A/N: Welcome back to Who Are You Now! The story where even the author is unsure of what's going on till the end. Haha, just kidding (or am I?). Really though, thank you to all of you readers who are sticking with me on this. Hope you are all enjoying the ride!
As always special thanks to my reviewers Guest of Honor, Steelec1, SpeechlessMind, and dorkmaster42. Cookies for all of you!
Italics are either thoughts or the voices in Dick's head (which I guess could be classified as thoughts so...)
I do not own Young Justice, or it wouldn't have been cancelled or allowed to crossover with Teen Titans Go!
Who Are You Now - Chapter 2: Homecoming
Just as before, Bruce had to restrain the now sleeping Dick before placing him in the passenger seat of the Batmobile.
'What am I doing?' he thought as he drove away from Arkham, the possibility that Dick's sudden character change was just a ruse stayed firm in his mind. What was he thinking taking the boy out of Arkham? His earlier resolve on the subject was beginning to fade. Maybe it would be better if he...
No.
Stop thinking like that.
Bruce pulled the Batmobile over and leaned his seat back a bit. He pulled his cowl down to rub his temples. Letting out a slow, calming breath he turned his gaze back to the sleeping teen beside him.
Dick had gotten taller, about three or four inches, since he was fifteen. His shoulders had broadened a bit too, but his overall frame was still much too thin. Of course, he chuckled, with a cook like Alfred in the house...
Crap
How was he supposed to explain this to Alfred?
This whole business with Dick had hit the old butler the hardest. The old man had thought of the boy as his own grandson, this whole affair... had really crushed his spirit.
Several times Bruce had caught Alfred standing outside the closed door to Dick's former room, dust cloth in hand, as if debating whether or not to keep the room maintained.
Immediately following Renegade's admittance to Arkham, Bruce had searched Dick's room thoroughly. Going through every drawer, paper, and computer file hoping to find something to tell him the all the evidence he'd collected was wrong. He'd come up empty every time.
Well, not empty exactly.
He'd found countless small things, photos, notes that had made the whole situation even more difficult: his first Robin mask, a half-finnished love note to Zatanna, a picture of a thirteen year old Dick smiling at the camera along with a wincing Artemis?
One of the worst though had been a picture he found buried in an old notebook - a picture of Dick, taken back when he was nine, right before his first patrol. Bruce had stared at that photo for a long time wondering how such an innocent child could've changed so much. Finally, he placed the picture back in the notebook, and left the room.
Bruce was pulled out of his musings by a soft groan coming from his right. Shaking his head slightly to clear it. He worried Dick was waking up, but the teen simply shifted slightly before sinking back into the seat still asleep.
Still asleep, but not for much longer. Luckily they weren't far from the cave, about ten more minutes until he could... what?
He still didn't have the slightest idea what he was going to do with Dick when he reached the manor, or what he was going to tell Alfred, or-
Dick shifted again.
Okay, just get Dick to the cave, I can keep him in one of the cells until I figure out if he can be trusted.
It wasn't the greatest plan he could've thought of, but he didn't have much time to think of a better one.
Thankfully, Alfred wasn't waiting there waiting when Bruce pulled into the cave.
Bruce gently unstrapped Dick from the seat and carried him down to the lower levels of the cave. There he placed his still sleeping son on the simple bed installed in the small 10 x 10ft cell. Besides the bed, the cell held a small sink, toilet, table, and two chairs which were bolted to the ground.
The room wasn't much, and the father in Bruce absolutely detested keeping Dick in a cell, but their wasn't much else he could do until he knew for a fact Dick wasn't going to revert back to his previous... misdeeds.
Bruce shook his head, he'd zoned out enough for one day. For now he busied himself finding Dick a warmer blanket than the one already on the bed before climbing the steps out of the cave to the main part of the manor.
Listening closely outside the door to the kitchen, Bruce assumed Alfred had gone to bed. Good, he couldn't even begin to think about what he was going to tell his butler.
Head starting to ache, Bruce rummaged around in the refrigerator for something he could heat up. He eventually found a bowl of soup which he put in the microwave for a bit while he looked for something to supplement it. It took a bit of rummaging but he eventually found what he was looking for, a plate of Alfred's famous chocolate-chip cookies.
Just then the microwave hummed softly, so Bruce took two of the cookies and set them on a tray along with the soup and a glass of water for Dick, as well as a mug of coffee he desperately needed. Armed with the tray, Bruce descended back down to the cave.
(Dick's P.O.V)
Dick was just waking up when Bruce, who'd stopped by the main computer to pick up a file, walked back thorough the cell door.
"W-where am I?"
He looked around, confused as to why he wasn't in Arkham.
The last thing he remembered was some crazy dream about Batman coming to see- oh.
That would be Batman.
Sitting in a chair.
With food!
It's not real
And there were the voices again, they never did shut up for long.
Well real or not, Bruce was here, with food, and that was good enough for Dick.
Dick climbed out of the bed and joined Bruce at the table. Bruce pushed the tray toward Dick who didn't need any encouragement to start wolfing it down.
