Author's Note: In celebration of BOTH Red Hood and the Outlaws #0 and Batman Beyond: Unlimited # 8 being released this week (amazing comics both!), here is a new chapter. Enjoy!

…

I don't own any characters mentioned in this story. The rights belong to DC comics, Bob Kane, etc.

…

Darkness Cannot Drive, Part 8/? (Chapter 7)

.

Pain and pleasure, like light and darkness, succeed each other. – Laurence Sterne

.

The next two weeks are... strangely uneventful, Terry thinks to himself. As his arm heals, he finds himself spending more and more time getting caught up on homework with Max. At the end of his first week off of Batman-duty, he even manages to get a B+ on his history mid-term thanks to Max's nearly fascist studying routine. Previously, Terry would have said that passing that test was a statistical improbability given his record on memorizing boring facts—amazing what getting more than three or four hours asleep a night can do.

Still, Terry itches to heal and get back to work. He finds himself grinding his teeth as he looks at the New Gotham skyline and his hands and feet tingle every time the sun goes down. Okay, yeah, he's become an addict, a goddamn adrenaline junkie. He wonders if the old man ever felt like this when he got injured, or if Tim felt this way after being put off duty after his trauma with the Joker. Or if Terry just loves being Batman for all the wrong reasons...

He shakes his head and tries not to second-guess himself. He hasn't heard from Wayne since a very short and determined message on his phone warning him NOT to take the suit out again. 'No "emergencies." No exceptions. Heal.' the message reads. The bat-glare is practically visible through the text.

So he heals. And he waits.

Jason seems to be awfully busy on patrol nights. A group of Jokerz ends up in a bruised pile outside of the downtown Gotham jail on Tuesday. A fear-powder lab ends up on fire on Wednesday and a bunch of dealers are driven into the street where they're arrested. A few members of the T-Gang end up 'falling off a bridge' and breaking a few limbs in the process on Thursday. They practically beg the police to take them into custody. Watching the news and seeing the nightly tally, Terry almost feels a little inadequate.

It's a Friday when he gets the message from Wayne to come by the manor and Terry rushes over on his bike, speeding the whole way. Ace greets him with a characteristic growl at the door. "Hey! Wayne? All your organs still functioning?" Terry yells into the doorway. The manor is quiet, except for Ace's ill-mannered grumbles. Terry knows what that likely means—Bruce is in the cave. Just because broken little Terry can't be Batman doesn't mean old man Wayne ever stops being his own version. He still plays detective and plans and invents—there are some days when Terry wonders if he ever leaves that computer of his.

Terry slides open the stopped clock and makes the steep walk into the cave, down the cold stone steps. Sure enough, the Bat Computer glows a ghostly blue, illuminating Bruce's grim features. "You're late," he practically growls.

"I was across town," Terry sighs. "What's up?"

Bruce's jaw tightens as he hands a portable screen to Terry. "Pick one and I'll arrange their travel. Don't take long to decide—I want your training to start this Spring."

"Huh?" Terry looks down at the screen in his hand. On it are three resumes with embedded videos, pictures, and statistics. A Wing Chun Kung Fu master from Hong Kong who is also known as a specialist in Shaolin history. A decorated and now retired Muay Thai boxer, listed as known for his strength and the power of his strikes. A founder of a Tokyo dojo which uniquely fused techniques from jujitsu and judo into a new popular martial art.

Terry glances up at Bruce questioningly. "What's this about?"

"You need more training. I'm too old to spar with you, so I'm bringing in someone else. The cover story is that you're training to be my body-guard. You already acted as one for me unofficially when the Joker attacked, so most people should find it a believable cover."

"Uh, yeah, sure." Terry flicks through the screen's files, frowning. "Wait, are you saying that Jason was right?"

The look Bruce gives in response could freeze nearly boiling water it's so cold. "I'm saying that, to be the best Batman you can be and to not sully my name, you should get more training. You've been getting injured far too much lately."

