Welcome to the start of the last arc before we get to the Young Justice canon timeframe. I know many of you are impatient to reach the events of the show, and I promise you I am too. However, I wanted to include at least one arc of Harry patrolling with Batman and Robin before he joins the Team. His Bat training, and even more importantly his friendship with Dick, will play a major role in the story going forward, so I thought it important to have an arc dedicated to the beginnings of that. This arc will only last 3 chapters, though, and then it's on to Independence Day.
Please give whatever support you can afford to the people of Ukraine.
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Chapter 10
May 1, 13:21
Tower of Fate
Everything was on fire. Everything. For as far as Harry could see in every direction, there was nothing but fire and smoke. The heat was like climbing inside an oven on the surface of the sun. Every breath filled his lungs with coals. He squinted against the blinding light and raised his hands.
"Nice try," he said. "Finite!"
His counterspell sliced through the delicate threads of Sirius' magic. The flames, or rather the illusion of flames, dissolved. Not a moment too soon, either. He had just enough time to block the stunner his godfather had hidden behind the mirage.
"Not bad, kid," Sirius said from the other side of the dueling ring. "You're getting better at recognizing the illusions, but you need to resist them before they affect you. Even a split second could mean your life."
"It's a good job my reflexes are so fast, then," Harry said. "How're yours?"
He whipped his wand in a wide arc and then thrust it forward like a dagger. A broad lash of golden-red fire bloomed in front of him and raced towards Sirius. Just behind it, hidden, a heavy iron chain snaked through the air, ready to ensnare whoever it touched.
"Don't get cocky," Sirius quipped. He raised a finger and a blast of arctic wind extinguished the fire and froze the chain. It fell to the floor and shattered against the stone. Harry choked on his own spit. The man hadn't even moved his hand. Just a finger!
"How did you-"
"Practice and experience, kid," Sirius answered. "The same way I'm about to do this!"
He turned faster than any man his age should have been able to move. In the space between two heartbeats he had ducked under a stunner and come back up with a spear of golden light in one hand, tip leveled at a patch of empty air. Another heartbeat later, the spear had reformed into a golden rope and wrapped around the same bit of blank space. Or at least, space that looked blank.
Behind Sirius, Harry's figure froze. He grew hazy around the edges, like a projection on mist. After a few seconds, he vanished entirely. At the same time, the empty space Sirius had coiled with his binding spell shimmered. The air seemed to fracture, revealing the real Harry trussed up from neck to ankles. He struggled against the bonds for a few seconds, but it was futile.
"Like I said, kid, don't get cocky." Sirius plucked his wand from his grasp and pocketed it. "It was a good shot, though. Did Bruce teach that sort of misdirection?"
Harry nodded. "And Zatara taught me this."
He hummed a few bars of music, and a small bolt of lightning crackled along the golden binding spell and into Sirius' hand. The old wizard yelped as the shock sent him stumbling back, and the glowing rope vanished. Harry wasted no time pressing his momentary advantage.
"Roolf esir pu ot emusnoc mih!"
As always, reality tried to resist conforming to his directions. The universe had a certain inertia to it, as Sirius put it, and it took willpower and energy to overcome it. He had more than enough of both, though, and the world heeded his command like a trained puppy.
The floor rippled. With a sound like bubbling mud, stone stretched and warped into a rough parody of a lion's maw. The mighty head and jaws, easily the size of an SUV, rose around Sirius and lunged up to swallow him. Stone teeth as long as a man's arm arced over his head. For a moment, Harry felt a surge of excitement. In all of their spars, he'd never come so close to defeating his godfather. It looked like his losing streak was finally about to end.
'There's no way,' he thought. 'I'm actually going to win.'
Then Sirius decided to demonstrate what a century as the strongest mage in the world added up to. Without saying a word, without twitching so much as a finger, he summoned up more magic than Harry could have with an hour to meditate. His eyes literally glowed a solid gold. Then, with the sort of deftness that ought to have been impossible with such massive energies, he unleashed it. It was like watching someone perform successful brain surgery with a mountain as a scalpel.
Gravity did a handstand. There was no warning. One moment Harry's feet were firmly on the floor. The next, the floor had become the ceiling, and he was tumbling head over heels through the air. As he fell, he could just make out the lion's head he'd conjured dissolve into mist. That same mist caught him less than a foot above the ceiling (floor?) and held him fast. His hair was just barely brushing the stone. It wasn't until he tried to yelp that he discovered just how well secured he was. None of his muscles worked. He couldn't even blink. It wasn't just his body that was paralyzed, either. When he tried to Apparate, his magic wouldn't come. It was as if there were a glass wall in his mind. He could see his magic on the other side of it, but no matter how he strained, he couldn't touch it. He tried a countercharm, a stunner, even a basic illumination spell, but nothing made a difference. Sirius had him well and truly bound.
A pair of brown loafers trod into his field of view. Doubtless his godfather was attached to them, though he couldn't see past his ankles.
"I'd ask if you surrender, but I'll take it as given," Sirius said. "Think fast."
Harry felt the magic holding him in place vanish. He flinched, expecting to finish the last few inches of his fall into the ceiling. Instead, gravity righted itself and he began the much longer trip back to the floor. Out of sheer instinct, he shifted into Gwaihir in midair and flapped furiously to break his fall. It worked, just, and he turned back in time for his shoes to hit the ground.
"What was that for?" He demanded.
Sirius shrugged and floated down from the ceiling. "To see if you'd do exactly what you did. Nice reflexes, by the way. You're consistently transforming in less than a second now."
Harry just grunted and popped his neck. Sparring with Sirius always left him sore. It was the magical equivalent of sparring with Bruce, only Sirius lacked the other's gentle and easygoing nature. At least this time, he hadn't set him on fire or sent any of his limbs to a different dimension.
"I didn't know Zatara had you casting with music," Sirius continued.
Harry shrugged. "It was just something he suggested I try. He said it was a good way to build more flexibility with my spells, and that I should learn as many different types of magic as I could. Besides, I can't just copy his style forever. I think Zatanna would actually murder me."
The younger magician hadn't been quite so hostile the last few times he'd had a lesson with her father, but she still treated him as a rival at best and an unwelcome interloper at worst. He tried to take the barbed comments in stride, but she didn't make it easy. Zatanna Zatara had a wicked edge to her tongue.
"Well, he's right about it helping with flexibility. It's useful for power, too. Music's always been associated with the strongest magics. The Fae use it all the time. So do the monks of Azarath, with all their chanting. Nothing like musical magic for weaving a bunch of complex, powerful spells together." To demonstrate, he whistled a short tune. Harry thought he recognized a snatch of the Sorcerer's Apprentice from Fantasia. As the last note faded, the deformed floor and charred walls repaired themselves. The spell expanded further, mending the damage to their clothes, and even scrubbing dust off the stones. In seconds, the room all but sparkled.
"It's not always the most practical sort of magic, but it's dead useful to know, anyway. Think of it as thaumaturgy, but with pure concepts instead of physical representations. Music has a strong link with the arcane and the spiritual. Choose music that means the right thing to you, and you can make the world dance to your tune. Literally."
