Chapter 25: Aftermath
In what was known after that night as "The Battle of Founders Island," three-hundred-seventy-seven of Gotham City's residents lost their lives.
In addition, forty-eight members of the superhero community died, the most prominent among them in the public consciousness being Aquaman, Beast Boy, and Miss Martian.
And, in a number that every last tone-deaf financial analyst would parrot on Fox Business and CNBC, the destruction of property approached six billion dollars.
Because that was the real sad thing about The Battle of Founders Island, wasn't it?
For the assorted superheroes of the world, the next few weeks were a whirlwind of funerals. None save for native Atlanteans like Aqualad, Tempest, Dolphin, and the widow Queen Mera (who survived her impromptu voyage into Gotham City's sewers) attended the state funeral in Atlantis, but there was a large wake on the Justice League Watchtower.
This occasion marked the first time that a majority of Batman's network had ever been to outer space.
A minor faux-pas occurred when Cassandra "Orphan" Cain stepped off the Watchtower's teleportation pad, and immediately proceeded to start vomiting inside her mask.
The funerals passed with little incident, save for two that were notable.
At the funeral of Courtney "Stargirl" Whitmore, Ted "Wildcat" Grant, former heavyweight boxing champion, trainer of superhero luminaries like Catwoman and Black Canary, and noted tough guy, burst into tears while delivering remarks for his fallen Justice Society compatriot. He said Courtney was only seventeen, and God decided to take her away from all of them. But he was an old man, and his life just went on… and on… and on…
The other concerned the funeral of Mouse.
No, not that Mouse. The other Mouse.
It was understood among the members of the Coral City teen superteam The Movement that one of their members, Jayden "Mouse" Revell had died in The Battle of Founders Island. Drew "Vengeance Moth" Fisher, Kulap "Katharsis" Vilaysack, Holli Rae "Virtue" Hunter, Christopher "Burden" Van Dijk, and Roshanna "Tremor" Chatterjee travelled back to their Coral City headquarters, only to find Mouse sitting on the couch in the main room, petting his favorite rat, which he had named "John Cena."
Mouse saw the stunned looks on his teammate's faces, and asked "Jeez, guys, who died?"
At which point Katharsis screamed, and called him an ass-crack.
Earlier that evening, once the tide of the Battle of Founders Island had turned, Mouse did the one thing he had told The Movement that he would not do under any circumstances before they all stepped through the Midnighter door that took them to Gotham City.
He went down into the sewers, called the entire mouse and rat population of the island to him, and tried to safeguard them all from harm. An act that he was successful in carrying out.
Their dead teammate never actually died, and Virtue got Crush's number after the battle. All in all, The Movement came out ahead on this one.
The Mouse that died in The Battle of Founders Island was Pamela "Mouse" Swigeld of The Run-Offs. They weren't a superteam, so much as they were a support group centered in Bludhaven for ex-supervillains. The roster consisted primarily, however, of former supervillain sidekicks. Shawn "Defacer" Tsang was the sidekick to perennial Batman F-Lister Pigeon. Gorilla Grimm (who also tragically died in the Battle of Founders Island) was a refugee from Gorilla City, and a former Acolyte of Gorilla Grodd. Randy "Stallion" Hanrahan used to be a thug for The Penguin.
As for Pamela Swigeld? She was the short-tenured and only sidekick… of Catwoman.
Bruce was the one who told Selina of her ex-sidekick's death. She reacted with muted shock.
"I haven't thought about her in years," Selina said. "We only pulled three jobs together, before I told her the whole sidekick thing wasn't for me. I upped her cut to fifty percent from thirty, and told her to have a good life."
It was at this point that Bruce noticed something was off about Selina. Being married to someone, after all, imbues one with the equivalent power of people born on coastlines who know when rain is coming a few days in advance just by looking at the sky.
"She helped save the world," Bruce told her. "She did have a good life. No one will ever have to wonder why she was put on this Earth. We should all be so lucky."
Selina didn't know what to say to that.
Pamela's funeral was two days later. Selina attended, along with Mouse's Run-Off compatriots. Even former member Grace "Orca" Bolin came out of hiding to be there.
As the funeral party crested the hill of Pamela's gravesite, they were met by an unexpected and altogether amazing scene.
The presence, in full costume, of Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman.
This trio tried their best to show up at as many funerals of the costumed heroes as possible in the wake of The Battle of Founders Island, and Mouse was no different.
Pamela Swigeld may have nominally been a villain, and she may not have put on her costume for any manner of activity in years.
But she died so others could live.
So she counted.
Selina told Batman out of earshot of the others that she deeply appreciated their presence at Mouse's funeral. She also appreciated that they didn't bust Orca, who just wanted to see her old friend one last time. After that, Selina Wayne underwent a minor change. She went from letting Stephanie "Spoiler" Brown convalesce from her violent and gruesome fight with Damian Wayne on her own time in the name of not being a pest, to calling her everyday to see how she was doing.
In other news, the death of Mary "Lady Shazam" Bromfield put her foster brother Billy "Shazam" Batson in quite a predicament. Because he had to explain his sister's death to their foster parents.
Billy had to reveal himself as the World's Mightiest Mortal.
His parents told him in no uncertain terms that his continued activities as a superhero were completely unacceptable, and they would rather not have him under their roof at all than suffer the agony of yet another funeral for one of their children.
And Billy, whose heart was pure enough and his motives innocent enough to wield the power of the Wizard Shazam in the first place, told them in equally certain terms that he would continue to be Shazam.
For the time being, Billy was staying at the New York headquarters of the Justice Society of America until something could be figured out. Wildcat, fresh from his breakdown at Stargirl's funeral (as well as following the death in battle of fellow JSA member Albert "Atom Smasher" Rothstein), was not pleased with this development.
It would be two weeks, however, before the biggest repercussion of the Battle of Founders Island would be felt.
