Fic: Change My World 6/8 (Batman)
Feb. 28th, 2008 11:15 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seriousficTitle: Change My World 6/8
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dick/Babs, Batman, Robin
Word Count: 6,515
Series: Change My World
Summary: Dick knew that Gotham would be different from what he remembered. But he never expected this.
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Three days, two motels, one roadhouse, and countless miles later, Roy and Dick arrived in Gotham. Dick couldn’t believe his eyes. It was like he had double-vision. Glazing over the gothic masonry and sprawling Art Deco of his youth was a modern skyline of chrome and glass. Roy had parked on a hilltop overlooking the city, which probably served as a make-out point those days, judging by the torn condom wrappers being stirred by the breeze. Dick got out of his car and walked to the edge of the parking lot. He watched the police blimps crawl over the Gotham skies like big black beetles.
Roy got out to join him, handing him a bottle of water. “Sure I can’t tempt you to stop and grab a drink, see what all the fuss is about?”
Dick shook his head. “I should get to Bruce. He’s probably worried… it’s been ten years, think they’ve fixed the potholes yet?”
As it turned out, they had. And now there were new potholes. The traffic was slightly less congested, but still nothing compared to running the rooftops. And Roy’s sinuses weren’t acting up, so Bruce must’ve finally gotten those bills passed to reduce air pollution.
Since Dick couldn’t be persuaded to stop to eat, Roy convinced him to take a break from rush hour. They pulled into a fast-food drive-thru and did a Chinese fire drill. Roy ate a thick cheeseburger in the passenger seat while Dick took over driving.
“You can’t wait until we get home? Alfred will probably fix you a steak if you want one.”
“Nah,” Roy said, shaking a salt slip onto his fries. “Bruce really isn’t comfortable with me in his personal space.”
“The mansion?”
“The city.”
“Gosh,” Dick said, surprised. “He never used to mind Superman helping out.”
“I’m not Superman.”
“Who is?”
After two miserable hours finding out that all of Dick’s favorite radio stations had gone off the air, they made it to Wayne manor. Roy dropped Dick off at the gate, making him promise to call if things got too heavy. Dick nodded, although he still hadn’t gotten the hang of his cellular phone yet, and went up to the door.
Alfred treated him exactly the same, but then Alfred treated everyone with the same respect and care no matter what their age. He did offer Dick a banana split, but Dick waved him off.
“Where’s Bruce?”
“The cave, Master Dick. The Joker has escaped and Master Bruce is keeping a close eye out for signs of his resurfacing.”
“How long has the Clown Prince of Crime been out?”
“A month.”
“And no smiles spray-painted on billboard models by toy airplanes?” Dick rubbed his chin. “That is unusual. I assume he still craves Batman’s attention?”
“Yes, but his modus operandi has changed considerably since your last memory of him. He’s become…” Alfred shuffled. “Not polite conversational fodder.”
“The Joker’s never been a laughing matter, but what about him is so dangerous now?”
“I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but he’s gone even more insane. I feel speculating on whatever it was that exuberated his behavior is a waste of time better spent on more pleasant pursuits.”
They’d arrived in the kitchen. Dick set his bags down on the table.
“Are you sure you have no appetite, Master Dick?”
Dick’s stomach rumbled on cue.
“Perhaps a root beer float and a lunchmeat sandwich?”
Dick felt his mouth going moist. “Yeah, sure, if it’s not too much trouble.”
Alfred fetched the necessary ingredients from the refrigerator. Thankfully, the kitchen was as soothing an environment as ever. Alfred had kept it museum-pristine, just the way he liked it. Dick grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl and nibbled on it while he watched Alfred prepare lunch.
“So, you think one of us is responsible for encouraging the Joker?”
Alfred stopped as if stricken, then began carefully layering the sandwich. “As I said, I hesitate to speculate, but the feud between Master Bruce and that… dreadful individual has driven both to heights of rage and frustration. At times, it resembles more a game of one-upmanship than a lawman apprehending a criminal. And, loathe as I am to ponder the taking of human life, part of me cannot help but wonder how much better life would be if the Joker had died before his metamorphosis from comic relief to arch-villain.”
Dick sat up a little straighter, stopped absently kicking his feet. Alfred had just wished someone dead. At times he felt this future was a dream of his, a nightmare dystopia he would wake up and prevent. This was one of those times. He wondered when he’d find out that Jason Todd was a one-eyed resistance fighter or something.
Alfred brought him lunch and Dick started on it eagerly, almost not recognizing the way the door opened and the weight of the shadow that flittered over him.
“Mind some company?” Bruce asked. He was dressed casually, in slacks and a polo shirt, with some of the morning’s newspapers under his arm.
“No, not at all.”
Bruce nodded to the French doors, which let in the kind of clear light you didn’t get in the city. Outside, the patio looked warm and inviting. Dick followed the unspoken request and went with his mentor outdoors, where they sat down at an umbrella-shielded table. Dick noted that the grill was a newer model; Bruce used that for cooking steaks, so it was outside Alfred’s domain.
“Like it?” Bruce asked. “It’s the Grand Turbo 38-Inch. Six independent burners with 63,000 BTUs and an 874-square-inch cooking surface. Ran me over two thousand dollars. But hey, what’s the point of being a billionaire if you can’t treat yourself once in a while?”
Dick smiled gamely. “So, how’ve you been?”
Bruce reached behind his shoulder to rub his back. “The war goes on. There are casualties lost and battles won, but soldiers stay eternal.”
“Nice sentiment.” Dick crossed his legs, sat up as straight as he could.
Alfred brought out a saucer and cup of tea, that herbal stuff Bruce imported from Asia, and Bruce took it from him with thanks. Dick mimicked his drinking, slurping some of his root beer float before he self-consciously realized how immature that must make him look.
“What?”
“It’s good to see you again,” Bruce said. “In good health. You look well.”
“Thanks.” Dick tapped his finger against the side of his plate before meeting Bruce’s eyes. “Good enough for field work?”
Bruce looked back at him like Dick had just spent his life savings on a birthday present for Bruce. “Dick, no. Not with the Joker on the street, it’s too dangerous.”
“If the Joker’s out there, and he’s as bad as everyone says he is—“
“He’s worse.”
“--then you need all the help you can get.”
Bruce sipped his tea, and Dick recognized the pause he was taking to gather his thoughts. It was as inevitable as the calm before the storm. “More than that, I need to know you’re safe. These last few days have been hard for me, but it was easier knowing you were in Barbara’s care.”
Dick scowled.
“We’ll find a way for you to help, don’t worry about that, but you will not be put in harm’s way until I am absolutely convinced you’re ready. I’m not losing a son. Not a—“
Bruce stopped, rubbing a hand up his cheek and along his chin before stopping. He paused, lips set thinly, and looked into Dick as if waiting for something.
“I understand,” he said, nodding with tight control.
Bruce nodded back, stood, touched him once on the shoulder, and was gone. Dick followed him, finishing off his sandwich with quick chomps. Alfred joined them to give Dick a tour of the house. It was largely the same, but there’d been a few upgrades, mainly to the security system. Dick made the appropriate comments over how clean and orderly everything was, but his real appreciation was reserved for Bruce.
Dick listened with increasing smiles as Bruce cancelled appointment after appointment. He finally flipped his cell phone shut, sighing as if a weight had rolled off his chest. “So, what should we do?”
“You know what I’d like… if you’re not too old?”
“Old?”
“You know… arthritis flaring up, back pains, glaucoma…”
Bruce’s mouth made a valiant attempt at a smile. He ran his fingertips through the gray at his temples as he led Dick to the grandfather clock.
Bruce whalloped Dick at sparring, as usual. Bruce had improved, but Dick could still read him like a book. He got some good licks in, and pinned Bruce for ten whole seconds when they wrestled. Alfred brought them towels and a pitcher of water. Dick poured his first cup out over his head and let the brisk cave breeze chill him.
Bruce gave him a tour after the rematch. Robots had excavated the cave further, giving room for more… everything. Dick rubbed the leg of the mechanical T-Rex. He was surprised Bruce hadn’t gotten rid of it yet. Apparently, it was only the first trophy of many.
“Do you want to reminisce all day or would you like to see the new Batmobile?” Bruce asked.
Dick’s eyebrows perked up. “New Batmobile?”
Bruce nodded.
It was a thing of beauty, a marvel of engineering. Looked a little more like a tank than a sedan, but that just struck Dick as cooler. Bruce and Dick were covered in grease, tinkering around with its innards when Bruce got called away by a beeping wristwatch. Nightfall. Wouldn’t be long before Batman would be called upon. Dick heard the shower running and snickered at the thought of a soap-smelling Batman.
