Batman could do nothing but watch as flames engulfed Hawthorne House. The stately mansion had been built over the remains of the Labyrinth the Court of Owls used to trap their serpentine maze was being crushed by the heavy brick and thick timbers plummeting into those terrible depths, sealing off what little of the tunnels remained, permanently.
A fitting end, Batman thought as he and Gordon watched the Gotham City Fire Department valiantly fight to contain the blaze from the roof of a nearby building.
"How much do you want to bet we will find the charred remains of Hawthorne in the ashes?"
Batman didn't need to place bets on that.
He was positive they'd find Hawthorne's remains inside the ruins.
"I was wrong about the Court's involvement in this," he said as he watched the flames dance towards the night sky. "This was never about fulfilling their prophecy."
Gordon grunted as he removed his glasses and placed them in the case he produced from a pocket in his overcoat. "You pieced together a puzzle that had pieces from other puzzles tossed in with it," he finally said.
"I still don't have the complete puzzle put together."
Which annoyed him immensely.
He didn't like that he wasn't able to see the entire picture.
Had more questions than answers.
"You and that girl of ours will figure it out soon enough."
Despite his efforts, Batman found little solace in Gordon's words.
"I can't accept that."
"Look, you couldn't know Nicholas Endicott was working against the Court of Owls this entire time." Gordon spoke gently and all the more effective for it. "No more than you could have known the Court was, themselves, trying to stop him from bringing the Darkest Knight here to destroy our universe."
"I should have, though."
It was his job to figure out these things.
And stop them.
"You figured out it wasn't Talons killing these people but the Darkest Knight himself."
"If I had figured it out sooner…"
"Those people would still be dead even if you had." Gordon set a hand on his shoulder. "We have to take the wins where we can get them."
Gordon was right.
They had to take wins where they got them.
And those dead would still be dead whether or not I figured out what was going on sooner.
More could have been killed, in fact, he realized as a loud groan came from the collapsing building as the last of the Court's lair disappeared into the ground.
However, Batman still found it difficult to let go.
Something didn't sit right with him.
He just couldn't put his finger on what the something was.
So many people, innocent and guilty, had been murdered since the night Ian Turner handed over everything he and Ian Corbin had gathered about Nicholas Endicott, the Court, Matthew Berkeley, and Martin Whitly to Gordon.
Why?
That was the question he couldn't answer.
What was the purpose of all this?
Why murder all the firstborn children of Court members?
If it wasn't about the Courts century-long quest for the burning elixir, what was it about?
Was it about destroying the multiverses as he believed?
He found himself wondering about that as Gordon released a weary sigh.
Or was it about something else entirely?
Surely this isn't about eliminating the only other element that can destroy him...
He'd have to kill Raya, Christopher, and Richie to make that happen.
Something Batman wouldn't allow.
Ever.
Unease crawled into his belly as the words from Percy Wright's journal again played through his mind.
The broken man must extinguish the fire of the burning muse to rise as the new servant of the Dark One.
"What if this was never about the Courts prophecy or Barbatos?" Batman murmured as a thought took root. Gordon shifted to face him, one bushy brow tilted in silent question. "What if this has always been about Malcolm? About finishing what Martin Whitly started when he was a child?"
"Grooming him to become a killer?" Gordon frowned at his nod. "Why? What's the purpose in turning Malcolm into a killer? Especially now?"
"Not just a killer." Batman swung around to stalk towards where he left the Batwing hovering. "The perfect killer."
One The Batman That Laughs could turn into his new Robin King.
Batman wouldn't allow either to happen.
He lost one son to a madman.
He would not lose another.
"Where're you going?"
"New York."
Where he'd do whatever was necessary to keep Endicott from breaking Malcolm and Laughs from getting his hooks into him.
…
Malcolm's hands vibrated on the steering wheel he clutched between them. His already frayed nerves unraveled further as he exited the hospital parking garage. I shouldn't be driving, drowned out the white noise and shadow creatures he typically heard in a loop.
