Fic:Confrontation (Bruce)
Title: Confrontation (Bruce)
Author: AiyokuSama
Characters: Bruce, Tim, Dick
Continuity: comic verse, vaguely now
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: Angst, violence
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2668
Summery: Bats are good at avoidance
Author’s Notes: Thank you darthbatgirl for betaing this! Here is the next instalment of the Forced Series. If you haven’t done so already, you should read parts 1 and 2 of Opportunity, parts 1 and 2 of Regrouping, parts 1 and 2 of Brothers and Alfred's Interlude. To be continued in Confrontation (Dick)
I haven’t slept. I don’t dare. There is too much to do. There is always something that has to be seen to, something which allows me to avoid the nightmares that await my slumbering mind. Nightmares that now have one more added to their number.
There are three unsolved cases that need my attention, but those get shelved as soon as the computer lets me know that the results of the third blood sample have been compiled and are ready. I am relieved when I look over the print out. The worst of the effects have long since dissipated; something that my own body awareness informed me of hours ago. However the test shows that there will be no lingering effects, the toxins being almost completely flushed from my system.
As soon as the results of the first test came in, I set about making a new batch of anti-toxin. We’ll be needing that if Ivy escapes Arkham.
We… I close my eyes and concentrate on just breathing.
For all I know, there is no longer a “we.” It’s no less then I deserve. Fool! The same recriminations chase themselves around in my head. I do my best to push it all aside so that I might focus on the cases, though really, I’m not seeing the contents of the files before me. Instead, I’m merely marking time until the sun goes down and the cool night engulfs the streets; until I can head out and hunt. It won’t change anything, it won’t take the knowledge and pain away, but I have an oath to uphold and a city to protect. A small part of my mind laughs at the bitter irony. After all, I couldn‘t even protect my partner.
There is something soothing about putting the suit on. I suppose it’s become a psychological trigger of sorts, a way of resetting my thoughts to the specific activity to come. In the past this has worked to separate myself from the concerns of Bruce Wayne’s life, allowing a kind of distance from the all to often painful aspects of that part of myself. I didn’t realize I had been counting on that effect until it failed to come to pass.
Of course, it’s Batman that violated Robin. That travesty is now part of the costume and now it feels like the cowl might suffocate me.
The oath, made on their graves. Nothing else matters. It’s time to go.
Sliding into the batmobile’s driver seat I take comfort in the familiar feel of the engine coming to life and carefully avoid dwelling on the new associations I have for the car, particularly the hood. The marvel of engineering tears out into the night, it‘s time for patrol. Alone. Once more I‘m alone.
It’s never a good idea to get into a predictable pattern, such things make one vulnerable. But I have that which I keep a closer eye on. Same as Robin. No, that isn’t true any more. Perhaps I should head east and check what used to be his sector.
The police scanner in the cowl doesn’t pick up anything particularly interesting until well after midnight. Someone tripped the alarm at one of the art museums. This one happens to be three blocks from my current position. I can feel the feral grin on my face, and it’s wrong. There is no joy in this and yet, there is.
I use the jump lines to get there, thrilling at the rush of air and gravity’s pull, though I will admit that to no one but myself. What I find is…perplexing to say the least. Whoever these guys are, the word “subtlety” is clearly not in their vocabulary. The explosion happens seconds before my arrival, leaving the smoking hole in the loading dock doors to tell the story.
Smiling as I swing down, taking out the lone sentry they left behind; I go to work. Theatrics have their place, but more often then not, I really do work best from the shadows. After all, there is nothing more terrifying then that which can’t be seen. The only way this lot will know what happened is if they look at the note I tape to the largest of the bound would-be thieves. Of course, for that, they’ll have to regain consciousness first.
I don’t bother to call it in, I can already hear the sirens. Time to find myself elsewhere. As I lift up into the night there is a slight queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I carefully don’t examine that too closely, nor how I’m scanning the darkness, looking for a telltale flash of red.
It doesn’t matter, I have to move. Muggings, an abusive john, some drug deals. Normal stuff, things I don’t even have to think about. That’s not good, I need to get my mind focus on…something else.
I don’t hope for an Arkham escapee, I know better then to wish for that.