When he tried the computer, he found he was locked out. Couldn’t even log in. So much for trust. He was a civilian again, just a kid who Bruce had taken in. Out of sheer pique, he asked Alfred to activate the training course.
“Master Dick, are you quite sure?”
“We used to burn carbs on that thing. I can handle it.”
He could. Running the obstacle course brought back memories, even through he recognized from the sound of gunshots that the bullets were only rubber. The cardboard cutout rogue’s gallery had changed too. He dutifully disabled them, hoping he didn’t accidentally stomp any good guys. He paused at one, a cutout of Nightwing. He recognized himself, got pegged by a rubber bullet to the thigh. Alfred shut down the obstacle course.
Dick listened to the engines wind down as the lights came back up. “That’s me, right?”
“Yes, Master Dick.”
Dick ran a hand through his hair, absently trying to stylize it like his twin. “Groovy.”
Favoring his sore leg, he walked back into the main platform of the cave. Batman and Robin were suiting up, Robin closing a gorget around his neck. Dick jumped Robin with a noogie.
“Hey-a Jason, new costume! Aww, I had to suffer through the short-pants, but you get trousers? What a gyp. “
“I’m not Jason,” Tim said, startled nearly into speechlessness.
“Right, right, in the costume it’s Robin.” Dick winked and saddled up to Batman. “He looks a little short for his age. What happened? Time warp, cryogenic suspension, magic spell?”
“Stop talking.”
Dick winced at the sheer amount of venom in Bruce’s voice. “What’s wrong?”
“The world. You had gotten used to it. And now I have to go to the trouble of training you all over again.”
“Bruce,” Robin said, a reprimand.
“Batman,” Bruce and Dick corrected at the same time.
“You’re a stranger in a strange land. You don’t know how to interact or fit in with the new world, but you think you do. That makes you dangerous. And just because I am personally glad to have you safe does not mean I will compromise the mission. So do everyone a favor and stay out of the way for the foreseeable future. And don’t talk about things you can’t possibly understand.”
“Batman?” Dick said, a little horrified, like a puppy who’d been kicked and didn’t understand why.
“Jason’s dead, Dick. We lost him.”
***
The news didn’t hit him like a sledgehammer. It didn’t hit him at all. Dick sat, turning it over in his head. He wondered if this was what it felt like for a widower to wake up and realize his wife wasn’t in bed with him. Bruce’s remark, hedged though it was, had broken something loose inside him and he had vague impressions of what had gone before. The loss tinged like a reopened wound, and brought with it a melancholy that blanketed Dick. Not even Barbara’s voice could rouse him from it.
“Hey, man wonder. What’s it like being back in Gotham?”
Dick turned to the computer, currently displaying Oracle’s funerary mask. He wondered if there were cameras in it, showing the tears clouding his eyes. Realized he didn’t care.
“You know Jason Todd’s dead?”
The line was silent for a long while. “Yes.”
“He was like a brother to me. And Bruce’s replaced him… replaced me all over again! What the hell is that?”
“Dick…”
“Will he ever stop putting people in harm’s way?” Dick said with an angry shout. “Jason wasn’t ready, you knew it, I knew it, who’s to say…”
“Dick, that’s why Bruce isn’t letting you go out. That’s why Bruce isn’t even letting you access the computer.”
“Told you about that, did he?”
“Asked for my help safeguarding it.” Her voice was so soft and concerned that Dick hated himself for being angry at her. “Is it really that hard to put your head against the pillow and get some sleep?”
Dick grabbed the Nightwing costume from the vault and shook it in front of the camera “That answer your question?”
“You really going to disobey orders?”
“Bruce has… misunderstandings about my operational status.”
“Or he knows you better than you know yourself,” Barbara pointed out.
“That’s territory reserved for you. Do you think I’m capable?”
“Yes. But that doesn’t make it a good idea to go out.”
Dick crossed his arms sullenly. “Didn’t wanna go out anyway.”
After a long moment, the funerary mask disappeared to be replaced by a live video feed of Barbara. She looked beautiful and old, lines at her eyes and a look of heart-stopping ache on her face that made Dick wish he could comfort her, take care of her. But of course, she wouldn’t let him.
“I had a talk with Dinah. We…” Her eyes darted around, not meeting his even through their screens. “We thought that you and I…”
“Yes?”
Barbara took off her glasses. “I think I may still have feelings for you. Okay, no great surprise there, but maybe… hold on…”
Dick nearly groaned in disappointment. In a moment, two of the three Batcomputer screens filled up with a live report. Barbara remained on the center screen. Dick stared at her, lovelorn, for as long as it took for the funerary mask to blot out that image too.
“Harley Quinn’s called the GCPD. Apparently, she has information about the Joker.”
Dick was already unbuttoning his shirt. “Harley Quinn?”
“Joker’s gal Friday. She reformed a while back. For good, it looks like, since the Joker seems to have replaced her… anyway, she’s living on the straight and narrow in one of those Athenian women’s shelters…”
“Athenian… never mind, just give me an address.”
“Dick, the police can handle it.”
Dick pulled on the top of his uniform. “I’m not gonna interfere. I’ll just observe. Promise.”
“Bruce--”
“Doesn’t have to know. C’mon, this is important.” Dick slipped the mask on. “Besides, I wanna give this new suit a test run. What’s my superhero name?”
“Nightwing.”
“Really? Not something cool like… Renegade?”
“No,” Barbara said, with that tone of Dick just stepped in it that he was really starting to hate. “Not something cool like Renegade.”
***
Thankfully, the R-cycle was pretty much unchanged. He’d kinda been expecting Tron or something. It got him close enough to the women’s shelter. Then he abandoned it to a backalley, where a cool hologram system disguised it as a bum and some rats. Dick took the fire escape up, old memories hitting him with each rung. Batman would have every brick, window, and TV aerial memorized, but what came flooding back through Dick’s mind was the feel.
In every pore, in every follicle, he felt Gotham coming back to him. Everyone thought it was hell on earth, ‘cept those who really knew it. They knew Gotham was stubborn and prickly, but it had its shiny side. If you knew where to look.
His boots hit rooftop and he ran. The women’s shelter was easy to recognize from the architecture… No volute or base on the columns marked it as Doric. Really, the entire classical design could’ve been a giveaway. Two squad cars were in front, lights flashing silently. Dick avoided them. It felt different, not having a cape, and real different not feeling the air on his legs.
Bad enough that Barbara had been nagging him for his original plan of traveling solely by rooftop, but now she started in on something new. “Nightwing, hold on while I scan for a security system. Should only take a moment.”
“Ba—Oracle, she’s probably being interrogated right now!”
“Hold your horses. And were you going to use my real name over the radio?”
Actually, he had been going to call her Batgirl. “If there was any security beyond Brinks, I would’ve noticed it by now. C’mon, I need to know what they’re saying!”
“Try the directional microphone.”
“Huh?”
“Third pocket from the left on your utility belt.” On Barbara’s insistence, Dick pulled it out. “It’s new. Press the red button.”
Dick did, and a dish sprouted from the end of the flashlight-sized device.
“You see Harley?”
Dick had already spotted her through a window with his binoculars, Barbara having helpfully fetched her room number. She looked more subdued than she did in her mugshot; maybe it was the meds. “I got her.”
“Aim the dish at the window and hold it steady. I’ll handle the rest.”
A moment later, Dick heard noise being patched into his earpiece. After some static, it resolved into the characteristic sounds of conversation… chatter, footsteps on carpet, some muffled background noise.
“I hear Bullock,” Dick reported. “Sounds like he’s playing bad cop. He a white hat now?”
“As white as he ever gets. His partner’s Gail Felt. She joined the force after you left Gotham.”
That made him feel old. “And the high-pitched one?”
“Our girl Harley.”
Dick nodded. They were in luck. So far, all Harvey and Gail had done was take down the times and dates. Now they were getting down to the real meat.
“He contacted you by phone. Any idea how he got your number?”
“No way, I never gave it to him!”
Dick frowned. “Come on, come on. Get to the good stuff!”
“Patience, Nightwing. All good things to those who wait.”
“Hasn’t worked for me so far.”
”Last time you saw him he tried to kill you, is that correct?”
“Yeah, uh… we didn’t really talk much after that. I did my stint in Arkham and… look, you guys gotta stop hassling me, I had a disease!”
“Yeah, yeah, we’ve heard it all before.”
“Harv, the case? Now then, two hours ago you say you received a call from him. What did he say?”
“He wanted me back.”
“What’d you tell him?”
“No.”
“Why didn’t you call us immediately, sweetcheeks?”
