Gotham Arise #5
The Torch part 5: WWBD?
Characters: Dick Grayson
Rating: T
Fandom: preboot DCU with a twist
With Bruce Wayne dead, it's up to the ones who once stood in his shadow to take up his torch.
...
Those fingerprints aren't mine.
That's what the cold, deliberate part of Dick Grayson's brain was telling him. Those are the fake fingerprints on file for Richard Grayson. I'm being framed. Dick could hear the voice even over the explosion still echoing through the commlink in his ear.
"The van," Stephanie's hoarse voice groaned over the comm. "The van exploded. It's totally wrecked. Oh, God... Tim... Damian..."
At the sound of their names a frisson went through Dick's body, but the cold, deliberate voice kept talking: Keep still, keep your cover, keep your head. It sounded like Bruce's voice.
But it was confusing, because that same Bruce-voice was also screaming for him to get up, get out, get to Tim and Damian.
There's nothing you can do if they're dead, said that cold, deliberate voice. (Get up, get out, get to Tim and Damian—) And if they are alive and you leave now, you'll blow their cover as well as yours. Keep still, keep your cover, keep your head. That's what Bruce would want you to do.
Barbara's voice joined Stephanie's wheezes over the commlink in Dick's ear: "Be careful, Batgirl—Black Bat is on her way." Over his earpiece Dick heard tires screech, a car door open and slam, then Cassandra's soft breath as she broke into a run.
"By all means, Mr. Grayson, take your time. I don't have anywhere to be, like, say, looking for your kidnapped brothers." That was Inspector Bullock's voice, nasal and sarcastic. Dick looked up at him—
Bruce would have told Dick to stay calm, but Bruce himself would have done no such thing. Bruce would have fought his way out of the police station, knocked Harvey Bullock cold with a haymaker to the head, choked out Commissioner Gordon himself, then fought his way through the police station to wherever he thought Tim and Damian—or their bodies—might be. Dick knew Bruce would do it. He'd done it before.
Keep still, keep your cover, keep your head.
Get up, get out, get to Tim and Damian—
"Mr. Grayson." Jim Gordon's voice was weary, but steady. "These fingerprints were found on the canisters of knockout gas used to kidnap Tim Drake-Wayne and Damian Wayne."
Dick stared at the whorls of black ink on the crisp white paper, listening to Stephanie's grunts, the clatter of metal on cement, her sharp intake of breath as she peered through the smoke. Dick's breath didn't catch—he he was too much in the grip of his training—but he heard Cassandra's and Barbara's stop, heard only the whine of Stephanie's breathless huff, and then—
"They're not in here!"
Dick's eyes fluttered closed. He breathed in through his nose, so deeply it burned in his chest.
"You're sure, Batgirl?" asked Barbara.
"There are no bodies in the van. I don't see—I don't see anyone."
"Oh, thank God," Barbara breathed. "Thank God."
Dick sat back in his chair, closed his eyes, and pressed his hands to his face.
"Mr. Grayson, we're gonna need some answers."
Dick took a deep, steadying breath. Loud enough for Barbara to hear over the line, loud enough to quash the Bruce-voices in his head.
"Commissioner. Inspector." He held up his hands. He could feel them sweating slightly through the film that masked his true fingerprints. "I'm being framed."
"So these aren't your fingerprints?" Bullock said skeptically.
"I don't doubt that they are my fingerprints. You can take my prints again and compare them if you like. But I didn't kidnap my brothers."
Barbara's hushed curse came over the line. "Someone planted your fake fingerprints at the crime scene?" she hissed.
"Mr. Grayson," said the commissioner. Jim Gordon had his daughter's green eyes, her way of speaking that was cold and warm at the same time. "You need to give us more than that."
"There is technology in development at WayneTech capable of planting fake fingerprints," said Dick. "You should start your investigation there. That's all I can tell you."
The commissioner heaved a sigh. "We're going to need to hold you here until this can be cleared up."
The roaring Bruce-voice in Dick's head grew louder again. He could still escape, he knew. Be on the street in less than a minute. That's what Bruce would do.
"It's okay, Dick," said Barbara. "We've got this. Keep your cover. It'll be okay."
"I understand, Commissioner," said Dick softly. "Just hurry, please. They're my brothers."
"What are we going to do now?"
After Damian had vanished and Tim had slunk away and Stephanie had disconnected, but the question seemed to echo in the cave as Dick and Barbara sat by the Batcomputer, their faces etched in light and shadow.
"We should declare him dead," Barbara said finally. "The sooner we make Thomas Elliot stop pretending to be Bruce and throw him back in jail, the better. Leslie already has a forged autopsy, right?"
"Several," said Dick. He knew. He'd helped write them.
"The cancer one should do it." Barbara's voice was brisk, clipped. "I'll make the call. You need to start planning the funeral. Set it for this Saturday"
"But—"
Barbara's fingers were already flying across the keyboard. She looked up at him, and her eyes softened.
"Yeah, Dick?"
"It's just—" Dick sighed, dragged his fingers through his hair. "Damian's birthday is this Sunday."
Barbara's eyes widened. "Oh."
"He's going to be eleven."
Barbara looked at him. Then she reached out and took Dick's hand. He squeezed back, covering her hand with both of his, and gave a soft laugh.
"'What are we going to do now?' I used to answer that question by asking myself 'What would Bruce do?' But now..." Dick shook his head, and the long shadows darkened his face like a mask. "Now I'm not even sure they're the same question."