A/N: Thanks to
“Beyond Batman”
Chapter Two
The laser pointed directly into the back of the raven-haired man’s neck, and the figure’s finger twitched upon the trigger, rubbing the smooth metal back and forth, back and forth. Derek Powers had taken away Bruce Wayne’s son. Why shouldn’t he return the favor?
He knew why as he kept his laser trained to the back of Paxton Powers’s head. He knew why as he felt the same done to him. He knew why as he saw the evening edition on Paxton’s end table, and he turned, firing one quick shot and hitting his own assassin in the shoulder. He knew why as he jumped off the edge of the building and launched toward the apartment to snatch the newspaper, even as Paxton slept.
He knew why as a small smirk crinkled the sides of his cheeks, and he lifted the phone receiver.
*^*^*
The stone wasn’t massive, like Terry half-expected. Though Mr. Wayne attempted to surpass every emotion, he knew from Tim’s words and from his own experiences that Mr. Wayne was an intense man. If he truly loved Dick Grayson like Tim said, like Terry knew Bruce loved Tim, like he knew to even some extent Mr. Wayne felt about him, then he thought he’d see a memorial, a monument, an eternal flame or something, not just a simple stone that rose to Drake’s waist, abandoned to the elements, with nothing more than a dried rose at its feet from what seemed like last year.
The only aspect of the stone that at all seemed unusual was its placement—on the very edge of the hill, perched to jump into the open air. From this height, Terry was sure one could see it from the living room of the manor, probably even from the seat Mr. Wayne took his coffee in every morning.
Oh, God.
Terry didn’t dare to say anything when Tim stopped and stared at the gravestone. He watched as the confident, calm physicist deteriorated to a sniffling, vulnerable little brother. Though he didn’t wail and fall to his knees, he crossed the ten feet to the stone’s edge and tugged his hand free from its glove. Crouching, he wiped the snow from the stone with his bare hand to reveal “Grayson” across the middle with smaller letters reading “Richard John” situated on top.
Across the bottom read “Favored Child, Loving Brother, Born to Fly.”
How could one person have such an effect upon others, so much so that—
“This was why Bruce gave up being the Batman, Terry. This was the real reason.”
*^*^*
Before:
Coming back from the dead wasn’t as easy as it looked. One didn’t just wake up. One felt an almost unbearable ache, just in the edge of consciousness that became blaring throbs as one entered the land of cognizance. A low groan escaped his mouth, and what lights infiltrated his eyelids were covered by a cold shadow.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
The voice, so demanding and frosty, reminded Bruce of himself, and he had hoped to avoid this.
He should have known better. Dick was too good. He should have known that, too. He trained the boy, and the boy—no, the man was surpassing him.
He fought the unfathomable heaviness of his eyelids to crack them open and see Dick’s angered scowl. The younger man shook his head and rolled his eyes. “You didn’t let go of the rope, did you? You passed out.”
Bruce wiped his cowlless face and grunted as he heaved himself—not easily—into a sitting position, his legs dangling over the edge of the bed. “The—The CEOs…Ivy—”
Dick crossed his arms over his chest, the man once more dressed in his Nightwing uniform sans his mask. “That can wait.”
“Did you get them—?”
“Damnit, Bruce!” Dick lifted a yellow folder and slapped it on the table top. “What the hell did you think you were doing?”
Snatching his cowl off the side table, Bruce pulled it over his head. “The mission is—”
“There are more important things than the mission.”
Bruce pushed to feet slowly and straightened his back to be taller than Dick and glare into the younger man’s stony eyes. When did Dick perfect the Bat Glare? “There is nothing more important than the mission.”
“Really? Is that so?” Dick challenged, giving chase. “Then why am I not in a suit more often?”
Batman disappeared into the wardrobe closet. “Because you’re a distraction. All partners are.”
“Really? Is
that so?” the boy’s voice raised in an octave or two. “Then why is Ivy in
custody, her plant monster being donated to the
Batman strapped on his cloak.
“By the way,” Dick added, leaning against the wardrobe’s doorway with crossed arms and ankles, “Ivy’s in a coma from some sort of poisoning from her own monsters. Apparently, she breathed in too much oxygen... I dunno. They think it will be a long time before she recovers, though.”
“What is your point, Dick?” Batman growled.
“My point is: Going out even on patrol, you risk your life.”
“It’s my risk to make.”
Dick’s hand clamped down on Bruce’s shoulder. “That’s not good enough.”
Batman slapped the hand away. “If you don’t like it, you know where the door is.”
Heading toward his seat, Batman stopped short at the retort.
“No.”
Batman glared over his shoulder. “What?”
Dick’s fiery eyes practically burned the skin from his face as he walked forward and met Batman’s strong front. “No. I’m not giving you the easy way out. You snap at me, I storm away, and then you go back to the streets and die. Sorry, ain’t happening.”
Batman took a half-step back. “You think you can—”
“You think the Batman is infallible, Bruce, and he’s not—”
“I’m not going to listen—”
“Damnit, Bruce! You have heart disease! You almost had a heart attack last July you’ve managed to keep out of the media and from your family!” Dick split the truth out openly between them. “And if you won’t recognize it and deal with it, then I will. From now on, I’m joining you.”
Batman narrowed his eyes threateningly. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Dick sent Batman a brash smile and crossed his arms over his chest in a rebellious manner. “I have over two decades, coupled with a healthy heart, and speed—yes, speed—on you, so yes, I think I have a good chance of beating you. And hey, it’s my risk to—ow!”
Batman released Dick’s elbow. “I can stop you.”
“I’m not asking you to stop me, Bruce. I’m asking you to trust me.”
“Trust you?” The question was simply absurd. If he trusted anyone in this life, it was Dick Grayson.
