The Last Avenger - God_of_Springonions - Batman (2024)

Chapter 1: What If Ultron Won

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We've seen this before, a universe in the final days of destruction. But this particular story... this, this one breaks my heart.

The end of the world began with one man's dream.

I see a suit of armor around the world.

He saw a world of peace. With the Mind Stone, Tony Stark created Ultron. But Ultron only saw one path to peace.

The elimination of all life.

From Puppet-to-Puppet Master, Ultron required one thing. An organic body to call his own, one that fused the powers of man, machine, and mind into one. In your universe, the Avengers stole the Cradle and used it to create the hero, Vision. But in this universe, Ultron got his wish.

With the infinite power of the Mind Stone, Ultron began to lay waste to the planet.

And Indiana, cursed to live through it all, watched her family die and the universe destroyed. Too stubborn to die a third time, she went to Eternity and wished for a chance to start over. Indiana woke up in a world she had only seen in comic books...

Chapter 2: The Other-Place

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I cried until the light dies. I screamed until all sound fades. I howled into my pillow. Give them back! But the earth stayed silent. Soon I was silent too. I fell back into the mattress. My eyes closed.

I didn't want to wake... but I do.

I was alone, something I was never meant to be. The Space Stone gave me a connection to that other place and the people in. I could feel the others when I wanted to – the ebb and flow of them in the universe around me.

Until, of course, I couldn't.

Now I preferred the solitude. If I was alone, I didn't need to make choices that would affect anyone other than myself. Fix the damn door or not, eat or not, sleep or not – dream or not.

I tried to dream as little as possible, but I don't really have a say in that matter.

I reached for the other side of the bed, but I was cold. My fingers reached out, seeking Steve's warmth but only finding the rough cotton cover of that mattress.

He's gone.

They are all gone.

I was heart hurt. Alone. In some other place. I should've been scared. But I wasn't. The Avengers are gone. Nothing else matters. Memories stabbed at my brain. Us in the tower. The party. The hammer. Ultron. Steve said something to me. Just one world. Right before he died.

I couldn't hear it then. I can now.

Live.

I fell back on the bed, my heart hollow. Empty. My body was heavy. Weak. Maybe I would fade away... yet I didn't.

Live.

My throat tightened. Tears ran. The last thing he did was save me. He asked for one thing.

Live.

I didn't want to. But I got to.

Live.

"Wallace!" The voice was loud and cheerful, wrenching me from my memories. "Jane Wallace, you'll be late for work."

Living in Crime Alley (great name I know) had its benefits. The apartments were small and not highly organized, making it easy to live under an assumed name. I do have documents I forged though, so I don't attract unwanted attention.

What I should have accounted for was the attention of the neighbors, the Georgiyevna's, they lived next door. They took me under their wing – as much as they could with me keeping my distance. Can you blame me? – the last neighbor I had turn out to be a HYDRA agent. And I was still grieving, in my own way, and it helped if I told myself I didn't want knew ties, new friends.

I dragged myself out of bed and across my tiny apartment. It wasn't fancy enough to have rooms, but I had made some makeshift dividers. One of the things growing up on the run prepared a person for was austerity.

It's littered with objects from my universe. Cap's shield, Tony's suit, Thor's hammer, Clint's bow and arrow, Nat's Widow Bite bracelets, Bruce's research on gamma radiation. And boxes which I haven't checked yet. Things that remined me of home.

At Eternity I wished for a chance to start over, but the monkeys paw gives as much as it takes, and I woke up in Gotham City. It's only been a month and it's still hard to comprehend I'm in an entirely other universe.

"Jane Wallace, are you still alive in there?" Yelena asked.

Yelena was a spitfire, never took sh*t from anyone, she spoke in a mild Russian accent. Actually, she sounded a bit scary, especially when she was on the phone or when her mum came for a visit. When I first met her, I reckoned she had a touch of the Natasha's about her.

I was not mistaken. She felt deeply for the people she cared about, always doing her best for everyone, but also having to make hard decisions.

She also made a mean fudge. Told me I could have the recipe 'over my dead body'.

"Aye, Yelena," I said opening the door.

I got dressed and we walked to work together. I could see sunshine on the glass and every time the doors slide open I could a whiff of life outside – Gotham in summer. Just perfect. Underneath that baked summer sent of hot garbage, wet pennies, and pee you can kind of smell some fresh air.

Already sweating.

Everything's perfect.

"Hey, did you hear Batman solved the Moroni Case last night?"

"Ah dinnae care, really."

"You are strange woman, Jane Wallace."

It was the standard chat we had each morning. She did most the talking, I just smiled and waved. Of course, I knew a lot more than I let on. Like that fact Bruce Wayne is the Batman. And Dick Grayson is Nightwing.

I had this plan, that could very well get me compromised, but if I ever met Bruce, I was going to become the bane of his existence. My ideas ranged from slashing the Batmobiles wheels to starting a conspiracy account- including, but not limited to "the butts match". I might've technically been pushing 40, but my sense of humor was the only thing that remained intact from my old life. Not my fault that Batman's ridiculously easy to mock.

I had this theory, kind of like the 5 Stages of Grief, but for Batman. The 6 Stages of Batman.

1. You're a civilian. Batman is a myth and a meme.
2. You're a brand-new amateur rookie superhero. Batman is totally a myth, guys, right? This is just hazing the new guy. Lol. I'm too smart for this.
3. You're a rank-and-file part time hero. You know better than to go to Gotham, but you won't say why out loud.
4. You're an established superhero. Batman is a founding member of the Justice League and probably a vampire.
5. You're a League reservist. Batman is a ninja Sherlock Holmes CIA Hacktivist and also the thing that lives in your nightmares.
6. You're a front-line Justice League member. Batman is a single dad who gives dad advice and makes dad jokes and keeps trying to dad at you.

Yep, this was the world I was living in now. But here the Justice League didn't exist or hadn't assembled yet.

We walked in silence the rest of the way, until we when our separate ways. Yelena worked at a café from 9-5 a in the city, and I worked in the I.T. department at Wayne Enterprises. Once, I sort vengeance on those who took my life. But now, my life as a weapon is over.

Chapter 3: My Life as a Weapon

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Kiss me once, then kiss me twice
Then kiss me once again
It's been a long, long time

That song seemed to haunt me as it played over the speaker. The air inside the diner was cool, the AC protecting us from the sweltering night-time heat. I scanned the area for possible exits, security cameras, and hidden weapons on the regulars as I pretended to read the newspaper. Looking over my shoulder was second nature.

The old fashion diner had a black and white checker-ed floor, and red cushioned stools.

It kind of reminded me of S.H.I.E.L.D.s Barbershop Headquarters.

The tables and booths were all topped with silver napkin dispensers and salt and pepper shakers. Neon signs hung on the walls along with record cover like Michael Jackson, Queen, The Beetles, Elton John, and Kiss.

Yelena's shift was almost over, then I'd be free to go home and sleep like the dead. It was Gotham, I wasn't about to let her walk home alone, and besides there was just something special about diner food.

"He saved my life once," Yelena said, looking over my shoulder at the blurry picture of Batman in the paper. "You can eat him with a spoon."

"Aye, ah ken he was quite something," I said, letting a bit of Scots into my voice.

A bell dinged in the background as an order was ready to be taken out, but Yelena ignored and slid into the opposite of my booth. "Everything alright English?"

"Scottish," I corrected. My birth father was Scottish. After HYDRA took my memories, I had unknowingly used his name for almost a decade until Tony jogged my memory a bit. Now I used it again, it felt like a safety net I could fall back into when things got hard, or a mask I could wear until I figured somethings out. Indiana had died with the Avengers. "And Ah'm fine, Yelena, if ye dinnae count work."

"Boys at I.T. giving you a hard time?"

I rolled my eyes. "Na more than usual. It's just... Ah cuid be daein' more, ya know?"

Yelena smile and sighed. "I had an audition today, uptown. Took three trains, got two bars into,Is you Is Or Is You Ain't. They gave me the hook. I guess I ain't." She shook her head. "We all got to pay our dues, even if it takes a while. You got talent. It's just a matter of time before Broadway calls."

"Ah can't carry a tune."

"Doesn't matter when you got legs like yours."

I smiled a bit at that. The bell at the door rang as two customers came in. I recognised them instantly. Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson. I laughed a little to myself, they must have come here as Batman and Robin because there was a notice behind the counter.

Notice: Batman
Please leave supervillains at the door.

It reminded of me of something Tony told me: how they left Loki cuffed to his brother's hammer outside the shawarma joint after the Battle of New York. A cop had even written him up with a fine for not paying for parking. I was sort of sorry I missed seeing the prick like that (though I could relate to Loki on some level. We had both been used by our fathers and others for their personal gain), unfortunately for me though, I was a little preoccupied with my first encounter with Death.

Before, I'd flirted with Death like a drunk at a bar, walked that razors within a hair's breathe.

Until I fell off.

But even then, Death didn't stick around.

Dick must've been in town and dragged Bruce down here. They took the two farthest seats from the door at the counter. Yelena smiled at me and wiggled her eyebrows when she caught me staring. I was starring, but not for the reason she thought.

"This is supposed to be a BLT? Where's the girl?" one of the regulars asked rather loudly. He looked over his shoulder and noticed Yelena. "Oh, I'm sorry. Do you not work here anymore?"

Yelena huffed and walked over. "Da, sir. How can I help?"

"You do know the difference between real eggs and powdered ones, right?" he asked.

"Believe it or not."

I could see Bruce and Dick watching now, and I shook my head at them.

The regular arsehole carried on. "I did three weeks in a P.O.W. camp in Afghanistan. The Taliban fed us better than this."

He was a small man, shorter than me, wider too, he was around fifty and he was soft all over, even soft in his face. A softness I could beat if I had to. I Knew soldiers - some of them good friend, enemies, estranged allies - Steve Rogers, the Winter Soldier, and Frank Castle. I was raised as a soldier. This man had never gone hungry a day in his life, let alone gone to war.

He handed Yelena the plate of eggs. "Next time, don't get smart with me sweetheart. Your brains aren't your best feature," he said and slapped her on the ass as she turned away.

I waited until Yelena had disappeared into the kitchen before, I got up and approached him. I laid one hand on the table over his fork. And for my next trick. "Ah ken ye'r not happy with yer meal."

"You work here?" he asked.

"Unfortunately, no," I said, pressing the fork into his side in a way that neither Dick or Bruce could see. He grunted in pain. "Just so we're clear, this is pressed into yer brachial artery. It may be dull, but I'm determined – keep smiling – Once you start to bleed, you'll lose consciousness in fifteen seconds. You'll die in ninety unless someone comes to your aid. Now, given your recent behaviour, how likely do you think that is to happen? To prevent this not entirely unfortunate event from occurring, I suggest you find a new place to eat. Do we understand each other?"

"Yeah," he groaned.

"One more thing, tip generously." I pulled the fork away and stood by the counter as he quickly pulled several fifty-dollar bills and then left. I nodded at Bruce and Dick. "Gentlemen."

It's a little juvenile, I admit – but I've wanted to do that for a month. Now I'm going home and I'm going to sleep like the dead.

Chapter 4: Into the Ring

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We took a cab home. Of course, if I really wanted to do cheap I'd take the damn train. But like I said – it's Gotham in May an while I might be an Avenger... it's not like I have super-powers. And Yelena gets the jitters on the subway.

I paid the cabbie when he dropped us off. Every now and then I noticed things about this world that where the same as back home. Like the graffiti on the wall. A circle with two arrows sticking out of it. Clint called it Vagabond Code. Hobo graffiti. It was an old Carnie thing. Clint used to do it when he was a kid in the circus. Mark up the town with these little signs, let folks coming after him know what's up.

They'd been popping up over the block for the last week or so. Something was going to happen, and I didn't know what it was. But shady people are warning other shady folks to get out of town if they don't like the heat... because after, the cops are going to start tearing things up.

We lived on the top floor of a big old building that is basically falling apart these days. The rents aren't too bad yet and nobody tends to interfere with your business because most folks out here have other stuff on their minds—

But Yelena kept her head down as we stepped over waste and trash that littered the dark alleyway and steered away from the aluminum cans or anything that could make a noise. Shards of broken glass, cigarette buds, even a few bullet casings were scattered over the cracked pavement. The alleyways in Gotham were usually avoided if you could help it. Dark shapes tended to linger in the shadows, praying on women with shiny purses and pearl necklaces.

And to think all of Batman's trauma started because of a Antonio Bandaris film.

Turning the corner, I heard a shout in Russian.

Uh-oh.

Yelena stayed behind me as we rounded to corner. I didn't scare so easy.

Ahh. Eviction day.

When Ivan, the landlord, and his tracksuit mafia take possession of all the stuff inside someone's apartment... and take great joy in dropping it on the curb.

The lady from down the hall, Simone, stood on the street, one kid in her arms, the other tugging at her hand as Ivan towered over them. He stood at least 6'5. His beefy fists dawned with chunky gold rings. With his tracksuit, burly shoulders, dark greasy moustache and crooked teeth, he might as well have been the image that came up under 'Big Ugly Gang Leader' on Google.

Simone was giving him and earful.

"Back off," he growled in a thick Russian accent. "I keel you, okey, bro?"

"Yo! Hey," I shouted. That got his attention. At least he didn't have his gun out yet. "Ivan, ya think maybe you cannae threaten to K-I-L-L anyone around their wee ones?"

"Bro back off, bro, this not concern you," he told me.

"He's kicking us out, Jane," Simone said.

"Is good, bro. She not pay new rent. She gone," Ivan explained.

"Triple!" Simone exclaimed. "You're tripling our rent!"

Ivan gave me a grin and waved some papers in my face. "Bro, don't matter, bro. She is in lease she signed. So pay or goodbye."

"Hang on, hang on." I took the papers and started reading. "Let me read this thing... just for one second stop yelling and..." I trailed off, my face falling.

"Yeah you see, bro," Ivan said smugly. "Is all good in my hood. And all of you, bro, getting it next."

"Can he really do this, Jane? Just decide to triple our rent?" Simone asked me. Then in a quieter voice. "It's not fair."

"He owns the building, Simone," I said. "Kinda think he can."

Like New York, you couldn't see the stars in Gotham, but the night was slightly less overcast than usual. Yelena turned up just as it was getting dark and dragged me up the roof.

It was a nightly ritual when the weathers nice. Most of the building heads up to the roof for dinner and a bit of socialisation. Grills over here started it by, well, coming up and grilling. We all just sorta followed and turned it into a nightly potluck.

I'd tried to protest but my heart hadn't been in it, I really just wanted some good food. Like Tony, I wasn't exactly skilful in the kitchen. People stood around in group talking and drinking. Kids and teenagers did their own thing without supervision, lounging about chatting in different languages, eating snacks or playing boardgames like Chess, Scrabble and Monopoly and something that involved knives and a blowtorch. We had a pool table, a pinball machine and an old-fashion arcade machine someone had found at the tip.

Felt like the 80s.

And I didn't have to wear gloves up here. These people didn't care that I had a metal arm.

Between the chatter and music from the radio the noise on the roof was just below a dull roar. I could make out bits and pieces of conversations in the noise while trying to show some kids how to flick coins.

They thought I was joking.

Going to rain—

All over the block—

You can smell it in the air—

Heard they sold the whole building for ten million—

Ten million?—

"So you're going to take your middle finger," I said. "And put it right against your thumb. And you're going to flick doon it toward yer ring."

SNAP!

I flicked the coin from my fingers, and it hit on of the empty beer bottles.

I twisted the lid off my water bottle and took a long swig of whisky and thought of how I couldn't get drunk and how I wouldn't feel so bad spending the next couple of years spending Tony's 80 billion dollars on whisky and chicken Twisties.

Earth's mightiest hero all right.

Building after building—

Be the whole neighbourhood soon—

"It's happening all over the block," Grills said. "Tito, your dogs are done."

"What can we do? It's in the lease," Tito said.

I shrugged. "Eh, the money's just money. Who cares? It's the hassle of moving. Ugh." Seriously, how was I supposed to get the Iron Man Suit out of the apartment without people noticing. Sure, I was still the world's deadliest assassin, but that was pushing it.

"Just money, she says," scoffed old man Frank. "Must be nice."

Okay—

This looks bad...

My to-do list.

But believe it or not, it's only the third most-terrible idea I've had today and today I have had exactly five terrible ideas.

Time to go to work, earths mightiest hero.

Dumb idea five:

I stole a cab.

My only real problem would be if Batman caught me in the act, other than that, this might actually be genius.

I didn't exactly know where Ivan's gang hung out, but cab hacks always know where the action is in any kind of town right? So don't ask the guy driving the cab. Get your own cab and go hunting.

I checked the clock on the dashboard, the pale green numbers glowing a faint 12:27 A.M. But the late hour did nothing for the traffic. I hate driving in the city.

I drove around for a couple hours and actually picked up a few people, did a bit of drinking and driving as police sirens wailed in the distance. (Never break two laws at once. That's how they get you.) And c'mon, who expects a cab driver in Gotham to know where the hell to go anyway, right?

Turns out everybody, actually. Apparently people in Gotham excel at service and facilitation. Man, I really should've known that. If this was my real job, I'd absolutely be fired before lunch.

So rather than press my luck, I took a midnight snack at a shawarma place where all the other cabbies meet. In the end those old scraggly bastards liked me. One of them says I have a whiff of doom about me. And life's so expensive in Gotham, that's some kind of virtue.

Great thing about asking a real cabbie for directions is they'll know where you want to go. Bad thing is they give it to you in cabbie. Lots ofturn left by the hobo peeing on the catsorta stuff.

Dumb idea four:

My heels echoed on the pavement like Lee Marvin in Point Blank. The night had cooled off and my breath misted in front of me. The cold didn't bother me. I'd spent the worse time of 21 years in Russia. I don't get cold.

I walked around to the back of the cab and popped the boot. I took the duffle out and slung it over my shoulder.

I stood outside and old Chinese restaurant, watching two of Ivan's guys standing out the front.

"Go f*ck you, bro," one told me as I approached.

I shrugged. If it came down to a fight, I would be in my element. "Actually, Red October... I got this big bag of money, aye?" I held the duffle open, and the guy peered inside. His eyes widened. "And I hear there's a casino hiding out in here where a fella could spend such a thing."

The guy considered it for a second before opening the door for me.

Ta-daaa.

It was dark and musty inside, with the scent of greasy Chinese food lingering in the background. The place was old, and I don't think it had been used a restaurant in a long time. It was dirty, a thin layer of dust covering everything with the odd cobweb in the corners.

If I know one thing, it's that giant bags of money are like skeleton keys. They open anything most times. I don't know much about casinos, that was always Tony's scene. Everything I do know comes from James Bond movies.

I didn't have a tux, so I was dressed in the clothes I used for work. A leather jacket over a red blouse, black dress pant and knee-high boots. If Nat could fight in heels, then so could I goddammit. Hopefully they'll be cool.

I opened the door to the back room, wondering if they had Baccarat here. I swear that game made no damn—

—sense.

I stopped in my tracks, scanning the room. Well, I wasn't expecting that.

So byUnderground Casinothey really meantUnderground Room in the back of a Chinese joint where a bunch of creeps play cards. Okay. Got it. Good to know. So glad I dressed up for this.

There was a mix of both Chinese and Russian playing cards together, and all at once they stopped to look at me. I caught the way many of them tensed and shifted their weight. Many reached a hand behind their backs. They all had weapons. Good to know.

"Family game," one of the Chinese said. "You don't look properly related."

"That's okay. I don't play cards."

They all laughed, but I had found Ivan.

"Bro. You go now."

"Ivan." I smiled. "Hey. Just the guy I was looking for. See, I don't play cards, like I said, but I do spend money." I dropped the duffle bag in the middle of his table. "I'm here to pay rent. For everybody in the building."

Ivan spread his arms wide and let out a bark of laughter. "Bro, what are you, bro? Fairy Godmother," he asked. "This lot of money, bro."

"Should cover the mark-up fur everyone in the building," I said, taking a deck of cards from the table and started to shuffle them. "All cash. Tax free. Bro."

What good is money if you don't spend it. Besides. If I'm not at work or on that rooftop... I don't eat.

"It's more than fair, figure."

Work the shuffle, Indiana—

—warm up the fingers, break the card backs—

One of the Russians reached into his tracksuit as Ivan began to talk. "Maybe it not your place, bro. Spend like this. Maybe don't want Fairy Godmother cash. Maybe want empty building, bro. Clearing you bros out. Sell building. Make more money, bro. So go f*ck yourself, bro. Don't except."

I smiled, drawing an ace from the deck. "Wasn't asking."

The tracksuit to my right drew his gun. I grabbed the table and flipped it, while hooking the guy to the right. They'll shoot each other this close, just going to have to make a mess then and use the chaos for cover.

Well the bad news is the Tracksuits Draculas are no longer playing around.

The good news is... Scratch that. No good news. Everything sucks.

Someone grabbed me from behind, but before they could get a proper grip on me, I yanked back my elbow and drove it into his nose. I'd done this drill a thousand times in training and had it down pat. In a small space they were their own worst enemy.

Ivan wiped his nose, the blood staining his sleeve. He bared his teeth and glassed me with an empty bottle of vodka.

Stark, you dummy.

Ok, so maybe I was a little bit out of practice.

They were hurling insults at me as well at their fists, threatening to dismember me. I told my new friends that I was allergic to being dismembered. They just laughed and kept trying to kill me. This is why I don't like making new friends.

One guy wore nothing but a pair of speedos. He's painted himself blue and was armed only with a baseball bat. Across his chest were the wordscome at me, bro.

Pretty soon it looked like I had been playing paint ball with only red paint. It was disgusting. And horrifying. And the most disturbing part? HYDRAs programming was still in me. It felt like my bloody was on fire, I could feel the super soldier serum coursing through my veins. It was about to turn into a game ofCall of Dutyif I got my hands on a gun.

Anything is a weapon if you're in deep enough trouble. There's no special training. No special skill. Just the belief that at any time you might have to hurt someone to stay alive.

I found myself back in the restaurant part of the building just as Ivan tackled me and I was thrown through the window. I swear all I wanted to do was get a little sleep and now this.

I landed on the street and rolled, little bits of glass cutting into my back. Far as these things go, I thought it was going to hurt way more.

I was on my back. The sky was overcast again, but it was the light against it that caught my attention. The Bat Signal. Guaranteed to raise Jim Gordon's blood pressure.

It was a big city, Batman couldn't be everywhere. And I didn't need him. I got to my feet as the two tracksuits out the front pointed their guns at me. Aw, hell.

Live.

I ran. 30 yards to the end of the alley. 30 yards between me and cover – verses two guys with guns. MOVE STARK!

Every with super soldier speed I can't outrun bullets. Too slow. They say you don't hear the bullet that gets you. Didn't hear it, but I sure as hell felt it. Pain flared all over my body. I turned, bracing for the follow up shot and deflected it with my metal arm.

I reached the end of the alley and found it was a dead end. sh*t. I turned my back to it, facing the pursuing horde. And my enemieswerea horde now.

I spotted a fire escape. I leaped up the side of the building. Thanks to the super soldier sermon one jump took me to the part of the ladder that was a storey and a half above the ground floor. Then I hop-climbed from fire escape to window ledge up the side of the building, channeling my inner Hulk until I reached the top.

By the time I got to the roof, some of the gang members were there to. They must've taken the Amazon express elevator or something. They opened fire.

Dumb idea three:

I turned back and jumped off the side of the building.

I was aiming for the window across from me. My stomach churned as I fell. My braids whipped at my face as the wind battered against me. I closed my eye, tucking my legs in as I braced for impact with the glass.

It never came.

A body hit mine. And I felt the change. Instead of falling with style like Buzz and Woody, I was swinging. My eyes snapped open and the first thing I saw was a bat symbol stamped across a broad chest.

I looked at his face. It was covered by a black cowl only revealing the bottom half of his face, that was set in a grim frown. His cape whipped behind him. He held me with one hand and the grappling gun with the other.

Batman. Yay!

I tucked my head into his shoulder as he shifted his back to the window as we crashed through it.

Chapter 5: Da Na Nana Na Batman! And Nightwing

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The glass shattered on impact. The air was knocked out of my lungs as we hit the floor, sliding a couple meters into the room. I held the back of Batman's head, bracing it against the fall.

There are three things you need to survive a fall.

The first is reflex. It's not something you can learn. You either have it or you don't. You have to move at the speed of thought.
Second is knowledge. It's not usually the shattered glass that kills you. It's the sudden impact. Protect your head. Go limp. Don't clench. Exhale.
The third thing you need is the most important, though. Luck. Pure luck. I've got a lot of that, but no one can count on pure luck to help them survive.

Except Clint Barton maybe.

Batman grunted as we came to a stop. From where I was lying on top of him I got a good look at what kind of Batman I was dealing with. Even in the darkness, his features were clearer now, a five o'clock shadow, his expression was tired, but at the same time stubborn and relentless. I could the denseness of his muscles through his suit.

Batman groaned as he began to sit up and I tried to move away to help him up, but an arm caught my waist and pulled me back into his lap.

"There's glass everywhere," he said. He sounded winded and there was a roughness to his voice.

Dumb idea two:

Talking back to Batman.

"Ah'm wearin' shoes," I said shortly. I pulled away again, and this time he let me go. I stood swiftly and offered him my left hand. Batman seemed to consider it for a second before taking it. The bullet wound in my arm throbbed painfully as I pulled him up and I hissed.

"You're hurt," he said. Batman stood in front of me and took my arm gently in his gloved hand. My arm still hurt, but the bleeding had stopped. There was no exit wound, so I'd have to dig the bullet out. Yay. Batsy grunted. "You'll need stitches."

I nodded, looking for a way out. We were in some kind of office. Behind the rows and rows of desks there was a hallway with a lift at the end. I started walking, glass crunching beneath my shoes.

Batman followed me and we stepped into the lift. Silence. That was something I didn't like dealing with on a good day. There just head to be a little background noise or something. But silence was about a thousand times worse when you were in a lift with Batman.

Finally he broke it. "What were you doing here?"

"Mostly bleeding," I said. "Paying rent fur the building. Deal went sideways 'n' ended here."

Batman turned to face me. "Why?" His glare could've given Fury's glare a run for its money. I stood at the same height as him and looked him dead in the eye. After all I'd seen, he didn't intimidate me.

I smirked – that idiot Stark smirk – and rolled my eyes. "Why what? You've got to be a wee more specific Batsy."

"Hmm." He grunted in annoyance. "Why were you paying rent for the whole building."

"Ivan, our landlord, tripled the rent this month to try and kick us out so he could sell the block," I said. "It was in my power to do something, so I did. Vigilante justice isn't the only way tae help folks."

As Batman continued to watch me, his frown seemed to soften as he tilted his head slightly. A tiny twinge of warmth spread through my chest, and I immediately beat it back with a stick. He might be a big softie on the inside, but I couldn't afford to be.

The lift doors opened, and I peered around the lobby for any gang members that might still be hanging around. It was deserted and I turned back to Batman. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

I smiled briefly for a second before I heard footsteps. It was man, judging by the heaviness of his tread. A pretty boy in a leotard with shaggy back hair came around the corner and met us at the door. A domino mask covered his eye and a blue bird symbol on his chest. He was grinning.

"Bit late to the party, Nightwing," I said.

"Better late than never." He grinned. It soon dropped. "That's a lot of blood."

"Well... well, I have so much more in my body."

My arm gave another painful throb, and I clutched just below the wound. I needed to get the damn bullet out before I got lead poisoning. Batman placed a firm hand on my shoulder. "Let's get you to a hospital."

"No hospital," I insisted. "Look, I don't mean to sound ungrateful , but I took a first aid course in MIT. I just gotta got th' bullet 'n' stop bleeding long enough. Gotta dress the wound, prevent a nasty infection, and I will be on my merry way."

Pain and suffering is every dayand I am still a trained killer.

"Wait, wait, wait. Bullet? You were shot?" Nightwing cut in.

I ran my hand down my face. "Yeah... No, actually, no. No, I was stabbed with a bullet. What do you think, dickhe*d?"

Batman grunted a 'hmm' like a tired middle aged suburban dad that had to raise five kids on his own, and literally nothing they do or say surprises him anymore, he is just living in a constant state of mild annoyance and deep resignation.

Nightwing stepped between us. "Compromise," he said. "Let's go back to the Batmobile and I'll put her stitches in."

"Fine," Batman grumbled.

I leaned against the Batmobile watching Batman glare at me as Nightwing came over with the first aid kit. Batman's the Steve Rogers to my Tony Stark, I annoy him to no end.

"He'll get over it, right?" I asked Nightwing.

He chuckled. "Eventually. It's not every day he finds someone stubborn as he is. Told me you were trying to be a White Knight by helping your friends. Your heart was in the right place even if your head wasn't."

If only he knew who I really was.

"They aren't my friends, and I wasn't trying to be a hero. Just didn't want to see them lose their livelihoods because of some Russian arsehole."

Nightwing opened the first aid kit, frowning as he went through the contents. I could see bandages, disinfectant wipes, little bottles of salt water, needles and string, and a box of Batman and Robin band-aids. "Uhh..." Nightwing scratched the back of his neck. "We don't have any anastatic."

Dumb idea one:

Giving alcohol to vigilantes.

"That's fine," I said. I held out the bottle to him. "Whisky. I don't need yer hands shaking while you're stitching me up."

He looked a little surprised but drank anyway. I only flinched once the entire time Nightwing was working on my arm, and that was when he pulled the bullet out. My arm felt like it was on fire, but I gritted my teeth and held still as he put in the stiches.

"All done," he said. "Just try not to use it to much and get some rest."

"Thanks Wing." I paused then, as Batman approached. "Anyone ever tell ya how yer eyes sparkle when you're angry?"

He reached out, taking my face in a hand, and I stiffened involuntarily. But the touch was light and gentle. It was hesitant. He turned my face from side to side checking for anymore injuries. When he found none, he nodded and stepped back.

"Let's get you home."

Chapter 6: Not So Alone

Chapter Text

A couple days passed, and the Russians were yet to come after me. My bullet wound healed, and I carried on with life as usual. I'd gotten pretty lucky at work; I had a little office booth to myself in the corner of my floor. It allowed me to work in peace, but I also reminded me of how alone I was. It looked like a landfill site. Stacks of manilla folders and binders, Steve's notebook, a Marvin Gaye album, and a wall clock that told the wrong time.

I scrolled though pages and pages of java script, looking for any bugs in the system and updating the software and hardware. In my spare time I worked on recreating some of S.H.E.I.L.Ds security programs, cross referencing them with notes to make sure they weren't HYDRA while corresponding with Morgan Freeman from the Applied Sciences Division.

There was a soft knock at the entrance to my boot and I swung around in my spinny chair. It was a young man, mid-twenties maybe with shaggy dark hair and a lean build under his suit. He smiled with just a hint of mischief in it. "Hi. Dick Grayson."

"Jane Wallace," I said. "Step into my office General, what can I do fur you?"

Dick took the invitation and sat opposite me in the spare chair. "I'm having some trouble with my laptop..." He produced the computer and placed it on the deck in front of him. "...And Lucius told me that you were the guy to come and see."

The laptop was riddled with bullet holes. 40 S&W 9mm Luger Parabellum rounds by the looks of it. He must've picked it up on his night job. I looked Dick in the eyes and raised a brow. He had the decency to look abashed.

"I was at my coffee shop, and I spilt a latte on it."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"So did your latte happen to be holding a semi-automatic handgun?"

Dick scratched the back of his neck. "Look I'm trying to be nonchalant about this—"

"You can be chalant as you like," I said, cutting him off.

"My coffee shop is in a bad neighbourhood." He gave a tight-lipped smile. "If there is anything that you can salvage from it... I would really appreciate it."

"I can do that."

Luckily the bullets hadn't touched the computer's hard drive and I plugged it into mine. I then ran a keylogger program, a small piece of software that would backtrace every keystroke and sort out which files on the computer were used most often. I opened a file to blueprints, a timetable and a brief inventory, and saw it was in Cyrillic, the Russian script. The letters were like tunnels and gates. It had been a long time since I had read it.

Fifteen years give or take. Not since HYDRA and thatother place.

Dick had dozed off while I'd been working, and I gave his shoulder a little shake. His head snapped up and he looked a little startled but shuffled his chair around to sit next to me.

"It looks like blueprints," I said.

"Do you know what of?"

I squinted at the Cyrillic. "Gotham Harbour. A shipment's going out in a couple days."

"You read Russian?" Dick asked, sounding a little surprised.

"Aye," I said. "So do you normally write felonies in Cyrillic?"

"Uh... what?"

I point at the screen. "This is a list of goods and people that are about to be trafficked to Russia."

"Did I mention I'm a cop," he said, and showed me his badge. "I was trying to keep it on the downlow."

"And you've done a wonderful job." I gave him a bit of a stink eye but nodded anyway as I download the files onto a stick. I handed it to him.

"Is your arm ok?" he asked out of the blue.

"What?"

"It's just looked a little stiff when you moved it, and I was just wondering."

"Well, uh... I got into fight the other night and a bullet grazed me." Dick raised his eyebrows. "Would've been a bit more than that if Batman had swooped in."

"You met Batman?"

"And Nightwing." I gave Dick a small smile. "He stitched up my arm."

"Sounds like a nice guy," he said, standing up and tucking the USB in his pocket.

"Be careful, ok?" Sure, I knew he ran around in bulletproof spandex, but I still worry. I knew the danger of the job and the toll it could take.

Dick spun on his heel and spread his arms. "I'm always careful."

[Bruce Wayne]

Bruce rubbed his temples, the lights hanging over him were too bright for his liking and the white were hard to look at. Twenty years of his night job had turned him into a nocturnal animal. And here he was, doing paperwork while he should be focusing on this new case. Blocks in Crime Alley were being sold, leaving the residents homeless, and there had been and heavy up take in trafficking.

Bruce wished he could say he was making a difference. But he didn't know. Murder. Robbery. Assault. Twenty years later, they're still up. This city was eating itself. Maybe it was beyond saving. But Bruce had to try. PUSH HIMSELF. The nights all roll together in the rush, behind the mask. Sometimes in the morning, he had to force himself to remember everything that happened.

He ignored this thought and pushed himself into an upright position, the sound of his office door opening sending his glaze in that direction. Bruce was met with a smile and a USB stick in his face.

"Hey B," Dick said. "I got that intel you were waiting on."

Bruce looked up, a little surprised. Which didn't happen often. "That was fast." It had only been half an hour, the laptop shot full of holes and heavily encrypted.

Dick nodded. "I know." Bruce noticed the way he pursed his lips, the way he did went he was thinking hard. He gave Bruce a meaningful look. "I think we should talk about that."

"About?"

"Jane Wallace Beaufort-Stuart," Dick said shortly. "The woman from the other night, the one who took a bullet without flinching. She's seriously overqualified for her job in I.T."

Bruce pursed his lips, the memory of the woman – Jane – momentarily flashed through his mind. She's known to brace his head when he smashed through the window. "Right, but what does—"

"Bruce, you're swamped. You've got that Expo coming up, you could use an assistant."

Bruce stopped, turning to look at his adopted son for any sign at he was joking, maybe had bribed him to play a prank on him. But there was no hint of humour. "Dick, I don't need to be telling another person about my—"

"That's not what I'm saying," Dick cut off his complaints. "If you're worried about your identity, Jane could cover this side of work while you run around dressed like a bat. And Alfred's getting old, she could help him with some of the house chores."

He wasn't oblivious, he knew how old Alfred was getting but it felt wrong to have someone come in as replacement of sorts. Still, Dick had made some fair points and the ability to leave an event in a time of need and have some cover for him would be a better plan then none. And it might be a good idea to keep a close eye on her. The way she had been so composed when anyone else would have been distraught, that took discipline.

"I'll think about it," he told Dick.

Bruce didn't believe in fate or magic, but sometimes he wished they did exist, because you have something to blame when things go wrong. For instance, when you are being swamped by a work load, a new gang trying to gain turf, and it's raining on top of everything else, most people might think that's just really bad luck; but when you spend the last twenty year fighting crime dress as a bat, you understand that some divine force is really trying to mess up you day.

The sky had turned to night, that suited Bruce fine, the temperature had dropped rapidly as the rain came in. You had three options in Gotham: hot, cold, or rain. A black wind was shrieking though the streets. Furious thunder boomed overhead. Lightening speared across the sky.

As he approached the doors, Bruce caught sight of someone standing just outside under the entrance to the building holding her hand into the rain. She was tall, attractive, built like an Amazon, she wore a black trench coat and a baseball cap on her head. Golden yellow braids came down either side of her shoulders. Despite her seeming relaxed pose, there was something about the way she herself that made him frown – something in the way she squared her shoulders that spoke of military level discipline.

Thought he could not see her face, Bruce was sure this was Jane Wallace Beaufort-Stuart. He pushed through the revolving doors and stepped outside. He stood next to her and cleared his throat. "Not a fan of the rain?"