“Jesus, Harv…”
“I was on the phone to my sponsor! I’m in a support group for battered women… it was temptin’, ya know? Mistah… the Joker sounded real sorry, like he always does, and he talked about how he wanted to take me out for a nice steak dinner and make it all up to me. I just kept saying no, no, no, asking him who that new tramp was that he was palling around with, and then he started yelling. I hung up and the next thing I knew I was on the phone with Helen… that’s my sponsor, Helen. And she told me to call you and now you’re here.”
“Anything he say that could give us a clue about his whereabouts?”
“No. He just said he had a job now, and it was going to bring him some big bucks.”
“The Joker’s for-hire now?” Dick whispered into his communicator.
“Times are tough for psychotic clowns, I guess.”
”He said he had a buncha nerds working for him… that’s how he got my number, they hacked something or other.”
“Would you like to take a break, Miss Quinzel? You seem a little shaken up.”
“Yeah… could you get me a cup of ice water?”
“Harv, you handle it.”
“Why do I gotta be the—“
“Now, Harv.”
“Alright, I’m goin’, I’m goin’.”
His heavy footsteps left the room.
”Do you need a tissue, Miss Quinzel?”
“No, no, I just…” Harley sniffled. “I still love him, but he’s all wrong for me. But I still think about him and I always wonder what if I could change him, because… because we had fun, ya know? It just seems so long ago. I guess I always want to capture those good ol’ days, but they weren’t that good, were they? People got hurt.”
“That’s all in the past, Harley,” Dick said gently.
“Dick?”
He shook himself out of his daydream. “Nothing. I never sound like that, do I?”
“Since that would make me the Joker… no.”
“You would look cute with green hair.”
Barbara’s voice was suddenly deathly serious. “Dick, there’s something you should know. When Jason died?”
“Oh no…”
“It was Joker, Dick. He did it.”
***
Dick roamed the rooftops, not really caring if Bruce forbade it or not. More secrets, more lies. He had a right to his history and it was being kept from him, ‘for his own good’. Not that he ever got to decide what his own good was, because Barbara was always too busy deciding it for him. Her and Bruce. Boy, he hoped his older self gave the both of them a talking-to before shoving off for Bludhaven. He wasn’t some baby to be coddled. He could handle himself, he could weather the storm.
Nightwing dropped down and took care of two carjackers even as they dragged their victim out of his Oldsmobile Toronado.
“Listen,” Barbara said in his ear, ever persistent. “He didn’t die. We thought he did, but Jason lived. He came back a year ago, calling himself the Red Hood. And he started killing people.”
“Jesus, this keeps getting better and better. When was Batman going to tell me this?”
Barbara pressed on. “Vigilante-style executions. Batman tried to stop him, but they stalemated.”
“Where is he now?”
“He’s disappeared. But I thought you should know the whole truth.”
“For a change,” Dick said through gritted teeth as he straddled the R-cycle once more. “Let’s focus on the mission, shall we? We’re good at that.”
“You know, I always hated working with you when you were in a snit.”
Dick gunned the engine. “I am not in a snit. I am justifiably angry with the lack of trust you’re placing in me, as well as the implication that I can’t take care of myself because I need your help.”
“Well, you do seem to keep asking for it.”
“There’s a difference between need and want. For instance, while I’d like to think you don’t want to patronize to me, you seem to need to be a controlling, emotionless bi—“
“What are you doing?”
The voice was Bruce’s. It came over the earpiece, along with flood lights that suddenly hit Nightwing’s back. He turned to see the Batmobile had crept behind him.
“Fighting crime,” Dick shot back. “What are you doing, tailgating?”
“I said you were grounded.”
“Yeah? Well, a lead came up and you weren’t available.”
“Pull over.”
Dick revved the engine.
“Pull over!”
He swung the bike to a stop, watching as the Batmobile pulled in beside him. Batman got out. In the passenger seat, Robin sat uncomfortably. The street was deserted this late at night save for stray animals and wind-spun litter. It made Dick feel like he was one of the last people on Earth.
“When I give an order, I expect it to be followed.”
Dick threw the motorcycle helmet at Batman, who caught it. “I’m tired of getting handled with kid gloves. If I’m a member of this team, treat me like it!”
Batman seemed to lurch back, crossing his arms in offended consideration. Dick stared him down, wondering if his other self could manage this without having to stop his knees from wobbling.
Robin cleared his throat. “Hey, Nightwing? I know you don’t really remember me, but I’ve been doing this for a while and… there is no way you could not be a member of this team.”
Nightwing looked past Batman to see Robin, who crossed his arms as well.
Batman said “Well spoken. Robin, take Nightwing to see Spooner. He’s your responsibility. Nightwing, Robin has field authority. Satisfactory?”
“Completely.”
Robin was already hopping out of the Batmobile. “Hey, Nightwing, why don’t we take the train? For old time’s sake?”
***
The trains were gut-wrenchingly terrifying, like riding a roller coaster when you’d just been told the operator was drinking, but they were fast and smooth and Dick recognized the special scent you only got when the wind was ripping past your nostrils at seventy miles per hour.
“So, who’s Spooner?” Nightwing shouted over the wind.
Robin’s voice came over the comlink, amused. “He’s an informant, a valuable one too. He has his ear to the Society.”
Nightwing frowned and Robin did the exposition bit. The Secret Society of Supervillains, back and badder than ever.
“So, the Calculator’s in charge?” Nightwing shook his head. “Sometimes I really want to look to see if I’m on hidden camera.”
“Only Oracle’s,” Robin said with a grin. “This is our stop.”
The new Robin was a bit of a wuss. He fired his de-cel line before he jumped off the train. Some people just didn’t know how to have any fun.
“So, which Robin are you? How many have there been?”
Robin scowled. “Four.”
“What happened to three?”
“He’s me.”
“And—“
“Don’t ask, alright?” They jumped a gap. “You’re not the only one who’s lost someone.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m past it.” Robin signaled for them to stop, then reluctantly turned to Nightwing. “You ever lose someone forever, someone you loved?”
“If I did, I can’t remember.”
“Count your blessings.”
They scoped out Spooner’s apartment. IR showed only one heat signature. Robin glanced at a blueprint of the place on his PDA, then snapped it shut and returned it to his belt. The apartment was three rooms, lined up side by side by side. A kitchen, a living room with a door to the hallway at a 90 degree angle to the door to the kitchen, and a bedroom with a window that let out onto the fire escape.
“So, what do you think, we bust in through the windows?”
“Shock and awe?” Robin shook his head. “I’d prefer a stealth entry, then come out of the shadows and surprise him that way.”
“Yeah, maybe with that grim voice Batman does,” Dick said, liking the sound of it. “Course, never would’ve worked back when we wore bright red and green.”
“Not to mention that it’s hard to intimidate anyone in short-pants.”
“They made people underestimate me,” Nightwing said defensively. “Besides, the ladies loved it.”
“Fellas too.”
“Let me guess… Corey Feldman?”
“Who?”
“Never mind.” Dick looked through his binoculars again. “Window in the kitchen. Let’s ghost.”
They threw out grappling hooks and swung in silence, hitting the wall as light as feathers and rappelling down to the kitchen window. Robin popped the lock and they both slipped inside, boots moving silently over the linoleum floor. There was something simmering on the stove. Smelled good.
Nightwing moved past a refrigerator magneted up with job listings to take up position by the door. Robin followed suit.
“Turn on your Star-Lites,” Robin whispered harshly.
“Eh?”
Robin reached over and pressed a button the side of Nightwing’s mask. The protective lenses glowed green and the next thing he knew, Dick had nightvision.
“Cool.”
Signaling a three-count with his fingers, Robin turned the doorknob and eased it open. The door squeaked.
“Who’s there?” a frightened voice shouted over the television.
Nightwing shrugged and forced the door all the way open.
“Who do you think?”
Spooner didn’t look like the nose-ringed bruisers Dick used to interrogate. He looked more like a bank teller. Thin, almost unhealthily so, with sketchy gray hair and a pair of eyeglasses covering his pale face. He wore a business suit, jacket off and suspenders stained with the soup he’d been eating.
“Nightwing… Robin…” he backed up into the chair he’d been sitting in, lit by the ghastly light of the TV set. “I haven’t done anything wrong! And if I’d heard anything, I’d’ve told you!”
Robin jumped up onto a dresser, crouching like an animal about to pounce. “Someone’s hired the Joker. And he’s always wanted to work for the Society, just to be contrary. So you tell me, what’s the job?”
“I swear, no one’s hiring the Joker! He’s crazy!”
“He’s a doomsday weapon,” Nightwing said, stepping more fully into the room and flanking Spooner. “Who merits that kind of attention?”
“Nobody! If the Society wants someone dead, they’re dead! There’s none of this arch-villain crap anymore, it’s… passé! The Society, the Calculator, they have overhead!”
