Disclaimer: I don't own anyone.
A/N: As some of you may know from tumblr my life suddenly got a lot more complicated (in a good way, I guess), so I hope weekly updates will still be a thing. I apologize for this late update! Enjoy the chapter!
Part 2: Knightfall
Chapter 12: Gotham
It took all of one minute to say goodbye to the Titans. He thought it would be hard, that he would burst into tears when he saw them, but nothing happened except familiar heartache. He had spent so little time with them in the past five years that it didn't bother him to leave them now. It was useless to deny his guilt over leaving them, but he knew that he had to get away from everything for a while. Every single time he saw someone he knew, Dick wished that they didn't have to reunite like this: with the weight of Slade's death on their shoulders, the weight of Dick's crimes, and the weight of Bruce's injury on their hearts.
Leslie traveled back to Gotham with Dick in Bruce Wayne's private jet. Early the following morning Dick traveled to the Jump City airport via the private helicopter that had landed on Titans Tower.
He didn't talk most of the way, even though he knew that Leslie wanted to talk. Whenever he looked up at her from the book he was reading she would smile at him, as though that could make everything better. He always tried to smile back, but he didn't want to.
She made sure that he ate his lunch. Leslie tried to engage him in a card game, in conversation, in something other than awkward silence. Politely he declined each and opted to stare out the window. Simply put, he felt tired, and this plane ride reminded him of all the hours he had spent traveling with Slade. Slade never tried to play card games with him or whatever, but instead used the time to study. Doing nothing was just fine with Dick.
Alfred was waiting for them as soon as they got off the plane at Gotham City airport. While Dick had heard about Batman's exploits, he had heard nothing about Alfred. Alfred Pennyworth was someone in the background, someone who didn't seem to matter in the grand scheme of things. He smiled as Dick and Leslie approached.
"Thank you for accompanying him, Leslie," Alfred said.
"It was my pleasure," Leslie replied. "We had lots of fun, right, Dick?"
"Hmmm."
"It's good to see you, Master Dick," Alfred said.
He held out his arms expectantly, waiting for a hug. Dick smiled weakly back. "It's good to see you too, Alfred."
They embraced. Alfred squeezed Dick tightly, almost too tightly. After a few seconds he let go and smiled at him, sniffling slightly.
"Come on," Alfred said, "let's get you home."
Yet again, everyone traveled in silence. Leslie came back with them, as she was due to check up on Bruce again. Current pop music played softly, though Dick wasn't really listening to it. He played with his seat belt and stared out of the window.
"Are you hungry, Dick?" Alfred asked. "I went shopping this morning. I can make anything you like."
"It doesn't matter to me. You can make whatever you want."
So ended that conversation.
Wayne Manor seemed empty, dark and derelict. Everything was in place, yet at the same time something seemed unsettling about the place. This place had always been empty, but as a child it had been his playground. Now it was just a place for memories to collect like dust.
Alfred had dropped Leslie off at her home, although she would be back later that evening to check on Bruce. She knew that these next few hours were crucial for Dick, and that he needed to be alone with Bruce and Alfred. They walked towards the kitchen for a snack. At least, that was what Dick thought. Dick didn't have any luggage with him, so there was no need to drop off anything in his room.
"It might be a while until dinner," Alfred said. "Master Bruce talked of ordering food so that we have time to talk, but I won't hear of it." He took out a jar of peanut butter and grabbed two apples from the kitchen island. "Would you like a snack?"
"Sure."
Alfred began peeling the apples. Although Dick wasn't really hungry he could tell that Alfred wanted something to do; Alfred wanted to do something to help him. If it made Alfred feel better, then Dick would do it.
Dick sat at the kitchen counter, his leg twitching nervously.
"It's bad, isn't it?" Dick asked. "Here in Gotham, I mean."
"It's been terrible," Alfred replied. "I do not know what to do, Dick. Things have been happening too fast for me to process properly. First that business at Arkham, then Master Bruce's injury, and then you…"
He trailed off and focused on the apples, turning his back so he wouldn't have to look at Dick.
