Author's Note: Eight years. It's taken eight years for me to finish this fanfiction. In that time I've moved to four different states in the US, changed jobs three times, changed marital status twice (yuck), and now Terry's not even Batman Beyond in the comics! However, the fanfiction IS finished. Thanks for those of you who read this at any point in its saga. I appreciate your love and support and hope the ending meets your expectations despite the very long hiatus. ~ All my best to you all, Tsuki

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I don't own any characters mentioned in this story. The rights belong to DC comics, Bob Kane, etc.

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Darkness Cannot Drive, Part 24/24 (Beyond Broken: Chapter Six)

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The world is a colorful whirlwind of chaos. Blurs of red and yellow, black and silver as Flash and Superman zip through the black mass of armed assassins. Bright flashes of green as Lantern tries to push more warriors to the side. Splatters of red as Red Hood's katana slashes through one assassin's arm, while severing a tendon in another's leg. They should be making progress, they should be finding Terry—but the halls of this building are shockingly narrow, making fighting intentionally difficult, and every new wave of black-clothed League of Assassin's members pushes them slightly away from their goal and into another labyrinthine hallway.

"This is taking too long," Jason growls. His sword swings just shy of lethal, blood splattering back across his face. "They're stalling us."

Superman blows a cool puff of air from his lips, freezing a League member's feet to the stone floor. It's something at least. He looks around. "It's misdirection. We need to know where Terry is, and fighting these guys isn't getting us there.

"Imonit!" Flash yells. She zips out of sight, pushing the ninjas out of her way in a bright blur. A few seconds later—as Jason breaks another warrior's arm—she's back. "Nosignofhim. Thisfloorisjustfilledwithmoreofthoseguys. Somanyhallways—veryfewactualrooms."

Superman pushes another League member away like he's moving aside something as light as Styrofoam and closes his eyes. He listens. "There are people below us. The floor is lead-lined though. I don't know what's down there."

"But we need to venture into the unknown," Lantern agrees. The small boy creates a container for himself, keeping the hostiles away, and a swirling green light soon becomes a large drill. Soon, as the light fades, a large hole in the floor has appeared.

"Let's do this then," Jason growls. He elbows one of the League fighters in the face and, without looking back, plunges into the dark abyss. When he lands, he does so badly—he feels something in his ankle crack and snap.

Superman floats down softly. The bastard. "You okay?"

"Fine." It's only half a lie, Jason thinks. "Can you seal up that hole so we only have to deal with the crazy ninjas from this floor?"

Once Flash and Lantern land, Superman nods and bends a nearby firedoor off of its hinges, sealing it to the ceiling with a combination of heat vision and cold breath. "That should hold it."

"Great," Jason looks around—this floor is a bit more open than the fortress-like system above. God, Terry has to be here. If he's not, they have no other clues to go on. "Should we split up to cover more ground or push on ahead?"

Superman frowns and considers. "We have enough power to make it through if we break into two teams. How about Flash and I will take the West side, you and Lantern take the East."

Jason nods. "Sounds good." Superman nods, and soon he and Flash disappear in a blur.

The sage young Green Lantern stares at Jason a moment. "You care for him deeply. Don't worry—we will find him. Just strengthen your heart."

Jason grits his teeth and feels the throbbing of his ankle as it slowly begins to heal. "It's not my heart I'm worried about." He lets out a sigh and re-sheaths his sword. "Come on. Let's go."

They turn towards the next room and head into the unknown.

.

.

The wallowing is over, he decides. There's no more time for shock or mourning—after all, he's Batman. And he needs to act like it, no matter who else (or what else) he also is.

Terry takes a deep breath and stares at where Doctor Geboren is fiddling with data on a computer screen, and then he lets out a loud hiss of pain. Geboren raises an eye and looks over at Terry's wincing face. "It's the left hand cuff," Terry explains through gritted teeth. "I injured my wrist in the fight, but I think the cuff cutting into it damaged something. It went numb a while ago, but now it feels—argh, fuck!—like it's on fire!"

