Lightning flashed, casting a brief silhouette of the towering Wayne Enterprises building, which dominated Gotham skyline. Rain lashed at a million windowpanes, most caged in half-inch wrought iron bars. Still, he knew that even as he stood there looking out over his city, water dripping from the nose of his nightmarish cowl, at least a hundred burglaries were going down. Chances were good that there would be few murders by the time the rain let up, too. All of it weighed on him. Every life shattered added another crack to his own fractured soul. He should be able to save them all. He should have been able to save—
"Bruce? Did you hear me?"
The figure in black, a living gargoyle perched atop Hamilton Hill Memorial Bank, was brought back to reality.
"Hmmm," he grunted. "I didn't catch that, Oracle," he said, tapping the comm in his cowl. "Repeat." Pull yourself together, he thought with a scowl.
"I said the chemical analysis came back on the Fox murder. It's a match to the residue you found at—," she hesitated, "—when you found my dad." Her voice wavered a bit, but he could hardly blame her. He knew all too well the pain of losing a parent, of having them unnaturally taken away from you.
"He's back," the Bat growled.
"He's back," Oracle confirmed. "And he's targeting you," she said.
"No," the Bat corrected. "He's targeting Bruce Wayne, killing off known associates. He's sending a message."
"What's the message?" she asked.
"You can't save everyone."
"Need I remind you, Master Bruce, that I am quite capable of taking care of myself?" The old butler nodded his balding head toward the shotgun on its rack. It was always kept loaded and Alfred cleaned it at least once a month. Just in case.
After Oracle had confirmed what he'd already suspected, Bruce returned to the Cave. It would only be a matter of time before he came looking for Alfred. Bruce was determined not to let anyone else die under his watch.
"Not against him," the Bat barked. His cowl was pulled back and his hair was a rumpled mess. He was badly in need of a shave. "Jim, Lucius, he's targeting people close to Bruce Wayne. And not simply associates; he's targeting friends. He's reminding me that he knows who I am and how to hurt me." He turned his tired eyes to his faithful butler. "He knows how important you are to me, Alfred. He will come after you."
"But, Master Bruce, you don't know—"
"I know him!" The Bat put a gloved fist through the wall. All he could see was red; anger surged through his veins like Venom. It wasn't Alfred, not really. It was him. Why was he back in Gotham? What's his endgame?
Alfred took Bruce's hand, stripping off the glove and revealing bloody knuckles. The man who was the Bat barely flinched. "I think you've broken something," he said softly. "Allow me to see to it, Master Bruce." He began to move off but Bruce stopped him.
"Alfred, all my life, you've taken care of me. Allow me just this once to take care of you." He gave the old man's shoulder a gentle squeeze.
"I'm not immortal, Bruce," Alfred said bluntly. "There will come a day, hopefully years from now but surely sooner rather than later, when I will no longer be here. And when that day comes, you will survive. I don't care what the media says about Master Kent; you are the strongest individual I have ever known. You don't need me to be strong." He took a deep breath. "However, since it is clear to me that nothing I say will alleviate your worries, I begrudgingly accept your offer of protection, if only to grant you peace of mind whilst you hunt that maniac down. I don't want to be the cause of a distraction that gets you or others harmed."
Bruce nodded, relieved. "Thank you, Alfred," he said. "I'll have Oracle make the arrangements."
"I can't believe that poor girl is still helping you," Alfred said, shaking his head mournfully. "So soon after losing her father."
"She's strong," Bruce said. "You have to be to grow up in Gotham. This city is painted with blood, Alfred. Awash in it. Sometimes it feels like the fight is in vain."
"Perhaps it is, Master Bruce," said the old butler, "but you will keep fighting regardless. I know you too well to get my hopes up that you've come to your senses."
The corner of Bruce's mouth twitched in what could almost have been a smirk. "I've been hit in the head far too many times for that to happen, Alfred."
"Oh, I know," Alfred said. "I've got the medical scans to prove it."
With Alfred safely tucked away in hiding, the Bat was better able to focus on locating his prey. The man he was after was elusive, able to cover his tracks well enough that even Oracle couldn't find him. Not digitally, anyway. It was times like this that analog detective work became necessary.
Bruce pored over the scans he took of the crime scenes. It hurt to see his allies—his friends—cut down so brutally, but he used that pain to motivate him. There had to be something he'd missed, something small and insignificant. He already knew who he was dealing with. He just needed to find a clue as to where he was hiding. But in the end, the endeavor was fruitless. Jim was a cop, constantly tracking in particulates and fibers from all around town; Lucius dealt with people all day long, oftentimes foreign businessmen. The particulates he collected were from around the world. It would be impossible to pinpoint any of them as being from the man who killed them.