Her lips twitched slightly into a barley there smile as she faced him. "Quite the opposite actually." Her accent was unlike any Bruce had heard. He thought it could've been Landed Gentry like Alfred's but a Scottish burr to it. Her eyes were a bright blue and gleamed slightly in the darkness.

He leaned forward slightly to offered her his hand. "My name is Bruce, Bruce Wayne."

She didn't give him the usual reaction of giggling or blushing, she simply reached out with her left hand before realising her mistake and swapping to her right. She had a firm, but not threatening grip, and made sure she didn't hold onto his fingers for too long, but he didn't miss the unnatural coolness of it through her gloves, or how solid it felt. "Jane Wallace Beaufort-Stuart," she said easily.

A sleek black Rolls-Royce pulled up to the curb, Bruce opened his umbrella and nodded towards the car. "Can I offer you a ride?"

Jane looked down the street then back to Bruce. "I have to pick up my neighbour, she doesn't like to walk alone, but thanks for the offer."

He hummed. "It's not safe for you to walk alone either," he said. "Alfred can drop you off at the diner."

Jane squinted at him for a moment like she was trying to figure out if he was messing with her or not. After a moment she nodded, and they stepped under the umbrella together. She stayed close as they walked to the car, but not close enough to touch him.

Bruce opened the door and climbed in after her.

[Indiana Stark]

Thunder boomed overhead as I climbed into the car and removed my cap. It was a comfort to know Thor was still looking out for me. If not in body, then in spirit. And I didn't mind the rain either, the longer I could chase the rain, the less likely it was that my appearance would draw unwanted attention. Mismatched layers and leather gloves would start to raise suspicions in the heat.

Though Bruce was probably already suspicious. Now I was in his car, sitting next to him. Bruce was built, he had a kind face, thought it was devoid of emotion. There were no wrinkles around his eyes, like me, he didn't smile much.

"And who might the lass be Master Bruce?" a voice asked from the front seat. It was old, British. Alfred Pennyworth. "A guest?"

I almost choked on my spit. I could see him in the review mirror. He wore a fresh pressed suit and a pair of white gloves, and practically radiated refinement. Alfred had grey streaked hair, a tweed moustache, and soft grey eyes. Permanent worry lines were creased across his forehead.

Bruce cleared his throat. "Alfred, this is Jane Wallace Beaufort-Stuart. I was hoping to discuss a job offer with her."

"A Wallace and a Stuart." Alfred shook his head. "Terribly sorry for the misunderstanding Lady Jane."

"It's alright Alfred, I'm thick-skinned. And just Jane is fine, I'm only a Lady on paper." Sometimes it still felt weird to introduce myself as Jane. Another name. Another place.

"I will compromise with Miss Jane. Beaufort and Stuart are both names of Scottish queens; I can't quite lower myself to just Jane." He smiled sincerely which I returned.

"Now, Jane..." Bruce said, "I am impressed that you were able to help Dick so quickly." He studied me. "What other jobs have you worked?"

I felt a bit panicked. I wasn't sure if he was testing me or not. Bruce had a face like a brick wall. Why is it that I stand out, no matter how hard I tried not to? I knew why. I had too much Stark in me. I had to think about what I had actually done between my assassin days and joining the Avengers.

"Uh... I graduated from high school at sixteen and went to MIT." I wasn't as good as Tony had been, but I was good enough. "I've worked a couple trades, but somehow I don't think that's what you're looking for." I don't think I'd ever worked before HYDRA abducted me, all I had was what I did after. And even then, I was always moving around, never staying in one place for more than two years. Until New York. "I worked as a Private Investigator for a law firm in Hell's Kitchen. Oh! And I do have a degree in law, too. So I have experience with paperwork."

"And you can understand Russian?"

"I can speak it but reading and writing is harder."

Bruce looked at me curiously. "Do you know any other languages?"

"Slovak, Czech, Polish, French, German and ASL, if that counts as speaking a language," I answered. "What exactly is this job?"

Bruce tilted his head. 'I'm impressed.' Though he said it quietly. "You have a capacity for languages. You know, I'm a little tied up with the workload at the moment. Would you like to work as my assistant?"

I realised the opportunity but also recognised the stress dealing with Tony that had put on Pepper. But I could mess with Bruce a little more like this. "I would like that."

I shook hands with Bruce and agreed on a meeting tomorrow to work out the finer details. Then Bruce gave me another look, a once over and his eyes landed on dog tags around my neck. My stomach churned.

"You didn't say you'd been in the military."

"I wasn't. They're Steve's."

"Steve?"

If you have someone you love and they die, do you stop saying you love them? Or are you always a partner, even when the other half of the equation is gone? "He is – was my fiancé. He was killed in action." We were going to get married, sooner or later. But never really got the chance, just went from one world-ending disaster to the next.

Gone. Killed.

The Avengers were gone. I thought it mercilessly, over and over again – was the first time I'd said it out loud – the Avengers had been killed. All of them. The soldier, warrior, assassin and spies, the science bros. They were all dead and there was nothing I could do.

Why had it been me? I'd thought it a hundred times since Ultron. Why had I survived? I wasn't the strongest Avenger (that was obviously Clint), I wasn't even a hero, and yet I was the one alive when so many others had died. I asked the question so often because I knew the answer. I hated facing it, as painful as it was. I'd survived because I had run. Steve had asked me to live and I had run away, and because of that I was alive whether I deserved to be or not.

Then something unexpected happened – Bruce placed his hand on my shoulder in silent understanding.

Chapter 7: Hey Sundance, Don't Help People Dressed Like Bats When Russians Are After Him

Chapter Text

I jolted awake, a cold sweat covering my body. Blood pounded in my ears, making everything sound faraway and underwater. But it wasn’t the nightmare the woke me, it was the insistent knocking on my door.

“Jane!” I recognised the voice of Tito’s kid, Petre Davitovich. He sounded scared and I hurried to the door, the wooden flooring cool beneath my feet. Petre dragged me outside to the dumpster. My stomach churned; I was sure I wasn’t going to like what I found in there.

A low groan came from the bottom, and frowning I peeked over the edge. “Batman?!” He was in a bad way. Blood covered his face and suit, his left arm at a horrible angle. He was unconscious.

I pulled Batman from the dumpster and hoisted him over my shoulders in a fireman’s carry. “Go home,” I told Petre. “Don’t tell anyone about this, not even your Ma, got it?”

He nodded and ran off. I carried Batman up four flights of stair to my apartment, kicking the door open. I lay him on the floor and inspected the damage. One side of his mask had had the eye ripped out and blood trickled from a wound. There were several rips in his suit revealing other cuts. The most serious one was a knife wound just below his rib cage on his right side.

I wasn’t exactly a professional doctor, but I knew everything there was to know about how to kill a man, which meant I knew way too much about the human body. Batman wasn’t going to die, but I had to do something about it. The fact was that I couldn’t take Batman to the hospital. I tilted his chin and check his pulse, just as I felt the steady thud thud a hand shot out and grabbed my wrist.

He grunted and staggered up.

“Batman. Don’t,” I said, rising from my seat. “You've lost a lot of blood. And you’ve been stabbed.”

His eyes wandered around the room, unseeing, not focusing on anything. He limped in no particular direction. “I need to leave,” he muttered.

“You wanna leave?” I asked. “Door’s that way.”

He staggered again as he turned to face me. Then he promptly passed out. I caught him before he could hit the ground. Grumbling at his stubbornness, I carried to him the couch and then started clean and fix his wounds.

I spent half the night half-sitting, half-lying next to Bruce, stopping the bleeding from the stab wound, refreshing bandages, and trying not to dwell on the fact that someone had done this.

A couple minutes later he stirred and struggled to sit up, hissing in pain. He tried to stand, and I put a hand on his shoulder and firmly pushed him back against the couch. “Sit. Down,” I said adamantly, keeping the pressure on his shoulder until he stopped trying to get up. “Are you gonnae listen to me this time?”

“Where am I?” he asked.

“My apartment.”

He focused on me now. “Jane?”

“Aye.” I chuckled a little. “I’m the lucky girl who pulled you out of the garbage.”

His eyes shifted to the first aid kit on the floor. His next question was rather judgmental. “Do you make a habit of bringing in men passed out in the trash? Most people, they find
a bleeding masked man in the garbage... they call the police.”

“No. I usually only do it for the special ones dressed like giant bats,” I said. “You got a lot of experience in this area?”

His mouth twitched.

“Oh my god!” I gasped.

“What?”

“There’s something wrong with your face. It looks like a smile.”

Batman glared at me and grunted as he tried to sit up again. I pushed him back down. “Okay, you’re going to sit down and shut up,” I said. “You've got two or three broken ribs, a dislocated arm, probable concussion, but I can’t check while yer mask is on, a knife wound, and that's just the stuff that Ah ken about.”

He was silent for a minute.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” I asked.

“One. The middle one.”

“Good. Now follow it.” I switched to my index and moved my hand from left to right. Batman followed it. “Ok. That knife wound, I got the bleeding stopped, but I couldn’t smell guts, so nothings punctured. Still…” I trailed off.

“No. No hospitals,” he said hoarsely. I could tell he was still drained by the way his eyes were struggling to stay open.

“I’m really not looking for some guy to cark it on my couch.”

“Then why did you help me?”

I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. “You got me out of a tight spot the other night, it’s the least Ah can do to return the favour.”

To my surprise, Batman reached out and held my left hand. “Thank you, Jane.”

His hand was warm. He was muscular, but gentle when he wanted to be. Probably good for cuddles without the armour.

Stop it, I hissed at the lonely touch-starved portion of my brain. Batman wasn’t a hugger, and truthfully, I think if I had skin to skin contact with someone not in my immediate family I’d probably have an out of body experience. It had been a slight problem when I first met Thor; man was a hugger.

I gave Batman’s hand a squeeze. “Rest. Make sure ye'r stabilized. We'll figure the other stuff out later.”

I let Batman doze off while I tried to figure out what to do if he gave up the ghost here in my living room. He was paper white, panting, and even though it wasn’t even that cold, he was beginning to shiver. I was listening to myself explain to Commissioner Gordon how I let this happen, and every version ends with me in handcuffs.

I had had the foresight to hide the Avengers’ weapons, apart from Mjölnir, which I don’t think I could lift, even if I tried. A thorough police search would find them. I didn’t need to go to jail, or those weapons falling into the wrong hand. The GCPD didn’t have the best track record when it came to corruption.

Batman stirred again. I pulled the glove off my left hand and placed the back of it again the side of his face. He was burning up. Suddenly, out of nowhere, I was afraid he was going to die. I dug through the first aid kit and found the painkillers and the pills that bring your fever down.

I filled a glass of water and crouched by Batman. “Swallow these,” I told him, and begrudgingly took the medicine. “Who did this to you?”

“The less you know the better,” he said.

“This ain’t my first rodeo with you cowboy types,” I said. “The sh*t storm always clears, one way or another.”

“The Russians kidnapped a girl. They've been running a human trafficking ring out of Gotham Harbour. Two days ago, they pulled a kid out of the back of a van. Beat his father while he watched,” he said, his voice growing harder at the end. He was probably thinking of his own parents.

I can’t say I wasn’t doing the same. Images of the Winter Soldier dragging dad from the car and beating him to death flashed through my mind. I wrinkled my nose at the memories. “Jesus,” I breathed.

“I knew the kid would still be alive. At least until they took him out of the city. I tracked the Russians to a warehouse not far from here. Thought I was being smart, how fast I found them. Turns out I wasn't.”

“They were waiting for you,” I said.

“And I walked right into it.”

“So, they took this kid just to get to you?”

He gave me a harsh look. “And you, I suspect. After that stunt you pulled the other night.”

“Go figure,” I muttered, rubbing my forehead. “Did you at least find the kid?”

“No, he wasn't there. I barely made it out myself. I was careless. Stupid,” he admitted.

“And let me guess, those tracksuit-wearing, bro-using, vaguely eastern-European, completely crap-sack enemies are looking for you?” I asked.

As if on cue the floorboards outside my door. Almost in sync our heads snapped up to look as it. The sound startled me, and I was on my feet in a flash. Oh man, do I got problems – what was that line from Butch Cassidy? Hey Sundance, don’t help people dress like Bats when Russians are after him.

Batman was on his feet just as fast, face set in a grimace as he tried not to clutch at his side. He was just stubborn enough and maybe strong enough to do it. To fight the Russian at my door. Even if they didn’t kill him, I would. For being so damn stupid.

“Don’t even think about it,” I hissed furiously as he limped to the door. He staggered and I grabbed his arm, putting it around my shoulder. Even in the dim light, being so close, I could see that all the blood hand drained from his face. “You can barely stand up.”

I pulled him up right and propped him up against the wall and gave him a harsh enough look to rival the bat-glare.

“I’ll manage,” he said, but he didn’t push me away.

“No. I need you to be smart about this,” I said. “Just stand here and be quiet and I'll get rid of him. Please.”

Batman nodded and I stepped away.

There was a knock at the door.

“Who is it?” I called out.

“NYPD, ma'am. Please open the door.”

“I'll be right there.” I held my eye up to the peephole and the guy outside held up his badge. I had to admit, he almost had me fooled with that American accent, it was better than mine, but I recognised his face. I’d seen him out the front on eviction day. One of Ivan’s thugs.

I could smell him through the door. Like Prima cigarettes and discount cologne. And boy did he like that cologne. What, does he dip himself in that crap?

Ohhh, Indiana. Indiana, Indiana—

This is bad. This is bad and you’re a dummy. This is what you get for helping people. So, note to self, then. For the next life: screw everybody. Oh who am I fooling? I don't want a next life. I just want a nap.

I opened the door.

“Sorry to bother you so late, ma'am—”

I swung a haymaker that connected with his jaw. He overbalanced and started to teeter as his head snapped back. I grabbed his jacket before his head could hit the ground and dragged him inside. His eyes were closed, and I checked his pulse.

I remember the first time I had properly tried to use my metal arm. I’d gone to punch one of my handlers in the face, aiming to break his nose, and my fist had flown through the man’s skull, crushing it into pieces and coming out the back of his head. I winced at the unpleasant memory but felt no guilt for it. He was HYDRA, he deserved it.

More and more things were coming back to me, pieces of information and knowledge I thought I’d lost forever. I was remembering more everyday, building myself back into the person I used to be. I wasn’t sure who that was though. I was more than a girl but never a woman. It wasn’t just the memories from HYDRA, either; it wasn’t unusual to wake with a new recollection of growing up at Camp Lehigh. For example, I’d killed two people before I was sixteen years old. But old holiday vandalism shenanigans with Tony and Rhodey at MIT came back in vivid technicolour.

I felt the rhythmic thump thump of Sergei pulse beneath my figure tips. Batman stood over me, waiting for an answer. “Sergei Demyanovich,” I said. “He’s one of Ivan’s, he’s not a cop and he’s got connections.”

“Help me carry him this the roof.”

I hoisted Sergie’s unconscious body over my shoulder and grabbed a roll of duct tape from one of the cupboards in the kitchen. Experience told we were going to the roof so no one would hear him scream.

I looked back to Batman who braced himself against the wall. I knew he had a pain tolerance that rivalled Matt Murdock, but he wasn’t looking so good. “Can you make it?” I asked.

He looked at me like he couldn’t believe the audacity.

But he couldn’t. We made it about a flight up before he began to fall behind, and I could tell he was fighting a blackout. I went back and sat him on the stairs with his head between his knees, I patted his back awkwardly as I weighed our options. “You can take the elevator to the roof, or I can come back and get you after I’ve hog tied this creep.”

“Come back,” he said.

It wasn’t the answer I was expecting, but it wasn’t like I could imagine Batman in and elevator either. I racked my brains – if I was Batman, how would I prepare for this situation?

My eye focused on his utility belt.

Hello Indiana! “Do you have any adrenaline in your belt?”

He nodded and injected a vile into his thigh, using part of his suit that looked like it was designed to make injections. When he was able to stand I half-guided, half-carried him up to the roof, were we taped Sergie to the water tank.

I began going through his phone, looking for anything that might tell me where the girl was.

“You find anything?”

I shook my head and handed him the phone. “Times and shipments. Nothing on the girl though.”

Batman took a step towards me, seeming to study me and just frowned for a while. I resisted the impulse to take a step back. “You’re taking this very well for a civilian,” he said.

I shrugged, turned away and said in a monotone: “I guess some people are just like that.”

“No,” Batman said. “You don't carry a masked man bleeding to death into your apartment on faith. Why'd you help me, Jane?”

I turned back and pressed the back of my hand against the side of his face. His skin wasn’t as hot as before, so maybe the medicine having some effect and it’s just the adrenaline making him delusional.

“Your fever’s gone down,” I said. “Yelena Georgiyevna, my neighbour, said... some guy she knew waited for her after work in the parking lot, attacked her... tried to drag her in the alley. She said she screamed and screamed, and a man in a black mask heard her... and he saved her life. So, yeah, people know about the Batman, and what he does. But they’re also afraid.”

“It’s necessary.”

“I know. Fear… is a tool. And that why I don’t give into it. If I’m afraid, if I give into that fear… men like this win,” I said, nodding at Sergei.

Batman looked at me with an expressionless face, but he reached out with one hand and cupped my cheek. I’m pretty sure I forgot how to breath. “Tell me what happened,” he asked quietly. “Maybe you don’t have to be alone.”

I went through my days trying not to think about my loss, lest my grief incapacitate me, but that just meant every time it came up, it hurt like new. “It’s a bit late for that,” I muttered.

Sergei began to stir, and Batman stepped back. I pulled my hood up as we approached him. Batman hauled him to his feet. “I'm gonna ask you some questions. You're gonna answer them. If you're lying to me... trust that I will know... and I will be unhappy.”

The best part about being an Avenger was having Steve around all the time. He just – despite his overbearing righteousness at times – the guy just brought out the absolute best in people. You… want to be good when he’s around. You really do. But right now, Cap ain’t here.

I stepped forward. “Where’s the girl, Sergei Demyanovich?”

“She’s dead,” Sergei sneered. Batman punched in the side of the face, hard. “Never start with the head, the victim gets all fuzzy. He can't feel the next—” Batman punched him again. His head snapped but he didn’t seem the feel it. “See?”

“Where’s the girl?” Batman demanded.

“What do you care? If she's not dead yet, she will be.”

“Why’d you take her?”

“Figured you'd come running.”

“And after I was dead?” Batman asked.

“Sell the kid, like all the others,” Sergei leered. He grinned a bloody smile at Batman. “We got you good, didn’t we?”

“Who do you sell the children to?”

HYDRA Base Vorkuta, Siberia.
160 km North of the Arctic Circle, December 1991
Earth 29929

It was the smell that woke me. The smell of dank, musty underground air. My eye opened, only to quickly close at the blinding brightness of the LED lights. I took note of my surroundings, the grey concrete walls with a surveillance camera in the corner, the leather straps that bound me to the table, and the hospital dress I was now wearing. The pain from where I was shot in my leg had spread throughout my whole body. I breathed in and out trying to calm my nerves.

I groaned as I turned my head; it was sore and stiff.

The door to my cell was opened, and a stout man in a soviet officer’s uniform walked in. "Ah, dobroye utro Miss Stark, sleep well?" He asked in a thick Russian accent.

"Nikogda ne luchshe sovetskoy mrazi," (Never better Soviet scum)I smirked as the man’s face flashed with a mix of anger and surprise moment before his gaze turned steely.

"A surprise to have an American who speaks the mother tonguebut a welcome one," he said, then changed the subject, "I'm Colonel Karpov and I have been personally watching over your recovery since the Winter Soldier brought you in".

Oh, thanks for that, I feel so much safer now.

"Where am I?" my voice sounded even worse speaking in English, it was dry and hoarse.

"Siberia," the Colonel answered shortly. "You've been unconscious for 5 weeks," he walked over to the table, starting to undo the straps. "The doctors were beginning to think you wouldn't wake from the surgeries, even with the serum".

The straps were no longer binding me to the table. I sat up ignoring the pain and feeling of weakness as I did so and straightened my back.

"A man doesn't like to hear fear in a woman's voice," Mum had said,"they will see you as feeble and believe they have power over you. You may sound apprehensive, but never shrill."

I leaned forwards, my arms threatening to buckle but held steady. "What's going happen now that you got me?" I co*cked my head at the Colonel.

“You are very lucky,” he said.

Taking off his hat, he threw it across the room. With his other hand he drew a pistol hit his leg firmly with it. With every whack I flinched, expecting to be shot. He used the pistol to push up my hospital gown. Oh, I thought. So this is why. For the first time it dawned on me how much danger I was in. I was more terrified now than when the Man in black killed my parents. With shaking hands, I undid the cord at the back. He then placed his pistol under my chin. His eyes seemed to see nothing. He was a man whose soul has died and whose body is waiting to catch up with it.

I knew right then; I would kill this man even if it was the last thing I did.

“Don’t know.” He shrugged. “Whoever has the money.”

“Where's the girl?” Batman’s question was a threat.

“So you find him. So what? We'll take another. Kill me, somebody takes my place. Long as people are buying, we'll be selling. Nothing you do tonight will change that. But go ahead. Keep hitting me. Let's see who drops first.”

Batman dragged Sergei to the side of the roof and held him over the edge by one leg. “Start talking. My arm’s getting tired.”

I had a stupid urge to laugh. He said the line! The Kevin Conroy was strong with him.

Sergei let out a yelp as he dangled. “Underneath Troika restaurant. Eleventh and forty-fourth Alleytown. They'll be waiting for you. If you're lucky, they'll kill you before they start in on the girl. It would be a shame for you to have to watch what they do to him... Oh!”

Batman dropped him.

I knew the fall wouldn’t kill him, but I still ran to the edge just in time to see him land in the dumpster I’d pulled Batman out of. I wished the fall would have killed him. Men like that deserved death.

“He’ll live,” Batman said bluntly.

“Aye, sure. But he’ll be a f*cking vegetable, and at that point is it even worth living?” I asked. “It would’ve been kinder to kill him.”

I immediately regretted my words. Some people deserved to suffer.

“You need to get your things and leave. Don't tell anyone where you're going,” said Batman, ignoring my outburst.

“What?”

“He wakes up, he'll be back... and he won't be alone next time.”

“Then tie him up and call the Commissioner,” I said. “Batsy…”

He nodded. “I will. But it’s still safer to leave. Do you have somewhere you can go?”

I shook my head. “I’ll figure something out.”

Batman walked up to me, favouring his left leg as he went now that Sergei was gone. The limp was not pronounced, but I could tell the injurie was painful. “I’ll come back when I’ve found the girl,” he said.

“Why?” I asked.

“I'm thinking if I make it through the night, I may need some help getting patched up.”

I nodded slowly. “Okay.”

“Hey.” He took another step forward and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Thank you, Jane.”

Chapter 8: Jason Todd Does His Level Best to Kill Me

Chapter Text

The cloud cover hung low over Gotham like a dark omen, but the city still shone flashlights out of every lightbulb, each searching for one thing or another. The Iron Man helmet and gantlets gleamed when the from a nearby neon sign touched it but was soon dark again as I leaped across the alley.

A couple of minutes later I reached the part of town where Ivan lived, but there was a heavy feeling pressing into my back. The feeling of knowing you're being watched. But I couldn't worry about that now, I had to worry about the girl that was about to be trafficked. I suspected Ivan's gang has infiltrated lower levels of local government in order to pass the law code, so that meant I had to go straight to Commissioner Gordon.

I heard laughter coming from a dark dead-end alley between two dilapidated theatres. I knew exactly where it was, right around the corner from a homeless shelter. Heroin junkies liked to shoot up in that alley, which made it a great place to get beaten, robbed, or killed.

At the moment I arrived it was also a great place to get attacked by a woman craving vengeance.

In the alley, there were three large men surrounding Ivan. The first two were average sized, but the last guy was Bane-sized, a wolf skin pelt thrown over his shoulders and I could see the glint of steel hidden under it. Knives.

I picked up my pace until I was running at them as full speed. The first two guys copped it the worst. I drove iron fists into their kidney's causing them to drop like a bag of spuds. The last of the three normal cronies came at me, I grabbed his jacket and using his momentum to fling him around. I let go and with a grunt he slammed into Ivan.

It was just me and the big guy now.

"Where'd you come from?" I quipped. Taunting one's enemies was customary, and super soldier or not, I was going to use all the cards I was dealt.

If it was even possible the man stood a little taller. "Mother Russia," he announced proudly. "By way of Mother Africa." He drew two daggers from his fur skin vest.

"Two mums and still so ill-behaved?"

He raised the daggers and charged. I wasn't intimidated. His entire strategy relied on overpowering his opponent. But he didn't know my strength.

I parried his blows and reached out for his hands and fingers, and for the balance borne by his hips and knees. I pushed his fingers too far apart and overturned his balance. I ripped the daggers from him, planting a kick to his chest. As he staggered, surprised my power over him even at arm's length.

He laughed. "Not bad, girl," he said. "But you do not have enough to resist Gleb Igorevna for much longer, weaponless as you are."

That was where he was wrong. I slammed the gantlets together. I wasn't weaponless. Avengers never were.

Gleb struck, his fists flying, and I deflected his blows before they fell. Was this the guy who got the drop on Batman? He lacked finesse but he made up for it in brute strength. I jumped back and pushed off the wall of the alley, leaping over his head. I easily avoided another strike as I flew over him and landed in a crouch on the other side, ready to continue.

I pushed up from the crouch, driving an uppercut into his jaw. Blood flew from his mouth and splatter across the ground. Then in a burst of speed, he had me in a headlock. Hands wrapped around me in a death grip.

"What's the game here?" I asked indignantly. I didn't react well to someone trying to kill me.

"Big game," he laughed and tightened his grip. My vision started to get spotty. Man, this guy was strong! "Now, be still. The noblest prey ends the hunt in silent dignity."

I scoffed. "Prey? Silence? Dignity? You don't know me at all!" I locked my hands around his head and threw my body weight forwards. I tossed him off easily and he sailed across the alley.

The gunshot came while he was still in the air. The bullet hit him in the chest, and he crumpled to the ground. I'd often shied away from killing, but I had pulled the trigger when it was necessary. I could've won the fight without some guy shooting him.

It seemed my stalker had made an appearance. Whose side was he on? Would he shoot me too?

Footsteps approached me from behind, they were heavy and getting closer by the second.

"Surprise!" Kicking back blindly but not hitting anything. I spun on my heel to see my stalker jerked backwards. He was in a red helmet and a brown leather jacket, a red bat symbol stamped across his chest, one gun in his hand the other in a holster on his leg. I'd never seen this guy before, but he had to another vigilante.

In the time it took for me to bring my leg back in for another strike, he lunged forward and grabbed around the middle. He jerked up, my feet left the ground for a second before knocking me flat on my back.

The air left my lungs as he pinned my shoulders to the ground with his knees. I grabbed the gun in his holster, wrapped my legs around his neck a pulled him off, got up and tried to drop a WWE style elbow on him. He grabbed my arm and flipped me over.

We made eye contact through our helmets, both on our backs, guns aimed at each other. Neither of us made a move and it became a standoff.

"Hey freaks, you mess up, bro." It was Ivan getting to his on my left. Stupid prick. "You mess up bad."

Looking back to the guy in the red helmet, I shrugged. "Excuse me one second." Propping myself up on one elbow, I held out my gun-less hand and fired the gantlets repulsor. From this distance it wasn't lethal, and the blast slammed Ivan into the wall of the alley.

I got up and stood over him, leveling the gun at his head. "No bro, Шах и мат (shakh i mat)."

The Red Helmet guy stood beside me and turned white, and Ivan clutched his cowardly neck as if to protect it. "Bro, bro, BRO!! Let's talk bout this."

I had to resist every impulse I had that was telling me to snap Ivan's neck as I shoved him into the taxi.

"I know discretion is about the only rule you people have, so listen to me very closely. I know you have a wife. I know she's coming here from Russia. I will use every legal loophole and footnote to make certain that never happens. You see, unlike your other adversaries, Ivan, I can break you without breaking a single bone or law. You may have expensive lawyers, but with one envelope and $6 postage I can make sure Maria Danilovna never sets foot on American soil again. One letter to the right office and I get her visa pulled. I can prove she was an accomplice to every one of your crimes. And now you're thinking you can serve your sentence, hop on a jet, go to her whenever you like. Live somewhere like Monaco, or I don't know, wherever the hell you fat cats go to sun yourselves. But you can't. You can visit her, but you'll never live with her.

"Because this is Gotham, Ivan. You live here. This is your jungle. This is your blood, like it is mine. She will never come, and you'll never leave. You screw with me now, just a little bit and you'll never really be with your one and only Maria ever again. And hell is a mercy I won't give you."

We had a little chat. It was very civilised and all. We were very persuasive. All Ivan needed was a bit of ed-u-cation.

The heavens had opened up as I shoved Ivan into a cab. Huge claps of thunder burst over our heads, the rain poured down and we couldn't have been much wetter if we'd jumped into the sea.

"Bro. What kind of vigilante does this? Who are you anyway?" Ivan asked me. I raised the faceplate on my helmet and grinned as Ivan's face lost some more colour. "That kid, bro, not my gang. I broke no laws, bro. Allowed to raise rents. Is tough luck for you and your friends but I know my rights."

"Hold that thought, ya Tracksuit Dracula, I never mention a kid. But don't worry about that – a friend of mine's dealing with it as we speak. Ah'm going to pay you everything everyone in that building owes you and another twelve point five for the building outright. And that's it. Negotiations are over. You wanted to sell it? Ah want to buy it. Ah take care of mah people, and you get rich. The end."

"I had a buyer," Ivan muttered.

"Ah don't care." I slammed his door shut and handed the driver a wad of cash. "Get this guy to JFK. Fast."

Red Hood and I watched the taillights disappear into the rain. Only when they were around a corner and completely out of sight did he turn to me. I handed him his gun back. "Gotta say sweetheart," he said, leaning forward. "I don't understand why you didn't finish the job. Or do you have one of those bullsh*t no-kill rules."

At that moment, he really reminded me of Frank Castle.

"I don't." I shrugged and lowered my faceplate. I'd decided even though he wore the symbol, he wasn't a bat brat. If I didn't mess with his business, he wouldn't mess with mine. "I thought I let him marinate in his suffering for a bit."

"Huh, not bad, English," he looked me up and down once, sizing all 5'11 of me up. "Musta been pretty frightening to move to Gotham."

"Nae," I shook my head, and in a dead quiet voice that had gone dangerously Scots, threatened heatedly, "And ah'm Scottish. Mak' that mistake again 'n' Ah'll tear the filthy Yankee tongue frae yer heid, so Ah will."

Red Hood chuckled at that.

"Look," I said. "Sorry I came at you so hard before, though you might shoot me as well."

"Yeah, that's what I figured."

I was suddenly very aware of the time. I had to get back home before Batman showed up again. "Well, this has been a real treat, but unless you wanna go another round, Imma head out and you're not gunna tell the Bat about me."

Red Hood nodded, his poster appeared relaxed but I knew better. He was sizing me up, trying to figure out how much of a threat I was.

My first instinct was to put him as ease. I took off my helmet and held out my fist. "I'm Jane."

He hesitated for a second before removing his helmet. "Jason," he said, bumping my fist. A domino mask covered his eyes and there was a tuft of white in his otherwise dark hair.

I couldn't care less about what methods Jason used. If they worked, they worked. And it wasn't like those criminals didn't deserve it. It was just – killing took a lot out of you. Especially when you're young.

Jason was an incredible fighter, not to mention he was also huge – in both muscle and height. But I could see clear as day how young he was.

When I first joined the Avengers in 2012, after the Battle of New York and coming back from T.A.H.I.T.I, I had them and I had Natasha to confide in when things got hard. She carried the same burden I did. I could talk to her when things got hard. When I felt guilty for taking someone's life. No matter how much they deserved it.

Without her, I'd probably be dead.

Nat was gone now, and I could just hope Jason had a friend like her. Someone who'd be there no matter what. Some one that would remind him he was worth it. That he was loved. Cause if not, there was no way this kid was okay.

"Jesus," I breathed. "How old are you, kid?"

Jason scoffed. "I'm not a kid."

His guard was up now, and I smiled at him teasingly. "Look at you. You're barely nine."

He frowned at me. "I'm nineteen. And almost two hundred pounds of pure muscle."

"f*cking imperial system," I muttered and waved a hand in his face. "You got friends, laddie? Family?"

"Why do you care so much?" he asked. Instead of hostility like I'd expected, Jason just sounded tired.

"You've got a good heart, I can tell that much." I poked his chest and took a deep breath. "And I've been in this life since I was sixteen. Done some good, but not enough to out weight the bad," I said. "It never gets easier. If you had a strict rule, maybe, to always show mercy or always punish, you could use it as a shield to protect your spirit. But it's a distraction from the mission. Determining the fates of others on a case-by-case basis, considering the infinite combinations of circ*mstance, will wear on you like rain. Give it enough time, and you'll bear the scars." I spoke softly. "You will never be perfectly fair, and you will never be truly correct. This is your burden. To keep deciding, over and over again."

"Did you write that down first or was if off the top of your head."

I shrugged. "Give me your phone."

Jason dug his phone out of his pocket and handed it over. I put in my number. "So do you just hand out your number to strange vigilantes you find?"

I laughed for the first time in a long time. "No, just the ones I like."

I could've sworn I saw him blush. "Thanks," he muttered.

"Been good meeting ye, Red. Call me if you need."

Chapter 9: Hi Welcome to Chili's

Chapter Text

My stomach twisted as the lift ascended another level of Wayne Enterprises high-rise. I'd never liked heights, but I had never had a proper excuse for it until now. I didn't have the power of flight to save me if the lift dropped.

I had a few papers in my satchel, and a couple of emergency items. I wore a nice dress shirt, a pair of sleek black pants and heeled boots. I made a promise to myself to make a good impression, at least for a while, but sooner or later I was going to come to work in sweatpants.

The lift opened and I stepped out into a working space. Two desks were divided by glass. Three walls were blank; the four was entirely made of glass, providing a window to the city. Even though it was only early morning, the sky had turned overcast. Welcome to Gotham.

I realised how quiet it was then and noticed that I was alone in the room. Was this what getting stood up felt like? Just kidding, Bruce and I both had a tough night. He had come back later last night; and I redid a stitch be busted and bandaged a new knife wound, before kicking him out like a one-night stand.

There was a counter in the corner of this side of the glass wall with a coffee machine on it. I wandered over, sussed out my options. I scrunched my nose, the espresso capsules all looked expensive and pretentious. What was wrong with good old instant coffee? I basically lived off the stuff.

I made myself a cup anyway. I was just raising it to my lips when –Poof. Bruce appeared beside me. The guy was like a ninja. A rich vampire ninja.

His hair was gelled back, and he wore an Armani suit that uh... hugged his body nicely.

"Looks like you had a rough night," he said making himself a cup. I couldn't help but notice as he reached for the coffee the way his sleeve slid up, revealing the bandages. I pretended not to notice, by the way he moved I wouldn't be able to tell if I hadn't known better.

"Something like that," I said nonchalantly. Then teasingly. "What about you? Did reckless playboy Bruce Wayne do anything stupid?"

Bruce gave me a brief, hard look before his face softened again and he spoke casually. "Something like that."

He gave me a rundown of the job and what I was required to do in filing records, making notations, appointments and taking calls. I caught on quickly. It had become a reflex in thatother placeand had stuck with me all these years, I fell into the format and rhythm of carefully identifying the correct notes for each file before putting them away in a cabinet of sending them where they need to go. Then I started on the scheduling. A wave of nostalgia hit me when I noticed plans for an expo.

It was 2010 and the first time I'd seen Tony in person in almost two decades. Only, at the time I didn't remember he was my brother. I wish we had more time.

The rest of the day went quickly but I finished the day's work quota in half the time and started planning a way to keep the people in my building safe. Even if it was only one building in all of Gotham, the least I could do was a little focused good.

When I finally looked up from the computer, the sun had gone down, casting the city in darkness. I did one last check over the day's work, just to make sure. A pissed off Bruce Wayne was like Nick Fury; someone you didn't want to want to piss off. I stood from the desk and my legs had gone to sleep and almost gave out. Painfully I wiggled toes as blood returned to them.

I was a little stiff everywhere from my bout with Red Hood the mob last night.

I wondered how the little girl was doing.

"Still here?" Bruce asked, appearing out nowhere.

My expression didn't change. "Is that the only way you know how to enter a room?"

He chuckled as I moved stiffly to the lift. Of course, Bruce noticed. "Is something wrong?"

"Aye, I've been sitting down all day," I said. I had a five-hour maximin tolerance for bullsh*t.

Bruce stepped into the lift with me. And while I had my own plans, he was probably keeping a close eye on me to make sure I didn't Tony anything into a worse situation. Yes, I did just use Tony as a verb.

