Seasonal Preparations

He hadn't shaved all day and it was going to stay that way. A little stubble was necessary for the night. Picking up a mustache piece, Bruce held it over his upper lip, tilting his head from side to side, before discarding it. It wasn't the right one.

So he picked up another, a handlebar mustache. This one covered his upper lip and extended down to his chin. He looked at the results in the mirror and found it also not quite right.

"Hey, you guys," he said clearly as he took the mustache piece off and set it down, reaching for another. "Hey, ya guys," he tried next. "You guys. Youz guys. Yoooouz guys. Hey, youz guys."

There we go. When one was working, one needed to be efficient. In this case, he was working on his accent. Picking up a pencil mustache, he tried it on, looking himself in the mirror and finding he rather liked the look. It looked like he had a winner.

"Hey, youz guys," he said again, dropping his voice an octave. He added a slight guttural tone, perhaps a little raspy, as if he had been smoking cigarettes for awhile, all the while watching as the mustache moved up and down with his upper lip. "Hear 'bout any good jobz? I'm in the market for some work."

Taking the mustache off, he applied some glue to the back of it, pressing it back on. Once he was satisfied it was on, he then picked a small can of hair gel, taking perhaps a tad too much. Rubbing the gel all over his hands, he then ran his fingers through his hair, applying as much as he could. He grabbed a comb just as quick, running it through even as the gel began to harden. He managed to get a part right down the center of his head, his hair combed to either side of his head, the hair gel helping to keep it in place. Picking up a towel, he used it to wipe his hands. It didn't do a good job as water would have helped to remove the excess gel on his hands.

"Whatever are you doing, Father?"

Bruce glanced to the mirror and saw Damian's reflection, the boy standing further back, his arms crossed over his chest. They were in the Cave under Wayne Manor, the house having been completed a couple months ago. He and his two bickering children—because yes, they had yet to stop arguing with each other—had moved back in. The construction had taken longer than expected, but it was what it was.

It probably didn't help that there were some unhappy union guys causing some trouble as well.

In retrospect, he hadn't really cared who worked on his family house, so long as it was done to his specifications. Things had been going along well, though the trouble started around the time Selina Kyle had spoken to him about her power plant proposal. That gave him pause.

It seemed like too much coincidence that they had both experienced disgruntled labor workers, ones that were proactive in their tactics. Bruce had beefed up his security in response rather than watch his property as Batman; he didn't need to link his two identities that way. His security team had been no-nonsense and put a rather quick end to the saboteurs.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, the dark-haired man finally answered his son. "I'm going on a fact-finding mission tonight."

"Why do you not do so in your armor?" the boy questioned.

"Because sometimes you get more answers with honey than vinegar."

Damian stared at him. "I do not understand."

Bruce turned around. The Cave surrounded the two, not looking any worse for wear. That had been the result of Zatanna using her magic to undo his self-detonation of the Cave during the unpleasantness with Luthor. The rest of the Justice League had made certain to help out with clearing the nearby caverns and tunnels, even cleaning up any random pieces of rubble Zatanna had missed. Magic was an inexact science after all, and even with her considerable power, the dark-haired woman hadn't been able to completely restore the Cave.

Too much had happened during the explosion to undo it all with one spell.

All-and-all, they had done a good job.

"There have been rumblings of a new outfit in Gotham," Bruce explained to his son. "But there isn't much known about them. So, I'll be going undercover to see what I can't find out. Criminals can be very talkative so long as they think they're talking to one of their own. The old mob families would usually let it be known if they were on the lookout for someone if they were crossed."

"The old mob families are dead," Damian bluntly replied.

"Except the Calabreses, who were at that botched meet we investigated. They've gone to the trouble of keeping their activities lowkey. I haven't been able to learn much about them as Batman even after I encountered their old boss, the Lion, in Blackgate."

"So this involves the case? I will get myself ready!"

Bruce shook his head. "Not tonight. You haven't done an undercover mission like this, so you'll be sitting this one out."

"I will not be grounded again, Father!" Damian roared.

"This has nothing to do with grounding you, Damian. We haven't gotten to this aspect of your training and it's something that needs to be done. You can go check-in with the Batclan if you wish."

"I would rather be on my own."

The older man hardened his face. "You will not be going solo, Damian. It's too dangerous."

"But you have been training me! You! Not some two-bit martial arts teacher!" Damian shot back. "I can handle myself!"

"And if you go out on your own, you will find yourself grounded for the rest of the year."

The boy gaped. "You…you can't—" he began to work himself up.

"What's my rule, Damian?" he said sternly.