He rubbed at his bleary eyes, preparing to head back out into the city to sweep the crime scenes one more time when a proximity alert rang out in the cave. Immediately, security feeds from all over the Wayne estate flashed onto the Batcomputer's massive screen. Bruce scanned the images quickly, finding nothing amiss until—
"Selina?" he muttered, enlarging the feed showing the main drive to the house. It was definitely Catwoman, but something was wrong. Selina always carried herself with grace and agility. But now, she was shambling, stumbling once or twice. Everything about the way she moved was wrong. He watched as she reached the front door, collapsing as she attempted to ring the bell. "Selina!" he cried. Bruce swept up the stairs and into the manor, racing to the front door. He wrenched it open so hard he nearly took it off its hinges.
On the stoop lay Catwoman, battered and bruised, in a spreading puddle of blood. Her outfit was slashed—not torn—and her left shoulder looked dislocated. But most horrific of all, a small stiletto dagger was plunged to the hilt into her chest. By the way she was wheezing, Bruce guessed she had a punctured lung. As he knelt down to lift her up, he noticed that the dagger had pinned something to her chest; it was a piece of paper, soaked through with blood.
As he hefted her into his arms, she stirred with a little groan. "S-sorry, Bruce," she whispered. "Couldn't…fight him…insane."
"Don't try to talk, Selina," Bruce told her. "You've got a deflated lung. You can't spare the breath." He looked down into her eyes, which were barely open yet still focused on his. "I'm going to take care of you," he said.
Selina managed a weak smile. "My…hero." She coughed, spraying her lips with flecks of blood.
Bruce moved as quickly as he could down to the cave. He laid her down gently on the exam table and set the medical scanners to work. As he looked down at the still form of Selina Kyle lying there, he was gripped by a sudden tightness in his chest; the Batman was afraid.
This must be how Alfred feels every time I'm the one lying on the table, he thought. He suddenly held his oldest friend in even higher regard. The strength it must take to see the man he raised from boyhood on that table time after time with stab wounds and bullet holes and dislocated joints. How did he do it? Bruce had never had to experience this from the perspective of the care provider. All those times he'd been hurt, nearly dead, he'd had it easy. He'd just laid there, looking up while Alfred healed him. But now he found himself in the uncomfortable position of looking down and now he understood why Alfred so desperately wanted him to hang up the cape and cowl for good. Seeing someone you care about lain out, broken and bleeding and teetering on the edge of life and death, it was almost too much. Bruce didn't often feel helpless, but there was nothing in his utility belt that could help Selina. No martial arts training or clever plan could get him out of this situation. There was no aspect of this scenario that was in his control. And that terrified him.
The med scanner completed its scan and displayed the results: she has a dislocated left shoulder, three broken ribs, a fractured cheekbone, and a punctured lung, along with dozens of superficial cuts and scrapes. Amazingly, the lung was the only serious injury; the dagger hadn't even hit an artery. Bruce knew that wasn't an accident, that he didn't leave anyone alive unless he meant to. Selina was a gift, perhaps, and a message. Even through the blood, he could read what was written on the scrap of paper pinned to her chest. It was a note that simply read, YOU KNOW WHERE.
Batman gripped the steering wheel tightly as the Batmobile thundered through the streets of Gotham. The rain had mostly let up now, but lighting still flashed in the distance. His injured hand throbbed painfully, but he could barely feel it. He was too distracted by the note.
YOU KNOW WHERE.
He did know where. The Gotham docks, Pier 14. That was where all of this loss began. But that was more than half a year ago. Bruce had expected retaliation long before now.
That's what he wanted, the Bat reminded himself. He wanted me to heal before he wounded me again.
"Oracle," he said, opening a channel.
"I'm here, Bruce," she answered immediately. She sounded alert, almost jumpy. She hadn't been sleeping much since her father was murdered.
"He contacted me," Bruce said grimly.
"He actually spoke to you?" she replied, shocked.
"Not exactly." He told her about Catwoman and the note.
"Bastard," she swore softly. "Is she gonna be alright?"
"She should be," Bruce assured her. "None of her injuries were life-threatening. By design," he added. "I left her in the cave. I popped her shoulder back in and gave her something for the pain, but I didn't want to remove the dagger myself. She needs better medical attention than I can give her."
"I'll take care of it," Oracle promised.
"Thank you, Barbara," Bruce said. There was a pregnant pause filled only by the roar of the Batmobile's engine.
"You know this is a trap," Oracle said at last.
"Of course it is," Bruce replied. "But ambush isn't his style. This wasn't a lure, it was an invitation. He'll want to talk first."
"Bruce, he could kill you," she said soberly. She didn't say it aloud, but Bruce heard it all the same. He's better than you.
"I'll be fine," the Bat said with a scowl.
"At least let me call in some backup," Oracle said. "Clark could be here in sec—"
"No," he barked, cutting her off. "This is my problem. I'll handle it."
"Bruce, it's okay to ask for help."
"I said I'll handle it, Barbara," Bruce said firmly. "I'll contact you when it's over. Batman out." He switched off the comm, cutting off whatever argument Oracle was planning to make. Rationally, he knew she was right; if it were anyone else in his position, he'd give them the same advice. But everything that had happened was his fault. He couldn't drag anyone else into his mess. He would clean it up himself. There was no other option.
