CHAPTER 7

[Author's note: The painting I reference, Rembrandt's Return of the Prodigal Son exists and it's...gut-wrenching. Google it and take a look.]

"Sir," Alfred interrupted. "I will need assistance at the freight elevator from the batcave. The mortuary will be arriving in thirty minutes to pick up Master Dick." He held out his hands. "I am not as strong as I once was."

Bruce halted in mid-step and visibly swallowed hard. "You're right, Alfred. Would you call Tim from his room? I think...that this is a task for family."

Four shell-shocked looking men gathered at the freight elevator to the batcave. Tim was visibly trembling, his face white and tear-streaked. Alfred looked a hundred years old. Bruce's face was worn and gray. Jason was the only one who didn't look haggard.

Bruce led the way into the elevator, then out again when it arrived in the cave. A single pool of light illuminated the medical table on which a black body-bag lay, zipped closed to conceal its contents. Next to it a dark suit with blue tie hung from a chair, dress shoes and socks neatly placed below.

"I asked Miss Gordon to select a suit for Master Dick," Alfred commented quietly. "I see that she has performed her task admirably."

"She didn't leave with Jim?" Bruce asked.

"No, I telephoned for a cab later. She wanted to spend some...extra...time with Master Dick."

The four had made their way to the table. Alfred rolled a gurney next to it and lined it up with the body bag. Bruce, Tim, Jason and Alfred each slid their hands under the bag. "All right, lift on three..." Bruce found his voice suddenly hoarse.

"...one...two...lift..." And the bag slid smoothly onto the gurney. Tim reached over to fasten the bag down with a safety belt.

"Don't...want him to fall off..." Tim said with a wobbly grin. "He'd be mad if we sent him off with a busted nose."

He was rewarded with a tentative half-smile from Bruce as they began to push the gurney back into the freight elevator. "So, where do we take him?" Jason asked hesitantly.

"To the chapel, of course," Alfred said firmly. "We may not make use of it, but the room was consecrated in the past. It is where Mr. and Mrs. Wayne lay in state."

"Of course, Alfred," Bruce said. "The chapel."

They silently pushed the gurney into the room, smelling of stale incense and candlewax. Alfred turned on the chandelier, illuminating the Rembrandt over the altar. "Your parents were quite proud when they were able to purchase this painting during their trip to Italy."

Bruce's eyes were glued on the huge biblical scene. "The Return of the Prodigal Son. It's...appropriate..." They pushed the gurney to its place in front of the altar. Reluctantly he released the gurney, still staring at the painting. Alfred silently nudged Tim and Jason out of the room.

"It's not fair!" Dick shouted at the angel. "He hasn't done anything to deserve pain like that. You made this happen, now undo it!" He raised a fist, then remembered who he was threatening and slowly lowered his hand.

The angel smiled, a bit sadly. "He has loved. To love is pain and to lose a loved-one even more so. Do you think that he regrets having known you, even if this is the price?"

"No," Dick answered, glancing back at Bruce, crying alone in the chapel. "And I'm not sorry that he took me in and adopted me. But...it hurts...watching this. Can't I do anything? What about miracles? How about a miracle? Please...He deserves it. He's done a lot of good in his life."

"I'm sorry, but no. He grieves because he loves you and has lost you. Take away the grief and you lessen the love. He wouldn't want that."

Dick watched Bruce, unable to turn his eyes away. "You said that this was Limbo, Tathenniel. It isn't." He turned his face to the angel. "I'm in Hell. I'm powerless to help the ones I love."

"That is the lot of the dead," Tathenniel replied. "To watch and hope but not to effect any change."

Dick watched Bruce finally get up from the chair he'd collapsed into and walk over to the gurney. Bruce gave it a soft pat then opened the door with one last look at the painting and left.

The column shifted again and he saw the darkness of a Gotham street with three figures crouched on a roof overlooking it. "The Dark Brotherhood gang has moved into Lucas territory since Bludhaven was destroyed," Batman said to his companions. "That's putting pressure on all the other gangs in the area. Gordon warned me that there's supposed to be a hit tonight, the Lucases are trying to push the DB's out, once and for all."

"Okay, where do you want us?" Robin said, eyeing Jason, clad in his Red Hood costume. "Are you sure you want him toting firearms?"

"What? Are you afraid I loaded it with bird-shot?" sneered Jason, putting hand to holster. "I could bag a little bird while I'm out here and stop all his noisy twittering..."

"You're both too loud," Batman said, scanning the area. "Robin, I gave him the okay to go armed. Red Hood, this is a group effort. Show your teammate some respect."

Jason and Robin exchanged less than friendly glances then shrugged. "Whatever you say, Batman," Robin replied. "Okay," Jason said, clearly biting his tongue.

"Here they come," Batman pointed. "Red Hood, you take the building across the way. Robin, you take the back."

