"I hate it when you talk down to me like that."

"I'm not talking down to you."

"Yeah, you are."

"I'm just saying that Eskrima sticks are better than bo staffs any day of the week."

"Well, you're wrong."

"Prove it."

"Make me."

"Maybe I will."

"I dare you."

Dick paused and, looking at Jason's stubborn expression, gave in. "Fine."

He launched himself onto Jason's torso, slamming them both down onto the pristine cream leather couch and sending four throw pillows flying.

"Christ," Jason gasped as his back hit the sofa, the impact momentarily driving the air out of his lungs.

Then, with the speed and grace of one used to such situations, he flipped Dick over so that he was on top, pinning him down with his elbows and knees while he grinned in victory.

"And this round goes to…Jason," came Cassandra's voice from the doorway. Both boys' heads whipped around in surprise, Jason's eyebrows shooting up and Dick's eyes widening.

"Sparring so early isn't good for you," she informed them rather primly, seating herself comfortably on the couch opposite. "Especially on an empty stomach."

"Have you eaten yet," asked Dick, who had managed to wriggle out from beneath Jason and plopped himself beside his brother. He stood and retrieved a few of the couch pillows.

"Just did," she responded. "Alfred made blueberry pancakes. Bruce left about half an hour ago for work and I think Tim and Stephanie left for school around the same time. It's only eight."

Dick nodded, prodding Jason's legs which he had positioned so that his entire six foot frame took up the whole of the couch's space and effectively kicked Dick out. "Why aren't you two in school today?"

"We finished exams early," Cassandra answered. Jason grinned tauntingly at Dick and stretched leisurely, his feet dangling off the edge of the sofa. Dick growled.

"Come sit next to me," Cassandra offered, patting the five feet of empty space beside her.

"No thanks," Dick politely declined. "I think I'll go get breakfast, actually. See you two later."

Jason shot him a smirk as Dick left, heading towards the kitchen and calling for Alfred.

"So," Jason began. "How are you?"

In the three years that Jason had been living in the Manor, he had seen Bruce and Alfred daily, seen Dick when he visited every few months, and Babs every weekend, usually more. The more recent additions to their rather exceptional family had come in the form of Tim Drake, the fifteen year old athlete and brilliant detective and computer expert, and Cassandra Cain, the beautiful and talented young daughter of the dangerous world-class assassins, David Cain and Lady Shiva. She was now twelve and going to the same private school that Stephanie Brown attended. Stephanie was another new recruit, an acrobat and skilled street fighter. She was in the same grade with Tim and went to the accompanying all girls private school across from Tim's private boys school. In his typical fashion, Bruce had taken them all in.

Their family was now very large, although the only ones he felt actually related to were Bruce, Dick, and Barbara. The others were like extremely close friends that you lived with. Dick had moved in with them two years ago when Bludhaven had been blown up and they now had much more time to themselves since, what with all the vigilantes living under the same roof, they didn't have to patrol as often.

"I'm fine," Cassandra murmured absently. She tilted her head to side as she looked tiredly out the open front door, her mouth opening slightly in a comfortable yawn. Her small hand covered her mouth and the sunlight streaming in from the tall windows illuminated her shoulder length ebony hair and streaked it with blue highlights.

She shifted slightly and asked, "So…how are your finals?"

"Hmmm?" Jason started abruptly. "Oh, they're fine. At least, I think they are."

She grinned at him and leaned forward, a mischievous glint that Jason recognized all too well from looking in the mirror dancing in her eyes. "At least once these are over with, we'll have the summer to look forward to."

"Oh, yeah. Patrol and training nonstop from sunup till sundown," he responded. He winced, just thinking about how sore he was going to be until fall, when he would start his new year.

"Training with Bruce can be rather…"

Cassandra trailed off delicately and Dick, who had just returned from the kitchen with a muffin in his hand, finished the sentence for her. "Nightmarish."

Cassandra smiled wryly and Jason let out a laugh. "Rather a strong euphuism there," he replied, a smile curling the edge of his mouth as he thought of the training he would have to endure at Bruce's hands this summer. He might complain and whine but he loved training; pushing his body to the limit and often, past it, always learning, always getting stronger.

