AUTHOR'S NOTES: ALASDFASFASF, I hated this chapter. In my opinion, probably not the best one I've written. But I got to 50,000 words! Woohoo!
I blame all my problems on the fact that I am fuck-ass awful at planning. I can't write outlines to save my life. At least we're out of the backstory part, so I can move forward at a better pace.
There's been scratches on the radio for days now - something's happening, but for the life of him, Gordon can't put his finger on it.
Whispers, of threats and struggles and vicious hate biting like a scared child. He'll hear about movement on docks somewhere east, and read reports of fights to the west. Contacts have dried up, sharp words of you don't want to get involved in this and the mafias have bristled like fighting dogs readying for battle.
He tries to tell people - writes it out in careful hand and collects what he can, but his supervisor waves it off like flies around a horse.
"Listen, Gordon." There is no doubt in the detective's mind that this man is in the pocket of someone - probably the Italians, who have the most power in Gotham. "You've only been here a few years, you've got to learn when to shut up and let things be. The gangs fight, they take out a few on either side, less work for us. Don't interfere." He narrowed his eyes at the younger man. "That's an order."
Gordon won't lie. He's investigated things long after the cases were closed - the Waynes jump to mind like a lightning flash, that case will haunt him, he's sure of it - but this is far bigger then running some after-hours leads. He'd need teams and equipment he doesn't have and he won't get.
The files sit on his desk like an open wound, taunting him. He can feel the storm growing, electric currents becoming static in the air. There's a war coming, and he doesn't have the slightest idea what to do about it.
He's beginning to think there isn't much in the way of hope for this city.
They don't kill the second group of attackers - though something inside of Tommy wants to. It's something grey and strange, all curled up inside his stomach and strangling itself on his intestines. It screeches like metal against metal, and he can feel a click click like claws snapping against hard ground. It wants to feast and eat, and claw and tear and they mustn't hurt his brother.
If there's a beast inside of Tommy, there's one inside of Jay too. He can see it in his face, the tightening of muscles.
(He wonders if its as obvious on his face as it is on Jay's.)
It's two this time, and they don't linger. One moves to grab Selina - misses entirely, and seems confused that the girl just isn't there. The second rounds on Bruce, goes for the smallest, the easiest.
Bruce stares at him like he's studying a particularly interesting specimen behind glass, and doesn't even try to move. He doesn't have to, because Tommy converges on his attacker faster then anyone with broken ribs should be capable of moving.
He goes for the thigh, drives the knife home and hears a delicious howl. The hand with the missing finger hooks on easily enough, gripping the man's arm and swinging him off balance.
Jay doesn't so much move as he suddenly grows larger, something dangerously charged sparking inside of him. He's in front of Bruce - was he always there, or is that new? - and pulls himself up to his full height, almost a half-foot taller then the boy behind him. He squares thin shoulders, pulls them back so the man's looking directly into that scarred face, and he screams.
It's not a true scream, but it sounds like one to Tommy's ears. It's a bark of laughter, one long drawn out noise like an animal-
(hyena, his mind supplies, one half-forgotten trip to the zoo tickling his mind)
-its so loud and opened-mouth that three of his stitches snap right then and there, the thread ripped clean away through the flesh on one side, and breaking on the other. Tommy can see every one of his teeth, all perfectly straight and already stained with blood.
His eyes are narrowed, pale skin vibrating with energy. There's no transition between the warning call and when he lunges, claws digging into the man's other arm, a giggling shriek bubbling up to the surface.
The second attacker was already unbalanced, Tommy on one side and Jay on the other. He goes down, sprawling on the ground, a strange look of pure terror on his face, at the animal that's suddenly snapping teeth closed an inch from his nose, mouth still stretched in a mocking grin.
The first one - and how could Tommy forget that one? - bolts right then and there, obviously not wanting to be the next victim to whatever the manic child is about to do.
Bruce says something that might be down, but Tommy's finding it a bit hard to hear. Either way, a moment later, the second is stumbling off and the four kids are left alone.
"Your scars." Bruce's voice is a bit soft, sympathetic as he beckons the older child forward, and puts his fingers on the twisted tissue of Jay's face.
Selina draws in a breath - and Tommy feels like mimicking it, because after what he's just seen, he's ninety percent sure he never wants to go within biting distance of the wild child ever again - but Bruce is entirely unconcerned. He prods the same way he does with his brother's wounds, uncaring but gentle all at once.
