Redemption Part 3:
Bruce walked into the practice area of the cave. He stopped and watched as a seventeen year old Tim worked through a series of acrobatic movements. Those were the last moves Dick had taught the boy. Tim worked on them nightly, as if it kept him close to his lost older brother. Tim had grown so much this past year; he was taller, stronger. Bruce had a warm feeling when the boy was near. Tim's presence had helped him through the torment of Dick's death. Helped to keep him sane. As he watched the boy, a half smile formed on his lips.
"Ready to go on patrol?"
"Tonight?" Tim asked, jumping from the parallel bars.
"Yes."
"I thought ... well, it's just ... I wasn't sure if ..."
"We'll patrol, Tim. We have to. Tonight more than any other. I won't let any other parent go through what Jim and I have if I can help it."
"I'll suit up," Tim said as he raced off to the uniform vault.
Bruce walked over to the glass case enclosed around Nightwing's uniform. It sat next to Jason's Robin costume. Bruce looked at the brass plate on Jason's memorial: "A Good Soldier"; then he looked at Dick's plaque: "Hero, Leader, Son".
"Why?"
He turned and followed Tim into the uniform vault.
***********************************************************************
He rummaged through Barbara's closet. He remembered that he had kept some clothes here. He wondered if they were still there. Moving from the closet, he crossed the room. Going through the dresser drawers, he pulled out a black T-shirt and quickly put it on. He walked from the bedroom through the living room to the entry hall of the apartment, he stopped at the coat closet. Opening the door, he pulled out the black leather jacket he had worn to Barbara's that last night. Putting it on, he headed into the black Gotham night.
***********************************************************************
Inside the Jackson Street Pawn Shop, the clerk cowered in fear as one of the joker's henchman held a gun on him. Meanwhile, his three henchmen ransacked the store.
"I hate it when Mr. Joker sends us shopping," Orlando said as he gathered supplies.
"How about a nice long shopping break?" Robin said as a batarang flew through the store hitting Orlando in the face. As Orlando fell to the store floor, Robin advanced toward the man holding a gun on the shop clerk.
"I'll shoot you bird boy," the nervous gunman said.
"Do I look worried?" Robin replied to the man's threat, jumping out and kicking, he quickly disarmed the gunman. As Robin landed, he punched quickly with his left fist. The gunman went down with a thud.
Batman swooped into the store behind Robin. With lightning speed, he took out two of the Joker's men. As the two henchmen fell to the ground, Orlando stirred from the spot on the floor where he had fallen. He saw his crew dropping before Batman and Robin, and quickly decided to make an exit. Jumping up, he ran from the pawn shop.
"Batman!" Robin yelled as he spotted the fleeing criminal.
"Secure these three Robin. I'll get him," Batman calmly replied.
Orlando ran into the alley around the corner from the store; past the homeless people keeping warm by lighted fires. His breathing was heavy as he tried to flee the Batman. Lightning flashed in the ebony sky. Orlando felt a desperate need to escape.
"Mister Joker ain't gonna like this," he said aloud as he ran.
"The wages of sin," a deep voice called out in the night stopping Orlando in his tracks. He turned around expecting to see Batman. What he saw terrified him more. A chill ran down his spine as he looked at the figure before him.
"Whhooo ... Whhaatt are you man?"
"Your worst nightmare," came from the darkly clad man. His face paste white. Black tear stains around his eyes.
"You ... you ain't the Bat."
"No, I'm not."
The man before Orlando jumped in the air, spinning, and landed behind Orlando. With inhuman speed, he grabbed Orlando by the throat.
"You and the Joker and another man murdered two people a year ago. Barbara Gordon and Dick Grayson. Do you remember?"
"The girl in the wheelchair. I ... I remember."
"Who was the other man? Who else was there?"
"Deacon."
As he held Orlando, Dick's head jerked.
