Note this story is based on the Young Justice Fanfic Luthor's Assassin by Meridianpony. The author encourages spinoffs of their work and I have already contacted them for permission in this instance. The characters of Batman and Young Justice belong to DC Comics and the original scenario belongs to Meridianpony. I lay claim to neither. Since this is based on a previous work it is encouraged to read that work first to avoid being lost. This fiction is rated M for violence and gore. Please take note of a few things. Meridianpony's story was based on Young Justice (Earth-16) canon, specifically that of the earlier seasons. As we all know YJ was canceled and we never saw what happened in that universe. As such, since this fic takes place ≈13 years in future from where Luthor's Assassin left off I'm going to be mincing various canon to try to create a plausible future for an already AU/OOC timeline. This is not a happy story. Its drama and angst heavy.
Bloodwing
A Batman Family Fanfic
By Egg Emperor
Chapter 1: An Unwelcome Resurrection
– People are the sum of their parts,
Experience, life, interaction, feelings.
All light and all darkness,
An ever spinning tapestry of existence,
Indelible as it is malleable.
It is as impossible to remove any stain
As it is to remove the threads of joy.
True
Experience, memories; parts of ourselves may slumber
Hidden by shame or growth of character,
They may dwell sepulchered in the darkness.
Only to rise from sleep,
Dredged into the light from the depths,
By strength or suffering –
* September 21th 2021, Gotham City, 12:54 AM
It was raining in Gotham. Pouring more like it. The already dark and foreboding metropolis was shrouded in a curtain of rain draping from ink black clouds. Flashes of lightning darted across the sky illuminating the gothic structures with hideous shadows. Few people ventured out into the city with benign motives at such an hour on a normal night, and on a night like tonight even the thugs and scum of the city stayed inside. Nights like tonight nearly the whole city slumbered. There were of course exceptions to every rule; however.
High on a hilltop overlooking the edge of the city stood an imposing mansion, a castle skirted by an immense lawn and forest. And in the third floor study of that immense structure a lithe young man paced before the window.
-BW-
Wayne Manor 1:04 AM
Richard "Dick" Wayne was unhappy, stressed and above all exhausted. He was tired, so damn tired. Rubbing his eyes, the 26 year old sighed, staring at his "father's" empty desk. It had been a nearly a year he mused as he glared at the ancient looking oak platform; it and its worn companion having served the scions of the Wayne family for generations. Slumping down into one of the two leather chairs in front of it, the dark haired youth sighed, his eyes gazing towards the handsome mahogany paneling around the ceiling.
"It has been nearly a year Master Dick…" a quiet voice intoned from behind him.
It took all Dick had not to start at the voice. Was he really so distracted that he didn't even hear Alfred enter? The old butler was known for his stealth, possessing traits not unlike the others in the house he managed. Perhaps Wally was right and everyone in this house was indeed a ninja.
"I know Alfred, I just…" he dropped off not being able to voice what he wanted to say.
What could he say? What actions could the young vigilante do to express what he was feeling?
That he couldn't bring himself to claim Bruce's seat? That despite now being the master of the house, he refused to carry out many of the niceties of that position because to do so would be to further prove that his father was gone and not coming back? That as irrational as it was, that on some level he had the idea that as long as he avoided voicing it, there was hope? That Bruce would come back if he only didn't replace him? That he couldn't believe it… not completely, couldn't believe that the man who saved him, gave him nothing short of rebirth, was dead?
Alfred stepped forward a tray with coffee and various small snacks balanced on his hand.
"I thought you could use something help keep you warm Master Dick." The older man stated with raised brow as he placed the tray on the desk.
"And if you will not sleep you must at least eat something." He added, fixing the younger man with a look as clap of thunder rattled the windows.
"What a positively dreadful night," he grimaced glancing out into the darkness.
"It certainly isn't a good one… I'm a bit worried about Timmy." The younger remarked as he added sugar to the steaming black cup on the desk, frowning into the dark liquid.
"I think you needn't worry, Master Timothy has always shown good sense when it comes to his duties, I am most certain that he has made sure to be out of the way of any danger."
"And do not think you can distract me by professing your worry about Master Timothy's safety, no matter how true those thoughts may be! As I said before, please eat Master Dick and then try to get some rest." The butler added fixing his eldest charge with a glare rivaling Batman's own.
Holding his hands up in surrender and not too surprised that Alfred had caught on, Dick acquiesced and began chewing on a cheese laden cracker. A question on his lips waited till he was finished to avoid a reprimand for speaking with a full mouth.
