Chapter: Twenty-Five

"Decisions & Mistakes"

Damian stepped forward on Harvey Two-Face's order, reaching behind his back for his new escrima sticks. He activated their shock-options and they electrified with an intensity, generated to full-power.

Jason heeded back a few steps with his arms up the air, not in surrender, but in pause. "Hey! Don't I get a weapon? This isn't fair!"

Harvey halted Damian. "You know, you're right. A decision must be made. We both know my Achilles Heel is this coin, so why fight it? Let the coin decide. Heads you get a weapon, and tails you don't. It's a simple as that." Harvey flipped his coin and it landed with a plop into an open palm. From the look on his face, he didn't look happy.

He tossed his gun to Jason. Jason caught the 10mm automatic handgun "man-stopper" with both hands. With a body of a pre-teen, the gun felt heavy to handle. Jason somewhat recognized the gun though it appeared customized. It was a Colt Delta Elite with a Semi-Automatic option much like a Glock 20 Generation 4. He checked the ammo content and it was fully loaded.

He compensated for the weight by repositioning his body.

Jason was impressed. "Sweet weapon, Harvey," he said honestly. "You always did know where to get high quality merchandise. You really must get me in touch with your dealer. But…you just made a mistake." He pointed the gun at Two-Face.

Harvey Two-Face gave him an incredulously look. "Really? Have you not clued in by now?"

"That you're a photo-kinetic construct? That you're not really here? Oh c'mon, I'm not stupid. I know you're in Handles secret lair. But I can still shatter your light beam with this gun, much like Jon Kent did with those four maidens in the tropical paradise." Jason lowered it. "But I won't. I'll give you the opportunity to watch when I take out Damian."

Harvey grumbled under his breath with annoyance. "Thanks for the invite, you little piece of…"

"Damian…" Jason muttered under his breath, not hearing the last bit of what Harvey Two-Face said, literally blanking it out. Is this the real you or merely a photo-kinetic construct like Harvey Two-Face? Harvey looks so real, but this 'him' is a fake.

If he killed Damian, and with Ra's missing and with the Lazarus Pit all but dried up, there would be no way to revive him. He had already been murdered once and brought back, like Jason. He couldn't count on Talia al Ghul, Ra's daughter either, who saved him. She was missing and presumed dead, as well.

He would have to play this to the chest, and believe, for the moment, that this was the real Damian. He'd use the non-lethal option until he knew for sure. The gun would be just for defence.

No one would willingly put themselves in harm's way if it could be helped. Would they? Even someone under mind-control?

He wouldn't bet on it.

Harvey put up a hand, said: "Before you get started, and I'm looking forward to watching two tiny titans battle it out, answer me this: The last time we met, and this is simple curiosity, you had a tuft of white hair amongst the black, but now you don't—why? There's no way that the miniaturization ray would remove it—shrink it, yes—but not eliminate it."

"That's a bit of an invasive question, don't you think?" Jason retorted.

"You openly call your privates Jagger and the Rolling Stones, modesty is not your forte."

"Okay, you got me on that one. If you know me, then you should know my crew: The Outsiders, and a guy named Arsenal, who used to sidekick for the Green Arrow. Ironically, Damian and Arsenal have tangled in the past. One day, Arsenal looked at me and told me that my tuft of white hair made me look older than I am, and asked me why don't I think about dying my hair completely black? So, I did." Jason gave a gesture to himself. "But I don't have to worry about looking old anymore, do I? I'm twelve years old again. And you know what really pisses me off, it's the fact now that I'm shorter than Damian. I'm the shortstack!"

"We're enemies, I killed your father—"

"Yeah, thanks for reminding me, you murderous bastard!"

"Let me finish." Harvey put a hand to the acid burnt half of his face, covering it for a moment. It made him look normal. "Let me give you a sound piece of advise. Never change who you are, or allow the world to alter everything about you." He removed his hand, the half-monster returned. "Pain makes us who were are, it drives us, gives us purpose. I have to look at this face every day. I was just doing my job when acid was thrown in my face. Surgery can't help it. But hiding your hair, masking your pain, won't make it go away. We must live with pain, it's a part of us. But we should never allow it to control us. This is why I have this coin. Sometimes, the monster wins, sometimes I win. But my father's coin is a reminder than I am still human. Pain is pain, use it, and let it show. Show it to the world!"