Damian scowled, but then his shoulders slumped. "Your rule is law."

It was good to see his words were sinking in. It had only taken the better part of several months. Faintly, Bruce wondered where the boy got his stubborn streak.

Returning to his disguise kit, which took up an entire table on its own, Bruce continued his preparations. "Considering how tight-lipped the Calabreses have been, it stands to reason they had a leak, which led to the ambush at the meet. That indicates some sort of inside job. I'll be trying to locate this insider and learn who he told about the meet."

"And it'll just be you," Damian grumbled petulantly. "No one looking over your shoulder."

Well, perhaps he wouldn't be alone. Damian didn't need to know that part.


Selina Kyle, aging out of foster care at age eighteen and then vanishing like the wind only to return now. No pictures, so much of this record was sealed, but with enough cash in the right places, you could get a hold on some very interesting reading.

Decades old paperwork at least gave some description. Early thirties, white Caucasian, green eye color, black hair—and here he found himself frowning. The Selina Kyle he was aware of had blonde hair. Why was there this discrepancy?

A child shows up in foster care out of nowhere, disappears to the same place, only to resurface now? Shreck was an expert at detecting stenches and this stank to all high heaven. Take the name Kyle, one from the first of what turned out to be many foster homes. What had been the girl's original last name? That was stricken for some reason.

From becoming a ghost to returning back into high society…how had she been able to do that? It required money, so where did she get it from? An important question to answer, especially when bestowing pain upon her. Taking away whatever funds she was using was a good first step, but it wouldn't be the last.

Still, was this all that Chip could dig up?

There was no place Shreck trusted better than his personal study if only because he never kept anything important in it. You could trash it up, everything could be replaced. The desk, the chairs, the sofa, the fireplace, the liquor cabinet, the liquor inside of the liquor cabinet, every single appliance in here, in a couple of days replaced if needed. Sure, some mourning for that one scotch he would never drink, but that was the price of business.

Speaking of, what was the price Chip had paid to get this? It wasn't as informative as he had hoped, but it was still more than what he had had before. It didn't matter how many times he angled the papers, the light cast from the lit fireplace did nothing to change any of it.

Setting aside the documents he had been perusing, the elder Shreck gazed up at his son while folding his hands together. "Not bad…though…it is a bit…lacking."

Chip gave a nod. "Thought so too, but I figured it was best you see it."

Not a bad idea. Still, "I'm hoping…you found more."

"Well, when my guy wasn't finding anything, switched tracks," his son explained, placing a sheaf of photos down in front of the mogul. "She's not alone, so I looked into them. There's always a big guy with her."

"Bodyguard?" Shreck suggested. There was a pop from the fireplace, some of the burning logs sinking into one another.

"Lawyer," Chip corrected.

From the image of a man whose face was a cousin for granite, Shreck turned his gaze back to his son. Raising his eyebrows, the older man repeated, "A lawyer."

"Not just any lawyer. Mob." Chip's lips smacked on the B.

And there was suddenly an answer. Money from the mob; risky, but Shreck could respect a risktaker. Shame, the mob was not known for doing favors, especially elevating a no named girl to the echelons of high society. So what was the real aim here? What did the mob hope to accomplish here?

Why did it involve building a power plant of their own?

Shreck knew of mobsters; he had had his picture taken with many back in their heyday. Naturally, all of those photos were boxed away, probably somewhere in the attic. Nevertheless, as a man doing business back in that era, he had learned how to schmooze that type of individual. There was no need in finding yourself on the wrong side of the Roman, or even the Lion.

But there had always been multiple families. Why was one involved now?

"Do you know which family?" he asked.

"Well, after Batman hit them hard, there's only one family left. Called the Calabrese," his son answered.

Calabrese, this was a name he hadn't heard in a long time. Went out after the Roman launched a war, tons of chaos, horrible times. Seemed like they were making a comeback, but why didn't anyone else know about it?

Unless, Selina Kyle had something to do with that as well.

"We got the Calabrese. We got Selina Kyle. How do we pay them back?" In the end, that was what was at the heart of the matter. This Kyle woman was taking something that did not belong to her, and if she thought she could get away with it.

It couldn't just be her, it needed to be everyone around her, helping, aiding and abetting the theft of his legacy.

"Well, I got to thinking about that too," Chip confessed. "There's been some word of a new crew that's been working the Calabrese. Robbing them, taking their stuff, getting away Scot free. They know something, right Pops?"

Getting away Scot free? Shreck was a master of that himself. To rob the mob was no easy feat, so that meant there had to be a mind behind it. Someone getting off on that kind of thrill, or perhaps going after a big fish knowing no one from the cops would be hunting them down encouraged some risk taking.

