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     Kryptonite is an incredibly difficult mineral to get a hold of. It is not particularly dangerous to humans, but to aliens like Clark 'Kal-El' Kent or Kara Zor-El and human-aliens such Conner 'Kon-el' Kent and Jonathan 'Jon-El' Kent, it was certainly dangerous,  potentially deadly, even. Proximity to the mineral would make them feel ill and weak, much like red sun light, though the Kryptonian-humans seemed less susceptible to it, and it was one of the few things that could harm the nearly indestructible individuals. So Bruce had fashioned a ring made of Kryptonite, storing it safely in the cave in a radiation protection vault and in a small lead box. The Batman would not allow it to be used as a toy, and very, very few people could have access to it (Damian was not one such person, which ticked him off to no end, especially due to the fact that Bruce had only given Dick access to the vaults out of all his children so far unless in an emergency situation). Yet, all security measures were somehow, in some way, able to be worked around. Nothing was permanently sealed away. You just had to have the skillset to unseal it.

A dark figure snuck through the BatCave. It was empty, a brand new bedtime enforced for growing 11 year old former assassins at 12:45 a.m. by crochety Batmen and crochety Batmen at 3:50 by long suffering butler-fathers. A lifted series of finger prints were used to access the control panel and the new monthly passcode was swiftly typed in. A retinal scan that had been painstakingly falsified revealed the containment chamber with a small slot with a lock. The key that had been pinched quite difficultly slid into the keyhole. Click. The figure's shoulders relaxed as no alarm started blaring, alerting everyone. A small lead box sat inocuously in the drawer. Thin, nimble fingers snatched it up  quietly and dropped it into a pocket. Everything was carefully put away and reset, leaving the narrow silhouette to slip back out of the Cave, quietly and quickly leaving the scene of the crime at 4:22 a.m., as if no one had ever been there. 

The crime was discovered at 8:22 a.m. over a hearty serving of liver with poached eggs, toast, steamed spinach, and kidney beans. Bruce Wayne had been perusing the Monday Morning Murders section of the newpaper, noting with some interest a chain of break-ins that had recently escalated from home invasion to the murder of a middle-aged woman. That one could be interesting since the crime scene had been somewhat compromised due to the presence of an animal. Damian would not be awake till 8:45 to eat a light but healthy breakfast of oatmeal with fresh fruit and attend his homeschooling classes at 9 with Alfred in the library. Bruce figured that his youngest son would best be eased into the concept of schooling by being taught at home, and then sent to Gotham Academy when he was perhaps 12 or 13 to socialize him. Dick had been homeschooled for the first half a year, but he was a far more social creature than any of them. Jason had stayed homeschooled a year before eventually hitting the classrooms and quickly rising to the top of his classes. Cassandra was also homeschooled, but her online learning systems seemed to continue to aide her in a comfortable, moderately paced manner. Tim, though, was never homeschooled, instead his parents sent him to boarding schools and he spent his summers in a special finishing school that was sort of like an unreasonably strict overnight camp till age 8 when he falsified records to get him out of it so he could run rampant across the rooftops, and he'd tested out of public school before journeying to find Bruce. Bruce had never had Tim for homeschooling. But Damian would definitely benefit from homeschooling. at least until he was at the point when he tamped down his superiority and blatant declarations of being a highly trained assassin and the sole heir to the Wayne lineage. Yeah, there was family pride and family supremacy and Bruce wanted to minimize the 'supremacy' factor. But seeing as Bruce was busy with his breakfast and newspaper, it was not the 'World's Greatest Detective' who discovered the crime scene but Barbara Gordon, who noticed a discrepancy in the access logs and quickly informed one Alfred Pennyworth. "Sir, it seems I accessed the Kryptonite vault early this morning, at around 4:18," Alfred lowly spoke.

"You were asleep at that time, I assume," Bruce muttered, "Hmng."

"Indeed," Alfred replied, "I do believe we should check the vault."

Alfred then placed one strong, wrinkled hand on Bruce's shoulder. Bruce had been prepared to abandon his breakfast to take off to the Cave. "After breakfast," he clarified.

So, at 8:43 a.m., Bruce Wayne and Alfred Pennyworth discovered that the BatCave had been accessed and the Kryptonite vault had been cleverly broken into. And a lead box containing a ring inlaid with Kryptonite had been stolen.

