Gotham City
February 26th, 02:03 EST

A black cat scurried across the disgusting platform once it felt that the place was vacant. She passed several piles of unkempt garbage teeming with endless possibilities for dinner, but she had her eye on one thing in particular. A knocked over trash can with a half-eaten slice of cold pizza laying out on the ground.

She had taken a few nibbles of her meal when the screeching brakes of a subway train forced her to abandon it and seek out a spot where she could hide until the abrasive sound would dissipate.

A rush of wind blew alongside the train as it came to a stop. Loose newspapers and fast food wrappers were swept away, cleaning up enough of the ground for the chewed gum and cockroaches to be visible to the naked eye.

The heavily rusted doors, which were covered up with three layers of graffiti, skidded on their own tracks as they parted open. Only, there was no one to get on board. Had it been two o'clock in the afternoon, hundreds of people would have filed out of the carriage while another hundred people would take their place. But it was two in the morning, and nobody was ever in this neighborhood after the sun went down.

Except for the two men who stepped out of the last car.

They looked nearly identical. Both of middling height and stout physique, neither of their faces were remarkable. They did not try to hide them as they crossed the platform over to the stairs leading down to the street level. What was the point? Any cameras that the station had were destroyed minutes after they were put up.

And if the local government tried to reinstall them, somebody somewhere in the system would receive a generous donation from the Falcone family, and the reinstallation would be backlogged till the year 2080.

The goons trekked down the last flight of stairs that brought them to the empty snow covered sidewalk. They stood there for a few moments, drinking in the silence of the deserted neighborhood.

They looked in every direction, listening for any change in the atmosphere. If they felt the slightest bit of trouble, there was a loaded revolver in each of their pockets with the purpose of solving any problem they might face.

Usually, lingering out in the open was unwise for anyone in Gotham, even if they were packing. But the men had to be sure that they weren't being followed.

Minutes rolled by. The air the two breathed out met the chilly winter weather, liquidizing instantly before their faces. When they heard the train roll out of the station and towards it's next stop, the two loosened their grips on their pieces and moved towards their destination. Confident that they were the only souls walking about in any direction.

Too bad they didn't look up. For there was a caped shadow perched up on the roof of the subway station. His cape shifted in the wind, unveiling a yellow "R" set upon a black background.

The two guys had no idea they were being followed by Robin, the boy wonder.

Once his targets had disappeared around the street's corner, he hopped down from his vantage point over to the next building's roof. Keeping a good distance between himself and the men he was shadowing, living up to the expectations placed upon his shoulders as Batman's ward.

Since Batman had left with other members of the League for Rimbor a whole month ago, Tim had his hands full with Gotham's large population of criminals. From petty thieves to chalk-white psychopaths with a pension to laugh, he was expected to take them all down and deliver them to Commissioner Gordon. Or to Arkham, depending on the offender.

Batgirl and Nightwing were there to help as well. But recently, Tim started to sense some trepidation in Dick's movements around the city. He'd been spending so much of his time in Blüdhaven establishing himself as Nightwing that he'd lost a little of his footing in his hometown. A good chunk of people still thought of him as Batman's true partner, and Dick wanted to move on from that.

Tim couldn't blame him for feeling that way. A number of those same people thought he was the second Robin in a new costume...

He shook his head at the thought. Dick wasn't with him at the moment. Nor was anyone else. He was alone. And alone in Gotham, with his cape and his mask; he was in his element.

The goons stopped dead in their tracks. One of them whipped his head back, looking right in Tim's direction.

But the man saw nothing. Just a snow covered street.

Once their anxiety died down, they resumed their journey. If only they had looked for another moment, maybe they might have spotted the one-too-many gargoyles on the roof of the church nearby. And that one of them was moving.

But they didn't see him. Instead, they crossed the street over to what looked like the most respectable part of the whole block. Probably the next six blocks too.

Tim's eyes focused as the men came to an alley sandwiched between a cluster of buildings. They forwent a last scan of the area to make sure they weren't being followed, instead choosing to head straight down the narrow way.

From his hiding spot, Tim noticed the alley ended in front of a solid brick wall stretching down the back of the buildings and far beyond. Where they came in was the only way to get out. Unless they went through a back door of one of the buildings next to it. That gave him three options to figure out where the men were heading.

The first, a derelict one-story duplex. Tim studied the place, his attention being drawn to the boarded up front door and windows, 'The only ways in and out must be a back door. That or the chimney. It could be a safe house or just a meeting point. Or maybe...'

He had heard about several lab busts in the area recently. Stood to reason the place might have escaped detection. But cooking meth produced a lot of heat, and since it had been snowing...