As he entered the docks and approached Pier 14, a familiar figure dropped down from the rooftop of a warehouse a few yards ahead of the car. Bruce slammed the breaks, leaping out of the car before it had even come to a complete stop.
"Nightwing," he said. "What are you doing here?" He was getting tired of surprises.
"Good evening to you, too," Dick replied.
"What are you doing here?" Bruce repeated more firmly.
"Calm down, Bruce," Nightwing said, scratching an itch on his back with one of his batons. "You told me to meet you here, remember?"
"No, I didn't," Bruce growled. "I told Oracle…" He trailed off. "You came from Blüdhaven," he said. Blüdhaven was at least half an hour away; Bruce had only found Selina twenty minutes ago. Dick had to have been contacted before Bruce had seen the note.
"Uh, duh," Dick said. "That's sorta where I operate. Bruce, you okay?" he took a concerned step toward his old mentor.
"I sincerely doubt that," said a voice from the shadows. Though Bruce had known it would be him, hearing that voice again after so many years chilled him to his core. Nightwing spun round to face the voice. A man stepped forward from the shadows and into the Batmobile's headlights. He was tall and lithe, clad in an emerald green cloak with a high collar. His face was long and thin and he wore his beard in twin prongs that resembled the fangs of a snake. On his hip, he wore a curved scimitar that glinted wickedly in the light.
"Ra's al Ghul," Nightwing snarled, making the name a curse on his lips.
"The Boy Wonder, all grown up," Ra's said, his voice a sinister purr. "I'd heard that you had abandoned Gotham and left your circus colors behind. I must say, black suits you much better."
"Dick, leave. Now," Batman ordered, never taking his eyes off Ra's.
"What?" Nightwing said, shocked. "Bruce, I'm not gonna just leave you here to fight him by yourself."
"Yes, you are," Bruce said. "This is my problem, not yours."
"But you told me to come," Dick argued.
"I must confess," Ra's interrupted, "it was actually I who invited you here, Mr. Grayson. I've had access to your adorable little internal communications network for quite some time now."
"I still don't understand—" Nightwing started.
"Perhaps not," said Ra's, "but you will very soon. You see, I've had something very precious taken from me. Very precious, indeed. Haven't I, Detective?"
"You aren't the only one who lost somebody that day, Ra's," Bruce said evenly. "We both lost a child to those assassins."
"You think your pain compares to mine?" Ra's glared at the Bat. "Talia was to be my heir, and Damian after her. But instead, they died, right where you're standing, because you failed to protect them."
"I only met Talia a few times, but I'm pretty sure she and the kid were more than capable of protecting themselves," Nightwing interjected.
"Silence, boy!" Ra's hissed. "You took away the ones I loved most, Detective, and so I am here to return the favor. With interest." He drew his sword.
With muscle memory learned over thousands of hours, Nightwing had three of his Wing-Dings flying toward Ra's in the span of a single breath.
Ra's deftly swatted them out of the air in one lightning-quick motion. Sparks flew as they struck his blade and deflected off into the darkness. "You'll have to do better than that, I'm afraid," Ra's taunted.
"Why don't you try me?" Bruce asked as he charged Ra's. He knew any ranged attacks would be knocked aside as easily as Nightwing's had been. And Ra's had reach with his sword. Their only chance was to bring the fight inside Ra's combat sphere, force him to fight with hands and feet instead of that scimitar.
As the Bat closed in, Ra's brought his sword down hard. Bruce crossed his arms in front of him, catching the blade on his forearms. He tried using the fins on his gauntlets to snatch the sword from Ra's' grip, but the old man's reflexes were too good. Bruce had already deflected another three blows by the time he'd taken two steps. Ra's knew as well as he did that the reach of his sword was his main advantage. He wasn't going to give Batman ground willingly.
By now, Nightwing was on Ra's as well, batons swinging. Bruce got a punch in while Ra's was forced to deflect Nightwing's attacks, but that one moment of contact was all he got before Ra's leapt away from the pair of heroes and back into the shadows.
"You fight sloppily tonight, Detective," Ra's said. His voice echoed from the high walls of the warehouses around them. Thunder rumbled far off in the distance. "Could it be the weight of the dead slowing you down?"
"Weight of the dead?" Dick asked. "What's he talking about, Bruce?"
"Ra's murdered Jim Gordon and Lucius Fox," Bruce growled. He switched his cowl to infrared and scanned the pier. Ra's was nowhere to be found.
"Jim Gordon?" Nightwing gasped. "The commissioner's dead?"
Bruce nodded. "He left chemical traces of his Lazarus Pit at the crime scenes. It's how we knew it was him."
"My God," Dick breathed. "Poor Barbara."
"Worry about her later," Bruce told him. "The man who did it is still here. Somewhere."
