Chapter Four
Schools ends and I'm out of the building faster than ever. I skip the busses and decide to walk for a bit. Being stuck in a seat for forty-five minutes and asked a bunch of questions is too much for me. A walk offers the chance to think and be alone for a bit.
I stuff my hands in my pockets and stick in my beats. I scroll through my iTunes until I come up with the classic rock songs my dad played as I grew up. There aren't many memories I have of him being around, but the one around him playing me songs is one of the best. It's not something I talk about much; it hurts me and is embarrassing. I can't think of anyone who knows what that feels like, and I don't want to be the kid who complains about it.
Gotham High's campus becomes Gotham City fast. The transition from grass to cement is abrupt, and the few trees inside of the city's limits become towering skyscrapers. The anger and angst doesn't change, though. Every driver of every car seems to be full of righteous rage that won't be quenched until he or she reaches their destination. Even with their windows up, their yells and curses are loud enough for me to hear.
I look up and down first street for something to do. Through the ocean of men, women, and children, I see a rattled old restaurant sign for Dzerchenko's. The red, white, and dark blue paint is fading, but looks can be deceiving. I decide to stop in for an early dinner.
The bell rings overhead as I enter the restaurant. Despite the sign being beat up, the interior really isn't that bad. On the walls are paintings and pictures of castles and monuments of Eastern Europe. By the looks of it, I have to guess Poland, Belarus, or Ukraine. Judging by the name of the place, I'd say it makes sense.
"Hello," greets a gritty, aged voice. His Slavic accent is thick. "How are you today, boy?"
He's a port man with heavy jowls and thinning black hair. His beard is slightly unruly. An apron reaches halfway down his legs. I can see he's cleaning off his hands with a dirty rag, too.
"I'm doing well, sir." I step up to the wooden counter and look above him at the menu.
"What can I make you?"
"Can I...have a...Kielbasa special?"
"Sure," he says and takes the cash from me.
I sit in the corner facing the TV. Already, the smell of cooking sausage wafts through the almost empty restaurant. It smells great, and I'm glad I came here.
I look over my shoulder to make sure that the Slav didn't come out and that no other patrons come in. I pull out my phone and check the app I made to spy on Bruce. The thoughts have been grinding me all day; they're inescapable.
The cameras haven't been triggered yet. Not a single one has stirred since this morning, which isn't exactly unusual. Out of all the vigilantes in the world, two of them are known to stay inside during the day. Just my luck that it's Batman and Nightwing.
Tonight they'll be active - if not Dick, then Bruce. They need a protector to look over them, to make sure that nothing goes wrong. God only knows how bad things will get if they do make a mistake. Dick doesn't seem as likely to make one as Bruce does, but it's still weighing on me.
The Slav's footsteps warn me to his arrival. Cautiously, I put my phone on the table to not rouse the man's puts a clay bowl on the table full of steaming soup and sausage...it sounds gross, but in person it's devine.
"Thank you."
"No problem, boy." He lingers near the table. "Whatcha got there?" he asks looking at my phone.
"Just homework. I'm doing a project for biology," I lie.
"Biology, eh? Useful study. Before leaving Ukraine, I studied a little bit."
"I don't think I'm that advanced. I'm only in high school at the moment."
"Great place to start, high school. You go to the public school down the road, do you?"
"Yeah. I'm a sophomore."
"My niece goes there," he tells me. "She's a sophomore as well. Ariana Dzerchenko. Do you know her?"
"I can't say I do"
"Perhaps if you return, you will meet her. She works here after school Fridays and on the weekends."
"Yeah, that sounds great." I shake his outstretched hand and he leaves me to my food, which is excellent.
As I work on my kielbasa, I formulate a plan of attack for tonight. I'll need to recharge my phone to locate them, and I'll need to use my bike as well. Going from place to place will take a toll on my energy tomorrow, that's for sure. I know in the end it'll be worth it. Bruce and Dick will be right again or on the right path.
. . .
