A/N this chapter is 7000 words long... I'm sorry.

The ground started to slope underneath him, slowly coming to level.

Dick scattered across the ground, groaning. He didn't feel like he'd broken anything, but his side was hurting again. He'd bandaged himself up after the fight at the Maroni's warehouse, but even still it hurt. And he had a headache coming on.

He sighed, pushed his hands beneath him and forced himself to his feet.

It was still fucking dark.

There was a shriek and Dick jumped, feathers against his face, claws on his arm, the owl was back.

His breath was still shaky and his eyes wide, he was quite sure his jaw was chattering.

"great to see you're back," he hissed to the owl, "thanks so much for pushing me down the massive fucking hole, squawker."

The bird hooted indignantly.

"yeah fuck you, too."

And he was still talking to a bird. Brilliant.

He looked around, trying to discern something in the dark. He shuffled around trying to see if his phone was anywhere around. He found nothing.

He sighed, grumbled.

"great idea Dick, follow the creepy bird into the cave with only a phone light and no sense of direction."

He held out his right hand, his left arm starting to go numb from holding the damn bird for so long. His hand touched nothing so he edged forward, not lifting his feet much in case there was something on the ground.

The bird flew off and Dick almost missed the warmth.

He shot forward after it, hoping it was guiding him. He could hear its wingbeats drifting through the cave, it sounded like it was a huge length of tunnels, plenty for sound to echo on but still big and scary.

He could get lost.

Dick drifted forwards, arms out.

"where the fuck-" he muttered.

The bird grabbed onto his sleeve once more and lead him forwards, Dick stumbled, but followed.

The bird dropped his hand on something, a... table? He wasn't sure. But he ran his hand along the surface, the bird pushed his hand along and he drifted atop some kind of... something.

As he touched it, it heated up, and slowly the thing became an outline of glowing gold around his palm. He pulled away and watched as the lightly glowing silhouette of a hand grew cracks, the glow spread, etching itself along the surface, to the ground, along the walls...

The whole place lit up, a light glow illuminating a small antechamber, with caves dotting the walls.

The bird trilled and Dick looked at it in shock.

"okay, I'll admit," he said, "pretty cool."

The bird hooted, and Dick must have been going insane because it sounded proud.

"Okay Squawker," he said, holding out his arm, the bird settled on his bicep, "show me the way."

He started forwards, Squawker flapped and guided his arm towards a cave in the side of the antechamber. Dick followed, and the gold cracks soon became uniform. Lines and crosses, like the grit of tile. The stone became ceramics, rocks and gravel spilling over shining white tiles.

His steps sped up, a change in architecture seemed like a good sign.

The bird preened on his arm as Dick walked the hallway, till he came to a cross roads.

"Oh, great, it's a maze isn't it?" he said, "I hate mazes."

The bird flew off down the left path and Dick followed. Squawker landed at the end, gave an impatient hoot and ruffled its wings.

Dick jogged to catch up, once he was by Squawker's side it flew off again down another path.

Dick sighed, "is there an actual destination you're taking me to or is it just constant maze?"

The bird shrieked indignantly.

"fine, I'm coming, geez."

And, yes, it was a maze. Twisting a turning and never ending. He wished he had his phone so he could check the time.

And then he finally got to the place the bird seemed to be taking him. The hall widened into a room, giant, and smack in the centre was a fountain, grimy and dry and made of white stone, rising from the middle was a dark owl statue, giant and menacing.

The owl flew up onto the statue, preening itself from the beak of the giant statue. Dick stared up at it.

"well, I guess this counts as proof," he mumbled, "now what?"

Finding information was easy, usually, when you had a computer or a box of papers, or something. This was pretty useless.

But... he could hear something.

Water? No. maybe? He walked down one of the other halls that met with the chamber, finding a huge room, mezzanines and rafters and stalagmites. Along the walls were coffins, below were vats of green and gold liquid, machinery and technology all over the place, left lying around.

Dick crept up to a coffin, gazing into a window in the lid of it. he could see a person in there.

Did they all have... dead people in them?

He walked among the aisles of coffins, and he found that no, the majority didn't have people in them. It seemed the Talon's numbers had dwindled before they were frozen in time. Small engraved metal was screwed into the front under the windows, what looked like names inscribed in them. Squawker fluttered up to a railing and cooed.