"You both disappoint me so," Ra's called out. With the echo, it was nearly impossible for human ears to pinpoint the direction it came from, but the listening equipment built into his cowl gave Bruce better than human hearing. It was able to extrapolate the point of origin within seconds and feed the information to his cowl's display.
"Over there!" Bruce said, taking off toward the voice. His cape flared behind him.
Nightwing took to the high ground, grappling up to the roof of one of the warehouses and following the Bat from above. He leapt gracefully from rooftop to rooftop, vaguely remembering his days as Robin when he'd found this sort of thing fun. He couldn't believe he'd ever been so stupid.
"Batman, look out!" Nightwing cried suddenly, but it was too late. From his vantage point, he saw the ambush before it happened; Ra's leapt out at Bruce from behind a shipping container, light shimmering along the length of that evil curved blade. Bruce's reflexes were second to none, but even still, the blade sliced through one of the bat ears on his cowl.
Nightwing sprinted toward the edge of the roof and connected his truncheons into a single staff. When he got to the edge, he hurled himself off, flipping through the air and landing behind Ra's. Before his feet touched the ground, he was already raining blows down on Ra's from seemingly every direction. Most were deflected, but some made satisfying contact. While Dick caught a downward slash on his staff, Bruce managed to connect a hard blow to Ra's head, which dazed him a moment. But his superhuman constitution allowed him to recover quickly and it was only heartbeats later that he was deftly warding off blows from the pair of them.
"Better," Ra's conceded. "But still not your top form, Detective. You are the most able warrior I have ever known. You could end this if you wanted to."
"Maybe I could," the Bat grunted as he took a boot heel to the gut, "but then I'd be no better than you."
Instantly, the tone of the fight changed; indeed, Ra's himself seemed to shift his stance. He stood taller, more youthful, almost. His blade sliced through the air faster than ever and his fighting style became instantly more intense, his strikes more precise, as though he'd been holding back the entire time. "We'll see how you feel once this is over, Detective."
"It's over now!" Bruce leapt for Ra's, but Ra's anticipated the maneuver. He spun to the side and used Bruce's own momentum to hurl him against the side of a shipping container. The Bat was down.
"I want you to know," Ra's said, speaking directly to Nightwing now, who was trying in vain to connect even one hit, "that I hold you in the highest regard. This isn't personal." In a move that Nightwing could barely perceive, Ra's swatted the staff to the side and came back round with his sword. The move was so fast that, for a moment, Dick couldn't understand why he was unable to bring his staff back up to bear, or why Ra's had stopped his attack, choosing instead to stand back and stare at him. Then he looked down.
Blood had already begun to pool around his feet, cascading down his chest and legs from the gash opened in his neck. By the time he comprehended what had happened, he'd already lost too much blood to do anything but collapse.
"DICK!" Bruce cried, climbing clumsily to his feet as the ringing in his ears subsided. He felt concussed. Bruce watched the blood, alarmingly bright scarlet under the pier lights, gushing from Nightwing's throat. He watched his one-time partner—his first ward—fall, first to his knees, then to the ground.
Ra's all but forgotten, Bruce flew to Dick's side, rolling him onto his back to assess the damage. The younger man's pulse was thready and weakening fast; blood continued to pump in ever-weaker spurts from the wound to his neck. Though his eyes were open, they couldn't seem to focus.
"B-bruce?" Dick tried to say but there was too much blood in his throat. His face had gone ashen.
Hot tears welled up in Bruce's eyes and spilled down his cheeks. He pulled back the cowl, not wanting the last thing his friend saw to be a mask meant to inspire terror, and watched the light leave Dick's eyes. He cradled the limp body of the boy he had raised up from tragedy to be a man who fought for everything that was good and right, letting out a moan that was equal parts grief and rage. Gently, he lowered his fallen comrade back to the ground and stood, blood dripping from his gloved fingertips and down the front of the infamous symbol on his chest. He looked all around, but Ra's was gone. He'd done exactly what he'd intended from the start. It was never about killing Bruce, it was about taking Nightwing away from him, the same as he'd taken Jim and Lucius.
No more.
Bruce pulled the cowl back up and activated his comm.
"Oracle," he said, his voice still choked with grief. God, what was he going to tell her? She and Dick had been romantic for a time and Bruce knew there were still feelings—
"Bruce! God, I've been trying to reach you for over half an hour. Are you alright? Was he there?"
"Barbara," Bruce said hoarsely. His tongue felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. "Barbara, it's Dick."
"Nightwing?" she asked. "What's he doing in Gotham? I thought Blüdhaven was his turf now."
"Barbara," Bruce said again, "Dick's dead."
Silence. That was the worst. Bruce would have preferred screams or cries or flat out denials, the sorts of irrational reactions normal people had to death. But all he heard was silence.
