Do I look like a ditchable prom date to you?- Bobby Singer (3.16 No Rest for the Wicked)

Singer's house is surrounded by skeletons of cars- most of them rusted through or just rusted shut. He notes that some of them have wards spray painted on them, mostly alarm ones.

His phone rings. He checks the caller ID, scowls, and picks up.

"Todd."

"I'm telling you, this isn't going to work."

"Fuck off if you don't have anything intelligent to say asshole." Jason snaps at his phone.

"I'm plenty intelligent," The caller sounds affronted. Jason responded with a suggestion involving a rusty knife and a sexual impossibility. "That's crude. I thought you liked me better than that. Anyways, they won't tell you shit about Dickie-boy." They sniggered. Jason hung up, and considered the house. There was already someone on the porch, a shotgun resting against his leg.

"Who the hell are you?" He yelled. Jason noted that he was in a wheelchair, with an oil-stained baseball cap on his head.

Jason smirked, sharp and pointed. "I'm Jason Todd. Are you Singer?"

"Whadda want?" Singer demanded, glowering at him. Jason stopped right before the porch, not bothering to step up.

"I'm looking for my brother- Richard Grayson. Dick for short. He's been missing for almost a week, and I've tracked him to Sioux Fall. Have you seen him?" Jason rooted around in his bag and dug up a picture of Dick attempting to tackle a laughing Roy, who's triumphantly holding a football high above his head. "He's the one with the black hair."

Singer barely looked at the photo, and Jason was interested to note that Singer was nervous- no, not exactly- Singer was edgy. He'd seen Dick recently.

"Can't say I have." Singer responded. Jason scowled. He fished in his jacket pocket and came up with a bug, one he planned to stick underneath the porch's rails.

"Are you sure?" Jason asked casually, leaning up against the railing, planting the bug, "My youngest brother is throwing a shit-fit, and Dickie boy practically raised him." He checked the bug, satisfied that it would stick.

"No, I haven't. Want to leave a number in case I do?"

Jason shrugged. "Sure," he rambled off the numbers, and Singer wrote them down on a scrap of paper he pulled out of his pocket. "Later."

He turned around and ambled off the property, already calculating the range of the bug. He was about ninety percent certain that his motel was in range.

"You said this one didn't have any family!" someone roared at about eight 'o clock PM.

Jason startled awake and grabbed for the headset.

"No living family," Dick's voice said, cheery, but with an undercurrent of nerves, "I didn't expect one of them to come out this far, Dickie-boy was on the outs."

"Family doesn't end with blood, boy!" Singer yelled, "What the hell did you thing you were doing?"

Jason winced and turned down the volume.

"I was thinking that there's an apocalypse on and not exactly not enough time to be picky! He was the best I had to go with, so fuck you, I went with it!"

Jason growled. It? Dick wasn't a fucking It and Jason was going to show that bastard that as soon as possible.

"Yeah? So, if he was on the outs with his family then why do we have his brother sniffing around?" The person who had roared earlier demanded, "Bobby, what'd you say his name was?"

"Jason Todd."

"You're kidding," a new voice said dryly, "I really hope you're kidding."

"Well, I ain't Sam, so why don't ya get on with it?" Singer demanded

"That's Bruce Wayne's ward- one of the richest men in GothamCity." Sam said, "And if what Jason showed you was true- then Gabriel's parading around in Dick Grayson, his oldest ward. Now, Jason was reported dead in a bombing, but resurfaced a while a go claiming that he was only caught in the edge of the blast range. He then went off the map again, and this is the first time he's resurfaced."

"Well, shit."