"Is your little bottom sore?"

Well that was out of character. "Aye," I said. And just because I couldn't tell if he was making a pass at me, "It's not as fat as yours."

He scoffed. "You've got a lot of nerve, for someone who just got a job."

"Last time I checked, I was off the clock. And I may be new, but at least not a... dollophead."

Bruce's mouth twitched into something that could been a smile. "You just made that up."

"All words are made up," I reasoned. "It's idiomatic."

"It's what?"

"You need to be more in touch with the people."

"Describe dollop-head."

"In two words?" I asked as the lift came to a stop on the ground floor.

"Yes."

The doors opened.

"Bruce Wayne." A small smile formed on my face as I stepped into the lobby. I saluted him. "See you tomorrow boss."

Okay Indiana. You can do this. You can actually move into your apartment like a grown-ass man.

I had boxes scattered all over the loft floor. It was spare and simple: beige walls with no artwork or mirrors or other decorations. Heavy curtains could be drawn over the windows to block out the outside world. I remember when I was a kid, how my mum used to make my room as no-frills as possible. I'd always found it hard to sleep in doors unless I had total darkness and nothing to distract me. This place was exactly what I needed to be comfortable.

I was expecting some mustiness, giving that no one had rented it in a while, but what I found was actual dirt. The floors and single table were coated in it, and I was a little worried what I might find on the bed. Oh well, I'd come from worse.

I found a cupboard with cleaning supplies in it and got to work. It was an easy job, if tedious, but it was satisfying to see the dirt disappear. When I was done, I was able to find a couple good places to hide my stuff.

The panel under the shower came off and revealed a compartment just large enough for Nat's Widow Bite bracelets. Thor's hammer (which I had started calling Johnathan) had spawned into the kitchen and I hung Clint's bow and quiver above the couch. Steve's shield and Tony's suit went under the bed. I moved to the boxes then, better to face the past and get it over with.

One of them contained books. Yes, I like to read. I'm weird that way. Even after escaping HYRDA, I spent a lot of time in public libraries, learning random stuff just to pass the time in a warm, safe place. I checked the titles as I put them on the shelves. J.R.R Tolkien, Trent Dalton, Elizabeth Wein, Frank Herbert, and Heather Morris. When I got to the last two books... something like a bubble of helium made its way up my throat.

The first was a brown leather-bound book with a red star stamped on the cover. It was self-explanatory. The second was simply labelledThe Darkholdin bold letters on the front. So many people looked for this book. No one ever found it. Not Daniel Whitehall, not the Red Skull, not even Nick Fury himself. But Fury had told me it was Pandora's Box,the Book of the Damned.

Lucky me. I put them on top of the bookshelf.

I opened the next box. "No way..." At the bottom there was a picture framed in silver. I picked up the frame to see the photos better. It showed me and Tony, aged ten and fifteen on Christmas, 1985. In the first picture we were looking at a cookbook, Tony reading over my shoulder. In the second, the pan was on fire, and I clung onto Tony for dear life.

Chapter 10: It's Called Whisky

Chapter Text

1 Week Later

Bruce had grown used to seeing Jane on the other side of his office. For someone who'd never worked a job like this before she'd caught on very quickly, it was honestly impressive. She got on fairly well with Dick when he came around, even shared his grudge match against the English dictionary. Jane definitely had an ego, but she didn't exactly flaunt it. It was a something worth keeping an eye on.

Tim was coming in today; he would see how they got on.

It was around noon, and he'd just finished launch, Jane having finished her own while before, the only time he'd seen her stop working.

Although Bruce wasn't sure when he'd started paying more attention to her than his work. There seemed to be no end, a bottomless pit of paperwork. Mistakes from employees here and there, on the forms to approve new projects which required loads of research to it was something he'd like his company to sponsor in the upcoming expo. Not to mention his night-time activities, the GCPD could only do so much on their own, Jason was back into town as well.

Bruce let out a frustrated groan and slammed his fist into the desk. Somehow and employee had managed to screw up and entire project, that was thousands if not millions waste because of a single screw up.

"You okay?" Jane asked from the door, almost like she was hesitant about asking, not that you could tell from her voice. It was all in the subtext. Bruce looked up, catching her eyes as she studied him, though he supposed he was doing the same. The first time that he noticed were the dark circles under her eyes.

Bruce paused before he nodded slowly. "It's just someone messed up bad and it's a lot," he said, gesturing at the computer screen.

Jane just nodded slightly. "Anything I can help with?" He thought about it for a moment before asking her to come in. She pulled up a chair and sat across the desk from him. "What did you have in mind?"

"World peace would be nice," Bruce said in a monotone.

Jane's brows pulled together as she thought and brought a hand to her chin. "All right Miss Congeniality," she said. "My old man had a philosophy: peace means having a bigger stick than the other guy. This came from a guy selling sticks. My father helped defeat Nazis. He worked on the Manhattan Project. A lot of people, would call that being a hero."

Bruce frowned, not sure where this was going. "And a lot of people would also call that war-profiteering."

She snapped her fingers and pointed. "Exactly," she said. "That was his legacy, which he unfortunately passed down to me. What do you want yours to be?"

What surprised Bruce was how genuinely sincere she had sounded the whole time. It was almost wise and yet he didn't think she could boil an egg. "Something that could help the citizens of Gotham and bring the price of living down. You graduated from MIT right?"

Jane nodded, taking a pen and a piece of scrap paper from his desk and began drawing a messy sketch, face set like she was trying to remember something. About five minutes later she handed the paper to him. "That's a miniaturized arc reactor."

"What will it generate?"

"If my math is right – and it always is – three gigajoules per second," she said with a stunning smirk.

"That's three times more powerful than a nuclear power plant."

Bruce looked up to see a small, genuine smile on Jane's face. But he could tell beneath it she was tired, with a kid like Tim you basically learned all the symptoms like the back of your hand.

"Jane."

"Hm?" she hummed, her blue eyes gleamed slightly brighter with a questioning glint.

"How are you handling this, you look tired. One of my boys, Tim often is, so if there's you need then I can handle it..." he paused thinking, remembering the way she kept herself at arm's length from people. Actually, this was first time he heard her speak of any sort of family other than Steve when they first met. "Or if there's someone you need to talk to..."

Jane held up a hand to stop him. She held strong for a couple of seconds before her shoulders deflated and the tired look seemed to double, eyes falling slightly. She focused on the blueprints in front of them. "It's nothing." She paused, taking a deep breath. "Had a bit of a hassle with the landlord and his people."

She didn't mention Batman. Smart. Her breathing was normal. No rapid blinking. Body wasn't ridged. No pupil dilation. She was either a really good liar or didn't think it was something she needed to tell him. Bruce moved so he was in her line of sight. "Is there anything I could do to help?"

She froze for a second, looking into his eyes before shaking her head. "Thanks for the offer, Mr. Wayne. But it's nothing I can't handle."

"Alright. And please, call me Bruce," he asked.

Jane nodded. "I hoped this helped, Bruce." Then she stepped out of his office.

[Indiana Stark]

I found Dick and another boy standing in my office. He couldn't have been older than 16. Dark circles under his eyes, like he hadn't slept in six years, with a laptop tucked securely under one arm.

We made eye contact. He rubbed his eyes and did a double take before he spoke. "Hello."

"Jane!" Dick exclaimed, a massive grin on his face. "This is Tim Drake, just another of the thousands of children Bruce has adopted." They both chuckled like it was an inside joke.

"So, another victim of the serial adopter. Nice to meet you Tim," I said. He extended his hand, and I shook it, he smiled, and he seemed to look a little more awake. I should take notes.

"How've you been?" Dick asked. "I've heard some pretty nasty rumours."

Oh yeah. The rumours. Over the last week only everyone was talking about it. A blonde I.T. girl all of a sudden gets promoted to be assistant to the C.E.O.? There are only two ways how that happens. One is nepotism, and I don't look like Bruce's cousin.

"It's called whisky."

"Jason's going to love her," Tim said.

Chapter 11: I Do a Better Job Than Mr. Incredible

Chapter Text

4 Weeks Later

The next weeks were hard. No reason in particular. I was just so incredibly lonely, and I almost couldn't bare it. Sometimes, when things were particularly bad, my brain gave me a happy dream. Like it was taunting me.

*********************************************************************************************

My stomach churned as the quinjet sawed over New York City then to the wilderness beyond. I knew if this thing dropped out of the sky I could fly us to safety. I wasn't afraid, noooo. It was just that when I was up real high, I had a problem with gravity.

But Steve had insisted I learn how to fly the jet. Like he was the best person to teach me, Mr-I-had-to-crash-the-plane. Mr-bombs-on-board. Mr-why-didn't-he-just-jump-out?

Steve glanced at me, grinned, and took my hands, wrapping them around the flight controls. He held them firmly.

"Hold it steady," he said. "See how we're slant against the sun? Cause there's a whopper of a crosswind, so we have to crab. Just like sailing. You point the jet sideways. Got it?"

I nodded, now that I was flying without the heat of battle to distract me, my face had gone pale, my jaw set, but I was determined. Howard Stark, my adopted father had been the best pilot around, and I wanted to do good by him. At least once.

"See?" Steve let go of my hands and held his aloft. "You're in control. You're flying the plane. The Flying Scotsman!"

"High time they put the RAF in kilts," I squeaked.

"Don't cling to it – just hold it gently – that's it."

We beamed at each other for a moment. Then we looked back at the sky.

"Oi, Steve, you seeing this! Look, look at the sun!"

It was green.

God's truth – the rim of the setting sum, all we could see of it, had turned green. It was sandwiched in between a low dark haze and a higher bank of dark cloud, and just along the upper edge of the haze was the bright lozenge of flaming green, like Chartreuse liqueur with light behind it. I had only seen this in Pirates of the Caribbean.

The green flash.

I flew the plane, but I stared at the sun's green edge, too, for a long, wind-buffeted glorious half minute. Thirty seconds it lasted, green sunlight breaking through the cloud on the horizon. Then the light winked out below the haze again and Steve and I were left blinded in the dull gloom of the showery autumn afternoon.

***********************************************************************************************

Gone. One moment flying in green sunlight, then the sky suddenly grey and dark. Out like a candle. Here, then gone.

I began to take in my clothes around the waist. Dick and Tim fretted over the bag under my eyes (even my bags had bags). I started taking pills to sleep, but they didn't work, not well enough. I drifted off only to be roused by nightmares that had increased in number and intensity. When I struggle out of the haze of drug that only prolong the horrible dreams, I took to roaming the halls or all asleep somewhere hidden. An abandoned air duct. Behind the pipes in the laundry. Sometimes I even took the graveyard shift in the kebab shop across the street.

Tonight, I was too restless to even stay in one place. I got out of bed and started pacing, heart beating too fast, breathing too short. The loft felt like a prison cell. I ran down the hall to the door to the roof. It was not only unlocked but ajar. Maybe someone forgot to close it, but it didn't matter, I just wanted to fill my lungs with air.

The roof wasn't lit at night, but as soon as my bare feet reached the cold rough surface I saw her silhouette, black against the light that shone endlessly in Gotham. I could slip away now without her noticing me, but something inside me wouldn't let me walk away. She stood on the other side of the railings, leaning over the street.

sh*t.

My feet moved soundlessly over the concrete. I was only a meter away from her when I said, "Don't jump." I came up beside her and stepped over the rail. My stomach twisted, contents threatening to make an appearance. The street was still busy, even at this hour. "Please. Not here. Wayne Enterprises is just a few blocks down. That's the sort of address you fling yourself to death at."

I prayed that reverse psychology worked. I was barely handling my own problems, how was I supposed to help this girl?

"Yo-you're making jokes?" she said, exasperated.

Well, fake it till you make it. "I was bitten by a sad radioactive clown."

In the light from below, I could see her face now. She was a skinny, runner-bean of a girl with long blond hair and big, blue doe eyes. She looked a lot like me when I was thirteen. She scoffed angrily.

"Hasn't Gotham seen enough tragedy?" I asked. "It doesn't need your wandering soul haunting the crap out of it." I sat down on the ledge and casually dangled my legs over the side. "So. Yeah. I'm sure a hero would have something profound to say to make you feel better instantly, but... I'm all you got."

She didn't answer, just stared at the street below us.

"I'm Jane, what's your—"

"Don't," she said. Crossing her arms, she looked away from me.

"Don't what?"

"Don't pretend to care."

"You're being presumptuous – I don't care. Yet. You're making it awful hard to care. Is it a boy? A girl? Money? Did you marry a Succubus and she might ruin your life?"

"Are you trying to make me jump?" she asked angrily. She'd locked her blue eyes on mine now, demanding an answer.

"NO. Never." I smiled. She squeezed her eyes shut, tears threatening to spill over, bottom lip trembling. "Well again Wayne Enterprises is righhht over there."

"I hate you."

"I think maybe that's a sign you're on the mend? I'll make you an offer. If you're determined that this is your last night on earth – what do you want to do? Have you been to the fish market?"

"You're a manic. What is wrong with you?" she sobbed. "No I haven't been to the fish market."

I put a hand on her shoulder. "I'll brush you up on some Japanese auctioneering terms." The girl still looked a bit standoff-ish. "Come on. You haven't lived until you've argued with a ninety-year-old Okinawa survivor about sturgeon meat."

The fish market was in an old warehouse that used to hold coal. You could still smell the soot in some corners. Some might say that it's not hygienic, but, hey, it's Gotham. Surprisingly the girl got into the spirit of things, and I bought a bluefin, though I wasn't sure what I was actually going to do with it. Well, I didn't exactly 'buy' it. The store owner and I couldn't decide on a price, so I grabbed the fish and the girl and ran.

It certainly lived thing up.

"See, I had a blast," I said ten minutes later when we'd lost the angry mob. "Where to now?"

"Wayne Enterprises observation deck," she said flatly.

"HAH! You made a joke! Wait, are you not joking?"

"Did I take a header off your roof back there and end up in Hell?" she asked.

"Well, I'd rather be in Tahiti, drinking co*cktails with mini umbrellas in them, so maybe." Better yet back home, with my family.

"Why won't you just leave me alone?" she asked. "Unless this is a kidnapping?"

I gasped. "HOW DARE YOU! I only kidnap for money. I promise I'll let you go if you do everything I say."

"Oh my god, youarekidnapping me."

"First of all, you're too old to be kidnapped. This is an abduction," I said sarcastically pointing at her with the bluefin. She punched me in the arm. "What's your name?"

"Danielle."

"Oh. Thank God. I was worried you were a Robin."

People are complicated. There is so much more to everybody than you realize. You see someone in school every day, or at work, in the canteen, and you share a cigarette or a coffee with them, and you talk about the weather or last night's football game. But you don't talk so much about what was the nastiest thing you ever said to your mother, or how you pretended to be David Balfour, the hero ofKidnapped, for the whole of the year when you were 13, or what you imagine yourself doing if things were different.

As walked under the streetlights Danielle said in a joking way she wanted a ten foot marble statue of herself and a koi pond. We finally stopped outside the bar I normally went to. "So, you wanna talk about it?"

"Let's leave it alone," she said sadly.

"Yeah, no problem." I nodded. "Okay, technically, "leave it alone" is not my strong suit, but..."

"I can't, um... I stop seeing them dragging my dad from the car and beating him. It's like a broken record. They – they kidnapped me and tied me to a chair after they took my clothes. If Batman hadn't had been there... they would've...."

"I know." I wish I didn't but thing's just as bad had happened to me in thatother place.

"I don't see the city anymore. All that I see are its... dark corners. I look around and all that I see are threats."

"I know, Indy. I was few years older than you when the same thing happened to me. So trust me when I say there are people that understand." I couldn't blame her, so I put a hand on her shoulder and pointed through the window into the bar. "This place? These guys are harmless. Look, that's Tom Belkin. He's the Road Captain in the Gotham Hellions. He organizes the food drive every Thanksgiving. That's Alexander Georgiyevna. His wife's Yelena... she works at the diner around the corner from here. That's Pete Peterson. He... Okay, he is a criminal. He's done time for larceny and distribution. But he's turning it around, his kids are this close to getting into Saint Agnes Day care. Saint Agnes!"

I pointed to the far corner, to two young men. One had a white streak in his dark hair, he wore a domino mask and a leather jacket. The other had bright red hair and a metal arm. "That's Red Hood and Arsenal. I had a bit of trouble with the mob, Red helped me out."

All things considering, it had been a pretty quiet night for Gotham. So rather than press our luck and stay out on the street, I hotwired Jason's bike and took Indiana for a joyride. Neither of us wore helmets and the wind whipped our hair as I drove like Robbie Reyes.

"Did you just steal a motorcycle?"

"I dunno. Did I? What does your heart tell you? C'mon! We had fun, right?" I said. "Aren't you glad you picked my address to fail to off yourself?"

"Yeah, sure." I felt her shrug. "You can let me off anywhere."

I slowed and parked outside Gotham General hospital. I turned to face her. "No, I can't. I'm smart enough to know I'm not the guy to help you. But they can."

"You promised to let me go!" she shouted.

"I am. This is where you and I part ways. I've been texting the staff. They're expecting you."

Indiana looked at the hospital doors with a melancholy expression. "What if I don't want to go inside? Are you going to make me?"

"I – I dunno. I don't think I'll have to because... I think you want to walk in. Will you walk in with me?" I asked. "Listen, I don't think you're crazy. You just need a little help. And I'm not the guy to help you."

We walked in together. I talked to the nurse and watched as they disappeared down the white halls and around a corner. I took a deep breath and let it out through my nose. It wasn't exactly a day saved sort of moment, but it was a life.

Of course, the moment she walks out of my life I think of the perfect advice. You gotta remember: No matter how bad things get... that life is fluid. There's always the chance that something great is waiting right around the next corner. You just have to find a way to keep rounding corners.

If only I could take my own advice.

I started the long slog home. There was the heavy metallic smell of coming rain and the air seemed to grow a little colder. Kicking a puddled I got the feeling of being watched.

I'll give you one guess who it was.

****

"You know, if you wanted to talk, all you had to do is ask," I said.

The wind buffeted around us on the roof top. I stayed well away from the edge. Batman's cape billowed around him, and while I didn't agree with capes, it did look very impressive and cinematic.

Me on the other hand, I stood in boots with no socks, a pair of boy's shorts and a long sleeve t-shirt, with a paper wrapped bluefin in my arms.

"You did a good thing tonight," he told me.

I shrugged. "Anyone would have done the same."

"No, they wouldn't."

"That was the girl the Russian's kidnapped, wasn't she? God, she looked just like me."

And as if to prove a point, the skies opened up and it started raining. An icy drop ran down my back making me shiver. Maybe it was the cold, or distant roar of the city below, or pent-up grief, but I suddenly felt weak at the knees. I didn't want anyone, especially Batman to see me like this.

I felt like I was sixteen years old age, in a road in the middle of nowhere, somewhere in New Mexico. Danger Zone still playing from the cars broken radio. The Avengers and Ultron had replaced my parents and the Winter Soldier.

"See you around, aye?" I said and started towards the roof exit.

"Jane."

Batman's voice stopped me. I could feel him stand right behind me but not close enough to touch me, then the rain stopped as he held his cape over my head to shield me from the weather. He was warm and I could feel his body heat radiating off him. I almost wanted to lean in.

I just felt so alone.

"You're not well."

"Thanks for the observation, Sherlock, but it's three AM. No one look well this early in the morning."

I could've sworn I heard him chuckle. I slowly turned around and found him still standing only a couple inches away. He placed a hand on my shoulder.

"Let me drive me home."

"I have my own transportation."

Batman narrowed the white slits of his mask. "I know you stole that bike, Jane."

"Hmm," I grunted in annoyance, but also taking the opportunity to mock him. "I borrowed it."

"Don't fight me on this." He pressed a button on his utility belt.

"Fine," I said shortly. Then a thought struck me. "Is it just the cape that's waterproof, or the whole suit? And if it's the whole suit, how do you sweat, or does it all just collect in yer boots?"

I'd never had a super suit, just fought in the Battle of New York in my day clothes. I'd borrowed gantlets from one of Tony's old suits later. With the Defenders, Matt had been the only with a suit and I had a field day teasing him while Danny fangirled.

"It's just the cape," he said. Batman took a grappling gun from his belt and held it by his side.sh*t. I didn't think I liked were this was going. "Do you trust me?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Not really."

I let him put an arm around my waist and pulled me against him. I locked my arms behind his neck. There was a clink-hiss as the grapple gun fired and Batman started running, leaped off the side of the building and plummeted straight down.

And we both died.

Just kidding. It only felt like we were going to die.

I gripped Batman for dear life. The fall felt like hour, though it probably only lasted a couple of seconds. During which time I thought of several more colourful names for Bruce Wayne. Finally, the wire went taut, and we started to swing.

We landed in the alley where the Batmobile was parked. I stepped away from Batman and took in the sight of the car. It didn't look like the one from the Dark Knight trilogy or Batfleck's and way off Adam West's car. More like the Batmobile from the New 52 timeline.

It was matte black all around, sleek but built with evident armour if you looked hard enough. There were thrusters on the back, what appeared to be missiles on the sides, and the red windows were completely tinted. I could tell the wheels were forged by hands. The hubcaps were even nicer. I was surprised they hadn't been stolen already.

This f*cking beautiful car. Tony would've loved to get his hands on it.

"Whoa," I breathed, more to myself. Batman stood silently and I looked at him from across the hood. "How much horsepower does this thing have?"

I wasn't sure if he was going to answer, but it was worth a shot.

"Eighteen."

"Eighteen what?"

"Hundred."

"Eighteen hundred?!" I repeated. I really wish I had a glass of water with me right now, just so I could spit it out for dramatic effect. I did a lap and stopped next to Batman. "You built it, didn't you?"

The was another silence, and I thought he wasn't going to answer.

"How could you tell?"

"The wheels," I answered. "They're custom. And there's not another car in the world that looks like this."

Batman pressed another button on his belt and the top of the car slid open. I ran my eyes over the inside of the car. I really wanted to drive this thing, but there was no way Batman would let me.

You could knock him out, said the little devil on my shoulder. He sounded like Matt Murdock.

"Get in."

"How do I know you're not abducting me?"

"Do I look like the abducting type?"

"Hold on, just let me ask one of the Robin's."

I grinned at him, and his eyes narrowed to slits – cold and harsh – and I'd give him this, the man could say a lot with limited facial expressions.

"Fine, I'm getting in."

As I walked around to the other side, I noticed there were no door as Bats vaulted into the drives seat. I did the same on my side, easily settling into the passenger's seat. I could feel his eyes on me. I gave him the stink eye and he looked away.

He moved his arm to press a button on the dashboard and the roof slid shut almost silently, and the interior of the car lit up.

I was slammed back into the seat as the car came to life and took off down the street. It rumbled beneath me, and I could feel the horses – all eighteen hundred. It was quiet then, apart from the rumble of the engine, mostly because I was looking all the buttons and flashing lights. I wanted to know what they did. Was there an ejector seat? There was a big red button by the steering wheel.

Do it, said the little devil on my shoulder. This time he sounded like Palpatine.

I waited for an objection, but apparently, I didn't have a little Castiel. Well,f*ck it.

I went to push it, but Batman's voice bought me back to reality. "That will make the car explode," he said in a monotone.

"Noice." I nodded once. "Oh yeah, just blow up a multi-billion-dollar car why don't you. I'm pretty sure you can get another one at the nearest dealership."

Batman didn't reply but I could see a very small smile on his face. I pulled off my left glove and felt the seat below me, and it didn't exactly feel like leather, but not like clothe either – a foreign material – maybe one of those waterproof fabrics.

"Park Row, where I found you in the dumpster," I said.

"Your address." It was a statement.

"You already knew."

"Yes."

"You know how much that makes you look like a stalker, right?"

"Why didn't you move?"

"I can't abandon those people. The coppers don't come down Crime Alley cause they're afraid. Red Hood patrols but he can't be everywhere at once."

Batman didn't say anything else, he just turned sharply into the next road. I found myself pressed against him from the inertia.f*ck you, physics!I bet he did it on purpose too. My left hand was pressed against his chest, my right on the centre console.

I didn't say anything but cleared my throat and backed up.

"Put on your seatbelt."

"You're such a mum."

AN.

I started to recognise the streets now and I knew I was almost home. I pulled my left glove back on and glanced at the Bat. His stone face, cape, mask, and the bat symbol on his chest. The suit hugged him tightly, showing off every muscle he had. I looked away, checking out Bruce (and I was checking him out) felt like a betrayal to Steve's memory.

The Batmobile started to slow and the ride was over. Batman pulled into the alley next to my loft. The roof slid open, but I didn't move.

I turned in my seat to face Bruce. "Thanks for the ride Batsy. Try not get killed, I'm sure I can find another vigilante to patch up."

I hopped out of the car.

"Take care of yourself, Jane."

Chapter 12: Relax, It's Just a Little Death Prophecy

Chapter Text

On the day Jason Todd called me mum, we were sprawled on the roof top of Yelena's apartment complex, talking about love and stomachs and love.

"I don't believe that, though," I said, shaking my head again at Yelena Georgiyevna. "You always have a choice. I don't care if you think it's love – and by the way, NOT a word you should throw around so easily – but even if that, even if that word, you can still choose to act right."

"I said I loved the way he looked," Yelena said. "I didn't say I lovedhim. You're twisting my words. And that's not what I'm talking about anyway. I'm talking about... how your heart fills up. Actually, no, it's not even your heart, it's yourstomach. You feel it and everything else justgoes."

"No, it doesn't," I said, firmly, because maybe I felt that way about Steve and now that he was gone there was just a pit where that love used to be. And it was painful. "No. It. Doesn't."

"Jane—"

"You can feel it and still do the right thing."

Yelena frowned. "Why is the question of the 'right thing'? I'm describing a normal human feeling. Batman's a hot guy."

She wasn't exactly wrong. But he was also my friend, besides, now that I was playing the devil's advocate and was ready to die on that hill.

"You said you had no choice," I pursued. "You said if you'd been able to kiss him, you would have done it right there, regardless of who saw. Or if he had a girlfriend already. And your married—"

"She's right, though," Alexander Georgiyevna said, from where he was lying back with his head on Yelena's butt. "It is in your stomach."

"On a guy, you'd think it'd be lower," I said.

"That's different," Alexander said, sitting up. For a Russian guy pushing 30 and able to drink enough vodka to kill a bear, he was surprisingly in touch with his feelings. "Your dick or whatever, that'swanting. Animal stuff. This is more."

"Yeah," Yelena agreed.

"You feel it right here." Alexander put his hand on biggish belly. "And it's like, for that moment, everything you believed is wrong. Or doesn't matter. And everything that was complicated is suddenly, yes-and-no simple, because your stomach is really the boss and it's telling you that your desire is possible and that it's not the answer to everything but it's the one thing that's going to make the questions more bearable."

I shook my head again. "Your heart isn't the boss of you either. Thinks it is. Isn't. You canalwayschoose. Always."

"You can't choose not to feel," Yelena said.

"You can choose how to act."

"Yeah," Alexander said. "Hard, though."

A thought hit me. "Early Christians though your soul was in your stomach," I said.

There was silence as a new wind blew across the rooftop, all by it's lonesome, as if sayingDon't mind me. Then thunder boomed, but everyone on that rooftop new it wouldn't turn into anything.

I chuckled lightly. Thor was still upset that Jesus didn't turn up to that fight. Thought, I'd done the maths. Jesus had been dead about 1000 year by the Thor challenged him.

The wind picked up a little more (Terribly sorry, I imagined it saying; apparently, the wind was British, wondering how it got all the way over here) and I could smell cigarette smoke on it.

I hopped up. Residents milled about stilling in deck chairs or on the ground, joking and laughing as they ate pizza and kababs. I'd shouted tonight. I was technically a billionaire; it was the least I could do. Grills was on the BBQ cooking the bluefin, beer in one hand.

The smell of a cigarette caught my attention again and I looked across to the next building. I could see the silhouette of a boy. Jason, I realised. He was having a smoke; he didn't seem in a hurry to finish it.

"I'll take that fish to go, Grills."

"You got it Hoddie-guy."

I took my food and a couple of beers and made my way to the next building.

I stopped in the shadows behind Jason, as he struggled to light another dart. He was in civvies tonight, not his Red Hood get up. He looked like almost an entirely different person, the saddest person I'd ever seen – which is saying something.

"Need a light?" I asked.

Jason held out the cigarette and let me light it, then took a drag. He offered it to me, and I blew a perfect smoke ring before passing it back.

"So," he tilted his head at me with a small smirk that didn't quite cover his melancholy, "Jane Wallace Beaufort-Stuart; how did a girl like you end up with a name like that?"

"A girl like me?" I repeated coyly, deciding to play his game. "I am a Lady, as opposed to you, Jason Peter Todd-Wayne."

I cracked open the beers and downed half mine in one go. Jason looked pale in the dim moonlight, but different to the last time I saw him. Kind of a sickly pale, and the bags under his eyes and hollow cheeks spoke volume. He looked like he'd lost some weight as well.

Is that what I looked like in the mirror?

He glanced at my metal hand but didn't say anything of it, then met my eyes and focused on them. His eyes glowed slightly in the dark as well, but he didn't seem to have powers like I did back on my Earth.

"Where'd you come from before Gotham?" he asked.

"Hell's Kitchen," I said nonchalantly, though it seemed this wasn't the answer he was looking for, because he looked a little annoyed.

"Are you sure? Wasn't just regular Hell?"

"Been there, done that," said I bitterly. "But the less you know the better."

"I thought we were being honest with each other," Jason said, he sounded a little bit hurt. "I'll tell you something. Secret for a secret."

"You sure, kid?" I asked. "There's a lot of emotional baggage."

"Amuse me." By now he'd finished the dart and took a sip from his beer. "Why are you like this?"

"Charming?"

"The brooding tough-guy shtick. Why are you the way you are?"

Clint had asked me the same question a few years ago and I hadn't been able to give him an honest answer, but this was Jason. Jason revealing his past seemed out of character. He seemed like the type of guy that like to make himself look all big and mighty and fearless.

"I was trained as a child to be a killer, fight the Commies and win the Cold War. I was kidnapped, frozen, brainwashed and forced to kill for my enemies while everyone I cared grew up without me, forgot me and died," I said. "That probably has something to do with it."

Jason watched me over the top of his beer. He took a long sig and put it down. His brows furrowed, then reset. His shoulders dropped and he clenched his jaw. "I got my soul snatched by the Joker and resurrected by a bunch of ninjas," he said. "I had some pretty wild teenage years."

I blinked. He'd died too. "That's a hardcore origin story. So, League of Assassins? Lazarus Pit?"

"Both." He stared at me, and the atmosphere shifted. His green eyes were still glowing, but they looked stale and started to water. The bags under his eyes looked darker. He turned away.

I placed a hand under his chin and turned it back. I swiped my not-metal-hand across his cheek to wipes the tears off. He looked at me with wide eyes, and instead of pushing me off, Jason folded into me, letting me hold him. I kissed the top of his head – the first nonplatonic action between us – and tucked his head under my chin. I rubbed circles into his back.

"I wish I could say it gets easier laddie, but I'd be lying," I said. "What I can say is, if you wanna climb outta that hell you're in, do the work. Do it."

I ran my hand through his hair. He leaned further into my shoulder, and I heard a muffled, "Thanks Ma."

I closed my eyes and waited until he calmed down and the tears stopped. I held him a little longer before either of spoke.

"I'm gonna go," he said, pulling away.

"You're just gonna set me up like that, huh?"

"I don't want to make it weird for you."

"Boy, you just called me mum. Come back with me to that roof top. The people over there are the most welcoming in Gotham. They don't care if you wear small t-shirts or if you have six toes or if your mums your aunt."

"Okay, I get it."

I dragged Jason back to the roof top.

"Yo, boss," Deke called. "Who's this?"

We were suddenly surrounded by everyone on that roof top. I gestured to the kid. "Deke, everyone, this is my kid, Jason. He's gonna stick around awhile."

Grills offered him a hot dog and welcomed him to the family.

"Jane!" Yelena exclaimed. "And here I thought you were forty-year-old virgin."

The night went on and I got to know Jason a little more. Learning each other's sense of humour. There was no more talk of taboo topic and we just learnt about each other as people.

In a twist of fate, he turned out to be a literature nerd. We both loved books, and both loved talking about books. He was old school, Shakespeare, and Dickens, that sort of thing. I liked historical fiction (mostly WW2 and the Russian Revolution so I could fact check with Steve and Nat) and mythology, including and not limited to J.R.R Tolkien and Rick Riordan. We had Orwell in common and Jason wanted to know if I'd readDown and Out in Paris and London.

So, then we had a genial argument about Orwellian socialism.

We drank, we fought and made our ancestors proud. Eventually Jason did get drunk, and I had to take him home. (I can get drunk too, but due to the super-soldier serum it takes four times as much, or a bit of that Asgardian stuff.)

I made the mistake of looking across the roof to the three old babushkas sitting in rocking chairs by the edge, knitting the biggest pair of socks I'd ever seen.

I mean these socks were the size of sweaters, but they were clearly socks. The old lady on the right knitted one of them. the lady on the left knitted the other. The lady in the middle held an enormous basket of blood-red yarn.

All three women looked ancient, with pale faces wrinkled like fruit leather, silver hair tied back in pastel platok's, bony arms sticking out of bleached cotton dresses.

The weirdest thing was, they seemed to be looking directly at me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and my whole body started to tingle. Would those socks fit me? Had Scarecrow poisoned Gotham's water supply and I hallucinating?

The babushka in the middle took out a huge pair of scissors – gold and silver, long-bladed, like shears. I started to sweat. The old ladies were still watching me from across the roof. The middle one cut the yarn, and I swear I could hear thatsnipacross the chatter of people. Her two friends balled up the blood-red socks, leaving me to wonder who they could possibly be for – King Kong or Godzilla.

Once we got going down the stairs, I started felling feverish, as if I'd caught the flu. Jason muttered something about my eyes glowing brighter.

I was used to strange experiences, strange things happened to me all the time. But that was really weird. Sure, Danny Rand had told me about Shou-Lao and becoming Iron Fist. Then the Final Battle against the Hand was fought in the Dragon Bone Catacombs below New York, but three old ladies knitting The Socks of Death, that didn't bode well.

I didn't do supernatural.

When we got to Jason's apartment, I lifted him into a fireman's hold over my shoulders as we came to the stairs. I put him down when we got to the door and knocked. As it opened, I was met a shock of long bright red hair.

"Roy this is Jane, Jane this is Roy," Jason slurred and put his rested his full weight against me. I pick him up again and rested him against my hip. It was easier to carry him than stumble.

"Sign for him and I'll go."

Roy shook my hand and laughed. "Why you let him drink so much?"

"You know, I don't have a good excuse for that."

Roy let me in, and I took Jason to bed. He flopped down on it and yawned. "I'm so tired."

"Go to sleep then, idiot." I smile, and brushed the hair back from his face, then went to leave. It took him a few seconds, but he was able to wrap his hand around my left.

"Can you stay?"

"Yeah," I said. "Yeah, I can stay, laddie."

We looked at each other, then Jason blinked hazily. "I love you, Ma," he muttered, before rolling onto his side, facing the wall and began to snore loudly.

I sorta bluescreened, if that was possible for a person. The wordsI love you, were foreign to me now. I'd barley heard it as a kid, then there'd been my missing 11 years, 10 years on the run from HYDRA never staying in one place for more than 2 years. Tony and I never told each other, just because we were sibling. Steve had said it when he proposed, but then Ultron happened, and it had been months since then.

So it came as a shock when Jason said it. We'd know each other for a couple of weeks, but I'd be damned if I didn't look after this boy now. I wouldn't let him down. I didn't know much more about him than what he'd told me, but I was clear he was alone, just like I was.

Maybe we could be there for each other when we needed.

I lay down with my back facing Jason and sunk under the covers. He seemed to radiate warm and comfort and for the first time in years I slipped into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter 13: Did You f*ck with the Timeline Again??

Chapter Text

I spoke too soon.

I started to dream, which was weird – not only because it wasn't the usual memory gone wrong, but because it was one of those freaky premonition dreams. Like the ones I got about Loki before the Battle of New York.

I was sitting in Granite Peak National Park with Nora Allen. I was maybe 11 years old. It was a warm day in Central City, with a cool breeze blowing through the elm trees. We stopped at the pond to skip stones across the water. I managed three skips. My mum – Nora managed four. She always won. Neither of us cared. She would laugh and hug me and that was enough for me.

It's hard to describe her. To really understand Nora Allen, you had to meet her. She used to joke that her spirit animal was Tinker Bell fromPeter Pan. If you could imagine Tinker Bell at age thirty-something, minus the wings, wearing flannel, denim and Doc Martens, you got a pretty good picture of my mum. She was a petite lady with delicate features, blond hair and sea blue eyes that sparkled with humour.