"Barbara, I'm sorry," he said, feeling stupid. He knew how he felt, how nothing anyone could say to him at that moment would make anything better. Barbara would be no different. The grief over her father would still be fresh. This…this could be too much for her. "Barbara, I swear—"
"You find that bastard, Bruce," she said softly. He could imagine the tears shining in her eyes, though she tried to keep herself composed. He knew the pain she was feeling because he was feeling it. "You find him and you take him down, you hear me? He's done taking people from us." From us, she'd said. And she was right. Ra's wasn't just taking people from Bruce; how could he let himself be so selfish? Barbara had lost as much as he had, maybe more. Bruce knew the wound left behind when a parent is lost, and Barbara's was still fresh. Her pain would be world-shattering.
"I'll find him," Bruce swore. And he meant it. "There must be something here that can lead me to him. If there is, I'll find it. You have my word, Barbara."
"Don't get yourself killed, Bruce," she told him, her voice breaking. "You're all I have left now."
The Bat stood silent. What could he say? Thankfully, Oracle didn't stay on the line for a response. The comm clicked and Bruce was left alone with the body of his fallen partner and his thoughts.
Bruce spent the next two hours scouring every inch of the pier where he knew Ra's had been, beginning with Nightwing's body and working back to where Ra's had first confronted them. Grief fueled his every move; where it might have clouded the mind of someone else, Bruce used it as motivation. He'd based his entire life as Batman around the grief of losing his parents. For him, grief was a stimulant, the fuel that drove him.
Bruce's canvas hadn't yielded much; with the rain earlier that evening, evidence was hard to come by. However, some suspicious smudges on Nightwing's uniform looked promising. Bruce was certain the smudges must have transferred from Ra's, even more so after he found similar smudges on his own uniform where Ra's had kicked him in the stomach. Bruce took samples from both sources. If he could determine what the substance was, he might be able to pinpoint where Ra's had been. Once he got back to the Cave, he'd be one step closer to Ra's.
When he was satisfied that there was no more evidence to be gathered, Bruce climbed into the Batmobile and ignited its thundering engine. However, he didn't turn back toward the Cave.
One last thing to do.
He maneuvered the car through the maze of warehouses and brought it to a halt before Nightwing's still form, illuminated in the car's headlights. Bruce got out and knelt beside his friend. He removed his cape and wrapped Dick within it. He hoisted Nightwing's still form off the ground and placed it gently in the passenger seat, fighting back against the rising emotions. Dick had been like a son to him, more so even than Damian. He'd been the rare bright spot in Bruce's dark life. Damian was born to an assassin and had killed by age five, and Jason had always had a darkness in him that rivaled Bruce's. But Dick had always somehow risen above that darkness. He didn't let his parents' death or the constant horrors of the job turn him into—
—me, Bruce thought.
Driving back to the Cave, Bruce found himself stealing glances at the wrapped form in the seat beside him. How many thousands of times had Dick ridden in that seat? And he was always talking, enough for the both of them. The silence, which Bruce had always preferred, now disturbed him. It was a hole, a lack of something that only served to punctuate the fact that it was missing. For Bruce, that silence was a scream.
The Batmobile splashed through the waterfall entrance to the Cave and roared through the narrow tunnel until it burst out into the vast Batcave. As Bruce climbed out, he caught a glimpse of the case holding Jason's uniform and fresh emotion threatened to drown him. There'd be another uniform beside it soon enough, decommissioned just as violently and senselessly as Jason's had been.
Once Dick's body was placed in the Cave's morgue, Bruce got to work analyzing the evidence he'd retrieved from the scene. He placed the two samples of dirt side by side underneath the microscope and verified that they were identical to one another. He set the computer to performing a spectral analysis of the samples, hoping that it would be rare enough to limit his search radius. Though the analysis took only minutes, the seconds seemed to stretch for days to Bruce. As he waited for the results, he had nothing to do but contemplate about what had happened, to go over the details again and again. He was thankful when the computer indicated that its analysis had gotten results.
"Ultisols," Bruce muttered, reading the report. "Red clay?" That sort of soil wouldn't be found anywhere in Gotham. That much he knew for certain. He cross-referenced local geological surveys for any mention of red clay and found a number of sites within fifty miles of Gotham, mostly around rivers and swampland. However, one site stood out above the rest. Sitting in the middle of a deposit of red clay was Two Rivers silver mine. At the turn of the 20th Century, that mine had helped put Gotham on the map. It had made a lot of families very rich, some of the same families that still run Gotham. But after it ran dry, it had been abandoned. And had remained abandoned for nearly a hundred years. That was where Ra's was hiding; it had to be.
Bruce jumped to his feet and sprinted to the car, tapping his comm. "Oracle?" he said. "I think I've found him. Two Rivers silver mine fifteen miles outside Gotham."
"Bruce," she said. "I was just about to contact you."
"What is it?" he asked, climbing into the car. "Is it Selina?" he asked, suddenly fearful again.
"No," Oracle told him. "From what I understand, she's already in surgery and she's gonna be fine. It's about Alfred. Bruce, he's missing from the safe house."
"How long?" Bruce demanded. When would Ra's be finished toying with him?
