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Chapter Text

Jason was starting to wonder exactly what sort of person his father was. Given that his three potential mother candidates were a peace corps doctor, an undercover spy, and some lady being held at a mercenary camp, it seemed like a fair question to ask.

Coming up with scenarios in which small-time criminal Willis Todd would have met any one of those women, much less all three in a short span of time, was much more entertaining than the quiet, strained atmosphere of the car. The jeep’s air conditioning was set to full blast, but it did nothing but blow warm air around and stifle attempts at conversation.

Jason resolutely did not look at Bruce. Instead, he looked out the riveting landscape of sand, sand, and more sand. Heat caused the horizon to twinkle, giving the impression of water where there was none.

“Jason…” Bruce tried to start something, but Jason kept his head turned away and pretended not to hear.

The thing is, he had been excited when Bruce tracked him down in Beirut. It made him feel important, special. Bruce had dropped whatever he’d been up to just to come get Jason. Underneath the heart attack of randomly running into Bruce on an entirely different continent, Jason had been so stupidly happy.

A cold pit had settled in his stomach when he’d been proven wrong, and the guilt ate at him. Obviously, the fact that the Joker had a nuclear warhead was more important than his mommy issues, in the grand scheme of things. But still, a small part of him was bitter that he wasn’t Bruce’s first priority.

And, geez, was he jealous of the Joker?

“We need a game plan for when we get there.” Bruce said, avoiding an emotional conversation like it was an olympic sport.

“What game plan?” Jason bit out, “We get in, get this Sandra, then we leave. Bash heads as needed, simple.” Don’t get him wrong, he was glad that Bruce was coming along to help find his mother, he couldn’t imagine doing this on his own. But how messed up was it that his problems were just a sidequest?

Bruce, infuriatingly, did not rise to the bait. “We need to be smart about this. It is just the two of us against an entire enemy camp without any chance of having backup. We do not know their numbers, capabilities, nor how many other captives they may have. Stealth will need to be key; we cannot make a scene.”

He was right. Jason wanted to throttle him, but he was right. “Go in all stealthy-like, knock out some guards and steal their uniforms?”

“After a period of observation, yes.” Bruce agreed. “With any luck, their uniforms will be covering enough that we won’t need to disguise our faces.”

“Otherwise we’d stick out like a pair of sore thumbs, yeah?”

Bruce just glanced at him before staring out at the road. “Hm.”

Normally Jason would consider himself fluent in Bruce-ese, but he couldn’t be bothered to parse that one out.

The plan actually worked out pretty well. Except for the part where, well, it turns out Sandra Wu-San was Lady Shiva, not a captive, but a collaborator. A trainer, even.

Jason was brought back to his thoughts on the way here—how on Earth had Willis Todd, a small-time criminal who had never even left Gotham, come into contact with a spy, a mercenary, and a peace corps doctor?

“Robin.” Bruce scolded, and Jason jumped to attention.

“So, looks like you caught me.” Lady Shiva said, bound and leaning up against a rock. “Now what?”

“Lady Shiva.” Batman started, “You are going to answer a few of our questions.”

“Oh yeah?” She raised an eyebrow, “And what if I don’t?”

“Shiva,” he said, “have you ever had a baby?”

The question sat in the air for a full minute. And then Shiva snorted.

Which, yeah, even Jason had to admit that the question sounded silly, especially when asked with the full force of Batman’s glare.

“A baby?” Shiva asked before bursting into guffaws.

“Answer the question.” Batman pressed.

Shiva dipped her head as she regained her composure. “Yeah, yeah.” She said. She giggled, then took a deep breath. “Oh, yeah. Dozens of babies. Armies, even. I leave a few dozen on each continent I stop over on.”

Figures that she wouldn’t take this seriously.

“The truth.” Batman insisted.

“How do you know I’m not telling the truth?” Shiva asked, though her eyes shone with mirth.

“This can help with that.” Batman pulled a syringe out of his belt, pre-loaded with a medication. “Sodium thiopental. Truth serum.” He injected it and sat back to wait.

“I’ll ask again.” He said after five minutes had passed. “Have you ever had a baby?”

Her head dipped to her chin as she bit her lip. Finally, she whispered. “Yes,”

Jason’s whole body froze. He felt stretched tight, like a rubber band ready to snap.

“When?”

“Ugh, ’bout…” she frowned, chewing on the words. “Fifteen years ‘go.”