If Alfred didn't know what to do, then the situation was bad. Alfred looked up from the apple he was peeling. "But I suppose you don't want to talk about that."
"What else is there to talk about?"
Alfred went back to his peeling.
"I'm serious, Alfred," Dick said. "What is there to talk about? What do you want me to say?"
There was a whole list of things Dick wanted to say, things he had imagined he would say once he was free, but now he didn't want to. There were a whole lot of questions he wanted answered, such as why in God's name Bruce thought it was okay to allow another kid to take on the Robin identity.
"Let's just get through today," Alfred said quietly. "We don't have to talk if you don't want to. We can watch…what was that television show you young people liked…Clash of the Planets?"
"I haven't seen that show in forever," Dick replied. "Yeah…yeah. That could be fun."
For a few minutes Dick sat at the kitchen counter, saying nothing and doing nothing.
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
"You could chop up these tomatoes for me," Alfred replied.
Dick got up from his chair and moved over towards the counter. While the thought of cutting tomatoes wasn't exactly riveting, doing something was better than doing nothing. And he wasn't bad at it either—after all, Dick had to pull his weight around at the Haunt. Doing chores was a normal part of life, just like everything else he had to do.
The man was dead.
Blood dripped from the knife Dick was holding, the murder weapon. Dick stared at it, hopelessly mesmerized. Did he really just do it?
The murder had been committed in the Haunt, not outside on a contract. Dick was certain that the man had been taken for a low-paying contract, an easy hit that Slade could easily clean up if Dick messed up. Slade was wrong. This didn't feel right at all. How could he have let Slade make him do this?
He had made his decision, and there was no turning back. Blood soaked his sleeve and his breath came in great gasps. Dick looked up at Slade, who stood near him and hardly said a word through the whole ordeal.
"Why?"
Why, why did his voice sound so pathetic? Slade had watched the whole thing. If Dick hadn't done it, then Slade would have killed the man. There was no way he could have avoided the man's death.
"Because you had to."
"Because you made me."
"It was a mercy killing and you know it. Better than he deserved, too. If he had been caught by the police and tried, he would have gotten the death sentence."
"I can't believe you made me do this…"
"You have always been capable. Accept it, Dick."
He turned towards Slade, still clutching the knife. If he could kill that stranger, then he could kill Slade. He could end it. Slade leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, watching Dick in bemusement.
No.
He dropped the knife, which clattered to the floor of the Haunt. If he killed Slade, then he would be no better than any other mercenary. There were no words to express his anguish. Dick didn't even scream. He just sank to his knees and shook. What could he say that hadn't already been said before? What could he possibly do now?
Dick looked up from the cutting board, his mind clouded with memories.
"Dick, you're back."
Bruce appeared from behind a door. He sat in a motorized wheelchair, his neck was covered in support, and he looked ten years older. Dick turned away to leave the kitchen, still clutching the tomato knife in his hand.
"Hey, where are you going?"
Something about Bruce's voice made Dick pause. He turned back around and set the knife back down on the kitchen counter.
"Dick, this isn't your fault."
"I could have been here to stop it."
"Don't be silly. I wouldn't have wanted you here anywhere. You may have gotten hurt and Bane may have killed you. Then I would have lost you for good." Bruce paused. "Turn around, Dick. Please."
Dick turned around. Just seeing Bruce this made him want to cry. For the first time in his life he looked down at Bruce. There was a good chance Bruce would never look down on him again.
"I would hug you, but moving my arms hurts."
There was stubble all over Bruce's face and dark shadows under his eyes. Just how much sleep had Bruce gotten since Bane broke his back? Wasn't Alfred taking care of him?
"That's fine," Dick replied. "I don't want to hurt you."
"I don't think you can hurt me any more than I already have been."
Neither of them spoke. There wasn't much Dick wanted to say to Bruce, at least not at that moment. Things had been happening too fast for him to process, and he was just as overwhelmed as Alfred by everything.