“Supervillains incorporating,” Nightwing said. “Will wonders never cease?”
“Worked out pretty good for the Penguin,” Spooner shot back, prompting Nightwing to shoot Robin a confused look.
Robin leapt onto the easy chair in front of the TV. “So the Joker’s plausible deniability. Which means whatever he’s been hired for would bring the superhero community down on his employer’s head. What is it? Destabilizing a national economy, genocide, prison break?”
Nightwing followed his lead. “Because if the Joker pulls something because you didn’t give us the information we needed to stop him, that makes you an accessory.”
“Or maybe we could save the taxpayers the cost of a trial. Just tell the Society you’ve been ratting on them. Bet that would go over real well with Calculator, now wouldn’t it?”
“Alright, alright, geez…” Spooner straightened his loose tie. “I hear things. Nothing concrete… just rumors. It’s not like someone sent me a memo or anything…”
“Spit it out, Spooner,” Robin growled.
Nightwing circled around the room, discreetly searching it, as Spooner talked. He looked out the window to see a van parked on the side of the road. From the exhaust drifting from its pipe, it was idling.
“Oracle, mind running some plates for me?” Nightwing said, sotto voce.
Spooner started talking again under Robin’s harsh scrutiny. “Assassination. And the Society’s paying the Joker enough to make it big and loud, just like he likes it. There’s a thorn in Calculator’s side that he wants dead, and he doesn’t care what it takes.”
Spooner turned at the sound of chewing. Nightwing was eating a handful of M&Ms from a candy dish.
Robin grabbed Spooner by the lapels to redirect his attention. “This thorn have a name?”
“Not that I know of. But I heard that as soon as Joker got hired, he made a bee-line for Gotham.”
Nightwing swallowed. “If he ever left Gotham. This is a waste of our time, he doesn’t know anything. He’s just telling us what he thinks we want to hear.”
“I’m telling you what I heard! Oh, and uh… they called him the key to all the capes, but that could just by hyperbole.”
“Someone who’d know a lot of secret IDs?” Nightwing asked.
”Yeah.”
Oracle spoke over Nightwing’s comlink. “Checked the van, it was reported stolen a day ago.”
Robin noticed an unconscious shift in Nightwing’s body language. “Something wrong?”
“Maybe.” Nightwing strode toward the apartment door. “Stay with him, I need to check something.”
“You people are gonna get me killed!”
Robin shoved Spooner into his easy chair.
Nightwing opened the door and poked his head out, just in time to see a man emerging from the stairwell. He had a shotgun in his hand. Nightwing threw himself back inside, slamming the door shut as the man fired. The blast exploded the doorknob and the door started to yaw back open.
“Out the window, now!” Nightwing shouted.
Robin grabbed Spooner and pushed him into the bedroom, where the fire escape was. Then he pulled a Batarang.
Nightwing ducked into the kitchen as the man kicked open the blasted door. Robin threw and the man juked out of the way, returning fire. The blast blew a hole in the wall. Through it, Spooner could be seen trying to open the window. It was stuck.
Nightwing leapt out of the kitchen, tackling the man into a bookshelf. The shotgun went off again, exploding the television set into a million shimmering pieces. Then it was a dogfight. Close-quarters, Nightwing was good, but the thug was strong. He almost put up a fight before Nightwing got him into a chokehold. The vigilante groped for his plasticuffs as a second assassin entered the apartment, machine gun in hand.
“Nightwing!” Robin warned.
Grunting, Nightwing threw the first assassin into the second. Both men went down.
“Get Spooner out of here!”
Robin nodded curtly and obeyed without thinking. He dashed into the bedroom and kicked open the jammed window.
The second assassin was getting to his feet. Nightwing kicked him into the kitchen, where he slid across the linoleum to hit a card table set for one. It folded on top of him, spilling a dirty dish and half-drunken beer. The shotgun assassin swung his weapon like a baseball bat, catching Nightwing in the gut. Nightwing fell back, gasping for breath, as the man pumped the shotgun and took aim again. Only his extraordinary reflexes saved him, as he kicked out so hard that the shotgun flew apart from the force of the blow. Shotgun shells rolled out over the floor.
Nightwing put up his dukes, but before he could engage he heard the click of a machine gun being primed. He tackled the first assassin to the ground as the second opened up, full-auto, a barrage of destruction that ventilated the wall and door separating the kitchen from the living room. Nightwing held the assassin down as he squirmed, trying to force Nightwing up into the line of fire. He was strong… steadily pressing Nightwing up toward the bullets whizzing overhead.
Dick couldn’t find his plasticuffs, but he had touched some chemical capsules in his search. With nothing to lose, he grabbed a capsule and broke it under the assassin’s nose. The man took a big whiff of it and instantly vomited. Regurgitant. Nightwing would’ve preferred a sedative, but beggars and choosers…
The machine gun clicked empty. Nightwing knew he had only a few seconds before the man reloaded. He stormed into the kitchen to find the second assassin already slamming home a clip. No time to search for a Batarang. Nightwing threw out a de-cel line, looping it around the assassin’s neck and then jerking him into the boiling soup. He went down, became nothing more than a spasming mass of pain. Nightwing put him out of his misery with another chemical capsule, this one with sedative written on it.
Nightwing was just finishing handcuffing the burnt man when he smelt gas. He turned to see the first assassin standing by the open oven, all the dials turned to the maximum. The assassin held a lighter. Apparently he hasn’t gotten as big a dose of regurgitant as Nightwing thought.
The man threw the lighter even as Nightwing jumped into motion, throwing his prisoner over his shoulders and sprinting for the window. Robin had closed it behind them when they came in. Behind him, Nightwing heard the gas catch and the fire race toward the gas line. Slightly selfishly, he used the unconscious man as a human battering ram to break through the window. They were in freefall when the oven went up, an explosion that shook the neighborhood and blew out every window in the apartment with tongues of flame.
They were ten stories up. Didn’t leave him much time.
Holding tightly to the prisoner, Nightwing prepped his grappling hook. He was falling all wrong. The explosion had literally knocked him for a loop, sent him into a spin. No time to right himself. He threw out a line toward the apartment building and hoped it hit something. Nightwing heard glass break.
Thank you, Jesus.
The de-cel line jerked them to a stop, albeit by slamming them into the brick wall. The prisoner took the brunt of that too.
Nightwing lowered them to the ground. He looked at the van and noticed that the driver was missing. Oh shit. Fire escape.
He spun. The driver had climbed onto a dumpster and from that was making his way up the ladder. At the top of the fire escape, Robin was holding off the first assassin. And Spooner was trapped in the middle, making his way down to his doom.
Nightwing broke into a sprint, trying to ignore the sudden memory that stiffened his joints. Him and Barbara, Robin and Batgirl, fighting crime side by side. How many times had they been in a mess like this, saving each other, saving themselves, and trying to hide what they felt for each other because that, of all things, was what he was afraid of. God. There had to be a therapy for what they were going through.
He vaulted onto the dumpster, scurried up the ladder, and hit the fire escape. “Spooner! Wrong way!”
Both the informant and the driver looked down at him. The driver had a pistol. He fired twice, both shots easily dodged by ducking under the grating. Then the driver looked up at Spooner. He started up, constantly looking for a clear shot.
Nightwing ran up the fire escape, lungs and heart and eyeballs alit with adrenaline. All that was missing was Barbara. He had a flash of Batgirl, acrobatic, athletic Batgirl, and wondered why he was bothering to take the stairs?
He jumped out into open space, grabbed a safety railing like it was a trapeze, and swung himself up to the next level. Kicked off the safety railing there and hit the next level. He caught up with Spooner at the same time the driver did. And just a second too late. The driver already had his gun out, aimed, finger on the trigger. Nightwing jumped between the two without thinking, felt more than heard the roar of the gun, then pain exploded through his chest.
Wish I could’ve made her understand, Dick thought as pain blacked out the world for him.
Chapter 7
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dick/Babs, Batman, Robin
Word Count: 6,515
Series: Change My World
Summary: Dick knew that Gotham would be different from what he remembered. But he never expected this.
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Three days, two motels, one roadhouse, and countless miles later, Roy and Dick arrived in Gotham. Dick couldn’t believe his eyes. It was like he had double-vision. Glazing over the gothic masonry and sprawling Art Deco of his youth was a modern skyline of chrome and glass. Roy had parked on a hilltop overlooking the city, which probably served as a make-out point those days, judging by the torn condom wrappers being stirred by the breeze. Dick got out of his car and walked to the edge of the parking lot. He watched the police blimps crawl over the Gotham skies like big black beetles.
