"Elementary, my dear Watson."

-Sherlock Holmes

Wayne Manor

"Might I suggest an extra helping of Bengay tonight, sir?"

Bruce shot Alfred a look in the mirror as he slipped on his white button-up. His butler was unperturbed; if he panicked every time Master Bruce threw him a dirty look he would have developed a twitch by now.

"I don't need an extra helping to attend a party, Alfred," Bruce replied, even as his elbow made a popping noise and he grimaced. If there was one definite upside to semi-retirement, thought Bruce, it was that he was no longer damaging his body every night. He still had damage to deal with, unfortunately; nearly two decades of being Batman had given him early arthritis and it was sometimes so painful he needed help to get out of bed.

"We had green boys in the army who weren't as stubborn as you, Master Bruce," Alfred remarked, helping Bruce do up his buttons and bowtie. "I would take the cane to you like we did them, beat it out of you, but you already have enough pains to deal with."

"You think you're really funny, don't you Alfred?" Bruce observed himself in the full-length mirror. He could almost make himself believe that he was ten years younger if not for the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and the grey streaks at his temples.

"I like to see myself as your daily dose of reality, sir." Alfred helped Bruce slip into his sport jacket. "Somebody in this damned house has to keep everyone's head on straight."

Bruce smirked. The truth was he probably wouldn't be alive to feel these aches if without Alfred. The old butler could be stubborn and snidely superior, but he had been Bruce's sole voice of reason in many of his darker moments. He was grateful for it, really.

"Thank you, Alfred," he said.

"It's no trouble, sir. It's quite literally my job."

Bruce and Alfred had a great view of the manor's main hall as they descended to join the crowd. Businessmen, tycoons and the like crowded into the small area, sending a steady hum of conversation into the rafters. Clark was the first to spot Bruce coming down the stairs. He nodded and Bruce winked.

"Bruce!" Diana met him at the bottom of the stairs, wrapping him in her strong arms. "Congratulations!"

"Thank you." He pulled back to look at her. She was just as graceful as the day he'd met her. Age, rather than slowly diminishing her looks, had given her a regal countenance that made her seem almost immortal. He pecked her on the cheek and slipped into the crowd, intent on finding Tim and Barb.

They were in the sitting room, surrounded by their friends in front of the fireplace. Connor had one arm around Megan's shoulders. Kaldur sat on a footrest, sipping a scotch. Wally and Artemis held hands between a set of chairs. Tim sat next to Barbara, clutching her hand like she might slip away. Barb couldn't stop smiling and the engagement ring on her left hand glinted in the fire light. Tim caught sight of Bruce first and got up.

"Congratulations," Bruce said, clasping Tim's hand and shoulder. He wanted to say more, but he wasn't sure what. He had never been great in situations like this, but there was more to his tied tongue than that. This was Robin, the boy and later man he had worked with for almost a decade. What else did you say to someone who knows you like that?

"Thanks, Bruce." Tim smiled and Bruce liked to think that he understood what Bruce couldn't put into words. Barb wheeled over and Bruce bent down to wrap her in a hug. His feelings for them both had changed at some point, turning from protégés to something like family. It unnerved him a bit that he didn't know when that happened, but he allowed himself to feel happy as he held Barb in his arms.

"Thanks for hosting this, Bruce," she said as she pulled away. She couldn't stop smiling and Bruce found it contagious.

"Of course," he replied. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Master Bruce?" Bruce turned to find Alfred standing at the door. He was putting on his usual air of aloofness, but Bruce could tell he was more tense than usual. "Telephone for you, sir."

"Who's it from?" he asked.

"Commissioner Gordon, sir. He says he has an item he needs you to retrieve from police evidence."

Bruce's eyes went wide. That was the code that Gordon had used when he had a case for Batman. He hadn't heard those words in almost five years. He immediately felt old instincts kick back in like a switch had flipped inside him. But then he thought about where he was, what this party was for, and he turned to look guiltily at Barb and Tim. To his surprise, and, he admitted, delight, they seemed just as gripped as he was. Their muscles were tense and he could tell they were as ready as he was to book it to the Batcave. He felt something like pride swirling in his chest.

"Clark," he whispered towards the main hall. He saw the back of a head of black hair perk up above the rest of the crowd. "Make our excuses, will you? We need to change into some different suits."


Slipping the cowl on his head had been like putting on a set of old pajamas. Behind his armor plating, his cape blowing in the wind as he stood on the evening rooftops of Gotham, the aches didn't seem to hurt as much.

Gordon had met them at the old Bat signal. It had stirred something in Bruce to see that old insignia illuminate the Gotham skies again. Gordon handed him a simple file folder.