"look, you don't know me, but uh... I'm trying to find something. Proof. Apparently..." he didn't want to say it, really didn't, "apparently... I think was chosen to be one of these..." he looked to the coffin behind him, the person lifeless inside, "things."

Squawker hooted, grabbed his sleeve again and flew off, Dick followed.

The bird sat on a coffin, Dick leaned in to look at the name. William Cobb.

A hunch told him Squawker wanted him to set the corpse free. That's not what Dick was here for. Set one Talon free, they were sure to release others and possibly attempt to rebuild the court.

Dick looked to the bird, "yeah, that's not happening."

Squawker shrieked.

"fuck you too."

Dick turned to the cavern behind him, the mezzanines and twisting platforms and the scary green slightly glowing vats of liquid below.

On the ground, where the vats became towering behemoths, were computers, desks, hospital gurneys? Equipment and tools and all manner of things he couldn't make out from so high up.

"better idea," he said to his bird guide and started climbing down.

He was right, there were beds of some kind, with tools and bags of liquids on roller-things and vitals-checking machines.

But more importantly, there were computer stations. Old as heck but still... useable. Maybe.

If anyone could make them work it'd be him.

His hands were flying over keys, flicking switches. He found out quickly all the broken components of the many systems. One computer's chords were tangled, one had a corroded motherboard, the connections to a monitor had been severed here, cobwebs had overrun the hardware there. He ran about, salvaging what he could, fixing other things.

Eventually he got... something that could be excused as a computer. As long as it had access to whatever mainframe or system these stupid owls had set up then he was happy.

And oh boy, things were looking up.

The software was dated, the equipment not at all intuitive and everything took forever to load. But he could hack it, he could do it.

He found his way through the old records, almost forgetting what he was looking for. The celebration of finally making headway with this investigation was uplifting enough to mask the fear of what he'd find.

But he found it. among files and files of old history, recorded and organised. The details of the court's chosen Talons. And he saw it, clear as day and with long lists of information, his name. Richard John Grayson.

Labelled as their Gray Son. Chosen to herald in the future of the court.

His hands froze on the keyboard, heart stopping, eyes fixated on his name on the screen.

And oh my god it was true.

"no," the word came out as a breath, "no, no, no, no, no, this can't be right, I couldn't have been- I wasn't- this can't be true."

Squawker settled on the screen, Dick looked up to it, "this can't be real."

What was he expecting? That he'd show up and find no proof? Oh well, it just be like that sometimes, let's continue my blissfully ignorant life.

No, of course this was true, all of it, every word.

But how? But why? But when? But who?

His legs felt shaky, he was quite sure he could collapse. He backed away from the screen and sat, drawing his knees to his chest.

This was impossible, he was a good guy.

A hero who'd, at the first chance, shot an unarmed man in the head.

"oh, so your instinct is to kill people, now?"

How ironic Wally's words seemed now.

The bird called, Dick's eyes shot to it.

"hurry up," it seemed to say, "get over yourself, depressive episodes are boring."

Dick forced a breath in, grit his teeth and stood up. He stared at his name on the screen.

"Fine," he grumbled, "you want destiny? I'll give you destiny."

He stormed over to the stairs and ran, climbing up to the top, sliding to a stop in front of William Cobb's coffin, breath panting out of him.

He'd seen something in his file, he hadn't been looking close, but it said that this bastard was supposed to train him when he'd been indoctrinated. Maybe he could give him some answers, or at least a reason to believe-

To believe that this cult wasn't his future, that he was someone else, that this was all something that had been thrust on him and not something he was bred for.

He grabbed the lid and pulled at the lock, the ancient and rusting metal cracked and crumbled, the lid flew off and clanged against the wall behind it. cold air spewed out, turning the air white.

A growl, dark and deadly, slithered out of the mist. Dick stepped back, eyes blowing wide.

"oh shit."

What did he just do?

He backed up, hitting the railing, from the mist stepped a shadow.

Dick froze. Something in him told him he should be running and not looking back. Most of his brain was just chanting 'shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.'

As Cobb finally solidified from the white fog Dick's body caught up to his mind, he turned and bolted.

And then choked, the collar of his jacket tugging around his neck as Cobb grabbed his hood and pulled him back, locking his head with his arms.

Dick kicked the air, tried to grab a hold of Cobb's arms, yelped as Cobb tightened his hold and constricted his breathing.

He sputtered, trying to gasp for air, mind going into crazy mode.

"a stranger in the court," Cobb hissed, voice guttural and disgustingly horrifying, "an intruder!"

