A/N: Looks like this turned into another 'Wide Open,' in the sense that Superboy is the main issue, I wasn't going to include the action in this chapter, but then decided it'd be too fun to pass up...as well as the fact that this is the action chapter, and we don't get to the core of the matter until next chapter... XD

I've actually been working on this for days (stayed up writing most of this chapter till three in the morning last night on a writing buzz XD) in between my summer AP homework (it kills to be smart, I tell you... XP), but I've gotten weeks/months' worth of work done in six days, and I only have about...755 pages, annotating of those pages, a map with illustrations and such, and weekly news crap left, so... XP Fun...

Basis: There was one part of Episode 5, "Schooled," that had me both in love and puzzled. When Bruce is talking with Clark at the diner, Clark answers Bruce's claim that Superboy needs him with, "No! He needs...you. He needs (enter unintelligible phrasing here)." I could never figure out what he said right there, no matter how many times I played it on YT! XD

Then, I found someone who randomly transcribed the exchange and found out Clark said, "He needs Red." I'd never heard that expression before, so I asked my parents what it meant, and between the three of us (they'd never heard it either), we thought perhaps Clark was smack-complimenting Bruce's heart. (It's the color red, and it is complimenting something that sets Bruce apart from Clark, especially in a delicate situation like Superboy's - not to say that Clark doesn't have a heart, of course, though he does seem rather cruel in this situation...but that's another matter. XD)

Thus, this single phrase - word, really (and something of the rest of their conversation, which I've always loved) - is the foundation for this two-shot!

For the record, all criminals in this chapter are random drug-mobsters/security details hired by the higher-ups, etc., that I created, though I got several direct ideas for said higher/highest-ups from all of the crime shows I watch (CSI, Law & Order, Memphis Beat -just found, but pretty good-, Mentalist -haven't seen much, but really like-, BBC Sherlock...you name it)! XD So anything remotely familiar probably is!

Note for readers of 'Bullseye': Chapter nine is coming, I swear! I've been so caught up in the last few months of school (I got a B in A.P. Physics! YES!), AP homework, and the worst writer's block ever (which really freaked me out because I've never had it before, in all of my nine of writing!), but as soon as I've got all of my studies taken care of, I should be able to get cracking! T.T Please forgive me for taking forever!

Disclaimer: I do not own Young Justice. The awesome people at DC do (although I'm still peeved about the freaking reboot crap... XC), as well as CN...and anyone else affiliated! (The leaked ep, 'Targets,' by the way, was awesome! Only thing that made it not so asterous was the lack of Rob... T.T Oh, and the mole confusion... I know it's probably Art, but I have this creeping feeling that it's Kaldur for some reason... I don't know... XD)

Red

They're on stakeout when Robin finally decides to bring it up.

To anyone in the League, Batman would seem mostly the same as usual tonight—a tad more on edge perhaps, but certainly no less skilled or less focused. Basically, right as gloomy skies in Gotham.

Nevertheless, Robin isn't in the JLA. He's part of the Young Justice League, soon to be its leader, but that's not the same thing and also not the point right now.

As the Barman's partner, the billionaire's ward, and Bruce's son, Dick knows when his Father's behaving oddly.

He glances at the man out of the corner of his eye and cannot help it when the hairs on the back of his neck stand erect. There's a certain glint to the Batman's eyes (Robin can sense it, cowl or no), a feral arch to his grip on the roof's raised perimeter, and a frustrated stiffness to his silence.

Yep. Bruce is definitely off-kilter.

Curious, Robin turns to face the Dark Knight, but waits a few minutes to gather his thoughts and go over the evidence again. Determining that he's still in the right, he opens his mouth to speak.

"If you're going to ask if something's wrong, don't," the gruff voice counteracts, its owner making another sweep of the area. "It has nothing to do with the mission, Robin."

The Caped Crusader raises his cowled eyes to meet his domino-masked protégé's, the smallest flicker of a smile ghosting across his face in reassurance.

But Robin is not entirely convinced. Yes, Batman has been troubled some nights, protective others, but he never lets his feelings show as blatantly as this. Something must really have him whelmed…

Then, it hits him, and he has to stop himself from cackling in glee lest he give away their position. Maybe whatever-it-is doesn't pertain to the mission, but it's what's underlying that's key!

Whether the man himself noticed it or not, in those two sentences Batman's voice took on a coarse pitch, his words just slightly more clipped than normal. Pair that with said particular tone always meaning the Bat's annoyed and that lately his greatest pain has kept residence with a certain stubborn-as-all, red-and-blue Boy Scout...!

Inwardly, Robin snickers and lets his maniacal laughter reign. Sometimes he thinks Bruce has taught him too well!

