Batfamily Halloween

Dinah: I’d had some words to have with Alfred when I’d been up at the Manor earlier in the week. Not just about pastries, though… you see the man about pastries if you’ve got a chance. I am perfectly capable of cooking. I just don’t, most of the time, I don’t have to. There’s a fully operational bar downstairs, that despite being in the kind of neighborhood that seems more action that Black Canary is interested in than Dinah Lance, actually serves some decent food most of the time. Sure, my apartment over top of it has a kitchen, but it’s mostly for storage and bags of ice or frozen peas for knuckles and faces than something I’m going to make. The man’s an angel though, really. And I was perfectly happy to discuss some plans that may or may not have been overstepping some boundaries but you know what? No one else is going to do it, and I don’t really care. All while waiting for some baked goodness to take home to my place.

Really. It’s Dick’s fault. In a way, it was his idea.

Halloween.

It could be argued that tonight’s not the night for this kind of thing. There’s bound to be a whole pack of idiots out on the streets tonight, and the mood in Gotham is still a little strange. Makes it hard to know exactly what’s coming, more than normal anyway. Not even a bad argument against a little bit of merriment, but plans were just adjusted. It’s not even dark out yet. There’s time for fun, and patrolling. Both could technically count as ‘family bonding’ time, too. And I love Halloween. I always have. Even after I started dressing up as something else every night. Normally? I’d be wearing something covering tonight. Dressing to the opposite of what I am. Last year I was a terribly unexciting nun. This year?

I’m juggling an armful of shopping bags, which clank and rattle and make it pretty clear I’ve gone BYOB, but at least I plan to share, while I rap on the door, waiting for Alfred to open up for me. He makes a great co-conspirator. Even for Halloween Parties.

“Trick or Treat! I brought treats! Thanks for your help with the costume, I made it work.”

See, I did come as the opposite of what I am. The Robin costume might be said to not really fit me, but … by proxy it really fits, if what you were going for the ‘Slutty Sidekick’ look, like they actually sell online. I wasn’t going to spend the money. I’ve got the real deal to work off here. I mean. The top doesn’t exactly…close and the booty shorts are definitely booty shorts but…

“Pan boots. Super comfy. Who knew!”

Damien: Damien for the record would like to state that this isn’t his idea. Also, he never understood the understanding of Halloween. But, Dinah … insisted … that he come. It was more of an order than anything else.

Oh, and he had to dress up.

….Damien tried to argue. But, once again. Dinah ordered him. Normally he wouldn’t take orders from her. He was just trying to get by without getting more grief from the Bat-Clan. Since he also wasn’t allowed to come as Red Hood, He decided to dress as something he knew. Which, you know, happened to be what his grandfather ran. The League of Assassins. It was all black, with a face mask, hood, gloves… you name it. Damien had it. Walking up to the door, he sighed and knocked on it.

Thankfully there was a reason to wear this. It was getting cold and well, he preferred not to freeze. Unlike some of the other women he saw on his way up to the Wayne Manor footsteps. When Alfred opened the door, well, there was a strange silence that came over him. Usually, the man had something quite witty to say. But, it was the first time he’d seen Damien since Bruce died. In essence, Alfred was his other Grandfather. More of a father to Bruce than Thomas was. That was neither here nor there now.

Lowering the mask, Damien reaches out, putting his hand on the older gentleman’s shoulder. The two may not have always seen eye to eye. But, Damien had great respect for him. After the two exchanged a moment, he’d speak up. Loud enough for Dinah to hear.

“Ahem. Master Wayne. That is quite the, uh, outfit.”

“Thank you Alfred. Dinah said I had to come in costume.” and, well, what a costume it was. Walking past him, Damien walks over to the study. Fully intending on reading, instead of being social. Of course, that’s probably not what Dinah had in mind. Misery loves company, and all.

Tim: Is it strange that dressing up in to a costume is a problem for people like us? Me, I feel like a chump. I never did Halloween as a child, really. My Folks always wanted me too, but I didn’t appreciate dressing up as someone else. Which brings to mind the entire conundrum of my life as of late. I’m simply not good at being someone else’s character. Kind of feeds back, all the way to the beginning really, when Bruce asked me to be Robin. I’d turned down that initial offer, instead asking to put my own label on the Mantle. ‘Red Robin’ was born.

Dinah and I have had multiple discussions about this sort of thing, none of which was related to Halloween. It was still very relevant to the night. Costumes suck. I’m not good at this sort of thing. Unlike the rest of the Bat-Family, I actually live in the same place as Dinah Lance. So there was no way to get out of doing this. I’d had little choice. So I went with the only thing I could stand…

“I feel like Cobblepot is going to think I’m gimic infringing with this umbrella…”

I’m a little late arriving to the party. Simply because Dinah refused to let Alfred pick us up in the Limo. I don’t own a car. ( Actually, I probably do. Inheritance, lame. ) Dinah only owns a bike. So we’d taken a Taxi. Except the Taxi guy didn’t have change for a Hundo. Nor did he have a fork-lift with which to carry in the Keg that Dinah insisted on bringing from her Bar. So, by default I’m a big tipper -and- carrying my own luggage, so to speak.

“Sorry, I’m late,” having hooked the umbrella in to the keg, I’ve engineered my own make-shift dolly. “You made that Cabby’s night, Dinah.”

Dinah: Only I’m not miserable. Quite the opposite, and I’m hell-bent on dragging someone along with me on my night of not misery. Dick and Barbara may be onto something with their lead, Tim might be…not a perfect fit for Batman but he’s trying, and he’s done some great things. Not just for Gotham, but spreading out to the world around us and Damien? Well. Damien actually showed up. In a costume no less. Which puts him two points ahead of where I thought we’d be tonight. Also underselling a little that I know he’s at least making an effort, after our little Batervention the other week. It’s a lot of reasons for a celebration, with a Holiday built in for an excuse. Maybe too much of a chippy-cheery one for me to normally drag them all in for but…

I kind of felt like maybe a night that wasn’t just yelling or correcting, or lecturing one another was in order. And yes. I’m as guilty, maybe more, as everyone else. The study is a pretty default hiding spot. I may not have spent much time upstairs in this place, but it’s not that hard to guess. Good thing Alfred knows these boys better than probably anyone else and has set-up in there. It’s where I head with my bags of booze, waving Tim along with me once he manages to get the keg in through the door. See? Not always opposed to letting a man do my heavy lifting.

“He’s welcome to come try and take it up with you. Be a bad night for him. Unlike said Cabby. I think he was trying to decide if someone had slipped him some special candy or not.”

I, for once, am actually wearing an eye mask. Part of the Robin costume, obviously. It was also definitely not where the cab driver was looking at any point. I think he was barely looking at the road either. Strutting in to the study, I throw my arms wide as I take in… God, that has to be Damien. Who else would show up looking like that in this house?

“…Damien, you know what? Nice costume, and Happy Halloween.”

The gesture might have been the threat of a hug. If I were a hugger. Instead I deposit my alcoholic goodies on the table that had been covered with books last time I was here. There’s no hug. Just a punch in the shoulder. Except the only person in this house that I haven’t punched is Alfred. That’s more a friendly knuckle nudge.

Damien: “This is not a costume.” making the distinction to Dinah as he gives her a curious glance when she punches his shoulder. Then looks over her costume with a raised… well, brow. It wasn’t in judgement. Tilting his head at her. “I.. believe you require a larger outfit, Dinah.” offering honestly. Completely missing the point of well, the T&A of her costume “I am sure if you were to offer to Alfred. He would have made sure the old Robin outfit would have been altered to your dimensions.” Giving her a nod, he looks over at the table of booze before turning his attention back to Dinah.

“I assume you brought Timothy?” asking as he moved to seat next to the table where she dropped her booze. Damien wasn’t planning on leaving the study. Next time, maybe he’d hide in the den. Maybe there he could be left alone with the few hundred dozen books. But, here he was now. With Dinah. And Timothy supposedly coming in behind her. Though, he heard rustling down stairs as Tim struggled with the keg. Though, he didn’t come to think to help Tim out. Looking away from Dinah for a moment, he glances to the bookshelf and picks up a book that looks interesting.

It’s not that Damien didn’t appreciate T&A…just…he didn’t really understand it. And least to say, Dinah was all about that T&A tonight.

“How are you tonight, Dinah?” asking, not really looking up from the book. So, he was trying to be a little social.

Tim: “No. I mean. I handed him a hundred dollar bill, he said he couldn’t break it. I said keep the change. But. I think -you- still made his night.”

There’s no small amount of smirk here. She was dressed like she was. Whether because of the Humor at work or because she was tormenting Dick. Who cares? I sure don’t. The cab driver certainly doesn’t care about why. Only that she was, that he got the pleasure of watching it the whole way here from the City. Hell, he didn’t even complain about the keg when I was loading it in. ( An act that started as a manly gesture, but ended with Dinah laughing at me. )

Damien being here isn’t really a surprise. I would have bet on him being here if for no other reason than to heckle everyone else for participating. Him being in costume? That’s worth all the trouble of getting here. By itself. Seeing the costume, on the other hand, leaves me unsure of whether to heckle him just a little bit instead. How do you resist?

“Hey, I though we had to come in costume!” Going with the obvious teasing gesture to Damien. “He used to wear that all the time. One time he jumped out of the Grandfather Clock and Alfred almost shot him with the 9mm he keeps under his monkey suit.”

All teasing aside, I am quick to transfer a hand from the Keg I’ve been hauling along, to Damien’s shoulder as I get closer. “It’s good to see you Damien. You really should take a moment. To just appreciate the fact that …. you’re going to spend the next fifty years listening to me tell stories about how the best looking Robin happened during my tenure in the Cowl.”

