Butler Boy - Chapter 26 (Patreon)

I woke up about ready to chew my own arm off.

Thankfully, I had a candy bar tucked away for emergencies. Well, no. I had several. And a few bags of peanuts. Those last few were for when mom was paying too-close attention for me to indulge my teenage metabolism.

But behind closed doors, I could eat raw chocolate for breakfast.

Then a series of rapid knocks sounded on the door and AJ stormed in.

She took one look at me, went red, and turned around-

-only to run into the door.

“P-put some clothes on!” She shouted, reflexively.

I sighed, my face heating up from where I was knelt over my bag and still chewing on the candy. Working to swallow it on a dry mouth, I sighed. “You were the one who barged in here. At least I'm wearing boxers, you know? Half the time at home I'm not-”

“Don't tell me that stuff!” AJ waved at me.

“Fine, fine,” I waved her off and ignored my own hot face, grabbing the clean pair of jeans I had stashed and slipping into them. “There, pants... and a shirt.”

The easiest way to 'win' an encounter like this was to pretend you weren't bothered, after all. It was difficult to do so, on occasion, but being in a mixed-sex scout troop for years at this point. I'd still blush, but I had the act down pat.

“Good, and yeah – I'm sorry I just pfft, are you serious right now?” AJ began, then started hunching as she fought off a fit of laughter.

I looked down at the bright yellow emblem on my shirt. “Hey, he's my favorite hero. My parents know that. I dressed up as him for Halloween... two or three times, actually.”

AJ snickered and shook her head. “Ugh, I dunno if Bruce will love it or hate it. Kinda... forgot there was merch out there, you know?”

Not anything official, of course. There were dozens of companies that claimed they had permission or agreements with Batman or Superman, but the latter denied any and all such agreements. Big Blue didn't have any problem with people using his image, but requested a percentage of the sales – effectively what he would receive in royalties – be donated to worthwhile charities.

The former, Batman, could not be reached for comment.

Having officially-licensed merch kind of undercut the whole concept of an illusive and terrifying crime fighter, after all.

Strangely enough, the only currently active 'top-tier' hero who had an active merchandising agreement was Wonder Woman. She'd actually pioneered the 'field,' so to speak, back in the seventies. Most of her income had the same destination as Superman's, though. Ultimately, it found its way to various charities for battered women, women's self-defense training, and clinics to help with reproductive health.

I inhaled deeply, releasing a jaw-cracking yawn as I rolled my neck and shoulders. “Anyway, what'd you want? Ugh... eight thirty. On the Monday of spring break. I'm disgusted with myself.”

AJ snorted as I wandered into the en-suite and began brushing my teeth, thankfully stopping at the doorway and leaning up against it as I did so. “Bruce wanted to talk. Your parents are still out of it, but your plane leaves a little after noon, so...”

I spat into the sink.

“Right, right... I can sleep on the plane anyway, and I'm still starving,” I swirled some water in my mouth and spat again. “First real night heroing and I already feel like death warmed over.”

“Second thoughts?” AJ asked, smirking.

I scratched at my chin and yawned hugely one more time. “Not really. Alfred have some kind of breakfast ready?”

“He ordered out,” AJ snickered and I blinked, turning to follow her and-

My eyes caught on the window and the scene beyond. Police were still everywhere, though not as many cars as you'd think. The reason for that was the centuries-old stone bridge over the river a few hundred feet down the main drive. Or, well, it had been there. The initial 'earthquake' we'd felt had been someone taking an RPG to the thing.

“How were they planning to get away?” I asked, jerking my head at the front of the manor.

“There's a road that goes into the forest, passes by the lodge, and eventually connects with a service road to a state highway. It's a windy mess through the foothills, but barely anyone knows about it, so they'd probably be able to get away mostly-clean,” AJ explained quietly, stepping up to my side. “Looks like they had a plane waiting at some old airport to get them to Bermuda or something. Leaving the country.”

I hummed, acknowledging the explanation.

Left unsaid was why they'd destroyed the bridge, but I could figure that out. It wasn't just to slow down pursuers, though that was likely part of it. The other side was that it would slow down the medical response if ambulances were delayed crossing the river. Even once the helicopters got in the air, that created a bottleneck for the response that took longer than it should have.