The night seems darker somehow, more sinister. There is a heavy feeling in the air, pregnant and waiting, as if before a storm. Part of me is almost relived when the scanner picks up a multiple gunshot call. Maybe this is what I’m feeling. Or perhaps not. In the end it doesn’t matter.
Launching myself from my perch on one of the many gargoyles, I take the car. It will be a few minutes getting to Bastion park, unfortunately, and there is no further information to be had.
When I pull up, I just…don’t gape. The Bat never gapes. Yet what I’m seeing is a lot more then I’ve ever excepted. More then I’ve seen in some time, actually. It’s a gang war, where the hell did this come from? There had been some malcontent rumblings but nothing that would indicate a blow up of this magnitude, not with those automatic weapons and…oh no.
Not even the shielding on the batmobile is up for the anti-aircraft missile that’s being pointed my way. Time to get out! Blowing the door I dive for the nearest bushes. I can feel the heat of the explosion and the only thought in my head is how Robin will be disappointed that the car is a write off.
Many have argued that when it comes to the gangs, it’s best to let them kill each other off. That’s not how I do things, not when the innocent are all to often caught in the crossfire. Not in my city!
The glow of what used to be my ride is casting eerie shadows in the night. For their part, the gang bangers are back to doing an effective job of depopulating themselves since they think I’m dead. Fools. Careful, silently I move, picking them off one at a time. It’s a good strategy, except that there are so many. When the guns from the group I’ve been working through stop firing, the other lot decides to move in. Fine, I can just--
Red.
Fast moving, falling on one of the rear most men. And there, blue; slight but undeniable. I can feel my jaw clenching. Not what I wanted, I had this covered.
I’ll…deal with them later. Right now there are still to many hotheads with guns. The police will be here soon. The last thing anyone needs is a shoot out with Gotham’s Finest. It wouldn’t be pretty, especially not when they have armour piercing rounds as the rent through the Kevlar on my thigh points out. Now, I’m annoyed.
The crunch of cartilage and bone is a satisfying thing. It almost makes up for the destruction of my car. No, it doesn’t. Damnit.
Then there’s no one else to hit. Robin and Nightwing are already zip-stripping the downed gang members. I move to pick up the guns and unceremoniously pile them for the police. The scanner tells me they are only a minute out. Lots of time for…too many things. A quick survey of the scene and I’m satisfied. Pulling out the grapple gun I shoot it at the nearest roof. The tenements in this area aren’t that tall, but it will do. It’s always better to be above street level.
I feel them more then hear them: the sound of twin grapples as they move to follow me. No. No! I can’t do this, I can’t. Not now. Not yet.
The words I’m expecting do not come. They are behind me, following my movements, but there is nothing more to it. For a moment, I can almost believe that it was all a horrific nightmare, that the three of us are simply out on a patrol. The moment passes. I take off at a run. I’m not trying to escape them, not really. It’s just that I have to finish my rounds of the city.
I don’t look back, I don’t have to. I know how they move, a well oiled machine that I had a hand in training. Except it’s much more then that now, they’ve trained each other, complimenting the other’s individual style as well as my own. Somewhere, somehow, I did something right. I must have to be given such treasures in my life. They mean so much to me and I take every opportunity to torment them, bend them, waiting for them to break and fly far away from me. I can’t stop. It’s not safe that they are in my life; not for them, nor myself. I was wrong to steal their childhoods, to make them my soldiers. My well trained soldiers, who even now are flowing across the skyline with me, keeping watchful pace through the night.
We find some thugs in the midst of a home invasion, the home owners tied up, one of the bastards having what he probably considers ‘fun’ with them. That doesn’t take any time. I let Robin deal with the victims, people are less threatened by him. Odd how the very thought of looking at him terrifies me.
Nightwing makes the call to the authorities. He motions for me to go, apparently intent on sticking with the frazzled couple until the official help arrives. I’m half way through the arc of my swing when I realize that Robin is right there beside me, constant soundless color. Landing on the roof, I walk to the other side and just…appraise the area. There really isn’t anything to see, and I know damn well it’s a transparent avoidance tactic, a futile one. Robin is right behind me. I can feel that composed silence, just being there, just waiting.
