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schizoauthoress
This is Part Two of the story. Part One is here.
"The Death of an Idiot Blues" hasn't been super action-packed. But I think that it just sort of... ended up that way. More of a character study/setting-up-the-world kind of story that wouldn't have done well against a backdrop of "Muahahaa, I'm Two-Face/Poison Ivy/Penguin/whatever". At least, not in my hands. There's only one more part of TDoaIB-proper but I plan to have a few 'missing scene' fics or ficlets that also take place in the same 'verse.
Title: The Death of an Idiot Blues
Author: D.L.SchizoAuthoress //![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
schizoauthoress
Rating: R
Spoilers: A Death in the Family; Batman Annual #25
Warnings: Crossover. Continuity-twisting. Set in the eighties. Death death death.
Prompt: DCU,Jason Todd/Tim Drake, Jason never dies
Note: Now that we're not jumping back and forth with time, I'm reverting to past tense because that's what I'm most comfortable writing in.
Summary: The getaway was not clean.
****
May 14th, 1988; 4603 Gardner Street, Brenda and Connor MacLeod's Apartment
Jason stifled a yawn with one hand. Connor looked up from his examination of the Masamune katana -- still in excellent conditon, of course, but it gave him something to do while waiting -- and said, "You really should go to bed, Jason."
"And when Batman calms down enough to head for the Cave and activate the tracking devices, he'll come tearing on up here looking for grave robbers. I should be awake and alert for that." Jason argued.
"Awake, I'll grant you. But you're not at your most alert... we don't want him thinking I've ensnared you as a voodoo zombie, eh? Worse for all concerned." Connor sheathed the blade and began slowly pacing around the room. "Good thing I was able to reach Brenda and tell her to 'work late' tonight... I don't want her getting hurt."
"Yeah, that would suck." Jason wasn't at his most eloquent, but he was fairly certain that Connor would recognize the sincerity behind the words.
He rubbed his palms against the faded gray NYPD sweatpants that Connor had given him to wear (along with a newer-looking dark blue GCPD tee shirt from the annual Gotham/Bludhaven charity football event) and leaned back into the couch. He'd pieced together who Connor was, from casual comments that the man had made and observation of the apartment. This wasn't a man who regularly engaged in criminal activity, although having a famous forensics expert, who worked with the Gotham City Police, as a wife would make a pretty good cover if he had been. But Jason hadn't been stashed in some bolthole and ransomed as Bruce Wayne's ward; he'd been taken into Connor's home, his injuries cared for and his questions answered.
Perhaps it was just an act, to lull Jason into complacency... but there was the matter of the tracer. After being bandaged up by Connor, Jason had been given the clothes he now wore and changed out of the suit he'd been put in for his funeral. And, within a moment, had found a tracer sewn into the lining of his suit jacket, and realized that both his cufflinks were also tracking devices. Ignoring that would be just plain incompetant in a criminal... or maybe it was something that an honest man (especially an honest man who'd been born in the 16th century) would not expect.
"Maybe he's not in Gotham..." Jason suggested.
"Oh..." Connor smiled slightly, walking toward the sliding glass doors that led to the small balcony outside, "he's in Gotham. In fact, he's nearly h--"
A huge shadow blocked out the glow of the streetlights -- there was the sound of glass shattering, and Connor went down as Batman slammed both booted feet into his chest. "Where is he?!" Batman roared, enraged, "What have you done?!"
"Please--" Connor coughed, trying to regain the wind that had been knocked out of him. He stumbled backward, hitting the floor hard. Batman landed in a crouch beside him, gathering the Immortal's shirt in one fist and hauling him into a sitting position.
Batman's voice was hardly human as he snarled, "Where is his body, you sick freak?"
"Batman!" Jason cried out. He'd leaped to his feet the instant that Batman had arrived, but only now did he see a chance to intervene. As Batman looked up, startled, Jason closed the distance between them and threw himself at Batman, breaking the vigilante's grip on the Immortal. "Stop, it's all right!"
"Jason?" Batman whispered hoarsely. He hardly realized that he let go of Connor -- he reached out, not believing, not daring to hope or dream that this was real... he held Jason by the shoulders, at arms' length. "Impossible."
"Not anymore."
"You're dead."
"I was." Jason stared at Batman's cowled face, wishing that he could see the eyes behind the white-out lenses. "Now I'm not."