Garth of Shayeris, formerly Aqualad, now operating under the superhero nom-de-guerre "Tempest," lodged a formal complaint in his capacity as a UN Ambassador with the United Nations on behalf of Atlantis against the island city-state of Themyscira.
It was two members of the Olympian Pantheon, Harmonia and Nemesis, who were responsible for the Battle of Founders Island, and thus were responsible for the death of King Orin, also known as Arthur Curry and colloquially known amongst the dwellers of the Earth's surface as "Aquaman."
"It is because of the deities of Themyscira," Garth of Shayeris said in a formal statement, "that the blood of Atlan, which has flowed through Atlantis since the days it sat above the waves in ancient times, shall no longer sit the throne."
As of this writing, diplomatic negotiations between Garth of Shayeris and fellow UN Ambassador Diana of Themyscira are still ongoing.
But all of this comes in the days and weeks after the Battle of Founders Island. This particular chapter of this particular narrative concerns itself with the immediate aftermath.
Or to be more specific…
TWO HOURS LATER
Beneath the Gotham Central construction site, in a small chamber formed by a mad cult, Batwoman and Wonder Woman stood above the body of Harmonia, Olympian Goddess of Harmony and Concord.
And Wonder Woman handed Batwoman the Blade of Resurrection.
They had sat on that dingy island in Slaughter Swamp for half an hour, before Wonder Woman felt well enough to fly them both out of there.
Wonder Woman carried Batwoman (bridal style, of course) to a makeshift Justice League encampment to get news. She conversed with Phantom Lady for some time, before entering a tent. She made her exit half an hour later, having washed off the blood from her body and with a film of tears in her eyes.
She had just learned of the death of Artemis of Bana-Mighdall.
Batwoman gave her a hug, and told her she was sorry.
From there, they flew to the Gotham Central construction site.
Batwoman took the Blade of Resurrection, and sighed.
"What do I do?" Batwoman asked.
"You pierce yourself with the Blade," Wonder Woman said, "wipe the blood from the Blade onto the skin of the person you wish to resurrect, and that's it."
Batwoman nodded, and removed her mask and wig.
"What are you doing?" Wonder Woman asked.
"I have a zit behind my ear," Kate said. "It's ready to pop. I'm gonna use the Blade to pop it."
Wonder Woman stared at her uncomprehendingly.
"Just use it on your hand," Wonder Woman said.
Kate shook her head. "I see movies where people need blood to, like, raise the dead or whatever, and they always cut up their hands. I like my hands. I don't like this zit."
Wonder Woman tried to say something, but by the time her mouth opened, Kate already had the Blade behind her ear.
She came away with a tiny bead of blood on the tip of the Blade.
Kate knelt down, smeared the microscopic bead of blood on Harmonia's forehead, and stood up again.
She had put her wig and mask back on before she asked "Ummm… Is something wrong?"
"I don't know," Wonder Woman said. "I have never resurrected anyone before."
Batwoman blinked as nothing stubbornly continued to happen. "Think we need more-"
Harmonia opened her eyes and drew in a large breath.
And Batwoman jumped back, her internal bejesus supplies instantly depleted, what with Harmonia having just scared it all out of her.
Batwoman and Wonder Woman were silent as Harmonia got up into a sitting position, wild-eyed and confused, taking deep breaths.
And Batwoman wished she had something better to ask the Goddess that attempted to kill the Multiverse besides:
"You, uh… You okay?"
Harmonia blinked, before her eyes found Batwoman, terror widening them.
"The whispers," Harmonia said, her fear making her greasy blond curls quiver. "By Zeus… they've gotten louder."
"Well," said a voice from the darkness of the underground chamber beyond them, "you should have thought of that before you tried to kill us all. "
Batwoman and Wonder Woman looked in the direction of the voice.
From the darkness stepped a woman with shiny brown skin, as though it was made of the smoothest bark. Her long tresses of hair were green, as was the green wrap-around dress she wore. It almost looked leafy.
"Demeter," Wonder Woman said, a thin layer of frost on the name.
"Looking good, Diana," Demeter said as she walked toward them. "I'm here to ferry the troublesome and the wayward back home."
Demeter looked down at Harmonia. "Come."
Harmonia didn't move.
Demeter squinted at her quizzically, and said "Goddesses are not in the habit of repeating themselves."
"It's the Blade," Wonder Woman said.
Demeter looked at her with an upraised, mossy eyebrow.
"The Blade of Resurrection," Wonder Woman said. "Harmonia's soul is now bound to Batwoman. Harmonia will only do what she is told, as long as she is told by her."
Demeter looked at Batwoman, who in turn looked down at Harmonia.
"Is there a way I can give her autonomy back to her?" Batwoman asked. "Because I'm really not comfortable with this."
"Were that how this works," Wonder Woman said, "I would bleed myself dry for the second time in one evening bringing everyone who died up there back to life. But that is not how this works. You can, however, transfer your power to someone else.
Batwoman nodded.
"Go with Demeter," Batwoman said. "Do whatever she wants. The power I have over you is hers now."
Demeter looked back down at Harmonia, and said "Let's go. And follow along."
Harmonia sullenly got to her feet.
"Now then," Demeter said. "If you'll pardon us, we've a meeting with the God of Thunder to mete out judgement."
Both Demeter and Harmonia turned to go back into the darkness. But Batwoman couldn't help herself.
"Hey," she said.
Both Demeter and Harmonia turned to look at her. "Yes?" Demeter asked.
"You knew Swamp Thing would be able to destroy the Stone of Nemesis, didn't you?" Batwoman asked. "That's why you threw in that hint at the end."
Demeter smiled, and said "Very good."
"Think you might have just come out and told me?" Batwoman asked. "A few hundred people and about fifty of my friends died because you felt like being an asshole."
Demeter's smile faded. She walked up to Batwoman, examining her as though she were an anomalous skin growth that she hadn't seen before. All level of relatability and humor had shed, and she was very much the Goddess.
"You dare speak to a Goddess of Olympus in such a way?"