He glanced up at the building's roof. A perfect sheet of pure white snow laid on top of it. He compared it to all the other's of the neighborhood and saw a good number of them reflected the same image. The few roofs where snow had melted off were those that looked like they still had tenets inside them.

'Okay,' Tim thought, 'It's not a meth lab.' Seeing as there were no other footprints around the building, he surmised that there was either no one else inside the place, or they hadn't left the place for a while. He pushed his theories on the first house to the back burner as he looked to the second building.

It did not look as promising as it's neighbor. A shell of a building utterly gutted of everything but the pieces of it that kept it from falling down. The chain-link fence surrounding its perimeter had a few shredded pieces of red papers taped to them, 'How long ago was this marked for demolition? Doesn't look safe enough for a safe house.'

Since all it's windows were gone, Tim could easily see each part of the place's interior. His eyes scanned every room, but were unable to relocate the two men he had been tailing, 'No sign of them. It doesn't look like there's a basement so there's nowhere for them to hide.'

That left him with building number three; The Gotham History Museum. An official name for a very unofficial building.

'I think we found our winner.'

Tim settled himself behind one of the many gargoyles lining the church's rooftop. As he was in the perfect spot to keep an eye on the men he'd followed, he didn't feel the need to burst in on them. Not yet. Not until they actually did something wrong.

He was in a comfortable spot. His heavily lined cape kept him warm as the night grew colder. Plus, he had a group of Neo-Gothic pals to keep him company as he waited for something to happen.

But what? He didn't see any new museum news during his last media binge. Just the latest on how Gotham's Museum of Art had recently displayed a newly found Picasso, only for it to be stolen by Catwoman hours later. He decided to let Commissioner Gordon handle that case after he had left a few bread crumbs that would lead him down the right path.

Tim went through his memories of the museum's exhibits, only for nothing to scream out at him. There were no priceless relics. No great artworks worth millions. From what he remembered from his ninth grade field trip there, the place had a nostalgic and sentimental value, not a monetary one. It was solely dedicated to preserving the city's torrid but proud history. It was either left off or at the very bottom of everyone's "Things to do in Gotham" list. Right below "Get Mugged".

'So why here? Do they really think that they have something worth stealing? Okay, maybe they're not aiming for a big score. But if they're not, then what are they doing here? Gang initiation?'

As more possibilities rattled off inside his head, he found himself taking in his surroundings. Brick and limestone buildings spread out as far as the eye could see. With the exception of the ever-present police sirens in the distance, all was quiet. Even a few stray snowflakes began to dance around the air.

It was a rare thing for him to take in. He usually got to enjoy these few calm moments with someone else. But now, that someone was gone.

It was hard without his mentor around, but Bruce had entrusted him to watch over their home. Over a million people. Tim didn't have the luxury to fail. He had to always be on his toes, forever vigilant. Because if he wasn't...

Jason Todd.

The name alone always sent a shudder through Tim. His late predecessor. If their world was a fair one, he'd still be Robin and Tim would just be an ordinary high school student.

The life not lived.

Somehow, Tim felt that version of his life wasn't right. He wouldn't have been a normal student. He probably would have stayed up till two or three listening to police scanners or doing detective work on his own. It sounded more like him. Maybe he still would have crossed Batman's path.

A fun thought, but that wasn't his life. Instead, he was sitting alone on a rooftop, filling the shoes of a dead boy.

A screeching alarm cut through his thoughts. His head turned immediately to the museum. Through its dirt and frost covered windows, he could see the place's security lights flashing.

'Guess they weren't smart after all.'

The museum's security alarm continued to blare as the two men raced to fill their pockets with any trinket they could get their hands on. While one pilfered the antique coin display, the other took a chair and smashed it against the case holding an assortment of pocket watches. The wall of glass protecting it shattered and rained down onto the floor.

The alarms were already going off, so what was the use of being careful?

The answer to that question came as a batarang came flying into the room, smashing glass and embedding itself into the wall that was inches away from the pocket watch the man was about to take.

The two did their best to remain calm as they looked to where they heard the breaking glass come from.

The projectile had busted through the room's main window, as the remains of it's glass scattered on the floor. With the large frame now empty, a small dark figure swung into the room. Landing within feet of the bandits.

They might not have known how to successfully commit a burglary, but they sure knew who they were dealing with.

"Where's the bat?" one of them asked. "Too afraid to show himself?"

As he spoke, his partner tried to reach for the gun hiding inside his pocket. A movement that did not go unnoticed by the boy wonder. Not allowing himself to be caught off guard, he quickly drew his bo staff, "Please. He's got bigger fish to fry than you."