      Bruce had called Clark immediately. Clark sent him straight to voicemail because he was currently acting as a normal civilian when he wasn't Superman and therefore had a job. He also had a boisterous son to take care of and get to school while getting him and his wife ready for their jobs at the Daily Planet. Bruce called Dick, who had a day off and was planning on using his day off from both of his jobs at the gymnastics center and as a 911 operator (day shift, naturally) to catch up on sleep and maybe take a walk down to the dog park in Bludhaven to stare at puppies running around. But when he heard the call, he was hopping on his civilian motorcycle and speeding his way to Gotham. Damian, to his consternation, could only participate after his lessons ended and Alfred was not going to neglect his youngest grandson's education. It'd be a full day of schooling with no chance of escape from the astute butler for Damian. Jason, naturally, ignored Bruce's call the first three times and picked up on the 4th only to blast Bidibidi Bombom through the speakers before hanging up and disconnecting his phone number entirely. Babs would have have to find him later if the situation became more serious. "The intruder successfully falsified your retinal and fingerprint scans," Bruce recounted, "They also knew the passcode and had a key to the vault."

Alfred nodded his head as he guided Damian through the history of watercolour art. Damian had a penchant for art, specifically the skills of painting and sketching photorealistically. He also seemed to be inclined to classical violin but could not sing in the slightest, much like Bruce (Bruce thought it funny, since he remembered Talia had a talent for the most soothing lullabies). "Yes, Master Bruce," Alfred said, interupting himself, "Perhaps you should review the security cameras in your office instead of where I am engaging Master Damian in his lessons and not distracting him with these troublesome details."

Bruce marched off to his office and began to pull up the footage. Damn. It was scrambled, rather expertly so. He picked up his phone and dialed Babs. "Oracle, the footage is scrambled," he grunted.

"Gotcha, B. I'm looking at it right now, it'll take me a few hours," she audibly grimaced, "Whoever got it is good. I hate that."

There were very, very few people who could do this. Mainly, his children. Bruce winced. He was not going to be accusing his children right away. He was past that. "B," Dick chimed from the doorway, "I'm here. Did Clark pick up?"

"No," Bruce grumbled, "I assume he's busy-"

"Hey Clark, are you busy," Dick interrupted as Clark immediately picked up his phone, "Oh, you're taking care of the Lane-Kent farm today? Oh, well, the thing is, the Kryptonite in the Bat Cave's vault went missing? Take your time, see you soon."

Dick ended his call and sighed in relief, "He should be here soon."

Alfred allowed himself a highly amused uptick of the corner of his mouth. It was healthy for Master Bruce to be humblingly kept on his toes on the occassion. 

     Clark arrived within the half hour, glasses askew and loose curls unfixed like they normally would be to slightly alter his face shape when he was Normal Man Clark Kent. "Sorry for the delay," he said, "But I heard about the missing Kryptonite. Who do you think could have done this?"

Bruce jumped straight to business. "There's a very limited amount of people who know of the Cave's existince, much less can access the vault through falsifying the bio-data necessary to unlock it without setting off an alarm," he stated.

"Basically, which one of the Bats snuck in to snatch a Kryptonite ring," Dick summarized helpfully.

"An even better question: why," Clark mumbled to himself, leaning his chin against his fist as he thought.

"Well, start the interrogation," Dick prompted, spreading his hands, "But I've got nothing to hide, Detectives."

Bruce shook his head as Clark chuckled. Clatk gave Dick a cursory scan. No Kryptonite ring-containing lead box. Clark shook his head, grimacing, "Where could that ring have gone?"

"So, you really think you can pierce us after watching how many YouTube tutorials again," Cassie asked dubiously.

"Absolutely," Tim confirmed, "If not, flesh heals eventually.

     He sanitized the hypodermic needles one last time in a small machine. It would wash the needles in boiling hot water, steam them, blow dry them, spritz them in alcohol sanitizer, then brush a lighter across the needles. Then, they'd be washed down in ice cold water and dried. "I'll go first," Bart volunteered himself cheerfully, "Right through my ears! Hey, wait, do you think if I just started vibrating really hard the needle would phase right through me? Could we try that? Or-maybe-just-shove-the-earring-right-through-my-ears-instead-come-on-let's-try-that-I-won't-scream-if-it-hurts-I-promise."

"Bart, I don't think I'd be able to pierce you if you do that," Tim said, "How many times do you want me to stab your earlobes?"

"Three, each side, look at the earrings Cissie gave me," Bart replied, showing off three pairs of earrings: a set of arrow studs, a pair of lighting bolt studs, and two tiny hoops that would fit close to the shell of Bart's ear.

Bart wiggled on Tim's rolling chair excitedly. Tim brought out a needle and swabbed the earrings with an alcohol wipe. He set those aside as he pulled out an alcohol wipe and swiped it across Bart's earlobes. 

"Let the piercing begin!"

      Bruce found his only daughter holed up with several tangerines in a closet in the laundry room. "Dad," she greeted, "Slice?"

She held out a tangerine slice which he gratefully accepted. "Cass, did you know that someone got into the Cave this morning and took the Kryptonite ring from the vault," he questioned.

