fall and fail

{oh bitter dreams}

The mission was rather simple. In theory. They would take the same route Alpha had, and park the Supercycle next to where the bio-ship was currently in camouflage mode. The fact that Superboy had to be left behind was sort of disheartening, and since there was no room for Wolf, Conner's mood was nothing short of foul. He looked ready to crush something.

Robin liked his teammates well enough. He wasn't exactly super attached to any of them, not like he was attached to Dick and Barbara, but they were cool. Like, Superboy seemed like the most amusing, because pissing him off might cause an earthquake, and that appealed to Robin. Aquagirl was sort of quiet, and nervous, her eyes cast over the ocean in a dreamy sort of state. She was nice, but in a calm, tender sort of way. Her jokes were muted, and she acted sort of demure in comparison to the other girls Robin was used to working with— though she was pretty fierce when it came down to it. Kid Flash was like the energizer bunny on LCD or something, because he would not shut up about the most random shit, and it got old like, two hours ago. Robin knew he was scared for his friends, but couldn't he cope in a different way? Like, the normal way? By moping? What an asshole.

Then there was Batgirl, who was awesome, and totally got everything. She was the one who shut Wally up by shoving food in his lap, and she was the one mapping out their route through the air vents, and she was the one doing all the work. Robin felt like he was sort of useless, since she was already trying to tackle the security system while simultaneously conversing with Jason about a book they'd both ended up reading at some point.

He tried not to be bothered by the whole leader thing. Like, he could be a great leader, but… he wasn't sure if he was ready to be one yet. Not on such an important mission. This wasn't recon (which he sucked at, because covert meant following the rules, and Jason rarely did that), and it wasn't a fight, and he had lives on the line. Multiple lives of people he really cared about, and… if he messed up, it was all over.

He wouldn't admit it to any of them. He wanted them to think that he had control of this situation, because if they realized how shitty he felt about it all… he didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to panic about it, and he didn't but the fact remained that Robin was scared. Being proud only went as far as his known limitations. He had no idea if he could do this or not. He guessed it would be a test of sorts.

I can't pretend like I know what I'm doing. I can't do what I usually do either, or else I'll just get everyone hurt. I don't want anyone to get hurt because of me… He bit his lip, leaning forward as the wind whipped around him, drowning Kid Flash's voice as he began to rattle off random scientific shit, like quantum physics, or something really mind blowing and unrealistically real like that. Jason preferred talking about literature with Babs, because at least it made sense.

Oh my god, he thought, his shoulders going lax. I'm being such a piece of shit about this. I can do it. I'm going to. Nobody is going to stop me from getting this team, and the Alpha team, back home in one piece. Nobody.

And so Jason Todd was not afraid anymore. A mental shove was all he needed, and now he knew that he would succeed. Because he had to. He wouldn't allow himself to be anything short of absolutely fucking perfect. Because otherwise, what the hell did he think he was doing as Robin? If he couldn't run a team, he might as well quit. So he was going to do it, and he was going to make it count.

"You guys are the worst road trip buddies ever," Jason sighed, leaning back into his seat. No one replied, which only further proved his point. He could hear the crunching of granola as Kid Flash consumed half a box of Special K Bars. He was going to need something more substantial than that shit. Wally would burn 100 calories faster than Jason could blink.

"This isn't a road trip," Conner said sharply. "It's a rescue mission."

"And that," Jason said, "was a joke, Supey. I know you understand the concept. You're a walking encyclopedia."

That remark only gained him a very dark scowl, and Robin could only laugh and tilt his head back, grinning broadly in response. Seriously, Superboy could be his favorite member of the Team, if only because he took the bait every time.

"We're all just a little shaken up, Robin," Barbara said, her face glowing from the reflection of her holoscreen. Her fingers were sliding swiftly all across the illuminated keys, and she never looked up. How she managed to multitask so flawlessly, Jason would never know.

"I'm pretty sure 'shaken up' is a term that doesn't even skim the surface." Robin folded his arms across his chest, closing his eyes as the wind caught his hair, whipping it to and fro. "You guys are acting like they're already dead. Have a little faith, 'kay? We're gonna get the losers back, and then we can watch with great pleasure as they get chewed the hell out by Batman. Ah, I can already feel the teen angst! Or maybe it's just you four."

"Hey!" Kid Flash cried, kicking Jason's chair gently. "Just because you get some sick joy from seeing Nightwing get into trouble, doesn't mean we all do. I, personally, am scared to death for the lecture they're going to get!"

"I doubt we will be allowed to witness it," Tula murmured, speaking for the first time in a few hours. Barbara nodded in agreement, her eyes still on her little compact-computer thingy. What was that thing called again? Jason couldn't remember. Someone should just get her a wrist computer.

"Bummer," Robin stated. He didn't put much enthusiasm in the word, though. "So, does Sphere have any tunes built into her? 'Cause I've been having music deprival since like, way back."

"We're not listening to music," Barbara said. She seemed to falter, and her eyes danced upward, meeting his. They were crinkling in amusement, and she seemed to be holding back laughter. "Not your music, at least."

"My taste in music is awesome, don't even try and rag on it."

"You can't even understand the words, Robin. It's just senseless noise."

"So?" Robin rolled his eyes. "We keep Kid Flash around, don't we? Same thing."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Kid Flash gaped, sputtering in faux offense.

"Besides, no one wants to listen to your indie shit."

"I'm not suggesting we do." Barbara was back to fiddling with her computer, and Robin frowned, drumming his fingers against his thigh. How long until they reached China?

"What music do you guys listen to?" Robin asked, twisting in his seat to peer up at the other members of his team. "BG is all into weird stuff, like 'woman and the inanimate object'. Marina?" Robin shot Barbara a questioning look, not really sure about the names of the bands she liked. Barbara nodded vacantly in response. "Yeah, her songs are messed up. Super self-deprecating and stuff. Says a lot about you, you know that?"

"Wish I could say the same about your music," Batgirl sighed, smirking at her holoscreen. "But I honestly can't get anything out of the constant whirring and bass dropping."

"Yeah. For all you know, the lyrics could be super deep and existentially equivocal," he quipped.

"What?" Kid Flash blurted from behind them. "How do you go from normal kid to pretentious bastard in like, two seconds?"

"I'm not pretentious." Robin smiled brightly, clapping his hands together as he craned his neck to look back. "I just got an A on my last vocab test. Might as well show off that I know shit."

"You can put music on," Batgirl sighed, her lips pulled into a smirk, "so long as you shut up, 'kay?"

"Alright!" Jason hooted, throwing his arms into the air. The others either smiled, or rolled their eyes. Why is it so easy to convince them that I'm happy?

He was on a glowing platform, heat radiating from beneath him in waves of yellow light. He was surrounded by a circle of bombs, their purpose nothing but a murmur of reassurance. He sat, dizzy and waiting, waiting, waiting, and he wondered what his name was. He wouldn't need to know soon. Soon he'd cease to exist altogether. Wasn't that what he wanted?

No, no, no, cried a voice from below. A churning core screamed and spat fire. Wake up! This isn't who you are!

"Hello," he said to a ghost. He looked like him, blue eyed and lithe, with a smile too big and a heart that matched.

"Hey, there, squirt," the boy said, blinking dead blue eyes. "What'cha doing here?"

"Hiding," he replied.

The boy looked confused, his brow furrowing. "Huh? From what?"

"From you." He pulled his knees to his chest, and he turned his face away. "Go away. You'll die if you stay here."

"I'm already dead," sighed the boy, tsking a little as he clapped him on the shoulder. "Come on, you know that. You were there!"

"Shut up," he mumbled, shrugging the ghostly hand off him. "Leave me alone."

"Hey…" The boy looked up with a hurt expression. "Di—"

"No!" He screamed, clapping his hands over his eyes. "Leave me alone!"

The boy was gone in a scream and a snap. And alone he was, trapped in a memory of a failure that haunted and clawed and scraped at his mind. It was a brand above his heart, and scar that was too stubborn to heal. The white-hot platform thrummed beneath him, lurching into life, and rocking from side to side. It was a swinging pendulum, a clock inside his eyes ticking off the seconds until everything crashed and crushed him. He breathed, but in went blood and dust, and out went screams and fire.

