Chapter 7

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"I always wanted to be somebody. If I made it, it's half because I was game enough to take a lot of punishment along the way and half because there were a lot of people who cared enough to help me."
-Althea Gibson

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'If Alfred saw this place, Mr. Clean would have to give him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.' Dick could understand not cleaning every year - his loft was testament to that - but even his clothes didn't smell as bad as this place. It had been apparent that this wasn't going to be the nicest smelling mission by the fumes wafting up the duct, however the stench of a dead mouse was like the aroma of baking cookies in comparison. To Dick's dismay, any decent quips he came up with were wasted in his head. 'Just once I would like to find some lunatics who made some effort to clean. How hard could it be to throw some bleach on whatever died down there?'

Unsure of what Bruce had meant when he had referred to the room at the end of the tunnel as a 'pit,' Dick had been looking for a storage area, or a computer lab, or maybe a snake pit if the designers had kept to the Henry Jones, Junior ideas; from the looks of things, Harrison Ford would've felt right at home in the demonic setting of the cave. He didn't remember anything in the Indiana Jones movies quite like the pool of blood, but it had been several years since he had watched the trilogy. He added that to his list of things to force Terry to do if he hadn't already. 'Okay, so it would take lots of bleach to clean this mess. Either this is someone the Red Cross would like to meet, or they're really obsessed with their Hawaiian Punch.' The rocks that hung from the ceilings formed gnarled human shapes - almost as if people had been fused to the walls in inexorable agony. Beyond the bridge, a movement caught Dick's eyes. The repulsive, giant skull blended in with the rest of the decor, but bizarrely, it was descending into the whirling pool.

His first instinct was to rush towards the black figure attached to one of the jagged teeth, but Dick was too aware of the emptiness of the cave; the previous time Dick had run into the cult had taught him the man behind the sect was resourceful and did nothing without a reason. Yet he had no time to contemplate the situation if he wanted to help Terry before Batman touched the blood. At least Terry looked conscious, Dick was unsure if his body would be able to catch a falling person at that angle anymore.

It was awkward swinging out from where he was wedged above the trapdoor, but the momentum eventually built up enough that Dick could land on the top of the skull. "Are you all right?"

"If you consider being sacrificed to increase Brother Blood's powers all right, then I'm perfect."

"I deserve that."

"Plus the circuitry in my suit is out."

"Then you'll have to climb up." After shooting another line onto a ledge above them, Dick slid down to Terry's side. "I could pick those locks in under a minute, but we don't have that long." A quick search in his utility belt produced four caplets.

"What are those."

"Good old fashion acid."

"Acid?"

"You'll be fine. No one will be able to notice the scars in a couple of years." It only took a few seconds after Dick placed the capsules on the restraints before Batman could wrench himself free. "I'm going to give you a Superman power trip if I don't watch it. Don't say it, let me guess. 'This is why you work alone?' "

"Now I understand why you were very . . . colorful with your Robin outfit."

"Hey, my parents designed that."

"Your parents? But I thought-"

"It was from my days as a Flying Grayson."

"Flying who? That sounds like a-"

"Circus act? You bet. Geeze, and I thought that Bruce kept me in the dark. Right after I teach you about the joys of life before rocket boosters on boots, you are in for a history lesson on the Bat Family tree." Dick turned to give Terry a hand up. "This feels like a test." Dick glanced over the teen's shoulder and watched the scull sink into the pool of blood. "Too easy otherwise. I remembered some things about them. Mostly that with these guys, things are never as they seem."

"Whatever you did, you must've ticked them off."

"How did you get caught anyway?"

"Tried the front entrance. Too many men just waiting for me. Woke up here receiving a lecture even Bruce would be proud of. This Brother Blood claims to be over seven hundred years old and that by bathing in the blood of his enemies he gains their power."

"Wow. He's had a lot of enemies to fill that pit. If it truly is his power source, you need to destroy it."

"And you will be . . . ?"

"Looking for Blood."

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This would not be the first time that he would not be able to enjoy the happiness that had crept its way into his heart; Bruce had had opportunities for contentment in the past. The irony of the situation was that when he was finally willing to accept the good consequences with the bad, he had run out of time. Positive events had always been traps to distract him from his duty and to lure him into a false sense of security. Bruce had tried to avoid them at all costs, but they seemed to search for him, to unbalance the scales, so he could once again become the target of misfortune. Bruce may have been happy, but Batman did not accept it.

This time though, he wasn't worried about the unfairness of his own life as much as those around him. He couldn't speak for them, tell them that their lives would've been better off if they had not known him. In most cases it would not be true. He would hate it if it were true. His life had been improved by their presence just like theirs had. It wasn't vanity that inspired these words, but a truth he had refused to understand before.

