A/N: Sorry to leave you all without an update for a while. I'm back in school which means less time to write. I've been working on this one for a while, and I'm happy to finally get it posted. Since I'm so busy updates won't be as often for a while. But I will be working on this story every free chance I get!
That being said, I hope this chapter was worth the wait. Please enjoy and let me know what you think!
Disclaimer: I do not own DC Comics.
Bruce stood off to the side, watching as Dick took his turn training Damian. They'd been switching off throughout the evening, using this as a warm up before they all headed out for the night. Damian hadn't had any qualms about it, though hesitant at first when he started sparring with Bruce. The hesitance fell away rather quickly once they'd begun, the boy giving it his all to try and impress his father. For the first time, it seemed, Bruce wasn't fighting verbally with Damian. He gave the boy instruction, giving him tips, and every now and then pointed out something that Damian did well.
He might not be that great of a father, but Bruce at least knew he was a decent mentor.
Dick nodded along with Bruce's instructions, sometimes stepping in to reword a statement to keep Damian from getting offended. The Bat knew his son had a delicate temperament, but around Dick it subsided. It made training Damian easier, though Bruce hoped he could learn a few things from Dick so that eventually he could train his youngest without triggering any anger. It was backwards to have Dick teach him, but Bruce accepted a while ago that he lacked some important skills, and he had to cultivate them sooner rather than later.
Eventually Dick and Bruce switched roles, giving Bruce the chance to observe both of his sons. He didn't feel the need to voice his opinion, more focused on evaluating their dynamic. It came naturally to them, and Dick was a more than formidable teacher. He was patient, avoiding conflict with Damian by de-escalating any type of aggression the boy showed, verbally or physically.
It hit Bruce then that, even if he'd been a mess of a parent, Dick had grown up to be the best person he could be.
Any further dwelling on that thought ceased at the computer flashing an alert. All heads turned towards the monitor and Bruce pulled away from the training and moved to the computer, pressing a key to view the disturbance. A news report appeared on the screen, the banner at the bottom explaining a mysterious explosion at an abandoned factory. In the background were the smoldering remains surrounded by the authorities.
Dick whistled lowly, "That can't be good."
"It's not an accident," Damian agreed, frowning. "Not something on that scale."
They all knew an investigation when they saw one, especially when a crime looked far more extreme than every day breaking of the law. Bruce drew the cowl over his face, ordering them, "Head to the scene."
Dick and Damian placed their masks over their eyes and turned, heading for the vehicles by the exit of the cave. Bruce started to turn to follow them when from his peripheral vision he caught something blinking on the screen. The Bat turned back, looking at the small, pulsating notification, narrowed his eyes suspiciously. It wasn't often that Bruce had information sent to him-especially information that got through his security.
Bruce clicked on the notification, a small window opening on the computer. It was a set of coordinates to a location that, when Bruce entered them into the map, led him to a condemned church in the middle of Gotham. He regarded the location questioningly, when another message appeared on the screen, this time being direct.
"Meet here if you want answers."
There was no signature, no way of knowing for sure who'd sent the message. But Bruce had a strong feeling he knew who the culprit was. Maybe he was playing right into the Red Hood's hands, but he'd had enough of guessing. There was something off about this, different from the usual antics. The Red Hood never voluntarily sought him out. If anything, he appeared to do his best to avoid Batman at all costs. There was no doubt in Bruce's mind that something must be going on to prompt the vigilante to seek him out.
"Are you coming?" Dick called out, slinging his leg over his bike. He looked across the room, waiting for his mentor to follow.
"You two go investigate the factory," Bruce said, not taking his eyes from the screen. "I have somewhere else to be."
The church was one of Gotham's oldest buildings, made of dark stone with the city's famed gargoyles to match. It closed down decades before, condemned for its dangerous infrastructure, renovations far too expensive to keep it open to the public. Even when Jason was younger the building had been a source of rumor and myth, one of the places that drew curious, rebellious children to stare through the gate and bet each other to go inside. They'd go to try and see a ghost or demon, or maybe even spur the Batman to appear for their trespassing.