Didn't I read somewhere that you can't taste anything in a dream? Dick wondered.
However his empty stomach couldn't care less what he'd read and he found himself finishing the soup far faster than he would've liked.
Bruce hadn't said a word yet, just patiently watched him eat until he finished his soup.
Dick looked up, now that the soup was gone he suddenly realized just how strange this whole situation was.
Still unsure if he was dreaming or not he said the first thing that came to mind.
"Need something."
Bruce's eyebrows raised, but he pushed the plate of cookies toward Dick before placing a file on the table.
Now it was Dick's turn to raise his eyebrows, "umm what's that?" he asked before taking a bite of one of the proffered cookies only to widen his eyes in shock.
Alfred? Only one person makes cookies like these.
He's forgotten about you
For some reason he felt himself tear up slightly, he wasn't sure why and he blinked quickly to stop.
"Renegade"
Dick's head snapped up.
"Now that you're... settled, perhaps we can continue our earlier conversation?"
Kill him
Dick's forehead creased, "What earlier conversation?"
Bruce sighed and tapped the folder, "perhaps we should just start at the beginning."
He pulled out several pictures, each depicting a body, or what was left of one.
Dick's eyes widened, from what remained of their faces, each of the people had died in terror.
You enjoyed it.
Slowly, he started to flip through the photos looking for a pattern.
A young man in the traditional dark alleyway.
An older woman by the river.
A teen right in front of what seemed to be the boy's own apartment.
Another young man outside a gas station.
A pretty young girl by the bus station.
There were about thirteen victims in total, with no seeming relationship between them.
Different locations.
A middle-aged woman on a rooftop.
Different ages.
A old man in the park.
Different groups.
A couple of newly-weds by the shore of a lake.
No similarities... except one, how they died if the notes on the backs of the photos were to be believed.
Pre-mortem inflicted wounds: Various bruises and abrasions, exactly thirteen stab wounds (two to each arm, two to each leg, two to both sides of the ribcage with those on the left avoiding the heart, one to the stomach), bruising around the neck suggesting strangulation, lethal amounts of pancuronium bromide and potassium chloride in the bloodstream.
Post-mortem inflicted wounds: 3rd degree burns to the face, ending just above the strangulation marks.
Dick flipped through the last few photos each one more nauseating than the last.
A little girl in her back yard.
But the last one was most shocking.
A mother and a child, in the middle of Gotham City square.
The child couldn't be more than five years-old.
Beautiful
*plip*
A single tear hit the photo.
Dick looked up, confused as to who was crying. It took him a moment to realize it was him.
(Bruce's P.O.V)
Bruce knew he had to stop when the first tear hit the photo.
Reaching over the table, he gently pried it from Dick's shaking hand and placed it back onto the table. Looking back at the figure across from him he searched for something to say. He settled for the direct approach.
"Anything seem familiar?"
It took Dick a little while to meet his eyes, he held Bruce's gaze for a little while, before lowering his head back down.
"I don't know"
"That's not an answer"
"I know"
"Well?"
"What do you want me to say?" Dick finally raised his head again some of the life returning to his eyes.
"The truth would be nice," Bruce raised his voice a little, his headache had steadily grown from a dull ache to a harsh throb.
"That is the truth! I don't know!" Dick's anger finally got the best of him and he stood up quickly, only to sink back down again when his overtaxed body protested.
Bruce let out a deep breath to calm himself.
It didn't work.
"Renegade-
"Don't call me that."
Bruce raised an eyebrow.
"Renegade is what they called me, my name is Dick."
Bruce let out another deep breath, 'I need to end this soon,' he thought, 'neither of us are able to focus on this like we should.'
"Okay... Dick, tell me honestly that none of these photos seem even the least bit familiar."
Dick half-heartedly glanced over the photos again. His eyes came to rest on the last one, the one of the mother and child.
"That one," he tapped it with his index finger, "that's the one you had on the screen that night in the cave isn't it?"
"Yes," Bruce confirmed, "and the rest?"
"Shut up"
"What?"
"Not you" Dick mumbled, rubbing his temples. "Like I said I don't know." He squinted at the pictures. "They seem... hazy. Like a dream you just can't remember the details of. Or... or something..."
He was drifting off, Bruce wasn't going to get anything more out of him tonight.
"Alright, that's enough for now. Get some sleep."
Dick didn't need any encouragement. The boy's head lulled to the side and his breathing was starting to slow.
Bruce stood up and walked to the other side of the table. He reached for Dick's arm but pulled back when he flinched away.
Well what did I expect? he thought before pushing those thoughts away, they weren't going to help anyone.
Steeling himself, Bruce reached out and wrapped Dick's arm around his shoulders, pretending he didn't feel the second flinch. Then he put his other free hand around Dick's waist, then he proceeded to half-drag, half-carry the boy back to the bed.