Roy got out to join him, handing him a bottle of water. “Sure I can’t tempt you to stop and grab a drink, see what all the fuss is about?”
Dick shook his head. “I should get to Bruce. He’s probably worried… it’s been ten years, think they’ve fixed the potholes yet?”
As it turned out, they had. And now there were new potholes. The traffic was slightly less congested, but still nothing compared to running the rooftops. And Roy’s sinuses weren’t acting up, so Bruce must’ve finally gotten those bills passed to reduce air pollution.
Since Dick couldn’t be persuaded to stop to eat, Roy convinced him to take a break from rush hour. They pulled into a fast-food drive-thru and did a Chinese fire drill. Roy ate a thick cheeseburger in the passenger seat while Dick took over driving.
“You can’t wait until we get home? Alfred will probably fix you a steak if you want one.”
“Nah,” Roy said, shaking a salt slip onto his fries. “Bruce really isn’t comfortable with me in his personal space.”
“The mansion?”
“The city.”
“Gosh,” Dick said, surprised. “He never used to mind Superman helping out.”
“I’m not Superman.”
“Who is?”
After two miserable hours finding out that all of Dick’s favorite radio stations had gone off the air, they made it to Wayne manor. Roy dropped Dick off at the gate, making him promise to call if things got too heavy. Dick nodded, although he still hadn’t gotten the hang of his cellular phone yet, and went up to the door.
Alfred treated him exactly the same, but then Alfred treated everyone with the same respect and care no matter what their age. He did offer Dick a banana split, but Dick waved him off.
“Where’s Bruce?”
“The cave, Master Dick. The Joker has escaped and Master Bruce is keeping a close eye out for signs of his resurfacing.”
“How long has the Clown Prince of Crime been out?”
“A month.”
“And no smiles spray-painted on billboard models by toy airplanes?” Dick rubbed his chin. “That is unusual. I assume he still craves Batman’s attention?”
“Yes, but his modus operandi has changed considerably since your last memory of him. He’s become…” Alfred shuffled. “Not polite conversational fodder.”
“The Joker’s never been a laughing matter, but what about him is so dangerous now?”
“I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but he’s gone even more insane. I feel speculating on whatever it was that exuberated his behavior is a waste of time better spent on more pleasant pursuits.”
They’d arrived in the kitchen. Dick set his bags down on the table.
“Are you sure you have no appetite, Master Dick?”
Dick’s stomach rumbled on cue.
“Perhaps a root beer float and a lunchmeat sandwich?”
Dick felt his mouth going moist. “Yeah, sure, if it’s not too much trouble.”
Alfred fetched the necessary ingredients from the refrigerator. Thankfully, the kitchen was as soothing an environment as ever. Alfred had kept it museum-pristine, just the way he liked it. Dick grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl and nibbled on it while he watched Alfred prepare lunch.
“So, you think one of us is responsible for encouraging the Joker?”
Alfred stopped as if stricken, then began carefully layering the sandwich. “As I said, I hesitate to speculate, but the feud between Master Bruce and that… dreadful individual has driven both to heights of rage and frustration. At times, it resembles more a game of one-upmanship than a lawman apprehending a criminal. And, loathe as I am to ponder the taking of human life, part of me cannot help but wonder how much better life would be if the Joker had died before his metamorphosis from comic relief to arch-villain.”
Dick sat up a little straighter, stopped absently kicking his feet. Alfred had just wished someone dead. At times he felt this future was a dream of his, a nightmare dystopia he would wake up and prevent. This was one of those times. He wondered when he’d find out that Jason Todd was a one-eyed resistance fighter or something.
Alfred brought him lunch and Dick started on it eagerly, almost not recognizing the way the door opened and the weight of the shadow that flittered over him.
“Mind some company?” Bruce asked. He was dressed casually, in slacks and a polo shirt, with some of the morning’s newspapers under his arm.
“No, not at all.”
Bruce nodded to the French doors, which let in the kind of clear light you didn’t get in the city. Outside, the patio looked warm and inviting. Dick followed the unspoken request and went with his mentor outdoors, where they sat down at an umbrella-shielded table. Dick noted that the grill was a newer model; Bruce used that for cooking steaks, so it was outside Alfred’s domain.
“Like it?” Bruce asked. “It’s the Grand Turbo 38-Inch. Six independent burners with 63,000 BTUs and an 874-square-inch cooking surface. Ran me over two thousand dollars. But hey, what’s the point of being a billionaire if you can’t treat yourself once in a while?”
Dick smiled gamely. “So, how’ve you been?”
Bruce reached behind his shoulder to rub his back. “The war goes on. There are casualties lost and battles won, but soldiers stay eternal.”
“Nice sentiment.” Dick crossed his legs, sat up as straight as he could.
Alfred brought out a saucer and cup of tea, that herbal stuff Bruce imported from Asia, and Bruce took it from him with thanks. Dick mimicked his drinking, slurping some of his root beer float before he self-consciously realized how immature that must make him look.
“What?”
“It’s good to see you again,” Bruce said. “In good health. You look well.”
“Thanks.” Dick tapped his finger against the side of his plate before meeting Bruce’s eyes. “Good enough for field work?”
Bruce looked back at him like Dick had just spent his life savings on a birthday present for Bruce. “Dick, no. Not with the Joker on the street, it’s too dangerous.”
“If the Joker’s out there, and he’s as bad as everyone says he is—“
“He’s worse.”
“--then you need all the help you can get.”
Bruce sipped his tea, and Dick recognized the pause he was taking to gather his thoughts. It was as inevitable as the calm before the storm. “More than that, I need to know you’re safe. These last few days have been hard for me, but it was easier knowing you were in Barbara’s care.”
Dick scowled.
“We’ll find a way for you to help, don’t worry about that, but you will not be put in harm’s way until I am absolutely convinced you’re ready. I’m not losing a son. Not a—“
Bruce stopped, rubbing a hand up his cheek and along his chin before stopping. He paused, lips set thinly, and looked into Dick as if waiting for something.
“I understand,” he said, nodding with tight control.
Bruce nodded back, stood, touched him once on the shoulder, and was gone. Dick followed him, finishing off his sandwich with quick chomps. Alfred joined them to give Dick a tour of the house. It was largely the same, but there’d been a few upgrades, mainly to the security system. Dick made the appropriate comments over how clean and orderly everything was, but his real appreciation was reserved for Bruce.
Dick listened with increasing smiles as Bruce cancelled appointment after appointment. He finally flipped his cell phone shut, sighing as if a weight had rolled off his chest. “So, what should we do?”
“You know what I’d like… if you’re not too old?”
“Old?”
“You know… arthritis flaring up, back pains, glaucoma…”
Bruce’s mouth made a valiant attempt at a smile. He ran his fingertips through the gray at his temples as he led Dick to the grandfather clock.
Bruce whalloped Dick at sparring, as usual. Bruce had improved, but Dick could still read him like a book. He got some good licks in, and pinned Bruce for ten whole seconds when they wrestled. Alfred brought them towels and a pitcher of water. Dick poured his first cup out over his head and let the brisk cave breeze chill him.
Bruce gave him a tour after the rematch. Robots had excavated the cave further, giving room for more… everything. Dick rubbed the leg of the mechanical T-Rex. He was surprised Bruce hadn’t gotten rid of it yet. Apparently, it was only the first trophy of many.
“Do you want to reminisce all day or would you like to see the new Batmobile?” Bruce asked.
Dick’s eyebrows perked up. “New Batmobile?”
Bruce nodded.
It was a thing of beauty, a marvel of engineering. Looked a little more like a tank than a sedan, but that just struck Dick as cooler. Bruce and Dick were covered in grease, tinkering around with its innards when Bruce got called away by a beeping wristwatch. Nightfall. Wouldn’t be long before Batman would be called upon. Dick heard the shower running and snickered at the thought of a soap-smelling Batman.
When he tried the computer, he found he was locked out. Couldn’t even log in. So much for trust. He was a civilian again, just a kid who Bruce had taken in. Out of sheer pique, he asked Alfred to activate the training course.
“Master Dick, are you quite sure?”
“We used to burn carbs on that thing. I can handle it.”
He could. Running the obstacle course brought back memories, even through he recognized from the sound of gunshots that the bullets were only rubber. The cardboard cutout rogue’s gallery had changed too. He dutifully disabled them, hoping he didn’t accidentally stomp any good guys. He paused at one, a cutout of Nightwing. He recognized himself, got pegged by a rubber bullet to the thigh. Alfred shut down the obstacle course.
Dick listened to the engines wind down as the lights came back up. “That’s me, right?”
“Yes, Master Dick.”
Dick ran a hand through his hair, absently trying to stylize it like his twin. “Groovy.”
