Disclaimer: I do not own either Young Justice or its related characters. Such are the property of DC Comics, Warner Bros. Entertainment and Cartoon Network. I'm just borrowing them for some non-profit entertainment.
Tomorrow
Chapter Six: It's the Pelvic Thrust
Time was cute.
Well, sometimes she was cute. Other times, Time could be annoying or down right infuriating. Then, sometimes, you just wanted to kill Time. Just like a woman.
Rip Hunter had actually completed the Time-Sphere several months ago –by his measure of time. With the Commander's aid and the salvaged parts and equipment from the Justice League's Watchtower he had managed to make a passably functional time machine. Then it was just a hop, skip and a jump to the 31st century to bum some better parts off of Brainy, and his passably functional time machine became a properly working Time-Sphere once again.
Why then, return to and hang out in this god-forsaken century?
Because that was the deal he made with the Commander. He gives Rip a safe workshop to construct his machine in and the parts he needs for it, and in return Rip send two people to the past for him. Then, of course, there was that small matter of that if those particular two people didn't make it back to 2016, then the present he enjoys in 3056 may not come to be. But why sweat the small stuff?
Plus, it was all in good timey-whimey wibbly-wobbly fun!
And after he returned Superboy and Robin to their own place in time, he could continue his quest to unlock Hypertime and access the multiverse.
But there was no rush.
All things happen in their own time…
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tick-tock
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The boarder between the Gotham city habitable zone and city wastes was maintained by a light guard. They were mostly volunteers and militia, self-trained or minimal professional training. No one even close to on par with bat-clan or League of Shadows training. The Demon and Impulse slipped around their patrols and into the city easily.
The streets were a wash of dim lights. During the invasion, the major cities like Metropolis, Los Angeles, New York and Gotham were prime targets. They weren't looking to destroy, they were trying to capture human specimens. Large cities were perfect for their purposes. The cities power plants were systematically targeted and destroyed. Within a night, the major cities were blacked-out. Within a week, the rest of the nation.
But Gotham had been through something like it before, just after the quake that those old enough to remember still called 'the Cataclysm'. During the invasion, when the power went out, the city reverted back to its old gas-power system for basic things like street lights (then called 'emergency lights', now called 'running lights').
After the invasion, the people of Gotham built a new power plant over one of the rivers cutting through the island. But it was just one and could not supply the whole city with power (even as small as it had shrunk to). That power plant was devoted almost completely to the Robinson Park farmlands, supplying it with synthetic sunlight to grow the crops.
The Nest, of course, also had its own power supply. But only a small chosen few were privy to its secrets. Luckily for the Demon, prior to his exile, he was one of those chosen few.
It was laid down by his father, the original Batman, long before the invasion, back when the League and the Team thought their biggest problems were the Light and the Kroloteans. The Demon was to young to remember that. But the power source was one of the main reasons why Grayson moved the bat-clan's base to the old Wayne Tower after the mansion's destruction.
It was to the Nest that he was headed, and through a maintenance tunnel that serviced generator that he planned to get in.
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tick-tock
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The Commander stood on the roof of the old Wayne Tower building, the one Dick had claimed for the bat-clan and converted into the Robin's Nest –now just called the Nest. He watched the figure clad in blue and red coast through the skies on an exit course out of the city. It was a kindness, he decided, for the Superman not to go strait to super-speed while still inside the city. Loud sonic booms tended to startle people into diving for their shelters or grabbing for their guns. The Commander liked to avoid that sort of thing on a daily basis and it was nice of the Man of Tomorrow to regulate his speed within the city limits.
Pulling his gun from its holster, the Commander trained the barrel on the Superman's blue-clad kidney and squeezed the trigger.
Two seconds later the figure in blue and red had vanished from his place in the sky and was instead hovering right in front of the Commander. He held out his hand and dropped a crushed lead bullet at the man's black-booted feet.
"Its lead and copper." He said. "Not kryptonite. So, I'm assuming your intention was not to kill me."
The Commander gazed up at his former friend, the Man of Tomorrow, the Superman, formerly the Boy of Steel, the Superboy, Conner Kent, Kon-El, clone boy… There was so much the Commander wanted to say to him, but suddenly, he found that words had failed him. Looking up at Superman hovering there, all that escaped his lips was, "If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead. Not hovering here making assumptions."