"You know me too well Alfred, how I don't know…", He replied with a wane smile, staring into the darkness of the tumult outside.
Mirroring the saturnine look upon his charge's face, the elder responded. "It is simply something that one picks up after so long I'm afraid sir. When tending to the daily ins and outs of other's lives, one tends to learn the peculiarities of their family."
Seeing Dick lost in thought or simply staring out at nothing Alfred decided to take his leave.
"I'll be in the kitchen if you need anything." He said, closing the door behind him.
-BW-
As he walked down the hall he frowned in thought. Master Wayne's loss had effected them all, though he'd likely never admit it, even Master Jason seemed to have been impacted by Bruce's death.
Of all of them though, the one who was most afflicted by Master Bruce's death was the eldest of the four children the late Billionaire had brought into his home and heart.
Dear sweet child, the butler thought has he walked down the hall. What young Richard had gone through was nothing short of horrendous and yet in the end he was fairly untouched. Despite or rather in spite of all that loathsome man had forced him to do, the boy's spirit was never broken; the kindness of his heart was unspoiled.
"Simply a miracle, one against all odds," he muttered under his breath descending the stairs, looking up at the portraits of Wayne's gone by.
The change was remarkable really, within a few days of his placement at the manor, the serious young man and former assassin underwent a complete transformation; into, the butler supposed, what he was always meant to be. A kind, sensitive and ultimately rambunctious youth that kept even Batman on his toes. It wasn't but a month that he was admonishing his new charge to not swing from the chandelier or slide down the banister – the latter of which was a talking to a young Bruce often received.
As he dwelled on these thoughts a smile came to his face.
He watched as new life was given not only to Dick but to Bruce, the man he had come to consider no less than his son. The man who grew from a tortured boy, barring scars that despite his best efforts Alfred himself could not heal. And he watched as that man raised and nurtured a tormented young boy of his own. Watched as that boy grew into a young man who was so painfully kind and virtuous that connecting him with the truth of his past all but impossible. Soon Master Jason came into their family and their happiness grew. And then there was the day when it was almost extinguished altogether.
He watched as Bruce had to restrain his eldest from doing something he would regret and how Bruce himself was stopped by Mister Kent from doing the exact same thing. He watched how the wounds began to heal when Master Timothy came to save them both. He saw the pain of Master Jason's return. And the shock of Master Damien's arrival. Another tormented soul, forced to do horrid things. Another tormented soul that was slowly healing. It seemed, dare he say it that things were finally going to stay on the upswing… And then not even a year ago they lost Master Bruce, and everything near went to pieces. What little progress with his father Master Damien made was mooted, and a rift opened between Dick and Timothy.
To say that Alfred was tired of the pain his boys constantly endured because of their chosen profession would be an understatement. They sacrificed everything for the world and were repaid for it in suffering.
Another clap of thunder shook the house, rattling the doors along the hall.
"Bloody Hell!" he huffed, reaching the staircase.
It was bad enough that having just returned from league business Master Dick had no desire to sleep. But if this continues, he though glancing down the hallway…
"Blasted storm," he grimaced as a further rumble jolted the manor.
None of us will be sleeping much tonight.
With that thought, he paused before descending the final set of stairs. He supposed he should check on Master Damien before returning to the kitchen. The boy was not a fan of electrical storms, and while normally Dick wouldn't hesitate, and certainly outright enjoy comforting his youngest brother, his current state would likely preclude that solution.
Placing the tea tray down, he continued on to the living quarters in the eastern wing. Arriving he gave a brief forlorn glance to the double doors of the master suite at the far end of the hallway and turned towards the door behind which the youngest member of the Wayne family slept.
Opening the door, he peered inside.
"Oh my."
-BW-
A Gotham City Warehouse, 1:03 AM
Damian Wayne was angry. He was a lot of things besides; tied up like a Christmas goose being one of them. He was also exhausted and sore. But most of all he was angry.
He leveled a vicious glare at Red Robin, who was trussed up to his right. To his left was an equally helpless – and likely unconscious – Red Hood.
He should have stayed in bed. But he had to answer his communicator, he had go and try to rescue Drake from whatever cluster he had gotten himself into. For once in his life he should have been "a good boy" and alerted Pennyworth instead of going alone.
Father was right he thought. Bruce Wayne had admonished; during the short time they spent together before he died, that Damian's impulsiveness could come back to haunt him.