Favoring his sore leg, he walked back into the main platform of the cave. Batman and Robin were suiting up, Robin closing a gorget around his neck. Dick jumped Robin with a noogie.
“Hey-a Jason, new costume! Aww, I had to suffer through the short-pants, but you get trousers? What a gyp. “
“I’m not Jason,” Tim said, startled nearly into speechlessness.
“Right, right, in the costume it’s Robin.” Dick winked and saddled up to Batman. “He looks a little short for his age. What happened? Time warp, cryogenic suspension, magic spell?”
“Stop talking.”
Dick winced at the sheer amount of venom in Bruce’s voice. “What’s wrong?”
“The world. You had gotten used to it. And now I have to go to the trouble of training you all over again.”
“Bruce,” Robin said, a reprimand.
“Batman,” Bruce and Dick corrected at the same time.
“You’re a stranger in a strange land. You don’t know how to interact or fit in with the new world, but you think you do. That makes you dangerous. And just because I am personally glad to have you safe does not mean I will compromise the mission. So do everyone a favor and stay out of the way for the foreseeable future. And don’t talk about things you can’t possibly understand.”
“Batman?” Dick said, a little horrified, like a puppy who’d been kicked and didn’t understand why.
“Jason’s dead, Dick. We lost him.”
***
The news didn’t hit him like a sledgehammer. It didn’t hit him at all. Dick sat, turning it over in his head. He wondered if this was what it felt like for a widower to wake up and realize his wife wasn’t in bed with him. Bruce’s remark, hedged though it was, had broken something loose inside him and he had vague impressions of what had gone before. The loss tinged like a reopened wound, and brought with it a melancholy that blanketed Dick. Not even Barbara’s voice could rouse him from it.
“Hey, man wonder. What’s it like being back in Gotham?”
Dick turned to the computer, currently displaying Oracle’s funerary mask. He wondered if there were cameras in it, showing the tears clouding his eyes. Realized he didn’t care.
“You know Jason Todd’s dead?”
The line was silent for a long while. “Yes.”
“He was like a brother to me. And Bruce’s replaced him… replaced me all over again! What the hell is that?”
“Dick…”
“Will he ever stop putting people in harm’s way?” Dick said with an angry shout. “Jason wasn’t ready, you knew it, I knew it, who’s to say…”
“Dick, that’s why Bruce isn’t letting you go out. That’s why Bruce isn’t even letting you access the computer.”
“Told you about that, did he?”
“Asked for my help safeguarding it.” Her voice was so soft and concerned that Dick hated himself for being angry at her. “Is it really that hard to put your head against the pillow and get some sleep?”
Dick grabbed the Nightwing costume from the vault and shook it in front of the camera “That answer your question?”
“You really going to disobey orders?”
“Bruce has… misunderstandings about my operational status.”
“Or he knows you better than you know yourself,” Barbara pointed out.
“That’s territory reserved for you. Do you think I’m capable?”
“Yes. But that doesn’t make it a good idea to go out.”
Dick crossed his arms sullenly. “Didn’t wanna go out anyway.”
After a long moment, the funerary mask disappeared to be replaced by a live video feed of Barbara. She looked beautiful and old, lines at her eyes and a look of heart-stopping ache on her face that made Dick wish he could comfort her, take care of her. But of course, she wouldn’t let him.
“I had a talk with Dinah. We…” Her eyes darted around, not meeting his even through their screens. “We thought that you and I…”
“Yes?”
Barbara took off her glasses. “I think I may still have feelings for you. Okay, no great surprise there, but maybe… hold on…”
Dick nearly groaned in disappointment. In a moment, two of the three Batcomputer screens filled up with a live report. Barbara remained on the center screen. Dick stared at her, lovelorn, for as long as it took for the funerary mask to blot out that image too.
“Harley Quinn’s called the GCPD. Apparently, she has information about the Joker.”
Dick was already unbuttoning his shirt. “Harley Quinn?”
“Joker’s gal Friday. She reformed a while back. For good, it looks like, since the Joker seems to have replaced her… anyway, she’s living on the straight and narrow in one of those Athenian women’s shelters…”
“Athenian… never mind, just give me an address.”
“Dick, the police can handle it.”
Dick pulled on the top of his uniform. “I’m not gonna interfere. I’ll just observe. Promise.”
“Bruce--”
“Doesn’t have to know. C’mon, this is important.” Dick slipped the mask on. “Besides, I wanna give this new suit a test run. What’s my superhero name?”
“Nightwing.”
“Really? Not something cool like… Renegade?”
“No,” Barbara said, with that tone of Dick just stepped in it that he was really starting to hate. “Not something cool like Renegade.”
***
Thankfully, the R-cycle was pretty much unchanged. He’d kinda been expecting Tron or something. It got him close enough to the women’s shelter. Then he abandoned it to a backalley, where a cool hologram system disguised it as a bum and some rats. Dick took the fire escape up, old memories hitting him with each rung. Batman would have every brick, window, and TV aerial memorized, but what came flooding back through Dick’s mind was the feel.
In every pore, in every follicle, he felt Gotham coming back to him. Everyone thought it was hell on earth, ‘cept those who really knew it. They knew Gotham was stubborn and prickly, but it had its shiny side. If you knew where to look.
His boots hit rooftop and he ran. The women’s shelter was easy to recognize from the architecture… No volute or base on the columns marked it as Doric. Really, the entire classical design could’ve been a giveaway. Two squad cars were in front, lights flashing silently. Dick avoided them. It felt different, not having a cape, and real different not feeling the air on his legs.
Bad enough that Barbara had been nagging him for his original plan of traveling solely by rooftop, but now she started in on something new. “Nightwing, hold on while I scan for a security system. Should only take a moment.”
“Ba—Oracle, she’s probably being interrogated right now!”
“Hold your horses. And were you going to use my real name over the radio?”
Actually, he had been going to call her Batgirl. “If there was any security beyond Brinks, I would’ve noticed it by now. C’mon, I need to know what they’re saying!”
“Try the directional microphone.”
“Huh?”
“Third pocket from the left on your utility belt.” On Barbara’s insistence, Dick pulled it out. “It’s new. Press the red button.”
Dick did, and a dish sprouted from the end of the flashlight-sized device.
“You see Harley?”
Dick had already spotted her through a window with his binoculars, Barbara having helpfully fetched her room number. She looked more subdued than she did in her mugshot; maybe it was the meds. “I got her.”
“Aim the dish at the window and hold it steady. I’ll handle the rest.”
A moment later, Dick heard noise being patched into his earpiece. After some static, it resolved into the characteristic sounds of conversation… chatter, footsteps on carpet, some muffled background noise.
“I hear Bullock,” Dick reported. “Sounds like he’s playing bad cop. He a white hat now?”
“As white as he ever gets. His partner’s Gail Felt. She joined the force after you left Gotham.”
That made him feel old. “And the high-pitched one?”
“Our girl Harley.”
Dick nodded. They were in luck. So far, all Harvey and Gail had done was take down the times and dates. Now they were getting down to the real meat.
“He contacted you by phone. Any idea how he got your number?”
“No way, I never gave it to him!”
Dick frowned. “Come on, come on. Get to the good stuff!”
“Patience, Nightwing. All good things to those who wait.”
“Hasn’t worked for me so far.”
”Last time you saw him he tried to kill you, is that correct?”
“Yeah, uh… we didn’t really talk much after that. I did my stint in Arkham and… look, you guys gotta stop hassling me, I had a disease!”
“Yeah, yeah, we’ve heard it all before.”
“Harv, the case? Now then, two hours ago you say you received a call from him. What did he say?”
“He wanted me back.”
“What’d you tell him?”
“No.”
“Why didn’t you call us immediately, sweetcheeks?”
“Jesus, Harv…”
“I was on the phone to my sponsor! I’m in a support group for battered women… it was temptin’, ya know? Mistah… the Joker sounded real sorry, like he always does, and he talked about how he wanted to take me out for a nice steak dinner and make it all up to me. I just kept saying no, no, no, asking him who that new tramp was that he was palling around with, and then he started yelling. I hung up and the next thing I knew I was on the phone with Helen… that’s my sponsor, Helen. And she told me to call you and now you’re here.”
“Anything he say that could give us a clue about his whereabouts?”
“No. He just said he had a job now, and it was going to bring him some big bucks.”
“The Joker’s for-hire now?” Dick whispered into his communicator.
“Times are tough for psychotic clowns, I guess.”
”He said he had a buncha nerds working for him… that’s how he got my number, they hacked something or other.”
“Would you like to take a break, Miss Quinzel? You seem a little shaken up.”
“Yeah… could you get me a cup of ice water?”
“Harv, you handle it.”
