Hey dudes and dudettes B-) So, I know I said I was going to work more on TLH, but I figured you guys have been waiting awhile for another installment of the "Future Story Arc" (that really needs a better name :-\) so I thought, why not? At any rate, this picks up the storyline from chapter sixteen, "Old Frenemies", with some questions answered, others asked, and finally – finally! – we get a decent action scene in this fic! :D Keep your eyes on the screen, your butts glued to their seats, and your fingers poised over the 'review' key, 'cause this is going to be one bumpy ride…
21) Live a Hero, Die a Villain
August 23, 2016, Gotham, 3:04am…
Fang frowned, taking Nightwing's face in her palms and gently rocking it back and forth to get a good look at the swelling, bloody lump on his left temple. "Geez, Wing," she muttered softly, "who'd you tangle with and did they have a sledge hammer?"
Gently she felt under the thick collar of his suit for a pulse, breathing a sigh of relief that it was strong and steady. His breathing too was normal, just a bit shallow. Fang reached up and pressed a button on the side of her mask, pulling up night vision as she scanned the roof. There was a small amount of blood spatters around Nightwing, confirming her suspicions that he'd been caught unaware and cold cocked, by the barrel of a gun if the shape of the bruising was any indication.
The question then became, who had the stealth skills to sneak up on the first partner of Batman?
While chewing that matter over, Fang switched off her night vision and reached into her belt. From an inner pocket she pulled out an oral stimulant Stark Industries had been developing last year. The drug was created in the hopes of using it on comatose patients, or others with long instances of inexplicable unconsciousness. The project had been scrapped when nobody seemed to want it and the formula had never been completed. Of course, when she asked nicely enough (and promised to work extra long hours), Tony had been happy to hand over the prototype.
She was still working on the remedy's chemical base using her own resources, tweaking things here and there until it functioned the way it was supposed to. This version, she hoped, would do the trick. She also hoped that it wouldn't accidentally turn Dick's hair blue like the last trial edition did... although it had been funny as hell.
Tilting her friend's head back, she tipped the vial towards Nightwing's partially open mouth, putting in only a small sip so the purplish liquid didn't accidently go down the wrong pipe and choke him. Fortunately, Dick's swallow reflex kicked in, his Adam's apple bobbing as the stimulant slid down his throat. He moaned slightly as she set his head back on the concrete, but otherwise didn't move.
She knew that the formula would take at least twenty minutes, maybe even thirty, to be absorbed in his stomach and kick in. In the meantime, she sat back on her haunches, for a moment, and tried to puzzle out just what the hell was going on tonight.
First, Sandman escapes his cell in the Vault, no doubt with help, and flees to Gotham. I get to Gotham to look for him, only to find Clayface who seemed intent on making me a spot on the sidewalk. I finally find Sandman, and he tells me he's been paid to knock me off as well as Batman and company. Robin and I go looking for Nightwing, and find him unconscious on a rooftop… alone… with no apparent assailant nearby and no reason for him to have been left alive except…
Fang's eyes widened just as her spider-sense jumped off the charts. In one fluid motion, she spun around and lifted her frame into a predatory crouch, eyes narrowing as she took in the attacker while protecting her friend. I hate it when it's a trap, she thought irritably.
The moon decided at that moment to come out fully from behind the clouds. In the sudden illumination, she found herself faced with a broad, muscular man about her height and maybe a hundred and twenty pounds heavier. He was wearing combat boots, dark cargo pants, a black shirt, and a leather jacket. There were several guns and knives strapped to his calves, waist and beneath his jacket. There were also several other deadly goodies bulging from various pockets – Fang was pretty sure she could even see a grenade poking out from a pouch on his hip. What bothered her most about his appearance, though, was the red helmet he wore which completely concealed his face.
No, she thought grimly, not a red helmet – a Red Hood. She also noted with a small flash of alarm that over his shoulder was a figure bound hand and foot in a familiar black, red and yellow costume. Stupid! I shouldn't have left the kid alone! Dick and Bruce are going to kill me if anything happens to Robin, she berated herself mentally.
The man known as Red Hood tilted his head slightly, and she somehow got the feeling he was smirking behind his mask. "Well now, isn't this a surprise. I came here to catch a few birds, and get a spider too. Lucky me," he spoke in a low, gravelly voice that was both sinister and hauntingly familiar. Where had she heard it before?