Well, screw that he thought.
He was going to make another "impulsive" decision.
He was going to kill Drake for this. Promises to Dick aside – he mentally winced at the pouting image of his brother his mind conjured. Drake would die for this indignity.
That is, he thought; glancing over at the giggling madman dancing back and forth in front of them; assuming any of us make it out of here alive.
-BW-
Wayne Manor 1:06 AM
Grimacing at the bitter taste of the coffee, and not really desiring to drink anymore Dick let the cup down on the table, not even caring when it struck the saucer with a cringing clatter. Melting back into the leather guest chair he sighed.
He had no desire to resume staring out into the blackness, the thunderstorm raging outside closely matching the tumult in his own heart. At the same time he wouldn't accomplish anything by glancing forlornly at Bruce's desk.
"Damn it!" he yelled, fist striking the handsome oak and making the plate and cup quiver at his rage.
It seemed glaring out into the tempest was all he could do, he couldn't calm his mind enough to sleep nor his heart enough to think.
Blue eyes locked on the distant tree line, illuminated by the incandescent fury above.
Slumping in the chair he put his head in his hands as a tiny pained cry rang though his mind.
'Why? Why did this happen, When did everything start to go so wrong.' It was sob of not the man Dick was today but of the broken boy he once was and might well become again if everything kept up.
Taking a deep breath he blocked out the warm grandeur around him and stated to think back, back to when his new life, which seemed like a dream began to slowly become the nightmare it was today.
Those first years as Robin were amazing, the Team, his friends were always at his side. And Bruce, Batman made sure he had the life of a "normal" child. Or as normal as could be. He had to drop his last name and his first was rarely used. But that was okay, it was all a small price to pay to get away from Luthor and Deathstroke.
He grimaced a bitter taste in his mouth upon thinking of that man. The man he used to call 'Master'. How he twisted a young child into a ruthless and uncaring assassin.
Something that Dick never wanted to be again.
"Something I never wanted to be in the first place", he voiced aloud, shaken from silence by the need to affirm that truth. The want to make it plain that he never wanted to kill.
Still, even today it was sometimes hard, he mused, glaring out into the darkness. People like the Joker and the other vile members of Gotham's criminal elite made it so difficult. The desire was there, simmering under the surface all the time. How easily he could end it, stop them from hurting anyone again. And Dick was all too aware of not just how easy it was mentally but physically. He no longer had the limitations of the body of a child that once hindered his younger self. It would be all too easy, and it was something he had to fight daily.
It sickened him, how deeply Slade's taint ran. That he would be stained for the rest of his days not only by the atrocities he had once committed, but by the knowledge and danger that he could commit so many more should he give in.
As it was though, Bruce helped. Batman helped, Robin … Robin was a balm, a way to be what he had been trained to be – and had to be, an addiction that he couldn't kick – without killing or for that matter, harming anyone innocent. In fact it was a way to turn what Slade and Luthor had done to him on its head.
It was great for years and then … then he turned 15 and he came along. The crazy little bastard that stole the wheels off the Batmobile.
His little brother, he thought, the memory placing a rare smile on his face.
To be honest when it happened, Dick wasn't sure whether to be shocked or horrified. Sure he knew Bruce would never hurt the kid. But still in that moment, when that look of shear pants wetting fear crossed that skinny, dirty brat's face, Dick was certain that the kid though he was a gonner.
Turns out something far different happened among those three gathered in that dirty dark alley. The boy, Jason was homeless and nearly helpless, he wasn't going to last much longer in Crime alley, not on his own. So Bruce decided to take another stray home.
And then a little over 10 months later, Dick passed Robin onto Jason, becoming Nightwing in turn. He remembered the look on his kid brother's face the moment he opened the box and found Robin's costume inside. Deliriously happy, shocked and overwhelmed. Seeing the war of emotions, the way his little brother's face struggled to express the magnitude of his joy, Dick knew then that this was likely the happiest moment in his brother's short and unfortunate life.
Things only got better after that, Jason was allowed to join the Young Justice team for smaller missions and soon even larger ones. Batman, Robin and Nightwing swung from the Gotham's rooftops striking fear into the criminals of the city.
He … he had thought that those moments would last forever. That things would only get better…
Looking up from his now damp hands and into the storm outside, Dick could only think just how wrong he was.
When he was 17 it all went to Hell.