Tonight the old ghosts were the memories Jason held as he stood inside the church. The space had long been cleared out-pews pushed to the sides, a giant hole in the roof. Dust and cobwebs hung over the statues along the walls, the moonlight reflecting through the remaining stain glass windows. It was the last place that Tim would think to look if the note Jason left explaining he'd gone to do some recon didn't satisfy his curiosity.
That left Jason with nothing else but waiting. At first he stood patiently against the back wall of the church, thinking over what he was about to do. The more he thought about it, the more he couldn't believe what he was doing. Essentially, Jason was selling himself out, possibly compromising every secret he wanted to hide by doing this. It could end in blood. It could end in Jason cuffed and dragged to the cave or the authorities. Any outcome other than leaving here quietly promised issues that would leave him unable to stop Tim.
He had to tell himself that Bruce would take the message and go with it. He seemed calmer in the news, less violent and back to himself-more or less. That gave Jason a reason to believe that the Bat was more level headed right now, which meant more willing to listen to what Jason had to say, without the meeting turning into an all-out brawl.
Too restless to stay still, Jason starting pacing around the altar, the sound of his boot-clad footsteps mixing with the creaking wooden floorboards. Everything was amplified; every flutter of wings from a bird in the rafters, every squeak of a mouse and whisper of wind filled Jason's ears as clear as a wailing siren. And so, as he faced the dirty stain glass on the wall behind the altar, his ears picked up the slight creak of the floor and crunch of glass underfoot as another visitor entered the church.
"I almost thought you wouldn't show," Jason said as he turned around. There, standing in the aisle between the two sets of pews, stood Batman. His expression was as impassive as always, but Jason wasn't fooled. He knew his old mentor-knew that the wheels were turning in his head as he took in every exit point he could see, every weakness he could exploit if needed, all while trying to discover why he was summoned to the church before Jason got the chance to tell him.
"Not many people can hack my tech," Batman replied. "It warranted my attention. Was that your doing or Tim's?"
"He's had a way into your computer for months," Jason said. "The message came from me. Tim doesn't know I'm here."
"I guess Tim shouldn't trust you as much as he does," Batman answered, and if it was a dig at Jason, it didn't go unnoticed.
"Pretending to know me when you have nothing at all isn't doing you any good," Jason said, uncrossing his arms. He took a casual step forwards, hands loosely at his sides, refraining from grabbing his weapons. "You know, I'm surprised. I thought for sure you'd bring Nightwing and Robin along."
"They're occupied with the factory," Batman said, and although he could be lying, there was no indication of the two hiding anywhere nearby. "A mess that I'm sure is your doing."
Jason gave a short, humorless laugh. "Can't take credit for that one."
The remark didn't rouse any reaction from the Bat. He stood there as if his feet were rooted to the spot, watching Jason with nothing more than a serious expression. He was turning over theory after theory, certainly, but not enough to make him ask questions yet. Jason pushed aside the comment, stepping around the altar. "But we're not here to talk about me."
He moved slowly, his gait almost casual. But each step he took was heavy and with purpose, adding weight to Jason's words as he spoke. "So what promises did you tell the new kid? That he'd make a difference in the world? That he was special? Because that seems to be your speech before you abandon them for another kid and feed them the same lies."
The inquiry stirred something in the vigilante, a sudden renewed interest that only registered in his tone of voice. "How would you know anything about my partners?"
"I've watched you, Batman," Jason answered, stopping in front of the altar. "I know the way you work, the way you think. And as your record shows, everything is a pattern for you."
This wasn't meant to turn into a fight. Jason knew he had to set aside his feelings, that he couldn't let them consume him when faced with Batman. Everything he wanted to say, every foul word and burning question, he had to hold back. But he found that to be impossible. The need to know the answers slithered its way out of the cracks, twisting into the words that he said. Deep down, he wasn't just asking for Tim. He was asking for himself, too.
His hands curled into fists at his sides, and Jason swallowed down the anger. He had to stay on track, but the words came out so naturally that it was impossible to fight them. "So is that the way it was for Tim? He outgrew his use for you-grew up too much? Or did you throw a kid-sorry, your blood son-into the Robin suit just to fill the void, without thinking for a second that maybe Tim was still out there?"
Jason paused, settling his gaze on Batman as he stood in front of the altar, motionless. "Tell me that's the way it was. Or tell me that this time it was different."