And then there was beating his brothers at sparring, which always made Jason's day.

Dick raised his eyebrows at him and Jason smirked back, always ready to spar with one of his brothers; verbally if not physically. "Back for another round, Dickie-bird?"

"No way, Jason," Dick cut him off, hastily swallowing the last mouthful of muffin and continuing, "I just ate. I'm not sparring with you right now."

"If you want to spar, Jason," Cassandra supplied. "I finished my breakfast a while ago. We could spar, if you want."

Jason considered it for, oh, about a half a second before complying. A chance to spar with Cassandra wasn't bad. Ordinarily, the thought of sparring against a twelve year old girl would have disgusted him but seeing as it was Cassandra Cain, daughter of Davis Cain and Lady Shiva, both world-class assassins, and trained from practically the moment she left her mother's uterus, it didn't give Jason a second of pause.

Especially since Cassandra didn't pull punches and she could kick Jason's ass on a good day.

Well, pretty much any one of their asses.

Dick followed them towards the grandfather clock and, swinging it open, followed them down the stairs of the Batcave, anticipating the fight about to begin.

"Get him, Cass," Dick hollered as Jason nimbly dodged a left hook that probably would have caused permanent brain damage if it had actually landed where it had been intended.

Cassandra, her hair pinned up into a twist on top of her head, flashed Dick a grin through her mouthpiece. They were dressed in most of the sparring gear and had even put on shoes, a rarity in the Wayne household, except for Alfred, of course.

Jason whipped out his leg and caught her in the shin. She winced but rather than falling down, caught him in the jaw with a jab.

Hissing in pain, Jason, wishing they hadn't forgone the headgear, rammed his elbow into her stomach and, while she was surprised, swept her feet from under her by knocking her knees out from behind.

"Damn," snarled Cassandra, spinning onto her side so fast it would have given a merry-go-round horse a bout of nausea and, almost before he had realized what happened, flipped herself into a crouching position and lunged at him, crashing onto the mat on top of him.

For the second time in two hours, Jason had been shoved down after being pounced upon. Also for the second time, Jason nudged his foot into the crook of his opponent's knee and flipped her over.

Carefully, he positioned his weight so that he wasn't crushing her and gently wrapped his hands around her throat.

Match over.

At least, he thought it was.

He was about to get off and help her to her feet when Cassandra wrenched her wrist from where he had her pinned and slapped him across the face.

Jason reeled backward, nearly losing his balance. A lifetime of acrobatics and gymnastics paid off in keeping his body balanced as he swayed slightly. His hands had come off her throat when she slapped him and he cursed his momentary distraction.

Cassandra slammed her foot into his stomach and he let out a lungful of air in a rush. In retaliation, he nailed her in the jaw with a mean right hook.

Cassandra went down but turned onto her side and brought him crashing down with a well placed snap kick.

They lay on the mat for a while, breathing heavily and eyeing each other warily. Finally, they heard Dick, whom they had both forgotten was even there, get to his feet and walk towards them.

"That was quite a match," Dick congratulated them although his expression was slightly bewildered at what he had just witnessed.

"Good match," Cassandra panted, holding out her palm and slapping Jason's hand lightly. He nodded, trying to regain control of his breathing.

Dick helped Cassandra to her feet and then Jason, grinning, "Losing your touch there, Jason?"

Jason told him something he never would have even considered saying in Alfred's presence.

Dick let out a delighted laugh at his brother's reaction. "You're so easy to mess with, Jason."

"I was about to say the same thing to you," Jason retorted. He swiped a hand over his forehead and patted the sweat off with a towel, massaging his jaw with his free hand.

"Oh? How so," Dick countered, scowling as Jason whipped his towel into the laundry basket and made the shot without even touching the rims. Jason smirked, raising his hands in the silent sign for victory.

"I'll tell you what," Jason offered. "If I can mess with your head in the next, say, twenty minutes, Dick, you owe me a drink every time we go to the Iceberg Lounge together from now till we're forty."