"I have enough pain to go around. I don't need to show it! Some pain is private. But that coffin is a huge reminder of just how much pain I've gone through!" Jason clenched a fist at his side. "Handles thought he was so smart trying to use it against me, but I'm already screwed in the head, so not much fazes me anymore."

Although he knew that wasn't entirely true. The sight of the coffin did unnerve him, reminding him of when he was buried alive. But he tried to keep his emotions in check and dug his nails into his skin as he squeezed his palm.
"To hell with all this talk! If we're going to fight, then let's get it on!"

Jason judged the situation. Height to height, Damian had a slight, if but minute advantage. Strength-wise, Jason was—and he hated the term Joker had coined—"heftier" than Damian. But he was still carried good muscle tone and was fast. Yet his speed was based on his previous body. Now he had to compensate for his smaller stature and he knew he wouldn't be as quick.

When Damian lunged, Jason crouched down avoiding the escrima sticks. He then picked up a handful of sand and threw it dead centre into Damian's face. Damian was wearing a mask over his eyes with the white eye lens, but there was nothing to protect his mouth. And that's where Jason had aimed. It was such an easy spot to attack, down and dirty, just like his training as the Red Hood implored.

When Damian stepped back to spit out the sand, wiping his mouth, Jason took advantage of the distraction and high kicked one of the escrima sticks out of Damian's hands. Then delivered a roundhouse kick to Damian's face, delivering a couple of hard punches to Damian's midsection. He then ripped the other escrima stick from his hand and throwing it aloft.

Now weaponless, Jason jumped up and wrapped his legs around Damian's head, arms clinging around his neck and head in a half-triangle hold. He forced Damian forward and to the ground from the sudden move. Once down, Jason then rolled to the side still holding onto Damian, and turned the hold into what was known in the wrestling world as the Cobra Clutch, with both arms putting immense pressure on Damian's neck, while trapping one arm—the other arm was free but was useless to do anything—and for added control, he wrapped his legs around Damian's waist, so the boy couldn't break free.

Jason kept the pressure on, he needed to cut off the blood flow to Damian's brain. "You're good, D, but there's no substitute for experience, and I've been fighting a lot longer than you! The League of the Assassins may've taught you a lot, but I play by street rules. Which means, I play with no rules! And those are my rules!" With enough pressure, it would only take about thirty-seconds to render Damian unconscious. "And I was the Second Robin, after all, and trained by one of the best fighters in the world!"

Jason kept the hold, but despite the hopelessness of the situation, Damian kept fighting, grabbing at Jason's arms with his loose arm. Then, however he managed to do it, Damian managed to thrust his body over and force Jason to roll onto his back. He kept going and continued with some sort of barrel role with the momentum.

Shocked Damian was able to overpower him like this, Jason kept hanging on tightly. What he didn't see until the very last moment was, the kid was rolling him across the sand to one of the tossed escrima sticks, and before Jason could move away from it, it delivered a huge shock to his upper back, and forced him to let go after it jolt him, feeling the hurt.

Damian somersaulted away and felt his throat, he was breathing a little heavy, and sucking in oxygen. The control collar remained in place.

Jason felt his back, and then saw Damian bolt towards the other discarded escrima stick. Had what just happened been luck? Jason thought. Or did Damian know what he was doing? I underestimated the kid.

For a moment, he gave the boy mental praise, but then he grabbed the gun from his holster and pointed it at Damian. Damian readied for another round of fighting, clutching the escrima stick. Jason didn't want to shoot, but there was too much at stake if he lost this battle. The world was a jeopardy. Jake Handles had to be stopped. And right now, Damian Wayne was in his way.

