Six Months Later - The Gotham Railyards
It wasn't a patrol. It was a demolition.
"Sir," my voice echoed over the comms, tense and sharp. "Heart rate is 160. You have taken three distinct impacts to the ribcage. Disengage. The target is subdued."
Batman didn't listen.
He stood in the pouring rain, holding a mugger by the throat. The man was already unconscious. His arm was bent at a sickening angle.
Batman drew back his fist again.
"Sir!" I shouted. "He is down!"
Batman froze. He looked at the unconscious man. He looked at his own bloody knuckles. He dropped the man into the mud like a sack of trash.
He turned to the Batmobile, where I waited.
He didn't speak. He just limped toward the car. His cape was torn. His armor was scarred. He looked less like a knight and more like a wraith haunting the streets.
I opened the canopy.
"That was reckless," I said, handing him a towel. "You let him hit you. You saw the knife, and you didn't dodge."
"I caught it," Bruce grunted, wiping the blood off his cowl.
"You caught it with your shoulder," I pointed to the gash in the Kevlar. "You are not fighting to win anymore, Young Master. You are fighting to end."
"Drive, Sebastian."
I looked at him. The man who had refused the Lazarus Pit was now trying to dig his own grave, one mugger at a time.
I engaged the thrusters. As the Batmobile roared away, I glanced at the warehouse roof above us.
A small shadow moved. Someone was watching.
Two Days Later - Blüdhaven
Nightwing (Dick Grayson) sat on the edge of a water tower, looking out over the grime of Blüdhaven. It was uglier than Gotham, but it was his.
He heard a scuff of a shoe behind him.
Dick spun, escrima sticks drawn.
"Who's there?"
Stepping out of the shadows was a kid. Maybe thirteen years old. He wore a trench coat and a camera around his neck. He looked terrified, but he held his ground.
"Don't hit me," the kid said, raising his hands. "I just want to talk."
Dick lowered his sticks slightly. "You're a long way from home, kid. What are you doing on a roof in the 'Haven?"
"Looking for you," the boy said. "Dick Grayson."
Dick went cold. He stepped forward, his face hardening. "I don't know who that is. I'm Nightwing."
"I know," the boy said. "And I know Bruce Wayne is Batman. And I know Jason Todd... was Robin."
Dick was on him in a second. He grabbed the boy by the coat and pinned him against the railing.
"Who sent you?" Dick hissed. "Joker? Two-Face?"
"Nobody!" The boy gasped. "I saw you! At the circus! Haly's Circus!"
Dick paused. "What?"
"I was there that night," the boy said rapidly. "When your parents died. I saw you do the quadruple somersault. It's only been done by three people in history. You."
The boy took a breath.
"Then, a few years later, I saw Robin do the exact same move on the news. The exact same flip. I knew it was you. And if you're Robin, Bruce Wayne has to be Batman."
Dick let him go. He stepped back, stunned. The kid had deduced their identities just by watching their body mechanics.
"My name is Tim Drake," the boy said, straightening his coat. "And I'm here because he needs help."
"Who?"
"Batman," Tim said. He pulled a stack of photos from his pocket.
They were grainy, long-distance shots of Batman from the last few months.
"Look at him," Tim pointed. "He's sloppy. He's angry. He's breaking people. He's not dodging anymore."
Tim looked up at Dick with pleading eyes.
"He's going to die out there, Dick. He's grieving. He needs a partner. He needs someone to remind him of the rules."
"He has Sebastian," Dick said, looking away.
"Sebastian is an enabler," Tim argued. "I've watched him too. He protects Bruce, sure. But he doesn't stop him. He cleans up the mess, but he doesn't stop the bleeding."
Tim took a step closer.
"Batman needs a Robin. He needs you."
Dick stared at the photos. He saw the brutality. He saw the lack of restraint.
"I can't go back," Dick whispered. "I'm not Robin anymore. I can't be his soldier."
"Then who will?" Tim asked. "Because if nobody steps in... Bruce Wayne is going to be dead by Christmas."
Dick sighed. He looked at the Gotham skyline in the distance, glowing ominously.
