"Well, well, well... What have we got here? Fucking freeloaders." With a smirk, Rowan turned toward the shape crouched in the corner, its form slowly rising from the impenetrable shadow. "What do we do to freeloaders, Ichor?"
On cue, the Shade bared its fangs and claws before viciously crushing the random skull the Author had thought necessary to leave there as a prop.
"There you have it, lads and lasses. Cough up two Power Stones and a review, preferably a well-written one, and my Shade won't crawl under your bed tonight...
Or else."
— — — — —
Rowan ignored the instinct to drift with the path of the golf club as he ducked low, throwing himself to the right. Alfred responded with an upward strike using the back of the club just as he hit the floor, forcing him to scramble back to put distance between them. The Batler, thankfully, didn't pursue. He merely rosenstraight, the club lowering by his side.
Equipped with nothing but his fists and whatever his Infernal body could take, Rowan chuckled wearily. "I knew those arthritis pills were for show..."
Alfred spun the club lazily with one finger, the grin still plastered across his face. "They weren't; not until you fed me your blood, sir."
"Guess that's a no on the tea then?"
"It's very late, sir." The butler closed the gap, his shoulders slouched forward in a way that felt entirely foreign. "Tea will ruin your sleep."
Rowan's eyes flicked to the Batcomputer's clock display. "Pretty sure it's noon, Pennyworth."
"That's it?" The Batler slightly tilted his head while a faint and mocking light danced in his eyes. "No appeal to my better nature? Not even a heartfelt 'Please, Alfred, snap out of it'? How disappointing, sir."
"You know me, Alfie. I don't do lost causes." Rowan raised his fists and settled into a fighting stance. Just then, Dick leaped from the shadows with a crowbar tight, only to falter when his weapon-of-choice neared the butler's ankle.
Making a dismissive 'tsk', Alfred swung the golf club with casual ease, launching the kid straight into the wall where row on row of pipes cushioned his impact. "Wait your turn, Master Dick. Now… You were saying?"
Sweat poured down Rowan's face. Giving Alfred his blood hadn't been a mistake given the alternative, but watching the butler toss Dick like a ragdoll made it clear he'd need to be way more selective about bleeding on people going forward.
'Live and learn, I guess.' Rowan shot a quick glance at Dick, breathing easier when he saw the kid was still moving, and that brief lapse in concentration was all Alfred needed to close the distance.
The butler's swing would've caved Rowan's skull in if Ichor—now freed from the Suit of Sorrow—had not pinned Alfred's shadow in place. The move worked, and then it didn't as light erupted from Alfred's neck; light which quickly chased and burnt the shadows away. Arms burning hot, Rowan clumsily sidestepped the swing while mentally ordering the Shade to standby.
For the first time ever, Ichor ignored his command, grabbing every piece of furniture within reach and hurling it at Alfred like a child throwing a tantrum. And to Ichor's credit, the strategy actually worked. Alfred might've been stronger, faster, and tougher than ever, but he still only had two hands.
The butler fended off the barrage as best he could, but even his augmented strength was starting to fail against the sheer volume of the assault.
And then Rowan joined the fight, hammering his fists into the butler's ribs. "Give it up, Alfred!" He knew he could end the fight and leave the older man in a bloody heap if he so chose.
Unfortunately, Rowan found the same sentiment that had paralyzed Dick earlier gripped him just as intensely. If not for his year-long conditioning; if not for the fact he knew the real Alfred would despise what the Joker Toxin had turned him into, he couldn't have brought himself to throw a punch at all. But he did. And down went Alfred.
Standing over Alfred's crumpled form, Rowan felt his stomach drop. "Please tell me you're not dead."
Alfred coughed weakly, propping himself up with what remained of his dignity.
"I remain among the living, sir, though I must say your technique has improved considerably... Shall I add 'butler-battering' to your list of accomplishments?"
"That is—" His words cut short as he felt movement behind him. Keeping the gasping butler in his periphery, Rowan's gaze landed on the littlest Grayson, who was still clutching his crowbar tight.
"Dick...?"
"Is he okay? Is Alfred okay?"
"Oh, I can assure you, young Master, I'm positively delightful."
"He's not," Turning a blind eye to the jab, Rowan reassured. "But he will be."
He had zero illusions about his own intelligence or his odds of cracking whatever chemical cocktail Joker had dumped on the city, but he had absolute faith in Batman. Bruce would figure it out. He gave it a few days—a week tops once the Dark Knight actually put his brain to it. And even then, a part of Rowan still thought he was being too conservative with the timeline.
"Here." The boy hesitantly offered him a rope, not quite meeting Rowan's eyes. "Sorry I wasn't much help."
Rowan grabbed it with a tired sigh. "Relax. You alright?"
Dick let out a shaky laugh. "Could be better."
"Better get used to it. You're gonna get your ass kicked a lot worse down the line."
"...Can I still back out of this vigilante thing?"