She radiated joy. That's the only way I can put it. She loved life. Her enthusiasm was infectious. She was kindest and most purely decent person I ever knew... until her death.

"When I was a little girl, Grandma taught me a prayer: Accept the things you cannot change," she told me. "Have the courage to change the things you can... and have the wisdom to know the difference."

The stepped out of the body of 11-year-old Barry Allen and the dream shifted. I found myself in London. Margaret Carter was known to most as the founder of S.H.I.E.L.D. But I just knew her as Aunt Peggy. She had a photograph in her office: Aunt Peggy standing next to JFK. As a kid that was pretty cool. But it was a lot to live up to, and I already had so much on my shoulders as the next Captain America.

Aunt Peggy pulled me close and kissed my forehead.

I asked her how she managed to master diplomacy and espionage at a time when no one wanted to see a woman succeed at either.

She said, "Compromise where you can. Where you can't, don't. Even if everyone is telling you that something wrong is something right. Even if the whole world is telling you to move, it is your duty to plant yourself like a tree, look them in the eye, and say, 'No,youmove'."

The dream changed again. Suddenly I was standing in a World Between Worlds, a cold grey fog in Ginnungagap – the primordial void – below me. I stood on nothing outlined by a white path, I had a feeling if I stepped outside the lines, I would fall into the gap. I did not want to fall. Every now and then there was a doorway – a portal maybe. This place seemed to be the Central Station of time and space dimensional gateways.

Maybe this place was what allowed me to exist in the DC Universe with the help of Eternity.

I walked a little further. In the centre of this dimensional gateway hub, an old, twisted tree rose taller than the Statue of Liberty. Yggdrasil. The lowest of its skeletal branches were maybe a hundred feet up. Its canopy stretching to the glittering cosmos above. Its roots had crept over the path and hung down into the Gap.

From the gateways I could hear voices echoing through the cosmos.

"I used to want to save the world. This beautiful place. But I knew so little then. It is a land of beauty and wonder, worth cherishing in every way. But the closer you get, the more you see the great darkness simmering within. And mankind? Mankind is another story altogether."

"Because he's the hero Gotham deserves, but not the one it needs right now. So we'll hunt him. Because he can take it. Because he's not our hero. He's a silent guardian, a watchful protector. A dark knight."

Then I recognised Steve's voice, clear as day.

"I know I'm asking a lot. But the price of freedom is high. It always has been. And it's a price I'm willing to pay. And if I'm the only one, then so be it. But I'm willing to bet I'm not."

Nick Fury.

"There was an idea, Stark knows this, called the Avenger Initiative. The idea was to bring together a group of remarkable people, to see if they could become something more. See if they could work together when we needed them to fight the battles that we never could."

The opening lines from Arrow.

"The name of the island they found me on is Lian Yu. It's Mandarin for "purgatory." I've been stranded here for five years. I've dreamt of my rescue every cold black night since then. For five years I've had only one thought, one goal - survive. Survive and one day return home. The island held many dangers. To live, I had make myself more than what I was, to forge myself into a weapon. I am returning not the boy who was shipwrecked, but the man who will bring to those who have poisoned my city to justice. My name is Oliver Queen."

Superboy from Young Justice.

"Why let them tell us what to do. It's simple. Get on board or get out of the way."

Jason...

"Is that what you think this is about? You letting me die? I don't know what clouds your judgement worse, your guilt or your antiquated sense of morality. Bruce, I forgive you for not saving me. But why, why on God's earth... is he still alive?"

His voice faded and was replaced by the Joker's manic cackle.

"Whatever life holds in store for me, I will never forget these words: "With great power comes great responsibility." This is my gift, my curse. Who am I? I'm Spider-man."

"Indiana!"

This wasn't an echo, but for a second I thought I'd misheard. But the voice calling for me came again.

"Indiana!"

It was coming from the tree, from a hollow about halfway up the trunk.

I stated to climb. Every branch on the World Tree would hold me. The biggest ones were wider than Interstate 93. The smallest were as large as your average redwood. As for Yggdrasil's trunk, it was so immense it just didn't compute. Each crevice in its surface seemed to lead to a different world, as if someone had wrapped tree bark around a column of television monitors glowing with a million different movies.

Wind roared, ripping at my trench coat. Beyond the tree's canopy I saw nothing but the glowing cosmos. Below was no ground – I felt woozy and unbalanced – Yggdrasil and everything contained, including my world, was free-floating above primordial mist – the Ginnungagap.

If I fell here, in the best-case scenario I'd hit one of the paths and break my neck (though I probably wouldn't die, because this was still a dream). Worst-case scenario, I'd keep falling into the Great Black Beyond.

I hauled myself over the lip of the hollow and peaked in. Suddenly, Barry Allen, the Flash was in my face. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me in.

"Indiana," he said. "Darkseid. Darkseid is coming."

He started to fade with the dream, but I held on. There was no way I was just letting him leave after saying some useless out of context cryptic bullsh*t. And why was it Barry warning me and not Constantine or Zatana, or someone who could explain the World Between Worlds stuff.

Unless...

"Did you f*ck with the timeline again?" I demanded.

Barry scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. I sighed.

"Tell me his name again."

"Darkseid. He invades planets. He takes what he wants. He wipes out the population. He's going to send the Parademon's to Earth."

"What's our timeline?"

"No telling. He has the Mother Boxes. That already makes him the strongest creature in the whole universe. If he gets his Planet Reapers set up, Indy... they'll drain the Earth of its molten core destroying all life on the planet."

Cold wind blew through the hollow, so strong that it pushed me a few inches across the rough floor.

"You're waking up," Barry said. "See you soon."

My dream changed. Barry vanished. I was in Metropolis I think, hot coals showering over me, and there was a throne blazing with hellfire. The clouds turned to rolling banks of volcanic ash. Above the burning throne, two glowing red eyes appeared in the smoke.

YOU. The voice of Darkseid washed over me like a flame thrower. YOU HAVE ONLY DELAYED ME. YOU HAVE EARNED A MORE PAINFUL, MORE PERMANATE DEATH.

I tried to speak. The heat sucked the oxygen from my lungs. My lips cracked and blistered. The Socks of Death suddenly made sense. I was f*cked.

Darkseid laughed. WHEN WE MEET, YOU WILL BURN, REALM WALKER. YOU AND YOUR FRIENDS WILL BE MY TINDER. YOU HAVE STARTED THE FIRE THAT WILL BURN THIS WORLD.

The smoke thickened. I couldn't breathe, couldn't see. My eyes few open. I bolted upright, gasping for air. I was in Jason's bed in his and Roy's apartment. Darkseid and Barry were gone. Early morning light was staring to peak through the windows.

At least I got almost four hours of sleep.

Chapter 14: Everybody Deserves Somebody to be There for Them

Chapter Text

Jason grew up on the streets. His dead-beat dad died in jail during a life sentence, and his mother overdosed. Some weeks he'd gotten on fine. Other's he didn't.

Some weeks rain soaked through his jacket, leaving him chilled to the bone because he couldn't find shelter. Some weeks he would go without food, his stomach shouting and trying to eat itself. Those weeks he was afraid to sit down in fear that he would be able to stand again.

Where had he gone wrong? He could've picked the lock to an apartment, or why hadn't he stolen the off the skinny kid that in the alleyway close to Main, and when he could've snatched that bagel out of that suit's hand and made a run for it. Or even stolen something to pawn off.

Sorry if that offends your sense of right and wrong.

Oh, wait. No, he wasn't.

Jason didn't have a problem with stealing. He did have a moral compass, but no one knew where it was pointing.

He didn't steal from just anybody. He chose obnoxious jerks who had too much already. If you're driving a BMW and you park in a disabled spot without a permit, then, yeah, he had no problem jimmying your window and taking the change from your cupholder. If you're coming out of Barneys with your bag of silk handkerchiefs, so busy talking on your phone and pushing people out of the way that you're not paying attention, Jason was there for you, ready to pick your pocket. If you can afford five thousand dollars to blow you nose, you could afford to buy him dinner.

Sometimes he'd think back to his parents. The worst kind of junkie is the one who thinks they're not the worst kind of junkie. His parents were woeful for a while there. Not in the way they looked, just the way they behaved. Not forgetting his seventh birthday, as such, just sleeping through it, that kind of thing. Booby-trap syringes and sh*t. He'd creep into their bedroom to wake them up and tell them that it was Easter, hop onto their bed like the joyful seasonal bunny and cop a junk needle in his kneecap.

A hot feeling would come over him when he thought of his father, so he'd shove it away. When he thought of his mother, a lingering warmth put out the fire ragging in his chest. He thought of how he'd nailed wooded boards across the room's two sets of windows. He'd dragged out the old bed when she was using, punching the thin fibro walls. The room was bare but for a thin mattress with no sheets or blankets or pillows. For seven days he kept his Mum locked in that sky-blue room. Jason would sit outside her locked door, listening to her screams, long and random banshee howls, as if beyond that locked door was the Grand Inquisitor overseeing some wicked variety of torture involving pulley systems and his mum's outstretched limbs. But he knew for certain there was no one else in that room but her. She howled at lunch, she wailed at midnight.

Jason had tried to be the son she needed, he cooked her food the best he could, tried to look after her, but in the end it wasn't enough. Nothing he did curbed her addiction.

Then, Jason would rub his arm and muttered words that would make a sailor blush, and he would trudge forwards, because sometimes it was the only way to go. Other times, the realisation that he had nothing left sunk in and his knees would buckle, sick and weak and tired, oh, so tired.

Eventually, during such time, he's walked right into the Batmobile and proceeded to steal it's tires. Instead of sending him to the juvenile hall, Bruce took Jason in, and that was how he became the second Robin.

Then he died.

Jason woke with a pounding headache. He shouldn't have drunk so much. But he'd felt safe last night on that rooftop, he'd had fun. Sure, it had been chaotic, and he had to check his pockets every so often, but it was...peaceful.

All those families who lived in a dump but didn't have sh*tty fathers like Bruce.

He moved down the hall quietly, hoping not to wake Roy and his annoying ass and grab his breakfast. Jason proffered solitude while eating. It was a bit childish and stupid, but that was his whole personality at times.

It wasn't unreasonable, and he would die on that hill defending his case.

Though, admittedly Jason was a little disappointed when he woke up and found Jane had left during the night. Jason felt safe. Safe with her.

He wanted that again.

As Jason made his way into the kitchen, he began to smell food being cooked. He was a little stunned when he found Jane at the stove cooking what looked like scrambled eggs. She was still in yesterday's clothes. There was a glass of orange juice on the bench.

"Moring Jay." She pointed to the juice. "Thought you might need that."

Jason blinked as he downed the juice and Jane put a plate of food in front of him. "What's this?"

"Omelette."

"Did you just make that?"

"Yeah. Where do you think I've been for three hours?" She shrugged.

It was burnt but still edible looking. If it ain't broke don't fix it. Jane was a huge change to what he was used to in adults. Jane, she was an open book, at least with people she trusted. Last night on the rooftop, when he's seen her smile and genuinely happy, it was like she was 10 years younger. Like her default was nonchalant and dry sarcasm, yet so companionate it didn't quite seem real.

And yet he still had questions. Something Tactful and Sensitive, he supposed.

"How did you die?"

But Tact and Sensitive were not Jason's strong points.

"This isn't twenty questions. Just finish your omelette smartass," she said dryly.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"Hey." Jason looked up. "Don't beat yourself up for asking, laddie. Believe it or not, it's kind of hard to find someone with shared life experience. And everybody deserves somebody to be there for them."

She looked at the floor and cracked a smile like something was funny. "Loki got in my head. I tried to fight him, but I ended up throwing a grenade in a crowd of people, and in a last-ditch effort to make things right, I jumped on it. Afterwards, it's all foggy, my memories were wiped, and new ones of Tahiti were implanted to avoid hypergraphia, aphasia, catatonia, or just complete psychosis."

She hunched over the bench now, like it was painful to remember. Jason could understand that. "It's not like I asked to be brought back. I had a chance at peace, but I got dragged back into this freak show. Can't even be a corpse in peace these days. Wanking Nick Fury can go and bugger himself!"

She gave Nick Fury two fingers.

Jason knew firsthand what that felt like. The Lazarus Pit. Not unlike Jane – he didn't get a say in what happened to him. It might not be a popular thought – but not everyone wants to be alive.

He remembered that feeling – waking up... feeling like he was going to drown even as he was being reborn. Feeling like he had no right to come back to this world.

And... Jason never remembered until now. Bobbing to the surface he saw Talia's expression – just for an instant. It was fear. But over what she had done? Or what he had become?

He hit her lightly on the shoulder. "Look at us: Hey Jane, wanna brood over our deaths while we eat." He huffed. "We're worse than the old man."

Jane snorted. "You think Bruce is bad, but you haven't met Matt Murdock." Her phone buzzed and she flinched violently before pulling it from her pocket. Reading the text, her face relaxed. "Gotta go to work."

Chapter 15: Wayne Manor

Chapter Text

The Manor was nothing like Stark Tower or Tony's place on the west coast. It was a massive three-storey brownstone with gargoyles on the corners of the roof, stained-glass transom windows, marble front steps and all the other blah, blah, blah, rich-people-live-here details, or that's at least how Jason described it.

It was something else to see it in person. It was a Saturday and Tim buzzed me in at the front gate. I was surprized that Alfred wasn't there when I stepped into the manor.

"He's in Metropolis for the day," Tim explained.

"Guid fur him, ah ken th' jimmy likelie wantit a break," I said with a laugh.

"I have no idea what you just said." Tim shook his head. "Come one."

He led me through the manor, and I could feel my shoes sink into the soft, carpet. How nice it would be to just pass out here. I couldn't risk it though, not with Darkseid's threat looming over me. Constant fear? Not a problem, I welcomed the challenge.

But I worry about other people.

The architecture was stunning, and the surprisingly beautiful lighting made this place a wonder to behold. Eventually we stopped outside a dark wooden door.

I checked behind me just to make sure there wasn't an assassin about to stab me.

All clear.

Thank Thor.

I knocked on the door.

"Come in," came Bruce's voice and I entered, before closing the door after me. He was standing behind his desk, the collar of his dress shirt up as he attempted to tie the tie around his neck. A couple hairs fell into his face, which was set like a brick wall. Something was bothering him.

"Uh, here, let me help you with that." I came around and took the tie in my hand. Bruce let me.

"Thanks."

With shoes on we about the same height and I could feel those unforgiving eyes searching my face. "You okay?" I asked.

"Yeah." He paused. "I'm just... one of my sons, Jason, is back in town." Another long pause. "I failed him, but I don't know how to make things right."

There was a small moment of silence between us, and I fiddled with his tie, threading it through itself. I decided to tell him a half truth. "I've met him a couple of times, at Josies Bar, he seems like a good kid. But let's just say I didn't always see eye-to-eye with my old man."

"And?"

"He'll come to you... when he's ready."

I looked up for the tie to him as I finished, only to see his eyes staring intently at my face. From this close it wasn't hard to see why so many girls found him attractive. He was good looking, plain and simple. Down to his eyes, everything spoke of beauty.

But he wasn't Steve.

I took a deep breath, pushing away the memories and fixed Bruce's collar.

"You seem good at this."

The chuckle that escaped me faster than I could control it. He gave me weird look as I covered it with a cough. Sometimes when Tony became too much of a handful Pepper would ask me to deal with him. "Uh, well my brother wasn't, so that's where I came in."

"You never said you had a brother." After a moment or two he leaned back.

"You never asked," I said. I stepped back and placed my left hand on his shoulder, co*cking my head to the side slightly. "And Bruce, families are complicated. Sometimes the best we could do is remind each other that we were there for the better or for the worst... and try and keep that maiming to a minimum."

Bruce nodded. "Sounds like you have some stories," he said with a hint of laughter in his voice and causing me to give a tiny smile from the pride of making him laugh or the way my heart jumped.

"We had some wild teenage years." Bruce's eyes briefly went to my hand, and I realised it was still on his shoulder. I quickly pulled back pretending nothing had happened. "Righto, we should probably get to work."

And we did get to work. It was mostly rifling through old paperwork. Old plan for the city his father – Thomas Wayne had drawn up. I was pleased Bruce had approved of my idea. Legacy. What we leave behind for the people who come after us. It almost felt normal.

I had come close to normal in Hell's Kitchen, with Karen and Foggy, but I'd spent my nights with Matt twisting elbows at right angles, which was a far cry from normal. And I was balancing my job at Nelson and Murdock with the Avengers, the Agent's of S.H.E.I.L.D and finding out Phil Coulson was alive at the same time as taking down Wilson Fisk, then dealing with the Winter Soldier and cleaning up the fall of HYDRA (f*ck you Grant Ward!), then the Frank Castle case, then the Hand and the Defender's, and then Ultron.

I hadn't done anything as mundane as paperwork for an expo in years. You know, except for the fact that my mere existence here pissed off DC's big bad. Oh, and I was in that same room as FREAKING Batman!

I laughed at myself quietly, swallowing the lump in my throat.

"What's funny?" Bruce asked.

"Nothing," I said. "Just wondering how I ended up here from getting paid in chickens." Bruce gave me a questioning look. "Back in New York. We were mostly doing Pro Bono work, so we ended up with all sorts of strange things. Foggy did like the strawberry rhubarb."

"Big change then."

"Change? Yeah. But I do like getting paid."

Bruce met my eye with a much more devious look than I was expecting. His lips twitched like he was trying not to smile. "Oh, so you're just using me for my money? That pretty selfish."

"Yeah, well, maybe that's the kind of guy I am," I replied with a shrug and spun in my chair.

Bruce's gaze lingered on me for a little longer, examining my face for... something. "I don't think you're selfish. You're a riddle Jane."

He seemed genuine, but I was playing. "Thanks, but I don't think I could pull off the top hat and purple tie look," I said. I tapped my chin in pretence. "You're not as arrogant as I thought."

He leaned back in his chair. "You thought I was arrogant?"

"No. More... supercilious."

"That's a big word Jane. Do you know what it means?" He was teasing now, but not in a playboy way. He's momentarily lost the brick wall façade, now he was almost like a friend.

Buckets of blood– I can't do this. I can't afford to get close. Jason. Yelena. Bruce. Tim. Dick. I had to keep my distance.

"Condescending," I said without a waver in my voice.

"That's right."

"Patronizing."

"It doesn't mean that."

"No, these are other things you are."

"Hang on—" Bruce started.

"Overbearing."

"Jane—"

"Can I ask you a personal question, Bruce?" I asked.

Bruce shrugged. "Others have tried and failed."

"Why do you try so hard to make people you're a lazy idiot?" I asked. "I know you're not. Underneath that swagger, I see you pretty clearly."

"Really?" He raised an eyebrow. "And what do you see?"

"You're intelligent... driven... and lonely."

"What make you see that?"

Because it's what I see in the mirror, I wanted to say.Only I can't tell you who I am because I don't know that myself anymore. Instead, I said, "Just a hunch."

"And what about you? You're in my office every day, I feel like I should know more about you other than your career background."

"There's not much to tell, but you're welcome to play detective," I said.

Bruce nodded. "Oh, I intend to."

By the time we were done with the paper work, Bruce's office was a mess and we started filing and packing it away again. I got a good look at the room now, the walls surrounded by shelves and American literature, and surprisingly Robert Burns. There was a tall, mahogany grandfather clock between to shelves, brass pendulum swaying and intricate designs carved into the wood.

I made sure not to pay too close attention to it so Bruce wouldn't think I was onto him.

Then my eyes landed on the pear necklace. The were beautiful fat Tay river pearls, so pale a grey they shone nearly silver, the size of small marbles. Martha Wayne's pearl necklace. I sort of froze. These people's stories were real. They were more than just character in comic books, movies and TV show. I was the stranger here, intruding on Bruce's life.

Chapter 16: Je Cherche la Vérité

Chapter Text

Bruce would've been stupid if he if he didn't notice the way Jane froze for a moment when she saw his mother's pearl necklace. The way she's had gone stiff ever so slightly. If he wasn't the World's Greatest Detective, he never would've noticed. Despite being so good at hiding it, she had seemed jumpy all day.

Dick had been right to have him keep her close. And yet something about Jane felt familiar. She never said it outright, but she was lonely, just like he was. It didn't change the fact that both were dealing out their own DAMNED PACK OF LIES.

He ignored that his heart had beat rapidly when she stood close. He wasn't all mushy-gushy over girls like he pretended to be, but let's just say that Jane was the kind of woman he'd take notice of. And not just because she's pretty – which look, Bruce was by no means blind. Batman didn't have civilian friends (apart from the Jim Gordon exception), but he could see that she was good-looking, especially now that she was in jeans and a sweatshirt instead of her normal office clothes.

Earlier Jane had issued him a challenge to play detective. He was willing to take that up.

When Jane was about to leave for the night she said to him, "Je vous souhaite une bonne nuit" – "I wish you a good night" – he recognised the quotation fromLe Silence de la Mer– that tract of Gallic defiance and the literary spirit of the French Resistance. Not because he had read it, but because Jason had.

"Jane?" he asked.

She turned to him quickly, her face looking slight less tense. "Oui?" she asked quickly, forgetting to switch English but Bruce didn't mind.

"Que diriez-vous d'aller dîner au restaurant? On pourrait aller au resto de Yelena." He watched as several expressions crossed her face, and then she nodded. (What would you say to going to dinner? We could go to Yelena's diner.)

"I'd like that." She smiled. It was nice to see her relax. "Votre français est effrayant, cependant. Stick to English, Bruce."

He stood up, joining her as they left the room. As they neared the front of the manor, Dick appeared by the door. He looked between the two adults, ending on Bruce with a sinister smile.

"And where are you two going?" he asked coyly.

"Out," Bruce replied. Jane didn't stop, just flipped Dick a gesture he didn't need sign language to understand. Bruce could see she was trying hard not to grin. Dick just waved back.

When she was safely on the other side of the door, Dick co*cked his head at Bruce with a sh*t eating grin Jason would've been proud of. "Look at you. Making an effort," he teased. "Wait so, do we need to keep an eye on her."

"Don't you have something to do?" Bruce deadpanned, deflecting.

Dick raised his eyebrows. "Nope," he said popping the 'p'. "Just thought of something, maybe she likes you back only she doesn't act on it because of a certain vigilante giving joyrides."

Bruce ran a hand through his hair and pinched the bridge of nose. He grabbed his key and headed outside.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" Dick called after him.

The temperature outside had dropped, and even in the darkness Bruce could see the leaves on the trees starting to turn orange. The chill didn't seem to bother Jane as she stood by the car.

"How'd that go?"

"Don't encourage him," he said, turning to her as he got in the car.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." She smiled innocently as she climbed into the passenger seat.

As he drove off Jane turned up the music a bit, allowing for some background noise. They drove in comfortable silence, until Bohemian Rhapsody started playing and Jane started singing, even attempting the different voices. Bruce noted how much younger she looked when she was relaxed, the way her head swayed to the music. After admiring for a minute longer than he should have Bruce decided he better watch the road.

She grew silent as they reached the city, looking at the streetlights above them, the orange light filtering down onto her face. Eventually Bruce parked and started to get out, but Jane held his arm and pulled him back. When he raised a brow at her she pointed.

Paparazzi.

Bruce groaned softly. He didn't have the patience to deal with that tonight. He just wanted dinner with Jane, then to go on patrol.

Jane pulled her sweatshirt over her head and passed it to him along with a cap from her handbag. "Hope it's not to feminine for you."

"Not at all." It was far from; it was just a simple grey sweatshirt that smelt faintly of cigarette smoke. Bruce took off his suit and tie and put it on, then the cap. The sweatshirt was tight but not uncomfortable. "How do I look?"

"Like you could sneak past a horde of screaming fangirls," she said.

Jane was just in a long-sleeved close-fitted undershirt, and while Bruce couldn't say he didn't like it... "Are you sure you won't get cold?"

"I spend the worse time of twenty-one years in Siberia," she said monotonously. "I don't get cold, Bruce."

They stepped out of the car and started walking over to the diner, Jane's eyes seemed to unconsciously scan the area like she was expecting everyone to come out guns blazing.

Bruce got a table at the back while Jane greeted the blonde waitress, Yelena. They talked for a while and Yelena seemed to be teasing by the way Jane rolled her eyes. He could tell Jane was only half listening though, Bruce recognised the habit of assessing one's surroundings. Mostly there were just tired people that wanted a hot meal at the end of the day.

"So, Jane," Bruce said when she sat down. "How are you? he asked, trying to sound casual about it.

She paused, shrugging. "I like eating in places like this."

"Je cherche la vérité," Bruce said abruptly.I'm looking for truth.

"Verity," she said in English. "Truth is the daughter of time, not authority." And: "This above all, to thine own self be true." She gave a low scoff and said, "Je suis l'esprit de vérité. I am the soul of verity."

[Indiana Stark]

I sighed. "The truth is a matter of circ*mstances; it's not all things to all people all the time." Bruce frowned slightly. "And neither am I."

"That's a tough way to live."

"It's a good way not to die, though."

Bruce hummed in agreement. "Did you eat in a lot of diners in New York?"

"Sometimes," I said. "More often it was eating what I could where I could."

"You moved around a lot?" Bruce asked with some sympathy. "Even when you were little?"

"Not when I was little," I said. "But for the last few years, yes"— try thirteen —"I never stayed anywhere longer than two years, until New York."

"Is that where you met Steve?"

The question shouldn't have caught me off guard, but it did. I said the first thing that popped into my head. "Yeah. He was from Brooklyn. Guy was an Irish Catholic punk with the sass of a sour old cat, and I had to put up with his co*cky sh*t. But he was also the best man I ever knew; he brought out the best in people. God Tony hated him – Tony's my brother."

"And what did your parents think?"

When I was a kid Howard – Dad never shut up about him. I'd hated Steve as well, hated him and his legacy. "My parents were murdered when I was sixteen."

Whatever Bruce was about to say was interrupted by Yelena carrying our drinks and food on a tray. Once everything was passed out and Yelena had left, Bruce reached across the table and placed his hand on mine. The familiarity of the gesture surprised me again.

I let out a shaky breath. The pressure sensers were picking up how tightly he was holding my metal hand. I should have kept my mouth shut.

"I don't expect you to tell me what happened," he said. "You told me about Steve, which means you lost family twice. So if you want talk about it... I'm here."

"It was a hit. He made it look like a car crash." I swallowed. "Most of the intelligence community doesn't believe he exists. The ones that do call him the Winter Soldier. He's credited for over two dozen assassinations in the last fifty years."

"So he's a ghost story." Bruce's face darkened as he listened. The diner was loud enough that no one else would hear, so I kept talking.

"Thirteen years ago, I was with a friend in Vorkuta, somebody shot at our carriage on the train. We bailed, went straight into the shrubbery, I pulled us out, but the Winter Soldier was there. I was covering my friend, so he shot her straightthroughme."

I pulled down the collar of my shirt just enough to show where the bullet had gone through me, just below the collar bone on my left side. The ugly scar tissue pale against my skin. "A Soviet slug, no rifling, impossible to trace. Going after him is a dead end. I know, I've tried, that's why I was traveling. Like you said, he's a ghost story."

And despite it all, I could never hate Bucky Barnes. It wasn't his fault.

"How'd you get away?"

"I wasn't his mission. But the first time, I ran. My arm had been injured during the crash and he must've though I would bleed out before I could get help and it would still look like an accident."

I removed Bruce's hand from mine and adjusted my glove slightly to show him the metal beneath. It wasn't exactly the truth, but I couldn't tell him the whole truth. The truth was so much worse.

"Sorry to bring the mood down," I said.

Bruce just shook his head and forcefully took my hand back. "The memory is giving you a shock. I can tell by your voice. And you're shaking."

He was quiet then. But I was too numb to think about how my word were received. There was an exhaustion taking over. I took a sip from my coffee; Yelena had put vodka in it. I loved that woman.

"So this Expo, what do I need to prepare for?"

Bruce took the hint and let the subject drop. "I'll say it's just a long night with lots of reporters," he said. "And Tim's been trying to build a prototype Arc Reactor, but he's stuck on them overheating."

"Well, I'll help, if he wants," I offered.

We fell into a comfortable silence and started to eat. I had to slap the knife and fork out of Bruce's hands when he tried to use them to eat his burger. It was a serious offence. As I took my gloves off, I spotted Tim and Dick in the kitchen pretending to be staff.

Yelena and her sense of humour must've let them in the back to spy on us.

Dick froze as we made eye contact; I gave him a little soothing wave and my biggest brightest smile. Bruce noticed and groaned, glaring at his kids. While it wasn't as effective without the bat-mask, it got the job done and Tim and Dick scattered.

"So, anything else I need to know?" I asked, downing the last of my coffee.

"There's a 50/50 change of some sort of an attack, so be prepared."

I rolled my eyes not surprised at all. "Well, there's a surprise."

"Tell me about Tony," Bruce asked.

I gave him a small smile, one that seemed to come naturally. "You would've hated him," I said. But I told him about Tony and the adventures we'd had with Rhodey as kids, and I swear I could've seen Bruce smile slightly.

Chapter 17: It's Hammer Time

Chapter Text

After that night at the diner, I settled into the rhythms of life working with the Wayne's. My acceptance by the kids and, more importantly, by Bruce made me feel slightly at ease. I was invited to the manor more often and got to know Alfred, if I wasn't helping Bruce, I would help him around the house. And Alfred acted like I was one of his own. In Crime Alley, I'd seen gangs protect their members, but this was different. There was none of the fear and manipulation.

It was kind of nice - when it wasn't excruciatingly boring. Darkseid was yet to attack and yet to send an assassin after me.

"It's a family," said Tim. We were working on the Arc Reactor prototype together.

"But we're not family," I protested.

Tim looked at me, an expression on his face that was almost hurt. I had seen families before. I had saved families before. And I had also killed them before. But it had been a while since I had been part of one. The Avenger's were more friends from work, with a couple of exceptions. But it seemed so long ago that all I had was the feeling of it.

"There's two kinds of family," Tim said after a moment. "There's the kind like you and Tony, where you get born into the right place with the right people and you're stuck with each other. If you're lucky, it turns out okay. The other kind of family is the kind you find."

I thought about how Thor and I defaulted to calling each other 'brother' and 'sister'. It had become a running joke because I looked more like Thor, and Loki looked more like Tony. And, of course, Nat and Clint were clearly way better friends than everyone else.

"Dick, Jason and I, we were alone," Tim continued. "But then Bruce took us in. He didn't have to. But he did. All sorts of bad things could've happened to us, but instead we got a new family."

I considered this.

"You don't have to tell me anything," Tim went on. "But something happened. So now you got us."

Tim was so determined that I couldn't bring myself to correct him. I wasn't looking for family, but Aunt Peggy had taught me that sometimes you found things you weren't expecting, and it only made sense to use them when you did. The Batfamily protected their own. Maybe it was a good idea to take advantage of it, even though thinking about using my friends on those terms made me uncomfortable. I looked at Tim, who was installing the final part of the reactor.

It began to hum and glow as it powered up. This was Tony's legacy, and I would make sure it lived on.

Tim and I high fived.

"Isn't that unfair?" I asked. They didn't even know my real name. "I mean, I just show up and you guys take me on?"

"Well," Tim said, "it's not like you aren't useful to have around. You're really helping out, and that keeps Bruce's head from getting too big."

I laughed. I supposed that was true.

"You two still burning the midnight oil?" Alfred asked. "It's almost eleven-thirty."

We were sitting at the kitchen bench, tools and spare parts scattered across it. "We're just cleaning up Alfie," I said.

"Very well."

Tim and I finished packing up and I popped my head into Bruce's office. He looked up from his computer. Even though the room was well light, the dim light radiating from the computer gave him and eerie look.

"We finished the prototype," I said leaning against the door frame. "Give Lucius my regards."

I walked over and put the reactor on his desk. "The hard part was finding a way to utilize the beta decay of Pd-107 ions as an electron-source for the electron capture of Pd-103, thereby producing an electric circuit between two different radioactive isotopes."

"Jane, speak English," Bruce mumbled, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"If the guy in Metropolis can break the laws of gravity, then Tim and I can break thermal physics."

Bruce just nodded. "I forgot to tell you, you'll need to wear something nice, for the Expo."

That was code for you need a dress. "Okay. Padme Amidala nice or Devil Wears Prada nice?"

"Devil Wears Prada."

"Right..." I suddenly pictured Matt Murdock dressed as Meryl Streep and laughed.

"What?"

"We had this vigilante in New York called the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. So, picture a guy in a devil suit dress as Meryl Streep."

Bruce gave a low laugh. "I've never heard of him."

I forgot he wouldn't have. Time to bullsh*t my way out. "He liked to keep a low profile. He's kinda an urban legend." I shrugged. I couldn't help but make a jab. "Like Batman, but cooler."

"Cooler than Batman?"

"Yeah. Batsy's kind of a depressive arsehole." I raised an eyebrow, daring Bruce to say something that would blow his cover.

"Hmm." Was all I got. I think I hurt his bat-feelings. "Would you like me to send Alfred with you to get a dress? He has experience with helping to pick out clothes for events like these."

I shook my head. I couldn't ask him this late at night. "I'll be alright."

Bruce's expression almost looked worried. "You know it won't be an issue, right?"

"Bruce, I'll survive, so don't worry." There's nothing in Gotham that I can't handle. With hesitation, he nodded.

"Okay."

I said goodbye and head back downstairs. I ruffled Tim's hair as I passed him.

"I hope to see you soon, Lady Jane," Alfred said.

I letLady Janeslide because it kinda had a nice ring to it. I nodded with a smile, pulling my jacket and hoddie closer around me as I shoved my keys and wallet into my pocket. I waved with a smile that wasn't forced at all.

I quickly walked down the driveway. It was starting to get cold; the night air gained a sharp bright, and my breath fogged in front of me. I breathed it in. While the cold didn't bother me, it brought back memories - secrets.

Whatever Tim might say, families and secrets didn't go together, and I was much better practiced in the latter than I was in the former. And Tim had his own secrets, they all did.

The cold brought back what happened in Russia. During the winters there the temperature often fell to forty degrees below zero and the sun did not rise above the horizon for the four-month-long Polar night. The city of Vorkuta, near where HYDRA kept me, was nicknamed The White Hell. It was located in the remote north of the frozen taiga wilderness, an area so cold the permafrost never thaws - even in the height of summer with the White Nights - and trees didn't grow, where the Pechora River flowed into the Arctic Sea. The city and the base where both built by prisoners of the USSR in the Gulag there. By the 1940s, Vorkuta was connected to the rest of Russia by a prisoner-built railway. There is still no road to Vorkuta, even today.

Normally I would head home, but instead of going down my usual route, I headed into town and began to look for a clothing store. I found a boutique called Clara Fox. I just hoped it wasn't as snobbish asboutiquesounded.

I walked in, the doorbell ringing as I did so. There was a sudden change in temperature, and I took a moment to adjust. It was just dress shopping; it couldn't be that hard.

It was a nightmare.

The things assassin training didn't prepare you for.

The entire process was exhausting. It either was uncomfortable or it didn't have sleeves, or it was the wrong colour. With my type of luck, I'd been in here for days. Hopelessness seemed to overcome me; I was so far out of my element I didn't even know what to do with myself.

And looking at myself in that mirror just made me want to hide. I hated what I saw - not just how I looked (don't even get started) - but what I was. A soldier trained to kill and cursed to live.

I stripped off the dress and put my clothes back on, before plopping down on a stool outside the dressing room. I was unbalanced, I decided, pulled in too many directions by my new feelings and old grief. What I needed was to recenter myself, whatever that meant. Meditation wasn't an option. I'd tried with Bruce Banner once - didn't have the temperament for it, didn't like what I saw when it was just me and my thoughts.

I was so out of it, I didn't hear the doorbell rang again, I didn't notice the person in front of me until they tapped me on the shoulder.

I looked up and saw... Dick??

One hand was in his pocket, and he had a smile on his face. I lifted my head a little, the staff at the counter were gossiping, even the guy.

"Hey Jane. What's up? You seem distraught." he asked. It was so casual, like we were mates meeting at the supermarket at a reasonable time of sunlit day.

"No, I'm traught. What are you doing here?"

Dick paused, his smile dropping slightly before he shrugged. "That's uh... classified," he replied cooly, gaining a mischievous grin. "But what are you doing here?"

"Dress shopping for the Expo, duh," I said, rubbing my forehead, a headache coming on. I was exhausted but wired somehow, like I could run a marathon or something. I was what? ...approaching the 80-hour mark. I dunno, I'd lost track of time. "Bruce put you up to this, didn't he?"

"Whaaat? No!" Dick stuttered. "Maybe. How could tell?"

"I'm smart, remember," I said, tapping the side of my head with two fingers. "You might as well help since you're here."

