a/n: thanks to all who've been reading and commenting! For those who want to know, as this occurs way before Epilogue in JLU, Terry as no clue as to his real parentage. Bruce does though, by this point. But Bruce has also a very fierce (if often paranoid) protective streak over any who come under his wing. Comments and criticism once again welcome (:

Chapter 24:

Terry figured he was in a bit of a mess. His arms were locked, fists immobilised as he had been when dragged into an elevator, then chucked onto hard coldness, where the masked dreg was. Guan Gong, he said. Whatever. J-man had been right about them not being allowed to touch him, but he hadn't say anything about Terry not getting beaten up at all. Figured. He had felt like chattel, being shoved through corridors, onto floors, the like. The restraints weren't helping him think otherwise either. Nope. And the electric whips the Dee Dees carried were freaking him out, and he wasn't quite sure why. He'd been licked twice across the shoulder, and judging by what he was sure were burns further up his arms, they'd managed to wrap them round when he first made that stupid mistake.

He hoped Dana was safe. And the old man. Then as the blows came raining down along with commentary on 'the delightful satisfaction of fist against flesh' by the towering masked man, he hoped he'd be left with at least a few bones unbroken. Somewhere along it he remembered shouting something before being slugged indelicately in the face, after which he felt the burn of carpet fibres on the far end of what seemed to be an office, up on a raised dais. He thought he had heard Bruce's voice over a speaker, but could do nothing but groan. Then a heavy foot had come down on his solar plexus, and he heard the snapping of ribs. Another crushing force on his right leg, and he had felt something give way along with the agony. It was a precautionary measure, he realised then, to prevent him from running away, or doing anything.

"Like a lamb," the dreg had said with cruel mirth. "For slaughter."

Terry had spat blood at his feet, and he had laughed, then exited the room. Dehydrated, starved (really, crusts of cube rations stuffed into his mouth and downed with what tasted worse than cola subzero were not a meal), swaying in and out of consciousness, yeah, he was in a fix, he had thought then, before blacking out for what was one time too many in the last twenty four hours. Noises every now and then would cause him to stir, but by the time he came to fully, the sun was already going down. Low murmurings filtering past the door told him someone was on guard, somewhere, somehow, but that it seemed they didn't think it necessary to keep someone watching over him in the same room. The trickle of water he heard caused him to look blearily over to his left. Sure enough, a fountain near the side wall. Some feng shui thing.

He almost scrabbled to it and dunked his head in to drink. Emerging moments later, he felt the sting of cuts and bruises around his face. It was still difficult to breathe, to move, one leg now useless, yet still held by the restraints. Slaggit, he needed to sit up. He edged his way, movements slow and agonised now that his head felt clearer, till he reached the windows, and rested his forehead against it. After a few breaths, he lifted his head again. He could see the city stretching out before him from this vantage point. 'Must be pretty high up', he thought to himself. The business district too. No way this entire building was concealed… which meant whatever was stopping Bruce from finding him for this long must be located on his own person. He craned his neck around, in the hopes of spotting any device on his clothes. Nope. He stared out the windows again, catching his reflection in it.

If he could've slapped his forehead just then, if slapping his forehead wouldn't have involved sending black holes to invade his vision, he would have. Of course. The cuffs. High grade, that he knew from trying to get out of them (and failing), but they looked like one of the latest to enter the market, keyed to lock down even further if the electronics were busted as a precaution, requiring a manual key after. Bruce had showed it to him, and they'd used it on Savage after the last round. Hrm.

But if the camo device was embedded in it... it was worth a shot. It wasn't like he was able to get out on his own at this point, anyway. Electronics, electronics… water. Were the cuffs water proof? He supposed he would find out. Angling his way back to the fountain was another slow process, made slower by the fact that he was going as quietly as possible. Back against the running water, Terry squeezed his eyes shut, clamped his jaws as hard as he could, and plunged his arms into the waiting stream. It didn't take long before barbed pain shot up his arms and through him. He doubled over, pain in his ribs forgotten as this new pain swept over him, teeth about to break for being crushed so harshly against each other.

Then he was left gasping for air as the shocks worked their way out of him, eyes wide, face flushed and sweat pouring down his neck.

No, he didn't think the makers considered that anyone would be crazy enough to want to electrocute themselves when it made no difference to their chances of escaping. He only hoped that the camo components weren't waterproof. That'd be a laugh. Still panting, he made his way to the foot of the dais, if only to prop his head on the step as he thought. Thought.