Harry couldn't help but remember Dumbledore's comments on music being beyond any magic taught at Hogwarts. At the time, he'd thought it a sentimental turn of phrase. Perhaps it had been more, though. Zatara hadn't gone into detail on channeling magic through music. He'd only mentioned it would be a good idea for him to practice with it. Then again, Zatara was very much a fan of learning by doing. His own style did not lend itself to strict and detailed instructions. Lessons with Sirius were about manipulating energy, perfecting his control of magic, and generally delving into all the fine details of the arcane arts. Lessons with Zatara were more about channeling his imagination and willpower. There was a lot of overlap, but he could see the advantages of learning both styles.
"So, what's the verdict?" He asked with a little trepidation. Of all their spars, this was the most important one to date. It was the first one with real stakes.
Sirius eyed him for a moment. "Well, that depends. How about you tell me what's going on with you and the lovely Miss Betinelli?"
Harry stared at him. It took his brain a moment to process what he'd just heard and switch gears. "You- I- what? Why do you-"
"Because you don't tell me anything, Harry," Sirius said. There was just the faintest hint of desperation in his voice. "You train, you go to school, we have movie nights, but you don't tell me about your life outside the Tower. Outside learning to be a hero." He walked over and put both his hands on Harry's shoulders. "I'm your godfather, boy, and you're as close as one of my own sons. So do an old man a favor and tell me what's going on with your girlfriend. Something's obviously bothering you- don't you dare lie to me. I can read that scowl of yours plain as day. You've been dating this girl for four months, but I've only met her once. That was hardly long enough to know her. So tell me."
Harry stared at him agog. Part of him wanted to be angry. He'd been waiting for this moment for weeks. The larger part, though, felt guilty. Sirius was right. He'd been seeing Helena for months now, but he'd scarcely mentioned her to Sirius. Indeed, he'd barely talked about anything to do with school, or training with Bruce, or anything else he did outside the Tower. The sudden realization made him grimace.
"Sorry. I've just gotten used to- well, I've never had…"
"You've never had an adult to talk to about these things at home," Sirius finished. Now he was the one who sounded guilty. "I know, and I can never express how sorry I am about that. But you do, now. You can talk to me. And if you want to hear my verdict, you're going to have to spill. So, spill."
It was a good minute or two before Harry found the words. When he did, they felt stiff and misshapen in his mouth, but also comforting. It had been too long since he let himself talk about his own life that he nearly didn't remember how. Helena wasn't the topic he'd have chosen, but Sirius had a point. She was the topic at hand, and he suddenly felt relieved he could let someone else know what he'd been mulling over for the last 24 hours.
"We're not together anymore. We were talking last night, and she told me… Helena- uh, she's going back to Sicily at the end of the school year. Her family wants her back in the old country. And… she doesn't know if she's coming back to America anytime soon." He conjured himself a chair without thinking and slumped into it. Saying it out loud suddenly made the whole situation that much more real.
Sirius conjured himself a chair of his own and sat across from him. The lines in his face deepened into a sympathetic frown. "I'm sorry to hear that. Truly."
Harry nodded. Sorry. That was one word for how he felt. He couldn't think of any others.
"Do you love her?" Sirius spoke softly, almost in a whisper, but the question still hit with the force of a bomb. Harry dropped his head into his hands and bit back a frustrated growl.
"I- I don't know. We never talked about it. I mean, I couldn't really be honest with her about everything. Maybe." He'd never said the words, and neither had she. They'd both gotten adept at changing topics whenever the conversation drifted in that direction. He grunted and rubbed his forehead in the hope it would quell the headache building behind his eyes. "This is so confusing."
A leathery hand rested on his knee and gave it a comforting pat. He looked up to see Sirius smiling gently, eyes brimming with sympathy.
"It's okay if this doesn't make sense right now," he said. "Stuff like this is always confusing. But, if you loved her or not, don't think this is the end of the world. Love is precious because it's brilliant, not because it's rare. People talk about soulmates as if you only get one, but the human soul isn't so rigid and shallow as all that. You can have something special with all sorts of different people, because there's all sorts of special things about them. And about you. Trust me, I've been around long enough to know this much, at least."
Harry winced. "I'm sorry. This must sound so stupid. I mean, you're-"
"Too old to listen to a teenager's problems?" Sirius asked with a wry shake of his head. "Never. Never let yourself think your problems aren't important just because they're not original. I'm just old enough to have a few bits of wisdom to share. Wisdom my father should have shared with me, and your father would have shared with you if he'd had the chance. Take the good as it comes and don't let the bad blind you to more good in the future. No matter what's behind you, you've always got the rest of your life ahead of you."
Harry took a long, shaky breath, held it for a count of five, and then let it out slowly. With it went the lion's share of the weight that had been resting on his chest for the last day. It wasn't gone, not all of it, but it was bearable. When his thoughts went to Helena now, it stung, but beneath the sting were months of other memories. Better memories. Memories that made the sting worse, but also made it worth the pain.
"Thanks," he whispered. "That- that helps."
"That's my job," Sirius said. "Don't forget, you're not alone. You're allowed to bring this stuff to me. Always."
"I know. Really, I know. I just forget sometimes." He scrubbed his eyes as surreptitiously as he could and met his godfather's concerned gaze. "So, what's your verdict? Can I go on patrol or do we need to keep having feelings?"
Sirius barked a laugh. The concern vanished from his eyes as Harry joined him. Their twin chuckles, one real, one mostly real, echoed off the stone walls.
"Oh, you're as single-minded as always. God help us if you ever decide to take over the world." He leaned back in his chair and sighed. His face went smooth and blank, a sure sign he was mulling over something troubling. Harry found his leg bouncing in anticipation. The emotional turmoil of the last few minutes already seemed a thing of the distant past.
The silence stretched on and on until he was practically vibrating with impatience. Finally, just when he thought he might explode, Sirius grinned. The bastard actually grinned.
"You arse-"
Sirius cackled. "You're too easy to mess with. I just couldn't resist." He ducked under the snowball Harry conjured and flung at his head. "Hold your fire. Yes, you passed. You can go on patrol. I'll call Bruce and let him know."
"Wahoo!" Harry jumped into the air and pumped a fist. "Dick owes me thirty dollars. Little shit thought you wouldn't let me patrol with him for another month."
Sirius' mouth quirked into a sly grin. "Well, I certainly wouldn't want to unduly impoverish Mister Grayson. Perhaps another month would-"
Harry had his wand out in an instant and leveled at his godfather's face. "Langlock!"
Sirius broke off with a gurgle as his tongue glued itself to the top of his mouth. Harry leaned in close until his wand rested ever so lightly against the man's nose.
"Don't. Even. Think. About. It." With every word he tapped Sirius on the nose, just for emphasis. A few sparks may have flown from the tip of his wand. He was feeling especially emphatic.
Sirius rolled his eyes. Harry felt the old man's magic slice through his spell like a scalpel. He still didn't know how Sirius did that. Every time he asked, Sirius just winked and changed the subject. He supposed a century as Doctor Fate was good for more than just a fancy CV.
"Someone's awful touchy," Sirius teased. "Fine. I suppose Dick can afford to lose a bet now and then. Tonight's the night, Harry, and I got you something to mark the occasion."
He clapped his hands together, and when he pulled them apart, a mid-sized bundle appeared in the space between. It levitated over to Harry, and he plucked it out of the air. When he loosened the knots, it unfurled into-
"A jacket?" He asked. It looked like a sort of bomber jacket, though he couldn't identify the material. Whatever it was, it felt hard-wearing. The jacket was mostly a dark grey-blue, with scarlet piping around the zipper and hem, and a scarlet bat symbol velcroed on each shoulder.