Dick tried to form words, tried to get air in, nothing was working.

"Ga- he- I-" he flailed for purchase, trying to push away Cobb's arms. He gave him the slightest bit of room to breathe, and Dick spluttered out, "looking for- proof," he forced air into his lungs, "Gray... Son."

Cobb dropped him, "Gray Son," he hissed, "why do you invoke the-"

Dick turned and swung his leg, tripping Cobb over.

He stood and ran before Cobb could attack.

Great, so how does one survive an attack from an immortal corpse assassin? Dick did not know.

Squawker swooped, claws raking across his face, a hairsbreadth away from his eyes.

Dick stumbled, ducking under the bird's blows.

"traitor!" he grumbled, staring at the bird. Before he could start running again he saw Cobb in the corner of his eye, he ducked right as a punch was about to land on his head.

He spun, twisting out of Cobb's blows with well-practiced ease. Cobb was slow, and Dick saw plenty of openings to make hits, but he had no weapons and he didn't think punching and kicking would do much.

"how did you get down here, boy," Cobb hissed.

Dick ran from a hit, jumped, back handsprung and landed on the railing, he perched as he caught his breath.

"your creepy bird brought me here, actually," he said, dodging another hit and running along the railing.

Cobb followed, "she got out of the aviary?" he glanced at his bird, "Matilda, you brought this heathen to the Talon's Chamber?"

The bird hooted.

Dick blinked, dodged another blow, "Matilda?"

You know, he preferred Squawker.

"what are you doing here?" Cobb grunted, and Dick for a moment wondered whether he was making such animalistic sounds for effect or if he'd really just become that deranged.

"I told you," Dick dodged another hit, sprung away, "Looking for answers, proof."

"Whatever proof you have found, will die with you," Cobb said, running for Dick again.

He was glad Cobb seemed to be without a weapon, because he still managed to cause decent pain as it was. If he had a sword? Dick would a goner.

After a round of hits Dick stepped back, clutching his side, he barely managed to dodge another hit, but as he did Cobb landed a kick and Dick rammed into the railing.

"I don't know why my bird brought you here," he hissed, "but you end today."

Dick shoved air down his lungs, his diaphragm was betraying him, he was winded and scared.

As Cobb's fist approached Dick threw fear to the wind.

"my name is Richard Grayson!" he confessed, screwing his eyes shut and waiting for the blow.

It didn't land.

"Grayson." Cobb's voice was smoothed with shock, only slightly less threatening than usual.

Dick sighed, leaning against the rail, "yes," he panted, "I heard about... about the court. I needed to know for myself."

Cobb's eyes turned speculative, he leaned forward, squinting at Dick, analysing him up and down.

"you are the son of Mary and John Grayson?" he asked, seemingly not wanting an answer just yet, "my great grandson?"

Dick's heart might've stopped.

"great..." the air rushed out of him, "great grandson?"

Cobb tilted his head, staring at him, "were you not told? Did the grandmaster not explain your great lineage, your destiny?"

Dick blinked, "grandmaster? Uh, dude, it's just you."

Cobb blinked, "what?"

Dick finally knew something more than someone else, he gained a degree of confidence from that.

"the court is gone, reduced to ruin," Dick said, "I found out from a family friend. But there is no grandmaster, this," he gestured to the lines of talon-filled coffins, "is all that's left."

Cobb stared, looking around the room. He seemed to be experiencing a mix of confusion and anger.

"I just want answers." Dick looked at him, "can you give me those?"

"yes," Cobb said.

He started walking, Dick followed him with his eyes till he reached the stairs, then he started walking after him.

"what are you..." he trailed off.

Cobb walked all the way down to the floor, looking at the computers that had been previously abandoned. Staring at the tables and the equipment.

He laid a hand on one of the hospital bed-esque stretchers, staring at a golden liquid bagged and hanging from one of the poles with wheels that Dick usually saw IV drips on. He didn't know what they were called, he usually settled for 'wheelie bad pole thing'.

"why was I chosen?"

Cobb didn't respond.

"you said you could give me answers."

"it was told the Gray Son of Gotham would bring the court to glory, reclaim our old power. Our family and ancestors have long been chosen as warriors to protect the Court." Cobb looked over to the computers, "you were able bodied, strong, promising. We chose you and prepared you."

Dick filed the information away, trying to process it.

"what happened here?" Cobb said, looking to him.

"I don't know."