If I fired, this gun would open up a hole in Damian's chest the size of a bowling bowl. It would be a horrible and gruesome death for you, kid. God! I wish I knew if you were the real McCoy or a fake…

x x x

"Alfred, I need to do something," Tim said, almost in a whinny childish tone of voice. "I'm so bored!"

Alfred had made himself busy with tidying Tim's clothes, assorted dresser, even inside his walk-in closest, though still watchful of the teen because he was in need of twenty-four hour care at the moment. Alfred always found something to do when he had time on his hands. He found that despite the boy was vastly intelligent, he was unorganized when it came to putting his clothes away properly.

He was rolling Tim's socks up into two's when he turned, and said, "Master Tim, you need to rest. You've just been through an incredibly lot. Bed rest is needed until answers from Master Bruce is passed down. But, may I say, you clothes arrangement is much to be desired. Proper clothes edict is: one drawer for under attire and another for socks and undershirts, and then other drawers for secondary items. You have everything, everywhere."

"I know where everything is, Alfred. Don't move things about."

Alfred then observed Barbara Gordon all quiet and looking at the Neuro-Diffuser that Alfred had brought up from the BatCave. She looked at it from top to bottom, examining it throughly with a keen-eye. "Anything of extraordinary note, Ms. Gordon?" he asked.

She looked up, sitting in a chair next to Tim's bed. She seemed confused. "I've looked it over thoroughly, Alfred. There's nothing truly extraordinary about this device…" she replied. "It appears to be similar to a normal miniature stun gun like a woman would carry in her purse to scare away would-be assailants. At its lowest setting, you would feel the shock similar to touching an electric fence. At its highest setting, no doubt it would affect a person's nervous system if applied in such a way. The jolt would be tremendous but not permanent, and I can't be sure, yet…" She looked at Tim. "Give it time, and you should make a fully recovery."

"That's fantastic, Mum! I mean, Ms. Gordon," Alfred said, and for a moment, he allowed his English heritage to shine through when he called her the standard term for a woman in England. Tim smiled broadly and elated with the happy news. "But, bed rest is highly recommended," the butler reiterated. "Your body has suffered a tremendous trauma and needs recuperation."

"Okay, Alfred," Tim said. "Thank you. I know I'm being a burden here."

"Not at all, Master Tim," Alfred said back with a smile. "Sometimes, it's nice to have a change from the normal. The Manor is a big place, but sometimes there's only so much dusting and furniture polishing one person can do."

Tim chuckled, but then he saw Barbara looking at his bedroom door. "Dick is taking a long time, isn't he? He did sound kind of angry when he left. I bet he and Bruce are having a father-and-son talk at the moment."

She looked back. "I wouldn't call the relationship Bruce and Dick have a normal father and son dynamic," Barbara said. She rose from the chair. "I better go check on him. I get worried about Dick a lot lately. And this recent whole affair of him being shot, the surgical implants, the amnesia…it's enough to make me think about us more."

Alfred came to stand back her side. "Ms. Gordon, we all know how much you care about, Master Dick. It hasn't slipped our glances. When he wasn't himself, we were all worried about him. That's why Master Bruce kept tabs on him. Master Dick was never out of his sights. And he knew about the young woman named Pixie, but he kept it secret. Sometimes the best thing to do is sit back and observe. He would never have let any harm come to Master Dick."
Barbara produced a smile. "Thank you, Alfred. You always know what to say to cheer me up."

"Anything, Ms. Gordon," he said.

Tim gasped. "Wait! There's no need for you go down to him, Barbara," he said, "it may be invasive, but you can spy on them from here." She asked how. "In my closest, in a wall drawer, there's a device I'm been working on in secret. I keep it here because I don't want Bruce to know that I can spy on him in the BatCave from anywhere on the grounds without him knowing. Yes, I know, I'm bad."

"Where is it?" Barbara went to Tim's walk-in closest. There were clothes hung up on railings that Alfred had just organized properly. Inside, there were a couple of drawers embedded in the wall for special attire: ties, special jewelry, and other items of a nature used to wear on very auspicious occasions like banquets, balls, fund raisers—that kind of thing.