"I don't know," Oracle admitted. She sounded tired. While grief fueled Bruce, it seemed to age Barbara. She sounded ten years older. "When Commissioner Bullock's men didn't report in at the top of the hour, he sent a patrol to check on them. They were all dead and Alfred was gone."
"Then he's still alive," Bruce said. He jumped into the car and the engine roared to life.
"Bruce, I'm sorry. I know Alfred was like a father to you, but—"
"He's still alive, Barbara," Bruce repeated firmly. "If Ra's had wanted him dead, he would have killed him and left him there. Alfred's disappearance is as much as message as his body would have been."
"If you're right, you know you're walking into a trap," Oracle warned.
"Wouldn't be the first time tonight," Bruce growled. "I know where he is and I'm going there now to end this." He punched the throttle, rocketing out through the waterfall and into the night.
"How, Bruce?" Oracle asked. "Ra's could have killed you at the pier! What makes you think you can beat him now?"
"I have to."
The road leading up to the old mine was treacherous, made all the more so by the rain. It took no small amount of skill to keep the Batmobile from skidding off the dirt road, now a veritable quagmire of mud. But nothing was going to keep the Batman from his prey. Not this night.
The entrance to the mine opened wide and black, shorn up with century-old weathered timber. Bruce pulled up and killed the engine, leaping out onto the muddy ground. Tapping at a control panel on his left gauntlet, he switched the cowl optics to night vision and entered the mine. The already faint sound of the nearby Gotham and Jameson rivers—the rivers which gave the Two Rivers mine its name—faded away as the Bat delved deeper into the earth. He reached the first fork over a hundred yards in, already well beyond the cone of light offered by the Batmobile's headlights. Bruce knelt down and pulled a small light from his belt, scanning the dirt floor. A clear set of prints led down the left fork. Now he knew it was a trap; Ra's would never have been so careless unless he wanted to be discovered. Trap or not, Bruce knew that Ra's lived by a certain code of honor. Bruce wouldn't have to worry about an ambush; the Demon was clearly inviting the Bat to join him. Otherwise, why abduct Alfred and not just kill him like the rest? Ra's had more to say. Attacking Bruce in these tunnels wasn't his way.
Bruce walked on, following the footprints to an ancient elevator. There were clear signs of recent maintenance, including a modern generator. The door was open.
The sound of the generator was deafening in the tight confines of the mine, amplified somewhat by the makeup of the rock walls. If Ra's didn't know the Bat was there before, he undoubtedly did now. He wouldn't have the element of surprise, but just this once, Bruce wasn't feeling terribly subtle.
After what seemed an extraordinarily long time, the elevator reached the bottom of the shaft. Bruce opened the door with a loud, rusty screech. He saw the tunnel in glowing shades of green stretching out for at least a hundred yards ahead of him, straight as an arrow. There was a curiously bright glow emanating from somewhere in the distance that he first attributed to the night vision but quickly realized was coming from within the mine. At this sign, Bruce quickened his pace, racing toward the glow, toward Alfred, praying that his oldest and dearest friend was unharmed.
As he neared the strange glow, Bruce saw the tunnel open up into an enormous natural cavern, at least fifty yards wide. By now, the eerie green light was bright enough to see by and he switched off the night vision, stifling a gasp as he gazed down at the cavern floor and the source of the glow.
"A Lazarus Pit," he muttered in disbelief. "All this time, a Lazarus Pit just outside of Gotham."
"Are you going to stay up there all evening, Detective?" a voice called up from below. "Or will you join us for a late supper?"
Bruce stepped further into the cavern and looked down. On the far side, a large table was set up, laden with food. The mystical pool bubbled softly beside it. Seated at the table were Ra's al Ghul and Alfred, who, aside from being bound and gagged, appeared unharmed. Silently, Bruce breathed a small sigh of relief.
"Come, Detective," Ra's said, waving him down. "There's plenty for all. I wouldn't want anyone to accuse me of being a poor host." He swept a hand toward the third place setting. "Please, Bruce. I insist."
Bruce made his way down to the cavern floor and walked around the circumference of the steaming green pool. He stood before the table and glared down at Ra's. Alfred looked up at him with relief in his eyes.
"Let Pennyworth go, Ra's," Batman demanded. "He has nothing to do with this. This is between you and me."
Ra's smiled and took a sip of wine from a crystal goblet. "Sit, please," he said.
"I'm not here to play your games, Ra's!" Batman barked. "You wanted me to find you here. Well here I am!"
"Here you are," Ra's said with a nod. "Sit. Or else your beloved butler will be dead before you can draw one of those ridiculous Batarangs of yours."
Bruce understood Ra's well enough to know that he didn't bluff. After all the people he'd killed already, Ra's wouldn't bat an eye at murdering an old man.
Bruce sat.
"There," Ra's said pleasantly. "I knew you could be reasoned with. We have much to talk about, Detective. Starting with why you had my daughter and grandson cremated after their deaths." Instantly the pleasantness faded, replaced by ice. His eyes bored into Batman.