Cobb walked to one of the vats, giant and towering above, he ran a hand along it, scraping off years-worth of dust.

"I remember..." he whispered, "I remember an attack. I remember being put to sleep afterwards, but after that there is... nothing."

He turned to Dick.

"what year is it?"

"uh... 2011?" Dick said.

Cobb's hand turned to a fist, a growl slowly building. He turned and kicked away a stretcher bed, "WE HAVE BEEN VANQUISHED!"

Dick started to step back, slowly retreating. Squawk- Matilda- stared at him.

"WE HAVE BEEN REDUCED TO NOTHING, OUR POWER FORGOTTEN!"

Cobb turned to Dick, panting and hulking.

He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders.

"We will fix this," Cobb said.

"Uh," Dick blinked, "we?"

"you are the Gray Son, together we will bring back our power, regrow the court anew."

Dick gulped, "look, uh, I'm not here to join a cult," he glanced to the exit, so far away and so high up, "I was just looking for-"

"answers," Cobb cut in, "and don't you see, this is your destiny."

Dick shook his head.

"if you will not join me willingly," he hissed, "I have ways of making you."

Dick ran.

Cobb was not elegant, he tore the computers from the desks and threw them at Dick, grabbed a wheeled table and pushed it at him. Dick only just missed it.

He needed a weapon, he needed something to knock this guy out. He'd been told Talons were damn near impossible to kill, but it seemed extreme cold stopped them well enough. If he could lure Cobb into his coffin again he'd be fine...

Cobb was throwing things again, this time the equipment on the tables. Syringes and scalpels and all manner of things came flying at Dick. He ducked and ran for cover, but even still a scalpel landed square in his left shoulder, thunking into his skin with a wet sound.

Dick screamed, ducking behind an overturned table.

"If you want me to be of any help, killing me will be a problem," he ground out past clenched teeth.

Cobb laughed, the sound archaic and wrong, "what do you think the first step to becoming a talon is boy?"

There was silence and Dick looked to his sides, sneaking a peak past the table.

He was toppled from behind, Cobb's weight crashed into him and Dick was stuck. He thrashed, trying to find a way out.

"be still," Cobb ordered, and levelled a scalpel below Dick's neck.

Dick froze, mind reeling, trying to find a way out.

"you were chosen when you were young, your body has already been prepared," Cobb hissed, "now all that's left is to die."

The scalpel sliced clean through his throat and Dick passed out immediately.

A/N

ahem.

so...

how are we today?

okay, okay, you can have the rest of the chapter, jeesus.

warning, it does get a bit... graphic.

Cobb was overexaggerating slightly; he did not die.

He just had to get really fucking close, and then what had been put into his body so young it had become a part of him would react.

Talons were chosen young so the process would be easy; a tooth was replaced with an electrum-laced substitute. Over the years it would leak into the system. The body would learn to adapt to it, sometimes it even began to create it.

And when an extreme stress situation occurred, where the host of the electrum was a second from death, the electrum kicked in. if the body was in the hands of the court it could then be prepared correctly to undergo the stages of becoming a controlled and obedient servant. They could even manage it if the body was retrieved some-time after death.

So Dick did not die, rather Cobb hauled him onto one of the gurneys, linked him up to more electrum via an IV and started the process. It had many levels to it.

Usually the soon-to-be Talon was given either a neuro-muscular drug or some other agent that paralysed and kept them from interfering with the process. Usually anaesthesia was not supplied, and Cobb was no exception. But he had nothing to paralyse Dick with.

So eventually he woke up, hands flying for his throat, which burned and tingled and felt wrong.

He panted, panicking. Staring at the tubes that were slowly dripping more electrum into him, but also the others that he couldn't identify.

Cobb was nowhere to be seen.

He still had his wits about him, still owned his mind, so he couldn't be too far gone. He slowly collected himself and forced the panic down, debating whether to tear the IV out or not.

He decided to test a theory.

He pulled it out, biting down on his bottom lip to deal with the pain. The IV came out and with it a slow but speeding up stream of dark blood. Dick clapped his hand on it, knowing if his theory proved wrong that he would bleed out in at least two minutes.

His arm itched and Dick grabbed a towel from a table and wiped the blood away to see the wound left behind. The blood didn't gush out, already starting to clot and begin the healing process. It was no-where near as quick as what he'd heard the talons had, but he watched as the drip of blood went from a constant flow to small bead of red.

And oh god no, what had Cobb done to him?