He had a flash, another vision. He was seeing through Orlando's eyes. Swirling lights of black and red framed the memories of Orlando and Deacon. Dick watched as they through him out of the Clocktower window. He saw how they laughed after he went through the window. He saw himself falling as they watched. Then he saw them turn toward Barbara, leering looks on their faces. He watched as they advanced toward her. Heard her screams. He saw what they did to her. How they beat her. How they touched her in places that only he should have touched her.
A cold fury went through his body.
As the vision ended, he took his right hand. His long black fingernails quickly scratched a bloody crow print into Orlando's cheek.
As Orlando cried out in pain, Dick grabbed Orlando's head and whispered in his ear, "Re-live that night, re-live their pain. Forever let it haunt your dreams and your waking moments. And tell the Joker and Deacon that the Crow comes for them." Throwing the criminal from his grasp, Dick jumped hitting Orlando with both feet, crushing the bones in both of Orlando's arms. Turning to leave, Dick looked toward the entrance of the alley. He stopped as he faced the Batman.
Batman had watched the scene before him. He heard Orlando's scream of agony; but he had not been able to make out the words that transpired between the two. He stared at the young man dressed in black with the painted face of a sad clown. There was something familiar about him. Eerily familiar. The way he stood, the way he moved. Too familiar.
"Who are you?" Batman asked as the two men faced each other.
Saying nothing, the young man turned from Batman and started to walk away. Thunder rumbled above them in the darkened skies above.
"Who are you?" Batman demanded as he approached.
"Not your problem," a voice called out without turning to face the cowled man.
"Gotham is MY city. No one plays vigilante here without my knowing it."
Robin had entered the alley as Batman approached the black clad man. He watched as Batman closed the gap between him and the stranger. The stranger who had stopped walking away. The stranger who turned to face them as lightning flashed across the sky illuminating the alley. Robin let out an audible gasp as he saw the man.
Batman felt as if he had been hit in the stomach; HARD. He lost his breath as he looked at the boy before him. Gone was the white face, the black tear stains. Before him stood his son. Dick Grayson. His dead son.
"Dick?" He stated as their eyes locked.
Robin approached the two men. As he grew closer, he could tell that the man dressed in black was Dick Grayson. A wide smile formed on Robin's face. He felt a tear escape his eyes and roll under his mask and onto his cheek. He grabbed Dick into a bear hug.
"Oh God, Dick, is it really you?" he cried.
"Yeah, it's me," Dick responded, his blue eyes never leaving Batman's.
"How?" Robin asked excitedly.
"It's a long story," Dick replied.
"How do I know it's really you?" Batman asked as he found his voice again. His heart so wanted this to be his son. But his mind told him it was impossible. Dick was dead. Dead and buried a year ago. This was probably an impostor. Had to be an impostor. But, God, he didn't want it to be.
Dick walked closer to Batman and whispered, "It's me Bruce."
The Batmobile entered the alley, responding to its silent summons. Batman turned and walked to the car.
"This is not the place for a long story. The cave. Robin follow in the Redbird."
"Gotcha," Robin said. He found he couldn't stop smiling.
Dick followed Batman and sat in the Batmobile. He felt Batman's eyes on him as they rode toward the Batcave. They sat in silence for the long drive. There were many times during the drive that he started to speak, but found that no words would come. He assumed Batman was experiencing the same feelings. Dick hadn't expected to run into his family. Why he hadn't, he wasn't sure. He hadn't thought about seeing them since his return. His mind had been filled with thoughts of revenge. Facing his father had brought up new, different emotions.
As the Batmobile and Redbird roared into their parking slots in the Cave, Alfred walked down the stairs into the cave; a silver tray in his hands.
"Master Bruce, would you and Master Timothy care for some hot cocoa?" he asked as he headed toward the table near the computer's main frame. He had not looked in the direction of the cars.
"Hi Alfred," Dick said gently.