The muscles of Superman's face twitched asymmetrically. It was one of the (rather obvious) tells he had developed back when the Commander was still a Robin and trying to teach the Superboy how to keep a blank face. But the Commander didn't need the tell to know that, that was the wrong thing to say.
"What do you want… Commander?" Said the Superman with icy civility.
"Superman, I…" 'I don't know what to say.' "I'm sending them home tonight. You and me –the younger you and me."
"I know." Growled the Superman. "I was there."
There was a beat of silence in which both men did nothing but stare at each other. Yes, Kon had been there when they were sent back. But he hadn't been there a few minuets before. When it was just him, himself and his grim reaper.
The slash was across the chest. Deep. Lungs perforated. Unable to speak. He remembered himself clutching at Superman's blue suit. Grabbing for that black and red S-shield. Blood spurted from between his lips with the effort to speak, but no words came.
There was so much he wanted to say.
After the extended silence dragged on long enough, the Superman turned to leave.
"I forgive you!"
He froze. That bright red cape the only movement from the Superman. Then, slowly, very slowly, he turned. Face contorted in abject rage. Hands balled into fists at his sides. Arms trembling. His words were more like a snarl than actual speech when he said, "Oh, you forgive me!?" Eyes going red, a slight glow building in their centers, he drifted onto the roof and planted his feet firmly in front of the Commander. "You forgive me. You are the one who should be asking for my forgiveness. Not the other way around!"
Most people, when faced with that glowing red stare and the implied threat of a fiery death that came along with it, would pee their pants. Or at the very least take a step back. But not the Commander. He already knew Superman wasn't going to kill him. But even if he didn't, he had seen that stare to many times, directed at different people over the years, to find it intimidating. He stood his ground and met the Superman's burning eyes, not giving an inch.
"You have no idea." Continued the demi-kryptonian. "You have no idea what its like to die, but not stay dead. To claw your way through an afterlife even the most imaginative, schizophrenic, acid-dropping, mental patient couldn't envision; to fight your way back to life, then, when you finally do come back… you find out that you've been replaced. That you, you're life and everything you thought mattered to the people around you was as disposable as an old pair of shoes."
"It wasn't like that!" The Commander insisted. "I wasn't replacing you. You don't understand. You never listen."
That fuming red glow did not fade from his eyes, but he threw his arms up as if in exasperation. "I'm here now, Commander, I'm listening. Make me understand."
The Commander's throat instantly went dry. Words failed him.
"Well?" Prompted the Superman.
"I'm sorry." He finally whispered. "I'm sorry I surprised you like that. I was just so excited that you were back. I didn't think you'd react that way. I… I thought you'd be happy."
"Happy!?" The demi-kryptonian snarled.
"I never told you, because you never listen, but that clone… He wasn't a clone of you."
That red glow intensified slightly. "You expect me to swallow that crap? It looked exactly like me."
"He was created from your DNA, but he wasn't a clone, Ko- Superman." The Commander stopped himself before the name he hadn't spoken aloud in years escaped his lips. "Its true, I was trying to clone you. You had been dead for months; I thought you weren't coming back ever. But I couldn't clone you. The kryptonian genotype was too complicated. I had to splice in some human DNA, just like Cadmus had to do when they created you. Yes, you were his genetic-parent, but he wasn't your clone. At least, not just yours."
Superman was silent.
He stood there, starring at him.
"Aren't you gonna ask who the other donor was?"
Still, the Superman said nothing.
"Kon, it was me." The Commander finally told him. "I was the other donor. That clone, our clone. I made him from the combined samples of your DNA and mine. Genetically speaking, he's not your clone. He's our ch-"
"NO!" Superman all but shouted. "No! Do not say that. Do not tell me that! That is not true! That cannot be true! Don't tell me that I- that I… You don't get to do that!"
He rose into the air. Glowing eyes releasing almost-bursts of flame from the corners.
"Kon, please! I-"
"NO! You don't get to do that! You can't spurn my… you don't get to spur me, then turn around and do that! Damn it, Tim! You're really fucked up! Do you know that! 'Just friends'! That was the agreement! You and I would stay just friends. That was what you asked for. That was what you wanted. You don't get to change your mind!"
Silence followed in the wake of the Superman's words. Ash floated down around them, barely touched by the near non-existent breeze. It was all the Commander could do to stare up at his former friend. Finally, the Commander lowered his eyes.
