"Again." The sound of Bruce's voice bounced off the cave. His tone was as nondescript as the practice mats that lay before our feet.
I rolled my shoulder where his last kick had hit me, and spat out blood to get the taste of copper out of my mouth. "Thought you wanted me sharp for the Titans tomorrow."
Bruce didn't smile. He never smiled down here. "They hit harder than me now?"
I faked a leg sweep and spun around with an uppercut. Bruce deflected it, but I managed to get him to shift his weight. Well, almost. He countered with a wrist lock that forced me to one knee. I was sweating. Water dripped on me, condensed on my face.
"Predictable." His grip intensified. "You telegraph the feint."
I clenched my jaw and fell into student mode. "Still learning, right?" The words felt like a bad taste in my mouth. I had already figured out three ways past that lock in my mind. A kick to the solar plexus, a snapped thumb and a roll to have him off balance. But to demonstrate it? No. Not when the rest of Gotham still thought of me as the little boy from Crime Alley.
Bruce released me. His masked face betrayed no pleasure, no disapproval. "Enough." He moved toward the rows of computers. The blue glow of the screens carved deep creases in his suit. "You depart at 8 a.m. sharp tomorrow. Travel light."
I massaged my wrist, the spot where he'd sunk his fingers still tender. "It's been handled. Just dealing with the Essentials now." That lie slid a bit more smoothly. Essentials. My encrypted burner phone in the tire well. A number for a few guys in Gotham who didn't work for Wayne.
"You can go," Bruce said, without turning away from the monitors. "Alfred is waiting for you upstairs."
The slap hurt more than the wristlock. I swallowed the bitter reply—What, no fatherly wisdom? No 'don't disgrace our family'?—and mounted the stone steps. Every tread resounded more than the last in the oppressive quiet.
Alfred positioned himself at the main entrance, his one suitcase resting against the umbrella stand. His sharp eyes creased as he focused on me. "Master Jason." He smiled. "Wayne Manor can be cold. But I think you will find Jump City… nice."
I shrugged, attempting to be blasé. "Just another rooftop, Alfie. Higher railings, perhaps."
He didn't stop smiling. "And fewer gargoyles for Master Dick to moon about, I suppose." He moved closer to settle the collar of my jacket, his hands staccato and precise. The smell of Earl Grey tea and lemon on his fingers. "You'll write?"
"Course." It sounded harsher than I meant. I coughed. "Somebody has to keep someone informed about Cyborg's awful cooking."
Alfred chuckled, his eyes shining with the pride that I sought more than Bruce's. "See that you do. And Master Jason?" His grip on my shoulder remained tight. "Control your temper. The Titans Tower is not Arkham. They will trust you. Earn it."
###
The Wayne jet landed in Jump City at around 6 am, Pacific Time. The air tasted like salt and weirdness. Dick was waiting on the tarmac, looking lanky and cool in his Civvies. "Little wing," he says. I hated that name, every syllable of it. "I heard you're not watching bats anymore, you're watching superheroes."
I settled my duffel on my shoulder, not looking at him. "Heard you left the gargoyles of Gotham for babysitting duty. Makes sense." His smile got just a little bit harder.
The ride to Titans Tower was tense. We didn't talk much. Every so often, Dick would glance over at me like he expected me to slice up the upholstery. Eventually, he said, "The others are looking forward to seeing you. Starfire's baked a 'welcome cake.' It tastes like sugar and dreams."
I looked out to the sea, where the tide pounded against the cliffs. "Hope it isn't laced with kryptonite."
The knuckles of Dick's hand tightened on the steering wheel. "Still got your rosy outlook, I see."
Standing before the Tower, its shining white and blue spire piercing the sky, seemed incredibly futuristic. My gut churned. New stage, new audience. Bring it on.
Dick led me down, then through automatic doors into the largest common room I've ever seen. Cyborg was propped against a computer screen with his arms folded over his chest, Beast Boy morphed from a green hawk into a boy while doing a flip, and landed with a smile, and Wally West materialized just to his left, with crumbs around his mouth. "You're supposed to hit really hard, right?" he said with his mouth full, "Don't, you know, hit anything that'll break."
I scanned the room. There was Donna Troy, just as long and shaggy as I remembered, eyes like daggers, leaning against a column. There was Starfire, floating an inch off the floor, with a wide, loving grin. And there was Raven. Hunched, hooded, alone. Her amethyst eyes snapped to mine like a crackling windowpane.
