Issue 9: "Rebuild"

“Paper, Rock, Scissors” appears on Hey, Do You Know Me, copyright 2003 by Mike Curb Music. Recorded by Lisa Brokop. “A Change in Me” originally from the Beauty and the Beast Soundtrack, Music by Allan Menken, Lyrics by Tim Rice. Copyright renewed 2005 by Walt Disney Records.

It wasn’t much of a skirmish. Hungry, desperate, newly homeless people attacking long-time street people, battling for a spot to sleep—nobody really had the strength to fight long, or the morale to do so, once faced with two costumed vigilantes. As the two groups fell back, exhausted, Nightwing frowned. There were no easy solutions. 80 per cent of the city was currently uninhabitable. State and Federal funds had been allocated, but considering the devastation suffered across the country and around the world, it was taking time. And private donations were fewer and less generous than might have otherwise been expected. Most people took care of their own, first. All of that meant that many people were sleeping out of doors, in tents if they were lucky, with blankets and bedrolls, if they weren’t. And if they were really unfortunate, they stretched out on whatever bit of ground they could claim with no bedding material to speak of.

Under those conditions, Dick realized, it was small wonder that people jealously guarded the little they had. The Wayne foundation was putting up temporary housing and prefab homes as quickly as it could, but that wouldn’t help people tonight. On the other hand…

He turned to Batman. “How many tents do we have at the manor?”

Batman froze. “Four. It wouldn’t be enough.” He paused, thinking. “On the other hand, the barn might hold forty. The stables would fit another twenty… some of these people already have tents. And the caretaker’s cottage, the poolhouse…”

“If nothing else,” Nightwing added, excitement growing, “they’d have more room to spread out. And even if we don’t have a lot of tents, with fifteen bedrooms at the main house, there’ve got to be pillows and blankets.”

“Alfred will figure something out,” Batman nodded, smiling slightly. “But getting them there…” He frowned. “Even if we had the transportation, with the roads—”

“What roads?”

“Exactly.”

The boat that they’d taken to get into the city was currently tied at Miller Pier. In a pinch, it could take two more passengers.

“Subway—” Dick started to say.

Batman interrupted. “Not up and running yet.”

“—Tunnels,” Dick finished. “It’ll take a couple of hours to walk it, but there’s a terminus at the railway yards in Burnley. I know there’s a bit of track that runs just behind the manor grounds—”

“Old commuter train route,” Batman was nodding, thinking out loud. “The Gotham Historical Society has kept the track from falling into disrepair. It’s a good idea. It should work.” A brief smile flickered, and then vanished.

“You know there are older people in that crowd… and children. And everyone’s been on short rations for days. I don’t know…”

Dick sighed. “We can’t force anyone. But if it’s a choice between fighting for a few square feet of turf here, or getting yards of it up in Bristol… Batman, even if thirty people come with us, that’s thirty fewer who’ll need a spot in the park.”

Batman nodded again. “I’ll lead them through the tunnels. You take the boat back and be ready at the rail yards. And tell Alfred to expect company.”

Dick clapped him on the shoulder, and turned to go.

“Nightwing? Make sure that Alfred camouflages the cave access to the tunnels. With a crowd this size, I might not notice if someone leaves the group to go exploring.”

As the train ground to a halt before a set of gates in the fence that marked the northern boundary of the Wayne estate, Batman’s jaw dropped. The meadow had been sectioned off. Gore-Tex canopies mounted on iron poles protected rubber ground sheets. Bedding seemed to be whatever had been on hand, as some of these awnings hung over air mattresses, others sleeping bags, quilts, or even, Bruce noted, an inflatable life-raft, its bright orange fabric illuminated by the light of a strategically placed lantern. The canopies were arranged in neat rows, with wide grassy aisles between them. As the train’s passengers stepped warily through the gate, Alfred was on-hand, calmly assigning sleeping space.

Batman disembarked and waited until all the other Gothamites had done the same, before he approached the entrance to the meadow. He passed through the gate in time to hear Alfred say “Three of you, then? Very good, Sir. The canopy designated as ‘4A’ to your left, fourth row over. Depending on available space you may be called upon to take on one additional person. A light repast will be provided shortly,” he glanced up to see Batman standing before him, “and Master Bruce and I will do our best to see that you are all served as efficiently as possible.” His lips twitched.