"I'm sorry, Kon." He informed his feet. "But… I've forgiven you for killing our clone. It took me sixteen years, but I forgive you. It… it would be nice if you could forgive me too."
He looked up.
But the Superman had gone.
"I want you to forgive me, before I die." Tim Drake informed the empty air.
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tick-tock
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The maintenance tunnel was dark. No one ever came down this way unless they were servicing the Wayne Tower generator, and so to conserve energy, the power was cut from the tunnel most of the time. The Demon lead Impulse through the dim corridor by light of an old Colman propane lantern. Truth be told, the Demon didn't need the young speedster's help anymore now that he'd reached the city and almost inside the tower. But at the same time, he didn't want the impulsive little brat running loose and blowing his cover before he was ready. It was best to keep Allen close where the Demon could better moderate his behavior.
There were three access doors that had to be unlocked. Each had a separate code, but none of them had been changed since the time of the original Batman and the Demon knew them all. The doors opened without hassle and the pair slipped through silent and unseen.
It wasn't until they were climbing up from the tower's basement that they encountered their first incident. They weren't soldiers or even guards, just volunteers from the permanent MASH camp in the lobby of Wayne Tower. They had come to get something from the basement storage and quite literally ran smack into Impulse and the Demon.
The Demon reacted instantly, not giving the pair the chance to sound an alarm. Silencing one and disabling the other. He left them both alive, but unconscious, gagged and restrained.
They climbed up the service stair for almost twelve floors without further incident.
On the switchback between floors eleven and twelve they froze in their steps at the sound of someone else coming down the stairs. Light on their feet, and at a leisurely pace. Whoever it was wasn't in a hurry and probably not expecting to find intruders in the stairwell. The Demon pressed Impulse against the wall and drew his sword, continuing to climb the stairs slowly, one at a time, barely making a sound.
But as he came around the switchback, the Demon froze.
"Dami-!?" She blinked.
"Shit! Its Nightstar!" Impulse exclaimed.
"Beloved." The Demon sheathed his sword with a sigh of relief.
"'Beloved'?" Impulse blinked in confusion, glancing from one to the other, not understanding what he'd just heard at all.
Nightstar closed the distance between them, grabbed the Demon by the shoulders and mashed her lips against his. It was all Bart could do not to let his mouth hit the ground when he heard the Demon moan, actually moan, into Nightstar's kiss. Then they broke apart and were suddenly all business as if it had never even happened.
"You're early." She said. "The plan wasn't for until another month from now."
"Circumstances have forced me to alter the plan." Replied the Demon.
Her eyes traveled from the Demon to Impulse. "Don't tell me he's your only back-up." She said. "When are the rest of the New Shadows supposed to arrive?"
"As soon as it takes them to travel from DC to here."
Nightstar pursed her lips tensely. "So its just you, then." There was the beat of a pause, and then, "Damian, Uncle's been acting weird since yesterday. Almost like… I don't know how to describe it, but I just want to know, are you… do you plan on… killing him?"
The Demon gave her dismayed frown. "Beloved, you're not a simpleton. You know how these things work."
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"Your ears are to long and you're missing the cape. Seriously, what kind of Batman doesn't have a cape?"
Terry grit his teeth and tried to ignore Superman's red-clad friend whom called himself the Scarlet Pimpernel. It was a little weird, Terry was sure he'd seen a copy of a book by that same title on the Commander's bookshelf once. He supposed it could be a coincidence; it was silly to assume the Commander owned the only copy left in the world. But at the same time, so few books actually survived the civil wars that followed in the wake of the invasion that it wasn't very likely to find two people who've read the same book.
The batmobile pulled into the Nest hangar. Terry could not pop the hatch soon enough and get the pair out of his uncomfortably cramped cockpit. The batmobile had not been designed with passengers in mind.
But, he still had to follow the appropriate safety protocols for all new people admitted into the Nest. That meant stripping them of all weapons and equipment until such time as the Commander decided they were safe. Terry expected them to put up a fight. Most costumes, when faced with being stripped of their weapons, became irate, even hostile. But the Scarlet Pimpernel just sighed with exasperation, as if he were very familiar with this sort of treatment.