He ran for the computer, hoping it wasn't destroyed. The time on the screen didn't seem too far off from when he'd been flicking through information, which meant he wasn't out long. Just a few hours, maybe seven at most, no biggie.

His reflection seemed the same in the dark screen, although nothing much could be gleaned from a mirror image like that.

He shuddered a breath in and out.

What was he supposed to do?

He slipped into old practise. He checked equipment, exits, hiding places. He ran the numbers, considered the factors.

Once he was done, instinct number one came to mind: call Batman.

He didn't have a phone and- wait, hang on, slow down. Call Batman? no. hell no.

It was just him.

Okay, so instinct number two: locate the threat.

Where was Cobb?

Dick looked up, eying the coffins lining the mezzanines. They were all still closed, so Cobb had not woke up his brethren. Then what was he doing?

Dick crept up the many stairs, eyes darting around at every sound. Cobb's creepy bird, Matilda, was nowhere to be found. Also, who names a cool ass owl Matilda?

Whatever, he needed to find his creepy undead great grandfather.

He armed himself with a scalpel, he felt severely unprepared. He crept up the staircases, slowly making his way to the main entrance. no one jumped out of the shadows, there were no creaks, no shifts.

Where was Cobb?

Dick strafed the wall and leaned in to gaze at the fountain and owl statue in the hall.

Cobb was there.

He stood in the fountain, staring up at the owl's face. He seemed to be muttering to himself, perhaps praying?

No, although Dick called it a cult, the court was not religious. Perhaps Cobb was perplexed as to how to begin his plan to recreate the court. He was a soldier, trained and brainwashed. Independent and creative thought probably wasn't his forte, at least it definitely wasn't a commonly stretched muscle.

And also, he'd been hibernating till a couple hours ago, realistically his brain was probably still a bit mushy.

Dick had an idea.

He crept away from the door till he was far enough away to not be heard by Cobb. He found an empty coffin and opened it, only a crack. He stuck his arm in, gritting his teeth against the cold.

The scalpel began to cool down.

Dick felt... tired? Worn out? The cold always used to affect him, but that was normal. This was a lot more than usual.

Whatever Cobb had done to start 'the process' likely gave him a bit of an aversion, seeing as extreme cold seemed to be what shut down these corpsified murder bastards.

Whatever, he could deal with a frozen left arm, as long as the rest of him was fine.

He took the scalpel out once his arm went numb. He kept it in his left, and snuck up on the door once more.

Cobb was turned away from him, not paying attention.

Where was the bird?

Dick couldn't see her. He couldn't just attack without knowing where she was, she'd give his location away for sure.

He backed away as Cobb move slightly. There were too many variables he had to check for before he could attack.

And the scalpel was already warming up, his arm already back to normal. He needed something better than a cold piece of metal.

But how...

A plan hit him like a train.

The coffins had to be kept cold somehow. Without a lot of electricity constantly flowing there weren't a lot of options.

So... liquid nitrogen?

Dick went to Cobb's coffin, wide open and warm.

There were vents in the back where cold air seemed to be pumping out. Dick leaned around the back of the coffin and forced it off the wall.

It was connected via tubes, the outside dripping in condensation. There was a panel in the wall and Dick found a small tool on one of the desks at the ground level to open it.

And, bingo, nitrogen tanks with a simple valve opening. How had they lasted so long? Surely no one had been around to replenish them in years.

But there were several tanks, and it looks like the tubes were connected to other systems. Maybe the lack of filled coffins allowed for enough extra nitrogen to keep the place running. For how much longer the question was, but that didn't matter to Dick.

He had nitrogen tanks.

So how to use them?

Uh...

Dick ran down to the ground level again, looking at what he had on offer. Syringes and scalpels and other metal tools. Clothes and gloves and face masks. All manner of things...

He couldn't weaponize a tank on its own, it'd be too heavy. A normal syringe couldn't take the cold of liquid nitrogen-

He heard Matilda shriek.

She was up in the top, flapping around.

Dick had limited time.

He stumbled up the stairs, as fast as he could. Forget about noise, he didn't have the time.

Cobb stumbled in and Dick jumped over the rails of the stairs onto the mezzanine that held his coffin.

"Awake already?" he hissed, "I underestimated you."

"don't blame yourself, happens a lot," Dick grumbled, slowly backing up as Cobb stalked closer.

"funny," Cobb growled, clearly unimpressed, "that humour will be the first thing to go."