"Did you have a good flight back?"
"It was fine."
"Good. You feel better? I heard…well…" Bruce coughed. "I heard about your collapse."
"I'm eating again."
"Ah…good."
They looked away from each other. Small talk irritated Dick. He hadn't minded it before the apprenticeship, but now… he just wanted Bruce to say what he wanted to say. No use dancing around niceties and false pretenses. Bruce took a deep breath.
"I know this isn't the best time to ask, but I don't know when a good time would be," Bruce said. "I hate to be blunt, but there's no other way to say it: I can't be Batman. Not when I'm like this. Even considering…where you've been…you were my first choice. The day I stopped being Batman, I knew I could trust you to carry on the cape and cowl if you needed to. Even after everything that has happened. Even after knowing what you've done, what you've had to do to survive, I trust you."
"What?" Dick could think of no other word to say. He thought Bruce would say something else. Why not, "I'm so glad you're back, Dick? Why don't we go do something fun?" But this? "Are you asking me to become Batman?" Dick looked at Bruce as if he were crazy. "Why?"
"Do you think it's easy for me to ask this of you?" Bruce asked. "Do you think I want to? That I would have asked you if I didn't have to?"
All of Dick's frustrations and anger overwhelmed him as he stood there, shocked by Bruce's words. Bruce expected him to say yes. Dick's breathing became shallow as he hyperventilated, numbed by Bruce's request, but in a few short seconds he caught his breath enough to shout.
"It's not fair!" Dick shouted. "First Slade told me I had to be Deathstroke, and now this? Fuck you, Bruce."
"Dick—" Bruce sounded strained. Shocked. Well, what did he expect? "Dick, hear me out—"
Dick grabbed the knife and slammed it into the wooden countertop. Everyone in the room jumped. Slowly he let it go, his hand shaking and his heart racing. Without even glancing back at Bruce, Dick stormed out of the kitchen and slammed the door shut behind him.
Dick found his way back to his room, which hadn't been touched in the past five years. He sat on his bed with his back to the door.
He felt like a child again. What in God's name was Bruce thinking? Maybe he was so drugged up on painkillers that he wasn't thinking straight. Maybe Scarecrow had been there and gassed Bruce. Whatever the reason, Dick was sure that Bruce wasn't in his right mind. He couldn't have asked Dick that. Not after all of these years. Not after he had replaced Dick. Bruce hated him. This had to be a joke.
"Master Dick," Alfred said through the door. "Can I come in?"
Dick didn't move. Then, after a long, long while, he got up and opened the door. He had been waiting for years, so what was a few seconds more?
"It's unfair, I know," Alfred said, "I told him not to ask you, especially not so soon after you came back home. But you know him…"
"Oh, so he's sorry because he didn't know? That's no excuse."
No, he shouldn't get mad at Alfred. None of this was Alfred's fault. Bruce was the one Dick should be yelling at. Dick snorted. "Classic Bruce: always the sensitive one. I'm not ready to do anything."
"I know, but Master Bruce feels as though he has no choice but to ask you for assistance."
There was always something Bruce needed. He was like Slade: he never called unless he needed something or was mad at something Dick had done.
"Can you at least talk to him? For five minutes? Then I promise you won't have to."
If he didn't want to talk to them then he wouldn't.
"I know it's hard, but do this for me. Please." Alfred squeezed Dick's arms reassuringly. "We know what you had to do, and we don't care."
"Bruce cares that I killed Slade."
That made Bruce's request all the more unbelievable. Batman was not a killer. Anyone but Dick was worthy of the cape and cowl.
"He knows more than most people that desperate people do desperate things. Whatever you may think, Master Bruce does not hate you for what you've done."
"Do you?"
"Why would you ask such a thing?"
"Because…" Dick's voice shook. "I hate myself. I'm sorry, Alfred. But please leave me alone, just for a little while. Please."