This was it, the answer he’d been waiting for, and he had no idea how to react. Luckily, he didn’t have to as Bruce kept asking questions.

“What gender?”

“Both.” Shiva blinked hard. “One each.”

If Jason thought he was frozen before, that turned him to stone on the spot. “What?” he asked.

“Twins.” Batman said.

“Yeah.” Shiva agreed, nodding a bit. “Two ‘f them…” her head lolled to the side, like she couldn’t keep it up.

“Where?”

“A hospital.”

“Where?”

“New Jersey.” She grinned a bit, “You won’t find any… records. Why’re you so… interested?”

“What did you do with them?” Batman asked.

“Destroyed ‘em…” she chuckled.

That stopped Jason short, even though he was pretty sure he was on the verge of panicking. “What?” he repeated again, adding so much to the interrogation.

“What did you destroy?” Batman put it so much more eloquently.

“The… records.”

She was changing the subject.

“The babies.” Batman said, “What did you do with them?”

“Gave them ‘way.” Shiva said. “The father… only wanted the boy.”

“And the girl?” Jason asked, words coming so fast he almost didn’t understand himself. Batman shifted slightly to look at him, but Jason didn’t let himself be deterred.

“Trade…” Shiva said, “An associate… needed a girl. I had… no use.”

Jason clenched his fist. “Where is she?”

Shiva shrugged with a dopey grin. “Dunno, dun’ care.”

Shiva’s head snapped to the side with the force of the punch. Jason didn’t even realize he’d thrown the punch until Batman grabbed his wrist, halting the second one. Shiva laughed and spat up bloody saliva.

She tossed her head back, more with her chest than with her neck. A grin spread across her face as she watched him, amused with whatever she saw. “’S you… isn’t it? The boy?” Jason and Batman froze. That was all the answer Shiva needed.

“Aww,” she crooned. “This… s’pposed to be a reunion?” she probed the side of her mouth with her tongue. “Good right hook. Some things… genetic.”

Jason surged forward again. Batman held him back. “Where is she? Who did you give her to?”

Shiva shook her head, “Sorry… big sis… gone w’ the wind…”

She drifted out of consciousness, the sedative effects of the truth serum even letting her sleep through Jason shaking her. He nearly moved to smacking her, just out of frustration, when Batman stopped him.

“It’d be excessive.” He said, “She’s unconscious. You’d just be causing pain for pain’s sake.”

“It’d make me better.” Jason groused, letting himself be pulled away without commenting that Bruce did the same thing all the time. “So what now?”

“I’ve already called the authorities. We’ll say here until they arrive.”

“We’re just gonna turn her into the authorities?” Jason gestured emphatically at Shiva’s body, limp and restrained. “We need more information, she’s—”

“And how do you propose we get that information?” Batman asked. “We have no base of operations here, we’d be out in the open in an enemy camp. What if they have more forces returning this evening? What do we do then? Will we tie her to the back of the jeep and drag her to the hotel? You think she can’t disappear in a big city like that?”

Jason pulled away with a hiss. “You don’t have to rub it in.”

“The authorities will keep her restrained until we have time to question her properly.” Batman said. “Understood?”

Jason stared into his eyes for a long moment. The lenses obstructed actual eye contact, but Jason just knew he was staring. “Fine.” He said at last. “Can we at least wait in the car? I can feel my legs burning.”

They sat in the jeep with the ineffective air conditioning huffing and puffing its best, and watched until the authorities crested the hill in their own jeeps. They slipped away before they could be spotted, and changed back into civilian wear around a corner before heading into the city proper.

In the hotel, Jason pulled a water bottle straight from the fridge and splayed himself across the bed covers. He tucked the bottle against the back of his neck and shivered, as Bruce sat down at the small desk and drank his own water. “So, what now?” he asked when Bruce was well into writing his report.

“We go to Ethiopia,” Bruce said without pausing his typing, “and take care of Joker and associates.”

Jason wanted to speak up, to argue that they needed to find his sister. Bruce sensed the hesitation and shot a glance over his shoulder that had Jason deflating. He supposed the Joker having a nuke really was more important than his missing sister. “Fine.” He agreed. He shifted to look out the window, water bottle crinkling beneath him.

“Lad,” Bruce said, and Jason tensed, “it’s been fifteen years. An extra day or so will change nothing.”

“I know that!” Jason snapped then looked to the side, at the cream-colored wall. “I know that.”

Bruce did his thing, where he just stared Jason down. Then he stood, and flicked the lights off. “Get some rest. We leave before sunrise.”