Bruce wanted to protect Jason from his old life. Jason now nearly 15 saw it in the light of adolescent rebellion as an attempt to control him.
Ra's …
Ra's used that as the perfect opportunity. The Joker was hired as a distraction and Sheila… God only knows how she ended up involved with him.
Jason was beaten within an inch of his life … and then blown up.
Bruce tried, tried to get to him… but it was too late.
Truth be told he didn't remember much of that evening. Everything went red and fuzzy when he learned what had happened to Jason. If he had to admit it, Dick had never felt rage on that level before, not for Luthor or Slade, not even for Tony Zucco. This was hate on a level that was hard to describe and he frankly lost it.
Gripping the leather of the chair with whitened knuckles he tasted blood in his mouth.
That night, the only thought in his head was that not only was he prepared to throw away everything he had become, all that had changed, all that he had accomplished. But that he would. It was an absolute certainty. The Joker was going to die. And Dick would personally slit his throat.
As fortune would have it Bruce was prepared. Dick later awoke drugged and restrained in a detention cell in the Watchtower.
Glaring at the desk once more, Dick huffed.
His father knew that he wouldn't be able to control himself. To this day Dick didn't know whether to be thankful or incensed.
Especially since Batman made sure to prevent him from killing the Joker only to turn around and try to do it himself, the hypocrite. And he would have succeeded had Superman not stepped in at the last minute.
As it was Dick spent nearly a month on the space station before Bruce was certain that he wouldn't immediately try to escape and kill the clown. Early on he even threatened to put the inhibitor collar back on when Dick was being particularly vicious.
His had automatically went to the back of his neck, searching for the nonexistent device. Dick grimaced, it hadn't been there in over 12 years; and it had only been there to stop him killing, escaping or both during his short incarceration before he joined the team. Yet its memory still held uneasy sway.
He stood, resuming his pacing as the storm continued to rage, the pinging of hail against the glass an irritation in its own right.
It was several months after being back on Earth before Bruce would let him resume patrol, and he had forbidden his involvement in anything Joker related indefinitely.
Stopping to glare at a portrait of his 'father', Bruce's dour countenance – the man never smiled even for a painting – seemed to stare back.
Ripping his gaze away Dick turned and walked close to the large windows staring out into the darkness.
Jason's death was only the first in a series of dominos that fell. Bruce's restrictions, fear and guilt, Dick's own personal resentment and anguish; it all finally came to a boil 6 months after his little brother died.
The resulting fight burned bridges and Dick left. Moving to Bludhaven, becoming a police officer – the irony in that besides – were all forms of rebellion he supposed. There across the river he could be free and do what he wanted.
"Though who was I kidding?" he asked aloud.
Nothing really changed. He didn't start killing people, or anything like that. No it was really all to escape the illusion of Bruce's rule and the fact that he felt his father didn't trust him.
He had hoped things would get better.
Frowning into his reflection, he mused.
They didn't
Two months later, his teen neighbor Tim came calling. The kid had figured nearly everything out – nearly in that Dick's past was still safe, thanking small miracles. He begged Dick to come back, spinning a yarn of Bruce placing his life in ever increasing danger with reckless abandon. At that point he was still furious. He told the kid that Bruce could drop for all he cared – which was a lie – and that if he was so enthusiastic why not become Robin himself.
Snorting he turned back to the Desk looking a picture of Tim nestled between Jason's and one of Damian.
He never thought the kid would take it seriously. But two months later at the mountain, the Zeta activated and out popped Timmy in a Robin suit.
Shock and dismay were his first thoughts to this boy's sudden induction into the other family business. Perhaps even a little guilt for what Dick felt was his role in the boy putting on the costume.
There was celebration… and then…
The windows vibrated from a shock.
It was a moment before Dick realized it was from his own fist and not the revelation of thunder.
The Drakes were killed by Captain Boomerang.
He had to watch Tim, now having gone from friend to little brother bury his parents. Bruce adopted him soon after, but he was so broken. In those critical days Bruce and Dick were brought together in a truce to help their son and brother, and even still, the change in Tim disturbed both of them.
Even once he had recovered the change was drastic, the light and innocence was gone. The happy teen molded into a quiet, cold, unflinchingly logical and ultimately self-doubting young man.
It was often that while he still lived across the river that Dick would come home for weekends and conspire with Bruce to make his little brother smile, even while he was half shattered himself.
And the bad news kept coming, Wally and Artemis long having been dating decided to quit the team and move to California to attend College.
