Chapter 241
Robin sat cross-legged near the window, the blade of his katana drawn across the whetstone in slow, even strokes, the sound the only thing in the room he was actually listening to. Pawniard crouched beside him, blades folded flat, watching the motion the way Robin watched everything, without blinking. On the far side of the room, Raven sat with her legs folded under her and her eyes closed, Misdreavus hovering an inch off her shoulder, both of them still enough to pass for furniture.
Across the room, Beast Boy and Cyborg were locked into a fight neither of them looked ready to lose, controllers gripped like they mattered more than anything else in the tower. Rockruff paced at Beast Boy’s feet, barking every time his side scored a hit, and Whismur pressed itself into the couch cushion beside Cyborg like the noise from the screen was already too much for it.
“That’s cheating.”
Beast Boy didn’t look away from the game.
“You can’t combo like that, that’s not even a real move.”
“It’s a real move if it works, and it worked.”
Cyborg’s thumbs didn’t slow down.
“Rockruff, back me up here.”
Rockruff barked once, at nobody in particular.
“See, that’s unanimous.”
Starfire sat on the floor between Togepi and Silkie, holding one in each hand and turning them slightly toward each other like she was introducing old friends.
“Silkie, this is Togepi. Togepi, this is Silkie.”
She beamed at both of them.
“You are both very small and very precious, and I believe you shall get along beautifully.”
Togepi chirped once, curious. Silkie responded by trying to chew on its own shell.
“No, Silkie, that is Togepi’s shell, it is not food.”
Starfire pried her pet’s mouth open gently and freed the shell. Silkie let out a mournful coo and flopped sideways into her lap.
“Careful, Star.”
Cyborg didn’t look over from his game.
“Last time those two got close, Silkie tried to eat the charm off Togepi’s Poké Ball.”
“That was one time.”
“That we know about.”
The room’s main screen cut to static, then resolved into the Bat-symbol, and every sound stopped at once. Beast Boy’s controller hit the floor. Rockruff went quiet mid-bark.
“Titans.”
Batman’s voice filled the room before his image had even fully resolved.
“Ultron has resurfaced. Multiple cities are already under attack, simultaneous strikes, coordinated.”
Starfire’s hands tightened around Togepi and Silkie both, pulling them closer without seeming to notice she’d done it. Raven’s eyes opened, and she set both feet flat on the floor, her gaze fixed on some point past the screen, already running through something none of them could see. Beast Boy and Cyborg exchanged one look and said nothing, which was rarer from either of them than either would admit.
Robin’s mind was already moving through the tower’s deployment routes before Batman finished the sentence, sorting through which of them put a jet in the air fastest, which League contacts would already be coordinating airspace.
“I need the Titans holding Jump City. Full lockdown, civilian protection first, nobody deploys outside city limits until I say otherwise.”
Cyborg’s jaw worked once before he caught himself. Beast Boy opened his mouth and then, for once, didn’t say anything at all.
Robin set the whetstone down without looking at it.
“The League and the Titans working the same target would move faster than splitting the response in two.”
“The League will handle Ultron directly. Hold your city, Robin.”
“We have trained for exactly this. Pawniard alone would be an asset against a target like Ultron.”
“Noted. Hold your city.”
The words weren’t unkind, but they weren’t negotiable either, and Robin had heard that particular flatness in Batman’s voice enough times across enough years to know arguing further would only cost him ground he’d need later. He didn’t push a third time.
“Understood.”
The Bat-symbol cut out, and the screen behind it snapped back to the paused game, Beast Boy’s character frozen mid-jump, absurd against the quiet that followed.
Nobody moved for a second. Then Cyborg set his controller down on the couch, careful, like it might break something if he did it too fast.
“So that’s it? We just sit here while the actual fight happens somewhere else?”
“We hold Jump City.”
Robin was already on his feet, sheathing the katana in one motion, Pawniard rising with him like the two of them shared a single set of instructions.
“That is the assignment. We treat it as one.”
“I didn’t say we wouldn’t.”
Cyborg’s voice had an edge to it that hadn’t been there five minutes ago.
“I just said it sucks.”
“It does.”
Robin didn’t offer anything past that. The order stood as given, unsoftened, and he crossed to the console at the far wall and started pulling up Jump City’s grid, sector by sector, the way he’d pull up any operation that needed staging rather than improvising.
Starfire was still holding Togepi and Silkie both, closer to her chest now than she had been a minute ago.
“Friend Robin. Will the city truly be in danger, or is this merely a precaution?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Robin gave her the true answer anyway, knowing it wasn’t what she wanted to hear. He’d learned a long time ago that honesty served people better than comfort did, even when it cost him something to give it.
“We’ll know more once we’re in position.”
Raven was already standing, Misdreavus drifting to settle near her shoulder again.
“Then we should be in position.”
“Agreed.”
The team started moving without needing more than that, Beast Boy scooping up Rockruff, Cyborg pocketing Whismur’s ball with more care than his earlier bravado had suggested, Starfire tucking Togepi against her side while Silkie wound itself contentedly around her wrist. Robin watched them fall into motion and stayed exactly where he was a second longer than the task required, his own hands still on the console instead of already moving toward the hangar with everyone else’s.
He’d wanted the fight. Batman had given him a perimeter instead, dressed up in language about civilian protection and full lockdown that was true and necessary and still, underneath all of it, a way of keeping him somewhere the actual danger wasn’t. Robin had spent years being told he wasn’t ready for the thing directly in front of him, and every time, the telling came wrapped in something reasonable enough that arguing with it made him sound like he hadn’t understood the reasoning at all.
He understood the reasoning, and not for one second did he believe it was the whole of it.
Pawniard fell into step beside him as he headed for the hangar, blades still folded, patient in the specific way it had been trained to be. Robin didn’t slow down to acknowledge it. He didn’t need to. The two of them had long since stopped requiring that kind of confirmation from each other, and right now a city needed staging and an order needed executing cleanly enough that when the moment finally came to prove he’d deserved more than this, nobody would be able to say he hadn’t done the smaller job first, and done it right.