"We know who it was," Gordon said. "It was Lonnie Machin. Went under the alias Anarky back when, but he dropped off the grid years ago. He's the one who attacked Owens and, as far as we can tell, started the whole thing off. What we don't know is how he did it. The witness reports share a correlation with the effects of Crane's toxin, but Crane has been docile for at least two years and we can't find where he might've funneled the stuff into the diner. No contaminants in the vents, nobody with anything in their pockets that might've released it. We have no idea where the stuff came from and we can't even get a sample of it. That's where we need you two."

Batman nodded, scanning over the report. His brain soaked up every word like a sponge and while he read slower than he might've ten years ago, he still finished by the time Gordon was done talking. "We'll send anything we find back to you," he said, his voice automatically pitching into a lower register. "That should give your investigators enough to get a new lead."

"Don't count yourself out of this one so soon, Batman. This could be bigger than we think; could be one of our old friends come out of retirement to play."

"We'll make sure to keep an eye out," Robin cut in. "If it turns out to be one of the big ones, we'll let you know."

"That's all I ask, kid," Gordon replied, turning back to Batman. Only, he wasn't there. Gordon couldn't help but smile.

"How does he always do-" he asked Robin, but the kid was gone, too. Gordon sighed; he wondered if he would ever get used to that.

Across the street and hidden in the shadows, Batman watched Gordon turn off the Bat signal and leave, never once glancing in his direction.

Bruce smiled. Still got it.


"I gotta say, it's good to be back in the old tights," Robin remarked as they entered the diner. The police had backed off at Gordon's request and they had ten minutes to establish a crime scene and find what evidence they could. Deep down, Batman was doubtful they'd find anything. The police had already contaminated the area and had already gone through the scene with cameras and plastic bags, picking the site as clean as they could. Who knew if there was anything else left to find? But above that cynicism, Bruce felt his heart drumming with anticipation. He was back in his element, putting his brain to good use, using nothing but his sharp eyes and a few gadgets to look for clues. He couldn't help but grin.

"Take left," he ordered. "I'll take right." He pressed a button on the side of his cowl and the world was immediately drowned through a filter of blue. He calibrated his Detective Vision to search for traces of Scarecrow's fear toxin and began sweeping the room. Robin began to do the same, walking along the row of booths that lined the front window.

Batman swept his gaze across the counters, the stools, and the floors. Gordon was right; there were traces of fear toxin, but they were miniscule. And there was nothing Batman could see that told him a point of origin for the specs he found. Where the hell had this stuff come from?

"Woah!" Robin exclaimed. Batman turned around to see him standing by the corner most booth. He moved to join him as quickly as his aching knees would carry him.

"What'd you find?" he asked.

"The source, I think." Robin was staring at the floor, the eyes of his mask covered with electronic lenses. Batman looked to where he was staring and saw a large, airborne sample of dormant fear toxin floating in the air. Batman dragged a hose from his utility belt and held it up to the particles. He pressed a button and a sharp hiss filled the air as the tube sucked in the toxin.

"Oracle, analyze this sample. Find anything in it that might lead us to Crane's location."

"Already on it, boss," Barbara's voice crackled in his ear. Bruce couldn't help but take a moment to enjoy the nostalgia. Then he caught sight of something on the ground: a faint liquid trail lighting up as fear toxin. It lead under one of the booth seats.

"Robin, check to see what's under that seat." Bruce really didn't feel like straining his joints at the moment. Robin bent down and came back up with what looked like a broken meth pipe, only the thing was covered in fear toxin.

"Is he selling it as a drug?" Robin mused. "Who would buy something that scares the shit out of you?"

"Why do people watch horror movies?" Batman countered. Robin shrugged, beaten.

"Batman, Robin." Oracle's voice crackled in their ears. "I've got something on the sample you sent me."

"Let's hear it." Batman gestured for Robin to follow him and together they exited the diner and fired their grappling hooks into the sky.

"There are traces of Scarecrow's fear toxin in the sample," Oracle explained as the Dynamic Duo leapt and glided across the rooftops. "However, there're bigger traces of a different chemical makeup."

"He's mixing his drugs together?" Batman guessed.

"More like he's created a completely new drug by altering his fear gas to become addictive. I found records of this drug being found by the GCPD, mostly on undercover assignments. Dealers have been distributing this shit for months now, but the chemical makeup is so different that it couldn't be identified as fear toxin."

"Wait, you're saying that this stuff has been on the streets for weeks and there have been no cases of mass panic until now?" Robin asked. "We've seen what this crap can do; how does nobody immediately start screaming once they take a whiff of this?"