Dick and I went through racks of dresses. It was fun, I even convinced him to try on a couple. Dick came out in a simple blue dress that complimented him nicely. He clicked and shot finger guns at me. I took a couple photos as he stuck increasingly ridiculous poses.

"What about this one?" he asked and handed me a dress.

"Oh, absolutely," I said dryly. "Of course I want to look like a unicorn threw up on me." The dress was every colour of the rainbow, with tinsel and sequins.

"You're worse than Jason, and he's a piece of work."

I shot finger guns at him. "Why thank you."

A couple minutes later Dick came back with a simple purple dress. He was nodding with a big grin on his face.

I took the dress from him and headed into the changing room. It wasn't long before I got the dress on, it was strapless, but at least this gave me an excuse to wear gloves. There was a black sash around the waist and the skirt was flowy and movable. I could run and... fight in it if I had to.

I had it off almost instantly. We could get out.

"It's the one," I told Dick.

He grinned and whooped. "Bet you couldn't have done it without me."

I flicked his forehead. "Don't get ahead of yourself, punk."

I paid for the dress, and we left. We walked in silence, and I looked up at the sky, Gotham had a misty, haunted air. As if to prove a point the sky opened up and it started pouring, rain coming down in icy sheets, a gale wind blowing.

"Just like home," I said happily as Dick and I ran for cover. "You don't get proper Scotch mist in New York."

We under a little shelter outside the front of Josies Bar, where Alexander work. "Hey Dick?" I asked. "How are you so good at picking out dresses?"

He flushed, ears turning red, and he scratched the back of his head. "Yeah... I picked up some stuff while dating. My girlfriend likes shopping, so I became good at eyeing things out."

A smile made its way onto my lips. "That sweet, Dick, really."

He looked over at me for a second, a meaningful expression passing over his face before it was replaced by a goofy smile. "Thanks, I try," he said. He paused for a second, then a smirk formed on his lips. "What about you and Bruce?"

I didn't give him the satisfaction of a reaction. "It's a bad business, this 'love' business, a bad, bad business..." I said. I nodded at the bar. "I need a drink, wanna come."

"I shouldn't." Dick shook his head. "I have to go-" he quickly cut himself off.

"Okay," I said. "Get home safe. Don't take drugs, don't talk to stranger and don't go in their vans," I drilled him.

He laughed and stepped out into the rain. "See you tomorrow."

The bar was nearly empty when I got in, only the regulars and heavy drinkers were still in. Neither Jason or Roy were in their usual spot; they were probably on patrol or out of town. Alexander waved me into a seat at the bar, and I sat.

I spent most of the late evening perched on the bar stool, drink in hand. While I couldn't get properly drunk, it did take the edge off. Though my back was to the door, it had its advantages: when you don't look at people, they assume you can't hear them. I overheard some conversations and theories that were not intended for my ears, but it was good to know what was going on in Gotham. It was the sort of thing I would've done with Clint, though espionage with Clint Barton always ended with bar fights and explosions, and as fun as that was, I didn't wanna do it without him.

"Last call Hoodie-guy," Alexander told me when the bar was empty.

"One more round, Alex," I said. "Make it the heavy stuff."

He chuckled. "Oh, keep heavy stuff out the back."

He disappeared out the back and I downed the last of the drink I already had. The lights flicker for a second before an eery whistling filled the room. I looked up. There was a woman sitting next to me.

I froze.

The hood of her cloak was up and as she lifted a shot glass, I could see myself in the reflection. "Well, well," she drawled. "If it isn't Indiana Stark herself."

She turned to face me, and below the shadow of her hood, her red eyes were somehow bright and dark at the same time. They reminded me of a fossil my mother had - a cross section of a nautilus-like sea animal called an ammonite. It seemed to glow from within, as if it had absorbed millions of years of memories while lying under the earth. The woman's eyes had that same sort of lustre, but creepier.

"In the flesh."

She pulled back her hood, letting her long reddish-brown hair spill freely over her shoulders. The white dress beneath her cloak was embroidered with runes from an alien language around the collar and cuffs. From her golden belt hung a pair of steel sickles on either side. She looked like a maid of honour at someone'sMortal Combatwedding.

My first instinct told me to play dumb.

"Who's Indiana?"

Nailed it.

She chuckled and I felt my pulse throb in my neck.

"Hey, I never really do this, but can I have your autograph?" She pulled a yellow-ish, tattered piece of paper from her cloak. The print reading: WANTED. INDIANA STARK. DEAD or ALIVE. "I've been after you for a long time. Sign right there."

She tapped DEAD.

Tap.

TAP.

TAP.

I took notice of her face. Elven-pale skin. In profile, she looked heartachingly beautiful, about twenty-five years old. Then she turned to face me completely, and my lungs flattened against the back of my rib cage.

The right side of the woman's face was a nightmare - withered skin, patches of blue ice covering decayed flesh, membrane-thin lips over rotten teeth, a milky-white eye and tufts of desiccated hair like spiderwebs.

It wasn't so bad. She was like Two-Face from the comics. When I was a kid, Two-Face had always struck me as comical, like come on, no one with that much facial damage could be alive.

Only now, he was very real and very alive - and so was this assassin. She looked like some who'd been suck halfway through a door when a blizzard struck. Or worse... some hideous ghoul who'd tried to transform into a human, only to get interrupted in the middle of the process.

"You look Hela bad," I told her. "But I laugh in the face of death, assassin."

"So I've heard."

Below the bar I opened my hand, calling the hammer that belonged to my friend. A pinpoint of warmth hit the centre of my palm as if I'd intercepted a beam of sunlight. The hammer was listening. I closed my fingers and pulled.

I stood from my seat and faced the assassin. "I'm a tough little bastard, killing me will not be so easy."

The assassin gave me a wolfish grin. I wasn't sure which side of her face was more ghastly - the living zombie, or the beautiful woman who was amused by death. "Everyone thinks they'll be the one to defeat me. But no one's escaped me yet."

Mjolnir flew into my outstretched hand with a clap of thunder.I'm worthy, I'm worthy. I was going to prove I was worthy of wielding it. "Eat my hammer f*cknuckle!"

There was a flash of silver, and the hammer was knocked out of my hand. It was so fast I hand even seen her move. THIS WAS SOME ANMIE BULLsh*t!!

Annoyed I went and picked up the hammer. It was beautifully balanced in my hand, and a physical to my friend. I turned to face the assassin. "You're starting to aggravate me. I have to kill you now."

I lunged, swinging the hammer at her back, planning to break it. Because, you know, I like to keep my promises. She didn't even look up to dodge and was behind me in a flash. I swiped again, and again, each time missing. The assassin taunting me the entire time, until I brought the hammer down.

The assassin finally drew her weapon, catching the hammer between her sickles. The clash of metal echoed through the bar. I could see my reflection into the blades. I looked shook. The assassin's laughter sounded, and she started to push me back, boots sliding across the tiled floor.

In a blink of an eye, I felt my feet being taken out for under me. With a yank, I was flung across the bar in a less-than-graceful Puss in Boots cartwheel. I landed heavily in a chair, groaning, my ego hurting more than anything else.

The assassin grabbed my neck with one hand and lifted me clean off the ground. "You're not living up to the legend, Realm Walker."

My lungs began to scream for air. I couldn't break the grip; she was too strong. In a desperate attempt at escape, I lifted Mjolnir and slammed a bolt down through the roof. The shockwave threw me to the other side of the room.

The assassin staggered up, swearing curses that would make a sailor blush. I was breathing hard though it hurt, it felt like my throat was broken.

She lunged and almost killed me on the first try. Her sickle went under my arm, slashing through my shirt and grazing my ribs.

I jumped back, then counter-attacked with Mjolnir, but the assassin that resembled the goddess of death battered the hammer away.

"My, Indiana," she chided. "You're out of practice."

She came at me again with a swipe to the head. I parried and returned with a strike. She side stepped easily.

The cut on my chest stung. My heart was racing. When the assassin lunged again, I jumped backwards over a table, using it as a shield. She sliced it in two. She dropped to a crouch and swiped at my legs. Suddenly my thigh was on fire, with a pain so intense I collapsed. My jeans were ripped above the knee. I was hurt. I didn't know how badly. The assassin hacked downwards, and I rolled away. I tried to stand, but my leg wouldn't take it.

I felt like giving up right then and there out of sheer embarrassment. Here I was, the greatest soldier of my generation, able to fight Asgardians, getting my ass handed to me by some second-rated Apokolipian assassin.

I dragged myself backwards, parrying strikes the best I could, trying hard not to black out. It didn't help that I was fighting with an unfamiliar weapon. It wasn't a knife, or a gun, or even a sword, it was a hammer.

I was about roll again when one of her sickles caught me on the forehead. It sliced right above my eyebrow, opening a gash that sent a gush running down my face, blinding my eye, filling my mouth with the sharp metallic taste of my own blood. I staggered back dropping the hammer.

I was supposed to be the Hero Without Fear.

But I was afraid.

I wasn't going to make it out of this fight alive. The assassin knew it too. My blood turned to coolant and every hair stood up on end. The assassin breathed in deeply and hummed with satisfaction. "I just LOVE the smell of fear."

She advanced slowly, smiling, letting her blades scrape across the tiles. The tip of one was tinged with red.

I was shaking now. My chest felt like a of ice. FLASH. I was an infant, Howard and Maria were staring down at me. FLASH. I was covering for Tony while he snuck a girl out his window. FLASH. Siberia. Bucky Barnes. FLASH. The Avenger fighting the Battle of New York. FLASH. Nelson, Murdock and Page. FLASH. The fall of HYDRA. FLASH. The Defenders. Matt sacrificing himself to try and save Elektra. FLASH. Ultron. Steve.

Live.

"What's the matter?" she asked. "Lives flashing before your eyes."

Live.

She kicked that hammer at me.

It moved.

"Pick it up," she urged me. "Pick. It. Up."

I ran.

I wanted to tell myself it was because Steve had asked me to live. But I ran because I was a coward.

Chapter 18: The Life I Could've Had

Chapter Text

My first instinct was to leave Gotham. But I didn't. The worst part about it, was the fact that there a certain point where I realize I wasn't going to move, that instead of running, I just lay in bed, and just bathed in my stress. Like, I was just frozen. And couldn't move. I became stuck in a state of paralysing anxiety. I was a good fighter, but I also knew when I was outmatched.

I took two days off work - called in sick. Bruce would've noticed my limp, and even if I hid it, I would've torn my stitches. Not to mention the bruising around my throat.

Now I was standing backstage with Morgan Freeman and Ms. Banister. It was just now occurring to me that I wasn't my brother. I wasn't Tony Stark, and that hated large public events.

I wasn't digging the whole dress thing either. I don't know what I was thinking when I decided this was a good idea. Don't get me wrong, I looked good, my bruises had faded, I'd let down my hair and long white satin gloves covered my arms. I was just - this was the life I could had if things had been different in thatother place- I wasn't used to it.

I put on my poker face.

Ms. Banister was hounding at me, asking me why Bruce was late, blah, blah, blah, the press having a field day. I just exchanged looks with Morgan Freeman. We hadn't even talked about it, which was the strangest part about it. He knew I knew Bruce was up to something.

"You're on in thirty seconds," a backstage employee reminded us.

I glanced between Banister and Lucius, rubbing my forehead, gloves catching on the stitches there. "I'll go," I said. "Someone needs to save our arses."

Before either could object, before I knew if I was allowed to do this or not, I strode onto the stage.Pretend to be Tony, I told myself,embrace the pretentiousness and self-importance. A switch flipped in my brain, and it was like a was a whole other person.

A cheer came from the crowd and lights flashed in my face, but I was above it all.

"People of Gotham," I said, and my voice echoed over the loudspeaker. "Thank you for coming tonight."

The cheering and applause finally died down.

"Well, I'm not Bruce Wayne. Bruce, you know... The best thing about him is also the worst thing. He's always working." I took a moment before continuing. "It's not about him. Or me. It's not about you. It's not even about us. It's about legacy. It's about what we choose to leave behind for future generations. And that's why for the next year and for the first time since 1974, the best and brightest men and women of nations and corporations the world over will pool their resources, share their collective vision, to leave behind a brighter future. It's not about us. Therefore, what I'm saying, if I'm saying anything, is welcome back to the Wayne Expo." A big cheer came from the crowd. "And now, making a special guest appearance from the great beyond to tell you what it's all about, please welcome Thomas Wayne."

The big screen behind me lit up and I walked off stage, the voice of Bruce's father following me. Bruce should've been here. He better be dying or something, or I was gonna be pissed off that I had to do public speaking.

"Everything is achievable through technology. Better living, robust health, and for the first time in human history, the possibility of world peace. So, from all of us here at Wayne Enterprises, I would like to personally introduce you to the City of the Future. Technology holds infinite possibilities for mankind and will one day rid society of all its ills. Soon technology will affect the way you live your life every day. No more tedious work, leaving more time for leisure activities and enjoying the sweet life. The Wayne Expo. Welcome."

[Bruce Wayne]

"We are coming to you live from the kickoff at the Wayne Expo, where I believe Wayne's assistant, Jane Wallace has just walked offstage. Don't worry if you can't make it down here tonight because this Expo goes on all year long. And I'm gonna be here checking out all the attractions and the pavilions and inventions from all around the world."

Bruce looked up at the TMZ news broadcast. He watched as Jane stood in front of a crowd of hundreds and kicked-off the Expo completely unscripted. It was a dick move to stand her up, but Bruce had wanted to test her resolve... for future reference.

He was currently at an afterparty of sorts, two dates by his side, drink in hand. This was how people needed to see him. Bruce was known to not give a care about anything in his luxurious life. He was fun. He was lively. Bruce wanted to push away the memory of his parents being kill and the pain it brought, but he couldn't. His heart wouldn't let his mind erase that night. The parts of Bruce Wayne everyone knew and loved never existed. He was Batman.

Most of the people here he knew, either from work, or previous relations with his father. Many of the older gentlemen had been the ones to 'comfort' him by trying to get him to invest in their business. Thank God Alfred had been there for him. No matter what they said, those men only looked out for themselves, didn't matter whose parents died.

A wave of cheers sounded from the doors, the sea of people raised their glasses of champagne in celebration or welcome. Bruce could just make out Jane through the crowd - of all things, a cheeseburger in her hand - she smiled and waved in a fashion that Dick would've called 'The Penguins of Madagascar'.

Smile and wave boys. Smile and wave.

Bruce had lost count of the times Dick made him sit down and watch Madagascar 3.

She made her way across the room, tossing the wrapper out when she was finished with the burger and headed for the bar. He could hear a young woman ask Jane what products she used in her hair.

"I use essence of England gel," she said.

"What's that?"

Jane got a cheeky grin on her face that told Bruce she was up to no good.

"I use the f*cking rain," Jane said sweetly.

Swearing alone at one of these events would get her points with Jason.

Bruce excused himself from his dates an approached Jane at the bar. Whatever she said about the rain, her hair did look nice, blonde waves resting on her shoulders, one side braided back away from her face. She looked good. Really good. Not that she didn't normally, but now - Bruce was almost tongue-tied. Her dress was purple, strapless, leaving her toned shoulders on display.

Now that she was alone and unbothered, he could see the discomfort on her face as she downed a glass of scotch.

"You look fantastic. I didn't recognise you," Bruce said. As she turned to him, he immediately noticed the row of stitches above her eyebrow. Jane's expression didn't change, but Bruce was sure it was disapproving. Something she must've picked up from Alfred. "Look, I-"

She cut him off. "I'm not the one you need to apologise to," she said. "It's Ms Banister that's coming after you."

"I'll be on the lookout then."

Jane half laughed and punched him lightly on the arm. "You better."

Bruce began to raise his hand to check her stitches but held back. "How did this happen?"

She touched her forehead thoughtfully. "You would believe me if I said I started a bar fight and got glassed?" Possible, but Bruce wasn't inclined to believe her. Her small limp hadn't gone unnoticed either. He narrowed his eyes slightly. "Well, that's what happened."

Before Bruce had a chance to press her in the matter further, his night got worse. With the arrival of Lex Luthor and Vicki Vale, annoyance flooded his system, and while for most people the feeling would be shocking and unpleasant, Bruce was used to it. He took a breath, putting on a casual smile.

"Mr Wayne." Luthor nodded at him before turning his attention on Jane. "And you must be Jane Wallace. Impressive speech."

"Thank you."

He offered his hand in greeting and Jane took it hesitantly. Bruce's smile became a little more genuine as Luthor winced as Jane applied a little more pressure than was necessary with her bionic hand.

Luthor gestured to Vicki. "You know Vicki Vale from the Gotham Gazette. You guys know each other?"

Jane shook her head.

"Yes, roughly," Bruce answered.

"He does," Jane corrected him.

Vicky smiled at Jane. "My editor will kill me if I don't grab a quote for our Powerful Women issue."

"Oh."

"Can I?"

"Sure."

"She's actually doing a big spread on me for the Gazette," said Luthor. "I thought I'd throw her a bone, you know. Right?"

"Right. Well, she did quite a spread on Bruce last year," Jane said casually.

"And she wrote a story as well," Bruce chipped in.

"If you don't mind me being forward, Mr. Luthor," Jane said, "What are you doing in Gotham?"

"The truth, Miss Jane," he said.

"That's Lady Jane, to you."

"Lady Jane, I'm actually hoping to present something at the Expo."

"Well, that's not up to me."

"I'll get back to you on that." Bruce took Jane's hand and her eyes widened as he gripped it. "Do you want to dance?"

Jane nodded almost too quickly, and Bruce lead her to the dance floor. He put one hand on Jane's waist, and she clasped his other hand like she was going to judo throw him.

Then she let herself relax, hand resting on his shoulder. Bruce could feel her body through her dress; it was solid, there was strength in it. The kind of muscles that took workouts or steroids. He didn't usually dance at these things, but he made and exception for Jane. She looked at him and tilted her head, and he swore he could feel his heart stop. They danced in silence for a while.

"You did a background check on me?" he asked. It was the only way Jane would've known about his one-night stand with Vicki. While it was something he would do, Bruce couldn't have Jane looking too closely at him.

"Bruce," she said, shaking her head at his stupidity, "I do read the gossip mags. And between you and me, I don't think Alfred was very fond of her."

"Really?"

"Yes, we both know how much he likes to say, 'I told you so'."

Jane shifted her weight, taking a deep breath and looked at the ground. Bruce looked at her carefully. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"No. No. I always forget to wear deodorant and dance with my boss in front of everyone that I work with in a strapless dress." She pursed her lips.

"You look great, and you smell great." He chuckled and lowered his head next to hers. "But I could fire you if that would take the edge off."

Jane smiled. "As long as you don't fire Alfred. I actually don't think that you could tie your shoes without him."

"I'd make it a week. Sure."

"I actually don't think that you could tie your shoes without him."

"I could manage."

"Really? What's your Social Security number?"

"Five," Bruce said, deciding to humour her. Truthfully, he enjoyed her teasing. It might have seemed obnoxious to some, but Bruce found it, of all things, endearing.

"Five?"

"Right."

"Right. You're missing just a couple of digits there."

"The other eight? So, I got you for the other eight."

Goosebumps suddenly rose on her arms, causing Bruce to tense slightly. Although nothing changed outwardly, Jane's disposition had shifted. He thought she was the most level-headed civilian he'd ever met, being able to keep her head in dangerous situations. He had seen it when he'd talked to her as Batman.

Maybe it was the Winter Soldier, come to finisher her off. But as Bruce spun them around, there was no one where she'd been looking, only a space where someone could've stood. "How about some air... and a drink?" he asked.

"Yes. Both." She laughed nervously. "I'll meet you on the roof."

By the time Bruce stepped outside onto the balcony, Jane was waiting, a backpack in her hand. Her dress was gone, replaced with ripped jeans, an ACDC band t-shirt, scarf, trench coat, and a red beanie on her head.

"You're leaving?" The thought made a pang of loneliness shoot though him. Though the feeling was not unfamiliar.

"Soon. This isn't really in my comfort zone."

Bruce passed the drink he was holding to her. There was a moment of comfortable silence between them, the noise of the city in the background. He turned his attention away from Jane to it. Tonight was quiet, fewer sirens and no Bat-Signal yet. While he would go out later, he was thankful for the quiet moment.

A cold breeze blew in from the east. It ruffled Jane's hair, blowing it into her face. She spluttered and shook her head. Bruce raised his hand, brushing a couple strands out of her face and when she didn't move away, he cupped her cheek.

Her eyes closed and very slowly, she leaned into his hand. Her skin was warm and smooth against his fingers. Then reality kicked in and they both stepped back. Bruce put a reasonable amount of distance between himself and Jane, as she downed her drink in one go.

Bruce didn't know whether to be impressed or worried. He must've been staring because she looked at him out of the corner of her eye and leaned against the balcony. "Sorry if I'm making you uncomfortable."

"Sorry? I why should you be sorry?"

She turned to him; concern written of her face. "I just noticed you don't drink."

He nodded. "I don't mind if you have a drink or two, you may be on the job but as long as you're not drunk, I trust you."

Jane's face morphed into a lopsided grin like she knew some dark secret – all red lips and pearly teeth – as she pushed herself up to face Bruce fully.

He had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop the soft smile from pulling at his mouth. Images flashed behind his eyes, and suddenly he was fifteen again and so was Jane. He could imagine her giggling across a table at something stupid he said, and Bruce hated that he was thinking about these things – thinking about her in such a way, thinking about kissing her at parties and offering "fun times" in his bed like he was a kid with a crush on a pretty girl who knew better than to get involved with him and—

"Thanks," she said. "In fact, I'm grateful for the chance to get out of there. It's nice not having to make up an excuse."

"Oh, I know," said Bruce and he loosened his tie. He didn't miss Jane's wayward glance. "You have no idea how uncomfortable suits are."

"Well, if they're that bad, I could help you out of it." Jane froze having realised what she said. "Sorry, that came off way too strong."

This time Bruce let himself smile. Getting the better of himself, he asked in a suave tone. "Out of practice, huh?"

"Lack of impulse control."

This time he couldn't help himself – he trailed down her body which was all muscle and back up to the pale expanse of her throat. Some of her make up had started to wear off and he could see a faded mark across her throat. If he hadn't known her backstory, he might have found it alarming.

"Or it's your way of flirting."

"I don't flirt. But you do. Not for sport. It's got purpose. Like getting customers to buy more. Invest more."

"So what else you got, Sherlock?"

He tipped her chin up.

Jane's breath hitched in her throat and Bruce couldn't help but chuckle. Of all things, flirting was her kryptonite, and he found that hilarious.

At least, hethoughtit was one of her weaknesses until her look of shock turned into something downrightseductive. "All right. Family portrait in your office. You care."

"See, now that sounded like flirting to me."

"Again, I don't flirt. I just say what I want."

"And what do you want?"

Jane reached up and loosened his tie further and pulled him forward. He got an overwhelming sense of déjà vu – back to the last roof top they stood on together, only this time he wasn't Batman, and her eyes fell briefly to his lips.

"I hope I'm not over thinking this but..." She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

It was Bruce's turn to freeze for a moment, but he soon melted into the kiss and pulled her closer. It was slow and heated, and he felt like he was drowning because her hands were in his hair, giving it a pull making him bite back a groan. The two of them stayed there in no rush to move, letting the passion flow through his lips, that was until suddenly he the urge to have all of her. Bruce pushed her back against the railing, earning a soft noise from her.

Jane held his face – soft lips dragging across his in a way that made his skin ripple with goosebumps under the fabric of his suit and suddenly it was his back hitting the railing. One of her hands left his hair and placed itself on the railing next to him, allowing her to tilt her head down, deepen the kiss, and sweep her tongue across his bottom lip.

So Bruce opened his mouth and let her explore because, for once, he was the fool in this situation. He was a fool for Jane Wallace.

His hands roamed under her trench coat and down her body, feeling her curves and further down still to her firm butt. His fingers slowly found their way up to the hem of her shirt but hesitated, but then her nose was gently digging into his cheek, teeth softly biting into his bottom lip, and Bruce threw caution and just about everything else to the wind.

He dipped his hand under her shirt, pulled her hips flush with his and held her there against him.

Jane pulled back, leaving maybe an inch between them. Her pupils were blown wide, lips slightly swollen, featured stunned.

"Oh f*ck," she breathed.

"No," said Bruce. "You didn't over think it."

She let out a short laugh and it was like music to his ears. She shut her eyes slightly and he couldn't help but join in as the two of them giggled like idiot teenagers.

Eventually though the situation came back to Bruce as the music from inside grew louder, like it the speaker was playing right behind them.

He sighed and released her, Jane stepping back from him as well.

"Maybe." She shrugged. "You should go before people start noticing you're missing. And I'm going to leave before you drag me back into hell with you."

She didn't wait for his response and stepped towards the exit, looking over her shoulder. "See you Monday?"

"Don't be late."

Bruce knew they were both in deep trouble.

Chapter 19: B&B For Biker Gang

Chapter Text

Gotham City, Thursday,
December 13, 2015

Okay... This looks bad.

"I can't talk right now," I told Dick. "I'm in traffic."

Christmas time. You love it, or you hate it.

"You don't have a car."

"No, I'm in a taxi and there's this really angry German guy with a BMW." I hung up and rolled out of the way of the car Captain Nazi threw at my head.

You read that right folks. CAPTAIN NAZI. I wish Steve was here to see me now. And as far as Christmases in my book go, this wasn't bad. It was hard to top the Christmas of 2012 when Tony threatened a terrorist.

Fifteen meters away, the street burst into flames where Red Hood was fighting Hyena, and Arsenal was fighting Count Vertigo. The shock wave made me stumble. Pedestrians screamed as windows shattered, spraying the street with glass gravel. Cars swerved and crashed into each other, drives scrambling out of them and making for the hills.

When Jason said he liked pissing off Black Mask, he wasn't kidding. So as of an hour ago my evening had turned into a 1930s mafia movie/turf war. It was almost like being back in Hell's Kitchen, only Black Mask's muscle had more muscles than Fisk's.

I grabbed a handful of snow and threw it in the nazi's face, dropping to my knees in a spin and took out his legs. I raised a repulsor, aiming at the implants that allowed him to see when another explosion went off.

Everything sounded far away and unimportant, everything but a slow eery whistling that made my blood turn to coolant.

Across the street stood theMortal Combatbridesmaid assassin.

Those red eyes locked onto me as she placed to gold coins over them.

Then there was a spike of pain across my temple, and everything went black.

When I came to, I was lying face down in the snow trying to figure out how hard someone would have to hit me to knock me out with the helmet on. I felt like I'd been flattened under a giant rolling pin.

Aww, man. I rolled over onto my back. Jason and Roy were standing over me, somewhat amused at my misfortune. "Did I miss Christmas again?"

I glanced around as Jason knelt by me and got me into a sitting position. All three bad guys were apprehended. No thanks to me. Earth's Mightiest Heroes my ass.

"You good?" Jason asked.

"I feel like crap. You know that?" I said. "Like... like actual crap. This gig is like being in the NFL year-round."

"Yeah, well. Mel Hein never had to shut down a couple of assassins before they tried to kill him."

"Mel Hein!" Roy elbowed Jason. "What are you, a hundred years old, Jaybird?"

Jason shoved his friend into the snow.

I lifted my face plate and ran a hand over my face, trying to bat away the Tweety Bird's and Sylvester's running cycles around my read. "I think my concussions are getting concussions."

Jason scoffed, grabbing my arm he pulled me to my feet.

"Hoodie-guy, take some time off," Roy suggested. "It's the holidays. So take a holiday from all this stuff."

Guilt washed over me. I'd had time off since May. Almost eight months ago now. Eight months of sitting on my ass feeling sorry for myself. But I don't think I'll ever be the Indiana Stark I used to be.

Great. Now I'm having a midlife crisis.

"I guess I could. I could... unpack the rest of my stuff. Relax. Get caught up on some TV."

"Oh, man speaking of," Jason said, "did you see that last episode of BBC's 'Merlin' last night?"

"It was amazing!"

"Gaah spoilers spoilers shut up." I plugged my ears to block them out. "I got the first four seasons on this DVR at home. Y'know what? Guys're right. Gonna take a couple-few off. It's just me and 'Merlin' through the New Year. Catch you guys later."

As I started to turn away to head home, Roy caught my wrist. "Hey, just in case we don't see you before Christmas, Lian wanted you to have this." He turned my hand palm up and put a plastic omnitrix watch in it.

I smiled so wide my cheeks started to hurt. I kissed him on the cheek and said, "Give Lian a kiss from me."

"Happy Hanukkah Hoodie-guy."

I waved, heading down an alley. When I came to the place I'd left my backpack I took off the helmet and gantlets, packing them under a change of clothes. It was easier not to attract attention that way. With them safely stowed away, I jumped the first storey fire escape and climbed up the building until I reached the roof.

I felt safe enough parkouring across the roof tops. People didn't tend to look up and it felt better than anything I'd done in alone time. I was confident enough in my abilities that I wouldn't fall and plummet to my death. The wind whistled past me as I picked up speed, and I felt like if I could go fast enough, I might be able to fly away from the city. I laughed, half in exhilaration and half at my own stupidity: I needed to lay low, there was still an assassin after me.

Too soon it seemed, fate was going to make me eat my words.

Mid-jump, the same long low Death Whistle cut through the cold air and froze me in my track. It reverberated up from the alley I was jumping over, turning the blood in my veins to ice. It was bad enough that a simple whistle turned me into a blubbing mess, it was worse that it froze mid-air.

So when I say this looks "bad"?

I promise you it feels worse.

I hit the edge of the neighbouring roof. I fell. It felt like eternity, and eventually it laned on the roof of a car that did very little to cushion my fall.

Everything went black.

Quiet.

Too quiet after the noise of the nightmare.

And so still.

Like being under layers of water, floaty and strange and soft...

And there was light against the darkness, sheets of it, white and yellow.

And warmth.

And softness on my skin.

I am in bed, under a cover, in small square room with white walls and early dawn light pouring through in at least two closed windows with Tony perched on one of them, ready to abandon ship at a moment's notice.

I sit up and wipe the sweat from my face - no, not sweat - water.

"The f*ck you do that for?"

" You had a nightmare," said Tony getting down from the windowsill.

Pepper must've kicked him out of bed, so he'd come down here and crashed in the guest room until I had of my own nightmare.

"You have them too, but I don't throw water on you, do I?" I point at the jug he was holding.

Tony put his head in his hands. "Yeah. People hurt me. That cave in Afghanistan. New York."

I put one hand on his back and felt his warmth.

"Mine are different," I croak.

"How?"

"I hurt people."

Tony lifted his head and held up the bullet the Winter Soldier shot me with, he must have found it in the jacket I hung on the chair. "What is this?"

"It's a bullet," I deadpanned.

"You know what I mean."

"That was a long time ago. I kept it as a reminder of what I am. Now I keep it to, uh... actually I, uh... I was thinking of shooting myself with it."

"Indy..."

"Doesn't matter."

It did matter. Quite a bit actually, but I can see in Tony's face that he thinks it is best not to push it.

"I've hurt people too," he said, wanting to tell me in any way he could that I wasn't alone.

"You're just gunna have to learn to live with that."

"Still, most of them were bad people."

"All the same."

The moment I woke up I was instantly miserable. Every bone in my body felt like it had broken and mended with duct tape. I turned over onto my other side and snuggled into the blankets more cosily around my shoulders, so I could snooze for a bit longer.

NOPE!

My eyes opened.SNAP. And that was it, no more sleeping for the night.

I sat up and groaned. My mouth tasted like blood.

How did I get home?

"Nice of you to join the land of the living."

Painfully, I rolled back over and sat up. I was on the couch, and over at the kitchen bench, leaning against it were Nightwing and Robin.

"Nice to see you again Nightwing." I rubbed my head.

"You got yourself pretty banged up there, Miss," Tim - Robin said, making his voice go deeper. "Three broken ribs and a concussion."

"Pssh," I scoffed. "Thought you said I was hurt, Doc..."

As I sat up slowly, Nightwing did a lap of my apartment. I'd hidden everything that needed hiding, so I didn't mind. He stopped at the bookshelf and picked up a silver photo frame.

When I first moved in, there had only been one picture of Tony and me on the shelf. Since then, more pictures had appeared - some that I remembered from childhood, some that had been taken later. I didn't know where they'd come from, but weird sh*t tended to happen around me. Maybe as this world became more attuned to me, the photos just emerged from the cosmos. Maybe God was real and kept a backup copy of my life on iCloud.

In one photo, the Avengers were posing up a storm. Nat and Clint were pulling a move from Dirty Dancing, Thor was eating a pop tart and Bruce Banner looked like he was still wondering how he got there, Tony and Rhodey not doing the "I can fix him" or "I can make him worse" but the "Something is deeply wrong with him and I want to be around as a spectator when the car crash inevitably happens" dynamic. Sam was sipping on a cup of coffee and a chipper looking Steve was holding me bridal style while I threw up a peace sign.

God, I was so tired. I wanted nothing more than to go back and live in that moment forever. I was so tired of being alone with nothing to avenge. A small part of me wished the fall had killed me, or that the assassin would just hurry up and finished the job. That if I died, I could be with my family.

Given, I'd probably end up in Hell; but I could bargain. God could have me on the weekends.

Some people move on. But not me... Not me. I don't understand the point. I know. 'Closure.' It helps you let go. I've seen more than my fair share of people I love put into the ground. I've never felt like letting go fixed anything. If anything, I should hold on longer.

"Is there anyone you want us to call?" Nightwing offered.

I grunted and took the picture back, putting it on the shelf. "No one left to call."

Pain stabbed at my chest as I walked into the kitchen, looking for the pain killers. "That's what's going on, Nightwing. It's just pain. It's discomfort." I stopped at the coffee percolator. "Who's putting coffee grounds in the disposal? Am I running a bed and breakfast for a biker gang?"

"Sorry," Robin muttered.

I shrugged and took a couple ibuprofens and rested my hands on the counter. Nightwing place a hand on my shoulder with a concerned look. I smiled weakly at him at him. "Thanks for getting me home."

"Can I ask what happened? Were you attacked? Was it the Tracksuits?"

"No, it wasn't. I just... let my intrusive thoughts win and it turns out I can't do parkour."

Dick ran a hand down his face. "You're a riot. Here." He reached into his suit handed me a small device. A pager. "Just in case you decide to try parkour again."

"Funny," I grumbled. I watched as both heroes made their way to the fire escape and climbed out. "You boys take care of yourselves. Just don't do anything I would do. And definitely don't do anything I wouldn't do. There's a little grey area in there and that's where you operate."

"So stuff you could do, but choose not to?" Robin asked.

"Yep."

Then they were gone.

Chapter 20: Huston, We Have A Problem

Chapter Text

"What happened?" Bruce asked over the coms, the cold wind continuing to push his cape out behind him.

"It doesn't look good," Dick answered truthfully, and he could hear the stark difference in his tone from his usual goofy smile. Dick gave him the run down on Jane's injuries and how it supposedly happened. "I don't think she's just in physical pain, there was this photo on the shelf with a group of friends and she looked so happy - I think something happened to them."

After a long, heavy silence he said, "I know."

There was another long pause, and the cold night air didn't do anything to calm Bruce, only set him further on edge.

"Look," Dick said carefully, "It might be none of my business, but I want you to know I'm for this thing. Tim is too."

"Thing?" Bruce asked, not liking where this conversation was headed.

"You and Jane. Jace? Brane? Anyway, I think she's good for you. Don't sink this Titanic. And you're good for her. She makes you... less intense?" Dick's voice rose in pitch at the end, making it sound like a question. "But if you're serious about her, you're going to have to tell her everything. Otherwise it won't work."

"You're right."

"I am?"

"It's none of your business."

Dick sighed. Bruce's hand went instinctively to the bridge of his nose.

"What I'm saying is, I gave her that pager in case something happens." Then Dick hung up, leaving Bruce alone with his thoughts.

Jane had been with them just under six months, and yet she seemed so familiar with everyone. He often felt himself wanting to spend more time around her, though there wasn't much time when they weren't at work.

An unfamiliar warmth bloomed in his chest, and he put it down to concern. She wasn't stupid and hadn't got hurt on accident, but to think she'd dabbled in heroics made him wonder... And the girl she'd spent the night with, not many in Gotham put themselves out there to help strangers. His thoughts went back to when she mentioned the assassin called the Winter Soldier and the vigilante in Hell's Kitchen - how much experience did Jane have dealing with the like.

He let the thought linger.

Chapter 21: I Get Trash Talked Before Christmas

Chapter Text

Gotham City, Friday,
December 14, 2015

The rooftop was packed, even though it was well below freezing tonight. A steady snow was falling, and residents milled about, and the kids listen to the Babushka's tell tall tales about the old country or started snowball fights.

"Eat, American," I heard Yelena say to Simone. "It's not poison."

"Who said anything about poison?" I asked, coming over. Pretty soon, I had a cold bottle of vodka in my hand and beef stroganoff in the other.

