Chapter 16: Absolution

Move back and forth into the change.
What is it like, such intensity of pain?
—Rainer Maria Rilke, "Let This Darkness Be a Bell Tower" (excerpt)

NIGHTWING

"What?" Tarantula shrieked. "You—you're crazy! You didn't do anything—"

"Exactly. The night you killed Blockbuster. I did nothing to stop you. And we both know I should have." Dick took another step.

"Don't come any closer!" she screamed, helpless.

"Where's your gun, Tarantula?"

"Ask him!" she shrieked, throwing an arm out towards the street below. Dick did not have to follow it to know that the Batmobile was waiting there. Amy was over on the other side, siren off but lights flashing like a beacon across water. He took a breath. Nothing Tarantula said could hurt him now.

"I know you're only here because he made you!" She spat more profanities at him, each coarser than the last. "You don't have enough spine to get me yourself—you're still mine—"

He was on her in two quick movements, sending her crashing into rubble as he wrestled the handcuffs onto her wrists while she screamed obscenities. "Don't you fucking dare tell me who I am. There's nothing I wouldn't do to make up for what I've done."

Dick was standing over her now, grim and powerful as Batman, and there was something so striking about the reversal that a triumph rose within him that he had not felt since he had fought a confession out of Blockbuster on that terrible night. Then, the elation had been short-lived. Now, it flooded his senses, giving him clarity and strength.

"It ends here, Cat. You know what we did."

She subsided into silence, tears pouring down her cheeks, but he forced himself to press her body to his as he grappled them to the street below. Her bare skin burned him through his own clothes; he begged his heart to slow its frantic pounding. She was here, but she was cuffed and helpless, and he was alive.

"You're going to cooperate," he told her, "and you're going to tell them everything—except who I am. Do you understand?"

When she finally agreed, rolling her eyes as if she still had the upper hand, he hauled her to the cop car where Amy was waiting, watching them with an appraising look in her eyes.

"Nightwing," she acknowledged, with only a faint tremor in her voice that told him and no one else that she had witnessed the dramatic scuffle on the rooftop, and had trusted him enough to let him work out his frustrations with Tarantula alone. The absolute faith she had in him was staggering—and undeserved, he told himself ruthlessly. This would be the end of it all.

"Captain Rohrbach," he said, nodding. Amy's lips thinned as she surveyed Tarantula, who glared back at her balefully.

"Catalina Flores, I'm arresting you for the murders of Delmore Redhorn and Roland Desmond," Amy began, and Dick was surprised to see Gannon emerge from the other side of the vehicle to escort Tarantula into the back seat. He worked silently, not acknowledging Nightwing.

When the car doors shut, Amy sighed, turning back to Dick.

"Thank you," she said softly. "For trusting me."

Dick dipped his head. "There's more one thing, Captain."

Perhaps it was the way he said her title instead of her name, despite the fact that they were alone, or maybe she detected the trepidation and guilt warring within him, for she met his eyes and said carefully, "What is—no!"

He was holding his wrists out to her, head bowed.

"Stop that!" she hissed fiercely, grabbing his arm and tugging him away from the car as his head pounded and he refused to hold her gaze. "Listen to me! I don't have a warrant to arrest anyone else in Gotham, and there isn't a damn thing that you've done that deserves—"

"I killed Blockbuster."

Years of experience kept her from reeling back at this revelation. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that bald-faced lie."

"I'm an accomplice in the murder of Roland Desmond, also known as—"

"You didn't shoot Roland Desmond! I don't know exactly what went down in that hotel, but I'm not gonna let you take the fall for that little sociopath in there!"

Dick's mouth was dry as he said, "It's my fault she's in there."

"Well, that's where she should be, so relax." Amy glared up at him, refusing to back down. "Look, I know you live by some altruistic warrior code, but putting you in jail will not make this world a better place!"

He had to take a deep breath, heartbeat drumming in his ears. There were a hundred things he wanted to say to her—that's not for you to decide—stop denying me my best shot at atonement—but he was fiercely conscious both of the idling cop car behind them and the large black vehicle across the street.