It becomes a contest, and of course he breaks first, but not with angry shouts. No, such things aren’t necessary, not from him. Robin has always been able to say volumes without uttering a word. The quirk of an eyebrow, the shift of his weight, the line of his jaw.
“There is no blame, not for you.”
Despite my resolve, I find myself twisting around to look at him. At least I’m able to mask my shock at the words. How on earth can he say that?! And if not for me, then who? The white-out lens hide the fact that I’m searching his face for the answers I seek, but he knows regardless.
It’s a small blessing that the boy doesn’t try to close the distance between us and also a cruel torment. I think it would be easier if he rushed me and tried to strike out.
“I made a choice, Batman,” he says in that ever calm voice of his. “You can’t take the blame for that.”
I say nothing. There are words that should be spoken, that need to be said, but not here. Not when there is a patrol to finish up. Duty. Duty has to come first.
“Just listen,” he continues, his face so composed and so very serious, a mask in it’s own right more then even the domino he sports. “I need you to hear this. Do that for me, if nothing else.” It’s not a request. I find myself giving the slightest of nods before I even think about it. “I’m not a child, I haven’t been one for a very long time, even before I meet you. I’ve worked hard to be your partner, your equal. Don’t slight me by thinking I can’t make my own decisions.”
I don’t want to listen because Robin is speaking rationally and with reasoned logic. The words are too sensible, yet they don‘t match reality. If they were things of anger and passion, I could easily accept them, work with them, however they are not. That makes this all the more grotesque.
“You didn’t screw up. I did.” The too young--no too old--face is looking at me. He could be blinking behind the mask, but I doubt it. “I allowed my wants to override my better judgement. *I* put you in this position and I’m sorry.”
He’s apologizing to me. He…no. He can’t, it’s not his place. I’m the adult. I’m the one that has the training, the experience. I’m the one that has dealt with the damn effects of the toxin before. I should have…
Nightwing lands on the roof top. He doesn’t smile, which is a kind of warning. There is anger there, old and new. Whatever form it might take is waylaid by Robin asking, “Where to next?”
Not that Cave, not yet.
“South, to Robinson park.” There’s been an increase of dealers in the area. I have every intention of leaning on the pushers until they tell me who they are working for. If some require a few broken bones to ensure their cooperation, that’s fine by me.
I pretend that I don’t see Nightwing’s frown. Robin just nods, accepting the dictate without argument. We fly.
You’d think I’m a rank amateur the way my attention remains on the pair following my lead. And yet I can’t stop the itch in my shoulder blades, the one that precedes an unseen strike, which is perfectly irrational. They won’t strike me, no matter how much I deserve it.
It is another hour before I‘m satisfied. I have three names now, and I can begin working on taking down the new syndicate trying to get a foot hold in my town. At no time does Nightwing or Robin try to direct our activities. They just quietly back me up, letting me take point. I’m about ready to scream. Much as I want to pretend the previous night never happened, it’s disturbing that they are ignoring it entirely.
I have no doubt that Nightwing knows at least some of what happened, and I keep expecting him to lay into me. I wish he would, it’d be easier to deal then the undemanding silence they offer.
It comes as a relief when Nightwing dusts his gauntlets off loudly. “Good night’s Patrol,” he proclaims, probably thinking that would be the signal that we are done. I’m not finished, I have three names…
Robin is there, nodding. He issues a voice command, telling the bikes to home in on his signal. Oh, right. I’m with out transportation now. It would be a long walk home.
The chronometer in my left glove tells me it’s only 3am. Still early. I frown.
As the red and blue riderless bikes pull up, I turn and leave, heading for the roofs. I think I heard a muffled curse behind me. It doesn’t matter, I’m flying.
But not alone. Red and blue, again. They aren’t giving up, something which really shouldn’t come as a surprise. Fine.
I’m not running, I’m continuing to do my job, nothing more. The first name is known to me: Freddi Marco. He had been part of Falcone’s operation, then thrown in with Black Mask. Last I’d heard, he is playing gopher for Intergang. Funny how they keep cropping up.
It’s going to be a productive night, especially if I have to crack some skulls to make it so.