“Just. Look at her, Man. For once, that’s really the sole point. Wait. Did I say for once? That’s always the point. Appreciate the tactical advantage she gets in your old suit.”

Dinah: “Today it is. And now that you’ve worn it as a costume once, there’s just no going back.”

With that ‘greeting’ out of the way, I’m adding liquor to the spread that Alfred’s already laid out. I’d say it’s probably above what was required when there was only going to be five potential guests, and himself, in the house, but I don’t know. I’m no mind reader, but I think that maybe ‘Penny-One’ was happy to have an excuse. While i don’t know exactly how cheery a group it’s going to be, we’re at least making the attempt. It had been made clear to me when I’d turned up to pick up my own ‘costume’ that I didn’t need to bring anything with. I wanted to, though. And alcohol is something I ‘own’ in spades with the bar. It was this or peanuts. That and the gift of my glorious presence.

“Oh, this is the old Robin outfit. And he did alter it a little for me. Mostly to make sure I didn’t rip out a seam putting it on.”

I feel like I ought to point out to Damien the whole point of the costumes are to wear something that you are not, and likely will never be in the future. That connotation, mixed with him being the one that put it on? Well. I’m smirking a little bit as I finish distributing bottles through the treats and appetizers. Last out of the bag is a small black box that I shake once to make the heavy sound of cards thumping back and forth inside of it, laughing at Tim’s story in a single, little too loud guffaw.

“…I’d say seriously but that’s about the most believable thing I’ve heard all day. Happy Halloween to the cabby. Maybe he won’t be so grumpy when he shows up at his next fare.”

Though. See commentary about costumed freaks being up to no good tonight, as much as any other night and maybe I don’t entirely blame him. Not in Gotham. Instead of his life at risk, he got an enormous tip and to look at me.

“Tim’s right. Is this how it worked for you? Did you get to curb stomp crooks because they were gawking, too?”

Damien: “I believe it started with you, Timothy. We were playing …” trailing off as he tried to think of what the game was called. “Hide and Seek? You told me to hide. And you would come seek me. I took the opportunity to frighten Alfred. Though, You never did find me…” trailing off, Did Tim ever look for him. Looking to Dinah once again. “I suppose she is … unique … in my old Robin outfit.” saying as he shrugged. It wasn’t that he didn’t think Dinah was attractive. Just he never really thought of her in that line. They were similar in age with some of the same life experiences. But, thought of her more as an extension of his family.

Helena on the other hand….

“Psh. I am not sure what you are referring to, Dinah. Father would not allow me to “curb stomp” in air quotes, none the less. “Criminals.” shrugging slightly.

“Timothy. I must applaud you on your .. costume … I would have never thought you to dress as one of Father’s most hated villains. Maybe if we are to do this again next year, I will come dressed at Joker. To continue tradition, if you will.” explaining, his tone even and cool. It’d be hard to determine if Damien was joking. Especially since he was wearing something that covered the lower half of his face.

Coming back around to Dinah, he looks her over one more time. She’d see the gears turning in his mind on how to compliment her.

“I suppose it is most likely a good thing father did not choose you as Robin. Maybe the criminals would have gawked a bit too much for his liking. And I am sure you would have gotten cold with your legs bare and your chest exposed during the winter.” giving her a nod. That was a compliment, right?

Tim: See the bright smile? You should focus upon that and not the way I’m stage whispering to Dinah, “… I never went looking for him. It was the only way to get him to stop telling me how to do everything. He nearly gave Alf a heart-attack. I made a GIF out of it. It’s what I send every year to Alfred with his birthday card.”

The drinks are for the others. I’m not having any for a litany of reasons, but the most major among them? I’m the official designated driver. Because we came by Cab, but we’re leaving with something a little different. Trading up, so to speak. That is really half of the reason I agreed to the cab ride, instead of the Limo. I need to procure nondescript transportation for something I’ve got in the works. The work that I’ve been doing with Coast City requires me to show up to work on something other than a pedal-bike.

“Wah wah waaaaaah,” shaking the umbrella at Damien. “When I saw what Dinah was wearing, I couldn’t compete. So I figured that I would go the opposite direction. Fat, Disgusting. I started to wear fishy cologne, but I was worried she wouldn’t get in the Cab with me if I did.”

Clearing my throat just enough to get Damien’s attention, “Damien. Buddy. Pal. Brother. Have you ever seen her Canary costumes? She’s wearing a cape right now. Which means she has more clothing on right this second, than she would have if you stitched two Canary costumes together.”

Dinah: “I think this actually covers more than my usual suit. I mean. The support’s a little lacking. Seems like it’d lead to high potential for wardrobe malfunction… a lot less shredding of fishnets though. Do they make pan-booties in a high heeled variety? Might be onto something with these at least…”

Plus, besides all that I’m fairly sure that Bruce already had a Robin at that point. The first versions of my Canary costume weren’t nearly this exposed, either. It was a lot closer to what Damien’s wearing right now, and just started to get skimpier. And skimpier. As the nights went on and I realized how much of a distraction being a girl was, let alone one who was much more mature for her age than most would have guessed. Setting the Cards Against Humanity box on the edge of the table, I’m left laughing once again at Tim’s comment. I was wondering if Tim hadn’t found Damien, or if he’d just never looked. And now I know.

“Poor Alfred. He deserves some sort of war hero recognition. Seriously.”

Snatching up a canape, followed by another when it gets promptly popped into my mouth, I cross the room to drop down in a seat near Damien.

“The cape is really the only thing I’ve got a complaint about. So impractical.” Says the girl wearing…what I’m wearing now, that normally goes out in boots and what amounts to underwear. “Where did you even get Fishy Cologne, Tim? Please don’t tell me you’ve made some sort of doohicky to manufacture it.”

Dick: “He doesn’t need to make something to manufacture it, Silly Canary. Bat-Shark-Repellent. It’s in the utility belt. Smells like rotten codfish.”

They’ve congregated in the Den, so when I make my entrance it’s with the flare of throwing open the doors. So that everyone can see that someone wore even less than Dinah did. There was really only one way to go with the costume this year. You might have guessed it. “Michael Phelps. Speaking of sharkes. He raced one earlier this year on History channel. Sorta. It wasn’t really a Shark. Nor a race. And he didn’t win, actually.”

There’s an immediate hug in-store for Timothy Drake and Damien Wayne in turn. They’re each getting one. “Barb sends her apologies, but her Dad was working late. So she’s taking him some Licorice. Heavy on the Liquor.”

Damien: “The cape is really the only thing I’ve got a complaint about. So impractical.” Says the girl wearing…what I’m wearing now, that normally goes out in boots and what amounts to underwear. “Where did you even get Fishy Cologne, Tim? Please don’t tell me you’ve made some sort of doohicky to manufacture it.”

“The cape controls ascent and can be used to block various kinds of elemental attacks. Also, it is reinforced with an early kind of kevlar. As Robin, I was to be the target instead of Batman.” giving a nod as Dinah has a seat next to him. Leaning back, he pulls the facemask portion down and then pulls the hood down. Watching the exchange between Dinah and Tim, he tilts his head a little in confusion. Why would he want to smell like dead fish? Shaking his head, he picks the book that he was reading and opens it back up to what he was reading.

“I would imagine Timothy would build a contraption to make something reek.” offering a bit of a jab, though not really paying much attention. “When we lived together. Timothy once took apart the microwave, a television remote and finally a remote control car. From it, He assembled a contraption that would heat his meals on the run. It had met its demise at the hands of Alfred who was none too pleased at the range of the Microwave Car.” explaining.

“He also used it to chase Ace around the house. As you can imagine, Father was also not very amused.” though, Bruce did little to squash their imaginations. Or, well, rather Tim’s. Bruce had a hard time inspiring Damien not to use his imagination for mangling the criminal underworld.

Looking to Dinah, he bares a smile. Though, it’s clearly strained and not in practice.

“I have pictures of when Timothy had a bowl cut, if you ever wish to see.”

When Dick enters the room…half naked well, Damien’s brow shot up, and also didn’t return the hug that Dick seemed to eager to give him. Instead, he looked like some sort of rag doll.

“Richard. I do not believe you. All you are doing is wearing trunks and nothing else. This is hardly a costume.” offering with a bit of a teasing smile.

Dinah: Do I doubt that there is such a thing as Bat-Shark-Repellent? Are you joking? I’ve worked with these people for long enough to know that chances are better that it exists than it doesn’t exist. Boyscouts and Batman had basically the same motto. Be Prepared. So there’s no commentary on it that’s the truth or not, or if that is in fact what it smells like.

“What the hell did you ever need shark repellent for?”

It’s not often I’m not the least dressed person at any event in my life. In a fight. At the grocery store… even squeezing myself into a boy’s old costume, I’m still not going to win a prize for Most Skin Showing tonight. Man. There should have been prizes… that would have made this all a little too official and forced I think. Though ‘forced’ is definitely the word I’d use to describe Damien’s reaction to the hug Dick gives him. Not that the attire, or lack thereof, is really probably even to blame. I’m still snickering as I kick green boots up over the leg of the chair I’ve taken.

“I was going to guess Baywatch. Is that Barb’s, or did you actually own a speedo that small already? Lucky Gordon. That is the best kind of candy. Clearly we should all go trick or treat at the Precinct once we’ve eaten all of Alfred’s food.”

Truth is, listening to the bickering, bantering and exchanging of stories about the awful/amusing/embarrassing things that have been done by one or the other of them is good. Not even from some kind of ‘togetherness’ angle but… good for me. It’s all actually been a relief that I haven’t had to deal with the kind of problem Helena thought would arise. She actually called me in because she thought there’d be a battle royale over who GOT to wear the Cowl. Not the opposite. Seeing them behave like…well… brothers? Is a relief no matter what else is going right or wrong.

