A/N: Happy 2018! I've recently had spark for this story and the time to work on it. I hope you guys enjoy it, and hopefully I'll have another chapter up soon.
Disclaimer: I do not own DC Comics.
"Wait! I swear, we don't know anything-" His fist connected with the jaw of the criminal speaking, his form a nearly indistinguishable blur in Batman's eyes. Through the cowl he watched them all sprawled out on the cracked concrete, some of them attempting to crawl away and find shelter from the Bat's wrath. One sharp turn of his head in their direction froze them all, their eyes wide behind the remains of their ski masks, blood stained lips trembling.
The man he'd struck stumbled backwards, reaching for the wall behind him to keep his balance. Batman strode towards him, each boot-clad step like a deafening explosion in the alleyway, even with the sound-silencing soles. As he drew within a foot of his target the criminal held up his hand as if to ward off the towering, daunting figure looming over him. But there was no stopping the Bat from grabbing the man by his shirt collar, shoving him into the wall so hard that small crumbling pieces of the structure rolled off his shoulders and onto the ground.
Pain radiated off of the criminal, but the fear he projected was stronger. Batman leaned forward so that his face was mere inches from the criminal's, his cowl covered eyes boring into the man's soul. In his grasp the man trembled and tried to move away, but he was trapped in the Bat's iron grip. The Dark Knight's voice came with an extra growl in its usual gruff tone, accompanied by a harsh enunciation of his words, "What does the Gotham underground know about a red masked criminal?"
"Nothing!" The man said it with panic in his tone, a pleading for release just as prominent. "No one has seen anyone like that!"
"Tell me that again," Batman said, not having to move an inch more to display the threat that he meant. The man flinched, his hands pressed against the wall, fingers scratching at the surface to try and find a hold. It took everything in the Bat not to fling the man off to the side, but he couldn't, not yet. He needed answers, even if he had to beat it out of this lowly thug.
"We don't know what you're talking about!" The man's voice cracked, raising an octave higher as the Bat lifted him off his feet, forcing him against the wall even harder.
"He's telling the truth," one foolishly brave thug called from where he lay on the ground, unmoving for fear of the Bat's next move. "There is no new villain in Gotham, Batman."
It was not the response that he wanted to hear. Batman clenched his jaw tightly, the edges of his vision tinged red. How, how could this mystery kidnapper be so far off his radar? For all the rounds of the city he'd taken, for all the crimes he had stopped lately, and not one of them had come across the figure he described. He knew he was relying on the Joker's testimony, but that was all he had to work with, which was just as much of a lead as he'd had before. Why couldn't he crack the code? Why did he have to continue failing his son?
How did all of this add together in the end?
Every crime he became distracted with was a waste of his time. All of these lowlife thugs were just another block in the road, throwing him off course. It didn't seem to matter, anyways. No matter how hard he searched, no matter how deep he dug for information, his efforts to find Tim were as fruitless as always. The thought sunk into his heart like a knife, carving out the part of him that kept him grounded to the world. A sick sensation of anger mixed with dread filled the hole that was left, and he barely realized how he tightened the hold he had on the criminal in his grasp.
He did, however, catch the sound of someone running up behind him.
The Bat spun around, catching a pipe in his hand as one brash thug attempted to bring it down on his head. He wretched the makeshift weapon out of the man's hands, and threw the other criminal in his grasp aside. He didn't bother to think through his actions other than to accept the rage and blame that was overflowing inside of him. Batman felt his fist connect with a jaw, his hands grasping an arm and then twisting until a crack and scream signaled him to release. Some of the thugs cowered, and some ran at him once more.
But the thin strand of mercy that he had been clinging to snapped. He caught their blows and dealt them back, and resorted to snapping bones and fracturing ribs, dislodging teeth and watching the blood smear on his gloves. In the back of his mind a memory whispered of another time when he had resorted to this type of violence. Back then, when he was so deep in despair and guilt, this had been his outlet. He told himself once Tim came into the picture he wouldn't be like that anymore, that another child needed his guidance in order to survive.
But thanks to him, that child may very well be dead too.
The fighting ceased as the last thug fell, and Batman stood among the damage he had wrought. It was wrong, he knew that, but it didn't matter anymore.
The madness opened up like a chasm in his mind, and he let himself step off the ledge and begin the long descent.
"You're saying my father plucked you from a rundown, failing circus? Just because you were orphaned?" Damian furrowed his brow as he landed a foot away from Dick, sword in hand. They'd been sparring together since Bruce left the cave, and Dick had taken the opportunity to try to get to know Damian better. That, however, wasn't so easy; the kid refused to tell him much other than what he already knew. So Dick tried a different approach: he let Damian question him and told the boy all about himself.