"I've had some thought," Dick forced himself not to look at the coffin, he couldn't afford drawing Cobb's attention, not until he was-

Right where he was now.

"you know, I don't think the uniform suits my style."

Cobb grunted, his bird squawked and he glanced away. Dick took the chance.

He launched himself at the nitrogen tanks, Cobb not realising what he was doing till it was too late, he jumped at Dick.

Dick turned and pulled the valve, cold air spewed out as the liquid turned gaseous in seconds. Cobb was met with a wall of white hissing cold air.

Matilda shrieked and flew off, Cobb screamed and stumbled, falling back. The tank emptied quick and was much lighter without its contents, Dick hauled it into his arms and half threw half dropped it onto Cobb's collapsed form.

He grabbed the scalpel he'd left on the ground and stabbed it into Cobb's throat. Cobb tried to grab him and Dick jumped back, the scalpel stuck in Cobb's neck.

Cobb couldn't breathe, his skin turned paler and his eyes unfocused. Blood gushed out of his neck and his hands grabbed at the scalpel, trying to get a grip, but they seemed numb and clumsy.

Dick grabbed the second nitrogen tank and turned. Matilda swooped and he scowled, batting her out of the air with a hand.

"nice try, not gonna work this time," he said as the bird hit the railing, wings awkward as it landed on the ground.

He grabbed the valve on the tank and pulled, emptying a second onto Cobb just as he managed to pull the scalpel out.

Cobb tried to stand, trying to roll onto his stomach with a huff and moving his arms under him. Dick kicked his side and as Cobb was distracted, picked up the scalpel once more. He stabbed it into Cobb's throat again, tearing as he pulled it out.

Dick stabbed the scalpel through his eye, pushing as far as possible.

Hands slick with blood, cold and dark, he dragged open the lid of the first empty coffin he saw. He hauled Cobb's body up and shoved him into the coffin, slamming the lid before he could try and force his way out.

Cobb likely would die, if the cold effected the healing factor like Dick theorized. He'd bleed out and die without the electrum running through him at usual speed.

Dick did not care.

Matilda squawked and Dick set his eyes on it. he grabbed the bird and slammed it into the railing and threw the limp feathered form off the side.

He stared down at it all, mind disconnected from what was going on. All he could think of was the net thing on the list of things to do. The threat had been located and neutralised.

So next up, determine an exit route.

He couldn't run out the way he'd come, there was a giant fucking drop that he'd slid down. So where else could he escape? This place was a maze, he'd get lost in seconds.

He couldn't stand still, the longer he paused the more likely the adrenaline would run out and he'd collapse from exhaustion before he could get out. He needed to move before he registered everything he'd just done.

He strode for the owl fountain, hoping there was something there that could point him in the right direction.

There were marks where Matilda had clung to it, but otherwise it seemed completely normal as far as owl statues go. Dick couldn't find any hidden compartments or small messages or arrows that guided you through the place.

He missed when matilda was on his side and guiding him through the place.

Wait...

Matilda. Where had she come from? Cobb mentioned an aviary, maybe there were other owls? She seemed intelligent enough, at least enough to understand her master was in need of help, therefore she should guide someone to him to set him free. Maybe there were other trained birds that could be persuaded to guide him out. Or there was some form of access to the outside from the aviary that Dick would also be able to use.

It was worth a shot.

He went and found Matilda, hoping there was some kind of collar or more likely a tag or band.

There was a tag on the wing, small but big enough for a symbol. A maze. Dick figured it probably wasn't accurate, but it was his best bet. The symbol was more like an owl's face with a maze pattern around it, and small dot on a separate spot. His guess: the owl face was the statue, the dot was the aviary. This theory relied, of course, on the idea that the court would create a guide to the owl's aviary rather than just make sure everyone knew where it was.

Whatever, it was his only lead. He ripped off the tag and studied it, managing to orient himself to the maze symbol. It was small and gave him a headache to look at but he figured out how to follow it.

He memorized the way he took, dragging his left hand along the tile. Smudges of dark red following it until his fingertips were devoid of the liquid.

He eyed the dark that stretched out before him, the gold cracks in the tile grit all that illuminated the halls, and even then it was only the smallest bit of light. Just enough to look at the map, if he held the tag up to the gold glow and squinted.

The ground was sloping again, but this time upwards. It slowly became steeper, and his calves started burning.

