"I have given my word that only death will take me from you."
~Philippa Gregory
Chapter Ten
Jason really needed to get out and take a break. His trigger finger was itching to go and there were no criminals out on the street that he could aim for. He half-hoped that there would be a breakout from Arkham or something similar, so for just a few minutes he could take his mind off of his younger brothers.
He landed a punch to some poor mugger's nose. He felt the nose break and blood came rushing down. He felt some satisfaction as the man was knocked unconscious, but the violence didn't solve his question.
Why did he feel so damn worried?
The obvious answer would be that they were his little brothers and little brothers needed to be protected. Of course he knew that they would protest, citing the fact that they were indeed Robin and Red Robin as reasons why they didn't need protection. But that was stupid. Damian was still killed.
He kicked the mugger in the stomach and left him in the alleyway.
The sun was setting and Jason pulled his hat down lower over his eyes. He shuffled further down the street. He really needed to find a constructive means of taking out his frustrations. More so than beating up criminals that were on the street. He could hear someone in the back of his mind telling him to talk to someone.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked at a can in the middle of the street.
Like he really had anyone to talk to. There was Starfire and Roy, but they were off doing their own thing at the moment, and he really couldn't talk to them about this whole issue anyway. Bruce forbade it.
So he continued walking. There was no direction to where he was going. Occasionally he would find someone on the street that needed a beating, and he would hand it out, but he still walked. Soon he found himself on the street of the police station.
What the hell? He thought to himself.
He placed his domino over his eyes and shot a grappling hook up. He flew across the roofs of buildings until he landed next the bat signal. He didn't expect anyone to be up there, and was surprised when he saw Commissioner Gordon on the roof.
"Is there anything I can help with Commish?" He asked.
"God Almighty! You lot are going to give me a heart attack one day." Gordon said turning around.
Jason shrugged.
"It's Red Hood, right?" Jason raised an eyebrow. "What, your face is usually covered by a red hood. It could've been anyone," Gordon said in his defense.
Jason bit his tongue. This was a stupid idea. He should just go. He turned to leave when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"I know that this isn't my place to say, but do you need someone to talk too? I know that Robin was killed a few weeks ago, and I assume that he was related to you, a brother?"
"Something like that," Jason mumbled.
"Do you want to talk? I know that you have Nightwing, and Bats, and Red Robin, but maybe you would want to talk to someone outside the family?" Gordon dropped his hand from his shoulder. "How close were you to him?"
Jason continued to face away from the commissioner. Did he really want to talk? That's probably what his family would want him to do. But did he want to?
"I barely knew the kid actually. Nightwing was probably the one that was closest to him, and the kid hated Red's guts. But I have no idea how he'll feel once they get back."
"What?" Gordon interrupted.
Well, shit, Jason thought to himself.
"Wait, Red Robin is going to bring your dead brother back? Is that even possible?"
Shit, shit, shit. Bat's is gonna kill me.
Jason turned back to face the white-haired man. Whatever he was expecting to find on his face when he turned around, wasn't there. He saw understanding instead of horror.
"What the hell's that look for?" Jason asked.
"You're family care very much for each other. That's very clear. You would do anything to keep each other safe. It's what any family would do." Gordon sat on the edge of the building.
Jason sighed. "But what if your best isn't good enough? What if you still can't protect them even when you've given your all?"
Gordon stood from his spot on the roof and walked over to Red Hood, and wrapped his arms around the taller man.
What the fuck is this? Jason thought. What is with all the people today giving me their damn hugs? Two months he wanted to throw me in Arkham, now he's giving me a hug. I will never understand people.
But Jason had to admit that the contact felt nice. For once. It wasn't an overwhelmingly tight embrace like Dick was known for, or the professional hand on the shoulder Bruce gave out rarely. It was only a moment before Jason grabbed Gordon's hands and pulled out of his embrace.
Jason held up a finger and started to back away from the Commissioner. This encounter didn't really help at all. Now he really needed to beat someone up. He shot off a grappling hook and swung away from sight.
"Good luck Jason," the commissioner murmured before going back inside.