By the growing
smile on the boy’s face, Dick knew it, too. “Bruce, you gave me an ultimatum
not to be a crimefighter in
Batman arched an eyebrow. “Do what?”
“Watch
A sinking, queasiness swirled in the Dark Knight’s stomach. “No.”
Dick hesitated; his voice hardly rose higher than a whisper. “Bruce…why don’t you want me out there with you? Is it because you’re afraid that something might happen to me or that you will no longer be able to stop it?”
Batman halted just before the Batcomputer’s chair and placed both his hands on the head rest. “I…I’m sorry…with what happened with Ivy. I—”
The black gloves curled around his back and clasped around his front, while a forehead pressed into his back. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“But—”
“It wasn’t your fault, Bruce, just like what happened to Tim wasn’t either.”
“The Joker—”
“The Joker was a mental case, deranged for his own reasons but beyond reason.”
“I shouldn’t have—After Ivy—”
Dick’s arms squeezed tighter. “What he did to Tim wasn’t because you failed Tim, just like if something were to happen to me now, it wouldn’t be.”
“I put you in that suit.”
“I wanted to be in it.”
“You were eight. You had no idea what you wanted.”
“I went after Zucco on my own, Bruce, and you know what they say. You don’t choose the job—”
“—the job chooses you,” Bruce finished, and he patted the boy’s hands.
Dick refused to let go.
*^*^*
“It does, you know?” Tim murmured, never lifting his eyes from his hand as his fingers danced across “Grayson” and filtered down to the words “Loving Brother.” “No matter how much we try to avoid it, no matter how many times we think we can just leave it behind—this job, it haunts you. There is no escape.”
*^*^*
Before:
“Are you…? Nah. I must be dreaming.”
Bruce swiveled in the Crays’ chair to furl an eyebrow at the thoroughly bedraggled Nightwing. The boy shed his mask to return the raised eyebrow.
“Are you…wearing jeans?”
Bruce looked down at the demin pants. “They grab certain areas tighter than I want, but they are rather comfortable.”
Dick collapsed in the second chair and lifted his feet onto the mainframe. His elbows hung off the sides, while now Bruce saw the tears across the shoulder blades and abdomen, but thankfully, there was no blood.
Just what had happened? Now he understood Dick’s frustration of not being able to see the fight.
“You look terrible.”
Dick cocked a half-smile and shrugged. “Without Batman on the streets, the criminals are starting to get ambitious. Nothing I can’t take care of, though.”
“How about this?” It was Bruce’s turn to raise a folder and slam it on the console. “Dick, this is suicide.”
The bluntness of the statement was enough to straighten Dick in his seat, and he averted his eyes, childlike annoyance glittering in them. “It’s necessary.”
“Don’t start with—”
Dick lunged forward to grab Bruce’s wrist. “I’m serious. With the new economic crisis, Powers Industries is downsizing—a quarter of a million employees by Christmas. Another quarter-million, Derek’s slicing their benefits. We’re talking medical, Bruce. We’re talking a half-million and their families without medical benefits. They’re not unionized, so they can’t fight back, and it’s better to have a job than not, so…”
“So, instead, you decide on a hostile takeover?” Bruce demanded.
Dick fell back into his seat. “He won’t talk merger, not the way my conscience will approve of, and I’m not going to see these people go under. Wayne Enterprises will take a hit. I won’t lie, but WayneTech is growing faster than we can usually hire with those new screens and computer consoles. Even if we have to make people secretaries for a little while with their current salary, no one will lose their jobs or their benefits.” He flashed his trademark overzealous grin. “Call it a Christmas present for every Powers employee—a new, humane boss and retention of their current economic status.”
Bruce hated when his gut complained. He knew what Dick said was true. He even agreed with the younger man, but something…it just didn’t sit well with him.
“You know Derek won’t let this fly. He’ll retaliate.”
Dick gave Bruce a feral grin. “Let him. He doesn’t know with whom he’s dealing.”
For some reason, Bruce believed Dick didn’t, either, but he’d trusted the man with the mission. It was now time to trust him with this section of the legacy, too. “If you want him, go get him.”
“Yes!”
“Speaking of the holidays—” Bruce knotted his fingers. “—aren’t you leaving for Tim’s soon? It’s Christmas Eve.”
“Wow. You noticed this year. It wouldn’t have anything to do with that gaudy tree I put in the corner a week ago, would it?” Dick thumbed to the rather straggly but shiny-leafed tree with a few flashy balls and a brilliantly gold angel on the very top. “And no. I thought I hang around the manor this year, maybe get you out of the cave for a little more than an eight-hour work day.”
Bruce shook
his head. “You should go. You’ve told me for years
Dick
practically fell out of his chair. “Wuh—What?”
Bruce swiveled in his. “You
heard me. You’ve worked very diligently since my…”
“—retirement,” Dick finished.
“—leave of
absence,” Bruce amended, “and you haven’t seen Tim since almost last Christmas.
Go.
Bruce heard the boy’s boots click upon the ground, but he didn’t expect the two hands in the crooks of his shoulders. “Come with me.”
“...I can’t. Not yet.”
“God, Bruce. Tim doesn’t blame you for what happened to him, and it hurts him more that you just keep avoiding him. He needs to know you don’t hate him, and…and you need to meet your first grandchild.”
Bruce closed his eyes. “Tim’s not my—”
“Oh, stop denying your responsibility.”
Only Dick could talk to him that
brash and be right, but…too much. It was just too much. He gave his first ward
to
“Next year.”
Dick eyed him skeptically. “Are you serious?”
Bruce nodded once. “Next year, I’ll invite them to the manor for Christmas. This year, though...” He patted Dick’s hand. “You better get going if you want to make Ivytown by dinnertime.”
“Okay, fine, but I’ll be back before midnight and make a final sweep of the city, and then come home, and we’ll celebrate Christmas together.”