"It wasn't failing," Dick corrected, adjusting his grip on his escrima sticks. "But yes, that's what happened. Your dad has a thing about collecting orphans."
Damian did not seem amused in the slightest. He rushed forwards, bringing his sword down, and Dick blocked the blade, shoving Damian off. The boy's skills were impressive, to say the least. Dick hadn't expected to have to be so on his guard. Even while talking, Damian could carry on the conversation without being distracted. He thrust the sword forwards in a quick jab, "So then you ran around in what I'd hardly call battle attire, thinking you knew anything about combat?"
Dick leapt out of the way, bringing up his foot to try and knock the sword from Damian's grasp. It worked, and the blade went clattering to the side. "Bruce gave me training. I didn't just throw on the uniform and go. But I always was good at learning on my feet."
Just like he was quickly figuring out how Damian worked. He had an aggressive, arrogant nature, which was to be expected since he was raised by Ra's al Ghul and Talia. But Dick swore he could see the wheels turning in the young boy's brain, and from the flash of disappointment he'd seen earlier when Bruce had left, he knew there was more to the story. There had to be much the child was lacking in, even if he had the logical and fighting skills mastered.
He went for Damian again, but the boy jumped for him. Dick didn't know what the kid was aiming for until Damian used his legs as a springboard, grabbing onto his shoulders and then vaulting over Dick as if he were a wall. He landed behind him, sweeping the sword back up in his hand and then casting a smirk, "And then you gave up the mantle. Didn't take you for much of a quitter, Grayson."
"I outgrew Robin. Bruce and I had a bit of a rough patch and I moved on, made my own name and set myself up in my own city." Dick turned fully towards him, and then added, "We're on better terms now though."
Damian frowned, as he seemed to do a lot, his eyebrows furrowing in thought. "Why are you here if Gotham doesn't belong to you? This is my father's city."
"Because Bludhaven can survive without me while I have a family emergency," Dick replied, and caught the uninterested roll of the eyes that Damian gave upon hearing the name of his city. It didn't surprise Dick at all; the kid was more interested in what his father's dominion had to show. "Bruce needs help finding Tim. And Tim is my brother, so I'm going to do what I can to help him."
"You're not brothers," Damian said sternly, as if he was offended by such a claim. "You don't share blood."
"Sometimes it's not blood that makes a family," Dick said pointedly. Whether Damian liked it or not, Bruce was Dick's father, too. Their family had never been made up of blood ties. Just a bunch of traumatized people all shoved together and trying to survive while also making a difference in the world. As crazy as it was, they weren't just a partnership. They weren't like the Justice League.
They were truly a family.
The doors of the cave opened as the Batmobile rumbled inside, and both Dick and Damian turned to watch as it stopped in its usual place. After a moment Bruce emerged from the vehicle, his cape falling around him like a heavy shadow. Dick could feel the darkness radiating off of him the moment he appeared, and it caused him to clench his jaw. There were few times that Bruce became this type of person-when he succumbed to the depth of darkness that Batman carried with him always. The fact that Dick could see it so clearly now made him want to shudder.
He'd hoped, prayed even, that it wouldn't get to this point. Finding Tim before Bruce could become a slave to his own guilt had been Dick's goal, but it was too late now. Bruce had descended into it, and until they found a lead, there would be no breaking him out. Dick glanced to Damian and suddenly wished he'd sent the boy off with Alfred. He didn't need to see his father like this, especially when they barely knew one another.
As Bruce stalked forwards Dick moved slightly, just enough to angle himself between Damian and his father. "Find anything?"
"Does it look like it?" Bruce shot the words at him as if they were bullets, even though he didn't realize he was pulling the trigger. Dick took a deep breath, urging himself to look past it. He had to be sympathetic and understand that Bruce was acting this way because he cared-and he cared deeply about his family. Of course he was going to be beating himself into the ground because he hadn't found Tim yet. They all did the same to themselves.
Just never the way Bruce took it out on other people.
"You never know with you," Dick said, watching as Bruce brushed past Damian as if he wasn't even there. Damian didn't say a word, as if knowing that speaking wasn't the smartest idea. Dick had to give the kid credit; he knew it was irritating enough to have Bruce occupied with someone other than him right now. At least he could pick up on when it was a good time to talk to his father and when it was better to stay out of his path.
"There's nothing out there. No one knows anything," Bruce growled. "Hundreds of criminals in this city, and none of them know about a red helmet. It has to be a lie."