Batwoman smirked. The thing about almost single-handedly saving the world was it was a hell of a high to come down from. Two hours just wasn't going to cut it.
"I've watched two separate Goddesses of Olympus die in the past four hours," Batwoman said. "I live on Founders Island. Say the wrong thing, and I go for the Hat Trick."
Demeter sneered. "Your Shakespeare once said that as flies are to wanton boys, so are you to the Gods. We kill you for sport."
"Yeah?" Batwoman asked. "Well, Smokey the Bear once said that only I could prevent forest fires. And right now, I got anger in my heart and a book of matches in my utility belt. Roll the dice, you leafy green bitch."
Demeter unblinkingly turned her head to look at Wonder Woman, and Wonder Woman unblinkingly stared back. She didn't even have to move to say that whatever side she was on, it sure as shit wasn't Demeter's.
The Olympian Goddess of Grains and the Harvest looked back at Batwoman, took her measure, and then let out an exasperated sigh. Trying to defuse the situation without giving up any ground.
Y'know, like how a punk would do.
"If you wish to be the consort of the Princess of the Amazons," Demeter said, "then you must be tested for your worthiness. Congratulations. You passed."
"You put the Multiverse at risk just to test me?" Batwoman asked.
"Of course I did," Demeter said. "You are a mortal, and I am a Goddess. What other entertainment value could I possibly derive from you?"
Batwoman tried to set Demeter on fire with her eyes.
"Don't be so cross," Demeter said. "This should be a happy occasion. You got what you wanted."
Demeter looked over at the equally disapproving Wonder Woman.
"And… so did you, I think. Come along, Harmonia. We're done here."
Harmonia followed Demeter back into the dark. Batwoman just felt in the air that they had gone back to Olympus somehow. Both she and Wonder Woman stood there in silence for a spell.
"The Olympian Pantheon has my fealty," Wonder Woman said, "and my allegiance. But they do not have my trust."
"Good," Batwoman said. "Because she's a wad."
"A rather large one," Wonder Woman said.
Batwoman shuffled her feet. "I wasn't actually going to kill Demeter."
"I know."
"She just… I was up set."
And another bout of silence set in.
Wonder Woman sighed, and said "I contacted my mother while we were at the League encampment. They are laying Artemis to rest on the Bana-Mighdall lands in Egypt. Themyscira is sending a delegation."
Batwoman nodded.
Wonder Woman put her hands on her hips, and said "I… would be honored if you would join us in attendance."
Batwoman's head whipped around to look at her.
"Me?" she asked. "I barely knew her."
Wonder Woman seemed to select her next words carefully.
"Queen Hippolyta," Wonder Woman said, "wishes to meet the brave and fearsome warrior who saved the life of her only daughter."
It took a second before Batwoman figured out what was going on.
"I'm meeting the folks, aren't I?"
Wonder Woman nodded.
"Two can play that, y'know," Batwoman said. "You're gonna have to meet my dad. He's the one who first put the idea in my head, that uh…"
"That I find you enticing?"
"Yup."
"He sounds like a wise man."
"Please don't tell him that."
Wonder Woman smiled. "When would you like me to meet your father?"
Batwoman folded her arms. "Well, uh… convenience-wise… he lives on the mainland, so this whole thing didn't really affect him. He wakes up in about five hours. Breakfast sound good to you?"
"It does," Wonder Woman said. "I will need to head back to Wayne Manor for a change of clothes, but..."
"It's a date?"
Wonder Woman got this dreamy, distracted look on her face. "She finally says it."
The Princess of the Amazons folded her arms and grinned, and more than a few parts of Batwoman's body felt like they had dissolved into puddles. The way Wonder Woman folded her arms made her biceps bulge, and pushed up her magnificent pair of…
Batwoman immediately gave herself a mental cold shower.
DOWN, GIRL!
Batwoman scratched her chin, attempting to maintain eye-contact and absolutely-nothing-else-contact.
"Five hours is a long time," Batwoman said. "Anything specific you want to do to occupy yourself until my dad wakes up?"
"Well," Wonder Woman said, "I've yet to recover from the evening's misadventure, so nothing too strenuous."
"Of course."
"Stopping muggings, perhaps. Catching purse-snatchers." Wonder Woman broke into a wide grin, her eyes gleaming. "Oh, or foiling a bank robbery! Goddess, I haven't done that one in ages!"
Batwoman smiled.
She also nodded.
TWO MORE HOURS LATER
In the immediate aftermath of the Battle of Founders Island, Impulse and Superboy whisked Robin and Bluebird back to their motorbikes in front of PS 1147 on Bleake Island.
They quietly and timidly shot the shit for a few minutes before Impulse and Superboy gave their farewells, and both respectively ran and flew into the night.
Robin and Bluebird spent a few minutes in the cold, snowy silence, taking in the night and processing what had happened.
"You going back to the manor?" Bluebird asked.
"No," Robin said. "I know my parents are worried about me."
"Lucky man."
"In this line of work?" Robin asked. "Yes, I am."
Bluebird looked at Robin. She moved a few feet so she was standing in front of him.
She put her hands on his shoulders, and gave him a long, gentle kiss on the lips. Far more tender and far less aggressive than the kiss they shared that morning.
Their lips eventually parted. A few moments after that, they both opened their eyes.
The snow was falling in Bluebird's hair, and the haze of flurries along with the yellow sodium lights above them in the street gave her a kind of glow that was unearthly. Robin smiled without the ability to help himself. She worked her right hand over his shoulder and started softly scratching the back of his head.
"Thursday," Bluebird finally said.
"What about it?"
"Coffee," Bluebird said with a smile. "Thursday."
"I'll be there."
Bluebird nodded, and started tentatively walking backward, wanting to get back to her motorcycle, but not wanting to take her eyes off of him.
"Are you going back to the manor?" Robin asked.
"That's where Cullen is," Bluebird said. "And that's where the bedbugs aren't."
Robin nodded, and said "See you tomorrow."