Bruce glanced over his shoulder. “No, you—”
“You are getting out of this cave, Bruce,” Dick asserted and grabbed his mentor’s arm, lugging him out of the chair. “It’s Christmas, and like Alfred used to say, ‘It’s a time to be with family.’ So, you’re going to stay out of it until I get home, okay? Be in the light for a few hours with me.”
“But—”
Dick grabbed Bruce’s squirming arm and smiled. “It’s going to be okay, Bruce. Really.”
Bruce
halted a moment, his eyes scrutinizing every innocent feature on his eldest
ward’s face, the sight even
Extracting a poorly wrapped box, Bruce held it for a moment before taking a deep breath and handing it to Dick. “Don’t…Don’t open it yet. Wait until you’re alone, and then you make the decision.”
Dick’s eyes grew wild, and his mouth moved faster than Superman. “Is it a car? I know it’s a car. It is a car, isn’t it?”
Bruce slapped the man upside the head. “If you wanted a car, you should have told me.”
“Oh, sure, the master detective doesn’t know what his protégé wants for Christmas? Oh, yeah, that makes a whole lot of sense.”
“I’m not a mind-reader,” Bruce said as he climbed the stairs and stopped short at the very top.
“Sure, you wouldn’t let me use that excuse when I was Robin, but now—hey!”
Bruce barely jerked when the boy slammed into his back, and the warm arm curled about his shoulders. “You like? It’s like this throughout the manor,” Dick said.
Bruce had no answer as he saw the decorations—red and golden ribbon, silver garland, poinsettias lining his desk, and even the small tree in the corner, decorated with tinsel and red ribbons. He sniffed twice—it was real.
“How—How did you—?”
Dick shrugged and walked to lean on Bruce’s desk. “I called Wally and Clark and asked for a little help. The shopping, though, I did it all through Meredith, my personal assistant. She’s just awesome, and her Christmas bonus—I’m telling you, Bruce. She deserves more money in her paycheck than mine.”
Huffing, Bruce came to lean on his neck and looked about the room, at the decoration, anywhere but at Dick. “You’ll come back?”
He meant it as a sentence. Too bad it didn’t come out that way.
Dick elbowed him playfully in the side. “I’ll always come home, Bruce, but I’ll seriously leave again if I come home and find you toiling down in that cave without even a ‘Merry Christmas’—and don’t say it now. Wait until I get back with your present.”
Bruce finally met the boy’s eyes. “You lie.”
Dick tried to keep a straight face, but somehow, the smile persisted until it brightened his entire face. “Yeah, I do. After all, if I left, who the hell would hire me to be the CFO of their company? Derek Powers?”
*^*^*
Standing on the very top of the chimney, the figure moved in one fluid movement, jumping off the brick and sliding down the sloping roof. The first assassin perched upon the manor’s arches never heard his arrival.
One down. A hundred or so to go.
*^*^*
Before:
Dick’s fork clinked against his plate. “Stephanie, you’ve outdone yourself again.”
The younger woman with curly blond hair twisted up into a ponytail smacked him in the back of the head as she reached for his plate. “You say that every year, and every year, it’s a crock.”
He snatched the empty plate from her hands. “Uh, no. Every year you tell me I’ll do the dishes next year, and each year, I never do them. This year, I’m taking the initiative.”
“A man who cleans up after dinner?” Tim Drake laughed as he stood and helped to clear the table. “Now, why aren’t you married yet? Oh, that’s right. You wear socks with sandals.”
“Oh, Tim, when a woman is in love, there is no stopping her, even if the man does have a horrible fashion sense,” the elder woman said across the table, wiping her face in the napkin before leaning over the baby in his highchair, his black hair and blue eyes granting him the lore of a Bat-child.
Dick almost
had laughed when the hair came in. None of them were related biologically to
Bruce, but for some reason, every single one of them—and now their
children—looked like a
“Thank you, Mrs. Brown…I think…” Dick ruffled the boy’s hair and granted the baby a kiss on the cheek before disappearing into the kitchen. Even as he started the facet, he heard the socked feet glide across the tiles. “Your son is adorable, Tim.”
“Yeah, well, Jack looks like me but takes after Steph—cute and wrapping people around his little pinkie.” Tim placed the large stack of plates and serving trays into the sink and leaned back on the counter to push up on it. “You’re really not staying tonight?”
“I can’t.
Big hostile takeover going down, and I need to be in
Tim cast him a worried gaze. “You think it’ll be that bad?”
Dick shrugged. “Debatable, but it needs to be done, Tim. I can’t just sit back and let Derek Powers do that to his own employees.”
“Derek Powers?” Tim echoed. “The same Derek Powers who just laid off my wife?”
“Really?” Shaking off the excess water from a plate, Dick met the man’s eyes with a wink. “I didn’t realize Steph lost her job.”
“Sure you didn’t, but that doesn’t have to be done tonight, does it? You’re going back to be with Bruce, aren’t you?”
“He invited you and Steph and the family to the manor for Christmas next year.”
Tim’s pouting immediately shifted to disbelief. “What?”
Dick met his shocked expression with a smile. “Yepper. I think he just wants to make sure you’ll be safe, and the Batman Curse won’t get you again.”
“Oh, yeah? And how is he testing that?” Tim asked as he reached over and snatched the TV remote from a holder on the counter.
“Let’s just say that he’s trying something new, and if it works out, then—”
The TV clicked on.
“—not sure
how many causalities yet in latest outbreak of
“It’s such
a good thing you decided to move out of
Dick didn’t even hear her as the plate slipped through his suddenly numb fingers and shattered upon the tiles.
“Oh, dear!” Mrs. Brown exclaimed, but Dick was already moving toward the door. “Tim, I’m so sorry, but I just remembered that the takeover meeting with the Board of Directors was tonight.”
“On Christmas Eve?” Stephanie asked, carrying the cooing Jack in her arms.