Fang narrowed her eyes, trying to focus on the here and now. "I suppose you're the pain in the ass that sicced Sandman on me?" She phrased it as a question, her tone cordial and polite but with palpable frost.
Red Hood had the nerve to give a small bow, apparently unhindered by the burden on his shoulder. "You guess right, m'lady," sarcasm practically dripped from his words.
"Cut the crap," she snapped, at the end of her patience. "Who the hell are you and what do you want?"
Red Hood chuckled slightly, and she had to restrain herself from reacting. Where had she heard a laugh like that before? It was a low, rough laugh. Not like the excited and contagious giggle of her sister; nor was it like the delighted and memorable cackle of Dick. It was too jaded, too anguished for either. In a way, and she had to question her sanity on this one, it almost sounded like Bruce (the few times she'd actually heard him laugh anymore).
Red Hood dropped Robin on the roof carelessly. The limp boy only let out a small moan of pain in response. The villain took a half step forward, and Fang slid further into her crouch, the predator lying dormant in her spider genes aching to lash out at the threat.
"Stay where you are," she warned her words low but clear in meaning. One wrong move and I will slice you to pieces.
Red Hood half shrugged, "If you insist. To answer your question, what I want is simple. I want you dead. And frankly," he gestured lazily at Nightwing and Robin's unconscious forms. "I wouldn't mind a little damage done to the birds either. Especially that one," he sent a hateful look at the Teen Wonder, giving a light kick to the boy's side.
"Watch it!" Fang growled. "Keep in mind that I am not above beating you to a dying, bloody pulp for hurting my friends."
Red Hood seemed to consider that for a moment. "You really are different aren't you?" he said, almost like he was talking to himself.
"Hard to be different to someone I've never met," Fang retorted, "Which reminds me – who are you again?"
"Ah," he said, slightly amused, "now that is much more complicated."
"Un-complicate it for me," she returned curtly.
"Oh believe me, Princess, I would if I had time," Red Hood said dryly. "But I'm running on a tight schedule." He pulled a nine millimeter firearm from a holster on his hip and aimed it at her.
Fang suddenly dropped her stance and sighed. "Really? A gun? You new bad guys have no class, no pizzazz. I mean, aren't there more creative ways to kill people than a bullet these days? Seriously, I heard that Batman and Robin were once strapped to a catapult and thrown clear across the city*. Much more original, if you ask me."
Red Hood lifted the shoulder that wasn't holding the gun in a half shrug. "I'm more of a 'do it quick and do it right' kind of guy. None of that ridiculous prancing around some of the big guns here in Gotham do; it's counterproductive. Just pull the trigger and be done with it."
Fang pouted, taking several steps closer. "Now where's the fun in that? Doc Ock raves and rants, Mysterio is all about theatrics, Electro is just a hotheaded mess, and Sandman at least banters with me." She stood right in front of him now, letting the barrel of his gun fit snuggly into the dip between her breasts. She lowered her head a little, smirking at him seductively, "So, why won't you play with me?"
Red Hood hesitated before shaking his head. "Because I know you too well," he muttered. "You'll fool around and when you get bored or things get intense, you cut and run."
Fang's face turned stony. "You don't know a thing about me," she said, reaching up with a lightning quick fist to knock the gun away and tackle him to the roof.
The gun went skidding across the tarmac as Fang and Red Hood rolled over and over, struggling to get the advantage. Her spider-senses were on near overload as he pulled out random knives and short blades. She tried to keep track of where her allies were, and more importantly whether either Robin or Nightwing were stirring yet, but it was difficult to say the least.
Eventually she had to give up and focus on the fight. Whoever had trained this guy was good – really good. The weird thing was, there was something about his fighting style that seemed almost familiar, but she just couldn't put her finger on what it was.
Fang managed to stop their roll for a moment, straddling the villain and giving him several hard punches to the chest and neck. Before she could attempt to yank off the man's helmet, Red Hood shifted and used his larger weight to throw her across the roof. Fang took advantage of the momentum to back spring a few feet away, landing in a crouch. Red Hood arched his back and flipped into a standing position in one fluid motion.