He would've died a hundred times over for each of them, and yet now he wondered how something so selfless could actually be so selfish. At times, death seemed merciful to the torment of those left behind, Bruce knew what it was like to face grief and his heart would not let his rest until everyone was safe from it. The need to protect everyone was what really created the Batman and it had never faded throughout his years. A dream to save everyone from pain seemed ludicrous now, but Bruce was ready to sacrifice everything for the dream to come true for three people.

Logic controlled Bruce's mind too well for him to wish to go back and try his life over. There were too many unknown variables and too many people that relied on the shadow of Gotham to protect them; it would be unfair to risk their future for his own purposes. The future, however, did not need to be guided by the past.

There was no great premonition that inspired Bruce to talk to Dick, no neon sign that pointed out that this possibly was his last opportunity to work together with the first person he had become comfortable with as an official partner. There was only a deep desire to put the repair of something other than his city first. It was the little things that his conscience bothered him about now, the insignificant statements or actions that seemed harmless at the time. Somehow Dick had always remained that scared little boy in Bruce's mind, an innocent that he could somehow preserve from future harm by locking in the cave at a safe distance, saving both of them from harm. The notion seemed to seep into their daily life. The time Poison Ivy had kidnapped Dick to ransom him to Bruce to raise her family, he had told Jim Gordon that he was worried for his ward; what was forgotten was his promise to Alfred that no amount of money was too great to see Dick again. Now Bruce gave up what he considered a million times more valuable than money to help his son - his pride.

Perhaps it was a coward's method of contacting Dick, but the former Dark Knight would accept any interaction over none. It was better to just hear a disconnected voice over the airwaves. Otherwise, it was too simple to connect Dick with the Robin of the past, instead of someone who had proven himself a thousand times before he even reached college.

It had seemed right with Dick being in the field instead of himself. The moment he had heard Terry in trouble, Bruce had known that the vigilante would put aside any differences and succeed in helping the current Batman. What he didn't expect was to be thrown into the middle of a situation. It was just like Dick to conger up some idiotic scheme, pull it off and deviously include some metaphorical stunt that Bruce was unable to scorn.

If it had been anyone else, Bruce would've shot down the idea. Of course there were other people capable of following orders a millisecond before the single syllable command was finished being said, but no one else he had trained with was attuned to each other enough. Both Terry and Barbara had began their training before they met the billionaire playboy and even from the very start, Tim had made a habit of questioning orders. Still, Bruce had had reservations about being the eyes on the mission. The teen who had started a new life because he thought Bruce was too dominating was momentarily giving Bruce the control he had feared loosing. Almost as if it was scripted, once Bruce was offered the power to control the situation he wanted to reject it.

Now, as Bruce fought for shallow breaths of air, he thought of those who were so close to them. He wanted nothing more than to call them back to the cave, to explain everything to them, but it was not an option. 'I don't want to be alone any longer, but what would they think? How could I ask them to believe that I didn't send them away so I could suffer alone, when I would've done so yesterday?'

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Never assume anything. The concept had been driven into his brain for - how many years? - and he still managed to overlook something. He had taken down the scattered guards that led the way to the command center and checked for any traps, tricks or security devices and anything else unexpected around him; what he forgotten to insure was that his body would not betray him. Now Dick had five guns pointed at him with little room to maneuver.

Terry hadn't wanted Dick to go off by himself, but Dick had just rolled his eyes at Batman's misplaced accusation of revenge. Dick had finally convinced the kid to set charges small enough to destroy only the cave while he made sure no one entered the area; of course, Blood would have to be captured so he wasn't hurt too badly by the explosion. The place would be rigged to blow in half an hour so Dick was to meet Terry outside in twenty minutes. He only had four of those minutes left.

Unable to find anyone in the building other than lookouts currently in the pile of in the corner, Dick had attempted to locate where Blood was hiding by hacking into the main computer when it happened. He had foolishly presumed that all the memory flashbacks would end when he had remembered his past, but apparently he was wrong. His kiss with a redheaded, green-eyed, orange-skinned girl was interrupted by a gun being cocked next to his ear.

She disappeared as quickly as she had come and he was left staring at the blinking cursor on the computer screen. Instantly disliking the way technology had progressed, Dick thought it's only redeeming value would be that his Evil Dead game would have killer graphics - if these new computers could even take CDs. He would have to sit down and find out, as soon as he took care of these gunmen.

"Before you shoot, don't you have to reveal the cult's plans?"