“Well, you know, the job of a CFO is never done.” Dick scooped her into his arms, mindful of Jack, and then kissed the baby on the head. “Thank you for a wonderful time, and I hope you all can come to Wayne Manor next year. Mrs. Brown.” Slapping the slightly shorter man on the back, Dick let out a sigh. “Tim, as always—”
“Oh, no you don’t.” Tim snagged Dick’s wrist and dragged him out of the room, even as Mrs. Brown bent down to pick up the broken plate and muttered, “No wonder he’s not married yet.”
Dick followed with little resistance, but as they detoured toward Tim’s study, Dick wrangled his arm away. “Tim, I really don’t have time for—”
“Tell me you are not getting into that chaos, Dick. Promise me you’re not doing what I think—”
Swiping his hand, Dick pivoted. “Tim, I don’t—”
Years out of the suit left Tim Drake’s attacks slow and predictable, but Dick allowed the younger man to grab his shoulder and thrust him into the hallway wall. “—if you finish that with ‘time for this,’ I swear I’ll off you now instead of leaving you to those gangbangers.”
Dick grabbed Tim’s forearms and rubbed them. “It’s okay, Tim. Really.”
The younger man body shook as he continued to force Dick into the wall. “I thought you got out of the business. I thought you rose above it.”
A sad smile contoured Dick’s face. “I’m different from you. I do my day job, but it’s not who I am. You were strong enough to leave the business and start a family. I could never do that. This is my destiny.”
“You think I don’t think about the job every day, Dick?”
“We don’t change, Tim. We might change colors and outfits, but we remain the same. This life—It comes to the broken and the malcontent, but you—you escaped it, retained your sanity, and became stronger because of it. I—I never did.”
Tim held Dick at an arm’s length. “Dick, you’re not insane.”
“Do you know any sane person who dresses up like it’s Halloween every day to fight crime?”
“Perhaps it’s the only way to stay sane. I miss it, Dick. Every day. And when I see a bank robbery or hear a scream—”
“Why don’t you do it anymore, Tim? What stops you?”
“I can’t risk it with Jack and Steph. If someone were to find out my identity—”
Dick smiled and hit up Tim’s chin. “Exactly. You have a family, Tim.”
“So do you, Dick. Don’t ever think differently.”
Dick reached out to wipe the tear that somehow dribbled down Tim’s cheek and pulled his younger brother into a strangling embrace. “I know, kiddo. I know, and next year, we’re all going to be together for Christmas. You, Jack, Steph, Bruce, and—”
“—and Barbara?”
Dick hit the boy’s chin up. “Don’t push your luck.”
“You’re…You’re the thing Bruce is trying out, aren’t you?”
Dick averted his eyes. He just couldn’t tell the boy how close he and Bruce had become when Bruce still wouldn’t even glance Tim’s way.
“Fine, be an ass, but just promise me one thing,” Tim practically begged, his arms curled about Dick’s torso tighter. “You’ll come back...right?”
“Promise, kiddo. You won’t be able to keep me away.”
*^*^*
Even after all the years that passed, Tim pressed his forehead warmth against the cold stone, hoping to feel the heat he lost when Dick pried himself away.
“Liar…”
*^*^*
Before:
Once Dick finally made it to his car, he only stopped at the sudden bright light reflecting off the low-hanging clouds.
The Bat Signal.
It hadn’t been lit since Commissioner Gordon retired five years prior.
Dick suddenly felt his heart race, and he stared through his Ferrari’s window to see the package lying on the front seat—Bruce’s present.
His tongue pulled his bottom lip into his mouth as he opened the car door. He could barely breathe as he felt the heaviness of the present, which he should have realized earlier. His body went numb as he tore open the wrapping paper and opened the box. His heart stopped thumping as he saw the redesigned Bat insignia—red, like his former Robin tunic, sleek like his Nightwing persona. He pulled the Kevlar suit out of the packaging and saw the lack of cape, the red wings that would open to allow him to glide—no, they would allow him to fly with the boosters.
And the cowl—the cowl was lined with electronics to let Bruce see what he saw.
Bruce was giving up the mantle.
Dick looked up at the signal in the sky.
Perhaps it was time Batman answered it.
*^*^*
“...what happened?” Terry finally ventured to ask.
Tim couldn’t stop the onslaught of tears. Even after all these years.... “I don’t know.”
*^*^*
Before:
“Flight capabilities but can’t connect with a Bluetooth?” Dick whispered as he landed effortlessly upon the edge of the roof just behind the two women standing to the side of the illuminated Bat Signal. The first he knew from his years as the Dark Knight’s squire. Though gray streaks now ran through her unfathomably black hair and a hardness from years of police procedures and experiences cast her deliberate movements, Renee Montoya could still whip a gun faster than anyone on the force—excluding her partner on the roof.
Batman thankfully didn’t take a step back at the sight of her, even from behind. The fierce red hair still bounced when she shifted her weight from one foot to the other in anticipation. Her body was as vivacious as ever, and in her long brown trench coat and a pair of slacks, she still stole his breath.
He shook his head. No. He couldn’t go there now.
He jumped down from the ledge. “You called, Commissioner.”
Both women jumped at his sudden address, and he had to fight back the smirk wanting to cross his features, especially at the annoyed expression on Barbara’s bright face.
Oh, even after all these years, she was still just as beautiful now as she was back then.
“I’d heard rumors of Nightwing’s
reemergence in the
He’d been Bruce enough times to know the answer to that question—silence. He simply stared at her, never moving, never blinking. Absolutely silent.
Like always, the other person cracked first. “Whatever. I really don’t care as long as you can help us. Gordon?”
Barbara strode forward to thrust a folder in Batman’s hands. “The past two nights various heads of the Jokerz and the Young Skulls gangs have been murdered. We suspect it is by the same assassin as a ploy to lore them into a gang war.”