And he kept smiling, afraid that if he lost his renewed cheerful self he'd never find it again.
Seating himself back in the chair he felt the tears begin to fall, blurring the image of his hands.
Even though he knew better, he would be hard pressed to say he didn't feel betrayed. His best friend, someone who helped pull him out of the darkness was leaving him. And it was so sudden.
And the blows continued to fall, much like his tears.
Mars exploded into civil war as the dying planet's resources were taxed to the limit and the uneasy truce between the various Martian races shattered. M'gann decided to return to try to help bridge the White – Green divide, which didn't help her fading relationship with Connor whose frozen aging was causing a rift in their romance. Connor himself vanished shortly thereafter eventually turning up at the Kent farm where he's remained since, trying to live his life as a normal human. M'gann still visited from time to time but apparently they had settled into just being close friends.
Kaldur was having problems of his own. It not every day that you find out that your father is the most wanted man/terrorist in your country. Having a crisis of faith in whether he could lead the YJ team or even be a hero, he returned to Atlantis in an effort to find himself.
Sneering through his redden, tear-shot eyes, Dick couldn't help feeling contempt that such a "small" thing could shake someone he always saw as unshakeable.
Last Dick heard he was a middle rank member of the royal guard having never returned to the surface.
Zatana, never recovered fully from the loss of her father and while she still remained part of the team, her involvement had dwindled. She mostly traveled the world, searching for a way to separate her father from the helmet.
But the worst of all that had happened was Roy. Both Roys… Dick grimaced at having to make that distinction – he only really knew one Roy Harper but …
After the horrific revelation that Red Arrow was an unwitting, manufactured clone spy for the Light; Roy, Red Arrow continued for years on his self-imposed mission to find the original speedy, though over time that mission became an obsession, and the words had changed from the original Roy Harper to the real Roy Harper.
Dick and the others were worried, and that had only heightened their concerns, but there was nothing they could do. Roy never stuck around long enough for them to force him to talk to Dinah.
Dick was a few months past 16 when he found him. The first Roy had been held in stasis, save for his missing right arm – likely used to make the Roy that Dick knew – he hadn't changed a day since he was kidnapped year ago.
It was at that point that things spiraled out of control. The first Roy rightly had issues with being kidnapped, cloned and essentially replaced. By the time his physical therapy was complete and he was outfitted with a prosthetic arm, he was by all regards a bitter young man who regarded his clone with contempt, a fake that had stolen his life. He refused to become a civilian though and eventually made friends with the then current Robin, Jason.
Dick couldn't help the clinching of his teeth. Jason's death, besides the shock it sent at home, nearly destroyed Arsenal – as the first Roy had come to call himself. He vanished from the Young Justice team, got hooked on drugs, even joined a gang and ever since struggled to stay clean. Last word out of Star City was that he was still around, clashing with Green Arrow, and while he avoided killing unlike his onetime friend, most criminals that ran into Arsenal these days would be considered lucky if they retained the ability to walk.
Roy, his friend was worse – if only because Red Arrow was the man he knew and loved like a brother. It was clear that he had begun to mentally deteriorate even before the original was found, after, he just collapsed in on himself.
Dick guessed that Roy wanted forgiveness from the first Speedy, some form of closure that he didn't steal another's life. The first Roy was – Dick gritted his teeth, he understood but still was angry at Arsenal for it – understandably unable to give it. Red Arrow was crushed, he didn't sleep, didn't eat. He questioned everything; knowing that his memories were not his own was an existential burden that Dick didn't even want to contemplate. That he was a copy with no worth…
"His own words." No one else thought of you like that, Dick finished internally.
He began to drink, began to withdraw, quit the league.
A few months later Black Canary found him … with his wrists slit.
Had she been a few minutes later he wouldn't have survived.
After the second attempt, Dinah and Oliver had no choice but to have him committed.
Dick made a point to visit often. Once every two weeks once he got settled in.
It had dwindled to once every few months with Bruce's death and responsibility of running WE and being Batman. That and Roy didn't really want to see people from his "fake" life. Better wasn't a word to describe his friend. Better would be having the old Roy back. But he was moving on.
Dick knew he needed to visit again, if only to make sure he saw him one last time. He was certain now that Roy decided to make a new life unconnected to the old "fake" one he had had. Dick was sure that once Roy checked out of the Hospital, he'd never see him again.
The very thought was like a knife to the gut.