(A part of Tommy understands, a bit, what the boy must be like. He's all ground powder and no way of going back, wanting desperately to be recognized just as he is, and here comes a child who doesn't bother with fear, who just wants to know someone's going to be there. Bruce is his, but maybe Jay can be Bruce's, if that makes any sense.)
There's something like a purr that rumbles from Jay's chest. Bruce's fingers are sticky with his blood, but neither boy seems to care.
The thing in Tommy's insides still doesn't like how close the other boy is getting, but the fight has left it briefly satisfied. His working, non-dominate hand is still clenched awkwardly around the blade, dripping with foreign blood.
There's the strangest urge to taste the life in the wet, red fluid.
They leave the Narrows maybe an hour or two later. Midtown is strangely clean in comparison, and a few people give them odd looks (four children, without parents, looking a bit tired and worse for wear), but mostly they manage to escape notice.
At least until they run into allies.
They almost collide with her, an older woman swiftly turning the corner of the alley with two escorts to keep her safe. There's a moment of Bruce stumbling back - murmuring so sorry ma'am - but then the recognition comes, a bright smile breaking out on his face, relief obvious across his features.
"Anthony!" Her hands are on his face in an instant, pulling him back and forth in the way adults do to check if he's alright. "Your parents has been so worried."
Selina looks a bit displeased - but she always does when it comes to those older then herself. Jay looks like he wants to take a step back, but also like he wants to rip Bruce away.
(It's strangely easy for Tommy to identify with that feeling.)
The woman - whose face Tommy knows, but whose name escapes him - focuses on him a moment later, over his brother's head. There's a bit of a blank (frightened) look on her face. She knows him, and his reputation precedes him, obviously.
"Your brother is with you." There's a false sweetness in her voice. "I heard he got hurt, I'm so sorry to hear that." This last part is addressed to Bruce, she's not looking at Tommy anymore.
(Something skitters inside Tommy's chest. Jay gives him a sideways look that says he's seen the underlying fear in her eyes.)
"There's a phone not far from here." She coaxes. "We'll call your mother and get you home." She offers her hand, and Bruce slides his palm inside hers.
She sends someone off to do that, then bundles all four children into a car. Selina is given a bit of a pitying look that says what's a sweet, young thing like you doing hanging around with so many boys? Bruce is helped up, even though he doesn't need it, his hair patted softly, while she gives Tommy a sideways glance, and simply stands with her hands held awkwardly, like she should help him up, but desperately doesn't want to actually touch him. Tommy just climbs up, and sits right at the door, next to Bruce.
The last one is Jay, judging by whose face, has either never been in a car before, or hasn't had many good experiences with them. The woman eyes him like one might a filthy dog, clearly not wanting the thick, healthy coating of dirt and what might be dried blood covering the boy to get anywhere near her, let alone into her car.
But Bruce takes the choice out of her hands, leaning forward in his seat and giving a short whistle, like one might use to recall an animal. Apparently it's the right noise, because Jay's up a moment later, scrambling across Tommy's lap and falling into the small space between Selina and Bruce.
(The creature - thing - inside Tommy purrs a little as Jay mirrors his own posture, one hand on Bruce's leg like Tommy had on the other side.)
For a moment, there's a flicker of disgust on the woman's face - though why, Tommy doesn't know.
Then she's climbing into the passenger seat, and the driver - the only remaining of her guards - is peeling out of the small alleyway into the main traffic.
It's been a while since Tommy's been in a car - he admits he doesn't like them much - and this one makes him nervous, a prickling along his spine. Jay squirms, eyes blown wide to see everything that he can, but his hand doesn't leave Bruce's leg, and every other darting glance flitters back to Bruce, just to make sure he hasn't moved.
Bruce's fingers stroke Tommy's, a tiny gesture with his hand over his brother's. He leans his shoulder a bit into Jay, silently saying he appreciates both their worrying.
(There is something lovely about that. Bruce does not insist that his worrying is unnecessary. He doesn't wave away concerns, or complain about fears. He lets Tommy do his checks in peace, and doesn't act smart when no threat is found. He's never met anyone who does that.)
He doesn't realize until he's sitting down how tired he is. Everything aches and some things still feel a bit like they're on fire, the heat uncomfortable against bandages that haven't been changed in far too long. The urge to close his unbound eye is quite overwhelming. He just wants to sink back and sleep for a week.
"Shouldn't we go the other way?" The woman's voice is pitched far lower than it should be. It's the first time she's spoke, and it's addressed to the driver - which is strange in and of itself.