"You talked to Clark, didn't you?" There is the screeching of a car alarm and hushed shouting from the deserted warehouse lot down below, and Batman sends Robin a sideways look as he jumps down to meld with the shadows. A viciously smirking Boy Wonder perches on the edge of the roof, expertly twirling his bo staff. "All right, old man, I can take a hint!" He follows his mentor's example and lands beside him silently, both of them being sure to take advantage of the cover the dark alley provides. "But after we turn up the aster in here, you're all mine!"

From their vantage point, the Dynamic Duo takes careful inventory once more. Two pack vans with four people between them (two drivers, two passengers: the bosses), ten goons with guns on each of the trucks' ramps, sixteen manning the shipment, and another armed twenty in the warehouse for security purposes. Same count as on the roof. Nothing askew. Piece of cake.

Tossing a lopsided grin toward his darker counterpart, Robin feels the adrenaline poised to pulse in his veins. His muscles tighten in anticipation, and he can feel the goose bumps rising all over.

Finally, without a sound, Batman is off, leaving Robin to tackle his own agenda. Bring on the baddies!

Using the surrounding buildings' shadows to his advantage, Robin heads straight for the warehouse, throwing fifteen batarangs in rapid-fire succession. He watches with satisfaction as the many light bulbs shatter and the glass rains down upon the startled armed men inside.

Without missing a beat, he flits to the control panel off to the side of the warehouse door, punching in the lock-down code he's had memorized for years. (When he'd first been starting out, Batman had forced him to learn every code for every warehouse in downtown Gotham, these being the prime places for criminal activity. How right Bruce had turned out to be...)

Just before the heavy metal door slides downward with a sharp whoosh!, the windows and backdoors coming after, he adds a handful of sleeping-gas pellets to the chaotic mix inside. For a few moments the men cry out and shoot futilely at the bulletproof door. About ten seconds more, and all is quiet. Chuckling eerily, he calls, "Nighty-night, boys!"

The sounds of gunshots, strangled yells, and flesh on flesh snag his attention as they seem to get louder all of a sudden, and he whirls to find his mentor being ambushed by numerous gunmen. Robin isn't worried—the Bat's handled much worse, both with his partner and with the League—and he can sense that his mentor has this situation covered. Besides, he still has a role to play.

Taking a running start, the Boy Wonder flips onto the top of one of the vans and makes his way to the edge, just above the driver's side window. He'd seen the crook dangling his cigarette-holding arm out the window when he'd pulled up, and said window hadn't been closed yet. Robin grins evilly and rubs his hands together. His loss...!

Wedging his bo staff securely between the thick roof-hatch handle and the reinforced "radio" (police scanner) antennae, Robin stands on the side of the weapon farthest from the window. Gripping the arm tightly, he moves as quickly and fluidly as his years of acrobatics and training with the Dark Knight will allow. Bending over backward, he controls the centripetal force about his body and flings himself through the window, hurtling into the four cowards plotting there.

The passenger's side door is forced open by the harsh blow, and all but the acrobat land ungracefully on the pavement below. It doesn't take the men too long to recover, however, and within seconds Robin is dodging bullets and close-combat moves all at once.

These men, for all of their shiny weapons and supposed skills, are actually pretty sorry when it comes to doing their own grunt work—the composition of this drug ring is nothing but a gang of loud-mouthed, tough-acting thugs, their bosses even more so; the real threat is the security detail they've hired for tonight—and Robin bets they couldn't land a blow or a bullet if their lives depended on it.

"You haven't been taking a bite out of your own pay-dirt, have you?" A shot strikes the ground several inches off of his foot, and he smirks as he flips up, kicks the gun from the shooter's hand, and delivers a swift heel to the back of the head. "'Cause I've fought clowns with more game than you!"

Two of the three remaining men blanch at the mention of the Joker and Harley, let alone in sudden remembrance of Robin having met and outmatched the nutcases in combat loads of times (he keeps forgetting they're not from Gotham; they don't know the Dynamic Duo's exploits as well). They scatter before anything more can be dealt.

But the third, brave and with the stature of a building, decides to play stupid and try his luck. Robin cracks his knuckles. Technically, he had given the poor guy a chance to save himself. He just hadn't taken it seriously.

Motioning for the man to bring it on, the thug charges and barrages Robin with a flurry of well-placed punches and kicks. The thirteen-year-old barely has time to dodge most of them.

Okay…so maybe he'd underestimated this guy (who, come to think of it, hadn't actually fought back with the other three before…), but the other guys really had been wimps!

Just managing to avoid a wallop to the head, Robin lashes back with a kick to both legs, the retractable knives in the toes of his boots slicing skin. The man cries out and lunges for the child, but the Boy Wonder darts through his legs.

With the dealer at his heels, Robin dashes for the warehouse's brick wall and runs up it, waiting for the satisfying crash! to commemorate his stuck-landing. A moment passes, and a sick feeling starts bubbling up in his stomach. Why does it feel like he's just made one of the biggest mistakes of his thirteen short years?