And there it was the original Young Justice Team, his friends, his family disintegrated in the span of 3 months. He wasn't even 18 yet and his second family was gone. Much like the first.
He lived in misery for a few years, coaching a new team, smiling on the outside withering inside. He had plan to quit and give the reins to Tim who was nearly 16.
And then when he was 22… the Light made its second move.
It was something the whole hero community was unprepared for. It was chaos, total war the Light and the Reach invasion. And this time the villains were more than prepared. The Light intended to use the Reach technology to rewrite history itself, the world would be under their control, because it always was, the heroes would have never existed to oppose them. For three months the world was plagued with havoc. Though it seemed much longer, as the battles were waged all across History.
In the end Justice prevailed, but not without an immense price, hundreds of thousands of civilian injured, thousands of deaths, many heroes were crippled, mentally broken or both. The rewrite of History itself was prevented, but at the cost of Barry Allen's life; his existence scattered across space and time. The Flash's ultimate sacrifice was not in vain though, the Light were dealt with. Last Dick checked Luthor was currently serving an astronomical number of life sentences in Colorado's Federal Super-Max. The Guardians imprisoned Vandel Savage on Oa; condemned to a sentence of Billions of years under the Oan's watchful eyes.
The fates of the others were less fortunate and thinking on it Dick couldn't help a vicious smile. During the height of the battles Clarion was trapped between dimensions by Fate, where the Master of Order assured the League he would be stuck for all eternity. The Brain was killed when he betrayed Mala in an attempt to flee, his escape rocket exploding when the ape threw a metal beam at it. Queen Bee was captured, tried and executed by her people after a successful revolution in Bialya.
And Slade, the mercenary man who he had once called master, was finally gone.
Looking up a flash of lightning through the window, eyes glancing into the night. Dick was sure this time. Their battle during the war ended conclusively. He gripped the leather in a strangle hold as forced himself to stand.
Even Deathstroke the Terminator couldn't survive falling into a pit of boiling lava.
Only Ra's al Ghul managed to elude capture. And perhaps, Dick mused he should be grateful for that fact. Even still his feelings on that were confused and mixed. He hated Ra's, hated him more than Luthor or Slade, Ra's – abet indirectly – took his little brother away. But… he also gave him back.
Ra's survival allowed Jason to return, and while the Red Hood's debut and subsequent reign of terror was nothing short of a disaster for the Bat Family at large, he couldn't be sorry about his little brother's return.
He grabbed the coffee cup that he had abandon choking down the now cooled liquid.
And as much death and destruction as Jason had caused – it paled in comparison to Dick's own exploits. As much as he wanted his brother to stop, he would be a hypocrite for condemning him, especially when deep down, there was a dark and twisted part of him that at least somewhat agreed with Jason's methods.
After that, after all that, Dick thought that life couldn't throw anything more at him.
At 23 he began to further mend his relationship with Bruce and tried to admonish Jason when he could to stop his violent crusade. Soon after his littlest brother came. Thinking on the diminutive, tan mini-Bruce – who even now was asleep a floor down – he couldn't help but smile.
Damian was a whole different ball game. He was much like Dick, a trained child assassin. And yet since it had been ingrained into him far earlier it was far harder for him to quit. The little boy didn't understand love or affection or any of the good things in life.
The very though brought a pout to Dick's face – though he mused it could be a grimace from the bitter cold coffee.
He doted on his baby brother, wanted to save him as Bruce had him. And he became the center of cheer, cracking corny jokes, lame puns and thinking up sorts of fun – inane as his brother would put it – things for them to do. All in the effort of making his littlest brother smile. And before long Dick noticed that his personality shift wasn't forced anymore.
Staring at the family portrait on the opposite side of the study from the lone one of a younger Bruce. He was, he had realized, genuinely happy, for the first time since Jason had died.
Getting Damien to smile, Tim to work out his angst and be a kid for once, and just engaging Jason in conversation. It was as he used to say Asterous.
And it continued. Damian became less likely to want to slit throats – especially Tim's. Timmy himself was slowly returning to the outgoing teen he once was. Even Jason was attempting to be less violent and trying to reconcile – with repeated prompting – with Bruce and the other members of the family.
Wally came out of retirement to take his Uncle's place as the Flash. And while his and Dick's friendship was still shaky, they were making progress. And that was all that was Dick could ask from the other man.
As much as the loss of most of his friends hurt him, and as much as it hurt to say, as long as he had his family, had his father, had a single friend back, he could live with it.