"Not just any jacket," Sirius said. There was an unmistakable note of pride in his voice. "That's Svartalfr made right there. You won't find better armorers anywhere on Earth, and not many beyond. Don't ask me what they made it from, but I reckon it could turn just about any blade or bullet you're likely to encounter. I added a few special touches myself, of course. Try it on."
He did. It fit perfectly. As someone verging on professional basketball player height, that alone was enough to make it a prized possession. Finding clothes, particularly shirts and jackets, that fit his gangly, elongated frame, was a constant source of frustration. This one, though, fit better than any custom tailored piece ever could have. Despite the sturdy feel of the fabric, it sat light as air on his shoulders and flexed without a hint of resistance. He could feel the faint buzz of enchantments woven into the jacket, though he couldn't tell Sirius' work from the Svartalves.
Pockets lined the inside, from ones large enough for full-size books to tiny pouches just large enough for a potion vial. He even felt a few loops for knives or other weapons. Sirius took after Bruce when it came to preparing for any contingency. Then again, it may well have been the other way around.
"There are Undetectable Extension charms on all the pockets, and I loaded you up with some basic potions and the like," Sirius rambled. "There are also Temperature Control charms, so you won't overheat or freeze while wearing that. Like I said, it'll stop pretty much any non-magical attack from going through. It's not invincible, mind, so don't go waltzing into a firefight like a prat. I chose the color and style myself, but I can always change it if-"
Harry cut him off with a fierce hug. "It's perfect. Thank you."
Sirius returned the embrace just as fiercely. "That's not all. Go ahead and have a rummage around in the front right pocket."
When he reached into the pocket, his fingers brushed something smooth and hard. He pulled it out. It was a familiar-looking penknife, virtually identical to the one Sirius had given him at Hogwarts. Only it couldn't be the same one, because that one had melted when he'd tried to open a door in the Department of Mysteries.
"Is this-"
"Same as the old one I gave you. Better, actually. This one doesn't just do locks and knots. It'll slice through most enchantments, too, so you shouldn't have to worry about it melting." The pride in his voice was even more obvious now, and Harry had to swallow a chuckle. For all his decades of experience and wisdom, Sirius was still as enthralled with neat gadgets as anyone he had met. Not that Harry had any room to talk, he knew.
"Now, you had probably best get to the Batcave," Sirius continued. "I'm sure Bruce has a scintillating lecture he just can't wait to give you, and I'd hate to deprive him of his entertainment."
Harry made a face. That was disappointingly close to the truth. Bruce was a great believer in safety briefs, operational reviews, and endless reiterations on his many, many contingencies, protocols, and expectations. He didn't even want to imagine what sort of lecture he had in store before his first ever Gotham patrol. The one before he'd first helped Alfred run comms had been bad enough.
"Sometimes you could suck the joy out of eating ice cream," he groused. Sirius didn't even have the decency to look contrite. No, the old fossil actually laughed. Laughed! At his impending misery. The sheer nerve.
He managed his glare for a full ten seconds before he couldn't contain his own laughter anymore. Tonight was the night, after all. Nothing could dampen his good mood, not even Sirius being a pillock. Not even a Bat-lecture. Not even the fact he'd just thought of it as a "Bat-lecture", an embarrassing mental slip for which he fully blamed Dick. The acrobat's ear-numbing linguistic predilections were apparently contagious.
"Just remember to be careful, please," Sirius said as the echoes of their shared mirth faded. "You've come a long way, but you're still only just beginning to tap into your potential. There's a lot you don't know, and ignorance is dangerous."
"I'm ready for this," he protested.
"I know you are. That doesn't mean you're invincible. Just… do as Bruce says, don't be stupid, and whatever else you do, don't die. I'm really serious about that last one."
Harry once again wrapped his godfather in a hug. "I'll be fine, old man. I promise."
Sirius clapped him on the back, and that was that. No last-minute advice. No lesson. He was actually doing it. The thing that had been his North Star for months now was almost in his grasp. When he reached for the pot beside the fireplace for a handful of Floo powder, his hand was shaking. Excitement crackled through his nerves like stray lightning and an entire colony of butterflies swarmed in his stomach. As he stepped into the green flames, he took one last look at Sirius. His godfather had never looked prouder.
Green fire consumed his vision for a timeless handful of seconds. When it cleared, he was looking at the warm wood paneling and expensive furniture of the Wayne Manor room Bruce had let Sirius connect to his Floo network. He stepped onto the hearth, careful to knock the soot from his shoes. Naturally, Alfred was already there waiting for him.
"Thank you for not treading ash into the carpet, Master Harry," he said with a gracious nod.
"You're welcome. Is Bruce downstairs?"
"He is indeed. Master Wayne is expecting you. And might I say, that jacket suits you." His eyes were pointedly fixed on the bat patches, and Harry caught the implied message.
"Thanks, Alfred. That means a lot."
"Of course, sir. If you'll follow me."
He knew his way through the manor by now, but he let Alfred guide him to Bruce's study, and then down the hidden stairs to the Batcave. From the rhythmic clacking he could hear, Dick was practicing with his escrima sticks again. Sure enough, when he reached the base of the stairs, he spotted the acrobat trading blows with one of the training drones. It vaguely resembled a giant crab, but with rotating clubs covered in sticks instead of pincers. Target points winked on and off across its form, never staying lit for more than a second. It swung and scuttled about far faster than its bulk would have suggested, but Dick bounced around it with casual ease. His sticks lashed out in a blur, knocking the glowing targets one after another. Harry had trained against the same drone more times than he cared to remember, and he'd never lasted more than five minutes. The timer beside the training area Dick was using read 12 minutes and counting.
Bruce stood to one side of the mats and called out a steady stream of corrections and instructions. As Harry watched, he took a batarang from his belt and hurtled it at Dick's head.
"Think fast!"
Dick never broke his flow. Mid-flip, he twisted in the air and batted the incoming projectile to the side. No, not just to the side. He smacked it into one of the targets. Harry's jaw dropped. Even after a month's training side by side with him, Dick's skill could still catch him off guard. There was a reason people called him the Boy Wonder, after all. If anything, the gap between their skills had widened in the last seven months. At least, he was now better able to appreciate just how far he still had to go if he ever wanted to match Robin in a mundane spar. With his magic, it was a much closer proposition, though Dick still claimed seven out of every ten matches.
"Good aim. Keep going until you hit 20 minutes," Bruce said before turning to face him. "Sirius called. You're cleared for patrol."
Harry frowned. There was no way Sirius had already had time to call. It had barely been five minutes since he'd left the Tower. Sirius never spent fewer than ten winding Bruce up, which meant-
'That sneaky bastard. He called before we ever started dueling. He just wanted an excuse to force a conversation.'
"Something on your mind?" Bruce asked, startling him from his fantasies of filling Sirius' sock drawer with fire ants.
"Mm, not really. Everything's fine." He supposed it was at that. Underhanded though it may have been, he'd needed that conversation. Needed it more than he'd realized.
"Hmm." Bruce eyed him for another few seconds before moving on. "I've already told Robin, but this will be a fairly standard patrol. All the big names are locked up right now, and I have no intel on anything major for the next week."