“Why do I gotta be the—“
“Now, Harv.”
“Alright, I’m goin’, I’m goin’.”
His heavy footsteps left the room.
”Do you need a tissue, Miss Quinzel?”
“No, no, I just…” Harley sniffled. “I still love him, but he’s all wrong for me. But I still think about him and I always wonder what if I could change him, because… because we had fun, ya know? It just seems so long ago. I guess I always want to capture those good ol’ days, but they weren’t that good, were they? People got hurt.”
“That’s all in the past, Harley,” Dick said gently.
“Dick?”
He shook himself out of his daydream. “Nothing. I never sound like that, do I?”
“Since that would make me the Joker… no.”
“You would look cute with green hair.”
Barbara’s voice was suddenly deathly serious. “Dick, there’s something you should know. When Jason died?”
“Oh no…”
“It was Joker, Dick. He did it.”
***
Dick roamed the rooftops, not really caring if Bruce forbade it or not. More secrets, more lies. He had a right to his history and it was being kept from him, ‘for his own good’. Not that he ever got to decide what his own good was, because Barbara was always too busy deciding it for him. Her and Bruce. Boy, he hoped his older self gave the both of them a talking-to before shoving off for Bludhaven. He wasn’t some baby to be coddled. He could handle himself, he could weather the storm.
Nightwing dropped down and took care of two carjackers even as they dragged their victim out of his Oldsmobile Toronado.
“Listen,” Barbara said in his ear, ever persistent. “He didn’t die. We thought he did, but Jason lived. He came back a year ago, calling himself the Red Hood. And he started killing people.”
“Jesus, this keeps getting better and better. When was Batman going to tell me this?”
Barbara pressed on. “Vigilante-style executions. Batman tried to stop him, but they stalemated.”
“Where is he now?”
“He’s disappeared. But I thought you should know the whole truth.”
“For a change,” Dick said through gritted teeth as he straddled the R-cycle once more. “Let’s focus on the mission, shall we? We’re good at that.”
“You know, I always hated working with you when you were in a snit.”
Dick gunned the engine. “I am not in a snit. I am justifiably angry with the lack of trust you’re placing in me, as well as the implication that I can’t take care of myself because I need your help.”
“Well, you do seem to keep asking for it.”
“There’s a difference between need and want. For instance, while I’d like to think you don’t want to patronize to me, you seem to need to be a controlling, emotionless bi—“
“What are you doing?”
The voice was Bruce’s. It came over the earpiece, along with flood lights that suddenly hit Nightwing’s back. He turned to see the Batmobile had crept behind him.
“Fighting crime,” Dick shot back. “What are you doing, tailgating?”
“I said you were grounded.”
“Yeah? Well, a lead came up and you weren’t available.”
“Pull over.”
Dick revved the engine.
“Pull over!”
He swung the bike to a stop, watching as the Batmobile pulled in beside him. Batman got out. In the passenger seat, Robin sat uncomfortably. The street was deserted this late at night save for stray animals and wind-spun litter. It made Dick feel like he was one of the last people on Earth.
“When I give an order, I expect it to be followed.”
Dick threw the motorcycle helmet at Batman, who caught it. “I’m tired of getting handled with kid gloves. If I’m a member of this team, treat me like it!”
Batman seemed to lurch back, crossing his arms in offended consideration. Dick stared him down, wondering if his other self could manage this without having to stop his knees from wobbling.
Robin cleared his throat. “Hey, Nightwing? I know you don’t really remember me, but I’ve been doing this for a while and… there is no way you could not be a member of this team.”
Nightwing looked past Batman to see Robin, who crossed his arms as well.
Batman said “Well spoken. Robin, take Nightwing to see Spooner. He’s your responsibility. Nightwing, Robin has field authority. Satisfactory?”
“Completely.”
Robin was already hopping out of the Batmobile. “Hey, Nightwing, why don’t we take the train? For old time’s sake?”
***
The trains were gut-wrenchingly terrifying, like riding a roller coaster when you’d just been told the operator was drinking, but they were fast and smooth and Dick recognized the special scent you only got when the wind was ripping past your nostrils at seventy miles per hour.
“So, who’s Spooner?” Nightwing shouted over the wind.
Robin’s voice came over the comlink, amused. “He’s an informant, a valuable one too. He has his ear to the Society.”
Nightwing frowned and Robin did the exposition bit. The Secret Society of Supervillains, back and badder than ever.
“So, the Calculator’s in charge?” Nightwing shook his head. “Sometimes I really want to look to see if I’m on hidden camera.”
“Only Oracle’s,” Robin said with a grin. “This is our stop.”
The new Robin was a bit of a wuss. He fired his de-cel line before he jumped off the train. Some people just didn’t know how to have any fun.
“So, which Robin are you? How many have there been?”
Robin scowled. “Four.”
“What happened to three?”
“He’s me.”
“And—“
“Don’t ask, alright?” They jumped a gap. “You’re not the only one who’s lost someone.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m past it.” Robin signaled for them to stop, then reluctantly turned to Nightwing. “You ever lose someone forever, someone you loved?”
“If I did, I can’t remember.”
“Count your blessings.”
They scoped out Spooner’s apartment. IR showed only one heat signature. Robin glanced at a blueprint of the place on his PDA, then snapped it shut and returned it to his belt. The apartment was three rooms, lined up side by side by side. A kitchen, a living room with a door to the hallway at a 90 degree angle to the door to the kitchen, and a bedroom with a window that let out onto the fire escape.
“So, what do you think, we bust in through the windows?”
“Shock and awe?” Robin shook his head. “I’d prefer a stealth entry, then come out of the shadows and surprise him that way.”
“Yeah, maybe with that grim voice Batman does,” Dick said, liking the sound of it. “Course, never would’ve worked back when we wore bright red and green.”
“Not to mention that it’s hard to intimidate anyone in short-pants.”
“They made people underestimate me,” Nightwing said defensively. “Besides, the ladies loved it.”
“Fellas too.”
“Let me guess… Corey Feldman?”
“Who?”
“Never mind.” Dick looked through his binoculars again. “Window in the kitchen. Let’s ghost.”
They threw out grappling hooks and swung in silence, hitting the wall as light as feathers and rappelling down to the kitchen window. Robin popped the lock and they both slipped inside, boots moving silently over the linoleum floor. There was something simmering on the stove. Smelled good.
Nightwing moved past a refrigerator magneted up with job listings to take up position by the door. Robin followed suit.
“Turn on your Star-Lites,” Robin whispered harshly.
“Eh?”
Robin reached over and pressed a button the side of Nightwing’s mask. The protective lenses glowed green and the next thing he knew, Dick had nightvision.
“Cool.”
Signaling a three-count with his fingers, Robin turned the doorknob and eased it open. The door squeaked.
“Who’s there?” a frightened voice shouted over the television.
Nightwing shrugged and forced the door all the way open.
“Who do you think?”
Spooner didn’t look like the nose-ringed bruisers Dick used to interrogate. He looked more like a bank teller. Thin, almost unhealthily so, with sketchy gray hair and a pair of eyeglasses covering his pale face. He wore a business suit, jacket off and suspenders stained with the soup he’d been eating.
“Nightwing… Robin…” he backed up into the chair he’d been sitting in, lit by the ghastly light of the TV set. “I haven’t done anything wrong! And if I’d heard anything, I’d’ve told you!”
Robin jumped up onto a dresser, crouching like an animal about to pounce. “Someone’s hired the Joker. And he’s always wanted to work for the Society, just to be contrary. So you tell me, what’s the job?”
“I swear, no one’s hiring the Joker! He’s crazy!”
“He’s a doomsday weapon,” Nightwing said, stepping more fully into the room and flanking Spooner. “Who merits that kind of attention?”
“Nobody! If the Society wants someone dead, they’re dead! There’s none of this arch-villain crap anymore, it’s… passé! The Society, the Calculator, they have overhead!”
“Supervillains incorporating,” Nightwing said. “Will wonders never cease?”
“Worked out pretty good for the Penguin,” Spooner shot back, prompting Nightwing to shoot Robin a confused look.
Robin leapt onto the easy chair in front of the TV. “So the Joker’s plausible deniability. Which means whatever he’s been hired for would bring the superhero community down on his employer’s head. What is it? Destabilizing a national economy, genocide, prison break?”
Nightwing followed his lead. “Because if the Joker pulls something because you didn’t give us the information we needed to stop him, that makes you an accessory.”
“Or maybe we could save the taxpayers the cost of a trial. Just tell the Society you’ve been ratting on them. Bet that would go over real well with Calculator, now wouldn’t it?”
