(no subject)

[ It had been 910 days since Warren McGinnis was murdered in his home. Terry knew because he kept count of the days on calendar hidden in his room. His mom had found it once, questioned him about it. Wanted him to go to therapy. Terry refused and assured her he was okay. Promised her he would get rid of the thing. Instead, he just hid it better.

It had been 903 days since he met Bruce Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises. Terry remembers the first time he saw him, cutting an imposing figure among the guests at Warren's funeral, while he spoke quietly with Mary. They were divorced, amicably, but still very much Not Together. And while Mary appreciated Bruce's generosity, she gently turned down his offers to continuing cutting Warren's check. To help ease the burden. No, Terry remembers her saying, They would be okay.

But they weren't okay. Not even a little.

It was hard adjusting to life with Mary again. And he tried. He really tried. But there were times when she nitpicked a little too much or was a little too harsh and Terry wanted to scream at her. Because he was angry, so very angry and it had nowhere to go. So it stayed bottled up, coiled up tight in his chest and it felt like it would explode at any minute. Instead, he packed a bag and slipped out his bedroom window.

He met Batman that night and that changed his world. Tilted it upright when Warren's murder had so violently tipped it sideways.

Bruce had given him an outlet. Something to focus all of that pain and grief and rage on. And he agreed to help Terry nail the bastard who shot his father. The solution was an easy one, Terry had been home that night, had heard it all. He knew the voice - would always remember it. All he needed was a name.

When he had it, he gave it to Bruce right away. And what did he do with it? From Terry's perspective, nothing. Not a damned thing. And maybe that made him a little bit resentful. Resentful enough that he decided to do something about himself.

It's not the first time he's turned off the tracker in his suit. Just the longest. The radio in his ear cackles to life and he can hear Bruce. Robin, your signal is lost. Status?

Must be out of range, he says. And that's not technically a lie. He should be in the Bowery. That's where Bruce told him to be. But tonight, he's perched on the rooftop across from one of the most expensive restaurants in town. Through the windows, he can see him. Derek Powers, laughing and sipping expensive wine, like everything is normal. Like he didn't kill Warren 910 days ago. Maybe he didn't remember. Terry would remind him.

He hears the radio again. Robin! ]

I'm here, Batman. I'm okay. I'll catch up with you soon.

[ then he flicks the radio off. ]

joyride.

This was probably the dumbest idea he's ever had.

The silhouette of the thing is clearly Batman but the person operating it? Clearly not. In short, static-y bursts, Terry can activate the boots but has yet to discover the rhythm that keeps them on and him air born. So there are moments - painful moments - that he comes crashing down to earth.

And he doesn't understand it. He's watched Bruce work on this thing for months. Watched him take the tech through its paces. Watched him activate the thrusters and extend the wings like his suit's always had them. Watched him fly. So it wasn't like Terry didn't know what to do. Why won't it work for him?

Terry lands again, hard against the solid surface of a building's rooftop and he swears, as he lays there trying to catch his breath, that he's broken something. Even though the suit's done its job and absorbed the impact of the fall, Terry's afraid to move in case something detrimental has happened to his bones. And maybe, he figures, it's better to just lay here and let whoever it is the ears are picking up approaching him kill him right then and there.

That'd be less painful than Bruce finding out he swiped the suit.