Even curiouser was when the young Batman took the Pimpernel's belt it looked to be the same vintage style utility belt the Commander preferred to wear. Except this one was in much newer condition. It showed less wear and tear, less discoloring, less patching and repair –just all around looked newer. Terry found himself suppressing the urge to open the pouches and look through it to see what his equipment looked like. But that wasn't his job. That was a task the Commander preferred to do himself. Most curious of all, was that the Scarlet Pimpernel also carried a collapsible bo-staff –again, just like the one the Commander carried.
Hm… and this kid had arrived with Superman, the Commander's former best friend. A theory was forming in the young Batman's mind.
Illegitimate love-child maybe? The Commander's son. But with whom?
He deposited the Scarlet Pimpernel's belt and Skywalker's 'lightsaber' in a titanium lock box and carried it under his arm as he led them from the hangar into the base.
The Commander was just coming down from the roof when they entered the main monitor chamber. He paused when he saw them. Forcing his eyes to skip over the Superboy whom looked so much like his present-time's Superman (or would it be more accurate to say that Superman looked like him?), and focused his attention on his younger self. He remembered that Halloween costume. His stepmother helped him sew it. It was based off the book rather than any of the movies with a few contemporary hero elements thrown in for flavor.
He still had his original copy of The Scarlet Pimpernel. It had survived the destruction of Wayne manor only by the grace that he'd been reading it at the Team's Tower and accidentally left it there. When Dick moved the bat-clan family seat to Wayne Tower, he retrieved the book and brought it home. With no more television, internet, or very many entertainment options in general, it became the only non-Red Robin related thing he ever read. But he never really read it as completely as he used to. The Commander would always skip over the parts that described Sir Percy's exotic costumes because they reminded him of his own costume. The same thing he was wearing the night he witnessed his own death.
The Commander looked at his younger self and dreaded the fact that he would soon be traumatized in a way that couldn't really be fully understood or treated.
His eyes drifted to Terry and the lock box containing his belt the boy carried under his arm. The Commander finished his decent and walked right up to the junior Dark Knight. "Thank you, Batman, I'll take that. Go refuel the Batmobile. I'll need you to take them to Rip Hunter's workshop once I'm done debriefing them."
The Batman absentmindedly handed the box off to his Commander while starring at him as if he didn't understand. "Did you… did you just say 'thank you'!? Old man, are you alright?"
"Get out!" Snarled the Commander.
The Batman retreated back into the hangar.
The Commander slumped down in a chair. He pulled the titanium box onto his lap and unlocked it. Flipping it open, he pulled out his younger self's utility belt and tossed it to him. "Here."
Tim just caught it and refastened the belt about his waist without even thinking about what he was doing. The young Boy Wonder was so busy starring at the Commander. All this time he had thought that it would be Bruce or Dick, but the tired looking man sitting in front of him was neither. He wore a variation of the batsuit. Cap and cowl, leather and kevlar, all black. But he was to young to be Bruce Wayne. Bruce would be in his late seventies by now. This man couldn't be older than his mid-fifties. But he wasn't Dick either, the chin and nose were all wrong.
As if guessing his thoughts, the Commander flashed him an ironic smile. "Come now, Tim, its simple process of elimination. It can't be that hard to figure out who I am."
"Huh?" The Superboy blinked, looking from one to the other as if he'd somehow missed half a conversation.
Behind his Scarlet Pimpernel mask, Tim's eyes went wide. "You're me!"
The Commander nodded. He reached his hands up, hooking his thumbs beneath the cowl, he pulled the mask back from his face to reveal tired old eyes, set in a battle hardened and scared face that sported more frown-lines than Tim felt it should. The eyes were still a vivid cobalt, however, and they fixed the younger Robin with a solid and critical stare.
"I'm you." He confirmed.
Then his gaze shifted to the Superboy. The change in expression when he looked at the demi-kryptonian was subtle. A slight down-turn of the corners of the mouth, a small shift in the angle of his eyebrows. If Kon didn't already know what to look for, he wouldn't have seen it. But he did know, his older self told him what he'd done –what both of them had done- to end their friendship. He saw how it affected his future counterpart, now looking at the older Tim, he saw how it affected him too. While Superman was jaded, bitter and angry –all burnt-up and slightly hollow on the inside- the Commander was tired and frail, having internalized all his feelings and slowly being crushed under their weight.
"It's been a long time, Kon." He said.
The Superboy had no idea what to say to that. He knew what happened between himself and Tim but didn't have any idea how he should respond. He wasn't his future-self and he was pretty sure future-Tim knew that, but he didn't know what future-Tim wanted from him.