Night has fallen over Gotham by the time I'm able to slip past Ms. Mac. I slip through the halls like a cat. I hold my shoes in my hand until I get to the basement door. I throw them on, hop onto my bike, and slip out into the dark.
Chills shake my body. The wind is hot - a sign of the coming Summer - but I still feel cold. I've never put myself in danger like this. Being out there with hardened criminals and Gotham's most wanted...it's terrifying. I don't know how Batman and Nightwing do it. Superman, Wonder Woman, Lanterns, I get that. They have powers. A normal human, though? They have to be scared shitless on a nightly basis.
Unlike earlier in the day, the streets are completely dead. I can't see a single car or a person. That's probably for the better, too, since anyone out right now has to be up to something nefarious.
I ride my bike along the sidewalk until I get deep into the city. Skyscrapers surround my front, back, left, and right. A lone streetlight sits in the middle of the road, blinking on a timed loop. The only sounds I hear are my breathing, the bike chain, and the distant klaxons of police cars.
To my right is an empty alley that gives me the creeps. I slowly inch my way down it to see if anyone is here. I look behind the dumpster that reeks of garbage and has a stench that makes me want to throw up. Luckily, the place is empty.
"Alright Bruce, where are you tonight?"
Up in the sky above me is the Bat-symbol. Criminals near and far tremble beneath it, I know that for a fact. Gotham's protector is out here somewhere.
My app lists the cameras I have around Gotham. Three of them have alerts! The three cover a block and rooftop not far from where I am. I plug in my headphones to listen to the sounds of the video and live feed. The criminal is trembling and begging for Batman to stop. In seconds I'm on my way there.
My legs are moving as fast as they can. The chain is a blur while it goes around the gears. I'm thinking of how bad falling would hurt me. Boy would that suck.
When I reach the abandoned apartment building, I throw down the bike - hurts me to do it, however, I think it's necessary. The front doors are locked, chained from the inside. I tear off to the side of the building, and see a rusted fire escape. The bottom rung is about seven-inches above my head.
I try to reach it on my tiptoes, yet it's just out of reach. Jumping doesn't do much better. Athletics has never been a real strong suit of mine.
"Dammit!" I yell to myself.
I look up towards the roof and cease all movement. Cries echo down the side of the brick and mortar. The man cries out for help, for the beating to stop, and for mercy. The later two aren't going to happen.
"Come on, Tim. You can do this. Just. A. Little. Higher."
Rust cuts into my fingertips as my hands grab onto the bottom rung. I grit my teeth and ignore the sting that comes after each movement upward. Out of all the possible injuries to happen, this is the lightest. Infection is a big possibility; I'll have to check on that later.
I reach the roof covered in sweat and trickles of blood. Both hands are caked in scraps of metal mixed with the red liquid. My worries aren't about me, they're about the man who's twenty or so feet away. Clambering to my feet, I run over to see him.
Blood oozes out of cuts on the man's face. His left eye is swollen shut while the right is barely kept open. Yellow, purple, and blue bruises are visible in the moonlight. His right hand is weakly trying to push away the hulking man in black body armor. The left hand shakes violently in the air.
His voice is a sound I'll never forget. It sounds like his throat is ripping apart because of the screams. When someone tells me about their throat feeling like sandpaper, I finally understand what they mean. The words he tries to get out merge into each other, becoming gibberish in the process.
"Stop! Stop!" he howls, tears leaking down his cheeks. "I - I don't know anything, Batman! I don't know them - I'm not always in the alley!"
"You're lying!" Batman bellows in the man's face. "Tell me where they come from! I know they're in crime alley daily. I know that they buy drugs, and I know you know who."
"Christ, Batman, I don't know! I've gone straight months ago! I - I have a kid, a s - son to take care of now. I don' want him to see me like this."
Bruce halters for a moment, his fist frozen in the air. I don't know if the guy's words are genuine or if they're BS to get him to stop. They have an effect on Bruce, and though his face is stony, his heart must be pounding.
