What Happens In Oklahoma Part III: The Rules of the Game
Chapter One—Terry
Bruce should have known that things were too quiet, that something was bound to happen. With Sarah, Nick, and Diana all gone on a League mission, Dick had come over from Bludhaven to patrol Gotham with Bruce monitoring him from the Cave. That had been a new rule that had been instituted when the twins had started patrolling: no going out alone. You either had a partner out there with you, or someone monitoring you from the Cave, just in case something happened. No exceptions.
Still, in the days that Dick had been watching over the city, things had been pretty quiet. That really should have been a warning unto itself. Murphy's law and all that.
For lack of anything more pressing to do, Bruce had decided to take a walk along the grounds. Though he no longer actively patrolled, he still kept himself physically fit. It was far too well-ingrained in him to do otherwise. The walk all the way around the perimeter was about ten miles in its entirety.
He was walking along the walls that surrounded the grounds, towards the main gate, when it happened. Bruce saw the light before he saw anything else. Within seconds, the motorcycle appeared over the rise, just feet away from him. He started to leap out of the way, but the bike swerved just in time, falling on its side and sliding several feet before hitting a tree. The rider, however, managed to leap off just in time to avoid being crushed between hard steel and unforgiving wood.
The sound of whoops and yells caught Bruce's attention and he turned. Several more bikes and their riders were approaching, all of them dressed in silly, brightly-coloured clothing and even face paint. They took no notice of him, however, their attentions all focused on the one they were pursuing – a kid no more than sixteen or so, Bruce thought.
The gang came to a halt a few yards away and got off their bikes, all of them wielding baseball bats and other such weapons. They started toward the kid, some of them shouting stupid jokes mixed in with threats.
Bruce stepped forward. "Leave him alone," he ordered, his voice modulated into a familiar, threatening growl. "And get off my property, you're trespassing!"
The leader, wearing a shabby, oddly familiar purple suit, whirled to look at him, as did everyone else. Clearly the gang had not even noted his presence. The kid held up his hand, motioning him back. "It's okay. I got this."
The leader, though, just smirked and sauntered toward Bruce, not even bothering to have his bat raised and poised to strike.
"Who do you think you're talking to, man?" he asked in a high-pitched tone. "We're the Jokerz!"
Bruce smirked. And I'm Superman. "Really?" he drawled.
At an unspoken signal, both Bruce and the kid exploded into action at the same moment.
It was easy, pathetically easy, to deal with these idiots. Bruce tossed one gang member—a girl in a pink and white polka dot dress—at the leader, knocking them over. Immediately after, he landed a kick in another one's stomach. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the kid take out two more, only to muffle a curse when a third one swiped at his arm with a knife. The kid then punched the guy in the face.
Again, it was easy, but the adrenaline rush of it all was like tasting Alfred's chocolate cake again. No one else made it quite like he had, just as there was nothing like the thrill of taking out a few punks who thought they were the cream of the crop.
Bruce saw the leader push himself to his feet, rubbing his chest. "Let's get out of here!" he shouted, making a move toward his bike. The others didn't hesitate, clearly sensing they were quite out of their depth. Within moments, Bruce and the kid were alone.
He turned to the kid, taking him in. He'd held his own pretty well, and obviously knew what he was doing. Still, Bruce spotted the dark spot on the right arm of his jacket. It was spreading fast. "You all right, young man?" he asked, gesturing to his arm.
The kid looked at it and winced just a little. "Yeah," he answered. "Just a scratch." He looked around. "I probably better get home. My dad's going to kill me as it is." Bruce watched him move over to his bike, and saw his shoulders slump when he saw the state of the vehicle. "Slag it..."
"Come on," Bruce ordered, pulling a small remote from his inner jacket pocket. Pressing one of the buttons, the nearby gate opened. "You can call your father from the house. And I have some medical supplies in the kitchen to clean that cut."
The boy hesitated for a moment, but then nodded. "Thanks. I appreciate it, Mister..."
Bruce smirked as they started up the driveway. "Bruce Wayne. And you are?"