'No,' she answered, 'Threat? Was this a villain attack? Someone who knows us?'

"No," he assured, "No, Cassandra, the way they took the Kryptonite makes me believe it was someone who had the skill and knowledge on how to bypass the security without setting off alarms. Did your brothers say anything to you?"

'Timmy is with his friends today. Jason took down small gang last night. He said he is making crepes. I'm going to get crepes,' she signed.

"Do you know where Jason is," Bruce asked.

'Can't tell you. Not nice to give him away. But he was busy for a long time. Probably wasn't him,' Cass insisted.

"Thank you, Cass," Bruce sighed, "Let me try Jason one more time."

Babs gave Bruce Jason's new number that he connected immediately after disconnecting his last burner. "Holy fuck, what is so important that you're on my ass like a tick," Jason barked.

Bruce sighed, rubbing his forehead. Since his return and subsequent cutback from JL duties, Red Hood had been significantly less antagonistic towards the Bats. Dick even claimed he heard Black Bat and Red Robin whispering about some kind of violent overtaking that they stopped with Hood. Jason, though, staunchly refused to get near Batman, and by extension, Bruce. Unless, of course, he was driven to the Cave upon Leslie's or Alfred's insistence. "There was a break in at the Cave," Bruce grumbled, "The Kryptonite ring was stolen."

"Uh, get better security then, Old Man," Jason scoffed, "And it wasn't me, by the way. I've got better things to do."

"They utilized Alfred's biometrics, bypassed all the alarms, there was no sign of lock picking and forced entry to the vault, and went in and out unnoticed. This is a security risk for everyone," Bruce pressed, urgency lining his voice.

"Fuck...well, it was probably the Brat Bat or somethin'. Your twerp gets too big for his britches. Must be genetic," Jason groused, "He probably wants to smelt that shit down and make a Krypto-batarang. Or whatever the Hell else. And I know the runt is with his gang of pet nutjobs and they can't do jackshit without being loud enough to wake a fucken corpse."

"...Thank you, Jason," Bruce grunted.

There was a metallic clattering on the other end, as well as a muttered, "Fuck."

Then Jason spoke up more clearly, "Stop calling me."

Hm. That was less hostile than Bruce had even hoped for. Maybe he could start tracking Red Hood again and leave him some chili dogs? He still liked chili dogs right? That was something to look into for later. He shouod talk with Damian.

     Alfred was already giving Bruce a look for interrupting the lesson. He can't just always send Dick to get Damian or take care of the youngest for him. This was Bruce's problematic near 11 year old that he had to talk to and develop a relationship with. "Damian," he started.

"Father, if you are here to interrogate me, make it quick," Damian huffed.

Ignoring the slight twinge in his back, Bruce knelt down to Damian's eye height. He really did have Talia's eyes. "Damian, I'm not here to accuse you or interrogate you," he grumbled, "I am here to just ask if you know what happened to the Kryptonite ring in the Cave?"

"I do not," Damian insisted, "I have no interest in accessing the Kryptonite nor do I have a reason. To do so would be petty and childish so perhaps you should interrogate Drake. He is the one with a hitlist, after all."

"Contingency plans," Bruce corrected gruffly, admittedly defensive considering his own hidden lists of contingencies and take downs for each major hero.

He didn't want to admit he had also planned a dozen contingencies for everyone, from Martian Manhunter to his youngest son. The files on his own children were buried under so many layers of code and fail-safe delete switches and passwords that Bruce can't actually recall what the plans were. He just knows he has them. For his own kids. It settles something bitter in his mouth. Damian eyed Bruce critically. "Whatever you wish to call them," Damian scoffed, "Perhaps Drake has stolen the ring. Perhaps you should keep an eye on him. From what I understand from Todd, he was the one who involved with some paltry assassin my grandfather picked up, Atheris, or some such nonsense. Tt, underwhelming, if you ask me. And he allied himself with Grandfather, as well, for a time."

"Please don't insinuate that Tim is working for the LoA, Damian," Bruce grimaced, "...And I...hm. I appreciate...your co-operation."

"And I would appreciate if we could resume our lesson, Master Bruce," Alfred intoned pointedly.

Bruce swept out of the room. Atheris. He had heard of that code name before. The Kryptonite took precedent, but perhaps he should keep that name in his mind.

"This is great," Bart hollered, "This is great! I didn't even feel anything!"

"We all get punched in the face pretty regularly," Cassie reasoned, "Our pain tolerance is pretty high. Well, except for Kon, probably."

"Hey," Kon protested, "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"When you get punched, it hurts whoever punched you," Tim explained as he pushed a freshly sanitized needle through the soft flesh just above the piercings he already had, grabbing the Superboy S shield stud he bought, "You don't feel anything. The K-exposure is gonna make you nauseous and you'll be vulnerable. It's gonna hurt, y'know."