"It... it's not that simple. It doesn't work that way. Not for us." Suspicion leeched into Batman's voice. "This is a trick."
"It's no trick." Jason held out his bandage-swathed hands. "I woke up in the coffin and panicked. Connor knew... he's some kind of meta. He says I am, too. He knew and he was digging me out so I didn't have to, but..."
"You'll want to test him, I'm sure." Connor broke in as Jason's voice trailed off. He'd taken advantage of the distraction provided by Jason and backed away from the angry Batman. He leaned against the couch, one hand to his still-aching chest. "Brenda would know better what you need. Blood, right? Fingerprints... that kind of thing?"
"Brenda Wyatt-MacLeod, the Crime Scene Section director that GCPD hired two years ago," Jason instantly supplied, as Batman glanced at him. Connor looked surprised. To the Immortal, he smirked and explained, "Well, you didn't really hide who you were, and it's part of the job to know about the city's police department."
Jason was sure that he hadn't yet convinced Batman of his identity, but Batman let go of his shoulders and stood up. If this was another test, Jason wouldn't fail. He remained at Batman's side.
Connor pushed himself up from the floor as well, but he opted to remain on the couch, not approaching them. He spread his hands wide, showing that he had no weapons, and declared, "You're welcome to take the boy with you. I have no claim on him to compete with yours. But I tell you that he's different now, with different challenges to face. I can help, if you'll let me."
"All right," Batman said coldly. "Let's talk."
****
October 27th, 1988; Gotham Superior Courthouse
Batman crouched in the shadows on the roof of the courthouse, watching the nighttime movements of his fellow Gothamites in relaxed silence. Patrol had been quiet -- save an incident at Tricorner Island; he'd come across a small-time drug-running operation, beaten up the gang and alerted the police to lay in wait for the rest -- and Batman had been thinking a lot that night.
Six months. Six months, to the day, since Jason Todd had been killed in an explosion in Ethiopia. Five months and two weeks since the sensors at his grave had indicated that someone was breaking in. What they hadn't told Batman, what he hadn't expected, was that -- at the same time -- Jason was breaking out of the grave.
Jason Todd had come back from the dead. After the initial shock had worn off, Batman realized that this was merely par for the course with the Robin that had, slowly but surely, turned all of his preconceptions on their heads. Everything that Dick had made Batman come to expect from his Robin was inverted -- joking and lighthearted had become sardonic and cynical -- or modified -- his obedient backup had become an independant fighter who watched his back -- or outright abandoned. So why should he have expected that Jason would follow the laws of nature any more closely than he followed the rules that Batman had laid down?
But that wasn't fair. Jason had been -- and still was, if the weekly reports from Connor MacLeod were to be believed -- a good soldier. He had given his life for the cause. He had, as his dying birth mother explained with her last words, died a hero, trying to protect her despite the crippling injuries inflicted by the Joker. Even before then, he had tried his best to fit into the role of Robin, into the role of Batman's partner. It was not his fault that Batman had expected different things of him.
Batman hoped that he had not ruined the second chance they'd been given, by sending Jason off with Connor MacLeod for training. Jason had, understandably, not taken the news well when he found out that the Joker still lived. Batman... Bruce... had tried his best to explain, but he hadn't been sure that Jason understood. He'd seen them off at Port Adams -- Connor being the sort who didn't trust airplanes -- a few weeks after Jason's resurrection without any idea of when they would be back. But he knew that they would be. Jason, like Batman himself, was a son of Gotham.
He looked up, about to fire his grapple gun at the building across the street and continue his patrol, when the Batsignal lit up the sky. 'Duty calls.'
****
October 27th, 1988; Wayne Manor
At about the same time that Batman was getting briefed by Commisioner Gordon, Alfred was alerted to someone down at the gates of Wayne Manor.
'How odd,' thought the butler, 'I do not recall that we were expecting anyone, and it's far too late for a delivery.' He pressed the intercom button. The person at the gate spoke before he could,
"Hey, Alfie! Could you open the gate for us? MacLeod wants to drop me off and get home to his ol' lady!"
Alfred smiled. "Certainly, Master Jason."