Donna was the first to approach. "Welcome to the Tower," she said, offering a hand. She had a firm handshake. Unbending. Steadfast. Starfire was right behind her, "Greetings, Jason! Brother Dick has told us of your prowess as a warrior! We are delighted to have you among us!" She beamed a bright smile. It was dazzling, but painful if you looked directly into it.
Raven didn't budge. She had her hood up, but she was staring at me, her eyes glacial and critical. The air around her seemed to vibrate with unfinished business. Beast Boy nudged Wally. "Bro, why's it suddenly so cold in here?"
I caught Raven's accusing eye, and gave her my best calm & peaceful face, the one Bruce is constantly drilling into me. I was screaming on the inside. She knows. Not what, exactly, but that something was wrong. She said something now, in a flat deadpan. "Dangerous."
Cyborg snorted, folding his arms across his chest. "He's just a kid, Raven. Cut him some slack."
That didn't faze Raven, though. Her hood fell back a little as her violet, glacial eyes never left mine. "Not the costume." Her growl was soft, but still heard over the music. "Him."
There was an awkward silence. Starfire's light began to dim. Beast Boy's smile dropped. Dick moved his weight uncomfortably. I drew air in and out, my expression a mask of confusion.
"Dangerous how?" I asked, canted my head exactly the right way—enough youthful naivete, enough offended dignity. "Because I dislocated Psimon's jaw last month? That was self-defence."
Raven didn't flinch. Her eyes roamed over me, stripping me of the shields I was struggling to maintain. "Your motives," she said, her voice even, and icy. "They are like wind. Like smoke." She clenched her fist, and the bulbs above us sputtered. "I see the fissures."
Dick positioned himself between us, his shoulders tight. "Leave him alone, Raven. He's Bruce's — "
"Protege?" Raven cut in, not taking her eyes off me. "I know what he carries." The tension crackled like a charged circuit. Beast Boy shifted into a squirrel and started up with the same calming chatter.
Firm fingers closed around Raven's shoulder. "That's enough." It wasn't a suggestion, Nightwing's voice bleeding over into Dick's. Raven finally broke the stare, releasing him. "Sorry," she muttered, pulling the hood further forward. "Jet lag." The explanation fell flat.
Cyborg hacked, a metallic cough. "Alright! Time for a tour!" He clapped his hands together. "Medbay's the coolest. You don't have to worry, kid. We'll get you fixed up after Nightwing here pounds you into the ground." He flashed Dick a look, but Beast Boy was already turning into a kangaroo. "Race you to the training deck, newbie!"
The cheer was a bit strained. Starfire trailed behind them, shooting a concerned look back at Raven. Donna lagged back, her eyes narrowing in study. "Don't worry about Raven," she said low, drawing near. "She's always seeing demons under the bed." She stabbed me with a look. "Show her they're just dust bunnies."
Dick pointed down the hall. "Training deck. Now." The words were flat, without any of his usual sarcasm. He didn't linger to see if anyone would follow, simply stalked off on tightly-strung muscles.
The walk took forever. The silence between us was oppressive, the only sound the whir of the Tower and the crashing of the waves against the island. Shit. Raven didn't suspect. She knew. Fractures. She'd seen the cracks that Bruce was refusing to acknowledge, the demons that I kept at bay. I needed to get a grip. Now.
Dick flung open the heavy steel doors to reveal the fighting gym, rows of mats, holographic emitters, and lockers and weapon storage against the walls. He didn't look back, just kept walking, shucking his jacket in precise motion. "Get dressed. We're going full contact." His voice was cold.
I didn't waste any time. My Robin suit engaged—comfortable shield, foreign terrain. On the other side of the mat, Dick melted into his Nightwing pose—smooth and deadly. No smile. Just killer instinct.
The first time, it was light—Dick throwing measured punches and me answering with what I thought would be Robin's usual counter. Block high. Strike low. Fake left. Standard, reflexive moves that Bruce has pounded into my muscles. Dick's frown deepened. "Stop holding back."
I didn't. Not yet. But when his spinning kick came, faster than Bruce's, lighter, almost playful, the beast started to wake. Size him up. I caught his shin with my forearm, feeling the shock all the way to my shoulder. I was past his guard while he was still recovering, and I planted an elbow in his ribs.
He dodged and weaved, his elbow striking my temple. I saw stars. I spat more blood. Dick didn't follow up. He stood still, his breathing slow and even. "That wasn't Robin."