They'd turned Wayne Manor into their own little death trap.

“Let me leave a note so my parents don't freak,” I told her, breaking away from the window and gathering the few things I liked to keep in my pockets at all times. I'd have to get my multi-tool back from Algie at some point. As it was, I was relying on one of my regular non-magic ones.

“Nice stack of shiny paper,” AJ commented as I paused in moving my wallet.

I clicked my tongue and shoved the lot into a pocket.

“Not going to tell me?” She pressed lightly, stepping into pace with my stride.

“Like you don't already know,” I replied.

She snorted and shrugged. “I can guess. Tickets, though?”

I rolled my eyes, knowing whatever came out of my mouth would go straight into Batman's ear. “Tell Bruce to take you to Chuck E. Cheese sometime. It'll be easier than me explaining it.”

She gave me a quizzical look and nodded, recognizing that I wasn't going to be forthcoming with the details. “Still... that's a lot of them, isn't it? You get something for each one?”

“Last night was... eventful,” I informed her with a dry tone.

Just at a glance, I'd gotten a few more bronze tickets, several silver ones, a handful of gold, and what I thought was a pair of platinum tickets. I'd be particularly interested in the details on those two, since... I don't think I'd ever actually earned one up until now? I remember earning a diamond for... what was it? Confounding destiny... telling Bruce about Dick and Jason initially to change their destinies, right. Diamond tickets were for doing something that affected the lives of thousands of people, so that probably fit.

But Platinum was affecting the lives of hundreds.

And... I think I'd only helped about sixteen people last night through direct medical aid.

“Something wrong?” AJ asked, clearly watching my face as I left the note on the door of the room I'd been staying in and turned to walk with her towards the Batcave's hidden entrance. A secondary one, of course, since the primary one had various people walking around it at the moment.

“Just thinking,” I waved her inquiry off, determined not to give her anything furth-

“Sooo~” She drew the word out into a distractingly long hum. “If I slipped one of those tickets...”

“I'm the only one who can use them,” I sighed.

She clicked her tongue.

We made it ten feet before she thought up a new question. “Get anything cool? I mean, besides whatever you used to knock out the lights last night and those dogs. Those were yours right?”

Alfred had probably told her as much, but I nodded anyway. “Yeah. Yin and Yang, the divine dogs. They're... spirit animals that hide in my shadow when I don't have jobs for them. Or I just let them run around the woods with the dire wolf I got.”

Shadow was interesting enough to distract her, but not consequential enough to matter revealing. That was generally in line with my stance towards the nascent Bat-family as a whole. Be open enough to avert suspicion, but don't reveal enough to compromise my own powers and abilities.

Besides, if I handed Bruce everything he wanted, he'd cross the line twice and become more sus that I was being too open and inviting, using that to hide an ulterior motive or scheme of some kind.

“Dire wolf?” AJ perked up. “Can you hide it in your shadow too? Did you bring it?”

“Her, and no,” I shook my head. “Shadow is a perfectly normal example of an extinct animal from the pleistocene and halocene. Nothing supernatural about her... well, except for the fact that I can give her orders and ride her around and she won't try to eat me. That kind of thing.”

“That is... unfairly wizard,” AJ sighed. “I have to talk Bruce into going to Colorado on vacation now, because there is no way I'm missing out on riding a giant wolf. Anything you can show me now, though?”

I frowned momentarily, then smirked.

“I have a really creepy magic tattoo that blinks and twists at me,” I replied trying to keep my face straight – and failing.

AJ blinked. “Shut up. You do not.”

“Do, too,” I smirked. “Right on my ass. Hand to The Presence.”

“The pres-wha, wait, no,” AJ shook herself, getting her questions in order. “You do not have a magic tattoo on your arse. No way.”

“It helps me accumulate skills and expertise at a super-humanly fast speed,” I bragged, then frowned performatively. “Which almost makes up for occasionally being reminded that it exists. Creepy-ass thing. Literally.”

AJ stared at me as we walked into a supply room, only briefly turning her head around to make sure we weren't being observed. “You... have a creepy magic tattoo. On your arse. That makes you better at learning shite.”

“I am one-hundred percent willing to pull my pants down far enough to let you see it, this is in no way a bluff,” I informed her, stone-faced and grim.