At the sound of the familiar voice forever thought silenced, the tray fell to the floor. The sound of the breaking china echoed throughout the cave. Alfred turned to face the three men standing before him.
Dick rushed over to Alfred and bent down to pick up the broken pieces of China.
"I'm sorry Al ..."
Alfred's hand went under the young man's chin stopping him in mid- sentence. Gently, he raised the young man's chin until he looked directly into Dick's deep blue eyes. Alfred's old hand trembled as he urged Dick to stand.
"Master Dick. It's really you, isn't it?"
"Yeah."
Alfred pulled Dick into a hug. Tears fell from his eyes. He looked across the cave, his eyes locking with Bruce's who had removed his cowl. "He's home, he's really home."
Dick turned toward Bruce. Bruce stood motionless watching the scene before him. His heart and mind fighting with each other. Tim and Alfred had so willingly believed this was Dick. He HAD called him Bruce. But there are people who know his real name -- Ra's, yes, this could be one of his tricks.
Dick started toward Bruce. He knew his father. He knew this was hard for him. Knew that he questioned the reality of the situation.
"It's me Bruce. Really. I know it's hard for you to believe, but I'm really here."
"Where have you been?"
"That's not going to be easy to explain," Dick responded with a slight smile.
"I'd guess not. Since we all thought you had been killed a year ago!" Bruce said as his voice raised more than he wanted it to. He was trying to keep his emotions in check. Emotions which betrayed him. He had to stay focused, stay logical. "If that wasn't you who went through Barbara's window, who was it? And where have you been? You went to Barbara's that night. She died. Someone else died. Obviously it wasn't you. Where did you go?"
"Bruce," Dick started.
Without letting him start his explanation, Bruce continued, "If you're Dick, you're a detective. What does it look like to you? Objectively what would you be thinking?"
Alfred and Tim watched the interplay between the two. They knew in their hearts that it was Dick who stood before them. They didn't care how. But they all knew Bruce. Knew he couldn't just believe his heart. It was agonizing to watch.
"You know me, Bruce. You know me better than anyone ever has. You know it's me!" Dick said as he approached his father.
"I want to believe that. But Dick ..."
"What? What are you asking me Bruce? Are you asking if I killed Babs? If I made it look like I had been murdered! You know better than that!" Dick yelled the last part. He had been through so much. Too much. No one alive could fully understand what he had endured. How could Bruce question him like this? But it's Bruce, how could he not?
"If you were me, what would you be thinking?"
"I don't know Bruce. I'm still not sure I know what I'm thinking about this. But I wouldn't be thinking what you are." Dick felt his anger dissipate.
"I want you to be Dick. My Dick, my son. I want you safe and alive and here. But I need an explanation. Something I can understand."
Dick sighed and turned away from Bruce. He walked, no paced, around the cave. "I don't know if I can give you that. I don't understand it myself. Babs and I. We. Were. Murdered. We ended up someplace ... I dunno, the land of the dead I guess. But I came back. I don't know how. Don't know why. All I knew was that I had to follow this crow. Didn't even know who I was until I picked up that rose you left on the street where I died. Then it all came back to me. And when it did, all I wanted was revenge. Revenge against our murderers."
Bruce watched Dick as he paced around telling his story. It was incredible. Too incredible to be true. But he had seen many incredible things in his life, hadn't he? Why couldn't this be true?
"So, your story is that you died and now you're alive again."
"It's not a story! It's the truth," his blue eyes looked imploringly at the man who was his father.
Bruce looked at his son. He watched his eyes. He had learned many things in his years as Batman. One was to know the truth when he heard it. As incredible as the story was to believe, he knew this was Dick. Knew he was telling the truth; at least what he thought was the truth. Walking over to the boy, he tentatively placed his hands on Dick's shoulders.