Batman didn't speak; he was thinking the same thing. How did Scarecrow manage to pull this off? How did he make it so that his toxin wouldn't take effect on the users? And how the hell had Batman not noticed this if it's been on the streets for months.

Because you haven't been out on the streets for years, he thought. He grit his teeth.

"That's not all that's weird," Oracle chimed in. "According to this scan, it shouldn't be possible for this drug to exist. The chemical makeup is incompatible; they should be rejecting each other at a fundamental level. Somehow, Crane has found a way to fuse the two together without the whole thing falling apart."

"We need to find Crane and his supply," Batman said finally. "Oracle, give us his last known location."

"Actually," Oracle stopped him and Batman could hear her tapping at her computer keys furiously. "It doesn't look like Crane is the supplier. Looking at the locations where they found this stuff and at the deals who were selling it, it looks like this stuff has been going out through Cobblepot."

Batman raised an eyebrow. Now that was interesting.

"Bad guys can work together, too?" Robin asked in fake shock. "Huh. I guess twenty years can change just about anybody."


Oracle's findings took them to a warehouse on the Gotham docks. The Dynamic Duo looked down through a rooftop window, unsurprised to find Oswald Cobblepot, as fat and loud as they remembered, overseeing what looked like hundreds of crates of drugs. The entire building lit up with the stuff through Detective Vision and the two of them had immediately donned gas masks when they were in position at the window.

"What would bring Cobblepot out of comfy retirement?" Robin wondered. "He got time off for good behavior and he had enough money to sit on for the rest of his life. What would drag him back into the life?"

"What dragged us back?" Batman asked wryly. Robin smiled.

"Well, how about we drag him back out while we wait for Gordon to get here?" Robin cracked his knuckles and his leather gloves creaked. He took the bō-staff from under his cape and extended it to its full five feet.

"Ready, old man?" he asked. "Think you can keep up now that you've actually been prescribed Bengay?"

At first Batman didn't answer, seriously wondering if he should be jumping through windows with his condition. But then he thought of the look on Cobblepot's face when they would come crashing in like something out of hell and he smiled.

"Do me a favor," said Robin as both of them readied to jump. "Don't smile when you have the mask on. It's creepy."

The look on Cobblepot's face was as good as Bruce thought it would be. The sound of crashing glass spooked everyone in the building, causing some to drop their crates. Cobblepot looked up and his mouth fell open.

"It can't be!" he nearly shrieked. "NO! This can't be happening! You're retired."

Batman landed back-to-back with Robin and they immediately assumed battle stances.

"Not quite," he said and lunged, immediately pinning Cobblepot to the ground. The building erupted in gunfire and Batman was forced to hide behind cover. He flipped on his Detective Vision and saw four armed thugs on the upper balconies. They were all focused on Robin, who was flipping and jumping around dramatically. It was an old distraction technique they had used on several occasions. Robin would cause a scene and Batman would take care of the gunmen. He considered doing it quickly, knocking them all out with a Batarang or freezing them all with an ice grenade. But Batman felt like being a little impractical; the adrenaline was pumping through his veins now and he wanted more of it. He took the first two down silently, one after the other on the catwalk. He then took out his line launcher and aimed directly at the man across from him. The thug only had time to make a terrified face before Batman kicked him off the walkway. The other man fired at him blindly, machine gun fire ripping through the air around him. Batman flipped, spun and jumped to avoid the fire, each movement bringing him a little closer to the gunman. Finally, with one last flip, he brought his boot down hard on the man's skull and he lay face-down on the floor.

"You could've been a little more expedient," called Robin from below. He had Cobblepot on his knees, hands tied behind his back.

Batman glided down, landing softly in front of their prisoner. "You had it covered," he said. A quick scan of his Detective Vision told him that all the other thugs had run away. He was slightly relieved at that; his muscles were already starting to ache.

Batman turned to look at Cobblepot. He felt a petty sort of satisfaction to see that the years had done nothing to benefit the man who called himself The Penguin. He had a long, wobbling length of turkey neck, his pointed nose had been broken at an ugly angle and his hair had completely fallen out.

"Been awhile, Bats," he said, trying to sound brave, though Batman could hear the tremble in his voice.

"I know you've been shipping drugs for Scarecrow." He pitched his voice down just a little lower than its usual baritone. "You're going to tell us where he is before the GCPD get here and we'll leave you with fewer broken bones than we otherwise would have."

The Penguin laughed, the stench of cigar smoke and liquor coming off his breath. "Well, too bad, Bats, 'cause until you told me, I had no fuckin' idea these drugs were comin' from the good doctor."