"Why?" There's a hint of confusion in the man's voice. "This way is faster."
"The other way is safer." She says, order in her tone. "Take a left here."
There's a moment of hesitation, but the driver diverts, and she settles back into her seat, fingers tapping against the dashboard.
There's definitely a feeling down Tommy's spine now. He knows that most people don't like him very much, but they love Bruce. Why hasn't she asked what he's been doing, or if he's alright? Why hasn't she asked who Selina is?
… Why hasn't she asked who Jay was for that matter? Selina, he knows has been seen around the hotel, but nobody's met Jay before today, yet she'd glossed right over him.
Almost like she expected him to be there.
A quick glance to his left shows Selina looking out the window, Bruce leaning his head softly against Tommy's shoulder, and Jay looking right at him. Something in the younger boy's eyes says what Tommy can feel coursing through him.
Something's wrong. He can feel it, and Jay can smell it.
"Take a right." The woman's voice is almost a whisper, and Tommy can see the driver tense - wanting to disobey, perhaps? Because now he's almost sure this isn't the direction of the hotel at all, and the urge to grasp the door handle and pull himself and Bruce out is almost overwhelming. But Bruce is leaning against him with a weight that suggests he's almost asleep, and there's no way he can get him up and moving fast enough -
There's the screech of tires, as the driver pulls the wheel unexpectedly. The sudden force is almost enough to send Tommy to the floor, except his fingers had begun to grasp the door without him knowing, and it saves him from tumbling completely, though Bruce smacks into the arm he's got in front of his brother, at the shift.
Then there's the smack of metal he knows all too well, even if it's so many years. The sound of another car slamming directly into them.
Someone screams - it might have been him, or Bruce - and Jay, already unseated, is thrown to the floor, smashing his head against the back of the driver's seat and bashing his forehead open from the force.
The ringing in Tommy's eyes subsides a moment later, the shattering of glass falling away and the screaming dimming a bit. The woman in the passenger seat is slumped against the dashboard, her window completely broken and that side of the windshield splintered into a hundred pieces. There's another car embedded into the passenger door, missing the back seat entirely.
There's a shriek as Selina pulls herself up, fingers twitching into claws as she grabs the driver's shoulder. "Drive!" is half-screamed in his ear, and he wastes no time in slamming on the gas and trying to dislodge the other car.
They manage to break apart as both vehicles stutter in reverse, and the other one makes an obvious second attempt, chipping the front bender as their driver does some creative wheel-spinning and gets them pointed in the opposite direction.
The tires barely seem to catch the ground and they're out of the side street and onto a bigger road a moment later.
Bruce looks stunned, a bit shaken and Jay seems to be half-way into whatever state he'd gotten into earlier - similarly twice his size and partially manic, eyes wide, teeth bared, some huffing noise that could've been a laugh rattling in his lungs.
Selina just looks pissed.
"What the hell." The driver seems the most rattled. The woman groans against the dashboard, but doesn't wake up. "What the hell."
"Someone might want us dead." There's a quiver in Bruce's voice. "I think we should get home, and soon."
There was the sound of a crash behind them, and almost everyone glanced over their shoulder at once, just in time to see the car that had smashed into them not make it around a corner, and smack quite delightfully into a lamppost.
"Heh." Jay giggles a bit, and Selina eyes him like he's crazy.
Tommy suddenly becomes aware that Bruce is stroking his arm, giving him a worried look. The sound of harsh breathing slowly begins to come to his ears, and he realizes its his own.
"It's okay." He can see the fear in Bruce's eyes, but for what, he can't tell. "Nobody's hurt."
(There's the scream of metal and pain covering his skull like a second layer of skin.)
But he reaches his hand up to his head, rubs against the scars hidden beneath hair, and checks his fingers. No blood, no cracked skull, no major head trauma I'm sorry but your son may never wake up I'm sorry but your son most likely has brain damage your son may never speak again it is likely that your son will always be this way there is so much we don't know about these sorts of injuries-
Bruce is right up in his face, whispering breathe, breathe. There's other noises, but for the life of him, Tommy can't figure them out.
"It's okay." Bruce is quiet and sure and he manages to make it sound like its the only truth, but part of him just isn't believing. "It's okay, this isn't then, nothing's going to happen. Nobody's hurt."