"My son." A tear escaped his eye and rolled down his cheek. Dick closed the gap between them, tightly hugging Bruce. He felt his own tears flow. As he hugged his father, Dick felt his body jerk as he experienced another of these new flashes. Different than those he had previously experienced. There were no sights, no pictures of memories. Just feelings. They weren't his, they belonged to another. Bruce. He felt the pain that Bruce had suffered since his death. He experienced Bruce's hidden, repressed emotions. But more than that, he knew Bruce's love for him.
All those times, all those arguments and misunderstandings they had in the past. All the times he felt inadequate, unsure; it was all gone. He knew how Bruce felt about him. Finally he knew. He felt like he did when he was nine years old; safe and secure in Bruce's arms.
"Ahem, I think this would be a good time for us to retire upstairs," Alfred said.
Dick and Bruce turned and walked toward Alfred and Tim. The four men stopped when they heard the cawing of a crow. Turning toward the cave entrance, they saw the large black bird fly into the cave. The bats above started to swoop down upon the bird. But the onyx eyes of the bird faced the bats and they turned to hide in the deep recesses of the cave. The crow flew over and perched on Dick's shoulder.
"Uh, he goes with me."
"And they call me bird boy," Tim said.
***********************************************************************
Dick walked around the study. Memories filled his mind. Bruce and Tim watched as Dick paced around the room, obviously deep in thought. It seemed as if he was looking at the room for the first time.
Tentatively, Bruce walked over to his son.
"Dick?"
Dick stopped his pacing and looked at his father. He could tell Bruce had to ask him something. He was, also, afraid he knew what Bruce was going to ask.
"Who murdered you and Barbara?"
Tim moved closer to the other two men.
"Don't you know?" Dick asked.
"No, I ..." Bruce guiltily turned away. He couldn't face his son. The guilt of not having found the murderer pressed in on him. This guilt had ate at Bruce's soul throughout this last year. "I haven't been able to find ... the clues, I haven't ... "
Dick placed his hand gently on Bruce's arm, stopping Bruce from continuing.
"It's okay, Bruce," then calmly stated, "It was the Joker."
Bruce's blue eyes grew cold with fury as his mind began to comprehend what he had just heard. Joker. Joker had killed his son. Joker had killed Barbara.
"Why?" was the only word that could escape his lips.
Dick turned from Bruce and walked toward the large study window. In a very retrospective manner, he calmly stated, "Why does he do anything?"
"He always has a reason for what he does. In his mind, it's logical."
"He said he was finishing what he started a few years ago. I guess he meant with Babs."
"He meant Jim Gordon," Bruce said as he realized the Joker's motivation. "He was angry with Gordon for retiring."
"Sounds like him," Dick said resignedly. As he did, lightning flashed across the night sky. For the first time, Dick saw the large granite memorial in the back yard. His eyes grew wide as he pressed his hand against the pane of glass. "What is that?" he asked tentatively, as he felt a knot form in his stomach.
Bruce and Tim walked over to stand by each side of Dick.
"Your graves," Bruce solemnly said.
Dick moved to the large French doors that led out onto the verandah. Slowly he moved outside and started toward the granite monument. As he approached, his pace got faster. Thunder roared throughout the night sky. Lightning continued to flash.
Bruce and Tim followed Dick onto the verandah. Tim had just stepped foot on the cool grass, following as Dick headed towards the monument, when Bruce stopped him.
"But ... " Tim started to protest.
"Let him go alone."
Dick stood before the grave, looking up at the marker. He read their names, their birth dates, their death dates. The same day. His mind went to that night again. The pain. Her screams. His mind went back further, nights flying together in the Gotham sky. Making love with each other. Leaving her on that bridge. Having to leave her because of his pain. Being ripped from her again. Their lives being ripped away from them. Stolen by that laughing madman.
"Barbara!" he cried out loudly as he dropped to his knees. His hand touching her name on the grave stone. The black crow perched on top of the marker. "BARBARA!"
Rain started to fall, as if the heavens themselves were crying.
