Two and a half years, ladies and gentlemen, and finally I write an epilogue. Let's do this.

Note: Tim's age difference is never going to be addressed. Sorry. Also, season 2 angst.

The Batcave monitors loomed above Nightwing; he leaned back in the chair, Batman's chair: his eyes watching every movement of Gotham. In one frame, a teenager was running. Nightwing picked out red hair and freckles and a harsh memory throbbed in his skull. He closed his eyes, taking a deep shuddering breath.

"Dick?"

Nightwing turned, relaxing at the sight. "Hey, Tim."

The Robin pulled up a chair, handing Dick a sandwich. "Alfred made this for you. Why aren't you at your apartment?"

Dick grabbed the sandwich but didn't eat it. "The couple in the room above me argues."

"Henry found a girlfriend?"

"Yeah, but he beats her."

"Oh."

"Of course, someone left his sink on and now the damage to my walls is coming out of his paycheck; not to mention she's going to find the National Domestic Violence Hotline on her speed dial."

Tim smirked. "You sure have a strange way of dealing with loss."

"You should have seen Bats after Jason; ten different families got new cars in one week."

There was a moment of comfortable silence. The running teen returned to the monitor, only to be lost in the night. A single police siren sounded, but Dick had turned off the radio.

Tim glanced down at his hands. "Dick… I know this is a weird question, but… Who were my parents?"

Without hesitation he muttered, "Jack and Janet Drake."

"No, I mean my real parents." Dick paused, glancing sidelong at Tim. The Robin refused to meet his eyes. "I figured it out years ago; I found one of the papers in a suitcase when we were cleaning out the house, you know, after they… The papers weren't registered with any known adoption agency in the area. If anyone knew who they were, though, it's got to be Bats. So… who were they?"

Dick looked back at the screen. "That's a long story, Tim."

"I've got time."

"Trust me, Tim, you don't want to-"

"Yes, I do." He was getting angrier now. "You know, don't you? You've known for a long time. Tell me the truth, Dick."

"No."

"I deserve to know!"

"When you're ready-"

"I'm never going to be ready! God, you're such a hypocrite!" He stood now, pacing behind the chair and fisting his hands in his hair. "You're completely willing to force me into all this chaos, yet you can't tell me who my mother and father were? I know, okay? I remember their faces; I get glimpses of them. I dream about them; I dream about flying with them." His voice cracked. "And watching them fall." He sat down wearily. "I know, okay? So just tell me."

Dick took a deep breath. "Tim-"

"Just tell me, Dad!"

There was a moment of silence. The realization of what he'd said dawned on Tim, and he quickly apologized. "Dick… Sorry, Dick, I meant… I didn't-"

"It's fine, Tim." Dick sat up, eyes meeting the fourteen-year-old's. "You're right; you deserve to know." He paused. "Alright; you know where Superboy came from?"

BREAK

Artemis gently placed the flowers on the grave, kneeling. She couldn't be sure if the hologram was comforting or not, but now she refused to look at it. "You know," she murmured, "I remember the first time I did this. We stood together and… I wasn't sad, because part of me always knew, you know, that… I had you, so even when he died it wasn't as sad. And every time it happened; with Tula, with Jason, you were always there." She paused.

"But this… I never imagined this. How could I even begin to think of losing you… again? I lost you twice; I watched you die twice, Wally." She took a deep breath, shuddering. "Words will never describe how much I miss you, both of you. And I know that one day, you'll want me to move on… but I can't. I just can't love anyone else as much as I loved you, as much as I love you." She paused, standing and facing his hologram. Absently, she placed a hand on her lower stomach.

"Arte- I mean, Tigress?" A voice called.

Artemis paused, finally turning away.

BREAK

As the air cleared, he pressed his foot against the floor. Though his face was stoic, he was excited to be outside of his pod again. He followed the guard, relishing the feeling of the air. How long had it been since his last run? Days? Months? A year? They approached an open door on the side of the hallway, and he felt an urge to run through it, find a way out and escape. They passed the door; he had learned to suppress such thoughts long ago.

The training room passed, and his mind raced ahead of his self-discipline. If he wasn't being taken to exercise, then where-

Doors opened, and he stepped into the room; he adopted the military pose that had been drilled into him so many times before. A figure stood behind a desk at the front of the room, but the clone dared not to alter his gaze in order to further understand his surroundings.

"Who are you?" The voice was American, but sounded vaguely familiar.

Automatically he answered, "Number 782, sir." He jolted as a shock was released from his collar. He kept his face stoic but internally cried out.

"Who are you?" the voice asked again, patient.

"Wallace… West." The name felt clumsy on his tongue; it was a name from a memory or a dream, or someone else's memory.

"What is your purpose?"

"To replace the Flash should he-" A jolt ripped through his body again.

"The Flash and…?"

He stumbled over the words. "Wallace West should he… they… either one of them fall, and to-"

"Enough." A pause weighed in the air, stifling the clone. He fought the urge to twitch. "Wallace West has fallen."

His heart skipped a beat. No way, does that mean?

"So, Wallace West…" the voice murmured. "What is your purpose?"

The clone's mind raced; his heartbeat sped up. This was it, the moment he was ready for: the moment he had been trained for. The information flooded his brain as it had while he was in the pod; the distant memories started to stir. Only a few words stood between him and his first mission, fresh air.

"My purpose…" He enunciated the magic words with as much clarity as he could muster. "Is to destroy the Justice League."