Who am I? His thoughts were muddled and fearful. Oh, god, who am I?

The world was a song. An eerie tune, a lull and whine of accordions and mummers, the swing of a trapeze, the snapping of a chord, snap, snap, snap, and the sound of a thousand thousand breaths catching. The sound of hearts stopping. The sound of screams and crunching bones. The world was a song, and he was its singer, a skinny boy with a lost voice and a lost heart and a lost mind.

"Mili musikanti zahrajte mi čerdaš," sang his own voice, low and soft and sad. Tears rained from heaven, a big gaping hole in the sky, black as his heart and blacker still. The sweet sound of laughter and sighs and screams and sobs flung around him, swarming him like flies and kissing his rotting flesh. He blinked rapidly, the sky and the stars bursting, black and blue and bleeding. The tears became blood. And his head was swollen, his heels cracking and shredding against the searing hot plate beneath him. The pendulum swung. Tick tock, in a bloody rhythm, as life turned to death, and the song thrummed as lively as a corpse.

He found himself sobbing.

"Please," he begged, the bleeding sky. "Please, just tell me who I am!"

"I know."

The voice was beautiful. Like a song in itself, a wrapping of gold and silver and silk, lulling and soft, a comfort to a boy without a name or a mind. He spun, the platform beneath him tearing his balance out from under him, and he shrieked as he fell. He was caught by a pair of pale arms, skinny and soft, and he breathed in the scent of vanilla curls. He found himself sinking into them, feeling safe for the first time in what he could only assume was forever. He clutched her freckled arms, his face buried in her shoulder, and he breathed in the scent of her hair. It tickled his nose, his cheeks, and he breathed her in, holding her so tight that he wasn't sure he'd ever let her go.

He could have held her forever. He might have. He didn't know. He looked up at her face, and found it hazy. Her eyes were sharp, bold, beautiful and clever and wise. She looked at him, and she saw him, and he loved that and hated it. He could see her lips, red as red could come, and her hair was even redder. A blur of bloody curls framed a porcelain face, and he couldn't stop staring, because it was a jostle there, a memory fresh and alive, and he wanted it more than he'd ever wanted anything in his entire life just to remember her face, remember her name, remember her and how it felt to be around her.

"I know who you are," she whispered, her voice sweet and melodious. She was singing in his ear, her rosy lips pressed against the sensitive skin. He found that he was dazed just to be so close to her. "Let me show you."

"Please," he breathed. He felt her fingers in his hair, against his cheek, tracing his jaw. He closed his eyes, and her lips trailed down from his ear, kissing his jaw with slow, but anxious movements. Her mouth was very soft, and it met his skin delicately as it made its way down his neck, breathing him in as he'd breathed her in, taking in his head and heart and leaving her kiss of memory and life. Every kiss she left was a fire on his skin, a beautiful feeling of life and light, and he felt his fingers tighten around her pale arms, pulling her closer and closer until there was no more space between them, only her body pressed against his, and her lips gliding against his neck, and the strangest feeling stirring in his chest like nothing he'd ever felt before.

She pulled back, but only leaving a miniscule space between their lips. She watched him with her clever eyes, her blurry features contorting in amusement. He dragged his thumb across her cheek, wishing he could see her face, praying he could wipe away the haze and clouds. She was nebulous, and she was beautiful, and he breathed in the air she exhaled. It tasted like her, like life and clouds and vanilla and wishes left unfulfilled. She tasted like broken promises and lost dreams and hopes and mysteries, and he wanted to kiss her, he wanted to hold her, he wanted to say her name, and he could taste that too. He could taste her name, pretty and milky, rolling on his tongue and caught in his throat. She watched him, her lips so red and clever quirking up as they moved closer to his.

"Please," he breathed, his body swaying. Her lips might have brushed his for a quarter of a second before she twirled away, her laughter bursting into the air like a billion stars clapping and collapsing, grazing his skin and burning him and kissing him. He felt her slip away from him, and he stared, wide eyed and hurt. He wanted her to stay. He wanted her to stay like he wanted to breathe. He reached for her, his mouth moving to call her name, but his mind was numb to it, and that name was stuck in his throat, left to choke him and strangle him. He reached out farther, gasping as he stumbled. "Please!"

She laughed, and she laughed, and the sound sent a shiver down his spine. She looked back at him, her curls dancing around her head in silky, bloody waves, and she spun and spun, laughing away his fears. "Fooled you!" she laughed, her sinewy body moving fluidly, like water through the air.

She burst into flames then, and he screamed, reaching and reaching, but her laughter died with the fire consuming her, and he watched her disappear in a gulping, fiery mass. His heart ached, and he felt tears on his cheeks, rolling in silence. He slumped, falling to his knees onto the burning pendulum, and he choked on his sobs, her name falling, swallowed in a gulp and a gasp and a sob. Who am I, he thought. Who was she?

He stood up on wobbly legs, breathing in fumes of smoke, and he exhaled fear and hopelessness. He just wanted to know. He wanted himself, and he wanted solace. He was so scared, he couldn't bear it. He wandered the pendulum, his body swaying from the force, tick tock, tick tock. He breathed, and he screamed, but no one answered. He was stuck. He was lost, and his heart ached.

He saw a boy. He ran to him, and grabbed him by the shoulder, squeezing him so tight it hurt him. "Help me!" he gasped, dropping to his knees before the boy. He had eyes like blocks of ice. They were cold, but there was a fire alight within them, glowing strong and defiant. He was wearing a cape, but it was all tattered and worn, as if he'd been wearing it for ten thousand years, and would be wearing it for ten thousand more. "Please, tell me who I am!"

The boy laughed in his face. The laugh was harsh, brash, bold, and it hit him like a brick. He gasped, blinking rapidly as the boy pushed him, and he fell to the white-hot pendulum, his body rolling. The boy stood over him, head raised high. "Sorry," he laughed, dropping to one knee beside him. "But you were just so pathetic, I couldn't help it!"

"Please," he mumbled, burying his face.

"Oh come on!" whine the boy, nudging him with his foot. The foot was bare, and his feet were blackened and blistered. "You dumb piece of shit, get up!"

"Do I…?" He looked up at the boy, and he sat up. "I know you. Who are you?"

The boy's eyes narrowed. "You don't know?" His nose scrunched up, and it was the sweetest thing. "Ugh. I should have known. You asshole, of course you'd forget me."

"Please," he begged. "Just tell me your name." Then I'll see your face.

"No!" snapped the boy. "No, why should I? You don't care about me! If you did you'd have the fucking grace to remember me!"

"No," he gasped, "no, no, that's not it at all. Please, I'm— I'm begging you, just— just tell me your name, please—!"

"I hate you!" the boy spat, eyes ablaze. "I hate you, and I hope you burn in hell!"

He disappeared, and he strangled a sob as his body disintegrated into bones and dust and a shrieking scream. He choked on the dust and screams and gasped on death and hopelessness. He wanted to lay down and die. He was so caught in despair, he felt loneliness choke him, hold him tight and kiss him like the beautiful, clever girl had done, but when it kissed him it bit through his skin and poisoned him with fear and lies and heartache. Despair had him, and his heart had gone dark.

He rolled as the pendulum swung. He felt the heat, radiating and pulsating, and he coughed, feeling dizzy and uncertain. Life was slipping, and darkness crept like a slithering shroud. It draped over the world, and the stars were all gone, choked out like his heart. He pushed himself up, and the world spun and spun and spun.

He blinked. There was a dark blot in his line of vision. "Hey," he mumbled, lurching forward. "Hey, who are you?"

The man had donned himself in all black, cloaked and covered and shrouded. He turned, and he was a shadow. A living shadow, staring with whites of his eyes slitted and glowering. He found himself stopping, his blood chilling in his veins. He was a frightening sight, a jolting presence that stunned him and moved him. He found he was drawn to the shadow of a man, and he stepped carefully, the pendulum swinging and swinging and swinging. The man did not budge.