“Okay, show.” AJ crossed her arms as she issued her demand.

I shrugged, turned away from her and dropped trou. Not completely, of course. But enough that I could clearly hear the sudden and disgusted gasp when enough of my buttock was showing.

“Oh god... okay-okay-okay! Pull them up! Eww... it blinked at me,” AJ groaned, long and nasty. “You-ugh, I'm glad I haven't eaten yet or I'd throw up. Your tattoo moves. And has teeth. And an eye.”

I snorted, zipping my fly back up and nodding. “Yep.”

“I am going to have nightmares about that,” AJ gagged slightly. “Is all the shite you get... no, the dogs were cool. Ugh.”

“I mean, one of my personal favorites has been the music player that came loaded with songs from what I think are a different reality,” I offered, removing said item from my pocket and holding it up.

AJ fixed her eyes on that. “Okay... play literally anything to take my mind off what I just saw.”

I flipped open the song-select interface and paused.

Then I grinned.

“...somehow, I'm even more scared than when the tattoo was still out,” AJ stated upon seeing my expression.

…

“Batman! Nanananana-Batman!”

Bruce allowed his head to slide into his hand.

“It really is quite catchy, Master Bruce,” Alfred spoke up over the breakfast arrangement he'd been laying out. “Hard rock and heavy metal have never particularly been... 'my jam,' as I think you Americans say it, but this is quite nice.”

Who is the manliest man? (Batman!) With the buns of steel? (Batman!) Who could choke hold a bear? (Batman!) Who never skips leg-day? (Batman!) Who always pays their taxes (NOT Batman!)

Bruce hit the mute button on the elevator's audio feed and sighed. He would have to review it later, he knew. “I'll have to make sure Arden knows he's not to listen to that song anywhere someone can hear him. If at all possible, I'd like the rumor of my alternate identity to die instead of being resurrected by an – admittedly – catchy song.”

Alfred chuckled under his breath before clearing his throat harshly. “Still, it does lend credence to the apparent provenance of these... powers the boy exhibits and their seeming randomness.”

“A pair of magic dogs he can summon and dismiss, the ability to shatter lights at a distance, expert proficiency with long-arms as well as medical techniques, artistic skill, a music player with impossible songs, and... that tattoo.” Bruce felt his lip curl. The camera monitoring the cave's entry point hadn't gotten a closeup, a fact which – for once – he was thankful of.

What he'd seen was enough.

“Speaking of, I’ll need to give that boy a stern word before he leaves,” Alfred muttered, frowning. “A gentleman does not bare their backside to a lady.”

Bruce smothered a grin. The sight of AJ and Arden silently rocking out in the elevator as it finished its descent, despite all the complications of the song they were enjoying, still brought a smile to his face. It was proof, at the very least, that both of them still had enough innocence in them to be amused by something so... irreverent.

Killing the feed – no need to make it too obvious to Arden he was watching – the elevator opened up to permit the two entrance.

“You... McDonald's?” Arden asked, blinking in shock as the last notes of the song cut out, turning with a look of astonished betrayal to the butler. “Alfred?”

“While we do have backup stove tops and ovens available, I'm afraid the bulk of the ingredients will need to be thrown out due to smoke damage and renewed posthaste,” Alfred sighed, gesturing to the spread of greasy breakfast food. “Master Bruce was kind enough to order delivery for the emergency response teams still on location, the various attending authorities, and you and your family.”

The older man cleared his throat and Bruce allowed himself a smile as the butler refused to meet anyone's gazes. “Just this once, I am forced to condone this... food-adjacent substance in the manor.”

This time it was Bruce who, smothering a smile, cleared his throat into a fist.

He would ponder the idea that - in another world - the concept of ‘Batman’ was not a terrifying vigilante, but instead some sort of entertainment icon, later.

…

It was essentially an AAR – an after-action report. Bruce was not exactly happy that my siblings had set fire to his home, but that was the cost of doing business sometimes. More importantly, no one had died, or was likely to suffer permanent debilitating injury from the entire debacle. Otherwise, Bruce coolly and efficiently ran us through every action we took, asked us to justify it, and then either dismantled our rationale or gave a nod of agreement. Rarely, he offered a single word of praise.