Dick wrinkled his nose. "Ew," he groaned. "I don't want to think about being forty. Besides, we're not supposed to go to the Iceberg Lounge, remember?"

"And you always do what you're told, don't you?"

They began heading towards the stairs, Cassandra shaking her head in amusement as she listened to them bicker.

Dick paused, a curiously blank expression on his face. "Not exactly always," he hedged.

Jason grinned at him. "Just did it."

"Just did what?"

"Just messed with your head. Just now when you said you don't always do what you're told." Jason shot him a triumphant grin as he followed Cassandra up the stairs.

"I-no, that doesn't count. I bet you can't do it again."

"Double or nothing?"

"Deal," Dick said, sealing his fate. Jason shook his head at him mockingly, already thinking about the free drinks he would be getting in the future.

"I remember when Babs and I used to spar down here," Dick recalled wistfully.

"Not that much has changed," Jason quipped. "You still tussle and wrestle and make grunting noises while you do it."

"Jason," scolded Dick, a slight flush staining his cheeks. "That's none of your business."

"When your room is next to mine and Bruce hasn't gotten around to soundproofing the walls, you bet it's my business," grumbled Jason. Then his eyes lit up with wicked glee. He spun on his heel, exclaiming, "Oh! Twice in a row!"

Dick made an expression that wouldn't have been out of place if he had just gone dumpster diving. Finally getting himself under control, he whispered, "You're just in a bad mood because you aren't getting any," and dashed out of the clock and away, leaving a snarling Jason to shut the clock with his heel.

"Please refrain from doing that, Master Jason," Alfred's calm, even voice reproached.

Oops. "Sorry, Alfred," Jason muttered, ducking his head.

"That's quite alright. Would you care for some breakfast? I recall that you didn't have any this morning before your sparring match."

"Oh, right, I didn't." It was only when he had mentioned it that Jason realized how famished he was. He nabbed a bagel from Alfred's tray and washed it down with a cup of tea. "Thanks, Alfred."

"No problem at all, Master Jason," the butler replied as he continued on his way back to the kitchen. "Please remember to wash your hands before handling the television remote."

"Will do," Jason called after him.

Tim Drake was not having a good day.

You would think that compared to fighting madmen in masks and doing one-handed aerial tricks, investigating sewers, and, duh, training with none other than the Batman, school would be easy. You would think that.

You would be wrong.

Tim, having patrol the night before, had not finished the assigned reading. He had no choice but to do it in the car ride to school and had then taken a pop quiz that he may have failed miserably or gotten a hundred on; there was really no way to tell when it came to English quizzes.

Then, he had finished a ridiculously easy science final that was worth twenty five percent of his semester grade and ran a mile and a half for his gym final. The day in itself wasn't too bad but he was exhausted and a school full of rich, snotty boys aged five to eighteen all crammed into a single humongous building called a private boys' school wasn't exactly improving his mood.

Today, Tim thought miserably as he trudged towards his locker, school is nothing short of my very own personalized hell.

And the demon that ran the place was currently leaning against his locker, a big grin playing nastily around his mouth.

"Hey, Timmy," Joshua Stevens began, mocking friendliness with every syllable. "How's your day been?"

"It was fine," Tim lied, clenching his fists beneath his books. He glanced around the hallway. Students were milling all around them, the smarter ones mindfully avoiding what was quite obviously about to become a fighting ring and the not so clever ones crowding the area.

All those kids and not a single teacher, teacher's aide, office worker, counselor, or vice principal in sight.

Tim sighed to himself. It was becoming clearer and clearer that unless he ran, this was about to get ugly.

He gave Stevens a calculating look. Well, Tim thought, Stevens can't get much uglier than he already is. Why not?

Carefully setting his things into his locker and closing the combination lock so his things wouldn't be ruined, Tim pushed up his sleeves and prepared to kick this bully's ass.

"I swear he was asking for it, Bruce," Tim protested into the crushing silence of the car. Alfred and Bruce had come to the school to pick him up after the principal had stumbled upon the scene. Very luckily for Stevens, too; at that point, he had already sprained an ankle, broken a rib and fractured his wrist.