Damian would deny from the moment that someone opened their mouths that he screamed at the sight of Drake's motorcycle flying through the air. But he did. He was so distracted by the sight that he lost balance to his own vehicle and landed on his leg. Damian could feel something give in his knee, but he could care less.
He pushed the bike off of him and limped, really over to the wreckage of Drake's bike. Fire was burning and smoke was filling the air. Damian coughed.
"Drake?" He called. Where was the idiot? He couldn't have gotten far, not with the amount of air that he had caught.
He limped closer to the wreckage. Just faintly through the flames and smoke, he could see a figure underneath the burning bike. Damian raced as fast as he could to the sight. The heat was intense. The fire was still not close enough to burn Damian or Tim, but it was coming closer. Damian tried pulling Drake's body out from under the wreck, but a pained groan escaped from Drake. The damn boy's legs were pinned under the bike.
Using all the strength that he had, Damian pushed the bike off of Drake and dragged him away from the burning husk. Drake weighed lighter than Damian would have guessed. He wasn't very large to begin with, but he must have been underfed. He pulled off Drake's helmet and tossed it to the side.
"Drake? Drake wake up!" Damian slapped Drake's cheek. There was no response.
"Drake! I demand you wake up! Dr-Tim!" Damian shouted shaking him.
Drake's eyes fluttered for a moment and he gazed up at Damian unfocused. Damian looked up and down his body for injuries. Both legs were broken, most likely crushed from the bike landing on them. His face was mostly undamaged; the helmet had done its job. A long cut ran along the hairline. There was road rash up and down his body. There was no telling how many internal injuries that Drake possessed.
"Damian?" He coughed. Blood speckled his lips. Internal bleeding. "What are you doing? Get outta here."
"What? I can-." Damian was a little taken aback.
"GO. The important thing is you. I-… never-… was."
His voice was weak, but was clear. His eyes weren't focused on anything, except maybe the stars that were beginning to peak out from the night sky. Tears slipped out of the corners of Tim's eyes. Damian doubted that Tim was aware of it.
Damian gently rested Tim's head on the ground and limped back to his own bike. He righted the vehicle and gave one look back to Drake lying on the ground. Something inside told him to go back. He climbed on and sped away.
I'll be back. I swear.
Talia allowed a small smile to grace her lips as she raised her binoculars to her eyes. There was one less variable to take care of. She refocused the lenses on the body lying on the ground. She had watched as other brother pulled him from the wreckage before speeding away, presumably at the insistence at the injured one.
Timothy. From the looks of that blood pool that was beginning to encircle around his body, it was likely that he wouldn't live very much longer.
Talia raised a walkie-talkie to her lips. "Squad Two, be prepared. Target One is approaching your destination. Engage when in range."
"Roger."
Talia handed the walkie-talkie off to one of her assistants in the area. She continued her gaze down at Drake, bleeding out on the road.
She snapped her fingers and an attendant stood at attention by her side.
"Remove anything that might possibly give the police any identification to who he is. We don't need to be breaking news, not that it would hinder our ability to get out of the country undetected. I'd be more concerned with the boy's father. Now go."
The assassin nodded once before taking off towards the road below.
"Ready my jet. We head back immediately."
"Yes, Princess."
With the boy eliminated from the equation, there would be no problem for her operative to retrieve Damian. The boy may put up a fight, but the odds were against him. He had injured himself when he tried to stop to pull out Drake. He had recently been raised from the pits and if her informant was correct, had eaten very little food in the past few days. He would be no issue to take down and return home with. Then he could begin the reconditioning process.
Tim knew he was dying. He could feel it. The puddle of blood was growing along the side of his body, warm to the touch. He didn't try to move to stop the bleeding. His ribs were broken and so were parts of his hip. If he lived, it was almost guaranteed that he would have to hang up the cape. But he wasn't going to live.
He didn't hear the footsteps. He didn't know that there was even someone near him until he felt hands digging through his pockets. His first instinct was to fight, but he couldn't move.
They were searching for identification. Tim only had his wallet on him. He had slipped the memory card into Damian's pocket while he wasn't paying attention. There were messages that needed to get to the right people and he trusted Damian to at least get the card to someone who would get them to the right people.
Those were words he didn't think he would ever think or say. He trusted Damian.