Terry winces. "I'll agree with you on that last part... so, which style would you recommend?"

Bruce smirks and shakes his head. "That's for you to decide... Batman."

"Uhhhh... this isn't a test is it? Like, is there a right answer and a 'slag it, you're not cut out to be Batman' answer?"

"It's best if you make your decision within a few days so we can get started." Terry can almost hear a sadistic chuckle behind the coolness of those words. "Good luck."

.

.

"Can't help you, kid!" Tim laughs as he carefully solders two micro-chips together. "Bruce was pissed enough about me helping you hack into his computer files. If he wants you to make a decision on your own, I'm not messing with this one."

"But how am I supposed to know what to pick?!" Terry can hear the whine in his voice and even he's mildly annoyed with himself, but—slag it—he is fed up with Bruce's games. "He barely tells me anything. I don't even know what half of this information means! A former crime-fighter's perspective would be helpful, you know?"

Tim shrugs ambivalently and adjusts his safety glasses. "If you really want opinions, ask Dick or Barbara. I'm sure they'd help and they're either in less hot water with the old coot—or at least don't care as much what he thinks. But he's not only my adopted father, he's my boss. That's his name on the company mast-head. My hands are tied, kid."

Terry grumbles to himself, deciding not to let the former Red Robin know that he has, in fact, already called both Dick and Commissioner Gordon before swinging by Tim's office. But Gordon had simply said she has better things to do than debate martial arts with a vigilante—she has 'criminals to arrest and a dysfunctional department to deal with, got that kid?' and that she isn't interested in being 'wikipedia for Batman Jr.' Terry isn't quite sure what a 'wikipedia' is, but he can take a hint and knows that Gordon isn't budging on this one. And the former Nightwing is no help at all; he won't even return Terry's calls, let alone give him advice.

"Well, thanks anyway," Terry sighs. He has one more back-up plan before just rolling some dice and leaving the whole super-ninja-teacher decision up to chance. But, still, he's not sure this back-up-plan is really his brightest idea ever...

.

.

The restaurant's yellow-tinged light is a decent facsimile of the way light-bulbs looked before the power regulation laws of 2020, Jason thinks to himself. As he listens to a screeching cover of the Sex Pistol's 'Anarchy in the UK' playing over the speakers, he dips his french fries in slightly-too-sweet ketchup. Not bad—not as greasy as the stuff Amy's served during his childhood, but he supposes you can never really go home again.

Amy's had always been a strange treat for Jason's family—not the Bats, his other one. When his dad avoided prison, or got out of prison, or his mom decided she had 'defeated' her drug use (that never lasted long), they'd always take a trip to Amy's to celebrate with a 'famous shake' or burger or onion rings. It had just been a few knocks better than a greasy spoon back then and not a kitschy theme restaurant. Oh the times they are a'changin.

Jason finds himself painting a bloody Jokerz's face on the white of his plate with a french fry. It cheers him up a bit and he reminds himself to look into that lead about the T-Gang's drug run when he gets home.

The booth squeaks across from him and he looks up, braced. What in the world...?

"Hey," the kid smirks and gives a half-salute. He holds up a handled bag faux-triumphantly. "I brought you back your clothes. They're washed, by the way." After a moment's hesitation, he leans over and steals one of Jason's fries too. "Not bad. I see why you like this place."

Jason raises an eyebrow. "And you knew you'd find me here because...?"

Terry shrugs, still grinning that smug know-it-all grin. "Besides the fact that Bruce wrote in your file that you used to like this place? It's in Old Town Gotham, just down the street from your 'hideout.' Plus, it's so-called 'authentic' 80s-90s chic, so no obviously contemporary tech. If you're anything like him—or any of the other Bat old-timers, actually—you get annoyed easily by news screens and cyber-treks in almost every bar and restaurant. Bruce says they're mindless chatter and 'far too much stimulation at dinner time.'" As Terry uses his fingers to make air-quotes, Jason notices begrudgingly that the kid does a fairly good mimic of Bruce's voice.