"You," he breathed. "Oh… I know you. I know I know you, I have to know you." He felt tears in his eyes. "Do… do you know me?"

The man stared. And he nodded.

"Please!" He grasped the shadow's silky cape, and clutched it tightly in his fists. "Please, tell me! I… I don't know who I am, I don't… oh god, I know you, I know you!"

"Yes." The man's voice was gravel and silk and lies and haven. It was the sound of pure comfort, and it was enough. It was enough. The man draped the shadowy cape over his shoulders, and it felt warm and safe, spreading a sweet feeling through him. Warmth and wonder consumed him, and he slumped against the man's chest, sobbing and gasping. He'd never felt safer.

He awoke alone. The walls were starkly white, and everything was shiny and bold, overwhelming and sharp. He'd never felt lonelier. He blinked away the crust from his eyes, and he sat up, his blanket falling from his chest. His fingers were throbbing in a dull pain, but he ignored it. His dream was sticking to him like feathers against tar. He groaned, his head falling into his hands, and he took deep breaths. None of it had been real. A part of him was desperately sad. He wanted them all back. He wanted the safe shadow, and the angry child, and the clever girl, and the dead boy. He wanted them all so much it ached.

"Hey."

Nightwing's head snapped to the side. There was a girl in the bed across from his, all the way on the other side of the room. She was pretty, and her face was sharp and clear to him. Smooth and richly hued, with dark, intelligent eyes clouded with confusion and fear. Her soft looking yellow hair fell to her shoulders in limp, jagged strands, and when she moved it shifted. She was sitting with her knees pressed to her chest, wearing a powdery blue, stiff looking tee shirt, and striped flannel pants. Her back was pressed against the wall her bed was against, and her hands were folded, as if she'd been praying.

"Hey," Nightwing said, his voice raw. His throat was dry. He stared at her, and he didn't know if he felt lonely anymore. She didn't seem to be all there. Perhaps she wasn't.

"So," said the girl, Sagitta, they'd called her. Arrow. She took a deep breath, and looked away. "You were talking. In your sleep. It was really noisy."

"Wha…" Nightwing felt startled, and he flushed. "Oh. Sorry."

She shrugged. "Whatever," she said, blowing a particularly short piece of blonde hair from her eye. "I wasn't getting much sleep anyway. I kept seeing…" She trailed off, and her eyes grew distant. Cloudy and sad. She looked away, and rested her chin on her knees. "Never mind."

"You saw people too," Nightwing said. She looked at him, and he saw her eyes go wide. "Important people. You knew them, but you couldn't… see them. Their faces."

"Yeah," she said. Her nostrils flared for a moment, and she jumped to her feet. "What did they do to us?"

Nightwing stared at her, his brow raising. "They?" he repeated, blinking. "The doctors?"

"Yes!" She glared at the door, and she flung her arms into the air. "Or whoever! I don't know! All I know is that I don't know who I am, and I hate them for doing this to me! Don't you?"

"Well…" Nightwing bit his lip. "Yeah, of course, but…"

"But nothing!" She stomped her foot, and Nightwing found himself smiling. She was nice. He liked her. And he didn't feel so lonely with her shouting. It reminded him of… who? "I just want my name. I want his name. I want all their names! I want your name, and I want Kaldur'ahm back. I want to be out of this place. I want to go home."

"What's home?" Nightwing asked her, wide eyed. "I can't remember. Not anything before this place."

"I…" Arrow looked startled. She looked down at her bare feet, and wiggled her toes. "I don't know. But it's got to be better than here."

Nightwing found that he could only nod in agreement.

They landed outside a containment facility. It was huge, a mighty looking fortress of steel and stone that rose into the air in blocky, sharp angles. It was stunning and frightening, like a bad dream and a horrible truth. Jason looked up at the enormous building, his heart hammering in his chest. This place of gray stone and gleaming steel, it made his hair stand on end. Bumps raised on his arms, gooseflesh hissing at him to run and run and run. But Jason Todd was no coward. He could not balk away from something that practically bellowed his name. Come, the building screamed to him, come and do your worst, you worthless mouse!

Jason found himself smirking. No one noticed, or no one cared. It made no matter. It was nothing new to him.

"I don't like that I have to stay behind," Superboy grumbled. They were all preparing to deploy, all except Conner. Jason might have felt bad if he wasn't so nervous. He couldn't let them know that though.

"Sorry, Supes," Wally said, clapping the clone on the shoulder. In stealth, only the paleness of his face gave him away in the darkness. "Look at it this way, you could be our saving grace for all we know."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Superboy gave him a scowl, and Jason gave a soft laugh. Barbara shot him a look, and he stifled it. "Look, I just want to make sure M'gann is okay. That's it."

"Nice to know you care about Nightwing, Artemis, and Aqualad," Jason said dryly. Superboy's cool blue eyes snapped to Jason's masked ones. They were so frigid and steely, Jason didn't know if he felt threatened or excited.

"That's not what I meant," Superboy hissed, his eyes narrowing. His blocky shoulders squared defensively. "I just—"

"I get it," Jason said. He stood up straighter, and prayed he appeared more confident than he felt. Fake it, Jason told himself. Fake it all, and maybe it will become real. He watched Superboy's eyes snap wide in shock. "You're scared for Miss M. We're all scared, okay, but right now you need to… stay here. And yeah, it sucks, but there's no other way to get to them."

Kid Flash studied Jason's face for a moment, before he began to nod. Jason felt almost taken aback. "Rob's got a point," Kid said, cupping his chin as if in thought. "Strangely. I mean, I'm lucky if I fit in an air vent. I'm not as thin as I used to be, y'know." He grinned broadly at Superboy, but all he got in response was a blank stare. "You've been packing bricks too, Supey, like you're not made for the delicate nature of air vents."

"Cadmus," Superboy reminded, his tone dull.

Kid Flash's nose scrunched up in distaste. "Luck!"

"Will you three shut up?" Batgirl hissed at them. "You're going to get us caught before we even start."

"Yes," agreed Tula, her pale eyes flashing in the deep cover of night. She was wearing stealth clothes as well, though her skin seemed to have a glimmery shine to it in the dark. Fish people. "This is not the time for arguments. We must act now, else we may lose our friends forever."

"God, thank you," Batgirl breathed. "Thank you for being the only one here with a brain."

"Well women are the superior gender," Jason found himself musing aloud. He saw Tula quirk an eyebrow, while Barbara merely rolled her eyes.

"Kiss up," KF said snidely.

"Shut up," Robin retorted, stepping back. "I'm still in charge. So here's how it's gonna go."

"Oh, this should be good," Superboy muttered. Jason smiled at him sweetly.

"It's not gonna be good, Superboy," Jason said, his eyes twinkling. "It's gonna be one hell of a fucking show, though."

"Oh god," Kid Flash groaned, closing his eyes.

"So we all know how we're getting in," Jason whispered, reminding himself to keep quiet. "Here's how it's gonna go after that. Aquagirl, your priority is Aqualad. I don't care who you see. Get Aqualad, and get out. If you see any of us, and we got caught, but you have Aqualad, get out. This applies to everyone. KF, get Artemis. If she, or anyone else fights you guys on it, knock them out." He saw how their faces transformed from awe to horror.

"Are you serious?" KF's green eyes widened. "I don't think I could knock Artemis out if I tried!"

"Then drug her." Robin shrugged.

"Uh," Kid Flash said, his eyes narrowing. "No, I'm not drugging my girlfriend."

Jason wrinkled his nose. "Okay, when you say it like that—"

"Guys," Batgirl said. "Focus."

"Oh. Right." Robin frowned at KF. "Do what you have to, just get her out. BG, you've got Nightwing. And I know you can take him, if it comes down to a fight. But it won't."

Batgirl smiled then, and Jason felt warm and content as the realization that she approved settled in. "You sound so sure," she said.

"I am sure," Jason lied. He turned to Superboy. "I'm going to get M'gann," he said. The look on the clone's face was priceless. "And that's my priority. I promise. Which, you know, I guess doesn't mean that much. Words are nothing. But I do promise, and I'm gonna try, and like hell I'm gonna fail while I'm still breathing."