The two studied each other for a long moment, reassessing the fight.
"You're a lot better than some of the other losers I've fought who called themselves the 'Red Hood'," Fang said eventually, half impressed and half annoyed.
"You've been trained by someone," she continued, watching him carefully for any sudden moves. "Who?"
"Why should I tell you?" he asked. "I was under the impression you knew everything."
"Well not every–" Fang halted abruptly, her mouth running dry. What did he just say?
The stupid helmet kept her from seeing Red Hood's reaction to her falter. He merely glanced at Robin and Nightwing, noticing that the latter seemed to be beginning to stir. "Hate to cut the party short, gorgeous, but you're not part of my plans."
"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow behind her mask and slowly stood. "What plans would those be?"
"Pretty simple really," he replied. "Bird boy one and two over there are bait for Daddy Bats. When he shows up, he gets to watch the golden boy and the replacement die. Then he's next."
Fang was so distracted by the phrase 'daddy bats', that it took an extra second for her brain to catch the rest of the sentence. Her eyes narrowed angrily and she took several steps forward. "If you think I'm going to let you kill them, you're more insane than I thought," she growled.
Red Hood chuckled again. "What makes you think you'll get the chance to stop me?"
A retort was on the tip of her tongue, when something wet, inflexible and sticky grabbed and lifted her off the roof. Struggling in the quicksand-and-cement like mixture, Fang grunted while Clayface chuckled.
"Not so tough now, are you?" Clayface taunted.
Sandman appeared by his side, forming his hands into large, spiked hammers. "You want me to finish her off, Hood?"
Red Hood considered Fang for a long moment as she fought fruitlessly for freedom. She paused for a moment and shot him a venomous look. "I dare you, Hoody," she spat. "My death, on top of Nightwing's, Robin's, and Batman's will ensure your own demise. The heroes of the world won't rest until you're six feet under."
Red Hood gave a humorless laugh. "They're a bit late for that," he replied cryptically.
"Come on already! Am I smashing her pretty little face in, or not?!" Sandman demanded impatiently.
Red Hood paused for only a second, "No, not yet. Turns out I might have some use for her after all. We'll take her with the others."
"Looks like we get to play a little longer, Princess," Clayface whispered in Fang's ear.
Fang grimaced disgustedly, pulling as far away as she could. "Don't count on it, tubby," she snarled.
"Keep her quiet!" Sandman barked, slinging Nightwing over his shoulder. "She'll wake the whole city."
"With pleasure," Clayface said, forcing mud over her mouth and solidifying it.
Fang forced herself to take calm, deep breaths and not panic. These guys do not need to know that I occasionally suffer from claustrophobia, she thought. She watched with resentful eyes as the Red Hood roughly and carelessly picked up Robin. He made a 'wrap-it-up' gesture with his free hand, and they all disappeared into the night.
* Referring to "Batman" – the 1960's television series – season two, episodes: "Penguin is a Girl's Best Friend" and "Penguin's Disastrous End".
YJxYJxYJ
August 23, 2016, time and location unknown…
If there was one thing Fang had always hated, it was feeling helpless. Right now, she felt about as useful as Snow White lying in her glass coffin, totally dependent on some guy hopefully – fingers crossed – coming along and deciding to randomly kiss her. And she knew she was getting a little stir-crazy, because she hadn't gone off on a random mental tangent like that since she was sixteen.
Red Hood, Sandman and Clayface had taken her, Nightwing and Robin to an abandoned warehouse – why was it always a warehouse? – in the slums of Gotham. There, Red Hood proved yet again that he was a lot smarter than others who had previously used his alias, by separating the three heroes and placing them in different rooms.
Robin was tied to a chair that was bolted to the floor in one, and Sandman was left to guard him. Nightwing, who seemed to only be borderline conscious, had been hung by the wrists on chains dangling from the ceiling, with his feet anchored to the floor. It left little chance for even an acrobat as good as Dick to get free, especially because Red Hood had ordered Clayface to watch him. Finally, Fang herself had been shackled to a cool concrete wall, and no matter which way she twisted or pulled, she couldn't slip out of the restraints – even her enhanced strength was doing any good. Oh, and to top it all off, she got to hang out with Red Hood. This was what Audrey would have sarcastically referred to as 'plain peachy'.
