Author's Note: Been a while, but life is a pretty hard gig sometimes. Looking to let this run for another two or three chapters at most then I'm shutting it down for good. Another one might appear before November. It might not. Read this and see what you think. If it's any good, tell me. If it's not, tell me harder. Enjoy.
Heart 3
"The plan failed." The boy says from his seat opposite me in the cave. He sounds wounded by his own analysis. I shake my head as Alfred removes another sliver of glass from my rear deltoid.
"The plan did not fail, Dick. It was merely not as successful as we had envisioned." I correct him. The boy blows out his cheeks.
"Why did they try to kill you after just four days in the driving seat?"
"They feared the changes I was suggesting. They feared losing face with each other and the city. Assassination was their only viable alternative." I explain as the old man begins to manoeuvre another large fragment from my back. I clench my fist when the pain becomes less than tolerable. Alfred continues regardless. Dick directs his gaze onto the surgeon.
"And how close did the bullet get to his heart, Alfie?"
"Never mind about that, Dick. I was wearing Kevlar so the round merely bruised my chest."
"It would've broken another guy's sternum. Isn't that what you said, Alfie?"
"That is correct, Master Dick. Due to the remarkable density of his bones and the strength of the surrounding connective tissues, Master Bruce's sternum was able to bear the brunt with only minor bruising."
"So now what, Boss? We start from scratch?"
"There is no need to do such a thing. We have gathered sufficient intelligence on the main players in this distorted world order to act accordingly. We need only find them and take them out of the picture." I say only for the boy's expression to sour dramatically. He hops down from the table and leans over me.
"Don't tell me what I want to hear. Tell me the truth." He says sternly. He is the only one besides the old man I cannot fool with assurances. I relent.
"I require more time to re-think the situation. A new strategy is needed if we are to halt the violence."
"Are we patrolling tonight? The commissioner could probably use a hand after you being MIA for a while." Dick says drifting away from me to the monitor screens that are currently showing live camera feeds of The Bowery. So far, everything appears quiet.
"Are the temporary measures still holding?" I ask. The boy shrugs.
"Yeah, but they won't for much longer. I spoke with Commissioner Gordon last night. He says we've got three days tops before the city pulls out on the plan because of the strain on the treasury. That, plus the number of officers injured since the measures came into effect." He informs me. I can hear the anxiety underneath the calm façade all too easily. It is unsettling to see him rattled. I consider.
"I could perhaps engage in targeted patrols of the Narrows…"
"I must advise against it, Sir. Although I have used the strongest suture available to close your wounds, the risk of them tearing if you exert yourself is too great. You must rest at least tonight." Alfred interrupts whilst poking my freshly sutured wounds for effect. The sudden rush of pain is enough to make me grunt in discomfort. The boy is looking at me closely.
"I can go out, if that's okay with you." Dick offers, his feet already steering him in the direction of the armoury. I halt him with a hand gesture.
"No, Dick, it's not. If the underbelly of this city is as volatile as you and Jim claim it to be, I would prefer to accompany you on all future patrols for the time being."
"Well, can I at least help you work on the problem for a while?" The boy says returning to his seat opposite me.
"You can work on it with me for an hour. After that, you need to go to bed for school tomorrow. Fair?" I reply as the old man helps guide my arms into a clean shirt. I incline my head in gratitude before buttoning it myself. Dick rolls his eyes.
"As long as you promise not to try and slip out tonight without me to play the Lone Ranger."
"Deal."
I underestimated the shrewd nature of Gotham's criminal element. Although gregarious when I came bearing gifts of money and stability, as soon as I mentioned the possibility of reform and union, their true nature was revealed. The idea of parting with tradition and starting fresh terrified them all. It made them panic which in turn led to the assassination attempt I had no choice but to play along with. As Alfred stated, if the bullet had struck anybody but me, their sternum would have broken. This, combined with being tied to a cinder block and dumped in the icy waters of the harbour, necessitated my creation remaining dead. There are few men capable of surviving in a sub-zero environment of that sort without succumbing to hypothermia or the shock within a few minutes. Fortunately my make-up and body suit gave me an additional few minutes of warmth in which to escape my bonds and surface after the executioners' departures. Still, we are no closer to a solution now than before this debacle. It is frustrating.
"What are you thinking, big guy?" Dick asks from his chair beside mine. I turn from the screen displays of mapping and surveillance footage of my assassination to regard him. His eyes offer an uncertainty of the future that suggests terror where normally there is only excitement. I shrug.
"I'm thinking I will not turn Gotham into a police state just to keep them in line. There has to be a better method of control. What are you thinking?"
"That we're going down with the ship. I don't know how we're going to beat this thing. It's been months and we're not getting anywhere at all."