Regardless, if they were an annoyance to Kyle here, then whoever had the chutzpah here was someone Maximillian Shreck wanted to meet. Maybe even convince to ratchet up the operations.

"Tell me you have…a lead." More of a request than a question, but his All-American son was quick to catch up. The crackling from the fireplace only seemed to amp up the tension the elder Shreck was feeling.

"Matter of fact, I do," Chip boasted. "Maybe not a location, but I've got an eye on a guy."

Unfolding his hands, Shreck stood up. "Then let's make a meeting happen. I'm…very curious…to who…Gotham's latest entrepreneur happens to be. Round up some of your boys…we're going hunting."

Whatever this Selina Kyle's motives were, she was going to find out that he wasn't the type of man to take anything lying down. If she wanted to fight him with fire, then he would do the same and burn her entire world down.


Black Canary would be lying if she said she wasn't worried.

Manhunter wasn't her usual self and hadn't been for a while. That was to be expected considering she had volunteered to go undercover and was essentially tortured. The problem was that the brunette insisted she was fine, that she had gotten all the help she needed, and they had more pressing things to deal with.

However, every so often, something leaked out from behind her facade that indicated that she wasn't fine. Her slapping the radio to the floor at the Roost was indicative of that. Canary was well aware of the sleepless nights her friend suffered after the initial ordeal, her avoidance of music for even longer, and how on-edge she was whenever in civilian garb.

Canary may or may not have followed her friend around…on more than one occasion.

The biggest problem was Manhunter herself. If she didn't want to get additional help, they couldn't force her. It was ultimately up to her to get herself straight and at the rate she was going, she was going to crash and burn hard. At their current rate, they just needed some gimmick villain to show up that used music as a weapon and there would be some issues.

So naturally, as they were on patrol, each of Canary, Katana, and Huntress keeping a close eye on their weary teammate—and let's face it, Manhunter would have noticed them hovering if she had been on her A-game and clearly hadn't as of right now—they received a call.

"Birds, it's Oracle."

Automatically, Canary answered. "We're listening."

"I've got a request from Batman for all of you. More of an assignment really, though it's up to you if you choose to accept or not."

Canary frowned. It wasn't often Batman reached out for help on anything. The same with deferring a case to anyone else. The big man himself usually handled things personally, or sent Batgirl as his messenger.

Apparently, she kept silent too long as Manhunter responded, "You know, Oracle, if you were trying to do your best Mission Impossible impression, then you really need to work on it."

"I was thinking the same thing," Huntress agreed.

Now that they pointed it out, Black Canary had to agree. They were at the part of the movie where Tom Cruise was approached with an impossible mission should he choose to accept or not. Oracle clearly flubbed the moment.

"Do you want the assignment or not?" the hacker demanded, clearly not in the mood to be joked with.

"Well, guys, do we want to choose or accept the potential impossible mission?" Huntress continued to joke.

"I think we've been missing out on impossible missions lately," Canary joined in. "I think we should go for it. Maybe Katana can hang onto the side of a plane if one's involved."

"There are better ways to get onto a plane," Katana pointed out.

"Ha, ha, jerks," Oracle grumbled. "There's a new player coming to Gotham that Batman wants you to keep an eye on. Says he wants you to locate and follow him. If things get heated, you are to engage and subdue, but make certain no harm comes to this guy."

Canary raised an eyebrow. This sounded odd. Some crook was going to Gotham and Batman wanted him unharmed? Were they playing bodyguard for this guy? Why?

"Did Batman say why he wanted this guy to be followed?" Manhunter questioned. "And why does he want this guy unharmed?"

"According to him, this guy is trying to get in good with what's left of the Mob. Batman wants this man followed so that he can learn what the Mob is up to seeing as they've been keeping themselves on the downlow. Perhaps this guy leads up into a mob operation that's gone unnoticed, or we learn just how weak they've become."

Okay, that made sense, the blonde vigilante had to admit. It had been some time since they had any dealings with the Mob. They were clearly at their weakest since their earliest days in Gotham, a lot of that due to the vigilante community, and quite a bit of credit due to the various attempts at taking over Gotham by some various super-criminals. The Iceman, Bane, Two-Face, even the Joker had participated in weakening the families over the years, just as much, if not moreso, than the vigilantes.

Perhaps the remaining families had been quiet for longer than Batman liked and wanted an investigation into them just to see what they were up to. That wasn't a terrible idea, honestly, and Canary could see why he would prefer the Birds to be on it rather than the Batclan. Those girls were still coming into their own and the Birds had plenty of experience. Hell, Huntress had her own connections into the Mob if they really needed to use them.