"I can take a pinch, Wonder," Kon insisted, "I want this metal in my face."

     Tim cleaned his needle again with a sterile alcohol wipe and started on his next new piercing a bit above the one he just did. This one would be the Wondergirl 'W' studs. The last ones on his lobe would be an Impulse lighting bolt studs. The three at the top of his ear would be a little black bat silhouette, a small blue bird, and a golden arrow mini hoop. In total, he'd have seven piercings, including the ones he had predating this whole piercing party. Seven. Seven in each ear, so actually, he'd have fourteen all in all. He wonders what his father would have thought. He wonders what Mother would have thought. He remembers the slash of vivid wine red on her mouth and the sapphires dripping from her ears she wore every All Hallows Eve ball, how many jewels hung from her ears and pooled around her wrists. His father had never gotten used to the flounciness of Gotham's elite, the outrageous makeup everyone wore and the ludicrous fashion like real life birds nestled in hair styles or docile snakes around throats like necklaces. The fantastical extravagance of Gotham's elite that was like some sort of dystopic fantasy world, like the Capitol in The Hunger Games. He pierces his ear again after cleansing it. Maybe it just matters what he thinks now. The Impulse lighting bolt goes in, sitting above the Wondergirl 'W', Superboy 'S', and a little red bird in flight.

"We should call Cissie. It's a day off for her, right?"

"We're just waiting on Babs to unscramble the footage, right," Dick asked as he warmed up on the mats while Clark anxiously accepted a sandwich from Alfred while Damian also took his lunch in the Cave.

"Hrmm," Bruce grunted, distracted.

    He had to focus on the little information he could find, the whispers and gossiping that flew along the Dark Web fast as a speedster. He could distract himself from acting too brash if he was busy researching. If his mind was busy taxing itself instead of belligerently insisting he interrogate his children. He has been Batman so long that he now has to listen to Bruce. Bruce who adopted 4 kids and had 1 on his own. Bruce who was not the vigilante but a father of 5. It was difficult, horrible as that sounded, to resist the temptation. To refuse the call to be Batman when he had to be Bruce, not Brucie even, but Bruce about this. Being Batman instead of Bruce is what drove Dick away from him in the first place. Being Batman instead of Bruce is what ultimately ended in Jason's death. Him being Batman before Bruce is what had Tim unable to speak to him after losing nearly everyone he had ever loved because he most likely and most rightfully didn't trust Bruce to allow him to be fragile. Being Batman before Bruce is why Cass felt like she couldn't stick around after he had presumably died. Being Batman before Bruce is why Damian will leave to Bludhaven every other weekend because his relationship with Dick has more parent-child overtones than his and Bruce's. So he resisted the call of the Bat and busied his mind. "So, are you really investigating that Atheris person," Dick persisted, "I mean, Jason mentioned a new assassin working for Ra's when he came back to Gotham. But he also said that they killed Tim and Tim's alive right now."

"None of us know what Tim had been doing while he was tracking me down," Bruce grumbled, "He's close-lipped about it. I assume not even his closest team members know the full details. Cassandra might not even know the whole story. Looking into Red Atheris is a logical, beneficial move to prepare for the future."

"Do you think it might become a JL issue later," Clark asks.

"Hmng," Bruce mutters, "Maybe. There is apparently somewhat of a following for Red Atheris. They don't claim a name but others have deemed them 'Agents of Ouroboros' for a unique red tattoo in the shape of two snakes entertwined, swallowing their own tails."

"That's an interesting motife," Clark noted, "And this Red Atheris has their own cult despite being with the League?"

"If I were to guess, I'd say they defected and took their portion of loyalists," Bruce decided, "They'll be marked low priority for now. I'll update the threat list on the JL database if anything changes."

"So they do exist," Dick said, "Maybe they're the reason Tim had to have his splenecetomy?"

"Drake losing his spleen was due to his own incompetence," Damian scowled around his juice box, "Nobody else has lost their organs. Todd simply lost his life, rendering them both the inferior Robins."

"Master Damian," Alfred chastised, "We do not blame injuries and losses on the victims of the crime."

"That's typically the attitude that causes many victims to lose their cases against their perpetrators," Bruce agrees distractedly, "The school of thought that 'they deserved it' or 'it was their fault'."

"Tim lost his spleen," Clark spoke up, "That is a major organ, from what I remember, right?"

"Important to the immune system," Bruce clarified, "He works around his compromised state. I expect we'll see a drop in Red Robin's activity in the coming winter months, though. Kon-El might have to limit his visitations unless he knows he is not carrying a pathogen."