“Master Batman, do you also require accommodation this… well it is morning, is it not?” It was true. The time was now two fifteen in the a.m.

Batman coloured slightly. “No, I have arrangements,” he managed. “You’ve…” he shook his head, “outdone yourself.”

“I shall certainly relay your compliments to the master,” Alfred said mildly, maintaining the charade for the small group remaining, who had not yet received their shelter allocations. “If you’ll excuse me one moment, Sir?”

Alfred smiled at the quartet at the head of the line. “Four of you? Canopy 9B, to your right and 9 rows over.”

In a lower tone of voice, he added, “I would presume that Master Nightwing will be returning that set of railway cars?”

“Naturally.”

Alfred finished the canopy assignments as though his duties routinely included finding temporary sleeping accommodations for hundreds of people in the wee hours of the morning. He then turned back to Batman.

“I believe that were you to return to the train, you might request of Master Nightwing to drive you so far as the next set of gates over. Although you may find it a bit of a tight squeeze, I trust that you recall a spot from which it would be possible to access the cave?”

How could he possibly forget? Alfred was referring to a small opening perhaps three feet wide, through which a twelve-year-old boy had exited the subterranean lair more than once during Bruce’s impromptu training exercises. An adult could pass through with slightly more difficulty. He nodded as he drew Alfred toward the train, away from the crowd.

Nightwing disembarked and waved as he sprinted toward the other end of the train, where an engine facing in the opposite direction awaited.

“Don’t drive off, yet,” Batman warned.

The younger man made a circle of thumb and forefinger as he dashed past.

“I,” Bruce cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean to put all of this on your—”

“Sir!” Alfred’s tone was severe. “Not another word.”

Batman swallowed.

“After all the demands that have been placed upon you and upon me in the defence of this city in recent weeks, for you to go this far,” uncharacteristically, he placed a hand on his surrogate son’s shoulder, “may well be your single most heroic deed to date.” He smiled at the taller man’s stunned expression.

“Truthfully, Sir,” he added, “I can only recall one man who behaved in a similar fashion.” At Batman’s inquiring glance, the older man’s eyes softened. “It’s hardly surprising that you be unfamiliar with the events, Sir. They transpired some years before your birth. Following the earthquake of 1966, a significant portion of Gotham proper was left without shelter. Those fortunate enough to retain roofs over their heads were almost universally bereft of water or power. People with the means to do so left the city until basic services could be restored. The suburbs, fortunately, suffered fewer privations. Many households in Bristol and Somerset opened their doors to take in one or two families apiece. One man,” he continued seriously, “accommodated no fewer than three hundred people on his land for a period of ten days.” He paused a beat. “Your father, Sir.”

“My—”

“I daresay that he too would have approved of your actions, this day. Now then, Sir. Do not keep Master Nightwing waiting any longer. I shall be expecting you upstairs to assist me with breakfast once you’ve freshened up. Both of you,” he added firmly, but with a twinkle in his eye.

The smell of simmering stew woke Dick first. He groaned as he stretched the kinks out of his muscles.

Immediately, Alfred placed a bowl down in front of him. “My apologies, Master Dick. I fear I’m no longer as spry as I once was, else you should have awakened in more comfortable surroundings. Eat up, Sir.”

Dick raised his spoon obediently. “You need me to help you with lunch?” He asked, as he plunged the utensil into the bowl.

“Actually, Sir, that won’t be necessary. Collins Catering has arrived on the premises and set up operations in the caretakers’ cottage. Following today’s lunch, which I have prepared, but which they will serve, they shall be attending to the cooking for our new guests."

“That should be a break for you,” Dick grinned as Bruce began to stir.

“Indeed, Sir.” Alfred headed back to the range to ladle another serving of stew into a bowl.

The section of the cave that served as a gymnasium had been the first area that Bruce had restored following his battle with Kanto. The computers would be back up and running by the end of the week.

When Dick descended into the cave a few minutes later, he found Bruce, already in exercise gear, executing a Gojushiho kata. He watched for a few moments as his surrogate father worked through the motions of the karate pattern dance, increasing both the speed and the complexity of the moves. Bruce’s eyes were shut in concentration. He seemed oblivious to the younger man’s presence.

Dick waited for an opportunity, and when one presented itself, he somersaulted lightly onto the mat. He pulled up into a handstand, meaning to use his legs to sweep Bruce’s out from under him.