"Try to remember we are formulating a solution to tame the entirety of Gotham's underworld to manageable levels. In a city this size and with gang culture so well-stitched into its being, that is as near impossible a task as we have ever faced. But it is not impossible. I told you we would win this war…and we will." I tell him firmly. My speech is met with an unconvinced frown.
"My history teacher says wars aren't won on the number of battles you win. He says people win wars on a handful of key moments or decisions. So far it feels like we've lost all the key moments."
"It may feel that way, but we have not lost anything yet we cannot afford to lose. Your history teacher must have also mentioned that it is not foot soldiers that win wars but the leaders who tell them where to go. Wars are the pitting of one strategy against another. Since our opposition do not have a strategy, we already have the upper hand just by trying to think of one."
"Tell that to the men the commissioner's lost in the last six weeks." I glare at him hard. He directs his eyes to another part of the cave. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. Maybe I should just go to bed." Dick says whilst getting to his feet. I take hold of his wrist before he can drift out of reach. His eyes are on the floor. I know he is ashamed of offering such a vulgar comment. I understand his frustrations at my constant promises of action and change yielding no tangible results. I am incensed by our lack of progress as well. I am also aware he is grappling with thoughts and feelings normally beyond the mind of a thirteen-year-old boy as well as the added stresses of my safety and Daniel Kane's death. His head must not be a welcome place at present.
"No, Dick. I'm sorry. I know you're trying your best and I am not helping with my empty assurances. Perhaps we should both take a break from the cave for the time being. Come on, I'll accompany you up to the house."
It is twenty minutes later. The boy is in bed in his pyjamas. I am beside him on top of the covers, reading aloud the opening chapters of To Kill a Mockingbird. Apparently Dick is struggling to read the book for his English assignment, an essay on the character of Boo Radley and his role in the story's narrative which is due in three weeks' time. I am not surprised given how difficult the past months have been for him. I have assured him that we will read and understand it together. We are less than five pages into the story, but Dick has already made himself comfortable by resting his head on my chest and closing his eyes. I have checked he is still awake at regular intervals. Each time proves he is far from drifting off.
"Still with us?" I ask after finishing chapter two half-an-hour later.
"Yep." The muffled reply comes from the boy who has pressed his face into my side.
"And what purpose do you think Boo Radley serves so far?"
"So far he's just the boogeyman. I'm guessing he'll grow into something else later." Dick says after shifting his position until he is half-sprawled in my lap. It is a satisfactory analysis for the material we have covered. I nod whilst closing the book.
"Very astute of you, Dick." I say placing it on the nightstand. "Are you feeling any better about things?"
"A little I guess. You do a pretty awesome southern accent, but I'm also kinda creeped out how well you can impersonate an eight-year-old girl." The boy comments before grinning up at me, "even your Alice doesn't go that high." I smile back at him.
"I was hoping it would amuse you."
"Consider me amused, big guy."
"And will this perhaps lead to some restful sleep?" I ask reaching down and combing through his hair with my hand. His smile disappears.
"Only if you promise to hit the hay as well. You think I'm strung out? Look in the mirror and see for yourself. Is it a deal?"
"Deal." I say continuing to run my hand over his scalp. He twitches when one of my finger pads accidentally brushes one of his scars with more than just a fleeting contact. "Sorry about that." He decides to sit up and then proceeds to run a hand over my scalp, apparently returning the favour. I feel his fingers as they traverse the various peninsulas that branch across the whole surface of my skull and see his eyes widen with each new discovery. He withdraws his hand a minute later and looks somewhat stunned by his findings.
"And I thought my scalp was bad."
"I take it this makes us even?"
"Yeah. Night Bruce. Wake me up if you think of anything useful." The boy tells me before lying down and closing his eyes. I nod in understanding. He believes I will not sleep for some time yet. He is most likely correct. There is still a problem to solve. I briefly rub his shoulder before getting off the bed.
"We shall see. Goodnight Dick. Sleep well."
It is night and I am walking through mist. The ground is soft beneath my feet. It feels like loose soil. After a few moments of uncertainty, the mist clears. I am standing in a cemetery, a nightmarish area where the gravestones are seven feet high and their occupants groan beneath the earth. I glance down at myself and find I am in my bat suit and seemingly prepared for combat, judging by my arsenal of weapons. All the gravestones bear the names of people lost to the recent crime epidemic. One is Daniel Kane whilst others display the dozen or so GCPD officers killed in the line of duty. As I continue to walk, I am aware of being followed by the dead. I hear their groans and shambling footsteps close behind my back but do not turn. It seems I am to lead them forwards.