“It can also be used to snare and/or strangle you with. Not a fan of capes.”

Damien: “The trick not to being strangled by your own cape is to make sure they never grab you.” giving a nod. Damien and Bruce went over many, many situations on what to do if your cape did get grabbed on. Looking to Dinah, then back to his brothers. It was an interesting family he thought himself in. His brothers, Tim and Dick. While Damien may not show it, he wouldn’t trade them for anybody else. They were his brothers in battle, in life. And he knew that if for whatever reason, he had to call for help. They would be there in an instant. And likewise, he would be there for them in an instant.

They fight, bicker and act like… well, brothers. Even if they aren’t bound by blood. Apparently family extends beyond blood.

“Dinah.” turning his attention to her. “I have heard that you are training a new recruit. A young girl. How is that going? I do not suppose I could come in and help?” Damien was trying to extend his field of friends to beyond family. Maybe by giving Spoiler some even tougher love and no quipping while at it. Maybe….maybe he could make a new friend. That’s how it works, right?

“I promise not to try and kill her. I am assuming you are going full contact?” asking. When they were younger, Damien and Dinah had often sparred going full contact. While him and his brothers often did what brothers did best. Fought, Wrestled, Argued. All at full contact. There was no holding back against your brothers. “I will offer pictures of Richard in his first Nightwing outfit. I believe it was an attempt to channel the Ninety Seventies. V Neck. Flair collar.”

Tim: Richard Grayson is not just the older Brother, but he is also the Senior Statesman now. As such there’s a level of maturity one would anticipate when expecting him at a function. That is thrown to the proverbial birds when Dick shows up like he is. It’s all I can do not to start laughing immediately. The only way I manage -not- to laugh, is when Dick gives first me and then Damien a hug.

Huuurk!

“Dude. I think he just hugged us while wearing a pair of Barbara’s bikini bottoms. I’m not sure how I feel about this, but I’m re-thinking my stance on the booze.”

There’s always time to ridicule Dick later, right now there’s something far more important to address. “Actually, that was my first foray in to drone technology. Model Two of that mobile microwave used a micro-transceiver from the sat-phone Damien used to use to call his Grandfather to relay to one of the Wayne Tech Satellites. Unfortunately the laser-torch kept burning all of my pizza-rolls.”

“For the record, I agree with Dinah. I hate capes. I acknowledge that they’re essential at times, depending on the situation. Their aerodynamic appeal. The ability to use them for stealth. Not to mention, like Damien says, you can layer them for additional defense. Right before everything went sideways, I was working on a new style of cape for my Red Robin outfit. Made out of tensile polyfilament, it’s light weight but can be deployed as -literal- wings to allow me…

Dick: “…to fly. You’ve been talking about this idea since you were twelve. He’s been obsessed with flying ever since he met the first Superman.”

There’s a slanted smirk in place right now. Nothing to worry about, normally, but I’m clearly enjoying the discomfort of my little brothers. They both seem equally put off by the Hugs, by the state of my ‘costume’. Added to my not answering about the origin of the thong I’m wearing? Well it makes this more of a ‘party’ than it otherwise would have been.

The Boy certainly like to tease one another, don’t they Mum? Should they get out of sorts, just remind them that the Manor has had internal surveillance since before they were born and that I am a meticulous keeper of secrets. Unless plied with wine and good cheer. In which case I would be happy to regail you with tales of their misadventures… like the time Ace stole Master Damien’s utility belt and buried in the Garden Maze. Or the time Master Tim spent the afternoon tasered in place, after he tried to disassemble -his- utility belt for the first time. Or perhaps the story of why Master Richard started the tradition of the Pan Booties to begin with…

“See? This is what happens when you let Alfred cater a party. He’s always upstaging the Guests.”

Dinah: It’s basically the same liability as my hair is, when it comes down to it, only I can’t be strangled with my blonde locks. Not long enough for that. I can’t really debate the technique of not letting it be grabbed in the first place, but sometimes things happen in the middle of a fight despite what you ‘let’ happen or not. No matter how good you are.

“Two. One’s more refresher training though, and he’s not actually new. Transplant from another city. Spoiler though. Spoiler’s definitely new. It’s going better than I expected though, honestly. I figured she’d give up or wash out after the first few days. She’s making progress though. I’m not sure she’d survive both of us going Hard Knocks on her. But if nothing else we can make for better demonstrations than she gets from watching me…well… she can’t really watch when I’m using her for practice. …you assume full contact. Pshttt. Who do you think you’re talking to?”

There’s always something about listening to Tim geek out over his gadgets. I mean, I patently refuse to let him do any of that stuff to my gear, outside of some good ‘old fashioned’ armoring, but the things he comes up with. Between his initial drone tech, apparently, to the wings he was apparently working on before his ‘suit’ change.

“Hey, now it’s almost necessity as much as dreams. Trying to make sure you can ‘hang’ with your new friends?”

Mind you, I don’t have a problem with being ‘stuck’ on the ground. It’s always served me pretty well. But I can see the draw, especially when you’re slowly amassing acquaintances who can all transcend normal transportation concerns naturally. And people say Gotham’s weird… I find myself grinning at Alfred as he makes his appearance in the room. The stories he has to have. Both living here, and as Penny-One, the man’s seen some things.

“Gotta admit, the last one sounds informative, and I kind of need to see the footage that surely exists of the tasering. Don’t worry, Dick. Alfred’s as much guest as you are, so he can’t really show you up. Hm. Actually. He does trump you. He’s feeding me.”

Damien: Damien didn’t hold the same social graces that the rest of them did. While he didn’t fight back against the social gatherings, he was much more comfortable in his own outfit and beating up criminals than he was talking with others. Giving a nod to Dinah “I will contact you at some point, then. If you do not mind.” looking back down at the book, he finally gives up on trying to read it and puts it on the table as he watches Tim geek out, Dick embarrass them all, and then Alfred being, well, Alfred.

“I am going for a walk.” There were memories he wanted to explore, a house that once was warm and welcoming, now felt cold and empty. Maybe he should come back… but the memories of his father were great. Pushing up off the chair, he puts a hand on both of his brothers shoulders. “It is a pleasure to see you both again, at once. I hope we can do it again soon.” offering as he turned his head slightly, nodding to Dinah.

Walking out the door, Damien would turn the corner to go explore and visit his old memories. Maybe in a way to try and attempt to reconnect with his father. To pay for the sins of his own past without witnesses. It was how Damien worked, always had.

Tim: The joking back and forth? Is not just good, it’s needed. We haven’t had something like this since we all came back to the City. This is exactly what we’ve all needed. At least, this is what I’ve needed. It feels good to just be here. Together. Maybe without Bruce, but we all seem more like a family now than we have since losing him. But, I knew if the group of us was in the same place for long enough? Business would come up as a topic of discussion. I hadn’t anticipated Stephanie being the ice breaker though. Hell, I wouldn’t have even wagered her as being one of those to even be spoken of at all.

“For what it’s worth. I think introducing Stephanie to any one else from our ‘Family’ is a bad idea right now. Ever since she found out that Dinah is the Black Canary, she’s been working things out. She saw my announcement about Coast City on the television the other day. Now she thinks I’m Red Robin. She’s got her Father’s knack from Clues, I’d prefer not to give her another. At least, not until I’m absolutely sure she’s not a pawn in her Father’s schemes.”

There’s a small shrug at the end of this, because ultimately I don’t feel like it’s my call. I brought the girl in, I’ve been taking her out with me as Batman, but I asked Dinah to get her ready. If Dinah thinks she can handle something, then that’s the end of the discussion for me. I just wanted to put that out there. I’m not comfortable with her knowing who I am, yet. Much less knowing who the rest of them are.

“I always assumed the pan boots were a call back to your time with the Circus, Dick?”

Dick: “It does, Tim, but Alfred’s actually referencing the fact that… When I first decided to go out in the Night, I… sort of put together a costume from bits and pieces of anything I could find around the manor.”

Including. Master Dick’s boots from his turn at Peter Pan, from highschool.

“At the time I didn’t actually know Bruce was Batman or anything. I was just going out on my own…”

Dressed. As Peter Pan. Whom Master Dick was convinced was real, at the time.

“I was like 10.”

We’re very lucky, he didn’t believe he could fly, because I’m quite sure he was sniffing pixie dust at the time.

“You. Are. Completely. Not. Helping. Alfred.”

Dinah: “Don’t get lost.”

There’s a jaunty, if sloppy little salute given in Damien’s direction as he bails on the rest of us. Not surprised, nor am I going to try to stop him. I’m actually a little amazed he showed up, but it’s probably testament to just how strong my annoyance game can be if I feel the need to direct it at someone. I might have implied there’d be suffering of the non-physical variety if he didn’t at least poke his head in. Or maybe the fact that they are still a family is more the reasoning.

“She does have that going for her, that’s for sure. And her Eavesdrop Fu would put most of you to shame. I don’t even think she does it entirely on purpose.”

The girl’s got a lot of qualities that would, on the surface, make her suitable to the life she thinks she’s wanting to join, even if just to get even with her Dad. What she lacks, other than skill and experience though, isn’t something any amount of time with me is going to teach her though. I’m just not entirely sure if she’s got fight in her. And no, it’s not the same thing as stubbornness or a goal that she’s trying to reach. It’s still early though. We’ll see. Hopefully before she gets herself in trouble with it. Or her lack of it.