"Too late for that, kid. This is a life sentence." The words had barely left his mouth when their true weight settled over him like a depressive cloud. "Oh God, this is a life sentence…"
Kneeling to tie up the butler absently, he blinked in confusion when the butler burst into laughter. "Haaa… Hahaha… HAHAHAHA!"
"What's so funny?"
"That!" Following his pointing finger, Rowan found a crowbar inches from his face, stopped only by Ichor's timely intervention.
His eyes snapped to Dick, and his blood went cold at the white patches spreading across the kid's neck.
Time itself seemed to freeze as his eyes and Grayson's crossed; both stained by venomous specks of green and sickly yellow veins. And yet unlike his betrayed pair, however, the boy's contained naught but mirth.
"You—" The word turned into a snarl as Alfred lunged for him and tied something tight around his neck. Rowan choked, and coughed, and wheezed as he elbowed the butler back; the only saving-grace being he'd managed to his palm up in time to block the sneak attack, and the Shade had slowed the otherwise lethal swing.
Even then, the hit still dropped him as shapes and colors—all bathed in a filter of red—blurred together.
"Aaagrrh!" Rowan hadn't been completely blinded, but the vision loss was severe enough that he figured he could qualify for a disability check now. "God fucking—!"
"Tsk, tsk. Didn't your mother teach you not to take the Lord's name in vain, sir? Oh, but I suppose she couldn't, could she? Hehehehe…!"
"Can you believe he actually fell for that? I thought he was supposed to be Batman's protégé. Awfully gullible for the position, isn't he?" The boy leaned closer, then cringed in disgust as Alfred's flashlight illuminated his face. "Urgh. He looks like a rat… A bleeding, diseased rat. Maybe he does suit the cowl?"
"Fu-Fuck you, dick." Rowan groaned mirthlessly. "I didn't want that stupid fucking cowl anyway." Rowan started to rise, only to catch a boot to the face and pushed head-first into the dirt as the sole of Alfred's polished loafers grinded the side of his skull.
"Any last word, Master Rowan?"
"Y-Yeah…"
"Do proceed. It would be frightfully rude to deny you such a courtesy."
"Pikachu, u-use Thunderbolt…" The pathetic croak left Rowan's lips just as electric blue erupted around his wrist. Alfred, the closest took the brunt of the blast and flew a good five feet. Grayson, however, managed something far more impressive, which was to redirect the worst of the quick discharge using electricity's natural inclination to follow the path of least resistance.
That path happened to be the crowbar Dick flung straight at him. The six-pound piece of metal collided with Rowan's forearm, forcing a stifled hiss from his lips as he rolled away. He had only begun to reach for the cross dangling over his chest when the 'shape' blurred toward him. Rowan would've been proud of the boy if the sensation hadn't been completely eclipsed by the sting of the punch and the subsequent rage that nearly suffocated him.
"[Spectral Shield]!"
Purple interlocking plates shimmered to form a protective shell around Rowan, blocking the follow-up with ease. The follow-up of the follow-up found its mark, but only because he had dropped that section of the barrier to get a better grip on the kid.
"Thunderbolt!"
Richard convulsed as currents rushed through him, then gasped when Rowan quickly swept his legs out from under him and drove cupped fists into his stomach.
Tripping after the boy, Rowan paused as something heavy caught near his feet. With a stomp, the crowbar spun three times in the air before settling in his waiting palm.
'You'll thank me later.' He thought, and brought the crowbar down on the blurry shape's midsection. His heart clenched as the shape wheezed painfully.
"St-Stop! Stop! Why are you doing this, Rowan?"
"Yo—" Against his wishes, his arms paused, giving the boy just enough time to kick him in the knees.
He fell back to Alfred's eagerly waiting club, which knocked him toward Richard.
The boy lashed out with another kick that smudged the bridge of Rowan's nose flat, all while Alfred wrenched at the rosary tightened around his neck.
The good news was the old man was strong and probably could still kick it for half a century more…
The bad news was the old man was strong and probably could still kick it for half a century more. "Argh!" Rowan grunted as the club found his ribs, only to choke on the blood flooding his mouth.
With tremendous effort, he managed to toss the possessed butler over his shoulder, who himself borrowed the momentum to launch his ward at the ground. The Wisp pulsed in its attempt to intervene—an attempt that ended with the Elemantal stomped under the boy's boot.
Rowan's first instinct when he heard the Elemental shriek was to pull it back into his chest, but he had bigger problems—namely the golf club bludgeoning his ribs repeatedly while he curled to protect his organs. "Fooled you twice, Rowan!"
"You're right," He chuckled, rolling on his side as the ringing in his ears slowly morphed into condescending laughter that was both his own, and yet not. "You got me... Heh..."
'The thing about family '
The Clown danced at his peripheral, blurred into colors that made him look like an unfinished painting. 'They really know how to get under your skin! Ahaha!' The laugh scraped against Rowan's eardrums and bounced in his skull. 'Quality bonding time, wouldn't you say?'
