shit. Sorry. I don't mean to—"

"Go get her! Because if you don't…" She said, words trailing when she realized there was a familiar face on the other side of the Plexiglas, face crushed, and his scrawny limbs forcing him across the floor and back again as if he just couldn't reach the door. "I might strangle you."

"Dick doesn't have anything that can make that kind of distance—" Watching the girl's face knit, the teen whirled around on his heel, not sure of what to make of the nervous child. "Isn't that your brother?"

"Yeah," Sam whispered, slowly rising to her feet. "Dragons fly, don't they?"

"They do." The boy said, pausing as he reached for the door. "Ever met any of them?"

"Nope."

"Shit."

"You'll be fine. Just…don't tell them you're dating Del." She was teasing but Tim didn't so much a flinch. "Barb's at the GCPD lab. I won't leave Grayson."

"And what exactly could you do if…" But no sooner had the words left him did the girl reach into the back of her jacket, revealing a .45 in the soft sheen of the monitors.

"Don't ask me stupid questions." She huffed, stuffing it back into the waistband of her jeans.

"You're kinda scary." He whispered, watching Jordan Cleary lift his drooping head when he peeled back the glass door.

"Tim? If you don't tell her the truth I'll show you just how scary I can be." There! There was a ghost of a flush and a sliver of a smile. But Sam's own smirk fell as Jordan squeezed by him, teeth sinking into his lip as if he was trying so damn hard not to cry.

"Jor, what are you doing here? What's wrong?" But the boy said nothing as stretched his hand out to her, revealing the pale white envelope.

"Mom wanted me to—I know I wasn't supposed to—I just…"

"It's alright, it's cool," Sam said softly accepting the already opened letter, unsure of what could make the kid look like a refugee who'd seen too much. That was before the letter. A letter that was meant to be the last one.


"Sam, I think we've got a problem." Wheeling herself through the sliding door, Barbra let her ears become reacquainted to the click and hiss of the machines. Though she wasn't sure if she could ever get used to the sight of a machine forcing the man in the bed to breathe. That wasn't Dick. That wasn't how he was supposed to live.

Sam, she realized, was leaning over the cheap hospital table, computer closed, mouth resting in her hand. "Sam?"

The flick of her stare was sharp and heavy, but the girl only leaned to the side and worked a bit of cash out of her pocket. Only when she held it out, did she see Jordan balled at her feet, whipping his snotty nose on the caps of his knees. "Hey, go to grab something to drink."

"What about—"

"We'll take care of it." But the words were directed at the woman in the wheelchair, not the child who was pulling himself to his feet.

"You okay, Kiddo?" But the boy just shook his head and went straight for the door without even looking at her. "Sam, what's going on?"

"How long have you known?" The girl whispered, flattening the creases out of the letter with her hand. Barb's arms were limp. And for one fleeting second she could see the hesitation.

"How long have I known what?"

"Oh, cut the crap Barb! How long?! How long did you know that you're my sister?!" The words hit like a cannonball to the chest.

"A while," Barb whispered, shifting in her chair as her own words were coated with the ache in the back of her throat. "Since your transplant…I wanted to tell you. But with your mom and dad—"

"She's your mom too." Sam put in, words bitter and wet, but she was handing that paper out to her. "Apparently she tried to kill herself." The girl blurted, watching Barba's head slide into her own hand as she looked the letter over. "She showed up at Uncle Jim's office. I guess she had second thoughts."

"Shit, where's my phone?"

"I tried calling, no one is answering. Not Mom or Uncle Jim."

"We need to get to her. Right now." Barb croaked, frantically ripping her phone from the messenger bag on her chair.

"What? So she can wallow in self-pity and tell us how sorry she is? Sorry that she really did slam that proverbial door on you? Or sorry that none of us were important enough for her to stick around?!" Sam cried, unsure if she was the one sniffling or if it was Barb. "I told you they're not answering."

But Barbra was putting the phone to her ear anyway. "Alfred, we could use a hand."