“Jeeeesus. That explains so much…”

Because I’d been at a bit of a loss as to who could have possibly dreamed up this costume. Especially compared to Bruce’s Batman Aesthetic. My Canary get-up may be flashy of the skin variety, but it’s still almost all black, or darker colors. But meanwhile? I’ve devolved into laughter in my chair, hand pressed to my temple like I need to contain it. The guys may rib each other…but no one does it nearly as well as the one who knows them best.

“Alfred. You savage. You’re staying for the card game, though…somehow I think that might be a mistake on my end. You’re probably going to win…”

Bat-ervention

Damien: Damien Wayne.

The son of Bruce Wayne, The Batman. Heir to the cowl.

Damien stands in front of the glass display cases that holds his old outfit in the Bat Cave, along with his fathers. Looking into the glass at his father’s uniform, he stares at it for a long time. Seeing himself in the uniform in the reflection. Was this how it was supposed to be? Was this Bruce’s plan all along? Surely his father had someone worthier to become the Batman. Richard, in his mind, is the best candidate. But, would he take it?

He knew that the path he was treading was not one set by his father. But someone murdered his father. Someone was able to do something nobody else could have done.

Kill Batman.

Would his father condone his actions? More than likely, his father would be ashamed. Didn’t he understand? Sometimes you had to take the law in your own hands. To make sure that the next Joker can’t be born. To send such a deep chill down the spines of organized crime…that they rather go elsewhere, than to stay in Gotham. Damien had been raised by the League of Assassins. They’re very belief is to purge the world and to provide order to the chaos.

“Why, Father?” asking the uniform, putting his hand on the glass.

“I am your flesh and blood, it is my duty as your son to find who did this to you. My methods may not be what you wished for, but it is all I know.” glancing down for a moment, Damien squeezes his fists as he looks back up staring back at the reflection, seeing himself in the cape and cowl. “I will find who did this to you, father. And I will make them suffer for their egregious crimes.”

Dinah: I’ve been to the Bat Cave many times. Far less times since my return to Gotham City than all the years before that. The first time when I was in High School myself, still hellbent on revenge more than justice and making things right. The state of the police department now doesn’t exactly tell me that I was wrong at the time in thinking it wasn’t good for anything but tearing to the ground. Not that there isn’t good cops still, like Barbara’s father. I’d been brought around to seeing things in a better light though. During that time I’d become a regular here, and I’d done as much training with Bruce as I did training the others. In a way it’d become the home to replace all the other parts that make up a home I had lost.

And out of all of that, all that time spent, would you believe this is probably the fourth time I’ve come in through the front door?

I’d wanted to ride my bike, only to find an enterprising ‘friend’ had demolished it. Oh, I’m sorry, he’s improving it. Either way, it had led to a lot of colorful and ungrateful expletives. I coped with the improvements to my suit. The bike was proving to be another matter entirely. I wasn’t really all that much more excited to be chauffeured up to the Wayne Estate in a limo, either. It’s only Alfred Pennyworth’s charm and the fact that he fed me a better meal than I’ve had in at least two months that has me in my currently sunny disposition.

Given what we’re actually here for, however, I don’t know that it’s going to last.

“You do know there’s much better ways of making people suffer than just killing them, right? Oh, and hello Damien.”

No Hood tonight? God. I had so many great things prepared to say to him. Tim mellowed me out a little on the entire subject the other night though or he’d be getting a lot more sharply pointed barbs.

Tim: For the second time since Bruce’s death, I’m coming home. I’d been here for the official funeral, stayed long enough to talk with Alfred and make some arrangements. Then I’d set off. Dick and I didn’t exactly see eye to eye on the future. Damien and I have rarely seen eye to eye on anything. It made things difficult. Especially once the two of them found out that I was more interested in inheriting the Foundation, than the Bat Cave. I think all they care about is the Mantle. Maybe I’m wrong, but I couldn’t take the chance that I was. Someone needed to protect Bruce’s legacy, while all of us struggle to cope with the loss and worry about Batman’s legacy.

This second trip home? A little less gloomy than the last. Alfred was clearly thrilled to have guests. Even more thrilled to cook. I think he was absolutely Game to turn the Canary’s frown upside down. Especially once he intuited that I wasn’t the real reason for her displeasure. Bike dismantling aside, given that she knows that she’ll be getting it back new and improved. Okay, in the case of the bike maybe that doesn’t help mute her displeasure, but a good home cooked meal and some world-famous crepes have done enough to put the color in Dinah’s cheeks.

For the record? Damien owes me one. If we’d come in on the bikes, I’m half-way certain he’d have been getting a billy club to the head. I’d ruled out the possibility of her Canary’ing him, on account of him not being able to hear the lecture that is about to commence. Waiting for my opinion, I step in off the hidden elevator behind Dinah, with two hands in my pants pockets. Doing my best to ‘back Dinah up’ while being as non-threatening as humanly possible.

“Damien,” giving the other Wayne-son a nod of acknowledgement, before Dinah starts off the festivities. “How is the new helmet working? Does the Heads up Display keep your 360 degree line of sight going, despite the constricting Hood….?”

Oh. Right. That’s not at all why we’re here. Is it? Yikes. I should have taken this a different way. Flashing Dinah a moderately apologetic look, I try to correct course, “I miss him too.”

Damien: Damien doesn’t turn around as Dinah starts. Instead, he keeps staring at the outfit. “Dinah. Timothy.” greeting them the best he can at the moment. Slowly, he turns around, keeping his hands in his pockets. He’s not looking for a fight tonight, well, at least a physical fight. “The Hood is doing great. Thank you again, Timothy. It has been an excellent tool in my dealings with the underworld of Gotham.” explaining as he takes a deep breath, turning his level gaze from Tim to Dinah.

“You are correct, Dinah. I am sure there are other ways.” his tone is level, absolutely level. There’s no expression of regret, pain or anything. But, this was how he always was. When he was younger, he was full of anger and rage. Wanting to take the world and burn it. While, the anger and rage is still there. It’s much more channeled into his dealings with the mobs. “But. I do not subscribe to those ways.” offering as he moves closer to them, but staying out of arms reach of Dinah.

“I know my actions do not sit well with you. It is the best method of getting the information we need, and to keep the mobs, gangsters and other riff raff of this city under control. If you have no noticed, the city is slowly becoming worse. Even while Bruce would do as much he can, even he, saw the inevitable. I am doing what needs to be done. In the mean time, I am attempting to find who killed my father.” glancing to the two of them, but more to Dinah. Keeping his gaze level and emotionless.

“Please. Enlighten me of the information you have found using your methods. I am curious to see what you have uncovered, Dinah.” gesturing slightly as he pulls one hand out of his pocket before sliding it back in casually. Damien had accepted Tim has his brother, even if it may be a strained relationship. “I am glad you are here, Timothy. Our father would be proud of the steps you have taken to continue his legacy.” Damien knew that what he was doing wasn’t the Bat-Family way of doing things, but it had been a very long time since he considered himself part of the Bat-Family.

Dinah: I don’t think I need to actually say anything in response to Tim’s curiosity. The way my lips purse and pull to the side is an expression that he can surely read by now. Besides. I’ve heard that sometimes I’m much more frightening when I’m not being mouthy. It means I’m probably about to express physical displeasure instead of verbal. We have also already had a discussion about the subject, one that he actually more or less managed to bring me around to his way of thinking on. Okay. I wouldn’t go that far, but I understood his reasoning. It’s also why I’ve suddenly found myself back in the role of combat instructor, with two pupils. One of which is significantly better than the other. For now at least.

Believe it or not, I’m actually rather quiet as a whole once I get past my opening jab. Any great ‘discussion’ functions rather like a fist fight, though. You test the mood of your opponent, their reaction, how likely they are to waver or overreact when provoked.

“I have. I also noticed a general state of criminal hibernation while they jointly shoved their heads in the sand hoping that no one would think they were just ballsy enough to have actually been the one that took out the Batman.”

Like a pack of unruly kids sitting in class and wanting desperately for the teacher not to call on them because they didn’t have the answer to the test, and they didn’t want detention. Only the kids are the mob, Joker’s the professor and it’s death instead of detention.

“Up until they realized they were going to have to start defending themselves. And that behaving wasn’t actually doing any good.”

There it is. The inevitable. Trying to turn this back in order to prove that his method works better than hours, because we are lacking results. Which isn’t even untrue, and it frustrates the hell out of me. I know it does Tim, as well. No matter what leads we’ve chased down what alleys, they don’t seem to amount to much. We’d started with the plan of tailing the Joker through Gotham not long after I’d gotten here, and it’s what I’d been doing. It’s why I’d caught onto Damien’s actions, though maybe I should have expected.

“I’m wagering exactly as much as you and your new playmate have, kiddo.”

Tim: There’s no real denying the body language of my being pleased with his new gear working well. I mean, it doesn’t behoove me to make something that is going to fail does it? I realize we’re here to discuss his methods. I know that Dinah is actually right. Hell, I wouldn’t condone his methods myself any other time. But my point still remains the same as it did before and it seems like Damien is seeing it the same way. Doing things his way has at least had a result. My way hasn’t turned up a single clue. Dick’s? Seem to only be benefiting Dick and Babs. If I can assist him, even if only through keeping our Father’s name out of the muck when someone finds out that it’s Damien doing it? Well…

“Thanks, Damien,” shockingly enough I’m a little surprised by the praise. “I’m not ready to be the Bat, but Bruce put a lot of time and money in to making sure that I was ready to step in and keep Wayne Corp moving forward.”