Dick walked through the empty house later that evening. Dinner had been a tense affair. Eventually Dick took his plate and ate by himself, not wanting to talk to either Bruce or Alfred. Thankfully, they respected his space and left him alone. They wouldn't talk to him unless he made it clear that he wanted to talk to them.
There were old and new pictures up in the living room. Instead of dwelling on the old memories, which were painful, Dick looked at the new pictures on the mantle. There were pictures of two boys Dick recognized as his successors: the one who died and the one who was Robin now. Dick picked up the picture of the boy who had died, stared at his face, and then set it down, clearly unsettled.
There were pictures missing. Five years' worth of them. Pictures of Dick's high school graduation, pictures of his friends, pictures of him doing the things he had loved to do. What would be here now?
I would be graduating from college right about now, Dick thought. A picture of him at his college graduation was also missing, if he had gone to college at all. What would he have studied?
He heard Bruce wheeling into the room long before he heard Bruce speak.
"So, Slade asked you to become the next Deathstroke," Bruce said.
"Are you surprised?"
"Only that he was sincere."
Dick still didn't turn around to look at him. It wasn't Bruce's fault: he didn't know about Slade's request because Dick hadn't told him. He was so caught up in his own little world that he forgot to mention these things. Dick didn't want to mention it, though. He was still trying to process Slade's last will and testament, and he didn't have any intention of sharing his thoughts with Bruce.
"Dick," Bruce said. "If I had known…if I had even guessed what had happened…I would have never asked you to do this for me. I'm sorry."
"Well, I'm not going to do it," Dick said. "You shouldn't have asked me the moment I came home. You have yet to learn tact, Bruce."
"I understand," Bruce said. "I'm sorry. It was unfair of me to ask you to become Batman, especially after everything you've been through."
"You don't know what I've been through."
"I know a lot about what happened, but I don't know everything. I don't know how you feel, and I can't help you until I do."
"And you think me becoming Batman will help?"
"No. No, I do not." Bruce reached out a hand and placed it over Dick's. "It's the exact opposite of what I want for you. What I think will help you. But there are so many people who rely on Batman now, so many people who need help. I understand if you don't want to go out on patrol. I have no right to force you to do that. I shouldn't." Bruce sighed. "But I can't defend Gotham anymore. I can't protect our family."
"And I have to?"
"Tim is Robin now, and he's still a kid. He's only eighteen, and I don't want him to end up like…"
"Like me?" Dick snorted again. "Guess you can't afford to corrupt the new kid."
Sure, he was being dramatic, but didn't he have a right to be after all these years of hiding his emotions? And while Dick knew that this Tim Drake didn't deserve the flak, he still couldn't help but talk coldly of this new Robin. After all, Bruce never asked him if it was okay to get a new Robin.
"You are you, Dick, and no one can tell you otherwise. I would be proud if Tim became half the man you are now."
"Is this a joke?"
"Not at all. You may feel like you don't deserve my praise, but I'm the one who should be blamed for all this."
"Why? Why me, Bruce? Why all of this?"
"Gotham is a war zone. I don't know if Alfred told you, but Bane let lose all of Arkham last week. There are still criminals wreaking havoc in the city. It's not safe here."
"Then why did you call me back?"
"Because Gotham needs Batman. People know who you are; nowhere is safe for you. Not until we clean up this mess. The other JLA members are away on business. Most of them can't help us now. I need everyone here and doing their very best. You're part of this family, Dick. You don't have to do anything you don't want to. But I know you, and I know how much you want to help people."
"No." Dick stepped back. "Please, don't. Just stop."
"Dick, I don't think you even know what happened when Slade died."
"I murdered him."
"It was probably an accident."
"How can you possibly know that?"
"Because I know you, and I know that you wouldn't murder someone on purpose. Not like that." Dick didn't turn around to look at Bruce. He heard Bruce wheeling over to him. "You are not capable of true murder, Dick."
"You really think you know me now?" Dick asked quietly. "I have gone into darkness and seen what I am truly capable of. How can you know me when I didn't even know myself?"