The words managed to stifle his father's voice even.
Something Malcolm was ridiculously thankful for.
He needed all his wits around him if he was going to make it back to his mother's house without crashing Raya's car or killing himself.
He was more concerned about crashing Raya's car than killing himself.
A car honked at him, and a driver flipped him off as they sped around him, rattling Malcolm.
God, he loathed driving.
Well, I despise being the one doing the driving, he amended as he stopped at a red light. I love going for drives.
There had been no choice, however. He couldn't ask Sorcha to drive him back to his mother's. Not after he received the text from Ainsley demanding he come home.
Calling for an Uber or Lyft had also not been an option. Not if the niggle of suspicion crawling through his burning belly about why Ainsley had so urgently requested him to come home turned out true.
Leaving a hospital crawling with cops, Dani and JT, his mother, Sorcha, four people trained by Batman, and two kids being trained by those same protégé's hadn't been easy.
He waited until Dick took the children to the penthouse Bruce kept in Manhattan, Dani and JT left to arrest Endicott for his part in Gil's stabbing, Raya distracted by his mother, and Sorcha taking coffee up to Hood and Double R before making his exit.
Sneaking out without saying something to Sorcha left Malcolm feeling lower than a snake but he couldn't risk Ainsley's — or anybody else's for that matter — life.
He had placed them in enough danger as it was.
Malcolm took full responsibility for everything that happened.
He was the one to blame, after all.
Eve and Sterling would be alive and Gil wouldn't be fighting for his were it not for him.
My fault, replaced the words from his earlier loop. It's all my fault.
He was the one who hadn't left well enough alone.
He ignored everyone, pursued things despite the multitude of warnings he received.
His sister wouldn't pay for his inability to let things with Endicott go.
He'd sacrifice himself, first.
Malcolm parked outside his mother's house twenty minutes later. That nothing appeared out of the ordinary didn't help his anxiety any. Ainsley wouldn't have sent him that text if there wasn't a good reason.
Malcolm exited the car and slowly made his way up the walk.
The first thing he noticed was his mother's front door had been left partially open.
Something that wouldn't be allowed if she were home.
Malcolm pushed the door open and slowly stepped into the foyer.
All was calm, quiet.
Malcolm's nerves frayed further.
He inched towards the entrance to the living room, fingers bouncing at his sides, chest tight, and belly burning.
Cold fear filled him at the sight that greeted him. Ainsley, face pale and eyes wide, sat quietly beside Endicott who smiled when he saw Malcolm.
"Hello, Malcolm." He tipped his head towards the armchair to the right of Ainsley. "Come in. Sit. We have a few things to talk about."
What choice did he have?
Endicott currently had the upper-hand.
Malcolm sat.
And silently prayed one of those protégés noticed his absence and followed him here.
…
Batman made two phone calls as he headed for New York: the first to an old friend to let them know he was entering their city and why.
The second to Raya.
"Where's Malcolm?" he demanded before she even had a chance to say hello. "Is he with you?"
"Malcolm's here at the hospital with me, Sorcha, and Jessica, yes."
Batman's eyebrows shot up under his cowl. "Hospital? Why are you at the hospital?"
And why hadn't he been notified about it sooner?
"Gil was stabbed by one of Endicott's men about an hour ago."
Batman's fingers clutched the controls of the Batwing hard enough his knuckles crackled.
He anticipated Endicott would go after those closest to Malcolm but hadn't imagined he'd start with Gil.
Why wouldn't he, though?
Gil Arroyo had been more of a father to Malcolm than he had been.
"Is he expected to survive?"
"We don't know." Raya's sigh crackled in his ear. "He's still in surgery at the moment."
"Is Sorcha's step-father performing the surgery?"
"Yes."
Batman let out a small, relieved sigh. Harry Wilson performing Arroyo's surgery guaranteed there wouldn't be any mishaps.
