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“You should be resting, idiot.”
Clint ignored his brother as he pulled back the bow string. His arms hurt, and his chest stung, but he was not stopping, not before he ran out of arrows. He wanted to get to the point where he hit the target every single time, even if he was injured. He could not miss. He would not allow himself to miss.
He was going to find Swordsman, and when he did, he wouldn't miss.
He pulled another arrow from the quiver, notching it against his bow.
“Clint, stop it,” Barney said, reaching for the bow. Clint dodged, ducking his brother's swipe and firing the arrow. It hit a bit off-center of the target, but he had to smile anyway because he'd never come that close while moving before. Millimeter, maybe less. He could do better, and he would. He would keep practicing until he got it perfect.
“Don't try and stop me, Barney. You won't. Ever. I am going to practice until I can't anymore—”
“You shouldn't do it now,” Barney insisted. “You haven't recovered from when Swordsman tried to kill you. You need to be resting. Not practicing.”
“You never cared before,” Clint said, lowering his bow and glaring at his brother. “We stayed in the circus for years, Barney. We were home. Swordsman taught me his act. Trickshot taught you his. You never watched the way Swordsman trained me. You never tried to stop him when he hit me. Dick did. His parents did—they got me away from him. And he killed them for it.”
“He almost killed you.”
“You're missing the point,” Clint said, almost snapping his bow in fury. “They died because of me. Because they cared about what happened to me, because they tried to protect me. I knew what he was going to do that night. I heard him say he cut the wire. I couldn't warn them. I ran.”
“Hurting yourself practicing isn't going to bring the Graysons back,” Barney said. “It isn't your fault. You can't blame yourself for surviving. Look at me, little brother. How long are you going to punish yourself for being alive?”
Clint didn't answer. He knew that Barney would want to stop him, but he wouldn't let him. He wouldn't let anyone stop him. He was going to put an arrow right in the middle of Swordsman's head.
Dick judged the distance between the orphanage's roof and the building next to it.
He had jumped from higher places. He grew up on the trapeze, and he'd walked a few tightwires, too. He wasn't scared of the height. Even after his parents died, even after he watched them fall, he wasn't. Falling didn't scare him. Maybe it was because if he died, he'd be where his parents were. Where Clint was.
Everyone was dead. Dick was the only one alive, and they hadn't even let him stay with the circus. He'd had a day or two with that weird guy Wayne and his butler, but apparently even money couldn't buy Dick for whatever Wayne had wanted him for because he'd given him to the orphanage. He didn't care. He didn't want to know more about Wayne. Alfred had been nice, but it was too weird in that big creepy house.
Even if it wasn't, Dick doubted they'd let him do what he needed to do.
He backed up a few steps, started running, and jumped. His feet impacted the rooftop, and he went down, rolling as he did, trying to make it hurt less. He'd done better jumps and had plenty better landings, but that wasn't his worst.
He smiled to himself. He was free. No more orphanage. He could go find the circus and rejoin it, and he probably would, but there was something else he was going to do first.
He was going to find Swordsman.
And if he could, he thought he'd kill him. He didn't know how, he wasn't that good with his—Swordsman's—eskrima sticks, and he'd lost them when his parents died and he was taken off to Wayne manor. He'd worry about how he'd deal with Swordsman after he found him.
Everyone assumed that Swordsman had left Gotham.
Dick didn't think that was true. He'd prove it. He was going to find Swordsman.
“Where do you think you're going?”
Clint turned back to glare at his brother. “Why are you following me, Barney?”
“Uh, maybe because you were almost dead a few weeks ago. Clint, you have to stop this. Just because you lived doesn't mean you have to kill yourself now. I won't let you do that. I am looking out for you,” Barney insisted. “You have to stop this. You haven't healed. And if you have some crazy idea of going after Swordsman—”
“You can't stop me,” Clint said. He lifted up his bow. “You know what this is, don't you? All you and Trickshot talk about is how I've got talent for it, how you're going to use it, but it's a weapon. I can hit a target at almost any distance. If I hit a man, I could kill him. Is that what you and Trickshot want? Are you planning on turning me into a killer?”
“Clint, don't be stupid. You think I want you killing people? I am trying to stop you from killing yourself. I don't want to see you go throw your life away. Dick is gone. You're not.”
Clint lowered his head. He didn't to argue with his brother, but if he could find Swordsman again, he could do one last thing for Dick and his parents. They were gone, and he knew killing Swordsman wouldn't bring any of them back.
He didn't care. He wanted that man dead.