Geboren snorts. "You expect me to believe that?"

Terry gasps again through a grimaced mouth. "You can believe whatever you want, but it hurts. Damn it—I hope nothing's permanently damaged. It feels—ah! Fuck!"

Terry tries not to watch Geboren's face too closely, but he can see the wheels turning. The doctor knows it could be a trick (most likely he thinks it has to be a trick), but wrists are finicky and fragile things… and the Demon's Head wouldn't want a damaged body when he takes possession of it.

Geboren finally sighs and opens a drawer. He produces a compact tranquilizer gun and walks over to Terry cautiously. "I'm going to examine you, but if you try to escape, I have enough tranquilizers here to take down a small rhinoceros. Are we clear?"

Terry nods and feels himself holding his breath as Geboren slowly unlocks the left cuff. The moment the springs click the metal open, Terry moves—he grabs the hand holding the gun and twists sharply. As both Terry and Doctor Geboren know, wrists are finicky and fragile things—Geboren's snaps loudly and he screams as the gun clatters to the floor. Terry pulls him sharply forward and cracks his skull into Geboren's own. Head-butts may not be elegant, but they can do the trick in a pinch.

Geboren sinks down to the floor—twitching slightly but mostly unconscious. Terry reaches with his free hand and finds the electric lock pick he always has hidden near his hairline at the back of his neck—that was Bruce's idea. "If you're captured, they might strip you," he had said. "But there are places they won't think to look. Even the most suspicious get over confident when their prey is bare before them. Use that over confidence."

Terry clicks open his right wrist without too much struggle, and the ankle locks come off easier than that. He is without a suit or a utility belt, dressed in what seem to be simple hospital scrubs, but Terry knows that he's not vulnerable. Not at all. After all… he's Batman.

.

.

Jason feels his newly split lip healing as breaks another League of Assassin member's arm. He wishes he had brought one of his Red Hood helmets, but there was no time to swing by a safe-house and grab one. But he's not used to guarding his face so closely and it's taking a toll—he's taken a few too many slices and hits around his head. Enough that he's feeling a little dizzy—a little less guarded. His normal reaction would just be to become more lethal: more headshots, more killing stabs. But Superman gave explicit instructions and Jason doesn't feel like going toe-to-toe with an angry Kryptonian today. Not unless he has to.

A bright green Monkey God projection with several arms picks up several League of Assassin members at once and bashes them aside. Stupid Green Lanterns, Jason thinks—all the power in the universe, but limited by their imaginations and morals. If he had a ring like that, this base would be rubble by now.

Soon, another hallway is cleared.

"How many goddamn ninjas are in this place?" Jason huffs. He wipes the blood from the side of his head and feels another wound start to knit itself back together slowly. Too slowly.

"It has become more concentrated as we have progressed," the child-like Lantern hums. "I believe we are getting close."

"Yeah, well, I don't like the way Ra's is herding us." Jason taps on the walls around them carefully. "Feels like there's another hallway on his side. I say we make a new door here, catch 'em at least a bit off guard. Think you can do that, GL?"

"Fill your mind with compassion and anything is possible," the Lantern softly replies, bringing himself into a seated hover above the ground. Jason kind of wants to punch the kid in his sage little face.

Soon, a giant green knife appears, cutting a wide square into the wall. Jason pushes hard, and the wall falls forward with a loud crash and a smoky cloud of stray building materials. It doesn't take Jason long to faintly sees bodies littering the ground of the new hallway—the smell of dust and blood muddles in the air.

"Wow, did not expect that Kai-Ro, is that you?" a familiar voice half-laughs. It's a laugh of relief and exhaustion. Terry.

"It is," the Green Lantern replies. "And another." The dust clears and Jason knows he's visible. Knows guiltily as he sees Terry's face shift first into shock and then into a warm glow and a small smile. The thrill that the happiness of Terry's face gives him is almost sinful. He wants to run over and scoop Terry in his arms, back him against the wall and kiss him silly.