It was a running joke. Anything Yelena said usually sounded mildly threatening because of her accent.

"Come on, take a fork. Eat. Eat," she said. "Please, my daddy says it's good for you."

With all the craziness I'd gone through yesterday, I had a huge appetite - breaking bones always did that. I dug in, trying to keep my Santa hat out of the bowl. In the month of December, the hat never came off.

Yelena loved American Christmases. The tree, the super-powered reindeer, Rudolph the crack addict. It was her first Christmas in the states, so Simone and I were giving her the rundown on the traditions and festivities to do in Gotham. Simone had been in Gotham longer than any of us, so she knew all the things to do.

"Have you ever eaten reindeer?" Yelena asked.

Simone shook her head. "Cannot say I've had the pleasure. No."

Yelena laughed. "No, it is not a pleasure."

"No, it's, um really tough," I chipped in, and she nodded in agreement. "It's chewy. Mm, you have to braise it for a really long time."

"Oh, it going to be joyous Kwanzaa." Simone smiled, like she wondered what she'd got herself into.

I'd known my hallmates for a while now. I treated them like family - well I wished I could. I still had to keep them at arm's length. A joyous Kwanzaa indeed.

"Sup, Hoddie-Guy," said Aimee. She'd moved into the block just before me. She was a punk-rock kind of chick and always wears a ripped-up army, black leather trousers and chain jewellery. And with the bright pink hair and black eyeliner, she gave great evil looks when someone pissed her off. "What you talking about?"

"Kwanzaa," I said. "Just havin' one joyous-ass Kwanzaa."

"Word," she said. "You know there's guys down front with bats, right?"

I handed her my empty stroganoff bowl. "I'll deal with it."

I was a little offended to only find four guys standing out the front of the building.

I stepped out the front door and flung a trashcan lid at them. It knocked the bat out of one of the Tracksuit's hands. "Get the hell away from my building."

They said nothing. I suppose they were trying to look menacing, but it just annoyed me. "Did I not speak clearly enough for you? You think a guy in a Santa hat won't start something just because she was enjoying an early joyous Kwanzaa a minute ago?"

"Stupid, bro," said one of the tracksuits.

"Uh - no, you're stupid, bro-"

I was cut off by the screech of tires as two vans pulled up and a horde of Tracksuits piled out, all wielding baseball bats. Some wore white mope-head helmets, others sported body armour.

Okay...

This looked unjoyous.

My horde of enemies swarmed me - and they were a horde. I was doing well until a bat made contact with my broken ribs then the back of my head. I pushed myself onto my elbows. Truthfully, I was going easy on them - sometimes you gotta get caught just to get a straight answer.

Ouch.

"Yyyyeah. Guhhh. Guh. Guys," I wheezed. "Guys, better go gessomemore guys."

Bats come into contact with me, and everything went black.

When I came to, there was an itchy mesh bag over my head. Little bits of fibre got up my nose and made me sneeze. I could hear... it sounded like we were in a tunnel. What was the closest tunnel to-

Gotham Battery?

The van changed direction. They were-

Were we going back into the city? Wait. Backtracking. Double backing. They were trying to confuse me. After an hour or so it finally works. When the mask came off I was completely lost.

Gotham City, Saturday,
December 15, 2015

"Great!" I said, seeing the silhouetted mass of mobsters surrounding me. "You got more guys."

I assumed we were in a parking garage of some sort; I could smell grease and petrol fumes. The air was damp and cold and had the musty feeling that signalled there wasn't enough air flow. There was exactly one light above me, casting the rest of the garage in darkness.

They had a good thing going until my watch decided it wasn't having it. It stared beeping as time struck the new hour. A man with a greasy ponytail grabbed my bound wrist, trying the turn off the beeping.

"Hey, uh, Ponytail Express, careful, there. It's a limited edition," I said as he fiddled with it roughly. "No push down, then twist - haven't you ever watched Ben 10-" he jerked it off my wrist and threw it on the ground "-Break it, you bought it."

Ponytail Express stomped on it. "I think I bought it, bro."

"Okay, that wasn't mine to give away. That was a Chrissy present from my friend's daughter. And that's why I'm gonna kill you first."

"What are you gonna do, bro? Bro, you taped to chair."

"You'll see," I said ominously. "So, talk to me, man. Tell me all your plans. Isn't that what you bad guys live for?"

In answer, a heavy breathing made me go quiet. I almost expected to see a red lightsaber ignite, but I was out of luck. It wasn't Darth Vader; it was just some geezer in a white tracksuit with oxygen tank. When he stepped into the light, he looked like an albino prune so old he had Julius Caesar in his contacts.

"Bro," he said. "You make lot of big bad people real mad bro. You steal our building. In our hood, bro. You steal it for money. But you steal from stealers, bro? Is one thing to f*ck with us. Is another to f*ck with guys we work for. And, bro, those are some scary f*cking bros, bro. They want us tell you, they done with you, bro.

"You go way now. You go f*ck off. Or is war, bro. Twenty-four hours."

You got twenty-four hours, is pretty standard Indiana Stark stakes.

"You gone or we killing everybody in you building, bro."

sh*t. There it is. More guilt. More blood on my hands. More people dying because of me, because I couldn't protect them, and if anything made it worse.

I set my face. I'd integrated Dick's pager into the omnitrix. Someone should be here any second, I just need to keep the tracksuits distracted. "Trust me, you're gonna be in a puddle of blood on the ground in five, four, three... Come on! Two..."

"How we get this shift, bro?" someone asked.

"All right, I'm gonna give you a chance to escape. Put down your weapons. Tie yourselves to those chairs. I'll let you live. In five, four, bang!"God this was embarrassing. "You should be gone by now. You should've already been gone."

"I am just beyond terrified, bro."

I muttered under my breath. "Here it comes. Three, four..."

"Shut up, bro."

"Five, four, three, two, one!" The light went out.SNAP. I laughed, and it echoed around the garage.

The stupid bastards though a fuse had blown and sent someone off to check it. A couple of the taxis in the garage turned their lights on, illuminating the underground in yellow light that cast long shadows up the wall, where a man dressed like a bat could easily hide.

Then all hell broke loose. Gunfire exploded in the darkness followed the sound of the Tracksuits getting the sh*t kicked out of them. Watching Batman fight was just like the movies, he disappeared in and out of the shadows, then proceeded to put the fear of God into his enemies.

I could've watched him work all night. He's quick. Not just fast. Agile. He's not thinking about his next move. He's just making it. He'd been trained well.

But I refused to be the damsel in distress. I flexed my arms and ripped the tape from my hands and feet. I spotted my target, Ponytail Express and marched across the garage, blocking stray gunfire with my metal arm.

It was easy to fall back into that soldier mind set, to block everything out.

He only had time to turn around and see me smiled in a way that said, "I've waited my entire life for this moment." Like I couldn't wait to watch his soul exit his body, before I spartan kicked him into the wall.

For a second I met Batman's eye from across the room and held it. The moment was broken when I parried a strike from a baseball bat. I caught another one and it splintered in my metal hand.

I was only when a bullet whistled past my head that I froze. It was like I sensed it coming. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up on end like spines on a sea urchin. Then the Death Whistle came.

The soldier I was in thatother placewas ripped away from me. She was behind me, standing in the shadows, her sickles drawn either side of her.

How could you fight an enemy you couldn't see or hear coming?

So I ran.

Batman called after me. But I sped up, running out of the garage up to the street. When I felt sure I was far enough away, I shifted to the roof tops, going nowhere in particular except away from the assassin.

Heart pounding, I sped up. I pulled every last scrap of speed from my body, my arms and legs pumping until my chest was tight and my limbs were trembling. I couldn't keep this up! But I could see the assassin in every corner, every shadow, every flash of light.

I had no idea what to do.

I also didn't notice when it had become so dark.

I stopped, puzzled; I hadn't noticed the light changing. Then I realised that I couldn't see streetlights below me, and lights in windows of apartments above and around me. Itwasnight. But I was enveloped a huge shadow with curving shapes at the edges. As if some big clawed thing looming at my back...

I spun around, heart feeling like it was about to beat out of my chest. There was nothing there.

Maybe the shadowwasthe big clawed thing.

And I was inside it.

I collapsed, my chest heaving. It felt like there was an invisible belt wrapped around me. This was a complete nervous breakdown.

I don't know how long I lay there, but it was a long time. I knew what was happening to me. I'd seen Tony having anxiety attacks after New York. I had died in that battle; jumped on the grenade I'd thrown because Loki was in my head. It was all foggy afterward. That was probably why I didn't react like Tony did - I never allowed myself to think about it.

Death comes to us all. But it follows me, haunts me.

"Jane."

His voice sounded far away.

Batman held my face gently like he - well, Bruce had a couple nights before. He crouched in next to me now, a thumb caressing my cheek. I sucked air through my teeth as he pressed on a bruise.

As my breathing began to slow, he carefully reached out and pulled me into his arms. It felt strange to be held close by, but it felt good too, with his face hair rubbing like sandpaper against my softer cheeks. It was strange and sad the feeling of sorrow I felt, because I knew he might not have actually been physically touched, except violently by another human for a long time.

"It's okay," he said. "I'm here. I have you."

Batman pulled away and looked down at me. I looked away, too ashamed of myself to meet his eyes.

"Just take me home," I muttered. "Please."

I got into the batmobile without a word. If anything, Batman was the chatty one on the way home. "I'm sorry, I mean for getting you into this."

"I was my choice. You didn't ask me to pull you from that dumpster," I said. Not that they were after him.

"No, you did it because you're a good person. And you almost got killed... because of me."

No, they're going to kill everyone in the building because of my own stupidity, I wanted to say. But I didn't want a lecture. I stayed quiet for the rest of the ride home, giving his hand a squeeze before getting out and heading up to the loft.

Done it now, Stark. Walking around like you're some kind of person.

I kicked a stray beer can across the room. I started packing.

Get out of town is all. You go away and no body dies on it. Who'll miss you? Jason and Roy'll manage. Hell, they won't even notice. No one will-

There was a knock at the door, and I heard Jason's voice calling my name. I opened the door.

"Whoa, Ma, you look like hell." He snickered and put an arm around my shoulder.

"I walked into a door. That, uh, proceeded to beat the hell out of me," I said.

"Got a plan -? Where are you going?"

He had seen my bag.

"Uh... nowhere." God, I was a horrible liar.

"Where. Are. You. Going."

I sighed, shoving my hands in my pockets. "They're gonna kill everyone in the building if I don't go, Jay," I said. "I can't - I screwed up, I cowboyed around like I meant something to somebody and now they're going to kill everybody if I don't... Don't go away, I don't know."

I turned away from him. "Just for a awhile, just so they forget. The Avenger'll be fine, everbody'll-"

I stopped - there were no more Avengers.

Jason got right in my face. "Is that so? You're Jane Wallace. What are you talking about?"

"I - why are you yelling at me? The bad guys are-"

"You're one of the good guys! So be a good guy!" he snapped at me. "You know what-? This thing you're about to do? This running away thing? It's everything about you that sucks. If you're scared, do something about it."

"I'm not-"

"Bullsh*t. You can fool yourself and everyone else, but you can't fool me. I know who you are."

"Shut up!"

"I know everything about you. I know you play like you're the meanest and the hardest but actually you're the most scared of all. You push away anyone who's willing to put up with you 'cause just a little bit of love reminds you of how big and empty that hole inside you actually is."

"I said shut up!"

"Just like me because I thought Bruce replaced me with Tim. I know who you are, Jane. Because you're me!"

He turned away and stormed out. "Merry Christmas, jerk."

I slumped at the bench and stayed there until morning.

I took some painkillers with coffee and cleaned the blood from my face. When I came out of the shower, I stopped at the Avengers group photo. I ran my fingers over Steve's face and closed my eyes.

He would stay. He would fight for these people. It would most likely end in disaster - most things with Steve did.

Before I made any decision, I asked myself, 'Would Steve Rogers give me the eyebrows of disappointment for this?' And if the answer is yes, I absolutely would do it.

And doing something he would do would definitely get that reaction.

Chapter 22: December 16th, 2015

Chapter Text

Gotham City, Sunday,
December 16, 2015

It couldn't be avoided. Even if I thought I could handle it.

Physically, I'm alone. But in my head?

I'm drowning in memories of one of the worst days of my life. The day my parents were murdered.

My nightmare started like this.

I was standing on a deserted gravel road in the middle of the bush. It was the middle of the night. A gale was blowing ripping that the trees along the road. Dry and cold coming from what I thought was the north. I smelt like dirt and molasses grass. Ten meters up the road was a totalled 1967 Cadillac crashed into a solid concrete wall.

New Mexico, I thought. I knew this road. I remembered this place. And yet, everything looked surreal, like I was trippin or something.

I started to sweat as I approached the car. Sure enough, I found my mother and my father dead in the front seats. Dad's face was bloodied and Mum had a gash on her forehead that dripped blood down her face and smeared on her pearl necklace. f*cking pearl necklaces. The broken radio still playing Danger Zone in the background, warbling and distorting the lyrics.

I dropped to my knees. 24 years later and I still hurt like new. Gravel dug into my knees, so I sat and rested my back against the door.

Then I heard the crunch of gravel under feet. I turned and saw the younger version of myself running for her life. She's had a motorbike jacket over a Top Gun shirt and jeans, not a scar on her, skin as blemish-less as the day she was born, I just know; she's young - sixteen and eight months, an old, dog-eared copy of The Hobbit in one hand and a knife in the other.

She was fast and strong, and trained to fight from the day she could walk, but the Winter Soldier was there. He was relentless, like the Terminator. In comparison, Indiana was more like Sarah Connor, and in the first movie too, before she could do chin-ups.

That was me. A lifetime ago.

I started to shake and it's all I could do to stand but I breath and shake and look at her.

"P-please, Indiana - help me," she pleaded with a shaky voice.

"I've tried, kiddo," I sighed. "Every night since I ran from HYDRA... believe me, I've tried."

Indiana stumbled to a stop and turned to face the Soldier, terrified but vengeful. His nose was crooked and bleeding from where she'd broken it with The Hobbit.

I remember that feeling of vengeance and took the knife from her hand, plunging the blade into the Soldier's chest.

I know it isn't real. None of it is.

But... man is that satisfying.

"You did it," Indiana said. "You saved me."

But every time I do... nothing ever changes. It played like a broken record.

"H-he's still alive?"

"It's not his fault Indiana," I said. "And he's never going to die. Not here. Not in my head. Not if at some point I don't stand up and walk away from my old life. From you."

"But I'm just a kid!"

"That's what I've been telling myself for years. We were cheated out of our childhood so America could have a weapon... but things are different now. The Avengers. Matt. Karen. Foggy. When I was your age, I never let anyone in. I was too caught up in my own self-pity."

"What are you saying - I'm you, you know."

"Tell me about it. You know, thirty years, you still get sick to your stomach every time you remember how you treated our parents now."

"You're say I should just give up?"

"No. You never appreciated things when you had them."

The nightmare rewound again, and the Soldier stood in front of us again. I took a step forward and pressed my forehead against his. "I'm sorry I didn't get you out when I could, Barnes. I'm sorry."

I began to walk away.

"Y-you're not going to save me-?"

"If I could, God, I would."

I sat bolt upright, shivering in my bed.

There was no crashed car. No Winter Soldier.

Moring sunlight filtered through the loft's windows, and I dragged myself out of bed. I got dressed as fast I could and caked on the make up to hide the purple bruises on my face. I tried not to think about my nightmare as I walked to work with Simone and Yelena.

We had waffles and bacon for breakfast and when our separate ways. I got tea for Alfred, coffee for me, Tim and... Bruce. I was probably going to run into a couple problems with him. I headed away from the city towards the manor.

1. Moving on isn't as easy as I make it sound
2. I'd cracked under pressure last night

The embarrassment still lingered in my chest, but I pushed it down. Add that to things I need to do.

1. Fight the mob
2. Start a gang war
3. Deal with assassin.

I'd knocked on the door twice when Alfred opened it. He raised an eyebrow at me, which made sense since I didn't work on Sundays. He ushered me inside and to the kitchen where Tim was sitting at the counter, hunched over a laptop.

"Lady Jane," Alfred greeted. "You look..."

"Like sh*t?" I offered. "I know."

He nodded and gave me a knowing look.

Tim watched the whole exchange through half closed eyes and took his coffee from the tray. The boy looker sleepier than usual but I still caught him casting worried glances in my direction. I pretended not to notice.

"Do you know where Bruce is?"

"Master Bruce is in his office, as usual."

"Thanks Alfie."

I took the stairs two at a time.

As I walked into his office and put the coffee on his desk, Bruce looked up and his stony look dropped. He hesitated for a second, like he was trying to figure out what to say. And like Tim, it didn't look like he'd slept well.

That makes three of us.

I pursed my lips and glanced away. I couldn't even bring myself to look him in the eye, but I could make a split-second decision. I shouldn't be here. I need to be back at the building. The Tracksuit's could be there right now.

"I'm leaving," I said. "Consider this my resignation."

I didn't mean for it to come out that abrupt, but it did.

Bruce's gaze bore into me, examining my face as if looking for something. All I could think was that he was really milking the Bruce Wayne act when he knew exactly what was wrong.

I thought I knew this man, with all his movies, TV shows and comic book, but it still surprised me when he got up and took my hands, rubbing his thumbs over the back of them. His cool eyes were heavy with concern, the most facial expression I'd seen from him. But he still hadn't said anything.

"Bruce, talk to me. Tell me I'm fired. Shout, scream, say something!"

sh*t. I was barely holding it together. I had to get out. I wanted this f*cking day to end.

"I know that look Jane, it's more than just physically hurting."

"Don't change the subject, I'm trying to quit here."

"Tell me what's going on, and I'll let you go."

I growled irritably as I looked at my feet. "It's December sixteenth, twenty-four years to the day and I'm still blubbing like a little girl over my parents," I said. "I'm so tired, Bruce. It's, it's just like this wave washing over me, again and again. It knocks me down, and when I try to stand up, it just comes for me again. And I... It's just gonna drown me."

Wordlessly Bruce pulled us further into his office, out of sight of praying eyes and wrapped his arms around me. I leaned into him involuntarily and rest my head on his shoulder, his warmth providing some comfort.

"You must think I'm pretty pathetic, huh?" I mumbled.

"No." I stiffened as I felt his lips brush against my forehead. "I don't think you're pathetic. I was eight went my parents were killed, I know what it's like to lose the people you love most. You won't drown, trust me."

"Thanks," I mumbled and stood back. "Look, I have a couple problems I need to deal with... look after yourself Bruce."

"Yo, Hoodie-Guy." Aimee stopped me before at my door. "A package came for you."

I thanked her and took the box inside. Whatever it was, it was pretty solid. The post code was New York's. More accurately, Hell's Kitchen. My heart beat nervously in my chest as I cut the tape and opened the box. It stopped completely for a second when I saw what was inside.

Matt's suit.

This was some sick joke. Today of all days.

The last time I'd seen Matt was in the Dragon Bone Catacombs beneath Midland Circle. He'd asked me to protect his city before he stayed to try and save Elektra. The building had collapsed with him still inside.

I traced the lines on the helmet. Matt had been a pain in my ass just like most my friends. And just like most my friends, I missed him so much it hurt.

But I didn't understand why I had his suit. Out of all the heroes on my Earth, why him. Why not Steve's.

Stop, I told myself. There was no use in getting worked up for no reason. I had the suit and that was all that mattered. I'd already lost Thor's hammer, why risk losing the shield as well. And it wasn't like I was Captain America; I didn't deserve that name.

And I didn't want it.

But the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, I could work with that.

I trudged to the bathroom and rested my hand on either side of the sink like I was in some dramatic teenage romcom about to cut my own bangs.

I made a fist, and I wasn't quite sure what came over me. I guess when I realised my whole life was never my own, the anger, fear and general uncertainty of the last eight months reached critical mass. Ultron had destroyed the little peace I had. I'd been plucked out of my life. I'd been threatened and survived attempted assassination. I hadn't asked to be here.

I slammed my fist into the wall.

My metal fist went straight through the tile, the plasterboard and a two-by-four stud. I pulled my hand out and regarded the fist shaped hole I'd made next to the mirror.

I need to get over myself.

The shower helped me calm down and I washed my hair. Afterwards, wrapped in a towel, I took a knife and bunched my hair. I didn't make it look half as graceful as Mulan and my hair fell around my face in a shaggy mop.

I padded to the lofts second level where my bed was and wiggled into the suit and covered it with my trench coat. I spent ten minutes trying to get the helmet to sit comfortably. And when I got it on, I felt like a stormtrooper. I couldn't see a thing!

At least Matt hadn't had to deal with this sh*t.

I looked in the mirror again and shot finger guns at myself.

"You, sir," I muttered, "look like a huge dork."

My reflection did not argue.

I watch the street below us. It was quiet but that just made me more uneasy. They'd given me twenty-four hours to get out before they came. Time was almost up. My body still felt like a punching bag, but that didn't matter, not when these peoples' lives were at stake.

Matt's helmet tucked snugly inside my coat provided some comfort.

Okay, so maybe I thought the suit was kinda cool.

Ten minutes past and I checked every side of the building. Still nothing.

I'd neglected the cigarette between my finger long enough that it had gone out.

"Need a light?" a gruff voice asked behind me.

I held the durry out silently as Jason sat beside me and lit it. He wore his Red Hood jacket over civies, the opposite of what I was doing. I puffed out smoke, letting it curl around me like a halo before passing it to the kid.

We went through half the packet before Jason looked across to me. "So, you're gonna stay?"

"Don't tell me you're missing me already." I grinned at him, teasing.

Jason scoffed and rolled his eyes. I put my arm around his shoulders. I'd seen the way he would look at people on the rooftop sometime when they embraced or showed affection for one another, almost like he was longing for something like that. He might act like a hoodlum, but the kid was a big softie on the inside.

"I'm not going anywhere."

Chapter 23: The Detective and the Assassin

Chapter Text

Gotham City,
December 18, 2015

Okay... this looks bad. I don't know what to do with any of this stuff. It's all knotted.

Screw this.

I reached out with the pliers.

"Come on, Jane."

"I'm just going to cut the green wire."

"Cut it?" Bruce asked.

"What?"

"There's probably a better way than this."

"Probably. And yet..." I cut the wire.

I look up from where I crouched. Bruce raised an eyebrow as he held the DVR set. "That was stupid, Jane. It's just knotted up."

"You untangle 'em then, Bruce Wayne genius superman."

He snorted.Superman. "You know what, Jane? You're right. Cut it. Cut them all. What on Earth could untangle this disaster?"

I slumped back. "Um you? Isn't that why you're here?"

I was a little confused to say the least when Bruce rocked up on my door, I thought Sunday was the last time I'd see him in a while. I'd let him in and here we were.

It didn't help that my apartment was a mess, boxes, Christmas decorations and a bunch of knotted wires and extension cord crisscrossing the floor like trip wires. I was barefoot and wore a Santa hat.

Bruce, however, looked out of place in his five-thousand-dollar suit. "Jane, I came to ask you out," he said casually. Like what he said was no big deal. "But now we're going to take all this stuff outside. We're going to set it on the curb. We're going to take my town-car and buy you all new stuff. I'll pay for it, even. It's Christmas."

"You don't have to pay for it. I have money."

He let out a short sigh. "I know you have money, I meant-"

"-No, I mean, I have money now. Like - like money." I stood up a leaned against the wall next to Bruce, watching his face carefully.

"...Where did get money?"

I shrugged and chuckled sheepishly. "...Places?"

"'Places'. What places?" Bruce pressed. "Places like Wall Street? That's a place where people get money."

I smiled at him. "Yeah. Like Wall Street," I said.

He raised an eyebrow, asking the silent question. I wiggled my own but finally caved when he frowned. Lying to Bruce wasn't something I liked to do, but I can't tell him the truth. It doesn't help thatI like him more than I should. I don't want my past ruining what little happiness I have.

"I'm just kidding. I don't know anything about Wall Street. Tony..."

Bruce took a step forward and placed a hand over mine and for a second my heart seemed to stop. "Look: let's just throw this stuff out andstart over. We'll get a whole new setup and you can watch the wrap-up of 'Merlin'. When him and Gawain-"

"-Shut up!" I snapped and jerked away. "Shut up about the show and shut up about my stuff - I know it's a mess and its half taped together and it'd old and it'd busted - but itsmine. And you gotta make that work, right? You gotta make your own stuff work out."

I shoved my hands into my pockets and looked at the floor. What the hell have I gotten myself into? What the hell is wrong with me? There's gotta be a better way to tell Bruce... the thought of a serious relationship makes me nervous.

"Uh... do you think we could put a rain check on that... date? It's been a really long day, like Eugene O'Neill long, I sorta cowboyed around, raised some hell. 'Sides - me and the Tracksuit... there's been some words exchanged. They threatened to start hurting my friends and neighbours."

Bruce's frown deepened as he huffed, probably annoyed out of his mind I didn't tell him this the other night. "Jane, you can't be doing this. You're gonna get yourself hurt."

"I know what I'm doing. Thing's are getting worse just like they did in New York, but this time I have experience. I know how to dictate the terms and get them to play by my rules. I know how to use the law to my advantage. I want these people to be safe. And I want to protect everything they're trying to build here."

I took his hand in my real one and held it tight. "I told you the truth because I trust you, Bruce. But you don't get a say in what I do."

He might be used to getting his way, and I might be talking to a brick wall with pointy ears, but he hasn't seen me fight for something I believe in.

I'm starting to sound like Steve.

Tony's probably rolling in his grave.

But sounding like Steve is not a bad thing when you know what you're doing.

It was late when I crawled through the library's window. Since me and the cops need some cooling off... I got to do thisby the book.

In my case that means breaking into a library and hanging around until I find something useful in archived company records. Lots of sleepless nights - lots more cheap takeout. And lots... of memories.

Basic tenet of both law and war, know your enemy.

"It isn't enough to know your enemy," Nat would say. "You have to know everything about them. You might not be able to out gun them. But you can always outthink them."

Natasha always said it, but I think I can admit I'm not great at this 'spy stuff'. Always more of a soldier than a spy. I don't know how she does it... did it.

Ivan Banionis had been deported shortly after Jason and I delt with him. His gang was mostly made up of Russian, Slavic and maybe some Polish. Accents and dialects all over east Europe.

He owned in Little Irkutsk. A strip club, just in case the guy wasn't enough of a creep already. Well, Болваны Town was owned by a shell company. A fake company. A tax dodge. That was wrapped in another and another. Ivan, or his companies, or his company's companies, own buildings.

All over the place. All over the city. All over the block I live on. They owned every building for three blocks in every direction but mine. The time and money and willpower it must've took these guys.

And I was one big pain in their arse. I'd stuck my hand in the wolf's mouth. Well, no one's every accused me of being the smartest Avenger, have they?

"You gotta be kidding me," I groaned holding the sheet of paper closer to the torchlight. A lot wasn't adding up. And I needed to tell Bruce what I found, Batman or not.

"Kidding is right," Batman said. I didn't flinch or turn around. I was getting used to him popping up in my personal space. "Jane, we need to talk."

"I knew I shouldn't have been proactive tonight," I muttered. He was about a foot away when I turned to face him. Close enough that I could see the five o'clock shadow starting to cover his jaw. "Bats, you know it's rude to follow people, right?"

"Jane," he huffed.

"In a city of nine million people, and you want to talk to me?" I said. "I'm in trouble with this. Please don't yell at me."

He took a step closer, cornering me. I hadn't realised I'd stepped back until my back bit the shelf. "You lied to me."

"You assumed."

He pressed a hand on the shelf above my head and stepped even closer, so our chests touched. Bringing his head down next to mine, he spoke into my ear, "I know you well enough, so I'm going to say this very simply. Walk away. I don't want to see you caught in the crossfire."

I could feel his breath on my neck and suppressed an involuntary shudder, goosebumps rising on my skin. "If I see a situation pointed south . . . I can't ignore it. I wish I could."

Batman reached up with his other hand and cupped my cheek. "No, you don't."

"No, I don't," I admitted. I smiled weakly. "Since you're here you might as well make yourself useful."

I placed my hands firmly on his chest, and a little reluctantly, I pushed him away. He let me.

"I was looking into Ivan's company, but he's been transferring assets from one corporation to the next. Like they're changing their name, shell company stuff. Yet I have no idea what it is that they actually do."

"So what do you need from me?"

"The oldest record dates back to 1795, and last year they illegally transferred $243 million worth of assets through the Wayne's and the Arkham's companies. That's what doesn't make sense, Ivan's not a couple centuries old."

"He's a pawn," Batman said in a matter of fact was. I could almost see his brain starting to formulate.

"I know. This... I have seen something like this since..."

... The Hand.

What was DC's equivalent? An organisation with a connection to Gotham and the Wayne's.

The League of Assassins.

Batman must've come to the same conclusion because he almost looked worried. I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling a migraine starting to come on. My left arm had gone numb... that wasn't normal.

"Come on," Batman said gruffly. He climbed out the window but waited for me on the sill. We three stories up with no fire escape, he fixed me with a scrutinising glare before he pulled the grappling gun and motioned for me to hold onto him.

We swung up onto the neighbouring building's roof, but Batman didn't let me go as he holstered the grapple gun. What scared me the most was that I didn't know what to do. "Can I ask you something?"

"You can ask."

"Do you have anyone?"

I looked away and refused to answer. "What does that have to do with this?"

"You could be good, happy. Don't throw that away trying to be a hero," he said. He was leaning in. Leaning in far more than I thought he'd ever lean into me. And I found myself moving to meet him.

The air between us seemed to be filled with static, silence becoming suffocating as our breathes mix together. His eyes dropped to my lips as his hand brushed against my cheek, tucking a few strands of shaggy hair out of the way. His hand lingered on my cheek, the contact sending warmth to my face.

"You gotta walk away now, Jane. You're brave. You're strong. But you're so goddamn stubborn, and you will throw away everything and I cannot let that happen."

I gave him a sad smile and released a sigh. I so close to him, and I'd never felt more alone. "You're cute when you're worried. Your eyebrows get scrunched together," I told him.

"Do me a favour and lose the sense of humour."

"Do the world a favour and buy one," I retorted. "I'm in too deep to stop now. So these are my terms, Batman: get on board or get out of the way."

Batman's grip tightened around me, and a growl rumbled from the back of his throat. "Fine."

I gripped his hand that was still pressed against my cheek. His body was firm against mine and radiated warmth. I looked up. I was close, mere inches from his face. Intimate. My breath hitched.

"Oh, f*ck it."

I grabbed a fistful of his cape and tugged him forwards to me, crashing my lips into his. I didn't know what came over me, but whatever it was, there was a part of me that liked it. Batman's fingers curled in my hair, pulling at the roots. At first, I feared he was going to tug me off. Instead, he deepened the kiss, smashing us into the wall.

He moved his lips against mine enthusiastically, almost angrily, teeth dragging at my bottom lip. Moaning into against him, I let his tongue push my lips apart, fulling submitting to him. Last time I had kissed Bruce Wayne, but Batman was a whole other story – there was no doubt which one of us was in control now. My eyes fluttered closed as I ran my hands up his back, the lean ridges and valleys of his muscle obvious under the grey spandex. His hand stayed clamped in my hair, but the other travelled lower, splaying across the small of my back, bringing my body closer to his, pressing me against his chest. I moved limply, easily palpable in his hands. I could feel the erratic beating of his heart against mine. His nose bumped mine as he moved his head, angling himself to get better access to my lips, the stubble on his cheek scraping me slightly.

His hands found my hips and pushed into me. I threw my leg up to wrap it around his waist, rolling my pelvis. Batman groaned, ripping my other leg up as he clutched my ass.

"Batman –oh!" If*ckingsqueaked, feeling the bulge starting to grow in pants. His lips travelled down my throat to the scar and my sweet spot. I let out a long whine into his shoulder.

"Say it again." He gripped my chin.

You kinky son of a bitch, was the only clear thought I could identify.

"Batman." I tightened my legs around him and breathed against his lips. It was just seductive enough that I felt him grow harder against.

"f*ck, that's hot," he muttered, almost to himself before guiding me into another kiss. A low animalistic groan escaped the back of his throat as I rolled my hips. I never wanted to stop kissing him. Even if theMortal Combat bridesmaid assassin turned up right now and threatened to kill me – feel like I still wouldn't want to stop kissing Batman.

But it all came crumbling down when I looked over his shoulder – Nightwing and Robin were also sitting on the edge of the roof now.

Nightwing was trying to keep his face serious, while Robin just looked uncomfortable. I could blame him; embarrassment was eating me alive.

"Batman, stop," I groaned. He put me down, releasing my hips when my feet were firmly on the ground. He stepped back, letting me adjust his cape so around his shoulders so it hung over his chest, covering his front. I said quietly, "Your kids really know how to kill the mood."

Even under his cowl, he looked as embarrassed as I felt. I turned to the boys, standing in front of Batman.

"You owe me fifty bucks," Nightwing said to Robin.

"I think it was weird," he said. "You guys look like two seals fighting over a grape."

I glared at him. "You should get lost."

"I was here first."

"Go get your own roof."

Nightwing came over and pulled me into a hug. "I thought you were out of one-liners. Welcome to the family," he said. I took a step back and shook my head in exasperation and Nightwing's smile dropped. "No, come on Jane. I won't let this ship pull a Titanic."

"I'm sorry, Little Wing. I think it is sinking." I turned my back on the boys and took Batman by the arm, leading him to the other side of the roof, out of ear shot. "You asked if I had anyone – I don't. Which, for the moment is probably better, but there's no happily ever after for me Batman."

"That's a dangerous way to think, Jane," he warned. "You froze, what makes you sure it won't happen again?"

"I'm not." I snapped my head away from him, looking at the ground. "So they better not miss."

"So stubborn," he grumbled. Batman grabbed my chin and made me look up at him. "Listen to me carefully, the Tracksuits are working for the League of Assassins. Are you sure you're up for this mission?"

I pushed his hand away.

"Absolutely!" I clapped my hands together once. "Rage, vengeance, anger, loss are all great motivators to clear the mind. So I'm good to go."

Batman fixed me a fearsome expression. "You've never met those assassins before. I have. They are not human. They're brutal!"

"Well, they've never fought me."

"Jane, that's dangerously arrogant" he stressed.

Practically an old married couple. And to think a minute ago we were kissing.

"Batman," I mimicked in the same tone before turning serious again. "I'm forty years old, and I've seen more than my fair share of danger. I've fought Nazi's and shared beers with aliens, and I'm only alive because of a vacation to Tahiti. The Tracksuits are just the next in a long line of bastards to feel my wrath."

"And if you're wrong?"

"Well, if I'm wrong, what more do I have to lose?"

There was a long silence that pressed on my chest like a heavy blanket. My left hand was trembling slightly, and I clenched it tight. I wanted to leave, walk away from the Bat Family. But I couldn't.

Not with the way he was looking at me...

I just had to open my big mouth. The chips were down and all my cards on the table. I was vulnerable.Your move, Bruce. What are you going to do with this information.

But he didn't move, just kept watching me with that unreadable expression on his face.

"I should go," I said flatly. "Let's not make... whatever this is, a habit."

One of Gotham's Many
Sketchy Warehouses, Tuesday,
December 18, 2015

"Gathered bros," Boris Ivanov said. "Jane Wallace must die."

He was an old man, his white tracksuit making his wrinkled skin look even paler in the dim light. With great distaste, Boris took a long drag of oxygen from the tank at his side, that left his lungs feeling somehow cheated.

He knew it was his own fault. He never should have taken up smoking in his youth. He also knew to fear the people he worked for and their leader, that if he did not secure the building, or rather, what was hidden beneath it, his deteriorating lung would be the least of his problems.

If he failed, well - there were some things scarier than death.

"She make mistake in her current habit of meddling with our affairs. It has made her insufferable. She rob us. Embarrassed us. Assaulted us. She cost us money. So we take heat. We take fall. Jane Wallace must die."

"Aye, bro!" agreed the majority of the gang.

He would give Ra's al Ghul a dead Avenger.

You dead now, bro. You dead now.

Chapter 24: A Very Short Chapter That Begins Well and Ends Badly

Chapter Text

Gotham City,
December 20, 2015

I sat cross-legged on top of a slab of beers, with my coat thrown loosely over my shoulder, and watched my friend. Yelena had taken over the grill tonight and show us all how to make fudge on the barbeque. It was late and everyone had turned in for the night, leaving me and Yelena on the roof. The cold had continued to intensify, along with the hours of darkness. There was a pit of magical green cool aid in the basem*nt. This was shaping up to be one hell of a Christmas.

Yelena talked and I listened. With everything going on I was straight up squirrelly. The League of Assassins? You can run from that. You can hide from that. If you have to, you canfightthat.

But the assassin already after me was unknown? Someone who enjoyed playing with their food, who enjoyed the hunt? That set me on edge.