Was it ideal, he thought to himself? No, but it could have been a lot worse. Life had stabilized, he retired from the Bludhaven police department later that year; taking up the helm of the Officers Charity in Gotham, while shadowing Bruce with Tim, learning the ropes in preparation of eventually helming a fortune 500 company.
Bruce Wayne's eldest son and heir in the light of day, Nightwing by night. It was an interesting if not enjoyable life. Sure, the parties were dull as ever, made even worse by the fact that on those nights Oracle and her birds often filled in for Batman, meaning that he didn't even have Bab's company to make the nights pass easier. Most of the time his greatest pastimes were keeping Damian away from the champagne, getting Timmy to lighten up and reminding Jason he was on the patch whenever he tried to sneak out for a smoke.
Smiling gently for perhaps the first time that night, Dick mused on the unexpected, but far from unwelcome duty of taking care of 3 younger siblings.
Something he did more often these days than ever…
It was then that the doors of the office were thrown ajar with an unceremonious bang.
And a rather distraught and disheveled looking Alfred followed.
Just from his appearance Dick felt his stomach knot. The fear in the old man's eyes was enough to tell him that something was drastically wrong.
"Master Dick…" The man huffed out of breath from his flight to the study from the living quarters.
"Master Dick… It's master Damian, he's missing!" The butler managed to get out.
"What! Alfred what do you mean missing?!" Dick felt his heart stop. He dashed out of the study, heading for his little brother's room, fully unsurprised when the older man matched his pace, as the storm rattled the windows for the thousandth time that night.
"I went to check that the youngest master was comfortably abed – you know how much he dislikes electrical storms. But when I went to check upon him, his bed was made up and he was not there."
Dick increased his pace down the stairs – worry filling his being – he was about to turn to the living wing when the Butler grasped his arm.
"Not there sir, I've already checked that as well as the cave, Robin's suit is missing."
The knowledge fell on Dick like a hammer, forcing him to a stop. Why in on Earth would his baby brother go out in this weather? Or at such a late hour? Without permission – well the last one could simply be answered as its Damian. But the rest...
"Alfred? Why, why would he go out like this? I mean I know its Damian, and he never listens but…"
A grim look twisted the elderly butler's mien.
"There… There was a distress signal on the Cave's systems, from Red Robin… With the lightning strike we took earlier, it appears that most of the message relay systems are down, only the central computer and the base communicators would have received it. I can only surmise that the young master received it decided to attempt a rescue." The man finished with distaste, perhaps hoping his theory was wrong.
"A… Distress signal…" Dick's heart leapt into his throat, he couldn't breathe…He… He couldn't lose them too. It … he couldn't….
"What…what was the message Alfred..." he bit out through his panic
"All it says that is that Red Hood has been captured and that there are multiple persons involved."
A shock passed through him, his breathing suddenly calmed, his brain reacting almost on autopilot.
Calmly, perhaps more so that he should be, he addressed the butler.
"Alfred, I'm going after him, if the situation was enough that Tim felt he needed help."
That fact he felt that he needed to help Jason or that Jason had been successfully incapacitated was larger level disturbing, he didn't add.
"I don't think Damian and Tim will be able to handle it on their own, especially since Tim was probably expecting me or Oracle to respond." He internally grimaced thinking on the very short list of persons who could cause Red Robin problems and the shorter list who would think taking on Red Hood was a sane idea.
Turning to the butler, presenting a façade of calm he continued.
"I need you to stay here a contact Commissioner Gordon and Oracle, I need to know anything about what might be going on. The storm is bad enough that the signal won't work, and who knows if they even have power."
He then turned resuming his stride towards the entrance of the cave without even waiting for a reply.
-BW-
The Bat Cave 1:09 AM
As he descended the slick stairs into the darkness; Dick feel a sickening fire, a matching darkness sink into his veins. Something that he hadn't felt in years, something malevolent, callous and hateful. And yet he embraced it, let it sink into him with grim satisfaction.
He would need that black flame tonight…
It was time – long time – that Gotham's scum were taught a lesson: Not to mess with his family.
He couldn't… couldn't lose them, not after what happened. They were all he had left.
When he was 25 his life shattered forever, He came, following the Reach. It was wrong, to think that such horrible things were fleeing from something worse. But the Light invited the Reach in and … Darkseid followed.
He came to destroy the world, to turn it into Hell. He failed … but Dick's world still became a Hell. Because he failed at the price of Batman… of Bruce's Life.