(End. Next, Confrontation - Dick)
Author: AiyokuSama
Characters: Bruce, Tim, Dick
Continuity: comic verse, vaguely now
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: Angst, violence
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2668
Summery: Bats are good at avoidance
Author’s Notes: Thank you darthbatgirl for betaing this! Here is the next instalment of the Forced Series. If you haven’t done so already, you should read parts 1 and 2 of Opportunity, parts 1 and 2 of Regrouping, parts 1 and 2 of Brothers and Alfred's Interlude. To be continued in Confrontation (Dick)
I haven’t slept. I don’t dare. There is too much to do. There is always something that has to be seen to, something which allows me to avoid the nightmares that await my slumbering mind. Nightmares that now have one more added to their number.
There are three unsolved cases that need my attention, but those get shelved as soon as the computer lets me know that the results of the third blood sample have been compiled and are ready. I am relieved when I look over the print out. The worst of the effects have long since dissipated; something that my own body awareness informed me of hours ago. However the test shows that there will be no lingering effects, the toxins being almost completely flushed from my system.
As soon as the results of the first test came in, I set about making a new batch of anti-toxin. We’ll be needing that if Ivy escapes Arkham.
We… I close my eyes and concentrate on just breathing.
For all I know, there is no longer a “we.” It’s no less then I deserve. Fool! The same recriminations chase themselves around in my head. I do my best to push it all aside so that I might focus on the cases, though really, I’m not seeing the contents of the files before me. Instead, I’m merely marking time until the sun goes down and the cool night engulfs the streets; until I can head out and hunt. It won’t change anything, it won’t take the knowledge and pain away, but I have an oath to uphold and a city to protect. A small part of my mind laughs at the bitter irony. After all, I couldn‘t even protect my partner.
There is something soothing about putting the suit on. I suppose it’s become a psychological trigger of sorts, a way of resetting my thoughts to the specific activity to come. In the past this has worked to separate myself from the concerns of Bruce Wayne’s life, allowing a kind of distance from the all to often painful aspects of that part of myself. I didn’t realize I had been counting on that effect until it failed to come to pass.
Of course, it’s Batman that violated Robin. That travesty is now part of the costume and now it feels like the cowl might suffocate me.
The oath, made on their graves. Nothing else matters. It’s time to go.
Sliding into the batmobile’s driver seat I take comfort in the familiar feel of the engine coming to life and carefully avoid dwelling on the new associations I have for the car, particularly the hood. The marvel of engineering tears out into the night, it‘s time for patrol. Alone. Once more I‘m alone.
It’s never a good idea to get into a predictable pattern, such things make one vulnerable. But I have that which I keep a closer eye on. Same as Robin. No, that isn’t true any more. Perhaps I should head east and check what used to be his sector.
The police scanner in the cowl doesn’t pick up anything particularly interesting until well after midnight. Someone tripped the alarm at one of the art museums. This one happens to be three blocks from my current position. I can feel the feral grin on my face, and it’s wrong. There is no joy in this and yet, there is.
I use the jump lines to get there, thrilling at the rush of air and gravity’s pull, though I will admit that to no one but myself. What I find is…perplexing to say the least. Whoever these guys are, the word “subtlety” is clearly not in their vocabulary. The explosion happens seconds before my arrival, leaving the smoking hole in the loading dock doors to tell the story.
Smiling as I swing down, taking out the lone sentry they left behind; I go to work. Theatrics have their place, but more often then not, I really do work best from the shadows. After all, there is nothing more terrifying then that which can’t be seen. The only way this lot will know what happened is if they look at the note I tape to the largest of the bound would-be thieves. Of course, for that, they’ll have to regain consciousness first.
I don’t bother to call it in, I can already hear the sirens. Time to find myself elsewhere. As I lift up into the night there is a slight queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I carefully don’t examine that too closely, nor how I’m scanning the darkness, looking for a telltale flash of red.
It doesn’t matter, I have to move. Muggings, an abusive john, some drug deals. Normal stuff, things I don’t even have to think about. That’s not good, I need to get my mind focus on…something else.
I don’t hope for an Arkham escapee, I know better then to wish for that.