To be continued ...
Bruce walked into the practice area of the cave. He stopped and watched as a seventeen year old Tim worked through a series of acrobatic movements. Those were the last moves Dick had taught the boy. Tim worked on them nightly, as if it kept him close to his lost older brother. Tim had grown so much this past year; he was taller, stronger. Bruce had a warm feeling when the boy was near. Tim's presence had helped him through the torment of Dick's death. Helped to keep him sane. As he watched the boy, a half smile formed on his lips.
"Ready to go on patrol?"
"Tonight?" Tim asked, jumping from the parallel bars.
"Yes."
"I thought ... well, it's just ... I wasn't sure if ..."
"We'll patrol, Tim. We have to. Tonight more than any other. I won't let any other parent go through what Jim and I have if I can help it."
"I'll suit up," Tim said as he raced off to the uniform vault.
Bruce walked over to the glass case enclosed around Nightwing's uniform. It sat next to Jason's Robin costume. Bruce looked at the brass plate on Jason's memorial: "A Good Soldier"; then he looked at Dick's plaque: "Hero, Leader, Son".
"Why?"
He turned and followed Tim into the uniform vault.
***********************************************************************
He rummaged through Barbara's closet. He remembered that he had kept some clothes here. He wondered if they were still there. Moving from the closet, he crossed the room. Going through the dresser drawers, he pulled out a black T-shirt and quickly put it on. He walked from the bedroom through the living room to the entry hall of the apartment, he stopped at the coat closet. Opening the door, he pulled out the black leather jacket he had worn to Barbara's that last night. Putting it on, he headed into the black Gotham night.
***********************************************************************
Inside the Jackson Street Pawn Shop, the clerk cowered in fear as one of the joker's henchman held a gun on him. Meanwhile, his three henchmen ransacked the store.
"I hate it when Mr. Joker sends us shopping," Orlando said as he gathered supplies.
"How about a nice long shopping break?" Robin said as a batarang flew through the store hitting Orlando in the face. As Orlando fell to the store floor, Robin advanced toward the man holding a gun on the shop clerk.
"I'll shoot you bird boy," the nervous gunman said.
"Do I look worried?" Robin replied to the man's threat, jumping out and kicking, he quickly disarmed the gunman. As Robin landed, he punched quickly with his left fist. The gunman went down with a thud.
Batman swooped into the store behind Robin. With lightning speed, he took out two of the Joker's men. As the two henchmen fell to the ground, Orlando stirred from the spot on the floor where he had fallen. He saw his crew dropping before Batman and Robin, and quickly decided to make an exit. Jumping up, he ran from the pawn shop.
"Batman!" Robin yelled as he spotted the fleeing criminal.
"Secure these three Robin. I'll get him," Batman calmly replied.
Orlando ran into the alley around the corner from the store; past the homeless people keeping warm by lighted fires. His breathing was heavy as he tried to flee the Batman. Lightning flashed in the ebony sky. Orlando felt a desperate need to escape.
"Mister Joker ain't gonna like this," he said aloud as he ran.
"The wages of sin," a deep voice called out in the night stopping Orlando in his tracks. He turned around expecting to see Batman. What he saw terrified him more. A chill ran down his spine as he looked at the figure before him.
"Whhooo ... Whhaatt are you man?"
"Your worst nightmare," came from the darkly clad man. His face paste white. Black tear stains around his eyes.
"You ... you ain't the Bat."
"No, I'm not."
The man before Orlando jumped in the air, spinning, and landed behind Orlando. With inhuman speed, he grabbed Orlando by the throat.
"You and the Joker and another man murdered two people a year ago. Barbara Gordon and Dick Grayson. Do you remember?"
"The girl in the wheelchair. I ... I remember."
"Who was the other man? Who else was there?"
"Deacon."
As he held Orlando, Dick's head jerked.
