2012

Dick Grayson stretched his arms, before doing some light spot jogging. The surroundings weren't to his taste. They were spartan and threadbare, polished with a relentlessly modern sheen. There was a bedroom, and a study table, along with some weights and a bench. The rest of it remained empty, which was apt.

When he left Wayne Manor, he was barely a teen. He didn't know much, beyond what Bruce and Alfred had taught him, and what his parents had taught him before everything went to hell.

But now he was a college grad. He had a degree in Criminology, and interned with Buldhaven P.D. He had lead two Titan teams, and overseen Jason's training as he grew into his role as the new Robin. He was nineteen now. His life wasn't a blank slate: it was a thriving canvas, filled with all kinds of messy colors and different brush strokes, some messy, some measured.

Dick Grayson had outgrown his minimalist roots. And this threadbare room was a painful reminder of it.

"Master Grayson," Alfred said, smiling sardonically as he entered the room. "You haven't yet touched your breakfast, I see."

"You know me, Alfred. Always on the grind. Running scenarios. Thinking of new jokes. Carbs get in the way."

"It's only scrambled eggs. Not the same as the King's feast you would normally get on a Saturday."

Dick smiled. "The good old days. Do you miss them?"

Alfred chuckled. "I have lived a long and eventful life, master Grayson. My good old days are different from yours. But yes, there were many good things in the past. Even though some of us squandered it."

"By some of us, do you mean Bruce?"

Alfred lowered his head, his lips widening as he dimpled. "Perhaps. He has always loved you. He didn't always know how to express it in normal ways."

"Yeah. I know," Dick segued into shadow boxing, before transitioning seamlessly into Muay Thai. "He always meant well. But that's not the issue. It's the way he does things. One day, I just didn't agree with him and his principles. And there wasn't a point hanging around if I didn't believe in the Batman and his mission anymore."

"Ahh. That's disappointing," Alfred said, and he meant it too. "Still, I am glad you are here again, Master Grayson. These halls have been emptier without you."

Dick shrugged his shoulder, before running towards the wall and vaulting off it, catching the lever hanging from the ceiling. As he hung on it, the secret compartment in his room opened, revealing his armored costume.

"I like what you have done with the uniform," Alfred stated, inspecting the chest plate minutely. "Padding looks effective too."

"Yeah. Went for an old school Kevlar weave, with carbon fiber reinforcements near the ribs and shoulders. It's probably not as good as Bruce's current digs, but it holds its own."

Alfred glanced back at Dick, who was still holding the lever, swinging in 360 degree arcs. "I will leave the breakfast on your desk for thirty more minutes, Master Grayson. I pray that you finish it by then."

Dick smirked as he let go, twisting three times more before landing on his feet. "Sure. Thanks for dropping by, Alfred. It's been too long."

Dick picked up his breakfast bowl, scarfing down in quick, mouthful bites as he took a seat by his laptop. He opened his encrypted chat app, breezing through his chat threads with the rest of the team.

He wondered what was keeping her. She wasn't the kind to wait an ungodly amount of time before replying. Barbara Gordon was many things, but late wasn't one of them.

After a few more minutes, his laptop chimed, letting him know that he had just received a new message.

"Alright, you can come over."

"You don't have to tell me twice," he replied back.

Dick changed out of his workout clothes, donning a simple, understated grey jacket with an blue undershirt beneath. He paused before leaving the room, taking one last look at his uniform. It had been awhile since he had worn armor underneath his clothes. Bludhaven had its share of crime, but that's peanuts compared to the sheer insanity one experienced in Gotham.

Dick shook his head, grabbing his Escrima sticks and stashing them by his waist. He was paranoid, but he wasn't as paranoid as Bruce was. Not that he could blame the man for being what he was. Especially after what happened with Gordon and Barbara last month.

Times like these, Dick was glad he was on his own path. It put him firmly out of reach of the predatory darkness in Bruce's life. Like some Victorian monster it advanced towards Bruce, shrouding every aspect of his life with its immense shadow, until nothing remained but the darkness itself.

Dick wondered if Barbara thought the same.

"He's different now, Dick," Barbara said, wheeling closer to Dick. "In more ways than one. He spends days on cold cases. Rarely makes public appearances. He hasn't stepped foot in Wayne Enterprises since the last annual meeting."

Dick nodded, taking a seat by the small coffee table. "Doesn't it feel lonely up here? Like an owl nesting up in the mountains by herself?"

Barbara shook her head. "That's why I have you guys. So kind of you to drop by."

Dick laughed. There were fangs hidden in those words, and Barbara hadn't bothered concealing them from Dick's eyes. "What do you want me to say, Babs? That I felt just as responsible as Bruce did for what happened? Because I did. I should have convinced you to take some time off too, when I left Gotham. Maybe you needed to go somewhere far from here too, and see what life is like out there."