Instead he gestures with his sword. "I'd normally say at this point, 'My name is Luke Skywalker and I'm here to rescue you,' but…" Jason looks around at the bodies, some barely moving with soft groans and others still, "…you seem like you're doing a pretty good job at rescuing yourself, 'Princess.'"

"What can I say? I learn from the best," Terry smirks. He picks up a stray sword from one of the unconscious assassins and tests the balance as he walks over to Jason. "And while I appreciate the help getting out of here," Terry pauses with a smirk, "call me 'princess' again and I'll kick your ass."

"Right now, you probably could," Jason admits. "But let's wait until we're clear of the murdering ninja goons to test that out, shall we?"

"That would be prudent," the young Lantern interjects. "Let us retrace our path and get out of this place hastily."

"Hold up!" Terry says, gesturing behind him with his sword. "Who's all here?"

"Us, Flash, and Supes," Jason replies, noting the raise of an eyebrow from Terry. The kid clearly hadn't expected the heavy hitters to all come out for him.

"In that case, we should double back to the lab where they were holding me. I just bolted, but there's a lot of medical equipment and data that I'd really like to destroy if we have the fire power. Ra's is trying to get a new body again and…"

"…and we want to stop that from happening like yesterday," Jason agrees. He taps his belt where he keeps the C4 and pocket detonators. "I think I can manage that."

"If so, we must act hastily," Kai-Ro says, still hovering on his glowing green platform sagely. "It would be unwise to allow Ra's al Ghul to put any further plans to hold you into action."

"I'm not going back to being a guinea pig without a fight," Terry snarls. "But agreed—let's book it."

They rush down the hallway, though dodging prone forms slows the two bats down (Kai-Ro just floats over the bodies, re-inflaming Jason's somewhat irrational wish for violence pointed at said Green Lantern). At some point, Jason makes a flippant crack about Terry's wardrobe ("Not a hospital gown with an open back? I'm slightly disappointed") and Terry snorts, but most of his heart isn't in it. They have a job to do. They reach the lab before long, and there's a small blood smear on the floor and one screen is mildly cracked where Terry explains he tried to punch it, but otherwise the room is calm and empty.

"Damn," Terry grumbles. "Geboren must have woken up and bolted."

"Who?" Jason asks, scooping the explosive pieces out of his belt.

"Ra's mad scientist. We probably have less time than we thought if he's already awake and checked in."

"No problem—I'll set these and then we can bolt. GL, can you hold the perimeter while I set this up?"

"Of course, Jason," the young voice replies calmly. He's slightly out of Jason's eye-sight, behind him, but soon a green forcefield surrounds the room. Jason grunts a thanks as he hands Terry two chargers and begins to set up another on the main computer.

He has just set the first one fully in place when the green glow around him shimmers, flickers, and falls.

"Kai-Ro? What gives?" Jason stands up and turns—and immediately a sword slides sharply under his ribs. He tries to yell, but it comes out quiet and wet as blood fills his throat. The last thing he hears before his body hits the cold floor is the hollow sound of Terry's scream.

.

.

"JASON!" Terry screams as Ra's al Ghul plunges his sword through Jason's body, dangerously close to where his heart must be. Blood splatters across the floor for a horrifically silent moment. Then Jason falls, collapses, coughs blood, his eyes seemingly unable to fight to stay open. Terry grabs the sword next to him and rushes forward. He slices at the Demon Head's decaying form, trying to keep the blow non-lethal—but it doesn't matter anyway. Ra's is faster than Terry could have imagined. Terry's sword connects only with air and soon there's a knife pressed against his throat. The decaying man's wheezing is hollow and rough in Terry's ear.