He had a flash, another vision. He was seeing through Orlando's eyes. Swirling lights of black and red framed the memories of Orlando and Deacon. Dick watched as they through him out of the Clocktower window. He saw how they laughed after he went through the window. He saw himself falling as they watched. Then he saw them turn toward Barbara, leering looks on their faces. He watched as they advanced toward her. Heard her screams. He saw what they did to her. How they beat her. How they touched her in places that only he should have touched her.
A cold fury went through his body.
As the vision ended, he took his right hand. His long black fingernails quickly scratched a bloody crow print into Orlando's cheek.
As Orlando cried out in pain, Dick grabbed Orlando's head and whispered in his ear, "Re-live that night, re-live their pain. Forever let it haunt your dreams and your waking moments. And tell the Joker and Deacon that the Crow comes for them." Throwing the criminal from his grasp, Dick jumped hitting Orlando with both feet, crushing the bones in both of Orlando's arms. Turning to leave, Dick looked toward the entrance of the alley. He stopped as he faced the Batman.
Batman had watched the scene before him. He heard Orlando's scream of agony; but he had not been able to make out the words that transpired between the two. He stared at the young man dressed in black with the painted face of a sad clown. There was something familiar about him. Eerily familiar. The way he stood, the way he moved. Too familiar.
"Who are you?" Batman asked as the two men faced each other.
Saying nothing, the young man turned from Batman and started to walk away. Thunder rumbled above them in the darkened skies above.
"Who are you?" Batman demanded as he approached.
"Not your problem," a voice called out without turning to face the cowled man.
"Gotham is MY city. No one plays vigilante here without my knowing it."
Robin had entered the alley as Batman approached the black clad man. He watched as Batman closed the gap between him and the stranger. The stranger who had stopped walking away. The stranger who turned to face them as lightning flashed across the sky illuminating the alley. Robin let out an audible gasp as he saw the man.
Batman felt as if he had been hit in the stomach; HARD. He lost his breath as he looked at the boy before him. Gone was the white face, the black tear stains. Before him stood his son. Dick Grayson. His dead son.
"Dick?" He stated as their eyes locked.
Robin approached the two men. As he grew closer, he could tell that the man dressed in black was Dick Grayson. A wide smile formed on Robin's face. He felt a tear escape his eyes and roll under his mask and onto his cheek. He grabbed Dick into a bear hug.
"Oh God, Dick, is it really you?" he cried.
"Yeah, it's me," Dick responded, his blue eyes never leaving Batman's.
"How?" Robin asked excitedly.
"It's a long story," Dick replied.
"How do I know it's really you?" Batman asked as he found his voice again. His heart so wanted this to be his son. But his mind told him it was impossible. Dick was dead. Dead and buried a year ago. This was probably an impostor. Had to be an impostor. But, God, he didn't want it to be.
Dick walked closer to Batman and whispered, "It's me Bruce."
The Batmobile entered the alley, responding to its silent summons. Batman turned and walked to the car.
"This is not the place for a long story. The cave. Robin follow in the Redbird."
"Gotcha," Robin said. He found he couldn't stop smiling.
Dick followed Batman and sat in the Batmobile. He felt Batman's eyes on him as they rode toward the Batcave. They sat in silence for the long drive. There were many times during the drive that he started to speak, but found that no words would come. He assumed Batman was experiencing the same feelings. Dick hadn't expected to run into his family. Why he hadn't, he wasn't sure. He hadn't thought about seeing them since his return. His mind had been filled with thoughts of revenge. Facing his father had brought up new, different emotions.
As the Batmobile and Redbird roared into their parking slots in the Cave, Alfred walked down the stairs into the cave; a silver tray in his hands.
"Master Bruce, would you and Master Timothy care for some hot cocoa?" he asked as he headed toward the table near the computer's main frame. He had not looked in the direction of the cars.
"Hi Alfred," Dick said gently.
