Like a fairy tale part 4 – Happily ever after
Note: you might want to read parts 1, 2 and 3 before starting
Chapter 1 – Gathering the first fruits of love
The roof was soaking wet, the snow falling since mid-afternoon and apparently unwilling to stop. However, Bruce felt the warm feeling of a job well done: they had brought in both Penguin and Black Mask. Jim would be meeting them in a few minutes to confirm everything would be handled. Then, they will go back home.
Alone, he would have waited quietly. However, quiet wasn't Grayson, especially after spending several weeks on the bench. No, Bruce was being unfair; Dick was perfectly able to stay put when needed. However, he was irradiating energy, even after all the events of the night.
It was always like that when he was hurt. Bruce would keep him in as long as possible – until worry got replaced by lassitude. When Dick didn't spend his energy on patrol he could become tiring.
"Good days, in Gotham, are synonyms with robberies, aggressions and drugs being sold", Dick asserted.
Bruce arched an eyebrow beneath his cowl, since he apparently waited for an answer.
"As opposed to gang wars or meta-humans using their powers to commit crimes", Dick elaborated, grinning, his teeth white in the roof's shadows.
"So today is a good day?" Damian asked, doubt obvious in his voice.
"Crime lords joining their efforts to gain more power totally counts as bad. It is always both annoying per se and a disaster begging to happen."
Bruce tended to agree. Penguin and Black Mask didn't need meta-abilities to be included in the gothamite villains' gallery.
He wasn't sure why they had started to work together. Sixteen of their lieutenants had been killed by the Joker in the previous months. The obvious answer would be that they had wanted to make sure people knew they were still running town.
However, they had proved time and again that they didn't play in teams. They knew as well. They couldn't possibly have trusted each other enough to work together, even for a short period of time. Moreover, a big coup meant a lot of unwanted attention – meant his attention.
Neither criminal was stupid. Stupid didn't stay mob bosses for long, especially in Gotham.
Then why?
Steps echoed in the stairs. Nightwing stopped moving, virtually disappearing from view. Robin had never shown himself. Bruce waited. Hopefully, Jim would have the start of an answer.
Hope, like shore, was never constant. Jim was frowning.
Bruce stepped out of the shadow.
"Yes?"
"We found this. On their necks."
Jim handed him the evidence, wrapped in plastic. It was a tiny chip, which design he recognized.
"This is…"
"Tetch's, yes. Except he's been sent to Arkham several months ago. He's still there right now. I checked", Jim added.
The chips gave some control on one's mind, and certainly explained the criminals' odd behavior. However, if this wasn't the Mad Hatter's work…
Only one other person had ever used those before.
"Nightwing, go to Arkham to make sure he's still there. Robin, we're heading back to the Cave to analyze this."
Jim nodded, allowing him to take the evidence away. If both Penguin and Black Mask had had a chip, they still got one for GCPD.
Incidentally, this was a good excuse to send Robin back to the Cave without him disobeying. His behavior had been stellar since Halloween but Bruce didn't feel like taking risks.
"Thank you, Jim", he said, putting the chip in his belt. "I will send you anything I find."
Jim nodded, his eyebrows arched. He heard all what Batman wasn't saying. He, too, remembered the one time the Joker had used those very same chips to Buddy Standler, Harry Loomis and Lisa Lorraine – three comedians whom had offended him.
Batman turned to look at Nightwing. He was frowning, but didn't ask anything out loud, flying away to Arkham instead. Bruce fired his grapple, not in the mood to play with Jim's nerves, and took off. Robin thankfully followed without asking questions.
Things will be moving quickly now, though. Batman needed to be on the field. Maybe he could trust Robin to go back to the Cave by himself, especially if trusted with the mission of analyzing the chip himself. That would allow Bruce to take a little detour to the last known Joker's lairs, at the docks.
Was it worth the risk? People lives were at stake.
Bruce made his decision quickly.
"Robin, take the chip back to the Cave and analyze it", he said, giving the evidence to Damian. "Do not get out of the Cave as long as it isn't done. This is of the utter importance…"
"Tt-tt, of course it is. I will take care of it, father."