Batman was silent. He, too, didn't move, not even the wind rustling his cape. He was made of stone, impassive, his mouth a thin line. Jason couldn't read his expression or body language. Nothing told him if the Bat was even considering what he'd said. Time seemed to stand still, long enough for Jason to think he wouldn't get an answer. And then Batman spoke, his words resonating in the gravelly tone that only belonged to him. "It's not the way it looks."
Simple, to the point. It wasn't much of an explanation, and yet a flood of relief swept over Jason. So the suspicions he'd had were right. There was more to this than he and Tim had first thought. It was the explanation that he'd wanted to hear, because if he hadn't gotten it, then this whole meeting would have been for nothing.
Luckily, things had just gotten a whole lot easier.
"Good," Jason said, smothering his relief so that it wasn't visible. "Then we can get to the point. Tim has an agenda you're not going to like. And in your code of morals, it makes blowing up a factory a misdemeanor."
The Red Hood gestured to Batman. "I'm sure you're familiar with the name Digger Harkness."
"He killed Tim's father," Batman answered, his eyes narrowing.
"That he did," Jason replied. "And Tim's looking to return the favor."
"No," Batman's stern reply sent the birds in the rafters fluttering. "Tim wouldn't. He always follows the code."
"Frankly, Batman, I don't think Tim really cares," Jason said, unforgiving of his words. "Between losing the Robin title and refusing to bury the hatchet with Harkness, I'd say this was a long time coming."
"Then why are you here?" Batman's scrutinizing gaze locked on him, still trying to decipher the reason he'd been summoned to the church. Jason suspected that he was figuring things out faster than he let on. "If that's what he's planning, why aren't you helping him?"
"We're different, you and I," Jason answered, "but I don't want to watch Tim go down that path either. He doesn't need to end up like me."
Batman regarded him as blankly as before, yet Jason sensed his intrigue. "That's a noble thought, coming from you."
"I'm slightly better than what you think," Jason responded. The vague lightness left his voice, the grimness setting in once more. "I started this, but I'm not letting it go any farther. Unfortunately, I need your help to end it."
"You're in over your head," Batman agreed. The detective certainly understood what place Jason was in without him saying. Now that he knew why the Red Hood summoned him, he was piecing everything about the situation together in the quick fashion the Batman was known for. But he hesitated, the tension in his posture giving it away, as did the way he slowly spoke his words. "How do I know what you're saying is true? I have no reason to trust you."
It was a fair point, and Jason knew he'd ask something like that. Evidence was what detectives needed, after all. But he'd come prepared. Jason reached into a compartment in his belt and pulled out a small, black drive. Tim didn't know that when he'd taken out the camera after the fight at the docks Jason snagged the memory chip. He kept it just in case, and now he was thankful he'd made that decision. He held it up so that Batman could see what it was and then tossed it to him. The vigilante caught it in one hand, looking down at the device in his palm and then back to Jason.
"Take a look at that and then decide," Jason answered, turning away from Batman. He'd done all he could, delivering the message. Now all he could do was wait. He went to walk away and then paused, looking at Batman over his shoulder. "You're running out of chances to save your partner. This time, don't be too late."
If the Bat had a reaction to that comment, he didn't see it. Jason stepped into the shadows and through a broken window, out into the darkness. For the first time, Batman didn't chase after him.
When Jason arrived back at the safe house, all was well. He ventured in slowly, quietly, listening for any sign of what Tim could be doing. He heard nothing-no clicking of keys or sighing. Jason walked further inside, his footsteps loud in his ears. He almost moved towards Tim's room, but caught sight of feet dangled over the arm of the couch. Jason switched course and crept towards the living room, peering over the back of the couch.
Tim lay stretched out, his arms crossed loosely. His chest rose and fell with sleep, a pillow propped behind his head. He'd changed out of his Red Robin suit into a t-shirt and pants, looking more like the teenager that Jason was used to seeing. On the coffee table were the computer parts that the teen had gone to retrieve. Jason didn't know what they were for, but at this point he was afraid to ask.
At least he was back at the safe house and not running around playing vigilante. Jason sighed slightly, shaking his head a little. The sound caused Tim to shift in his sleep, and he blinked, peering up at Jason with half opened eyes. "What took you so long?"