So I spent my morning getting my current hero-performance rated by The Batman while eating McDonalds in the Batcave.

That was... pretty awesome, no lie.

“Overall, I'd say you performed well, especially for your respective training levels, your lack of previous experience coordinating your actions, and the ad hoc nature of the conflict,” Bruce stated, taking a bite of an egg mcmuffin, chewing, and swallowing before continuing. “That said, though, I'd like you – especially you, Arden, given I have no way to exercise real oversight over you – to both develop your skills further before engaging in further activities like last night.”

AJ nodded her agreement easily around a mouthful of fast-food pancakes.

“I'll try my best, but I can't promise anything,” I said, earning an intense look from the older man, which made me sigh. “Okay, look... one of the other things I've gotten is... well, supernatural luck.”

The bat-family blinked, interesting looks crossing their faces.

“Supernatural... luck?” Bruce asked, his brows furrowed.

My own face screwed up a bit. “So... honest question. If I hadn't mentioned Helena Bertinelli...?”

Bruce's eyes widened slightly and I knew I'd hit home. “She arrived in town a few days ago. I sent her a last-minute invitation because you mentioned her when we talked two nights ago and wanted to get her measure. I see.”

AJ and Alfred stared blankly.

“My luck... tends to put me in situations... where I can make a difference,” I explained haltingly. “From what little experience I have with it so far, it doesn't cause stuff to happen-”

“-just to happen around you,” Bruce nodded slowly. “The hit would likely have taken place regardless of whether she was in attendance here at the manor or if she'd been invited to a gathering with the crime families. But your presence precipitated a series of events that caused the attack to collide with the location you currently occupied.”

“...pretty much, yeah,” I nodded, looking away a bit sheepishly. “I thought it'd worked it out of its system with the whole Condiment King, thing, but...”

“I see,” Bruce repeated himself. “I'll take that into account, though in the future I'd like to be informed of any such other... esoteric effects you acquire.”

“More than fair,” I nodded with a sigh. “And... sorry, for not telling you. This was... kind of-”

“No, it wasn't your fault,” Bruce shook his head. “And the degree to which you intervened proves that you're appropriately remorseful for withholding information. Still... this should serve as an important reminder that the choices you make – especially as a hero – impact the lives of others in ways which you may not understand.”

“Yes sir,” I nodded, meeting his gaze seriously.

“But, to your credit, you seem to have understood that so far,” Bruce nodded approvingly. “And – even if you are not truly at fault for the injuries caused, those being the domain of the criminals who made their own decisions – you did take responsibility for your own presence at the incident.”

I nodded again, taking another bite of my food silently.

“So... you're a walking trouble magnet, huh?” AJ asked with a smirk. At a guess, purposefully injecting some levity into the scene.

“Pretty much,” I shrugged with a snort, then turned back to Bruce. “If I get anything else that... modifies probability or has an area of effect like my luck does, I'll make sure to inform you if I come to visit or if you're ever in Thomasville.”

Bruce frowned slightly and I knew that wasn't precisely what he'd been looking for, but it was what I was willing to give.

Without due cause, he didn't push further though.

Instead, removing a bundle of papers and sliding them towards me on the table. Giving my hands a quick wipe, I let my eyes scroll through them.

“I expedited the tests,” Bruce explained, leaning back as Alfred shifted uncomfortably. “You said you might be able to do something instead of waiting for more... conventional treatment?”

I hummed as I read through the full set of results. They'd done more than just that specific test, probably at Bruce's request. But their thoroughness gave me a good idea of what I was working with. Alfred was – barring MacGregor's Syndrome – in remarkably good health for someone of his age.

So... magic or STIM?

On the one hand, magic was – paradoxically – easier to explain. By simply not explaining it. It was magic, after all. Wizards ain't gotta explain shit. On the other hand, the magic I currently knew used scripture to cast. And... that would raise questions. Questions which, it turned out, I now had answers to after meeting God.

But the explanations that would ensue would be very... complicated.

On the other hand, I had STIM. It, too, was essentially magic. And Bruce, at least, wouldn't abuse the knowledge of it. But it had the benefit of being relatively easy to explain. Moreover, I could be sure that it would work. Alfred's case was by far and away the most complicated and difficult thing I'd ever healed with magic over the short time I'd had it.