****
October 28th, 1988; The Bat Cave, Wayne Manor
Alfred had contacted him as he was on the road home from Gotham, saying only that 'a visitor' had come to the manor in his absence and was waiting for him. Batman had wondered at that, decided that the omission of details meant that this was supposed to be a suprise... one that Alfred had deemed harmless. He was used to trusting Alfred's judgment, and didn't worry over it.
He had assumed that his late-night guest was here for Bruce Wayne, but as he parked the Batmobile, he caught sight of someone -- a non-Alfred-shaped someone -- moving around in the Trophy Room section of the Cave. Batman raised an eyebrow. Alfred would have, should have said something if Dick had decided to come visiting. He definitely would have said something if Dick had come as Nightwing, looking for help. He stepped out of the Batmobile.
"Batman, hey, how was patrol?"
He was hardly aware that he'd pulled back the cowl as he walked toward the source of that voice. He didn't realize that there was a smile on his face as he went looking for his erstwhile partner. But Jason saw all of this. Along with the memorial costume case that he rested one gloved hand on, it put to rest the question that had bothered him on many a sleepless night since his resurrection -- 'Did Bruce really miss me, or was he better off without me?' -- with a clear and resounding negative.
'You don't smile that way at people you didn't miss, especially not when you're the grim, dark avenger of the night. You don't construct memorials for people you don't love, respect, and grieve for.' Jason told himself. He walked out of the shadow cast by the memorial case and Batman's assorted memorobilia, relishing the look of surprise when Bruce got a good luck at what he was wearing.
Jason grinned, and struck a pose reminiscent of a model for all of three seconds. "Do you like it?"
Bruce had to admit, the new costume was... very Jason. The color scheme was in keeping with what Dick had established for Robin, but the design choices that Jason had made were much more practical.
He wore a black bodysuit that covered everything from the neck down, with an additional layer of molded red body armor protecting his chest. A green sleeveless jacket with many pockets went over that. His eyes were hidden behind a familiar green domino mask. His gloves, and the armored gauntlets that protected his forearms, were matching green. His boots were black combat boots.
The changes that Bruce couldn't reconcile was the wave-bladed sword strapped to Jason's back, and the wave-bladed dagger strapped to his thigh. His lips thinned into a disapproving line when he saw the weaponry. Jason's grin became almost maliciously gleeful, and he unsheathed the blades and went into a fighting stance with the easy grace that spoke of long practice.
"Don't worry, Bruce. It's just another adjustment to life as an Immortal." Jason said, "There are bad guys after my head. I've got to protect myself."
Bruce did not take a fighting stance of his own. Jason looked disappointed, but only mildly so, as if he had not expected his silent offer to be taken up anyway.
Jason shrugged and began going through a sword form that Bruce readily identified as Destreza. "Look, if you take me back as Robin, I'm not going to whip these out and start chopping away at criminals. This is strictly for 'The Game'," -- Bruce could hear the mocking capital letters as Jason said the words -- "as MacLeod calls it. That whole Immortal versus Immortal thing."
"You give me your word?"
Jason raised an eyebrow. "If you need it..." He sheathed both his blades, then reached up to unbuckle the swordbelt slung across his chest. He caught the scabbard of his rapier as it slid from his back, and brought the sheathed weapon around to his front. "Or if it makes you feel better, I can go without this when I'm Robin." He looked away, his voice going softer, "The extra armor around my neck should stop any blade-wielding psychopath looking to steal my Quickening."
Bruce's eyes widened and a look of horror that he couldn't suppress flashed over his face at the thought of losing Jason again. "No!" he cried out.
"What the hell, Bruce, make up your mi--" Jason was cut off as Bruce hauled him into a rough hug.
"I don't want you unprotected, and I don't want to lose you again." Bruce said gruffly. "I just need you to promise me that you will use those weapons only to defend yourself against other Immortals."
"A-all right, Bruce." Jason whispered, fighting tears of relief. "I promise. My sword will only be used against other Immortals."
Bruce was no fool. He'd caught the omission of Jason's kris from the promise, but he decided not to push. Not now. After all, he'd done some greivious wounding with his Batarangs at times, and a kris could do about the same level of damage. Instead, he released Jason from the embrace, keeping one arm around the young man's shoulders. "Come on... there are some spare tunics we can get an insignia patch from... it will complete your new uniform, Robin."
They walked together back to the main part of the Bat Cave.