"That's a loaded promise," Superboy said.

Jason smiled, and he shrugged. "I'm a loaded gun," he said. "And I don't intend to fail."

Superboy watched him for a few moments, his blue eyes hard. And then he smiled back. "We'll see," he said.

"Pretty," Arrow said. Her smooth, pretty face was leaning over his shoulder, her newly shortened blonde hair framing her face. Her head blotted out the glaringly white lights in the glaringly white chamber, and he was grateful for that. He looked down, following her gaze to his drawing. They'd been given colored pencils, and he'd decided to utilize them. Arrow had gotten bored quickly. "Who are they?"

"I don't know," Nightwing said. He looked down at the drawing. They were the dream. The safe shadow was a blot on the page, and the angry boy was happy, and the clever girl was lovely and nothing he could draw did her justice, and the dead boy was scratched over so many times he was nothing more than a big ball of scraping lines. Nightwing did not like to look at him, because it made him ache with sorrow and fear and an old, crippling pain.

"Well," Arrow said, her eyes rolling. "Obviously you know them. Like I know him." She pointed to her own drawing. It sparked something inside Nightwing, the stick figure doodle of a yellow boy with big green eyes and a shock of red hair. "Like I know you."

"I'm Nightwing," he said to her. "You know that."

"No," she said, her voice hard. "I know you. And you know me."

It's true, he found himself thinking as he searched her pretty face. I know her. I know her so well, and yet I don't know her at all. Why is that? He decided he hated this place more than he hated anything that had ever existed, if only for tearing away the things he knew he loved, and loved so much he could still feel the bitter aching as he stared down at his dreams. He picked up the paper, and he tore it in half.

Arrow didn't even flinch. She watched, and she looked bored. "That's a waste," she said.

"You're a waste," Nightwing snapped. He felt indescribable sadness hit him in waves, like he was mourning a loss that had died a thousand years ago, and yet he still could not shake the feel of solitude. Loneliness and grief were frequent visitors in his big, sad heart.

"Keep it together," the girl hissed, grabbing his arm. "I'm angry too, but we have to stick together. They're going to separate us. You know they are."

Nightwing didn't want to leave her. Not ever. He'd had enough loss in his life, and he couldn't bear losing her too. "I'm sorry," he said, his eyes widening. "I'm really sorry, I didn't mean it."

She glared at him, and she shook her head. "Whatever. Let's just get through today together. I don't trust anyone else."

"If I wasn't here," he said, "what would you do?"

"Fight," she said quickly, as if it was an instinct. She blinked, and her dark gray eyes flashed away. "I… I mean, I don't know. Maybe I'd just… wait for them to ship me away. Like they did Kaldur'ahm."

"He's not gone," he murmured. "Just away."

"He's gone," Arrow said, her voice bitter and low. "People like him, when they leave, they leave and don't come back."

"How could you know that?" Nightwing whispered. "You can't know that. I want to believe we'll see him again. Why can't I believe that?"

"Because it's stupid!" Arrow grabbed a piece of paper and a green colored pencil, and she began to draw furiously across the white space. "It's a stupid, childish wish! Do you even hear how stupid you sound? Of course he's not coming back!" Her hand looked as if it was cramping, and Nightwing watched her knuckles go white from clutching the pencil so hard. And still she drew, ranting away. "People leave. That's what I know. People leave, because they don't love you, and they don't care, and he was just the same. He left. He's not coming back. No one ever comes back." The colored pencil snapped in her fist, and she pushed away from the table, jumping to her feet and marching to a chair in a corner.

Nightwing stared at her as she pulled her feet up, her knees bopping against each other as she sunk into the chair and glared at him. He looked down at her drawing, and pulled it closer to him by its corner. The green glistened against the paper, dark and jagged strokes of pigment.

It was a great big cat, grinning madly at him in a hue of envy and uncertainty.

Nightwing wished he could understand. He wanted to hug her, tell her that he wasn't going to leave her, but he couldn't. Because he didn't know if it was true. And he was scared to death of that fact. He looked at the doctor at the doorway, and saw him looking at Arrow. The way he watched the girl made Nightwing anxious, and he didn't like it at all. We have to get out of here, he thought frantically.

Then the man looked at him, and he felt his insides turn to ice. And he knew time was up.

Getting through the air vents had been almost simple. That was what worried her. In the end, she was worried that they were falling into a trap. Her mind was rushing at a thousand miles an hour, trying desperately to unearth the mysteries of the facility they were infiltrating. But she couldn't. Why? The variables were innumerous, and she was stuck. Her thoughts were myriads of flashing numbers and colors and words, stars and codes she could not dissect. She was scared, and she was human, and her mind was rushing and rushing and overflowing like a cascade.

She was trying to track the missing teammates, but they were no longer wearing their suits. For all she knew, they weren't even in the building. They were walking blindly into a snake pit. She didn't want to say so, but they all knew it to be true. When Robin ducked through the first shaft, disappearing into the darkness, Batgirl watched him, and her blood froze in her veins as a horrible thought occurred to her. What if I never see him again?

It was only natural that she worry for him most of all. Jason was young, and he was impulsive, rash, as uncontrollable as a raging flame. She loved him dearly, but she couldn't help but doubt him. She knew she had no right, and she was infinitely saddened by the fact, but she couldn't help it. The truth was, they had no idea what they were doing. She didn't like being unprepared.

Kid Flash disappeared next, sliding down a dark, shadowy shaft that led into the west wing of the building. "We have a lot of ground to cover," Kid said, his dark gloved gripping the steel sides of the ventilation shaft. He looked up at her, his green eyes glowing in the darkness. "I'm your man to scout it out." Then he jumped into the pit.

Batgirl was next to deploy, into an air vent that led to what she could only assume was where the men in charge were. She prayed she could go undetected, but she wasn't Batman, and she wasn't Nightwing. She wasn't even Robin. It was true why she hadn't taken leadership of the mission when she could have, when she knew well how much she doubted Jason. She doubted herself more. No lie could mask that fact.

"Be careful," she whispered to Aquagirl. She liked Tula, with her soft voice and fierce attitude. Her fellow red head smiled, taking Batgirl's gloved hand in her webbed fingers, and squeezed.

"You too, my friend," she said. "I pray we find our friends."

"Don't pray," Batgirl said. "Act."

And she flung herself down a shaft, air whistling through her cape and hair and ears, her fingertips dragging across the metal surface to prevent her body from bumping and crashing. She maneuvered herself as best she could. And she did it. She was breathless by the time she dropped through the metal grate, heart pounding and mind askew with thoughts of variables and uncertainties.

She'd expected the facility to be dark. She'd been wrong. It was stark white, and she knew now how the Alpha Team had gotten caught. "Robin," she whispered, pressing her finger to her communicator.

"I know." And that was the only response she got. Batgirl's heart sunk as their chances of fulfilling the mission dwindled.

Barbara bit her lip, and she decided her only way to remain stealthy was up. So she made careful arrangements to hoist herself up, adding a special adhesive to her gloves and boots in order to stick to the walls and ceiling. She crawled carefully, cocooning herself in her cape as she moved swiftly across the ceiling, feeling more like a spider than anything. She was careful to crouched just out of sight when people walked below her, and she noted their attire. Lab coats. They would be scientists, wouldn't they?

She decided to follow one scientist. He was small, a lanky man who looked half a boy, if she had to be truthful. Her neck hurt from craning it, and crawling across the ceiling felt precarious and stupid. But otherwise she knew she'd get caught. This was the part of the building swarming with scientists. She was in more danger than the others. Or she hoped she was.

She dropped down just as he entered a room, and she slid a batarang into the crack before the door snapped shut and locked. She quickly slipped inside, and listened to the door lock behind her. The room was dark, ominous and dim. Perfect. She sunk in the shadows easily, and she followed the man's shadow. He seemed to be completely oblivious.

Batgirl's body was pressed up against a wall as the room got steadily lighter. She stuck to the shadows with great care, and she stared as the man came to a stop before a computer. There was a woman sitting there already, watching the screen lazily.

"Another departure?" she asked in a bored voice, taking an envelope from the man. "So soon after the last?"