He led them over to the computer and pulled up a file. Images of an abandoned bus filled the screen, along with charts showing the results of fingerprint and DNA analysis, pictures of tire tracks, and a long list of names. There was blood on the dash and windshield of the bus. A lot of blood.
"This will be our primary goal. Yesterday, this tour bus dropped out of contract sometime between 0900 and 10. Police found it two hours later, like this. All 52 passengers, ages 7 to 68, are missing, presumed kidnapped, but there have been no demands."
Harry looked over the screens, trying to remember everything Bruce had taught him about detective work. "Multiple types of tire tread, so I'm guessing at least three different models of vehicle. All three would need to be vans to take that many people all at once. Who's blood is that?"
Bruce clicked another file and more crime scene photos appeared. These ones showed a middle-aged man in some sort of uniform lying in the dirt. His head was a pulped ruin. Harry couldn't even guess his hair color amidst all the gore. He bit his tongue to distract himself from the grisly sight and focused on analyzing the scene. That mess of bone and brain wasn't a person. It was a collection of data they could use to identify a perpetrator. That was all. It wasn't a person. If he repeated enough times, maybe his stomach would believe him.
"Sam Hawthorne, 51. He was the bus driver. Someone beat him to death with a baseball bat, likely to gain compliance from the rest of the passengers. There is no indication anyone else was hurt."
"Then there was definitely a larger crew. You'd need what, five people, at least, to get a crowd of 50 into vans without anyone daring to resist? Do you think it was Black Mask? Or Penguin?"
"It's too early to formulate theories. Right now, our job is to gather data. Is there any way you can track the passengers with magic?"
He grimaced and shook his head. "I doubt it. It doesn't look like they left anything they valued behind. After a sunrise, any blood or hair they left will be useless. Maybe Zatara could do it, but I'm not there yet."
Sirius had taught him a few other methods of magical tracking, but they were tricky, time consuming, or both, and he still had a lot to learn about pretty much all aspects of magic. With a violent murder such as the driver's so nearby, any chance of capturing psychic traces from the passengers was gone. Such a death would have blotted out any more subtle residues. All the other spells he could think of would need at least another day to set up, and there was still no guarantee. Even with magic, finding strangers in a city was hard.
"I thought as much. In that case, we will coordinate with Gordon to gather information. Our first stop will be the GCPD. Before that, though, you need to change."
He pointed at the table where Harry did most of his studying. On it was a box. Harry opened it and pulled out a set of body armor.
"People keep giving me clothes today," he remarked. The armor looked similar to Robin's, but sized for him and colored an unassuming grey. There was a pair of dark cargo pants below the armor, along with a pair of combat boots and a domino mask. All of it was unmistakably the same sort of gear Batman and Robin both used. There was even a utility belt and a wrist computer. The belt was quite a bit lighter than either of the others', but then again, he wasn't likely to need half the gear they carried.
"This should get you started. I understand your jacket has magical protections, but redundancy is never a bad idea. Have you chosen a name?"
He nodded. It had taken him a while to figure it out, but there was one name he'd kept coming back to, no matter how many times he brainstormed. It had belonged to his father and his godfather before him, and now he'd give it new meaning.
"Marauder." He picked up the mask and tossed it to Bruce. "I won't be needing this, either."
Bruce cocked his head. He drew his wand and waved it over himself, chanting softly. A wave of cold air brushed over him and he felt the spell lock into place. It was a basic Obscuring charm, but modified to maintain itself even if he fell unconscious or came under magical attack. Anyone looking at him would find themselves unable to properly discern any detail about his appearance other than his clothes.
Bruce nodded. "Acceptable. But remember, no obvious magic on patrol. Nothing that will draw undue attention. Now go change."
Harry gathered up the gear and headed towards the changing room. He was already envisioning how he'd look in the armor. Sirius wasn't the only one with a soft spot for the rule of cool.
"Oh, and Harry."
He turned. Bruce tapped one of the bats on his shoulder. "I told Sirius to include these. They're not just my symbol. They're a symbol of the city's trust in me. In what I represent. What you and Dick represent now too. You've earned them. Now, make sure you honor them."
OoOoOoOoOoOoO
It was a nice night, at least by Gotham standards. Spring had sprung, banishing winter's bite, but summer's muggy heat was still a few weeks off. The air smelled cleaner than normal, thanks to the rain they'd had for the past few days, and judging by the clouds boiling in the sky, it would smell cleaner still by morning. Jim Gordon relished nights like this, especially when he lit the Batsignal. No matter how important the work he did, sometimes a man just didn't relish the idea of standing out in the rain.
It had been easier to excuse himself to the roof now that he was Commissioner. He'd gotten the bump just a month ago, when that scumbag Grogan had resigned. Grogan hadn't been as bad as Loeb, but then, by all accounts, dirt tasted better than raw sewage. Either way, it had been all but impossible to make lasting change when the head of the GCPD was dirty. Now, he let himself hope, really hope, for the first time in what felt like decades. It would be the work of a lifetime, and probably more, to clean up the corruption in the city, but he was more than ready to take it on. His daughter would not grow up in a town where the only difference between the cops and the mob was the color of their clothes. Not anymore.
The spotlight bounced off the clouds, casting the infamous signal for all to see. Batman hadn't shown up, yet. Unless he had. Jim had no illusions about his ability to detect the Bat or his young partner if they decided to remain unseen. Even now, after years of partnership and trust, the man insisted on maintaining the mythos of the Batman, even with his allies. It would have been absurd if it wasn't so effective. He'd known literally hundreds of criminals over the years, from petty thieves to hardened serial killers, who'd surrendered in terror at their first glimpse of a cape and cowl.
'I wonder how many crimes he's stopped just from his reputation,' he mused. 'Barbara could probably come up with a way to calculate it.' Not that he would ask her. His little girl would be staying as far away from this business as he could manage. If he had his way, she'd never so much as think the words "cape" or "mask". Maybe he could convince her to become President. That would keep her distracted for a few years.
His fingers automatically wandered into his breast pocket, looking for a pack of cigarettes that wasn't there. He stifled a groan when he remembered why. Barbara had convinced him to try quitting again, and this time she seemed determined to make it stick. All his officers, even the handful of good ones, went mysteriously deaf whenever he asked for a smoke. Her work, no doubt. She'd also found and disposed of all the hidden stashes he kept for just this occasion. He suspected she'd roped that Grayson boy into it, and possibly their new friend Potter as well. He'd have been furious if he wasn't also so proud. Some of those stashes must have taken serious detective work to find, and she'd gotten them all in the space of a single shift.
"Jim, we need to talk," a low voice said from behind him.
He didn't jump. A gasp and a twitch was not a jump, he told himself. He used to jump, but years of exposure could blunt even the Batman's surprise factor. After all this time, he didn't think anything could surprise him anymore.
"Batman. Robi- what in the blazes?"
He'd been wrong. There was still something that could surprise him. Namely, the large eagle perched casually on Robin's shoulder. On its perch, it stood several inches taller than Robin and those green eyes cut through the darkness like tiny candle flames. It flapped its wings once and settled down to watch. Robin did not seem in the least perturbed at having a massive bird use him as a perch, and Batman made no move to drive the creature off, so he didn't think it was a danger, but it was still there. Watching.