But he hurts. His hand can barely move and his ribs burn and he can't see out of one of his eyes, and he can barely think over the pounding in his forehead-
He doesn't realize until Bruce responds that he was talking out loud. Selina and Jay are eyeing him in something that could have been fear, or pity, and Bruce looks so sad. The driver keeps looking over his shoulder, and he might be asking something, but Tommy can't hear him.
He wants to bury his head against Bruce and never look up again. He wants to get out of the damn car and back into the bed he and Bruce have been sharing, and never get up again. He wants to sleep without nightmares and for the pain to stop.
He just wants to be okay, and he can't remember what that feels like.
Bruce is crying with him, brothers matching each other tear for tear, shaking breath in perfect sync.
It's the longest car ride of Tommy's life.
Someone tries to slam a truck into their car somewhere around Midtown. Thomas wasn't expecting it - Martha was.
He hadn't even realized until they're standing on the pavement, staring at the car identical to theirs - but not, thankfully, the one they were in - that someone might, in fact, want them dead.
Martha looks beyond angry. Someone's dragged the driver out of his seat, and has him kneeling before her. She's shaking so violently that she can't even hold her gun properly.
It's ended up in Thomas' hand somehow.
"You want war." She's vibrating with the rage, and it comes across in her voice - all sharp edges and hate curling around every syllable. "You want to control this city? Too bad. It is ours."
"You think you can survive this?" The man looks half dead - sacrificial look on his face saying he was prepared to die if it meant taking out Martha. "You think you can handle the real world? You're a woman. You're a bitch. You can't-"
In that moment, the only person more angry than Martha is Thomas. He's never raised a hand to anyone in violence before, but his arm moves as if of its own account, slamming into the man's face-
Except that was the hand holding the gun. He sees the skin break, as the metal connects, and some part of him goes oh God no, except then the gun goes off, and suddenly his ears are filled with ringing, and screaming and he's stumbling back, gasping in horror.
The man's on the ground, gurgling, coughing, and very quickly dying - shot through the cheek, angle was off, but he can't see an exit wound, which means the bullet probably ricocheted off the jaw and might have hit the spinal cord or embedded itself in the throat-
He hasn't moved, which feels strange, because he can't remember a time in his life that he hasn't rushed to the side of someone injured. The stranger coughs once, twice, and starts to convulse.
It only lasts a half minute. Then he's dead, the brain shut down, or perhaps the airways cut off.
"You had your finger on the trigger, didn't you." Martha's voice is sort of flat. She wipes fresh blood off her hand onto her coat.
Thomas looks down at his own hand, where indeed, he does have his index finger settled against the trigger. Very slowly, he removes it, and settles it onto the trigger guard instead, where it can't do anymore damage. "Um."
"First rule of guns." She pries it slowly out of his hand. "Until the very moment that you're going to fire it, don't put your finger on the trigger."
"Finger. Trigger. Firing. Got it." He says weakly. He's starting to shake a bit.
Something softens in Martha's face. "You did that for me."
"Of course." The answer comes quickly. "Always."
Her mouth twitches, then she breaks out into a true, small smile. He can see the relief in her eyes.
It feels like his heart is simultaneously breaking and healing all at once.
The woman wakes up half-way to the hotel. She coughs a bit, struggles to get upright, and Selina hisses "hold her" at the same time that Bruce directs the driver into a side street.
"Look, you wouldn't understand." Her eyes are wide, a bit dazed. There's blood on her forehead, not unlike Jay's, that had dripped down and smeared across most of her face. "I- they paid me, you're just kids-"
"You betrayed us." Bruce sounds upset - genuinely, one-hundred percent upset that this particularly person - who Tommy still doesn't know the name of - had tried to have them killed.
"You're just kids." She repeats, like she's trying to tell herself something, though Tommy doesn't know what.
"Who paid you?" It's the driver, and apparently Selina manages to come to the exact same conclusion as Tommy just as quickly, smacking him on the back the head to make it clear this is Bruce's questioning, not his.
Jay giggles again, and this time, the woman's eyes are drawn to him.
"Same people." She whispers, after a moment. "The same ones that… took you, and hurt your brother. They told me to bring you to them, they didn't say they were going to hurt you."
"You listened to them, over us." The agony is clear in Bruce's voice. "You'd side with… with child rapists and kidnappers then with us. We've done nothing but good for you."
"You're a child." She practically screams at him. "What do you know of this world?"
Bruce just looks heartbroken, so heartbroken, and he looks at Tommy, as if asking a silent question.