There was a lesson he had been taught, long ago, both by his parents and by Bruce and Alfred. No one can serve two masters. He'd thought he'd been pouring his heart and soul into the police department, separating the corrupted from the incorruptible until the barest of bones were left, but all he'd done was wear himself thin and put Amy in the worst possible position—forcing her to choose between her loyalty and her livelihood. He'd sworn an oath when he'd become an officer—even if he'd since been fired—but there was another oath he was beholden to, one that he knew he always had to answer to, no matter the cost.

The Batmobile seemed even more looming now. Dick knew Batman was inside, waiting for him. He closed his eyes for a moment, steeling himself, then turned back to Amy.

"Amy, I…"

She'd followed his gaze, understanding filling her expression, and there was something sad in her eyes as she said quietly, "Thank you for your help tonight, Dick. I'll deal with Tarantula. Go talk to him."

"Thank you," he said, unable to smile. He did not spare a final glance at the police car as he left. That task was complete, for the most part; now he faced the hardest one of all.

Dick crossed the street and tapped on the Batmobile's window, which rolled down. "It's me," he said. "Can I talk to you?" His palms were sweating. "It's—it's important."

Batman was inscrutable as he surveyed him, then nodded, as if Dick were fifteen and Bruce was doing nothing more than picking him up from school. "Get in," he said, and Dick limped around the car and buckled his seatbelt with shaking hands, and then Bruce drove them out of Otisburg and into the inevitable.

BATMAN

Dick's crutches lay on the back seat; Dick himself was white-faced and silent in the passenger seat of the Batmobile. He was shaking so much that when Bruce glanced over, he was startled at how visibly Dick's hands twitched. At last Dick interlaced his fingers together to forcibly still their movements, and reiterated, hushed, "I need to talk to you, Bruce."

He seemed to be looking at Bruce as he said it, but Bruce kept his own eyes on the road ahead as he nodded in acknowledgement. "I'm listening."

"You don't understand," said Dick, still in that same calm voice. "It's about the case. The one I told you about before."

Even though he had been expecting this, Bruce could not conceal the way his heart stuttered at Dick's frank admission. He briefly held up a hand, and Dick obediently remained quiet until they crossed the bridge that led to the mainland and the Batcave. Then, Bruce turned off the highway, pulled over and turned off the lights to give Dick his full attention.

"You've closed it," he said.

Dick nodded. "Just… promise me that you won't say anything until I've finished explaining everything."

Bruce removed his cowl. "Dick, I—"

"Bruce…" Dick looked tortured. Whatever he had to say, it would burst out of him. "I've made a huge mess of things. It's so bad that I don't think I can ever make up for what happened, or for what I did, but… I have to tell you. Even though I… I just… you deserve that much."

"I can hardly judge you until I know what you've done." Not that Bruce didn't have an inkling, but he knew that in this situation it would be more prudent to hear Dick's point of view.

"Or haven't done," Dick mumbled.

"Dick. Try me." It was a request, not an order.

"Okay." Dick removed his domino mask, letting it rest in his lap as he took a deep breath. "I didn't know until later, but it began when I accidentally fell in the middle of the highway and caused a huge traffic jam as Nightwing…"

As Dick recounted the events in the methodical, factual style he had been taught, Bruce studied his son's face and simply listened. There were some things that Bruce already knew, some he wished he had handled better and some where he could read between the lines. Dick said that Barbara had broken up with him—Bruce understood that Dick was heartbroken. But then Dick spoke about how he had been fired from the police force, and for the first time, the second-hand dejection and helplessness Bruce felt in sympathy for Dick was greater than his own long-held disapproval of Dick's choice of occupation. He had heavily discouraged Dick from continuing in the Blüdhaven Police Department after Dick had been injured on the job, and yet he could not be jubilant now, not while his son had suffered so much.