Without pause, as though he and Dick had rehearsed the motions beforehand, Bruce leapt back to avoid the manoeuvre, and then surged forward to seize hold of Dick’s ankle.

Grinning, Dick kicked out with his other foot, knocking away Bruce’s hand before it could close on the appendage. He flipped back onto his feet and settled into a combat stance.

From that point onward, the elegant choreography of the kata rapidly degenerated into a freestyle sparring match.

“You’ve,” Bruce grunted as he landed on his back on the mat, “picked up a few new techniques.”

Dick saw the blow coming an instant before it would have connected, dodged, and feinted for Bruce’s eyes. Bruce wasn’t fooled. He blocked the high kick that followed, twisted, and flipped the younger man over his shoulder.

Dick slapped the ground as he landed, and then sprang up in a single, fluid motion. “Donna’s taught me some things.”

“Apparently.”

Dick grinned. “Since you’re pretending not to want to know, I’ve got an interview set up in a little over five months. Ms. Green figures it’ll be about that long until things settle down enough for them to look at hiring new people. By the way, I take back what I said before about you helping me. The impression I got from the conversation was that if she hires me, it’ll be in spite of my relationship with you. Did you do something to make her hate you?”

Bruce dodged, so that the next blow glanced off of his shoulder. “I met her.”

Dick laughed. “Excuse me?”

“I met her at a society event,” Bruce elaborated. “I was… acting the way Bruce Wayne is expected to act at society events. She was less-than-impressed to find me three sheets to the wind.”

“And she still gave me the interview?”

Bruce reached for a towel. “I’m done,” he said, as he stepped away from the mat. “For what it’s worth,” he added, “I’ve done what I can to correct that initial impression, although my options have been… limited.”

“Meaning you couldn’t say ‘I was acting like an ass so nobody would connect me with Batman, and pretending to be drunk was just part of the act’, right?”

“In essence.” Bruce shrugged. “You should do fine,” he said lightly. “Just convince her you’re nothing like me.”

“That’s not going to be easy,” Dick admitted. “See, I’m nothing like that idiot you pretend to be, but,” he felt his face grow hot, “well, let’s just say there’s more of you in me than I ever realized. The real you, I mean. Enough that I didn’t think there was much of me in me.”

Bruce pursed his lips. “I… see.”

“No offence, Bruce,” he hastened to say. “I mean there’s nothing wrong with being you, if you’re you, but I’m not.” Was he even making sense?

Oddly, Bruce seemed to understand. “Agreed.” Without rancour. A moment’s hesitation, and then, “You’re… better than I am.”

“Excuse me?”

Bruce was nodding. “When Darkseid attacked. You saw what was happening, just like I did; only you figured out how to stop it.”

“Yeah. Too bad we didn’t.”

“You figured out the right way, though.”

“Bruce.” Dick held up a hand. “I hate to say this, but it doesn’t take a genius to realize that a unified team stands a better chance than a bunch of individuals.”

“Maybe not,” Bruce said. “But you realized it. And wherever that particular thought originated, it didn’t come from me.”

Dick shook his head. “I realize it’s not your standard MO, Bruce, but I think it would have hit you eventually.”

“Under the circumstances, I’m not sure we had ‘eventually’.”

“Well, yeah. But still, I lead a team. It was just sort of natural to call them in when I realized that I couldn’t do it alone.”

“Exactly,” Bruce agreed. “You realized.”

Dick paused. “Can I ask you something?”

“About why, if I acknowledge the benefits of teamwork, I declined to join the Justice League.”

It wasn’t a question. Dick nodded. “Pretty much, yeah.”

“Teams are built on trust. I know Clark. As for the others…”

“So, get to know them.” Dick shrugged. “You throw so many dinner parties for people you don’t know or even like, in order to keep up appearances. Would it be so terrible to throw one and just be yourself?”

Bruce ignored the suggestion. “They don’t need me in the League, at any rate. They’re forming an alliance to combat otherworldly threats. Look at the membership roster, Dick. An alien who’s nearly invulnerable to conventional weaponry, who can fire heat beams from his eyes, an immortal under Divine protection, a… space cowboy with a near-omnipotent ring, the king of an underwater nation, a speedster, a shape-shifter… Dick, these people can save the world. I… couldn’t even save my city.”