Bluebird nodded in return before she got on her bike.
And then she was gone.
Robin got on his bike. He needed to get home.
But that wouldn't be his first stop.
He turned the engine over, and headed for the mainland.
The East End, to be more specific.
Where Harlow Street turned into Garfield Avenue, there sat a shabby office building that went up five stories.
Robin had looked the building up online. The place was some millionaire's tax haven, so he paid the rent on the place, even though the office building only had one working office in it.
On the third floor, to be precise. The window to which Robin snuck in through.
Robin was shocked to find a man sleeping at a desk in the dark. Even more shocked to find that the gust of cold and snow from the opened (and quickly closed) window didn't wake him up.
But the silhouette of a half-empty bottle of booze on the desk next to him solved that riddle.
Robin silently padded to the front of the desk, reached out, and turned the desk light on.
That single forty watt bulb illuminated a spare spartan office with just a desk, a few filing cabinets, two chairs (one in front of the desk and one behind), and a lone wooden coat stand, upon which rested a brown trench coat and a brown fedora.
The name on the marbled glass of the door said "Bradley Investigations."
And sleeping behind the desk, every bit the 1940s throwback that Harper Row said he was, was Samuel "Slam" Bardley, Private Investigator. He was in his pinstriped shirtsleeves, with dark blue suspenders. He had apparently taken off his tie.
Slam stirred now that his light had been turned on. He rose, running his hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. His sleepy eyes opened slowly… only to open very quickly when he saw that he wasn't alone. He gasped and reached for the top drawer of his desk, which Robin assumed contained a gun.
"Easy, Slam," Robin said. "I'm not here to hurt you."
Slam squinted his eyes. "You're… You're that Robin kid. The one hangs around with Batman."
"So you're a detective, huh?" Robin asked. "Never would have guessed."
"And Robin apparently has a sense of humor," Slam said. "These aren't my normal business hours."
"Sorry about that."
"So," Slam said, the absurdity of the situation apparently having settled upon him like the snow on the pavement outside. "What does the sidekick of the World's Greatest Detective want with a gumshoe like me?"
"You know a girl named Harper Row?" Robin asked.
"Yeah," said Slam. "She in trouble?"
"No," Robin said. "She's doing great…"
Or will be if I have anything to say about it, Robin thought.
"...but you've apparently been teaching her the tricks of the PI trade."
"I have," Slam said. "She gets me free HBO, and I show her the ropes. What about it?"
Robin sighed. He pulled out the chair in front of Slam's desk, and sat down.
"I want the same deal," Robin said.
Slam furrowed his brow, and asked "You gonna get me free Showtime?"
Robin squinted. "Being Robin has a short shelf-life. I told a complete asshole that I was gonna retire soon, and I meant it. That means I'm gonna need a day job after I hang this cape and mask up. I'd like to know how you do what you do."
"Again," Slam said, "I have to ask: What does the sidekick of the World's Greatest Detective want with a gumshoe like me? He's apparently really good at putting two and two together, and me? I work for a living. I don't know what I could show you."
"How to get licensed, for one," Robin said. "And… by the nature of Batman being Batman, there's a certain way of doing things here on the ground level that he can't teach. There are shades of gray that he knows are there, but just can't see. That's what I'd like to learn."
"You want to partner up," Slam said, not phrasing it like a question.
"Technically, I want to intern," Robin said. "I'll work for free, remember? Whenever I'm able to. After I do what I need to do to get licensed, then we'll see about partnering up."
Slam blinked, and looked at him some more. "You do realize that just by dropping in here like this, it's the weirdest night I've had in a while."
"It's a weird night for me, too," Robin said. "Not by default, though."
Slam nodded still affixing him intently. After a while, he finally spoke.
"Eighty-twenty," Slam said. "Intern or no, I don't run a slave ship."
"A Good Samaritan."
"And I give to widows and orphans to boot. And we start on Monday."
Robin smiled, and said "Thank you." He took off his mask, and reached his open hand across the desk.
"Pleased to meet you," Robin said. "My name is Tim Drake."
YET ANOTHER TWO HOURS AFTER THAT
Beneath the Gotham Central Precinct, the one on the mainland that was going to be replaced by the new one on Founders Island next year, Commissioner James Gordon stood outside of two interrogation rooms in the basement, used solely for metahuman prisoners.
Though the two in those rooms now weren't metahuman, they did try to kill a hundred-and-seventy-five thousand people during the fracas on Founders Island. Desperate times, and all that.
He had been down there fifteen minutes when Batman and Orphan showed up.
Batman felt as sickly as his pale face beneath his cowl told the world he was. He looked to his left, and saw Orphan, whose mask and costume were still smeared with dust from the events on Founders Island.
There were a lot of things Batman wanted to tell Orphan after he had heard what she'd done that night… but those would have to wait.
Commissioner Gordon looked from Batman, to Orphan, and then back to Batman.
"The two of you look like shit," he said.
Skipping over it, Batman asked "Are they in there?"
"Yeah," Gordon said. "The older one's in two, and the younger one's in three."
"And the cameras are off?"
Gordon sighed. "These two are criminals. You do realize that."
"I do."
"You also realize we're cops. We have a job that needs doing."
"About that," Batman said. "In about forty-five minutes you'll get a call from someone named Waller."
"Okay," Gordon said. "And what does this Waller want?"
"She's high up in government," Batman said. "Director of A.R.G.U.S."
"Christ."
"The man you have in two is guilty for a lot of things, and what he did in Gotham in the past few days will factor in, but bigger predators have marked him for prey."
Gordon sighed, and asked "And the one in three?"
"All yours," Batman said. "But we just need some time alone."
"Alright," Gordon said. "I won't come back to ask when you're done. You'll just pull your disappearing act, so… have a good night."
Batman nodded. Gordon turned to walk away, but then he stopped and turned back.
"We didn't find any explosives for those bombs at those locations," he said.
"They were either destroyed or confiscated."
"You did that, huh?"