The kid's eyes widened, clearly recognizing his name—no surprise there—but then cleared his throat. "Uh, McGinnis. Terry McGinnis."
Once they got into the house, and in the light, Bruce noticed that Terry actually looked a little like Nick. Shaking that thought, he pointed Terry into the study just off the main foyer. "Wait in there," he said. "I'll get the first-aid kit. There's a phone in there as well. You can use that to phone your father and let him know where you are."
Terry nodded and walked into the room. "Thanks, Mr. Wayne."
Bruce moved down the hall towards the kitchen. He'd meant to grab the first-aid kit and go right back to the study, but just as he entered the room, the kitchen's phone line rang. He picked it up. "Wayne."
"Daddy?"
"Sarah," Bruce greeted, his heart lightening a little. "Are you back yet?"
"Yeah, we're in Metropolis now. Uncle Clark's already scheduling the debriefings. We should be home around midnight. You know, you could have warned me about the Hallacians! I mean, the stink—I'm going to be washing my hair for a solid week to get it out!"
Bruce smirked and let his daughter rant for a few moments. "They're a group that needs to be experienced, Sarah—and smelt. It's a good learning experience for you." He pulled the first-aid kit out of a nearby cabinet. "I have to go. There was a bit of a dust up and I've got a teenager who needs a cut treated before his father comes to pick him up."
"Really? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," he assured her. "I'll tell you about it when you and Nick and your mother get home."
"Okay, Daddy. I love you. Bye."
"Love you too. Bye."
Bruce hung up the phone and carried the first-aid kit out of the kitchen. He walked back to the study and stepped inside. Almost immediately, he became aware of three facts.
One, the phone was lying off the hook.
Two, Terry was not in the room.
Three, the clock hiding the entrance to the Batcave was wide open.
Bruce's heart stopped.
He sat the first-aid kit down next to the phone, putting it on the hook, and moved forward, slipping silently through the tunnel with his blood roaring in his ears. When he got to the top of the stairs leading down into the Cave, Bruce looked around for Terry. The lights had been activated, even the ones they did not normally use, so he was not particularly difficult to spot down by the display cases that held his old uniform, as well as Barbara's, Tim's, and one of Dick's.
"What do you think you're doing?" Bruce growled lowly, storming down the stairs. Terry jumped and Bruce felt a twinge of satisfaction. He approached the kid, grabbed him by his uninjured arm and pulled him back toward the stairs.
"Whoa!"
Bruce didn't slow down, though, and didn't stop until they were back in the study. Wordlessly, he moved the clock back into its proper place and then turned around to face Terry, whose jaw was slack with shock.
Bruce glared at him. "There's the first-aid kit," he snapped, pointing at it.
"Y-You- That was- The costumes-"
"Did you call your father?"
"Huh? The line was dead," Terry replied, his eyes still huge.
Bruce picked up the phone and listened for the dial tone. "It's back," he told him, and held the phone out. "Call your father. Now."
Terry just continued to stare at him, the phone held limply in his hand. Bruce glared at him even more harshly and the kid paled just a bit. He held up the phone and dialed. Bruce opened the first-aid kit while Terry listened.
"He's not picking up," the kid said.
Bruce cursed inwardly. He wanted the kid gone. "Then call a taxi service," he ordered.
It took a phone call and a twenty-minute, highly-uncomfortable wait, but eventually the taxi arrived at the gates. Bruce opened the door and gave Terry a firm push out the door. "Go," he hissed. "And if any of what you saw appears on the news, I'll make sure you live to regret it." Then he slammed the door shut.
Terry wasn't stupid. He got in the cab, he told the cabbie to drive as fast as he could, and he didn't look back. The cabbie wasn't talkative, for which he was grateful. Right now he wasn't too sure of his ability to conduct a coherent conversation. Shit, he'd just discovered the biggest secret in the history of Gotham! Briefly (and only very briefly), he contemplated telling someone, but who would he tell? Who'd believe him for a start? For God's sake, Bruce Wayne? He wasn't as big a celebrity as he had been a few years ago—apparently content to leave that to his kids now—but Terry still knew enough about him to know that had he not just seen those costumes, no way in hell would he have believed it. And if what he'd heard on the phone was true, then the entire Wayne family was involved. Sarah Wayne, her twin, their mother-
Holy crap. Their mother. Diana Wayne.