"Boss wants them gone," the man said, shrugging. "This one's being shipped, not picked up."

"Goodie," the woman said, slapping the file down. Batgirl watched her type away at her computer, and she felt almost envious. Her fingers twitched. That computer was all she needed. She could find everyone. But first, the scientists. She edged closer, and the shadows were growing smaller as she went. "Okay, your boy is on the next plane out. You guys didn't even identify him."

The man shrugged. "Not my job," he said offhandedly. "Or my fault. He's only been here a day."

"Should be enough time," the woman grumbled, her fingers clacking against the keys. "Oh. Ha. Look at that."

"What?"

"He skinned his fingertips." Batgirl watched the woman smirk as she leaned back. "He's smart."

"You're not supposed to compliment them." The man looked uncomfortable, and Batgirl was growing more and more anxious. "They're barely people anymore."

"They are people," said the woman. "And pretending that they're not makes you less of a person than them. Grow up."

Batgirl sprung, the side of her hand connecting hard with the back of the man's neck. He crumpled, falling unceremoniously to the ground. The woman's eyes flashed wide, and she reached for her keyboard, but Batgirl flung a batarang at her that split open when it sunk into her chair, spewing a net across her body. Batgirl's gloved hand clamped over her mouth before she could scream. She wasn't particularly old, but she didn't look as young as the man on the floor. She had big brown eyes and mousy brown hair cropped short to her ears, and her complexion was a deeper shade than her own, but only barely.

"Hi," Batgirl said, cocking her head. "So, I need info. Your computer has it. And I trust it way more than I trust you, so I've gotta knock you out now."

The woman's eyes grew wider, and her voice was muffled against Batgirl's hand as a fist connected with a pressure point in her shoulder. She slumped, her eyes rolling up, and Batgirl almost felt bad about it. But she had no time or energy to do so. She pushed the chair aside, listening to it roll away, and she bent over the computer greedily.

"Okay," she said, her eyes glowing in the light of the computer screen. "Show me what you've got."

It proved way easier than she'd expected. Because the scientists had, in fact, been talking about Nightwing. And now she knew. She scanned his page, feeling something cold sink into her stomach. Dick was here all right. But not for long. He skinned his fingers, she observed, trying not to feel sickened. It made sense. If they were trying to identify him, it made sense.

She had the urge to look up Artemis, M'gann, and Kaldur, but she didn't. She got Dick's room, and she spun away from the computer, leaving the room without another thought. Dick Grayson was her priority. And she had to accept it, whether or not she wanted to help her other teammates.

Batgirl scaled the walls again, moving faster than before. Now that she knew where Nightwing was, she had a purpose. Her objective was clear, and she had restored faith in the mission. She could get him out. She would get him out. All that mattered now was getting him out. Her heart and head did not matter, all that did was her objective. She could be guilty later.

He was in a containment unit on the farther end of the facility. No one checked in with Robin, and the silence could mean nothing and everything. She didn't want to be scared of nothing, but the truth was that nothing was scarier. Her thoughts were numb, but there was an underlying nagging that bit at her, hissing lies into her ears. She wanted to scream, she was so frazzled by its influence.

She dropped down before his door, not even bothering to try the knob before she began to pick the lock. She knew better. She'd wasted enough time already, and she wanted to see him. She was so… so desperate to see his face, to make sure he was okay… she could barely stand herself. She hadn't been incredibly worried before. She'd had faith in Dick Grayson, because it was all she could do to keep herself from going insane with concern. But now that she'd heard the scientists talk about him, she was scared that they might have broken him beyond repair.

It's not fair, she thought furiously, the lockpick wiggling, steadily shifting the mechanisms. Why does everything have to happen to him?

It was a silly thought, but she couldn't help it. She'd known him for so long, and she knew there was two great constants in Dick Grayson life since arriving in Gotham— Bruce Wayne, and grief. How does he stand to be so happy? She was scared to ask. How could she, after all? To ask would be rude, and she was scared the question might be the final nail in the coffin. She could never ask him something so horrible. And yet she wondered.

She swung the door open, and she stood with bated breath. Her heart hammered against her chest, in her ears, blood rushing, and she was scared to death. Not so long ago, they'd been in this situation, but then it had been Dick Grayson, not Nightwing, and Barbara Gordon had been rushing to save him, not Batgirl. It felt different this time around. As if the stakes had risen, and but not her tolerance for fear. Losing him meant losing everything.

The room was small. There was nothing in it but a white bench installed into the wall, and a small table with a glass of water sitting on it, seemingly untouched. He looked up at her entrance, and she saw his eyes. The were hollows in his head, deep blue bruises that stared at her like death had crawled across them, turning them gauzy and glassy and glazed. They sent a shiver down her spine, and she could feel herself freezing in fear. He looked at her, and he saw nothing. It was like he didn't know her at all.

His face was pale, and his lips were parted in awe of her. His thick, glossy black hair was a greater mess than usual, gone awry from twisting and turning in his sleep, or mussing it one too many times. He looked half a corpse and half an Arkham inmate. She saw his hands, bandaged and folded, and she couldn't help but stare. She had to remind herself that what he'd done, he'd done to protect his identity. But still she felt a chill.

When he spoke, his voice was as dead as his eyes.

"You," he said. He seemed to be stuck on her face. Disbelief was crawling across his face like worms across a corpse.

"Me," she said, leaning against the doorframe. She smiled at him, folding her arms across her chest. "Come on, Grayson. Let's get out of here."

He stood up, moving around the table to meet her. He reached out, and she found herself going rigid as his bandaged fingers brushing her cheek. She stared at him, watching his hollow eyes transform as they darted across her face. He seemed awestruck, and the more he looked at her the more life he seemed to gain. She felt his fingers drag across her skin, downward, tangling in the hair sticking out from her cowl.

"Grayson," he said absently, twirling a red curl around his finger. He looked at her, and he bit his lip, his eyes gleaming suddenly. "Is that… is that my name? Do you know my name?"

"What?" she gasped, stumbling back. But he'd grabbed her hands, and was clutching them desperately.

"My name," he said, his voice small. He looked away shamefully. "I… I can't… remember." He looked back at her face, his wide eyes meeting hers in a blend of startled blue. "Who are you?"

Something inside her shattered, and she knew it was her heart. Her mouth fell open, and her body shook on its own accord. She trembled because she was tearful. She was scared, and she was shocked, and she was angry. What did they do to you? She wanted to scream, but she wasn't sure where her voice had gone. So she settled on yanking him into a hug, holding him so close she heard him squeak a little. But he hugged her back, his grip tighter and needier, grasping at her as if she was the only thing between him and hell. He buried his face in her neck, and breathed into her ear.

"You're real," he whispered, "right?"

She nodded against his hair, ignoring how the fragments of her heart broke further and further, splintering apart and crashing into her lungs, burrowing deep into them to impair her breathing. She couldn't speak. Her voice was caught, and her heart was gone, and she'd never been so desperate to hold him, not ever, but she couldn't let him go. She was scared to. If she did, who was to say he'd stay with her? After all, he had no idea who she was.

He had no idea who he was.

The guards that had caught sight of him were all in a broom closet now. It wasn't hard to see how the others had gotten caught. The place was swarming with scientists, and stealth mode made them stick out like a sore thumb. It was ridiculous, and Robin was growing concerned for the rest of his team. Like, shit, it was difficult for him to stay hidden. Aquagirl and Kid Flash were probably struggling— but no alarm had gone off yet. He had to wonder why that was. Well, Tula had magic to do her bidding, and Wally was fast enough. Probably.

Robin decided he hated the mission. He really, truly despised it, because he had no idea what he was doing. He was guessing, and if Batman knew that, he'd be disappointed, angry— he couldn't even imagine the lecture he'd get. He had to pretend that he knew what he was doing, pretend to be confident and smart, but the truth was still so utterly prominent, and he wanted to scream.

He'd ended up finding a whole hoard of people just wandering around dazedly. "Uh," he breathed aloud, "wow."