"My team did," Batman said. "I was out for most of it."
Gordon nodded. "You run a good crew."
"I do," Batman said.
Gordon turned again, raised his hand over his shoulder to wave goodbye, and left through the door at the end of the hall.
Batman turned to look at Orphan, and fetched a quiet sigh.
"Are you nervous?" Batman asked.
Orphan tilted her head, regarding him with curiosity.
"Are you?" she asked.
Batman reckoned that standing in this hallway were a teenage girl who had tremendous difficulty talking, and a man who, well, just sucked at it.
And both of them were about to hold conversations that were weighty and dangerous.
"Yes," Batman said. "Very."
Orphan stepped through the door of interrogation room two, closed the door behind her, and turned around.
The entire drab white room was bisected by a long wall of plexiglass.
Behind that plexiglass, sitting on a chair next to a bunk sticking out of the wall, was David Cain.
The GCPD didn't bother cleaning him up. His face was a mess of welts and dried blood. His usually white hair had so much dessicated blood in it that it was now a rusty brown.
He widened the swollen slits that housed his eyes, and glared at her.
David spat a single word. "Coward."
Orphan took off her mask, and she stared back.
"You were supposed to meet me on the field of battle," David said. "But instead, your friend and his freakish little group showed up to fight me instead. Who acted as your superior? Who made that call?"
Cassandra folded her arms, and said "Actually… it was… my idea."
David sneered at you. "Then you don't have a shred of honor at all."
A man who used his fists to beat a daughter into a machine designed to take lives picked now to talk about honor.
And Cassandra started laughing before she could tell herself not to.
It was a low, raspy, braying sound. Not like how she laughed at the Mortal Kombat fatalities Stephanie showed her. This had the bass line of satisfaction to it.
He was sitting there, beat to shit, sitting in that chair, thinking he still had some kind of power.
Cassandra remembered when she was at Robinson Park with Stephanie one time this past summer. A little girl who couldn't have been more than ten had tripped on the path while she was following her mother, and the vanilla ice cream that she had been enthusiastically licking loosed itself from its waffle cone, and fell into the dirt. And the little girl looked like she was going to panic for a second, before she bent down, scooped up the errant ice cream in her hand and held it up in triumph, showing the entire world the dirt and blades of mowed grass that dotted its surface, before she put it to her face and started wolfing down.
And her father was exactly like that little girl. A horrible defeat had somehow convinced him that he had won.
Meanwhile, in the past twenty-four hours alone, Cassandra had reckoned with the Multiverse, discovered free will, saved the life of Jason Todd just by talking (which was one of the things she was terrible at), had her first beer, had her second beer, fought a bunch of rock monsters for the fate of the world, and locked lips with Conner Kent.
Cassandra couldn't have defeated David Cain more soundly than if she'd personally beaten him to death with her bare hands.
While she was laughing, David raised his hand…
...and snapped his fingers.
Cassandra stopped laughing.
For a moment, she didn't know why he did it.
Then she remembered that that was how he always got her to snap to attention. He had done that on Statue Island a couple of days ago, and sent her back to the ferry crying.
But she had no reaction to it now. She was only surprised that her muscles didn't tense outside of the moment, after it had happened.
David saw that his trump card was useless. His eyes widened before they narrowed again. He folded his arms and sat back with his head slightly down, causing the flesh beneath his chin to pooch out.
He looked like he was about to throw a tantrum.
This, of course, made Cassandra laugh even harder.
David Cain weathered his daughters gales of laughter for a few moments.
"You'll never find out who your mother is," David said.
Cassandra calmed her laughter down, and then she just shrugged.
David furrowed his brow and leaned in, his arms still folded.
"Then how about this," David said, not phrasing it as a question. "Every nightmare you have, I'll be the monster under the bed. Everything that goes wrong in that stupid little career of yours, I'll be the first suspect your mind goes to… And when I get out of here, my face will be the last one you see before you die. Because if I can't be the one responsible for what you put into this world, then I will damn sure be the one responsible for removing you from it. If I can't get immortality from raising the One-Who-Is-All, then I will do the same by murdering the Orphan as slowly as I possibly can."
He leaned in further. "I made you what you are. I'm in your head. Forever and always. You can't get rid of me… and you never so much as laid a hand on me. In the end, you had to have Robin do it for you. I'll be one-and-oh over you for the rest of your worthless life!"
Cassandra made her face blank as she walked up to the glass. She reached into her yellow utility belt, and pulled out…
...a piece of paper.
Robin had given her this piece of paper, telling her that he had taken the liberty of printing it out in the computer lab at PS 1147 before he, Bluebird, and the rest of Young Justice made their way to Founders Island.
Cassandra unfolded the piece of paper, and pressed it against the plexiglass so he could see it.
It was a photograph of David Cain.
A bruised, bloody, beaten, unconscious David Cain with his finger up his nose.
The swollen slits of his eyes widened again, this time with indignation. If his face wasn't purple, Cassandra reckoned he may very well have turned white.
Cassandra wondered why she had ever been scared of this man.
There were three words that she had heard some of the younger members of Batman's network use with each other, often followed by gales of laughter. She had always wanted to use these words on someone, but the situation had never called for it.
Until now.
Cassandra Cain looked her father right in his puffy blue eyes, and said:
"Go… fuck … yourself."
Batman hadn't even opened the door to interrogation room three all the way before he was greeted by a loud thump.
Plexiglass or no, Jason Todd just tried to throw a chair at him.
From what Selina had told him, Batman had expected an uncanny valley version of Jason. Some kind of reconstruction that knew the words of Jason Todd, but not the music.
But Batman saw the fire in the blue eyes of the young man behind that plexiglass, and whatever rational explanation he had prepared for himself just seemed to dissolve.
It was Jason Todd, alright.