Dick continued reciting into the silence, voice seldom quavering, though the words sometimes tumbled over themselves, as if they were anxious to escape from where they had been kept still and silent for so long. He spoke about the fire at Haly's Circus and the destruction of his apartment building, and Bruce felt the shock and horror that Dick conveyed.

"I was mad by then," said Dick, his voice flat. "I went after every accomplice of Blockbuster's I could find. Lady Vic. The Trigger Twins. Brutale. Stallion. Mouse and Giz. Finally Giz told me why Blockbuster had spent a month doing everything in his power to destroy those around me."

Why? Bruce's eyes bored into Dick's.

"His mother had a history of heart complications. Her car was stuck in the traffic jam that I created. She had a fatal heart attack right then and there, and I had no—fucking—clue."

Ridiculous, Bruce thought immediately, yearning for Dick to believe him, even as he kept his promise to remain silent. How could you have known? Even if you had, how could you have stopped it?

"I went after Blockbuster, but he had sent Shrike after me instead, so I stopped Shrike too. Then I borrowed a pair of handcuffs from Amy. She asked me to join the force again."

… And?

Dick's lips twisted. "I said no. Best decision I'd made in a while, right?"

Bruce had to physically bite his tongue to stop himself from speaking.

"I caught a few hours of sleep under some newspapers on a fire escape. Then, I got up and went to the funeral for the thirty-four residents of 1013 Parkthorne Avenue. And, do you know what? Alfred was there. He'd brought me some clothes from my old room. Asked where I was staying. Tried to tell me it wasn't my fault." Here, Dick invited response for the first time since he had begun. "He didn't mention you. Did you send him?"

Bruce lowered his head. "No."

"Did you know—oh, of course you did. You're Batman." Dick's voice cracked. "God, Bruce, at that point, I… I… I don't know what I wanted, apart from stopping Blockbuster. But I wouldn't have said no to seeing you, either. Alfred did ask me home for a visit, but I couldn't even say a word because I felt so bad. I let him walk away because if I had to hear him tell me anything else, then I was going to break down, and I needed enough momentum to take down Blockbuster."

Bruce sucked in a breath. Oh, Dick…

Dick swallowed thickly and turned away for a few long moments, blinking rapidly as he lifted his gaze to the ceiling of the Batmobile. When he spoke again, his voice trembled, and though Bruce wanted so badly to reassure his son, he waited.

"I guess I just wanted you to tell me to get my head on straight. To take a step back and breathe and look at the evidence—justice, not revenge. But I mostly… I mostly wanted you to tell me the right thing to do, because right then I felt so helpless at not having done things differently—and not even knowing how I could have done things differently—that I wanted so badly to kill Blockbuster."

Bruce reached out and gripped Dick's arm. Dick took a deep, shuddering breath.

"I wired myself up. Got Tarantula's help. I fought a confession out of Blockbuster while she recorded everything. We took it straight to her brother, Mateo Flores. The DA. But," Dick said bitterly, "turns out, Flores was in Blockbuster's pocket all along. Because I was boneheaded enough not to make a copy, he destroyed the recording.

"I don't know what I would have done next. It was like the whole world had fallen apart, like the ground was shaking beneath me. But then I saw a homemade Nightwing-symbol in the sky. Amy and her husband—Jim—had done it. She tried to give me back my badge and gun again. Wanted to protect me. I think—I think she knew what was going to happen before I did."

Bruce swallowed. The tension in the air was tangible.

"Amy told me that Maxine Michaels had been profiling me for Blockbuster, and that Maxine confessed to the police once she realised who I was. So I tracked down Maxine at the Haven Hotel. She'd just started telling me that the bombing wasn't my fault when Blockbuster shot her in the head."

Dick shut his eyes for a long moment, apparently steeling himself to go on.

"I just hated him—so—fucking—much," he whispered, his eyes wide and shiny and red with unshed tears. "He knew just what to say to get under my skin, to make me doubt every choice I'd made in that past month. He said—he said—"

What did he say, Dick?