They were all half-dead it appeared, glassy eyed and passing him without truly seeing him. He was spotted again by a guard, who shouted out in alarm, and grabbed his gun. The live corpses around Robin shrieked like children when a shot went off, whizzing past Robin's nose as he twisted his body out of the way, throwing himself at the man. His leg jutted out, smacking the gun away, and Robin felt a rush of adrenaline kick in as he back handed the man, balancing himself so he was perched against his chest, holding himself up with both hands on either side of the guard's face. He head-butted him, and kicked off into a flip, his cape billowing around him as he slid away. He flicked it back as he stood up, cocking his head to the side as he smirked.

And then he noticed that they were all staring at him. He blinked, looking around him, and he spun, realizing they'd closed in on him in a circle. He gaped, feeling uncertain. If they attacked him, he wasn't sure if he could take them all. One guard was fine. A dozen mindless people? Uh, no thanks, Jason Todd forgot to drink his milk this morning, how about another day?

"Shit," he hissed, holding his head higher. "Okay, who here is friendly?"

They all gave him the blankest stares he'd ever seen, and he felt a little bit of confidence spring into him. He watched their faces, awed and vacant, faceless people of all ages. Old men and women, races mixed together in a pool of diverse zombie-like gazes. There were about three children. One was a pale blonde girl, big blue eyes watching Jason's face without a hint of trouble or distrust. She was tall, but looked to be the youngest, with a round, smooth face, a button nose, and her gaping mouth showed that her teeth were just a bit too big for her face. Her lanky body was sort of awkward as she stood, her knees looking wobbly. Her long, tangled hair kept falling into one eye, and she was quick to push it back. Beside her was a boy with a mop of sandy blond curls swirling across his forehead and framing his cheeks. Jason tried not to let his eyes linger on the dark, jagged scar across his throat, but he couldn't help but stare and wonder. His face was slim, sharp, and his features sparked familiarity within Jason. The longer he stared, the more unnerved he got. The boy looked lithe, incredibly skinny and almost malnourished, with pale green eyes so big and wonderstruck, they looked ready to pop out of his head. They were piercing, almost like green ice in color, striking to the heart of anyone who stared into them. Robin felt sick as he remembered the eye he had found on his windowsill not so long ago, from a girl who had felt Deathstroke's wrath in Jason's place.

There had been a third. Jason blinked around, but realized that she'd wandered from the other two. He felt a hand on his arm, and he whirled around, jumping a little in shock. He'd been snuck up on, and that unsettled him. The girl was the smallest of the three, but she looked to be the oldest, if the sharp intelligence in her eyes were anything to go by. She seemed the most aware out of all of them, and there was barely a hint of a daze in her sharp black eyes. She was Asian, but a mix, her eyes large and curious, and her nose a little pointed. Her lips were round and pink, frowning up at him, and as she stared up at him he saw a pale sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She had thick black hair that framed her face in a mess of jagged tresses, like feathers dipped in ink had grown from her scalp unevenly. Her hair barely reached her chin.

"Oh," Robin said, his eyes widening as she caught a fistful of his cape. "Hi, there." She was shorter than him by about a head and a half. He watched her, and she watched him, and it became apparent that she was the one most aware of herself in the room. Her eyes flashed away, and she pulled on his cape tentatively.

"Can…" Robin let her lead him through the crowd, pulling him toward the door. "Do you know your way around this place?"

She looked at him, and she gave a sharp nod, yanking on his cape with tiny fingers. She wasn't that much younger than Jason, she couldn't be, but she was so small that he was beginning to delude himself. He looked back at the others, and he found himself startled that she was the only one who had been lucid enough to approach him.

"Wait," Robin said, taking her arm. He blinked down at it, and his heart sank as he took in the array of pale scars lining the skinny, but firmly muscled appendage. "Did they do this to you?"

The girl stopped, and she stared up at him. Her face scrunched, her nose twitching in confusion. She followed his gaze, and she stared at her arm for a few moments. She looked back up with him with wide eyes, and her skinny shoulders rose and fell limply, her mouth parting. Then she pressed her lips together and blinked up at him.

"Can…" The longer he stayed with the girl, the longer everything in him seemed to cripple in despair for her. "Can't you speak?"

Her big black eyes flashed away, growing half lidded and sad. She shook her head.

"Why?" Jason grabbed her other arm, crouching a little so they were eyelevel. "What did they do to you?"

Her eyes bore into his, flashing in confusion, and her thick, dark eyebrows knitted together. She shook her head, a question in her gaze. She reached up and took his gloved hands, pulling at him. Come, her eyes said. And he let her lead him. He held her hand, watching her watch him. He'd never felt so disturbed before. She wasn't scary, not at all— in fact, she was more of a comfort than anything. He was disturbed by how smart she seemed to be. He felt her eyes, and he felt them see everything. As if she could see his thoughts just by blinking and staring.

"I'm looking for someone," he told her. She tilted her head, and he took that as a beckoning to go on. "My friend. She's… well, she's green, she's not hard to miss. Taller than me, short red hair?" Jason gestured with one hand at his neck. She pressed her lips together, and she looked ahead for a moment pausing on their trek. Robin looked around, wondering why they hadn't passed another scientist, or a guard. The girl looked up at him, and he watched her chew on her lips, her brow knitting once again. She opened her mouth wide, and he listened to her give a soft, strangled sound.

"R—" Her nose scrunched once again, her face contorting as if in pain. "Re… eh…d?"

Robin's masked eyes widened as she reached out, her fingers pressing against his crimson tunic. "Red?" she asked again, this time finding her voice a little easier. Robin looked down at her, saw the way her eyes filled with wonder, and they twinkled inquisitively.

He nodded. "Red," he said, placing his hand over hers. "Her hair is red. Do you know where she is?"

The girl's lips tugged into a faint smile, and she turned her head away, grasping his hand and pulling. "Red," she said, as if it was an answer.

Someone spotted them when they turned down a hall, an older gentleman with glasses who took one look at them, and began to shout, "Intru—!"

Before Robin even had a chance to produce a birdarang, the man was down. He stared, at the girl, his eyes widening considerably, and his mouth fell open as she bent down and retrieved something from his pocket. She returned to Jason's side holding up a keycard, head cocked. She'd taken down the man with one swift kick, and Jason was still reeling from the sight of it. She was fast. Faster than him for sure.

"Red," she said, waving the keycard. She jerked her chin, grasping Jason's hand and pulling him very gently. "Red."

"Okay, okay," Jason gasped, deciding to ignore the man. At least she can defend herself, Jason thought. "What should I call you, anyway?"

She blinked at him, and he wanted to slap himself. Of course. She pulled him further, and it seemed that she could sense people approaching, because she barely gave anyone who saw them a chance to speak before she knocked them out. And as fast and efficient as she was, she left a trail of unconscious bodies in her stead. So it wasn't long before the alarm began to sound, and more guards began to appear. Robin joined the girl's side quickly, gassing and knocking goons into walls. The girl grabbed his hand and tugged him into a narrow passage, slinking into the shadowed pathways as guards ran past the entry, unaware. Robin crouched beside her, pulling up his cape to completely block out any sight of her in the dimness of the passageway.

She was holding his hand tight, her head ducking under his arm to see if the coast was clear. She looked up at him, and nudged him gently. He nodded, pulling her along with him as he exited the passage, looking both ways before they both went bolting down the hall.

"Is this it?" Robin asked breathlessly as she yanked him to a stop before a heavy white door. It was without a window, and it seemed to yawn upward threateningly into the slightest of arches.

The girl nodded, holding up the keycard to him. He took it, and looked down at her with curiosity and pity swirling in his heart. "How did you know where she was?" he asked her.

She tilted her head, her fluffy black hair curling around her warm hued, faintly freckled cheeks. And then she placed to fingers under her eyes, pointing. She jerked her head up, and tapped her eyelids. The sirens were wailing around them, but no more guards were coming just yet. The girl's mouth moved, not trying to form any sort of words, just opening and closing over and over.

"You…" Robin blinked. "You saw."

She looked up at him, her hands dropping back to her sides. And she nodded.

He had to take a deep breath, mentally assembling himself. "Well," he said, hovering the keycard over the scanner beside the door. "Here goes nothin'."