And don't even get me started on Batman. I was still trying to figure out if I'd hallucinated the whole thing, and he actually hadn't kissed me.

So this was what I did every night, after everyone knocked off for the night. Sat on the roof on a stakeout. And let me tell you; stakeouts aren't all they're cracked up to be, after the first forty-five minutes it's pretty slow going.

I lifted a beer to my lips and a pair of binoculars to my eyes and watched the street for any Tracksuits.

Yelena was surprised to find out I spoke Russian, but a huge smile soon spread over her face. She recognised my accent as from the Komi Republic, because that was where her mother worked for most of the Cold War. Her mother, Natya, was a Night Witch who'd lied her way into the forces when she was sixteen. After the war she worked as a nurse in the Vorkuta Gulag.

"Can I ask, your mother, why she was there?"

Even here in Gotham I couldn't escape thatother place.

"You mean, what did she do to be assigned that position in Vorkuta?"

I nodded slowly, finishing the bottle before cracking another beer.

"Believe it or not, Jane, she volunteered to go there." She lowered her voice. "My family always believed in a... greater good." She nodded at the sky. Just like in the HYDRA base, it was forbidden to talk about religion in the Gulags, something that Natya must've passed down to Yelena, but I understood what she was getting at. "My parents devoted their lives to helping others. In fact, my father died doing so, fighting a fire. I tried to honour them by carrying on their mission, but I had dreams of America."

"At least you tried, that's the most any of us can do," I said, feeling slightly overwhelmed by this confession. "But you do honour them, maybe not in the way you wanted, but I don't know what I'd do without your fudge."

Yelena laughed at me from where she was standing. When her laugher petered out, she became very serious. "Can I be honest, Jane Wallace?"

"Da, of course."

Yelena's eyebrows creased as she spoke. "I must admit I did believe, broadly, in the project of the Soviet Union – the Motherland calling and all that – but I am an American citizen now – Land of the Free, you know – it is quite different tobehere. Does that make me a traitor?"

"No." I shook my head. "But my Pa was accused of treason in 1946 and Aunt Peggy actually committed treason to clear his name. Trust me, you're in the clear, Yelena."

"What about you? Did you ever get done for treason?"

I almost laughed. I'd committed treason several times for and against Russian and America. Now that my world was gone, I'd technically gotten away with it too. I rubbed the corner of my sleeve that covered the red star on my arm.

"My school ran a mock election in 1990, my last year and I ran as the communist party as a joke. The school made me stop because I was winning – sorry –wewere winning. Our mock election was so realistic the school played the part of the CIA."

"You are funny woman Jane Wallace." Yelena put a hand on my shoulder. I tried not to flinch at the intimacy of it. "Now I know I don't know much about your life before you came to Gotham. But I can tell you have boy troubles, and it's not that Jason kid you picked up. So spill."

Yelena smiled warmly, like a sister. I swallowed. I could hardly bare it. The confusion I felt was overwhelming. One: dating within the team always leads to disaster. Two: he's a man who dresses like a bat in his spare time. I'm a rich kid with issues... lots of issues. And three: I have enough enemies to deal without Batman's rogue's gallery trying to get to him through me.

"Bruce kissed me," I said. "He kissed me like he meant it."

"Bozhe moi, Wallace!" she exclaimed. "You dog! Was he any good?"

"Yeah, he was – is," I said slowly. "It was... nice. I like him and his kids are great, but I don't want them involved with what's going on here. Like, if I could duct tape him wall or something to keep him outta harm's way."

I wanted to tell her about Steve, but I'd opened that wound to many times already.

"Well, Jane Wallace? What you gonna do about?"

"Do?" I laughed. "Think I'm working on a doing a beer buzz, then I'll fall asleep watching Chuck Norris movies alone, I guess."

"So you just – you're just done?" Yelena asked. "You were sounding an awful like Bruce meant something to you."

"Yeah, he did – does – I dunno," I sighed and stuffed my hand in my pocket.

"Did you tell him all that stuff you told me?"

"Um. No, he was sorta too busy yelling at me to—"

"Moron, tell him! Men are idiots, not mind readers. Write it all down if you think he don't wanna see you no more. It's like that great poet of Bronx once said – 'tell her about'.

I snapped my fingers twice and rushed to the roof exit. "A letter. Hot damn, Yelena Georgiyevna, you're a damn genius. I'm gonna write him a letter."

"Atta girl, Jane Wallace."

She was a strange, lonely woman, that Jane Wallace, but Yelena liked her.

When Yelena had finished packing up the grill she looked to the skyline, so different to where she was born in Salekhard. Smoke and steam rose from exhaust vents on rooftops. Graffiti almost entirely covered most of the walls apart from a few spots where someone had attempted to cover it up. Gotham City, hell on Earth. It's like someone built a nightmare out of metal and stone. It's the sort of place where you have two jobs or two houses.

This wasn't exactly Yelena's American Dream, but at least the rent was cheap.

A crow flapped down to perch on the cable antenna that jutted from the buildings highest point. She waved and wondered if the bird had ever been able to see the whole of Gotham from way up there in the sky.

Then it flew off.

She turned to exit the roof and froze. A man in a black and orange mask stood before her.

She took a fast step back. "Where did you come—"

"I came from Hell."

Chapter 25: The U in Funeral

Chapter Text

Chk. "-Who still has an answering machine? Are you kidding me, Wallace?"

It was dark and all I could do was listen to Roy's voice as I fumbled for the kitchen light switch and scattered blank sheets of paper across the counter.

This was a dumb idea. How do I express my feeling? How do I do that? Feelings? Men? I don't know. The letter had to say something moving, something... from the heart, something - I'd think of something, eventually.

Halfway down the page of several attempts at coherency and half a pot of coffee later I had to call Simone. "Hey, it's me. I got a spelling... how do you spell 'incorrigible'. Call me back? I, uh. I don't have a dictionary. Or internet. Or much of anything."

I fell into a haze, sleeping fitfully on and off for the rest of the night. At around 5:30 AM I jolted upright and almost fell off the couch into a pile of beer bottles when two sharp knock broke through the haze.

It was Simone. She looked terrible. Her eyes were puffy from crying and an air of melancholy hung about her. She didn't have to speak. Her face said it all.

Something bad had happened.

A couple minutes later I stood on the roof with my hallmates, hating the fact I'd been right.

Yellow police tape cut us off from the crime scene where a white sheet stained with blood covered Yelena's body. I wanted to yell, scream, something, but all I could do was feel the slight shake of my left hand.

I stared out at the Gotham skyline. A crow circled above. Yelena was supposed to go to acting classes in the new year. She had a husband, lots of friends, her whole life ahead of her.

I knew in my gut she was gone. Not even the Lazarus Pit could bring her back. She was gone because of me. They did this because of me.

"-My boy is in the hospital," one of the babushka's said, "he got hurt and-"

I couldn't listen anymore and trudged back down to my apartment, flopping onto the couch, closing my eyes.

RNNGGG. Then the phone rang. I held my head. Too loud-

RNNGGG RNNGGG RNNGGG

"I hate you," I told it. I picked up with a sigh. "What?"

"Is it too early for you, Ma?"

I just groaned. "Ha hahh... heyyy, Jaybird. When did - when did you get back into town?"

Jason and Roy had gone cowboying around, doing whatever it was the Outlaws did. Something about the All-Caste, Jason had said.

"Last night," he said. "Uh, look Roy and me need a place to crash for a couple days. Think you can spare a couch for a couple Outlaws' down on their luck?"

"Ahh... yeah, lad, sure, yeah. I mean - of course. Whatever you need. I got - see, I got a... girl in my building just died, there's cops, I gotta talk to her damn mum-" my words slur, I wasn't even sure I was making sense. "Let me get all my stuff taken care of and stuff. Okay?"

I hung up and went back to sleep. I couldn't have been out for more than ten minutes when there was another knock on the door.

"Jane Wallace?" said an unfamiliar voice. "Jane Wallace. GCPD. We'd like a word."

I didn't check the peephole as I started to unlock the door, if it was someone pretending to be a cop, if they had any brains, they'd shoot me when it went dark. "Hang on, hang on - fingers not working to well-"

Jim Gordon and Detective Bullock stood outside my door. The commissioner had thinning ginger hair and a moustache. He wore classes and a trench coat with a coffee stain on it. you wouldn't think he was cool, but no one in Gotham was more of a badass (apart from Alfred).

Bullock on the other hand was one doughnut away from fat. He chewed on a toothpick wore a fedora hat. He smiled like he was God's gift to cheesy 80s cop shows everywhere. I wanted to punch him in his stupid dumb smug face.

"Are you the owner and superintendent of this building, miss?" Commissioner Gordon asked.

"Acting, uh-" my brain just couldn't make my tongue work. "-Acting... interim... superintendent and ownership... candidate?" All I knew was that my current position wasn't technically - exactly legal. "I'm taking care of the place. C'mon in boys."

As they came in, I stepped into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. I didn't miss it when both detectives cast a glance at my metal arm, noting it.

"Lady, aren't you-"

"Nope. I'm nobody." I cut Bullock off. "Can we get to the real questions here, guys? Can you tell me who killed my neighbour or what?"

Don't give the commissioner attitude, idiot!

Gordon took it in good humour. "We were hoping you could help us out with that some." He took out a notepad and started reading from it. "Looks like your neighbour caught a prowler, or a prowler caught your neighbour, at least."

"Which is weird, because, y'know," Bullock said. "Why would anybody prowl a building like this? Unless there's another reason for violent people with guns to snoop around? What were you doing last night, Miss Wallace? Or do we give you a little more time to wake up before getting to the real questions?"

I could've decked him then and there, but I didn't, just took two mugs from the cupboard above my head and filled them with coffee. "I was writing until... Eleven? Ten? I had a few and wasn't paying too much attention, to tell you the truth."

"Can anyone corroborate that," the commissioner asked calmly.

I passed them the mugs and drank straight from the pot. "I called Simone at some point in there."

"Simone?"

"She lives down the hall - second to the right. I had a spelling question."

Commissioner Gordon looked amused and raised an eyebrow. "A spelling question?"

I shrugged. "Like I said, I had a few."

"Thank you, Miss Wallace, I think we're done here," he said and finished the rest of the coffee in one swig. "Stay out of trouble."

Jason told me about this poem called 'The Old Man's Dead, the Baby's Dead'. When the old man died there was no one left to remember the little baby he and his wife gave birth to sixty years ago. So it was like now the baby's really gone.

When he died and went to earth,
All the thousand million memories he'd made since birth
Went with him. The comet over Kakadu,
The buttercup he waved for love in playground games,
The Army Hall fell in flames
And the baby who drew a dozen breaths and died.
No one left now to read the words 'Always remembered',
In faded brown on the granite slab.
Goodbye old man! A lot went with you.
And only now can it be said
The old man's dead, the baby's dead.

I knew some of Yelena's stories. How she had a pet goat as a kid called lady. How one time she had be walking outside the wood and saw wolves stalking her from just beyond the tree line. Stories of when the river froze over, and she and her friends would walk on the ice to see who would fall in first. Stories of school where some kids were driven by chauffeurs each day, where she got caught putting a bra on the school first principal (who, to make things better, was a guy). And later Gotham.

I'm not the most sentimental guy around, but I think our stories make us who we are. That people aren't born as empty shells. They already have the makings of a personality and intelligence. But from the moment they're born, they start accumulating stories and it's those stories that have the biggest effect on them.

Like the poem said, a thousand million memories. A thousand million stories. And then some.

"Bruce always look all sharp and neat but I put on a shirt with buttons and I look that guy in that movie where he dies in the end," I told Jason as he fiddled with my collar. I wasn't exactly sure what he was doing.

We were at my place, getting ready for the funeral.

"Collar stays," he said.

"What?"

"I put in collar stays. It's a trick Alfred taught me."

"What?" I asked again.

"You know how the tips always curl up? You put in these little pins in there."

"'Collar stays'," I repeated.

"Yep. And your collar stays in place."

"Great," I grumbled tugging at it. "Now I got another thing to worry about I never worried about before."

Jason rolled his eyes and walked to the door. "You're going for the asshole of the year award, aren't you?"

"As defending champion, are you nervous?"

My dreams suck.

If I've said it once, I've said it a million times. The thing is they're never just dreams. They've got to be memories, visions, omens and all that other bullsh*t Space Stone stuff that makes my head hurt.

I dreamed I was in a dark room at the top of a flight of stairs. Unfortunately, I recognised it: Yelena's apartment. Moonlight poured through the window, illuminating the boarded wooden floor.

My feet were bare, and I could feel something course and rough and irritating.

Sandy.

Dumb name for a hurricane. I had a teacher named Sandy - can't stop thinking about her. Everybody thinking her last name was a cuss word and nobody saying it.

I got to the bottom of the stairs and stepped into a thick, knee-deep liquid. There was a dark shape standing in the shadows further back, too small for Batman. Wait. "Yelena?"

I took a step forward and the liquid sloshed around my leg, the ripples making it shimmer red in the moonlight. It was blood. I am (literally) in blood stepped so far.

"Da, down here Indiana Stark." She started to sink slowly. I ran over, trying to keep her above the surface but she had already gone under. "We're all down here."

For a moment the blood below me looked like some window, glazed with grimy glass, and I could see dead things, dead faces down there. The faces of my friends and neighbours. All dead and rotting in the blood that would be spilled if I failed.

I stubbled back.

Yelena's voice followed me. "You will always live a life of-"

"-Fear." The assassin stepped out of the shadows. Sickles drawn, her shadow engulfing me. "I do love the smell of fear. It's intoxicating," she drawled. "Sorry to crash the party with Yelena. Her death was a shame, really. So young. So much to live for."

"You," I snarled, fear giving way to anger. "You did this."

"No," she hummed, and snapped the sickle shut. There were marks carved into the steel. Faces crossed out. The Avengers. And newest of all, Yelena. "But I was there to witness all of them. Each. Frivolous. End. But you didn't even notice me, because Indiana Stark laughs in the face of death, right? But you're not laughing now."

The assassin appeared behind me.

"You are no assassin... but I thought Darkseid sent you." My stomach churned and I wanted to throw up. "You are..."

"Death," she growled. My blood turned cold. "And I don't mean it metaphorically or rhetorically or poetically or theoretically or any other fancy way. I'M DEATH. STRAIGHT UP! And I've come for you, Indiana Stark."

"But... I'm still alive..." I started to back away.

Death chuckled. "You know, I'm not really a people person. I find the very idea of CHEATING death absurd." She got angry now, pointing her sickle at me. "And you didn't value ANY of them. So why don't I do us both a favour, and take this last one now?"

"Jane," a rough voice said.

My head felt like it had been microwaved in tinfoil. The rest of me had broken out in a cold sweat. I opened my eyes, Jason was there, a pained look on his face. My prosthetic had his wrist in a vice like and I immediately let him go.

"Sorry," I said weakly.

"You good?" he asked.

"Yeah." I wasn't so sure. My body felt weightless and cold. My voice sounded wrong. I could hear Jason, but it was more like I was hearing vibrations inside my skull, not regular sounds.

The cemetery was surrounded by an old iron fence with a gate at one end, the paths inside were covered in shell grit. I could see a pile of dirt on the other side. Yelena's grave. Imagine being lowered into that, deep into the grown, then covered in six foot of dirt.

Jason and I trudged over to where the buildings residents were standing beneath a weeping willow, by the gravestone. A solid slab of granite with an epitaph filling the available space. Well, less an epitaph than Yelena's fudge recipe. She always said we could have it 'over her dead body'. It was even in her will. Roy was already there, waiting for us, Lian holding his hand. She came over and when I picked her up, she wrapped her arms around my neck in a hug.

Alexander and Natya stood on the other side of the coffin to me, looking worse for wear. I gave them a small nod. They weren't alone. Though the vengeful look on Alexander's face worried me. Vengeance unchecked could consume a person whole.

The priest stepped forwards and the sermon started.

"You know, sometimes in life, it seems like there's no way out, like a sheep trapped in a maze designed by wolves. And you know that if you're ever in that situation, there are always two doors to choose from. And through the first door - oh, it's easy to get through that door and on the other side waiting for you are all the nummiest treats you can imagine Fanta, Doritos, L&P, Burger Rings, co*ke Zero."

I raised an eyebrow at Jason and said under my breath, "Where'd we find this guy again?"

"We didn't," said Jason. "Roy found him."

"That tracks."

Now that I'd gotten a good look at the guy, he sorta looked like Taika Waititi.

"But you know what? There's also another door, not the Burger Ring door, not the Fanta door; another door that's harder to get through. Guess what's on the other side? Anyone want to take a guess?"

"Vegetables?" asked Lian.

"N- No, not vegetables. No."

"Jesus?"

"You would think Jesus. I thought Jesus the first time I came across that door. It's not Jesus. It's another door. And guess what's on the other side of that door? Jesus. Yeah, Jesus. He's tricky like that, Jesus. So let us pray, to Jesus, please, and make it a bit easier to get through those doors, uh, to find you and your bounty of delicious confectionary."

After the funeral I stayed behind after everyone had left. I sat by the grave. My friend. My mistake. My fault. I should've killed the tracksuits when I had the chance. No laws. No Batman. Just me and the people who did this.

But I knew this was vengeance taking. I could almost see Yelena shaking her had that the stupidity of my train of thought.

I'd avenge her the right way, whatever that meant.

There was a sudden pressure on my shoulder. I was up in a second, sweeping the feet of the person behind me. They hit the ground with a grunt.

Oh no.

"Bruce," I gasped. "I am so sorry."

I gave him a hand up. As soon as Bruce was on his feet, he wrapped his arms around me and tucked my head into his shoulder. "I thought you could use a friend," he said. "I'm so sorry about Yelena. She seemed like one of the good ones."

"She was," I said. I pulled away. "Thank you for coming, it means a lot."

One of Bruce's hands came to rest beside my neck, thumb gently caressing my cheek. His blue eyes were saying a million things that words couldn't. I should be letting this happen, I'm smarter than this.

But I can't think straight when he's around.

Pathetic.

Chapter 26: Indiana and Batman Standing on a Roof, T-A-L-K-I-N-G

Chapter Text

Okay... this looks... completely ridiculous.

Four guns were pointed directly at my face, a white panel van behind me and Clint's bow and my Chinese takeout lay to waste on the pavement. To put the cheery on top, my pants were around my ankles.

Whatever happens to me tonight? However bad it gets? I had it comin'. Because when life ends up breathtakingly f*cked, you can generally trace it back to one big bad decision. The one that sent you down the road to sh*tsburgh.

"Bro."

"Get in van, bro."

"Just go, bro."

Sure thing fellas.

Sure

Thing.

"Can I pull up my draws first?" I deadpanned.

"Absolutely motherf*cking not bro."

"Broooooooo. Van now, bro, okay, bro."

Come on Stark. Think. Use that big brain of yours. Come on-

"Guys, wanna see a magic trick?" I asked hope fully.

Rock meet bottom.

Earlier

I swung up over the back wall of the unfamiliar rooftop and adjusted my hood so I could pull it down over my face. I normally wore a white hood, but this one was darker, which helped me blend I with the night. Back at the building we'd all agreed to post sentries at the exits. I was ostensibly in command, Jason reluctantly listened, and Roy was starting to make a bunch of Home Alone boobytraps. I'd left them covering the front door while I went out to collect information.

We'd chosen this place to meet because it was out of the way and condemned. I was beginning to think there were more condemned buildings in Gotham than not. That every time a villain attacked, they weren't fixed in favour of building new ones.

I waited in the shadows of the wall until Batman showed. I didn't hear him as such, but I knew he was there. That unmistakable shift in the atmosphere. His back was to me, and I don't think he'd seen me yet.

I shifted the bow and quiver of arrows carefully as I approached him from behind, very conscious of any noise I might make. When I was close enough, I grabbed him by the shoulders.

His reaction was immediate. Batman surged towards me, pushing me against the wall as easily as I'd put a whole in the wall. He pressed his forearm against my throat and glowered.

Realising it was me, he stepped away. I rubbed my neck.

"Don't do that again," he warned.

"But I got you, right?"

He glared at me and changed the subject. "How are you holding up?"

"When this is all over, I'm gonna cry for like a week," I said. I hadn't cried in a long time now, but I knew once there was nothing to distract me the water works would start. "For now, I just gotta focus on taking down those tracksuit-wearing sub-verbal bullying murderous scumbags."

Batman pulled a file from what I assumed was hammerspace*. CONFIDENTIAL was stamped across the front. Attached by a paperclip was a piece of paper with symbol on it. A full-face mask with a line down the middle.

*Hammerspace - an infinite extradimensional storage area for cartoon hammers and the like-

I took the file. The Soviet Assassin Program gave each of us a unique symbol. Something we could leave at the scene of a kill to make sure we got credit for our work. It seemed the same thing happened here.

But what didn't help was that fact that I recognised this symbol. It had been appearing in the vagabond code over the last week. I readjusted the bow on my shoulder and took a stroll around the roof, sticking to the shadows, occasionally casting glances to the street below.

Batman raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

I snorted. "You're the one doing this cloak-and-dagger stuff with the cape and the cowl and your fancy-ass dossier," I said. "Are we being tailed? Are we being watched?"

"What 'cloak-and-dagger' stuff? This is just bat stuff."

Bat stuff. He did not just say 'bat stuff'.

He's lying, of course, but he knows I know he's lying so that's okay. He dug up eighteen killings in the tri-state alone so maybe a little cloak-and-dagger isn't the worst idea.

"The weapons change sometimes, scene to scene, but the shot pattern is consistent," Batman explained. "And there is always a symbol nearby. Victims all have ties to the Tracksuits or the League - and the victims all stood in the way."

"Man," I muttered.

"No. Hitman. And he has perfect negative around him - so he is unafraid. Because he knows his name means nothing. He is not even a shadow. Not even a ghost - he's blank. He's just a shape. You're being hunted by a killer that can sign his word as largely and as he likes... because nobody knows anything about him."

"Slade Wilson," I said. "A.K.A Deathstroke."

I shuffled through the file, skills, weapons, contacts in Gotham. If Teen Titians and Arrow had taught me anything, it was going to be a hard fight. I might have to kill him. I searched for any mention of Mirakuru.

In the Arrowverse at least, during World War II... every country was trying to develop the ultimate weapon. The United States had the Manhattan Project, of course. The Nazis had Das Uranverein. And the Japanese had Mirakuru. Stem cell and genetic therapies decades ahead of their time.

Super soldier serum.

And in the Arrowverse Slade Wilson had turned out as bad as the KGB-HYDRA kill squad.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I found none and snapped the dossier shut again, handing it back. "Thank you," I said to Batman.

I turned to leave, but his voice stopped me. "Why are doing this?" he asked. He didn't sound like he was expecting an answer, but I decided to give it to him. In all likelihood, he'd find out soon enough anyway.

"It's really not that complicated," I said. "I have red in my ledger, and I'd like to wipe it out." It was one of Nat's saying. I didn't give him any specifics. Let him think what he wanted of that, even if there was a chance he'd never look at me the same way again.

I stepped back into the shadows and walked home. I got a text from Roy asking me to pick up Chinese.

I can't take Deathstroke and the mob on my own, and I'd take more than me, Jason and Roy. The buildings resident, they were just civilians, I had to remind myself constantly. I could run them through basic training. They were smart and learnt fast, but they still weren't soldiers. They didn't have the abilities or patience of soldier, and I'd have to remember to treat them differently because of that. I know they wanted to fight, but they needed to understand there was no training montage to prepare them for something like this.

Just as I got back to the building the draw strings on my pants came undone. Rabbit comes out of the hole...goes around...oop. Aww, pants.

There was a sound next to my ear. The distinct clanging sound of the hammer of a revolver being thumbed back.

And standing beside, there was a Tracksuit with a freshly co*cked revolver in one hand, looking down the sight, pointing straight at me.

"Bro, we got you now again, bro."

"Into van you go, bro."

"Give bow, bro, and arrows, bro."

"Guys, guys," I reasoned handing over the weapons. "Can't a guy tie her pants up before we get into it?"

"Van, bro," one said, jabbing his gun at me. "Now, bro. And you shut up too, bro.

I raised both my hands and eyes to high heaven. Thor didn't have to deal with sh*t like this. I wish I was Thor. I wish I hadn't lost his hammer. I wish I could smash this guy in the face with that hammer. Wish I could smash myself in the face with a hammer.

Wish I was anyone else.

Wish I was anywhere else.

Present

There. All caught up. I think you know the rest.

"Surrounded, bro. Van, bro."

"C'mon, c'mon," I said. "One trick, one time."

"Bro, he shoot you, bro, so you go, bro you go-"

I made pray hands and fluttered my eyelashes. With my pants down I might just be able to pull this off. "You guys might be my last show ever, right? Help a bro out. Just say the magic word."

"...Is... is 'abra cadabra'?" one tracksuit asked.

I grinned. "Jason."

"What you say, bro?"

"Jason, say 'Jason'."

"Jason," one said.

Pathetic.

"No, no, come on, it's a magic trick and I got my pants down. You gotta shout it."

"JASON!" all four of them hollered.

A trash can lid flew out of the darkness, hitting one tracksuit in the back of the head. He went down like a sack of spuds as Jason barrelled into another. I jumped into action too. Grabbing two other tracksuits while they were distracted and slammed their heads together.

I watched Jason. Look at him go. Hits like a truck, that kid. Sometimes it was hard to remember that he was only nineteen. He knew everything there was to know about hitting people and making them stay down.

At some point, it becomes a talent.

I pulled up my pants and tied them. "Ta-daaa."

We stepped over unconscious bodies to get back to the door. The Tracksuits had been waiting there for me to get back, but they must've known it'd take more than four guys to get me in a van. It was too easy, which made me nervous.

I picked up the bow and quiver. I needed to focus on what was in front of me... but if you ignore enough coincidences, you end up dead. That's what Natasha always said. Is that irony? That feels like irony.

Either way, here I am.

My gut tells me that all of this was to make sure someone else could get here, too.

"S'not too smart, Ma," Jason said. "I mean they just wait out here for you? Somethings not right."

"I know."

This is a classic play. Concentrate and redirect. Draw all of your enemy's forces together and then shift their focus with a diversion. This was the diversion. Now all that's missing is them springing the trap.

"Jaannnne!"

Simone's cry ripped through the night air. My head snapped up. She was at the window, but someone dragged her back in by the hair.

I knocked two arrows and ran inside.

No time to enjoy the exercise.

Up three storeys.

C'mon.

C'mon.

C'MON.

Remember

Kids

Space

I came to the last blind corner.

I rounded it. There were two Tracksuits by the door.

-dammit-

BANG! A gun fired. I rolled. The bullet whistled above my head and hit the wall.

DAMMIT

I came out of the roll and released the arrows.

They hit the Tracksuit in the thigh and shoulder.

He went down.

Another shot. I fell back, releasing another arrow.

It went through his wrist, and he dropped the gun.

In the door. "Simone!"

She ducked and the arrow flew over her head, pinning the Tracksuit to the wall by the hand he held the gun in.

Last one.

One more.

I knocked another arrow, drawing it back.

Too late.

He had one of Simone's kids. A gun to his head.

"Don't do it, bro," he said. "I got kid, bro."

I held the draw steady. "Just say the magic word."

"Uh, no?"

I could see the fear in the kid's eyes. His dark skin had a clammy sheen to it.Hang it there, buddy.

KASHHH. Jason's hands came through the window, grabbing the Tracksuits' head, while I grabbed the kid.

"Mama!" he cried and Simone took him from me.

She held both her kids in a death grip. "Babies. Come here, babies. Mama's got you."

Glass crunched under shoes as Jason climbed through the window looking very pleased with himself. "Sorry about that. Our guests didn't, uh... Guess you could say those guys really... they really."

I raised an eyebrow at Jason.

"Those to guys, they... they, uh..." He looked embarrassed and scratched the back of his neck. "I threw them off the fire escape."

"Smooth, boy," I said and turned to Simone. "Are you guys, okay?" She nodded. "Come on, we'll debrief at my place."

I ended up with one of Simone's boys in my arms. I tucked him beneath my hoodie and held him close. He couldn't have been more than four of five years old.

When we got to my apartment, I shouldn't have been surprised to find Batman inside. He was just standing in the living room, menacingly. Roy was in the couch. Batman's eyes met mine and I knew I was in for it.

"Make yourself at home," I said to Simone. Then to Jason and Batman. "You two, upstairs now."

Roy looked offended. "What about me?"

"You're a free loader. The adults are talking."

Upstairs I threw the bow down on my bed as Jason's voice broke the silence. "What are you doing here, old man?" His green eyes glowed brighter in the darkness, burning holes into Bruce with the heat and fires of Mt Doom.

Batman's gaze flicked to me. They were calculating. They were studying me, trying to figure out how much I know.

I raised an eyebrow. "Well, he's asked, hasn't he?"

His eyes narrowed and snapped back to Jason. "He's dangerous."

"So I am," I said. "What do you want Bats?"

"You can't-"

"But I did, Bruce," I sighed.

Batman froze at my sip up. If I'd never felt threatened by him before, I did now, even Jason had gone quiet. He stared at me for a moment longer, and even though I couldn't see him rolling his eyes, I knew he was. He reached up and tugged the cowl from his face.

And there was perhaps the strangest sight I'd ever seen – a combination of the two men I almost considered separate entities. Bruce's face – messy hair and steel blue eye (that let you know where home is) and lips pink from the cold – and Batman's body – complete with the rippling muscles and billowing cape and heavy boots.

One singular person. Not Batman, not Brucie Wayne. He was suddenly just Bruce, and that was enough for me. "How long have you known?"

"The whole damn time."

"-Jane - dammit - you can't not call the cops because you think you can call me and skate by on good intentions."

"Listen to me," I said harshly. "If Steve taught me one thing, it was to do the right thing, okay? You see a thing, it's wrong, you think - you think 'no, I'm going to make that right'. So you do it, regardless. You do what's right because it's right and no other reason. And... and... the rules get in the way, so you don't?"

I turned away from both men and looked at the floor. "No, I'm going to do the right thing and I don't - they were going to kick these folks out, Bruce, and just - I just wanted to something right."

Bruce took my hand, holding it tight and turned me back around. "It's not that simple, Jane."

I saw Jason shoot an amused look at our entwined hands.

"Yeah," I said. "But it should be."

"Hey, Ma?" Jason asked.

"What, Jason?"

"So how'd they get in? We had the place on lockdown, yeah? With alla your little deputies running around. You had Tito and Deke out back."

I nodded, putting hand to my chin. "...And we were out front, stopping the other jerks."

"And before that, you had the door covered. And I watched it while you were taking with the old man."

"sh*t," I muttered. So they would've have had to... "The roof. Someone let them in. They were already inside. They might still be inside."

I was downstairs and out the loft before anyone could stop me.

Too late

We're too late

Bursting through the front door, I stepped onto the street. It was completely deserted.

For a moment as I turned back to go inside, everything seemed frozen in time. Then a sonic disrupter went off right next to my ear.

Chapter 27: The Things We Don't Say Out Loud

Chapter Text

The sky is the colour of 1991 and the sky is the colour of spring break. It is the blue sky over a beach in Malibu.

Indiana is the Stark girl. She has heard people across the country call her that. Poor little Stark girl. Mad little Stark girl. A troublemaker. The black sheep of the family, which is ironic because she does not have black hair like her brother and father. But she is not her mother's daughter either.

It is the last day with her family and Jarvis and Rohdey before she goes back to school, and Tony goes back to MIT.

Indiana is just coming in from a wave, to take a break from surfing. The morning has been so perfect Indiana knows something has to go wrong soon - a rabid horde of paparazzi, or maybe a great white shark attack. No way her luck would hold.

But so far they've had excellent waves, a clear sky and a mile of oceanfront completely to themselves. Dad had found this out-of-the-way spot, rented a beach front villaandthe properties on either side, and somehow managed to keep it secret. If they stay here too long, Indiana knows the photographers will find them. They always did.

"Seven feet, Dad," I called. "The wave was seven feet."

Howard - Dad barely looks up from his paper. "Good job out there, kid."

Indiana wonders what her Mum every saw in him that made her marry him. Dad was a pain, but Mum made it work. Her soft touch balancing his strictness. She supported him. He conferred with her. They fell in line together, their opinions and policies stronger for the absolute support of each other.

But Maria Stark is not Howard's. She is her own.

Indiana rolls her eyes and helps Tony bury Rohdey in the sand. She buries Rohdey in the sand the same way she buries secrets alive inside herself. Because she has secretes, ones she can't tell Tony.

"Ignore him," says Tony. He gives her a smile he was famous for: perfect teeth, dimpled chin, a twinkle in his dark eyes that always made grown woman scream and ask him to sign their bodies in permanent market. His close-cropped hair gleams with salt water. "You're a natural."

And even though he is five years older than her, he lets her tag along with him and Rohdey.

Lunch time comes around and Jarvis hands a marmite sandwich. She takes it, though her stomach is too upset to eat. She always asks for marmite. For one thing, it is British vegemite, closer to her Scottish heritage than anything in the U.S, and another, it is simple food, like a regular kid would have for lunch. Something she pretends Dad has actually made for her, not the British butler who liked to call her Lady Indiana.

Can't anything be simple? That is why she turns down the fancy clothes Dad always offers, the designer shoes, the trip to the salon. She cut her own hair with a pair of plastic Garfield safety scissors, deliberately making it uneven. She prefers to wear beat-up running shoes, jeans, a T-shirt and a Hawaii shirt like Goose from Top Gun.

And she hates the snobby private schools Dad thought were good for her. She keeps getting herself kicked out. He keeps finding more schools.

Yesterday, she pulled her biggest heist yet - driving a 'borrowed' BMW out of the dealership. She had to pull a bigger stunt each time, because it takes more and more to get Dad's attention.

She wants him to know she's more than just his next Captain America.

She wants him to know she's not Steve Rogers.

[Bruce Wayne]

Jane. Deaf.

She had been deafened.

Her inner and middle ear were badly damaged. Because of the injury she had been deafened.

Stupid, brilliant, self-destructive Jane. But Bruce's better judgement went beyond the concern for her wellbeing. How long had she'd known about his alter ego? Had she told anyone?

5 hours. It had been five hours since he brought her down to the Batcave and Alfred had done the best he could for her ears. Tim had started on a pair of hearing aids.

Bruce sat by her, jaw clenched and cowl off. Deathstroke had got away before he was even down the stairs. He looked over his shoulder to see Dick and Jason sitting on the other side of the cave, talking though he couldn't discern what. Jason looked rough. He'd called her Ma. Bruce wasn't sure how Jane had pulled that off, but not to say he wasn't pleased.

The room was dark, lit only by the lights far above on the cave's ceiling, illuminating her unconscious body. She was lying on her back, metal arm hung over the side of the bed, while her left was wrapped around herself in an almost protective way. Bruce noticed she looked different when she was sleeping, tense. Her face pinched and occasionally Bruce would hear her mutter something unintelligible in Russian.

Bruce brushed some hair away from her face. They'd removed her hoodie to check for any other wounds. He pursed his lip in distaste as he got a better look at the angry scar tissue that connected her metal forearm just above the elbow. It looked like nail marks - where Jane might have tried to rip the metal limb off, herself. Her shirt hung loosely to her; she'd lost weight.

He knew it was wrong, but he leaned in to take a closer look at her sleeping face.

Unnaturally blue eyes that glowed in the dimness shot open. They were blank. Sharks' eyes, the eyes of a killer.

What caught Bruce off guard was he was too slow to move out of the way as metal fingers closed around his throat. Jane spun them both around, throwing him against the bed with such force it knocked the wind out of him. He tried to stand up, but she slammed his head down making him see triple. She was straddling him, one leg each side of his torso, metal arm at his throat constricting his airway.

This wasn't Jane.

Bruce brought his legs up, wrapping them around her head and threw off. She recovered almost instantly and got into a defensive stance.

"Kto ty?" she demanded; voice as hard as rock. "Pochemu ya ne slyshu?"

"Jane..." he signed in ASL and tried to reason.

"Who the hell is Jane?"

Jason grabbed her from behind, pinning down her arms as Dick came around syringe. Her eyes went wide with fear, and she drop kicked him in the face. With her feet on the ground again she pushed back, slamming Jason into the wall.

Jason released her. Before she got her guard up again, Bruce caught her with a right hook across the jaw.

She crouched on the ground, clutching her head before she looked up, hurt in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she signed, rubbing in a circular motion above her heart. "She's still in there."

"Who is?" Bruce demanded. He turned to Jason. "What the hell happened?"

"She mentioned something about being brainwashed," he said as he got up. "She didn't like to talk about it."

Jane had backed away now, she looked down at her hands, not willing to make eye contact with Bruce. Her metal fist was shoved in her pocket, like she didn't want to look at it.

It's really not that complicated. I have red in my ledger, and I'd like to wipe it out.