"Timothy Drake," Bruce growled and Tim clamped down on his cringe. He hated when Bruce used that tone on him. It scared the hell out of him for one thing despite the fact that he was a perfectly capable and perfectly bold fifteen year old boy, but for another, it made him feel as though he'd let Bruce down. It was a feeling he detested.

"We do not use violence against the bullies in schools," Bruce continued, still employing the same horrible voice. "What you know is not to be abused. You cannot use it against unarmed individuals. You could have done that boy serious damage. You're lucky you only got suspended until the end of the school year. And you're even luckier that you already finished all your finals."

Tim held his tongue throughout the car ride home, wishing that he hadn't just fractured the boy's wrist but snapped it clean off. Hey, he figured, if he was going to get into trouble with Bruce, it might as well be worth it.

Finally, they arrived home, Dick opening the front door, surprise etched into his handsome features.

"Bruce? You're home? With- ah…" understanding dawned across his face as Dick realized what must have happened.

He held the door open for them and steered Tim towards the video center, Bruce glaring after them both.

"Why are we going in here?"

"Because Jason is in here and Bruce never comes in this place," Dick explained.

"Why can't we just go into one of your bedrooms?"

"I don't think that's a very good idea," Jason's voice came from the sofa as he grinned wickedly at Tim. He was fiddling with the remote but nothing was actually on. After a few seconds, Jason tossed the remote onto the coffee table and flashed Tim another smirk.

"You wouldn't want to see what I've got in my room," he assured Tim.

"Probably wallpapered the entire place with centerfolds from Playboy," Dick muttered under his breath and he shunted Tim along to his other brother.

"I beg your pardon," Jason asked, arching a brow at Dick. "Are we talking about this oh-so-sensitive topic in front of the baby bird?"

He was referring, of course, to Dick's habit of being overprotective nature when it came to Tim. Dick glared halfheartedly at Jason before flopping down in an adjacent couch.

Tim suddenly crashed onto the same couch as Jason, launching himself next to his brother, who yelped and quickly moved out of the way.

"I swear all of you people are trying to kill me," Jason muttered darkly.

"What do you mean," Tim asked, frowning.

"Both Dick and Cassandra attacked me this morning. Dick was arguing with me about his pathetic little Eskimo sticks-"s

"Eskrima sticks, thank you very-"

"And then he attacked me," Jason continued as though he hadn't heard Dick's indignant retort.

"And Cassandra," Tim questioned further.

"We were sparring," Jason explained.

"Who won?"

Jason paused for a second before answering, "It was a tie, of sorts."

"She whipped you, didn't she?" Tim asked, grinning.

"No," Jason rebutted, "I won and then she kind of cheated-"

"It doesn't count as cheating if your too celebrating your not yet victory to see that she's about to slap you and knock you off-" Dick began before Tim cut him off.

"She slapped you?"

"Dick, I would appreciate it if you didn't spread such outrageous rumors about me," Jason glanced at Dick before continuing. "You might accidentally give little ol' Tim here the wrong idea. For one thing, I did not wallpaper my bedroom with Playboy. Besides, Tim, do you even know what Playboy is?"

Tim slanted a sarcastic look at his older brother. "Yes, Jason, I know what Playboy is."

"Just making sure," Jason shrugged. "What are you doing home so early?"

Tim shrugged, imitating his brother's pervious motion. Dick filled Jason in on the situation. "He beat up a kid and got suspended. Am I right?"

Tim looked up, slightly surprised. "Yeah. How'd you know?"

Dick grinned, shaking his head. "Been there, done that, Tim. Got the lecture, got the punishment. Did it all."

"What is the punishment?"

Jason snorted in amusement. "No patrol and no cases until further notice."

"You would know," Dick smirked.

"Nooooooooooooooooooo," Tim wailed. "No patrol! My life is gone!"

"Calm yourself, Tim," Dick shushed him. "Think of it as a lot more time for naps and studying."

As Jason made a face at Dick's supposed comforting and Dick scowled back, Tim wailed louder. "I'm done with exams, though! And what am I going to do this summer if I can't go on patrol with you guys?"