The door opened with a click and a whoosh.

The room was dark, windowless and small with out any light. There was a mattress on the floor, a tray of food left untouched beside it, and a stirring form bolting upright, blinking through the glare of light. Her hand hovered over her amber eyes to serve as a visor as she squinted at the duo in the doorway. She didn't look too different, just a little more disheveled than usual. Her cropped red hair flew all about her head in wisps of strands. She sat up straighter, smoothing her hair back as her mouth fell open in shock.

"Robin?"

He felt almost offended. He was in too much of a hurry to really care though. "You sound so surprised," he said, stepping into the room. She stared at him in awe, jumping to her feet and flinging herself at him. He choked on a haughty remark as her slender arms hooked around his shoulders, pulling him close to her chest. He blinked as she squeezed him, squirming a little in embarrassment. "Miss M!"

She let go of him quickly, squeaking a little bit as she smoothed his cape. "Sorry, sorry!" she gasped, stepping back and holding her folding hands to her chest. "I'm just happy to see a familiar face."

Robin's brow rose questioningly. "How long have you been in here?" he gaped.

She shook her head, her eyes wide and worried. "I don't know," she gasped, shaking her head a few more times. "It feels like forever, but I don't know, it was too dark…" She bit her lip, and she looked at him desperately. "Robin, the others, please tell me the others escaped."

His mouth opened as his heart sank further into the cavity of his chest. There was a shout from outside, a short scream cut off. The girl poked her head in, her wild black hair bouncing as she cocked her head from side to side. She looked up at Miss Martian, and she gave a shy smile.

"Red," she said, reaching out and tugging on Robin's cape. She pointed at Miss M, and she looked up at him, nodding. "Red."

"Thank you," Jason said, smiling down at her. "You're a life saver, you know that?"

She looked down, almost bashful, and she clung to his cape as she jerked her head at the hall. Robin nodded, understanding what she meant. She's easy to understand, Jason thought, studying her bright face. Once you get used to her. She just wants to help.

"Come on," Jason said, turning, "let's go."

"I can't."

He froze. He looked at her, and she smiled sadly, pressing her fingers to the collar around her neck. Robin took one look at it, and swore. The inhibitor collar had three lights burning red, and the longer he looked at it, the angrier Jason got. "Fuck," he swore. "Shit, shit, okay." He squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately to keep his anger in check. "Ugh! Right, right, come here, let me see if I can get it off."

"You can't," Miss Martian said softly. He glared at her, and she stared back levelly. "I'm just telling the truth, you can't. And I can't get out with it on. If I get too close to the door it zaps me."

Like a dog, Jason found himself thinking bitterly. "Fine." Robin raised his chin high. "I'll find the switch to turn it off."

"Robin," Miss Martian said gently. "The alarm—"

"Shut the fuck up," Robin spat, whirling around and grabbing the girl's arm. "You'll have that collar off in fifteen minutes. Hold tight for me till then, kay?"

"Robin—!" she gasped, just as the door slid shut behind him.

Robin looked down at the girl, and he smiled weakly. She tilted her head, her fingers caught around the fabric of his cape, as if it gave her comfort to be near it. "You think you can be my guide a little longer, uh…" He tilted his head, and she mirrored him, eyes big and awed. Her inky black hair framed her round, tan face like a myriad of dark feathers. "I'm gonna call you Feather for now, is that okay?" She merely blinked at him. "Thought so. C'mon, Feather, I need the control room."

That she seemed to understand. She dragged at his cape, and he followed her, afraid to contact his teammates. His own rule prevented him from checking on any of the missing others, and his thoughts kept going back to Dick. He had to keep himself from going insane with fear, so instead he focused on the task ahead. There was panic brewing all around them, and Robin watched as scientists ran wild, going for Feather instead of Jason whenever they happened to catch sight of them. Feather took none of that shit.

"You have got to teach me that move!" Jason gasped excitedly, gripping her hand as they hopped over their newest mess. She had completely used her opponents strength against him, touching him only once to knock him off his feet. She looked up at him in awe, her brow furrowing in a question. She didn't understand. "Teach me that," he repeated, gesturing behind him. "Fight? Kick, pow? Y'know?"

She looked up at the ceiling, puffing out her cheeks in confusion. They turned a corner, and encountered to more guards. Robin was getting used to how she zipped around, and he caught on how to slide under her as she jumped, knocking down his own opponent before she reached the ground again. When the guards were left unconscious, Feather turned to face him, and she pointed.

"Keckuh," she said brightly. "Puh-ow?"

"Kick," Robin corrected as she grabbed his hand again. She bobbed her head in acknowledgement.

"Kick," she repeated, knocking down another guard. She looked up at Jason for approval, and he nodded.

"Yeah, that's right."

The more she stuck to his side, Jason noticed, the more she came out of her shell. Her voice was very, very quiet, and it took a lot of strain just to hear it, but it was a sweet sound, and he was glad to hear it. It sounded as if they were the first words she had ever spoken, and perhaps they were. Jason could not know. But he did know that the girl was his lifeline at this point. He had her to thank for even finding M'gann.

They stopped before a door. It was different from the other doors, metal and looming, ominous to look at. It had a shimmery window, and Robin watched as Feather's shoulders squared at the sight of it. She seemed to shrink back a little bit. She's scared, Jason realized. He looked up at the door, and a spike of rage shot through him. He snapped, kicking the door hard enough to send a jolt through his leg. Feather jumped away from him, eyes snapping wide and gleaming with something that could be shock or terror. Jason looked at her, and he instantly regretted his anger.

"Hey," he breathed, holding up his hands. "Hey, no, look. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

She looked at him with wide eyes, and slowly she slunk back to his side. It seemed she didn't know what else to do. He took a deep breath, and glanced at the door. "Okay," he murmured, reaching up and undoing the clasp of his cape. She looked doe eyed and awestruck as he draped it over her shoulders, clasping it at her collarbone. He smiled down at her, mussing her hair as he straightened up. "You stay here," he said, pulling out the keycard. "I'll be just a minute, and then we can get Miss M and get the hell out of here, kay?"

She looked up at him, her fingers clasping around the cape and hugging it closer to herself. She looked as though she was debating. She nodded slowly, uncertainly, and Jason felt almost reluctant to go. But he had no time left to puzzle over it. He gave her one last smile, and waved the card over the scanner. He entered the room without looking back.

It was way bigger than he'd expected. A huge, expansive screen framed the far wall, layers and layers of grid crawling across the corners and creeping into the wide, but smaller screens lining the other walls. Everything was bright in the room, and everything was thrumming, as if the machines were alive. Robin moved around the eerie looking chair at the center of the room, the only thing in it aside from the computers, and he headed toward the keyboard.

He spent a minute or so hacking before he came across the list of inhibitor collars online in the building. He found M'gann's, and switched it off with a flick of his finger. Too easy.

And he should have stopped there.

Instead, he looked around him, and bit his lip. But if I leave without getting recon on these guys, what will Batman think? That was his reasoning for it. And it was horrible. But he got an idea. A beautiful, chaotic idea that struck his fancy just right. But it would take a bit longer than a minute. She can fight off anyone who comes near her, he told himself, shoving a Trojan USB into a slot, working quickly to hack through any firewall to come at him. When he found the system to be calm, no longer aware of the threat, he began to search for… whatever. Stuff about the missing teammates, or maybe Feather's actual name.

He found Dick's first.

They didn't know his name, which was good. What was written was still jarring.

Reluctant to respond to treatment. May need second wiping. Keep careful watch.

Under that in bold, it said, SOLD.

That's when the panic settled in.

Oh god, no, Jason thought frantically, stumbling back. No, no, no, no, no!

"BG," he gasped, pressing his finger to his ear. "Please tell me you've got Nightwing!"

Her voice was a sweet, simple calm to soothe his fears. "He's fine," she replied. "We're almost out of the building. Who tripped the alarm?"

The relief was too strong to care about the fact that it'd been him. "Dunno," he said. "Thanks, though. I'll be out soon. Robin, out."