"One does not," the voice rasps, "become known as the Demon's Head, or the leader of the League of Assassins, by having no talent. I can still—cough—use speed and stealth when I see fit. You see me as a corpse. I see me as a man who, even in this dying body, incapacitated a member of the Justice League and a nearly immortal international vigilante. Now…" he presses the knife edge against Terry's skin, a small bead of blood oozing up at his throat. "…how much of a challenge do you think you'll present?"

"Well, that depends," Terry mutters. "You want to keep my body intact, right? So, I'd say that leaves me some options." Terry shifts to try and grab al Ghul's knife hand, but the old creature slices his sword against Terry's arm and kicks into the back of Terry's knee, causing him to collapse slightly. The knife at his throat pivots; now the blade is pressed against his cheek, pointed to his eye.

"It would be ideal to keep your body in healable condition, yes," Ra's wheezes, "but I have options for what 'healable' means." The Demon's Head gives a hollow laugh then pulls a communicator out of his pocket. "Doctor Geboren, your patient is—ARGH!"

The communicator clatters to the floor as a thin, Japanese sword stabs through al Ghul's shoulder from behind. Ra's grips Terry hard by the hair, pushing the knife against his cheek as he stumbles forward. There's very little blood coming from the new wound—just the smell of bone. But blood still smears the floor, so much so that that the near stumbling body of Jason almost slips as he tries to stand and ready his sword again.

"Your healing is impressive," al Ghul coughs. "I did not expect you to be able to recover from that blow. It was, after all, humanly fatal. Perhaps I was focused on the wrong body of a protégé of the Bat after all." Ra's smiles a toothy, yellowed grin. "When this is all over, I'll have to have Geboren examine your healing by taking you apart… slowly."

Jason snarls and tries to rush forward wordlessly. He brings his blade down with a slash, but even with an injured shoulder, Ra's can pivot smoothly. However, the movement causes him to loosen his grip on Terry in order to strike, giving the young Batman an opportunity to intentionally drop all his weight to the ground. Some of Terry's hair rips from his skull, but the sudden movement on Terry's part causes al Ghul to stumble, to be unguarded.

Jason strikes quickly. He stabs his sword into al Ghul's leg and the sound of the hollow bones breaking and tendons splitting fills the air. Ra's—to his credit—only hisses and doesn't yell.

For a long moment, the room is quiet, and there is only the heavy sound of Jason and Terry's breathing. Then Jason pulls out a long, twisted knife.

"Jason." Terry's voice is firm, commanding. "No."

Jason opens his mouth and winces. His voice is hoarse and his lungs potentially damaged, but he still strains to speak. "Are you serious—seriously saying I shouldn't kill him? That there's some 'good' in him? That—that—that his life is worth anything at all?" Jason wheezes, his teeth gritted. "That I should follow the Batman code because it's somehow good for me? For the world?"

"No," Terry sighs. "It's because I don't want to see any more bloodshed today. And honestly," Terry stands up slowly and glares at Ra's, "because forcing the guy who's obsessed with immortality to die slowly in cell in Belle Reve sounds more like justice to me."

Jason pauses. Then he laughs, his voice wet and hollow. "That's… that's okay then. And I guess Supes will… be less furious with… me… t—" His sword clatters. He falls. It's been too much all at once and his body can't keep up anymore.

Terry rushes forward, catching him roughly before he hits the ground. "Jason? Jay? Do you hear me? Jay?!"

At that point, there's a crash as Superman and Flash arrive on the scene. And Terry should look up, should talk to them. Should make sure Ra's al Ghul is secure and bound. But instead he just stares as Jason's eyes fade in focus and flutter closed once more.

.

.

When he opens his eyes, everything is foggy, too distant. This body has a strange far-away ache and the lights are a bright, sterile white. 'I'm in a hospital,' his brain concludes. He tries to piece everything together, but his head is still swimming. Jason tries to sit up, but he's stopped both by the IVs in his arm and a sharp "don't move" from his bedside. It's all horrible familiar, and for a horrible moment he's afraid that he's back in Spellbinder's dream. He hesitantly looks up into a crackling intensity of blue eyes.

