A/N: well, here it is. I'm kind of blah about this chapter, but it all needed to happen for what comes next so… happy reading! And thank you again for all of my wonderful reviewers, I probably would have given up on this fic if it weren't for you! A Special thank you to JasmineTiger for being awesome and letting me ramble on about new story ideas and such. ;)
Chapter 11: Heartland
Tim was not a fighter. There, he admitted it. Tim Drake was not a fighter. He was a strategist. He had the intelligence to one day surpass even Bruce, but Tim knew it would be a long time coming. He needed the experience only age could bring. Which is why he'd made it a point to spend so much time around the other Robins, let alone the Bat himself. Experience. It could make or break you.
Tim had fought long and hard to learn the lessons that he needed. He'd learned how to fight by training beside Bruce. He'd learned how to maneuver himself to the most advantageous position from Dick. Most importantly, he'd lived under Jason's shadow since he'd first donned the red suit – had even been afraid to call himself "Robin" because of it. Bruce had made Jason into a soldier, and when that soldier had died… well, he was a warning to Robins past and present. A foreboding visage of what could happen to any of them at any time.
It had been a frightening struggle, particularly when Jason had returned from the grave. Tim remembered that for the first time in a very long time, Bruce had called him "Jason" by accident, when it had been almost a year since the last time. The word had hung in the air between them before Bruce had pointedly pulled the cowl over his head and gone to the car. It was part of the reason that Tim had chosen to leave again for the Titans, it had certainly factored in. Because whatever Bruce may or may not be to Tim, Jason would always hang in the air between them, no matter how much time had passed. The realization had sent Tim away to eventually be beaten to a pulp by the older Robin, but that was beside the point.
Because Jason had apologized. Had eaten breakfast with Tim. Had supported his role in the family, even when they both saw themselves as outcasts.
Because Tim still had a family, had parents. He didn't need another one. But he had it nonetheless. And those breakfasts with Jason? They had meant that Tim didn't feel quite so alone anymore.
Dick had been a supportive brother as well, but there had always been something blocking that relationship. Like the shadow of Jason Todd had affected everyone but the man himself. Dick could be distant, he didn't tell Tim everything, and sometimes the older man was so much like Bruce that Tim had to shake his head in defeat. It was just so much easier with Jason – because Jason, for all his flaws and imperfections, knew how to cut through the bullshit like nobody's business. And Tim admired that.
Jason wouldn't lie to him.
Dick and Bruce?
Tim could never tell.
That didn't mean he didn't care about Dick or Bruce, quite the opposite. They were family, for better or worse. He loved Dick like a brother. Loved Bruce like he was his father. Would fight and die to defend them. But there was something about secrets that could make him pause and wonder about his place among them – did they see him the same way? As a brother? As a son?
He used to think he could read people, especially when Jack Drake had taught him how to gamble – to look at the other players more than even his own hand. But then, Tim had met Bruce, had been given a second father-figure who could hide so many things from his own family it wasn't even funny. Bruce had taught him that the hand you were dealt was as important as the people you were playing with.
And boy was he right.
Because things were going well, right up until they weren't.
Tim ducked under the arm of one of the thugs before him, only to receive a dizzying kick from the one behind him. Dick was there in an instant, Escrima sticks flaring to life and knocking both men to the ground. There was blood trickling from an open wound on Tim's forehead and he struggled to find the strength just to move, let alone continue fighting. He glanced at Dick, who was breathing heavily but otherwise unharmed.
"We can't keep this up, there are too many of them," Tim gasped out.
Dick slammed his Escrima sticks into another approaching enemy, still half crouched over Tim defensively. "I know, Baby Bird."
They split up instantly as a gunshot rang out, but as soon as they came up they bother realized they'd made a grave error.
Dick Grayson was, above all else, an older brother. He was the eldest, as he'd told his brothers – "I carried that, so you didn't have to." But it meant something more than that. Being the eldest meant that he was the guardian of the family. He stood beside Bruce, protected his brothers when they needed it, took over for their father when he needed it. He wore the cowl, though it felt like it stifled his very soul to do it. And, as the eldest, he didn't complain about it.
He'd made mistakes, there was no avoiding that.
His brothers had been angry with him for a long time. He was the "golden boy" and while he stood for what they should strive to be, it also weighed on him. Jason had been angry with him for a long time, angry at the comparison between them, in typical second-son fashion. Then Jason had died, and Dick had realized that he'd failed spectacularly in his role. He'd tried harder. Been a better brother to Tim when he had come along. But it also terrified him.
Dick Grayson was responsible for the lives of every Robin that came after him. No matter what happened to Bruce, no matter if he wore the cowl or not, no matter whether his brothers felt they needed it or not.
Now, though, Dick Grayson was scared.
He was scared because Deathstroke had bested them. He held one of his swords to the throat of Timothy Drake and Dick knew he had no choice but to surrender.