For the most part Lucius Fox is doing all of the heavy lifting. Just like he did for Bruce. I’ve just stepped in to be a figurehead. To give people someone to look to that still has the Wayne name attached to it. Well, that and it allows me to control the R&D division. Which the entire family needs to continue it’s work. But again, I know that’s very much not why we’re here. I also know Damien paid me that compliment for a tactical reason. He does nothing without a measure of tactics involved. It’s what I like most and least about him at the same time.

“Actually, the ‘new playmate’ is one of the reasons that I’m here, Damien,” following up on what Dinah has said, I take a step closer. “When the Joker first showed back up, I asked Dinah if she would be willing to tale him. I didn’t ask her to bring him down. I didn’t send out the red alerts, so that we could all get together and kick his teeth in. I knew what he would do and all I asked was for Dinah to watch him. To tell me, in her own judgment, when Joker was branching out and going ‘too far’.”

“Sounds like I had the same thought as you then too, but… you know we can’t actually work with him right?”

Damien: Looking between them, he simply lifts a brow then narrows his eyes at the two of them. “The Joker is a psychotic lunatic that my father should have killed long ago. I do not consider him a ‘playmate’. At the moment, He lives only because I believe he can be useful. It seems, Joker is mourning. Letting him work the underworld in his own way can be for our benefit. This does not mean I trust him. This does not make him a friend. At the moment, our paths align and I intend on using him as a tool. Once he has outlived his usefulness.” shaking his head.

“Do you two have so little faith in me that you think I would consider Joker a friend? Or, as you put it, Dinah. A ‘playmate’?” asking. Though, the inflection in his voice didn’t change. Pulling his hands out of his pockets, he turns around and gazes at the costume his father once more. “Sometimes you must work your enemy to get to the end result.” licking his lips, he takes a breath. “When I was with father as Robin. There were times we had to work with the enemy. Not out of trust, or friendship. Because it was a means to an end.”

Turning around, he faces Tim.

“I do not think any of us want the mantle. But, I believe Richard should be the one who takes it. Though, I do not believe he will. If you do not want it. Then, I believe it falls onto me.” a shrug. Something he didn’t consider when coming back to Gotham, and to the life.

Dinah: God’s Honest Truth was Tim’s original mission for me, which had been as much my idea as it was his, had been proving so much harder than the one I’ve just gotten back from Metropolis on. I might actually choose picking repeated fights with Superman, even though the trick I used the first time will certainly not work again, over how I’ve been spending a lot of my nights here in Gotham. I hadn’t thought it would be so difficult. Following the maniac around and not engaging. Just watching who he’s crossing off his list, so that we could cross it off ours without getting our hands dirty. There comes a point though, where watching the bloodshed is too much. I know that most, if not all, of his so called victims are the scum of Gotham. But we don’t murder people.

Nor have I ever made a habit out of watching as someone else did it.

“Keeping your friends close, and your enemies closer? There’s a few other sayings that come to mine here as well. Like guilty by association.”

I’m trying to be nice. Well. Not nice. Civil. To at least listen to his side before I decide that yes, my side is right, his is wrong, and he needs his ass beat. It might be cathartic. Damien might give me a run for my money, even. Judgmental or not, with my arms crossed across my chest and my lips pursed, I’m also oddly understanding. He’s hurting. They all are. I am, too. Rage is one thing. Impotent rage has a way of chewing out your soul and then what is it replaced with?

“What if that’s what the Joker wants, Damien?”

Tim: Damien’s question is legitimate. Do any of us really think that he would become ‘friends’ with the Joker? No. Categorically ‘No’ is the only answer that I can come up with. However it’s not the easy. Dinah’s alluding to it herself, but she’s playing a game that Damien is going to win. Keeping this a discussion of ‘What if?’ instead of ‘What is?’ There’s no discussing the might be, could be, probably with Damien Wayne. Even when he was younger there a certain amount of unwillingness to entertain the notions of things being out of his control. What we need to deal with here, I think, is the literal situation as it is.

“Let’s set Sun Tzu aside for just a moment, I’ll discuss that with you later if you want. For now let’s pose this as a different sort of question.”

For that purpose I step in further. Making my way to the encased costumes and closer to Damien. I know that the two of us haven’t always (or even ever really) seen eye to eye in the past. We’ve had differences in ideology. What we’ve always had in common though? Is the family we’re associated with. The ones we’re loyal too. Even more important than the one we’ve lost, are perhaps the ones we still have here and now. I think that’s going to have better traction with him. So that’s where I start.

Putting my hand up on the case with Jason Todd’s costume, for the first time I’m going to tell these two what is on -my- mind, “The truth is, Damien. I want it. When I first came here, it was after your Father brought me here. I figured out who Batman was and I’d tried to force him to let me take Jason Todd’s place” Your Father refused me time and time again. He didn’t want another Robin at the time. He didn’t want to take a risk with attachments. He didn’t want to have a Robin because of the weakness it created in him. He also didn’t think I would live up to the Legacy, because I hadn’t lost my family at that point. He didn’t think I had the drive to be his equal.”

“It took my whole family almost being killed, because I wouldn’t stop investigating crimes. Without the tools to do it safely. Safely for them, not so much myself. He recognized then that I wouldn’t give up just because he told me no. So he offered to let me be his partner, on his terms. To train me, give me the tools that I was missing that would compliment the ones I already had. I wasn’t allowed to leave this cave until I was ready.”

This is when I turn from the case containing Jason Todd’s costume and take the few steps toward Bruce’s. The Batsuit which Damien is nearest dominates the Cave’s museum, as it should. “I want to take this suit and put it on. I want to make him proud. I want to preserve his legacy. It’s what I want with my whole being, Damien.”

“Everything I just said, applies to you a hundred times more than it does me,” there is this small, almost sad, shake of the head. “Can you do it? Yes. You could put this on and go out there as Batman, but would you be Batman? Would you preserve the Legacy that is Batman?”

Reaching out to lightly tap Damien’s nearest hand before continuing with a slightly lowered voice, “You have blood on your hands. Not old blood. Not blood you’re atoning for. You’re getting more blood on your hands every time you put on the Red Hood. There’s only so much blood you can get on them before it won’t wash off. Once you cross that line, Damien, you can’t ever put that suit on. Because you’ll destroy the one thing I know you want to preserve.”

“So. I’m going to make you an offer. Probably the offer I should have made you, instead of giving you the Hood. Help me. I’ll put the suit on, if I must or Dick will, but only until you’re ready. Only until you wash this blood of your hands and you’re ready to inherit the Legacy your father wanted you to take.”

Damien: Looking to Tim, and to Dinah, then finally back to Tim. There was a lot to process. “I do not believe I will ever be worth of the mantle, Timothy.” admitting. “I did not come back home to take the mantle. I may be his biological son. And that would make me the natural heir. But, He did not know of my existence until I was older. By the time I had arrived, I was already trained very well by the League of Assassins. As you, and Dinah knows.” gesturing.

“I came home to see what happened with my father, and to avenge his death. To find whoever did this and make them feel pain that they will never know.” that’s the honest word. “I am unsure if I feel worth of the mantle, due to the blood that I have on my hands, and the continuing blood. I believe he would wish for you, or Richard to take the mantle. You are his pupils more than I ever was. You were brought up with his ideals and his ways. I was raised by the most lethal assassins in the world. My grandfather is one of my father’s greatest enemies. Ra’s al Ghul. The demons head. My mother is Talia al Ghul. His daughter. Together, My education started in blood.

I was seven years old when I first stained my hands with blood.”

Looking down. “I was never meant to inherit the crown, so to speak. If I am to inherent anything, it would be to become the next Ra’s al Ghul.” lifting his head, he looks at Tim. “I wish for you, Timothy, or Richard to become the next Batman.” it was something he never aspired to. “As for the Joker. I have been keeping tabs on him as well. Though, apparently, not as well as you have, Dinah. The Joker is not a force to be reckon with. I propose while he does what he does, we send out tips on how to steer his chaotic nature.

Also, Dinah. I believe you and Helena need to have a chat. She has a contact that may know something, but she is unwilling to tell me. Afraid that I will… scare her away.” like Damien would scare anybody away.

“For the memory and legacy of our father, Timothy. And to our mentor, Dinah. I … will not commit as much bloodshed, as it seems you are wholly against it. But, I do not promise that some may not perish through my interaction.” turning around, he takes a deep breath, turning to look at the costume that makes the Batcave… what it is.

“After we figure out who murdered our father, Timothy. I am unsure if I will stay. But, we will come to that road when we come to it.”

Dinah: “And I was six the first time I shrieked down an entire roomful of people. Just because we started too early in this life doesn’t mean we haven’t, and can’t, learn to control it and aim ourselves better.”

There comes a point, even though I do love to talk, that my love of the sound of my own voice doesn’t trump sense and understanding. I would have made a great detective, if I could have stomached working within the law and the system that I don’t actually have all that much faith in. If it worked? We wouldn’t have needed Batman and the rest of us in the first place, would we? Not because I’m good at chasing down clues, matching them up into threads of an investigation. I am good at those things, but I’m an even betterreader of people. Some of them are easier than others. Our new Superman had more or less been an open book.

I would say that ordinarily Damien Wayne would be more difficult, but pain, loss and the need for vengeance have made him a bit more of an open book. I can rant, and lecture, and scold but the truth of the matter is? I’m an Exile. We have a great deal in common, all of us do, and while we did share a mentor as he says, I’m not one of the Bats. Gotham is my home, it’s where I was born, but I can’t belong here without bringing a whole lot worse on everyone’s heads if I stick around. Which is why tailing duty ‘only’ had been a good call. No reason or excuse to actually loose the Canary Cry on anyone.