      Clark grimaced to himself. Then he sighed, "I'll talk to him about it. Or ask Ma to help me with it. Neither of us are prone to disobeying her but I doubt he'd ever put Tim in danger unless Tim told him to."

"Obedient clone, then," Damian muttered.

"Woah, nope, we don't dehumanize in this cave, Dami," Dick warned, "Kon-El is a person just like you. No calling others 'alien', 'clone', or 'invalid'. Remember what Babs did to you?"

Damian shifted around before hissing, "Very well then, Richard."

Bruce couldn't honestly reprimand Babs unless she had done more than probably melt down all of Damian's tech to blocks of government cheese. She wasn't his child no matter how he valued her and Damian couldn't go about dehumanizing others. Better Barbara Gordon taught him that than he learn it through the horrors of public school or worse: media firestorms. Even the ruthlessness of Barbara Gordon's ire was worth braving in the face of a media firestorm. People on the internet were ruthless. "Thank you, Dami," Dick replied, "Is there really not that much on Red Atheris?"

"No," Bruce grimaced, "They're a ghost unit. The Agents of Ouroboros aren't much easier to catch either. They hit their targets fast, hard, and disappear with the targets immediately. No corpses matching the identifications have turned up so there's a likelihood that Red Atheris maintains a hidden compound to house their targets or private burial grounds as well as their Agents. No rumours of them operating in Gotham or Metropolis yet."

"I could ask Lois about any suspicious disappearances," Clark offered, "She wouldn't mind. Neither would I, for that matter. It's a terrible thing Tim may have lost his spleen to this person."

Bruce collected whatever information he could put together and set it off to the side a private password he wouldn't allow Damian to see. His phone started ringing. Barbara. He picked up. "B, I have the unscrambled footage," she reported.

"Did we get a clear visual of the perpetrator," Bruce growled.

He heard her swallow over the speaker.

"It was Tim. Tim stole the Kryptonite ring."

"Cisse, I- I can't do it," Cassie cried, holding her nose, "My mom said it was okay but what if she changes her mind? What if some villain rips it out? Do you know how much it'll hurt?"

   Tim patiently sat off to the side, letting an ice cube sooth his sore earlobes and the more ridged cartilege. Bart had already healed up quite quickly, the cheerful golden-yellow steel earrings in his ears twinkling under the SAD lights. The star-shaped nose stud waited with the three other pairs of earrings, a pair of indistrial bars, a set of arrow mini hoops, and a pair of Wonder Woman stud earrings. "You don't have to do this," Tim placated, "I can grab the Kryptonite ring and start piercing Kon."

"You can do it, Cassie," Cissie cheered, "You're gonna look so pretty. It'll look cool and fun and you won't regret it. My PR manager can't be convinced to let me get a belly button piercing."

"Isn't your PR manager your Mom," Kon asked.

"Yeah, hush," Cissie shushed, "It'll be all alright, Cass-a-frass. Casserole. Cassiopeia."

"Alright, Cissie, you're right," Cassie breathed, "Totally right. Alright, Rob, stab me."

"I'm not stabbing you, I'm piercing you," Tim argued.

"It's like friendly stabbing," Cissie countered, "For beauty. Or fun. Or both. A little stabbing between friends."

"Not stabbing," Tim repeated.

Cassie tilted her head as Tim kneeled beside her with the needle. The star stud was placed on the desktop, right within reach so Tim could it into place when the needle came out. Cassie, despite her worries, didn't flinch in the slightest when the needle breached her soft cartilege. It hardly took more than a minute to pierce the side of her nose and get the star stud into place. "Oh," she laughed, "What the hell, that wasn't anything? Okay, stab me again, Goblin Boy."

"Don't worry, Tim," Cissie piped up, "Just because you're a Goblin Boy doesn't mean you're not our favourite."

"Hey, wait-wait-wait-hold-on-a-minute," Bart squawked, "Cissie, I'm not your favourite?"

"You're my personal favourite, Scarecrow," Cissie amended, "But the girls as a collective unit voted Tim as our favourite. Don't worry, we'll put it to vote at the next sleepover."

Cassie took her three upper lobe piercings like a champ, accepting an ice cube to numb her ears out and soothe the slight swelling. Tim busied himself with wiping down the needles before putting them back in the small machine that would sanitize them. Collectively (including Cissie since Cassie obligingly turned the phone screen with her), they all turned to the small, innocuous lead box. 

"It's Kon's turn."

       Bruce stared pensively at the footage displayed before him. Videographic proof of Tim slipping quietly into the Cave and efficiently rendering all the passcodes and alarms and scanning defunct. He had hardly noticed Tim watching him input the vault's new monthly passcode. Alfred had somehow not noticed that the vault's box key had been copied and replaced after being sanded so the age worn nicks and scrapes matched the original. Nobody had even registered Tim crafting Alfred's ocular bioptics into a clever false contact. Nobody had been watching while Tim lifted fingerprints off of pots and pans. In short, Tim had given all the residents of the Manor the full run around in the weeks leading up to his secret heist. "Why would he do this," Dick muttered.