Dick held out the picture. He didn't remember packing it in his things when he was taken from the circus, and he didn't know why he'd been able to hold onto it, but at least he had a real picture of Clint, as beat up as it was. Clint and Barney smiling with Trickshot and Swordsman from their early days in the circus. Trickshot had a crease running through his face, but Swordsman was clear, and it worked well enough for people to recognize him.
He'd had to cut a picture out of the paper to have one of his parents, and even then it was just the circus bill that didn't look anything like them.
He shook that thought off and pushed the photo to the edge of the table, looking up at the waitress. “Have you seen this man?”
“This your daddy, sweetheart? You've got some good looking brothers there, though you must have a different mother.”
“He's not my father,” Dick said. He swallowed. Sometimes looking helpless was what he needed. He'd tracked Swordsman this far with just that picture and a pair of puppy dog eyes. He didn't know what he would do when he found Swordsman, but he had to do something. “I need to find him.”
“Sweetie, you don't look like you should be out of school.”
“I homeschool,” Dick said. It used to be true. His parents had taught him every evening either before or after the show, and they'd had Clint join in on his lessons long before they took him away from Swordsman. “This is my friend. Clint.”
“Did he take your friend?”
Dick nodded. It was true. Swordsman killed Clint, so he'd taken him. “Can you tell me where he is? I just...”
“You want your friend back?”
“More than anything,” Dick said, though he didn't know that he could say that. He should want his parents back more than Clint, and he did. He missed Clint, too. He knew if Clint was alive, somehow he could have coped better with losing his parents, but Clint was dead, and Dick didn't care about anything except finding Swordsman.
The waitress smiled. She cupped his cheek. “Okay, cutie. I'll tell you where to find him if you promise to let the police handle it.”
Dick nodded. He was getting a lot better at lying.
“How long has the boy been missing from the orphanage?” Bruce asked from behind the wheel of the Batmobile. Gotham had been busy lately, keeping Batman occupied and even on the injured list. He'd been too busy to spend as much time as he'd wanted hunting down the Swordsman. He needed to find more than just one criminal. He had been a part of some kind of gang, and Batman had struggled to uncover the connection. Swordsman was skilled, and from what Bruce had found so far, he knew that Swordsman usually worked alone. Him teaming up with the gang was unusual, but he'd wanted revenge for being pushed out of the circus.
Revenge for the Graysons taking his protege from him.
Bruce's grip tightened on the wheel. The Graysons' murder still haunted him, as did the death of the boy that had been close to the only surviving Grayson.
The boy that was missing.
“Alfred,” Bruce said, knowing he couldn't break the Batmobile's steering wheel but thinking he was pretty damn close. “How long?”
“Almost a month, sir. I do not know why we were not informed, but I must assume they felt you were no longer interested in the child's welfare after you gave him over to the orphanage.”
“I was following legal procedure. I didn't want to raise red flags by waving around money and trying to get custody that way. They'll assume I'm interested in him for all sorts of wrong reasons,” Batman said, getting angry. “Do we have any idea where he's gone?”
“I was able to contact the circus that he was once a part of,” Alfred said. “They assured me that he did not rejoin them. I do not know where the child has gone.”
“I'll find him,” Batman said, hanging up.
“Tell me where Swordsman is,” Clint said, pointing an arrow right at the man's eye as he stepped on the leg his first arrow had hit. “Tell me, and I will let you live.”
“You're a kid. You won't kill me.”
Clint almost pulled back the arrow right then. “Swordsman killed my best friend and my foster parents. I am not going to stop until he is dead. You don't tell me, I'll find someone else who will. And they'll keep their eye.”
“I will kill you,” the man promised, and Clint just laughed. He'd already been dead. He wasn't afraid of it. He wasn't afraid of anything. He knew he should keep going because of Barney, that his brother wanted him to live, but all he could think about was the weight of knowing that the Graysons had died because of him. They'd stood up to Swordsman and died for it.
He'd gotten his best friend killed. Avenging him was the only option.
Something hit him in the back of the head, and he stumbled to the side. He heard his bow clatter to the ground and someone laughing, but over the laughter was another voice.
“Sorry, little brother, but someone's gotta save you from yourself. Again.”
Dick found Swordsman.
He hadn't been prepared for it, but he'd done it.
He'd trailed the man through half the city, asking questions and showing his photograph around. Some of them had helped him. Others had hurt him, but he didn't care. He didn't feel it. He hadn't felt anything since Alfred told him that the hospital called.