Bruce.

But not the Bruce of Spellbinder's vision—not young and parental and, okay yeah, really hot. No, this is older Bruce, all dignity, wrinkles, and white hair. But his eyes are the same. They never change—those Batman eyes.

"You shouldn't be moving now, Jay." Something in Jason's chest tightens at the sound of Bruce's nickname for him, for all the history there. For the fact that the last time he heard the nickname, it had been from Terry—Bruce's clone, fuck it all. "You've been out for a while and, while your expedited healing has helped, your body still has a lot of damage to repair."

"Oh shut up, I'm fine." Jason sits up and pulls out the IVs impatiently. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Bruce leans back, his hands tightening on his cane. "Can't a father be worried about his son?" he asks dryly.

Jason snorts. "We haven't been that for… honestly, we were never that. Not really. You maybe were to Dick, and Tim, and Damien. But I was never really a son. And you sure as shit were never my father." Jason laughs to himself a moment and shrugs. "Which, honestly, is fine. I fucking hated my father."

A sad half-smile grows on Wayne's face but never fully reaches his eyes. There's a sadness there that speaks of both new and old hurts. They sit in silence for a moment before Jason asks, "So, speaking of complicated relationships… how's Terry?"

Bruce hesitates. "Fine, as far as I'm told. He's not speaking to me. At the moment."

"Ah," Jason pushes himself out of bed. Silently, Bruce hands him a paper bag containing a change of clothes—seemingly from one of Jason's own safe-houses. Shit, got to love the snoopiness and ever preparedness of the old Bat. As Jason quickly pulls on the well-worn jeans he mutters, "would this have anything to do with the keeping the whole 'being a clone-son-thing' from him?"

"It would," Bruce agrees. "And, if I'm being honest, I'm not entirely sure how to apologize for it."

"Yeah, 'I'm sorry I didn't tell you your whole life was basically a constructed lie and that instead you had to hear it from an insane supervillain trying to steal your body' is a bit difficult to communicate sincerely," Jason agrees, zipping up his red and black hoodie. "Besides, in my experience, words like that ring pretty empty in the Bat world." Jason looks up, trying to hide how eye contact with Bruce during this conversation makes him still feel like a little kid. "Actions are best. Speaking louder than words and all that."

"And what actions would best communicate 'I'm sorry that I didn't tell you' et cetera?" Bruce sighs with a sad smile. Jason shrugs.

"The incident told him that what he is—that who he is—isn't about what he's done. It's about you. That it's all been about you. So, you need to do something that lets him know he's his own person with his own legacy. If you can't come up with something for that, well, then the problems bigger than you thought."

Bruce nods, staring at the blank hospital walls for a moment. "Come by the cave tonight, will you? And bring Terry?"

Jason raises an eyebrow. "You want me at the cave? Like, willingly? Okay, I really am in a dream aren't I? Or are you another clone? No seriously, where is the real Bruce Wayne?"

Bruce scowls and shuffles to his feet. He's clearly not rising to the banter. Typical Batman. "Yes, I want you at the cave. You and Terry."

"Uh huh. And where is he? I'll obviously have to know that so I can pass on this information to him."

"Dick is monitoring his patrol. You'll have to ask him. I've been trying to… respect Terry's wishes and stay away."

Jason raises an eyebrow. "And you're really not a clone? Huh. Well, it's a start, old man. Good for you," He smiles and shakes his head. "Who ever said you can't teach an old bat new tricks?"

Before Bruce can answer, Jason turns and walks out the hospital room door. First order of action—ditch the hospital quietly and thus avoid problematic questions and paperwork. Second—track down Dick Grayson and ask him where he can find Terry. Although, if he knows Terry like he thinks he does, he already has a couple ideas.

.

.