"I did it to save them," Bruce finally said.
"Save them?" Ra's asked, aghast. "You doomed them to death eternal! Even the power of the Lazarus Pit cannot resurrect ash!"
"I know."
"But why?" Ra's demanded. "You allowed them to die and then prevented me from bringing them back! You stole them from me!"
"I saved them from you," Bruce fired back. "You know better than anyone the adverse effects of the Pits. Talia and Damian wouldn't have wanted to live that way, forever bound to the Pit, risking madness every time they came out. It's too high a price, Ra's. Would you have wanted that for them?"
"You had no right," Ra's snarled. "They were my blood. And because of you, I shall never again look into my daughter's eyes or live to see my grandson seize his birthright. Because of you, those most dear to me are gone forever." Ra's stood and drew his scimitar, its cruel blade glowing pale green in the light from the Pit. Bruce jumped to his feet and prepared to ward off the imminent attack. But the attack never came. "With this final act, I condemn you, Bruce Wayne, to suffer as greatly as I have."
Bruce watched in horror as Ra's plunged the curved blade through Alfred's heart, giving it a sharp twist before pulling it free. In the light from the Pit, the blood on the blade glistened black.
"NO!" Bruce screamed, leaping over the table, hands splayed like claws reaching for the Demon's throat.
Ra's deftly avoided the Bat's clumsy attack, slashing at him with his bloody sword but catching only cape.
"There was no reason!" Batman moaned. He caught a downward slash on his forearms, deflecting the sword and landing a hard punch. Ra's staggered back and Bruce advanced like an angry shadow.
"Your grief gives you power," Ra's said, dancing away from a kick that nearly connected with his head, "but it saps away your focus. I have had time to hone my grief, Detective. I have sharpened it into the only weapon truly capable of destroying you."
Bruce rushed Ra's, knocking the sword aside and grabbing him full around the throat with both hands. Ra's brought the pommel of the scimitar down hard on the back of his head but Bruce only tightened his grip. Bruce was too close for Ra's to utilize the blade, but he continued hammering at the Bat's head with the heavy pommel until Bruce was forced to release his grip and defend himself. Blood trickled down his cheek and he was almost certain his skull was fractured.
"This is what you really are, Bruce," Ra's said hoarsely. "At your core, you are a beast, like every other man. You fight with tooth and claw, but it will not be enough to save you. It was not enough to save the ones you love."
With a roar, Batman heaved himself at Ra's, driving his shoulder into the other man's chest. He felt a satisfying snap as the Demon's collarbone gave out and they tumbled to the ground. Rage guided his actions, fueling each swing of his fists. Ra's attempted to block the oncoming blows with the blade of his sword, but Bruce tore it from his hand and tossed it aside. He straddled Ra's now, raining down blow after blow. Blood splattered his face where his cowl left it exposed and still he lashed out.
Bruce wasn't sure when Ra's stopped struggling, but it was before he stopped hitting him. He stood, breathing hard, and retrieved the sword. He stared down at Ra's, who was somehow still conscious, his face a bloody ruin. Bruce raised the sword above his head, glaring down at the man who had taken so much from him. He felt himself filled with a slurry of grief and anger and hatred. He wanted nothing more than to bring that sword down on Ra's' evil head, to end a life that had spent centuries doling out misery and death to untold thousands around the world. With a primal, animalistic yell, he swung the sword down.
Sparks flew as the blade struck the rock beside the Demon's head.
"Such a disappointment," Ra's managed to say through split lips and broken teeth. "Even after all I have taken from you, you still refuse to kill me."
"What?" Bruce said, chest heaving. Realization dawned on him and he gritted his teeth in anger. "This was never about Talia and Damian, was it?"
Ra's offered up a weak chuckle. "Ever the detective," he said. "I needed to break you, to push you over that idiotic line you have for yourself, so that you might someday succeed me as head of the League of Assassins. When the loss of Talia and Damian weren't enough to tip you over the edge, I knew I had to bend you even farther. So I took those whom you hold most dear, those who serve as anchors to the light you yourself shun. You are a most stubborn man, Detective. Here I lay, entirely at your mercy, having taken more from you than most mortal men could bear, and still you refuse to kill me."
"You—you had Talia and Damian killed? YOUR OWN BLOOD?"
"I had intended to use a Lazarus Pit to bring them back," Ra's told him. "I loved my daughter very much," he said. "And I was proud to call Damian my grandson. Their loss weighs heavily on my soul. But neither of them were a fraction as worthy of succeeding me as you, Bruce. Their lives were a price I was willing to pay."
With a violent motion, Bruce hurled the sword away into the darkness. He bent down and grabbed Ra's by the collar, pulling him so close that they nearly touched noses.
"I will never succeed you, Ra's," he growled. "I will never be like you. And I will never kill you. And do you know why?"
"Because I have misjudged you," Ra's spat. "Underneath the Bat, you are just a weak man."