Yes, McGinnis, not the cleverest, are we. The best bet would be to contact the Martian. But how was he meant to contact the telepath when he knew nothing about, had never met him, and had never established any sort of telepathic connection? Terry predicted a headache, then shut his eyes and concentrated as much as he could. How did one find a telepath… how did one…

Hello.

His eyes shot open, and saw standing in the middle of the room a girl with jet black hair, and wide, calm eyes.

Tamara?

Who else?

You've... grown. Tamara smiled shyly, then her features fell into concern as she looked at him. Terry nodded grimly. I need your help, Tamara.

She looked unsure, looking down and fiddling with her skirt.

Tamara…

Her head tilted up again. How can I help?

I need you to contact… this guy in China. A Telepath. At her further insecurity, he changed his mind. No, no, never mind that, I need you to contact Wayne. I need you to tell him where I am. Could you… d'you think you could do that for me?

If you provide a mental image of him, I could get to him, I could. And show him this place too.

Terry nodded, and smiled, and thought, and thought, and would've thought some more if he hadn't heard the sound of angry footfalls approaching the door. He shut his eyes, and feigned unconsciousness. I hope that's enough. You should go. Time to play possum for a bit, he thought to himself. After some delay, he pushed himself into a sitting position, and when the masked guy seemed content to watch him writhe in pain, shuffled his way back to the windows, cuffs out of sight. Didn't hurt to be careful, he figured, then wanted to laugh again. Sure. Sure, it didn't hurt. Nuh-uh. It hurt so very much, he was barely registering what he was saying to the dreg, concentrating on the image of Bruce as much as he could for Tamara to pick up.

"How very trite," said mystery man for the second time.

Terry managed a sneer. "Yeah, like you're the epitome of originality, mister," he wheezed out. Buy time. That's what he needed to do from now on. Just buy a bit more time.

"You know, Bruce, I don't get it."

Bruce tried to ignore Clark, but couldn't help saying, "It wouldn't be the first time your wonderful intelligence has failed you, Kent." Sarcasm was ever dependable. He jabbed ruthlessly at the keys on the controls, and waited while the computer printed out the schema and maps.

"See, that's just it. Why must you always be like this?" Clark said, still behind him. "Be this antagonistic?"

"Are you questioning me?" He turned away from the screen, raising his chin, eyes tightly concentrated on Clark Kent's own.

"Am I not allowed? Another thing in your list of things I don't have the right to do?"

"Guys…" Wally piped in, "This isn't really the right ti-" He was shifting anxiously from foot to foot.

"You could've jeopardised everything!" Bruce said, hurling rage at both the Speedster and the Kryptonian. Metas. Overgrown babies. Charging into things without consideration of the consequences. He paused, stared at the ground as he tried to stop his fists from trembling, flexing his fingers to get them back under control, willing his eyes to rid themselves of the rising desperation that had been scratching at his throat since the call from Guan Gong. "Need I remind you that you are the invulnerable one, not others," he ground out, voice still shaking.

"Bruce," Superman's voice was soft, understanding. Bruce would've wept in frustration from the sympathy the man seemed incapable of not giving out in unhealthy doses, or wreck the many training bots at his disposal, possibly both. He cringed at the sudden surge of weakness he felt run through him. "We'll get him, Bruce." Bruce turned away, seeking support from the back of the chair as he pressed the back of his head further into it.

"Kent," he said, loosening his grip on the stack of papers, now flipping through them by the light of the screen. "Your optimism is unnecessary."

Superman's mouth twitched in a ready response, but Diana quickly stepped between them, voice even, sure.

"This really isn't the right time for this," Diana said. Both men felt the onset of an impending migraine, but while Superman sighed, Bruce drew himself up further and nodded at Diana.

"She's right," he said, voice reverting to brusqueness. "Due to your blunder," here he looked at Superman again with narrowed eyes, "we have to speed up operations." He held up a hand, turning to the sheaf of papers that lay innocuously in the tray, reaching with the other hand to finger their edges before pulling them out. "I don't want to hear it, Clark."

"Batman." He turned from his gaze at the print outs to cast a perturbed brow and Superman, still there, still hovering, still frowning, but almost, just almost plaintive. It was incongruous, that such command of tone would retain gentle warmth, where his would be like gravel crushed into bone; that such strength could both intimidate and comfort, changing with ease at will, where he could only hope to torment. Now, that such surety could offer acquiescence, to him, a man, old and stooped over, was disturbing. And the Kryptonian did it constantly, constantly allowed himself to be directed by Batman, by… Bruce. He stood up, and stepped away from the chair, eyes still trained on Superman, and he offered the plans in his hand. Superman took them wordlessly.