Max raises an eyebrow as Terry shoots down another carrot-orange energy drink. "Didn't you just have a cup of coffee before going on patrol?"

"Sure," Terry coughs, "but I'm still not planning on going to bed for hours." He has to shout to be heard over the thumping music of the Juice Bar and, after a night of snarking at T-Gang members and keeping in touch with Dick Grayson over the comm, it hurts his throat.

"Aren't you kind of burning the candle at both ends?" Max yells back. "What's going on, Ter?"

Terry shakes his head. He can't tell Max about what happened, has actually been avoiding this conversation as much as possible. For the past week, he's actively avoided meeting her at her apartment or anywhere else where talking at any reasonable level can happen. He's just not ready yet—just like he's not ready to talk to Bruce. Besides, what would he say? After all, he understands why the old man didn't tell him but… that doesn't mean he forgives him. But it also doesn't mean he doesn't. Terry rubs the side of his head—still sore from where his hair was torn out last week—and scowls. It's easier to just ignore it for now, have Grayson talk him through patrol, dance until his entire body feels like it is going to collapse so he doesn't have to think. About being a clone. About Bruce lying to him. About Jason taking a seemingly impossibly long time to heal. Anything.

Terry pushes away from the table, ignoring Max's annoyed yell after him, and joins the throng of people on the dancefloor. It's the only place he can make sense of things right now. The flashing lights, the pulsing beat—he doesn't have any decisions to make, doesn't have anyone to talk to. He just feels and moves.

He dances until his shirt is soaked with sweat and his heart feels like it's going to beat out of his chest. He finally turns back to the table where he left Max… and stops. There's a man sitting with Max now, one with short-cropped black hair and a self-satisfied smirk plastered on his face. A very familiar self-satisfied smirk.

"Hey there, Baby Bat," the man says as Terry walks over.

"Jason!" Terry feels his eyes sting and his throat tighten slightly. "When did you wake up?"

"Earlier tonight, actually." Jason nods toward the exit. "Not to interrupt your date, but can we talk?"

Max snorts and leaps to her feet, "Oh, this is definitely not a date. I just came here to keep an eye on Terry here, so if I can hand that job off to you…" Max grabs her bag and jacket. As she passes by Terry, she leans close to his ear. "He's cute—I guess I can kind of see why you act like an idiot around him."

Max laughs and bolts toward the exit as Terry rolls his eyes. But he supposes it's true—he does act like an idiot around Jason. He stops caring about supposed-to's or consequences. Like now—as they leave the club and walk into the attached alley—he should take a moment to ask if Jason's okay, to tell him about the Justice League's clean up of al Ghul's compound, to give him a debrief on what's been going on at all. But instead he just grabs Jason by the back of his neck and pulls him into a desperate kiss. One that Jason reciprocates both immediately and equally desperately. For a moment, they're all hard angles and hands and lips and teeth. Jason kisses like he wants to devour Terry, to pull him into himself. Terry kisses like he can keep Jason in place by shear will, his arms wrapping Jason to him closely.

When they finally break, they're nearly breathless. Jason buries his face in Terry's neck, murmuring, "I was so worried about you, Ter. When you went missing."

Terry smiles in the darkness and threads his hand through Jason's short hair. "Back at you, when it took you a week to wake up."

Jason half-laughs. "Well, aren't we just a pair of worrying dorks…" He sighs and hesitates visibly for a moment. "I didn't just come here for this, although this—" he pauses for another quick kiss, softer and less frantic than before "—is nice. But I, well, I talked to Bruce. He wants us to swing by the cave." Terry feels his spine stiffen and his whole body go tense.

"I haven't really—"

"Been talking to him? I know. The cycle of Bruce assholery continues. It always does. But part of the cycle—sadly—is giving him a chance to try and make it right. You don't have to accept his attempt, but if you don't hear it, you'll just get more and more bitter and hateful. Trust me. I've done that. Several times, actually."

Terry looks up then, eyebrows raised as he processes the request. "Wait, he wants both of us there?"