Flipping through the file, Batman confirmed their suspicions. All the suspects were beaten to death with various methods—broken necks, nerve strikes, cracked skulls. Not one was done by a gunshot, how these gangs were known to operate.
“You have no motive.”
“Exactly,” Montoya agreed. “As far as our intel can find, neither group was looking for a war nor stepping over the unofficial borders of the gang territories.”
“A distraction then.”
“Yes, but for what?” Barbara asked.
Before Batman could answer, a crackling shout resounded from Montoya’s radio. “Sir, sir! We have a Five Alarm Fire in progress!”
Montoya grabbed the device off her waist and put it to her face as she dashed toward the door. “Where?”
“The Projects, sir! Eyewitness reports say the Jokerz started it!”
“On my way!” Montoya’s voice already sounded distant by the time she entered the stairwell.
Batman met Barbara’s eyes. He would have quipped, “Wow, that’s the first time a commissioner disappeared on me,” but he wasn’t Nightwing. He was Batman, and Batman didn’t quip.
As her eyes softened, he pivoted his back toward her and headed toward the ledge.
When she finally spoke, her voice sounded like sandpaper scratching against a jagged surface. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Batman hopped on the little incline before the twenty-story drop to the street. “My job.”
“You’re smarter than this. You know that suit is nothing but a death sentence. You should have known better than to let Bruce suck you back into his demented world.”
“Says the girl who wanted to be in it.”
Even staring straight ahead, he could practically see her mouth drop open at the jab, and her boot heels clicked against the roof in a furious repetition. “That was before I knew the truth and what it took to be—”
“Detective Gordon, there are lives at stake. We don’t have time for—”
“Yeah, your life. Dick, what the hell—”
He whirled to point his finger at her. “Don’t call me that. Not in the suit.”
“Dammit, will you just listen to me! You’re the CFO of his company. Can’t you just honor his legacy in the daylight? Do you have to do this?”
Batman’s eyes fell upon her palpitating body and saw the concern glistening in her eyes. He didn’t know she cared so much—really. Not after Bruce and she broke up and she left the business and the darkness. He let out a short sigh. He saw her exit coming even before Bruce did. “You made your choice, Detective, as I have made mine.”
“But honoring my father’s legacy is legal and law-biding and—”
He shook his head and turned back toward the street. “Barbara, would you be asking me this if he were here instead of me?”
A frustrated growl reverberated in her throat, and she surprised even him with the speed of her attack. Clamping down upon his forearm, Barbara jerked him off the ledge and before he could protest, lifted his mask high enough to reveal his lips.
And she pressed hers against his.
It only took a second for him to savor her touch once more, relish her taste—the peach lip gloss she used—and her warmth as she leaned her body against his. It was like the years hadn’t passed, and they were once more college sweethearts.
A violent
explosion ripped through the south side of
Even though he knew she was talking about the explosion, her sediment echoed his thoughts about their embrace.
Three
minutes later, he landed on the very edge of
Dick put two fingers to the cowl’s left side. “Hey, Bruce, it’s me. You there…? No, of course not. You’re probably upstairs, listening to me for the first time. Well, I’m heading inside the projects, so as of now—Combat Log Zero-Zero-One. The Jokerz and the Young Skulls are embroiled in a gang war for unknown reasons, and it has sparked a five-alarm fire in the projects. I’m heading in.”
Less than an hour later, with smoke still drifting up from his uniform, Batman handed off the two children—one with his rebreather—into the firemen’s arms. He accepted the nod from the chief, who mouthed, “Good to have you back,” and only nodded in return before hitting his thrusters. Three-hundred-and-ninety-four people he and the firemen had saved from a building with over four hundred.
Not acceptable.
Ducking his head, Batman hit off the thrusters to crash through the burning window, let the fire roll over his back, and dove into a forward roll. As he regained his feet, his frantic eyes ricocheted about the inferno for any sign of life, and he finally caught sight of a shadow disappearing from the apartment into the hallway.
“Wait!” he yelled, rushing after the person. “I’m here to help—guh!”
A foot came at him as soon as he exited the apartment, and with the momentum, he crashed backward into the apartment. The burning floor gave way underneath him, and the second floor—or was it the ground level—came too fast for him to hit his thrusters or throw a line. His back slammed into the hard surface, and he could barely move through the crippling pain, let alone flip onto his back. He needed to, though, as the blood caught in his throat and threatened to choke him.
The smoke finally began to infiltrate his nostrils, causing the coughs to become ever more violent, even as the person landed directly before him, the black boots nondescript.
“Hello, Disciple of the Bat.”
The unemotional voice chilled Batman to the core.
“Derek Powers sends his regards.”
*^*^*
Bruce sat in the chair in his study, going over the numbers for the year-end close-outs once more. Every so often he would look up in hopes of seeing the faint lights of a Ferrari against the driveway, unbeknownst that below, Dick’s imploring voice broke with desperation as the fiery scene projected on the monitor was only interrupted by a black fist or boot.
“Bruce, come in! Bruce—”
The desperate plea gave way to static.
*^*^*
“I don’t
think Bruce even knows,” Tim admitted softly as the snow mounted upon his
shoulders and flushed his face. “That’s what did him in, Terry. There are only
two cases he couldn’t solve—his parents’ murder and his son’s.”
*^*^*
Before:
Bruce scowled as he slammed the
phone receiver down, this time actually breaking the holder. He looked at the
sparking cords and the shattered plastic before his eyes drifted outside to
where the smoke filtered up from what appeared to be the far side of
Especially as Summer Ryder read no deaths occurred in the apartment building.
Especially as she said no one had seen the Batman in almost three hours.