As luck would have it, they ended up crossing paths with that peace corps doctor anyways. The Joker’s trail lead them to a refugee camp, where Bruce and Jason nicked some shirts from a volunteer group to blend into the crowd. They passed out waters as they went, and nobody paid them any mind.

“Drug trafficking.” Bruce muttered under his breath.

“Makes sense.” Jason agreed. “Lots of prescription pills, very little security or oversight.”

“The only one who’s always in the medical tent is Dr. Haywood.” Bruce said.

“And she wouldn’t be able to put up much of a fight.” Jason nodded.

They circled around to the medical tent, moving quickly but not fast enough to look like they had a goal in mind. Once there, they were flagged down by a man asking them to move boxes.

“There’s a stack by the infirmary.” The man said, “Move them to this truck, yeah?”

Jason bounced along beside him to play the role of eager kid, “Where are we taking ‘em?”

“It’s biohazard waste, needs to go to a special facility.” The man waved them in the right direction, then walked away.

Bruce and Jason opened the boxes as soon as he was out of sight. They were full of medication bottles that rattled with pills when shaken. “Biohazard waste, huh?” Jason said.

“Load the truck,” Bruce said, resealing the box.

“Huh?”

“Let’s follow them to wherever they’re storing the drugs, then we take them down.”

They followed the trucks to a warehouse a few miles away, and watched the Joker get out of the car with the doctor. Goons came out of the building to unload the boxes as the Joker manhandled the woman inside.

Jason stepped up to go end all this now, but Batman stilled him with a hand to the shoulder. “Wait.” He said.

“We found their warehouse,” Jason said, “What’re we waiting for?”

“We are severely outgunned.” Bruce said, “We need to wait for more intel.”

So Jason sat on his hands and waited. They watched as the Joker’s goons loaded the trucks up with new boxes, and sent them on their way back to camp. The Joker and Dr. Haywood stayed inside the warehouse.

“They’re taking Joker Toxin back to the camp.” Batman said, then he hesitated. “I need to go intercept them.”

Jason frowned, “But the Joker—”

“I need to go intercept them.” Batman repeated. “You stay here, keep watch. Follow if they move to another location, but do not engage alone. Do you hear me? Do not engage alone.”

“I heard you.” Jason pulled the binoculars back to his eyes, but Batman pulled his arm down.

“I need you to repeat it to me.”

“I won’t go in, geez!” Jason hissed and pulled his arm back, “Don’t you trust me?”

“Hm.”

Jason ignored the pit opening up in his stomach as he watched Batman disappear over the horizon. Instead, he turned back to the warehouse like it was some daytime soap opera he had no choice but to watch.

The Joker was playing cards with his goons, Dr. Haywood loitering off to the side and fidgeting. Jason couldn’t tell what game they were playing, but he could tell that Joker was shamelessly cheating. Everyone let him get away with it, because what was the other option?

The doctor said something, but with her head tilted at an angle so Jason couldn’t read her lips. The Joker didn’t look up from his game, just waving her off. She walked in slow, stilted steps to the door and let herself outside.

She glanced around at the miles and miles of desert on all sides, before leaning up against the metal siding. She looked back into the warehouse and bit her lip. Jason saw the exact moment she realized running would be even more of a death sentence than staying. She pulled a lighter and a pack of cigarettes from her pocket, and it took her multiple tries to get one to light.

Jason couldn’t take it anymore. He fired his grapple and landed beside her.

The cigarette fell to the ground where it fizzled out into the sand. She gaped at him for a moment, before asking, “Robin? What’re you…”

“Chasing him,” He pointed over her shoulder, “But we can help you. You’re safe now.”

Her eyes, full of shock and fear, switched to hope. She smiled.

“Yes, I think you can help me.”

Chapter Text

Bruce had never dressed someone else before.

It was an odd thought, but that’s what his brain focused in on as he guided limp arms through shirtsleeves and tied shoelaces.

His boys had come to him older, already running and fighting and arguing. He had missed out on the baby stage entirely, and he couldn’t say he regretted it. Babies were sticky and needed entirely too much support, children were much more his speed.

Which is why this was his first time dressing someone else. Kneeling in the shadow of a bombed-out warehouse, stripping Jason out of the mangled Robin uniform and dressing him in civvies. He didn’t focus on the injuries, or the stillness; he focused on how wrong it felt to be dressing his teenage son like this.

