Author's Note: Thanks to IndiaMoore (Yup! Back and ready to go), Guest 1 (Bruce has terrible timing), and Guest (Thank you!) for reviewing the last chapter! I own nothing.

Barbara had just signed off from her chat with Felicity, and it was always nice to talk to another woman who knew the business and understood tech lingo, when her alarms began wailing. A quick tap of her fingers brought up the cameras surrounding the clock tower, allowing her to catch a glimpse of brown leather and something shiny and red. The red head frowned at that. What did he want?

She carefully removed the Batarang she'd taped underneath her computer desk, holding it easily despite the fact that it had been several years since she'd been able to jump across rooftops. Dick had told her once that it was like riding a bike. He was right. A clack of her keyboard silenced the wailing alarms, allowing her to listen for any sign of possible danger. To be honest, Barbara wasn't sure whether or not there would be trouble. He hadn't been causing any trouble in Gotham lately and if you talked to Dick about a month ago you knew that Nightwing had gotten help with the local drug lords. Maybe he was just curious about why Nightwing, Batgirl, and Robin had retired early. Or why Wonder Woman had even been allowed inside Gotham City limits without Batman around.

"Batgirl." Barbara bit down a sigh at the greeting and maneuvered her chair around so they could face one another. He had trouble moving out of the past. Well if he'd come here for news, he was about to get blasted out of it.

"Red Hood," she replied calmly, settling the Batarang in her lap. "And it's Oracle now. You know that." She couldn't see his face because of the stupid helmet but she could still picture the face he was making at her. "What brings you to my lair?"

"I want to know what's going on," he demanded.

"Then take off your helmet."

"Why?" The question was wary and, in that moment, despite his broad shoulders and all the height and muscle he'd gained while he was absent from them, all Barbara could see was the scrawny kid who'd teased her and Dick with nursery school rhymes and kissing sounds when they patrolled Gotham together.

"Because I don't want to talk to Red Hood about this," she told him. "I want to talk to Jason."

Barbara fought not to hold her breath as he considered. So far only Dick had managed to convince Jason to peel back his tough exterior to reveal the person Barbara and her sometimes boyfriend had come to love. She was half afraid she'd pushed too far and he'd leave to get his information elsewhere. Then the helmet came off and, despite the domino and the changed hair, she found herself looking at Jason Todd. For a moment she faltered. Dick had been working so hard on trying to win Jason over, convince the younger boy to reconcile with Bruce, and it had been working. Now she might be about to destroy all that work.

"Jason," she said at last, voice heavy with dread and pain. "Bruce is dead."

During the few times he had visited his mentor, Roy Harper had grown used to being roused at odd times in the night by so called emergencies. Therefore it was no surprise that either Oliver or Artemis was rapping on his door. "What?" he called, hoping that Oliver hadn't found out about Cheshire. If his mentor did discover Roy's affair with the assassin then the younger archer would have to explain that Jade was also pregnant. Christ he so wasn't ready for that discussion.

"You need to get to the cave," Artemis told him and Roy felt a bolt of irritation find its mark squarely in the center of his chest. He'd really been hoping he could sleep after running all over with Jason and Koriand'r on some mission against a drug dealer who did some human trafficking on the side, namely small children. Jason had been pissed, leaving a trail of blood and screams behind him as Kory and Roy had raced after him.

"Why?" he grumbled when Artemis pounded on the door again, as if believing he'd fallen back to sleep after her message.

"I don't know," came the irritated reply. "But it's about Dick." That was enough to send Roy toppling out of bed and scrambling for his things. The archer hadn't heard from the boy he considered his little brother for months now, nor had he initiated contact despite the fact that Nightwing had worked with Arsenal before without hesitation. If there was news coming in about Dick now, and Roy was getting roused at just after three in the morning about it, then doubtless it was nothing good.

Damian was trembling like a leaf in a very strong wind. He sat in the middle of his bed, arms wrapped around his knees as he stared at the far wall. His room didn't look like it belonged to a ten year old boy. In fact, his room didn't look like it belonged to anyone at all. Instead it appeared as if it were a guest bedroom Damian were only staying in for a while, despite the fact that the ten year old had been living in Wayne Manor for an entire year. The boy was beginning to regret that now. He had nothing inside his room to distract himself from the storm in his head.

It wasn't that he and Father had ever been particularly close. Damian had known the man had existed from the moment he had asked Mother who his father was. Talia had not been a mother who believed in keeping secrets from her children so Damian had often received answers he had wished he would not. Still, after being abandoned on the doorstep of Wayne Manor while Mother fled, leading assassins from their own league away from her only child, Father had been the only family he knew for sure he had. There was a good chance, despite all her skill, that Mother had already been overpowered and killed. Now Father was dead as well and it was very likely that Damian was alone in the world. It was a very frightening prospect for a child, even as unusual a child as Damian.

The boy fought back tears but he couldn't still the shudders that raced through him. He squeezed his arms tighter with a soft whimper and closed his eyes, trying to remember his mother's fingers brushing through his hair when he was sick and her slightly rough voice singing to him in Arabic right before bed when the wind howled. She was becoming a distant memory. Her last visit had been six months ago and she had not managed to send any messages. Damian had given up on ever seeing her again two months ago but now, with his father gone, the wound felt fresh. His stomach clenched and twisted unhappily, threatening to bring up his supper.

For a moment Damian thought he would be able to keep everything down, eyes squeezed shut in a vain attempt to pretend he was curled up in his mother's room while the wind howled outside. Then his stomach revolted and he was scrambling on wobbly legs out the door and down the hall to the nearest bathroom. He was barely curled over the cold white porcelain of the toilet before everything he'd eaten earlier at the silent and awkward dinner he and Tim had eaten was coming back up. The tears he'd been holding back poured free as well, feeling as if they were scorching his cheeks. He was still shaking and retching and sobbing slightly when footsteps approached and a hand began running gentle circles between his shoulders. He was too tired and lost to care that his dignity was gone.