Both figures moved out with the economy of motion and silence characteristic of someone bat-trained. Batman stayed in place, watching. Jason's gun had bothered him much less than he'd expected. He had been rethinking his stance on firearms since Dick had been murdered. He himself had killed and the world hadn't ended; instead, he was satisfied that he had exacted true justice on someone who deserved it. If only...Roughly, he drew his thoughts back to the job at hand. The DB headquarters was quiet so far but he spotted movement down at the corner of Kane and Finger Streets. Counting bodies, he knew that this was it. Twenty goons with guns, heading his way.

He swung down into the street, facing the oncoming thugs then threw down covering vomit-gas bombs. He fastened his respirator and watched the goons run, all but tripping over each other to get away from the gas. Soon the gang members were clutching their stomachs and giving up their dinners. Jason signaled that the G.P.D. was arriving.

Batman stepped away from the thugs and opened the door to the building. "Lucas!" He shouted into the building. The light went on and he saw a room full of gang members armed to the teeth. A tall, muscular man in a white beater pushed his way to the front.

"Whatcha want, Bats? We ain't done nuthin'."

"And you aren't going to do anything either," Batman pointed at the DB's being loaded into paddy wagons. "Drop the guns right now and you can leave the building and go home. Fight me and you go to jail with the DB's."

"What didja hit them with?" Lucas sniffed at the air and covered his nose and mouth.

"Vomit gas. I'll give you to a count of five to drop the guns and come out or we'll do the same to you. One...two..." Batman began to count.

Lucas stared at him white-eyed, clearly feeling more nauseated by the minute. Finally, "Okay...okay..." He dropped his gun, put his hands up and came out the door. Slowly the rest of the thugs followed him into the street.

"Look what I found climbing out the window!" Jason came around the side alley, frog-marching two gang members loaded with weapons. "Ya think they're afraid of having to buy more guns?"

"Definitely," Robin came from around the back with three more, toting a crate of rifles. "They seem to have quite the collection of firearms."

"We'll let the Gotham Police have these, shall we?" Batman said, gesturing to the officer in charge of the operation. With a grin, the cop took the five miscreants to their own paddy wagon and confiscated the weapons. Lucas and his crew had already faded into the darkness.

Dick, watching the column, noted that Batman seemed satisfied with the way his new team had performed. His feeling was confirmed when Batman said, "That was sloppy. You could have been in position much faster, Red Hood. And Robin, your knots weren't up to your usual standard. You need to work on them." Yep, Batman was pleased.

Maybe it wasn't so bad, Dick considered. Jason...seemed different. He was trying hard to be part of the team. Sure, Tim didn't like him much and Dick couldn't blame him, given Jason's history. But that kind of thing could be worked out if Jason was finally trying. Maybe Batman would be okay without Nightwing...

The images swirled again and Dick saw a shiny black coffin in a room filled with candles. He didn't recognize the room, so he supposed it must be a mortuary. Bruce, in a black suit and tie, approached the coffin slowly, laying both hands flat on its surface.

"Sir, there is no need for you to do this. I can check as easily as you can," Alfred, also in black, said. Both men looked well groomed but drained.

"We're burying him today, Alfred. I just want to make sure that nobody, nothing, will disturb him. That it's still him in the coffin and not a wax dummy or mannequin. I don't want what happened to Jason happening to Dick..."

"I quite understand, sir," Alfred said as Bruce raised the coffin lid. Dick saw his own face, peaceful with a hint of a smile.

"Somehow they managed to get that cowlick to stay down," Bruce said softly. "He never could tame that thing." He reached in and stroked the cheek of the young man inside the coffin. "Yes. It's him."

Alfred released a long breath of relief. "One worry disposed of, sir. May the lad rest in peace."

Giving Dick a final look, Bruce closed the lid. "All right, Alfred. We can start now."

"Can't say I'm sorry," a gravelly voice came from the entrance. Slade Wilson. "I know I'm not invited but I wanted to make sure he really is dead." Slade's brows came down over burning eyes. "And it's not some charade you're pulling on me."

"What do you want, Wilson?" Bruce demanded. "He's beyond your revenge now."

"Really?" Wilson stalked over to the coffin and reached for the lid.

Bruce grabbed a tall wrought iron candelabrum standing next to the coffin and held it like a staff, putting himself between Slade and the coffin. "Get the hell out of here," Bruce gritted out. "Or I promise, I'll kill you."

"Do you need some help?" Conner, Tim and Roy stood in the doorway, each dressed in a black suit.

"Oh, I think everything is under control," Bruce said with teeth bared. "You were just leaving, weren't you Wilson?"

Wilson, realizing that he was outnumbered, turned to leave. "Now you know what it's like to lose a son," he said, meeting Bruce's eyes. He shoved his way out. Bruce put the candelabrum back, fighting the urge to run after Deathstroke and rip his head off. This wasn't the time. "Thank you for helping to keep the peace."

Roy shrugged. "Under the circumstances, I don't think Dick would mind going out on a fist-fight."

"Well, I, for one am glad that he is not. Where are the rest of your compatriots?" Alfred asked.

Conner pointed over his shoulder. "Gar had trouble with his tie. Jason and Wally are helping him."