Or any of Endicott's men in the operating room.
"Is Malcolm near you at the moment?"
"No, he was heading for the men's room and then was—" Raya broke off, swore in ways Jason be proud of. "He's gone. He pulled a you on me."
If not for the seriousness of the situation, Batman might've found amusement in Malcolm managing to sneak away from her. As it was they needed to locate where he had gone and quickly.
"How long ago did he leave?"
"Twenty-five minutes." More words Alfred would've had a fit over came through his earpiece. "The GPS in my car shows he's at the Whitly residence." Raya hummed. "Why would he have gone home without telling one of us?"
"Because Endicott's there."
A few more choice words — ones he couldn't rightly blame on Jason for teaching her this time — assaulted Batman's ears.
"I'll meet you there."
He could've ordered her to remain at the hospital.
Instructed her to protect Jess.
He didn't, though.
She wouldn't obey him even if he did.
"Where's Nightwing?" he asked instead. "And Red Hood? Red Robin?"
"Hood and Double R are keeping watch in case Talons or any of Endicott's men show up here to finish the job."
"Have them remain there."
Batman ended the call without waiting for her reply.
…
He watched as the girl plunged the knife she slipped from the drawer while Nicholas was distracted over and over into his body. Her technique was crude but highly effective to his way of thinking. Blood sprayed in an arc with each thrust, painting the boring and lifeless walls behind her in a cheery shade of red.
Perhaps, he mused as Nicholas slumped to the floor, face awash in shock and agony, I chose the wrong one to make my Robin King.
Maybe he should take the girl.
Mold her into his image.
Yes, the idea had merit.
If he couldn't have the boy as his Robin King, he'd have the sister as his… Harley Queen.
The Darkest Knight slid back into the shadows from which he had been born, giggling softly at all the chaos his Harley Queen would wreak once he molded her into the perfect servant, and the darkness that remain once they destroyed the multiverses.
…
"It's okay, Ainsley." Even as he spoke the words, Malcolm didn't believe them. How could things be okay? The proof of what his sister had done was laying at her feet in an ever increasing pool of blood. He had to say something, however. Had to keep Ainsley calm while he figured out what to do. "It's..."
His phone buzzed in his pocket, momentarily distracting him.
He pulled it out and looked at the caller ID but didn't recognize the number.
Something told him the caller wasn't anyone he wanted to talk with at that moment.
"Hello?"
"My boy!" he heard. "It's dad. How're things going?"
"Ah, well, they're not good, actually."
"Well, don't worry about me." As if it was a given his father was Malcolm's primary concern. "Things are looking up for me. I took Ainsley's advice, in fact."
"Yeah, well." Malcolm's eyes strayed to where Endicott's body lay. "She took yours."
"Really?" A hum of pleasure vibrated in Malcolm's ear. Was followed by a nauseating, "My girl."
Incredulity ripped through Malcolm.
"Don't you care about what she did?"
"Well, uh, technically your sister was only doing what you refused to do. So, really, you're to blame here." Malcolm closed his eyes. More a long blink than anything. "Now, you're going to have to work fast if you want to keep her from going to jail."
"Work fast?" Dread was a hot poker in Malcolm's already violently cramping belly. "What are you talking about?"
"Well, my boy, you're going to have to, ah, get rid of the body."
"Get rid of his body?" Malcolm barked a hollow laugh. "What do you expect me to do? Cut him up and ship him to Estonia in a trunk?"
"That's precisely what you're going to do."
Before Malcolm could refuse to do something so heinous, so despicable, the phone went flying from his hand. Startled, he spun around to find Bruce-77 standing a few inches behind him. How long he had been there, Malcolm didn't know. Why he was there wasn't even important. He was there and that was all that mattered.
"Whatever Martin Whitly told you to do," Bruce-77 growled as he stalked towards the exit. "You are not doing it. I forbid it."
