Impossible Reality
By Jim Greeno
jrgreeno@ix.netcom.com
The pounding in his head began as he regained consciousness. It took a full minute for his vision to clear. The Batman found himself upright, bound and shackled to a cold stone wall, barely able to move. He quickly began to size up his injuries, opening his well-trained mind to the pain he was feeling.
A fracture to his lower left leg, coupled with a broken ankle. Deep gashes to both thighs that had closed mostly, though not cleanly. Two stab wounds in his left side that were still seeping. Allowing his weight to settle somewhat on his wrist shackles, he rediscovered the hard way what two dislocated shoulders feel like. Both wrists either broken, fractured, or severely sprained...and then the basics; creased knuckles, broken fingers, a swollen eye, split lip, and damage to his jaw and nose.
Having only been conscious for a few minutes at most, it was already time to face his fear. The labored breathing sounds coming from his right put his mind at ease. At least he was alive.
Batman rarely noticed the slightness of Tim Drake. Though he stands taller at his age than either Dick or Jason had, he never had the bulk of his predecessors. His frame, though well-defined and lithe, could easily be described as lanky. Like Dick, he'd worked relentlessly to conquer the weaknesses that nature had given him. To look at the young man was to feel pride in all he'd accomplished. That pride only grows when Batman considers that his hard work was more for him, Dick, Alfred, and his parents than for himself.
That mental picture was dashed as he took in the sight of the boy bound similarly at his side. It was impossible to completely assess the extent of his partner's injuries from his current perspective, but it didn't look good. His head hung forward, bobbing up and down as he gasped for air through his mouth. The break to his nose had obviously closed that airway.
Batman turned his head as far to the right as he could manage to get a better look at Robin's face with his good eye. The rage within him tripled.
The duo had been overwhelmed hours before by the sheer numbers of their opposition. They'd tracked a mercenary/terrorist group to southern New Jersey after discovering their link to the assassination of a senator. Luck had certainly not been on their side as the ensuing fight progressed. Just as they managed to turn the tide in their favor, another group had arrived out of coincidence. In retrospect, poor planning and bad timing never passed as excuses for the Caped Crusader, yet in this case there really was no other explanation.
When things got bad, Batman had given Robin the order to run. His partner hesitated, not wanting to leave his mentor in a fight that even he couldn't win. Robin was struck on the head from behind, then pounced upon by four of the terrorists.
What little was left of Batman's battle plan ceased to exist in that moment, his only objective being to save Robin's life. He knew full well he was leaving himself exposed in a million different ways, but he'd be damned if he'd lose another partner. Not this time. Not again. The four men on top of Robin paid dearly over the next few seconds. Batman held the young man's face in his hands. A cut and a few bruises, breathing steadily, but unconscious. He gathered his partner in his arms, but didn't even make it to his feet before he, too, was struck down.
His unconscious weight pulling at his restraints, Robin didn't look as he had when Batman last laid eyes on him. His face was mangled...both eyes beaten to a pulp, tears in the skin from multiple blows to the face, nose broken, jaw dislocated.
They had beaten him while he was unconscious. Beaten him bloody while he was completely unable to resist. Beaten him for the fun of it.
In a split second, every muscle in The Batman's body came alive against his restraints. An inhuman roar filled the remote warehouse that was his prison. Blood and spittle flew from his mouth as his anger consumed him.
The men scattered about the large room laughed, startled yet amused by the sudden burst of life coming from the masked man before them as he struggled fruitlessly to free himself from his bonds.
The violent display and deafening howls continued for a few minutes before Batman had finally exhausted himself. He raised his head to peer into the sun through the overhead windows above him, cursing himself inwardly for allowing a fine young man to fall prey to his mistakes ...another in a line of heroic victims of his personal crusade.
Spent, The Batman slipped once again into unconsciousness.
Night had fallen by the time he awoke. He concentrated on keeping his anger at bay as he surveyed the room.
Over the next two hours, he watched and listened, allowing his mind to take control of a situation that his body could not unravel. The simple truth was that Batman and Robin had been out of contact for over a day. Alfred and Oracle were sure to take action, and a positive course of events would then take place.
The glass above Batman and Robin would shatter, allowing Nightwing to make his usual dramatic entrance, landing gracefully within feet of them.