He hoped by now that Barbara had briefed her men, dialling her off to the side, still keeping eye contact with Superman. "Sorry," he said, voice low, "we need to speed things." Clark nodded. He glanced momentarily down, then looked over at the trio in front of him now, addressing the last words to them too, "ten minutes." He clicked off the connection, then wandered to another section of the cave, keying open a door which then slicked open.

"What's that?" Wally called from the main area.

"Side Project," he said as he removed the closet's contents. "Excuse me," he said, stepping off the side, further into the gloom, where he exchanged a tailored suit and cuffs for the same synthetic kevlar-mix that his protégé wore every night, sans electronics, feeling the weave cling to aged muscles as an added vascular support, with slightly more about his thighs. It drew the darkness in even more, he mused, as he secured the trousers. Time to see if the new morning routine had paid off. Yes. He could manage without the stick. He could manage better than he expected.

He cast his shirt off, feeling the black material do the same for his torso as he shrugged it on. The gloves felt like water, fit like a long friend almost forgotten, but it wouldn't do for Bruce to pause in wonder. He turned to the constructs he'd been working on the past year. Light weight polymer, incredible tensile strength, ductile enough for comfort. Customised to fit him. Like a scaffold on a crumbling artifice, he thought, not without a sense of bitter irony. They snapped into place around him, and he made special care to adjust the frames which fit about his legs, flexing each foot in test, before placing each lightly on the floor. He stretched up, with surprising ease, upper body almost as straight as it would have been decades ago. The final locks slid in around his collar bone, supporting the back of his neck. Complete, it allowed for mobility while offering comprehensive support from his neck down to his ankles, the parts connecting at his hip.

Its exterior was shaded in darkened grey, on the front embossed a black bat symbol, which he let his fingers ghost across as he reached for the cowl. He slipped it on, the familiar tightness of cloth around his cheekbones and brow and ears bringing him back years. It moulded around him perfectly, and as he stalked back to his colleagues his gait shifted, each leg surging surely forward, till he stood in front of them, smirk on his face. He nodded at Superman. "You called?" he asked in belated response. Clark grinned.

"Batman," Diana said, smiling, and Bruce, no, Batman, dipped his head in acknowledgement and closed his eyes a moment, feeling the cave fill him, hearing the calls of the bats in the far recesses of the cave filter back up to him, then he opened his eyes behind unrevealing white lenses, set his jaw, and was about to speak when he drew up short, and his lips thinned then fell into a small gape at the apparition in front of him.

I called too.

"Ace?"

The dog at this point, sniffing around the consoles, had started whining, hackles raised. But Batman was not calling him. Instead he found himself staring into the fathomless, wide eyes of a girl with the straightest ebony locks of hair. His eyes narrowed, and he closed his mouth. "Who are you?"

You're Terry's Old Man. At the mention of Terry's name, Batman started again, and tensed at the implied relationship, the reason he'd been on edge since the whole debacle started. You're awfully hard to contact, you know, and Terry was very good in helping.

"My mind's not the most accessible," he acknowledged. At the puzzled looks of the other three he mouthed assurance to them, then concentrated on the figure of the girl before him.

No, and my skills have improved. You're a hard one to crack, sir. I'm Tamara. Tamara said, exuberance bubbling for a moment before she caught hold of herself. I'm here to show you where Terry is. The cave around them shimmered, and Batman had the uncomfortable sensation of the ground spinning below his feet before his soles met solidness again. He buckled slightly, then raised himself to look about. An office. Immaculate. Glass windows in place of walls. He gazed out one side of them, trying to get his bearings. It didn't require long. He knew exactly now where Terry was, because he knew that approximately four floors down from where ever this room was, there was a function hall with almost the same view, give or take a few differences due the angle of sightline.

Huang Holdings. Of course.

He gave Tamara a grim nod of gratitude. She smiled. Ace had never smiled, he thought dimly to himself, and this girl reminded him so much of her. He saw her eyes again in Tamara, wide, but not haunted. It gave small cheer, shifting the ball of regret he'd long harboured. Good luck, sir. If he were more inclined to idealism, he mused then, as the floor swirled again, he might have believed somehow that the child's blessing could be Ace's own. As it was, he only remembered all the more acutely the words he had spoken himself: to a youngster on his first foray into the dark world that was Gotham's version of heroism. He shrugged the outer suit into better position. Never a last time for things, he figured, including old men in their death throes spoiling for that last blaze of… glory? No. Of Justice, of Vengeance, and of the Night. A final burning eclipse.