"He said, I'll take out the people you care about—he said, you won't be able to shake someone's hand without marking them for death! He said…" Dick choked on the next words. "Do you like being alone, Dick?"

He knew your biggest fears, thought Bruce, horrified at this explicit revelation.

"Then… she came. Tarantula. Pointed a gun at him. I was standing in the way. She told me to step aside. She said, All you have to do is get out of my way."

Bruce's eyes bored into Dick's, prompting him.

"And through it all, Blockbuster still wouldn't—stop—talking. And the worst part was that I knew he was right. He knew just what to say, and I—it was never going to stop."

Oh, Dick…

Dick's face crumpled. "God help me, Bruce. I moved. She stayed. I—I—I—"

She shot him.

"I killed him." Dick's head jerked as he succumbed to hiccuping tears. His whole body shook with the force of his sobs, and when Bruce rested a hand on his son's shoulder, Dick shuddered, but did not pull away.

Nightwing's domino mask still lay on Dick's lap. As Bruce watched, Dick picked it up with trembling hands, turning it over and over and tracing its shape as if he might forget what it felt like.

"You can say something now," Dick whispered. "I know I fucked up. I know I failed you. I know I should have told you earlier, so that I wouldn't have continued to fight in your name after I let you down so badly." He traced the mask one last time, then silently reached up and took Bruce's hand from his shoulder, turned it over and pressed the mask into it.

"To fight against crime and corruption, and never swerve from the path of justice," Dick recited, in a tone so quiet that Bruce could almost hear his own heartbeat thrumming behind his ribs. "I broke the oath, Bruce. If I weren't such a coward then I'd let you fire me, but… this will have to do. I'm sorry." He was no longer crying, now, but pale and unmoving as he awaited his sentence.

Bruce had the acute sensation that his mind and body were not his own. He saw, rather than felt, his own hand being moved and the domino mask being given to him. And he saw himself take Dick's hands in his own, return the mask to its rightful owner and gently press a kiss to the back of Dick's hand.

Then he looked up. Dick clutched the domino mask. He looked shocked and opened his mouth to speak, but Bruce was faster.

"No," he said.

Dick dropped the mask. "What do you mean?"

"You're not a coward."

"I—I don't understand," said Dick, looking even more upset than before. "I broke the oath. I shouldn't—I can't be Nightwing anymore."

"How did you break the oath?"

Dick let out a choked noise that was half laugh, half sob. "You're really going to make me say it outright? I moved out of the way, Bruce. I killed Blockbuster. If I hadn't—"

"Stop," Bruce commanded. "You're punishing yourself."

"But I…"

"Dick." Bruce paused, took his son's face in his hand and tilted it up so that their eyes met. "I already knew what happened to Blockbuster."

Dick's lips parted, then his shoulders slumped. "Then, you already know how I've failed you—I murdered—"

"No. Do not finish that sentence. I will not allow you to torture yourself in this way."

"But I still failed her… if I hadn't moved, she wouldn't have become the killer…"

"You think that is what this is about? Did you drive her to take the gun? Did you train her to use lethal force, and then become shocked when she did?"

"If I hadn't moved—"

"You're not listening," Bruce snapped, annoyed at Dick repeating himself. "I have taught you to take into consideration all sides of the situation. Do not insult either my intelligence or your own by disregarding every detail that led up to that night. By your own account, you were exhausted—both physically and mentally. You were in a prolonged period of great stress—"

"Stop patronising me, damn it! We both know that I knew what I was doing, and you taught me there's nothing that excuses the taking of a life."

Bruce could feel a headache spreading in his temple. "You're obviously not ready to discuss this rationally."

"I'm not being irrational! You're the one who's being a hypocrite!" As if shocked at his own words, Dick immediately clapped a hand over his mouth.

Don't rise to the bait. Don't say anything you'll regret. Bruce bowed his head, but he still felt Dick's apprehensive gaze. He waited until his fists unclenched and he knew that he could speak without a raised voice or venom in his tone.