Tim gasped as the blade dug into his neck, drawing a dribble of blood from the wound. "So, tell me Nightwing. Do you want your brother in arms to die?" Slade asked smugly.
"No!" dick screamed, not willing to allow another of his brothers to wind up hurt or killed or –
That's when the explosion rocked through the cave, swallowing them all with its heat.
A loud bang reverberated through the house, shaking the walls in its intensity, and suddenly Jason went rigid, eyes widening. There was something unfocused and dangerous about them. Something that stank of the pit and its magic waters.
Jason screamed. "You did this to me! It's your fault!"
Bruce backed away just as Jason drove forward, rolling closer. Then, Jason was on him, punching wildly, missing half of the blows in his rage. Confusion quickly gave way to battle-honed instincts and Bruce caught the next punch midair before twisting abruptly to throw the boy off. Batman rolled away, growing closer to the banister and the pool of Alfred's blood lying stagnant below.
"We can fix this, together! You're not what he made you! You're not his soldier!" Jason landed a hard blow, nearly knocking Bruce over the railing.
"You made me a soldier! You're both the same!" The boy screamed the last word, tackling the older man in a fit of rage. Bruce twisted out of the way, only to catch an elbow to the gut. There was a wet crack and the older man gasped in pain.
"Jason, this is wrong! Ra's did this! Listen to me!" But the boy just charged again, like an enraged bull. They struggled together, neither gaining an inch until finally Jason pushed away, pulling his twin pistols as he did so.
"I can't go back… y-you don't understand. You don't know what they did to me." The words tear a ragged hole in Bruce's heart. They aren't the words of a deranged killer. They are the words of a child, lost and alone for far too long.
"Then enlighten me." Bruce said, moving forward and grabbing hold of the guns as the struggle continued.
"I trusted you, and you just left me to die!" Jason cried, tears streaming, all the anguish from the last few months tearing into his throat as the words left his mouth. There was a sliver of blood leaking out of the boy's nose and he wiped it away raggedly as they broke apart.
Still determined to draw the boy back, he cried out – desperate and broken, "Let me in, Jason. Let me help you."
"Stop talking to me!" Jason fired, but the bullet strayed left and hit the wall behind Bruce. There was madness in Jason's eyes, deep and dark like the first time that Jason returned to Gotham. Tainted by the verdant of the Lazarus Pit.
"Don't be what he made you. You were Robin, Jason." Slowly, with hands trembling almost as badly as Jason's, Bruce traced a scar that ran along the boy's chin. It's not a new one, it's from a time before Jason's death. From a time when Jason had worn an R emblazoned on his chest. "But you are my son."
Jason reacted as though he'd been struck, flinching violently and pulling away. The movement jarred his whole body and the second gun went off.
This one doesn't miss.
Bruce gasped as the bullet tore through the Kevlar of his suit at close range, ripping into his shoulder and loosing a spray of blood. Jason's eyes were wide, fear replacing some of the madness as he stared at the blossoming tide of crimson on his father's chest. Bruce fell backwards, keeping his grip tight on the boy in front of him, to bring him down to the floor as well. "No…"
"It's okay, son." Bruce said, holding onto the front of Jason's suit. "It's okay."
"NO!" Jason cried, tears slipping from his eyes. The maddening shade of green has faded from his eyes for the moment, leaving only the color from Jason's boyhood – the teal that they should be. "Bruce… no, why did you? How…?"
blood dripped from Jason's nose in a steady stream, and the boy scrambled away, pushing so hard and fast that his back slammed into the wall a moment later. His hands grasped either side of his head and his eyes closed as he curled in on himself. "It hurts…" He whimpers.
Jason was slipping away, falling into a sea of darkness so deep that Bruce's heartbeat quickened and he could taste fear in the blood filling his mouth. Jason, his son, was going to break into a million pieces, and then there wouldn't be anything left to save.
"J-Jason." Bruce's voice echoed across the empty space between them, but Jason didn't look up, still locked inside his own mind for the time being. "Son, look at me."
An imperious command, he could have ignored. But not this desperate plea. Jason's eyes came up, just barely over the curve of his knees. There was agony in his eyes, like he was fighting a losing battle against himself.
Bruce swallowed thickly, the words coming to him from a far-off place in his memory. The words of Thomas Wayne on the night that changed Bruce's life forever. "I love you, son. It's going to be alright…"
darkness crowded in on his vision, but blessedly he could still see Jason's face. And that was really all that mattered to him.
A sob caught in Jason's throat as he stood, using the wall to lift himself from the ground. And then, he was right beside him, putting pressure on the wound, desperate to staunch the flow of blood. "Please don't… don't leave me here alone."