"You trying out a change of theme?" Gordon asked when he'd recovered from his shock. "I thought you were married to the bat imagery. What's this?"
He'd asked Batman, but Robin was the one to answer. "Not a what, Commissioner…"
The eagle launched off his shoulder, and Gordon stumbled back, visions of those deadly talons ripping into his face filling his mind. Half-way to him, though, the bird… shifted. In no more time than it took to blink, the eagle swelled, elongated, and became a person. A very tall person.
"A who," the man, formerly eagle, finished, sticking out a hand as if nothing odd had just happened. Despite his height, his voice sounded young. Not out of his teens, the detective part of him noted. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Marauder."
Batman and Robin sneaking up on him was one thing, but an eagle turning into a teenager was a whole other ballgame. Gordon swore violently and stumbled back a few steps. His hand went to his holster, but he arrested the motion before he even brushed his gun, and straightened with as much dignity as a man could have after he'd jumped almost a foot in the air. His heart was still pounding against his sternum like a mad gorilla, but he took a deep, slow breath and scraped together something close to equilibrium. Close enough to run a detective's eye over the bird-man.
He was wearing boots, cargo pants, and what looked like a scaled-up version of Robin's armor, only without the garish colors. Over that, he wore a jacket, gray with red highlights and red bat patches on the shoulders. Gordon could just spot a utility belt around his waist, though it didn't look as heavily stocked as the other two.
Strangely, that was as far as he could go with a detailed analysis. Everything else about this Marauder's features, from the details of his face to his exact height, was somehow vague. He was tall, but Gordon couldn't have said if he was six feet or eight. His skin was a light shade, but a light shade of what? It could have been brown, white, even green for all he could tell. His facial features were all there, one nose, one mouth, two eyes, etc, but each time he focused on one detail, the others slid from his mind like greased eels. He could have been any of ten thousand people Gordon might pass in the streets of Gotham. His accent hadn't been American, but then again, it hadn't been anything. Gordon had seen enough old movies to recognize an affected Transatlantic accent when he heard one. So, this kid was a tall, light-skinned teenager who was either foreign, or an actor from the '30s. And he had powers. Just brilliant.
Gordon cleared his throat and glanced back and forth between Marauder and Batman, though he spared a glare for Robin as well. The boy wasn't hiding his chortles nearly as well as he thought he was. No doubt the plan to scare another decade off his life had been his.
"Another one?" He asked gruffly. His fists wanted to clench, but he kept a tight rein on his temper. He didn't know what was going on here, he told himself. Get all the information, then make a decision. "I thought you said you wouldn't be dragging anyone else into this… thing of yours."
"This is Marauder," Batman replied, voice flat. "He's a… special case."
"He means he didn't recruit me," Marauder cut in. He'd retracted his hand after it became clear Gordon wasn't going to take it. "I came to him. He's just training me for a bit."
Gordon felt a bit of the angry knot in his chest loosen. He wasn't any fonder of the idea of kids putting on masks and capes than he had been four years ago, when Robin had come into the picture, but at least Batman wasn't actively roping people into his crusade.
"Technically, he's just here on loan from the Museum of Doctor Fate," Dick added. For some reason, he seemed to think that would be helpful. The first stirrings of a prize headache began in his skull, with an accompaniment of flared nostrils and a pulsing vein in one temple. He took another deep breath before he spoke again. This entire conversation felt as if it were tipping his world to the left.
"Right. Is there a version of this conversation where someone tells me what the hell is going on?"
Batman sighed, which was nearly as good as a ten-minute rant from him. It was an emotion, anyway.
"This is Marauder. As he said, I agreed to train him. Joining me on patrol is part of that. I believe he is ready for it."
Gordon frowned. "And the powers. I thought you didn't like supers in Gotham. What is he, anyway?"
"He is right here," Marauder snapped. Apparently, this one had a temper. "And I'm a wizard, if you must know."
His world tilted further. As if crocodile men, shapeshifting clay monsters, and plant-controlling eco-terrorists weren't enough, now he had to deal with magic being real. And not just real, but in his city, fighting crime and causing chaos. The embryonic migraine he'd felt earlier suddenly grew and developed an attitude.
"Of all the weeks to quit smoking," he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. After a moment, he refocused on Batman. "Are you sure about this? And I mean damn sure?"
"Would he be out here if I wasn't?"
Crash!
The door to the roof slammed open, saving him from having to answer. Bullock stood panting in the doorway in all his disheveled, chain smoking glory. From the alarming shade of red in his face, he'd sprinted all the way from his desk in the bullpen. That alone was enough to get his undivided attention. Bullock didn't jog for anything less than an emergency, and nothing short of an imminent crisis could compel him to sprint.
"Harvey? What's happened?"
Bullock's eyes swept over the roof, took in Batman and Robin, and then landed on Marauder. His gaze flicked to the bat patches on his shoulders and narrowed in distaste. Bullock made no bones about his dislike of "crazy nuts who took the law into their own hands", as he put it. He didn't comment, though. They didn't see eye to eye on Batman and his ilk, but Bullock had loyalty etched into bones.
"Harvey?" He prompted again. Bullock wiped his brow and very deliberately didn't look at the three vigilantes sharing the roof.
"It's that tour bus," he panted. "The one that got hit yesterday. We found 'em. It- it isn't good."
Gordon pursed his lips. If the passengers were dead, Bullock wouldn't have bothered to sprint just to tell him. That only left one option. The one he'd been both dreading and hoping for ever since he'd heard about the bus.
"Hostage situation?"
Bullock nodded, and he swore under his breath. In any other city in the country, it might almost have been good news. A hostage situation at least meant survivors, and a chance to keep said survivors alive. This was Gotham, though, which meant at some point this whole mess would hit hard enough they'd need to bring in extra fans.
"Where?"
"Some warehouses near the old Monarch factory," Harvey said. "Montoya's heading there now. Our guys in the area are working on a perimeter right now. And Commissioner… there's been no demands."
He nodded, mind racing. No demands in a premeditated kidnapping was never a good thing. It usually meant the kidnappers were the blaze of glory sort, and those types usually got what they wanted. "Tell the officers on scene not to do anything until I get there. Give me a five-block cordon in all directions and evacuate the area. If these guys want to go out, they might have the place rigged. Batman, can you-"
He trailed off. They were gone; all three of them. Of course they were. You'd think he'd be used to that trick by now, but somehow it never got less impressive. Or less annoying.
"Every damn time," he grumbled. "Come on, Bullock. If we don't hurry, he'll probably have the whole thing wrapped up before we get there."
Bullock snorted. "I still can't believe you let that nutcase do our job for us. You ask me, he belongs in Arkham right next to the clown. All those capes do."
"Batman's on our side, and we couldn't keep this city safe without him," he said, bitter as the words tasted. Under his breath, he added, "Otherwise there would be very little reason not to put him in prison."
OoOoOoOoOoOoO
It was amazing how quickly things could change. In less than a minute, the levity of his and Robin's prank on Commissioner Gordon had evaporated. In its place was a burning urgency. He didn't need to be Batman, or a veteran cop, to know how dangerous a hostage situation like this could be.
Despite his earlier admonition, they had barely left the GCPD before Batman asked him to Apparate them to the Monarch playing card factory. Taking two people in a side-along felt like dragging a tree out of the ground by its roots, but he managed it without splinching anyone. Well, not too badly, at least. He'd grow his eyebrow back when they finished patrol.