"It seems I was correct," Damian haughtily commented.

"We are not jumping to conclusions," Alfred stated primly, "Although I am rather put out by the sneaking around, I suppose dearest Timothy has always been more inclined tp the sneaking around sort of mischief. I hardly expect that he's doing anything nefarious. Rather, I would guess he is doing research."

Bruce focused on Tim resetting everything back to its original place before escaping silently into the early morning. You'd have thought he had been Selina's protege instead. Clearly he displayed a certain amount of familiarity and comfort in acting a thief. It reminded him of of something Tim had said a while ago, about an alias of his being wanted in Bulgaria for grand larceny. He really should get around to trying to talk to Tim about what his second youngest had been doing while Bruce was lost in the time stream. "Is Tim in San Francisco," he grumbled.

"I know he's with Bart, Kon-El, and Cassie," Dick replied, "I just don't know where."

"His phone is pinging in the new Monarch Tower he built," Babs said, "He could be there."

"Tt, three metas in the city," Damian sneered, "Irresponsible."

"He wouldn't hurt Conner," Clark said, "I know that much. If he has the Kryptonite but he's with Kon-El, then Tim wouldn't hurt Conner."

Dick nodded. Dick knew that Tim would unhesitantly restrain Clark if Superman ever was mind controlled or body snatched into acting against others. Tim could detach himself from the situation without issue. But Kon-El would not be someone Tim could make himself fight. Tim would fight Bruce. Tim would fight Jason. Tim would fight Dick- even without a contingency plan, he'd fight Dick with adaptability- and Damian, although he was unsure if Tim would fight Cass or Alfred. But Dick knew for sure that there were three people in the world that Tim could never bring himself to battle: Kon-El, Bart, and Cassie. Dick knew with all the certainty in the world that Tim would rather take their blows than try to fight them. Dick wasn't the only person missing from Tim's contingency list. Technically, Tim could adapt the plans for The Flash or Velocity for Bart, the plans for Wonder Woman for Cassie, and the plans for Clark for Kon-El. But Dick knew his little brother wouldn't be able to do it. "Let's go talk to him," Dick suggested.

Damian started marching out the door eagerly, only to be redirected to Alfred with a stern, "Lunch hour has finished, Master Damian. Let us resume our lessons in the library."

     Cass had already gone, presumably to enjoy crepes with Jason. Bruce thrummed his fingers against the wheel while Clark politely slid into the back so Dick could take shotgun. He didn't understand why Tim would steal the Kryptonite ring. Was it really for research? Was he attempting to do a study with Kon-El and having Wondergirl and Impulse as support? Was he inventing new plans, new back ups, more contingencies? He didn't think Tim would ever stage an ambush so obvious so it most likely wasn't a ploy for an attack. Bruce didn't know. The Bat didn't know and it wanted to know. Not to even understand but to simply know. Bruce was not the Bat. He was Bruce and Bruce would not go to accuse his son and make demands and bark orders. He would go to listen.

The usual man behind the desk was not there. Instead, a young woman with Layla on her nametag had taken over. "Hello, can I help you," she greeted politely.

"We wanted to surprise Tim," Dick said, "See him while he's having a work from home day."

"Name," she asked.

"Dick Grayson," Dick replied easily.

"And you," she pointed at Bruce.

"Bruce Wayne," he muttered.

"Him," Layla asked, nodding at Clark.

"Clark Kent," Clark told her, "My brother might be over too? Conner Kent?"

Layla grinned. "Oh, Kon? Yeah, he's got his own key for Tim's place but he always stops by the desk to say hi to whoever's on shift, usually Omar. Here's your visitor's key Tim has for you, Mr. Grayson-Wayne."

The fact that the front desk was more familiar with the sight of Tim's best friend than his family itched something under Bruce's skin. The elevator played The Clash softly, which did nothing to calm Bruce. The door at the end of the hall on the top floor of the Monarch Tower, remodeled from the Monarch Theatre, clicked open when Bruce twisted the key. Silence greeted them.

"Where are they?"

     Tim rubbed Kon's back soothingly as he dry heaved into a bucket. He hadn't eaten this whole time for this exact purpose. Cassie stood two floors away holding the Kryptonite ring. It was still in the box so they could cut off its radiation right away. "Are you okay," Tim asked, "We don't have to do this."

"Nope," Kon groaned, "I'm getting this eyebrow piercing. I've already got six piercings in my left ear and seven ones in my right. We just need to do the eyebrow and the tongue. I'll be fine."