And since Bruce had never had babies, he knew the way his stomach dropped when he lifted Jason and watched his head flop around on a lax neck was instinct, not learned. He hadn’t understood it before, how anxiously people insisted on supporting babies’ heads and necks, until he watched Jason’s neck tilt at an unnatural angle.

He supported Jason’s head as he carried him back into the wreckage.

Bruce didn’t have the heart to put Jason back where he’d found him, half-buried under rubble with his chest and arms tilted towards the door. Instead, he laid Jason in an open patch, with his head resting on a rock like a pillow. He couldn’t be mistaken for sleeping, though, not with the mangled mess of his torso.

Bruce stared at Jason in the rubble, then took two deep breaths. He compartmentalized, and focused on the mission rather than the boy in front of him.

This death would already look suspicious enough. Bruce Wayne and his adopted son had made no public plans to travel abroad, much less to an African refugee camp. In order to stave off suspicion, he needed to play this part to a T.

When he’d dug Jason from the rubble, he’d still been Batman, and his gloves protected him from the worst of the damage. That wouldn’t do now. He shoved his hands into a pile of still-smoldering embers and hissed against the pain, only pulling them out just before the damage became severe enough to scar. He dug through the rocks, scraping up his hands to lend credence to his story.

His clothes were too nice. He rubbed dirt and ash into them and grabbed sharp stones to rip holes in them. He cut long strips into his arms, enough to bleed and look injured.

Jason’s clothes also looked too nice.

He couldn’t watch himself rough Jason up, so he closed his eyes as he did it. When he opened them again, Jason’s clothes were more accurate to the state of his injuries.

He breathed in deeply, inhaling the fumes until his lungs ached and his chest shook with coughs. Then he dialed 9-1-1 to play the part of distraught parent.

Only a small part of him considered that it might not be an act at all.

If Bruce had known he was going to end up bribing the police anyways, he wouldn’t have gone through all the effort putting on a show before. As soon as Bruce was ready, they’d sat him down in a private room and let him weave his tale of volunteer group projects and terrorist cells. The officer made all the appropriate sounds, but his notes were half-hearted at best. When Bruce finished, the officer across the table smiled at him with sickly-sweet sympathy.

“We are very sorry for your loss, Mr. Wayne.” He slid his folder shut with a quick flip of the wrist but made no motion to rise, so Bruce stayed seated as well. “And I’m sure you understand that we’ve all lost a lot in this attack.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow and held in a remark about how Jason and the doctor were the only casualties, how the warehouse was remote and long abandoned. “I’m sure.” Was the diplomatic response he settled on.

“There has been so much violence recently.” The officer continued, making and holding direct eye contact with Bruce. “Everyone has lost somebody, see, and with all the violence there has been very little food. We are very grateful for the aid efforts of the global community.”

“It’s a tragedy, what’s been happening.” Bruce agreed.

“Yes, the famine has been especially bad lately. Lots of people are hungry. And, forgive me for asking, but you are a philanderer, yes, Mr. Wayne?”

“Philanthropist.” Bruce’s tight smile fell off completely.

The officer chuckled, “Yes, of course Mr. Wayne. Forgive me, I confuse my words.”

“They are quite similar.”

The man continued with his wide smile and squinting eyes. “And lots of people have been very hungry recently. We are very grateful to the global community’s efforts, but still it falls short. Our Famine Fund is continually underfunded.”

Bruce couldn’t believe it. One of the most blatant requests for a bribe he’d received, even coming from Gotham. He didn’t respond.

“And it’s not just in the rural areas, either. Even here in the city, we are very hungry. Even the hospital staff, the medical examiner, the morgue staff.” The officer pushed. He kept up his smile the whole time.

“Of course.” Bruce said. Then he bit his tongue and clenched his fists — starting a fight here wouldn’t do him any good. He just wanted to get home. “Perhaps I can offer some assistance. I believe my checkbook, at least, survived the explosion.”

The man flinched at the choice of words. Good. He should feel at least a little shame for what he’s asking. Not enough shame not to accept, though. “Your help will be greatly appreciated, Mr. Wayne. And we’ll make sure to take good care of your boy.”

Bruce slid the check across the table, and the officer’s eyes lit up at the sight. Then Bruce shoved a wad of bills over as well. “Make sure that you do.”

“Of course, Mr. Wayne, of course. Thank you very much, sir, very much.”

Bruce left before he could do something stupid like break the man in half.