“Alright, alright, geez…” Spooner straightened his loose tie. “I hear things. Nothing concrete… just rumors. It’s not like someone sent me a memo or anything…”
“Spit it out, Spooner,” Robin growled.
Nightwing circled around the room, discreetly searching it, as Spooner talked. He looked out the window to see a van parked on the side of the road. From the exhaust drifting from its pipe, it was idling.
“Oracle, mind running some plates for me?” Nightwing said, sotto voce.
Spooner started talking again under Robin’s harsh scrutiny. “Assassination. And the Society’s paying the Joker enough to make it big and loud, just like he likes it. There’s a thorn in Calculator’s side that he wants dead, and he doesn’t care what it takes.”
Spooner turned at the sound of chewing. Nightwing was eating a handful of M&Ms from a candy dish.
Robin grabbed Spooner by the lapels to redirect his attention. “This thorn have a name?”
“Not that I know of. But I heard that as soon as Joker got hired, he made a bee-line for Gotham.”
Nightwing swallowed. “If he ever left Gotham. This is a waste of our time, he doesn’t know anything. He’s just telling us what he thinks we want to hear.”
“I’m telling you what I heard! Oh, and uh… they called him the key to all the capes, but that could just by hyperbole.”
“Someone who’d know a lot of secret IDs?” Nightwing asked.
”Yeah.”
Oracle spoke over Nightwing’s comlink. “Checked the van, it was reported stolen a day ago.”
Robin noticed an unconscious shift in Nightwing’s body language. “Something wrong?”
“Maybe.” Nightwing strode toward the apartment door. “Stay with him, I need to check something.”
“You people are gonna get me killed!”
Robin shoved Spooner into his easy chair.
Nightwing opened the door and poked his head out, just in time to see a man emerging from the stairwell. He had a shotgun in his hand. Nightwing threw himself back inside, slamming the door shut as the man fired. The blast exploded the doorknob and the door started to yaw back open.
“Out the window, now!” Nightwing shouted.
Robin grabbed Spooner and pushed him into the bedroom, where the fire escape was. Then he pulled a Batarang.
Nightwing ducked into the kitchen as the man kicked open the blasted door. Robin threw and the man juked out of the way, returning fire. The blast blew a hole in the wall. Through it, Spooner could be seen trying to open the window. It was stuck.
Nightwing leapt out of the kitchen, tackling the man into a bookshelf. The shotgun went off again, exploding the television set into a million shimmering pieces. Then it was a dogfight. Close-quarters, Nightwing was good, but the thug was strong. He almost put up a fight before Nightwing got him into a chokehold. The vigilante groped for his plasticuffs as a second assassin entered the apartment, machine gun in hand.
“Nightwing!” Robin warned.
Grunting, Nightwing threw the first assassin into the second. Both men went down.
“Get Spooner out of here!”
Robin nodded curtly and obeyed without thinking. He dashed into the bedroom and kicked open the jammed window.
The second assassin was getting to his feet. Nightwing kicked him into the kitchen, where he slid across the linoleum to hit a card table set for one. It folded on top of him, spilling a dirty dish and half-drunken beer. The shotgun assassin swung his weapon like a baseball bat, catching Nightwing in the gut. Nightwing fell back, gasping for breath, as the man pumped the shotgun and took aim again. Only his extraordinary reflexes saved him, as he kicked out so hard that the shotgun flew apart from the force of the blow. Shotgun shells rolled out over the floor.
Nightwing put up his dukes, but before he could engage he heard the click of a machine gun being primed. He tackled the first assassin to the ground as the second opened up, full-auto, a barrage of destruction that ventilated the wall and door separating the kitchen from the living room. Nightwing held the assassin down as he squirmed, trying to force Nightwing up into the line of fire. He was strong… steadily pressing Nightwing up toward the bullets whizzing overhead.
Dick couldn’t find his plasticuffs, but he had touched some chemical capsules in his search. With nothing to lose, he grabbed a capsule and broke it under the assassin’s nose. The man took a big whiff of it and instantly vomited. Regurgitant. Nightwing would’ve preferred a sedative, but beggars and choosers…
The machine gun clicked empty. Nightwing knew he had only a few seconds before the man reloaded. He stormed into the kitchen to find the second assassin already slamming home a clip. No time to search for a Batarang. Nightwing threw out a de-cel line, looping it around the assassin’s neck and then jerking him into the boiling soup. He went down, became nothing more than a spasming mass of pain. Nightwing put him out of his misery with another chemical capsule, this one with sedative written on it.
Nightwing was just finishing handcuffing the burnt man when he smelt gas. He turned to see the first assassin standing by the open oven, all the dials turned to the maximum. The assassin held a lighter. Apparently he hasn’t gotten as big a dose of regurgitant as Nightwing thought.
The man threw the lighter even as Nightwing jumped into motion, throwing his prisoner over his shoulders and sprinting for the window. Robin had closed it behind them when they came in. Behind him, Nightwing heard the gas catch and the fire race toward the gas line. Slightly selfishly, he used the unconscious man as a human battering ram to break through the window. They were in freefall when the oven went up, an explosion that shook the neighborhood and blew out every window in the apartment with tongues of flame.
They were ten stories up. Didn’t leave him much time.
Holding tightly to the prisoner, Nightwing prepped his grappling hook. He was falling all wrong. The explosion had literally knocked him for a loop, sent him into a spin. No time to right himself. He threw out a line toward the apartment building and hoped it hit something. Nightwing heard glass break.
Thank you, Jesus.
The de-cel line jerked them to a stop, albeit by slamming them into the brick wall. The prisoner took the brunt of that too.
Nightwing lowered them to the ground. He looked at the van and noticed that the driver was missing. Oh shit. Fire escape.
He spun. The driver had climbed onto a dumpster and from that was making his way up the ladder. At the top of the fire escape, Robin was holding off the first assassin. And Spooner was trapped in the middle, making his way down to his doom.
Nightwing broke into a sprint, trying to ignore the sudden memory that stiffened his joints. Him and Barbara, Robin and Batgirl, fighting crime side by side. How many times had they been in a mess like this, saving each other, saving themselves, and trying to hide what they felt for each other because that, of all things, was what he was afraid of. God. There had to be a therapy for what they were going through.
He vaulted onto the dumpster, scurried up the ladder, and hit the fire escape. “Spooner! Wrong way!”
Both the informant and the driver looked down at him. The driver had a pistol. He fired twice, both shots easily dodged by ducking under the grating. Then the driver looked up at Spooner. He started up, constantly looking for a clear shot.
Nightwing ran up the fire escape, lungs and heart and eyeballs alit with adrenaline. All that was missing was Barbara. He had a flash of Batgirl, acrobatic, athletic Batgirl, and wondered why he was bothering to take the stairs?
He jumped out into open space, grabbed a safety railing like it was a trapeze, and swung himself up to the next level. Kicked off the safety railing there and hit the next level. He caught up with Spooner at the same time the driver did. And just a second too late. The driver already had his gun out, aimed, finger on the trigger. Nightwing jumped between the two without thinking, felt more than heard the roar of the gun, then pain exploded through his chest.
Wish I could’ve made her understand, Dick thought as pain blacked out the world for him.
Chapter 7
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no subject
Date: 2008-02-28 07:44 pm (UTC)I really like the way you write Bruce and Alfred here. As I said, really good stuff.
no subject
Date: 2008-02-28 09:11 pm (UTC)This is actually the chapter I've been waiting for. The multiple Robins revealed chapter. I like how Dick doesn't get introduced to his lil' bro as Tim right away. He first sees him in costume and just thinks of him as the current Robin from that point on. And I enjoyed the way Jason's death was handled too.
It's also neat how Dick is slowly but surely realizing just how bad the world's gotten since he remembers it... Excellent chapter once again! ♥
no subject
Date: 2008-02-29 12:57 am (UTC)Yeah, part of the appeal is that it's not just Dick/Babs. Hitting the reset button on Dick also gives you this great insight into Roy (although obviously I didn't delve into the Teen Titans/Outsiders, because that could take all day and at a certain point you have to just write about someone's throbbing manhood going into someone else's velvet sheath) and Bruce and Tim and how all their relationships have evolved. Plus, you get to do some fun metafictional stuff with looking at the changes in the text itself over the years and seeing how the characters would perceive them.
no subject
Date: 2008-02-29 01:00 am (UTC)Dick's two dads are fun to write!
no subject
Date: 2008-02-29 01:42 am (UTC)What next? what next?
no subject
Date: 2008-02-29 10:12 am (UTC)Lovely Harley cameo!
no subject
Date: 2008-02-29 10:01 pm (UTC)Re: hi!
Date: 2008-02-29 11:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-01 02:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-02 10:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-13 07:35 am (UTC)