The cemetery melts out of existence, but the dead are still following. We enter a dystopian and desolate Gotham, its skyline destroyed beyond repair by what looks to be artillery and airstrikes. Glassy-eyed corpses lie dead in the gutters, their cause of death unknown but apparently brutal judging by the contorted horror on their faces. The crowd behind me grows larger, their groans of despair now loud enough to drown out the rest of this world. We approach a four-way-intersection in downtown Gotham, one of the most opulent plazas in the city lies in ruins of rubble and smoking ash. Sitting atop of one pile of rubble is Dick in the torn remains of his Robin costume.
His body shows multiple cuts and bruises, burns and welts. He has fought a tough battle it would seem. His head is bowed forwards as I approach and his chest is so still I fear he too may be another casualty of this war for me to lead onwards. Then he raises his head. His mask is absent and one of his green eyes is horribly bloodshot. Dark circles stamped under his eyes show him to be lacking sleep. I stop in front of him. The shambling footsteps halt too. The rubble he sits on is so high that our faces are level with one another.
"Looks like you have a fan club." The boy offers sarcastically. I glance over my shoulder and see nothing but a sea of grey and decaying flesh to meet my gaze. There must be hundreds if not thousands of them. Oddly, they have fallen silent.
"I would not call them fans." I reply before turning back to Dick. "I take it the criminals have destroyed the city with their war of attrition?" The boy shakes his head and points at me with a single blood-covered finger.
"You destroyed the city. Why the hell couldn't you save it? Why couldn't you think of something to stop them?" He demands on the verge of tears.
"There is still time to save it, Dick."
"You're delusional. Look at them! Look at me. You've already lost. Can't you tell?" The boy begins to cry quietly. I look up at a scorched sky and consider my options carefully. I turn to Dick and put a hand on his face. He stops sobbing as I wipe away a tear that has mingled with blood and dirt. I stroke his cheek with my thumb.
"How can I prevent this, Dick? How can I save you?" I ask softly.
"You tried to get them to work for you. Work for them instead." The boy tells me wiping his nose but only succeeding in smearing more blood across his face. I frown at his suggestion.
"You want me to work for criminals? What do you mean?"
Dick jerks his head away from me and shakes it. He looks disappointed in me. "Can't hold your hand on this one, Bruce. Figure it out before I end up as one of your fans too."
I wake up in the dark. The dream is still vivid and so are the boy's words of counsel. His voice was the only one my subconscious would provide to aid me. It means something that even in my dreams Dick wishes to help me. Work for them instead. That is what he advised me to do. Work for them? I sit up and consider the meaning of such a suggestion again. Perhaps he means I should work on an individual's behalf to ensure stability? A prominent figure in the criminal underworld is a likely candidate. I cannot be certain this is what he meant. If it were not a dream, I could ask him…wait. I remember something he said, three weeks ago. He suggested I could…yes, of course. I get out of bed and exit the room.
"Dick?" I say minutes later as I stand in the boy's bedroom. The boy stirs slightly but does not wake. I call his name again. I hear him mumble an acknowledgement.
"Yeah?"
"You may have a solution to our problem."
"Ha? What you talking about?" The boy mutters, clearly half-awake.
"You told me to work for them instead of them work for me. What did you mean?"
"What time is it?"
"Almost six. Do you know what you meant by working for them?" I ask as the boy fumbles in the darkness for his bedside lamp. A moment later the room is bathed in soft light, most of it concentrated on Dick's face. He squints at me in confusion.
"Bruce, I never said that. Where did you get that idea?"
"You suggested it to me in the cave, three weeks ago, just before we went on patrol to check the integrity of our measures. You said: why don't we just work for them?" I say sitting down on the edge of the bed. Dick moves his head out of the light's glare and frowns. His eyes are fully open and quizzical.
"That was me being sarcastic. I meant why don't we just pick a bunch of guys and put away their competition. If we get rid of enough rivals we can have them divvy up the city like kids in a sandpit. It was a dumb idea." The boy explains tiredly. I shake my head in disagreement.
"No, it's brilliant. There are too many leaders at the moment, too much vying for territory. If we reduce the number of strong leaders, we can bring the city under control before the dead outnumber the living." I answer. Dick looks disgusted by my last statement.
"That's morbid as hell, Bruce. Don't say crap like that."
"You're right. I had a very strange dream not long ago. It offered a snapshot of such a reality. I do not wish it to come to fruition. Your plan may be the answer."
"I don't have a plan. It was just a throwaway remark." The boy protests. I squeeze his shoulder.
"It was a plan, one only an intelligent and sound strategist could suggest." I say sincerely. Dick looks bewildered by my attitude. He adopts a shy smile.
"I didn't even think you heard me."
"I heard you, Dick. I just didn't listen. Until now." I say before leaning down and kissing him on the top of his head, "Go back to sleep. I'll see you after school." I get off the bed once again and head for the cave immediately.
"I think hypothermia may have got to your brain!" Dick calls before I am out of earshot, "You're almost a normal human being!"