I spat the blood on the mat. Tasted the iron. Cleared my head. The mask was constricting. Show him. My second assault wasn't Bruce's protégé. My second assault was Crime Alley – filthy, functional, pitiless. I aimed a kick to maim, to incapacitate, and followed with a quick set of jabs aimed to crush the windpipe. Dick deflected, but his eyes widened in surprise. He retaliated, faster, his fists a blur as he pushed me back, back, to the mat's edge.
He threw a punch to my jaw. It hit, but not full force. My instincts told me dodge left. The opening Raven saw told me counter. Instead of moving away, I stepped into the blow, and took it, wincing at the pain. I struck back as well. Not with my fist, but my hand. I reached up and grabbed his wrist. I twisted my hips hard, and he hit the mat, gasping for air.
He rolled before I could grab him, popped back up with narrowed eyes. Irritation wrestled respect. "Where'd you learn that?"
"Crime Alley," I said, brusquely. "The teachers there didn't believe in discipline."
We wheeled, panting. The sweat from my forehead stung my eyes. My boots skidded on the floor. He made a fake at my head, then tried to take me down at the knees. I went with it, muscles meeting, shoulder-to-shoulder. The sound of impact was like a pistol shot. Bound and bulging, I realized how powerful he was - Nightwing was no shadow of Batman. He was a tempest in his own right.
"You fight angry," Dick growled, his body clenched against mine. He forced his knee into my thigh, trying to get the better of me. "Like him."
When I made that comparison, something wild was released. I pushed him away roughly, ruining his embrace. "I fight to win." My hands snapped out, slapping the bone of his jaw, feeling good. He took a step back, his eyes snapping in anger now. Not irritation. Anger.
He was quicker this time, with his knees and elbows, and I was forced to go completely on the defensive. Every block hurt — ribs, arms, a kick to the temple which dazed me. I spat out some blood. He was better. Faster. Cleaner. That hurt more than the ribs.
He kicked my ankle out from under me and I fell. He was on me before I could turn over, his forearm on my throat. His face was a few inches from mine but his eyes weren't gleaming with victory, just a cold evaluation. "Submit."
I gagged the word out. I relaxed, the good pupil once more. "I yield." He let go at once and stepped away. It felt like suffocation to have no weight on me. I got to my feet, spitting blood onto the mat. My ribs ached. My jaw ached. My mouth tasted of defeat.
Dick offered to help me up. I brushed him off and pulled myself to my feet. His expression wasn't pity—a colder calculation. An evaluation. "You've got poison," he said, his voice low. "Bruce teach you that?"
"Life did." I spat some of the blood out of my mouth. My lip still tasted like metal. We were alone in the training room now. It was quiet and disinfected. The fluorescent lights overhead seemed too loud. I could see my face reflected in the floor's mirror finish. I had dark smudges along my jawline and my hair was matted to my head with sweat. Robin's livery seemed two sizes too small.
For the first time since I had come in, Dick examined me… actually examined me. The lazy cockiness was gone, replaced by a sort of… curiosity. "And clean up." He threw me a med-kit from the bench. "Oh, and welcome to the Titans."
I hobbled into the shower, wincing with each step as the movement jostled my sore ribs. The water burned as it hit my split lip, swirling around the drain in diluted circles of pink. I could hear the muffled voices of Starfire, singing a soft, concerned melody, and Beast Boy, babbling on anxiously about something. Then nothing.
A knock at the door. Starfire stood in the doorway, the sun catching the fibers in her hair. She was carrying a mug that gave off a curl of steam. "Tamaranian healing tea," she said, with an uncertain smile. "It aids the process of cellular regeneration."
I accepted the mug. The drink released steam that smelled of cinnamon. "Thanks." I rasped. The silence was heavy with what went unsaid: Raven's charge, Dick's censure, my own bruised fists clenched on the cup.
Starfire hovered over me, her light dimming the fluorescent glare of the medbay. "Friend Dick… He is a fierce warrior." Her green orbs studied me, not recoiling from the mess of my face. "But he also acknowledges strength. You did well."
I took a sip of the tea. The liquid scorched my esophagus, then a burst of otherworldly warmth shot through my chest. The ache in my ribs receded. "He beat me into a pulp."
"Perhaps," Starfire offered kindly. "But you made him truly fight. That doesn't happen often." She paused, her gaze drifting toward the hall. "Friend Raven… She is troubled by things we cannot see. Do not take her words to heart." Her earnestness was almost palpable. It felt warm. It was alien.
I nodded. The act tugged on my swollen jaw. "Shadows are my business." The warmth of the tea infused deeper, knitting the flesh beneath the pain. Starfire beamed again, more broadly this time. "Sleep now, Jason Todd. This is your home." She floated out, the door creaking shut behind her.