"You should have thought of that before you beat that kid up," Cassandra's cool voice floated in from the doorway.

"Cassandra," Tim exclaimed awkwardly, flushing a deep red. "I didn't see you."

"I gathered that," she smiled warmly, thoroughly enjoying her brother's embarrassment. It happened so rarely that it was impossible not to appreciate it when Tim blushed a good, deep red. "I was on my way when I heard you all talking about Playboy and suspension. Sounded pretty interesting so I thought I'd pop in."

Dick's cheeks tinged a pale pink at what the situation looked like. "We were talking about Jason's bedroom," he blurted out, trying to explain.

Jason briefly closed his eyes as though praying for patience. "Dick, I swear to God, if you say I wallpapered my bedroom with Playboy one more time-"

"That's not what I said!"

"Then why would you bring up Jason's bedroom while explaining about Playboy?"

"Tim, shut up," both Jason and Dick snarled in unison.

"Okay, okay," Tim put up his hands in surrender and walked over to Cassandra. "Let's go, Cass. Best to leave them to it."

"You're right," she agreed, closing the door behind the two of them but not quite managing to shut out the sound of the two boys arguing.

"I don't even read Playboy, for God's sake!"

"I never said you did!"

"Then where in hell would I get the magazines to wallpaper my room?"

"You tell me!"

An echoing roar was the last thing Cassandra and Tim could hear before turning the corner into the kitchen.

"Hey, Steph!"

"Yes?"

Stephanie's friend Melanie raced up to meet her at the doorway to the science laboratory. In the vicious jungle called private girls' school, which was to say, Stephanie's current hell, ahem, school, it was damn near impossible to find anyone you could trust, let alone be friends with.

Melanie, however, had been friends with Stephanie for a few years now. "Steph, did you hear about Robin?"

"What about him?" Stephanie was careful to keep her tone light and blasé; after all, she lived the boy. If anything bad had happened, she would know before the newspapers and certainly before her school friends.

Giggling, Melanie pressed a newspaper into Stephanie's hands. They set their books down by the designated bench and took their seats next to each other, Stephanie shaking open the paper as she did so.

She had to stifle a smile. Tim, dressed in his Robin suit, was displayed grinning at her, clad in her Spoiler suit, and about to rappel onto the next building. How the paper had gotten that shot, Stephanie had no idea, but she couldn't believe that it had made the front page of the local newspaper.

It had been taken while they were on patrol just that morning, around two, she'd guess. They had partnered up to take the East side district and come across a mugging which Tim had pounced upon with gusto.

"Well," Melanie squealed eagerly, "Steph, what do you think?"

Stephanie blinked in surprise. What was she supposed to think? "They're very good at what they do," she tried lamely.

Melanie rolled her eyes. "I meant, what do you think of him," Melanie pointed at the photo of Tim. Her fingertip traced over his photographed cheek before she continued. "He's so cute!"

Stephanie felt a faint blush rise in her cheeks. She hoped desperately that Melanie wouldn't notice. The truth was, Stephanie had developed a terrible crush on Tim in the last two years that they had been living in Wayne manor. It was one thing to have a harmless crush, a daydream, about Robin, the Boy Wonder. It was another to know his name, live in the same mansion, and fight crime side by side. It was even worse to have to see Tim with his tongue hanging out after Cassandra whenever she was around. Stephanie thought of Cassandra like her older sister, similarly to the way she felt towards Babs. They were her sisters. She just wished that Tim would wake up already and realize that he belonged with her, Stephanie, not Cass.

"How can you tell he's cute," Stephanie asked. "He's wearing a mask, for one thing."

"I can tell," Melanie shook her head stubbornly. "He's just got this cute air about him."

"Well, he is cute," Stephanie murmured. The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. Oh, well, she thought. Every other girl at school is obsessed with Robin. What does it matter if they think I am too? They had pictures of him taped into their notebooks and giggled about him in the hallways. Stephanie had even overheard once, in locker room, a girl tell her friend about a simply obscene dream she had had the night before about him. Stephanie hadn't been able to look at Tim in the eye for weeks.