Bruce bit his tongue not to insist once again for him to go straight back. It would have sounded way too suspicious. For a second, he regretted having sent Dick away, but they needed confirmation that the Mad Hatter was still in Arkham and he only trusted a check made in the flesh.
Usually, he would have asked Batgirl for help.
Bruce pushed the thought away. He didn't have any other option. Jason was in town but there was no way he would ask him to help, putting him in danger again. Besides, Lex would skin him if he ever did such a thing.
Damian was more than capable. He was merely going back home. He would be fine.
Bruce would soon follow anyway. He intended to go to the warehouse from which the Joker had last shot people on the street, several months prior, just to make sure if it was still unused. If the use of this chip for the second time was a clue meant for him, the second clue would probably be either at the warehouse or at a meaningful place – which, after several years of playing cat and mouse, could be anywhere in the city.
He reached the warehouse in less than ten minutes. Opening one of the skylights was child's play. They were not bobby-trapped. Bruce entered the dark building, almost ready to believe it was unused.
Then he activated his night lenses and saw the table, and what was on it.
The new, green, rounded-eyed Robin's mask.
sososo
There was so much to do! So much to plan! And Tim didn't have any red colored pencil left: he had used it all. His plans involved a lot of red. Purple too, of course, for style.
Tim glanced up. The room was empty; there wasn't anyone with whom to share any of this. How disappointing. But then, it was – he glanced at the clock – 4AM. Most of his boys had gone to sleep two or three hours ago. Huh! They couldn't even take three sleepless nights straight.
He didn't really need them around, anyway. The second part of his scheme had gone tremendously well – with both Penguin and Black Mask away, there was room for a new head of the mafia. However, that would be for later. Now what time for his solo special.
Tim dismissed the fact that his vision was starting to blur and put on his coat. Staying awake was a constant fight, but sleeping would be worse. Or trying to. He had done that the first week and, at the beginning, it had been alright. Then Jack's smell had faded from the bed.
Tim didn't want to think about this.
The snow what thick outside, creaking comfortably under the leather of his shoes. It had fallen during the night – again – which meant he got to walk on its smooth, unaffected surface. It was beautifully white.
Tim felt the urge to splash it with fresh blood. Red. Wonderfully red, cracking into brown after a few minutes, alive, gross, perfect.
Incidentally, he had someone in mind to do. Just. That. Tim climbed a building nearby and headed to the route his target would most probably take. According to his estimations, he had a window of about fifteen minutes to play with him. Maybe less if the brat was tired and moving slowly.
Tim hoped for more. The snow annoying, dull whiteness was just begging to be stained.
A smirk spread on his lips. He had had several traps ready and oh, look at that! He had caught himself a bird.
The brat had landed on a gargoyle, most probably to change the angle of his jump like he had done several times in the previous weeks at that very same spot. Except this time, glue had prevented him from jumping away. Tim had carefully chosen one having the exact same color as the gargoyle for it not to be spotted.
It had worked tremendously well.
The brat was trying to free himself. How cute. Tim forced himself to swallow the rage boiling in his mind. (Robin didn't kill! How had Batman dared to make a killer Robin? How. DARE. HE.)
Because the Joker really shouldn't take those things personally. He should merely be annoyed at Batman having a bird around at all. Robin existed to torture Batman, after all.
"What do we have here?" Tim said in his most irking voice. "Isn't this a bird?"
Robin's head snapped in his direction and Tim saw all his muscles tense. Not that it would help him at all; both his feet and one of his hands had been glued to the gargoyle. Tim stayed in the dark nonetheless, out of reach, letting him see nothing but the bottom of his suit purple's pants; he knew the brat was a good fighter.
(Had he not killed? He was better than Tim had been.)
Apparently, he also had some sense of observation because the brat tutted.
"I don't know who you are, but I don't like cosplayers."
Tim grinned. He was going to enjoy this so much.
(Kill him. Kill him! He isn't worthy!)
Hush.
"How incredible!" Tim exclaimed, full of delight. "Neither do I…"
His first shot hit the brat in the shoulder, the one he could still move. The brat gasped, not even giving him the satisfaction of a scream. Tim's grin widened.