"I took the scenic route home," Jason answered, leaning his arms on the back of the couch. "Had to get all my energy out."
"Mm," Tim replied, rolling onto his side and shoving his hands underneath the pillow. His eyes closed almost immediately, sleep pulling him back under. "Okay."
Jason watched him for a moment with brief amusement. Then he remembered where he'd gone and what he'd been doing, and the faint smile faded from his face. He could not forget that the boy in front of him was much more dangerous than he appeared. And Jason wouldn't forget, not any time soon. Not until this madness was over. And even then, that was questionable.
For Jason knew that even if they made it out of this, he could never look at Tim without remembering the darkness that lay beneath.
The sight of Dick and Damian pacing around the cave greeted Bruce as he leapt out of the Batmobile. As soon as he was out of the vehicle Dick pounced, hurrying forwards with his brow furrowed. "Where have you been? Why didn't you answer any of our calls?"
"Did something happen?" Bruce hadn't gotten any alerts, and for a second the thought crossed his mind that his meeting with the Red Hood had all been a trap for something greater.
Dick put a stop to those thoughts quickly. "No, but we didn't know where you were. You weren't exactly clear about what you were doing when you went off on your own."
Damian looked at Bruce thoughtfully, and with his mask removed the curiosity in his eyes gleamed clearly. "Where did you go?"
In truth, Bruce couldn't really believe what had transpired in the last hour. He'd imagined many times finally facing off with the Red Hood once again and getting answers that he needed. That always seemed to be their game: chasing each other until they met, barely getting information before the Hood dropped off the face of the earth once again. Bruce had grown tired of the game. He couldn't wait for the day he put the masked man in handcuffs and hauled him off to Blackgate.
But he'd never thought he'd let Hood walk away like that. Bruce had every opportunity to put him in handcuffs, but he hadn't. Instead, he'd let the man interrogate him as though he was the criminal. The experience lingered in Bruce's brain as he tried to unpack the man's words. They were about Tim, no doubt, but there was something about it that was off. There'd been controlled anger in the man, he knew that. Bruce couldn't help but consider that there was something more to it that made the words stick-a combination of deep rooted anger and suppressed pain.
That, however, was not the main point. Bruce walked over to the computer and took a seat, the two boys following after him. "I met with the Red Hood."
"What?" Dick jumped at the words, leaning around the chair to look at Bruce. "Why?"
"He had information to share," Bruce replied, taking out the drive. He didn't know what was on it, but it had to be convincing. The claims Hood made were hard for Bruce to accept, and unless he had concrete evidence towards what he'd said, Bruce was less inclined to believe it.
Damian peered at the drive, frowning. "Credible information?"
"We're about to find out," Bruce said, inserting the drive into the computer. He watched as the files converted, bringing up a video screen. Despite his resistance to the Red Hood, Bruce had to admit that he was at least interested. He pressed play, leaning forwards as he realized the video was from some sort of feed-from an angle he recognized.
The destroyed camera flashed in his memory, but Bruce only acknowledged it briefly as he watched the events unfold before him. Suddenly the Red Hood and Tim appeared at the docks, causing Bruce even more surprise. He'd known that Tim was involved with this, but he'd thought it had more to do with the technological parts of the job.
All he could do was sit there and witness Tim, his Robin, his partner, throw himself at the thugs with all the force he could gather. Bruce watched bones snap and blood spray as Tim showed no mercy. He heard Dick inhale sharply, but none of them said anything as they watched the scene play out. Only when Tim stood among the beaten bodies did the video end, giving them all that they needed to see.
For a long minute, no one spoke, each of them staring at the screen as they tried to process what they'd just watched. It was Dick who broke the silence, his voice strained. "What was that?"
Bruce felt sick in a way that he hadn't in a long, long time. It was the kind of sickness that came with guilt and the staggering realization that he'd failed his partner in more ways than one. Not to mention that this proved what he'd feared: the Red Hood was telling the truth. He stared at the still image of Tim standing amidst the carnage he created, and in that moment he knew the only choice he could make.
"Tim is planning to kill Digger Harkness," Bruce said, turning to face Dick and Damian.