END PART TWO
"The Death of an Idiot Blues" hasn't been super action-packed. But I think that it just sort of... ended up that way. More of a character study/setting-up-the-world kind of story that wouldn't have done well against a backdrop of "Muahahaa, I'm Two-Face/Poison Ivy/Penguin/whatever". At least, not in my hands. There's only one more part of TDoaIB-proper but I plan to have a few 'missing scene' fics or ficlets that also take place in the same 'verse.
Title: The Death of an Idiot Blues
Author: D.L.SchizoAuthoress //
schizoauthoressRating: R
Spoilers: A Death in the Family; Batman Annual #25
Warnings: Crossover. Continuity-twisting. Set in the eighties. Death death death.
Prompt: DCU,
Note: Now that we're not jumping back and forth with time, I'm reverting to past tense because that's what I'm most comfortable writing in.
Summary: The getaway was not clean.
The Death of an Idiot Blues: Part Two
"We'll be dead, so we won't care,
But all our children will still be here.
Greedy bastards never learn!
It's gone for good -- won't return -- won't return
It's gone... for good..."
-- Gone For Good -- Poison Idea
****
May 14th, 1988; 4603 Gardner Street, Brenda and Connor MacLeod's Apartment
Jason stifled a yawn with one hand. Connor looked up from his examination of the Masamune katana -- still in excellent conditon, of course, but it gave him something to do while waiting -- and said, "You really should go to bed, Jason."
"And when Batman calms down enough to head for the Cave and activate the tracking devices, he'll come tearing on up here looking for grave robbers. I should be awake and alert for that." Jason argued.
"Awake, I'll grant you. But you're not at your most alert... we don't want him thinking I've ensnared you as a voodoo zombie, eh? Worse for all concerned." Connor sheathed the blade and began slowly pacing around the room. "Good thing I was able to reach Brenda and tell her to 'work late' tonight... I don't want her getting hurt."
"Yeah, that would suck." Jason wasn't at his most eloquent, but he was fairly certain that Connor would recognize the sincerity behind the words.
He rubbed his palms against the faded gray NYPD sweatpants that Connor had given him to wear (along with a newer-looking dark blue GCPD tee shirt from the annual Gotham/Bludhaven charity football event) and leaned back into the couch. He'd pieced together who Connor was, from casual comments that the man had made and observation of the apartment. This wasn't a man who regularly engaged in criminal activity, although having a famous forensics expert, who worked with the Gotham City Police, as a wife would make a pretty good cover if he had been. But Jason hadn't been stashed in some bolthole and ransomed as Bruce Wayne's ward; he'd been taken into Connor's home, his injuries cared for and his questions answered.
Perhaps it was just an act, to lull Jason into complacency... but there was the matter of the tracer. After being bandaged up by Connor, Jason had been given the clothes he now wore and changed out of the suit he'd been put in for his funeral. And, within a moment, had found a tracer sewn into the lining of his suit jacket, and realized that both his cufflinks were also tracking devices. Ignoring that would be just plain incompetant in a criminal... or maybe it was something that an honest man (especially an honest man who'd been born in the 16th century) would not expect.
"Maybe he's not in Gotham..." Jason suggested.
"Oh..." Connor smiled slightly, walking toward the sliding glass doors that led to the small balcony outside, "he's in Gotham. In fact, he's nearly h--"
A huge shadow blocked out the glow of the streetlights -- there was the sound of glass shattering, and Connor went down as Batman slammed both booted feet into his chest. "Where is he?!" Batman roared, enraged, "What have you done?!"
"Please--" Connor coughed, trying to regain the wind that had been knocked out of him. He stumbled backward, hitting the floor hard. Batman landed in a crouch beside him, gathering the Immortal's shirt in one fist and hauling him into a sitting position.
Batman's voice was hardly human as he snarled, "Where is his body, you sick freak?"
"Batman!" Jason cried out. He'd leaped to his feet the instant that Batman had arrived, but only now did he see a chance to intervene. As Batman looked up, startled, Jason closed the distance between them and threw himself at Batman, breaking the vigilante's grip on the Immortal. "Stop, it's all right!"
"Jason?" Batman whispered hoarsely. He hardly realized that he let go of Connor -- he reached out, not believing, not daring to hope or dream that this was real... he held Jason by the shoulders, at arms' length. "Impossible."
"Not anymore."
"You're dead."