The knife's in his hand a moment later, and he's hovering over the seat, putting it to her neck as quickly as he can manage. There's another spray of giggles, cut through with a snorting laugh or two, behind him, and the woman almost screams, before swallowing it.
"You just don't understand." Sorrow is laced inside his brother's voice. "What we're trying to do for this city. It will be so glorious, once it's done. If only you'd been loyal."
"I am, I am." She wheezes, fingers hovering over the blade, but not touching it. "I made a mistake, but I swear, I'm loyal."
"I don't think you are at all." Bruce whispers, half to himself. Tommy risks a glance over his shoulder, and sees Bruce leaning back against the seat, one hand laid softly on the manic boy's hair. Jay's half-crouched on his seat, half on Bruce's lap, eyes bright, focused on the unseeable point where the knife touches the woman's throat.
Tommy can see the desire for spilt blood all over his face.
"Where exactly are these people located." He doesn't even phrase it into a question that can be ignored. "I want to know."
"They don't- I don't know." She hiccups a sob, as Tommy twitches the blade. "I swear, I don't know!"
"You talked to them." This time it's Selina, joining in, angry, because though this might not be her gang, it's still her part of town. "You had to have a contact."
"That gang's small." Jay looks up at Bruce as he speaks. "They mostly do work for other people. They don't really have a home-base."
"There was the building I was at." Bruce mused. "I suppose just a local hangout?"
"I was never there." The woman added breathlessly. "I never met anyone over any of the bridges."
There's something in Bruce's eyes for the briefest moment. "But you did meet someone, on this side of the city."
"I-"
"Where." For a moment, his fingers almost clench too tight on Jay's curls. "Tell me, or I'll have my brother cut your throat."
Jay laughed, teeth flashing, wiggling briefly like the surge of yes, yes was too powerful to overcome.
"He's a kid." Came the woman's ghosting whisper, but she flinched all the same. She was still a member of the Baypoint gang, she knew the whispers, of the rumors. Part of her believed, at the least on the surface, that Bruce's brother was capable of some version of violence.
"I… Lll-Lemmars Park-" The words are barely out of her mouth before the car was turning back on, the driver pulling out of their temporary resting spot and beginning to head, presumably in that direction.
"Not too much out that way." Selina adds quietly. "If we're looking for someone, we could find them quickly."
"Lemmars Park it is, then." Bruce said, a tap on Tommy's shoulder sending his brother back to his seat, knife still trembling in his hand, but for now, at least, not in danger of tasting blood.
Martha kills the third person in his presence. Or the fourth, or the… whatever number she's at. Thomas knows she killed two people earlier today, perhaps more, but only two that he is directly aware of-
(He's killed one. He's killed a man. By accident, maybe, but there's only the smallest hints of regret worming themselves into his gut. It wasn't even an overly killable offense either - for fuck's sake, he knows this world, and plenty of men say horrible things about women. It's cruel, it's not right, but it is not uncommon and it is not the first time Thomas has heard such things. But now he's killed a man.)
Martha kills the third today. He's standing a few feet away - enough to jump in and stop, if he so feels the need.
But he doesn't.
Martha gets words from this one - a young man, almost still a boy, eyes quivering up at the woman who could have been an older sister, or a young aunt or an even younger mother to him. He stutters words about a park and a run-down drug den and whispers please don't kill me like a prayer to some forgotten god.
But Gotham is not a city for gods. Martha still pulls the trigger - because killing is easy.
(He knows that now, and he'll never forget it.)
Some part of him attempts to rationalize it. American didn't believe in kings or queens, but if they did, the Waynes would rule Gotham. They'd have passed the crown down generation, after generation, from mother to son and father to daughter. They protected, they cared.
(They keep their people safe, he heals the wounded, he is still doing his duty.)
Gotham recognized them in kind. He remembers someone telling him this, when he was no older than his own boys. Gotham did not know rules like the rest of their country knew rules. They answered to a silent siren call, something that let even the smallest child look into a Wayne's eyes and know.
There was safeness there. There was kindness and hope, like a warm flame, flickering in the dark, when all other lights went out.
The strong mourned the Waynes, for they had no need for such things. The weak did as well, but not entirely.
He could see it. Their own members, drawn around Martha, not concerned, not worried. Not even scared or fearful or worshipping in the slightest.
Martha was not a Wayne by birth, but she had laid with one, carried two, grown them with her own strength. Taught them and kept them safe, and felt all their glory bleed from them like a wet-painting, dripping her in their colours.
He could see it in their eyes, could see it in the set of her shoulders.