He put Dick down gently before picking up the covers and proceeding to tuck them securely around the boy. For a moment he was struck with a sense of deja vu. Memories of tucking a young Robin into bed after long patrols flooded his mind.
He shook his head. This was nothing like that. This was Renegade not Robin. A killer, or a former one at least.
Still, it was hard to see the murderer in the sleeping face before him.
Before he realized what he was doing, Bruce ran a fond hand through Dick's tangled, raven hair, no flinch this time, and kissed the boy gently on the forehead.
"Goodnight Dick" he whispered, before turning to leave the cell.
On his way out he picked up the pictures on the table and carefully returned them to the file. His eyes lingered on the last one, the one that had caused such an emotional outburst from the former Robin. As much as he wanted to, he just wasn't ready to accept his answer just yet. Once he had believed in Dick's innocence more than anyone. The day he finally gave that up, was one of the hardest of his life. He looked back at the bruises around Dick's neck. If he accepted once again that Dick was innocent, then all the pain he had suffered, all the time they had lost, would be for nothing. And what's worse...
It would be all his fault.
But all the evidence, the tape, the confession! For heaven's sake Bruce had received a written confession from Dick less than a year after admitting him to Arkham. Commissioner Gordon called shortly after he found picture of Dick's first day as Robin. Batman had picked up the full written confession not an hour later, and had read it countless times since. It wasn't a forgery.
Bruce held the folder loosely in his hand as he walked back up to the computer console. On the screen were five images. Every detail matched the first five photos in the file: location, gender, cause of death. The only difference was that the first of these murders took place two weeks ago, instead of two years. Maybe-
Bruce's headache spiked again, interrupting his thoughts.
This will have to wait until morning, he thought looking a the clock.
3:43 AM
Tired and more confused than ever, Bruce quickly changed out of his suit, climbed the steps to Wayne Manor, went straight to bed, and promptly fell into a dreamless sleep.
Dick was not so fortunate...
(Dick's P.O.V)
Dick was alone
Cold.
Hungry.
He almost wished the collar would come on again, as it signaled that food was coming.
No one's coming
The voices.
His only companion, aside from psychiatrist Dr. Strange.
He'd been hearing them for as long as he could remember, which wasn't all that clear.
He remembered before he came to Arkham, although he tried not to think about it often, and most of his time in Arkham, though their wasn't much to remember there.
Renegade
But the biggest mystery in his life was that time right before Arkham. He had some vague memories - snippets of conversations, and the occasional image of a person's face - but for the most part, that part of his life was hazy.
He would have nightmares, but he rarely remembered those either. They were just faces, lots of different faces, and screaming.
The screaming never stopped. Sometimes it was other prisoners, sometimes it was the faces, and sometimes it was just him.
Dr. Strange told him it was normal. The memories, the voices, and the screaming were all normal for someone in his condition.
Kill him
His condition.
What a nice way of putting it.
Renegade
He was insane, and a murderer if the voices were to be believed.
The voices.
You killed them
The hunger.
You deserve this
The laughter.
You killed them
The screaming.
Murderer
The blood.
You killed them
The faces.
You enjoyed it
The lightning.
Renegade
NO!
Dick awoke with a start.
He wasn't in Arkham anymore, he was back in the Batcave.
Even after two years, the cave still felt familiar. The soft bat chirps and cool temperature helped to calm Dick's fevered mind.
He slowly untangled himself from the sheets and walked shakily over to the sink.
Bracing himself with both hands, he leaned over the basin taking deep breaths to slow his heart rate.
After a few minuets he turned on the sink and cupped his hands under the faucet. The cool water helped soothe his scratchy throat, and he splashed some onto his face to wash away some of the sweat.
You're weak
He was insane, he knew it, only insane people hear voices.
Better yet, only insane people believed them.
Dick slowly made his way back to the bed where he curled up, pressing his hands over his ears.
You're pathetic
"I know" Dick whispered.
And with that thought, he uncovered his ears...
and cried.
(Meanwhile across town)
A yellow clad figure stood on a rooftop of an apartment building staring down at the burning face of the woman before him.
The flames reflected eerily off of the red lightning bolt on his chest.
"Six down, seven to go."
Smiling the figure turned and began to make his way off the roof, but not before reaching down and plucking the woman's necklace from her neck.
"Souvenir"
A/N: Ah the great Batman, his only weaknesses being cooking and human interaction. Although in his defense, I think any parent left alone with their serial killer child would probably act a little strange, so we'll have to forgive Bruce.
This chapter was a monster to write. About halfway through it took off in a completely different direction than I originally intended. Then my computer crashed at about 2,000 words and I had to try to remember what I'd written before.
For those of you who don't know pancuronium bromide and potassium chloride are two of the three chemicals used in the standard lethal injection, PB causes muscle paralysis and respiratory arrest, and PC stops the heart. I intentionally left out Sodium thiopental because it causes unconsciousness.
Again thank you all soooooo much for reading, I hope you come back for the next chapter! For all those who review Dick saved you some of Alfred's cookies! How can you turn that down?
Until next time!