“Neither could Superman,” Dick reminded him. “Luthor got Metropolis declared an ‘open city’. Bet that stung. Anyway, you’re missing the point: not one of them could save their own territories until they joined forces.”

“Look me in the eye, Dick, and tell me that they couldn’t have routed Darkseid without me.”

“Not as quickly,” Dick said flatly. “Sorry, but word gets around. Bruce—you’re the one who cooked up the winning strategy. Look, I lead a team. Sometimes, we don’t all have to be out there. Sometimes, Speedy and Starfire can handle things themselves. Sometimes, Raven and I do just fine. Sometimes, it’s all of us, yes, but—”

“Has there ever been a time when you and you alone were able to do something that the others could not?”

Dick thought for a moment. “Not really,” he said, feigning dejection. “Well, I mean, unless you count stalling some brainwashed team-mates until Raven could break through their programming—always tricky when one of them can fire off star-bolts, by the way.” He turned around, not daring to see how his words were affecting Bruce. “Or,” he continued, “performing rescue breathing on Speedy, seeing as nobody else on the team knew how. Then, there was the time Deathstroke managed to nail everyone but me and I had to get the others out of danger.”

He sighed. “Sometimes, I think the main problem that metahumans have—and it’s not insurmountable by any stretch—is that they tend to rely on their abilities more than it’s healthy for them to do. I mean, when it comes to run-of-the-mill criminals, Superman’s biggest problem is figuring out which thug to take down first. I’ve seen those tendencies from Wally and the girls, too. Roy brazens it out, tries to pretend that he can scragg the hostiles without working up a sweat, but when he thinks no one’s watching, he’s practising his archery like a man possessed. See, he knows, just like I do, that if we’re going to pull our respective weights on the team, then we have to be at the top of our form. It just,” he colored slightly, remembering an altercation that had precipitated his taking a leave of absence from the team, “took me a while to catch on to the fact that any time he was pretending he didn’t need to train… Well, the operative word was ‘pretending’. He puts on a pretty good act is all.” He grimaced. “You’d think I’d be used to that, wouldn’t you? Considering.”

“You’re not comparing me to…”

“Nope. You’re a lot more stubborn. The annoying thing is, when people listen to you… things usually work out.”

“I give orders,” Bruce said flatly. “That doesn’t make me a leader.” In a rare display of affection, he squeezed Dick’s shoulder. “I’ve seen leadership.”

Dick warmed to the compliment, but he wasn’t about to let himself get sidetracked. “Bruce? If you found out that there was some little-known fighting style that you hadn’t learned, and you’d have to go to some ashram in Tibet to study it, would you?”

“That’s different.”

“Why? Because it’s physical? OK, suppose Sherlock Holmes was real and alive today. Would you go to Baker Street to learn from him?” He glanced over his shoulder. “You know you would, Bruce. In a New York minute.”

“Why is this so important to you?” Bruce demanded. “I’m not disputing that teamwork is one of your strengths, but it doesn’t happen to be one of mine.”

“Yeah? Well, when I started training, martial arts weren’t exactly in my skill-set, the way I remember it. Neither were escrima—batons were something I used to keep my balance on the tightrope, not knock an opponent off his feet. And you weren’t born with seventeen black belts and a cave filled with high-tech toys. If your main reason for not wanting to be part of a team is lack of experience, I’m not buying it. And if you’re trying to tell me that you don’t have anything to contribute, I need to know who you think you’re kidding.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“Fine. When was the last time you slept? And passing out over porridge a couple of hours ago doesn’t count.”

Silence.

“Every night since I’ve been back, you’ve sent me up to bed, and you’ve stayed down in the cave. Sometimes you’re fixing things up, sometimes you’re working on a laptop—say the word and I can get someone at S.T.A.R. Labs to replace the Crays, by the way.”

“Not necessary. They’re intact, it’s just a question of clearing away the debris.”

“No problem. I’ll help you with that, later.” He smiled, then sobered. “That’s my point. You can handle the city under normal circumstances. But what happened recently was not normal. You’re spreading yourself too thin, and it’s starting to show.”

“Is that why you’re still here?”