It hadn't been raining at the GCPD yet, but north of the Narrows, it was pouring. His boots slipped on the wet concrete of the factory roof, and he had to pinwheel his arms not to fall on his arse. Robin groaned and sagged against a chimney.
"I hate that. Why does magical travel suck so much? How do you put up with it?"
"It's worse when I have passengers," he said. "When it's just me, it's not so bad."
Batman, of course, showed no sign of discomfort. Instead, he made straight for the edge of the roof and pulled out a pair of binoculars. After their stomachs had settled, he and Robin joined him.
It was easy to tell which buildings the hostages were in. They were the only three buildings in the row of warehouses with their lights on. He focused on his vision and used a trick Sirius had taught him to enhance one sense at the expense of the others. The drum of rain on the roof dwindled to almost nothing, and his skin felt oddly thick as his sense of touch diminished. There was nothing to smell or taste, but he wouldn't have been able to tell if there were. Through the downpour, he could just make out the shadows of gunmen in some of the windows. On the street, the police had already established a cordon and were busy pushing it back, as Gordon had instructed. Harry counted eight police cruisers already, and he could hear more on the way.
"Why would they split up between three buildings?" He asked.
"Whoever these guys are, they have over 50 hostages," Robin said. "They probably didn't want to keep them all in one spot in case they tried to fight back. Plus, this way, the police would have to hit all three buildings at once, or risk the hostages dying. Luckily, we're not the cops. Are we going in, B?"
Batman studied the scene with his binoculars for a few more seconds and then nodded. "Yes. But just you and me, Robin. Marauder, stay here."
Harry felt like he'd just been slapped. "What? But I-"
"Stay here." Batman's glare cut through his incoming vitriol like a scalpel. "Robin and I will disable the guards in the east warehouse first. When I give the signal, I want you to go in and free the hostages while the two of us move on to the next warehouse. Get them to safety, then wait for word on the middle building, and so on. Understood?"
Harry grit his teeth, but nodded. It was a good plan. A smart plan. His first instinct was always to head straight towards the action, but if there was one thing Batman and Sirius had hammered into him until they were blue in the face, it was the need to slow down sometimes and think. He wasn't especially good at it yet, but he was learning. So, as much as it ran counter to his instincts, he nodded. Maybe he couldn't plan so well on his own, yet, but he could at least listen when one of the world's best strategists had an idea.
"We need to hide our approach. Give us some fog."
"A 'please' wouldn't go amiss," he muttered as he drew his wand. "Nebulus."
Thick fog poured in from nowhere, smothering the area in grey blankness. In moments, he could barely see his hand in front of his face. The warehouses were vague suggestions in the murk, visible only because he already knew where they were.
Without another word, Batman leapt off the roof and glided towards the warehouses, Robin on his tail. In seconds, they had both vanished into the fog. With a sigh, Harry settled onto the ledge to keep watch. Just to be safe, he pulled the Cloak out of his pocket and wrapped it around himself. When he flipped the hood up, he vanished from view. Not even a Kryptonian could see him under the Cloak. He'd checked.
The waiting was pure torture. The wind was maddening, whistling through the loose roof tiles as it did, and even with the jacket Sirius had given him the rain threatened to dissolve him into a puddle of bored wizard, but it was the waiting that truly made him want to grind his teeth to nubs. He was a Gryffindor. His instinct was always to do something.
'I am doing something,' he told himself. 'I just have to be patient.'
Patience was all well and good in theory, but as the minutes crawled by, he wanted to tear out his hair. How long did it take for the Dynamic Duo to clear out a warehouse? Sure, it was a big warehouse, and there were a lot of goons to deal with, but still. It was Batman and Robin. He knew better than just about anyone how effective they were as a team. His eyes raked over the dilapidated, rain-soaked complex again, but even with his enhanced vision, he couldn't make anything out. The weather was classic Gotham; rain hard enough to drown mid-sized birds and smog that somehow resisted it. It would be a miracle if the gutters weren't acid-etched by dawn. Even if it had been a clear night, though, the Fogging spell would have still occluded everything. He could barely see the warehouse roof. If they didn't call in soon-
"Marauder, this is Batman. The east building is clear. Move in and secure the hostages. Do not move on without clearance, over."
Finally. He tapped his comm. "Batman, this is Marauder. Solid copy. Moving now, out."
He flipped the hood of the Cloak back, took a deep breath, and leapt off the roof. Just as gravity's fingers wrapped around him, he reached for the part of his soul that wasn't human and became Gwaihir. His wings caught the wind, muscles strained against the pull of the earth, and then… freedom. He was flying. It was terrible weather for it, and Golden Eagles were not optimized for an urban environment, but none of that mattered because he was flying.
It was only a short flight, though; literally across the street. If he'd been a chicken, there'd have been a joke buried in there, but he was an eagle. A very bedraggled eagle by the time he landed on the roof of the east warehouse, but an eagle nonetheless. He transformed back and flipped the hood of the Cloak up to once again vanish from view. Despite the call for action surging through his blood, he took the time to check his surroundings and ensure there were no immediate threats.
'See every situation for what it is,' Bruce had said. 'Not what you expect it to be. Not what you want it to be. What it is. That means observing.'
The roof was clear. He pressed a palm flat against the rusted metal and whispered a spell.
"Homenum Revelio."
To his eyes, and his eyes alone, a dozen blobs of red appeared in the warehouse. Too many for hostages. What was-
'Of course. They left the bad guys tied up and moved on.' That certainly explained why none of the red blobs moved in the few seconds before they faded from his awareness.
He moved to a skylight and vanished the glass with a muttered spell. Dick's tips on basic gymnastics came in handy as he dropped onto the catwalk below. He landed smoothly, but stealth didn't come easily to his 6'4" frame. The creak of rusty metal might as well have been a marching band announcing his arrival.
'Should have cast a silencing charm. Stupid.'
The interior of the warehouse was appropriately grim. Streaks of rust stains marked where many of the windows had long since shattered, and the air stank of mildew. His sharp eyes picked up the tiny scurrying of rats half-hidden in the shadows. In most cities, this building would have long since been condemned, but not here. Gotham had a thousand and one places like this. Sometimes, it made him wonder if Firefly wasn't just being civic-minded in his quest to burn the city to ash.
He took a deep breath and crept forward. His eyes picked out the huddled forms of the unconscious thugs. Robin and Batman were thorough, but he wasn't about to take chances on his first ever patrol. It had been hard enough convincing Bruce to give him even this chance.
It took less than a minute to confirm the building was truly secure. All the thugs were restrained, and only one had started regaining consciousness. A Stunner to the back of the head sent him groaning back into dreamland. That just left the hostages.
They were clustered in the center of the main floor. There were fifteen of them, all chained in a circle around a support pillar. They had bags over their heads and tape around their hands and mouths, but he could still make out faint whimpers. Using one of the tricks Dick had taught him, he flipped off the catwalk, rebounded off the wall to slow his fall, and landed in a crouch on the floor.
'Not bad.' His left knee throbbed from where he'd smacked it against the wall, but other than that, it had gone smoothly. He hadn't landed on his face this time, at least. It wasn't a silent landing, though, and the hostages definitely heard him.