"I know it hurts," Tim mumbled apologetically, "I'll try and make sure it only pinches a bit."

"You're doing great, Wonder. Wonderful, you could even say," Kon joked, " 'sides, it gets you to be sweet to me."

Tim rolled his eyes playfully as he slid the needle through the flesh around Kon's left eyebrow behind his fresh eyebrow slit that cut diagonally just through the arch of his brow. It was a good eyebrow slit. Cisse had coached Kon through it well. "Okay, break," Tim called, and the click of the lead box could be heard through the metallic echo of the Nest. "One more," Tim reassured, "Just your tongue piercing left. You excited?"

"Hell yeah," Kon coughed as he wiped the sweat off his face, "Imagine how pissed Luthor'll be if he catches sight of all this?"

Kon had already had the golden ring in his left ear. In his left ear was an industrial piercing with a plain gold bar through the piercing holes, an upper helix with a thin golden ring, two upper lobe piercings with an Impulse lightning bolt stud and a Wondergirl 'W', and an orbital piercing with a tiny pink rose, which was both Greta's and Ma's favourite flower. In his right were three lobe piercings with a small red bird stud, a small arrow stud, and a small skull that had looked like the one on Lobo's bike, two upper helixes with thin little golden rings, an oribital of a sunflower, which was Pa's favourite flower, and an anti-tragus of a small gem that was close to Anita's eye color. Some people would call it sappy. The former members of the Young Justice team would probably dunk those people in Kool-Aide. "Okay, let's do the last one," Kon said, "I hope Lex feels disrespected out there, where ever the Hell he is."

Tim prepped the needle as Kon wiped down the stainless steel goldish ball-ended bar that would go through his tongue. It'd be close to the tip of his tongue, boldly, proudly visible. "Are you sure," Tim asked one more time.

Kon squeezed Tim's hand firmly. "I'll be fine, Tim," he persisted, "You've been doing great this whole time, right? So it'll all be good, Wonder. It'll be real quick, besides, I ain't called the Boy of Steel for nothin', right?"

Tim steadied his shaky hands.

"Open the box!"

       The apartment still smelt of lavender cleaner and cold, filtered air. But everything seemed different. More lived in. There was a leather jacket on the couch and three pairs of shoes by the door in a small shoe cubby, except one pair of shoes were too big to fit. They must have been Impulse's, then. There was a large purple post-it reminder on the fridge that said 'Get Tim a cat' in glittery blue gel pen. A cartoon marshmallow magnet was stuck over the note. Tim's photographs had been put on the walls in shining, clearly hand-made frames. A vanilla candle flickered on the kitchen table on a mosaic coaster of a sunset. It looked like someone had made a home there in the apartment, inviting people in so they could leave marks and impressions in the space between the walls. "The plastic fish," Dick remembered, "Hold on."

Dick reached his hand into the fish tank holding plastic mini swordfish. Something clinked softly, and the elevator to Tim's secret hideout was revealed. This elevator played a National Geographic recording about the historical significance of gargoyles in French Gothic architecture. Did Tim still want to photograph the Notre Dame Cathedral someday? The doors opened up and Clark immediately took a green sheen under the deep tan of his skin. The unearthly deep blue under the black of his hair dimmed, then the soft click of a box brought it back. "All done," Tim's voice floated around the high vaulted ceiling and many story layers of the Nest. 

There was a raucous cheering and the clinkclinkclink of metal. "Sun lamps," Clark noted with an amused grin.

The lights were SAD lamps, warming the cold interior of the metallic Nest. A streak of crackling lightning shot by, presumably Impulse. "Oh-shit-guys-The-Bat's-here," Impulse yelled, "Scatter!"

"Fuck you, I'm staying for Grease," Wondergirl's voice called.

"Oh-fine-I'll-go-get-Tim's-sad-little-veggie-wrap-and-our-burritos-I'll-be-right-back-hold-on," Impulse chattered as he shot by Bruce, Clark, and Dick.

"Wait, did I forget my jacket upstairs," Superboy groaned, "Nooo, I can't be Danny Zuko without it."

"If you want me to move, you're gonna have to suffer," Tim stated casually, "I'm comfy and my ears hurt."

"Boohoo, you little fleshbag," Superboy taunted.

"You're so lucky I'm not there to beat your ass, Conner Kent," another voice piped up, distant and somewhat fuzzy, "I'm a 'fleshbag' too."

The sight that greeted them was Wondergirl, Cassie Sandsmark with a number of fresh piercings gleaming in her slightly swollen ears and the side of her nose and sat on large amount of pillows, Tim curled up on Superboy's lap with earrings shining against his skin, and Conner Kent with a metal stud sitting behind a previously not there eyebrow slit, a multitude of fresh earrings sitting in his ears, and when he opened his mouth to laugh, the light caught a tongue piercing. Superboy had developed a full arsenal of Kryptonian abilities just before his death, so his flesh should be rendered impenetrable. A lead box laid off to the side, supporting a phone where a blonde girl lounged on the screen. "Tim," Dick gasped.