At the sound of the familiar voice forever thought silenced, the tray fell to the floor. The sound of the breaking china echoed throughout the cave. Alfred turned to face the three men standing before him.
Dick rushed over to Alfred and bent down to pick up the broken pieces of China.
"I'm sorry Al ..."
Alfred's hand went under the young man's chin stopping him in mid- sentence. Gently, he raised the young man's chin until he looked directly into Dick's deep blue eyes. Alfred's old hand trembled as he urged Dick to stand.
"Master Dick. It's really you, isn't it?"
"Yeah."
Alfred pulled Dick into a hug. Tears fell from his eyes. He looked across the cave, his eyes locking with Bruce's who had removed his cowl. "He's home, he's really home."
Dick turned toward Bruce. Bruce stood motionless watching the scene before him. His heart and mind fighting with each other. Tim and Alfred had so willingly believed this was Dick. He HAD called him Bruce. But there are people who know his real name -- Ra's, yes, this could be one of his tricks.
Dick started toward Bruce. He knew his father. He knew this was hard for him. Knew that he questioned the reality of the situation.
"It's me Bruce. Really. I know it's hard for you to believe, but I'm really here."
"Where have you been?"
"That's not going to be easy to explain," Dick responded with a slight smile.
"I'd guess not. Since we all thought you had been killed a year ago!" Bruce said as his voice raised more than he wanted it to. He was trying to keep his emotions in check. Emotions which betrayed him. He had to stay focused, stay logical. "If that wasn't you who went through Barbara's window, who was it? And where have you been? You went to Barbara's that night. She died. Someone else died. Obviously it wasn't you. Where did you go?"
"Bruce," Dick started.
Without letting him start his explanation, Bruce continued, "If you're Dick, you're a detective. What does it look like to you? Objectively what would you be thinking?"
Alfred and Tim watched the interplay between the two. They knew in their hearts that it was Dick who stood before them. They didn't care how. But they all knew Bruce. Knew he couldn't just believe his heart. It was agonizing to watch.
"You know me, Bruce. You know me better than anyone ever has. You know it's me!" Dick said as he approached his father.
"I want to believe that. But Dick ..."
"What? What are you asking me Bruce? Are you asking if I killed Babs? If I made it look like I had been murdered! You know better than that!" Dick yelled the last part. He had been through so much. Too much. No one alive could fully understand what he had endured. How could Bruce question him like this? But it's Bruce, how could he not?
"If you were me, what would you be thinking?"
"I don't know Bruce. I'm still not sure I know what I'm thinking about this. But I wouldn't be thinking what you are." Dick felt his anger dissipate.
"I want you to be Dick. My Dick, my son. I want you safe and alive and here. But I need an explanation. Something I can understand."
Dick sighed and turned away from Bruce. He walked, no paced, around the cave. "I don't know if I can give you that. I don't understand it myself. Babs and I. We. Were. Murdered. We ended up someplace ... I dunno, the land of the dead I guess. But I came back. I don't know how. Don't know why. All I knew was that I had to follow this crow. Didn't even know who I was until I picked up that rose you left on the street where I died. Then it all came back to me. And when it did, all I wanted was revenge. Revenge against our murderers."
Bruce watched Dick as he paced around telling his story. It was incredible. Too incredible to be true. But he had seen many incredible things in his life, hadn't he? Why couldn't this be true?
"So, your story is that you died and now you're alive again."
"It's not a story! It's the truth," his blue eyes looked imploringly at the man who was his father.
Bruce looked at his son. He watched his eyes. He had learned many things in his years as Batman. One was to know the truth when he heard it. As incredible as the story was to believe, he knew this was Dick. Knew he was telling the truth; at least what he thought was the truth. Walking over to the boy, he tentatively placed his hands on Dick's shoulders.