Enter Timothy Drake-Wayne. I hang back while he moves in closer, letting the Once and Future Brothers talk without my interruption. A novelty that I hope they will savor and appreciate for its rarity, and how unlikely that is ever to happen again. But it’s the right angle to approach this with. There’s a sharply raised eyebrow at the back of Tim’s head when he offers to put the suit on though. That was maybe the last thing I expected to hear, because I know he doesn’t really want it. That’s not the role he seems himself in, and he’s pretty upfront about that much. Frankly I’d have expected me to have to put it on before he would. And that’s not happening. Far too covering. And I don’t think a cowl would go well with the fishnets anyway.

I’m an entirely good girl, and manage to keep my snark about him scaring people off to myself. And my doubt that someone like him wouldn’t know the line before you’re going to kill someone.

“Thanks for the tip, Damien. I’ll talk to her. And let you know what I find out. I’m not, by the way, opposed to you kicking the shit out of mobsters that have it coming. I’m actually a little jealous. But. As the wise one here said.”

Jerking my thumb at Tim.

“There is a line. And believe me. I know how hard it is not to want to cross it. But your Father pulled me up short of that, once upon a time Damien. I owe it to him to pay that forward a little if I can.”

Tim: “Hold on, I’m not done.”

That’s me calling him off once he gets a head of steam, because I know what he’s saying. Hell, I deal with this all the time. Admittedly I’m coming at this self-depreciation from a different direction, but I’m still feeling the same things and the same way. In a lot of ways it’s surprising to hear him voice the same things I’ve said. I’ve said some of those things recently too. Maybe because of that I’ve got a lot more to say than normal.

“You’re right, in a lot of ways. I didn’t think you were worthy of being Robin when you first came here. For all of the same reasons you just laid out. I was against it, you were against me. So I’m pretty sure this is where I’m going to surprise you, Damien. -I- think everything you listed, everything that had me against you becoming Robin, are the exact reasons that you should inherit the mantle. When you’re ready. The same reasons that I argued against you taking my place as Robin? Are the same things that make me think you’re the one to carry the Cowl eventually.”

“Because I was wrong. I mean. You’re a terrible narcissistic jerk, with a self-aggrandizing penchant for violence and murder. But. You were able to conquer those things. You were able to overcome them for a time. You can again. You need time, I get it. We all do. When the time comes though Damien? Who is going to be better than you? Who is going to be more driven to overcome those challenges? You can’t look me in the eyes and tell me that you’re going to let your genetics dominate you. You can’t tell me that your ‘teachings’ are going to define you.”

It’s this small snort that sounds a bit like a half-laugh that emphasizes my argument to all of this. “Seriously, Damien. Look me in the eyes and tell me that you are still your grandfather’s bitch. You can’t. Your ego won’t let you. It won’t let your mother’s teachings rule you either. They’ll temper you, but you’re too stubborn to let them control you. If anything? You’re going to rail against them so hard that once you get control of yourself you’re going to be the Best of us.”

Taking my cue then from Dinah, I let myself go quiet for a moment. As much looking up at the suit, the cowl, as I am listening to the two of them for a moment. Filing away the information. The Huntress? By all accounts she’d disappeared shortly after asking Dinah to return. Curious that she would have some sort of lead but need to be contacted. Why bring Dinah back to leave her in the dark? That speaks of something a little more nefarious than I’d have wanted to ascribe to Helena. She’s been one of us a long time. Like Damien she’s got skeletons in her closet, but I thought she’d locked the door and thrown away the key.

As Dinah finds her footing and makes her point, I chip back in. Though this time I do it with a studious look at the Man next to me. “You’re actually wrong about a couple things, but one of them is actually important enough for me to argue with you about it. You actually were meant wear the Cowl. No, seriously. When we first met, I went to Bruce and told him I didn’t think you’d be a good Robin. He told me that I wasn’t looking at it clearly. That I was letting my emotions blind me to your actual talents.”

“That discussion with Bruce is when he told me about his plans. He sent me off to school, you became Robin. Dick went off to be Nightwing. He had me travelling the world. Learning the ins and outs of the Business, Technology and Science side of his world. He wanted -me- to be armed with the tools to inherit the Business. He wanted you to inherit the cowl. Because you have those tools. Bruce wanted his sons to work together, Damien. To work together to be better than he was.”

“We have a chance here, to not just protect our Father’s legacy, but to build on it. To further the work he started, not just continue it. So, like I said. I’ll take the cape and the cowl, but only if you promise me that you’re going to be ready to come take it from me.” Pausing for barely a heart-beat, before turning to him more directly. The next bit may sound like a question, but it’s not. “Do we have a deal?”

Damien: Honestly, Damien never really had friends. Often driving the ones he did have, or starting conflicts with them. It was hard to listen to both Dinah and Tim. Showing him that he could change. And at one point, he had changed. Damien never wanted the mantle, but Tim was right. He was groomed to become the next Batman, even if he had initially ran away from his father. To forge his own path. But, the fact that Tim wanted to take the mantle, and then give it over to Damien? That made him wildly uncomfortable, it was a legacy that he wasn’t sure he could uphold. If he was worthy of it. The skeletons in his closet were much more visible.

If he were to become the Batman. The League, his Grandfather and even his Mother could be very deadly enemies. For once, Damien’s level gaze broke slightly as the thought of him honoring his father in such a fashion took hold in his mind. That Tim, approved of the idea. Would Dick? He didn’t know, and he wasn’t sure where this faith from Tim was coming from. For the longest time, they clashed, fought. Sometimes with words, sometimes with fists. Maybe it was because they both have grown and become more mature? Going silent, for once. Damien didn’t have anything to say, he didn’t know what to say. It felt like an eternity before Damien found his voice again.

Instead of going in for a hand shake, Damien instead reaches up to slide his hand along Tim’s jawline. His large hand palming his brothers face as he tilted his head up so that the two were looking into each other’s eyes. To study Tim’s eyes, to determine if the young man was telling the truth. “We are brothers, Timothy. Now, and forever. If you wish for this to happen, then so be it. Father would be proud. I will… work on my habits. To curb them once more. To become someone worthy of the mantle. We have a deal, my brother.”

Then with a hint of a smile as he pulls his hand from Tim’s head.

“But, You are the one to tell Richard of your idea.”

Turning to Dinah, he offers his hand out to her.

“I… realize we have not always seen eye to eye. I wish for us to communicate better. To .. share information.” it was difficult for Tim to admit this, to want to work together with other people. For so long, he’d been on his own. Now, here was this branch being extended to him. “I know you will.. what is the phrasing… ‘Keep me in check?’…And I wish for you to help me with this, Dinah.”

Dinah: This really isn’t how I thought this was going to go. With how good I am at reading people and situations, that’s a little shocking. Sometimes you have to adapt on the fly with what’s in front of you, roll with any punches, and then comes up swinging regardless though. I think we may have just ended up doing the Good Cop/Bad Cop routine, and I didn’t even get to punch the guy in the face or rough him up in the slightest. That’s a shame. I guess I’ve already gotten to yell at someone this week, and that’s as full as my quota is likely to get. Damien’s actually going to try. Which is further than I thought we’d get in one outing. And apparently Tim’s going to put on the Cowl. Which is even less believable than a compromising Damien Wayne.

And yet here we are. Having an actually touching moment. In the Bat Cave. Night of firsts, isn’t it?

I’m actually laughing when I take Damien’s hand, a musical chortle over Tim having to be the one to break the news to Dick. Smooth. Or maybe it’s that I’m mentally hearing a phone call, complete with my roommate using the Batman gravely voice to just reveal it that way. I’m Batman, Dick.

“Oh, you bet I will kiddo. And I’d like that. The information sharing. I’ll try not to yell at you. Too much.”

There’s actually barely any age difference between us. It doesn’t stop me from the mothering nicknames though. Never has. My other hand comes up, no not to punch him while using our clasped hands to yank him into the blow. That would be completely unjustified right now. But to lay over the top of our hands, a show of sentiment if you will. I really dofeel his pain and frustration. Having gotten to deal with and bury mine doesn’t mean I don’t still remember what it was like. Letting go, I take a step back, stretching my arms over head as if I’ve just finished a trying workout, before pointing back the way we’d came.

“Now. If you’ll excuse me for a minute I think I heard Alfred saying the words creme and brulee in rougly the same breath.”

Tim: “This has to happen,” because I think this discussion is the only way to save your soul Damien, I just can’t say that out loud, “A wise man once said ‘Do or do not, there is no try.’ I know you can do this Damien. I know we can do this.”

Maybe it’s this moment of bonding. Maybe it’s the fact that this is the right thing to do. Whatever the case may be? I don’t want the Cowl and I’m only willing to even touch it, if Damien’s giving his word to come take it from me. Soon. In which case I’m nothing more than a placeholder, for the main event. That’s something I can deal with. I’m fairly sure, pretty, maybe sure, that the Cowl won’t crush me in the time it takes Damien to find himself. After all we’ve both grown up at least this much. Here we are having this conversation. Talking to one another without beating one or the other of us half to death.

While he didn’t shake my hand, he did the next best thing. For a weirdo. “It’s all settled then. Sure, I’ll call Richa… wait… I’m not calling Dick. Hold on. Where the hell are you two going?!”

“Guys.”

Guys!”

The two of them are what? Leaving me here. One of them is going for creme brulee. The other is leaving me to talk to Dick? We came here to save Damien’s soul. That mission seems accomplished, but at what cost? A sideways glance at the Cape and Cowl hanging in the case, before I make a decision. I’m not going down this path without a drink. Creme Brulee my ass. I’m going to need something with a little kick before I do what Damien just said.