"Whe-where are you going?"
"After the Darkest Knight," came hus brusque reply.
"He was here?"
In his mother's house?
Another voice, one he immediately recognized as Batman's said, "He was watching from the shadows, yes."
Malcolm lifted his head to stare into Batman's face. He expected stark disapproval and anger but found compassion and understanding instead. He glanced over at Ainsley, found she was being led away by Raya who had arrived at some point during his conversation with Bruce-77.
"What about Ainsley?" The vivacious, outgoing, well-adjusted Whitly. "What's going to happen to her?"
"Raya will take her to the hospital and have her examined by a doctor."
"She's going to be arrested for Endicott's murder."
"Yes, she will be." The fingers on his shoulder, capable of bone-crushing force, were surprisingly gentle. "Harvey will argue it was justifiable. Evidence will support it. We'll also make sure you get the psychiatric help you need to deal with what happened here tonight."
Malcolm didn't for one minute doubt him.
Unlike his father, Batman never lied to him.
Nor told him they were the same.
multiverses.
…
When two guards came to his cell a few hours later, Martin figured he was getting transferred back to Claremont.
Where he belonged.
"I'm afraid I cannot recommend these accommodations," he joked as the guards led him down the hallway towards the exit of the prison. "Food's terrible, beds uncomfortable, and the other guests?" He nodded to where some whistled and cat-called. "Well, they're a bit rowdier than I like."
Neither of the guards replied.
Not that Martin cared.
His focus was on getting back to his cell at Claremont, reestablishing his privileges, and using them to bring Malcolm to him.
Where he'd finally teach his boy all the intricate little details he needed to know before they embarked on the grand adventure he planned for them the day Malcolm was born.
Soon as Martin spied the dark-haired woman standing beside the prison van his hopes plummeted.
There could only be one reason why she was there.
"Ah, Dr. Kean, isn't it?" Martin plastered his most pleasant smile on his face. Used his charm to try and disarm her as he worked on a way out of the situation. "To what do I owe this, ah, pleasure?"
"The only pleasure to be had here, Dr. Whitly, is mine." The eyes behind the thin silver spectacles she wore became sharp. Predatory. Martin imagined her a jaguar stalking prey through the thick brush. And he was the quarry she hunted. "I'm finally about to fulfill a promise I made to someone sixteen years ago."
"What, uh, promise is that?"
"The one where I put you somewhere so you can no longer hurt the person you've hurt most with your lies: Malcolm."
Her words crashed over Martin.
Threatened to drown him.
She was going to take his son from him.
His boy.
She couldn't do that.
She couldn't take Malcolm from him.
Bands formed around Martin's head, his chest.
Tightened until he could barely draw a breath.
"No," he managed around the icy shards poking him in the throat. "You can't. He's my son." He jerked against the hands holding him. "He's my son!"
"He's not, though, is he?" Dr. Kean taunted with a small smirk. "He's Bruce Wayne's son." Martin reared back as if she'd slapped him. "That's why he turned you in. Because he's like his father. His real father."
"I'm his father!" Martin shouted. "We're the same!"
"No, you're a monster and monsters belong in the dark." Dr. Kean nodded to the guards standing silent on either side of him. "Get him out of here."
"He's my son!" Martin struggled as the guards led him towards the waiting prison transport. "He's my son!"
"Goodbye, Dr. Whitly." Dr. Kean walked towards a waiting SUV. "I hope you find Blackgate to your liking."
"He's my son! Mine!"
Not that the guards cared anymore about that than Dr. Kean.
No, they tossed Martin into the transports dark interior and ferried him on his way to the last place he wanted to go: Gotham.
A/N: Hello, all! Hope this finds you well! It has been a long journey but we have finally come to the end. This story took longer to write than the show was on the air. To all those who followed along on this journey, thank you. To those who favorited or left reviews know that you brought a smile to my heart.
Your support has meant everything.
Take care, all!