Seconds seemed like hours as the silence dragged on. The guns remained pointed downwards at his head and the patrol didn't even exchange looks.

"Okay, some people in this room did not have a happy childhood and it wasn't me."

"Put your hands in the air."

"It's pathetic how that line hasn't improved in thirty-five years. Wait, let me try to recall what my line is supposed to be."

"Just do it."

"That's it! 'Okay, but it's your funeral.' Who says the old lines aren't the best?"

The three objects he once held in his hand struck the ground with a clinking tone. That was Dick's signal to move. 'Took Bruce long enough to start storing gas pellets in the gloves, not that any of these geniuses would've notice me digging through my utility belt.' He had been looking forward to a good smoke screen match, a random hand or foot in the maze of confusion, but any hopes of that were annihilated when a screeching siren interrupted their fight. Instead of the entrance of the squadron Dick had prepared himself for, he opponents began a chaotic retreat from the building. No one paid a second glance to the boy perched on the table as they evacuated their fallen comrades and left Dick alone in a sea of equipment. 'This cannot be good.'

"Ahh, young Nightwing, I am pleased to see you have returned to us, although I had not planned on making my presence known at this time." The prerecorded projection managed to fool the Dick for half a second. The image of the demon-like mask and black chest-plate were enough to make anyone's blood run cold, but the awesome sight was completed by the mysterious white cape which seemed to whirl around Brother Blood in tune with its wear's mood. "You came to us a sinner, you were offered salvation but you truly came here to destroy the Church of the Brother Blood. You will fail this time as you did the last. My power has extended throughout the entire fabric of your country. Your attempts, Richard, to stop me are futile. You are nothing more than a toy, barely an adversary worth my time, but I have more important duties than to deal with the likes of you. Behold, when your body heat activated the button on the console a timer started counting down the seconds until your untimely demise."

"Oops."

"Do not struggle against the floor's power grid; not only is it holding you as my prisoner, it has effectively rendered anything mechanical useless. The Confessor's attempts to convert you have failed, but I will succeed where he has blundered. You remain a blasphemer, and for that you do not deserve the mercy of Brother Blood!"

"Sheesh, Reverend Falwell could've had this guy writing for him."

Even before the message was finished, the floor began to glow an eerie shade of blue. From where he stood, Dick could tell that Blood had wasted no expense trying to capture him, except Blood had never bothered to rig the counter. Dick would have to remember to thank whomever had inspired him to stick to the advantage point of the high ground, even though he assumed he trigged the chain reaction when he leapt upon the desk to escape the gunfire.

No clock was ticking down the seconds until Blood's promise came true. Dick would've found no reason to believe the time if it had been displayed. What mattered was making sure both he and Terry were clear. Attempting to avoid the floor, he took to the rafters. Flying between the various pipes and lights only reminded him of the trapeze and his dream. Falling, always falling; Dick found himself unintentionally pausing. He had run out of things to swing on, but it was possible for him to reach the steps, as long as he didn't fall unto the security grid.

The irrational fear had done what Blood's threats could not. A lifetime's worth of self doubt and phantasms haunted Dick's moves. 'How could I expect to escape when I barely did the last time? Who said that luck would be on my side now? I was wrong. The leap is impossible. I will fall just like my parents, and they would spin down and down and-'

Dick found the momentum that he had lost. He had never been afraid of falling before. The dream was no omen - it was a product of a child's scared imagination. Besides, he was master of the impossible, he still could do his quadruple somersault.

His legs stretched for the third step, his body almost wishing there had been more time to play around, when his body seemed to run into a wall of bricks. "Hey, I was landing there! There's a Lois Lane joke in all of this, I just know it."

"The reporter? Well, if you would rather land on all those traps, I could set you down again."

"In that case, I'm glad to see your boots are operational again. Batman can't swoop in and save everyone without them. But could they go faster since this place if going to blow?"

He could feel the hot flames tickle his back almost as soon as he had heard it. A kevlar suit would've protected him better, but Dick still was not able to wear the Robin costume, even under other clothes. The explosion hunted the two heroes through the stairwells. Dick almost missed running from the flames himself, but he had never been able to truly observe the billows of smoke and fire that trailed behind them before.

With a final burst of energy, Terry and Dick were tossed clear of the building. The blaze seemed to contain itself and all that Dick was left to do was to dust himself off and stretch. "That went rather well."

"Is this the way you normally clean up?"

"Standard villain bashing procedure." Dick clicked the button to page Bruce.

"And how did Gotham survive this long with you in it?"

"High insurance rates." Dick irrationally smacked his communicator. "That's odd, we should be getting a signal to the Cave, but no one is picking up. Bruce?"

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