Never again he screamed in his head as he put on his suit, not Batman's, he wasn't Batman, he was just a pretender.
No, a suit… Nightwing's or rather a new Nightwing.
A new suit with red he designed a while ago, one in red to match his brothers and …
It didn't matter he thought. That was before, before Bruce died.
Now, in the first time he was thinking clearly since…
It was decided…
This suit would be a new symbol, one different from Batman, he thought as he opened the vault…
As he placed the old knives and stars in his belt, ones that hadn't been held in over a decade. He was running on autopilot, not thinking just doing as he grabbed the long staff that had been consigned to evidence long ago. A staff with a hidden blade long and sharp.
It was Deathstroke's, the knowledge made it feel like it was burning in his hands, it would have to do for now. He would make a new one later.
It was time to show Gotham what happened when they harmed what was his.
Bruce always talked about the line that must never be crossed, the one Dick had fallen over beyond count in his youth.
Well, tonight another line had been crossed, they – these unknown persons – attacked the ashes of his dream, the life he deserved and was for some reason never allowed by the cruel whims of fate. They would pay, least with their blood – their lives depended on how much Dick's rage cooled before he got to them.
And considering how he currently felt…
A cruel smile twisted his lips, feeling wrong to his soul but so right to his rage hazed mind.
…That was unlikely.
Hopping on his motorcycle he revved the bike – glad that it's disuse had not so far impacted its performance – the darkness in his blood ignited like the gas in the engine as he sped from the cave, his vision becoming a haze of red in spite of the blue face of his helmet.
As he tore from the cave onto the rain slicked streets, like a bat from the fires on an infernal mission, and the squeal and sulfur of burning rubber became a roar of blood in his ears, he had few final reservations about what he was about to do.
Bruce was dead… he couldn't be disappointed in him…
Alfred's disappointment would be enough for the both of them, he'd probably resign.
Wally … it's not like that friendship was salvageable beyond a working relationship anyway.
And the others, what did he care? They left him first, what he did after that was none of their concern.
His brothers, the ones whom he was doing this for … that would be the worst part.
Jason would never forgive him… never for being a hypocrite, for having a body count much higher than his own but having the nerve to criticize him.
Tim… Timmy would likely never look at him the same again, with that hero worship adoration, never ask him to spend the night when he was feeling lonely or help with some crazy project. His trust would be shattered, learning his brother was such a monster… He's probably never see the young man again.
Damian… Damian would be the worst, at least in how far reaching the consequences would be. How could he continue to rehabilitate his youngest sibling – admonish him that killing was wrong if he had done it so much at his own age… and was about to do it again to save him. It would be just the same reaction as Jason's, he'd be the ultimate hypocrite…
He rode onward, faster and faster towards his destination, the coordinates of Robin's bike and Tim's message.
Hot acidic tears staining his face, he refused to blink. He had to be strong. He was doing this, for them. It didn't matter what they thought in the end… They would be safe. That's all that mattered. Their safety. They could hate him all they wanted, because if they could hate, then they were alive.
The wind was howling, the rain pelting, and the lighting cracked the sky in a blaze of light as he hurtled over the bridge into the city proper. Ready to stain the churning river below red with his anger, scarlet with hate, and crimson with blood of whoever dared to harm his family.
So … What do you guys (and girls) think? I personally like it. Dick all raged up and riding to the rescue (slaughter), reminds me of the color scheme and mood of that one Teen Titans episode, as well as the 4th season of the animated series. I'm very pleased with how it turned out and actually I'm thinking of leaving it right here.
…
Just kidding. It will have a conclusion. What is it with me and my one shots becoming two shots?
Admittedly the second half might not be nearly as long as this it might only be 3-4 thousand words. Just don't know. It might go longer if I decided to include other members of the so called Team. It could go two ways I guess, Dick using sub-lethal force on his own and having it be relatively self-contained to the Bat Bros. and Alfred (and whatever poor villains Dick wants to turn into sashimi ) or it might take others to make him back off in which case it would be longer. Depends on my mood and which direction I want to take it.
On last note is there is a "sequel hook" – though whether I use it will depend on a lot of things, like overall reception – in this story. It's small a single line, so it's easily missed, props for anyone who guesses it. But I could go somewhere with it if I have the drive and a good reception from this as well as from the original story's author.
Hope you people have had a good time and look forward to when I post the second (and hopefully last chapter of this thing)
This is Johannes, The Egg Emperor,
Signing off.