It didn't matter now, that the Waynes were dead. The weak could smell them, like dogs sensing food. They knew hope, growing and throbbing with a new heartbeat.
Killing made hope. Safety, food on the table, made hope. They broke rules, laws, but they were not Gotham laws, not the secret, small things that children of this place knew, even if they'd never been told.
Martha killed the boy-who-was-almost-a-man, and they moved on. A Wayne had said it must be done.
And nobody had thought to argue.
The thought almost drove the guilt away.
Lemmars Park bordered a residential zone on one side, a commercial one on the other. The area wasn't particularly poor, not rich either though. Kept clean just enough that it wasn't considered dirty.
The sun is going down by the time they get there. Part of Thomas wants to lay down and sleep - most of him just wants to see his boys, right now.
They've been chasing leads all day. They've killed people, hunted people, been hunted, been shot at, had cars crashed into them. They ate a late lunch in a corner diner, Martha chewing her food like she forgot how to do so. Thomas drank two cups of coffee and almost threw up a third. They didn't have dinner, though he learned that some of their company did. They'd sat outside a gas station talking to an attendant while other people ate.
His hands ache, by the time they finally stop moving. His head hurt, his skull feeling a bit too tight for the rest of him. There might have been tremors, in his shoulders, pressed against Martha's, but he honestly can't tell.
They've tracked the last of the rival gang to a small drug-den near the park. Their driver pulls up not far away - yet Martha sits in the car for longer than he would have assumed.
"Something's off." She whispered, after a moment. "This is too quiet."
It doesn't take long to sort through the nondescript buildings, find the one they're looking for. Their driver drags the woman behind them, Selina scouting ahead, Tommy leaning ever-so-slightly against Bruce's shoulder.
Jay is shivering with some primal anticipation. Tommy can feel it too, the hot currents whispering against the afternoon air, saying something will happen in a language only they seem able to hear.
The boy is starting to frighten him a bit. He'd introduced himself as Jude to their driver, wheezed light giggles when Bruce had resewn the twisted scars around his mouth. Selina had gone to slap his shoulder at one point, only to withdraw her hand too quickly, as teeth had snapped shut too close to her fingers. At one point, they'd been checking out a run-down restaurant, and Jay had almost ripped into a young man that had yelled at him.
The boy made him nervous. Fortunately, they were a little bit on the same side, at least when it came to Bruce, and that helped.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Or in this case - the ally of my ally is my friend.
The building they were looking for was clearly the more rundown of an otherwise okay-looking neighborhood. It wasn't even that far from the park - if Tommy looked between a laundromat and an Asian market across the street, he could see the trees.
It was probably not the most hidden of hideouts. Then again, Bruce had managed to escape from the sister hideout without being seen, so he doubted being hidden was something they were good at.
Selina seemed to be casing the joint as they waited. The woman they'd dragged along was being eyed by Jay - the sort of eyeing that made Tommy sweat just being in the same area. She seemed to get the message.
A moment later, Selina slides forward, her gaze on some invisible point. Jay follows quickly enough - a dashing glance to Bruce to see if it was okay to go after her first - then Bruce was following close behind, and Tommy followed him, confident that even if he didn't entirely know what they were about to do, he would always have his brother's back.
Bruce's world had narrowed down to a pinpoint. It was easy enough to slip into the building - and there weren't that many people there once they were in.
Selina melted into the shadows like they were an old friend. He waited, one calm hand tucking Jay into his side, and the other finding Tommy, poised and ready just behind him. If their driver and hostage had come through as well, they weren't in his line of vision. He sucked in one clear breath of air - tasting stale cigarette smoke and the smells of the misfortunate. Tommy let out a deep breath through his nose to mirror him. Jay huffed, a silent laughter.
Selina slid back into view, holding up seven fingers. She met his eyes for only a moment - some small question in her gaze - are they going ahead with this?
He points Tommy forward, a silent signal telling him to aim for the first, that Selina gestures is just around the corner. There's a moment of hesitation - from Bruce, dare he ask this? - but Tommy does not falter. His knife is in his hand, and he disappears around the corner before Bruce can do anything.
Jay's nails dig into his arm. When he turns, acid green eyes are staring at him in pure delight, asking, begging, pleading.
He doesn't know if Jay's ever killed before. He doesn't know if he wants to give that order. Selina steps back a bit, as if to say leave me out of this.