"Fine," Dick said. "I won't suit up. But I'll go talk to him."
"Can I come?" Tim asked.
"No. It's dangerous."
"I know," Tim said, clutching his camera. "That's why I'm coming."
Wayne Manor - The Library
The grandfather clock swung open.
Bruce Wayne stumbled out of the Batcave entrance. He was bruised, limping, and smelled of ozone and blood.
He collapsed into his armchair.
"Sebastian," Bruce croaked. "Whiskey."
I was already there, pouring the drink.
"You have a hairline fracture in your tibia," I noted. "Alcohol will thin the blood and increase the swelling."
"Did I ask for a medical opinion?"
"No. But you pay me for my judgment."
I placed the glass down.
"We cannot continue this pace, Sir. You are seeking oblivion."
"I'm seeking justice."
"You are seeking Jason," I said brutally. "And you will not find him in the bottom of a bottle or on the fist of a thug."
Bruce threw the glass into the fireplace. SMASH.
"Don't say his name!"
"Bruce."
A voice came from the doorway.
Bruce froze. He turned.
Dick Grayson stood there. He wasn't wearing his Nightwing suit. He was wearing civilian clothes. Standing behind him, looking nervous, was Tim Drake.
"Dick?" Bruce whispered. He stood up, swaying. "What are you doing here?"
"I came to see if the rumors were true," Dick said, walking into the room. "They say the Batman has gone off the deep end."
Dick looked at the bruises on Bruce's face.
"They were right."
"I'm handling it," Bruce growled, his eyes shifting to the boy. "Who is this?"
"This is Tim," Dick said. "He knows, Bruce. He figured it out."
Tim stepped forward. He looked at the terrifying figure of Bruce Wayne.
"Mr. Wayne," Tim said, his voice shaking but clear. "Batman and Robin... they mean something. They mean hope. But lately... Batman just means fear."
Tim pointed at the empty glass case where Jason's suit used to be (Bruce had moved it to the memorial spot).
"I know you miss him. But you can't replace him by getting yourself killed."
Bruce narrowed his eyes. "Get him out of here, Dick. Before I—"
"Before you what?" Dick shouted. "Hit a kid? Is that who you are now?"
Dick got in Bruce's face.
"He's right, Bruce. You need an anchor. You need a Robin."
"NO!" Bruce roared. "No more Robins! I buried a soldier! I won't bury another one!"
"I don't want to be a soldier!" Tim shouted.
Everyone stopped. They looked at the small boy in the trench coat.
Tim looked at Bruce.
"I don't want to fight," Tim said. "I don't want to be a hero. I just... I want to help you figure it out. I want to be the detective. The lookout."
Tim looked at me.
"Sebastian helps you fight. But who helps you think?"
I raised an eyebrow. The boy was sharp.
"He has a point, Sir," I interjected smoothly. "Your deductive reasoning scores have dropped 40% since Master Jason's death. You are reacting, not planning."
Bruce slumped back into his chair. He looked at Dick. He looked at Tim.
He looked defeated.
"I can't take another partner," Bruce whispered. "I can't be responsible for another life."
"You won't be," Dick said. "I'll train him. Me and Sebastian. We won't let him in the field until he's ready. Until he's better than I was. Better than Jason."
Bruce stared at the fire.
"Tim Drake," Bruce murmured.
"Yes, sir?" Tim asked.
"If you so much as touch a grapple gun before I say so... you're fired."
Tim's face lit up. "Yes, sir! I mean... understood, sir!"
Dick exhaled, a massive weight lifting off his shoulders. He looked at me and nodded.
I bowed slightly.
"Well," I said, picking up the shattered glass shards from the hearth. "It seems the nest is full again. I shall have to order more milk. And perhaps... a computer manual. Master Tim looks like the type who enjoys reading instructions."
Tim looked at me, beaming. "Actually, I already hacked your mainframe. You need to update your firewalls."
I paused. My eyes flashed red.
"Is that so?" I smiled, a genuine, predator's smile. "I believe I am going to enjoy you, Master Tim."
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