He broke his promise and retreated to the Batcave, where no one would know he clutched his heart the moment the static showed, where no one other than Barbara would know he almost died that night, where no one would know he pushed her away, grabbed his old suit even through the convulsion—only to see the new cowl pinned to the Nightwing suit by a knife.
*^*^*
Tim tried to tear his eyes off the muted TV as Jack opened another present under the tree, but he still watched as Summer Ryder informed that no one had seen the masked vigilante after he helped to rescue residences of an apartment complex. Firefighters saw the person disappear and never come out.
God, Dick…he looked toward the phone. One call. He’d make the call after all these years. He needed to know, and Bruce would just have to deal with that.
As he pushed off the chair to stand when a dull rapping sounded on the glass porch door. Tim turned to see no one there, but he knew better.
“Honey?” Stephanie asked, holding Jack in her lap.
Tim waved her off as he tied his robe closed and headed outside. “I think I saw Mrs. Cravits’s dog in our yard again. I’ll be right back.”
She opened her mouth to protest—This was Jack’s first Christmas—but that tone in his voice—the one got he only during the most dire circumstances—told her not to.
Tim silently thanked her for that. As he opened the porch door, he saw the figure in the tree just beyond his deck, draped in the shadows as best as he could be, dressed in his old gray and black Bat suit.
“They say black cats are bad luck. What do they say about bats?” Tim wondered.
“Dick’s missing, probably worse,” Batman declared stoically.
“Wow. All heart, even after all these years. And here I thought I might actually talk to a Bruce Wayne who cared.”
“I thought you would want to know.”
“I do, but y’know, there were times when I was a kid that you’d actually feel something.”
Batman stood now and moved to jump from the tree when Tim growled. “What happened? At least tell me that.”
Something dropped into Tim’s hands—a cowl, black and lined with electronics…with a slash in the forehead where a knife had stuck it to something, probably a cave wall.
A message.
“You gave him the suit?” Tim scrunched the cowl between his trembling fingers. “How could you? God, Bruce! What’s wrong with you?”
Batman jumped from the tree into another, but even he couldn’t escape Tim’s resounding shrieks, “He did this for you! Everything he ever did was for you, and this is how you repay him? By giving him a target to wear? Didn’t you think? You killed him, you bastard!” Tim sunk to his knees, tears dribbling from his chin as he clutched the cowl to his head. “You killed him!”
*^*^*
“I said some things I’m not proud of, blamed him for Dick’s death,” Tim whispered, “but Bruce wouldn’t have ever given Dick the suit, not without prompt. Dick wanted to be Batman, wanted to follow in Bruce’s footsteps, and—and it killed him.”
“Do you know he’s dead?” Terry asked, coming to stand just before the stone. “I mean, from the sound of it, Mr. Wayne never found his body.”
Tim bowed his head. “He has to be.”
“Why?”
“Because even when he was emancipated from Bruce or left for Bludhaven, he came home.” Tim muttered something in a foreign language before placing a hand upon the stone and using it to stand, like he’d used Dick so many times. After he dusted the snow from his knees, he turned to the younger man. “He always came home, and maybe that’s why Bruce let you become Batman, Terry. You’re like him, you know.”
Terry cocked his head to the side. “Say what?”
Tim allowed a ghost of a smile to cross his lips. “Why do you think I asked you up here? You needed to meet him, to know of him, because in some ways, you are him. You don’t let Bruce push you around—too much,” Tim relented. “You let your emotions rule you, and…and you’re Batman. I think—I think in some ways, Bruce thinks Dick would want you to wear that suit because you two are so much alike.”
Terry looked down at where the red symbol of the Bat usually covered his chest. “Mr. Drake—”
“Tim, please.”
“Tim,” Terry amended, as he looked back at the stone, its gray color almost lost to the white of the newly fallen snow, “do you think Mr. Wayne ever comes here?”
Tim followed his gaze with a deep frown. “I—I don’t know, Terry. Bruce wanted to remember what happened to his parents, but I think with Dick, he just wanted to forget. I guess we all did. I haven’t been up here in…oh, twenty years? The rose probably came from Barbara. She comes up here now and then. If Dick wouldn’t have disappeared…but he did, and in extension, so did our family.” Tim placed a hand on Terry’s shoulder. “Thanks for getting us back together.”
Blushing, Terry walked up to the stone, his eyes falling upon the wording. Just who was this Dick Grayson to have such an impact upon those around him? “I’m sorry I never got to know you, Mr. Grayson, but I won’t let you be forgotten again.” He patted the stone. “Rest in peace. I’ll watch over Mr. Wayne.”
*^*^*
As Tim and Terry made their way down the mountain, they never saw the dark figure detach itself from the shadows, a canine protector following its lead. They never saw it stagger toward the grave with a cane. They never saw the red rose dropped before the grave or the unshed tears in the man’s eyes. They never saw the elderly hand placed upon the stone’s top.
They would never know the boy was never forgotten, would never be forgotten for the rest of Bruce Wayne’s life.
He rubbed his thumb along the smooth granite and fought the urge to whisper into the wind. Next year, he promised himself for what was the thirty-second year. Next year, he would tell the boy finally.
As always…
Next year.
*^*^*
“Thank you all for coming,” Bruce said after a moment of hesitation. Sitting in a chair perpendicular to the two sofas of the living room, he met the eyes of everyone in the room. To the left sat Tim closest with Barbara next to him, still dressed in her black shirt, brown slacks, and even gun holster from her job. Both held goblets of eggnog. To his right, Terry sat on the edge of his seat, club soda his refreshment. Ace rested between Bruce and Terry, his head at Bruce’s feet.
“I know I am not the easiest person to know, and through the years, each and every one of us has had our differences.” His finger rubbed along the edge of his glass, and he stared, fixated upon the wine, before raising his eyes once more. “However, it is a pleasure to have the people I care most about together for Christmas Eve.”
“Is that what today is?” Tim jabbed. “Here I thought you called us up to work out your will once and for all.”