"Yeah, I know. I think we should go just in case he's being controlled by Starro or something." Terry and Jason both laugh nervously for a moment, then are silent. The sound of Gotham traffic still permeates the city in the late hour and they both stand in the alley a moment, listening.

"I'll be with you," Jason promises.

Terry smirks but the expression seems sad in the fluorescent lights. "You want to protect me, Jaybird? You know you can't, right?"

"No, I can't. And you probably don't even really need it—you're the Batman after all. But," Jason kisses Terry on the side of his forehead, "that doesn't stop be from wanting to try. I'm a big fan of lost causes, in case you haven't heard."

Terry coughs out a laugh. "Okay then… let's see what the old man wants."

.

.

The cave feels like it never changes. The smells, the dim lights, the echoing sound of bats. Even with the displays and costumes and computers shifting and upgrading throughout the years, Jason always feels like there is a sort of static nature to the cave, frozen in history by Bruce's will.

The old man in question is sitting at the looming Bat-computer, Ace at his heels. Both Bruce and Ace look up as Terry and Jason make their way down the stairs. Terry is still a sweaty, tired mess, but his jaw is set and his eyes are determined. He looks so much like Bruce that it's scary, Jason realizes.

"I'm glad you could make it," Bruce says before either Jason or Terry has a chance to speak.

"Yeah, well, what else was I going to do on a Saturday night?" Terry jokes. His voice is light, but only on the surface. They're all guarded and tense.

"Dick has been keeping me updated," Bruce finally admits after a moment of painful silence. "It sounds like you're doing well out there."

"Yeah," Terry replies, again with forced lightness. "Guess so."

The silence stretches on for another series of painful breaths and Jason suddenly wishes something would blow up just so he'd have something else to focus on. Instead, Bruce tightens his grip on his cane and makes a face like he has tasted something painfully sour. Then he sighs.

"Terry, I'm very, very proud of you. And I'm sorry that I didn't tell you the truth. It wasn't because I didn't trust you—it was out of respect for your father. I didn't want you to feel as if his death and your memories of him weren't meaningful."

"I don't," Terry replies sharply. "He may not have been my father biologically, thanks to Cadmus, but he'll always be my dad. There's nothing more meaningful than that."

Bruce nods, "I agree. The same goes for you taking on the mantle of Batman. I gave you the suit before I knew anything about Cadmus' project—you earned it and you've made it your own."

"The fact that you're his clone probably only affected his choice subconsciously because, you know, he's a raging narcissist," Jason quickly snarks. It's getting way too serious for his taste.

Bruce glares at him, but Terry just cracks up laughing. It starts at first as a surprised giggle and then into a full, doubled-over laugh that he has to smother the sound of with his hand. "That," Terry finally gasps through the last throws of a chuckle, "strangely makes sense in all this." Then the young man straightens and looks at Bruce with a sigh. "Thanks, Bruce. And, well, I guess I should let you know…" his breath catches a moment, "…if I'm going to be a secret clone of someone, it could be worse. I hate that you hid it from me, but I don't hate you. I guess, I guess what I'm saying is that, if I'm kind of your clone, I guess I don't mind."

"I mind," Jason pipes up. "I mind a lot. It is twisted and disturbing, and I am creeped out by the whole thing."

Terry smirks. "Oh really? How creeped out were you a half hour ago in the alley exactly?"

Jason shrugs, a sarcastic smile blooming on his face. "Hey, I never said I wasn't able to push past that. After all, I have it on pretty good authority that I'm pretty disturbed and twisted myself."

Bruce rubs his temple and grumbles to himself, "I'm seriously doubting my plan right now."

Jason's face falls back into a serious expression as he turns to his former mentor. "And what plan is that?"

Bruce sighs and stands shakily, his grip firm on his cane as he looks over at Terry. "Terry, I'd like you to resume operating out of the cave. With my aid if you need it, but not without request. No more monitoring."

