"And whosoever shed man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed." -The Boondock Saints

"Does Jason know what?" He rasped, sitting up slowly, the movement tugging slightly at his new stitches.

Nightwing and Deathstroke were staring at each other, weapons partially drawn and ready to attack. Deathstroke looked calm, but angry, and Nightwing was looking rather terrified.

Jason stood, but not fully, and placed a hand over his side, "What's going on?" He growled, looking between his two friends.

Nightwing shook his head, shuffling the clothing in his hands, its bright gold ornaments briefly catching Jason's eye, before he focused on Slade. Deathstroke, it seems, moved, finally drawing his sword, and pointed towards the hero, "Well, Nightwing, now that Jason's awake, why don't you tell him what you really are," He said, eyeing the young man carefully. This thing was not to be trifled with.

Confused, Jason asked, "What's he talking about Wing?" Jason studied the cloth in Nightwing's hands a bit more, looking for answers, but receiving none. It looked like it was a uniform of some kind, but it was too bunched up to tell. "What's that you're holding?"

Nightwing shook his head rapidly, glancing from Jason to the tip of Slade's sword, nervous, and took a step back. He drew a small throwing knife from his gauntlet, and held it in front of himself, defensively.

"Birdie?"

Deathstroke suddenly lunged at Nightwing, catching his move to escape before Jason had even seen it. Snagging Nightwing and knocking the blade from his hand, Slade held him tightly and placed the sword against Wing's neck, making sure he didn't apply to much pressure, yet.

"Slade, fucking stop! What the hell are doing? Let him go!" Jason roared, conveniently grabbing a gun from the coffee table as he moved towards the duo. He kept the gun aimed at the floor, hoping he could talk Slade down before it came to shots. What the fuck was going on? What had he missed?

Slade huffed, "No. I can't do that. You don't know what this Monster is capable of," He spat, a sneer spreading across his lips, "I'd be doing you a favor by killing it now," He added, slicing a thin strip along Wing's neck. Blood started to well up around the blade, but it wasn't red. It was more of a faint blue. "I've tangled with his kind before," He gestured at Wing with his head, "It never ends well."

Jason brought up his gun,finally, pointing it as Slade. He wasn't going to be able to talk him out of this one. "What do you mean? He's not a monster and I trust him with my life! Let him go or I will shoot you Slade." This was not going well, Jason thought. One wrong move and Wing was dead, "What do you mean 'his kind'?

"He's not your friend," Slade reached his hand up and gripped the edge of Nightwing's mask, causing him to thrash wildly in his hold, "He's not human, and I'll show you," He spoke, ripping the mask of Nightwing's face, revealing his eerie yellow eyes, now filling with tears. Nightwing made whining noises and slammed his eyes shut, not willing to let Jason see them any longer.

Jason didn't react right away, too busy taking in his friends strange features. Why were his eyes like that? What happened to him? Why was he so scared to let Jason see?

"Let him go Slade. Now," Jason spoke again, and Nightwing dropped the fabric to the floor with a 'clank,' trembling lightly in Slade's grasp.

"I'm sorry Jason, but I can't do that," Slade shook his head sadly, "He's a Talon, and I will not allow it to run around unchained any longer," Slade -no, Deathstroke said, "It must be put down, like the dog it is," and with that, he dragged his blade across Wing's throat, slowly -brutality- efficiently slicing through the skin, leaving a deep gash as blood began to coat the blade. Wing started choking and coughing blood out of his mouth, staining his white skin dark.

Jason screamed and lunged forward as Deathstroke tossed Wing's body aside like a rag-doll, blood spraying with the fallen body. No. This wasn't supposed to happen. Slade was going to help him save Wing, not kill him. What had he done? Bringing that man back here? What had he done?

Slade moved to make his escape, yelling back as he did, "Remember earlier when you said you owed me?" He shouted, dodging Jason's bullets, "Consider that debt paid."

Jason roared in anger, firing round after round at the man's retreating form. Jason's vision was overtaken with red, but a pained grunt let him know that at least one of his bullets had hit home. Good.

Deathstroke slipped out through a back room, and Jason, still too injured to give chase, fired a few shots after him before returning to Wing's body, seething.

Collapsing beside him, any anger Jason had dissipated as he watched Wing lie there, gasping and choking on deep, blue blood. His eyes were frantic and unfocused, searching for something that Jason couldn't see, and probably never would. He bit his lip and brought his hands to Wing's throat, applying pressure.

"C'mon Birdie," He choked, "You'll be fine, it's just a scratch," he lied, Wing's gaze finally catching his, and Jason watched the confused storm in his eyes drop, as the realization of what was going to happen finally hit him.

Choked sounds on bloody lips attempted to leave Wings cooling body. Jason leaned in close, hoping to make out the faint sounds.

"Ja-Jay."

Jason looked at the strange blood leaking from underneath his fingers, Wing didn't have much longer, "Yea Birdie? I'm here. It's gonna be alright, don't worry. I'm going to get you fixed up alright?" He spoke, more for himself than Wing, while letting out a choked sob. He had to stay strong for his friend. He wasn't the one dying, not this time. Jason was not going to let himself cry.

More gurgled sounds and a hiss of air. Jason looked away for a moment, not wanting to watch the life leave Wing's strange eyes. He knew it was coming and it wasn't fair, Jason thought in anger. He'd only look away for a moment, and that was it, This was something he couldn't watch. He hoped Wing could forgive him.

After another hitched breath, Jason glanced down at Wing, finding glossy eyes staring back at him, blaming him, at least that what he assumed. Why wouldn't he blame Jason? He took his hands from Wing's throat, blood dripping between his fingers, and cradled his limp body. Deathstroke would pay. Deathstroke would fucking pay.