He'd had a phone conversation with Commissioner Gordon before he and Orphan arrived. Jason had been fingerprinted, but they wouldn't come up with any matches. He'd replaced the prints and DNA of everyone in his network with those of deceased John and Jane Does. However, the forged identification that David Cain had apparently made him were a little too convincing. Jason was being held under the name of Herbert Claude Jansen.
Jason glared at him some more, before he started beating on the plexiglass. He didn't stop until his fists were bloody.
He panted as he stared at Batman through the blood-smeared transparency.
"I… fucking… hate you."
Batman wished there was some kind of skeleton key, some selection of words that never failed, so he could tell Jason how he felt. How much he missed him. How sorry he was.
But Batman was banking on silence. He knew that he hadn't earned the right to speak. And Jason had earned it all.
Jason's panting started to even out.
"Didn't change your MO one little bit, did you?" Jason asked. "I get beaten to death and blown up, and you go on like nothing's wrong. But the guy who murders me bites it right in front of you, and you FUCKING QUIT!"
Jason kicked the plexiglass, and the sound echoed throughout the small room.
His blue eyes fixed on Batman. The breath coming through his nose started shuddering.
"And you still have Barbara working for you," Jason said. "That thing you created put her in a wheelchair, and she still follows you around like a dog. The damnedest thing is, you had all the WayneTech resources in the world to get her back on her feet, and you had to wait for the magic girl with the top hat to fix her spine. So my question is, how withholding with his affection is Jimmy-Boy that she's still seeking approval from someone as awful as you?"
There were so many ways that Batman could correct Jason's assumptions.
He used none of them.
Batman felt he owed Jason so much because of his failure. The least he could offer, after so much had been broken, was silence.
Hearing all of this hurt. It hurt bad. But Jason needed to speak. And Batman needed to listen.
Jason leaned against the plexiglass on his bloody hands.
"Yeah. You created The Joker. You created all of them, just by being you. You're… You're like a drop of motor oil in a glass of water. Just your presence ruins the whole fucking thing. They all deserve to die. Just like he did. And so do you."
Jason's eyes caught his bloody hands on the plexiglass. And his demeanor slowly… curiously… changed.
Melancholy was upon him now. And regret. Batman knew it because he saw it on his own face all the time.
"I… I don't think I get to make that call anymore," Jason said, his voice thickening. "Harmonia looked into the void, and she found something angry, and… and Nemesis used that anger to kill people out of spite. Because it amused her. I gotta carry that with me. I know what it's like to be you now, and I gotta tell you… You deserve every last bit of it."
Jason's eyes narrowed. A hint of a smile came to his lips.
"Blood oath," he said.
Jason drew an X in the blood he left on the plexiglass, like how people who couldn't read signed contracts in old cartoons.
He fixed his eyes on Batman, and said "I… will never… harm another person as long as I live."
Jason let that hang in the air for a bit, as though his proclamation became all the more official with the added silence.
"I won't even clench my fist in anger," Jason said. "Time is not gonna heal these wounds. I won't get roped into this fucked up little family you have for yourself. And I damn sure won't go supervillain to stop you. I won't give you the satisfaction of punching your greatest failure in the face, and I won't give you the relief of hating yourself for doing it. Because I know you, Bruce. I know you're only really happy when you make yourself feel like shit. Eventually, you and Selina's divorce papers are gonna reflect that."
He leaned in so his face was pressing against the plexiglass. "I know you stay awake during the day wondering how harsh the judgement would come from the people you failed to save. But I'm the only one who died and came back, so I get to speak for all of them. It's harsh, Bruce. How hard you tried to stop it, how fast you tried to get there, it doesn't matter at all. And your costume and your self-pity doesn't impress any of us. Your guilt. Is fucking. WORTHLESS!"
That last word echoed before silence fell.
Batman had endured so much stress in his training to be who he was, and even more out in the field.
But only now did his hands shake.
The back of his neck felt like it was on fire, and there was a block of ice where his stomach used to be.
He knew the human brain didn't feel that way, but he still felt as though one of his relatively few happy memories was going to erase itself to make room for this new, horrible, painful one.
Jason Todd, took his hands away from the bloody plexiglass, and told Batman to get out of his sight.
Batman wordlessly closed the door of the interrogation room behind him after he left.
THREE DAYS LATER
On the rear grounds of Wayne Manor, a lone figure dressed in black walked toward a large marble structure six-hundred yards away from the main house, leaving footprints in the snow behind him.
Once he got there, Bruce Wayne stopped, and beheld the sight before him.
The Wayne Family Mausoleum.
For the wealth that the family possessed, the only giveaway that this was where a rich clan stored their dead was the marble itself. There were no flourishes, no grotesques, no embellishments. Not even a name on the outside to tell anyone whose family it belonged to. On any other property, this structure would have been made of steel, and would have been seen as an abnormally large shed.
Bruce opened the steel gate in front, and entered the place where every member of the Wayne family had been interred since the completed construction of Wayne Manor in 1850.
The right wall was lined with marble plates, behind which held the caskets of members of the Wayne family. The left wall was lined with unmarked plates, which showed the architect's boundless optimism for how long both the world and the Wayne family would be here.
And in the middle were two long wooden benches that faced away from one another, so that those who entered this place could sit and reflect.
Which is precisely what Bruce Wayne opted to do.
He straightened the length of his long black coat to behind his knees, and sat, letting his breath emerge from his mouth in a fog within the unheated mausoleum.
The last two members of the Wayne family to be interred in this place were Thomas and Martha Wayne, his mother and father. He still vividly remembered the day that he and Alfred oversaw the caskets being loaded into the place fresh from the funeral. The plates closed behind them, never to be opened. He remembered picking at the small thread that had frayed from the second button on his tiny black blazer, as though that mattered in a world where his parents no longer drew breath.
The last person interred here, however, was Jason Todd. It happened almost six years ago. There was no immediate family to claim his body, and Jason was his legal ward. Alfred was there for that one as well.
But the most recent alteration to the Wayne Family Mausoleum? That was in the early hours this morning. He'd done it himself. And Alfred, for a change, was asleep for that one.