Jason glared at the computer screen, and he leaned forward, tapping the word SOLD. The name that popped up was no surprise, and yet his stomach squirmed.

"It would be," he murmured, flicking Deathstroke's picture to enlarge it. He blinked, and noticed he had two names under Nightwing's. How many people did Deathstroke buy, Jason thought, horrified. He tapped one, Joseph Wilson, and watched the image of the slim, green-eyed boy he'd seen earlier pop up. He was vaguely hopeful that the next name, Tara Markov, could be Feather's. It wasn't. It was the tall blonde girl's, and there was nothing of interest in either of their bios. Tara offered little on who she was, only that she was easy to sway, and Joseph's managed to tell Jason that he was mute due to a severed larynx.

He checked Artemis's next. Nothing of interest. She had not, in fact been sold, but Robin looked at the interested buyers. League of Shadows, yes— no specification on who, but Robin could guess. He checked for M'gann, but there was no record of her, strangely. Then he checked Kaldur.

"Oh," he breathed, his eyes widening. "Oh fuck."

Kaldur was gone. Sold to Black Manta, and filed as departed. Jason spun around, pressing his finger to his ear once again, fiddling with his communicator for a moment. "Aquagirl, are you there?" he asked, sounding breathless and furious.

"I am," she gasped, "a bit busy!"

"Don't care!" Jason glared at the computer, and he shook his head. "Aqualad is gone. Get the hell out of here, right now!"

"Excuse me…?" she asked, sounding fate. Then she sounded enraged. "Excuse me?"

"Go," Jason snapped. "Get the fuck out!"

He could almost feel her shaking in fury. "I will call you back," she snarled, and the line was cut.

Jason took a deep breath. He turned back toward the computer. He just needed a few minutes longer for the USB to suck the entire system dry. So he turned his interests toward the purpose of the facility. What he found was a heap of jigsaw puzzle pieces. What he gathered was… well, the chair zapped memories. Or, at least, blocked them off. Whoever had invented it had been inspired by an encounter with Psimon gone wrong— or right, maybe. Now the facility used its technology to kidnap and sell people it deemed valuable.

Before he could crack the computer screen by punching it, there was a distinct sound of metal hitting flesh from outside. Jason's blood chilled in his veins, and he bolted to the door, ready to rush to Feather's side. Instead, it swung open, and Jason was knocked backwards by a fist to his face. He gasped, steeling himself as he moved to retaliate blindly, but he was grabbed by the arms on either side before he could do so. He twisted, grunting as he was whacked across the cheek, and he heard something crack the third time. Blood filled his mouth, spilling from his nose in fast rivulets. He blinked away stars, and he spat and screamed curses, flailing against them.

"You fuckers, get off," he snarled, his arms and legs flying out, kicking and punching and clawing. When he realized what was happening, real fear took over him. His eyes widened in terror as they slammed his back against the chair, and he twisted wildly. "No!" he screamed, slugging a man in the jaw. He almost sprung free that time, but they pinned him back down quickly. He rasped, choking on blood as he twisted and squirmed and screamed and gasped, coughing and shouting and cursing. "No, fucking hell, no—!" No, no, no, no, no, no, no!

He felt something attach to his arm, and realized it was a wire to a heart monitor. He spluttered, glowering up at the men with hazy vision. His head felt like it was about to split open. "Fuck you," he spat, blood flying from his mouth. "Fuck you all, and see you in hell."

They did not react. M'gann, he thought desperately, his mind reaching out as they slid needles into the epidermis at his forehead. M'gann! He pushed his mind so hard he could no longer see. There was nothing but stars in his eyes, and trails of fire running through his skin. And then his mind began to burn. His heart and head pounded, a furious drum that burned with the rest of him, burned and burned and burned, crushed him under sun and rush and flame, and he coughed blood, rasping as a buzz filled his ears, and everything in the world rushed into his mind, and then rushed out, flooding him with blind pain and numbness all at once, and he couldn't stand it, he felt like he was going to break apart and break and break and break and break, and he scream, and he screamed, and he screamed, but it was just noise, senseless noise of agony. M'GANN!

It stopped all at once.

Reality flooded back to him like a floodgate opening, and he blinked away tears as he coughed, his entire body aching. His vision returned just enough to see a pretty green face hovering over his. There were tears in her eyes, but she was not crying, and she was clutching his arm tightly, her other hand on his head. He was trembling, and he breathed in and out, choking on his own blood. His head lolled as he attempted to pull himself up shakily.

"M…" he choked, tripping as he got up, and collapsing into her arms. They both sunk to their knees. He didn't realize he was sobbing until smoothed back his hair, pressing her forehead to his. He felt a burst of ice wash over the wildfire in his mind, and he let a strangled gasp of relief leave his lips. "Miss M…?" he mumbled, staring at her dazedly. There were tears on his cheeks, and he was shaking all over.

"You're okay," she promised, sounding shaky herself. "I talked to the others. They're all okay too, except…"

"Aqualad," Jason said, everything rushing back to him, blood oozing from a fresh wound. He stood shakily, and stumbled over the body of a man. Jason looked at him, and realized he was wide awake, and staring at nothing. He was alive, but dead inside. And somehow, Jason just didn't fucking care. "What did you do?" he asked, his voice thin and dark.

She sniffed, and stood up behind him. "I…" She struggled to say it. "I made them feel what they were… trying to do to you. I made them feel what it felt like to have their minds wiped." She choked on a sob, and stumbled back, clapping her hands over her mouth. Jason turned to stare at her blankly. "Oh, god, I… this is bad, isn't it? I did something bad."

"No," Jason said, his heart burning in his chest. It burned and burned and burned, until it was nothing but charcoal and dust. And then it blew away into the wind, leaving nothing but an empty cavity. "It's not bad if they deserved it."

He reached out, grabbing the USB drive, and taking M'gann's hand. She looked down at him, and smiled tremulously, giving a weak, vacant nod. "Yeah," she said, nodding furiously. "Yeah, you're right. They're the bad guys. Hello, Megan." The phrase was said with such a bitterness, that she spat it like it was a foul mixture of blood and a swear.

"Fuck," Jason spat, just to test it. Blood flew, and it still didn't sound half so bitter. M'gann held onto him as they walked out of the control room, and Jason looked around wildly for the girl, but the mute child was gone. Jason didn't know what he'd expected. He saw his cape pooled up on the ground, half torn, and he bent down shakily to pick it up. He let his mind go numb as he clipped it around him, ignoring the flecks of blood that dotted its interior. He dug into his bet, and withdrew six batarangs, three for each hand. He spun around and flung them, just as the door began to slide shut.

"Run," he told M'gann, flicking the detonator.

She didn't need to be told twice.

Oh my god. Six months? Ahahahaha. No, I have a real excuse. Take a good look at Stages of Deterioration, the six chapter what if fic about if Jason had been resurrected before the start of season two, in 2015. Look, I'm really proud of it, okay, it's so long it literally has like every ounce of my energy and dreams in it I cannot even fathom how to live without it, but I still have the epilogue so we'll see.

I was going to write more about angsty bioship stuff, but no, this chapter is too long, and this story is not, in fact, Stages of Deterioration. I can't write 90 page chapters for this fic, I'll never finish it. That's why I'm, sadly, going to cut a subplot about Joey Wilson. Probably. We'll see how writing next chapter goes. Oh, if anyone is wondering the ages, Tara Markov is nine, Joey Wilson is ten, and Cassandra Cain (if anyone didn't guess it was her, y'all need jesus) is eleven. Oh god, I wish Jason could have just curled up with Cass and taken her home and nothing bad would ever happen ever because Cass wouldn't have none of that shit, yo, when Cass Cain is around the you know you're safe. Too bad her dad got to her first.

Oh, hey, guess what? DickBabs ended up being canon. So I can write about it. Dick, that was a very naughty dream.

Ha ha ha ha, okay, imma ollie out, but please review! I mean, you waited this long? Might as well tell me what you think. Observe how my writing has changed. (I consider this to be a short chapter, and it took me a little less than a week to write it, I kid you not, all I had was up to the first linebreak before Tuesday.)