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The basement was dark as he crept down the old wooden stairs. Tim knew he wasn't allowed to come down here by himself, his parents would kill him if they ever found out. But still, down the stairs he went, only one thing on his mind. The boy in the cage.

The cage was in the back of the room, where it had resided these last few years. Never once did his parents move that cage. It was saddening, Tim thought, how one can seclude a person for that long, never once giving them a chance to breathe.

He crept up to the cage cautiously, not wanting to spook the boy and forgo his chances of learning anything, "Hey," He started, "Do you have any nicknames?" The thirteen-year old Timothy asked, staring at the older teen locked inside the cage. Did it have a life before Talon, he wondered, did it even remember?

The caged teen tilted his head, eyes staring at Tim, observing. The dim lighting of the room allowed it to see more without hurting its eyes, Tim had learned not to long ago.

The boy stopped staring and licked his lips, "Nick-name?" He rasped, shifting his body to face more towards Tim.

Tim smiled, happy he finally got it to respond. It was something he'd been working towards for weeks, trying and failing again and again, "Yeah, did your mom or dad call you anything? My mom likes to call me Timmy or Tim," he used, trying to make it easier for the Talon to understand.

It glanced at the cage floor for a moment, pondering. Tim hoped he was finally getting through to him. The boy seemed more lively today, which was unusual. Did something happen?

"Ro-bin."

"What? Robin?" Tim asked, eyes widening, " Was that your nickname?" he said, surprised the teen was still talking, "That's a nice name. Bet it meant something special, huh?" He asked, taking a seat next to the cage and resting his head against the bars. He had some time before his parents would be back, and he was going to use all of it.

The Talon stared for a few moments, a strange expression crossing his face, before nodding his head slowly, "Fly. Like Robin, Mami said," the Talon rasped out in broken, accented English, a small light Tim hadn't seen before igniting in his face. Whatever his Father and the Court had done to him doesn't seem to have been completed yet. There was still something human left in him.

"It's nice," Tim said, "Pretty." He was glad to finally learn something about the teen, "Do you think I could call you Robin?" Maybe he could finally help him. Maybe Tim could even find out his real name. He hated what the Court was doing to these people, and if he could just help this one. If he could at least help one, then he knew it'd be worth it.

"You. Robin," it rasped, shaking his pointed a pale finger at Tim, eyes filling with something Tim couldn't identify.

"Me?" Tim asked, shocked, pointing to himself, he wasn't expecting this, "But that's your name. I can't be Robin as well," he added, "That's something special from your Mother. I can't take that," he tried to reason.

Talon shook his head and grabbed at the cage bars, his clawed fingers leaving scratch marks behind, "Special," he spoke softly, firmly, ignoring Tim's argument like it hadn't even been spoken.

"Robin. Baby. Bird."

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A round oak table sat in the middle of a darkened dining room. The area was decorated with expensive paintings and a large baccarat crystal chandelier. The room belonged to one of the higher members of the Court. A person that bought their money from the pain and suffering of others. But as to who the person was, well, nobody knew. The Court was always one to remain anonymous.

Gathered at the round table were twenty-four people, each respectfully wearing their own white owl mask. Polished and neat, gleaming in the dim lights. They were all dressed in their best outfits, all keeping in mind the fact that the Judge would be here with them tonight. The Judge hadn't been brought to Court in ,any years. But, after all, it was time to decide what to do with the runaway Talon. Only the Judge could handle something so serious.

All Owls waited patiently for the Judge to enter, whispering harshly to one another, "It's becoming to aware. We must put it down," One woman whispered. The man across from her retaliated, "But look, It's managed to infiltrate the Justice League. We can still use it. It just needs to be reset," He hissed back. Another member further down the table added, a skittish whisper, "The Mother. We should bring out the Parents. That would solve all our problems."

Heads nodded in agreement. This would be the perfect time to test out The Parents. See if they were worth it. If they were, they could be something that could rival even the Talon in skill.

The silent bickering among each other went on for a few minutes until they heard the slam of a large door. The Judge had arrived and The Court was now in session. Everyone sat up straight and allowed their eyes to follow the precise movements of the Judge as he seated himself at the head of the table. He was the Grandmaster's right hand man. One of the Court's most respected members. The Judge would always be obeyed, or else death would come swiftly.

"There are three things we must vote on tonight," The Judge's deep, raspy voice echoed. The white owl mask he wore was covered in dried blood splatters. He dealt out the punishments, always.

"The Talon, The Bat, and the Parents."

The Court hummed in agreement.

He pulled papers out of a hidden pocket in his robe, passing them out among the members, "Let us first start with the Talon," he decided, "Shall we kill it," the Judge paused, "Or use it like a puppet to destroy the League, and allow the Light to rise?"

The Owls waited a moment, glancing at one another between the slits of their masks, thinking. One male in the back spoke up bravely, "The Judge has spoken. We must decide, kill or keep. Make your arguments, and state them wisely." Everyone nodded.

In that moment, the dining room erupted into loud conversation. The sound echoed throughout the halls, and ran between the cracks in the floorboards, scaring away rodents and other small things, the shrill voices and eerie cackles too much for their ears to bear.

It had begun. It was time for the fate of Gotham to be decided.

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Well, I'm back and with a new chapter. It's a miracle, I actually managed to find time to write this. I'm so happy.

What did you think? Any favorite parts? Let me know, leave a comment. I love reading them!

I'm doing alright for those that asked, and I'm grateful for the support y'all have given me during my absence.

Anyway, what would you like to see next? Any predictions? Questions?

Til next time,

Rachel