It wasn't Tim's fault. Not entirely. Future-Kon was responsible for his own actions. But because it was Tim, he wouldn't see it that way. Well, he would see it that way academically but not emotioanlly. Academically, he would understand that future-Kon's reaction wasn't his fault. He wasn't to blame. He didn't force future-Kon to commit murder. But because it was Tim and because Tim always experienced things in two ways, academically and emotionally, he wouldn't be able to fully accept that. He would internalize the issue. Take all future-Kon's blame and anger and turn it back on himself, because that's just what Tim did.
The Superboy wanted to make it better. But he had no idea what to do or say.
"I…" He began, unsure. "Tim, we promised we'd always have each other's backs. So, you should know, even if I'm mad at you… I've got your back. Okay?"
Kon had no idea if that was the right thing to say or not. But it didn't exactly seem like the wrong thing. At least, future-Tim didn't become pissy and blow-up at him. But then again, Tim never really was the type to have big emotional blow-outs. He was more of the type that would sit and scheme and plan payback, rather than give into a big melodramatic episode. Melodramatic episodes were more Kon's thing then they were Tim's.
The Commander gave a forlorn smile. Running gloved hands through stringy gray hair, he said, "It would be nice if you did."
He swiveled his chair around to pull open a drawer just below the main console's tabletop. From this drawer, he withdrew what looked like a journal bound in blue leather. The Commander stood and crossed the room, placing a commanding hand on his younger self's shoulder.
"I need to speak to you privately."
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The service stair let out into the hangar.
The Demon was not expecting to find anyone there. Mar'i hadn't told him the Bat-Fake would be working on the batmobile. The vehicle wasn't even supposed to be used within the city. It was a waste a fuel they couldn't afford. That had been Dick's rule and both Damian and the Usurper continued to follow it after his passing. The batmobile was reserved for long-distance recon and territory boarder patrol. Not patrol within the city. But there was the Bat-Fake, refilling the ethanol tanks and making sure the anti-grav treads were calibrated for city use.
The Demon stepped out from the stairwell. Drawing his sword silently.
He crept softly up behind the Bat-Fake.
But the young Batman was also a son of Bruce Wayne, though he did not know it, and like his genetic-parent was simultaneously blessed and cursed with an over-awareness of his surroundings. He did not have the enhanced senses of a kryptonian. The young Batman could not hear either his heartbeat or his breathing, nor the near silent step of padded boots on the floor. It could have been a shift in the air or the creak of the stairwell door, but it was none of these things either. It was just a prickling on the back of his neck, as of a nameless faceless danger.
The Bat-Fake did not turn to look at the Demon. He simply leaned to the side just as the sword stroke fell and then rolled under the batmobile. Out of the immediate danger, he took a moment to demand, "How did you get in here!?"
"It wasn't that hard."
The Demon jumped up onto the batmobile then down on the opposite side. He slashed again at the Bat-Fake but nettlesome little brat just rolled back under the hovercar. The Demon grit his teeth in annoyance and bit back the urge to swear in Arabic.
"Damian, stop! Don't hurt him." Mar'i appeared in the hangar. Impulse was out of sight. The little speedster probably zoomed off the moment Demon was distracted by the Bat-Fake. He wouldn't see him again until the brat got hungry.
"Stay out of this!" The Demon snarled at her. "That cowl should be mine!"
Out from under the Batmobile, the young Batman sent a batarang sailing low over the ground, aimed at the Demon's feet. Distracted by Nightstar, it caught him in the armored ankle of his book. Thrown off balance, the Demon fell to his knees. The Batman rolled out from under the Batmobile, ready to take the fight head-on.
He pounced on the Demon. But the exiled prince leaned backwards, placing his uninjured foot to the Bat-Fake's abdominal, the Demon used the boy's own momentum to propel him safely over his head.
Terry clattered to the floor, open and exposed. He scrambled to reclaim a standing position and defend himself, but the Demon was on him faster than he could move. The Batman suddenly found himself pined to the floor, the Demon on top of him, holding him down. One hand pried the mask form his face while the other closed around his throat.
"The Batman mantle is mine!" The Demon snarled.
"Nightstar…" Terry croaked, blue eyes starring wildly. "Mar'i, help!"
"Damian, don't kill him!" Mar'i insisted.
"Stay out of this, Beloved."
"He's your brother!"