He will have already taken stock of the opposition...well over forty expertly trained men, assassins of all shapes and sizes.
After spouting one of his pithy, mocking one-liners at his former senior partner, Batman and Robin would be freed in moments. Smoke grenades and gas masks would then come into play.
Nightwing would hold the mercenaries off while Batman saw Robin to safety. When signaled, he would make his exit and arrange for backup to ensure that justice was done.
In the very exclusive world of The Batman, such things were certainties. It was only a matter of time now.
Dawn was nearing when Batman heard Nightwing's feet hit the roof, a faint whisper one must be trained to hear. Minutes passed in a heartbeat as Batman prepared for his mental orchestrations to come to life.
The overhead glass far above broke with a thunderous crash, and Nightwing stood with his back to his partners within moments. He deployed a flash capsule and concussion grenade to stun the terrorists, then turned to face Batman, laser cutter already in hand. His expected joke went only half-spoken as he absorbed the battered countenance of Robin, his heir apparent and surrogate brother.
His demeanor changed in blink. Nightwing cut through his mentor's wrist bonds in an instant. He then placed the cutter firmly in Batman's hand, leaving him to deal with his ankle restraints, and then Robin. With that, he spun on his heel and, to Batman's pure disbelief, charged headlong into an impossible battle.
The next two minutes passed in a blur as Batman, suffering profusely from blood loss and injury, freed his junior partner and carried him to safety. That behind him, a new fear enveloped the Dark Knight, and he rushed back inside.
As he entered the large warehouse door, the impossible reality unfolded before him.
A dozen men lay battered on the floor as Nightwing dashed about the room in a whirlwind of fluid motion. Batman's former charge was working from a five-man perimeter, taking his opponents five at a time, adding one more to his focus each time he dropped another.
His movements were pure acrobatic poetry, guided by animal instinct. Nightwing was striking only to incapacitate momentarily, allowing him to move from target to target without taking any damage. He landed finishing blows only when the opportunities presented themselves, unwilling to sacrifice his positioning or relinquish the upper hand.
When it appeared that the tide was turning against him and Batman moved forward to intervene, Nightwing used a doubled-over opponent as a springboard to reach an overhead support beam. From there, he swung effortlessly into his patented quadruple somersault and landed pat, providing himself once again with the space he required. The ballet of violence then resumed as before.
Batman stood ready, batarangs in both hands, watching Nightwing's display almost in awe. The men fell one after another, their weapons and training rendered useless by a target moving impossibly fast at all times. As Nightwing dispatched still another thug with a flourish, he caught Batman's eyes and nodded to his left.
Batman was already in motion, taking out three opponents of his own with uncanny precision as his batarangs found their marks. He then proceeded to subdue those that tried to escape, leaving Nightwing to his task. He returned only to witness the end of the battle. As Nightwing made short work of their remaining opponents, Batman was left to wonder if the student had indeed surpassed the teacher.
The simple answer was no. For those few minutes, Nightwing had finally been consumed by the one thing that both he and his mentor fought endlessly to protect him from.
Rage.
It was then that Batman realized that his ward had long since achieved the skills, both physical and mental, required to equal his own. Yet without the rage, without allowing his own inner demons to manifest themselves into a guiding force, he had also managed to keep his compassion, exuberance, and humanity intact.
While Batman found himself forever surrounded by darkness, Nightwing had embraced the light.
Batman and Nightwing saw to Robin's wounds and placed him gingerly into the Batmobile. His recovery would take some time, but he would return to the rooftops before long. That fact alone brought his two senior partners more comfort than he would ever know.
Nightwing secured Robin's seatbelt and closed the car door quietly. He then turned to face The Batman, unsure of what to say.
Without a second thought, Batman removed his cowl and placed his hands on Nightwing's shoulders. He then brought one hand up to hold the side of his ward's face.
"Hear me," he said as he met Nightwing's eyes. "I will never doubt you again, and I am so very proud of the man you've become."
Bruce Wayne held his son's gaze for another moment, and noticed as tears welled in Nightwing's eyes. With a slight nod, he got into the Batmobile and drove away, leaving Nightwing alone as the sun came over the horizon.