"… little leaguer."
Ah, yes, criticizing cosplayers when he was the one UNWORTHY! Un. Worthy. Or only – to be. Killed. Yes.
"I wonder", Tim continued, approaching now that the brat wasn't able to use any of his limbs, moving gracefully along the roof border as if they weren't twenty stories over the ground. "Can you still fly if I cut your wings?"
With a bow, he clasped a small charge on the join between the gargoyle and the wall; too small to blow the wanna-be-bird, but strong enough to dissociate the statue from its building. Tim nodded, satisfied.
"You sure can't sing."
The brat's eyes were widening under his mask, Tim could see. The blood was dripping, plop, plop, on the snow – marvelous.
"Drake", the brat breathed in, not entirely horrified enough, but certainly stunned.
Alas, he wouldn't have the time to understand exactly how horrified he should be. Tim wanted to play – but he couldn't afford to let the brat fly away, no, he couldn't. He wouldn't want to turn insaner, right?
So Tim made a disapproving noise at the back of his throat.
"Come on, birdie. Didn't you read the script? I'm not going around calling you Wayne, am I?" Tim patted his upper lip, thinking. "Actually, maybe I should! This would certainly be quite the joke, wouldn't it?"
"You are as crummy a Joker as you were a Robin", the brat blurted. "You look like a drag queen."
Tim smiled pleasantly, turning around to show him the whole three-piece suit, the green dyed hair, the porcelain white skin.
"I'm glad you like it. I'm afraid you won't be able to enjoy this for long, since you will soon look like a badly-cooked pizza." He took the charge's remote control from his front pocket, and smiled. "By-bye!"
He pressed the button on this bad punch line. Not that the brat deserved any better. And he really couldn't sing – he didn't scream when the charge went off, nor when it started falling to the ground. And he really couldn't fly either, huh!
Then another shadow stupidly swung by, catching him little before he reached optimal velocity, brat, gargoyle and all. The shock was still hard enough for the gloves and boots to give in: the statue ended its fall alone, crashing on the ground without. Any. Splatter. Whatsoever.
"No, no, no!" Tim protested, pouting. "This was supposed to be a pizza! Pizza without tomatoes aren't real pizzas!"
No one even heard him: both the brat and his – uncapped, Tim noted – savior ended their own trajectory two rooftops away. Considering how they all but crashed themselves, Tim supposed Nightwing's shoulder wasn't as healed as it should have been. That, or the shock had dislocated it.
In both cases, his arrival meant Tim had miscalculated. Tonight wasn't the night he would confront the Bat. Not yet.
(Miscalculated! You idiot! The brat is getting AWAY!)
Hush. He would get him some other time. He. Would.
(Kill him.)
(Impostor.)
Tim sighed, and took another detonator from his pocket. Pushing it activated the dozens' bombs he had prepared all over town precisely for distraction purpose, just in case. (Always have contingencies plans for your contingencies plans. Right, Batman?)
Besides, the route Batman was most likely to take was the same as Robin's. Tim hadn't trapped only one gargoyle.
sososo
As an Al Ghul, Damian always knew that silence could carry meaning, sometimes more so than words. He was used to feel his mother's consent or reprobation rather than hear it. However, no silence carried more weight than the Batman's – and for so long.
It had been three hours. Three hours since Nightwing and him had been back to the Cave, joined by Batman only a few minutes later. Pennyworth had taken care of their wounds while Grayson reported the main news: Drake was alive.
And, apparently, was replacing the Joker.
Damian still didn't know what to think about it. He had barely managed to hide the shock he'd felt when he had recognized that face, older, thinner, whiter but still unmistakably Drake's. Damian was ashamed to admit that had he not been effectively glued to the stone, he might have tripped.
So maybe he understood his father's mood, weighting on them all like lead. This was inconceivable. Outrageous. Damian hadn't even liked Drake, but – he had been Robin.
It was startling to realize how much more that title meant than he had first thought.
"We need proof", Batman suddenly said, breaking the silence. "Facial recognition has been tricked before, by our own technology or by meta-powers such as Clayface's."