"We'll figure it out," Dick said with a sigh, knowing that he couldn't say anything that would help. The only useful information he could bring would be news on Tim's whereabouts, and he didn't have that.
He expected Bruce to whirl around and start on one of his tirades, but he simply said gruffly, "Not soon enough."
The Bat disappeared farther into the cave, and Dick ran a hand through his hair. Maybe Bruce was in more control because of Damian, or maybe he just hadn't said something that had gotten under his father's skin. Either way, he couldn't stand here and wait for it to happen. He had to work on trying to find a lead himself, and maybe he could ease Bruce's mind before he started snapping at everyone, including Damian.
He turned towards the boy, who looked up at him questioningly. Dick forced a smile, even though he was sure that it wasn't all that convincing. "I hate to leave you hanging, but I've got to help your dad out right now. Make yourself at home, and I'm sure Alfred will be down here soon. If you need anything, just let him know."
"Tt," Damian scoffed, crossing his arms. "I can take care of myself, Grayson. I'd worry more about your current stance with my father, if I were you."
"I'm used to it," Dick replied. "I'll see you later."
He turned on his heel and headed out of the cave. It was time he did some searching on his own-and on his feet.
Damian waited until Dick had gone from the cave and the room went quiet. All he heard was the rustling of bats up in the ceiling. No footsteps, no one coming his way. For the mood that his father appeared to be in, Damian doubted he would try to be stealthy making his way through the cave. And considering how he completely ignored his existence when he returned, Damian figured that his father wouldn't be seeking him out any time soon.
It sent a hot rush through Damian's veins. To think, his father who he'd waited years to meet was more concerned about his partner than his own son. Damian hadn't come all this way to be bested by someone who didn't even share the same blood. He was competing against a boy that had no ties to his father other than holding the title of Robin. Pathetic.
But, as long as it had Bruce's attention, there was no room for Damian. The boy made his way to the computer and sat himself in the chair. He was sure that everything had plenty of codes and firewalls that he'd need to hack, but he'd break those down as he came to them. For now, a simple internet search would do.
Time to see what this Bludhaven was all about.
"You have to be kidding," Tim said with a laugh, leaning back on one hand. "'When I land on your sorry butt' was actually something you told the Riddler?"
"I was a kid," Jason said with a shrug, though the grin on his face remained ever-present. The memory clearly was a good one. "And you've got to admit, it was a good riddle. He didn't see that one coming."
The two of them sat on a rooftop after patrol, perched right above the police station. As usual, no one noticed them. It amazed Tim just how oblivious people were in Bludhaven, too, that they never saw anyone running across the rooftops or swinging on cables through the night. With all the stories, Tim would think people, criminals especially, would pay more attention. But there they were, sitting undisturbed, each of them with a beer in hand-courtesy of Jason.
He'd been telling Tim stories of his time as Robin, all the good ones that he'd never heard. Good, because they all involved him causing some sort of chaos but eventually saving the day. Tim had to admit they were funny, even when they probably gave Bruce a headache back then. That didn't stop Jason from being proud of any witty remarks that he made, or impressive displays of a kid taking down fully-grown adults.
"You riddled the Riddler," Tim replied, biting back a grin and continuing sarcastically. "Who else could claim to trip him up?"
"Shut it, brainiac," Jason answered, sipping from the can in his hand. Tim had wondered if Jason would ever give up pointing out Tim's logical advantages, but instead it only earned him nicknames used in conversations like these. Typical.
He looked to the can in his own head and scrunched his nose. "I don't know how you drink this stuff. It's so bitter."
"That explains a lot," Jason answered thoughtfully, and then shrugged. "I knew there was a reason I liked it."
"I wouldn't say you're bitter."
Jason looked to him and said nothing, but raised a single, disbelieving eyebrow.
There came a long silence, and then Tim gave in, "Okay, maybe a little."
"We all know I wouldn't be who I am if I wasn't angry at the world," Jason replied. He sipped the beer again, and then switched gears. "Anyways, what I'm saying is that it's probably a good thing you didn't try to follow exactly in my footsteps."
"Bruce kept me on a short leash," Tim admitted, gazing out over the city. Below them, cars moved through the streets, people walked arm and arm on the sidewalks. There weren't as many people out and about as in Gotham because of how much crime littered Bludhaven, but it still gave him the echoes of what it was like to sit and watch the citizens of his home city. "Maybe he didn't push me as hard in training, but he made sure I stayed in line."
"You're more complacent than I was," Jason answered. "I didn't like to be told what to do."