"I was." Jason stared at Batman's cowled face, wishing that he could see the eyes behind the white-out lenses. "Now I'm not."
"It... it's not that simple. It doesn't work that way. Not for us." Suspicion leeched into Batman's voice. "This is a trick."
"It's no trick." Jason held out his bandage-swathed hands. "I woke up in the coffin and panicked. Connor knew... he's some kind of meta. He says I am, too. He knew and he was digging me out so I didn't have to, but..."
"You'll want to test him, I'm sure." Connor broke in as Jason's voice trailed off. He'd taken advantage of the distraction provided by Jason and backed away from the angry Batman. He leaned against the couch, one hand to his still-aching chest. "Brenda would know better what you need. Blood, right? Fingerprints... that kind of thing?"
"Brenda Wyatt-MacLeod, the Crime Scene Section director that GCPD hired two years ago," Jason instantly supplied, as Batman glanced at him. Connor looked surprised. To the Immortal, he smirked and explained, "Well, you didn't really hide who you were, and it's part of the job to know about the city's police department."
Jason was sure that he hadn't yet convinced Batman of his identity, but Batman let go of his shoulders and stood up. If this was another test, Jason wouldn't fail. He remained at Batman's side.
Connor pushed himself up from the floor as well, but he opted to remain on the couch, not approaching them. He spread his hands wide, showing that he had no weapons, and declared, "You're welcome to take the boy with you. I have no claim on him to compete with yours. But I tell you that he's different now, with different challenges to face. I can help, if you'll let me."
"All right," Batman said coldly. "Let's talk."
****
October 27th, 1988; Gotham Superior Courthouse
Batman crouched in the shadows on the roof of the courthouse, watching the nighttime movements of his fellow Gothamites in relaxed silence. Patrol had been quiet -- save an incident at Tricorner Island; he'd come across a small-time drug-running operation, beaten up the gang and alerted the police to lay in wait for the rest -- and Batman had been thinking a lot that night.
Six months. Six months, to the day, since Jason Todd had been killed in an explosion in Ethiopia. Five months and two weeks since the sensors at his grave had indicated that someone was breaking in. What they hadn't told Batman, what he hadn't expected, was that -- at the same time -- Jason was breaking out of the grave.
Jason Todd had come back from the dead. After the initial shock had worn off, Batman realized that this was merely par for the course with the Robin that had, slowly but surely, turned all of his preconceptions on their heads. Everything that Dick had made Batman come to expect from his Robin was inverted -- joking and lighthearted had become sardonic and cynical -- or modified -- his obedient backup had become an independant fighter who watched his back -- or outright abandoned. So why should he have expected that Jason would follow the laws of nature any more closely than he followed the rules that Batman had laid down?
But that wasn't fair. Jason had been -- and still was, if the weekly reports from Connor MacLeod were to be believed -- a good soldier. He had given his life for the cause. He had, as his dying birth mother explained with her last words, died a hero, trying to protect her despite the crippling injuries inflicted by the Joker. Even before then, he had tried his best to fit into the role of Robin, into the role of Batman's partner. It was not his fault that Batman had expected different things of him.
Batman hoped that he had not ruined the second chance they'd been given, by sending Jason off with Connor MacLeod for training. Jason had, understandably, not taken the news well when he found out that the Joker still lived. Batman... Bruce... had tried his best to explain, but he hadn't been sure that Jason understood. He'd seen them off at Port Adams -- Connor being the sort who didn't trust airplanes -- a few weeks after Jason's resurrection without any idea of when they would be back. But he knew that they would be. Jason, like Batman himself, was a son of Gotham.
He looked up, about to fire his grapple gun at the building across the street and continue his patrol, when the Batsignal lit up the sky. 'Duty calls.'
****
October 27th, 1988; Wayne Manor
At about the same time that Batman was getting briefed by Commisioner Gordon, Alfred was alerted to someone down at the gates of Wayne Manor.
'How odd,' thought the butler, 'I do not recall that we were expecting anyone, and it's far too late for a delivery.' He pressed the intercom button. The person at the gate spoke before he could,
"Hey, Alfie! Could you open the gate for us? MacLeod wants to drop me off and get home to his ol' lady!"
Alfred smiled. "Certainly, Master Jason."