Someone stayed with Jason the entire time after that. Call Bruce paranoid, but he had too many enemies who would have no qualms about desecrating a child’s corpse to get back at him. He was able to explain most of it away with the grieving billionaire excuse, but insisting on renting and flying his own private jet home got him more than a few odd looks.

They held a memorial, as would be expected. It ended up being more of a gala, with socialites and politicians alike showing up to shmooze and network under the guise of paying their respects. At least Bruce was allowed, expected even, to sulk in the corner the whole time.

The night started off solemn and quiet, until the teenagers forgot the occasion and started running amok. They had sent an invitation to the school, intending to give Jason’s classmates the opportunity to come. They started off the evening calm, with the appropriate decorum, but now clusters were beginning to form and giggle.

Bruce left before he could punch a child.

The funeral, by contrast, was small. Himself and Alfred, the Gordons, and Leslie. It was a sunny, warm late-April day. In movies, funerals always happen in the rain, with the dreary feelings made physical. The cognitive dissonance distracted Bruce through most of the ceremony.

The last funeral Bruce had attended was his parents’. That day, the Gotham weather had behaved; the sky stayed dark and gray and drizzled rain on them throughout the ceremony. The caskets, shining and matching, had seemed so large. They had been giant, insurmountable roadblocks on the rest of his life, weighing him down as surely as if he had been entombed with them.

Jason’s casket, though shining and matching, was not large. Neither Leslie’s nor Alfred’s efforts had been enough to counteract the effects of childhood malnutrition, and Jason was painfully small for his age. The guilt, however, sat in his chest twice as large.

He’d convinced himself, eventually, that there was nothing he could have done to prevent his parents’ deaths. There was so much he could have done to prevent Jason’s.

His parents’ funeral had been open-casket, a last chance to say goodbye, according to the funeral director. The sight of those waxy, still things in the place of his parents haunted Bruce to that day, so he refused the reconstructive services and beauticians, and locked the casket tight himself.

He threw the first handful of dirt, then stood back to watch as the hole was filled in. The Gordons set flowers near the gravestone then left, Barbara squeezed his hand and Jim patted his shoulder. Alfred stood beside Bruce, stoic and silent as ever.

Leslie stood on his other side, misty-eyed and visibly seething. “I hope this helps you learn, Bruce.” She said. “I hope you learn that your way, this path you’ve chosen, only results in more avoidable violence and death. And I pray to god that you see that before you get another innocent killed.”

She shot one last glare at Bruce before she, too, got into her car and left.

And then, Bruce was certain he hallucinated it, but he saw another girl. Short and lean, dark hair, and a cocky smile. An exact mirror image of Jason. She was gone as quickly as Bruce imagined it, but he knew she existed, somewhere. And he needed to find her.

Bruce only noticed the cold thermos of soup by his elbow when he heard Alfred’s footsteps coming down the stairs to collect his dishes. Quickly, to avoid the reprimanding, he tossed back the remains in one gulp.

Evidently, he was not fast enough to avoid the scolding, as Alfred sighed. “I suppose I should just be happy you’re eating at all, sir, though I’m sure the food would taste better warm.”

That was probably correct, the soup was thick and congealed; it stuck to the back of Bruce’s throat. “It’s perfectly adequate.”

Alfred’s hum made perfectly clear what he thought of that sentiment, but Bruce had long since gotten used to ignoring disapproval. Alfred took the tray off the table, but did not leave. “Assassins, sir?”

“All known associates of Lady Shiva.” Bruce said.

“Ah.” Alfred’s tone softened. “Any luck?”

“I have not found any rumors of any of them working with a teenage accomplice.” Because none of them had any doubts about what Shiva meant when she referred to an associate wanting a child. “I have been going back through historical records, to see if they’ve ever worked with children or to see if any of them crossed paths with Shiva fifteen years ago.”

“And?”

“The records going back that far have been dubious at best.” Bruce changed tabs, showing the overall file with all the suspects laid out. Alfred stiffened.

“Master Bruce,” he said in a tone Bruce hadn’t heard since he was a child, “I know you did not name the file on Jason’s missing sister after a mythical child killer.”

“Ah.” Bruce glanced to the top corner of the screen where the file’s name showed. Medea . He had… overlooked that part of the myth. Thoroughly chastised, he muttered, “I’ll change it.”

“Yes, see to it that you do.”

Alfred left without a word, leaving Bruce alone in the cave with nothing but the blue light from the monitor reflecting off the memorial in the corner.

