Chapter Text
The water below him shifted and sloshed in the darkness. A bright sign that had been running from a generator suddenly went out, fizzling out with a dull zip. He was crouching on a ledge amidst a skyscraper corridor, buildings crowding all around. He’d found some of the last survivors of Riddler’s bombs huddled on a rooftop. Their skin was cold to the touch and one of the girls’ hands was trembling from shock. Over the last several days he’d found scores of bodies, too many of them children, but he’d also found many of the living having hidden away from the floodwaters as the national guard scoured the area. The girl he carried in his arms, after having set up a flare for the national guard to see, was crying softly. Two boats approached the edge of the building, their searchlight rising until they reached the top of the building, finally spotting the vigilante holding another victim.
“Hold on.”, he uttered quietly.
The girl nodded, doing so. With great care he rappelled down the side of the building, gently easing the girl into the arms of the guards. He did the same for the others who’d been passing in and out of consciousness. The girl, who’d been the last still awake, stayed watching him as the boats pulled away. In moments, he was alone again, with nothing but the wind and water, the latter of which had decimated this portion of the city. Over the horizon he spotted an orange glow of a sunrise, signaling the start of a new day. There, still in the darker part of the sky, came the signal that had once been a warning, now a symbol of hope.
Jim Gordon wanted to talk to him.
He went, knowing that whatever it was must be important. It was barely a whisper when he showed up, having opted out of using the elevator. Gordon still turned, having gotten used to his comings and goings over the years. He simply arched an eyebrow and held out a folder.
“A list of the Riddler’s known associates, apart from his online followers.”
Batman opened the folder, fingers ghosting over the pages and pictures of said associates, or rather orphans who’d known him while living in the same place. A few had been successful, despite all odds, and others had fallen into despair.
“None were involved in this, as far as we know, though more than a few of them supported his cause.”, Gordon spoke, his voice clipped.
Overhead an owl hooted, and Batman raised his gaze to his friend who was rubbing his jaw.
“Apply ice to it.”
“If that was you pulling your punches, I hate to see the other guy.”
“You have seen the other guys.”, the vigilante uttered, his voice even.
Gordon laughed but didn’t say anything else, opting instead to turn to the elevator. Before he got on though, he paused. Batman met his gaze, the cop’s eyes set in a way that spoke of conviction.
“You’ve done well but let us take it from here.” Gordon instructed, not even waiting for an answer as he strode onto the rickety lift. He placed his hands on the steel gates, further putting emphasis on his words. “I know things are about to get ugly. That’s when we’ll need you most.”
Batman didn’t agree or disagree. He simply stared back, which Gordon was used to, so instead of waiting for an answer, he pushed the button to get the elevator to descend. The vigilante was alone with the folder, deciding to read some of its contents in the morning light.
Sometime later, Bruce shed his cowl and armor, and dressed in something more casual before making his way to the hospital, which was overcrowded now. Nobody paid him much mind, as he had a hood up, and approached the nurse’s desk to sign a few papers. They were simply to busy to pay him much mind, so he showed himself to Alfred’s room, secretly happy at the prospect of having him home. The man himself was sitting up, putting on a tie and vest, looking as though he hadn’t been blown back by an explosion, aside from the bruises that is.
When they made it back to the tower, Alfred was horrified to see the spray paint on the floorboards, his eyes widening.
“I leave you alone for a few days, and this is what happens.”
Bruce glared at the floor, as if it had been the cause of the mess.
“It was going to be fixed before you even got home.”
Alfred raised an eyebrow, tilting his head while looking away, as if he very much doubted that comment. His eyes briefly narrowed when he spotted something. The folder Bruce had just gotten from Gordon was laying on the table. The butler sighed.
“I’d rather been hoping that you were taking a break, but I should’ve known better.”
“As if you didn’t intend on getting back to work as soon as you got here.”, came the sarcastic remark.
“As a matter of fact, I hadn’t.”, came the equally snarky response. “I was going out to meet an old friend, Reginald Payne this evening.”
“Payne?”
“He’s in a bad way Bruce, and I’ll be there for him no matter what he’s done.”
Bruce shook his head and spoke.
“He’s a damned good thief.”
“No better than the company you’ve kept I daresay.” Alfred replied, though there wasn’t any venom in the tone. He crossed his arms then. “We’re meeting on neutral ground anyway, and I don’t plan on bringing anything too valuable.”
There was a beat of silence before Bruce spoke again.
“I’m coming with you.”
Alfred raised his eyebrows but didn’t object.
“Sure, you can come, as long as you don’t mind the clowns.”
Bruce made a face.
“Clowns?”