On the second plate from the floor, right above Jason's was a marble rectangle affixed with the name:
"DAMIAN WAYNE"
Damian's body wasn't in the mausoleum. Unlike the fifth dimensional reconstruction of Jason that had yelled at him in the interrogation room beneath Gotham Central three days ago, Damian Wayne had no forged documents with which to identify him. So Damian met the fate that all John Does in Gotham met. He was fingerprinted, his DNA was taken for filing purposes, and then he was cremated, his ashes scattered in an undisclosed location.
Bruce just put the letters on the eternally unoccupied marble plate.
He had known from Selina that he had had a son ( "technically," as Selina liked to hammer home) for but a single hour, before that son had flung himself from the roof of an abandoned apartment store just to spite him. Just to bring him pain. Just to prove that he still had some power left.
Staring at Damian's plate, Bruce felt two distinct flavors of absolute nothing snipe at each other within him. The revelation that he had a son left him with a flurry of unanswered questions. Which wouldn't be so bad, except he didn't know the questions either.
Bruce let himself act as prey to unidentifiable emotions, until he heard a man's voice on the bench next to him.
"He tried to kill you," the man said, "and you put those letters on some marble like it means something."
He turned his head. Sitting there was a man on the older side, three feet tall, in a purple and orange jumpsuit. Tufts of white hair stuck out from underneath a purple bowler hat.
Bruce's brows furrowed. "Mister…"
"Mxyzptlk," the man said. His breath didn't fog in the cold like a normal person's would have.
Bruce was sharing a bench in his family's mausoleum with an imp from the Fifth Dimension.
In his life, Bruce had seen weirder.
Bruce nodded, before he turned back to Damian's plate in the wall of caskets.
"He was a Wayne," Bruce said. "Doesn't matter what he did, or what dimension he was from. He did terrible things, but he's dead now. Whatever price anyone could ask of him, it's been paid. He was the end of a line. From my father, to me, to him. Even if it's symbolic, he… He deserves to be with his grandparents."
Bruce looked over at Mxyzptlk, who clearly didn't get it.
"It's a family thing," Bruce said.
"Don't have one."
"I can tell."
If Mxyzptlk was insulted, he didn't show it.
"It's a shame you can't meet the wife," Mzyzptlk said. "She, uh… She has a problem with death. Doesn't believe in it. Thinks it's immature."
"Why are you here?" Bruce asked, abandoning all pretense toward civility.
"There's another fellow," Mxyzptlk said, "from my neck of the woods. Huge Batman fan. I tell him I've met one more Batman than he has, his crappy little cosplay cowl will hit the roof."
Mxyzptlk smiled a smile that Bruce did not return.
"And besides," Mxyzptlk said. "A few nights ago I told the rest of the Batfamily the differences between them and their Earth Zero counterparts. It's only fair I tell you. Would you like to know the biggest difference between you and the quote-unquote official Batman?"
Mxyzptlk positioned himself on the bench so he was looking directly at Bruce.
"You're actually trying to be a good man," Mxyzptlk said. "Which isn't to say that the Earth Zero Bruce is a supervillain, but he's got it all twisted. See, he's put the cart before the horse. He's trying to be a better Batman first, and that leads to whole loads of trouble. You know the Earth Zero Bruce once just straight-up decked Tim Drake right in the mush?"
Bruce's brows lowered further. "Why?"
"Well, see, Tim committed the one sin that the Earth Zero Batman simply could not abide," Mxyzptlk said. "He was concerned for Bruce's well-being, and he tried to help."
A snowball started accumulating in Bruce's stomach. There was gravel in his voice when he said "I would never sink that low. No matter how bad it got."
"Oh, and I believe you," Mxyzptlk said. "It's been theorized by another Batman from another universe… a Batman with a quite literally infectious grin, that the Batman of Earth Zero is the least effective and most miserable, so… Congratulations. You win by default."
Bruce didn't have anything to say to that. They both turned their heads to look at Damian's plate some more, until Mxyzptlk spoke again.
"Thirty-eight days," he said.
Bruce looked at him. "What?"
"Spoilers, obviously," Mxyzptlk said. "And I don't mean the young lady in purple who has quite a few years of hardship ahead of her. I mean revealing events to you before you've experienced them for yourself."
Mxyzptlk looked back at Damian's plate. "In thirty-eight days, the fourth Robin of Earth Eight-Oh-Three will be born. Duke Thomas still becomes The Signal, but it takes longer, and he does it without your help. And good for him, too. The Joker was a little too dead to turn his parents insane."
He stretched his legs before he continued speaking.
"Violet Paige is still pacing back and forth, weighing her options," he said. "She still needs to come up with a name, but I have it on good authority that it'll be the mother of 'em all. On Earth Eight-Oh-Three, because you took that three year hiatus precisely when you did, Amanda Waller never institutes the Beyond protocol, and Terry McGinnis is just going to be a normal person. Sucks to be him. Great to be Dana Tan."
Mxyzptlk's face slowly fell. "And while you're sitting there, kicking yourself about how Jason Todd is your greatest failure, I have to tell you, Bruce… Your greatest failure hasn't happened yet."
Bruce looked at Mxyzptlk. That ball of snow that was in his stomach disappeared, and reappeared again, running down his back.
"The age of the supervillain in Gotham City will come to an end," Mxyzptlk said. "It ends in the worst way possible, but it ends. And even after that? Something… Something big is coming."
"Whatever it is," Bruce said, "Batman will stop it."
"That's just it," Mxyzptlk said softly. "He won't."
The cold on Bruce's spine spread.
"However," Mxyzptlk said, gaining some of his prior buoyancy, "only time will tell if that's good news for you, or bad."
And with that, Mxyzptlk floated off the bench, and toward the gate.
"Wait," Bruce said.
Mxyzptlk turned to him. "Yeah?"
"You said I'm trying to be a good man?"
"I do believe that's what came out of my mouth," said Mxyzptlk.