"If I wanted to see sunshine and rainbows, Dick, I would have hauled my ass off to California years ago. I was James Gordon's daughter long before I was Batgirl. I knew the risks long before I put on the spandex.'

"Right. How is the new arrangement working out for you so far?"

Barbara smiled, gesturing to the massive server stack in the next room, which extended all the way to the next floor. "The best surveillance digs you can find this side of Maryland. It's a remarkable feat of human engineering. And you know what's the funny part? Bruce is already planning on building something better by 2016."

"And what does this bad boy do?" Dick walked over to the main console. "Can it outthink the Riddler, for instance? Because we are going up against him tonight."

"The Riddler? Please. He's too old school. And he has gotten sloppy. This latest crime war he's waging, it's his way of seeking attention."

"Attention? From whom, the Joker or Batman?"

"From both, I think. The Joker, because he wants to prove that he can still hang around the big boys. The Batman, because, everyone worth his salt gets the Bat's attention. Without that, he's a nobody. A has-been."

"Well, kidnapping three dozen Gothamites is a fine way of catching Bruce's attention. What's he going to do with them, you think?"

"Nothing good. Nigma popped on our feeds three days ago. Mad Hatter and Scarecrow were with him. You can use your imagination as to what he's cooking up with those two."

"He's probably attacking Penguin in his old ship. Any tips about what we might encounter in there?"

"Other than his thugs? Expect a lot of traps. There's a reason Cobblepot has stuck to this place for so long. And that's not sentimentality."

Dick nodded. "Sounds like I came back to Gotham at the perfect time of the year."

Barbara smirked. "Not too busy with Ms. Firehead to visit us lowly mortals, eh?"

Dick groaned. "Who told you about that?"

"Gar. Raven. Victor. Basically your whole team."

"It's been two years, Babs," Dick said, massaging his elbow. "I just moved on."

"More like you ghosted me, Dick. And that wasn't nice. I get that you had issues with Bruce. That doesn't mean you stop talking to me, too."

Dick sighed. He knew a losing argument when he saw one. "I will get back to you about all this, right? You are right, I need to make it up to you."

"Damn right you do. Keep your head straight tonight, yeah? This might look routine, but Gotham's more dangerous now."

Dick grinned. "That's true, but then again, so's Batman. I mean have you seen how ripped he is?"

"You haven't seen anything until you have seen him in action, trust me."

Seven hours later

Bruce took a deep breath, hands trained and raised, eyes fixed on the man charging at him. The man threw his fist in front, and Bruce weaved, grabbing him by the elbow and throwing him against a wall of Penguin's thugs. Another man rushed him from the side, brandishing a metal pipe. Bruce spun, his elbow crashing with shattering force against the man's ribs. He grabbed the man's neck, flipping him mid air before spin-kicking the man a good ten feet away.

They were in the main dinner hall, stuck in a free for all between Penguin's thugs and Riddler's forces. Scarecrow's fear toxin was pouring in through the vents, making everyone there less inhibited and less likely to hold back against their opponents.

Bruce was wearing a breathing mask, of course, as were Dick and Jason. Bruce was doing heavy duty, while the other two were searching for Riddler and his cohorts.

There was something maddeningly calm about wading through a sea of opponents in hand to hand combat. In combat, Bruce could let go of his reserves and use himself as a weapon, using all his years of training for a singular, effective purpose. He slowed down a few seconds when dealing with the Hatter-controlled victims, trying to pry away their hats (and other headgear) when they got too close. It was a slow, difficult process, made more complicated by the presence of Penguin's people.

Batman spotted Cobblepot high up in one of the balconies, a permanent scowl fixed on his blubbery features. "Call your men off, Cobblepot," he yelled. "I can handle the kidnapped hostages on my own!"

"I would rather not, Bats. They are helping you keep distracted, which is exactly what I need. I am offing Nigma the first chance I get tonight, and I am not in the mood for another one of your morality plays."

Bruce grunted. Of course, he had to do it the hard way.

"Besides, I have a surprise for both you and Nigma. And he's coming up right now."

Heavy footsteps sounded across the hall, getting closer with each passing second. Bruce grimaced, bracing himself. Bane burst through the main door, ploughing into five different Hatter-controlled hostages, before grabbing one of them, using her as a human bat against the rest of them.

"Bane, put that woman down," Bruce said. He was still fighting off Penguin's thugs, who were now closing in on him, emboldened by Bane's appearance.

"I think not, Batman. I will break her first, and then I will break you again, like a twig."

Bruce reached into his utility belt, grabbing multiple batarangs. "We will see about that."

"Dick, you need to fight your way to the control room," Barbara's voice streamed through Dick's comm link. "Hatter and Scarecrow are there, which means the Riddler isn't far away."