Fang paused in her efforts to escape for a few moments, observing as Red Hood stood in front of a table, his back turned to her, and took out a .22 which had been strapped to his back. He first pulled back the top to check the load, and then fluidly proceeded to take the gun apart, clean it, reassemble it, and insert a new load within a few seconds. She wasn't exactly impressed per say – guns had always given her the creeps – but she found it was noteworthy that he could do it so quickly. It told her he wasn't an amateur, at least as far as firearms were concerned, and that was information.
If there was one thing she'd learned above all in her experiences as a vigilante, it was that knowledge was power… of course she never said it quite that way out loud. She didn't want to look like a School House Rock copycat after all.
"I still don't get why you want to kill me," Fang said eventually, unable to deal with Red Hood's stony silence. She was used to talking, and with beating villains who loved to talk. This guy didn't. To say it was throwing off her rhythm would be an understatement. She felt completely out of sync.
Red Hood turned his head slightly, but didn't reply at first. He put down the first .22 and drew a .45 from a holster strapped to his thigh. It was only after he'd cleaned and reloaded the .45 that he spoke. "You don't remember at all, do you? You've already forgotten all about me," he snorted. "Typical."
Fang rolled her eyes behind her mask. "Dude, I think I'm repeating myself here, but I'll say it again anyway: I'd have to know who you are to forget you."
Only Fang's spider-senses and quick reflexes were able to save her when a knife suddenly appeared right where her head used to be. She stared at her dirty, warped reflection in the trembling blade for a moment, noting morbidly that it was lodged an inch thick into the concrete. She turned back to Red Hood, her expression calm even though her heart was threatening to leap out of her chest.
"Anyone ever tell you, you've got anger management issues?" Fang inquired in an understated tone.
"Every damn day of my afterlife," Red Hood replied, voice heavy as his fists shook.
Fang frowned. "That's the second time you've said something like that. I have to tell you, for a phantom, you look pretty real to me. And, last I checked, ghosts couldn't throw knives."
Red Hood chuckled humorlessly. "Oh I have a pulse. I breathe. I eat and sleep too, sometimes. But I shouldn't be here. I should be dead." He looked down at his fists, slowly flexing them. "I'm not, but I am."
Fang chewed that over for a second. She finally shook her head. "I don't get it," she admitted. "Actually," she added, "I really don't get you in general. You hire Sandman and Clayface of all bumbling idiots, lure me to Gotham where you try and kill me, and then you threaten to kill Robin and Nightwing. Granted, those two have made a lot of people mad – wanting them dead is nothing new – but me? I've got no beef with Gotham villains, and they've never sought me out either. What's the difference with you? What's your angle?"
"My 'angle' as you call it," Red Hood sneered, "is revenge, plain and simple. I start with you and the two birds, then the bat, and I'll save the clown for last."
"Clown?" Fang raised an eyebrow. "Joker? Word of advice, if I were you I wouldn't go within five hundred yards of that nut-job. They've got a special place in Arkham for the guy – literally."
"I know," Red Hood replied darkly. "And soon, they're going to need to make a special place in hell for him too."
"You're going to kill Joker?" She repeated, stunned. "Not even Batman has ever –" she began softly.
"Exactly!" He snarled, cutting her off. "He's a dangerous lunatic! He's killed hundreds, if not thousands, of people and no one seems willing or able to stop him. Well I've had enough. If Batman won't do it, then I will."
"But I don't understand why," she continued, shaking her head. "What gives you the right to kill the Joker? What motive could you possibly have?"
"Because," Red Hood answered coldly, reaching up and pulling off his helmet for the first time. "He killed me."
The helmet dropped to the floor and rolled until it hit a leg of the table, thudding quietly. It was silent afterwards for several long moments. It took that long for Fang to pull air back into her lungs and her brain to unfreeze. Tears sprang to her eyes and her heart beat wildly as a face she knew so well, one she'd thought she'd never see again, stared back at her.
"Jason?" She whispered – voice choked up with a lump that had risen in the back of her throat. "Oh my God," she murmured, more bewildered than she'd been in years. "Jay, it is you."
Jason Todd half smirked, his expression bittersweet and pained… and angry – so very angry. "So, you do remember. How touching."