Bruce sat up straight on the bench, looked Mxyzptlk in the eye, and asked:
"Do I get there?"
Mxyzptlk's eyes fell. "I'm not gonna say you get there."
Bruce felt something leave him. It was slight, it was ethereal, and he could not place a name to it.
"Then again," Mxyzptlk said, "I'm not gonna say you haven't gotten there yet, either. But what I will say is that if does happen? Or if it hasn't happened already? Then no matter what anyone tells you… You'll be the last one to know."
A loud pop sounded, and Mister Mxyzptlk was gone.
Bruce Wayne sat on the bench in the cold mausoleum, stewing in his emotions for a few minutes longer, before he got up and left.
On the other side of the steel gate, he saw Selina standing there.
She was wearing black slacks and a black peacoat, with black sunglasses. Her breath was coming out in a fog.
He opened the gate, and stood on the other side, across from her.
"Hey, Sailor."
"Hey."
"Wanna talk?"
Bruce nodded.
He lined up his emotions, threaded his words through them, and asked:
"Have you ever given any thoughts to having kids?"
Selina arched her eyebrow over the rim of her glasses, and asked "Don't we have seven of them running around right now?"
Bruce blinked in confusion, and counted in his head.
"I count Dick and Barbara in that," Selina said.
"Alright," Bruce said, still counting. "I'm still missing one."
"Cullen," Selina said. "I don't think we're getting rid of him."
"Right," Bruce said. "Yeah, that's seven."
They looked at each other for a moment.
"You asked me that before we got married," Selina said.
"I know."
"And my answer hasn't changed."
"I know."
"Is that a problem for you?"
"It isn't," Bruce said. "It's just, um…"
He drew a little semi-circle in the snow with his left shoe before he spoke again.
"I had a vasectomy," Bruce said. "Before I became Batman. I just wanted to know if I should get it reversed or not."
Selina put her hands in the pocket of her peacoat.
"You never told me that."
"I know," Bruce said. "Is that a problem, or…"
"No," Selina said. "It's not a problem at all. Makes perfect sense. Mister Moneybags has to guard his bags of money, and a bunch of little Vinnys and Debbies running around makes that harder than it needs to be. But… you didn't do it because you were rich and irresponsible, did you?"
"I didn't."
"You did it because you were going to be Batman."
"I did."
"And that's the part I don't get," Selina said.
Bruce sighed, and said:
"The Reverse Honeypot."
Selina took her hands out of the pockets of her coat, and folded her arms across her chest. She raised both eyebrows for a change. "'The Reverse Honeypot?'"
Bruce nodded. "I've been told all my life that I'm handsome. And I didn't know if I might have to…"
Selina put on a deep, faux-suggestive voice and asked "Engage in the manly art of seduction to become a more effective crimefighter?"
"No," Bruce said, feeling blood rush to his cheeks. "I mean, yes, but you make it sound so lascivious."
"Because it is," Selina said, grinning broadly. "Okay, first off, it's just 'The Honeypot.' It's gender neutral, okay? I own the patent, so I know. But… But I'm just imagining you standing in front of your bathroom mirror with your Batsuit in a pile in the corner, manscaping and applying moisturizer. The Minxcraft. The Gigolometry. The sheer THOTsmanship. Just…"
Selina loudly kissed the tips of her fingers as though she were a TV chef.
"All to seduce evil skanks with bad intentions."
"Laugh," Bruce said.
"Oh, I'm gonna."
"But it has happened."
Selina's grin grew, threatening to meet her ears. "Reeeeeeeeeelly?" she asked. "Didja let Baroness von Badguy down easy after you let her have her way with you?"
"Not quite."
"Awww," Selina said. "Is there some lonely broad with a death ray out there, putting Scotch Tape to a broken heart?"
"I hope not," Bruce said. "I wound up marrying her."
The grin slid off of Selina's face, and she stood there for a second in stunned silence.
Then she started laughing.
Loud, and donkey-like.
"I told you I'd get you one day."
She was still laughing, so Bruce didn't know if she heard him or not.
"Oh, I'm… I'm sorry," Selina said after she calmed herself down long enough to speak. "I'm laughing in front of your parents' grave. I'm… I'm going straight to Hell…"
Which set off another wave of giggles.
Bruce smiled. He kept smiling until she was done. Selina held her hand out to him, and he took it.
They put their arms around each others' waists as they walked back to the house.
"Sailor," Selina said, "I can't imagine how weird your headspace is right now."
"It's weird," Bruce said. "And not pleasant at all."
"So I have an idea."
"Which is?"
"We go into town," Selina said. "We buy, just… the ugliest clothes. I'm talking those gross Looney Toons leather jackets. I'm talking those puffball stocking caps with the team logos on them. Not even Gotham City teams. Other teams, so we look like tourists. And big-ass blocky Grandma sunglasses. Then we find the nearest multiplex, buy tickets to the three or four movies that look the worst, and we just spend allllll day there."
"I fail to see what this accomplishes."
"A deeper appreciation of the clothes we have in our closets, and the movies we actually do like," Selina said. "That or we get to third base with each other in the back row and theater management won't peg us for two rich people if we get caught. Either one's fine by me."
Bruce smiled.
"You know, Barbara told me about that angry little speech you gave her," Bruce said. "The one about how you're the Lady of Wayne Manor?"
"Because I am," Selina said, and she pointed to the house that was still a couple hundred yards away.
"That's my house," Selina said. "I take booze without asking, and I put my feet up on the coffee table. But I tell you this, Sailor: I'm still the poor kid from Park Row."
"No you're not," Bruce said.
"Yes I am."
"No you're not, and I can prove it."
"How?" Selina asked.
"Because," Bruce said, "you haven't been to your day job at Kyle Security in almost two months, and no one's called or complained."
Selina stopped walking. He couldn't see her eyes behind her sunglasses, but her mouth was frozen in a rictus of pure horror.
Bruce laughed.
She was the only one who could make him do that, after all.