"Tell me something, Dick. How much would you give to save Blockbuster's life?"

Dick gaped at him. "That has nothing to do with what we were talking about!"

"Fine. Then let me tell you a story. A few weeks ago, at the end of the gang war, Black Mask invaded the clock tower."

Dick nodded in recognition. He had been with Alfred in one of the mobile Batcaves at the time, Bruce knew.

"He threatened Barbara. I found him. We fought. At that moment, he was everything that was wrong with the world. The reason Orpheus was dead. The reason the gang war killed as many as it did. The reason Stephanie was severely injured, possibly dying. We were killing each other. Barbara begged me to stop. I told her it would be worth it if I could end things once and for all."

"What did she do?"

"The only thing she could. She set off the emergency destruct systems, forcing me to save her—and myself. Which is worse, to step aside and allow a criminal to be killed, or to actively try to take a criminal down with you?"

Dick swallowed. "I take it back. You're not being a hypocrite."

Bruce shook his head. "The real difference between the two situations is that you didn't have someone to tell you no. You had the opposite. And I—I don't know how I would have reacted in your position, Dick. You were alone and pushed to the brink. All I know is that you are a far better man than I, and I should have been there with you."

Dick's breath hitched. "You didn't know."

"I could have found out."

"He knew my identity. I didn't want him to get to you, too."

"And just how much would you give to ensure the lives of those around you?"

"I—no! Don't make me answer that!"

"You are correct. There is no answer. Because life is infinitely precious. And that is why the choice you faced that night was no choice at all. You were forced into an impossible decision. The guilt does not stop when you spare a criminal's life; it only lessens when you can protect your family and still spare your own soul.

"This is why I didn't want you to join the police. When you carry a gun and are permitted lethal force under certain circumstances, it's foolish to assume those circumstances will never occur. Sooner or later, you would have been forced to choose between taking a life and failing to save another, without anyone there capable enough to back you up or help the situation."

"I was fired," said Dick, colouring.

"But you still had to make that choice without backup. These people that surround you—they keep you whole. If you need me to forgive you for losing sight of the value of Roland Desmond's life, I probably can. I would be a hypocrite if I didn't. But it won't mean anything until you forgive yourself."

"Bruce…" Dick's eyes were wet. "I just… I don't… I…"

Take your time. "Don't ever leave yourself without a support system again. You're the best of me. Don't become the worst of me, too." God only knows how much you've taught me, even though I've failed you in countless ways. I know I'm not a good father.

Dick was silent, and when Bruce finally turned on the car's engine and began to drive home, he said softly, "Thanks, Bruce. I—I know there's a lot we don't say, but… I really needed that." He smiled a little, but it didn't reach his eyes.

There's something else, Bruce thought, keeping his eyes on the road. He could not forget how raw and empty Dick had sounded when he had recounted the moments he had truly lost his ability to cope.

I don't know what I would have done next. It was like the whole world had fallen apart, like the ground was shaking beneath me.

Bruce had been there. He knew what it was like to fall apart, how long it took to recover from something so earth-shattering and powerful and inevitable. He knew that there was something else Dick was keeping from him, something hidden deep and private, like the way a boy clings to his stuffed elephant because it's all he knows, even though he's supposed to have grown out of such childish things. Bruce knew intimately how trauma could rob you of your sense of self.

No, Dick had intentionally held something back about the night Blockbuster was killed and those bewildering, hazy days afterwards, and though Bruce knew better than to press the issue now, he knew he would not let Dick go back to Blüdhaven until every last stone in the Blockbuster fiasco had been overturned.

A/N: Due to real life, subsequent chapters may be posted every other day or every few days instead of every day, but rest assured that this story will be completed by the end of the month.

Sources:

The first scene is again based on Nightwing (1996) #100.

Nightwing inadvertently caused the traffic jam that caused Blockbuster's mother's heart attack in Nightwing (1996) #49. The rest of the events that Dick recounts are from Nightwing (1996) #80-93.