"Drake?" Damian's eyebrows rose, but he didn't seem impressed. "Why?"
"He's not in his right mind," Bruce answered. "It doesn't matter why. We can't let him go through with it."
"Of course we won't," Dick said, his brow furrowed. "But what does this have to do with the Red Hood?"
As if on cue, a small window opened up in the corner of the screen. Bruce turned back to the computer and looked at the message. It was from a different source than before, but he knew who it belonged to all the same.
"Are you in?"
Bruce dared to glance to Dick, whose hard expression showed his disapproval. "You want us to work with the Red Hood? Is that really a good idea?"
"He's the closest one to Drake right now," Damian spoke up, eyes on the message. "If we're going to stop him, Hood's assistance is integral."
"Damian's right," Bruce said. "Right now, we're all on the same side. Even if we don't fully understand Hood's purpose, it's better to be working with him on this."
Bruce knew it was possible he was making a mistake. But based on what he'd heard and seen, he had to take the risk that this was truly what Tim wanted. Telling his motives apart from Hood's was far too difficult. The two were so intermingled that Bruce couldn't tell the Red Hood's full capabilities. Perhaps he could crack into the cave's database on his own, or maybe that was all Tim's doing. What Bruce did know was that the Red Hood was dangerous enough on his own. Adding Tim to the mix made the problem so much greater that Bruce had to make an admission to himself: he didn't know if he could take on that battle and win.
Dick sighed but didn't argue, although his reluctance was evident. Bruce reached out and typed a quick response, responding to the message.
"What do you know about Tim's plan?"
The three of them waited silently for an answer, and it came through quickly.
"Tim's already issued a transport order for Harkness to be brought to Gotham. He's scheduled to arrive in two days. In the meantime, I'll try to figure out what Tim's next move will be."
Bruce thought over the message for a moment and then turned back to the boys standing behind the chair. His gaze moved to focus on Dick, even though he looked uncertain. "I'll have Hood send us the transport information. I want you and Damian to keep an eye on Harkness. When he gets to Gotham, you two need to get to him before Tim does."
Dick nodded, "And what are you going to do?"
Bruce looked back to the screen, his mind turning over every possible idea. "I'm going to try and figure out what Tim's planning from here. Maybe I can get through to him before it gets to this point. He's smart. He'll have his bases covered."
"Which means you'll have to try and uncover them," Dick said. He took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay, right. We can handle this."
"We can," Damian said, sounding much more convinced. He looked up at Dick, his expression set. "Drake is only one person. Between us and….unfortunately Hood's help, we can stop him."
Bruce wanted to say that Damian was right to be so confident. But he didn't know Tim, not personally. He'd never seen Tim's mind at work and just what chaos he could cause if the teen wanted. Bruce long believed Tim was even more intelligent than himself. It would be a miracle if he could stop Tim's plan fully, but he had to try. Hood seemed convinced between the two of them they could bring Tim back from the brink. He could only hope that was true.
"That's enough for one night," Bruce answered. "We'll continue this tomorrow."
Damian nodded and headed for the back of the cave to change out of his uniform. Dick turned to follow, his gait slow. For a moment Bruce watched, and then, before his courage ran out, stood up, "Dick, wait."
He turned around curiously, and Bruce walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder. His son, who had grown up, who Bruce had managed to raise and somehow turned out all right. Who somehow managed to raise another of Bruce's sons better than he could. And even if that was a poor reflection of parenting on Bruce's part, it was a shining example of the man Dick was.
"I'm proud of you," Bruce said. "I just want you to know that."
Surprise broke across Dick's face, and he stood there with his unmasked eyes wide. Then a slow smile replaced his shock. He didn't push, didn't ask for more or bask in the glory of receiving praise. Instead he nodded and said simply, "Thanks, Bruce."
He stepped away as Bruce dropped his hand and headed back to change. Bruce watched him go, and then looked back to the computer screen. They had a plan, they were putting to action what they felt was right. That alone should have been some comfort to his conscience, but it wasn't. Plans went wrong. They often failed, they fell out of hand and spiralled into something much worse. Bruce couldn't predict what would happen with this one.
If he failed again, there was no coming back from it.