"What's the name of this player?" Huntress asked them.

"This guy is named Matches Malone. There isn't a lot of information on him, though I found something on a Malone in Jersey several years back. Seems a little too small time to me, but Batman seems interested in him."

There was silence. Then, "Matches? Really?" Huntress questioned incredulously. "What kind of name is that? Is that even his real name?"

"It's gotta be some kind of nickname," Manhunter agreed. "Do you have his real name, Oracle?"

"No, that's all I've got on the guy. As far as I can tell, he's been called Matches from birth."

"Like hell he was," Huntress grumbled.

"Do we know if this Malone is in Gotham yet?" Black Canary decided to ask them. They could be on this Matches Malone name for quite some time, because yeah, that was a dumb name. Seriously, who calls their kid Matches? And if it was his legal name, he had to have had it changed through the courts. That was something for Oracle to look for.

"Intel indicates that he showed up last night. He's on the southside, checked into a motel in the area, though he used cash to do so. There's a CCTV camera though, so I was able to get an ID on him."

"Then that's where we're going," Canary said. "Over and out."

Before she could go anywhere though, Huntress had to naturally keep alive their last talking point. "Seriously, Matches? How the hell did this ignoramus come up with that name? I swear, gangsters are getting less and less creative with their dumb names."


It wasn't right; it wasn't fair! How could his father do this to him? He had proven himself, hadn't he? He had followed the rules, as unfair as they could be, and now he was cast off, sent away from his side while his father went galivanting into the night, dressed as some…some…hobo!

And the worst part, he found himself standing in front of an unfortunately familiar door.

Damian hated that he had to swallow his pride to come here.

Clearing himself through the security protocol, he then opened the door and entered the Batclan's BatCave. Just seeing it now, it paled in comparison to his father's Batcave.

He hated this so much.

And up on the second level, positioned around the large computer, were the banes of his existence.

Three girls had turned to look towards him. One that was dressed in blue, stepped towards the railing and grabbed it with both hands. "Well, well, look who's back," the irritating Harper Row declared.

A girl in lavender came to stand next to the railing as well, leaving a small distance between the two. This was the more tolerable of the three, Stephanie Brown. She just looked down at him with a frown, but didn't really say anything. No doubt she was wondering what he was doing here.

And then…there was the worst of them all.

Moving to stand between the two teenage girls was the most vile, the most repulsive person in all of existence. She stood there in black, wearing his father's symbol, a constant slap to his pride. She taunted him at every turn, no matter how far he had come to receive his rightful inheritance.

Even worse, she had made him make his bed.

"Usurper," he growled.

"Jerkface," the girl blandly returned.

See what he meant by her being so loathsome?

"What brings you here?" Harper called out to him. "Did Daddy Bat kick you to the curb?"

"He did no such thing." Damian immediately closed the door behind him and went right for the staircase that led up to the second level. Each footstep clanged loudly throughout the room until he reached the upper floor. "He had important business to attend to, and suggested I lend you much needed assistance."

"So he dumped you on us."

"Did you not hear a word I said, woman?!"

"What's with the new uniform?" Stephanie suddenly asked, cutting right through the bickering.

Oh? Was he wearing something new? Oh right, he was wearing the armor his father had personally given him. Damian approached the three girls before coming to a stop, placing his fists against his hips as he wore it proudly. "You've noticed my new armor—a gift from my father."

He purposefully looked at the Usurper for her reaction. All three girls were not wearing their masks, so there was nothing to hide what most assuredly would be anger at his father's gift.

The Usurper just stared blankly at him. How disappointing.

"It looks good," Harper complimented him, Damian detecting genuine praise. "What does the R stand for?"

"For my new name, of course," he told her.

"Oh? Have we upgraded from S.O.B.? What's your new name?"

Damian ignored the ugly association with his previously, perfectly good name, Son of Batman. He would allow the blue-haired girl the jab once she heard his new, even better name. He had given this quite some thought and had finally come up with a name that would surely strike fear into the hearts of criminals everywhere.

He squared his shoulders.

He practically preened.

"I am now…Redbird."

There was a stunned silence.

Stephanie and the Usurper slowly turned their heads to Harper, who just blinked at him.

The first sign Damian suspected something was wrong was when he noticed the amused glint in Harper's eyes, the corner of her mouth stretching up into a smirk.

"You know, other people would be insulted, but I can't help but consider it a homage," she finally responded bemused. "Good choice, 'Redbird'."