Jamie Richards, I knew, had come back with a clean bill of health after substantial testing. So if STIM could heal cancer then it could probably take on MacGregor's.

“This isn't a condition for helping Alfred,” I prefaced my coming request, looking up to Bruce's focused gaze. “But if you would... I'd like you to keep all of the records and files you generate regarding me in an air-gapped secondary storage area.”

Bruce crossed his arms, his face going flat. “Someone breaks into the cave?”

“Usually Clayface, but given that Ra's figures out who you are... the Court also usually manage to get one of their assassins in, once you – in either of your identities – start thwarting their plans,” I kind of shrugged awkwardly. “I'd especially like for him not to know about this.”

“Clayface?” Bruce asked, leaning back in his chair. “That's a villain that hasn't appeared yet. Do you have their real name?”

“In some worlds, it was Basil Karlo,” Alfred jerked as if I'd struck him, his eyes going wide while AJ remained clueless. “But seeing as how he's been dead for twenty years... the other names most closely associated with the identity are Matt Hagen, Preston Payne, and Sondra Fuller – though she tends to go by Lady Clay instead of Clayface.”

Bruce nodded. “I'll make sure to have general dummy records fabricated for such an event, but yours will be kept separate. You have my word.”

I took a deep breath and nodded, standing. “You have a few syringes on-hand?”

It only took a few moments after that, and a quick explanation. The idea that I could flood my body with stem cells and do so to anyone with whom I exchanged a sufficient amount of bodily fluids was at least pseudo-scientifically sound and definitely not the weirdest thing to happen in Gotham this week.

“I'll want to give you and AJ a shot, too,” I informed Bruce, who frowned. “I can tell you're limping from last night, sir. And I think AJ has astigmatism as well as some manner of vitamin or mineral deficiency.”

“AJ's been proscribed a general multivitamin after that showed up in her blood work,” Bruce replied, turning to look-

The girl froze.

Bruce's frown sharpened. “AJ.”

“Pill, chewable, or gummie?” I asked Bruce as I swabbed Alfred's arm and injected my blood into him smoothly.

“Pill,” Bruce replied, his gaze sharp as he watched Alfred stiffen and blink rapidly. “You okay, Alfred?”

“I-um, yes,” Alfred cleared his throat once, then coughed into a handkerchief a few times wetly, then taking a deep breath as his lungs and airway fully cleared. “My word that feels... I had no idea it had gotten that bad.”

“It probably also fixed any arthritis or rheumatism you were developing,” I commented. “And likely restored lung, cardiac, and pulmonary function that you'd lost from your smoking habit. If you take any medications regularly, I'd see about a reassessment before continuing, as they might not be necessary any longer.”

I paused momentarily, then added a bit more. “Also, your hair will likely grow back in. I'm not sure if you'll get color back, but between the hormone adjustment from the cellular repair... I'd put good money on it growing back in.”

Alfred hopped off the chair he'd been sitting in, quietly marveling at his own body as he moved about.

“There aren't any side effects?” Bruce asked, grimacing as he – and I – realized that it was a bit too late for doubts.

“If Alfred hasn't already noticed, he'll soon realize that he's very hungry,” I nodded at the man as he jerked slightly and his stomach growled on cue, bringing a flush to his ears. “But, other than needing to refuel from expending his energy repairing his body, no. Possibly a bit of increased tiredness for a day or so. I've used it... probably one too many times in the last few days and I'm feeling the burn, but as long as he takes it easy he should be fine.”

“Yikes, no wonder you don't want anyone to know about it,” AJ muttered, looking Alfred over as the man visibly fought the urge to grab a chunk of greasy fast food and begin consuming it. “It's like you gave Alfie a full tune-up or made him ten years younger or something.”

Bruce seemed to solve that problem by handing him a sausage biscuit with a teasingly-serious expression.

“I didn't make him younger, just reset his system,” I waved her off. “The genetic degradation which causes aging isn't fixed, just all – or most – of the knock-on effects it causes. Muscular and skeletal breakdown, the damage caused by chronic conditions, the accumulated toxic buildup, and the general wear and tear of everyday life are all purged. So Alfred's not younger... but he will probably live another decade or so longer than he would have if I hadn't done that.”