“Tim!” Terry hissed, but Barbara put a hand on the man’s knee.
“Oh, please. He probably hasn’t
changed that thing since Dick moved back to
“If you are done…?” Bruce fought back the smile. He couldn’t give them too much to tease him about. “May this become a tradition each year.”
“That is not an option.”
Ace leapt to his feet and growled. Tim, Barbara, and Terry’s heads snapped toward the sultry voice, but Bruce only had to narrow his eyes. A female, tall with a swimmer’s built and the charm of an Asian medieval princess, sauntered down the stairs of Wayne Manor, dressed an elegant black fighting suit with a blue-tinted belt. Her black hair tumbled down her back in a tight braid, while her onyx eyes glimmered with the mark of death.
Bruce struggled to rise to his feet with the help of his cane. “Shiva, I see the years have been kind to you.”
She stopped at the foot of the stairs and sent Barbara a tolerant glare, especially once the commissioner pulled her gun. “Immortality does that to a person.”
“And just how would you have achieved that?” Tim demanded, though he didn’t take a fighting pose. After all these years, he knew it wouldn’t do him any good.
Shiva
twitched her shoulder. “Deathstroke was more than willing to give his to me.
Eventually, he wanted to be with his children, though I doubt they felt the
same way. I can surmise you feel the same way, don’t you,
Realization as cold as ice slowed the blood in his veins. “…it was you.” he half-demanded, half-growled. After all these years, after all the pain and heartache, he only had one question. “Why?”
Shiva smirked at the tone of the Bat once more dictating his voice. “Derek Powers wanted the best, someone who could deliver death without leaving a trace. His money was more than generous, but that wasn’t why I took the task. I wanted to teach you not to lie to me. After I taught you, brought your body back to its peek capabilities, you failed your final exam. You didn’t kill.”
“I told you I would never be a killer, and instead you take an innocent boy’s life,” Bruce demanded.
“Your replacement was far from ‘innocent,’ and no, I didn’t take him.” A malevolent smile crossed her features. “I simply held onto him until the timing was right and made him into a killer. Right now, he’s tying up the ‘loose ends,’ as your Western assassins call them.”
“But why now?” Bruce asked. “After all these years…”
“Because Paxton hired me to finish you.”
Terry balled his fists and jumped in front of Bruce, but the older man put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “No. You can’t defeat her.”
“So I just let her kill you? Ain’t happening.”
“Especially since I’ll shoot her if she even moves,” Barbara challenged.
Shiva hardly blinked. “Children.”
As she lunged forward, Bruce tried to unhitch Terry, but with his age, he couldn’t do it alone. Resolved that another boy would not die for him, he snatched his cane and lifted its end to hit out Terry’s knees when the picture window shattered. A body fell lifelessly and landed smack on Shiva’s chest, flinging her to the bottom stair once more. A second body flew through the air, flipped end over end and landed just before the furniture, his back toward the group.
Long, raven black hair once more fell past his shoulders while his tanned skin hadn’t wrinkled with age. It remained smooth and young, like a man who was in the prime of his life. He wasn’t overly tall, barely five-ten, but he was still built and could overpower an enemy. The only part of his persona that wasn’t familiar was his uniform, which matched Shiva’s down to the blue-tinted belt.
The man smirked, while his hands remained fists at his thighs. “I believe that belongs to you, Shiva as does the other hundred or so littering the manor grounds.” Only then did he turned to the side, though his piercing blue eyes never left Shiva as she kicked the motionless man off her. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Yeah, by like thirty years,” Tim commented with a laugh.
Dick Grayson shrugged. “Hey, I made it, didn’t I?”
“What took you so long?” Barbara demanded.
Another shrug. “Cryogenic freezing does that to people, but enough about me. Is that a wedding ring I see? You just kissed me less than five hours ago!”
Tim gaped. “You kissed him?”
“Thirty years ago!” Barbara defended.
“It was five hours ago for me.”
“Oh, please. It couldn’t have been that short!”
“Okay, maybe it was more like a year because I had to get physical therapy to get my muscles working again, but prior to that, it was seriously five hours ago.”
Bruce watched the scene unfolding with a raised chin and a lingering smirk, which held as Dick finally broke his glare on Shiva to meet his eyes.
Dick had finally come home.
Like always, no words needed to be exchanged, even as Dick’s eyes lingered toward Ace, who sniffed the air to study the newcomer. Dick didn’t give him long before he looked back at Shiva once she rose to her feet.
“You defied me.”
“How stupid do you really think I am? Did you really think you were the first one to tell me Bruce was dead and that I should turn evil?” Dick chortled. “Please. My first year as Robin, I think that happened about a million times.”
Shiva lunged forward. “Then a fight to the death, is it?”
Dick followed her lead, but his attack position was slightly different, his hands closer to his face and chest to protect his body like Bruce had taught him. He accepted her blow his forearm, and she blocked his elbow with her palm. She twisted his arm until he screamed, and Bruce tapped Terry’s arm. Ace took the boy’s place as Bruce’s protector when Terry jumped forward, his knee connecting with Shiva’s face. The attack caused her to drop Dick’s arm, but she didn’t fall.
“You cannot hope to defeat me.”
“Doesn’t stop us from trying.” Dick winced and rubbed his shoulder before meeting Terry’s eyes. “Dick.”
“Terry.”
“Biological?”
“…what?”
“Later.” Dick vaulted to his feet and pitched forward before rolling into a handstand and using his momentum to scrap his boot heels across Shiva’s cheek. She hissed and sliced at Dick’s legs, but Terry intercepted the blow with a forearm and reciprocated with a kick. She caught his ankle under her arm and trapped the leg. The momentary distraction allowed Dick to elbow Shiva in the face, but as she fell, her legs kicked out both Terry’s, though Dick jumped over the attack. Shiva whirled to backhand Dick across the face, but a growling bark cut her concentration. Ace dove forward and sunk his teeth into her leg, and she hit him off with a swift punch to the gut. The momentary breather allowed Dick to kick her from behind, sending her to the floor ten feet away.