"My son." A tear escaped his eye and rolled down his cheek. Dick closed the gap between them, tightly hugging Bruce. He felt his own tears flow. As he hugged his father, Dick felt his body jerk as he experienced another of these new flashes. Different than those he had previously experienced. There were no sights, no pictures of memories. Just feelings. They weren't his, they belonged to another. Bruce. He felt the pain that Bruce had suffered since his death. He experienced Bruce's hidden, repressed emotions. But more than that, he knew Bruce's love for him.
All those times, all those arguments and misunderstandings they had in the past. All the times he felt inadequate, unsure; it was all gone. He knew how Bruce felt about him. Finally he knew. He felt like he did when he was nine years old; safe and secure in Bruce's arms.
"Ahem, I think this would be a good time for us to retire upstairs," Alfred said.
Dick and Bruce turned and walked toward Alfred and Tim. The four men stopped when they heard the cawing of a crow. Turning toward the cave entrance, they saw the large black bird fly into the cave. The bats above started to swoop down upon the bird. But the onyx eyes of the bird faced the bats and they turned to hide in the deep recesses of the cave. The crow flew over and perched on Dick's shoulder.
"Uh, he goes with me."
"And they call me bird boy," Tim said.
***********************************************************************
Dick walked around the study. Memories filled his mind. Bruce and Tim watched as Dick paced around the room, obviously deep in thought. It seemed as if he was looking at the room for the first time.
Tentatively, Bruce walked over to his son.
"Dick?"
Dick stopped his pacing and looked at his father. He could tell Bruce had to ask him something. He was, also, afraid he knew what Bruce was going to ask.
"Who murdered you and Barbara?"
Tim moved closer to the other two men.
"Don't you know?" Dick asked.
"No, I ..." Bruce guiltily turned away. He couldn't face his son. The guilt of not having found the murderer pressed in on him. This guilt had ate at Bruce's soul throughout this last year. "I haven't been able to find ... the clues, I haven't ... "
Dick placed his hand gently on Bruce's arm, stopping Bruce from continuing.
"It's okay, Bruce," then calmly stated, "It was the Joker."
Bruce's blue eyes grew cold with fury as his mind began to comprehend what he had just heard. Joker. Joker had killed his son. Joker had killed Barbara.
"Why?" was the only word that could escape his lips.
Dick turned from Bruce and walked toward the large study window. In a very retrospective manner, he calmly stated, "Why does he do anything?"
"He always has a reason for what he does. In his mind, it's logical."
"He said he was finishing what he started a few years ago. I guess he meant with Babs."
"He meant Jim Gordon," Bruce said as he realized the Joker's motivation. "He was angry with Gordon for retiring."
"Sounds like him," Dick said resignedly. As he did, lightning flashed across the night sky. For the first time, Dick saw the large granite memorial in the back yard. His eyes grew wide as he pressed his hand against the pane of glass. "What is that?" he asked tentatively, as he felt a knot form in his stomach.
Bruce and Tim walked over to stand by each side of Dick.
"Your graves," Bruce solemnly said.
Dick moved to the large French doors that led out onto the verandah. Slowly he moved outside and started toward the granite monument. As he approached, his pace got faster. Thunder roared throughout the night sky. Lightning continued to flash.
Bruce and Tim followed Dick onto the verandah. Tim had just stepped foot on the cool grass, following as Dick headed towards the monument, when Bruce stopped him.
"But ... " Tim started to protest.
"Let him go alone."
Dick stood before the grave, looking up at the marker. He read their names, their birth dates, their death dates. The same day. His mind went to that night again. The pain. Her screams. His mind went back further, nights flying together in the Gotham sky. Making love with each other. Leaving her on that bridge. Having to leave her because of his pain. Being ripped from her again. Their lives being ripped away from them. Stolen by that laughing madman.
"Barbara!" he cried out loudly as he dropped to his knees. His hand touching her name on the grave stone. The black crow perched on top of the marker. "BARBARA!"
Rain started to fall, as if the heavens themselves were crying.
To be continued ...