Protocol dictated that he should wait for them to make the first move. Then counterattack. But he had just spent five hours patrolling in below freezing temperatures. Just when he thought he might be able to call it a night, he had to stumble upon their stupid behinds. And then he had to wait half an hour in said freezing weather for them to do something stupid and Illegal. So, he wasn't going to wait for them to dig their graves any deeper.

He lunged at the man closest to him. His hand was halfway inside his inner coat pocket when Tim's staff slammed against his face, knocking him out. The force of it threw him back into the coin display, smashing all of its shelves. Both the coins and perp fell to the ground.

Unlike his counterpart, the other got his hands on his gun before Tim smacked it away from him, with it flying to the opposite end of the room. Another quick swing of his staff landed against the arm that held the weapon. The man crumbled onto the floor, clutching the bruised appendage. Tim made sure he didn't hit hard enough to seriously injure him, but it would definitely be sore for the next few days. But it'd heal nicely with the assistance of the medical crew inside Gotham City Jail. Since that's where he'd be staying for the foreseeable future.

But a sudden click cast Tim's eyes back to where the coin display used to be. And the man who had been lying on the ground moments ago, wasn't unconscious anymore.

And he'd gotten ahold of his revolver.

Tim couldn't get a good look at it before the trigger-happy man started firing.

He was expecting bullets to come out. But much to his surprise, a beam of red energy shot out of the gun's barrel, tearing right through the end of his staff leaving it a molten mess.

With it now a bust, Tim cast the ruined weapon aside before racing towards the shooter. Another round of blasts zoomed past his head as he closed on him. The guy wasn't much of a marksman, as his aim grew worse the closer Tim got.

The last shot proved a little dangerous, as it came within an inch of his left ear. Too close for most people, but it didn't phase him. He latched onto the gunman's wrist, as he wrenched it back behind the man, he let out a great high pitched shriek. It was quickly cut short as Tim's free hand struck him in the trachea.

To try and protect his throat from any more damage, the man raised both his hands to cover them up the best he could. But in the progress of doing so, he dropped his gun. And with his arms up above his waist, that gave Tim a soft new target to aim for; his gut.

His boot hit right in the center of the man's stomach, throwing him right back into the shelves he'd destroyed minutes ago. This time though, he didn't look too eager to get back up.

Neither of the men put up anymore of a fight as Tim trussed them up for the Gotham City police. It'd been a while since the alarm first sounded, and with the neighborhood's reputation, Tim guessed it would take them at least forty minutes for them to muster enough manpower and courage to come all the way from uptown. With how long it took him to tie the two wannabe burglars up, he was left with a very limited amount of time. And he still had a few questions for them before the cops came and carted them off.

Once he knew they weren't going to do anything funny, Tim leaned down to pick up the pistol that was shot at him. He was lucky, the thing's firepower could have taken his head clean off. And could have cauterized it for good measure. The glowing red accents decorating it's exterior screamed it's origins.

Apokolips.

He walked over to where the other gun laid on the opposite side of the room. At first glance, it had the look of a .44 Magnum, a bit of overkill for a museum heist to say the least. As he picked it up and got a closer look at it, he noticed a faint red glow from within it's chamber.

As soon as he got it open, a warm crimson glow bathed the entire room. The tied up men averted their eyes as the light was blinding. It snapped off once Tim closed the chamber.

He turned to his detainees, "Where'd you get these?"

"Found 'em."

He stalked back over to them, stopping when he was inches away from their faces, their sorry faces reflecting off of his mask's lenses, "Where?"

He took the time to really look at the two men. The one on the right held a firm gaze with him, refusing to be afraid of whatever awaited him. The guy on the left though, his eyes kept darting between Tim's and his accomplices. His left foot kept twitching. He was nervous.

If they weren't twins, or some form of relation, he'd have been shocked. With the distance he was at earlier, he didn't see a difference in them. They moved and acted as one unit. But up close, he was noticing their mannerisms were completely different. The one on the right was the strong, albeit misguided, fearless leader. So long as he kept that up, his buddy would be silent and go along with him.

'If I can get the leader to break, both will crumble.'

But the guy had to disappoint Tim. He narrowed his eyes and growled, "Kid, I don't have to tell you anything."

Before he could disagree, he saw flashing red and blue lights appear in the remnants of the room's window. He looked back to the man one last time. Utter contempt was plastered on his face. He stared at the hero for maybe ten seconds before rolling his head back, resting it against the wall as he waited to be hauled off to jail.