Tim snapped his head around, lifting it off Superboy's bare chest to look at the three men staring at them. "Oh, hey. Don't worry, I watched a lot of tutorials and practiced on a couple of dummies," Tim promised as he laid his head back down, "Nobody got hurt and I sterilized everything repeatedly. I just have to be extra careful about not getting an infection."

Impulse blazed past, distributing burritos and veggie wraps faster than a blink before flopping over Wondergirl's lap. "Oh shit, are Supes and Bats there," the blonde girl asked.

"Who are you," Bruce barked.

The blonde girl raised an eyebrow irreverently. "Cissie King-Jones, former Arrowette," she informed, "I yelled at the JLA one time, remember? I'm one of your son's best friends?"

"Cissie," Dick greeted, "I hear your a gold medalist Olympic star now! And an actress!"

Cissie waved with a shy smile. "Hello, Ms. King-Jones, I do remember you now," Clark spoke up, "I'm glad to hear you'e doing well."

"Tim," Bruce rumbled, "Did you take the Kryptonite ring?"

"Yes? It's right there in the box," Tim admitted shamelessly, "Kon's been wanting more piercings forever. We all ended up getting them. It was great."

"We should've done the red sun lamp instead," Kon-El complained, "I spent, like, two hours dry heaving."

"You get longer migraines from the RS lamps, plus bloody noses," Tim reminded as he adjusted the collar of the shirt that Bruce doesn't remember him owning before today, "The K-ring headache lasts only ten minutes if it's far away enough."

       The teens kept getting sidetracked by each other, ignoring Bruce, Dick, and Clark altogether. "Well, I'm glad that the Kryptonite was in safe hands after all," Clark chuckles, "I need to get back to the farm now that we know where it went. You kids have fun. Conner, I hope Ma 'n Pa already know about this."

"Yeah, they know, ya goob," Kon-El hollers as Clark flies out of the tunnel of the garage. 

Two more girls join Cissie on what is presumably her bed, a dark haired little girl and another blonde. "Hey, Traya and Greta are here," Cassie notes, "Hi!"

Bruce clears his throat to get their attention again. The four teens in the Nest look over at him. "Oh, hey Batman," Bart says around a mouthful of burrito, "Thought you left."

"You stole the Kryptonite ring to use to do piercings," Bruce summarizes.

"Yeah," Tim says, "What did you think I'd be using it for?"

"More contingencies," Dick pipes up, "Lots of back up plans are your thing, Timmy. You freaked everyone out this morning, though. We thought we were compromised!"

"Oh, well, yeah I can see why you'd think that," Tim sighs, "I knew you wouldn't let us just take the Kryptonite ring so I just took it and scrambled the footage so we could have enough time to get Kon's piercings done."

It was such a teenager explanation that Bruce faltered. "You're priming the security system," Bruce eventually grunted, "No more stealing the Kryptonite ring. It isn't a toy and can't be used for fun. It's dangerous. A weapon."

Tim nodded absently, already falling asleep as he picked up the lead box and tossed it across the room. "...Enjoy your day," Bruce muttered.

He was almost in the elevator with Dick when he called, "Tim?"

"Yes?"

"No patrol for two weeks."

"Hey-"

The elevator doors slid shut as Bruce pocketed the lead box. Dick doubled over laughing as he gasped, "Bruce! You'd have killed me for shoving my face full of metal at his age!"

Bruce shrugged. "I can only barely control his patrol," he mumbled, "Legally, I can't tell him to not get as many piercings as he wants."

Dick brushed his ears absentmindedly and Brice resolved himself to making a new house rule: no piercings till you are of legal age, able to financially support yourself (not that he wouldn't try and help them out, but he knew his children would push against that), and no longer living at home.

     The media blew up when Superboy and Wondergirl were spotted in separate places later that week baring shining jewelry in their face and ears. They were simple, plain stainless steel rings and studs, no styles or designs. Superboy had, unknown to the public, cleverly covered up his fresh eyebrow slit with make up. Impulse moved too fast and couldn't be held down long enough for anyone to realize he sported new earrings. Red Robin wore a cowl, so nobody who thought they caught a glimpse of a red and black shadow streaking across the smoggy, fog-laden skies of Gotham would know about the metal shifting against his skin. But Kon, Cassie, Bart, and Tim would be seen by passerby showing off the fun jewelry that they had made a part of them. Even if those passerby didn't know about the simple joy that their jewelry softly clinking against their skin, they did. They knew, and that was enough.