“Brill,” AJ replied, looking at the next needle I was already filling. “So... that's me?”

“After you explain why you haven't been taking your pills,” Bruce commented, finally taking his eyes off Alfred and looking at his ward.

AJ winced and twisted away from him.

“You don't like the pills?” I asked her. “Would gummies be better? I've been taking them for years. No shame in looking like a kid, they're basically candy.”

Her face heated, but she nodded, turning back to Bruce. “Pills... when you're a street kid, you learn to watch out for them. Either... well, either you're the kind of kid who wants them or the kind who doesn't.”

Bruce nodded slowly, stepping forward and putting a hand on AJ's shoulder. “Alright, but in the future, let me know if you don't like something and we'll arrange an alternative, okay? If you just refuse to take medicine and don't tell me, you can get seriously ill and I won't be able to help.”

AJ nodded.

She took her shot like a champ and I was gratified to see that I'd been correct. Her eyesight was clearer than it had been beforehand. That was probably a sign of malnutrition rather than something congenital given it fixed itself.

Bruce was a bit harder to pin down, but eventually acquiesced.

Honestly, I needed to figure out how to send a card to Leslie Thompkins. The woman was more than a saint for getting him to sit still long enough to sew up some of the wounds I glimpsed when he took off his shirt to take the needle.

I paused as I was about to throw away the medical waste, closing my hand around the length of the syringes and applying a careful application of pyrokinesis to the remaining traces of my blood even as I spoke up about something that had come to mind to distract the group.

It wasn't like I didn't trust Bruce, but... he was sometimes too curious for other people's good.

“A last note, Alfred,” I started, turning back to them as I erased the evidence. “MacGregor's Syndrome is a heritable condition. So, even if the odds are rather slim, you might want to make your daughter aware that she should get tested.”

Bruce and AJ's heads snapped towards the older man in surprise.

Alfred blinked at me owlishly. “My daughter? Young man, I think you're mistaken. I don't have any children of my own, I'm afraid.”

It was my turn to be surprised. Julia Pennyworth was... well, not the most common character, but she had an established history. I wasn't all that familiar with her first run, back in the eighties, but she'd been a highlight of the newer comics run and a reminder that Batman wasn't necessarily the fulcrum upon which all lives in Gotham turned. Plus, it was just neat to see family drama outside of the bat-family for once.

“Really?” I asked, frowning at him. “You... um, I think I remember something about you being married, though?”

“Oh, well – yes, I was,” Alfred stumbled, a bit frazzled by the sudden emergence of his past. “Or, I suppose, by technicality – I still am. Marie and I, we never formally divorced, that is, but we've been estranged for... a decade and a half, now? At least that. I went to visit her during one of Master Bruce's stints at boarding school and-”

Abruptly, the man stopped talking.

I worked the saliva into my mouth to speak up, but-

“That... it was quite the row we had when I told her I'd be returning to the manor,” he muttered to himself, rubbing at his chin with a dazed look. “She'd been happy to see me, though, thought I was going to stay after their passing, but I had to...”

There was a silent pause, interrupted only by the flapping of bat wings.

“She... would have told me, wouldn't she?” Alfred asked, his voice carrying a plaintive whine as he looked nowhere in particular.

“I... could be wrong,” I whispered, rubbing at one of my arms nervously... anxiously.

“Master Bruce?” Alfred asked, turning to the man he'd raised like a son.

Bruce – his steps easy and light after my treatment – made his way over to the compact supercomputer and its many screens.

The worst part, I think... was that Alfred thanked me when all was said and done.

…

No, actually. The worst part was being rewarded for accidentally telling one of the most steadfastly loyal individuals on this planet that he was a deadbeat dad.

That sucked ass.

It sucked so much ass that I might just see if that fucking ticket might be flammable, just to know for sure.

In the end, that had been the limit of any productive conversation as Bruce and Alfred – deservedly – cut things off there to pursue the topic of Julia in greater detail. AJ had taken me on a little tour of the Batcave before our time had run out and I'd written out a few more important things for Bruce to watch out for that were likely coming up on the horizon.

Bane, in particular.

But also Amanda Fucking Waller.

Cadmus... god, Cadmus.