Tim lowered his head as he walked out of the room.

Mount Justice
February 26th, 4:16 EST

Tim hardly listened to the Cave's computer announce his arrival, "Recognized. Robin. B-20."

He wasn't planning on staying long. Barbara told him Dick was still going over the Krolotean intel they had intercepted on Malina Island. The Cave's systems had been hard at work decrypting the information, but it was getting close to two months since it started and there was still no end in sight.

He was in the main room, the same place the Cave's computer was, but he saw no sign of Dick.

"Hello?" Tim yelled. No reply came.

Tim huffed in annoyance. He thought he could just pop in and out without much trouble, but now, he'd have to hunt down his big brother.

The Cave was a pretty big place. With a lot of rooms.

He decided to try the nearest hallway as it led to a few places where Dick could be. The kitchen, the library, the spare guest room. It was late, and the last time Tim saw him, he was working on deciphering the alien info. Seeing as he couldn't speak the Kroloteans' language, let alone read it, Tim imagined Dick hadn't gotten far with it. He could have decided to crash there instead of having to go back to Blüdhaven.

Tim remembered that for some reason, Blue Beetle could speak Krolotean...maybe he might be able to crack the code?

Kroloteans were not Tim's priority though. He had pea-brained thieves with alien tech way out of their league.

He came upon the spare bedroom, only to find it's door wide open. With no one inside.

'Okay, let's try the library.'

Could the subject wait till morning? Or at least a more reasonable hour? Of course it could have, but Tim wanted to get it over with while it was fresh in his mind. Besides, criminals outside of Intergang were getting their hands on Apokoliptian tech. Dick would want to know about it as soon as possible. And since he couldn't get a hold of him through their comms, he figured a house call was the best option.

His theory of Dick being in the library proved to be a failure. He walked through both levels, down every row, he even checked the secret entrance to the place, and nothing. It almost made Tim believe that Dick didn't want to be found.

Much to his surprise, he couldn't find anyone around. He'd come across none of the handful of people who lived within the mountain. But then again, his teammates were probably already in bed, asleep for hours.

Still, the Cave's zeta tubes were open 24/7, and he did hope to find someone up and about.

He had heard La'gaan and Jaime talking earlier about doing a movie night. Mal and Karen seemed on board, although M'gann was not so keen. Tim imagined getting Cassie and Garfield to agree to it would have been like pushing through an open door. It wasn't a school night, so it was possible for some of them to have stuck around so late.

Maybe Dick decided to join them for some R & R?

But Tim was beginning to feel fatigued. So much so that if he didn't find Dick in the kitchen or the living room attached to it, he was ready to call it a night. He'd just wait till the next time he saw him to tell him about the robbery.

Sure enough, as he strolled into the kitchen, he found it completely abandoned. On the kitchen's island, bowls of varying sizes were laid out. The scant amounts of dips and popcorn that remained in them had either crusted over or had become stale. Crushed chip flecks littered the counter and floor, leaving a trail that Tim followed over to the living room's couch.

The tv had been left on, playing some random episode of Wendy the Werewolf Stalker. The bright light radiating from it lit up half the room. It first revealed La'gaan, passed out in the lounge chair next to the sofa. M'gann was nowhere to be seen.

Speaking of said sofa, Tim noticed a few bodies sprawled out on it. He came to realize within moments that it was the rest of the team's freshmen class.

Garfield was on his stomach in the spread eagle form. His simian tail swinging back and forth in rhythm with his snoring. Jaime, who himself was also snoring, was laid out in the middle of the couch, his face only a few inches away from Gar's sock-free foot. How he wasn't smelling or gagging on it was beyond Tim's knowledge.

On the other end of the couch, Cassie had snuggled up against the back of the couch, almost burrowing herself in it. Unlike the dueling snorers, her breathing was slow and even.

Looking at all of them, at how obviously well they all got on, Tim felt bad that he didn't join them. La'gaan and Blue didn't exactly invite him. He was in the same room as them when they were making their plans, but they didn't ask him to his face if he wanted to join them. They knew as well as he did that he'd have turned them down.

When Bruce was around, protecting Gotham was already a full time job. Without him...the albatross was getting heavy around Tim's neck. And it was weighing down on his relationships with his teammates.

But if keeping a Batman-less Gotham safe came at the cost of a movie night with his team, he'd pay it. They all understood and respected that.

The tv's remote sat forgotten on the coffee table just a foot away from Cassie. Tim grabbed it, turning off the tv and letting the room fall into darkness. He swept out of the room and back down the corridor to the zeta tube.

His info could wait.