"I'll have you know that I use NS's and treks all the time when I plan patrol routes. You just got lucky—this is my first time eating here since I've been back in Gotham."

The cute waitress with the red hair has the unfortunate timing to come back to the table just about then, her Madonna tee-shirt and stud-decorated black jeans a screaming parody of Jason's childhood. "Jason, how's my favorite customer doing? Can I get you or your friend anything?"

Terry chuckles and Jason briefly considers breaking his temporary 'don't shoot anybody in Gotham' rule. After the kid orders a Reuben and a lemon soda, he waggles his eyebrows at Jason and starts to laugh again. "First time, huh?"

"Oh, fuck off. Old fogey or not, I can still kick you ass."

Terry schools his expression, seemingly with a decent amount of difficulty if the smile-like twitch on his lips is to be believed, and lets out a slow breath. "Yeah, actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about." He pulls a small screen out of his jacket pocket and hands it Jason's way. "You clearly hit a nerve with Wayne. He says that I should pick one of these guys to train me like a real Batman. I like the idea of being prepared and not dying, but—well—you know him. He won't give me enough info and expects me to make the right choice."

Jason snorts. "Always testing. Yeah, I know how that feels. He can be a real asshole." He skims the files as Terry's lemon soda arrives. He slurps at it awhile in silence while Jason examines the photos and videos included.

"Well?" Terry finally asks.

Jason shrugs. "They're all top notch. No tricks or trip ups—any of these guys can teach you skills that will help keep you alive and be a better Batman. It's just about what skills you need more."

"Uh huh. Well, oh wise one, what skills do I need?"

Jason snorts. "Aren't we supposed to kind of be enemies here? I'm pretty sure the old man wouldn't be thrilled at you seeking my input."

Terry takes another sip of his bright yellow soda as he shrugs one shoulder. "I won't tell if you won't." His eyes flash in a way that reminds Jason of his old car-jacking partner Tommy—Tommy was always far too risky and just a tad too wicked for his own good. With an expression like that, Jason had a hard time reminding himself that this kid ever goes by the name 'Batman.'

"Alright. Hm. I'd go with the Wing Chun guy."

Terry raises an eyebrow. "Seriously? Why?"

"Well, first of all, Wing Chun was originally developed for a smaller body type—specifically a woman's. Sorry to break it to you, junior, but you're not going to be winning any prizes for body mass in the hero-ing world. And the whole concept of Wing Chun is about balance, flexibility, and using the body you have to basically it's greatest potential. Judo and Muay Thai have skills you can use, but you'll have to change your body before you can use them as effectively. Secondly, being Batman isn't just about fighting. Your mind has to be trained too. This guy incorporates meditation into his training—certainly couldn't hurt, and it's something that the other guys don't offer. Lastly..." Jason smirks, cracking his knuckles for emphasis, "...it's also the only one of the three styles that you couldn't learn from, say, any former Robin."

Terry groans and pushes at his plate in frustration. "Yeah, great, except the original hates me and I've called in too many favors from Tim. So, unless your plan is to train me secretly so Bruce doesn't blow a gasket..." Terry stops mid-sentence and frowns. "Wait, that's not actually what you're suggesting, right? Because that would be stupid and insane."

Jason signals for the check and shrugs. "No, stupid and insane would be not using all your resources to actually be a good Bat. Stupid and insane would be staying vulnerable because you're worried about hurting the asshole's feelings."

"He'll take away his suit."

"You train well enough, you won't need his suit."

Terry bites his lip and stares at the restaurant table like he wants to burn a hole through it with spontaneous heat-vision. "Are you offering to train me because you care about keeping me alive or because you want to piss off Bruce?"

"I have to choose?"

That gets a laugh from the kid, even if it's a somewhat bitter one. "No, guess not." He takes a deep breath and fixes his eyes on Jason determinately. "Okay. When do we start?"

.

.

TO BE CONTINED...