Batman had had the computer calculate Drake's most probably facial structure well before they had heard about him being possibly alive. It was a match with the recording from the lenses of Damian's mask.
"No test is entirely reliable. People like Luthor tricked DNA before", Grayson pointed out.
Batman nodded gravely.
"The best way to validate Damian's first assessment is to cross-reference several types of testing. Of course, to do so, the best would be to capture the suspect…"
"He was gone when we recovered from the shock", Damian answered immediately.
Batman looked at him, startled. He had apparently not realized his remark could be perceived as disapproval. Good. Damian was furious enough against himself to have fallen for such an obvious trick. Because of his failure, not only had he been wounded, but so had Grayson – again. This was unacceptable.
Grayson had looked falsely cheery during the previous days, pretending to be glad to go back to patrol, as if it changed anything to Barbara Gordon's state. Now, he looked hollow. That made something twist in Damian's chest.
"Don't call him a suspect, Bruce", Grayson said softly, defeated. "If it's him…"
"If it's him, he tried to kill Damian."
"He tried to kill Robin", Grayson corrected, and Damian felt another shock.
Of course – Halloween. They knew there had been two guns and had assumed the Joker had had one on each hand. One for Batmen, one for Robins. But if there had been two of them…
Grayson looked, indeed, gray, his ashen lips barely moving as he talked.
"We have to help him."
"As long as his identity isn't confirmed…"
"You know it's him! He disappeared months ago and we found nothing… God, Bruce, I encouraged you to stop looking, to stop hoping, because he had to be dead…"
Damian recoiled. He wasn't meant to witness this. It was far too intimate. He was deciding to quietly retreat to the stairs when the Cave's clock door burst open.
"Todd", Damian cringed, annoyed at the interruption when Grayson so obviously needed support.
"Tim is alive?" Todd exclaimed, all but jumping at the bottom of the stairs.
Batman stepped away from his lover.
"We aren't sure of anything right now."
"You left the hospital?" Grayson snapped – snapped! Grayson! "What about Babs? What if someone…"
"She sent me here, you moron!" Todd exploded. "Did you really think she wanted me so stand guard if there is any chance that Tim is alive?"
"I don't care about what she wants…!"
"Now that's rich!"
"Enough!"
Both men stilled. Damian held his breath. There was no contesting Batman's authority over his Robins, former or current.
"Calm down, the both of you. Jason, we haven't assessed the situation yet or we would have called you. There was no need to be so impatient as to leave Barbara unprotected."
Todd tensed.
"Of course you would take his defense. Babs is perfectly capable of making her own decisions, contrarily to what both of you think! And she isn't one to let herself be paralyzed by fear."
"She is literally paralyzed, Jason!" Grayson protested.
"Is it like this all the time?"
The interruption came from a rich, cultivated voice at the bottom of the stairs. And it wasn't Pennyworth's, but Luthor's.
"What are you doing here?" Batman cringed.
Luthor came down the stairs.
"Don't worry, Bruce, I don't intend to disturb your toys. Or your boys."
Batman raised his eyebrows. Luthor smirked at him.
"That one is mine."
"Oh, shut up", Todd protested.
He was, however, relaxing, his posture much less aggressive than when he first arrived. It was quite astonishing, considering how tense he always was.
"I left Mercy at Ms Gordon's side", Luthor specified. "I'm sure she would be more than capable to scare any foe away. Especially if the Joker isn't part of the equation anymore."
"We aren't sure of anything yet", Batman stated once again, his voice neutral.
"When was the last time you saw him in person?"
"It doesn't mean anything. He is known to be unpredictable."
Luthor nodded, conceding the point. Damian felt irked.
"Why did you say you were here, again?" he asked, not bothering to soften his tone. "You are no part of this family."
Damian saw Grayson cast him an astonished glance from the corner of his eye. In front of him, Todd snorted.
"I'm afraid he's part of mine."
Damian glared at him, to no avail. One might as well glare at a rock.
"So", Todd asked around. "What do we do?"
Batman turned his back to him in a rustle of his cape, walking back to the console.