"Of course, Madam. I'll arrive there shortly. Just one small matter I must see to first." Letting his phone slide back into his sleeve, Alfred Pennyworth set his eyes back down to the shotgun, half listening to shifting of an empty house as he pumped a round into the chamber.

"Don't worry," He said, aware that the sound had brought the dogs to his chairside, eyes bright, ears at attention. "These old hands still know their way around a firearm." With that he leaned over and letting himself sip at the emptying glass of brandy, signaling the beasts to stay put as the slam of car door slipped from beyond the walls.

The young pup was eager to move, his back paws were all but scratching at the carpet to keep his body stacked beneath him, but only a soft command kept the Great Dane still. "Steady now, boys. We wait for the prey to come to us." Turning out the light, Alfred would do exactly that. He'd wait. Wait for that creature to walk through the door.

"He's already there?" At the sound of the great doors shutting from the foyer, Alfred could only grit his teeth and hold his place. He'd known this man since he was a child! A child that had played in these very rooms, laughing and screaming, carrying on as children do. This man had been the young master's friend. His only friend at times. And now? Now he was nothing more than a traitor among many.

"He's thorough, I'll give him that. He even cleaned up the mess. A shame about Alfie. He would've been useful."

Master Jason? Clean? Hardly!

Leaning forward, Alfred set into the gun, focusing in on the shapes in the sights as Jax began to growl. Elliot was silent, no doubt mauling over the noise and what it meant. "We forgot about the dog. I thought your kid was taking it with him!"

"There was no time. Are you really going to whine to me about a dog?"

"Lady, I take it you've never met this dog. He's never been a fan of me."

Through his inhale, he could see the shadow looming just outside the cracked door of the den, any second he was going to push that door wide open. Finger resting in the trigger well, the door gave with a creak, putting Thomas Elliot face to barrel. The phone thumped to the floor. "Alfred?!"

"Glad you remember, Sir."

"Alfred?! That old geezer should be rotting in a hole somewhere Elliot?! Elliot! If you've messed this up I'll kill you myself!"

"This is the part where you run."

"You really think you can shoot me with this face?"

"Let's test that shall we?"

Elliot twisted and bolted back down the foyer, ducking at the debris the shots had flying at his head as the man scrambled for the door. Hard to do with a Doberman hot on your heels and a hapless pup following suit.

The ground was slick with frost, but Pennyworth's feet were steady and certain in the over growth. With the shot gun hanging over his arm he could see the man fleeing down the lawn. Before long he'd reach the trees. But Alfred wasn't in a hurry, he simply fished around in his pocket for more shells.

Only at his leisure would he aim and fire, taking care not to hit the dogs or Elliot—in any place that mattered.

Strolling forward he gave a whistle, cursing as the Doberman ignored him. That thing was hard headed just like its owner! Lifting the gun he aimed, waited and fired, sending the man tumbling to the gnarled roots of the trees.

"GOD DAMN IT!" Thomas howled, holding his arm across his face to keep a certain dog's teeth from digging into him.

"Yell all you want, Tommy," Alfred said, bending down to pick up the still hot shells. "There is no God here. He abandoned this place long ago." Easing down the embankment he could see what Elliot's fingers were so desperately trying to reach. Crushing his hand with the butt of the gun, Alfred plucked the handgun out of the pine needles.

"The neighbors might ask about the noise." Alfred said, unloading a round into the man's knee. "If they ever gather the nerve, that is." He added, reaching in and grabbing the Doberman by the collar. There might've been a time in his life when he would've flinched to see skin and flesh dangling from a man's face. Then again, it wasn't a face that belonged to him.

"I say, he really did rip your face off, didn't he? You see, Thomas, you might put on a mask, but it's not what makes the man."

"How can you look at me and smile?!" The wheezing cartilage and gurgling breathes bothered him just as much as the smell of singed flesh and blood—it didn't. But strangely enough, watching the man roll to his side, all Alfred could see was that red-haired boy he'd once been.