All Jason had wanted was a family. A person who would love him unreservedly. A person Bruce could never be. As it turned out, his biological mother could also never be that person. A biological sister might have been that person, but now they’d never know. Because Jason disobeyed orders, because Jason had been foolish, and reckless, and—

(“A hero…” said Sheila Haywood, half-dead and half-buried under rubble. “That boy… even after… trying to… a hero…”)

Jason was braver than any man Bruce ever knew. Too brave to become a man.

Later, Alfred was pleased to find the file renamed Viola .

Chapter Text

Barbara first met the girl in the middle of No Man’s Land on an otherwise ordinary day. Although, saying she met the girl was perhaps overselling it; she noticed the girl trailing her agents on one of the few CCTV cameras still functioning.

Broadly, the girl looked the same as any other teenager in No Man’s Land. Her clothes were scrappy and her hair was greasy, she walked with purpose and haste. Unlike the rest of Oracle’s agents, however, she didn’t glance over her shoulder every few minutes to check for a tail or other unsavories. She kept her chin up and eyes straight ahead, fully confident.

“I see you’ve gained a tail, Marisol.” Oracle said the next time she got one of her agents on the phone.

Marisol, a nineteen-year-old from the Narrows who hadn’t left Gotham when she had the chance because her grandmother insisted on dying here, glanced around the phone booth. She didn’t spot the camera that Oracle was watching from, but the girl waiting just outside the booth did. She tilted her head as she stared down the camera, but the resolution was too poor for Barbara to make out any finer details.

“Yeah.” Marisol said with a shrug. “She don’t talk much, but she’s good at helping carry. And she can hold her own in a fight.”

“She have a name?”

“Ah,” Marisol stuttered and played with the phone cord, “I don’t think so?”

“Oh?” Oracle prompted.

“If she does, she ain’t told any of us. She follows along with what we’re doing, but we don’t think she speaks English or Spanish.”

“What about Russian? Chinese, Japanese, Korean?”

“We don’t speak those languages.” Marisol said, “But she ain’t said nothing to nobody. She ain’t deaf, though, she can hear.”

“Put her on the line for me?” Barbara asked.

Marisol took the phone down from her ear, then held it out to the other girl. Barbara heard a faint, “Phone for you,” before the phone shuffled hands.

The new girl turned it over in her hands a few times, before holding it up to her ear. She even held onto the cord, same as Marisol, but she didn’t seem to know why.

“Hello,” Barbara started. The girl tilted her head and turned to the camera, but other than that made no response. “I see you’ve been helping out with delivering supplies, thank you for that. What’s your name?”

The girl made no indication that she understood what Barbara said.

“Can you do something to show you hear me?” Barbara asked. “Can you raise your hand? Hold up five fingers?”

The girl did not raise her hand.

Interesting.

Barbara hung up the phone and waited. The girl waited as well, though she pulled the receiver away from her face when the dial tone started. Marisol took the phone from her and placed it back on the hook, before they walked down the street together.

Very interesting indeed.

Barbara continued to see the girl sporadically on security cameras, until she finally met the girl in person. The girl sat around the coffee table in Barbara’s apartment along with Batman. David Cain had been restrained and locked up in the police station.

Barbara’s father came around the corner with four cups of coffee and settled down on the couch next to Barbara. Barbara thanked him for the drink; Batman did not. The girl wrapped her hands around the cup but made no move to drink it. Jim gave no indication that he was shaken by the attempt on his life less than an hour ago. As the commissioner, attempts on his life were common, and especially so in No Man’s Land.

“David Cain,” Batman intoned, apropos of nothing. “Globally renowned hitman.”

“Well, at least they’re hiring the expensive ones.”

“Dad.” Barbara scolded. He shrugged and tucked into his coffee.

“I’ll have my people look into who paid him and how he got in.” Batman said. The message was directed at Barbara, but she gave no indication of that; her dad would pick it up in a heartbeat. “Which just leaves the girl.”

The girl looked up, then, from where she had been studying her coffee, swirling it in its mug. She stared at Batman, considering. There was something about the intensity in her gaze that Barbara couldn’t quite place.

“What’s your name?” Batman asked, “Why are you here?”

The girl’s eyes flicked over to Jim, but she said nothing.

“How did you know Cain would be here? What’s your relation to him?”

The girl set down her coffee, still not taking a sip. She looked around the room, a slight frown in the space between her eyebrows. Then she pointed, first at Barbara, then to Jim. She nodded, set her hands in her lap, then stared at Batman.