Sure enough. There the two of them go. Leaving me here. In the Bat Cave. With one task and one task only. “You guys are dicks.”

 

A Night On The Town

Joker

Gotham City is unlike anywhere else in the world. People use catch phrases for their cities, but they’re mostly cute little nicknames that sell post cards. Gotham is the City that Lives. Not because it’s some bright, vibrant crowning point of Humanity. It lives in the sense that it has many working parts. Burroughs. Districts. Each with it’s own little brand of Good and Evil. That happens to be both the best and worst of Gotham all at once. You’re never going to find a dull moment, but you’re as likely to be raped in the high end of town as you are to be mugged in the low end.

For so long now, as long as I can remember and contrary to the psyche reports I remember everything (don’t believe everything you read!), one man has protected all of it. Every square inch of Gotham. Oh. He didn’t always do it alone. He didn’t necessary have the speed of a bullet to get anywhere, at any time. It was more the Spectre of the Batman that loomed over, stretched across the landscape that protected it. You had to gamble, if you wanted to profit from a life of crime. Roll the bones, if you wanted a taste of the sweet life, or sweeter wife next door maybe. Every time you did. Each and every new little trip across the white line of the law, you ran the risk of one day meeting up with the Batman. On that day, he made you pay. He took his pound of flesh and left you beaten. Battered. Bruised. Lucky to be alive.

Just that though. Alive. Very, very much alive.

Some might think that the Batman was a man of truth, justice and the American way. Some symbol of virtue. I know better. He wasn’t unwilling to cross the line. Oh, no. He’d cross that line when he needed too. When he deemed it necessary. Just because he did so rarely and under the veil of necessity doesn’t obscure the simple fact that the Batman was willing to do anything he had to do for this City. That’s why I’m here. You know? That connection. The knowledge that, if he felt that he had no other choice, Batman could have ended me time and time again. He just never did. Some people might think that is because he was proving himself the better man. I say to those people, ‘Hah!’

He needed me! I’m everything about him that he needs to be reminded of. To rebel again. Without me he would have been lost. Alone. A Hero without a foil to measure himself against. Adrift in the Sea of Sloth and Villainy that is Gotham City. I’m alive, because I was his life preserver. Without me he would have drown. The Batman needed me and… now I can’t help the completely foreign, yet inescapable, feeling that… I failed him. He was alone. Left to die without a friend in the world. ….. — “The soul akin to my own. Gone. Snuffed out like….Oh. Sorry. Was that all out loud?! Heehee.”

Who am I talking to? Well that would be the Irish Mob. More or less all of them. They like to get together to eat and drink in a little place called o’Malley’s. About thirty minutes ago, give or take ten minutes of aimless rambling, I walked in with a two heavy set men in gimp-suits and a girl. You don’t need to know where the girl went, I’m sure she’s up to no good. It’s what she does. Once we stepped inside though, I’d ordered a margatia. The kind with the fancy little umbrellas. Only to be told that they don’t serve that swill here. The Bartender is still choking on his own blood, but that got their attention!

“So. You see fellas. My problem here? Is that …. he was mine! MINE. My Batman. Mine. Not your’s. That means. If I didn’t kill’em.. then someone else did. And if someone else did then, I’ve got to have a few words with that person. Now, I’m going to save you a few moments of begging and pleading. Because I know you’re all going to say, ‘I didn’t kill the Batman, Mistah Jokah sir.’ Which might be true or it might not be true. You see the problem. The problem? Is that you’re all lying, cheating, filthy scumbags. Dear to my heart, but liars to the bitter end.”

Now. You can say a lot about the Irish Mob, but generally speaking you can’t call them stupid. They’re not Italian after all. So I’m sure by this point that the writing is on the wall by this point. And if it isn’t, it will be by the time I finish using the barkeeps blood to scribble out the words ‘You’re all dead.’ With a smiley face for posterity. On the bar’s large mirror.

Red Hood (Damien)

Damien had been blazing a trail through the underworld. At first, not even bothering to put on a mask. Using his speed and stealth to conceal his identity. Also, you know that saying, Dead Men Don’t Talk? It’s true. Or, you know, a broken jaw. But, after a run in with the Italians and them beating him near to death, it took him coming to Helena to heal. Anybody else would have given him the third degree. Especially Dinah. She didn’t understand the pure rage that laid at the bed of his heart. Someone killed his father. Murdered. And Damien was going to find out who, by all means necessary. After getting into contact with Tim after the funeral, he had supplied Damien with some.. items to help him. While Tim and Damien weren’t exactly brothers. It was evident that Tim was at a loss of what to do, and decided to help Damien do <i>something</i>.

So, now, Damien equipped with a high tech suit and helmet. He could go on his true terror, make men cry their mothers names in hope that it would save their souls. Nobody in this city was safe. If you so much lifted a candy bar, Damien was going to make sure your fingers would be broken in several places. There was a large shadow to fill, Gotham was going to descend into chaotic mess. Not that his father ever had true control over the city. But he had it organized in a way that the city wouldn’t explode like a powder keg.  But Damien felt that while his … ‘family’ … did nothing, something had to be done, and that was Damien.

Today, he was getting in over his head when he targeted the Irish Mob. There was a price on his head when Damien took Duncan O’Brien, one of the Captains of the O’Brien Syndicate, and threw him over the side of a thirteen story building.  Busting through the door of a bar called O’Malley’s, Damien was quick to take out one men who was playing pool. The man’s head colliding with Damien’s armored knee with enough force to drive the bridge of his nose into his brain. He hadn’t time to see Joker as of yet, since right behind Damien there was an entire mob of very angry Irish Mob soldiers pouring through the door chasing after Damien.

There was all manner of weapons. From handguns, to bats, broken whiskey bottles, chains, brass knuckles… well, you get it. Jumping behind the pool table to put some distance between him and the mob, because Damien had a half formed plan. Get them all into a space that they can’t move in. But, as he took out a few more of these angry soldiers, Damien jumps onto the table as he looks over to where the bar tender was, only to see the pale face of a man in the mirror writing something on the wall in blood.

“You.” The Joker.

His father’s greatest adversary and just as psychotic as a man can get. The complete opposite of his father. Joker was smarter than anybody would give credit to. After all, he’s outsmarted even Batman on occasion.  Right now, Damien didn’t have time to deal with him as men continued trying to swat at him with baseball bats, knives, what have you.

“I’ll deal with you later.” Damien said, pointing at the Joker.

Joker

Now there’s really only one way this is going to go at this point. Bloody. Capital B. We all know it. These idiots are just taking the time allotted for my mindless rambling to determine which of them has the best chance of getting out of here, while the rest die. More than one of them? Probably thinks they like the odds of a stray bullet doing me or my boys in. Of course, I’m crazy enough to not care what they think. Or really. What they do. Because I didn’t come here intending to dodge bullets and fight like some sort of man with Honor and Integrity. Nope.

You see the snarl on my face is the first real sign to these delightfully pale-skinned yokels of just what trouble they’re in for. Or it would be, if not for the distraction afforded them. This is as good a time as any for a couple of them to make their break for the back door. Tut-tut… my little Harley is all aflutter and very likely waiting for the stragglers. Me? I’m pulling off my coat, pulling tight my gloves and getting my suspenders in order for a donnybrook. That’s what these idiots call it, right?

“Ooooh… look at that! I loooooooove the fashion statement. A little bit of old, a little bit of new…”

Armed to the teeth that one. I’d have to be even crazier than I am though, not to instantly recognize… the Red Hood. Equally delightful and appalling, I’ll work out whether I’m aroused by the nostalgia or the way he’s cutting people apart like a buzzsaw. Which reminds me. I was about to kill someone, someones in fact.

It might even be a touch on the surprising side to everyone involved when I’m not immediately drawn to attacking someone stealing my schtick. But. He did promise to deal with me later. I can ponder the significant pontification of that while I’m gutting -my- Irish little friends. Playmates. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum are here for support. Much like my little Girl, they’ve all got strict orders. Regardless of what happens to me. None of the Irish leave. Little Red Hood did me a bit of a favor, he brought even more to the fight. While the Irish might be known as honorable fighters? I make no such claims. One man who turned his head to the arrival of the Red Hood is the first to have his throat cut. I’m a jealous murderer. Sharing the attentions with another is… Rude!

“Red Hood. Smug. Fights dirty. If you’re here about Mommy’s alimony, keep it quiet!”

Red Hood (Damien)

Right now, Joker was helping thin the herd out, if you will. “I am not here to banter with you, Joker. Focus on the task at hand, then I shall deal with you.” commenting as Damien did a short baseball slide underneath a lead pipe, his foot connecting with another man’s face. Twirling around on his back, he flips up as a man with a machete tries to sever Damien’s head from his body. Landing on the blade, Damien reaches under his coat, producing a tactical dagger and slams the blade down onto the man’s head, then pulls it out and throws it with supreme accuracy to a man who was attempting to sneak up on Joker. The blade singing between Joker’s swinging arm, and his ear before finding its mark in a thunking sound as the man collapses with the blade between his eyes.

“What are you doing here, Joker? I was unaware you had a vendetta against the Irish Mob. Did they attempt to steal a red nose from you?” asking, trying his attempt at humor. “I am unsure what you mean about my mother’s alimony. But, I can assure you that I am not here for that.” Humor escapes Damien most of the time, and especially the Joker’s brand of macabre humor. “I believe as of now, we should concentrate on the task at hand.” offering as Damien jumped off the pool table in time to jump off the pool table, landing in a somewhat open spot. The men were starting to thin down thanks to their efforts.