"Very well," Alfred said, grabbing Bruce's arm. "We should take our places, sir."

Bruce looked back at the coffin and visibly shook himself. He silently followed the butler into the church. As they sat in the pews, He looked up into the soaring stained glass of Gotham Cathedral. He wondered again how he'd let Superman talk him out of the quiet family gathering he'd wanted. The fact was that the entire JLA had gone into mourning for this single death and wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. Everyone, it seemed, had worked with Dick at one time or another. He had no enemies, not among the heroes, in any case. Dick's friends had been the most persistent. Wally had finally won Bruce over by offering him the only thing that mattered: control over the proceedings. Left to themselves, the Titans' memorial to Nightwing had threatened to devolve into a beer bash of epic proportions. Alfred and Bruce had both agreed that dignity should be preserved.

Sitting on the grass, watching it all, Dick was impressed. Gotham Cathedral was crowded. Every friend Dick had ever had seemed to be there, with some exceptions. He didn't see Kory in the crowd of Titans and former Titans, all dressed in civilian clothing. He was suddenly afraid for her.

He turned to Tathenniel. "Where is Kory? Is she okay?"

"Coriander is trapped on another planet." Tathenniel replied. "She is uninjured."

"There must be a couple hundred people in there. So much for the quiet, private funeral Bruce wanted." He sat down to watch, making himself comfortable. "Wow, the whole JLA is there. There's Clark...and Diana...Ollie...and Roy...Gordon and Babs." His voice saddened. She sat in her wheelchair silently wringing her hands. Bruce came over to her and put a hand on her shoulder. She looked up, then back down again. "Oh yeah, it's a funeral," Dick recalled. "Mine." He strained to listen to what Bruce was saying to Alfred and suddenly he could hear.

"I don't think I've ever seen so many of them in civilian dress," Bruce said. "I just wish I knew what Dick would have wanted. His will didn't say much."

"Except for his expressed wish for a wake that will "blow the walls out", I gather that he had few preferences," Alfred said. Organ music began and the assembled congregation stood up.

Wow, Bruce really was throwing out all the stops, Dick mused. A priest ...was that the Cardinal?...processed in, followed by altar boys with candles. Bruce was raised protestant but he knew that Dick was a lapsed Catholic and how he'd managed to arrange this...Well, a determined Bruce Wayne could do miracles.

Then he saw the coffin, the same shiny black one Bruce had checked earlier and he swallowed hard when he saw who was carrying it. Some of them he'd never seen in suits before, much less looking this solemn. Bearing the casket in were Roy Harper, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Wally West, Garfield Logan and Conner Kent. Roy was tight lipped and Wally's eyes were red.

"Oh man..." He hadn't seen Wally in a suit since his wedding. He'd never seen Roy wearing one. And Gar...was he crying? Gar the jokester? The funnyman of the Titans? Conner 's face was grim, with a look of determination Dick had seen on Clark's face before. That meeting with Slade had upset all of them. Dick sighed. Hopefully Slade wasn't planning on digging his body up later for some extra vengeance.

The coffin halted in the center of the church, facing the altar. All off the pallbearers took seats and the priest began talking. The images began to move again. "Hey! I'm missing the eulogies! Don't I get to hear how great I am...was?"

"Bolstering your self-esteem is not the purpose of this exercise," the angel said. "Now, let us see..."

The images flashed to the wake hosted by Ron and Wally. Tim stood in a corner sipping mineral water, looking utterly alone in a room full of friends. Wonder Girl, Cassie, stopped by and put a hand on his arm. "Hey, why are you all alone? Come on over and sit with us." She pointed to the couch where Gar and Conner sat. "We're telling Dick's favorite bad jokes."

Tim looked over and crooked a half-smile. "Thanks, Cassie, but I'm just not feeling it. Besides, my shift starts in ten minutes."

Wonder Girl nodded. "Okay, Tim. I understand. Call me tomorrow and let me know how you're doing, will you?"

"Sure," Tim replied and headed out the door. He stopped at the cave and changed into his uniform, then made his way up the secret entrance to the manor grounds. Passing the ornate wrought iron fence that separated the Wayne burial ground from the rest of the estate, he soon arrived at the fresh mound of dirt covered with flowers. Lanterns stood at the four corners of the mound, illuminating the fresh grave. A still figure in a long black cape stood guard beside it.

"Batman, I'll take over. Some of the Titans will be coming over later to help out. We'll have it covered for the next ten days. There's no way that Deathstroke will disturb Dick," Tim said and took up his post. He was there from midnight to dawn, then Wally would be next.

"I'll stay," Batman said.

"All right. I'll stay with you," Tim said evenly.

"All right, they're sad and crying over me," Dick said from his seat on the grass. "I don't see how any of this is changing any timelines. I may have done a few important things in my time, but I don't see how my death is making any difference in the long run. Can I go back now?"

"Not yet. The seeds of the future have been planted. We have to see what will grow as a result," Tathenniel replied, ever patient.