"I guess," Tim said. "He's a good mentor, though. Great, really. He always had my back in the field. That's how he is with his partners. He'll take all the hits, if he can."
To that, there came only silence in response. Tim had to resist a sigh as he waited for Jason to say something. It wasn't even tension crackling between them anymore at the subject. They were past that. Now it was just a heavy exasperation from both sides who refused to change their minds. They were right back to where they started, going in a circle, and Jason knew it even if he pretended like they weren't having this conversation yet again. He looked up at the sky, his eyes on the darkness as if it would spell everything out for him crystal clear. "You know what I'm going to say."
Tim could pull out a list of things that Jason might say, but he didn't feel like diving into every single detail. So he chose one to bring up. "Don't trust him so easily?"
"I trusted him wholeheartedly, Tim. Then he turned around and disregarded me completely." Jason broke his gaze from the sky and looked to him before Tim could protest. "And I get it, it isn't your fault. I don't blame you. I blame him for turning his back on me so soon. I blame him for the Joker still running through Gotham. It's not just about me either. It's what he does to all of us."
Jason's eyes darkened, with memory, with knowledge, with emotion that he mostly kept in check. This time, it shadowed his features, disguising pain as anger. "You never see it coming. I sure didn't. When you trust him the most is when he tears the world out from underneath your feet. He did it to Dick, he did it to me, and I wouldn't put it past him to do it to you next. I wouldn't be surprised if he hasn't learned from his mistakes."
Tim had heard it all before, in different terms. It was the warning that Jason kept giving him, and as much as Tim batted it away he couldn't ignore the fact that it still stuck. But he believed in Bruce. He believed that Bruce had never, never, tried to replace any of them. He took each of them in. He gave them each a purpose. Tim had been chosen because Batman needed to be grounded. And that was Tim's job: to keep Batman focused, to keep him from crossing lines.
But he knew he had to remain resilient, and make sure Jason didn't know his words stuck at all. "How many times are you going to tell me this?"
"As many as it takes to convince you," Jason replied, crushing his empty can in his hand.
"It's not going to work for something I don't believe." There was a slight note of reassurance in his voice, like Tim was trying to convince himself of his own words. He slid his full can to Jason, knowing that his mentor wasn't going to let it go to waste.
"I just want you to be prepared. It's better for you to expect it, that way you won't feel entirely betrayed like I did." Jason sighed, taking the beer can and looking down into it, like it was his way of seeing into the future. "I don't want you to go through it, Tim. It sucks. But as history shows, it's inevitable."
A flicker of doubt passed over Tim's features, a real hesitance at Jason's words. For a moment he really pondered on them, really seemed to listen, and then shook himself from his thoughts. "Bruce wouldn't. Those are just misunderstandings."
"We'd all like to think that," Jason said solemnly, and then took three large gulps from the can. "Bruce taught you what he knows. I'm just teaching you what I've learned. And the truth is, I learned a good bit of it from him."
"I know," Tim answered, and he saw Jason look to him in surprise. But he didn't look back at him, just kept his eyes on the streets as he spoke. "But the Bruce I know, he's not the same as he was back then. Maybe we're both just testifying about two different people."
"What, the selfish and the righteous?"
Now Tim turned to look at him, his expression hard as stone. "The person who thought he could protect those closest to him, and the person that fears he can't."
Jason went silent, turning to look out at the streets. Tim knew he couldn't really put Jason in his place. He knew defending Bruce wasn't going to just magically make Jason agree with him. But putting things in perspective he could do. Reminding Jason that he didn't know what Bruce had become-how broken he was since his death-that he could do. And maybe Jason wouldn't believe him. Maybe he would just dismiss it.
But if Jason could get his words to stick in Tim's head, even if they were just in the back of his mind, maybe he could do the same to him.
For the longest time, neither of them said another word. Then Jason asked, "Want to make one more round before we call it a night?"
"I'm up for that," Tim said, getting to his feet. "Got enough bullets?"
Jason scoffed, picking up his helmet and placing it over his head. "Well for your sake, I hope I don't have to use them. Don't want to get your little Robin pants in a twist."
"I'm not even in uniform," Tim answered. "I don't know what I am right now."
"Talking too much, that's what." Jason answered and approached the ledge, peering down at the streets. "Are you ready yet?"
Tim swiped his mask and placed it over his eyes, positioning himself next to Jason. "Your call."
Jason leapt from the roof and onto the next without another word. The typical follow the leader type style that they developed, and Tim knew his place. He followed suit, following in Jason's footsteps, and trusting that his mentor would not lead him astray.