What? What was it now? Why was she acting this way? There was no way she could spoil this name, not like the other one. There was no way the initials of Redbird could be misconstrued with a vulgar insult—he had checked it to be certain. So what was wrong with this one?

"So what do you guys think of having two birds in our little Batclan?" Harper asked the other two.

Two birds? That's when it hit him with the full weight of a truck.

Redbird.

Bluebird.

They were practically the same, just with a different color scheme.

Damn it, no! No! Not again!


It wasn't the first time that Cassandra was glad that Harper Row was a part of her team. This latest moment was just another to add to her growing scrapbook of the blue-haired girl getting a one-up on her annoying little brother.

As Damian—ahem, Redbird—stood there, mouth agape in horror, Cassandra just allowed a little smile to grace her lips before she turned away and returned to the computer. With her back turned, her smile grew much, much wider.

Christmas was coming up, right? She was so going to get the Row residence a good Christmas present. Harper…she deserved it.

"Welcome aboard, Redbird," she heard Harper continue with her teasing. "It's so great to see you, but right now we have to get ready for tonight's patrol."

"He's never going to get that name thing right, is he?" Stephanie said next to Cassandra, clearly speaking to her.

The dark-haired girl snorted. "Never," she agreed. "And for that, Harper will have no shortage of amusement."

"You're enjoying this, aren't you."

"Absolutely."

Of course, all good things had to come to an end. "What is it you are working on?" Redbird questioned as he approached them once more, coming to stand in front of the computer.

On screen was the incident that Harper and Stephanie had encountered that afternoon. According to the police report, a man had been assaulted at a basketball court in East Gotham. The word ABUSE had been on his face. According to the M.E. report, it wasn't a tattoo or a brand. In fact, the letters had been pressed into the man's skin, using an incredible amount of force.

To Cassandra, that just meant the victim had been punched so hard, the word had been imprinted into the man's flesh.

The question was what could create such a mark?

"There was an assault earlier today, where a man was marked with the word ABUSE," Cassandra decided to inform the boy.

"This is what you've been reduced to? Some odd case?" Damian asked. It went unsaid that he considered this a great step down from the Fairchild murder case, but the undercurrent was there.

Cassandra's eye twitched. "We've dug a little deeper and have discovered other cases just like this. Each victim had been assaulted and the same word imprinted onto them, the means currently unknown. In all of the cases though, the victims were either suspected of violence, or had been arrested for violence, be it child abuse or domestic violence."

"So someone is assaulting people who assault," Damian summarized. "I fail to see a problem with this."

"It looks like we have a potential vigilante, one that's currently unknown," the dark-haired girl retorted. "And without knowing or understanding them, this can easily go from assault and battery to murder."

"Again, I fail to see the problem."

"The last person that decided to kill people in the name of justice ended up being Victor Fries," Cassandra pointed out. "And every person in Gotham knows what he tried to do: he stopped targeting mobsters and decided the entire city needed to be punished. We could very well be in the early stages of another Iceman."

That seemed to get Damian's attention if his head perking up and his body straightening out was any indication. "And you wish to nip this in the bud."

"Preferably, yes."

"Where do we look first?"

The dark-clad girl raised an eyebrow. "You seem interested now."

"Father's first rule," Damian countered, "No killing—ever."

She was going to let that slide—for now. "We were planning on sweeping through the last known scene, the basketball court. There may be something that was left behind that the police missed."

"I can handle that," Damian was quick to volunteer. "I will investigate and perform follow-up."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I am sure! I would not volunteer myself otherwise."

"Then go to the basketball court. It's on…" she trailed off.

"78th and Washington," Harper supplied.

Damian nodded and then turned around, his cape billowing out behind him. Cassandra was reluctant to admit that had been a tad cool. "Don't wait up," is all he said as he left the BatCave.

After the door was shut, the questions came. "Did you just pawn that case off on him?" Stephanie asked.

A small smile appeared on Cassandra's face. "Maybe."

"Huh? Seriously?" Harper piped up. "Since when?"

"Since the time he called this Abuse case 'some odd case'."

"You built it up, with all of that Victor Fries stuff," Stephanie realized. "And Damian took it hook, line, and sinker."

"It certainly looks that way."

"Damn, well played, Cass," Harper congratulated her. "You were so smooth too. I didn't realize you were even manipulating him. Hell, you had me manipulated!"

Well, she did have a good teacher in that regard.

"So…" Stephanie began, glancing to the door and then back. "Do you really think he can solve it?"

Cassandra knew the answer even as her mouth said it. "No chance in hell."