"You really didn't think they hired me for my cooking skills now did you?"


"You lied to me!"

His face was itching, the hood was getting hot already, but Jason forced a sigh even though it tasted like blood. It'd been a while since he'd been beaten this badly. Hell, the ache was almost too familiar. "It's kinda my thing."

"I've got target one." He cursed to himself as the woman's eyes went round. Shit, this close she could hear the earpiece.

"She's alive?!"

"And about to ruin your entire day. Father like daughter I guess."

"No! She'll ruin—find them! Find her! Find that little bitch!"


"This place isn't weird or anything." Del uttered, slipping into the lab behind the ten year old.

"It's where I was born," Damian says, shrugging his bony shoulders. But as he leads the way through the dimly lit room, he realizes that his sister isn't following. She's just standing there as if he'd struck her.

"You were born here?"

"Technically." He says, pointing to a round incubator.

"No wonder…" Now he's the one still, unsure of what to make of the look on his sister's face.

"What?"

"It just explains a lot." She says, working her way by him, ignoring the shadows and the light that's reflecting in the empty place. He was more than Talia's pawn. He was her chief experiment. She didn't want a child. She wanted a weapon. One that would inflict maximum damage to a man she loved to hate. A man she knew just a little too well. What could get to him faster than something made of his own flesh and blood? It was the one thing that she was sure he didn't have.

"I fail to see how." But the girl just shook her head, as she cruised through the facility, hugging her arms to herself as each spot came up empty.

"I don't think he's here." She said, head snapping to the sound of the boy's groaning as he shoved a heavy metal to the panel to the side. But no sooner had it revealed another chasm, did the boy just stand there in the wispy clouds that came pouring out. Cold storage? "Damian?" His eyes were wide and unblinking as he stepped into the unit.

Her bones ached to shiver, but as Del's foot sank into the crusty ice on the floor, her breath left her first. It was a narrow space, but it was lined with frosted sacs. None of them looked empty.

With her heart pulsing in her ears, Del forced herself to reach out to one of the alien looking things. Wiping away the film, she felt her lungs collapse in on themselves. A person?! The girl stumbled back, stopping herself when she realized there were more behind her. Smaller but the same, trapped in a sac like a fetus just waiting to be born. "There-There all—"

"Me…there all me." The boy whispered, his hand stalling in the air to keep from reaching out.

"She has an army." The teen whispered, watching her breath wander up to the ceiling as the sound of clanking swords forced her attention back to the lab. "We have to go! Damian! Now!" She snapped, yanking the boy out of the locker by the scruff of his hoodie.

When the room all but burst with bodies, Dell had no choice but to knock off the beakers and tubes. Acid. Dragging the numb boy she leaped across the tables and darted for the door. "Where else?! C'mon, Damian! Where else?!" She cried, leaving a trail of smoke bombs in her wake.

"There's one more place. Below the pits." The boy said, taking a second to swallow.

"Show me," Del hissed, shaking the boy by the shoulders. "Damian, please!"

The boy didn't answer, but instead grabbed the girl by the sleeve and took off down the hall. There wasn't time to think. She called him Damian, but was he even the real one? Not now! Not. Now. Instead, he could only lead her deeper into the compound. Deeper into the earth. "We have submergible cells." He huffed, his feet taking the winding stairs two at a time.

"In the Lazarus pit?"

"No, it's a pool from the same spring but the water is useless. It has none of the same properties, but it makes for a good base for any of our experiments with the pits." The boy rattled on, pausing only to listen.

The chamber wasn't empty. Pulling his sword free he stopped the teen. "Go straight into the water. Don't stop. You understand? Don't stop. I'll cover you."

Swim. I'm gonna have to…swim.

"Is the process complete?" Talia.

"Nearly. It needs more time to erase his memory, or else he could relapse."

The boy tore down the stairs, forcing the girl to bolt after him, "Go!" She couldn't look back, as she made a flying leap into the pool.

"NO!"