Both men froze. The hand around Terry's throat slackening. Both men stared at her in disbelieving confusion. "What?" Both men choired in perfect unison. "No he's not."
"Father disappeared and mother passed away before this dreg was even born."
"Warren McGinnis is my father, and I'm pretty sure my mother never would have given birth to this dreg!"
Mar'i sighed with relief. They were focusing on her, not trying to kill each other. That was good. She took a deep breath, not sure if she was the right person to explain. "Terry's a partial clone. Cadmus used some of Gramps' DNA that they had on ice to try and manufacture a new Batman. But after Cadmus was destroyed their project went unfinished. Uncle found out about it when he was going through the old files they managed to salvage. I'm sorry, Terry. You weren't supposed to know. Damian, please, don't hurt him. He's not your enemy, he just wants what's best for Gotham."
The two men glanced from her back to each other.
"I can't deal with this right now." So, the Demon knocked him out. He didn't kill the Bat-Fake, just made sure he'd stay out of the way until he was done with the Usurper and could put aside some time for good and proper explanations and a well-deserved freak-out. "Mar'i, you're in charge of him until I'm done with Drake."
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With the his future self's strong hand on his shoulder, Tim was lead out of the main monitor chamber into a side room just off the corridor from the hangar. The little Robin was shoved inside and the Commander shut the door behind them. He turned to his younger counterpart and practically shoved his blue book into the boy's hands.
"Take this." He ordered, as if in a hurry.
"What is-"
"Spoilers." The Commander replied. He had one hand to the door as if expecting any moment for someone or something to barge through it. "All the spoilers you'll need between November of 2016 and this moment."
Tim stared at him as if he'd suddenly grown a second head, or if he were insane. "Are you sure it's a good idea to give me this?" he asked. "You do still remember all the Greek mythology I read in school, right?"
"If you're referring to the self-fulfilling prophesies of Delphi and how by trying to avoid their futures, people only end-up causing them, yes I remember. But that's not what this is. That, that you hold in your hands, is hope that this future won't happen."
Tim looked back down at the book in his hands. Blue, like the Blue Lantern Corps. The power ring of hope. Hope was blue. And it was blue like the TARDIS from Doctor Who. Blue like River Song's book of spoilers. His own book of spoilers.
"Look, we can debate this all day. But I don't have that time." The Commander bent down to be on eye-level with his younger counterpart. "Read it if you want to read it. Don't read it if you don't want to read it. I know how powerful the information in that book will be and I know how dangerous power is. Just keep it for now."
Against his better judgment, Tim found a space for the journal on his belt.
"Good man." His future counterpart nodded. "Now listen, because this is very important. Hell Spores. They're what make the fire pits. But they're also what you need to use to destroy Apokolips and save Earth. Use their own technology against them. Do you understand? Hell Spores! Don't forget!"
It was all Tim could do to nod along. "Hell spores. Okay. Apokoliptan technology. Save Earth. Got it."
The Commander sighed, his shoulders sagging. "Good. Everything else I've written in the book. But whether you read it or not, you have to know how to beat Apokolips or else no one will live to see even this bleak present. Hell Spores. Remember that."
"I'll remember." Tim promised himself.
"Okay, now listen. The last thing you need to know is about Kon." He paused, gathering his words and unsure of what exactly to say. "One of these days, Kon is going to-"
Whatever he was going to say was cut off sharply and suddenly by the door behind him suddenly bursting open. It caught the Commander in the back, knocking the wind out of him. The old man stumbled forward, caught himself quickly, and turned to face the intruder. He shoved the younger, time-displaced Robin behind him as he drew a gun from his belt.
A glock-pisotl. What the hell was his future self doing with a glock-pistol!? Forget that. What was his future counterpart doing with any gun at all!? Bruce hated guns. It was a gun that killed his parents and so the Batman never used guns. The bat-clan did not use guns!
The glock fired impotently into the ceiling as the man entering the room ducked low and rushed forward to tackle the Commander. It was then that Tim recognized the intruder as the Demon that he'd met in the League of New Shadows camp.
"Drake!" He snarled, knocking the gun from the older man's hand. He kicked the Commander back a few paces and drew his sword, holding it at the man's throat. "I hope you've washed your neck because I've come for your head."
From the street below, dim light bled through the open window giving the blade an almost silver sheen.