"Now, we track him down."
sososo
It had been a while since last time Jason had felt the wind of Gotham on his cheeks like this, flying over the city, hiding in its shadows. Despite the lack of practice, he didn't forget. How could he have? He was Gotham born and raised. He had known her rooftops well before Bruce found him.
Bruce would have a heart attack if he discovered what he was up to. Scratch that, Lex would have a heart attack – which was much more worrying.
However, he had to do it. He had to act.
Jason stopped at the top of the old clock tower, the city stretching beneath him. In Metropolis, it made you feel like a king. Here, it only stunk – but hey, it was home.
Tim was alive. It should have been good news.
Jason swallowed and resumed his patrol. He had to find him, to talk to him – to bring him back home before Bruce bruced it up. Tim had done so much for Jason. Jason could only reciprocate.
He had avoided taking any grapple not to be tempted to follow his old habits. Tim knew them all and had trapped enough of the vantage points for it to be really dangerous. Instead, Jason had taken his knives and just jumped from roof to roof, using them to climb more easily when needed. He still followed Robin's patrol route, but not from the same point of view, which allowed him to disarm several traps.
He had hoped to get Tim's attention. Apparently, he had only managed to make a fool of himself.
Maybe he should just head home. Or, you know, the penthouse Lex pretended to be renting when, in reality, he had bought it the day after Babs had been hurt. Jason pretended not to notice Lex was preparing to open a LexCorp division in Gotham. Bruce would have a fit when it would open its doors.
Jason was a bit sorry to have forced Gotham on his lover. A little bit.
Sighing, he jumped from the tower to a rooftop nearby. He had to keep going – but he could do so the next day. He felt the need of a dose of Lexitude right now. That, or Prozac.
Less than twenty minutes later, he was landing on the penthouse's balcony. The window was conveniently open, which meant he wouldn't have to break in.
Wait a minute. It was winter. Either Lex knew he was flying around or…
"… in my city, did you?"
Company. Jason slid silently toward the entrance; it was dark outside while all the lights were on inside so only noise would betray him. Besides, the intruder was facing Lex, giving his back to the window – stupid, or he'd just gotten in.
His hair was green. His suit was purple. God, this was…
"Tim?"
Pointing a gun at Lex. A gun. A real one. Tim.
The pretend Joker rotated slightly to face both of them, still pointing his gun at Lex. And it was Tim. Smiling madly, his face inhumanly white, but Tim, Tim, alive.
Jason smirked.
"Care to explain what you think you're doing with my lover, little brother?"
Tim pouted.
"No brother of mine is that dark-skinned. Who are you to get in by the window, a bird?"
"Didn't you get in exactly the same way?"
"I'm not a bird!" Tim protested, his hand never trembling. "I'm a magician."
Jason snorted.
"Yeah, right. I'd rather call you a bird."
That might have been a mistake.
"I'M NO BIRD!" Tim howled, turning to face Jason.
The second his gun stopped pointing at Lex, a batarang left Jason's hand. Too predictable: even angry, Tim still had been trained by Batman and knew his tricks. He rolled elegantly on the ground – and started shooting.
Jason retreated outside: the windows were bullet-proof. He saw Lex get out and close the door behind himself. Good. He would probably be calling Mercy.
"Tim!" Jason tried. "Calm down, little brother, it's me."
"I'm not listening!" Tim sing-songed.
And he kept firing. How many damn rounds were in that gun!? It stopped for a second, but Jason hope to take it to first didn't last: the kid was taking another from his suit's poker. As if that was a place to hold a gun!
"Kitty, kitty…"
"Tim! Please, calm down. It's me, alright?"
"Who's that Tim-guy you keep calling? You're hurting my feelings, ignoring me so!"
"Tim!"
Jason didn't find the words. What had he intended to say, when he'd found him? Nothing. He just wanted to hug him close. To pretend everything was alright.
Everything wasn't alright, and Tim was pointing a gun at him.
Jason cast another batarang. The lamp broke; he rolled back inside. Tim had moved already, dancing around like – damn him – the Joker would have.
Where was the damn clown? Jason had to show Tim that he wasn't the Joker. The best way to do so would be to point the real one at him. If he was still alive.