She shook her head. "Of course I remember, Jay! God, I – how is this even possible? I, I saw your body. I watched them b-bury you," she stumbled over the word, tongue tied as her mind tried to fit her memories with the reality standing in front of her. "I could never, ever forget that."
"Funny, neither can I," the seventeen year old replied bitingly. "In fact I remember a lot of things very, very vividly. Like how I was never good enough for you, or Bruce. How Dick was always the golden boy and I could never get out of his shadow. How despite all my training and hard work, it wasn't acceptable. I remember the day I died and how no one came to save me. I remember, clear as day, the moment Ra's decided to pay back a debt to Bruce by bringing me back from the grave, and how I wandered around for six months, alone and with a totally blank memory. And God if I don't remember how it felt when it all clicked together again and I realized that what I feared most was true – nobody cared that I was gone."
A tear leaked from Heather's mask and trailed down her cheek. "Jason," she swallowed hard, "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. We tried. We couldn't find you after Joker –. Bruce was so close, but he couldn't – and I wasn't there. I should have been there! I might have been able to find you, but I was at the cave, running down leads and… that's when I got Batman's call. It was – it was too late. There was nothing he could do – nothing anyone could do, you were just… gone.
"Everything was such a mess afterwards," Heather continued babbling, openly crying now, though she was trying to rein it in. "Bruce wouldn't talk to anyone. He didn't go to work, didn't eat, hardly slept, he just locked himself in the cave for days. Alfred was so out of it, that stupid Ming vase he's so fond of actually got dusty. I ended up making the funeral arrangements myself. I just made sure to put it all in Bruce's name, so there wouldn't be questions later. I even made sure there were no lilies (I knew you hated them) so I did black roses and red daisies. I even made a wreath with batarangs and wingdings," she gave a weak chuckle, before growing serious again. "It was so hard. I had to leave. I dropped off the grid for months, grieving and alone. I just came back in the last year, and it still is so hard, even now. When you died, a part of me died with you Jay, and it never healed."
Jason didn't say anything for a long time. There were so many emotions flashing across his face, Heather hardly had time to read them all. A few though were plain as day: Jason was suffering, he was angry, he was anguished, and he was disappointed. She wasn't sure which one cut her more deeply.
"If all that is true," he finally said quietly. "Then why is he still alive?"
A frown puckered her forehead. "Who?"
"Joker, goddamn it!" he screamed, punching the wall and leaving a small dent. "Why is that S.O.B. still alive?! If you cared so much about me then why is he still breathing? Why Heath?"
Heather hesitated. "Jay, I… it's complicated. He, somehow, managed to be elected a member of the UN and his record got wiped. We couldn't put him away for killing you – we tried, but we couldn't. I was so furious," her voice broke and she looked away. "I almost did kill him, Jason. I came so close. One more blow and he would have never woken up."
"Then why?" He whispered fiercely, coming up to her suddenly. He leaned one hand against the wall beside her and peeled off her mask, staring into her blue watery eyes with his own tortured green ones.
She looked down, unable to hold his gaze. "I wanted to. So much. I was ready to do it. I was ready to hurt him like he'd hurt so many others, and to finally honor your memory by ending him. But then I remembered something… it really just came to me, out of nowhere. I thought of what you told me once.
"That sometimes you struggled to hold yourself back, and what helped you not to go too far, was to keep in mind that what we do is a tightrope act. If you lean too far over, you'd be no better than them. It made me think, Jay. I couldn't, wouldn't, let myself stoop to his level. It wouldn't be right."
She closed her eyes, "so I let him live. And I've had to survive the last two years with that decision weighing on my mind and my heart. There are so many times when I wonder if I did the right thing. I'd see your headstone and think, 'why didn't I take the chance when I had it'. But then I'd think of you – how you believed so fiercely in this war and were so passionate about what we stood for – and I'd realize it was the right thing to do... even if others didn't agree with me."
Her eyes reopened and she stared him in the eye as she said, "I didn't kill the Joker, Jason, because I promised myself and everyone I cared about that I would never become that person. I would never allow the rage and the fury to dominate me. I wouldn't live long enough to become the villain, even if it killed me trying to be the hero."
To be continued…