She never told him about his groupies. She figured it would either blow his ego up to the size of Jason's, which was saying something, or scare the hell out him, which would be funny but cruel.

"Yeah, he's cute, alright." Stephanie took out her books and set aside the newspaper, trying to free her mind of Tim.

Yeah, right. Like it was so easy to get him out of her head. God knew she had tried.

"How do you know," Melanie retaliated, playing devil's advocate. "Didn't you just say that his mask obscures his face?"

"I know," Stephanie repeated. Believe me, I know.

The bell rang, signifying the end of the discussion and the beginning of another dissection.

Dinner at Wayne manor was always a loud affair. When Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown, and Tim Drake sat down for dinner, things were guaranteed to be interesting.

Hell, Jason and Dick alone would be a show worth paying for.

And not because they were acrobats.

"Look, you two," Bruce began, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing. Jason and Dick looked up from the last piece of Black Forrest cake that they were quarreling over and froze. "You're getting out of hand. You argue all day and all night and then when we go out on patrol, you fight some more. It's driving me insane. Sometimes you spar and wrestle. Alfred has had to replace three pairs of busted sparring gloves in the last week. I don't know how you managed to break three in a week but whatever you're doing, it has to stop."

"Fine."

"Thank you."

Jason and Dick resumed their battle for the cake and Bruce refocused his attention on Stephanie. "How's your ankle, Stephanie?"

Stephanie grimaced. Her leg was propped up on a stack of fluffy white bath towels and a brace encircled her slender ankle. On the way home, Stephanie had tripped over a random rock and been sent tumbling into the ground, twisting her ankle, and, she learned later, fracturing it.

"It's gotten better," she replied. "The swelling has gone down for the most part."

Bruce nodded than continued, "I've come to a final decision on your punishment, Tim."

Tim looked up glumly. "What is it?"

"For as long as Stephanie is out of commission with her broken ankle, you will not be on any cases or patrol. If she heals fast, you're going to be back in your Robin suit again fast. If she doesn't, neither will you."

"That's not fair," Tim burst out. "It takes up to eight weeks to heal a broken ankle!"

"That's sounds about right," Bruce agreed, cutting up his pork chops while steadily looking his son in the eye.

"But summer vacation is only twelve weeks!" Tim's eyes had widened comically and he was making flapping gestures with his arms to animate his frustration and agitation. He looked somewhere between a hyperactive toddler imitating a plane and a deranged chicken on crack.

"Exactly."

"That's completely ludicrous," Tim insisted. Jason choked on a sip of water at his brother's choice of words and Dick, taking advantage of an excuse to smack him, pounded him on the back.

"That does seem extreme, Bruce," Dick pointed out. "I don't think you've ever done that with me or even Jason."

"That's because you two are his favorites," Tim pouted, knowing it was a low blow and that moreover, was completely untrue. He stabbed bad-temperedly at a piece of meatloaf before chewing on it.

From across the table, Jason snorted in disbelief. "I'm his favorite? I'm his favorite?"

"Well, maybe not you," Tim conceded. "But Dick, for sure."

"This is absurd," Bruce cut across them. He glared at Tim then Jason. "You all know I don't have favorites."

There was a silence where Tim picked at his food and Jason glared at Dick, who glared back.

Cassandra broke the silence. "So I take it none of us have any exams left?"

They all shook their heads. "Who's going out on patrol tonight?" Jason asked, savoring the taste of the cake he had managed to snatch from Dick.

"Well, I already headed out about a half hour ago," Bruce informed them. Then, seeing the looks on their faces, he quickly added, "It was just reconnaissance; nothing too important. Now, Stephanie and Tim obviously can't come. Barbara is at home; she's not going to be here tonight. Jason and Dick pairing up together would be a disaster. Cassandra, would you go with them to keep them in line?"

"Of course," she replied.

"Alright then," Bruce decided. "Cassandra, Jason, and Dick will team up to take the Lower East District and I'll take the Upper East. Tim and Stephanie; stay here and don't get into any trouble. Understand?"

They all nodded.

"Great. I want everyone down in the Batcave in half an hour."