Dick ignored the anger sparking in his mentor’s voice. “Pretty much, yeah. And,” as he saw Bruce open his mouth to interrupt, “no, let me finish. If there was a serial killer loose in Atlantis, and Aquaman’s people were stumped, if he came to you, would you assume he couldn’t manage his city? If Superman couldn’t find a paper trail to link Lexcorp with Intergang, and he asked you to take a look, would you just tell him to investigate as Clark Kent? I know you, Bruce. You might grumble about how you ought to be dealing with the Triads smuggling endangered species parts into the US and using Gotham Harbour as their gateway, but you’d do it. So why do you see asking them for backup as… as some sort of weakness?”

Silence

He rolled his eyes. “It’s not like you’d think the less of anyone for asking you for help—sheesh! When I left New York, you were practically begging me to let you help. Seriously, what was that about—pay my hotel bill and give me a motorcycle?”

Bruce turned around. “For four days, I had no idea where you were. I was… concerned.”

“Why?” Dick demanded. “You didn’t think I could manage a few days out on my own?”

Bruce spun back to face him. “Hardly. You’ve been handling yourself in combat since you were twelve. You have more street smarts than I did at your age, and a collar-record to rival most seasoned cops. Don’t you think I know that?”

“Then…?”

“You were also eighteen years old in a strange city, and I had no way of knowing that you were safe.”

The words hit him with a force that bordered on the physical. “Well, maybe if you hadn’t pushed me away, I wouldn’t have struck out on my own.”

“Don’t you think I know that, too?”

He advanced a step. “Bruce.”

“I wanted you out of harm's way. That’s why I retired Robin in the first place. Imagine my reaction, several weeks later, when I saw a WNYX special report on New York’s newest team of heroes. My first instinct was to go barrelling down to Hudson and—”

“I would have fought you. The team would have fought you.”

“I realize that. Also, I watched the full report.” He smiled. “You were clearly in your element. And… apart from your comment to Bethany Snow—”

Dick flushed. “I’m sorry you saw that. I didn’t think you would have.”

“Don’t apologize. I did do my utmost to… distance you,” Bruce remarked. “Your reaction to Snow’s attempt at an interview told me that I had succeeded. It was… less gratifying than I’d expected, I’ll admit.” He drew a deep breath, and continued.

“You handled yourself well on that footage. Better than you had on patrol with me in a long time. I…” he stopped. “The events of the past year…” His voice trailed off again.

Dick grinned. “They happened, okay? I’m not thrilled about them but it seems to me that, a long time ago, someone told me not to dwell on past mistakes. Can we just say I was an overconfident jerk and you were…” He broke off with a frown. It was one thing to insult someone in the heat of the moment…

Bruce shook his head. “You weren’t.” He sighed. “When you were growing up, I taught you time and again to analyse the situation, think for yourself, and arrive at your own conclusions.” His lips twitched. “Imagine my… chagrin, when you did, in fact, analyse the situation, think for yourself, and arrive at your own conclusions—conclusions which differed sharply from my own.”

A brief answering smile warmed the younger man’s face. “So, you’re really okay with my leaving school.”

“I’d be lying if I told you that I was pleased about it, but if you’re old enough to get a senator indicted in absentia, I suppose you might be old enough to choose your own career path.”

“And if I told you I wanted to work as a croupier in ‘Vegas?”

“Don’t push it.” It was a growl, but there was little heat behind it.

The smile widened. “Good to know you’re not going to totally leave me to my own devices.” He had to laugh at Bruce’s expression. “I don’t mind having a safety net,” he explained. “I just want it far enough away that I can ignore it unless I need it.” He clapped Bruce on the shoulder. “I’m gonna hit the showers. I’ll see you upstairs.”

Bruce nodded. “I’ll call Clark tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll tell him I’ve reconsidered.”

Dick’s jaw seemed to have come unhinged. “Y-you will? I mean,” he said with greater assurance, “you will.”

Bruce met his gaze squarely. “It’s no sign of weakness,” he said softly, “to employ a safety net.”

“Nope.” Dick picked up his towel. As he sauntered off in the direction of the shower, he couldn’t resist saying, “I guess you can teach an old dog new—”

Dick threw himself to one side, caught the medicine ball, spun, straightened, and whipped it back at Bruce. Bruce dodged the heavy leather sphere, and launched himself at the younger man. Dick grabbed his arm and flipped him neatly over one shoulder. Bruce pulled him down after him. For the first time in over a year, twin shouts of laughter rang out in the cave, echoing through the subterranean tunnels.