"Mmmm. Mhm mmm. Hhhmm!"
"I'm here to help," he said. "Hold still."
They perked up at that, and each one tried to shuffle towards the sound of his voice. All they managed to do was bump into each other, though, and he hurried over before someone got hurt. He found the lock holding the chains together and jammed Sirius' knife into the keyhole. The lock popped open with a click. The tape was tougher, and between their desperate struggles and the dim light he had to be careful with his knife. It took a few minutes, but finally he cut the last of them free. Fifteen dirty, frightened faces looked up at him with a mixture of wariness and hope. They ranged from a woman who must have been in her sixties to a boy no older than ten, sniffling and hugging his knees.
"W-who are you?" The oldest woman asked. Her voice wobbled, but she raised her chin defiantly.
"I'm Marauder. I work with Batman, and I'm here to get you to safety."
As soon as he mentioned Batman, they relaxed. No one in Gotham was fool enough to lie about an affiliation with the Dark Knight. Batman cracked down on copycats and wannabes almost as hard as he did on muggers. The obvious armor and utility belt he had on under his cloak and jacket probably helped, too.
The only one who didn't look reassured was the young boy. Once he was free, he scrambled across the floor until he found a table and crawled under it. The older woman tried to coax him out while Harry freed the others, but he just whimpered and shook his head, somehow curling into an even smaller ball. Harry only had to take one look to know he wasn't going anywhere like this.
'Shit.' They had to move, and soon. There was nothing stopping the kidnappers from sending more thugs his way, especially if they were smart enough to establish radio check-ins. Manhandling the kid was a bad option, though. He would probably scream, and that would definitely bring attention their way. That was assuming he could even get him out of there without hurting him. He didn't want to use any obvious magic if he didn't have to. The only option was to calm the kid down, fast.
"Hey there," Harry whispered. He squatted next to the sobbing boy, careful not to touch him. It sickened him to see a child so terrified. Whoever these kidnappers were, he hoped Batman was going extra hard on them. "Can you tell me your name?"
The boy whined and shook his head. Harry tried to make his voice as soothing as possible.
"Well, I can't just call you kid, now can I? If you don't tell me your name, I'll have to make one up for you, and I promise it'll be really stupid." He risked shuffling a little closer. "How about Daisy? Or maybe Mildred?"
"'M I-Isaac," the boy mumbled. He seemed as shocked as Harry that he'd spoken. His sobs petered off, though fresh tears still streamed down his face.
"Isaac, huh? How old are you, Isaac?"
The boy held up a full hand of fingers, and then hesitantly added two more.
"Seven. You're pretty big for a seven-year-old." That was certainly true. Harry would have put him at ten. "Okay then, Isaac the giant seven-year-old. I know you're really scared right now. I need y-"
"I wa-want my m-mommy," Isaac whimpered, and Harry's heart ached at his tone of desperation. "I want my mommy. I want my mommy."
"I know, Isaac." He chanced putting a hand on the boy's arm and sighed with relief when he didn't pull away. "I'm going to get you to your mommy, but I need you to be brave and come with me? Can you do that?"
Isaac ducked his head and whimpered again. Harry swallowed a curse. "Isaac, I need you to look at me. I've got something for you."
He pulled a coin out of his pocket and focused a bit of power on it. The little disc of metal glowed with a soft, inner light. It pulsed in time with his heartbeat. Isaac lifted his head just a fraction of an inch, but it was enough for him to catch a glimpse of the glowing coin. He gasped and uncurled, fear temporarily forgotten.
"This is a lucky coin," Harry said, cobbling a fairy tale together in his mind as fast as he could. "It makes whoever holds it incredibly brave. Normally, I use it to help me be a hero, but I want you to have it for now. Does that sound good?"
Isaac nodded and stuck out a hand. His small fingers wrapped around the coin like it was his only handhold on sanity. For a moment, he just stared at it, eyes wide and glimmering with the reflected light. Then he took a shaky breath and crawled out from under the table. Harry smiled at him and gestured for the others to follow.
"Where-"
"Shh. Follow me," he said. Remarkably, they did, and without any protest. It was a little frightening. The last time a group of people had followed his lead without question, he'd led them into a trap and nearly gotten them all killed. He still stayed up some nights, wondering if his old friends had made it out of the Ministry.
'Damnit. Focus, Harry,' He told himself. 'You can be traumatized on your own time.'
The door was chained shut and secured with a heavy padlock. The steel links were the only metal he could see not covered in rust, but they may as well have been made of cheese. Sirius' knife made quick work of the lock. He gave the chain a single tug, and it fell away easily.
"How did you do that?" Isaac looked at him as if he'd just flown to the moon and back.
"I told you. I work with Batman." Bruce had drilled him on the importance of the myth he'd established about his alter ego. It was remarkable how much absurdity and nonsense could fit under that umbrella, and Harry had every intention of taking advantage of it. So what if he did a bit of magic in plain view of five people? He worked with Batman. Batman was ten feet tall and could fly and breathe fire. He was a robot, a vampire, an alien, and a ghost. His cape was made of pure shadow and his fists could punch through solid steel. Of course his allies could open locks with the touch of a knife.
"Silencio," he muttered under his breath. He shaped the zone of silence into a tunnel leading towards the police cordon and hurried the hostages out of the warehouse. Isaac led the way, one hand clutching the glowing coin, the other holding the hem of the older woman's shirt.
"Keep going straight," he told her. She seemed, if not the leader, then at least the most levelheaded of the former hostages. "The GCPD is waiting a block away. You'll be safe with them."
"What about the other lady?"
That brought him up short. "Other lady?"
She nodded and suddenly couldn't meet his eyes. "There was another lady with us. Young. Pretty. They took her to the office, I think. I… don't know what they did with her."
He wanted to curse. She hadn't thought to mention this earlier? Still, from her expression, he knew she suspected the same thing he did, and probably hadn't wanted to think about it. There weren't a lot of reasons kidnappers would drag a young, pretty, female hostage into a private room, and none of them were good.
"I'll check," he said. "Keep moving. Get to the police."
She nodded and hurried off, the rest of the group on her heels. For his part, he sprinted back into the warehouse as fast as his legs would carry him and cast about for the office. It was tucked away in a corner, far enough from the rest of the hostages he'd assumed the person he'd sensed in there was another thug. He hadn't even checked. Stupid and careless.
'Please don't be too late,' he chanted in his head as he ran. 'Please don't be too late. Please don't be too late.'
There were no sounds from the office. He nearly tore the door off its cheap hinges in his haste to get in. Thankfully, it wasn't locked. Inside, a woman sat tied to a chair. Her head was slumped forward so he couldn't see her face, and her long, blonde hair cascaded down her front. She wasn't moving.
"Can you hear me? You're safe now. It's going to be okay?"
He gently lifted her head and felt at her neck. A pulse beat beneath his fingers and his knees almost buckled from relief. It was strong and steady. Indeed, she was in much better condition than he'd feared. Her face bore only a few bruises, and her clothing didn't look ripped. It wasn't a sure thing, but he let himself feel hope that maybe she'd escaped the worst.
"Ma'am, I'm going to cut free now. Don't move."
She mumbled something incoherent as he sliced through the ropes, but at least she stayed still. The ropes were cheap and his knife was sharp, so it took only seconds before her bonds fell to the floor. He took her arm and let her weight fall on his shoulders.