There's a muffled yelp from around the corner, and Jay almost leaps forward, dances on the spot, desperate, and Bruce finds himself nodding too fast to second-guess himself. Then Jay is gone, around the corner, and Bruce follows (because he feels bare, without a larger shadow to his back).
Tommy has the first one speared through the ribs, is actively pulling the blade from his chest as Bruce rounds the corner. Jay's teeth are literally buried in the man's throat, eating his screams as his weight brings him down to the floor.
The grin he flashes Bruce is borderline manic, teeth stained with blood-
(There's a flicker, for a moment, at the edge of his mind. Of a memory of a brother that was almost taken from him, standing beside an ambulance outside a hospital, giving his baby brother one of his rare promises, with an even rarer smile. Blood-stained teeth. Death on his breath.)
They move to the next one. Catch one woman turning a corner unexpectedly, Jay locking his thin arms around her throat before Tommy brings her down with two quick jabs. A fourth doesn't even wake from his slumber, sleeping off drugs, and a fifth takes three of them to take out, Bruce placing his hands on his chest and holding him still while Tommy drains him from the throat.
It's a strange thing, feeling someone's heartbeat stutter against his palms while they die. He can see why people like it. He can see why his brother probably enjoys this. Ultimate power, ultimate knowledge.
The light fades from the firth's eyes.
(It is glorious.)
The sixth is unexpectedly taken out by the driver, which just leaves the seventh. Part of Bruce itches - he wants to try this. He wants to ask Tommy to hand over the knife so he can try.
He doesn't, however. Jay takes out the last - a woman who manages to scratch up his face a bit - all by himself. It leaves them standing in what looks like a large living room - a television in one corner, a couple of sagging couches that smell suspicious.
There's Selina, Jay, Tommy, the unnamed driver and the woman who betrayed them. And him. The rest are dead. In this building anyway.
There's a beeping sound somewhere behind him. A quick glance over his shoulder shows Selina with her finger on a button of a rather expensive looking answering machine. A moment later, a message plays - addressed to someone called Arnold, who says that the Downtown hideout was completely wiped out by someone named Elenor.
Someone breathes out a sigh of relief. Jay looks… almost sad, for a moment. Perhaps, after getting a taste for killing, he wanted to go back and deal something out on the people who'd taken so much from him.
"I suppose that's it for now." Selina says after a moment. "Just clean-up and making sure nobody can trace this back to us, I guess?"
"There's still the trouble with the mafia." Tommy added. There's a bit of a breathless tone to his voice. We'll have to deal with that sooner or later."
"That's not all." Bruce caught the eye of the kneeling woman they'd brought with them, still looking uncertain to her fate. "You're still here." He addresses the last part to her.
It's obvious that she's seen everything that's just happened - she's well aware that the knife Tommy wields is more than enough to make things very difficult very quickly.
"Please." There's a tremor to her voice. "Please, I'll do anything."
"You can go." Bruce stared, waving a hand at the driver. "Take the car, and leave. This is between us."
"Are you sure?" It took a moment for the older man to leave, but eventually, he relented, and Selina followed him out to make sure he was gone. Jay and Tommy flanked the woman on either side.
"He's gone." A moment later, Selina was sliding back into the room. "He drove fast, I don't think he's coming back."
Bruce nodded once, then turned to the woman, fixing her with a sharp gaze that spoke of generations of Waynes, generations of power and the knowledge to go with it.
"You betrayed us." Bruce's voice was steady. "You gave them everything they needed to know. Maybe you were the one that fed them where to find my brother and I so we could be attacked in the first place. Maybe you've been feeding them things for months."
"I swear, I'll tell you anything-"
"I don't care." Bruce took a step closer. "You have lied, and you have not been loyal. You have failed us, and by extension, you have failed Gotham."
He touched a gentle hand to her forehead, not even a spot of blood on his hands. "My name is Bruce Anthony Wayne. My father is Thomas Wayne. My grandmother was Angelina Wayne, my great-grandmother was Lilliana Wayne, and I am the youngest of three hundred years of Waynes."
His eyes were alight with something hot and burning as he met her breathless gaze. "My sole duty is to Gotham, and it's betterment. And you are not welcome."
Tommy's hand tightened on her shoulder. There was a rumbling purr that could have been a laugh in Jay's chest.
"By my birthright, by every one of my ancestors, I sentence you to die, for your crimes against this city, and its family. Give me the knife, Tommy."
"What?" His brother hissed at the same time the woman sobbed a "no".
"The knife, Tommy."
His brother hesitated for only a moment, before wiping the blood off on his sleeve, and handing over the blade, handle first.