END
By Jim Greeno
jrgreeno@ix.netcom.com
The pounding in his head began as he regained consciousness. It took a full minute for his vision to clear. The Batman found himself upright, bound and shackled to a cold stone wall, barely able to move. He quickly began to size up his injuries, opening his well-trained mind to the pain he was feeling.
A fracture to his lower left leg, coupled with a broken ankle. Deep gashes to both thighs that had closed mostly, though not cleanly. Two stab wounds in his left side that were still seeping. Allowing his weight to settle somewhat on his wrist shackles, he rediscovered the hard way what two dislocated shoulders feel like. Both wrists either broken, fractured, or severely sprained...and then the basics; creased knuckles, broken fingers, a swollen eye, split lip, and damage to his jaw and nose.
Having only been conscious for a few minutes at most, it was already time to face his fear. The labored breathing sounds coming from his right put his mind at ease. At least he was alive.
Batman rarely noticed the slightness of Tim Drake. Though he stands taller at his age than either Dick or Jason had, he never had the bulk of his predecessors. His frame, though well-defined and lithe, could easily be described as lanky. Like Dick, he'd worked relentlessly to conquer the weaknesses that nature had given him. To look at the young man was to feel pride in all he'd accomplished. That pride only grows when Batman considers that his hard work was more for him, Dick, Alfred, and his parents than for himself.
That mental picture was dashed as he took in the sight of the boy bound similarly at his side. It was impossible to completely assess the extent of his partner's injuries from his current perspective, but it didn't look good. His head hung forward, bobbing up and down as he gasped for air through his mouth. The break to his nose had obviously closed that airway.
Batman turned his head as far to the right as he could manage to get a better look at Robin's face with his good eye. The rage within him tripled.
The duo had been overwhelmed hours before by the sheer numbers of their opposition. They'd tracked a mercenary/terrorist group to southern New Jersey after discovering their link to the assassination of a senator. Luck had certainly not been on their side as the ensuing fight progressed. Just as they managed to turn the tide in their favor, another group had arrived out of coincidence. In retrospect, poor planning and bad timing never passed as excuses for the Caped Crusader, yet in this case there really was no other explanation.
When things got bad, Batman had given Robin the order to run. His partner hesitated, not wanting to leave his mentor in a fight that even he couldn't win. Robin was struck on the head from behind, then pounced upon by four of the terrorists.
What little was left of Batman's battle plan ceased to exist in that moment, his only objective being to save Robin's life. He knew full well he was leaving himself exposed in a million different ways, but he'd be damned if he'd lose another partner. Not this time. Not again. The four men on top of Robin paid dearly over the next few seconds. Batman held the young man's face in his hands. A cut and a few bruises, breathing steadily, but unconscious. He gathered his partner in his arms, but didn't even make it to his feet before he, too, was struck down.
His unconscious weight pulling at his restraints, Robin didn't look as he had when Batman last laid eyes on him. His face was mangled...both eyes beaten to a pulp, tears in the skin from multiple blows to the face, nose broken, jaw dislocated.
They had beaten him while he was unconscious. Beaten him bloody while he was completely unable to resist. Beaten him for the fun of it.
In a split second, every muscle in The Batman's body came alive against his restraints. An inhuman roar filled the remote warehouse that was his prison. Blood and spittle flew from his mouth as his anger consumed him.
The men scattered about the large room laughed, startled yet amused by the sudden burst of life coming from the masked man before them as he struggled fruitlessly to free himself from his bonds.
The violent display and deafening howls continued for a few minutes before Batman had finally exhausted himself. He raised his head to peer into the sun through the overhead windows above him, cursing himself inwardly for allowing a fine young man to fall prey to his mistakes ...another in a line of heroic victims of his personal crusade.
Spent, The Batman slipped once again into unconsciousness.
Night had fallen by the time he awoke. He concentrated on keeping his anger at bay as he surveyed the room.
Over the next two hours, he watched and listened, allowing his mind to take control of a situation that his body could not unravel. The simple truth was that Batman and Robin had been out of contact for over a day. Alfred and Oracle were sure to take action, and a positive course of events would then take place.
The glass above Batman and Robin would shatter, allowing Nightwing to make his usual dramatic entrance, landing gracefully within feet of them.