He smelled the aviary before he saw it. water and moss and bird shit, with that distinct musky smell that came with birds. Feathers started showing up along the ground, varying sizes and shapes and colours.

And once he did make it there he breathed a sigh of relief.

It was a huge circular room, the walls lined with alcoves where birds sat. up all the way at the top of the room were several skylights. They seemed to be filtering light in from covered areas, seeing as it had to be nearly midmorning, yet the room was still largely dark. The floor was covered in feathers and bird shit, there were feeders as well and troughs where water used to be.

As he walked in hundreds of birds became known. Several flew out at the first sign of a human. Some shrieked and flew into other alcoves, likely bigger with more room to hide. A couple glided down to the feeding troughs and maybe ten swooped, Dick cut a wide arc with the scalpel he'd collected when he checked Matilda and the birds quickly retreated.

He considered, briefly, if he could climb up the alcoves and through the skylights. But there was nothing to use to get from an alcove to the holes, which were all mainly in the centre of the roof. And the birds would likely attack if he started sticking his hands and feet into their nests.

So plan number one, find a bird and see if he could get it to guide him out.

This would take a gentler hand. Birds were usually skittish around humans, especially owls. These ones likely hadn't been trained seeing as the court hadn't been around to do so, but there seemed to be older owls that might have been around for training.

If not he could cover its head and go to the fountain. The bird might guide him just by trying to leave.

Or he could exit through the door at the other end of the room.

He noticed it belatedly, just a nondescript door. No lock. He pulled it open and was met with a ladder set into a wall, he couldn't see anything above, but he guessed there was probably some kind of hatch.

That was too easy, and also infuriating seeing as he'd had to fall down a giant hole when there was literally a ladder and a hatch he could've taken. But surely it wasn't that simple?

Dick looked over his shoulder at the aviary, thinking of the journey here. He stopped himself before he could get too far, he didn't have time for this.

He climbed up the ladder, trying to listen to anything above. He couldn't make anything out, so he pulled the handle of the hatch and lifted it as small of a crack as possible.

He heard nothing but dripping water.

He pushed his head out, making sure to be prepared to hide if anyone was around. Nothing presented itself so Dick stood up, below his torso still hidden

It looked like a tunnel, perhaps a sewer, but there wasn't any water rushing by.

There were no visible exits, no spots of light. It had to be close to the surface, but even still he didn't know where he was going.

A bird flew over his head, zipping down the tunnel and disappearing.

So there was an exit, and the owls below probably knew of it.

Dick ducked down again and stared at all the birds, every step and noise sent them flying. He needed one with a decent temperament.

He walked along the side of the room, quiet and slow. His breathing shallow and muscles loose. It was the best he could do at looking non-threatening. If he knew how the birds were often treated by the court before it collapsed he could curtail his demeanour.

But oh well, this would do.

There was nothing left in the troughs, they were picked clean. He had no food to entice them or water. He definitely didn't look friendly.

So he did the best thing he could, sat in the middle of the room and waited for a bird to present itself.

He breathed in, out, in again. Calmed himself. He hated the fact that he was just sitting there, not doing anything to progress, but it was his only option. With the moments of quiet everything rushed in; the cold recognition that, like it or not, he'd just killed his great grandfather, the memory of how empty he'd been when he'd grabbed that bird and slammed it against the rail without hesitation, the sick stomach he gained from thinking of just what had been done to him once he was knocked out. He felt tired and distraught and so unbelievably washed out. Not long ago he'd felt what it was to have his throat slit from one side to the other. A cool scalpel tearing through the skin and opening up his windpipe. He'd blacked out pretty quick, but the panic and the fear of being on the brink of death was...

He shuddered.

Never again.

His throat felt tingly and itchy and he didn't like the slight breeze that brushed against his neck. He zipped up his hoodie and pulled the collar up so he could tuck it under his neck. He pulled his legs up to him, leaning his forehead against his knees as he forced himself to breathe.

Just. Breathe.

He could do this.

He had to be able to deal with this.

He had to be able to deal with how easy it was for him to slip into the actions, go through the motions. How easy it had been to go from Robin mere days ago to Dick Grayson, wanderer and lost boy ready to kill.

His arm was still bloodstained, dried flakes brushing off.

And oh god, no, he realised, he was good at this.

Because as much as his head was a mess, as much as his breath rattled, as much as his eyes unfocused and stared at the expanse of blurred nothing before him...

He still was alert. He still was ready. A bird settled at his feet and he knew it was there, every movement in the room filtered through his mind.