Bruce could hear the words, faintly on the edge of his awareness. They were an exact replica of the words he'd said to his own father and Bruce's heart constricted painfully. He'd do anything to fulfill the boy's wishes, but the darkness was crowding in again. He called on his father's words yet again.
"You'll be alright, Jason." The long night, the pain from his injuries, and now this gunshot wound, were all taking their toll on him. Slowly, he reached up to wipe a fresh tear from Jason's face. "I-I love you, son."
It's the last thing he said before life slipped away around him. Dimly, he knew that Jason had fallen beside him as well, tucked close under his arm in a pool of their shared blood.
Talia ran through the operations without conscious thought. She disregarded the pain in her ankle along with the pain in her heart and got the plane moving. The fight outside the plane intensified just as she finished pulling out of the cave. Safety was a tangible thing, stinging her tongue with its bittersweet flavor. Bruce appeared in her mind, whispering to run, to take their son away from the battle. Now, doubt clawed at her insides. Between pressing buttons to set the auto-pilot, Damian glared at her, sending a dark vibe into the cockpit that seemed to suck the very air away from them.
She cleared her throat to break the silence, but this only served to intensify the tension between them.
"My son –"
"Don't call me that," Damian spat, looking away and folding his arms across his chest petulantly.
Talia raised one elegant brow. "And what should I call you? You are my child. I brought you life –"
"And you took it away as well. Or did you forget?" Talia flinched at the harshness of his words. Shame and guilt mingled in her gut and she looked away.
"You're right."
"Yeah, I'm right, what did you-" the boy paused, swiveling mid-sentence. "I am?"
"You are," She nodded. "I did something unforgivable to you. I allowed you to be raised in violence and blood and then I had you killed for reasons that were not entirely my own."
"-Tt-" Damian responded, "If you didn't want to do it, you wouldn't have. If I know nothing else about you, I know you cannot be cowed."
"And yet, I allowed myself a moment of weakness. And it cost you your life," She paused and the next words were spoken in Arabic. "I am sorry, my son."
Damian made a noise, half-way between a growl and a moan that got stuck in his throat. "Don't say that to me," he finally said.
"Damian-"
"No!" His glittering green eyes melted into her as he stood, hands fisted at his sides. "Don't you dare apologize to me, you have no right, no right."
Silent tears left his eyes and Talia felt her heart breaking. Still, the boy wasn't done. He continued, "You ordered my murder, didn't even care to carry out the order yourself! You didn't even come to see me, didn't even want to see me. I'm your son, or have you forgotten!?"
"Never, Damian. I never-"
"I'm not done!" He screamed, fists coming to rest on the arms of the chair Talia was occupying. "Why, Mother? Why didn't you want me?"
There it was. The real issue between them, the one that Damian truly couldn't forgive. Her abandonment of him, however righteously intended, had left Damian without a mother, without a place. And she stuttered over her next words to him. "I-it was not safe for you any longer…"
"No!" Don't you dare lie to me!" Damian yelled. "Don't tell me I was safer with Father, don't tell me that Grandfather forced you, don't tell me I was better off without my mother!"
She swallowed thickly, reaching out a delicate hand to wipe a tear away from her son's face. But Damian flinched away, backing up as though just realizing how close they were standing.
"I'm sorr-"
"Don't- don't tell me your sorry." He whispered, already turning away and heading for the back of the aircraft. "Because if you say you're sorry I'll have to forgive you. And I'm not strong enough for that."
Damian pulled a curtain to one of the sleeping areas in the back, tossing the words, "Let me know when we land," over his shoulder.
Talia was left with a shuddering silence that dug into her very skin, worse than any she'd ever experience. A tear escaped from the corner of her eye, and she wiped at it furiously. She could not fail her son again. So she resolutely looked out the viewport, typed in the landing coordinates, and focused all her willpower on how to fix this broken mess.
"Load them into the back. Make sure they're fully sedated first, though." Slade said, watching as his men gathered their supplies and hefted Nightwing and then Red Robin into the back of the armored military-grade trucks. His men had syringes full of the sedative ready and pushed the plungers as the needle pierced first Nightwing's, and then Red Robin's neck.
"And make sure you burn all the evidence. I don't want anyone to come looking for them."
He turned, holding a hand up for his henchmen to stop. "Havoc. What a disappointment you turned out to be."
The man in question was bleeding from his nose, still completely unconscious from an obvious battle he'd had with Batman, who was lying not two feet away.
"Load them up as well," Slade paused, considering. "And make sure Havoc here gets a double dose. Drugs wear off too quickly to be of much use without the extra."
Slade smiled behind his mask. It was a good day to make some extra cash.
He turned away as the manor started to burn.
A/N: Ugh. Poor Jaybear. It's gonna be important later, but for now… poor, poor jay… ha. More Talia and Damian to come, and then we are off to see the wizard! And yeah, some of that was taken directly from dialogue in Arkham Knight... sorry not sorry y'all.