He will have already taken stock of the opposition...well over forty expertly trained men, assassins of all shapes and sizes.
After spouting one of his pithy, mocking one-liners at his former senior partner, Batman and Robin would be freed in moments. Smoke grenades and gas masks would then come into play.
Nightwing would hold the mercenaries off while Batman saw Robin to safety. When signaled, he would make his exit and arrange for backup to ensure that justice was done.
In the very exclusive world of The Batman, such things were certainties. It was only a matter of time now.
Dawn was nearing when Batman heard Nightwing's feet hit the roof, a faint whisper one must be trained to hear. Minutes passed in a heartbeat as Batman prepared for his mental orchestrations to come to life.
The overhead glass far above broke with a thunderous crash, and Nightwing stood with his back to his partners within moments. He deployed a flash capsule and concussion grenade to stun the terrorists, then turned to face Batman, laser cutter already in hand. His expected joke went only half-spoken as he absorbed the battered countenance of Robin, his heir apparent and surrogate brother.
His demeanor changed in blink. Nightwing cut through his mentor's wrist bonds in an instant. He then placed the cutter firmly in Batman's hand, leaving him to deal with his ankle restraints, and then Robin. With that, he spun on his heel and, to Batman's pure disbelief, charged headlong into an impossible battle.
The next two minutes passed in a blur as Batman, suffering profusely from blood loss and injury, freed his junior partner and carried him to safety. That behind him, a new fear enveloped the Dark Knight, and he rushed back inside.
As he entered the large warehouse door, the impossible reality unfolded before him.
A dozen men lay battered on the floor as Nightwing dashed about the room in a whirlwind of fluid motion. Batman's former charge was working from a five-man perimeter, taking his opponents five at a time, adding one more to his focus each time he dropped another.
His movements were pure acrobatic poetry, guided by animal instinct. Nightwing was striking only to incapacitate momentarily, allowing him to move from target to target without taking any damage. He landed finishing blows only when the opportunities presented themselves, unwilling to sacrifice his positioning or relinquish the upper hand.
When it appeared that the tide was turning against him and Batman moved forward to intervene, Nightwing used a doubled-over opponent as a springboard to reach an overhead support beam. From there, he swung effortlessly into his patented quadruple somersault and landed pat, providing himself once again with the space he required. The ballet of violence then resumed as before.
Batman stood ready, batarangs in both hands, watching Nightwing's display almost in awe. The men fell one after another, their weapons and training rendered useless by a target moving impossibly fast at all times. As Nightwing dispatched still another thug with a flourish, he caught Batman's eyes and nodded to his left.
Batman was already in motion, taking out three opponents of his own with uncanny precision as his batarangs found their marks. He then proceeded to subdue those that tried to escape, leaving Nightwing to his task. He returned only to witness the end of the battle. As Nightwing made short work of their remaining opponents, Batman was left to wonder if the student had indeed surpassed the teacher.
The simple answer was no. For those few minutes, Nightwing had finally been consumed by the one thing that both he and his mentor fought endlessly to protect him from.
Rage.
It was then that Batman realized that his ward had long since achieved the skills, both physical and mental, required to equal his own. Yet without the rage, without allowing his own inner demons to manifest themselves into a guiding force, he had also managed to keep his compassion, exuberance, and humanity intact.
While Batman found himself forever surrounded by darkness, Nightwing had embraced the light.
Batman and Nightwing saw to Robin's wounds and placed him gingerly into the Batmobile. His recovery would take some time, but he would return to the rooftops before long. That fact alone brought his two senior partners more comfort than he would ever know.
Nightwing secured Robin's seatbelt and closed the car door quietly. He then turned to face The Batman, unsure of what to say.
Without a second thought, Batman removed his cowl and placed his hands on Nightwing's shoulders. He then brought one hand up to hold the side of his ward's face.
"Hear me," he said as he met Nightwing's eyes. "I will never doubt you again, and I am so very proud of the man you've become."
Bruce Wayne held his son's gaze for another moment, and noticed as tears welled in Nightwing's eyes. With a slight nod, he got into the Batmobile and drove away, leaving Nightwing alone as the sun came over the horizon.
END