"You don't have to say that twice," Dick said. "Penguin's people are headed there too. Jason and I have got this."

Dick and Jason were rushing down the ship's hull, fighting off stragglers from Penguin's crew every now and then. It would be wrong of Dick to say that he wasn't enjoying this, but he was getting worried about Jason. He fought as though he was teetering on the edge of abandon, barely aware that the people he was fighting were, well, people.

"Careful, Jason. These are people too."

"Yeah, but they are also hardened criminals," Jason said, dodging a punch and driving his fist into his attacker's sternum. "If they are here- and punching us- then they deserve what's coming to them."

Dick grunted. He chalked Jason's bravado up to youthful exuberance. Bruce was more hands-off these days, probably because Dick had bristled so much under his watchful eye.

When they reached the boiler room, they found the area blanketed with a green, misty gas. The Hatter-hostages were busy taping four C4 explosives to the engines, monitored by Hatter, with Scarecrow standing guard by the doorway.

"You take Hatter, I will take Scarecrow," Dick said, charging his escrima sticks with electricity. He swung hard, hitting Scarecrow's temple. Scarecrow swayed, and then recovered, burying his syringe-tipped fingers deep into Dick's neck.

Dick's pulse quickened, his heart thumping louder and louder, obscene visions assailing his mind. His teeth gritted, he fought through the disorientation, ignoring the sight of Joker moving towards Barbara's prone form, or a Trigun-possessed Raven reigning supreme over the crumpled bodies of her teammates. He ran towards Scarecrow, leaping, his knees slamming into Scarecrow's chest like a boulder running over a tree.

"Where's Nigma, Crane?" Dick asked, his knees pinning Scarecrow to the ground.

"You will see him soon enough," Scarecrow hissed, struggling to break free. "Or the Bat will. I don't think you matter enough to warrant Nigma's attention."

Dick charged his sticks again before striking Scarecrow's neck, rendering him unconscious. "Tomayto, Tomahtoh. Doesn't matter either way."

By the time Dick turned his attention towards Jason, the Hatter was lying spread eagled on the floor, his nose busted and bloody. His hat had been ripped off, which meant that the kidnapped hostages were free from his control.

"You just armed these explosives right? That means you also know how to disarm them," Jason said, addressing one of the captives.

"Yeah," the man said, still disoriented from Hatter's mind control. "I work in GCPD's bomb disposal unit. Give me a second."

The man observed the bomb for a few seconds, and then sighed, shaking his head. "This is too advanced. It's locked with an encrypted cipher."

"Nigma's handiwork, most likely," Dick said, grimacing. He turned on his comms link, connecting with Barbara. "Oracle, we need to evacuate the ship immediately."

Barbara sighed. "On it."

Dick shepherded the hostages out of the boiler room, before lifting the unconscious Scarecrow up on his shoulders. "Jason, you carry the Hatter out of here, yeah?"

Jason groaned, but complied. "I better get more combat lessons out of this, Grayson."

"Let's focus on surviving Titanic 2 out here, and we will talk about it."

Bruce leapt backwards, lining the floor beneath him with exploding gel. As Bane charged at him, Bruce detonated the gel, and the floor gave way, sinking Bane with it. "That should keep him busy for a while."

"That's quite clever of you, caped crusader. But tell me, what will you do about this?"

Bruce turned around, spotting Riddler in the balcony, standing over an unconscious Penguin. He was holding a detonator in his hand; he pressed the button without a second thought.

Explosions sounded from deep within the hull, and the ship shook, its floors shaking as water flooded in, pushing the ship deeper into the water.

Gritting his teeth, Bruce fired his batclaw at the balcony, zipping straight up to the Riddler, who simply stood by, a manic gleam shining in his eyes. "Why do this, Nigma? This isn't your MO."

"Well, my old riddles weren't cutting it anymore, were they? You were bored, and the clown had all your attention. I have your attention now, don't I? Thanks to this bit of brilliant advertising."

Bruce stared at Nigma, his mind warring, egging to retaliate, to punch the living daylights out of the frail genius. However, the more he looked at Riddler, the more he realized that there was something off about him: his skin looked wrinkled and worn down, and his hair was light, thinning near the forehead.

"You are sick, aren't you?"

"Yes, yes. Six months left to live, they said. So I went to the Bahamas, then to Amsterdam and then came back to Gotham to tick off the top of my bucket list. Aren't we having fun?"

Bruce grunted in response, clocking Nigma in the jaw with enough force to knock three of his teeth out. As he handcuffed the Riddler and Penguin, he attached the batclaw to their feet, shooting their bodies through the skyroof and onto the main hull.