Batman took a set of brass knuckles and whacked Penguin across the face. A black tooth flew from his mouth.

"No, really, I mean it!" Cobblepot sounded more desperate now. Perhaps he had only just remembered every bone in his body Batman had ever broken. "I just get a fat quid in my account every month. Then, I get a drop point and go pick up this shit. It's a different one every time and nobody's ever there. Just a big ol' crate and a couple million in me pockets."

Batman looked at Cobblepot through his Detective Vision. His heart rate was accelerated, but that was due to fear rather than falsehood. He was telling the truth. That wasn't good; if Penguin didn't even know that Scarecrow was making the drugs, but somebody got them to him anyway, then this must be way bigger than anticipated.

"Robin," he barked. "Go outside and see if you can find any tire tracks. Follow them and see where they lead."

"Got it." With a pop of his grappler Robin was soon through the rooftop window. Batman turned his attention back to Cobblepot.

"Why risk this, Cobblepot?" he asked as the Penguin wriggled in his bonds. "You were accepting money from an unknown party in exchange for distributing an unknown drug. Why sign up for something so hazardous?"

Penguin looked up at him with hatred in his good eye. "If you'd have seen how long the line of zeroes on the check was, I doubt you would've been asking too many questions either."

Batman just shook his head.

BAM!

Batman reeled back from sucker punch as his ears rang. He should his head, looking for who had hit him. It wasn't Cobblepot; he was too slow and he was still tied up.

WHACK!

Another strike caught him on the cheek, but this time Batman managed to grab at the wrist as it withdrew. He saw a face covered by a red and white mask under a red hood. He saw a chest covered in a bright red cross on a cloth of white.

"What the fuck took you so long?" Cobblepot yelled, still struggling against his bonds.

"Since when did you sign up with Penguin, Azrael?" Batman asked, blocking a new set of jabs from his assailant. Azrael said nothing, his eyes filled with intensity and focus. Batman blocked each of his incoming attacks, old combat instincts taking over. He let himself be taken along with the flow of battle, blocking and dodging, jabbing and kicking in a dance to which he knew every step. His body, however, wasn't as tuned as his mind. After a while, it felt as though there was a lag between his brain and his limbs. He could see the punches Azrael would throw, but he couldn't get his arm up in time to block them. He could see the weak points in his armor that would make good strikes, but by the time he had thrown his punch, Azrael was there to block it. Bruce's joints were screaming now; he needed to end this soon.

He ducked a swipe from Azrael that clipped one of the ears on his cowl and whipped the remote electrical charge from his utility belt. One quick blast sent 30 volts of electricity straight through his system, sending him flying back unconscious. He'd been walking with a twitchy leg for a few days.

"Get up!" Cobblepot barked. Batman turned to see that he was face down on the ground, now, his rotund form making it difficult for him to get up. "Get up, you fucking idiot! You're fucking useless, you dozy cunt!"

Batman kicked him in the face, knocking him out. There wasn't anything more they could get out of him, he was sure.

There was a groan behind him and Batman whirled around. Azrael was on his knees, fighting against the electric spasms to get to his feet. Batman pulled a Batarang from his belt and primed it.

"Wait, Batman," Azrael groaned, holding out his hand for mercy. "I can explain everything. Please, just give me a chance to speak."

"You attacked me," Batman countered as the sound of police sirens blared in the distance outside. "Why should I trust you at all?"

Azrael reached behind his mask and drew out a simple playing card, illustrated with the queen of hearts.

"Jervis Tetch," Batman snarled, slipping the Batarang back into his belt.

"He has had me under his hypnosis for the last two months," Azrael explained, letting the card fall to the floor. "That electric blast shorted out the technology he uses to assist his hypnotic suggestions."

The sounds of sirens were just outside the building. Through his Detective Vision, Batman could see armed officers gathering by the door. He stomped over to Azrael, throwing his arm over his shoulders and whipping out his grapple. A few seconds later they were both sanding on the roof, Azrael still catching his breath and Bruce trying to pretend like he didn't need a nap.

"The night approaches, I think," Azrael declared. "The night I told you about in Arkham City, the day that Gotham would burn and you along with it. I think it's on its way."

"I don't much care for prophecies," Batman grumbled, watching as the officers stormed the building, taking an unconscious Penguin into custody.

"Just because you do not care for them," Azrael said, "doesn't mean that they aren't real. Or that this one won't come true." Batman turned to face him, but he had gone. Vanished.

Bruce rubbed his eyes. This was going to be a much longer night than he had thought. Perhaps he should've taken that extra dab of Bengay after all.