About facing, the barrel of a gun meets him dead-center at point-blank range.

He gulps.

Ah... And that would be his answer.

White-hot panic flashes through him, and the back of his neck begins to sweat as the hairs there stand on end and never falter.

Inwardly, even as his brain buzzes a trillion miles per second to try to think of some way to get out of this, he berates himself for not keeping his head in the game. He knows better than to underestimate his opponent, knows to keep in mind that things aren't always what they seem! Bruce has taught him both of these things extensively!

This all comes to a halt as the man, his brown-almost-red eyes looking demonic in the full-moon light in glaring down at the teenaged crime-fighter, does not hesitate to release the safety on his semi-automatic pistol.

He has to get out of this! He has to stop looking at the gun, stop seeing his life flash before his eyes (he won't follow in his and Bruce's parents' footsteps, can't and will not make Bruce relive the worst day of his life through his son), has to breathe and keephishead clear and think if he doesn't want to d—!

And it is at this moment that a shadow overtakes them. Eyes wide and heart about to beat out of his chest, Robin snaps up in search of his mentor.

Only to find no one there. Instead, he sees the moon being partially obscured by a large, round mass…

A beam zips its way onto the boy's face unbidden. A lunar eclipse! That's it! Robin's grin treads madness' border. Thank you, night-vision mask capabilities!

All too aware of just how far he's pushing fate's envelope right now (he knows if Bruce weren't so busy with his own baddies he'd be furious at Robin for being so reckless), the Boy Wonder hikes one foot flat on the wall and kicks off in an upward double back flip, missing the first bullet by mere millimeters.

Running two steps down the wall toward the gang boss and dodging limited-visibility-badly-aimed bullets all the while, Robin arch-dives to sail over his assailant's head and chooses this as the perfect time to strike.

Reaching down the instant he breaches the man's front, he grabs hearty fistfuls of the back of the boss's high-grade shirt and, using all of his strength and momentum, heaves his attacker over his shoulders and onto the rightfully unforgiving asphalt.

The impact ripples through—feet first, then legs, stomach, torso, and head—and the man's out cold. Robin renders the gun and any other weapon he finds on him obsolete before taking a swift glance up at the sky.

The eclipse will last for a few minutes yet—five minutes and ten seconds more, if his calculations are correct. Thank goodness it started when it did, too. He can't even bear to think about what might have happened if—if he'd—!

His ears prick at the sounds of a brawl, and immediately he comes down from his victorious high. In the heat of everything, he'd forgotten: Batman!

Racing in his mentor's direction, he stops short in seeing a sea of unconscious men with the Bat in the middle. There are a last ten still attempting to knock down the World's Greatest Detective.

Robin chuckles darkly. Too bad for them the Night has a not-so-secret weapon: his son! Raucous laughter echoes all around, and a moment later Robin, beam blinding, lands beside his adoptive Father. "Miss me?"

The Dark Knight does not answer with words, but the half-amused grin is response enough. With that, the Dynamic Duo fights back-to-back, Robin playing with his adversaries like they're his food while Batman is all scowls and growls (minus the flicker of a smile or chuckling hum his young partner elicits).

Eventually, however, somehow or another, the two become separated.

And this is where further trouble enters into the equation.

"What, it gets a little dark and suddenly you guys can't fight well enough to be worth our time?" Robin taunts, ducking under a hit meant for his head and returning with a driving steel-toed boot to the chin. "I have to say, I'm rather whelmed..."

His immediate assailant, one of the security details for this job, wipes the blood from his lip and spits out a tooth, and when he grins an involuntary shudder runs the length of the thirteen-year-old's spine. This is just not his night…

"Those are some strong words, runt," a claw-like hand darts out to grab hold of Robin's front quicker than the boy can blink, and the man yanks the teen forward until their noses are almost touching, "and I have more than half a mind to make you eat 'em."

Now that he's close enough Robin can see the night-vision specs outlining the man's dark goggles (at night? That should have been a tip-off right there!), and the blood rushes from his face. This guy's been toying with him…!

The attacker raises his free arm above their heads, and in the waning moonlight a dagger (he'd lost his gun earlier in the fight) flashes menacingly. Robin's heart jumps into his throat for the second time this evening. Yeah…definitely not his night…

But he's not going down without one heck of a fight.

Tightly gripping the man's wrist with both hands and pulling toward himself while he brings his legs in close, Robin aims a powerful kick for the man's solar plexus. When the knife switches targets and goes for his legs (just like he planned), Robin twists his body to the left so the knife misses the entry point. Momentarily safe from being stabbed, he pulls his legs in again and throws all of his weight in the direction his body's facing, cradling the captured wrist to his chest to ensure the assailant cannot escape.