That was how he found himself and his butler, much later in the day, pushing through the crowds of people, their attire much more casual as to avoid any of Gotham’s more opportunistic types. Haly’s Circus was in town as an act of charity to the recently dispossessed of the city’s inhabitants. Not only were they performing for free, but they also fed and housed many in their run-down tents and trailers. Though he loathed keeping up appearances in public and didn’t enjoy the public in general, Bruce found inspiration in the goodness of those who didn’t have much to begin with. He watched as a father and son sat next to each other inside a striped tent, being served something hot by who he presumed was a strongman in performances.
“Reggie’s just up ahead.”, Alfred stated, and Bruce shifted his gaze to one he thought of less favorably.
“Alfred!”, came the happy voice, though his smile lessened when he spotted the darker of the two. “And Bruce.”
“Payne.”
“Shall we?”, Alfred asked, motioning a hand forward before the two could even begin an argument. Bruce was fine with this, but he kept a close eye on the man Alfred called friend.
They approached the ticket booth, though no one was there as all events were free. Payne was chattering to Alfred, speaking of the generosity of the people here, genuine admiration in his eyes though they were clouded with something every time he glanced Bruce’s way. The interior of the tent was alight, the chattering loud, and general spirits high even though many had seen the crushing and dark floodwaters mere days ago. On instinct, Bruce checked his surroundings, the recorder lens in his eye picking up on the faces around him. A few deviants in their midst, but no violent offenders with records.
They found their seats, somewhere in the middle of the crowd, a few families surrounding them, as well as a few petty criminals, one of which who was offering a coat to a shivering kid. The mother accepted the coat for the kid, not knowing this man’s history, and the man smiled, knowing he’d done some good. Bruce continued looking around, though he kept listening to the conversation between Alfred and Payne.
“What’s being performed?”, Alfred asked.
“The Flying Graysons. I hear they’re professionals, on a national level even.”
Bruce watched as the lights dimmed and a spotlight landed on a man standing in the middle, his red coat and top hat radiating exaggerated showmanship.
“Ladies and Gentlemen! It is my honor to present to you the celebrated, the revered, and most exciting Flying Graysons!”
A spotlight faded in, showing a family of three, one of which who was a child with dark hair. The boy was all smiles and charm as he waved at the crowd below, even bowing with enthusiasm at the applause. Not shy at all. Bruce smirked a little before the attention was drawn to the first of the three performers, the father, who dived off the edge daringly before his hands grasped the bars. Bruce caught a flicker of motion in the catwalk above the performances, but it was gone in a moment. Before he could continue the thought, the second performer, the mother, joined the first, her hands clasping the wrists of the man’s. They both made it to the other end, much to the enthusiasm of the audience, who awed at the skilled display of ariel tricks. The kid was waiting for them to cross back over, practically bouncing on his feet in anticipation. His parents didn’t stop at the other platform, continuing to perform somersaults midair, jumping from rail to rail. Bruce once again caught movement at the second platform opposite to the boy, and tensed, knowing that something wasn’t right.
He figured this out a moment too late.
There was a moment of silence between the cheering of the crowd and the acrobats reaching for the next bar, but then there came an ominous snap and sharp gasp when the father reached for it. The wires attached to the second platform broke and two people were seen falling to their deaths before a crowd who’d seen much in the past days.
There was silence.
All they could see was the cloud of dust and the spotlight highlighting two performers that had gone very still.
But Bruce wasn’t looking at the parents. He was looking at the child. A boy who’d been no older than he who was now registering the horror in front of him. In moments, Bruce had found a way up to the platform, the catwalk surprisingly empty of workers.
The boy was kneeling on the platform, face pale, and fingers curled into fists as they pressed down into the painted wood. There were hot tears dripping down his cheeks and his breathing was erratic. Before he broke down completely, Bruce reached out to the child. The boy looked at his hand, and then him, the breathing growing steadier. Bruce kept his hand extended until the boy finally decided to reach out for someone he only knew as a stranger. Quietly, he picked up the boy, shifting his weight around, opting instead to go down the ladder of the platform, knowing it would be quicker this way.
“Hold on.”, he uttered quietly to the boy, who only nodded and gripped him tightly.
He descended, very few acknowledging his presence as several people had crowded around the bodies of the Grayson parents. The boy was breathing heavier as he got closer, his grip like a vice around Bruce’s neck, when suddenly he let go and tried to push through the people. When he had trouble getting past a few people, Bruce had no problem shoving them aside to let the boy through.
The young acrobat’s ran up to the bodies before dropping down to his knees unsteadily. His shaking hand reached out for the mother, who’s eyes were open and face horror stricken. Then he drew his hand back, sudden gasping breaths overwhelming him. People continued staring on. Bruce had a sudden urge to get them away from the boy, though he himself couldn’t look away.
His eyes watched as the child’s shoulders rose and fell with each heaving sob.
This was his nightmare, relived by someone other than himself.
With each gasp, his jaw set, something shifting inside him.
He was starting to determine something he’d never considered doing.