The presence reseeded and Tim was left alone again, without any identification for when the authorities would come and bring his dead ass to the morgue. He would have closed his eyes to wait, but they were already shut. Swelling. He thought. It was harder to think about anything now.
"Good-b-bye," he whispered to no one in particular. The last words no one would hear. To his friends, family, everyone.
Goodbye.
Damian was speeding. Not that they hadn't been when it was him and Drake. But he needed to get back to the house and grab someone so they could back and save Drake.
Not that it really mattered. It was to repay a debt is all. Drake returned him to this life; it was only just that he returned the favor. There was nothing more to it. And if there was, he would deny it vehemently.
The last few miles to get to the manor went along without anyone coming along and trying to blow him up as well. Until he got to the gates of the manor that is. No one tried to blow him up, but there was an unwelcome face standing there waiting for him.
The Heretic. His clone. His 'brother'.
Damian slowed his bike to a stop and stared at the clone. It was clear that he wasn't going to let Damian pass without a fight. Fine. Damian was itching to seriously maim something. Too bad he didn't have his katanas.
"Brother, how I looked forward to this encounter. Our last one ended much too quickly for my liking. Maybe this time you won't be so inept," It said.
Damian pulled his utility belt out from under Drake's shirt. Drake had given him clothes that would have fit him better, but he hadn't wanted his charity. He felt around on the vehicle. Drake would have hid some toys around on the vehicle all over. He didn't like to feel unprepared anywhere.
His hand bumped into something. He grabbed it.
"You're in my way," Damian growled.
The Heretic said nothing.
"Get out of my way, or I'll break you." Damian gripped the item in his hand tighter.
The Heretic made no indication that he was going to move.
"Very well, prepare yourself for death."
"No, we're not supposed to even be on this road! You were supposed to take a left on the interstate, not turn right into the middle of nowhere! Oaf!" His wife complained as he turned along the corners of the road.
He sighed. This happened every single time that they went on any type of road trip together. Kate was the ultimate backseat driver. You would think after twenty years of marriage, he would have gotten used to it.
"Is that smoke ahead?"
He was jerked out of his thoughts and looked out of the front window. Sure enough, there was black smoke billowing out from behind some of the trees ahead of them.
"What do you think happened?" Kate turned to him with a concern look on her face, every thought about going to wrong way escaped out of her mind.
"I'm not sure, but I think we'll find out."
They turned around one corner and there was the source of the smoke. A motorcycle was on fire.
"Oh my God." Kate said as her husband began to slow down.
"Call the police," he told his wife as the car stopped rolling and he leapt out to see if there was anyone hurt.
He couldn't get to close to the actual wreck, the heat was too great. There would be no rescue for anyone if they were trapped anywhere near there. He shielded his face and ran around to the other end of the wreck to see if someone had managed to crawl away.
"Oh god. KATE, call for an ambulance! NOW!" He shouted over the fire. He rushed to the poor soul's side. "Can you hear me son? Give me a sign that you understand me."
The kid didn't answer.
The kid's helmet was sitting the ground next to him and his forehead was bleeding badly. The kid's legs were broken and it was unlikely that he had dragged himself out from the wreckage. Someone must have been with him. But where were they now?
He pushed that question out of his head when he noticed that the kid wasn't breathing. He reached out and took a pulse. There was none.
"Dammit kid, you're too young to die."
His military training kicked in and bent down over the kid. He began to perform CPR. Compressions. Breathe. Compressions. Breathe.
"The police are on their way, an ambulance too. Why would –Oh my GOD!" Kate shouted as she came around to her husband. She started retching on the side of the road. She never could take the sight of blood well; even it was only a paper cut.
He continued to perform CPR until the ambulance and the police came and took over. He stood by his wife as he watched them load the kid into the ambulance. She was sobbing still, and he stood silently.
They still hadn't heard the kid's heart beat even after they used the paddles.
A/N: I realize that people might not be happy with the way I've lead this. It's all a part of the plan. Trust me. And I do personally think that Gordon would know about their secret identities, I mean c'mon, he's a detective. But he wouldn't tell anyone, cause he knows that they're good guys.