Terry's eyebrows raise slightly, his forehead pinching in confusion. "Wait, no monitoring? Like no audio, no cameras?"

"Not unless you call on me," Bruce agrees. "You're your own hero. Your own man. This is how I show you that. I'll act in the same capacity that Alfred did for me—I can do that much. I'll be in the cave by the computer, waiting if you need me to notify you of an alarm, to use the satellites, or call in the League. But I won't monitor the line anymore. I won't tell you how to be Batman. You can make those choices yourself."

"Woah, wait, hold up!" Jason steps forward, his eyes flashing in anger. "That's a great sentiment and all, but Terry just got kidnapped by the League of Assassins. They could still be after him! And, if not them, then some other group is going to try and take him out because that's what happens in this business."

"Agreed," Bruce says flatly.

"So your solution is to have him go out on the Gotham streets with absolutely no backup? I knew you were old, Bruce, but I didn't think you were senile!"

"Who said anything about no backup?" Bruce's mouth quirks into a small, half-smile as he turns to the computer and clicks several keys. An image of a sketched out costume appears on screen next to a series of weapon blueprints. "Jason, meet Red Wing. The identity is yours if you want it."

Jason's breath catches in his throat as he looks at the projection. The design is sleek—minimal but well placed armor, secret compartments down the right leg for extra batarangs, a modified utility belt. He lingers a moment on the bird logo on the chest and the style of mask. "That looks a lot like a Nightwing costume," he scoffs.

"It has some similarities," Bruce admits.

"Dick'll be pissed," Jason chuckles.

"He won't," Bruce says. "I already cleared it with him."

The cave is silent, except for the echoing fluttering of wings, once more. Finally Jason speaks, his voice tight and quiet. "You never—you've never wanted me in your city before. Why now? You know, I still don't believe in your code, Bruce."

"I don't need you to believe in it," Bruce says. "I just need you to follow it when you're in Gotham. You've shown that you can: Superman was impressed at your restraint with the League. Even though killing would have been easier, you held back."

"Yeah, but I didn't do that for you," Jason snaps.

"No, you didn't," Bruce agrees. "But who did you do it for?"

"Myself, mostly. Supes would have made my life hell. And…" Jason hesitates and looks over at Terry. And Terry hadn't wanted him to kill, he admits to himself silently. But he's not going to tell Bruce that. Not that he needs to—he can tell from Bruce's calm expression that the old man already knows. Jason snorts. "Look, I'm not going to just abandon my work as the Hood. There's a lot of cartels and gangs that are kept at bay because somebody has my number. If I stop showing up—"

"You wouldn't have to," Bruce interrupts. "You could be Red Wing in Gotham, and Red Hood as needed elsewhere."

Jason hesitates. "I wouldn't pull punches as Red Hood."

"I'm not asking you to. I'm just saying don't kill in my—" Bruce shakes his head, stopping himself. "Don't kill in Gotham. Not while you're with Batman. I'm not asking you to respect me; I'm asking you to respect the legacy. And to respect Terry."

Jason's head feels like it's spinning as he turns to Terry. "Do you—do you want me here? I wouldn't do this for Bruce, but…"

"Shut up," Terry smirks. "Of course I want you here." Terry steps forward and laces his fingers with Jason's, seemingly uncaring if Bruce sees. "We work well together. We train well together. We fight well together… and other things. Plus," he winks, "we'll drive Bruce nuts."

Jason swallows. He looks around the cave a moment, wondering to himself if it's that easy. If Gotham, if this familiar darkness of the cave, can be home again. He tightens his grip on Terry's hand a moment, as if convincing himself that everything is real. He feels strangely light and warm as Terry's hand tightens back.

"Let me see those specs on the suit again," Jason mutters. He can see Terry smiling a wide grin out of the corner of his eye. They both know he's not going anywhere.

"Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that.
Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that."

Martin Luther King, Jr.