"Please, please, no." She looked like she was considering running - but the rabid look in Jay's eyes stays her.
"I'll make this quick." Bruce promises, softness and kindness in his tone, even now. And he drives the knife through her throat and into her spinal cord.
Someone with a gun in their hand kicks down the door. Martha's not far behind, her own weapon in her hand, and Thomas goes with her (because he wants to see what she does) because he has a gut feeling.
They find the first person not far in, bled out from the throat. Someone nudges the corpse with their foot - because obviously, that's a good indicator that someone's dead. But the body's been there for hours, by the looks of things.
The second body, and a third, is found not long after that, and before they can find the rest, someone shouts from down the hall.
The air just doesn't go into his lungs when he steps into the room. He can hear the breath Martha lets out beside him as well.
It's their sons.
Bruce and Tommy, looking tired, so tired, Tommy's bandages dirty and his hands bloody. There's a girl he vaguely recognizes with them, and a boy he does not. There's a dead woman laid out not far from where they're sitting on the couch, watching the television.
Both boys are on their feet in a second, love and desperation and all that childish longing on their faces. Martha makes a noise that could've been a sob, and rushed forward, arms wide.
He's slower to move, which is why he sees both of them lean towards her, and yet Martha's arms fall onto Bruce, dragging the younger son to her chest with a choked "I was so worried."
For a moment, there is unimaginable pain on Tommy's face, before it shuts down into blankness, and then Thomas is there, wrapping their eldest in his arms and unleashing a wave of are you alright and how much pain are you in while his hands try to check all his bandages at once.
It doesn't work entirely, but he can feel his son sag down in relief, that at least here, he is safe.
Martha is the first to pull away, holding Bruce at arms length, her hands cupping his face. "Hh-how? What happened to everyone here?"
Bruce opens his mouth - Thomas sees the smallest flicker of fear there - and Tommy interrupts.
"It was me." He's quiet, but sure, so sure, and Thomas can hear the truth in his voice and see it in the lines of his stiff shoulder. "I cc-cleared the building, so Bruce would be safe. I killed everyone."
"Tom-" Bruce's whisper is so small Thomas almost doesn't hear it, and he doesn't even think Martha hears it, from the way she's looking at Tommy with an unreadable expression.
"All of them." He adds, confirms. "I-I am sorry."
His hands still have smears of blood on them, Thomas sees it when Martha pulls them apart, holds her son's wrist at arm's length to check the evidence.
They locked eyes for a long time, staring each other down. At last, Martha spoke.
"You put your brother in danger, coming here."
"I know, I'm sorry."
"You were suppose to protect him, not endanger him."
"I'm sorry." The whisper was even quieter than the first.
She focused on Tommy for a second longer, then turned, no more words, not even a touch for her oldest son.
Tommy's shoulders fell down, and Bruce was there a moment later, drawing his brother into a hug. Thomas thought he might have whispered something into his ear, but he couldn't hear.
"I'm going to go home." The girl said, after a moment. "See you later, Anthony." And she was gone, before anyone could offer a ride.
The nameless boy behind Bruce squirmed briefly, stepping closer to Bruce, eyes bright.
(There was something unsettling there - Thomas couldn't name what, but he didn't like it.)
"Who's this?" He asked, trying to figure out what had gone on over the past day or two - though he assumed by now that he'd probably never know, by the looks of things.
"Jordan." The boy introduced, quickly, without thought, then looked uncertain, like he should have said something else.
"He's with me." Bruce's voice left no room for argument. "He helped me escape, I own him a lot."
The boy practically preened at Bruce's praise.
"Well, I guess he can come along then." Thomas said, the tiredness beginning to creep into his voice. "We'll figure this all out later. Let's go home."
It was the early morning when Gordon got to the last crime scene. There was already investigators swiping down tables and doorknobs, a team carrying out bodies on stretchers, white sheets over their faces.
"Gang activity." Said the cop in charge. "Pretty open and shut."
"We should investigate." Gordon said, hope in his voice.
The cop snorted. "Like I said, open and shut. Go home, Gordon. It's just a gang."
AUTHOR'S NOTES: ... Aaaannndd that's the end of part 1. Stay tuned for Part 2: Scars Of Tomorrow, premiering August 15th. Check out my blog, Alexfics on Tumblr, for updates and new stuff.
If you have any headcanons, gender/sexuality theories, scenes you'd like to see, tell me and I'll see what I can do.