He uncoiled himself slowly before he even realised he was doing it.

The instincts that Batman had drilled into him, drilled into Robin, were still there. Except now he was just Dick Grayson, and the idea of him having any of these skills was preposterous. Imagine the magazines, Vogue, Gotham Gazelle, all the ones that regularly wrote about the world's most famous and glamourous, writing about Dick Grayson the trained vigilante. A cover of him curled on himself in the Court's aviary, the heading claiming 'Gotham's Son: Hidden Assassin? More on page 7!'

But whatever, priorities. His mind berated him for wallowing.

A bird sat before him, some far back thought said it was a spotted owl, and it stared at him with a twitchy head.

Dick slowly breathed out, uncoiling himself from his sitting position. He held a hand out, just barely away from his torso. The bird glanced between him and the hand, thinking.

It fluttered up, walking along his forearm and preening. Pushing at his hand and lightly nibbling at his arm and sleeve, the bird edged up onto his bicep, nibbled at his ear and Dick snickered. The bird nuzzled his hair a bit, climbed onto his head and seemed to consider making a nest up there, but decided to come back and grab hold of his hood, sitting half on his shoulder, half in the folds of the hood. It moved its wings slightly and cooed.

"I'll think of a name for you later," Dick mumbled, starting toward the door.

As he began climbing the bird seemed happy to sit, but once he opened the hatch it flew up onto the ground. Dick stood, finally completely exiting the hatch. He closed it behind him, making sure it didn't lock.

"Okay, reckon you can show me the way?" he asked, staring at the bird.

He began walking and the bird followed after him, cosying up once again on his shoulder.

Just as before the tunnel seemed like a sewer, but there was no water. But was also old. He'd been in Gotham's sewers before (a statement he'd never openly admit to most) and they were... different. He didn't know what it was, maybe there was a difference in the architecture?

Whatever, the bird guided him much the same way Matilda did, albeit with a lot less squawking. There were several turns and corners and crossroads, and he knew that if it weren't for his guide he'd be lost.

Eventually he came to what seemed from a distance to be a dead end, but at the side of the tunnel was a crack, uneven and jagged. The owl drifted through and Dick turned sideways to climb across, there was a platform halfway up the crack so he had to prop himself up onto the decently high step up and lean down while moving sideways. The rocks left moss and tiny gravel on his jumper, but he came out on an old abandoned rail line, likely directly connected to the train station he'd started at.

The train station with all his crap. Dick sighed, how much more underground exploration did he have to go through?

Very little, apparently, because as he turned down the tunnel it opened up, the rail open to the sky and grass and dirt slowly overgrowing the tracks. The bird flew off, squawking as it explored the skies momentarily. It then settled back on Dick's shoulder with a hoot.

'okay, that was fun, nap time," it seemed to say.

It seemed to be early afternoon, and if the signs of city in the distance were any indication the station was probably along the rail in the direction he was going.

He needed his crap and he needed a place to crash for the night. He set off in what he hoped was the direction of the station.

A/N

so, long chapter. i couldn't have it shorter, it'd be too short. then this is too long. I don't know man, whatever.

also, you may become attached to this birb.

and, this chapter's cliche? Dick now has a power. that's a common one, but i couldn't be bothered to do it the way most fics do it. so now Dick has a healing ability, woooooo.

Queen Matilda of Flanders was the wife and Queen Consort of William the I, commonly known as William the Conqueror. When William set off to Conquer England, Matilda put her own funds into the construction of a ship, titled the Mora, for him to sail in. Wiliam just kinda... gave her Normundy, in return. while he was off conquering places, she held down the fort. no uprisings or unrest occured under her leadership.

also, i did some research. William's son was THE Gray Son, hence the family name being Grayson not Cobb. and the circus was not just where they chose future Talons, but also where they were trained. John Grayson, Dick's dad, was supposed to train and prepare future Talons for when they were taken in by the court.

and, yes, Mary Grayson was a thief. only a petty thief if i believe, not some crazy mastermind. but that's my headcanon.

The Alan Wayne Trust is a thing in Gotham. When investigating the court Bruce finds that a lot of the buildings under the trust have secret entrances to the court. Alan Wayne did in fact pretty much build Gotham, and he was a member of the court.

also the other bridge mentioned last chapter? Wycliffe bridge? the name is from someone involved with the court, just like Cobb.

anyway, that's enough trivia, see ya!