****
October 28th, 1988; The Bat Cave, Wayne Manor
Alfred had contacted him as he was on the road home from Gotham, saying only that 'a visitor' had come to the manor in his absence and was waiting for him. Batman had wondered at that, decided that the omission of details meant that this was supposed to be a suprise... one that Alfred had deemed harmless. He was used to trusting Alfred's judgment, and didn't worry over it.
He had assumed that his late-night guest was here for Bruce Wayne, but as he parked the Batmobile, he caught sight of someone -- a non-Alfred-shaped someone -- moving around in the Trophy Room section of the Cave. Batman raised an eyebrow. Alfred would have, should have said something if Dick had decided to come visiting. He definitely would have said something if Dick had come as Nightwing, looking for help. He stepped out of the Batmobile.
"Batman, hey, how was patrol?"
He was hardly aware that he'd pulled back the cowl as he walked toward the source of that voice. He didn't realize that there was a smile on his face as he went looking for his erstwhile partner. But Jason saw all of this. Along with the memorial costume case that he rested one gloved hand on, it put to rest the question that had bothered him on many a sleepless night since his resurrection -- 'Did Bruce really miss me, or was he better off without me?' -- with a clear and resounding negative.
'You don't smile that way at people you didn't miss, especially not when you're the grim, dark avenger of the night. You don't construct memorials for people you don't love, respect, and grieve for.' Jason told himself. He walked out of the shadow cast by the memorial case and Batman's assorted memorobilia, relishing the look of surprise when Bruce got a good luck at what he was wearing.
Jason grinned, and struck a pose reminiscent of a model for all of three seconds. "Do you like it?"
Bruce had to admit, the new costume was... very Jason. The color scheme was in keeping with what Dick had established for Robin, but the design choices that Jason had made were much more practical.
He wore a black bodysuit that covered everything from the neck down, with an additional layer of molded red body armor protecting his chest. A green sleeveless jacket with many pockets went over that. His eyes were hidden behind a familiar green domino mask. His gloves, and the armored gauntlets that protected his forearms, were matching green. His boots were black combat boots.
The changes that Bruce couldn't reconcile was the wave-bladed sword strapped to Jason's back, and the wave-bladed dagger strapped to his thigh. His lips thinned into a disapproving line when he saw the weaponry. Jason's grin became almost maliciously gleeful, and he unsheathed the blades and went into a fighting stance with the easy grace that spoke of long practice.
"Don't worry, Bruce. It's just another adjustment to life as an Immortal." Jason said, "There are bad guys after my head. I've got to protect myself."
Bruce did not take a fighting stance of his own. Jason looked disappointed, but only mildly so, as if he had not expected his silent offer to be taken up anyway.
Jason shrugged and began going through a sword form that Bruce readily identified as Destreza. "Look, if you take me back as Robin, I'm not going to whip these out and start chopping away at criminals. This is strictly for 'The Game'," -- Bruce could hear the mocking capital letters as Jason said the words -- "as MacLeod calls it. That whole Immortal versus Immortal thing."
"You give me your word?"
Jason raised an eyebrow. "If you need it..." He sheathed both his blades, then reached up to unbuckle the swordbelt slung across his chest. He caught the scabbard of his rapier as it slid from his back, and brought the sheathed weapon around to his front. "Or if it makes you feel better, I can go without this when I'm Robin." He looked away, his voice going softer, "The extra armor around my neck should stop any blade-wielding psychopath looking to steal my Quickening."
Bruce's eyes widened and a look of horror that he couldn't suppress flashed over his face at the thought of losing Jason again. "No!" he cried out.
"What the hell, Bruce, make up your mi--" Jason was cut off as Bruce hauled him into a rough hug.
"I don't want you unprotected, and I don't want to lose you again." Bruce said gruffly. "I just need you to promise me that you will use those weapons only to defend yourself against other Immortals."
"A-all right, Bruce." Jason whispered, fighting tears of relief. "I promise. My sword will only be used against other Immortals."
Bruce was no fool. He'd caught the omission of Jason's kris from the promise, but he decided not to push. Not now. After all, he'd done some greivious wounding with his Batarangs at times, and a kris could do about the same level of damage. Instead, he released Jason from the embrace, keeping one arm around the young man's shoulders. "Come on... there are some spare tunics we can get an insignia patch from... it will complete your new uniform, Robin."
They walked together back to the main part of the Bat Cave.
END PART TWO