"No," Bruce said. "Because none of the people you killed would want me to break my code on account of scum like you. I refuse to sully their memories with your blood."
"And what do we do now, Detective?"
"Now I turn you in to the police," Bruce told him. "Along with overwhelming evidence that you committed those murders, including the Commissioner. You'll be facing the death penalty for that one."
Ra's scoffed. "I thought you were opposed to killing, Bruce."
"I don't play judge and jury," Bruce corrected. "I facilitate justice, in whatever form the system decides on."
"Surely you know the police will be insufficient to hold me," Ra's said.
Bruce knew Ra's spoke the truth. The police weren't equipped to deal with someone as dangerous as Ra's al Ghul. He may be beaten now, but with his enhanced healing factor, he'll be well enough to pose a threat within hours. Bruce gave a resigned sigh. There was only one option.
Bruce hoisted Ra's up from the floor.
"What are you doing?" Ra's asked. One eye was swollen shut and his nose appeared badly broken.
"You're right," Bruce told him. "You're too dangerous for the police. They'd never hold you."
"Does this mean—?"
"You need to be neutralized." Bruce gathered up the last bit of strength he had left, lifting Ra's up over his head and bringing him crashing down over his knee. A loud SNAP! echoed off the stone walls and Ra's gave an agonized cry. "I think the police can handle you now," Bruce said flatly. Though he knew his only other option was murder, he felt sick to his stomach after what he'd done. Maybe Ra's had succeeded in pushing him over the line after all. Just who the hell was he now?
"Though we commit his body unto the ground this day, Dick Grayson shall find Life Eternal in the Kingdom of God. So it is with us all, ashes to ashes, dust to dust."
The sun was just setting, painting everything with a fiery orange glow. Bruce stared down at the casket being lowered into the grave. On either side of him, sniffling softly, were Barbara Gordon and Selina Kyle, both seated in wheelchairs. Though her doctors strongly advised against it, Selina wanted to attend the funeral. For him.
Bruce had attended a lot of funerals in his life; in his line of work, death was an ever-present threat. It never got easier, but some losses hit harder than others. After his parents, Dick's death hit hardest of all.
I'm so sorry, Dick, he thought as he gazed down at the casket. I'm sorry I couldn't save you.
He looked around at the turnout: Clark and Lois, Ollie and Dinah, Wally, even Diana. There would be a larger service held later just for members of the Justice League to say farewell to their fallen comrade without compromising their public identities. As the service drew to a close, everyone began to disperse. Most caught Bruce's eye and nodded their respects, but Clark, ever the boy scout, approached, Lois at his side.
"Bruce, I'm so sorry," Clark said. "If there's anything—"
"There's not," Bruce said sharply, more so than he'd intended.
Clark nodded. "I understand."
Lois reached out as if to take Bruce's hand but thought better of it. "I'm sorry for your loss, Bruce," she said instead. She looked around. "Where's Alfred? I don't see him anywhere."
"Alfred's back home at the manor," Bruce said. The lie came so naturally he almost believed it himself. "Dick's death hit him very hard. He didn't feel he could make it to the service." Clark gave him a look and for a brief moment, Bruce was sure he'd been caught in the lie. Perhaps his pupils had dilated a fraction of a millimeter or his pulse had increased by two beats per minute, something only someone with Kryptonian senses would pick up. But after a few tense heartbeats, Clark just nodded.
"We understand," he said, giving Lois' hand a gentle squeeze. "Please give him our condolences." He put a hand on Bruce's shoulder. "You know we're here for you if you need us, Lois and me," he said. "I know you don't like to talk much, but if you do—"
"—I know where to find you," Bruce finished with a nod. "I appreciate that, Clark. Lois. Honestly, I do. But for now, I think I need to be alone."
"Of course," Clark said. "Take care of yourself, Bruce. You don't have to be alone all the time."
I know I don't, Clark, Bruce thought. I know I don't.
Epilogue
The air in the cave was cold and damp. Bruce still wore his suit from Dick's funeral. He couldn't believe it had only been two days, a mere forty-eight hours since the hero known as Nightwing was still alive and fighting crime in Blüdhaven. What a difference two days can make.
Bruce had obsessed over death a great deal in the last two days. He'd thought about all the people who had died because of him, because of that madman's plans for him. It had all been so needless, so senseless. Talia, Damian, Lucius, Jim, Dick. And Alfred.
Why hadn't he told anyone about Alfred? Deep down, he knew the answer to that question. It was because telling anyone about it would make it real. And making it real would mean he couldn't do anything about it. They would try to stop him.
Bruce bent down and lifted the shrouded figure at his feet. The body was light. He could feel the residual cold from the morgue refrigeration unit through the thin sheet.
"He took the rest from me, Alfred," Bruce said, his eyes welling up with tears. "He took Dick. And he even took you. But I can take you back."
As he stepped forward with his linen-wrapped bundle, he idly considered how eerily beautiful the pale green light around him truly was.