The night seems darker somehow, more sinister. There is a heavy feeling in the air, pregnant and waiting, as if before a storm. Part of me is almost relived when the scanner picks up a multiple gunshot call. Maybe this is what I’m feeling. Or perhaps not. In the end it doesn’t matter.
Launching myself from my perch on one of the many gargoyles, I take the car. It will be a few minutes getting to Bastion park, unfortunately, and there is no further information to be had.
When I pull up, I just…don’t gape. The Bat never gapes. Yet what I’m seeing is a lot more then I’ve ever excepted. More then I’ve seen in some time, actually. It’s a gang war, where the hell did this come from? There had been some malcontent rumblings but nothing that would indicate a blow up of this magnitude, not with those automatic weapons and…oh no.
Not even the shielding on the batmobile is up for the anti-aircraft missile that’s being pointed my way. Time to get out! Blowing the door I dive for the nearest bushes. I can feel the heat of the explosion and the only thought in my head is how Robin will be disappointed that the car is a write off.
Many have argued that when it comes to the gangs, it’s best to let them kill each other off. That’s not how I do things, not when the innocent are all to often caught in the crossfire. Not in my city!
The glow of what used to be my ride is casting eerie shadows in the night. For their part, the gang bangers are back to doing an effective job of depopulating themselves since they think I’m dead. Fools. Careful, silently I move, picking them off one at a time. It’s a good strategy, except that there are so many. When the guns from the group I’ve been working through stop firing, the other lot decides to move in. Fine, I can just--
Red.
Fast moving, falling on one of the rear most men. And there, blue; slight but undeniable. I can feel my jaw clenching. Not what I wanted, I had this covered.
I’ll…deal with them later. Right now there are still to many hotheads with guns. The police will be here soon. The last thing anyone needs is a shoot out with Gotham’s Finest. It wouldn’t be pretty, especially not when they have armour piercing rounds as the rent through the Kevlar on my thigh points out. Now, I’m annoyed.
The crunch of cartilage and bone is a satisfying thing. It almost makes up for the destruction of my car. No, it doesn’t. Damnit.
Then there’s no one else to hit. Robin and Nightwing are already zip-stripping the downed gang members. I move to pick up the guns and unceremoniously pile them for the police. The scanner tells me they are only a minute out. Lots of time for…too many things. A quick survey of the scene and I’m satisfied. Pulling out the grapple gun I shoot it at the nearest roof. The tenements in this area aren’t that tall, but it will do. It’s always better to be above street level.
I feel them more then hear them: the sound of twin grapples as they move to follow me. No. No! I can’t do this, I can’t. Not now. Not yet.
The words I’m expecting do not come. They are behind me, following my movements, but there is nothing more to it. For a moment, I can almost believe that it was all a horrific nightmare, that the three of us are simply out on a patrol. The moment passes. I take off at a run. I’m not trying to escape them, not really. It’s just that I have to finish my rounds of the city.
I don’t look back, I don’t have to. I know how they move, a well oiled machine that I had a hand in training. Except it’s much more then that now, they’ve trained each other, complimenting the other’s individual style as well as my own. Somewhere, somehow, I did something right. I must have to be given such treasures in my life. They mean so much to me and I take every opportunity to torment them, bend them, waiting for them to break and fly far away from me. I can’t stop. It’s not safe that they are in my life; not for them, nor myself. I was wrong to steal their childhoods, to make them my soldiers. My well trained soldiers, who even now are flowing across the skyline with me, keeping watchful pace through the night.
We find some thugs in the midst of a home invasion, the home owners tied up, one of the bastards having what he probably considers ‘fun’ with them. That doesn’t take any time. I let Robin deal with the victims, people are less threatened by him. Odd how the very thought of looking at him terrifies me.
Nightwing makes the call to the authorities. He motions for me to go, apparently intent on sticking with the frazzled couple until the official help arrives. I’m half way through the arc of my swing when I realize that Robin is right there beside me, constant soundless color. Landing on the roof, I walk to the other side and just…appraise the area. There really isn’t anything to see, and I know damn well it’s a transparent avoidance tactic, a futile one. Robin is right behind me. I can feel that composed silence, just being there, just waiting.