“Very good, Grayson,” Shiva complimented as she wiped the blood from her mouth and rose to her feet. “Perhaps if you lived long enough, you might one day rival me.”
“Perhaps,” Dick shrugged, watching closely as Terry moved toward the whining Ace, “but I really don’t have any want nor need to.”
As if on cue, police sirens wailed from the front of the manor, followed by the flashing lights.
“I called the police on my way over here, told them about a hit on Mr. Wayne by Paxton Powers. I printed out Paxton’s phone records, left a few key pieces of evidence in his apartment, with all of it pointed toward you, of course.”
Shiva’s smirk demonized. “And you believe simple men can stop me?”
“No,” he admitted with a shake of his head. “Not really, but I figure if you have to fight me and the newbie here along with the cops, there is a good chance one will be lucky enough to hit you. It won’t kill you, but it’ll slow you down enough to have you incarcerated. The League of Assassins won’t let you live and well, thems the breaks.”
Shiva straightened her back and after a moment of contemplation, bowed. “Well played, Disciple of the Bat. There is just one problem you didn’t account for.” Without warning, she lunged. “You are not immortal.”
A shot rang out.
Dick clutched his shoulder and collapsed to his knees, but Shiva stopped dead in her tracks. Even upon her pitch black suit, a red spot could be seen forming. Her devious eyes focused upon Barbara, who literarily held the smoking gun.
“Let’s to test that theory on you, shall we, Shiva?”
Without a word, Shiva crumpled to the ground—unmoving, at least for the moment.
*^*^*
After almost two hours of speaking to the police, Bruce finally staggered down the stairs to the cave, Ace at his side, as the sounds of younger days echoed once more. “You shot me!”
Barbara Gordon, leaning against the mainframe, swiped her hand. “Please. It was a flesh wound.”
Sitting in the Crays’ chair with a bandaged shoulder and a dark scowl, Dick shook his head. “You still shot me!”
“You were blocking the shot, Dick. Barbara had no choice,” Tim argued from the railing by the hanger.
“Oh, now you’re taking her side? Might I remind you who put you through college, huh? Was it Barbara? I think not!”
“Actually, that was me.”
The group swiveled toward Bruce and Ace as they came to the Crays, and Tim shot a glower at Dick. “Wait. You said—You said—”
“I said I’d get the money,” Dick said sheepishly, leaning back in his chair. “I didn’t say how.”
“Unbelievable…all this time, you couldn’t have told me?” Tim practically accused, but Bruce shrugged. It was over thirty years ago.
From the arm of Dick’s chair, Terry took in the whole scene with a mixture of awe and amusement while remaining silent. He didn’t need to interject. At the moment, he was simply observing. By the closeness the boy already had to Dick, Bruce knew the outcome. Though it might be painful for a time, Terry would give up the mantle for Dick and learn underneath him as Robin or Nightwing.
Dick, like always, was the first to notice his arrival and visibly relaxed, though Ace ambled ahead. His two paws smacked on the arms of Dick’s chair, and his nose twitched as he scrutinized the newcomer. At first, the man sat perfectly still before lifting a hand and massaging behind one ear. Abruptly, Ace leaned inward and began to lick the side of Dick’s face.
At the group’s amusement, Dick shrugged. “Hey, come on, guys. Carney kid here. Animals love me.” When Ace dropped to Dick’s feet, the newcomer turned to Bruce. “Hey, Old Man. Looks like you’re really older than me now.”
And like always, Bruce would return the compliment. “I told you not to go after Derek Powers.”
“Well, I hear you eventually gave him your company. Yeah, all my hard work was for what now? Crap?”
“You really want to talk about wins and losses? You’ve been missing for thirty-two years.”
“Bite me.”
“Nice comeback,” Tim said sourly.
Dick sent him the trademark Bat Glare, which silenced the now older man immediately.
“Would you three excuse us for a moment?” Bruce asked, to which Tim and Barbara rolled their eyes. Terry, however, simply stood, but stopped moving at the tug on the back of his jacket.
“Hey, we
are going to do some clothes shopping. Would you mind showing me around
Terry smiled slightly. “That’ll be schway, Mr. Grayson, especially if you can show me some of the moves you used against Shiva.”
“Schway? Oh, God, I’m too old to know the lingo.” He shook his head and released the boy. “And please, call me ‘Dick.’ ‘Mr. Grayson’ makes me sound as old as these guys.”
Barbara swatted his head, and Tim sighed. “I’m older than my older brother. This is just wrong on so many levels.”
Once the door the cave slid shut, Dick met Bruce’s glistening eyes. “He’s biological, isn’t he?”
Bruce paused for a moment. He hadn’t been expecting that. Dick wasn’t as straight-to-the-point as he was. “How did you know?”
“The face, the hair, the eyes…it’s all the same. He doesn’t know, though, does it? I heard Tim and Barbara call him ‘McGinnis.’”
“Dick, I—”
“Hey, I know you weren’t replacing me or anything. It’s cool. Really. He seems like a good kid, and he’ll be fun to teach, considering I’m guessing you didn’t get in the ring with him.” Dick swiveled back and forth in his seat, his eyes glued to the hovering new Batmobile with the red highlights. Bruce followed his gaze before meeting his son’s content gaze. “You knew, all those years ago. The world’s greatest detective knew what his protégé wanted for Christmas.”
Bruce said nothing, did nothing before his eyes glistened with the onslaught of tears longed cried. His trembling hand reached out to cup the boy’s cheek, and this time, he didn’t need to wait another year.
“Merry Christmas…my son.”
The End