I sketched him the initial Justice League roster, complete with variable members that depended on the timeline. For instance, I'd actually looked up Victor Stone and found he was a year younger than Algernon and playing football on a high school team in Detroit.

There was a nonzero chance that – depending on certain events – my brother might end up playing the future Cyborg over the summer.

Which was pretty fucking wild, let me tell you.

I'd left a note about Victor's upcoming potential accident. I didn't know if Bruce could reasonably interfere or if he could arrange something in time, but as valuable as Cyborg was... I'd already made my choice in saving Dick Grayson.

In the end, I'd left a couple of pages of random potential future events in no particular order on the keyboard of the Batcomputer and called it a day. Or morning. Or whatever.

“Thank you for leaving a note, Arden, but that doesn't stop me from worrying,” Mom sighed as she held me close.

“Sorry,” I nodded against her, the car rumbling along towards the airport. “I just wanted to take a walk and clear my head since we're going to be in the plane for a few hours.”

“And say goodbye to AJ,” Addie smirked tiredly, dark circles under her eyes barely covered by a hasty coat of makeup.

“And give AJ Astrid's phone number,” I responded without missing a beat. “And vice-versa.”

Mom and Dad exchanged a look I couldn't decipher.

“Well, it's going to be good to be home,” Dad sighed, luxuriating in the plush seats. “Put all this... mess behind us. Not that I won't be fielding calls from the Commissioner for months, probably.”

“We won't have to come back and give statements, will we?” Algie frowned momentarily. “Cause... like, no offense to the people who live here, but... “

“I thought it was all rumors and gossip,” I couldn't resist tweaking my brother's nose.

Algie took a deep breath. “I was wrong, okay squirt? I'd really like to not ever have to come back to Gotham again, if it's all the same.”

“We'll give statements by phone, if it comes to that,” Dad shook his head. “They have plenty of other witnesses and the entire thing should be a slam dunk without our involvement. This is the kind of thing that usually doesn't go to trial, as far as I know.”

There was a general release of tension throughout the car at my father's assessment.

Gotham had well and truly lost its charm for all of us, it seemed.

Normally, I'd take the moment to make some dramatic oath about never stepping foot in the city again, but... I wasn't lucky-no. I was too lucky for that to come to pass. Something would drag me back, eventually. Maybe not for a few months, or even a year or two, but one day I'd have to sigh and return to the city itself or simply stop by the manor to see AJ or offer some futuristic insight on a case Bruce was pursuing. Hopefully the purpose of the visit wouldn't be a medical emergency, but that wasn't out of the question either.

My mother tightened her arm around my shoulders as we pulled up to the plane.

Then the door opened and we got a look at the welcoming committee.

Oh what fresh hell is this...

A group of ten goons were arranged in two neat rows. One set in front, one set visibly watching their backs and heavily armed. The only reason I was able to keep my immediate and injurious response leashed was because the ones with guns were turned away from us and had their firearms at rest. More men were nearby a set of five cars about a hundred feet away. Several of them smoking, but all of them alert and their heads on a swivel.

The only real source of comfort was – to my great surprise and secret amusement – a great bulldog of a man with an entire squad of police in heavy riot gear. The cops had positioned themselves directly between us and the mafia crowd.

“You the Villins?” Harvey Bullock asked, before nodding at all of us. “Yeah, recognize ya' from the manor last night. I'm Detective Bullock. The Comish n' Wayne sent me ta' make sure ya' got on yer plane alright. Good thing, too.”

Right... interfere with a mafia hit squad, consequences happen. Thanks for the warning, Bruce.

“We just wanna have a word,” the leader of the not-visibly-armed mafia men stated, holding up his hands with a slight smile. “Then we leave, lickety-split and all that. Promise.”

“If that word is a threat-” My father stated, taking a half-step forward in front of us, his hand flexing like he wanted his service pistol.

Lead Thug emphasized his open hands again, waving them slightly to remind us he didn't have a gun in them. “No threats. Not from the families a' Gotham, anyway. My boss – my uncle – is still breathin' taday cause a what your family – specially that boy a' yours – did.”

Oh, it's worse than threats. Great.