It becomes a contest, and of course he breaks first, but not with angry shouts. No, such things aren’t necessary, not from him. Robin has always been able to say volumes without uttering a word. The quirk of an eyebrow, the shift of his weight, the line of his jaw.
“There is no blame, not for you.”
Despite my resolve, I find myself twisting around to look at him. At least I’m able to mask my shock at the words. How on earth can he say that?! And if not for me, then who? The white-out lens hide the fact that I’m searching his face for the answers I seek, but he knows regardless.
It’s a small blessing that the boy doesn’t try to close the distance between us and also a cruel torment. I think it would be easier if he rushed me and tried to strike out.
“I made a choice, Batman,” he says in that ever calm voice of his. “You can’t take the blame for that.”
I say nothing. There are words that should be spoken, that need to be said, but not here. Not when there is a patrol to finish up. Duty. Duty has to come first.
“Just listen,” he continues, his face so composed and so very serious, a mask in it’s own right more then even the domino he sports. “I need you to hear this. Do that for me, if nothing else.” It’s not a request. I find myself giving the slightest of nods before I even think about it. “I’m not a child, I haven’t been one for a very long time, even before I meet you. I’ve worked hard to be your partner, your equal. Don’t slight me by thinking I can’t make my own decisions.”
I don’t want to listen because Robin is speaking rationally and with reasoned logic. The words are too sensible, yet they don‘t match reality. If they were things of anger and passion, I could easily accept them, work with them, however they are not. That makes this all the more grotesque.
“You didn’t screw up. I did.” The too young--no too old--face is looking at me. He could be blinking behind the mask, but I doubt it. “I allowed my wants to override my better judgement. *I* put you in this position and I’m sorry.”
He’s apologizing to me. He…no. He can’t, it’s not his place. I’m the adult. I’m the one that has the training, the experience. I’m the one that has dealt with the damn effects of the toxin before. I should have…
Nightwing lands on the roof top. He doesn’t smile, which is a kind of warning. There is anger there, old and new. Whatever form it might take is waylaid by Robin asking, “Where to next?”
Not that Cave, not yet.
“South, to Robinson park.” There’s been an increase of dealers in the area. I have every intention of leaning on the pushers until they tell me who they are working for. If some require a few broken bones to ensure their cooperation, that’s fine by me.
I pretend that I don’t see Nightwing’s frown. Robin just nods, accepting the dictate without argument. We fly.
You’d think I’m a rank amateur the way my attention remains on the pair following my lead. And yet I can’t stop the itch in my shoulder blades, the one that precedes an unseen strike, which is perfectly irrational. They won’t strike me, no matter how much I deserve it.
It is another hour before I‘m satisfied. I have three names now, and I can begin working on taking down the new syndicate trying to get a foot hold in my town. At no time does Nightwing or Robin try to direct our activities. They just quietly back me up, letting me take point. I’m about ready to scream. Much as I want to pretend the previous night never happened, it’s disturbing that they are ignoring it entirely.
I have no doubt that Nightwing knows at least some of what happened, and I keep expecting him to lay into me. I wish he would, it’d be easier to deal then the undemanding silence they offer.
It comes as a relief when Nightwing dusts his gauntlets off loudly. “Good night’s Patrol,” he proclaims, probably thinking that would be the signal that we are done. I’m not finished, I have three names…
Robin is there, nodding. He issues a voice command, telling the bikes to home in on his signal. Oh, right. I’m with out transportation now. It would be a long walk home.
The chronometer in my left glove tells me it’s only 3am. Still early. I frown.
As the red and blue riderless bikes pull up, I turn and leave, heading for the roofs. I think I heard a muffled curse behind me. It doesn’t matter, I’m flying.
But not alone. Red and blue, again. They aren’t giving up, something which really shouldn’t come as a surprise. Fine.
I’m not running, I’m continuing to do my job, nothing more. The first name is known to me: Freddi Marco. He had been part of Falcone’s operation, then thrown in with Black Mask. Last I’d heard, he is playing gopher for Intergang. Funny how they keep cropping up.
It’s going to be a productive night, especially if I have to crack some skulls to make it so.
(End. Next, Confrontation - Dick)