Who would have ever thought that The Joker and Son of Batman would have ever teamed up? Damien in a way, admired how the Joker moved carelessly in a sort of murderous chaotic dance. It was clear he wasn’t using any kind of martial style, other than unnerving his opponents by using unconventional tactics. For now, the two men complimented each other as they fought to keep themselves above board, if you will. How could Joker fight with such carelessness? How did Batman simply <b>not</b> kill him? Surely the lunatic was responsible for his fair amount of misery within Batman’s life. Both, in and out of the cowl.

Damien was getting lost within his thoughts as he kept an eye on the psychotic clown, listening as he nearly squealed with glee as his blade became more bloodied.

Joker

There comes a point when I have to stop disemboweling one guy, while choking a particularly old man with his own Celtic cross to ask myself: Did he just tell me to focus? No one else gets the joke, I’m sure. But they do get the next few minutes of hysterical laughter that no doubt cements in their mind that I’m exactly batshit crazy as all the stories say I am. They’re right. Of course, but they shoulda known that before I walked in the front door.

Ironically for the little Batspurt, I’m just about as focused as I’ve ever been. Even my Shrink thinks I’ve hit a level of focused that bordered on obsessive. Who would have thunk it? All I needed was a little motivation to get my life in order. Put my ducks in a row. The criminal underworld has always taken notice of me. Feared me. They kept out of my way and mostly profited from the insanity that came of my frequent frolics through Gotham. Now though? It seems that the new Red Hood and I have made some of the same rounds. Since the Italians got to listen to the Black Mask howl for nights as he was slowly treated to a cosmetic acid bath. A few drops at a time. Until he was begging to tell me he killed the Batman. The problem is. He was lying. Naughty. He’s been a very good source of information ever since though.

This Red Hood is especially chatty. Once again I’ve gotta stop what I’m doing to answer him. Who chat-boxes like this while sodomizing a guy with his own shillelagh?! The nerve of this guy. “Hunting. Killing. What’s it matter t’ you Hoodsy? All you needa know is one of these nighean na galla killed him! Or they know who did.”

“Or. They stood by while someone else did it.
“Or. They slowly wore him down, until he lost a step.
“Or. They played diddly winks with the guy, who knows a guy, who fucked a girl, that was with the guy who did it.

By this point, I’ve moved on to doing other, even more wretched things with the old leprechaun’s club. At least it’s with someone new. You might be wondering why I’m not overly worried about being shot? Well, that’s where Tweedle Dee comes in. He’s setup in one of the boothes. Letting the Red Hood and I take all the attention. While he snipes anyone who points a gun in my direction. Tweedle Dee? Well. He’s actually the reason Harley was told not to come in, unless called. Let’s just say. He’s the explosives expert and that fat little transgender midget has gas. Or. Maybe he loves Gas. Whatever the case may be, I sent him to the Kitchen so that we can cook up some Irish fritters in a little bit.

In the moments when Red Hood isn’t babbling like a mad man, he might actually take notice that I’m not shooting anyone. No fancy gadgets. No Joker-venom. No gags. Gift Boxes. Trick poker cards. This is as hands on as I get. The only weapon I use, is the club I’ve stolen for sake of irony and the dagger. Mostly… I beat, bash and/or choke every one I can get my hands upon. Until finally…

“…oh they stole from me, they stole. All of them stole Him from me. Someone did. Someone took him from me and when I find the sunuva…” the next few moments are censored, while I do little more than ramble. “…he was Mine. Don’t you get it? Mine. Until I find out who took him from me? Everyone. Everything. Burns.”

Red Hood (Damien)

It was like Joker was speaking the same language as Damien. There wasn’t any minced words, no double entendres. Damien understood everything the lunatic said. And it made sense, he could identify with that. Damien felt the same exact way. He wanted to watch the underworld burn for taking the one person who mattered most to him. “Then it seems, We are on a similar course and direction.” moving to the side of a fist, Damien grabs the arm and twists it in a way that he first pops it out of its socket, then as the man goes down to the floor crying in pain.

There were just a few misfits left by now. Most dead, dying, howling in pain, or simply decided it was in their best interest by running away. Standing around a mess of dead bodies, Damien turns his sights on Joker. Studying him for a long moment. The HUD providing information that he already knew. Staying quiet, Damien inspects a few of the men who were still alive. Grabbing one, he hauls him over his shoulder and throws him onto one pool tables. The HUD would pull up facial recognition and display the information for Damien.

“I need information.” Starting off, Damien did not have compassion for the man. “Every time you answer incorrectly. I break a finger. From there…” trailing off as he looks down at his feet. “We will work something out.” smiling from beneath his helmet, Damien moves to one side of the man’s body and grabbed his hand. “Do you know any information about the murder of Batman?”  asking, his voice cold and electronic.

“Nonono. I swear ta god, I don’t know-” snap, one finger down, a howl of pain, nine more to go.

Joker

Well. The new Red Hood and I have a couple more things in common. Like the intent to question these guys when the fight was beaten out of them. As it was, the Hood brought a couple extras to the party. So there was more than a few left to go around in the end. I’m not interested in the young ones. That isn’t how the Irish mob works. Nor do I want the oldest, again that just isn’t how it works with these guys. While the young are ridden like prime horses and the older generation is revered, even followed when they put their foots down? It’s always the smart ones that really run things. The Irish figured that out in the Wars with England. You don’t gotta be the biggest, baddest, in the world. All you gotta do to win, is be smarter than the rest of the chuckleheads you’re fighting.

That’s why I pick one the ones that had been trying to make their escape. In a twist of gleeful irony, I take pleasure in dumping the ‘smart one’ down across the Bar. Like I’m mimicing the Red Hood. Hah! I’m mimicing the Red Hood. How am I the only one who gets that joke? The chuckling, for only I know what, is likely only making the demented approach of blood scored clown-face all the more terrifying. Much less the way gore dripping gloved fingers gesture to the Hood.

“He’s playing nice. Don’t lie to me. None of you know who killed the Bat. I know that. You know that. Even the wicked little red riding Hood knows that. What you do know, is who stood to benefit most from his … absence…” Do Irish Gangsters lose control of their bladders when having their cheeks licked by insane men drenched in blood? This one seems to have. “…you either get to die quickly for telling me or slowly. Over the course of Days. While the Tweedles use you in a variety of defiling ways. Each of which Harley video tapes. For me to show your family. Friends. And all the children at your Church, during Sunday School.”

Now the question. Really. Isn’t whether the Hood or I get answers. It’s really about what happens to be more important. Broken bones. Or an Irishman’s entire sense of self-worth, family and religion. Because I’m very clearly willing to piss all over all of it. They know me. They know that there’s not one ounce of anything I said that is even unlikely.

A few moments later, when I’m finally stripping off the gloves? “My… assistant… is rigging this place to blow. Call it professional courtesy. Call it nostalgia for seeing someone wearing the Hood. But. Understand me, Hoodsy. The Batman was mine. So whoever took him from me. Is now. Mine. Mine. Minemine mine. Miiiiiiiiine.”

Red Hood (Damien)

The man offered little to no information. Nothing they didn’t already know. Everyone, honestly, benefitted from the Bat being gone. Damien doesn’t even bother to kill the now mostly broken man on the table as he cuts a look over at Joker. “Today. Our paths aligned. I believe they will align in the future. I do not care what you say, about what you claim is yours. Just know that while we are on this path, together, we will find who killed him.” saying as he started towards the door, then comes to a stop, putting his hand on the door frame.

“But, Once this is over, and our paths no longer align. I will kill you. Make no doubt, I will do what he would never have done, and make sure you will die, then make sure you can never come back.” saying, his voice low with warnings and threats. Today was a good day, at the very least. The Irish Mob has been gutted, the O’Brien Syndicate has been nearly wiped out. Today marked one more day in making sure Batman’s legacy is no longer shrouded. Looking over his shoulder at Joker one more time, he steps out of the bar and it’s like he just vanishes.

Damien, in some way knowing that donning the Red Hood would be ironic, considering whom his father is. But, maybe this is how it all ends. It started with the Red Hood and would end with the Red Hood. There’s a part of him that feels guilty for allying with the Joker. Though, if Gotham was at stake, wouldn’t Batman do the same?

Joker

You know what? I believe the guy. Or at least, I believe that he believes that he’ll do those things. In the future. When we find the person responsible. ‘We’ being the operative word. Even in insanity, I’ve never been accused of being stupid. This is what the big boys call a potential lead. Given that so many others haven’t panned out, I’ve got to take what I can get. Which means that for now? The new Hood is right. Our paths are aligned. Perhaps momentarily, as he says.

“Not to be passe, but… you just reminded me of a joke. You see. There’s this man and as he grows old, he wants to pass along something to his son. Except his son is into all the wrong things in life. Try as he might the old codger just can’t get his son on the right path.” Did I forget that I’m choking an Irish mobster to death? Why yes, I did. But the joke is more important. “So. Hee. Hee. Years pass and he’s done all he can to bring his son in the fold. There he is. On his death bed. He says to his wife…”

“I did everything I could! I beat him when he was bad boy. I treated him when he was a good boy. I taught him to drive. How to get the girls. How to get by in life. Where did I go wrong? By golly, the old hag looks back at him and says… well Mr. Capone, I think you taught him everything you knew.”

“Haa. Hah! Everything he knew. What a hoot!” Besides the outburst of giggling, there’s a sort of meandering that brings me closer and closer to the Red Hood, before turning just in time to pick up my suit-coat. “Ya see, Hoodsy. You can’t kill me. The Bat couldn’t kill me either. Not without becoming me. Hee hahaa. You’re already a step in the right direction, Fruit-of-my-loins.”

“C’mon boys. We got work t’ do before the Red Hood kills me. Again. What a maroon.”