Dick hadn't even been able to see Clint before he was gone. He remembered having his hands in blood, trying to stop his friend from dying, and then someone had taken Clint away and he never saw him again before the hospital called.
“I'm very sorry, Master Richard,” Alfred had said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “The hospital called. They... I am sorry, but they said that your friend Clint—”
“No, Alfred. It's not true. Clint didn't die. My parents... They're dead but Clint was still alive. He went to the hospital. They fixed him.”
“The hospital did what they could,” Alfred corrected. “In the end, it seems the wounds your friend suffered were too grave. He came out of surgery but did not survive the night.”
Dick didn't want to believe it, but being sent to the orphanage had made it pretty real.
Real enough to hunt down Swordsman.
“You should have died with your parents, little bird. You're way too young to be out of the nest.”
Dick swallowed. He should have known that Swordsman would recognize him the minute he saw him. He hadn't thought that part through. He should have, but what did he have left to lose? A photograph? A clipping from a newspaper?
“You killed them. My parents. Clint. You killed them all.”
“And, what, you want to join them?”
Dick shrugged. “I know Clint lost fighting against you, and I wasn't as good a fighter as Clint was, but I don't care. I'll still fight you because someone has to stop you. If I were Clint, if I could shoot like he could, I'd just shoot you. You deserve to die.”
“There's nothing you can do about that, boy.”
“Actually,” Dick said, “there is.”
Damn.
The kid had done what Bruce—what Batman—had not been able to do. He had tracked down Swordsman.
Unfortunately, he'd also found the man's gang, and the last of the Graysons was more than half-dead when Batman reached him. The kid had managed to do more damage to the killer than Batman would have expected, but then he'd overlooked the fact that Grayson was friends with Swordsman's apprentice. The boys had taught each other a few things.
“So this is the legendary Batman. Tell me, you any better with swords than the kid was?”
“Yes.”
“I'd like to find out, but I hear you're a hero. Better not let the boy die. You know, those kids, they used to joke about them. Whole circus would tell you that they'd follow each other to hell and back. This just proves it,” Swordsman said, hauling Grayson up to his feet. “I think it's time this bird flew one last time, don't you?”
He threw the boy off the roof. Batman had two seconds to react, knowing he was letting Swordsman go the moment he jumped after the boy.
He didn't care. He wouldn't let the kid die. He could find Swordsman again. He couldn't bring anyone back from the dead.
He went for the boy.
“You need to stop being in such a damn hurry to die.”
Clint rubbed his head. “Shut up, Barney. I almost had Swordsman's location. That jerk was part of the gang he used to rob the circus. He deserved that arrow and more.”
“Listen to yourself, Clint! You told me not to do what I was doing for money—and you didn't even know it was—but now you're sitting there willing, to kill people? How far are you willing to go for someone who wasn't even family?”
“Dick was family,” Clint said. “You won't ever believe that, but he was. He was my best friend, and I loved him almost as much as I love you. Keep denying that all you want, but he was like a brother to me. And I got him killed. I have to do something.”
“Killing yourself won't bring him back,” Barney snapped. “Let it go. Move on. Please. I don't want to lose you.”
Clint grimaced. Barney was too good at guilt trips. Going after Swordsman again would have to wait. Maybe for a long time.
He would find Swordsman. Even if it took him the rest of his life. Clint would find him and he would make him pay.
“You want to tell me why you're in such a hurry to die?” Batman demanded, folding his arms over his chest.
Dick coughed, putting a hand over his side. At first, he thought he must have gotten a broken rib or two in the fight, but then the pain didn't feel like the time it had happened when he'd fallen during practice and done it. He knew that had been worse. He also knew what had happened to Clint, knew why the other boy had ended up dead. Swordsman wasn't as good as he thought he was, and Clint was probably winning until the rest of the gang joined in. Dick had.
“I asked you a question, kid.”
“You don't scare me any more than he did,” Dick said, and then he grimaced. The pain was bad again. He shouldn't have said anything.
“A boy your age should be afraid of him. Afraid of dying.”
“I'm not.”
“There are better ways of getting justice than killing yourself,” Batman told him. “What you did, finding Swordsman, that was impressive. You did better than I did. You made a mistake, though. You went in there without a plan, without a real hope of survival. He could have killed you. Why were you in such a hurry to die?”
“My parents are dead. Clint is dead. The circus is gone. I got left in an orphanage and now I know why Clint used to find high places and be glad Barney muttered in his sleep to keep the others away in the night.” Dick shook his head. “There's not much left worth living for, is there?”
“There is.”
Dick studied the cowl for a long moment. “Prove it.”