The Revolution Will Not Be Televised

The Revolution Will Not Be Televised.

I cannot believe that no one else has done this yet.

--

Chapter One: Prologue.

"What'cha got there, 'Wing?"

Nightwing started on the sofa, and span around to see a grinning green countenance.

Note to self: Changeling can still sneak up on you. Work on this.

"Nothing," he replied cagily, and inwardly smacked himself in the face. If there was anything he could have said to increase his verdant teammate's curiosity, that had probably been it.

"Well, if it's nothing, then you won't mind me looking, will you?" retorted Changeling, grinning as he spoke.

Nightwing's hand reflexively twitched towards his utility belt. One smoke pellet might distract Gar for long enough for Nightwing to vault over the sofa and...

...and get pestered by Gar later, probably in front of the others. He couldn't have that- in his current state of mind, he was far too likely to let something slip. Slowly, he uncurled his fist from around its contents, revealing to Changeling a small velvet box.

"Dude...is that what I think it is?" Changeling blinked.

"No Gar, it isn't edible," Nightwing riposted, with a smirk.

Gar's fingers snaked out, snatching the box from his leader's unresisting palm, and deftly popped it open. His eyes lit up as he examined the contents, and his face twitched into a broad, slow grin.

Nightwing ran his fingers through his long hair. "Yep. Gonna ask her any day now."

Gar flipped the box closed and returned it to Nightwing, before punching his leader on the arm.

"Way to go, dude. It's good to have something to celebrate for a change, 'specially after..." his voice trailed off as he contemplated the end of his sentence.

Nightwing peered into the coffee table. "Yeah." Two months was too soon. It was never going to vanish, he knew, time wasn't going to erase the fact that there was a great big Wally-shaped hole in the universe, but two months was too soon.

Gar blinked, and grinned. "Oh boy, Rae's gonna love being a bridesmaid. Bet'cha Star's gonna make her wear pink." And just like that, the mood was broken.

Nightwing smirked, once again, at the image of Raven in a pink dress, black power trailing destruction wherever she went.

"If she did, Raven would probably find some way to blame you."

Gar shrugged, unconcerned. "Probably because it would be my fault." With that, he plonked his feet on the coffee table, and, with an extraordinary display of muscle control, used his foot to flip the remote high into the air and right into his waiting hand.

Nightwing shook his head as Gar began flipping through channels. "You spend way too much time here."

Gar studiously ignored him, instead concentrating in delivering a concise critique of the selection of shows available.

"Crap...crap...crap...crap...ooh, Clash of the Planets! ...Wait, this is one of the prequels. Crap...crap...cr- oww! Dude, that hurts!"

Nightwing didn't release his grip on Changeling's arm. "Go back a second."

"But everyone with taste knows that 'Clash of the Planets: The Spectral Nuisance' sucks-"

"Go back to CNN. Now," Nightwing replied tonelessly.

Click.

"- killed earlier today in an attempt to launch a thermonuclear strike against China. So far, Superman has been unavailable for interview, although he has scheduled a press conference for tomorrow. The Vice-President earlier today released this statement:

'President Luthor had, for some months now, been displaying erratic behaviour, but none of us believed he was incapable of doing his job. We have to apologise to the American people for our lack of vigilance, and thank the Justice Lords for their timely intervention...'"

"Dude...what the...?" Gar breathed.

Nightwing didn't respond, instead running over to the wall and activating the alert.

--

Several hours after the announcement, the Titans had gathered in the main room. Cyborg was attempting to make dinner, but he was possessed of a distracted air, and he had been stirring the same pan of sauce for twenty-five minutes. The others were draped around the room, surrounded by varying auras of thoughtfulness, all of which were shattered when a cowled visage appeared on the enormous viewscreen.

Nightwing jerked to his feet, and stared at the face of his erstwhile father, blown up to ridiculous proportions.

"What do you want?" Nightwing asked, with customary tact.

"You have seen the reports, I presume."

"Yeah. What of it?"

"We need you back in Gotham."

"What?!" Nightwing's hands balled into fists, and he leant forwards, his teeth a solid wall of enamel.

"It's time for a change of pace."