"He's being kept in plain sight," he said as soon as the cave returned to his vision, eyes trained on the landing bay, legs itching to break into a run. "I'm thinking as bait."

"Who was that?" Diana asked.

"A friend," he said. "A telepath. Terry rescued her once."

"Handy."

"Thank you, Wally," Bruce said pointedly as he toyed with the cuff of his glove. "We reconvene at the top of Wayne Towers in two minutes. Let's go." He walked to the Batmobile and practically jumped into it, not bothering to watch as the others took off. They would be ready for him by the time he got there. He tried not to inhale too deeply as the Batmobile bolted out of the Batcave. Sure, he'd been in it before, but this, this was freedom. The new suit was lighter than the exo-suit, and as low tech as possible, without compromising the wearer as much as possible. He'd started building it as a test in case anyone hijacked the Batsuit's circuitry again. He was glad now that he did.

He disembarked as they were adjusting the dials on the Omnid. He sent off an electronic message to Barbara. 'Wait for my signal'. They already knew where Terry was, so they wouldn't have to waste time on that. Now just a final rendezvous before they set off in different directions. Police would be on standby to apprehend any sudden appearances of thugs. More to assure those on the streets that everything was fine. The planes had been warned to steer clear of the city's limits. It was necessary. Especially if they wanted to destroy what plans this man who modelled himself after a mercantile good luck charm had in mind. Communication blackout. It would be crippling, deafening to a city that lived and breathed it. Stocks on complete hold. Paramedics had been posted through the city, but who would warn them, who could alert them, if an accident occurred? Failed GPS throwing cars into each other's path. Any number of small scale robberies by those who could elude the many of Gotham's Finest in the large, winding city that was Gotham.

No. It was necessary. And it would be temporary. He signalled to the Flash. "Now." The machine turned on, letting off a soft whir which didn't stop the sudden barrage of car hoots and angry voices that rumbled up from the streets below. It had begun. Bruce raised his hand, and fired a beam of light into the clouds above. The laser was good, developed in the past by Kord Industries, refined by Wayne Technology. From where they were, right above them, the symbol of a Bat flooded the sky. Barbara would know it for what it was. As for the rest of the city, as for Guan Gong…

They had to know.

"Batman," Superman's voice was tense, on edge. Batman turned to him. "Do you hear that?"

"What?" Wally asked, nonplussed.

"That… synchronised beeping." Superman rose off the ground and pivoted slowly, eyes narrowed as he scanned the area, before his eyes grew larger. "Remember Las Vegas, guys?"

"What does this have to do with Las Vegas?" Diana asked.

"This is Las Vegas Redux… timed bombs through the city. Miles underground, some in the old subways," he cast an agitated look to Batman, who looked back with a concealing calm. "They seem coated with Kryptonite-synth."

"Inform the Commissioner. Of all the locations." They all had similar laser torches, albeit mini ones. Bruce was already patterning out a message in morse via his. Barbara would get her men to work. In the meantime, comprehension seemed to be dawning over Superman's face like a belated sunrise.

"Why would they-" began Diana, but she was cut off as Superman rounded suddenly on Batman.

"Did you know about this?" he asked. Batman tilted his chin upwards, unspeaking. "What have you not been telling me, Batman?"

"Nothing you need to know."

"Nothing? This is what I think it is, isn't it?" He seemed ready to crash through the windows of Huang Holdings, barely restraining himself, ever wanting to perpetuate his bull in china shop impression. Batman shook his head.

"You go do that now," Batman said, "and this city will explode, and millions of lives will be on your head. Stick to the plan."

Aghast, the Man of Steel cast him one final look of enraged disbelief, then flew off to the downtown. Flash went soon after, hiding his own confusion. Only Diana was left. And him. He positioned the torch so it would remain standing, pointing up at the sky as both a warning and a comfort, larger than ever.

"Batman," Diana said, laying a hand on his shoulder. He didn't pause to wonder that he had leaned into it momentarily before running to the side of the building, grapple claw pointed at the next massive structure opposite. Time to test the suit, he thought to himself.

"You ready?" he called over his shoulder, feeling a certain boyish glee he could not name, feeling a certain sense of being alive. Then he cast off. Diana followed. The Batsignal hung in the sky above them, announcing him, heralding him. Like Beowulf that fateful day as he neared the dragon's cave at the end of his days, he swung past jagged turrets assuredly, aged, but still and once again, the Dark Knight.