Wasn't Wonder Woman's real name Diana?
Fuck.
Okay, if Wonder Woman was involved, then it would be a cold day in hell before Terry breathed a word to anyone.
"Seventeen-fifty."
He blinked. "Huh?"
The cabbie looked at him as if he were stupid. "Seventeen dollars, fifty cents."
Oh. They were here already. He handed over the money and got out, still walking numbly home. The bright flashing lights of the squad cars were the first thing that caught his attention. Next were the blood-red HAHA's painted on the walls. Then it was his mother, the tracks of tears still on her cheeks. She saw him, then ran to him with her arms outstretched. "Oh Terry!"
He hugged back automatically. "Mom? What's going on?"
"Honey, it's your dad," she sobbed. "He's… He's been murdered."
What?
And just like that, Terry's already fractured life shattered completely.
Bruce was running on adrenaline for the next several hours. Once he saw the McGinnis kid leave in his cab, he locked down the house and retreated into the Cave. He was still there when, at a quarter past midnight, his wife and children transported in.
He turned in his chair to face them, and took in their smiling faces. They all looked tired. Those smiles also faded when they saw the grave look on his own face.
"Bruce?" Diana asked, stepping closer to him. "What is it?"
"You didn't destroy the kitchen trying to boil water again, did you?" Nick asked jokingly, nudging his sister. Sarah just rolled her eyes.
"We have a problem," he informed them bluntly, his voice still in the low growl he'd used for so many years to terrify criminals. It didn't have the same effect on his son and daughter, but it did make them snap to attention. Diana too began to look concerned.
"The kid I mentioned to you, Sarah?" When she nodded, indicating that she remembered, Bruce continued. "He managed to find the Cave."
All three of them paled significantly. "Shit," Nick breathed.
"Exactly," Bruce said, agreeing with the sentiment. "As far as I can tell, he only saw the costumes on display, so he might not know about the three of you."
Sarah shook her head. "If he knows about you, Daddy, it won't take much for him to figure out about me and Nick. Not if he has any kind of brain."
Bruce nodded. "I warned him not to say anything, and our reputations will undoubtedly work in our favour-"
"But inevitably some are going to believe it anyway, if it gets out," Diana finished grimly.
"So what, we follow him?" Nick asked.
"We're going to have to," Sarah nodded. "If he goes anywhere near the police, or a newspaper, we stop him."
"How?" Nick asked. "He's a civilian, Sarah, a kid. We can't break his bones because Dad made a mistake leaving him alone in the library."
"I'm not suggesting we do," she said calmly. "We'll simply have to negotiate with him. Aggressively if necessary." Before Prometheus could reply, she moved over to the computer. "We have the phone number he dialled, so we can use that to get an address. P, head out into the city. I'll let you know where you're going once I have it."
Nick nodded, though clearly tired. They all needed to sleep; the mission had been draining for all of them. Nonetheless, the urgency of their situation was keeping them going now. If the kid talked, that was it—their lives as the Waynes were effectively over. Plus, if word did get out about their alter egos, it was only a matter of time before people began to make connections to other heroes. It could start a catastrophic chain-reaction of secret identities being revealed. It was the scenario they'd been taught to fear for years, ever since they were kids. The second-worst thing that could go wrong in their lives. Thankfully, the worst thing had never happened. They were all still alive after all.
"I'll go with you," Diana said.
Mother and son lifted into the air and through the batwing exit tunnel.
Sarah crossed to where her father was, typing quickly. "Well?"
"I have the address—an apartment block on Prescott Street. But that's not the problem."
Reaper frowned. "What is it?"
"The police are reporting an incident there, earlier this evening. About the same time the boy went home."
"You think he was involved?"
"It's possible. Diana, did you get that?"
"Yes," came his wife's voice. "We'll be on our guard. Wonder Woman out."
A/N: Review please!