What the fuck had the world come to if one hoped the Joker was alive?
"You're not the Joker!" Jason yelled, trying to catch his brother's wrist without taking a bullet in the brain. "You're Tim Drake!"
"Try again!"
Jason did catch his arm this time. A bullet was fried – in the wall, thankfully.
"You are! You're my brother, please, Tim, don't you remember me?"
He managed to twist the arm badly enough for the kid to drop the damn gun. He relaxed for a second. Mistake! Pain exploded in his shoulder, strong enough for him to take a few steps back.
Tim lit a zippo. The dancing flame made his grin even more horrendous. He had a bloody knife in the other hand.
"Your blood tastes of chicken", Tim laughed, then he threw the knife.
Everything went black.
sososo
Lex disliked hospitals. They smelled of medicine, were full of whining patients and busy doctors, and proposed no comfort for a man who had a business to keep going. Fortunately, he had enough money to both keep annoying people at bay and make room for a desk. Things weren't perfect, but then, one had to make some sacrifices when one decided to take a stupid brat as lover.
Bodyguards kept watch, out of his sight. Only Mercy was with them inside the room, sitting next the window, and Lex himself. If the new clown intended to pull another trick, he would be welcomed like only special guests were.
The lying form on the bed stirred. Jason grunted.
"Why do I always see your face first, Graves?" he mumbled, quite articulate considering his situation.
"Because you're clumsy enough to get yourself wounded", Mercy answered icily.
Jason glared. Well, the damages weren't that important.
Lex got up. Mercy retreated in a corner, allowing them to pretend they were alone. He went to the sickbed side. Jason looked at him, lips pursed, the fog already clearing from his eyes.
"What?" Jason demanded.
"He is dead", Lex said flatly. "As soon as my men find him."
Jason glared some more. Unimpressive when one was used to Bruce Wayne. Not that Lex was more impressed by Wayne than he was by Jason.
"How long did you take to come back?"
"A few minutes."
"Did he leave already?"
Lex didn't lose time glaring. However, his lack of answer was answer enough.
"He did, didn't he?" Jason insisted. "He didn't kill me."
"No, he toyed with you instead."
Jason clumsily raised one of his arms. It was covered in small cuts, going by threes: two eyes, one smile. Smileys.
"He didn't kill me", Jason insisted.
Lex didn't shout at him. Didn't even purse his lips. After all, the boy could talk; he didn't have to listen.
"Do you hear me? It's Tim! You don't get to kill him because he toyed with me."
Jason was pretending to give orders. Lex heard the plea. He didn't care, though; Tim it might have been, a year or so ago. It was not anymore. Which was disappointing; he had enjoyed the kid's company, once.
"Lex."
"He didn't kill you", Lex admitted. Then, matter-of-factly, he added: "he shot two dozen kids in Robin costume last Halloween, however?"
Jason stilled. Then looked at his right. There was an empty flowerpot on the nightstand. It tinkled nicely when crashed against the wall.
That look on Jason's face was the reason why Lex was going to kill Tim Drake. He, however, kept going:
"And Harleen, though that's less relevant."
"The bitch deserved it."
The brat certainly knew how to replace mourning with rage. Lex waited for the feeling to have stabilized before asking:
"Do you want to hear what I found?"
Jason nodded. So Lex told him. He had pulled a few strings, talked to old friends – people he'd sworn never to contact again but, alas, drastic times… – and managed to reconstruct most of the tale. Prisoner, lover, partner in crime… killer.
Of course, Lex was no Robin specialist and had not known Tim Drake for long. They had, however, conversed regularly during the few months of his stay to Lex Tower. It wasn't difficult to image the kid would have rather died than become like this.
Jason kept his face blank. Lex waited.
Then Jason nodded.
"You may kill him."
It was raining inside.
sososo
Notes:
Sorry it took me so long to post this one :) I hope you still enjoy the series! Please let me know what you think ;)
Also, this started it (sorry, I'm not really a good artist, but still I had to post it XD)
ic.pics.livejournal.com/fyin/4481892/16145/16145_original
(Note: add .jpg at the end, ffnet formatting be damned)