A/N: This story was inspired by paganpunk2. You never know who or what will inspire you. And if another author does from something they have written, don't hesitate to ask them if you can borrow some of their material to write your own. I did, and this is the story that came out. Thanks paganpunk2. Your stories are incredible. I also combined two of my stories from Bat Shorts to form this larger story. Fired! and Gone!

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Between Father's and Sons

By

AJ

Part 1 – Coming Home

'I've got to stop them. If they get across the river . . .' The young man leapt from his bike and up into the trees. He waited for the vehicle as it came down the road. It was now or never. Taking his grappling hook, he secured it to a branch and headed toward the river as the unmarked vehicle approached. The young man flew through the air as if he was born to it, his black and blue costume blending with the night, reminiscent of another. The yellow shining in the moonlight reminded him of his past. He spied the truck just as it reached the bridge. The door in the back of the truck flew open and a gunman fired. The young vigilante tried to avoid the shots fired in his direction remembering the words spoken to him when he was a child of ten.

"A moving target is harder to hit."

He managed to keep from being riddled from hundreds of bullets, but it only took one, and that one was not a direct hit. It ricocheted off the metal structure as the truck crossed the bridge into the city and out of his jurisdiction. The bullet lodged itself into the fleshy portion of his right hip. The young man did his best to roll with the fall, but the damage was done. He was too far from his base of operation to make it home without losing too much blood. He needed help and he knew where to get it. After all this time, he hoped that avenue wasn't forever closed to him. The young man hoped he could make it there in time, but even that was doubtful.

'I've got to make it,' he thought. Memories of his life before flashed through his mind, especially the last time they had been together. He feared the bullet had nicked an artery and he would not have the time . . . 'The time to say, I'm sorry.'

The young vigilante headed away from the city, blood running down his leg with a fever forming in his body and sweat pouring down his face. His feet carried him toward the road he remembered traveling along countless times.

'Must . . . reach . . . home.'

The sudden appearance of bright lights and screeching breaks and something very large slamming into him caused the young man to be thrown in the air and landing with a sickening thud. Despite the blow the young vigilante still managed to keep from being harmed further. Even so the young vigilante did not move, but allowed the darkness to claim him. His last thoughts were of a man from his past wishing he could tell him of the words he put in a letter a few years ago.

"I love you, too. You big dork."

Continues with Part 2 - One Year Ago: Torn Apart