He directed her to it and in a bottom third drawer she found a headset. It didn't look anything unique, but with Tim, the teen was a wiz-kid with technology. He could make something look standard yet give it the works.

Suddenly, her elbow hit something that felt like a hidden switch, and a hidden door opened to another area. As soon as the door opened, interior illuminance lit up with a glow that seemed to gleam, projecting spotlights on a rather interesting collection of items. The added room seemed to be custom built and there were rows of glass shelves with figurines on each, twelve rows: totalling sixty figurines. Each figurine was remarkably detailed, with an action pose, and in stunning, brilliant colours.

With a closer look, they were actually statuettes of comic book characters. Some of whom she recognized. Dick was a kid at heart, and long with his like of cereal, he also, had a healthy comic book collection: some where graded, some were loose. She recognized a figure with white hair and skin black tights immediately. She dressed like a black cat, hence her name. And when she looked around, most of the statuettes were of sexy, clad, dressed women. Ah, the fantasies of the youth, she thought.

When she emerged from the closest, she smiled, and said: "Nice collection, Tim. Those must have set you back a lot of money."

Even though his lower body was paralyzed, he had enough movement of his face for his brow to raise with surprise. "How…? Oh, crap! You wouldn't supposed to see those. They were supposed to be a secret." Alfred entered the closest once more and took in the collection, he mused intrigued. "Bruce would say they'd be a waste of money. But I like them. Call it a guilty pleasure of mine."

"We all need hobbies, Tim. Dick likes to collect comics, and though Damian doesn't like to advertise it, I know he likes to sketch. I've snuck a peak at some of his drawings and he's a very good artist. Don't worry, your secret is safe with me. But I can't say the same for Alfred."

"My word, more bobbles to dust, I think I'm going to need a softer feather duster," Alfred said.

Tim and Barbara laughed.

Tim then explained what Barbara hand in her hand. It was a beta tester for a new interface that used bio-chemical signals to interact with artificial intelligence on a neurological-level. It was more technical than that, but he simplified his explanation. It was part of a new system he was working on and it would help with interacting with the Batcomputer more quickly. Humans were slow, but the human brain was instant, and if that ability could be rendered outwardly, that would make reaction time much faster during a crises.

Now that he thought about it, it may have been the start of his future self's downfall later in life; whereas he infused with the A.I. built into this device, transferred into his own super Batcomputer that his future self said he built, and that now, if Bruce had anything to say about it, would never occur. And he was right.

Tim didn't want anything to do with turning into Future Drake or his timeline as of this moment on. But for right now, he'd use it.

There were actually two pieces to the device. She placed the headset on and attached two suction cables to his temples. Then a neck collar around his throat that plugged into the headset. It took a moment, but within seconds Tim activated it using the power of his mind. Two projection monitors emerged on either side of his face. He used his thoughts to operate multiple windows at once and showcased how he was able to access the internet and even check his Facebook profile page.

Alfred had come back and now he and Barbara were looking at the projection screens on either side of Tim.

"Truly remarkable technology," Alfred said in awe. "You are such a brilliant young man, Master Tim. This could help those with permanent paralysis. I'm sure if you patent this, you could revolutionize the medical field in bio-technology."

"Mmm," Tim mused. "That's something to think about. I'll forward an application to Wayne Industries later on. In the meantime…" Tim accessed the encrypted Wayne server with its multi-layers of firewalls to access the Batcomputer, then and the CCTV within the Batcave. He looked for active cameras and found a few currently recording, probably with Bruce and Dick talking. When he clicked on one, he suddenly gasped. There was an active camera, capturing a fight between Dick and… "Is that who I think it is?"

"I have to get down there," Barbara said, and started for the door.

Alfred stood up straight. "No, Ms. Gordon, remain here. I shall go down there."

"But, Alfred?"

"Two of my sons are fighting," Alfred said with an intensity that Barbara rarely saw and only when he was out on a personal mission. He adjusted a loose white hand glove of his butler attire. "It's time I set them straight!"

To be continued...