"You really got me."
Rowan spat out a bloody swath, lips pulling into a horrific smile as specks of green slowly bled into his irises.
"That's a good one." Green irises collided, and for a moment, he didn't see the infected versions looming over him, but as they were prior to their infection.
"Sir?"
'C'mon, Imp! Live up to the name! Join the fun! You know you were made for this!' The laughter grated. 'Or maybe you want to return the favor? Beat them bloody? That butler who never shuts up about manners, that kid who's better at everything while you barely scrape by? Well, what are you waiting for?!
Do it!
The world's yours for the taking, kid!
Let loose on your every worst desssssire!'
Their faces twisted, warping into Joker Sr. and Jr., and whatever hesitation he'd been clinging to evaporated into thin air.
"[Spectral Shie—]!" The club came down moments before Rowan finished casting, but it was too little, too late.
Purple geometric plates caught the blow before it could land, buying him the precious seconds needed to get to his feet as Alfred and Dick were rebuffed. Rowan didn't call for his suppressed Shade, nor the Storm Elemental trilling weakly around his wrist. He didn't need them for this; only his crowbar… If it was good enough for Jason Todd, it was good enough for them.
He swung up, catching Alfred by the jaw.
The blow launched the old man airborne, where Rowan proceeded to grab his ankle and hurled him toward Richard. His vision was too fucked to track where they landed, and he was just about to switch to his hearing when the Joker flickered back into view, surrounded by cartoon neon signs pointing straight at the writhing lump on the ground.
Concussed and unsteady, Rowan staggered toward them, dragging his feet like a drunk.
He raised the crowbar overhead—
"Wait, Rowan, it's m—"
Then brought the crowbar down… And this time, didn't hold back.
Hot blotches splattered all over his face as the crowbar came down a second time, then a third, a fourth, a fifth… Rowan heaved, lungs aching terribly as he beat the lump bloody still.
"Ro-Rowan…"
The call snapped him out of the trance, granting just enough clarity through the mesh of colors to see his 'masterpiece.' Rowan's gritted teeth parted in a silent, horrified gasp as he suddenly became accutely aware of the tremors in his arms.
'That's it! That's it, boy wonder! You're making me so proud!'
His grip loosened, causing the crowbar to slip until he found the strength to tighten around the slick metal again.
"Plea—"
The final swing brought silence to the Batcave. It was an uneasy silence, but silence all the same. Silence Rowan found so uncomfortable that his fingers tapped along the length of the crowbar.
He flinched when blood dripped from the metal into the torn skin of his palm.
And that turned out to be the proverbial straw.
"JOOOKER!"
Rowan's roar bounced around the Batcave, the angry veins on his forehead popping as he caught sight of the hallucination that pranced around him.
'Devil's child, Devil's boy,
Daddy's little pride and joy!
Close your eyes, plug your ears,
Just pretend you didn't see the tears!
Scrub-a-dub, wash it clean,
Play the hero, live the dream!
Paint yourself in black and white—
You're still Daddy's little blight!'
He held his breath and clenched his teeth, hands pressing against his temples to stop the pounding in his skull. He wasn't sure how long it took to pull himself together, but it felt like an eternity when he did. Stumbling toward the lump on the ground, Rowan slowly dropped to check on them.
His hand was halfway to their noses when a roar echoed behind him.
"ROWAN!"
'Bruce?' Excitement, relief, guilt all surged through him as he heard the voice, only to be replaced by terror.
A terror that was instantly justified as his sternum buckled as tendrils launched him upward, through cave spikes and into the wall.
"B-Bruce, wait, sto—!"
More tendrils surged forward like a tidal wave before he could even voice his innocence, wrapping around his wrists, ankles, throat until he was completely at their mercy.
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!"
"I-I—"
Rowan choked on the start of a defense.
Even he realized how this looked and how futile words would be, so he turned to pleas instead.
"I was—just check the surveillance footage!"
In search of a sign of trust or reason, he stared into the featureless cowl, only to feel the disappointment down to his very marrow at the suspicion and anger directed toward him. Nevertheless—
"Check the footage!" He cried… Pathetically; his eyeballs stinging with indignance. "Ple-Please!"
And only then did the iron-tight grip around his neck relaxed somewhat.
"Tell me what happened, now!"
— — — — —
Quick notice: Chapters 54–62 are completely free to read on Patreon . com / Regularrr. No membership required if you'd rather not wait to catch up.
Actual A/N: I swear you lot treat writing a review like filing your gawddamn taxes and giving up your firstborn! Plotting out actual character arcs and setup-payoff themes takes blood, sweat, tears, caffeine, and cigarettes! Copious amounts of cigarettes! I stay up to 5, sometimes 6AM writing this shit! The absolute least you can do is drop a quick review before you swipe to the next chapter. I'm not even asking you to kiss my ass here. Just give me your genuine thoughts! Down with review fraud!!!