"Let me go, please," the man begs as he spits blood on himself. "I work to be better for myself, for my son. I'm sure you'd understand if...if you had one."
Whatever held back Bruce breaks. The dam bursts and a flurry of punches rain down on the man's chest and arms. The sound is horrific, sickening in the worst way. It has to stop.
"Batman!" I yell, but he doesn't hear me or ignores me. I run over and do my best to stop his right arm by trying to hold it up. "You'll kill him!"
Batman's fist flies into my cheek harder than I thought possible. The hit comes only inches away. It hurts like hell. He says nothing to me.
My vision swims and the left side of my face radiates. Adrenaline numbs the pain for the time being. My arms shake and struggle to keep me up. I have to get up, I have to keep going. This has to stop.
Building up courage and strength, I stand and act on instinct. Batman usually works on what's right, it's what I have to stand for now. I hurl myself at Bruce and knock him towards the corner of the roof. He slides on the gravel and I land on the cement. Whether I'm hurt or not, I have no idea.
I stand to face him, my fallen hero. My body trembles while he starts to stand up again. I'd be lying if I said I don't fear for my life.
"This isn't right," I tell him unsteadily. "You can't do this!"
"Move." The word is backed by a threat.
I swallow and my throat feels like there's a lump in my throat. I ball my fists tightly, then get into the best fighting stance I can. What would Bruce do? What would Dick do? What would Jason do? I don't have to ask myself that, I know the answer.
"No."
Bruce leaps at me, and I feel his shoulder connect with my stomach. I'm on the ground in seconds until he throws me across the cement roof. The rigid material cuts into my skin easily. I can feel the sting that comes with those scrapes.
There's no time to feel sorry about my situation, because Batman bears down on me like the devil. My hand searches for the nearest possible weapon. I find a brick and wait until he's close enough to swing. The brick connects to the side of his head, sending him to the ground.
What on Earth am I doing? My body already feels like it's falling apart. I just hit Bruce in the head with a brick. I'm supposed to be saving him dammit!
I limp over to the man. He feels broken in so many different places, but we have to go. He's unconscious and going to be no help. That doesn't matter, he needs medical attention fast.
Something sharp pierces the back of my calf. I fall to the ground, and I can't help crying out. The man drops to the roof like a sack of rocks. I collapse to my forearms, clenching my hands tight.
My left hand quakes and runs down my leg. My khakis are soaked in blood around my calf - I can feel it dripping down my face and it's on my shoulders where the man was being carried. I feel hot metal, like a knife stuck in my leg. If only that's what it was. It's a batarang.
I grit my teeth, biting my shirt tightly. I slide the weapon out of my leg and I'm surprised my teeth or jaw don't break. The area burns and becomes soaked fast. Heavy footsteps coming towards me warn me of potential injuries I hold the batarang ready to throw at him.
As if I'm a feather he moves me far from the other man with a kick to the ribs. A bone breaks, maybe two. The adrenaline running through my veins can only numb so much pain. I have to get up, I have to keep going.
I charge at Bruce, batarang in hand. I sink it into his shoulder blade right before he picks up the unconscious man. Bruce grunts, tears the weapon out of his shoulder, then throws it over the edge of the building. He picks me up one handed, and I curl up in the fetal position just in time to block a quick knee.
"Batman." My voice is thin and weak. I can feel myself starting to slip into the blackness, but I can't. Not yet. "Jason, he wouldn't want you to do this."
"What do you know?"
"A lot. I know a lot about you. You're my hero - Gotham's hero. This isn't what Batman stands for, and deep down you know that. You have to stop before you kill a man. Look," he listens and looks down at the guy on the roof, "that guy is barely breathing. He needs you to get him to a hospital, and he needs you to get help. The city needs you to get help."
He says nothing.
My vision is darkening. My peripheral vision is starting to go now, and I only have enough time to tell him one last thing.
"I can help you if you let me, Batman."