Bruce took a deep breath, as though he was struggling to find the right words. Man, even when the guy was in a wheelchair he still looked intimidating. "No, I don't. I know you've changed. We all have. Time does that. But I know that if you didn't want to change, then you wouldn't have."
Dick was not capable of true murder. But then how could Bruce explain everything that Slade made him do? The morality of his choices left Dick mute, because by killing people he had saved lives.
"I know who you were forced to kill. Slade doesn't keep those kind of things hidden away. In fact he wanted me to know. He wanted me to know what he thought you had become to try to turn me against you. If you're feeling this way, then Slade hasn't won."
"Just leave me alone, Bruce. I don't want to think about it."
"People have died while I was Batman."
"Bystanders. Accidents. You never intentionally murdered anyone. I thought about it for hours and hours. I wanted him dead, Bruce. There's no other way to put it."
"It's only natural to think that way in your situation—"
"So you say."
"Do you think I haven't thought about murdering the Joker? Murdering Slade for what he's done to you?"
Why did he come back to Gotham? Why wouldn't Bruce just leave him alone? Dick was mad, but he was too tired to argue. He was tired of arguing, tired of voicing an opinion that wouldn't be heard. HE ran a hand through his hair and looked away.
"It's not the same."
"Don't—" Bruce paused, his voice tightening when he continued to speak. "Dick, please don't block us all out. We're trying to help."
"Don't argue with me." Dick's nostrils flared angrily. "I don't even know where to start with you."
"If you're mad at me for not saving you—"
"Screw that, Bruce. I don't think you would have been able to save me anyway. If you couldn't do it within forty-eight hours, then who could?"
"I'm sorry that I asked," Bruce said. "I'm sorry for everything that's happened to you. The guilt has been eating at me for five years. It still is now. But right now we don't have time to catch up. We are all in danger and you know it. Tim is the only one out there, and he is cleaning up my mess because I can't, and he shouldn't be the one doing that. If we don't pull ourselves together now, then we may not ever have the chance to catch up and to give you the help you need. And don't turn away my help, because I know you need it."
Angry tears blurred Dick's vision. "And you think I should be the one to put myself in danger? After I've been putting my neck on the line for five years? Just so I can protect some kid I don't know, who's out there in the identity I created for myself?" Dick turned away. "Go away and leave me alone."
Dick stomped back his bedroom and slammed the door shut behind him. He was hurting so much, but he didn't want to share his pain with anyone else. He had learned how to deal with his emotions by himself because he had to. Sharing his emotions with Slade—whenever that did happen—always resulted in Slade using his words against him. It never happened right away, but always at an inconvenient time. Always when Slade wanted him to do something he didn't want to do. Just like Bruce was doing now.
All the tears Dick had been holding back finally fell down his face.
Part of him knew that it was unfair to treat Bruce like this. He very nearly died when Bane broke his back, and was probably in both physical and emotional pain. But Bruce had no right to ask him to become Batman so soon after they had reunited.
Dick laid on his bed and stared at the ceiling of his bedroom. Every single one of his muscles ached even though he had done nothing physical today. This bed was much more comfortable than the one he had used for five years. Bruce had changed nothing in here.
Slade asked him to become the next Deathstroke. Bruce asked him to become Batman. There was no way Dick could uphold both of their legacies, not without them contradicting each other. How come both of them trusted him to carry on their work? To entrust him with everything they had built their entire lives while Dick had done nothing but follow orders?
He understood where Bruce was coming from. Hell, Dick should have expected it, but so soon? Was Bruce really that scared? Dick rolled over to his side so that he was facing the wall. Of course Bruce would be scared. Bane broke his back, most of the Arkham villains had broken out of the asylum, and his teenaged sidekick was out dealing with villains who could kidnap or kill him. Bruce was scared of what Dick had become, and he was scared that Dick would never be the person he used to be again. Dick understood all of that. But for once—just once—they needed to have a conversation where Bruce was just…there for him. Not asking anything of him. Not ordering him around, not forbidding him to do anything, just…nothing. Nothing except be there for him.