The ship was tilted to the right, turning more ever so slightly as water continued to pour in. "This is Batman calling JLA dispatch," Bruce talked into his comms link. "I need some hands on deck here, we have a sinking ship with at least a hundred people on board."

Anxiety spread from his chest to head; he took deep breaths as he waited for Dick and Jason to resurface. Thankfully, they made it through to the main deck after a few minutes.

By the time Superman, Green Lantern and the Flash arrived on the scene, Bruce was already at the pier, waiting for the GCPD to pick up the Riddler and his cohorts.

A pang of sadness shot through Bruce's mind as he saw the ship tilt further to the right, sinking deeper into the water. The ship was older than he was, he realized. It was called the Fair Wind, when it was still in commission. It had carried immigrants from Europe to the States in the twenties and thirties. Under Penguin's watchful eye, it had been remarkably well preserved. But now it too was lost to the ravages of time.

"Can't believe the Riddler of all people had the balls to pull off something like this," Jason said, whistling lowly. "They will probably throw a rad welcome back party for him at Arkham."

"But that's the thing, Jason," Dick said. "The Riddler was never a fan of doing something...as in your face as this. I guess Barbara was right. Gotham has changed a lot since I have been gone."

Bruce nodded. Yes, Gotham was changing, but it wasn't changing for the better.

Three hours later

Bruce was standing by his usual spot on the GCPD roof, besides the Bat Signal. Gordon was late, which was unusual.

By the time he came, Bruce was already monitoring three in-progress crimes: one mugging and two car jackings. He notified Nightwing and Robin about them, knowing that they had enough firepower between them to take care of the thugs.

"How's Riddler holding up?" Bruce asked, as Gordon lit up a cigarette.

"He's seen better days, that's for sure. He was hoping that you would show up in the interrogation room."

"Right. I might swing by his cell later. My associates have already started destabilizing his criminal networks. It will take a few months, but it will be done. By the time we are done, it will be like the Riddler never existed."

Gordon stared at Bruce. "You are still on the warpath, eh?"

"Gotham is going down a dark path. These last five years, I was facing down a menagerie of deranged individuals. In a way, they represented the city's dark subconscious, like dark dreams spilling over from a sleepless mind to reality. That's changed this year. The darkness has risen to the surface, bubbling like steam from a geyser.

Are you holding Cobblepot for the night?"

"Yeah," Gordon replied. "We have to let him go though. He did own that ship, and all those thugs were under his gainful employment too. He's pissed. Probably another headache for you a few months down the line."

"Maybe. But I am working to change that. My...benefactor has worked with the state on surveillance networks. He's currently developing new tech that can build comprehensive criminal profiles. If implemented right, it will, in essence, cripple the likes of Cobblepot and Dent."

"Even the Joker?"

Bruce nodded. "That's the plan."

Gordon sighed. "I don't blame you, you know."

"Blame me for what, Gordon?"

"For what the Joker did to me and Barbara."

Bruce took a deep breath. He remembered how Barbara had been, in those first few hours after she had been shot. Frightened, like a deer maimed by a mountain lion, left for dead.

"It happened on my watch, Jim."

"And on my watch too. I know you feel especially responsible for Barbara. But she's her own woman. She did some good work, with you and the kids."

Bruce's eyes narrowed, and his jaws clacked, hardening ever so slightly. "How long have you known about this?"

"Two years. I saw her leaving for a patrol one night. It wasn't hard, putting two and two together.

I don't regret her actions. Don't you dare regret it, either."

Bruce nodded. He had never intended for things to get this far. To bring so many bodies into this war, to put others at risk. But this was a war with no end. And the casualties were piling up.

"Well, I am going to go now," Gordon said, putting out his cigarette. "Night."

Bruce nodded, running towards the roof's edge, leaping as he spread his cape. He glided down to a lower roof, his scanner already alight with news of crimes in-progress.

Two blocks and three minutes later, Bruce swooped down, landing hard on the roof of a car, attaching a small EMP charge to the roof. The charge blew, disrupting the engine, causing the car to skid to a halt. Two men stepped out of it, brandishing guns and knives.

"There's an easy way, and a hard way," Bruce said, landing on the street, his arms raised and ready. "Choose wisely."

The man closer to him clicked the safety back, and Bruce leapt, throwing a batarang right through his hand. The man screamed, dropping the gun; the other man turned tail and ran. Bruce threw another batarang at the man's feet; it landed right on his ankle, embedding deep into his tendons. The man tripped, and as he fell, the batarang lodged even deeper into his flesh.

Dick was right, Bruce realized. The war had changed him too, and perhaps, it wasn't for the better. Perhaps this is who he needed to be, to face the horrors and monsters of the future.

And he was okay with that. Better him and his soul, then the lives of his people.

He only hoped that such sacrifices were not in vain.