Taking a deep breath, she dove, hands frantically pulling at the water that was slowly growing darker. The blood looked like clouds, great red plumes that were turning everything black. Lungs aching, the girl could only squint at the shifting shapes below her as she pulled herself closer and closer to the bottom.

Just as panic began to set in, she spied the metal capsule sitting on the pool floor. It was a relief and yet it did nothing to sooth the need to gasp. Hands frantically pulling at the metal latches, the water all but sucked her inside as the thing cracked open. Finally, she could breathe.

Gulping at the air, Del took in what was before her. The man looked like her father. But then, attached to all these tubes and electrodes he could've been anything else. The water was rushing in. "Dad!" She cried, first tapping the man on the face, half relieved he was at least still breathing. But he wouldn't be for long if she didn't get him out. "DAD! Dad! C'mon we have to go!"

Then she did something she was sure she'd never do. She slapped him. It was enough to have those pale blue eyes peering at her through his lashes. "Where the hell—who the hell are you?" The water was rising and all the teen could feel was sheer panic. He didn't know who she was! Oh, God.

"It's Del," She said with a inhale as she ducked under the water to rip the electrodes off his legs. "Delilah?" She said again, feeling the dread swallow her whole. He was just staring at her. Face blank. "Your daughter?!"

"I don't have—"

"Yes, you do! Yes, you do! You have me!" She cried, "And if you don't help me get you out, you're going to drown. We both will." The water had her by the neck, shit. There wasn't enough time. What was she supposed to do? She couldn't leave him here, but if she stayed... "Daddy! Daddy please!"

Her head went under. Time was out. For the bleakest moment in her life she was sure she'd consigned her father to death, but then something had grabbed her, hoisting her above the water. "Swim." It was the only thing he commanded as he shoved her back down into the water, and she did just that, squeezing herself back out of the capsule and dragging herself to the surface.

She couldn't think. She couldn't so much as let her body shiver. She wasn't even sure if the cavernous room was empty. All she knew was that he hadn't reached the surface. "Daddy?!" Nothing. Nothing. And then the water broke some distance away.

"So you do call him Daddy. You're such a suck-up."

"Jason." The girl breathed, letting him fish her out of the water. "You look like Hell." She said, legs wobbling as they found dry ground. Jason was blood-soaked, but he was still reaching a hand out to the man behind her.

Realizing the man had not a stitch of clothing, the girl turned around. "Shit. Where's Damian?" She asked, now that she was looking everywhere but behind her. Damian was nowhere to be seen.

"I'm right here, you idiots." Damian hissed, tossing clothing over his sister's head. "I see you let my mother get away, Todd." He grumbled, twisting his head at the sound of heavy boots coming down the stairs.

"Like she got very far. I could've stayed out there instead you know." No, he had be sure.

"She's got one more strike up her sleeve," Bruce muttered voice muffled as he pulled the balaclava over his head just as Bane and his small troop came filing down the curving stairs. "She always does."

"The girl has both her targets." He says, letting his eyes rest on the man behind her. "Now we leave." With her father cutting in front of her, Del followed suit, letting Damian duck under her arm to get ahead. She had her brother. She had her father. So why wasn't she pleased with herself?

Feeling something heavy and warm sling over her shoulders, the girl paused. "You're shaking." The jacket stunk of gun polish and rust, and all she wanted to do was sink into it. Instead, she could only follow the group out into the darkness, where there was wind and sand and enemies all around.

"Always have to be right, don't you, you big jerk?"

Del couldn't hear her father's response, or Damian's snide remark as she pressed into her father's side. There was nothing but the sound of her wheezing lungs and blowing sand.


AN: There we go. I'm so sorry about the wait! I ended up moving and was without internet for a good two months. EEK! But we're almost at the finish line. I hope you guys like it. Next one will be the last one + snippets of the sequel I belive that's the winner of the vote. I'm trying like hell to make sure everything gets wrapped up. Most of it. Some things bleed into the sequel. :D