“Her father.” Barbara concluded, and this time the girl’s head snapped to her. Her eyes widened, she recognized Barbara’s voice. “David Cain is your father?” she asked.

The Cain girl nodded. Then she looked back down into her cup.

And Barbara recognized that look, the slight, almost unnoticeable grimace as she stared into the cup she’d been given. She’d been given a drink, something that she should consume, but that she really didn’t want to. Barbara had seen that same look before on a boy who really didn’t know how to tell Alfred that he didn’t like tea.

Barbara grabbed some sugar from the middle of the table and dropped it into the Cain girl’s coffee. “Sorry, I don’t have any creamer,” she said, “But that should make it much better, trust me.”

The girl cautiously took a sip, then smiled up at Barbara.

Bruce had a lot of explaining to do.

Barbara was almost surprised when Bruce decided to show himself later that night, casting a bat-eared shadow over her workspace. She said as much, but he didn’t respond. So, she filled the air with her own observations.

“David Cain has been well-known for his theories about what would happen if one raised a child without language. It’s not unlikely that he acquired a child somehow and put those theories to the test.” She said. “I assume the Cain Girl is the result of those experiments?”

“Indeed,” Bruce agreed, “I had a conversation with her.”

Barbara snorted. “I assume that’s code meaning you beat the snot out of her.”

“She gave as good as she got.” Bruce said, which wasn’t a denial. Barbara turned around in her chair to see that he wasn’t incorrect, he had some red spots along the edges of his mask indicating he’d taken some hard hits. They’d darken to bruises by morning. “She wants to help.”

“I already knew that, she’s been helping my runners.” Barbara’s eyes scanned across her screens. More of her cameras had gone out, but she still had eyes in a few key places.

“Why didn’t you inform me of this?”

Barbara spun her chair around and aimed a glare right at him. “Because my business is none of your business. What goes on with my agents is none of your concern. But, she has been helping them carry and beating up thugs.”

“You need to tell me when there’s a new player in my city.”

“Your city, which you abandoned for months.” Barbara rolled her eyes, “While I’ve been here the whole time. If she had posed a threat, I would have told you. Do you want a list of every teenager in Gotham who’s ever taken a karate class?”

“Hm.” Bruce grunted, but did not deny her claims. 

“And we’re not going to ignore the elephant in the room, are we?” she asked.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“She’s clearly Jason’s sister.” Barbara pulled up the Viola file. “She matches the profile to a T, approximately sixteen years old, raised by an assassin who feasibly could have had contact with Lady Shiva. Just from that alone, she’s the best lead you’ve ever gotten.”

Bruce said nothing.

Barbara continued on, “Not to mention, she smiles the same as Jason.”

“We have no way to prove that.” Bruce said.

“But it’s more likely than not.” Barbara said. “We’ll get our proof after No Man’s Land ends, then. Or, hell, you can ask Catwoman to run and grab you a DNA test kit. I’m sure she’d go for it with the proper motivation.”

“This isn’t a game, Barbara.”

“Tell that to her.” Barbara snickered. “Look, I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I’m treating it as true unless and until it’s proven otherwise. And in any case, what I have to say holds up the same.”

She locked him with a stare dead on. “You asked me my opinion about Jason being Robin, and you ignored me, and I didn’t press the issue. Well, this time I won’t let you ignore me.”

Bruce frowned. “This is an entirely different situation.”

“It is.” Barbara agreed. “And I don’t know her very well, yet. Bring her here. She can stay in the Clocktower until we have a more stable base of operations.”

“Barbara-”

“I wasn’t asking.”

A cape flapped behind her, and the bat-eared shadow over her shoulder was gone. Barbara figured there was a fifty-fifty chance he’d ignore her, and she’d have to hunt the Cain Girl down herself.

But in the morning, there she was, crawling in the window alongside Bruce. She wore a fresh T-shirt and jeans with stiff lines pressed in them from sitting in storage for so long. She dropped a dark backpack on the floor under the window after she entered.

Bruce said nothing, squeezed the girl’s shoulder, then left the same way he’d entered.

Barbara sighed, and crossed the room to meet her guest. “He does that. You’ll get used to it, eventually. Not that you seem to mind.” She smiled, “I’m Barbara. Nice to meet you properly.” She held out her hand.

The Cain girl looked at it for a moment, before mimicking the motion. Barbara grabbed her hand and shook it. She looked around the Clocktower in wonder, eyes wide as saucers at the supercomputer in the corner.