"Let's get you up. Come with me. I'll take you somewhere safe."
Her head bobbed in what might have been a nod and he started for the door. Halfway there, though, he felt her posture change. She spoke, and not in a dazed mumble.
"That's a nice offer, mistah. But-" her arm moved in a blur and he felt a sharp pain in his neck "-how about you come with me, instead?"
He reached for his neck, but his arm suddenly felt like a rubber tube filled with cement. The ground tilted and spun beneath him. It was all he could do to raise his hand. His fingers brushed something hard and cool, but he couldn't get a hold of it.
"Whuh- wha di'…" He couldn't form words. His mouth was filled with cotton balls and his tongue was a lump of clay. Thoughts floated around his brain like soap bubbles and then popped. Something cool pressed against his cheek. The floor? Why was he on the floor? He tried to find the woman, but colors and sounds melted together like wet paint. Nothing made sense. He couldn't think. He'd been… doing something… important. Darkness… creeping in. Why… couldn't… he…
OoOoOoOoOoOoO
The thugs went down easily, even by the standards of low-level henchmen. They were skilled enough; they handled their weapons professionally and maintained a good patrol pattern, but they clearly weren't from Gotham. No thug who'd spent any time in Gotham would forget to look up. They wouldn't have spotted him, or Robin for that matter, if they did, but it was still telling. Not many new crews dared move into Gotham anymore, and none of them pulled something this big right off the bat. That meant someone had hired these guys. Odd that they wouldn't use local muscle. There was hardly a shortage. Something else was going on here. Something he hadn't spotted yet.
The man below him stepped away from the window and he pounced. In his peripheral vision, he could see Robin move in concert with him. Together, they landed on the last two armed guards in the warehouse. Neither had a chance to scream. He gave the man just enough time to see him before he knocked him out with a punch to the jaw, hard enough to fracture the mandible. He felt the bone snap under his fist, felt teeth shatter. The thug would need dentures and possibly surgery to repair his jaw. Brutal, but it would make an effective message. Kidnapping children was not a viable career choice in Gotham anymore. Not on his watch.
He zip-tied the unconscious man to the railing and pulled the bolt out of his rifle. Across the catwalk, Robin did the same. He allowed himself a single second of pride at how well the boy had handled himself tonight. Not one mistake.
The second passed, and he re-focused on the mission. One last glance around confirmed all the guards were down. He straightened and tapped his radio.
"Marauder, the second building is clear. Get the hostages to safety, over."
He waited for a response. Nothing.
"Marauder, comm check, over?"
Silence. The first vestiges of worry stirred in his gut. He quashed them ruthlessly. Worry wouldn't serve anything. Planning would. There were still hostages here to deal with, as well as another building to clear. With Marauder unresponsive, no matter the cause, the variables had changed. He needed to adjust his actions accordingly.
"Robin, check the hostages," he ordered. "Marauder is out of contact."
Robin rounded on him, eyes wide beneath his mask. "Out of contact? Is he-"
"The hostages," he repeated. Robin bit his lip, but nodded and jumped to the floor below. He tapped his radio again, this time opening a private line to the Cave. He didn't need to add to Robin's concern until he knew more.
"Agent A, Marauder isn't responding to his radio. Confirm his position."
The radio crackled to life, and Alfred's familiar voice came through his earpiece. It wasn't his equipment, then.
"Checking now, sir… Marauder's tracker places him in the eastern warehouse. However, the tracker has not changed position for seven minutes. Police chatter indicates the hostages from the first warehouse made it safely to the cordon, and several of them mention Marauder, but no one reports seeing him exit the building." Alfred was a master of hiding his emotions. Bruce could study for another twenty years and never come close to the man's bearing, his control, his unflappable calm. Nevertheless, he thought he heard the faintest traces of unease in his old friend's voice. It matched the sudden spike of worry that filled his stomach. This one wasn't so easy to dismiss.
"Monitor his tracker. Tell me if it moves at all. And keep trying his radio every sixty seconds. If he's-"
"Batman, get down here!" Robin must have used the emergency override to broadcast over his own transmission. He sounded half-panicked. Before Batman even realized he'd moved, he had jumped off the catwalk and glided to the floor. Familiar images cluttered his mind. They were the same visions he always had whenever his partner (his son) called out like this. Robin, dead a dozen different ways. Robin, bloodied and broken after Two-Face had gotten hold of him. He ignored the images, and the raw panic they tried to poison him with.
Robin was unhurt when he reached him. Of course he was. He had skills that rivaled some Leaguers. Of course, that made the pale, horrified expression on his face all the more concerning. He followed his wide-eyed gaze to where the hostages-
No. Not the hostages. The victims.
He hadn't taken a close look at the hostages when he'd entered the warehouse. His attention had been on the armed guards, not the shadowed huddle of restrained tourists. They'd been still, but in his experience, most hostages under armed guard were still. He'd assumed, and he'd been wrong. Oh, how he'd been wrong.
What he'd first taken to be terrified hostages were, in fact, corpses. Mutilated corpses at that. Someone had decapitated them and sewn hyena heads to their necks. Stiff wire kept them posed to give the illusion of life. Now that he was closer, he could smell the blood and the beginnings of decay beneath the chemical smell of the warehouse.
There was a blood-stained note pinned to one of the corpses with a knife. He leaned in to read it, careful not to touch any of the bodies. It was scrawled in purple and green crayon, and the handwriting was only just legible.
the pOOr Dears didn't LAUGH at mY joKES. I'M aFrAiD they CompLEtely loST their HeADS, so I decided TO givE THem nEw oneS tHEy'll lauGh MuCh betTEr, noW
P.S.
I took YOUR litTle birDiE
anD i kNow that maKeS YOu worry
bEST not delay, OR this bIrd i'LL SlAy
AND blenD him iNtO a curRY!
"Batman?" Robin asked from behind him. "What's going on?"
He stood and did his best to bury the cold pit of horror that had just opened in his chest. His voice came out in a hoarse whisper. "It's Joker. He's loose. And he's taken Marauder."
OoOoOoOoOoOoO
First off, yes, I am well aware the Joker has been overused in comics for the past 15 years or so, but I stand by my decision to include him here. Seeing as this is the only arc I have planned that will cover Harry patrolling with the Bats, I thought it would be a waste of an opportunity not to have him encounter the Joker. YJ doesn't do a lot with Batman villains, so I have to take what opportunities I have. Additionally, it won't be long before the likes of the Joker just won't be a threat to Harry, so if I want to have any shot at making a meeting between them tense, I have to do it early. Finally, I think we can all agree that the Joker we got in YJ was a massive disappointment. Brent Spiner, while a good VA, was badly miscast and then given nothing to work with. I wanted to take the chance to establish a (hopefully) better Joker for this story in case I need to use him more later. We'll find out next chapter if I succeeded.
Also, yes, the woman who drugged Harry is Harley Quinn. This is the first time the Bats have encountered her, which is why Batman thought Joker was locked up in Arkham. From the tangled hellscape of the Batman timeline, this is roughly when I estimate she would make her debut.
Finally, Harry and Helena are, indeed, broken up. I wanted to write some of their relationship, doomed though it always was, but it just wasn't a high enough priority to justify adding any content during the time-skip. Maybe they'll meet again in the future, but for now, she's off doing Helena things.