The Commander did not seem the least bit bothered by the razor sharp blade pointed almost bulls eye on his Adam's apple. "I was hoping you'd give me a bit more time." He confessed. "At the very least, could you wait until he leaves?" The Commander nodded to his younger counterpart. "Children shouldn't have to see what we're about to do."
The Demon shifted his gaze just enough to see Tim crouching behind his future counterpart, one hand already in his belt, searching for a weapon. His attention was distracted for a moment, only a moment, but it was all the Commander needed to draw his bo-staff and knock the Demon's sword away. The staff was a blunt weapon and would deal a great deal of pain, but not cause much damage, however, it was longer than the sword and kept the Commander's enemy at a semi-safe distance.
"I should have killed you back when we were children, Drake!" The Demon practically spat at him. "I might be better off killing your younger self now and saving me the trouble later on."
Robin drew his own bo-staff at the threat, ready to defend himself. But the Demon made no move towards him. His focus remained fixed on the Commander.
"Tim!" Shouted his future self. "Get out of here. Don't look back, don't watch. Just go! There's a time machine in the old Gotham Gazette building. Have Kon fly you both there and go home!"
The Robin registered the information and stored it in his mind. But he did not leave the room. If his older self had been preparing for this event for the past forty years, then a few more minuets wouldn't matter. He would help himself defeat the Demon, then go home. What did a few minuets matter when you could travel through time anyway?
The room was dim. Lit only by the gas street lights from the city below the tower and a few lamps from the building facing the window. The dim light turned the steel and carbon-fiber of their weapons a ghostly shade of silver and Tim was reminded of so many of his night missions with Bruce and Dick, or even some of his solitary patrols. He was going up against an enemy of unknown skill, in a dark and enclosed space. So many of his missions seemed to end in a dark warehouse in the Narrows or by the shipping docks. Already, Tim felt like he was back at home in his proper time. The man in front of him wasn't his future-self but Bruce in a different costume.
The Demon lunged forward with his sword.
But the Commander blocked the blow with his staff.
Tim came around him and got a good hit to the Demon's kidney.
The Demon snarled in pain and retreated a few steps, swearing in Arabic. Tim noted the language and filed it in the back of his mind to help him deduct the villain's identity when he returned to his own time. The Demon was injured and had given ground, but the Commander wasn't pressing the advantage. Why wasn't he pressing his advantage. Bruce would not have hesitated! Instead, he tried to reason with the man.
"We don't have to do this!" Said the Commander. "Dick wouldn't want this."
"Grayson is gone, Drake!" The Demon snarled back. "What he would have wanted is immaterial! You took my birthright from me! For that, I'll kill you!"
Tim paused a moment to analyze that exchange of dialogue. The Demon knew Dick as Dick, not a Robin or Nightwing and it was already well established that he knew Tim as both Tim Drake and the Commander. But the interesting thing was that 'birthright' comment. Was the Demon Dick's son? Oh shit! Dick was gonna be a baby-daddy! Who was the mother? Maybe Zatanna? No. Can't think about that right now. There will be plenty of time to posit scenarios once he was safely back in his own time. Right now he had to keep his head in the game. There was a battle going on.
At first, Tim only saw it out the corner of his eye. A flash of silvered steel in the dim light, accompanied by the SHEEING of a sharpened blade slicing through air.
He turned to look and horror filled him.
There was a splash of blood. Then his older self was falling backwards. Fresh blood flowed form an open well on his chest where the sword had cut him.
Tim was struck speechless. The only sound he could make was a muted croak of disbelief. He hadn't been paying attention. This is what he gets for not paying attention. He could have done something to save himself if he weren't so focused on deducing the Demon's identity.
There was the sound of breaking glass and a rush of air as something else entered the room. Something fast. No. Someone fast.
The Commander fell backwards, but before he could hit the floor, was caught in the blue spandex clad arms of Kon. Future-Kon, that is. Superman.
"Tim!" He shouted. "I don't forgive you, but I've got your back!"
The younger Tim stared at them. It was his front that needed protecting, you idiot! He wasn't aware that he'd spoken aloud. Shouted, actually. But then the Superman looked up at him.
"Tim…" He said, crystal-blue eyes shining in the darkness. Then he turned back to the Commander bleeding in his arms. "My god! You knew this would happen!"
.
tick-tock
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(A/N: Drama still going on, but writing is helping me relax. Still think the quality is lower than it should be. But I hope you enjoy. )