Bruce stood right in front of her so she had no choice but to look at him. "Who is in there? I want answers."

"Barnes wasn't the only Winter Soldier," Jane admitted. She raised her eyes to him finally, and Bruce was shocked to see the slight glisten of tears in them. It was the first time Bruce had seen her cry. She wiped them away hurriedly. "I get nightmares. It means I remember. It means a part of me is still there. Which means a part of the Winter Soldier's still in me."

She sighed. "I lied. That night of the car crash, I didn't get away. But I couldn't exactly tell you the truth. I'm sorry."

All four of them stood in silence for a minute before Jane pushed past Bruce and walked away. She found the elevator just as Tim and Alfred stepped out. Tim smiled but she pushed past him and mashed a button. The doors closed.

[Dick Grayson]

Getting drop kicked in the face by Jane wasn't something Dick had planned on today. Bruce was in a mood and Jane had gone back to her place with Jason. Dick had followed.

He held his breath for a second before entering her building. Before Dick never really understood why Jane had chosen to settle in Crime Alley, now he did. Her past, whatever it was, she was trying to get away from it. Not exactly hiding, but not advertising either.

The old floorboards creaked beneath his feet as he approached Jane's door at the end of the hall. He heard Jason voice yelling then the door was flung open and Jane walked. She completely ignored both of them, heading for the stairwell.

Jason came out after her. "Stupid stubborn ass," he muttered. "ASS!"

"Ooh, you kiss your mother with that mouth?" Dick leaned against the wall as his brother rolled his eyes at him. "How's she doing?"

"She's as "Jane Wallace" as Jane Wallace's ever been," he said. "Won't speak, won't sign. She's embarrassed about what happened in the cave and got too much pride to ask for - she's a real pain in the ass. The king of asses."

[Indiana Stark]

They'd deafened me. That was bad. I relied on my ear as much as my eye for fighting, maybe more sometimes. But I can't let my fear show. I can't let the enemy know how badly they beat me.

Clint was deaf and he managed. Matt was blind and he managed.

A blast of snow hit me in the face as I opened the door to the roof. It was a bitter cold to, making it hard to breathe. Through a crack in the clouds, I saw the moon. My breathe made small white clouds as it hits the air. It's colder than a Washington night. One where I would've slipped into the night, to meet Steve in our prearranged spot in the park across from the Smithsonian where we'd sit bundled together, sipping coffee from metal flasks wrapped in quilting.

It was a weird relationship to begin with, I had grown up hating Steve Roger's guts. He was the guy Dad wished he had as a kid but got stuck with me and Tony. Then I actually met Steve - I almost killed him when Loki put me under - I could see what dad saw in him and I let go of my grudge, even if sometimes I wanted to punch him in his perfect teeth.

Later, when we both joined S.H.E.I.L.D he became my north star, my hope. He was there to back me up when I disobeyed a bad order from my CO (who turned out to be HYDRA, shocker). I was there from him when he searched for Barnes.

If only he had my back now.

I bullied myself into calming down, doing was what Steve taught me. Keep your head up, and always keep fighting. Fight for what you care about, and don't stop until you win.

I made a list of people I cared about here.

Of course, Alfred was at the top.

Bruce.

Jason.

Dick.

Tim.

Yelena...

Avenge Yelena.

It wasn't like I could talk to Bruce either. I tried to kill him!

I picked up a beer from the slab and popped the cap.

I felt the shift of the air behind me as Batman landed behind me. I ignored him, surprised he'd even want to talk - be close to me in general. I didn't move as he approached. It was strange to be so physically close to someone who's so distant. Bruce might as well be back in the cave, or on the moon, or on my Earth right now, he'd be no harder to reach.

He took my arm and turned me around, so I was looking right at him. His lips moved. "(Something) not mute. You're dea(f) (?) You can still make s-"

I grabbed him by the front of the cape. "They took everything, Batman!"

His fist collided with my face. My head whipped back, and I fell on my ass. My teeth smacked together. "(Not ye(t) (?) .)

I rubbed my hands over my face, and when I dropped them and saw that there was blood on my palms - must've bit my lip when he punched me. I didn't even notice. I glared up at Batman.

"(Jane...) you (?) (...okay?)"

I wiped my mouth.

"(Something get (?) up Jane."

"I can't."

"(Get up!)"

I breathed in deeply, but the air was so thin and cold that it was hard to catch my breath. Somehow though, I wasn't cold anymore. I felt like I was on fire. I got up and slugged him on the jaw and tackled him to the ground.

But he didn't fight back, and his mouth moved, though I couldn't read his lips.

I sat back. Bruce placed a hand by my neck and pulled me close so my shoulder rested against his chest.

"(I know you('re?) lip reading.) (You can get it back.) (Look at ME.) (You can get it all back.)"

I reached for his hand, and he let me take it and guide it two my face, where I pressed it to my cheek. He watched me, face completely of anything until I reached for his other hand and a slightly soft look showed.

"Okay," I said, and pressed my forehead against his. "Okay. I have a plan."

I got up and went downstairs.

Lian was playing with Simone's kids in the hall. "(Uncle Jay's inside,)" she said.

I pushed the door to my loft open and leaned against the frame. Jason was sitting on the couch elbows on his knee and Dick was in the kitchen. I signed my plan to them. I scratched the back of my neck and offered a wry smile.

"(Everybody, rooftop, five minutes.) (Got it,)" Jason said. "(Y'freakin' fancy lad.)"

Five minutes later the whole residents were on the roof. Batman was nowhere in sight but probable watching from a distance. I stood on the edge. I took a long pause before I began to talk, trying to collect my thoughts.

These people knew that there was trouble with the mob. They knew they had to do something. But they weren't fighters, weren't like me.

I shoved my hands in my pockets. "Hey, so, uh. I'm deaf. They deafened me. I'm deaf 'n' we need tae talk, so... so I'm gonnae sign whit ah have tae say. I need the practice and I'm not gonna hide anymore. Jason'll translate. It'll be okay. Okay? Okay."

And so, I began to sign. "Sons and daughters of Gotham! I am Jane Wallace."

As Jason translated, Deke heckled, covering nerves but it lightened the mood. "(Jane Wallace is seven feet tall!)"

He was quoting Braveheart and I'd never been so happy to have Wallace as a name. I'd put Mel Gibs to shame.

"Aye, I've heard." I signed. "Kills men by the hundreds. And if SHE were here, she'd consume the Tracksuits with fireballs from her eyes, and bolts of lightning from her arse."

They laughed.

"The Tracksuits want this building. They shot YelenaGeorgiyevna. And it won't end there. Unless we stop them.I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day. I know I'm asking a lot. But the price of freedom is high. It always has been. And it's a price I'm willing to pay. And if I'm the only one, then so be it. But I'm willing to bet I'm not."

A battle cry came from them, and I stepped down from the edge.

Just one last thing to do. I nodded at Jason. We were going out to find a little trouble.

Chapter 28: The Stuff What Don't Get Spoke

Chapter Text

I don't exactly love Gotham. Not like I did New York. But in both cities, you could pop out of a strip club you just busted up, hail a cab and head down Crime Alley and nobody even looks at you funny.

That was last night. Today was the 24th of December 2015. Christmas Eve. We worked the whole day, setting up traps and placed Roy's small explosives where they'd disorientate the enemy. The main staircase and obvious exits were blocked with furniture from our flats. It was risky, but I decided it was strategically necessary. Then we created a crawl space so we could move through the building when the enemy couldn't.

It was almost dark as I stood in my room. I held the Daredevil suit out in front of me, wishing Matt would materialise and spout some catholic wisdom. Would he be okay with me wearing his suit, considering the blood on my hands?

I don't know.

I decided not to wear the suit anyway, it'd attract to much unwanted attention and open a whole other can of worms I didn't need to deal with. For now, I'd have to be content with what I had.

I picked up Cap's shield and slung it over my back.

I'm not saying I'm going to fight as Captain America. Just going to do right by Steve. Do right by the Avengers. My family.

Bruce and I hadn't talked since the other night and I wasn't really expecting him to show as I walked to the roof and got into position. I could see the others doing the same, Jason, Roy, Deke and Tito, Aimee on her bike ready to ride off and double back to take the Tracksuits by surprise. I was glad so many had stayed: Grills, Natya, the Stoll brothers, old man Frank, Alexander. Simone had taken the kids and left town.

I did a head count: just under a hundred of us in all.

Not many to fight a war, but I'd fought with worse odd. Everyone looked nervous, and I understood why. They weren't soldiers, they just wanted to protect their home.

As I looked at their faces - all these people I'd known for almost a year now - a nagging voice whispered in my mind:One of them is a traitor.

But I couldn't dwell on that. They are my friends. I need them.

Roy came up to me. He was dressed in black camouflage, his red baseball cap on backwards, with his quiver slung over his and bow in hand. I had Clint's gear propped up against the edge. Me, Roy, and Grills were the first line of defence. The BBQ was chock-full of hot coals ready to dump over the side.

So, okay... this looks bad.

You cowboy around with the Avengers some. Guys got, what, armour. Magic. Super-powers. Super-strength. Anger issues. Shrink-dust. Glow-rays. Magic. Healing factors.

I'm an orphan on steroids fighting with a frisbee and a stick and a string from the era.

So when I say this looks 'bad'. I promise you it feels worse.

I guess Roy's no worse off, only he's not the one that'll be fighting Deathstroke and possibly Death tonight.

It all ends tonight, that I'm sure of.

"(You ready for this?)" Roy asked me.

"Psh," I scoffed. "I'm from New York, this is a slow Tuesday."

"(Whatever you say, Hoodie-Guy)" Grills chipped in.

Paleolithic. Clint said so. Looked it up.

"Deke, Aimee, go," I called down.

Please, PLEASE, don't get yourselves killed.

Headlights were beginning to appear in the distance. First as a faint yellow glow, then they spread out across the street releasing their number. Five white unmarked vans pack full of Tracksuits with guns.

They piled out and advanced on the building. Deke retreated inside, locking the door behind him.

I gave the signal. Roy and I started to fire arrows and Grills dumped the flaming coals over the side. It pelted the Tracksuits like hellfire. Each arrow hit its mark, but there were so many, and the enemy kept advancing.

With annoyance I singled out one pudgy Tracksuit among the masses. Sure enough, in the middle of the invading legion was Old Red October himself. Though he was wearing a balaclava; I knew it was Ivan. I could see his greasy moustache pocking out.

Someone must've got him back into the country.

When Ivan saw me, his eye burned with hate. He bellowed - a sound that was somewhere between a yell and a really loud belch. "(KILL THEM BROS NOW!!!)"

And that's how the Battle of Crime Alley began.

"Temper, temper, Ivan," I shouted down. I turned to Roy and Grills. "Cover your ears. I have a surprise for these uglies."

I drew and arrow and launched it towards the enemy. The arrow made a screaming sound as it flew. When it landed, it released a blast like a power chord on an electric guitar magnified through the world's largest speakers. The vans exploded and the nearest windows shattered. Tracksuits dropped their weapons and claps their ears in pain. Some ran. Others dropped unconscious on the spot.

Thank you Clint Barton, you beautiful idiot.

"(Sonic arrow)" Roy said. "(Nice.)"

I grinned wickedly. "Loud music can be bad for you. Unfortunately, it won't keep them unconscious for long."

Sure enough, most Tracksuit's were regrouping, shaking off their confusion. Ivan was nowhere to be seen. He must have got inside before the arrow went off.

"Hold the line here," I said. "Keep them distracted and out of the building for along as you can. I'm going to get Ivan."

I passed Deke and Tito in the crawl space, using it to bypass the barricaded stairwell. They reported in. Okay this... this looks like it's actually going to working. Aimee's bottled them up at the front. And everybody's old junk has them trapped in the stairwell.

I dropped out of the crawl space into the hall. There were four of them standing that the end, including Ivan. I grabbed the shield from my back and flung it at the Tracksuits. It slammed into them, ricocheting off their heads and the wall unit they where on the ground, and the shield bounced back into my hand.

Not junk. Stuff.

And you gotta make your own stuff wor-

It was like white hot barbed wire was being dragged through an open wound. A bullet ripped through my leg. I could feel warm blood leaving the wound, running down my leg like a stream.

A shadow moved behind me.

To late I realised it was Deathstroke. How does he keep getting in-

I raised Cap's shield as he fired again. Jumping back into the crawl space I grabbed the bow, waiting till he was almost right below me to hang upside down by my knees to fire. The arrow hit him in the shoulder.

My leg was screaming at me as I pulled myself up, but I had to get to the roof - get him away from - had to lead him away from my neighbours. I was leaving blood trails on the floor behind me.

Deathstroke will follow.

Just as I got to the roof, my vision exploded with stars and my head snapped back. It took a second to understand what the f*ck just happened.

I looked up into the livid face of Alexander Georgiyevna. There was a raised baseball bat in his hands. A cold hand closed around my heart, as I remembered his vengeful look from the funeral.

He was the traitor.

"You, you," he snarled, breathing rapid. "Сволочь-" he brought the bat down "-YOU-" again "-KILLED-" and again "-YELENA-" Malice dripped from his every word. His was the kind of anger Star Wars warned us about, the sort that ate a person whole and twisted every part of them until they were unrecognisable.

The last blow cracked my ribs and one of my eyes had begun to swell. Everything hurts. EVERYTHING.

I caught the bat in my right hand and ripped it away from him. I drove me foot up and kicked him in the nut. He collapsed and I made sure he stayed down with an elbow.

"If you think killing me would fix things," I said, "then you didn't know Yelena very well. She's the best of all of us."

I ripped the left sleeve from my shirt and tied it around the GSW on my leg.

So tired. I was in a bad way, and I knew it. I just wanted a nap.

By now Deathstroke had reached the roof. His plated armour was half orange, half black, and decked in weapons - katanas and guns alike. What also caught my attention was that he still had both his eyes.

He cut an imposing figure and I made a promise to myself to turn him black and blue.

I move the shield to my arm and tightened the straps. S.H.I.E.L.D. taught me to hit them until they stop. HYDRA taught me hurting. Cap taught me never to give up.

Deathstroke scoff. "(You're dying girly.)"

I gave him the finger. "A'ight you son of a bitch, let's dance."

He unstrapped a katana and swung it around. It was beautiful in a harshI'm going to gut you like a fishkind of way. I raised my shield as he slashed. The sword clatter against. I pushed back, knocking Slade off balance. My leg ached. My head was throbbing, but I stay on my feet.

"HAAA!" I spun and kicked him in the face. He staggered backwards and regained his footing.

"(Not bad for a dead girl, but I was trained by the League of Assassins.)"

"Well I've fought ninjas and a Nazi cult, you're going to have to try harder than that."

We fought on. He was good. Very good. He tried to grab me. I rolled backwards. He didn't get angry of reckless. On the other hand, I was fighting myself as well, trying to keep the bloodlust at bay. I side stepped a strike, drew the combat knife from my belt and jabbed under Deathstroke's guard. It was a good trick. Unfortunately, Slade knew it. He countered the strike and disarmed with a move I'd never seen before. My shield flew over the side of the building.

He slashed at me again, but I caught the strike on my dagger. It was a move only the quickest and most skilled knife fighters could manage. I stepped in closer for leverage and our blades crossed and for a moment we stood face to face. Then I ducked under his blade and sliced the weapons from his back.

I grabbed his legs and toss him over the side of the building. Even as he fell, he was recovering to land.

My blood was boiling, adrenaline pumping through me, and I gave into the bloodlust. He had killed Yelena.

I dropped over the side, using a car as a springboard and sauntered down. The shield right next to me, which was a good thing because Deathstroke had his gun out. I dived for it, bullets pinging off the surface.

I flung the shield with all my might and if he hadn't ducked, it would've taken his head off. I charged in, good knee connecting to his face with a CRACK! I wasn't holding back and put Deathstroke on defence, swinging that knife just like the Winter Soldier taught me.

Only soldier now.

He was weaponless now, deflecting my strikes hand to hand. I flipped the dagger switching hands mid-air. He hadn't seen that coming. I plunged it into his right eye.

Slade roared in pain and slumped back against a car with blown out windows. I picked up one of his guns and stood over him.

The adrenaline was fading. Pain was seeping in like fire.

"Keep trying to think why I shouldn't do it," I grated, finger hovering over the trigger.

Slade laughed. "(And, dead girl?)"

Stupidly, I lowered the gun. "I'm not like you."

"(Too bad)."

A gun appeared from his armour, and he pulled the trigger. BAM!!

A bullet ripped through my shoulder, and I fell back. I didn't scream or yell, my heart was in my throat. I couldn't breathe! This was it. I was going to die here, surrounded by smoke and unconscious bodies. With nobody but the man pointing a gun at my head.

I'm sorry Steve, I'm beat...

Then Red Hood was there, tackling Deathstroke. I couldn't hear or read his lips cause of the dumb red bucket on his head. Fought like demons, but Deathstroke got the upper hand and gave Jason the beating of this lifetime.

But I was up, driving my head into his. Once he was down, I hit him again and again and again until his mask cracked in two beneath my metal fist. As I stood over him again, I kicked him in the face for good measure.

"Building's not for sale," I said.

I felt Jason's hand on my shoulder. "You okay, Ma?" he signed.

I nodded.

The street was suddenly bathed in red and blue as police cars pulled up, there were probably sirens too but it wasn't like I could hear them. The batmoblie followed seconds later. I limped over as Commissioner Gordon stepped out of his car. Red Hood followed with Slade over his shoulder.

"(This isn't what I callstaying out of trouble, Wallace)" the commissioner said.

"Sorry, best I could do under the circ*mstances."

Batman appeared next to me. "She's not too good at listening, Jim."

"Oh, you two know each other?" Jim said. "Actually, I'm not surprised."

Clean up... yellow police tape was everywhere. Slade was read his rights and taken into custody. I gave my statement and rundown on what happened to the cops as my leg and shoulder were given medical attention. There wasn't much they could do for my bruises and factures, but I could manage.

My neighbours had made it out with minimum damage as well, which was a big relief and about a million kilos was lifted from my shoulders.

I also saw Alexander getting shoved into the paddy wagon.

It was finally over.

Robin approached the ambulance I was sitting in and took a seat next me. Neither of us said anything and eventually he took my hand and pressed two little devices into it. Hearing aids. I took my time, putting them on properly.

Slowly, sound poured back in, and it was like the world had become so much larger.

"I was going to give you those the other day," Tim said. "But you sort stormed out."

"Sorry about that, I was in a mood."

It was like Batman spawned into my personal space. Just -poof! I kept my face blank as he approached and stared at me in a way that saidWe need to talk. I pat Robin on the shoulder, picking up my shield and met Batman halfway.

He wasn't scowling exactly. His poster was stiff and uneasy. Something was bothering him - maybe even scaring him. That intern added to my dread that the night wasn't over, somehow. But I needed - and wanted - some quality time with Bruce. I had thought I was going to die tonight; I didn't want to be alone.

Snow was falling.

(AN: I can't draw snow)

We didn't say a word to each other until we reached the roof top. I touched his arm lightly. I was a little surprised - made no effort to stop me entering his personal space. I guess we were different that way. "Hey," I said. "What's wrong?"

He reached up and cupped my cheek, like he did the first night I patched him up. "You were shot."

"I'm used to it."

"Getting shot is not something you become immune to."

I tilted my head, noticing his cape had flipped up on one side. I took the fabric in my hand and flattened it against his chest. I let my hand rest there, felling the beat of his heart. It still felt strange to be close to him.

I stepped back. Drawing into myself.

He let his hand drop from my face.

"I have to tell you something Bruce," I said. Bruce stood motionless waiting for me to continue, to bare my soul to him, to tell the truth. "My name... I'm from... agh forget it."

It was too much. If I opened up, I'd be vulnerable. I couldn't afford that.

"You're still running," he said. Batman took my arm. His lips were press together in a thin line. "You're afraid."

"I am not!" I snapped.

"Go on keep running." He let go of my arm. "Just keep your life out of mine."

"Bruce, Death is after me!"

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to take them back. I knew it was an instant jinx.

"What?" asked Batman.

The Death Whistle sounded, echoing around the rooftop. Silhouetted against again the city skyline was Death. The hairs on my neck stood up and my blood turned to ice. Death's hood was up and from beneath it her pupils glowed like tiny red rings of lava.

"Who is that?"

"She's here for me," I whispered.

She dropped down to our level. SKKRREEET! Spark flew from the cracked concrete as Death dragged her sickles alone it. She flicked them up and heat exploded around me as a ring of fire encircled us.

It sent Batman flying back. All he could do now was watch.

Death waited, pulling her hood back to reveal both halves of her face. The air around her ripped with heat. She was going to play with her food. "I've enjoyed the chase, Indiana," she said. "But I think we've reached the end now, you and I."

I couldn't move, couldn't breathe.

"Are you going to take the cowards way out and keep running?" She clashed the sickles together. "Or are you going to fight?"

She tossed Mjolnir at me. The hammer landed at my feet with a dull metallic THUD.

"Pick it up," Death urged. "Pick. It. Up."

This city was already haunted by so many ghosts of the past, and it wasn't always clear whether it was the wind howling through the flames or the wailing of human ghost who had lost their lives here once.

Now it was haunted by future ghosts as well as ghosts from thatother place. I could see them all in that moment, the ghosts of Heroes past, present and future, flying together in my mind's eye. I look past the flames, seeing the faint outline of the six most important people in my live.

Tony.

Steve.

Nat.

Clint.

Thor.

Bruce.

The ghost from my past. My unfinished business.

Live.

And suddenly, the meaning was clear.

It was time to move on.

"What's the matter?" Death cooed. "Lives flashing before your eye?"

"No," I said, opening my palm. "Just one. I'm done running." Mjolnir flew into my hand, and it was comforting to feel it's weight again.

"Oh, this is going to be fun." Her shoulders shook with laughter, her sickles glinting like a promise in the fire. "I've been fighting for eternity, Realm Walker. My strength is unlimited and I cannot die. What have you got?"

A smaller ego and the power of friendship, I thought, but I said nothing. I kept my feet planted and gripped the hammer.

She cleaved downwards at my head, but I wasn't there.

And thought I was tired, my body fought for me. The hammer seemed the pull me of the ground and I catapulted over her, swinging as I came down. She twisted and the strike that should've caught her directly in the spine was deflected off the end of her sickle hilt.

She grinned, wolfishly. "Good. Very good."

She slashed again and I was forced to step back, give up ground. I tried to reach for the shield on my back, but Death seemed to know what I wanted. She outmanoeuvred me, pressing so hard I hand to put all my concentration on not getting sliced into pieces.

Fighting with a hammer was like boxing. I stepped inside with an upper cut, but Death was waiting for that. She knocked the hammer from my hands, landing at the other end of the ring of fire.

She tsked, advancing on me. "You really gotta stop losing that."

Coming at me with a back handed strike, I only just had time block it with the shield. The momentum sent me sprawling, landing by the hammer. I rolled to one side as Death's blade slashed the ground.

I scooped up the hammer, calling down a bolt of lightning. Light flashed, casting split second shadows. Death was smoking slightly, and I swung downwards. The hammer caught between her blades. She thrust them upwards. I went airborne - fifteen, maybe twenty meters into the air.

I felt sick as I began to fall.

Don't be a puss*, I told myself. I tucked my head in, pulling off the front flip of the century.Engage Sonic the Hedgehog spin dash! Coming down I planted both feet in Death's face.

She landed on her ass, blades skittling from her hands, the expression on her face was beyond hatred. It was pain, shock, complete disbelief at I'd got the best of her.

One of the sickles had landed by my right foot.

I kicked it over to her. "Pick it up," I said. This is I call poetic justice. "I know I can never defeat you Hel, but I will never stop fighting forthislife."

She came towards me. Death's face was set in a grimace, but for once she didn't look threatening. She looked more disappointed, as if she had been planning to have me for supper but had decided I might give her indigestion.

As she stood over me, it was as if a cloud covered the moon, but worse. Light faded. Sound and colour drained away. A cold, heavy presents passed over the roof top, slowing time, dropping the temperature to well below freezing and making me feel like life was hopeless, fighting was useless.

I didn't run.

The darkness lifted.

Death looked stunned and straightened.

The roar that followed made the ground shake. "Hvorfor i helvete gikk jeg for å leke med maten min?" she snarled. "You're ruining this for me. I came here for an arrogant little Realm Walker who thought she could run forever."

She sighed. "But I don't see her anymore. Live your life Indiana Stark. Live it well." Death turned her back to me as she left, only looking over her shoulder once. "You know we will meet again, right?"

"Yes," I said. "Until death do us part."

With that, she began to whistle and disappeared into the flames as they died. That was the last time I heard the Death Whistle for many years.

Chapter 29: Rio Bravo

Chapter Text

The fire had died, and I stood across the roof from Bruce. His expression changed from stern to relief. I closed the distance between us as fast as I could. Once I stood in front of him, he reached of my hands, but at the last second pulled back, almost as if my touch would burn.

You're a killer, a small voice in the back of my mind reminded me, but I pushed it down. I shook my head dropping Mjolnir and positioned his hands to hold my own. "I'm sorry." Bruce looked down at me. Took a deep breath and placed my left hand on the side of his face. "I'm not exactly great atfeelingsand I'll explain everything later, just-" I was cut off by him pulling me into a kiss. His arms circled around me, mindful of my injuries and I relaxed in his arms.

Warmth stirred inside me, and I hummed in content. He pulled back a second later and I could see how much he'd lightened up. In the distance the Saint Mathew's bell tolled three times signalling midnight.

I kissed Bruce again. "Merry Christmas, Batsy."

"Oh, yuck that's rank, Ma," Jason said. All three boys had joined us. He had his hood off and pretended to gag. Then he wrapped an arm over my shoulder in a half hug. "You're way too vanilla for him."

I scoffed and punched him in the shoulder. "You wouldn't have a rabies shot, would you?"

I heard Bruce groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Jane!" Dick ran into me, lifting me clear off the ground and spun me around. He hugged me tightly and I grimaced. "What happened? There was thunder and lightning. And that cold feeling... what was that?"

"Ribs," I wheezed, and Dick pulled back.

I looked over at Tim. He shrugged. "I think it was cool."

I certainly didn't feel cool. I was tired and sore and completely drained of energy. "That was Death. She was pissed off I cheated her and wasn't doing anything with my life," I explained.

Jason frowned at me, but Tim asked the question they were all asking. "Jason died too, why hasn't she gone after him?"

I had some explaining to do. They all looked at me expectantly. This was going to be easy. "My real name is Indiana Stark," I said. "I'm sorry I couldn't tell you."

I always found it best to start with the apology and then work backwards to the explanation from there. It was something Tony never mastered.

"I'm from another dimension. And for the last four years, I've been an Avenger. Jason knows most of the rest. I jumped on a grenade to save a bunch of people in the Battle of New York. I died and was resurrected using T.A.H.I.T.I. A project that was designed to revive a fallen Avenger. That's how it got started. Then a couple a couple years passed, I fell in love, saved the city some more, maybe too much, Steve and I joined S.H.I.E.L.D, then became fugitives along with Nat and Sam because S.H.I.E.L.D. was secretly run by a Nazi cult - HYDRA."

"That's lot," Dick said.

"That's just the big stuff - don't even get me started on the time Tony threatened a terrorist, or Kingpin, going to Asgard that one time, or the Frank Castle case, there was the stuff I did in between with the agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. and my job as a P.I. and then there were the ninjas."

"How did you get here Ja-Indiana?" Bruce asked.

He didn't ask it in an angry way, but still felt like he'd struck me across the face. "Earlier this year while mopping up HYDRA, we found something they were working on... artificial intelligence. Tony... he didn't even hesitate."

"He made a decision that would affect the team," Bruce said.

"Why would he do that? Has he watched no American movies from the 80's? Robots always attack," Dick said.

"That would end the team," I corrected harshly, and chose to ignore Dick. "Isn't that the mission? Isn't that the 'why we fight'? So we get to go home?" I took a deep breathe. The next part was the hardest. "Tony created Ultron to be a suit of armour around the world, so next time aliens roll up to the club, and they will, they can't get past the bouncer. Only Ultron couldn't see the difference between saving the world and destroying it."

Bruce took my hand and squeezed it. I closed my eyes and finished telling them what happened. I told them how the Avengers died, how Steve told me to live, how I went to Eternity and wish to start over. "So imagine my surprise when I woke up in Gotham."

"What do you mean?" Jason asked.

"Back on my earth, this is all fiction. Comic books and movies," I said and watched their faces carefully. "If I had known it was all real, I never would've intruded."

Bruce didn't let go of my hand. He hadn't the entire time. "It's okay. You're home now."

I pulled all four of them into a group hug. Considering the circ*mstances, I was happier than I had been in a long time. I had people around me that understood the toll this job took. People like us needed to stick together for the better or worse.

"Hey, if you are from a different dimension, why did you change your name?" Dick asked.

I laughed nervously. "That's a funny story. Since I didn't exist, I was gonna call myself Jane Doe or Dole or something, but it seemed a little on the nose."

"You're a dork," Bruce said. "Welcome to the family."

"I love you."

Chapter 30: We're Complicated

Chapter Text

[Bruce Wayne]

Jane Wallace.

What could he say? The woman who he'd known for little under a year, with just some unspoken thing between them, had never really been Jane Wallace.

Bruce knew she'd been hiding something, but he never could've guessed the extent of it. She'd been the anomaly he hadn't been able to crack. Someone who'd seen more than her fair share of pain and suffering and pulled through. But he saw darkness there as well, there was a bloodlust and she fought like a cornered bear.

Part of Bruce that he had relied on for years told him to pull back, find out as much as he could on her in order to come up with a contingency plan, something to stop her, in case she went rogue, or if the programming HYDRA put in her head kicked in again, but he knew there was no possible way of finding out anything unless she told him. Even as that part raged, he pushed it down.

They were complicated.

The boys loved her. And Jason who'd not trusted many people in his life had found someone who was completely honest with him.

And Bruce not only recognised the guilt she carried, but the compassion too. So he allowed himself to embrace the part of him that he'd ignored for much of his life. The part that relied on people. On love.

He didn't want to lose Indiana Stark.

[Indiana Stark]

The cave was dark and damp, Bruce seriously needed to get some more airflow down here. The chill seeped through my spaghetti strap tank top and sweatpants. It was still cold, even though we had just come out of winter. I held a tray in one hand, it was Alfred's idea and he left me instructions on what to say when I got down there. I scratched the stitches in my shoulder with my other hand.

A lot had happened since Christmas, for one, Bruce and I were starting to get serious, and I was happy to say I had moved in, and the chaos level what you would expect from a household of vigilantes, like walking into the kitchen at night to find a, frankly, terrifying Tim, laptop screen bright against his pale skin, or Dick laying in the table, crying. He like to have his back rubbed, I found out when I took him to bed. Another time I saw Jason sitting in front of the fridge, just staring while holding a carton of milk. Once, I found Bruce in there after patrol, sitting on the counter with a single piece of bread. He swore me to secrecy.

Though, it was hardly the weirdest thing I'd ever seen during the night. Back on Earth-29929, Thor slept anywhere, and naked. This caused a few issues, but not as many as Clint caused. Clint slept with his eyes open. Sitting up. On the couch, or on top of the fridge, or on the stairs. Basically whatever affords the best place to scare the sh*t outta me at 3 in the morning.

Not that I could say I was doing much better; by day I was a private eye and had my own practice, Shield Investigations. It was a way to help the people of the city on a more personal level that didn't need me hide my identity. By night, I was down in the Batcave working on the Mark 6 Iron Man suit, listening to my ACDC mixtapes super loud with no regard for my future hearing, because I live in the now.

Bruce's back was still to me as I approached the batcomputer, and he was still to take his cowl off. I change my gate to match Alfred's, knowing Bruce could distinguish us by the way we walked.

"Not now Alfred," he said.Alfred called it.

I almost laughed, I didn't think it would actually work, so I layered on the British accent. "I'm shocked, sir. And here I went to all this trouble and prepared you a generous portion of nothing. Now it will all go to waste."

"Indy," Bruce sighed.

"That's my name," I said. "Don't wear it out, or make it sound like an Indiana Jones movie." I moved next to him where the bin was and threw the nothing away just to make a f*cking point.

I caught the small smile on his face and slipped into his lap crossways, propping my legs up on the chair arm rests. As he let out another short sigh, I ran my fingertips up his abs (the Lego Batman movie was right – he had huge pecs and a nine-pack), and it must have tickled because he shivered. My left hand continued up and slowly removed the cowl from his face.

This was another routine we'd fallen into. I didn't want him to be alone and he never objected. He quickly pulled me further into his chest, and I happily accepted it. This was some new I'd grown used to. When it was just the two of us, unlike his usual cold demeanour, Bruce was a very cuddly person, which suited me fine.

"So what was all that nothing business about," he asked. One of Bruce's hands caressed my shoulders, leaving cold trails in their wake.

"Gives me an excuse to come down here to see you," I said with a smirk, and a similar look crossed Bruce's face.

"You don't need an excuse," he replied, looking down at me with a much more devious look than I was expecting.

"Look who's gettin' sly now, Mr. Playboy," I said, shoving his side slightly.

"Hmm, no, I'm more of a VIP these days," Bruce said in a way that made my heart beat faster.

"You really do love me, don't you?" I asked.

"I do." He ran a hand over the stiches in my shoulder. "I think we can take these out now."

I let out a whoop of joy, but then grew still and waited patiently as he cut the stiches and pulled them out. In terms of instant relief, getting those stiches out was like heroine. But it wasn't over yet. I readjusted myself in Bruce's lap, so I was sitting up. I placed one hand on his huge right pec and brought my lips to his ear. "There's still one more, sweetheart."

"You're playing a dangerous game." Bruce's eyes never left mine, even as his fingers hooked into the waistband of my pants and pulled them down. He tossed them onto the floor.

Inventorially shivered in anticipation. "I eat danger for breakfast."

Quickly and expertly, Bruce cut the stiches from my leg. When I face him again there was nothing stopping me. I reached up and pulled his head down. He slid his hand up under my tank top, feeling my waist, pulling me to him so tightly it was painful.

We stood and getting the suit off slowed us down a bit, but soon it was on the ground, leaving Bruce in Batman boxers.That's cute. Biting his lip, I ran my hands over his shoulders, feeling the absolutebulkthere. It felt amazing, the raw strength beneath my fingers.

"Bruce, you big stud, take me to bed or lose me forever," I told him.

He smirked against my lips and pulled my hips flush again his. I could feel how hard he was getting. I moaned as his lips moved to my neck at the same time as my feet left the ground. It was almost scary how easily he scooped me up and carried me to his bedroom.

He pulled he down onto the bed with him. One hand on the bed, the other on the back of my neck pulling me into another kiss. They're rougher now more desperate for relief. My shirt was basically ripped off and he kissed down my neck, collarbone, my breast, my navel, bringing goosebumps to the surface of my skin.

"Where are those super-secret assassin reflexes now, huh?" His breath was hot in my ear, voice playful but just seductive enough to send a rush of heat to my core.

I flipped us. Bruce seemed to both like it and get embarrassed.

"That's hot," he admitted quietly. His hand slipped into my underwear and gripped my ass. I grinned, our faces inches apart.

"Super-secret assassin reflexes engaged," I joked, kissing him again.

"f*cking nerd," he chuckled and moved his hip to grind against me, eliciting a low groan from both of us.

I sat back and decided to tease, ignoring the growing bulge in his pants where I know he's expecting to be touched. I rubbed and pressed my hands along his thick, meaty thighs. At the bottom of his stomach, he grabbed my metal arm (which I know must be cold) and pulled me down close wrapping his arms around me.

"Stop teasing," he warned, but he was smiling.

"Make me," I whispered, grinding down a little. I was immediately flipped onto my back and found myself staring up into beautiful blue eye.

"Challenge accepted."

"Dork."

Chapter 31: Epilogue

Chapter Text

Human hearts are not made of stone.

Thank Thor.

They can break, and heal, and beat again.

It wasn't that I was forgetting about Steve, I would never forget him, but I couldn't spend the rest of my life moping in the dark, listening to angry music. If I was going to start a new life, I might as well start it now.

I woke up sometime in the early morning and found Bruce's arms around me, his face nestled into my neck. I turned over to face him and kissed his cheek, and I traced the scars on his back with one finger. He squeezed me tighter.

Reluctantly, I slowly removed myself from his embrace. There was still unfinished business I needed to attend to. I silently got dressed and left a note for Bruce on the nightstand.

Bruce, I have unfinished with Ra's al Ghul, and I'll be back soon. The boy's and Alfred are here for you, I don't like the idea of you rattling around a mansion by yourself. We all need family. I've been on my own since I was 16. I never really fit in anywhere, even before that night. My faith's in people, I guess. Individuals. And I'm happy to say that, for the most part, they haven't let me down. Which is why I can't let Yelena's people down either.

You know who I am