“Marco's sayin' we owe ya' one,” another one of the... diplomatic team of mafia lieutenants explained, earning him a stink eye from the lead man. “A big one. Seein' as how tha man of tha' house wears blue, though, that probably don't mean ya' want it.”

“But our honor compels us ta' make tha offer,” 'Marco' stated, wresting control of the conversation back with a mild glare. “So, iffn' ya want... say, those two little shits what did your boy dirty taken care of-”

“Don't.”

It took me a second to realize I'd stepped forward and spoke at the same time as my father, so loud was the blood pumping in my ears. Forget being tired. If these fucks thought they were going to-

My father's hand closed on my shoulder and he looked at me before taking a breath.

If anything, the mafia crowd seems torn between amusement and bemusement.

“We don't want your favors,” my father stated, looking around at all of them even as my mother tried to pull me back behind him.

Marco shrugged. “Don't mean we still don't owe ya' one. If ya don't want that, though... we'll have ta' think a sumthin.”

I looked at my dad, whose face was twisted like he'd just tasted something awful. “That's not necessary. We didn't do what we did for repayment.”

“Don't matter nun,” a larger, thicker man who'd been silent grunted, his voice thick and nasally. “You do us a good turn, we leave it at that? Word gets out we welch on our debts. Makes us look...”

“Ungrateful,” Marco finished as the large man – even larger than bullock and built with more muscle than fat – seemed to grasp for the right word. “Like we'll leave someone hanging when they need us. And that ain't a good image.”

That declaration hung in the air for a moment and I could see my father floundering, looking to Bullock who seemed to be of the same opinion on the whole thing as he was.

Well, there's that at least. Seems like I've got the honest-but-jackass version of Bullock, not the Dark Knight-verse corrupt cop one. What'shisname really did Bullock dirty with that one.

They'd turned an asshole with his own code of justice into a man who stole from street-side food vendors with children to feed. They'd made him the kind of man who wouldn't give a second look to someone having an 'accident' in-

I perked up.

Now there's an idea.

I tugged on my father's sleeve, bringing him down a bit as he struggled not to take his eyes off the mafia crowd.

Then I whispered my suggestion into his ear.

My dad blinked, then snorted as he looked at me with a small grin and nodded as he straightened under the amused looks of the mafia men.

“They all make it to trial,” my father spoke up, his voice steady as the others focused in on him. “And serve their sentences. No one has an accident in the holding cells or while they're serving their time. No hits on their friends or families. You let the law do its job. That's the favor.”

Marco's face might as well have been carved from stone as he stared my father down, the rest of the men making expressions of irritation or disgust, one even spitting off to the side.

“That your boy's idea?” The leader asked, his gaze sliding to me.

His eyes weren't anywhere near as hard as Bruce Wayne's.

My father's arm swept in front of me, but I nodded and spoke up. I'd probably get a talking to later for this. “I put some of them back together, saved at least one of their lives.”

“Hmph,” Marco grunted, nodding slowly as he seemed to understand my point.. “Alright, then. I can't promise nuthin' about the big guy, he's dug his own grave. But I'll pass the word along to the right ears and we'll call it even.”

And with that, they turned and walked away, the tension easing from the runway.

“Scum,” Harvey Bullock muttered, only after they'd left easy hearing range. “Well, Chief Villin... wish you'd had a better time, but maybe you folks had best get on your plane before something else happens.”

“We plan to,” Mom sighed explosively. “Honestly, this city!”

“Right there with ya, ma'am,” Bullock chuckled, still watching the retreating convoy of mafioso vehicles. “Right there with you.”

Thankfully, blessedly, nothing else happened. No more last-minute ambushes, no more supervillains, no more Gotham Madness.

With that settled, we went home.

~~~

So... about that whole poor impulse control...

The good news is that this officially completes the Gotham Arc. Arden and his family are officially out of the Hell That Is Gotham and they're going home.

The bad news - for me - is that this chapter is almost seven thousand words long and written in a fever dream rush over the course of a day and a half when I couldn't get the next chapter of Mind Games working.

So, yep, now that this is out of my system I have officially managed to get the ball rolling on the next Mind Games. The plan is to finish that and then move on to another chapter of The Hand We're Dealt, and finally do the big chapter of Industrious.

Thank you for your patience and support, and I hope this will help keep people tied over until I get MG updated.