They topple over, the side of the hired attacker's head ricocheting off the concrete just as Robin releases the appendage and twists the slightest bit so his own fall ends in a mostly-smooth barrel roll. Throwing out his hands and front flipping onto his feet at a safe distance, the Bird has a batarang at the ready when he turns to face the man once more.

Kicking the knife far away, he crouches down a few paces back. He'll be ready this time if the worm tries anything.

The younger of the Dynamic Duo waits for several seconds, but though the enemy tries to get to his feet several times the disorientation from a probable concussion is too great. All the same, Robin can feel devil-eyes on him, and he glares heatedly at his would-be killer. A smug, toothy grin is all he receives in return before the man's head lolls to the side. He'll be out for a while.

Standing slowly, Robin takes a moment to look around. Batman's taking on the last four guys by himself. Well, where's the sportsmanship in that?

Zipping behind one of them, Robin swipes the feet out from under him and jabs a few pressure points on his arms. Whipping the gun out of his hands and throwing it somewhere behind him, the Boy Wonder easily flips the fighter over onto his back despite his struggling and karate chops his neck. One down.

Popping back up at his mentor's side, Robin chirps, "Can't let you have all the fun, now, can we?"

Dodging a strike to the chest, Batman narrows his eyes and hums deep in the back of his throat. Instantly, Robin hits the deck. He knows what that means: Bruce grows weary of playing.

As if performing a handstand, the Dark Knight spins a wide three hundred and sixty degrees, feet flying and hitting target dead-center. He makes sure to knock out all but one. This will be his interrogation subject.

Robin, meanwhile, works on tying up the others, including those snoring in the warehouse. Soon enough, all fifty are accounted for, and while his older counterpart is busy the Boy Wonder makes the call to Commissioner Gordon.

By the time he's finished, Batman's tied up his 'business relation' and waits for him beside the Batmobile. As he runs over, he can feel his adoptive Father's protective gaze on him, and Dick can do naught but conjure a smile.

"Relax, Father Hen," he teases gently, spread-eagling and even turning around slowly to prove his point. "I'm fine." His face softens when he senses that the blue eyes he can't see believe otherwise, let him know that the loving Father and fierce protector in Bruce saw everything that happened here tonight. Reaching across his body, Dick takes his Father's left hand and squeezes, rubbing soothing circles on its back with his thumb. "I promise, Batman. It came a little close, but everything turned out okay. You've taught me to take care of myself, and if tonight proves anything, it's how much you've succeeded!" He grins cheekily and raises a palm, full-on beaming when his Father finally cracks, smiling, and completes the high-five. "Don't worry. I'll be the first to tell you if you start slipping."

Bruce chuckles and ruffles his son's hair, cuffing him lightly upside the head in finish as he jumps into the Batmobile, Robin laughing and somersaulting behind. The duo makes for home, being sure to call Alfred on the way.

"So," Robin starts, curious, "what'd Mr. 'Disaster' say?"

"Mr. Reynolds Hawthorne's right-hand man," Batman breathes. Robin's eyebrows shoot to his hairline. They've been searching for that mob-drug boss for the past five weeks! "The other three were their undermen, and the rest were the usual dealers and breakers. Turns out this is the end of Hawthorne's jurisdiction. It stretches all the way to East End."

Robin's eyes widen. "But that means he controls at least a quarter of Gotham!"

Batman nods grimly. "He's also said to see a lot of plastic surgeons, underground ones who'll make him look like anybody. My talker said he's like a ghost. He can be sitting right next to a guy, and the other wouldn't know until he's either dead or left psychologically disturbed. Supposedly, that's his method for getting all of these lackeys under his belt: he stalks them, learns absolutely everything about them, and then proceeds to use something particularly incriminating to coerce them into doing his dirty work."

Robin groans. "So basically it's same old, same old, huh? Anything about a location? His lackeys? The surgeons?"

The Caped Crusader shakes his head. "At the moment, nothing we can investigate before morning. Or, for that matter, without Jim and the rest of the GCPD breathing down our necks for not having enough 'hard evidence.'" Batman tosses his young partner a wry grin. "In the meantime, we'll be keeping a closer eye on the East End, as well as listening in on some of Hawthorne's activities. I planted some bugs back at the warehouse and on some of the men."

The Boy Wonder nods, quickly picking up on the logic in his mentor's thinking. "The criminal always returns to the scene of the crime, and most of those dealers were homeless, so they won't be changing their clothes or taking them off to bathe any time soon."

Batman smiles, proud and impressed. "You paid attention, I see."

Robin cackles briefly, wrinkling his nose. "You kidding? How could you not smell them?"

The Dark Knight of Gotham just chuckles, shaking his head in a mock-hopeless manner. "What am I going to do with you?"

A/N: Thanks so much for reading! We'll get into the Clark-Bruce messiness next chapter, promise!