“You think that’s interesting, you should see the server room.” Barbara joked. The Cain Girl tilted her head.

“Come on,” Barbara gestured, “I’ll show you where you can sleep.”

It wasn’t a bed, not a proper one at least, but Barbara had a cot in the corner from when they had a mission going that was too urgent for her to go downstairs to sleep. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world, but given that the Cain Girl was previously homeless, it was a lot better than where she was sleeping before. It was tucked away in the back corner of the room, behind a couple monitors, so it was uncomfortably hot but hidden from both the window and the door.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” Barbara asked to, predictably, no response. She sighed, but moved on. “I’ll leave you to get settled in. Come get me if you need anything.” Knowing the girl’s type, Barbara highly doubted she’d need anything.

Normally, Barbara would descend into her apartment to spend her down time there, but she hadn’t shown the Cain Girl how to get down yet and didn’t want to abandon her. Instead, Barbara returned to her computer to monitor the news from outside of Gotham. She only lasted a few minutes, however, before her curiosity got the better of her and she went to investigate the bag the girl brought with her.

It was clothes. Socks, underwear, a few T-shirts, and an extra pair of jeans. A toothbrush still in its packaging. Overall, nothing exciting. Nothing personal, like Barbara had hoped. This girl was giving her nothing to work with.

Barbara took the bag over to the sleeping nook. The Cain Girl was fast asleep, curled into a ball and clinging to the pillow like it would run away from her. She looked like a child, lax with sleep and dead to the world. Her cheek was smushed against the pillow, she’d almost certainly have red creases in it when she woke. Barbara took the blanket from the end of the cot and slipped it over the girl’s shoulders, not quite tucking her in, but making sure she was covered.

Four hours later, the Cain Girl emerged from the sleeping nook, hair mussed and cheek creased. She was wide awake, though, and watched Barbara. She didn’t say anything or make any move to interact.

“Sleep well?” Barbara asked.

The Cain Girl just stared at her for an uncomfortably long time, then nodded. Barbara couldn’t tell if she was actually answering Barbara’s question, or just responding to something else in her body language. She needed to figure out a more reliable way of talking to this girl or she was going to tear her hair out.

Speaking of hair, the Cain Girl’s hair was a disaster. It had been damp when she arrived, and during her nap it had dried strange and flat. Barbara pointed to her own hair, then to the girl, “Do you want some help with that?” 

The Cain Girl grabbed her hair and tugged at a knot. Then she nodded.

Barbara moved to the elevator in the corner, motioning for the Cain Girl to follow. They went down into her apartment, where Barbara retrieved a comb and hair detangler from her bathroom. She transferred to the couch and motioned for the Cain Girl to sit on the floor.

“I think the first order of business is going to be to teach you to talk.” Barbara said. Really, the Cain Girl needed a speech therapist, a whole team of therapists, but Barbara was all she had. First step, vocabulary. “This is a comb. This is hair detangler. It smells like apples, apparently.” She held the items out to the girl as she spoke, but couldn’t tell if it was helping any.

The girl sneezed when Barbara sprayed the detangler in her hair. The smell was sharp and sour, but Barbara wasn’t sure if apple was the word she’d use. The girl jolted and sat up straight when Barbara began brushing her hair, but she relaxed as Barbara slowly made her way up from the tips to the roots.

“You remind me a lot of someone I used to know, you know.” Barbara said, brushing her hair. “And if it’s like that for me, it must be terrible for Batman.” She realized the truth as she said it, that Batman dropping off the Cain Girl with her was less about respecting Barbara’s wishes and more about Bruce avoiding his emotions. Oh well, it got Barbara the result she wanted.

“What David Cain did to you was horribly unethical,” Barbara continued. “I don’t know if you know that. I don’t know if I want you to know that. You are a developmental psychologist’s dream, though.” She laughed at her own joke, and stroked the girl’s hair. It was slimy from the spray, but it seemed just itching to spring up into waves. It would make sense, curly hair was a dominant trait, and Jason’s hair was plenty curly.

But Barbara could also acknowledge that that conclusion was a bit of a leap.

“I bet Batman’s interrogating David Cain as we speak.” Barbara said, “Hopefully we’ll know more about you soon.”

She set the comb and hairspray down. The Cain Girl swept her fingers through her hair, all the way from root to tip. Barbara wondered when the last time anyone had brushed her hair was. She turned to Barbara with a huge grin that Barbara couldn’t help but return.